#also my bangs need a touch up ill probably do that today no matter what

[florida3exclamationpoints]

Well. Still no polls. Like this post if you think i should attempt to cut my hair like this. Today. (I have work tomorrow 😀)

For reference here is my hair right now

[saberstars]

I'm Here

Pairing: Gender Neutral Y/N & Loki

Fluff, angst, implied smut

Warnings: Mentions of depression/mental illness, epilepsy/seizures, mentions of sex, as always if I missed anything feel free to let me know

Summary: Loki & You have a pre-existing friendship with benefits & one night you have a seizure after some spiciness. He cares for you helping you afterwards & makes sure you rest easy & safe. Reader is portrayed to have seizures more so during changes in sleep phases, not awake. The wake seizures or more of a medium ish absence/ focal aware seizure that only occur on occasion & can be “fought” through.

Word Count: 1796

Notes: This was intended to be a gender neutral reader. I think I removed all he/she pronouns.

Additionally, I know that not everyone experiences seizures the same way, and that epilepsy can affect people differently. This is all written from my experiences with it, so I ask that you do not tell me I portrayed something wrong. I can and will accept constructive criticism, But I will not accept someone telling me blatantly that I am wrong with my experiences. Therefore please keep that in mind when reading. I genuinely hope this fic brings others comfort if you suffer from epilepsy or any disorder that causes seizures. Thank You <3

It’s been three years since you found out you suffered from epilepsy. A diagnosis that came late in your life to be fair. As a young child up until you reached adulthood, you suffered from eye shakes that would eventually turn into stuttering spells that made it difficult to breath or not breath properly at all. You never passed out though, you got close a few times, but you managed to stay awake and “fight it off.” You started to notice over time that you’d also get a strange taste in your mouth, almost like metal or as if you were sucking on a battery and it had that zing flavor. You knew that was a precursor and would panic on cue rightfully so. You hated when you had your mini stutter fests because all you could do was hope it didn’t happen.

Of course you complained to your parents as a child but they didn’t think it was anything. They said it was just a panic attack. So you took their word for it. That was until you started having grand mals in your sleep. At first you thought they were just a part of some strange dream, that wasn't real to you, not yet anyway. You would wake up exhausted, sore, sometimes unable to move properly, walk, open and close a fist, and you just overall couldn't stay conscious sometimes. Again you complained to your parents about it, but they said it was nothing. You probably had night terrors or some form of minor sleep paralysis. So you dumbly believed them.

When you moved out, You sought answers, and eventually got them. You were grateful. The medication they prescribed helped tremendously though, it did make you tired but it was worth not having your episodes. Thankfully your case wasn’t as severe as others and it was manageable so long as you took care of yourself and took your medications. Though you were warned, breakthroughs were common, and missing your dose can and would cause a seizure.

Despite having such a diagnosis, you kept it to yourself. You never really told anyone. It wasn’t until you started sleeping with a friend, that you finally divulged your secret too in the event that it ever happened whilst they were with you.

It was someone you randomly slept with on and off with. A friend with benefits, his name was Loki. You had met the god shortly after his father had passed and his home, destroyed. You found comfort with each other despite it being more of a sexual comfort. You both used sex as a way to fight your own demons, a distraction, a quick grab at serotonin. Despite the sex you both developed a very deep friendship. You’d read together on occasion, have very interesting debates on current events, history, as well as other nuances, and a lot of other things. You even met his brother and the avengers at one point.

You both slept soundly after spicy events had taken place 2 hours prior, Loki had come over desperate for attention of any kind. He didn’t say why, but you knew it was a rather serious topic he wished not to discuss and rather lessen the pain with ecstasy. Little did you know, on this day a few years ago he indirectly murdered his mother. He blamed himself dearly, he knew if he would have kept his mouth shut for once in his life she may be here today. So he needed a genuine distraction. One of any kind. Preferable you. Due to the spicy events that took place you missed your dose, due to falling asleep promptly after, which cost you dearly. Missing doses always caused this to happen no matter what.

You gasped for air like usual, your body contorting outwards first with a thrust. You were awake, conscious, and terrified for the few seconds you normally were given before blacking out. You began to stutter violently all the air leaving your lungs as it happened. Until no sounds were made and it was just you chattering. Loki woke immediately, with a completely calm exterior despite a raging mixture of emotions internally. He knew you never called an ambulance for these things because you were normally alone & unaware until you became conscious again. She made him promise to never call 911 unless it was over a certain time length, to save her medical expenses, or unless she stopped breathing for good.

Loki dare not touch you though as you shook and curled up. The last thing he wanted was his godly strength to crush you somehow or cause you more pain. Instead he watched and hovered until you finally stopped. It was a short 50 second one, which was under your time limit, but he still debated calling. It’s not like You would’ve known he lied.

His breathing hitched as he went to check your pulse and airway, ever so delicately, which were both clear and strong.

“Oh thank you.” he whispered

A few hours had slid by with still no response from you. Loki sat next to you, staring down at you, to the point where he would fight the urge to blink, waiting for a stir of some kind from you. He did give the courtesy of redressing you though, in a nightgown from a drawer after an hour slid past. He even went as far as ensuring that you were adequately covered by the blankets to avoid being chilled. It has been 3 ½ hours now, with no stir of any kind from you. He knew it would be awhile before you showed any signs of movement possibly but this worry tore him to his core. In the midst of waiting he refused to just idly go back to sleep next to you, he was determined to stay awake until you were conscious again, so that you knew, he stayed there waiting for you. Loki didn’t know when he found himself talking to you as if you were awake, but all he knew was that it made him feel a bit better, and he hoped that when you woke it would make you feel better too.

“You know, I’ve been reading this really dumb gothic romance novel. I think you’d like it because of how naive the girl is. I know you like to criticize and pick on how they make decisions.” he spoke with a chuckle in his voice thinking back to how you’d flail your arms and drop your book to scream about how dumb some main protagnist could be.

“I'll have to buy you a copy or give you mine when I’m done.” Loki shifted his weight from his right to his left brushing your bangs out of your eyes.

“I don’t know why you keep those so long, all they do is get in the way of your gorgeous eyes.”

It was in that moment you rustled, you shifted your neck ever so slightly, Your eyelids twitch. Loki leaned forward parting his lips as he watched with a heart of hope completely overwhelmed with joy when he saw the color of your iris’s. He exhaled a shaky breath cupping your cheeks which caused you to flinch sending a wave of shocks through your body. It was at that moment you knew. You knew what he saw, what he had gone through. Your heart sank and you immediately berated yourself internally despite your exhausted state.

“It’s ok you don’t have to say or do anything. I’ll stay, I’ll take care of you for as long as you need.” Loki assured you, wanting you to know that you didn’t have to go through this alone. You never really had anyone stay, let alone worry about you. Your eyes began to water as tears rolled down your face.

“I’ll go grab you some water, you’re probably parched. I’ll also grab you a banana. I read that potassium can help with the cramping.” Loki said leaving to yourself for a moment. He also grabbed tissues for your eyes and nose just in case. Upon returning her placed everything at your side offering help to sit up. “Do you need to use the bathroom or help sitting up?” He asked with a gentle tone.

You nodded trying to take a good deep breath so you could speak a bit. “I’m so sorry you had to see that… but thank you. Thank you for staying, for helping. I do need the bathroom and I would appreciate help. My legs are still...” you mustered out with all your might but after a point your tongue refused to work with you.

“Of course, I may be a monster but I’m not entirely cruel. If it helps… you can just think to yourself and I can listen that way. So that you're not struggling too much.” Loki admitted with a tone of self depreciation.

“You're not a monster just because you're different & have made mistakes.” you thought as Loki picked you up bridal style walking you to the bathroom. Of course he placed you down on the toilet and waited outside for you to do what you needed. Since he had only added a nightgown to your previously naked body it made things easier. It was exhausting to just sit up and do everything but you pushed through. You even pushed yourself up and limped to the sink best you could to wash your hands. Upon hearing the faucet though Loki came back in standing behind you offering support if needed.

“Catch me~” you thought before falling back into his arms with a snort.

“You're lucky I have godlike reflexes you minx.” He replied with a hint of flirtation. You had used more than you had in you to wash your hand. Loki caught you obviously and carried you back to the room placing you back on the bed. “No, more like I knew you were ready to catch me.” you slowly thought as exhaustion tugged at your consciousness again. Loki noticed the pill bottle on your dresser before prompting you to take it. Instinctively opening it and sliding one into his hand.

“You should probably take this before you fall asleep.” You took it mentally saying thanks drinking the glass of water with it.

“Yeah that would probably help avoid some added breakdancing.” You joked trying to use humor to lighten the situation. Loki stared plain faced trying not to entertain your joke though, despite finding it secretly witty. Maybe he’d laugh at it when you felt a bit better. Soon after you began to dance between awake and sleep. Loki took note based on how your thoughts jumbled around between multiple things, laughing to himself a bit before minor intrusive fears began picking at you. Loki immediately jumped into action in an attempt to squash them soothing you a bit.

“You can sleep soundly, please get some rest. You don’t have to force yourself to stay awake out of fear or guilt.” Loki spoke in the most caring and sweet tone he could muster up. Trying to convince you that it was going to be ok & it worked. Somehow you knew he was right & that you could trust him completely. You drifted back to sleep peacefully thinking about how for the first time in your life, you didn’t fear sleeping in your bed. You didn’t have intrusive thoughts about whether or not you’d wake up in the morning or not. Which honestly brought tears bubbling their way up and out of Loki's eyes. The amount of trust you had in him in your thoughts, at that moment completely took his breath away. And that was something he wasn’t going to break or ever lose.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Feverish and Teary & How Long Has it Been Since You’ve Eaten- Prompt Fill

@thatonekidellis​ Jon, Tim, and Martin have a rough time after the Unknowing. Especially Jon.  I hope this is kind of what you were asking for?  

@janekfan​ you get a ping because this is your au!

CWs: nausea, vomiting, fainting, fever, food mention, alcohol mention, canon typical mentions of Tim's pre-unknowing mindset, canon typical Jon not taking care of himself.

I am still accepting bingo prompts, so let me know which character, which prompt, and if you want a drawing of a fic!  Bingo card by the wonderful @celosiaa​!  This one is twice my usual length because it is two prompts and I did not want to cheat!

The Unknowing blows up.  

As simple as that.  

All according to plan.  

It really is as simple as that.  

Jon, Tim, Daisy, Basira.  Piled back in Daisy's car.  Ears ringing.  Soot slowly settling.  Trying to drive away before the actually police get there.  

It hasn't been Jon's problem how to avoid arrest.  

He is even more glad it isn't his problem now, as he slides down the beat up seat in the back of Daisy's car.  Ash streaks the window, mixing with the light rains that is starting to fall.  

Jon tries not to vomit the nothing he's eaten in the last couple days.  Nothing in him but frayed nerves and statements.  Hadn't even managed to stomach dramamine before their trip.  

Jon just wants to sleep.  

They still have their hotel reservation for another couple hours, so Daisy drives them back there to clean up before heading back to London.  Yes they have to go back today, it's less suspicious.  Jon isn't sure if that is actually true, but he doesn't have the energy to argue.  

Tim showers.  Jon sends a text to Martin.  'Alive.'  

He doesn't answer Martin's near-immediate call because just then he's dry-heaving into the small bin in the corner.  Stiff and shaking and sweaty and miserable.    

Jon showers.  Too dizzy to stand, he sits on the shower floor.  He hates that.  The tub feels filthy.  He feels filthy.  He scrubs his skin raw.  He stands.  He throws up more nothing.  He scrubs himself again, leaning heavily on the wall.  

He wants to talk to Tim.  He wants to tuck himself into Tim's arms and never move again.  Christ, he's running an impressive fever.  Probably.  It's hard to tell.  And his brain is swimming too much to even think about asking the Eye.  

He's cold.  He shivers in his threadbare joggers and stolen jumper (Martin's).  

He wants to join Tim on the bed by the window, but Tim ...looks too deep in a melancholy thought to even notice.  Somewhere between losing his drive for anything, adrenaline crash, and losing the last hope of a last glimpse of Danny, if Jon were to guess.  

Jon could say something.  He knows he could.  But, hasn't he caused enough of a fuss?  Made Tim and Martin trail after him after the ...the.... with Daisy and... that.  If he'd have just stayed quiet and stayed still... well Tim would still hate him... and might not be alive... but ....but he's caused so much worry with that.  And then with... his other kidnapping No.  He can't think about what that... what... not without puking again which... the point is not to worry Tim.  Which means he should try some medicine again.... if he can keep it in him half an hour he'll survive the drive back.  Probably.  

Christ, when is the last time he bothered to drink anything?  

He lays there in a daze until Daisy bangs on the door telling them it's time to leave.  

Tim sleeps on the drive back.  Finally giving into the last few sleepless nights.  Jon is jealous.  

Last night had been spent tangled together, shaking, awake, and silent.  Anxiety too thick to slice with words.  Not even nothing to turn off the lights, because the fear is a little easier to manage in the light.  Jon couldn't stop thinking about Nikola.  He couldn't stop thinking about plastic hands on him.  Couldn't stop thinking about how many things could go wrong and how he could lose Tim and Martin when he only just got Tim back.  

Jon was pretty sure Tim hadn't been sleeping the last few nights.  Jon knows he hasn't.  Not that he has slept well in a long time.    

In any case, Tim sleeps.  Jon doesn't.  

Daisy glares at him through the review mirror.  Jon isn't sure if she is still waiting for him to prove himself monstrous so she can attack, or if she is making sure he isn't ill in her car... again.  (He really wishes he could forget his first ride in her car.  Really really really wishes.  It was not a pleasant experience for anyone, and Daisy had made him pay the cleaning bill.)  

It doesn't matter, he slides down further in his seat and closes his eyes tightly.  

His head hurts.  

Thankfully the medicine knocks him out soon enough.  

Martin greets them at the institute door.  Melanie by his side.  

Jon hazily wakes up to Martin gently touching his shoulder.  

"You actually made it!  I'm so glad you're safe... I was so worried, Jon why didn't you answer your phone, I've been so worried, I mean I know you would have said something if something had happened, but Christ I've been so worried about you, come here."  

Jon starts mumbling some apologies, but is interrupted by Martin gently gathering him in a hug.  Jon sinks into it, fervently hoping Martin doesn't notice the heat rolling off of him.  

Thankfully Martin is too distracted, gathering Tim in a crushing embrace.  Likely very relieved that Tim didn't die, and knowing Tim is harder to break than Jon with his delicate bones and fragility following many incidents.  

Jon... doesn't really know what he's trying to accomplish.  Just... get out?  Or go in?  Or get to the cot?  Or just curl up on the cold tile of the basement toilets?  Get away from people he will inevitably worry?  

Just go somewhere where he can fall apart without taking anyone else down with him.  

It looks like Martin has been crying.  Jon hopes it isn't over him.  

Tim needs to recover from the emotional toll of the last few days without having to pick up the pieces after Jon Again.  

Jon slowly backs away.  

His head is swimming, but that's okay.  If he can just reach the Archives.  The cot.  Anywhere.  Anywhere away from this moment.  This breath.  

His vision swims violently, and there is no doubt in his mind that he is going to be very well acquainted with the pavement in a matter of seconds.  Either that or he's going to be ill?  No.  Sidewalk.  He's going to eat the sidewalk.  Heh... first thing he'll have eaten in days.  

He isn't sure if he loses consciousness or not.  It's hard to tell in the blur of motion and sounds and his spinning head.  Sound is almost gooey in this state of almost unconsciousness, but he thinks someone might be shouting.  Or several someones.  He should maybe worry about this?  But in actuality, he is praying he properly passes out to save himself any more embarrassment and save himself from his unsteady insides.  

His face hurts.  

Someone is holding him.  

Jon fights to open his eyes.  They don't seem to want to look in the same direction, rolling in their sockets instead of doing what he wants them to.  He blinks hard a few times, failing to bring things into focus.  Glasses?  Does he still have those?  Did they break?  No... still there.  Skewed on his face.  Just... too dizzy to see, then.  

Daisy and Basira are glaring at him.  Melanie is walking away.  Possibly.  Hard to tell when the world is tilting with unsteady regularity.  

Jon closes his eyes again, pressing a groan against the nausea that threatens to overcome him, despite the medicine.  

"Jon?"  

"Burning up."

He's too hazy to put a name to a voice.  The words dripping in the air around him, tightening around his chest, silly string sitting on his skin in fibrous heaps that jiggle uncomfortably, cold and clammy.  

Shit, thinking in gibberish.  That can't be good.  

“Does anyone know how long he’s been ill?”  

Someone grunts.  

Footsteps.  Two sets?  I’m asking away.  Leaving him.   

“I.... I don’t know.  I don’t think he was feverish last night?  But... I haven’t exactly been... It’s.  It’s been hard.”

“Jon?”

He’s being jostled.   He whines.  Stomach flopping dangerously.   

"Jon?  Are you awake?  Can you open your eyes for me?"  

"Oh shit, he's gonna puke."  

He's being lifted, shifted on his side, bin shoved in his hands.  Where he throws up more nothing.  

He's crying now, feeling like utter shit, and unfortunately more awake.  

He isn't sure if eyes swimming with tears is better or worse than the unsteady world tipping around him and making him feel worse.  

"Christ, Jon!"  

He finally pries his eyes open.  Martin and Tim solidify above him.  More or less.  Still fuzzing in and out of focus.  

Now that he's crying, he just... can't stop.  Fistfuls of Martin's sweater.  

"Oh Jon..."  Martin's arms circle him, carefully.  Gentle not to jostle him more.  

"Buddy.  Think we can get you off the sidewalk?"  Tim.  Cupping his face.  Smoothing back sweat and tear soaked hair, long since escaped his bun, still not dried from his earlier shower.  "My flat isn't far, you know?  Didn't bring my car here, though.  Still... wasn't..."

Tim cuts himself off, but even addled as he is, Jon can fill in the rest of the sentence.  

So can Martin apparently, because Martin frowns.  It's never been more apparent that he's been crying quite recently.  "Still weren't sure you were coming home...  Tim..."  And his eyes start looking damp.  

Tim is tearing up now.  "Martin... let's not in the street...  I can carry Jon back to mine, it isn't far.  You can come too.  We'll get some take out.  Drink some whiskey.  Get Mr. Smoking hot cooled off.  We can talk then.  It's.... it's been a rough week."  

"Jon?  Can I carry you?  I think that might be less rough than a cab ride?  Do you need a few minutes?"  

Martin's voice is soft, and Jon thinks he could sleep right there.  In fact, he might.  So he nods.  

Martin lifts him carefully.  His head swims again.  This all is feeling rather familiar.  Jon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.  He tries to relax despite the lingering anxieties about heights.  Martin feels safe.  Tim is also safe now.  He lets himself drift.  

He wakes briefly on the trip.

"Hey bud, how are you feeling?"  Tim.  Tim seems off.  Too many things crossing his face to parse out, probably even for someone with a better sense than Jon of what those subtle face changes mean.  But Jon is too hazy to think.    

Jon's mouth feels gummed up.  His eyes feel gummed up.  

He's thankful his mouth doesn't taste like something died in it, though.  Although he is very aware how unhealthy it was that he's spent a good portion of the day with his body trying to turn itself inside out, and he couldn't so much as produce bile.  

Jon feels sick thinking about it, so stops.  He drifts again.  

He wakes to a damp rag on his forehead, no memory of anything past the explosion. 

How did he get here? 

"Sorry, that looked like a nice sleep, but you'll feel better with some medicine in you, and some water.  We can try some tea later, once the meds work.  And some food hopefully."  

Martin helping him sit up.  Just enough to get a few sips and some pills into Jon.  Which, Jon thought was probably optimistic, but he'd try it for Martin.  

"When was the last time you ate?" Martin again.  

Jon blinks at him in confusion.  "Is it over?"  

"Is what over?"  Still Martin.  

Where's Tim?  Where's Daisy?  Where's Basira?  Where's Melanie?

His breathing picks up, and that makes his head spin again, and makes him wonder just how long he can keep the medicine down.  

"Is it over, what happened?"  He's panting now, halfway to a panic attack.  

"Jon?  Jon!  Calm down.  Can you take a breath for me?"  

How did he get here?  Where is he?  This looks like Tim's flat, but there is Tim?  Did he survive.  

Jon reaches for anything.  But comes up blank.  

"Where's Tim?  What happened?"  He gasps out.  It feels like his ribcage is shrinking, being laced up the front. fighter than the corset he had worn in acting class in uni.  

"Tim's... taking a moment.  As soon as we got you here... he.... it's been rough on him, you know?  He did all this for... and I know he said he wanted to live.  He wants to live... but he's... not been in a good place and it's helped that you two are talking again... and that he's had company more... but he saw an old picture with.... with his brother.... and that polaroid with ... with Sasha.  Well, he keeps going between you know tearful and sorry and cackling about how everything blew up.  It's... probably a lot to have three revenge schemes going at once for the same.... not a person really... but ... Her.  And then... having it sorted.  But...  Listen Jon I don't know.  What don't you remember... or what's the last thing you remember?"  Martin edges on histerical near the middle, but takes a turn for the sad near the end.  

"I remember the... the world was all wrong.  Then... then it blew up.  Is it over?  Martin are you real.  Is everyone alive?  What happened to you?"  He's desperate.  Desperate breaths too shallow.  Words interrupted by jagged pulling of too thin oxygen.  He's going to pass out.  

He does.  

He wakes feeling... clearer.  The last period of wakefulness a distant and flighty thing, dancing just out of his reach.  The rest of the embarrassing day back in vivid detail.  Tim's sitting over him.  Or rather, curled around him.  Jon's hair is being played with.  A stray curl looped around Tim's finger as he laughs softly to himself.  Muttering that he's alive.  That Jon's alive.  That Martin is alive.  he didn't lose anyone else.  That that clown is finally dead.  Finally.  

Gentle and warm hand on his face, refreshing the cloth.  Checking his temperature.  

"I..."  Tim chokes on a sob.  And Jon tries to remember how his arms work so he can let Tim know he's there.  

"Tim?"  

"Hey bud... sorry."  Tim wipes his eyes on his sleeve.  "It's been a hell of a week.  I... don't know how to feel about it.  Fuck I need a drink....  And to check in with Martin.  I... he hasn't told me what happened, but he's upset.  And.  Fuck I should have noticed you were ill, why didn't you say anything?"  Tim's voice starts to rise, and Jon tenses.  All the times Tim yelled at him still too fresh in his mind.  He trusts Tim.  he does... but Christ he is still afraid.  Afraid that it can't last, that it isn't real.  Where it be a trick of his mind, or some manipulation tactic to an end Jon can't see, he doesn't know.  

"Hey.  Hey.  Buddy... Jon.  I'm sorry.  didn't mean to yell.  It's just... been a day.  I'm not mad at you.  I just... I'm worried about you and Martin and I...I don't know how to feel about everything that happened.  I'm sorry you feel like shit."

Jon feels... like shit.  Marginally less nauseous, however.  A little less like he's going to pass out again.  Probably been given plenty of pills by Martin.  

"Sorry."  He croaks.  Voice probably shredded with smoke.  And fever.  

"He, bud, don't apologize.  I'm sorry I didn't notice you weren't well.  I... I thought I knew better than to be that preoccupied.  I mean... I guess I didn't make it worse this time, but..."  Tim sighs.  "I'm disappointed in myself because I don't want to fuck this up again.  And no don't apologize again part of that was on me and yes part of that was on you and we've done apologies to death.  All we can do now is keep going.  I just wanted to protect you and I couldn't see you were fading in front of my eyes.  Again.  I know you haven't been eating or sleeping, but I haven't been either so I didn't want to call you on it, and I didn't want you to call me on it, but I should have noticed.  I know I couldn't have done much, but I didn't do anything but shut you out again.  I could have told someone to stop to get you medicine, or food or even a bit more rest.  I know that would have done fuck-all, but I still could have offered you a little comfort and warmth and had us brought straight back here."  

Tim's crying properly now.  Jon is too.  Not sure if it is the fever, or just... everything.  There is so much to feel and think and worry about and yes they saved the world but that the fuck comes next.  

What comes next is that Martin enters with tea for Jon and a bottle of whiskey.  

Jon scrubs at his eyes.  "Martin what happened?"  Jon can see he's been crying again.  That is starting to scare him.  It's a goddamn miracle he hasn't pulled an answer out of anyone yet today.  

"It's... well it isn't fine.  I... well our plan worked here too.  Just... you know... Elias.  He can.... He can do things.  It's fine.  It's worth it."  Martin swipes at his eyes furiously.  

Jon pushes himself up, ignoring the room tilting around him, and hugs Martin.  Jon's still crying.  Martin sniffling.  Tim also crying.  It's... a very damp hug.  And Jon knows he's too warm to be comfortable to hold, and he's shivering hard enough to rattle Tim and Martin.  

"I'm... I'm so sorry Martin."  Jon chokes out.  

"It's alright.  It was worth it.  And you both.  Christ I am so glad to see you again... I thought... I thought.... I didn't..."  Martin is fully sobbing now.  Tea set down on Tim's bedside table, the whiskey being pried from his hands by TIm.  

Late that night the bottle is empty (and so are a couple more), Tim and Martin have killer headaches, and Jon is still feverish, but less so.  A lot of tears have been shed.  And Jon has been plied with enough liquids that he feels a little less like a crumbling husk.  

By the time that Tim and Martin are ready to think about food, Jon is finally feeling like he can maybe stomach something.  They order takeout.  Jon... has some broth. 

By morning Jon manages a few bites of leftovers.  

By afternoon, Elias Bushard is arrested.  

[toutallyahoe]

Flirt ~ Shinsō Hitoshi (BNHA)

Requested By: --

A/N: this'll be a series but my dear gremlins... pray to a god that ill actually follow through the fucking outline i have written and have the motivation to write because lmao

also, wowowow bnha yall? and here i thought i outgrew my weeb phase but guess not! now, dont spoil me shit please because i still have no clue what the fuck is happening in the fandom since i havent touched any anime for fucking months (well, except me watching four episodes of free! two weeks ago but shhhhhh) so dont fucking be cunt to spoil, yeah? lmao thanks and enjoy this shit ajsvdjskdbjsb

fun fact, this was supposed to be only 500-800 words but GUESS WHO GOT TOO INTO THIS SHIT AND WRITTEN 3600 PLUS WORDS YALL?!?!?!?!?

Flirt | Flirt 2 | Flirt 3

─────────────────

Hitoshi let out a tired sigh leaving his lips as he shoves his hands on the pockets of his hoodie. A frown on his lips as he tried to hide his face inside the purple scarf wrapped around his neck, hiding away from the cold breeze passing by.

It was a cold day, that can be said and Hitoshi wished to just stay in his warm bed while being cocooned with his comforters and blankets to keep him from suffering the cold air of January while sleeping probably until noon, if he was lucky that is and not have his mom wake him up. Sadly, Hitoshi was asked by his one (and only) friend to meet up and hang out and the indigo haired knew that no matter how many times he flat out disagrees, the [Hair color] haired male always was a stubborn one. And once he makes up his mind, he'll drag Hitoshi along with him.

"This better be worth it," Hitoshi grumbled as he was still angry to leave the comforts of his bed and warm room to be outside with the January air being cold and having no clue where he was. With a sigh, Hitoshi remembered how [Name], his friend, basically begged him to accompany him to the new cafe that opened. Hitoshi would have flat out reject the [Hair color] haired male if it wasn't for [Name]'s four words he uttered yesterday.

It was a cloudy, Friday morning. The first period was over and each class has a ten minute break before the next teacher comes in to discuss whatever subject they had planned for the young minds of each of their classes. Hitoshi distinctly remembered that the next period teacher was absent for today and with that knowledge, the indigo haired male decided to spend the ten minute break and aswell as the next period doing something important. Sleeping.

The indigo haired male suffered from the lack of sleep. With his hectic sleep schedule and insomia just kicking in, Hitoshi has limited amount of sleep and it can be known with the large bags underneathe his eyes. It doesn't help that he had to finish some homework his teachers had pilled up to them. So, Hitoshi decided he'll sleep than study or chatter with his classmates like the others are currently doing. The indigo haired male let out a sigh and he positioned himself to be comfortable on his seat and plopped his arms on his desk and was about to slam his head onto his arms when a loud bang echoed inside the room.

Due to the loud noise, it made a lot of students shriek in fear and stopped whatever they were doing and snapped their heads on where the loud noise was heard. The loud bang they heard was from door of the classroom slammed open with so much forced that some pondered how the hinges of the door was still intact. But what everyone focused was the figure stood there, clad in the familiar clothing of the male's uniform of the school although the uniform was now wrinkled here and there and the student's hair was messy and all over. His hand was gripping the doorknob tightly as the student was panting harshly and gasping for air, indicating that he had did something to actd that way, and everyone knew it was running.

"HITOSHI!!!" The figure screamed when be had gathered his bearings and immediately, everyone recognized that it was none other than the school's resident ray of sunshine, [Name] [Last name].

[Name] stood tall and proud when he finished gasping for air. Wiping the sweat off his forehead as he sent a beaming smile to everyone as he frantically looked around the room but then his gaze directed to the said male he screamed their name out.

"Hito-chan!" [Name] had happily called out to the indigo haired male as skipped inside the indigo haired male's classroom. Not minding the lively chatter that comtinued before he interrupted from the other students that were still inside the room nor the way their eyes following him approaching the indigo haired male that everyone enjoyed to avoid like the plague. As [Name] was close, he immediately threw himself to Hitoshi and hugged the male who gave him an unimpressive stare with his actions.

"Let's go out together this saturday!" [Name] suggested as he smiled at his friend who he felt slumped on his arms, clearly lazy and tired. "I found this new cafe and I think you'll like this one!" He had happily said as Hitoshi grunted on his arms.

"No," Hitoshi bluntly disagreed and shoved [Name] away from him. Hitoshi's surprising actions made [Name] let out a yelp and almost stumbled back. It doesn't help that the realization hit him on the indigo haired male's answer, he frowned for a second but then jumped back to his childish attitude. Hitoshi did not mind his friend's sputtering on his answer as he prompted his arms on his desk and placed his head on them. "And stop calling me that!" Hitoshi grunted as he closed his eyes as the indigo haired male wanted to sleep for a bit before the break was over.

"Huh?!? But why?!?" [Name] pouted and whined as he looked at Hitoshi. The indigo haired male let out a groan when he felt the [Hair color] haired male shake him by the shoulders.

"Hito-chan! Don't just sleep on me!" [Name] whined to his indigo haired friend in annoyance. "Tell me why!"

Hitoshi grumbled incoherent words to himself as he raised his head and opened his eyes to glare at his friend who still was shaking his shoulders. "Stop being immature, idiot," Hitoshi grumbled ad he rolled his eyes at his friend's childish and immature actions on puffing his cheek and crossing his arms over his chest, acting like a toddler being mad.

"Am not!" [Name] grumbled as he then pouted. "Why are you such a meanie, Hito-chan... and answer my question!" He whined as Hitoshi rolled his eyes again. Christ, why was he friends with [Name] again? Who even says meanie as an insult anymore other than four and five years old?

"Because I said so," came Hitoshi's blunt answer which made the [Hair color] haired male whine louder. [Name] frowned as he looked at Hitoshi who did not paid mind to him and was about to lay his head on his arms again to try and sleep.

"Come on Hito-chan!" [Name] had begged as he drop down on his knees and kneeled down beside sitting form of his best friend. His hand cupped together in front him as he gave his best puppy dog eyes to his indigo haired best friend who didn't even looked at him. "Please, Hitoshi?" He begged, using Hitoshi's proper name and not the one he calls to the indigo haired male. "I promise you'll enjoy this one!" [Name] pleaded.

Hitoshi narrowed his purple eyes and took a glance at his [Hair color] haired friend who was still in the floor, kneeling and trying to coerce him with his puppy dog eyes that was definitely NOT working. Hitoshi sighs as his ears picked up the sound of chattering surrounding him. 'Right, we're still in class... this is so embarrassing...' Hitoshi grumbled on his thoughts as he closed his eyes.

"Please Hitoshi!" [Name] shouted when the indigo haired male was too silent for his liking. As the [Hair color] haired male stayed there on the ground, not moving from his kneeling position. Hitoshi thought over his words on hanging out together on Saturday. After a few more seconds, Hitoshi finally made his final decision.

"No," came Hitoshi's final and blunt reply. Still unchanging despite the [Hair color] male's efforts on pleading and begging for him to consider.

"Hitoshi!" [Name] cried out as he whined at the indigo haired male who went back to placing his head on his arms to get some sleep.

"I'll pay for everything!" [Name] had said. It seemed like those were the magic words as he saw the indigo haired male crack one eye open to look at him. There was a hum from the tired male as [Name] begged to whatever deities listening to him currently that they would give him some good karma and bless him to have his friend accompany him.

As [Name] begged some higher beings to make the indigo haired male reconsider his answer, Hitoshi thought about it again. Was it worth waking up early to meet up with the [Hair color] haired male? Was it worth not getting some much needed sleep just to hang out with this male who Hitoshi swore doesn't know what quietness or silence is?

"... fine..." Hitoshi grumbled out his agreement as what is more better than food? Free food and Hitoshi will make sure the [Hair color] haired male will have an empty wallet after tomorrow. Hitoshi saying his agreement had closed his eyes again and tried to get some sleep. Not minding [Name] immediately stood up from his kneeling position and fist pumped the air while screaming "yeah!" in excitement.

Hitoshi sighs as he stopped walking and looked around the area he was in. The indigo haired frowned and looked at the sky in annoyance, he then looked back around again and tried to remember if he was in the right place on where his [Hair color] haired friend was supposed to join him to take him to the cafe he was obsessing on taking Hitoshi there. Tapping his shoe in annoyance at the pavement, Hitoshi let out a tired sigh as he then took his phone out from his hoodie's pocket and unlocked it. Pressing on the massaging icon, the indigo haired male immediately pressed the very top of the messages with the familair name displayed and he began typing, rather annoyedly as he did.

TO: Idiot (◕ω◕✿)

FROM: Hito-chan♡ (눈_눈)

where are you?

[08:22 AM]

Hitoshi typed and sent it when done as he stood and looked arpund again. He was standing in the sidewalk from a busy street where people, young and old walk around and minding their own business. On some occasions, Hitoshi would see some people with unique quirks. The indigo haired male had to hold his sjort when he saw a businessman with a head shaped like a cactus. As Hitoshi looked around and waited for his [Hair color] haired friend, his phone vibrated on his hand. His screen lit up, indicating it recieved something to have its user be notified. And the indigo haired male saw the sender's name which made Hitoshi let out a tired sigh.

Idiot (◕ω◕✿) sent (3) messages

Hitoshi opened his inbox and tapped the most recent messages that he received and the indigo haired male saw what his friend had replied. If he can, Hitoshi would have liked to slap [Name] when he saw the messages.

TO: Hito-chan♡ (눈_눈)

FROM: Idiot (◕ω◕✿)

IM SORRY FOR BEING LATE HITOSHI!!! .·´¯'(>□<)´¯'·

[08:27 AM]

I OVERSLEPT AND I HAD TO FEED TOSHI \(๑>д<๑)/

[08:27 AM]

DONT WORRY IM ON THE TRAIN GOING THERE ASDFGHJKLL ヽ(≧Д≦)ノ

[08:28 AM]

The indigo haired male stared at his screen for a moment as he then raised one of his hand and slapped it on his forehead. "My God... [Name]..." Hitoshi grumbled underneath his breathe as he began to type his reply.

TO: Idiot (◕ω◕✿)

FROM: Hito-chan♡ (눈_눈)

hurry up idiot

[08:32 AM]

or else im leaving

[08:33 AM]

After sending those two text, Hitoshi immediately gotten a reply and he didn't have to look at the screen of his phone which displayed the messages to know that his [Hair color] haired friend was whining at him on being a 'meanie' and begging him not to ditch [Name].

Not a few seconds later, Hitoshi's phone vibrated. The indigo haired let out an annoyed grunt as he tap the green icon to receive the call from [Name] as he then placed the phone on his ear. Hitoshi winced and had to hurriedly pull his phone away from his ear with how loud [Name] was on the other line.

"HITO-CHAN!!! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE!!!" [Name] cried out on the indigo haired male's phone. Hitoshi had to gather his bearings from the [Hair color] haired male's voice. Hitoshi swore that [Name] sometimes had that loud pro-hero's voice, Present Mic. Both being incredibly loud and their voices goes annoying real fast.

"HITO-CHAN PLEASE WAIT FOR ME!!! IM ALMOST THERE!!!" Hitoshi let out series of grumbles as he listened to [Name] beg for him to wait. Hitoshi wonders why he even bother with his friend. Looking around, Hitoshi noticed he was getting some looks, from judgmental, curious to annoyed ones. It made the indigo haired embarrassed.

"Keep quiet," Hitoshi hissed as he felt heat creeping in on his cheeks from the looks of passersby he was getting from the loud [Hair color] haired male on his phone. "I'll wait but just... shut up, idiot," Hitoshi grumbled as he heard [Name] thanked him profusely on the other line. The indigo haired male rolled his eyes at his friend's attitude and had to stop himself from snorting when he heard [Name] getting scolded on the other line from how loud he was. 'Idiot...'

"A-ah! I'm so sorry for the disturbance!" Hitoshi heard his [Hair color] haired friend apologize. There was another voice piping on the other line aswell as shuffling. The indigo haired wondered where his friend was. 'He said he was close?' Hitoshi thought. 'But he also said that he was still in the train...'

Hitoshi was about to end the call when [Name] continued talking, more quietly than before. "Hey, Hito-chan?" [Name] had called out. The said male hummed to show he was listening as Hitoshi looked around the area again to see people walking pass by him.

"Yeah?"

"I... well..." Hitoshi raised his brow at his friends uncharacteristic hesitation but the indigo haired nale did not mind. The indigo haired male knew that [Name] always goes head first in situations and did not think about it. Hitoshi found that attitude of his to be stupid really but [Name] was [Name], and his friend always gets it in the end. "Thank you for being my friend..."

Hitoshi paused. Gripping his phone tightly, there was a smile on his lips as he rolled his eyes at the [Hair color] haired male's words.

"Yeah... sure... whatever, idiot..."

Hitoshi looked at the time on his phone and let out an annoyed sigh when he saw it was twenty-two minutes after [Name] had called him and ended the call with the [Hair color] haired male promising he was close by already.

'Yeah right... close my ass...' Hitoshi thought as he bit his bottom. The male was still not here and it made Hitoshi regretted leaving his bed more than ever. 'At least he should've have the decency to come in time...'

Hitoshi swears that when he sees his friend, he'll slap the [Hair color] haired male for being late. The indigo haired male knew that he will make his friend buy the most expensive stuff in this cafe they were going so [Name] will regret inviting him and being late. But either way, Hitoshi liked watching the cars and people passed by, the indigo haired male just wished it wasn't so goddamn cold and that he was actually sitting than standing like a dumbass in the middle of the sidewalk as he waited for his friend.

Looking at his phone again, Hitoshi decided to pass the time by playing games on his phones. It was already twenty-six minutes since the call and despite [Name] assuring him that he'll be there, he still wasn't and Hitoshi did not want to think what made his friend so late. He knew [Name] always had a terrible skills in time management. The [Hair color] haired male can either be ten minutes early or twenty minutes late, there is no inbetween and the indigo haired male wished [Name] was the former for atleast this outing but it seemed like lady luck was not on his side. Well, when was she always on his side? She never was as he grew up anyways. Having born with a villaino--

"HITO-CHAN!!!"

"GAH!!!" Hitoshi almost dropped his phone and would have been thrown to the ground if he had not steadied himself on time. That still not prevented the indigo haired male to be scared out of his wits and a frightened scream leaving his lips when he felt a body colliding behind him aswell as weight distributed on his back and arms wrapped around his neck, tighly.

"Hito-chan!" The said male let out quiet curses as he turned to look behind him to see the male he was waiting shining him a beaming smile. "Hito-chan! Im so glad you didn't ditch me," [Name] had said as he nuzzled his face on the other male's cheek.

Hitoshi felt his face burned in embarrassment from his best friend's affectionate gesture. And not to mention [Name] was being so close to him in public. Hitoshi's cheeks were painted a light shade of pink flush as he turned his head the other way from his friend.

"I almost did..." Hitoshi muttered as [Name] guffawed at his answer with his [Eye color] eyes widen from Hitoshi's words. "Now... g-get off me idiot!" Hitoshi had exclaimed as he tried to push his friend away but [Name] whined at him.

"Hito-chan!" The [Hair color] haired whined in a childish way. "Don't be mean!"

"Idiot! Just-- get off me! It's embarrassing," Hitoshi retorted as the [Hair color] haired male pouted but complied with his words. Not without one last whine about the indigo haired male being so cold towards him which amde Hitoshi roll his eyes at his words.

"Whatever..." Hitoshi had said as he adjusted the scarf of his neck and avoided his [Hair color] haired friend's eyes as [Name] turned to look at him with a bright smile.

"Here you go Hito-chan!" The [Hair color] haired male had pushed a white plastic bag towards the indigo haired male's chest. His actions made Hitoshi turned to look at him with surprise on his face as he took the bag. [Name] still had that smile on his lips as he looked at Hitoshi.

"What... what's this?" Hitoshi asked, confused as he looked down on the white blastic bag on his hand. Hitoshi heard [Name] awkwardly laughed as the [Hair color] haired male rubbed the nape of his neck. If Hitoshi would have looked, he would have saw the soft pink flush on [Name]'s [Skin color] cheeks.

"Ah, well..." [Name] had started as he awkwardly coughed onto his fist. "I knew I would be really late so I... kinda decided to stop at this small shop near here to buy you an apology gift..." He had explained as Hitoshi looked up towards him again then back at the bag. [Name] flashed Hitoshi a grin, silently urging his indigo haired friend to see what's inside the plastic. "Hope you'll like it Hito-chan."

Hitoshi opened the plastic and had one of his hand to reached inside. There was something small and round. That's what Hitoshi had felt and with curiosity swallowing him whole, the indigo haired male pulled it out. Hitoshi couldn't help but softly smile. On his hand, it was a small keychain. The keychain was shaped like a cat with its paint being purple and had a droppy eyes. There was a small mischievous grin on the cat's face as it stood in two legs while one of its paw was raised to signify it was waving. Oddly enough, Hitoshi thought the small cat was to signify it was him.

"When I saw that... it kinda reminded me of you..." [Name] confessed.

[Name]'s comment made Hitoshi feel something inside. It was sweet, Hitoshi could not lie as he looked at the purple cat keychain on his hand. His [Hair color] haired friend thought of him when he bought this. Maybe he'll not rob [Name] off of his money for being late when they get to this cafe. It made Hitoshi feel happy--

"I mean... it had Hito-chan's tired, grinning face!" Scratch that. [Name] was still the dumbass that he was and the indigo haired male is going to order every expensive stuff to leave him broke.

Hitoshi turned to look at [Name] and would start to nag the [Hair color] haired male's ear off when the male had reached down and took his unoccupied hand and began to walk away, dragging Hitoshi with a smile on his face.

"Now, come on Hito-chan!" [Name] had said. His tone excited and happy as he looked forward and not looking at Hitoshi who walked behind him, a bit dumbfounded from his actions on just dragging him along. "The cafe is a few blocks away from here!"

"You could've had sent me the damn address so I could've waited inside..." Hitoshi bit his bottom lip and rolled his eyes. He tightly held the keychain on his hand as he caught up to his friend's pace.

Now, the indigo haired male walked side by side with the [Hair color] haired male who if Hitoshi would've looked, the indigo haired male would have saw the soft smile on his lips and a pink hue on his cheeks as they walked together towards the direction of the cafe in [Name]'s lead, hand in hand. And if [Name] would've looked at Hitoshi, the [Hair color] haired male would have saw Hitoshi held a small soft smile on his lips.

──────────────���──

NEXT >

[poisongirl18]

Like a Virgin (2)

MOC!DeanXVirginReader

A/N I don’t know if this is any good but I felt like this story needed a part two so enjoy.

 Warning this fic is for reader’s 18 and over because it is well . . . dark and sexy! Reader’s Beware!

 It had been six months since Dean took your virginity, and those six months were the greatest six months of your adult life. You always assumed as a hunter that you would get many moments of bliss, but who knew that all you had to do was spend time with your demonic boyfriend to get them?

Dean had treated you like a queen from day one, taking care of your needs as you took care of his. He had bought you things nice outfits for him and you, he had taken the time to get your favorite foods and snacks, he had made sure you were comfortable and happy. All you wanted to do was repay him in the best way you knew how.

You spent the morning in the shower, washing every inch of your body with a vanilla body was that Dean had bought specifically for you. He said that he loved your sweet smell and it remind him of what a good little girl you were for him. You also spent the morning shaving and plucking the unwanted hairs that littered your body. Dean liked you smooth and silky for him.

You curled and styled your hair making it perfect and fluffy, but also smooth and grabable for his calloused hands. You didn’t put on that much makeup, knowing that Dean liked you innocent, so you settled for a little bit of lip gloss and some mascara before making your way to the lingerie you had lain out on your bed.

It was white and angelic, something that was so ironic, but that’s why Dean loved it.

You quickly dressed and slipped on the white heels to match, waiting for Dean to show up any minute.

You heard the door creak open, followed by heavy footsteps. “Sweetheart.” He called roughly. “I’m home.”

You smiled and got up taking his jacket from him, like you were a normal married couple.

Dean raised a brow at your appearance before taking the jacket from you and tossing it on the little table he had set up for your meals. “And what is this?” He towered over you.

“A surprise.” You smiled softly, your head down. “Do you like it?”

He tilted your chin back with his hand. “Get on the bed for me, my innocent angel.”

You felt your heart pound in your chest as you got in the bed, laying on the pillow’s, legs spread wide, the air kissing your pussy lips.

Dean climbed on the bed fully clothed as he ran his hands up your thighs. “Still so smooth for me, what did I do to deserve an innocent little slave?”

“You’re too good to me sir.” You smile as he ran a thumb down your slit. You couldn’t help but shiver at his touch.

“I am too good to you.” He hummed as he undid his belt buckle, taking it from each loop before tying it tightly around your hands. “Were you a good girl for me today, Y/N?”

“Yes sir.” You bite your lip and nodded. “I got ready for you.”

“You’re perfect for me, you know that?” He sunk two fingers in your aching cunt. “Even after I destroyed you so many times, you fit me like a fucking glove.”

You whimpered and tried to stay still for him, not wanting to take more than you were given.

“I’m going to flip you over.” He warned before you face was on the pillow, he moved you so your ass was in the air and before you could even breathe, he was inside of you.

You let a loud cry of surprise before your ears were filled with the sound of skin on skin.

“So fucking perfect. No other man can have you, right?” Dean demanded as he smacked your ass.

“No, just you sir.” You whimper as you felt his thumb press into your forbidden hole.

“I can’t wait to have every hole from you.” He groaned. “But not tonight.” He smacked the cheek again. “I want to fill up that sweet cunt, fill you with my babies.”

Your heart fluttered at the words, you wanted nothing more than to give him a life.

“Yes! Yes sir!” You promised with a moan.

You listened to the wet sound of your pussy sucking Dean’s cock in, just as he pressed on the back of your neck, pushing your face deeper into the pillows. “Do you love me Y/N?”

“Yes! Yes!” You cried, your orgasm about ready to take over.

“Say it! Say it!” He flipped you over again meeting his black eyes.

“I love you sir!”

Dean grinned wickedly as he rubbed your clit. “Cum for me slut.”

You did as he said, your body about to lurch off the bed from the powerful orgasm that rocked your body.

“Thank you sir! Thank you sir!” You cried out over and over again right before you relaxed against the pillows.

“Gotta clean up my little wet slut.” Dean grinned before climbing between your legs, licking the pool of wetness between your lips. He lapped up your cum with his tongue, making your sensitive clit tremble with each stroke. He repeated the action over and over again, taking time to play with your wet hole until you were shaking with need again.

Just as you were about to be pressed over the edge, Dean’s head popped up. “Sorry about this angel.” He said before ripping the white lingerie that covered your body. You were now bare to him as he looked over you hungrily.

“Fuck me.” He groaned as he massaged your tits, painfully tweaking the nipple making it red and angry.

He smiled with pride before lining himself up at your entrance, slamming into you without warning. “Such a greedy slut.” He panted. “You ready for me? Ready for my babies Y/N?” He asked wickedly.

“Yes sir, fill me up.” You begged.

You prepared yourself for Dean’s groan, for the way his body would tighten as he came, but what you didn’t prepare for was the door opening with a loud bang, followed by Dean’s groan as a pair of arms ripped him from you.

“I got him!” Castiel yelled. “I got him!”

“Y/N!” Sam yelled, in disbelief.

“Leave her alone!” Dean yelled. “She’s mine! My queen!”

That was the last thing you remember before you fainted.

You didn’t know if it was from shock, or possibly dehydration but you had awoken a few hours later back in the bunker. Your body covered in hickeys and bruises from Dean’s hands. Sam had come in to feed you and explained how he was making Dean better, but you hadn’t said a word. Your mind still turning, trying to figure out what was right and wrong.

Sam had said something about a mental illness Dean had caused, but you couldn’t remember the name. He had also warned you to stay away from the locked room they kept Dean in, no matter what you heard. You were fine with that in a way until Dean began screaming your name.

“Y/N, princess, sweetheart, please.” It echoed down the hall, sending shocks through your body, you had to save your master.

You knew it was wrong, but you still managed to tip toe your way quietly through the bunker, finding the room Dean was locked in. You pushed open the door, trying to be quiet so Sam wouldn’t find out.

The moment your eyes reach Dean’s caged body, you froze.

“Sweetheart.” He grinned. “You found me.” He looked over your body and raised a brow. “And you’re wearing jeans.”

You shrugged, taking a step forward. “It was all Sam had.” You nodded.

“Well, we’ll take care of that later. Just get me out of here.”

“Y/N, don’t.” You turned to see Sam standing in the doorway, his arm in a sling and a frown on his face. “I know you love Dean, but this – this isn’t him.”

You frowned and looked back at your master who was howling and fighting his chains. “Let me out!” He seemed to calm down, his black eyes turning green once again. “Sammy you let out; I’ll give you a piece.”

Your eyes widened, you were supposed to be Dean’s queen, one that no one was going to touch, and he was just going to hand you off like you were nothing.

“Sir . . .” You trailed as Sam came up behind you and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t Y/N.” Sam said, shaking his head before going to stand next to syringes filled with blood. “This will all be over soon.” He nodded before picking one up and sticking it in Dean’s neck. He pushed the plunger angrily.

Dean let out an animalistic growl, his eyes growing black as he tried to snap at Sam’s hand. He kept yelling and screaming, you had to cover your ears until finally it stopped.

Dean lifted his head and looked at you, his green eyes full of sorrow as he looked at you. “Sweetheart.” He croaked out.

You turned and covered your mouth, hurrying out of the room back to your own where you shut and locked the door.

Finding Dean coming back to normal made you feel alone, like no one could understand you, like no one could love you.

It was only a few hours later when you heard the knock, something unfamiliar to you.

“W-who is it?” You let out shakily as you stood in front of it.

“It’s . . . It’s me sweetheart.” Dean called.

You watched as your hand trembled as you unlocked and opened the door, looking at the man you were so in love with.

Dean gave you a small sad smile. “Can I come in?” He asked softly.

You knew you probably shouldn’t have, but you stepped aside letting him in. He took a couple of strides into your room before stopping right in the middle.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly. “For everything.”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t your fault.” You let out softly.

“It was . . . I hurt you, took your innocence from you. God, I’m a fucking monster.” He shook his head in distress.

You immediately went over to him, cupping his cheeks softly. “No, no your not. Everything you did- I wanted. I wanted it so bad Dean. I still do.”

He looked down at you like you were nuts. “No, no, no.” He shook his head. “Y/N I forced myself on you.”

“Dean, I love you!” You shouted. “I always have, and I wanted everything you gave to me. Demon or not.” You fell to your knees before him. “I wanted to give everything to my master.”

Dean trembled as he helped you to your feet. “I’m not your master, Y/N. I’m just . . . Dean.” He smiled sadly. “And as much as I wanted all that from you too. It wasn’t fair. You deserve flowers and a nice bed. Not chained up like that.”

“Then show me! Dean show me!” You beg but Dean shook his head before pressing his lips softly to yours.

“Not now, you’re still healing.” He said softly, brushing your hair back. “We’ll do this slow after we heal . . . together.”

“Heal.” You nod. “Right.”

Dean nodded and headed for your door, stopping to look at you one last time. “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Dean.” You say softly watching as he walked out.

Little did he know that more damage had been done while he was demon than he thought as you pressed a hand to the swell of your stomach where a little baby would lay protected in his mother’s womb.

[wannawrite]

serendipity 🌨️ (三）

[ 君を守りたくて 涙に変わる前に もう一度. ]

I want to hold you once more before you melt into tears.

group: seventeen

member: joshua hong

genre: a surprise :)

others: italics = thoughts, josh and vern speaking in English

sorry for the long wait friends, Japan gave me so much inspiration !!

forgive me, the story only gets better at the end because I improved a lot so this was prewritten and continued again a lot later on !!

___________________________

“No one?”

You nodded firmly, as the teacher gave you a glance of disdain through her pink framed glasses. Her eyebrows raised haughtily as she quickly looked back to her worksheets, flipping through them casually-as if you didn't matter anymore. At her acts of defiance, you cursed her under your breath. Standing alone at the teacher’s table stupidly just seemed to enlarge your figure in the crowd of the class, bringing the sunlight to all the flaws engraved stubbornly onto your face.

You didn't understand why the school needed to hire such sadistic teachers, and inwardly, you cursed the school too under your breath. You could already feel the gazes of all the students seated behind you thrust into your back like spears, one by one. Maybe this was what they meant when they wanted to teach all of you to be ‘confident and cultured students’.

Finally, the teacher looked up, her gaze still bored and tired under her heavy bags and wrinkles. What a mood.

“Go partner the new kid.” her despairing monotone drawled out, in her absolutely enchanting, seductive Daegu satoori.

But that wasn’t really the thing you were most concerned about right now.

Involuntarily, your eyes widened, and you could feel everything that you had painstakingly built up raze to the bottomless of your heart as the teacher called out Joshua’s name, which included that non existent good mood you had while (reluctantly) getting back your maths results two hours ago. 

“Oh, you’re Hansol’s friend, right? You seem very shy, let’s get along well together.” his sweet, slightly American accentuated Korean made an entrance smoothly, the sort of voice you wouldn't mind cutting into all of your conversations. 

That was when you realised, that Joshua was someone you really wanted to be close to-like getting as close to the fire as you could without touching it.

You sighed.

“Sure.” you tried for a smile to maintain a certain level of politeness (and to not feel so shitty about your already dying reputation) as you followed the tall figure with soft, slightly overgrown raven locks back to his desk. 

This was undeniably, the epitome of sadistic.

___________________________________________

“Hey, don’t look so tense, I won’t actually bite.” the boyish, balmy voice purred into your senses again, caressing your ears gently yet magically, making you jump and look to his beautiful face yet again. It seemed to work like a charm-you kicked yourself inside when you realised that Joshua’s every action had you firmly wrapped around his finger...

“R-Right.” you managed, following up with a small, coy cough-you had to give him an answer at some point, to mask your big, protruding girl crush on him. The small lift of his eyebrow, the twitch of his lips when he saw that you were incredibly shy around him was a confusing mix of attractive and unnerving to look at.

Why can’t I just talk to him, who’s a normal human being like me...

Subsequently, a new voice came into the scene.

“Ayyyy, Josh, what did you do to my friend? She looks so scared, I’ll hog the PC room all to myself if you keep disturbing her.”  a teasing, laid-back voice rolled out the English language smoothly as the hint of a brown curl plunged into your vision before jumping up again and clambering over to Joshua’s side. You died inside for the umpteenth time today as Hansol shot you a cheeky, knowing wink-if he told Joshua even an inkling about your feelings towards him, you’d probably harp on it for the rest of your life.

“Nothing? Maybe she’s just shy, I don’t know...dude, you know her better, do something. I can’t do social situations.” A helpless reply came from Joshua's mouth fast and painful, seeping out all the effervescence from his vibrant, yet gentle demeanour.

You sighed. Not being able to gather yourself in front of him, seemed to be way worse than talking to him directly.

"I-I can talk, you know." you managed awkwardly, barely meeting his eyes as the language that your tongue had conquered your whole life turned to gibberish in front of a beautiful boy.

At this, Joshua broke into a casual, yet such enchanting smile-looking just like a prince as the sun skated across his features like the most shining, elegant masterpiece in the world. You tried to focus on the now, but he was incredibly distracting.

"It's okay." he said politely, turning to you, "Everyone gets shy sometimes, right? I’m sure we’ll get along well, I can see that you know a lot about me already.” 

At this, Joshua’s gently bridged kitten eyes shot you a small, seemingly chaste wink which had in fact, thrust right through your heart like an arrow, and realising that you probably looked like the most uncontrolled mess for the umpteenth time today, you tried to articulate your words properly.

“Y-Yeah. You’re actually, I don’t know, my favourite trainee?” Crap, wrong thing to say. The words coming out of your mouth slapped you in the face hard, stringing in a small trail of regret.  To your surprise, instead of cringing Joshua laughed softly, yet somehow wholeheartedly before the table legs contrastingly, echoed out the most deafening screech as you felt the bit of wood press into your stomach area.

He had stood up from the chair, leaning in at just the perfect distance and striking the perfect balance between curiosity and suggestiveness, and that’s when the sun slicing through his ashy bangs dawned the truth on you yet again-that Joshua’s whole being exuded such a gentle, caressing aura. Tangible to your eyes, yet so intangible to your feelings-from the way his eyes fluttered gently yet quickly like butterflies in a secret garden, from the way he treated you with such gentleness yet tore your heart apart. 

Just then, in all his beauty, you felt your soul surface onto the tip of your tongue as his deeply dimpled lips mouthed these words.

“I want to know more about you.”

The whole world stopped for a while.

Your speech went into a momental rut, as you stared awkwardly and embarrassedly at his features.

“You know? Since you know so much about me, I’m curious about you, too.” his innocent voice pushed forth your consciousness from its transit stop as you snapped back into reality. 

You looked at his smile briefly before shutting down any forms of attraction towards him, and gulped down your feelings before opening your mouth.

“I-”

“So, after school today? At 2?” 

His gentle, merry lips had lifted into a sunny smile, coincidentally in the shape of a long, angled up feather-just as gentle as he was.

At this, you blushed before nodding vigorously,

“S-Sure.”

His smile got wider.

“See you then!” 

With that, Joshua left the room with his wallet casually, and the world came back into your orbit. Hansol was gone, so had the math teacher and practically the rest of the class, which had seemed so annoyingly insignificant in comparison to the boy you loved.

Then, as your consciousness slowly surfaced back into your memory, you realised-your cousin would be coming today, and if it was for a school project, you’d have little to no time to spend with her...

But you thought back to Joshua’s pleading gaze, and you sighed.

There was no way you were saying no to that smile.

__________________________

to prepare the blog for my long desert era LOL I'm sorry this took way longer than it should have :(

also day6′s cb is such a bop PLEASE STREAM DAYS GONE BY my boys really deserve it ^^ 

I hope I captured the feeling here well!! the reason why the descriptions on joshie’s features are so excessive because thats how you feel when you crush on someone la HHAHAHA like somehow you just start noticing everything small and insignificant about that, so I apologise if the story didn't flow so well because of that :( I REALLY tend to notice all these things about Joshua’s beautiful personality though (esp as he was my ult of ults last year so yes I am still low-key whipped HAHAAHA)

ill be growing spiritually the next few days and going to hk, idk if I can update overseas but ill see again!! love yall, thanks for reading and supporting!!

ps suNGJINS VOCALS MADE ME WANT TO CRY UGHGJSJDGSH

[fiercyy]

We Need To Talk

A Viktuuri and Viktuuriyuri family fic <3

When Yuuri receives a text from Victor one morning, he tries very hard not to panic.

Vitenka (Blue heart, purple heart, gold medal, eggplant, hearteyes emoji): We need to talk tonight after dinner with Yura.

Perhaps Yuuri has been exposed to too much pop culture during his time in the States, but to him ‘we need to talk’ never spells out anything good. He resists the urge to immediately text back a thousand questions and demands about what they would be talking about, if he was okay, what Yuuri did wrong and if he would find his own suitcase packed and left by the door, or would he have to pack it all up himself when Viktor kicked him to the curb?

Yuuri had a really good morning. He woke up on his own, which was a miracle unto itself. To celebrate beating Viktor to consciousness, he kissed his fiancé awake. And maybe they were a little late getting out of bed because of it. “I’m sure my coach won’t mind,” Yuuri had teased and touched his nose to Viktor’s, then kissed his cheek. When he pulled away, Viktor was bright pink, from nose to ears and his smile was soppy and sweet. “You can’t say things like that!” Viktor had complained before throwing his arms around Yuuri, “It’s too adorable, I won’t survive. You’re trying to kill me aren’t you? Is this so I won’t make you do suicides again? I knew it! My Yuuri is so cruel!” All the while, smothering Yuuri by rolling on top of him.

A really good morning. They’d skipped their run because of it, went straight to the rink (where Yuuri and Viktor both cleanly skated their new programs for the first time). Then lunch together before parting ways for cross training.

That was fifteen minutes ago. What could have changed that Viktor could possibly want to talk about?! Or maybe it was about lunch or practice or this morning and he just hadn’t worked up the courage to talk to him yet. Maybe he’s been plotting a way to let him down easy. If so, Yuuri feels terrible about this morning, but also, incredibly glad that at least he’ll have one last time to remember him by.

But maybe it wasn’t as good for Viktor as it was for Yuuri? If Yuuri was doing something wrong, why wouldn’t Viktor just tell him? He could get better, probably. He hears there are advice columns all over the internet. He listens to podcasts on long runs now, there must be one that tells you how to be better in bed so your five-time gold medalist, perfect specimen of manhood fiancé stays in love with you.

“Katsudon, you’ve been in that forward split for ten minutes, are you showing off or did you fall asleep?” Yurio is sharing his ballet session. He hides his worry poorly. Or maybe Yuuri just knows him well at this point. His heart sinks. He’ll miss him so much when Viktor dumps him and he has to move back to Hasetsu and retire.

Yuuri shrugs and hopes he doesn’t pry further. The sixteen-year-old doesn’t. Instead he nudges him into pair stretches.

The anxiety chews on his heart, feral and unrelenting in its hunger. Yuuri’s own mind won’t rest until it consumes him one rending bite at a time.

While he does a pas de bourré into a plié, then saute, he circles back to the way he felt when Viktor first came to Hasetsu. He’d wondered then, how this could possibly be his life. He kept his distance out of self-preservation, because when Viktor eventually grew bored and left, any closeness would be ripped away, taking parts of him along with it. Yuuri could not afford to become dependent on Viktor’s kindness. Or later, Viktor’s love. Except it didn’t matter what Yuuri could and could not afford to feel. His foolish heart learned to beat for him, to the rhythm of the programs they choreographed together.

Yuuri’s stupid soul would suffer now that the inevitable had arrived.

Yurio clearly doesn’t want to leave Yuuri alone. Their cooldown session is quiet and punctuated by the boy starting a sentence and interrupting himself. It’s unlike him. Yuuri wants to pull him into his arms. That’s unlike him too.

“Stop looking at me like that. It’s freaking me out,” Yurio spits. “Why do you look like someone died? Is the idiot—” he means Viktor, “Ill?” he seems unconcerned by the prospect, but then he pales as something occurs to him, “Are you ill? Is Makkachin?”

And because Yuuri does not want to lie to him, but also does not want to tell him the truth at all ever, he throws his hands up and shakes his head. “No, no, nothing like that. Just in my own head today.” This is true every day, but it would be impossible to explain the day to day torment of living inside of his own brain. Plus, it might traumatize Yurio and make him second guess his decision to allow Yuuri and Viktor to ostensibly, semi-non-officially adopt him. Oh no… who gets to keep Yurio in the divorce?

Divorce? Oh god. Divorced before they’ve even made it to the altar. Maybe, now that Viktor is feeling inspired and skating again, he doesn’t need Yuuri in his life after all.

Yurio neatly answers the question of ‘who gets custody in the divorce’ by dragging him out the door and declaring that he’s going to drive Yuuri’s car home. Maybe custody is relative and Yurio takes care of himself.

He’s supposed to be supervising said driving since Yurio technically does not have a license, but instead Yuuri stares on the passenger window until he gets nauseous and has to close his eyes. The car stops and he opens them to find they’re at a grocery store.

“Your moron husband forgot to pick up garlic.”

“Not married,” he says and swallows down the bitter yet that gets stuck in his throat.

Yurio groans, “Have you not gotten that over with yet?” He knows very well that they haven’t. They once joked about eloping, which Yurio pretended not to have an apoplectic fit over. Viktor promises they’ll make Yurio their flower boy. Privately, Yuuri eggs him on because he knows that deep down, beyond the fury, he’s actually very touched.

Yurio takes one look at him and rolls his eyes, “Wait in the car,” he orders and slams the door. Yuuri listens and tries to take on the terrible spiralling tornado of fear. He needs to at least find the eye because it’s starting to suck the oxygen out of everything.

We need to talk we need to talk we need to talk we need to-

Soon, the door opens again and Yurio slides in. “Finally, the line was so-“ Yuuri startles and realizes there are tears on his cheeks. “Why are you crying?! Stop it!” He’s still not very good with Emotions™, but he’s doing his best. Yuuri and Viktor just have so many between them, it’s unreasonable to expect him to keep up. Generally, when the tears arrive, Yurio shoves him into Viktor’s arms. Yuuri’s not keen on that option at this moment.

They make it home with only a few awkward glances between them. The teen has his own key so he lets them in.

Yuuri doesn’t know what he was expecting to find upon returning home.

(Lies. As previously noted, he expected suitcases and packed bags and Viktor’s solemn face as he handed the ring back. He imagined kindness and pity but not love in his eyes. He wondered which would be his problem, if he’d be able to beg or be able to stop himself from begging. He knows he’d have cried, he doesn’t know if he’d have been able to speak at all.)

But Viktor is bustling around the kitchen, singing to himself. In the span of this moment, Yuuri exists outside of his worries. Ten feet away, the love of his life is making a family recipe that Hiroko passed on to him. He sings, and Yuuri’s not so far gone that he thinks Viktor a nightingale, but he loves the sound all the same. His bangs are clipped back behind his ear, his cheeks are rosy from the warmth of the stove. He dances around the kitchen, swaying his hips to the rhythm in his head. Then Yuuri realizes that he hasn’t looked up because he’s wearing headphones and hasn’t heard them yet.

Yurio aggressively removes his hat and launches it at Viktor in one motion. The older man startles and catches it, right before it falls onto a burner. “Vot tye na!” But then he sees them and his whole face lights up. It’s like watching dawn break over the mountains back. “You’re home!”

He’s not going to leave him. When Viktor looks at him, it’s hard for Yuuri to deny that he is loved because Viktor lays it all out in the open. He has never hidden his regard or intentions for even a moment. He loves wholly and without reservation.

The moment ends. The demons pipe up. Yuuri has been wrong before.

He tells himself all the things his therapist told him to. That he is safe. He is loved. He can trust the people around him. He’s going to be okay.

Dinner is a trial. Yuuri usually loves these dinners and he’s furious with himself for ruining what might be their last one. Because Viktor wants to talk. He gets quieter and quieter and shrinks down into his chair until he can’t take it anymore.

Viktor keeps the conversation going. He is cheerful and upbeat, but he keeps sneaking glances Yuuri’s way. Can he not wait to get this over with? Is he itching to be rid of him? He’s bad company, he knows it. He should be a better host, for Yurio at least. Who wants to be with someone who’s always sad and anxious, dragging down everyone around them. Viktor asks about Yurio’s day like the proud dad he is. Viktor would make such a good dad. In the vague way that he considers his future after skating, Yuuri hoped he’d get to co-parent with him someday. Again. From the beginning. Not that having a 15-year-old rage monster drop into their laps wasn’t a blessing. Maybe that’s part of it, who knows? He wouldn’t choose himself as a co-parent either.

Viktor holds his phone aloft, loudly reading all of Otabek’s tweets that Yurio has liked in the past 48 hours, while the kid tries to climb him like a tree to steal it and throw it down the garbage disposal. “Give it here old man, at least my twitter’s not some disgusting shrine to Katsudon like yours is-!”

“No, you took down the shrine to Yuuri in your locker when we moved to St-Petersburg!” He teases, “Is the one in your room at your Zaida’s house still up?”

“SHUT UP!”

And that’s all it takes, it’s all over for Yuuri. He starts to laugh and he starts to cry and the two men in his life stop roughhousing immediately, to stare at him in abject horror. They’ve both gotten better at dealing with crying, in their own ways, but they’re still terrible. They glance at each other, then back at him, then back at each other.

“Hey! Don’t cry! Look what you did asshole, you made Katsudon emotional!”

“Yuuri, oh no, are you okay? What should I do? Do you need-?”

Yuuri hiccups and tries to calm down, but he’s suddenly hyperventilating. “I…hic…I’m just…hic… I’m so happy,” he sobs. “I don’t want this to end.”

“Twice in one day? Why are you always crying?”

Viktor looks nonplussed, “You were crying earlier? He was crying earlier? When?” his gaze switches back and forth between the two Yuris, worry blooming like a bruise. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yurio doesn’t seem to know what to do. He can’t drive himself home and he clearly does not want to be here for this conversation. He pushes back from the table, and because he was raised right, he takes his plate with him and deposits it in the dishwasher. “I’ll be in the guest room, he better not be crying when I come out.” It seems silly to Yuuri, to refer to it as the guest room, when he’s the only one who ever stays in it.

He was worried before, but now Viktor looks panicked, “Yuuri…”

“What did you want to talk about?” he says in a rush. He wants to get this over with. He doesn’t want to get this over with.

Viktor ignores the question.

“Zolotse,” Viktor switches to the chair closest to Yuuri and scoots it even closer, so he can get his hands on him. “Why are you crying if you’re happy?”

Yuuri accepts the hug, lets himself succumb to it, “Because I want to keep it. I don’t want anything to change. Please just… can we not talk about this?”

Viktor pulls away suddenly, violently, to look him in the eye. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, I just thought…” He closes his mouth and looks grim. “Never mind. It’s fine. Forget I said anything. Everything is fine. I am fine.”

Yuuri is not convinced. Viktor’s pain enables Yuuri to function in a way he can’t for himself. He wants to reach out, to comfort him now. Why is Viktor’s heart breaking before his very eyes?

“Wait,” he orders, grabbing his hand to keep him from running away. “I’m sorry. Anything you need to tell me, you can tell me. I’ll listen, I’ll always listen to you. What did you want to tell me?”

“It’s not about getting married,” Viktor swears, and it’s a crack in poor Yuuri’s resolve to listen. It’s cruel of him, to reject him so blatantly though. “I promise I won’t pressure you. Whenever you’re ready. I know I said when you win gold, but just because you won doesn’t mean we have to. You owe me five after all,” Panicked, “I’m joking! Everything can stay exactly the same. I’m lucky to have that much. I won’t ask for more, I won’t.”

“…So… you don’t want to marry me.” He thought he was prepared, but he was not.

Viktor once accused him of willfully misunderstanding him when they fight. He reminds him of this now. “That is not what I said! I’ve wanted to marry you since the day we met. You can even ask Chris. I said that to him. At the banquet I told him, ‘I am going to marry that man, unless he is straight. Please Chris, tell me that he is not straight because I will cry’, I swear.”

“So you’re not leaving me?” Yuuri is wary of getting his hopes up.

“Leave you?!?!”

The way he says it makes Yuuri defensive, like he’s being ridiculous. “You texted me that we need to talk!”

“Yes. Admittedly, your English is better, but how does that translate to breaking up?”

“Everyone knows that ‘we need to talk’ is code for ‘it’s not me, it’s you’, which is code for ‘it’s definitely you’!”

“What.” Viktor scratches his nose. “This is an American thing?”

“Yes.”

“So what do you say if you really just need to talk about something?”

This gives Yuuri pause, because he actually doesn’t know. He shrugs, “Not fucking that.” He might still be a little hysterical.

“Yuuuuuuuriiiiii!”

He sighs, “You know how my mind can be. I guess when I read your text, it got away from me, I thought of the worst case scenario and I spiralled.”

“Okay,” of course, Viktor is ever on a quest to be accommodating of Yuuri’s mental illness. “Then I won’t do that. I won’t prepare you. I’ll just surprise you!”

Wait. Is that worse? That might be worse.

“Surprise! I want to get a puppy! Thoughts?”

“What about Makka?”

“I think Makka could use a little brother or sister! She gets so lonely.” Upon hearing her name, Makkachin, who is very spoiled for attention, woofs from her fancy premium dog bed and prances over to join them. She drops her chin on Yuuri’s thigh, in an oddly accurate representation of her dad’s pout. “Look at her Yuuri, don’t you want another?”

He can’t believe he questioned whether or not Viktor wanted to co-parent with him. They share custody of a poodle.

“And the angriest kitten in all the land!” Viktor adds, when Yuuri verbalizes this.

“HEY!” They all jump and spin around. Yurio stands in the kitchen, holding a cup of water, peering suspiciously over the rim. “You better not be talking about me!”

They are definitely talking about him.

Later, they’re halfway through a movie and Yurio is asleep on the other couch. Viktor and Yuuri snuggle beneath a blanket and Makkachin snoozes on the ottoman by their feet. “I love you,” Viktor says into Yuuri’s hair, “And I want things to change,” he admits bravely. “But only if you want those things too.”

“More dogs?”

They smile.

“More dogs, more rings, more moody teenagers maybe?”

“Can we get those as puppies too?” Yuuri asks, lips against Viktor’s temple.

“Yuuri!” he cries in delight, “Are you asking me to be your baby daddy?”

“YOU TWO ARE DISGUSTING!”

Oops. The kitten is awake after all.

[veneataur]

Fandom: BBC’s The Musketeers

Day 18 of 24

Title: Tackling a Fear

It’s on a nondescript, cold and dreary Saturday morning in January that finds Porthos and Aramis sitting in Porthos’ car in an empty church parking lot. Aramis sits awkwardly in the driver’s seat and Porthos in the passenger’s.

“You know, the longer you wait to turn the keys the colder we’re going to get,” Porthos says, holding back a shiver. He knows this isn’t easy for Aramis, despite him asking them for the help. It was a week ago, nearly, actually that Aramis brought this up as they were cleaning up after dinner.

“I need to take the driving test to get my license back,” Aramis says, leaning idly against the island, a dish towel in hand.

“Why,” Porthos asks. “It should just be a simple fine.”

“There…um…” Aramis moves restlessly against the island, twisting his hands in the towel. “Marsac had the doctors fill out a medical form saying I couldn’t drive, that I was unsafe. Lemay’s already fixed that part, but they’re saying I need to pass the written and driving test to get my license back.”

“Oh.” Porthos’ jaw drops a bit. With how good Aramis is doing now, it’s easy to forget about Marsac and how he’s messed with Aramis’ life.

“Well, Porthos is your man for that,” Athos says as he finishes with the dishwasher. “I’m a terrible driver. Ask Porthos.”

“He’s paid more in fines than he has miles on his car, I think.”

Aramis looks at Athos, surprised.

Athos shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve always hated Chicago traffic. It takes forever to get anywhere and it’s so crowded, so I’m usually just thinking how can I get there the fastest.”

“I pulled him over twice when I was a cop for speeding,” Porthos says.

“It was three times,” Athos says.

“So, I guess, you are my best choice, Porthos,” Aramis says. “I was decent at driving. I only had a couple parking tickets.”

“How about we go out in my car this Saturday. We’ll take a few weekends and see how you do. You should be ready for the tests them.”

During the course of the week, Aramis reveals also that Treville has told him he needs to get his license as one step to ending his probation. And it’s a few late night conversations as the weekend grows closer that reveals Aramis’ hesitation in driving again. He knows his illnesses and while they’re under better control he sometimes is triggered unexpectantly and those episodes can range in severity.

“I know, Porthos,” Aramis says, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. He slept poorly and is exhausted thanks to a few bad nights of sleep. “Do you want to head back home?”

“Do you,” Porthos asks pointedly.

Aramis hesitates. “No.” It’s an anguished whine. He knows what he needs to do and he wants to but can he turn the keys? He and Lemay talked about this during his session and he made a couple calls to him in the last couple days.

“Then, turn the keys, Aramis.”

“Maybe I don’t really need to drive after all. I mean, is it really a good idea to have me behind the wheel? A pin drops and I might be triggered.”

“Stop that, ‘Mis,” Porthos says. “That’s an exaggeration and you know it. If you want to ever be a full-fledged Musketeer, then you’re going to have to get your license because the Musketeers have their own driving test.”

“I know. I know.” Aramis nods head still leaning against the steering wheel.

“But, if you’re not ready to drive today, then you’re not ready. There’s no sense in pushing this,” Porthos says, voice softer.

“I want to. I’m tired of being reliant on one of you two or Treville and Sarah. I’m stuck in the house, especially now when it’s too cold to just walk places.”

“Then why don’t you want to turn the key?”

Aramis is silent before quietly saying, “What if they’re right? What if he was right?” He sniffles, finally moving back to lean his head against the headrest. “I couldn’t take causing people more heartache, Porthos. What if I shouldn’t be driving because I’m a danger to people on the road? It’s only been a few weeks since that major panic attack in Chicago where I punched Athos and didn’t know where I was. What if something like that happens?”

“Hey,” Porthos begins, “stop that talk.” Porthos puts a calming hand on Aramis’ shoulder.

“But…”

“No. Let’s put Marsac aside for now. I don’t even want to talk about that man. But let’s do talk about your life now. Lemay signed off on the paperwork, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And do you trust Lemay?”

“Of course. He’s the only psychiatrist to actually listen to me instead of dismissing me as another hopeless case.”

“Good. Now, do you trust Treville?”

“Yes. How could I not?”

“How about me and Athos?”

“Yes,” Aramis answers so quickly that Porthos thinks he might’ve not realized what he was answering.

“You trust me and Athos?” Trust has been the sticking point between the two of them and Aramis this past year. It wasn’t that Aramis didn’t want to trust them, but that he couldn’t make himself.

“Yes, Porthos,” Aramis says earnestly. “I can’t say that I won’t have doubts, that I won’t have moments where I question if you will really always there. But I do believe I can trust you and Athos. You two have stuck with me no matter what happened last year when you barely knew me, and it was a bad year.”

“So, if you can trust Lemay, Treville, Athos, and me, then trust that we think you’re safe to drive. We care about you, a lot, and wouldn’t let you put yourself in danger, even if it meant you couldn’t be a Musketeer.”

“I know.”

The car falls silent for a few moments.

“It seems you trust so many others, but do you trust yourself,” Porthos asks.

Aramis shakes his head, eyes closed. “How could I? I still don’t know at times how I’m going to react to things. Look at Chicago a few weeks ago.”

“That was more than a few weeks ago and have you had a major panic attack since then?”

“Some smaller ones.”

“Anything that serious? Did it start a wave of attacks? Are you worse or more unsettled now?”

“No. But it makes me wonder.” In the immediate aftermath of the Chicago panic attack, there had been a lot of sleepless nights for the three of them. There are still some nights like these and moments of panic where Aramis thinks he’s going to have a major attack. It’s been weeks since they’ve gone out during the day. Even the mall outing with Tim and Ben was altered to work with Aramis.

“You remember last week when we went out shopping,” Porthos asks. Aramis nods. “We thought we’d gone at a good time when you wouldn’t be triggered by anything, right?”

Another nod.

“But what happened?”

“There was a loud bang and a baby cried out.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t? You froze, got that far off look, and your breathing picked up. Athos could feel your heart beating with a simple touch.” Porthos pauses, looking at Aramis, who’s staring out at the dead, snow-covered landscape. “Do you remember what happened then? Did you have a panic attack?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“The surroundings. The aisles and the music,” Aramis says. “There were so many things to notice and look at.”

“You redirected your own thoughts.”

“I also breathed myself into an asthma attack and had to sit down to rest halfway through our trip,” Aramis counters.

“So it wasn’t perfect. Do you know that was the first time you’ve really managed to redirect yourself? It’s usually me and Athos doing it. But you started on your own. If that’s not proof that you are getting your illnesses under control, then I don’t know what is.”

“But that was once, Porthos.”

“And you’ll do it again. I have confidence in you, Aramis. I just wish you’d have that same confidence.”

“I used to be confident.” Aramis looks down, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. “I want to be again.”

“It’ll come, Aramis. You’ve been through quite a lot. I can’t think of anyone who’d still have their confidence after everything you’ve been through.”

“I’ve heard that a lot.” Aramis closes his eyes and leans back against the seat.

“I bet.”

“The question is, when. When does it start coming back?”

“Maybe with turning the keys?”

“Are you telling me that you’re freezing,” Aramis asks with a slight smile.

“Well, I am cold and I’d like a little heat in the car, but what I mean is that you’ve got to do things for yourself. It’s not that you aren’t already, but you need to challenge yourself with things that scare you to see that you can do them. And if it’s a pep talk to get you going or a late night anxious pace, you need that’s okay. If it goes bad and you need someone to talk to, I’ll be there and I’m sure Athos will be too and probably all of the Trevilles, even Meg though she’s not even a year yet. If it doesn’t go as planned, and we both know that some of your ventures will go badly, you just need to remember that you’re not alone. You’re stuck with us, no matter what happens.”

“I know. I understand.” Aramis nods and the car lapses into silence again.

“So, how about tackling one of your fears now and turning on the car.” Porthos is shivering even more now and he knows that Aramis isn’t because the man wears at least three layers, not including thermal underwear before even thinking about stepping out in this weather. He has some of his muscle built back up, but he’s still on the thin side and gets cold easily.

“Okay.” Aramis chuckles as Porthos’ plea.

“Good. We’ll see how you do with the car idling and then maybe take it around a bit, let you get a feel for the pedals again.”

They’ve been sitting long enough that when Aramis does turn the keys, the engine takes a few minutes to warm up and they have to wait for warm air to come from the vents.

“How’re you doing,” Porthos asks as he holds his hands against a vent, enjoying the warm air.

“Good. I’m good. This isn’t bad.” Aramis is somewhat relaxed, but the thought of driving is still on his mind. This won’t be an easy task, but Porthos is right. He has to start facing his fears head on if he’s ever going to regain his lost confidence. “How about we go for a little drive around the lot?”

“Excellent idea. Just remember to take it easy.” He and Athos had worried about getting Aramis to actually drive today. Athos warned him before they left that Aramis might not even be able to shift the car out of park if he managed to turn the key. And Porthos agreed, knowing, like Athos, that Aramis’ lack of confidence is holding him back more than he realizes. He thought they’d be heading back home with a despondent Aramis, but as the younger man shifts the car out of park into drive and there’s a gentle push of the gas pedal, Porthos is glad they were wrong. And as they make a slow, gentle circle around the parking lot, Aramis’ hands clenching the steering wheel so tight they’re white, Porthos smiles. It’s not perfect, but a first attempt needn’t be. This is progress and he can’t wait to get home so that Aramis can tell Athos. And then they can coax Aramis into believing that this is important enough and that the Trevilles would care enough to hear about it.

[confusedsiewmai]

Ocean Petals

Writer’s note: So this is my first fanfic EVER and I’m super duper nervous so here goes nothing! (Please don’t come to my house to murder me.) I’ll probably write a part 2 but in the end, I’ll also see how this ends up. I genuinely hope you guys will enjoy this. Enough! Shall we begin?

Special thanks to:

@suitboxers (Cos’ this only started because I saw this beautiful fanart of Hanahaki!Keith)

@flaming-potato-arson (For encouraging me and giving advice that did help)

@mrscarocat​ (For being there while I whined like an anxious kid and for reading this so many times to help me improve and calm my ass down)

Summary: Keith thought he had smothered those feelings for a certain blue paladin. But they had taken roots where they shouldn’t and began smothering him instead. That was how flowers bloomed within his chest.

(Or: the Hanahaki!Klance AU where Keith suffers)

The first sign was the difficulty breathing.

While practising in the training deck, Keith’s breathing grew laboured far too quickly but he ignored the weight in his chest. He would never allow himself to be defeated by a level 5 fight simulator just because he was feeling a little unwell. However, the longer he pressed on, the tighter his chest grew. Each breath sent a sharp pain through his lungs and every strike became harder and harder to deflect. He found himself reacting too slowly, too slowly.

Keith huffed, squinting in effort. The Gladiator bot’s movements merged into a distorted blur, its sword a confusing flurry of movements. When it pulled its arm back, he brought his shield to his left, blocking it.

Under the attacks rained down in rapid succession, Keith was left wheezing loudly, exhausted and dizzy. With a grunt, he swung his bayard. The bot parried it effortlessly and sent him reeling back.

The world spun into a kaleidoscope of colours. The paladin shook his head to clear it. His sight refocused and he saw the Gladiator bot bringing its sword down on him. He barely managed to step aside in time. In the process, he tripped over his own foot and stumbled. Before he could regain his balance, the bot made a stab at him. Keith dodged again but the sword had nicked his right arm and he was hissing in pain.

He needed to keep up. He has to keep up. He cannot-

Everything went black.

Keith was jolted back to his senses when his side slammed onto the floor with a resounding bang. His vision was swimming and he couldn’t even tell up from down. The bot charged towards him. Keith opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a pathetic wheeze.

“End simulation! End simulation!” A voice pierced through the dark fog in his head. Relief washed over him upon hearing the sound of the bot deactivating. Then, he heard someone run towards him. “Holy crow! Are you okay?”

Shakily, Keith looked up and he saw patches of brown and blue. After blinking several times, he found himself gazing into a familiar pair of blue orbs, which were brimmed with worry. He avoided staring into those too-beautiful eyes and croaked an automatic response, “Yeah.”

His chest actually still felt tight. Or maybe it felt even tighter. His left shoulder was throbbing in dull pain and his mind was fuzzy and thick. Keith pressed a hand to the side of his head and groaned as he got up. A sharp pain impaled his chest and he fell back. He expected his head to slam onto the floor but Lance had caught him quickly enough.

Lance winced. “Nope. You’re not. We’re going to the sick bay.”

Grunting in extreme effort, Keith tried to sit up again and Lance supported him. Then, he was helped onto his feet. His legs were weak and wobbled like a newborn fawn’s and the world tilted this way and that, but firm yet gentle hands guided him as he swayed and pushed forward stubbornly.

An invisible yet impossibly soft pillow smothered the already suffocating boy when Lance sighed with a worried smile, his eyebrows quirking in a half-frown-half-smirk that only he could pull off. “Slow down, mullet man.”

***

Then, Keith knew he was screwed.

Blue petals sat wetly in his pale palm and he stared at them blankly before glaring at them. Hanahaki disease. The disease that leeched off unrequited love and made flowers bloom in your lungs, slowly, slowly clogging up your chest and suffocating you, leading you to your eventual, beautiful, tragic death. The world just loved finding ways to rub salt into Keith’s wounds and put him through torture. And the thing that pissed Keith off wasn’t that he’s going to die. He didn’t have anyone waiting for him back on Earth anyway. Instead, it’s the fact that just when he thought that he had, at long last, incinerated his useless feelings for Lance, shoved them into a hole, and buried them under sixty feet of dirt, they come back to haunt him in the form of flowers. Fucking flowers.

And of course they’d be blue. They could never be anything else but the colour of the sea. His ocean eyes were dark and deep, inviting you to sink into the cool embrace of their waters. Inviting even Keith. Keith, whose first experience with the sea was of nearly drowning in it. Keith, who did not know then that the sea was not his territory and was never for him to touch. Keith, who had been impulsive as usual and rushed right into the waters, not seeing past its surface, and plunging straight into the deep unknown.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to do that. Not again.

Crushing the petals in his hands, he threw them in the bin. Even as he trudged out of his room and made his way down the hallway to join the others for breakfast, the beautiful dark blue stayed like a stubborn stain in his mind. There was no way he would let others know about this because they would definitely keep him away from his paladin duties. Voltron needed its paladin and there was an entire universe for him to defend. He couldn’t let some flower disease stop him.

“Ah, Keith!” Coran said as he sauntered over, breaking Keith’s train of thoughts. “I was about to get you. It is rather unusual that you are late today.” After a second or two, his cheery smile turned to one of concern. “Is anything the matter?”

“What? No! Nothing at all!” Why was he so bad at lying? “Everything’s great,” Keith mumbled.

Coran looked at him and the boy deflated under his stare, squirming. At last, Coran shrugged. “I will not press you any further, Keith. However,” his eyes smiled, not unlike those of a concerned grandfather, “if you do need someone to talk to, you can always come to me.” He pat Keith’s shoulder and turned back around while Keith followed after. “We better hurry. Lance was incredibly determined to finish Hunk’s cooking before you arrived. Shiro may not be able to hold him off much longer.”

Keith stiffened. His chest tightened just at the mention of Lance and he didn’t quite know if it was just the flowers anymore. All he knew was that he was going to pretend that everything was fine and that he wasn’t dying from some flower-growing, unrequited-love illness. It would drag the team down and the fact that he had a crush on Lance in the first place will be the team joke for the rest of his short miserable life. And he wouldn’t be able to handle Lance’s cocky teasing. He would never let anyone know.

This stupid pining disease will have to kill him first.

***

Lance sang as he danced in joy. “Keith cannot swim! Keith cannot swim!”

From the opposite side of the lounge, Pidge yelled at him to shut up but Lance didn’t hear her over his triumph so she just groaned and put on her headphones, casting Keith a pitying glance.

In disbelief, Lance shook his head. “Why did you even go to the pool that time? You can’t even swim!”

Keith’s face was burning. In a useless attempt to hide his embarrassment, he crossed his arms and scowled. “So what if I can’t?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Lance said, flicking his head. “Except I’m a thousand times better than you because I can swim and you can’t. Just wait till we have a beach episode! I’ll be showing off my awesome moves while you hang onto your lame float.”

Keith couldn’t help but imagine floating idly in the sea with an inner tube while watching Lance in his swimming trunks, basking in the sea with a thrilled grin, his eyes bright with pure exuberance as sunlight glistens off his wet brown skin. Keith’s stomach fluttered and his lips quirked up. He caught himself and huffed loudly. “Why will there be a beach episode?”

“You know,” Lance said, his hands waving as he waggled his eyebrows. “The classic beach episode.” When Keith didn’t seem to get it, Lance sighed dramatically. “How can anyone be this uncultured! You can just bob around in the sea or whatever, I will be capturing the hearts of all my fans.” He made a finger gun and winked at an imaginary alien, clicking his tongue.

A crushing wave of bitterness crashed over Keith, overwhelming him. “You’re being an idiot. No one likes someone just because they can swim,” he said acidly, glaring, “Lance.”

Lance’s eyes widened for a second before they narrowed. “Oh, really? You’re just jealous because no one likes you and your stupid mullet.”

Keith opened his mouth to yell at him. But he couldn’t make a sound. He couldn’t breathe. His hands flew to his neck. Leaning forward, Keith’s face turned red with effort. He gagged and choked, unable to cough.

“K-Keith?!”

His chest was too tight, never relenting to allow his lungs expand. A hand grasping his neck and the other clenched in a tight fist, Keith keeled over. His body was quivering like a leaf and everything seemed to tumble. He had to breathe but no air was entering his lungs. Hunching over the floor, he lurched forward and felt hands catch him.

From the corner of his eyes, Keith saw Pidge rush over. “Keith! What’s happening?” Her voice was high-pitched and scared as she knelt beside Keith, shaking him violently.

“He’s choking!”

“On what?”

“I don’t know!” Lance shouted. Then, he was kneeling and hitting Keith’s back. “Cough it out! Cough it out!”

Desperately, he tried to gasp but the oxygen never reached his lungs. Face turning blue, he convulsed, his eyes wide with fear and alarm.

Pidge darted out of the room and screamed, “I’ll go get help!”

Lance continued to hammer Keith’s back. In his agony, Keith twisted and turned his body. Then, he managed a slight cough and tasted metal. Breathing should be easier but no matter how hard Keith tried, every breath was cut short by gagging. A violent barking cough tore through his throat.

A spasm of coughs rocked his body. At last, he could just breathe, even if just a little. But a single word Lance muttered was enough to rob the life that he was barely clinging to with his cold shaking hands. “Roses?”

Flowers had bloomed from his lips, blue petals now speckled with red, and had fallen to the floor. His stomach sank.

“Blood! Is this… Hanahaki? Keith?”

Mortified, Keith tried to push him away. But he was weak and his hands could only grasp Lance’s shoulder. He pressed his forehead against his own arm and squeezed his eyes closed. Lance massaged his palms and said, “You’re gonna be okay. Hang in there. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

Thin arms went under his body and he was raised slightly before being set back down clumsily when Keith began to writhe in agony. “Shoot,” Lance hissed through clenched teeth. As he whispered reassurances into his ears, he cradled Keith and rubbed his back in circles as the quivering boy gasped in short shuddering breaths.

Keith must have lost consciousness at some point because the next thing he knew, a cool metal hand against his cheek and someone slapping him awake. Like a man breaking through the surface of a stormy sea, he abruptly sucked in a large gulp of air.

“He’s breathing again!” Shiro shouted.

Pidge yelled heart-wrenchingly, “Keith!”

“Thank god!” Lance said from beside him. “You’re breathing! Hey, buddy. Breathe, okay? Take deep breaths. You’re gonna be fine.”

Although Keith tried to breathe deeply, his lungs could only take in shallow rasping breaths. Someone stroke his arm soothingly and he focused on the feeling of the warm hand against his cold clammy skin.

Breathing was a little easier now. His eyes fluttered open with effort. Tears blurred his vision (had he been crying?) and puddles of blue and red were scattered across the floor. He coughed feebly. A single blue petal floated down, tainted crimson. Then, his ribs wouldn’t move again.

Shiro’s arms wrapped around Keith and he was lifted. Air wouldn’t fill his lungs and there was no relief. The flowers and feelings clogged up his airway, and his chest tightened further.

Shiro was the first to notice this and shook him in alarm. “He’s not breathing again!”

Instantly, Pidge let out a scared whine and Lance’s panicked voice filled his head. “Quiznak!” A pair of ocean blue eyes looked into him and the lovesick boy found himself drowning in them again. Warm hands held his shivering ones and rubbed his knuckles and he gripped back. In spite of his apprehension, Lance forced himself to sound calm and assuring, “You’ll be okay. Breathe, breathe. Breathe for me—”

Finally, Keith managed to get a few breaths. “I-I can’t,” he whispered between coughs. “I can’t.” Sobs and hacks racked his drained, moribund body. His chest squeezed out a terrified whimper. “Lance…”

Darkness engulfed him once more.

[raywritesthings]

The Scarcity Plot, Coda

My Writing Fandom: Doctor Who Characters: Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor Pairing: Doctor/Donna Summary: Donna takes care of the Doctor after the injury he received on their latest adventure. AO3 link

Donna shut the door on the two sisters, then turned around to find the Doctor struggling to his feet. “Oi! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Vortex,” he groaned, hands reaching out to catch himself on the console.

Donna marched up to him and took hold of his shoulders. “I can do that. At least, I think I can.” It was one of the first things he’d taught her, and she nearly had the sequence memorized now.

“The…green switch,” he prompted.

Donna started there and then worked her way through, perhaps less fluidly than he would’ve, but the TARDIS took off nonetheless so she counted it a success.

“Okay, now you are getting in a bed.” He accepted her support easily, which scared her more than anything else. The wound had stopped bleeding as freely, but he was so weak. What could she do to help him? A thought occurred to her and she stopped them just at the mouth of the corridor to the med bay. “You sure I shouldn’t be taking you to Martha?”

The Doctor took another step, forcing her to keep going so he wouldn’t pitch himself forward onto the floor. “Just need rest, Donna.”

“You’re sure? You’re talking like this sort of thing has happened before.”

He was silent.

Donna looked at him. “You’re kidding. Were you ever gonna mention that? ‘I get shot every now and then, Donna, not to worry’?”

“It was a long time ago,” he finally managed. “Don’t normally plan to…step in front of a bullet.”

Well you did today, Donna nearly bit out, but stopped herself. Of course he had, after everything with Jenny. It was no surprise Larne had reminded them both of the bright and determined girl they’d lost. His loss more than hers, of course, she had been his daughter. Even so, Donna couldn’t help the attachment and sense of responsibility she’d felt and still did feel for Jenny, and she privately wondered if it was at all what motherhood was like. She wouldn’t dare presume to ask Spaceman that, though. Maybe Gramps would have an answer for her the next time she dropped in. It’d have to wait awhile, though, since she didn’t want to make one of the Doctor’s hearts go into arrest over some misunderstanding about her leaving again. How did he ever get on without her?

The med bay doors slid open for them, and Donna helped him to the nearest bed. “Here, your coat.” She helped him shrug out of first that then his suit jacket, and Donna also took the liberty of undoing his tie. No point in him strangling himself to death in his sleep by accident. Slowly, she got him sitting on the side of the bed so she could unlace and remove his trainers, and finally she was able to get him settled under the sheets. She’d need to grab more blankets; his skin practically felt like ice.

Donna retrieved a washcloth first, then pulled up a chair to his bedside and began gently wiping away the dried blood running down from his temple. He’d need a shower, too, once he’d got better; it was in his hair. He’d hate that, she thought with a smile as she did her best to clean that off in the meantime. “So, what all happens? Since you’ve done this before.”

“Mostly, I’ll just sleep. I might turn a bit cold.”

“You’re already freezing,” she said, placing a hand to his forehead in demonstration. His lips twitched upward in a brief smile.

“Hm. Could have some delirium as well. Nothing serious. S’all rather boring, really. Might want to occupy yourself in the library or something,” he suggested, eyes closed.

“No chance, Spaceman. I’m staying right here,” she informed him with a soft smile. As if she’d just go off and ignore him while he was recovering. What sort of best mate did he take her for?

He gave another hum in response, and Donna patted one of his hands, then stood and strode to the supply cupboard. There was a whole stack of blankets neatly folded on one of the shelves. She decided three would be enough to start off with.

“Oh, an’ my heartbeat an’ breathing might not register,” the Doctor mumbled.

Donna whirled back around. “What?”

The Doctor did not answer. Donna dropped the blankets, ran back over, felt for his wrist and could find no pulse. His chest wasn’t moving with any sign of breath either. He was paler than she’d ever seen him, making the freckles scattered across his cheeks stand out in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

He looked like a corpse.

“Oh my God,” Donna breathed. Why had she listened to him? She should have gone straight to Martha! “Doctor.” She reached out and touched a cold shoulder, heart in her throat. “Doctor!”

The Doctor’s eyes snapped wide open with a great gasp of breath, though they were missing that usual spark to them, and Donna had to catch him when he half-lurched out of the bed to stop him from tipping over. “Blimey! Whazzit, Daleks?”

“You weren’t breathing! And- and your hearts!”

He stared at her, uncomprehending. “Well didn’t I say? Healing coma, Donna.”

“You looked dead!” She snapped.

His face fell. “Oh. M’sorry.” One of his arms rose but didn’t quite make it to her face, instead dropping to rest on her knee, and it was then Donna realized she was crying.

She looked away, wiping at the tears with the back of her hand. “No it’s…you just scared me.”

“Bottom of the cupboard. There should be…a machine.” The Doctor flopped back against the pillows, his brief activity from her startling him awake clearly costing him. “S’more sensitive than Earth equipment. You can hook me up to that if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Yeah, alright,” Donna agreed softly. “Just rest.” She watched his eyes slip shut again, then retrieved the dropped blankets and the machine. It occurred to her, as she looked it and the multitude of electrodes over, that she hadn’t the faintest idea how it worked. Her first instinct was to go back for the phone and get Martha on the line—God, Martha would be so much better for this, he was probably missing her more than anything right now—but even Donna was pretty sure normal EKGs didn’t have this many electrodes. Twice as many for two hearts? Would even Martha know where they all went?

A drawer on the side of the room popped open, and Donna set the machine aside for a moment to investigate. Sitting in the drawer was a thick-looking manual, which when Donna began flipping through it contained a series of diagrams depicting various medical equipment and how to operate them. A guide for companions, she supposed. Well that was a relief.

She came across the machine she’d taken from the cupboard and took the manual with her back to her seat. Maybe she wasn’t that good at this sort of thing, but she could do her best to figure it out. Donna glanced up at the Doctor briefly for her own piece of mind—then did a double take. Was that actual ice forming on his skin?

“What—how—Martian!” Donna bit out, though careful not to raise her voice and risk waking him too soon again.

He’d said he’d turn cold. Apparently he’d meant he was going to turn into a bloody Popsicle. She felt wholly unprepared and unequipped to deal with any of this, but then, wouldn’t anyone? He was the only one of his kind left in the universe. No one else could truly know what was best for him in illness or injury. If he was ever hurt, like now, he was his own best doctor.

No wonder he’d tried to send her away. Here she was, just about to throw the towel in because she couldn’t deal with a bit of alienness. Well alien was what she’d signed up for, and alien was what she was sticking with.

Donna squared her shoulders, then gave the manual another once-over. She could do this.

She’d need his shirt off, was the first thing Donna realized. After an internal struggle, she decided she’d much rather know for certain his hearts were beating than preserve his modesty. Donna quickly undid the buttons—and underneath that was a t-shirt of course. God, how many layers was he wearing? She perched on her knees on the side of the bed and pulled him up into an approximation of sitting, then got to work tugging the clothes off his currently boneless body.

As she worked them over his head, he slumped forward, narrowly avoiding landing face-first into her chest. Donna felt her face heat up at the thought and thanked every higher power she knew of, alien or otherwise, that he was completely out of it. She blew her bangs out of her eyes in a huff, then eased the Doctor off her shoulder and onto his back again.

Well, at least the hard part was over with. She consulted the manual once more, the instructions having slipped her mind do to her rather flustered state, then got to work placing the electrodes in the appropriate positions. Her stomach flipped around a bit every time her hands brushed his bare skin. This really wasn’t what they were—but he’d told her about the machine, which meant he ought to have known what it would entail. There wasn’t anything weird about her touching him half-naked if it was to help him through a crisis. Just like the detox kiss. Nothing more to it.

All the same, Donna felt herself relax as soon as she finished. She doubted she’d get hired on at any hospitals any time soon, but when she turned the machine on it seemed to be in working order. His hearts were beating, just at an incredibly slow rate. Hearing it did make her feel better all the same.

Donna fussed around with the blankets a bit. There wasn’t really a way to cover him up completely with the electrodes in the way, but she could make sure he was as warm as he could be, all things considered.

Eventually she retook her seat, observing her handiwork critically. It was unsettling, seeing him so still. The ice wasn’t helping matters. He’d said it was a healing coma which meant he’d likely be unconscious for a while, but Donna wished more than anything he’d wake up. She missed him.

It was more important he do whatever he needed to get better, of course. Donna couldn’t help but wonder how else she might help. He wasn’t human, but she couldn’t see why some of the normal creature comforts wouldn’t go amiss once he’d woken back up. He’d have to be hungry, wouldn’t he? She would be. Truthfully, she was hungry now.

Donna half-stood—but paused as a thought occurred to her. What if something happened while she was gone? She’d promised she’d be here.

Donna looked about the room, but there didn’t seem to be anything there that could help her. “Listen, if something’s wrong, just—just let me know.”

She felt a bit silly, but then the TARDIS hummed, and she took that to mean the ship understood.

“Thanks.”

She walked to the nearest kitchen and rummaged in the cabinets for supplies. There was enough for a decent soup, she reckoned. Probably the first proper meal he would have in days. She really needed to work on him a bit more in that regard. He barely took care of himself on a normal day, and a brush like this had her more worried than ever.

Donna occupied herself with cooking, feeling some of the tension that had built up in her ever since the gunshot leech out of her slowly as she concentrated on one of her mum’s recipes. It had always been her favorite when she was home sick, and she didn’t see why it wouldn’t do in this case.

She fixed herself a small bowl to eat. It’d be no good if she was running on an empty stomach through this whole thing, and anyway it’d be a good idea to check if her attempt had been any good. Her mum made it better, but Donna didn’t imagine Spaceman could be all that picky; he lived off bananas, what did he know?

She was just finishing transferring the rest of the soup to a crock pot so it could sit till he woke when a terrified cry echoed through the TARDIS and made her blood run cold.

“Donna! Donna!”

She placed the lid on the crock pot and raced back down the corridor.

“Doctor!”

He was thrashing in the bed, eyes still closed. Two of the blankets had been knocked off him onto the floor. Electrodes were popping off his chest and causing the machine to go wild with beeping. Donna hurried to switch it off, then sat on the bed.

“I’m here, I’m here,” she said, grabbing for his hands and pulling them back down. She leaned over him, a hand on his cheek. The ice was entirely gone to her relief, and he seemed just the slightest bit warmer than when he’d passed out. “I’m right here, Spaceman.”

“Donna,” the Doctor whimpered, limbs stilling.

“You’re safe. I’m safe. We’re back on the TARDIS, we’re home.” That last bit had sort of slipped out by accident. She’d never called the TARDIS home before. But it was, wasn’t it? She lived here with the Doctor and planned to the rest of her life. She couldn’t imagine anywhere else as home, not even her mother’s house as much as she loved her and Gramps.

“Donna,” the Doctor said again, less urgently than the other times.

“Is that the only word you remember, now?” She couldn’t help teasing with a laugh, withdrawing her hand. “Wouldn’t that be a change?”

The Doctor’s face turned towards her and she wondered if perhaps he was waking at last. Rather than speak or open his eyes, he simply bent practically in half, head tucked to brush against her thigh. Then he stilled again. He’d been…looking for her? She reached out, tentatively, and smoothed a hand over the back of his head and neck. This couldn’t be an accident. For one thing, it didn’t look remotely comfortable.

Donna lifted him briefly so she could shift around and lean her back against the pillows, and also so he was no longer trying to twist himself into a pretzel to be near her. His head ended up half in her lap now, and then he nuzzled closer. Oh, she was not letting him live this down. Not ever. That was if she didn’t die of embarrassment first. This was way beyond just-mates territory.

She shouldn’t mind it, really. Here, alone on the TARDIS, and him seeking her out for comfort in his sleep. What was the point of getting bothered? She always got so bothered by this sort of thing when they were traveling. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to turn to her; he was her best friend. Her best friend who made her laugh—and cry—more than anyone she’d ever met, who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and who everyone thought she was seeing if not married to soon as they looked at the two of them.

“Oh, you dunce,” she muttered to herself. How’d she gone and done the one thing they’d agreed not to do right at the start? She’d considered herself above fancying him like Martha had and somehow plunged straight into falling for him instead. Of course it nearly took him dying on her for her to realize.

“You’re never doing something like this to me again,” she decided, not really leaving any room for the unconscious Doctor to respond. What if he’d been awake for this and seen how unintentionally obvious she was being? Then she’d really be in trouble.

What was she going to do? If he found out, well, that’d be the end of the line, wouldn’t it? Donna felt a lump rise in her throat at just the thought. He couldn’t find out. She’d just have to be careful was all. Make certain anyone they met on their travels was told emphatically they were not a couple, never would be. Look after him, but not too closely.

Donna glanced down at the Doctor, his head resting in her lap. She supposed she could have one exception. Anyway, he had started it. That was her defense, and she was sticking to it. The fact that she’d been absentmindedly running a hand through his hair as her whole brain had gone into overdrive to process all this didn’t need to be brought up at all.

She was really, really in trouble.

“Daft Martian,” she said. Then she yawned. Dealing with near death experiences and life shattering realizations was tiring work. She really ought to move back to the chair.

And that was the last thing Donna remembered.

---

It took some time for the Doctor to come round properly. Healing comas always left a Time Lord a little disoriented at first, but he felt less groggy and more…hazy, like he was slowly being pulled from a very pleasant dream. It wasn’t very usual for him at all; the last time he’d been incapacitated like this, he’d woken up alone and afraid—and also nearly suffocated, though that bit hadn’t been Jo’s fault.

He’d lost his shirt, both shirts actually, at some point. He didn’t recall when that had happened. Donna had helped him to bed, then she’d gotten a bit panicky as he started to fall into the coma—admittedly, he could have explained himself better, but he’d been so tired—and then there was nothing, really.

The Doctor was warm, despite his lack of layers. His pillow was warm. Warmer than it had any right to be, anyway, being a pillow. It was radiating heat.

His pillow was alive.

The Doctor’s eyes snapped open, allowing him to confirm that, yes, that was a thigh his cheek was resting on. A thigh that went up and up out of his field of vision, though he thought he could follow the trajectory enough to state with some confidence that it and the rest of the person it was a part of was curled around him. He turned his head, dislodging a hand that had been tangled in his hair.

Donna. Donna was curled around him. He hoped his respiratory bypass would be able to take the strain so soon after a healing coma or he was about to have the most inglorious regeneration in history.

She was sleeping, clearly. Still wearing her clothes from their botched attempt at Rome. He wondered how long he’d been out, how long she must have sat up with him before exhaustion caught up with her. She looked peaceful, now. Beautiful, always.

Some of her hair had fallen in her face. On impulse, he reached up and tucked it behind her ear. Donna sighed in her sleep and scooched in a little closer. He gulped.

Oh, this was bad. She was going to be furious with him.

Quietly, the Doctor ventured, “Donna?”

There was some activity beneath her eyelids, but she didn’t stir much more than that.

A little louder, it seemed. “Donna?”

“Huh?” Her brow creased, and even that looked adorable so that he had to bite down a grin, then she was blinking in bleary confusion. “What?”

“Er, morning,” he greeted as casually as he could make it. Her gaze focused, then zeroed in on him.

“Oh. My. God.” She breathed, eyes widening, no doubt in horror.

“Donna,” he began, slow and careful, “I don’t exactly remember everything that happened so, er, this—” He glanced pointedly at the scant space between them.

Donna sat up, so he did as well. She had shoved herself about as far back against the wall as possible.

“I—I wasn’t—you were thrashing about, so I was just sitting here to calm you down. That’s all!” She defended in a rush.

“Right!” He agreed quickly.

“Must have just dropped off after! You’re hard work!” Donna accused, face turning redder than he could ever remember.

“Absolutely!” He conceded. “I’m sure I was totally not being myself in anything I might have said or done.” It was really important she believed that bit.

“Course!” They sat there, staring at each other, neither of them seeming to know what the next move to make was. Then Donna blurted, “Soup!”

The Doctor blinked. “What?”

“I made soup, thought you could eat something when you’d woken up. It’s in a crock pot. I’ll go get it!” She scrambled to her feet and out the door, though before it could slide shut she poked her head back in. “Thank God you’re not dead!” Then promptly fled again.

He stared at the closed door for a moment after she’d gone, baffled. He’d been expecting her to be angry, maybe even a slap—though truthfully, he couldn’t recall the last time she’d given him one of those. Instead, she’d panicked, like she’d thought he would be upset.

Oh, if she only knew waking up to Donna Noble was the last thing that could possibly upset him. The Doctor leaned back against the pillows, Donna’s warmth already receding from them. He looked over the side and spotted his t-shirt on the floor, so he grabbed that and slipped it back on. For his comfort as much as Donna’s.

Although, she would have had to have been the one to remove it, so it followed she couldn’t be that uncomfortable seeing his bare chest much less sharing a bed with it. And hang on, how had his head ended up in her lap?

No. No, it wasn’t possible. He did not get that lucky ever. Donna wasn’t, Donna couldn’t be—

Yet if he concentrated hard enough, he could still remember the feel of her fingers in his hair.

A smile, small yet daring, rose to the Doctor’s lips.

“Getting shot at. Must do that more often.”

[baekhyunsahoe]

red rover, red rover

SHANNARA CHRONICLES AU ; BAEKYEOL

=======

“What are you, half elf half stupid?”

Chanyeol’s pointy ears flush with embarrassment. Apparently, not only did today’s forecast include getting ambushed by a wandering bloodthirsty troll two steps into Chanyeol’s wholesome quest to reach the village of healers, but another attack is in store for him albeit verbally by his so called ‘savior’.

“No. I’m actually half elf, half human,” Chanyeol answers though he’s pretty sure that was a rhetorical question. He’s still on the floor having not recovered just yet. The muds soaked into his trousers leaving a questionable poo looking stain on his behind but that was the least of his worries.

His ‘savior’ looks down at him from his stance atop the grassy hill. Between them is the fallen troll, a sickle lodged in it’s thick neck. Dead. Like Chanyeol’s hopes and dreams to be a healer. He can’t even save himself. Who was he kidding.

“Yeah, and you were almost a full course meal, if it wasn’t for me.”

He’s a rover. It’s obvious. Bandits of the lands with no real home and stealing to get by. Chanyeol feels he might have had better chances against the troll. It’s a good thing he doesn’t really have anything worthy in his possessions. Well he does have magical elf stones his father left him but they probably didn’t do shit. Chanyeol’s wondering if he should offer his soiled pants as a token of appreciation when he’s approached.

He finally gets a good look at the fella.

Oh, he’s attractive. It had been kind of hard to do full body check outs when a breath away from death but this close, hovering over him in the broad daylight Chanyeol can see that this guy has a distractingly pretty face. His hair was a dark red, burgundy, a deep wine. Side swept bangs over dark kohl rimmed eyes. He had rather pink lips that were thin but pouty at the same time. The most noticeable thing about him was his outfit. Bad ass looking jacket, check. Tight form fitting pants that only drew more attention to his hips, and thighs and probably his ass too but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He had straps around both thighs with weapons tucked in it. He had black cut out gloves on. Chanyeol was staring.

“I’ll let you get on your knees and worship me later, but we should probably head out of here before the wolves pick up the scent.” He kicks lazily at the dead troll’s head, causing the blood to ooze. Chanyeol instantly feels sick at the sight of it but the rover doesn’t seem to care, crouching and robbing the troll of it’s weapons. Did trolls even carry around gold?

“What are you waiting for?”

Chanyeol snaps out of it getting to his feet. He towers over his new companion, if he can even call him that.

“T-thanks,” Chanyeol finally gets around to saying. “Your name is?”

For a second he doesn’t look like he is going to tell him but then, “Baekhyun. And if you think I’m getting all touched you don’t want to refer to me as low thieving rover in your mind, you can shove it.”

“No! I wasn’t thinking that. I don’t judge. My name is Chanyeol by the way.”

“Okay,” Baekhyun couldn’t sound more uninterested as he hops onto his horse, and looks down at Chanyeol. “Are you coming or what?”

“Oh!” Chanyeol scrambles on the white stallion. His groin is against Baekhyun’s ass. He could feel his ears heat up in embarrassment yet again.

“Well don’t be shy.” Baekhyun’s tone is a sweet but he’s clearly teasing and being sarcastic. “Hold on. I’m not coming back for you if you fall off.”

Chanyeol doesn’t want to admit he squeaks in reply but he does because Baekhyun pulls the reigns without even waiting for Chanyeol to secure himself. Naturally, he flails and ends up grabbing the first place within arms reach which happens to be Baekhyun’s waist.

“Someone is making themselves at home,” Baekhyun comments drily because Chanyeol is holding onto him for dear life. He wasn’t sure who was a maniac, Baekhyun or the horse. They were going so fast, wildly through the forest that trees were becoming blurs of green.

“I’m sorry!” Chanyeol’s voice is drowned out by the wind. Talk about horse power. “You’re going pretty fast.”

“I can say the same thing about you,” Baekhyun’s probably referring to the way Chanyeol’s basically pressed up against him in a backhug, a bit intimate for two people who just met ten minutes ago.

“Sorry Baekhyun but I – wah – “ the horse literally gallops three feet in the air – Chanyeol’s life flashes before his eyes. “If I don’t hold on like this, I’ll fall off – “

“I know. I’m messing with you. Don’t hurt yourself.” Baekhyun abruptly pulls on the reigns. Chanyeol nearly catapults off at the sudden halt.

They’ve arrived at some sort of small lake with a peaceful waterful between large rocks. It looks pleasant and serene. Safe. Chanyeol’s looking around, taking in his surroundings when Baekhyun interrupts the silence.

“Light is thirsty.”

“Light?”

“Yes, Light.” Baekhyun leans forward to half pets half cuddle his horse’s mane, “Who do you think you’ve been riding this whole time?”

Oh right Light. Because Chanyeol is a horse whisperer and gets visions their birth certificate during their first rodeo.

“We should get him some water then.”

“Now you’ve got some good ideas.” Baekhyun praises with that same sarcastic teasing tone that was borderline flirtacious. “Did you wanna take a dip?”

Chanyeol’s not really accustomed to going skinny dipping with strangers no matter how attractive and questionably friendly they were.

“I took a bath yesterday.” Chanyeol says awkwardly. It sounded less gross in his mind.

“You also fell in a bunch of troll shit when I saved you earlier.”

“WHAT!”

“I’m just kidding.” Baekhyun laughs, finally done cuddling Light, and hopping off. His firm but round ass jiggles in his tight pants. Chanyeol gulps. Were all rovers this hot?

“Ha ha.” He mutters, jumping off the horse as well. Baekhyun walks it to the water, and it drinks instantly.

Chanyeol’s so busy watching Light practically inhale the water that he doesn’t notice Baekhyun is staring at him. When he does, he makes eye contact, but can’t hold it, and makes a constipated nervous face as he focus on a random tree branch in the background.

“So did you want to tell me what you were doing wandering around troll territory?”

Chanyeol’s eyes widen. “that was troll territory?”

“Yes Chanyeol.” He patronizes. “And you were wandering in it… “ his eyes scan chanyeol’s body, stopping at his waist area. Chanyeol fidgets. “without a weapon I’m guessing.”

“Well I’ve never really had much experience with a sword.” Chanyeol admits sheepishly. Its true. He grew up in a small village. There weren’t really many reasons to go around and practice stabbing things.

“Oh so did you want to die or something?”

“What, no.” Chanyeol pouts.

“I’m just curious what a innocent little country boy like you is doing out by himself… totally defenseless.”

“Now that you mention it, I am on a journey to Stockholm. That’s where they specialize in healing. I’m an aspiring healer… after my mom d – nevermind.” Chanyeol feels the hurt all over again. Baekhyun’s expression doesn’t change.

“What happened to your mom?”

“She passed away. I … couldn’t save her.” Chanyeol stops, on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Baekhyun frowns, playful demeanor gone for once. “I guess now would be a bad time to tell you I need you to give me all your valuables or else I’ll kill you…?”

Chanyeol thinks he’s hearing things, he hopes he’s hearing things but then Baekhyun pulls out a small knife.

“it’s nothing personal. My boss just wont be happy if I come back with no loot. No loot means no good. And if youre no good then should you even be alive? You understand right?” Baekhyun steps closer to chanyeol whos frozen in place. “no hard feelings.”

“Baekhyun I, I have nothing valuable. You can search me. I have like two coins of gold.” Chanyeol strangely doesn’t feel as scared as he was when the random troll attacked him earlier. Its probably because Baekhyun wasn’t really looking at him like he wanted to murder him.  no there was something else in his eyes.

“That’s sad. I almost want to let you keep it.” Baekhyun says sincerely as he reaches into chanyeol’s pocket and takes the coins. “Is that really all you have to offer me?” Baekhyun purses his lips, like this was a casual exchange.

“Yeah. I… “

Baekhyun notices the necklace from beneath chanyeol’s shirt.

“What’s that?” He gestures with the knife.

“It’s from my mom.” Chanyeol whispers, and feels like he might actually cry now because that was special with sentimental value.

“Oh.” Baekhyun says. Then sighs. “youre not making this easy for me you know.”

“I’m sorry –  “

“no seriously. Youre so pathetic. Who apologizes while theyre getting mugged? And two coins. God, I’m basically going to eat crumbs tonight with this kind of loot.” Baekhyun sounds stressed now. “Not even worth it.” He sighs. “I’m not even going to try to report in tonight. Come on.”

“W-what?”

Baekhyun waves a hand at him and tugs at his horse. They walk a couple minutes before they reach a little hut, like a treehouse of sorts.

“Whoa.” Chanyeol comments. It looked unstable but quaint and quite nice. “You live here?”

“You don’t get to ask me questions chanyeol.” Baekhyun says flippantly. He ties light next to a nearby tree and gestures to the rickety wooden stairs leading into the make shift house. “Ladies first.” He coos sweetly while bowing with his knife.

Chanyeol pouts at the jab, but heads up.

Theres only one window, and with the sun going down, pretty dim in the homely room. Its wooden and nicely furnished. Blablablabla.

“this is nice.” Chanyeol comments slowly, wondering why Baekhyun even brought him here.

“well youre nice so.” Baekhyun points to the couch. “sit. Ill make you a drink.”

He stirs something as chanyeol takes a seat on the sofa.

“are you still trying to rob me? Because I realized yeah I don’t have much. I can help you make some money from the next village so you can have more to show for to your boss -- “ chanyeol rambles.

“we’ve talked enough don’t you think?” Baekhyun interrupts turning around with two drinks in hand. “we can worry about all that tomorrow. I want to spend tonight with you.”

Chanyeol’s ears do it again. Baekhyun smiles at him as he sits on the small chair adjacent to the couch. He passes chanyeol the drink. He takes off his jacket leaving him in a sleeveless shirt, exposing more of his smooth pale skin and a teasing glimpse of his collarbones, his shirt was pretty lowcut now that the jacket wasn’t in the way. The sunset bathes the room in a seductive glow. Baekhyun looks even sexier in this lighting.

“I’m glad you changed your mind. but really, I don’t mind helping you. I mean I do owe you my life.” Chanyeol goes back to rambling becauase he was really fucking nervous. Could it be, was Baekhyun making moves on him?! no way.

“uhhuh.” Baekhyun nods, and passes chanyeol the drink. it’s a red liquid that looks like wine. “should we make a toast to that?”

“oh sure!” chanyeol raises his glass and clinks it against Baekhyuns. “to you.”

“no,” baekhyun smiles and hes actually really fucking beautiful. “to us.”

Chanyeol feels a warm feeling, butterflies in his stomach, when he hears those sentiments and he drinks to that. Baekhyun watches him.

“you know, its really such a shame. You’re pretty cute. And tall. Totally my type. If you ignore the half elf bit. But then again ive never been with an elf before…” Baekhyun is giving chanyeol bedroom eyes and chanyeol laughs nervously as he sips his drink some more. It tasted pretty good, sweet. it was making him a little dizzy and whew did he have a long day or what beacause he aws suddenly having a difficult time opening his mouth to even form a sentence. What did Baekhyun just say? He was his type?

Baekhyun suddenly sitting beside him, drink nowhere in sight. Hes gazing at chanyeol intensely. “if there circumstances were different, id totally take this further.” Baekhyun sounds torn, and chanyeol is just about to cheerfully ask what on earth it is he is talking about, but then baekhyun’s lips are on his and he’s being kissed. Holy crap. He is in so much shock that he doesn’t even close his eyes. Baekhyun presses his mouth firmly against chanyeol’s once, twice, then he’s pulling away but still close enough to see the freckles on his face. “I am really sorry about your mother chanyeol. And your father. But you have the elfstones. And I need them.” He grabs the drink from chanyeol’s hand as chanyeol’s world spins. “also – im really sorry about the headache youre going to have tomorrow.”

Everything goes dark.

-- \fcs0 \>�_\�