#so just lay in bed and fall in and out of consciousness while you semi watch netflix

[lyriumsings]

fever finally broke from 101 to 99 praying tomorrow i can finally enjoy not being buried under school work

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

WIP Wednesday

(The next bit of chapter 12 of Soldier, Poet, King. Do I feel supremely guilty that I haven't been working on it but I've been working on my secret project whenever I have the energy? Yes 🥺)

--//--

It feels like roughly five minutes later when there’s a fresh jab between his ribs and Nie Mingjue growls low in the back of his throat, thoroughly pissed now. “Meng Yao I swear to god if you elbow me one more time–!!”

“Don’t ‘Meng Yao’ me, stop snapping and just let me up,” his partner hisses as if he hadn’t been the one to glue himself between them in the first place.

Nie Mingjue tightens his arm around Jin Guangyao’s waist and forces his dry, aching eyes open to try to figure out what’s going on now. Jin Guangyao is attempting to glare at him while twisted around from where he’s still laying on his side, his cheek creased with rumpled lines from Lan Xichen’s t-shirt.

“I can’t let you up, I’m holding Xichen so he doesn’t fall.”

“What??” Nie Mingjue stays still as Jin Guangyao wriggles one arm free to pat his hand down the length of his arm from shoulder to wrist, right down to where his hand is tucked under Lan Xichen’s waist to keep him looped safely in his grip with Jin Guangyao.

“See?”

“No, I can’t see anything, I’m too busy suffocating in Huan-ge’s tits.”

“And whose fault is that?!”

“My loves, I adore you. I will destroy you both if you don’t stop arguing right in my ear before sunrise.”

“Huan-ge, please let me up,” Jin Guangyao says perfectly politely and with no jamming of elbows into Lan Xichen’s soft tissues. Nie Mingjue leans in to bite his ear in irritation for the unfair treatment before Lan Xichen groans and rolls off the edge of the bed (relatively gracefully). The release of pressure feels like heaven and Nie Mingjue happily flumps down face first into the blessedly empty bed the second Jin Guangyao follows Lan Xichen upright, his limbs starfished as much as they can be on the twin mattress.

“Where are you going?” Lan Xichen asks around a jaw-cracking yawn as he rubs blearily at one eye.

“To sleep in the other bed.”

“Why?”

“You two are making my skin crawl,” Jin Guangyao mutters with a shudder. Nie Mingjue flips him off without lifting his face out of the pillow, but Lan Xichen makes a quiet noise of distress.

Nie Mingjue turns his head just enough to be able to speak legibly. “Don’t listen to him, A-Huan. He’s embarrassed he cried on us so he’s being a bitch. Go sleep in the other bed with him.”

Jin Guangyao swats at the back of his head a little too sharply for it to be playful, so Nie Mingjue reaches out blindly to smack his ass, definitely also too hard to be entirely playful. Lan Xichen knocks his hand away with his hip when he steps in between them to keep them from retaliating any further.

“Stop it, both of you. A-Yao just..stay here for a moment, I will be right back.” Silence descends again as Lan Xichen slips out of their room into the hallway and Nie Mingjue lets himself drift fuzzily in and out of semi-consciousness, still reveling in the unexpected space that okay, yes, he understands why Jin Guangyao wants as well. He loves his partners, he really really does, but now that some of the fragility from their Drift has worn off he wants to breathe.

[bluedragonbooks]

Adjacent 12 of 25

Normally, you administer Sleeping Syrup under the tongue, and it works through the soft part of the mouth; 3 drops usually takes a count of ten to work.

Stabbing someone would put it straight into the blood, which should be quicker ... except it was 3 drops mixed with equal parts Spruce Resin.

Spruce Resin is good for wounds, you can mix it with things and have it stick to the wound and the bandage and let the medicine work slowly; but normally it's mainly resin and only a bit of medicine.

Hopefully, putting it straight into the blood would offset any delaying effect cause by mixing it with Spruce Resin.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just lay on the bed, but stay sitting up. I don't want you standing, because if this knocks you out quickly, I don't want you to fall on the floor."

I was aiming to simulate shooting an arrow into the shoulder of some beast; "Tell me as soon as you feel anything unusual"; and then I stabbed him in the meaty part of his upper arm and held the barb in place.

"Does 'Ow' count?" He said.

I started counting. I got to five before he said "I've gone all tingly, and my vision is blurry"; by ten he was slumping "I can't stay up ... I'm falling"; by twenty he was sound asleep, and I removed the barb.

The effect wasn't as strong, but it ended up lasting longer. After 4 hours I could shake him to semi-consciousness, but he went out again almost immediately; it was the same at 8 hours, gently pinching him didn't rouse him, nor did pricking him with a pin.

It took 12 hours for him to come out of it completely, but by then he was no more dozy than someone who was just a heavy sleeper ... someone like Elric.

I think I just invented a better form of Sleeping Syrup.

...

I reported the results at breakfast and sent Gerry and the Wizard in search of a suitable bow and the requisite arrows.

Then I set up my production line; I diluted the 2 measures of Mother to 10 with Brandy; and then mixed in 10 of Spruce Resin over a low flame; then I left it to cool and thicken. Next, I readied some goose grease and beeswax in a bowl over a low flame and prepared squares of linen.

My plan was to smear one measure of the poison on each arrowhead, and wrap it in linen coated with goose grease and beeswax. The mixture of line, grease and wax should protect the poison mixture from the air, keeping it potent. The linen would keep it bound, but would need to be removed before use.

But before I did all that, I planned to make a few without poison for so we could test them and practise first.

...

They came back with hunting arrows, the type used for large game which tho square and angular are vaguely spoon shaped. The recess would serve to hold the poison and should carry it deep into the flesh.

I prepared several with just Spruce Resin and wrapped in linen, let it cool then handed it and the bow to Gerry.

"You'll need to pull the arrow from your quiver, transfer it to your bow hand, remove the linen and then nock it and shoot, and make sure you don't cut yourself.”

It took forever, precious seconds slipped away while he fiddled with the linen, and he ended up putting the bow down and using both hands.

"Why do we need the linen?" asked the Wizard.

"If the poison is exposed to air, it will gradually weaken; the linen holds beeswax and grease to keep the air out."

"What if you left it on, the arrow would surely push through it when it struck flesh, it's not going to be any stronger than a shirt." prompted Elric.

That had merit. I sent Elric to the butcher in search of a pig shoulder; so we could test the theory.

…

When he returned, we tied the shoulder to a tree and Gerry marked off 50 paces. Both arrows hit their target and buried themselves in the meat, and the tree.

Sure enough the linen had torn thru and mostly remained near the entry point; almost exactly like a shirt would do in a normal wound.

I used my knife and sliced into the meat next to the arrows; there was a clear line of Spruce Resin contaminating the wound, with only a small amount remaining in the arrowhead; meaning the poison would be spread through tissues and mix quickly into the blood.

I cleaned up the meat, and gave it to the cook to make us a good stew for dinner.

Then I poisoned 20 of the arrows, and re-fletched another 5 that were not. The re-fletching was so Gerry could find them by feel and by sight, and I added a strip of leather to his quiver to keep them separate. I told Gerry those 5 were for practise or hunting; we couldn't eat anything he shot with one of the poisoned arrows.

I also cautioned him that any man or horse shot with the poisoned arrow would fall into a killing sleep and be dead within minutes and there wasn't anything I could do to save them.

"And if I cut myself, I'm probably a goner too?"

"Maybe not, the edge is clean of poison - I made sure of that; and the wrapping will protect you somewhat now that you don't have to unwrap them; but there is no safe exposure - so be careful; I'm kinda fond of you."

"I'm kinda fond of me too." he said. I just looked at him. It took a second before he realised what I’d said and blushed.

"Oh, you were being romantic, sorry, I'm fond of you too."

[mindshelter]

on writing prompts: how bout timkon (platonic or romantic or the muddy in between they're laying in) + ttk shenanigans?

(also just wanted to say i loooove your timkon fics, they're the few i reread every so often bc the characterization and the dynamic you write for them Hits. hope you're having a lovely day!)

Hands slide up Tim’s face, large thumbs stroking his cheekbones in slow swoops. Water is still beading at the tips of his hair, gravity willing it downwards. The fog is clearing, heat sinking towards tiled flooring, but the temptation to sleep blurs the edges of his consciousness.

“Don’t fall asleep here,” Kon says, clearly attempting to sound stern—but Tim can imagine Kon’s scrunched-up grin even as his eyelids flutter and fatigue reduces the world to little more than a muted smear.

“Mm,” says Tim, head tipping forward. He hasn’t been able to afford a good night’s rest for nearly two months, rationing sleep on rooftops as a teammate kept watch or in the quiet of a fusty motel room close to their target, nodding off as a computer program dug up files like scraping char off a pot. Espionage work is as gratifying as it is long and soul-destroyingly boring. Being attacked from behind with a knife was the biggest highlight of the assignment aside from finishing it and going home.

The delicate pressure begins at Kon’s fingertips, wicking the excess moisture where they touch Tim’s skin. They slide upwards, smoothing back the clumps of hair clinging to his forehead. Tim shivers when Kon reaches the nape of his neck, gliding over an island of scar tissue. The nerves there are either semi-healed or beyond repair, oversensitive at some spots, numb at others, all overlaid with leather.  

Kon had his palm laid over the small of his back and a smile against his mouth, the first time Tim let himself be touched like this. His hand had continued to meander before it gathered some courage to wander upwards. Unhurried and light, giving plenty of time for Tim to pull away. Tim had waited for the familiar feeling of insects crawling over him—but a hush had fallen inside of him.

Before he knows it, Kon is taking a step backwards. The distance is still short enough that Tim’s legs still flank either side of his hips.

“Is being able to sleep anywhere and everywhere part of spooky’s training regimen?” Kon asks, giving Tim’s hair another ruffle. “Alongside ‘how to hang upside down,’ intensive endurance, strength and martial arts training? Mastering the crabby grunt?”

Tim grunts.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Kon says, dragging out the first word. “I bet Bruce made you practice sleeping upside down, with all those bats in your cave. Stick with the theme, you know. My working theory is that it’s mandatory. Only after you’ve inhaled enough bat guano fumes to lose your mind—then you’re ripe and ready to hit the streets.”

“That’s just me, Conner,” Tim mumbles. And the repeated head trauma, probably.

Tim’s body lifts off the bathroom counter—and then the counter is upside down, as is everything else in the en suite. The bend of his knees dangle off of Kon’s outstretched arm, but it’s the TTK wound around him holding Tim steady. Tim yawns, but wraps his arms around himself in the best mimicry of the actual animal he can manage just to hear Kon laugh.

The things he does for love. “I am the night,” Tim says.

Kon chortles before flipping Tim back upright—Tim lands in his arms, and he rolls his eyes as Kon elbows the light switch and unceremoniously kicks the en suite’s door open to cross the short distance needed to reach Kon’s bed. It’s on the smaller side for two grown men, but Tim can’t say that he minds.

There are a few thin, faded strips of moonlight threading past the window curtains. Kon chose an East-facing room to get the most sun in the morning. The bedsprings squeak and whine as Kon drops their combined weight onto the mattress. TTK rearranges the duvet over their bodies while hands draw Tim in by the waist; Tim wriggles to nuzzle closer.

This kiss tastes of spearmint. Tim is sure Kon is listening for his pulse; he can hear it too, loud, steady, and just as well as the soft breaths Kon releases as Tim licks into his mouth. It’s perfect, even if Tim’s exhaustion is apparent in the way their teeth clack together.

Tim can’t see Kon properly in this darkness. But he traces Kon’s jaw, his browbone—indulges, luxuriates in the softness of Kon’s hair, the rise and fall of his chest, his golden heart—

“Missed you,” Kon murmurs once they break apart. Tim uses the last dredges of his energy to leave one more kiss between Kon’s eyebrows.

It’s so warm under the covers, his limbs tangled with Kon’s. Like they made their own hearth.

He never wants this to end.

Tim’s more than terrified that it might. (It will, part of him insists. He’ll come to his senses; it’s just a question of when.) Good things rarely last, and Kon won’t ignore the rot inside of Tim forever. 

In the meantime—he’s happy, pursuing the indomitable challenge of being enough, and is entirely too selfish to walk away from this.

Kon’s happy too, Tim thinks; sadness always paralyzes him. Tim becomes volatile—and so, so angry—but Kon prefers to vanish, making himself scarce and quiet if he could wish himself away.

He’s been singing, lately—off-note, but Tim never says a thing. It’s only as it started happening again that Tim had realized it used to be a regular habit of his. His laughter is loud again, booming down hallways, no longer fearful of taking up space.

It’s Kon’s turn to yawn. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Tim says. “You,” he amends.

__

thank you for the prompt, anon! i had fun with it, and hopefully it’s to your liking. i think i adhered to the ttk theme enough dsksls <3

i’m accepting fic prompts; details here!

[spencers-renaissance]

Emergency Contact

Summary: When Spencer ends up in the hospital again, his emergency contact — who happens to be his boyfriend, Luke Alvez — is called. Too bad he hasn't told the team about him yet...

Tags: whump, h/c, hurt spencer, broken ribs, coming out, relationship reveal, protective derek, team as family, fluff, au: different first meeting

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Spencer Reid // (heavy on the Derek & Spencer friendship, too)

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Okay, so Emily was not in S11, but for this fic she is, because I wanted supportive Penemily and that's what I gave myself. Other than that, this fills the square "broken ribs" for my Bad Things Happen bingo card. Enjoy the whump mixed with fluff!

Spencer doesn’t mean to get hurt again, but he also isn’t exactly surprised when it happens. If anything, Hotch really needs to stop sending him out to scope places and suspects out by himself. Surely Tobias Hankel proved he’s a trouble magnet in that regard years ago.

The summerhouse the suspect rents is a nice enough place to lay incapacitated while he waits for back-up, he supposes, but he’s not exactly able to lie and enjoy the sunshine when his ribs have been smashed in with a metal baseball bat and he knows the suspect is currently hightailing it down the beach. Not to mention the fact that it’s worryingly difficult to breathe.

Still, it’s better than a dilapidated cabin in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere Georgia, pumped full of heroin while his feet are whipped. Small mercies.

“Goddamnit, Spencer, again?” Derek asks amusedly when he finally arrives and crouches down by his side, but the undercurrent of worry in his voice doesn’t elude him.

“Sorry,” he wheezes, still winded and in immense pain from the ambush. “I didn’t see him coming.”

Derek raises a brow, chuckling slightly. “Yeah, pretty boy, I figured that.” His hand goes to Spencer’s hair as his expression furrows in concern again. “Did you see where he went? I’ll send the others after him while I go with you to the hospital.”

Spencer smiles a little, relieved that he won’t be alone. It’s become a strange sort of tradition to sit in one another’s hospital rooms after the job kicks their ass, and he’s glad Derek isn’t about to break it now.

“I saw him turn right out of the backdoor, but that’s all,” he says breathlessly, before cringing at the effort and folding in on himself even more.

“Okay, Spencer,” Derek says soothingly. “Just relax. The ambulance will be here any second.”

He obeys and closes his eyes as he listens to Derek call Hotch on the radio and send the team in the right direction before coming back to sit next to him on the floor.

“This might be one of the nicer places one of our unsubs has owned, huh?”

Spencer nods, mirroring Derek’s morbid amusement. “Crime pays better than investigating it,” he manages, smiling up at his friend.

He snorts. “You can say that again. With the way the market’s turned in the last couple years it’s more like this is my hobby and my properties are my day job, rather than the other way round.”

Spencer tries to reply, but he moves involuntarily in amusement, and a fresh wave of pain has him wincing again, trying to will the tears away.

“You’re alright, Spence,” Derek says gently, his hand returning to his hair. “Help will be here soon, okay?”

Thankfully, the medics do show up in a semi-timely fashion, and both of them are loaded into the back of the ambulance as the EMTs check him over, Derek’s hand not leaving his person unless it absolutely has to.

“How many times were you hit, Dr Reid?”

He cringes. “Four.” It’s almost embarrassing that the unsub got four hits in, and the only reason there weren’t more is because he was fleeing the scene, not because Spencer was able to fight back. He tries to remind himself that there isn’t much you can do when caught-off guard by a furious arsonist armed with a steel baseball bat, but his ego is still bruised. Albeit not as badly as his poor ribs.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Derek mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on Spencer’s shoulder minutely enough for him to know he isn’t doing it consciously.

Spencer smiles appreciatively, closing his eyes against the pain. The non-narcotic painkillers they’re feeding him through the IV really aren’t doing anything.

“I think you’ve managed to avoid internal bleeding,” the EMT says, all though he tacks on a pointed, “just. But I’m concerned about the possibility of a punctured lung. There’s a chance your trouble breathing is solely pain-induced, but I don’t like the way your chest sounds. The doctors will check everything out when we get to the hospital, and get you all patched up.”

“Hold in there,” Derek says urgently. “I really can’t have you dying on me, pretty boy.”

Spencer smiles as comfortingly as he can through the immense pain in his chest and his mangled breathing. “Trust me, I don’t intend on it.”

The x-ray reveals two broken ribs and confirms the paramedic’s suspicions of a punctured lung, although thankfully, minor enough to not require surgery. He’s set up with oxygen and regular nurse check-ups in a quiet room after the doctor is able to remove the excess air in his chest cavity.

“How are you doing, Spence?” Derek asks worriedly as he pulls up a chair next to Spencer’s bed as soon as he’s allowed to see him.

He pulls away his oxygen facemask to answer. “A bit better,” he says, but his voice is dry and raspy from the oxygen so he certainly doesn’t sound it. “The pain meds are actually working now.”

Derek’s tight, anxious expression relaxes slightly. “That’s at least something.”

Spencer nods tiredly, but before he can respond, a nurse is popping her head round the door. “Dr. Reid,” she says genially, “sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know that we’ve managed to get a hold of your emergency contact, and they’re on their way.”

Spencer’s eyes widen. How could he have forgotten? Granted, he was a little preoccupied with the whole punctured lung, broken ribs thing, but how could he have let it slip his mind that this little accident would lead to the secret he’s been keeping under wraps getting out?

When he’d first met Luke at an FBI gala last year, he never could have foreseen the most intimate and special relationship of his life coming to fruition, but it had. They’d connected on so many different levels, and the chemistry between them felt like something out of one of the fantastical romance novels Penelope reads, and when he’d asked if it was okay for Spencer to put Luke down as his updated emergency contact, he’d been rewarded with a wide, beautiful grin and a firm, heartfelt kiss.

It was serious enough, sure, and they were coming up on having been together for a year, but besides Emily and Penelope — who’d met Luke and developed an amusing, playful rivalry with him — he hadn’t introduced him to anyone on the team.

“On their way?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow in mild confusion. “Isn’t your contact Hotch? He already knows you’re in the hospital.”

Spencer just stares at him like a rabbit caught in the headlights, completely blanking on something to say. They’re working a local case, so it won’t be long before Luke is bursting into his hospital room armed with cuddles and comfort, and as much as he craves that, he’s too busy panicking about his team finding out to really look forward to it.

Eventually, after watching Derek’s face morph into even stronger, more suspicious confusion, he gives up. They’re going to find out anyway. “I’m dating someone.”

Derek’s face lights up. “Pretty boy!” he exclaims happily, playfully pushing his shoulder as gently as he can. “That’s amazing! Why didn’t you say something? What’s her name?”

Ah. That’s the primary reason he hadn’t told his team about Luke. He’s nowhere close to being ashamed about his sexuality, he accepted himself decades ago, but he’s still not worked up the courage to share that part of himself with his team. Excluding Penelope and Emily who have been together for years (he’s still baffled as to how the others haven’t caught on yet), everyone’s in the dark.

It had started as a basic survival tactic. He’d joined the FBI two years younger than the standard entry age in the early 2000s, and he was far too concerned with just getting by than living outwardly as a gay man. And then, as time went by and he knew his team was accepting and welcoming, he found it too awkward to try and correct people when they assumed he was straight. There just wasn’t ever the right time.

“I’m gay.”

Derek’s happy expression falls and for a split second, Spencer feels a flash of panic. Maybe Derek’s okay with gay people as long as they’re not his immediate friends, as long as he doesn’t playfully call them ‘pretty boy’ and play with their hair when they’re injured, maybe—

“Well, what’s his name, then?”

Spencer looks up from his panic, seeing Derek smiling again, eyes maybe even brighter than they were just seconds ago.

“Wait—”

“Spencer, if you think I’m gonna care that you’re gay — if you think any of us will care that you’re gay, then you have another thing coming,” Derek reassures him. “Wait, that isn’t why you didn’t tell us right?”

He suddenly looks distraught at the idea that Spencer might not have felt comfortable coming out to him, and Spencer rushes to correct him. “No! No, I know everyone would be fine with it, I just didn’t really know how to say it. Penelope and Emily know, but only by accident.”

Derek relaxes, chuckling a little. “I’m sure there’s quite a story there.”

Spencer blushes. “Maybe.”

“I’ll find out later,” he says confidently, winking at him, and something in Spencer loosens at the fact that Derek hasn’t changed his behaviour at all. “But I’m more interested in Mr. Sexy Emergency Contact Mystery Boyfriend Man right now.”

Spencer outright laughs at that, before wincing painfully as his ribs twinge, and he has to fit the oxygen mask around his face again and breathe deeply for a couple of breaths before the nasal cannula can suffice again.

“I met him around this time last year at an FBI gala actually,” Spencer manages. “Everyone on our team bailed except Penelope, Emily, and me. He’s called Luke and he works in the Fugitive Task Force. We just clicked as soon as we met, you know? We have this chemistry that I’ve never felt with anyone before, and we started dating pretty quickly. We actually moved in together last month when his lease was up, but we’re thinking of moving to a bigger, nicer place in Mount Pleasant. Luke’s actually had his eye on this one house that went up…”

He trails off when he notices Derek looking at him strangely, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “What?”

“Nothing,” Derek says gently. “You just look happy, pretty boy. When you started talking about Luke you got this happy, dopey smile on your face, and I’ve just never seen you like that. It’s nice.”

“Oh.” He blushes fiercely at the acknowledgement of just how soft he is for his boyfriend, but it’s not embarrassing, he’s just ridiculously happy and head over heels in love.

Still, feeling a little awkward at the attention, he raises the oxygen mask to his face just for something to do.

“Does he treat you well?” Derek asks seriously, suddenly looking like the FBI tough guy he really is.

Spencer grins and nods, pulling the mask away again. “So good. He’s one of those people that looks out for everyone before himself, you know? He listens to my rambles and tangents like he actually knows and cares about what I’m saying, and he insists on making me every meal we’re both home for. Every day off, he brings me breakfast in bed, and he’ll even suffer through my documentaries even though his favourite thing to watch is action movies. He’s the best boyfriend I could hope for.”

“Good,” Derek says fiercely, even though he’s smiling just a little at the thought of Spencer being taken care of. “But if anything ever changes, I won’t hesitate to—”

“Spencer?” Derek’s interrupted by the door flying over, and a very harried looking Luke Alvez rushing towards the bed, seemingly not noticing the man literally threatening his death right next to him. “Oh my God, Spencer, I was so worried, I thought—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer says, voice still a little weak. Can’t he at least sound convincing when he’s trying to tell these people that he’s fine? “I’m okay, I’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“Are you sure, baby? Do I need to get the doctor? Have they been looking after you, because I swear—”

“Luke,” he laughs, interrupting his worried tangent. “I’m fine, I promise.”

He watches amusedly as Luke sags with relief. “Oh thank God,” he breathes, and it’s then that he appears to notice Derek. “Oh, shit.”

He looks to Spencer with an alarmed look in his eyes, knowing full well that he isn’t out to his team yet, but before apologies can start dripping off his lips, he rushes to fill him in.

“It’s okay. I told him.”

Luke’s face brightens in an illuminating smile, his eyes wide and happy. “You did? I’m so proud of you, cariño.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Derek says, rising from his chair to shake Luke’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you in the last ten minutes.”

Luke grins. “All good things, I hope.”

Derek winks teasingly at Spencer. “Oh, better than good. Spencer here seems quite gone for you.”

He blushes again, but Luke just sits on the edge of his hospital bed and takes his face in his hand. “Well, I’m just as gone for him as he is for me. Probably even more so.”

“No way,” Spencer protests as vehemently as he can with an oxygen mask glued to his face again. “I definitely love you more.”

His words are half swallowed by the mask, and half muffled by the gaggle of FBI agents pouring into his room, all talking over one another loudly.

Luke jumps off the bed and stands to attention as they all quieten down, three of them in complete shock, one of them — Emily, recognising Luke — in anticipation of what’s about to happen.

“Uh,” Spencer starts unsurely, eyes flicking between his boyfriend and his team. “Meet my boyfriend?”

There’s a brief pause before everyone jumps into action again: Emily greeting him warmly, JJ introducing herself, and Hotch and Rossi giving him firm, threatening handshakes as a warning that no harm is to come to their pseudo-son.

Spencer knows they don’t have to worry about that, though, not with Luke, and they’re quickly shown that when he takes his rightful place sat on the edge of his hospital bed again, hands smoothing his hair gently.

“Thank you,” he says to Derek, voice soft and sincere as everyone’s sat leisurely around the room, doing their own thing now they’re calmed down after the initial meet and greet, “for taking care of him. I worry about him, you know, and it’s good to see that he has so many good people looking after him.”

“We all do,” Derek replies, looking over at Spencer fondly. “We’re all incredibly overprotective. Residual effects from him joining the team so young, probably.”

“I can see that,” Luke smiles, looking over at Hotch and Rossi, who still have their eyes trained on him, despite having warmed up to him quickly.

“Well between us all,” Emily interjects diplomatically, “I think we have Spencer covered. He has a lot of good people looking out for him.”

Spencer knows they all think he’s asleep, but he can’t help but say something. “I definitely do,” he slurs tiredly, causing Luke to quickly turn his attention to him, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead as he runs his fingers through his hair with the hand not intertwined with Spencer’s. “Love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Luke murmurs. “And so does everybody in this room.”

Smiling softly and feeling safe as anything, Spencer finally gives into the heavy pull of tiredness, and lets himself drift off to sleep.

I'm such a sucker for coming out fics omg, I hope you didn't mind that element! But God, I've missed writing Ralvez fics. If anyone has any Ralvez prompts then please send them my way because I want to write them so badly but I really find it hard to find plot for them! <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @spencerspecifics @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @ropoto

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

More drugged villain please?

Okay so I did not know if this was an ask for a new piece, or a continuation of Paying For It. Because I already am planning on Paying For It Part 2, this is going to be a new piece, so ladies and gents I present to you *drumroll*...

Villain Pursuit

@shydragonrider

Warnings: drugged whumpee, tranq dart, needles, fever, tired characters, chasing of whumpee, bullet wound, guns, infection, descriptions of injuries, knocked out by blunt force, kidnapping

*not edited, sorry*

~

"He is getting much weaker," Hero reported as she stood in front of her boss, Superhero. "His right leg is very swollen and he can hardly walk, much less run. I believe it is infected and-" a yawn "- and he can hardly walk in a straight line anymore."

"Then, why didn't you grab him if he is this easy?" Superhero asked, ignoring his employee's obvious signs of exhaustion- it has been a long, rough two weeks of chasing a villain across multiple states. One of the other heroes managed to shoot his leg in hopes of incapacitating him, but the slippery villain somehow walked it off. Or, he did and now the wound was badly infected.

"He disappeared into a crowd," Hero replied. "I think it's time to chase him down and sedate him or something. If he continues like this, he is going to die."

Superhero nodded curtly in agreement. "Okay," he sighed. "We go out there and we do not rest until Villain is safetly behind bars."

Hero narrowed her eyes at the bluntness in Superhero's voice, but decided that her boss was just tired. She also reckoned that was the reason he didn't mention the infirmary as Villain's first destination after capture.

He was just tired, right?

《~~》

"Okay," Hero said, adjusting the tranq gun on her belt. "There he is."

Villain was laying against the steps to a door in an alleyway. His head was thrown backwards against his shoulder, eyes cracked open in semi-consciousness. His injured leg was stretched out whereas the other was curled up in an attempt to use some leverage to support himself. One arm was propped to keep himself upright, the other strewn to the side.

"He looks horrible," Teammate commented, chewing nervously on his lip. "I doubt its going to take much to put him out."

"Yeah, me neither," Hero agreed, feeling a rising nausea in her stomach. The pair crept towards the injured villain. Hero glanced over to see more heroes also advancing to corner the man.

But, at the last moment before Hero was able to shoot the dart, Villain saw them. He scrambled up his feet, leaning heavily against the door and swaying wildy. He looked over all the heroes, before turning and running off.

Hero cursed under her breath and sped after the hobbling villain. For a moment, she felt absolutely sorry for him. He could hardly stay on his feet, his right leg not even stepping that much on the ground. She could hear his pained groans from where she was.

Hero stopped running and drew out her tranq gun. Whispering an apology, she let the dart fly.

The feathered dart hit Villain directly in the side of his neck. He stumbled a bit, the drug already taking effect. He made an awkward circle- more of an oval- before collapsing backwards on the ground, his arms limply trying to break his fall, but they failed. His head crashed into the ground, leaving him laying in a motionless heap.

Hero grimaced. She never saw someone go down that quickly from the tranq gun before.

She walked up to the villain, crouching down and staring at him. An odd mixture of defeat and relief expressed itself on his unconscious face. Hero sighed, running a hand through her hair, before taking a look at his swollen leg.

The bullet that previously imbedded itself in his leg was gone, leaving a very infected gash. His whole calf was twice the size it would normally be- due to the infection and the fact that he seemed to have a badly sprained ankle.

"Finally!" Teammate exclaimed, sitting down exhausted next to Hero. "I was getting to the point of just shooting him and being done-"

"Look at this," Hero gestured towards his leg. She pressed into the flesh, it wasn't like he could feel it. It was burning hot.

"Yeah, looks nasty. I'm gonna call Superhero and then let's get him to the infirmary," Teammate said and went to call their boss.

Hero positioned herself by Villain's head and placed it in his lap. For some reason, even though he was incapable of realizing her presence, she felt a call to comfort him.

"It'll be okay buddy," Hero whispered, brushing the unwashed hair out of Villain's face. "Just hang on for me, will you?"

Superhero came within a few minutes, oddly without the aid of doctors and nurses. Hero watched with a perplexed look on her face while Teammate shrugged, also very confused.

Superhero smirked down at the unconscious man, nonchalantly using his foot and shoving his shoulder over. Villain rolled deeper into Hero's lap, his muscles devoid of any resistance.

"Well good job my heroes," Superhero said in an annoyingly chirpy voice. "Help me get him into my car, and I'll take him to the, uh, infirmary."

Hero nodded curtly, but really she found this odd. Why was Superhero taking Villain? What if Villain woke up? Maybe he meant for Teammate and Hero to join him in the ride and just harmlessly forgot to mention it?

Teammate and Hero loaded Villain into the back of the car and buckled his limp body up. They had him in a sitting position with his leg dangling over his chest, arms lazily lying at his sides.

"Thank you so much, guys. Really, great job," Superhero applauded in an interestingly quick voice. Hero smiled back and prepared to ride shotgun.

"Wait! No, no, no," Superhero chuckled nervously. "Honey, why don't you and Teammate go home and get some sleep. You two have been working incredibly hard."

Hero detected the tension in her boss's voice, but chose to ignore it. Truthfully, she was too tired to argue and the thought of collapsing on her bed and sleeping was too tempting. She stepped back and Superhero got into his car and drove away.

《~~》

"It's been a week Hero," Teammate spoke over in between sips of his morning coffee. "A week and no signs of Superhero, we can't visit Villain, and the agnecy is a mess."

"Yeah, kind of odd," Hero agreed, looking out the window and across the busy street. She took a lip of her own coffee and glanced bavk over at her partner. "Maybe we should call him."

"Yeah." Teammate nodded, then a mischievous grin dawned on his face. "You do it," he challenged.

But Hero was not in the mood for games. She flipped out her phone and dialed her boss's number.

"Hey Hero, how are-" cough "-you." The superhero on the otherside of the line sniffled.

"Are you sick boss?" Hero asked, brow furrowing in concern.

"Yeah, just the flu. Nothing serious, just miserable."

Was it Hero's ears playing tricks on her, or did Superhero's voice seem suddenly much less congested?

"Oh well I'm sorry. Rest up and we'll see you next week."

"Is everything okay Hero?"

"Yep all good."

It was not all good. Hero hung up and looked over at Teammate. A wordless conversation passes between them and they both hustled to their feet and practically ran out the door.

Superhero lived on the outskirts of the city in a vintage farmhouse. Hero's sport car felt very out of place in the picturesque view of the red barn and old tractor.

Teammate knocked on the screen door and stepped back. Hero tried not to notice, but he had a gun with him.

"Coming! I'm coming!" Superhero's clearly not sick voice rang out. Hero heard the poudning of footsteps before Superhero, dreased in a sweatpants and a tank top, opened the door.

His face paled at the sight of his employees.

"Oh, hey ack. What brings you here? I said I was totally good," Superhero chuckled, tapping his fingers against the doorframe.

"Cut the bull Superhero." Teammate drew his gun. "Where is Villain?"

Hero was shocked. She didn't really piece two and two together, but it seemed like Teammate did.

Superhero had Villain.

"No where. What makes you think-"

Teammate brought the barrel of the gun to Superhero's temple, knocking him out. He immediately rushed over and stuck his boss with a needle.

"What?" Hero asked, astonished.

"I'm always prepared. Never trusted that guy anyways," Teammate replied, turning his nose up slightly at Superhero's sleeping form in amusement, before rushing into the house. Hero followed.

They found Villain unconscious on the floor of the basement. His arm was strewn over his face, bruised and bloodied.

Hero ran over and took one look at the villain an immediately knew that he was in reallt bad shape. The original infection seemed to be drained, but it was still quite pussy. Also, the swelling did not yet go down.

Teammate grabbed Villain's arm and turned it over to reveal tiny holes. Hero swallowed. He has been drugged, she realized with a shudder.

Teammate, without another word, scooped Villain into his arm and carried him back up the stairs. Hero followed, stunned into silence.

When they came across Superhero's peacefully sleeping form, Hero brought her heel down onto his nose. With a satisfying crunch, it broke.

"Serves you right," Hero whispered, voice dripping with malice.

Teammate had Villain lying in the backseat of the small car, his bad leg resting against his jacket as a pillow. Hero scooted in next to him, laying his head on her lap. "Okay, let's go," she said and Teammate droved to her house.

The first thing the two did was get the disgusting, soiled articles of clothing off Villain's partially starved body. He immediately started to shiver, convulsions overtaking his body.

"Okay, he need to be warmed up," Hero said. "Bath?"

"No, wrap him in warm blankets and then sit with him on the couch. I need to tend to this leg ASAP," Teammate said, voice completely focused and monotoned.

Hero did as she was told, swaddling Villain in a fluffy beige blanket. She laid his upper body across her lap as Teammate went to work on properly draining the abscess. Villain didn't stir and Hero got worried. She checked his pulse finding it too fast and erratic to be normal.

"Okay done." Teammate cleaned his hands off on a paper towel and doused the wound with antiseptic. When that was done, he wrapped the gash in thick bandages.

Hero clutched Villain, dragging him closer to her. Waking up slightly, he nuzzled his face into her arm. Then, he stilled again, asleep.

"What are we going to do about him?" Hero whispered. "Superhero won't let us get away..."

"I know." Teammate rubbed his eyes. "That's why I am going to pack and we are running away."

[maidleviathan]

I had a seizure this morning and now feel like crap so please take these short hcs of the Obey Me boys trying to help (this is my desperate bid to comfort myself ok leave me alone)

Lucifer

- Looks calm but absolutely panics. He just sees your eyes roll up into your head and you drop without warning, and for a horrible second he thinks you died

- Is smart enough not to grab you while you're seizing and just kneels beside you as it plays out

- When you resurface he scolds you in typical angry protective mama Luci fashion, asking if you're alright, angry that you worried him but so relieved that you don't seem to be injured

- Does some research afterwards and learns how best to help you if it happens again. Is much calmer the second time, and if it's not too violent, will hold your hand until you come back

Mammon

- Yes he's the one that cries, what about it?

- Listen. He loves you a lot, ok? Watching you suddenly lose consciousness and start, quote, "thrashin' around like that!" made him think you were doing death throes

- When you come to he's bawling, a total mess, hollering for his brothers (*cough* Lucifer) to come help you and begging you not to die

- Is clingy for DAYS afterwards, practically hovering over you and insistently holding your hand any chance he gets. Refuses to let you out of his sight and even spends the night in your room

- Never really gets used to your seizures and always panics a little when it happens. Is always a bit misty eyed at the end, because he really fucking loves you and would be devastated if you died on him! So no dying, ok?!

- Makes you promise not to die on him 🥺

Leviathan

- The first time it happens you two are squirreled away in his room, playing some new video game that he'd been eager to get his hands on. You suddenly get a really terrible hot flash and your whole head starts tingling, and you barely have time to warn him. "Levi, I'm gonna-" and that's all the further you get before you're slumping over

- You land semi on his shoulder, semi in his lap, and he jerks his arm away all confused, demanding why you're getting all touchy all of a sudden!

- Then notices that you're seizing and freezes on the spot. He just completely shuts down. Leviathan.exe has stopped working. Kind of blindly staring at you in horror because he has absolutely no idea what to do, what's going on

- He remains stiff as a board until it passes, and can barely squeak out an, "Are- Are you ok? Normie? H-Hey, no dying in my room! Not in game or irl!"

- After you explain what happened, he readjusts his floor gaming set up. Adds more pillows, and gets you a big comfy beanbag chair. That way, if it happens again, he doesn't have to worry about you falling or hitting your head

- Reads up a little bit on seizures and their cause (i.e. he specifically seeks out a manga that has an epileptic MC and takes it for fact, but. He's trying) and tries to make sure you don't come in contact with any crazy flashing lights or drink too much alcohol

Satan

- He is definitely the most prepared. Once you became a permanent fixture in their lives and he was undeniably fond of you, he read up on pretty much every human ailment known to man, from the common cold to the bubonic plague to even, yes, seizures.

- So when it happens, he's sure to catch you, making sure you don't hit your head and quickly lays you down on the floor. Makes sure you're spread out and aren't in danger of smacking anything. Puts your head in his lap as a cushion, and pays close attention to be sure you aren't going to bite your tongue

- Uses his sleeve to dab your forehead as you're coming out of it, asking in a surprisingly tender voice if you're alright. Asks if you're feeling dizzy or confused, asks your name, current location, age, etc., just to make sure that you're ok

- Makes you a nice mug of warm tea afterwards, puts you to bed if you're feeling tired after the ordeal, and even offers to read to you to help you calm down

Asmodeus

- You guys are having a bath when it starts, and he's just going on and on and on about how great you're going to look after his special new conditioner works it's magic and the bathwater rejuvenates your skin. He barely notices you suddenly slipping under the water

- Thankfully, the seizing causes splashing and then he notices, and of course freaks out. Grabs you under the arms and pulls you up above water, calling your name in a panic and wondering what's wrong!

- He gets you out of the bath and laid onto the floor, fretting that you had inhaled some water and clearly aren't ok!

- When it ends he's kneeling over you, sparkling tears streaming from his eyes, and you've barely started to sit up before he's throwing himself at you, sobbing into your neck and clinging. Demanding to know what that was, feverishly asking if you're alright, apologizing in a panic.

- When you tell him that yes, you're alright, he pulls back from the hug just enough to grab your cheeks in his hands and rain kisses all over your face, still sniffling because he was so worried!

- Begs you never to do that again, citing that he'll get worry lines otherwise, and more importantly, "What if you fall and bruise that beautiful face?! I couldn't bare it, I just couldn't! You mustn't ever do that again, for both of our sakes!"

- He wuvs you and treats you to some extra special pampering that night 💖

Beelzebub

- Unfortunately, he's the idiot that picks you up. He means well, but seeing you just suddenly drop like a sack of flour makes him worried! Definitely has flashbacks to Lillith's death, watching her fall after being shot from the sky, so he scrambles over to scoop you up and book it. Either to the House of Lamentation or to Purgatory Hall, whatever's closer. Either Solomon or Lucifer will know what to do!

- Being jostled around as he full on sprints with you right after coming out of that vulnerable state is no good, and you end up getting sick. He's very apologetic as he rubs your back while you heave, questioning if there's anything he can do to help!

- When you explain what just happened, he feels terrible. He didn't know! Looks like a kicked puppy as he apologizes, hands hovering over you, unsure what to do to help!

- He takes you back to the House and insists you go straight to bed! Makes you some soup, a very gentle broth to help settle your stomach and replace the nutrients you lost! He keeps himself from eating it on the way back to your room. That's how much he loves you. This is your special feel better soup, he can't steal from you!

- Probably insists on spoon feeding you so you don't strain yourself

- After you're feeling better, he asks that you teach him all about proper seizure response so he'll be prepared for next time

Belphegor

- You're sitting together in the observatory when it happens, and when you suddenly flop over backwards he kinda snickers. "Aw c'mon, falling asleep sitting up is my thing."

- Promptly notices you're seizing and just goes o.o

- Scoots away from you so you don't smack into him, but is immediately right by your side again when it's over

- Asks if that's some kind of weird spontaneous nap thing that humans do. When you tell him that no, it's definitely not, he gets kinda mopey. "Aw. I thought I could grab us each a pillow and a blanket."

- You explain to him that it's not crazy life threatening or anything, so he doesn't need to worry. He huffs that he wasn't worried (yes he was) and he knew you were going to be fine (no he didn't)

- Bullies you to come back to the attic with him for proper post-seizure napping procedure. Doesn't even steal the blanket and let's you be the little spoon for once. Holds onto you very tightly, and only then do you notice his hands are subtly shaking.

- You carefully wiggle and turn over so you're nose to nose. "Hey," you gently tell him. "Really. I'm ok, I promise. Ok? I promise. I'm not going anywhere."

- He clings to you tighter, moving to bury his face in your neck. Mumbles that you better not, and he's gonna hold you to that

- Next time it happens, he's ready with a pillow to slide under your head and a warm glass of milk afterwards to help soothe your nerves

You are very loved. The end (◕ᴗ◕✿)

[hockey-x-imagines]

Made to Last || Tyler Seguin Pt. 17

A/N: The ending of this part seems a bit rushed to me, but I ran out of inspiration. I’m semi happy with it, I think. I hope you guys enjoy this. Feedback is welcome :)

Song Inspo: Made to Last by Issues.

Warning: Cussing and some angst.

Paring: Tyler x Reader

P.O.V: Reader

Word Count: 1747

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Death would've by far been easier, but I had way too much to fight for. There were so many things I want to still experience. I need Tyler to know without a shadow of a doubt that I love him. I want to marry him, and live life with him. The way I looked at things fighting for my life was my only option. After passing out for the second time, my body had been put through the ringer. I had faded in and out of consciousness. Now I lie in a hospital bed about to talk to my parents about something that scares me.

"I'm going to ask Tyler a really important question, and I need you to understand and support me." I don't know how to explain what I'm going to do. "I know we've been put through our paces, but he's the one for me. I want to marry him."

"Oh wow." Your mom was the first to speak. "You know we'll support you no matter what." You were hoping a weight would be lifted from your chest, but there wasn't.

"I love you both, could you send him in and give us some time?" You knew if you waited, you'd chicken out.

"Good luck sweetie." Your dad squeezed your shoulder as he exited your room. You tried to find the right words to say while waiting. There were no words that got your point across. "Marry me." You figured you should be blunt and to the point instead of making a speech and beating around the bush.

"Um what?" Tyler's steps faulter.

"Marry me. I love you and what to spend the rest of my life with you, and I thought you felt the same." The confidence you had waivered.

"Y/N, you almost died. It was scary for all of us, but don't make rash decisions." That was not the answer you were expecting. Doubt crept in. Maybe you read his emotions wrong.

"O-oh, uh." There were no words. You didn't know how to process what was happening. "Could you go? I think I need some sleep. Afterall, I did almost die, clearly I'm not thinking straight." There was no hiding the hurt. Tears welled up in your eyes, you wouldn't let them fall in front of the guy who just rejected you.

"Y/N, that's not what I meant." You didn't want to hear what his explanation was. You wanted to be alone.

"Please leave. Call coach and tell him you'll play tonight. Honestly, I don't care what you have to do, just leave." As hard as you tried to keep your voice steady, you couldn't stop it from breaking.

"Baby please don't make me leave. I want to be by your side. I just don't think you're thinking clearly." You thought that maybe you were overreacting just a bit, but you weren't. Your feelings were valid.

"I don't want you around me right now. I'd like to deal with your rejection alone." Nodding sadly Tyler turned to leave.

"I love you." You couldn't stop the harsh laugh that fell out of your mouth. Maybe that wasn't a fair reaction. People love others but don't want anything more from them, it's normal. Laying in a hospital bed in an empty room, you pored over the events of the last few months. Did he just propose to get you to stay with him? Did he ever really intend to marry you? Your thoughts made you physically dizzy. You closed your eyes, sheer exhaustion dragging you into a peaceful sleep.

"How are you feeling?" You had woken up to a nurse checking on you.

"I feel like I got stabbed." You chuckled. "I'm just a little sore and still pretty tired."

"That's normal. I'll get out of your hair so you can go back to sleep. Your vitals look really good." She smiled exiting your room. Getting comfortable you dozed back off. Your little nap was disrupted again, you could hear your parents talking to someone outside the door.

"I don't blame her." Your mom spoke. "She loves you more than life itself. She knew what she was doing when she asked you."

"Not to be an ass but if we're going to look at it like that, then so did I when I asked her the last time she was in Texas." Did Tyler really just say that? There was a huge difference between the two. You didn't ask Tyler to marry you out of desperation. You asked him because it was something you truly wanted. He only asked you then because you were walking away again. You were grateful you were essentially tied to the bed.

"I think we all know it's not the same. You're trying to make yourself feel better. If you're looking for someone to side with you, you're not going to find it with us." It was your dad's voice this time. You waited for Tyler's rebuttal, but there was silence.

You were now wide-awake staring at the wall trying to make sense of the last day. You were able to come to terms with Steven being a psychopath, but you couldn't come to terms with Tyler's behavior. It really seemed like a switch had been flipped. One minute he was worried then the next he was being an ass. If he was unhappy that you proposed, he could've used his big boy words. You had really thought it would've made him happy to know you were on the same page as him.

You kept comparing your proposal to Tyler's. You couldn't speak for him, but you knew you were going to ask him to weather you were in this godforsaken bed or not. You had planned to ask him during the game tonight.

It had been several hours since you had asked him to leave, and you were sure he had. You were kind of regretting asking him to leave. After the fight this morning, you didn't know where you stood with him.

"I have some good news for you." Your nurse smiled walking in. "After watching through the night and checking your vitals, the doctor is discharging you. You'll need to follow up with your primary care doctor, but you're good to go."

"That's amazing. Are my parents still here? I have no way of getting home if they're gone." You tried to think of someone to call if they were gone, you weren't going to call Tyler. He was probably in the middle of a game, and you didn't want to wait to go home.

"Yea, I think they went out to get food or something. I'll notify them you've been released. Here is a change of clothes, yours were all bloody." Setting down the pants and shirt she left again. Getting redressed, the nurse returned with a Police officer. "I'm sorry, I forgot to mention you needed to give a statement."

By the time you had relived the details of the day before your parents had returned. Neither of them mentioned Tyler, you didn't have your phone so there was no word from him either. You gave yourself a reminder that you were the one who told him to leave. You guys found your way back to each other after 2 years, hopefully this wouldn't be the final nail in the coffin.

"Do you need us to stick around?" Your dad asked as you walked into your house. You looked down expecting to see blood on the floor, but there was none.

"No, I think I should be okay. Did you guys come up and clean?" You turned to look at your parents. Something odd flashed across your dad's face while your mom's face was emotionless.

"Nope, maybe there wasn't a huge mess, or the medics cleaned it up." Your dad looked almost nervous. What the hell?

"Honey we should really get going. Y/N is home and safe." Your mom started to rush your dad out the door. They were being extremely weird, but you didn't have the energy to deal with them. "Lock the door. I love you." With that both of them were gone.  

You walked toward your room in search of your own clothes. The man sitting on your bed stopped you in your tracks.

"Before you say anything, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted the way I did, and I don't blame you if you want to walk away. Y/N, I love you. I came back up here and cleaned up the mess another person made of you. While I did, I had a lot of time to think. I'm sorry I was an ass and tried to discredit you. It was wrong of me to do that, but my answer is yes, and it always will be." Tyler took a breath, slipping from your bed to one knee. "Before I knew your name, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I didn't understand at the time how that was possible. It's only been after getting to know every detail about you and your life, loosing you one, and looking at your lifeless body that it's cemented my thoughts. I don't want to do life without you. I had horrible timing the first time around, and I'm hoping you won't be too pissed this time around. Y/F-M-L/N will you marry me?"

You were stunned. You thought Tyler would've gone to Vegas and played, he was the last person you expected to see tonight. You were unable to find words, so you nodded rushing towards him. Carefully he wrapped his arms around you.

"I'm sorry I acted like a crazy bitch." You mumbled against his lips. "I love you so much and I always want you by my side." You pressed a kiss to his lips. You couldn't describe the feeling, happy seemed too simple.

"I promise you'll get a ring, I kind of left it at home."

"Oh good. You know I'm so worried about it." You rolled your eyes. "Thank you for cleaning up the mess, you didn't have to."

"I didn't want you to clean up the mess. You're not really in a place where you should be on your hands and knees cleaning up your blood." Tyler simply shrugged. Words really didn't describe how much you love this man.

"I love you." You couldn't help but stare at Tyler. You stopped and really looked at him. "I really mean it." You added.

[freddiefcknmercury]

Grey

Pairing:Sam Wilson/Reader & Bucky Barnes/Reader

-Female coded reader.

Word count: 600+

Warnings/disclaimer: Smut; penal penetration. That's really it. General reference to a poly relationship.

A/N: This is just smut lol. I woke up horny one morning and this is what happened.

Summary: Sleepy early morning lazy sex from one lad and comforting from the other.

~*As always, be Nice to me I'm delicate*~

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

It's early morning. The vague promise of eventual sunlight seeping through the window casting a cool grey blanket over the room. There's no clock to glance at so time is an illusion right now. Not that it would've mattered much, for all intensive purposes, you're still asleep. You sigh deeply in your chest and feel Sam turn over in bed behind you. Consciously or not, you have a bad habit of melting yourself into him in bed, he stays on warm and sometimes you need a bit of that. This morning was no different.

He hooks an arm around your stomach, gently caressing the supple flesh as he buries his face into your neck. It's all wordless, the two of you clinging to the idea that the wee hours of the morning are sacred to silence. He pulls you into him firmly, the length of him pronounced against your backside.

You don't think much of it considering it's a semi average occurrence, and again, you're still dead to the world. Or rather you wouldn't have though anything of it, if he hadn't slowly started working his way towards your clit. You can stop him, no one is truly dead set on this happening but why pass up effortless euphoria. He gently encircles, teasing until you're writhing against him; bucking your hips and soaking through everything now.

He nuzzles deeper into the back of your head, his breathing heavy. The sudden disappearance of his hand is replaced by the shock of cool night air against your ass as he pulls down just enough to access you. There's a short trial period before you decide to help by grabbing just enough thigh out of the way for him to enter. He's gentle but swift and more than "blessed". It wasn't going to be amazing, definitely not romantic. This is just supposed to be quick and dirty and feel just right enough. You feel your chest heaving under the blanket, you try to replace your grip but several of your fingers are already falling asleep.

Suddenly, Bucky shifts in front of you, a large metal arm softly glinting in the light as he reaches back across you, replacing your hand with his. Going as far as pulling that leg forward a bit for even more ease of access. His half asleep hurry the fuck up. He startled you, somehow you'd convinced yourself he'd been asleep this whole time as if you and Sam weren't still making an absolute ruckus next to him. You rest the weak hand on his forearm and wrap the other around his bicep, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. Bucky's eyes are closed, him also attempting to feign sleep. You're still not over this type of thing not bothering him.

You didn't intend on cumming, content with just being a participant on a hazy grey morning, but Sam's always been too generous. You moan breathily into Bucky's shoulder, more intentional thrusts quietly rocking you into him. It's almost embarrassing at this point, but he gives a firm squeeze to the flesh he has cupped behind you. Hooking your nails onto his bicep you ride a gentle climax at the sensation of Sam spilling inside you with a breathy gasp.

Bucky lightly but quickly loops his arm under your head and pulls the rest of your body into his. Effectively "taking" you from Sam. He got what he was after  ringing through the air silently. You hear Sam scoff quietly to himself. In contrast, Bucky is always just a bit cooler in temperature. You spread out across his chest, exhausted once again, letting him softly massage your neck and shoulder. You lay there for a little while, content but bewildered by your still new situation. It was just long enough to catch your breath before making yourself slink over his body and head towards the bathroom. They're silent behind you, you dare not look back but you're positive the two of them are watching.

You quietly push the door closed behind you and turn to press your forehead against the cool wood frame. It's inaudible but they instantly start bickering again. Some things never change and you're thankful for that.

[ptersparkers]

the tap of your fingertips

summary: all of jj’s internal thoughts. 

warnings: none, i think and typos, probably. 

notes: i tried to write differently and use inly a stream of consciousness. i hope you like it!

You think he doesn’t look. He does.

He feels every tap of your fingertips, hum of your voice, and breath when you enter the Chateau every morning with a blue water bottle. He thinks you’re beautiful without even trying. Five years of friendship never prepared him for seeing you in another light and it’s no secret that his feelings for you have switched. It’s not a secret to everyone but you.

JJ tries to keep his cool. He really does. It’s subtle movements that he cherishes in his mind when he falls asleep on John B’s couch every night. He replays the time he held your hand to help you into the boat that morning. Your hands were soft, unlike his callous ones. He could grow to like holding your hand.

He sleeps in comfort when you’re his last thought. JJ was never one to believe in lucid dreaming, but when the time is right, he could dream up a fantasy where he wasn’t afraid to proclaim his love for you. It was a distant wish that he wanted to come true. He wished for it when his eyes opened to the moment his eyes closed.

But delicate glances weren’t satisfying him anymore. He wanted to grab your exposed hip and hold you flush against him. Every time you placed the shiny lip gloss that smelled like sweet apples, JJ felt like the universe was torturing him with a sweet slow burn. You always smelled like sweet apples.

You decided to cut your hair short out of sheer boredom and you looked more mature, more refined. You were not what a Pogue looked like with that haircut. JJ liked that. He knew his opinion on your appearance didn’t matter but he wanted to say it anyway. So he did. You smiled and reached for an apple that Kiara had brought that morning. You and those damn apples.

There is a shift in the mood whenever JJ isn’t distracted by the other Pogues. He can feel his heart begin to beat faster when the mood has calmed down. It was almost always sparked by the sun beginning to set. He knew the night sky and the darkness of the calamity would force him to be alone with his own thoughts, unable to escape the impending doom of what he should do about his feelings. But he always put it off until the second he was about to sleep. That‘s his trick if he wanted to dream about you.

He often dreams about a big city where nobody cared about him. He dreams of a small apartment with you laying in your shared bed, the smell of fresh parsley cooking in the pan as he prepared two omelets with cheese and other ingredients laying around in your pantry. He dreams of a fresh pot of black coffee and a ceramic mug you had brought home the week you moved into the space. Your shared space. JJ dreams of waking you up with a tender kiss, feeling your warm breath on his chin as his lips touch the soft skin of your forehead. JJ will never admit it, but he craves the domesticity of relationships in which he was able to feel completely and utterly calm.

JJ likes it best when you wear his shirts after a swimming session. You were almost always too stubborn to wear your own and preferred the bigger size that he sported, not that he would ever complain. It was a cliche, that much he knew. But he never failed to smile when you stole the semi-dirty shirt from the boat when you emerged from the water, letting yourself air dry before slipping on the soft fabric. He was almost positive his entire wardrobe smelled like you.

Just when he thinks he has no real aspirations and dreams to fight for, you are the first to ease his mind about the future. The Outer Banks is a small island compared to the rest of the world. Getting out doesn’t just mean leaving the island physically. It means being mentally prepared to handle whatever life decides to throw at you once you step off of the land you grew to know so well. JJ’s always trying to think positively. He’s always trying to think of what you would say when he felt like the biggest failure on the island.

He didn’t know when he let you consume his mind but he wasn’t going to complain about it. The hot summer morning and cool summer nights were enough to spark imagination from him, one that would make it on his bucket list of things he wanted to accomplish before he left this godforsaken island. One of them was tell you he likes you. But he had time for that. He always tries to reason with himself.

JJ masks his anger and frustration with humor and comedy as a coping mechanism that helps him deal with the trauma he endures. His love for his friends outshines his own aspirations and he’s afraid that one day, he’ll find himself all alone after giving his all to the people he loved to much. He’s afraid of finding himself alone on the island while the Pogues have a grand time on different corners of the same planet. JJ thinks about his capacity for emotion and wonders when his next break down will be. He just hopes you’re not there to witness it.

It’s funny. He always thought about the classist society that exists between the Kooks and the Pogues. JJ is aware that this problem exists way beyond the small North Carolinian island, but he pretends it’s only his problem because it’s easier than dealing with the fact that leaving the island might be the worst decision he could make. If the world outside was like this then he won’t be able to protect himself. Here, at least, he knew how to fight stupid Kooks.

He’s scared that you’re not going to be there with him when he’s ready to leave. He says he is ready, and he’s hot headed with the tendency to act before thinking, but this is the only thing he wants to think through. Leaving the island with no money and nowhere to go means being stuck in square one. It means living as a Pogue in the world beyond the Outer Banks. It would be the same experience on a different playing field. But you always remind him that the opportunities beyond the gates of a small town are greater than his fears.

JJ’s starting to think he began to like you because you gave him hope. Not the kind of hope that resembles an empty promise, but the kind of hope that lifts his spirits and motivates him to get up every morning and seize the day. You are the sun in his dimly lit world and he’s afraid he will lose your sunshine.

The cheesiness of romantic comedies and John B. teasing him all day for being “soft” (whatever that means) is a combination of how JJ feels inside. He no longer feels to strengthen the hard exterior he spent years building when he was with you. JJ let his armor fall. It was always you and him in an isolated room with twin fire signs. He couldn’t hear loud ocean waves or thundering lightening. It was always calm with you.

With you, his slate was clean. He could build himself up without knocking himself down. The building blocks he needed were in your hands and all he had to do was grab them from you. JJ knew you were willing to give that to him. You were willing to share a piece of your soul so that his could be fixed. But he would never want you to break a piece of yourself in order for him to make himself whole.

JJ was pining after you like a little boy on the playground. He wanted to hold you, kiss you, touch you. He wanted you to pull him aside and admit these same feelings but never voiced this out loud. His armor had fallen around you but his walls were sturdy and high in front of everyone else.

He wasn’t sure if you knew. JJ was hyper aware of the times you’d choose to sit next to him or accompany him to fix the keg before parties. He was always aware of your head resting on his shoulder and when you would play with his rings absentmindedly. His hands always felt like they were on fire. But he welcomed that warmth.

And so he stood by the sidelines most afternoons and watched as you and John B. grew closer and closer. There were no romantics feelings involved, just the sheer fact that you two had known each other longer than he had known you. But that didn’t stop the blond boy from overthinking. Before he discovered his romantic feelings for you, every move felt like a provoking gesture. He never paid any mind to John B. pressing a quick kiss to your temple when you left the house. But now he did. Now it was personal. It was irrational. John B. was dating Sarah and you were like a sister to him. He knew that. It still felt weird.

But one evening changed everything. It was just the first of you in the Chateau and you were beyond tired. JJ could see the tiredness in your eyes due to the high-packed day the group had. He asked you to change into comfortable PJ’s before you slept in sweaty clothes and you obliged without a word.

He was used to seeing you without any makeup on and not as put together as when you were. But there was something about you that night.

JJ stepped forward.

You stepped closer.

He put his hands on your hips.

You looked up at him. He could smell the apple scented shampoo from your hair. The one you kept in John B’s bathroom.

There were no fireworks, nor music nor cheerful friends in the window.

There was just you two.

He slowly dipped his head and touched your lips with his, but just barely.

One. Two. Three.

That was the number of seconds it took for you to kiss him back.

You pressed your chest against his.

He dug his fingertips into your hipbone.

You felt his soft lips. He felt yours.

It was slow. Subtle. Sweet.

All JJ could think about was you and your apple flavored lip gloss, and how he wanted to taste it. But by the looks of it, he’d be tasting your apple flavored lip gloss more often.

***

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[caffeinated-cryptid]

you got an ego so big (it'll eat you alive).

roman-centric hurt/comfort (w/ remus, patton and virgil). 

11.7k words | AO3 link | warnings: self-hatred, semi-intentional self-destruction, various injuries, arguing, remus-typical jokes and topics.

“At the best of times, Roman’s job was a tightrope act between maintaining a healthy amount of self-confidence and the ability to adapt and take criticism. Throughout his life he walks this line many times, always with the expectation that if he were to fall one way or the other, no one would be there to catch him.

But sometimes when you’re up miles high, it can become difficult to see the safety net on the ground below you.

(aka an expansion on the premise that a bruised ego causes literal injuries and the issues this could cause when you're an insecure prince with a need to please and the weight of the world on your shoulders).”

------------------

To be overly aware of your own self is often associated with negative traits, such as narcissism, self-consciousness or a sensitivity to mistakes. Although to some with a proclivity towards the spotlight, it can become an inadvertent consequence of over-analyzing yourself in order to achieve those flawless performances. Naturally, gaining any sort of notoriety and attempting to retain that positive image means becoming intimately aware of your faults and staying open to change, taking criticism to heart all the while keeping relatably humble. On the other hand, it may also mean letting that same criticism become your one sole focus, tearing you down instead of becoming a rung in the ladder that's supposed to take you to higher places.

Roman often found that navigating these gray areas was a momentous task. To be proud of his work, but not be too unbearably egotistical to the point that it blinded him. To accept criticism but not allow the pursuit of perfection to destroy him.

His role was truly a balance; a thin tightrope he constantly had to traverse.

And on occasion, he would end up slipping.

------------------

I - bonds that tie us.

Roman first learned of his job as the ego when Thomas was young. With Remus at the helm of most of the subconscious and instinctual stuff as his id, perhaps he should've assumed that he would have a similar mirrored purpose beyond simply confidence, however it hadn't ever really come into play until one afternoon when the two of them were busy playing in The Imagination.

They had just concluded a close duel against each other and were putting their weapons away (cardboard ones, since Feelings didn't want them running around with real weapons once he found out they were using them to fight, and because Fear and Lies often fretted about them doing something stupid and getting hurt). Usually neither of them held the lead for long during their matches since they were so well-matched, but today Remus had won easily, which Roman chalked up to him feeling off ("Yeah right. Don't be such a sore loser." "It's true!"). Either way, Remus would be bragging about the victory until the next time they got the opportunity to duel, and that meant he was already rubbing it in as they prepared to leave.

On their way to the exit, Remus had taken the lead at some point and was throwing out ideas about they should do later when Roman unexpectedly paused and doubled over, clutching his head. Remus didn't notice that he'd stopped until he heard a groan and turned around.

"What's wrong? Didn't hit you too hard, did I?" He asked with a grin as if he assumed that Roman was still playing- perhaps trying to make up an excuse for his terrible loss.

"I- Dunno. My head hurts…" Roman cringed, eyes screwed shut.

Remus' smile faltered when he realized it might not be a joke and he walked back, peeling Romans hands away from his forehead. Underneath was a large red patch of irritated skin which looked set to bruise. His frown deepened because he definitely didn't cause that, nor did he witness any incidents during the day which would be the cause. "How'd that happen?

"Dunno!" He repeated, eyes going blank for a moment while he caught up with what was happening outside. The two of them were usually much too distracted when they were in The Imagination to pay attention to everything that transpired in the real world, especially on weekdays like this when Thomas would be in school and Creativity wasn't exactly needed during most classes. "...Thomas was told off for slacking in front of the entire class and he got some bad grades on his report card… He's feeling embarrassed, I think.

Remus was confused by how this was relevant until he pieced together that the two events were linked to what was happening to his brother. His eyes widened in realization before they settled into determination. "Then I'll fight him until he stops feeling bad."

That startled a laugh out of Roman, until his head started pounding and he cut himself off with a grimace. "...’Can't do that."

He laughed too, in hopes that it would lift Roman's spirits again. "Can too! I'll figure it out, then he'll be too busy worrying about his broken bones to care about what some dumb teacher said. Maybe then he'll get to skip school for a while and do something funner like-"

"Remus." Roman hissed over him, overcome with a sudden dizzy spell. His hand found Remus’ shoulder for purchase, which stopped his twin in his rant.

Remus stared at him in alarm. This seemed serious, and he didn't do too well with handling serious things. "Do... Do you want me to get Feelings? Or Learning? Or Lies?"

"No. None of them. I just wanna go home." He whined, leaning more and more against Remus for support.

' Home' in their case was what they called their shared room. It was where they always returned to at the end of a long day, and no matter what had happened, they could always feel their troubles wash away as they sat in their own little world once more. Roman longed for that feeling, to escape the too-bright sun of The Imagination which now felt like it was blinding him and just lay down for a while.

Remus nodded hesitantly, the plans he had spun of pulling a prank on Fear and Lies forgotten. Normally the two Creativities preferred to find the door of The Imagination manually (they claimed it made the experience more immersive when they were out on an adventure), but instead he reached towards the exit and the world twisted around them, ejecting them out together. They came out the other side back in their room, next to their bunk bed. Instead of climbing up to his bed on the top, Roman just about threw himself onto Remus' sheets. Somehow he managed to ignore the weird smell of the fabric that he always complained about, which spoke greatly about his current well-being.

Remus hovered behind him, unsure of what to do, when Roman let out another pained noise and curled up tighter. "What now?!"

"Thomas...parents.

Since that didn't really explain anything, Remus decided to check up on what was happening outside himself. Thomas' parents had asked to see his report card and they were giving him the 'not mad but disappointed talk', while Thomas was shrunk into himself in shame. Yikes, Learning mustn't be feeling too hot about this either. But right now his focus was on his brother, who the sight of in such a sorry state filled him with rage.

"Now I want to fight them too." Remus muttered darkly. "Take the knife from the kitchen that dad uses to cut up turkeys and make them stop talking forever. Then we won't have to deal with this again and you won't-"

Oh right, Roman was still injured. Focus, Remus. Concern. Right, he was concerned for his brother, who was hurting like he had never seen, even after their fights. What could he do about this? He was always so much better at destroying things than fixing them, so having to deal with a situation like this without any sort of guidance made him nervous.

"You can't hurt them." Roman protested weakly.

"Maybe if I want to enough I could!"

Remus walked around the bunk bed and settled down on the side Roman was facing towards. From this angle he could see new bruises spattered along his brother's arms. In a grotesque way, the different shades came together like a watercolour painting. Except instead of a canvas, they were on a body- Remus shook his head. Focus! He could draw sickly yellow and purple-inspired pictures later, when Roman would be in the mood to be more good-humored about it.

"You shouldn't, then. It's bad."

"...Alright then. What should I do Ro-bro?"

Roman cracked open one eye and looked at him. "Stay? Until Thomas feels better?"

Considering he was just grounded for the weekend, Remus wasn't sure how long it would take for this hit to Thomas' self esteem to blow over, but despite knowing this he nodded anyway.

"Okay."

He laid down next to Roman, not commenting when he hid his face against the covers and started sniffling, or when he eventually fell asleep, curled against his side like how they would sleep when they were newly-split. When Learning knocked in their door to tell them that dinner was ready, he made a weak excuse that they were busy and would eat later.

Without even asking he knew Roman would want this to be kept between them, despite how the others would undoubtedly fuss and nurse him back to health. And perhaps that was the reason why. His brother always wanted to appear infallible to the others and did so replicating the heroes from the stories they read, which often meant refusing to admit when he needed help and trying to do everything himself. If you asked Remus, he was trying way too hard to be like the Creativity that came before them, which was silly because they were different now and as they were, they needed each other.

Remus closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep too. This seemed like a big deal, so Roman's pride would have to pass eventually for him to seek help. Right?

------------------

II - even without dying you're dead to me.

In retrospect, Remus had underestimated Roman’s ability to keep a secret (maybe because he was so quick these days to run over to Feelings, now Morality, whenever Remus did something to upset him. Tattle-tale).

Now that they were older and their roles were more defined, their once shared-room had separated into two to adjust to this change. Even though it had been long enough that he should be used to the feeling of being alone, there were still times where Remus had to try to not let it bother him when he looked up at night, expecting to see the familiar underside of a top bunk and instead only finding the ceiling he had painted an underwater-themed mural on.

On nights like this, far too sentimental to enter a peaceful rest, they would go sleep in each other's rooms, saying nothing as they tried to pretend they were as close as they once were. Remus groaned into his pillow, fighting that annoying urge to seek comfort. He was a teenager now, he didn't want to be so attached at the hip to a side who had started looking at him with disgust and fear instead of the fondness they used to share. Sometimes he couldn't help it though, clinging to the days when everything felt simple and the biggest thing they had to worry about was finding time to create the things they enjoyed. At the very least he was glad that Roman didn't mock him for his occasional bouts of uncharacteristic sentiment; that would solidify for him that there were no remnants of the relationship they once had left.

With that depressing thought, he rolled out of bed. He couldn't sleep tonight so he was going to make that Roman's problem; that always cheered him up. Perhaps if he hadn't made such a disturbed face when Remus had talked about the brazen bull he had made earlier that day, he would feel a bit more sympathy for waking his brother up in the middle of the night. Buuut he didn't and he was feeling petty, so without a second thought he sunk out and into Romans room.

"WAKEY WAKEY~!" Remus clashed two cymbals together like one of those nightmare-inducing wind-up monkeys, only to belatedly realize the bed he was facing was empty.

He blinked, both in confusion and to adjust his eyes to the unexpected light of the room. Both of them may be night owls, but Roman would usually be asleep by 2am at least, and it was way past that hour. Looking around the room, his eyes latched onto the vanity where his brother was sitting, looking incredibly startled from the deafening crash of metal against metal.

"Get out!" He yelled once his shock faded into indignation, glaring at Remus.

Remus didn’t respond, staring at the medical supplies spread across the surface. Roman was in the middle of wrapping a compression bandage around his thigh, which he abandoned as soon as Remus had entered.

"Did you get something stuck in your ear again? I'm not in the mood to deal with you tonight, Remus. Leave ."

"What happened?" He blurted out before he could even think about the question.

"Doesn't matter. In case you've forgotten, the door's right there. Feel free to use it at any point."

Instead of complying (because when had Remus ever done that for anyone? No no, it was always more exciting to do the opposite of what people ask and see what happens), he crossed the room, ignoring how Roman increasingly looked like he wanted to punch him the longer he lingered.

"Bitch, it obviously does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be looking like you got trampled by a cracked-out horse."

"Lovely imagery." Roman gritted out.

"Lovely avoidance." Remus retorted sarcastically. "Aren't you best friends with Morality and Logic now? Why aren't they here sucking your d-"

"If you don't go back to your own room I'll run you through with my sword." Roman warned with an air of finality.

Remus snorted.

It was hard to be intimidated by the same side who had once cried when he had accidentally smashed an imaginary caterpillar cocoon with his morning star. In his defense he had forgotten to make the handle weighted when he first made it, so he was still getting used to the uneven distribution of the weapon...not like that stopped Roman from getting upset with him. Supposedly he had spent the last week trying to raise butterflies and wanted to show them off to Logic after they had learned about chrysalis in class, but Remus found that somewhat laughable considering he could just create a fully-formed butterfly if he wanted to. So he did laugh, calling him dumb for getting upset over nothing, and through tears Roman pushed him to the ground and told him he hated him for the first time. (After that, he may have spent the next week killing any butterflies that crossed his path, but that was neither here nor there. The point of this tangent provided a lá Remus Sander's brain was was that Roman could be a big baby and therefore he couldn't take anything he said too seriously.)

"Sounds like a good time! Save that idea for later though, because if you don't tell me I'll summon them over here to ask them myself."

"Don't. They don't know about this, alright? For once in your life can you just let it go?"

Huh. Remus tilted his head. It had been years since they first found out about the fun little quirk Roman had, and he just...never told? He figured at the very least it would be a good way to milk even more attention from the others; something Creativity had been seeking more often after Fear turned into Anxiety during middle school and gained a much larger role in Thomas' life. "Why?"

Roman huffed in frustration. "They don't need to. I can handle it myself."

"...Wow! Careful not to summon Lies, because you're full of shit and you know it." Remus fired back. He didn't even know why he was getting so mad. Minutes ago he was cursing his brother's guts for how their relationship had soured, and now all of a sudden it was if all of that dislike had faded into the background for something else. Concern? He hadn't felt concern for anything in years. Roman always made it seem like he could take care of himself, so that's what Remus had believed at first too, though perhaps stumbling across this situation was evidence of the opposite. Reasonable self-care didn't exactly look like 'patching yourself up at 4 in the morning'. At least, that sounded like something Lies would say which probably meant it was accurate.

"Ugh- Shut up. I've been doing just fine so far, without you or them, so you can take your fake pity and shove it up your you-know-where."

Remus didn't rise to the opportunity to poke fun at that statement, his mind going blank (and what a strange and unusual feeling that was). The idea that anything could have been hidden from him seemed unthinkable given how they used to tell each other everything. He hadn't even considered that that habit had become one-sided, given how it had never stopped being true for him. "...Roman, what does that mean? Has this been happening a lot?"

"..."

"Why did you never tell me?! This isn't something you can just keep a secret! If you won't say anything I will-

Remus' mouth snapped shut as Roman ejected him from his room. He landed back on his own bed and when he scrambled onto his feet to tried to rise up again, he found that his efforts were blocked. Roman had kicked him out and locked the door behind him. He never did that, no matter how much they fought or annoyed each other. It was the one thing they did that showed they still cared.

Remus trembled with adrenaline and shock. Taking his pillow, he summoned a knife and stabbed it and stabbed it and stabbed it until all of his pent up feelings were gone and there all that was left was the fluff covering his floor.

------------------

III - interlude.

As it turns out, he'd never get the opportunity to tell, because shortly after that, the newly appointed 'dark sides' were pushed away into their own corner of the mindscape after an explosive argument between the sides (during which Remus tried to ignore how closely Roman stood at Morality's side, sword brandished towards him. He didn't want to think his twin had a hand in their separation, even though it made so much sense).

When he argued about going back with Lies, now Deceit after being appointed the new leader of the unwanted and unloved, he was told through clenched teeth and pained eyes that he shouldn't. Not until Thomas was ready for him. For all of them.

------------------

IV - to the death of me, i'm just fulfillin' my destiny.

After that, Roman adjusted, and did so alone. Teenage years came with many challenges, ones he didn’t always escape unscathed. Despite the occasional rejection here, an unfortunate setback there, he felt as if he had grown a thicker skin for the trials they faced. Into adulthood he wore his ego like a suit of armor; Thomas was outgoing and likable, so of course it became easier to brush aside random negative experiences as minor blips, things that didn’t represent their worth.

This was challenged somewhat as he began pursuing creative outlets more seriously. This meant more work for Roman in general (Woo! Suck it Logan), but it also came with more opportunities to feel ashamed of a messed-up performance, embarrassed by a note sung wrong, hurt by an ill-intentioned piece of feedback.

So he tried to compensate at times. Sue him. Between the nights he spent nursing his wounds and wondering how to do better next time, perhaps he deserved to be a little self-congratulatory about the shining achievements he won for them. There was a certain safety in placing himself up on that pedestal, so high above that it felt like nobody could ever reach him; that he was above it all. But the reality was that this pedestal, gold-plated as it may be, was founded on an interior of paper mache, one wrong move from away from collapsing and sending him tumbling back down to earth.

It was a good thing that pretending came naturally to Roman. So natural that the fear of falling sometimes didn’t register with him at all.

------------------

V - the calamitous corollary of being considered.

Except, it may have been too much to expect nobody to ever realize there was something up with him. The fact that the sides had to work closely together alone meant that the excuse of being busy after every troubling experience could only work for so long.

The first one to find out was Patton, because of course it was. Sometimes Roman felt as if Patton wasn’t given enough credit for his intelligence. Even though he could be a tad slow on the uptake on other things, his ability to detect the slightest change in mood and discern how people were feeling could be uncanny at times. Emotions just happened to be Patton's strong suit, and while that was very much appreciated when it came to sharing excitement or talking through a heated problem, it was not so grand when you were trying to get away with hiding something.

The first time he let something slip was a few days after Thomas had been flat-out rejected when asking someone out on a date. It wasn't that big of a blow, considering they had barely known the guy for more than a month, but Roman had been insistent that they throw caution into the wind and give it a shot, sure that he had been receiving signals that proved that this guy felt a similar interest. Turns out, he didn't, and was very-much straight. At least the rejection had been somewhat carried out gently and he didn't seem too put-off about staying friends afterwards. Nonetheless the wound was still fresh, and Thomas kept internally cringing whenever he thought about it, which didn't help matters. Whatever. Roman dealt with the bruises that arose from the incident and dabbed a little foundation on the ones he couldn't hide with clothing. They'd get over it in a matter of weeks.

It was after the awkward feelings had finally begun to settle when it happened. Roman and Patton had been in the kitchen preparing dinner when Thomas received a message on his phone, and when he went to check it, he face-planted on the couch in mortification.

'Hey man, I just remembered that my cousin is coming to town this weekend. He's gay too so I thought you two could go on a blind date if you're still looking. :) Lmk your thoughts.'

Patton frowned upon sensing the sudden wave of embarrassment, pausing to check what had happened. "Well...That's thoughtful of him!" He chuckled, tone trying and failing to be positive. Roman couldn't share the same sentiment.

"Thoughtless is more like it! He wants to set us up with the first gay person he knows? Who's not even in the city?  Does he think Thomas has no standards at all?! How dare-" Roman's indignant protests cut off as he felt the skin around his collar grow tender and swell slightly. He let out a slight whimper when he pressed his fingers into the bruise to double check its location. Why now and in such a visible place?! He's going to get Thomas to drop that guy if it's the last thing he does-

"Ro! Are you okay?"

Right. Patton was still here. Don't panic.

"Y-yeah! I just remembered an injury I sustained earlier. But not to worry, 'tis but a flesh wound!" He joked.

"A flesh wound?!" Patton cried, reference flying over his head. "Let me see."

Gently, Patton moved his head upwards to get a better look at the bruise. It mustn't look good, because Patton, squeamish as he was, grimaced on sight.

"How on earth did that happen? I don't remember that being there just now."

"Uh." Come on Creative skills, work your magic. "A stray whomping willow in The Imagination? You know how they can be. I suppose it merely took a while to develop, bruises can be funny like that."

Luckily it seemed to work, because Patton sighed. "I thought you got rid of them all after that time one almost threw Logan into a lake. Did Remus make more?"

Heh. Good times. That was a slight lie on his behalf when he had told the others he had gotten rid of the trees; he had kept a few of them around because they were once a gift from Remus to quote 'spice up his boring forests'. Not for any sentimental reasons, of course, but because he thought it was funny and it kept him on his toes. "I guess."

Patton made a small 'tsk' noise, mouth still drawn in a frown but he didn't comment further. "Come on, I'll help you treat that. Does it hurt?"

"Of course not." He smiled. "Do you really think I could be bested by a mere tree?"

"Never! I do wish you were more careful when you go on your little adventures, though. It makes me awfully sad to think about you in 'pine'."

Roman knew it had been a flimsy excuse and even though Patton seemed to accept it, there was a hesitation in his eye which spoke of hidden disbelief. After some first aid and many more tree-related puns later, they went back to cooking, finishing up 30 minutes later. When Logan came down to dinner, immediately questioning the bandages around Roman's neck, he repeated the fake story, distracting him with a request not to go into The Imagination with the whomping willow around and packaging the thinly-veiled jab at the way Logan had once freaked out when he was swung around by the semi-sentient tree as a warning. Logan's concern quickly faded and he shot back a sharp retaliation that Roman didn't care to remember. He just laughed, feeling as light as a kite with the crisis averted.

The next time didn't go over as gracefully.

Thomas had found a different partner eventually, one that wasn't some friend's cousin. They dated for months, and just when he had been thinking about inviting his boyfriend to move in so he could be closer to his workplace, he'd been broken up with. On Valentines Day of all days. There was no better way of putting it; they had planned to go out to dinner, managing to book a table at a fairly classy restaurant, exchanged gifts, and near the end of the night his boyfriend had leaned across the table with a sad smile, thanking him for the evening before admitting he didn't see them working out anymore. He said it quietly, as to not cause a scene among the other diners, but that didn't stop Thomas from immediately bursting into tears. The scene had caused his (now ex) boyfriend to leave early after paying his half of the bill. At least the waitress had taken pity on him and brought over more complimentary bread rolls (which he took because he was not a complete fool, heartbroken as he may be), though even that didn't stop the confusion and embarrassment of it all.

As expected, the whole incident caused nothing but chaos; the right-brain sides were devastated, Anxiety was in a state of panic, and Logic had been metaphorically thrown out the window. As Thomas made his way home, they were at a complete loss for what to do. They had started the day, hoping to take a step forward in their relationship, and ended up with nothing at all. What worse is that they didn't even have a clear idea why (admittedly, that could have been due to, as mentioned before, the inconsolable crying).

It seemed like the most sensible thing to do at the moment was to throw the Valentines gifts away and gorge on the ice-cream that had been sitting in the back of the freezer for who-knows how long while watching a comfort show and trying to forget the whole evening. So that's what they did. As Logan tried to sort through what happened and rationalize what to do next, Patton wallowed in his misery as he dealt with the giant mix of feelings Thomas was going through.

After a few hours working through the brunt of it, enough to where his mind began wandering elsewhere, Patton realized with a start that he hadn't seen Roman since the start of the evening. He must have been so devastated too! Patton recalled how excited he was about the day ahead of them, how he spun fantasies of Thomas' boyfriend accepting the proposal to move in and then the future proposals that could come after that-

Patton mournfully sobbed. He needed to stop thinking about this, or else Thomas could start spiraling again. The best thing to do right now was distract himself, and to do that he should go check on Roman. Perhaps they could talk and have a mutual catharsis over the whole thing. Or better yet, he could put his energy towards someone else and he won't have to fall back into the thoughts that had been clouding his mind ever since they had left that stupid restaurant.

Splashing some water on his face to clear up some of the blotchy-ness, he left his room and crossed the hallway towards Roman's. He couldn't hear any noise coming from inside, so he tentatively knocked. "Kiddo?"

For a few moments there was silence, and Patton almost turned away, assuming that Roman might be blowing off some steam in The Imagination, until a voice cleared inside the room and answered. "Pat? What do you want?"

Patton was taken aback for a second, not expecting such a straight-forward answer. It almost sounded like Roman wasn't upset at all, but Patton sincerely doubted that to be true. His tone was almost too normal, and for anybody else he wouldn't have questioned it, but the lack of dramatics or flowery language was always a clear red flag for the Creative side. "I wanted to check on you since um- You-Know-Who took 'dine and dash' a tad too seriously." He chuckled humorlessly. "...Can I come in?"

There was some shuffling and muffled curses. "Why? I'm fine. Worry about yourself."

"'Why?'" He repeated, eyeing the door warily. "I'm concerned! I haven't seen you in hours and I- I know you must be upset about this too. Can we please talk?"

"I'm not exactly my most princely presentable self right now. Anyway, it's late. Surely this can wait until tomorrow?"

Patton looked down at himself. Instead of his usual garb, he had thrown on some more comfortable clothes hours ago, and they were currently crumpled from laying in bed, sobbing his eyes out. "I'm hardly my best-self either right now, Kiddo-" Before he could go on a spiel about how it was best to not bottle up emotions when they're fresh (and ignoring the hypocrisy of that sentiment), he heard a thump on the other side of the door followed by a quiet hiss of pain. Patton began to panic, and his hand flew to the handle. "I'm coming in!"

Before the other side could even consider protesting, Patton flung the fortunately unlocked door open and stepped into the room, gasping at the sight he was met with. Roman was on the floor, wincing as he clutched his leg. Although he was still dressed in his usual outfit, there were enough injuries on his visible skin that Patton could only wonder how far they went. He covered his mouth and stared in horror as Roman turned to look at him nervously.

"What- How did this happen?!"

Roman licked his dry lips, eyes darting away as he searched for an excuse. "I- The Imagination- This is from earlier-"

"You told me this morning you were going to spend the day helping Thomas write a love letter." Patton said, voice strained with panic and disbelief. "Tell me the truth, please."

Shoot, he had announced his plans earlier that day, hadn't he? He internally cursed his inability to keep his mouth shut, before lowering his head in defeat. "Can you keep a secret, Pat?"

Said side shifted uncomfortably, but his tone was resolute when he nodded. "If it means you'll let me help with whatever this is."

"Okay..." Roman inhaled. "Okay."

And then he explained. Or rather, gave a shortened version of the truth which was less likely to give Patton a complete heart-attack: that bruised egos were something he experienced, but it was never this bad (true) or all that common (also true), and that they weren't something to worry about because he could usually take care of them himself (technically true). By the time he had finished, Patton still looked concerned, but had become less frantic with the information.

"You'll let me help in the future if you need it, right?" He asked, so close to shedding tears that Roman had trouble keeping eye-contact without becoming choked up with guilt.

"If I need it." He agreed.

Finally, Patton smiled, and went to fetch the first-aid kit hastily. As he helped patch him up for the second time that year, the look in Patton's eyes was so pained that Roman vowed to let him see this side of him as little as possible.

For a while, he kept true to this promise to himself, and on the occasions when Patton would drop by to check if everything was alright, if Roman had encountered any bruised egos since, he relished in the relief on his face whenever he would lie and said he hadn't. Distantly he wondered sometimes if this was how heroes were supposed to feel; protecting people by letting them live in blissful ignorance and bearing the burden of the ugly truth alone.

(It was thoughts like that that kept him going.)

------------------

VI - high highs and low lows.

And then came the videos. Youtube had been an excellent ego-boost for Roman. Similar to how life-changing Vine was, the instant gratification of likes and feedback and people liking what they made was enough to send him over the moon, and oftentimes it was able to ward away the downsides that came with it too; the stress of staying relevant, the occasional hate comment, the portion of dislikes that didn't explain what about the video was dislike-worthy-

Overall it seemed like a great idea, especially when the sides became involved. It gave them all the chance to gain their own spotlights, which most of them appreciated. Sometimes this wasn't always so good though. With the videos came more introspection than usual, which meant deeply examining each problem to try to find some kind of moral. And right now, Roman didn't want to do any sort of thinking exercise about how badly he messed up. At this point in their career, a simple audition should have been a cake walk, instead it was an ache walk...Okay, admittedly he wasn't on his best game right now. The point was, he had potentially thrown the whole audition by forgetting something so simple as the lyrics, and now the casting director would definitely only remember Thomas by the way he froze under pressure, which wasn't exactly an appealing trait in somebody looking to go up on stage where the pressure was set to 100.

After everything was said and done, Roman had no choice but to approach Patton for help. In his current state, he was much too dizzy on his feet to even contemplate showing up and trying to play it off cool, which would've been an laughable endeavor anyhow considering how outwardly embarrassed Thomas was. Betrayal from his own-- well. It was a bit too harsh to blame his current predicament on Thomas, after all the fact of the matter was that it was Roman’s fault for not being better prepared.

Anyway, that's how he ended up in his current position, being swaddled in a too-warm bed, injuries patched up and having soup spoon-fed into his mouth. The whole thing felt...strange. Usually during times like this he would be grinning and bearing it, the inner satisfaction he got from fooling everyone with his performance pushing him through the day, but he supposed this was unavoidable. It was better that only one side had to see part of the problem rather than exposing it to everyone, and out of all of them, at least it was Patton. It still didn't sit well that his secret was now out in the open, a throwaway joke to be used before moving along, but hopefully that would play to his favor and they'd view it as his usual dramatics. Not like he preferred to be seen as too incompetent to care for himself, even if it fit with his persona. He supposed it just went without saying that princes are supposed to have someone at their every beck and call, they're supposed to be indulgent and spoiled and ridiculous. But princes were also supposed to be leaders, someone who was caring and brave and ready to face any challenge.

Roman sighed, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He didn't feel very princely at all right now.

“Kiddo, are you doing okay? Does something hurt? Is the soup too hot?” Patton asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern. He was such an open book when it came to the other sides, which meant that Roman knew exactly when he had worried or panicked the fatherly figure. Honestly, it only made him feel worse. Being doted over seemed like a good idea until it meant being the subject of pity and other people’s hurt.

“No no, I’m fine Padre. It’s fine. I was just taking a trip into thought city for a second there.” He cracked a smile, trying to ignore how the bruise at the corner of his mouth pulled at the motion. If only he could think of a more original nickname, perhaps that would be more convincing. He was simply drawing blanks today it seemed. “What do you think the others are up to right now? I’d bet 5 bucks Logan is losing his mind having to deal with Anxiety alone.���

Patton didn’t look entirely convinced, but the sudden change of subject encouraged him to stop any further questioning.

In the end they talked until the others had finished filming. Whatever happened during the discussion must have helped Thomas grow past his feelings, because one-by-one the injuries on Roman's body grew smaller until they had faded entirely. Seeing this, Patton noticeably livened up again, and he cheerily declared that he would take the empty bowl back to the kitchen and check in with the others.

As soon as he was gone, Roman’s face dropped, tired from all the smiling he had been doing, and he slid down further into the sheets. Perhaps he should consider himself fortunate that the others had helped out, but all he could think about was how they now knew about his biggest weakness and how embarrassing that was. Logan and Anxiety were the last two sides he wanted finding out about this, if not for their often-tumultuous relationships, but because they'd never fully understand. Neither of them were as dependent on validation as much as he was. Despite what others thought about them, they would just keep on going, meanwhile Roman couldn't truly thrive without some kind of feedback; he was too shackled to expectations and the need to please for that sort of self-indulgence, it was practically written in his existence. It simply wasn't enough for him to be great, he needed to be great and be appreciated. Without that, he felt as if he would burn out, like a candle who's supply of oxygen had been cut off, leaving only smoke and the charred wick behind as a reminder of the fire that was once there. And sometimes that made him feel pathetic, that so much of his esteem depended on what people thought of him. Other times it just made him envy the others who had no one to please but Thomas himself and what he deemed important.

...He was tired, but he needed to keep going. The least he could do was keep up the image of egotism so that those horrid thoughts of being lesser weren't picked up by the others. If they started thinking of him the way he thought about himself (if they didn't already), he wouldn't know what he'd do. He wouldn't stand to be pitied or mocked or anything that validated what he already knew about himself. He just wouldn't.

Rolling out of bed, he practiced his smile in the mirror, fixed his clothes, and sunk out to make his grand appearance.

He couldn’t let this happen again at all costs.

------------------

VII - an agreeable sort of self-destruction.

More and more often, Roman was glad that he and Remus didn't share a room anymore. From the nights he hunched over scraps of ideas and worked without distraction until the sun was on the horizon, to the days he woke up with tears clinging to his lashes and breath coming out in labored pants, until he realizes the dream about him messing up so badly that he's split apart a second time was merely a cruel trick of his mind.

Currently, there was no greater time to be grateful for their separation than the moment he hastily returned back to safety after Remus' debut to Thomas. If only his brother could see the way he paced back and forth and tugged at his hair, he was sure his other half would merely gloat and poke away at his wounds instead of doing anything to help. Or worse, use it as ammunition in front of the other sides as some sort of proof of his imperfection.

Speaking of, the video was disastrous. He had been out-cold the entire time so he had no idea what was said and had no way of directing the conversation at all, which was possibly the most aggravating part of the whole situation. Beyond that, there was so much that Remus could have told the others without his knowledge. Once upon a time, the two of them were two peas in a pod, and that meant they knew an unnameable amount of secrets about each other. (Like how Remus always used to sleep with this crudely-knitted octopus Roman had made for him when he discovered crochet. Remus claimed to have set fire to it when they were teenagers, but Roman had seen it tucked away on a shelf the last time he had been in his room, before the Great Divide). The room swam a little when Roman thought about it too much. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it wasn't as if he'd done much to earn Remus' loyalty. Why would he take the higher road and keep all of that to himself now, when he had the prime opportunity right in front of him to make himself seem like the better twin?

Hold on... He was thinking about this all wrong. Remus didn't care about good and bad the same way he did. Sure he was adamant that his version of being creative was more interesting, but he never tried to convince any of the other sides that he was inherently better or more worthy of attention than Roman, at least not to the same extent he did. The realization hit Roman like a train on it's way to a damsel tied to railway tracks (for lack of a less Remus-y simile): had he been wrong to push his brother away when he was just trying to help? All this time he had expected nothing but the worst from him, all because he was loud and unapologetic and had gone about his concern in a way that frightened him. Though just because Roman had been scared, surely that didn't warrant the dark sides being pushed aside in such a manner, and clearly the repression wasn't any benefit to Thomas...And was that partially his fault? He had been the one who encouraged Patton to divide the sides up. He had come up with the name for them: light and dark.

When he really thought about it, there wasn't much 'light' about him, not when he had been the source of so many problems.

Making Virgil feel unwelcome and continuing to trample on his boundaries.

His insults toward Logan and attempts to diminish his importance.

Leading Thomas and Patton astray in his pursuits for romance.

Being too quick to side with Janus when he should’ve known that the deceitful side only stood for selfishness and not the fair-played ambition Thomas valued.

And now: his treatment of Remus for most of their lives. Pushing him away, pretending he didn't exist, trying to erase their memories together.

How could he have the gall to claim that he saw Remus as an awful reflection of everything he didn’t want to be, when the whole point of looking into a mirror means facing you and you alone?

Even his metaphors were hypocritical.

It was a shock that nobody saw through that statement or called him out on how he had wronged just about everybody. How truly unfortunate it was that he had been declared the hero when he had done very little to live up to that title. Heroes weren't mean. They didn't make people feel bad about themselves for merely existing. They're supposed to defeat the bad guys, yes, but every time he had thought he was accomplishing that, it turned out that he was always off the mark. At least this time he had it right with Deceit, but still, that didn't erase the history he had with misjudging what was acceptable. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of reflection that must have on Thomas' content. If his creativity, which was supposed to be a force of pure good, had made a countless number of errors, what did that say about the things they were proud of? How many things had they put into the world that were imperfect? That had a misleading message? That was problematic and hurt people?

The realization had his throat tightening in panic. How could he ever have confidence in his work when he had such a flawed system of right and wrong? How-

...Wait.

Roman's spiraling thoughts were fortunately put on pause as he passed by his vanity, being pulled back to reality in an instant and finally noticing the splash of colours that had made themselves welcome on his skin once more. He gaped at his own reflection. It wasn’t as if he was unused to the sight per say, but he hadn’t realized anything had happened today that would affect Thomas’ ego. Remus’ appearance perhaps? He had the feeling that if there was any discussion to be had in light of that it would be on the goodness of his character, which could be a worthy-enough explanation. But if anything wouldn’t that what the large gash on the back of his head (fittingly) represented? So where had the others come from? Unless…

Was it him?  

His own self-criticism had never left a dent on his pride before. Usually his injuries tended to be the result of outside sources; the kind of things that come out of nowhere and hit at you harder than you could ever expect. Did this mean that his own words were on par with Thomas’ harshest critics?

Roman shakily sat down. This... was a good thing, right? Perhaps he was finally gaining some self-awareness. He had been trying to make amends for where he had fallen short in the past, so this could be the sign he was making progress.

Yes. This was good. And if it wasn't, then perhaps this was just apart of his repentance. At this point he was sure everyone would agree.

------------------

VIII - the art of learning to let go.

The thing about tightropes is quite interesting. Like most other skills, it is something that needs to be honed. At first you try on a smaller scale and fall off more times you can count, but it's alright because that's why you practice in a safe environment. And then you progress to something more risky, and this time you have other tools to help keep you steady. Before you know it, you're up doing the actual thing; a rope suspended tens of feet in the air and thousands of eyes watching your every move, each one wondering if you really will make it across, or if they're about to watch a great tragedy take place before them. When you misjudge your own abilities and are thrust upon that rope when you're unprepared, however, all of the practice you gained can feel as if it has slipped away. As soon as you take your first step, the rope wobbles and you know somewhere deep down that your fall will be inevitable. But with so many expectant eyes baring into you, what else are you to do but continue forward? Continue until you're halfway across and your balance is so shaky that all you can do is watch as the rope swings backwards and forwards beneath your feet until you give up on trying to steady yourself entirely and-

Roman let go of the rope he had been clinging onto.

There was no grace in the way that he fell. It wasn't even a matter of choosing a side; ego or change. At first he fell so gradually that he didn't feel it at all, placing all of his thoughts and opinions into a neat little box and shoving them aside. Trying so hard to adapt, trying to be feel comfortable clinging to reasoning that contradicted his role, his meaning, his existence- and before he knew it, he was plummeting towards the ground because even then, that little piece of purpose he was forcing himself to mold his worth around did nothing but feed into the self-righteousness that must've always been there, hiding away under the surface.

Roman could only describe the feeling as air-sickness when he sunk out, his very being thrown into weightless uncertainty. Once he appeared back at his safe place, the place he wanted to be most, he felt his body connect with the ground once more as he collapsed onto the floor, body shaking with sobs and wounds he already knew were appearing.

He had been so stupid. Every step he took was littered with mistakes. Just when he thought he had learned, to try to be more accepting, to know when to give up, to listen to others instead of forging his own path, another thing came along and knocked him back to where he started and he was thrown back into the cycle of trying to atone for his actions. A cycle that never seemed to end.

His arm fractured and started to swell.

For once he thought he finally had it figured out. If he just followed the person who should've known what was best for Thomas, even if it meant going back on his own desires, surely then he would be on the right side for once. But all of a sudden that was wrong and now it was all his fault that so many bad outcomes had come about as a consequence of his lack of assertion. He may not have loaded the gun, but he had pulled the trigger, and that made him more culpable than anyone else.

His nose ached as if hit by an unseen force and began dripping blood.

Even his attempts at keeping his ego in check were all for nothing because the moment he felt threatened he lashed out towards Janus, the side who now all of a sudden deserved a seat at the table because he had gained Patton's favor (nevermind that he had agreed with him first. Oh no, that was just Roman being naive and easy to sway if only you stroke his ego a little. What importance could his opinions possibly have?). But that was the thing, wasn’t it? In the end he just couldn’t win, no matter what he did. When he tried to silence his voice it was too obvious and attention-seeking, and when he chose to project his thoughts it was too loud and abrasive. When he spoke out he was punching down, but when others did the same they were punching up up up. It left him wondering how much more he had to fall before it was no longer deemed okay to kick him while he was down. Was it his fault for choosing to sit atop his golden pedestal, making himself seem forever untouchable and unable to be hurt? And would things be different if he was sensitive like Patton? Complicated like Virgil? Respectable like Logan? Had he been making a mistake all along by pretending to be stronger than he was? But how was he ever supposed to let go of the walls he had built, knowing that the second they crumbled, all the things he had been trying to protect himself from would pass through and destroy everything he had worked so hard for? Maybe it was time to accept that this was all he could be; that there was no way for him to change, no way to soften his edges or stick firm to his beliefs that wouldn’t end with him in a losing position.

His ribs ached, bending unnaturally until he felt a snap in his chest.

Perhaps Janus was right by calling him evil. He had proven it time and time again that he was no good for Thomas. In fact, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that he was worse than Remus. At least he couldn't help the way he was, didn't have control over the problems he caused unlike Roman. He was supposed to be the half with all the bad parts removed. The 2.0 version, new and improved. He had no excuse for being as flawed as he was, not really. All this time spent thinking he was the good twin, and it was nothing more than an act of self-delusion. The grandeur of a side with nothing to show for it beyond his words.

His eyelid puffed up and mottled with colour.

...He was bad. Unneeded. Evil.

The capillaries across his knuckles burst and stained them a violent red.

Everything would be so much better if he just-

"Broman?" Oh shit.

Romans eyes flew open. And he realized belatedly that he wasn't looking at his floor; his floor had intricate Persian rugs and a soft fluffy carpet. This one had various stains and burns and felt scratchy against his fingers.

"What the fuck. Princey? You good?"

1) He wasn't in his room. 2) Wherever he was, Remus and Virgil were here too.

"M-my mistake! I must have accidentally sunk out to the wrong place. If you'll excuse me-" He tried, but his voice was hoarse and clearly not okay. Of all times for his acting skills to have failed him.

"Oh no you don't."

Before he could sink out through the floor, two arms latched under his armpits and hoisted him upright. He choked back a gasp at the sudden movement, senses flashing white as his injuries were jostled. He barely heard the shocked exclamation in front of him before the two voices discussed something hastily and he was deposited onto a soft surface. The ringing in his ears faded, just in time to hear Virgil speak.

"What happened? " He asked, voice layered with anxiety and sounding on the verge of a panic attack. Roman would have tried to reassure him if he didn't feel like his entire body was on fire.

"It just happens sometimes, when Thomas’ ego gets bruised." Remus answered bitterly when it became clear his brother wasn't in a position to explain. He then muttered under his breath: "Though this time is different, huh?"

"What? I thought- I didn’t know it got this bad.” Virgil whispers, horrified.

"Sorry you have to see this, Finding Emo." Roman croaked once he began slowly coming back to his senses. He would regret not being more composed later, but right now he couldn't really bring himself to care about anything. “I’ll be as good as Gucci soon.”

"No. Shut the fuck up, you don't get to say that." Remus said angrily. Why did he sound so mad? Roman tried to crack open his eyes to check, but the world was still spinning too much for him to really recognize what was he was seeing. On top of that it seemed one of his eyes was swollen shut. Joy. That'll make it more difficult to patch himself up later.

"'Told you before, I can handle myself." He finally managed.

"Yeah? Was that you 'handling yourself' when you dropped in and started bleeding all over my floor? Or when you stopped talking to me and kicked us 'dark sides' to the curb because your sense of superiority was more important? Or when you started acting like a royal prick to everyone just so they wouldn't know you spend your nights licking your wounds?"

"Stop." Roman pleaded, shamefully curling into himself as much as his body allowed in its current state. Remus paused in his tirade before continuing, more quietly.

"If you're uncomfortable just from that, you should try watching your brother slowly self-destruct for years and not being able to do anything about it. That's fucking uncomfortable." Roman heard a sniffle, and his body went cold. He hadn't heard Remus get upset since they were kids. Sometimes he forgot that there was more to his brother than his disgusting unpredictable persona, and the thought that he could've been hurting Remus all this time was something that had never even crossed his mind.

"I'm..." Sorry? Was he sorry? Apologizing was practically second nature at this point, but he couldn't even tell if the words would be genuine if he said them. Was he sorry for his actions or for hurting Remus, or was it the fact that he had been caught at all? If he had it his way, none of this would be happening, so perhaps he wasn't as apologetic as he thought. He really was the worst, wasn't he?

Remus seemed to pick up on what he was thinking about saying, because he laughed; not in his usual cartoon-ish way, but resigned and hurt. The sound pulled at Roman's heart. "Save it. Here's what's going to happen you Walmart Prince Eric knockoff. You’re going to accept our help whether you like it or not, and if you try to pull any self-sacrificing BS at any point, I’m going to eat your entire makeup collection.”

“...You wouldn’t. You don’t like the way glitter sticks to your teeth.” Roman argued weakly, just for the sake of being contrary.

“Try me.”

Roman sighed. He really didn’t doubt that Remus would be petty enough to go through with his threats, especially since he knew it how much it would bother Roman to summon a new set. In any case, he wasn’t in a position to do much of anything at the moment, and now that it was too late to pretend like this never happened, he figured he might as well roll with it. Future him could deal with the consequences later.

“Okay.” He said after a moments pause, looking to the Virgil-shaped figure, as much as the crick in his neck would allow. “...Just don’t tell Patton about this. Not yet.”

The figure shuffled, out of what was probably awkwardness after having watching the twins argue. “No worries dude. We’re not exactly on- uh. Y’know what, nevermind, I’ll just go get the medical kit.”

During the moments that Virgil had shuffled off, there was an empty silence. Roman spent it trying to blink his uninjured eye back into focus, until he was finally able to spot Remus standing across from him, an uncharacteristically glum look on his face. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"Don't even joke about that. I don't need more thoughts about-"

"Death? I thought that was pretty par for the course."

Remus smiled wryly at him, sarcastic and mocking. "You dying, dummy. D'you think I never imagined it? Something happening and you disappearing because you never let anyone help you- and me not even knowing it happened? Finding out much too late? Being alone?"

Roman didn't know what to say to that. "Sorry." He blurted out, and this time he felt like he meant it. "If it means anything in retrospect, I wouldn't have ever let it go that far. I think."

"'You think.'" Remus repeated. "God, you need some self-care. It's a shame you and Jan-jan weren't friends before. It's supposed to be his job to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen, you know."

Roman felt himself flinch at the mention of Janus' name before he could control it. If Remus noticed, he didn't get the chance to comment on it, because at that moment Virgil came bustling back with a first aid kit.

"I didn't know what else you needed, so I got some water, balms, bandages, frozen peas, and creams. Just in case." He spoke, noticeably out of breath.

"Water?" Roman asked as a glass was held towards him. He pushed himself upright with some effort and accepted it.

"For painkillers." Virgil replied, handing him some pills once he had set the other items down. "Also your throat sounded kinda rough, and when you cry a lot you can get dehydrated, so..."

Surreptitiously, Roman wiped at his face and tried to not feel too embarrassed that the two of them had heard him wail like a toddler who'd had their favourite toy taken away. Before he knew it, he had taken the pills and downed half of the glass while the other two sides unpacked the medical supplies. Virgil really had thought of everything he might have needed.

Roman blinked as he watched them, stunned that he would go to so much effort. "This is very thoughtful of you, Medic Parade."

Virgil paused as he pieced together the nickname, and then scowled. "Mayday doesn't even sound anything like medic- and it's not. I just didn't want to- y'know- get the wrong things and make it worse."

Remus elbowed Virgil in the side, perhaps in an attempt to cheer him up. "Hey, you can't do any worse than what we did the first time Ro got a booboo."

"...And what was that?" Virgil's hesitant tone indicated he wasn't sure if he want to know.

"Nothing!" Remus grinned.

"I'm pretty sure that was just a concussion." Roman stated before Virgil got the wrong idea and thought they were totally stupid, looking upward as he tried to recall the incident Remus was talking about. It felt like forever ago now. "Not like anything could be done, to be fair."

"'Just'-" Virgil made a strange choked sound. "Is this what my life's gonna be now? Having a worry-induced heart attack every 5 minutes?"

"Welcome to the club!" Remus cheered, offering a fist bump which Virgil ignored in favour of burying his head in his hands.

"Goddammit. Alright- let's get this show on the road I guess. Roman, take your shirt off." When Remus' eyebrows started waggling, clearly about to make an inappropriate comment, Virgil waved his hands wildly to stop him. "So we can look at the damage! Shut your mouth Remus!"

"I didn't say anything." He intoned, looking overly smug before turning to Roman expectantly.

Said man frowned, placing the glass of water on the bedside table next to him. Before he made any move, he glanced at Virgil who was looking red either out of Remus-induced embarrassment or frustration. Mood. "You don't have to stick around for this part if you don't want to. It can be a bit much, so I wouldn't blame you."

"I'm not a baby, Roman." Virgil retorted, crossing his arms. "Making sure you don't die or something is way more important than my comfort. I can't promise you'll be safe from me calling you an idiot until you're better, though."

Roman looked away again. Was that condescending of him to ask? He opened his mouth to apologize, before closing it in resignation. No need to make this into an issue; he'll ask Virgil whether he felt belittled later. "...Okay. That's fair."

Instead of going through the pain of trying to remove a shirt with a possibly broken rib, he snapped and it disappeared. He heard a sharp inhale, but in response to what, he didn't know. Roman looked downwards to check. Among the remnants of previous attempts at self-healing (some messier than others), the area around his right rib was inflamed and a large portion of his stomach was splotched with purple. Noticeably, his left arm was also burning red, but luckily it seemed like the fracture there was non-displaced, which hopefully meant it would heal quicker. Other than that, there weren't any major injuries besides his black eye and bloody nose that needed attention. Could be worse, considering how god-awful he felt! 

Remus whistled. "You look like someone took a dalmatian and made it the colours of the bi-flag."

"Yeah. That's- weirdly accurate." Virgil winced. "What hurts most?"

"Uh- My arm and my ribs I suppose. They're a little... on the broken side."

"That's what I thought." Virgil muttered under his breath, grabbing the items to make a split. "I'll deal with those first, Remus you help with his nose and the bruising. And if you want to make yourself useful, hold these peas to your eye, dumbass."

"Your bedside manners are impeccable." Roman said sarcastically, taking the bag of peas and exhaling as he adjusted to the cold feeling pressed against his face. "...Here I thought there would be a grace period before you started calling me names."

"Just calling it like I see it." Virgil hummed. With deft fingers, he held the splint under Roman's forearm and began winding the bandages around it. "You should probably make an actual brace later when you're up to it, but hopefully this should keep it in place and remind you to not use it for now."

"But that sides my dominant arm-" Roman whined, about to complain about how he was supposed to get work done until Remus pinched the bridge of his nose none too gently, and he yelped. "Ow! Remus."

"Think of that as payback for the last 15 years." Remus replied lightly. "Tilt your head back."

Begrudgingly, Roman complied, resting his head against the headboard.  He stared at the ceiling as his brother and best friend silently worked their way around his injuries, applying topical ointment to his bruises and applying band-aids to small cuts. He didn't even realize they had finished until Remus bonked him on the head.

"All done! Shame it's not Halloween. You could go as a mummy again."

"Ha ha. What a comedian you are." Roman replied in a deadpan, but fought to keep a smile away anyway. The irony of how much he resembled that costume right now definitely wasn't lost on him.

"...I'm sorry for ruining that, by the way." Virgil spoke up suddenly from where he had been packing everything away, breaking the thoughtful silence he'd been in for the past few minutes. "Your costume during the Christmas video, I mean. And saying all of that harsh stuff to make a point."

Roman only stared, taken aback. "All of that happened half a year ago. I'm not upset about that."

"I know, I know. It's just... I've been thinking about it recently, all the times I haven't acted very...good." He bit his lip, averting his eyes. "Especially now, knowing that kind of thing literally hurts you."

"Virgil." Roman sighed softly, taking his hand. Virgil startled but didn't pull away. "You don't need to be 'good' all the time. Wasn't that the point you were trying to get across back then? All of us have made mistakes in our pasts, some more than others, but if you can forgive us for that, then you deserve the same acceptance for your less-than-stellar moments."

"Oh." He said, eyes glassy. His hand tightened around Roman's. "I'm still sorry, if I've ever made things worse for you or if I haven't been supportive enough."

"I- You have-"  Roman spluttered worriedly, sitting up.

"It's alright, I already know that we kinda work against each other at times. Part of the job." Roman's mouth closed with a grimace. "Still, it's unfair on you. You shouldn't be expected to perfect, especially not with an asshole like me there to tear into your work. So just...know that it's okay to tell us when you're struggling, okay?"

"Right..." Roman bit his cheek. Virgil seemed well-meaning, but showing that sort of weakness was a concept he still found difficult to accept, even if he had given in this time and allowed himself to be completely seen. Virgil noticed his lackluster agreement and patted him with his free hand.

"Hey. In almost any case we'd embrace you."

"...No one hates you."  Roman finished a beat later with a small smile. Virgil's face lit up and moved closer to his side. Upon seeing this, Remus unceremoniously squished himself between the two of them, careful not to bump against Roman too much (although Virgil definitely got the brunt of Remus crawling over him, to his dismay).

"Look at you two, my favourite dorks, bonding over feeling insecure!" He declared, throwing an arm around both of them. "Couldn't be me, but I still love you."

Roman poked Remus' side. "So that wasn't you admitting to being worried earlier?"

"Nope! New phone who dis?"

"You're insufferable." Virgil rolled his eyes fondly. "...I love you guys."

And Roman sighed contently, feeling safe and cared for. Things weren't perfect right now; he still needed time to heal and Remus and Virgil would undoubtedly want him to open up about what happened sooner or later, but for now he was was able to hear that he was loved and believe it to be true, and that was enough.

"I love you both too. Thank you."

[lieblingspulli]

Coffee Table Dreams

Summary: A peaceful morning with Namjoon after he comes home late again.

wc: 966

Masterlist!

You stretched your stiff arms in hopes that this tired feeling would go away. The soft morning light filtered through the white curtains and temporarily blinded you as you cracked open your eyelid.

Consciousness failed to show up as you stretched your whole body while half buried in the white comforter. The bed was warm and you were aching all over from a deep sleep. No sounds were heard as you felt the heaviness from your fingertips to your shoulders down to your lower back and finally at your toes. Your feet tickled as they touched something else, probably the feet of your boyfriend, still deeply asleep.

You relaxed after a good cat stretch and took a deep breath before releasing any tension from your stiff body, just listening to the morning birds as you gained some form of acute hearing. Not wanting to get up just yet, you let yourself wake up with the sounds of the tiny birds outside the window and deep breathing from the man lying beside you. His breathing was steady and deep, while yours was shallow from being newly awake.

You felt everything in your body for a while, until you were ready to start the day. You felt the dryness of your throat, aching to drink some water. You felt the stiffness of your shoulder from laying on it all night. You felt the warmth radiating from your body, from being covered in a heavy blanket and heavy arms all night. You felt the cool air as you lifted your arms above you to stretch even more. Everything felt so light and ethereal in the first hour of consciousness, if you closed your eyes maybe you could even fall back asleep.

Just as you were getting comfortable and your breathing deepened, Namjoon took a deep breath and rolled over, nearly rolling off the bed if you weren’t there to grab his shirt. He just groaned in response and shifted so he was on his back and safely away from the edge.

You huffed in annoyance, your semi-consciousness being interrupted in such a sudden matter. With you now fully awake, you sat up and lifted your arms to the sky, feeling the deep stretch in your shoulder muscles down to your waist. Finally satisfied with your level of awareness, you scooted out of bed, slipped on your sandals and wasted no time in getting some water to quench your thirst.

On your way to the kitchen, you spotted an abnormal amount of papers and notebooks scattered on the newly bought coffee table Namjoon had picked out at a flea market a week prior. Usually Namjoon was careful about leaving things out overnight but you assumed he had a long day at the studio, so you collected everything to set aside for him.

That is, until you spotted Namjoon’s familiar cactus pen stuck in his song notebook. Just as you peeked and saw the title, “Coffee Table Dreams”, the man himself stumbled through the doorway, undoubtedly still half asleep.

“Good Morning baby.” He mumbled and quite literally stumbled over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing a double shot iced coffee. His voice was thick with fatigue and rough from singing all week. You quickly set aside all the papers you found earlier and padded over to him.

“How late did you come home last night Joon?” You wrapped your hands around his waist, letting him do the same to you. Namjoon rocked side to side and yawned, telling you it was a lot later than usual. You inhaled his scent, smelling vanilla and a hint of oak, and sighed.

“Did you at least come to bed right away?” You searched his barely opened eyes and studied the way his honey brown hair stuck up every which way. He breathed deeply before giving you an apologetic look, also telling you no without saying anything. By now, you knew what look said yes and what sorry look said no. “Baby.. you work too hard, too long and wayyyyy too much. What were you doing up so late?” You pouted and Joon smiled lovingly before shuffling the two of you over to the table. He sat down and pulled you down to sit on his lap before drinking more of his coffee, letting the silence fill in the space before he said his first coherent thoughts of the day.

“I had a good idea.” He playfully said. “It’s a secret.”

The sunlight brightened and lit the whole living room with a gorgeous morning feeling. Although a little too bright for Joon, you basked in the light as you continued to hug your boyfriend softly.

Eventually you just huffed and moved to make some breakfast, but Namjoon held you tight and reveled in your presence while snuggling up to you.

“Can you give me a hint baby?” You caressed his head and ran your fingers through his hair, hoping to coax anything out of him. With just the knowledge of the title, now you were curious.

He shook his head while buried in your neck and hummed a no. “Mm- mmh.” You scratched his back and let the subject go knowing he would forget this secrecy and eventually blurt it out sometime.

The birds continued to chirp and the sunlight continued to shine as you let Namjoon fall mildly asleep against you, exhausted from all the burdens on him. You felt his soft breathing and hoped he was dreaming about sunnier days and less stressful evenings. He deserved every peaceful morning that you could possibly give him.

You thought of his song and the beautiful wood coffee table that it sat on, light in color and deeply woven with graceful lines. The sun tinted it orange and you smiled against Namjoon’s golden hair.

a/n: Thanks for reading! Any note and reblog helps <3 have a great day!

[florenceisfalling]

raise it up

hey this is a gift for @jaeyleo and it is very late!! my dearest apologies!! i may make this a series someday! every title would be from ‘rabbit heart’ lmao

WARNINGS MIGHT SPOIL IT, but warnings for: hypnosis, corrupted! and puppet!egos, semi-kidnapping, and some... well, i guess you’d call it non-consensual magical exchanges?? 

have fun ;)

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

The theatre is a bit chilly in spite of the presence of hundreds of warm bodies around you, some dressed in suits and ties, others dressed in colorful sweaters and patterned button-ups. It’s as if wearing anything too casual or uninteresting would be considered seriously underdressing compared to the man plastered on nearly every poster around the building.

“Come See Marvin the Magnificent for his famous WORLD TOUR!” they all said, in bold, colorful letters. Beneath the script was the magician himself, arms splayed out dramatically with a charming smile, cape flowing behind him. You remember the days when he was basically unheard of, only doing local shows and YouTube videos, and you remember his climb to fame… well, climb wasn’t the right word. More like skyrocket.

Before, he would have pranced across the stage with a bouncing sort of energy, shouting sing-song remarks into the microphone and over-flourishing with his ring-covered hands. But now, as he walks out on the stage, his flashy outfit and fancy set is outshined by his confident gaze. His steps are slow and steady, his voice even and low, a smile creeping into every word. He radiates self-assurance. Marvin is no longer trying to catch and hold your attention with all his desperate might - he already knows your eyes are on him, he already knows you won't be able to look away. It seems effortless for him.

The crowd cheers and roars, and he giggles a bit before he presses a hand gently to his heart- “Thank you, thank you, everyone.” As soon as he opens his arms and sweeps them wide, the entire theatre hushes like children beneath the low drama of a library’s storyteller.

Eyes scanning over the mass of people, he nods. 

It almost looks like his gaze stops directly on your face.

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

The show is absolutely brilliant. Stranded particles of dust collect in the air and transform into a vivid illusion of a whale swimming overhead, then scatter into twinkling shooting stars, tumbling down and vanishing right before they land among the audience. With a Cheshire grin on his face, the magician disappears and reappears from stage to seat to the rafters that hold up the lights. Necklaces turn into snakes and rings flutter away like butterflies, only to return back to metal and stone. It is magic and mystery and miracles at their finest - you know for a fact that any critic in the audience has yet been baffled and converted.

But when it seems like there is nothing left for Marvin to display, he calls out a phrase that is equal parts inviting and unnerving. 

“For this next trick, I need a volunteer!”

Immediately, without a hint of hesitation, your hand flies up, your arm waving like a white flag of surrender. You’ve never been the type to like spotlights flashing over you on a stage, you would much rather be behind the scenes, but you can’t seem to put your hand down… nor can anyone else in the room. Stretching out from your seat to the rest is a sea of skin, of nails, of rings, of gloves, all stretching and towards the stage as if you were all subjects of a Baroque painting.

Marvin descends into the audience, slowly stepping down the stage and meandering between the rows of seats. Closing his eyes, he seems almost… relaxed by the hundreds of fingers trying so desperately to touch his face or his mask or his cape. Eventually, though, the clicks of his high-heeled boots stop, and you realize he is in front of your aisle. 

A sense of deep dread washes over you when he points his finger right towards your chest, and you stand to follow him, despite the nervousness and stage fright that you get from even imagining going up there. But the chance is irresistible, isn’t it? Softly, he hooks his arm around yours, and soon the crowd’s voice mixes with disappointment and excitement.

The magician doesn’t say a word to you while you march across the carpet, but it’s not like it would matter. The theatre is far too loud, but the stage… the stage feels strangely, comfortingly quiet. 

Arm shifting, Marvin’s hand slides down to yours, gently squeezing your fingers. All the fear fades from you when his other hand reaches up to brush hair out of your face. As he looks you in the eye, calm washes over you in a melty way, like syrup dripping down your brain. You swear his eyes were bluer, once, in the old photos on social media- but now someone has poured gold flecks inside, his irises nearly all green. While his pupils are stretched similarly to a cat’s, they don’t look like costume contacts; the gold is too shimmery, too deep. A shiver trickles down your spine and he nods, squeezing your hand another time. Swirling colors start to spill into your vision, and the lights become fuzzy and smeared; the change is enough to make you dizzy or knock you over, but Marvin holds you steady. It’s only been a few seconds, but you swear fifteen minutes have passed in this blissful trip. The last words he says to you are quiet, personal, the microphone turned off - a little secret you both share beneath the murmurs of the audience - “Stay very still.”

And you do. 

He turns back to the crowd, and now the voice he speaks with sounds like it’s underwater. Everything is fuzzy, sleepy, but you hear him say something about a split, about a soul. The hundreds of people sitting in rows shout and call, chanting something that sounds faintly like your name - you don’t remember telling anyone your name - and gasping in surprise. You’re unsure of what they find so remarkable until you slowly look down, realizing that you’re a few feet above the ground, now, and your body… your body is laying on the floor, the form you are currently is far more transparent, far more flowing. You look like a ghost, and Marvin draws a little light out of you, pressing it to his eyes. More gold collects in them.

He then snaps his fingers.

And you’ve returned to the floor, head spinning. You are back in your body, and his hand takes yours to lift you to your feet. He turns you to the crowd and you numbly wave, stumbling just a little with a dazed smile plastered to your face. 

Soon, someone else approaches you on the stage, half-tripping on his way. Through the thick fog in your head and eyes, you see his neat black suit and messy, fading green curls tumbling down one side of his face. Marvin is talking again, “thank you”s mimed out of his mouth while the crowd roars and claps, amazed amidst your confusion. They don’t even seem to notice the new man - a staff member, maybe? - on stage, the one in the suit who now gently grabs your shoulder, taking care as he walks you away from the magician. They don’t notice a thing at all...

“Right this way, right this way,” the new man mumbles, nervousness in his tone. As you look closer, still so dizzy you can barely keep your head up, you think you see a bruise starting to fade from one of his tired eyes. Your gaze is so fixed on it that you don’t stop to question why he’s chosen to exit stage left with you.

A moment later, you’re walking behind the curtains, entering a small corridor with dim lights and doors marked Staff Only. You try to absentmindedly count the doors while you stumble past, but the numbers twist and tumble in your head, a rush that just leaves you even more lost than before.

Eventually, the both of you reach a door that was once marked to be a dressing room, though the sign for that has been long since torn off. There’s a heavy padlock hanging from the door to the outer wall on a chain, much more drastic than the small lock built into the doorknob. The man who you lean on lifts a shaking hand to his breast pocket, pulling out a shining key, and unlocks the door with a distinct metallic click. 

Inside, it does not look like a dressing room - at least, not entirely. While one half of it does feature hanging clothing and a vanity, as well as some jumbled props, the other side is instead filled with thrifted couches and chairs, all gathered awkwardly around a bed that looks strangely… medical?

“Uh, sit, sit, please, right there, thank you…” 

The stranger ushers you forward to the couch, and you’re too hazy to even think of hesitating. Held up comfortably by the cushions, you feel like you’re going to fall right asleep, your consciousness melting right into the fabric below. But the man shifts, and you keep your eyes open to watch.

Keeping his head down and avoiding your sleepy stare as he walks around the furniture and behind you, he opens a cabinet that you did not initially notice and pulls out a crystal glass. Next to the cabinet is a small door, and the man slips behind it, reappearing with the glass now full of cool water. 

Slowly, the careful clicks of his dress shoes against the floor draw closer, and you squint, trying to get a better look at him from here. 

The bruise on his face isn’t the only thing marring his skin, you notice; more bruises peek from behind the sleeves of his suit, and a deep, gnarled scar cuts across his throat. On both sides of the scar lay deep red lines, like someone had fastened a collar far too tightly around his neck. A frown forming on his face is enough to interrupt your thoughts; he adjusts his shirt and tie to better cover what you’ve seen, before sitting beside you.

“Here,” he mutters, and pries your nearly-numb fingers open to place the cold glass in your grip. “Drink some, i-it’s supposed to help…”

You do as he says, and the worry in his face seems to lighten. 

“Thank… thank you. You did, um, real well, in the show. I’m sorry about what he did, though…” Even through the foggy mess that your mind currently is, a hint of fear peeks through at the man’s words. “I s-suppose I should introduce myself, I’m… Anti. And you are…?”

No matter the effort you expend, you can’t get coherent words off the tip of your tongue, not even enough to say your name. Anti sighs, understanding the feeling. 

“That’s alright. It’ll come back in a while, though you’ll never get everything back, y’know? Too late for that.”

With every word he says, more concern starts to build in your mind- what exactly have you gotten yourself into?

You’re dragged out from those thoughts when you realize that you still hear Marvin’s voice echoing from the stage, though you cannot identify any distinct words. Just a tone that wants to lull you to sleep, wants to numb the crowd into oblivion. You feel so tired, oh, why must your eyelids hang so heavy?

But Anti is still talking, too, quietly and nervous when he sees the look of fear that has grown on your face. “It- it’s alright, really! It shouldn’t… shouldn’t be any serious damage, even if it sounds scary- he only took a small part of your soul. Marv, he’s gotta feed that magic somehow, r-right?”

On shaky legs, you try to stand. You have to get out of here, don’t you? If only Anti didn’t gently push you back down by your shoulders, hushing you with a slightly panicked face, if only you didn’t feel like a gust of wind would be enough to knock you over. 

“No, no, he’ll be here after the show, okay? And… and then you should be able to go home, h-he just needs to check up on you, that’s all, promise… please get some rest, pretty please, for me?” Anti stares at you while he talks, a sickly sweet voice creeping into his words, and it’s almost like his eyes are trying to reach into your mind. Despite this, his gaze takes no effect on you. 

There’s barely any magic left inside him, after all.

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

You do fall asleep, eventually. While Anti’s weak attempts at hypnosis did nothing, Marvin’s work is still heavy in your mind, and you’re plunged into a warm, sickeningly sweet darkness.

The dream you find yourself in is not much comfort, but you pray it lasts a while. You don’t know what will happen to you when you wake up.

☽✧    ✦    ✧☾

welcome, dear reader, to my interpretation of the corrupted!marvin au ~

that’s all, folks! go follow @jaeyleo / @cest-mellow if you have not already, she is an absolute sweetheart who inspires me so so much

sidenote: any religious imagery u spot in this is very intentional

[dreamcatcherjiah]

Part 9

💞Tight Hearts (Idol!Hoseok x Reader)

Plot: The red string of fate was visible when our grandparents were children. They would play around, following the strings from one person to their soulmate and laugh happily when these two people inevitably found each other. It was a reason for happiness. But little by little, people stopped seeing the threads. In bad times, it was dangerous, it was a liability, so people stopped seeing them to protect each other from harm. When I was born, nobody saw them anymore, they just felt their soulmate. Anxiety, happiness, sorrow, love, the hearts of the soulmates are one, feel the same things, but it is almost impossible to find your soulmate, now that the threads cannot be seen.

Tight Hearts Masterlist

Part 9

A/n: Here is part 9!!! With this part, I’ve come to realise that guilt does play a nice part in the creative process, lool. It’s taken me centuries to get to a point where I felt like writing at all, I can hardly believe I managed to take this chapter into the four thousand word mark! I hope you guys like it. It is not so much where I wanted it to be, but I’m getting there!

Love you guys and I missed you a lot!🖤

As consciousness was claiming you back, your heart settled in your chest with a feeling of contentment and happiness you hadn’t felt before. Hoseok’s arm was flung over your waist and his hand was moving against your spine in soft caresses. You hadn’t moved from the position you fell asleep in and, waking up but still with your eyes closed, you could feel his soft breath against your eyelashes. Your heart jumped in your chest as his arms tightened against you, snuggling you closer to his chest. With a smile, you slung your own arm over Hoseok’s ribcage and settled your head in against his throat. It wasn’t long before sleep claimed you again. 

You heard Hoseok’s little yelp before you actually opened your eyes. He tensed for a second and tried prying his arm from under your neck. He was making small distressed noises trying not to wake you up but achieving totally the opposite; make you laugh. It started slow, as a small chuckle at the back of your throat that escalated into a full giggle when you opened your eyes and saw his startled expression. His eyes were open wide and his mouth was hanging open forming a heart-shaped half smile that began morphing into a full grin the longer you laughed. Instinctively, you tightened your arms around his torso and hid your face against his chest to try and calm yourself. 

“And here I thought you were going to flip and send me flying from the bed,” he laughed, draping himself back around you and settling back in the bed with you in his arms.

“I haven’t felt happier than I am feeling now, I don’t ever want to let you go,” you whispered, more relaxed than you remembered ever being, letting out a calming sigh as you looked up at his smiling face, “I do know this feeling is the bond messing with our pheromones but I just don’t want it to end.”

His smile grew the biggest you had ever seen it and he dropped a kiss to your forehead. Laying back down on the bed, the both of you spent the morning talking about your lives, how you had started feeling each other through the bond at such an early age. Hoseok told you many things about his grandmother, how she had been the one to break the news of the bond to him when he was not older than two. He could still remember, he told you with a wistful smile, how the old woman would cuddle him to her chest and create new stories for him, how she would, as he grew older, talk about her meeting with Hoseok’s grandfather through the Red String of Fate. 

“You must have been fascinated by those stories,” you whispered, while your hand absentmindedly drew patterns over his chest, with your head moving up and down as he drew breaths and exhaled, “I can just imagine a little Hobi smiling and listening to her telling him fairytales.”

He startled and turned his head so he could look at you. A small frown was present on his features and you wanted nothing more than touch it with your fingers and make it disappear.

“Well, not so much fairytales, since we know for a fact it is real, don’t you think?” That settled the mood into something more sombre than when you woke up. All the things, all the meetings and responsibilities waiting for you outside that room rushed to the forefront of both your minds and the blissfulness dulled to a warm sense of wellbeing around your heart. “I can’t believe how comfortable I feel with you, just like this. Do you think it has to do with us sleeping together?” He asked and you watched as his features morphed into mortification when he realised how the words that just left his lips may have sounded, “I only… I meant sleeping— as in, you know, just sleeping… no, hugging you in your sleep— wait, no, that sounds creepy… you know—.” 

You giggled against his chest just as you had done that same morning as you woke up. He was an adorable mess when he was flustered.

“I do know what you mean,” you responded, deciding to take him out of his misery, “in fact, that’s what I wanted to tell you last night, but my brain was too fried to form a coherent thought.”

“Is your brain okay now?” He asked, looking intently at your head, as if the answer would somehow just jump out of it and he wouldn’t have to look you in the eye.

Pushing against his chest to get into a more comfortable position, you rested your head in your hand and watched as he changed his position, half laying, half sitting against he headboard with an arm supporting his head. His other arm, as if neither of you noticed, was still resting on your shoulder blade, drawing small patterns. 

“My brain is much clearer now,” you smirked, “mind you, it still thinks you’re extremely hot and can’t stop thinking scenarios, but I can control it,” only seeing how red his ears got made you regret having spoken too freely. After all, you two were still strangers, you were a fan at that and that kind of comments were highly inappropriate in any sort of situation. “Too soon?” You asked, avoiding his eyes, which wasn’t too difficult to do as he was busy himself examining the pristine ceiling as if he would find a blemish there if he focused intently enough.

With a huff, he scoffed and tightened the hold of his arm around your shoulder. “No, it’s just— I think the bond is producing the same thoughts both ways…”

That sure was an effective way to shut you up. You left your head fall from where your hand was supporting it and felt how Hoseok’s heart hammered against his ribcage on your cheek as it lay on his chest. With the way he was behaving, you would have bet and lost on him not being as affected as you were by the bond. It was time you admitted that the bond went through both of you, it would be the fastest way to get used to it and stop feeling awkward every time something escaped your mind. 

“Hey,” he called, lifting your face from its hiding place and placing another sweet kiss on your forehead, “I can feel you getting ashamed and I’m not going to let you, okay?” His eyes were completely focused on yours, no trace of that semi-permanent blush that had been there since your first meeting, “We’re in this together, we’re both learning and it’s gonna take it’s sweet time, but just think about it. One day, we’ll be comfortable together, it will feel as if it’s the most natural thing to wake up in each other’s arms, even if it doesn’t now, okay?”

“It does feel like the most natural thing in the world…” you whispered, too shy to voice your thoughts aloud.

“What does?” Hoseok asked, making his lips turn into a small pout with his confusion. 

Battling your shame and feeling how your cheeks got hotter and hotter as the blood rushed around in your ears, you wondered what he would do if you lied, if you made something up, other than what you had actually said. His eyes were still wide open, looking straight at you, and maybe that was it, or maybe was the way his body fit perfectly with yours and how your always screaming rational side had chosen that specific moment to shut up and bask in the wellness your soulmate was radiating to you. It may have been a spur-of-the-moment thing, but you told him the absolute truth.

“Waking up in your arms,” you answered while looking him straight in the eyes. 

They got even wider as his brain registered the new bombshell you had decided to drop on him and then, they traveled all over your face as if they were looking for any sign of you lying. Obviously, he couldn’t find a lie anywhere, everything you’d said was the pure, even if a bit embarrassing, truth. Then his eyes dropped to your lips and the temperature in the room rose to an unbearable extreme. Your heart, somehow dormant after the relaxing morning, did a somersault in your chest and started beating at an alarming speed, pumping blood to every crevice of your body, alerting you of every movement of your soulmate’s body, the way his breathing had also increased and he seemed unable to let go of you, bringing you closer and closer to him as the seconds ticked away. If you hadn’t been paying attention to him, you may have missed the way his pupils dilated and almost covered all the deep brown surrounding them, the way his mouth slightly opened as if the wind had been knocked out of him and the only thing he could do was try to breath. Your bodies were melting into the mattress, a mess of taut muscles and electric shocks, intertwined and beating in unison. In the back of your head you could feel a warning, something telling you that you would regret whatever happened if you gave yourselves to the bond. You would later thank him for his kindness in dealing with your messy feelings in the moment, but when his words were uttered, a frustrated sigh left your lips.

“Y/N…” he exhaled, his breath ghosting over your cheeks and sending a shiver down your spine, “Y/N, take a deep breath. Close your eyes, focus on…” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “breathing.”

Listening to his voice, you followed his instructions and turned your head away from his face. The situation had nearly gotten out of hand and you should thank your lucky stars he at least had kept some of his mind working, because the mortification that would have come out of such situation could have lasted for longer than you cared to admit. Both his hands were going up and down your back and he was whispering to himself to get his act together. You focused on his voice. Only his voice and rested your head on his shoulder looking away from him. 

Little by little, sanity came back to you. As soon as Hoseok felt your uneasiness, his hold on you tightened and his hands stilled on your waist; he wouldn’t allow you to feel ashamed of what had happened. You could feel determination and affection coming out of him in waves and you decided right there and then that you would give back just as much.

“Let’s do something,” his voice, still affected, whispered into the shell of your ear, “we go at our own pace, okay? Let’s go with what it feels right for both of us.”

You smiled. Somehow he had voiced one of the hundred thoughts going around in your head: is this going too fast? He was right, you had to admit. What may be fast for the rest of the world, felt like a walk in the park for a pair of soulmates; the emotional connection was a given with the likes of you and, if the episode you experimented minutes before was anything to go by, the physical connection was there as well. The only thing missing was knowing him. Really knowing him. And he had gauged your reaction to him to perfection. 

“We don’t have to answer to anyone else,” he kept saying, getting more and more relaxed, “as long as you and I are okay, then that’s all I want.”

Not needing an answer, he hugged you to his chest once more and kissed the crown of your head. He untangled himself from the mess of sheets and walked into the bathroom. It looked like the small bubble you had been enjoying most of the morning was about to burst. You rolled until your head was resting on Hoseok’s pillow and, with his scent surrounding you and overwhelming all your senses, you felt how your brain began to go back to normal. Something had clicked into place that night while you slept next to him. Your head, the rational you, that had been screaming bloody murder the prior night, completely refusing to loose its independence, had somehow recognised Hoseok as something good and essential to you. Your mind was now completely blank, not even registering the fact that Hoseok had moved away from you, the furthest you’d been since you met last night, and neither of you had even flinched. 

You sat on the bed and stretched, your muscles relieving tension that had been building for years but that now was useless. Looking around, you saw your bag resting against a bookshelf next to the window and didn’t even think twice before getting up and going to get it. You were reaching down to lift it from the floor when the door to the bathroom opened and you pivoted only to see a still-wet Hoseok jumping on one foot as he tried to straighten his shirt with only one sock on.

“Oh! Are you okay?” You asked, worried he might have fallen in the shower and hurt himself or something, not even realising you would have felt or heard something if that was the case. 

“I just—” he groaned as his knee nocked against the corner of the bed as he hastily approached you, “I was completely fine until I felt you moving away and I just… moved,” he looked incredibly confused, with his shirt now on and both socks in place, his hands were on his hips as his eyes shot daggers at the bed, “I didn’t even realise I could stand away from you until I could only think to get back to you.”

You smiled. The sweetness of his puzzlement moved you to the core. He was so fast to reassure you and yet, he walked on eggshells whenever he thought he might be overstepping his boundaries with you. Again, you were going to make sure he felt just how much you appreciated everything he had done for you since you met. 

“Do you trust me?” You repeated your words from last night, making his head turn to you like lightning and his eyes analyse everything about you with a calculating focus that made you suddenly realise how intimidating it was to be the sole focus of Jhope’s attention. Carefully, he nodded but still his eyes didn’t stray away from you. 

Without even thinking, you travelled the length of the room in two strides and threw your arms around is waist, your ear right above his heart and your hands resting lightly on his back. The sudden wave of euphoria you were expecting didn’t come, just like a mere shudder of warm honey bathing your skin, the familiarity that was already Hoseok didn’t phase you a bit. He chuckled and drove his arms around you as well, his hand caressing your hair and settling there, basking in the feeling of being together. 

“It doesn’t feel invasive now, does it?” You asked, your bodies swaying side to side, “like you said before, our own time, Hoseok.”

“I love it when you say my name like that,” his voice sounded less affected than you’d ever heard it, you were wondering. He followed, “do you want to shower before breakfast? We’re supposed to be at BigHit in three hours, how do you feel about brunch?” If the mention of the impending meeting at his company phased you before, it didn’t even register as something negative in your mind now. He’d be with you.

“I think I’ll grab a shower before we leave, it’s a bit warm in here and I don’t want to shower twice if I sweat…” he nodded, tapping your head with his chin in the process, “and brunch sounds heavenly! I’m quite a bit hungry.”

As if on queue, both your stomachs growled at the same time, prompting the both of you into yet another round of giggles. If your future was going to be anything like this first morning, you were ready to laugh next to this man.

The kitchen was in pristine condition. If you didn’t know for a fact that seven men lived in the apartment you could have sworn that kitchen just came out of an IKEA catalogue. You sat on one of the chairs while Hoseok moved about between cupboards and counters. He was making salad and pulling huge containers out of the freezer. Cutting some kimchi and preparing some rice. If your calculations were right, that was too much food for only two people, but it was his house, his kitchen and his food, you weren’t about to contradict him. Maybe you could finish all that food, you were nearly starving after all. 

So focused you were on ogling how he moved about the kitchen, with his hair getting fluffier as it dried, that you didn’t notice the sound of feet approaching the kitchen or some chairs being occupied next to you. You were forced out of your daydreaming by someone cleaning their throat to your right.

Turning in your seat, you were startled to find Kim Namjoon sitting next to you, his elbow on the table and his chin resting on his hand, imitating your same position. Were you really looking at Hoseok looking like that? Mortifination, here I come, you thought.

“How are you feeling this fine morning, miss Y/N?” He asked. He didn’t seem to be joking, even if his words may look like it, his eyes were serious and he sat, patiently waiting for you to answer. Looking around the kitchen, you noticed that Seokjin and Yoongi had also entered the kitchen and were busy pretending not to be paying attention at your conversation with Namjoon while preparing coffee and some kind of omelet. Hoseok wasn’t even being subtle at it and just smiled at you encouragingly only to turn and scoop a good amount of rice into a pink bowl. With a slight tilt of your head, you greeted them, thinking that introductions were long overdue but not knowing how get them out of the way without looking awkward. You decided to hold onto the lifeline Namjoon had thrown you and, looking back to him and finding him in the same position, smiled and answered his question.

“I am great, thank you very much,” your shaky smile turned into a genuine smile just as his did, and his dimples showed up, “Hoseok has been wonderful and I feel rested for the first time in years.”

A windshield boast of laughter interrupted the quiet calm of the kitchen as Seokjin threw his arm around hoseok and ruffled his hair.

“Did you all hear that? She calls him Hoseok and he’s been wonderful!” His laughter was contagious and even Yoongi ended up laughing along with the three of you as he settled in the chair across from yours. Hoseok brought over all the food and placed some of it under a small umbrella, for the little ones when they wake up, he told you. The four of you did a faster job of the food than you could have imagined. Apparently after Hoseok and you retired for the night, the rest of them had had a few celebratory drinks and had woken up hangover and hungry.

“It’s always like this, Y/N,” was telling you Yoongi, becoming quickly comfortable with you as Hoseok found more and more in common between the two of you, “we wake up early after we drink, make huge amounts of food and then, when the other three finish polishing up the plates, they clean. A nice symbiosis we’ve got here,” he finished, chuckling along with you at the image of the other three members of BTS finishing off the huge dishes the other four had set aside for them. 

“Now, let’s talk business,” started Jin, after sharing a meaningful look with Namjoon, “what are we going to do with BigHit?”

Silence reigned in the kitchen then. You felt Hoseok tensing beside you and immediately relax. His feelings were a mess of nervousness, anticipation and apprehension, but on the outside he was calm and collected.

“Bang PD was okay with me having a soulmate, we’ll just go and talk to them, the PR team as well. But they should know things are changing. Y/N is here to stay,” he said as his hand got a hold of yours under the table. You had a feeling his brothers noticed but none of them did anything but nod at Hoseok’s words, as if taking it as fact.

“All of us will be there with you, of course,” was saying Namjoon, drinking his Americano with a metallic straw that reflected the light from the windows into your eyes. The whole thing looked just surreal to you, sitting in the kitchen table with Seokjin, Namjoon, Yoongi and your Soulmate Hoseok. How had your life turned into this? You wouldn’t know, “Y/N’s part of the family now. Someone will have to wake up Jimin, Tae and JK, but we’ll be ready to go when you guys are. I just need to know how many cars we’ll be needing to text Sejin.”

The other three seemed used to this complete 180 degree personality change, from the Namjoon who nearly stabbed his eye with the straw, to Kim Namjoon, RM, leader of BTS. You, on the other hand, were getting whiplash.

Sensing it, even before you did, Hoseok moved your hands from under the table and placed a light kiss on yours. His eyes connected with yours and as if he was speaking out loud for the whole house to hear, you heard his whisper: “This is normal, Y/N. I’m here, okay?”

You nodded. You just needed some time to get used to the new life thrown in front of you. You prided yourself in being a fast learner and quick to adapt to new situations. You would just have to floor it and get used to it faster. 

As if you needed something else to get used to, just as Hoseok was lowering your hands back to the table, another pair of feet were heard entering the kitchen, followed by a sleepy Jimin, rubbing his face. His eyes glossed over the kitchen, seemingly taking notice of the people there and realising there was one too many.  

“Hey Y/N, I’m very glad to see you looking alive again! I got very worried yesterday! I’m gonna like having you around! Please tell me there’s some mul-naengmyeon left!”

He examined the dishes as if nothing had happened wishfully ignorant to your wide eyes and the way your legs were hammering a whole into the marble floor. The older men were found in varying degrees of amusement at your nervousness, but all of them found it hilarious. It was Jin who, this time, took pity of you and smiling brightly, set a piece of kimchi in your spoonful of rice.

“That’s our Jiminnie for you, very excitable!”

Smiling, Hoseok pushed you up to your feet and reminded you to take that shower you were talking about earlier. He tidied up both your places on the table and, promising to come back quickly so you could leave for the company, he guided your shocked self back to his room. He stopped to check one on the rooms in the hallway, telling someone to get ready fast and to wake the maknae while they were still ahead of schedule, continuing later on his way. Once inside of his room, he produced a nice pair of jeans and a huge orange hoodie from one of the drawers and, putting them in your hands, gently guided you to the bathroom and smiled at you, closing the door behind you.

SOOO, WHAT DID YOU GUYS THINK? TOO FAST? TOO SLOW? SHOULD I RETIRE?🥴

Send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list.

Love 💜🌙

Tag list: @obsessoverthesmallthings247 @threedecadesofawkward @mabel-k3 @tremendousminyoongi @justignoremepleaz @demonic-meatball @hadaises @littlestsweetpea28 @rjsmochii @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @gali-005 @salty-for-suga @indicisive-af @nomimits7 @lysjeon @raisatarannum1234 @purplelady85 @threedecadesofawkward @valentynxmgc @acopenhagenarmy @ephyra1230 @minluvly @trashandshook @brinascorpio @trixiethebear @hobi-love​

[draconica]

10 + 14 for nellis prompts?

10: Anniversary celebration 14: Morning sex

I switched out anniversary and made it a birthday instead. Enjoy it, bby 😎

On the evening before his birthday (a day he wasn't terribly looking forward to), Nick had decided that the best thing to do would be hit the casino and forget about his upcoming “special” day. Ellis was at work for a long shift and Nick wanted to avoid any more cheery reminders when he got home, so had punted to leave early and grab a bite to eat before heading on to his favorite casino for the night.

When he got home at whatever o'clock in the morning, Ellis was already in bed, which was nothing new, but once Nick had slipped under the covers and tried to shuffle closer to Ellis in order to spoon him, the kid had grunted a little and moved away from his arms. A bewildered, slightly drunken Nick wondered if Ellis was mad at him about something. But before he could process the thought any further, Ellis had sleepily rolled over and snuggled with Nick face to face instead, settling back to sleep almost immediately. Though slightly confused at the time, Nick had been too tired to care and had passed out shortly thereafter.

The next morning, plagued only slightly by a hangover, the gambler stirred into consciousness and was met with a bright, sunny morning peeking through the blinds. He groaned and tried to roll over so he could try and comfortably get five more minutes, but blearily realised that he was trapped on his back.

That was because his arms were tied to the headboard above his head.

“What the-” Nick tilted his head back, trying to see for himself and could only just see the red necktie that had been used, one of his own in fact. Considering that he was still a little spaced and that Ellis had never pulled a stunt like this before, his first instinct was that they were in danger.

“Ellis?!” he called, wincing slightly at the volume of his own voice.

“Hush down,” replied Ellis sweetly not a moment later as he walked into the bedroom, carrying a gift bag. “No need to yell.”

Nick groaned in annoyance and let his head fall back to the pillow at the sight of the bag. “Ellis, what the fuck are you up to?”

His younger lover just grinned at him and set the bag down for now, turning to face Nick with his hands on his hips. “You're gonna like it, don't'chu worry, darlin'.”

Nick had a feeling that whatever 'it' was had something to do with the fact that Ellis was just in a dressing gown. He narrowed his eyes at the mechanic, who in turn just smiled at him with that Southern slant that Nick had taken to so affectionately when they'd first met.

Wordlessly, Ellis crawled onto the bed on top of the covers and straddled his partner, pinning him down even more. He ended up just staring at him for a while, and Nick rose an eyebrow in silent question.

“You look so good,” Ellis commented dreamily. “Even after all these years.”

The gambler snorted. “You mean all four of them?”

His biting tone didn't seem to phase Ellis who just continued to trace lines on Nick's chest whimsically. “Four years can sure change a guy.”

Having enough of all this secrecy that he wasn't being let in on, Nick began to squirm his arms and tried to wriggle free of his restraints, but the knot had been tied pretty well. “C'mon, Ellis, let me out of this, will ya?”

“Nuh-uh,” teased Ellis, finger circling one of Nick's nipples. “I ain't given you your birthday surprise yet.” Nick squinted at him, then moved his gaze briefly over to the gift bag sat on the cabinet nearby. He opened his mouth again with a chastising sneer on his lips before Ellis cut him off. “And I know you said you didn't want anythin' but trust me, darlin'...” Bracing a warm hand on Nick's chest, he leant in and whispered into the his ear. “I think you're really gonna like it.”

Ellis had surprised him with sex plenty of times before, but never with any kind of bondage involved. Nick? Sure, once or twice, after all it was fun to watch Ellis squirm so helplessly, but it seemed like Ellis was up for taking control this time. All right. Nick could roll with that. He jerked his shoulder a little, trying to nudge Ellis up for a kiss. “Well c'mon then, killer.”

“All right, birthday boy,” teased his lover, ignoring the slightly annoyed look that Nick shot him. “Just sit tight and let me take care of ev'rythin'.”

The gambler watched as Ellis leant in to kiss his cheek, moving down to his jaw soon after. But as Nick turned his head to try and connect their lips in a proper kiss, it seemed like Ellis wasn't having it, moving back out of his reach with a sly smile.

“Ah-ah, just relax. Y'all don't have to move a muscle.”

As much as Nick didn't like the idea of being tied down, helpless and vulnerable, he had to admit: Ellis trying to be dominant was both adorable and pretty hot. Snorting, the man relaxed his head back onto his pillow. “Fine, just don't keep me waiting too long, right?”

Ellis didn't reply outright whether he would or not but did translate his intentions through a mere wink before going back to what he was doing. While he kissed down inch by inch from Nick's throat down to his chest, the older man found himself finally relaxing into it. He could almost feel his body begin to melt into the sheets.

Keeping his keen eyes on Nick's face, Ellis continued his trail down Nick's stomach until he was finally level with the man's crotch. He was still in his underwear but they both knew that would change before long. Ellis rested his head on Nick's hip, continuing to stare dreamily at him like a princess laying eyes on her prince charming for the first time, meanwhile his palm smoothed gentle circles over the protruding bulge. Nick's thighs gave a slight twitch at the touches.

Luckily he didn't have to wait too long after all, as Ellis was shimmying his underwear down soon thereafter and then threw it from the bed. It landed in the laundry basket, and Nick was vaguely impressed.

Ellis turned his doe-eyed attention to his lover's penis and affectionately took it in his palm, starting to rub it up and down with nimble fingers. It was almost a curse at how good Ellis had gotten doing this, and Nick liked to think that it was from all his teachings. Now he was able to use those techniques against him to send Nick spiralling into pleasure in a matter of minutes. Fortunately, or not, he was far more intent today on teasing the gambler for as long as possible.

Unable to use his hands, Nick tried to encourage his lover's movement even more by using subtle rolls of his hips, arching up into each smooth stroke. Ellis just grinned at him, knowing full well what Nick was after, and licked his lips until they were coated with a delicious sheen of saliva.

Nick bit his lower lip in anticipation and could feel his heartbeat begin to accelerate. It was only a second or two later that Ellis shifted his weight, gently pulled back Nick's foreskin and took the semi-hard cock into his mouth. It was just the head at first, but that still felt amazing and Nick let his eyes close so he could enjoy it. He only wished that he had his hands free so that he could run his fingers through Ellis's hair as he often liked to do during blow jobs. But as he had no way of conveying that encouragement through touch, he had to do it verbally instead.

“Mmm, that's nice, Ace,” he purred.

As he wasn't able to reply with words, Ellis just gave his lover a smug look and continued to pleasure him, curling his hand around the rest of the shaft while he gently began to suck the tip. While his eyes were closed, Nick could just hear the small slurping noises that his partner made, a well as the occasional moan vibrating on his skin. The gambler lifted his head slightly and opened his eyes to be greeted with that never-tiring sight of Ellis, bedroom eyes and all, with those spit-shined pillowed lips wrapped around his cock.

His erection swelled to full mast at the image.

Ellis moved his mouth away eventually and licked around his lips, saliva dripping from the corners. He exhaled deeply against the hot skin, his grin reappearing briefly before he brought Nick's cock back for more only this time taking it into his mouth even further, inch by inch.

With a grunt, Nick lolled his head from one side to the other, his jaw hanging open. “God damn right.”

Nick wasn't sure when Ellis's gag reflex had stopped responding, he was just damn glad it had. By now, almost his entire length had made it past those lips and was being blessed by those oral skills he'd come to master.

It was all over far too soon when Ellis pulled off once more, replacing his mouth with his hand and giving the shaft lazy strokes. “You enjoyin' your gift so far?”

Nick let out a soft chuckle, his eyes misted over. “Would love it a lot better… if I could touch you,” he replied, slightly out of breath.

A sympathetic smile crossed his face. “Aww, I know you would, darlin'.” Not that he was about to change that, of course. He still had some plans for the tied-up birthday boy that he intended to put into motion straight away. It meant moving away from the bed entirely, a motion that Nick seemed to protest to.

“Simmer down,” Ellis grinned at him with shining lips. “I ain't goin' far.” He only stepped as far as the cabinet in order to retrieve the blue gift bag perched there. He reached inside of it while on the short journey back to bed and removed a wide, black ribbon. Nick squinted at the thing.

“Do I have to wear that?” he sighed as he noted the way Ellis was looking at it, curling it between his hands.

“We got a safe word, don't we?” Ellis sat on the edge of the bed and turned to his lover, ready to tie it when he hesitated.

Nick shook his head, one side of his mouth tilting in a smirk. “Go ahead. Just… not for long, all right? You know I like watching you.”

That was a relief to the younger's ears and he went ahead with his little plan. The ribbon was around Nick's eyes and gently yet firmly tied in a few seconds. Ellis ran a gentle finger along the lip where silk met skin – Nick leant into it briefly, his patience and consideration rewarded with a kiss at last.

Nick turned to those soft lips and gave a sigh as he relaxed. Ellis opened his mouth and let his lover inside and Nick could taste the salt of himself across his tongue. A hand drifted down his chest, sifting through the fine hairs there, and then there was a sudden yelp erupting from him as Ellis pinched his nipple.

“Ellis, damn it.”

“I got'cha,” purred the hick in response as he soothed the bud. Ellis then stood from the bed as Nick could feel his weight shift off the mattress, then heard the sound of fabric hitting the floor as Ellis slipped off the robe. He was naked, and Nick couldn't see it. He tried not to groan as he thought about his hot young lover parading around nude in front of him – he knew that would rev Ellis's engine, knowing that Nick was breaking.

Thankfully, he didn't dwell on it for long as soon the bed was dipping once more and that pleasant weight was on top of him. Ellis had resumed his position between Nick's furred thighs, and the conman licked his lips.

“Ya remember our first time, Nick?” Ellis suddenly came out with, causing Nick to replay that sentence again in his mind to make sure he had heard correctly.

“Yes, Ellis, I remember.”

Nick could hear some more rustling followed by the 'pop' of the lube cap being opened. His eyebrow twitched beneath the silk.

Ellis's voice remained level and sweet in the moment, even as Nick felt a condom being rolled onto him. “Why don't'cha tell me about it,” Ellis suggested and poured some clear liquid across Nick's length before making sure it was generously spread. The gambler hissed and pushed up his hips to chase the careful grip of Ellis's hand.

“Go on,” Ellis prompted again. Nick moistened his dry mouth.

“We'd just gotten into military quarantine,” he recalled, turning his head slightly as he willed the memories back. “They… they'd given us our own room, 'cos I told them to go to Hell when they t-tried to split us up.”

Ellis rested his chin on one hand in fondness while the other hand stroked his lover firmly, making sure to keep to the pressure that Nick liked. “Yeah, you suddenly got real possessive of me. It was hot.”

Nick gave a chuckle, beginning to ripple his hips slightly. “I'd almost lost you on that damn bridge. No way was I letting you out of my sight. Jesus, Ellis, let me touch you at least...”

The birthday boy's patience was beginning to unwind. Ellis loved it.

“Keep goin',” he urged, not giving any warning before his other hand moved in to cup and squeeze Nick's balls. “I love this story.”

Nick did continue past a huff of breath. “The moment we got into our place… heh, you pounced on me. Got me harder than a fucking rock in winter when you basically begged me to fuck you.”

Ellis was lost in the memories himself, gently rubbing his own cock against their sheets to seek out some selfish friction while he continued to stimulate Nick's dick. “I wanted you inside'a me. Made a guy wait damn long for it,” he clarified. “First time we'd seen any lube in a long-ass time.”

“Lotion,” Nick corrected, still pedantic even now.

“Same thing.” It wasn't. “Heh, 'least it worked.”

The darkness offered by his blindfold was helping Nick visualise it even more, playing back a technicolor movie in his mind. “We got on the b-bed, and… ah, shit… I fucked you from behind. Felt sorry for our neighbors when I heard you moan.” The gambler suddenly pushed up his hips, pulling on his restraints with a snarl. “Overalls, c'mon. You know what I want.”

“Hmm,” Ellis gave Nick one last loving squeeze. “Guess you've been waitin' long enough.” He felt Ellis shift on the bed once more and his heart juddered in his chest in anticipation of what his little lover was planning. The mattress creaked once more and then Ellis was back atop him. Nick could feel the hick's legs resting either side of his chest, the feet near his ribcage; Ellis was going reverse cowboy.

“Fuck, killer, c'mon,” Nick groaned and responded to the pleasant weight by pushing up his hips, feeling his slick cock nestle and rub against Ellis's ass. But Ellis was still holding on to all the control, at least for the time being.

The mechanic ground down his hips to tease the length whilst bracing his hands on Nick's thighs just above his knees. A staggered moan left Nick that he would've been embarrassed about at any other time, but hew could hardly care at this moment. He was near-enough about to start begging when he felt Ellis's hand guide him upward, a slight shift in weight on the bed followed, and finally he could feel that familiar tight warmth start to engulf him.

Ellis sighed above him, little trembles rippling through his thighs as he took a seat on his rightful throne. He arched his back happily in search of the best angle and let out another little sigh when he'd found it. “Don't remember tellin' ya to stop talkin',” teased Ellis. “I still wanna hear the end of the story.”

Nick had to swallow another moan, trying not to betray just how turned on by this whole situation he was. “You of all people know how that tale ended, sweetheart,” he grinned. That smile turned into a grimace when he realised Ellis's hands on his legs was preventing him from thrusting upward into that heat. He truly was helpless; he hoped Ellis would show a little mercy. “Babe… let me touch you. Please.”

“Tell ya what,” Ellis turned his head to say, loving the sight that was over his shoulder. “You get yourself outta that there knot and you can touch me all ya like. I ain't tied it that hard, neither, so I reck'n you can figure it out.

Nick's eyes scrunched shut under his silken blindfold and tested the binding fabric around his wrists again; now that Ellis had mentioned it, there seemed to be a little give in the knot. He should've trusted his lover from the start that he would allow for Nick to escape his bonds, should he really need to. Or maybe he was counting on it?

While he was trying to Houdini his way out of that, Ellis had finally begun to ease his way on and off the gambler's erection. Ellis hummed in delight and picked up the pace near-enough immediately; clearly he had been craving this for just as long. Those little erotic noises he was making wasn't helping Nick's situation, either.

Now he had to try and focus on unwinding himself out of the necktie all the while being ridden by his hot boyfriend – and all while he couldn't even watch. How was this a birthday treat again?

“Ellis!” he growled when the mechanic moaned on an upthrust. Nick drew breath in order to finally admit that he needed help when he relaxed his wrists and then the tie shifted around the bedpost. It seemed as though that was the key. Biting his lip, the conman gently moved his hands apart and felt the fabric brush his wrists as the knot fell apart; he was finally free.

The first thing on Nick's agenda at that point was to reach up and remove the ribbon from around his eyes. That knot came away just as easily, thankfully, and then he was able to enjoy the view - the view of Ellis's naked body writhing on top of his, the sight of his round ass accepting his cock each time…

...the sight of a brand new tattoo just above his rear.

“What the-” Nick reached out instantly to take his lover's hips and get a closer look, causing Ellis to stop bouncing and turn his head. He had the biggest grin on his flushed face.

“Ah, ya like it?” he giggled as he sat up a little straighter on his knees. “Had it done yesterday.”

It was a God damn tramp stamp that said 'Nick' in a tribal-like font. Nick was shaking his head at the ridiculous sight, moving one hand to graze his fingers gently along the letters. A little too much was happening all at once for the older man to form a coherent thought. Well, it at the very least explained why Ellis didn't want Nick to touch his back last night in bed.

His mind finally settled on something that had to be spoken. “You… fucking adorable idiot.”

The proud hick gave a slanted Southern smile over his shoulder, something Nick almost missed as his gaze switched between the tattoo and his lover's face. It didn't seem to matter a second later when Ellis once again leant forward to brace against Nick's legs and resumed his dance. A sweet moan escaped him to accompany the briefly-silenced sounds of the bed springs and skin meeting skin.

Nick's hands grabbed at Ellis's ass and squeezed the cheeks together, then parted them to watch the full show being performed. He showed his appreciation through a deep groan followed by a whap right on the mechanic's right cheek. The skin rippled for him over the globe of flesh, prompting Nick to spank the other side to deliver a similar treatment and make Ellis cry out in pleasure.

“Nick,” muttered Ellis, breath short as he attempted to swallow against a cotton mouth. His head turned slightly to try and make eye contact, the sight of which alone was making Nick's mind come undone. His fingers tightened around firm flesh once more, thin skin being stretched by his nails, and witnessed the sublime image of his cock once again disappearing and reappearing out of Ellis's ass.

“Now this is more like it,” Nick smirked open-mouthed as he allowed his heavy breaths to come, albeit shallowly. Ellis seemed to agree, not with words, as he unleashed another flood of moans while leaning back. This new angle allowed Nick to find the spot that ruined him. The gambler responded by sliding his hands up and bracing them against Ellis's lower back, just above his new branding, to give him the support he needed and begged for. The move also permitted Nick to finally move his legs, so he did; he braced his feet to the bed and rocked his hips up over and over to fuck Ellis like he knew he wanted.

“Jus' like that!” Ellis cried out in delight, head tipping back as the pleasure began to wreck havoc in his loins. Nick wasn't that much better off; he could swear there was a drop of sweat running down his temple, though he couldn't pay it any mind right now. The conman grit his teeth in attempt to keep up this pace, knowing that Ellis would come soon if he did. He would, too, but Ellis in orgasm was something damn special.

While he rubbed himself in time with the rocks of Nick's hips, Ellis's other hand scrabbled out in an attempt to ground himself and found the comforter that had been pooled under the gambler's legs. Ellis clenched the thick fabric in his fist whilst his moans escalated.

“Come for me, El,” he husked, near-demanded, then shut his eyes against the rush of white pleasure that he could feel fast approaching.

“I… I'm…!” There was no need to finish that sentence, not only was it completely drowned out but a yell of climax, but Nick was right there alongside him. Their tandem shouts only complimented Nick's orgasm and his nails bit into Ellis's skin so hard he was worried there'd be blood left in their place. Ellis surely couldn't have noticed if there was; his body was convulsing, still bouncing in place in a faltering, juddering rhythm.

When Nick eventually opened his eyes, he observed Ellis leaning forward and once again bracing his hands on the older man's legs. Nick didn't mind – it felt like his entire body was sinking back into the mattress, buzzing from a pleasure slowly subsiding.

Ellis let out a whistle and then began to laugh. “Woo… that shook me to my bones.” After a moment, he eased himself off of Nick and sighed. Wiping his hand on the comforter for now, the young man turned around, quivering thighs making it difficult, and removed Nick's condom carefully. He tied it up, tossed it to the trash and then crawled up the bed for after-sex cuddles.

“Happy birthday,” Ellis practically sang to him as he edged close to press his nose to Nick's neck and enjoy his scent.

Nick seemed all too content to let this happen, looping an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders and sighing. “I hate you.”

“Why?” Ellis frowned.

“Because I told you not to get me any gifts,” Nick reminded as his hand moved down Ellis's body, brushing against his lower back. “That includes this. What on Earth possessed you to-”

Ellis just rolled his eyes. “Ya really think I'm an idiot? It's a transfer, Nick. It'll wash off in the shower.”

Nick tilted his head slightly at that admission and then allowed a large smile to cross his face. “Thank Christ,” he chuckled. “Wouldn't want to try and explain that one away to people in the summer. Still… thanks, sweetheart. That was a nice gift.”

The mechanic couldn't hold in the excitement any more and suddenly rolled in the bed. “Aw, hell, of course I got ya a real present, man!” he beamed and reached into the bedside drawer, rummaging around a little before sitting up and handing Nick an envelope. With his interest firmly snapped to attention, the birthday boy sat up with his back to the headboard, glancing at Ellis with a slight squint as he broke the seal.

“Ah, shit, ice hockey tickets,” he sighed happily and pulled out the two slips of paper. Ellis was unable to wipe the smile from his face.

“Next Saturday! The seats are right at the front, too!” he boasted. “Man, I cannot wait to see some grown-ass dudes fightin' on skates. D'ya think they'll let me take home a tooth if one lands next to our seats?”

Nick didn't answer that last question – he was too busy feeling the blood rush to his face. Pulling Ellis closer, he leant in the rest of the way and met him in a soft kiss, knuckles brushing his chin and tracing his jaw. “Love you.”

Ellis gave Nick another of his Southern smiles, nuzzling his nose. “Right back at'cha, birthday boy.”

[soopersara]

Rebirth

Zutara Week 2020: Day 7

AO3 | FFN

@zutaraweek​

While Katara is resting, a still-injured Zuko wanders off and gets stuck by the turtleduck pond.

Just a few minutes, she told herself. After so much time healing him, monitoring the slow rise and fall of his chest, she could hardly keep her eyes open anymore.

A few minutes of sleep couldn't hurt. In one of his brief moments of semi-lucid consciousness, Zuko had assured her that the palace staff and the Fire Sages—the few who remained—could be trusted. Katara was less than convinced, but Zuko's condition was more stable than before, and her head kept drooping toward her chest for a few moments at a time before she jerked awake again. She couldn't keep watch over him forever.

It should be fine. So long as she stayed close, nothing bad could happen to him. Not in a few minutes. Not if Katara just curled up in the chair beside his bed for a little snooze. She would wake up at the slightest disturbance, ready to protect or heal him at a moment's notice.

Or that was the idea. Instead, Katara let her eyes slide shut for what felt like a single blink, and when they opened again, she found herself staring at an empty expanse of rumpled, blood-red silk.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.

She shot out of her chair, bleary-eyed and only half awake. "Where is he? Where did he go?"

She crashed her way into the corridor, then rammed into a timid looking servant woman.

"Where is he?" Katara repeated, a frantic edge to her voice.

The servant fumbled to keep her stack of clean linens from toppling. "Where is who, Miss?"

"Zuko? Where is Zuko?"

"The Fire Lord ordered that you not be disturbed, Miss. I believe His Majesty mentioned fresh air—"

A bit of the sleepy fog lifted from the edges of her mind, and Katara's expression darkened. "Oh, he'd better not."

She took off at a run, careening down one hallway then the next and the next. By the time she realized that the light blanket she'd worn for her brief nap was dragging after her, it was too late to turn back, and she hitched it up around her shoulders like a cloak and kept running. For all the palace's beauty, it was entirely too big. There were too many rooms and balconies and gardens—too many places where Zuko might have wandered in his fevered and dazed state. She ran toward the northern wing of the palace, peeking through doors and shouting for directions whenever she crossed paths with a servant.

At last, she saw a patch of pallor lying in a shady spot beneath a tree. Zuko. She darted out the door toward him.

Zuko lay on his back, one arm bent behind his head like a pillow, bare feet dangling a few inches over the surface of the pond. Katara's heart sat in her throat.

He was okay. He was safe, and he was still breathing.

He was an idiot.

"You were supposed to stay in bed and rest," Katara called as she marched toward him.

Zuko rolled his head her way and blinked, eyes unfocused. "Katara?" His voice came out thin and cracked. "I told them not to wake you up."

She crossed her arms. "They didn't. You wandered off."

"Mmm." His eyes slipped shut, and his forehead creased as though he were deep in thought. "You were tired," he eventually rasped.

She wanted to be annoyed with him. She wanted to fuss about how worried she'd been to find him missing, she wanted to raise a stink about how his servants ought to intervene when Zuko did stupid, dangerous things like wandering the palace alone while injured and disoriented. But even with his forehead creased like it took all his effort to string words into coherent sentences, even with a feverish sheen on his brow and his hair clinging to his forehead in streaks, he looked easier, more peaceful than he had in days.

He was safe. He was going to be okay.

Katara sat beside him, letting her feet dangle over the pond beside his. "I was tired, but I'm not the one who jumped in front of lightning."

His eyes opened a slit. "When was that?"

She studied him. Though his eyes were open, they drifted a bit, struggling to focus. She wasn't sure how she should feel about it. There were hundreds—thousands—of questions she wanted to ask him about the Agni Kai. Why he'd agreed to it in the first place. Why his eyes, his voice had gone so soft when he promised that she wouldn't get hurt. Why he'd taken the bolt of lightning when he knew he couldn't redirect it properly, and why, even after he'd fallen, he kept reaching for her. And yet she remembered all of it. The horrific cry that tore out of him as the lightning burned him from the inside out, the tremors that ran through his limbs even hours after the fight was over, and the weak, stuttering pulse that took far too long to mend. She wasn't sure she wanted him to remember any of that. He'd lived through it once, that ought to be enough. She never wanted to see him in that kind of pain again, even in memories.

"Do you remember it?" she whispered.

Zuko's brows crept downward in thought. "I remember jumping. I remember you coming back. And your hands—" he made a feeble attempt at mimicking her healing stance, and again his eyes closed. "The water felt good. Everything else is—fuzzy." His expression slackened. "Appa is fuzzy."

A small laugh bubbled out of her, and her shoulders eased a bit. "Weirdo." She pushed his hair away from his eyes. "The comet was a few days ago. You've been sleeping most of the time since then."

"I had weird dreams," he mumbled.

"I'm not surprised." She hugged her knees to her chest, staring across the pond at the remains of what must have once been a lush, beautiful garden. "Is that why you came out here?"

Zuko shook his head slightly. With a slow breath, he opened his eyes again. "No, I—" he tried to push himself upright and made it almost to his elbows before a pained groan tore its way out of his mouth. He fell back, clutching his bandaged middle.

"Zuko!" Katara rose to her knees, bowed halfway over him. His breathing came too harsh and too fast, and the sudden shock of pain had drained all the color from his face. She cupped her hand gently around his cheek. "Zuko, look at me."

He only managed to open his eyes for a second before he clenched them shut again and curled inward.

"I know it hurts, Zuko, but you have to let me see it so I can help."

Zuko couldn't seem to respond, but he allowed her to pull his hands away and unwind the bandages. The lightning wound looked the same as it had for days, the same sunken red splotch just under his ribs, the same pinkish rays of burned skin reaching outward. Katara tried not to feel the heavy lump of guilt that settled into her chest. Encasing her hands with water, she pressed them to the wound and pushed past the sunburst pattern etched into his skin. Between the scar and his life, she would choose his life every time.

She poured herself into the work, feeling for the still-raw edges of the lightning's path and for any fresh damage. His heart, thankfully, was as strong as she could remember it being since the comet, and his lungs, though knotted with painful energy, still shrank and swelled with his breath. She kept working, smoothing the tattered edges and drawing out the set to work mending the burned flesh and drawing the knots of energy away until Zuko's breathing finally eased.

Katara let out a breath she hadn't realized that she'd been holding and sat down, suddenly spent. Zuko was paler than before, his forehead creased, and his eyes pressed shut. She rested a palm against his forehead.

"You should still be in bed," she told him.

"Mmm." He drew in a slow, shuddering breath, and his eyes opened a slit. "Too late. I'm stuck here."

She almost wanted to argue with him, to order him back to his bed so he could rest and heal properly. So that she could keep him and the supplies—the fresh bandages, the clean water, the medicines—all within reach. But he had a point. If he couldn't sit without being overcome by pain, he wouldn't be able to walk back to his room. And the thought of trying to carry him was too much for Katara. She was tired too.

"No wandering off without me next time," she ordered. "I don't want you getting stuck anywhere dangerous, understand?"

Zuko gave a small nod. "Mmhmm."

Slowly, Katara exhaled. He was okay. Even if he was a little fuzzy, a little confused right now, he was going to heal, and he would be healthy again.

"Here." She picked her blanket up from where it had fallen behind her and spread it over the prickly, dry grass. "This should be more comfortable."

Slipping her hand beneath his shoulders, she pulled him up just far enough so that she could help him scoot onto the blanket an inch or two at a time. Zuko grimaced and groaned at the motion, but when Katara finally lowered him back to the ground, his face relaxed again. With a contented little sigh, he nestled against her side, and his hand crept out to find hers.

She gave in, squeezing his hand in response before lying down on the blanket beside him. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder, and he smiled, soft and small, eyes still shut.

"I came out here because I wanted to see the turtleduckies," Zuko said, barely over a whisper. His brow creased. "Tlurtleduckings. Turtledluckings."

"Turtleducklings?" Katara offered.

He nodded. "Those."

She smiled and snuggled into his shoulder. "I think you might be delirious."

"Am I?"

Reaching upward, she smoothed the hair back from his eyes. "Maybe just a little."

"Mmm." He let out a small sigh. "The turtleduckies must be sleeping."

Katara couldn't help herself. Hand still cupped around his face, she stretched upward until her lips brushed against his scarred cheek. She hovered there, pressing all the affection, all the care, all the love she could muster into a small, soft kiss. When she finally pulled away, the faintest hint of a smile playing across his lips was the only sign that he was still awake.

"I'm sure the turtleducklings will be very happy to see you when they wake up," she whispered to him.

His mouth twitched into another small smile, then he lapsed into silence, his breathing growing slower, steadier, until he finally dropped off to sleep.

Beside him, Katara rolled onto her back and stared into the arching branches overhead. Someday. Someday soon he'd be well enough to kiss her back.