#idk man I’m sick and delirious

[dumbcoffeebee]

something something the inherent trust of pokemon to allow your own capture into a foreign thing held by something that extends their grace and love unto you while parading the dichotomy of domesticity and wild, of tame and animal.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

It’s Sick!

Sherlock x teen sister reader, Mycroft x teen sister reader

Synopsis: reader gets sick and Sherlock and Mycroft don’t know what to do about it.

Warnings: sickness? Idk none really

“It’s sick.”

“What?”

“It’s sick and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Mycroft ran a hand over his face and sighed loudly into his cell phone. “Sherlock I’m a very busy man, I don’t have time for you to call me in the middle of the day with vague messages. What are you talking about?”

“Y/N, Mycroft! Y/N is sick and I don’t know what to do with it!”

“It? Brother mine, our dear sister is not an ‘it’.”

“She is when she’s sick and I have to deal with it!”

“Oh Sherlock, do calm down, this isn’t the end of the world. Have you phoned a doctor?”

“A doctor? No, Mycroft she doesn’t need a doctor.”

Mycroft frowned. “Then what exactly does she need?”

“How am I supposed to know?! But she insists she doesn’t need medical attention.”

“I see. Why exactly have you called me?”

“I can’t get her fever to break, John is absent on some sort of holiday with Mary, and Y/N keeps drifting in and out of sleep so she’s no help, but she keeps calling for you.”

Mycroft stiffened. “Calling for me?” He wasn’t one to baby his siblings, it was all he could do to just spend time with them sometimes. But if his baby sister was sick and calling out for him…what big brother could possibly ignore that?

Mycroft hung up the phone without waiting for another word from Sherlock, then pulled on his coat, snatched his umbrella from the stand, and headed outside to hail a cab.

…

Sherlock was not a worrier. Sherlock was not a nursemaid. Sherlock was not one to dwell too long on other’s problems, unless it made for an interesting case for him.

Today, however, all of those traits of his went out the window.

In the few moments that he had been able to speak with John on the phone, the doctor had assured him that Y/N did not need a hospital, at least not in his opinion. As long as you got plenty of rest and water, the fever would break on its own sooner or later.

That hadn’t made the past few hours any easier for Sherlock.

You looked so tired and pale, drifting in and out of sleep, only speaking enough to ensure Sherlock that you were alright, or occasionally ask for water. You had tried a few snacks, but nothing would stay down. Sherlock could tell you were in pain, though you tried to hide it.

You couldn’t hide it when you were asleep. The moment your eyes shut, the whimpering started. It got worse as time went on, and you would thrash around in her bed, soft sounds of pain escaping you. Eventually you started to call out, first for Sherlock, for you knew he was near, then for Mycroft. Sherlock couldn’t tell if you were asking Sherlock to find Mycroft, or if you were becoming delirious enough that you actually thought your oldest brother was nearby.

Either way it worried him, and he was getting ready to ignore John’s suggestion and call for an ambulance regardless.

He was just about to pick up his cell phone when the front door of 221B burst open, and there was Mycroft, looking uncharacteristically disheveled.

“Where-“

“Upstairs in her room.”

Mycroft brushed past Sherlock without another word, and headed up the stairs to your room with Sherlock on his heels.

…

“Mycroft?”

The gentle cry reached the eldest Holmes’ ears as he quietly opened to door to his sister’s room.

Upon seeing his Y/N, Mycroft’s heart sank. His little sister was white as a sheet, your body shivering, fingers clutching your comforter.

Mycroft wasted no time in coming to your side. “Hello, dearest,” he greeted with a forced smile. “It’s me, it’s Mycroft. I’m here.”

Your eyes opened wearily, and your lips curled upward as your eyes lit up with a spark of joy. “Mycroft.”

“How are you feeling?”

You winced. “My stomach hurts.”

Mycroft was hit with a sudden, violent flashback.

You were six years old, maybe even five. Mycroft had been visiting home the same time that a carnival happened to be in town, and your parents insisted that Mycroft take you. With much reluctance, he had.

You had had a blast, dragging Mycroft around on as many rides as you could, and making him buy you ice cream and funnel cakes and cotton candy.

Unfortunately, he had bought you one too many sweets, and that night you regretted it dearly.

“How are you feeling?” Mycroft had asked you after laying you down in his bed. You were up hours past bed time due to a stomach ache, and the occasional throwing up. Mycroft didn’t complain once, simply held your hair back when you needed it.

“My stomach hurts,” you whimpered.

Mycroft grimaced slightly, and began to stroke your hair. “It’s alright Princess, I know. You’re gonna be alright.”

End of flashback.

Mycroft hesitated. After all, you weren’t six anymore. But the look in your eyes, the complete faith in them that said you were certain that your big brother was here to fix everything, reassured Mycroft that things hadn’t changed so much.

So he reached out, and began to gently stroke your hair. “I know, Princess, I know. It’s going to be alright. I’m here.”

Sherlock appeared at the doorway, “What do you think?”

Mycroft sighed and stood to face Sherlock, “I think you’re incredibly over dramatic. She’s fine, probably just some 24 hour bug. Have you tried to feed her?”

Sherlock scowled, “Of course. Nothing stays down.”

Mycroft bit back a grimace and nodded. “Try and make some hot broth, she needs to get something to stay in her system.”

Sherlock hesitated. He didn’t like taking orders from Mycroft, and in any other situation he wouldn’t. But it was a good idea, and with you laying on your bed suffering, he didn’t see that he had much choice. Unless…

“We both know I’m not exactly adept in the kitchen, perhaps you should do it. I’ll stay with her.”

Mycroft glanced at you before sighing, “Very well, brother mine. Do try and keep her alive while I’m gone.” He turned to go, but froze when he felt your fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Mycroft?”

He turned to you, his features softening slightly. “It’s alright, I’ll be just downstairs. Sherlock is going to stay with you. I know it’s not ideal, but we can’t very well trust him not to poison you with his cooking, so you’ll have to make do.”

Sherlock stepped over to his sister’s side, glaring at Mycroft, “Yes, yes, very funny Mycroft. Go on now, I’ve got her.”

Mycroft was relieved to see a wide smile on his sister’s pale face as he turned to leave.

…

“Are you feeling any better?” Sherlock asked hesitantly.

“Not really.”

Sherlock sighed, wishing more than ever that a client would walk through the door and distract him from his ailing sister. Comfort was most certainly not his strong suite.

“Thank you.”

Sherlock looked up, “For what?”

You smiles slightly. “Being here. I know you want to be anywhere else.”

Sherlock didn’t bother contradicting you. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Just being here is enough.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure how his presence helped your pain, but then again he’d never been very good at understanding you. As long as you were happy, he’d sit at your bedside for as long as you needed.

Truth be told, he was glad to hear that you appreciated his presence. Hearing you call out for Mycroft, even if it was in sleep, had made him feel completely useless: not a feeling he was used to.

“Then I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

He wasn’t sure if you’d heard him, as your eyes were drooping shut and your breathing began to slow, but it didn’t matter. You already knew that he’d be there, no matter what.

…

Mycroft walked in with a steaming bowl of broth just in time to see you slowly sit up. You were rubbing your eyes, indicating that you’d just woken up.

“Would you like to try to eat?” Mycroft asked, holding out the bowl to you. You hesitantly took it, then accepted the spoon he offered you.

“Nothing else worked so far.”

“Well that’s because Sherlock made it.”

…

A bowl of soup and an hour or two later, a bit of the color had returned to your cheeks, and Mycroft carried you downstairs—Sherlock was so surprised that he instantly pulled out his phone and snapped several pictures—where he turned the tv on for you and turned on a Disney movie, which was probably the biggest surprise of the day. The Holmes’ brothers hated Disney movies—honestly they rarely watched movies in general—so when Mycroft put one on you actually began to worry.

“I’m not dying, am I?” You quipped as the opening credits to The Little Mermaid played. Both brothers turned to you.

“Why would you say that?” Sherlock asked.

“Mycroft carried me down the stairs, and we’re watching a Disney movie. All in all, the evidence isn’t adding up well for me.”

Mycroft shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Well, I can turn it off-“ he reached forwards to grab the remote, but you beat him to it, reaching forward and snatching it off the table. However, the sudden movement caused your unsettled stomach to lurch, and it was all you could do to hold onto your meager lunch. Your head began to spin, and you collapsed out of the sofa and onto the floor.

Sherlock was at your side in an instant, lifting you back onto the couch and pushing your head back so that you were lying down.

Mycroft hid his momentarily worried expression with an eye roll and a shake of his head at his sister. “Really dearest sister, you should be more careful.”

You smiled sheepishly, “Don’t threaten to turn off my movie and I will.”

“Ah yes, heaven forbid you be denied the joy of watching the little mermaid for the 27th time, how cruel of me.”

You laughed sleepily, your eyes yet again beginning to close due to exhaustion.

“Don’t you know? The 27th time is…is the…” you dozed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

…

Mycroft chuckled as his little sister drifted off to sleep, “She’s going to be just fine soon enough.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement, his eyes fixed on your pale face, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that.”

Mycroft thought back, “Me neither. I have seen you like that before.”

Sherlock looked up, “Me?”

“Ah yes, dear brother. You were insufferable. You had a fairly high fever, but the noises you made, one might’ve thought you were dying.” Mycroft laughed at Sherlock’s indignant expression, “And you made us all watch Pirates of the Caribbean about a thousand times.”

“Mycroft…” your voice drifted sleepily to the two men.

Sherlock frowned, “She’s been doing that a lot in her sleep.”

Mycroft stood from his chair and went immediately to his sister’s side, “Well at least she knows who the better one to call is.”

Just then you called out Sherlock’s name, causing the younger Holmes’ brother to smirk, “You were saying, Mycroft.”

And that’s how you awoke to find your head rested in Mycroft’s lap, and your feet in Sherlock’s.

It took them several minutes to assure you that you were not dying.

[vic-draws-sometimes]

Fucked

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Look idk what happened my hand slipped and it was written. Once again 100% indulgent of myself

I just wanted them to get together already, don't be surprised if there are more of this coming, my brain is simply a goo of Ghoap at this point

It had been weeks, months, maybe even over a year. Ghost lost track of time so easily. But Johnny was still here, and he was persistent. He had seen him lose his voice, then his composure. Ghost had hoped he’d never see this side of him again, but it happened a third time. At this time, he helped him. And since then, he doesn’t leave his side.  

To be fair, it doesn’t happen often. Maybe once every few weeks. But now, each time, Soap was there to help him through it. It made it much easier to manage. He even started hugging him when he felt Ghost getting too worked up, laid on top of him on his bed while talking to him.  

It was... Peaceful.  

Which was the problem. Now, Simon seeked Johnny for comfort. When he was at his lowest, he looked at Johnny and knew he was safe. He wanted to touch him as much as possible, steal him warmth and scent.  

Even now, he couldn’t sleep. Not unusual, but this time it was because of the Scot. 

It had been three nights of lying awake, sometimes getting out to go for a run. He was starting to feel delirious.  

Which is probably why he was now in front of Johnny’s room, hand hovering over the metal to knock. He didn’t remember walking there, but what’s new?  

This is a bad idea. He’ll fuck everything up. He’ll drive away Soap with his neediness, the only person willing to hold him.  

He lowered his fist to walk back, but the door opened suddenly.  

‘’Are you never gonna knock?!’’ Simon looked at Soap with eyes big with surprise. The man just scoffed and made place for Ghost to enter, which he did, even though a voice in his head screamed to get out. Another, Simon’s, wanted to be held.  

Johnny didn’t push him for the reason of his late-night visit, sitting on the bed and waiting for the other to get comfortable with his surroundings.  

There was a towel on the back of the office chair, clothes lazily thrown on said chair. It smelled of shampoo and body wash, and Johnny was... Glowing, almost. Only in a tank and short, Simon could see his warm skin.  

It took a minute for Simon to form a sentence in his head, not sure what to start with. Eventually, his mouth caught up.  

‘’I’m fucked up, Johnny. ‘’ the smaller man just looked at him like he spoke nonsense.  

‘’I know. We all are.’’ he said it with such ease, Simon sighed. 

‘’No. I’m... Not normal. I’m a pain, a curse. I-…'’ he trailed off, not sure how to explain himself. There were so many adjectives he heard during his life, but right now he couldn’t think of more.  

‘’What makes you say that?’’ Johnny wasn’t taking him seriously, it pained Simon. He didn’t want to explain further.  

‘’You saw it. I become an idiot... Retarded. I can’t take care of myself...’’ at this, Johnny’s face finally changed, showing a bit of empathy.  

‘’Simon...’’  

‘’I can get worse; you didn’t see all of it. ‘’  

‘’What are you getting at?’’ the scot finally asked, cutting short Simon’s thoughts. Time to take the dive, cut all ties, go back to being lonely...  

‘’You fucked me up. Are you... Are you going to take responsibility?’’ his cheeks burned at the question filled with baggage. He closed his eyes, ready for the rejection, the laugh he will receive as he’s cursed and punched.  

But it never comes.  

When he opens his eyes, Johnny is looking at him, still confused.  

‘’I said...’’ 

‘’I know what you said, it was bloody stupid!’’ there it is.  

‘’Of course ‘m gonna take care of ye! What do you think I’ve been doin’?!’’ What?  

‘’Don’t look so shocked, I’ve been flirting with you for a whole year! ‘’ ah.  

Simon just couldn’t think anymore. He’s been flirting? He wants to get more of Ghost? Of Simon?  

‘’N... No. You don’t get it. I’m sick, fucked up, I... I...’’ he was coming up short, feeling his heartbeat accelerate at the situation and eyes sting.  

‘’Simon. Look at me.’’ and he did, lifting his gaze from the floor to look at Johnny. He stood up and reached for his face. Simon couldn’t help but lean into it.  

‘’I love you, you big dummy. I want to see more of you, and take care of you. I don’t care about the rest.’’ oh.  

Simon was fucked.  

He was prepared for rejection, curse, violence, but never expected that. He closed his eyes, shaky breath coming out.  

‘’Can I kiss you?’’ it came out of his own mouth, sounding much smaller than what a 6’4 man should sound like.  

‘’I would like that, yeah.’’ and with that, Soap reached for the mask and pulled it up, removing it completely. He looked at Simon, love in his eyes, then kissed him. It was simple, gentle, but oh so loving.  

They stayed there for a couple of seconds, breathing in each other, their foreheads touching.  

‘’Can I... Stay here, for the night?’’ another unreasonable request, once again accepted. They laid on the tiny mattress and Simon cuddled close to Johnny, breathing in his scent, and dozed off easily. Johnny held him tight the whole night, using his whole body to hug him.  

[cryptids-lobelia-garden]

ALRIGHTY here’s day 2! A day late bc my WiFi was absolute Garbage yesterday- it’s fixed now!

Warnings: Drugged whumpee? Sort of? (Hospital pain meds), conditioned whumpee, he is in the hospital, also he’s like. Kinda delirious I think? Idk the meds are messing with his head, also he’s Not Happy about the fact he’s on them, people being suspicious of Caretaker because of scars (whumpee sets the facts straight before anything happens though)

Day 2: Sweat Brain Fog

The Meeting Arc Part 2

~~~~~

It’s too bright.

Volo squeezes his eyes back shut the moment they open with a quiet groan.

The world feels.. weird. He feels weird.

Almost dizzy..?

Thinking feels weird too.. fuzzy..

Yeah. Fuzzy’s a good way to describe how he feels right now. And tired.

So, so very tired..

He wakes up again, squinting against the light.

Oh, I’m somewhere unfamiliar..

Where are my..

Where. Where are they. Where are my Pokémon.

He moves to try to sit up.

Oh, his head’s spinning.

His whole body feels.. heavy.. exhausted..

So exhausted..

Pokémon. Right, he needs to find his Pokémon-

There’s a tube in his arm?

Hospital?

Why am I.. What hospital am I in..

He clumsily pokes at his watch, squinting at the screen, trying to see the time, date, and location.

It’s so blurry..

Okay. Giving up on that.

“Hello?” He calls out. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Someone pokes his head in. A nurse, probably? “Oh, you’re awake!” The nurse hurries over, gently pushing him back to the bed. “Here, lay back down.”

Each word makes his head swim. He’s tired, everything is fuzzy, and it takes him a minute to figure out what the guy said. “Mmkay.. where are my Pokémon..?”

The nurse frowns. “..There’s a guy in the lobby. He might know, but before we let you talk to him, we have some questions to ask.”

All Volo got out of that was someone’s in the lobby. Something about questions. “..who..?”

“His name is Cheri Jennings.”

Volo lets out a sigh of relief.

Okay. Cheri has his Pokémon. He doesn’t know Cheri very well, but Cheri saved him, right? And whatever Cheri wants with him, he trusts that they’ll be taken care of, for now, at least- if Cheri’s trying to gain his trust, anyway.

They’re okay..

So exhausted..

His eyes slip closed again.

Time passes for him like the blink of an eye, and when he wakes up again, someone else is in the room, checking machines by his bed. She looks over as he moves.

“Hello. Can you understand me?”

“Um..” Volo nods.

He’s a little more awake now. Everything still feels so fuzzy, though. He’s also tired, exhaustion running bone-deep, and he makes no move to get up this time. “..Where am I?”

“Okay.” The lady takes a deep breath. “..You’re in the Eterna City Hospital. You were brought here by Cheri Jennings. He said the two of you were attacked by a strange man with powerful Pokémon, is that right?”

Volo thinks for a moment. Remembering takes so much energy- but he does. “Mmh.. Yes, that’s what happened. We were.. we were fighting someone horrible, and..” He shakes his head. “..I.. got hurt..? And I remember him carrying me..” He shakes his head. “He had ice on his arm, is he okay?”

“He’s okay. ..I have another question.”

Volo nods.

“Was he the one who made the.. well.” The nurse shifts uncomfortably.

Oh. “You saw those..?” Ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach, Volo shakes his head. “N.. no, he didn’t make those.. is he here right now..?”

The nurse nods. “Yes, he’s in the lobby. ..who-”

“It doesn’t matter, but, um.. It wasn’t him, can.. Can you let him in here..? Please?”

The nurse thinks for a moment, then sighs, nodding. “I’ll bring him in.”

Volo nods, eyes slipping closed.

When they open again, Cheri’s asleep by his bed, though Cheri quickly wakes up when Volo moves.

“Hey,” he says, taking Volo’s hands in his.

Volo flinches. He can’t help it, yanking himself away from contact as if another person’s sudden touch is a hot coal.

Most people avoid touching him, pull away quickly once he flinches. But Cheri keeps his hands open.

And Volo reaches forward, letting Cheri hold his hands.

It’s been so, so long since he’s felt a comforting touch.

“..you saved my life,” he murmurs. “..why? What do you have to gain, by having this power over me?”

“What power?” Cheri shakes his head. “What are you talking about??”

“You saved my life,” Volo repeats. “So it now belongs to you.”

“..that’s.. Kinda a fucked way of thinking about it, don’t you think?” Cheri shakes his head, looking away. “Think about it as me repaying an old favor. My siblings and I would’ve been left with next to nothing if you hadn’t helped us when we were banished, you know?”

“..hm.” Volo nods, lightly squeezing Cheri’s hands. “I guess that makes sense. ..still.. Why save me? I don’t deserve it after the rift.” He shakes his head. “I hurt you, didn’t I? Are you trying to hurt me back?”

Cheri blinks a few times. “No? Why would I want that? Look, I know you’ve had it rough for a while, but I can promise you I don’t want to hurt you.” Cheri’s tongue glows as he makes the promise, and then magic wraps around the two of them.

Locking the promise in..?

..Volo looks away.

Then.. it’s true, he really DOESN’T want to hurt me.

“..why..?” Volo asks again. “I’m.. worthless now. There’s nobody left I can save, nothing else I can do to control the damage. I’ve apologized to almost everyone I can, I’ve hurt, I’ve bled, I’ve cried and I’ve broken over it, and now I’m worth nothing.” He lets his eyes slip closed, starting to feel uncomfortable with how much he’s shared, but it’s already out there, he might as well finish the thought. “There’s nothing more I can do but suffer. And I am so tired of suffering for it all. That’s selfish, I know, I don’t deserve death’s release, but I’m tired.”

Oooohhh no. Cheri’s mouth hangs open for a moment. “Volo.. what.. the hell are you talking about?”

Volo shakes his head, pulling Cheri’s hands to his face so he can hide behind them. After a moment, one of Cheri’s hands let go.

Volo’s disappointment is short lived, because Cheri’s hand is in his hair next, gently brushing his bangs back over his left eye.

Oh, right, that exists. He hadn’t even noticed it wasn’t covered. His skin feels.. odd, not very sensitive..

“..hey.. Volo? ..What are you talking about?”

Cheri’s voice is so soft. So gentle, so full of worry, of concern..

Tears start to slip down Volo’s face. “I- I can’t.”

Cheri frowns. “..Is this about Eclipse? What.. what did he do..?”

“..He hurt me,” Volo whispers, hiding behind his hands. “Very badly.”

And he was kind at first too. Held me, took care of me, and I thought he was the one person in the world who hadn’t just wanted to use me.

What a foolish thought.

..he was kind at first, just like this. He said he would protect me, and he did. Nobody else could hurt me but him- this situation feels all too familiar.

But where Eclipse had no right to do what he did..

I DID hurt Cheri and his family.

“..you can too, if that’s what you kept me alive for,” he murmurs. “You must want to, it’s the only thing that makes sense.. You were hurt by me, and now you want your turn to give me my just desserts for it.”

“…Volo… What the fuck.”

Volo peeks between his fingers after a moment- oh. Cheri looks.. genuinely horrified at that idea. “..you.. really don’t want to hurt me? Not at all?”

“Why in the ever-loving fuck would I-” Cheri pulls his hands away, taking a deep breath. Volo flinches, hiding behind his hands again.

When he looks again, Cheri’s just.. staring. There’s a lot of emotions on his face, most of all a deep sadness.

“..He really, really hurt you,” Cheri murmurs.

Volo looks away. “..I know,” he says, trying to laugh even though it isn’t funny-

He’s crying. Why is he crying?

Cheri sighs, moving closer and opening his arms.

Volo hesitates.

If I trust, I’ll only get hurt. This’ll only hurt me in the end.

But after a few moments, Volo moves to Cheri anyway, careful of the medical equipment and pushing through the spots in his vision from sitting up. He’s cautious, slow.

Cheri’s arms wrap around him, and he feels so safe, so protected, and oh, this is worth whatever pain it’ll bring him later. Hiding his face in Cheri’s chest, Volo starts to shake with silent sobs.

“He..” Cheri sighs. “He’ll never hurt you again. Okay? You’re not gonna be hurt again, not by me or anyone else. Not if I have anything to say about it,” Cheri murmurs. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

“I- I don’t de-eserve to be okay,” Volo sobs out. “I should be hurting. Why aren’t I hurting? I’m-” He pulls back, pulling at his hospital gown, seeing the bandages.

His skin feels weird, and dread starts to pool in his stomach. “I’m.. I’m hurt, why don’t I feel it, why don’t I-”

“Drugs.” Cheri doesn’t move to hold him again, though he keeps his arms open.

Oh. Oh, that explains the.. Everything.. Volo takes a moment to calm himself down.

“Hey..” Cheri moves to tap his shoulder, then thinks better of it, pulling back and making his voice slightly louder. “Hey.” After a few moments, Volo looks up again. “..What if I think you deserve to be okay?”

Volo thinks for a moment. “..You’re wrong.” He’s too tired to think of why.

Cheri shakes his head, opening his mouth to say something else, but then a nurse comes in.

“Hey, you shouldn’t be moving around so much!” Getting Volo to lay back down, the nurse looks over at Cheri. “Why didn’t you tell him to stop?”

Cheri grimaces, pushing back the immediate urge to defend himself. I’m fine, she’s not attacking me. “I didn’t know he couldn’t move. I’m just a visitor.”

“Right. Sorry.” The nurse checks a few things. “Make sure he doesn’t do that again, there’s a few reasons he shouldn’t be moving right now. We’ve tracked the attack back to a very powerful Pokémon, and honestly, he shouldn’t even be awake right now, let alone moving- he’s very lucky, he must’ve been hit with a weaker version of the attack than usual.”

Oh! That’s good news! Cheri nods. “I’ll make sure he holds still.”

“Thank you.” Finishing with her checks, she turns to hurry off. Cheri watches as she leaves, then turns back to Volo, eyes softening as he does. “..So.. Can I get you anything, or..?”

I feel so helpless here.. “..My Pokémon,” Volo murmurs. “Let them out.”

“They’re at the Pokémon center, I don’t have them right now. ..Sorry.” Speaking of which, I need to go pick them up soon..

“Oh..” Well, that’s disappointing, but. At least he knows they’re okay and somewhere safe. He ignores the part of him that screams it’s a lie, the part of him that screams he needs to leave, to go find them.

It’ll only hurt me to trust.

Volo stares at the wall for a few moments.

..He ignores that side of his mind despite his better judgement, reaching for Cheri again. Desperate for a kind touch he hadn’t felt in years.

Cheri scoots closer to Volo, gently resting his hand across Volo’s chest- away from the injury, of course. Volo’s body twitches with an involuntary flinch, but he hums, wrapping his arms around Cheri’s.

Cheri studies Volo’s face for a moment, his yellow eyes staring into Volo’s soul, a look Volo’s quickly become familiar with in the time they’ve spent together. “..Do you cuddle them to sleep, or..?”

Volo nods. “..I.. don’t know if I’ve slept alone a day in my life. I’ve always had.. um.. At least an egg, Toge as an egg..” He shakes his head, humming quietly as Cheri moves a little closer. “..thank you,” he murmurs.

“Don’t mention it.” Cheri rests his chin on the side of the bed, still watching Volo.

Under Cheri’s protective gaze, Volo lets himself relax. “..tell them to.. um.. lower the pain meds.. I hate feeling like this,” Volo mumbles.

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch,” Cheri warns.

“Please. Please. I.. um..” Volo’s eyelids are heavy, but he opens his eyes anyway, staring at Cheri with a pleading look. “I have to be able to, to think. Please.”

Cheri stares back for a moment, then sighs, eyes softening as he nods. “I’ll.. see what I can do.”

Volo nods, eyes slipping closed again as he breathes a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he mumbles, relaxing into Cheri’s touch.

“Of course,” Cheri murmurs. “..Get some sleep. You need it.”

Volo nods, and Cheri watches as, slowly, his breathing evens out.

It isn’t long before Cheri’s asleep too.

[chemical-processes]

I just finished reading Brother Mine on ao3, and no joke that was a revelatory experience. I've never been so riveted to my seat while reading a fic and now I crave more, so cheers to you and thank you for sharing your talent. I'm curious, what was the inspiration for that fic? Also were there scenes that you ended up cutting out from the story that you wouldn't mind telling us about?

Again, love your writing, love love love how you characterize the boys, and thank you for everything ❤️

I’m so happy you liked it! Brother Mine was incredibly fun to write, and I was very pleased to be able to share it with you all. I especially enjoy writing fics where the boys get to be competent and badass. 

A lot of things influenced the final product of this fic, namely the Agent Grayson comics (specifically when Dick carried that baby through the desert with Midnighter. Never forgot that one), and Michael Schulte’s song, “Falling Apart”, which was the original title for the fic.

I was kind of just stuck with the vibe of this until, one day, me and my dad were driving and there were these trees in the road. Clearly moved there. He gets out and moves them, and I see these kids hiding in bushes nearby, just laughing their asses off. Inspiration sort of struck from there.

 And, as you might be able to tell, I have a particular weakness for movies like the Gray Man and Taken where the MC is tasked with protecting/retrieving a (somewhat) helpless character and they just do, in the most ruthless, violent way. 

There were actually a surprisingly small number of deleted scenes for this one. I usually keep a heading at the end of a doc for deleted scenes, but I didn’t end up having to use it. There does, however, exist in my mind two alternative endings:

One is more Prey (2022) inspired, where Dick finds a shelter for Tim and Damian, forces them to stay there, and hunts down each of the poachers one by one, picking them off in the dark. Meanwhile, more poachers stumble upon Tim and Dami’s hiding spot, overpower them, and end up taking the boys back to the camp. Dick comes back, finds his brother’s missing, and then mercilessly kicks the asses of every poacher until they’re begging for mercy. I didn’t write this because… idk. It just seemed cheaper, I guess. Plus the logistics of it all would have been a nightmare, and it put too much emphasis on the poachers, when I wanted the focus of the fic to be on Tim, Dick, and Damian. 

The second is inspired by Kouriarashi’s fic Coming Undone, and basically, it would abruptly switch to Damian’s POV, and depict him being stuck in that tree, listening to the sounds of his brother’s fight, and they just… never come back. He sits up there for days, steadily growing more hypothermic and sick. There’d be a tense few moments where the poachers pass beneath them, and maybe he overhears them mentioning Tim and Dick, but he stays quiet and they don’t spot him. Then, when he’s right on the brink of death, after sitting in that tree for two days, Tim’s Hail Mary comes through, and the Batfam show up, having tracked him through the watch. Cue angst as Damian deliriously asks them if they’ve found Tim and Dick, and they admit they haven’t. This one didn’t happen because, honestly, I didn’t think of it until after I wrote Tim and Dick kicking ass, and I was a little too attached to that fight scene and the subsequent reuninon to scrap it.

Thanks so much for this ask, and thank you for reading <3

[andi-is-bored]

ANDI andi ANDI no fucking way you think im cool

no fucking way cause it was conan day and i was scrolling down the tag and i saw a bunch of your posts and i was like this girl is SO cool and then you followed me!!!!!!!! you were like my first conan mutual which is a HUGE deal cause CONAN also i was just gonna say smash but i really wouldn't cause he's baby and bsf not bf im sure you get it wow totally off topic anyways i love you SO SO SO much omg i love talking to you cause unlike some people we actually agree on most if not everything and there are very few things better than meeting someone who just absolutely shares the same thoughts one everything its insane i love you so much and that is all

YES FUCKING WAY! you were my first conan mutual too! like actually before august i never posted about music honestly, it was just fandom shit and then when i was on vacation with my family and on a road trip back home from said vacation, delirious out of my mind cause i was sick with a fucking runny nose and could only keep my eyes open for a minute at a time, i had gotten really into conan gray and listened to his entirely fucking discography cause i’m crazy and decided to post about it cause i was listening to winner like it was my fucking job and i needed to talk about it and my sister didn’t care cause she was also sick so i posted on here and you reblogged it and idk man, i just thought you were really cool and nice and i wanted to be friends so i followed you :) i rambled a little there for a minute but yeah.

also yes completely get it, he is fantastic but not smashwise. now i love YOU SO SO MUCH CAUSE AGAIN YOURE SO INCREDIBLY COOL and i literally love talking to you all the time and i agree it’s so nice when you have the same opinions and you can freak out about the same things with people it’s the best honestly.

but yeah THE POINT IS THAT I LOVE YOU AND I THINK YOURE AWESOME SO YEAH! <333

[ranhaitanisgf]

Hello, can I have “enemies/rivals to lovers” with Ran where reader “gets sick” and Ran is the only one who is there to take care of her because she lives alone most of the time. While she is delirious she reveals some things that make Ran view her in a different light. And then Ran decided to take her on a date when she feels better. Some angst and fluff afterwards. Thank you!

��� ran haitani // enemies/rivals to lovers // getting sick

[𖤐] #guess whose back. back again . HIIII ik i was gone for like two weeks but im backkk neow hallo :D idk why but i made this shi SO LONG so i was getting unmotivated to keep writing this but i did it lollll. hope u enjoy my lovelies xoxo !!

[𖤐] disclaimer ; fem!reader

wc ; 2.1k+

masterlist || 2k masterlist

ran isn’t sure why he’s even doing this. 

he’s been standing in front of your door for closer to twenty minutes now, trying to figure out how the hell he was going explain his purpose in being at your place. he’s not a man to typically think too hard about things; after all, he’s the elder brother of the infamous haitani brothers who rule roppongi, so why would he ever need to think about his interactions with other people? he typically will just do whatever fits his mood, and others will respond to that; that’s how it’s been ever since him and rindou made a name for themselves. 

so why was he thinking about this so much? 

it was comical to him, the fact that someone like you could be making him question himself so much. ran had found a whole lot of entertainment in teasing you every so often, and would even go so far as to say that you piqued his interest. he always found the expressions you would make were quite cute, and it was even cuter when you would call him your ‘enemy’. he’d even been showing up to school a bit more just to see you, ignoring his brother’s annoyance about it. you were just so interesting.

which is why he began to seek you out when he noticed that you weren’t at school today, going around and asking different classmates if they knew why you were absent. when he’d finally gotten the answer that you were out sick, he’d been a bit disappointed, but he had just decided to move on with his day. he would just come to school and bother you next week, right? 

however, he immediately started to think different when he overheard some of your friends talking, whispering about how you lived alone and how they were worried about you taking care of yourself when you’re sick. of course, as soon as ran heard this, he butted in on their conversation, asking for your address and telling them not to worry because ‘he would take care of it’, (they were even more worried after he said this). 

and so now he was here, a plastic bag in his hand with various items to give to you. he might not look like it, but he was actually pretty adept at taking care of sick people. before their rise to fame, ran and rindou were just two little kids with parents who were never around, which meant that whenever rindou got sick, ran was the only one around to take care of him, (they were bittersweet memories for him). it’s why he was so confident on the way here; he knew what he was doing. 

“you ever gonna ring the damn doorbell?? been sittin’ here for so long my ass is numb.” ran rolled his eyes at his brother's words. 

“yeah yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist.” he could hear rindou scoff at his words, but he ignored it, finally pressing his finger against your doorbell. a minute or two went by as he stood there, wondering if you were maybe asleep. just as he was about to ring the doorbell a second time, the door swung open. 

“the hell’re you doing here?” you grumbled, shivering a bit at the cool outside air. ran merely laughed at your standoffish tone, holding up the bag in his hand. 

“now now, is that any way to greet someone who came to give you dire supplies?” 

“i’m sick, not dying. how did you even find my address?”

“i have my ways~” the look on your face changed from somewhat neutral to grossed out, which just made him laugh again. “mind i come in?” 

“actually i do- ugh…” ran didn’t wait for your answer before stepping into your house, slipping his shoes off and taking a look around. 

“what’re you doing here??” your question pulled him a bit out of his observing, turning to you and seeing the state you were in. he supposed it wasn’t terrible, especially since you could still get out of bed and walk around. 

“well of course, i came here to offer my services~” you only sighed at ran’s words, starting up the stairs to get back into bed. 

“wow i feel so flattered! you took time out of your oh so busy schedule to come and see me, how will i ever recover!” ran chuckled at your sarcasm, following you into your room. you seemed to give him a pointed glare, but you were too tired to argue with him, so you just got back into bed and pulled your covers up. you sighed once again as you saw ran pull your desk chair up to the side of your bed, sitting himself down and plopping the bag next to him. 

there weren’t any words said between the two of you as he started to take things out. the silence in the air was anything but tense; in fact, as much as you hated to admit it to yourself, you felt somewhat comforted by his presence. it was nice to have someone else there with you. 

his fingers moved deftly between everything; you had no idea what in the world he was doing, so your eyes drifted up to his face, watching his calm expression and how every so often, he would chew a bit on his bottom lip. there were some strands of hair that had escaped from his two braids, framing his face more than usual. it gave his face a softer look, and made him seem somehow…softer. 

“see somethin’ you like?” his lilac gaze shifted towards you, a teasing look in his eyes as you promptly looked away, pulling your covers up a bit more. 

“no. i was just thinking about how fuckin’ weird you are.” 

“whew, you sure know how to make an impression, (l/n).” he chuckled. 

you felt slightly perturbed by how casual and chill he was acting; how was it that he was acting so calm while you felt like screaming and had no idea what to say? 

if you weren’t feeling so conflicted, you would have at the very least said something vulgar when ran suddenly grabbed your hand, (why the hell were his hands so soft?). you were suddenly aware of how sweaty and hot your palms were, which merely made them even more sweaty. if he noticed, ran didn’t say anything about it, just carefully dropping two tablets into your palm and handing you a glass of water. 

at your questioning gaze, ran merely chuckled, leaning back in his chair. 

“if you seriously think that i just handed you some mysterious drugs, then i would say that you’re severely mistaken.” holding up the medicine bottle, ran shook it a bit, the pills inside making a rattling noise. 

“hey, i think i have a right to question popping pills from some random dude who just walked into my house.” you muttered, popping the pills into your mouth and taking some gulps of water. “who knows what kind of shady business you’re into, after all.” 

“well darling, i would certainly hope that you don’t let random men into your house aside from me~ i would feel terribly wounded if i saw another man walking out of your house.” the feigned expression of hurt on ran’s face made you giggle a little bit, although the small expression from you embarrassingly turned into a fit of coughs. 

as your coughs started to settle down, you could’ve sworn that you’d seen a hint of something in ran’s eyes, his brows pulled together slightly. was it concern? worry? you could never quite figure out what he was thinking. 

gingerly, ran took the glass of water from your hand and put it on your bedside table, gesturing for you to lay back down. you hadn’t ever thought that you would see ran acting in a way that was gentle, but somehow, seeing this different side of him made you feel like maybe…

“you should get some rest.” the short statement pulled you out of your thoughts, looking back at the boy at your bedside. it was hard to tell whether the heat in your cheeks was due to him or your fever, so you looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed that he’s seeing you this way. never in your wildest imagination had you thought that the first person to care for you when you were sick would ran haitani of all people; after all, hadn’t you considered him somewhat of an enemy? 

so why was he being so nice? why was he getting your hopes up? 

“you better not tell anybody about this.” 

“wasn’t plannin’ on it, sweet cheeks.” 

“you seriously can’t tell anybody. not even your brother. nobody’s ever seen me sick before.” ran quirked an eyebrow at this; a silent indicator that he was wanting more of an explanation as to what you just said. you felt a sigh slip through your lips, wondering if you could even tell him something like this. 

however, with the concern in his gaze, the fever that was most definitely interfering with your decision making skills, and his stupidly handsome face, you decided to tell him. 

“doesn’t this house seem way too big for just one person?” 

“...sure.”

“i didn’t just hate you. i hated all delinquents and gangs ‘cause they took people away from me. but i guess you were able to change that for me or somethin’...anyways. you’re stupid for coming here, and if you tell anybody about this i’ll kill you.” you supposed that it doesn’t seem like much of a threat when you’re bedridden with a fever, especially with how you currently look. 

you were unsure of how ran would react to what you had just told him, and the silence between the two of you made you regret it every passing second. 

“just forget i said anything, and please leave-?!” before you could finish your sentence, ran’s hand rested gently against your forehead, his hands gloveless for once in his life. there was a pensive look in his eyes, his facial expression rather serious as he toyed with locks of your hair, tenderly brushing them away from your face. 

although you were taken aback at first, you slowly started to relax under his gentle touch. your fever was clouding your mind significantly, as you would never ever allow this under normal circumstances. 

you supposed it was okay for now though. 

--

“eek!” 

“didn’t i tell you to hold on tight?” 

“i-i am!!” 

“hold on tighter then~!” you let out another squeal as you felt the bike pick up speed once again, your arms now tightly around the waist of the boy in front of you. your cheek was pressed against his back, your eyes closed as you felt the wind whip against your face. 

“is-is this really necessary?!” 

“i’m feeling quite wounded that you would suggest that i would do something unnecessary-”

“eek!!!” you could feel the rumbling of his laughter at your incessant squeals, but you decided that that wasn’t important at the moment. what was more important was that you made it off this bike alive. 

“calm down doll, we’re almost there.” 

“calm down?! you expect me to calm down?! if i fall off i’m going to die!!” you got no response from him aside from a hearty chuckle, which somehow made you feel (just a little bit) at ease. 

after a few minutes, the motions of the bike slowed until it finally stopped. as soon as it came to a stop, you stumbled off, whipping around to face ran, who seemed rather calm and was moreso giving you a smirk rather than being apologetic. 

“when you said you wanted to go on a date, this is not at all what i expected!!” you yelled, putting your hands on your hips. “do you even feel any remorse for scaring me half to death?” 

“mm, not really. see…” his long arms reached out to wrap around your waist, turning you around and pulling you close, your back against his chest. “...that was just the mode of transportation. i was hoping you were going to enjoy this more~” 

now that you took a moment to look at your surroundings, you realized that in front of you was the most gorgeous view of the city, effectively taking your breath away. when you looked a little closer, you also noticed the picnic table in front of you, the surface holding a wide variety of snacks and foods. 

“...i guess i can forgive you this time.” 

“you guess? wow, you truly wound me, princess.” 

“you use that way too much.” you murmured, glad than ran couldn’t see your embarrassed face at the moment. you were even more glad that he couldn’t see you when he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, somehow making your cheeks heat up more. 

“you forgive me yet?”

“you’re so stupid…” 

“mm, i love you too.”

[set-phasers-to-whump]

delirium

prompt: delirium

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi! some background info - this fic is set when they've been partners for a while, they've got an apartment together in london because why the hell not. you could read this as romantic though i feel like it's more an on-the-way-there type deal. more important note though is that a lot of the dialogue is in russian bc i felt like that makes the most sense for the situation - like, idk about you, but if i'm really sick i'm not gonna be speaking in a foreign language. plus i just wanted to write some russian dialogue lol. i am far from fluent and did need to look up a couple words so if anything sounds wonky i apologize. i've got english translations in parentheses next to everything, but please lmk if that's annoying or if you think there's a better way to do it. i think that's everything, hope you enjoy!

Up until now, neither Napoleon nor Gaby has ever come into contact with a sick Illya. He’s been injured plenty, sure, and he’d been hypothermic that once, but he’s never been sick. He’d insisted to them, once, that he simply did not fall victim to illness.

They’ve now been made very much aware of the fact that this had been a lie. The illness had hit him quickly - he’d been ever so slightly off in the morning, brushing off his partners’ concern, and now, early in the afternoon, he’s delirious with fever.

--

Gaby and Napoleon had gone to the store to get some groceries, leaving a mostly-fine Illya to leaf through a battered copy of a book that he’s read at least a dozen times before. And now they’ve returned to find him standing in the hallway of their apartment building, looking utterly bewildered. His cheeks are bright pink, and he’s sweaty but shivering at the same time. Clearly, he’s sick. 

Gaby and Napoleon share a look before ushering him inside. His skin is hot to the touch and he most uncharacteristically puts up no resistance to their guiding hands. Napoleon steers him in the direction of the couch, and he and Gaby hurry to the kitchen and make quick work of putting away the groceries. 

They head back into the living room after not more than two minutes and find Illya most definitely not on the couch, instead pacing around the room, looking left and right like he’s searching for something.

His eyes land on them, bright with fever. “Где я? Где я?” (“Where am I? Where am I?”) he demands, stopping his pacing in favor of standing stock-still and looking at Gaby and Napoleon with startling intensity. 

Napoleon figures sticking to Russian is probably the best bet considering his partner’s current mental state. “Ты в нашей гостиной, в нашей квартире, в Лондоне,” (“You’re in our living room, in our apartment, in London,”) he explains. 

“В Лондоне? Нет, нет, мы не в Лондоне, мы в…” (“In London? No, no, we’re not in London, we’re in…”) Illya trails off, evidently not sure of where it is that they are, if not in London. 

“Илья. Это хорошо. Мы в Лондоне, мы -” (“Illya. It’s okay. We’re in London, we’re -”) Napoleon pauses, just for a second, not sure of the truth of what he’s about to say (or at least, the truth in regards to Illya, in regards to Gaby. It’s perfectly true for him, though). “Мы дома.” (“We’re home.”)

“Дома?” (“Home?”) Illya sounds confused, concerned. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, Napoleon thinks. Home is almost certainly a more fraught topic for Illya than it is for him. He corrects himself. 

“Или - не дома, но…ты в безопасности.” (“Or - not home, but…you’re safe.”)

Illya looks doubtful, but he relaxes slightly. He at last wanders to the couch and sits down. “Я устал,” (“I’m tired,”) he mutters, stretching out as though he’s about to go to sleep. The next second, though, he apparently thinks the better of it. 

“Нет, нет, нельзя спать, у нас есть миссия,” (“No, no, I can’t sleep, we have a mission,”) he says, half under his breath. At this entirely incorrect revelation, he begins to try and sit up, struggling valiantly - but to no avail - to get to his feet.

“У нас нет миссии,” (“We don’t have a mission,”) Napoleon promises, stepping forwards and gently pushing Illya back into the couch. “Можно спать.” (“You can sleep.”)

“Да?” (“Yes?”) Illya immediately stops trying to get up, suddenly pliant again.

“Да. Это хорошо.” (“Yeah. It’s okay.”)

Apparently this is reassurance enough. Illya’s eyes drift closed, and he falls asleep almost immediately. This is perhaps the strangest thing he’s done yet. Napoleon has never seen Illya fall asleep before - he’s always the last one awake, and Napoleon gets the sense that he doesn’t fall asleep easily, under normal circumstances. Now, though, he’s out like a light the second he closes his eyes, and Napoleon is at once glad (because it means Illya can finally relax) and worried (because this isn’t normal, none of this is). Gaby, evidently, feels the same way.

“I have not ever seen him fall asleep so fast.”

“He must be feeling pretty bad. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“What should we do?”

Napoleon thinks for a moment, rifling through his memories. “A cool cloth might help with the fever,” he suggests.

Gaby nods. “My father used to do this when I was young. And he would make tea. We definitely need tea.”

An idea stirs in Napoleon’s mind. “I know just the right kind. And while we’re at it, we might as well make some soup, too. I’ve never known anyone who didn’t like a bowl of soup when they were sick.”

Gaby nods. “What kind of soup?”

“It has to be chicken,” Napoleon says. He doesn’t think there’s really any other option.

Fortunately, they have plenty of food in the kitchen. Napoleon gets to work gathering ingredients, and Gaby tiptoes back into the living room to place a cool, damp cloth on Illya’s forehead.

She returns to the kitchen quickly, stopping at the sink to wash her hands. “He is still asleep,” she reports. “What can I do to help?”

A few minutes later, the both of them are chopping vegetables, chatting about nothing in particular and every so often casting worried glances in the direction of the living room, though there’s nothing to see since they’ve kept the door closed to try and muffle the sounds of their cooking. 

Eventually, the soup is bubbling away on the stove, and Napoleon is explaining his tea idea to Gaby. He recalls having learned of an old Russian remedy for illness, tea and raspberry jam. He’s never tried it, himself, but he imagines it can’t possibly hurt.

“Will it really work?” Gaby asks, even as she rummages through the pantry in search of the jam. 

“I have no idea. But it might be comforting, at least.”

Gaby nods in agreement, then triumphantly pulls a jar of raspberry jam out of the back of a cupboard. There’s no shortage of tea in their kitchen, and she selects Illya’s favorite, a simple black. Napoleon fills a kettle with water and sets it aside, and they settle in to wait for the soup to be done.

About an hour later, the soup is very nearly finished, and Napoleon finds himself quite glad to have made such a large quantity, because it smells wonderful, if he does say so himself, and he’s sure that the three of them will have no problem finishing it all. 

“I’ll start the tea,” Gaby decides, grabbing the kettle. “Go wake Illya up.”

Napoleon pushes through the kitchen door, stepping into the dim evening light of the living room. Illya is still asleep on the couch, lying on his side and curled up slightly, the cloth slowly slipping off his forehead. His cheeks are still pink, but the color is fainter than it was before, and although he’s still sweaty, he’s no longer shivering. 

Napoleon reaches out and gently shakes Illya’s shoulder, pulling the now-warm washcloth away from his forehead and touching a hand to his damp but significantly less hot skin. 

“Илья.” (“Illya.”)

Illya’s eyes open slowly, and he blinks several times, clearly doing his best to focus. They’ve lost their bright, almost manic quality in favor of a clouded, tired look, which Napoleon supposes is probably better. 

“Что,” (“What,”) he says flatly, apparently displeased at having been woken up. 

“Я и Габи приготовили суп. Ты хочешь?” (“Gaby and I made soup. Do you want some?”)

Illya considers this statement for a long moment. “Какой суп?” he asks, at last. (“What kind of soup?”)

“Куриный. У нас также есть чай. Черный, с малиной.” (“Chicken. We also have tea. Black, with raspberry.”)

Illya nods, and Napoleon retreats back to the kitchen, promising to be back quickly. 

“So?” Gaby asks, the second Napoleon steps through the kitchen door. “How is he?”

“Better, I think. No longer completely delirious, at any rate. He says he’ll have some soup. Tea, too.”

“Good,” Gaby replies. “The water is almost boiling, and the soup tastes done.”

“You tried it without me?” Napoleon asks, feigning offense. 

Gaby shrugs, smiles slightly. “It’s good,” she offers in defense.

At that moment, the kettle whistles. Gaby deftly snatches it off of the stove and distributes the water into three mugs - she and Napoleon have both decided that they need to give this tea a try, too. Napoleon, meanwhile, gathers the bowls and locates his favorite ladle.

A few moments later, they’re all in the living room. Gaby is curled up at one end of the couch. Napoleon has pulled over an easy chair. Illya has managed to sit up - stubbornly refusing his partners’ help, which is the best indication yet that he’s feeling a bit better - and is leaning against the armrest at the opposite end of the couch from Gaby. 

They sit and eat in a comfortable silence. The soup is good, as Gaby had said - not that Napoleon had had any doubts. Illya says nothing about its quality, but he finishes his bowl with remarkable speed considering the fact that he is clearly exhausted. 

The tea, too, seems to be a hit. It’s not the best thing Napoleon himself has ever had, but Illya had looked quite pleased when he’d first taken a sip, proclaiming it to be pretty good, for an American and a German. 

Eventually, the coffee table is covered in empty bowls and cups. Illya has shifted so that his entire body is curled up tightly on the couch, his head lying atop the armrest. His eyes are closed, though he’s not quite asleep yet. Gaby has picked up a magazine from the table and is leafing through it with too much speed to be paying attention to its contents. Napoleon is observing the both of them with a frankly embarrassing amount of fondness. Everything is still silent. 

Or, it’s silent until Illya, clearly about a second away from unconsciousness, mumbles “спасибо,” (“thank you,”) and then promptly falls asleep.

“Пожалуйста,” (“You’re welcome,”) Gaby and Napoleon respond in simultaneous whispers, though Illya is already asleep. They glance at each other, and a sort of unspoken understanding passes between them. There are dishes to do and food to put away, but for now, they will simply stay.

i know the ending could have been better but what can i say...simply a fact of life. anyways thanks so much for reading, i hope you liked it!

[whumpywhumper]

Worse and Worse

Masterpost

Previous: Trouble

TW: Sick character, face mask, delirium, implied reference to past non-con; non-consensual touch (not sexual); forced stripping (not sexual).

This is a special addition as I wrote this as a Secret Santa gift to the one and only @walkingchemicalfire who is an amazing person and has been such a tremendous encouragement almost the entire time I’ve been writing the Markus/Lucien series. Chem is awesome; and, that’s a fact. All hail the president of the Markus Protection Squad! 

Tagging list: @misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @quirkykayleetam

Edit: apparently the tags weren’t working, hopefully that fixed it, idk

V***V

Markus woke up uncomfortable, bones aching, his joints tight and stiff. His head throbbed with every dull thump of his heart as it hung heavy in his chest, his mouth dry, tongue thick and cottoned with his shallow breaths through his chapped lips. The tension through his jaw traveled through the pained creases in his face, down his neck and to his back, his spine curled loosely, his arms crossed over his chest and tight in the blankets. 

Turning deeper into his pillow, he searched for any kind of comfort in the soft surface, but it didn’t give it. The fabric rubbed against the delicate skin of his face, and the simple movement felt agonizing, the pain of it traveling through his body, the sensitivity present in every millimeter of skin under the blankets. God, and he was so cold, but his limbs were coated in sweat, and when he shifted, the blanket moved, and he shivered as the chilled air of the room kissed the back of his neck. 

His body felt like it wanted to shiver, and just keep shivering, but his muscles didn’t have anything to give, the hollow, trembling ache of them almost scary in the weakness that encompassed him. Swallowing past the cottoned dry feeling of his mouth, he tried to take a deeper breath, feeling the drive for more oxygen, but his lungs objected, a rough, barking cough ripping against the back of his throat. Ribs cracking with pain, he gasped raggedly, and moaned, the sound cracking wet and bubbling through his vocal cords. 

“Easy, sweetheart, shhhhhh,” a deep, rumbling voice murmured, gentle fingers brushing over his temple and through his hair. The other person’s skin on his was cool, but soothing, and he whined at the touch, the sound cracking in his raw throat as he turned into it. “I know, sweet guy, I know, buddy, shhhhh.” 

His next breath felt like sediment in his chest, and he coughed again, the air catching in his throat, expanding in his esophagus as dense clots that he had to struggle to breathe around. When the fit was over, it was like all of the ribbing holding his body inflated just disappeared, and he sank into the softness underneath him, wishing that would feel better against his bruised muscles. 

“Is he awake?” someone asked, their voice soft but pitched to carry, the sound of bare feet on tile announcing their location. 

“Not really,” the deep voice answered with another careful stroke through Markus’s hair, “what did the doctor say?” 

“Do a breathing treatment, keep an eye on his O2, and see if we can get the fever down. Bring him in if he gets any worse.” 

“His fever is already over 103, how much worse do they want him to get?” Was the indignant response, and he heard a sigh, the sound of scruff being rubbed in exasperation. 

“We’re going to take him if his fever gets any worse, Kin, but I’m going to go and get that oxygen set up, why don’t you get the pulse ox from my bag, okay?” 

There was a frustrated hiss, but apparently they agreed, because the sound of feet on tile came back. Markus whimpered when whatever he was laying on moved, his entire body shifting as the weight distribution changed. His head was picked up, a hand sliding under his nape until he was resettled on something softer than before. “Shhh, Markus, I know baby, it’s okay.” 

His eyelids fluttered, and he blearily looked up at whoever was talking to him. The room was dim, a distant yellow light casting shadows in the otherwise dark room, and it took him second to make out Kincaid’s frame leaning over him, face barely visible. “Kin’?” he croaked, the word barely a mumble. 

The other man smiled, a splash of white teeth, but the expression was worried, and he brushed his hand over Markus’s hair again, his thumb moving gently back and forth over his temple as he knelt by what Markus realized was the couch. “Yeah, buddy, it’s me.” 

His eyebrows pressed together as he blinked slowly, and he swallowed hard, wincing at the pain in his throat. “Don’. . . feel good,” he whispered between rasping gasps. 

Kincaid’s lips pressed together, but he nodded. “I know you don’t, sweet guy, we’re gonna try and get you feeling better, okay? Do you want some water?” 

Markus nodded, licking his dry lips, and closed his eyes when Kincaid moved away. Water sounded fantastic, something to take the pain away from his dry throat. Ridding him of the awful cottoned taste in his mouth. 

Without Kincaid to keep him present though, the exhaustion started pulling him down. He was so tired, eyelids gumming together, burning with the need to stay closed. Sleep prickled at his consciousness and he settled deeper, fingers tingling, body relaxing. Something landed softly on his shoulder, and he jumped, a dry, pained noise forming in his throat, eyelids flickering back open. 

“Sorry, sweet guy,” Kincaid whispered, “here’s a straw, just small sips, okay?” 

Kincaid held up a cup of water, the coolness of a metal straw pressing against Markus’s lips. He sucked on it gratefully, swallowing down the cool water, feeling the cracked tissue of his throat soak up the fluid. When he was finished, he made a small appreciative sound, and released it, breathing shallowly, fighting the urge to cough and clear his throat again. His ribs hurt already, and he didn’t want to cough again.  

“Okay, Markus,” Kincaid rumbled, his voice passing through Markus’s chest and soothing him, “I got a pulse ox here that I need to clip to your finger, so I’m gonna need your hand, alright?” 

He blinked, nodding slightly in acknowledgement, and clumsily tried to extricate him hand from the knit that he’d managed to tangle his fingers in. 

At his grumpy noise, Kincaid chuckled, and peeled back the layers, worming his way into the blanket to free him. “I’m just gonna invade your space a little, sweet guy,” he said, clipping the familiar weight of the pulse ox around his forefinger, wincing in sympathy when Markus started shivering harder as cooler air plundered his warmth. “I know you’re cold, buddy, I’m sorry, but it’s just the fever, alright?” 

“Yeah. . . “ he breathed, the word small as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. His next breath shuddered into his chest, and he turned his face into the pillow as a cough erupted, ravaging his throat, crunching his ribs together with an all too familiar ache. “Nnn. . . “ 

“Fuck, baby,” Kincaid whispered, his big hand settling on Markus’s nape, his thumb rubbing gently against his sensitive skin. “Yeah, we need that breathing treatment. Ben!” he called, voice not particularly loud but definitely worried. 

The sick witch didn’t really even hear him, his lungs struggling for air as he hid his eyes in the pillow, shaking. He could hear movement and voices, but he didn’t try to focus on the words anymore, exhausted, just wanting to sleep, more coughs wracking his frame, making him hurt even worse. “. . . really low. . . “ 

“. . . getting higher?” 

“…breathing treat—. . . bath. . .” 

“Yeah. . . —up” 

Markus was rolled onto his back, and he moaned as the ache in his joints protested, his head bobbling when an arm slid under his shoulders and knees, lifting him into a bridal carry against a broad chest. He wheezed a little, eyelashes fluttering as he shifted, anxiety thrumming through him when he realized he couldn’t move, his arms trapped against his chest. 

“Shhhh, I gotcha, baby,” lips pressed against his forehead, and that glimmer of magic spread through him, making him settle slightly as those frantic memories of helplessness receded. 

The surface he was placed on was soft, or it should have been, if his miserable body didn’t turn every experience into anguish. His whine as he was settled was met with a matched pair of shushing noises. Another pair of cool hands brushing across his overly hot cheeks. There was an overwhelming kindness there, in those hands, and something deeper, blossoming, something that felt familiar but not

at the same time.

But then there was something cold and wet laid over his throat. 

Panic made him thrash, losing the thread of that emotion, with memories of cold tongues laving over his pulse bubbling up and forming into a weak and pitiful struggle that he wouldn’t give up no matter how fruitless. “. . no—“ he managed to croak before coughing again, no, I’m not going back, no you can’t make me, no please, god, no. 

He sobbed when he was restrained, the sound broken and cracked from the film it was forced through, more shushing sounds that did nothing to soothe the new panic that was building, re-surging, in his chest. He coughed again and again, searching for air, fear searing through him with dizziness and pain. 

“God, fuck—“ 

“—delirious. . . . temp down—“ 

“—ere are the dampeners?” 

Hands that felt bruising and rough to his overly sensitive body held him down, easily trapping his arms back in a material he couldn’t fight through, and he couldn’t feel anything anymore other than the cold weight over his throat. His sobbing drew tight into wire thin sounds that barely made it to his mouth, his eyes closed so tightly that the tears were only able to seep free to make their way down the sides of his face as his head tipped back in search of a way to worm his way free. 

The assault didn’t stop. Strong, calloused hands pulling his arms free and wrapping something around first one wrist then the other, dousing him in cold as he was manhandled and the blanket was stripped from him, stealing whatever warmth he’d managed to capture. 

His crying stole the breath from his lungs, and his struggles weakened into panicked wheezes when something was fitted over his nose and mouth, a sweet medicinal taste coating his tongue as hands returned to his skin, lifting his head and tightening a strap around the back of his head. Markus shook his head in weak denial, pleading with small, wet gasps that barely formed syllables let alone words. No, please, I don’t wanna be sick anymore, I wanna go home, please, lemme go home. He lifted his shaking hands, reaching for the mask, but he was intercepted, and, instead, weak fingers clutched a thick wrists, grabbing at clothing as his heels dug into the bed, and he tried to propel himself away. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” a voice slid through the desperate confusion when his grabbing hands were untangled, pushed back so that they were out of the way, and he shook his head again as thumbs brushed over the apples of his cheeks, around the mask. 

“Markus, Markus, look at me.” 

He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to see Lucien or faceless people hovering over him, hurting him, sticking and draining and tearing into him piece by piece as he struggled to put one breath after the other. He coughed, almost retching with the force of it, struggling against the hands on his face. 

“Fuck, Bambi,” the voice bit out, a command for attention, “open your eyes and look at me.” 

His eyelids slid open reluctantly, a burning itching at his glassy gaze, but he focused sluggishly on the figure in his line of sight. Ben’s face formed from the shadows, and Markus sobbed, reaching for him, hiccuping thick breaths as Ben leaned in, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck and pulling him into his arms. A hand settled into his hair, brushing back the damp strands as Ben shushed him with quick little quelling noises. The wet thing around his throat fell, and Markus flinched with a whimper, clinging to the solid frame that was holding him. 

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay, shhhhhh,” Ben murmured, pressing his lips to Markus’s forehead, rocking him gently, “it’s okay, Bambi, we’ve gotcha, shhhhh, just breathe, okay? Just breathe, like me. In... Out....In...” 

His fevered weeping trailed off into pitiful sniffles, his breaths settling the longer he was held, his unconscious struggles softening into minute trembling as he melted into Ben’s arms, against that strong chest as Markus was pulled against the other man. 

“That’s it, baby,” Ben praised, murmuring into his hair, continuing to rock him slowly, “that’s it, there ya go, just breathe, let the medicine do its work, okay?” The plastic on his face was adjusted as Markus’s eyelids became too heavy to keep up, but now he could hear the gentle thathump of Ben’s heartbeat as it lulled him into a sense of safety rather than frantic panic, and he didn’t try to shake the thing on his face off again, a lingering tear tickling his clumped eyelashes. “Kincaid’s running a bath for you,” Ben continued, his voice a comforting thunder against Markus’s ear, “and we’re gonna get your temperature down, okay? You don’t have any reason to be scared, we’re taking care of you, Bambi, shhhhh.” 

Ben kept up the steady cadence of reassurance that mixed with the soft hiss that filled the room, and Markus slipped down into a limp lethargy that let him skim against the surface. His coughs spaced out slowly, the tight bands around his lungs starting to loosen.

He could hear the deep murmur of another voice join in with Ben’s, that rumble against his eardrum switching rhythm to conversation, but he couldn’t help his hitched breathing, the flutter of eyelashes when he felt the buttons of his flannel being undone, more cold meeting his skin with an icy touch. Nonono, please. . . 

The rumbling voices rose with a dangerous edge, but the hands on him didn’t stop. 

“—he’s scared, damnit!” 

“. . .gotta happen—“ 

A sob fell from his mouth, wet and desperately confused as he was undressed, but his limbs continued to be maneuvered and his clothes were pulled from him despite his weak struggles. Ben’s voice came back, gentle, pleading to be understood, but Markus couldn’t understand, and he didn’t want this to happen again. Please, Lucien, no, stop, stopstopstop, nooo. . . 

“—sorry, ba— “ 

“—in the water. . .“ 

Markus almost lost being picked up to his fear, the swooping of his stomach causing a tight swallow behind the mask as his head lolled against a broad shoulder, body limp.  

The second his skin touched cold water, however, he became a live wire, arching away with a hoarse cry and a splash as one of his flailing limbs caught the liquid. No matter how hard he struggled, however, his fever weakened frame didn’t have the strength to fight back properly, and he was inexorably lowered into the freezing water. 

His hoarse cries turned into weak whimpers as he started shivering so hard that his teeth chattered, but there was no mercy to be found as a second pair of hands joined the first, holding his legs under the water as a big hand was placed over his chest, keeping him from sitting up. Markus tried to weakly pry it off, but ended up just holding on to that thick wrist, his fingers pulling at it with pleading that turned into raspy coughs. 

“. . .keep him still, Kin—“ 

“—not cold—“ 

“You’re okay—“ 

“—ght here, ba—“ 

The hand on the nape of his neck, keeping him from sliding completely into the water, was inconsequential compared to the misery he was suffering, but it was gentle, a thumb brushing back and forth just under his ear in a soothing caress. 

He didn’t know how long it took, but, eventually, the teeth chattering shivers settled into weak, body aching trembling, his breaths transforming from tight, hitching gasps into shuddering sighs. The fight to get free, to get out of the water, quieted, and he was peripherally aware of the fact that the hands on his legs went away, that his lungs had opened, and he was able to get more air that didn’t escape into painful coughing. 

The low roar of his pulse in his ears separated from the quiet, soothing reverberation of a deep voice in his ear, starting to make sense again as his brain was removed from the broiling pan. “—’s okay, sweet guy, not much longer,” the voice, that Markus was dimly realizing belonged to Kincaid, murmured, “your temperature’s going down, you’re gonna feel so much better soon, I promise.” Sluggishly, Markus forced his eyelids up to half-mast, glassy eyes looking up at Kincaid as he tried to pull himself from the soupy mire of his feverish mind. He could feel the oxygen mask still over his face, taste albuterol and whatever else Ben had mixed together for him, and he wanted out of the water. 

Kincaid’s red rimmed, honeyed eyes met his, and the bigger man gave an anemic smile, leaning down so Markus didn’t have to struggle to see him against the bright backdrop of the bathroom light. “Hey, sweet guy, there you are.” The hand over his chest lifted from the water with an unsteady pitter patter of droplets, and Markus slightly leaned into the other man’s touch as those wet knuckles brushed over his cheek. 

“Nnn. . .’s cold. . . “ he groaned, swallowing with a dry click, eyes closing again with fatigue.  

“I know, but your temp was way too high,” Kincaid murmured, dragging his knuckles down Markus’s cheek again, “just a little longer, and we’ll get you out of the tub and into something comfortable, okay?” 

Markus nodded, just barely an incline of his head, realizing that at some point he must have let go of Kincaid because he was fully submerged in the water, his hands floating at his sides, and he was completely dependent on the other witch to keep from drowning in the tub. He didn’t think he would have the energy to pull himself from the water, and that should have scared him, but instead he felt safe with Kincaid holding him out of the water. With the gentle touch to his face.

 His brow furrowed when he couldn’t feel Kincaid though, foggy eyes opening back up to look around with confusion. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” Kincaid asked, still hovering over him, worry lines prominent over his face. 

He took a deep, wheezing breath, trying to get enough oxygen to be heard through the mask, trying to look around more, gaze unfocused, anxiety spiking as he realized he could feel his magic but nothing else. “. . . can’t. . . can’t feel. . . “ 

“Shhhh,” Kincaid soothed, cupping Markus’s cheek and guiding his gaze back, “we had to put the dampeners on, okay? You were fighting us pretty hard.” His face crumpled a little bit, before firming, his thumb brushing under Markus’s eye. “We didn’t want something to happen on accident, we’ll take ‘em off later, okay?” 

The dampeners made sense. Deanna had made them when he was in the hospital, too weak to have free rein of using his magic without hurting himself or other people if he happened to lash out in fear. Too exhausted to protest, Markus breathed out a hum of acknowledgement and closed his eyes as the door to the bathroom opened. 

“How’s it going?” Ben whispered as he padded closer. 

“Woke up a second ago, seemed a lot clearer. Think it’s about time he got out of the tub?” 

“Lemme check his temp first,” Ben answered. A few seconds later something rolled over his forehead to his temple with a small beep, but Markus didn’t care what it was, still shivering in the cool water, hot tears starting to slip down his cheeks again. I want out. . . ’s so cold. . . please, Ben. . . 

“Okay, 101.5, that’s a lot better. Thank god, let’s get him out of the tub. Markus, are you awake, baby?” 

He opened his eyes again, looking blearily up at Ben, nodding lethargically. “Mmn. . .”  

Ben smiled softly at him, leaning over him with his hand splayed over the wall, his t-shirt dark in places with water splashes and hair sticking up in a wild array. “Hey there, Bambi,” he said, “you look a lot better than you did earlier, that’s for sure. We’re gonna get you settled, okay?” 

Markus nodded again, trying to gather his limbs to get himself out of the tub. He was shaky now, kitten weak, but he could move. His hands, however, were slippery on the tile, and god, he was sore all over. 

“I gotcha,” Kincaid murmured, gathering him up under the shoulders and knees despite the fact that he was going to get sopping wet, “you don’t gotta worry about doing anything, okay?”

Markus whined as he was picked up, the pathetic noise making him feel ashamed no matter how exhausted he was, but the air was like icy sleet against his skin, and he turned his face into the other man’s shoulder. He was sat on the counter, refusing to move his face from the refuge he’d found in Kincaid’s warmth. The oxygen mask was digging into his nose, but he didn’t care. He’d gotten used to the damn things when he was in the hospital, and no matter that the albuterol taste had largely dissipated from the oxygen he was breathing, it still evoked enough memories for him to both be comforted with the fact that he could breathe and freaked out by the fact that he was having to wear one again. The memories of being helpless, unable to take care of himself, yo-yoing with getting sick and getting better, again and again. 

He hated this. 

Gently, Ben dried him while Kincaid served as a leaning post, keeping him secure with a hand on the back of his neck and back. The towel was soft on his skin, and he would normally be self conscious of the still vivid scars over his torso, over the fact that he was naked and hadn’t removed his own clothes. 

But he was too tired to even pretend to give a shit. 

Now that the fever had lessened, he was comfortable with these two men helping him, taking care of him. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen all of him before, helping him with hygiene in the hospital, with physical therapy. It wasn’t like he could really do it himself right then, either. 

Markus wrapped his arms around Kincaid’s neck at his gentle prompting, and Kincaid picked him up to his feet, one arm wrapped around his back and the other firmly on his hip. “Lift your foot, bud,” he murmured. They both helped him dress. Ben knelt by his feet and pulled the sweats up his trembling legs until Markus was encased in the warm, soft material, the waistline loose around his hips. When they pulled one of his warm flannels over his arms, Markus realized he was wearing a pair of Ben’s sweats, a pair that he’d commented looked like they were made of clouds. 

“Hmm. . . “ he smiled weakly, half-lidded eyes looking at Ben, “y’rem’bered.” 

Ben grinned, pushing Markus’s towel dried hair out of his face as Kincaid breathed out a laugh as he bent to scoop Markus off of the floor. “Figured being sick was a good opportunity to see if you thought they were as soft as you’d expected.” “. . .s’soft,” he hummed, turning his head back into the crook of Kincaid’s neck. 

“Good, baby, I’m really glad.” 

By the time Markus was laid down on something soft, he was mostly asleep in Kincaid’s arms. With the fever down, his body was crying out for rest, for sleep. But when Kincaid moved away, he whimpered, eyes still closed and reaching for him. 

“Shhh, sweet guy,” the bigger man soothed, kissing him gently on the forehead, “we’re not going anywhere. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

“‘kay. . .” he whispered, breath slowing as he fell closer to sleep, barely aware that a blanket was draped over him. He was safe; they wouldn’t leave him alone. 

Markus wasn’t going to be alone again. 

The low rumble of Ben and Kincaid’s voices in the apartment soothed him, made him settle, and, calm sleep stealing over him. He was pulled out of it a short time later when a large hand smoothed over his hair, soft lips on his forehead. He made a low sound of acknowledgement, but he didn’t open his eyes, until he heard Ben’s huffed chuckle. 

The other man was in a fresh, dry set of lounge clothes, kneeling in front of what he realized was the couch. Kincaid sat on the coffee table, also in fresh, soft clothes, leaning forward with a complicated mix of concern and warm appreciation for the scene in front of him. 

“D’you want us to stay with you, Bambi?” Ben asked, voice sotto, his long fingers softly brushing through Markus’s hair. 

Blinking was a chore Markus wasn’t interested in, and he let his eyes slide closed, licking his lips and taking a deep breath of that damp, humid air before giving his answer. “....please...”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Ben responded, kissing him on the forehead. Carefully, he and Kincaid settled onto the couch next to him, his head in Ben’s lap and his legs in Kincaid’s. The flash of the tv soaked through his eyelids, the murmur of voices and the occasional smattering of a laugh track pressing into his doze, but Markus didn’t think he’d been this comfortable while sick since he was a child. 

The last think he heard, before sleep fully claimed him, was, “Joey doesn’t share food!” 

[freshwater--mermaid]

What’s your response against anti who said that Tony is a war criminal who should be tried and executed for so-called crime?

A guy legally designing weapons for the government and army to use does not a war criminal make. Yeah it’s terrible, but he stops doing it literally in Iron Man 1. He also regularly donates huge funds to charities, and his company works with creating food sources and clean energy. But antis don’t know any of that because they’ve never watched an Iron Man film. They just hear what anti tony blogs say and then believe them unquestioningly. I actually used to do that too so I know for a solid fact those blogs pull things out of hammerspace to be mad about.

I’m sick or else I’d elaborate further but my eyes hurt.

Still confused on why these anons are suddenly cropping up in my inbox lol

oh an a little addon that Tony was literally raised to believe his only worth in life was to continue the ‘stark legacy’ by his father, mentor, media, school, etc. I think if I was raised being told I was only valuable for my brain and that I was destined to use it to further my dad’s weapon-making company I...kinda would think I was only good for making weapons for my dad’s company...

idk I’m delirious does that make sense or what

[hvlfwygod]

know your strength, part 2 | patrick & ben

tw: idk it’s a little intense

June 20

When he opened the door, his father was on the other side.

Very creative, he thought, or said. So the dream skipped a few minutes and got right to the point. Despite himself, his heart started beating faster, faster, and he closed his eyes, but this was a nightmare so he saw it all happening anyway.

I’m not going to give you the satisfaction, he said, or thought, just as the door slammed in his face again and the dark started to suffocate him. Whatever you want, I’m not doing it.

I’m just happy to know you’re stuck here. The voice sounded muffled, far away, and then footsteps retreated, leaving him there.

His heart was still racing when he woke up.

—

A small canvas, coated in blacks, grays, browns. Dark reds. Jagged bursts of white.

His stomach curled, threatening to eat itself.

His head hurt, hurt, hurt. 

The figure in the doorway stood like a menace, face blurred because his fingers would not stop trembling. 

Patrick hadn’t slept so much in months, and the inspiration was spilling out of him. He woke up in the middle of the night and finally knew how to finish the painting. His throat burned, he wanted to be high and far away, anchored only by his frenetic brushstrokes. This scene was not his mind, but it was shaped like his nonetheless. All quaking lines and consuming shadows. It was hungry and aching, just like him.

His leg bounced, shaking his easel.

He felt like shit.

But he was nearly done. Withdrawal was a bitch and lasting long, long, but he’d be out of the woods soon. Soon. Focusing on creating let him shut out the rest.

June 21

Constant nightmares were not new to him. He could handle them, especially since he knew why they were happening. There was no monster waiting for him when he closed his eyes.

Still.

He knew how to function on little to no sleep. And he’d started napping, snatching a few hours of peaceful, quiet rest.

Still.

He was sure that the point was to break him. Make him tell someone, or beg for it to stop, or grovel and apologize. He wouldn’t. He could endure more than most.

Still. Still. Still.

Ben kept waiting for his mother to come, but she must have had better things to do.

June 22

When the painting was done, he set it to dry, then scoured his kitchen. Left his roommate a sloppy apology note. Ate until the hunger pangs stopped. 

His head was clearer now, and he thought about his knife.

Patrick would never tire of his nightmares. He reveled in them, came alive when he had them. He’d never stop relying on them first, always.

Still, a push might be nice.

Hence the painting. And the knife. (An impulsive purchase, back when he could make those.)

He hadn’t really had a plan when he started this. All he wanted to do at first was attack, to indulge his powers. But now that days had circled by and Patrick had circled deeper into a hellish sobriety, he wanted more. He wanted to see Ben’s face.

Patrick found it on his shelves. He watched the blade spill into shape, roll back, spill again. Roll back, again. Spill.

He really felt like shit.

Patrick hadn’t slept so much in months, but he slept anyway, because the other option was to think and think and think and think about little pills, little tabs, little piles of powder.

—

Ben didn’t try unpinning himself from under the beast— he knew in this version of events no one came to save him. But he did look it in the face. How much longer until you get bored?

Never, it answered, showing off its teeth. Are you? I can make things worse. I love a challenge.

Ben felt the ground move. A hand emerged from underneath him and rested on his forehead. It pulled him down, down. He didn’t flinch, even as his chest tightened up. Whatever you do, it won’t work.

The monster made a low, growling noise, but it sounded amused. It will work on someone else, I’m sure. You have a roommate? I noticed on my walk in.

Ben did not answer, which felt like a defeat. Another hand snaked around his arm, his leg, hugged his torso from below. Because this was a nightmare he knew he was going somewhere worse. The beast hummed again, the noise huge and deep.

I won’t, I won’t. As long as you meet me tomorrow. I have a gift for you.

June 23

For how excited he was, it was hard to get out of bed. His head felt as though it was trying to detach itself from his body.

Patrick felt almost delirious from the pain exploding out of his skull. Had withdrawal been this bad last time?

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. He found something that resembled a painkiller, drank water straight from the faucet. He felt like complete shit, but it didn’t matter. He had somewhere to be.

—

Every morning since this started, he woke up angry. Today was no different.

Ben considered the candle, still in the same place on his dresser. Unlit, and no offering beside it.

He was in no mood to cook.

There were no instructions on where to meet, so he just went to the same place as before. He bought another coffee, sat at a bench, and waited.

Something approached him that was tall and gaunt and resembling a human that hadn’t slept in days. Ben confirmed after a few frantic blinks that it wasn’t a ghost. His shoulders relaxed.

He had about three seconds of relief before his shoulders tensed up again. Ben had no time to get up, so he pressed himself back into the bench. “Are you fucking crazy?”

There was a knife in Patrick’s hand. It was oddly shaped, and the blade was black and slick like an oil spill. Ben’s eyes didn’t move from the sharpened point, because he wasn’t sure where it would go once he looked away.

“Oh, relax,” Patrick scoffed. Ben watched the knife get lifted, and the blade slide into its hilt, defying all that he knew about knives and the laws of physics. “Of course you assume I’m going there. Fucking scumbag.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Ben asked. Cautiously, he glanced up to Patrick’s face. The man looked very, very sick, and equal parts smug.

Instead of answering, Patrick presented the object in his other hand. Ben had been so focused on the weapon he hadn’t even noticed the painting until it was in his lap.

His father glowered back at him. He stood in the doorway to Ben’s old room, body slightly turned. Clothing rumpled. One arm hung down, hand curled around a bottle. The other was gently bent at the elbow. He was pointing, just firmly enough to be menacing. Clothes scattered the room, his bed just peeked into view, mostly eaten by shadow. His father was mid-sentence. His face drooped into its scowl, as if his muscles has learned to settle into that expression.

The lines were shaky, but it was so perfectly him.

Ben poured his coffee all over it.

Patrick was laughing, but Ben heard it at a slight delay. He could barely see anything besides his father’s painted face, warping.

Aw, you don’t like it? Ben realized Patrick was talking. “But I worked so hard! I guess I’ll try to do better next time. Don’t worry, Prius, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Ben was so mad he couldn’t speak. His heartbeat shook his entire frame. His teeth practically chattered as he tried and failed and tried and failed to respond.

“How d—”

“How dare I?” Patrick interrupted. Suddenly, he was in Ben’s face, and Ben jerked away. Another laugh, but he couldn’t hear it at all.

Sometimes anger was like a living thing.

—

Something was wrong. The headache hadn’t subsided. In fact, it’d only gotten worse since leaving his house.

Ben was unresponsive. Patrick’s skull was spitting open. Something was wrong. The wrongness needled at him. He was almost nauseous, but stubbornly he refused to stop smiling.

“Prius? Oh, poor guy, did I upset you? Good.” He sneered as he grabbed Ben’s face, forced him to look up from the ruined painting, now on the ground. The man flinched, but not out of fear. He couldn’t describe it, but the distinction was obvious. Ben was returning to this reality, and he was pissed.

Plus, his eyes were all wrong.

“You’ve had it too good for a killer, Ben,” Patrick sneered. His knife was close; maybe unneeded, considering the response the painting had caused. But he’d come this far, and the guy deserved it. So he held it up, pressed it to Ben’s cheek, pulled it down.

It didn’t draw blood, not really. It was more interesting than that. His knife was an extension of his powers, and it harmed accordingly. Something inky and unkind sank into Ben’s skin. In the same instant, his screamed. He curled over, hands flying to the mark. Patrick backed away, watching with a bright, hungry interest. For as much as he loved his nightmares, there was a sick satisfaction with seeing the fear in person.

Ben had said he was immune. Patrick had called bullshit, and he was right. He reveled in that.

Then, his head exploded.

—

Ben hoped that Patrick felt every second of his nightmares. Every single, terrible second of this. This unrelenting terror, this mind-bending fear, fear, fear. This free fall into the worst of his memories. He hoped Patrick felt it all, tenfold.

No, twenty fold.

Feel it. Physically, terribly feel it.

His mind scrambled to steady itself. He came to just as Patrick was passing out.

And then, he left again, this time with his mother. Ben could barely tell up from down; all he knew is that she was just as angry.

—

For a split second, Patrick thought he died.

He pushed himself upright. Instead of Ben, Morpheus sat across from him. They weren’t in New Athens anymore. If he had to guess, Patrick would say his dad brought him inside a cloud.

“How do you feel?”

Patrick scowled. “Good to see you, too.”

Morpheus sighed. “Kiddo, what’s going on?”

“Don’t call me kiddo,” Patrick snapped at him. “Nice of you to show up after I figure out my powers. Really convenient.”

“Did you want me to leave you on the sidewalk?” Morpheus looked genuinely confused. Patrick just scoffed. The god sighed again. “I am glad your dreams are back, son.”

“Don’t mock me. You gonna take them away again?”

Another look of confusion. Morpheus tilted his head. “I didn’t take them away.”

Patrick frowned at him. “Then why—”

“Patrick, come on. You just needed to sober up.”

All this time. Patrick stared at Morpheus. “Bullshit.”

“I don’t deal in bullshit.”

“Ugh.” Patrick rolled his eyes. “No one says that.”

Morpheus shrugged. “I’m a god, I don’t need to keep up.”

“Whatever.” Something about this conversation was deeply humiliating. Patrick turned away. “Thanks for the help, I guess.”

“You didn’t answer me. How do you feel?”

He paused, thought about it seriously. “My head feels better. I feel, okay.”

“Good.” Another stretch of quiet. “I love how you use your powers. But be responsible, please.” When Patrick didn’t respond, there was another, longer sigh.

He reemerged in his bed. At his side was a few bills and a bottle of water. A little note that read: say no to drugs -M

—

“What are you thinking?”

Nemesis was raging. Ben stood in a parking lot in Canada, shaking.

“This is what you use your power for, Ben? A petty fight?”

Ben sucked in a breath. “I didn’t—”

“You cursed him days ago—”

“I didn’t know.”

“That is no excuse! You cursed him then, and then again just now! You could have killed him!”

“I don’t know what to do.” Ben was crying, all at once. Everything crashed on top of him, all at once. “Sorry, can you give me a minute?”

She gave him six, since that was how long he needed before he could speak again.

Slowly, he wiped his face with his palms. “How do I control it? Why didn’t you come earlier?”

“You need to figure this out. Your power is triggered by anger. You cannot let it consume you like this.”

“I don’t want it to,” he argued, but weakly. His eyes burned. “That was what he did, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be like that.”

“Don’t think about him. This is about you, Ben.”

“Mom, what do I do?” He looked up at her. “People hate me, they’re out to get me, and I can’t even blame them, but I still did this. I want to stand up for myself without—” He shook his head. “I can’t keep doing this. Please help me not do this.” He was shivering, cold to his bones.

Nemesis was quiet. Then she placed a hand on Ben’s head. “I will try to guide you, Ben. But this is still your responsibility.”

It was a kinder response than he expected. Ben felt like crying again. He closed his eyes. For the first time that week, he felt as tired as he should be. When he opened his eyes again, he was back in town. The sun was bright, the painting gone. Patrick, too, was nowhere to be seen.

He took a deep breath.

Ben put his head in his hands for a while, then he stood. He needed to go home. He needed to lay in bed for the rest of his life, but just the rest of the day would have to do.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Sero tired of being the best friend and finally snapping 👀

If you’re talking about Thorns!Sero, @im-an-adult-sometimes and i wrote a little thing about Sero snapping which you can find HERE, but it’s not yandere!

(A yandere!sero snapping is a completely different scenario though. Also idk if you meant thorns!sero, but i just jumped the gun and started writing for a clairvoyant Sero, SORRY!) (also the tense is messy, but this is just a concept SO)

The last couple months have been hard on the clairvoyant warlock. He’s been a good boy, he really has: he’s stood up for you when people have talked or thought shit on you, he’s been by your side even after your life got a little more messy for normal friends to handle, and he even pushed for you and your relationship with Todoroki to blossom.

But the funny thing is, the really freakin hilarious thing is, you really only pay him any mind when things have gone to shit.

It’s not that Sero really minds having you rest on his shoulder. He likes smelling your shampoo while he strokes your hair and tries making lighthearted jokes to see your pretty little smile. It’s always worth it to feel your cheeks warm when his thumb brushes those residual tears away. It’s in these moments that he just wants to confess. For awhile, he’s thought that maybe he wasn’t good enough for you, maybe someone else with better intentions would come and whisk you away, and he’d finally get to see you be happy with someone... good.

Someone good never seems to happen though. He sees it and he knows you see it, too, but c’mon, how come you make the same mistake over and over and over again?

After he helps you get over another disgusting man who doesn’t deserve to feel your warm skin or see that beautiful smile, he catches you thinking about someone else entirely. He sees the way they touch you when you’re drifting off in your daydreams in the middle of class. That fuzzy feeling you get when you’re thinking about how the newest guy winked at you while he was in between your legs? Sero feels it, too, and it makes him sick.

Can’t you see that they’re all the same? Everyone puts on the same exact show for you, and you buy it every. single. fucking. time. Are you that desperate to be loved that you can’t see that the perfect guy for you has been to right under your nose this whole time?! It’s infuriating, and the longer he does nothing about it, the harder this heavy, toxic need to... to save you hits him.

Sero’s never been the best at potions, but for you, he tries his hardest.

He’ll start off with something easy. While the two of you are out for drinks, he’ll slip a sleeping potion in your beverage. Once you’re out, he’ll take you someone. He certainly can’t take you back to dorms, not when you’re zonked like that (he’d get an earful from Yaoyorozu and that’s not always the best of times)

Once the two of you are in a nice, cozy hotel room somewhere, he’ll watch you sleep, brushing your hair back while he tries to make sense of your whimsical dreams, and waits for you to wake up. He wouldn’t ever touch you while you slept—he isn’t some sort of creep that would, let’s say, take advantage of you in your dream state like a certain someone you know, no, he’d make sure that you’re comfortable and safe. It’s when you finally wake that he kisses you.

Honestly, how could he not? You’re so cute all delirious and confused like that. And when Sero’s lips brush up against yours, you actually kiss him back he’s elated about it, thinking that this might actually work without him having to use that other potion. However, when his hands cup your face and he deepens the kiss, he gets a flash of who you thinks he is. Buzzkill.

“No. No, babe, it’s me,” he’d say, pulling away from you so that the light from the moon would illuminate his face.

“Huh? What?”

“It’s Hanta... you passed out at the bar...”

“Oh,” you’d grumble, rubbing at your eyes. Your cheeks would darken and Sero would fall all that much more in love. “Shit, Sero. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“No, no, no. Everything is okay!” He’d kiss you again, a little more desperately, trying to get you in the mood, but you’re just now waking up. Still, you’d reciprocate like it’s your natural instinct to do so. Sero doesn’t mind that much when you’re doing that with him, but then you’d have to start asking questions.

“Where are we?”

“Hotel.” His lips caress your jaw.

“Why?”

His tongue slides over your neck. “Because I brought you here.”

“Sero-!” You’d sit up in bed and push lightly against his chest. Sero’s heart would pound while he watches you scramble to make sense of the situation. He wants more than anything for you to understand him, to realize that this is all out of love, that he’s been here this whole time, and that he’d do anything for you. “We can’t... we can’t be doing this. Why don’t we go home?”

“No,” he’d say. Stern. Harsh. He’d pull his legs over your hips, locking you in between his knees. “I love you, you know that?” He’d ask and you wouldn’t respond. “No, of course you knew that. Like it’s almost sadistic of you to retain that bit of information and continue to just— to do that thing—to pretend like you and I aren’t—“

His eyes would begin getting wilder as he rambled on and on about how you’d been using him, how you’d been afraid to accept the only good man in your life as something more, how you weren’t going to play around with his heart any longer. Before he knows it, tears stream down your cheeks. He’d feel guilty, but he’d also be overwhelmed with a righteous sense of justice. It helps that you’re oh-so pretty when you cry.

“But you know what? It’s all okay now,” he’d say, patting your wet cheek. “I forgive you, babe. You know why?” You’d shake your head. He’d continue with, “Because I’m gonna fix this. I mean, I already fix everything, right? I figured I might just get down to curing you of everything, starting right at the source of all your problems.”

You’d choke out a sob, saying something about nothing he’s talking about making any sense. Sero would let out a little self-deprecating scoff.

“I know, babe. I know. Just—hold still.”

Sero would force a vial against your lips. He already knew that it could get a little messy, but you’re just sleepy enough to take a couple hefty gulps before sputtering the rest of the potion onto the hotel sheets. You’d cry out in deviant accusations and Sero would hold you down until your muscles begin to relax and your insults and curses would turn to nothing but soft little whimpers.

“I know, babe, I know,” he’d hush and coo at you, stroking your hair like he knows you like. “But when you wake up again, it’s all gonna get better. You’ll see. Shh shh.”

Sero would continue to kiss you while he knows you’re still awake. He’d whisper about how much he loves you and how excited he is for tomorrow. He’ll tell you all about how nice it’s going to be when you wake up and you love him, too.

[moeruhoshi]

blah okay can you guys give me some feedback on this commission? it’s halfway done but i’m not very confident in its flow :/ idk if Natsu sounds too eager, or if things seem like they escalated too quickly for casual enjoyment

Natsu could always say that he was in charge of himself. A man of virtue and honor, he did what was right, when the situation called for it, at least. Playing pranks on his friends was an exception to this rule. He was assertive and just, spoke up when he needed to, abided by the laws of his village.

So, for someone so set in their ways to lose control of themselves every so often was upsetting. He was weak and uninhibited, sick and delirious. It was the burden that this curse had so much control over him. 

When the moon was high at night, the waning and waxing visual came back each month to remind Natsu that he was weak.

Before anyone could find him on the brink of insanity, the dragon hid away, outside the boundaries of their home. It was a cave in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the lush overgrown ends of the forest. He hibernated for about a week, sleeping off the crazed strength and lust that his instincts harbored.

He never had any problems with this ritual of his, going off a day or two before his heat, falling asleep before he was too far gone, then returning home a week later feeling right as rain. 

But, Natsu could truly never account for the time he lost, deep in that uninhabited cave. He woke up feeling refreshed and happy that his strength had returned, so there was nothing to be worried about. His inner dragon was sneaky in this manner. 

Surely it was impossible for such a raging beast to sleep for the only time it was allowed consciousness. From the first time Natsu had made his way out there, the dragon had had his own fun.

It was a purely coincidental thing, maybe he would have stayed asleep if she hadn’t appeared before him.

A girl, a couple inches shorter than himself, a blonde with curious eyes and a beautiful body. But a sin to even hold the sight of.

Women came from the other side of the forest, a village known as enemies of his own. No one had ever seen one before, but it was forbidden to even approach the line between both people. 

This cave resided outside of both territories, so Natsu didn’t think anyone would ever find this place.

The dragon picked up her erotic scent as it wafted between the trees, whispering and luring him out of slumber. 

The girl was quite sane herself, knowing better than to wander about the woods without anyone to watch her back. She was a nymph of the moon and stars, skin bright and sparkly as if she bathed in pixie dust.

She liked to hang around the line between both villages, hoping that one day she would be able to catch sight of the mythical being known as man.

Her name was Lucy and she liked to read. There were books and stories scrawled messily into makeshift journals kept by the elder. She read to the girls, stories around the campfire, telling them of ancient women, battles, and hardships. But there was one book, a secret journal that Lucy had come across when returning a borrowed book.

It was by Mavis Vermillion, one of the first chiefs ever to reign over their small village. Legends had said she was killed by a bear, dragged off for her body never to be discovered. (It was bound for things to get mixed up after a few hundred years).

Her journal told of her travels and experiences, as well as the issues she had to deal with as chief. Halfway into the book, her inquisitive thoughts ceased and instead, a wonderfully bright picture was painted.

It told of a magic called love, one so strong and forceful that she had to leave everyone she cared for behind. 

She met a man, a dark dragon named Zeref, one day in the woods. She was frightened, of course, but intrigued. Mavis had never met one of his kind before and was shocked to see that he hadn’t razor-sharp teeth or claws like a beast. 

He was kind and cute and sweet, and as time grew on, they only grew closer. She met him once a month, under the blank light of the moon, hidden in a cave just beyond the villages reach.

The two ran away not long after, wanting to spend every day together, no longer only once under the new moon.

It was terribly romantic, and to a nymph who could only dream of the touch of man, was it a tale of hope. She wanted to meet someone like Mavis had, to fall in love and run away. 

Lucy wouldn’t be able to understand her cravings until she met Natsu. There was a side of her that would become unhinged as well, but she would be lucky enough to keep her memories.

She decided on that fateful day to go out and see if this cave was real, to see if Mavis and Zeref had truly existed and rendezvoused together in this secret location. 

She often went off for days, berry picking and herb collecting, so no one would be the wiser to her disappearance. 

It took a couple hours of walking to reach the edge of their territory, her excitement peaking with every step.

There it was, the entrance wrapped with vines, its expanse hidden deep within this tall cliffside. Her skin buzzed with adrenaline and some wariness, but Lucy wasn’t scared. She had to know if it was true, if the life she wanted was a real possibility.

His nose perked up at the approaching scent, dormant lust and hunger residing in the pit of the stomach of whoever neared his hiding place. He shifted on the animal skin he’d thought to bring along, raising himself on all fours in case he needed to attack. He lit the lining of the cave with small bursts of fire as a precaution to ward any traveler away from him.

Lucy was naive. Anything out of the ordinary she saw could only be a magical reveal, something exciting and new to find. When she entered the cave and bore sight to these flames, she was impassioned with impression. Had this been a spell Mavis had cast? 

Her fingers brushed against the flames, delighted by the way they bounced and waved under her touch. They didn’t burn, wouldn’t have even if they could. She was a nymph of the stars after all, and their heat slept underneath her skin.

The dragon watched, impressed that she could withstand the heat of his flames. A purr rose in his throat; he needed her. It was just something about her that made him feel...feral. The instinct-driven being would not foolishly set aside the chance to sate his heavy desires.

He stood up, approaching her with confident strides, his face blank and authoritative. 

She turned around at the sound of sand crunched underneath the sole of someone’s shoe. A gasp rose in her throat and was caught when he stood before her. 

He was tall, muscular, strength and mana practically rolling from his chest. His pink hair was interesting, as were the red scales that patterned his skin at random.

“W-Who...are you?” Lucy gulped, her heart beginning to beat at a rising pace. She wasn’t scared of him, rather much more afraid that her eyes were lying to her in this moment.

“I should be the one asking you that,” His voice was deep and practically shook the cave walls. Lucy felt her ears burn, just the slightest as he stared intensely down at her. “You’re intruding,”

“Oh! I’m so—I’m so sorry, I didn’t think anyone lived here, rather, um, I-I, I was just here looking for something! Someone...I don’t really know.”

“And who would that be?” A slight smirk curled its way onto Natsu’s face, his sharp canines protruding past his smug look. 

“A...a dragon…” Her breath left her body in shaky waves, unsteady lips falling victim to the shape of his own.

“Care to tell me what you intend to do with me? Woman,” She pressed her back to the wall as he stepped closer into her personal space, the warmth of his breath making her shiver ever so slightly.

“I...didn’t—don’t have a plan,” She gulped, holding in a squeal as his hand began to glide down her exposed midsection. “I didn’t expect you to really be here…”

“Then...tell me what you want to do now that you’re here, with me,” The deep vibrato of his voice, the gentle purr that glided our along with it, the warm touch of his hand experimentally on her body...Lucy had read the last chapter of Mavis’ journal carefully and with much embarrassment. There were things that a man and woman could do together that had been failed to be taught directly to her. It was most definitely a taboo ritual, from the first kiss to the consummation of such a sinful dance.

The dragon was working fairly hard to hold himself back, the urge to seduce this woman back into the depths of this cave was overpowering. Had she known that he could see through her innocent guise? The words she spoke clearly hid her intentions. The gaze she bestowed upon him, the obvious curiosity and lust. He could smell right down to her core, the burning passion that drove her, would control her if he could bring it out of her.

Lucy braved her nerves, hands slowly reaching out to settle upon the dragon’s chest. She blushed as he purred, staying still as to allow her a moment to decide just what she intended to do. 

There wouldn’t be another opportunity like this, to be with a man, one whose first action was not to attack and maim her. She knew he could if he wanted to, yet he hadn’t and spoke rather sweetly to her. At least he was more kind than those stories of barbarian men she’d been hearing all her life. 

Her body buzzed as if knowing what to do before she knew it herself. Her breath was quick as her heart began to beat, the blonde decidedly making the first move.

She moaned softly, pressing her lips to the tanned skin of the dragon’s chest. He continued to rumble with purrs as she went on with this light action, small and brief kisses peppered in odd places. She looked up at him, two fingers pressed against his left nipple.

“I’m Lucy,” She mumbled before folding her lips over the hardened bud, her tongue smoothly gliding against it.

“Natsu,” He panted, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he suppressed his wants. There was no use in forcing her, he’d take things slow until she was past the point of saving, that he was all she could think of.

Once Lucy began, her body seemed to go into auto-drive. It knew what she wanted to do and how to do it, Natsu waiting expectantly for her next move.

A kiss, how she dreamed of her first kiss. Mavis had written about everything from a small peck to a passionate tongue-tied battle.

Her hands moved subtly to wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to her wanton lips. 

There were no other words shared between them before they kissed, nor after they shared that first embrace. It was long and slow, warm and revealing. Lucy had found what she was looking for, something to sate the desperate curiosity that rumbled ever so terribly in her heart. The headache Natsu’d been having left as he held her against him, his body releasing its tension without resistance. 

It was only their lips at first, softly molding together, parting only to come back together, deepening their connection. He reclaimed her lips with subtle growls that rolled off his tongue, brandishing Lucy with an echo of his indecent delight. His hand found purchase in her hair, threading his fingers between the silken strands as he brought her closer to him. 

Lucy gasped as he nipped lightly on her lower lip, the dragon taking that motion as an invitation for more. He purred at the first taste of her tongue after coaxing it out. She was sweet like syrup, and addictive like the succulent oil that dripped from venison. He groaned as she followed his direction, instinct leading her through every step.

Her back pressed further against the rocky wall, Lucy hissing as one jagged edge, in particular, marred itself into the small of her back. Their lips parted as she whined, Natsu huffing as he glared at the object that stole her attention.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry…” Lucy said with a breathy pant. Natsu stared at her reddened lips, swollen from his torment.

“Has this satisfied your curiosity?” The gravelly voice of the dragon asked, though he already knew the answer. From the way her body twitched when his fingers brushed against her skin, to the sweet scent emitting from the sodden center between her legs.

“I…” Lucy couldn’t hide her dejected look, not knowing if that was his invitation to ask for more or a subtle way telling her to leave. She didn’t want to be honest and embarrass herself, but asking him to do more seemed selfish.

The dragon felt his scales bristle at the not so innocent conflict that went through her mind. She was proving to be an interesting find, maybe he’d keep her around longer than he intended.

“Come over here,” He took her hand and led her deeper into the cave, small wisps of flames extinguishing behind them. 

It was dark but warm, and a large animal’s hide was laid out on the ground.

“Tell me something,” Natsu began as they stood beside the blanket. “What is your fascination with dragons? Why were you looking for one?”

“Um,” Lucy cleared her throat and spoke with a blush on her cheeks. “I...I wanted to—to fall in…! In love...in love with one…”

“Oh?” The dragon smirked and chuckled as she pouted with adorably red cheeks. “That’s ambitious.”

“No need to make fun of me,” She muffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I think it’s cute,” He hummed, his hand falling to settle on her waist. “And I have no problem granting your wish,”

“Really…?” Lucy felt her optimism skyrocket as he nodded his head, bringing her against his chest once more. “B-But why?”

“Hmm,” The dragon shrugged his shoulder and walked her onto the pelt. “Do I need a reason?” He pressed his lips to her cheek, then up to her ear. “To be with someone...in new and interesting ways?”

Natsu sat down first, holding Lucy’s hand as he beckoned her to sit with him. He was not as far gone as most would assume a beast of his nature be. He was much more calculated and careful, seeing the innocent yet excited gaze that Lucy projected while he took her into his lap.

“I’ll teach you something,” Natsu grinned as he lit his pointer finger with a small flame. “Since you want to be with a dragon,”

“O-Okay,” Lucy gulped but nodded with confidence, ready to do anything she was asked of.

“I want you to be comfortable with every part of me,” He said seductively, 

[vantaestummy]

pls can u sick tae and caring joon soon??? emeto (stomach bug or flu) pls

A/N: yes ofc! sorry this took so long! wrote this with a really awesome friend of mine. enjoy!

TW/// emeto

WORD COUNT: idk. i’m too tired to count it

——————

Taehyung should have known better when helping Jimin get through his vicious bout of stomach flu.

The second he woke up, he knew something was wrong. His intestines were a garbled mess, wringing on the inside grotesquely as the morning sun carried streams of light into the room. Taehyung was dizzy with confusion, but as soon as he was able to recall the events from the few nights before, he knew that there was no coming back from this.

Taehyung had caught the flu.

Taehyung lifts himself from the bed with a tired and nauseated groan, the sudden movement riling up his stomach and coating his throat with nothing but acid.

He pauses in his steps when he tastes a sickening rush of hot liquid surging up his throat. It takes more than a dozen convulsive swallows and an uncountable amount of deep breaths before Taehyung is able to continue on his journey, seemingly in the clear for the time being.

With a tentative hand on his tummy, he feebly knocks on Jimin’s bedroom door, whimpering quietly when an aggressive cramp makes his stomach swirl. He frantically knocks again.

Jimin opens the door a few seconds later, clad in his favorite silk pajamas with disheveled hair and droopy eyes. He was still in the recovering from the nasty stomach virus himself, so he needed as much sleep as he could get.

Taehyung feels awful for waking the boy, but he also feels extremely nauseous, and that easily outweighs the guilt he feels. It had been his kindhearted act of sitting with Jimin and rubbing his back every time he vomited that had landed him in his current predicament in the first place, so he figures the least Jimin could do is return the favor.

Jimin stands confused in the doorway, waiting for Taehyung to explain himself. Taehyung awkwardly fidgets with his fingers, feeling too queasy to open his mouth. He’s hoping that Jimin will receive the message via telepathy, but instead, a loud voice from the hallway startles both of them.

“Taehyung, you need to leave him alone.” Namjoon says, walking towards the bedroom door where the two young boy’s are frozen. Taehyung feels his heart sink.

“I know you want to hang out with him but he needs to rest.” Namjoon adds before gently pulling Taehyung away from the door.

Taehyung can’t help but to pout with a helpless whine, the mere action of standing making his stomach curdle with a vicious queasiness that nearly makes his knees buckle.

“But, but hyung I—”

“Come with me. Jimin, go back to sleep.” Jimin sighs with a nod, complying before his door quietly falls shut.

Taehyung’s stomach is in his throat at this point, the guilt from interrupting Jimin’s healing making him feel even worse. Not to mention how disappointed Namjoon looks. The older boy is leading Taehyung towards the kitchen, where he begins separating a few pots and pans.

“You must be hungry. That’s why you’re so upset. Do you want breakfast? I can make you something. Or do you just prefer cereal?”

Now, every member of the group knows that Kim Namjoon and kitchens do not mix, but that isn’t even the problem.

Just thinking about food makes Taehyung want to toss his cookies.

“N-No, no food.” He murmurs, a hand trailing to his aching, sick belly.

Namjoon turns to him before raising a brow, leaning against the counter.

“You’re not... hungry? Tae you’re always hungry. What’s wrong?”

Taehyung gives a pitiful shrug, lips forming into a pout as he clutches his stomach. He’s hoping the action will suffice as an answer since he feels too nauseous to speak, but Namjoon stands there silently, a displeased expression appearing on his face as his turns towards the fridge and grabs out a cup of vanilla yogurt, clearly not understanding Taehyung’s issue.

“You’re eating this.” Namjoon says, voice serious and stern like the breakfast option really isn’t up for discussion. Taehyung frowns and takes a seat at the dining table, keeping a hand on his unsettled stomach as he plans out how he’s going to convince Namjoon that he isn’t upset because he’s hungry, or because of Jimin, in fact, he’s not upset at all, he’s just majorly inconvenienced by a case of the stomach flu and a serious lack of appetite.

“I f-feel nauseous. I really don’t think I can eat anything right now.” Taehyung manages, swallowing thickly as Namjoon sorts through the cutlery drawer to find a spoon, only pausing in his actions when he hears the way Taehyung’s voice lilts towards the end of his sentence.

“You feel... nauseous?” He asks, his voice edged with worry, the beat of his heart a bit quicker than usual. He knows a case of stomach flu when he sees one, but maybe Taehyung just has an upset tummy. Still, he doesn’t know why this would be the case. It’s the mere morning. “When did this start Tae?”

Taehyung buries his face into his hands, the curdling of his stomach a bit more noticeable with all the movement and excessive talking that he doesn’t necessarily care to partake in.

“I don’t know... I woke up and I felt... icky. Now when I even think about food I feel like I might hurl.” Taehyung’s words are a bit muddled by the skin of his hands but, Namjoon hears him loud and clear.

Namjoon sighs before slowly making his way over to where Taehyung is curling over in his seat. “What did you eat last night tiger?”

Taehyung whimpers. “It’s not what I ate... I cuddled with Jimin when he had it.”

“Taehyung, that’s why he was quarantined in his room. I know you wanted to help him feel better but you should have known better than to cuddle him while he was still contagious.” Namjoon reprimands, sounding more than displeased. He doesn’t want the entire group to catch the illness.

Taehyung keeps his face buried in his hands, not wanting the leader to see the way his eyes are pooling with tears. He feels miserable, stomach sloshing as he swallows past the lump in his throat.

Namjoon reaches over and brushes Taehyung’s disheveled fringe off of his forehead, cooing sympathetically when he feels the clamminess of the younger’s pallor skin.

“I’ll get you a glass of water, okay?” Namjoon murmurs, voice hardly raising above a whisper as he stands and walks towards the glassware cupboard, figuring a few sips will help soothe Taehyung’s stomach.

Except, before Namjoon can even start filling the glass with water, a nauseating burp echoes through the room, the awful sound quickly morphing into a wet gag which surely means trouble.

Namjoon nearly drops the glass on the floor, quickly discarding it in the empty sink before turning around to see Taehyung, with a quaking hand pressed against his tight lips.

Namjoon rushes to his side, a calming hand on the younger’s knee. “Can you make it to a bathroom? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

Taehyung considers the notion for a moment before finally, blinking once. Namjoon nods as he helps Taehyung to his trembling knees, the two stumbling to the bathroom that seems miles and miles away when really, it is just down the hall. Taehyung gags again, this time, the sound is much more guttural and painful sounding. Namjoon presses his fingers against the younger boy’s back, urging him to quicken his pace to the best of his ability. Once the two finally cross the threshold of the bathroom, Taehyung’s legs completely give out.

Namjoon winces at the loud thunk that resonates through the small bathroom when Taehyung’s knees slam onto the tile. The younger boy will definitely be complaining of aching limbs after he’s finished moaning about the discomfort in his stomach.

It only takes two seconds in front of the toilet before Taehyung lets out a grating retch, an awful gurgling noise quickly following as vomit pours into the toilet, splashing loudly into the water.

“There you go.” Namjoon murmurs. “Just puke it all out.”

Taehyung nearly laughs at Namjoon’s awkward attempt at being comforting but ends up heaving over the toilet bowl instead, saliva dangling from his lips as another round of his stomach threatens to escape.

With a harsh cough, Taehyung chokes up a second grotesque wave of stomach acid and some partially-digested remnants of his late-night snack. Taehyung decides that potato chips are his least favorite snack and Namjoon makes a mental note to erase them from this week’s shopping list.

“Relax love, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Tears force themselves from Taehyung’s eye sockets at the strength of his loud heaves, vomit pouring out of him like a faucet now. Namjoon cringes as he rubs at the younger man’s back, coaxing him gently and hoping to relax him somehow. Taehyung continues to gurgle out mouthfuls of puke, his stomach not letting up in the slightest.

With one last burp and a huge wave of sick, comes nothing but dry heaves and spit. Namjoon flushes the toilet so that Taehyung doesn’t have to as he pants over the toilet bowl.

“You think you’re done love?”

Taehyung nods, sweating profusely as his mouth hangs open. He sways a bit, delirious and sickly. Namjoon rubs a calm hand up and down his spine.

“Next time someone in the dorms is sick Tae, please don’t cuddle with them, no matter how much you want to, okay?”

Taehyung won’t make that mistake again, that’s for sure.

[ultradiplr]

Okay your last fic "discipline " was just sooo good , also you think sigma is a boob man, you think you can write one tho 🤩🤩❤❤❤

I’m glad you liked it! And thanks for the request! And also, to me, Sigma is an everything man if you know what I’m saying. *wiggly brows* 

Tags: Fem!Reader. Boob fixation? Idk, its just a small drabble of Sigma playing with your titties.

Xx

You where still dressed as Sigma loomed over you as you smirked up at him, his eyes glaring hungrily down at you as his shaking hands quickly undid your teasingly tight dress shirt. You barely made it half a day before he got to overwhelmed by desire and dragged you into one of the supply closets of the lab and shoved you down onto the ground.

He was a boob man, you knew this, and you also knew that he’d been a bit pent up this last month due to some new sort of testing they were putting him through. He hadn’t been able to see you at all and you figured you’d indulge him a little to get his mind off of things. You knew he appreciated it.

He got your dress shirt unbuttoned but made no move to take it off you as he cupped your lace covered breasts in his large hands, groaning as he squeezed them firmly. 

“I don’t deserve you.” He said strained, his voice love sick and dripping with desire.

He kneaded them lovingly, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the soft fabric, making them hard as you arched into his touch. He bent his head and placed a kiss on the tops of both of your breasts in reverence, looking back up at you with hearts in his eyes.

You giggled and he kissed you quickly, before turning his mouth back to your soft mounds. He kissed along the top of them, stopping every time he came to the valley between them to breathe deeply before continuing his kisses across. When he was satisfied, he unclipped the front clasp on your bra, a modification you had made specially for him, and he groaned when your breasts spilled easily out of their held up position.

He parted the separated cups but still did not take them off you, fingers running gently over the underside of your boobs. He lifted them a little and hummed at their weight before squeezing the soft flesh gently.

You moaned and arched into him, and he smiled, lowering his head to your chest to take a nipple into his mouth. He suckled on your hard nipple as his hand rubbed the other one, and you whined, your hips gyrating and rubbing on the thick thigh between your legs.

He chuckled and sucked greedily on both your nipples, changing from one to the other whenever he pleased, stopping every once in a while to nibble on the flesh around it, covering your mounds with hickies.

He slowly got rougher and rougher and you could do nothing more than grind against him and beg for him to touch you. He didn’t stop. Smiling even when he pinched your nipple a little harshly and you let out a needy cry and your hips picked up speed against him. He had no interest in helping you out like that, focused on his own desire to play with your chest. 

As he lavished you, you felt yourself build higher and higher, and soon you were teetering on the edge of an orgasm, begging him wantonly to help you finish. He looked up at you a little deliriously from where he rested his head against your chest, one hand gently fondling one breast as he rested his head on the other.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, and you don’t know why but the desire in his voice, the strain, the absolute admiration was enough to push you over the edge.

You moaned loudly as you twitched against him and felt yourself wet his thigh a considerable amount. All while he watched you with a blissed out smile, nuzzling into your chest.

[itskenickie]

look i’m sick with the cold and I’m a bit delirious but I fucking love jung jaehyun and he’s so much more than just a pretty face...that man can sing, dance, rap, cook, workout, he’s basically perfect???? and on top of that he is very beautiful, charming, funny, romantic, sweet and caring. idk maybe im just losing it because im sick but ever since i discovered beauty back in may/june, I haven’t gotten over jaehyun? he really is out there in the same timeline and universe as us, gracing us with his talent and beauty and I can’t even marry him????????????? why?????????? i mean like obvi he can marry whomever but like bruh how am I gonna get over that heartbreak??? what am I gonna do??? i literally see one (1) picture/gif or watch one (1) video of him and I end up crying???? I’m writing this even though johnny is my nct bias???? what does this all mean???? im????