#within a few minutes i had nausea and chills and body aches | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

karikarasuno · 3 years

Text

Pedialyte

Pairing: Pro Hero!Katsuki Bakugo x Pro HeroFem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Idiots to Lovers (mainly reader being dumb), Unresolved Feelings, Post Drunk Hook-up, Mentions of Alcohol, Bakusquad Playing Matchmaker, Halloween Event, Smut (18+ only), Biting, Marking, Brief Description of Blood, Mild Choking, Edging, Body Worship, Praise Kink

Word Count: 11.7k

a/n: first, if it wasn’t clear all characters are aged up into their mid-20s. this fic also heavily revolves around bakusquad being the meddlesome group of friends I believe them to be. and that is exactly how the word count spiraled out of control, I seriously don’t know how it reached this length but I still hope you can find some enjoyment in it. also a humongous thank you to @whats-her-quirk for being my beta and partaking in all the halloweeny fun with me. and @mindninjax for being the source of all of my bakugo brainrot, thank you for that. anyways, welcome to the second piece for my autumn event. happy fall, everyone.

Aches. Everywhere.

There was a dull throbbing in your head, a pulsing beat behind your eyes that blurred your vision and made you dizzy.

You shifted. The muscles in your legs screamed at you, a soreness like no other raced up your thighs to settle startlingly between your legs. You shot up, immediately regretting it when a wave of nausea slammed into you.

There was a strong arm draped over your waist. Your naked waist. Your heart rate began to skyrocket, looking over to find not just some stranger from the bar, but Katsuki Bakugo.

You sucked in a deep breath to steady your panic. Strategies of how to get yourself out of this situation running wildly in your brain, all falling short of rationality. There was history here. History you didn’t ever want to dredge up for the sake of preserving this relationship you had, for the sake of professionalism.

Your eyes followed the contours of his body, landing on his face. The face that was usually set in a scowl softened and smooth against his pillow. You suppressed a groan, and maybe the urge to cry because he looked so beautifully relaxed under the slits of daylight slipping through his blinds. You could tell it was cloudy, the sky overcast and gloomy. But it still complimented him in a way you couldn’t describe, only feel.

Old feelings that you buried deep within the chambers of your heart were forced to the surface with terrifying ease. As if the last few years of moving on and moving forward were nothing but a facade.

And the worst part was that you hardly remembered anything about last night. Bits and pieces of fragmented memories glitched to the forefront of your mind but there was nothing solid to hold on to. Only the throbbing in your head reminded you of the trouble you got up to last night, the consequences of the actions you couldn’t even remember.

You slowly untangled yourself from the mess of sheets and limbs you were stuck in hoping, praying, that Bakugo would stay fast asleep. Avoiding the awkwardness that would come with a confrontation was the best plan. So you slid off the mattress, ignoring the pangs of discomfort coming from your aching muscles, and looked for your clothes.

You found your pants in a corner of his room and your shirt at the end of the bed, but your underwear was a mystery. After several long minutes of searching you gave up, there was no time to waste when he could be waking up any second now.

He turned in his sleep, his outstretched arm patting the empty space you were just in and you panicked. You threw your clothes on, uncaring of how messy you knew your hair to be, and sprinted to the door, fumbling for your other belongings on your way out.

The chill felt good on your skin, surprised that the morning could bring such freshness in the middle of autumn. You gulped down a breath of the crisp air before heading down the metal staircase.

You willed your mind to remember as you walked home. Your walk of shame was the last thing on your mind as you rounded the block to your apartment complex. It wasn’t far, just a few minutes from his place and the agency, perfectly in the middle of the livelier side of the city.

You dug your phone out from the bottom of your bag, noticing it was barely even eight o'clock when you pushed open the door to the lobby. The fluorescent lights stung your eyes, your headache multiplying with its intensity. You could hardly hold onto a single thought, flashes and blurs of last night fluttered across your memory and you felt like you were going insane.

You flattened your face onto the cool metal of the elevator walls in an attempt to soothe some of the pain while you rubbed at your temples. You looked up, finally registering your appearance in the reflection of the sliding door. At least you were right about one thing, your hair was a mess. Your clothes were wrinkled and crumpled from being thrown around. And your neck— fucking hell, your neck— had a blossoming hickey on the side. A round splotch of purple and red bruised into the soft skin of your throat.

“Shit,” you hissed, fingers pressing into the bruise. You slammed on the button for your floor, leaning against the wall again as you eyed the hickey. You were halfway to your level when the image of you pinned against a wall shot through your mind. Katsuki’s body caged you in, his lips dragging down the column of your neck. Your body flushed, a mixture of distinct embarrassment and dizzying arousal heating through you.

Okay, so it started in the bar. You cringed at the thought. Too aware of the fact that someone could’ve seen, someone probably did see. And even worse, it could’ve been any of your friends. You could already sense the shit show this started, knowing damn well none of them were going to let this go, even though you were already preparing to pretend this never happened in the first place.

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open to reveal your floor. You stumbled down the hall to your apartment, pulling the keys from your purse and unlocking the door as quietly as you could. Nowhere near ready to wake up your roommate and deal with the onslaught of questions you knew she had prepared.

You toed off your shoes in the entryway, placing the sneakers on the shoe rack by the door before tiptoeing into the apartment.

“So,” you jumped, Mina’s voice came from behind you and startled you. It was still early so you assumed she would be sleeping in. “Where’d you run off to last night?”

You spun around on the balls of your feet, trapped and cornered. “Nowhere in particular,” you shrugged, hoping nonchalance could worm your way out of this situation.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, nodding skeptically in your direction before sipping the smoothie she held in her hand. “Right, it’s not like no one saw you leave the bar with Bakugo or anything.”

She was too smug, her bottom lip popped out from between her teeth unable to cover her very obvious smirk. “Well yeah I left with him, but it’s not like I haven’t stayed at his place before,” you provided, hoping this answer would appease her nosey nature.

“I don’t know,” she tapped the straw to her lips. “You two looked pretty cozy on your way out.”

She knew, not like you were hiding it very well at all, but it was too early and your head still hurt from your hangover. Not to mention the soreness that was weighing down your lower body.

“So what?” You asked, more defensively than you intended but you needed to find ibuprofen as soon as possible, and maybe a nap to actually begin functioning normally.

“So,” she skipped towards you, ignoring your attitude, “what happened?”

“That’s a really good question,” you stepped backwards, attempting to hide the hickey on your neck. “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

She gasped, a bit too dramatically for your liking, but the comical widening of her eyes was worth it when you released a tired chuckle. “Hold on, before you freak out,” you attempted to calm her before the rush of inevitable questions came tumbling from her mind through her lips without a filter.

“It's not like I don’t remember completely. I just can only concentrate on a few things here and there,” you explained, hoping this half ass excuse would be enough to get you out of this conversation and into your bed.

“No fucking way,” she tried to hold back a laugh. “You’re telling me you fucked Bakugo and can’t even remember.”

You flinched, the reality of the situation slapping you in the face. “I never said we fucked, Mina. I just can’t remember everything right now,” you tried to reason, your rebuttal clearly falling flat.

“Oh, you two definitely did,” she said, this time laughing at the sour look on your face. “And for your sake, I hope you remember because I have questions.”

“Questions?” You narrowed your eyes at her, the mischievous glimmer in her eyes making you nervous.

“Yup,” she popped the p, finally turning around to head back into the kitchen. “I have some color corrector in my bathroom by the way. You should probably cover up that hickey before your shift tonight.”

She didn’t even turn around, but you could tell she was teasing you, her shoulders shaking from silent laughter.

“At this rate I’m gonna have to double my dose of ibuprofen since you also wanna be a pain in my ass,” you gritted out, only for her to let out a cackle as she rounded the corner towards the medicine cabinet.

“I’ll just bring over the whole bottle then,” she opened the cabinet and pulled out the container, shaking the pills obnoxiously in your direction with a sly smile. You rolled your eyes, flicking her off before turning towards your bedroom down the hall.

“Stop being so pissy,” she yelled across the living room. “You finally got laid, this is cause for celebration,” she taunted as you slammed your bedroom door, effectively shutting her up while sharpening the throbbing in your temple.

“I don’t think it counts if I can’t fucking remember the half of it,” you grumbled, stumbling through your bedroom to strip off your clothes from the night before. You tugged on some pajamas before throwing yourself into the covers, preparing for a long nap to simultaneously forget the last 16 hours and recollect the most important parts.

You woke a few hours later, mouth dry and head a dull ache. The soreness in your muscles turned to tension in your sleep, your body reluctant to turn over and reach for your phone as you shifted in your sheets. Your phone was plugged in on your nightstand, two tablets of ibuprofen and a water bottle sat beside it. A small smile pulled at your lips, grateful for Mina even though you snapped at her earlier.

The mattress dipped when you moved your weight to one side, grabbing your phone to read it was already two in the afternoon. Your shift didn’t start until eight, and while you typically hated working overnight, you couldn’t help but feel relief at the thought of wandering the streets and avoiding everyone until you got your shit together.

You popped the pills in your mouth, twisting the cap off the water and chugging half of it down before slipping from your bed and into the bathroom. You figured a shower would help, the feeling of hot water on your skin sounding like a dream as you flipped up the faucet and watched the steady stream of water hit the porcelain tub.

You still weren’t sure how you were going to face Bakugo. The rush of memories flooded your mind as you stepped beneath the steamy shower head, your body already warm from the images replaying on a loop whenever you closed your eyes.

It’s not like you didn’t know what happened, you weren’t an idiot. Waking up naked in his bed was a blaring sign of what you had done, but the fact that you couldn’t remember was driving you nuts. And now that you did, you weren’t sure how you felt. Maybe a little frustrated that you let it get that far, and maybe a little too satisfied with the fact that it was good— really fucking good.

You shuddered involuntarily at the thought, running your hands down your face to brush away the drops of water catching in your lashes, feeling the heat of your cheeks thrum against your fingertips. You were in too deep, way deeper than you’ve ever been. You crossed a line, head first and drunkenly tripping over it and straight into his bed.

And maybe now you regretted leaving him this morning because at least then, in that moment, you could’ve gauged what his feelings were. Was it just another quick hook-up for him? Did he regret it?

Or could it possibly mean more? Mean something far deeper than you ever allowed yourself to hope for?

You shook your head, no longer wanting to think of that option. You have all night to think, and if the city was usually as quiet as it has been, you wouldn’t stop thinking.

The water began to grow cold the longer you stayed under it, welcoming goosebumps arising on your skin as you attempted to cool down before actually starting your day. You knew avoiding Katsuki forever was a terrible plan, you ran in the same friend group, worked at the same agency, and he was your friend. He had been for years and it was comfortable, familiar— aside from your annoying romantic feelings for him. The ones you were sure you got over, the ones that had no business stirring around in your chest to overcomplicate this already messy situation.

Before you could think any further, your phone rang. The trilling sounds signaling it was probably time for you to get out, the water long turning frigid and unbearable. You turned the shower off, stepping over the side of the tub to gather your towel and answer whoever was calling. You reached over with wet fingers, rushing to flip the phone screen up before the call ended. You paused. A dripping finger hovered over the answer button, Bakugo’s hero name duplicating across the top of the screen with each vibration.

You pulled away, allowing the call to go straight to voicemail instead of confronting this head on. It was too soon. You told yourself you would give it the night, completely factoring out the possibility that he would want to talk about this. You assumed he would just leave it be, and not mull over the fact that he just slept with one of his closest friends— like you were.

The screen went black and you waited, breath stuck in your throat, for a voicemail notification to light up the surface. When it never came you released it, relief warming your skin as you dried off. Maybe it was just an accident, he definitely could’ve butt dialed you because that’s a thing.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at how naive you were being because you knew that wasn’t the case. It would’ve been too much of a coincidence anyway. And before you could even put some clothes on, your phone vibrated, this time with a text.

Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight

Oi, call me back.

Well, now you knew, for a fact, that any possibility of it being an accident was thrown out the window. “Fuck,” you whined, exasperated and ready to crawl back into bed to hide beneath your covers for the rest of forever.

The start of your shift came all too quickly, the frosty wind of the AC hitting you as the automatic doors slid open. You made your way to the locker room, needing to drop off your duffel bag before meeting the other hero on duty to discuss the patrol routes for the night. Apparently you would be partnered up with some new hero, that you meant to look into this morning but had completely forgotten. She was young, skilled, and hopefully talkative enough to distract you from the long night ahead of you.

But the locker room was empty, no traces of the new girl anywhere. You shrugged, assuming she was just late when you looked at the time and realized it was a little after eight. So, you shoved your things in a locker and decided to wait in the agency lobby, pulling the routes up on your phone to review them.

“Yo,” a voice echoed off the cement walls from behind you, a familiar one that you weren’t expecting. “Hey, partner,” Kirishima said, bumping his shoulder with yours once he caught up with you.

“Partner?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, “but I thought I was working with the new girl tonight.”

“About that,” he started, matching your strides as you continued down the hallway. “She got called in for emergency rescue earlier today, so I took her shift since I was off tonight anyways.”

“Right,” you nodded, thanking whatever higher being for your incredible luck. All you wanted was to avoid your friends for one day, but they were everywhere, crawling from the woodwork to torment you.

“You don’t seem very excited,” he laughed, taking the phone from your hand to zoom into the map on your screen.

“It’s not that,” you shook your head, trying to convey that it wasn’t necessarily him you weren’t excited to see. “It’s better you than babysitting. To be honest, I’m still…recovering.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking up at you with a lopsided grin. “From the alcohol or Bakugo?”

“Ew, Kiri,” you cringed, snatching your phone from his grip to hide the way you felt your face burning up. “Keep it up and you’ll be patrolling alone for the night.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. I was just fucking around,” he said, following you out the double doors and into the chilly autumn evening.

“It was Mina, wasn’t it?” You asked, almost positive you already knew the answer. But he chuckled, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Nah. It was Bakugo, actually.”

Your eyes widened, pulse stuttering in your neck. “Oh, I didn’t think he would mention it,” you whispered, giving Kirishima a small nod. It’s not like you thought he wouldn’t mention it at all, just seemed a little too soon for his standards. Typically anything concerning Katsuki’s personal life was a fun challenge for the group to wrangle out of him. You were sure it was half because he found it amusing to watch Mina and Denki grovel and beg for details, waiting until they made some outrageous deal with him to finally give up any information.

“I was kinda surprised when he did, if I'm being honest,” he said, walking beside you in a stifling silence. “He seemed,” he paused to think, head tilting to the side in thought. “I don’t know. Pissed? But more than that since he’s always pissed,” he added, pulling a small chuckle from you at the way he couldn’t find the words.

You left it at that for a while, stopping to talk to some civilians, snapping a couple pictures of Red Riot with some of his fans. It was easy working shifts with Kirishima, he always found a way to make the long nights fly by, chatting incessantly and joking about anything. But tonight was a little tense, and you could tell he wanted to ask questions, probably had a million of them that he was keeping to himself. He jumped around topics that seemed to get too close to Bakugo, avoiding the topic of last night at the bar as a whole. He was jittery, obviously afraid that he would cross some line and make you uncomfortable.

“Kiri, stop acting so weird,” you said, exhausted from his nervous energy. “Just ask what I know you want and stop, for the love of God, being so weird.”

He laughed, shoulders relaxing and head hanging low. He wrapped a strong arm around your shoulders to pull you into his side, a common gesture of support from him.

“I just wanna know what happened,” he shrugged. “Y’all were fine when you left together and then today you're both actin’ strange.”

“That’s my fault,” you sighed, crossing your arms. “I ran out on him this morning. I sorta panicked after I woke up and couldn’t remember what happened.”

“You don’t remember?” He stopped the two of you mid stride, looking down at you in shock.

“I remember now,” you emphasized. “But I didn’t remember then.” He just stood and stared at you, motionless as he tried to think up a response.

“Jesus, Kiri, don’t look at me like that.” You uncrossed your arms, bringing them up exasperatedly. You were tempted to smack that expression off his face, laughing because he seemed genuinely confused.

“That’s why you left… because you chickened out last second,” he gave you a slow nod, biting the inside of his cheek to hold his tongue.

“Yes I chickened out and have been avoiding him all day because I’m an idiot and don’t know what to say to him,” you resumed walking, dragging Kirishima along with you up the side street.

“I think you’re making things complicated and should just talk to him,” he explained, turning you around to face him. You obviously knew you were making things complicated, tripping over the idea of texting him back all afternoon but letting the stupid walls build up over and over. You placed a hand on your hip and dragged the other down your face, looking at Kirishima between your fingers.

“I don’t want it to be awkward,” you tried to justify, the sentence muffled by the palm of your hand.

“You’re the only one makin’ it awkward,” he continued, nodding his head to convince you. “I promise it’s not as bad as you think it is,” he said, placing both hands on your shoulders and shaking you slightly.

“How are you so sure it won’t be?” You countered, letting him continue to shake you and going limp, maybe the rattling of your brain will activate some rational thought process.

“Cause I know him and he’s an idiot when it comes to feelings but he’ll tell you like it is. And I know you and once you start talking you don’t stop,” he teased, forearm coming around your neck to put you in a headlock.

“Now promise, you’ll text him back,” he squeezed his arm, playfully choking you. “Or I won’t let go.”

“Kirishima, we are at work,” you wrestled with his arm to remove his grip. “The people are gonna stare, you weirdo.”

“Not until you promise,” he squeezed tighter, smile widening to greet a passerby on the sidewalk. You attempted to free yourself again, using your weight to pull him down, but he’d bulked up since the last time you sparred. His height and weight barely moved as you struggled.

“Fine, I’ll text him,” you said breathlessly, giving up the fight.

“Now,” he added, refusing to let go until you agreed with his request.

“Ok ok,” you wormed your way out of his loosened grip. “I’ll text him now, but no more headlocks,” you scolded, blowing the strands of loose hair from your face.

He had somehow swiped the phone from your uniform, unlocking it with the password you didn’t realize he knew and opening your messages.

“How the hell do you know my passcode?” Your mouth was popped open, hand already snatching the cell phone from his grip and holding it to your chest.

“I’ve seen you unlock your phone a million times,” he waved his hand like it was normal that he memorized your passcode. “Now hurry up, we got a shift to finish.”

You rolled your eyes, holding the phone out to open the text thread you had with Bakugo. You reread the last text he sent, thumbs hovering over the keyboard to think of a response. You felt Kirishima come behind you to look at your phone as well, hand running through his hair as he read the message over your shoulder.

“Nice contact name,” he chuckled, eyeing the extended version of Katsuki’s hero name with amusement.

“He hates it for someone who chose it himself,” you elbowed Kirishima lightly, joining him when he laughed harder. “But let me focus, I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say ‘hey Bakugo, sorry I fucked and dipped. Turns out I didn’t remember, call you tomorrow,’” he suggested with a shiteating grin. You tried to hide your amusement with a scowl, but lost when he wiggled his eyebrows at you to emphasize his suggestion.

“One, he would kill me if I said that,” you pointed at him, “and two, that’s not necessarily true.”

“That’s what you said,” he taunted, pushing between your shoulder blades to keep walking down the emptying streets.

“I know what I said. But I remembered some stuff, just not everything and I wish I hadn’t run away so that I wouldn’t be in this mess,” you let your head hang down, scuffling your feet like a resigned child.

“Text him. It’ll be fine,” he urged. “Maybe he’ll bite your head off for avoiding him but who cares. Kiss and make up, everyone’s tired of waiting.”

“Yeah yeah,” you sped up your strides so he couldn’t see your phone screen. “Mina already told me about the bets and I don’t even wanna know who’s in the lead.”

You continued walking, thumb tapping the screen before it went black to continue staring at his text. You chewed the inside of your bottom lip, trying to come up with the right words to text him back.

You settled on something easy and light, sending out a quick message to let him know that you were at work and you’d talk to him tomorrow. You zipped your phone into the pocket of your pants, ignoring the immediate vibration when it was tucked against your thigh.

“So,” Kirishima began, “what costume are you wearing to the fundraising event tomorrow?”

You whipped your head to look at him, palm slapping your forehead as you remembered the annual Halloween fundraising event for the children’s hospital. There were currently 0 ideas for a costume in your head, and you only had 24 hours to come up with one.

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” he said, shaking his head at you in disbelief.

“Completely,” you responded, eyes pleading with him to help you come up with something, anything.

“Wouldn’t be the first thing you forgot about today,” he joked, laughing loudly at himself when you slapped his arm.

“Kirishima, I am so going to kick your ass,” you threatened, running after him down the now empty street, a swift wind meeting you as you both turned the corner.

The last three hours of your shift felt like walking through mud. Early risers began their morning jogs, the sun was still deep beneath the horizon but changing the sky into a vivid cobalt, stars slowly twinkling out of sight. Kirishima’s chatter teetered off until the two of you were walking around in sleepy silence. The night was quiet as it had been the few times you were scheduled for overnights. You weren’t sure why that was, but as the evenings got longer and colder, the crime rate tapered off day by day.

It was close to seven when you finally arrived home, having already showered and changed at the agency to go straight to bed once you got to the apartment. You shrugged off your duffel bag and left it on the edge of the couch, surprised yet again to find Mina awake and in the kitchen. She had her AirPods in, music blasting her eardrums, making it easy to sneak up on her. The startled yelp she let out worth it when you used the last of your energy to pounce on her.

“Fuck you,” she laughed, pushing you off of her so she could turn to look at you.

“Who even are you?” You asked, taking the smoothie from her hands to try it. “It’s 7am on your day off and you’re awake. What is going on?”

“We’ve got a busy day with the event tonight and you, missy, still don’t have a costume.”

You deflated, shoulders sagging with exhaustion and defeat. “I’m too tired to think of one. I just won’t go.”

“Stop being dramatic, you’re going,” she grabbed the smoothie from you, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back. “You’re just lucky you have me because I got you covered, babe.”

“You picked out a costume for me?” You looked at her skeptically, eyes narrowing as you registered the complete mischief written all over her face. “I’m not so sure if I trust you.”

Her mouth popped open, an exaggerated ‘o’ forming with her lips at your skepticism. “I will have you know that the costume I’m envisioning you in is fun and sexy and guaranteed to have Bakugo on his knees for you.”

You recoiled from her embrace to give her a pointed look. “You’re planning something, Mina, and you’re lucky I’m too tired to argue with you about it,” you agreed, your hands falling to slap your thighs.

“But don’t go overboard, something simple, please. Remember this event is for children,” you emphasized, well aware of her tendency to err on the side of theatrics.

“Trust me, babe. You’ll love it,” she squealed, shaking her smoothie one more time before placing a loud kiss on your temple and practically skipping out the door.

You trudged into your bedroom, flopping into your bed and rolling into a loose cocoon of rumpled sheets. The sun was starting to poke through your blinds, winking in hello. Your body sunk into the mattress, too lazy to get up and walk a few feet to close the curtains and block out the light. Instead, you let your eyes fall shut, forcing your mind to pause it's endless stream of consciousness and drift to sleep.

The sounds of the awakening city began to fill your room— beeping horns and bustling traffic lulled you to sleep. A dreamless slumber that stopped your racing thoughts and complex feelings.

You weren’t sure how many hours passed before your body was bouncing relentlessly off your mattress. A high timbre of your name shouting over and over until you cracked open your eyes. Mina was hovering over your sleeping body, bright eyes and wide smile out of focus and duplicated.

“Wake up and try this bitch on!” She yelled, jumping off the bed and onto the floor to gather the clothes and dump them next to you. You sat up groggily and with a yawn, arms stretching over your head to pop your shoulders into place.

At first, you could only register the dark heap of fabric and accessories that contrasted your white comforter. The costume was unidentifiable as your eyes readjusted to the daylight. You blinked to clear the blurriness away and grabbed the closest piece by your hand.

It was heavier than it looked, a thick, weighted corset that was velvety and soft beneath your fingertips. The sturdy bones within the fabric rose up to a sweetheart neckline, delicate straps falling to the sides. The smooth ribbon laced down the back side and tangled in your fingers. It was luxurious, a gorgeous blend of midnight black glimmering in the sunlight. You draped it across your lap, reaching for the next thing in the pile. It was a skirt, silky and layered — black to match the top and long enough to brush your ankles. It was also just as beautiful, and probably meant that it was just as expensive.

“Mina, two questions,” you started, finally looking up at her. “How much was this costume? And what exactly is it supposed to be?”

“No comment on the first one. Let’s just say we’ll start a payment plan,” she grinned.

“Anyways, moving on,” she continued, kneeling in front of you to look through the mess she made. She came up with two containers, one held two individual fangs, and the other a pair of blood red contacts. “You’re gonna be a vampire. Obviously.”

“Oh, it was obvious,” you nodded sarcastically, “right.”

“Get up, loser. You’re trying it on and besides we’ve only got,” she checked her phone for the time, “four hours and you still gotta eat.”

She dragged you off the bed full force. Your blankets were knotted around your legs, your upper body falling off the edge of the mattress and slinking to the floor.

“That seemed a little counterproductive,” you pouted, leaving your body to hang there.

She giggled, grabbing you by your biceps and tugging hard. “It wouldn’t be if you put in a little effort, honey.”

And the afternoon continued like that. A flurry of busy hands and frantic bodies moving around the apartment to get ready for the event. You were surprised to find that everything fit, the skirt sitting just below your belly button and cinched in a bundle of fabric on one thigh. You were hesitant about the corset, initially intimidated by the confusing way the ribbon crossed down the back. But with some help from Mina, and what felt like a bruised rib, it was all tied up. Your breasts sat higher than they ever have, your cleavage spilling from the top of the bust.

You turned to each side to look at your outfit in full, your heels making your legs look longer, more elegant. All that was left were the fangs and contacts, your makeup already on— a perfectly blended shade of maroon and black smudged and fanned out. Mina tried to convince you to put fake blood around your lips, nearly tackling you and holding you down just to apply it, but you convinced her that it was probably too much, and you didn’t want to scare the children. So you decided on a bold, rich red that would compliment the contacts you had in your hands and ready to pop in. You blinked rapidly to keep them in place, the mirror reflecting an altered version of yourself, one that you could admit looked pretty fucking hot.

“I’m a genius,” Mina said, standing in the doorway and giving you a once over. Her outfit was skin tight, sculpting and molding across the expanse of her skin like butter. It was also an all black ensemble, except she was sporting a gun holster on her thigh, and a small knife holder strapped to her bicep.

“And what are you supposed to be?” You asked, pleased with how undeniably sexy she looked. She stepped back and did a little twirl for you, heeled boots tapping against the laminate floors as the hem of her bootcut leather jumpsuit flared out with her.

“One of three Charlie’s Angels,” she did a little pose, hip jutting out and her hands coming together to make a gun. “Or I should say Sero’s Angels, since he refused to be Bosley,” she laughed, grabbing the red lipstick from off the bathroom counter and applying it.

The two of you added the finishing touches to your costumes, your fangs nicely nestled over your canines, the fake teeth surprisingly comfortable in your mouth. You adjusted your corset once more, slinging the leather belted fanny pack around your hips and securing it to hold your phone and other belongings.

“I’m ready and we’re running late,” you half stepped around Mina who was deciding on how low to unzip the top of her outfit. “You look good, let’s go,” you slapped her ass on the way out of your bathroom, a cheeky smile on your face as you jogged away from her.

There was trepidation leaking from your pores once you remembered that you were meeting Bakugo tonight, positive that he would be there tonight. It wasn’t to say you weren’t excited for the event, the annual Halloween fundraiser was one of the few pro hero gatherings you didn’t mind. It was typically filled with silly party games and sweet treats passed around on trays by the staff. It would usually be the first time in a long time that the gang would be all together, everyone from way back when getting to see each other after clashing schedules and plain exhaustion.

Mina ran around from behind you as you waited by the door, the minutes ticking quickly passed seven. Antsiness began in the tip of your toes, a rapid tapping one the floor; then in your fingertips, a constant transition of drumming them against your thighs and wringing them together. The sounds of Mina scurrying around the apartment fueled the nerves sparking and dying beneath your skin. You were ready to get this over with, ready to confront him and to stop overcomplicating a situation that can easily be fixed by just talking to him. But as easy as the idea seemed, the gnawing bubble of anxiety in your chest was about to burst, an unsettling urge to once again run and hide beating heavily in your pulse.

“Fuck, we are so late!” Mina yelled from across the apartment, appearing at the end of the hallway with all the things that should be in her purse barely hanging on to her fingertips. “What are you doing still standing there? Get a move on!” She ushered you out the front door, urging you to lock up and follow her.

It was a hurried start to the evening, another bout of restless running down the hall, keeping you convinced that if tonight was like any of the others so far you were in for quite the surprise and maybe not the good kind.

The venue was fancy, much more extravagant than expected for a children’s Halloween event. It was a five star hotel, the lobby decorated well for the season, bats hanging from the chandeliers and fake spiderwebs plastered and extended in the corners of walls. There were trails of spiders crawling across the floor and up the wall, leading the way to the ballroom that held the event. The room was packed, surface to surface, with decorations, games, food, and the most pro heroes gathered in one place that you have ever seen. It would be impossible to find anyone in this crowd, let alone your group of friends.

You grabbed onto Mina’s elbow, maneuvering her out of the way of the entrance and into a small alcove between a propped up coffin and a table that held a bowl of candy eyeballs that looked both terrifying and judgemental. Before you could tell her that you should text the group chat she already had her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, excitedly gesturing to the eyeballs as if they totally didn’t freak her out. And now she was yelling, embarrassingly loud to be heard over the music and people, catching a few side eyes from the pros nearby.

She sent you a thumbs up, nodding her head enthusiastically like whoever was on the phone with her could see it, and with a final exclamation of confirmation, she linked your arms, hanging up and pulling you to your new destination. Which just so happened to be the bar— a long wooden counter filled with smoking drinks and masked bartenders. The boys were huddled at one end, bent over the edge and pointing at random beverages.

Katsuki was easy to spot, out of place and far from his usual element. Your gaze began at his feet, a pair of black suede Chelsea boots that complimented him and surprised you. But you moved on, eyes skimming over his black jeans and pausing at his long sleeve silk button up. There were two buttons popped open at the top, open just enough to expose a sliver of his chest, the smooth black contrasting deliciously against his complexion. By the time your blatant stare had reached his face, his eyes seemed to have followed the same path as yours; gazes locking, his tongue gliding over an exceptionally pointed canine. It sat unnaturally behind his lips, but all the more fitting— all the more enticing when he shifted his mouth into a crooked smirk. You locked eyes again, this time registering the smudges of uneven, dark eyeshadow around his eyes, emphasizing the red of his irises in a ruthless heat. He pinned you in place, successfully drowning out the atmosphere with an intensity you couldn’t decide was sexual tension or irritation.

You spared Mina a glance, mainly to let her know that she wasn’t slick, that you clocked the matching costumes between you and Katsuki. She winked with the shamelessness of a scheming cat, knocking you off of your familiar shelf and into unknown territory. You took one tentative step forward, looking over your shoulder to your other friends. Sero gave you a knowing nod, holding his drink up when you smiled at him in greeting. Denki was too engrossed in the mechanics of how the bartender got the drink to smoke from the top to say hello, the contents a pretty amber almost swishing over the lip in his excitement. Kirishima, on the other hand, gave you an awkward smile, completely due to the fact that he was biting back the same sleazy grin Mina had plastered on her face. You narrowed your eyes at him, purely to let him know that he wasn’t off the hook either before you squared your shoulders and strode towards Bakugo.

“You look good, Katsuki,” you complimented, selfishly indulging in one more once over.

He cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms, upper body leaning on the bar. “I know.”

“Typically that’s where people say thank you,” you teasingly suggested, watching as his eyes rolled and he took a step sideways to make room for you on his end.

“Maybe if I asked, but I don’t remember doing that,” he countered, leaning forward so that you were eye level.

“And if I ask?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Last time I gave you a compliment you avoided me for two fucking days.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you argued with no real truth behind it. “And if I was, you know damn well it wasn’t over a compliment.”

“I wouldn’t know shit cause you never called me back,” he bit back, sounding more frustrated than anything else.

A heavy sigh fell from your lips as you muddled through an adequate response. Something that would assure him of your feelings but not enough to give them away entirely in case he didn’t return them. Prickling anxiety started up again, your skin feeling less like a home and more like a cage; confined in a growing discomfort.

“Fine, maybe I was avoiding you a little,” you said, and he scoffed because it was obvious, even if you didn’t want it to be. “But it’s because I don’t know what to say to you, Katsuki. I don’t know what you want.”

“I think I made what I wanted pretty fucking clear the other night.”

You looked at him, body flushing at the memory, cheeks and ears on fire. You stood up fully, and with the way he was bent against the counter you had to look down at him slightly—the angle giving you a strange burst of confidence. “And what was it you made pretty fucking clear?”

His jaw ticked, fangs catching on his bottom lip and forcing blood to settle beneath the surface. His lips parted to form a response, the beginning syllables ready to snake off his tongue only to be interrupted by a shout of his name. You both looked in the direction it came from, stepping away from him once you realized it was the agency’s PR representative. You were close enough to feel the huff of air he released from his nose, repressing an irritated snarl when she beckoned him over.

“Looks like duty calls,” you attempted to joke, distancing yourself a little more when he looked back to glare at you.

“We’re not done here,” he said through gritted teeth. He practically stomped to where she stood continuously calling his name, and if you weren’t so taken aback by his forwardness from earlier you would’ve laughed, maybe made some joke about it to the four people standing behind you. Who, speaking of which, were much too quiet, a weird tension washing over you when Katsuki was too far to consume all of your attention.

You glanced behind you to see them before fully turning around. They made a terrible effort of pretending to look busy, Denki narrowly missing the straw in his drink when he whipped his head in the opposite direction.

“Not a single word,” you said, arms crossed below your chest, ready to scold them.

“We didn’t say anything,” Sero shrugged, quirking an eyebrow in jest. He had both elbows propped on the countertop, shaking his head with a laugh when you stuck your tongue out at him.

“How about just one word?” Mina prompted, pressing her weight into the balls of her feet as she peered over Kirishima’s shoulder. You shook your head no, not even able to fathom the thoughts going through her mind.

“Please,” she pouted, hopping a little in place. You shook your head again, refusing to listen with the stubbornness of a toddler. All you needed was to stomp your feet and cry to complete the classic tantrum.

“Nope,” you negated, shuffling forward to start the night, preferably on the other side of the room where you saw a cart of candied apples calling your name. Mina caught your elbow before you could get too far, holding you to her side as she blinked wide, sincere eyes at you.

“Don’t overthink it,” she said, softly shaking you in place.

“That was three words,” you grumbled, relaxing into her and succumbing to her clinging hands. She was right, not that it wasn’t obvious. Your eyes found Katsuki near the back of the room, crouching beside a small child in a wheelchair. His expression was soft and encouraging, head nodding along while the kid gestured wildly. You were immediately reminded of his appearance when you woke up beside him— relaxed and scowl free, the familiar furrow of his brows gone as he listened intently.

A smile outside of your control spread across your face, embarrassingly fond and transparent.

“Just go for it,” a strong hand clapped over your shoulder and squeezed a bit too hard to be comforting. Kirishima shot you a broad smile, all teeth and candor.

Just go for it.

It was silly and simple. And exactly what you needed to hear. There were still threads of hesitancy chording tightly around your next decisions, but they were pointless— useless when you looked at him in his stupidly sexy vampire costume, chatting so attentively with the child, and you knew, without a doubt, that you were undeniably in love with him.

You winked at Kirishima to show him that you were fine, that you would be fine, regardless of what the night led to. For now the event was in full swing, the last of the heroes on the guest list finally trickled in marking the true start of the evening’s festivities.

The group was split apart and thrown back together at various points of the night. A tornado of cameras and people pulling you this and that way. It wasn’t until everything was drawing to a close that you found yourself beside Bakugo. A rejuvenated tension rubbing between the two of you like the wrong sides of a magnet. His hand brushed the back of yours, on accident at first, but then more assured, sliding his palm up your forearm and to the small of your back. You fidgeted, his strong fingers lighting tiny fires across your skin.

There were still cameras flashing, photographers capturing moments for you to find online later. At the front of the room, you saw Deku. He was holding a large check with an insurmountable amount of money on it. And you were really trying to concentrate on what he was saying to the cheering crowd, focusing on the mic in his fist to distract yourself from Bakugo’s wandering hand.

“Let’s go,” his deep voice surprised you in its proximity to your ear. Every muscle in your body tensed up, your hands that were clasped together in front of you now clammy.

“The event’s not over yet,” you said on a stilted tongue, body involuntarily yielding to his touch.

“It is for us,” he responded, hand moving back down to grasp your wrist. He tugged you in the direction of a hallway leading out of the ballroom, weaving around tables and behind halloween decorations.

“Katsuki, wait,” your breath stumbled around in your chest as you kept scanning the room for anyone happening to look your way. But he tugged harder, the hallway only a few feet away now.

“Katsuki,” you hissed, trying to slow him down without making a scene. “Maybe now’s not the best time.”

“Ain’t nobody paying attention to us,” he threw over his shoulder, hardly glancing down at you as you rounded the corner. “They’re all looking at shitty Deku.”

“But don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious dragging me off into dark corners in a room full of our colleagues and paparazzi,” you tried to reason, teetering between a delirious rush of adrenaline and apprehension.

“Who said I was taking you into some dark corner?” The party was now out of sight and you were heading towards a swinging door at the end of the hallway.

“Well then, where are you taking me?” He kicked open the door with his foot, startling some of the wait staff that were chatting in the kitchen. You gave them an apologetic smile, your cheeks heating up from his haste and their shocked expressions.

“A room, dumbass. Where else?” Before you could say anything to them, you exited through the opposite door, stumbling over your own feet to keep up with his long strides.

“I can walk on my own, y’know,” you said as you ripped your wrist from his hand, stepping into the now open elevator and waiting for him inside. He took a confident step towards you, pressing the button to the floor the room was on without taking his eyes off you. The doors slid closed, and for the brief moment that the elevator was stalled, your heart dropped to your stomach—knots and tangles of nervous energy coiled within you and you were hot all over.

“I’m aware,” he said, cornering you, stalking you, trapping you. Strands of blonde hair fell over his forehead as he angled his head to stare at you. Your back dug into the railing behind you, his arms stretching out to box you in.

“Didn’t seem like it,” you mumbled under your breath, turning your face away from him. You crossed your arms, not missing the way his eyes darted down to your chest before landing back on your face.

But he scoffed, pushing off the walls and away from you.

“What are we doing here?” You asked, folding into yourself. The question was heavy on your tongue, weighing you down in anticipation.

“We’re gonna talk. About us. About whatever the hell is going on,” he said, standing in the center of the elevator, not looking your way.

“Then talk,” you stated as he paced in the small space, urging him to say something.

“Fine,” he said through a clenched jaw. “Why did you leave that morning? You ran out like we committed some fucking crime! Were you really that ashamed of what we did?”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” you shook your head, struggling to gather your thoughts. “I was confused and hungover. And kinda ashamed, yes, but not of what we did but because I didn’t remember at first so I freaked out and I left.”

He chuckled darkly, dragging a hand down his face and smearing his eyeshadow. “And you remember now?”

“Yes, I remember. I know what we did, and you know what? I don’t regret it,” you pushed off the wall and made your way towards him, digging your finger into his chest. “But what I do regret is acting on my feelings when I was a drunk fucking idiot. When I should’ve just told you how I feel and fuck it if you don’t feel the same way.”

An ache began to mold against the contours of your chest. Emotions that Bakugo tended to hide deep in the crevices of his soul flashed across his features— shock, relief, desperation, and then frustration.

“In what fucking parallel universe do you live in where I don’t love you?! I know I’m shit at this stuff, but I can’t be that shit,” he said as if it were a joke, even though his tone was incredulous, his eyes were open, honest, and agitated.

The ding of the elevator doors interrupted your thoughtless brain. There was a pregnant pause, a moment that was only a second but extended passed your reality of space and time.

He loved you. What the fuck?

You didn’t think it through and rushed out the doors before they closed, hoping that he would follow.

“What’s the room number?” Your eyes skimmed over the metal plates on the outside of each room, moving aimlessly down the hall but with enough purpose to find it.

“518.”

You spotted 514, just two more doors to go, and with him hot on your heels.

“Key card.” You held out your hand behind you as you approached the door, impatiently wiggling your fingers while he dug the card out of his wallet. Once the cool plastic was in your hand you were quick to insert it in the lock and open the door. Without a moment’s hesitation, your fingers curled into the silky fabric of his shirt and yanked him into the room. He wasn’t expecting the sudden force, and with him disoriented and off balance you turned your bodies so that his back was now pressed against the closed door.

His expression was a mixture of confusion and amusement. It was a rarity that you were ever able to catch him off guard, so you marinated in the feeling before reminding yourself of what he confessed to you in the elevator.

“You love me.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement, one that was riddled with an annoyingly insecure undertone that you refused to acknowledge.

“Is that not what I just said?” he challenged, fingers twitching at his sides to touch you but suppressing the urge by balling them into tight fists.

“You’re serious?” It was taking everything in you to keep your hands from shaking, tightening your grip on the collars of his open shirt to stay still.

“Yes!” He was exasperated. “The fuck else can I do to show—”

It was a broken exclamation, cut off by the force of your lips on his. There was little tenderness in the way you collided, pent up desire and restless love controlling your movements, clouding your judgement. And for the second time that night, the floor was swept from beneath Katsuki’s feet. He was motionless against you until he accepted your blatant invitation, the grip you had on his shirt popping open a few extra buttons to reveal more of his toned chest.

And then he was kissing you, returning your eagerness with a renewed fervor that had him nipping your bottom lip. You’d both forgotten about the fangs that covered your teeth, his nicking your lip enough to taste iron.

You gasped, flinching away but not removing your lips from his. “Shit,” his tongue swiped away the dripping blood, cringing at the metallic taste. Suddenly his fingers were in his mouth, pinching and tugging at the fake teeth to toss them onto the entryway table. Then, his fingers were in yours, discarding them with the same hungry ease.

His thumb was on your bottom lip, pulling down to inspect the small cut, one that you barely felt above the roaring arousal thrumming through you.

“Does it hurt?” His brows furrowed in concern, expecting your answer. You traced your fingers over the planes of his chest, distracted, ears filled with static.

“Hardly feel it,” you breathed, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Just keep kissing me, idiot.”

“Watch your tongue, princess, or you’ll get nothing.” He held your jaw between his forefinger and thumb, drawing you back to his lips. This time for a kiss that was deeper, one that traveled to the tips of your toes, breathing life into your lungs. God, you wanted to inhale him, to drown in his scent, to drink down the groans that rumbled below your fingertips.

You needed to undress him, to finally commit his naked body to memory like it was the first time— like it should've been the first time. You undid the remaining buttons of his shirt as he moved you backwards into the room, maintaining the fervor of the kiss with each parting of your mouths together. The fabric slipped from his shoulders and down his arms, hanging limply from his wrists as he busied himself with the intricacy of undoing your corset.

“Goddamnit, woman, you couldn’t have picked anything more fucking complicated,” he grunted, tearing his lips away and spinning you around. He bent you over the side of the elevated bed, your hands meeting the plush bedding to keep you upright. He ungracefully pulled at the lacing, jerking your body back up towards him as the corset loosened around your waist.

“If you break this, you’re paying Mina back,” you giggled as he grumbled in annoyance at the tied ribbon. He yanked on it one more time, the material giving and falling down your waist to expose your breasts.

“Shut up and get this shit off,” his voice was husky in your ear, dropping an octave as he snaked his hands around your waist to cup your tits. “Believe me, it looked good on but it’ll look even better on the floor.”

Goosebumps littered your skin. His scarred fingers kneading your sensitive flesh as your nipples pebbled in the cold hotel air. Your head fell back to rest against him, lolling to the side to breathe him in. The sweet smell of his sweat was mixing with his cologne, an intoxicating musky scent that had you panting and licking your lips— like crackling fire wood and roasted marshmallows. He smelled like the last days of summer, rich and nostalgic as you gulped him down.

“Don’t be a tease and take it off, Katsuki,” your back arched off of his upper body to press firmly into his teasing hands. His breath ghosted the shell of your ear, teeth grazing your earlobe before biting down.

“Gonna take my time with you,” he growled, finally gripping the corset and sliding it off over your head. “Gotta make sure you won’t forget.”

He twisted you in his embrace, mouth attaching to your neck in one swift movement. You didn’t fight him on it, only lifting onto your toes and craning your neck so he had better access. He traced his nose along the column of your throat, inhaling deeply before biting into you. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, followed closely by a breathless chuckle when he began licking and sucking the tender area.

“Guess your costume was spot on,” you teased, straining to stay upright with the attention he was giving you, his hands running up and down the expanse of your back, detailing the flow of your spine down to your ass. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you're out for my blood.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he bit you again, this time harder, and you knew there would be a mark left behind. Weighted arousal dulled your senses, peripheral vision blurring out until all that you could focus on was him. And how he was lifting you up by the fat of your ass, dropping you unceremoniously onto the mattress, just to crawl over you again. His shirt had slipped off the rest of the way with his hurried movements, his fingers now outlining your soft curves to unzip the side of your skirt. Your inner thighs were sticky, evidence of your want coating your panties and drawing his attention.

“And if I didn’t know any fucking better, I’d think you liked it,” he let your skirt fall from his hand, parting your legs to get a closer look. You bit your lower lip, refusing to let the whimper that was building in your chest sound from your vocal cords. He noted your struggle, ravenous eyes raking over your nearly naked body as he toyed with the elastic of your underwear. He snapped it against your pelvis, chuckling when your hips twitched. He slipped a finger into the side, groaning when he met the warmth of your slick folds.

“Fuck,” he rasped, “what do you want, baby?”

It was a loaded question, one that required you to vocalize your craving for him, an intense depravity that had hot blood coursing through you in shameful anticipation.

“Just take’m off and touch me,” you hooked your fingers into the waistband, lifting your hips to wiggle them down your ass. He finished dragging them down your legs, your heels falling from your feet and clattering to the ground.

“Touch you where?” He asked, and this time you did whine, because his fingertips ghosted over your cunt, strategically avoiding where you needed him most just to watch you shiver beneath him. Instead of answering, you grabbed his wrist and guided his fingers to part your glistening folds. They slipped through easily, the rough pads of them circling your clit with maddening precision. You rolled into his touch, seeking the pleasure out on your own as he let you hold his wrist in place.

He waited until you worked yourself up with his hand, feigning patience as he followed your movements. But his fervent greed was shown in how he stroked a heavy palm over his strained erection, in the staining blush that erupted from his cheeks down his neck. You were close to stumbling off your edge, Katsuki taking back control of his fingers to apply pressure to your pulsing clit. He drew haphazard patterns into your wet skin, coaxing out needy mewls from your willing mouth. Your eyes fell shut, body tensing in preparation for your impending orgasm, your walls clenching around nothing, but feeling absolutely everything. Your fingers went limp around his wrist, hips chasing your release on impulse. Your mind went blank, thighs quivering beside his forearm. It was right there, the end so close you could hear the blood flowing to your cunt, everything on high alert—

“S-stop,” you swatted his hand away, finding the strength to climb up the bed and away from him. Your instincts were screaming at you over your ruined orgasm. Katsuki’s eyes were wide, his hand stilled on his clothed cock, and smearing your arousal across your thigh.

“The fuck was that for?” His nails dug into your thigh, his chest heaving as if you cut short his orgasm instead of yours. You relaxed into the sheets for a moment, taking in a deep breath before rising to your elbows and staring him down.

“If I’m gonna come,” you started, voice hardly recognizable in your dazed state, “it’s gonna be on your cock.”

He froze. His abs rippled with a stuttered breath, fingers flexing along the meat of your thigh before standing up from the bed. “Headboard,” he instructed, undoing his belt and toeing off his shoes. Your eyes never left his hands as he undressed, pants and briefs falling into a heap on the floor.

You crawled up the mattress, stopping when your back hit the pillows. He did the same, tracking you on his hands and knees until he hovered over your trembling body. He started at your calves, trailing sweet kisses into your taut muscles. He followed the slope of your leg, licking from your knee to your inner thigh, where he tasted you for the first time. His moan vibrated against your skin, shudder noticeable in the rolling of his shoulders. He looked up at you from between your legs, tongue still parting his lips as he swept it from your entrance to your clit.

He was hot. The embodiment of heat as his lips pressed open mouthed kisses against your cunt, your hands having no other choice but to grip the sheets in your fists. The moan that left your throat was dripping with need— a fragmented noise of raw pleasure. He mimicked you, tearing his mouth from your core before you could get close to your release again.

He kissed his way up your body, pausing again at your breasts to suck a perky nipple into his mouth. You keened into him, hands gripping his shoulders for stabilization. Once you were wet with his spit, he moved on to the other, gracing it with the same enamored vigor. You were helpless below him, his firm grip keeping you from getting away.

And then his lips were on yours again. But instead of filling your lungs with his breath, he was ripping it from you. His tongue stole his name from your mouth, swallowing it over and over as he left you breathless and yearning.

“On your stomach,” he demanded. His hands clutched your hips as he helped you flip over, more so lifting and planting you there, your cheek hitting the pillow. You heard ruffling behind you, foil crinkling in his hands. From the corner of your eye you could see a condom wrapper hanging from his teeth, his biceps flexing as he rolled the rubber over his leaking head. You fisted the sheets again in preparation, willing your body to relax for him.

He rubbed his head between your lips, covering his length in your slick as he bumped against your clit. You whined when he shifted away, prodding at your entrance without inserting his cock. Your hips jerked, jumping back to force his tip into your tight hole.

“Stay still,” he hissed, grip bruising and massaging your hips to limit your motions. He left the tip motionless in your entrance, reaching around to grab the pillow from beside your head to settle it beneath your hips. Your back ached from the effort of listening to him— tampering down on the primal instinct to rock back and inviting him in entirely.

His hands left your hips, finding purchase on either side of your head. He placed a kiss between your shoulder blades before laying flat against your back, sweat melding your hot bodies together.

He shifted subtly, lips kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear before he split you open, cock burying itself inside you in one swift thrust. The angle had you crying out, nipples rubbing into the sheets as he set a deep, erratic pace. One of his hands moved to grasp your neck, thumb stroking gentle circles into your pulse.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” His voice cracked, a shattered tenor whispering seductively into your ear. Tears gathered in your lash line, your breathing haggard as he sped up, the ridges of his cock brushing harshly against the most sensitive spot of your walls.

“You’re being such a good fucking girl,” you were going to come, the hand on your throat tightening with every flutter of your cunt. “Taking my cock like it was made for you.”

You released a sob, your hands searching in vain for some kind of grounding. “Fuck, fuck, m’gonna cum, Katsu,” you whimpered, tears spilling over your cheeks as the lack of air flowing to your head made you light headed with ecstasy.

His hips smacked harder against you, lewd squelches filling the room as you were propelled to your release. Crashing explosions overwhelmed your vision, the cry you released foreign to your own ears as you came on his cock. He moaned into your neck at the sensation of you squeezing down on him, your walls pulsing uncontrollably as you were flooded by waves of untamed satisfaction.

“You’re doing so great, princess,” he choked out, thrusts losing tempo as he reveled in your orgasm. “Letting me use you like this,” you heard a faint splintering, vaguely noticing how his other hand clutched the headboard as he drove you into the mattress. The overstimulation was clouding your senses when you begged for more, when you begged for him to come inside of you. You were wracked with tremors, composure crumbling into ashes as his lips, his hands, his cock lit you aflame.

“Shit-” He came with a groan that broke into a whine, face buried into your neck to muffle the stream of curses tumbling incoherently from his lips.

His body went slack, full weight barrelling you down into the mattress. The two of you stayed like that until your heartbeats matched, a steadying thump that calmed your breathing. He went soft, but the way you were pressed into each other kept him from slipping out. It was oddly comforting, the feeling of him relaxed and vulnerable, even though your legs burned from being open for so long. You couldn’t find it in yourself to tell him to get off. Not when he was massaging your sore muscles with his tired hands.

But he turned on to his side eventually, head propped on the pillow next to yours. You gave him a lucid grin, eyes droopy with pleased exhaustion.

“You look crazy,” he laughed, same dopey smile on his face as he brought his hand up to fuck with your makeup.

“I look crazy?” You shook your head away from his hand when he started playing with your eyelashes. “You should take a look in the mirror yourself, buddy.”

You were only half joking. Not even the slightest bit surprised by the fact that he still looked just as handsome as he did when you first arrived at the event. You could maybe even argue that he looked better, smudged eyeshadow splotchy around his eyelids, fading blush tinting his cheeks, naked body melting into the mattress from the same satisfied soreness.

He groaned when he sat up, removing the soiled condom to tie it and toss into the bin by the bed. His eyes checked you out again, hungrily skating over your nakedness before smiling impishly and yanking the pillow from below your hips and watching you bounce gracelessly onto the bed.

“Hey,” you hit his arm, little strength behind it as your arm flopped back onto the bed. “That wasn’t very nice, asshole.”

He shrugged with a laugh, throwing himself onto his newly claimed pillow and huddling you into his outstretched arms. “Gimme five minutes and I’ll make it up to you.”

#kari’s comfort and cliches #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki fluff #katsuki smut #the surprising matching costumes are cliche #I know #that’s the point #I think I had too much fun writing this #and it’s mainly because I think I’m funny #so I hope to make you laugh #even just a little #bnha #kari’s writing🔆

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pips-fics · 3 years

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ask: Hi! I have a request too, if you have time. 👉👈 Chan and Changbin having both an stomach ache. (I’m good with any reason). Just those two need more attention 🥺

ask by @sickminnie - be sure to check out their blog if you enjoy bts, txt, or ateez fics!!! they have an impressively varied list of things that they'll write within the sickfic uhhh genre (?) and also one of the most aesthetic blogs i've seen! thank you for the ask 💛

tw: vomit

from then to now ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

the last time changbin had been sick was predebut. he’d been pretty new to the company and very young - he hadn’t been nervous about any of it up until that point, but something about the fever or the chills or the nausea or the loneliness had welcomed the homesickness that, up until that point, he’d had no trouble shutting out.

now, years later, he felt just as small sitting there on the bathroom floor, stomach aching. he was determined not to cry this time. it’s not like it would help, anyway. what would help, he hoped, was medicine, so he forced himself to his feet, and scoured the bathroom cabinets for something to help his stomach. he came up empty, nothing but a spinning head to show for his efforts.

changbin thought to himself that he should look harder, or go out to a convenience store to get something, and then he sat heavily on the ground in front of the toilet again, right back where he’d started. his ears felt so much like they were stuffed with cottontails that he actually stuck his finger inside to be sure. it wasn’t just that, though - everything felt fuzzy, and weighted down. he didn’t feel strong enough to carry himself, so changbin laid his head on the cool toilet cover, thinking, as he drifted off, about how gross it was, but also how convenient.

——

changbin woke up to his stomach muscles clenching and ready to forcibly eject anything in his belly. he scrambled desperately to open the toilet lid and jumped at the noise it made when he succeeded, but he stayed firmly put. changbin didn’t have much of a choice. his body’s actions were out of his control for the next five minutes, dredging up more and more vomit. he shuddered during one of the few breaks he was awarded, wiped the mess off of his face using toilet paper, and had just a few seconds to wish that someone would wake up and help him. even as he thought it, changbin felt guilty; first and foremost, he wanted his group members to be healthy, and that included receiving a proper amount of sleep.

of course, he couldn’t linger over the thought for too long, as he was promptly being sick once again, but the sense of loneliness pressed on, more present than before, and he felt tears - not just of exertion - prick his eyes. he’d wake up tomorrow to a house full of too-loud boys, but for the time being, changbin felt really, truly alone for the first time in a while.

so, when a blanket fell on his shoulders, he just about jumped out of his skin.

“sorry,” a voice said, and changbin immediately relaxed, and then almost felt like laughing.

there was a part of the past that he’d forgotten. when he’d been sick all those years ago, he hadn’t been alone. chan had been there, the whole time, and here he was again.

“hyung,” changbin said when he was able, throat raw and tasting of bile, “you’re here again.”

changbin didn’t realize he’d been expecting chan to read his mind until he saw the confused look on the older man’s face.

“you must have a sixth sense for when i’m sick,” he explained - and then he hesitated. chan looked… well, regretful wasn’t quite the right word, but something about his expression made changbin feel bad. he cringed, and wiped tears from his cheeks.

“sorry, i mean– you’re always stuck taking care of me. you don’t have to, hyung, you should get some sleep.” the words pained changbin to say, even though they were entirely true. chan seemed to feel similarly, sitting ramrod straight, suddenly, face crumpling into an expression that was, very clearly, regret.

“oh, no, bin, no. i don’t–” chan hiccuped, and something suddenly clicked in changbin’s fevered brain, the final piece of the puzzle of the past coming together. chan kept talking, explaining how he couldn’t sleep anyway, and changbin nodded, but his mind was on a different timeline.

not long after he’d been sick, back when he was still a trainee, he remembered hearing that chan had caught his bug. back then, changbin hadn’t had a clue of chan’s illness until well after he was healthy again. he’d felt infinitely guilty for it - for not returning that favor - but chan himself and some of the other older boys had reassured him that it wasn’t his fault. chan was just really good at hiding things like that.

pushing his own nausea as far away as possible, changbin inspected chan closely. he really was good at hiding things, changbin thought. still, there were cracks.

in the dimly lit room, changbin couldn’t hope to tell whether the other man was sweating, but he did catch him wiping his brow. he caught chan shivering, once, his whole body shaken by a tremor, and after that changbin could see that the trembling never really stopped. and then changbin noticed chan’s hand moving to his stomach, hesitantly.

changbin spoke with every ounce of tenderness his body possessed. “why are you still up, hyung?”

the words came out sad, concerned, and warm, but chan didn’t seem to notice. he simply shrugged. “couldn’t seep,” he said, eyes darting away from changbin. “you know, the usual - i told you before.”

changbin thought that was probably part of it, but highly unlikely to be the whole story, especially when a heady belch escaped chan’s lips. he covered his mouth, quickly, with the back of his and, but there was really no way for chan to hide that once it had happened.

feeling nauseous once again at the sickly noise but determined, changbin stood, and walked over to chan. he put an arm around the older man’s shoulders.

“c’mon, hyung, i think i’m done. let’s switch.”

finally, chan relented, kneeling in front of the toilet. he was shaking, still, more now, but he turned towards changbin again, shaking his head.

“you don’t have to stay here, bin. you should get some rest.”

“hyung!” changbin scowled. maybe it was his fever getting the better of him, but he felt tears of frustration wet his eyes again. “let me help you,” he demanded. “please.”

a lot was the same now, as it had been. chan had always been a steadiness, not just for changbin, but for all of the members. he did have a sixth sense for when any of them were sick.

but some things had changed. changbin had gotten older - more stubborn, some would say, but he just wanted to do things right, this time. he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

he couldn’t tell if chan understood, or if his body had decided he’d run out of time, but it didn’t really matter. changbin stayed stubbornly where he was, kneeling next to chan as the older man threw up.

changbin’s own stomach flipped immediately upon seeing chan be sick, but he repressed the urge to vomit by sheer force of will. chan kept mumbling silly things, like “i’m okay,” and “don’t worry, bin,” in between possibly the most violent rounds of puking changbin had ever seen.

it wasn’t like he didn’t get it, though. watching someone he loved suffering like this - it was hard for changbin. every time chan gasped for air, changbin felt like he was drowning with him. every time chan whimpered at the force of a heave, changbin felt a little bit like crying.

he would have felt very useless, if he hadn’t felt the comfort of chan’s presence in the past. it felt odd, to changbin, to stand there and just rub chan’s back, but he knew it meant something.

he felt it, later.

when chan was about finished, just about ready to lean back, relax, and then try to sleep off the remnants of the bug, chan’s stomach rebelled one last time. it was an inopportune moment, and chan was too slow to get back over the toilet in time, so when his stomach muscles tightened, he curled over himself. the very little that was left in his stomach ended up as a dark brown stain on his shirt, and even after that chan kept retching. when he finally was done, for real, chan’s eyes were scared and pained and open, vulnerable in a way changbin hadn’t seen before.

shaking, chan reached for changbin. “bin, what– what’d i do,” he said, looking his shirt. “i can’t - what do i do now? i–”

“hyung! hyung, it’s okay.” changbin had the urge to laugh, once again. “do you remember what a mess i was, a couple years ago?”

chan’s lips twitched uncertainly. “but you’re sick, too.”

changbin snorted. “yeah, and you just barely stained your shirt. you don’t even like this shirt, hyung, take it off and we’ll go to bed, come on.”

and that was really all it took. it wasn’t easy, of course, getting themselves settled - they ended up on the couch in the living room, not wanting to disturb the others. by the time changbin gathered water for them to stay hydrated and trashcans - just in case - he was bone tired. but then, by the time he got back, chan was already asleep. conscience just a little bit lighter, changbin was soon to follow.

——

no reader survey this time, too tired and my computer is breaking but please feel free to send in any thoughts you'd like to share, about the fic or otherwise!

——

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#tw vomit #sick changbin #sick chan #skz #skz sickfic #kpop sickfic #sickfic #tw throwing up #tw emeto #kpop emeto #emeto tw

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purpletaecup · 4 years

Photo

7 ☾ i loved you. i’m sorry.

warnings: depictions of panic attacks

notes: writing the end of this chapter made me cry t^t luv u guys, thank you for the support. i love writing this story so much! feel free to send an ask to the IFU universe characters or vent to me about them! also, there is a picture in here that i drew!!!! it’s not that great but I hope you guys like it :-)

word count: 4,471

“Who are you?”

Those words echo in Yoongi’s ear as if it was his final judgment from the king of hell. He staggered but held onto the edge of your hospital bed to keep from falling. He could only look at you in shock and silence while the doctor came up from behind him and examined you.

“Miss Kim, how are you feeling? Is there any pain?” The doctor asked.

You rubbed and blinked a couple of times. Everything was still a little blurry.

“M’head hurts and my body is so sore,” you reply. “Why am I here?”

“What’s the last thing you remember, Miss Kim?”

Rubbing your temples, you groaned in frustration, not remembering how you ended up in this hospital bed.

“I can’t remember. Everything’s really fuzzy right now.”

The doctor turns to Yoongi, who sat himself down on the chair further away from you.

“Do you recognize him?”

You looked at the man in the chair and examined him for a while. There’s a chill that runs through Yoongi’s body as he sees your eyes roam him from head to toe. He almost expects to see some kind of anger or resentment on your face, but receives nothing but confusion.

You turn back to the doctor shaking your head. He opens his mouth to say something but Yoongi beats him to it.

“It’s okay, doc, we can talk about that later, but is she okay? You said your head was hurting, right, Yn?” He says, looking back at you.

Cautiously, you nod at him before looking at the doctor again.

“It’s throbbing and it feels like there’s drums banging in my head.”

“This is all completely normal. You were in a pretty severe car accident and received a pretty worrisome head injury. You were unconscious for about five days, so your body has already started its healing process. In the coming weeks, you might experience some delayed symptoms related to the concussion you received.”

“What kind of symptoms? Is she going to be okay?” Though shocked as he was with your current predicament, Yoongi couldn’t help but worry even more.

“Mr. Min, if you would just let me continue, I can give you and Miss Yn all the answers you need. Because of the nature of the accident, she received a pretty bad head injury resulting in a concussion I believe to be grade II or III.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked.

“It’s just a way to classify the severity of the concussion you received. Since you were in a car accident, you sustained a lot of other injuries but nothing too severe like broken bones. Miraculously enough, you managed to be wheeled away with only lacerations, bruising and a head injury. You were unconscious for about five days and you’re exhibiting signs of amnesia along with blurriness and headaches. These are all signs of a grade II or III concussion, though we won’t know which one until after a few more days of monitoring. Either way, there is the possibility of delayed symptoms like headaches, nausea and imbalance. After we’ve monitored your brain activity and symptoms for a few days, we can determine the grade of concussion clearly and proceed with treatment if needed. I’m leaning a bit more towards a grade II because you’re still able to speak and understand in a normal manner, but the memory loss is worrisome so we’ll have to monitor that and see if it lasts for over 24 hours or not.”

You groaned and tried to sit up straighter, but your muscles, so sore and unused for days, were making it difficult. Yoongi, who had inched closer and closer to you while the doctor spoke, held your hand in one of his while the other helped push you to sit up more comfortably. You murmur a soft thanks in his direction.

“I still don’t understand. You’re saying that I have amnesia, but I feel like I remember everything I should. I know my name, my parent’s names, my friends and my family’s names.” You begin to explain, not really understanding the whole ‘amnesia’ thing.

“How old are you? And what year is it?” The doctor asked while scribbling on your chart.

“19, and it’s 2016.” As soon as those words came out of your mouth, Yoongi fell into a quiet shock once again. Not only had you not recognized him, he was completely erased from your memory. You two met when you were 19, and in your head, you were 19 and you had no idea who he was, so your memory must have conveniently stopped sometime before you met him. He almost scoffs at the irony of it all.

“Miss Kim, you’re 23. You just turned 23 two months ago and it’s currently 2020. Today is the eleventh of November.”

The gasp leaves your mouth before you realize it. Your shaky hands lift up to cover your mouth and you feel tears well up in your eyes from the impact of the doctor’s statement.

“What do you mean? How can I just lose four years in my memory?” Your voice cracks when you ask and through the tears and the shaky breaths, you feel the ghost of a hand on your back.

“That, we don’t know. We haven’t seen an amnesia case this severe in decades, but that’s why we’re going to be monitoring you. Amnesia in head injury patients is pretty unpredictable, but most people who experience amnesia usually only lose memories within the day or at most a week, but it usually never lasts for more than a couple of days. You losing four years of memories doesn’t essentially correlate to how long it will take to regain those memories. For all we know, you could get them back tonight, but like I said, it’s pretty unpredictable.”

It takes a moment for all of it to sink in and absorb. Okay, so you lost four years of memories, but you might regain them soon. Although it’s not a guarantee, it’s still a possibility. You wipe the tears and you steady your breath before turning to the doctor once again.

“What’s he got to do with all of this? I still don’t know who he is or why he’s here.” You ask while pointing to the man beside you.

The doctor looks at you, then looks at him as if expecting him to take the floor and explain things himself.

“I’m Min Yoongi.” He holds out his hand intending you shake yours. You lift your wired up hand to his and he encloses it gently. It’s warm.

“Okay, Min Yoongi, that doesn’t explain how I’m supposed to know you?” You question again, a little bit of attitude in your voice.

It’s silent for a moment. Sensing the tension, the doctor excuses himself, telling them that he’ll send some nurses to help with your headaches and soreness.

Yoongi’s grip tightens on your hand. He contemplates for a little while about how to explain who he was in your life and who you were in his. Can he say that you’re his wife? Will that make it easier for the both of you since you were pregnant? But that was a lie, because you were divorced.

And he had lied to you enough times during your marriage. He thinks it might be the time to be more truthful.

“We were together for four years.” He starts. You wriggle your hand out of his, feeling a little too warm.

“Ah, if we were together for four years, how come I don’t remember you?”

Yoongi thinks about how to answer this one. He hums for a couple of seconds before he asks, “well, in your head, when did you turn 19?”

It was your turn to let a “hmm” pass your lips this time.

“Last week!”

“Okay, so in your timeline, we would have met next week. Two weeks after your birthday, on September 24.”

You nod your head in understanding, but you wince pretty obviously right after. The bruises are aching and you think it’s because you sat up for too long. Yoongi puts his hand on your arm and guides you to lay down.

“Here, just lay down and I’ll sit right here and answer your questions, okay?” He reassures.

After laying down, you try to move your body to the side so you could face where he was sitting.

“So how come you’re here and not my family members?” You asked after a minute’s silence, trying to think of a question to ask. If baffled you that this man you don’t even remember is the only one visiting you in broad daylight after a severe car accident.

“Jin was here with me the day of your accident. He said he was going to take care of you, but he got called in for work and had to travel out of the country a couple of days ago.”

“What about my mom?”

“Actually, I’m not really sure. Jin told me that she was abroad.”

“So you’re the only one left. Must be important if you were in my emergency contacts.”

“I was the only emergency contact you had according to the nurses.”

At this moment, Yoongi looked at you with sad eyes, but you didn’t know why. It felt like it was penetrating you and a nagging voice in the back of your head told you to stop looking at him.

Eager to ease the tension, you ask how the two of you met. Yoongi rests his elbow on the arm rest of the chair, plopping his chin down on his palm.

“Well, I had a music video shoot on the same day as yours. You were doing a photoshoot, I think, and you were using the same set room as me. I went there early to talk to the directors, but you were in the middle of your shoot and I just stayed. I asked my manager to ask for your number and we started talking and then I asked you to be my girlfriend on Halloween at a costume party.” There was a smile on Yoongi’s face when he recalled that particular memory.

He had no recollection of whose party it was, but you two showed up in the best costumes you could muster. Lydia Deetz in her wedding dress and Beetlejuice. The party was fun and the two of you had spent the night in the garden of the venue, just laying down and admiring the stars on Halloween night. It was nearing midnight when the both of you heard a countdown coming from inside. Why there was a countdown for midnight on Halloween, neither of you had a clue, but he took it as a sign and as the grandfather clock chimed, he gave you a gentle kiss and asked (whispered) you to be his girlfriend.

He remembered your laughter from that night and it brought an even larger smile to his face.

You looked at him in awe, thinking his smile was simply breathtaking.

“So you fell in love with me at first sight, huh?” You asked teasingly.

Yoongi glared at you, but as soon as he spotted your little smirk, the glare melted away and a hesitant smile made its way on his face again.

“For your information, it was at first laugh.” He simply stated. At that, you gave a gentle smile and a quiet giggle into your hand.

In that moment, Yoongi was taken back to the early days of your relationship. The appearance of that gentle smile had catapulted him back to the happier days of your story. It was so different from you in the recent months. You, who had been so sad and exhausted and frustrated. Though pale and bruised and in a hospital bed, you looked much more youthful than before, as if you had reverted back to the person that was happiness personified.

“Right, okay. At first laugh. Never heard that before.”

“I’m serious. It was like hearing bells.”

“That doesn’t sound very appealing.”

“Good bells.”

You laughed again, a little scratchy this time. Yoongi handed you the glass of water on your bedside table.

“Okay, so you fell in love with me at first laugh, then what happened?” You asked, eager to find out about this story. At the moment, you really had no inkling of who this man was, but it intrigued you to hear your apparent love story. You loved a good love story and this one, yours, seemed to have a good start. Because you couldn’t recall it, hearing it from his mouth is like looking into your own love story from an outsider’s point of view.

Yoongi took the glass of water and placed it back on the table.

“Well, we got together obviously, and we were together for four years.”

“Past tense, so you’re an ex-boyfriend?” This was getting more interesting. You have always associated exes with heartbreak (at least the ones you remembered), so this was interesting. You must have been good friends after the breakup for him to be your emergency contact.

“Ex-husband, actually.”

Oh.

That stopped you in your tracks. Now, divorce was something you had never, ever thought about. Mentally, you were 19, and at 19, you were worried about your career. You had suffered your fair share of heartbreaks and cheating bastards in high school and swore off marriage until you got yourself together, so this revelation confused you a little bit. You two met when you were 19, but here you are at, apparently, 23 years old and you’re divorced. That’s actually… unbelievable.

“We started dating on Halloween technically, but I proposed in July and that’s when we agreed to celebrate our anniversaries even though that sounds kind of silly. You thought it would be cute to just have one single date to celebrate our anniversary. Something about Halloween being sacred to you.” Yoongi laughed a little nervously, eager to soften the mood just a little bit. He knows you don’t really remember, but it still feels strange to talk about your divorce.

“Wait, so break this down for me a little bit more. How long were we married for?”

“2 years. So I proposed the July after we started dating and then we got married a year later on the same date.”

“And when did we get divorced?”

Yoongi fiddled with his fingers a bit before answering, “ The end of September. We were drifting for some months already, so I think divorce was the best option for us.”

You nodded absentmindedly. It was a little strange to be here, in a hospital bed, listening to this man (who is apparently your ex-husband) talk about your divorce. You felt like you should be feeling something more than this, but all you can feel is some kind of nonchalance, like you were listening to a lecture on a subject you didn’t like. Still, this was your love life, something you treasured with all of your heart, and the news of this divorce with a man you can’t even remember is shocking but in a detached way, if that made sense.

“That makes sense. No one should stay in a marriage where the feelings aren’t there anymore.” You say slowly, silently, absorbing this whole situation.

From your peripheral, you see Yoongi just nod, not saying anything. The silence that befell the two of you was somewhat comfortable but solemn at the same time.

The silence was interrupted by murmurs coming from Yoongi.

“Don’t worry. Even though we’re not together, I’ll still take care of you. You don’t have any immediate family and I’m the only one you really know in this city. The least I can do is take care of you.”

You look at him and shake your head. The independent part of you wanted to deny that. Even though you were mentally 19, in actuality you were 23 and you knew how to take care of yourself.

“It’s fine, Yoongi. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.”

That silences Yoongi for a bit. He remembers you saying that all the time, moreso during the time you decided to quit modelling. He was worried about you, but you always reassured him that there was nothing to worry about. You were a big girl. A woman. When these words came out of your mouth, it reminded him that although you didn’t remember much, you were still the woman he knew deep down.

Before he gets lost in his thoughts again, he lets out a small laugh.

“Yeah, I know you can, but you don’t even know where you live. Do you even remember how to drive? I remember you learned how to drive when you were 21.”

You furrow your brows, angry at his statements, but decide that you can’t refute since what he’s saying is completely true.

“Okay, valid. You can go home if you want, though. They said they were gonna keep me here for a couple of days, so you don’t have to come to the hospital until then, I guess. You look kind of rich… and famous, so you must be busy all the time.”

“I’m my own boss, so I can take my own time off, but I do need to go to the company to settle some things before you get discharged.”

As he talked, your eyes become droopy and were slow to blink.

“Yn, are you okay?” Yoongi asks as he moves closer to your face to examine you. Instinctively, you move back a little, but you’re still close enough to see his eyes up close. You decide to close your eyes.

You mumble a little. “Mhm, just sleepy. Head still hurts.”

Yoongi pulls the blanket up to cover up to your neck and fixes your hair so that it’s not in your face. The intimacy is strange, but not unwelcome, you think.

“Kay, just go back to sleep. I’ll go talk to your doctor then I’m going to the company, okay? I’ll be back tomorrow to give you some of your necessities.” He whispers.

You could barely hear him, but you nod anyways. The disappearance of his warm hand left a cold, empty feeling. Soon enough, you drifted off into sleep.

☽

Yoongi takes one last look at your sleepy form before he quietly leaves the room. He sees your doctor from the corner of his eye and walks up to him. Before he could ask anything, the doctor tells him that they have the results from a scan taken the day prior.

“There seems to be no traumatic damage to the brain, so we have high hopes about a smooth journey to recovery. Of course, she is pregnant, so that might make things a bit more delicate, but nothing that is too difficult to adjust to. She’s right in the middle of her first trimester, so you both really need to be careful. It’s already a miracle that the fetus survived. The rest is up to you guys.”

“And what about the amnesia?”

“We’re still confused about the memory loss. As I mentioned before, the last case of amnesia that was that severe was such a long time ago, and there was no explanation or pattern that was found in the brain to justify the timeline of the memory loss. 4 years is a really long time. We believe she might be more sensitive due to having such a huge gap in her memory. We don’t know what could trigger memories or how she would react to them, but you and the rest of her family should come up with things or events to stimulate her brain activity and remind her of some of the memories that she lost.”

“That sounds reasonable. I don’t want to overwhelm her too much, so I held back a lot when I was talking to her today. If it’s possible, can we hold off on telling her about her pregnancy? At least until I come back and I can tell her myself. I tried to take the day off today, but I have to deal with the company first so I can be here when she’s discharged.” Yoongi explained.

The doctor looked nervous at first, but thought about it for a while.

“Yes, I think that might be for the best. Waking up in an unfamiliar place with no memories of the past four years can be very overwhelming so it might be easier to ease her into the news. Thank you Mr. Min, we’ll call you when there’s news.” The doctor says before holding his hand out for a handshake.

Yoongi let out a small smile as he shook the doctor’s hand.

“Yes, please let me know if anything happens and if her situation changes. I’ll be back tomorrow to drop off a new cellphone for her so it’s easier to contact people. I’ll see you then, doc. Thank you so much for your hard work.” Yoongi couldn’t help but praise him for being such a helpful person during a difficult time for both him and you.

“It’s no problem at all, Mr. Min. It makes me happy to see how devoted you are in taking care of your wife and future child.” The doctor smiles at him and pats his shoulder roughly before he walks away whistling.

Yoongi only stared at his back as he walked away from him. Devotion. That wasn’t something he was used to.

☽

He’d gone home that night and contemplated the strange encounter that you both had today. The initial shock he received when realizing that you couldn’t recognize him, worse yet remember him, was swept away quickly by your questions about your relationship with him. As the night ended and he tucked himself into his bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about your conversation today.

It was the most civil conversation you’ve had since before the divorce. It was basically the only conversation you’ve had since the divorce. The more he thought about it, the more he zoned out of the reality in front of it. He thought about your teasing smile when you asked if he fell in love with you at first sight. He thought about your laugh, like bells, when he corrected you and said it was love at first laugh. It was like the fates turned back time to when you two first met. It was like he was seeing you for the first time again.

The you from today was such a stark contrast from the you that Yoongi had lived with in the months leading up to your divorce. Being reminded of what you were like back then and comparing it to the person you turned into after 4 years together made his heart beat faster. He didn’t know what it was but thinking about how you changed, how you grew, made him nervous. These weren’t fluffy feelings of romance or admiration. It seemed to be more like fear. He looked down at his hands and realized that they were shaking. As the shaking continued, he noticed his breathing getting shorter and shorter. He didn’t know what was happening but having these thoughts made him feel so scared.

The tears escaped his eyes before he even realized he was crying. He had never experienced this before. His heart was beating so fast and he couldn’t stop shaking or crying but all he could focus on was your soft smile today and every time he saw it in his head, it crumbled into the 23 year old you who sobbed into her hands in front of him. He just kept thinking and thinking and thinking and it made him cry into his palms more and more. Behind his closed eyes were images of the two of you through the years and the way you had changed from a beautiful, happy person who could probably make the sun and all the planets stop into a sad, quiet, reserved woman who preferred to stay at home and be alone with your paper and your words.

Did he do that? Did he do that to you? Did he make you that sad? Was it his fault that you pulled away from him? Was it his fault that you two fell apart as catastrophically as you fell in love? Was he the reason for your accident?

No, no, no, no. He cried and cried and couldn’t breathe. I didn’t do that, I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t mean to do that. I loved you. I loved you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

At the same time, you woke up in your hospital bed, shocked by a nightmare that eventually dulled and became forgotten as soon as you woke. You felt like there was something important that the dream told you, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Instead of trying to remember, you looked up at the ceiling of your hospital room and contemplated on your strange encounter with your so-called ex-husband today. Mentions of the divorce were vague, so you didn’t focus on it much. He told you a love story that you wouldn’t have believed if you hadn’t lost your memories. You smiled as you remembered that way he told you he fell in love at first laugh. There was a twinkle in his eye when he said that, but you still noticed a twinge of sadness and regret behind it all.

“For your information, it was at first laugh.”

You closed your eyes and tried so hard to remember anything, just the smallest thing, to confirm whatever Yoongi had told you, but nothing came to you except for a barrage of tears that was so sudden it shocked you. You tried to stop crying, but you couldn’t. You tried to laugh but it only ended in broken sobs. There was a hurt in your chest that you couldn’t precisely describe. It was sharp, and it hurt your heart, like it was breaking little by little. It wasn’t happiness. Not at all. It felt like a sadness that you hadn’t ever felt before (or at least your 19 year old self), but you couldn’t possibly remember why you felt like this. The tears kept coming and coming and it frustrated you so much that you didn’t know why you were crying like this. You just wanted to remember something about your marriage, your relationship, and Min Yoongi. You couldn’t understand why you were feeling like this.

Of course, though the memory is lost, the hurt and sorrow that your heart had gone through couldn’t be forgotten. At least not by your body. It was a sadness so deep in your bones that not even the loss of the memories associated with this hurt could erase it.

☽

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taglist 1: @victoriedulce @yoongistruth @rebeccawoodrow @moon-asia @koochiekoo @sonderkook @fangirling-gallifreyan @teresaisla @veronawrites @haeilove @rjsmochii @mama-m0chi @agustd-2020 @imluckybitches @dreamer95 @coldfreakeggsexpert @rjsmochii @loveyoongles @selfproducingfanfictionauthor @mr-robot-x

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kinkykinard · 4 years

Text

First Date Drama

Fandom: 9-1-1. Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley x Female Reader. Word Count: 2255. Genre: gen/fluff. Rating: teen+. Summary: you’ve had your fair share of disastrous first dates, but this one might just take the cake. Warning(s): mentions of blood, minor injury. Note: my first ever 9-1-1 fic! Beta’d by @starshiphufflebadger.

You hum quietly to yourself as you step into the shower, closing your eyes as the water hits your face and runs in rivulets down your body. There’s an ache in your thighs that reminds you acutely of the preceding night’s pleasures and you bite your lip as your hand drifts downward, caressing your overstimulated core. When you’d tumbled into bed with Buck the night before, it had been under the impression that the two of you would have a one night stand and part before either of you could catch feelings. Now, though, basking in the echoes and memories of the amazing sex you’d had, you hope against hope that he’s open to seeing you again.

Closing your eyes, you let the water run over your skin for a while, loosening up your tired muscles until you’re limber enough to get to work actually cleaning up. Reaching for the shaving cream, you uncap it and squeeze a generous amount into your palm, setting the canister aside before propping your leg up on the side of the tub. You rub your hands together, lathering the gel before coating your skin from ankle to knee in an even layer.

Retrieving your razor, you uncap it and get to work shaving, finishing one leg uneventfully. You repeat the process with the other side, lathering it up before gliding the razor along your skin in smooth strokes. This time, though, there’s a catch. A small bump on the inside of your calf snags the razor and you curse quietly as you feel the biting sting of the blades sinking into your skin, shaving cream running into the freshly opened wound and making it burn.

“Damn it,” you hiss, abandoning the razor on the side of the tub as you turn to rinse your leg.

The shaving cream suds are washed away in thick clumps and a wellspring of crimson follows, filling the bottom of the tub in moments. You whimper as your stomach clenches, nausea gripping you as you watch the blood run. You want to lean in and inspect the damage but you already feel dizzy and you don’t want to risk overbalancing. Instead, you grit your teeth and drag in a breath, glancing away as you let the water run over the wound.

“No, no, no,” you mutter, considering your next move.

You pull the shower curtain back, glancing around the bathroom, cursing again. The first aid kit that usually lives under your sink is still in the basement where you’d left it after your last DIY project had seen you catch a sliver deep in your palm. You’ve got enough towels to keep a small army dry, but none that are practical for keeping pressure on your lower leg while you waddle awkwardly downstairs to fetch the kit. You’ve got tissues, too, but considering the amount of blood that you can feel still pouring from the wound alongside the water, you don’t want to risk bits of paper getting stuck in your skin.

A knock on the bathroom door gets your attention and you instinctively turn your head towards it, startled.

“You okay in there?” Buck asks from the bedroom beyond.

“I’m fine!” You reply, your voice reedy even to your own ears.

“I heard a few curse words that say otherwise.”

You huff indignantly.

“It’s nothing,” you insist. “I just nicked myself shaving.”

Buck isn’t convinced.

“I’m coming in,” he warns, giving you a moment to draw the shower curtain again before he opens the door.

“Honestly, I’m fine,” you say, feeling your face heat in embarrassment at your predicament.

“In my experience, the ones who try the hardest to convince you that they’re fine are the ones who need help the most,” he says sagely.

His shadow looms on the other side of the shower curtain and your heart skips uneasily at the thought of him seeing you so vulnerable. You press the shower curtain to the tiled wall with your palm, preventing him from being able to pull it back.

“It’s stupid,” you say with a sigh. “I’m sure it’s already stopped bleeding.”

“Let me see,” Buck coaxes.

You shake your head a moment before remembering that he can’t see you through the curtain.

“I’m naked,” you argue.

Buck chuckles.

“You didn’t seem to have an issue with that when I undressed you last night,” he teases gently.

“That was different,” you say flatly.

“I’m a firefighter, I see people naked more often than you’d think,” he reasons.

“Not better.”

You can practically feel him rolling his eyes.

“Come on,” he encourages, his voice softening. “I just want to help.”

You debate on what to do for another few seconds before finally relenting. Letting go of the curtain, you slide it back just enough to let Buck know he’s free to look. He reaches over a moment later, pulling the curtain aside the rest of the way and glancing down at the pool of red water beneath your feet.

His trained senses take the scene in immediately and you watch as he springs into action. He reaches for the nearest towel, turning off the shower with his free hand as he moves to press the fabric to your wound to staunch the blood flow. He presses it firmly into place and you yelp at the sharp sting on contact.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Buck asks.

“In the basement,” you reply.

“Can you hold this on here while I go get it?”

You nod and bend down, taking over holding the towel and putting pressure on the wound. Wanting to avoid looking at it in fear of catching sight of any blood, you watch Buck hurry out of the bathroom and then set your focus on counting tiles in the trim around the sink.

Buck returns a couple of minutes later and comes back to your side, resting a hand on your back. You shiver as a chill grips you, the ambient air sapping your body heat as the droplets of water on your skin start to evaporate away.

“I’m going to carry you out of here,” he explains. “But you’re going to have to let go of the towel for a second.”

You nod shakily and let go, instead pressing your calves together to keep the towel in place as you straighten up. You avoid Buck’s gaze and yelp a little in surprise as he sweeps you up into his arms. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck and cling on tightly as he makes his way out of the bathroom. You can feel the blood from your wound beginning to soak the towel with less pressure on it and you bite back a groan, burying your face in his neck as he heads for your bed.

“I’m going to set you down,” Buck says softly.

You nod, hesitating on letting go of him for a moment as he leans down and lays you on a couple of towels. Eventually, you reluctantly disentangle yourself from him and lie back, throwing an arm across your eyes in an attempt to hide your embarrassment at your predicament. Thankfully, Buck has your modesty in mind and you relax a little bit as you feel him pull another towel over your body.

The relaxation is fleeting as you feel his hands around your calf a few seconds later, pressing the towel firmly into place over your wound. You hiss in pain as the pressure burns, the terry cloth biting into your skin. The warm, slightly sticky feeling of the bloodied towel against your leg makes your stomach churn uncomfortably and you take a slow, deep breath in an attempt to quell the nausea.

“How’re you doing?” Buck asks a moment later.

You can feel his concerned gaze on you and you squirm a little.

“Uh, okay I think,” you say weakly. “I’m just not good with blood, especially my own.”

“Just keep those pretty eyes covered and you won’t have anything to worry about,” Buck says softly. “I’ve got you.”

You nod and keep your gaze averted as Buck shifts his grip, taking over holding pressure on your wound with just one hand. With his free hand, you can hear him shuffling through your first aid kit and tearing open a package. You quickly realize he’s pulled out some dressing materials as he releases the pressure on your calf, peeling the bloodied towel away and replacing it with fresh, clean gauze. It stings fiercely and you bite your lip to keep from whining in discomfort.

Buck shuffles around a bit, letting go of your leg entirely for a moment while he opens a few more packages of supplies and sets them aside to use as needed. The pressure returns within moments, though, and you sigh softly as the minutes tick by with Buck gripping firmly to stop the bleeding.

“Alright, let’s see where we’re at,” Buck says softly a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

You hiss a little as he carefully peels the gauze back, exposing the cut to the air and making it burn. You feel a little queasy as you anticipate the trickle of blood, but after a few uneventful moments, you slowly open your eyes and look cautiously toward your leg. There’s not major bleeding in sight anymore, but the large, raw swath of angry, exposed sinew you’ve torn open with your razor looks like something out of a horror movie and you quickly shut your eyes again, trying desperately to banish the visual from your mind.

“Does it need stitches?” You ask warily, breathing slowly to try and calm your racing heart.

“Nah, there’s nothing to stitch. It’s too wide a cut and you left the overlying skin flap tangled up in your razor, so there’s nothing left to do but dress it and let it heal.”

The thought of a piece of tissue hanging from the shaver you’d been using in the shower almost makes you gag and you groan in disgust. Buck pats your uninjured shin reassuringly and reaches for a clean piece of gauze and a tube of antibiotic ointment.

You chew your lip as he works, his gentle hands helping you relax into his ministrations after a few moments. Eventually you open your eyes again, blinking in the morning light filtering in through your curtains. You turn your gaze down, watching Buck work, smiling at the crease in his forehead as he concentrates on expertly wrapping your injured leg.

“Some first date, huh?” You quip eventually, the silence becoming a bit much.

Buck chuckles, shaking his head before flashing you a friendly smile.

“This doesn’t even crack the top ten worst first dates I’ve had,” he assures you.

You raise an eyebrow, propping yourself on your elbows as he finishes puting the last bits of tape on the dressing he’s applied. He glances over at you as he sets your leg down, noticing your expression.

“What? It’s true,” he asserts. “One time, I took a woman to a fancy restaurant on Valentine’s Day for our first real date. An hour later I was in surgery. The doctors had to close a hole in my throat after a steak knife tracheotomy my date had to perform because I choked on some bread so badly the Heimlich wouldn’t cut it.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise and you gape at him.

“No way.”

“I swear to God,” Buck says, holding up his hands. “And if it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t a relationship-ender.”

Your heart skips again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Buck’s kind eyes and easy, infectious smile make your knees weak and you’re glad for the support of the bed, even if you’re not in the most dignified position. You giggle a little bit hysterically and hope that he doesn’t notice your sudden nervousness.

“Is that your way of saying you’d like to see me again?” You ask coyly.

“I would love to see you again,” Buck says with a playful grin.

He holds out a hand and you take it, allowing him to pull you up. You swivel, taking your legs from his lap and letting them swing over the side of the bed so you can get closer to him. The towel covering you slips, folding around your waist and exposing you to his suddenly hungry gaze. This time, though, the awkwardness is long forgotten.

You close your eyes as Buck leans in, pressing his lips to yours. You moan softly into the kiss, leaning closer, shifting so you can wrap an arm around his waist. He returns the favor, embracing you and pulling you into his lap, dislodging the discarded packets of first aid supplies.

As they flutter to the floor, crinkling as they twist and unfurl in the air, your injury is all but forgotten. Buck’s hands on your skin, your bodies shifting against one another as you fall back into bed for another round of lovemaking, replace the uncomfortable memories with something far more pleasant and in-the-moment. Even the sting of your injury is a distant echo as Buck rolls you over, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his touch driving all but the feelings of friction between your bodies from your mind.

As Buck’s kisses move from your lips to the curve of your jaw, slowly descending down your neck in a slow, teasing trail, you can’t help but think that maybe this hasn’t been the worst first date after all.

#9-1-1 #9-1-1 fanfiction #9-1-1 imagines #reader insert #Evan Buckley #female reader #fanfiction #9-1-1 on Fox

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chaseatinydream · 4 years

Text

pirate king (79) || atz

You can’t breathe.

Every inhale and exhale feels like gargantuan effort, not the movements that should come to your body as naturally as well, breathing. Mind swimming, your stomach heaves with each movement as you struggle to focus your gaze, which insists on remaining decidedly hazy.

What happened?

Groaning, you rub a hand across your eyes, fighting back the nausea. There’s an ache in every part of your body, legs burning like they’re on fire. Your head throbs like it’s trying to split itself in half.

“So, you’re awakening.”

Startled, you sit up as fast as you can and your vision swims, black spots breaking out over your vision. Retching, you turn to the side, body shaking and the taste of bile in your throat. When you look back, your heart leaps into your mouth, lips parting in shock.

A pair of liquid green eyes stare back at you, mouth curled into a sad, pained smile.

“You!”

Scrambling backwards is your first instinct, mind blank and your back hits a wall roughly. You yelp in pain and the man’s eyes widen in worry and he reaches out to steady you but you flinch away. He’s an unknown figure that has taken many forms, a young man, an elder, a young boy - who knows what his intentions are? And yet something in you feels at ease with him, the same feeling you get when you step aboard the Treasure and your body matches the rhythm of the ship’s pitch and roll like it’s your own heartbeat.

“Peace be upon you, I have not come to harm you.” The green eyed man says softly, and his voice sounds like the swaying of leaves in the spring wind. Staring up at him, you frown, and decide that he doesn’t look like he’s about to run you through with a blade any second.

What happened before this?

When you try to recall, pain surges once again and you clutch your head, gritting teeth. The memories wash over you, being separated from your master, overhearing the pirates’ plot, being chased and then...

And then running into that man with startlingly similar eyes to your very own captain, dread seeping cold into your veins. He had been dressed much like the townspeople that frequented the town, in dusty cloths and salt crusted sea boots, but that hadn’t been effective in the least in dampening to power you had felt hidden deep within him, like a roiling, pitching storm.

Instantly, you glance about in wariness, anxiety spiking through you. “That man! The one who I met earlier, I-”

When your eyes catch the sight about you, your heart falls into the pit of your stomach.

The harbor has broken down into chaos. What had once been the pier where the marketplace once stood is now a wreckage of wet timber and matchwood and shredded canvas, and shopkeepers shout in panicked voices to each other, picking their way through the rubble The wooden docks have been smashed into matchwood as well, only the bare structures left standing and wood scraps floating about in the grey water.

But the strange man is gone.

Your mouth falls open. “What on earth?”

People call to each other for help, some cursing and some crying, their voices strangely disembodied. The green eyed man lifts his shoulders gently, looking at them. “They won’t be able to see us,” is all he says in a form of explanation, vague and soft. You open your mouth then shut it, head pounding too much to try and understand what exactly is going on.

“What happened?”

“A tidal wave crashed into the shoreline a few minutes ago.” The man says, crouching next to you. His eyes are filled with melancholy, so acute that you feel it in your own chest. “Miraculously, the Treasure was not destroyed.”

“Freak storm.” You mumble under your breath. You want to ask how he can say that with so much surety, but you give up on trying to figure this man out. Something tells you that you won’t be able to. Instead, you curl up, staring at him with a hint of suspicion. “We’ve met so many times, I can’t even fool myself into thinking that this is a coincidence anymore. Who are you?”

“What am I.” He corrects you, with that same mild, unchanging smile. You blink at him, once, twice and then speak again. “Okay then. What are you?”

He smiles again. “I cannot say.”

He’s about as unhelpful as San when it comes to steering the ship, so you give up prying for answers and move onto your next question. “Why are you here?”

At that, his expression falls, green eyes nearly dimming from the spark that vanishes from his eyes. “Any other time, it would have filled my heart with joy to see you, however, the circumstances under which we meet are unfortunate. I have come bearing a warning.”

Your eyebrows pinch, fist clenching. A chill runs through you. “A warning?” You wonder aloud. “Sounds... bad.”

The green eyed man nods sagely. “You are beginning to experience agony with each step you take, are you not?”

You stare at him for a moment, before you put your head in your hands and rub your temples, as if that will rid your head of the dull ache there. Today has been a crazy enough day already, and if something else decides to happen you might walk right off the cliff of insanity and never come back. “I’m... not even going to ask how you know that. Yes, what about it?”

His green eyes don’t waver as they meet yours, and you can’t pull your own gaze away. “You should have guessed by now that your body is starting to fall apart. It will not be long before you lose all control of your legs as well.”

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine.” You mumble, running a hand through your hair. For a moment, you wonder if Yeosang would be able to create prosthetic legs for you as well. You’d be more wooden than clay at this rate. “You can’t use your voodoo powers and save me, can you.”

His smile is sad. “I cannot interfere any more than this. It is your journey that you have undertaken, and must continue to do so alone.”

“I’m not alone.” You say sharply, voice firm. For a second, you’re surprised at the unwavering tone of your own words. “I have a crew... a family.”

The man’s eyes widen a fraction, before they curve into gentle half moons, looking as content as you have ever seen them. Warmth settles in your chest. “That is something I am happy to hear. However...”

“However...?”

“You are the one who poses the biggest danger to them right now.”

You taste iron in your mouth. “The Royal Navy... other pirates won’t let us off with such a sweet bounty on my head.” The man does not reply. “Although I wonder what will kill me first, the Royal Navy or my sickness. I suppose you don’t know any way I can save myself?”

He looks at you dead in the eye. “There is a way.”

You nearly choke on air.

“What?” You sputter in shock, whirling to stare at him. “There’s a way I can stay alive? Tell me!”

His expression turns stony. “I cannot.”

Rage flares up in you. Part of you wants to throttle the man in front of you right now. “What do you mean? Perhaps you really do want me die?”

Hurt flashes in his green eyes and instantly your heart sinks. All your anger evaporates in a split second and you reach forward to take his hands in yours, suddenly desperate to retract what you’ve said. “Wait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I just... I know you’d never wish any harm upon me, Eorth-”

The second the word leaves your lips, you know you’ve screwed up.

“Ahh!” Your tongue burns, pain so fierce raging in your head that you almost crumple to your knees. You weren’t supposed to say it, you can’t say it. “It hurts!”

The man’s face crumples, and he quickly pulls away from you, rising to his feet. He looks like he wants nothing more than to hold you close, but does not do so. “Your time is nearing its end.” He says quietly, eyes wet with tears. “The hunter is almost upon you. You must succeed before he steals your essence as well, Chin Hae. It’s your only hope.”

“Wait!” You gasp, struggling to sit up. He pauses, and looks at you with an expression so forlorn you almost cry yourself. “You don’t want to tell me, or you can’t tell me?”

The man takes a step back, and suddenly he starts to crumble himself, right before your very eyes. Your mouth falls open in shock at the unbelievable sight. “I cannot. If I did, it would no longer be the way. But now... it is time for you to run before the predator, Chin Hae.”

“Huh?” That’s all you manage to utter, as the man vanishes into thin air, dust blown away by the wind. Distantly, you hear bells ringing frantically, but you feel as if you’re underwater. “Time to run...?”

“Be careful of him... and most of all, beware yourself, Chin Hae.”

The spell shatters, and the sound of the town bells - alarms, you realise - wreck your ears with their desperate ringing. And then you hear the screaming.

“Royal Navy! Royal Navy fast approaching!”

>>>

This day really is shaping up to being one of the craziest days of your very short life.

You tear along the wreckage that is the pier, jumping over piles of timber. The freak storm earlier had caused all of this... and you remember your reflection in the mirror when all of it had started. You wonder if the crazy storm had caused you to have weird visions, or maybe you’d just been struck by lightning and your brain had fried. All you know now is that you need to get back to the Treasure, and you need to get the hell out of here.

As you race down what’s left of the wooden piers, you see other crews scrambling to make their ships seaworthy again, howling to their men to raise the sails and make headway. The appearance of the Royal Navy bodes well for none of them, least of all yours.

Before you reach the dock housing the Treasure, however, white hot pain shoots up your legs and you stumble, nearly crumpling to your knees. You can feel cold sweat dripping from your head, although whether it is from fear or agony, you don’t know.

All of a sudden, a warm arm reaches around you and yanks you to your feet, and you cry out at the agony that tears through them. “Hells, are you okay, Chin Hae?”

You come dangerously close to Wooyoung’s face, gentle eyes brimming with frantic concern. “Woo?”

“San came back a while back in a panic, saying he lost you and couldn’t find you. He thought you’d be back here with us, but you still hadn’t returned. And then the wave hit, and the Royal Navy... I thought-” He cuts himself off, burying his face in your neck for a second, and you can feel him trembling. “No, it’s alright. You’re safe. What happened?”

“I... I might have sprained my ankle, or something.” You lie through your teeth, guilt seizing your chest. Wooyoung looks horrified, and scoops you up easily, warm arms holding you close to his chest. His heart thuds frantically under warm skin as he turns to run towards the docks, battered planks creaking dangerously under his feet. “Thank the gods I found you. The Treasure is making preparations to set sail.”

You chew your lower lip as you tighten your hold around his neck. “What if... what if you couldn’t find me?”

Wooyoung gives you a flat look. “Captain would have refused to set sail and taken on the entire fleet on his own. And if he didn’t,” he looks straight at you, mouth pressed into a determined line. “Then I would not have left Tortuga at all. I wouldn’t leave without you, so don’t go thinking about silly questions like that, okay? Okay.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to disagree, you think, and despite the situation you’re in, you let out a tiny laugh. Wooyoung smiles.

“Stop right there!”

Wooyoung grinds to a halt, and you look up in horror to see a man standing at the very end of the pier, between you and where the Treasure is docked. It’s the burly man from earlier, you realise, and there’s a sword in his hands.

You swallow. “Uh oh.”

“Now, boy.” The pirate holds out the massive cutlass, and the blade gleams cruelly in the storm dappled light. “Drop the woman. I don’t want to kill her on accident, when she’s worth so much.”

“I’m afraid she’s worth more than you can afford.” Wooyoung says dryly, although his hold tightens on you, unwilling to let go. “More than money can buy. So I won’t be handing her over to a thug like you. Anyways, shouldn’t you be focusing on running? The Royal Navy is coming, you know.”

Wooyoung isn’t carrying his sword, you realise in horror, and you’ve lost your satchel during the storm earlier. Frantically, you work the straps holding your prosthetic to your arm. It comes loose, buckles clinking.

“Don’t be so stupid, kid.” The pirate levels his sword at the two of you. Wooyoung grits his teeth. “Don’t you know the Royal Navy is offering pardons for anyone who turns her in alive? I’ll never have to live in fear of those bastards again. Hand her over to me peacefully, and you’ll be pardoned too.”

“Wooyoung, walk towards the man, and kick him as hard as you can when I give you the signal.” You murmur under your breath. Wooyoung squeezes your thigh lightly, signifying that he understands. Then he walks forward calmly. He’s putting his trust in you, and you refuse to let him down. “I can be pardoned as well?”

“Of course! There’s an unbelievable amount of wealth too.” He chuckles as Wooyoung draws within striking range, eyes hard. The second he does, the man’s gaze snaps, and in the blink of an eye he’s raised his sword, a triumphant cackle leaving his lips. “But I’ll be taking it all, fool!”

At that second, you hurl your prosthetic right at the man’s head. He shouts as it collides with the man’s face. “Wooyoung, now!”

“I know!” Gripping you tight, Wooyoung is already lifting his leg and kicks the man so hard in the chest that the two of you fall backwards hard, you cradled in his arms. The man, on the other hand, isn’t as lucky and doesn’t have anything to catch him. Instead, he stumbles backwards, realises there’s nothing to step on and falls into the water below with a satisfying splash.

“You’re amazing, Chin Hae.” Wooyoung laughs brightly as he lifts you up again, running down to the docks. The Treasure is within sight, the orange and black flag fluttering at the mast a friendly sight. You only groan, and bury your face in his neck.

“Yeosang is going to kill me.”

“He loves you too much.” Wooyoung replies cheekily, and before you know it, the two of you have cleared the gangplank, feet thudding onto the deck. Your heartbeat seems to sync instantly with the rhythmic pitch and roll of the ship. “Captain, I got her! Let’s go!”

The main deck is in chaos, powder monkeys and gunners rushing about hauling bags of gunpowder, cannon shot, swabbing out the artillery guns and preparing them for a sea battle. You swallow down the panic, look upwards.

“Drop the sails!” Mingi bellows, and in the masts above you see Yunho silhouetted against the sun shouting commands at the rest of the rigging monkeys as they scramble to cut the ropes. At the helm, you see your captain standing with his back straight, red fur coat around his shoulders, cutting a striking figure in the grey light of the storm.

“Crew,” he commands sharply, “Set sail!”

The winds howl, as if in response to his command, and the Treasure surges forward. It’s only then that you notice the number of ships on the wide ocean before you, and your mouth drops open in horror.

It’s an entire fleet.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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kashi-prompts · 4 years

Text

Flowers For A Shinobi

Chapter 9: Lotus Art: Iyasu Healing Flower

Word Count: 2,381

Pairing: Kakashi x OFC

Previous Chapter ❀ Archive of Our Own Link ❀ Wattpad Link

A/N: Thank you to those who have been reading. I hope you are enjoying it! Constructive criticism or feedback is always appreciated!

My birthday was Sunday so leave me some likes if you liked it lol

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Caw, caw!

The incessant squawking of the crows overhead reverberated annoyingly in Ayame's eardrums. Her mind felt hazy, comparable to a radio that couldn't quite grasp hold of a broadcasting station. Her consciousness came and went, her mind ebbing and flowing as her body lay still against the soiled marble floor.

Above her, another crow walked closer to the opening in the ground. Its skeletal feet tapping a pebble curiously until it fell into the hole, plummeting through the air and bouncing off the split ground, inches from Ayame's face. She stirred, a groan escaping her chapped lips. She licked them, opening a sage-colored eye lazily.

Carefully, she peeled her cheek from the stone and sat up, feeling disoriented. Her body felt heavy. Her eyes settled on the remains of a man a few feet from her; his figure wrapped tightly in her lush vines, his skin gray. She felt nausea stir within her stomach, burning the back of her throat with acid. Quickly, she swallowed, taking a deep breath at the overwhelming reality around her.

Suddenly, the pieces of her memory came together like two magnets, her neck quickly snapping over to a mass of gray hair at the recollection of Kakashi. Ayame quickly scrambled over to him, gravel digging into her knees as she crawled across the floor.

"Kakashi," she breathed, looking down at his motionless body. She wasn't sure how long she had been out, maybe a few minutes, or maybe longer. She didn't want to think about it.

"Kakashi," she called his name again, patting his face gently. Deep lines had formed under his eyes, a hue of purple dusting his cheekbone. She carefully placed two fingers under his neck, feeling for his pulse. It was faint. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat and blood.

"Kakashi," escaped her lips, feeling panic building. She forced it away, composing herself as she unzipped his jonin jacket and put her head to his chest. His body was warm against her ear. His heart was still beating. The thought of losing this man she had just met overwhelmed her. She thought of how the village would react to his death, knowing she had been the one to lead them out here.

Thump, thump.

Amatoxins, you know.

Thump, thump.

Ayame's eyes opened instantly as she recalled Daichi's words. She sat up, reaching for her backpack and pulling it over her shoulders. Her mind sorted through the laundry list of herbal medications in her bag, dumping its contents on the ground for the second time that day.

Amatoxins from mushrooms, amatoxins, she thought, picking up each vial and processing its remedies in her mind. She picked up the vial of silibinin, milk thistle extract grounded into powder and mixed into water, and a lightbulb went off in her brain. She turned back to him, her chest tightening uncomfortably at the shape he was in. She cursed herself for being unconscious when he needed her. But if she hadn't been so triggered by Daichi's words, would she have still pushed herself to create those vines?

Ayame uncorked the vial and looked down at the silver-haired Jonin. She felt a tightness in her chest as she assessed him. She would have to take his mask off, she realized. She didn't have time to think about it. The more she sat and considered it, the more time ticked away. She was sure he didn't have much time left before the toxins damaged his liver permanently - if it hadn't already.

It felt so personal, like something he would choose to show her after building a bond of trust. But she had no choice. Carefully, she pulled back the fabric of his mask, over the tip of his slender nose and beyond his lips. The realization that she was seeing his face behind his mask produced a blush to creep over her cheeks. Her ears felt hot. She let the material rest over his chin where a little black mole sat. A nagging sense that she was violating his privacy tugged at her. It was either this or nothing, she reasoned.

Reaching down, she tapped at the side of his chin to open and dumped the vial contents into his mouth. She waited a moment, pushing on his throat to ensure he swallowed it despite his unconsciousness. A drip of the antidote trickled from the corner of his mouth, trickling down to his chin. Gingerly, she reached and caught it with a hooked finger, feeling the light stubble at the edge of his chin. She drew away quickly, her skin hot.

Another pebble skidded across the floor from above. Ayame pulled Kakashi's mask up and turned away, feeling another peculiar sense of guilt mixed with a new, unfamiliar yearning to gaze at him all day. She lifted her hand and touched her braid, fiddling with the strands. Pursing her lips, she glimpsed over at the dead shinobi a few feet away again. Vines wrapped tightly around his neck and body; his skin tinted grotesquely. His lifeless, eerie eyes were staring back at her, causing her stomach to roll.

Suddenly, Ayame jumped up to her feet. She ran over to Daichi's body, tripping over the sensation of how heavy her legs felt. She realized everything required to make the flower the Konoha shinobi needed was right there in front of her. Reaching down, she snatched the scroll out from Daichi's thick fingers, adrenalin flooding through her as she quickly sprinted towards the exit where they had come from. She felt a ping of guilt leaving Kakashi and looked back at him. He would be alright, she reasoned. She just needed to give the antidote time to work. He would want her to do this first rather than save him anyway.

The stale air of her old village greeted her nose again in full force as she reached the top of the ladder. Looking around, she noticed his ninja hounds in the distance, far away from the site of the wreckage. He hadn't dismissed them, she realized. She wondered if they had seen or heard any of the commotion from earlier.

"Pakkun," she called out, waving the canine over. The little pug lifted his head from the ground, his pushed-in nose sniffing the air. The other dogs lifted their heads as well, looking over at her. Their diverse shaped faces shifting into various levels of confusion at the sight of Ayame voice calling them and not their master.

"Everything okay?" Pakkun asked, his little bowlegged arms trotting towards her.

"I need someone to keep an eye on Kakashi," she explained breathlessly. She looked around for an empty field. "But I also need someone to deliver this scroll and some flowers to Lady Hokage as soon as possible."

Ayame showed Pakkun the scroll and then pointed to a small field beyond her old home's wreckage.

"I'll take care of it," Pakkun assured her as the other dogs hurried up beside him. Without any direct orders, two of the canine sprinted off in the direction Ayame had come from, their noses following the scent of their master. Ayame watched them for a moment, amazed by their ability to trace his scent.

"What do you need?" Pakkun asked, watching Ayame turn her head back to him. He looked up at her, his tiny beady eyes staring up at her skeptically.

"This way," she said, guiding him over to the field. Kneeling on the wearied grass, she looked down at the scroll in her hand hesitantly. She thought of the small amount of chakra she had manifested through the previous day's exertion and meditation session that morning. She was sure she had already used most of it - killing - that man. She swallowed hard.

There was no turning back now. Kakashi wouldn't be awake for hours, and she certainly couldn't leave him behind or haul his body back to the village before dusk. She chewed at her bottom lip. It was now or never.

"Pakkun," she looked over at him, his little body sitting behind her on the grass. "I'm going to use this scroll to produce these flowers. I need you to pick as many as you can and take them back to Lady Hokage before dusk. She'll need this scroll too. It has directions on it."

"Got it," the small canine nodded, "don't worry."

"And Pakkun," she spoke quietly, looking down at the scroll as she sat on her heels. Worry permeated her bones, sending a chill up her spine that had little to do with the nip of cold air. She wondered if her body would be capable of handling this job after already exerting herself.

"Make sure Kakashi is okay, please," Ayame requested, unrolling the scroll on the ground. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the scroll.

Stay focused, she remembered. Closing her eyes, her hands molded themselves into the appropriate signs through muscle memory before slamming it to the ground in the center of the scroll.

"Lotus Art: Iyasu Healing Flower!"

A rolling field of purple buds erupted from the dead weeds, the tips of their stems immediately blooming as the crisp breeze swayed them. Dozens of lavender-colored blossoms filled Ayame's blurred vision. Her eyesight tunneled, darkness breathing in and out in unison with her expanding chest. Her body weakened immediately. Her ears buzzed continuously.

Her body fell sideways, the grass rough against the skin of her cheek. As she lifted her eyes before her vision went dark, she watched the brown pug begin to pick the flowers from the ground one by one with his mouth before heading for the horizon with the scroll in his mouth.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

A raindrop landed on Kakashi's forehead, hitting his skin and dripping into his hairline. Then another, and another. Slowly, his hooded eyelid fluttered open lazily, his vision clouded. He swallowed, his throat feeling thick and scratchy. His arms and legs felt heavy, like weighted bags attached to his body. He moved his head, his neck aching.

Slowly, he sat up, raking his hand through his silver hair as more raindrops began to fall from the opening above. Kakashi looked up, his memory slowly coming back to him. He felt similar to when he depleted all his chakra, his body feeling weak. Groaning, he took in his surroundings and pulled down his headband.

More rain began to fall. Slowly standing to his feet, Kakashi noticed a lump of plants a few feet away and began making his way towards it. When he reached it, he stood over them, his eyebrows narrowing as he realized what it was: an asphyxiated man tied up tightly with dense green vines. His chest clenched uneasily, remembering the only person who was with him.

"Ayame?" he called out, turning around. His eyes traveled over the broken marble floor; its fractured and split slabs creating a challenging route to travel when your body was as weak as his. He called her name again, walking back through the hallway and into the original room they had entered the cache. His body protested at every step as he climbed the ladder.

His hair matted to his face as he reached the surface, rain pouring down from the milky gray sky. Looking around, Kakashi noticed his ninkin in the distance, nestled in the corner of the remains of a dilapidated building. He lifted himself from the opened hatch, his knees bending in an abnormally painful manner as he moved closer to them.

Bull lifted his head, his large round face wet with rain, as he watched Kakashi hobble over to them.

"What happened?" Kakashi asked, reaching the seven canines. "Why are you all still he-?"

Kakashi's eyes landed on Ayame's back, the collar of her shirt ruffled from the obvious signs of being pulled to a sheltered location. Uhei's long nose protectively laid across her hip, keeping her warm.

Kakashi knelt, his hand hovering over her head as he processed everything. Finally, he placed it on her head, her auburn hair soft under his fingertips. What happened? Why was she up here? Why was she passed out? Had she killed Daichi herself? Kakashi looked to his ninkin; his eye's inviting them to explain.

"Is she okay?" he asked, his voice sounding rough and scratchy. He reflected for a moment on how tight his chest was. Of course, he was concerned for her well-being, but seeing her unconscious disturbed him in an unfamiliar way.

Uhei lifted his head from her hip, pointing his long nose to the field nearby. Kakashi looked over, noticing a few lavender-colored flowers that remained in a field nearby. Those had not been there before, he deduced. His eyes progressed down the path where his ninken had hauled her body to shelter as the rain started to come down harder.

It all clicked in his mind instantly. She had stopped Daichi, recovered the scroll, and produced the flowers herself. He looked down at her, his eyes wide in astonishment. She should be out of chakra by now. His cold hand moved to under her neck, feeling for a pulse in the crease of her warm skin.

Thump, thump, thump. He exhaled, relieved.

"Pakkun?" Kakashi asked his ninken, feeling disoriented from the overload of information he had missed.

The smallest dog, Biscuit, lifted his head to point his snout towards the direction of the village's entrance gate, indicating Pakkun's travel back to the village on their behalf. Kakashi sighed, sitting his bottom on the hard, wet ground.

"I have to get her back to Konoha," he told the dogs.

He felt culpable for leaving her to defend herself in a battle. Despite her coming out on top, things could have ended much differently. He frowned behind his mask. Looking down at her, she looked as though she was sleeping peacefully. Dirt and sweat coated her face and body. The overwhelming desire to keep her safe washed over him as he looked down at her.

Her shoulder rose and fell with each breath she took. Long deep inhales followed by shallow exhales. He reached up, itching his chin through his mask. It felt like there was something sticky on his skin. He pulled his mask down and felt a line of sticky residue from the corner of his mouth to his chin. He wondered what it was.

A warm head laid itself on his leg, nudging his hand with a nose. Kakashi looked down at Biscuit's blond fur resting on his thigh comfortably.

He looked back up at the diverse features of his dog's faces, each set of their round eyes staring at him curiously. Fatigue washed over his body as he leaned against the wall. In the distance, thunder rumbled across the sky. Perhaps they would stay here for the night, he decided sluggishly as his eyes started to close.

He would make sure nothing happened to her tonight.

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angelicmichael · 4 years

Text

Hoax - Prologue

Michael Langdon x Mallory

Summary: After failing to kill murder house Michael; Mallory must travel back in time to Sojourn era to try again. However; she finds to her horrific discovery that jumping through time repeatedly does not come without its consequences.

Words: 3.0k+

Warnings: Death, They both almost die (or do die) so.. a lot of describing wounds and nearly dying and that jazz ✌🏻, major wounds, lowkey a dark fic, Mallory discusses wanting to kill Michael and finds celebrates it??, angst, Mallory goes and sees his dead body, blood

A/N: this takes place right after Mallory drives away from Michael in the finale btw!! I literally didnt intend on making it this dark but it just happened LOL. I feel like most of the dark stuff is vague so.. it should still be chill. This is the first time ive written millory/character x character so please go easy on me!! I also tried to follow canon and stay accurate to details the best I could but knowing me I probably fucked up somehow LMAO but enjoy 💖💖 major plot twist is coming in the next chapter btw! Also Mallorys thots are italicized.

As soon as Mallory drove away; she knew nearly immeadietly that it was too good to be true. Things could never be this fucking easy.

She felt a pit in her stomach almost instantaneously once she was in the year 2015; Even though she couldnt decipher if the anxiety was a warning or something else.. She continued on with the dark destiny she was put on this earth to fulfull.. to kill the antichrist.

Even though she was fully aware of this; and had come to terms with what she had to do - she learned the hard way that it didnt seem to make things easier at all; like how she dreamed it would. Although, even now as she continued to speed away from the infamous 'murder house', the drop in her stomach seemed to only grow; along with her self doubt.

Was he really dead??

Did I really do it??

She knew that the answer to both of those questions should be yes; but the longer she remained driving in her car, getting farther and farther away from where the incident had occured.. she knew something was wrong.

Mallory suddenly jolted the steering wheel into a sharp left; continuing to turn it until she was doing U-Turn.. She couldnt help but to feel completly bewildered at her own actions - never doing something so impulsive, like going back to a crime scene let alone commit murder, in her life.

Although Mallory felt a bit disgusted with her recent previous actions; she couldnt help but imagine how disgusted she would feel with herself if she didnt pull this off. She mulled over the previous thoughts she had had about this moment and how dreamed it would feel; she thought she would feel joy, elated, and at peace but.. instead she still felt as if she was being suffocated by his presence.

He wasnt gone. Not yet.

She pressed her foot down on the gas, she knew she hadn't gone too far away from Michael's residence yet it seemed as if it was a millenia away. The task she was supposed to complete was starting to seem more and more increasingly impossible the less distance was put between them.

If running him over with a car three times wasnt enough to kill him, whose to say anything else would? What if Constance had brought him inside?? What if she was still out there with him?? Mourning?

Mallory wasnt a monster; she wasnt going to tear away a dying boy from his grandmother in his (hopefully) final moments, even if he was the antichrist.

She felt as if she was a total loss for what to do; which made her grow sick to her stomach because she knew that was a cruel form of denial. She was destined for this moment; every moment thus far had led up to this.. so why did she feel like such a failure? Her thoughts grew more foggy and distant with panic; her throat became entirely dry as she slowed the car down. The murder house now in view; the first thing she noticed.

The red bricks and stained glass windows shined brightly in the sun. The house, which Mallory was sure typically looked beautiful, radiated a terrifying aura.. even more so this time versus when she was here only a mere minutes ago. The expanse and exterior of the house was intimidating; it held a certain danger to it that she couldnt pinpoint her finger on where the source came from.. it certainly was not Michael. Mallory knew that even if he wasnt dead; his powers would fade out for atleast a few minutes from being so wounded.

Mallory stopped the car once she saw Michael's dead body; which still resided in the middle of the road. Her feelings of panic and nausea only amplified once she saw his body - her gaze lingering upon it. She approached him with no hesitation; she could nearly feel that he was gone.. his spirit momentarily missing.. somewhere else.

She studied him carefully and nearly pitifully as she crouched down to kneel next to his body. His body was littered and splattered with bright red wounds. His pants looked as if they were dip dyed in red paint; His once pale skin along with the majority of his clothes was covered in a bright red splatter. Long, dark red lacerations decorated his face. His mouth was still agape; his once white teeth were coated in the same shade of red his clothes were.

Even though he looked absolutely horrible; Mallory still felt absolutely no remorse for the antichrist. Knowing what he would become, and his sick ways of manipulation deserved no mercy. However, knowing only seconds ago he was nothing but a mere bloody, suffering child.. she couldnt help but to not fight the tears she felt budding at her eyes; letting one slide down her cheek before quickly wiping it away - she knew it was naive to assume she wasnt being watched.

Mallory wasnt stupid - she knew her powers and what she was capable of, like the back of her hand by now. The past few months practically consisted of her testing and expanding on her limits... She knew that healing Michael in this exact moment wasnt out of the question. In fact, it almost seemed to be more difficult to restrain herself from healing him.. but she knew better.

He deserves to fucking suffer. He deserved to rot in his personal hell; wherever that may be.

She couldnt help but to nearly laugh at the thought that he finally got what was fucking coming to him.

Mallory could feel herself shaking with how close she was to Michael now. She couldnt stand how he made her feel when they were this close - almost touching.

She now was kneeling next to his body on the concrete, her knees aching from the rough surface but she couldnt go just yet. Not when she still had no fucking clue where to go from here.

The world seemed as if it came to stand still; nothing seemed like it existed outside of the small bubble that Mallory felt her and Michael were suddenly trapped in.. The birds stopped singing, no cars happened to drive by.. everything just stopped.

All the spirits and souls that Mallory could feel that were trapped within the grounds of the house, didnt bother to make a appearance either. But she knew they were still there... she could still feel their eyes on her. Watching; waiting.

The sun's warmth, which normally Mallory chose to bask in, was starting to make her itch. She could feel her skin start to moisten with sweat.. Instinctively she knew that her sudden newfound state of being uncomfortable was her cue to leave... To go where though? She wasnt sure.

Why am I still here? If everything had happened correctly; if I really killed him.. then why havent I woken up yet??

Mallory continued to stare at him grimly; not quite brave enough to speak but still managing to maintain the courage to sit by him and look at the damage she caused. The most jarring feature of Michael's current appearance would be his eyes. Mallory couldnt help but to stare at them; and it certainly wasnt because they were beautiful.

His once vibrant, sky blue, irises were now starting to look oddly dull. A faint, milky white color looked as if it were painted over them instead.

His skin was now a bruised white; Mallory shakily extended out her hand - pressing the back of her knuckles softly to his forearm. She wanted to see how cold his body was; and when she made contact - she pulled her hand back so fast as if it had been burned. She hissed, the coolness of his skin stunned her. She stared at his body intensely - shocked that she even dared to touch him, let alone even stick around for this long.

The sounds Michael started to make is what finally drove Mallory to wake up out her near trance she found herself amidst in and to realize the reality of the situation. After minutes of silence and stillness, and sure death, Michael's chest finally started to move. The amount at which his chest moved was nearly minuscule at first; but he was recovering rather quickly.. too fucking quickly for Mallorys liking.

It was almost sickly ironic how Mallorys chest started to move faster and faster as soon as Michael's did; she couldn't help but to feel entirely panicked. The rest of her emotions; her thoughts; her feelings; everything that used to make up her was now fleeting.. rapidly leaving until as she could focus on was the oxygen briskly escaping her.

She watched the color from his skin start to return; the off putting stark whiteness leaving and a very subtle pink gracing his skin tone. More noticeably; she observed how the color in his lips and eyes returned back.. almost appearing normal.

She unconsciously found herself rising; panic still occupying all of her senses. She quickly unfolded her legs and steadied herself as she stood up.. One thought and one thought only rang through her mind like a sick mantra..

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Mallory tried to gasp as she suddenly felt her throat grow incredibly dry; she let out a desperate dry cough. Her eyes started to tear up unwillingly as she felt a enormous amount of self doubt suddenly surge into the core of her being - the feeling slipping momentarily into her soul.

The world around her began to spin and melt away simultaneously; until she felt her physical body melt away from Michael and the Murder House incredibly rapidly before she could even fully process what was happening.

She felt the harsh coldness of the bath tub water for a split second before she emerged; the black water engulfing her as she stayed partially concealed within the water. Immeadietly she found herself gasping and gagging on her tongue from not being able to breath possibly fast enough... The next thing she felt was otherworldly pain. She felt so much fucking pain.

Mallory gripped the edge of the bathtub until her fingertips turned white and her nails threatened to split. She stayed like that for a moment; spitting and gasping, trying to find a way to consume as much oxygen as possible while managing the nearly unimaginable pain. Her entire body throbbed but her eyes felt a different pain; a sickly stinging.

Keeping her posture and preventing herself from slipping entirely back into the black water was a fucking mission in itself, she quickly learned. She didnt even bother to pretend to be quiet.. Her breaths and groans were far too loud to even begin to ignore.

Is Michael still alive? Where is Myrtle?

Mallorys lungs seemed to return to normal capacity after a while, her gasping decreased until she was utterly and completely quiet. She arose from the water as quietly as she possibly could, biting her lip to prevent making any additional noise from the sudden cold air she felt against her body.. stinging and torturous..

Her eyes still ached, bringing her hands instinctively to her eyes to stop the pain - she realized ones of her hands was still balled into a fist.. holding onto something.

Was that.. is that MICHAELS hair??

Mallory stared at the once curly, perfectly golden strands of hair that lie in her balled up fist in complete horror - it was now a dark red from the blood that had washed off her skin and into the water.

There was no way this was HIS hair. It had to be someone elses; anyone elses! She refused to believe that she was holding onto anything that belonged or had to do with Michael... complete disgust and delirium rendered her from thinking that.

Her first instinct was to drop the hair; but something told her to keep holding onto the lock, it would only serve her well in the future.

Her vision was inky with blood; dark red clouding her vision and making her feel even more impaired and utterly hopeless then she already felt.. even with the large wound still gaping and bleeding from her stomach. Her stomach wound made her entire body ache, trying to stay conscious was a fight within itself.

It happened again. I failed.

She wasnt sure if she was just being cynical or if her thoughts were even to be trusted anymore when she was in this state.. she only knew she wanted this horrible nightmare to be fucking over with already. She wanted to wake up in Robichauxs and see her sisters; Misty, Madison, Queenie, Zoe and more than anyone.. Cordelia... Oh fuck.

Cordelia... She was still dead.. because of me.

Mallory blinked slowly a few times; taking her free hand and wiping as much blood away from her face and eyes as she could - just enough so she could fully take in her surroundings.

If she could feel her stomach; she was sure she would feel it drop because as much as she looked, she saw no one. Absolutely no one. Tears slipped down her cheeks but they werent bloody anymore. She knew she was completely fucked; he had her cornered.

Well not literally anyways. He still managed to lurk somewhere within the vast empty walls of Outpost Three; most likely looking for her.. but he had to know she was fatally wounded.. right?

That's when out of the thick silenceness, she heard the first sign of life. Loud; but distant heavy footsteps.

Michael.

She knew she was fucked right away. She could almost feel his spirit itself within Hawthorne; the feeling slowly flowing to her until it forced her to be frozen. Petrified, still sopping wet and with some left over blood dripping off her chin - she knew what she had to do.. and she only had seconds to do it. Mallory knew he was approaching closer and closer the longer she stood docile in the bathtub.. like a idiot.

She took deep, heavy breaths. Fully; for the first time, cherishing the feeling of oxygen in her lungs - knowing that she very well might not make it out alive. Preforming time travel once alone was a enormous feat; but she had already done it twice.. but three times?

The thought simultaneously scared and excited her; she continued take deep breaths before relaxing. Closing her eyes and focusing; searching for a moment in Michael's history to go back too.

There had to be another time Michael was weak besides when he was with Constance at the murder house.. Another time that he felt abandoned.. lost.. confused..

She swallowed as she felt and focused on the soft strands of hair that she held onto; trying to search desperately for the answer that she needed as she took the next step and plunged herself under the water, first barely managing to weakly whisper, "tempus infinituum".

The water tore at her skin as she felt herself letting go from the past reality... slowly yet rapidly her senses seemed to all melt away at once before she was floating- until nothing.

Suddenly Mallory opened her eyes, blinking as she kept calm as she adjusted to her new surroundings.. an open, nearly empty forest was what welcomed her as she slowly spun around.

The smell of pine leaves and the heavy scent of the forest consumed her senses. She first felt calm and at peace; the forest was beautiful. She almost felt tempted to forget about what she came here to do and to lose herself within the sea of greenery but.. something was terribly wrong.

More so; someone was here.

Mallory first stood still; puzzled as to why she was now standing in a vacant forest with pine needles at her feet.

She didnt dare say a word out loud, just in case, but she knew she was waiting for something before she dared to take a step.. she was waiting for a sign. She didnt bat a eye when she felt a soft, warm breeze tousle her hair forward. She felt it continue to crash against her body - almost like soft waves crashing upon rocks. She felt it on her warm skin; her skin getting goosebumps as she knew what this meant. She was getting her sign.

This is it. Is he here?

Mallory giggled at the mere thought; the anticipation and glee of imagining how this nightmare perhaps could be over in the near future was making her experience true euphoria.

She began to walk through the forest; passing several trees as she searched for what she was yearning for. The breeze was far gone by now but she knew to keep going; to keep looking. She looked at the forest landscape that lie ahead of her; a sea of moss and blended greens and blues. The forest didnt have the same magic it typically held though; something was missing.

It was because she was getting closer to him.

Mallory had to suppress a scream as she suddenly felt herself step on something that wasnt the forest floor. She felt a painful shiver run directly down her spine, almost as if someone was running a blade down her back. She was becoming consumed with panic once more; and with the sudden realization what was happening.. What this meant.

It was pure reflex which caused her to take a step back; even before she had the opportunity to look down and confirm her suspicions, she knew exactly what she had stepped on. A body.

She quickly looked down at what she had stepped on - not able to take the anonymity of the individual any longer.. and of course..

I fucking knew it.

She recognized who it was immeadietly, curly blonde hair that was mangled with dirt and a typical black outfit.. it was too easy to guess the identity of the body. He was face down, his body sprawled out unnaturally and in a uncomfortable manner..

It was once again; Michael Langdon.

Taglist: @mina672 @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @beyond-repentance @lizzy-claire-fandom

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yunmengslotuspond · 3 years

Text

" What the hell are you doing!"

" Give me a moment, Captain! I may be Cambridge polished but as your officers say I still smell like Ganga mati...I know my tactics!"

Hotel Strandhill, Aritar

1965

They say you need to have Sun jades on your fingers before planning to search for routes in Drenjong. One bitter turn in the moods of the gods governing the valleys and you prepare yourself. However calculations you do, at the end of the day all that matters is your luck. Better wear auspicious stuff than hiding your woolents under your raincoat and cursing each other for choosing the wrong place at the wrong time to travel. You don't want to end up gathering so much knowledge in nephology after all.

Even the Four Square between my fingers felt damp. I opened the window and a gush of fierce wind slapped my face. The weather that was just cloudy yesterday had turned into a mountain storm within 32 hours. I threw the cigarette out of the window and it landed on a pool of water.

Meanwhile someone knocked on the door.

" Come in", I shouted.

The door opened and there stood a man with a face dark with disappointment, way darker than me. I couldn't resist the desire to mock.

" Ah, Michael ,my friend! So, what's our next plan?"

" Buddy, just don't start please. I am tired", he collapsed on a chair in front of me. I pitied him.

" Have any cigarettes?", he stretched his hand.

I looked out of the window next to my bed. A few cars filled with unlucky tourists like us entered the hotel.

" In a series note, what's our next plan?", I asked Michael as he released rings of smoke that ascended to the crafted wooden roof.

" We have to wait for another 12 hours, Sam", he said more with disgust than disappointment, " The locals say either the weather condition will improve within this time lapse or…"

We sighed simultaneously.

" Sam", he said from the door.

" Hmm?"

" Sorry for dragging you here-"

" What rubbish you are talking about! We decided to come here together", I protested.

And he shut the door leaving my room.

I wasn't the one blaming him though. What would I blame him for? That he was the one to drag me out of my 'cozy' shelter in London and now we are stuck here, a part of northeastern India which is known to be a tourist spot now showering incessant rains to welcome us? He was in his own whimsical mood of having a world tour as he had had multiple times before as a photographer. Unlike other times, this time I was the one to accompany him. Not like I had that wild intention of tolerating tropical heat or needed sunburn on my English skin but there was something that hit me strangely when he said that he was going to visit India. Something in me that time spelled in my ears that I should not miss the opportunity to visit the country and I agreed to his proposal. Now, sitting in my hotel room, viewing the thunder play demonstrated by cumulonimbus through my window I pondered who was more whimsical among us. Michael had a reason to come. What was mine? Certainly I wasn't a man led by divinations. Nonetheless I wouldn't deny the the fact that me landing on Bagdogra airport was the result of that strange attraction towards India I harboured for last couple of months.

I shook my head to wipe off those thoughts. I had come to travel and the monotony and disgust from sitting still in a hotel room was growing inside of me. I took a book out of my bag to distract myself.

" Dinner ready hain, sahab" a voice came with a knock at the door.

I wasn't even feeling hungry at that time but the idea of spending time talking to other people rather than rotting alone in my room felt more appealing. So I stood up.

Wrapping a chaadar I headed to the dining hall.

Taking a turn near the stairs that led to the ground floor I entered the hall. In comparison to the other day, there were much more people talking and gossiping there. Number of people sharing badluck with us had increased in a few hours. I spotted that Punjabi Singh gentleman more by his signature laughter than his green turban. He clapped on the back of that young Nepalese lad, Temang and I was pretty unsure if he had survived that. Mr. Choudhury was talking to the manager, placing a little map on the table. I noticed Michael on the right corner gossiping with that Belgian, Matthias and it wasn't that hard to guess what they were talking about by looking at their partially dissatisfied faces. Then there was that overenthusiastic Chinese man ( I forgot his name) who was chatting with that french Indian couple, Adrian Dupont and Claire Dupont. There were many more new tourists, both Europeans and Indians. I recognized a few.

As I walked to them I could see the faces of new people with more clarity. I was a few feets away when I stopped all of a sudden.

A chill ran down my spine.

I found myself uttering something foreign involuntarily but couldn't even figure what I was blabbering. An intense migraine followed by nausea shattered my balance. My vision blurred, my head spun and the last thing I could remember was Michael shouting my name.

" Don't be shy! Consider this as a treat from me. Never in my life have I thought that one day my fellow policeman would fishnet a criminal!"

" The first thing I thought was to restrict him by any means and there was only one thing that was handy at that moment. Can you name it?"

" What?"

" The net. I told you, Captain"

" I don't remember when you last called me 'captain'"

" Oh please, answer my question!"

" I don't want to present myself as a clown by pronouncing that terribly, Suren, you know that."

" It's Vyashal. Now you owe me Whiskey."

" Thikache, Sir!"

I woke up with my head pounding a bit. But I woke up. My vision was still blurry to recognise those leaned faces so I closed my eyes.

" How are you feeling, Mr. Waltham?", Dr. Choudhury asked while checking my pulse. I simply nodded.

" I don't think it's anything severe", Dr. Choudhury said, " Temang, please bring these medications from any nearby store. Don't panic, Mr. Evans, your friend will be alright after a good night's sleep. But for now, make sure he takes paracetamol after dinner."

I heard footsteps as one by one everyone left my room. Only Michael was left who voiced his concern,

" Are you feeling okay, brother?"

I gradually moved and sat on my bed. Michael handed me a glass of water. I drank it in silence.

" Brother, what exactly happened?"

I sat straight.

" I think it was acid reflux."

" Hmm. Doctor said something of that kind. Did you drink any kind of local liquor without telling me?"

I again remained silent.

" Mate", he put a hand on my shoulder and gently said, " be careful here", he chuckled, " These Indians once wiped us off this country. Not all things available here can be digested by your English stomach!"

Sikkim was Indian protectorate at that time but I couldn't help laughing at his statement.

A few minutes later he got out of the room to bring my dinner.

Then I closed my eyes. I needed to ponder…

There was a man, bespectacled, with shiny black hair who joined them in the dining hall. By his complexion he looked like an Indian... perhaps Bengali. He had looked at my eyes when my head started spinning. I knew those deep brown eyes. That countenance was unforgettable... something in me said that I knew his name.

I sighed. Maybe the doctor was right. I needed rest.

After my dinner I was taking medicine when Michael seemed like a goofy child who just got his candy.

" What?", I asked.

" Look out of the window."

As I looked I realized there was no storm like before. It was drizzling, making the softest sound to soothe the mind.

" I hope by next morning it will just be cloudy. Then we will go by our plans."

It was really good news and boosted my mind for such an extent that I forgot whatever the fuss I had created before.

" Take rest, mate. You will be completely fine tomorrow morning. Good night." and he left.

I spent the night swaying my head with a trail of thoughts coming and going like a mountain breeze. I saw many things, felt many things and those felt like important phases of my life, though the people I saw, the places I traveled never happened in my 30 years of life in London. My body ached with a feeling that I was missing something but my brain was going on its own route.

I woke up.

From a good dream or a nightmare I couldn't tell.

It was early dawn. The first rays of the sun was yet to touch the valley.

I opened the door and walked through a passage that led to a balcony. I halted.

There was a man standing there holding a cup of hot chocolate. I didn't know for how long I was standing there because when I looked at him again consciously , a part of his face and hair was tinged with the first rays of sun.

" Gentleman..."

The man turned towards me. I didn't get why I called him. I didn't even know what I was going to say next.

" How are you feeling now, Mr. Waltham?"

There was a pause. None of us spoke for a moment. I wasn't feeling nauseous. I needed to stay strong. My gut feeling said I had to confront him.

" Bose, Sourendra Bose. I should have introduced myself earlier. "

( Idk where this is going...I have no idea lol. But @satrangee-ray , believe it or not I got this idea while talking to you...so : p. Golper naam i ba ki debo Janina...)

#sam wyndham #Surrender not Banerjee #Sam Wyndham series #fan fiction #reincarnation #they meet again

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maybankiara · 4 years

Text

BAD BUSINESS

2: WON’T DO YOU NO GOOD

pairing: Rafe Cameron x John B’s Girlfriend!Reader

summary: Waking up in bed with Rafe Cameron is the last thing you would’ve expected from yourself - but that’s far from the only unexpected thing that happens this morning.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: mild cursing, cheating

additional: most chapters are going to be around this length, and according to my calculation, there should be around 10 chapters in total. also, there’s going to be a few original characters for the sake of the plot, because none of the canon characters would’ve been able to fit.

masterlist | tag list

previous part | next part

Before you even open your eyes, the stale taste of alcohol in your mouth is all you can feel. Your head’s throbbing, too, and your fingers can do nothing to make it stop. There’s the chills running up and down your body, the persistent hangover fever, alongside the taste of sick deep down in the back of your throat, all the way to your stomach. Your back is stiff against the soft mattress, too. You move a little and the mattress creaks – the sound awakens something inside you, and the memories of last night flood in.

There’s the loud chatter of a party and the buzz of alcohol, there’s the strangers you’ve never spoken to before last night, and there’s the taste of whiskey on lips that most certainly did not belong to your boyfriend.

You groan quietly as you press your fingertips into your temples, massaging lightly. More memories flood in – sinful and delicate kisses, brief brushes of lips against skin, nibbles on your neck. An image flashes before your closed eyelids, the polo shirt and shorts combination and you scoffing at it, and another flash where the same combination is on top of you as your back is pressed into the mattress. The memories speed up and you recall the night, the sweet delight of forbidden fruit, and it all comes back to you.

You fall out of your daze and feel nothing between your bare skin and the bed covers; the mattress is too soft because it isn’t even yours. Your head turns to the side slowly, with everything spinning, until you realise the rhythmic sound you've been hearing is someone breathing.

You open your eyes and your gaze falls upon the blonde hair, tousled from last night's antics. You can recall running your fingers through it all too well – the feeling of Rafe's mouth on you as you tug his hair in ecstasy.

The instinct to flee is imminent.

Within a heartbeat, you’re out from underneath the covers, scrounging through the room for your clothes. Most of it is okay, but your panties are too ripped for wear, but the rest will make do.

It’s insanity – the more you recall what happened the night before, the more nauseated you get.

By the time you find your phone, kicked into a corner of the room, you’re beyond freaking out. Your mind’s buzzing with what your friends might be thinking, with what you’re going to tell John B, with who apart from you and Rafe might know the truth about what happened – and it’s all too much for your hungover-as-fuck brain.

Plus, your phone’s out of charge, so there’s that.

You groan, again, and feel the nausea hitting you again. It’s deep in your stomach, in combination with the stench of alcohol deep in the back of your throat, and even your head is starting to feel a little light, a little woozy.

If it wasn’t for that, you probably would’ve noticed Rafe wake up.

‘Running away already?’

Your head turns to the bed; he’s lying on his back, head propped up on his hands, and his expression something between amusement and disappointment.

‘What happened between us was a mistake.’

‘You didn’t seem to think that last night.’

‘I have a boyfriend, Rafe.’ You walk over to the bed, crouch as your handbag’s underneath it.

The bed creaks, again. ‘You didn’t seem to think that last night, either.’

Your head peeks over the bed, just enough to shoot the blond a glare. ‘Shut the fuck up.’

All of your things are in the handbag and you stand up to get over to your jacket, but the room spins and you stumble, unable to find your footing. You end up sitting back on the bed, your fingers massaging your temples, and the room spins a little less, but it doesn’t stop.

‘Fuck,’ you mumble.

It’s all a little too much.

‘I’ll get you some water.’

A sigh passes your lips and you feel your shoulders slouch, giving in. Your eyes are closed but you can hear Rafe walking out of the room, his bare feet making funny noises against the laminate.

You feel sick, and hungry, and lightheaded, and tired, and there’s an ache between your legs that reminds you of the rough night before. Instinctively, you close your legs, as if someone could tell – and you begin to wonder if they could.

This wasn’t your first time, far from it. But it was your first time with someone other than John B, and it wasn’t meant to happen, and it was bad—

Rafe’s footsteps stop you from spiralling. He plops back on the bed, and you see a hand extended at your side, holding a glass of water and an aspirin pill.

Quietly, you thank him, and take the pill, downing it with water.

‘You feeling better?’ asks Rafe.

‘No.’

He sighs behind you and you feel him get back under the covers. With the pill soon to take effect, your brain begins to unhaze bit by bit, and your thoughts have more coherence to them than minutes ago. You don’t even know whose house you’re in.

It comes with another quiet groan, a shaky sigh, and a shudder through your entire body.

When you turn to Rafe, your skin’s on fire. He’s relaxed, looking at you with eyes half closed. One of his hands is resting halfway to you.

Another image from last night flashes before your eyes and you shake it off. ‘Rafe.’

He glances up, all too innocent for your liking.

‘You can’t tell anyone about what happened last night. It shouldn’t have happened. I just needed a distraction and…’ Your throat is dry and you drink some more water, hearing it going through your body. ‘I was too drunk to think clearly.’

‘And I wasn’t?’ Rafe asks. He props himself up on his side, resting on his elbows. ‘So what, this was all just a shitty mistake for you?’

‘Yes. There’s nothing else it could’ve been.’

Rafe nods and his Addam’s apple bobs. ‘Right.’

He lowers his face and you can’t read him again but at this point, you don’t even want to try. Your head’s a little less fuzzy now and you should be good to go, only you can’t bring yourself to get back on your feet.

It might take five minutes, might take half an hour, and the only way to kill time is to talk to Rafe.

‘You’re really not all that imposing when you’re not high or drunk or whatever,’ you tell him.

‘Wow,’ he mutters into the pillow. He turns his head to look at you and his baby blues are softer than you used to seeing them. ‘You’re going to insult me now, too?’

‘Do you want to be imposing?’

‘Doesn’t hurt.’

‘No, apart from the fact that it makes everyone hate you.’

‘Nah,’ Rafe says, a devious smile gracing his lips. ‘You don’t.’

You shoot him another glare, but you move your head too fast, and the room spins once more. A few moments pass and you let yourself adjust, silently cursing all the alcohol you had the night before.

Rafe’s half asleep, or pretending to be, next time you look at him.

‘Whose house is this?’

‘Cooper Lightbourne’s. I was going to crash here, anyway, so don’t think you’re imposing.’

He peeks open one eye at you, still grinning, and you roll your eyes when you notice the wordplay. The more time you spend with Rafe, the more he seems like an actual nineteen year-old boy, instead of this big bad jerk you’ve heard so much about.

You push yourself off the bed, ignoring the tingles in your legs. All your belongings are on you and you’re ready to go, looking like you’re about to do the world’s biggest walk of shame – and you probably are.

‘So long, Cameron.’

‘Wait.’

There’s a hand on your wrist and you turn around, facing Rafe. He’s wearing only his boxer shorts and you hate that you look him up and down, because it brings more flashes from last night, and now almost the only thing you can think about is your lips on him. Tiny red bruises are jotted over his neck and his upper chest, and it only makes you wonder what you must look like.

No way in hell are you going home, now.

‘What?’ Your annoyance at your thoughts is evident in your voice, to the point where Rafe flinches at it.

‘Let me give you a ride.’

You shake your head. ‘Rafe—’

‘Look, my car’s here and I need to get going, anyway. There’s a business meeting I need to attend to and my dad’s expecting me.’

Rafe’s body turns rigid at the mention of his dad and his jaw clenches, but his face doesn’t lose the softness—and something else?—that his statement carries.

Of course – you forgot that Rafe is a business man. He’s just a year older than you, sure, but his upbringing had been entirely different. Rafe doesn’t get to relax when he’s hungover. Rafe doesn’t get to mess about whenever he wants to, if anything you’ve heard about his dad is even the slightest bit true. There’s a reason why the Camerons are at the height of the Kook hierarchy, and it’s not because they do whatever they want.

It only makes you realise that you have no idea who you’ve cheated on your boyfriend with.

You sigh, nodding slightly. ‘Fine. I probably shouldn’t be walking around looking like this, anyway.’

‘It’s not a bad look,’ says Rafe, his face clear from any sign of previous discomfort. When his comment is met with a dull look of yours, he clears his throat. ‘I’ll get some clothes from Cooper and then we’ll head then. Five minutes, tops.’

‘Okay.’

He hesitates, his eyes moving across your face. For a moment you think he’s going to say something – but he doesn’t. He just steps to the side, lets you back into the room, and leaves it.

You can’t go home, you realise as you walk up to the window. It’s looking out to the pool where you spoke to Rafe for the first time in a while last night, and you try to recall where Shelley was when the exchange happened, but you can’t. You can’t recall if you’ve even seen Shelley from the moment you arrived, and she went off to chat with the birthday guy – Cooper Lightbourne, apparently.

Maybe you should’ve eaten. You need to go to Shelley’s, to figure out what the fuck happened, who’s Cooper and how much shit you’re in, and what to do with John B and everything. It’s a lot, and your head begins spinning again, and you curse silently.

It’s not something you want to deal with right now.

Rafe’s back five minutes later, just like he said. He’s wearing different clothing, only it’s the same combination just in a different colour scheme.

You chuckle, before you can stop yourself.

‘What?’

‘You looklike a poster boy for the Kooks.’

He rolls his eyes, but you see that he’s relaxed a little. There’s a bag on his shoulder that you haven’t seen before, and he walks into the room, placing it on the bed. ‘There’s some clothes, if you want to get changed before we leave. Coop’s got a sister.’

‘Thanks,’ you say, ‘but I’m good. I’m going to Shelley’s, so I’ll get changed there. But really, thanks. That’s...sweet.’

Rafe rolls his eyes again. It doesn’t really make sense, but he doesn’t say anything even though you know he’s noticed your raised eyebrows. He reaches into the bag and takes out two premade sandwiches from a local bakery. You take one of them, he takes the other.

A joke is on the tip of your tongue, but you refrain from saying it. This isn’t the Rafe you’re used to; you don’t know how to act around him.

The drive to Shelley’s is quick, as she lives about a ten minutes’ drive from Cooper’s. There’s not much conversation – the more you move on with your day, away from what happened last night and into its aftermaths, the more you realise that you’re in a mess that you won’t easily get yourself out of.

John B might not be the one for you, but he didn’t deserve to be cheated on.

Is this who you are now? A cheater?

‘Um,’ Rafe says, quietly, ‘we’re here.’

Out of the window, Shelley’s mini-mansion is right across the road. Rafe parked on the other side of it, for undisclosed reasons.

Your hands are on the door handle, but you don’t open it.

Once you leave Rafe’s car, you’re going to have to deal with everything.

Rafe clears his throat. You glance at him, wishing he would make a snarky comment, give you any reason to get mad at him and leave this car, only he doesn’t. His hands are resting on the steering wheel, tapping against it in a rhythm you don’t recognise. He doesn’t look bad—you understand why drunk you fell for him—but his shades are hiding his eyes, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking.

You can’t read him. Last night, you could read one another – this morning, it’s two different people.

‘You okay?’ he asks you.

He takes his shades off and you see the genuine concern in his eyes. In another world, you would’ve been happy. ‘Why do you care?’ you snap, instead. ‘I thought you said last night that you don’t.’

Rafe doesn’t respond immediately. He opens the window on his side and puts his hand out, letting it hang. ‘I don’t.’

‘Good.’ You press the door handle, but release it. ‘You can’t tell anyone about last night. I need to deal with shit anyway and I can’t have this on my mind, too.’

‘Whatever,’ he says, and you think that maybe it is the Rafe you thought it was, after all.

You finally open the door. As soon as you’ve made sure you’ve got everything, you’re out of the car. The humidity hits you like a truck and the only thing keeping the nausea down is the sandwich he gave you earlier.

You’re about to leave, hearing Rafe turn on the engine, when you turn on your heel and open the door to the car. ‘Thanks.’

Rafe doesn’t turn to you. He waves with two fingers, and that’s the only response you get.

No feelings, no strings attached – that’s what you expected, and that’s what you got. Now there’s only the matter of everything else.

You ring Shelley’s door. It’s only now that you begin to think how she’ll react, and wonder if people are seeing your outfit and judging you. Last night’s endeavours are the one thing you’ve been trying not to think about, but it feels as if someone were to take one look at you, they’d know exactly what you’ve done.

Can they see the marks on your body that you haven’t been brave enough to check? Can they see the hunger that made you do something you’ve sworn to never do? Can they see the confusion of having slept with Rafe and realising that you miscalculated, and it might cost you everything?

You stand with your legs pressed against one another, arms wrapped around your bare midriff, even if that means you’re going to be sweating in this heat.

It’s Shelley who opens the door. ‘Oh, hi!’

You greet back, but your voice is shaky, and you’re starting to think that maybe it’s not the hangover that’s been killing you.

Guilt that comes after cheating is a dreadful thing, you’ve been told.

‘Oh,’ Shelley says again.

Her eyes take in your attire – a skimpy skirt and a tube top that barely covers anything, and a leather jacket draped over your handbag. Possibly sex hair and definitely last night’s makeup.

You think she’s going to smile, and it looks almost as if she’s going to, until she sees your expression.

The gulp in your throat is painful to swallow.

‘I fucked up.’

★ next part

tagging. @jjtheangel @teenwaywardasgardian @thelocalpogue @jjmaybanky @sacredto @chasefreakinstokes @drewstarkey @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @margaritatimebaybee @outrbank @yourlocalauthor @justawilddreamerchild @snkkat

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #obx fic #obx imagine #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #my fic #ff: bad business

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janekfan · 4 years

Text

Choke

Prompt from @taylortut's blog! “...I always think about both jon’s hand and his time in the buried right after getting TWO RIBS pulled out. burns get infected very very easily, which i’m sure he’d push off as nothing until he couldn’t anymore, who knows if he even went to the ER when it first happened? and lung problems can arise from blunt trauma and say, dirt in the lungs?”

Heaving for breath that never reached his lungs and made the empty spot where his ribs used to be ache, Jon watched Basira spirit Daisy away from him as though he was the danger, as though his presence, his Knowing, his hunger, was going to take more from her than the Buried. He’d barely gotten a chance to see with his own two eyes that Daisy was alive and well, or at least as well as she could be given the circumstances, before he was left behind.

Sighing, he plucked at his jumper with his one good hand, holding the other close to his body in an unconscious effort to protect it. He was damp and filthy, streaked with earth and sweat and stinking of fear and grime. He coughed, the clot of muck stopping up his throat didn’t want to move, and while he was on his feet so soon after the Boneturner had his way with him, the agony was sharp and insistent, greedily demanding his attention.

Alright. No coughing for a while if he could help it.

Exhaustion, like a wave, rolled over him, and the tide of it threatened to tug him to the floor as his knees went weak and his sight went black. Without truly thinking, he caught himself on the wall, shaky and unbalanced, sliding down just a few centimeters and pressing his hot face against the cool surface.

“Need a, need a lie down.”

Murmured to no one, Jon moved forward on unsteady legs, taking ages to reach the room where his meagre belongings were stored, sitting heavily in a desk chair before his limbs gave out completely. He was panting. Shallow. Painful. Skin itching and prickling with dirt and the phantom sensation of pressure and he pulled off his clothes, petrichor blossoming in the small room enough to make him gag on the scent of it, to drop them as far from the cot as he could reach. When he touched his shaky fingers to his forehead, they came away muddy and as much as he wanted to change into the softest clothes he had and collapse right there, he needed something of a wash. A cat bath would have to do because there was no way he’d make it back to his feet a second time.

It took several tries, his injured hand was beginning to make itself known in earnest, to open one of the bottles of water he kept and pour some out on a flannel without making an even larger mess, folding it smaller on every pass over his soiled, scarred skin. Logically, he Knew, it took only minutes, but by the time he deemed himself clean enough, Jon was struggling to keep going, tears of frustration and pain squeezing between tightly closed lids despite his best attempts to stifle himself. He selected another cloth, dropping the last one with his clothes, and soaked it liberally before scrubbing it through his already disheveled hair, finger combing what he could to get it as orderly as possible. Finally, he was able to crawl his way to the cot, wrung out and so weary the effort to breathe almost didn’t seem worth it.

Whether through mercy or exhaustion, he didn’t dream.

Hunger, deep inside where he couldn’t reach, woke him late in the day and he spent a long time reigning it in to a manageable level where it didn’t consume his every thought. Jon rubbed at his chest; it felt too heavy, a full feeling that reminded him of the Buried, of being crushed on all sides, except this time he was alone, no one was there to speak with him, to keep him grounded when the panic began to set in. Profoundly, he missed Daisy even though he wouldn’t wish this back upon her for anything and as he suffocated the Eye fed off fear of his own making, draining what little strength he’d managed to shore up for himself until he was a hollow, empty thing.

And still, Jon was on his own, even as he sought the comforting presence of Martin who he Knew was still in the Archives somewhere, he couldn’t focus long enough to calm down and find him. He curled up, tight, small, caging his face behind a clawed hand, lungs working like a bellows and doing absolutely nothing.

Help.

Who would help you?

I can’t breathe.

Then you can’t hurt people anymore.

I need help. Please. Please.

Please.

When the coughing began it was hard and harsh, and he was unable to stop, stomach roiling, the nausea flooding his mouth with salt while he fumbled for a bin, grabbing it in time to lose the churning combination of bile and mud.

Hurts.

The Beholding rippled, an emotion pretending to be mirth, oily and disgusting, oozed just beneath the surface of his skin as he begged to be allowed to stop until finally he was left coiled around the bin, one arm pressing so tightly into his belly he thought he might be ill again. A sob dropped from his lips, tears slipped off the end of his nose and he cried and cried with such force he didn’t notice when his consciousness fled.

This time when he blinked awake, dizzy and disoriented, Jon let himself lay in his discomfort, turning his thoughts towards Daisy and hoping, praying, she wasn’t experiencing the same symptoms. Or at the very least, Basira was able to handle it. He refused to Know, instead he drifted, the Eye feeding him bits of random information he never asked for while he planned his next course of action.

He needed a proper wash. To rewrap his hand. To get back to work figuring this thing out. Work would take his mind off the ache in his chest. That would be. That would be good. Staggering to bare feet, Jon limped his way to the restroom, ignoring the way the halls shifted and swam. He’d feel better after he cleaned up. Startled at his reflection in the mirror, Jon ran the pads of his quaking fingers along his jaw. His face was streaked in sludge, the shadows under his eyes like bruises, and his dark skin was ashen, the old scars standing out as if to remind him he would be forever marked. Ugly. Unwanted. The sheen of sweat on his forehead was a surprise, he’d been trembling with cold this whole time, so off balance he was afraid if he removed his hand from the sink he wouldn’t be able to stay standing.

“Okay, Jon.” Gingerly he unraveled the dirty bandages from around his hand and fingers, wincing at the angry, red surface. Days in the dirt hadn’t done the newly healed skin of his palm any favors. Hissing through his teeth when he ran it under lukewarm water, Jon closed his eyes against the sting, moving as quickly as possible so he could get back to his desk and sit down.

The next few days? dragged on and on, the chill sunk deep into his aching bones so persistent he’d taken to wearing an old jumper Martin left behind in a drawer. Curled up in his chair, bad leg stretched out on a stack of file folders, Jon snuggled as deep as he could into the well worn yarn imagining he was held within warm arms instead before the cruelty of the Beholding reminded him to stop daydreaming and get to work. He wasn’t well, found it harder and harder to focus when compounded by the gnawing hunger in the back of his mind. Jon was counting the beat of his pulse throbbing through his burned hand when he heard the creak of a door down the hall. Basira, he Knew, scrambling upright and only swaying for a moment before following the tug of want.

“Jon.” Of course she would notice him coming, he wasn’t exactly fit for spycraft at the moment. She was collecting a few things and cramming them impatiently into a bag. Eager to get away from this place. Eager to get away from him.

“How’s Daisy?” Immediately, he grasped his throat with trembling fingers. How was this his voice? Raspy and painful and rough with the remains of mud he knew only existed in his imagination. He’d checked. He coughed. Stopped as soon as possible if only to prevent an untimely collapse to his knees, head spinning so much he had to close his eyes against it briefly. Basira had yet to look at him, the tense line of her shoulders the only indication that she was even aware he was still there.

“Fine.” The relief filling him up was sweeter than the oxygen he craved and helped push away the Dark that kept trying to overtake his vision, at least for a moment. Daisy was fine. He. He’d helped someone, he’d saved someone. “She has a long way to go.”

“Ah, of course.” It hurt to speak, but that was okay. Daisy was okay.

“Jon.”

“Yes?” He perked up, eager to provide anything she might need, anything at all to make sure they were alright.

“I think it would be best if you stopped trying to contact us.” Suddenly, it was very cold, it cut straight to the center of him, clutching his heart in an icey fist. His ignored messages and calls made more sense now. He felt foolish. He should have known.

“Ah.” But he understood. Basira was likely going through a lot trying to help Daisy recover.

“Maybe if you’d gotten to her sooner?” Guilt swept him up, made it harder to breathe. He couldn’t fault her; he’d been struggling with that himself. “She just. She needs time right now. Just until she gets back on her feet.”

“Of, of course!” He chuffed, it was that or he would cry and that wouldn’t help either of them. “I. Of course. Take all the time you need.” Basira still hadn’t spared him a glance, lingering only for a second with her fingers gripping the door frame.

“Right then.”

And Jon was alone.

Jon wasn’t getting any better and if anything, was becoming worse and the sudden, intrusive Knowledge that he would need a live statement to heal on his own at this point made him ill. There was too much wrong all at once and the old ones weren’t enough, keeping him just on the right side of vertical, caught in between conscious and unconscious and barely able to keep moving. He Knew he was intensely feverish (39.7 the Eye helpfully provided), Knew his hand had become infected. Even Knew he had pneumonia and Knew there was nothing he could do about it.

He wouldn’t die.

Of course not. Couldn’t take the easy road for once.

At least he didn’t think he would anyway and the Eye had no opinions about that, content to prod him up, up, up to find statements, reading himself hoarse through bouts of coughing so taxing he’d come to only to find himself on the floor, fallen out of his chair. Pathetic. He was pathetic and he was glad there was nobody around to see him mope. He’d lost count of the number of times he woke amongst piles of folders between the stacks, tugging random statements off the bottom shelves and hoping one day he’d just choke on them instead of staggering upright. There wasn’t a place on him that didn’t hurt and more often than not his voice barely rose above a sob, whole minutes of eldritch tape consisted of him crying into his folded arms.

When finally he was forced to stop moving because of the pain, the breathlessness, the dizziness, Jon found himself cradling his phone in hand, scrolling through contacts, some of whom were gone and others who wanted nothing to do with him He found himself reading old messages and listening to old voicemails. The only one he had from Martin was one telling him to stop seeking him out.

“Stop looking for me.” Jon let his cheek collide with the papers on his desk, phone pressed to his ear, slipping back and forth between asleep and awake. “G’bye, Jon.” And again. “G’bye, Jon.”

“G’bye, Jon.”

If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine it was a late night. That Martin had stopped by with a final cup of tea for him before heading home, reminding him not to work through until morning. That he could hear Tim and Sasha laughing somewhere in the Archives at no doubt a horrible joke.

“G’bye, Jon.”

That Martin smiled that warm smile just for him and how did he not notice it before when he’d still had a chance at humanity.

“G’bye, Jon.” The phone slid out of his fingers and he pulled in a ragged breath of stale air that smelled like paper and ink and the dirt he couldn’t scrub out of his skin no matter how hard he tried.

“G’bye, Martin.”

“Stop pushing me.”

“Walk faster then.”

“Daisy. I’m sorry, I wanted you to get the rest you needed.” Basira stopped, gripped her narrow shoulders. “To figure out how to go forward.”

“So you told him to not to contact us?” Daisy shoved forward, legs tiring so quickly she was furious.

“Daisy--”

“He pulled me out of the Buried. You could have at least checked on him.” Terse silence filled the air between them until they reached the Archives.

“It’s like a bomb went off.” Daisy shot her a look but couldn’t help but agree. Papers, files, statements, old tapes littered the floor with no reason that she could discern. What was Jon doing down here? It smelled stale, musty, heavy, sick she realized.

“This way.”

They found him hunched over his desk, turned away from them, asleep or worse, and surrounded by the scent of infection and illness such that Daisy had to cover her nose and inhale through her mouth until she acclimated.

“Jon?” Carefully, slowly, gently she laid a hand on his shoulder and grimaced at the searing heat and his poorly dressed burn. If not for his avatar status he would surely be gone. Face flushed and slick with sweat, he was burning up under her palm when she brushed limp gray strands away from his forehead. When he breathed, so fast, so shallow, there was a crackling like dry leaves. “He needs to go to hospital.”

“What about--?”

“I don’t think a statement is going to fix this.” Maybe that’s why this place was such a mess. “Call, I’ll see if I can get him up and awake.”

Someone was calling for him from far, far away and it took all he had left to follow it back to where everything echoed with pain.

Her voice was familiar, comforting and horrifying in the same moment.

“Daisy?” Oh God he couldn’t breathe and he knew they had to be back in that coffin, he’d screwed it up, gone wrong somewhere and now they were both here drowning together in the black. Trapped. He was trapped in here. Daisy was trapped in here and calling his name.

Trappedtrappedtrapped.

“Jon, hey, shh.” This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she had to do this for him, she needed someone stronger. Someone who wasn’t him, who wasn’t a monster, who wasn’t, wasn’t-- “You’re alright. You need to breathe, Jon.”

How?

When there was a boa constrictor wrapped around his chest, squeezing him like a vice. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. Someone was touching him and it hurt, skin on fire, burning, blazing, blistering like his hand, his hand, his hand where Jude. The Desolation. Burning. He didn’t know where he found the breath to cry out and could barely understand himself as he begged and begged and begged for her to please, please, please

“stop hurting me.”

“Hush, hush, okay. Okay, Jon.” They shouldn’t have to do this. Deal with him like this. Panting, a mess of tears and soil and pain. “Okay, Jon. Okay. You’re alright.”

He wasn’t.

How was any of this alright?

Daisy held Jon’s thin hand, rubbing her thumb over the back of it, charting the delicate, human bones and sinew, and purposefully blocking out the medical chatter humming in the background.

Stop hurting me.

The way he said it. Pleading and so small.

Hopeless.

Because they would never stop, would they?

“Mr. Sims?” The voice of the paramedic cut into her thoughts. “Mr. Sims? Can you open your eyes for me?” Daisy glanced up at Jon’s face, watched his throat work and his mouth twist beneath the uneven fogging of the oxygen mask. When his lashes fluttered she caught a glimpse of glazed brown, deep and unfocused, but received praise for his attempt. Good. He deserved praise from somebody. His fingers spasmed in her hold, he swallowed with a heavy click in his throat, chest stuttering, tears slipping into the damp hair at his temples. “Do you know how long he’s been ill?” She shook her head, not even sure herself how many days it had been since stumbling out of that coffin herself.

After that it was all a bit of a blur until Basira found her in the waiting room, guiding her by the elbow to a room smelling of antiseptic where Jon lay small in the bed, made smaller by the lines and cords and machines.

“Overnight for observation, fluids, and antibiotics.”

“They ask questions?” Daisy dropped gratefully into the chair beside him, running her fingertips over the crisp bandages swallowing up his wounded hand. He still smelled sickly, hot and sweaty, but also of the inoffensive soap the nurse had washed his hair with and when she stroked through his curls they were smooth and clean.

“I implied it was genetic?” She chuckled at that. “I don’t think they believed me.”

“He should have been able to call us.”

“Mm.”

“I’m serious, Basira.” The stubble on his cheek was scratchy under her palm, skin hot, face slack and lined deep with exhaustion. “We. We have to look out for each other, best we can.”

“B’sira, you, you don’t.” Jon couldn’t speak and stumble along beside her, still found it hard to catch his breath or stop coughing once started.

“I do, Jon.” Clipped, but he was too tired to analyze it any further than that. “Daisy made me promise to get you settled in. We’ll be coming back in the morning.” When he tripped she was there to catch him up again before he hit the floor. Making doubly sure he could change into soft clothes for sleep without falling over, Basira left briefly to gather supplies, laying them out on the desk within easy reach.

“Thank you.” Still whispery, completely done in from the short cab ride here, Jon dutifully held his hand out for the prescribed medications, sipping from the bottle she pressed into his grip afterwards.

“Should do you for tonight.”

“I. Yes. I’ll be fine.”

“There are a few statements, water--it best be gone by tomorrow, Jon. The rest of your medications, phone, inhaler. Something to help you rest if it doesn’t come quickly.”

“Thank you.” So scolded, he hung his head, knowing better than to argue against sleep. Trying to stay out of the way and he’d ended up being a bigger problem than before.

“If you need anything--”

“I won’t. I promise.” Her warning to stop contacting them sat heavy in his stomach and stopped up his throat with emotion. When she sighed heavily he was caught off guard, risking a glance to see Basira holding her head. “Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry I made you feel that you couldn’t ask for help.”

“N’no! I--” in his haste to reassure, Jon found himself instead bent double around his hacking, taking a measured sip from the bottle Basira shoved at him again. “I know, you. I understand.”

“Well. She’s doing better. We’ll be back, like I told you earlier.” She held out Martin’s jumper, the last item in the bag from the hospital, and he took it reverently. “If you need anything, Jon. Please call.”

“Thank you, Basira.” Like before, she didn’t turn away from the door, pausing instead to take a deep breath.

“Get some rest, Jon.”

#the magnus archives #tma fanfic #tma #Hurt/comfort #Sick #Fever #Jon is bad at self care #Basira means well #but she's overprotective #Daisy and Jon are friends #Jon is sad #Jon wants Martin

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alexandenigtscreations · 3 years

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Chapters: 4/? Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Summary:

Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev make a good team. But when a bank job goes horribly wrong, the injured pair are forced to lay low and hope the Carte Blanche can make it back to them in time.

Part 4:

Somewhere in the distance and fog of his mind he registered a door swinging open. There was a loud clatter and shredding of metal that set his teeth on edge, scattering what little assemblance of thought he’d managed to collect.

Something- something wasn’t right.

Shrill beeping cut deep into his skull- Juno pressed a hand to his temple, opening his eye to stare up at the canvas.

Nureyev was out there- fighting.

Nureyev was out there fighting while Juno was cowering under a blanket like some god damned child- But no, ‘worse than a child’ , even as a kid he’d probably be out there right now, fists swinging to protect those important to him.

Damn, even dead Ramses O’Flaherty could still talk his ear off.

Stop it Steel. He shifted, groaning as stab of pain shot through his stomach-

He- oh- he didn’t feel good-

There were more sounds from outside, sparking metal and weighty clangs- accompanied by the the telltale hum of a blaster charging- Nureyev didn’t fight with a blaster, which meant-

No-

Juno forced himself into a sitting position, a sodden cloth sliding off his forehead. The world washed out in vertigo, the nausea once again clawing at his insides. Damn it-

He groaned, clutching at the couch arm for dear life.

It felt like an eternity for him to get his bearings- He needed to get to Nureyev, he needed to help . That little black box wouldn't mean a damned thing if something happened to his knight in stolen armor.

You’d just get in his way- a nasty part of himself hissed. You’re no good to anyone like you are now-

And god was he aware of that, couldn’t so much as sit up without feeling sick- he gritted his teeth cursing himself for getting hit in the first place.

Hell, hadn’t Nureyev proven time and time again how he didn’t need Juno? How could he fend for himself? He’d practically carried Juno the last leg to their pick up point, probably making his injury worse. .

The battle wages on in Juno's mind, to go or not to go- To go or not to go, To go- God, he's had hangovers that treat him more like a lady than this.

Or not to go- He hunched over, hugging himself tight-

To go - even the THEIA Soul hadn't done him this dirty-

Or not to go- admittedly he'd been heavily sedated in a hospital ward at the time and couldn't remember much of the whole thing-

Or not to go-

Juno was just about to let his aching body sink back into the cushions when he heard something that flooded him with fear.

Nureyev screamed-

The last time he’d heard the man scream was in Miasma’s compound. It was something that his nameless thief just didn’t do.

He was hurt-

He needed help-

Juno lurched to his feet, barely able to disentangle himself from the canvas and take up his blaster.

He heard Nureyev again, this time softer than before. It only served to spur Juno on.

Juno flung the door open. Propping himself up on the frame, he surveyed the scene. A handful of drones were closing in on where Nureyev was tangled in a series of bins. He was struggling to get upright and not getting very far-

Juno took aim and fired.

It was hard to aim true with his shaking arms. The shots never seemed to line up quite right and for a heart stopping moment, he thought he hit Nureyev. Terror bit deep into his chest as Juno watched the man fold in on himself, getting impossibly small.

Oh, no, no, no, please no-

The next thing he knew, the thief leaped up with a flourish. A flash of silver arced through the air, knocking something to the ground next to Juno’s feet.

A drone.

He- hadn’t noticed it- which seemed impossible, it was so close- He hadn't noticed it until Nureyev acted-

“Nice- shot-”. He gasped, feeling his face twisting into a grimace. The knife sensation reared its ugly head; cutting edges worrying away at his core. It was too much, too much! God. It drowned out all thought leaving only pain.

He let out a low whine and sagged against the door frame, feeling sicker than ever. Dimly aware of that musical baritone talking to him, saying his name and cool hands cupping his face-

He could scarcely make out the words over the rush of blood in his ears. But he wanted to. He’d do anything for that wonderful voice.

“uno- Juno-” Nureyev was saying “love, do you think you c-can stand for me?”

All Juno could do was let out an unhelpful groan. Long thin arms wound their way about him, attempting to pull him upright. But it hurt - it hurt so much. He folded over the pain, dropping even lower.

“I need you- to work w-with me- Detective-” Nureyev said through gritted teeth. That’s when he remembered the blaster shot.

Hell

He needed to help out- he needed to stand- He rearranged his leaden legs to gain leverage from the ground, pushing up underneath him and-

Something tore within. Like so many wet chords snapping- breaking apart. Juno cried out in agony.

“I know love- I know- but I need you to keep up the stride-”

Nureyev didn’t know- couldn’t . How would you know what it would be like? To come undone from the inside out- To have every step unravel you piece by piece.

How could you know something like that?

He wished to be belligerent, to argue back or something, but instead he just keened into Nureyev’s side, his body on fire.

“Just- a bit- more-” Juno’s stomach lurched as he was deposited back onto the cushions. Nureyev muttered something soothing in a language he couldn’t quite focus on, before messily transitioning back to Solar. “I’ll be back Love, I’ve s-strings to tie up.”

Strings to tie up- that seemed pleasant. Juno felt like his strings had been cut. He curled in on himself trying to bite back another pathetic sound. Trying to hold himself together even as his heart threatened to hammer him apart. Trying to breathe.

Just.

Breathe.

By the time Nureyev returned, Juno was feeling- not better- but certainly more stable. The thief, however, was limping worse than ever. His hair worked free of the careful styling, his complexion pallid and flushed under what remained of his foundation. He was shaking too. At least, Juno thought he was shaking, it was hard to tell through the mental fog.

“ ‘Reyev- ” he croaked.

Nureyev’s expression softened, “Juno- How are you feeling?”

“Like I ate nails fer’ breakfast- you?”

“Nails f-for breakfast? What an unusual culinary choice.”

Juno huffed in amusement immediately tensing around another throb of pain. They seemed to be getting more frequent. “Don’ make me laugh- naugh’ fair-”

“Apologies Detective.” Juno didn’t miss the way Nureyev peered out the window- Worried about being followed- the thought surfaced hazily.

“Is- are they tracking us?” Juno inquired.

“I’m not sure how they’d be track-” he trailed off, those bright eyes flashing in a shock of recognition. “Of course- Juno- that’s it!” Nureyev pressed an excited kiss into his knuckles before hobbling off to retrieve his coat, where it had been left to dry.

“Babe?” Juno asked, not following the frenzied search through all the rubbish packed in those bottomless pockets of his.

Nureyev made a triumphant noise, extracting a small bundle of cyan fletched darts, their noses buried in a cork. Juno wanted to ask, but found himself instead enjoying the flush of triumph on Nureyev’s face. It was an expression that was all Peter Nureyev without a hint of a mask, a smile pulled wide over those pointed teeth, eyes sparkling behind his glasses, hair tussled with strands framing his face.

“Do I wanna know?”

“If I told you they caught my eye- w-would you hold it against me?”

“You telling me you took ‘em because- they were shiny?” Juno chuckled, regretting the act instantly as the pain flared.

“I s-suppose that’s one interpretation-” he affirmed, freeing a dart and analyzing it. Looking for ways to disassemble the thing. The miniscule vial within was still full, which was something.

__________________________________________________________

Nureyev scrutinized the dart, turning it this way and that before gleaning an understanding of the shell’s mechanics. Sure enough, a simple twist was all it took to remove the fletching, revealing a small honing chip.

He let out a short, disappointed hum.

“I regret to inform you that your hunch was- correct.” He held the chip up for the Detective’s inspection.

“Ya-you jus’ don’ like surprises-”

“Don’t be absurd, surprises k-keep life interesting. However-” he glared at the offending chip over his glasses “T-today has already been more interesting than what w-would be comfortable.”

Juno rewarded him with a snort, his gentle hand came to rest on Nureyev’s back.

The touch was light, but sent an achy chill through him even as he chased the pressure. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t feeling well at all- and it was more than the pain in his leg. Juno’s fingers drifted up to his shoulder, his thumb tracing clumsy circles into the damp material of his shirt.

A trickle of sweat trailed down his brow accentuating the pounding in his temples. A few minutes rest- then he could deal with the microchips- somehow.

Perhaps he had said something out loud because Juno rasped “Rita-” Nureyev frowned, wondering why Juno would be bringing up his ex-secretary now. “She’ll know wha ta do-”

It snapped into place so fast it made his head spin. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d have kissed Juno on the spot. Still might.

Of course! Rita would surely be able to help them deal with the chips! Of course!

He settled in and made the call.

“Hiiiiii~ This is Rita’s Work Space Spectacular!” came her usual upbeat tone. Nureyev put her on speaker between the two of them, nothing subtle way Juno perked up.

“Rita- how god it is to hear from you-”

“Ohh! Mista Ransom! I thought you was gonna be the Captain! Checking in on the- well- never mind. But I heard you was held up somewhere safe till old Rita here can get back to you all but I’m so sorry Mista Ransom! I don’t know when the Carte Blanche will be able to circle back! I am trying my best, I really am but this is just like Delton: Age of Destruction! Where the bad guys weave a real dense net of radioactive algae to capture-”

“Rita-” Juno cut in.

“Princes Valkyrie of-”

“Rita!” he was louder now, raising himself up on an elbow with a pained hiss. “Rita- please- there's a- chip-”

“Not a Soul -” she gasped, sounding utterly terrified “Mista Steel! That took a hundred and ten percent of my energy last time, and a whole building collapsin’ on you! With everythin’ that’s going on right now I don’t know if I can-”

“N-not that Rita- we’re- ugh- ” Juno’s chest stuttered as another spasm passed through “We’re- alrigh-”

“Really Mista Steel? You don’t sound alright.” Rita’s concern mirrored Nureyev’s own. He almost envied her the luxury in indulging it instead of shoving it to a dark corner of his mind in favor of the more immediate threat. The only one he was qualified to handle.

“We have k-kept Vespa in the loop, she is aware of our situation. Juno is referring to t-the-” he trailed off pinching the bridge of his nose trying to think past the fog “the- locating- er- tracking chip. Half dozen of the things really- we require your assistance in d-dealing with them.”

“Oh! Tracking chips? Why didn’t you say something soona Mista Ransom! I can do that for you no problem! One Sec!”

Nureyev hummed appreciatively, smoothing back his slackening hair and plucking off residual crawlspace cobwebs.

“Just put the coms in front of the chips and let me see what’s what.”

“You c-can do that?” Not for the first time, Nureyev was left in awe by the resident hacker of the Carte Blanche.

“Little trick I picked up with Mista Steel!” he could practically see the large warm smile lighting her face from here. “Just gotta hack into the Universal Positioning System and tap into the uplink relay and-”

He left her to it, listening to her chirp away about anything and everything that came into her mind. He’d long held a suspicion that this display was an advanced system of a free association memory palace- rather like those remarkable drawing notes of hers. Something that seemed to be unique to Rita.

Nureyev leaned back and focused on breathing, threading his fingers with Juno’s and taking the opportunity to search the lady’s wrist for his pulse point. The Detective gave a violent full body shiver before he could locate the beat.

“Nur-” he puffed “cold-”

“Apologies.”

Juno hummed, pulling Nureyev’s arm closer to the heat of him. He was being drawn in, like a moth to a flame. A beautiful goddess by the name of Juno Steel. It was nice there, he could feel his heart through his shirt, where his arm rested against his chest. He drew nearer still, lulled by the rhythmic clacks of Rita’s fingers as they danced their way across the keys.

“Ah Ha! And there you have it! Those nasty drone demons can’t be following you any more, Mista Ransom!”

“Wait-that’s- that’s it?” Nureyev could scarce believe it.

“Yep! You’re all set! Rita took care of it for ya! Actually a lot easier than I thought it would be, which is good cuz it’s really buzzy at the moment!”

Nureyev gave her profuse thanks, a weight lifting from his chest.

“What was that Mista Ransom? Couldn’t quite understand ya there-”

“Oh- Just- t-thank you...Rita.”

“Sure thing Mista Ransom! If there’s anythin, and I mean anythin else that little ol’ Rita can help you with, don’t be afraid to give me a hollar! And, well, Just take care of yourself and Mista Steel okay? I know that ain't somethin I gotta ask with you but, you’re far away and I’m just worried sick about you two! Okay? And just in case, you should keep an eye on those little devices, just cuz I-” she cut off. Someone in the background seemed to be talking to her. “Oh, right away Captain A! Sorry Mista Ransom, I gotta go!”

“Understood, and thank you again-” but she was already gone.

Conversations with Rita usually left him mentally reeling and oddly touched in a way he couldn’t truly begin to unpack. This conversation was no different, adding to the mounting folder that was Rita in his mind.

He thought about filing this discussion away in future consideration too, but- that didn’t fit- perhaps it would be saved for an upcoming poetry session when they were once again safe aboard the Carte Blanche.

Yes- that would have to due.

And again- more evidence that something was happening on the ship-

He bit his lip, thinking- and trying his best to blot out worst case scenarios.

A hand searing with fevered heat, brushed the nape of his neck. “Babe- come under tha covers- ge-warm.”

Nureyev hummed, it sounded so inviting, and he was so cold.

“Perhaps-for a moment Love-”

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #jupeter #peter nureyev #rita redacted #juno steel #fic #fanfic #my writing #AlexandeNight #junoverse #blaster shot wound #poision #tw description of illness #etc #it's getting finished #slowly but surly!#:D

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ladyideal · 5 years

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Get Well Soon

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader

Word Count: 1829

Summary: You help a colony pack up from a planet, and caught a rather nasty bug on the way back. After nearly two weeks, a cure was finally found. A particular doctor became rather reluctant in giving you it, as there were side effects that could be rather life threatening.

A/N: First off, I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense. Not entirely sure what I was trying to write. Was trying to get as close to the symptoms of the coronavirus, and ended up adding some of my own. Stay safe everyone, and remember to WASH YOUR HANDS. :)

(gif wouldn’t load. Credit to @discoveringenterprise, who’s taking up requests!)

“Sweetheart, you’re burning up,” Leonard mentioned, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. You had try to dodged away, but he was too fast. “You’re showing the same symptoms as the others.”

“I just need sleep, Len,” You argued. “’m not sick.”

The Enterprise was ordered to evacuate a Federation colony immediately. Planet 52XX was promising for some time, until the larger than life hurricane was spotted a year or two after the first settlement. Yet, the colony held out until the very last minute. With the hurricane larger than Jupiter’s own and encroaching onto the colony within two days did the Federation finally called it quits.

The planet was slightly more arid than the climate on the ship. In response, the lower decks were cleaned, and the second, more smaller Medbay was stocked ready for the colony members to come through for increase fluids. Temperature was raised, and the humidity was lowered to copy the planet’s climate. Steadily, they would be acclimated to the rest of the ship.

Other than that, the colony were thin, but healthy.

As Captain, you and two teams were beamed down to the surface of the planet to help with the evacuation. Well, it was mostly you and one team speaking with the adults, and the other team herding the kids towards the shuttle. In just the five or six hours needed to get everyone on shuttles, a thunderstorm passed through, soaking literally everyone within its vicinity.

Everything went seamlessly. Life aboard the ship continued.

Three day passed before the two members of the two landing teams was found unconscious, and immediately quarantined within hours after being brought down to the Medbay. Then another the next day, and another. Within five days after the original evacuation, everyone that was involved in the landing party were isolated.

Len had messaged you the notice earlier, but you’d ignored it for the most part. Being friends with him since the Academy, and dating for a solid two years now, you’d learned to never question him on his medical expertise. However, you had other plans. Command was hailing you every other hour, demanding for reports on the status of their failed colony.

Your boyfriend observed you in concern, as you played around with the peas on your plate. “Then you wouldn’t mind coming to medbay with me, so I can take a look.”

“It’s just a waste of time, Len,” You insisted anyways. “It’s just a low fever and a slight cough.”

Leonard raised an eyebrow. “Humor me.”

You sighed, reluctantly chasing after the offending peas with a spoon and eating them. “Let’s go, I guess.”

It didn’t take long for Len to settle you in an isolation room. One hour being quarantined, and finally away from work, your exhaustion returned in full force, sending you into bouts of coughs and the beginnings of a rather nasty pneumonia. Your boyfriend gently brushed away an errant hair, affectionately tucking it in behind your ear.

“Get some sleep, Y/N.”

In a day, your health spiraled out of control. Your fever soared into the dangerous zone, and the pneumonia worsened, puzzling all the doctors on board. The colony members were fortunate enough to not have encountered any significant diseases, and none ever had any symptoms like you did. It was just a brief mission; get them ready, and back up the ship. There was minimal contact with them, and yet both landing parties were afflicted with a life threatening disease.

Your joints ached, and you felt as if every inch of your body was on fire. It was becoming a fight for your life. Even Chris’s gentle touch as she cooled your forehead with a cool washcloth was too much for your senses to take. The medication dripped steadily from the IV was helping, but it was going to be a long recovery ahead.

“Leonard,” You whimpered weakly.

Christine sadly shushed you, humming tunelessly in an attempt to soothe you. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Jim join your boyfriend, standing outside the isolation room.

“Still nothing?” The blonde spoke.

The CMO crossed his arms across his chest, but shook his head. His face was expressionless, but Jim knew better. He knew having you in the isolation room and severely ill was taking a toll on the doctor. There was a significant weight on him to take care of you, and all he felt was a failure in keeping you safe.

“It doesn’t look good,” Leonard paused, briefly glancing up at the monitor that displayed the numbers to your vitals. “We’re doing all we can for her.”

“She’s a fighter,” Jim assured his best friend. “She’ll pull through it.”

The doctor was silent for a minute, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t lose her, Jim. I can’t.”

“And you won’t, Bones. She’s got you. She’ll be okay.”

A week and a half went by before any good news came around. The fever had loosened its grasps on you, but you were still warm, and everything absolutely ached. It was selfish you knew to keep your boyfriend by your sides at all times, especially since he still had other patients to take care of. So as much as your soul ached for the skin to skin contact, you kept quiet. Leonard, on the other hand, did his best to stay with you as long as he could. He would catch you up on the recent ship’s gossip, how Joanna was, and how Jim and the rest of the Bridge had sent you Get Well messages.

Today was no different.

You were curled up on your side, mindful of all the monitor leads and IV tethers. Resting your eyes, you didn’t realize a presence beside your bed until the figure heaved out a heavy sigh. Despite the cannula nestled in your nose delivering a steady stream of pure oxygen, it was still hard to breathe.

“Len?” You croaked, cracking your eyes open.

Your boyfriend met your gaze. Even though he’d donned on his protective gear, you could still see his red rimmed eyes, and the dark circles beneath them. Almost instinctively, you reached out for him, only for him to grasp your hand in his gloved ones.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” He sounded strained, even to himself.

“You look awful, love,” You admonished gently, rubbing little circles on his hand in a futile attempt to get him to relax. “I’ll have you know that your office isn’t a place for you to sleep in.”

Leonard didn’t answer immediately, dropping his gaze to the vial rolling in his free hand. Curiously, you followed his attention too. With the joke falling flat, you figured out that he was wound up and too serious. All business, and no fun.

“What’s that?”

“A cure,” Your doctor flatly replied.

You brightened up at his words, but frowned since he wasn’t feeling the same. For now, you reserved judgement.

“Then?” You propped yourself up on an elbow.

Leonard sighed again, making a show of reaching the hypospray and loading the blue tinged liquid vial into it. Once he readied it, he caught your gaze again. This time, instead of happiness, there was apology swirling within his eyes.

“Science pulled through late last night. There’s a lot of side effects to this. Nausea, headaches, chills, and a significant chance of having seizures. In your current state, I’m not sure if we can pull you back from that.”

Your frown deepened.

“But if I take it, I’ll have a chance, right?”

“Yes, darlin’.”

“Then let’s do it,” You watched as your boyfriend got to his feet, and paced in front of your bed. “I already feel worse then I did before I went to nap earlier.”

“Sweetheart, please. You’ve still got a fighting chance with all the immunity boosters we’ve given,” He cursed afterwards, shaking his head.

“Len,” You spoke after a pause. “C’mere.”

Your boyfriend obediently shuffled back towards your bed, and sat back down on his stool. Reaching out for his hand, you kept your gaze on him and pouted.

“Please?”

He looked like he was going to argue, but thought better of it and stripped one of his gloves off. You spent the next few minutes reveling at the skin to skin contact, and briefly closed your eyes. It was awhile before you spoke again.

“I know you’re not ready to let me go, and I-I-I don’t want to either. But this is my one and only chance to stay with you, Len. I don’t want to go anywhere, but be by your side,” You breathed out, rubbing tiny circles with your thumb on the back of his hand. “I know the risks, love. This is me giving you my informed consent to go ahead, to give me a fighting chance.”

Leonard continued shaking his head.

You caught his gaze, observing the swirl of anger, desperation, sorrow, apologetic, and most of all, love in his. Gently squeezing his hand, you smiled slightly. The muscles in his neck were strained, and the way his hands clenched and unclenched, as though they were itching to do anything, was a sign of his desperation.

“For us.”

“Y/N, you’re the captain of this goddamn ship. What if-?”

“Leonard, listen to me,” You interrupted. “There is a long list of what ifs that could happen. We won’t be getting anywhere if we start into those questions. However the fact still remains that giving me that is the only logical choice.”

“Logical?” The doctor rounded on you again. “Sweetheart, please don’t tell me that Spock’s been giving you lessons.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Len, it’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first in a long time, you could see the hurt and the fear flicker across his face. The entire time you were severely sick, he was careful in not worrying you for as much as he could. Rounding towards your bed again, he made a show in readying the hypo and priming it.

Gently, he splayed a hand across the column of your throat, and glanced back at you. You nodded your consent one last time, as though you would have changed your mind in just a short amount of time. There was a slight fear, but you were ready to fully fight off this damn disease and get back into Leonard’s arms once more.

Without much flair, he pressed the hypo to your neck, and injected the slightly blue substance. Tossing it aside when done, your boyfriend sat back down on his stool, head in his hands.

“One hour,” He declared, voice muffled by his hands. “If you’re not having any seizures, we can talk about bringing you out to the main wing soon.”

You settled back against the biobed, and waited alongside him.

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

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Okay! It’s related to addiction, hope it doesn’t bother you: Tony Stark is out from rehab, trying to start his life from zero after losing almost everything bc of his addiction. He had been in rehab for quite a long time, so going back to society is being kinda difficult. He can feel the stigma people have of him and so Tony feels lonely, until he meets Peter, a healthy kind man. Tony is afraid of falling for him and f*ck everything up as he has done before.

Spend My Days Locked In A Haze

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Word Count: 4.5k Notes: So, this one has been sitting in the box for a little while because I wanted to approach it with educated respect. I did a lot of research. A lot. I hope this is what you were looking for, nonnie! Thanks for dropping the prompt my way <3 Warnings: Description of drug use (Tony struggles with a cocaine addiction), mentions of ADD, and therapy. Summary:

Tony’s brain doesn’t shut off and he struggles to manage it - so, he doesn’t. Instead, he develops a habit that is not the best for his body or his mind. A discovery during rehab helps a little, but the ultimate cure for restlessness is the adorable Peter Parker and food tours around the city.

do the thing - send in all the prompts.

It started out small, like most things that have the ability to magnify always do.

After getting back from the desert, Tony couldn’t get his brain to turn off. Not only did he have a foreign object in his chest, he endured months of living in a cave with very little to eat and the inevitable happenstance of death clinging to his back like a needy child. Aside from the suit plans he wanted to refine and make into a working suit that could function with his now upgrading arc reactor, Tony didn’t have much of anything else going on.

It all got a little worse when he figured out that Obadiah was the one behind his kidnapping and hoped-for death. It stung a little, to be one of the smartest people in the world and miss something that after looking back, should have been seen from a mile away. How could a man that thought he ruled the world ever give up the throne without a fight? It didn’t make any sense to forget that Tony was one of the best fighters out there – but, he’d forgive the man his mistake when he got to see him behind bars.

The need to finish the suit became pinnacle and with that, long nights and even longer gaps of time between sleeping and letting his body rest. His mind didn’t ever seem to get tired, however – it ran on a loop for hours on end. Whenever he thought he might get to a stopping point, the next thought came flying across the forefront of his mind. It was great for his work, but not so great for his body and mental health.

After the 20th reminder from Jarvis about being awake for 80 hours straight, Tony forced himself from the lab and into the confines of his bedroom. It made his heart race, just thinking about sleep – yet, the second his head hit the pillow, he was out. His body’s need and the inability to shut it off pulled him under. The racing of his mind, however, did not go down with him.

Less than 4 hours later, Tony jumped awake, his entire body covered in sweat. He woke up patting at his chest, uselessly making sure he wasn’t connected to a car battery that with just one misfire, could take his life. Before he could contemplate getting back to sleep, his mind moved on to the adjustments he needed to make to the suit – the idea of rest was now gone for at least another 80 hours.

It got to be a little much – after the final interaction with Obie, Tony lost a little bit of steam. It was one thing, to go and go for hours on end when there was something to go for. Yet, it was something completely different, to be both restless and completely overwhelmed with a brain that didn’t want to power down. Sleep didn’t come and when it did, it was broken and interrupted by nightmares that drove him back to the lab or the kitchen or anywhere else other than the big empty bed that wanted to suck him in and keep him in the dark.

He remembered a brief stint in college when he was younger and going through the exact same thing. Tony knew that Bishop wasn’t dealing drugs anymore, but there were many people throughout the city that were. It didn’t take but a few well-placed calls to secure an in-person delivery of the China White that could at least take away the need to sleep. When his brain wanted to run a million miles a minute, who was he to deny it?

The first few bumps lasted him for a long time – his tolerance for the stuff was nowhere near what it’d been in his younger years. He wasn’t sure how the arc reactor effected the processing of it, either. Every time he leaned over to do a line, he might be one step closer to blowing his heart up. In a way, the risk seemed like the most appealing part of the whole thing. Living on the edge at least gave him something to live for.

Between upgrades for the Iron Man suit and the transition from weapons manufacturer to clean and sustainable energy, Tony didn’t have time to slow down, especially when it came to sleep – that took up too many brain bytes and didn’t contribute to the madness he continued to pump out month after month. As the days passed, Tony found himself getting more entrenched in the need for the drug that kept him both wired and level – it felt good to go and go and go without having to stop. Stopping was for the weak.

Despite the cavalier attitude, Tony started to notice some physical symptoms of the upper being in his system all the time. Since introduction of the arc reactor, Tony didn’t feel much in terms of his heart or the cardiorespiratory process that went down between the heart and the lungs. The higher his doses, however, the more uncomfortable his pulse became – the throbbing in his veins seemingly thicker and thicker as the days went by.

Of course, when the shit hit the fan, Tony was making one of his rare public appearances. It meant a lot to him to change the company’s perspective, but not a lot to the people actually affiliated with Stark Industries. After the business with Obadiah, it seemed pertinent to keep himself under the radar – which was well in good because he wasn’t in any condition to be in front of people. Yet, Pepper talked him into the barest of glimpses at the next press conference.

That particular day, Tony attempted to sleep the night before and felt a little strung out from the experience. It was weird – to be so aversive to sleep. In an attempt to wash his mind from the dreams that plagued him, Tony snorted an extra line before leaving his penthouse and getting into the swing of being a businessman again. It seemed like, especially since coming back to reality, that persona didn’t fit him – rules and restrictions and propriety weren’t really his thing; he was about to make that incredibly apparent.

Though he didn’t have any talking expectations, Pepper wanted him up front in the limelight – which was nice for about two seconds. Then, the sweating started; the brightness of the lights brought every bit of moisture within him to the surface. And when that happened, his heart rate picked up – how it got any higher than it already was, Tony didn’t know. Reaching up to loosen his tie, Tony shuffled from one foot to the other over and over again; he hoped the restless movement would cure the general weightless feeling that did not feel glorious like the high usually did.

Hitting the ground was not expected and try as he might, he couldn’t push off from Happy to get away long enough to do it in the relative peace of an empty hallway, not in front of cameras and many, many people that were watching the live broadcast. He was still conscious when Happy ran over to him, his big hands grabbing Tony’s arms tightly. They made eye contact before he finally slipped away, the horrified look on his face just seconds before forever engrained in his mind.

----

The worst part of overdosing didn’t come from the progressive removal of Tony from the board, or the headlines that spoke of the scandal – no, the worst part came when Pepper dropped him off in front of an in-patient rehab clinic. The intense amount of the drug in his system had him seizing and coding out a couple of times on his way to the hospital, followed by several days off waking up with excruciating pain everywhere, chills, a fever, nausea – all of the fun things that came from detoxing from a chronically used drug.

When he’d been cognizant enough to actually have a conversation, Pepper told him about the board’s decision to remove him from his position – he shakily signed the papers that would make her the acting CEO. She told him that pending a stint in rehab, they’d reconsider – but they both knew that was total bull shit. Getting out of rehab meant coming back to a haunted penthouse and no company in sight. Despite that, Tony agreed; he was only 45 – dying was the last thing he wanted for himself.

It was grueling to begin with – Tony was still on the edge of his detox and felt more irate than ever before. His chest ached from whatever happened to his heart during the course of seizing and having severe palpitations. To top everything off, his mind was still running on overdrive and there wasn’t a bit of relief in sight – they wouldn’t even let him exercise yet, his heart wasn’t ready for it.

About a week into his stay, Tony started attending the group and individual therapy sessions. He didn’t like to talk to people when he felt normal, so small attempts to open up were made during his group time – it took him 3 weeks of sessions before he even felt comfortable enough to introduce himself; everyone knew Tony Stark – but nobody really “knew” him.

The individual sessions were a totally different bag, however – the small female therapist sat in a big chair behind her desk, the width of it dwarfing her even more than her stature already did. If he had any ground to stand on, he’d laugh at the irony of it. Tony didn’t, though – the rock bottom he was laying on at the moment felt worse than the desert, and he’d been there against his will.

She looked at him a lot – Dr. Martin’s eyes were hazel and a little on the beady side – every time her eyes moved, Tony could feel her scrutinizing him. They didn’t talk for 2 solid sessions; the quiet would have been much more appreciated if she didn’t keep running her eyes over him, but beggars really couldn’t be choosers.

It was clear during his 3rd session that he wasn’t going to get away with keeping his mouth shut. Her posture was different when he walked in and her usual file was nowhere to be found. Sitting down, Tony took in a deep breath to prepare himself – it felt like a sweet kind of torture, waiting for the questions to come his way.

“I’ve spent the past couple of weeks trying to connect your file to you and I can’t – so I thought coming right to the source would be a good place to start. Can you tell me a little bit about yourself? Your likes, interests, habits – “

Instead of balking at her, Tony settled back in the chair, his hands knitting behind his head – the position meant to give off ease. “Uh – what don’t you know from the papers? I like to build things with my hands and solve puzzles that other people can’t. I’m interested in not dying because of the habit that I have. I want my brain to shut off for a while, which is what led to the shitty habit to begin with.” Scratching his head, he shrugged, the words more than he’d said to anyone in years.

Dr. Martin tilted her head, her eyes a little brighter than just a moment before. The inquisitive part of her on the scent of something. “You want your brain to shut off. Can you elaborate on that?”

Looking at her, Tony quirked a brow – he’d never been asked to describe the chaos in his head before. It took him a minute to categorize his thoughts, the multitude of details that needed to be included sorting themselves out. “It’s like having a million files open at one time. I get to the end of one train of thought and immediately hop to another. Or I’ll be right in the middle of one and be on the opposite side of the room the very next second. There’s no focus. I fixate on my work and the things I like – everything else, it’s a restless toss-up.”

Tony recognized the light bulb going off in her head when it happened – there were more than enough eureka moments in his lifetime to know exactly what that looked like. Getting up, Dr. Martin went over to her stack of files and dug around until she found Tony’s. “It says that you have a long history with restlessness and an inability to sleep. There’s obviously some traumatic origin to some of the most recent feelings, but have you always experienced things like that?”

In the end, Tony went through a long line of tests to determine whether ADD contributed to all of the issues he experienced outside of the drugs. He met with Dr. Martin and told her his long history of times just like the most recent one – times of long stretches without sleep because a project consumed him, and then even longer times of disorientation because he couldn’t connect to anything. Tony didn’t know what a diagnosis would bring him, other than more stigma, but the prospect of an answer wasn’t the worst thing to be offered, either.

Upon being diagnosed, a certain sort of feeling washed over him. Not contentment, but something that might be like it. On top of the drug counseling and group sessions, Tony had a couple more therapist added to his repertoire. Instead of going through the 90-day program, Tony stuck around and did 180-days instead. Before he left, he wanted to make sure that he could put both feet on the ground and stand up on his own. There were too many ways to get access to the thing that could very easily be his downfall – having self-assurance felt absolutely necessary.

The nerves about the situation manifested in the fact that he’d have way too much time on his hands when he got back into his real life. Without SI, there weren’t a lot of things going on for him. Idle hands were never a good thing for him before – the necessity for a distraction allowed him to fixate and neglect any semblance of a routine. If he could just keep his shit together, maybe the bits of his life could be fit back together.

Happy picked him up with a soft smile on his face at the end of Tony’s stay. He brought the Audi and got out of the driver’s side when he saw Tony walking toward him. When he didn’t hop back in, Tony shot him a grateful smile and sunk into the custom seat he installed himself. The purr of the car during the drive was enough to drown out his anxiety and stop any sort of conversation from happening. One thing Tony always appreciated about Happy was the fact that he didn’t push. Tony needed to be around people that didn’t push.

Parking in the garage, Tony pulled the keys from the car and turned towards Happy – the only person who stuck with him through the 6 months he’d been taking care of himself. “Thanks, Hap. You being here today was really important to me,” Tony said, his eyes flitting from side to side to avoid having to see the look on Happy’s face. He learned that being honest was the best policy, but it didn’t stop it from feeling a little weird. Talking about his feelings wasn’t the easiest thing in the world.

“Glad you’re back, Tony. It’s been too quiet around here.”

----

The process of getting back into society was harder than he figured it would be. Though he went away for a while, the world did not forget the tragic picture of him passed out on the ground, the later news of his overdose painting the picture more fully and discoloring how the public saw him even more. As he predicted, the SI board didn’t have any intention of letting him come back any time soon – the idea that his company stood in the hands of someone else for an undetermined amount of time made him want to punch something; but it was his own fault, the consequences were his to deal with.

In place of working, Tony developed a routine throughout the day that took up his time and allowed him to stay organized and far away from the listless feeling that could so easily take him over. Every morning, he got up at 8 to eat a breakfast that he cooked himself. It took a couple of weeks to master the art of making eggs, but he managed, regardless. After breakfast, he hit the gym in his building and ran out his troubles on the treadmill until he couldn’t feel his legs anymore.

In desperation during his first few days at home, Tony asked Jarvis for good food places around the city to try – ever since, he’d been slowly going down the list. Some of the places were upscale and took lots of money to have a high quality cup of coffee, and some were mom and pop places that cooked love into every bite. In all of his years of being in the city, Tony hadn’t thought to explore the local eateries and highly regretted it – there were so many things he missed out on.

During his food trips, Tony got to see different parts of the city – some that he didn’t know existed before walking through them. One particular adventure led him to a part of Brooklyn that looked newer, despite the older neighborhoods surrounding it. Jarvis told him about a brunch place that was rumored to make the best waffles. The walk there was interesting and filled with many mural covered walls that were incredible. Stopping to take pictures of a couple of them, Tony walked right into the line for Snooze without really meaning to.

The toe of his foot hit the back of the man’s shoe in front of him in his haste to stop before barreling into him completely. Sucking in a breath, Tony let himself be grateful for his fast reflexes before he looked up to apologize to the person he almost took out. Brown eyes that met his were filled with amusement and focused solely on him. “I’m so sorry. I saw a Storm Trooper mural a block over and got caught up looking at the picture I took of it,” Tony babbled. “I got here before I realized.”

A soft smile also belonged to the man with eyes that carried a shine to them, the man’s teeth white and adding to the intensity of his grin. “That’s okay. I stopped and looked at that mural for a bit, too. If you go down a couple of blocks, there’s a Boba Fett one.” The man looked over his shoulder to make sure the line wasn’t moving before turning towards Tony completely. “Are you a big Star Wars fan?”

By the time they got up to the door, Tony found out that the man, who he came to know as Peter, worked as a freelance CPA and jogged around the neighborhood not far from here. He followed the smells to Snooze, his trip there totally unplanned, unlike Tony’s. They talked about the newest trilogy additions to the Skywalker story and decided that Ben Skywalker shouldn’t have died after all. The hostess looked at the two of them and didn’t think to ask if they were together or separate, she simply led them to a small table. And neither man stopped her.

One brunched turned into coffee on the Upper East Side, and then Chicago style pizza in Queens. Peter seemed to enjoy the different food adventures that they went on – the man jumping on every chance that he could to join Tony. Many times, their meet ups to get food turned into walks around the closest park or trips through museums and art galleries. In his life, Peter was the only person that didn’t judge him. He didn’t have the knowledge to do so, but something told him Peter probably wouldn’t, regardless.

In spending all of that time together, Tony inevitably started finding himself falling for the charismatic Peter Parker who talked with his mouth full and could put away an entire pizza all by himself. Tony came to know that Peter was left-handed and enjoyed ketchup on his hamburgers but not mustard. CPAs that made their own business hours got to work whenever they wanted and on off days, they played squash and read to kids at the Brooklyn Public Library. For every bad quality that Tony had, Peter countered it with something so positive, it became more obvious that he was way too good for him.

Baggage like his was hard for him to carry – he couldn’t imagine placing that on someone else’s shoulders, especially someone as good and kind as Peter Parker.

A desperate attempt to save Peter and his goodness from the inevitable way that Tony fucked everything up, he took a couple of steps back from their friendship. Instead of meeting Peter almost every day, he limited himself to once a week and tried to keep it as friendly as possible. A hard feat, it seemed, after 3 weeks of Peter looking at him curiously. More than anything, Tony wanted to run his hand across Peter’s cheek to flatten out the slight frown, but he held back – one touch would send him down a rabbit hole he more than likely shouldn’t explore.

Their latest get together felt a little strained, Tony could feel it from the second he walked up. Peter wasn’t nearly as friendly as usual and left before Tony could even suggest walking to the ice cream place he scoped out on his way to the restaurant. He tried not to feel disappointed – his attempts to create some distance between them were working. The sucky feelings that came along with them, however – they were not.

The very next day, Tony was surprised by the sound of his elevator opening a little after 7PM. There were only 3 people that knew the access code to his elevator and 2 of them were currently out of town getting ready for the Stark Expo. Thinking about that made his skin prickle, so he pushed the thought aside and made it over to the doors. He knew Peter would be there, but the sight of him standing in the foyer of his house hit a little different. The last time he was here, they were excitedly heading out to try Cronuts & Co – smiles on their faces.

Now, Peter looked at him with a mix of hurt and confusion. Tony matched him – after their time together last night, he was surprised that Peter wanted anything to do with him at all.

“Sorry to just show up, Tony. I just – what happened? I need to know. Things were going great. Then an alien overtook you and you left the building. I’m – scared. If nothing else, you’re my friend and the 180 is a little concerning.” The admittance caused the man to stop talking, the red on his cheeks spreading quickly, the color going all the way down his neck and probably further. “Did I do something? I’m sorry if I did – just please, tell me what’s going on.”

Tony took a step back, every word hitting him square in the chest. So wrapped up in his own shit, he didn’t even see the panicked look in Peter’s eyes – the one that was staring back at him so heavily now. Pulling in a deep breath, Tony bucked up, a new sort of determination settling within him. “There’s a lot that you don’t know. Too much for the foyer of my apartment. Come in, I’ll get you a drink.”

Five minutes of reprieve Tony got while he poured them a couple of small shots of bourbon felt like enough time to collect himself. Disclosing the most intimate details of his situation wasn’t how he figured he’d spend the night, but it seemed right – to finally get the pressure off his chest. Tony slugged his drink back, then took a seat on the couch next to Peter.

“I’m sure you know the basics about me. I think the picture of me fainting at that press conference is a meme,” Tony uttered, an uncomfortable chuckle leaving his lips. “I got a little lost after I got back from the desert. I have a thing – where I fixate and get restless and have trouble focusing and after I got things squared away with Obadiah Stane, I just sort of lost the way completely. I fucked up a perfectly good opportunity to make the company my own, Pete. I fucked up so much in my life and the last thing – the absolute last fucking thing I want to do is fuck anything up with you – especially you, Pete.”

He watched Peter suck back the booze in his glass – the bob of the Adam’s apple in his throat almost distracting enough to ignore the anxiety rolling through him. Long fingers pressed the glass into the coffee table, then those very same fingers were grabbing his hand. “You don’t owe me your past, Tony. I knew who you were when I met you. I liked the way you looked so lost the first time we met. You have a great personality and a kind of thirst for life that I’m really excited about.” His fingers tangled with Tony’s, the man using his leverage to pull him closer. “I don’t care how you got here, Tony.”

It was a little overwhelming, hearing Peter speak so candidly. Almost everyone else in his life wrote him off – how a random person could have such faith in him blew him away. There wasn’t a lot of sense in it, but in his journey over the last year, Tony realized most things didn’t.

A soft hand on his face brought him out of his thoughts, the smile Tony came to adore present on Peter’s face when he looked up. “How about we just take it a step at a time? Might be good for the both of us,” Peter suggested, his thumb running over Tony’s cheek as he spoke.

Leaning in, Tony let his lips press against Peter’s lightly, the ghost of a kiss enough for the moment. He gave Peter’s hand a squeeze and gulped in a breath, a genuine smile slipping across his face.

“Sounds okay to me, Pete.”

#starker #ironspider #ask prompt #bobbie writes #nonnie #anonymous #spend my days locked in a haze

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