jessicas-pi · 6 months ago
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I finally found some time to sit down and listen to music and relax and just not think about anything, but the music I was listening to was the new Taylor Swift album and The Prophecy came on and now I will be thinking about how well it fits that really angsty chapter of Time Heals All Wounds for the next 36 hours.
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papaya-twinks · 6 months ago
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Hii can you do a lando x reader but reader is very feminine , all pink and sunshine one day she walks in tha laddock and someone basically hurts her.. a lot. And as Lnado is very protective of her when he hears about it he gets all scwry and stuff
Warnings: Blood, hateful fans, pissed Lando, swearing, angst
Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader
FaceClaim: (Lando posts smthn after the race) Tyla (MY WIFE)
“Lando, over here!” a voice called, making your boyfriend look up, seeing his PR manager gesturing for him to come over. “Baby, can you make it to the motorhome yourself?” he asked, squeezing your hand as you nodded reassuringly. “Alright, love, in a bit,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting you walk away. You pulled your phone out, probably to scroll through instagram, when someone called your name, and unfamiliar voice. 
“Y/N!” you looked up, seeing a girl about your age, looking furious. You didn’t know her. “Hi?” you said, approaching niet. “You’re the one dating Lando?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “He can do so much better,” you rolled your eyes, you weren’t a stranger to hate from his fans. “Don’t you roll your eyes!” she screeched, her hand flying into your face as you stumbled back, your lip splitting as blood poured out. “Y/N!” a familiar British voice said, George’s hands coming to your shoulder. 
“Fuck, you’re bleeding,” he said, your hand covering the wound as he walked you to his garage, the medic on scene arriving. “A punch, I think,” George said, frowning as you coughed slightly, the pain kicking in. You couldn’t speak, the blood still gushing, when your phone rang. “It’s Lando, should I take it?” George asked, letting you nod before answering the call, putting it on speaker. 
“Hey Y/N, where are you?” 
“Hey mate, this is George”
“Dude? Where’s my girlfriend” he sounded already defensive 
“She had an incident with a fan of yours”
“An incident?! As in verbal, or physical…?”
“Physical”
“Fuck, is she okay? Where are you? Where is she?”
“Mate calm down. She’s alright now, at my garage” 
“Fuck”
“Y/N!” Lando called, seeing you on sitting on the floor, George beside you, Carmen on your other side. “Hey, hey, let me see,” he said, tilting your chin so he could see the large cut. “Shit,” he said, finger grazing it lightly, making you hiss. “You okay, my love?” he asked, eyes on yours now as you nodded. “Fine, fine,” you hiccuped, hand coming onto his reassuringly. “Bitch, that fan was,” he said. “Mhm,” you mumbled, head on his shoulder as he groaned. “Fucks’ sake,”. 
landonorris 
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Caption: This is my girlfriend. Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. I love her. And some of y’all have been right pricks regarding my relationship with her. Well. As I said, I love her. And to start of with, if you’re going to call yourself my fucking fans, respect the fact that Y/N is the girl I love, and if you wish to support me in my racing, learn to support my life as well. Because personally, I do not give a flying fuck if you don’t like Y/N. I don’t care. And @/y/n I love you so so so much ❤️❤️
martingarrix: people should be ashamed to call themselves your fans and then act like that
❤️ by landonorris
y/n: I love you to the stars and back @/landonorris
❤️ by landonorris
georgerussell63: @/landonorris, take care of her please 🙏
❤️ by landonorris
maxverstappen1: best wishes to y/n and you from Kelly, me and Penelope
❤️ by landonorris
comments on this post have been limited to close friends
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sapphicccici · 7 months ago
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WoW Birthday Whump: Day 3
crying/ parting words regret/ "why...?"
This is more canon story of my barbarian oc Detali Gamble! It includes Cossim Vect, and Makkel Dextri. The three of them are a polycule and also prisoners who are forced to be gladiators and fight each other to the death :)
This also comes directly before my post from Day One !
Content: Forced to whump, Multiple whumpees, character death (!!), blood, improper use of guns, barbarian typical rage, male whumpee, female whumpee, mute caretaker, needles, drugs, head injuries, institutional whump, celebrity whumpee, defiant whumpee
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
“One last kiss, Tali?”
Detali’s heart skipped a beat.
Tali.
She stopped, gun held above her head, ready to deliver a fatal blow.
Cossim looked up at her from where he kneeled. His hair stuck to his forehead, matted down by the mixture of hot desert sand and blood coming from his several head wounds. His honey-golden eyes held a sadness Detali couldn't place.
Finally she shook her head at him. “Never gonna happen, baby.”
She swung the gun down on his skull. Cossim’s head snapped forward with the force of the blow, and his body quickly followed, leaving him face down in the sand.
Crowds roared around them and camera drones swarmed the scene.
Detali looked up at her adoring fans, but did not smile.
Something's wrong.
Cossim never called her by her name during fights, only her stage name: Medusa. And Tali? That nickname? It was special– used only in the gentlest moments between them. Why would he call her that now?
Hands landed on Detali’s shoulders and ushered her through the stadium-turned-desert, and into an elevator. She turned, watching through the sliver of the doors closing behind her as Cossim’s body was lifted onto a stretcher.
The groan of machinery made her ears ring as the elevator began to descend. She took the moment to try and catch her breath, feeling the exhaustion seep into her bones. She always put her all into these fights. The warden had warned her what would happen if she were caught pulling her punches.
It felt like the elevator couldn't have moved any slower as Detali feared Cossim's fate. When they got out of the elevators, he would either be rolled to the right, to the infirmary, where they would resurrect him and he would be safe for another month, or they would roll his body to the left to the furnaces. Then…
The elevator door opened and she rushed out. She was met with a wall of cameras and microphones pushed into her face. She smiled as politely as she could muster as she caught sight of the stretcher.
Turn right, she silently urged. Please, turn right.
The stretcher turned left.
She snapped. She launched her body forward, screaming and shoving her way through reporters and guards.
“No! Stop!” She demanded.
Someone yanked her backwards, their arms wrapped tightly around her upper body, stopping all attempts at motion. She threw her head back in an effort to free herself but was met with a rock-solid chest.
“Let me go! Fuck off and let me go!”
She looked down at the arms wrapped around her. Tattooed black bands on the forearm confirmed her suspicions.
Makkel was trying to save her again.
She thrashed with all her might, but Makkel pulled her to the ground.
“He can't die! Please! It's his fucking birthday! Please!”
The prick of a needle stung in her neck. She felt the pressure of a fluid, a sedative probably, rush through her, making her dizzy.
She tried to lunge forward again as Makkel laid her on the floor.
Her vision started blurring at the edges, “Why? Why are you doing this?”
Makkel shook his head at her.
Tears pooled in her eyes. “I didn't-”
Makkel tucked his arms underneath her knees and neck.
“I didn't tell him,”
She was lifted from the floor.
She managed to whisper, “I didn't tell him I loved him,” before her vision finally went black.
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shurelyasreverie · 4 years ago
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Sett x Reader: Love is the Best Medicine
You've been patching up Sett every since he joined the underground fight scene but you fear for the day he pushes himself too far.
Word Count: 1447
The sound of the front door opening and closing followed by sluggish footsteps woke you up from your light slumber on the couch. Stretching, you yawned as you regarded the time. It was an ungodly hour in the morning but you were used to it. Today was another day Sett was off fighting in the pits, and it was your job to make sure he survived them. Fortunately he usually knew how to look after himself.
“Y’really need to learn to lock the door,” Sett's familiar yet strained voice chided and you chuckled as you stood up, rubbing your eyes.
“Why bother? I know you're going to come-” Once you took in Sett's appearance you immediately looked away. You frantically cleared the couch and ushered his hulking form onto it. You didn't dare touch his bleeding and bruised arms, you couldn't bring yourself to look into his bloodshot eyes. His laboured breathing was painful to hear.
“(Y/N)-”
“Shush,” you scolded as you left to get your first aid kit and medication. Such wounds weren't going to kill him but every moment away from him still filled you with anxiety. You rushed back by his side and started to clean his wounds. The only sound in your home was Setts' grunts and groans as he writhed under the sting of anaesthetic.
“You've never been beaten up this bad before,” you whispered. With his wounds cleaned up, Sett looked visibly better and it helped you relax ever so slightly. You tossed the dirtied rags of blood – whose blood it was, you didn't know – to the ground.
“This didn't happen in the ring,” Sett muttered. “I must've pissed off some goons who placed bets on someone else. They jumped me when I was headin' out.”
You nodded silently as you bound his arm with bandages. You feared this day would come, where the violence Sett experienced was no longer bound to the pits. He now had a target on his back all day, every day. The underground pits weren't the concern anymore, it was now a question if he could just survive day to day life. Although you technically lived alone, having Sett – sometimes joined by his mother – frequently visit meant you almost always had company. If something happened and Sett wasn't around to visit-
“That face doesn't suit ya, y'know,” Sett grumbled and you shook your head.
“What face?”
“That sad one.” When you finished bandaging his arm, he brought it up. His large, calloused hand caressed the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I can look after myself. Don't worry.”
“You'll need to rest from these injuries,” you stated and you felt his thumb hesitate before continuing its soothing motions as if everything was okay.
“Y'know I can't do that.”
“A week's rest.”
“People placed bets on me for tomorrow.”
“You can't,” you snapped, pulling your head away from his hand. “You can't fight in this state!”
“The fight's at night, I got all day to rest,” Sett reasoned.
“Not good enough,” you scolded.
“Listen (Y/N), it's either I fight at the pit or I fight for scraps on the street. Which one do you think's better?”
“I can accommodate for you and your mum,” you responded and Sett shot you a doubtful look. Even he knew that you weren't living the life of Noxian aristocracy. “... temporarily.”
“That ain't happenin', you've already done enough.”
Sett shifted as he pulled out a small leather pouch from behind. He placed it in your palm and you heard the unmistakable chink of coins. You tilted your head at him.
“That's thanks for lookin' after me,” Sett explained, further proving a point as he lifted his freshly bandaged arms. “At the rate I'm winnin' that bag'll be doublin' in size next time.”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you regarded the pouch that sat comfortably in your palm that grew heavier with his words. Tears started to prick at the back of your eyes and you lowered your head, holding the bag back to him.
“I can't possibly take this.”
“Ma's got her fair share.”
“This is your money that you earned.”
“Damn right. It's my money and I choose what to do with it. I choose to give it to you.”
The fire in Sett's eyes was unmistakable. Knowing you couldn't argue with Sett when he made up his mind, you pulled your arm back and placed the pouch on the table.
“Just having you return is enough for me,” you admitted in a whisper.
“It ain't enough for me, though,” Sett replied, waiting until you turned to face him and look athim dead in the eyes. “I ain't just fightin' for money or glory. I'm fightin' for ma and I'm fightin' for you.”
“Me?” you frowned. “I'm fine-”
“I know why you live alone.”
“I told you, I just wanted to move out away from my family-”
“Your family kicked you out for bein' pals with the local 'half beast',” Sett corrected and your heart dropped. “Overheard 'em trash talkin' ya in the street a few days back. I know the truth. Don't worry, I made 'em shut up the only way I know how.”
“Sett...” you were lost for words. “I...”
“I'm sorry for makin' your life hell. Your family were doin' pretty damn well for themselves but they didn't spare shit for ya,” he growled. “All because of little ol' me.”
“I... I don't regret what happened,” you said, determined. “If they're not going to respect you then I'd rather have nothing to do with them.”
It was now Sett's turn to be lost for words, looking stunned as he blinked a couple of times. Solidifying your point, you gently wrapped your arms around his torso as not to aggravate his wounds. Pressing your head against his bare chest, you could hear his erratic heartbeat as it pounded in your ear. His arms made their way around your back, his face nuzzling into your hair. After a few moments of silence, Sett pulled his head back and so did you, but his hold on you didn't loosen.
“I'll make 'em respect me. And I'll make 'em respect you. Everyone who knows who I am will know you too. And they'll know to treat ya like royalty. I ain't havin' it any other way.”
“... thank you, Sett. I... if there's anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
Fingers gently nudged your chin up to look at him properly. As he leaned down, noses almost touching, you could see the details in his eyes as they burned with passion.
“Never leave my side,” he whispered.
“As long as you never leave mine.”
“Y'drive a hard bargain,” he chuckled quietly. “Deal.”
Both you and Set moved forward simultaneously, lips pressing together softly. Sett's hand that rested on your chin moved back, lacing his fingers through your hair. His other arm sat comfortably around your waist as he gently pulled you closer, closing any possible gaps between you as the kiss deepened. You felt warm as you were held in his embrace. How such a rough and brutal fighter be so gentle was beyond you but you loved it nonetheless.
You loved him.
The kiss ended as you gasped for air. Pressing your forehead against his, your breaths mingled together.
“I love you,” you confessed and Sett smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips again.
“I've waited too long to hear that,” he admitted and you giggled as you noticed his flushed face. “I love you too. I, uh... is it alright if I stay here for the night?”
“You should head back to your mum, she's probably worried for you.”
“Nah, ma would understand,” Sett cleared his throat as he looked away, embarrassed. “She's been waitin' for this to happen.”
You pulled back as you burst out laughing. Setts' ears flattened as he grumbled something non-coherent. But before he could get too grumpy, you took his hand with a soft smile, guiding him to the bedroom. “Come on, you need to be well rested and healed before you get back in the ring.”
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reylofanfictionanthology · 4 years ago
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TO FIND YOUR KISS - AUTHOR REVEALS!
Here are your authors for this year’s exchange!
To Find Your Kiss collection on AO3 | Treats Masterpost
GIFT FIC MASTERPOST
- Reap the Stars by XarisEirene for abbytheatre08
The prompt: After Ben's death, Rey goes mad and turns to the dark side. Only Ben's not dead anymore. ----------------------- She is consuming fire, magnificent in her rage. She will burn the galaxy to its foundations, until the ashes rain down and pile high as mountains. She will gather them into bouquets and scatter them like petals upon his grave.
He will be remembered, and they will not.
Call him The Light Bearer and Joy Giver. Call him He Who Loved and Laid Down His Life. Call him Ben.
- we are question marks that hang above the endless unexplained by LittleLostStar for AlwaysEverlark
The first time she walked into his club, she was looking for a job. Kylo took one look at her—the stubborn pout of her lip, the determined glint in her eyes, the ruddy glow of her face where the sun had kissed it—and swallowed a lump in his throat that was shaped like the words you’re too good for this place.
They needed a singer. Kira Johnson could hold a tune, knew the old standards, and had a knockout pair of tits to boot. A few slinky ballgowns and a touch of lipstick, and she’d more than do the trick of distracting suckers long enough to part them from their money.
The club solely needed to break even; anything they made on top of the Syndicate’s cut was gravy, and Kylo Ren had been lining his pockets with his own take for long enough that he could see Kira for the lump of clay that she was: rough-hewn, misshapen, but soft and supple and sure to curve under his touch.
- Eighty Bucks Says Sweetheart by strangeallure for Amoreusou
Ben likes puzzles. Rey needs help with a bunch of them. Good thing it's a slow day at the office.
- Seldom Visions by SpaceWaffleHouseTM for Andrina_Nightshade
After visiting an old Sith temple, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren has fallen  into a deep sleep when he pricks his finger on the point of a red  crystal. Rey become is the first to find him, but his rescuer isn't just  any general or pilot, it's the woman he shares a soul with, who haunts  his waking hours, who still sees him even in his sleep.
- The Dyad by Lady_of_Haven for aneighthdomain
Based of the Prompt: Groundhog Day scenario. Ben and Rey keep getting sent back to the first time they met and no matter what they do, Ben always dies so they stop trying to change events and just live a life time in the year between and couple of weeks and run away together.
- The Delegation by Vivien for aNerdObsessed
A humanitarian delegation from Naboo arrives at Niima Outpost. Rey is skeptical, to say the least.  
- Saudade: The Love That Remains by shipperofdarkness for AnneAnna
Saudade (n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; "the love that remains"
In those first few weeks, everything had been muddled in a haze as the Resistance tried to rebuild all that had been lost. Rey had buried herself in the work. It’s what she’d always done. Don’t think of your parents, don’t think of waiting, scavenge and repeat.
But it’s different.
Her parents hadn’t wanted her.
He had.
Her parents hadn’t loved her.
He had.
And in his wake, the wound had split Rey’s soul to the bone, like the scar she’d given him all those moons ago. It's a blessing. And a curse. And all she has left. It’s the love that remains.
- i don't want you like a best friend by irridesca for anopendoor
It’s not like she hadn’t seen this coming���Rose told her weeks ago that he was invited. It was an inevitability Rey was always going to have to face, she just didn’t think that Rose would be so merciful as to also give every guest a plus one.
But Rey can’t really be upset—and she is totally, unequivocally not upset—that Ben's bringing someone because, well.
She is, too.
- Love is Weakness by crossingwinter for bittersnake
“He’s someone I found on my recent trip to Corellia,” Rey replies placidly, her face practiced in its boredom. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Love is weakness,” her grandfather reminds her, the way he has for years. It’s why he doesn’t love her. He will not be weak. It’s why she doesn’t love him, either.
- in sickness and in health (with health being less likely) by thehobbem for BlueButterflyKisses
Deciding to spend the rest of their lives together is the easy part for both Rey and Ben; the trouble is in how to propose.
- Snowed In by darlingreadsalot for Blueyedgurl
Never in her wildest dreams did Rey Johnson think she would ever get to  meet her favorite other Kylo Ren. She also would have never entertained  the idea of the scenario she found herself in. How did a hike in the  woods lead to a snowstorm and taking shelter in a remote cabin in the  woods? The idea was so ridiculous but had become reality. Stuck inside  with a handsome stranger surrounded by a winter storm, Rey wonders what  will happen with no power and only one bed. Will they be polite  co-habitants stuck in a strange set of circumstances or is there room  for something more?
- Curses, Comforts and Capybaras by Andrina_Nightshade for Bombastique
Arrogant CEO bites off more than he can chew when he angers a witch... And suddenly finds himself transformed into a capybara. Can kindhearted wildlife rehabber Rey Niima help him break the curse?
- To Heal a Broken Soul by Reykenobi68 for Cat2000
Ben survives the fallout of Exegol, but his connection to the physical world is in danger. Rey tends to him as she searched for a way to heal him.
- holding me like water in your hands by literallynoonecares for Ceallaigh
After Hux finds out Ben killed Snoke, Hux encases Ben in Carbonite. Rey refuses to let Ben stay frozen forever so she mounts a rescue.
- Like a Thief in the Night by firelord65 for chagrins
Their bond won't let them be alone. At least this time it's the middle of the night and they can't get into a shouting match.
- The Chance by darknessvisible for Crysania
When Rey and Ben, long time co-workers who have never been able to admit their feelings to each other, go on a weekend retreat to work on a movie adaptation script together, a Nor’easter leaves them snowed in. On Valentine’s Day.
- Awake by QueenOfCarrotFlowers for cuddlesome
Something inside him is awake, and something inside her is about to wake up.
An alternate interrogation scene.
- darkness rises, and light to meet it by politicalmamaduck for czechia
After the throne room, Jedi Ben Solo and Kira Ren meet again a year later.
- Not Quite a Fairytale by Crysania for DarkMage13
Rey lets a stranger use the phone of the café she works at late one night. It changes the whole course of her life.
- The Canvas of Your Skin by tearoomsaloon for darlingreadsalot
She was incapable of touching him without drawing  blood, it seemed. Lines like vermillion paint streaked where her fingers  sketched down the contours of his face, his back, and now his chest.
In  which a Force bond is splintered, a resurrection goes wrong, a kiss is  forgotten, and two almost-lovers avoid speaking for the better half of a  year.
- You Won't Escape Me ('Cause I Set You Free) by DarkMage13for DoorKeeper9
“W-What are you doing?” She would have been more irritated if she wasn’t shivering.
Kylo rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to let hypothermia kill you.”
“S-Stripping me is not going to kill me? That makes n-no sense.”
Rey needs a kyber crystal and Kylo is trying to prevent her from getting into more life-threatening situations. It's definitely not because he cares about her. Nope.
- Fleeing the Storm by Padawan_Writer for driverfever
As the granddaughter of an merciless aristocrat, Rey’s  life hangs on a thread at the hands of the French Revolutionaries. When  her childhood friend, Ben, offers to platonically marry her in order to  take her to his home in England to safety, she has no choice but to  accept.
But her suitor and revolutionary Hux won’t give her up so  easily. Hounded by revolutionaries and falling in love, Rey and Ben must  use all their wits to flee Paris and make it to England.
- Equal Measure by misszeldasayre for dustoftheancients
When Princess Rey of Coruscant calls upon the cursed Sir Kylo Ren to help her escape her grandfather the emperor’s political machinations, she discovers freedom in the ancient familial magic that binds them together.
- Benimina Solo's Late On-Set Force Ability by MissCoppelia for Evangel10n
Benimina Solo has never, not even once, had an ounce of Force Sensitivity. She's done a great deal to move on with her life after failing out of her uncle's Jedi training school. So when Rey Palpatine comes into her life and suddenly everything changes, she's not a happy camper.
- Splatter by DoorKeeper9 for expendable
“You’re Palpatine’s girl,” he says coldly.
“His chief of staff, yes.” Rey’s eyes narrow. “And you have your hand on my ass, Kylo. Kindly take it off.”
“Or what?”
AKA powerful corporate rivals Kylo and Rey put the hate in love/hate.
- The Haunted Mirror by AlwaysEverlark for FangirlintheForest
When Rey travels to UK to attend the reading of his grandfather will, a  grandfather she didn't know existed until that very moment, she finds a  house, and a old story that will haunt her...
- i'm your secretary by OccasionallyCreative for firelord65
Kaydel pressed her lips together in a thin line, passing a pile of  datapads over the desk. “I don’t know what that pretentious nerf herder  has put into your brain, but these are tales of the key roles women have  played in past rebellions.” She stood, tapping the pile. “They’re great  reads,” she added, with a pointed raise of her eyebrow.
- and they danced across the sky by chagrins for flipflop_diva
When he was still a child, he constantly watched the blue butterflies as they danced in the sky.
They  seemed to be calling him, aiding him each instance that icy-cold  darkness flowed through his very veins. The magnificent creatures saved  him from the voices. They drowned out the incessant chatter in his head.  Temporarily cleared away all the anger. During those brief respites,  watching those blue wings flutter in the sky, Ben felt free.
But that’s another life. Another world. Another time. Another, another, another.
And Kylo's no longer a child.
No. He welcomes the darkness now. Embraces it.
- Finding The Answer by Cat2000 for FrenchMartiniPlease
Rey pines for Ben Solo…so why does her soulmate mark always drain of colour whenever she gets close to him?
- Almost Unforgettable by maq_moon for HopeRebel
The woman in the mirror has blood on her clothes, cash in her bag, and a letter from her husband telling her it's better to forget. Well, he got his wish. She forgot everything-- including her name. And she wasn't the only one afflicted.
It'll take the combined efforts of gumshoes, a flatfoot, a washed-up Hollywood starlet, and more to get to the bottom of this bad business. In the end, these things always come back to the beginning.
- The Curl of a Sigh by okpianist for irridesca
During the last song in Maxine’s set, a song she announces is called  “Soul Companion,” Ben heads back out to the lobby to look for Rey. He  finds her not with his eyes but with one broad shoulder, when he bumps  into her and knocks her gig bag out of her hands and onto the plush  carpet.
- and they were roommates by myownlittleinfinity for Lady_of_Haven
When Ben loses a bet to his roommate, Rey, he has to eat her out for 30 days.
- torn away from you (my heart is broken) by bittersnake for lakerose
The Force binds more than minds.
- 3 Days in Vienna by anopendoor for Like_A_Dove
Kylo Ren, trained mercenary Alpha assassin, is on a  mission—assassinate Chancellor Palpatine and bring his underground  authoritarian regime to an end. It’s what the First Order demands, for  the better of society.
It should be an easy task. He’s been  getting close to the Chancellor and his cronies for years. So how is it  that the unexpected appearance of an Omega, with a seemingly similar  mission—and a wholly inconveniencing scent—become a distraction he  hadn’t accounted for?
- If You Take Me flipflop_diva by literallynoonecares
Rey sighed wistfully as she watched her two friends lean in toward each other as they danced, their lips meeting and melding together as they seemed to become one person instead of two separate beings. She had seen them kiss so many times, but this kiss … it was special.
“I just want someone to kiss me like that,” she mused softly to herself, her eyes not leaving her friends.
“I could make that happen if you wanted.”
- Confidence and Desire by MBlair for LittleLostStar
“Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You  don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually, the  confidence will follow.” - Carrie Fisher
- Love brightens even the most monstrous parts of ourselves by Lutrosis for LRRH17
No one knows since when the giant, black bear has lived in the forest near Theed. Many stories about the origin of Kylo Ren circulate in the small village. After Rey has run away from Jakku, and arrived in Theed she has heard them all of, but has never actually meet the creature. This changes when her and her friends get attacked by bandits on their way back from Otoh Gunga.
- Your Sweetness Comes With Sugar on the Side by AnneAnna for Lutrosis
Rey's daughter loses her mother as she wanders around the Supermarket. Ben finds her and the two connect over both being Type 1 diabetics. They find Rey, and Ben and Rey are instantly smitten. As they date and fall in love they discover that Jade and Ben are connected more than they thought and healing is brought to the Solo/Skywalker clan.
- Allegories, or Allusions to Real Life by czechia for maq_moon
“Boys, please stop arguing.” Rose rubbed her temples. “Poe, we get it,  you’re childhood best buddies, you’ve got a better grasp on his  character than some rando of a rando you met at a party. Finn, for  fuck’s sake, we’ve been working with Ben for months. I’m pretty sure if  he’s a serial killer or whatever, it would have come out by now.” Finn sat back in his seat, grumbling. “Not how serial killers work.” Rey  was going to have a headache if this continued any longer, so she lied  through her teeth at the reality of a new player joining their D&D  party. "He seems nice." She didn’t trust a single inch of skin on that  man. "I'm sure it'll be fine."
- We’ve Met Before by PoliticalPadmé (magnetgirl) for MBlair
Rey and Ben meet, move in together, get engaged, and marry.
- Invite the Wild In by thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily) for midwinterspring
Kylo Ren, the mysterious senator who appeared from out  of the deserts of Jakku and somehow brought them back to life, has spent  a long and unproductive session on Hosnian Prime. Now, it's time to go  home. After all, there's someone waiting for him and so much for them to  do together.
(The ancient Sith had some interesting rituals.)
- Purim Party by Lorelei713 for MissCoppelia
Rey goes back to visit her foster mother for a Purim celebration. She meets Ben Solo who's visiting his parents, who are friends with her foster mother. They have an attraction to each other right away, but try to play it cool.
- The Banished Heart by stellardarlings for misszeldasayre
On Rey of Niima’s nineteenth name day, Jakku gains a new wizard.
Jakku is a withering outpost of the kingdom, and its people hope the new wizard - the mysterious Kylo Ren - will bring them the rains the land needs to heal. Rey is a lonely, clanless girl living in Niima, and she has a secret. One she hopes the wizard will be able to help her with too.
- The Smuggler's Bride by tmwillson3 for MyJediLife
Miss Rey Nemo is the new mistress of Manor Takodana, left to her by the  late Lord Skywalker. When a strange man named Kylo Ren appears on her  doorstep, she decides to hire him as her new groundskeeper. As Rey faces  sinister threats and secrets are revealed, Kylo Ren may be the only  person who can save her.
- Annabel Lee by driverfever for myownlittleinfinity
Rey keeps finding these ... notes in her locker. She doesn't quite get them. They seem like love notes, but she doesn't know who they could be from. Meanwhile she's paired up with Ben Solo (who hates her despite her gigantic crush on him) for this English assignment. Who knows how THIS will go.
- with my body i thee worship by yodalorian for niennathegrey
Miss Rey Nemo is the new mistress of Manor Takodana, left to her by the late Lord Skywalker. When a strange man named Kylo Ren appears on her doorstep, she decides to hire him as her new groundskeeper. As Rey faces sinister threats and secrets are revealed, Kylo Ren may be the only person who can save her.
- the losing game by KoreRosemarinus for no_big_deal
Sith Princess Rey Palpatine is given a peculiar gift for her Life Day: a Jedi. Not only that, one who is boorish, spirited, and stubborn. But, he presents an opportunity: one that could liberate her from a life under the thumb of her grandfather. She has seven weeks to change his heart before all her freedom is taken from her - forever.
- standing right in front of you by reylotrash711 for notkellymarie
When Senator Solo's engagement is pushed forward, he and his Jedi  bodyguard, Rey, travel to Naboo alone for the announcement ball. The  pair despise each other, constantly bickering and disagreeing with each  other, which makes spending extensive amounts of time alone together all  that more difficult. Until of course, one of them breaks...
- the good, the bad, and the smuggling by Priestly for OccasionallyCreative
Ben Solo is a seasoned smuggler. And he’s not bad at it, either. But  when bounty hunter Rey offers him a temporary partnership he can’t  refuse, Ben will find himself pushed to the limits of his skill,  patience, and resourcefulness on a job that’s dangerous enough to be his  last.
It’s like his dad used to say: bounty hunters are nothing but trouble, kid.
- Whatever our souls are made of...his and mine are the same by writergenie for Padawan_Writer
Ben and Rey meet only after Kylo has defected from the First Order and  returned to the Resistance and his mother. Will the dyad still find a  way to be?
- You're My Dark Princess by Evangel10n for persimonne
Five years after the defeat of the First Order, Rey is no longer the woman we knew. Having no war to fight, Rey turns to contract killing. Not quite a bounty hunter, no, an assassin is not that honorable. She no longer relies on the Light side to guide her or the Dark, not claiming either side. She is a completely different person, lost, angry, numb. One day she is hired to kill a man she knew intimately, but he doesn’t remember her. What is she going to do? She has two choices here, kill the past or save a man she thought was dead.
- They say that only the dead have seen the end of war by Juulna and Annaelle for politicalpadmé
“He traded his life for mine,” Rey choked, stomping back and forth in front of him so fast he could barely keep track of her. “He died. He died so I didn’t have to—and it’s not—it’s—after everything he’s gone through—it’s not fair.” Tears were running down her cheeks now, and Poe wanted to do nothing more than hug her, but there was nothing he could say—nothing she would want to hear. Poe remembered all the people he’d lost, all the times he had raged and screamed and cried about the unfairness of it all. “Leia sacrificed herself to bring him back,” Rey declared suddenly, ceasing her constant pacing around the fire as she looked straight at him. “And he sacrificed himself for me—and now no one’s going to know. All he’ll be remembered as is Kylo Ren, but he was—he was so much more.” She exhaled with a shudder and whispered, “He was a part of me, and I—I don’t feel whole without him.” ~
A Force Ghost Ben/Rey love story, with a side of rebuilding the galaxy.
- Cicatrix by cuddlesome for Priestly
Getting cut up by Rey on Starkiller awakens something in Kylo.
- I Will Always Be With You by Ceallaigh for Prix
But she wouldn’t be able to hide her pregnancy for much longer. She was starting to show, and her friends would start asking questions. She would have to give them answers, some of them would not understand, and none of them would accept.
She carried his child. The tiny spark of light woven with darkness, just like her. Just like his father.
—————
The world has gone dark More times than you Or your mother Or your grandmother Can remember. And every hurricane That was meant to be The end of it all Had instead ended In sunshine again.
So believe me When I say; You will survive this And the next one too.
World’s End—Nikita Gill
- all my daydreams are disasters by persimonne for QueenOfCarrotFlowers
During her search for the infamous Luke Skywalker — the man who predicted a devastating earthquake in New Madrid, Missouri — Rey finds herself entangled in Luke’s family history and with his brooding nephew, Ben Solo.
- on what ground I was founded (when I first saw you) by midwinterspring for redbelles
Kylo dreams of Rey after the Battle of Crait. And the yearning is mutual...
Some Force Bond dream smut inspired by "Shrike" and "NFWMB" by Hozier.
- Last Summer by Abbytheatre08 for Reykenobi68
Rey had started to get used to Ben not living next door anymore by the time the holidays came around. Then he's back for the holidays. Rey is really expecting things to go wrong after the way he left at the end of the summer. ut is it really going to be that bad.
- The Long Way Home by VR_Trakowski for reylotrash711
In the aftermath of Exegol, Ben and Rey are divided by  misunderstandings.  It will take time and danger for them to work things  out.
- Under the moonlight by Takekurabehime for shariling
I don't know why I followed you here. She wanted to reply. Maybe because  you're so tall I couldn't help but notice you. Maybe it's because of  your hair or the way you move, or maybe it's because of that kind of  melancholic look in your eyes. There is something about you that I find  terribly attractive and I don’t know what it is: maybe the moon or the  alcohol or the wolf I have met before infected me with some strange  parasite and now I am hopelessly attracted to dogs, I do not know. She  could have said one of these things, any of them, instead she said:  “I've never bitten anyone before, and I want you to be my first.”
- Fallen by Reykenobi68 for shipperofdarkness
Prompt: Devil!Ben and Angel!Rey or Angel!Ben and Devil!Rey. How do these two on completely opposite sides fall in love and defy worlds to be together?
- come away with me by HopeRebel for silentfleur
Rey owns a tinker shop, but her life changes when she meets Ben Solo and is cursed by a witch. Not necessarily in that order.
- A Picture of Me Without You by the-reylo-void (Anysia) for SpaceWaffleHouseTM
"I suppose I'd somehow struggle through / But I'd hate to picture myself without you."
It's impossible not to have a soulmark. It's not a big deal, not in the lax and gin-soaked speakeasies of 1920s Manhattan, but it's still a heavy weight to bear, as Ben Solo and Rey find out side by side.
- Lips Raw With Love by MyJediLife for stellardarlings
Their kiss on Exegol wasn't their first kiss...
Nor would it be their last.
- Everyone Makes Divine Mistakes by no_big_deal for Takekurabehime
Jedi Knight Ben Solo is sent to Naboo on an errand of mercy (and to visit his grandparents). He arrives in springtime; but will he be able to complete his mission without finding himself distracted and bewildered when love and intrigue waft through the fragrant air?
- Glitter & Gold by aionimica for TearoomSaloon
Rey is lead singer in an up-and-coming glam metal band. They've finally  got steady performances, but that means playing at the same club as the  Knights of Ren, whose lead singer definitely isn't interested in any  competition.
- To kiss like lovers do by FrenchMartiniPlease for the-reylo-void (Anysia)
Ben and Rey spend their formative years growing up together in Medieval  Scotland and it looks like they will end up together. Circumstances  intervene and Rey loses her chance to be with him. Devastated, she  carries on until the day clan Ren attacks Castle Jakku lead by the  notorious killer Kylo Ren.
- Snow Turns To Rain by aneighthdomain for thehobbem
For a moment, he wanted to ask what she meant, but  if he was being completely honest, he already knew.  He asked himself  that same question over the years, and none more often than tonight,  since seeing her again.  Was leaving worth it?  Was going their separate ways worth leaving each other?
“I’m  not sure,” he said finally, shaking his head.  “I’m happy...” he said,  and she tensed a little, so he continued, “with my work.  I’m glad I’m  doing what I love, but....”
“But?”
“But it wasn’t the only thing I loved.”
- Change the Dance by expendable for theresonatinglight
- Meet Me in the Woods by FangirlintheForest for thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)
“What do you mean no one goes in there?” A chuckle. “It’s  haunted. People see all sorts of weird things in there and some don’t  ever come out. You’re better off living with your curiosity.” Rey  wakes in a shadowy forest with no memory of where she came from, only  her name. With the help of the resident guardian she takes a journey to  figure out her past, and maybe even discover her future.
- permanent calligraphy (your name on me forever) by theresonatinglight for Thursdaygirl
As they continue to work together, two things become clear. One: Ben  Solo is an enigma. He’s preppy yet humble, privileged yet introspective.  He’s the opposite of lazy; she kicks herself every day for assuming  otherwise. And two: Ben Solo will never love her.
- show me the stars. by shariling for tmwillson3
“I don’t hate Christmas, I just don’t love it the way  you do.” Lifting his head, he pulls a face, loosening up a tangled  ornament of a poodle with pink, curly fluff. Rey snatches it from him  possessively, tossing it back to the cart. “No one loves it the way you  do, to be fair.”
“Now that’s the truth,” says Poe, who Finn invited about half an hour ago to keep him company.
“People have bad taste, I don’t know what to say.” Huffing, Rey  scrolls through her phone with more intent. “Neither of you are helping  me, anyway.”
“What’s the problem?” says Poe.
“Rey thinks her hot neighbor hates her —”
“He does hate me.”
“ — When really he’s been flirting with her for the past, oh I don’t know, how long have you lived there?”
- I realized that I need you, I wondered if I could come home by Blueyedgurl for VR_Trakowski
Rey is doing exploration work for the Resistance, searching for force sensitive planets so any force sensitives that they find have a place to train.
One day, midflight she finds a slip of paper with the elegant scrawling words of the ones that came before. The ones that she found when Ben still roamed the galaxy.
When she lands on a dark and barren planet she is forced to face the feelings she thought she buried.
- Shadows of the Moon by dustoftheancients for walkingsaladshooter
The hallways got darker, the corridors grew longer.  Shadows stretched across the walls. The ghosts of Breha Manor grew each  night.
Rey clutched her necklace. Ben met her gaze.
And every night, there was weeping.
- show the way (the world could be) by niennathegrey for writergenie
In the aftermath of the Battle of Crait, Rey struggles to find her place among the Resistance. However, her lingering Force bond with Kylo— Ben�� whatever name he calls himself— complicates things, blurring the line between friend and foe.
When the tension threatens to boil over and a desperate plan goes awry, Rey begins to wonder whether there really is a line between light and dark after all.
(Stars do burn brightest in the blackness of space.)
- why don't we go (somewhere only we know) by LRRH17 for XarisEirene
The bond snaps back into place, even stronger than before. He is here. With Rey, yes, but with Luke - Luke, who is looking at them now with that same dangerous glint in his eye that haunts Ben’s dreams.
- renewed, transfigured, in another pattern by midwinterspring for yodalorian
Rey mourns on Tatooine while Ben is stuck in the World Between Worlds. But neither of them are alone, and blue butterflies light a path back to each other.
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lilbabycee · 4 years ago
Text
georgia // steve rogers ✈️
↳ summary: after a mission, the reader comes back with some serious injuries and steve doesn't know how to handle it.
↳ relationship: steve rogers x reader
↳ word count: 2.9k
↳ warnings: near death experiences, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, another overused trope
↳ author’s note: more steve for you because i love this man - enjoy! <3
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You’re curled on one of the sectionals in the common room, watching the sun peek out from a blanket of clouds not unlike the ones that you’re lying under right now. The sky is swathed in purples and yellows and oranges and you take the time to enjoy the unobstructed view from the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Avengers Compound. You can feel yourself sinking into the grey ocean that is the obnoxiously large sofa beneath you and you think that if you drown then this would be a hell of a way to die.
He isn’t speaking to you. He hasn’t even seen you in weeks, harboring a grudge so strong that you think the weight of it could crush even his super soldier body. Leaning the side of your head on the couch, you find yourself momentarily distracted by the picturesque scene in front of you, but then your eyelids droop and you are snapped back to the reality of your situation. You can’t sleep without him and he knows that. After all of these years you still don’t know exactly what it is - maybe a product of the Red Room, maybe years of murdering innocents coming back to haunt you, but you can’t sleep alone. You were used to it for years, not getting more than two hours of sleep - if you were lucky - most nights. But long gone are the days of sneaking into bed with Natasha, because once Steve came along, you didn’t need it any longer.
Steve. You sigh in frustration, one hand wiggling out from underneath the fluffy white blanket to rub at your eyes and run over your face. Maybe you’re being dramatic. After all, waxing poetic about your boyfriend wasn’t going to bring him back from wherever the fuck he was in France right now. Prior to a few years ago, you only had yourself to look out for and nobody else. You had become accustomed to it, doing whatever was best for you and not having to take anybody else into consideration because, ultimately, you worked alone. But then you joined the Avengers, became a part of a team, and then you realized that you were surrounded by people who valued your life more than you did.
It was jarring to say the least, but on top of that, you met Steve. It was instant, the connection that you two shared. There was always a sense of admiration that went both ways, and you brought each other a sense of normalcy in a world that was otherwise chaotic and often unbelievable. You love him more than you love yourself on most days, you find. But his Captain persona has a tendency to spark arguments with the intensity of a forest fire, igniting the fire within his belly but in contrast, you become cold and withdrawn and defensive.
It doesn’t happen often, but when you do fight, the entire compound knows about it and the team is forced to witness the tension between you two for days, weeks. This was especially painful for both Sam and Natasha, as they are both so close to the both of you and they always feel as if they had to pick sides.
You miss him, you realize, when rare tears prick at your eyelids and you close your eyes to try and ward them off. This time of the year is especially hard for you, having to watch families and children and happiness and beauty all around you. You can’t stand it. It just reminds you of all of the things that you decided that you couldn’t have, things that can’t fit into the lifestyle that you have so carefully perfected over the years. You’d been spiraling over the last couple of days, truly spiraling and the only person who had noticed was Natasha. There was so much of herself that she saw in you, having grown up the same way without love and affection and comfort.
Steve would comfort you. He’d tell you that your feelings are valid and that you have every right to feel sad and that you’re not alone in your emotions. He’d come cuddle you and call you baby or honey or doll and kiss you so hard that the whirring freight train of despair on a circular loop in your head would come to an abrupt stop and you’d forget about all of that, at least for some time. But he isn’t here so you’re stuck the way you are: sad and cold and tired and alone.
Your ears perk up and you can sense somebody standing behind you. It’s not Steve - you would know - and you peel your eyes open slowly, turning around regardless, curious as to who else could be up at 7:20 a.m on a Sunday and not training. Your eyes meet green ones and you exhale a laugh. Those verdant eyes are flooded with concern and what looks like a hint of… guilt?
“‘Tasha,” you greet slowly, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “You’re not training. Everything okay?”
“I feel like that’s what I should be asking you,” her voice is soft and filled with that same concern, unnoticeable to somebody who does not know her as well. “How’re you feeling?”
You bark out a laugh again, wincing when you feel the soreness of your throat and idly rub at the smattering of bruises that mar the skin on your neck. You become acutely aware of the deep cuts on your legs and your bandaged wrist, sighing when you remember how long you’ll have to spend in medbay with Dr. Cho to change all of them.
“I’ve been worse,” you shrug, slowly becoming increasingly aware of how every small movement comes with a sharp sting of pain. You were no super soldier: you still healed like a regular human being, although people often seemed to treat you like you weren’t one as a result of your extensive spy training. It’d been weeks now and you still aren’t fully healed, something that frustrates you to no end as you were just about tired of sitting on your ass. “I’ll get over it eventually, but it’ll just take a couple more weeks. At least, that’s what Dr. Cho said.”
“You know that’s not what I was referring to,” Natasha gives you a deadpan look and you hold her gaze because you’re nothing if not stubborn.
You know who else is stubborn? St-
“-and Steve,” she continues. You snap out of your slight daze and focus on maintaining eye contact with her. “I spoke to him and told him to come speak to you - he doesn’t know how bad you’re doing.”
“You know that after Georgia he doesn’t wanna speak to me,” you’re surprised at how soft and resigned your tone is.
“He doesn’t wanna speak to you or you’re not giving him the chance to?”
“You know perfectly well that that’s not the case, Nat,” you shoot her a murderous glare and she smirks, walking around the sectional to sit next to you, lifting a corner of the blanket to sidle up next to you. You drop your head on her shoulder and close your eyes again, feeling a strong pounding sensation at the front of your head. A groan leaves your lips and you bury your face into the redhead’s shoulder.
“Steve is absolutely one of the most stubborn people I have ever met,” Natasha starts slowly. “But he also has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I’ve ever met. You and I both know that for a fact. You have to put yourself in his shoes. Imagine how he felt when he saw you like that, blood pouring out of your head and laying on a table on the quinjet, helpless. If that was him, you know how panicked you would have been.”
---
three weeks ago...
You’d thought that you’d taken all of them out, running next to Sam and turning the street corner back towards the quinjet. This part of the country had been virtually abandoned, a true ghost town. It had taken several hours to fly from New York just to do some recon, even in the quinjet.
Steve and Natasha were running several feet ahead of you, and they had disappeared out of sight, turning another corner, when it happened. It was supposed to be a quick and simple in-and-out, not meant to take any longer than a few hours, so the relief that it had all gone to plan was almost palpable in the air.
That was until a massive man rushed you with a dagger, obviously desperate and probably out of ammunition. He went for Sam first, a swift and split-second stab to the side - a wound which ended up being non-fatal, thank God - and continued to attack him when you jumped on him from behind. You knew that you were out-muscled - the man stood at over 6’5 and was built like a tree - but you managed to get him away from Sam. You were sure that you could overpower him with purely your agility and skill, but he fought dirty. After tackling you to the ground, he grabbed you by your neck in an attempt to asphyxiate you and damn he was strong. You struggled to pry his hand off of your neck, the intense pain making your vision cloudy and your head spin. Taking advantage of your temporarily incapacitated state, he stabbed you in the shoulder and then repeatedly in the legs, crushing your wrist by putting all of his weight on it. You came to the realization that he was trying to get you to lose as much blood as he possibly could, wanting to drag out the experience. You faintly heard Sam struggling to speak into the comms and hoped that Steve and Natasha were coming back.
The man, with a wicked grin on his face, proceeded to smash your head repeatedly against the concrete sidewalk. The last thing that you distinctly remember was hearing Steve’s heavy boots sprint over to where you were.
You were told that after that, Natasha took care of your attacker while Steve carried you back to the quinjet in a panic. Nat was able to help Sam limp there, surprisingly it really was more of a flesh wound and hit no vital organs. You had been in a medically induced coma for four days after your heart had stopped because of the gallons of blood that you had lost. They tried to restart your heart several times and when they finally succeeded, they wanted to make sure that you were healing in the way that you were supposed to be. When you woke up to Steve sleeping, slouched in a hospital chair beside your bed with your hand gripped tightly in his, you gave him a weak squeeze to wake up. He jumped up and immediately started crying while calling for the medical staff.
After you were left alone, Steve walks back in with a far sterner expression on his face than when he first came in. You try for a weak smile, but you are severely concussed and struggle to form coherent sentences so you are not in the mood to fight with your boyfriend. But it looks like he is in the mood to fight with you.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he begins, standing at the head of your hospital bed with his arms crossed over his chest.
You roll your eyes and heave a sigh. “Steve, can we do this another time? I’m really not feeling up to-”
“No, Y/N,” he barks, effectively silencing you. His Captain voice has made an appearance and your frustrations start to arise. You know that this won’t be a quick scolding. “We’re a team. And you have to make decisions that are best for the team. What you did was unnecessarily put yourself at risk when Natasha and I were readily available to help you. Instead of communicating with us, you took on the task by yourself and look where that’s gotten you. I know that it’ll take a while for you to recover from these injuries but I don’t want you coming on missions for another month after your recovery. It’s-”
“Captain Rogers,” you interrupt him, your defensive walls up and your tone frosty. “With all due respect, sir, I did what I thought was best at that moment. I was protecting Sam. I don’t know what taking me off more missions will do for the team, or me, for that matter. I was trying to protect Sam from death-”
“You died, Y/N!” he shouts at you, voice cracking slightly, and your mouth snaps shut. “You died and I saw you die. Forgive me if I don’t want that to happen again.”
He clenches his jaw and his eyes dart around, a sign that he’s trying to avoid tearing up. Your expression has softened considerably and as you open your mouth to speak, he pins you with a glare so fierce that only air comes out.
“You’re off the missions. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
That’s all he says before swiftly turning on his heel and slamming the door behind his retreating figure.
---
Starting to speak, you look at Natasha’s side profile as she stares directly ahead of her: “I know. But he’s acting like Sam wouldn’t have died if I hadn’t helped him. It’s just that I’ve gotten over this. And I’m in pain, Nat. I’m tired. I’m exhausted and my throat hurts and I feel so weak but he’s not here.”
At the end of the sentence, your voice cracks and Natasha’s hand comes up to rub comfortingly at your back. Your body is too busy shaking with sobs for you to realize that Steve just walked in. He sees Nat and smiles at her before his eyes hone in on your fragile - a word that he’s never used to describe you before - body. His smile drops abruptly and he rushes to your side, his stubbornness be damned. Steve had no idea just how badly this had been affecting you, because he was too concerned with waiting for you to come and apologize to him.
“Baby,” he coos softly, gently caressing your cheek. Your head lifts and his heart sinks when he sees your bloodshot eyes and dark bags, coupled with your shaky hands and severe bruising. He hasn’t even seen you in the weeks since the hospital - he took a mission in France with Bucky almost immediately after - and he feels like crying himself when he sees how much the lack of communication has broken you. He’s always considered you the strongest person he knows, untouchable and tenacious. But this, this. It breaks his heart. “Hi, baby.”
You only sob harder as Natasha shoots him a look and stands up, presumably heading towards the kitchen to make herself some breakfast. Steve takes her place after mouthing a thank you - to which she responds with an eye roll - and takes care to wrap his strong arms around you without pressing on any of the more severe bruises.
“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I was bein’ hard-headed and selfish and I didn’t even think about how hard my best girl has it. But you shoulda seen yourself, babydoll. I thought I had died right along with you on that table…”
Fuck it, you think as you throw your arms around his neck. Sharp pain shoots through both of your arms but you don’t give a fuck because your Stevie’s here and he’s apologizing (?!!) and he’s so warm.
“Stevie,” you sniff, almost childlike in your need for affection. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help Sam and I thought I could take him.”
He chuckles, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes serenely as his lips linger and he starts caressing the side of your bruised neck with his thumb.
“That’s okay, doll,” he smiles. “You probably coulda taken him and I know it was a tough situation. I just want my baby to feel better. I’m sorry I haven’t been here; I needed to clear my head because I was just so damn scared. My worst fear is losin’ you and having that realized, living through that… I couldn’t bear it. But I’m here now and we can make sure that you rest up. You been sleepin’, sweetheart?”
You shake your head - too fast because the pounding in your head intensifies and you groan - and lean up to press a kiss on his cheek. His cheeks warm and you smile fondly at him, pleased that even after all this time you have an effect on your man.
“Well, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we honey?” he smirks as he easily lifts you up with your arms wound around his neck. He starts striding towards your shared quarters and lays you in the bed. “Cold, baby?”
You nod and make grabby hands at him, feeling especially needy - a side that you could never show to the rest of the Avengers because they would bully you for the rest of your life. He only laughs, whipping off his shirt and joining you in bed.
“Comfortable?” he asks, looking down at you. You snuggle up to his chest - fuck your broken wrist and crushed windpipe - and feel yourself drifting already. You come to realize that this is where you belong - wherever your super soldier is, whatever he does, you know that you’ll love him to the ends of the earth…
...or at least all the way to Georgia.
tagged: @literaturefeen​
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wlntrsldler · 4 years ago
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unrequited (draco malfoy/ cedric diggory series)
PROMPT: You and Cedric grew up together. After the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament, you’re left feeling empty without your best friend. Draco Malfoy steps into the picture. Will the feelings be reciprocated? Or will it be unrequited?
WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, fluff, sadness???
PAIRING: draco malfoy x reader and cedric diggory x reader; hufflepuff reader
WC: 2.1K+
UNREQUITED MASTERLIST
UNREQUITED PLAYLISTS (SEND ME SONGS!)
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PART 16
“Malfoy is a Death Eater.” 
Harry’s words made your heart drop to your stomach. It’s been two weeks since the Katie Bell incident and Harry’s grown restless. He sat beside you, Ron and Hermione sitting in front of you, as Harry told you about his suspicions about Malfoy. Your eyes flickered over to the Slytherin table, watching the blond boy pick at his food. He looked thinner, almost ghostly, as he ignored the chatter of Pansy to his left. 
You looked down at your hands, hiding your face as Filch walked up and down the Great Hall trying to spot anyone who wasn’t sitting with the correct house. You gulped, “What makes you say that?” 
“Harry’s been talking rubbish since the start of the year, you see,” Ron rolled his eyes, stuffing his mouth with dinner rolls. “He’s gone mad, I say. He truly believes Malfoy is a Death Eater.”
Harry lowered his head, growing impatient with his friend. Scowling he replied, “He is. I swear it. His father is one so it only makes sense.”
“Not everyone is their father,” you responded, not having the courage to look at the boy in the eye. You scraped your plate with your fork, an unpleasant sound emerged, making Hermione take the utensil from your grasp. “Sorry.”
Hermione shot you a worried look, “I agree with Y/N. He doesn’t seem like he is.” 
“Then what else could he have been doing at Borgin and Burkes?”
“Shopping for furniture?” 
“Miss Y/LN,” you turned around at the sound of your name. Your cheeks flushed red as Professor Sprout stood behind you, head tilted in confusion. “Shouldn’t you be sitting with your house?” 
“Well, I-”
She shook her head, twisting her body to the side before pointing you to the direction of your house’s table, “Go on.” 
Sighing, you got up, leaving your unfinished dinner on the table. The trio waved their awkward goodbyes and watched as you miserably sulked all the way to the table where you felt the most unwelcomed. Once you sat, you couldn’t help but look for the blue eyes you’ve grown to love. Draco was staring at his forearm, tears pricking his eyes. You wanted nothing else but to hold him and tell him that everything would be alright, but even you knew that those words would be a lie. You don’t want to lie to him. 
Draco stood up abruptly, the entire Slytherin table coming to a halt. Everyone watched the Slytherin Prince frantically look around the Great Hall, all eyes boring into his being. His eyes were bloodshot red, chest rising rapidly up and down. He backed away from the table, locking eyes with Harry from the other side of the room. Then without another word, Draco ran out the opened doors, with Harry trailing after him, not far behind. 
It took you a minute to regain your sanity, watching the scene unfold in front of you as murmurs from everyone in the Great Hall began to heighten. The professors were arguing about who would be the one to follow the two boys, afraid that something big might ensue. You mumbled an excuse to your table, who didn’t even notice your presence, before you ran after the two boys. 
You heard their rushed footsteps. Then you heard heart wrenching sobbing— one that was too familiar. You swallowed back your tears, hiding behind the wall that separated you from the two of them. Water was running, almost touching the tip of your shoes from behind the wall. You peeked, concern overflowing in your body. Draco looked at Harry, eyes pleading hoping that he’ll see that he didn’t want to do this. He had no choice. 
You tried to look to see if he had the ring on his finger, but to no avail. You couldn’t see from where you stood. All you could do was hope that he would see how you still thought of him. 
“I know what you are.” Harry’s voice dripped with venom, his wand raised at the ready. He glared at Draco, who was shaking under Harry’s intense stare. 
As Draco was about to respond, a flash of yellow light caught his attention. From beneath his white button up, the ring rested on a chain that he tucked away. A piece of you. The last piece of you he had left. A small smile played on his lips when he finally looked up. He could die happy at this moment, that’s all he thought about. He could die the most horrid of deaths; he could die at the mercy of Harry Potter; he could die right now because he knew you were still thinking of him. 
So he gave up. 
Draco didn’t reach for his wand when he stood in front of Harry, vulnerable and unarmed. He could’ve easily drawn his wand and commenced a duel. He could’ve easily fought back but if he were to win, or even if he were to merely survive this altercation, meant he had to complete a mission he was not suited to fulfill. Merlin knows what they would do to you if he failed to kill Dumbledore. At least in his death, he knew that his family would not touch you. You would be no use to them anymore. 
When Harry pointed his wand at Draco, he watched the blond boy’s eyes flicker behind him, focused on something else. Harry allowed himself the luxury to turn around, sensing that Malfoy was not a threat, and saw you. You emerged from your spot from behind the wall and stood behind Harry, feet in the midst of the puddle that surrounded the bathroom. You stood idle, staring straight ahead, looking at Draco who calmed upon seeing your figure alive and well in front of him. 
Draco made a move to retrieve the ring from inside his shirt, movements mimicking the movements of one who might draw their wand. Harry saw his arm move, eyes quickly diverting his attention back to Draco. Afraid that Draco might cast a spell, Harry acted out of instinct. His words slipped out of his lips faster than you could stop him. 
“Sectumsempra.” 
You ran past Harry, falling to your knees as you cradled Draco’s bleeding body in your arms. The boy who cast the curse paled, looking down at his hand as if he were the one to be cursed. He gulped, hand covering his mouth in disbelief. You sobbed as you held Draco’s limp body, the water that was once clear, now a sea of pink. Draco’s blood stained his white shirt and within the rips of the fabric, you saw a piece of the ring poking out. It was a glowing yellow, merely a blur with the tears that hindered your eyesight. 
“Draco, my darling, I’m here,” you murmured, eyes not leaving his face. You didn’t bother to get up when you heard the footsteps approach you. You didn’t flinch when the tainted water splashed upwards, mixing in with the water from your tears. You only held on tighter when you heard your name being spoken from someone’s lips. “I’m here, Draco.”
Snape looked down at you, eyes showing signs of grief. He gulped as he watched you hold Draco’s aching body, reminding him of himself all those years ago when he held Lily’s corpse. Snape switched his attention to Harry, glaring at the boy before telling him to leave at once. He then took a hold of you and Draco, and led you to the hospital wing. 
You sat beside Draco, not once letting go of his cold hands. Snape watched from the foot of the bed, vastly ashamed that he did not realize that you were in love with the Slytherin. He cleared his throat, “He’ll be alright.” 
“Okay,” your voice was hoarse, likely because of the sobs that you produced the entire way through. You didn’t look at Snape, focused only on the boy that you loved, pale and nearly lifeless in front of you. 
Your memories, your worst fear, began to creep up on you. The way Draco laid in front of you reminded you so much of Cedric. His body unmoving, hair sticking to his forehead, and the coldness of his skin. All you could do was pray to whatever higher power there is in the universe for Draco’s eyes to flutter open and reveal the blue of the vast ocean that you’ve fallen in love with, and not the cloudy grey that Cedric’s revealed that day. 
“You should go and rest, Miss Y/L/N.”
“I’m quite alright here, thank you,” you answered harshly, still not showing any signs of moving from your seat. 
“Miss Y/L/N,” Snape’s voice was stern, but he wasn’t angry. He was worried. His tone made you look up at him, confused as to why he began to care for you all of a sudden. “I must insist that you leave. Lucius Malfoy is on his way here and I know Draco would not want you to be caught by his father.” 
You let go of his hand, instantly missing the feeling of his skin against yours. You nodded, placing a soft kiss to his temple before getting up to leave, “Thank you for warning me, Professor.” 
“I’ll let you know how he’s doing.” 
“I’d greatly appreciate that.” 
“Oh and Miss Y/L/N,” Snape called after you as you were half-way out the door. “Mr. Malfoy has signed up to do something that I fear may destroy him and I’m sorry to inform you that he’s done so in order to keep you safe.”
Your heart sped up in your chest, fingers gripping the doorknob tightly, “What do you mean, Professor?”
“Mr. Malfoy is in love with you, entirely,” he replied, taking over your spot beside Draco, “And if you, by any means, feel the slightest bit of affection towards him, I suggest you let him know before it’s too late.” 
You stared at him, unsure what to say next. You watched Snape lean back on his chair, looking at Draco’s wounds from a distance. The candle that was burning beside Draco’s bed cast a light on his face, color beginning to come back. You sighed in relief when you saw his lips twitch. Although you knew Draco wouldn’t be able to see it, you thought of him— a short flash of yellow illuminating the room for a second. Snape couldn’t help but smile softly at the gesture, impressed by your ability to charm things so well at your age. 
“Miss Y/L/N.”
You froze. The voice was directly behind you, his breath almost tickling your skin. You heard Snape get up from his chair, clearing his throat, “Miss Y/L/N, we can talk about what you can do for extra credit at another time. Thank you for speaking with me today. See you tomorrow.” 
You nodded, hands shaking as you pushed the door open for Lucius’ arrival. “Right, the extra credit. Thank you, Professor.”
Lucius watched you scurry down the hallway. He entered the room, his cane clicking against the floor. He sat on the other side of his son, sneering at the obvious injuries. He scoffed, “He should’ve been more careful.” 
“It’s a difficult curse to counteract.”
“Really?” Lucius sounded unconvinced, watching as his son grimaced in pain as he prodded at his injuries. “How do you know?”
“I came up with the curse.”
“Well, I stand by my original statement.” 
Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Lucius’ slight jab, turning his attention to the recovering boy. He noted that his wounds were no longer bleeding, which was a good sign. “I don’t think he’s ready yet, Lucius.”
“He needs to be, Severus.”
“But he’s simply not.” 
“Frankly,” Lucius spoke, tone irritated. He stood up from his chair, feeling like he’s already seen enough. “I don’t understand your concern. And I don’t appreciate your candor with the girl. She must not know and you definitely have no right telling her. Unless, of course, you’ve turned your back on the Dark Lord?”
“How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” Snape spat, getting up to be eye level with the wizard. 
“Your intentions… they’re questionable, Severus.” 
“They’re not for you to question. You are not who I serve, are you, Lucius?” 
The air was thick. Lucius stared at Snape, eyes lit by anger. He shook his head, stomping away with his cane in his grasp. As the door slammed with a loud boom, it shook Draco awake. His eyes blinked a few times, lips parting to take a deep breath. Snape heard the boy cough, immediately reaching over to offer him a glass of water. After taking a sip, Draco held the ring from inside his shirt. 
He looked at his professor, “Is Y/N safe?” 
Snape stared at the shut doors, heart growing heavy as everything daunted him. The war is coming and he’s playing both sides. He nodded, “For now she is.”
Those words were enough for Draco. He let his tiredness consume him, hoping that his slumber would last his lifetime and he would no longer need to fulfill his duties. 
TAGLIST:
@melancholiaflowers @jjjmaybank @marshxx @truly-insatiable @poisoned-pineapple @i-mmunity @p0gue420 @dark-night-sky-99 @hvrcruxes @youareinllve @fandomvibez @poguesinablanket @marvelhoesworld @primavera-allegoria @unexpectedurl  @oldschoolkiddo @rintheemolion @slytherinprincedracom @narcissism-iskey @lunars @babebenhardy @urmommagay3 @xdmx @animeboysslut @booknerdinator3000 @realzumiez @kiwi-sloan @mysticsimscc @miscretens @dracoshearts @dracoswift @pockitparks 
READ ABOUT MY UPCOMING FRED FIC HERE!
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dorki-c · 4 years ago
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You’ve got to be kidding me...
Relationship: Twice/Jin Bubaigawara X Fem.Reader
Author note: DOES ANYBODY KNOW HOW TO ADD A READ MORE ON TUMBLR APP XD
Sizzle...
Pop!
Sizzle...
Those were the only sounds that occupied your ears as your hands worked tiredly away at chopping up the rest of the spring onions that you had stacked up on the side of the wooden chopping board. Needless to say, you were busy. Ever since Jin had gone through multiple missions with his new crew, he has missed countless things that you considered important- like your 3rd year anniversary or (ironically enough) his own birthday- today however was a day where your going to treat yourself and not worry about him, like you have been doing for the last two and a half weeks.
Although the last few nights have been rough; the side of your bed that was once warmed up through the late nights and late afternoons, was now cold. No amount of blankets or layers of clothing could fulfil your clinginess for something to be warmed by your lover. At least you haven't resorted to using self-heating blankets...yet.
When taking a second to glance towards the door, your eyes scanned the entry way with an unknown attention before your hand was sliding closely to the stove's switch in order to take the frying spring onions with various of different vegetables off of the hob they were currently cooking on. Adding some paprika, basil, and oregano to the vegetables, you glanced towards the boiling pot of chicken as colorless bubbles burst and then form another bubble once more.
As (y/n) left her chicken to boil further, she resorted to changing her clothes into something more soft, more comfortable to her liking. As her feet padded against the cold summer floor, she paused. Opening her bathroom door, she turned on the light to see nobody in the clean and bleached room. Releasing a sigh of relief, she switched the light off and made forward for the bedroom. There's nothing to be afraid of, its probably your imagination.
Into the room of desolate dreams, (y/n) had changed out of her own clothes and into her lover's clothes, which is when you usually bunched up some of his sweaters and shirts and then slap your feet across the hardwood floor with the excess fabric of the sweatpants that keep sliding down your legs each time you fold them upwards.
When entering the living room to access the kitchen, there was a window opened with bloodstains coating the floor in a frenzied mess. Oh no. What if somebody broke into the house? Bubbly fear crackled in the midst of your stomach as you whipped your head around to spy if anybody is coming behind you with your fists readying to knock a bitch out. "Who's there?" Growled (y/n) as she side stepped to the side of wall in order to switch the living room light on.
Though what she saw...was unspeakable. Unspeakable, yes, but not surprising.
A black and grey color schemed outfit stood to attention whilst leaning on the old couch. To say you were disappointed was a freaking understatement. Fury coated your form when you saw a red liquid spilling down and very visible gashes scattered through his villain costume. "H-Hi baby! Oh no, she's angry." How very right the second voice was...
Breathing into your nose and out of your mouth, you pointed to the bathroom for Jin to haul his ass to. "I'll meet you there in a minute. Got it?" As his head fearfully nodded, he scampered past you like a child running from a terrible beast in the closet. You were normally very nice, but in rare coincidences, you can instantly instil fear into the deadliest of villains.
Like take for example, Jin's colleagues: At first, you remember your fiancé bringing over some of his 'friends' a little while ago, they were two people that he worked with; A little girl with adorable blonde buns and a tall patchwork guy. You don't particularly remember people's names, so you couldn't name them from the top of your head, however, you do remember that when you asked him to bring the laundry from the bathroom, one of his fairly rude voices shouted at you. 
On that particular day, your asshole of a boss decided to schedule an overtime shift for two hours on a Friday- a Friday out of all days- since the piece of shit decided to give extra work out to you.
So to top it all off, with the added stress that came with cooking chicken, you snapped at him quite easily resulting in the lights flickering 'a little bit' before exploding to make your point clear to the guests and Jin, that they shouldn't fuck with you.
Cracking the wooden bathroom door open, your eyes moved across the scene travelling slowly in front of you. A masked individual sat dejected as he mumbled under his breath about something you couldn't make out. "I need you to take off the suit, Jin." Bending over to grab the bandages from underneath the sink, the sound of a zipper echoed through the small room as you placed the bandages onto the pink stained tiles before grabbing out the rubbing alcohol. 
When you glanced upwards, he was still wearing his mask. Noting the slashes circled around his waist area to his arms, he may have been training with the short blonde girl or he ran into one of those heroes.
From next to the toilet seat he was sitting on, you grabbed the large bag of cotton balls to soak the rubbing alcohol in. Once you've placed a cotton ball atop the opening of the acidic solution, you tip the bottle over and then turned it onto the bottom of the bottle so it doesn't spill everywhere. Once applying the cotton ball to his skin, you managed to clean him up; the crisp brownish-red blood was instantly cleared as you inched closer and closer to his open wounds. After the third or so cotton balls were used, the fourth or so cotton ball started to clear through the sweat and mucus starting to surround the wound.
Once diving deeper into the gash, multiple hisses were heard through the mask. Once the pain was over with, your hands make quick work with unravelling the cloth that was slowly wrapping around his waist. "Are you still angry with me? La, la, la..." Your hold on the sterile dressings tightened as a shaky breath slipped through your lips. "Yes." Although your voice was still showing signs of frustration, maybe annoyance, the female couldn't hold herself to simply be 'angry'. Through all the hardships that she's faced in her life, Jin is one of the few people she can trust to understand how she feels in times like this.
(Y/n) isn't simply angry, she's simply feeling a lot of emotions. The reoccurring emotions that is choking her in her own salvia is the overwhelming regret of being a bad fiancée. It's always haunting her when each and every day that Jin steps foot into the outside world or when you fear that he's not coming back. The trepidation of unknowingness always slithers into her throat and blocks the security of JIn's arms wrapping around your waist and smothering each and every spot on your body whenever he wants.
For a small pocket of time, he paused. "Sorry I wasn't here for my present. I'm not-" Jin manages to cut off the run-along second comment. Awaiting a response, he flashes his eyes down to see you finishing the wrappings around his waist. You were tearing up. "Do you know how worried I was?" The waterworks had begun their journey by laying waste to the apples of her cheeks by scorching the way for them to make track quickly down the race course. The villain didn't bother to answer as it would probably upset you more when you were trying so hard to stop the stormy weather streaking across the plain hills of your skin.
"I thought you abandoned me..." Such simple words knew how to simply cut deep into a man's heart along the soft hiccups of your damaged soul that unknowingly peered at him from a traumatic childhood. Fuck, he didn't know what to do but hold you close to him as the wounds on his arms pricked at his nerves like a swarm of bee's stinging him. "I never intend to abandon you, okay (y/n)?" He's so grateful that nasty second voice, of his, didn't come to bite his ass.
As his large hands skimmed along your shoulders, up your neck; where the raw, but somehow smooth surface of veins and bone markings laid bare for the tips of his calloused fingers to trace religiously over, before meeting the upturned cliff your jawline; he never intended to leave the sensitive hiding surface of behind your ears alone when travelling through the straight road of your jaw that narrowed down to materialise your chin, that lead to Jin grasping the jutted out bone below your beautiful lips.
In the correct manner of duty, he shut his eyes and removed the mask covering his face. Jin set his forehead and locked his own lips against yours like the many times before. "Let's go eat, baby girl. Then you can give me a present." Murmured Jin when sneaking another sweet, small kiss. That sneaky bugger, really wanted to kiss your ego at the end of the day.
You might as well let him.
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ANY FORM OF PLAGIARISM IS NOT TOLERATED!
Credits: Dorki-C
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ayatosmlktea · 5 years ago
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I love your writing!! can I request where Levi's so and child gets kidnapped and he's just turning everything upside down trying to find his family (protective mode yee). he's so scared and worried when a couple of days pass and he still hasn't found them until his child manages to somehow make it back to base with a few bruises just crying and saying that reader got him to escape but she's still trapped with the kidnappers. so Levi literally goes rage mode to get her back. angst ya know
𝑲𝒊𝒅𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅
“FUCK!” Levi growled, his fist making contact with the brick wall in front of him. Bits of brick crumbled off the wall and fell onto the dirty alley floor. Y/N and his son had been taken hours ago and they were no where near finding any leads.
One of the scouts who Levi had sent to watch his wife and son had barged into the Commander’s room, a trail of blood running down the side of his face. He had managed to gasp out that Y/N and Noel had been kidnapped by a group of thugs that had knocked him unconsciously while they were caught off guard. Levi felt his blood boil as he immediately bolted out of Erwin’s office. He had made a lot of enemies during his life spent in the underground, as a result he had tried to keep his family private to prevent things like this from happening but he had failed. He’d failed to keep them safe and now they were at the mercy of whoever had taken them. It made him sick to his stomach as he tried not to think of the worst possible outcome in this situation.
His rage was the only thing keeping him going, the raven haired Captain had practically torn apart the whole town looking for them, or for any clues that would lead him to them.
As the sun starts to set a feeling of dread washes over him. They hadn’t managed to find any leads and it seemed hopeless. Erwin was cautious as he approached the Captain knowing that his emotions would be frantic right now.
“Levi, I think it’s best if we go back. We can try looking again tomorrow-“ Erwin goes to place his hand on Levi’s shoulder but he jerks away harshly.
“Like fucking hell I’m going back!” He barks balling his hands into fists as he shoves past Erwin. The thought of his wife and son suffering at the hands of someone because of his past made him feel a type of rage he hadn’t felt in a long time. He would find them with or without Erwin’s help.
Nearly a week had passed by since they had gone missing, Levi was barely seen around the castle neglecting his body’s need for food or sleep, nothing mattered until his wife and son were back in his arms. Hanji had tried talking Levi into at least resting for a few hours, stating that if they had found anything concerning Y/N and Noel that he would need to be at his best to rescue them and not on the verge of exhaustion. While he had been in the midst of arguing with the scientist a soldier had come rushing towards them yelling that his son had made it back to the base. Levi’s feet reacted before his brain had a chance to catch up, his steps pounding against the concrete floor as he rushed to the infirmary with Hanji trailing behind him.
Bursting the doors open he feels temporary relief at seeing Noel sitting on the edge of a bed, his face was bruised and the nurse was bandaging a cut on his arm but for the most part he looked exhausted and scared but otherwise fine. He was alive. Rushing over to his bedside Levi arms envelop him in a crushing hug, his son immediately bursting into tears at the feeling of safety that Levi provided. He feeling tears prick at his own eyes but he wills himself not to cry. He had to be strong for Noel.
Once he had been fed Noel had told them that Y/N had managed to find a way for him to escape but she was still with the men who had taken her. It had taken Noel two days to reach the base by foot, two whole days where Y/N would be subjected to the wrath of her captors for allowing Noel to escape. They had to move fast before it was too late to save his wife.
“Go Levi, I’ll stay with him.” Hanji assured him, he nodded and bent down to hug Noel and place a firm kiss on his head.
“I’m bringing your mom back, so be good for Hanji got it?” Noel nods, his red-rimmed eyes hopeful as he watches his dad storm off. There’s a change in his step, a fiercer look in his eyes reminding Erwin of the Levi he had met in the underground many years ago. His whole demeanour screamed only one thing. Murder.
Y/N feels herself losing energy rapidly. The first few days she had played along with whatever they had asked her to do for the sake of Noel. Once she had orchestrated his escape she breathed a short sigh of relief. He would make it back to the base and get help. He was an Ackerman after all, more importantly he had been raised by two strong-willed people. When they had come back to find him missing they had been furious, their leader barking out orders to search the forests. A laugh managed to slip through her bloody lips, they could try looking for him but Noel had already been gone for hours. She could take the beatings for Levi, for Noel. She was a soldier for God’s sake, her mind was trained to block out physical needs for the sake of the end goal. She didn’t make a sound as they broke her fingers, her eyes trained on the floor her mind blank as she separates the sensation of pain from her body.
Her jaw remained clenched as one of them grabbed a fist full of her hair painfully jerking her head back as he leaned down to her ear. She says nothing as they threaten to kill her unless she provides information on Levi’s whereabouts.
“Ha, if you’re asking me to find him then you’re the shittiest criminals I’ve ever met.” She taunts, with Noel out of the way she was free to be the silver-tongued stubborn brat Levi had fallen in love with.
She had lost track of time since then, her limbs stiff from being restrained to the chair for so long. She had been losing a lot of blood, her white uniform stained with fresh red blood covering up the dried blood stains from earlier. Y/N’s breathing becomes more shallow, her consciousness going in and out but she forces her mind to focus on something to keep her from falling asleep. Not that they would let her.
A sharp slap to her face momentarily clears the fog in her mind.
“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.” She can’t find the strength to respond, her body screaming for water and sleep. Her lips were cracked, there was a constant throbbing in her thigh where the knife was still twisted in. The last six years of her life flashing in her mind suddenly. She remembers the day Noel was born, his first steps, the first time he smiled, the first time he had said mommy. She pictures Levi holding her against him, whispering sweet nothings her ear, she sees Levi holding their sweet baby boy against his chest as he slept. Her eyes grow heavier, hot tears running down her cheeks, her head falling forward of its own volition.
‘I’m sorry’ She cries before her vision fades too black.
They had reached the abandoned hours in a matter of hours, Levi forcing his horse to run faster with Erwin and a few other soldiers behind him. The only thought driving him was to save Y/N before it was too late. He was going to kill whoever it was, there was no room for anything else. They had declared war on him the minute they had thought to kidnap his family. He dismounts his horse with lightning speed, kicking down the front door with enough form to shake the frame. Upon entering the house he sees two men drawing their weapons prepared to take him down. Levi moves without hesitation, swiftly rendering them unconscious as if possessed by the devil himself. He notices a trap door uncovered by the dirty rug on the floor and lifts it. Dropping into the basement he hears the sharp sound of skin being slapped. Narrowing his eyes and gripping his sword tightly he bursts into the room, his heart nearly stopping at the scene before him. Y/N isn’t moving, her head hanging against her chest and covered in blood. Too much blood. He feels a familiar surge of inhumane power course through his veins similar to the first time it happened, his expression almost feral as he ends the man’s life.
Levi drops to his knees, his emotions coming back in tidal waves all at once. His hands shaking as he undoes the restrains keeping his wife in the chair. He presses his ear against her chest desperate to hear her heart beat. Seconds goes by before he hears it, it’s not strong but it’s there! His Y/N is still alive. Gingerly lifting her up he pulls her against his chest and races back upstairs.
Erwin had seen a lot of blood in his time, he’d seen a lot of people die in horrible ways too but the sight of Levi carrying what looked like Y/N’s corpse made his stomach churn. Levi wouldn’t let anyone touch her, opting to bandage her wounds himself. His mind was still in fight mode and probably would be until they were back at the base. His hand gripping her limp one as his heart prayed out to any god that was listening not to take his wife from him.
The first thing Y/N saw when she opened her eyes was Levi. For a split second she wondered if she was dead and this was her version of Heaven. Until she heard Noel crying in relief as he gripped her hand tightly. Despite the pain jolting through her whole body with every move she made she pulled their son against her chest, her own tears falling into his hair.
“I’m so proud of you baby. You did so well.” She murmurs making him cry even harder and push his body closer into hers. Her eyes shift her to Levi’s, smiling through her tears she tugs at his hand wanting him to join them in bed. He looked drained, his eyes bloodshot as he climbs into the cramped bed feeling his throat closing up at having his family back in his arms. Noel falls asleep between them, the events of the past week too much for his little body to handle. Levi’s fingers gently stroking her face as he carefully reaches over to kiss her.
“Thank you for saving us.” She whispers against his lips, their forehands resting against each other.
“Always.”
Masterlist
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kestrelmando · 4 years ago
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Writer Wednesday - The Phone Booth
The great @autumnleaves1991-blog has put together a weekly “Writer Wednesday” where she provides an image prompt.
This one is Jack “Whiskey” Daniels/f!OC.
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Set in my, as of yet, unpublished f!OC x Whiskey series “Whiskey Smash”. Basic relevant background info; Whiskey and Mezcal (my f!OC with previous mob ties) were partners in Statesmen, just barely dip their toe into catching feelings when a near death experience with Mezcal scares him away due to his past. They haven’t talked/seen each other in a couple years at this point.
Warnings: Swear words, descriptions of a fight, impalement with a high heel, descriptions of wounds
-- 
A mission hadn’t blown up in her face like this is a long time, a really long time – the last one was years ago on that dingy rooftop where he had finally finally yanked her in and kissed her only for the night to end with her shoving him out of the line of fire. Three bullets later, two doses of Ginger’s experimental clotting serum, 3.5 liters of blood loss and she had woken up alone.
Just a note next to a vase of purple hyacinth and white amaranth; ‘I can’t do it again. – J’.
Oh, and she’d protested heavily on taking a mission in fucking New York. He was running the NYC branch, he could find someone local but Champ had insisted. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission; blend, listen, collect evidence.
Mezcal had wined and dined all evening, batting her eyelashes and smiling with doe eyes. She was this close to sticking her hand into the right pocket when someone had recognized her. He locked eyes with her across the room and recognition rippled across his face instantly. One of her father’s high level enforcers – hard to forget the boss’s daughter especially when she all but disappeared.
He knew better than to cause a scene in a private residence with stupidly rich people floating around between them. What the hell was he doing here? She made her excuses, off to powder her nose, and slipped into the empty side hallway. There was a small window in the butler’s pantry three doors down or she could try just walking out through the foyer and the front door. He’d be expecting the foyer, the cleanest exit was usually the simplest, so she made for the pantry.
She slipped off her heels and carried them, the click being far too loud on the marble floor, and quietly slid the pocket door open. The window was small, almost too small, but she was confident she’d make it and more importantly – the enforcer wouldn’t. Mezcal slid the door mostly shut and quickly went the window, shoving the frame up and grimacing at the chilly fall air.
A hand closed around her ankle just as she was halfway out, one knee dangling and the other in an awkward bend, and yanked her back. Her shoulder and head crashed against the upper window pane and frame with a crunch. Dazed, she dropped one shoe to the ground and swayed. Still, her free hand locked around the window frame. She would not be pulled back into the house – the other shoe came up, stiletto first, and embedded into his cheek.
The enforcer howled with pain, ripping it from his face with an arc of blood, and wrapped his beefy hands around both legs before dragging her back inside. They both tumbled to the ground at the momentum and she rolled to her feet, hands raised and ready for a fight.
 --
 She didn’t know how long she walked. Her head was swimming, ears were ringing. The cold autumn night bit at her bare feet and tattered dress. It was just like some rich asshole to have his home nearly on the slopes and away from everyone and everything else.
Eventually she stumbled onto a tiny town – if you could call it that. The storefronts were all long closed and she considered breaking into one for a phone and some warmth when she saw the lone phone booth. It stood out like a sore thumb, a relic even, but more secure than using a phone inside one of the stores.
She dutifully trudged to the booth and slipped inside, grimacing and checking the coin return for any spare change. At least one thing went right; seventy five cents in quarters rolled into her hand. Mezcal paused, she had to pick the right person to call and seventy five cents wasn’t going to give her long. After a mental run through of possible contacts, she sighed and let her head slump against the booth.
It had to be him. Goddamit, it had to be Whiskey.
He was all but guaranteed to be at the office still and the New York City branch was only a hour and an half by car. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing herself to forget his forlorn face all those years ago when he said he didn't like going home to an empty bed. 
She slid the quarters into the phone and dialed the number she would never admit she knew by heart; Whiskey's direct line. 
It rang twice before he picked up, voice stretched and thin, "Whiskey."
The air left her lungs and her tongue cemented itself to the roof of her mouth. Absurdly, she felt tears prick at her eyes. Even tired and lacking its usual ridiculous bounciness, it was the most beautiful sound she'd heard in ages. He sighed into the receiver.
She finally found her voice, "It's me." 
He breathed her name like a prayer, "Mezcal," he paused and then pressed on more urgently, "What's wrong?"
"I'm in New York, Middletown. I need extraction. I...I was unable to get back to my planned exit."
"Darlin' are you hurt? Where in Middletown?"
She leaned out of the phone booth looking for a street sign, "Oak and Main, phone booth."
"Are you hurt?"
"Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."
He muttered something she didn't quite catch before saying, "Sit tight,  extraction comin' in a hour."
Mezcal hung up the phone, and slid the phone booth door shut in a vain attempt to stem the flow of cold air. She sunk to the floor and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her fingers around her numb toes.
--
Time was immaterial; all she knew was cold. The thin dress offered no insulation and both shoes had been lost on the grounds of the target's home.
Headlights cut through the night and she raised her head to see an unmistakable white bronco and a familiar stetson emerge from truck.
He didn't send a driver.
She tried to unfold her frozen limbs but everything was sluggishly moving. Instead, she reached over and slid open the phone booth door.
He caught he gaze over the hood of the bronco. Whiskey hurried over to her and immediately bent to help her up, hissing at the iciness of her bare arms.
She let herself be pulled up, mumbling, "You didn't have to come."
He knew her meaning; he could've sent someone. Instead he just replied, "Yeah I did."
They walked back to the truck, Whiskey's hand on the small of her back, and he opened the passenger door for her. The interior light of bronco illuminated her face and his face quickly morphed into alarm. He blurted out her name, her real name. "Kenna?" 
"You should see the other guy." She attempted with some bravado.
He gave her a once over in the light and all but lifted her into the truck, "Where the fuck are your shoes?"
"Just... let's go. Get the heat on, I'll tell you on the way back."
Whiskey nodded tightly but shut her door and got in on the other side. He turned on the truck, got the heater running, but didn't make a move to go anywhere. Instead he flicked on the overhead lights and reached into the back, broad shoulder brushing against her, and fished out a Statesmen first aid kit. 
He opened it with a snap and began pulling out various items, not glancing up from the kit, "Start talking."
"Recon, potential medical front for a bioweapons dealer. Wasn't supposed to see any action."
She sucked in a breath when she caught his eye. Those damn eyes. His brow had that knit in it and his gaze was the same soft one it had been that night all those years ago. She pointedly did not look at his mouth.
He reached up and tucked his fingers under her chin, turning her head to apply antiseptic to a small cut near her temple and on a few scrapes along her arms. Next was a prototype field ice pack, he gave it a few vigorous shakes and the small pouch froze. 
His fingers swept across her cheekbone, just below her black eye. "And who did this, sugar?"
Silence loomed between them and he frowned, anxiety swirling in his gut the longer she didn't say. His other hand crept up to cradle her neck.
"Kenna--"
"An enforcer. One of his enforcers, Jack."
The knit in his brow increased, his lips turning down into a frown. "Do we need to go take care of it?"
Mezcal smiled grimly then, "No. Dumb city kid was too enraptured by the fancy dumb waiter. The new, modern hydraulic dumb waiter."
Whiskey smirked at that and pressed the ice pack to her swollen eye. She told herself it was just her icicle limbs thawing in the warm truck, but a wave of heat rolled through her as his gaze openly drifted down her body. 
He picked at the tattered line of a slit in her dress, just above her knee, "Anywhere else we need to address?"
Her mouth was a desert, "Just the usual flesh wounds." 
Whiskey hummed and slid the slit over slightly to investigate, the fabric sliding across her legs and opening further up her thigh.
Like a goddamn curtain opening on a reminder of their last op together, the dress revealed the raised, white, puckered scar of a bullet wound. The same wound that nearly bled her dry in Jack's arms. 
Mezcal slowly raised her head to meet his eyes and she could see it happening in real time; his eyes became distant and his expression closed off. Her heart clenched -- goodbye Jack, hello Agent Whiskey. He moved his hands to wheel and they set off back to New York City.
Later, as she took a company car to drive back to Kentucky that night, she didn't bother saying goodbye. They were back to strangers.
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katsukikitten · 5 years ago
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Rouge 3
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A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR DEPRESSION AND SUICIDAL THOUGHTS
×××××××××××××××××××××
"April 20th, I know that's Bakugou's birthday but...but he said...." You swallow thickly your body raging with emotions not sure which you would finally land on. As if it were a wheel of fortune spun, hinting heavily that it would land on either mind numbing despair or burning hot wrath.
Why would he *lie* to you?
And why did you care?
The room flashes in vibrant color and in boring tones of grey. Kirishima's ruby hair and eyes are suddenly too bright before they dull just to blind you again. The red reminds you of something.
Of someone.
Of skin decaying away like caked mud to reveal crimson beneath.
Of scarlet eyes pleading for you to move. To run and far away from what the two of you faced.
Despite him being trapped.
A scene that has since played in your dreams for the past few months.
The world spirals with dizzying color that attempt to swatch into gray.
"Y/N?" Kirishima calls softly, strong hands cupping onto your shoulders as his face leans towards yours. Alchohol wafts into your nose, burning as everything else does.
You clench your eyes shut. Forcing the episode into its place, before letting your face meld into a small smile.
"I guess I really need this drink then." You force a laugh and Kirishima cannot tell otherwise, "Thanks for setting me straight Kiri."
He smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your hair line before whispering in your ear.
"He's been worried about you."
With that he leans over and pours extra liquor into your cup. When he leaves the kitchen you swallow down the whole bottle in a few swigs. A dangerous game to play considering there could be two outcomes when you're fucked up.
One you're giddy, overly happy and laughing your ass off.
Two, the world is so oppressive that everything is tainted in an awful sickly black.
Slolwy the world blooms in distorted color as a smile creeps onto your face.
The music shakes the house with heavy bass as lyrics filter through the massive speakers.
*"I'm only alive when I'm with yoooouuu."*
You sway to the music allowing yourself to be lost in the blinding swirling colors as more and more heroes offer you drinks. Smiling faces as they laugh with you and your stories. Coming alive thanks to booze and the occasional slipped pill. Your head is heavy, yet light as you float across the living room turned dance floor as the bass rings out hard enough it seems to shake the sweat from your skin.
You're not sure who ends up grinding on you first, or who kisses who first but you know you enjoy it. Love laughing, teasing and touching with anyone who's down. With anyone that helps you forget. Further encouraging your high, the colors blinding and so vibrant you can see them even when your eyes are closed, especially so when they're pressed against a soft set of lips.
Mina breaks the kiss first giggling as she does.
"Okay Denki now you've got to take the three shots!" The crowd erupts in a cheer as he does watching him down those three double shots causes you to stare into your empty solo cup.
Reminding you that you need another drink.
But the longer you stare at the blinding bright red, the more it seems the plastic melts in your hand.
Turning sticky, thick and much darker.
"Fuck." You hiss to yourself as everything floods your senses at once.
Your quirk finally kicking in to sober you after the ungodly amounts of painkillers and alcohol you've consumed.
Suddenly it is as if you've touched a live wire, hearing beyond the ear shattering cheers all the way into the walls of the house where the mice chew on the wood.
As if their teeth are gnawing directly on your eardrums.
The sound competing with the crowd's seemingly collective heart beat with their red cups raised high. The plastic catches in the lowlight shimmering with the sweat of condensation before everything snaps.
Feeling everything so intensely it's numbing.
The room plunges into deep black but no one bats an eye, especially not as you snatch a pack of smokes and a lighter from an unsuspecting bystander right out of his black denim jacket.
You climb the steps, eyes guiding you in the dark, pushing past a kissing couple that you think is Todoroki and Momo but your mind is too warped to tell.
After three tries you finally find a room empty of slapping bodies and drunken moans. You slide open the window, snaking out before climbing onto the upper roof.
Back nestled against cooled shingles beneath the light of the stars. Filter to your lips you flick the lighter and watch the black flame dance before you inhale enough for the tabbacco catch.
The bass vibrates the ceiling below you as smoke escapes your lips and nostrils in a slow hiss.
"I feel like Bakugou would fucking hate this type of party." Is all you can think to say to the pale moon hanging high in the sky.
Silence stretches between you two as you stare into the ancient face of a long forgotten deity.
"Did I miss telling him happy birthday?" You ask the moon and still no answer comes.
Typical for you to ask all the wrong things.
At the wrong time.
And to the wrong celestial being.
Tears prick your eyes as that endless weight settles in your chest, slow blinking hoping that one day your lids will never reopen.
"You're right. I do fucking hate this party." Fear hardly clutches your stomach before the vice is quickly released, spying flecked red eyes.
Your fingers twitch before you light another smoke, half wondering if he is real or just something your ever adaptive mind is giving you to ease the pain.
The heavy loneliness.
Still you sit up and tilt the pack towards the possible mirage despite his sitting more than ten feet away.
He sucks his teeth, using precision to obliterate the offered pack with out burning your fingers.
"That's new..."
"Those are fucking bad for you." He snarls, you manage enough energy to roll your eyes before meeting his again.
Wholly noticing how his irises pale in the soft light, looking more like two blood moons forever suspended over a perpetual snarl.
It makes you laugh how something so breath taking could be paired with such displeasure.
Well that and the fact that he thinks a little smoke is gonna hurt you.
"Uh did you forget my quirk?" You tease, slowly you manage to force some life back into your face.
It's his fucking birthday after all.
Embers burn hot into your skin until shame settles over you once more.
You sigh out gripping the shingles of the roof, trying your damnedest not to break them. Thoughts swirling in your head with every passing second.
Continuously landing on a few.
Like how could you really forget his birthday?
Or more like how could you really think almost a whole year passed since your last failure?
Or how could you even count the days when all you could see was the red of his cheeks as his arms snapped backward?
Of the way his sunkissed skin fell as if it were chipped away by dirty nails?
Of the color beneath the flaking skin solidified before threatening to turn that precious fucking red into soul shattering grey.
The tile shingle snaps coming up to slice your palm causing red to ooze out onto all the shades of black.
The quiet between you becomes suffocating as time ticks by, furthering your spiral.
All the while memories from high school until now flood into the forefront of your mind as you feel nothing but a heated gaze raking across your skin.
Had he always been watching?
He sure did show up at odd times in your life.
At times you were moments away from the edge, even pulling you back majority of the time.
All the while acting as if you were the biggest nuisance to walk the Earth.
But looking back you can see it, subtle yet obvious when it clouded those blood red moons.
Worry and fear paired with a tight grip and even harsher words.
An instigated fight, an encouraged argument until slowly the emotions changed from that worry.
From the fear you hadn't thought the arrogant hot head capable of to something else entirely.
Relief.
That's what flooded his eyes each time he safely brought you back to the dorms or the agency. It feels as if he's been the only one to ever truly worry.
The only one to look hard enough, to see past the fogged glass.
Words claw up your throat, fighting one another as they do.
Phrases and cries for help all the same as all you want to do is reach out for those strong arms to wrap around you.
To openly cry as you pulled on the fabric of his shirt until it took the form of your fist, even when you released it.
You swallow thickly finally deciding on what to say.
"Happy Birthday Bakugou-chan!" You sing song, forcing every ounce of what little happiness you have into the well wish. Hoping beyond hope it makes up for everything you should've said.
His heart hammers in his chest as he watches your lips curve upwards and over your teeth, as your cheeks scrunch up your face, lids closing over such a stunning fucking color.
He would have thought it real if he hadn't known better.
If he hadn't watched you climb from the window with that God damn zombie look plastered on your face.
"Don't." He bites, causing your heart to free fall into your stomach, "I can't watch you fucking lie any more."
His jaw ticks while your nails bite into your fresh wound, keeping it open to keep you seated.
"I..." He growls audibly before going on, "You can show me you know. I can handle it. I can fucking try to help."
You open your mouth to say something but a gust of wind blows through you before a hand is wrapped tightly around your neck.
Half of a lanky grey body justs out from a swirling portal in the sky.
"You think we'd let you get away with that golden quirk? The things we could do with you..." Manic joy oozes out in the form of a grotesque smile. Chapped lips wide enough to be seen from beneath a large hand.
"Let. Go." His tone is primal as he speaks, coming to his feet as you're yanked to your own.
"Oh I didn't realize you had company golden goose." For once fear stays with you as it curls into your muscles, your bones. The grip on your throat tightens as your heart hammers in your chest.
This is it, this would be the last time you ever saw him. Your last opportunity to ever say all the things you needed to fucking say after being so ignorantly oblivious to his actions.
To his heart.
Things begin to go in slow motion, watching him obliterate the roof beneath his feet, fingers outstretched for you as that damn emotion plasters openly on his face.
Fear twits into rage on his features.
But all you can do is smile, wholeheartedly smile as you look at him.
Tears of mixed feelings blur your vision as you say the one thing you so desperately needed to say to him.
"Thank you, Katsuki-kun. Thank you."
Just as he is within arms reach the portal swallows you whole closing as quickly as it opened.
Leaving Bakugou Katsuki to fall onto his hands and knees, slamming popping firsts into shingles that turn into sharp confetti all the while fat droplets fall from angry cheeks.
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starlightsearches · 4 years ago
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Office Romance: Ch. 19 Ultimatum
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General Hux and Kylo Ren have found themselves competing for the affection of a lieutenant aboard the Finalizer.
Series Warnings: Language, some violence, near-death experiences.
Masterlist
AN: Wow, better late than never, right? I know it’s super annoying, but I’ve finally given up on writing this in past-tense. I write all my requests in present-tense, and it feels silly to keep writing in past-tense when it bugs me so much. I may at some point go back and fix the other chapters, but who knows when I’ll have the motivation for that 😬 Warnings for this chapter: angst 😭 (let me know what you guys think 🥺)
“This is getting ridiculous, General. Either you tell her the truth or I will,” Phasma says as they walk through the halls. After you had left the hangar, General Hux went to find Captain Phasma, which had been fairly simple; she was already on her way to meet him. Now though, after he had told her about the mission, he’s starting to regret that decision.
“You can’t be serious,” he replies, but he knows better than to think that the captain would lie. To emphasize her point, Phasma grabs him by the shoulder, turning him to face her in the empty corridor. 
“You have to get it over with,” she says, giving him a slight shake, “you can’t keep pretending that you don’t feel anything for her. It’s going to end one way or another, wouldn’t you rather have the chance to speak your mind?” Hux thinks about it, and despite his doubts, he finds himself agreeing with her. He has to tell you the truth.
“The next time I see her,” Hux agrees, the nerves already fluttering in his stomach. He'd need to make a plan, figure out what he wanted to say.
“Don’t delay it, General,” Phasma responds, knowing that if Hux gave himself time to plan, he'd find an excuse to avoid it, “just go find her.”
“She’s with Ren,” Hux can't tell if he’s breathing or not, grasping at straws to avoid seeking you out. Was he really going to do this? Without planning or preparation? It felt like too great a risk, but you were worth risking everything.
“It’ll make it that much easier, since you always know where he is.” Phasma’s words hit him in the chest, and he bows his head in defeat. Hux couldn't argue anymore. He knows what he has to do.
Ren can feel it; you’re not breathing—frozen at the sound of his words—but he presses on anyways, determined. He needs you to know, and he needs an answer. Reaching out, he scopes through your emotions, the doubt in his mind forcing him to question whether or not he should continue. You’re apprehensive, the panicked buzzing coming through loud and clear, but there’s desire there too, curiosity, and that’s what he chooses to focus on.
“Oh,” you whisper the word, shaking a little, staring up at him wide-eyed, and he moves ever closer, resting his hand on your waist, relishing the way it makes him feel alive, the way his fingers dig into the soft skin beneath the fabric of your dress. The way you move into him when he pulls you closer. The way you let him press his lips to yours. The way you taste.
Fuck, he’d been waiting so long for this, not just since he met you, but long before, maybe for his whole life. He’s not alone anymore. He doesn’t have to imagine what it would feel like to press his body into yours, to kiss and be kissed, to brush a hand through your hair. He knows. 
Ren doesn’t notice the door sliding open, doesn’t hear the strangled cry, doesn’t recognize the interruption at all until you pull away from him, the absence of your body the only thing he can think about in the moment. He’s barely registered the movement before the blinding pain echoes through his eye socket, and he stumbles backwards, clutching at his face.
"General, what- " you're cut off in the middle of your question—Ren has recovered from the punch and the scene before him is infuriating: General Hux, with fire in his eyes, staring him down, blocking his path back to you, guarding you, like you needed protecting. You try to get around him—hoping to get between him and Ren, hoping to stop this—but you’re too late. One second the general is by you, and the next he’s gone, slammed backwards into the wall, and Ren holds him there. He approaches, his saber ignited, the opportunity to eliminate the general too good to pass up. Fucking finally.
"Ren, stop, please," you beg, pulling at him, trying to stop him, but he brushes you aside. He had finally gotten what he wanted, and the general had ruined it. He stalks closer, savoring the fear rolling off of the man as he struggles against Ren's grasp. He’s going to end this. Blade raised, he makes his final approach, before swinging his saber down with all the rage, all the hatred he’s capable of feeling.
"No," the words rip through the air, breaking his concentration, and his blade comes to a halt, only inches from Hux's face.
"Ren, stop. Please, don't do this." You’re on your knees, your spine bowed from the effort, one hand extended, holding his blade in place. Ren is stunned by the action, almost surprised enough to forget his anger. You'd never managed something like this before, never used the force against him in any capacity; it’s a miracle you're still conscious.
"I'm doing this for you!" he shouts, reducing the pressure on his blade, trying to give you some relief, but you press on even stronger. How could you not see that this was necessary? That it had to be done.
"This isn't what I want, Ren," you gasp, "you can't kill him." You fight back more firmly against the weight of his blade, and it inches closer to his own face, shaking in his hand.
"He'll try to keep you from me, try to keep us apart." Ren isn't going to fight you—not physically—but he has to make you see. Has to make you understand. You belong with him, not with the general.
"Please, go." He can’t believe it. You’re crying, tears streaming down your face at the thought of Hux's death. Any of the desire he had sensed earlier is gone, not replaced with hate, or with anger. No, with something worse. It’s empathy, concern, for Hux. Ren pushes against your hold on him, one final attempt to finish what he had started, and you fight with more urgency, the power behind it causing him to stumble, thrown back a few steps to escape it.
"Please, just go," you cried, relentlessly pushing him away, and he’s forced to release Hux, his concentration shattered by the sound of you so utterly broken. He stumbles to the door, desperate to escape the crush of your power. The hallway swims in his vision, he’s dizzy, disoriented, not just from the feeling of the force you had used on him, but the determination you had felt, the terror. It’s too much; he’s feeling too much, and he can’t let it break him. So he’ll have to break something else. 
The pressure is released from Hux's chest, and he sucks in a deep breath. Ren really would have killed him. You had saved his life. This is not what he had expected at all. You’re on your hands and knees, retching from the exertion before you sit back, running a hand over your forehead which is coated in a thin sheen of sweat. He’s not sure how to proceed.
"You're bleeding," you finally speak, and Hux reaches back, feeling the slick stream of blood coating his neck on his fingers. His head aches painfully, a steady pulse that radiates through his skull, flashing dully behind his eyes. It almost knocks him off his feet, and he steadies himself against the wall.
"You should go to the medbay," you say, moving to stand, swaying slightly once you’re upright. It’s clear that fighting Ren had taken a toll on you, and despite his own weakness, Hux reaches out to steady you.
"I can take care of it, there's a medpac in my quarters," he says, swaying back again as a wave of nausea rushes over him, keeping him in place, and he fights against it. The walk to his rooms would be long and difficult if that continued.
"There's one here, on the wall. I'll patch you up." Hux almost leaves. Almost. But even now, after everything he had just seen, he still hopes that he might have a chance.
It’s not exactly comfortable, sitting across from you on the training room floor, but Hux feels strangely peaceful as you examine his wound, your touch delicate as you clean away the blood. It’s quiet, just the two of you, and the silence makes him feel braver. Or maybe it’s just the head injury.
"Are you alright?" he asks, and you nod back, avoiding his gaze. Hux doesn't need the force to know that you’re lying. It’s in the way your hand shakes against him as you bandaged the wound, the feathering of your breath, like you’re trying not to cry. He’s reading you in a way that he had become intimately adjusted to; that’s how well he knows you.
"I had no idea," you say quietly," that he felt that way. I guess it just surprised me." Hux hesitates, waiting for you to reveal any more of your feelings. Like if you feel the same way.
"Do you return them? His feelings?" He’s forced to ask, instead. Your eyes flash to him, your brow furrowed—angry, almost—and Hux checks his wrist, worried for a moment that the bracelet might be gone, that you’ve discovered his intentions through the force. He’s mistaken, he finds—the cool metal strand is still firmly secured around his wrist. Apparently he’s not the only one who can read someone without help.
"General," you breathe, maybe to silence him, but he’s still feeling emboldened, finally ready to speak his mind, and he takes your wrist in his hands, holding your open palm face up in his lap, traces of his blood still on your fingers. When his eyes meet yours again, your breathing stops.
"I need you to know," he starts, and you don't breathe, don't move, don't blink under his gaze, "the way that I feel about you."
"Please, General, don't." Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, the weight of his confession, of everything that's happened forcing your gaze to the floor, before you whisper, "this isn't a choice I want to make."
Hux stops, repeats your words in his mind. A choice. He had always tried to be pragmatic, tried to be rational, to not let his hopes and his wishes get the better of him. But he had never truly thought that you would choose Ren over himself. Believed that you might deny him, surely, but never thought that you would deny him for the other man. The words are out of his mouth before he's processed them, "you can't mean that."
"I didn't know! I never thought that I'd have to decide-" he's not hearing your words, not really, still stunned by your reaction. Still stunned that you don't know if you want him or Ren.
"It seems that you're choosing him," he says, and he means it. He had caught you, after all, in his arms, letting him hold you without a fight, without any argument. And he had ignored it like a fool.
"That's not fair, he kissed me," you're crying again, gentle tears that drip down your cheeks. It's not the first time, but it is certainly the strongest—Hux wishes for the force, for the ability to peer into your mind and know what you're feeling because words don't seem to be working and he knows that he's angrier with you than he has any right to be.
"You didn't seem too eager to pull away- "It's an unfair accusation, he knows it, but his anger has made him irrational.
"Then maybe you should have tried it yourself.” The words stop him cold, and you as well, both of you uncomfortably aware of just how close you are to each other, how easy it would be. When you speak again, your voice is soft, "maybe I wouldn't have stopped you either."
You're leaning into him, so very slowly, and Hux can't breathe. He's waited for this, dreamed of it, prayed and hoped and wished for this exact moment for so long, and now he's finally reached it.
"No,"he breathes the word against your lips, stopping you on instinct, against his better judgement. He may never get this chance again, but he can't do it, not now- "not like this."
You blink once, twice, then rapidly, your eyelashes gathering the forming tears in perfect little spheres. It hurts to see you this way, hurts to know that he could have had you, or at least a part of you, and that he's turned you away. He has no right to it—the feeling of your skin warm against his hand—but he reaches for you anyways, brushing his thumb over the swell of your cheek.
"I want you," he says, and he hopes you can feel it, his sincerity, how badly he means it, "but I need you to want me in return. And I hope-" he swallows, still feeling the sting of regret, "that you will kiss me, one day. And that I'll know what it means when you do."
You look away from him, unable to respond, the hurt and fear and anger from earlier at war on your face. Hux stands, waits for only a moment, and then turns to leave, unable to shake the feeling that he's just made the greatest mistake of his life.
The silence is oppressive, the pain of the hard floor against your legs becoming unbearable, but you stay on the ground, playing through the events you had just experienced over and over again in your mind. You can’t remember a time that you had ever felt more alone.
Tags: @acunningstargazer​, @itsa-pseudonym, @ddaeing, @dark-night-sky-99, @i-jus-wanna-writehappy​, @fresa-luna, @leiadelreyy, @averillian, @sunbanna
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saberdeity · 4 years ago
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Hostage
Matt Simmons x GenderNeutral Reader 
Summary- “we have a hostage situation at the local hospital” 
Warnings- Mentions of guns, gunshot wounds, blood, case details and other criminal minds things 
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It was just a normal day for you. Matt woke you up with the softest kisses all over your cheeks and neck, he knew how much you loved it when he woke you up this way. You reluctantly got up, doing your normal routine as you put on your scrubs and poured two cups of coffee, putting yours in a travel cup. Once you were completely ready, you grabbed your keys and coffee, kissing Matt goodbye as you drove to work.
You hadn’t been there for long and your pager was already going crazy. Every 5 minutes it was beeping signalling you were needed in another area of the hospital. You’d finally gotten a break when you were paged back down to the ER to help with an incoming trauma.
Everything happened so fast, the cries and screams of the staff, patients and family members could be heard for miles as the gunman opened fire. You fight or flight kicks in as you instantly duck behind a desk remembering the words of Matt running through your mind. You peaked around the desk, the offender shouting at anyone who wouldn’t comply with their orders. You assessed the situation as best you could as you looked to your colleague opposite you
“We have at least 2 GSW’s to the chest and abdomen, I can’t see the third victim” You whispered trying to see the extent of Victim 3s injuries but from the angle you were at, you just couldn’t see them clearly enough.
You felt a rough hand grab you by the back of your hair dragging you into the middle of the ER and throwing you head down forcefully. You head smacked against the cold, tiled floor as you groaned in pain already feeling the blood dripping down your face.
You were terrified, nobody knew what the vile man wanted but you were now in the middle of a hostage situation with injured victims. All you could think about was Matt, you hoped and prayed the BAU would get a call until you remembered the app on your phone Penelope installed just in case something like this happened. You carefully pulled your phone out of your pocket, hiding your hands behind the back of a nurse as you activated the app. All you could do now was just hang on and try to plead with them to let you help the victims.
When Penelope saw the notification pop up on her screen, tears instantly pricked at her eyes as she ran into the conference room where everybody had been gathered.
“There’s a hostage situation down at _____ hospital” She said shakily as the colour instantly drained from his face at the mention of the hospital you worked at.
“who called you?” Emily asks curiously
“y/n app pinged on my laptop” Garcia admits as Matt looked at her with a worried, pale expression on his face.
Emily’s phone began to ring as did the rest of the phones at the BAU and they all knew what that meant.
“That means we’re running lead on hostage negotiation let’s go” Emily said as everyone sprinted out of the BAU office.
Matt’s heart began to race. His mind went straight to the worst possible scenarios as he thought of you, were you okay? were you hurt?. He’d never put his kevlar on faster as he jumped into the SUV and sped to the scene along with the others.
The team arrived and were debriefed on the situation. They were dealing with a very disorganised, frantic gunman who wasn’t afraid to drop bodies until he got what he wanted. Nobody knew what that was, he was in a dissociative psychotic episode and he just assumed he knew what he wanted.
You’d been trying to negotiate with the man, begging him to let you help the poor, innocent victims who had been injured and when you heard Rossi’s voice coming from outside the door you couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief.
“Look outside is probably an army of FBI agents who aren’t planning on letting you out alive but I can save these people, I know you didn’t mean for this to happen and all you want is to get what you need but what I need is to help these people, so please let me help them” You said softly, remembering when the team told you about empathising with them usually distracted them long enough for infiltration.
You could see Matt and Luke sneaking up as the offender nodded. You quickly got to work, assessing the victims injuries and doing all you could to manage all of their injuries and stop them from losing any more blood.
Eventually, Matt and Luke manage to arrest the man as Luke led him away from the scene. Matt’s eyes instantly scanned the room for you, sighing in relief when he saw you bandaging up one of the victims ready to transport them to the OR.
The patient was transported and you were just standing looking for Matt. You spotted him and instantly ran into his arms, letting a few tears fall from your eyes as you finally felt safe. The tears falling from your eyes soaked his t-shirt as his arms wrapped tightly around you. His hand rubbed your back soothingly as he kissed your temple with soft lips.
“I’m so glad you’re okay” He whispers letting you go as he places a kiss to the middle of your forehead.
“Thank you for saving me my love” You whisper back as he wipes the tears from your eyes.
“I’ll always save you my love” He replies with a soft smile on his face, you look up meeting his soft brown eyes as you feel at home.
You were given the rest of the day off as you walked out of the hospital with Matts arms wrapped tightly around you. The feeling of safety you’d gone so long without finally returning.
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rosepyrearchive · 3 years ago
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𝐟𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏
an  experiment  of  posting  a  drabble  a  day,     from  a  few  sentences  to  a  paragraph  or  more.     i  posted  them  on  my  old  blog,     now  i’m  going  to  compile  them  all  here !
i.
fingers  carefully  shift  the  lavender  crystal  in  betwixt  her  thin  fingers.     for  years,      it  had  remained  faithfully  at  the  base  of  her  throat,     the  way  wolves  protect  each  other’s  most  delicate  parts;     her  father  always  did  the  same.     now,      there’s  somewhere  else  she’d  like  to  place  that  power,     that  protection.     what  color  would  the  crystal  turn,     when  placed  in  anakin’s  palm ?     blue,     like   his  eyes,     or  red,     like  the  blood  he  sheds ?     the  choker  she  once  wore,     pastel  colored  velvet  around  her  neck,     has  an  empty  slot  where  she’d  pulled  the  gem  from,     and  now  it  finds  a  new  home  on  a  long  chain  of  beskar;     where  she  imagines  it  will  press  right  in  the  middle  of  his  chest,     beneath  his  tunic    &    tabard.     no  matter  what  becomes  of  him,     or  what  tries  to  hurt  him . . .   the  chain  and  crystal  will  remain.
ii.
in  her  mother’s  arms,     she  is  just  a  daughter,    a  doll.     on  stage,     she  is  better  than  a  mortal  girl,     or  even  the  immortal  one  she  became;     she’s  a  ballerina  in  tufts  of  pink    &    tulle.     i  am  a  good  girl,     even  now  when  they’re  all  in  the  ground.     now  that  the  curtains  of  earth  &  velvet  have  fallen,     though,     who  is  she ?     who  does  she  become,     without  the  pale  pink  ribbons   &    tight  bodice  of  her  costumes ?      the  voice,     the  visions,     the  hallucinations  seem  to  answer  for  her;     a  ghost,    a  hazy,     obscure  daydream  who  cannot  truly  exist.     who  is  she ?     where  does  the  camouflage,     the  eagerness  to  please  end ?     serena  supposes  it  doesn’t  end  at  all;     and  in  that,     she  is  a  russian  doll  of  nothingness.
iii.
she’s  never  seen  him  without  his  helmet.  no  one  has,     serena  imagines  —  not  in  this  state  of  his  life,     where  removing  it  means  deprivation  and  vulnerability;     the  simple  act  and  thought  is  filled  with  an  intimacy  serena  knows  she  could  never  earn  from  him,     but  …     the  yearning  doesn’t  stop,     nor  does  the  longing  and  curiosity  to  see  his  pallid  skin,     scarred  &  tainted,     the  marks  that  must  cover  his  cheeks  and  chest.     where  do  they  end ?     are  they  like  ripples  in  waves  or  a  pattern ?     and  …  when  she  stands  near  him,  does  he  ever  look  at  her ?     the  blackness  of  his  shield  hides  it  all,  and  it  does  it’s  job  in  making  her  nervous;  serena  can  never  stand  still  in  his  presence,  thighs  shaking  and  nails  digging  trench  tracks  into  her  soft  palms.     darth  vader  is  terrible,  awful,  even  cruel  …     so  what  is  it  that  allures  her  so  deeply,  and  why ?     then  again,  if  she  knew,  perhaps  the  shimmering  butterflies  would  subside  and  she  could  see  clearly,     see  this  for  what  it  was.  he  wasn’t  even  using  her  —  and  she  is  the  very  picture  of  devotion.
iv.
to  what  end  does  the  fae  steal  a  fair  maiden ?     or  is  it  truly  a  crime,     when  the  victim  is  so  terribly  willing ?     allie’s  feet  move  so  mesmerizingly,    around  &  around  while  flowers  and  mushrooms   bloom  from  beneath  her  soles;     her  palm  is  so  open  –     ❪   come  to  me,     serena !   ❫     perspiration  of  late  summer  sticks  to  serena’s  forehead,     betwixt  her  rosy  fingers,     ❪   𝙾𝚁  𝙸𝚂  𝚂𝙷𝙴  𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃  𝙽𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙾𝚄𝚂 ?     𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙴  𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙳  𝚃𝙾  𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝚆𝙰𝚈 …   ❫     and  without  a  regret,     she  lays  her  hand  in  the  other  girl’s.     she  sups  on  honeyed  milk,     gives  her  name.     the  fairies  covet  gold,     and  what  is  serena,     if  not  well - dressed  in  a  golden  shroud,    from  her  crown  to  the  hem  of  her  long  dress ?     what  does  she  have  to  fear,     when  she  is  magic  all  on  her  own ?     allie’s  hand  lifts  both  of  theirs  high  as  she  twirls  serena  amidst  the  flowers,     and  she  swears  she  can  feel  grass  grow  from  her  steps.
v.
calloused  fingers  dig  deep  into  serena’s  sweet,     soft  dimples;     and  from  her  jaw,    trickles  of  sweet  wine  drip,     down  her  neck,    like  spilled  rubies  on  her  pale  skin.     you  hurt  me,    she  wants  to  say.     you’ve  hurt  me,     and  i  am  the  one  who’s  sorry.     hollis  draws  his  thumb  down  to  her  chin,     leaving  perfect  smudged  fingerprints  across  her  the  way  one  would  drag  their  fingers  across  a  fogged  glass.     his  eyes  are  a  dull,    venomous  green  as  he  calls  her  a  name  that  doesn’t  belong  to  her.    that  isn’t  me,   serena  wants  to  cry.     non,    mon rêve,     you’re  much  prettier  than  she  ever  was,     hollis  would  reply,     because  this  isn’t  the  first  time.     he  squeezes  bruises  into  her  little  arms  as  he  kisses  her,     and  serena  thinks  she  kisses  him  back.
vi.
allow  the  camera  to  pan  upwards,     from  her  pale  pink  ballet  slippers  into  her  soft  cotton  dress,     her  feet  turn  out  in  first  position  as  she  raises  her  hands  into  fourth,     pulled  up  by  soft  silk  strings  by  an  invisible  puppeteer.     the  stage  is  her  church,     a  massive,     all  encompassing  world  of  history  &  grace,     and  then  the  world  becomes  it’s  own  stage;     and  serena’s  performance  is  all  consumed,     like  an  apple  in  the  garden  of  eden.     isn’t  she  so  lovely,     so  flawless,     our  little  ballerina  ornament ?     serena  doesn’t  know  who,     or  what,    controls  her  actions   –   her  lies,     her  pliés.     some  entity  who  refuses  to  present  themselves,     only  bothering  to  choreograph  her  life  &  watch  her  from  behind  the  scenes;     she  is  both  fresh  as  a  flower,     brought  up  in  springtime,     &     as  broken  as  skeletons  that  have  long  withered  to  dusk  in  their  caskets.     even  in  her  most  secluded  moments,     she  does  not  feel  alone   –   not  truly.     this  puppet master  is  always  watching,     writing  their  script,     judging  her  arches  and  how  gracefully  she  can  slide  across  the  floor  in  her  pointe  shoes.     when  she  takes  her  final  bow,     it’s  only  the  studio  mirror  that  gazes  back  at  her,     her  own  doelike  brown  eyes,     her  own  slim  form  –  there’s  no  cables  attaching  her  to  the  ceiling.
this  life  is  so  very  boring,     so  unlike  the  dreamy  world  she  longed  for  as  a  foolish  girl.     i  had  long  ruined  my  own  life  with  my  own  dissatisfaction  before  someone  else  destroyed  it  for  me.
viii.
longing  lurks  deep  behind  a  golden  -  brown  gaze   /   what  comfort  can  she  take  in  the  jedi  code,     when  it’s  cold,    hard …     and  ben’s  hand  is  warm,     all  encompassing ?    the  code,     the  code …     the  temple  is  a  stage,     and  the  council  pulls  her  strings,     but  the  one  thing  they  can’t  take  from  her  is  her  mind;     in  there,     she  is  strong,     stone.     they  encourage  compassion:     but  no  attachments.     what  is  that,     to  her ?    what  is  it  compared  to  the  sunlight  she  feels  in  ben’s  eyes  when  he  leans  down  to  kiss  her  temple,     or  the  delight  serena  can  see  in  him  when  she  enters  the  room ?     ❪  because  love  is  the  death  of  duty,     as  wiser  men  say   ❫     in  many  ways,     she  is  greater  than  other  girls;     a  doll - like  padawan,    bright,     intelligent   –   but  in  the  end,    she  is  still  human,     and  she  finds  no  love  within  the  code   /   only  does  she  find  the  serenity  it  speaks  of  in  ben’s  embrace,     and  the  way  he  bends  over  at  the  waist  to  hold  her,     and  he  is  all  around  her  like  cologne.     that  is  a  glory  &  a  tragedy  worth  dying  for.
viii.
fear  has  always  cut  deep  within  serena’s  soft  skin;     it  was  easy  to  pull  her  apart  like  a  pomegranate,     see  the  little  pin - prick  razors  of  fright,     but  nothing  had  made  her  so  afraid  since  meeting  the  jedi.     she’s  a  fragile  heart  wound  tightly  in  red  ribbons  and  strings,     each  tied  to  the  pinkie  finger  of  every  person  she  loves.     some  of  the  ends  are  cut,     some  fray  towards  the  latter,     but  she  doesn’t  forget.     she  doesn’t  let  go,     not  in  her  deep  heart,     where  they  are  safe.     the  jedi  don’t  agree;     and  her  body  wracks  with  guilt  as  she  resists  placing  ribbons  on  their  fingers.     they  cannot  love  me,     she  knows   /   so  why  isn’t  it  enough  to  stop  her ?
ix.
every  part  of  my  body  aches.       serena  sits  on  the  hard  bathroom  floor  like  a  stain  on  the  tile,     the  tulle  of  her  practice  skirt  shimmering  in  the  dim  fluorescents.     the  plastic  stall  divider  is  freezing  against  her  shoulders,     and  it  hurts  when  her  head  falls  back  against  it.     the  bathroom  is  empty,     but  the  room  is  loud.     DISGUSTING  GIRL.     IT  HURTS.    what  hurts ?     I  CAN’T  FIND  IT  ANYMORE,     IT’S  SPREAD  LIKE  A  POISON.     she  finds  sanctuary  in  her  own  little  white  lies,     and  this  stall  where  none  of  the  other  ballerinas  go  –  she’s  a  soloist,     a  prima;     she  is  special.     allegedly.     she  barely  notices  the  wine - red  trickle  of  blood  that  spills  from  her  nose,     gravity  pulling  it  down  her  perfect  pale  face.      the  relief  is  nearly  instant,     whatever  ache  she’d  had  seems  to  fade  away   /   her  eyes  hone  in  on  the  empty  plastic  bag,     only  remnants  of  white  pill  powder  left.     the  same  resin  seems  to  linger  on  the  tip  of  her  pointe  shoe,     that  she’d  used  to  crush  it  all  up.     the  urge  to  smash  the  wooden  end  of  her  slipper  into  the  stupid  godforsaken  plastic  container  as  hard  as  she  can  and  see  how  much  damage  she  can  do  washes  over  her;     but  she’s  too  shocked  by  the  sudden  violent  urge  to  act  on  it.     instead,     serena  lets  the  clarity  &  ability  to  focus  drown  out  the  voices  that  scream  in  her  tender  head,     and  brings  herself  to  stand.
x.
❪   𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐊  ❫
pink  silk  shimmers  in  the  early  morning  sun;     her  blush  is  just  as  pretty,     sitting  across  from  her  father  at  the  iron  balcony  table.     he  is  her  king,     her  first  love,     and  serena  revels  in  the  attention  her  father  lavishes  on  her.     everything  is  still  so  new,     so  beautiful,     when  she’s  young  –  serena  dreams  of  the  future,     of  white  veils  and  cotillions.     her  distance  isn’t  yet  defensive,     but  a  sweet  daydream,     of  romantic  notions  &  hopes.     serena  dreams  of  the  far  away,     of  paris  and  rushing  crowds.     you  have  the  carlisle  look,     julian  had  told  her,    once.    your  brother  has  it  too.     someday,     this  world  will  be  wrapped  around  your  little  finger.     be  kind  to  it.     serena  had  smiled  so  lovely  at  that  –  let  the  world  be  kind.     let  it  show  her  kindness.
xi.
❪   𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐘  ❫
this  is  a  private  moment;     but  serena  can  feel  the  hidden  camera  lenses  on  her,     seeking  that  million  dollar  photo of  palpable  grief,     or  the  bullet  hole  in  her  father’s  chest,     as  if  it  weren’t  hidden  from  view  behind  his  favorite  suit.     she  won’t  cry.     serena  had  already  emptied  herself  of  every  golden  tear  when  she’d  cleaned  her  father’s  face,     when  she’d  combed  his  hair.      she  was  the  one  who’d  laid  his  arms  over  his  chest,     with  her  favorite  stuffed  animal  between  them  to  keep  him  company.     august  pulls  all  her  curls  behind  her  head,     and  lays  his  hands  on  her  thin  shoulders,     squeezing  just  enough  to  be  a  reassurance.     a  million  questions  ran  through  her  head  –     every  single  one  beginning  with  why.
her  fingers  drift,     softly,     for  the  last  time,     over  her  father’s  cheek.     she  pretends  it’s  warm  with  life,     and  not  chilling  to  the  bone.     if  he  could  be  killed,     then  no  one  is  safe.
xii.
❪   𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋  ❫
be  kind  to  the  world.    serena’s  innocence  had  died  screaming,     yet  she  still  remembers  the  words  her  father  had  told  her.     sunlight  streams  through  the  trees  above,     but  she  is  too  stiff  to  move  just  yet;     so  she  lies  there  in  the  grass,     flowers  having  bloomed  over  the  years  of  her  sleep  through  her  hair  and  around  her  body.     a  new  era  has  begun,     everything  she  knows  is  gone.     everyone  she  loves  is  gone.     maybe  it’s  the  haziness  of  first  waking  up  after  a  half - century,     but  there’s  a  determination  beneath  her  silk  skin,     her  ivory  bones.     serena  has  become  something  new,     just  as  the  world  has  –  beneath  the  porcelain,     her  ribs  have  grown  steel.     she  will  not  be  so  breakable  ever  again.
xiii.
in  the  movies,     pearls  are  always  being  yanked  from  necks,     the  precious  little  beads  clattering  to  the  hardwood  floor  in  bunches.     serena  allows  the  pretty  necklace  to  drift  through  her  fingers,     remembering  the  time  her  mother  had  wrapped  it  around  her  neck.     she’d  felt  like  such  a  little madam  in  her  maman’s  pearls.     there’s  a  little  secret:     those  pearls  in  films,     dramatic  as  they  were,     were fake.     maman’s  were  genuine,     and  the  little  pieces  were  knotted  in  between,     meaning  even  if  she’d  ripped  them  from  her  throat,     only  one  or  two  at  worst  would  go  missing.     her  mother  was  too  much  of  a  lady,     anyway …     prone  to  melancholy  and  hurt,     but  not  quite  fits.     what  a  complicated  love,     the  one  between  a  mother  &  a  daughter …     serena  finds  herself  missing  her  mother’s  arms  more  often  than  not  these  days,     and  the  security  that  came  with  them.
xiv.
valentine’s  day  has  always  been  a  non - affair  romantically;     her  favorites  were  dinner  dates  with  her  family,     the  men  being  the  gentlemen,     and  the  one  day  her  maman  would  let  her  wear  her  red  lipstick.     the  couples  on  the  street  below  her  balcony  make  her  feel something,    but  is  it  jealousy,   or  nostalgia ?     her  palm  cradles  her  jaw  as  she  leans  against  the  iron  barrier.     a  man  kisses  a  woman,     and  why  does  her  heart  lurch  for  something  so  impossible ?    to  love,     to  be  loved …     she  would  never  be  capable  of  it,     her  last  boyfriend  had  told  her  so.     adam  had  as  well.     anyone  who  would  want  to  spend  this  day  with  her  is  dead,     and  no  one  else  could  accept  the  things  she’d  done,     the  person  she’s  become  beneath  the  lace  and  ribbons.     hallowed,     broken.
xv.
i   hate  the  dirt.     i  hate  the  grime  that  i  can’t  wash  away,     and  the  fingerprint  i  leave  on  the  pristine  envelope  that  the  postman  gives  me,     his  gaze  apologetic.     until  i  look  at  the  handwriting,     i  don’t  understand  why.     it’s  been  a  week  since  he  could  last  reach  us  on  the  battlefield,     to  give  us  some  form  of  comfort  and  relief,     and  he  only  gives  me  a  single  letter.     there  should  be  more.     serena  writes  to  me  every  day,     there  should  be  at  least  six  or  seven,     all  beginning  with  my  dearest  brother;     but  even  the  single  letter  isn’t  from  my  sister,     but  my  wife.     i  should  be  excited  for  that,     but  i’m  not  –  not  when  i  can’t  fathom  why  there’s  only  this  one  letter.     when  i  tear  into  it,     a  picture  falls  out:     my  wife,     holding  our  son.     this  is  a  happy  moment,     and  i  can  feel  pressure  build  behind  my  eyes,     but  it’s  distracted,     because  serena  should  be  in  this  photo.     she  isn’t,     because  for  some  godforsaken  reason  she’s  here  in  europe  –  and  that’s  enough  to  push  the  tears  from  my  eyes.     i  should  be  there,     and  serena  should  be  holding  her  nephew  and  accepting  our  request  to  be  his  godmother.
but  she  isn’t,     and  i’m  not  either.
xvi.
the  streets  of  new  york  now  aren’t  so  different  from  the  streets  of  new  york  in  my  childhood.     the  fashion  is  different;     women  wear  shorter  skirts,     deeper  cuts  to  expose  their  collarbones,     and  these  are  changes  i  like.     the  buildings  still  creep  into  the  clouds  like  pillars  of  divinity,     and  the  sidewalks  are  crowded,     but  no  one  pays  too  much  attention  to  anyone  else.     the  men  dress  differently  too,     and  those  changes  i  don’t  like,     but  if  i  sit  and  close  my  eyes …     it’s  still  all  the  same,     and  i  can  picture  the  cars,     the  pretty  women  and  handsome  men …     even  my  silly  little  girl  friends,     the  ones  who  would  walk  with  me  during  breaks  in  ballet  when  we  had  so  little  else  to  do.     when  i  close  my  eyes,     it  doesn’t  feel  like  a  lifetime  ago.
xvii.
it  happens  gradually,     then  all  at  once,     like  the  impatience  of  waiting  for  a  rose  to  blossom.     one  day  you  wake  up,     and  it’s  simply  bloomed,     petals  spread  wide  in  the  sunshine.     in  that  case,     serena  wonders  which  moment  it  was  that  made  her  realize  her  feelings  for  ben  had  flowered   ──   was  it  the  time  his  fingers  grazed  hers  on  the  piano  keys,     and  he  played  the  wrong  note  to  make  her  laugh ?     or  perhaps  when  he  smiled  at  her  so  earnestly,     all  white  teeth  and  curled  lips  that  met  the  crinkles  by  his  eyes ?     she  can’t  pinpoint  the  exact  moment  she  realized  she  loves  ben  kenobi;     serena  only  knows  what  she  feels  now,     the  safety  of  his  warm  hugs,     the  way  the  word  ‘graves’  slips  between  her  teeth  and  she  doesn’t  choke  trying  to  reel  it  back  in.     home  was  something  impossible,     turned  to  ash  &  bone,     but  then  she  finds  herself  sitting  at  their  table  in  the  coffee  shop  &  she  thinks  perhaps  a  home  can  be  rebuilt.
xviii.
prayer  used  to  come  first  thing  in  the  morning,     a  mantra  spoken  breathlessly  to  open  air.     it’s  not  an  ideology  that  serena  subscribes  to  anymore     ❪   part  of  her  wonders  if  she  ever  did   ❫ ,     but  old  habits  had  died  hard.     she  wants  to  enjoy  a  new  one.     ben  is  there,     barely  awake  while  thick  raindrops  smack  against  the  balcony  doors,     and  serena  shimmies  his  boxers  down  his  thighs.     she’s  already  asked  him  nicely,     with  her  polite  manners  and  pretty  mouth     ──     and  she  tries  to  mask  her  eagerness  with  languid  movements,     laying  her  cheek  to  his  hip  and  letting  her  long  curls  fall  over  his  body.     serena  knows  he  can  feel  her  by  the  way  he  shudders  when  her  eyelashes  flit  over  him,     her  rose - petal  fingers  everywhere  and  nowhere  because  they  aren’t  exactly  where  ben  wants  them.     you  should  tell  me  what  you  like,    serena  offers  with  a  wicked  little  smile,     dragging  his  hand  until  he  can  grip  her  curls,     holding  sunshine  in  his  palms.
xix.
when  the  legs  beat  against  each  other  in  the  midst  of  a  jete,     it’s  a  battu  jete …     beaten.     everything  is  more  beautiful  in  french,     and  serena  thinks  it’s  true  of  herself  as  well.     she  had  been  her  company  director’s  little  princess,     sliding  into  his  queen;     she  would’ve  been  the  youngest  prima  ballerina  in  history.     she  would’ve  had  a  life.     she  would’ve  had  a  brother.     orson  does  so  much  for  her,     and  serena  can  hardly  find  it  in  herself  to  be  grateful,     can  hardly  repeat  the  pleasantries  and  manners  she’d  been  taught  to  sing  since  she  was  a  little  girl  letting  words  tumble  from  her  mouth.     instead,     serena  tries  to  create  a  peaceful  world,     she  jumps  at  the  chance  to  redesign  the  building  he  buys,     create  a  setting  of  her  own  making;     only  to  lay  under  the  covers,     sleeping  next  to  a  pillow  she  pretends  is  august.
xx.
disgusting.     vile.    serena  watches  august  rip  a  newspaper  in  half,     once,     twice,     then  three  times,     letting  the  pieces  fly  onto  the  floor  and  cover  the  coffee  table.     the  headline  had  once  read  about  her,     calling  her  a  top  three  debutante  in  new  york’s  uppercrust  society.     not  just  in  the  top  three,     but  ranked  number  one.    shouldn’t  we  be  proud ?    serena  asks  him.    shouldn’t  i  be  flattered ?     august  had  fallen  to  his  knees  in  front  of  the  chaise  where  she  sat  after  that,     holding  her  little  hands  in  his  own.     he  squeezes  them  so  tight  serena  winces.    tell  me,     he  begs.     tell  me  if  anyone  ever  touches  you.     tell  me,     and  i’ll  kill  them.    with  all  the  naivety  in  the  world,     serena  giggles,     shaking  her  head.     nonsense,     my  darling  brother.     the  only  man  i  love  is  you;     and  the  only  man  who  shall  ever  touch  me  is  not  here  yet.
xxi.
the  sunlight  doesn’t  seem  so  bright,     but  the  city  is  just  as  bustling  as  the  last  time  she’d  seen  it.     what  year  had  that  been ?     somewhere  around  nineteen  forty,     serena  thinks.     her  old  ballet  studio  has  moved;     it’s  previous  location  now  just  another  parking  lot  in  new  york  city.     everything  about  it  gives  her  whiplash.     it’s  all  the  same  and  all  entirely  different.     she  almost  expects  to  see  august  across  the  street,     handsome  smile  &  hair  swept  back,     but  she  knows  she  won’t.     he’s  dead,     and  so  is  everyone  else  she  ever  knew.     there’s  a  pressure  on  her  shoulders,     wondering  when  someone  will  notice  the  imaginary  blood  seeping  out  of  her  core,     or  when  someone will  realize  she’s  half - dead.     little  walking  dead  girl,     schrodinger’s  girl,     dead  and  alive.
xxii.
photographs  from  another  era  are  spread  all  across  the  wooden  table  serena  sits  at,     glimmering  and  shining  in  their  black  and  white  glory,     sepia,     and  even  a  few  colored  ones.     they  all  had  a  touch  of  grain  to  them,     the  consequence  of  new,     unperfected  technology,     but  serena  adores  them.     after  all,     in  every  photo  she  sees  the  face  of  someone  she  loves.     her  grandfather  royce,     cradling  the  toddler  version  of  herself  in  his  arms,     and  then  them  at  a  later  age,     serena  with  her  arms  wrapped  tightly  around  him.     in  another  photo,     serena  sits  in  his  lap,     while  her  grandmother,     the  woman  for  whom  she  was  named,     hugs  them  both  from  behind.     so  many  lost  smiles,     shining  with  no  idea  of  what’s  to  come.     her  finger  traces  along  another  photo,     of  her  mother  posing  with  her  in  her  first  pair  of  pointe  shoes.     she’d  been  so  proud  that  day,     and  serena  can’t  help  but  smile  back  at  her.     these  little  moments  are  all  she  has  left  now;     what  if  she  forgets  it  all  someday ?     at  least  she  won’t  forget  their  faces.     serena  glues  the  back  of  the  photos,  pasting  them  into  a  scrapbook.     there  are  new  people  she  doesn’t  want  to  forget  someday  as  well,     and  for  them,     serena  glances  at  a  newer  camera.     she  doesn’t  have  to  forget.
xxiii.
moy  lebed.    my  swan.    mr.  nikolaev  calls  her  that,     from  the  first  moment  he  saw  her  complete  the  thirty - two  fouettés  in  odile’s  coda.     serena  sighs  into  the  open  studio.     the  sky  has  long  gone  dark,     and  every  other  dancer  and  crew  member  has  gone  home — but  she  remains.     this  is  the  dedication  that  will  make  me  the  prima,     serena  reminds  herself.     this  is  what  sets  me  apart.     she  counts  the  steps  in  her  head  until  she  loses  herself  to  the  imagined  music,     eyes  closed  while  she  moves  her  arms  and  tip - toes  across the  floor.     serena  is  the  very  picture  of  a  music  box  ballerina  when  she  kicks  her  foot  up,      finding  her  north  star  and  turning  in  pirouettes.     not  even  the  quiet  opening  of  a  door  interrupts  her  focus.     august  takes  her  little  waist  in  his  hands  and  helps  to  give  her  the  extra  momentum.     then  he  hoists  her  over  his  shoulder,     telling  her  how  mother  is  so worried,    and  she  has  to  come  home  right  away…     all  spoken  with  his  hidden,    wry  smile.
xxiv.
i  had  never  tried  to  impress  anyone  the  way  i’d  tried  to  impress  mr.  nikolaev,     my  ballet  master  and  choreographer.     my  every  waking  moment  was  spent  under  his  scrutinizing  gaze,     attempting  to  dissect  his  utter  dissatisfaction  with  the  world  for  it’s  lack  of  grace  and  beauty  and  what  he  felt  towards  me  specifically …     all  in  a  leotard  and  tights  that  would  only  leave  the  color  of  my  skin  to  our  imaginations,     and  mirrors  on  every  wall  reminding  me  of  that  fact.     i  don’t  know  if  i  tried  harder  to  gain  his  attention  in  the  first  place,     or  if  i  would  have  killed  myself  trying  to  keep  it.     no  girl  is  ever  more  beautiful  than  they  are  at  sixteen,     and  though  i  didn’t  realize  it,     perhaps  if  i  had  lived  to  see  him  again  in  my  later  years  he  would’ve  been  impressed  with  my  freckles,     my  dimples,     and  my  big  eyes  at  the  age  of  twenty  –  i’ve  heard  i  don’t  look  so  different.     still,     i  was  even  more  girlish  then  than  i  am  now,     and  three  times  as  shy ;     ballet  was  all  i  could  use  to  get  him  to  look  at  me,     to  make  him  pay  attention  &  perhaps  remember  why  he  took  this  job  in  the  first  place  after  his  own  short,     but  famed  career.     i  would  be  perfect ;     not  just  for  him,     but  for  myself.     it  didn’t  hurt  anything  that  i  was  his  little  prima  prodigy.     he  smiled  for  the  first  time  when  he  called  me  his  moy  lebed,     his  swan,     and  i  can’t  remember  the  last  thing,     even  now,     that  had  made  my  heart  soar  so  much.
xxv.
‘are  you  ready?’     on  the  cusp  of  spring  in  the  midst  of  march,     lies  serena’s  birthday.     thirteen  is  such  a  special  age  for  a girl ;     not  quite  a  woman  yet,     not  quite  a  girl  anymore,     but  leaving  the  throes  of  childhood  behind.     august’s  question  comes  with  an  excited  edge  to  his  voice  and  a  slim  box  in  his  hands,     with  pink  wrapping  paper  and  white  ribbons.     the  other  guests  at  the  party  had  long  dissipated,      and  serena  sits  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,     feet  swinging  back  and  forth  to  dissipate  a  bit  of  the  thrill  she  feels.    ‘i’ve  been  waiting  all  day!’     is  what  serena  replies,     taking  the  gift  into  her  lap.     her  brother  sits  down  next  to  her ;     he’s  twenty,     seven  years  older,     and  a  man  grown,     but  it’s  as  if  there’s  no  difference  between  them  as  august  wraps  his  arm  around  her  waist,     matching  brown  eyes  gleaming  as  he  watches  her  carefully  pry  apart  the  paper  to  reveal  a  box  of  velvet.     ‘it’s  sentimental,’     august  had  said,     as  to  why  he  couldn’t  let  her  open  it  amongst  the  guests.     private,     serena  thinks.     her  brother  was  always  a private  man.     when  she  lifts  the  lid,     and  august  uses  his  other  hand  to  fold  away  the  white  paper,     it  reveals  a  precious,     heart - shaped  golden  locket.     he  pulls  it  out  by  the  chain,     letting  the  pendent  rest  in  serena’s  palms.     ‘it’s  the  most  beautiful  thing  i’ve  ever  seen,’     serena  says,     eyes  glimmering.     august’s  fingers  snap  the  clasp,     and  inside,     a  photo  of  himself  on  one  side,     and  then  a  photo  of  their  parents  from  their  wedding  day  on  the  other.     serena  beams  as  august  closes  it  then  places  the  necklace  around  her  neck,     the  pendent  falling  just  at  her  collarbones.    ‘it’s  beautiful,     my  wonderful  brother,’     she  says,     and  august  kisses  her  crown.     ‘it’s  almost  as  lovely  as  you,     my  sweet  little  sister,     and  you  deserve  lovely  things.     this  way,     we’ll  always  be  with  you.’
xxvi.
julian’s  wedding  band  was  like  him ;     it  was  a  simple  golden  band,     with  ivy  growing  around  it,     interrupted  only  by  a  diagonal  line  of  diamonds.     when  serena  tilts  it  back,     she  can  see  her  mother’s  name  engraved  in  it.     eirene’s  was  a  little  flashier,     with  a  bigger  diamond  in  the  center.     it  wasn’t  because  of  her  personality,     though …     in  that,     serena  can  still  see  her  father,     wanting  to  impress  her,     wanting  to  give  his  wife  the  world.     julian’s  ring  occupies  her  left  thumb ;     she  couldn’t  bear  to  get  it  resized  for  her  dainty  hands,     so  it’s  the  best  she  could  manage.     he’d  had  a  lithe  frame,     and  for  that  she’s  thankful  –  serena  remembers  sliding  the  ring  off  of  his  finger  when  she’d  crossed  his  arms  over  his  chest,     holding  it  between  her  fingers.     she  had  to  have  it.     her  mother  had  worn  hers  until  the  very  last,     until  she  had  slipped  from  serena’s  hand  into  the  ocean’s  embrace.     serena  had  only  been  able  to  just  clasp  the  ring,     before  it  too  could  fall  from  her  grasp.     now,     it  rests  on  her  index  finger,     where  at  least  on  her  hands,     her  parents  could  still  be  together.
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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years ago
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I will search the world, I will face it’s harms
A/N: this is the longest thing I’ve ever written lmao. Please let me know what you think. Can also be found on ao3:  [I will search the world, I will face it’s harms] 
Summary: Richie pushes Eddie out of the way in the nick of time but get harmed in the process. 
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The deadlights are by far the weirdest experience Richie has ever been through. His awareness is muffled, and the things pennywise shows him appear secluded from him by murky and unpassable water. It’s not like virtual reality, it’s more a television show Richie follows intently, and can’t see to tear his eyes away from. He is the main roll, but he’s viewing himself from a third party.  
IT’s inspirations are clearly running dry, he repeats the same things over and over again, until even with only half a mind present, Richie notices that nothing that is happening is real. Unfortunately, that doesn’t take the fear away, rather adds something extra. The time Richie devotes to separate reality from illusion is time easier access to the deepest parts of his brain, the spots that sting the most when they’re touched upon, and Pennywise exploits with glee.
Eddie taunts him, more than a few times, sometimes about his personality and how he’s too fucking annoying to be friends or something more with, other times it’s simply about him being gay. The circumstances change, Richie confessing to Eddie after Neibolt, or Richie phoning in on Eddie from a thousand mile away, and rarely, Eddie and Richie are dating as Eddie packs his bags and tyrants over the fact that he can’t stand to be in the same room as the man who gets under his skin like a persistent itch, something that pricks and prods until you can’t stand it anymore.
Those situation are few and far between, and they’re the easiest for Richie to conform untrue, for a relationship with Eddie is something he prayed for every night as a kid, but also something he knows will always be out of reach.
When Pennywise gets bored of impersonating Eddie, he resorts to the other losers instead. There’s no other people in Richie’s life that have the ability to hurt him after all, in LA the he hardly has acquaintances. Bev kindly showing up to his apartment, her drawing the short straw, to tell him that he can’t hang out with the group anywhere, because Eddie feels uncomfortable with him now.
When Richie throws his all to promise that he won’t do it anymore, that he never planned on telling Eddie his true feelings in the first place, Bev pats his knee sadly, telling him that it’s too late to change now. She, nor any of his other friends, are ever disgusted by the fact that he’s into men, just revolted that he’s into Eddie specifically. Smart thinking on IT’s part, since Richie knows deep down his friends could never hate him solely for the type of person he falls in love with.
The illusion blur together, repeating themselves faster and faster and freezing all notions Richie conceives and he longs to bury himself in the water so this hell ends faster. Richie is pretty clueless about what happened to the kids Pennywise ate, but he hopes they died instantly and without long to worry about what was taken place.
Eddie, or at least Pennywise adaptation of him, turns his head ever so slightly to look real Richie in the eyes, his smirk so open it rips the side of his mouth and turns into carved smile– Richie still believes him to be handsome, and that’s pathetic – then says; ‘Richie. You’re going to let me die too?’
Richie frowns, disorientated, because that’s new. IT’s never addressed him before, and then he falls down harshly, his legs roughing the force of it all and docking on his back with a loud smack. His head slams the surface, brittle pricking his back and possibly leaving tiny indents from the force on which he landed on them. The drop skidders Richie after he already came to a stop, echoing and prolonging his suffering.
Eddie crawls on top of him, hands located on either side of Richie’s head to stabilize himself, crowding over him and in doing so obstructing his view of Pennywise. He’s but a breath away from actually nudging against Richie, and Richie urges to turn his head and connect their skin.
‘Rich, Rich.’
Richie squeezes his eyes shut to ground him, the images flashing in his mind rendering him delusional and unable to focus on anything, except Eddie when their eyes connect.
‘Yeah, there he is.’ Eddie beams, so different from the person IT represented him to be. His words echo in Richie head, ‘you’re going to let me die too’ sounds like a warning, and if Richie could hold on to a thought for longer than a second he might be able to process it and do something about it.
‘I think I did it, I think I killed IT’, he’s so proud of himself, and brave and Richie wants to thank him, longs to reach up and tangle his fingers in Eddie’s hair and draw their faces closer, to kiss him, and he does, tugging on Eddie’s cloths to have him lean in, but then the words repeat and he chooses to instinctively push Eddie off of him with all the might he possesses.
Not that that’s much, compared to Eddie Richie’s physic is one of a sad old lump of potato’s and there was no way Eddie didn’t work out every day, - god wouldn’t that be a sight to see- so it’s only by the surprise that Eddie lets himself roll to the side, his eyes wide and unclear about Richie’s intention.
Richie’s unsure of his own intent, just that it was something he needed to do to keep Eddie safe told to him by a feeling in his gut, but when he rolls over to guard Eddie with his body, his leg protests painfully. Broken, most likely, after the fall, but the moment of hesitation is enough to have Pennywise viciously strike. Then his broken leg and the brittle, more obnoxious than anything else, is the least of his concerns. Any lingering doubts about this being another show from a different caliber in the death lights evaporate like the wind.
It hurts way worse than it has any right too, but then again, Richie has never been stabbed by an intergalactic demon before, so what does he truly know anyway. The claw strikes him in the stomach, and Richie mistakenly glances down, blood spouting from the wound like a garden hose. His breath hitches, panicky cupping around the claw to stop the bleeding, but all he succeeds in doing is coating his hands in the dark red liquid. The pain radiates from his stomach to the tips of his toe and his head, not a single spot left unscathed, just a competition of which part causes the most anguish.
‘Richie’, Eddie freaks, laying next to him and staring shell shocked at the scene. In the distance, Bill bellows a ‘no’. Pennywise lifts his entire body up from the floor effortlessly, dangling him up like a piece of meat and discarding him across the other side of the cave. He hits the cave wall first, and tumbles down with his side scaling the edges of pointy rocks, scramming his wounds further.
His hands enclose uselessly around air, finding nothing to stop himself from plummeting. The ground awaits him with open arms, Richie’s head ricocheting on a large piece of rock where his head cascades on, splitting open his forehead. Merciless, Richie welcomes the blackness that sinks him into unconsciousness, but not before hearing Eddie agonizing shout of Richie’s name.
----
Occasionally, Richie picks up on bits and pieces of a conversation he actively should be involved in, - this is still a life or death situation - but he’s too far gone in his own head to do anything but bite his lips as an outlet instead of screaming out in torment.
Eddie wills him awake by the sheer force of desperation and howling, his words interrupted by his own sobs and harsh heaving. Richie strains his eyes open, and he’s no longer positioned in the way Pennywise threw him down. He sits up in an enclosed space within the cave, watching Bill’s back step away from him and rush over to follow the only other person he can see, Ben.
He almost screams for them to come back, he doesn’t want to die alone, but then he notices that he’s not alone at all, and that Eddie is fluttering around him, jacketless with a stripe of blood smudge across his forehead. Eddie hates that, he washes away the tinniest piece of dirt to himself up clean up, water costs be damned, but he doesn’t put in the effort to rub it away. If Richie could do it for him, he would.
He’d done it before in middle school, when Eddie in his hast to run away from Richie trying to dry his wet hands on Eddie’s back, collided with an opening door, hitting him full force just above his hairline. He’d frighteningly looked to Richie for guidance, who saw the blood and decided to conceal it, pretending like everything was okay. He’d carried the guilt all day, until Eddie set the record straight and ensured Richie he was not mad at all, he in fact found it quite funny, and swore to Richie that he better watched his back at all times.
The revenge was a push from the quarry cliff with his dry clothes still on, while Eddie stood high and mighty over the edge cackling at his demise.  
Richie lolls sideways with most of his weight resting on Eddie, who shrugs it off like Richie weighs nothing and continues to babble, even though the ringing in Richie’s ears is still going strong and he can’t distinct anything tangible. His thoughts are scattered and grasping onto them does nothing, they slip away like sand between fingers.
He focuses really hard, because Eddie always says important stuff, and Richie always listens to him like he hung the moon, so this time shouldn’t be an exception. It might be the last time he’ll be able to.
Thanks to some unforeseen force, his glasses, cracked and skewed, are still on. How they managed to stay tucked on Richie’s face is unbeknownst to him, after the throwing and falling, but Richie’s indebted.  
‘Come on Rich, it’s okay. I’ve gathered a plan. We’ll be out of here in no time.’ Eddie remains sturdy, a solid force Richie can tap energy for himself, but the disheveled hair and trembling bottom lip indicate that Eddie is not doing as well as he wants Richie to believe.
Eddie’s jacket serves as a cloth to tampon Richie’s blood, drenched in blood with some of it caked on already. Richie wonders how long he was out for.
‘Eddie, we need you’, Mike beckons him over, pleading Eddie to aid them in the fight. Weakly Richie ushers him off, but this time Eddie is prepared and steels himself, not allowing him to move an inch.
‘They’ll deal with it on their own. I’m staying’, he firmly says, leaving no room for argument, and Richie’s too tired for familiar banter, so he lets the issue rest.
He shrivels the top part of the cardigan up when Eddie’s distracted, so he can prod at his open laceration, in awe of the amount of blood it continues to spew. The injury is large enough that realistically the cloth won’t help much, even Richie can tell, the intestines peek out into the open world, a place they’ve never seen and Richie hoped they never would. ‘Wow’, he breathes lamely, capturing Eddie’s focus.
Eddie shrieks in panic. ‘Don’t touch that Richie. Stop. Is that your thing huh? Pain’, he shoots for a joke but only manages to draw out a chuckle laced with coughs of blood.
‘It doesn’t’, Richie tries, pausing to swallow a large cluster of blood back down.
‘What doesn’t Rich?’
‘Hurt. I can’t feel anything.’
And it’s true, the torment is no longer present to force Richie to suffer until his last breath, a fitting end to his life that proceeded it. In place is left no feeling at all, not even Eddie’s hand who touches his bare skin to steady him. The only thing Richie can definitively notice, is that he’s freezing cold. In a way he’s never been before.
The cold is bone deep, icing in his veins as severe as the time he went sleiing in his yard without putting on gloves or a thick coat to cover him and ended up with pneumonia. He angles for his sweater disposed by the entrance of the cave, but Eddie is blind to see what Richie is trying to convey and his muscles stop cooperating, falling helplessly in a heap on his lap. Tiredness is weighing him down.
Richie could ask Eddie for a hug, he’s that cold that he’s willing to put his dignity on the line, but Pennywise could be lurking and Eddie has to be alert to protect himself, and Richie assumes that not even Eddie’s warmth will heat him up enough to get rid of this chill.
The eyelid of Eddie’s doe eye twitches, defeating the purpose of forcing a smile on his face and a reassuring shrug, and baring his soul to Richie who’s always know all about his tells. Eddie’s worried, never a good sign, and Richie dares to think about what’s going to happen next. His death. There’s no way out with him, the descent down the well alone enough trouble than he’s worth, and if the fucking clown plays hard to get for much longer, the fight will simmer on for a lot longer.
‘Richie look at me, come on asshole look at me.’ Eddie inches Richie’s face his way, the hand on his jaw helping him do it completely numb to Richie. Since Eddie refrains him from poking his wound, Richie nibbles on his bottom lip, biting down hard enough it should leave a small injury for him to distinguish. All it accomplishes is adding more blood pooling in his mouth.
‘Come on Rich. You’re the most talkative person I’ve ever met in my life, tell me about your first stand up performance huh, what was that like?’ Eddie pleads, shoving his fabric deeper into the wound, now Richie confessed he’s unfeeling.
‘No, iss not nteresting enough Eds.’ He might slur, but at this point his surrounding are coated in a haziness Richie can’t shake off. His first stand-up was scheduled two weeks after leaving Derry, and his gags all had been derived of moments shared with the losers. By the time he began spouting off joke after joke he figured he had gotten his inspiration from other people’s life experiences, mind blank on providing clues about his best friends. It’s too sad and frustrating to reminisce on the abandonment that hit him full force for the first time after the show, and wouldn’t leave for a very long time.  
The nickname alights something in Eddie, breaks down the last of his defenses of a stoic face and lets him burst out in hysteric tears and weeps, hitting Richie to the deepest of his core.
‘It is Richie. I want to know. I’ll be the target for you to dummy practice your voices and jokes on in the future, and I won’t roast you, I promise.’
‘I lke getting roastd by you Eds.’
Eddie drops his head to heave in a laugh, looking back once to see where there’s friends are and then whisking back as if to prevent Richie from dying the second he refocuses his sight. In any other situation Richie would preen, occupying all of Eddie’s attention, but this is in a slightly different way than Richie imagined.  
‘Then I will. I’ll argue with you all night long. I want to discover who you were growing up and the mistakes you made, and I’ll even spill the beans on my greatest failures and trust me’, a humorless laugh, ‘there’s a lot of them. Please give me that change Rich. I can’t have the chance if you die on me now.’
Richie spits out a swath of blood, dripping down his chin before getting swooped up by the back of Eddie’s wrist to clean him.
‘Eddie, I.’ coughing, Richie takes a breather and mulls over what he share with Eddie now. Part of him argues to lock his secret up in a box and hide it ten feet underground – he’ll be buried with it soon – so no one will ever find it and expose it, and so Eddie can remember him with fondness, not with barely concealed revolt that Richie wanted to swipe spit with him. Another part yearns to shout it so loud it echoes the cave and shoves it in Pennywise’s dumb fucking face that he, like Eddie, can be brave too, and was, at the very end.
‘Shh, don’t work yourself up. You’re going to occupy a lot of strength during recovery.’
Eddie talks to him like Richie has the smallest change to survive, which he does not, but it makes Richie calmer, the knowledge that someone believes in him and in how long he can hold out.
Fatigue begins to call on him, angling him away from Eddie to slide down and lay on his side so he can sleep. It’s not rational, if anything he’d rest on Eddie for as long as he’s permitted, but Eddie will be pissed if he sleeps, so maybe he won’t regard it this way.
‘Hell no you won’t.’ A hand on his biceps manhandles, with great fumbling on both parts, him to sit with his back towards Eddie’s chest, giving Eddie the opportunity to both hold the wound closed and Richie to sag in comfort, trapping him between muscular arms he wishes he could feel.
‘Please Rich, tell me what I need to talk about to keep you awake. I’ll talk about fucking bread if that’s what you’re interested in as long as you don’t close your eyes.’
Richie chuckles softly, more exhaling than actually snickering, swinging his head from side to side.
‘alk bready to ‘e.’
‘Your jokes suck even more than usual.’
Ouch, is what Richie tries to say, but his lips tingle and won’t cooperate.
Eddie’s chest puffs up and down, the muscles on his legs locking so tight they vibrate in anxiousness. Richie pulls on a string of textile, tugging it out of place and it gives, then discarding it to the side because Eddie can’t stand his clothes not looking pristine clean. The action is pointless, with Richie’s back now firmly held against Eddie’s shirt there’s no way he won’t throw it out.  
‘Okay, then how about this, I’m going to tell you all about how fucking in love I am with you. I’m not doing in some filthy sewer without me kissing you, and I’m not kissing you with all this blood and grey water leeched to you, but I will say it, I won’t loss my nerves again. Kid me envisioned this whole life story you and I would live out when I told you about my crush, in such detail I could have beaten Ben in a story writing competition.’ Eddie pauses, staring off into the distance to relive the memories, then he resumes. ‘And then you can do with that information what you choose, but I can’t do it in here okay?’ Eddie rants, right hand wildly accentuating his words.
Richie stops breathing, the process of Eddie words too hard to handle, then he stops breathing for another reason altogether.
---
He’s resting flat down, breathing in and out in a much easier way than he caught himself doing for a while now, and the pain is mostly gone, leaving nothing but a small ache. His brain begs him to go back to sleep, to forgo any problems --if Pennywise is still alive he peacefully exempts himself from doing anything with that information thank you very much – but the pit on his stomach is swirling and nauseating him, and Richie has a history throwing up during inappropriate times, something he wants to avoid it this time. Sitting up might help, the first step in that being opening his eyes.
The edges of the sheet are tucked in so tightly that Richie finds it hard to move, which is weird because Richie kicks and tousles in his sleep so severe that the only man he ever had a one night stand with abandoned the bed to return home at two in the morning, unable to stand his fidgeting.
The medal bars on the edge of the bed chain Richie in, like he’s a toddler that needs help to prevent falling out of bed. Nothing in the room is blurry, Richie’s glasses still perched on the bridge of his nose.
A metallic taste lingers in his mouth, refusing to disintegrate no matter how many times Richie swallows it down. He aches for relief that comes in the form of drink, preferably ice cold water to sooth the burning pain flickering up in his throat.
His memories are still in his head, loud, clear and pressing, including Eddie’s confession or whatever the hell the last words he heard before tapping out were. Eddie could have said those things purely to amaze Richie so much that he would fight and hold out, not aware of the strain this would put on Richie’s emotions. Somehow Richie feels like he should examine that in greater detail, but there’s a bubble separating his mind and the memory, a cover that can be peeked under but not touched upon, shielding him from what could be a pretty nasty panic attack.
With a tad of force Richie can break the bubble and engage in the meaning behind locution, but he prefers to keep himself calm for a little while longer.
That means there’s only two options, either Pennywise is still alive and Richie is about to get fucked over, badly, or the losers somehow victoried and won, without help from him. Richie pleads for it to be the last one.
He’s in a hospital, that much is obvious by the stench of disinfected clogging up his nose, dampening the excitement of apparently surviving the hell hole Pennywise resided in.
The room, bigger than the previous one he ended up in after an escapade of binge drinking, is empty, exempting the nurse tampering with a machine attached to him by wires pricked in his skin. Richie starts counting how many but loses his record after the fourth tube.
She spares him no glance, full attention on filling in the tempo of his heartbeat, blood pressure and temperature on a nursing sheet.
Outside a group of people buzz in the hallway, sounding like the losers, but they pass Richie’s door without a moment of hesitation.
The television is paused on a crappy music video post, the song background to the wiring and buzzing of the equipment Richie is hooked up to. Robin Thicke’s blurred line annoyingly etches itself to a spot in Richie’s brain to stay for the next few days. The song is so blatantly sexist and over the top loaded with masculinity Richie accidentally let it slip in a few interviews that he liked the song, another way to hide his true self and the person behind the Trashmouth brand.
He tries to speak, but the lack of moisture catches up to him and all his is capable of letting out is a small squeak. The nurse doesn’t pick up on it, walking across the bed and stripping loose the duvet to investigate the cast on Richie’s leg.
Could it be possible that the losers scattered and went home already, unaware if Richie was okay but not caring either? Did they call Steve to deal with the mess so they didn’t have to?  He doesn’t think his friends would put him through something like that, but then again, he has no idea what transpired after conking out.
His overthinking about loneliness gives way to overthinking about the state of his friends, if they’re alive and well or if Pennywise struck one last time to off another member of their close knit group.
Maybe this is an illusion, a heartless game that allows Richie to release his worries, think that he’s safe only to pull the rug out under him and dangle him in the reality where all his friends are dead.
He stops his mind before it can spiral further. If that is what happened, Richie will be glad to die too. He can’t go back to greeting people he passes in the street and that being the only communication he has all day, to engaging in a conversation with a stupid mirror because it’s the only one not judging him, spotting ever single detail about him and his appearance that makes people actively circumvent him.
Part of the reason Richie limited his social circle has to do with the amount of effort and energy a friendship sucks out of him. Scooping more and more of all the ways that made Richie, so Steve can present a preferred client on front of potential sponsors and fans. He always has to chip away at his personality, and piece together a shell of acceptable features in front of people so he has a chance at getting accepted. While starting out in the comedian branch, Richie truly believed authenticity was important, but years of experience shaved away that idea. It was never like that with the losers. It was never like that with Eddie.
The nurse empties a syringe filled with a sedative, preemptive to the pain shadowing Richie’s body but not yet attacking. His mind fizzles out, the drugs lulling him into a deep sleep.
‘Shit that’s strong,’ Richie croaks out without thinking, incapacitated by the medication. The nurse jumps away shocked, the syringe ricocheting on the ground and her hand jittering.
‘Mr Tozier?’ She inquires, voice pinched, but Richie has already said goodbye to land of the awake.
------
By the time the medication is metabolized, it’s dusk, the entire room blanketed in an orange glow. The tv is switched off. Without opening his eyes, Richie can tell Eddie is next to him, his presence comforting and attention drawing.
He still peeks from under his eyelashes to confirm though, greeted by the sight of Eddie steadily observing him in between heatedly typing away on his phone. He sends out the impression of being calm and composed, freshly showered if the brand new pants and shirt are anything to go by. Upon further inspection, Richie realizes it’s his shirt Eddie is wearing. His heart skips a beat, the heart monitor picking up on it – traitor – and Eddie shoots a dagger towards the machine as if simply glaring at it will be enough to force it to keep beating regularly.
Contradictory to the previous time he woke up, the pain is firing burst of indescribable pain near the area of his stomach, and when that pain ebbs away, the nagging ache remains. Richie groans, squinting on eye open to see that Eddie zeroes in on him, leaning forward on the plastic chair to get a closer look.
He says nothing, perceiving every surface of Richie’s body with a smoldering gaze.
‘Eddie?’ Richie asks eventually, unable to deal with the pain nor the silence filling the room. Eddie blinks in surprise, inching back in his chair startled.
‘Richie?’
‘No, the fucking pope. Who else would I be?’
Eddie laughs, ‘No it’s just that. You’ve opened your eyes a couple of times before, except all you did was stare and then the drugs took you out again before you could say anything.’
‘Oh? I beat the drugs before but you weren’t here so it’s not my first time.’ It’s not intended to sound accusing, but it does. Richie can decipher from Eddie’s facial expression that he’s flabbergasted, the cogs in his head turning. A light-bulb goes off as Eddie rolls his eyes like Richie stated the stupidest thing ever, his hand covering Richie’s to draw his attention.
‘Off fucking course you’d wake up the one time I’m not here. I swear I was here all the time Rich, I only left once to demand more updates on how you were doing.’
Richie nods dumbly, fingers tracing the pattern on the hospital sheets to distract him.
‘Say, did he happen to give you any updates on how much pain medication I’m supposed to receive?’
Eddie hurriedly jumps up, lifting his hand up from where it covered Richie’s, is phone clattering to the ground with a loud bang. Eddie doesn’t check the destruction or even bothers to remove it from the floor, too busy dotting over Richie.
‘Are you in pain? See I knew the nurse gave you the wrong dosage, I fucking told her too but did she listen? No.’
‘Eddie?’
‘Now you’re in pain and we have to do damage control instead of damage prevention and-‘
‘Eds’, Richie successfully ends Eddie tirade and stops him from going after the poor nurse and her carrier, but it drains him from all his energy and renders him exhausted.
‘Right, hold on Rich, I’ll go get the doctor.’ He pets Richie on the arm twice, his fingertips lingering after the second strike as he stares enthralled, like he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch Richie in that way. As far as Richie is concerned, Eddie is allowed to do anything would him. But after he gets his pain medication.
‘Well doctor K I’m disappointed,’ Richie call to him after Eddie exits the room, ‘I thought you were the one taking care of me?’
The doctor, Nathalie, ups his quantity per his request, but warns him not to request any more, the amount dangerously high as it stands. She’s a nice woman, and has enough human knowledge to scurry away the moment she administers the pain killers, promising to be back to explain his medical condition later. He is notified that he’s been out for two days, resting while the losers gathered his and their stuff and moved into a hotel in the adjacent city so they moved out of Derry, but close enough that dropping by is no trouble at all.
Richie’s grateful, he’s so tired he won’t be able to retrain any information anyway, and Eddie is jumping at the bits for a chance talk things through. And who even does that, articulating their feeling and upsets? Not him that’s for sure, he keeps his feeling repressed like all the cool kids do these days. The pain slowly ebbs away, sometimes back with a fire that has Richie writhing but mostly suppressed by the drugs.
He’s pacing in front of the bed, not even deeming a goodbye to Nathalie, mouthing words and sentences Richie can’t hear. He seems to purposefully twirl the open space around his ring finger, the spot his wedding ring was on but is now absent.
‘So, the others are okay?’  
‘Yeah, we’re all tired but good.’ Eddie reassures him, without elaborating on exactly how they managed to stay alive and what Pennywise’s state of being is. Eddie being as unbothered as he is, is an answer to the question all on his own.
‘Aren’t you gonna leave? It’s way passed visitation hours right? Won’t someone come in and escort you out?’  
‘No, they gave up on that last night.’ Eddie waved of his concerns, not faltering his step.
‘Okay. That’s some story I’d like to hear.’
‘There’s no story. They told me to leave, I told them to fuck off and that I wouldn’t be going anywhere until you walked away with me.’ The admission leaves Richie speechless, Eddie who once refused to go to the bathroom after stopping by the school nurse because she told them to go straight to class in middle school held his ground and disobeyed a direct order, was indescribable. That amassed with the revelation in the sewers is too much for Richie to deal with, so he aims for a tension breaker.
‘Dude, you’re going to snap in half if you stay as rigid as you are now. I can see the knots in your neck, get some sleep. I’ll be fine.’
‘First of all, don’t call me dude. Second of all –‘
‘You rather have me call you Eds?’
‘Yes, and stop interrupting me.’ Richie didn’t think he could if he tried. ‘You’re worried about me? Look at you. You nearly died Rich.’
‘But I didn’t.’ He shrugged, wincing as the movement irritated his stitches. Ripping out the only thing that keeps him alive would really be the icing on the top to an already dramatized week.
‘Richie stop’, Eddie begged, stopping his frantic stewing to approach Richie. ‘Can we talk about what happened down there?’
Richie frantically denies, ‘Nope’, he overenthusiastic expresses, fearing rejection, burrowing deeper in the mattress to ignore Eddie’s pleading eyes. Those suckers have a way of encouraging Richie to ignore common sense and assist in whatever idea Eddie had designed, but he had no intention of ever addressing this issue. Eddie looks prepared for this, ready to battle with words and get his way, but the heart monitor speeds up a notch. Eddie heaves a sigh, but relents, walking forward and griping Richie’s arm towards him.
He uncurls the tight ball Richie made of his hand, soothing over his skin with his fingertips in a way that resembles a dance. He wields both his hands, one separating Richie’s pinky and ring finger, the other stuck between his thumb and pointer finger, opening up room for him to work with. Careful not to scratch Richie with his fingernails, he swoops the formers arm and hand, slow enough that he can retract if he doesn’t like it.
Bearing down on the underside of Richie’s wrist, in a circle back motion, Eddie repeats the gesture three times before moving up.
The motion’s relaxing, and Richie sags down as the tension in his arm dissipates. Eddie watches Richie with a pleased smile on his face, massaging both firm and light to differentiate the best result.
‘That feels really good.’
‘It’s a hand massage. I’d give your shoulders a rub but then you’d have to move and you cannot move. Moving results in more pain so no matter what you do, don’t move you stubborn idiot. Anyway, it’s good for reducing anxiety. I do it to myself all the time.’
Richie hoots, not deterred by the pinch Eddie gives his skin in response, the word chose too funny to give up.
‘Cave man’, Eddie spews out, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the comment, unnecessary but so Richie it hurts to think they lost this, the easiness and the jabs and the bond, strong enough to sacrifice the one for the other.
‘There are three Yin Meridians in the arm; lungs, heart and pericardium.’
‘The what from the what now?’
‘Yin meridians? Yin as in the up flow of energy in your body? Ying and Yang? ’
‘Eddie, what the fuck about me makes you think I would have any clue about any of this?’ Richie deadpans, his eyes staring at Eddie flatly.
‘Yeah well, tell me you at least know what a pericardium is?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘It’s a double-walled sac containing the heart and the roots of the great vessels, filled with pericardial fluid’, at the ignorant stare he received from Richie he dumbed down his explanation. ‘It’s the sac around your heart.’
‘Oh, why didn’t you start with that? Wait my heart has a sac around it?’ Richie’s smirk grew, but Eddie pulled the plug on that quickly.
‘Beep beep Richie not now. Anyway, shut the fuck and let me do my thing.’
He resumes massaging Richie palm, languidly and without hurry, the sun settling even lower and pitching the room red.
With a big shudder, Richie crushes his eyelids shut to avoid looking at the color as it reminds him of his own blood leaking out of him. It’s irrational, they’re different shades after all, but the thought lingers, like a cyst you can’t get rid of.
The benefit of removing sight is that touch and smell become intensified, the kneading firmer then it felt before. Eddie smells primarily of hospital soap and food, but underlying there’s the scent of vanilla shampoo, the same one Eddie applied as a kid. The sight of his own shampoo in his shower at home pops into his head, suddenly abundantly clear why Richie never contemplated buying another scent but stuck to the same plain vanilla one.  
He changes direction by palpating the webbing between Richie’s thumb and pointer finger, prodding the skin from the bottom to the top and then sliding off.
‘I’m supposed to ‘throw away’ the negative energy, connotation marks, but I can’t do that without you making fun of me so I won’t.’
‘You know me so well’, Richie dramatically sniffles, his free hand whipping away a fake tear.
‘Yeah, I really do’, is Eddie responds, stopping his ministration and seeking eye contact with Richie to get his point across.
Richie slides his hand away from Eddie’s, avoiding eye contact by dropping his chin to his chest but being stopped by a hand on his chin, forcing him to stay still.  
‘I’m tired, go back to the hotel okay?’
‘I’m divorcing my wife’, Eddie states out of the blue, tracing the edge of Richie’s chin absentmindedly. The intonation of his voice is bland, the same as if he’s talking about the weather, but his eyes are stealthy and Richie knows that he means every word.
‘Wha-?’
‘And I didn’t say this to pressure you into developing feeling for me. I don’t wanna force you to do anything, but I crashed my car in the middle of traffic remembering you all and I realized that I hadn’t been living. That night in the restaurant was the first time in twenty seven years I felt like myself again and was happy. And a clown hunted us down, isn’t that a sob story? Rich, you almost fucking died in front of me and there was nothing I could do.’
Eddie’s eyes dampen suspiciously, blinking one to many times for it to go unseen. ‘And all I could think about was how much of a coward I am, and how there was nothing I could do to stop you from dying.’
‘Eds, that wasn’t on you.’
‘Yes it was. I could have run after you faster, been more brave and stop you from blindly staggering into a trap, or if I clung to you IT might have only hurt me and you’d be unscathed.’
‘Eddie, I would gladly take another skewer to the stomach as long as you’re alright.’
‘But that’s the problem isn’t? You sacrificed your life for me and I froze when IT attacked you, I watched and did nothing.’ Eddie’s voice raised into hysterics, and he was working himself up to the point that he vibrated with consternation.
‘And I would have let you die without confessing. I called your contacts in your phone list and the only one who even bothered to return my calls was your manager, and he didn’t give a shit if you were okay, he just asked when you would be cleared to perform another performance. Said that it was of the upmost importance that you righted the wrong you did on your last stand up.’
Richie face flushed bright red, utterly ashamed that even Eddie noticed how little people are present in his life.
‘They all suck. It’s their loss that they didn’t bother getting to know you, I just wish that I was courageous enough to make you understand that there is someone who adores you, and that person is me. The other losers too but it’s different with me. I hate the fact that you woke up without anyone here to support you. I knew you were going to pull that trick so I even showered in the hospital so I didn’t have to go very far. Showered Richie, in a place full of germs and bacteria. And for the record, for this to be a hospital they have really bad hygiene, if I called a health inspector here they might have to close down.’
Eddie rants, his hand doing the chopping gesture that Richie leered out of him at every turn possible. In the same way that Richie resorts to humor as protection, Eddie resorts to germ facts. Richie brushes the comments on bacteria to the side, more focused on the everything else Eddie vocalized.
‘I lived Eds, so you don’t have to worry about that, and I shouldn’t have said that to you, I really didn’t mind, I was back under in no time.’
‘You’re not getting it. You repeatedly told me I’m brave, and maybe I was but not enough.’ Eddie sinks down back in the plastic chair besides Richie’s bed. ‘I drifted through life with the mentality that my life wasn’t terrible and I would have to be content with that. I never considered the possibility that it could get a hell of a lot better too. Starting today, I’m going to be honest and open about everything, and that starts with divorcing my wife’, he let silence linger a tad, to prepare Richie or perhaps steel himself, ‘and telling you how in love I am with you.’
Richie gasps, even though it wasn’t the first time Eddie uttered those words. In the sewer Richie rationalized that Eddie presumed he was going to die and pitied him, a last friend favor he didn’t know was going to cost him, but now there is no reason for Eddie to lie.
This is all Richie ever dreamth of getting in life, the reciprocated love from the man he cherished deeply, so why did revealing his secret not get any easier?
I love you too Eds. I’ve loved you since you stood by the sidelines of the sandbag, to horrified to join me and Stan because you saw a bandage abandoned on top of the sand and screamed at me to stay away from it when I offered to pick it up and toss it out for you. My whole live I’ve believed I’m this vile and nasty person who loved men the way he should love women, someone who deserved to rot in hell alongside the scum of the earth, but apparently you see men the same way, and how can you be anything other than an extraordinary, bewitching gift from god?
‘Do you got a bae? Or not?’
Eddie frowns, his eyebrows knitting together and his head tilting to the side.
‘I’m sorry what?’
‘Is you tryna date? Or not?’ Richie cringes, idiocy at its finest. ‘I don’t know why I said that, forget it.’
‘What the fuck is a bae? And I am trying to get it on with someone, but he’s dodging any viable answer I can detract from him.’
‘It’s Magcon. They were really popular in 2014, and I involved them in one of my quips which is how I know who they are.’
‘Show me a picture and I still would be lost on who any of them are.’
‘Oh come man, If teenage you would have definitely had a crush on Cameron Dallas or some shot, if you were born in the 2000.’
‘Teenage me had a crush on you. I had it so bad that I never had a celebrity crush right up till college and forgetting you.’
Richie shuts up again, his heart growing in size multiplied by eleven. All this time all it took was Richie getting his head out of his ass and they could have been dating for years.
‘Look Rich, I’m sorry for dumping this on you. It’s not fair and I solemnly swear I won’t let it affect our friendship if you won’t?’
‘No Eds, wait just give me a second, dude, let me try that again.’
‘Don’t call me Eds.’
‘I thought you avowed that you preferred Eds to dude?’
‘What’s up with the fancy word choice dumbass? No wait stop changing the subject’, Eddie hisses, his hands twisting together in his lap the only indication of how nervous riddled his body.
‘I feel the same way’, Richie remarks, tone quieter then Eddie has ever heard. ‘I’ve never had someone that I loved and sure as hell no one who told me they loved me so I don’t know how this goes.’
Eddie laughs breathlessly, a huge burden lifted off his shoulders. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah Eddie Spaghetti, believe it or not there’s not been one other person that fell for my good charms.’
‘I was talking about you feeling the same way, dude. And euh.. neither have I. With a guy I mean, and my marriage with Myra wasn’t exactly a prime example of love, so how about we figure it out together?’  
‘We can start a celibacy club. Until one of us gets pregnant by cheating on the other with their best friend and then hides it by claiming that we got pregnant via the hot tub.’
‘Okay what the fuck are you quoting now?’
‘It’s Glee’, Richie grins, leaning into Eddie’s touch when he caresses his cheek.
‘Idiot’, Eddie whispers affectionate, shaking his head like he can’t believe this is the man he fell in love with.
‘Love that nickname Eds.’
‘Yeah yeah’, Eddie dismisses, withdrawing his hand and ignoring the pout Richie’s wears because of it. He’s so soft next to Richie’s bed, open and venerable in a way he learned to hide from the ripe age of nine, the exact same time Sonia claimed that crying was a side effect of an illness Richie couldn’t bother to recall, and any time she spotted the tiniest amount of liquid in Eddie’s eyes she dragged him to the ER.
A feeling in his gut tugs, desperate to connect his lips with Eddie’s, to experience first hand how a kiss shared out of love manifests. Sure, it’s not Richie’s first kiss, but his previous kisses were either with a woman or a men dared by his friends, snickering and unknowingly shoving him deeper into the closet.
Richie prepares to leans forward, scrambling himself up by his elbows to get better access, and plonks back down with a pained yelp, his stomach flaring up in a burning sensation.
‘I told you not to fucking move’, Eddie chastise, instantly on high alert and checking Richie over to make sure nothing’s wrong. All the wires are still attached, which Richie is a plus in Richie’s books, but Eddie
‘I’m sorry, I just wanted to kiss you.’ Richie admits, though the words set fire to his ears and neck, the first spots to light up in self-consciousness.
‘Then asks and I’ll bend down for you. Are you hoping to get another surgery?’
‘No, but asking for a kiss isn’t exactly romantic now is it? Fuck me for striving to keep the romance alive.’
Eddie swoops in fast, their teeth clinking together from the force of which he comes in, their lips linking in an awkward angle.
He back-paddles, inhaling deeply and guffawing at Richie’s jaw slacked expression, then reconnects their lips properly this time. The kiss is wet, Richie stroking at the nap of Eddie’s neck and applying slight pressure to keep him positioned the way he is in. There’s too much smile for it to be a good kiss, but the simple reality that Eddie is letting Richie smooch him makes up for it. With a prodding tongue Eddie ventures out to take the kiss a step further, and Richie gracefully reciprocates.
It ends with a quick nip from Eddie’s teeth gliding over Richie’s bottom lip, and a hand forcefully pinning Richie down when he again tries to keep the kiss going by chasing after Eddie’s lips.
‘Stop moving.’
‘I’m sorry’, Richie says, and is rewarded by another small peck to satisfy him. Their faces remain in proximity, not kissing but breathing in each other’s air. Eddie untucks a piece of his hair, finger twirling the curl around and around ‘till Richie is dizzy from following the movement and is in danger of falling asleep while in the midst of a such a wonderful moment. The drugs are taking effect, and the satisfaction washing over Richie adds to the overwhelming amount of tiredness weighing Richie down. Eddie chuckles, charmed by the sleepy haze clouding Richie’s eyes.
‘You should get some sleep.’
Richie whines like a petulant child, scratching the area surrounding his eyes to help him fight of the fatigue. With an eyeroll Eddie kisses him on the forehead, above the bandage covering up the wound created by the stone in the cave, something Richie hadn’t even been aware of. He lingers above it, mounting words on the skin, little declaration of love.
Richie sniffles, harboring his eyes closed to stop the tears burning at the brim from spilling. Then, to distract Eddie, he chuckles, lining up the next best jab he could improvise at the spot.
‘Hey, now we’re finally at the same height for you to reach my forehead.’
Eddie pinches Richie’s neck, softly enough that it tickles and pulls giggles from Richie’s mouth.
‘Get some sleep sweetheart, you’re exhausted.’
‘Sweetheart? Eds you’re stealing my bits. I’m the one who petnames you. Cutie.’ He pinches the side of Eddie’s face and is rewarded by a loud groan, though Eddie doesn’t call him off for it.  
‘Too late.’
‘Spoon me?’ Richie questions him, patting the space next to him as an invitation.
Eddie declines, ‘With your broken foot? No way. I’ll spoon you after you get better.’ Oh yeah, Richie forgot all about that.
‘How about I do this?’ He unfastens the metal bars to ease his access, then slides his arm under Richie neck to pillow him, while his other hand hovers over Richie’s wound. It’s probably done without thinking, but the small gesture, like he’s protecting Richie from more harm, soothes Richie.
Richie tucks his head in the nap off Eddie’s neck, delving in as far as humanly possible. Eddie’s hanging half of and half on the bed, in a position that must result in muscle cramps in the morning, but he’s doing it for Richie, because Richie requested it.
Security and warmth cage him in, the remnants of the chilling cold shooed away by the living furnace Eddie provided.
‘I’m really glad you’re okay Rich’, Eddie whispers after such a long time Richie believed he had fallen asleep.
‘Yeah me too.’ Richie agrees, thankful to the universe for giving him a chance with the love of his life.
The same curl Eddie untucked before continues to get the same treatment, round and round, nudging him over the edge into sleep.
‘Goodnight baby’, Eddie whispers to the top of Richie’s head, tucking the curl behind his ears. Too tired to guard his honor of the nickname king, Richie doses.
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gingyboo · 3 years ago
Text
Mirror Mirror
A/N: Again many thanks to @booglebug
Description- Soulmates existed. People knew that much. Soulmates were rare, a handful in each generation, an unexplainable phenomenon that formed a bond closer than blood and more sacred than marriage.
Bucky finds his soulmate when he needs her most. Little does he know how much she needs him too.
(Soulmate au that slots pretty much in to the MCU but with soulmates. Set after TFATWS.)
Pairing- Bucky Barnes x OFC
Warnings- Mentions of violence and guns, but its mostly fluff, drama and angst. Blood and serious injury.
This is a multi chaptered fic.
Please like, comment, reblog!
prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter4 Chapter 5Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 chapter 15 Chapter 16
------------------------------------------------ Chapter 17
Kit watched the ramp rising, shutting out the sunlight. His breath was heavy as he maintained the pressure on Nancy’s wound. Just before the ramp closed Kit was jolted by the distinctive clang of metal on metal. The ramp was forced open enough for Bucky to squeeze through, he seemed dishevelled but unhurt as he stood up, his head brushing the roof of the jet. All colour left his face as his eyes landed on Nancy. Words lost him entirely as he fell to his knees by her side. Kit looked at him helplessly.
“The Wakandan outreach centre, London, they’ll be able to help her.” Bucky stuttered towards the pilot. He took Nancy’s hand that was limp by her side. and enveloped it in his flesh hand squeezing it firmly. leaning over her, he swept a flyaway strand of hair off her forehead. Tears pricked in his eyes.
“Nancy…” he whispered.
Sam dropped through a hatch above them, landing lightly on the floor behind Bucky. They shared a look and Sam dropped the shield, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder.
“Nancy, please, stay with me.” Bucky pleaded, holding up her head, two fingers finding the weak pulse in her neck. A shiver ran through him, and Nancy’s eyes fluttered slightly. Bucky squeezed her hand tighter.
“Nance…”
“Bucky, you’re okay… Buck…what happened?” Green eyes peaked out between her lashes.
“Oh, thank goodness, you’re going to be ok, the Wakandans will help you, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry...” he pressed his lips to her forehead. Kit shifted his hands as Sam passed him fresh wad of bandages to stem the bleeding. Sam was talking frantically on the phone. Nancy’s eyes darted round the plane frantically taking everything in. Her eyes landed on Kit, all his focus was on the wound in her chest, he was shaking, his breath catching in his throat. Nancy tried to reach for him, with the hand not locked in Bucky’s, but her arm felt heavy and detached from her.
“Kit,” she choked out, “Kit, look at me.” Kit shook his head, her eyes snapped to Bucky’s, a wordless exchange took place as he removed her hand from his grip and slipped his crumpled jacket under her to support her head. His hands covered Kit’s releasing him from his trace. Kit slid back, finally meeting his sister’s gaze.
“I’m sorry, it should have been me.” He stuttered “it’s all my fault.”
“No. Don’t you say that.”
“Shuri’s let the London team know, they’re preparing a medical team, she says Bucky should stay close, she thinks their bond could help her.” Sam said, hanging up the phone. Looking at the scene by his feet. Kit looked like a small child whilst Bucky seemed older than ever. All extended youth seemed to have evaporated from his form as he watched life spilling from his soulmate. The sight seemed too personal, too private, even Kit had looked away, curled up against the wall. Sam marched into the cock pit, he could be more helpful there.
The journey could have been years for all Bucky knew, Nancy drifted in and out of consciousness speaking fractured sentences, he shushed them away, telling her to save her strength. She was quite for what seemed like an age before her voice returned, stronger and clearer than before.
“I need you to promise me something.” She said to Bucky.
“Don’t talk like that.”
“You have to promise me you won’t fall apart, promise me, you won’t go looking for vengeance, you or him, I know he’s still in there, but you can’t let him out.”
“Nancy stop.”
“it’s okay, you can let me go. I think it’s time.” She winced pain filling her feature.
“You’re not going anywhere, you’re not leaving me.” Bucky turned to the cockpit, “How far are we?” He shouted.
“We’re close, little further.” Rayden responded, his voice laced with guilt though he pushed the engines to their limit.
“Bucky I’m sorry,” tears swam down her cheeks, “Kit.” She called, unable to turn her head, paralysed in pain. Her brother slid over to her, taking her hand in his.
“I’m here, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Kit, I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too CeCe.” He cited his childhood nickname for her. A simpler time when his baby sister came home from the hospital and two separate syllables was too much for him.
“I need you to know, I forgive you, for leaving, for hiding, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not, you not forgiving me, you’re not going to die, you’re going to be angry at me for long time, I’ll have grovel and plead, I have regain your trust and even then you’ll still bring it up every time we disagree on something, you’re my baby sister and you’re not going anywhere.” He said firmly, Nancy smiled softly, a chuckle escaping her lips. Her breathing escalated, she choked and coughed, blood seeping out of her mouth. Sam appeared beside them once more, reaching down he swept Nancy up in his arms, cradled to his chest like a baby. Her head lulled to one side. Kit stood to protest, but Bucky held up a hand.
“He’ll get her there faster.” the ramp started to lower, as Bucky leaned over, kissing her cheek softly.
“Don’t go where I can’t follow.” He whispered in her ear, if Sam heard he was pretending not to. Kit squeezed her hand before Sam dove out into London’s sky.
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Bucky felt her fingers twitch first. His gaze shifted up instantly until it rested on her eyes. They shifted beneath her lids, responding at last to the bright lights above her sick bed. The outreach centre had taken her in fixed her up, she had stabilised by the time Kit and Bucky had made it to her. It had been two days now, her wound was healed but her body was still recovering. Wakandan medicine was an amazing thing, Bucky was fascinated, remembering his days on the battlefield in the war, how many would have lived had their facilities been available then. She was squeezing his hand now, and he smiled squeezing back.
“Nancy?” He spoke softly his free hand sweeping across her cheekbone. Her eyes fluttered open, green peeking through her thick lashes.
“Buck… Bucky.” she croaked out.
“Oh, doll you had me scared back there.” he exhaled heavily, drawing his chair closer to her bed.
“The witches?” she asked frantically trying to sit up. bucky held her back down with soft shushing noises.
“We left them there, not the last we’ll see of them no doubt, but for now you’re safe, that’s all that matters.
“Where do we go from here? Back to Wakanda?”
“We can’t.” his face fell into a solum line.
“What’s happened?”
“Duncan Everitt is dead.” he said simply, watching a crease form between her brows.
“How?”
“We don’t know, but if someone can get to him there then its not safe enough for you.” he insisted. Nancy’s brow furrowed but any protest was cut off by Kit rushing into the room. He was by her side in an instant.
“Don’t ever put me through that again.” he smiled down at her.
“Where will we go?” she asked looking between the two men.
“I will go to Wakanda, Duncan may have hunted me, but he was one of my men once, he deserved better than what he got, I will find out what happened to him.” he said defiantly. Nancy nodded, Bucky help her to sit upright in the bed. “I’ll get to see dad, apologies, start to make amends.”
“He’ll be over the moon, to see you again, when I told him I think he didn’t dare to dream, he won’t believe until he sees you. I know I didn’t.” she looked up at her brother, he was now freshly shaved, and his hair trimmed, he wore a loose-fitting white t-shirt and some black silk trousers, he’d made him self at home here. Nancy was pleased, he looked more like his old self, younger, softer in the face without the wiry beard.
“I was thinking, we could go to America, Louisiana probably, I got a place there, it’s not much, but…”
“I’d like that.” she said quickly smiling, she caught Kit’s eye who smiled in agreement. Whatever had happened, Kit trusted Bucky now.
“Sam would be close by too, if trouble were to find us.” he smiled taking her hand again.
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It took a few days to prepare, finding flights, sorting out her visa, getting Samara to deliver her passport to Sam on the other side of London to avoid anyone following them to get to Nancy. Kit left with Rayden for his journey to Wakanda, it was a tearful farewell on Nancy’s part as Bucky finally left her side to give the siblings a moment of privacy. Nancy felt stronger every day, moving out of her sick bed and into a shared room with Bucky. Not wanted to risk going outside she walked up and down the stairs in outreach centre, outwards appearance resembled a tower block, one of the larger centres held, it had a lot of stairs. Shuri contacted her, sending over a replacement top with bullet proof properties, the other torn to shreds by the bullet and the doctors. Her father fretted down the phone to her, even her mother called, though it was cool and brief her mother did at least sound half relieved to hear her awake, Kit had insisted she’d fretted constantly before Nancy had woken up, this she found hard to believe. Eventually it was time to leave, set off for a fresh start. As Nancy curled up in the wide 1st class seat with Bucky beside her she felt herself poised at a precipice, a brand new chapter of her life.
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