#oh and i also tried to dry swallow a pill and almost vomited. then i rushed to the bathroom to drink water right from the tap

[tkbrokkoli]

it’s horrible monday monday  😜

[neonponders]

Oh lord, here we go. Don’t be surprised if my sugardaddy!Billy and couture Steve turns into five parts orz for now, here’s part 3!

This is originally a birthday gift for @lazybakerart 💋and @edith-moonshadow enabled me to keep going with this with their Harringrove for Palestine donation🙏🏻.

Part 1 here ~ Part 2 here ~ read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

A week passed.

Billy didn’t leave a number for Steve to call, and when he tried to phone Billy’s secretary, she gave him a bullshit lie about international calls needing to occur within a certain timeframe, etc. Steve understood he was butting into Billy’s goings-on, during an hour he couldn’t play civilian.

That was another aspect of their relationship they kept dodging.

Steve did not consider white-collar crime unfamiliar. In fact, it’s wildly rampant in society; it just takes the right lawyers and judges to keep things swept under the rug.

Maybe Billy didn’t talk about it for the same reason Steve didn’t open up about his fears of being disposable. When they managed a safe little time capsule where underlying circumstances didn’t exist, things went great. Splendid, even.

But time capsules have to open at some point.

Billy called Steve.

“Hello?” he said to the unfamiliar number. If he sounded a little miffed, it’s because he’d taken more spam calls than genuine correspondences this past week, having not known what Billy’s international number was—

“Steve.”

That sounded…wrong.

“Billy?”

He could hear the man’s breath on the receiver. Heavier than it should have been. “I know you don’t like this. But I need you to come here.”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Stupid question. Billy sounded half the man he was. Steve wanted to know what happened to the other half.

“I’m injured. I’ll be fine—”

“Define ‘injured.’”

“Steve,” Billy huffed like a laugh, but Steve could hear it stick in his throat. He hovered in the middle of his apartment, helpless to do anything but hold the phone to his ear. “I’m not arguing right now. Could you just…get in the car that comes to pick you up?”

“A car? What kind of car?”

“The driver will use the buzzer of your building. They won’t come up. Just get in the car and then the plane—”

“Plane? Billy, where did you go?”

He laughed again, a little of his voice leaking into it. “Steve, please. Can I see you or not?”

Steve croaked into the receiver, revolving listlessly in his apartment while his brain failed to keep up. “I-I—wha—um.”

Except, despite everything, like how very likely he would come back to only one or no jobs, it really wasn’t a choice for Steve. His chest ached for Billy. He missed the bastard’s smug smiles and longed for the animation he let fill his face when he relaxed with Steve.

And he felt the itch of being wanted. His ingrained eagerness to be with the person who needed him.

All of it scrambled in his brain so Steve wound up raising his voice while fisting his hair, “A plane? I have to pack! What do I pack?”

Billy’s voice came out breathily on the phone, like he filled it with relief. “You don’t need to pack anything—”

“I NEED PANTS, BILLY!”

Steve got in the car.

Steve got on the plane.

The stupid private jet in which Steve could have his own disco if he wanted because it seemed like only he and the pilot were on the damn thing. He brought the book Billy had gifted him about The New Yorker for something to distract himself, even though he mostly stared blankly at the pages while he waited for the plane to land.

A part of him expected to arrive in the middle of nowhere. Which, to be fair, they had to land in a private hanger outside of the city. But then the next car took him amongst grand buildings and turned into a narrow side street only residents would use. Steve burst upon the sidewalk, only hindered briefly by the receiving of a hotel key and the remark, “Room 532.”

Steve skipped the elevator. He wore heels in his spare time; he would’ve beaten the lift anyway.

As with any hotel, the key took some figuring out, but when he managed, he stepped into the suite. “Billy?”

It smelled like any other nice hotel. Cream carpets and matching walls. A splash of color on the rumpled bedspread amongst Billy’s clutter. Steve followed the floor plan of the sitting room to the bedroom and then the bathroom, where he heard the shower running. He knocked on the door, “Billy?”

And then louder, “Billy?”

“Come in.”

Steve carefully pushed into the room, unsure what he’d find…

What looked like two open first aid kits sat on the counter. Steve couldn’t read anything from those alone, but he didn’t have to because the shower was a large, glass cubicle. It stood big enough for four people. Billy sat on the floor, his chest wrapped in sodden cotton and gauze; barefoot underneath his black slacks. Steve opened the glass door as Billy lifted his head—

He knelt on the hard tiles, putting his arms around Billy’s neck to greet him, to hold him. Cool tendrils seeped through Steve’s hair, soft claws over his scalp until the water properly soaked his strands.

“Steve, your clothes.”

Instead of answering, he looked at the shower knobs and turned the hot water up. As soon as heat seeped over them, Billy melted against him. His head fell easily where Steve pulled him into the bend of his neck. Billy’s hands fumbled a little to find him, but all he could do was grasp onto him to avoid bending or twisting his injured torso.

Steve remained kneeling over him long past being soaked through.

He did not cry until Steve undressed, leaving his sodden raiment on the shower floor to retrieve the scissors from the first aid kits. He carefully snipped through the ruined gauze and medical tape. Soon a pile of white, and diluted pinkish-orange blood also sat on the floor. Whoever had stitched up Billy’s sides had done a good job, but Steve had to dry him off and rebind him.

After the first wince, Billy came undone. Steve wished he could say something to make it easier, but all he had were small reassurances and quietly given orders.

“Can you hold this here?”

“Lift your arm up.”

“Hang on. Almost done.”

An odd talent of Steve’s: tolerating pain with silent grace. A skill which Billy ironically lacked. But where Steve withheld, Billy knew how to release. Perhaps here was one of their bridges.

“Put your arm around me. Lift with your legs.”

The towels Steve put over their shoulders helped them grip one another. Once standing, Billy halted, “Wait. Take these off.”

To each of their credit, neither made a joke as Billy’s trousers and underwear landed with a wet slosh next to Steve’s pile. Steve wrapped his towel around his waist once Billy sat on the bed. With his hands freed, he went about drying Billy’s hair with his towel and opening the bed for Billy to fall into.

“Have you taken any meds?”

“Nothing spectacular.”

His head sagged on the pillow, following Steve to the bathroom, where he found an ibuprofen bottle and shook out two tablets. His eyes followed Steve’s hand raking his hair off his face, and the movement of his throat around a swallow. The filling of a glass at one of the sinks.

Billy let him wrangle a pillow underneath his body so he could swallow the pills with ease. Before he did so, Billy informed, “The blue pill bottle is sleeping meds.”

Steve went and read the label, even peeling the thing off to read the lengthy underside. “When did you last eat?”

“I’ll eat tomorrow. I need to rest now.”

But Steve went into the living room and pilfered through the mini fridge. He returned with apple juice and a granola bar. “If you take this on an empty stomach, you might vomit. I’m not letting you suffocate in your sleep.”

“They put that on there to avoid lawsuits,” Billy complained even while he accepted the juice bottle. He munched slowly, almost carefully on the sugar-glazed nuts of the granola bar while…

Steve got dressed. In Billy’s clothes.

He crouched right in between Billy’s suitcase and the open wardrobe to select one of his long-sleeves and boxer briefs. Billy blinked softly, feeling warmth blossom through his chest and sink through his belly.

Regardless, he sassed, “You’re not gonna sleep naked with me?”

Steve climbed next to him, facing him as if he intended to get up again soon. He tore into his own granola bar. “I don’t know what to expect with you. I’d rather not be forced out of the building naked.”

Billy’s hand touched his leg as he bit into the bar. “Nothing’s going to happen. There’s a menu on the table out there. Order room service.”

“Tomorrow,” Steve refused with a cheek full of almonds. “We’ll eat tomorrow. Or…when the sun’s up in two hours.”

Billy didn’t ask him to, but Steve stroked fingers through his hair after Billy took his sleeping medicine. “Don’t leave,” he moaned tiredly, the force of the little pill dragging him under.

“I’m not leaving. But you can’t octopus me in your sleep.”

Billy sighed, intending for more words to come out than the ones that did. “…test me…”

When his breaths came and went like the heavy sway of the ocean, Steve kept petting through his hair. Even though Billy couldn’t hear him anymore, Steve sighed, “Scared the shit out of me, idiot. I missed you. Don’t do that.”

Billy hummed in his sleep as if he heard him. Even drugged unconscious, the man tried to retort.

Steve leaned down to kiss his temple and tucked him in to keep him warm. When a knock on the door sounded, Steve donned one of the bathrobes and held a shoehorn behind the door as he answered. The shoehorn was a ridiculous ornate thing from the wardrobe; more like a walking stick than a device to help a heel slip into a boot.

The woman on the other side of the door dressed as expensively as Billy and appeared just as austere. Steve had never seen her before even though she acted like she knew him. “Is he well?”

“He’s asleep. What do you need?”

“To go over his intended schedule for today.”

“Reschedule it. He isn’t doing anything for at least two days.”

She did not look anxious. Merely…disappointed? “That will be…difficult.”

“He’s a difficult man,” Steve sighed, his posture tilting back into the room and warranting an end to this discussion. “Whoever expects to see him likely knows that.”

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington,” she dismissed.

“What is your name?” he halted.

“Elena Varma. Hargrove knows me as Elicit Vagina.”

Steve’s jaw went slack, and if she were anyone other than Billy’s secretary and personal guard, now would be the time to take his head off. Instead, she elaborated, “I’m a lesbian.”

“Right,” he nodded dazedly. “Are you single? I know somebody.”

Her dark eyes narrowed at him, but her mouth and brows moved with amusement. Like a test, she inquired, “Are they butch?”

“No,” he said a bit perplexedly, thinking of Robin’s amber blond bob and all of her many-colored Converse on which she doodled.

A pause. Then, “Does she have bad taste?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ll be in touch.”

Steve exhaled, “Great,” under his breath as he shut the door. Crossing over to the living room, he set the shoehorn down and picked up the room service menu.

When Billy’s eyes next opened, it was to the beckoning of dishware clatter and summons of browned butter and tangy, aromatic cheese.

Steve sat much as he last remembered, sitting facing Billy while a tray sat where his pillows ought to be. A cart of more food stood by the food of the bed. Billy’s blurry gaze traveled back to Steve, who chewed on a croissant with a newspaper, of all things, in his hand.

It was perfect.

Minus the abhorrent headache and parchedness of his throat.

“Coffee.”

Billy couldn’t not smile at the wide eyes that lifted up to him. Steve rushed to swallow the lump in his cheek and handed him his glass of water from the tray. Billy shook his head. “No. Coffee.”

“Water first.”

Billy sighed and leaned over as much as his injured side allowed him to. He drained the glass. And he never got his coffee. Steve made him drink a strong cup of tea, as if that would replace Billy’s usual espresso in the morning.

“Your, um, personal assistant came by. She knows to reschedule all of your—whatever you do. I said you need two days.”

“Two days?” Billy chirped in the middle of grumbling over his tea. “That’s a vacation.”

Steve huffed a sound, but looked toward the window and it’s sheer, white curtains. “What street are we on?”

“What was that sound?” Billy diverted.

Steve looked at him. “What sound?”

“The sound you just made.”

“You mean the sound of you complaining that I work too much but consider two days a vacation. That sound?”

“Yeah, that sound,” he remarked. “I stand by what I said. You don’t need two jobs.”

“Billy, you got stabbed yesterday. Twice. Or whatever the hell happened to you.”

“I’ll have you know I was only stabbed once. The side mirror of a moving car clipped my other side.”

Whatever mirth he intended to be in that statement wilted in the face of Steve’s glare. Billy took the silent admonishment with grace and, after a moment, said, “I’m not the criminal you think I am.”

“I never said you were one.”

“Walking around with a stab wound and clear assault damage isn’t helping my case,” he responded with another unhappy sip of his tea. At least Steve put milk and sugar in it. Dessert for breakfast.

“Long story short: I got a job and the old man CEO noticed me. He liked me a lot. I was the one male secretary in the place; it was easy to notice me. The women liked me—”

“Women have always liked you,” Steve retorted quietly. But he set his things on the tray and laid across the bed to pillow his head on Billy’s thigh.

He gazed up at him while Billy continued, “It was easy. If the head of a building likes you, job promotions come fast. Training happens in the boss’s own office. Then the asshole died and both his heir, and the board, did not take it well to my name being in the will. I’ve been cleaning up a lot of their mess.”

Steve listened and processed, “This heir was driving the car?”

Billy snorted and instantly grimaced for the pain it caused him. Steve began to get up for the painkillers, but Billy’s fingers plunged into his hair; not gripping him, but softly holding his head. “Stay. I’m fine. No, I doubt the idiot even has a license. He can’t aim a blade, either. He’s running out of money, that’s why he’s so desperate.”

“Where is he now?”

Billy’s head tilted almost piteously at him. “Do you really want to know that?”

“Well I can’t decide which is more romantic: inviting me into a shit storm, or making sure I’m safe first.”

He could see some of the tension leave Billy’s face and shoulders as he reached for Steve’s tray and took his other croissant. “He’s in the hospital. But I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

Steve could read between the lines. “Us trust fund kids. We’re not built for street fighting.”

That earned an animated frown from Billy, who spoke regardless of his full mouth. “You gave me a hell of a wallop once.”

“I lost that fight.”

“You didn’t have a homophobic, retired veteran waiting for you to bring your sister home. And this guy clearly doesn’t have a pretty boy waiting for him or he might’ve won.”

Steve laughed but it faded as he just…marveled at Billy. They had never talked this openly before. However proud of Billy he felt, though, the nagging dark corner of his brain turned his thoughts onto himself. He let slip:

“You work so much harder than me.”

Billy immediately wasn’t having it. His head tilted again but instead of pity, it was chastisement. “Steve.”

“No, no—I just mean I’m proud of you.”

“You can be proud of me without sounding like I’m about to toss you out onto the curb. I just told you the very idea of you helped keep me alive.”

“And I abandoned two jobs and an overpriced apartment to be here, so I hope you mean it. You might be keeping both of us alive for a while—Hey.”

In between thrown bits of croissant and grapes, Billy chided, “I’ve been. Trying. To convince you. That I mean it. And it takes a drive-by to. Get. Your. Attention.”

“Okay! Okay—this is disgusting. Stop it!”

Steve reared up only to be ensnared by Billy’s overstretched arms. Steve caught himself on Billy’s collarbones so he did not press on his chest, tugging the skin on his sides. “B! Be careful.”

A hand cradled the side of Steve’s head as a soft smirk lifted Billy’s mouth. “Let me kiss you.”

Steve, defiant till the last, pushed him down so he didn’t exert himself. Then he kissed Billy slowly, reverently. He liked kissing Billy a whole lot. Loved it. He liked Billy’s taste and the sound of their lips parting before meeting for more. He liked the puffs of Billy’s breath across his cheek and his hands reaching for Steve. Finding him. Holding him.

Eventually, though, Billy whispered against his lips, “Why did you ask what street we’re on?”

Steve rolled his lips together, perhaps seeking a balm for being chapped from kissing, or nerves. “It’s fashion week. We might be able to see stuff from the window.”

Billy claimed one more kiss and then released him to clean up the bed and scout the street below. Billy managed to reach the bathroom on his own, where he took another pair of meds and readied for a day in. With Steve.

Steve, who insisted he stay in bed.

Steve, who found a full-length mirror in the wardrobe and held it half out the window so Billy could see the horizon of the street reflected from his place on the bed. He watched Steve more than anything. His giggles at how ridiculous it was to hold a mirror out the window. When his features relaxed as he watched the traffic and people arriving to a place a few blocks down. When he asked Billy if

“Can you see the red coat? That thing’s massive.”

And, “Somebody famous just got there. The paparazzi are going nuts.”

Steve really should have expected the events of the next day, but Billy still faced the stern glare and long blinks when he sighed. “B, you’ve only rested a day. Your stitches could still tear.”

“One runway isn’t going to kill me. We’ll pop in and not attend the after party. Elicit’s already managed to get tickets—”

“Her name’s Elena,” Steve frowned with his hands on his hips.

“No, it isn’t,” Billy scoffed, and went to dissect Steve’s luggage himself...

He grasped the linen shoe bag, recognizing the shape inside. He lifted one of the Hot Chick 100s. “You took packing seriously, huh?”

Steve seemed to be really grappling with patience. “I didn’t know what you needed. A nurse or a kinky leg to hold onto.”

“So I got both,” he grinned.

A reluctant, little smile pulled at Steve’s face. “I’m not wearing those out.”

Billy had already set the pair on the living room table when he grimaced, “What? Why not?”

Steve glanced at the windows like they might hold an answer. “Because I’ll be giant and make more noise than anyone else in heels.”

Billy wasn’t buying it. He held onto the back of the couch to help himself stand and then made his way to his own clothes. “If there’s any time to wear what you want and get away with it, it’s fashion week. Come here, no one’s going to let you wear jeans beside a runway.”

Billy had way too much fun dressing him. A quiet little warning bell went off in Steve’s head over this, but he couldn’t listen to it without also admitting that he enjoyed himself. One of Billy’s silk button-ups around his body felt nice.

Intimate.

A black suit jacket over it made Steve feel chic and professional. And when Billy asked him to lift his foot onto the bed, Billy double wrapped the chain of his pendant around Steve’s ankle. Amber and opals on one side, and a golden saint on the other.

“If you’re tired or hurt at any point, tell me,” Steve lectured in the car.

“Yes, dear.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, but Billy’s hand on his thigh tightened.

“I know, baby. I’m okay. The show’s not even two hours long. Try to relax. You look real hot.”

Steve snorted and rubbed the silk of his shirt between his fingers. “Is this shirt new?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’ve never seen you wear it. And it would’ve matched my green shoes,” he added with slanted eyes at him.

“So what if I wanted to match my partner? Try and sue me.”

Partner. Steve caught his face in his hand, eyes aching with the moisture overflowing from his heart.

The car pulled up alongside a bustling street. Elena Varma accompanied them through the open double doors, but she kept to herself. She sheltered Billy’s other side while Steve slid an arm over Billy’s shoulders and held onto him. If a pair of eyes scrutinized them, Billy was hardly the only rich man with a pretty thing in heels on his arm. And people only had compliments for Steve’s classic choice in shoe.

The off-duty models sitting around them in the chairs along the runway were very sweet. Steve and Billy kindly refused their inquiries over attending the later afternoon events, but gratefully accepted their information about the show.

Models talk. And in this world where everyone knows someone who knows everyone, the models explained the architecture of the runway, the designer’s vision, the gossip about the model opening the show, and the model closing the show, etc.

“I like the butterflies,” Steve said, pointing to the ceiling, where a myriad of paper butterflies on wires fluttered with the air conditioning ventilation.

“I like you.”

Steve pointed flustered but narrowed eyes on him. “Are you even paying attention?”

“To the important things,” Billy replied, leaning back with an arm over the back of Steve’s chair. He did contribute, “I like the columns. The effect of the eroded marble and gold filigree is interesting. I enjoy looking at it.”

Steve leaned into him, resting a hand on Billy’s thigh as the lighting changed and the show began. The fashion proved largely sculptural instead of practical, but Steve pointed as models went by.

“My mom would know what that means.”

“If the designer was inspired by Greece, then it’s something mythological. Greece seems to be very in right now.”

“You read my magazines,” Steve accused with a smile.

“I smell the colognes.”

That earned Billy a soft nudge before Steve’s jaw relaxed in sight of a male model striding past them. “You’d look really good in that.”

“The gold speedo?”

“No,” he lightly slapped Billy’s knee. “The shirt.”

“I don’t really go for pastels.”

Steve turned soft eyes on him. He touched the underside of Billy’s chin with a fond knuckle. “You and your jewel tones.”

Then a model turned onto the stage wearing a sweatshirt totally encrusted with jewels. Steve and Billy exchanged looks, which ended with Steve covering his laughter and Billy pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve and Billy left the show with at least one pocket full of models’ agents’ business cards. Steve had taken the time to write the models’ names on each card along with a descriptor, as if they actually intended to remember and reach out to them later that night, should their plans change.

Their plan did not change.

If anything, Steve and Billy only more firmly wanted to retire to their hotel room after they ordered coffees—and Steve nearly broke his ankle stepping off the pavement.

“The puddle lied! The water lied to me,” he lamented through laughter, having thought that the water was far shallower than it actually proved to be. He powered through their venture in the coffee shop, but as soon as they were in the car, Billy pulled his leg up to inspect his ankle and Steve held up one of the shoes.

“Holy shit. Look at that.” The flat of the heel now had a harsh angle to it, as if he’d worn these shoes for a decade instead of thrown off his stride by a waterlogged pothole. Both shoes had water and grit on the insides too.

“I’m sorry, B. These might need some work—Oo!”

Billy had touched his ice coffee to Steve’s ankle. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” he said on a lighter note. “The ladies we sat with were really nice.”

“What about the show?”

That gave Steve pause. “Um. Honestly? They all walked too fast for me to really see much.”

Billy laughed so hard his stitches made him stop.

[sickfic-shiz]

Rest

Whumptober 2021 | Comfort

Warnings: emeto/vomiting (stomach bug)

Notes: thought I’d post a piece of writing for the first time in a long long while, introducing some new characters! I’d love to talk more about them and answer any asks about them!

“You’re sick, go back to the dorm.” Muqing repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time in the two hours they had been studying together in the campus library.

Wu Ming was shivering miserably as he tried to focus on his notes, even beneath two jackets— one being Muqing’s which they had shrugged off and wrapped around him after watching him tremble for the first half an hour. It didn’t take a genius to tell that he wasn’t feeling well.

“I’m fine. I’m always cold. You know that.” Wu Ming replied with the same thing each time, scowling down at the words swimming on the page as if they had offended him. He knew fully well he was sick, or at least getting there, but he couldn’t afford to let his grades slip.

“Jesus, at least go back and take a nap first or something, how are you getting anything done?” Muqing grumbled irritably, before softening his tone somewhat. “C’mon, I’ll even walk you back if you want.”

“I really need to finish revising this. Just focus on yourself.” Wu Ming sighed, briefly leaning his forehead on his palm. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here either.”

Muqing muttered something under his breath pointedly, standing up in a manner that made his annoyance clear. “Fine. I’m going to take a break.”

Wu Ming watched him stalk away, before letting his facade crumble a little more, laying down on the table with a muffled groan. Truth be told, he felt awful. He was cold and shivery, and his stomach had started to feel oddly unsettled. His head was starting to hurt something fierce, and he hardly wanted to think about how he would get through his shift at work later.

“Hey.” Muqing’s voice came from above him some time later, and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I bought you some tea, it might help. You really should get some rest. At least before your shift.”

Wu Ming picked up the paper cup that had been set in front of him, immediately grateful for the warmth. He took a few small sips, finding it a welcome change from shivering. It was true he wasn’t getting much done right now. “Fine, you win.”

“Really?” The agreement surprised him. As much as he wanted Wu Ming to get some rest, he was also ridiculously stubborn.

“Sure. There isn’t much time left before work anyway. In exchange, get me some stuff from the pharmacy.”

“Okay, asshole. I’m not buying you tea ever again.” Muqing made a show of rolling his eyes, but still reached over to help pack and carry his things. “What do you want me to get you?”

When he returned with the requested medicine, (and several things that were, decidedly, not medicine, Wu Ming was a horrible scam) Wu Ming was curled up in bed, fast asleep. Muqing smiled despite himself, bending down to pull the covers up and wrapping them snugly around him. He rarely seemed to let himself rest, and Muqing almost never saw him go to sleep before he did.

He took the time to sort out the supplies he had picked up— painkillers, fever reducer and an antiemetic from the pharmacy, (the latter two he had gotten just in case) followed by green tea, canned soup and crackers from the supermarket. Muqing figured he could boil some water first, so he could bring the tea with him to work. The kettle boiled just as Wu Ming’s phone alarm went off, and Wu Ming moaned, sitting up groggily.

“You really are in no condition to be working.” Muqing remarked, even though he knew that it wouldn’t do anything to convince him. Instead, he pressed the back of his hand to Wu Ming’s neck to check for a fever, and he wasn’t particularly surprised to find that it was too warm. “Take your temperature first. If it’s too high, I’m dragging you to the hospital no matter what you say.”

Wu Ming took the thermometer that was held out to him obediently, still hazy with sleep. Muqing took it from him when it beeped, frowning. 37.9. To be fair, it wasn’t very high, but he almost wished it would be higher so he could justify manhandling Wu Ming back to bed.

“Did you get the tea?” Wu Ming asked, rubbing at his face in an attempt to wake himself up.

“Yeah, I boiled some water already, I’ll put the tea in a thermos for you so you can bring it to work.”

“Mm.”

“Take some medicine before you leave. I got you your painkillers and a fever reducer too.” Muqing handed the medication over, and placed a glass of water on the table. “Don’t take too many painkillers again or I will hit you and it will hurt.”

“Okay, okay. That was just one time.” Wu Ming fumbled with the packaging, his hands shaking more than he’d like as he took the pills. He didn’t feel much better after his short nap. In fact, his stomach was churning now, making him feel as if he would be sick.

“You could call in sick.” Muqing suggested, knowing it would be futile.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, because you’re too fucking stubborn.” Muqing glared at him, resisting the urge to just knock him out with a heavy book so he would rest. “Better not get a call asking me to pick you up later.”

Work didn’t start out too badly— he was just manning the register today, and it was a fairly straightforward job, even if he was standing right beneath the AC. Most importantly, it was at some high end grocer’s attached to a cafe, so it paid really well. However, it didn’t take long for his sick body to start protesting against the strain he was putting it through. Wu Ming alternated wildly between feeling hot and cold, and the shirt beneath his jacket was drenched in cold sweat after a few of these cycles.

Thank god he had worn a mask out. Forcing himself to sound cheerful was enough of a challenge, let alone having to muster up a smile. He took sips of tea from his flask in between customers, hoping that it would at least settle his stomach. He was so dizzy— at some points it was so bad that his vision was blurring and he was forced to guess at what he was doing.

Suddenly, he realised that he was about to throw up. Wu Ming caught the attention of his coworker, then gestured towards the bathrooms, not trusting himself to speak without throwing up. He didn’t think he could’ve spoken anyway, his throat feeling tight. After getting a response, he hurried towards the bathroom as much as he could without making it obvious that he was about to be sick.

Wu Ming was forced to tear off his mask and retch into the tiny bin by the entrance several times, bringing up a gush of liquid before he could stumble into one of the stalls. Hunching over the bowl, he braced himself against the wall with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around his stomach as he heaved. Wu Ming aimed as best as he could, trying to reduce the mess, but some of the puke splattered onto the seat regardless of his efforts. At least it was mostly liquid, most likely the all tea he had been drinking… as well as the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since early this morning, probably.

Wu Ming sank into a squat slowly, his legs feeling weak, yet still not wanting to kneel on the tiles. He needed to hurry up if he didn’t want anyone to get suspicious. He dry heaved a few times, then decided that he was done, at least for now. He cleaned up the splatters of vomit left on the toilet seat before flushing, ignoring how the swirl of water made him feel sick all over again. Wu Ming stood at the sinks for a while, staring at his sickly appearance and splashing some water on his face to wake himself up. As he turned to leave, his coworker entered, calling his name. Shit. He had taken too long after all.

“Manager sent me to check if you’d passed out in here.” They joked. “You okay? You’re looking a little ghostly there.

“I’m fine, I was just…” The nausea returned in full force, catching him off guard. Wu Ming spun around, gagging into the sink.

“Oh dear…” They gaped as he threw up into the sink painfully, awkwardly reaching over to pat his back. “Um, you’ll feel better after getting it up?”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming gasped between retches. “Just give me a minute.”

They nodded, watching him uncomfortably. It looked brutal, the way his shoulders shook badly with each heave.

“Sorry.” Wu Ming murmured apologetically when he was done, turning on the tap to rinse away any remnants of his stomach contents left in the sink. “We should head back before we get in trouble.”

“You should go home if you’re sick.”

“I’m not.” Wu Ming said a little more harshly than he had intended as he put his mask back on. He was so tired of being pressured to stop doing things. If he could afford it, he would’ve gone to bed long ago. Still, he hadn’t meant to snap. “I’m really fine. Let’s go back.”

“Alright, alright.”

They headed out together, and Wu Ming took up his position at the register again. It was terribly hard to focus through everything going on. The painkillers he had taken had started to wear off already, and he bit his lip anxiously. He should’ve brought them with him to make sure he’d get through his shift, though the bigger challenge would’ve been making sure it didn’t come back up right away.

“Ah Ming?”

Wu Ming’s head snapped up to see the next ‘customer’ he was meant to be serving, coming face to face with his boyfriend. “Guoqin? What are you doing?”

“Checking on you, what else? Muqing said you’d gone to work sick, and I was worried— you weren’t looking at your texts.”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming had lost track of how many times he had said this today, reaching for his basket to ring up the items. “You know I don’t text when I’m working.”

“You look dead on your feet.” Guoqin furrowed his brow, helping Wu Ming to pack the scanned items. “I’m bringing you to see a doctor after your shift at least.”

“I don’t- no doctors.” Wu Ming tried his best to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth and ignore the splashes of acid at the back of his throat. There was no way he would convince Guoqin if he threw up now. “I’m really perfectly fine. I just need some sleep.”

Guoqin studied him closely. There was no way he was well, but it would be nigh impossible to get him to a clinic if he was so adamant. “Fine, no doctors, but I’ll send you back to your room later, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Wu Ming didn’t think he could say any more without making a mess on the floor, so he kept quiet, hoping that Guoqin would leave. He managed it for all of about five seconds before his roiling gut decided that it was done with being ignored and he muttered a hurried apology before tugging his mask out of the way and booking it for the toilets.

Wu Ming slammed the stall door shut behind him, scrambling into a kneeling position in front of the toilet, too desperate to care about the cleanliness of the floor. He had barely managed to contain the vomit on the way over using his hand, which was now covered in light brown puke. He groaned in disgust even as he gagged into the toilet, now struggling futilely against bringing up the thicker remains of his breakfast. The tea was one thing, but Wu Ming hated few things more than wasting food. It had been a fairly good breakfast too…

The thought of food sent him over the edge, and he quickly lost the battle against the nausea. Gripping the side of the bowl tightly with his clean hand, the vomit sprayed forcefully into the toilet, now unrecognisable.

“Ah Ming, are you okay? Can you let me in?”

“I couldn’t-hrrRRK- get up for long enough, even if I wanted to.” Scratch that. Being seen— well heard, this time, in such a compromising position, twice in one day no less, was a far worse fate than losing his sausage and egg muffin. “Please, just… go outside. I don’t want you to be here for this.”

“Okay.” Guoqin finally agreed. He was worried, but he knew he would only add to Wu Ming’s bruised pride if he stayed. “I’ll be right outside.”

Wu Ming stamped down the urge to beg him to stay.

When he finally felt done, or at least too empty to bring anything up in the near future, he lay his forehead on the toilet seat, too exhausted to care. Hopefully he wouldn’t catch anything else from the germs. Wu Ming stayed in that position for several long minutes before he could muster the energy to get up. He reached up to flush the toilet, then slowly got to his feet, trying his best to breathe through the sudden vertigo. For a moment, he believed he was about to pass out right there. When it had abated slightly, Wu Ming left the stall to wash the puke off his hand, before heading out.

“Ah Ming, how are you feeling?”

…right, Guoqin had said that he’d wait outside.

“I’m…” Wu Ming had meant to say he was fine, but he was assaulted with a lightheadedness that knocked the breath out of his lungs. He couldn’t stop himself from tipping forwards, and the last thing he remembered before passing out was being caught.

When he came to, it took him a while to figure out that he was laying on one of the couches meant for the customers. It took him a bit longer after that to realize that his head wasn’t on a pillow, but in Guoqin’s lap. After he’d made that connection, his face flushed, and he weakly tried to sit up.

“Hey, stay down for a bit, you passed out.” Guoqin pressed him down firmly but gently, then pressed a hand to Wu Ming’s forehead. “You’re burning up, dear. I think I caught you in time, but do you think you hit anything when you fell?”

“No, thanks to you.” Wu Ming mumbled. He was so tired now that the thought of getting up felt overwhelming, not to mention going back to work. “How long…?”

“Just about five minutes. How are you feeling?”

“Sick…” No shit, Wu Ming berated himself internally.

“Yeah?” Guoqin hummed sympathetically, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. “Your manager said you should take the rest of the day off.”

“I… I want to go home.” God, he was getting all emotional and Wu Ming hated it.

“Okay, let’s get you back to the dorms. I’m sure Muqing will be worried.”

“He- he’s mad at me…” Wu Ming’s voice shook unnaturally, recalling what Muqing had said when he left. “He told me not to call him.”

“Shhh, that’s just the fever talking, you know that’s not true.” Guoqin reassured him. “That’s just the way he speaks, but he’d never stay mad at you. After all, didn’t he ask me to check on you?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, do you think you’re ready to head back? I’ve got all your stuff ready to go.”

“Mm.”

[hostclubtotallysaidthis]

🌃🕯🥀 with Kyoya please I love your blog btw ❤️❤️

Memory Prompts | Heavy TW for suicide and suicidal thoughts!!

🕯- A sad memory they would rather forget

Kyoya stood, staring at the wooden door with wide eyes. He didn't know if he should go in, even though he wanted to. His mother was sick and needed rest, she'd lost a lot of blood and stopped breathing. Her brunette hair was messy and greasy, and dark bags lay beneath the eyes that were so much like his.

They were always compared, looks-wise. He was a tiny version of his mother, one of the reasons why she let him keep his hair at shoulder length. He was as pretty as a little girl, as pretty as her, and it made the two of them feel... closer. Even if he went weeks without seeing her, he could just look in the mirror and see the parts of her he was given.

She always seemed to need her rest, but he had to see her now. He came so close to... She almost died, and he wouldn't have said goodbye. He wouldn't be able to hug her, kiss her cheek, and listen to her sing. It felt almost selfish to think of it in those terms, but he loved her so much and he couldn't bear to think of the hole she'd leave in his heart.

Taking hold of his resolve, he pulled open the door and stepped inside the clinical, sterile room. He knew hospital rooms had to be clean, but the smell of antiseptic and iodine was pungent, and paired with something disgustingly stale. It didn't suit her. She loved flowers, and the best perfumes, and silk sheets and... and...

"Baby boy."

Her face and voice were both warm and cotton soft when he finally let his gaze lay on her, sitting up in that awfully uncomfortable bed, but he wasn't fooled into thinking she was alright. Bandages lay thickly around her forearms, and she definitely had stitches. Her eyes were puffy, raw and red, bloodshot from the tears she must have cried when she awoke. His father had explained to him, after all, in more detail than an eight-year-old should know.

She wanted to die and was disappointed she was saved. It hurt. A searing pain wrapped around his heart when he thought about it, that none of them could convince her to stay.

Fighting his own tears, he rushed forward and climbed onto the bed, trying to be careful of the various IVs and wires attached to her slim frame. She didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him that he shouldn’t, simply cradled the back of his head and wove her fingers between the soft, black strands, kisses carefully pressed into his hair.

“It’s okay, baby boy,” She cooed, so sure that she could convince him of that. But she couldn’t, because he knew. He knew since he first saw her bleeding out on the bathroom floor.

She wasn’t okay.

🌃- A time they got to admire the beauty of a city

The suite was painfully impressive, even to a sheltered young boy raised in a mansion his whole life. Several rooms decorated in such a lush and overtly gaudy fashion which honestly disgusted his own sensibilities; a room doesn't need to be gold-gilded to show it was luxurious. He was a much bigger fan of the usual minimalism - monochromatic and glass surfaces gleaming in warm lamplight.

Still, he supposed he'd keep his mouth shut, considering the most likely outrageous cost and the fact that his father was nice enough to bring his youngest with him, opposed to his older brothers. It should be treated as an honour, even if it was simply because the other three children were too busy with their studies.

"Not that he asked me," Fuyumi had grumbled, but didn't elaborate further. She just stuck her nose back in her biology textbook, as if she hadn't uttered a single syllable.

Despite his dislike of the décor, what drew his eye was the view.

Panoramic windows lined the room, the night scenery laying beyond, and Kyoya had never seen Tokyo that beautiful. There were no stars, thanks to the light pollution, but thousands of lights were dotted around the city. Even if loud, bright, obnoxious advertisements made themselves known without a hint of apology, it was somehow captivating. Perhaps it was his lack of familiarity with cityscapes - let alone one like this - due to the Ootori estate having acres of land, but it was so absolutely breath-taking.

All he seemed to be able to do was walk over to the window in a daze, taking in every detail that became clearer the closer he came. His fingertips brushed the cool glass, his breath fogging an almost perfect, white-hued circle; it made the city beyond look even more dreamlike.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His father finally chimed in, depositing their suitcases by the sofa for the moment, "I hate the room, but this makes it all worth the tackiness of it all. Don't you agree?"

He nodded, not knowing quite what to say, and reached for the window latch, feeling the need for a little fresh air. However, it opened maybe an inch, and was stuck. He tried to force it, but his father merely took a breath.

"There's no point in trying, Kyoya," He stated, "They don't open any further. With wealth like this comes much stress and pressure, and there have been... incidents."

"Like with mum?" He replied without thinking, almost instant, and regretted it as soon as those poorly chosen words left his tongue. His father took a deep breath, and he could see his reflection in the glass, racking a hand through his hair.

“Kyoya, do you know why I took you out here?” He inquired, “I wanted you to… Get away from that for a little while. It’s not good for you.”

He didn’t argue with that. In fact, after their “conversation”, Kyoya didn’t say another word all evening, bombarded by thoughts one certainly shouldn’t utter aloud.

It’s certainly high enough. If I jumped from here, I doubt I’d ever get up again…

🥀- A memory about death and grief

Here he was, soon to disappear and leave behind... What?

Kyoya groaned, all but slamming the bottle of pills on the bathroom counter for what had to be the fifth time that hour, at least. His head couldn't shut up about killing himself, but of course he couldn't do it peacefully and with dignity. That'd be far too much to ask for Kyoya Ootori!

It certainly wasn't the first time his consideration to end it all took him to the bathroom, but it was the first time he held the sedatives in his hand, summoning the will to swallow them all. They weren't a painless death - far from - but it was convenient. Slitting wrists and throats had to have a certain precision his shaking hands wouldn't be able to muster, drowning tended to have a low success rate, as self-preservation kicks in. With pills, he could swallow them down, and then go take a nap.

While unpleasant to think about, if he aspirated his own vomit, it would at least be quick, as long as he wasn't found.

But no, all of those perfectly reasonable things weren't what were making him hesitant. He'd like to act like the weeping martyr, say how he didn't want to hurt his family, and turn away. Not to get help, of course, because if you truly were the golden-hearted sob story, then your issues would dissolve into thin air and you'd just be happy again.

No, he's hesitant for fully selfish reasons.

Legacy is such an important thing, and what has he accomplished in his thirteen years of yearning? Nothing of note. He doesn't have friends, he's a good student but thoroughly average for an Ootori, no extra curriculars or talents that would make others think "Oh, he's that kid!"

Will the servants set a place for him at the table, before removing the cutlery and continuing their day a little more melancholic? Will his brothers miss him? Will Fuyumi cry over him? Will his father soldier through with his usual stoicism, before finally breaking down in the privacy of his office?

He can't imagine that. He can't imagine any thoughts of him after he walks out of his life. Because why would they? He can't imagine anyone truly caring anymore. He was too sad, too lethargic, too cold. His pretty looks also seemed to slip through his fingers like the dry, brittle strands of hair that fell from his hair. Even the vainest, shallowest of reasons to notice someone had abandoned him. He wouldn't even mind it if he was purely ornamental to someone, not anymore.

He growled deep in his throat, bile creeping up, and his chest was far too tight. He didn't know what he wanted - leave and be unremarkable, or struggle on and suffer. He wanted to rest, to stop fighting for once. Leave the battlefield for new planes.

But no. He couldn't. Not until he could say that people would at least call his death a shame - and mean it. A star turning supernova before imploding.

Yeah, right; like that could ever happen. 

[eviesmyspiritanimal]

Dearest Mom-Sister-Friend-Thingy

Summary:  Four moments that Evie has been like a mother to Mal and one time that Mal tells her how she feels about her. An abundance of sisterly/best friend feels with Mal and Evie and the barest hint of Bal.

 “Are you enjoying your present?” Evie questioned with a slight raise of her eyebrow, a smile playing upon her face easily as she looked over at her sister and best friend. Mal nodded emphatically as she sucked the chocolate off of her fingers before eagerly diving into the next strawberry.

  It was Valentine’s Day, and naturally, because it was such a big deal to Evie to share it with everyone whether it be romantic or familial and because it was their first in Auradon, Mal made sure to celebrate it with her. This time, Mal had given Evie a package of Oreos, and Evie had gotten Mal a ton of chocolate-covered strawberries.

  Hence the humongous mess that was covering Mal’s fingers and face that Evie currently found to be so entertaining.

  “Yeah, this is just… Mmm, scrumptious,” Mal proclaimed, her mouth stuffed with fruit and sugary sweetness as she lovingly eyed her best friend. Evie just chuckled a bit as she shook her head slightly.

  “Seriously, it’s wonderful, E. Thank you very much,” Mal told Evie, wiping her mouth from where a bit of the strawberry juice was starting to ooze. Evie grinned widely in reply.

  “I could tell. You’re making a bit of a mess,” Evie pointed out, and Mal paused slightly to look at Evie curiously, wondering just how gross she was. But she couldn’t stop for long before she started trying to stuff her face again. Evie laughed as she rolled her eyes.

  “M, come here, you’ve got something on your face,” Evie pointed out, and Mal immediately froze as Evie grabbed a napkin and dabbed at Mal’s cheek caringly, taking Mal’s chin in her other hand as she tried to hold the faerie in place.

  “You know, M, you’re sometimes as bad as Carlos,” Evie scolded halfheartedly, and Mal looked at her sister’s face as Evie furrowed her brow a bit, focusing intensely on her task.

  After a moment, Evie seemed to realize that Mal was looking at her, and she met the faerie’s gaze curiously, offering a somewhat awkward smile before concentrating more on cleaning Mal’s pale skin.

  “What?” Mal blinked, looking down as she broke her stare.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sulking about being like Carlos?” Evie questioned, a sparkle in her eyes as she asked this, and Mal immediately scrunched her nose as she pulled her chin from Evie’s grasp huffily.

  “No,” Mal replied insistently.

  Truthfully, Mal was actually completely baffled by the care that she had just been lucky enough to enjoy from Evie. However, it had also deeply touched Mal that Evie had treated her with such gentleness and kindness.

  It wasn’t that Mal thought Evie wouldn’t do something like that. After all, if the bluenette was anything, she was caring, kind, thoughtful, and doting.

  It just wasn’t often that Mal received such tender loving care. It was something that she had never gotten in her life. But thinking back on it, any time that she had even received a shred of that had been when Evie had given it to her.

  The only reason Mal had pulled away was because she wasn’t quite sure how to handle the giant influx of emotions that overwhelmed her in that moment. It was a huge glow of admiration and care for Evie, and it was somehow even stronger than usual. It completely threw Mal off.

  “Oh, you’ve still got a long way until you’re as messy as Snowflake,” Evie assured her affectionately, interrupting the faerie from her thoughts and distracting her. Mal just rolled her eyes and smirked slightly, deciding to dive back into her strawberries.

  She just halfheartedly chalked off the satisfied and full feeling inside of her as her enjoyment of eating her favorite food.

    ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

       “I’m not sick, Evie,” Mal stuffily proclaimed as Evie sat on Mal’s bedside, stirring the hot soup carefully with a spoon.

  Evie paused and raised an eyebrow as she looked up at her sister, completely unimpressed. Mal knew that her statement was not logical, but she also knew that she most definitely did not want to be force-fed soup and then have to swallow a disgustingly nasty pill.

  It was a few days after Evie had gotten sick in mid-July, and as a direct result of taking care of Evie during her sickness, Mal had gotten sick for the first time in years. It was a concrete fact that Mal didn’t get sick. Ever. But here she was, being smothered and pampered by Evie, and secretly somewhat enjoying it but mostly disliking it.

  “Mhmm… And I’m a blue-haired god of the Underworld,” Evie replied simply, and Mal just rolled her eyes with a slight growl underneath her breath, immediately remembering the man that was responsible for all of her problems with her mother.

  “I’m sorry,” Evie apologized quickly, and Mal just huffed slightly in response, accepting it easily as she tried to push the thought from her mind. She knew Evie was just trying to be cute and sarcastic and maybe even bring a smile out of Mal.

  “But I’m not sick, E,” Mal grumbled, and Evie jumped at the opportunity to avoid the other subject they had just been on.

  “How does that work when your nose is running every minute and you have to puke every other minute?” Evie questioned, a light smile playing upon her face as she reached for a tissue and offered it to Mal. Mal rolled her eyes but wasted no time in blowing her nose.

  She was about to drop her tissue on the floor when Evie suddenly grabbed a wastebasket and held it out, offering it to her quickly. Mal reached over and dropped her tissue in it.

  “Open your mouth,” Evie instructed after she had out the basket back on the floor. Mal tiredly decided she wasn’t going to fight her best friend on this, so she opened up and Evie inserted the spoon into Mal’s mouth. Mal swallowed it and immediately winced at the taste, shivering as she made a sour face.

  “That was disgusting.”

  “Hmm… Must be the horseradish,” Evie murmured, squinting a bit as she smelled the soup carefully. Mal suddenly felt her stomach lurch and she immediately threw the covers back, running for the bathroom. She could hear Evie right behind her, and before Evie had a chance to hold Mal’s hair back, Mal was throwing up.

  When Mal was finally finished, Evie very carefully helped her stand up. Mal knew her hair was trashed, and she honestly wouldn’t blame Evie if the bluenette altogether decided to let Mal handle that one on her own.

  However, Evie just turned on the water in the bath and turned on the showerhead, testing the warmth of the water. Mal gazed at her in confusion, and Evie finally shook her hand of the water a bit before placing the showerhead on the floor of the bathtub. Evie came over to Mal taking her arm and carefully leading her over to the tub. Mal was completely shocked, but was fully prepared to handle the situation by herself.

  But once again, Evie surprised her. Once Mal was on her knees beside the bathtub and about to take the showerhead, Evie took it instead and began very carefully and gently rinsing the mess from Mal’s hair, running her fingers through it and squeezing gently as she tried to clean it out.

  Mal’s eyes went wide as she realized that Evie was actually voluntarily working closely with vomit. It baffled Mal completely to see Evie so lovingly put away any disgust at something that Mal would’ve been positively repulsed by had the faerie been in Evie’s position.

  After Evie made sure to wash Mal’s head with one round of shampoo, she rinsed the faerie’s hair once again and turned off the water before standing and reaching for a towel. Mal looked up at Evie in surprise, standing up as she watched the other girl, her hair dripping wet.

  Evie then turned back to Mal, huffing a bit as she realized Mal was getting her clothes and the floor wet. Evie then threw the towel over Mal’s head, scrubbing it dry before finally letting the towel cover Mal’s hair so that only her surprised face was to be seen. Evie smiled gently at Mal and leaned forward, kissing Mal’s forehead as she held Mal’s shoulders in her hands. Mal blinked, still amazed that Evie had actually taken care of her so effectively and willingly.

  “You’ve got a bit of a fever. Let’s go see if we can get some crackers in you so you can take your medicine,” Evie told her, squeezing Mal’s upper arms gently before turning and heading into the other room to find the food.

  Mal blinked, disturbed from her thoughts by the promise of medicine. Mal wasted no time in following Evie into the other room to protest the medication.

  But she couldn’t quite shake the warm feeling filling her chest at that moment as easily as last time.

     ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

        “I swear, M, you just want to live in a pigsty, don’t you?” Evie pointed out in irritation as she ran around Mal’s side of the room and searched for all of the dirty clothes that Mal had haphazardly flung about without consideration as to the mess that it made. Mal was currently lounged on her bed, drawing in her sketch book and not paying much attention to Evie.

  “Yeah…”

  “Would it kill you to pick up after yourself?” Evie demanded.

  “Of course not,” Mal replied, not listening to one word that passed from between Evie’s lips as she drew the quick, small, short lines for the eyebrow hairs on the person that she was sketching.

  “What is this?” Evie questioned as she lifted up an article of clothing in front of her, not bothering to gaze over at the faerie as she spoke. Mal never looked up as she noncommittally replied.

  “I dunno. Something.”

  “This side of the room is like Area 51, Mal Bertha,” Evie told Mal in frustration, still not realizing that Mal was not even looking in the bluenette’s direction.

  “I’m a bad girl,” Mal replied almost cheerily as her eyebrow came out perfectly on the paper. However, as soon as she started trying to shade a bit on the face, a hand suddenly pulled Mal’s sketch book back and away from her. Mal looked up at the person that the hand was attached to, and she grinned guiltily as Evie looked down at her in frustration.

  “Mal, are you even listening?!”

  “Yeah… You’re mad about picking up my stuff?” Mal questioned with a smile, looking at her drawing longingly. Evie groaned, tossing the sketchbook on the nearby vanity as she held her laundry basket underneath her arm.

  “No! I am mad because you’ve got to start cleaning up after yourself. I can’t follow you around and clean up all of your messes for you,” Evie proclaimed as she lifted a pair of underwear and dropped it in her basket.

  “You’re doing a pretty good job right now, E,” Mal offhandedly pointed out, and Evie sighed deeply.

  “Mal, what about when you eventually get married to Ben and I can’t live with you and help you clean all of your stuff? Gosh, you might even have to do his laundry at some point. Imagine that!” Evie ranted as she kneeled on the floor to reach under the bed and grab some clothes that she saw hanging out from underneath the bed.

  “Number one, I’m not going to be Ben’s housewife, and we’ll have a maid for that stuff. It’s the twenty-first century. Number two, I don’t really know why it’s such a big deal to you, E. My mother didn’t care if I messed up my room,” Mal somewhat sadly pointed out, and couldn’t help but somewhat bitterly note to herself that Maleficent didn’t much care about anything Mal did.

  “Well, I’m not Maleficent, and unlike her, I actually do care whether you mess up your room or not,” Evie announced, sounding a bit less irritated than she had been for the past few moments.

  This statement truly hit Mal in the gut, and Mal stared at Evie’s bent down form in shock as she took in the meaning of those words.

  “Why?” Mal blurted out, and Evie stood up finally from her cleaning, giving the room a onceover and nodding in satisfaction as she seemed to have picked up all of the laundry. She then shifted her gaze to Mal.

  “Well, M, because I care about you, and I want you to have a clean space to enjoy,” Evie expressed as she looked over Mal’s form caringly before returning her eyes to Mal’s.

  Mal felt her jaw slacken a bit as she took in Evie’s words. Mal knew Evie cared about her, but sometimes just the small things that Evie cared about her still surprised Mal terribly. But of course, it was never in a bad way. Mal had just received such little care in her life that it meant especially extra when someone cared about not only the big things, but also the little ones.

  “I’m sorry, E. I’ll try to do better,” Mal finally replied in surprise. Evie just sighed slightly before reaching over and cupping Mal’s cheek in her hand gently, stroking Mal’s face slightly with a thumb.

  Mal leaned into Evie’s touch. However, after only a moment, Mal reached underneath her and held out a dirty shirt to Evie with a bit of a grin. Evie’s eyes settled on the article of clothing, and she groaned before looking at Mal with a playful scold.

  “You missed one, E,” Mal acknowledged with a slight smile. Evie rolled her eyes and took it easily before pulling her hand away from Mal’s face to take the shirt and drop it in the basket. She then turned and started to head to the school’s laundromat.

  “You’re the best!” Mal called after her, and Evie just replied with something similar to a grumble. Mal laughed in response to the other girl, shaking her head as she got up to fetch her sketch book.

  And as she drew, she found that she couldn’t quite wipe the smile off her face.

    ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

       “Evie, I’m me now, and when everybody sees that I’ve went back to my colors and my style, you know what happens then? Bam! Everybody assumes that what’s inside has went back to the way it used to be. That I’m the daughter of Maleficent plotting to take over Auradon!” Mal announced, and Evie sighed softly as she watched Mal, listening carefully. Mal could see out of the corner of her eye that Evie looked very much as if she wanted to interject.

  It was two weeks after the incident at Cotillion, and as per usual, Auradon was having another of its large bashes. It seemed to be one of their favorite things to do, and one of the few things that they consistently participated in.

  It was also two weeks since Mal, with Evie’s help, had entirely refashioned her wardrobe back to that edgy VK style and had started wearing her hair back in that brilliant shade of purple that was naturally her own.

  And now, Mal had to speak at this party as herself. Not the fashionable, new leaf VK that looked more like an AK, but as herself. As Lady of the Court, she was supposed to give a speech covering the subjects of what had happened at Cotillion and perhaps even something about her own changes of heart.

  She had even been somewhat looking forward to it, but now she was absolutely and utterly terrified as she paced about backstage, waiting for them to call her up. Evie was back there with her, and Ben was somewhere. Neither one of them were quite sure where he had gotten off to.

  But Evie was there. Which allowed Mal to fully vent.

  “And there’s so many people! Like half the kingdom is here tonight! And not to mention paparazzi and newspeople and all of those snoops that take things you say and twist it to the best story for them and their ratings!” Mal almost hysterically rambled, and Evie stepped a bit closer to the younger girl. Mal was almost in tears as she fully panicked.

  “Evie, I don’t think I can do it! What if they make me out to be some kind of nutcase? What if they all turn on me, and then I get you and the boys sent back to the Isle?! You guys don’t belong on the Isle!!!” Mal cried, and Evie shook her head as she intercepted Mal’s path.

  “Hey, hey, look at me,” Evie spoke calmly, grabbing Mal’s face in her hands and stroking Mal’s cheeks with her thumbs slowly. Mal paused immediately, looking into Evie’s eyes as all of her nervousness slowly melted away.

  “You are fine, alright? You are perfectly fine, M. No one’s going to think that. You know why?” Mal shook her head.

  “Because during these six months, you had every opportunity to take over. Just two weeks ago, you defeated Uma and willingly gave up your spell book--- in front of everyone, might I add--- to Fairy Godmother,” Evie explained calmly and patiently. Mal shook her head just barely, not quite able to agree with Evie so easily about all of this.

  “But, E, you know me and love me, what about the people that don’t? What will they think?” Mal somewhat sadly asked Evie.

  “Hey, stop, stop, okay? Now listen, and repeat after me,” Evie instructed, and Mal nodded ever so slightly, her cheeks a bit squished in Evie’s hold. The barest hints of a smile crossed Evie’s face as she looked down at the other girl, and Mal knew she had to be getting enjoyment out of Mal’s current face scrunch.

  “I can do anything I set my mind to,” Evie started, and Mal, despite her upset emotions, smiled slightly as she got the greatest idea.

  “You can do anything you set your---”

  “No, I said ‘I’ as in you,” Evie interrupted, looking at Mal with only a slight scold. Mal huffed a bit before repeating it correctly, calming down slightly as Evie’s insistent gaze bored into Mal’s own.

  “I can do anything I set my mind to,” Mal told her. Evie grinned a bit and continued.

  “I can go and speak at one small party.”

  “More like a giant bonanza,” Mal couldn’t help but grumble, and Evie gazed at her pointedly, still holding Mal’s face in her hands. Mal groaned slightly, but once again repeated Evie’s words.

  “I can go and speak at one small party,” Mal vowed, and Evie smiled serenely with half-lidded eyes as she uttered her next statement.

  “And if I do not look happier, my Evie will have to tickle me to the death,” Evie finished. Mal’s eyes widened, and Evie hands suddenly let go of her face to skitter across her sides. Mal couldn’t help but giggle as she tried to keep Evie’s hands away. Evie didn’t relent for a few moments, but she finally let Mal catch her hands.

  Mal grabbed them in her own tightly, and Evie smiled down at the girl. Evie then returned her hands to Mal’s face as she brought Mal’s head nearer to her and kissed it softly.

  “You will be fine, okay? You’ve got me rooting for you, and Jay and Carlos, too,” Evie expressed lovingly, and Mal couldn’t help but stare at her in some emotion that she wasn’t sure if she could identify.

  It was a swell of something that was like intense admiration and it was almost like what she would feel for Maleficent every once in a while, but it was different. It had that unique best friend magic that Evie always seemed to carry with only her, and it also had that sisterly feel to it. It was a very warm feeling, and Mal found herself hugging Evie tightly.

  Immediately, Evie’s comforting embrace enveloped her, and Mal immediately felt so much safer and so perfectly happy as she always did when Evie was right there with her. Evie stroked Mal’s hair, and Mal couldn’t help but smile a bit as she nestled closer to Evie.

  It was strange, this feeling. But Mal thought she could definitely get used to it.

    ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

       “I’ve finally figured out what you are,” Mal pointed out one day as they were lying on the couch watching some silly movie that was hardly worth paying attention to but they had both agreed that they’d try.

  It was one of their usual movie nights that they had around three times a week. It had become quite the custom for them, and it was one of Evie’s most favorite things in life. Of course, any time that she got to spend with Mal was completely and utterly sacred.

  Obviously, this movie, despite their mutual agreement to try to watch it, was not nearly interesting enough for Mal to stay awake for. Honestly, Evie was a little drowsy as well, but she was apparently trying a bit harder to concentrate on it than Mal was at this moment.

  Evie looked down at Mal curiously as she paused in her affectionate stroking of Mal’s hair, unsure of where the faerie was going with this but perfectly willing to listen.

  “And just what is that?” Evie questioned with only the smallest of laughs in her voice and noted that Mal was barely awake as she spoke to Evie. Evie continued her ministrations and watched as Mal’s eyelids grew heavier. Evie smiled just barely as she enjoyed her sister’s sleepiness.

  Honestly, Mal sometimes truly shocked Evie, and her next statement proved to show that Mal hadn’t yet lost that talent.

  “You’re… You’re like a mom sister friend thingy,” Mal acknowledged as she yawned widely, pressing her head a bit further against Evie’s stomach as her upper body lounged on Evie’s lap. Evie froze a bit in surprise, and she looked down at Mal with her jaw somewhat slackened.

  “Mom?” Evie halfway squeaked in response, really not knowing how to handle this title. She had been called a sister and a bestest friend in the world, but she had never been referred to as a mom.

  “No, not really. Just… a dearest mom sister friend thingy,” Mal replied, breathing a bit heavier as she spoke, and Evie felt her heart swell just a little with Mal’s words.

  “So not a mom?” Evie questioned softly, realizing that Mal was so tired that she probably wasn’t exceedingly aware of what she was saying. But she guessed that was likely how one got the most honest words out of someone--- when they were not fully aware of what they were saying.

  “Not a mom, not a sister, not a friend…. Just… A little bit of all that stuff,” Mal clarified, yawning heavily as she slurred her words a bit, squeezing Evie’s knee from her comfortable place relaxed on Evie.

  Evie blinked hard, realizing that she was fighting tears. It just touched her so deeply that Mal viewed her in such high esteem.

  Mal viewed her as a best friend, a sister, and a mom figure all rolled into one. Of course, obviously, Evie knew that a mom figure was not Mal’s largest viewing of her because she never acted as if Evie was her mom, but there were apparently some parts of Mal’s mind that saw Evie as having certain motherly qualities. Mal pressed her cheek against Evie’s leg as her eyes slipped further shut.

  “And that adds up to one big awesome Evie,” Mal mumbled, barely coherent, but Evie caught the words as well as she would have if Mal were actually yelling them at her. Evie couldn’t help the watery smile that slowly spread across her face as her entire chest felt like it was lit on fire with the warm feelings glowing inside her.

  “I couldn’t be an awesome Evie without an awesome Mal,” Evie murmured in reply as she bent her head down and kissed Mal’s hair, stroking it gently out of the faerie’s face as she nearly fell asleep.

  “Mmm… Love ya, E,” Mal expressed, her consciousness slipping away swiftly as she gave in to the lullaby of sleep. Evie smiled softly, letting her head rest against the couch with a bit of a thump as she closed her eyes in pure happiness with the moment.

  “I love you, too, Mal. More than anything in the world.”

[shutupandshipit]

Magic in the Blood - Ch.7

Summary: “You used magic on me,” Neil said, mildly accusing. He opened his eyes, staring into the glowing honey gold of Andrew’s eyes.

“Don’t I always?”

Instead of answering, Neil asked, “Yes or no?” because his hands were aching to run along Andrew’s skin, up his toned thighs, to tug him down over him. …..

Or where everything is the same, but magic exists. The school year is over, there’s no more practices until mid-summer and for the first time, Neil can spend his time the way he wants. Without suppressants muddling his system and Andrew sober, they’ve got magical and logistical issues to work through.

And then there’s the new Foxes when they show which is a whole other magical nightmare of itself.

Pairing: Andreil

Rating: T

Previous <- Chapter 6

Chapter 8 -> Next(post to come soon)

Chapter 7: Lavender Pills

Neil:

As soon as Neil stepped off the plane and found his way to a bathroom, he frantically rummaged through his bag. He could hear the bottle of suppressants rattling incessantly, calling to him with the bliss of repression. His magic had begun to crawl to the surface halfway through the flight, but he'd taken a suppressant before boarding and assumed that would be enough. Only, he hadn't anticipated the anxious magic pouring from the other passengers, filling the cabin until he was suffocating. He shouldn't have been able to feel them with such a recent dose, but something about the altitude or proximity or his own anxiety had somehow diminished the affects of the suppressants.

There was the possibility that the suppressants were just loosing their potency as Neil's body grew more accustomed to the dosage.

Stewart had procured them for him after California. After his mother's death. After his magic left a destructive path behind him as he it poured from him unchecked, a path that Stewart had to pay a lot of money to cover up.

With Mary's death fresh on his mind, he hadn't been able to put a cap on his own magic, and he'd burned through their collection of suppressants trying to. Stewart had pressed his suppliers for the strongest dosage they could make that wouldn't kill anyone.

When he'd first started taking them, he could only handle half a pill once a day. Even then, he'd almost had a panic attack with how quiet the world had gone. He'd wondered if that was the way normal people who couldn't sense magic felt. There had been so much more quiet in his head for his mind to circle around and around. So much more space to think about his dead mother.

He'd vomited and passed out almost immediately. When he'd woken, magic still tucked away in his chest, they'd tried to drop his dose to a quarter of a tablet.

He didn't let them.

Now though, he had to take one every couple of hours to keep his magic under wraps, and even then, it leaked out around the edges. He couldn't keep it up much longer, not without contacting his uncle, and that was something he didn't want to have to do. He had about a year's worth left, but at the rate he was going, he might have even less than that. He'd have to start rationing if that were even possible.

Popping the small lavender pull into his mouth, Neil swallowed it down dry and shoved the bottle back into his bag. He waited ten long minutes for the pill to begin taking effect before finding his way towards the exit where he found a particularly small blond man waiting for him.

Andrew:

It took Neil Josten much longer to come out of the terminal than Andrew would have expected. He would have assumed it was something innocent like using the restroom, but he'd seen the way Neil had looked at Kevin. He'd felt the magic bubbling beneath the surface of his skin, the suppressants trying to keep his magic in and failing. He wouldn't trust the man as far as he could throw him, not until he gave him a reason to.

He doubted the man was smart enough for that, especially if he was stupid enough to sign with the Foxes.

Leaning against the wall, he stared up towards the ceiling and let his magic stretch its limbs for the first time in awhile. He's skipped his wake-up dose to meet with Neil, and without the constraints of his medication, there was no reason his magic needed to stay on a leash. Relief washed through his body while his magic pushed out and out and out, soothing the fever of a screeching child, easing a woman's migraine, calming a flight attendant's throbbing feet. He couldn't do much without physical touch or his herbs, but he still could do a little.

As the baby's screams calmed to whimpers, a blank spot entered the Arrivals area.

Neil Josten was the personification of a lack of presence, a blank spot in the middle of the crowd, a black hole without an end or beginning.

Everyone had magic whether they could use it or not. Whether it was strong or weak. Even magicless people had magic, but they were people that had such a small amount that it was unusable. It couldn't be utilized by the holder. Even then, there were people with magic that either didn't know how to use their magic. Even under suppressants, there was still the barest traces of magic on a person's skin.

All being, living and inanimate, gave off magic. Neil Josten gave off absolutely nothing as if he were already dead. Which was all the more curious as he had been actually vomiting up magic the first time.

He stared the man down as he glanced this way and that, stepping further into the crowd. It only took Neil a moment to spot him, and another to weave through the crowd to get to him. When he was close enough for Andrew to take a good look at his eyes, he found a very familiar look there.

His pupils were blown wide, and there was a dullness to them. Neil was high, and whether that was on true drugs or something else was still to be determined.

Suppressants couldn't erase someone's magical fingerprint the way whatever he was on had.

“Neil. Baggage claim,” he said simply.

Neil:

It only took a day for Neil to understand that there were almost no good times for him to take his next dose of suppressants, especially when he'd had to start taking them so frequently. By the time the first week had come to an end, he was nearly going crazy with the havoc the cousins had put his schedule through just trying to keep a lid on his magic.

He couldn't walk around with his pill bottle, so the only solution he could come up with was carrying a few around with him that he shoved deep into his pockets.

He knew he was getting sloppy by the third week, dipping out as soon as he felt his magic surfacing. When Andrew's eyes started to drift towards him more and more often. He didn't know if it was the stress the others were putting him under or the lack of sleep or whatever other reason there could be, but his doses had grown closer again.

That scared him, made him more cautious with his doses, but also stupider.

And he found everything coming to a head one afternoon after practice with the cousins.

He showered last as always, but found the locker room empty save for Andrew sitting in front of his locker after he was done. The man tossed and caught something idly, not looking at Neil when he came to a stop. “Can I get to my locker?” he asked, irritated with the afternoons events and now having to deal with the murderous midgit again.

Andrew caught the package again, and Neil finally noticed the small ziploc bag he held. A flash of lavender through plastic.

“Give that back!” Neil spat, lunging for Andrew before immediately thinking better of it.

Andrew had a knife in his hand even as Neil retreated. “I think... not.” He let the bag swing between his fingers so they could both stare at the pills hanging between them. “I've been wondering what you were on. These look professional, but still homemade.” Dull hazel eyes glanced back towards him. “You know, Coach and Abby don't allow for drugs unless they're court mandated. Kevin would burst a gasket if he knew his pet project was high on court. So, what are they?”

“Nothing!”

“Oh, they're definitely something, pushing down your magic like that. Erasing it completely.” Andrew's grin was manic. “And judging by your reaction, you seem pretty attached to them. What would happen if I just...” He trailed off, peeling open the top and holding one over his tongue.

Neil lunged forward again, catching the pill before it could hit Andrew's tongue. His side stung, shirt splayed open from Andrew's knife strike. The cut was shallow, and he held the flaps of his shirt closed, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch. “Don't,” he snarled. Blood dripped down his side, warm and slick.

The smell of blood only made him angrier.

“Oh ho,” Andrew laughed, leaning back against the lockers, “Now, what was that all about?”

Neil bit at his lip. Andrew already knew he had magic, but he didn't know what his pills were. Was it worse for him to think that he was a junkie or to know they were suppressants? Strong ones. Would he tell Kevin and Wymack if he thought he was a drug addict? Would he really be all that wrong though? Wasn't he just a different kind of addict, using the suppressants as a crutch rather than an escape? As a means to an end?

Making a decision, Neil decided to go with the truth. Or a partial truth. Partial truths were his specialty after all. “They're suppressants, but if you take a whole one, you'll go into a coma. Or vomit everywhere. Or not see your magic for a whole year.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Yet you pop one every hours it seems like. So, how are you still standing? Unless you're lying.” He fished another pill from the bag, staring at it intently.

Fear slid through Neil. Not fear for Andrew, but fear of what the others would do if Andrew died from overdosing on his suppressants. What would they even do mixed with his other drugs? He was scared of what Wymack would do if he found out about them. What Kevin would do because Kevin preferred to practice with magic intact. What the cousins would do if Andrew never recovered.

“Don't,” Neil said again, trembling as he stared at the pill. He'd taken his dose over an hour before hand, and his magic slipped from his mouth in bright rainbow threads. His magic was spewing from him as if under high pressure. He was trembling with the force, nausea roiling through his body. The release had gotten worse over the couple of months since meeting Wymack, Andrew and Kevin, and he couldn't stop the storm clouds from building around him.

Andrew raised an eyebrow, watching curiously as he pressed a sparking hand to his squinting eye. “That's a lot of magic for someone who's supposed to be magicless. How are you standing if these suppressants are so strong?” he asked with more emphasis.

Neil's hand was trembling as he pressed the pilled he'd taken from Andrew into his mouth and swallowed dry. The effect to a moment, but eventually, his clouds dispersed and his magic slithered back into his body. The tremors took longer to subside, but eventually, they did. “I've built up a tolerance.”

Smiling wickedly, Andrew leaned forward with his elbows propped against his knees. “That's no good, Neil. What happens when you run our? Or miss a dose? Or can't get to them during a game? Are you going to pop off and kill everyone in sight?”

“I'd like to kill you right now.”

Andrew laughed. “Alas, that's not an option.” He slipped the pill back into the bag and pushed them int his pocket, passing the outside over his hip. “I think I'll keep a hold of these. For safe keeping. You understand. I'm sure you have more, so you won't miss these ones.” He stood, stepping as close to Neil as he could without being pressed flush against each other, the flat of his knife tapping along Neil's knuckles where they still held his shirt closed. “You're going to have to make a decision here, Neil. You can't keep popping pills all year. At the rate you're going, you're going to run out before December, and then where will you be? Find me when you want to let off a little steam. We'll have a long discussion about your role here.”

He stepped around Neil, but Neil didn't have the never to grab for the bag in his pocket.

Andrew:

It took Neil a lot longer than he'd anticipated for him to make a decision. It took Neil until Andrew rifled through his belongings and took the entire pill bottle, not that he believed that was all he had. It took for Andrew to put him through hell in Columbia. For him to hitchhike back to Palmetto. It took forever for Neil to make a fucking decision.

Andrew was so frustrated with the whole situation by the time Neil got himself knocked out in Columbia that he was ready to spill every secret he'd collected to both Wymack and Kevin. Threatening him hadn't made him spill his truths. Stealing his drugs hadn't made him spill his truths. Drugging him to high heaven against his will hadn't made him spill his truths.

Not until Wymack was standing between them, and Neil decided to speak fluent German.

He'd never been so utterly taken with someone who was suck a fucking mess.

“I'll be gone by out match against Edgar Allen,” Neil said, and Andrew had never been more sure of a lie in his life though he didn't think Neil knew that himself.

He knew that Neil believed every word he was saying. A junkie like him wouldn't be able to give up what the Foxes had already given him. In the end, Andrew simply said, “We're leaving.”

“Where are we going?” Neil asked, sweat dripping down his forehead, iridescent with his own magic.

Andrew didn't look at him as he said in English, “Back to the dorms. Your teammates have been annoying us ever since we got back, demanding we return to Columbia and scour the streets in search of you,” and then in German, “Somewhere to take care of your problem.” He turned a pointed look on the sky outside Wymack's window where storm clouds had gathered.

“My problem?” Neil asked in German, confused.

Sighing, Andrew spun around at the door to glare at him. “You're barely holding it together. Not many people can feel magic, but I'm sober way more sober than I'd like to be and I can tell that if you don't either take your drugs or release the magic you're literally going to implode.”

Neil pressed his lips into a thin line, but didn't argue. “I ran out. My suppressants are at the dorms.”

“Then release it is.”

Wymack, of course, had to open his mouth and meddle. “He can stay here if he wants. I can call Dan and let her know he's safe.”

Andrew didn't look at Wymack, but turned and opened the door. “Neil wants to come with me,” he said, and he didn't need a lie detector spell to know he was telling the truth.

When he climbed into his car, Neil was climbing into the passenger seat.

…..

“This looks like the kind of place someone comes to get murdered,” Neil commented as Andrew pulled into the campus construction area for the new dorm. The area was deserted, only the skeleton of a building and a dirt packed parking lot. Not even any workers around.

Andrew climbed out of the car, pulling one arm across his chest and then the other. He meticulously stretched while Neil simply stared, and he could nearly feel the confusion radiating off Neil in waves. “This is where I plan to dump your body when I kill you.”

Neil pulled himself out of the car, still staring around. He crossed his arms on the roof, but didn't move from the passenger side. They sky was thick with black clouds, the air muggy with a Summer thunder storm. Or maybe that was just Neil's magic. Possibly, it was just both simply feeding on each other.

Yawning, Andrew stepped away from the car. He'd parked on the edge of the lot, and strode out to the middle to turn and face Neil. Holding out his arms, he said, “Let's go.”

Neil rounded the car, confusion lighting his features. “What?”

“Take out the fucking contacts and let loose. I'm tired of seeing you drugged to the gills. I know you've wanted to take a swing at me, so take it while I'm giving you the chance,” Andrew said. Neil simply stared at him, and Andrew shrugged. “If you don't do it on your own, I'll just provoke you into it.”

Neil was silent for a long moment, just staring at him. Finally, he said, “You can't handle my magic.”

“Try me.”

Neil's magic was pouring from him, a faucet left completely open. His seams were coming loose, stitches popping all over his person. “Okay. Okay, bit... I warned you.”

When Neil finally released the choke hold he had on his magic, Andrew almost laughed with how drunk he felt. The rush was nothing like he'd ever felt. When the thunder rolled through the sky and the sky all but fell, he did laugh.

Neil's face broke with euphoria as his back bowed. “Oh, thank god,” he groaned. When he raised his eyes, despite the brown contacts, they were startlingly blue as lightning pulsed behind them. A grotesque smile pulled at his mouth. “Are you ready?”

Soaking wet, hair plastered to his scalp, Andrew mimicked his smile. “Yes.”

…..

Andrew woke with a sharp intake of breath, staring up at the ceiling of Randy Boyd's guest room. His body buzzed with the Neil's remembered magic. Just a ghostly film. He remembered how it had lit up his system like the Fourth of July.

But...

He could also actually feel Neil's magic buzzing along his skin. Restless and uncomfortable.

Scrubbing a hand over his arms, he swallowed and rolled out of bed before he padded shirtless from the bedroom.

In the living room, he found Neil with his armbands off, a jar of olive oil and herbs on the coffee table and a paint brush between his teeth. He fanned at the sigil on his wrist with distant eyes while the news played silently on the television.

Leaning against the hall wall, Andrew watched him for several deep breaths. “Where did you get the paint brush?”

Neil kept fanning, not looking around at him. “Found it in a drawer.” He glanced up to him. “Are you... better?”

Andrew didn't move. “Relatively. Why are you still awake?”

“You were dreaming too loudly, but I guess that would be loud whether you were dreaming or awake, huh?” Neil dropped his gaze, his fan pausing. “Are... are you going to leave me?”

Pushing away from the wall, Andrew stared at the side of Neil's head. “What?”

“Are you going to leave me?”

“Why would you think I'm going to leave? Because of what happened in the bathroom today?” Neil didn't say anything, and Andrew felt the sudden urge to strangle him. Instead, he leaned on the back of the couch close to Neil without touching him. “I'm not going to fucking leave, junkie. This shit is just something I've been working through for a long time with Bee. Sometimes it's worse than others. It doesn't have anything to do with you. I'm not going anywhere.”

Neil sighed, chuckling around the brush. “Okay, yeah. Matt said that was it.”

Dryly, Andrew said, “I'm glad to see mat knows me so well. Don't ever tell him.”

“Never.”

They stayed silent together, the air calm around them.

“You should go to sleep,” Andrew said.

“So should you.”

“I'm not tired.”

Neil looked up, hope in his eyes. “Sit with me then? We can watch a movie or something.”

Andrew dropped his arms. “Sure.”

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

Honey give us prt 5 plz

Honey...here it is. Part 5 everyone!!! 

WARNING: Features some sad content, a little fluff and a little smut! You’ve all be warned... 🙈 I’m SORRY BUT IT HAD TO HAPPEN! Also will be making this into a masterlist or something soon so LOOK OUT FOR IT! 😘💕

Michael could feel something was horribly wrong upon arriving home. He had never returned home to find Y/N missing. What life did she have but him? No friends, cut off from Jim and Duncan, he was her life force and Michael was proud to hold the leash tight. His feet carry him straight into her room, the bedroom neat apart from one earring dropped onto the carpet. Michael picks it up, holding the little drop earring up to the light. It’s one Duncan bought her, a pretty little drop. 

The memory assaults Michael at once, Y/N above him sliding down on his cock as those earrings wave back and forth with every thrust. Jim’s fingers trailing up Michael’s chest as drags Michael in for a kiss. He can practically hear Y/N singing for him while Duncan pounds on the door from outside, desperate to join in. 

Happy times. 

Simpler times. 

The urge hits him, the earring getting warmer in Michael’s hand the longer he holds it. Just a simple spell, child’s play to him and he’d know exactly where Y/N is. Divination, one of his earliest masteries. But no, Michael won’t do that to her. He slides the earring into his pocket and heads for his usual vice, a giant glass of red wine. He pours it, tying his hair into a bun and unbuttoning his shirt. Michael leans on the countertop, taking measured gulps as he checks his emails. 

Cooperative bullshit, a text from Dominos that should have been for Duncan really. He pushes his phone away, unable to think about Duncan. He drains the wine glass and pours another immediately. Michael’s sure that tonight he’ll finish the bottle and he’s half-way through his second glass when a faint buzzing catches his attention. It’s coming from the hallway, Michael investigating with all the grace of a panther. 

Y/N’s handbag, the one she uses most days sits on the mantlepiece in the entryway, next to the vase that holds their keys. Michael had been so disturbed upon entering that he didn’t even notice it. He fishes inside, retrieving Y/N’s phone which is vibrating in his hand.

Ice slides into his heart as Michael stares at the Caller ID - ‘Beach Boy’, Jim. 

He’s been so good. Michael’s resistance has been iron-clad. He hasn’t read a single message from either Jim or Duncan and he knows that Y/N hasn’t either… But calls, he didn’t even think about her secretly calling Jim at night. When he’s asleep or out of the house. Michael knows that neither Jim nor Duncan have been inside the house. He’d know in a second if they had, but what has Y/N been filling her time with? Sexting Duncan, his Duncan? Planning her future with Jim, a future without him?

He sees red, nearly crushing the phone in his hand and before he can gain any self control Michael’s typing in her password and re-dialing the last number. It picks up almost immediately, ‘Listen to me you little fucker-’

‘Michael?’ 

He blinks, taken aback by the voice on the other end. ‘Medina?’

‘Oh thank God. You need to get Y/N now, she’s with you right? You live together?’

And suddenly the feeling makes sense. It wasn’t Y/N, Michael was feeling at all. Jim’s presence still wafts through the air, vibrant and hollow. Michael swallows, ‘He’s not okay, is he?’

Medina’s clearly been crying, ‘He’s in hospital, Michael. I found him in the bathroom, he hit his head on the sink. There was blood everywhere, choking on his own vomit. I…Y/N’s his emergency contact and I had to let her know cause she’s all Jim’s been talking about.’

‘I don’t know where she is.’ The fear grips his voice, ‘She’s been out all day.’ 

‘You need to come now, Michael.’ Medina says, ‘Find her however you can. I…I don’t know if Jim’s gonna make it past this one. There were pills everywhere.’ 

‘I’m on my way.’ 

He ends the call, already feeling faint. The world is tilting on it’s axis, because Jim’s in serious trouble and Y/N’s missing and Michael doesn’t know how the fuck he can help or why it’s always left to him to clean up everyone’s mess. His hand retrieves the earring, turning it over in his fingers. Michael’s eyes slide shut as he focuses. 

It’s not an invasion of privacy…not when it’s life or death. 

When Jim comes around there’s a figure slumped in the chair and a weight on the bed. An IV sticks out of his arm and Jim can hear the ever-present beep from the heart monitor. His heart thumps as he takes in the two figures, but it’s too dark to make out much. He reaches out, his fingers running through their hair, ‘Y/N?’

They lift their head and then scramble for the light switch, ‘Jim?’

It’s Medina. 

Disappointment sits on his tongue, like when you swallow sea water. He opens his mouth to ask when golden curls come into view, ‘Michael?’

The Antichrist looks reserved, hands behind his back but Jim knows better. He hasn’t slept, there’s dark circles under his eyes. For the first time, Michael Langdon looks unwell, sickly. Jim never wants to see it again. 

‘I tried to reach Y/N and he picked up.’

‘Did he?’ Jim pushes down his retort, that no one should be answering Y/N’s phone but Y/N.

‘He’s done more for you in two hours than any of the staff.’ Medina continues, pushing Jim’s hair off his forehead. ‘Healed your forehead and made sure the drugs left your system, his knowledge of medicine is…wow.’

‘Isn’t it just?’ Jim’s eyes are still on Michael who eyes him hard enough for Jim to get the message, Medina has no idea who he really is. 

‘He’s…amazing.’ Medina praises, throwing Michael her kindest smile. Jim’s mouth drops a little. Medina, his sister who snarks and judges everyone likes the Antichrist. Not that she has any idea who Michael really is. 

‘Harvard.’ Jim supplies, ‘Top of his class.’

Medina nods, squeezing the back of Jim’s hand. She looks to Michael and then to Jim and picks up on the atmosphere instantly, ‘I’ll let you both…talk.’

Michael takes her place sitting on the edge of Jim’s bed. The moment Medina’s out of the room, Jim’s hand flies across his cheek. 

The sound echoes off the room, as does his yelp of pain, ‘What the fuck?’

Michael hasn’t moved an inch, his eyes glowing with pleasure, ’You deserved that.’ 

‘I’m in hospital, you prick.’

‘Of your own doing.’

Jim’s speechless, ‘Fuck you!’

He remains as stoic as ever. Then Michael’s fingers reach out, trailing over Jim’s legs. He can feel the warmth from under the blanket and Jim finds himself fighting off a blush with a hard cough, ‘Stop it.’

’I thought you were past this.’ Michael’s fingers trail up to Jim’s shoulder, ‘Why would you do this?’

Jim swallows. There is no way he is going to admit the truth to Michael, that it was just simpler. That ODing meant that they had to speak with him again, if he hit that balance just right so he’d wind up in hospital. If he could see Y/N again, speak with her, touch her. 

‘I missed you.’ His words have more truth behind him than he thought, ‘All of you.’

Michael doesn’t catch his meaning. His fingers play with the thin hospital gown Jim wears, ‘We missed you too, dumbass.’ Michael won’t look at him though, ‘Y/N especially. It was so hard for her to ignore your calls, your messages.’

Hope ignites inside Jim, catching onto him as if his insides were made of oil. 

‘Are Y/N and Duncan coming?’

Michael looks to the door, ‘Yeah.’

Jim frowns, Michael-eloquent-Langdon being so casual is a rarity. ‘When?’

‘Soon.’ 

Jim’ll take it, because he has nothing else left. His fingers remove Michael’s from his hospital gown, starkly aware that he’s naked underneath it. The stray thought shows on Michael’s face and Jim looks away, unable to watch the smirk dawning on Michael’s face. But neither of them let go of their intertwined hands. 

Duncan hasn’t let go of Y/N’s hand. Not during the phone call, the taxi ride, not even as they storm through the hospital. All it takes is a fat wad of bills and Jim is upgraded to a private suite in the hospital with as many visitors as he desires. Not ethical, not fair but Duncan Shepherd has never done fair before. 

Y/N’s a mess, her cheeks crusted with dry mascara and eyes that look like two massive bruises. Her make-up’s run together from wiping at her eyes and she won’t accept any of Duncan’s tissues. Her sole focus is on Jim Mason, on finding him. Y/N drags Duncan through corridor after corridor till they find Medina waiting outside. She knows who they are, or at least who Y/N is. Intelligence so fierce sparkles in her eyes and Duncan is instantly transported to Annette and how she looks at him with that eagle eyed glare. 

‘You’re Y/N?’ Medina asks, standing at once. She takes in the state Y/N’s in, ‘Jim uh…he has a picture of you two as his background, on his phone.’ 

Duncan bites down hard on his lip, hard enough that he can taste blood.

Of Y/N, not him.

‘Is he…okay?’

Medina nods, ‘He’s gonna be fine.’

Duncan’s hand finds Y/N’s back, ‘Go in.’ He encourages, ‘I…I should wait.’

Y/N takes his hand, ‘Wait?’

‘After…everything.’

Understanding dawns on her. Y/N pulls him closer as if she’s considering something, but her eyes slide to Medina and then she’s gone, disappearing into Jim’s room. 

Duncan’s eyes fall to the two of plastic chairs sat just outside Jim’s room. Medina kicks her legs about, avoiding eye contact with him for a while. ‘So who are you?’

He wants to tell her. That he loves her brother so fucking much and how he fucking ran to hail a taxi on hearing the news. Duncan plasters a smile on his face, ‘Just a friend.’

Medina nods and Duncan thinks he’s got away with it, but then Medina cocks her head to the side. ‘A friend like Michael is?’ She laughs a hollow, low sound. ‘You clear don’t have siblings. Never-mind a twin.’ 

It’s the first time he’s let himself smile since news came. They fall into silence, Duncan staring at the door to Jim’s room while his mind races through today. Meeting with Y/N, taking her and how fucking incredible it felt to be completely encased in her again. Draining the champagne together while they both lay, languid and saited in each others arms. God, it was like the cheesiest romance movie. Until Michael’s call came, shattering Duncan’s perfect illusion and bringing them crashing to earth. 

Jim, overdosed, in hospital.

He’d nearly abandoned Y/N all together in his frenzy to dress, grab his wallet, phone. His mind was only on getting to UCLA Medical as quick as he could, forgetting the young woman crying on the bed. Duncan had been forced to dress her, Y/N beside herself as she spluttered her thoughts out to both of them. He’d fought back his own tears in the taxi and Duncan closes his eyes to stop them from spilling forth now.

Why had he left? Why had been so prideful? Why had he ever thought sleeping with Y/N was a good idea?

Because you missed her. His conscience has been nagging him constantly, You wanted her, to be the one to get her back. To claim her. To rub it in Jim’s face.

It’s sick, it’s so fucking cruel of him to tangle his heart with Y/N’s again. No, he hadn’t expected those feelings to slam into him again, to look down at her and have missed her warm body against his, how she smiled up at him and made Duncan forget he wasn’t wanted by his family. That he was the black sheep, the outcast. With Y/N he was just Duncan, accepted. 

When he looks up, Medina’s gone and Duncan can finally wipe away the tears that are threatening to fall. He takes his time, rubbing his eyes till they’re raw and little stars dance across his vision. Duncan knows what to expect when he’s looking up, so he stands and brushes his coat down and looks up into the eyes of Michael Langdon. 

You cradle Jim’s face in your hands, ‘Hi, Jimmy.’

He cracks a smile, ‘You came.’

‘Of course I did.’ Your thumbs stroke his cheeks, ‘Jim, you stupid stupid boy.’

‘M sorry.’ Jim’s eyes burn into yours, ‘I just….’

‘What?’

‘Didn’t see anything left for me.’ He confesses, ‘No reason to go on.’

You slide your hand down to rest on Jim’s heart, ‘Never, ever think that.’ 

Jim’s hand hovers over yours, ‘I’m so sorry I took you away.’ He says, ‘I panicked when I saw those plans…when Duncan-’

You hush him, not wanting Jim to work himself up again, ‘I know.’

’Now I’ve lost you.’ Jim mumbles, ‘All of you, maybe.’ You can’t bear the thought of it, of Jim ending his life because he thought no one loved him. A couple tears escape, dripping down your cheeks ’Don’t cry.’ He says, wiping them away. ‘You’re here now.’ 

‘You haven’t lost us.’ You reaffirm, ‘Duncan was trying not to cry in the taxi and Michael…well, he was the first person here.’

‘Where were you? Why didn’t you answer?’

You can’t tell him…can you? It would ruin him. You can see it in the way Jim leans forwards into your touch, the light back in his eyes. He looks at your as if you’re the sun, beaming and showering him in your warmth, ‘I was with Duncan.’ The admission falls out because you can’t hold back the truth. You can’t lie to Jim, the boy who was so scared to lose you he stole you, kicking off this entire fiasco. 

The life died in Jim’s eyes, ‘With Duncan.’

You tell him everything, the hours spent curled up and wan in Duncan’s arms flowing like a river from your lips. Jim listens to everything, silent and with a face of stone, ‘He fucked you.’

‘Mutual, uh…fucking.’ You correct, ‘It was never meant to happen like that.’

Jim considers you, his eyes roving from your eyes to how you’ve clenched your hands together, ‘Do you love him?’

You flex your hands, staring at your fingernails, ‘I don’t know.’

‘You used to.’

‘I love you all.’ You admit, ‘But I don’t think I should.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s not right.’

Your vision blurs with tears. Guilt eats away at you, ‘I’m so sorry, Jim.’ 

‘You don’t want the three of us?’ He summarises, ‘You want to start over? Fresh?’

‘No!’ You don’t think about it, you reach over and peck Jim’s lips. ‘I’ve only ever wanted things to be like how they were before.’ 

There’s a thud from the doorway that has you jump. Jim too glances over, ‘Well, at least I got us all together.’

You can’t help a chuckle, ‘You did that.’

‘Redeemed myself.’

Jim leans up, pushing his soft lips back onto yours. This time you pull away, ‘I can’t do that again, I’m living with Michael.’

‘Do that mean you two are off-’

‘No.’ You say quickly, ‘We haven’t done anything at all.’

It’s music to Jim’s ears, ‘Nothing?’

‘No, we’ve waited.’ 

Jim’s head falls to the side, ’And Duncan?’

You grimace, ’I’m sure he just did it to get back at you.’ It’s been floating round your head for a while, the elaborate set-up. Why Duncan would choose to woo you over Michael, why he would risk the Antichrist’s wrath. 

Jim’s persistent though, pushing himself up the bed and letting his fingers run up your arm, ‘Then what’s stopping us?’

You shudder under the oh so familiar touch, ‘Michael. I can’t hurt him anymore.’ Jim’s lips find your collarbone, his teeth rolling over the skin as he suckles it, ‘Jim. Stop.’

‘They don’t have to know.’

You feel a chill enter your bones, ‘No.’

Jim’s tongue slides all over your exposed skin, ‘I’ve wanted you for so long. Hungered after you, craved you.’

‘You’re not well.’ You excuse, ‘There’s still medicine in you probably, Jim. I can’t.’

Jim’s fingers dig into your arms, ‘You’re not leaving me again.’

Your mouth drops open a little, ‘I didn’t want to-’ But there’s a storm in Jim’s blue eyes, something dark. Something you’ve never seen directed at you, in fact the only time it’s ever been present is when Jim outed Duncan. 

Jim’s kisses remain feather-light, dropping down your arm to kiss your hand, then he starts on the other side. You let him, caught up in this Jim, the boy you haven’t seen before lurking underneath. ‘What are you doing?’

His teeth sink down, deep into your neck and the gasp that leaves you is high, the pain making your legs shake on the bed, ’Claiming what’s rightfully mine.’ When he breaks away, the skin on your neck is already beginning to bruise. The hickey is in plain sight, for all to see. There’s no hiding it, not from Duncan or from Michael. 

It’s exactly what Jim wanted. 

TAGGING: @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @langdonsinferno @pastel-cloudz@misslanabananaa @lovelykhaleesiii napping-is-my-favorite @tickled–pinkmoodpoisoning@lvngdvns @ccodyfernn @asstichrist@yourkingcodyfern @langdonsdemon@satcnas @russianspacegeckosexparty @rosy-pugs @luxuryglitterhoe@langdonsoceaneyes @sodanova@petersfern-fics@avesatanormalpeoplescareme@sassylangdon @confettucini@sammythankyou @wroteclassicaly @Sloppy-Wrist @Langdonalien@alexcornerblog @sevenwondr @queencocoakimmie@sojournmichael @langdonsdemon@satcnas kinlovecody @kylosbabe @americanhorrorstudies@xxpixiefromdixiexx @elenareginaauditore @dadddysprincessss @gremlinkween@readsalot73 @astir-bread @i-will-die-for-jim-mason @ms-mead @mega-combusken@hanhanxx @kahhlo@thelangdoncooperative @sojournmichael@langdonsrapture @ritualmichael @cryptid-coalition @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26@infernal-langdon @jim-mason2@duncandimension @dark-jim@jimmlangdon @xtheinevitableprophecyx@moontheweirdpan @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown @bbyduncan @divinelangdon @theladynymph

[misstring]

Drunk (Timothy Drake x Reader)

Reader Gender: Never specified but was dating a female

Warnings: Angry outburst and drunkenness

Synopsis: Bars, Exes, and more. One comment to a supposed stranger turning into a reunion with an old friend.

“My ex? Yeah, I’d still hit that. Except this time it would be with a car or baseball bat,” I heard myself say. I know it's too harsh, but what am I to do; not only was I a bit tipsy, what she did to me was scarring. I will never be the same person again.

He laughs as though I didn't talk about murdering my ex in front of him. I take another gulp from the cup only fueling my own anger in the process.

"I mean, she used me to pay her bills while she was cheating on me. I barely was able to keep up with my own payments. I am now stuck in almost seven grand debt and I am only drinking myself deeper," I lift my cup to drink more alcohol to find an empty cup. I raise my arm to pour myself another cup but he stops me. I look into his eyes. Eyes that were so blue that they screamed foreigner in this country, not that that word didn't describe me, except his eyes were of a deep blue, pulling you in, all the while his handsome face empowered this longing, draw towards him. "Fuck off, man. Don't stop me from drinking," I shake his arm off and reach for the bottle again.

He stops me again, only this time with more force, "Look, it's not good to drink away anger, in fact, let's stop now and let's take a walk,"

"Who are you to tell me what to do? My therapist? Let me continue drinking," I tried shaking his hand off my arm but his grip kept it next to the table. "If it wasn't for your pretty face and the fact that I am developing a crush on you, I would have already decked you, so stop now before you cause me to snap,"

He pulls me up from my seat and I punch his face. He must've been made of steel or something because he wasn't even fazed by it. He pays for my drinks and pulls me towards a vehicle. "You really need some time to just talk,"

"Are you kidnapping me?" I incredulously ask him, but not resisting against him pulling me towards the car. It was a sleek black Lexus, not something you see in common around here, pulling eyes our direction as I ramble on about kidnapping and how it's illegal. He gets me in the car and puts the seat belt on me.

He sits in the driver seat and asks, "Where are you staying at? I'll take you there,"

"The Hangnam Hotel, but this is illegal and you can be fined for this," I repeat myself.

"I would rather you safe than passed out on the streets because you didn't know when to stop yourself. Plus I am also staying there," The car smoothly starts and sails down the streets.

Before I could regain a bit more of my common sense, we were already at the hotel. I get out before he does and meet the ground in a place in between life, death, and sleep and woke up to a minor concussion and headache the next day.

Light filtered in through the window and I woke up to an aching head and body, from who knows what I did last night. I got up from the bed and found that I wasn't clothed. I assumed the worst but seeing my clothes in the bathtub, with the smell of vomit all over them, it was obvious what I did.

"Oh, you're awake," someone says from behind me I turn to find him handing me a pill and a cup of coffee, "Aspirin and caffeine, should clear up that hangover of yours,"

I swallow the pill dry and I gulp down the not scalding but moderately warm coffee down. I hand him back the cup and he leaves to allow me some time to take a shower. When I got out, I find that whoever he was, he is thoughtful and placed some clean clothes on top of the towels. I get out dressed and cleaned.

"You need to go get your head checked up. You hit it on the floor quite hard," he stands in front of me.

For the first time since yesterday, his voice felt familiar. I look to see him in sweat pants and a sweater. His familiar face, finally clear in my head, matching up with--

"Tim!" I jump into his arms forgetting the reason we even separated.

“Kon told me about how you were holding up,”

“And you traveled to the other side of the globe because of it?”

“I just wanted to apologize, I was getting mixed signals from you and when--” he abruptly cuts off.

“No, it was all my fault. I knew I was sending mixed signals but I never cleared them up, I know how it would’ve become a confusing, convoluted mess. I made a mistake and there is no need for you to apologize,”

He buries his face into my hair, “Do you know how much I’ve missed you?”

I tighten my arms around him, “I’m sorry, I’ve missed you too much. The months of not talking because of a stupid argument wasn’t worth it. I don’t want to ever leave you again,”

----------Fin.

[diinofayce]

Shadows on the Horizon - 5

Pairing: Winter Soldier! Bucky Barnes x OFC! Layne Hardin | Word Count: 3.1k | Warnings: What happens when you drink too much alcohol in one go, a lil angst, a bit o’ fluff (for @suz-123 so she’ll stop yelling at me) | A/N: This is a sequel to my story Like a Whisper in the Night | Shadows on the Horizon Masterlist

Layne was floating in a thick cloud of nothing. Weightless and numb, held up by invisible hands as cotton filled her brain and mouth. Beneath the numbness was the pain, an empty deep void of pain, it threatened to swallow her whole. But it also promised nothing, it was a darkness that promised to swaddle her in the underwhelming sensation and keep her there, cocooned in the sadness and despair that she could turn into an icy knife and use to defend herself.

But then there was the physical pain. The pain that was caused by the fact that she felt like she couldn’t draw breath into her lungs. The dark void that she was falling into had become a lake and black water filled her lungs. All she could do was sputter and choke and cough, but she couldn’t draw air. Water was running from her nose and her mouth and no matter much she heaved she couldn’t get it out.

“Layne!”

The shout cut through the darkness and the fog.

“Jesus fuck. C’mon, Layne.”

She was being lifted, floating through the chasm of inky black…like Bucky’s aura…dark and thick and full of pain. But then there was a flash of light and the soft whirring of a vent fan and suddenly she was back in her bathroom at the Tower with someone forcefully shoving her face towards the toilet and foreign fingers invading her mouth and throat.

With a sharp clench of her gut she was heaving up whiskey and bile, sending it splashing into the toilet below her.

“There you go,” the deep rumbling voice behind her cooed.

“Buck?” Layne whimpered before her stomach clenched again and she was throwing up more.

“No, sorry,” Steve’s voice registered in her ears and she couldn’t help but feel the plummeting sensation of disappointment.

When her heaving started to show signs of black leaving her gut Steve clenched his jaw. “Friday, I need you to have Bruce bring activated charcoal to Layne’s room, stat.”

“Understood, Captain.”

“No, Steve,” Layne whined as she dry heaved a few times. Steve had her hair twisted in his large fist behind her neck as his other hand rubbed soothing circles in between her shoulder blades.

“Layne, that’s blood. You have alcohol poisoning,” Steve admonished.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Layne persisted as she threw up more black just in time for her apartment door to open again and slam heavily. She didn’t want to say that she’s had worse, didn’t want to admit that this wasn’t her rock bottom. 

Layne winced as Bruce barged in with a couple of bags of activated charcoal. He took one look at the situation before throwing two of the bags into the sink and ripping the third open with his teeth.

“Are you safe to sit back?” Bruce asked softly, his voice perpetually calm. Layne nodded and fell back on her butt, Steve moving with her so he wouldn’t yank on her hair.

Layne stared at the bag in his hand, the black goop rising from the torn top like black icing. But she could remember the taste, she had this once in the emergency room her senior year of high school. It didn’t taste like frosting at all. Dropping her jaw she let Bruce squeeze the charcoal into her mouth and with a heavy wince and swallow she forced the bitter gunk down her throat. Rolling her tongue around in her mouth as she tried to shake the taste free, but there was nothing quite like it and it stuck around in every corner of her teeth and in every pore of her tongue and cheeks.

She felt her stomach want to heave, want to eject the substance from her body but she forced it to stay down. There was no way she was going to let Bruce feed her another packet.

“What the hell, Layne?” Steve finally breathed and dropped her hair.

“I don’t understand, I didn’t drink any more than normal,” Layne answered drowsily, close to passing out again.

“You haven’t had anything to drink in nine months. You have a totally new liver by now,” Bruce said, pulling a penlight out of his pocket and shining it in Layne’s eyes. “Tolerance is totally gone.”

“Great, I trained that bitch up for years just to pussy out when I need her,” Layne grumbled, falling back against Steve’s chest.

“Are you going to throw up anymore?” Steve asked hesitantly, reaching forward to flush the toilet.

Layne shook her head slowly from side to side and Steve hooked an arm under her knees and one behind her back. “Well, then let's get you back to bed.”

Back in bed, Steve laid her on her side and braced pillows along her back. Bruce set a glass of water and some ibuprofen on her side table and a trash can next to her bed.

“Friday, alert both Dr. Banner and myself about any changes.” Steve murmured as Layne fell back into the inky blackness of sleep.

~*~

Layne wasn’t sure how long it had been since she had passed out again, her mouth still tasted bitter and dry from the charcoal and fuzzy from the dehydration of the alcohol. Groaning as she sat up she reached for the glass of water on her table and took the pills that sat out next to it, she was going to have to eat crow like crazy later. Looking out the window it had grown dark out and she fell back against her pillows, groaning when the fast motion made her head thrum and her stomach jilt.

She threw an arm over her eyes and took a deep breath trying to get the room to stop spinning. Why did she use to do this to herself? She never used to get hung over like this either…probably because she was usually sipping something alcoholic to keep the hangover at bay, but this was fucking terrible. She felt like death.

Suddenly, all the hairs on her arm stood on end and she sighed.

“Bucky quit skulking and come to bed,” Layne groaned, recognizing the feeling. But then the puzzle pieces all clicked into place and Layne sat up, wincing and pressing her palm to her forehead.

Her eyes swirled amber as her gaze darted across the room and settled in a corner that was a deeper black than the others. “Do Steve and Friday know you sneaked past them?”

“Steve fell asleep. He seemed distressed most of the day. The security here is not as good as they think it is,” the Soldier commented monotonously as he stepped forward from the shadows.

Layne’s eyes cooled, the black aura fading to be replaced by a face that Layne knew better than her own. The eyes still held a stranger, though, and her heart stuttered in her chest. He still wore his vest and tact pants from the mission and even though the obvious holsters were devoid of weapon, Layne knew Bucky - let alone the Soldier - well enough to know that there were at least four knives hidden on him somewhere and probably a gun of some sort.  

“Yeah, well, leave it to me to make a stressful situation for Steve even worse,” Layne mumbled and swung her legs out from under the comforter. Trudging over to her dresser where she had left behind a handful of clothes, she pulled the drawers open, wincing as the casters squeaked in the tracks from disuse. Digging she found an old extra large t-shirt, Coheed and Cambria printed on the on the front with 2016 tour dates on the back. They had run out of smaller sizes and so Layne had settled on an extra large because she refused to go to a concert and not buy a shirt from every band that played.

“Here,” she offered, holding it out to him.

The Soldier blinked at her and then looked down at the shirt in her hand. “I know Bucky doesn’t usually like short sleeves, I don’t know what you like. But it’s better than your bloody and sweaty vest. It should be loose enough to even keep your knife harness under it without Steve knowing it’s there. But please don’t rip it, I liked that tour.”

When he continued to stare at her Layne raised an eyebrow and shook it at him to take it, which he finally did while refusing to break eye contact. He looked down at himself and then back at her with a quirked eyebrow.

“Oh dear lord, I’ve seen it all before. Many times. You’re usually insatiable,” Layne huffed but turned her back to him.

The Soldier smirked as she turned away to pull her comforter off of her bed and he quickly removed his vest and sweat-stained undershirt and pulled the t-shirt on over his head. It had a lingering scent of clean linens, blackberry, and vanilla. Something inside of him stirred at the scent and before Layne could turn back to him with the comforter in her arms he took one more deep smell of the cotton.

Layne plopped down on her couch, pulling her comforter up around her.

“So the alert was about you?” the Soldier asked, still standing ominously in the corner.

“Yeah, it was stupid. Sit,” Layne commanded and without thinking the Soldier complied. Layne quirked an eyebrow but didn’t comment on it as she pulled the rest of the comforter up on the couch and threw it over his lap.

“What happened?” he asked a little awkwardly as he patted the down comforter over him, his brows knitting in confusion. He wasn’t used to people caring about him or for him, just what he could do for them.

“I think I almost choked to death on my own vomit. No big deal.”

Something inside of the Soldier froze, his blood feeling colder than every time he had been forced into they cryotanks. Taking subtle surveillance of the room he spotted sticking out from under her pillow a small clear bottle with a black label. Nothing was left in it, but he could only assume it had been alcohol. Whiskey, something whispered sadly across his mind.

The Soldier didn’t know what to say, he opened his mouth because he felt like he needed to say something. For once he actually needed to vocalize an opinion, but the one that was at the forefront of his mind wasn’t from him. It was from the other him and the Soldier didn’t feel like it was his place. He felt like he needed to yell at her, to grab her and shake her and tell her she was too important to be doing stupid stuff like that. He felt like he should feel betrayed because of a promise that was made that the Soldier wasn’t aware of. He felt like crying and apologizing for always causing someone emotional turmoil. But none of that was from the Soldier, so the Soldier stayed quiet.

“Why did you kick me out, Bucky?” Layne finally asked softly.

“I’m the Soldier,” he rasped.

“I know. You’re not the one that kicked me out, though. Even though, for the record, I’m never going to call you the Asset or the Soldier. That’s a weapon, a thing, not a person and that’s not who you are to me.”

The Soldier raised his eyes and locked them with Layne’s her eyes full of love and warmth and concern, everything that he had never seen except from the back of Bucky’s mind. But now it was him, she was still looking at him like he was her Bucky. He had watched her from the corners of Bucky’s mind for so long, watched as she tried to soothe the ghosts in his mind. Watched as Bucky loved her and watched her fight Hydra operatives without fear. She was strong and she was light and the Soldier is darkness. Bucky was terrified of the Soldier’s darkness polluting her, he wanted the Soldier far away from the light. Especially after he so brutally marked her with their most deadly weapon, the bruises on her neck taking on a sickly blackish purple as all the blood finally settled beneath her skin.

The Soldier flexed his vibranium fingers, the plates shifting and flexing, but she ignored the sound like it was so normal to her that she didn’t even notice.

Layne leaned forward, still keeping a respectable distance so she wouldn’t spook him. “Have you heard of Dissociative Identity Disorder?” Layne whispered like it was a secret.

The Soldier’s eyes dropped her mouth, where the dried cracks in her lips and the spaces between her teeth were stained back. Charcoal, he noted. He looked back up to her eyes and nodded slowly.

“Good,” Layne smiled softly. “I think that’s what this all is. I think Hydra took Bucky and they did terrible, horrible, painful things. They experimented on him and they hurt him so badly that he was begging to die.”

The Soldier was holding his breath, his eyes wide as he listened to the girl whisper secrets to him.

“I think you showed up. You took Bucky and you tucked him away, you protected him. You listened to what the men told you to do because it was better than listening to him hurt. You’re not a bad guy, Hydra are the bad guys. I think if you can give way to some of Bucky, if you can form a partnership with him, that no one would ever be able to hurt either of you ever again.”

“That’s not possible,” he rasped, his throat suddenly dry.

“Sure it is. When there is no threat, when there’s nothing that will hurt him, you listen to him. You take his lead. You let him kick me out because he said it was the right thing to do.”

“I hurt you, just like he said I would,” the Soldier bemoaned.

Layne raised her fingers to her throat and shrugged. “Superficial and my mistake. I came into your space spitting angry when you were probably already unsure of what was happening.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” The Soldier’s eyes shot over to the empty bottle tucked into her bed and Layne followed his gaze.

With a soft frown, she sighed and shook her head. “No, I did that. I’m a grown woman who makes her own decisions. You keep enough guilt on your shoulders, don’t blame yourself for my choices too.”

The Soldier nodded slowly, but Layne knew that she wasn’t effective in her reasoning.

“You should sleep, you can have the couch if you’d prefer. Or you can head back to the other room, it might prevent the panic in the morning,” Layne said softly.

“I don’t sleep. I can’t. They’re all too loud.”

The Soldier’s brows were pinched and Layne tilted her head to the side, contemplating her options.

“Bucky has that issue sometimes. Do you want me to make them quiet?” Layne offered, holding her palm out towards him.

The Soldier looked between her and her hand and then he did the one thing that solidified in her mind that the Soldier had always been there. Watching, waiting, learning. He leaned forward slowly and rested his forehead in her palm. Layne always held her hand out for the offer, but in the end it was always up to Bucky to accept it.

As soon as the Soldier’s forehead touched her skin it was like a bucket of ice water was thrown over her head and all of the breath escaped from her lungs. She opened her eyes and looked over the dunes of white snow. Trees stood tall and strong against her back, blocking the worst of the wind, while in front of her stood a cabin. The windows were yellow with light and a thin trail of smoke rose from a smokestack. She felt the Soldier step up beside her before she saw him and watched him trudge his way silently through the powder toward the cabin.

She followed behind, her arms crossed in front of her chest for warmth that she wouldn’t find against the cold that didn’t really exist. He slid up to one of the windows and peeked inside, not seeing a threat he shivved a knife under the window and popped it open without a sound. Rising the pane slowly he slithered inside, which Layne couldn’t help but think was impressive due to his size. But then she heard the screams.

This was a memory she hadn’t seen before and so she braced herself for what she might find before walking straight through the wall into the cabin. A man sat in a kitchen chair, crying and pleading in Russian as his wife and two children knelt on the ground at the Soldier’s feet. The Soldier moved like a ghost behind them and placed his Sig Sauer to the back of the mother’s head. She let out a cry and the man begged harder, tears streaming down his face.

Layne stepped forward and rested her hand on the top of the gun. The Soldier looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. He reached up and pried his mask from his face, mouth open to speak but no sound coming out. Because that wasn’t part of the memory. The Soldier never spoke.

“Sh. It’s okay. Sleep.” Layne reached up and tapped him hard with her first two fingers in the middle of his forehead. The memory rippled around them like water before disappearing completely.

As the darkness surrounded them the Soldier’s gear melted away. Layne watched as the gun in his hand melted into the nothingness below them and when she looked back up there was her Bucky, in his red Henley and his favorite pair of black sweatpants.

“What are you doing, doll?” he asked, his voice sounding absolutely broken.

“It’s okay, James. I see you. I’ve always seen you.”

“He could hurt you.”

“You’d never hurt me. I trust you,” Layne reassured, just like she did the first time they laid together naked in her room together.

“I love you. It’ll be okay,” he promised.

“I know,” Layne smiled sweetly. “We’ll talk again soon, but you both need to sleep right now.”

With that, he faded into the black and Layne opened her eyes again, this time she was back on the couch. The Soldier’s head was tilted back on the back of the couch, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling softly. Layne stood and grabbed one of her pillows, placing it on one end of the couch and then carefully lowered him down to it, covering him with the comforter.

She pulled the empty bottle out from under her pillow and sighed, her head was pounding twice as hard now from both the hangover and traipsing around in the Soldier’s head. Tossing it into the bin she crawled into her bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. She stared at the Soldier’s face, watching him sleep until at some point sleep pulled her under again.

[punkassrichie]

yo for the prompt ask, some angsty 49+50 that ends in not quite angst, but not quite fluff if that makes sense? like reddie or stenbrough or bichie or whatever works?

i have no idea how long this has been sitting in my inbox and i apologize but here it is !!! i also decided to go with Bichie because it’s such an underrated ship and i loVe it!!¡

oh, and… i made it more angsty than fluffy bc apparently fluff just doesn’t flow with me *shrugs* and it’s longer than i wanted it to be but hope you still like it!

Bichie + 49. “I’d rather die.” + 50. “Please… I need you.”

Warnings: angst, mentions of abuse, suicide attempt, underage drinking, vom-vom

special thanks to @trashmoutheds & @trxshmouth-t0zier bc they helped me (STEPH HARDLY DID BUT WHATEVER STILL LUV U SNAKEY SNAKE) anyway, ily guys and thank uuuuuuu 💖

(if my html tags don’t work i’m gonna kms k bye)

—

Richie’s had enough.

It wasn’t enough when he already had shitty, neglectful parents, but he also had untreated ADHD which really put him on edge sometimes and even though he knew he was book smart, he was still failing his classes simply because he can’t concentrate most days. And half of the time, this was okay to Richie. He could live with this.

But then he thought he couldn’t live with heart break.

He thought Eddie felt the same. He really did.

He confessed his feelings to him, in hopes that the smaller boy would feel the same. But he didn’t.

Some may say the boy is exaggerating, but Eddie was the only thing keeping him happy. Along with the other losers but they didn’t make him happy like Eddie did. He didn’t love them like he loved Eddie.

Richie was in love with Eddie.

Problem was, Eddie wasn’t in love with him. He loves him sure, but Eddie isn’t gay.

Eddie tried to let him down the best he could, which Richie appreciated, but it still hurt. It really fucking hurt.

He cried himself to sleep that night.

But very deep down inside of him, he knew that it was okay. That he couldn’t do anything about it and Eddie would still be his best friend forever.

He got a glimmer of hope, that he could live knowing Eddie didn’t feel the same for him.

Until the one time his alcoholic parents decided to finally notice him, Richie wasn’t in the mood. They were putting him down, telling him he was good for nothing and he wasn’t going anywhere in his life. His mother always reminding him about how she wanted a daughter instead of him. Richie stood up to them for once, causing his father to beat him to a pulp. His father told him to never disrespect him or his mother again when he was done.

It had been a few days since then, almost a week. Richie hadn’t been going to school, partially because his face was bruised and he didn’t want people, who didn’t care, asking questions.

But mostly because he was thinking about just… ending it all.

Sure he had his friends who loved him to death, but even then he thought– no, knew, that they were getting sick and tired of his jokes. Of him.

Since things were getting bad fast, he turned to his coping mechanism which was to be as inappropriate and as loud as he could be. He couldn’t help it, truthfully, but his friends didn’t believe that.

Every time they hung out it was “Beep beep, Richie,” this, “Beep beep, Richie,” that. He couldn’t take it anymore.

He thought everything would be better if he was just gone… forever.

So he decided. He was going to kill himself. He couldn’t take it. The constant pain. He didn’t have anyone he could turn to. Eddie used to be that person but now Richie thinks Eddie is disgusted by him. No, he knew that he was.

He walked over to his bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. His parents had different kinds of stuff. Richie knew that if he took enough, he would succeed.

In the back of his mind, he knew that there was a way to fix this. He knew he could just talk to his friends and maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

But he didn’t want to seem weak. He didn’t want to seem like he needed anybody. He’d rather take the pills than show any kind of emotions to anyone. Last time he tried doing that, he got rejected. And it still hurt.

But maybe… just maybe…

“I’d rather die.” Richie whispered to himself as he thought it over one last time. And it was true. He would rather die than talk about his feelings, just to be rejected again. He looked at the bottle of pills, knowing that it was the only way.

He took them with a small bottle of whiskey his parents had in their liquor cabinet.

He took a whole bottle of pills, and after a couple, he was already feeling a bit dizzy. But he kept going until he was finished with the bottle.

He went back to his room to lay on his bed. He was panting and sweating, his insides feeling stiff and his stomach feeling queasy.

He hadn’t realized he still had the empty bottle of pills in his hands until he clutched it against his chest.

That was the last thing he remembered before blacking out.

His last thoughts being, “This is the only way. The only way to make it all go away.”

—

Bill had become worried of Richie lately. He knew he was dealing with a broken heart, but he didn’t think it was bad enough for him to miss a week of school.He asked Eddie if he knew where he was but he didn’t. He hadn’t talked to him since Richie told him how he felt.

And if Eddie was being honest, he felt a little weird to be around him. Maybe they just needed some time apart, he thought.

Bill knew what went on in his house, just like Richie knew about Bill. Their parents were both neglectful but Richie’s were worse. They both knew that.

Ever since Georgie died, Bill had been relying on Richie. Richie was his shoulder to cry on. His ear to listen. Richie was always there for Bill. So much that Bill didn’t realize that no one was there for Richie. He tried to be, but Richie always avoided the subject of talking about his feelings. He only ever talked about his parents on two occasions with Bill because he wasn’t in his right mind.

He grew incredibly concerned and knew something wasn’t right. Bill decided to go to Richie’s after school.

He biked over there as fast he could, barely saying goodbye to the other losers.

When he arrived, he threw his bike on the lawn and ran to knock on the door.

Something definitely didn’t feel right.

It took him a while to notice that his parents weren’t even home.

He tried opening the door but it was locked. He settled for climbing over a window that was opened in the kitchen, hoping that both of his parents were actually gone.

He didn’t have time to catch his breath because Bill really did had a horrible feeling about this whole situation.

And when he walked into Richie’s room, confirming his bad feeling, he started freaking out and crying.

He still doesn’t know how he knew but he didn’t have time to figure it out. He could see the empty bottle of pills from a mile away in Richie’s hand, so he had to get them out. He rushed over to Richie to see if he was still breathing, but he couldn’t tell. He started shaking up and shouting his name to try and wake him up.

When Richie wouldn’t wake up, Bill started bawling. But he couldn’t stop. He had to figure something out.

Before he knew it, Bill was basically dragging Richie to the bathroom.

It took him a while but he got there. Richie’s body didn’t feel like he was dead. It was still warm.

Bill propped Richie up the best he could over the toilet bowl as he stuck his fingers down his throat.

Nothing was coming up at first, making Bill lose his small glimmer of hope.

”Please… I need you.” Bill sobbed as he desperately tried to get Richie’s gag reflex to act up.

Suddenly, Richie started sputtering and throwing up the pills.

Bill sighed with relief.

“Yeah, t-t-there you go, b-buddy… Get them o-out.” Bill sniffled as he rubbed Richie’s back.

In the middle of Richie’s retching, he began sobbing.

“I’m so sorry, Bill.” Richie hiccuped.

Bill held him the best he could and cried with him.

“It’s okay, Rich. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

—

After nearly an hour of Richie throwing up, crying, and apologizing, Bill got him to clean up.

While Richie was in the shower, he cleaned up the bathroom and himself since vomit went everywhere, then went to Richie’s room. He looked for some clean, dry clothes for Richie to wear when he got out of the shower.

Bill placed the clothes on Richie’s bed and headed downstairs to make some tea for Richie. He figured Richie would have an upset stomach after what happened.

When he was done, he went back upstairs, careful not to spill the hot tea on the floor or himself.

He entered the Richie’s room to find Richie laying on the bed, sobbing softly with a towel around his waist.

Bill felt his eyes well up with tears again but he knew he had to put his feelings aside. He had to be there for him like Richie had for a long time.

He placed the hot mug on Richie’s bedside table and walked over to Richie to put his arms around him as tight as he could. Bill knew all he needed was a good cry. Just to let it all out before he was okay to talk about it. Even if he didn’t, Bill would still be there for him.

Eventually, Richie calmed down. Tears were still in his eyes but he stopped shaking.

Bill didn’t know what to ask. How to ask. He couldn’t ask him if he was okay because he clearly wasn’t. He was feeling horrible and didn’t know how to comfort him.

“I️-I️ thought the pain would stop… But i just made it worse.” Richie let out a gut wrenching sob at the last word of his sentence.

“It’s okay, Rich.” Bill breathed out, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “You’re okay. Everything will be okay.”

Richie turned around and hugged Bill back like his life depended on it. He thought he was done with the sobbing, but yet, there he was, crying into Bill’s chest as soon as Bill laid beside him.

And Bill just held him until Richie fell asleep.

—Tags: @spicyymoon–lovve @whipashwhipash @eddie-kaspjack @rainy-kaspbrak @theperksofbeingawallflwer @richie-n-eds @eddiekaspbraklives

[forbiddenwords]

Stranded (Chapter 5)

Written By: TheHeathenSlave Rating: Mature for plane crash, injury, survival, desert island, stranded, drug usage, drinking, alcohol, awkward flirting, voyeurism, watersports, fetish, sexual tension, extreme illness, graphic, puss, wound cleaning, surgery, vomiting, oral sex, fluff, angst, romance, drug usage, assault, near death, happy ending.  Fandom: Real Person Fiction (Hours Era But Modern Day)

She never thought that a trans Atlantic flight could end in perfect paradise with David Bowie. Well…almost perfect paradise.

Previous Chapters.

When she woke up, she was still naked so it wasn’t an issue to get out of the tent and go pee. She didn’t go as far from the tent as she actually could because she figured David was asleep, or he wouldn’t care. She didn’t know. After that, she grabbed some soap and shampoo from the supply they had found and went to the water. It was warmer than she expected it to be for that early time of day. Refreshing too. It probably wasn’t the best idea to use soap in the ocean, considering the chemicals, but she wasn’t going to walk around dirty and smelly all day. It took a while to wash her hair since it was so long but she felt so much better after doing it. Coming out of the water she saw David. The hand with the wrap had also been covered with a plastic bag she’d found to keep it from getting wet. Mostly. It was damp around the edges but it wouldn’t fall apart and it wouldn’t need to be wrapped again. He was naked too, didn’t seem he cared much about it. She certainly wasn’t going to complain. He had a very nice body.

“Morning.” She said to him and pulled the bag off of her arm. “Should I try to find some sort of breakfast before heading out to explore?” She asked him.

“Sounds good.” He said and took the soap from her.

“Be careful of your side…wait…” She stopped him and leaned in to look at it. The swelling wasn’t getting any better. “You will take those antibiotics right? I mean when we eat? They may upset your stomach and-”

“I’ve been on plenty of antibiotics in my life I know how this works. I’ll be fine.” He said then kissed the side of her head. She gave him a look but walked back onto the beach. After drying off a bit, she found some cleaner clothes that had dried and would somewhat fit her and pulled them on. She didn’t mind staying naked but they didn’t find sunscreen in any of the bags. There was some bug spray, which who knew if that would work on the freaky tropical insects here but it was worth a try. The clothing would protect most of her from the sun and the bugs. Especially if she was going to go in the area with the most habitation. She wasn’t sure how she was going to convince him to stay there. He needed to rest with that gash in his side. Walking around and risking hurting himself further would not be a good idea.

Once she was covered up she found a brush. She brushed out her hair and braided it, using a rubber band to keep it together at the bottom. It was the best she could do since her clip had fallen apart on her and there seemed to be a lot of ordinary rubber bands hanging around in their stuff. They weren’t hairties but as long as she used them while her hair was still damp nothing was going to get caught or too damaged. She found another can of soup but that was it. There were a few containers of instant noodles that hadn’t been ruined but that would require fresh water having been boiled. Because of this she got out some packs of beef jerky. They could share the soup and that, it would give them energy and at least help him heal a bit.

He didn’t take nearly as long as her to get clean and was back just as she was trying to figure out how to get the can open with a knife. Something she would have been fine doing should she have two hands. She looked at him pathetically and he smiled then took the can and the knife and opened it for her. She put it on the rock that she was heating and held out the jerky too. Which he opened and took out a piece. He started to look through the clothes as he chewed and she watched him. He still hadn’t said anything about his side hurting even though she could tell with his limited movement he had to be in a lot of pain. She went to the narcotics stash and got out one of them. She also got two of the antibiotics as she had prescribed and brought them over to him just as he was pulling on a T-shirt. The Aladdin Sane one she had found but not told him about.

“Uh…”

“I know what’s on it, I wanted to fuck with you.” He said, “Does it look good?” She laughed and nodded her head.

“Yes but you look better now than you did then. No offense.”

“None taken because I agree.” He took the pills and swallowed them one by one then pulled on some shorts. They absolutely did not match the shirt because they were neon pink. Only David Bowie would be able to find the weirdest stuff to wear on a deserted island.

“You are an interesting man.” She said.

“What?” He asked and sat by the fire.

“Those are…not shorts for a man.” She told him and sat down too. She checked the soup. It was warm enough so she quickly moved it to the sand so the can could cool to a point where they could touch it and it could be consumed.

“And?”

“I just thought that part of your life was over.” She shrugged.

“I don’t give a damn they are comfortable.” He said, “You’re wearing a shirt for a man you just…tied it to cover your tits.”

“Okay I get your point.”

“Good.” He grinned and looked back into the brush covered area. “So for the record you didn’t care that I saw you take a piss this morning.” She blushed and looked away from him.

“You implied you were into that yesterday.”

“Maybe I am.” He said still being cryptic about it. Part of her, the psychiatrist part which dealt with sexual behavior (since she worked in sex crimes) understood the psychology of the voyeurism fetish. She’d never exactly seen the appeal in her own brain, until now. Something about the way he spoke, maybe how casual he was, she didn’t know. She tested the can again and it had cooled off. Luckily the metal wasn’t thick so it didn’t take long to heat nor did it take long to cool.

“Maybe I want to watch you next time.” She said finally.

“Hell you can hold my cock for me.” He laughed.

“You think I’m your slave?” She laughed back.

“You would be if I asked you to.” He purred in a seductive voice. She looked down again and said nothing taking a sip of her soup. He was right about that and it pissed her off as much as it excited her.

“Well, let me be your slave and go exploring in those woods for you.” She said, “You stay here and rest.”

“But I-”

“I also know what antibiotics do to your stomach and…well, do you want me around for that?” She asked him.

“Everyone poops you know.”

“Not everyone wants to be around for it.” She said and handed over the soup.

“I guess that’s true…never saw the appeal in watching that myself, but I know it’s a thing. Right?”

“Why are you asking me?” She laughed.

“You seem to know a lot of things. What branch of the FBI do you work in anyway?”

“Uh…”

“Come on now, you’ll talk to me about everything else but not that? Is it classified? The X-Files? Something like…oh you know that Twin Peaks show?” He asked and took a few mouthfuls of the soup. She sighed, of course she didn’t want to tell him now, it was embarrassing now. Maybe earlier it wouldn’t have been. She drew some circles in the sand for a moment and looked back at him.

“Sex crimes.”

“Oh really?”

“Look it’s not nearly as sexy as you think it is.” She warned.

“No that’s not what I was thinking. Of course the actual crime aspect has got to be horrid. I can’t even imagine how you still get horny, however you said you are a psychiatrist and then you tell me you work in sex crimes, which means that any kink I could possibly have isn’t going to shock you, is it?” He asked. She felt her face flush and she tried to blame it on the sun, not on the fact she was getting aroused by him. Most men never reached that conclusion. In fact, a lot of men she dated only wanted to hear about the crime part because they found it interesting, like some sort of TV show. The other people she dated well they just couldn’t look at her the same after they found out because all they could think of was the crime part. It was rare for her to meet anyone who didn’t care or, well, thought like he did. In fact, she was pretty sure he was the first person, man or woman, to instantly draw that conclusion over these bits of information.

“No you really couldn’t shock me. Even if I’m not into something–”

“That’s why you are so casual about the whole voyeurism piss play thing isn’t it?”He asked, “You aren’t even into it, or at least you didn’t think you were. Not until now, but you were okay with it because you understand the psychology behind it, don’t you?”

“That’s true, yes.”

“You aren’t opposed to it either, are you?”

“I guess not, there are worse thing that–”

“I think you are going to learn a lot about yourself on this island.” He grinned and held the soup back out to her. She took it and drank a few more gulps then held it back out to him and stood up. She found a bag to pack with some water, a few snacks, and a small first aid kit. She was also going to pack some of the fishing gear just in case she found a fresh water place to fish. If not, then she would attempt to do it in the ocean but that was going to be much harder.

“I think you are going to be surprised about what I already know and what I am into and you may learn a lot about me.” She said as she packed. He watched her and she could tell he was mostly looking at her ass when she bent over. The jeans she had chosen were a bit too tight but they still fit fine enough to walk around in. All she had in way of shoes that would fit her comfortable were some sandals she found so she was going to have to be very careful about walking around out there.

“I think I can read you pretty well so far, or would I be wrong to say that?”

“No, you wouldn’t.” She said, “Maybe you should have been a profiler.”

“Maybe you should have been a singer.”

“You hit your head remember?”

“Yes but I’m David Bowie I could convince people that hitting a cat with a violin was music.” He laughed and finished the soup. She laughed a bit too hard at that, because it hit her in just the right way. He wasn’t even wrong that’s why it was so funny and it was something she could see him doing, sort of. Not actually beating a real cat but putting together sounds and other things that mimicked that effect and writing a song to it. “What?”

“It’s funny because it’s relatively true.” She said, “Now, I’m going to head off and you are only allowed to come look for me if I am not back by sunset. Okay?”

“Fine, mum.”

“Good.” She said. Once the stuff was gathered she headed off, she was going to miss him not coming along but what was best for him now was rest. Hopefully, within a few days, there would be some sort of search team and that would be the end of that. She was getting just a bit nervous that he was going to get sepsis before they could be found and she wouldn’t be able to ever treat that even with the half of a bottle of antibiotics that she had.

She walked for what she calculated was about a mile and going north according to the sun. The last thing she wanted to do was get lost. Every few yards she would make a mark on a tree with the knife she had brought to help find her way back if just going south completely failed. About an hour into this hike she definitely heard running water. It had to be a waterfall. This renewed her energy a bit and she hurried towards it, still remembering to mark her way as she did. She wasn’t disappointed when she eventually came to a clearing and saw a large waterfall. Running water. Well, moving water. It was going to be fresh too. Something that could be collected and boiled and she wouldn’t have to remember how to do the whole thing with boiling saltwater to consume it.

She rushed over to the pond area and saw fish in the water which was far more clear than she had expected it to be. This was good too, it meant it was more clean. Not that they could or should drink it as it was but after boiling it wouldn’t taste gritty or like soil. She sat by the side of the pond and splashed some of the water on her face. It was damn hot out there, she hoped David was okay where he was without her. She smiled and moved more towards the cliff where there was shade and leaned up against it to rest. Her eyes closed. She heard chimes. Just for a moment. Her eyes opened. That wasn’t right, was it?

Her hand moved to her forehead to see if she could possibly have a fever, any signs of heat stroke that would also cause her to hallucinate. No, didn’t seem to be the case. The noise had stopped though. She started to relax again but there was a breeze. There were the chimes. Those were wind chimes if she ever damn heard them. Nothing in nature made that noise. Not unless it was put there by man. She stood up but the breeze had stopped. Damn. She waited, and waited, the breeze blew again. She heard them and moved towards the noise.

This was a very long process. It took her a few more hours. Every few yards still marking trees because now she wasn’t going in a straight line, now she was trying to find the source of the noise. It was maddening. As it turned out, she was eventually led to the remains of a stone path. It was very worn and mostly covered with vines and plant life but as she followed it, it got more and more obviously a path and less and less part of the jungle. When she actually found the source of the noise it was bittersweet. The house was run down enough that it was obvious there was no human there. At least not living. There was a possibility she’d find a body in there, which made it good that she had found it alone. The house also seemed self sustaining. As in, it had to have been built because whoever wanted it out there wanted to have privacy. There were wind generators, though vines had grown over them so badly that they weren’t doing much to generate a damn thing. She moved and cut them away quickly hoping to get them going to build up power because she could see light bulbs, the problem was that it didn’t mean they worked. However, there were electronics in the bags with chargers, some of them would surely still work if they could get power to them. Maybe a phone or something to actually call for help. Once she had done that, she headed inside.

“Hello?” She called. Which was kind of stupid, but on the off chance there was a person in there she didn’t want to startle them or get shot or something. The place was in a bit of disarray. A layer of dust covered everything and if it wasn’t that, it was moss. Not too bad though. It was mostly clean. She checked every room, not that there were many, and found no sign of life anywhere. Nothing that indicated that anyone had been there in a decade or two, including the stuff in the kitchen. She went through a bunch of the cans left there, potentially some of it could be good, but it would be risky. The expiration dates were all from the 80’s and that was over 20 years ago now. Well, so what? There was a pond not too far with fish and something resembling running water. She’d have to check and see if the wind generators might power a pipe system or something. It wasn’t working now, but there were faucets in there, a bathroom, a shower and a tub and even a toilet, which thankfully was mostly clean and not backed up with shit or whatever.

The ‘backyard’ though over grown was also clear. There was a grill back there. Rusted. Could possibly be cleaned. God, this was going to save their lives for the time period that they had to be there. The one bedroom had a large bed and was stable it could support weight. She just wasn’t entirely sure she was okay with using a mattress that had been used by lord only knew who and had god only knew what on it. Whatever she could figure that out later. She started to quickly head back towards the beach camp so she could inform David. It wasn’t too far back, now that she actually knew where it was. They could have all of their stuff moved out there by sunset and stop to pick some fruits on the way. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad there after all, as long as David could power his way through that infection if help didn’t arrive in time.

  Next Chapters.

[pagesofkenna]

Hemophobia

Trans male Juno Steel, irregular menstruation, hangovers, unhealthy binding practices, suicidal thoughts (I put out a call for irregular menstruation cycle experiences to help me research for this fic, and I wanna give a shout out to everyone who responded because it was a lot more than I expected, and it really helped!)

[Also on Ao3]

Juno hated blood even on his best days; waking up drenched in his own was nothing short of a nightmare. He could feel it before he saw it – a visceral tear of muscle against muscle deep in the pit of his stomach – and the smell made it obvious these weren't just hunger pangs. It didn’t help that he was hungover, too.

The blood was a recurring nightmare, Juno’s worst. There was no rhyme or rhythm to it, no way to guess when his body would betray him absolutely, and no way to stop it altogether without expensive medication or surgery. All he could do was try not to pass out again from the pain, or the sight of the red spread on his sheets.

He couldn’t remember the last time this had happened – months ago, at least, which felt like years ago. He couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do about it. Out of instinct he crawled off the mattress – his insides protested painfully – and towards the bathroom door. The blood was still spreading down his trousers, the same ones he’d worn to the office the last three days. They’d have to be burned.

In the bathroom Juno fought the urge to vomit. The pain meds he stored under the sink were probably expired, but he dry-swallowed to pills anyways and pulled himself into the shower. His head pounded, from the alcohol last night, and how fucking bright the lights were, and all that blood everywhere, and the smell.

He started the shower before bothering to undress, and sat there – he couldn’t stand yet, not in this state – letting the water wash over him. It was almost freezing but somehow the sensation helped. Below him the water marbled with red streaks, and Juno stared up at the jet of new water to avoid looking.

The blood would start coming faster now, Juno thought weakly. The shift from horizontal to vertical, and gravity. Better to get this ordeal over with – worse to live through. He might as well sit under this shower spray for the full week, or however long it ends up taking this time, for all the good he is to the planet. Maybe the pain will finally do its job and he can just die here. Who’d even notice the difference?

Except that Rita’s definitely gonna call if she doesn’t hear from him in an hour. And his com’s in the other room.

With shaking hands Juno stripped off his shirt, then braced against the wall so he could work on the trousers. His boxers were even worse off, the stain spread so far he had to shut his eyes and take a few breaths before he could even touch them. The clothes all fell in a wet heap by the drain. After a moments hesitation he unzipped the binder as well, and flung it over the curtain rod.

He stayed in the shower for at least twenty minutes – or thirty, he couldn’t tell how much time was passing – before shutting off the water. The headache had dulled and his hands shook significantly less, but his gut still twisted in on itself, and he sat on the toilet to rest. There were a few spare boxers under the sink with the pain meds, along with the menstrual pads that felt like wearing a diaper. He almost vomited again just getting them on.

He called Rita from the floor by his bed.

“Hello?” She sounded understandably confused. He never called this early.

“Hey, Rita, it’s Juno,” he said. His voice came out more hoarse than usual. Even if Rita hadn’t been the one to drag him away from his fifth bottle last night, she’d hear the hangover in his voice. “Listen. I’m not gonna make it to the office today.”

“See, boss, I told you to go straight home after that fight last night but did you listen to me? No. You just had to go all—”

“It’s not that,” he interrupted quickly, “it’s….”

His voice trailed off. Rita knew what was wrong but he didn’t like telling her. Didn’t like saying it. He tried for a moment to think of a reasonable excuse, and failed.

“There’s blood,” is finally all he said. “Lots of blood.”

“There’s-? Oooh.” Juno could hear her wincing through the com line, and he sighed. “Do you need me to come over? I can get some of that tea stuff I saw in this commercial that’s supposed to help—”

“No,” Juno interrupted again. He was half-naked on his bedroom floor, fighting off the abdominal pain and nausea as it was. The last thing he needed was infomercial tea. “No, I don’t need you to come over. Just take the day off—”

Now it was Rita’s turn to interrupt. “No way, Mistah Steel,” she said. He could hear scuffling over the line, like she was grabbing her things, then the sound of a door opening. “You just sit right there and I’ll be over in less than ten minutes, OK? Don’t move. Do you still have that heating pad I gave you?”

Juno didn’t remember any heating pad. “Sure,” he said.

She showed up in twenty minutes, according to the time on his com. Not that Juno was keeping track. He hadn’t moved except to fish a shirt out from underneath the bed to cover himself up somewhat. He tried to stand up when the apartment door opened but his insides wrenched and his head swam, so he settled for sitting up against the edge of the mattress. The blood smell was so prevalent he almost didn’t notice it anymore.

Rita came in with what must have been shopping bags by the sound of it, and left them in what passed as his kitchen before making her way to his room. She stopped in his doorway, and said, “Mistah Steel, that’s a lot of blood.”

“Yeah I know,” Juno grumbled. Talking hurt but what else was new.

“Are you… feelin’ OK?” she asked.

Juno sighed. “No Rita, I’m dying.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that, Mistah Steel,” she said quickly. He heard her moving to the opposite side of the bed, and the mattress started to shift. “For all I know you could be dying – I’ve heard stories, you know? Real live stories, people in so much pain they pass out, then you choke on your own saliva or something.” She pulled one of the loose sheets out from under his shoulder.

“What are you dong?” he asked.

“We gotta get these sheets washed, right?” The bedding slipped off the edge of the mattress, the elastic edge loosening beneath his back. “You let it sit too long and it can stain real bad, Mistah Steel, and it gets too – where’s the plastic?”

“Plastic?”

“Aw, look what you’ve done!” Rita practically wailed. “I told you, you’re s’posed to wrap the mattress in plastic to protect it! Now it’s all gone and ruined, it looks so awful—”

“It doesn’t matter what it looks like,” Juno said. “That’s what the sheets are for.”

Rita sniffed, and it wasn’t too hard to believe she’d actually started tearing up. “Mistah Steel, you’re joking, right?” she said.

“Rita I’m gonna vomit,” he responded.

“Oh don’t you dare, Mistah Steel. I’ve got enough to clean up here without you making a mess on purpose. Move.” She tugged the last of the bloodied sheets off of the bed – Juno leaned forward to get out of her way – and rolled them into a bundle on the floor. “I’m gonna soak this in cold water until I can get them down to the laundry room, OK?”

Juno grunted in response. He close his eyes and willed the cramping sensation in his abdomen to subside, tried to force his body to actually behave for once. The water in the shower started up again, and Juno wondered how hard it would be to force himself to pass out on the floor. Passing out sounded like a great idea.

“Mistah Steel,” Rita called from the bathroom, her voice slow and laced with concern. Juno opened his eyes, and saw her looking at him through the doorway. She held up the binder. “You didn’t fall asleep in this last night again, did you? I told you a million times—”

“Rita, I’m really not in the mood.” He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the bare mattress.

Surprisingly, she stopped talking.

After a few minutes Juno lay down on the floor again, too exhausted to keep sitting up and curious if stretching his stomach would soothe the pain. Absently, he thought he should probably cover up his bare legs – Rita was no delicate spirit but it seemed rude – and finally settled on dropping a flat, worn-down pillow over his thighs. The painkillers weren’t doing anything.

Sleep eluded him but time still passed. The shower shut off and Rita left for the kitchen, and after several minutes she came back, holding one of his old mugs. “You’re gonna have to sit up to drink this,” she said.

“Is it scotch?” he asked.

“Very funny, Mistah Steel.” She held out a hand to help him into a sitting position, and frowned when he quickly pulled his hand away. “Maybe you should move to the couch,” she said. “It’s softer than the floor and you could sleep until you’re bed’s ready.”

“And get blood all over my cushions too?” Juno asked. “No thank you.” He took the mug and it smelled awful – all warm and sweet and slightly fruity. He’d have to dump it when he got up to use the toilet.

“Suit yourself,” Rita said, and she turned back towards the bathroom. Juno rested the mug on the pillow in his lap and listened as she stomped the excess water out of the sheets in his shower. She reappeared moments later, and caught him staring. “You better be drinking that tea, Mistah Steel,” she said with a glare. “I didn’t come all this way to have you ignore my sound health advice.”

“Shit, Rita, you don’t have to baby me,” Juno said. He tried to give her a weathering look, but he was probably grimacing too much from the pain. Rita just frowned.

“Mistah Steel,” she said, “I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

She wouldn’t leave, so he took a sip to appease her. It tasted just as awful as he expected it to, but the heat spread into his stomach, and a tiny knot of muscles started to relax. He scowled as if that had made it worse.

“That’s more like it,” Rita said. She took her self-satisfied look with her to the kitchen, and came back moments later with a large trash bag that Juno realized would double as a laundry sack. He watched and she trailed it into the bathroom, then came out with all the bloody evidence bundled inside, the bulging sack slung over her shoulder like a dead body. He didn’t even realize he was sipping the tea again until he saw her grin.

“I���ll be right back,” Rita said to him, “so don’t you dare lock the door behind me because I can already hack the locks open anyways. You’ve done it before and it never works.” Juno thought warily that he didn’t even have to energy to stand.

She turned to leave the room and just before she was out of sight Juno said, “Rita.”

He didn’t think she’d even hear, but she stopped and turned to look at him. “Yeah, Mistah Steel?”

His head felt light and his insides were shredding themselves apart, and all he wanted to do right then was crawl into that space underneath his mattress and die. His grip on the mug tightened. “Thanks,” he said.

His eyes were shut tight, so he could only hear the smile in her voice when she said, “You’re welcome.”