#I DO have a lot of expired painkillers but I only take the one that expired 6 months ago when I'm on my period :]

[watery-melon-baller]

im sure it's fine

[pastelwitchling]

Hi

Thanks for all the amazing Malex stories.

Could you possibly write about Michael and Kyle being worried about that Alex is taking too many painkillers? Thanks.

This prompt actually inspired me to do a two-parter, so that's what I'm going to do 🫣

Part 1/2

***

“I don’t how comfortable I am with this,” Michael said, arms crossed and shoulder leaning against the archway into the kitchen.

Alex had his back to him as he fixed up the plate of snacks for movie night, but Michael could hear the amusement in his voice when he said, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

His shoulders fell. “I’m serious, Alex. This is our movie night, why does Valenti have to be here?”

“Uh, technically,” Kyle called from the living room, “Alex and I were doing movie night way before you guys got together, so you’re the only trespasser here, Guerin!”

Michael pointed into the hallway, eyes narrowed at Alex. “In my own home.”

“Oh, brother,” Alex chuckled, glancing at Michael over his shoulder. “Baby, why don’t you go pick the movie, okay? It could be whatever you want.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

“Never,” he said easily with a shrug. “You’re my heart and soul. My lifeline.”

“Okay –”

“My never-ending fairytale.”

“I get it,” he said, trying not to smile.

“My hunky alien hubby.”

“I’m going!”

Alex was still calling adoring nicknames after him as he entered the living room, shaking his head and fighting his own laugh, when he saw Kyle sorting through the DVDs, and he sighed, all joy in the world gone.

“Alex said I can pick what movie we’re watching.”

“Oh?” Kyle said without turning around. “Is that what it took to get you to stop moping?”

Michael mimicked him with a much whinier voice, and Kyle slowly looked over his shoulder at him. “Real mature there, cowboy.”

Michael mimicked that too, and snatched the DVDs out of Kyle’s hands.

“We should watch A New Hope,” Kyle said.

“Should we?” Michael said innocently. “Too bad I’m picking then, huh?”

Kyle shook his head, eyes shut like he was making a gallant effort not to throttle his best friend’s husband. “You know Alex’s leg has been killing him lately, and Star Wars makes him feel better.”

Michael softened. He hated when Kyle was right, he hated when Alex was in pain, but most of all, he hated that Kyle had brought it up at all when it should’ve been Michael who’d suggested it first.

“I was going to choose Star Wars anyway,” he sulked, and Kyle looked like he was counting to ten. Now that he was thinking of Alex’s leg though . . . “I’m going to give him his medication. It’s around that time anyway.”

“I can grab ‘em,” Kyle offered, “you get the movie started. Where are his painkillers?”

“How ‘bout I get my husband his painkillers, and you start the movie?”

“Just tell me where they are, Michael!”

Michael took his time setting the DVD player down and waltzing over to the little drawer beside the couch. He heard Kyle stand behind him, heard him sigh as he stretched, and then –

“What the hell are those?”

Michael raised a brow. “Alex’s painkillers?”

Kyle nudged Michael aside, picking up orange bottle after orange bottle. To Michael’s surprise, he was frowning.

“Why are there so many?”

Michael’s brows furrowed. “Because he’s in pain a lot?” When Kyle didn’t respond, instead checking every bottle and its expiration date, he faltered. “What’s wrong?”

“There shouldn’t be this many,” he murmured. “He doesn’t need more than one or two, I’m counting six here.” He shook his head, and Michael had the feeling he was talking to himself when he said, “What the hell’s he doing, taking all of these?”

“C’mon,” Michael chuckled, uncertain. “They’re probably all for different things –”

“Michael, I’m a doctor,” he reminded him. The fact that he was using Michael’s first name was a little more than concerning. “These are all the same prescriptions. He shouldn’t have this many.” He bit his lower lip as he examined the bottles again. “And we have a bigger problem.”

“Which is what?” Michael scanned the bottles again, trying to see what Kyle was seeing.

“They’ve all been opened,” he said grimly. “So –”

“He’s been taking all this medication at once,” Michael finished, and slumped to the ground. He picked up a bottle, examining it. He’d handed Alex these pills himself, and often. He’d never given the number of bottles a second thought. “What the hell?”

“Okay,” a voice sounded inside, and Alex came walking out with a tray of popcorn, pretzels, sandwiches, and chips. “What’re we watching?”

Michael had half a mind to hold up Alex’s bottle and demand an explanation, but Kyle was already shutting the drawer and pushing himself to his feet.

“A New Hope,” he cleared his throat, and smiled. “Your husband knows you better than I thought he did.”

“Really?” Alex smiled, excited. “Not gonna lie, I was hoping for Star Wars. Thanks, baby,” he kissed the top of Michael’s head. “I’m so lucky to have you.” He faltered at the look on Michael’s face. “Michael? What’s wrong?”

Michael opened his mouth to tell Alex what was wrong, to beg to know why he hadn’t told him how many pills he’d been taking, to look him up and down for injuries and make sure that medication hadn’t been leaving a permanent mark on him. But Kyle was standing right behind Alex, subtly shaking his head, and damn it all, he knew more about this stuff than Michael did. Something was clearly wrong with Alex, how could he not listen?

“I get to sit between you guys,” he finally said. “You’re not cuddling up to anybody else.”

Alex chuckled, relieved. “You got it, baby, I’ll cuddle up to you all night. Let me just get the drinks, and we can start the movie.”

He set the tray down on the coffee table and went inside. The second he was out of earshot, Michael demanded, “Why’d you stop me?”

“I’ve seen this before, okay?” Kyle said in a rushed whisper. “The second you confront someone about abusing their medication, they get defensive and start to lie. We have to know what’s really going on here, Guerin, we can’t risk Alex shutting us out, not on this.”

Michael swallowed, starting to get nervous. If Alex had a problem with pills, and he hadn’t noticed this whole time . . . if Alex had been slowly killing himself, and Michael had willingly put the damn things in his hands . . .

“Hey, hey,” Kyle put a hand on his shoulder, eyes intent. “It’s going to be okay, okay? Alex is the strongest person I know, I’m sure there’s more to this story. But whatever it is, we have to approach it carefully. For Alex.”

“For Alex,” he repeated, hands balled into fists and trying not to panic. Not until Alex was back in the living room with three bottles of beer, not until he was in Michael’s line of sight and smiling and seemingly fine did the knot of tension in Michael’s stomach loosen. He sat on the couch while Kyle took the armchair, and held out his arms.

“C’mere,” he said, and Alex complied easily, taking off his prosthetic and wincing despite himself.

Michael shouldn’t have said it, but he wanted to see how Alex would react. “You need your pills?”

Alex looked like he was going to say he did, but he glanced at Kyle and plastered a smile and shook his head. “N-No, I’m okay, I already had them,” and he curled up on Michael’s chest, hugging his waist tightly.

Michael looked to Kyle who met his eyes. See? Alex had known Kyle would spot the number of bottles and start asking questions, and he’d decided to hide the truth. Michael’s arms tightened around him.

“Baby?” Alex looked up with concern, his breath warm against Michael’s collarbone. “You’re shaking.”

Michael forced a chuckle. “I’m a little cold.”

“Oh, well just tell me,” Alex smiled and unfolded the blanket they usually kept on the couch, covering them both. He tucked Michael in and snuggled in close to keep him as warm as possible. “Is that better?”

He nodded, kissing Alex’s brow. “Better. Thanks, baby.”

Satisfied, Alex settled and went back to watching the movie. As the opening credits rolled in, Michael shared another look with Kyle. Kyle seemed to think it was a good thing that Alex wasn’t looking for excuses to take more pills, and made a calming gesture with his hand to Michael.

Relax, he seemed to tell him. He has us here, I’m not going anywhere, just relax.

Michael swallowed and nodded, settling into the couch, his grip on Alex tight. He would relax for now, he would take it calmly, he would stay strong because Alex needed him. For Alex, he thought over and over, whenever dark thoughts threatened to take him away. For Alex.

***

Happy Malex Monday ❤️

[feelingpoorly]

Life lesson: avoid expired egg noodles

So I usually post whiny attention seeking shit like this on my insta bc even tho my kink does not apply to me at all, in some weird way complaining about how ill and knowing people would see it still kinda turns me on a little

But I figured what better place to whine about it here instead since, idk this is kinda what this blog is for

-

So we went to the shop last night and got a bunch of food from the reduced section. We do this fairly regularly cuz the expired food is so cheap and it’s usually fine if you eat it same day

Well I learnt my lesson lol. Amongst one of the things we got a couple packs of fresh egg noodles in some sauce. I didn’t really like them, but store bought is never gonna be as good as the real thing anyway right?

I was snacking on some cereal at like midnight, having eaten these noodles at like 7. I noticed that I was getting pretty severe stomach pain in the top of my stomach. It was weird and I didn’t really understand why. However I had taken some prescription painkillers earlier that day and although I take a different medication with them to try and stop this happening, they can have a habit of wrecking my stomach and giving me a tummy ache. I thought it was weird, since I definitely HAD remembered to take them with the other med this time, but whatever

Anyway I woke up this morning, we were going out to meet up with some of my partners friends for coffee. I immediately realised I felt bloated as hell, like painfully so. I figured it would pass once I was up and moving around.

It did not.

It pretty quickly progressed into pretty severe stomach cramps, to the point where every time I stood up, it would cramp so hard I couldn’t stop myself from kinda curling over and wincing. At that point I was starting to worry something was actually wrong and I wasn’t just a bit bloated.

I quite quickly started feeling pretty sick, and that’s panic territory for me, being emetophobic. I took a dissolvable anti sickness tablet, but the nausea combined with the horrible cramping made me feel very unwell. I really felt awful and sick and at that point I had to say to my partner, if I say I don’t feel well please can you just take me home. I didn’t know how I was gonna cope sitting in a coffee shop feeling like this. When the cramps hit I was in a lot of pain. Bearing in mind I live with chronic pain, I’m not a baby about pain, but this was the kind of pain that you just wince voluntarily and I couldn’t hide it.

Thankfully the anti sickness meds kicked in, and after sitting down for a while the nausea and the cramps settled down a bit to the point where I was no longer freaking out about being ill in public. I should probably add here that on the way there in the car, my stomach was making some really upset sounding deep rumbling gurgles. Like it didn’t sound good. The kinda gurgles that only come with being sick. I didn’t feel well enough to have a drink or anything to eat which probably looked a little suss. Later on a got just a bottle of lemonade hoping it would settle my stomach but when I sipped it, it just make it worse and my stomach started cramping again.

Skip to being home this evening, I’d thought the worse was over and I’d been feeling kinda ok. I had some light dinner, and what a fucking bad idea that was lol.

Im not having the intermittent intense cramps anymore but like, now my whole stomach feels bloated af again and I have like this sharp cramping pain kinda all over, both upper and lower stomach with just no relief. I’m so bloated my stomach is sticking out but there’s no relief from it at all. Holding my stomach helps but I feel so embarrassed so I’ve tried to hide it and only rub my tummy when my partner went to sleep.

What makes it worse, is that up until this point I had no idea what caused any of this. But when we got home, there was an absolutely rancid smell in the kitchen that smelt like off, rotting food. It was absolutely foul. It almost even smelt like vomit, and just smelling it made my nausea kick off all over again.

It was the leftover noodles. And let me tell you, they smelt pungent as FUCK. I literally ate those last night, and they smell that bad today? No wonder I’ve felt ill. I have that shit in my stomach. Even after my partner bagged up the leftovers, sealed it and put it in the bin, just the PLATE they were on is still emitting this foul smell, it’s just awful

Eating dinner was a bad choice, because now I just feel worse again. I don’t feel that sick anymore, probably because of the meds, but my stomach feels horrible again. I’m in so much pain, I can’t suck my tummy in at all with how sore and bloated and painful it is. I feel like an absolutely pathetic self indulgent lil bitch but I literally just went to make myself a hot water bottle to hold to my tummy as I try and sleep, because it hurts and this is not fun. I just want some relief, and currently nothing else is helping. As I’m lying here holding my tummy with one hand and holding the hot water bottle on it with the other, it’s gurgling and glugging really loudly sickly again and it just feels awful. I can literally feel it in my insides, and with the way it feels I just really hope it doesn’t all come back up again, probably still along with the undigested noodles from last night if the way I’m feeling is anything to go by 🥺

-

Anyway, I just came here to complain about it in way too much detail lmao. Hopefully someone enjoys my misery. As I said, although it’s embarrassing as hell, somehow the thought of other people knowing or being sympathetic etc is also kinda hot

If anyone wants to use my sorry ass as fic inspo then ofc you have my blessing lmao. In fact, if you do, PLEASE let me know as I’d love to read it haha

Anyway, off to moan quietly to myself and hold the hot water bottle on my aching tummy now x

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Run These Streets {4} || Street Racer!Bucky

Summary: You take it upon yourself to get Bucky out of his funk after receiving home detention for his racing. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, illegal racing, changing wound dressings WC: 2.5k

Bucky Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five

The local radio station was playing loudly in Bucky’s garage when you arrived. He didn’t even hear that you had pulled up until you turned the volume down and he smelt the food you had bought with you. “You need to rest babe.” 

Bucky winced as he stood up from the empty engine bay he was inspecting. He looked like he was about to argue but wisely closed his mouth when he saw the bandage on his side was turning red. “Fine.”

“Scrub up and come inside, I got your favourite.” You ordered as you teased the mouth watering bag in front of his face while walking past. 

“You are my favourite.” He called out as he watched you disappear into the house, your soft laugh drifting back.

The oil and grime was stubborn and by the time he had scrubbed his hands clean you had set the table and poured you both some homemade ice tea. You could see he was in pain as he gingerly lowered himself into the chair so you opened the cupboard that was littered with pill bottles and half empty first aid kits.

“How do you find anything here?” You mumbled as you looked at the labels and found most of them had expired years ago. “Honestly, I don’t even know how you survived on your own so long.”

“Luck mostly.” He chuckled before groaning. “I may have pushed it this time.”

“You think?” You shook your head as you carried a few rolls of gauze and painkillers. “Take these and lean back. Your bandage is soaked.”

You carefully took off the soiled bandage, trying not to hurt him anymore, and felt your stomach roll at the sight of the sutures that followed the line of his ribs. None of them looked torn but the wound was still bleeding so you wrapped it again with fresh gauze and checked he had swallowed the painkillers.

“You’re lucky you didn’t have to go back to the hospital.” You tutted. “Do you know what a pain in the ass it is having to get hold of your probation officer?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a timid smile, “that’s why you’re so great, because you take care of all that shit for me, and I love you for it.”

“Nice save.” You giggled as he sat up and kissed you before you took your seat. “What’s the damage?”

“I can save a few parts but she needs a new engine and most of the panels replacing but the chassis is straight so she’s not completely written off.” He muttered as he pushed his food around the plate. “It’s gonna cost a fortune that I don’t have.”

“I know how much that car meant to you.” You said softly as you placed your hand over his. “We’ll find a way to get her fixed.”

He wasn’t convinced as he chewed his lip. There weren’t many options left since he was on house arrest for illegal street racing that resulted in the crash. Even if he wanted a mainstream job he couldn’t leave his front yard and he doubted many people would hire him after the addition to his record.

“I’m going to go lay down for a bit.” He mumbled quietly after eating in silence.

You were about to offer to join him, even though it was far too early for you to be able to sleep all night, when your phones buzzed simultaneously.

Unknown Number: 14th and 3rd. Midnight.

Bucky’s phone was tossed away angrily and you sighed heavily as you got up to grab it, finding no new cracks on the screen. He had been in the hospital for the race the week before and you wondered if every Friday night would be this hard for him. The four month sentence suddenly seemed a whole lot harder, especially if he couldn’t have some connection to the racing scene.

Grabbing your laptop, you came up with an idea and worked quietly, tinkering with Bucky’s TV while he slept. When you were all set up you walked into his room you were surprised to find him wide awake, staring blankly at the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. 

“Babe, I have a surprise.” You whispered as you broke through his harsh self reflection he had been stuck in. “Two actually - though one you might not like.”

He frowned at that and sat up, his chest still shirtless despite the drop in temperature. “Yeah, doll? Why’s that?”

“Why don’t you come to the living room first.” You said as you offered your hand to help him stand, linking your fingers as you led him down the hallway. “I connected my laptop to the tv so that you can still watch the race tonight but, and this is the part you won’t like but hear me out, it's connected to our headcam.”

“So you’ll have to be there, racing, for me to watch.” He laughed humorlessly as he shook his head. “No way, doll, you’re not going out there without me.”

“It’s a win-win babe, you still get to watch what you love and we kinda need the prize money for those repairs.” You argued as you sat him on the couch and let him pull you to his side.

“Not if it means risking your life. The Camaro isn’t worth that.” 

“You know I can drive, just as good as you.” You said, taking a deep breath. “I’m doing this Bucky, with or without you…but I could really do with you having my back.”

You held out your headset that was already connected to the laptop and waited as he stared at it. You were about to give up when you saw him look away but with a heavy sigh of his own, he took the headset and placed it on his lap.

“No unnecessary risks, you hear me?” Bucky warned. “If you get a hint of any dodgy shit from the other drivers, you pull out. And, I will cut this ankle bracelet and steal a car to come find you if this connection cuts out for more than a second.”

“Deal.” You grinned as you jumped up. “I need to steal your tires real quick and head off.” 

“Take a breath.” Bucky caught you by the hand and kissed your knuckles. “Adrenaline makes for easy mistakes.”

“I know, I know. It’s just been years since I last had a proper race, I forgot how it feels.” You rambled as you tried to calm your mind. “Tell me I’m gonna win.”“I don’t have to.” Bucky chuckled, kissing the corner of your mouth with a smile. “Because you are gonna win.”

You were conscious of his injury so you carefully wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed the light beard that was growing out along his jawline. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He whispered against your lips. “Drive safe.”

Your Hellcat wasn’t meant for racing in the sense like Bucky’s Camaro. It wasn’t fit with a roll cage and the interior hadn’t been gutted out to lighten its tare weight but Bucky made sure the front seats had been fitted with harnessed bucket seats a long time ago. But the soup and nuts of the matter was that your Hellcat was fast and with your skills it was easily a strong contender. 

“Holy shit, it's been awhile since you brought her out.” Steve grinned when he saw you pull up at the 11th hour. “How’s our boy doing?”

You held up your helmet with the camera mounted on the top. “Ask him yourself. You can take Bucky away from the race but you can’t take the race away from Bucky.”

“I wanted to see the race, not his mug.” Bucky joked in your ear and from the indignation of Steve’s scoff could read his best friend's mind. 

“He’s talking about me isn’t he?”

“Maybe.” You winked. “I actually have a favour to ask.”

You hit the mute button on the helmet's microphone so you could talk to Steve and heard Bucky call out after a moment's silence. 

“Sorry, Buck, must have knocked it. I could still hear you.” You assured him as you imagined he began to pace the living room. “Time to get this show on the road.”

Steve walked around the other drivers before making his way back to you, a small nod giving you the go ahead to pull up to the spray painted starting line. 

“Do you still get nervous? I feel like my stomach is going to try to climb out of my throat.” You swallowed as you reached the line and focused on the woman removing her bra to flag the race start.

“Every damn time.” Bucky chuckled, easing some of the worry knotting your insides. “Concentrate, doll, finishing in one piece is what matters.”

“Yeah, about that…” 

You ran out of time as the woman waved her bra three times before letting it loose and you dropped the clutch and floored the gas. The front wheels lifted off the road as you launched forward and for a second all you saw was the reflection of lights glimmering off One World Trade Centre before you fell back down to earth. You gripped the wheel tighter as the suspension bounced and noticed there was a supercar to your left that was inching ahead of you, but the machine was made for drag races not taking corners which was exactly where you were heading.

“90 degree right turn coming up.” Bucky guided seriously. “You’re going into it pretty fast there.”

“Yup.” You confirmed much to his dismay as you pushed further, the last to start breaking heading into it. “I didn’t come here to lose, Barnes.”

You ripped the e-brake back as you turned, kicking the back out and drifting into the corner before anyone else. The others were quick on your heels but you had effectively put the supercar out of the running as it popped out of the corner in last place. 

“It’s been months since we tuned your ride.” Bucky growled as you raced along the straight, jumping red lights as the scream of your engine limited. “Take it down a notch.”

“Can’t do that babe.” You shook your head, his view on the tv screen shaking with the movement. “I didn’t have enough cash for the buy in.”

“Fuck.” Bucky swore as he fisted his hair in his hands. “Right turn then hard left.”

You eased off the accelerator for the back to back turns and your heart skipped a beat as you almost over-corrected coming out of the turns. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky asked as he watched the street fly past in a blurr, feeling like it was him in the driver's seat. “300 yards until you have a long left turn so don’t go in too tight.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed.” You admitted as you flicked your eyes to the GPS and saw the turn he was talking about, one that snaked under the highway. “We need to work on your terminology.”

“I’m not exactly used to being in this position, you’re much better at this job.” 

Headlights flashed in your wing mirrors as the Toyota Supra tried to take you on the straight with his lighter car. 

“Right back at you.” You murmured as you tried to keep your eyes on the road, on your competition and on the ECU diagnostics that had popped up with an alert. 

“Turn!”

Your eyes flashed away from the screen in the centre of the dashboard to see you had reached the left turn. You braked too much in a spike of panic before turning and clenched your fist tighter on the gear stick as you chopped down and tried to chase the Supra that made it past. The next two corners were a dog fight as you edged to close the gap and came neck and neck on the last straight. 

“I’m not losing to a fucking import.” You growled as you turned the nozzle for the NOS and watched the pressure engage. 

“That bottle hasn't been swapped since the roady to Boston.” 

You could practically taste Bucky’s fear, hear the anger at himself for not keeping your car in top shape but his was supposed to be the race car, not yours.

“You worry too much.” You said, stealing one of his favourite phrases. “It’s scary isn’t it, being on that end of the line.”

He grunted in agreement. “Does it get easier?”

“Nope, but I’ll always do it for you.” 

You saw the Supra boost forward and chuckled because your V8 cylinders were about to annihilate his inline 6. You pressed the release for the NOS and felt the increase in horsepower almost immediately, the front wheels threatening to lift off the ground with the surge. 

“You got this, doll.” Bucky all but shouted as he chewed his lip and froze in front of the wide screen tv. “You’ve got this.”

Your long hood inched past the Supra’s and you saw the driver smash his fist against the steering wheel before the finish line appeared not a moment too soon. Your triumphant laugh was echoed by Bucky’s cheers and you spun into a burn out at the end of the street where Steve waited with the other unofficial officiants of the street racing scene. 

“I love you!” You laughed as you tore off the helmet and kissed the camera.

“I love you too, now get your sexy ass home so we can celebrate properly.”

Steve was quick to work his way through the three race cars parked behind you and took the pink slips and keys from the angry losers before any got ideas of making a run for it, which wasn’t unheard of. He was grinning from ear to ear as he brought the winnings over and you knew it would go a long way into paying to repair Bucky’s Camaro as well as some of his legal fees.

“Thanks, Steve. I actually have one last favour to ask.” You said as he engulfed you in a hug.

“Anything for you.”

You were still riding your high as you drove to Bucky’s and parked outside, needing a moment to gather your thoughts and calm down after the rush of endorphins left your hands trembling. The moment only lasted a second before your door was pulled open and Bucky grinned proudly at you. 

“There’s my girl.”

“She’s got a surprise for you too.” You said as you unclipped the harness and stepped out to see three pairs of headlights coming down the street. Their engines purred across the quiet night and Bucky draped his arm over your shoulder as he watched them approach. “I didn’t have cash for the buy in.”

“You said.” He nodded. “So you used your car as collateral.”

“Kind of.” You smirked, seeing the Toyota, a Ferrari and a Camaro as few years older than Bucky’s park at the curb. “It was a race for pink slips.”

His jaw gaped wide as he stared at the cars, his friends climbing out of the drivers seats. “These are all yours?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No, baby, they're ours.”

Click here for part five.

[aimportantdragoncollector]

For the AFO dating questionnaire!

1. Green! Not the same shade as Yoichi (mine are lighter and sometimes look kinda grey in some lighting)

2. Yes, I'm not entirely sure about the human experimentation on me but I'd probably go through with it as long as I knew it wouldn't like kill me and I got proper painkillers

3. Sounds good, Yoichi is very cute both physically and personality wise so I wouldn't mind

4. Tracking devices, yes, hidden cameras, also yes. I also think that putting microphones on said child is a good idea when they get old enough to be susceptible to manipulation from outside forces

5. Totally! As long as I'm provided for financially and my husband comes home to see me and the kid every once in a while I'm happy

6. I say two children is good, one to keep Yoichi company while AFO is gone!

7. I'm very good at western meals and I know how to bake, I'm not very good with spice but I'd be willing to learn Japanese cooking if necessary

8. If it makes you feel emotions, PUT IT DOWN FOREVER

9. Nah, ties be used for murder attempts so best to keep them off

10. Demon king was well, an absolute king! He deserved to win and he had a wayyy more compelling arc than Captain Hero

11. Absolutely not! Family should be cherished at all times

12. Why not. Also I would want to keep Tenko

13. Really annoying, I would kick him in the balls if given the opportunity. The kind of man who deserves to have his stomach pulled out

14. MOST BLONDES ARE ABSOLUTE BASTARDS. SPIKEY BLONDS SPECIFICALLY. KEEP AWAY FROM FAMILY MEMBERS (and me) AT ALL COST.

15. Depends on the family, are your children incredibly rebellious? Then C. If not, B, just in case

16. 1 - only because I think the quirks it shows off are cool sometimes

17. B-C depending on the relationship of course

18. B, but instead of gently, we raise the kid so that this never happens in the first place by limiting their access to all Hero-society positive media

19. B! My baby is flawless and can do no wrong, obviously someone else is taking advantage of them and twisting their mind.

20. A

21. C (fuck that guy)

22. Depends on the quirk, most of the time I'm quirk positive

23. C, as long I get to join in :)

24. I think so? I like to wear lots of black in my everyday life anyway but I don't know if I'm good looking or not.

25. B, but if possible just make sure they don't die

26. I like his ambitious nature, that's always attractive, I also like how he's not afraid to go for what he wants. He's physically appealing and I think he would take good care of his hair which naturally appeals to my sensory issues. His massive connections in life are incredibly impressive, obviously he's hardworking and intelligent, which is again very attractive to me. I like suits and I also appreciate having an evil empire. I've always had a thing for villains and I personally think Hero Society should go off and die somewhere, so we have similar opinions on that! I also have a very cute baby brother, so I can understand why he would want to protect him from the world (and stupid blondes). Personally, I find AFO's most attractive qualities are his dedication to his family and his resilience, no matter what he doesn't abandon the ones he loves and that is, in my opinion, the best thing to look for in a potential partner. So in summary, AFO's many skills and great personality traits along with his connections in life, are very attractive to me as base level things, but I believe his Familial Core makes him the ideal partner.

What, you don't trust Dr. Garaki to experiment on you? Shocking! He has a medical license and it only expired a century ago.

All for One agrees that Yoichi is adorable and he seconds your idea to add microphones to children too. There's no such thing as too much security.

All for One promises that he'd always visit his family regularly but looking at some of my Dad for One AUs, I'm not sure I'd believe him. An immortal's sense of time is a bit off. However, if you know his secret identity then you can always show up at his workplace if he's too late for dinner.

Truly, you have the same beliefs as All for One on finishing stories, ties, and family values. How wonderful! Most of all, All for One appreciated your tirade about spikey-haired people, who definitely suck. When he takes over Japan, he will outlaw hair gel.

Your simping brought a tear to All for One's nonexistent eye. Finally, someone appreciates him for his devotion to family! Even most of his minions look at him funny when he starts talking about his brother. I'm sure you two will get along absolutely fabulously. All for One is eager to meet with you and trash All Might together. He has plans to talk you to Chojiro, one of the most famous sushi joints in Japan, to show you the joy of Japanese cooking. Then he'll take you to a Broadway play that you can not finish together. He'll pick you up for a date on Wednesday evening. Wear black.

[cuttoothed]

For the second day of @jonmartinweek, mostly for the prompt "injury", though also a little bit "love confession" (by omission).

Set directly after episode 92. Content warnings for mild descriptions of Jon’s canonical injuries (blood, burns).

*

Things are...tense, when they go back down to the Archives. Actually, “tense” is probably an understatement, after finding out that Elias murdered not only Gertrude Robinson, but also the unknown man in Document Storage—who as it turned out was none other than Juergen bloody Leitner.

A lot to take on board, all in all.

Basira seems to have accepted her new employment status with eerie calm, and starts setting up at Sasha’s old desk (oh god, Sasha’s dead, has been for months), fetching notebooks and folders from the stationery cupboard and arranging pens and highlighters in a desk tidy. Daisy is nowhere to be seen—thankfully, Martin thinks, because she was even scarier than usual in Elias’ office. Melanie storms off into the stacks and there are sounds of shouting and things hitting the floor, which Martin is in no hurry to investigate. Tim sits at his desk with his feet propped up for about five minutes, then stands up and says: “Fuck this, I’m off to the pub.” He doesn’t invite anyone else to go with him, and Martin thinks their presence probably wouldn’t be welcome.

Jon arrives in about half an hour later, smelling of fresh cigarette smoke. Normally Martin would disapprove, but the way things are right now he’s tempted to take up a few bad habits himself. Jon looks...exhausted, defeated, his shoulders slumped wearily. His clothes are smudged with dirt, and there’s drying blood crusted around the injury on his neck; the bandages on his hand are starting to slip, revealing the angry, raw burns beneath.

Martin’s not sure he’s ever been so happy to see someone in his life.

Jon gives him a small, tired smile as he passes, then heads into his office and shuts the door. Martin knows that no sane person would try to go straight back to work looking like they’d just been through a war zone and still with an open wound; he is also aware that Jonathan Sims is the sort of person to do precisely that. He hesitates for a few moments, then makes a decision.

He fetches the first aid kit from the break room, and goes and knocks on Jon’s door. It’s a firm knock, a knock that he hopes says “I’m coming in whether you like it or not”, because it’s not beyond Jon to try to avoid them all for an extended period.

“Come in,” Jon calls, and even his voice sounds exhausted. When he sees Martin enter the room, his expression softens in a way that’s difficult to parse. Is he just relieved that it isn’t one of the others? Or is he actually pleased that it’s Martin?

It’s been two months since Jon went into hiding while suspected of murder, and the last time Martin saw him he had been quite sure Jon was planning to—to hurt himself, somehow. Before that, though, there had been a time when they were...well, close, in a way. Jon had let his guard down around Martin, in the midst of being so suspicious and afraid. He had trusted Martin, when he didn’t trust anyone else, had eaten lunch with him and talked about boring, ordinary things, the tight set of his shoulders relaxing just a little. He had even laughed, sometimes. It had been, despite everything, one of the happier times in Martin’s life, and if that’s not pathetic he doesn’t know what is.

“Hi, Jon,” he says.

“Martin,” says Jon, his tone soft. “It’s so—ahh, how are you?”

“How am I? You’re the one with a bloody great gash in your neck and looking like you put your hand in a fire.” Martin brandishes the first aid kit. “You really should go to the hospital, but I know it would be a waste of my time suggesting it.”

“Thank you for bringing that,” Jon says. “I appreciate it. You can just leave it on the desk.”

“Nope,” Martin tells him cheerily, setting the kit down and opening it. “I know you, Jon. If I leave it with you it’ll still be sitting here untouched tomorrow. Plus, I got my first aid certification when I was working in the library. It’s probably expired now, but I think it still counts.”

Jon looks as if he’s about to protest, but then he huffs a breath that might be a laugh, and nods in concession.

“All right then,” he says.

Martin snaps on a pair of disposable gloves and directs Jon to sit on the desk and undo the top two buttons on his shirt, so Martin can examine the wound on his neck. It’s shallow, fortunately, and the bleeding seems to have already stopped. Martin cleans away the crusted blood as gently as he can, though Jon still winces a few times.

“What happened?” Martin asks, as he smears on antibiotic cream.

“Daisy. She, ah, she decided that I was dangerous. Needed to be dealt with. Fortunately Basira was able to convince her otherwise.”

“Bloody hell,” Martin mutters. He’s not sure why he’s surprised; he’s always felt afraid around Daisy, like a rabbit being in the same room with a fox. But he just sort of assumed it was typical Martin fear of, well, everything. He never thought Daisy would actually hurt any of them. He applies a bandage carefully over the wound, and then turns his attention to Jon’s hand. Unwrapping the bandages reveals the red, blistered mess beneath, and Martin hisses in sympathy.

“Please tell me you went to the hospital for this.”

“I went to a walk-in clinic,” Jon says. “They cleaned it up, gave me some antibiotics and painkillers. They, uh, they did recommend I see my GP for follow up monitoring, and that I should get a referral to a physiotherapist, but, well, it’s been a busy few days.”

“Jon,” Martin sighs, exasperated, and Jon smiles a bit shakily.

“I know,” he says. “I will go to a GP, I promise. It’s just a bit tricky when you’re wanted for murder. Anyway, it seems to be healing rather well, all things considered.”

Martin considers whether to apply antibiotic cream, but the skin doesn’t seem to be broken, and he knows it’s best not to touch the area more than needed. Instead, he rewraps it with clean, dry bandages, being sure to keep them loose.

“How did this happen?” he asks, to distract himself from the fact that he is, technically, holding Jon’s hand. Jon gives a self-deprecating laugh.

“I, uh, I was trying to get information from a devotee of the Lightless Flame. This was her price.”

“The Lightless Flame? That cult—from the statements?”

“The same. As it turns out, a—a lot of things from the statements are real. Unpleasantly so.”

“I—yeah, I sort of figured that out when Tim and I got trapped in these weird corridors for days by that Michael...thing.”

Jon’s face blanches, his brows furrowing.

“You—god, Martin, I didn’t know. Are you—I mean, you’re okay, obviously, but— Have you seen Michael since?”

“No, and I hope I don’t.” Martin feels faintly nauseous at the memory. He doesn’t realize his hands are trembling slightly until the fingers of Jon’s hand, the unburned one, touch his wrist.

“I’m so sorry, Martin,” he says. “When I realized a-about Sasha, about that thing, I hoped I could take care of it myself, spare you and Tim. I never wanted to drag you into all this.”

“I don’t think there’s much avoiding it,” Martin mutters miserably. “And you didn’t seem to mind dragging Melanie into it, while you were on the lam.”

“I shouldn’t have asked her for help either. It wasn’t fair to put any of you in the position of aiding a suspected murderer.”

“I never believed you did it,” Martin tells him fiercely. “It just would have been nice to know you were okay, you know?”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I—I wanted to contact you, but it seemed too risky. I knew the police would be watching you, since we’re friends. Or—or at least friendly.”

Everyone I’ve talked to says you and him were close. Martin had been ridiculously pleased by the accusation at the time, and he feels the same now, with Jon’s injured hand cradled in both of his. Jon trusts Martin with his wounds, his vulnerability. Jon wanted to contact him; Jon thinks they’re friends.

“I—” Martin starts to say, and he doesn’t know if his next words will be I missed you or I worry about you or some humiliating romantic confession blurted out and impossible to take back. He draws a deep breath, and instead says: “I’m glad you’re back, and that you’re okay. I don’t have that many friends, I can’t afford to lose one.”

He says it like a joke, and mercifully, Jon takes it as one, and gives a relieved laugh. Martin realizes he’s long since finished bandaging the burn and is now just sort of...holding Jon’s hand; he releases it, reluctantly, and Jon smiles, lifting his other hand to touch the bandage on his throat.

“Thank you, Martin,” he says, hopping down from the desk. “I appreciate it, really.”

“As a token of your appreciation, you can go ahead and make a doctor’s appointment for that hand,” says Martin firmly, closing up the first aid kit.

“I will,” Jon says solemnly, and Martin believes him, but he’s also going to check in and remind him at the end of the day because Jon has a tendency to forget about trivial things like his own wellbeing. It’s just who he is, and Martin’s made his peace with it, like he’s made his peace with being utterly, hopelessly gone for Jonathan Sims.

“I was going to make some tea, if you fancy,” he says as he opens the door. “You look like you could use a cup.”

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Oh, and Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad I’m back as well. I—” Jon hesitates a moment, then says: “I missed your tea.”

It’s not much of a declaration, but Martin understands what Jon means by it; for the two of them, it means a lot.

[yangrdn]

cough cough

pairing: peter parker x gn!reader, non-superhero AU

a/n: this is my entry for @worldoftom's lolbrosgetsicktoo challenge! i loved writing sick!peter, it was v v cute. also, whilst writing this i'm sick, also a cold and my throat hurt until three days a go for three weeks straight. writing this was basically me wanting to have a peter to look after me, so i put him in my position. feedback is really appreciated and i hope you enjoy reading this <3

ps: i put the prompt at the end bc i assumed it'd spoil a little of the story if i put it at the start. so if you want to know the prompt first, just scroll down.

summary: peter gets a sore throat.

w/c: 3.8k

warnings: mentions of vomiting, description of taking painkillers, sick and whiny peter

my m.list

request | my taglist

there are a lot of things peter’s good at. he nails every test that is thrown at him. if you asked him a question about physics, he’d give you the right answer right away. basically, peter’s smart. like, really smart. now, there’s always that one thing he is not smart enough for and needs your help for.

taking care of his body.

with that, he could get all the help possible, and would still fail. may already tried her best, telling him to zip his jacket when going out and it’s raining. or you’d tell him how he should’ve stayed at home instead of riding his bike to your apartment right after taking a shower. he had worn only a shirt and a pair of jeans, saying it was hot and that the sun was out.

you, on the other hand, were just pissed your boyfriend had risked getting sick again, because you know you’ll have to take care of him. not because may told you to, nope. peter just didn't let anyone come near him when sick, besides you. although it does make you question whether he does it because he wants you close, even when he feels like melting because of his fever, or that he wants you to get sick, too.

and now, here you are. walking to peter’s flat after may called you and informed you about your “over dramatic” boyfriend. he was asking for you the whole day, and wouldn't let her sit down for even a minute, she said to you on the phone after you agreed to come over. you feel bad for her. She was up everyday, working her ass off, only to come home to Peter complaining about his pain. Taking care of him so she could at least get a day off from a whining Peter was the least you can do right now.

You knock on the door twice and start taking off your shoes. It wasn’t raining, but you don’t want to enter the flat with dirty shoes and leave more work when you leave. May opens the door, a tired smile across her face and a relieved sigh leaving her lips when she notices it’s you standing there.

“Hi, May,” you smile at her and give her a side hug, already peeking behind her and seeing two empty boxes of tissues. You frown and pull back as you enter the room.

“He won’t shut up about his throat. His voice is nearly gone, so he won’t be able to talk that much,” she informs you and closes the door behind you as you make your way to Peter’s room. You nod and turn around.

“It’s okay, I’ll make sure he gets enough sleep anyways,” you tell her. May silently thanks you with two thumbs up as she walks slowly to her room, closing the door quietly.

You knock on Peter’s door softly, not wanting to barg in if he’s doing something or wake him up. When you get no response, you open the door and step in. The room is dark, the only light coming in from the sun shines shining through the blinds. On Peter’s desk, books are piled up and you assume those are all for his missing assignments. A pout forms on your lips as you realize he’ll need to do all his missing work for school once he feels better. You make a mental note to help him as you roll up the blinds, only enough to illuminate the room more. When your eyes cast on the brown haired boy laid on the bed, the pout is quickly replaced by a soft smile.

Peter’s laying on his bed, blanket draped over his body and only covering his hips and left leg, soft snores leaving his lips. He’s only wearing a pair of boxers, his chest glistening with sweat. Your eyes widen as you walk closer to him, placing your palm on his forehead. A quiet gasp leaves your lips once you feel how hot his forehead is. He stirs awake slowly, only moving his head away from your palm and whining. You try to stifle a laugh and make the thin blue blanket cover at least half his body. His eyes open, blinking rapidly as he adjusts to the new light.

“Ugh,” he groans and hides his face behind his hands. Peter’s head is spinning, his eyes only adding more pain when he opens them. You sit on the bed, making sure not to touch him and hand him the glass of water on his nightstand. After revealing his face, he sits up slowly and takes the glass. Drowning it in slow and painful gulps, Peter lets out a hiss after setting the glass back down on the nightstand.

Now that he’s fully awake, you take a second to examine his sick state. His cheeks are rosy, you can basically see that the poor boy is burning up. His head is leaned back against the cool wall and his eyes squeezed shut due to his headache.

“I’m in so fucking much pain,” he whines and opens one eye, squinting and looking at you. You sigh, taking note of the crack in his voice. May wasn’t lying when she said he had a hard time talking.

“May told me. Did you eat today?” He frowns and shuts his eyes again.

“No, I- I-,” he stops talking and coughs, hissing as he feels more pain in his throat. You take the water bottle next to him and quickly fill up the glass again, handing it to him. After another painful gulp, he continues.

“May made me soup, but I didn’t finish it,” he croaks out. You purse your lips and nod.

“You lay back down. I’ll get you some painkillers, make you tea and then come back here, ok?” He nods and opens his mouth.

“Ah, ah ah, no talking for you. I see the pain you’re in right now. I’d tell you I told you so when you came over, wet and only with a t-shirt, but then you’d start arguing.” With that, you leave his room and make sure to leave the door open behind you, enough to hear Peter in case he calls for you. You make your way to the open kitchen and take out the water heater, a bag of camomile tea from the cabinet and let the water boil. While it’s boiling, you search through the other cabinets for painkillers, until you find a packet of Ibuprofen. After checking and making sure it’s not past its expiration date and that Peter’s old enough to take it, you place it on the counter and take out a teacup, throwing the tea bag in and waiting for the water to end. After a minute, you slowly fill the cup, careful not to burn yourself. You take the painkillers, turn around and walk back to Peter, balancing the full tea cup in your left hand as you softly blow in it. It should be hot, but not too hot for Peter to burn himself when drinking.

You shove the door open with your foot and step in, placing the cup on Peter’s nightstand. He was already waiting for you, glass filled with water in hand and eyes narrowed at the door.

“Take these,” you whisper, handing him the painkillers and sitting on the side of his bed, only close enough for your thigh to be touching his hip. He plops a pill in his mouth, gulping it down and shaking his head.

“I can’t even swallow pills,” he groans. You lift your hand up, caressing the side of his face with your palm. A content sigh leaves his lips as you let your thumb gently caress his cheekbone. Pecking his lips softly, you ask.

“Do you want to sleep? I can close the blinds again and-” He shakes his head and takes your hand in his. “Can we watch a movie?” He whispers. You nod and help him move to the side on his bed. He takes the blanket with him, lifting it up and patting the empty side next to him.

You shake your head. “You’ll lay on me. I don’t want to put my whole body on you.”

“What,” A soft laugh escapes your lips. “I’m always the one laying on you. Let me take care of you,” Peter’s about to complain, but you’re already comfortably on the bed and patting your lap.

“Next time you-” You shush him, pulling the blanket over the two of you and grab the laptop sitting on his nightstand. He chooses a movie and places the laptop in front of you two.

“You’re lucky we have no school tomorrow. Else you’d be drowning in work,” you whisper into his hair. He sighs and glances at the pile of sheets and books on his desk.

“Already happening.” You giggle at his statement and turn your eyes back to the movie playing.

Midst watching the movie, Peter fell asleep on your lap and started snoring. A small smile displays on your face, watching your boyfriend lay comfortably with you and feel safe. You start running your hand through his hair as he stirs in his sleep, face squished against your stomach.

When he wakes up, he starts groaning and raising his head to look at you. You grin at him and peck his lips.

“Sleep good?” He shakes his head and lets it fall back on your stomach, nuzzling his nose against the fabric covering it and letting out a content sigh.

“I’m still in pain, but I guess it’ll get better later,” he says, his voice muffled. You nod and purse your lips, thinking.

“Wait, Peter.” He frowns at your worried tone and looks up at you again.

“Didn’t we buy those tickets for the concert tomorrow?” You nod to his desk. His head turns to the side you’re looking at, eyes widening and staring back at you.

“Shit, you’re right. Fuck I’m-” he starts and lowers his gaze to your lap,” I’m sorry we can’t go to the concert tomorrow because of me. I know how much you like-” You quickly shut him up by cupping his face in your hands, pouting and shaking your head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, babe. You’re sick and I want to take care of you. We can repeat this another time,” you say gently, staring into his eyes as the frown on his face deepens.

“But you always said how excited you were for this” he protests.

“I am, yeah, but I’d rather stay at home with you than going there alone and letting my boyfriend here. Or worse, dragging you with me,” you tell him. You see the corners of his lips pick up and feel your own eyes lit up as he tries to hide his smile.

“You don’t want me to go!” A dramatic gasp leaves your mouth and you throw your head back.

“What- no! I just- I like it when…” he trails off and leaves you silent. You stare back at him, raising a brow and waiting for his answer. “I said that I just want to spend time with you and I’m kind of happy you’re staying here,” he whispers.

You grin and pull his face closer to yours, noses almost touching.

“You’re so in love with me,” He rolls his eyes and pushes you back, not before kissing the palm of your hand. “Yeah yeah I am. Am I not allowed to?”

You smirk and drape your arm over him as he shuffles closer to you.

~

A week later, Peter’s still sick. Or at least, that’s what aunt May told you. He didn’t leave his bed for hours and you slowly started to worry whether to take him to the doctors or not. You noticed the dark circles under his eyes from hours of studying and doing assignments that were already due last week. Why would he stay up at night, if he was sick? It’s what made you think whether he’s really faking it. He wouldn’t fake being sick and stay up the whole night, right?

“Y/N, did Peter tell you when he’ll come back?” Your head snaps up to the teacher talking to you, frowning and shaking your head.

“He didn’t. He’s been really sick for a little more than a week now, I don’t think he’ll come back this week yet.” The teacher nods and carries on with the class, taking a pen and starting to write something into a brown book.

You feel a light tap on your shoulder and turn around, being greeted with Ned’s worried expression.

“You sure he’s alright? He didn’t text me either,” he checks.

“He did throw up like three times last week,” you trail off, thinking about how your boyfriend called you three times from Tuesday to Wednesday, telling you he threw up and asking if you could come over.

“I’ll go to his later anyways, should I tell him to talk to you?” Ned only nods, lowering his eyes back to the paper in front of him and starting to write down his answers quickly.

~

You knock on Peter’s door after May let you in. She was in a hurry, talking about having a job interview in twenty minutes and being late as she left you in the living room, closing the door to the bathroom behind her.

There’s a faint “yeah” when you open the door, looking through the crack into his room and staring at the figure hunched up under blankets. Your eyes soften as you step into the room, closing the door silently. The blinds are up, different from the other day. His room also looks cleaner. He must’ve cleaned up the pile of clothes that was there last week and tidied his desk. You frown as you look at his bed. Yesterday he told you his head hurt too much and that he felt dizzy when standing up. Must’ve been May, probably, you shrug and walk closer to his bed, sitting down at the end of it.

“Hey,” His voice startles you. There isn’t a crack in it anymore and his eyes don’t squint as much at the bright lighting in his room as they did the last time you were here. You hum and lean back on your arms.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Pretty good.” He peaks up from under the blanket, smiling at you. His eyes widen when he realizes what he just said and starts coughing. You frown and sit up straight, arm stretched out ready to grab the glass of water next to him.

“Uh, compared to last week. Yes, pretty good compared to last week,” he adds quickly and hides back under the blanket. You giggle and shuffle closer to his form, running your hand through his locks under the blanket and earning a sigh from him. He likes it when you touch him, whether it’s hugging, running your hand through his hair, or when you’d cling into his biceps as the headboard hit against the wall repeatedly. There is always physical touch between the two of you.

“Do you want to drink something? I’ll go make you another tea,” you propose and stand up, leaving his bed. He nods and smiles at you. You leave the room and walk into the kitchen. This time, you close the door to his room completely. He’s feeling much better than last week, but also acting suspicious. Peter wouldn’t skip school and act sick. It 's not like him. Like, at all. Right?

The door to his room is closed, so the first thing Peter decides to do when you leave is jump out the bed and walk to his desk, taking his phone and getting back into his comfortable bed. He makes sure you can't hear any frantic steps or movements.

After you left Peter's room the first night he asked you to stay, he started to like the attention you were giving him. It's not that you don't pay attention to your boyfriend. In fact, Peter may be in the center of your attention and you his. You two make sure to show each other the love you feel and that you care.

It's just that with your busy schedules and upcoming exams, spending time together wasn't your top priority anymore. He misses the days when you'd go to Delmar's with him after school, instead of instantly leaving because of an essay that was due that same week. So he decided to do what he does, in his opinion, best. Lie. Act sick.

He did feel bad when he first started coughing every time May was around and she worried for him, but at some point he realized staying at home a little longer wasn’t that bad and he could use some time away from school. Although he could’ve just told May he was in pressure and wanted to stay home for a couple of days, he’d rather use this option.

Peter suits himself in his bed and turns on the phone, already flooded by texts from Mj and Ned telling him the homework they got for today and texts from Ned asking where he was at, and why he stays home for this long. He stifles a laugh at the memes Ned sent into the group chat and glances to the door at the muffled steps he heard. When he’s sure there isn’t anyone close to his room, he returns his eyes to the screen of his phone.

You’re on the other side of the door, side of your face pressed against the door and holding in your breath to not get noticed. You heard a laugh when you were in the kitchen. You left Peter laying in his bed, he was too dizzy to get up and grab his phone. You raise a brow and lean closer to the door, daring to press down the doorknob and silently stepping in, halting in the open doorway with your hand on your hip and an expectant expression.

Peter is sitting up on his bed, covers long forgotten on the end of it and phone in hand. He’s laughing at something playing on his screen, not noticing you standing in the room yet. You click your tongue, pursing your lips and waiting for your presence to be noticed. When your boyfriend throws his head back, letting out another loud laugh, you decide to let him know you’re there.

“oh, ok. so i see you’re better?” you quirk a brow, smirking. his eyes widen and his head snaps to you, watching you through plate-wide eyes. he sucks in a breath and puts his lip in a thin line.

“uhm, you’re back?” he croaks out. a nervous giggle leaves his lips and he shrugs with a smile plastered on his face, biting his bottom lip. “i- i feel better,” you roll your eyes and place the cup of tea on his desk, making him frown.

“you didn’t really think i’d place it next to you? i see you’re better, go get it yourself.” he opens his mouth, only to shut it again. it was true, he looks and feels much better than last week. and peter knows he’s back to his healthy state, he just kept it from you. which is why he’s shocked at first, then frowns and groans.

“come on! yes i feel better, but can you give me the cup?” he asks. you shake your head, balancing your weight on one leg, jutting your hip out. oh, peter knows that look on your face. you’re not happy. not utterly disappointed, but you don’t seem the happiest either.

“no way you made me and may care for you for a whole week straight, when you didn’t feel sick!” you throw your hands up in the air, letting out an annoyed huff. he whines at you in a clearly irritated state and juts out his lip, trying to look as sad as possible.

“no, don’t pull that face on me. i’m pissed off,” you mutter as you walk to him, sitting down on his bed with your back to his figure. “please? i’m sorry i lied,” he starts. you frown, turning around.

“why did you, in the first place. you now have much more work to do. oh, and have fun explaining may why you lied about being sick. she stayed up with you at night, hell, i went to sleep at three for you! peter, we had school at seven!” you cry out.

the boy on the bed with you just shrugs, not exactly knowing what to say next.

“i guess i liked the attention i got.” you huff and take a glance at him. when he stays serious, you turn your whole body to him. “you liked the attention i gave you?” you ask in disbelief. he slowly nods.

“do i not give you attention?” you worry. he quickly shakes his head, arms out to reach for your hands. “no! you do, it’s just, with school and everything,...” he trails off. you nod and squeeze his hand, demanding for him to look up at your face.

“i know we don’t spend as much time together as we used to, anymore. but peter, you know i’m in so much pressure because of school! besides, don’t you have to focus on school, too? and may also told you you should look for an internship because you didn’t get one last year,” you reason. he lets go off your hand, clearly not amused.

“i told her i don’t want one. what will it do?” “uh, look good on your college applications?” you say, as if it was the most obvious thing on earth. he chuckles.

“besides that. i’ll find one, i just want to spend time with you for now,” he says softly as he scoots closer to your warm body. you put your arms around him, laying your head on his placed on your chest.

“i do too, pete. but i promise that in,” you stop and cran your neck to look behind you at the calender he’s got hung on the wall, “in five weeks we’ll be able to cuddle and watch movies like we did before again. now, we need to focus on school and you on your missed assignments,” you sigh. you feel him tense under you.

“what?! five weeks!” you smirk against his hair and squeeze him tighter.

“i was joking! two actually. but, until then, you’re stuck with me anyway studying so it won’t be that big of a problem if i stay away from you for one day,” you laugh and kiss his temple. he nuzzles into your chest, inhaling in your sent and sighing. “as long as we spend that time together, i don’t care how long it is until we finish all exams,” he whispers against you.

Prompt: Non-Superhero AU. Peter gets a sore throat! Which is very ill-timed, because him and the reader had plans to go to a concert, but they ditched in favor of the reader taking care of Peter. Days pass by and Peter is still "sick". Spoiler, he's just faking it at this point because he's enjoying the extra attention he's getting from his partner.

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[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts

Part 8:

It’s a sunday evening, and you’re kicking your feet up. The television is on low, and your apartment smells like the food you’d had for dinner earlier. All things considered, it’s the most relaxing day off you could’ve asked for. You’d slept in, stayed in, and not got off your couch for anything more than food or a bathroom break. It was perfection.

But perfection expires. Even quicker when somebody forcefully shatters it with a fist against your balcony door.

At the sight of Bakugou, you can’t help but be confused. You’d seen him last just a few nights ago, and, as he already proved, he only came around as a last resort. But, even stranger that his mere presence was his appearance. It was nearing evening, and Bakugou was standing behind the glass in civilian clothes. Normal ones, with a scarf and a coat for once- no hero costume or gauntlets in sight. He had a shopping bag held in the other hand, crinkling the plastic with impatience as you open the door for him. 

“Back again so soon?” You comment.

“Shut up.”

“You could try a hello once in awhile, you know.” You sigh, sliding the door open wider for him. “But I guess I’ll let you in. It is pretty cold out.”

“It’s not cold, you’re just a bitch-”

“Ah!” You scold, spinning around to face his smirk. “What did I say about calling women, and me, that?”

“Don’t know.” He shrugs, mouth drawn up in that way you’d quickly come to realize irritated the hell out of you. “Wasn’t listenin’.”

Bakugou brushes past you easily, somehow leading you into your own kitchen. A part of you wants to yell at him for it, but a larger part quickly realizes how much of a lost cause that would be. After all, it would be pretty pointless to yell at a wild animal for acting like a wild animal. 

Swinging from his hand is a plastic bag, and with no ceremony whatsoever, Bakugou slams it onto your counter. The sound makes you cringe and you’re not sure what takes more damage- the contents of the bag or your own countertop. Then he turns his back, stepping away without a word. He takes a seat at your table, flipping the chair backwards, settling into it, and resting his chin on his hands- and says nothing, of course, because it’s Bakugou. 

“So- what, you’re just gonna leave your stuff there?” You ask, fighting the urge to look inside the bag. “Just, like, out on the counter?”

Bakugou must see your eagerness, because then he’s rolling his eyes. He lifts his head like the gesture pains him, and points loosely towards the bag. 

“Go. Look.” He says. “Knock yourself out, leech. ‘s for you.”

“You bought me something?”

“Yeah? And? What about it?” He bites out defensively. “’s not a big fuckin’ deal or anything.”

“Nothing- I- that’s just nice, I wasn’t expecting it. Thank you.”

He seems to fluster at your words, casting his eyes to the floor. But he waves his hand again, and you realize he’s waiting for you to open the gift, so you near the counter.

 Inside the bag are new dish rags and high-quality bandages and a mountain of cold compresses. You dig a little further, finding some tissues and gauze and even painkillers. He seems to have accounted for and replaced everything you’d ever given him- and then some. 

“I- this is really nice. Really.” You say earnestly, unpacking everything and setting it down on the counter. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

“Yeah. Whatever. Only did it so you don’t think I owe you anything.”

“I never thought you owed me anything in the first place, you know.”

He just shakes his head at that, mouth curling around a subtle smirk. “Only an idiot serves people for free.”

“I don’t- I’m helping you!”

“I know, chill the hell out.” He laughs. “I was kidding, leech.”

You look at him, and Bakugou looks a lot different that you’ve ever seen him. He’s refreshed, skin no longer pallid, his eyes bright and alert. It’s nice, you realize, to see him in something other than pain, absolute exhaustion, or a mood for once.

He almost beautiful- in very much the same way his explosions are. From an incredibly healthy distance.

You shake your head of the thought, turning around quickly before he can notice the heat in your cheeks. It’s a silly thing to be embarrassed about, and you know it, but that doesn’t stop the feeling. 

So instead of dwelling on it, you ignore it entirely- spin on your heels and start walking towards your bathroom. 

“Where’re ya going now?” He asks, and you hear the chair squeak as he stands. Then he’s trailing behind you for a few steps. “Hah?”

“Bathroom. Gotta get the kit so I can put all the new stuff in it!”

“Well don’t sound so fuckin’ happy about it.”

“I am happy!” You call over your shoulder.

Truthfully, you’re actually little unsure- almost assuming there must be some sort of catch to Bakugou’s gift. Sure it’d be a normal gesture from anyone else, but this was him. He didn’t just do nice things regardless of whatever reason he claimed.

You grab the medkit, striding back out to find him leaning against your counter. His eyes follow you, focused and intent as you start packing the new things away. It’s a little intense honestly- you almost start to wonder if Bakugou even knows how to blink.

“Wow- this is the exact brand I like and everything.” You smile at him, tucking all the bandages away neatly. “How’d you know?”

“Noticed.”

“You noticed?”

“The packaging, idiot. ‘s not hard.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe not. But I didn’t expect you’d notice it while you were injured is all- oh, and speaking of, good job! Showing up here, not bleeding out and exhausted, I mean. It’s nice to see you not on the brink of death.”

“Yeah- just means you shouldn’t piss me off. I’ll kill ya for sure this time, leech.” 

His tone is a little weird- a little too light, almost teasing. It’s not until you look up at him that you notice- he’s joking. Bakugou Katsuki is making a joke, in your kitchen, and somehow smiling with very little argument beforehand. A part of you is sure that hell must’ve frozen over.

Still, you smile right back, rolling your eyes at him playfully. “Mhm, I get it.” You say. “You’re totally scary and mean. No need to threaten me any more with it.”

Bakugou just nods, seemingly very satisfied with your comment. You wonder if he knows you were being sarcastic, but knowing his ego, you’re not sure it even mattered anyway. You chose to say the words at all, and that was your worst mistake. 

You finish putting away all the medical supplies into your kit, organizing it neatly within the compartments. Bakugou watches you intently the entire time, not really moving much aside from taking his previous seat back on your kitchen chair. It’s a silent for a while, nothing but your little shuffling sounds and his quiet breathing- until he clears his throat, sighing and slumping forward against the back of your kitchen chair.

“You going shopping again soon?” He suddenly asks, voice pinched and terse. Like even bringing the subject up at all irritates him. “Gonna be out even later or whatever?” 

“I mean- yeah, some time in the next few days? Why?”

“Don’t.”

His tone is clipped- short and harsh like every other word he’d ever spoken to you, but his expression has shifted. There’s no pretense or tough act to follow his command. No front whatsoever. 

“That’s- that’s not really something you get to decide.” You finish unsurely. Something about him is making you nervous- the intensity over something so seemingly trivial. “Why’re you even asking?”

Bakugou straightens in the chair, dropping his arms from over the back. He rolls his shoulders, puffing out his chest with authority. “It doesn’t matter why I’m fuckin’ asking. Just do what I say and stay inside.”

“How many times have I told you this, you don’t get to make orders-”

“It’s not orders.” Bakugou sneers, mimicking your voice. Then he drops the posturing, tilting his head as his voice colors condescending. “I’m saying it’s dangerous, idiot. Quit being so goddamn stubborn.”

“I’m not.” You scrunch your nose at the insult. “And dangerous? Really? I’ve literally never been attacked, not once, in the entire years I’ve lived here. If it’s concern, I appreciate it, but I’m fairly confident I’m fine.”

“It’s- you even listenin’ to me?” He sneers. “I’m warning you. Tellin’ ya not to go out and do something stupid just to prove a stupid fuckin’ point. I’m serious about it- don’t.”

His tone strikes you as odd. Bakugou wasn’t the type to ask for anything. He didn’t bow to anyone or anything, but in that moment you could’ve sworn he was pleading with you. Like he knew something you didn’t. You start to realize you were right earlier, about the way his gift had a catch.

“Bakugou. Did you see something? Like, around here or-”

“No. Not yet.”

You want to tear your hair out. Once again, it seemed Bakugou had you pulling teeth with him, even though he was the one who showed up at your apartment in the first place. 

“Not yet? What does that even-” You sigh in frustration. “Look, if you know something, and that something is dangerous, then you need to tell me.”

Bakugou’s entire face to seems to scrunch up at that, but then he’s dragging a hand down his face and smoothing his features. When he looks up at you again, you can see the way his eye twitches. The way his jaw ticks when he leans forward.

“I can’t.” He growls, running a hand through his unruly hair. “If I could just fuckin’ tell you I would, but it’s not that goddamn easy. Even knowing in the first place is how they- just, just fuckin’ listen to me about this!” 

Bakugou tilts his head, catching your eyes with his hardened stare. His eyes are solid again, like strengthened steel as he looks at you. It’s almost harder to keep his gaze than it is to even try and look away.

It’s yet another stare off, and up until now, you’d won every match. You had seen him at his worst, had forced him to relent even if it was through brute force- but this didn’t seem like those other times. Between his clenched fists and merciless stare, it didn’t seem like surrender was even part of his vocabulary. 

In that moment, Bakugou was serious. More serious than you’d ever seen him before.  

“Yeah. Okay.” You say, nodding. “I got it- but I’m not sure what you want me to do exactly? My shift’s graveyard, so if the problem is it being dark and late, then I’m not sure what to tell you.”

Bakugou nods, but he doesn’t look exceptionally thrilled. He rolls his lips together, thinking for a moment, before he speaks. “Same time every night?”

“Yeah? Most nights?”

“Then it’s fine.” He nods once more to himself, shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’ll be there.” 

You look at him a little funny, squinting in absolute disbelief, but it doesn’t matter. Bakugou’s already made up his mind it seems. 

“What- like every night?” You ask. “You’re just gonna walk me home, every night?” 

“Got a fuckin’ problem with it or something?”

“No, but that’s- do you not have a job? I don’t- you really don’t need to go through all that trouble just to pay back whatever debt you think you owe me and-”

“Idiot.” He shakes his head, swearing under his breath. “This isn’t about a stupid debt, alright? It’s about your shitty quirk. And don’t start fuckin’ asking me to explain how, because I won’t, no matter how much you beg. Just believe me, and fuckin’ listen. For once.” 

You shrink back a little bit at that- your stomach dropping.

Your quirk? What the hell would your quirk have to do with anything? 

“Don’t give me that shit, woman. I already told you.” Bakugou gruffs suddenly. “‘m not saying anything else, so shut up about it alread-

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“Didn’t have to, leech, could see it in your beady eyes.” 

“Well excuse me for having a natural reaction!” You snap, squinting at him. “You can’t just walk in here, say something cryptic, tell me I’m in danger apparently, and then expect me to just be perfectly calm about it, alright? It’s not fair.”

To his credit, Bakugou does actually seem to mull over your words for a second. He huffs another breath, something exhausted and a little annoyed before he speaks again.

“Don’t go spiraling about it, leech. Nothing’s even fuckin’ wrong. Yet.” He gruffs. “All ‘m saying is that going out alone at night is a shitty idea, even for you, and you should stop doing it.”

“Okay. Fine. I guess. Even though it feels sorta backwards, I guess stuff like this is pretty much your job, huh?” You sigh. “But what did you mean earlier, about my quirk? What would it even have to do with anything? No one but you even really understands it.”

“Mhm, and we’re keepin’ it that way.” 

“That’s unreasonable. I can’t just, like, stop using it. It’s a huge portion of my job!”

“Tough.”

“Tough? Tough? Really? That’s all you have to say?” You huff in frustration. “It’s- Look, I can admit you probably have a point about the not going out at night thing, but I’m not just gonna stop using my quirk entirely and-” 

“When the fuck did I tell you to stop using it completely? I didn’t, so stop putting your words in my mouth, leech. What I said is you need to stop just fuckin’ usin’ it on everybody you see. Any idiot with half a brain cell could see how strong it is, alright?” He says. “So you need to figure out how to keep it to yourself. Stop drawing so much goddamn attention.”

“Drawing attent- Bakugou! I’m a nurse, alright? Not a celebrity. Not like you.” You huff, irritation coating your words. “I appreciate the concern, but I really, really, don’t think me doing my job, is gonna put me in danger! I hardly have control of it as it is, and I highly, highly, doubt my unimpressive skillset is gonna attract some crazy supervillain!” 

Bakugou just stares at you blankly while you rant, hardly even blinking as he lets you calm down. When your settled at bit, taking a deep breathe, he clicks his tongue at you.

“You already did.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, you already did, you moron.” 

“That’s- are you- you’re kidding? Right? Please tell me you’re kidding!” 

“What the fuck? Of course I’m not, idiot.” He scoffs, arms flexing as he wraps them around the back of the chair. “I wouldn’t even be here right now if I was. Stupid shit like that is a waste of my fuckin’ time.”

At his words, you can feel the nerves rolling in. It seems your life only got crazier and crazier the longer Bakugou invaded it, but this was something else. You had no business being involved in his world at all, you knew that, and especially not like this. At the very center and seemingly the cause of the problem. It made you feel sick. 

“Oh wipe the dumbass look off your face.” Bakugou rolls his eyes. “You really think I’m that useless? Nobody is going to get you. If anything, it’ll just make it easier for me to catch these fuckers with you sittin’ out like bait all the damn time.” 

“Bait? I’m not being bait for you!” 

“Jesus, leech. That’s not what I meant and you know it, so calm the hell down.” Bakugou reassures. “I meant, they’ll get greedy and sloppy sooner or later. Maybe even do something really stupid like go after you- but it’s fuckin’ fine because I’ll be there. No villian worth anything is dumb enough to come after you in the day, and I’ll walk you home at night. So there’s no goddamn issue.”

“No issue? This entire thing is an issue! I feel like you’re not taking this seriously!” 

Bakugou’s eye twitches at that, and you see him huff, pushing the chair away as he stands. He nears you, solid steps against your kitchen tile until he’s just a few feet away. There’s fire in his eyes, raging and relentless as he towers over you, his broad shoulders almost blocking out the overhead light. His expression is pinched something harsh, shadows gathering under a jaw he sets sharp enough to cut steel. In the dim glow of your kitchen, Bakugou looks mean. Much, much, scarier than he’s ever been around you before.

“I am taking this seriously.” He seethes. “Those evil, sadistic motherfuckers are not going to get away with this shit- but this only works, if you do as I say. ‘m gonna blow ‘em to hell either way, and I’d rather  not do it with you tagging along as their idiot fuckin’ hostage. So you’re gonna stay in and not take any stupid risks. You understand? Leech?” 

A part of you wants to shrink for a moment, cower and collapse under the heat of his gaze. Bakugou is intimidation like you’ve never experienced before, and strangely enough, you find that brings a weird sort of comfort to you; because he looked furious, but he looked incredibly determined too. Like no force on the entire planet, divine or otherwise, could possibly save those villains from his wrath. 

“Yeah. Okay. I get it.” You say. 

“Good.” 

Then he backs off, taking and few steps back and shoving his hands in his pockets. The rage seems to melt off his face, running fluid down his nose until his eyebrows relax and his grimace goes smooth. You’d always thought he’d looked angry before, but compared to his previous expression, you realized you were wrong. As it looked now, around you, Bakugou might as well have been docile. 

“It’s- is there anything you can tell me about whoever this is?” You ask shakily. “I know what you said, but I can’t just throw myself into danger like this, alright? If it involves me, I need to know.” 

“You can’t. Knowing is the entire fucking issue.”

“What does that-”

“I already told you, I’m not telling you, alright? So fucking drop it.” 

“I can’t! How am I supposed to watch out for myself if I don’t even know what we’re up against-”

“We’re? No. We’re not up against anything.” He barks out. “You’re staying inside. I’m serious. No exceptions- that is the only fuckin’ way any of this’ll work. Don’t make it any goddamn easier for them then it needs to be.” 

“H-how do you even know any of this? Where is this even coming from? I didn’t even live anywhere near here until I met you, and even that was only months ago!”

“It’s not important how I know. I just do, alright? So stop makin’ this so hard and just quit fighting already. You’ll be fine if you just let me do my fuckin’ job.” 

You run shaky hands through your hair, trying to battle the anxiety coursing hot through your veins. A part of you wants to protest, to screech at him, but you’re not sure that would be of any help. Bakugou looked dead set on his plan already, like he’d already strategized ten steps ahead, and, when you thought about it, maybe he did. Nobody could become a top-ranking pro off pure luck, and concerning Dynamite? Well the skill behind the intimidating name was obvious. Bakugou had never been beaten. Not once in his entire career had he ever let somebody get away without injury. It’s a strange, frightening, bloody kind of bright side, but concerning your situation, you figure you’d take what you could get. 

And, when you thought about it, maybe his plan wasn’t all that bad. It was just laying low. You could do that. You could do that. 

Maybe. If you didn’t die of a panic attack first. 

“So- you thought you could butter me up with a gift and then drop a bomb on me, huh?” You ask tiredly, dropping your elbows onto your kitchen counter. You collapse into them, head in your hands as you slump. “Nice strategy, you asshole.” 

You hear him exhale something like a laugh behind you. 

“Don’t laugh!”

“Oi- quit your bitching. I told you- I’ll gonna kill them all, so chill the hell out already.” 

You turn to look at him, replying flatly. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to kill anyone. Even villains.” 

“Not literally, you bitch.” He grumbles. You hear steps behind you as he moves closer. “Just listen to me and you’ll be fine. Don’t go running off and trying to take care of it yourself. Don’t waste my time like every other dumbass civilian.” 

When you lift your head up again, Bakugou is leaning against the other side of the counter. He’s towering over your slumped form, and when you look up at him, he actually doesn’t look that pissy. You almost find that to be the strangest occurrence of the entire night. 

“Oh god no. No self-sacrifice here. You can do all the fighting, thanks.” You shiver. “Even the thought of it nearly makes me sick. I don’t think I could hurt anybody.” 

“Good thing. You’d be flat on your ass in seconds, leech.” 

“I would no- actually, no, you’re probably right.” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “God, I’m fucked, aren’t I?” 

“No. Don’t be so goddamn weak about this. You’re fuckin’ fine.” 

“What- you’re gonna protect me?”

Bakugou seems to nearly seize at your remark, his face pinching up into a snarl. If he was half an iota more juvenile you’re sure he would’ve made an audible gagging sound.

“Jesus fuck, shut your mouth.” He barks at you, cheeks flushing. “I’m gonna get ‘em, but it has nothing to do with you.” 

“Mhm. Yeah. Whatever. As long as they can’t get to me, I don’t care what reason it’s for.”

You fall into silence after that, and you try to focus on just your breaths. They feel less momentous, less anxiety-inducing, in your world that has quickly become very stressful. You can’t help the nausea settling in your stomach. You were scared.

You’d meant it when you said you couldn’t hurt anybody. Even in a life or death situation, you’re not sure you could do anything to cause harm. It just wasn’t in your nature, and the thought of being violent made you sick almost as much as the fear did. It was a strange sort of battle- one that left your fingers itching for somebody to heal. Somebody to soothe since you wouldn’t get any peace in your own mind it seemed. 

After giving yourself a few minutes of grace, just standing there in the fear didn’t seem like enough. You were overwhelmed, yes, but you weren’t alone. Even if he was bit of an asshole, you knew he’d keep his word. You wouldn’t get hurt- as long as you tried your best to be vigilant. With that thought in mind, you turned to Bakugou, trying your best to steady your voice.

“My shift ends at midnight. Or it’s supposed to. Most nights we run late, but there’s not much I can do about that.” You tell him. “I’m not sure if you already knew that or if that’s even helpful, but I figured I’d tell you anyways.” 

“So you’re listenin’?”

“Yes?” You ask confused. “It’s not like I could fight them off myself- not successfully like you could at least. What other choice do I have?” 

“That’s-” Bakugou shakes his head, disbelief rising for a second before he masks it. “Didn’t expect it, leech. Thought you’d fight like an idiot about it. You wouldn’t believe how fuckin’ stupid most civilians are. You tell ‘em they’re in danger and the morons just stand there and watch.”

“No, I know. I’m the one patching all those morons up, remember?” 

He nods, laughing something exhausted before he drags a hand down his face. It’s a strangely humanizing gesture- something devoid of anger and almost bordering genuine connection. You’d come to realize that there were cracks in his armor. Little bits of him that really did seem fond of all those people he worked so hard to save.

“So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then. And every day afterwards.” You say, rolling your shoulders back. You stretch you arms out in front of you, sighing tiredly. “Congrats on the the promotion to being my glorified guard dog.” 

Bakugou scrunches his nose up in disgust, lip curling. “I’m not your fuckin’ guard dog.” 

“Kinda seems like it.”

“It doesn’t seem like shit, leech.”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever you say.” 

“I’m serious.”

“I know. God forbid I make a joke, grumpy pants.” You mutter quietly, clapping your hands with finality as you change the subject. “Alright, I think that’s enough panic for the night, thank you. Is that all? Or are there any other horrifying tidbits you wanna share with me?”

“Nope.”

“Well that’s- actually, no, I was gonna say that makes me feel better, but it actually doesn’t. Not at all.”

“Don’t be a bitc-”

“Bakugou! What did I say about that word?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Little bitch. Don’t be a little bitch.” 

It’s a strange thing to laugh at- an insult in the face of so much fear. But you do. His comment makes you laugh, slices the tension in your string wound far too tight. Bakugou seems satisfied at that, smiling slightly in return as he retrieves his jack and shrugs it back on. 

“Oh- you’re not staying? It’s late.” 

“Nah. Got patrol, leech.” Then he looks you up and down, squinting at the slippers on your feet. “Some of us actually got our lazy ass out of bed today.” 

“Hey! It’s my day off, you dick!”

Bakugou just laughs under his breath, nimble hands winding his scarf back around his neck. “You’re too fuckin’ easy.”

“Only because you’re dead set on being an asshole!” 

“Yeah? And?”

“That’s- don’t defend yourself!” You sputter, following behind him to the door. “You shouldn’t feel confident about that!”

He just shrugs, pulling open your balcony door with excessive force. He steps out, and the cold air floods in quickly, pinking his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Maybe it’s his lack of costume or his relaxed expression, but suddenly, you can’t help yourself with the words you say next. 

“Be careful, yeah?” You say. “I don’t wanna see you again until tomorrow night.” 

He looks at you a little strangely, tilting his head almost imperceptibly. Then he’s shaking it off, clenching his fist as a dangerous smirk rolls across his face.

“‘m all good. Bitches won’t even get a scratch on me.” 

You’re about to yell at him for word choice again, and he must see it in your eyes. Bakugou waves you off, laughing as he vaults on top of the balcony railing in one leap. There’s sparks popping in his palms, before he turns back once more, cheshire grin and fire in his eyes as he flips you off. Then he’s skydiving below the horizon line and out of sight. 

You curse him out, but your words are drowned out by explosions. 

When you walk back inside, rubbing the cold from your arms, you realize you left the first aid kit open. You latch it shut, but leave it on the counter just in case. You were being honest earlier- you didn’t want to see him again that night, especially not injured, but you’d help him if you had to.

At this point, it felt like no matter what you did, you just couldn’t get rid of him. 

--/--

edit: pls y’all i forgot to add the taglist when i originally posted ,,, omg this is so embarrassing whoops

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9  @the2ndl @the-shota-king-masayuki @shy-panda02 @devastyle @shoto-supremacy00 @shotoful

[doodledraw]

Return (Of What Was Cherished)

Cody crash lands on Tatooine. He doesn't really know why, but there's nothing left for him in the Empire. Little did he know there's a lot waiting for him this far out in the Outer Rim.

(thanks @katanrocksketches​ for the title idea!! and for being my sounding board ily)

Today for @commandercodyweek​ I decided to write a fic I’ve been wanting to try my hand at for a while!! Post-Order 66 reunions are just...the BEST so here’s my shot at it!

Read on AO3 here! Or under the cut!

He didn't know who he was. He didn't know what he was doing. All he knew was that it was kriffing hot and it had been over 24 hours since he had crossed paths with another being. Granted, 12 of those hours had been in space and then another 5 had been spent unconscious in the desert, slowly baking under the hot suns. Most of his armor had quickly been removed and fastened to a small sled using a piece of debris from his now absolutely trashed ship. Dragging that along, he began to wander the desert (it was just his luck he managed to land as far away from civilization as possible).

After two hours, he felt like he was going in circles.

After three, he spotted a ridge in the distance and started to make his way towards it.

After four, the ridge was still firmly in the distance and he was starting to think it was a mirage and that he was going to die out in the middle of nowhere.

He never realized that he was thinking clearer and more him than he had been for the last five years, like taking a breath after being underwater.

He finally reached the ridge on hour six and allowed himself a small rest. Clones were built for endurance but not for invulnerability. Besides, he needed to tend his wounds and the shelter he had found was the most he was going to get.

It was only once he'd stopped that his brain, no longer preoccupied with moving his legs through the rapidly shifting sands, caught up to his situation. That was when the panic set in. He was all alone, on a planet that very well could be the death of him, and yet at the same time he was feeling more alive than he had in a good long time.

After he gave himself a moment to panic, the rational part of his brain kicked in and he looked through the pockets on his toolbelt to see what he had with him.

Unfortunately, his black armor did nothing to help him from the heat of the suns, and he curses his competency for that. Why couldn't he have been forgettable?!

None of you are forgettable to me, my dear. You're all so very important, the memory surfaced unbidden. Obi-Wan would reassure him like that whenever he or his vode felt inadequate.

Cody's breath caught. He tried the name out in his head again. Obi-Wan. Then out loud: "Obi-Wan," he whispered to the wind.

He can say his General's name!

For the first time in years, he can say the name of the man who gave him everything and asked for nothing in return. It made him want to cry. But water is precious on Tatooine. Even he knows that. So he stashed that grief with all the other grief he'd piled away into a corner of his mind and then he left it be.

He's got a bacta patch, some tape, two painkillers, a spare comm that's broken straight in half, a ration bar, and nothing else. He split the ration bar in half and ate one of the halves along with one painkiller. Then he set to work making bandages out of part of the sleeve of his blacks and secured it around the cut on his head with some tape. Luckily he could still think rather clearly, so he didn’t think he was in danger of anything worse than a concussion, and the blood had stopped hours ago.

~~

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up the next day. Sighing, he decided to conserve his painkillers and food. He wanted to make it out of this canyon...gorge...thing...whatever it was, if he even could and make it to some sort of civilization. So with a groan of pain, he set off again.

He focused on the fact that he was no longer burning under the suns constantly due to the slight shelter the ridge provided, and told himself that he could make it. He was Marshal Commander Cody turned Purge Trooper, the sun was not going to be the thing that killed him. Kriff it all, he was going to live. For his vode. For his General. He would live.

~~

Civilization was a sight for sore eyes. After almost having fallen to his death multiple times, and having definitely aggravated the wound on his abdomen, he had made it out. He wanted to fall asleep. No wait, he wanted to eat something other than the expired ration bar and then fall asleep. And food required civilization.

The citizens of the town had apparently had a good amount of half-dead beings stagger their way into town because he was barely even given a second glance. The town, which he later learned was Mos Espa, was located in the north across from the Dune Sea, where he'd crashed. The barkeep was helpful enough to direct him to somewhere he could trade in some of his armor and scrap for some credits and get new clothes for it. He traded everything except his vambraces, greaves, blaster and toolbelt, and got a hooded jacket and a pair of patched-up spacer's pants in return. Freshly outfitted and feeling lighter than he ever had, but also more exposed than ever, he wandered back outside and through the town.

He had no working commlink, not that he would want to call the Empire anyway, better they just assume he died, and no credits and nowhere to go. Credits, he obviously needed. Shelter could come later.

~~

Cody spent three weeks in Espa. He picked up odd-jobs here and there, and with the credits, bought some medical supplies, treated his wounds, and then did more odd-jobs. He had no purpose but also no reason to leave. The townsfolk weren't so bad once you got to know them and Espa was quiet, out of the way. No one could find him there.

At least that's what he thought.

Brown robes weren't uncommon on Tatooine. The first time he had seen one, he nearly killed himself by looking away from the box he was supposed to be catching. But it wasn't him, how could it be? The second and third times, he had been no less surprised, but this time he knew it wouldn't be him. It couldn't be him.

Now, being the tenth time, he barely even glanced at the stranger on an eopie wandering into town. But he felt the eyes on his back anyway.

Cody knew he was recognizable. He was one in a a few billion, obviously there would be people that had seen his face before. Some of the townsfolk asked about that at the beginning, but not for long. They stopped asking soon enough. So this stranger would realize soon enough that he wasn't who he thought and move on. They all did, everyone had for as long as he could remember, except for one. Cody couldn't escape the slight feeling of relief that filled him when the stranger's eyes were gone. For some reason, that stare had felt more piercing than normal. He shivered despite the heat, then turned back to his work.

He forgot about the stranger until that night, when he made his way into the bar for a refreshment after his day of work. They were there, at the bar, almost as if they were waiting for him. But that was crazy, and Cody resolutely placed himself as far away from them as possible. They made no move towards him, didn't even notice him, as far as he could tell, and they mutually ignored each other for the rest of the night.

Until Cody left to make his way back to where he was staying. Noticing his brown hooded shadow, he made his way through alleys and then stopped. "Whoever you are, whatever you want, why don't you just leave me alone. We'll both be happier that way."

The figure made a choked noise and took another half step towards Cody, who had spun to face them.

"What do you want from me?" the clone demanded.

"I don't know."

"Who are you? How did you find me?"

The figure lifted their hands to remove the hood, and Cody immediately tensed towards his blaster. Moonlight illuminated silver threaded copper hair and Cody's eyes widened.

"My dear, I think you know the answer to that by now. It's not an expression you've particularly liked me to say," Obi-Wan Kenobi said, tears streaming down his drawn face.

Cody stumbled back against the rough stone wall. "No. No, it's not you. It can't be. I...I killed you! I watched you fall! That should have killed you!"

"You of all people should know I am rather good at surviving things normal mortals should not be able to," he chuckled wetly and his gaze moved off into the middle distance. "It was a specific point of anxiety for you during the war. Oh Kote. Ner'Kote...what have they done to you?"

"More like what have they done with me," Cody remarked bitterly. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Is this real? I need you to tell me right now if this is real, General."

"Not your General."

Cody gave him a withering glare. "Yes you are."

The Not Apparition took a step forward. "May I?"

Cody nodded slowly, and then General Kenobi was gently, carefully, cradling his hand in both of his like it was the most precious thing he had ever held. "I'm here, Cody."

Cody broke right there. In the middle of nowhere on Tatooine, Cody fell to the ground and sobbed. He grieved in his General's arms, the man he was not allowed to even think of until earlier that month. The man he thought he had killed. The man he loved.

"Ni'ceta! Ni'ceta, Obi-Wan! I should have fought it harder, I should have escaped earlier, I should have looked for you, I should have--"

Obi-Wan shushed him. "You should have nothing Cody. You did everything you could. It was not you. I forgive you. I've forgiven you. I'd forgiven you as I was falling. It was not you, my dear."

They sat there, two broken pieces slowly healing each other in the middle of an alley in the middle of nowhere in Mos Espa until Obi-Wan pulled away.

"Let's go home cyar'ika," he murmured.

Home. The first true home he would ever have. "That sounds perfect."

[technicallyarevenant]

I don’t know what’s worse: Drowning beneath the waves or dying of thirst

Chapter title: Warmth

Characters: Jason Todd, Mentioned Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Mentioned Bruce Wayne

Other tags: Flashbacks, PTSD, Suicidal thoughts

TW: Suicidal thoughts, past abuse/trauma, past death

Words: 2952

Part 2/?

Luckily, Jason hadn’t ripped his stitches after he’d left the cave, but they definitely still hurt, especially after walking so far. Honestly, Jason doesn’t think his chest could hurt more right now, he hasn’t taken any painkillers, although that’s mostly because he hadn’t stocked the safe house he made his way to for a while. The only thing he had was an old, probably expired, bag of frozen carrots, and it was doing little to help much of anything, and only making him feel more cold in the unheated apartment in Gotham winter. If Jason wasn’t so fucking tired, he’d probably go buy some kind of space heater from the nearby store, but Jason feels like if he moved from his current position on the couch, he would regret it almost immediately. So Jason just curled up more on the sagging couch, and pulled one of the only blankets he had over himself. If he fell asleep right now, maybe when he woke up in the morning it wouldn’t be quite as cold. He almost misses the searing pain he felt when the shock finally wore off, it at least made him feel warm.

------

Surprisingly, Jason did fall asleep, and he slept a lot longer than he usually did, probably because his body was trying to heal itself. It’s only slightly warmer than it was last night, but Jason thinks that at least now he can go pick a space heater up from the store. Or he could go to a different safehouse that actually had heating and pain killers. Killing two birds with one stone was sounding like the better option, because then he wouldn’t even need to buy anything. The only problem was, he didn’t have his bike, which means he would need to walk. Jason rubbed his hands together to try and heat them up while he thought about it for a second, the twinge in his side told him to do it. Jason thinks he might actually have something stronger than ibuprofen there too, something that Jason really, really wanted right now. Jason rolled his shoulders and left the current space he was occupying so he could make his way to the next space he would be occupying. (He brought the blanket too)

Jason’s pretty sure his lips have turned blue, and that his toes are frozen, but he’d made it to his home. Or, well, the closest thing he has to a home. It was his nicest bolthole and none of the bats had found it yet. It was one of the nicest places he’d lived, and was actually on a nicer side of Gotham. It had heating, electricity, warm water, and people who turned a blind eye to a man with multiple bullet wounds lumbering in through the back window. He actually liked the place and would like the bats to continue to not know about its location.

As soon as he walked in, he sighed in relief. The heat hadn’t been turned on yet, but there wasn’t any holes in the walls or any kind of weird drafts, so it was already warmer in here than it was outside. Jason set his stuff down by the door after closing and locking it, and immediately made his way over to the thermostat to turn the heat on. He also decided he would try taking a shower, hoping that it would be warmed up by the time he was done. Jason grabbed warmer clothes from the dresser in his bedroom, a pair of fluffy sweatpants, a sweater, a hoodie to go over the sweater, and socks. Jason liked to bundle up during the winter, after he’d gotten back to Gotham, he somehow always felt cold. Apparently dying and coming back to life made you feel cold all the time, even if you’d spent most of your life living in colder temperatures. It was now a habit of Jason’s to put on warmer clothes even if it wasn’t necessarily cold out.

Jason rolled his shoulders and sat down on his couch, keeping a hand on his side as he lowered himself slowly. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and leaned back into the cushions of the couch, and unlike the couch that he had slept on last night, it didn’t make a strange crunching sound when he moved. Jason’s side gave the occasional twinge, but it wasn’t as bad as it was last night, the warm air probably helping quite a bit. Jason lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, falling asleep without realizing.

------

Jason woke up with a start when he heard his window open and flinched when he reached for the gun he kept under his pillow, only to realize that he’d fallen asleep on his couch, and the closest gun to him was with the rest of his gear at the front door.

Jason stood as slowly and as quietly as he could- he had forgotten to turn the lights on when he came in because it was still daylight when Jason had made it to this safehouse, so it seemed both he and the intruder had a bit of an advantage.

Jason made a point of walking as quietly as possible to his front door, and had the sudden realization that Bruce had taken both of his guns and all that Jason currently had was a knife. Jason made a face in the darkness before grabbing the knife quickly, he turned around just as quickly as he grabbed the knife, only to come face to face with a domino mask.

Jason exhaled heavily, dropping his hand with the knife, “The hell do you want Dick?”

He couldn’t see through the white lenses, but Jason assumed that Dick probably rolled his eyes, “I came to check on you, B was a little worried that you ran away so quickly while you were still wounded.”

Jason snorted, “Right, because B cares so much.”

Dick stared at him for a few moments, “He does care, that’s why I’m here Jason.”

Jason laughed again, stopping only when Dick stayed silent, “What, you’re actually being serious?”

“Yes Jason, I’m actually being serious. I know it may come as a shock, but I’m not always cracking a joke every five seconds.”

Jason cleared his throat, raising a hand to rub at his side slightly, a slight pulse of pain going through the wound. “Whatever, even if B really did care, he didn’t come here himself so you don’t really have to tell B much, such as where I’m currently staying. Right?”

Dick stared for a few more seconds, “Do you really hate us that much Jason?”

Jason said nothing for a moment, balking slightly at the way Dick said it, “What, you think I hate you guys?” Jason’s laugh quick and had an undertone of disbelief, “Pretty sure it’s always been the opposite goldie.”

It was Dick’s turn to laugh, “No Jason, it’s never been us hating you. You’re the one who always avoids us when we try to talk to you.”

Jason threw his hands up, “Tell that to Bruce, he’s the one who beat me so hard my fucking helmet shattered and left me to die.”

Anything that Dick might have said to that died before the words the could reach the air, “I’m sorry what?”

Jason shook his head, a bitter smile forming on his lips, “What, he never told you? That doesn’t surprise me, considering he never tells anyone anything. Like he never came to you after I died the first time and you had to figure it out on your own. Like he never told you when I became Robin. He’s a flake who never does what anyone expects of him, even if you’re expecting him to flake. He’ll treat you like a son and the moment you do something he doesn’t like, he makes you an example to those who come after you so they know what not to do.”

Dick fidgeted, before he turned his back to Jason, “I have to go, I’ll be back.”

Jason scoffed, “Whatever Goldie, go ahead and leave, I don’t care.” Jason didn’t include the fact that he did care, actually, he cared a lot. There were many things that Jason should regret and didn’t, and things he shouldn’t regret but did anyways, and one of those was not trying to reconcile with his family when he came back from the dead.

Jason said nothing else as Dick left through the window, before he turned around, taking the knife still in his hand into his room, shoving it into his nightstand. He stomped over to his closet, opening the safe installed into the wall and grabbed one of the guns so he could stash it under his pillow. It took a few more minutes for Jason to realize the warmth dripping down his  face were tears. He wiped a hand down his face angrily, he shouldn’t be crying, this whole situation was stupid and just another reason for Jason to stay away from Bruce and his merry band of vigilantes.

Jason exhaled shakily before sitting down on his bed, he probably looked stupid yelling in front of Dick like that, still half asleep and in the most layers Dick had probably ever seen him wear. His socks had penguins on them. Jason sniffed quietly, whatever, he’d gotten Dick to leave like Jason wanted. Was that what Jason wanted? He’d gotten a feeling of disappointment when Dick left through the window, even if he hadn’t wanted to feel disappointed.

Whatever, it didn’t matter anyway, he was gone now and Jason could go back to sleep. Jason looked over at his clock, 1 am. Normally he’d be out patrolling right now, but he really didn’t feel like it tonight. The others could pick up the slack tonight without him. Jason rubbed his side slightly, if he took some painkillers the pain would be gone but he’d also be out of it for however long it takes the painkillers to wear off, and he doesn’t want to deal with Dick on painkillers if he comes back.

Jason didn’t take any painkillers. He’d be fine. He laid down after making sure all of his windows were locked and covered by curtains. He pulled a blanket over himself and closed his eyes. He didn’t fall asleep right away, but he did eventually.

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

Jason woke up to a beam of light shining directly in his eyes from the crack between his curtains. Jason groaned and rolled over, checking the time briefly before covering his head with a pillow. The sun was far too bright to just be shining into his eyes like that when he wakes up. He was warm and comfortable and he didn’t want to get up just yet.

Wait. Jason cracked an eye open and rolled back over to look at his window. Jason had pinned his curtains together, a force of habit he’d developed when he was younger to help keep the cold out. Jason’s hand creeped to the gun he’d put under his pillow last night before he stood up, looking around for any other kind of sign that someone had come in while he was sleeping. He got up and crept silently to the window, pushing the curtain aside gently to look outside to check if he could see anyone. When he saw that there was no one that looked more suspicious than usual, he walked to his bedroom door. He opened the door slowly, ensuring that it made no noise as he peeked through the crack he’d made. He didn’t see anyone, but now he thinks he can hear someone.

Jason holds the gun slightly higher before he opens the door enough to slip out while still making no noise. The noises sound like they’re coming from the kitchen, so Jason walks to the kitchen, glancing to the sides as he walks to make sure there’s no one else in the apartment.

Once he reaches the kitchen, he leans slightly to look around the side of the archway that leads into the kitchen. He sees… Dick. Jason lets the gun fall, and he flips the safety back on.

Dick must have heard something, because the next thing he knows, Dick is chattering excitedly at him. Jason just kind of stares, “What..are you doing here?”

Dick stops talking for a second, his smile faltering, “I told you I’d be back? What, did you forget already?”

Jason clears his throat, “No, I just didn’t expect you to actually come back.”

Dicks smile has turned into a frown now, “Well I did, I am back and I have made you, uh,” he looks down at the frying pan he’s holding, filled with….eggs? “I made you eggs.”

Jason looks a bit closer, “You sound hesitant, are you sure those are eggs?”

Dick looks down at the pan again, “Uh, I mean, I cracked some eggs and I put them in this pan. So, as far as I know, yeah, they’re eggs.”

Jason nods and takes the pan from Dick, “So most of the food in this place is kinda old, and I still need to go out and buy groceries. So these, while still eggs, are probably going to kill me if I eat them.”

Dick looks back at the carton of eggs that he probably pulled from Jason’s fridge, “Oh, that’s probably why they smelled so bad.”

Jason walks over and scrapes the eggs in the pan into the trash, “Sorry to burst your bubble goldie, but you really gotta learn to cook or you’re going to end up killing your future girlfriend.”

Dick snorted, “Yeah, whatever. There’s a reason Alfred pays so many visits to my apartment.”

“You know that’s not a good thing right?”

“Well, I get free cookies so I don’t really care.”

Jason rolls his eyes, “Sure birdbrain, whatever you say.”

Jason is turned around while he puts the pan into the sink, hopefully to get rid of the rotten egg smell so he can cook with it again, so he misses the hopeful look that Dick is giving him. What he doesn’t miss, however, is the giant hug that Dick pulls him into the moment he turns back around.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m hugging you, what does it look like?”

“Like you’re attacking me with your arms.”

Dick doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he keeps his arms wrapped around Jason, “I’m sorry that we ever made you believe we didn’t want you back with us.”

Jason tenses, “I don’t see why-”

“It matters? It matters because you ran away while still injured and scared the living christ out of Alfred. And it may come as a surprise, but,” He pulls back but still holds onto Jason’s shoulders, “Bruce was worried too.”

At that Jason scoffs, pushing Dick’s hands off, “Yeah, sure, whatever you say Dick, trying to make Bruce look better isn’t gonna do ya any favors.”

“I’m not trying to justify anything that Bruce has done, in fact I will join you in scorning him for everything that he has done against you, but he’s started to see what he was doing was wrong and-”

Jason shakes his head, “Well it sure sounds like you’re trying to justify his actions to me, but what do I know?”

“Jaybird if you’d just let me finish what I’m-”

“What you’re saying?” Jason ignores the look that Dick sends him, turning back around to start scrubbing at the pan in the sink, and does his best to continue ignoring him when Dick comes back up behind him.

“Jason Peter Todd, I am trying to talk, and you continuing to interrupt me when I am trying to do something that will help you is really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Well don’t let me stop you Goldie, continue trying to convince me that I should come back to the heavily armed and dangerous dysfunctional family that is the Wayne family.”

Dick grabs Jason’s shoulders once again and turns him around, looking him directly in the eyes, what were once a cerulean blue now an acid green meeting a softer blue. “Jason please, if you’d just come back to the manor for one day, maybe you could see that it’s not as bad as you think it is.”

Jason stares at him, he’s not sure what to say. He’s spent so long running and hiding, doing his best to not interact with his family to help keep his sanity intact, but as loathe as he is to admit it, he misses them. Misses knowing that someone always had his back when he went out. Had someone to keep him from being reckless enough to get himself killed. Kept him from wanting to get himself killed. Dick’s eyes are boring into his, and all Jason can do to keep himself from lashing out in fear of doing something wrong is look away.

“What, would that make you feel better Goldie?”

“Jason please look at me.”

Jason doesn’t want to, but he does anyways, breath hitching when he sees the tears in Dick’s eyes. Jason doesn’t know what to do, he’s never been good with emotion, considering all he ever does is keep it bottled up until it all comes spilling out, usually in the form of anger. But he takes a page out of Dick’s book and hopes he doesn’t end up regretting it when he reaches his own arms out to hug Dick. “Whatever, fine, I’ll go to the fucking manor if it means you stop looking at me like a kicked puppy.”

“That’s all I ask Jason.”

“Whatever.”

[singledarkshade]

Waverider Detective Agency

Part Ten – Final Chapter (Part Nine is here. Just to remind you that my medical knowledge comes from ER and Greys Anatomy. Enjoy                                ********************************************* John sat in the corner of the hospital waiting room with Kendra, while Joe, Eddie and Singh stood talking in another corner.

“Where is my son?” the familiar voice of Mary Xavier came from outside.

John caught Joe’s eye and they headed to rescue the hospital staff from the force of nature that was Rip’s mother. Reaching the nurses station, they found Mary staring down the poor nurse on duty.

“Mary,” a man John didn’t recognise stepped forward, “I can see Captain Singh, why don’t we talk with him first.”

Mary turned, “Quentin, I want to see my son now.”

“Ms Xavier,” the calming voice of Dr Caitlin Snow came, making them all turn to see her walking towards them, “Mary, your son is resting.”

“Caitlin,” Mary greeted the younger woman with a hug, John knew the two had become friends when Caitlin had been Gilbert’s doctor, “How is he?”

Caitlin squeezed her arm, “His ribs are badly bruised, as is his left arm, presumably from the car crash but it was probably exacerbated by whatever happened in the cabin. We’ve strapped his ribs and I’m going to put his arm in a sling to immobilise it for a while, just to allow his ribs time to heal.”

Mary let out a small sigh of relief, “What about Gideon?”

“She’s still in surgery,” Caitlin continued, “I will let you know the moment I can give you an update.”

“Can I see Michael?”

Caitlin nodded, “Nurse Evans will take you to his room.”

As Mary left with the nurse, Caitlin turned to them and motioned everyone to the waiting room once more.

“Alright,” she said, “Here’s what’s happening.

  Mary nodded thanks to the young woman who led her to the private room her son was in before she stepped inside. Looking down at the man asleep on the bed, Mary took a shuddering breath as she remembered that horrible night only a few years before when she’d sat by his bedside, praying he made it to morning. This time she knew that he would be fine, physically anyway and instead the young woman she thought of as a daughter was in surgery.

“Mother?”

“I’m here, Michael,” Mary soothed, sitting by his side taking his hand, “You’re in hospital and you’re safe.”

Michael squeezed her hand before asking, “Gideon?”

“Still in surgery,” Mary replied softly.

“I tried,” he whispered, “I tried to keep her safe from him, but I only managed to move the gun, she was still hurt because of me.”

Mary stroked his hair as tears filled his eyes, “It wasn’t because of you, Michael. You protected Gideon, and she’s going to be fine. It could have been so much worse.”

Michael stared at her, his green eyes filled with pain, “I killed him.”

“I know,” Mary sighed, “But you had no other choice.”

He turned to her, “I’m glad I did it. He took everything from me. I just wish it could have brought them back.”

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Mary breathed, “So do I. Get some rest, darling. I’ll be right here.”

With a sigh, her son closed his eyes as Mary stroked his hair the way she would when he was a child.

  John winced when his neck cracked as he jerked awake when his name was called.

“Dr Snow?” Kendra demanded, moving to Caitlin as she stepped into the waiting room, looking tired but not sorrowful.

“Gideon is out of surgery,” Caitlin told them, “She was very lucky. Nothing major was struck and, although it will take some time, she will recover fully.”

The relief around the room was palpable.

“Can we see her?” Kendra asked.

“Not just now,” Caitlin replied, “She’s in recovery. I want all of you to go home and get some rest. Gideon won’t be able to receive visitors until tomorrow and Rip is sleeping now also.”

John wrap his arm around Kendra, “Come on, love we’ll go back to the apartment, get some rest and come back in the morning.”

Kendra sighed, “You know I could just go home now we know we’re safe.”

“You could,” John said before asking, “But do you want to be alone just now? Because I don’t.”

Sighing Kendra nodded, “I guess we could watch a movie if we can’t sleep?”

Hugging her close, John turned to the two detectives and two captains in the room, “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

                                 *********************************************

 The smell of antiseptic filled the world around her as Gideon came round. She felt a strange numbness around her stomach and shifted slightly to try to get comfortable. Forcing her eyes open, Gideon saw Rip sitting by her side. He had one arm in a sling and the other was holding a tablet that he was reading. When he glanced over and saw she was awake, he dropped the tablet and hit a button.

“Hey,” he said softly, “Just relax, you’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?”

“Shot,” Gideon croaked, her throat feeling rough and dry.

Rip placed a straw at her lips, and she drank the cold water feeling it soothe her throat. He was quickly replaced by a doctor. When the doctor left, Rip appeared at her side again.

“What did he say?” she asked confused.

Rip chuckled, “Just that the sedative and painkillers you were given might make you a little out of it.”

Gideon closed her eyes for a second and slipped back asleep without realising it.

  “Should you be here?” John’s voice made Rip turn to find the other man standing in the doorway.

“It’s been two days and I’m being released today,” Rip frowned at him, “Besides Dr Snow agreed as long as I don’t overexert myself.”

John chuckled, moving to Gideon’s side he gently stroked her hair, “How’s our girl?”

“She woke up for a bit,” Rip replied, “But fell asleep again almost instantly.”

“Caitlin said that’s to be expected,” John noted, “How are you doing?”

Rip sighed, “Sore but,” he shrugged, “I’ll get there. Seeing Gideon awake and home will do a lot towards that.”

John nodded in understanding.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” John asked, “I’m about to do a run for Kendra while she checks the office.”

Rip shook his head, “I’m fine. Mother is getting me a tea, although if you can check to ensure she’s not terrorising the canteen staff I’d appreciate it.”

John chuckled, “Mary is absolutely terrifying when she wants to be. And I’m guessing right now she is in full Mama-bear mode since her two cubs are hurt.”

Rip shook his head a small smile touching his lips, “You should have seen her when I broke my arm a few weeks after I moved in with her.”

“I can only imagine,” John chuckled, “I’ll be back soon.”

  Gideon’s eyes opened slowly but Rip could see she was more awake than she had been the past few times she’d woken.

“Rip?” she breathed.

“Hey,” Rip smiled at her, “How do you feel?”

Wincing Gideon grimaced, “Like someone hit me in the stomach with an iron bar. Are you okay?”

He nodded, “I’m just sore and bruised,” Rip dropped his eyes, “I am so sorry, Gideon.”

“Not your fault,” she slid her hand into his.

Forcing a smile on his face, Rip noted, “At least you’re getting rid of me.”

Gideon frowned at him confused, “What?”

“Now Druce is gone,” Rip explained, “I can go back to Star City.”

“What about our deal?” Gideon demanded, “We work together for a year.”

Rip frowned, “I thought…”

“Plus,” she cut him off, “I’m going to need someone to run the place while I recover. As part-owner it is your responsibility.”

“Not to mention,” Mary suddenly spoke up, making Rip turn stepping back slightly so Gideon could see her, “You’re still on special leave, Michael. And I will not be recommending to Quentin that he reduce that.”

Rip grimaced but nodded.

“And you,” Mary turned to Gideon, “I will be making sure you look after yourself until you’re fully recovered.”

Gideon smiled, warmth filling her that Mary cared so much. No one ever had before.

“So, I want you to rest,” Mary continued, “And listen to the doctor. Okay?”

“I promise,” Gideon smiled.

Mary turned to Rip, “And you…”

“Will do as you say, Mother,” Rip told her.

She patted his cheek, “That’s my boy.”

                                 *********************************************

 Gideon eased herself into the wheelchair with the help from Nurse Parkes. He smiled at her and grabbed her bag, resting it on her lap before pushing her out the room she’d been stuck in for the past week.

“I’ll take it from here,” John appeared suddenly.

Gideon smiled and nodded to Parkes that it was fine. He gave her a quick smile before leaving her with John.

“So, escaping today,” he said as he pushed her towards the exit.

Gideon shrugged, “Not exactly. My lease expired while I was in hospital and Mary has told me she’s set up somewhere for me while I recover. I’m slightly scared.”

John laughed, “You know how much Mary adores you, I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Reaching the exit, Gideon smiled to see Rip standing with Mary.

“You’re looking so much better, dear,” Mary hugged her gently.

Gideon smiled “Thank you, Mary but we both know I look like death warmed up.”

Rip, whose arm had finally been released from its confinement, chuckled before wincing slightly at the pain in his ribs.

“Alright,” John spoke up, “Let’s get this show on the road. Rip, take the bag,” he ordered handing it across before turning back to Gideon, “Okay, as slow as you need, Gideon we’ll get you into the car.”

Wincing slightly Gideon held onto her friend as she slowly stood and slid into the backseat of the car. Mary fixed the seatbelt across her before sitting at Gideon’s side while Rip took the passenger’s seat, John was driving.

Making sure they were ready John started the car and they finally left the hospital.

  “Where exactly are we going?” Rip demanded after five minutes.

“Patience, Michael,” Mary told him before turning to John, “Just turn left at the end of the street.”

John glanced at Rip before he followed the instructions and they turned onto a nice neighbourhood with mostly bungalows sitting in neat gardens.

“The house at the end,” Mary said, “You can park in the driveway.”

John drove up as ordered and just as they reached the gates, they smoothly opened allowing him inside.

Rip got out the car the moment they were parked and looked around, turning to his mother as she stepped out.

“Why are we here?”

Mary shrugged, “As Gideon needs somewhere to stay, and your lease is up to be renewed in the next week I thought this would be a good idea. There are no stairs for her plus a spacious garden to get fresh air.”

Rip stared at her confused, “Mother…”

“I can’t afford a quarter of the rent on a place like this,” Gideon said as John helped her out the car, “Never mind half.”

Mary shook her head, “There’s no rent.”

“What?” Rip, John and Gideon asked in unison.

“When I bought the agency with Gilbert, I decided I needed a place to live while here helping him,” Mary explained, “So I bought this place.”

Rip stared at her before demanding, “Then why was I staying in an apartment?”

“Because the people renting the house at the time still had some time on their lease,” Mary patted his arm, “Now, how about we go inside and get you both settled.”

“Mary,” Gideon said as John helped her, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“It is,” Mary insisted, “There is plenty of room so you won’t be falling over one another but it means Rip will be able to help you while you recover.”

Before Gideon could say anything else, Mary started them into the house, they moved her into the bedroom on the ground floor.

“Kendra and I packed everything,” Mary told her once Gideon was settled on the bed, “You can sort it once you’re feeling up to it. Michael’s room is upstairs.”

Rip sighed, knowing he had no choice but to go along with his mother’s plan. Looking at the pale face of the woman on the bed, Rip knew she couldn’t be alone right now, and he honestly knew that it was a good idea that he wasn’t alone either.

“I need to head back to the restaurant,” John told them, “Kendra will be over after she’s finished at the office.”

Kissing Gideon’s cheek the other man disappeared.

“Well, I will make us all some dinner,” Mary said, “While you both settle in.”

  Gideon sat on the bed feeling a little bemused.

Rip sighed, “She just ran circles around both of us.”

“I thought you’d be angry,” Gideon noted softly.

Chuckling Rip replied, “Honestly I’m used to it by now. And I also know,” he shrugged, “She loves you and wants to make sure you’re looked after while recuperating. Once you’re better you can move out but until then I could use the company.”

Gideon blushed slightly before confessing, “I wasn’t looking forward to staying alone in my apartment, especially after what Druce did to it.”

Rip offered her his hand, “So, roommates and partners?”

Gideon took his hand and shook it, “For now.”

                                 *********************************************

I really love this universe so I may revisit at some point in the future.

[chilly-me-softly]

Last Friday Night • (Part 8)

Chapter 1        Chapter 4           Chapter 7 Chapter 2        Chapter 5 Chapter 3        Chapter 6

Tags: @lfcxlouise @mwdders @walkeers

"Did you talk to James?" he shakes his head taking the first bite of his breakfast, since he's hosting her the least she can do is pay him back making herself useful in some way.

"How do things work between you? He's your best friend and you don't know what's wrong with him?" Claire mostly plays with her food, sitting across from him. No matter how hard she tries, she can't stop thinking about the scene from a few nights ago.

"Just because he's my best friend and I know him, I know he needs time to think about it. When he's ready he'll come to me" he shrugs before bringing his glass to his lips.

"You guys are weird" she reflected as she stood up and walked to the sink with her plate, he laughed putting the glass down and passing the back of his hand on his chin where a drop of juice had fallen. Before coming to put his plate in the sink, too.

He leans behind her to do so and when she turns around she comes face to face with the boy. "I'll talk to him today, okay?"

"Didn't you just say-?" she starts looking him in the eye confused, but he just cuts her off. "If it makes you relax" his hands are on her waist and it doesn't take much effort to get close to her and hold her in his arms.

A kiss on the cheek and Ben disappears through the stairs to get ready, Claire is left in the kitchen staring into space. What is she doing?

Ben gave her the car that morning, she drove him to training before going around town to run some errands and then went to pick him up. She desperately wants to get a job, do something during the day because being alone with her head isn't good for her lately. Not necessarily in her field, the important thing is to be able to raise something for when the contract expires so she can afford to rent a small place. Or at the moment just to not always ask Ben for money even for her personal things.

As always she had been honest with him about the situation and he wasted no time in reminding her that whatever she needed, she could always count on his help. But he had listened to her and even offered to help her on his days off because he knew the city well by now.

However, no one seemed to want to accept her help in the shops she tried, willing to start even at that very moment if they had asked, and at the hospital they had answered the usual we'll let you know after taking her CV which wasn't very vast but the result of hard work over the years.

She wasted some time on the store shelves, carefully choosing the ingredients to cook a nice dinner knowing how much more they had to know about each other. And while she prepares everything, under the careful supervision of Bec and Bea on video call, she tells her friends about the week's news. Venting out and taking advice and asking honest opinions from them.

She misses spending her days with them doing nothing, just sitting in the same room gossiping about the people of their town or giving Becca a positive attitude for her exam or looking for a boyfriend for Bea on one of the many dating apps. They'll visit her soon though and she's really looking forward to it.

Dinner is ready and covered especially so it doesn't get cold and, with the car keys in her hand, she turns off the light by looking at her work one last time with her mouth watering.

She stays in the car in the parking lot waiting for Ben, wondering if he spoke to James or if she would meet him and what the meeting would be like. And she is so deep in her thoughts that she jumps, turning her head to the side when someone knocks on her window.

"Sorry I didn't mean to scare you" Marc Albrighton giggles as Claire gets out of the car and greets with a kiss on each cheek. "Don't worry, I was just overthinking"

"May I ask what's going on?" the girl sighs lowering her gaze for a moment and leaning back to the car, but instead of answering she asks him another question. "What would happen if I didn't get along with my husband's friends?" the guy puts the training bag down between his feet and looks at Claire playing with the sleeves of her sweater, uncomfortable.

"Depends I guess, who don't you get along with?" she looks at him, biting her lip, hesitating whether or not to tell him. Then James' name comes out of her lip with a sigh, "but it's not like I don't get along with him. He's the one who's acting weird by saying odd things, I've never said anything to make him hate me, I swear" she hurries to add gesturing, the sleeves of her sweater covering her hands making her look even smaller than she really is.

"Oh god" he whispers with one hand on the back of his neck. "What?"

"It's nothing" he says quickly, trying to avoid her gaze though.

"Tell me, Marc. If you know something please tell me" she begs him and he sighs.

"Look, I told him not to focus on that too much. The thing is, I overheard you talking on the phone one day in the park and-and you were talking about money. But you were practically a stranger so I didn't care what I overheard until..."

"Until Ben introduced us" she tells for him making him nod, "And did you tell James?"

He nods again, "Practically right away when we met" it makes more sense now, well the two of them hadn't had much time to get to know each other because everything had happened so quickly. The marriage, the contract and spread the news. But he hadn't seemed against his friend's decisions before that day actually, just as your friends he was just trying to make him think about the whole situation and was standing by him.

"I can't believe it" Claire hides her face in her hands, "that was a terrible joke by a friend of mine and I"

"Hey hey, you don't have to justify yourself" Marc is quick to stop you by putting his hand on her arm, "I got to know you and I could see that you're not so bad" he smiles slightly to try to lighten the situation, "and I probably should have minded my own business too, it wasn't nice of me. I'm sorry"

She smiles in a forced way when all she wants to do is burst into tears acting like the adult she is. And she's about to say something when she sees Ben finally come out of the facility with his head down and Harvey next to him with the bags.

"You're so lazy since you got married" Marc jokes when the two get to the car and there's a strange exchange of glances between the two teammates while Ben goes around the car without saying a word.

The girl narrows her eyes, following him and preventing him from opening the car door by forcing him to raise his face placing a hand under his chin. Her eyes widen, "What happened?" is the same thing the player she was talking to a few minutes earlier whispers.

"I talked to him" he hisses in his teeth before moving away from her and falling into the passenger seat of his car. Yeah he had talked to James, seeing how his mood hadn't improved when the girl who is his wife was named.

"I think you've made a decision too quickly" the blond man murmured in an empty room, "you don't even know her"

"You don't know her James, and if you had spent half the time you looked at her badly trying to do it, well at..."

"Oh sure blame me since it's easier! Keep trusting her instead of me, your best friend" the voices were getting louder and louder and the guys outside started wondering what was going on in there.

"If you were really my friend like you say, you'd support me" he fired back taking few steps closer.

"Being friends doesn't mean I have to agree with every bullshit you do"

"At least I'm trying to make up for it. What's the name of your last shag?" and Harvey had entered the room just as James had pushed Ben and he had fallen down slightly banging his head, earning that little bulge on his eyebrow.

The girl glances at an incredulous Marc and Harvey from above the roof of the car, before taking one last look at Ben and greetings the two of them and getting into the car. The journey passes in silence, the boy looking out the window with his head throbbing and she with other thoughts in her head. Why? Why fight over her who was practically nobody?

When they get home Ben is the first one in, heading into the kitchen for some water. He can't wait to jump into bed but he needs to take some painkillers first. When he turns on the light he smiles softly at what is in front of his eyes, only to find that Claire isn't behind him when he turns to thank her. He climbs the stairs then, stopping in front of her room door. One hand on the door handle that doesn’t work, the door is locked. And he sighs laying one hand on the wooden surface while bitter tears are on the girl's cheeks inside.

Chapter 9 

[angstalottle]

Big Brother Klaus

The Twinkie Incident:

Klaus never expected waking up in a world of death to be a blessing.

But after three months of no screaming ghosts and a little brother he adores with all his heart he almost didn’t want to find a way back.

It had been a time of mixed emotions when he woke up half-buried by rubble surrounded by ash and the bodies of his siblings.

He barely had a moment to comprehend the fact they had failed when a small shaking mass launched itself at him and grabbed onto his tattered coat like its life depended on it.

This, of course, turned out to be Five which made things much less awkward when Klaus thought maybe it was some random kid.

It was nice to see his brother again even if it was in hell.

What followed was a lot of crying on both sides, Klaus cried plenty so he didn’t really mind he was doing it.

But he could never remember a time Five had been comfortable enough to be weak around his family.

Hell for most of his life Klaus assumed Five simply didn’t feel.

He learnt pretty quickly he was wrong.

As time passed the two stuck together and despite Fives stubbornness and Klaus being well Klaus they were as happy as two people can be when the world ended.

Klaus was fine to live here with his brother foraging during the day and spending the nights in the ruined library just hanging out.

Then the day that changed everything.

Being homeless for a good chunk of his life, Klaus had eaten more than his fair share of expired food and was confident he could tell what was safe and what wasn’t.

So when he found a Twinkie and handed it over to Five to eat he didn’t give it a second thought.

Then night fell and he was reading a sappy romance novel when Five slowly wandered into his room and plopped down on the end of the old bed he dragged in there.

“Taking a break?” Klaus asked not bothering to look up.

Sometimes when the math got too frustrating Five would do this. He would chill for a while then go back to work recharged.

Five nodded, letting out a small groan as he curled up small enough to pull what was unoccupied of the blanket over him.

“Huh, usually I have to force you to go to bed. Having a bad day bud?” Klaus chuckled.

However, when he only got another groan in response he decided to look over at Five.

And what he saw made his blood run cold.

Five was a sickly grey colour and was shivering despite the thin layer of sweat covering his face. His eyes were scrunched up in what he could only assume was pain.

Panic took hold as Klaus dropped his book and put a hand to Fives forehead feeling his chest tighten upon finding an alarming heat there.

“Fuck. Ok, Five I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

Klaus tried to keep his voice steady. The last thing he needed was to scare Five more than he likely already was.

“My stomach hurts.... I threw up a lot” he mumbled.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!” Klaus wanted to be mad but he was too fucking terrified right now to bother.

“Ok. OK, everything is going to be fine, we just need some fever reducers some water and wait this out ok.”

Five responded by leaning over the bed to throw up in the trash can.

This was bad.

How had Five gotten sick so suddenly?!

He pushed the question to the back of his mind for now as he ran to their medical chest and began tearing through it for what he needed.

There wasn’t much since Klaus had been using a lot of the supply to keep from going through withdrawals and upon realising they were out of painkillers he hated himself for it.

He did manage to find some fever reducers and hoped they would be ok for a child.

He didn’t really have any other choice though as he handed a couple to Five who swallowed them dry.

Klaus tried to hand him a bottle of water but it was swatted away.

“Can’t... just throw it up... can’t... waste it” he mumbled curling up in a small shivering ball clearly trying to find some kind of comfort.

“You need to drink Five. You won’t get better if you don’t” Klaus pleaded and kept pushing it to his brothers lips till he finally gave In and had a few sips.

Klaus sighed, it was good enough for now.

He tried to get up to get a cloth and some water to get the fever down but found his coat caught in Fives vise like grip.

Admitting defeat he lay down and pulled his brother onto his chest pressing the bottle to the back of his neck.

Five barely slept that night.

Tossing and turning with Klaus spending every moment trying to keep his fever down.

It took two days for it to break and by then the two of them her beyond exhausted.

Klaus sat slumped against the wall running his fingers through Fives greasy hair.

His brother was safe... for now.

He had already figured out that it was the Twinkie that did this.

That he nearly killed his brother because he was careless with a snack.

Suddenly he didn’t want to stay here forever, not if it meant one little slip up could make him lose Five.

He couldn’t go through that not again.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Dear Soulmate, pt. 22 (Soulmate AU)

22: His brother’s keeper

Summary: Flashing forward, Ethan and Y/N’s relationship grows stronger while Grayson is forced to deal with his broken timer.

Warnings: fluff, angst, sexual innuendoes

Word count: 3.3k

Dear Soulmate - Series Masterlist (Soulmate AU)  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

One year later ~ 3rd Person POV

"Do you think Grayson is happy?" Y/N hummed, looking out the living room window as she laid in Ethan's arms, blissfully content with his arms around her, the right one drawing large circles over her swollen abdomen with every period cramp that made her want to be a man. It took Ethan a while to get used to the terrible pain and discomfort his soulmate felt with every period, especially with Grayson teasing him he's the only man who has ever known what it means to be a girl. However, through trial and error and a lot of research, Ethan found every possible way he can help his woman survive those dreaded days, relieving his own pain in the process.

"I think so." Ethan pressed his lips to her temple, his eyes darting to his twin and the way he nodded at this current conquest excitedly. A little too excited if you ask Ethan.

His brother had had his share of women in the past year, even more so after realizing Ethan and Y/N had completed their soulmate bond, effectively sealing their fates together. It stung, even tore at Ethan to know his brother is robbed of a soulmate, remembering just how hopeless and lost he felt when he believed Y/N didn't exist, but he couldn't make himself say anything to the girl curled up against him. He knew she could feel something wasn't right, but what good would it do if he told her just what? It would cause more damage and he never wanted to feel her in such emotional state ever again.

"This is his fifth girlfriend in twelve months. I'm not so sure." Y/N said matter of factly, sighing deeply as if she was trying to keep the sadness of it away from her. She tried talking to Grayson more than once. She tried to remind him of the things and values he told her he wanted to uphold. She tried everything, but he just wasn't there.

Grayson Dolan had distanced himself from his brother and Y/N, so much so he was already a few days short from moving out. She wanted him to stay, terribly so, for reasons she could not explain. It tugged at her heartstrings, the entire situation making her feel as if she's drowning, but she couldn't do anything about it. She had to accept it was his choice, for better or worse. After all, Ethan Dolan was her entire world now and she felt incredibly happy with him by her side.

"He'll find his way. Don't worry." With those comforting words, Y/N's painkillers finally started to overwhelm her, Ethan's soft whispers and tender touches lulling her to sleep.

Two years later

"No! Just stop! This is her graduation, bro!" Ethan gripped Grayson's elbow, pulling him back. He pushed him into the wall, restraining his drunk brother with both hands and legs pressed against him, using all the strength he could muster. After all, Grayson was always a little bigger than Ethan and while Ethan could usually take him down, but drunk Grayson was a force to be reckoned with.

"I just wanna see her! Let me see her!" Grayson shouted, struggling against his brother with all his might, his voice gruff, tone almost feral.

"Not like this. Not drunk off your ass, no filter kind of a way." Ethan pressed himself closer, feeling he might lose his advantage and he can't afford to let his twin in now. He couldn't let him ruin Y/N's night.

"P-please?" Grayson's voice dropped as did Ethan's heart, more so once he heard a hushed, confused little voice he knew better than his own, come up from behind him.

"What's going on here?"

Y/N's heart broke at the vulnerability she heard in Grayson's plea, even more so once she saw his tear-stained, red face and the way his chest moved against Ethan's strenuously.

"J-just wanted to con-congratulate you, Y/N/N." Grayson breathes out, looking over at the beautiful brown eyed woman he's been through life and death with.

Shaking her head, her hand on her mouth to stop the treacherous quivering, Y/N's eyebrows furrowed as her eyes watered. She focused on Ethan's bawled up fists, Grayson's shirt coming out from between his fingers as he gripped his clothes to help him keep him steady and at bay.

"For all that is sacred, unhand him Ethan!" She whisper shouted, coming closer, the first of her tears spilling over as Grayson stumbled toward her. Forgetting he's a foot taller and a lot heavier, he hugged her a little too carelessly, pressing her closer as he put almost all his weight on her, nearly tumbling over and crushing her.

Ethan felt her distress for she couldn't speak up, grabbing his brother by the clothes on his back and pulled him away.

"Bro, you're crushing her! What the fuck are you doing?!" Ethan didn't bother keeping his voice down, genuinely enraged with the situation. He wanted to help his twin, more than anything he wished he could find him an anchor to this world, but he had tipped over on the grand scale of things and he had went from the grey into the black.

"I'm sorry, Y/N/N. I'm so sorry." Grayson's strangled apologies had entirely shattered Y/N and she couldn't hold back her cries anymore.

"Grayson, why? Why are you doing this to yourself?!" She felt her chest constrict, the pain that came with a lack of air to her lungs hit her tenfold as the lump in her throat grew, obstructing her airways as well.

"You were my best friend and now I barely see you?! You were gone for almost two years, traveling the world and the next time I see you this happens? You're drunk! And you're not who I knew...You need help." She passed by Ethan, slapping his hands away as he tried to hold her back and keep her away, at a safe distance. He knew Grayson wouldn't hurt her on purpose, but he wouldn't take the risk. However, Y/N had a mind of her own - a complex, very emotional - listen to your heart - kind of a mind and he couldn't stop her from making this choice on her own - the choice to give his brother some sort of connection to this world; to save him from the raging storm inside his soul and anchor him enough for the waves to calm down.

"Please let us get you some help." She cupped Grayson's cheeks, gently to steady him, feeling his eyes look deep into hers, chocolate brown meeting murky waters of a long lost man that only wished for someone to keep. Someone to have and to hold and to cherish as his brother found in Y/N.

"O-okay."

Two years later

"Ethan, if you don't stop panicking, I will fucking drive myself!" Y/N shouted, her voice echoing the house, finally bringing some reason to a very distressed Ethan. He hadn't expected to wake up with contractions this night, nor ever in his life. He never expected he'd truly feel all the pain Y/N feels nor the fact that he's about to know what it means to give birth to twins. And he definitely didn't think he would be the one crying and running like a chicken with its head cut off, but here he is - crying, sweating buckets, unable to properly insert the key into his minivan because his hands are shaking like he's attached to a Pikachu who hates him.

Finally at the hospital, he asked for sedatives the doctors refused to prescribe in fear of it affecting Y/N's ability to give birth, which made him nauseous enough to throw up three times before joining Y/N in the delivery room.

Grayson arrived almost at the same time, forced into the room, but only by Y/N's head, strictly forbidden to check anything below her waist.

With both Dolan twins at her side, holding her hand, Y/N managed to bring two little humans into this world, a boy and a girl, each of them with very distinct soulmate marks on their bodies which truly made Y/N happy, knowing her children will have an easier road to love than she did.

And Ethan?

He watched his two little munchkins be pressed onto his soulmate's chest for the first time, covered in what would best be described as expired cheese and blood, but he could care less, leaning in to give them each a kiss, waiting for the cord to pulsate what's left of the blood and stem cells, so he could have the honor of cutting it. And yes, he cried, incredibly happy to be a father, to be with Y/N, to have the life he had been given. He never expected this to be his future and the gratitude he had was endless.

Twenty two years later

"Eth, honey?!" Y/N called out for Ethan, trying her best to prepare some breakfast as she knew Grayson would be by any moment now. He wanted to see his niece and nephew off, the twins leaving for their senior year of college any day now and another one finally starting his senior year at high school.

Three kids, twenty six years of soulmate kind of a marriage that they officially signed into the registry five years ago simply because Ethan was bored, numerous obstacles and all that while Y/N wrote a book on soulmate connections, specializing in a bond that existed solely on a spiritual level.

She and Ethan had quickly found they could feel each other even when they don't see each other, simply knowing where the other one is without telling one another. Whenever they tried hard enough, they could share dreams as well, something they learned early on because they always told each other the dreams they had and every bit of what they had experienced was the same. On the other hand, very rarely and only when emotions are running high, they could hear the other one's thoughts. That baffled them as it was random and very hard to realize at first, to notice an intrusion of someone elses thoughts inside your head, but it always came with a splitting headache so they only used it when it was absolutely necessary or as Y/N said - when Ethan tried to hide things from her.

And Grayson?

He had two failed marriages behind him, the second one falling apart at the moment. The only family he had was the one his brother and sister made for themselves, his dreams of it all working out long gone. His only source of happiness were the kids he was coming to see, all the way from Los Angeles to New Jersey where Ethan and Y/N ended up raising their children in.

"Yeah, beautiful?" Ethan peaked out from the hall, checking out his loving wife who had looked more enchanting as the years went by. He never got used to her, losing his breath every time he sees her, in every state she's in - emotional, angry, cheeky, happy, worried - every state she was ever in, Ethan loved her and he still couldn't believe she was his.

"We need milk. Someone drank all the almond milk and now I can't make us pancakes and I promised." She pursed her lips, throwing away the empty carton. Walking toward Ethan, she swayed her hips seductively on purpose, as if just asking wasn't enough to make him do anything she wanted. She slid her hands onto his shoulder, than her forearms over them until she was at her tiptoes, her lips ghosting over his as a small smile pushed its way onto her face when he brushed his nose against hers.

"Milk? Anything else?" Ethan cocked his eyebrow, smirking as he saw her cheeks flushed once she sensed his desire is greatly misplaced considering the timing.

"We just did anything else and I am more than willing to do anything else tonight too. But our birds are almost grown entirely and we need to send them on their merry way and I need you to spend some time with Grayson today. He's not doing well, E." Her forehead wrinkled, showing off all the worry lines she acquired over the years of taking care of three growing children, one of which took up after his uncle with all the allergies possible. And he loved every line. Every single crevice of her body, every damn imperfection, he only loved them more. Those imperfections stood witness of all the love they've shared, the life they lived. All of it.

"I know." Pecking the tip of her nose, Ethan groans, pressing his hard on against her just in case she changes her mind, but he knew she wouldn't.

"Go, you horny teenager." She whispered under her breath, kissing him properly like she always did before he left the house.

"I love you." Ethan mumbled, wanting nothing more than to take his wife upstairs, but he's a father too and he wanted his children to have a good last day before heading off to conquer the world.

"I love you too." She smiled against his lips, parting with him as if it's the last time she'll ever see him. The moment Ethan turned his back on her, Y/N slapped his ass, making him turn around with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Oh, you're gonna have to be punished tonight. Thoroughly." Winking, Ethan left his wife in the kitchen, but she wasn't alone for long as the kids quickly came round and made her head hurt. Sometimes it felt like they were all still very much five years old, not twenty two and seventeen. But Grayson walked in a moment later too.

"You're already having a crazy house, even at eight." Grayson chuckled, putting down his suitcase before walking over to Y/N, pecking her on the cheek - longingly, sweetly, tenderly, before he leaned on the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes set on three grown up devils chasing each other, passing the kitchen every minute at least once.

"Always, Gray. Always." Y/N laughed, wiping her hands on her apron before taking it off as well, leaning on the counter herself, her hand tucking itself under Grayson's elbow, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Just passed Ethan. He seemed chipper considering the time." Grayson stated, raising his right eyebrow in a teasing manor, forcing Y/N to hide her face in his arm for she knew Grayson knew why Ethan woke up so happy today and that she had a huge role in that.

"Yeah. So, how...how are you? Considering all?" She changed the topic to something she was more interested in. It was never easy on her, knowing Grayson's timer never worked after their accident and she felt somewhat responsible. It hurt her seeing Grayson crumble, seeing him lonely and bitter over love, over everything she had and was simply out of reach. Every girl he had was without a soulmate, each of them giving up for various reasons. Mostly, she missed Grayson. She missed him all the time, because he was always traveling, keeping busy. She missed his smile, the way he'd giggle, the way he'd scream the house down and how he'd always start up a dance party at any hour to make her laugh. He was always her best friend, her person, the one who knew what it felt to be on death's doorstep. He understood, he helped her through and he was there when Ethan wasn't. She forgave her husband for that, but she couldn't forget who was there holding her hand when every step she made was hell.

"Uh, fine. I guess." Grayson scratched his right eyebrow, clearing his throat.

Y/N leaned over just in time, just enough time to see.

"Fucking shit, your timer works!" She couldn't hide her excitement, noticing it was fully functional which mean Grayson might have something good on the horizon.

Frowning, Grayson looked at his wrist in panic, his eyes widening once he noticed the clock ticking too fast, way too quickly toward zero.

"What the?" Y/N managed to say just as the wind is knocked out of her lungs, her hand going to her heart and her look fixating in the distance, right on her three kids who were forming a pile of humans right at the front door, screaming over something she couldn't quite understand. Not when her heart stopped beating, not when her lips parted as a strangled cry passed them, not when all she could feel is pain.

And then the pain was gone, the timer on Grayson's wrist glowing brightly as he caught Y/N just before she fell to her knees, her eyes fighting to keep open while she gripped Grayson's comforting arms with all her might, hearing nothing but a faint 'I love you' echoing in her head, the splitting headache taking over, forcing her to give up and close her eyes; close her eyes to the world and open her eyes to her connection.

"Ethan?" She stood in the middle of a grand white staircase, the light blinding her.

"Right here." Y/N turned around swiftly, her hair falling forward as she looked at her husband, all dressed in white, just as young as he was when their connection was sealed.

"What? What is this?" Her voice shook and her lips quivered, the view of him looking so angelic rendering her shaken beyond belief. She couldn't understand, grasp what's happening, even if she knew.

"I promised you a forever and I meant it. Our forever just got a little shorter than we thought, yet so...so much longer than what I thought it would be." Ethan smiled, his eyes brimming with tears as he came closer, taking her shaky hands in his freezing cold ones, leaning down as he placed his forehead on hers, both closing their eyes for a single moment.

"I don't understand." She whispered fearfully, tightening her hold on Ethan, looking up at him with her teary eyes, her chin trembling.

"I love you. I didn't want to go, but we don't always have a choice, my beautiful, beautiful girl." Lifting his left hand, he placed it on her warm cheek, watching her lean into it instinctively, making it harder for him that it has to be. But he couldn't take the easy way out, even though it was offered to him. She didn't take it back then either.

"We've had so many happy years. Kids, each other, a big house and great jobs...we had it all. I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you on the porch swing eating biscuits like you planned when we get old, but I'll still be with you. In your dreams, always." Pressing his lips against her forehead, he took a step back, even when she started to cry.

"NO!"

"I will be waiting, my love. Always yours." Ethan started walking up the staircase, glancing back at Y/N, but her feet are unable to move no matter how hard she willed them to.

"Ethan, please! Please! I love you, please!"

Y/N's eyes snapped open, the harsh light unforgiving as her kids came into focus above her. And Grayson. He was there too, so painfully similar to the man she married.

Sitting up, her eyes fell to the timer that glowed so gloriously, tears falling down, her hand touching her chest right where she used to feel Ethan, finding nothing there at all.

That's when she realized:

"He's gone."

 ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~       ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Tags: @accalialionheart @castiel-savvy18 @notanotherdolantwinsblog @peacedolantwins @mutuallynotmutual  @fallinginlove-16  @heyits-claire @daddygraysonsbitch @godlydolans @xalayx @ethanhes @dolandolll

[stateofknowledge]

I wrote this.

It’s “interestingly” formatted, it may not actually be good, but it’s mine. I wrote it with the intent to make it read like a comic book without actual dialogue, that’s the why for the formatting.

Also, there’s some not PG-13 stuff, so read at your own risk.

Two confident guys in their late 20s chat in the facility while suiting up for their biggest adventure yet. A soft voice from the speaker on the wall tells them to hurry up and get into the lab.

Everything is nice and calm. People are at a time of peace, adventuring whenever they feel like it, each day has a romantic beauty to it. – Peace.

The men arrive in the laboratory, where the main attraction stands - a machine to conquer time itself.

The people handling it

The two trained men step in, and it takes them 200 years into the future. The ride is thrilling, their adrenaline levels in the skies, nothing can stop them.

And they arrive into the future. A future that is not as nice and calm. It's a world after destruction, slowly rebuilding itself. On first sight, nothing is alive. But they don’t know that. They hope for the best. But it’s dark around them. - ?

The next moment, the strange, amorphous, black and purple blob engulfing the time machine starts shifting above them.

In a moment of silent tension, it grows a spike and stabs it through one of the traveler’s head. - ?!!

The head rots away in an instant, leaving a lifeless skull with gray skin. – What?!!

The other guy manages to jump out of the machine, as the blob opens up on a part after moving body mass into the spike, letting minimal light in from outside.

But there's no hope, the door is locked, and no key or swipe card to be found.

Then he glances back to see the spike has broken off of the main body, as the blob had no energy to maintain it.

The blob slides down from the glass and metal junk that is now the time machine, and shrinks to the size of a puddle on the ground, but the spike remains stuck. - Huh?

He goes back, and after a moment of loud silence, yanks the spike out of his friend's head.

Jamming his new weapon into the lock of the door, he leaves to search the room and after about 3 hours, the lock melts away, and the door slowly slides ajar. Under this time, he tries to contact the guys back in the past, but unfortunately, to no use.

He notices the light coming from the door while rummaging through the lab for anything. – Hm? Oh.

He then stuffs a lab coat full of small tools and a coffee brewer.

Before leaving, he stops at the door, looks back at the puddle, and thinks for a moment. - Wait.

He turns back, grabs a small plasma cutter, and tries it on the small blob.

The blob reacts aggressively to the heat, and after a couple seconds of being vengefully cut, it stops, leaving him to his thoughts.

The time traveler eventually makes his way out of the facility, avoiding same looking blobs in the process.

The site around the building is empty, aside from whatever garbage was left there. – Where now?

But there's hope, he knows the way into the outskirts of the city, he can make it before sunset.

FASTFORWARD 3-4 HOURS

He arrives into the outskirts. There's not a lot to look at. No life, no humanity, only what it left behind.

And something that moves and shifts like nothing he’s seen before. – Whats that?

That something looks to be made out of the spikes the blob grew Seems like it walks on all fours, but does so strangely.

The things detects the young adventurer, and turns towards him with ill intent.

It charges. Fast. – FUCK!

It leaves the asphalt of the road slightly melting with each long step it takes.

The traveler notices his gloves falling apart from touching the spike, and it starts to burn his hands. – Oh no!

He has to let go. But then he has no way to defend. – What now?

The beast is getting closer. Fast.

No time to think, run!

But there’s one quick thought, born from instinct: "Impale it."

The lone explorer leaps forward, dropping his collection of items, grabbing the spike with both hands, which are now in immense paint and are steaming acidic gas and blood. The beast leaps too, being confident in its ability to hunt.

The two meet mid-air, and the monster is pierced through the head and into its torso. Its slain. But at what cost? A couple of thorns from whatever this was made their way into his shoulder.

Standing next to the corpse of the horror that is the spiked beast, the loner looks at his hands, one hand burnt to the flesh, the other barely usable, and his shoulder in great pain.

The monster melts into a puddle, and starts shifting slowly. The horror movie protagonist runs back to the pile of tools stuffed in the lab coat, and grabs the same plasma cutter as before.

FASTWORWARD 1-2 HOURS

The traveler's going through the different aisles of a local drugstore, looking for bandages, painkillers, whatever can help. He stuffs the coat even more, which is now full of mechanic's tools, syringes and rags.

He puts some more bottles of pills in the plastic bags behind the counter, and goes on his way.

Exiting, he notices that plants started to grow onto the buildings, Mother Nature is taking over. – Maybe this is Her doing?

FASTFORWARD 1 YEAR

The time traveler sits at a table of a completely barricaded house, with his arm broken, his only incident the past year.

He's eating some canned food that's most likely expired. But his stomach can take it, it must, there's not much else.

FASTFORWARD 5 YEARS

There was a couple of encounters with similar life-forms, with similar outcomes as the first.

The time-traveler turned survival movie protagonist is now writing a diary, so as to not go totally mad. He writes down jokes that come to mind every once in a while alongside lists of things need to gather, and draws little 2 page cartoons for himself, mostly knock-offs of real cartoon characters.

Eventually he runs out of paper and empty notebooks. - What now?

The library! It's 3 streets from here, not too far.

On the way to getting books and paper, nothing really happens, but he is on the lookout. Any weird noise makes him more and more paranoid, even if he knows it's just the wind.

The library's main entrance is locked, and who knows where the key is. He goes around, looking for a window to break, and he finds one already in pieces. - Another burglar?

In the library, there isn't anything surprising other than the sheer number of books. There's a printer at the checkout desk, full of paper, and some pens scattered on the ground. – Exactly what I need.

The other burglar must've looked for something else. Maybe shelter for some time.

He picks the stuff up, puts them in one of his backpacks, and starts looking for some new books.

He goes upstairs, only to find something out of place: blood stains everywhere. – The burglar?

The dried spots of blood on the ground lead to a reading room, but looking back, it's weird how he didn't see it under the window coming in.

In front of the door, he can smell something that's unfamiliar, but at the back of his mind, knows what it is. It's the smell of death.

He opens the large, dark brown door, touching dry blood on the handle. The horrible smell is now unbearably strong.

And there it is. The burglar. But he's not alone. He has someone he must've been close to. That little someone is in rotten pieces, and the burglar's torso is pierced through by a familiar looking spike. And in his hand, there's something shining. A pistol, with 'that one bullet' now in the burglar's head. - I’m so sorry!

After gasping, putting his hand in front of his face, trying to be discreet, quickly turns back, exits the room and closes the door behind him.

With the smell now mostly gone, the adventurer clears his mind, or at least he thinks he does.

He goes around in the library, snatches some books off of the shelves, and fills his other backpack.

He finds a key to the entrance, broken into two pieces. – Useless. – Takes it anyway, it might be fixable.

FASTFORWARD 1 YEAR

One monster found in the last year, but there wasn’t a fight. The apocalypse series protagonist has learned how to avoid them.

He has also learned cooking plants found in the wild. The nearby forest is confirmed to be empty of monsters.

He’s making some fried mushroom with snake meat, there’s nothing else.

FASTFORWARD ~20 YEARS

The ex-time traveler turned 50 years old. Maybe. Maybe 49, or 52. Who knows. – who knows?

He’s starting to get a little weaker than he was, his legs are in pain every now and then.

In the last 20 years, he has fought off more of those monsters than he could count. There was an around 5 year period when 1-2 monsters showed up in town every month, sometimes more. But for the last 2 months, no monsters, and no fights. Maybe he fought off all of them? – i wish

He doesn’t completely feel his left arm and lower torso from all the damage from the acidic beasts. It’s starting to really take a toll on him. – fuck this.

But he has to go out again, to get food.

And as good as his luck has been, he encounters another one of them. Not equipped with anything, save for an empty backpack and a knife. He has become sloppy, and this is the punishment.

RUN!

There’s nothing else he can do. No weapon, no hiding spot nearby. – oh fuck.

He’s running as fast as a fit 50 year old can run, but that’s not enough. He doesn’t have what it takes to outrun the monster.

But he can think. Think fast like he did when he killed the first one. – come on, think!

But what? There’s no weapon in hand. – hand…

If it comes down to this, then so be it.

Punches will not do anything, but break his wrists and burn his knuckles while not hurting the monster. Can’t grapple either.

An old man fighting an otherworldly creature above his weight class is not an everyday sight, and not one the average old man would win.

In the span of 4 seconds, the tiger-sized beast gets closer and closer, almost reaching him At the last second he turns back, kicks it in the face, and both fall to the ground. 

In a rush of adrenaline, the survivor jumps up, leaps next to the monster, picks it up, and smashes in on the ground as hard as he can. His hands now hurting more than ever before.

It turns into a puddle, just like the rest of them. But there’s no plasma cutter.

leave it!

no! bury it

no     fucking   leave   it

His thoughts now start getting blurred. Panicking about what to do, he slowly backs away.

He has to go back home to treat his wounds, but then he has no time before dark to get food. – fuck

Whatever he does, the feeling of not doing the right thing, the fear of making another big mistake, like going anywhere without a weapon, is consuming him. He’s becoming more and more paranoid, as seconds go by.

FASTFORWARD ~20 YEARS

In the last two decades, he’s gone completely insane. His diary now full of random markings and lines of ink, that are incomprehensible, if they even have a meaning. Some pages burnt, some scattered around the house. -…

His left arm went totally numb, no control over it. His legs are giving up, and his back hurts. - enough

All activities are instinctual. Getting food, cooking it, nothing else really matters, not even if he dies. At least then he won’t have to do anything.

He hasn’t shaved in a long time. When he looks in the mirror all he sees is gray hair around two lost eyes. Then he remembers his first day in the future. Great depression overwhelms him every time. Then he forgets all of it as soon as he leaves the mirror.

He’s living in his little world he created. Nothing else exists outside, nothing he’s aware of at a given time exists.

In the last two decades he’s been slowly moving his stuff back to the facility. He often confuses his old room in the city with the lab he decorated.

At night he lies on the mattress and scratches the floor, as he thinks of nothing, and everything.

On one night, as he’s about to fall asleep, he suddenly hears voices. Human voices. – insane…

Then he hears faint ruffling and the sound of steps getting closer and closer. – insane…

Something touches his shoulder, and he quickly turns around, his heart rate jumping unhealthily high. - ?!!!!!

He sees the same suit he wore when arriving in the future almost 50 years ago. – crazy…

The helmet opens up, and a familiar face looks back at him. It’s one of the guys he trained with. He can’t believe it. There’s no way. Impossible.

The two newcomers seem to be older than how the survivor remembered. It’s strange. - ?

Over the next two weeks, they fix the time machine on this side of time, and finally get back where the new two came from.

When they get into the still untouched by monsters lab, the old survivor gets overwhelmed with fond memories. Then he remembers his lost friend. Everything’s quiet now.

The first thing he does is ask for a phone. This old man’s badly wounded hands are shaking as he’s handed a phone. - shit

He looks his family up on social media, only to find that he’s forgotten about. - ?!

He starts crying, tear drops fall on the profile picture of his now ex-wife on the phone’s screen, and since it’s sensitive, it opens the picture up. There they are, a happy family with some rando in his place, next to his daughter.

He quickly wipes the tear off the phone, but to no avail. One by one, tears drop down on the phone, covering the screen.

He’s been left behind. He went through all of that, only to become a blurry memory in the eyes of his family and friends. Only remembered by the people now standing around him.

He stops for a moment, thinks about what he could’ve done to avoid all of this. There’s no one to say sorry to him, and he has no one to say sorry to, but himself.

I’m sorry.

________________

So, i’m not good at writing dialogue, so I didn’t. The stuff in bold after at the end of some lines is something I imagined to be like thought boxes in comic books.

I also couldn’t think of any names, so there are only nameless people.

[luninosity]

feettootie said:MOR – I mean! thank you. If course I mean Thank You! I’d never be SO rude as to demand an end to Justin’s suffering Right Now. …nope, not me. :-)                            

~

...more, you say? Following on from the previous...

#

“We’ll leave.” Mara slid to her feet. “We don’t want to…to make him feel more than he has to. But…give me your hand.”

 Kris did. The shoved-up sleeve of his shirt caught his eye: indigo, because Justin liked purple; a deeper solid color, because he wasn’t young enough for transparent or fish-net anymore, but with little glittery bits in, under stage jewelry.

 Because he’d been performing. Because it’d been their show—

 He wanted to start shaking. He felt sick.

 Justin’s aunt touched his hand; sparks seared, flared, settled into skin. Kris had worn Justin’s demon-mark, the claiming-mark, for so long that he rarely thought about it; Justin’s fingerprints settled easily in smoke and scarlet over his forearm. Protection from anyone else, Justin had said once, and a promise: Kris could touch the mark, press his own fingers into it, and call his demon-husband to his side.

 The back of his hand glimmered in ruby sunfire, now. Mara said, “It’ll last for two days, more or less, that one. I won’t renew it unless you ask. If you need us…”

 “I’ll call you.” Kris wiggled fingers. “I promise.”

 “Good,” she said, and touched Justin’s shoulder again. “Pet? We’re going. We’ll come back if you ask.”

 Justin blinked, yawned, winced, managed the pencil-sketch of a smile. “Thank you.”

 “Oh, don’t thank us,” Mara said, “you’re going to be human for a while, and we’re very sorry,”

 “I am human.” Justin’s smile grew a fraction. “And Kris will take care of me.”

 “He’d better,” said his aunt, and all three demons vanished, because they knew a good exit line; the air tasted of smoke and hot coals and wild flowers, after.

 Night fell like wings around them: amber light, sofa-cushions, New York twinkling companionably through wide windows. Stars and lights craned their necks; Justin curled himself further under the blanket.

 Kris tucked knitted stripes more closely around him. “Are you cold, love?”

 “A little. Mostly it’s just that everything hurts…” Justin snuck a hand up; Kris took it and kept it and guarded it ferociously. “I’ve pushed myself before, but this feels worse.”

 “D’you want coffee? Tea? Our bed?” He rubbed a thumb over the back of Justin’s hand, marveling: Justin was real and alive and loved him. “Anything.”

 “You’re trying to do something,” Justin said. “To do something, make something, fix something…”

 “Please let me?”

 “It’s not fixable,” Justin said. “You heard them…”

 “They said rest. And stay calm, and quiet.” He lifted Justin’s hand, dropped a kiss there. “I’m here for all of that.”

 “You love me.”

 “I do. Married you, didn’t I?”

 This got a laugh, though small; he’d guessed it would. “Kris Starr,” Justin said. “Married. To me.”

 “To the best person I’ve ever known.” One more kiss. “You didn’t answer me about the tea. And—I know your aunts said human doctors wouldn’t help, but would it, at all? You are half human, and they don’t know everything.”

 “They don’t, but I don’t think it’d make a difference.” Justin scrunched up that nose. “I know what’s wrong—I know how I feel—and there’s not really a fix for this kind of burnout. I could maybe use some extra-strength painkillers, but that’s about it.”

 His phone buzzed again, with a mild sense of shame about interruptions. Kris planned to ignore it some more; Justin said, abruptly horrified, “My family. The news—”

 Kris said a word or two that his mother would’ve never countenanced, and snatched up the mobile. Family. Yes. Six missed calls from Justin’s parents and assorted siblings, eight texts, and three other calls, one from Justin’s best friend Anna, one from his friend and employer Willie Randolph and one from Kris’s own best friend and former bassist. “Gods, even Reggie called you—”

 “You don’t have your phone.” Justin struggled to sit up; Kris dove in for support. “The stories…”

 The stories splashed themselves across headlines and home pages and social media. Accident at Kris Starr concert. Collapsing balcony. Heroic rescue. Lots of pictures of Kris and Justin standing side by side on stage; a few less tactful snapshots of Kris cradling Justin in the wake of calamity.

 Kris scrolled hastily past those. No need to see it. Or to relive it. He was still living it. “Should I call your mum?”

 “Yes, please…”

 They did. Justin’s family answered in a riot of emotion, despite the late hour. Both Professors Moore-Bautista were not only awake but alarmed; the twins and little Isabella had evidently stayed awake, worried about their oldest brother, and even James and Stephanie joined in via shared video call. Justin’s closest sibling pushed up his glasses and asked, “What caused the collapse? Do they know?”

 James always had been an engineer at heart, just like his wife; they were working on the interdimensional gateway project out at that California lab, Kris knew. James also looked too much like Justin: younger, plus the glasses and minus the demon half, but they had the same chin and the same nose and the same unconscious head-tilt when listening. Kris’s heart couldn’t quite handle that at the moment, and tensed a little.

 “We don’t know,” Justin answered, “but someone will. Probably just age; it was an old venue…”

 “Too old,” Kris grumbled.

 “Justin…” Justin’s father had always looked exactly like Kris’s mental idea of a historian: tall and thin, all salt-and-pepper, scholarly and gentlemanly over a secret giddy heart that’d once upon a time jumped into the pit at Kris Starr concerts and loved a demon wife and raised a half-demon son. Right now his eyes brimmed over with anxiety. “The news says you’re hurt?”

 “I’m…” Justin hesitated. “Kris is fine. I’m…not physically hurt.”

 “Yes you are,” Kris said.

 Justin’s family got more worried.

 Justin sighed. “It’s just burnout, okay? Nothing hit me or anything, I just over-extended myself. I’ll be okay.”

 “That sort of psychic trauma can be—”

 “Kells,” Justin said to his stepmother, “I know. I’m going to be fine.” Affection colored his tone, clear and bright. “The aunts came over and checked on me. It’s going to be not exactly fun for a while, but they said I should be okay.”

 They’d said they thought so. Different. Not the same. Kris stared hard at his husband. Justin yawned and put his head on Kris’s shoulder. “Mostly I need to rest. We only wanted to check in. We’re all right.”

 “Don’t do anything much,” Justin’s stepmother said, “and we can send Andy and Eddie over with anything you need, or at least throw some egg rolls or soup or turon and caramel sauce through one of James’s miniature portal prototypes, there’s still one in the lab out back and I could fiddle with the coordinates—”

 “That’s where that one is,” James said, illuminated. “I thought I’d left it on campus…”

 “You left that one with your parents,” Steph said, “and also the hyperstring predictor we were working on, the one that didn’t work, and also the interdimensional camera is still in your mom’s lab, but we’ll pick it up when we’re up there for the symposium next week—”

 “Oh, right, and we can drop by and say hi to Justin and Kris too…”

 “You’re always welcome,” Justin said, “even if that was so unsubtle you might’ve been shouting it through the portal. I really will be fine, guys.”

 Every single family member narrowed eyes at him. Justin held up hands in surrender. “Check on me if you want. But I’ve got Kris. I’m totally taken care of.”

 “You are.” Kris folded an arm around him. “And you’re going to rest, after this, and let me do that.” This time Justin’s family all beamed at him. Kris did not mind. He loved Justin. That was that. Simple.

 Justin’s family got off the phone, with admonitions about resting and being comfortable. Justin yawned again, and winced, and moved a hand to rub his temple. Then winced again.

 “That hurts?” Kris took over the gentle caresses. “Everything hurts, you said. Oh—hang on, we do have some sort of painkillers, I think…want them?”

 “Oh gods yes. Please.”

 Kris practically ran. Found a half-empty bottle—old but not expired—in a kitchen cabinet. Grabbed some water and some biscuits—chocolate, which was good, Justin liked chocolate—and ran back. His demon needed energy. “Here. Also we need to do some grocery shopping.”

 “Well, you’ve been on tour.” Justin took pills obediently, sipped water, nibbled when Kris offered him food. “We didn’t expect to be home much…”

 “We are now. I’ll get anything you want. Delivered.”

 “Love you. Can there be pizza?”

 “There can definitely be pizza. And your garlic breadsticks.” He fed Justin another cookie. “Any better?”

 “Kris, I’ve only just taken them.”

 “I know. I just…”

 “I know,” Justin said. “I know. I think…I do want to try to sleep, for a while. Maybe it’ll hurt less. You should call Reggie. And maybe call Anna back for me? I would, but I’m so tired.”

 “Rest,” Kris said, heart choking his throat. “Rest, love. I’ll handle that.”

 Justin closed both eyes—browner more human eyes, less laced with mysterious spice and smoke—and settled into blankets on the sofa. Kris took a deep breath, bent forward, braced elbows on knees. Scrubbed hands over his face.

 Justin was alive. That was everything.

 The coffee table nudged his leg in sympathy. He put a hand on it.

 Justin was hurt—would continue to be hurt—would be more human. Not fixable. Only rest, and time. The shiver struck his spine and made him shudder.

 He made himself call Anna. Justin’s best friend listened with typical practicality, asked whether she should come over, not necessarily this instant but soon, and if so whether she could pick up any shopping for them. Kris nearly wept at the gesture, which earned a, “Don’t you dare, Kris Starr,” followed by, “if you cry then I’ll cry, and then I’ll have to evaporate your next cup of tea before you drink it.” Anna had minor and entirely human water-related magical affinities; Kris had sometimes wondered whether she and Justin got along so well because of the complementary elements.

 She promised to come by the next day, and to bring groceries and homemade banana bread; she audibly remembered which of them was incapacitated and unable to cook, and also promised to bring some actual meals. She also said she’d stop by Justin’s high-rise editorial office and pick up any physical manuscripts or advance copies of books or authorial contracts. Kris thanked her again, and went on to the next call he’d realized he needed to make, which involved Justin’s boss. Fortunately Wilhelmina Randolph, head of that extensive multimedia publishing empire, adored Justin; she’d known him, or at least known of him, ever since he’d been an excited underground music scene reporter writing for fanzines and punk-rock outlets and occasionally consensually falling into bed with one or more story subjects. She’d seen the news as well; she told Kris to not worry about anything, and to focus on Justin’s health.

 Kris eyed his husband. Justin was asleep now, smaller than usual under heaps of blankets, long legs strangely vulnerable. Even his hair looked wrong: so completely ordinary, soft and lovely but in a purely human way, falling in washed-out ginger waves across a pillow.

 He felt the corners and edges and harmonies of anguish tremble, an explosion of empathic rage and grief and love that did not escape. He did not let it.

 Calm. Warmth. Soothing.

 He made tea, straightforward Earl Grey, and breathed in the scent of it. Justin did not wake.

 He texted Reggie. Reg called back, which meant he was actually genuinely concerned. “Kris? Why’ve you got Justin’s phone?”

 “Mine’s still…someplace. Dressing room. England. Someone’ll bring it.” He looked at Justin and the sofa; he looked at his tea. His hand shook. He set the mug down. “He’s…he’s really hurt, Reg.”

 “Oh, gods,” Reg said. “Kris, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You want me to fly out there? To get you anything, to send you anything? Is he…how bad is it?” And his voice was the voice of the friend who’d been there when Christopher Thompson’d picked up his first guitar, and who’d stood side by side with Kris at Sarah Thompson’s funeral—she’d loved Reggie Jones like a second son—and who’d been the best man at Kris and Justin’s wedding.

 “I don’t know,” Kris whispered, and pressed a hand over his mouth; somehow a minute later he found himself sitting on the floor in the hallway, sobs rattling his chest while Reggie talked to him urgently, gently, with love.

 Eventually he ran out of tears. Justin hadn’t stirred; Kris, sitting on the hardwood planks, felt oddly lighter, if shakier. “…sorry.”

 “Nah, you needed that.” Reggie sounded surprisingly comfortable with being long-distance emotional support. “Get it out. ‘S fine. You said he’s doing okay? But he is hurt?”

 “He’s human,” Kris whispered, “and he’s in pain,” and tried to explain more while Reg listened.

 Reggie said, when he was done, “So he’ll recover. They said so.”

 “Yeah…but…what if—”

 “Kris, they said so.”

 “I just want him to not be hurt…”

 “So you’ve got painkillers, maybe some willow bark, cloves, stuff somebody with some herbal healing gifts worked on? And food. I know he needs food. I’ve seen your adorable husband eat.”

 “I’ll get him pizza…”

 “Okay. You’re gonna be okay. You know what he needs, yeah? And he’ll tell you if something’s wrong.”

 “He will.” Justin would.

 “Okay, then.”

 “Have I ever told you,” Kris said wearily, “how much I don’t deserve you?” The floor was getting extra-hard; he thought he could probably get up now. His tea was waiting patiently over on the table.

 “You have,” Reggie said, “but you can always say it again. Check in with me tomorrow, maybe?”

 “Sure.”

 “Love you both,” Reg said, and got off the phone; if Kris was any judge, his former-bassist-turned-vineyard-owner was already planning care baskets to send them.

 The thought made him smile. Reggie did care. Justin had friends; Kris and Justin had friends.

 He peeled himself off the floor, and went to sit with his husband.

  Justin slept, on and off, for the rest of the night. He did not sleep easily; he woke with small sounds of pain, and creases between eyes. Kris, heart knotting his throat, offered painkillers, tea, coffee, various foods—sweet, savory, anything Justin indicated interest in—and stayed awake. His hands seemed to help: stroking Justin’s hair, kneading Justin’s back or the nape of his neck, being present and steady. A few knots unwound in his chest when Justin smiled tiredly at him, and nibbled pizza, and murmured, “That feels good…” while nestling more into Kris’s touch.

 Trusting. Relaxed. So unguarded about placing himself into Kris’s care. Justin was a fucking miracle. But then Kris had always thought so.

 He sang to his husband, along with the backrubs and hair-petting. His own songs, love songs, ballad rock new and old. Some decades-old silly pop love ditties. Some lullabies, the one or two that he vaguely recalled in his mother’s voice. Justin turned his head, at that last, enough to nuzzle a kiss into Kris’s caressing hand.

 Justin at another point yawned and said, “I can make it to bed, I think, if you want?” Kris shrugged a shoulder and told him that anywhere was fine, the sofa was fine, not moving at all would be fine. Justin pointed out that their bed was bigger and therefore better for full-body cuddling. Kris gave in, in part because Justin did look marginally better, or at least less pale.

 In their bedroom, Justin sank down on the end of the bed, which held him up anxiously; the rainbow-striped duvet tucked itself around him. Kris, heart fluttering in his throat, touched Justin’s shirt, the edge of skinny jeans; Justin laughed briefly, an escape of air. “You just like me naked.”

 “I do. But I was thinking more about you being comfortable.”

 “I know.” Justin smothered a yawn in a hand. “I can change, I think…pajama pants…”

 “Yeah, that was the plan.” Kris found the cozy flannel ones, the type designed for New York winters, plus a long-sleeved old Phantom Fighters shirt that Justin wore a lot around the apartment on icy nights, and came back over. “Want help?”

 Justin made a not-quite-annoyed face, sighed, and held up arms. “Yeah…”

 “Love you,” Kris affirmed, with a kiss to the tip of his nose; and slid rock-show clothing off and protective warm clothing on, with care.

 He did love Justin’s naked body: slim hips, smooth skin, lean thighs, that lovely long swinging cock, that pert backside. His fingers knew the feeling of all those places, the sensations of Justin under his touch. They wanted to linger; he gazed at his own hands over Justin’s waist. Justin wasn’t generally fragile—demon magic, runner’s muscles, punk-kid boots, and writer’s cleverness abounded—and was fearless, exploratory, delighted, in bed.

 Justin was injured now, and moved as if breathing hurt. Kris curled a hand over his hip, tugged pajama pants up, and leaned in to kiss his stomach: feather-light, no demands, full of too many emotions to express.

 Justin put a hand out, touched Kris’s hair, coaxed his gaze up. Their eyes met; Justin smiled.

 In bed, twined together, Kris read to him for a while—a history of nineteen-fifties all-girl all-witch groups—and hummed a few songs for him and held tea for him to sip and some trail mix for him to nibble. Justin, drowsy and safe, draped an arm around Kris, snuggled in, and drifted in and out.

 Kris loved him. Kris loved every piercing, terrifying, potentially heartbreaking moment of life with him. Wouldn’t change a thing. Here in their bedroom, under the kindly glow of a single lamp, some wrist cuffs and the collar from their wedding-night in the drawer under the bed, he understood as much.

 He loved Justin, and Justin had the kind of heart that’d leap in to help people; Kris wouldn’t take that away. He’d never want to. Not when Justin could still feel that way, could still love the world that way, in beautiful courageous defiance of an ex-boyfriend and a past and a world still a little unsure about demonkind, though that was getting better.

 He hated Justin being hurt. But he could never ask his husband, his hero, the man who’d saved his life long before any of the night’s events, to be less than a marvel. Justin had looked at Kris Starr, cranky and petulant aging rock legend, and had seen someone worth salvaging, caring for, loving. Even before they’d been lovers. Even when Kris had insulted him and pretended they weren’t friends.

 Justin loved like that: a gift, freely given. Because he thought someone—an old rock star, a friend, a person he’d only just met, a writer he’d offered a book contract—deserved to be loved.

 Sometimes he couldn’t believe Justin had married him. Sometimes he could believe it, and then he swore on every single battle-lined bit of whatever soul he’d got left that he’d make Justin’s life as splendid and delicious and full of cherishing as his husband deserved.

 He’d stopped reading, as the sun came up. He thought Justin might be asleep; he tried not to yawn, and failed. Not as young as he used to be. Not as bouncy. But Justin needed him.

 Justin folded the arm more tightly around Kris’s waist, murmured, “You can sleep, I’m here,” and wriggled closer: all worn-out half-demon loyal fierceness, even when mostly mortal. “You should rest too. With me.”

 “You sure?” He ran a hand over Justin’s head. So human. Very human. Red and dull. “Was kinda thinking I’d stay awake, in case you needed me.”

 “I do need you,” Justin explained into Kris’s shoulder. “Right here. I’m okay…sort of…mostly, anyway…I’ll wake you if I’m not. If I’m hurting worse. I promise. Sleep with me.”

 Kris sighed.

 “Please?”

 “…all right. But you’ll wake me if you feel worse.”

 “I promise, Kris.”

 “Even a tiny bit worse. Even if you only think you might feel worse. Or you’re thirsty. Or hungry. Or—”

 “Kris.”

 “…I love you,” Kris muttered, defeated. “Love.”

 “I know.” Justin waited for Kris to flip the light off, then fit himself into elderly knightly arms. “I love you. Always. My Kris.”

 “Yeah,” Kris breathed, as Justin’s human hair kissed his chin, as light crept around curtain-edges and traced familiar bedposts and doorknobs in gold, “yours.”