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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years

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MTMTE Headcannon Prompt

Enemy forces hack the Lost Light and deactivate the atmospheric controls, leading to a slow loss of oxygen in the hopes the damage to the ship's "pet" will give them an edge. While the rest of the crew struggles to fight off their attackers and restore these critical systems, the bot(s) you've come to love stays by your side as a guard while begging you to remain conscious, growing ever more panicked as you begin to fade... Until you're saved just in time, and then they're left grappling with the fact they nearly lost you.

(A lot more dramatic than my first prompt certainly, and way more involved so I can only do two bots per post... But I'll get to them all!)

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rodimus

·You're chilling on the mess of blankets he uses as extra insulation in the berth, debating which movie you'll watch with him when he returns, when the ship gives a rumble. At the lack of emergency signals that follow, you assume something has just bumped against the shields, which happens so frequently you only shrug.

·Elsewhere on the bridge, Rodimus receives a taunting message from the enemy ambush, bragging about how impossibly easy it was to crash key programs on the Lost Light, like the air filtration system... which will make things awfully difficult for his pet as oxygen has started to leak. He goes from aggressive bantering to obvious horror, putting the pieces together just as a loud series of distant rumblings marks the deactivation of the filters providing the oxygen you need to survive.

·For once his commanding officers all know what to expect in unison, allowing them to take over the bridge when he abandons it in a desperate rush to your location, his pounding pedes leaving tire marks in his wake as he stumbles into a frantic transformation to cross the distance as fast possible.

·Unable to reach you on any channel, he loses all focus of his surroundings before skidding to a tumbling halt before your shared quarters, calling out your name and activating his scanner as he registers dangerously low and still dropping oxygen levels across the ship.

·You're unaware of anything amiss as you continue to relax, but that's mostly due to a growing fog of confusion settling over your thoughts and senses. It's so dense that it has already made you incapable of noticing that the air is unusually stale, and your befuddlement only grows when he barges in like the place is burning down, moreso than usual.

·Scooping you into his arms, his relief at seeing you alive and conscious turns to terror when he realizes you've already begun to suffer the effects, as your bleary smile and dizzy demeanor make clear. He doesn't need to be a human doctor to know you're already in a bad way.

·Just as he is halfway through an explanation you barely understand, he receives a communication through restored channels from the other commanding officers warning that the ship has been boarded by enemy forces, at which point he resolutely declares that nothing will reach you so long as his spark has so much as a flicker left. In your inability to grasp the danger his steadfast vigilance is heartwarming.

·A defensive unit is posted outside for your safety, but as the battle rages through the ship and oxygen levels continue to fall, he stops focusing on the invasion. Instead he cradles you and encourages you to be still and quiet while he tries to keep up a one sided conversation to keep you distracted, knowing that what oxygen remains must be rationed.

·For the first time in his life he can't fake a smile no matter how badly he tries, the sight of your increasingly strained breaths and fading eyes drawing tears to his optics and eventually forcing him to his knees as his meandering words turn to soft pleading, his voice cracking as he alternates between begging you to stay with him and apologizing for being unable to save you.

·As you hover over a warm blackness you're far too disoriented to be as afraid as you should be, and instead you offer comfort at the sight of the bot you've come to adore so readily, murmuring your love even as he gently shushes you and tears begin to fall down his face without reservation.

·Though the battle turns in favor of the crew and the room you're in is spared attack, the atmospheric systems remain inoperable for what he knows is too long, and the ticking seconds match the fluttering of your eyes as they try not to shut.

·You know he wants you awake, but you're so incredibly tired and he's so impossibly comfortable, why can't he just let you have a nap? It's not like you won't be able to see each other after, so why does he look so sad? You wish you could tell him not to be sad.

·When you inevitably slip into unconsciousness he's beside himself, panicking but doing everything he can to gently wake you up, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your cheek to encourage you to stir. The crushing grief just beginning to take hold is so great he actually doesn't notice he has a message until it forces itself through.

·He's barely able to recollect the conversation he has with Ratchet, save the order to get you to the medical bay, where they've restored just enough functionality to produce oxygen on a one human scale. The bots who saw him running afterwards said there was little more visible than a fiery blur with you in his arms.

·Cybertronian engineering combined with carefully studied earth medicine provides you with the air you need just in time, dredging you up slowly from deep unconsciousness to the sterile taste of a ventilation mask over your face. Your discomfort mattered precious little when you behold Rodimus at your side, servo cupping your body as his face still shines with tears.

·It takes moments for him to break when you're left alone together, his shoulders shaking as the helplessness continues to haunt him, and his apologies blend together in an endless tangle of self depreciation.

·As you've come to do when he's overwhelmed, you encourage him to come closer, hugging his helm to your smaller body as if he's laying it in your lap. The oxygen mask limits you, but you don't let it stop your quiet shushes as you stroke his crests. ·Without delay you slow his tears, reassuring him that everything is well until exhaustion claims him and he falls asleep at your bedside.

·The experience doesn't leave him for some time. Both in public and in private you catch him paying close attention to you, and you know he's double checking your breathing, still worrying that such a simple thing could steal you away so quickly.

· Finally, you take him aside and pull his hand to your chest, indicating the rythym of your body and how you know it better than anyone. If he can't trust the world, then he should at least trust you, and with that newfound perspective he starts to heal as well. Because he trusts you more than anything.

Magnus/Minimus

·You're in the berthroom the two of you share, distracted by preparations for what you hope will be a simple but relaxing night in. In the well protected room it's impossible to hear much going on outside, especially with you focused so intently on making everything just the way he likes it.

·He's in his office and armor completely focused on some important paperwork when he receives an urgent warning; they're being boarded, and the attackers have already managed to offline several key atmospheric regulators and security systems. The thought initially only spurs him to begin defensive measures, but the moment he sees that oxygen levels are starting to drop, protocol ceases to exist.

·In battle he's always been a foe to be reckoned with, but now he's like a force of nature barreling through the ship, and the single unit of enemies that tries to confront him becomes little more than scattered body parts before they can let off a single shot. His fury is so overwhelming even his allies flinch when he tears past them to reach your shared quarters. He can't contact you by communicator, and he's uncertain if it's due to downed channels, or something he can't bring himself to consider.

·The door stands little hope when he tears it open in rage that's quickly evolving into panic, shouting your name as a flood of terrifying possibilities torture him with all the ways you could already be suffering. He has no idea how much or how little oxygen you need, and for all he knows the deprivation is already killing you, making you suffer...

·It takes all of his incredible self control not to embrace you when you stumble into view, dizzy and weak as well as quite confused, and he realizes things are far from okay when you lean on his offered hand to prevent yourself from falling. You actually laugh thanks to the delirium, finding it adorable to see the big tough bot diving to catch you.

·He can't bring himself to be mad at you not taking this seriously, but he's certainly frustrated at himself for being absolutely helpless to assist you, even if there's nothing he can do in the midst of the chaos with no communication options in working order.

·Ever the tactician, he barricades the two of you as effectively as he can, knowing that you're vulnerable enough now that moving you through combat could be fatal. The entire time he's multitasking on a million fronts; trying to keep you still on the berth to conserve energy, working to reestablish communication with anyone, and internally punishing himself for not having prepared some kind of protocol for this situation.

·Due to his personality you're quite accustomed to seeing him worry, but you're hardly comfortable with it, and on reflex you keep trying to comfort and reassure him despite your weakening state. His insistence you stay resting makes as little sense as his explanations, all you know is he needs help.

·Every minute drags by like an eternity, yet his skill at spotting details makes it impossible for him to miss the toll each one takes in real time. Your breaths are growing more strained, your body is settling down onto the berth with less resistance, and your eyes are meeting his with increasing dullness.

·When you can't even sit up a part of him simply... snaps. All but throwing off his armor, he brings you into his arms in his base form, not admitting but knowing that if he can't save you, he wants this to be the last way you see him.

·In a pleasant haze of fading consciousness, you initially smile at the sight, having always preferred to see him as his true self as often as possible. You'd playfully pointed out how he still towered over you in this form so many times...

·With no traces of battle growing close, or of help arriving before it's too late, he can't help but lose sight of the world around him in its entirety. What does the universe matter if you won't be in it? What good are his abilities if he can't save you from something so apparently benign?

·Never before has he cried in the presence of anyone, so to see tears in those beautiful red optics gives you considerable pause, even as your vision grows dark around you. Something must have been terribly wrong for him to cry, but you care far more about comforting him than finding out what.

·Despite the weight in your limbs, you reach up as he holds you close to weakly cup his face, shushing him with a promise he'll be okay before slipping into darkness.

·It's a stroke of fortune that Ratchet arrives when he does, catching the smaller mech holding your limp form tight as his shoulders shake in silent sobs, as the broken bot would have never allowed your loss to go unpunished. He's bordering on incoherent himself when the medic explains that the attack has been stopped, and that while communications are still down, he was able to isolate a portable supply of oxygen for you.

·It's almost too much for him to believe when the mask is laid over your face and life returns to your peaceful form. The medic confirms you'll survive, and while there will be a road to recovery, you shouldn't suffer any ill effects from the close call. He's torn between relief and still further worry.

·Had you not been saved, he's certain he would have donned his armor and annihilated each attacker personally, with little intention of living to fight another day... But as you recover in the aftermath, he instead throws himself into crafting regulations, trying to come up with a series of safeguards and rules to ensure this can't happen again. He drafts it all at your bedside.

·When you wake up he's effusive in his apologies. How could he not have predicted this? It's such an obvious possibility! He takes your tiny hand in his as he alternates between admonishing his tactical failure and begging forgiveness, forcing you to interrupt and quiet him down before he can say anything else against himself.

·You remind him that it's not his purpose in life to protect you, as he should know better than anyone your size doesn't mean you need constant protection. All you need is for him to be there, just as he is, which is what he's done.

·Only a few tears fall this time, and you're eternally grateful to confirm that they're from blissful relief. He doesn't know how you manage to always remove the weight of the world from his shoulders, but you do, and he'll treasure that more completely from now on.

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light #idw #tf #transformers headcanon #my writing #rodimus x reader #minimus x reader #minimus ambus #rodimus prime #human reader #self insert

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closer-stars · 4 years

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Silence - Seonghwa

Member: Seonghwa Genre: Comfort, Fluff, mild angst? Requested: Yes Word count: 3.7k Content: Insecurities when it comes to picking at skin and lips. Seonghwa wants to help you. Food mention. The rest of the boys are touchy as heck. Stress. Note: This thing is long winded cause a close friend requested this so I wanted to make this something that they can read whenever it hits them especially when their stress is high. Also since this is comfort fic that they requested, I won’t tag for their privacy. The same goes for any comfort fic that might be requested in the future.

There was something about you today that Seonghwa couldn’t help but notice. He knows how stressed you’ve been lately. Too many things are happening at once in your life, and while you could manage a smile that reaches your eyes whenever someone asks if you were okay, the spark you put in your eyes dims once when they look away. Whenever you look at anything, your focus just isn't there. It was one thing to look at something and focus on it but it was another to look at it and look as if there was nothing.

This goes on for the next few days as he notices more things. You did say you didn’t mind physical affection and to an extent it was true. The moments where the boys come up to you with a hug, you welcome it, the moments where they lean their head against your shoulder, you welcome it. But when one of them try to reach for your hand, you find ways to slip away from doing so, sometimes opting to fiddle with your phone or with the zipper of your hoodie, just anything to give yourself an excuse to not hold hands with them.

A part of him wants to think it was because of how your exams were making you stressed and fidgety. He remembers how clammy you can get when you’re overwhelmed with your workload in the past. Yet another part of him counters that claim, even when you aren’t occupied with your responsibilities, you still slip away. You were a sneaky one in his books. For now, he’d support you quietly as you tackle each and every exam that lay ahead of your week.

On the late night study sessions you pull in living room, he would put a bottle of water by you and some snacks to help keep you alert and awake. After Hongjoong came into his life, he knew better than to argue with someone hardheaded. “Don’t forget to drink water too okay? You’ve been focused on that subject since this afternoon.” He says while his fingers thread through your hair, gently massaging your scalp.

“I just want to do well, Seonghwa.” You admit with a tired sigh. You lean back into his touch and somehow Seonghwa couldn’t help but think of you as a kitten who found relief with scratches on their head.

“And you will. Pace yourself okay?” He lets go of your head gently, pressing a quick peck on the top of your head. “I’m going to bed already, get some sleep also after that.” He advises while he stretches his back.

Your eyes graze at the amount of notes you’ve had spread across the table. “I’ll try.” You say, and even to yourself, it doesn’t sound promising. The stern look he gives you was enough for you to retract your statement. “Okay, okay. I will. Just wake me up when you do please?” Even if the exam is in two days and you’ve already covered a good percentage of the coverage, you just didn’t feel like it’s enough yet.

A sigh slips through the male’s lips and he nods. He can’t win with two stubborn heads in his life. “Fine. Good night..” Thus leaving you on your own with your notes.

So you continue to study, until you raise the white flag. You pack your notes in between the textbook, put away the bowl then head to bed.

The sleep you had feels more like a nap as Seonghwa gently shakes you awake. “Morning.. I made you breakfast.” He whispers, waiting for you to get up. At least you weren’t as difficult as San to wake up in the morning. Those words are enough to get you up from your still sleepy haze. The older male couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your excitement over his cooking, letting you get ready as he prepares your first meal of the day.

If you weren’t in school, you were with the boys but even then, you were reviewing. Your fingers constantly fidgeting against your own skin as you try to focus. Sometimes one of them would attach themselves to you, a welcomed distraction before more concepts melt your brain. But whenever you find yourself relaxing from their touch, their fingers would always brush upon yours and it always wakes you up, pulling away from them a little more. Even if Seonghwa had to do damage control with Wooyoung and San bickering, he easily notices your discomfort along with Yunho’s pout when you pull away. Before he could say anything, Wooyoung and San were back to bickering about what to play, causing him to turn his attention back to the two.

It’s clockwork from then on. Seonghwa preparing your meals day in and day out throughout the week. You getting next to no sleep as you prepare for each exam but as the week progresses, your mental state declines. You were starting to get impatient easily, you were berating yourself over the smallest errors, you even shy away from any sort of physical contact even if it was your love language. It was clear that you were on tunnel vision now. The stress was starting to take a toll on you and Seonghwa had to do something about it before you break.

The stress peaks when you are holding your head in your hands. Your nails dig into your skin as you try to keep your composure. Nothing in your notes was making sense anymore. Everything just seemed like jargon. He had your usual bottle of water and snacks in hand when he entered the room and saw your current disposition. He sets them down quietly and slips himself next to you.

He quietly calms you down: arms around you, hushing you like a parent would to their child when they were crying uncontrollably. You weren’t. You couldn’t get yourself to cry. The only thing in your system were the equations, theories, definitions, and the connections of one topic to another. “I’m here. Hey, talk to me..” He gently urges as he moves himself into your line of vision. You turn your teary face away from his line of sight as you try to regain your composure. Your fingers find themselves threaded through your now messy hair as you try to train your blurry eyes at your notes. Holy fuck why is nothing getting into your brain?

With a sigh, Seonghwa gently turns you to him, letting you cry against his chest. It’s obvious that you aren’t in the right state to talk so he whispers reassuring promises. “You’ll be okay.” He says softly into your ear as he rubs your back up and down. You were still shaking from the stress and how you were pretty much going through a breakdown. “Can you follow my breathing?” He asks softly as he brushes your hair delicately away from your face. Though you don’t reply, you try to focus your attention on his breathing, a feeble attempt to get your heart to slow down. Your tears and whimpers eventually stop and you still in his arms. “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” His voice never raises in pitch or volume. You nod at his offer. He asks once more if you would rather be carried to bed or stand on your own. You opt for the latter, not that it surprises him. You were a strong one after all. But the strong ones sometimes had their down days.

He walks you to his bed and almost immediately you plop yourself onto it. He tries to remember how your schedule would go tomorrow. Saturday. Rest day. He sighs in relief. He brings a bottle of water for you when you wake up. For tonight, your solace was in his bed and in his arms.

You wake up with a pounding headache. The thin sunlight telling you that it was morning. A dry groan as you try to push away the headache as you shift. Your hands feel the material beneath you and it hits you that this isn’t your bed. You look to your side and you're greeted by Seonghwa’s sleeping face. That’s when you remember what went on last night. “Shit.” You mutter, sitting up immediately. “What day is it?” You groan out, disoriented by the sudden rush of blood.

“Saturday. Your rest day.” Seonghwa returns, his voice raspy from having just woken up. You turn to the male who rubs his eyes awake then reaches for the bottle of water. “Drink. I’ll make us breakfast.” Glad to know it wasn’t only San who seems to go straight to the point when they wake up. You take the bottle and watch him stagger to the kitchen.

After freshening up, you see that your notes lay untouched. Some of the notes had tear stains, a reminder of what happened. Considering what had went on last night, you figured it was better to keep these out of your sight for the rest of the day. By the time the male calls for you to eat, you’ve put your notes on your table.

“Eat.” he says almost as an order. It was a hearty meal: rice, egg, meat, oatmeal and fruits.

“Did you just make an entire course?”

“Considering how you’ve worked your ass off the past few days leading to exam week. I have to step it up for you.” Seonghwa says as he slides onto his seat across yours, digging into his own meal. You look at your share in guilt but you start to eat as thanks. “You know..” He starts as his eyes stay on his meal. “Working hard is one thing but working yourself senseless is another thing.” He continues. “Getting good grades is important, sure but at the price of your own health?” His frustration was built from concern for your welfare and your recent habits. “Maybe that exam is important sure but really... Your health is more important.” He goes on.

No wonder his members found him scary when he was angry. He means well but you can’t help but be focused on your academics. That’s the environment you grew up in, unlearning that mentality was going to be hard. “I’m sorry.” You say softly as you eat quietly. You looked like a sad kitten that just got into a fight with their sibling.

He sighs. “Don’t be. I know how hard headed and driven you are. It’s like juggling two Hongjoongs.” It was a joke just to make you smile even a bit. “I’m just really worried for you.”

“If it helps, I kept my notes for the day.”

“Thank god.”

That makes you laugh. Feeling light for the first time in a while, you finish the food in a better disposition. The rest of the day goes by quietly and for the first time in a while, you find yourself completely relaxed. Seonghwa notices this before you do. Your fingers weren’t fidgety and you just look like you were at peace with your surroundings. He smiles to himself and slides next to you.

“Wanna play Overcooked?”

The following week goes by almost like a breeze. While you reviewed, you’d talk about it to Seonghwa to test yourself. Even if he didn’t understand any of these concepts you speak of, if it helps you then so be it. He asks you questions on certain topics, making sure you’ve covered everything. It does help you. Sure there were some topics that were tricky but you managed to get through the tests with a little more confidence than before. You had to thank Seonghwa after your exams. By the time you were done with your final exam, you felt a little dazed. A huge weight was off your shoulders and quite frankly, you couldn’t believe it. In your dazed state, you don’t realize your fingers against your lips, unconsciously playing with the skin. It was only when you tasted the iron on your lips that you realize the extent. So you suck on your lip, as you walk home.

On the way home, you couldn’t help but stop by a few shops to buy some snacks for yourself and Seonghwa. In one shop, you find yourself with front row seats to a couple’s PDA. On normal days, this wouldn’t have affected you but considering how you are now and your nervous ticks have affected you, it hits you harder than usual. You tear your eyes away from them, opting to look at your phone, thinking if there was anything else you think Seonghwa would like. It was a good distraction but it still lingers in your mind.

“I’m home.” You say as you put the snacks you bought on the counter. Seonghwa manages to welcome you with a proud smile. “Bought you some snacks too.” You add, gesturing to his strawberry milk tea among other things. While he was happy with your purchases, he catches the exhaustion in your eyes.

“You look like you need rest..” He takes the food you bought for him and also ushers you gently to the living room. He has you sit down on the couch, before he does as well. The way you just drop yourself onto the couch, your eyes trained up on the ceiling as your body practically melts onto the material has the male sighing.

“What?”

His eyes are trained at you. His gaze heavy with emotions that he had to keep at the back burner for your sake. “You know, I’ve been worried about you since you’ve been preparing for your exams.” He explains and you already know where this was going. Already defensive, you keep your hands in your pockets as you continue to keep your eyes up. The corner of your bottom lip is caught in between your teeth and it makes your dear friend tread carefully. “The boys asked me the other day,” he says slowly. “If you didn’t like holding hands with people.. I meant like, is it something you really don’t like to do with just us or really anyone..?” God why is it now that his speaking skills were going down the drain?

You had to admit, hearing him flounder for the right words was a little endearing. How were you going to tell him though that your evasion to holding hands was due to insecurities? The insecurities only rising when someone’s hand brushes against yours, when someone’s eyes flit to your bitten lips, when you see couples on the streets express their love to each other. Quite frankly, you found it so shallow and stupid to be this conscious but you couldn’t help it. The amount of times you wonder how it would be to be with someone, that question leads you to the imagery of being physically affectionate with them too.

“I just don’t like the idea of having anyone hold my hands that have been roughened by stress, I guess.” Even to you, you didn’t sound that convincing. You look at your hand, lit by the lamp near you. You could see the picked skin: some healing, some freshly picked at. They feel rough and downright uncomfortable. With the boys, they were already mere friends but they want to hold your hand, what more with a potential lover?

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa never really expected this type of answer from you. His eyes drift from your tired features to the digits that are up against the light.

“Don’t you think it’s gross, Seonghwa? The idea of holding someone’s hand that’s been picked at from stress or unconsciously? Cause I’m looking at my hands right now and I can even feel the unevenness from my lips too and even I don’t want anyone touching these.” You admit with a dry laugh.

It hurts him to know you see yourself like such. The way he sees you was far from it. He admired everything about you. Especially how you’re able to create things with your hands. How deft and agile you can be with your hands to get things done. How your lips were always expressive of your emotions. He realized how seeing your lips curve into a smile or how they let you laugh without a care in the world was his favorite. While others do say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, he wanted you to change that mindset one way or another. The boys saw you in an amazing light and for you to not see yourself as such, it sucks.

“Look at me..” Seonghwa says after a moment. You do, you drop your hand and you had a hard time reading his expression. “Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Seonghwa, if you’re going to give me some sort of gag gift from Wooyoung I swear--”

“I’m being serious, do you trust me?”

They weren’t joking when they say Seonghwa’s scary so you nod. “Yeah, I trust you.” You answer. So he pats the space in between you and him, gesturing for you to come closer. So you do. Your knees touching his from how close the two of you were sitting. He takes a deep breath, his heart racing but there weren’t any thoughts in his head except to reassure you. To reassure you that these perceived flaws will not be a big deal to the ones that love you unconditionally. His hands reach up to your cheeks, thumbs running gently against your cheeks. He brings his lips to gently graze against your forehead, to your cheeks, for a split moment you thought you would feel his lips against yours by how close he was to you but he presses a final kiss on your chin. He respects you so much to go past the boundaries of your friendship so he settles to end the kisses with one on your chin.

“We don’t mind your imperfections. I’m sure as hell that I don’t. Holding hands, to the boys and to me, is a way we show our appreciation.” His hands drop to his lap. “While yes, hugs, snuggles, nuzzling against you do express those. Have you ever understood why holding hands have been a little different?”

You shake your head. You always thought that such action would be for couples, always opting to link arms instead with your peers. His hands are then facing up, asking for your hands in his. You hesitate but slowly, you let your guard down, you let your hand rest on top of his. “Holding hands..” He trails off slowly as his hand slowly slips into yours. He doesn’t let your hands come into your line of sight. The insecurity of seeing how your hand looks was already understood in the first mention. “Is intimate. A soft way of saying, ‘I care about you. I don’t want to lose you. I want you by my side. Be with me in this situation.’ A reassurance. A sign of support. A sign of hope.” As he lists these various reasons, his hand would eventually shift around your hand, holding your hand in his in different ways. In one moment, his hand held yours tenderly, then his fingers interlaced with yours, then he’s linking his pinky with yours. He goes on to give your hand a gentle squeeze.

“If you’re worried about how someone will think of kissing these lips of yours.” he adds, making you look at him with a gentle nudge of his free hand. “You really shouldn’t worry about it.” He explains with a light chuckle. “The first kiss is rarely an ideal kiss.” Well, he had a point. “The succeeding kisses? They’re still an act of love. Though more intimate, I should say as compared to holding hands.” His eyes flit to your lips for a moment. He does understand your insecurities. He’s been there too; could barely look at his own face on any reflective surface. He didn’t see himself as someone visually appealing. It takes time and he knows that. “Will you let me help you? Help you through these habits and insecurities?” he asks, pulling back from you but still not letting go of your hand. You look at him, feeling oddly naked and vulnerable under his gaze but you nod. A glimmer of his usual bright self peeks through afterwards.

Without being able to see your hand in his, you bore your watery eyes onto the folds of his shirt. You couldn’t get yourself to look at his eyes, at his face, right now you felt so vulnerable, so naked and only because he had pressed kisses and held your hand. You didn’t see how he smiles warmly at you.

The next few days were calmer. Your skin is still healing from the picking you’ve done before that talk. It was the days after that proved to be a challenge. You were so focused with your readings that you don’t realize your fingers moving against your skin, trying to remove the uneven bumps that form as it heals. Seonghwa notices though so he brings a book with him and sits next to you. He even brought you a bottle of water with your favorite cake. The movement causes you to stutter in your mindless movement, bringing you momentarily out of your focus. Your eyes sparkle at the snack near you but you manage to focus on your work again with no problem. Seonghwa continues to look as if he was reading, thoroughly interested in what Thomas More thought of what a Utopian society could be. Without missing a beat, his hand slips into the hand that picks and fidgets. He pretends to not notice you looking at him with pink cheeks as he continues to read, pretending as if the book piqued his interest. His fingers intertwined with yours stops you from picking your skin and you reach for the bottle of water that he had already uncapped. It was only then that you realized how much you needed water. The beverage provides cool relief to your body and your lips.

You don’t notice how your lips have healed from the water he reminds you to drink, from the lip balms he suggests you try, but he does. He sees the improvement, one step at a time.

As thanks, you squeeze his hand gently. A silent thank you.

He squeezes your hand in return. A silent reassurance and a silent declaration of his love for you.

#ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa scenarios #ateez comfort #seonghwa comfort #my writings #i'm really not joking when 1-4am is my peak for these kinds of writings #anyways!#will fix any errors when i wake up

199 notes · View notes

sickjoonie · 4 years

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to be cared for

summary: jungkook was sick with a stomach bug and there was nothing hoseok could do about it, being prone to sympathy puking. so when hoseok comes down with the same time, he stays silent about it, not wanting to burden the others more

word count: 10.3k

a/n: i started this at winter break, forgot about it, then came back to it. never thought it’d get this long. anyways bts poly enjoy

it was a well known fact that hoseok had a sensitive stomach.

whether it be too much alcohol or the sound of other people’s retches or even spicy food, hoseok’s stomach seemed always prepared to throw a fit and sometimes make him throw up. he had puked the most out of everyone in bts, caused by everything from a stomach bug to being at sea too long.

normally he didn’t mind it. sure, his belly would get a little irritated from time to time when he tried more flavorful food, but for the most part he was able to ignore his sensitivity.

the problem came when one of the other members started puking.

his sensitive stomach clashed with his instinctiveness to comfort and care for those close to him. he had a nurturing personality that called on him to look over those around him.

if yoongi was feeling anxious, he would be by his side in seconds with some tea and stories to help distract him. whenever jimin got overwhelmed by new choreography, hoseok was there to reassure him and help him work on it. he was there to listen to namjoon ramble on about whatever it was he had taken an interest in recently or when seokjin felt run down and needed someone to share their energy with him. he never questioned taehyung’s thinking, even if it seemed bizarre to others. he was there when jungkook needed someone to make him feel loved, happily providing cuddles and kisses.

it all went haywire when one of them started vomiting.

he wanted so badly to care for them, to hold their hair back and rub their back and remind that it’d be over soon. the sound and sight of vomit, however, made his stomach squirm and beg for its own release.

the worst incident had been when both yoongi and jimin got carsick. as if having two people vomit was stressful enough for everyone else, hoseok’s stomach churned violently at the sight of the puke stained seats and he found himself puking off the side of the road too.

it was obvious everyone was annoyed by it. he felt bad the entire ride home. his stomach was sore and queasy, his mouth tasted horrible, and everyone was annoyed with him.

since then, he has made a point to make sure he doesn’t sympathetic puke. if one of the members starts retching, he gets out of the way, no matter how much his heart yells at him to stay behind and care for them.

he didn’t need to bother them more by getting sick too. but the guilt still gnawed at his mind afterwards.

hoseok was naturally nurturing, but this often meant that his own struggles and pain went hidden. it was hard to let himself be vulnerable when he was used to being the one cheering up and caring for others.

to him, the others came first. if he was the only one feeling sick, he was willing to admit it and own up to it. it was much easier than if someone else was feeling bad too.

he loved the others too much for their suffering to be ignored, even if it meant sacrificing his own wellbeing.

jungkook had been throwing up for the past couple of days.

hoseok heard about it first the morning after it began in the middle of the night; it seemed all the other members knew about it but him. he tried not to let that sting too much. there wasn’t much he could do, if jungkook was consistently vomiting.

hoseok figured it would pass and they would all move on, like they always did. maybe one of the other members would get sick too, but it was all stuff they had dealt with in the past.

it was only after dance practice on the third day of jungkook being sick that everything started to go wrong for hoseok.

hoseok normally felt sore and tired after dance practice; that was to be expected. what wasn’t expected was the pounding of his head and how heavy his eyelids felt. his body was practically begging him to lay down, his hands shaking at his side.

as soon as they entered their apartment, he made a beeline for the couch, head swimming in exhaustion. he sighed loudly as he collapsed on it. he could feel his body melting against it and sleep was already hovering on the edge of his mind.

logically, he knew he needed to shower and clean up. he was sweaty and gross and it would be 10x worse when he woke up. at the moment though, the thought of standing in a steamy, humid environment did not sound appealing.

he didn’t feel as though he had the energy to stand in the shower anyways.

the rest of the members had set off on operation care-for-jungkook, leaving hoseok behind in the living room by himself. he didn’t mind; he was glad jungkook was getting the attention he needed.

hoseok squirmed on the couch, moving himself so he was laying in a more comfortable position. he was now on his side, back facing away from the couch, body curled into himself. the couch felt so comfortable and he felt so tired and achy. it seemed sleep would be the only thing to heal it all.

he would shower after he slept, hoseok bargained. so while all the other members were fretting over their poor maknae, hoseok fell asleep on the couch.

it was obvious how tired he was from how deep he slept. normally when he napped, he would toss and turn, waking up periodically. this time, he remained still and silent and fast asleep, never bothering to check up on the world.

he woke up to a blinding headache and a dizziness that made his thoughts sluggish and painful.

he struggled to merely open his eyes. after finally opening them, he couldn’t focus. distantly, he could hear chattering going on around him, but the words lost all meaning to him.

it wasn’t until someone was shaking his shoulder that his mind fully caught up. he rolled onto his back and looked up to find jimin peering curiously down at him

“hey hyung, we need the couch for jungkookie. we’re trying to get him to eat.” jimin brushed hoseok’s hair back, then grimaced. “your hair’s all greasy, did you not shower?”

hoseok groaned, sitting up. he could practically smell himself. “no, fell asleep instead.” he winced, head pounding. “ugh, i feel gross.”

jimin tsked. “go take a shower, hobi hyung. clean your sweaty ass,” he teased.

hoseok gave him a weak smile, then slowly got up. his body protested and he could feel his muscles shake, but he ignored it. jungkook needed the couch and he needed to shower.

he stumbled off to his and jimin’s room, grabbing some pajamas. he didn’t have the energy to do much else that evening, so he figured putting on pajamas after the shower wouldn’t hurt. then it was the trek to the bathroom where he would actually shower.

maybe the gross feeling that was currently clinging to his muscles would go away with a nice, hot shower. he tended to feel better when he was cleaned up.

hoseok sighed, climbing into the shower. the whole day had felt off; without jungkook with them and knowing he was sick back at the apartment, everyone’s minds had been way too distracted to get any proper work done. the dance routines were a mess, but hoseok couldn’t blame them. his own movements were sloppy and slow at times, a real sign that they were all off balanced.

the hot water felt good on his muscles, releasing some of the tension that had been built up. the heat left him feeling dizzy. he ended up having to sit down in the shower, his head spinning in a sickly way.

he waited a couple minutes for the spell to pass, only for nothing to happen. eventually, he gave up on finishing showering. he shakily got back up on his feet and turned off the water, leaning on the shower wall. with a groan, he forced himself out of the shower and grabbed a towel before resting on the toilet.

he felt sticky from the humidity of the shower and a sick feeling had crept over him. hoseok closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to rebalance his body. it took a while of focusing on just breathing before the overwhelming dizziness finally rested.

slowly, not wanting to once again set off his body, hoseok stood up and dried himself off. he decided against his normal nightly routine; it was obvious his body didn’t have the energy to handle it. instead, he towel-dried his hair and slipped into his pajamas before heading out of the bathroom.

distantly, he could hear voices of the other members and what could be a movie. a part of him ached to check on jungkook, to kiss his forehead and cuddle him close and rub his upset tummy.

he pushed that ache down and walked to his bedroom.

the bedroom was unsurprisingly empty and when he arrived, and he had to flick on the lights to navigate through. they hadn’t had time to efficiently clean lately and it was slowly getting to hoseok. he did his best to ignore the obvious mess that was jimin’s side of the room and walked over to turn jimin’s lamp on. he always turned jimin’s lamp on whenever he went to sleep without jimin in the room already. waking up at 2am to jimin turning the overhead lights on was not pleasant.

he sighed, pausing for a minute as his head spun for a second. the lights certainly weren’t helping; they were making his head ache.

hoseok discarded his dirty clothes in his laundry basket before finally turning off the overhead lights. he practically collapsed in his bed, lazily pulling the covers over himself.

he was out in a matter of minutes.

waking up in the middle of the night was always a disorienting experience. hoseok struggled to wake up at first, trying to cling onto sleep. his body had other plans; it knew something was wrong and kept pulling him away from consciousness.

hoseok shifted and rolled over in bed, eyes heavy with sleep. he hid his nose in his blanket, giving a small sigh.

his body protested this. instead of falling back asleep, he was dragged awake. with consciousness came a growing sick feeling that had him tensing.

hoseok was shivering and he felt feverish, his body too warm and the air too cold. the dizziness that had occured during his shower was back with a vengeance, leaving him disoriented and weak.

the worst part, however, was his stomach.

“oh,” he moaned, feeling something awful tear through his belly. he curled around it, pressing an arm against it. his stomach was cramping, a sharp and sore ache that left him breathing out shakily. the combination of the pain and the fever resulted in a wave of nausea overwhelming his barely awake senses.

hoseok shakily pushed himself up, swallowing thickly as his stomach protested the movement. he sat there for a couple minutes, breathing through the nausea, trying to settle his stomach.

a gag seized his throat and he fought back against it, eyes widening with fear. he held his breath and stayed completely still, trying to force his stomach back down. once the need for the gag receded, hoseok accepted what he needed to do.

with one hand pressed to his stomach, hoseok got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. the halls were silent and dark, disorienting hoseok more. there was something eerie about waking up in the middle of the night and how still and quiet it was.

hoseok entered the bathroom and turned the lights on, wincing as the brightness irritated his headache. he closed the door and locked it instinctively. he paused to lean against the sink for a second, letting out a pained groan. his belly growled, reminding him of why he was here and forcing him up from the sink.

hoseok stumbled across the room to the toilet, staring at it dreadfully as he sunk to his knees in front of it. he lifted the lid. he could feel his throat seizing with another gag so he hovered his head over the bowl in anticipation.

it was only a few moments later before he found himself gagging loudly, unsuccessful at bringing up anything or soothing his nausea. he gripped the toilet rim with the hand that wasn’t palming his stomach. another dry heave followed, grating his throat and making him moan in pain.

he didn’t know how long he spent dry heaving over the toilet only for nothing to happen. he eventually gave up, his throat too sore and stomach protesting the constant juggling around.

hoseok slumped down against the wall, sick and exhausted. he closed his eyes. he didn’t understand how he had gotten so sick so fast; he had been avoiding jungkook ever since his own bout of sickness started. it seemed the virus specifically picked him as some kind of joke.

hoseok really didn’t appreciate this joke.

he attempted to soothe his tummy by rubbing it. he slipped his hand underneath his sleep shirt. his hand was cold compared to the heat radiating from the rest of him and it felt good on his stomach. slowly and as gentle as possible, hoseok used his hand to trace circles on his tummy. it wasn’t much, but it did help him feel a bit better.

he remembered his mom rubbing his belly whenever he got the stomach bug when he was a kid. she always knew what to do to settle him, from tracing on his arm to get him to sleep to playing with his hair to calm him down after crying.

the members knew about this, though there was rarely a good time for them to be so openly affectionate with their schedules. logically, hoseok knew if he went to one of the member’s bedrooms right now, they’d be more than happy to rub his belly and help him sleep. if he woke up jimin, the younger dancer would happily invite him into his bed.

the thing holding him back and the reason why he had snuck off to the bathroom was their maknae. his jungkookie was sick with the same bug. hoseok would much rather they pay attention to jungkook than to himself.

the memories of when he was sick at the same time as yoongi and jimin got carsick had a major role in his decision, though he would never admit it.

despite feeling like he was no longer on the verge of spilling his guts, hoseok couldn’t find the strength to crawl back to bed. he felt so weak and dizzy, he worried he might pass out before making it to his bed. rubbing his own stomach had made him drowsy and he found himself unable to open his eyes.

he could nap in the bathroom, he told himself. he usually woke up before the other members anyway. he could work on finding the energy to get up then.

with that in mind, he let his body give into sleep, slumped next to the toilet.

hoseok jolted awake with his stomach in his throat. he threw himself towards the toilet, retching loudly. before he had even fully gained consciousness, he was violently vomiting. whatever he had last eaten made its reappearance in the toilet. hoseok struggled to catch his breath between heaves, coughing and gagging as his stomach fought against him.

he felt like forever before he was only dry heaving, having nothing left to bring up. he forced himself to swallow back the gags, desperate to settle his stomach.

finally, his stomach relented. he could feel himself shaking and panting. everything finally caught up to him and registered hot tears on his cheeks.

with shaky hands, he grabbed some toilet paper and wiped up his tears and his mouth. he dropped it in the toilet and finally flushed it, watching the mess disappear. then he dropped his head against the toilet seat, letting out a moan.

he felt so, so sick. he didn’t want to get up, but he knew he couldn’t fall asleep in the bathroom again.

he got on his feet, ignoring how the room tilted with the movement. before returning to his room, he brushed his teeth at the sink, desperate to get rid of the post vomit taste. it did little to help.

walking out of the bathroom, he noticed that it was no longer night time but what looked to be early morning. soft light was flooding the apartment. hoseok sighed; he wouldn’t have long to rest.

he made it back to his shared room where it was still dark, the blinds keeping out the first rays of sun. it was silent, jimin most likely knocked out on his side of the bed.

hoseok crawled into his own bed, wrapping himself up in his blankets. he was shivering and cold, but the blankets did little to warm him. his stomach was still upset, so he curled up as small as possible on his side to keep the ache away.

hoseok fought for sleep, barely able to fully drift off with how uncomfortable his stomach felt. it was gurgling quietly and cramping despite having puked everything up. despite this, he must have fallen asleep at one point, as he was woken by someone climbing into his bed and wrapping an arm around him.

“hyungie, it’s time to wake up,” jimin’s sweet voice cut through the fog of sleep, forcing hoseok awake.

hoseok groaned, struggling to open his eyes. his head was pounding, worse than earlier. he rolled onto his back, blearily looking up at jimin.

“ah, hobi hyung, you’re so sleepy today!” jimin giggled, petting hoseok’s hair. “i even beat you awake.”

hoseok gave him a small smile, appreciating his hair being played with. “ah, jimin ah. hyung worked too hard at dance yesterday.”

jimin cooed, knowing the feeling of overworking his muscles far too well. there had been times where one of them was nearly unable to get out of bed with how bad their muscles ached. “well, there’s nothing really for our schedule today. jungkookie being sick really threw it off. if you wanna take the day off, i can tell the other members.”

hoseok sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. he knew realistically it would be a better idea to stay in bed. his stomach was still unhappy with him and his body felt like lead. the only issue was that he couldn’t guarantee the other members wouldn’t fuss over him or hear him vomiting in the bathroom.

if he headed to his studio, he could work on some music and maybe distract himself from his stomach or at least he could nap on his couch. the members wouldn’t catch him rushing to the bathroom to throw up.

“i’ll be fine,” hoseok reassured. “i can work on some producing today. my body can handle that.” he wasn’t exactly sure about that, but he didn’t want to worry jimin.

jimin considered hoseok for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure he fully believed him. in the end, jimin simply nodded in understanding. “if you’re sure you can, hyung.” jimin kissed hoseok’s forehead affectionately, before finally getting out of bed. “you should have some breakfast! yoongi cooked some breakfast this morning. he was too worried about kookie to leave.”

food was the last thing on hoseok’s mind. he sat up shakily, watching jimin depart from the room. he ran a hand through his sweaty bangs, exhausted. reluctantly, he got out of bed and forced himself to get ready to go out. he threw on some sweatpants and a shirt, along with a jacket to keep him warm. he grabbed a mask to wear as well.

once he was as ready as he could be with his body dragging him down, he started to make his way out.

hoseok stopped by the kitchen, ignoring the way his belly churned at the smell of food laid out for breakfast. the kitchen was empty, proof of how late hoseok had woken up. he half-heartedly packed himself breakfast, wanting to make it seem like he had eaten some. the food was light anyway, so he could try settling his stomach with it later when he felt less queasy. he also got himself a water bottle as well to keep hydrated.

with food packed away and his jacket swallowing his small frame, hoseok headed for the studio.

hoseok had only been at his studio for five minutes before he was rushing to the bathroom to puke again.

his stomach had been a mess the whole ride to the studio and it seemed inevitable that he would end up puking. no matter how much deep breathing he did or how much he rubbed his stomach, the nausea ended up winning.

he rinsed his mouth out and returned to his studio, shaking and sweating from exertion. he briefly considered producing, staring at his blank computer screen, though the exhaustion made it clear that that wouldn’t be happening.

with a small sigh, he curled up on his couch, hugging his mang plushie close to him. he could work on feeling better later, he told himself.

he drifted in and out of sleep for a while, briefly waking up for a few minutes before the fever pulled him back under. hoseok told himself it was a good thing that he wasn’t staying awake; there was less of an opportunity of him puking again.

when he eventually fully came to, head pounding too hard to ignore, he forced himself to drink some water. it made his stomach feel uneasy and it gurgled audibly in complaint. he knew better than to let himself get dehydrated, however.

hoseok set his water bottle down on his table and pulled up his phone, checking his messages. there were surprisingly quite a few. before he could make context of the messages, his phone lit up with taehyung’s contact picture, indicating that the younger was calling him.

clearing his throat, hoseok answered. “hello?”

“hobi hyung! have you been in your studio all day? ah, you work so hard,” taehyung’s voice was upbeat as always, a tone hoseok normally tried to match.

today, however, after spending the morning puking his guts out before passing out, hoseok struggled to keep his normal positive energy. “yeah, i’ve been here all day. i woke up pretty late anyways.”

taehyung hummed. “jiminie mentioned he woke up earlier than you today. he seemed quite proud of it.” taehyung giggled. “anyways, you should come back home hyung! jungkookie’s feeling a bit better so we were gonna throw a movie party! plus, he won’t say it, but he misses you.”

hoseok smiled. jungkook never really grew out of his shyness. it was adorable and did a number on his heart. “ah, our shy kookie,” he cooed, “tell him hyung will come back soon to watch movies with him.”

“i’ll tell the others you’re heading back! i’m sure jungkookie will be very happy.”

hoseok was glad he would be able to dot over the maknae, now that jungkook wasn’t spilling his guts every couple of hours. he said his goodbye to taehyung and hung up, letting out an exhausted sigh.

he wasn’t quite ready to get up yet. he brought a hand to his cramping stomach, tentatively pressing into it. the pressure helped some, so he kept his hand there and forced himself to get up.

he pulled on his jacket, slipped on his mask, and grabbed his water bottle. he eyed the bag of food he packed before deciding to leave it in his fridge. he could deal with it later when he wasn’t feeling so awful.

he was heading out his studio door when his stomach churned and he was caught off guard by a queasy burp. hoseok froze, feeling nausea make its way slowly through his system. thankfully, it was a false alarm.

he makes his way out of the building and to the manager’s car, staring at the floor the entire time. he was more than happy to be able to rest in the car, dizzy and lightheaded from his tiny journey.

the car drive made his stomach feel motion sick, a strange experience his body usually reserved for the water. his mask did a good job of hiding the green tint of his face, otherwise hoseok was sure his manager would have said something. they ended up back at the apartment shortly, hoseok quickly bidding goodbye to his manager before ducking inside.

he paused for a moment in the lobby to catch his breath and quell the rolling of his stomach. once the motion sickness had faded, he continued to the elevator to head up to their apartment.

hoseok slipped by the others when entering the apartment, though he could hear them talking from the living room. he wanted to take some medicine before confronting them and check his temperature. after dropping his jacket off in his bedroom and disposing of his mask, he headed into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet.

he grabbed the bottle of fever reducer and painkillers, then hesitantly looked at the stomach medicine. hoseok had a bad history with that particular medicine, usually involving him puking it up inevitably or the medicine never settling his stomach and instead making it feel worse.

in the end, he decided it wasn’t worth the effort and stuck with the painkillers instead.

it was going to be a struggle to get the painkillers down anyways. he couldn’t dry swallow them but couldn’t go the kitchen to get a glass of water either. he would have to drink from the faucet to get the pills down.

hoseok sighed, pouring out a pill from the bottle and placing it in his mouth. then, as best as he could, he drank from the faucet until he felt the pill finally go down.

the mistake of drinking from the faucet hit him immediately. he had drank too much water, displeasing his stomach and causing it to gurgle in warning. he froze for a second, his stomach debating whether or not to violently reject the water. in the end, all he got was a wet burp. he flushed, pressing a fist to his lips.

the sensation passed, thankfully, and hoseok sighed. he dropped his hand to his stomach, giving it a few reassuring rubs. then, he made his way back out to the living room, finally ready to face the others.

when he makes it to the living room, he isn’t surprised to find jungkook bundled up in a blanket while the others are in various states of either arguing or getting ready to watch the movie. jungkook is the first to notice hoseok’s presence, perking up once he sees his hyung walk in.

“hobi hyung!” jungkook calls out to him, smiling excitedly. he looked happy, despite being still sick. his hair was messy and curly and there was a slight flush to his cheeks, but overall he still looked fine. certainly much better than he had been previously.

hoseok crossed the room and settled next to jungkook, smiling back at the younger. once hoseok had sat down next to him, jungkook instantly latched on. his arms hugged hoseok and one of his legs found its way onto hoseok’s lap. hoseok laughed fondly, appreciating the warmth from jungkook.

he slipped his own arm around jungkook’s waist and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to the maknae’s forehead.

“ah, cute,” hoseok heard namjoon mumble, the leader having finally settled in on the opposite side of jungkook.

“jungkookie was whining about not seeing his hobi hyung!” taehyung teased, coming over to ruffle jungkook’s already messy hair. jungkook pouted at him, further snuggling up to hoseok.

hoseok let jungkook snuggle close, glad to both provide affection and receive it. cuddles made everything a bit easier to deal with. “i’m sorry hyung hasn’t been around much. i promise i’ll make it up to you, bunny.”

jungkook hummed, looking absolutely content as he laid his head on hoseok’s chest. “you already are.”

the rest of the members settled in on the couch. seokjin sat next to hoseok, giving the younger a friendly pat on the head and smiling at seeing jungkook curled up against him. normally with movies, the members would be passing around snacks. with jungkook’s temperamental stomach, they had decided against any food. hoseok was silently grateful for this.

yoongi started the movie, settling in between jimin and taehyung. hoseok watched in amusement as the two maknaes snuggled up to yoongi and how yoongi looked extremely pleased with this development.

hoseok turned his attention back to the movie. it was something they had all seen before, so it didn’t require too much focus, though it was definitely one of jungkook’s favorite movies.

hoseok let himself get carried away with the movie, his body seeming to be sated by the medicine for the time being. he was still sore and uncomfortable sweaty, but didn’t have to worry about accidentally puking up his guts.

he wasn’t able to focus on the movie for long, however. despite having slept most of the day already, hoseok was still exhausted. the medicine had only given him a false tense of safety; his belly was churning. it wasn’t enough to have him worry about puking, but just enough to make him uncomfortable.

he let out a shaky breath, choosing to bury his face in jungkook’s hair instead of paying attention to the movie. jungkook picked up on his hyung’s discomfort and lifted his head, forcing hoseok to look at him.

jungkook didn’t say anything, though his eyes were wide with worry. hoseok gave him his best shaky smile, rubbing jungkook’s back in reassurance. silently, jungkook readjusted himself so that hoseok was leaning against jungkook somewhat rather than hoseok taking all of the weight.

hoseok had a feeling jungkook picked up that something was wrong. he appreciated the maknae’s silence though, letting himself lean against jungkook with heavy eyelids.

hoseok closed his eyes, his head finding jungkook’s shoulder easily. he didn’t fall asleep, but drifted to the edge of it. he wasn’t totally aware of his surroundings or the sounds of the movie, though he did hear them.

he was only stirred when jungkook began to fidget, forcing hoseok up off his shoulder. hoseok blinked blearily, the world blurring together. he did manage to make out what jungkook was saying, however.

“hobi hyung, my stomach,” jungkook gulped, “i think i’m gonna puke.”

it was easier to wake up after hearing that. he untangled jungkook from his blankets, catching seokjin’s attention.

“jungkook ah, do you need to go to the bathroom?” seokjin quietly spoke, not afraid to disrupt the movie.

jungkook nodded, clinging onto hoseok with one hand while the other was pressed up against his mouth. hoseok got the younger up, seokjin rising with them. the two helped move jungkook to the nearby bathroom. the closer they got, the more obvious it became that jungkook really wasn’t feeling good.

hoseok felt his own stomach begin to rise, dreading what was about to come next. he swallowed thickly.

the moment they made it into the bathroom, jungkook let out a loud gag. he peeled himself away from hoseok and seokjin to rush to the toilet, throwing himself on it just in time to heave up a mouthful of sick. seokjin was by jungkook’s side in a second, pulling back the maknae’s back and patting his back.

hoseok slowly made his way over, wanting desperately to support jungkook. he kneeled next to him, resting a hand on his back.

hoseok could practically feel the retches in his own stomach. the smell and sound of the vomit hitting the toilet bowl was only making it so, so much worse.

hoseok rubbed small circles on jungkook’s back, trying to focus on the maknae’s back rather than the violent heaves that were coming out of him. across from hoseok, seokjin looked perfectly calm and unaffected by the maknae’s vomiting. hoseok desperately wished he could be seokjin.

his own stomach took a quick turn for the worst. being prone to sympathetic sickness and mixing that with a stomach bug was inevitable to make him puke. hoseok could feel his stomach gurgling angrily inside of him, demanding hoseok’s attention.

hoseok only lasted a few minutes before he had to leave his poor maknae’s side to lunge for the bathroom sink.

hoseok’s stomach lurched and he gagged, bile burning his throat. there wasn’t much in his stomach to throw up other than medicine and water mixed with stomach acid. hoseok’s hands gripped the edge of the counter as his stomach forced itself out of hoseok.

“ah shit- hobi-” hoseok could hear seokjin swearing in the background in between heaves. “namjoon ah! i need your help!”

hoseok moaned, then dry heaved uselessly over the sink. his stomach was still throwing a fit, but there was nothing to force up. he coughed and forced his mouth closed, audibly swallowing back a gag. he closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, continuing to force down the gags that tried to escape.

he felt a hand rest on his back, a thumb beginning to trace circles into his shirt. hoseok forced himself to focus on that instead of his stomach, slowly coming down from the vomiting session.

he shakily lifted himself up from bending over the sink, opening his eyes to see his reflection in the mirror. his face was pale and flushed, visibly sickly. his hair was sticking to his face from sweat. behind him, namjoon was watching him carefully, his hand still on hoseok’s back. hoseok turned to the leader and automatically leaned against him, having completed depleted whatever energy was left.

it was times like these that hoseok forgot that he was technically the older one with namjoon younger by a few months.

“your stomach is quite the menace, hoseok ah,” namjoon hummed, rubbing hoseok’s back.

hoseok hummed. “still feel queasy,” he mumbled. it wasn’t fully admitting to feeling sick, but close enough.

“it doesn’t look like you ate all today, hoseok ah,” seokjin’s scolding sounded from behind him.

hoseok peeked up from namjoon’s chest, seeing seokjin still rubbing jungkook’s back. jungkook had stopped vomiting, but was still draped over the toilet, hands holding onto the sides like the toilet was his life line.

“no wonder your stomach is so upset. there was nothing in it!” seokjin sighed, shaking his head. “hoseok ah, you can’t be around vomiting members. your stomach is too sensitive. i know you only want to help, but it’s not very helpful when you start puking too.”

hoseok felt shame rush over him, turning his insides cold. he only nodded, turning his head to hide in namjoon’s chest once again. it hurt worse because hoseok knew it was true. “‘m sorry hyung.”

“there’s nothing you can do about it hoseok. just, next time, please stay away.” seokjin paused, seeming to mull over his words. jungkook groaned into the toilet. “i’ll make you some jook to settle your stomach, alright? once jungkookie is done here, of course.”

hoseok nodded, saying nothing else. he knew the soup wouldn’t stay down, but was too ashamed to speak up. he should have known better. this wasn’t anything new and he especially should have known not to go when he too had a stomach bug.

he let namjoon pull him out of the bathroom, head hanging in shame and heart aching for jungkook.

hoseok watched seokjin bring him a bowl of porridge, trying to give his hyung his best smile.

he had spent his time waiting for his hyung by burying his head in his arms on the kitchen table, head pounding from the fever and the words his hyung had said. he had only perked up when seokjin announced his porridge being ready.

“one jook for one queasy hobi.” seokjin placed the bowl in front of hoseok.

hoseok’s stomach churned at the sight. nonetheless, hoseok had to be appreciative of his hyung’s efforts. “thank you, seokjin hyung. you didn’t have to do this.”

seokjin smiled softly, patting hoseok on the head. “hyung cares for you. i don’t like seeing you miserable.”

hoseok nodded, picking up the spoon and carefully taking a bite.

“i know you wanna take care of the others when they’re sick, especially the maknaes,” seokjin started, calmer than earlier. “i trust you to know your limits. i’m sorry i snapped at you, hobi ah, but i really do worry about you when you ignore your own limits.”

hoseok chewed, eyes downcast. he knew his hyung only wanted to keep him healthy, but it still hurt knowing he couldn’t care for the others. that seokjin didn’t want him caring for the others for his own health. he swallowed, forcing the food down.

“they understand that you can’t be there. i understand that you can’t be there. that doesn’t mean you care any less about us. i’d much rather you take care of yourself than suffer for me.”

hoseok sighed. “i know, hyung. i just want to make sure you guys are okay.” he spooned up another small bite of the porridge. “but i understand if you guys would rather me not be there.”

seokjin gave hoseok a sad smile. “we just want you to take care of yourself.”

hoseok nodded, ignoring the irony of the situation. “i can do that, hyung.”

satisfied, seokjin stood up. he leaned over and kissed hoseok’s hair, a sign of forgiveness. “i’ll leave you to eat up. i have to force jungkook to take some medicine.”

hoseok gave a small laugh. jungkook was notorious for avoiding medicine in the most absurd ways. even when he was sick, he was still a brat. “good luck with that.”

seokjin groaned. “i’ll need it. hopefully he’ll keep it down this time.” with that, seokjin left the room, leaving hoseok alone with his bowl of porridge.

hoseok sighed, staring down at the food seokjin had made for him. he couldn’t not eat it; his hyung had gone out of his way to make it for hoseok, despite hoseok causing seokjin more anxiety.

his stomach pleaded with him not to. it was already unhappy with the two bites hoseok had already forced down. hoseok ignored it, scooping up more porridge and shoving it in his mouth. he could manage jook; it was light and had been proven to help upset stomachs.

he ate thoughtlessly, having to pause every few minutes to quell his stomach. it took much longer than it should have, but hoseok managed to finish the bowl.

he groaned, pushing the bowl away from him with a burp. he placed a hand on his stomach, nauseous and uncomfortably full despite having not eaten that much in the first place. the nausea was making him dizzy, forcing him to close his eyes.

he pressed a fist to his lips, feeling something uncomfortable settle in his chest. the feeling rose and came out as a deep, unsettling burp that teetered on the edge of something more. hoseok whimpered, his hand clutching his stomach in pain.

his stomach didn’t get any better. hoseok wanted to lie down, hoping the change in position would settle his stomach.

he forced himself to get up and bring the bowl to the kitchen. once the bowl was taken care of, he made a beeline for his bedroom, desperate for some relief. his hand stayed on his stomach, gently pressing into the organ to help make standing bearable.

he stumbled into his bedroom, vaguely acknowledging jimin’s presence. he just wanted to curl up around his aching stomach and sleep.

hoseok curled up in his bed, hiding his face in his pillow. he felt the bed dip nearby, presumably jimin checking to make sure he was okay.

“is your tummy still upset, hyung?” jimin’s hand rested on hoseok’s shoulder.

hoseok only nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth.

jimin cooed. “the porridge should settle your stomach soon, don’t worry hyung. in the meantime, do you want me to rub your tummy?”

hoseok nodded once again. a good belly rub could put him to sleep.

jimin climbed behind hoseok, spooning him from the back. his small hand slipped under hoseok’s shirt and against hoseok’s stomach. carefully, jimin began tracing small circles on hoseok’s stomach, sending small tingles through hoseok. jimin then began to press lightly into hoseok’s stomach with just his fingers, moving his hand in larger circles slowly. occasionally, he would switch to use the palm of his hand to rub hoseok’s stomach.

hoseok shuddered, the feeling of jimin massaging his stomach relaxing him. it didn’t ease the nausea, but distracted him from it enough. the tingling feeling was making him sleepy and relaxed.

jimin knew what he was doing, used to soothing the bellyaches of different members. he knew each member’s stomach worked differently and different kinds of pressure and movements had different affects. for hoseok, a light pressure was more than enough. even just tracing was enough to help soothe him.

as jimin expected, it wasn’t long before hoseok began to drift off, his body completely melting against jimin’s touch. his breathing evened out and his muscles lost their tenseness, becoming loose like jelly.

jimin smiled proudly to himself as a small snore slipped from hoseok’s lips. he had once again soothed his hyung to sleep. he quietly slipped out of bed and walked out of the room, turning the light off to give hoseok some rest.

jimin was sure that by morning, his hyung would be all better.

hoseok started awake in the middle of the night, sitting up and panting from the dregs of a bad dream. the bedroom felt it was melting, mixing with the terrors of his subconscious. to make it worse, he was incredibly dizzy and confused. he was hit with deja vu, reliving the same experience as the previous night.

his eyelids felt heavy and he struggled to keep them open, blinking blindly around the dark room. the world tilted more and with it came his stomach, climbing up his throat. vaguely, his body acknowledged the need for the bathroom, and he felt himself get up.

hoseok stumbled aimlessly out of his room. the walls of the hallway blended together and he couldn’t tell the doors from the wall. he let his body wander forward by instinct, hoping that he could manage to get to the bathroom.

he felt his body crash into a wall, disrupting his movement and startling his stomach. he felt the porridge from earlier rise in his throat and before he knew what was happening, he was bending over and vomiting all over the floor.

hoseok choked in air before gagging once again, sending more vomit onto the floor. his stomach cramped and twisted, rejecting the attempt to settle it. when hoseok was finally done vomiting, he stumbled a few steps away from the puddle and promptly collapsed.

he could feel himself breathing heavily from both exertion and the fever. he swallowed thickly, curling up around his stomach and moaning in pain.

someone must have heard him fall as footsteps approached him, followed by a gasp.

“hoseok!” someone ran up to him and kneeled by his side.

hoseok shakily reached for them, desperate for someone to stop the nauseating spinning.

“fuck, hoseok ah,” hoseok vaguely recognized namjoon’s voice, “i thought you were just sympathetic sick.” namjoon pulled hoseok to his chest, cradling him close.

a cool hand landed on his forehead as more footsteps approached, followed by loud cursing. hoseok hiccuped and winced, feeling his stomach swirl. he really didn’t want to throw up again.

“he’s really hot, yoongi hyung. i think he caught whatever jungkook had.” namjoon pressed the back of his hand against hoseok’s cheeks, once again confirming how worryingly warm he was.

yoongi kneeled with namjoon and hovered over hoseok. the younger looked incredibly pale and flushed, his hair sticking to his face from sweat and eyes barely open. he brushed some of the hair back, wincing at how wet it was. “hobi ah? hey, can you look at me?”

hoseok barely was able to focus on yoongi, his hyung’s face blurry in front of him. “hyung?”

yoongi petted hoseok’s hair. “there we go,” he sighed in relief, glad that hoseok was still able to recognize him even if he was mildly delirious. “do you feel like you’re gonna puke again?”

hoseok whimpered, slowly nodding his head. he could only fight off his stomach for so long. he hiccuped again and his eyes squeezed shut from the pain.

yoongi cooed, gently cupping hoseok’s cheek. “namjoon ah, can you carry him to the bathroom? though he might puke on you.”

namjoon shrugged. “it’s alright. i can carry him.” he easily scooped up hoseok in his arms, cradling him close.

hoseok forced himself to hold back vomiting until they got to the bathroom. he was much too fond of namjoon and wasn’t willing to cover him in vomit. as a result, as soon as hoseok was placed down in front of the toilet, he was already retching.

he felt namjoon hold back his hair while yoongi patted his back and whispered soft reassurances. it wasn’t long before his stomach had finished emptying itself, leaving him to collapse against namjoon. namjoon’s chest felt sturdy beneath him, grounding him against the dizziness.

“i think he’s done for now.” namjoon wrapped his arms around hoseok, having one hand rub his back.

yoongi hummed in agreement. “he needs to cool down and clean up. i’ll get the bath started and get seokjin to clean up the hallway.”

“you want me to keep holding hoseok?”

yoongi sighed, seeing hoseok curled up against namjoon. “yeah, make sure he’s doing okay. try not to let him puke on you.”

namjoon nodded, taking yoongi’s words very seriously. “seokie, tell me if you need to puke, alright?”

hoseok nodded against namjoon. he felt safe in namjoon’s arms; as namjoon was taller and bigger than hoseok, hoseok could easily curl up in namjoon’s lap, when the leader was feeling up to some affection.

he felt himself growing sleepy, lulled by a combination of exhaustion and the sound of bath water running and the comfort of his leader. he pressed his face against namjoon’s chest, sighing. “i wanna sleep��”

namjoon smiled as hoseok hid in his arms. he supposed a little nap wouldn’t hurt hoseok, considering how badly he needed the rest. “you can rest, hobi ah. we’ll take care of you.”

hoseok felt namjoon give him a gentle squeeze and he practically melted against the other, slowly sinking back to sleep. it was much easier to give in now, knowing he would be taken care of. he was too sick to overthink it at this point.

he fell asleep to the sound of namjoon humming, giving into his sickness.

it was a while before hoseok properly regained consciousness. he vaguely remembered taking a bath and being carried to one of the members’ room to rest, though the exact details of the events were lost on him.

he was woken up by the feeling of someone nuzzling the back of his neck. he automatically knew who it was by the scent of jungkook’s downy laundry. what he didn’t understand was how he ended up in jungkook’s room.

the bath and sleep had thankfully brought his fever down and he no longer felt like the room was tilting. his stomach wasn’t the happiest, but there was no urgency to vomit, so hoseok counted it as a win.

he shifted around a bit before finally sitting up, confirming that he was indeed in jungkook’s room. there was a glass of water on the nightstand and a trash can placed nearby, along with a bucket. it made sense; if one of them started vomiting, the other was sure to follow.

hoseok pressed a hand against his stomach, letting out a nauseous huff. he thought he had been doing well hiding his sickness from the others. the bug turned out to be worse than he had originally thought.

he was startled a bit when he felt arms wrap around his waist. he looked down to find round eyes staring up at him with worry and a frown.

hoseok gave jungkook an uneasy smile. “morning, kook ah. how are you feeling?”

jungkook shrugged, though his frown only deepened. “i should be asking you that, hyung. i heard how sick you were, hyungie.”

hoseok sighed. now that the delirium from the fever was gone, he felt guilty for worrying the sick maknae. there wasn’t much that could have been done about his situation, however.

“you were sick for longer than last night, right hyung? that wasn’t sympathetic sickness, you were actually sick.”

hoseok nodded, ashamed of being caught. jungkook had probably known from when hoseok fell asleep on him during the movie.

jungkook sat up, arms leaving hoseok. hoseok watched him run a hand through his messy hair, then sigh. “i know you think you have to be strong for the rest, no matter what. but we don’t want you hurting yourself for us.”

hoseok’s heart stuttered in his chest, the instinct to flee overwhelming him. he never did well with confronting his own feelings.

“we love you, hobi hyung. we wanna take care of you,” jungkook whispered, staring at hoseok with such worry and affection that it made hoseok ache. “you’re not less important than the rest of us.”

hoseok looked down, cheeks flushing. it was so hard to give in, to admit that he needed help, especially when one of them was already hurting.

jungkook gently cupped hoseok’s cheek, forcing the older to look at him again. “we love you. i love you, more than i can express, and i know the others feel the same.”

hoseok’s heart bursts at the seams. he has no other choice but to cave in, especially with the way jungkook was looking at him. “thank you, jungkook ah.” he pauses, then quietly, “i love you too.”

jungkook gives him a fond smile. it was a known fact that hoseok got squeamish around “i love you’s”. jungkook was happy his hyung was letting him in. now that it didn’t matter that jungkook was sick, he leaned in and kissed hoseok’s nose. “let’s snuggle, hyung. i don’t know about you, but i still feel pretty achy.”

hoseok hummed in agreement, his body unbelievably sore. cuddles sounded very nice. he laid back down and let jungkook readjust the blankets around him before snuggling up against his hyung. jungkook’s arm wrapped around hoseok’s waist and his hand settled on hoseok’s stomach.

hoseok hesitated, then asked, “can you rub my tummy, please?”

he felt jungkook’s hand move under his shirt and press into his belly, rubbing soothing circles into his stomach. the motion helped settle the queasiness, though it still felt sore.

he dozed for a bit, as comfortable as he could be while sick. he didn’t know how much time passed until he felt the bed shift, jungkook moving from behind him. he stirred and whined at the loss of contact, rolling over to search for jungkook. there was more movement and when hoseok finally gave in and opened his eyes, he found himself face to face with taehyung and his boxy grin.

before he could protest, taehyung was covering his face in kisses. hoseok couldn’t help but giggle, unable to resist the affection of taehyung. no one escaped taehyung’s affection.

“my precious hobi hyung. my sunshine.” taehyung peppered more kisses on him. “you deserve to be cared for, no matter what, okay?”

hoseok blushed, but his heart didn’t feel as heavy as when he talked to jungkook earlier. “okay, tae tae.”

taehyung grinned, satisfied with hoseok’s answer. “now, i think hyungie is in need of some healing cuddles, correct?” he teased.

hoseok scooted close to taehyung, taking up the silent offer of cuddles. he rests himself against taehyung’s chest, listening to the younger’s heartbeat. taehyung’s hand landed in his hair, playing with the greasy strands. it felt good, especially with his headache.

they laid in silence, with it only stopping when taehyung eventually decided to put on some music. taehyung continued to play with hoseok’s hair, not seeming to mind how dirty it was.

eventually, taehyung spoke up again. “you know seokjinnie hyung will want to talk to you later.”

hoseok hummed in acknowledgement.

“he’s really worried about you, hyung. he cares for you a lot so to hear about how sick you got, it broke his heart.”

hoseok felt the same sickly feeling of guilt creep up, but he pushed it down.

“what i’m saying is be prepared for him to be a bit overbearing.”

hoseok expected that much from seokjin. the eldest was endearingly playful and youthful, but cared fiercely for the members and always made sure to take care of them. he could imagine the stress seokjin felt when he heard that hoseok had the stomach bug, the real cause of his sympathetic sickness.

hoseok sighed. “i’ll talk to him later, when i don’t feel so bad,” he promised.

he tried to ignore the small feeling of dread at the thought.

hoseok ended up back in the bathroom in the afternoon, the churning of his stomach having gotten too much. he hadn’t puked but the nausea was tilting on the edge of too much.

he was kneeling in front of the toilet, both hands clutching his stomach. he could feel it gurgling unhappily; he had only had water and medicine in the past twelve hours yet even that was too much for his weak stomach to handle.

the bathroom door opened and seokjin walked in, carrying a wet washcloth and a water bottle. hoseok smiled nervously at seokjin, only to wince from his stomach cramping. seokjin stayed silent, instead handing him the water bottle. it had been heated up, so hoseok pressed it against his stomach, curling over it and groaning.

seokjin sat down next to hoseok silently and pressed the wet washcloth against hoseok’s forehead. it felt nice and hoseok’s eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the cool sensation against his burning skin.

a queasy burp forced itself up his throat and he moaned, leaning forward towards the toilet. he could feel his mouth watering in anticipation.

seokjin removed the washcloth and replaced it with his own hand holding back hoseok’s bangs. within a few minutes, hoseok was gagging over the toilet bowl, stomach trying to bring up what little was in it.

hoseok gripped the toilet bowl with his hands, momentarily abandoning the water bottle. he could only bring up a little bit of bile. he ended up dry heaving for quite a while, the force causing him to tear up.

after a couple of thick swallows, hoseok finally leaned back and grabbed the water bottle again, placing it back on his stomach. tears were staining his cheeks and he sniffled, once again worn out by vomiting.

seokjin silently cleaned up hoseok’s face with the washcloth. then, carefully, seokjin wrapped his arms around hoseok and pulled him close, holding onto him tightly.

hoseok was shaking in seokjin’s arms. the silence was killing him. “h-hyung?”

seokjin hushed him, rubbing his back. “hobi ah, you dumbass, i love you so fucking much. have i not made that clear enough?”

the dread from earlier instantly washed away with that statement. of course seokjin wasn’t mad. why would he be? hoseok knew his hyung loved him. hoseok gave a wet laugh, heart warming. “i love you too, hyung. i’m just a little dumb sometimes. i didn’t want to bother you guys.”

“damn right you’re dumb.” seokjin leaned back so he could kiss hoseok’s forehead. “promise me next time you start feeling sick, you come to me, okay? no matter what may be going on.”

hoseok nodded. “i promise hyung.”

and just like that, the tension was gone. seokjin pressed another kiss to hoseok’s nose, then smiled. “thank you, baby. let’s get you back to bed. you need lots of rest and lots of cuddles.”

hoseok pouted at seokjin, not wanting to get up. he was quite comfortable in seokjin’s arms.

seokjin laughed, seeing hoseok pout. “shall i carry my prince back to bed?”

hoseok blushed, but before he had the chance to respond, seokjin was lifting him and cradling him against his chest. hoseok watched as seokjin proudly carried hoseok out of the bathroom and down the hall, back to jungkook’s room.

once in jungkook’s room, seokjin lowered hoseok onto the bed before climbing in as well. hoseok eagerly moved so that he was resting on top of seokjin’s chest, his ear pressed over his hyung’s heart. seokjin’s hand landed in his hair, moving to scratch gently at the scalp. hoseok hummed in appreciation.

seokjin started mumbling about different things, such as where jungkook’s surprisingly eventful trip to the doctors and yoongi’s recent attempts at teaching namjoon to cook. hoseok hummed occasionally, showing he was still awake, but he was more than happy to simply listen to his hyung ramble on. he felt so warm and loved.

he knew it wouldn’t be easy for him to change his mindset of putting the members before himself. he wasn’t good with his feelings a lot of the time. he was determined to work on it, however, driven by his love for them.

he had been thinking of love as a sacrifice for so long. love wasn’t giving oneself up for someone else. love was giving and taking, never letting one person collapsing under the weight of their own love and sacrifice.

“hey hyung?” hoseok finally spoke up.

seokjin hummed, gently tugging on hoseok’s hair.

“i love you, jinnie hyung. thank you for taking care of me.”

seokjin grabbed one of hoseok’s hands and brought it up to his lips, giving it a kiss. “anytime, hobi ah. i love you too.”

this is what love feels like, hoseok thought to himself, cozy on seokjin’s chest.

love was yoongi coming in later with medicine and a heating pad, kissing hoseok’s cheeks and joining in on cuddling because yoongi never passed up on cuddles. it was jimin massaging his sore muscles, making hoseok turn into putty from how good it felt.

or when namjoon, shy as ever with his affection, spent a whole day carrying around a recovering hoseok, kissing him whenever namjoon would set him down. it was taehyung helping him take a much needed bath once his fever broke, and joined with jungkook who happily added hoseok’s favorite bath salts.

and love was when hoseok, fully back to health, takes his time going around to each member and telling them that he loves them very much, no matter how much it made his heart squirm.

it totally was worth it, hoseok decided. they would always be worth it.

(when a week later, taehyung started puking during the middle of dance practice, hoseok couldn’t help but laugh. taehyung had it coming; the vocalist just had to kiss hoseok on the lips as soon as possible. hoseok made sure to rub his dongsaeng’s belly to make up for it. taehyung was known to sleep for long periods of time when sick, which could be worrying but usually ended up fine.

what was even funnier was when namjoon went down too, albeit not as dramatic as taehyung. the leader had tried to get away with it and head to work in his studio, but one very unamused look from seokjin sent him right back to bed.

hoseok helped seokjin cook jook for the two sick members, laughing as seokjin complained about namjoon’s stubbornness. all they really needed to do was send one of the maknae’s to cuddle him and namjoon would stay put. unfortunately, jimin and jungkook had vocal practice and wouldn’t be back until later in the evening. yoongi was in charge of taehyung, so he was out too.

in the end, hoseok took it upon himself to keep namjoon resting, considering how he had acted when he was sick. namjoon looked a lot less intimidating when his cheeks were tinted pink and he asked for his ryan plushies for comfort, hoseok mused.

yoongi got the bug right around when namjoon was recovering. thankfully, he was the only one who got sick, much to seokjin’s relief. yoongi was a pretty easy sickie; all he needed was cuddles and a hand to hold while he threw up and he would be fine.

two weeks after yoongi got sick, jimin crawled over to hoseok’s bed in the middle of the night. when hoseok woke him up in the morning, he proceeded to vomit all over hoseok’s comforter. hoseok was only a bit disgusted, more worried about jimin. he ended up having to care for his roommate the entire week; the bug was particularly stubborn with jimin.

everyone was anticipating seokjin getting sick. he did at one point, but after vomiting his dinner and sleeping for 12 hours, seokjin was perfectly fine.

“ya, it takes more than a stomach bug to take me down,” seokjin boasted, resulting in all the members groaning.

“you say that as if you didn’t spend a week recovering from food poisoning last year,” yoongi had retorted.

it wasn’t the easiest time, as they struggled to balance schedules and reworking things when one or two members were out. all of them were relieved when the bug was finally done with them, eager to get back to their normal hectic life.

they’d all fall sick once again at some point, but they all cared and loved each other. they would always be there to care for each other)

#finn writes #sick!hoseok #bts emeto #bts sickfic #tw vomit #spare some feedback lol i wanna know if i should keep doing long ones like this #ot7 #no i wont be expanding on this pls dont do that to me iwjfeiojowhfiojeow

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rizlowwritessortof · 4 years

Text

Black Velvet - Chapter 7

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2104

Warnings: (for the series as a whole) Demon!Dean (he deserves his own warning, dub-con, rough sex, smut, angst

Baby rocks you to sleep in spite of yourself, and you wake, slightly disoriented, as Dean pulls into a parking space in front of a motel door.

“Have a nice nap, sweetness?” His voice kick-starts your pulse, and everything floods back. Adrenaline works faster than coffee, and you straighten in the seat, fully alert.

“Where are we?” you ask - not that it matters. You don’t really have a choice in the travel plans.

“Honestly, I didn’t pay that much attention. I think we’re somewhere in Iowa. Wherever we are, there’s a lot of corn.” He looks over at you, probably estimating the trouble he’ll have getting you to cooperate – but there’s no fight in you for the moment. “Got us a room. Hungry?”

“Kind of lost my appetite.”

You can see his expression – unreadable, stoic - in your peripheral vision. “Suit yourself.” He gets out of the car and walks to your door, opening it and waving an arm in sarcastic invitation. “Let’s go.”

Your body is stiff from the long ride, and every muscle is taut with tension as you climb out. He shuts the door and latches on to your arm, not hard, but enough to know that if you try to run – well, you won’t get away. He unlocks the door to your room, ushering you inside, and closes it behind him. “Isn’t this cozy?” he remarks, dropping his keys on the table and leaning back on it as he tucks his hands in his pockets, silently observing you as you look around.

You finally turn to face him, your arms tucked around your waist. “What do you want from me, Dean?”

He huffs out a sarcastic little snort, cocking an eyebrow as he stares back. “Oh, come on. You could get laid in any bar in any podunk little town anywhere you went. Why did you drag me along with you?”

“Maybe I have specific tastes.”

“Bullshit!” His smart-ass smile starts to fade, the sparkle of humor becoming sharp with irritation.

“Maybe I’ll regret it sooner than later. But the reason doesn’t matter. What matters is, you’re still mine. I wanted you with me. And I get what I want. One way or another.”

You raise your head, staring back at him insolently. “I don’t buy that. Not for one minute.”

He folds his arms and tilts his head, his eyes narrowing a bit. “Okay, Dr. Phil – enlighten me.”

You fold your arms as well, defiant, refusing to back down. “You couldn’t leave me, because you love me. The part of you that’s still really my Dean loves me.” He laughs softly, shaking his head, but you continue. “I saw it in your eyes. There was a second, when we were… There was a moment that you looked at me, and it was the real you. Deny it if you want, but I saw it. And that was before you had a single injection. So don’t tell me that you can’t be saved. And don’t tell me that my Dean is gone. I know both are lies.”

“You wanna talk about denial? I loved your holier-than-thou sweet little ass riding my cock, damn straight I did. Only thing that disappointed me was that Sammy didn’t walk in on you going to town on his big bad demon brother.”

The sting of his words destroyed any restraint you still had, your temper flaring full force. “You’re a fucking asshole! If you think I’m staying with you, you’re crazy. If you think you’re touching me again, you’re crazy!” You were shouting, fists clenched, too furious to be afraid of the darkening expression on his face.

“You are pushing your luck, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well, get used to it,” you snap, and turn to head for the bathroom, where you intend to lock yourself in. You don’t make it two steps before he’s grabbing your arm, spinning you around and throwing you against the wall, pinning you with his body, his hands gripping your wrists as you try to fight back. Your eyes spark with reckless anger, teeth clenched as you continue to mock him. “What’s the matter, Dean? I thought big bad demons liked fight in their women.”

A slow, predatory smile slides across his face as he slips one hand under the edge of your shirt and along your waist. “Trust me, sweetheart, I can handle anything you can dish out. And the fucking hell of it for you is – you want it. You can be pissed all you want. But you want me. And if there’s gotta be a little extra foreplay before the main event, I’m fine with that.”

“You are one cocky son of a bitch,” you grit out, your jaw aching from the pressure you’re putting on it. He laughs – actually laughs – and then thrusts against you, and you catch your breath at the hard length of him very evident against your lower belly.

“That I am, sweetness. That I am.” He grins, looking down at you, and then pushes off the wall, leaving you fighting the desire to slide down to the floor, trembling in spite of your rebellion. “Why don’t you go take a nice, hot bath - you’ll feel better.”

“Sorry, I’m a little short on wardrobe changes. Kidnapping is so inconvenient sometimes,” you fire back, but he just smiles.

“Let me worry about that. When you’re finished, you’ll have everything you need.” You stare at him, not trusting him an inch, but what choice did you have? You straighten up, walking into the bathroom with your head held high, refusing to cower before him. “Oh, and don’t worry – the room will be protected while I’m gone. Unfortunately, that means you won’t be able to get out, either. Enjoy your bath.”

You slam the door behind you, cranking the lock, even though you know it will never hold him back if he wants in. There is no response, only silence, and you lean back on the counter, your face in your hands. You grab some towels and the tiny bottles and soaps from the counter top, starting the water running in the tub. You make it as hot as you can stand it, climbing in slowly after shedding your clothes, then settling in and leaning back, your eyes closed. The hell of it is – he’s right. You do want him. When he had you against that wall, what you really wanted was for him to kiss you, hard, and take you right there and then. “What the hell is wrong with me?” you whisper, and sink farther down into the water.

——————–

You stay there as long as you can, nervous about what will be waiting for you on the other side of that door. But you can only hide for so long. And besides, you’ve always been more of a face-it-head-on kind of girl.

You wrap a towel around yourself, holding it tight as you open the door. He’s not in the room, but there’s a mound of shopping bags on the bed, and you approach them cautiously, not sure what to expect.

There’s an entire bag of toiletries – including your favorite perfume. Clothes – jeans, tops, sleep shirts, even a gorgeous black dress. Shoes. A huge bag of lingerie. Nice lingerie, the kind you’d never be able to afford. You stare down at this bounty, almost wishing you had the strength to refuse it. But it was either accept his gift, or wear a towel.

And then you feel his presence behind you, his hands gliding up over your shoulders, squeezing gently as his lips touch your neck. “You like?” You remember to inhale – why are you always so breathless around him? - unable to form a response. “I can get you anything you want, sweetness. We can go wherever you want, do whatever you want. Just say the word.”

It’s hard to form a thought, to focus on anything but his lips against your skin, his hands kneading your shoulders. “Anything I want?” He nods, his breath hot on your skin as he nuzzles against your neck, his lips nibbling just beneath your ear. “How about my freedom?” Your words are more wistful than contentious, and you feel him smile.

He turns you towards him, his face darkly beautiful, dangerous, and you know you don’t have the strength to resist him. “I don’t think you really want that, do you?” He bends slowly towards you, and when his lips touch yours, you melt into him. “I didn’t think so,” he murmurs against your lips, and then he takes possession, sending any coherent thought you had into the farthest corners of your mind. You are focused intently on him, every point of contact between you sending pulses of pleasure to your core, and you barely notice when your towel drops to the floor between you.

With a tiny motion of his fingers, his gifts to you slide from the bed to the floor. He never stops kissing you as he sweeps an arm behind your knees, lifting you into his arms. Another little gesture from his hand turns the covers down, and he lays you gently on the bed. He stands for just a moment, long enough to reach behind him and yank his shirts off over his head, staring down at you intently as he quickly strips down. And then he’s lowering himself over you, his mouth hot and wet as he tugs a sensitive nipple between his teeth before sucking hard, one hand kneading at its twin, pinching until you whimper softly. His other hand moves between your thighs, and he moans against your breast as he glides his fingers through your slick.

He slips two fingers inside you, and you suck in a long, slow breath, your body arching up off the bed. You start to reach for him, your fingers craving to tangle in his hair, to hold him closer, but he lets out a low chuckle, and you realize you can’t move your arms. “No touching. Just be a good girl and take what I give you.” He bites down on your nipple, enough pressure to make you squirm beneath him, and then begins to flick his tongue over the tender nub as he curls his fingers inside you, pumping and stroking within you, brushing repeatedly over that spot inside you that he’s always been able to zero in on, sending sparks through every nerve. His thumb rubs roughly over your clit and you cry out, clenching around his fingers and coming hard, your head spinning, your hands clawing at the sheets.

When you can focus again, he is suckling gently at your over-sensitive breast, slowly removing his fingers from you. He begins to rub softly at your clit, slowly moving his way down your body, stopping to nibble and nip briefly here and there. He reaches the inside of your thigh at long last, and you gasp as he bites down, then sucks hard, marking you. He hums as he cleans the taste of you from his fingers, then puts his face close, breathing deep before running the flat of his tongue over you, his deep groan sending vibrations through you and making you tremble.

“Please,” you whimper as he explores you thoroughly with his tongue, and he laughs softly as you writhe against him.

“I think you’ve got at least one more in you, sweetness. Before I fuck you until you can’t walk straight.” You buck up into him as he sucks hard on your clit, and when you think you can’t stand any more, he nips at it. You scream his name, your voice breaking as you almost sob with the violence of the orgasm that slams through you. You want to crush your thighs around him and hold him there forever, you want to push him away, you want it to stop, you never want it to end.

Your breath is coming in soft little rasping sobs as he eases you down, and he rises to his knees, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth and chin. He stares down at you, almost absent-mindedly stroking his hand over his cock, his tongue playing over his lips as he hums in satisfaction at your flavor. He bends to kiss your lips and then your neck, mumbling against your skin, his voice dark chocolate, sinful and smooth. “You taste like cinnamon, my spicy girl…” He nibbles at your neck, your shoulder, letting your heart rate slow and your breathing calm before he moves to speak softly next to your ear. “And now it’s my turn.”

Chapter 8

#black velvet reblog #chapter 7 #demon!dean fic #demon!dean x reader #dean x reader

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billhaderlovebot · 5 years

Text

beep beep (3) - richie tozier.

(how fucking babey is this man?? i??? hhhh???)

@ceruleanrainblues @the-star-above-you @a-second-hand-sorrow

ok! so! some like, violence type stuff? some fluff, some angst, richie being babey, bad language, sex references. here we go lesbians.

---

it had taken richie everything in him not to break when he had returned from the arcade. not to just unravel in front of you and let himself go.

but he didn't. he couldn't.

and he couldn't, now, either.

when pennywise, with gnarled, elongated hands and fingers that almost looked barbed, lifted you from the ground.

ripped you from richie's arms and held you struggling in the air.

"always the hardest to scare." It said, and you groaned in discomfort as It's hot breath fanned the back of your neck, its clawed, twisted hand tightening around your waist. "always the fighter."

"you get the fuck off of her, right the fuck now." richie gritted his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists. yeah, he was probably going to throw up.

richie loved you.

obviously.

he had loved you every single day of his life since he was fourteen fucking years old. every single day.

he knew, now, staring at you, your body curled around his protectively even though you were so much smaller, that his wretched heart would continue to love you for every moment of the rest of his life (plus two or three weeks, for good measure.)

often, when you were kids and you'd nap together in his bed because his parents were out (they were always out) and you needed to be near each other, he would fall asleep after you, just so he could lay awake and watch you breathe. watch you exist so serenely and look so fucking soft in his arms that he could have cried. you looked frightfully vulnerable when you were asleep, though, which always bothered him.

now, years later, you were no different. breaths coming slow and warm and ghosting across the crook of his neck where you had buried your face. so small. so vulnerable.

richie subconsciously held you a little tighter.

he would do anything for you, good lord.

even if it killed him.

you'd been asleep for about a half hour, but richie couldn't drift off.

richie hadn't told you about his artefact because the guilt that came with it sat on his chest like a fucking dumbbell. guilt, because he hadn't told you something very, very important.

you were not his first love.

but eddie kaspbrak was.

and he was guilty. guilty because he had moved on and because he had hidden such a huge part of his life from you. you, who wasn't his first love, but would undoubtedly be his last.

you, who was the love of his life.

eddie had been the first person he'd ever felt any sort of love for. when they were young, before you, and eddie would obsessively straighten the collars of his hawaiian shirts and clean his glasses for him and put band-aids on cuts and scrapes and used curse words that rivalled his own. eddie was the only one to care about him when his parents didn't. richie loved him so, so much and it had awakened a part of him he'd been ashamed of ever since.

it had been a sort of relief when he had met you, really, because he could pass himself off to the world as a normal guy with a normal girlfriend and a normal life. normal.

and oh, how he would do anything for you.

the girl who swore like a fucking sailor and held him tight and got so stoned she couldn't walk while listening to the cure on her portable radio. you'd been his distraction, to begin with, but he found himself falling fast and hard for you.

it scared him, how much he loved you. he'd never fallen so hard. he'd never given so much of himself to another person, bearing his soul to you because you were the only person he wanted to see it.

he'd come to you for solace and comfort, and had ended up loving you so much that nothing else mattered to him. and the day he'd kissed you in the clubhouse was perhaps the best decision of his life. the towering tsunami that was his love for you, crashing over him in almost overwhelming waves, kept him going for two fucking decades.

there was a smaller wave, though, too. smaller, but potent, lapping at his ankles and reminding him that he was not, by any stretch of the imagination, as normal as he wanted to be. as normal as he willed himself to be. because... he loved you, but once upon a time, he had loved eddie kaspbrak. so much.

he had carved your initials onto the kissing bridge the same day he had kissed you for the first time, bigger, and far away from eddie's, as if it would erase what had used to be.

it couldn't erase it, of course. erase what was, and always would be, a part of him.

richie tozier was...

he was different.

and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why it had happened to him. he had always been told it was wrong.

wrong, wrong, wrong. run, you fucking fairy.

and he had run. so fucking far. even now, when his job was to be controversial, he couldn't fucking say it. he could think of nothing more controversial than being b...

than liking both.

i mean, he could, but after years of being told how fucking weird and perverted and wrong it was by people who didn't even know him, he expected a certain reaction. richie glanced over to his jacket hanging on the back of the door, where the arcade token sat in the pocket. well, fuck.

you stirred a few minutes later, looking up at him with sleepy eyes and a tired smile, and, in that moment, everything was okay.

he kissed you, then. softly. ever so softly and almost like he was afraid you would break.

"what was that for?" you asked after he pulled away, heat rushing to your cheeks.

"i just... love you. that's all." his voice was quiet. "im so fucking in love with you."

you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until tears welled in his eyes, his lips shaking as he held something back.

"richie? what's-"

"marry me." richie whispered, wiping his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours.

"huh?"

"let's get married, baby."

"yeah. yeah, okay."

----

you had gone absolutely fucking mental when richie had been caught in the deadlights, his eyes clouding and his face devoid of any emotion. beverly had had to hold you back to stop you from going right after him, screaming for him at the top of your lungs because he was floating.

he was floating away and you were going to lose him to the jaws of hell.

"RICHIE!"

"stop!" bev had pleaded. "stop it, you can't do anything! he's too far up!"

you hated her for that. for just a split second, you hated her. and you were kicking and screaming and crying, hot tears sliding down your face faster than you were sure you could make them.

and before you knew what was up:

"BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKER!"

eddie had yelled, launching the monster-killer right down Its fucking throat. and then richie was on the ground, disoriented and spluttering, and, bev, with a sigh of relief, let go of you. out of the corner of your eye, you saw It, struggling and vomiting what might have been actual lava but also looked strangely like blood. your mind cast back to richie and then you were by his side, shaking him awake.

"richie! fuck!" you were aware of just how loud you were sobbing, grabbing him and holding his head to your chest. "you fucking idiot, oh, fuck, i love you." and he was wrapping his shaking arms around you, panicking and probably crying because he had been caught in the deadlights and what the fuck.

"rich!" eddie was ecstatic, kneeling beside the two of you. "i did it, richie. i think i killed it, guys!"

"EDDIE, LOOK OUT!"

you didn't know what was going on, really, until a colossal, razor sharp claw dug itself into the rock where eddie had just fucking been.

and you were sure you'd never been more thankful for ben hanscom and his intuition.

"holy shit, eds." you just about shrieked.

"it's not dead!" richie was suddenly alert, dragging the three of you to your feet as pennywise crawled up from the ground, the spikes it had fallen on making a wet crunching sound as It tore itself off of them.

everything was happening so fucking fast, and you must have zoned out or something, because all of a sudden you were in the fucking air, torn away from a screaming richie. the sharp, jutting bones of it's long fingers dug into your torso as you were lifted, flailing.

"always the hardest to scare. always the fighter." pennywise all but giggled.

"you get the fuck off of her, right the fuck now." you knew what it sounded like when richie was trying to keep his cool, and right now, he was not doing a very good job.

"are you scared now?" It asked you, grinning from ear to ear. "are you scared, richie's girl?"

"FUCK OFF, YOU BIG DUMB ASSHOLE!" any attempt to kick and struggle was cut short by It's tightening fist, and the sharp ridges of It's fingers cutting into you.

oh, and, yeah, ouch, that was a cracked rib. fuck.

"you are." It growled. "i can smell you."

the losers on the ground stared up in frantic horror, flocking around richie and eddie.

"maybe i should take him, instead. your richie."

"YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!"

"i told you i'd get you, richie's girl."

it flicked a long, black tongue over its razor teeth.

"AND I TOLD YOU THAT IM NOT FUCKING AFRAID OF YOU, YOU STUPID CLOWN."

it's face dropped.

its eyes rolled back into its head.

it fucking smiled.

and then, as if you were a ragdoll it was tired of playing with, it tossed you aside.

richie heard it. the fucking sound. the crunch as your body collided with the jagged rocks at the other end of the sewer. he retched and heaved and his legs didn't seem to be working anymore.

he saw your body crumple, and the scream that erupted from his throat wasn't quite human.

---

"you need to wake up." richie held your hand in his own, the wires protruding from your wrist making him feel sick. "you gotta wake up, baby." the steady beep of your heart monitor was the only thing stopping him from going completely fucking insane. "cmon, we're getting married, so... so you gotta come back to me." richie ignored the bile rising in his throat at the sight of you with tubes and wires spilling from every part of you that wasn't cast in bandages. you looked so fucking broken. "we've already lost so much time... and we need to catch up." richie couldn't find it in himself to crack a joke. this was the first time he'd been really, truly happy since he was seventeen, and now it was all hanging in the balance.

richie had heard from bill the morbid account of your injuries. the doctor wasn't able to tell richie, directly, as he was going on a fucking rampage outside, throwing trash cans and yelling and such.

you'd almost died in the operating theatre twice, he had also heard from bill.

"sh-she had uh, bad in-internal b-b-bl-bleeding. they almost c-couldn't stop it."

but they had stopped it. and now you were here. you were alive. but you'd been out for a good three days, and every hour that passed, richie was less and less sure you'd wake up again.

beverly had had to coax richie into a bathroom to clean himself up, bringing him a clean outfit, because he flat out refused to go back to the inn and shower and change. he wouldn't leave you here. she allowed him to cry on her shoulder, and she knew that he only cried in front of you, which threw her, but she held him and let him cry until he couldn't anymore.

"mr tozier?" the nurse who came in regularly to change your feeding tube and medicine and such was stood by the door, clipboard in hand.

"yeah?" he croaked, not making a move to stand up.

"there's someone here to see you."

richie was sure it could have been the queen of fucking england, or freddie mercury risen from the grave, and he would have told them to fuck off.

"will you, uh, send them in?" richie requested. he hadn't left you for more than ten minutes the whole time you'd been admitted. "i don't wanna-"

"of course, mr tozier." said the nurse, nodding sympathetically and backing out of the room. the door clicked shut behind her.

moments later, richie heard a voice.

"sorry, but, who exactly are you?" said the voice. richie looked up from your hand, which he was still holding, by the way.

a smallish, mousy brown-haired man stood at the door, his hair slicked back with far too much wax that didn't do anything for his terribly receding hairline. "and why are you holding my wife's hand?"

ah. the husband. fuck.

"oh, yeah. right." richie didn't let go of you. "you must be, uhh... umm..."

"timothy. timothy milo." the man said with an air of superiority. richie would lay this guy the fuck out.

"oh, yeah, of course." he nodded, squeezing your fingers gently.

"forgive me," said timothy, pulling up a chair. "forgive me, but, my wife has been missing for almost a week, now, and i get a call saying she's here, in... in derry? is it? battered, and... and comatose."

richie had only known the guy for all of thirty seconds, but he'd knock out those perfect, sickeningly white teeth in a heartbeat. "yeah, there was... an accident-"

"and richie tozier, big-shot comedian from malibu, is holding her hand and looking like... his whole world has been torn down."

timothy was becoming increasingly irate, and richie found it more than a little bit funny. he raised his hands in defense.

"look, man-"

"i ask you again, tozier, who exactly are you? to her, i mean."

and richie had... no idea what to say. for once in his life. no sarcasm, no witty comebacks. nothing.

"well... i fucking love her, man." was all he could think.

and then, with a crunch, timothy milo's manicured fist collided with the side of richie's face.

---

you didn't remember much.

the only thing you could fathom was a faint beeping sound, and a warm, calloused hand on top of yours. you cracked one eye open (with great difficulty) and sighed in relief. it was him.

your richie. disheveled and distraught, but your richie, all the same.

"r-r-r-" your throat was so fucking dry. it hurt to speak. "rich..." was all you managed, your fingers twitching under his hand.

"holy fuck." the smile that lit up his face was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. he had a rather large bruise on his left cheekbone, and his eyes were red and puffy, but he grinned so big and so bright that you could have burst into tears. "you're awake."

"and y-you're... beautiful." you croaked.

"woah, how hard did you hit your head?" he joked, sniffling, a tear slipping down his cheek. he kissed your hand, mindful of the tubes.

"that... that looks like... a punch, richie." you noted, eyeing the purple bruise that started on his cheekbone and ended below his eye.

"you should see the other guy." richie sniffed, a sad smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. it hurt you.

"wh-who?"

"timothy fucking milo." richie scoffed, rolling his eyes in a manner that reminded you of stanley.

"he was... he was here?" your head fucking hurt.

"yeah. gone now. after i told him what was what. fucking asshole."

"wh-"

"another time, babe. you're not up for it."

and you knew he was right. you'd only properly processed about half of the words he'd said.

"i've been outta my fucking mind waiting for you to wake up, yknow. don't do that again." richie said, dragging his hands down his face and rolling his shoulders. his back hurt from sleeping here for just under four days, leaning over the cot and holding your hand.

"it wasn't... my fucking fault... you asshole... it was... oh my god. It."

"we won't dig that up now, huh?" richie interjected. "you rest up a little, i'll chat to you about boring shit, you'll perhaps give me a sympathy hand-job, and when you're a little less drugged up, we can talk about the heavy stuff."

"okay." your attempt at a nod was feeble as fuck. "and... sympathy hand-job?"

"yeah. for making me fight your husband and cry for three days. in no particular order." richie explained, as if it were obvious.

"do you want me to... pull your dick off with my medicine tubes?"

his eyes widened.

"no, ma'am."

"then... shut up." you whined, breathless. your chest burned and your side hurt and you didn't even want to talk about your legs.

"i need more drugs, trash-mouth." you groaned, and he leaned over you to press the red button to alert the nurses.

"believe it or not, you've said that to me before." richie snorted. "no chance of a hand-job, then?"

"beep beep, richie."

#it richie #adult richie #richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #it chapter 2 #it 2019 #losers club x reader

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blissfulalchemist · 4 years

Note

For the prompts: 67. “You’re bleeding all over my carpet.” Any characters :)

Okay there have been some requests, mostly me, that I write more Lance because he sometimes falls to the wayside. So thank you! Please enjoy.

Getting a free living situation should be an ideal, more so when one has a day off, not for Lance. Lance hated the valley. There was a reason he chose to never settle here when he finally picked Hope County as his residence. The Whitetails were better, more remote, safer….or they were. They hadn’t been in three years and Lance had been stuck down in the valley for the last year and a half, part of John’s personal guard. Now he was Catlina’s, sorry Mary’s personal guard, a reprieve from having to be around John all the time, and she let Lance have his days off unlike some of his fellow members.

Slamming the door to the fridge Lance used the magnetized bottle opener, the small hiss music to his ears, moving to sit on the couch to put his feet up. Another benefit to being Cat’s personal charge was that she was able to get the good beer and never charged him. He was just getting himself settled ready to put on The Terminator when a sharp knock came to his front door. It came again, before Lance even had the time to think if it was his imagination or not. Another knock, “Lance! Lance, I need your help!” It was Cat’s voice on the other side of the door, she was supposed to be at the center still, taking inventory if he remembered correctly. The knock came again as he made his way to the door.

“Hold on, I’m comin’,” he called out to her, setting the bottle on the table near the door. The image he had of how she would look on the front porch was not what he got when he finally laid eyes on her. Her white and blue clothes covered in dirt and blood, hair a mess, a bruise forming just along her cheekbone, bent over with the weight of Deputy Brooks. He looked just as haggard but the blood was fresher on his clothes, he was the one that was hurt, eyes closed and limp body it was possible she brought him a dead body. “Jesus, what happened?”

She took a few steps forward, “I don’t know. He came at me first. Rambling and going off about Angels and gunfire and god knows what else.” Cat fell to the floor a few feet into the house, Wes crushing her.

“Are you sure he’s alive?” Lance helped lift him enough to get Catlina free.

She huffed, hands on her hips, “Yeah. He is. Just a little bloody.” Lance looked at her with a raised eyebrow, “Oh yeah he’s passed out cause I sort of drugged him.”

“Sort of drugged him?” Lance shook his head, “What did you drug him with?”

She shrugged, starting to drag Wes to the couch, “A sedative,” she looked at Lance, a smile on her face, “Don’t worry I know what I was doing.”

Lance bent down lifting the local problem child, “Your old job?”

She nodded, “Yeah. I hated when it had to be used, some used it for nearly every little thing,” she frowned at the memories, “but when you’re five foot nothin’ and have already got a few punches from your six three friend, you have to pick your battles.”

It made sense to Lance, though he hoped that the bruise on her cheek didn’t mean a black eye for her. She’d have a hell of a time writing that off to everyone. Lance placed him on the couch and left to grab the first aid kit, “So why bring him all the way here? Why not keep him at the center?”

She was already working on removing clothes looking for the source, “Cause I wasn’t sure what kind of wound it was and you have more experience taking care of that stuff. I only know the basics.”

Lance looked him over also trying to identify where the blood was coming from, spotting it easily, “Go get some warm water and a towel,” he instructed. She nodded making quick work, “Why not call his friend? Heard he was down this way today.”

Lance shook his head chuckling watching the red run up Catlina’s neck, “I didn’t know that.”

“Yes you did,” he laughed as she started to lightly wipe the blood away, “I know you always try to ditch the night services on Saturdays. So why not call on him for help.”

She shrugged, “Didn’t want to bother him.”

“More like you didn’t want to embarrass yourself or have him get the wrong idea on who you like,” she shot Lance a glare as he prepped to stitch the cut. “It looks like a slash and didn’t hit anything major, just needs some stitches,” they heard him groan as she got closer to the wound, “You got pretty lucky kid.”

Cat sighed, “I also couldn’t stay long enough to make sure he’d wake up again. I need to leave him here.”

Lance looked up, brows knitted together, “Leave him here?”

“Well yeah. He can’t be left alone.”

“Which is why you call Rafael and have him come get him,” Lance chastised.

“And what if I accidentally killed him? I may remember how much to give to people of similar build as Wes but I’m no doctor,” she crossed her arms looking down to the floor, “What if he was allergic or I gave him too much cause his body is more sensitive to it?” She let out a breath shaking her head, “Killing your crush’s best friend doesn’t really leave a good impression.”

Lance growled going back to getting the stitches ready, “What if he dies here?” She looked at Lance with her big brown eyes, pleading, he didn’t need her to say anything, “If he does die here then I’ll make it look like an attack gone bad. He ran off and hid, bleeding out somewhere along the way.” Lance saw her eyes misting as she gave him a hug, “You know you’d have to deal with two sad men at that point right?”

“Well then we just hope that he doesn’t die then,” she poked his chest, “Hear that Wesley you gotta not die.” Lance rolled his eyes, “What? He doesn’t like his full name. I would stay around long enough to tell the person that.”

Lance glanced at the clock, “Here help keep the edges close before you have to go.” She nodded her hands gentle along Wes’ abdomen as Lance worked as quickly as he could sewing the skin together. She grabbed an old shirt of Lance’s pulling it over him taking the other one with her, “You gonna wash it?”

She nodded, “And try to sew it together again. No local Targets to replace it, he’s only got so many clothes.”

Once the deputy was left in an okay state Cat gathered herself, “You going to be okay once you’re at the Ranch?” Lance pointed to his cheek, “You know with the whole bruise and state of your clothes.”

She glanced down, “Oh,” she smoothed her hair out, “I’m sure I’ll come up with some story, maybe use a version of Wes’.” Her eyes looked her friend over before meeting Lance’s hazel eyes, “Thank you, Lance. For everything.”

He gave her a smile pulling her into a hug, “Well someone’s gotta take care of ya,” he kissed the top of her head nodding to the door, “Now get going before people start wondering where you’re at.” He waved to her once she was in her car, watching until she was on the main road, shutting the door. He looked at the sleeping twenty something on his couch, “She may not want to call but I will.” He checked the young man’s pulse, strong and steady, “At least she’s giving you the gift of a nap,” he mumbled before going to grab his beer and settle himself back into his chair.

Lance had made it to the middle of the second Terminator movie by the time he heard the moans and groans from the couch, Wes rubbing his head looking around, disoriented. He winced in pain as he tried to sit up, “Morning,” Lance said startling Wes. He saw Wes reach for where his gun would have been holstered, “Ah, looks like she took it off of ya.”

“Who?” Wes growled, eyes searching for an exit.

“Cat,” Lance looked to his now empty bottle, frowning, “You know your friend. Must have left it in her car. Probably scared of you having it.”

“Doesn’t like guns,” Wes shook his head, rubbing his forehead, “Where is she?”

Lance got up making his way to the fridge, “The Ranch. Couldn’t stay unfortunately. You want a beer?” Lance held one up noticing Wes’ eyes land on the Chosen trench coat, “You’re in no danger here, Wes,” Lance assured handing the bottle to Wes.

“Sure I ain’t,” his eyes narrowed at the bottle being handed to him.

“Do you trust Cat?” Lance asked seeing the slow and small nod from Wes, “Then you can trust me. She wouldn’t bring you here if you were in any sort of danger.” Lance handed the bottle back out to Wes, watching as he took it gingerly. Lance gave him a smile opening up his own bottle, “So what happened?”

Wes tried to sit up the stitches hurting, “Ain’t important.”

Lance pushed Wes back down on the sofa gently via his head, “Stay down Dep, can’t have you bleedin’ all over my carpet,” Lance saw the red start to seep through the white shirt, “‘Specially now you opened your stitches.” Lance sighed and went to grab what he needed.

“I’ll be fine,” Wes tried to move back on the couch, the pain easy to see on his face.

Lance shook his head, “No you won’t and I gotta take care of you until your friend gets here.”

“You called Raf?” His eyes went wide before he tried to compose his face again.

“Sort of. Got a message to someone that can then tip him off, since she couldn’t do it herself,” he responded rolling his eyes. “Now tell me what it was that got you. Gotta know if you’re at risk for tetanus or some other bacteria.”

“Cat likes him,” Wes mused, pulling up the shirt.

“Yeah, pretty obvious, I doubt he’s oblivious to it too. Now stop tryin’ to change the subject,'' Lance took a cotton pad with alcohol on it pressing it against the stitching already there. He laughed as Wes hissed in pain. “This is why you should tell me. Less pain now rather than later,” Lance sighed as Wes’ eyes avoided his, “I also hear your friend isn’t too kind to stupid. Could you imagine what would happen if you got worse from something that could have been avoided?”

Wes’ jaw clenched, “Shovel, I think,” he answered through gritted teeth.

Lance nodded, “Let me make a quick call,” he patted Wes’ knee as he stood up to make his way to the kitchen. He pulled the phone out dialing Cat’s number, picking up on the first ring, “Hey did you make it back okay?”

“Yeah. I have to visit the doctor soon cause John had to get all play protective,” Lance smiled at the eye roll he could hear. “Why did something bad happen?”

“It’s perfect you’re going to the doc, need you to ask something,” Lance glanced to Wes who was once again trying to get up, meeting his eyes, “Hey! Lay back down,” he grumbled as he went back to his position. “I need you to ask if the amount for a tetanus shot is the same for every person or if there’s a difference.”

She was silent for a moment, “Yeah I can ask that. Is he doing any better? Did you call Raf at all?”

“He’s fine if not being an idiot,” she laughed, “but I don’t know if he’s coming or not. You should call and ask just to make sure.”

He heard her mumble under her breath before taking a breath, “Okay fine I’ll try calling him.”

She hung up after that, Lance letting out an exasperated sigh, “I swear she’s just like how Sage was in high school.” Lance saw Wes take a drink from the beer finally, “It’s the good stuff. Can’t find it at the Spread, she gets it special for me.”

“Sage?”

Lance shook his head, “Cat,” he looked Wes up and down, “You hungry? I got some snacks lying around.”

Wes didn’t respond as Lance searched the cupboards for anything that seemed like a substantial snack. All Catlina ever did was talk about them, so Lance doubted that Wes had eaten anything proper. “Who’s Sage?” Lance turned to look at him, “Can’t think of anyone here with that name.” Lance looked away from him, his shoulders slumping, “She your kid?”

“Yeah. Miss her,” Lance pulled down a new jar of jam and peanut butter, the bread being pulled from the stove top. “Haven’t talked to her in a few years. Not since this whole thing started.” Lance finished making the sandwich, “Do you like the crusts?” Wes hummed in response, “The bread crusts? She never liked them but everyone’s different.” Lance cut it into four triangles, “Though maybe you don’t care so long as it’s food,” he walked the plate over to Wes noticing the instinct to cut the crusts off still intact, “Still gotta wait for Cat’s response so might as well eat.”

Wes took the plate, a tentative bite, “Thanks.” Lance nodded, taking his seat once again in his chair, “You got a dad voice.” Wes paused, finishing the rest of the triangles quickly, “She okay?” Lance looked at him confused, “Cat, I mean.”

He gave a smirk, “She’s fine. Tougher than she looks, few bruises and that’s it.” Wes looked down to his plate sadly, “She’s not mad at you. Adores you, dotes on you even when you’re not there. She knows it wasn’t really you, in fact,” Lance leaned back in the recliner, “feels bad that she stuck a needle in your neck.” Wes rubbed the left side of his neck, “That’s why she didn’t call Raf right away. Scared she gave you too much.” A pager beep came from Lance’s phone:

Only dosage difference happens when the person is at a certain weight and age. It’s also recommended that he be given general antibiotics. There was a list of numbers that were recommended for the antibiotics and one other message, Please also make sure he eats. I’ll be by to pick him up in a few hours.

“Alright you gotta stick around here a few hours,” Wes looked up surprised, as Lance made his way to the small fridge under the sink, “Cat’s comin’ to get you.” He pulled out the vials she made sure he had on hand for cases like this, “Probably got out of whatever it is she had to be at.” Lance got two needles out making his way back to Wes, “We can watch a movie if you want,” Lance took the first one and measured it out lifting the sleeve of Wes’ shirt. He took the small alcohol pad cleaning the area, “Got all kinds of movies,” he stuck the needle right into Wes’ arm, “I was just wanting a Terminator marathon,” Lance got the second one prepped as Wes continued to eat, “I can make you another sandwich if you want.” He stuck the second needle in, finally noticing that Wes hadn’t moved or even flinch at the pain, “Huh.”

“What?” Wes looked down his shirt, “I drop somethin’?”

Lance shook his head impressed, “No, just used to having to distract when shots are involved. Nice to see not everyone’s scared of needles.” Wes shifted, as Lance put everything away, the look on Wes’ face concerning him. It was one he’d seen on some of his friends leaving service, shame. Lance got another sandwich made for Wes, no need to press yet but keep an eye out just in case.

Lance inhaled deeply, “You know old Nanette used to make this really great jam made with dandelions in it. Wish she’d make it again but havin’ a harder time with her age.” Wes looked up to Lance confused at the abrupt subject change, “You grew up here right? You ever try it?” Lance started up on stories about the jam and the raucous it would cause, before finally letting Wes pick a movie they could watch while waiting for Cat to get him home.

#lance powell oc #deputy hwes #I do need to write more lance #brains and disaster

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

A Hero Among Us-Final Chapter

Previous chapters on AO3 A special thanks to @statell for all your help

Chapter Eighteen

Jamie entered the house dripping from his bath in the lake and grabbed a towel on his way upstairs. He could hear Claire and Mary talking in the sitting room and hoped to catch a ten-minute nap before supper. His back and arms ached from planting fifty acres at Rupert’s vineyard on a very hot day. It was late July, after a brutal stretch of no rain followed by flooding on the valley floor. They had earned their harvest for the year and the berries grew fat and ready to burst.

Jamie worried he would not wake up for supper, but his body moved of its own accord toward the bed. He marveled at the comfort of the firm mattress and cool sheets. He smiled as his mind drifted into oblivion and his dreams came to claim him. As he always did with naps in the afternoon, he dreamed continuously.

“The Sheriff thinks it was a gang passing through, lookin for someone to rob because they ran out of money. They were askin about the productive vineyards at the saloon, like they were lookin for work. Only had a hand full of farmers that had grapes to sell and ours is by far the finest property, so it wasn’t hard to figure out. Sheriff suspects the two men sent earlier in the week intended to rob us right here in the house. The gang got much bolder when we killed their men. It’s alright Sassenach, it’s definitely over, no one will be comin to settle a score.”

In his dream he looked down at the face he loved before blackness and peace settled over his mind.

“Jamie? Jamie! You two fell asleep on the swing and you were both lost to your dreams,” she giggled. Let me take her before my breasts pop.” He heard the baby cry about losing her heat source until Claire sat down on the swing and offered her a comforting nipple. Jamie was slipping in and out of the scene in his dream. He reached out for the baby’s cheek and saw a dark purple grape in his hand. He was offering it to Faith, who was in his arms in the middle of the vineyard. She was a few months older and she made a face at the sour-tasting fruit. Jaime kissed her cheek and laughed at his funny baby girl. “It’s time to go home sweetheart, yer mam will be lookin for ye.”

Jamie turned around and the vineyard morphed into the kitchen with Misses Crook right in front of him. He was feeling weird about what he had to ask her. She looked up from her task and waited for him to spit it out.

“Ah…Misses Crook…what do ye make of my stomach ailment then?”

“Leave it be laddie, ye dinna want to ken what I think.”

“I saw ye count when ye dropped to the ground to help me, before we found Claire. What were ye countin for?”

Misses Crook regarded Jamie with a keen eye and decided he might as well know what she thought.

“Claire was unconscious when ye found her in the shed, so she wasna havin contractions for a time, ye ken? As soon as ye got some water down her throat her pains started again and yer’s stopped. I think by some miracle, you took over for her so she could rest and stall the birth until we found her.”

Misses Crook looked up at Jamie, blushing about her wild theory. “That is what it looked like Mister Fraser and I ken it’s not possible, but I’ll thank ye anyway, for takin on the pain.”

Jamie opened his mouth to insist she was wrong and felt his lover’s tongue in his mouth and a throbbing erection like a club between his legs. He wanted to devour her after waiting so long for her body to heal. He pulled away, breathing deeply and shaking his head. He had to slow down before he hurt her.

“Jamie darling, I cannot wait any longer.” Claire was flushed and panting, pulling his hand to her core and pushing his fingers into her warm, wet body. She arched her back when he moved his fingers inside of her and he watched with rapt attention.

“My Sassenach, I love ye so much, I dinna want to hurt ye.”

Claire climbed on top of him and pulled him to her, easing down on him slowly, letting her body open to him. It took a few minutes until her arousal demanded his immediate attention and Jamie stared at her like she was a goddess.

The dream faded into darkness and peace.

Jamie felt the saddle under him and saw Ben ahead, riding hard. They were searching for the native vineyards that were selling grapevines.

“Two more Jamie and we can head for home!”

They slept under the stars the night before and he was anxious to get home to Claire. He just wanted this trip to be over. Ben looked back at his face and slowed his horse to a trot until Jamie caught up.

“Listen, Jamie, I just don’t have it in me anymore. This much time in the saddle is too hard for an old man. Let’s head home after we visit this vineyard. We’ll be home late tonight. Okay?”

Jamie felt the freezing water around his feet and sucked in a breath. There was soap in his hand, and he bathed quickly, anxious to hold Claire and check on his baby daughter and Fergus.

“Jamie, darling,” he looked around for her and tried to answer but no sound came out.

Pulling a towel around his frozen body he climbed the stairs. “Jamie, darling.”

“Yes?” He could not make any sound come out of his mouth, but he heard Claire calling to him from somewhere and wanted to tell her he was home.

“Jamie?” He felt her arms reach under him as she kissed his neck.

“I’m here Sassenach.”

Jamie forced his eyes to open, feeling disoriented, and reaching for his wife.

“Sassenach.”

He clutched her to him, struggling to wake up from his exhaustion.

“You poor, sweet, exhausted man. I’m so sorry but we have a dinner party this evening so you must get up.”

Claire watched Jamie struggle to wake up, slipping back to sleep and then jerking his head up to look for her. Sleep was winning so she tried to help him.

“You know, when I came in here to wake you, I pulled the covers away so I could look at you. I’m sorry, I could not resist because it is seldom I can stare at you for as long as I want.” Claire looked coyly at her husband. “Maybe I took it too far because I touched your warm skin,” she ran her hand lightly across his stomach. “I want you now, so much I put my face very close to you,” breathing hard, Claire dropped her mouth within an inch of his cock so he could feel her breath on his skin. “But we must dress for dinner so it will have to wait sweetheart.” She kissed him deeply and noticed he was fully awake now. “Can we come back to this later, outside, under the stars?”

Jamie was pulling her close as she was pulling away from him.

“In one minute, Misses Crook will come barreling through that door to dress my hair,” she whispered. Blankets and sheets were flying as Jamie bounded out of bed and pulled his pants and shirt on.

“Yes…ah, yes Sassenach, it’s a date.” Jamie shook his head “What is the occasion for the party again?”

“We have so much to celebrate, it’s hard to list everything. It is the pre-harvest, the birth of your darling daughter, Mary is with child, Ben’s birthday, Mcreaty’s marriage, planting the new, sorry, old vineyard. Shall I go on darling?”

“No, I think I have it now Sassenach.”

Jamie’s nose suddenly pulled him in the direction of the roasting pig and turkeys outside and his stomach gripped him and rumbled. He was feeling almost faint with hunger when he heard his wee daughter cry out from her nap. Hunger forgotten, he ran to the nursery to rescue her from her crib. He lifted her high above his head and gently lowered her to his face for kisses. Faith was so enamored with Jamie she cooed and smiled as she ran through the sounds she could make while giggling at her father’s antics. Claire smiled at the duo as they came back into the bedroom. Her heart melted, as it always did, the way they looked at each other. Jamie laid next to Faith on the bed and responded to Faith’s gibberish like he understood her. Misses Crook laughed at the two of them as she brushed Claire’s hair.

“Milord, must I wear the clothes I hate, to the party tonight?”

Jamie lifted his head to look at Fergus and felt the room was getting rather crowded.

“Yes.”

“But why, milord?”

“Ye like the lass’s, aye?”

“Yes, milord!”

“Lots of lass’s here tonight and they dinna like scruffy clothing on a lad, so ye dress up to impress them.”

“I don’t actually like them that much, so can I…”

“No, wear what Misses Crook tells ye to or spend the evening in your room where no one can see ye.”

“Yes, milord,” was drawn out and plaintive as the boy left to dress.

Jamie went back to nuzzling Faith making her erupt in giggles followed by giggles from the women. Jamie placed Faith in her mother’s arms to fill her empty tummy before disappearing to the outside to check on the men. All of them were sunburned from three days of planting in the sun. They looked healthy and happy waiting for the women to arrive.

Jamie made his way to the barn to feed the horses. He stroked the silver stallion and then the mare and her foal who was occupying her own stall, fully weaned from her mother. Jamie brushed them while they gorged on their meal. Deep in his thoughts, he heard a whiny outside the barn and realized the guests were arriving before he cleaned up. He closed the stall door and dashed for the barn door running smack into a large creature like a solid brick wall. It knocked him down and the view from the ground was both terrifying and thrilling. An eighteen-hand horse, built like a stone barn, and known for an attitude of the equine criminally insane, stood over Jamie as he counted the minutes left in his life.

Jamie stood and smiled at his old friend, offering the treats that remained in his pocket. Donus dropped his head and let Jamie scratch and stroke him. His weight was the same as when he was fed twice a day, so he had not suffered on his own in the wilderness. His eyes followed Jamie’s every move.

“Thank ye for the visit Donus. I have worrit after ye and I see it was for naught.” He smiled and hugged the monster horse noticing he did not flinch or try to bite. That was unexpected. When Jamie turned to walk back to the house Donus followed on his heels, so close he could hear him breathing. Jamie turned around and looked in his eyes.

“What is it you want Donus? How can I help ye?”

Jamie walked backward toward the house and Donus kept his head inches from Jamie as he followed.

“Are ye wantin a rest for the evening then? Alright, it is my pleasure, aye?”

Jamie walked back to the barn and led Donus into the last remaining stall.

“I’m lockin ye in until after the party, then I’ll leave yer door open so ye can leave when yer ready.”

Donus dug into the meal Jamie provided, allowing his true master to return to the house to dress.

Claire greeted guests as they came, offering refreshments and bales of hay to sit on. The Highlanders paced and watched the newly repaired road for the lassies that would set their hearts to ramming all night. Claire was delighted that the more refined guests, like Mary, her parents, and Lester from the bank, seemed to find their comfort outside sitting on hay and enjoying the festive atmosphere. When the ladies started to arrive, Claire had never seen everyone so happy as they filled their plates with a variety of dishes from Cho’s garden, and roasted meats and fish from the men. She noticed Rupert jumping to fetch whatever was needed by sweet Mary or her parents. He was a wonderful husband.

Fergus pulled on Claire’s sleeve, “Faith is awake milady.” Claire held his cheek and kissed the other, thanking him for looking after her. When Faith was brought outside with a full belly she smiled and babbled at everyone, until she saw Jamie. Her feet found Claire’s lap and the baby stood up with straight legs and yelled at her father.

“Da da da da da. Da!” Her little hand was extended toward her Da as he swiftly pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she erupted in giggles. Jamie pulled her sleeves up to her elbows and sat her on his lap before offering her a bone to gnaw on. Faith dove into the bone like a rabid baby making the guests laugh. Claire watched the two, so in tune with each other and so funny. She would never have thought to offer her daughter a meaty bone at this age, but Faith clearly loved it.

Fergus was sitting next to Claire shoving food into his mouth as fast as possible when his head popped up and he listened for a moment. Somehow, over the noise of almost fifty people laughing and talking, he heard a familiar sound. With his plate forgotten he made his way to the barn and peeked in feeling his heart rate shoot up, and a smile spread across his face. He went to the horse and hugged him, telling every single incident that happened since he saw him last. Donus rubbed on the boy looking equally happy.

Jamie leaned against the open door of the barn and watched Fergus’s delight at seeing Donus again. Faith started babbling and holding her hand out to the huge black horse so Jamie walked her closer and watched Donus press his muzzle into her hand, gently, like she might break with too much pressure. Jamie was beaming at Donus, his daughter, and Fergus.

“Until later my friend when I let you out to your life in the trees.”

Fergus pressed his face into Donus’s neck and felt the change in him. “Why don’t you stay and be milord’s horse?” He kissed his nose and ran back to the house.

When the party was over and all the guests had gone home, full and happy, Claire climbed the stairs almost shaking with anticipation. Jamie came in from the porch where he set three low lamps and candles next to the outside bed. He looked at Claire with lusty eyes that made her squirm.

“I told Misses Crook I would not need her help tonight so she could attend to Faith,” her voice quivered, setting Jamie’s arousal on fire. “Now it seems I require assistance,” she tried to smile and breathe but only managed a deep blush.

Jamie guided her to her vanity where he pulled the pins from her hair slowly, pulling his fingers through each section he released. He pulled the brush through her hair and noticed she was staring at him with dark eyes that demanded attention. Jamie reached for her buttons, intent on the slow strip to heighten her need. Pulling her arm toward him, the buttons of her jacket were twisted open as she watched his fingers and squirmed. Jamie’s head shot up and he dropped her arm quite unexpectedly, apologizing that he forgot something before running out of the room.

Jamie ran to the barn and burst in surprising the silver horses who vocalized their discontent. He investigated Donus’s stall where a large black horse was snoring in his bedding, dead to the world. Jamie smiled at seeing him lay down for the first time. He opened his stall door quietly and wished his friend well before running full speed back to Claire.

She sat on her vanity chair, back straight, smiling like her breeding demanded and stood to offer her back when Jamie came rushing into the room. His fingers slipped into the laces, releasing her to breathe deeply. She pressed her back against him and sighed with relief as his hands came around to release her shift.

With his mouth to her ear, he told her a story about a princess that fell from her saddle when the evil men scared her horse. As the story continued, he ran his hands over her body, caressing her breasts and holding her to him. Claire was lost in their story feeling her arousal threaten to break her barriers and devour this man. Jamie walked her, naked, outside to the porch and pressed her into the mattress. When he continued the story, it became decidedly erotic and every sentence was punctuated with his tongue touching her somewhere she loved. Claire’s first release was not for the faint of heart and Jamie smiled at her inhibition and wanton cries for more. She was hungry and demanding, biting his lower lip and jaw, neck and nipples, pulling groans from deep within him. As the night wore on, they lost themselves in a stratosphere reserved for strong bodies that can survive the climb and the euphoric fall back to earth.

“Open yerself lass, let me in.”

Claire opened her legs wide and held herself open knowing it would steal Jamie’s sanity and restraint. He pulled her pelvis up and pounded into her, losing himself to his roaring need, knowing she found her own intense pleasure from his onslaught. When he felt her inner muscles tighten around him, he kissed her deeply and they shared an earth-shattering orgasm…quietly.

Jamie collapsed next to his steaming wife and panted as if to save his life. His hands gripped Claire until he could move and think again, then he pulled her close and buried his face into her hair. The night had been exquisite, and they would remember it until their last day.

“Jesus! Is that light from the sunrise, Jamie? I think I’ve kept you up all night, I’m so sorry.”

“Dinna fash Sassenach. Those lazy grapes will take another week to ripen. We have plenty of time to sleep.”

He growled into his wife’s hair and plotted to lure her back for a second helping, after morning chores which were less than an hour away.

Jamie stumbled out to the equipment barn and stood holding the hydrometer in the air, sound asleep. Fergus came in with a bright smile and abundant energy, bursting to tell Jamie Donus was still in his stall. He approached his master, wondering why he was inspecting the glass hydrometer when he heard a deep snore. Fergus rolled his eyes and pulled the huge man toward the door.

Come, milord, I have fed the horses and Donus did not leave so I fed him too. He looked up, expecting Jamie’s outburst of happiness but there was only silence, followed by another snore. Fergus exhaled loudly, shook his head, and kept pulling.

Jamie was waking up from the walk, but Fergus continued to push him to the white grapes on the valley floor. He pulled grapes as he pushed milord along and stopped to test the first bunch. Jamie fell forward and face planted the dirt while Fergus’s eyes went wide, and his face drained of color.

Fergus yelled for Jamie as he ran for the bell. His legs burned as he approached the cabins and he reached for the bell yanking it with all his strength. When the cabin doors flew open Fergus ran back to Jamie who was still unconscious with exhaustion.

Jamie lifted his head, spitting dirt out of his mouth and struggled to get off the ground. He was so relieved to stagger back to his bed but when he turned back to the house, thirty-five Highlanders were rushing him with their hook tools and bags, followed by thirty Chinese men. Jamie’s mouth fell open as he looked to heaven.

“Why today?”

It seemed like mere minutes before he heard the call for containers as the men ran back with their bags full. Jamie looked around trying to rally when an electric current went up his spine to inform the brain it was time move, NOW! Jamie ran top speed into the vines, bouncing three holding containers behind him. The race to pull the clusters had begun.

Ben’s laugh and barking orders to the men pulled Claire out of her sleep. She stretched languidly with a smile on her face, remembering the intensity of the night before. She was hot with all the blankets and started to kick the quilt off when her eyes slammed open with a gasp. She was on the porch bed with men yelling fifteen feet below her, and she was very naked. She sat up quickly and almost came eye to eye with the men below. Slamming her body back to the sheets she looked around for the best escape back into their bedroom. With no other option, she rolled onto the ground keeping her body against the boards of the porch floor, and kicking the door closed quickly once she was inside.

“Jesus Christ, that was close.”

Hearing Misses Crook with a crying baby at her door she dove for her robe and was flush and panting when they came into her bedroom. Claire reached for Faith as Misses Crook took notice of the late hour and Claire’s frantic demeanor. When the door closed again, Claire sat in the rocking chair and breathed a sigh of relief she wasn’t caught outside in her birthday suit. Faith pulled her hair into her fat fists and smiled up at her mother as she gulped her breakfast. It was the sweet reunion with the child she loved so dearly that brought her heart rate down and pulled her into the morning serenity.

Claire ran her fingers through the soft copper curls and smiled into large blue eyes. This tiny human took her breath away and her eyes burned with tears. Faith let go of her nipple and stared at her mother, concern washing over her face as she reached for Claire’s eyes.

“Happy tears my little darling.” She patted the baby’s back waiting for a burp. Faith was not satisfied and turned her head touching Claire’s cheek. Her mother’s smile was all she needed and pulled Claire’s hair into her fist brushing it back and forth under her nose while she nursed and fell asleep.

Dressed in her riding pants, boots, and hair pulled under her hat, Misses Crook rolled her eyes as Claire handed the baby back and slid down the banister to join the men outside. The older woman took a breath to admonish her mistress for acting like a common man, but Claire’s bright face and smile stopped her instantly. She could not ignore the obvious any longer. Claire was one hundred percent committed to this farm, the grapes, and most of all, her husband who made the sun rise in the morning and set at night. Misses Crook sighed deeply knowing Claire would never return to London and the privilege they enjoyed there. The Fraser’s were rich enough to travel the world but found their greatest joy in each other, their daughter, and living without limits in this uncivilized land.

Misses Crook looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms and knew there would be others coming, Every other year most likely. Mary would need her services, as will the mounting brides of the Highlanders. They would all depend on her to keep them safe and alive as they built strong families.

She put Faith into her crib and took stock of her life. She no longer managed the sumptuous houses of the London elite. These people lived on the edge of civility, willing to risk everything to pull a living out of the ground. They worked to exhaustion, protected each other, and loved intensely, clinging to each other when the world turned against them. Seeing her life woven into the tapestry of lives here made her take a deep breath and square her shoulders. Misses Crook closed the door quietly and made her way to the stairs. She would keep the men fed, push Claire into the shade, ease frayed nerves, and by God’s good grace a celebration would follow. She was the support at each stage, and it filled her with the deepest sense of family she had ever felt. She walked down the stairs and toward the kitchen, she had work to do.

Jamie ran toward the vines with additional containers and passed Claire running the other direction. He stopped her, both panting and covered in sweat. He held her to him and felt her heart banging in her chest.

When Jamie did not break away at a dead run, she held him close and then looked into his eyes.

“You are my hero, since the day I fell off my horse. I’ve never known a man stronger or braver than you, Jamie. I know you’re tired and hot, but we are almost done with the whites.”

“Thank you, Sassenach. He pressed into her forehead and took a deep breath before running to pull the full containers back to the house.

When the grape horses pulled the laden wagon to the road, Jamie jumped into the lake and dressed for Ben’s return from selling the fruit. Ben waved the pistol wearing men away as they followed the wagon. Security would not be needed this year, he would be fine.

As the sun set lower in the sky, Jamie paced the porch watching for Ben. He felt a terror in his gut, telling him that last year was just a huge mistake. Grapes could not command the price he got if they were the only grapes in the world. It was a belief that stayed in his head for the entire year. People would come to their senses and pay just enough to cover expenses for the year driving them into the poverty he was used to. Ben’s long absence was a harbinger of doom to their happy lives. What was taking so long?

Claire tried to coax Jamie into the house to have supper, but he could not eat with his anxious stomach, so he paced until it was dark, and the day was over. He sat hard into a chair and put his head into his hands. The sound of wheels pulling an empty cart rattled hard as it approached, and Jamie shot to his feet watching for Ben. Fergus ran to tie the grape horses and Ben patted the boy on the shoulder and tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Jamie felt the utter defeat drain his energy and resolve.

Ben stood on the porch and looked at Jamie with compassion in his eyes. “Call Claire, Jamie, I have news.”

Jamie noticed his tired face lacked the excitement of last year’s harvest and he felt repentant for pushing this kind man too far.

“Sorry about the time it took me to sell the grapes. I’m sure you were worried, but it could not be helped. You see, I was set upon by representatives of the major wineries from Napa to Sonoma as soon as I hit the road this afternoon. They wouldn’t let me pass and offered twenty percent over any price offered. It took forever to figure it all out and before I knew it, there was a bidding war and I was held captive while the crazy bastards fought among themselves. I’ve never seen anything like it and frankly, didn’t know what to do.”

Ben pulled his hat off and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair.

“I’m sorry Jamie, I couldn’t stand it any longer and stopped the fighting by doubling the highest price I heard. I figured I would start again tomorrow and avoid the ridiculous posturing of these idiots. Maybe I’m too old for this line of work.”

Jamie stared at Ben, wanting to feel compassion for his troubled afternoon but failing due to his anxious need for the price of the fruit.

“I ended up selling the entire harvest again. The buyer was from a vineyard I’m not familiar with. He offered nine hundred for every acre minus the twenty we’re keeping… and I took it.”

With his hat in hand, Ben looked at Jamie’s face trying to gauge his reaction.

Jamie grabbed Claire’s hand, feeling like a crumbling clay statue blowing into the wind. The promise of riches to see them through the rest of their lives had vanished in a matter of minutes. He started calculating the cost of the growing season, the Highlanders he would have to send back to the city, the dashed hope of replanting Rupert’s vineyard. He was reeling and wanted desperately to hold onto something stationary.

“Yep, well there is more news,” Ben said quietly. I held back twenty acres so we would have the juice to make wine this year. I figured it couldn’t hurt and I promised you that in the beginning.”

Jamie looked at Ben and saw his frayed nerves and exhaustion. “It’s fine Ben,” was all he could muster.

Ben stood up and stretched. “You need to find a bigger bank tomorrow.”

Jamie looked up sharply with a withering look toward Ben. “For nine hundred dollars I think Lester has ample room, Ben.”

“Thousand.”

“Fine, say it’s a thousand, it will still fit in Lester’s bank.”

Ben cleared his throat, “nine hundred thousand dollars, Jamie. It could have been so much more, but that would take experience that I don’t have. I’m sorry son.”

Jamie heard Claire gasp, deep and loud, the likes of which he had never heard from her. She grabbed his hand again and stared, mouth agape, at Ben.

“Jamie!”

The happy exclamation did not suit the paltry price they made for a year of work, he thought. Claire knelt between his knees so he would look at her. He watched her mouth say nine-hundred thousand dollars. That was ridiculous, and he sharpened his gaze at her, willing her to understand. She held his face and asked him to hear her.

“Do you understand, love? Ben sold the grapes, the entire vineyard for nine-hundred thousand dollars. Jamie, focus!”

It echoed in his mind coming back around over and over again, nine-hundred thousand dollars. Jamie finally heard it, such a staggering amount of money they would never see, an immense sale Ben would never arrange. Jamie wondered what kind of game this was. His sweet Sassenach would be hurt when she knew the truth of their compensation. He glared at Ben, thinking he might be daft after his afternoon in the sun. Jamie stood from his chair to pull Ben away for a serious talk when nausea and dizziness forced him back to his seat.

The cold, wet towel pressed into his forehead and Jamie opened his eyes. Claire, Ben, and Misses Crook looked down at him with concern. He blushed with embarrassment and pushed himself up in the chair feeling his head throb.

“I’m sorry, I fear I am dehydrated from a long day in the sun.”

Misses Crook pressed a lemon aid into his hand, smiling like her face would break. “It’s the least I can do for the richest man I’ve ever known.”

“Richest?”

Claire pulled Jamie to his feet and steered him to the door. “It’s been a long day for all of us and time for a rest. Ben, you look dead on your feet. Can you stay with us tonight and get some rest?”

“Thank you, Claire. The grape horses have earned a hearty meal and a rub down tonight. It got really tense on the road today. They wanted to bolt and that would have spilled your hard labor in the dirt to be trampled by a dozen horses.” Ben smiled at Claire, “I told them, steady boys, and felt them push into the yokes, but they didn’t run. Thank God.”

Claire’s hand covered her lips as she realized how close they came to losing the fruit.

“I will ride back with you Monsieur, you can rest and I will feed and rub their shoulders and back.” Fergus stood straight with an uncompromising face, “I am going back with you, I have much to thank the grape horses for.”

Jamie watched Fergus take command of his intent, letting his pride and support show on his face.

“I’m grateful to ye Fergus. Make sure Ben goes straight inside to rest.”

“Aye, milord.”

Fergus left to climb into the wagon and wait for Ben. Jamie was so proud of him and knew Ben would not last five minutes before running into his house to avoid the continuous talk from the lad.

He shook Ben’s hand and smiled, “you and the grape horses are the true heroes today. It’s time for all of us to sleep, fish, lay around, and get ready for the zinfandel harvest. A silver lining is I won’t be plagued with insomnia this year. Who cares if there’s a short harvest, right?”

Ben looked at Jamie and threw a worried look at Claire.

“Everything is perfectly fine. Jamie is due for a long rest, but we thank you Ben, for the miracle you did today.”

They all said goodnight and Claire continued to push Jamie to the stairs and up to their bedroom. She pulled his clothes off and pushed him into bed, sneaking downstairs for Misses Crook’s help with her laces, then running back to her husband. When she tried to speak of their huge gain today, Jamie looked at her with worried eyes and quietly explained that Ben got the scare of his life on the road and wasn’t thinking straight at the moment.” He spoke softly like he was guarding this secret about his best friend.

Claire stood gaping at her husband. It was time for a much needed come-to-Jesus meeting that would not end until he let go of his fear and started to listen.

Misses Crook felt deep concern for Jamie as his brain did not seem to be processing information now. She turned the lamps off as she made her way to her bedroom. When she reached the second floor, she heard the statement that set the world right again.

“Jesus Christ Claire, nine-hundred-thousand dollars!”

His booming voice shook the rafters, and the crib, as Faith was yanked out of sleep and started screaming for comfort. Misses Crook chuckled and pulled the infant to her with an exchange into her father’s arms.

Jamie held his daughter until Claire was ready to feed her. Her fist was so firmly stuck into her mouth it took Claire several minutes of soft talking to pull it out so she could fill her stomach with warm milk.

Jamie knelt on the floor at Claire’s feet, overwhelmed at being rich beyond his imagination. He laid his head on Claire’s lap and she stroked his hair as she fed the baby.

“You are the master of all you survey Jamie, forevermore, and no one is more deserving love.”

Jamie raised his head, eyes shiny from tears, “I must teach them, all of them, how to graft. We will restore the health of all the vineyards and donate third-year vines so they will survive waiting for the plants to produce fruit. We have to do this Sassenach.”

Claire looked at her incredible husband and smiled, “and you will, love.”

Jamie laid back with a warm sleeping baby on his naked chest. Claire knew he was exhausted and brushed the curls off his face with cool hands.

“Why did you push so hard to plant the fifty acres at Rupert’s? I ask because I want to understand more about what we do. Three days of scorching heat, digging into the hard ground with nearly all the men?”

“When we made the purchase, I didna expect them so soon, they were still in the ground, ye ken?” The vines won’t survive very long outside of the dirt, they had to be planted. I didna expect the ground to be so hard we couldna get a pick through it but It had to be done. I didna expect those lazy grapes on our shore to suddenly decide they were ready, right on the heels of those scorching three days and a long night of love with my lady.”

Jamie looked up at the Sassenach, still running her fingers through his hair. “Since we wed, there have been five nights that will be in my memory forever, last night is one of them. I kent it the moment we touched and would have bartered with the devil to see it through.”

Claire looked at him and blushed. “I am afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ll wager ye do, lass. Close your eyes and try to remember those five nights.”

Claire did as he asked, touching her fingers as she landed on each memory. She held her third finger for several minutes and smiled wide when she touched the fourth and fifth finger. Jamie watched as her awareness lit her from the inside. Her face became soft and serene in the memory and her eyes sparkled when she opened them.

“Yes. I remember five nights, that took us somewhere incredible, and changed us, I think. Did you say you can feel it ahead of time?”

“Aye, when we first touch, lass. Last night I kent I would dwell where your soul resides. It is beautiful, like ye, pure white, so lovely. I felt ye touch me and I was humbled, on my knees, at yer feet.”

Claire watched Jamie’s face, smiling, explaining a place so remarkable, so extraordinary.

“Will I ever see it like you do?”

“I ken ye will Sassenach.”

Claire bundled Faith in her blanket for the cold walk to the nursery finding the ever-watchful, Misses Crook, waiting for them. Faith never woke up and Claire returned to their bed and snuggled next to Jamie in the dark.

“Can you tell me more?”

“I dinna ken where the dimples come from, but his dark curly hair and golden-brown eyes are given by his mam. He’s a braw lad Sassenach.”

“What?”

Jamie held her close and said goodnight, counting the minutes until the Sassenach erupted from the blankets. If she didn’t understand, she soon would when her breasts became tender and her waistline thickened. His exhaustion pulled him to surrender, just as delicate limbs kicked off the quilt and the bed bounced with her efforts to sit up.

“What? Jamie!”

Claire lunged for the lamp on her side table with far too much momentum that tumbled her over the side. Jamie turned the lamp up and looked over the edge at his stunned wife. He held a hand out and pulled her back to his side.

“Did you say…do you think…is this already…how do you…you said a lad…how could you?”

He stopped his stammering love, announcing he did not say a lad, making Claire confused like she misheard everything.

Jamie turned the lamp down and spooned his wife.

“I said, a braw lad, Sassenach.”

Jamie felt Claire counting her fingers, calculating when her second child would arrive, and he smiled in the dark. He had learned far more in that special moment of contact. Like instant knowledge, he saw the catastrophic collapse of the grape market when the European wine industry pushed back with a slanderous campaign to win their market share back. Jamie had heard rumblings of this several years ago, but it stopped when the blight ravaged the region. The Europeans pulled back to wait out the death of their competitors.

He would restore as many of the vineyards as possible and teach the grafting technique which would flood the market with California wines in three years. The European wine industry would wage war on California like a giant bully beating up a wee bairn, creating a glut of fruit that couldn’t be sold.

During the long hot day, Jamie pondered what the future held for California and decided it was something to be missed. Whatever the gain from this year’s harvest, he was taking his family to Scotland, to start over. The properties would be split between Rupert and Angus to profit as they will. His heart rate soared knowing they will see Lallybroch soon and his son would be born in his homeland.

What Jamie did not know was in 1889, California wines would win twenty-four out of thirty medals at the World’s Fair in Paris, and the region will revive like a Phoenix from the ashes.

He did not know they would return to California in 1905 where the four children would thrive and grow strong, learning from the vines, to the delight of their parents. Fergus, Thomas and Gordie will walk in Jamie’s footsteps and take their place in the wine industry.

Jamie would become a master vintner under Ben’s guidance, fermenting gallons of juice to be aged in French oak barrels that accumulate into the hundreds.

Faith will attach herself to Jamie and Ben learning the importance of tannic acid, aerobic and anaerobic fermentation, and temperature manipulation of the yeast. Her interest in chemistry will ignite, eventually taking her away to study in England.

The region would find a modicum of stability after the turn of the century bringing fresh immigrants to spin the wheel of fortune in the California grape business. New wineries spring up and the fiesta returns to celebrate the harvest. A large wood sign will be created to hang at the end of their road to be seen by all. Welcome to the Highland Brother’s Winery.

Jamie could not know that in January of 1920, prohibition would lay waste to the region and only a handful of vineyards remain. The legal sale of grapes and juice keep the growers from starving to death, barely. Most of the Highlanders return to Scotland, including Rupert’s family. Angus will move into the house on the other shore and live as a devout bachelor until a pretty widow bats her eyes at him and his heart pops out of his chest. Lost forever. Jamie and Angus continue growing grapes to be sold as juice, hoping for a repeal of the eighteenth amendment that will take thirteen years.

Jamie could not know all of these things as he cuddled his Sassenach, a very tired and very wealthy young man of twenty-eight. He could not see the troubled years ahead or how his fortune will save countless families from ruin, as he tries to breathe life back into the land he loves. He could not see Ben hand him a gift, a wine brick, in the darkest days of prohibition, and the last time he would see him alive. It will be his second and greatest fortune, this final gift from his beloved mentor.

But that is another story…

The end.

Notes:

According to Wikipedia, the equivalent of $900,000.00 in 1883 is equal to $22,931,821.78… in other words, a wee bit shy of twenty-three million dollars.

I have mad love for the readers who keep me going with their enthusiasm and comments. Feeling creative and appreciated is such an extraordinary experience and I thank you all.

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fazbearsecuritycrew · 4 years

Note

i need to hear more about the time jeremy attacked mike to get him to remember

This hadn’t been the first time Jeremy called Mike asking him to help him with the night shift. He asked him plenty of times before, and Mike never hesitated to accept.

But this had been the first time in a few months. He was a couple weeks deep into the routine now, and it was a Tuesday. Literally the most uneventful day of the week and Jeremy wanted some company. Mike snorted. Maybe Jeremy was dying of boredom.

Though he couldn’t help but wonder why the boy was so hellbent on him coming tonight. He didn’t hear about him having any trouble with the animatronics lately, and he seemed fine the other day. Huh. Maybe he was bored.

It was a weird request, but Mike could overlook it. Jeremy was bound to start acting strange once the only thing he started running on was fluctuating hormones and four hours of sleep. Man, Mike really had to convince him to quit soon.

The pizzeria was off, though. One step into the place made him want to turn right around again. Yeah, he could see why Jeremy wanted him here. This shit was uncomfortable.

The atmosphere here always had that foreboding feeling, or just general uneasiness, but it was worse than usual tonight. Not even days where the watchman would die would feel like this.

The cheap, flickering lightbulb in the office felt eerier than usual. Mike found it especially unnerving how Jeremy somehow managed to doze off in a place like this. It was official- if he could fall asleep here, the kid could totally sleep through being stuffed.

Jeremy groaned when Mike reached to shake him awake, adjusting his arm back over his eyes to try to go back to sleep. It was kind of adorable.

“Hey Fitzgerald, time to get up. They don’t like it when you sleep on the job.”

He placed a hand against the boy’s shoulder and started to shake. Jeremy groaned, attempting to adjust his arm back over his eyes to go back to sleep.

He moved back to give the guy some space, working on organizing the papers on the desk. The office looked like a mess, more than usual. Nothing being like "usual" seemed to be the theme for the night.

“Oh, hey Mike,” Jeremy answered weakly, rubbing his eye as he pushed himself to sit up. The hat slumped further down his face, but he didn’t make any move to fix it. “Sorry. I didn’t get any sleep last night so I’m exhausted.”

“We have an hour til shift, so you might as well try and get a nap in.” He swept up some scattered papers and moved them to the side. Seriously, when was the last time anybody bothered to clean this place? Well, technically, it was him and Jeremy back in December, and that had been awhile ago. It was getting pretty dirty.

There was this chill that went up his spine again, and from the corner of his eye, Mike could see Jeremy staring pretty intently at the back of his head.

Mike tried to distract him with some conversation. Maybe the kid was still waking up. He looked just as disoriented as he sounded on the call earlier.

“Yo Fitzgerald, you feel this right now?” Mike called, sweeping back the scattered papers over the desk.

Jeremy shifted around, rubbing at his eye under the rim of the hat. “Feel…what?”

“Usually your intuition is going off the charts. You mean to tell me you don’t feel that?”

There was some snoring. Jeremy seemed to be falling asleep again, slumping over the arm of the couch. Mike wanted to find that adorable, too, but there was the feeling of concern that tugged at his head.

“Fitzgerald, you sure you don’t wanna sit this one out, man? You look like you’re ready to die. We can trade shifts, y'know.”

Jeremy groaned. Mike knew it was a shitty thing to say, but he usually replied to any of his attempts at humor with some good natured banter of his own. Mike turned around, and Jeremy hung with his head low over the side of the couch, blood starting to drip from his nose.

“Shit, Jeremy. Your nose!” Mike took a handful of tissues from the box, unfortunately coming out with just three. Shit, why wasn’t anything in this place ever stocked like it was supposed to be?

Jeremy cradled his nose even as more rivulets of blood pooled over his hands and onto his sleeves. It was running like a faucet.

“Uh, shit shit shit.” This was bad. He had experienced nosebleeds himself in the past, but this one wasn’t letting up. Mike grimaced.

“Hang on, Jeremy. I’m gonna go see if there’s some shit we can use! Don’t move!”

Mike sprinted from the office, making a beeline for the front desk. Management was too cheap to buy more than one first aid kit, and the few shitty bandages they had in the office were going to do nothing for the way his nose was running.

Lugging it on the way back from the office, Mike passed the bathroom. It would be a detour, but Mike thought it would probably be a good idea to grab some wet paper towels to clean up or something.

He threw the kit into another sink and ripped out nearly half the roll in the paper towel dispenser, running the water at room temperature.

Mike looked up and nearly launched himself forward out surprise. He didn’t even hear when Jeremy walked into the bathroom.

“Jesus, Fitzgerald! Give a guy a warning before you sneak up on him!” Then the words registered in his mind, and a different kind of panic registered in him. “And for fuck’s sake, I thought I told you to stay still!”

Jeremy followed Mike as the man reached over and hastily began to wet more paper towels under the stream. The water kept running, and he quickly walked over the boy, guiding him to the sink.

He pressed the soggy paper towels against the boy’s face, but he continued to stare at Mike. Mike told him to lean his head over the sink for a few moments, which he did, but out of the corner of his eye he caught the boy staring at him from the mirror instead.

As unsettled as Mike was and how desperately he wanted to make distance, he stayed put for his sake. Jeremy’s probably acting weird because of how much blood he lost which, if the amount in the sink was anything to go by, was finally slowing down.

“Shit, you nearly gave me a heart attack today, you know that?”

Jeremy mechanically turned his attention towards the porcelain sink, not really seeming to register what Mike was saying to him.

“Um, Jeremy, you feeling alright man?”

Jeremy leaned against the sink, quiet wheezing and running water being the only noises that filled the air.

“…May 5th, 1987. That’s your birthday, r-right?”

Leave it to Jeremy to want to talk about birthdays when he’s bleeding half to death. He decided to humor him with a nod.

“You forgot…what happened. You left them all alone.” His voice went hoarse in the matter of a sentence, and with his unfocused eyes and blood smeared all over his face, Jeremy looked like he had just murdered a man in cold blood.

Mike couldn’t help but put a little distance between the two of them. Whatever the blood loss was doing to Jeremy was creeping him the fuck out.

Jeremy started to slink over to him, offering a hand. Mike took a step back, taking note of his bloody fingernails.

“But m-maybe you’ll remember if I reintroduce myself!”

His eyes shone an unnaturally bright brown. When did Jeremy ever have brown eyes?

Mike stumbled into a sink and the tile wall, and despite being shorter, Jeremy somehow seemed to tower over him, bloody smile that seemed stretched and wrong and not like Jeremy at all.

No, that definitely wasn’t Jeremy.

“H-H-Hey M-Mikey!” He waved. “It’s me.”

(There was something leading up to this seemingly spontaneous possession. First we need to see what went wrong).

#fazbear answers #anonymous #mike schmidt #jeremy fitzgerald #file #(found in filing cabinet)

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spirit-of-the-void · 5 years

Text

Ebony and Ivory (V x Reader Fanfic) Chapter 27

Author’s notes: This chapter is interesting to be sure, let’s keep it rolling kids! Gonna see a lot more of other point of views this time around.

Chapter 27

(Griffon POV)

Bad, this was bad.

You had been out like a light for a while now. As soon as Nightmare wrapped you up in his strong, demonic arms your eyes closed and you lost all consciousness. It was for the best, but the bird wasn’t anticipating just how far down they would have to go. The tree was collapsing, making for treacherous travel, a lot of climbing and maneuvering, two things Nightmare was really shitty at. They were doing their best, but they were running out of Vergil’s residual energy. Which was the bad part. Everything had turned into a race against the clock, trying to get you somewhere safe to heal and recover before they had to return to your form.

Griffon had vaguely noted the silver cane that V formerly used before they set out. Dante had walked right past it, leaving it glinting in the sun with nowhere to go. He didn’t know why, but the bird grabbed it, swooping over quickly and returning back with it clutched in his talons. Any reminders of the poet would hurt you, that was obvious, but...he felt like it belonged to you now. After all, it was what V used to command them in the first place. So he chucked it into Nightmare’s swirling form, letting the bigger familiar absorb it into himself and making a mental note to tell you about it at some point. You deserved to have something left from him at least.

Griffon was still trying to process it all--being inside the body and mind of someone new was strange. And when it came to you, he was learning a lot more and realizing things he wish he’d known earlier. Christ, you were a fucking mess. Just as bad as Shakespeare was. Hell, you were almost worse, there was so many things to unpack about your trauma and body, he wasn’t sure where to start. There was this underlying feeling of pain constantly radiating in your limbs, that swirling Void power always leaving a dull ache in your stomach and chest. Was this how it felt for you all the time? Just how long did you suffer in pain? It never showed, save for the occasional wince or hand to your temple.

Fuck, he felt bad. You were such a cheerful thing before, but underneath was a storm of bullshit he didn’t know how to help. This whole situation had just fucked you up more. He should have been honest with you from the beginning, but what the hell would that have changed?

Regardless, that didn’t matter now. Getting you to the van did. But it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. They made it about halfway down before Nightmare’s steps started to slow, as if the tar-like substance that made up his body was sticking to the floor. Griffon was feeling fatigued himself, but they couldn’t afford to stop now, not being so high up. If the tree went down, you would get hurt badly--not to mention the threat of demons still crawling around.

“Come on, you big lug!” Griffon squawked at the giant moving ever so slowly along. But he was panting, exhaustion in his tone just from flapping his wings, “Get a move on, no time to rest now…! Gotta get her to the bottom at least!”

Nightmare’s eye rolled eerily over to look at him, conveying every ounce of annoyance he felt for his avian companion. Yeah, he got it loud and clear. Mouth shut, eyes forward. Couldn’t make what was impossible, possible. To be completely honest, Griffon was expecting them to kill Dante or at least die trying, then fade into nothing like Vergil wanted them to. You had never been a part of the equation, and if you had...he wouldn’t have wasted so much energy trying to blast away the idiotic demon hunter. He would have waited, so they could get you down the stupid fucking tree without so much issue.

Yeah. Planning ahead wasn’t his best feature.

It was an unfortunate trait that he began to regret more and more, finally coming to an ultimate wall when Nightmare stopped entirely, falling to his knees still holding you. Fuck, that wasn’t good--they were never going to make it down the tree at that rate, leaving you exposed and in danger up on a goddamn ledge. Griffon panted heavily, landing on the ground next to Nightmare as he sat you gently down, your head lolling to the side in your unconsciousness. The bird felt a pang of guilt as he stared at your face, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and the pallid color of your skin. You looked like hell and then some, the days events showing on you and taking their toll. Griffon felt awful. The look you wore when he saw you standing there, watching them fight…

Damn it, he didn’t like feeling this guilty. What was he supposed to do? They had fucked up, all of them including the poet. Griffon had been concerned all along that this would happen, encouraging it in the beginning but...he didn’t know then. How could the bird have imagined just how close you and V would become? At first it seemed amusing, an attempt to get V laid and loosened up a bit. But getting to know you, seeing how you interacted with him made the bird realize just how dangerous it could get. Love was never part of the plan. But V still never stopped, he went through with it despite his guilt and reservations. And that...fucking sucked.

“Shit, fuck,” Griffon panted, nosing your face with his beak and trying to will you awake, “Up and at em’, toots! We can’t go any further, you gotta pause that nap for a little bit…!”

You gave no sign of stirring, so deep under now that any and all chances of waking you were slim to none. Griffon looked up anxiously at Nightmare, meeting his glowing eye and letting out a light trill. What the hell were they supposed to do? Even the giant was at a loss, sitting back on his ass with a heavy thud and closing that eye of his. He had no juice left either. Griffon grunted lightly, trying to latch his claws onto you and hoist your body up, but he had no energy left either. You were heavier than Shakespeare--the man was a twig and you were healthy and having more...er...filled out areas.

“We’re so fucked,” Griffon groaned, slumping over your form and pressing his head to your hair, “We tried, but we’re still useless. God damn it!”

There was no response from the other familiar, which was typical. Wouldn’t stop Griffon from muttering to himself.

“We fucked up big time,” He continued to grunt, ruffling his feathers and staring ahead while he talked to no one in particular, “Could have told her in the beginning, could have saved her from all this bad shit. But no. Had to be as dumb as Shakespeare--bonus points for being an even bigger dumbass earlier.”

Nightmare made no sound, but Griffon could feel the exasperation coming from him. The bird was fighting the urge to absorb back into your body, debating if maybe Shadow could come out and drag you a bit further at the very least. But that could be a waste of energy better suited for protecting you where the other two couldn’t, Shadow being the only one who stayed in your body while they traveled downwards. The mighty cat materialized as soon as the thought popped into his skull, landing on their paws in a cloud of black dust. As much as he hated it, they would be forced to summon back for at least a little while, leaving Shadow to make sure no baddies tried to come at you.

“Stay with her for a bit,” Griffon told the cat, exhaustion in his tone from blasting so may demons on the way down. Shadow blinked their red eyes, sitting back and listening attentively to the bird as he continued, “If we play our cards right...we can move her down in bursts. Just...just gotta catch our breath.”

Shadow bowed their head, understanding flickering along the connection they shared as the cat settled along your form. Providing warmth, ears flickering as they watched over the ledge and incline downwards. Griffon knew they could last for an hour at least, providing cover and protection while Nightmare and Griffon recharged a bit. That is...unless they wouldn’t be able to--you were so injured, tank running on empty and healing on top of all of it. If you were still weak, they couldn’t very well get energy from you. It was his last thought when he and Nightmare finally succumbed to the need, turning into dust once more and taking their place under your skin.

They would reach that hurdle when it came. But if not...well. Griffon could pray for a miracle, right?

(Vergil POV)

Well. To say that Vergil’s day had been strange would be far understating the true gravity of it all.

His memories were spotty, fuzzy. A whirlwind of things from the past, the present, and things that didn’t even seem like he lived through them at all. Upon reawakening as his full, revived self his skull had rattled with things that were definitely unfamiliar to the elder son of Sparda. It was disorienting, strange, unsettling. He felt far more whole and complete than ever before, and yet...there was a sense of being disjointed, unsure of himself. He felt different, changed, unlike who he was before separating man from demon but still retaining all his base personality and desires.

Vergil still carried his mistrust of Dante, the resentment. Though it was changed now, mellowed and quiet in comparison to how he was before. It would be fair to say Vergil himself felt a lot more in control of himself compared to when he stabbed his form with the Yamato, body no longer damaged and his nightmares remaining from being Nelo Angelo seemingly...gone. But that wasn’t to say things weren’t growing more hectic and confusing by the second, mind struggling to keep up with it all whilst maintaining his usual demeanor. Those defense mechanisms were kicking in, the ones Vergil was reluctant to admit he had at all.

For one, he had memories from his demonic half. The more unsettling ones, memories of erecting the tree and the death of so many human beings. Vergil was not a man easily made uncomfortable, or guilty for that matter...but such sensations existed, and they irritated him on top of tugging at the edges of his thoughts. The memories were in his head, but they didn’t feel like his. Disjointed, the actions beyond his will and plans when he used the Yamato on himself--to be completely honest, he had not anticipated that when he did such a thing it would literally separate his two halfs entirely. The son of Sparda had convinced himself that it would merely cast away his humanity, leaving him with the same consciousness but a stronger, less brittle form. To make him wholly and completely demonic in nature.

He was not so lucky. Such actions had caused him to stumble around in two, separate forms for a while. And one cause so much death and destruction on the city Vergil wasn’t sure how to process it.

His mind focused on what it knew in an attempt to defend itself from the guilt. Dante was here, and he wanted to fight. That provided normalcy, amusement. That was something Vergil knew, remembered, and understood. A deep, burning need to defeat his brother, to prove himself stronger. It was something to root himself in reality, and he kept to that while his mind allowed it, fighting his brother like old times and reveling in his newfound strength. Vague memories of taking a bite out of the forbidden, powerful fruit lingered on the edges of his memory, explaining why he felt so spry and alive. But...it didn’t make a difference.

Dante still held his own. As always.

Why was he so strong, so powerful? He still had strength, enough so that Vergil found himself toe to toe with his brother, the one who didn’t eat the fruit at all. Maybe it was due to Vergil being distracted...he had a lot on his mind. First of all being the revelation of his son--Nero. Finding out he had spawned a child down the line was...staggering to say the least. Vergil was reluctant to admit he didn’t know when he went to get his sword back that Nero was his son, but it was pretty easy to guess in retrospect. Had he not been so broken then, sickly and dying...he could have figured it out. But he hadn’t, and he ripped off Nero��s arm without a second thought.

Did he feel guilty? He wanted to say no, mind not really dwelling on any of it too long. But...there was a twinge of something he tried to ignore. Focus on the fight, focus on beating Dante. A son is of little consequence. Right? He tried and tried not to think about it, but the knowledge was now a burden on his mind, so loud among the already chaotic thoughts and memories. He didn’t like having so much confusion, so much to worry about and that stupid, foolish guilt. That had to be why he lost to Dante, surely. All these new, chaotic thoughts had to have made him sloppy, giving his brother and edge he wouldn’t otherwise have.

And amidst all those chaotic thoughts...was you.

You were the most confusing of all the memories, Vergil unable to comprehend just what to think in regards to them. Upon waking up again, he couldn’t understand the images floating around in his consciousness, fuzzy and both familiar and unfamiliar. It was…curious. Strange. He was certain he had never met you before, but...he knew you. There was a familiarity there that he didn’t understand, so many tangling emotions pushing against his skull and only seeming to complicate things more.

Why? Why did he feel that hard ache in his chest when he saw your face? That horrified, broken expression you wore while staring at his newly awakened form. The shock, the remembrance when you attacked him--usually he would have simply pulled out his sword and struck you down. You were volatile, easily defeated in such a weak, collapsing state as you were. But he found hesitation there when he stared into your black eyes, a dull throbbing in his chest as he took in the blue streaks staining your cheeks, your lips. Why was that look you wore so upsetting? Those eyes, hollow and shattered as you begged him for answers, lips trembling and body pushing you far too much.

His first thought should have been “who is this girl? How pitiful”. But instead, he found his mind snapping to attention, realizing how much you were damaging yourself and...worrying? Surely not, but it was there. It was so perplexing to Vergil, mind reeling and trying to process even while his mouth spouted the first things he could think of.

Calling you the only name that came to mind. Sparrow. The look you wore when that name was uttered on his lips was seared into his brain--like he had slapped you across the face without realizing it. There was opportunity in such a distraction, but Vergil felt like it was a hollow victory. Like kicking a puppy.

Even after fighting Dante, then Nero in turn he couldn’t shake it. The way your tone cracked, voice wavering painfully as you asked him “why?”. Your black eyes, filling with tears and lips trembling as blow-tinted tears rolled down your cheeks.

He didn’t like that, didn’t like the thoughts and emotions he couldn’t seem so shake. Especially more intimate ones, things he surely should not have. Of cupping your cheeks, stroking your hair and touching your lips. Of you underneath him, eyes staring at him in adoration as his tattooed finger slipped over your mouth…

Such a memory was dangerous, threatening to make him falter when he should otherwise focus.

What in the world was happening to him? Those were not his hands. He bore no black tattoos, but...he remembered times where he had. Of the familiars he commanded, the manifestation of his nightmares made real. These were the memories of his human half, of that he was able to figure out fairly quickly. And that was...alarming. Why was he seeing all of these things, these images and thoughts mingled with the demonic ones as well? It left him questioning so much, torn between feeling the emotions and images as his own and like they belonged to someone else.

That was him, a part of him. He felt both connected and not.

How unbelievably confusing--Vergil was just barely able to cope with it all, maintaining himself through the fight with Nero. And that, too, lead to defeat. Why was his son so strong? He had a strange power, a curious one, holding his own perfectly fine against his father despite his diluted demonic blood. The fact that Nero came to stop the fighting at all was so perplexing to him, since he clearly meant nothing to the boy after not knowing him his whole life. Why was he so determined to try, to get between Vergil and Dante in their fights? It was irritating, but even Vergil knew when he was beat.

He tried to tell himself it was due to him fighting Dante earlier. Maybe.

But he stopped when Nero asked of it, deciding that taking down the Qliphoth was more important than defeating his brother at that moment. He wanted to be done with the tree--maybe cutting it down would cut away some of that stupid, nagging guilt pinching the back of his skull? Such thoughts made Vergil scowl, but he bit back the annoyance and settled on letting Dante come with him despite his reservations. The annoying, white-haired sibling provided a distraction that Vergil felt he needed with everything going on.

Nero also asked about you, like he expected you to already be up with the other two when he arrived. That made Vergil both surprised and uneasy, the idea of seeing you again was...a strange one. Dante explained to the worried boy that he had sent you back down the tree, but didn’t elaborate in the slightest bit. They had a job to do, a tree to cut down in the underworld.

As for Nero, he wasn’t allowed to come. A single, hard placed fist to the face from the brothers sent him flying back, sprawling on his ass several feet away. Vergil admired his dedication, but he was another thing the cold man really didn’t want to think about while they cut down the damned tree. Besides, he had things to take care of on the surface and had no place in hell like the rest of them. He was filled with that humanity Vergil didn’t care for, emotional and brash through the entire fight and filled to the brim with resentment. He wanted to prove himself, with Vergil didn’t have the patience for.

“Take care, Nero,” Dante said with a smile and a salute, stepping back while the boy sat up and stared at them both with annoyance, “Adios.”

He leapt off the side of the Qliphoth, turning into his Sin Devil Trigger form and gliding down toward where the portal opened below. Vergil lingered for a moment, meeting Nero’s eyes and sizing him up one more time. He did certainly look like him, there in that furrowed brow and in his eyes and lips. But his attitude and emotions were very reminiscent of Dante, who definitely had a hand in shaping who Nero had become. Vergil let out a low hum of amusement, a bit of a smirk curving his lips as he pulled out the book he acquired as a child.

“I won’t lose next time,” He promised, tone full of cold challenge as he tossed the leather-bound novel onto the floor in front of his son, “Hold onto that until then.”

It was a declaration, and also...a reassurance. That he and Dante would return, despite how cut and dry things seemed. And he would come back--there was a score to settle now. He wanted to see just how powerful his son could be, a rematch after he wasn’t so scattered in the head. Distracted. That was what he blamed for so many losses after another--surely he would do better if he didn’t have so many confusions and concerns.

Vergil turned, sparing Nero one last glance before he launched himself up, turning into his own blue Sin Devil Trigger form and diving in the direction Dante had taken. The rush of air past his armored body felt good after the stagnant heat of the Qliphoth, wings gliding him quickly downward to reach the portal he had caused. Up in the air, the destruction was plain to see--the Earth cracked, buildings ruined, broken roots lining the streets down below that were now empty of human life. The tree itself was ugly, an annoying eyesore despite the fact that it had lead to Vergil gaining more power, devouring its fruit and regaining his vitality. And what good that did him--he still lost to the other two. Still lacking, it would seem.

And what an annoying thought that was. The fact that despite all his efforts, he was still lacking the necessary strength to fight his brother. So many failed attempts had only ended in ruin, and now several deaths added to the price paid for the sake of power. Vergil was...tired. Too tired at that moment to maintain the level of anger he needed to keep his drive. The events of the month or so had left him different, and he needed to figure out whether he embraced the changes or not. It seemed like something worth thinking about briefly as he followed Dante’s path.

Vergil’s eyes scanned the tree on his way down, taking in the curling roots, the way it curved into the sky. It definitely needed to be destroyed, it served no purpose now but to be a reminder for how much things had gone poorly. It was already on the verge of dying, grey and turning brittle now that the fruit was--

He saw something that made him halt.

His wings pounded hard, sending up gusts of wind as he stopped his velocity in its tracks. In this form, his eyes were sharper, so he definitely wasn’t mistaking what he was seeing. There, on a ledge halfway down the tree. You were unmistakable--body prone on its side and the familiar form of Shadow curled protectively around you. Vergil hovered in the air, staring at you lying there unconscious with that nagging sensation pressing on the edges of his skull again. What the hell were you doing laying there? Dante claimed he had sent you back down, but it would seem you didn’t make it all the way. Something about that annoyed him--why would Dante send you back down in such a state?

She reached her limit, his mind thought on its own, it’s dangerous there. It came without him even thinking, the nagging voice in his brain urging him to help you. Instinctive. His clawed fingers clenched into fists, a low growl emanating from his glowing chest cavity as he trying to decide what to do. He had a job to do, a task to focus on that didn’t involve you in the slightest bit.

But...there was that feeling again, pressing to his chest at the sight of you lying there. Looking broken and tired, body curled up next to his former nightmare and not moving. And what was that about? Why was Shadow still around, the manifestation of his abominable thoughts sitting with you like a protective house cat? Dante failed to mention that you were being helped down by them, but it seemed to not be working out to begin with. Foolish. Vergil would have scowled if this form allowed it, his eyes narrowing slightly as he debated for a few more seconds what to do. That sensation grew, moving him closer without thinking so he could see your face, the way your hair pooled around your head. You looked exhausted, you looked...not like yourself.

Guilt.

God damn it.

Vergil growled again, wishing he could even remotely understand what he was feeling. He felt like a fool, body moving on its own and flying over to your ledge. Shadow looked up at the sound of beating wings, eyes narrowing and baring their teeth at the demonic male. He saw them jolt in the next instant, recognition flashing in those bright red eyes as they realized just who he was. How absurd it had to be, to see the very person that they once used to be a part of. Vergil landed, not breaking eye contact with the glorified house cat and watching how their pelt rippled warily with glowing patterns, ears flat against their skull. No friendliness left for their former master, it would seem. They certainly didn’t look happy to see him, curling around you more and lip curling up in warning.

Vergil tilted his gaze to you, making Shadow leap up and snarl loudly in threat, back arched and claws scraping against the greying ground. Vergil wasn’t fazed--Shadow was the manifestation of bad thoughts, made into a demon that he could easily defeat. But he took in your form, realizing by the changes he saw that the familiars now had to be yours. Tattoos lined your arms, a single part of your hair now black as it draped over your face. He remembered then, a brief few flashes of images that made him lose focus for a moment. Images of you with Griffon on your shoulders, laughing and grinning. Of you teary eyed, beaming as you kissed the top of Shadow’s head like they were a big, fluffy cat. Charming his nightmares like it was nothing, loving them despite what they were.

God damn it.

“If she stays here,” He said to the growling demon, tone warped and demonic as his wings folded against his body, “She will die. With her this weak, you won’t be able to sustain yourself for long.”

Shadow’s ears pressed tighter to their skull, eyes glaring daggers at him as another growl burst forth. That spoke their message loud and clear.

Vergil clicked his tongue, half turning away from the cat as he replied coldly, “If you wish for her to die, then so be it.” He didn’t have the patience for this, but...his feet felt rooted to the spot.

I can’t just leave her there.

But why?

Shadow let out a low, distressed sound, gently lapping at one of your cheeks in an attempt to wake you up. For a moment, Vergil felt a twinge of concern that you may be dead. But your chest was rising and falling, eyelashes twitching against your cheeks as you slept away all the pain. Your breaths were short and pained, he saw you wince occasionally and curl up on yourself more. His fingers twitched at his side, Vergil clenching his jaw when he realized he had to physically push down the urge to stroke one of your cheeks. What was happening to him? And why?

But Shadow seemed to sense his confusion, staring at him with red eyes far too knowing as he struggled with himself. Even in this form, they were able to read his expression, bowing their head to him for a moment before raising it again. There was a warning in that sharp gaze, one that clearly said if anything would happen to you Shadow would tear him to pieces. Or at least...they would try. The mighty cat then turned into swirling dust, absorbing back into your tattoos and making them darker now on the one side. Home, it would seem.

Vergil didn’t want to waste any more time, walking slowly closer to you and crouching down next to your body. Inside he was a storm of emotions and confusion, unable to understand his own thoughts and instincts anymore. What had become of him when he split himself in two? His human half was far more busy than he had ever thought capable...far stronger now. These emotions definitely felt human in nature. There was no mistaking that.

He pushed back his reservations, sliding his clawed hands under you and lifting you up into his arms. You were so light, body curling up against his hard chest and still out like a light. Something about this felt...Vergil couldn’t place his finger on the term. He resisted the urge to hold you closer, to press his face to your hair and inhale. He could smell it, the faintest hint of apples from you. Foolish, he told himself harshly, turning and launching himself off the edge again with those mighty wings. The movement jostled you, but there was no sign of waking. Only a soft whimper of pain, one that started that dull ache in his chest again as he carried himself swiftly upward again.

He couldn’t just take you down below and deposit you on the street. That was equally, if not more dangerous. Vergil could not see the van either, his best other option was to leave you with the only person he knew would take care of you. The thought triggered another memory, one of you walking and talking with Nero, smiling warmily as he talked about his fiance at home. The boy was your friend, wasn’t he? Vergil swallowed his pride and annoyance, knowing full well the best course of action would to hand you off to Nero before heading back down. Dante could wait and wonder where he was for a few more moments.

Vergil wasn’t shocked when he saw Nero still standing where he left him, staring at the book and flipping through the pages. He looked annoyed, an expression that morphed to shock when Vergil crested over the ledge and into sight. Nero was by far the easiest person to read that Vergil had ever known. His face went through several emotions as he registered that his father had returned moments later. First being shock, then aggravation, then more shock when he saw you, landing on relief and worry.

He will take care of you. Of that, there was no doubt.

“Y/N!” Nero exclaimed, rushing forward when Vergil landed and tucking the book into his jacket. The demonic male held out his arms automatically for the boy to take you, but it felt...stiff. Like his body didn’t want to let you go. He tried to keep his expression in this form neutral, but his eyes lingered on your sleeping face as it moved away, now resting against Nero as the boy continued on, “Where the fuck did you find her?! I thought Dante said she was making her way down…!”

Vergil snorted, turning away with a growled, “She made it halfway down. The familiars couldn’t carry her the full way.”

“The familiars?” Nero blinked, taking in all of your new tattoos with even more shock as he settled your limp body more steadily, “What the...hey!” He protested when Vergil started walking back to the edge, the sound of his footsteps sounding as he followed behind, “Wait a goddamn second!”

Vergil didn’t slow, eager to get away and back on task. No more distractions. But Nero had other plans, one of his ghost-arms whipping out to grab Vergil by the shoulder, forcing him to halt in place. The older male turned, face conveying a barely-veiled threat as his firey gaze met Nero’s. The boy wasn’t fazed by his anger in the slightest bit, which was either courageous or absolutely foolish on his part. He was certainly a lot like Dante. Vergil’s other hand twitched, resisting the urge to summon the Yamato and whack at his wrist with the sheath--remind him of who took his old arm to begin with.

Nero’s eyes were sharp, staring him down with intensity as he held you firmly in his arms. Vergil tried to focus on his face instead of yours. He was speaking, after all.

“You remember her, don’t you?” It was just too bad that what Nero was saying turned out to be exactly the conversation he didn’t want to have. Vergil felt his hand twitch again, resisting the urge to just fight again so he could move the topic onto something else, or at least distract Nero long enough to make his way back to the portal.

“...Get her back to the van,” He replied coldly, turning his eyes forward again as he continued, “I have things to do, and no time to waste on this.”

Nero scoffed, hand still firmly clamped on his arm as he replied, “Yeah? Yet you took the time to bring her up to me, could have left her behind. I could have seen her on my way down, but you didn’t want to take the chance did y--”

Vergil let out a low growl, summoning the Yamato and whipping its sheath around at Nero. It startled the boy enough to let go, using that arm to block the blow as he leapt back with you in his arms. The movement barely jostled you, your head resting calmly against his shoulder and eyes still closed. Vergil spared that one last glance, loathing the feeling that the sight of you brought before he turned away, starting forward again with purposeful footsteps. This had wasted time he should have spent focusing on his task, and that alone spoke volumes to how messed up his head had to be. Before all of this, he would have sailed right by you on that ledge, without a single care. But…

Those times were gone.

Nero let out an annoyed growl as he walked, rasping under his breath, “You really are a bastard, you know that?” He straightened up, glaring holes into Vergil’s back as he made his way for the edge again, “She really cared about V, and you’re just gonna walk away from all of that?”

Vergil paused again, tips of his demonic feet touching the very edge of the precipice. Something about Nero’s words made him...irritated. Hearing that name, “V”, and hearing about how much you cared. It didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either. All it served to do was kick up that nagging guilt again, the one that made that part of his chest ache incessantly. His teeth grouns slightly, the sensation strange in this form that was so far from human. It wasn’t like him, so different from how he was before that he didn’t know how to process who he was becoming. To focus on anything but the tasks at hand was so out of character, shocking to even he, the one who prided himself on his focus.

“There is nothing to walk away from,” He said coldly, not sparing a glance back as his hand clenched into a fist, “Her feelings for a man that doesn’t exist anymore have nothing to do with me.”

With that, he took a step off the edge, hearing Nero growl in annoyance as he did so. The rush of air past his body felt a lot less soothing now, the roar filling his ears as his wings unfurled to glide him back down. That ache refused to leave, no matter how much distance he put between himself and you. It felt like something was pushing forward on his consciousness, loud and furious about the blatant lie he had told Nero about you. It urged him to turn around, to make sure you got to your destination safe. Apologize. It made him want to punch the nearest object, which if he played his cards right would soon be Dante waiting down below.

Don’t leave her again, That voice in the back of his head whispered, Look how much damage I caused. Fix it. You have to fix this.

He couldn’t turn around. There was so much to do, so many things to fix and a tree to cut down. He continued downward, trying to ignore that sensation looming over him like a persistent rain cloud. Like hands trying to pull him back, following him down as the portal loomed ever closer. Crackling, glowing purple and glowing with demonic energy. Focus, he needed to keep his eyes on the task. He would join in his brother in hell, setting about destroying the roots of the Qliphoth and dealing the portal to hell. But after that…

After that, he would be forced to address these new, persistent thoughts.

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#devil may cry v #devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #dmc5 #dmc v #V dmc #V x Reader #v x self insert #spirit writes fanfic #fanfic #chapter 27 #Ebony and Ivory #ebony and ivory chapter 27 #vergil #nero #dmc nero

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bangtanfancamp · 5 years

Text

The one where Jimin proposes

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Jimin x reader

Fluffy, one shot, drabbly thing

boyfriend au, marriage proposal

1.5k ish words

masterlist

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another bangtan dream typed out in a hurry because I didn’t want to lose it. now she is written. Enjoy her forever

——————

You’ve been together for a while now. But there was nothing better than pockets of time like this- drowning in jimin’s undistracted, unadulterated love and attention, and not having to share him with anyone. He’d have to prepare for his next comeback soon, transforming into some new version of himself like a phoenix reborn but right now, he was with you. Right now, he was just a boy. A beautiful, kind hearted boy that you were madly in love with.

This break between tours had been so good. You couldn’t explain it, but things with him had felt different, almost transcendent. The two of you had been connecting in a way you never had before and it was making you both a love sick, gooey mess. You loved it.

He plays music soft in the background while you roll your head to look at him, feet propped up on the dashboard. You bask in the warm sunlight coming through the windshield, smiling and picking at the fabric on your sundress. But instead of going to the brunch spot a few blocks down the road, Jimin turns onto a side street. You press your brows together, confused at his change of route, but maybe he knows another way. When he pulls up in an apartment parking lot instead, you’re completely at a loss, but unclick your seatbelt and follow when he asks you to.

He walks up to one of the buildings as you float behind, trying to asses the change of course. You are completely confused about what’s going on.

He proceeds to pull a key from his pocket and lets you in a unit. Knowing he can’t be trespassing if he has a key, you follow albeit hesitantly. He lives at the dorms with the other boys and you’re perfectly happy with your roommate. Neither of you have moving on the horizon. Although some of the boys have been getting their own places. Maybe Jimin thinks it’s time he did too? But he’s never mentioned it to you.

You try to question what’s happening, but he and his massive moon-eyed smile tell you to shush and look around instead. Tell him what you think. Disoriented or not, one thing is clear- the place is beautiful. Your fingertips trail over the countertops as you bask in the glorious natural light filtering in through the giant picture window. You feel like a cat following the sun.

“Isn’t it great? Jimin inquires. “Super close to your job and not far from the airport. There’s a great coffee shop walking distance from here. A garden bathtub...” His lips quirk. He’s trying to smother his smile, but it refuses to be contained.

You have to admit it’s wonderful, but something is nagging at you that you just don’t understand yet. Jimin won’t answer any of your questions directly and you begin to get frustrated. Finally, you won’t be put off any longer and turn to ask Jimin what you’re possibly doing there. The place is beautiful, but it makes no sense. Why are you here?

And that’s when you pivot behind you to find beautiful, ethereal, light-filled Park Jimin on his knee- smiling wide enough for his chipped tooth to show- looking up at you like he’s just pulled off the heist of the century.

“I’m glad. I’m glad you like it- because it’s gonna be ours.”

You clasp your hands over your mouth in shock, searching his eyes earnestly.The light beaming from this boy....

“______, it’s been so long since I had a real place to call Home. I’ve been training or dancing or touring for so long that the only ‘Home’ I know is performing- it’s the guys and the stage. I’ve never gotten to pick a paper towel holder or care what scent the candles are or make a life somewhere, build a home. But jagi, you..... I want that with you. I want all the boring little things because they’re not boring with you. I love you.” He cracks a grin so wide and so deep his dimples show.

“Marry me? Help me make this a home?”

Silent. Stunned. Mouth still hidden. Eyes glistening. All you can do is nod your head. Imperceptibly at first. Then you bobble like a god dang rattlesnake.

“Yes.....yes... oh my god. Yes. Baby. Yes!”

You run into his arms, and he raises to catch you. He lifts you so your legs are wrapped around his waist, foreheads pressed together as he spins you. “Yes, Yes, a thousand times yes,” you giggle, palms pressed to his cheeks, covering him in sloppy, quick kisses that land everywhere with no pattern. He throws his head back in laughter and squeezes your waist tighter. You take that moment to drop kisses along his throat, crying and laughing and feeling set to combust all at the same time.

“Jimin... baby.... is this real?” You’ve pulled back, wide eyed and dazed.

“Yes!!! Guys!!! She said yes!! My girl said yes!!!” He called out. Shouts from another room begin to fill the space. Suddenly six other boys emerge, rushing at you both to hug and scream and cheer. Taehyung reaches you first to scoop you both up, exuberant smile wide as hoseok and jungkook cluster around you both on the other side, hands intertwined and jumping out of sync. Namjoon braces a shoulder against a doorframe with a warm, kind look in his eyes, telling the boys to be gentle with you. Jin is strolling around the perimeter of the room admiring the architecture and yoongi- sweet yoongi-who has always had the biggest soft spot for Jimin, stands just beyond your circle, hands in pockets and holding back a watery veil of tears as he smiles. “Yah, Jimin. You didn’t even put the ring on her.” He scolds, but the softness in his eyes doesn’t match his tone.

Jimin realizes the ring box is still in his hand and gently sets you on the ground. “Gotta do this the right way, yeah?” He winks at you before dipping to his knee again. Howls rise around you of “get it Jimin! Holy crap it’s about to real!! That’s our boy!!!”

But Jimin is determined to pull you into a pocket world of your own- just you and him. He reaches for your left hand, warm thumb caressing your skin. Taking a deep slow breath, he looks up at you.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back.

Eyes locked with each other, Jimin carefully slides the jewelry past your knuckle. It’s a loose fit, but you can have that sized. And it. is. beautiful. The way the details glint in the light can’t help but remind you of the sparkling in his eyes at this moment. You wish you could save this feeling forever. Bottle it. And that’s when you feel something drip onto your dress, only to look down and realize it’s your own tears. You’ve been crying. Joyful soft blissful tears and you didn’t even know it.

Jimin comes to you, hands pressed to the edges of your jaw, thumbs soft on your cheeks, brushing away any trace of water. He dips down and melts you in a kiss so sweet you dissolve like cotton candy against his touch.

The boys begin to jump and howl and cheer, Namjoon joining in because if you can’t beat them, join them. This is a time for celebration. Taehyung pulls confetti poppers out of his pocket, passing them around to the other boys and when they go off you jump, startled in jimins arms, only to break into the most massive grin looking to the ceiling as the bits glitter down in a festive rain around you both. You glide your fingers through his thick hair and dip your head back, closing your eyes and reveling in it all.

This was real. It’s more than you could ever ask for. Your heart swelling, the force of love inside it threatening to splinter your chest if it escaped. Jimin. Your Jimin wants you forever. He was so firm in his choice that he brought his family, his brothers to witness it. He wants you to be his family. He has everything- the entire world at his feet. His choices are infinite, endless- but he still chose to look you in the eye and love you beyond all of it. He chose to come home to you when his bones are in need of rest. He chose waffle breakfasts with you on lazy mornings. He chose picking paint swatches and table cloth covers with you. He chose blowing raspberries into your belly to wake you from a Sunday nap and then feigning ignorance and innocence when you wake up startled, hitting him with a pillow.

He chose you.

And you’d choose him forever.

#bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fluff #btsboyfriendmaterial #boyfriend au jimin #jimin fluff #jimin fanfic #bts marriage au #bts drabble #bts one shot #jimin scenarios #jimin imagine #jimin proposal fanfic #bts park jimin #chimchim #bts ot7 #bangtanfancampfics

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argylemnwrites · 5 years

Text

Just Us

Pairing: Seth Levine x MC (Jessica Parker)

Book: Red Carpet Diaries (~Book 3, Chapter 3)

Word Count: ~2600

Rating: PG-13 (a bit of language, some innuendo)

Summary: Seth always felt that Jessica was way out of his league, but it turns out those insecurities might have caused him more trouble than he could imagine.

Author’s Note: Written for Day 20 of the Choices July Challenge (just a week late, oops; prompt - Commitment).

This is a follow up to my Day 7 piece (prompt - Reflection) titled Why? and linked in my masterlist.

Seth awoke with a start, disoriented as sunlight hit him square in the eye. Where was he? As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he quickly remember last night. Deciding to spend the night at Jessica’s after his plane landed, figuring he’d only have to wait up a couple of hours to see her, but feeling his eyes getting heavy within minutes on sinking onto his side of her bed. He remembered thinking he could take a little nap before she got back from her appearance at that nightclub and setting an alarm on his phone, but he must have turned it off in his sleep, because his only other memory was waking up briefly when Jessica was getting into bed. He couldn’t even be sure if they said anything to each other before he passed out again. Whatever the case, she was gone now, as he was alone in her bedroom.

He reached over and grabbed his phone, looking to check the time. 10:47. Well, damn. Good thing he didn’t have anything going on until this afternoon. He was surprised, not only that it was getting dangerously close to noon for him still to be in bed, but also that he was even able to sleep this late. When he’d first moved out to LA, he’d been able to sleep in until any hour of the day. Back then, when he was fighting for the 2 am slot at open mic nights, he would sleep until noon or 1 pm without issue, but as the years marched on, he found himself getting up earlier and earlier no matter what time he went to bed. And now that his 30th birthday was months, not years, away, well it just kept getting worse. It was no wonder his trip had worn him out, with all the traveling and the late night sets, and then the need to stay at the bar after every show to chat with the audience. He had been out past 2 am every night, and then he usually had to get to the airport early enough to catch a morning flight.

God, did he sound like an old man. Actually, he sounded like his dad, a thought that was scary in its own right, and one that would not be a good idea to keep dwelling on before he got some coffee. Since Jessica was clearly up already, he knew there would be some left in the kitchen. Fingers crossed she would be there as well. They hadn’t spent much time together since their vacation, which probably wasn’t the ideal way to spend the week after you got engaged, come to think of it. That’s what he got for proposing on a whim.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he shuffled into Jessica’s bathroom to brush his teeth before he wandered into the living space of her penthouse apartment. He was thrilled to see her curled up on her sofa, mug of coffee in one hand, a worn copy of The Secret of Ninradell in the other. He cleared his throat as he entered the room, not wanting to startle her. She glanced up, smiling brightly when she saw him. God, she was so beautiful.

“Hey, who’s the sleepyhead now?” she asked as he strolled into her kitchen.

“Yeah yeah, Iowa.” Seth replied, shaking his head as he grabbed a mug out of the cabinet and poured himself a cup of coffee. He supposed that was fair, seeing as he teased her no less than once a week about how many times she would swipe to snooze on her phone.

She let him prepare his coffee, adding a bit of milk from the carton in her fridge, before she spoke again. “So, how was the trip? You have to tell me everything.”

He shrugged, leaning against her kitchen counter. “Oh, you know.” He was never really sure how his sets went. Plus, it felt strange to talk about them if he thought they went well, like he was bragging or something. And these ones did seem to go pretty well… but then again, he could never be sure.

Jessica looked up from her copy of Ninradell. She always tried to get him to talk about his shows, but she seemed to understand he just wasn’t comfortable doing that, moving on quickly to other topics. But today, something was different. She kept at it, asking, “How was your San Francisco show?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Did you meet anyone interesting there?”

“No, was I supposed to? Oh crap, did you tell me that I was supposed to find someone there and I forgot? You know I don’t network as well-”

“No, no. Nothing like that,” she interrupted, dropping her eyes to her lap, twisting her fingers around each other. What the hell had her so nervous? Did she have a jealous ex who lived in San Fran or something?

“What is it, Jessica?”

She took a deep breath, letting out a sigh before she continued, “Don’t be mad, okay? I’m not accusing you of anything. I know you would never cheat on me.”

“Jessica, what the hell are you-” but she had clearly rehearsed this little speech, talking over his interruption, trying to get the whole thing out.

“I just figured if you are tempted or something like that, well maybe we should talk about it. It seems healthier than just pretending that everything is perfect if you are having doubts. And if this whole engagement is too overwhelming, I understand. If you want to just slow things down, have a long engagement or even just go back to dating, I promise I won’t be upset. I just want us to get back to a good place where we both feel comfortable with our level of commitment.”

Somewhere in the middle of her speech, Seth felt his heart begin to race and his mouth get dry. He knew that she was out of his league. He had always known that. But she must have just figured it out. Maybe the engagement made it more real, and she saw that tying herself to a mid-tier comic and mediocre screenwriter was a terrible idea. But whatever the reason, she was asking him to slow things down.

“If… if that’s what you want,” he choked out, trying to not let his sheer terror show.

“No! I am so happy with you. But Seth, I just want to make sure that you are just as comfortable. I don’t want to hold you to something that happened right after an adrenaline rush.”

Seth frowned, setting his coffee down on the counter. “Jessica, I feel like I’m missing something pretty big here. Why would you think I would want slow things down between us?”

He stared at her, trying to put the pieces together, but no matter how he thought about things, he felt like he was completely out of the loop. After a few seconds of painful silence, Jessica finally spoke.

“I just figured there must be some reason you wanted us to have an open relationship.”

Her voice was so small, so quiet, Seth almost missed it. And when he did hear it, he thought he must be hallucinating. Did she really think that he wanted an open marriage?

“No!” he bolted around the island, racing over to Jessica on the sofa, sitting down next to her and grabbing her hands. “Jessica, believe me. I don’t have any real interest in an open relationship.”

“Then why would you even ask? Come on, Seth. There must be some reason why you brought that up after we’d been exclusive for well over a year.”

She was right. There was a reason. It just wasn’t at all what she thought it was.

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Why would you lose me?”

“Because you are so far out of my league, Jessica.” She opened her mouth to argue that point, but Seth just shook his head. “You not believing that fact doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Even if that were true, which it’s not, by the way, why did you think that I would want to have an open marriage? What did I do that made you think that I would want to sleep with someone else?”

Seth sighed, grabbing her tablet off the coffee table and opening up a fan site he’d stumbled upon while waiting to catch his flight to San Francisco. It was dedicated to Jessica and seemed to have a pretty active membership. He’d been so proud of her, seeing how passionate people were about her work, her talent. But then he’d stumbled into a thread that focused on her personal life, and it was rife with speculation. About her. About them. About Matt and Hunt and Teja and Victoria. About all of her friends and why the hell they all went on vacation together.

“I think it’s just different in Hollywood, they all sleep around with each other and no one bats an eye at any of it,” read one comment.

“They’re all having sex with each other but are scared of the backlash if it ever came out. That’s why she’s openly with the most vanilla one in the whole group,” said another poster.

“She’s only with him publicly because it makes her seem more relatable. They clearly have an agreement,” claimed a different commenter.

Jessica scrolled through the thread, her eyes growing wide as she scanned across line after line of similar posts. After a few minutes of reading, she stopped, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

“This is all complete nonsense. You know that for a fact. Why would reading this make you think it held any truth at all?”

“I don’t know,” Seth rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed that he had so clearly let his insecurities affect their relationship.

“Seth, have I ever given you any sign that I wanted to sleep with someone else?”

He shook his head. He’d never seen her so much as flirt with anyone.

“Then why would you ever believe this shit? Seth, I don’t get it. You trust TendrSomethingz476 and HawkeyezFan2969 more than you trust us? More than you trust me?”

When she said it that way, it made him feel like an idiot. Of course he trusted her more than some random internet strangers. But it was easy to feel that way now, when she was sitting next to him. It was a lot harder when he was alone and there were tabloid photos of her out with Hunt or going over to Matt’s mansion.

“Jessica, I trust you. I guess I just don’t trust that someone as amazing as you could be happy with just me. Not when you could have someone way better looking or more famous or-”

“Then you don’t trust me, because I have told you time and time again that I want you. I love you.”

“I love you, too. But you are this mega-famous, talented superstar, and I’m just this awkward, dorky writer and comic. On paper, it looks like you outgrew me. I’m the type of guy you date for a while before you land your first big role, get noticed by the paparazzi, and sign commercial deals for bottled water or perfumes or credit cards. Best case scenario, I’m starter marriage material.”

Jessica paused, tipping her head back slightly and staring off to the side as she tried to find her next words. After a few moments, she spoke again.

“Sacha Baron Cohen and Ilsa Fisher.”

“What?”

“Look, I don’t like you talking about yourself like you don’t deserve me. We are equals here in every way. But since you are determined to see us as uneven, I figured I’d find an example of a couple that apparently works in spite of not seeming to match on paper. Hence, Sacha Baron Cohen and Ilsa Fisher.”

“Yeah, and the world doesn’t get why they’re together either.”

“Then the world doesn’t know what it’s missing, with them or with us. Because I get to be with someone who is funny and sweet and caring. You make me smile and laugh and be myself, not this polished version of myself I have to present to the rest of the world. I’m happy with you. Just you, Seth. And I don’t think sleeping with anyone else would make me any happier than I am now.”

Seth didn’t quite know how to respond to that, dropping his gaze down to his lap. He didn’t know how he found someone that saw him that way, far better than he saw himself. He was staring at his hands, processing her words and her utter faith in them, when two smaller hands came into view, grabbing both of his. His eyes automatically focused on the dark pearl sitting on her left hand.

“Seth, look at me.” He turned to face her on the couch as she kept talking. “I know you aren’t the most confident guy out there, but next time you have insecurities, can you promise me you’ll come to me to talk about them instead of trying to solve a problem you just created in your mind?”

Seth nodded, moving his hands to twine their fingers together, “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

“Good, because I’ve been pretty anxious about this whole open marriage suggestion for days now.”

Seth squinted before the implications of her words fully hit him. “Wait, you thought I was trying to sleep with someone else while I was at one of my shows?”

“How else could I have taken your suggestion? I couldn’t think of anything else that would motivate you asking me that.”

Seth knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he couldn’t help it - he burst out laughing. The whole thing sounded so ridiculous coming from her, that there was some universe where he was picking up people at comedy clubs instead of just missing his insanely hot girlfr- no, fiancée - while he was away.

“Iowa, you’re telling me that instead of thinking that suggestion came from Seth ‘my insecurities have insecurities’ Levine, you jumped to the oh so logical conclusion that I suddenly developed such great game that I was looking for some strange at a comedy club and not, you know, heading back to my hotel to sleep and watch B movies like the boring old man I am?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite hold back a smile. “You’re not the only one with insecurities, you know.”

She was right, of course. But it was easy to forget that she had been an awkward theater nerd with only one friend before she arrived in LA and took the world by storm. Seth knew he was guilty of thinking that she must be insanely confident because of how quickly she’d skyrocketed to superstar levels of fame. But that wasn’t how insecurity worked, not at all. “I’m sorry, Iowa. I would have never thrown that idea out there if I knew it would make you worry.”

She nodded before pulling her hands from his, swinging her leg over his lap and straddling him before he could even make a comment. “And how are you going to make it up to me?” she quipped, raising one eyebrow, but smiling playfully.

“Not sure, but you sitting like this is giving me a few ideas…”

She laughed before she leaned in to kiss him, winding her arms around his shoulders. As Seth felt himself falling further into the moment with her, he couldn’t help but think he would have to be a complete idiot to doubt what they had. Because this, right here, right now? Well sharing that with her would always be more than enough for him.

Tags: @mfackenthal @kinda-iconic @choicesjulychallenge

#seth levine #seth x mc #rcd #red carper diaries #choices rcd #rcd fanfic #choices fanfiction #choices #choices stories you play #playchoices #choices july challenge

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madam-lit-nerd · 5 years

Text

The Apocalypse AU, pt 2.

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The next couple weeks, Cas fell into an easy schedule. Wake up, bathe, get the kids ready if it was his day, breakfast. Once he was in the playroom with Rachel and Hanna, his schedule was just as it had been before, complete with snack time and group naps. After, he’d help his six wash up then herd them all down to dinner where he’d eat with Dean and a few others, like Dean’s brother Sam and his mate Eileen, or sometimes Jo and Ruby.

Castiel grew so used to his routine that, when the day finally arrived that Dean wasn’t waiting at the usual table, Castiel actually felt disoriented.

Once he had his six settled and eating, Castiel walked over to where Sam at another table to ask about the alpha.

“Supplies trip!” The tall beta explained. “He’ll be back in a couple days.” He smiled kindly. “Did you need something?”

Cas shook his head profusely. “No, I’d just gotten used to seeing him, I suppose.”

Sam’s smile grew, as if that news pleased him somehow. “He’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”

Castiel offered his own timid smile then returned to his usual table to eat with the children.

After dinner, Castiel led the children back to their rooms for some downtime. Usually he was too busy answering inane questions and lending a guiding hand to notice his surroundings, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched...studied.

He looked over his shoulder once, twice, but saw no one there. With an uneasy hum, he hurried the children along.

—

Once Castiel had gotten the children safely tucked in for the night, he wandered down to the bathroom to brush his teeth before bed. He’d just barely turned the corner when he felt it again, that inescapable certainty that he was being watched.

After only a moment’s thought, he spun around to face whoever was there, only to find the hallway empty.

“You really are awful at this game, aren’t you?”

Castiel froze at the low voice right next to his ear. He didn’t recognize it, whoever it was. Instead, he shook his head.

“I didn’t know we were playing a game.”

“Little tease like you?” Suddenly there was a nose pressed to his neck. The omega jumped away with a yelp, finally spinning around to see the alpha who’d been staring at him in the dining hall.

“What do you want?”

“I just want to get to know you,” the alpha said, leering at Castiel knowingly. “Pretty little pregnant thing like you probably knows lots of tricks.”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know anything?”The alpha chuckled at the tremble in his voice, and Castiel knew with absolute certainty that there would be no mercy. This alpha...he enjoyed the scent of an omega when it was afraid.

“I don’t know who you are, or who you think I am, but I’m not that,” Castiel tried to keep his voice firm. “Your games aren’t interesting.”

“Oh Castiel,” the alpha rumbled, leaning over Castiel, trapping him. “I know exactly who you are. I know what you want, and I’m gonna give it to—“

Just then a door opened down the hall, and a young Asian man stepped out of his room.

Gordon sneered at the young man then shot one final heavy look toward Castiel. “We’ll finish this later, omega.” Then he spun and walked away.

The young man, Castiel’s savior, came to stand next to him. “Are you okay, you don’t look so good...”

“Who was that?” Castiel whispered.

“That’s Gordon. He’s kind of a dick.”

Now that the alpha, Gordon, had gone, Castiel couldn’t stop the trembling. He reached out to grab the young man’s arm and squeezed tightly.

“I need to see Sam.”

—

Dean strolled back into the compound, whistling merrily as he nodded at different people he passed. It had been a damn successful trip, and now they had rations to last them a long while.

He spotted Sam standing near the stairs and strode up to greet him, slapping him on the shoulder genially.

“Sammy!”

“Dean,” Sam’s expression was tense, guarded. “Everything go well?”

“Yeah,” Dean’s good mood faltered. “What happened here?”

“It’s Gordon...”

Dean let out a long sigh. Of course it was.

“What was it this time?”

Sam grimaced and shook his head. “Apparently he took a liking to the new omega.”

“Cas?” Dean blanched as Sam nodded. “Shit...”

“I guess he tried to make a move on him after dinner the other night...luckily Kevin came along, stopped him from doing anything.”

Dean was breathing deep and slow, trying to keep his temper under control. That bastard had no problem attacking a helpless omega? In Cas’s condition?

Sam gripped his shoulder, tried to keep him present in the conversation. “I shuffled some things around, moved him to the night crew downstairs. He’ll have different meal times, different sleep times.”

Dean growled lowly in his throat. When he looked back to Sam, he could see that his brother was taken aback.

“Dean, your eyes...”

So they’d gone red, then. Dean didn’t care, he had other priorities at the moment.

With a snarl, he spun on his heel and stormed away.

“Where are you going?” Sam called, tailing after him uncertainly.

“I’m gonna go have a little chat with Gordon.”

He found the alpha in the basement, just finishing up his night shift. There was no warning, no preamble. Dean simply grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the nearest wall.

“You been harassing omegas?” He shook Gordon roughly. “In my compound! I brought that omega here, promised him safety, and you attacked him?”

Gordon bared his teeth in a savage grin. “He was asking for it.”

“He wasn’t asking for shit, not from you,” Dean seethed. He leaned in close, just enough for Gordon to hear him whisper. “I oughta throw you outside the walls right now.”

“Dean,” Sam warned from behind him. “He’s got the message.”

Dean slowly released Gordon’s collar, took one step back, then another.

“If you so much as step within twenty feet of him again,” Dean paused, let his words resonate. “I’ll push you out the front gate myself.”

—

Dean waited until his alpha had settled and his eyes had bled back to their usual green before he tracked Castiel down. The poor thing had already had one bad scare from an overbearing alpha; he didn’t need another so soon.

He stood just outside the doorway, peeking in to watch as Cas sat in the middle of a circle on the floor, laughing with the children as they sang a song about teeth.

When they finished singing, he turned to a young boy. “See, Tyler? It’s normal to lose teeth.”

The boy grinned, his tongue swiping to play with a loose tooth.

“Do you think the tooth fairy will be able to find us here?” Another child asked.

Castiel shrugged. “That sounds like a good question for your mom. I bet she knows all about the tooth fairy!”

Castiel turned to the children on the opposite side of the circle. “I think it’s your turn to start the snack line. Why don’t you go get lined up so Rachel can give you snacks?”

As the children started to walk toward the table at the far end of the room, Castiel slowly pushed himself to his feet and meandered toward the door. Dean smiled at the way Cas threw one final glance over his shoulder before slipping out into the hall to join the alpha.

“You’re back!”

“Yep, just got in a few minutes ago,” Dean hedged. “How are the kiddos?”

“They’re doing great! A few of them are still unsure of what’s happening, but that might be for the best...”

“Yeah,” Dean ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Look, Cas...”

Castiel sighed and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Dean.”

Dean’s mouth turned down at the edges. “Of course I’m gonna worry about it! I promised you a safe space, and instead...”

“Sam took care of it,” Castiel assured him, his tone that same soothing level he used with the children at nap time. “And I haven’t seen him since.”

Dean shook his head. “It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”

With a gentle smile, Castiel laid a hand on Dean’s arm. “You can’t control what everyone does. I know it’s the alpha in you, but you just can’t.”

After studying him for a long moment, Dean nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Just...I can’t have anything happening to you.”

Castiel’s heart stuttered in his chest at the vulnerability in the alpha’s tone.

“To me?”

Dean’s eyes widened, and he cleared his throat. “I can’t afford for anyone to feel unsafe!”

“Of course,” Castiel murmured, desperately trying to ignore the blush staining his cheeks. “I just...I understand.”

“Good, good,” Dean muttered. “So, uh, see you at dinner?”

Cas nodded hastily and turned to head back into the playroom, listening as Dean’s footsteps faded in the opposite direction.

—

“So you’re headed out again?” Castiel asked, his hand smoothing back and forth over his tummy. He didn’t let himself think about the fact that it was a soothing gesture, didn’t want to think about what that meant, that he only really did it when Dean was going out on supply runs and scouting trips.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “Some punks were causing trouble for this latest group we got.”

Cas glanced past him to where Benny and a few other guys were gearing up with a variety of firearms and blades.

“I wish...” he trailed off with a sigh. It was no good to wish; Dean felt this was part of his duty as the leader. He’d always do his duty.

“Hey,” Dean ducked his head to catch Castiel’s eye. “We’ll be back in just a couple days. And if Gordon gives you any trouble, Sam will handle him.”

Yes, that must be it. Castiel was just worried about what Gordon might do when Dean had left again. That’s why he was so upset.

He offered Dean a timid smile. “Please be safe?”

Dean winked. “Don’t worry. I always am.”

—

Four days later, when Dean still hadn’t returned, Castiel let himself worry.

—

When the group of bedraggled men stumbled into the compound after another three days—a full week after they’d left—Castiel almost burst into tears. Dean was back, alive and safe. It was Benny whose leg had gotten hurt, holding up the group’s return, but even he seemed fine, aside from needing to be supported between two other men for his leg.

Castiel stepped forward to go greet Dean, welcome him back, but before he could get very far, Cassie was there, throwing herself onto Dean with a loud cry of, “I was so worried about you!”

Castiel turned and headed back toward the stairs. He had to get back to the playroom... The children would want to hear the good news about Dean’s return.

—

With a groan, Cas heaved himself from the floor where they’d been seated for story circle. At six months along, he was getting too big to sit down there with the children. His body ached and protested more and more these days.

“Let’s go wash up for snack time. Everybody find your buddy!”

He watched as smaller children grabbed onto older children, thrilled at the prospect of being “buddies” with a big kid. The older children, having already been given a talk about helping out and doing their part, loved that they were old enough to have such an important responsibility to help Cas.

The system also took some of the hectic responsibility off the busy workers, which they were all grateful for.

“Now march!”

As the children fake-marched down the hall with Hanna at the head and Rachel at the middle, Castiel brought up the rear. They were just turning into the main hall when Castiel heard the now familiar, “Hey, Cas!”

Even though Dean’s greeting was familiar now, Castiel still tensed for the briefest of seconds before he recognized the voice. Even though it had been weeks since Gordon had cornered him, he still flinched at every unexpected noise.

“Dean,” Cas smiled as he turned to face the approaching alpha. “How was the supplies run?”

“Awesome!” The alpha declared. His eyes seemed tight around the edges. “Better than we hoped. Listen,” here he faltered with a bit of uncertainty, but Castiel smiled encouragingly and nodded for him to continue. Dean cleared his throat. “I noticed, the last time I stopped by the playroom, that you’re having a little more trouble getting up and down from the floor. So, uh...” he ran a hand over the back of his neck, “well, we found this really nice rocking chair.“

Castiel’s face broke into a wide smile. “Really?”

Dean seemed surprise by his reaction but nodded. “Uh, yeah. Jo’s scrubbing it down right now, but I can bring it up to the play room later?”

“Thank you!” Castiel enthused, squeezing the alpha’s forearm excitedly. “I was just thinking today that I’d need to figure something else out besides the floor.”

“Awesome. So I’ll see you in a bit?”

“See you soon,” Castiel responded, watched as Dean walked back the way he’d come. He ignored the little flip his heart gave at the realization that Dean had thought about him, had brought him back a rocking chair, of all things.

—

Dean knew that Jo wouldn’t be finished with the rocking chair for a few minutes yet, so instead he detoured down to the basement. He found the work crew, made up entirely of engineers and construction workers, at the back of the room, planning the underground expansion the compound desperately needed.

“Gordon,” Dean called, his tone brooking no argument. The tall lanky alpha broke away from the others and stepped up to Dean.

“Dean,” he responded easily, but his eyes were wary.

“Have you been going up by the playroom?”

Gordon snorted. “Don’t worry, I haven’t gone near your precious omega. You can ask these guys,” he gestured back toward the other men on the crew who were all pretending not to listen.

Dean glanced at Victor, the crew chief, who gave a brief nod of affirmation.

“Good,” Dean murmured. “Don’t forget my warning.”

I’ll push you out the front gate myself. “I never do,” Gordon replied lowly.

—

When Dean set the rocking chair down in the corner of the playroom, Castiel actually giggled.

“Thank you so much, Dean!”

Dean smiled at his enthusiasm and gestured toward it, “Why don’t you give it a spin?”

With a nod, Castiel slowly levered himself down into the chair. As soon as his weight had settled and his feet were relieved of their burden, Cas let out a long, happy sigh.

“It’s perfect!” He declared even as his eyes slipped shut. “Just what I needed.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Dean murmured.

Cas’s eyes fluttered open, his stomach flip-flopping again at the fond smile Dean wore.

Oh, Castiel was really in trouble now.

—

Long after Dean had moved on to deal with business in other parts of the compound, Castiel sat in his rocking chair, thinking things over. He smiled at the thought of those kind, green eyes and that ready smile. Those broad shoulders and that tight—

With an internal groan, Castiel wrenched his thoughts away from the alpha’s physique. Not the time or place...

Dean had enough on his plate with running the sanctuary, keeping everyone safe and fed. He didn’t need some sappy omega who’d caught feelings pining after him, especially an omega who was pregnant with another alpha’s pup.

When Cas had first arrived, with Michael’s death a fresh wound in his heart that reopened every night, he never would have thought of even looking at another alpha, much less wanting one. But now, as weeks and months had passed, Castiel knew he couldn’t keep ignoring those little things about Dean—how he was kind to everyone, always helpful, always ready with a smile, even in the midst of stress

Cas had recently begun to realize that he looked forward to those warm smiles and bright eyes a little too much. When Dean went out on patrols with others, it was Dean that Cas worried about the most. And he always felt a little too giddy when Dean stopped by the playroom to check in.

And wasn’t that a terrifying realization, that not only was Castiel moving on after Michael, but that his heart had actually found someone new...

He considered, for the briefest of seconds, ignoring Dean, giving himself room to figure out the emotions, adapt and hide them. But almost as soon as the thought crossed Castiel’s mind, he dismissed it. With their tight quarters here, ignoring Dean just wasn’t feasible.

So if Cas couldn’t ignore Dean, he’d just ignore his feelings for the alpha. Easy peasy, right?

Plus, if Dean were inclined to take a mate right now, he’d probably choose from the multiplicity of unmated omegas they had here, several of which regularly sought Dean’s attentions, like Anna or Cassie.

No, Castiel would do well to remember his situation and just keep those pesky feelings far away beneath the surface.

Next chapter

Still more to come! Part 1 is over here.

#yeah I wrote something #apocalypse au #alpha!dean #omega castiel #pregnant!castiel #destiel ficlet #destiel fic #destiel oneshot #series

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