pairing: ballet dancer!shane hollander x bratva boss!ilya rozanov
summary: Twirling. Always twirling. Whether on stage or in the palm of someone’s hand, Shane Hollander was always caught in a dance. He knew it was what he was born to do—what he will spend the rest of his life doing. That is, until Ilya Rozanov.
warnings: 18+ only, angst, eventual smut, oral sex, hand jobs, blood and injury, gore, eventual romance, dark romance, hurt/comfort, murder, mentioned death, bratva/mafia
word count: 2.3k — 23k and counting on ao3
a/n: so i decided to post just the first chapter here if yall were interested :) if you like it, pls go check out the rest on ao3 (listed above!!) honestly this is diff than any style i've written in before, smut included, so i'm kinda excited/nervous to share with you guys hahah anyway love you all 💞
masterlist ✨
—
Talking to patrons always killed Shane internally.
He hated it—the pearly white smiles, the laughs that served as pretty masks, the invasion of space. Everything about it was like a bad dream, and he couldn’t escape no matter what. It was never about his comfort, only about the money, and that was something the ballet company sorely needed.
Not that they had financial trouble to begin with. While other companies were scraping what they could from the bottom of the barrel in a world that moved too fast to keep up with, the National Ballet of Canada had its roster of ultra-rich families and foundations that would never leave no matter the circumstances. Even so, Shane still had to mingle with them, and it never got easier.
He never quite knew what to say. Of course he knew their names and basic information—if they were married, when and how they made their fat fortunes, what their favorite productions were—but beyond that, he always felt awkward about prying further. There were some dancers in the company who had no problem shattering the ice with a sledgehammer, but not him. He’d rather stay isolated in the silence of a rehearsal hall, spiraling into madness as he tried to perfect his scissor jeté.
“You must be very excited for the exchange.”
He blinked. Right, he was in the middle of a conversation with an older couple who had been kind enough to sponsor that night’s performance. It was their last event before the entire company was going to spend the next six months in Russia. Something about steel sharpening steel and lessening tensions between Canada and Russia.
He plastered on his usual smile. “Yes. Very.”
Convincing enough.
The woman didn’t seem to notice. “I hear the Bolshoi are quite intense.”
“Well, they’re one of the oldest companies in the world. You don’t get that on sheer talent alone,” her husband pointed out with a grunt before clapping Shane’s shoulder, shaking him once for good measure. “Our young star here is going to give them a run for their money. Aren’t you, Shane?”
“You’re too kind, Mr. Martin,” Shane responded easily like a reflex. “And yes, I’ll do my best.”
The wife shook her head. “Now now, Joseph, it’s not a competition.”
“I know,” the older man huffed. “All I’m saying is that sometimes egos need to be managed. Shane is just the man to put those Russians in their place.”
“You’re being ridiculous—”
“No, he’s right, to a certain degree,” Shane said with a slight shrug. “But it’s not just me. The entire company is excited to learn from the Bolshoi.”
He had a feeling that if he said it again, maybe he’d believe it.
Mrs. Martin wore a soft look that almost reminded him of his late grandmother. It was almost like she could see right through him. She reached up and pat his shoulder. “I’m sure it won’t be an easy six months, but I’m also sure it’ll fly by.”
God, I hope so. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
She hummed, her hand lowering to find her husband’s arm. “Well, we won’t keep you too long then. I’m sure you have to get some rest before your flight tomorrow.”
“I’m gonna need it,” he said lightly. “It was nice talking to you.”
“Likewise, dear.”
Shane watched them walk away before he sighed, letting his shoulders sag slightly.
Perhaps it was time to go home after all. He still had to pack and inevitably reorganize his suitcase three times before he could even think about getting some sleep—all before cooling down and stretching before bed. Playing Prince Siegfried earlier that night left him winded and sore. His ass was definitely feeling it. He was going to have to build up more strength if he wanted to survive the next six months in one of the most brutal environments known to mankind.
He took another sip of champagne. Still too sweet.
As if on cue, a familiar voice groaned, “Jesus Christ, if I have to drink another sip of this, I might actually puke.”
He turned to see his dance partner. Rose. He was almost surprised to see her. Somehow she was usually surrounded by the younger patrons who had way too much money and time on their hands. Unfortunately for them, she wasn’t that kind of girl.
She was actually more like an angel. Shane couldn’t count on his fingers how many times she had saved him from awkward conversations. She knew how to read him both on stage and across a room.
“How are you still drinking?” she asked, quirking a well-defined brow.
Shane only shook his head, a crooked smile on his lips. “It’s better than nothing.”
She hummed in solemn agreement. “I suppose, but you’d think they’d buy better booze to send us off,” she pointed out, swirling her half-empty glass for effect. “This is cheap enough to make anyone completely lose hope in humanity.”
He snorted softly. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I know you’re not.”
“But aren’t I right, though?” she chuckled dryly. “I mean, if you think about it, our careers are short anyway, we don’t get paid nearly enough to survive here in Toronto, and our audiences have been dwindling since the pandemic. Let’s face it, ballet is dying, and us too.”
He was stunned for a moment, staring at her as if an angel had just grown horns. “Are you drunk?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Hence why I came to find you. I need you to be my service dog.”
A chuckle bubbled from his chest. “Service dog?”
“Yeah. To sense when I’m about to say something regrettably stupid. You can boop me with your nose or something.”
“Fair enough,” he relented, his gaze sweeping out over the crowded ballroom.
Most had gone home at that point, but there were still enough guests there to warrant them staying for another half hour or so.
She sighed next to him. “This is hardly the send-off I was expecting.”
He glanced down at her. “Oh?”
Her eyes found his. “Yeah,” she lamented. “I mean, I didn’t expect fireworks or anything, but we’ll be gone for six months in enemy territory.”
“Moscow is hardly—”
“It is,” she cut him off with a dry smile. “You know how the Russians are. Cool. Calculated. Insanely pretty. Meanwhile we apologize for everything.” She downed the rest of her champagne with a sigh. “We’ll be judged the entire time we’re there. It’ll be amazing and all, but I’m not looking forward to being on my toes all the time—literally.”
She wasn’t wrong. He knew they’d be scrutinized, but it didn’t leave him with as much despair as he thought. After all, he grew up watching old VHS tapes of the Russian greats—Baryshnikov was one of his heroes. He remembered playing them over and over, wondering if he’d even be half as good or even half as stunning. Now they were going to Moscow, and the whole thing seemed like a dream. His 4-year-old self would go into shock.
“Anyway, enjoy your freedom now, while it still exists,” Rose singsonged, her voice pulling him straight out of his fleeting moment of nostalgia. “We’ll be under curfew and shot on sight.”
He nearly scoffed as he shook his head. “Rose, that was a completely different time.”
“You should keep up with the news,”she said, nearly sounding like his father. “There’s always tension in politics and whatnot. I heard the Russian mafia is making a resurgence.” She caught glance of his unamused look and shrugged. “You never know. We could be kidnapped or—”
"You read too many dark romance novels."
“Would that be so bad though?” she contemplated. “I mean, the dating scene here is so…”
She didn’t have to finish.
He knew it too.
He always felt so lost with anything that had to do with the opposite sex. He never really knew what to do with all those tiny emotions that typically came with a relationship. Somehow he always got lost in his own thoughts and managed to keep everyone at arm’s length naturally, but he supposed it was safer that way.
Less messy that way.
He hummed lamely in response.
Rose turned to look at him, her blue eyes soft, and for a moment, he imagined what it would be like to be a normal guy in his position. He’d probably kiss her in that moment, hold her close, confess and whisper some sweet nothings in her ear. It was what she deserved, but not what he could give her. Besides, it was better for him to have her as a close friend.
“Hayden’s having some of the dancers over at his place. Jackie’s making the usual,” she said.
He could feel his lips curl. “Rabbit food?”
“What else?” she laughed. “We’re still on the clock.”
It was going to be a long six months.
—
Vodka did nothing to soothe Ilya’s frayed nerves.
He swirled the glass once, twice—almost expecting some kind of genie to materialize out of nowhere. Maybe if he drank enough, one would actually appear and grant him every wish in his heart.
But alas, he was sitting up against a shitty headboard in a shitty hotel with shitty sheets that felt no better than a burlap sack. At least the woman laying next to him wasn’t shitty.
Svetlana was far from shitty. She was the one thing in the world he didn’t hate—couldn’t hate. She had seen him at his worst, and even as he continued to spiral deeper into the hellhole of his family business, she still saw him as the stupid little boy who would run around the fields outside his family home to look for a butterfly she made up.
His other hand ran up and down the soft skin of her back, feeling each vertebrae of her spine. She hummed softly in response, sinking further into the mattress.
“What time is your rehearsal?” he asked, breaking the silence.
She turned her head, looking up at him out of the corner of her eye. “Early,” she said simply. “No different than before. Why?”
He looked away before she could analyze his look. Another sip of vodka helped. “I will be there. The president wants to talk about the exchange with Canada. Lots of events that need sponsorship.”
“Oh, that,” she said, turning onto her side. “Yes, it’s the talk of the town.” Her eyes twinkled in the dim light. “Some of the girls were talking about taking them to a club when they get here. The Canadians.”
“Hm, yes, that might be good. Boring lot, I’ve heard.”
She chuckled softly. “Don’t underestimate them. I hear they have some very special stars.” She must’ve seen his grumpy expression because she laughed a bit harder, poking his hip. “Okay, maybe not as good as us, but still.”
“As good as you. There is no us.”
Not anymore.
His heart twisted in his chest. He didn’t mean for it to sound biting, but the memories that surfaced were nearly too much. There was a pain there that lingered, gnawing at his leg like a rabid dog.
“I’m sorry,” he grumbled, turning his attention back to his vodka glass.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, and he believed her.
She sat up, and his eyes found her curves. They had become such a welcome and familiar sight, mapped out by every inch of him. God, how he didn’t deserve any version of her—and yet she stayed despite it all.
Her hand cupped his jaw before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. His body melted as she pulled away.
“You should come with us,” she said after a moment, a small smile blooming. “You’ve been busy, no? It’ll be a good chance to blow off some steam. Maybe you can find a shiny new toy to play with.”
A grimace had no trouble finding his features. He always hated when she put it that way.
He wasn’t the type to seek anyone out. Not anymore, at least. Ever since his father began to step down, Ilya found himself at the helm of his family’s business. His older brother wasn’t much help either, doing whatever it was he did with the coke-heads and whores for hire. Ilya hadn’t the time for loose ends and pretty, empty heads—hence Svetlana. She had no problems keeping personal life out of the bedroom, and she certainly didn’t complain when he was rough with her as a result.
“The only ballerina I’d fuck is you,” he grumbled, and he didn’t really mean it as a compliment.
They were usually a stuck-up breed of attention whores. He wasn’t too sure how the National Ballet of Canada would be, but he suspected they weren’t too different than the Bolshoi.
Then again, there could be a surprise blossom among the thorns. His hopes weren’t high, but he made a mental note to check the roster of incoming dancers.
He watched as Svetlana lay her head against his shoulder.
“I know, but you deserve someone to love,” she said with almost a motherly tone.
Almost his mother’s tone.
A wry smile tugged at his lips. “I am not someone who deserves love, let alone someone to love,” he said with resignation. “I’ve got too much blood on my hands.”
“And yet you still treat me with love,” she pointed out. “Not everyone is capable of that. Even normal, boring Canadians.”
That earned her a real smile from him, one that made his eyes crinkle in the corners and deepen his dimples.
“Come on, Ilya,” she cooed as her hand ran up and down his stomach. “One more round before I go?”
The thing is that Ilya has no fucking clue what autism is. He probably read the word when some twitter user called Shane autistic and wanted to look it up but got distracted by a post about Shane's tits or smth.
What he does know though is that Shane folds his clothes before sex. And he smiles at him with adoration when he does it and doesn't rush him or make fun of him for it. He knows Shane doesn't always pick up on his jokes and sarcasm "That's French, Ilya" but he doesn't mind it and would never make Shane feel bad about it or dismiss his response "Yeah I know, Shane". He knows Shane has a PhD in The Arts of Overthinking "Now the bed's all dirty" so he playfully chases his worries away and closes all those open tabs in Shane's brain "What? Shut up". He knows Shane will not rest until he has everything in his life under control so he grumbles when Shane wakes him up in the middle of the night to tell him how they can make it all work but still listens intently to his plan. He knows Shane feels overwhelmed and anxious when stuff doesn't go down as planned "This is my actual fucking nightmare, Ilya" "I'm okay I'm just freaking out I'll be okay in a second" so he softly comforts him and supports him through it "Then maybe it's time to wake up, yes?" "We're good here, your family's here, you're boyfriend's here, we're good here, ok?" He knows Shane has to hear it to believe it "My boyfriend?" so he gently goes "I mean yes, I think so, probably".
He doesn't know Shane is autistic but he knows Shane and he loves Shane and Shane happens to be autistic
so i started writing a new fic — ballet!shane x mafia!ilya
there will be much smut and angst and action as well as soft moments too (tho no guarantees lol) but if you could go check it out and show it some love, i’d be eternally yours ❤️
hii !!! i was wondering if you could do obi/reader who was turned to the dark side instead of ani, if you haven’t already :))
one drop of sun
pairing: obi-wan kenobi x sith!reader
warnings: mentions of murder, action, death, betrayal, order 66
a/n: hi anon!! omg i’m so sorry this is so late -- i had a bit of a health scare coming back from my trip and i moved in to school this past week. also literally cannot imagine this man my kinnie in any more pain but i shall do my best. i thrive in pain lmaoooo -- also added some rain for *drama*
** TO MAKE A REQUEST -- please check the status in my bio **
masterlist
----
Something was wrong.
Obi-Wan felt it the moment he escaped from Utapau. It wasn’t just that Cody and the rest of his troops turned on him so suddenly. It was something else, something he had the worst feeling about. He hadn’t felt something as unsettling since his last negotiations with the Trade Federation while accompanying his master Qui-Gon all those years ago.
A dark veil had shielded you from the Force.
He didn’t need to be with you to know it. Questions flooded his head in a massive tidal wave. Were you alright? Were you safe in the midst of this madness? He couldn’t imagine you would go down without a fight, but he still inevitably worried about you endlessly.
To say that you meant a lot to him was an understatement. If he lost you, part of him would perish along with you. Who knew what kind of person would be left? Even though that kind of thinking went against everything he stood for, he would do anything to save you, and now, in this desperate hour, he was going to find you.
“Emergency Code 913,” he said into the comlink of the ship he stole. A garbled message came through faintly. “Stand by.”
He instantly recognized Master Yoda, and he instantly felt some relief.
“Master Kenobi,” he greeted with an equally grim expression. “Glad to see you, I am.”
Obi-Wan’s hands were steady on the gears. “Master Yoda, my clones have turned on me. I have a very strong feeling that this is happening everywhere across the galaxy,” he nearly rambled. “I need to go help any others if they’re still alive. We don’t know what kind of threat we’re up against.”
“On the contrary,” Yoda said. “The work of the Sith, this is, rising again.”
Frustration bubbled over. “That’s why I have to go and help --”
“Patience,” Yoda said with a deep sigh. “Help you, I will, but feel our friend’s presence in the Force, I cannot...”
Obi-Wan took a deep, careful breath, as he always did whenever you were mentioned in any conversation. You compromised him, consuming his mind at times. It was necessary to fold his emotions neatly in the deep recesses of his heart, to keep from distractions, but something about you also helped him focus.
As frazzled as he was, he knew Master Yoda was right. He needed to take a step back before charging in, a mistake his former Padawan often made. Everything was under control, as long as...
“What do you mean, you can’t feel their presence?” the question came urgently before he had a chance to think.
Yoda bore concern in his deeply set brow. “A darkness I sense in them...and their new master,” he said. “The chancellor -- an emperor he has become.”
Obi-Wan felt lightheaded, his hands trembling. His words only confirmed what he feared. If it was possible, if this was happening, then he would be forced to do something he knew he couldn’t do.
“Master,” he began, his throat dry. “What must I do?”
The old Jedi master hummed in thought. “End this, we must...”
Realization made the blood drain from his face.
“No,” still came from his lips in horror. “Master, I can’t --”
“You must. For the greater good,” Yoda insisted. “I must face the emperor.”
“Send me to kill the emperor,” he begged. “They would never do such a thing. I know they wouldn’t. To turn on their own family and the galaxy?”
Yoda shook his head. “Trying times, these are.”
With another breath, the only thing that was clear in his mind was the command his master had given him. Normally he would’ve completed the mission without question, but this was you he was dealing with, and he wasn’t about to go down that easily. No matter how long he stayed in denial, he knew he’d have to face you one way or another.
He wasn’t sure he was ready to see you yet, but then again, when does life ever wait?
You came catapulting into his life as his closest friend. The years had you grow closer to each other. He knew you better than you knew yourself, so how could something like this happen?
As the grief began to set in, he tightened his hand on the controls.
“I’ll begin searching immediately,” he managed to say.
Yoda shook his head. “No need. Go to the temple.”
Obi-Wan could barely register himself launching the ship into light speed.
As the stars blurred, his hands were clammy, waiting with bated breath. There was nothing he could think about or say to himself that could possibly prepare him for what was inevitably going to happen. His head was empty, with only one last order to hopefully put an end to this.
And to lead him down a path of ultimate pain.
No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine driving his saber into your heart, to see the light fade from your eyes. Anger mingling with betrayal, it would destroy him.
He shook his head as he came out of light speed and entered Coruscant’s atmosphere.
It took him no time at all to arrive at the temple. Rain splattered against the ship’s display in thick sheets, effectively distorting his visual as he touched down. He threw open the top and slid down the ship before taking off in a fast sprint.
He called your name, and they echoed in the once filled, dimly lit halls.
Desperation began gripping his voice. “Where are you?”
Then he felt a chilling presence behind him, in the shadows of a pillar. He didn’t dare turn around until he heard what sounded like a ghost of your voice.
“Obi-Wan?”
He couldn’t help but almost laugh with relief. “Thank the stars...” He turned to see you peering at him, and in that moment, all he wanted to do was to sweep you up and run away like the two of you had always guiltily dreamed about.
“What’re you doing here?” you shot. “It’s not safe.”
He took a step back defensively. “I should be asking you the same,” he said uneasily. “What happened here? Where are the teachers? The younglings?”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“You know that’s not true,” he said. “The temple is my home as well as yours. When I received the distress signal, I thought --”
“You never should’ve come.”
Obi-Wan found himself reaching for his saber, his fingers finding the cold metal. It felt oddly unfamiliar in his hands, especially as his eyes locked with yours. There you stood before him not as the hunted, but the hunter. You had something glint in your eyes that made Obi-Wan’s breathing unsteady. An unquenched bloodlust melted your eyes into liquid gold in the shadows.
His heart broke. What could the emperor had said to turn you over so easily? What did he promise you? You would’ve told Obi-Wan if something was wrong, right?
Or was he just another pawn in this game?
No, this doubt was trying to root itself in his mind, to get him feeling indifferent towards you so he could complete his task. The hero in him knew that he had to try and see past it, but it was hard watching you in so much pain. He would take it all away in an instant if he could.
You ignited your saber, the glow illuminating your face. You lifted your weapon, the tip inches away from his neck. “Get out.”
“You know I can't.”
“Leave!” you roared as you stepped forward, twirling before swinging your weapon across his chest.
Obi-Wan stepped back just in time, his eyes wide as he exclaimed your name. “Come to your senses!”
“On the contrary, my mind has never been clearer,” you said as you slashed again, this time catching the edge of his cloak. “The Jedi Order is corrupt. The true Republic never existed with us in the way. With the Chancellor in power --”
“Chancellor Palpatine will destroy us all!” Obi-Wan protested, shrugging his smoking cloak off before throwing it to the side. “We were put in place to set balance.”
“And look where that got us,” you said. “We were never supposed to live our lives like this, fighting in a war that could never be won in the first place. The people of the galaxy need someone to be a beacon in this darkness.”
He felt for his saber again, this time his fingers hovering to ignite it. He watched as you held your weapon threateningly. “And who is to be that beacon? You?”
“It could be us,” you said, holding your hand out. Your voice was like velvet, tempting him so hard that he had to gasp for breath. “Help me fix everything.”
Part of him wanted to give in. He could have everything, even the peace he dreamed of. He could have you unapologetically. The fantasies that slipped through his fingers could be tangible. He could right all of the galaxy’s wrongs by your side.
He would never want for anything again.
But that thought faded as fast as it came, and he gave you a sad smile. “I never really knew you, did I?”
Your eyes reflected sadness for a moment, glossy with heavy tears before they began to boil in a menacing glare that chilled Obi-Wan’s bones.
“I suppose not.”
He gritted his teeth as he dodged your incoming swing. Your speed had always been like an intimidating flash of lightning, but he was able to analyze in the heat of battle. It wasn’t much to count on, but he needed all the help he could get.
As he ignited his lightsaber to meet you, the light of his weapon caught yours in a twisted, hissing dance. You pushed down against him, forcing him to kneel.
He spun and swiped his leg out, knocking you off your feet. Scrambling back up, he launched himself at you, swinging. You dodged just in time, his saber shattering the glass doors instead.
The storm continued brewing outside. A cold gust of wind crawled across Obi-Wan’s skin as you regained your footing.
“You’re holding back,” you hissed with annoyance.
“Of course, I am!” he yelled. “Stop this madness! Please! You don’t have to do this!”
Seething, you assumed your attack position. “It’s too late!”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he exclaimed as you kicked him outside. His long, wet locks were glued to his face and hair, covering his eyes.
He screamed in pain as your blade caught his upper chest. Staggering back, he waved his weapon blindly to keep you away until he fell to his knees. His fingers trembled with pain as he gingerly brushed them over his sizzling wound. The rain seemed to ease it some.
“I killed them already!” you cried. “The elders! Teachers! Even the younglings!” Your voice was tight with anguish. “I killed them all!”
It was hard for Obi-Wan to mask his horror through his pain. He groaned as he did his best to stand, gripping his weapon for dear life.
You laughed hysterically, in spite of the tears in your eyes as you pulled your hair. You fell to your knees in laughter. “I killed them,” you said again, your voice dimming as realization flooded your face. “I killed them...”
You didn’t remember screaming, but he would always, until the day he died. It was a sound that made his blood curdle as it mixed with the heavy rain.
When he said your name, it was like he was calling out to you from the entrance of the darkest cave.
“Obi-Wan...” you murmured.
He grimaced in pain as he made his way over to you, only to stop in his tracks as you held your weapon against him.
“Stay back!”
“Let me help you,” he said softly, gently.
“No! I will slaughter you where you stand if you take one more step!”
You meant it. He knew that.
And part of him didn’t mind at all.
“You know how this ends, don’t you?” you said, a knowing, bitter smile on your lips.
Obi-Wan felt the blood drain from his face. “No...”
You shook your head. “That's the task Master Yoda gave to you,” you said. “The longer I’m alive, the more of a threat I am to you and whatever remains of the Order.”
“Stop,” he pleaded. “I told him I wouldn’t.”
You twirled your hilt in your hand. “Of course, you did.”
When you looked at him, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Even as you were soaking in the rain, your battle-worn robes seeing better days as the fabric stuck to your skin, you were beautiful as you were broken. He could see the turmoil of your soul in your eyes.
You were silent, and he didn’t like that. He was afraid of taking one more step closer to you, not because of your threat, but because he could feel you slipping away. One more step towards you, and he could lose you forever. By staying where he was, there was an unspoken trust hanging in the balance, that he would give you the space you desperately needed.
An invisible smile lay on your lips. “If I mean anything at all to you...” you trailed off. “You’d do this for me.”
His free hand tightened into a white fist. “But what about me?”
“What about you?”
“You’d leave me behind,” he said. “Or did I just imagine our mutually shared feelings?”
He watched as you savored what he said, your eyes foggy, but he never imagined you’d say those next words.
“Yes, you did.”
Of course, you’d try to make it easier for him to kill you without a thought. Years of silent pining after one another sealed with a kiss at the start of your knighthoods all dissipated. All of those moments where your skin was flush against his seemed to sear him alive. The ghost of your feathery touch now wrapped around his throat.
He couldn’t breathe. His cheeks were hot, almost boiling the raindrops that came down relentlessly.
You meant your words, and that frightened him to no end.
He could barely move as you swung your lightsaber, twirling and swinging as you scrambled to your feet. He met your weapon with his, shoving you away in time for him to catch his breath.
“Fight back, you coward!” you screamed.
It was obvious what needed to be done. He seemed to hear the entire cosmos in his head, generations of Jedi knights urging him to make the move. His ears were eventually ringing, drowning out the rain and everything else. All memories he had of you were fading into the back of his mind.
At least, they tried. There was no way he would be able to completely shut you out. Call it weakness, but you were the sun in his universe.
You were moving towards him, your eyes cold gold. They were unchanging as he parried your blade, his slicing through your shoulder. Your arm and saber fell to the ground as a metallic odor filled the wet air.
The pain distracted you from his saber plunging into your stomach. He let out a small sob as your body fell limply into his.
Your hand held the cauterized stump that was your shoulder. Your injury was already peeling, revealing blood and white bone underneath the dark burn.
Your breathing was erratic as he set you down, laying your head in his lap.
“I’m sorry,” he said over and over like a prayer. “I’m so sorry...”
“You...you...” you managed to say as you shivered from the pain. “Obi...”
“Hush, save your breath.”
“What does it matter?” you shot. “You need to let me go.”
He shook his head, rain mixing with his tears. “Don’t leave me, please!”
“I...would never leave you,” you wheezed as you gripped his hand. “But you can’t save me. Not this time.”
When you brought his hand to your lips, he ripped his gaze away, squeezing his eyes shut.
It was a dream. It was all a dream.
“Don’t you dare save my life.”
Your body grew lighter in his arms.
Curling himself into you, he cried, screamed, begged you to come back. What hate was in his heart, he let out in a scream nearly loud enough to part the clouds.
The rain stopped.
The rain stopped, and you were dead in his arms.
It wasn't long before your skin began to grow cold. He placed one last kiss on your forehead, closing your eyes with the rough pads of his fingers.
He left you in the small garden out there, lying in a bed of flowers. In time, you would return to the earth and fuel new life, as life in the universe continued. He desperately wanted to take you with him, but he knew you’d always be there.
He could feel your hand on his shoulder as he walked away.
The sun broke through the thick grey clouds, illuminating the place where he left you.
what the fuck… why is this absolute masterpiece of fanfic only at 76 notes?!? HELLO?
are you even aware of the talent you have? i was picturing every second of this, i was glued to my screen, i was feeling both their pains and one’s relief while the other carried a deep sorrow within him in the end.
yes i do! i’ve been a lil busy with school but i’m starting to finish up requests and write a bit more! (so so sorry to people who have sent requests in -- i’m working on it!!)
IDK IF I’LL EVER SHUT UP ABOUT THIS, BUT Y’ALL KNOW HOW MUCH WE BKDKS HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT! BONES DID SUCH A GREAT JOB AND ESP THE VOICE ACTORS ;;; THE TRANSITION, KATSUKI’S “Izuku” AND THE “I’m sorry for everything.” I JUST- ASDFGHJKL
a/n: soooo i haven't written for steve in a while 🥺 this was originally gonna be an angsty mess BUT your girl is absolutely touch starved sooooooooooooo in the midst of finishing another request, i had this other idea pop up and just ran with it -- hope yall enjoy 🥰 also happy new year!!
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----
The wound wasn't as dilapidating as you thought it would be, but it was still a pain in the ass.
You gritted your teeth as you stumbled back, your knees nearly giving way. You should’ve known better. Perhaps it was your confidence, or rather ignorance of the enemy. When you finally noticed Peter’s worried-sick expression as he caught you before you fell, you swallowed hard, mustering a smile.
“Cap, Y/N’s been hit!” he nearly screamed into the radio. “Please send backup! Anything!”
You shook your head as Peter pressed his gloved hands on your wound. The strength of his pressure practically knocked the wind out of you. “It’s fine. Just a flesh wound.”
“On my way. Are there any more soldiers in the area?”
“No, sir!” Peter exclaimed, the eyes on his mask squinting as his head darted around. “Holy cow, that’s a lot of blood -- please hurry!”
You placed your hand on his before giving his hand a squeeze. “Calm down, Peter,” you hissed through the pain. “I'm not gonna die, but I might have a few cracked ribs from you putting too much damn pressure.”
His eye pieces expanded widely. His hands fell away. “Oh, uh, sorry…agh!” His hands darted back to their position as you had more blood pool and drip through your suit.
“You’re doing great,” you said patiently.
Footsteps approached quickly, stopping at the entrance of the lab.
“Oh my God,” Steve breathed as he knelt quickly, taking in the situation. He eventually secured his shield over his shoulders. “Stark, evac, now.”
His face was stone as he easily lifted you in his arms. “Move out, Queens.”
“Yes, sir,” Peter answered with a squeak, following closely behind.
You couldn’t see much as your vision was beginning to fade, so you leaned your head against Steve’s chest. When your eyes fluttered closed to catch your breath, he gently shook you.
“Eyes open.”
You groaned. “One more minute.”
His eyes were fixed up ahead at the opening Quinjet. “Nat, we need the trauma kit,” he told her as she came rushing out. He put his finger to his ear. “Stark, we have to go.”
“Jesus, what were you hit with?” Natasha muttered as she helped set you down on the floor of the jet.
You winced as she injected you with painkillers. “A bullet, I think.”
“You think?” Steve shot, his voice low.
Even if you could answer him, you decided not to. You closed your eyes, trying to drown out the dull throbbing that covered your entire stomach. Truth be told, you actually couldn’t really remember what happened. It was all so fast. One moment you were using your momentum to throw someone to the ground, the next you pushed Peter out of the way just as some goon pulled the trigger.
Steve opened his mouth to say more when Natasha shot him a look. Her attention turned back towards you. “Well, I don’t think it hit any of your vital organs,” she said. “You’re bleeding pretty badly, though.”
“What a miracle,” you said dryly.
Before long, the Quinjet was up in the air. The ride back to the compound was pretty turbulent, or maybe that was just the pain talking. It was damn near impossible to take a nap, mostly because Natasha kept changing your bandages.
You hissed through your teeth in pain.
Peter’s eyes were wide as he sat across from you. Thoughts zoomed behind his eyes, and they weren’t going to slow down any time soon.
”Peter,” you called.
He was by your side in less than a second. ”Y-yeah?”
”You okay?”
The poor boy had tears threatening to fall as he nodded vigorously. ”Yeah, I’m okay.”
You pursed your lips into a smile. ”Good.” You sighed. ”I’m not going to die, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
”Oh, no, I was just concerned, that’s all, I mean…” he trailed off before looking down. ”I’m gonna stop talking now.”
You immediately regretted laughing as more blood soaked through. ”Ah, shit…” you groaned. ”You know, it’s not your fault, kid.”
Peter wiped his eyes with his gloved hands. ”Okay…”
Unbeknownst to you, Steve sat in the corner. His blue eyes watched you carefully, as if you were going to disappear or breathe your last. They were filled with guilt with the fact that if he went with you instead, maybe you wouldn’t be bleeding out on the jet floor.
But something else stirred, a certain frustration. You weren’t always the most careful. Even in something as trivial as board games on game night, you were always the first one to sacrifice yourself, and that quality was something Steve always feared. It was like looking in a mirror, into the eyes of someone who wouldn’t hesitate laying their life on the line.
You were a loose cannon.
—
“What the hell were you thinking?” Steve shot as you both stormed into the infirmary.
The rest of the group decided to congregate in the lab just outside, though you noticed they kept their distance. It wasn’t the first time you and Steve were arguing, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but there was something about his aura that seemed different.
He was comfortable with you, and that was always a good thing, but when it came down to keeping your relationship as professional as possible is where things were grey.
“I stepped in because Peter needed backup. That was my job.” You didn't dare catch his eye as you set your gear down on the long table. You quickly got some gauze and put pressure on your wound. “I did what I needed to do. End of story.”
“Your job was to fly recon and report back, not get tangled up in that mess and nearly get yourself killed.”
You were snapping. “So I should’ve just left Peter there to die? He’s a kid!”
“He knew the risks, and so should you,” Steve said coldly.
You couldn’t believe your ears. “Do you hear yourself right now?”
You could almost see his pupils constrict dangerously.
“The mission was —“
“Never in jeopardy,” you finished with clear diction. You approached him slowly, glaring up at him. “And I managed to save both the kid and the hostages.”
“You’re missing the point,” he said, his voice low. “You could’ve died out there.”
“No, you’re missing the point. It’s fine by me if everyone comes home but me. That’s the sacrifice I’ve always been willing to make. I thought you understood that better than anyone.”
He slammed the counter with a fist, shattering the plastic of the tray holding surgical instruments you had yet to use. They fell clanging to the floor. Your eyes widened with a fear you never knew you could have around him.
He removed his hand from the table with a crunch and walked out without another word.
“Uh, Miss Y/N, ma’am?” Peter tentatively chimed in at the door. “A-are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” you told him with a pursed smile. “Good work today, Peter. C-could you send Bruce in? I might need help stitching this up.”
He gave you a sweet smile before bounding down the hall to get said doctor. You wanted to follow him, but your feet were glued there at the table. If you ripped yourself away, you would’ve collapsed with the way your knees were shaking.
Instead, tears began falling on their own. You gasped for air as a sob wretched its way out of your throat. Fearing someone might hear, you clasped your hand over your mouth, though your body still shook from your cries.
Fear was the one thing keeping you from running after Steve to make this right.
—
You kept yourself sequestered in your room for the remainder of the day, emerging only for dinner before going back again. You hid yourself under your blankets, trying to sleep, but the pain kept you tossing and turning.
Steve was nowhere to be found. Part of you was relieved, but the other part of you was insanely worried. Even though he was always the level-headed one, you hoped he wasn’t doing anything too rash.
As you turned in your bed, you sighed as you sat up, shaking your head. This wasn’t going to get better without you being the one to apologize, or at least say something to salvage your relationship as teammates, if not for the sake of your friendship.
You started for the door to your room, only to open it to find Steve standing there.
He mirrored your shocked expression, his ocean eyes holding waves of emotions — relief that he found you, remorse for what he did, anger that you were alone with the tracks of your tears paved into your cheeks. He was afraid to touch you, to make any sudden movement that would send you back into your cave.
Your heart was in your throat as you managed to squeak out his name. “Steve…”
It was more than enough permission for him to take a cautious step closer.
“I…” The words were right there.
With his hand slowly raised, his rough thumb grazed your cheek. You found yourself sighing into his touch, closing your eyes as you came home.
He silently took you in, studying you for a moment as he moved closer. You could tell he didn’t want to make a wrong move. It honestly scared you to see him so unsure.
“I’m sorry.”
You shook your head, your eyes shooting open. “No, I shouldn’t have —“
“No no, sweetheart, it was my fault,” he murmured again. “You must’ve been scared.”
“I’m fine,” you reassured him. It was a small white lie, but it didn’t matter, because at that moment, with him there, you were fine.
He gave you a small smile before it faded, his thick brows furrowing. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice like that,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. It wasn’t your fault. I was just scared.”
Guilt made you heavier as you thought of the torment he probably put himself through the entire day. You took his face in your hands, your fingers trailing over his jaw and neck. “I only did what I did because I knew in my heart that I needed to save Peter. I wasn’t even thinking of the consequences. I just knew I would never forgive myself if I stood by and did nothing.”
“I know,” he said softly with a small nod. “I know.”
You knew he knew.
The tension was still suffocating.
“Would you believe me if I said I had a whole speech planned out and everything?” he tried joking.
When you cracked a smile, relief washed over his expression.
“But when I saw you, all of it went out the window,” he finished, searching your eyes. “All I needed was to see you. That’s it.”
“Me too,” you whispered.
He leaned down, his lips hovering over yours, your foreheads brushing against each other. You closed his eyes as his begged for permission. You answered by closing the gap. For a few moments you were lost in his taste and how full his lips were. He held you so gently, so carefully as his hands pulled your waist closer to his hips.
His skin felt so hot, and you could feel it through his lips, your arms brushing against each other, and his chest that he cocooned you in. He tried to show you that he could be your home, that he was your home. Your arms trailed from his chest to wrap around his neck as you raised yourself on your tiptoes.
You wanted him to hold you forever, to keep you locked away in his embrace. You wanted him to whisper sweet nothings in your ear the entire night. You wanted him to kiss you and praise you and make you new.
You desperately needed him to revive you, and you had a feeling that he knew it too.
The kiss was broken when he lifted you, your legs locking themselves around his waist. You quickly caught your breath, gazing down at him.
He was looking at you like you were his world, and his eyes were the universe you lived in.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
“Steve.” A guilty part of you loved it when he overthought, but now wasn’t the time to tease. “I always love it when you kiss me, and that’s not gonna change.”
It was always funny whenever he grew bashful. A guy his size and reputation — it was almost comical. His broad shoulders caved in a bit, and he nervously bit his lips before pursing them into a half-smile.
There were more things you wanted to say, but you didn’t. Instead your brain succumbed to the overwhelming thought of kissing him again.
“Hold me,” you gave the soft command before you gave in.
