ꨄ ⧼ Why do you keep getting hurt?

REQUEST

The stillness of the room is a stark contrast to the chaos that had come before. Adam had carried you here himself, golden arms cradling your battered form like you were the most fragile thing in existence. Now, in the sanctuary of his chamber aboard Knowhere, he works with singular focus.

The room is dim, lit only by the faint glow of the Soul Stone embedded in his forehead. It casts a warm, golden light over his sharp features, illuminating the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw. The air around him seems alive, vibrating faintly with the energy he channeled.

You lay still on a low cot, your breathing shallow. Blood stained your clothes, a grim reminder of how close the battle had come to claiming you. Adam kneels beside you, his usual air of serene confidence replaced by something akin to worry, maybe even fear.

“I warned you not to push yourself,” he murmurs quietly. “But of course, you never listen.”

His fingers hovers just above your skin. He pauses as he sees his hand trembling slightly, hesitating. Adam Warlock, master of the Soul Stone, wielder of cosmic power, was afraid. Not of the battle you’d faced, nor of the enemies you’d defeated together—but of losing you.

With a soft exhale, he presses his palm gently over the worst of your wounds. The touch is light, reverent, as though he fears even the smallest pressure might shatter you. Warmth blooms from the contact, and the golden light of the Soul Stone flares, brighter now, threads of energy winding through the air like ethereal strands of silk.

“Stay with me,” he whispers, his voice cracking just enough to betray the weight he carries.

The energy spreads across your body, seeping into your skin and knitting flesh and bone back together with deliberate precision. Adam’s gaze stays fixed on your face, searching for any sign of awareness, any flicker of life. The light reflects in his golden eyes, making them seem impossibly bright, and his free hand clenched into a fist at his side, a desperate anchor to keep him steady.

“You are stronger than this,” he says firmly despite the gentle touch. “I know you. I’ve seen your spirit burn brighter than stars. Do not let this be the end.”

The room grows warmer, the energy of the Soul Stone thrumming louder as Adam pours more of himself into you. Beads of sweat forms on his brow, his body trembling with the strain, but he doesn't waver. His jaw tightens, and his voice drops to an almost pleading whisper.

“Please... Don’t leave me.”

For a moment, the light in the room faltered, dimming as Adam’s energy wanes. His breath hitches, and the edges of his composure cracks. Then, as if in response to his desperation, a soft glow spread from your chest where his hand rested. It pulses once, twice, before settling into a steady rhythm.

Adam’s shoulders sags with relief, and his hand lingers on your chest, feeling the life he had fought so desperately to restore. He lets out a shaky breath, his lips curving into the faintest smile as he watches color return to your cheeks.

“There you are,” he says softly, his voice a quiet caress. His thumb brushes against your skin, tender and unhurried. “You always come back to me.”