#chest press for chronic illness

[compassionmattersmost]

8: Gently Building Strength with Compassion: The Converging Chest Press for Post-Viral ME/CFS

The journey toward mindful movement when living with Post-Viral ME/CFS is deeply personal, one that requires patience, gentleness, and, above all, self-compassion. Today, as we continue this path of self-care and mindful strength-building, we’re going to explore the Converging Chest Press Machine—a tool that, when used thoughtfully, can help us nurture our upper body strength in a safe and…

[kitasuno]

dating the love and deepspace boys | domestic moments

featuring: rafayel, xavier, and zayne x gn!reader

(´• ω •`) ♡ modern au! can you guys tell raf is my favorite..?

rafayel

a year younger than you. lies to everyone (including you) that he’s actually two years your senior. you only found out he was younger than you when you met his parents, who have his birth certificate framed. 

hates cats. despises them. they fill him with rage (fear). says he’s allergic (he’s lying).

“oh shit raf, this sucks! i guess you can’t move in with me.. i have cats”

“...you have cats?”

“yeah. 3.”

“i’m not allergic. i can move in tonight.”

chronically online. minoring in marine biology and majoring in annoying you. texts you over 200 times a day and if you don’t respond, he’s faking a horrible chronic illness. again. it’s amnesia on wednesdays, appendicitis on thursdays, chronic migraines on fridays… etc..

he has 2 followers on his private twitter. you and thomas. 

over 700k followers on instagram for some reason? he sells paintings on depop (he says it's depop but you’re convinced he sells them for heinous prices on the black market) 

cooks on occasion? has an apron that says kiss me im irish (he's not irish?) made you a tuna cupcake once?? 

pescatarian. not in the vegan/vegetarian way where he refuses to eat red meat but because he’s absolutely feral over fish. (is this cannibalism? he says its not)

lives in a 2 bedroom apartment with you but doesn’t use his bedroom. says your bed is comfier. turned his bedroom into a painting studio (IT’S for the black market you say!!) and sleeps with you. 

“raf,” you sigh. “don’t you have.. homework or something?” 

he sits between your legs, back against your chest as he scrolls through his phone. 

“yeah,” he says. you flick the back of his head because you know he’s smirking. “it’s called assignment: you. due in two minutes.” 

with his free hand, he reaches back mindlessly to grab yours. you sigh, fingers intertwining with his, a reflex as he leans his head back. his eyes meet yours and you can’t help but laugh. 

“well?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he squeezes your hand. “what are the assignment details?” 

he chews on the bottom of his lip as he thinks, humming while his eyes wander across your face. he swings your interlocked hands in circles. it’s raining outside, the heater is on, and rafayel is warm like hot chocolate. 

“what?” he says, his cheeks a tinge pink. “you’re looking at me like that again.” a pause. he turns, his head now buried in your chest.

“just studying my homework.” you say, hands instinctively wrapping around his back. the laundry machine is running in the background, rain is falling against the window, and you faintly hear your rice cooker dinging in the kitchen. home, you think, is with rafayel.

“i can hear your heartbeat.” he says, voice muffled. “it’s super fast. you like me or something?” 

“i really like you.” you say, without skipping a beat. rafayel groans into your chest, sighing in discontent. 

“no fair. i’m supposed to be the flirter.” 

you press a kiss onto the top of his head and you feel his body melt into yours. the two of you fall into a warm silence, his breath steady as he traces paintings into your neck. 

“raf?” you mumble, eyes drooping. he hums in response. “did you pass your assignment?” 

he smiles. “with flying colors.” 

xavier

chronic napper. (yapper?) 

has 100 late assignments. failing all of his classes yet got into the top university in your country because he got a perfect score on his entrance exams. you thought he was a nepo baby (turns out he’s just.. smart?)

his procrastination rubs off on you… he is the WORST distraction and he knows it. so smug about it and uses it to his own advantage. will perch on top of you when you’re studying and kiss down your neck until you go to sleep with him. 

lives in the apartment on top of yours but is at your house most days, if not all. you ask him to move in.

“am i not already.. living with you?” 

“don’t you still have your apartment, though?”

“yeah..?”

 is that good for the economy?? is it financially smart? not at all, but he’s too lazy to move out and put his apartment up for lease. 

xavier sleeps with his legs entangled with yours and his arms wrapped tightly around your chest. the air conditioning hums in the background as you scroll mindlessly on your phone, dimming the brightness as you hear xavier stir. 

“sorry xav, did i wake you up?” you ask. he doesn’t respond, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he glares at your phone. 

“xavier?” you question, swallowing a laugh at his ruffled hair and disheveled clothes. 

“phone down.” he says, voice raspy with sleep and an octave lower than usual. you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“can i get a pretty please in this economy?” 

xavier’s eyes narrow as he snatches your phone away, snoozing the device and placing it on the nightstand next to you. his lips ghost your neck, pressing kisses against your skin as he mumbles incoherently in the dark of your bedroom. 

“xavier-” you breathe, giggling at the sensation. “that tickles!” 

he nips at your neck. 

“bedtime. now.” 

zayne

3 years older than you 

he literally has his whole life together at 27 which scares you so much

“my credit card is your credit card” typa boyfriend

cooks. cleans. has a 9-5. you’re interning at the hospital that he works at (he’s head doctor!!)

you’re just a sweet little intern and zayne is the big bad monster!! everyone at work thinks he hates you because he’s extra strict on you. doesn’t give you any special treatment, ‘ignores’ you most days (but also slips meals into your locker and hands you heat packs on cold days in the hospital)

no one knows he’s dating you until one day someone sees you leaving in zaynes car. 

“oh, you carpool with doctor zayne?”

“huh? no, we live together.”

“you WHAT???”

he’s a virgo……. erm……

the two of you get ready together in the morning. his guard is down when he’s sleepy and he’ll cling to you as he brushes his teeth and does his hair.

you wake up to the cold night breeze, blinking the sleep out of your eyes and shivering as you scan your surroundings. you yelp as you meet the attentive gaze of your boyfriend. 

“huh? whuh? huh?” you splutter, squirming as zayne holds you tighter. he’s carrying you bridal style in his arms, his jacket around your shoulders as the two of you walk to his car. you see the bright lights of akso hospital fading away behind the two of you. 

“it’s two am,” he says calmly, placing you down gently as he opens your car door for you. “you waited for my shift to end. again.” 

you smile bashfully, rubbing the back of your head. “well, i didn’t wanna just leave you!” 

zayne clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed but gaze warm. he guides you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt in place. 

“you can nap on the way home,” he says, closing the door and sliding into his side of the car. 

the heater’s on already- courtesy of his super expensive electric car. he fastens his own seatbelt and hands you a hot tea and bread from the hospital vending machine. 

“drink up. doctor’s orders.” 

you grin before he leans over to press a kiss on your lips. 

“thank you for waiting for me.”

[spatialwave]

"my ambition" - part one

pairing: jayvik x fem!reader word count: 1k tags: mdni! semi-nsfw, fluffy, poly relationship, reader has a chronic illness, no use of y/n, not beta’d. notes:no summary bc it’s very short n sweet and mostly just some fluff!! will probably write a part 2 to this or use this fic as a base for future one shots hehe. reminder that my ask box is open! 🩵 credits: art by @/shuploc & divider by @/cafekitsune on tumblr!

part 2. ->

“No, no, this doesn’t make sense.”

The flickering flame of several candles lit up the darkened apartment as Jayce sat over a scattering of papers. His back hunched, eyes tired, stubble unshaved and fingers tracing over the writings on the parchments. Forever studying and analyzing ways to work with the hextech, to improve upon it and use it to help others. To help you, and Viktor.

“Sleep is good for the brain.” A tired voice spoke from behind him.

There was a quiet groan that erupted from deep within his chest, a reprieve from the chaos in his mind, as he rested back against the wooden chair that creaked beneath his weight. Your hand, a delicate touch, trailed over his bare shoulders as he worked late in only his nice pair of trousers that were gifted by the Kiramman family.

He hadn’t taken a single moment of rest since a meeting with Viktor and Heimerdinger earlier that day to go over progress of the hextech research. They had hit a roadblock, having advanced so far, yet still struggling to find ways for it to help the people, rather than just Piltover.

Hextech was more than a tool to better run the city and improve upon its trades within Runeterra. If only he could find a way to stabilize the crystal.

“You’re overworking yourself, Jayce,” you continued, arms now wrapping around his shoulders. Your chest pressed against the back of his head, hands palming against his muscled chest.

“I’m this close to a breakthrough,” the man sighed, finding comfort in your touch as he leaned back and let his eyes flutter closed, sleep heavy in his head, “Progress Day is three months away, and what do we have to show for it? An unstabilized crystal?”

Jayce was worked up like this more often than not, the work with hextech had taken the forefront for years now. Recently it had begun to consume him, but you were the recipe to keeping him sane. 

You were his rock, as he said.

“Hexgates, airships, robots,” your posh accent chimed as your body moved and you’d managed to sneak your way onto Jayce’s lap — ultimately severing the line between him and his work. 

Your chests pressed together, faces only a few inches apart as you stared into those honey-coloured eyes.

“Why do you always get so down on yourself?” 

Jayce stared at you, strong calloused hands settling on your hips as you straddled him. He had no ambition to answer, knowing very well that he was his own worst critic and you were his biggest supporter. 

“You’ll get there,” you continued, head ducking as your lips pressed to his jaw. The roughage of his stubble prickly against your lips as you kissed, trailing from under his chin to underneath his ear, “now, I haven’t had a chance to have you in over a week. I think I’m rather deserving.”

That roused a chuckle from him, a toothy grin on his lips as he allowed himself to relax under your touch. 

“I want to do this for you,” he murmured, head lulling back as you kissed down his neck, “something to help.”

“I know,” you soothed, one hand palmed at his chest as you pulled back, a finger touching his chin and tilting his face back to you, “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Jayce’s eyes opened, and it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. Beautiful and glowing.

Your sickness was well-hidden, a struggle you dealt with behind closed doors. Pain that erupted through your veins, left your muscles weak and skin burning. It came in flares — aches so painful it left you bedridden for weeks.

Once an Academy all-star, now confined to your apartment. You were thankful for Jayce and Viktor, the two most important individuals in your life.

“Now come to bed. I can’t remember the last time you’d managed to stay up later than Viktor,” you smiled, shifting off of his lap. Two quick breaths blew out the candles, and you’d managed to pull Jayce along behind you like a lovesick puppy.

You dropped the robe that had covered your body, revealing your half-naked body save for the underwear that hugged the curves of your hips. The mattress dipped under your weight as you crawled in next to a sleeping Viktor, who had retired to bed with you a few hours earlier.

He rolled onto his side toward you, a slender arm wrapped over your waist and bony fingers pressing into the skin of your hip. You pressed yourself against his frail chest, face buried as you inhaled his scent and Jayce slipped under the blankets on the other side of him.

“Finally wrangled him?” Viktor hummed, half-asleep, as both yours and Jayce’s warmth kept him tired.

“You’ve let him beat you again. You’re losing your drive for all-nighters full of bright ideas,” you murmured, nuzzling against him.

“I’ve long lost that spark,” Viktor mumbled, burying his face in your hair and sighing as he felt Jayce’s hands slide along his bare skin, “I’m a tired old man now. I can live with that.”

Jayce snorted, “I do it for the both of us then,” he murmured into his lover’s ear, breath warm and tickling his skin. A shaky breath trembled out from Viktor’s lips, tensing his arms around you.

You were quick to join in on the fun, lips attached to the base of Viktor’s throat as you left a trail of feather light kisses along his skin. One hand reaching down between his legs and into the briefs he wore.

“Can’t a man get rest?” he breathed out, squirming between you two. 

“No,” Jayce huffed, lips pressed to Viktor’s shoulders as he assaulted him with a flurry of open-mouthed kisses to his skin, teeth and lips dragging against him.

“Sorry, love,” you whispered, licking a line on his neck before suckling on the skin, “I may have riled him up in the kitchen.”

“How awful,” he sighed, though, there was nothing Viktor enjoyed more than having two lips and two pairs of hands traversing his body. 

He melted into the touch as the three of you consumed each other. Hands traveling over skin, lips connected, tongues lapping at each other and clothes ripped from bodies.

The three of you were the embodiment of love. On the worst days, there were no thoughts of giving up. You were each other’s ambition.

[myalgicencephalomyelitiscfstom]

Press release for this Canadian study [Metabolomic and immune alterations in long COVID patients with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome]:

“We do not actually believe that long COVID is a separate new disease,” explains rheumatologist and clinical immunologist Jan Willem Cohen Tervaert, professor of medicine, who is an expert in fatigue associated with rheumatic illnesses.

“Some symptoms — such as the loss of taste and chest pain — are very specific for COVID, but we see a common pathway with ME/CFS, which leads to the same fatigue, brain fog, post-exertional malaise, widespread pain and non-refreshing sleep,” he says.

[blackenedsnow]

Can you write me a Shadow the Hedgehog x Female Reader, but movie Shadow version and the reader has DiGeorge Syndrome a rare medical disorder that I have, idk about any prompts or summary atm, anything will do :3

a heart’s shadow

WARNING: Mention of chronic illness and medical trauma, implied violence

PAIRING: Movie! Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader with DiGeorge Syndrome

NOTE: I may have gotten his personality completely wrong (let's hope not) but I hope you enjoy anyway! Sending you lots of love <333

SUMMARY: Shadow abducts you as part of a calculated plan but soon discovers your health struggles, which remind him of Maria. This realization shifts his cold purpose into something else.

The hum of machinery filled the darkened corridor. Shadow’s red-tinted eyes scanned the area, unyielding, calculating. Dr. Robotnik’s orders were simple: take a hostage to ensure leverage against Sonic. Anyone nearby would do.

He found you on a bench by a park, bundled against the chill, your breath coming in slow, deliberate measures. Shadow had no reason to think twice about you, but when he closed the distance, a brief hesitance stirred within him. There was something… different.

“You’ll do,” he muttered to himself, voice cold as he stepped forward. Before you had a chance to scream, the world became a blur of black and crimson.

When you came to, you were somewhere unfamiliar, an industrial space with harsh lights and the lingering scent of oil and metal. Panic clawed at your chest as you tried to sit up, but a sharp twinge in your side reminded you why that was a bad idea.

“Good, you’re awake,” a voice came from the shadows.

You turned toward the figure stepping into the light—small, black-furred, and with eyes that pierced right through you. Recognition struck. Shadow the Hedgehog.

“Why am I here? Why… why me?” Your voice trembled, but there was an underlying defiance.

His expression was unreadable. “You were convenient. That’s all.”

It wasn’t true. Not entirely. Shadow had noticed the slow way you’d been breathing, the way your hand pressed against your chest as if steadying something fragile. Something about it gnawed at the edges of his focus, but he dismissed it as irrelevant.

Hours turned into a day. Despite his original intention to keep you confined, Shadow had been uncharacteristically quiet and watchful, observing you from a distance.

When you tried to stand, the stumble in your step was enough to make him act. “Sit,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “You’ll hurt yourself further.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, though your trembling hands betrayed you. “I’ve been through worse.”

Something flickered across his face—a rare softness. “Explain.”

You weren’t sure why you did, but the words poured out before you could stop them. The surgeries. The way your heart worked harder than it should. The moments when simple things—like standing too quickly—felt like scaling a mountain.

Shadow listened, his arms crossed but his eyes filled with something akin to recognition. When you finished, you expected him to dismiss you or make some cutting remark. Instead, he just nodded.

The days stretched on, and Shadow’s demeanor began to shift. Where there had been silence, there was now a steady rhythm of his presence—a glass of water set beside you when he thought you weren’t looking, the careful adjustment of the space to make it more comfortable.

“What changed?” you asked one evening as he handed you a blanket.

Shadow hesitated, his gaze fixed on the floor. “You’re not what I expected. You’re… stronger than you seem.”

“Strong?” You laughed bitterly. “I can barely make it through the day without—”

“Strength isn’t about perfection,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “It’s surviving despite everything trying to break you.”

It wasn’t just empty words. Shadow understood. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened when he spoke, the unspoken weight he carried.

One morning, you woke to find Shadow in a room—not the cold, sterile space you’d been confined to, but warm place. He had taken you somewhere safe.

“You’re not taking me back to Robotnik?” you asked cautiously.

“No,” he said simply.

“But why—”

“Because I don’t work for him anymore.”

He didn’t elaborate, but you didn’t need him to. The walls Shadow had so carefully built around himself had cracked, just enough for you to glimpse the truth. He hadn’t saved you out of pity or obligation. Somewhere along the way, you’d become important to him.

Life with Shadow wasn’t easy—he was blunt, stoic, and often distant. But he was also fiercely protective, learning the intricacies of your condition without complaint. He’d carry you when you were too weak to walk, stand vigil during your worst days, and remind you in his own quiet way that you were never alone.

“Why do you stay?” you asked him one night, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you, his gaze steady. “Because you remind me of her. Of Maria.”

You reached for his hand, resting yours over his. “I’m not her, Shadow. I’m not perfect.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you’re worth fighting for.”

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 3

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

The library was supposed to be a safe space. The priestesses were supposed to be sheltered there.

A place far away from the terrors of the world. A place where they could study and learn far from the grasp of those who would harm them.

But clearly today that peace had been destroyed, Rhys reflected weakly. 

Merrill was dead. 

Neither Cassian or Rhys had let Gwyn see the…carnage of that, Nesta and Emerie bracketing her away from…her fellow priestesses’ corpse…and Irena…

Rhys had to keep repeating the words to himself, over and over again. Like a litany, a prayer, desperately trying to make them stick. 

Irena was alive. Irena would be fine.

 She would be alright, even though she looked so, so pale, deathly pale in Azriel's arms.

Irena.

Irena, who Azriel had saved around two centuries ago…

Not from the horrors of the war but from her husband.

The daughter of a merchant, married off young, to one of the richest men in the midlands…she had been raised to run an estate…had excelled at it in fact. And her husband had excelled in killing young girls.

The things he had put her through... The things he had done... 

Azriel, who had found her and brought her to Velaris had been shocked that she'd stayed in one piece to be honest. Rhys had been shocked too.

And once she had been in the library…she had excelled once more.

Rhys had gotten long used to see her handwriting, not long suffering Clotho’s, fill out the sheets with expenditures and acquisitions.

She had cut the fat, made sure that the House of Wind was self sufficient, thanks to research requests being able to be submitted, thanks to patents and the gardens…

Irena had been a godssend. Literally. 

Rhys wasn't quite sure how they had survived before her.

But the last fucking thing he had expected was that…her and Azriel were…mates.

Rhysand had not seen that coming in a million years

But there was no question about it.

If Irena's thoughts, an utter mess of shock and pain and grief and agony...with the only thing that ran through it the whole time was her thread to Azriel wouldn't have been a dead giveaway...then it would have been Azriel's behaviour.

Azriel who had gone on his knees next to the priestess, his hands slick with her blood and had simply clung to her. He had begged her, his voice broken.

Rhys would never forget the sound of his brother's voice, the pure desperation bleeding from every single letter. Please. We haven't had enough time. I am going to be so furious with you if you die. We may have our first fight. Don't you dare. Open your eyes. Look at me, love. You can't go. Fight.

That look on Azriel's face as he had held her close, refusing to let go as he tried to will her back from death's clutches. The words he had kept murmuring like a prayer. A desperate mantra to the Mother, the Cauldron, anyone who would listen.

Azriel was never the most expressive of them. He rarely even showed a flicker of emotion for most things. To see him lose so much control, to beg. To see tears in his eyes. None of them had ever seen him like that before, had ever even considered the possibility of him acting like that.

He was always composed. Always calm, collected, in control. To see him on his knees next to Irena, begging her not to leave as he pressed kisses to her forehead and kept telling her to stay with him…

For a moment, it had felt like he had forgotten the others even existed. That nothing had mattered except her pulse, the slight rise and fall of her chest. The only thing that had mattered to him in that moment was that she was still with him, still alive.

She was important to him. There was no question about it. 

Sometime during the last few years, that Priestess had become the Shadowsinger’s whole focus. 

Sometime in the past, Irena had become Azriel's whole world.

And Rhys hadn't known. Had known nothing about this.

He could feel the guilt clawing up inside him. 

Rhys had had no fucking clue this was happening, right underneath his nose. 

That he had never noticed that Azriel's eyes lingered on Irena…had never noticed that Azriel sought her company…hadn’t known that Azriel had spent time with her… 

Rhys hadn't known. Hadn't...hadn't even thought about it.

Azriel had pulled back from them after that catastrophic solstice and Rhys had let him. Had thought that Azriel needed to lick his wounds...that maybe then he would see it Rhysand's way...but none of this happened.

Azriel had kept his anger tightly leashed, even though Rhys had gotten a taste of it every time he badgered him. But Azriel hadn’t exploded. 

Instead, he had been vicious in throwing Rhysan’ own words back into his face. 

There didn’t pass one day where Rhys didn’t regret that one sentence, because Azriel was clearly… furious about it. 

Azriel had grown distant...cold...unfeeling. And Rhys had badgered him and got on his nerves and figured that if Azriel would just get it out of his system… but he didn't. Didn't get angry. Didn't fight. Didn't scream...Rhys would have preferred it if he did.

What wouldn't he give to have that old Azriel back, the one who actually got mad? Who didn't just accept everything with a nod and a word of acknowledgment. Who talked to Rhysand, who told him when he'd done something wrong. Who fought with him if he went too far, who made his opinion known. Who told him to his face when he was being an arrogant prick, who didn't just accept his commands with a quiet nod.

But now it made sense. Azriel hadn't fucking cared what Rhys did, what any of the did, because his priorities had been rearranged completely. As long as he could get home to his priestess...he hadn't cared.

He did all the missions Rhys had for him and then went home to the House of Wind and found one quiet corner or another to romance his mate, out of the view from everybody else. 

And that was the worst part. That Rhys had been such a prick to Azriel, so wrapped up in his own worries, his own fears, that he hadn't even noticed that something had shifted so fundamentally in his brother. Had pushed him so far away.

Rhys had thought that they were simply…in a rought spot. That in a few years, Azriel would be over Elain and it would be done. But now Rhys realised that…that it wasn’t about Elain. Not really.  

Rhys had never realized how deep this was, how close to the breaking point he'd taken his brother.

Deep enough that the fact that Azriel had found his mate...that was something that Azriel didn't share with any of them. Something that happy... Azriel had just kept silent.

Azriel hadn’t trusted them with the most treasured and precious thing in his life. 

And that hurt. Hurt more than he could put into words. 

That Azriel had found the one person who he was destined for, the only one who was perfect for him in the entire world. The one person who would love and cherish him, who would complete him, who would accept him as he was, who would understand him...and he hadn't told Rhys. Hadn't told any of them.

Azriel hadn't told anyone that he had found his mate. 

Had kept that to himself for who knew how long. Just how long had it been? When had he figured out they were mated? 

��Bring her to her room,” Madja said at the moment. And Rhys watched as seemingly some colour went back into Irena's cheeks, her eyes closed, her breathing still laboured…her mind filled with Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. and Safe, Safe, Safe. 

“My room,” Azriel corrected, his voice fierce. The mating instincts must have gone completely haywire at that very moment, not soothed at all, even when he had pressed a kiss against her forehead moments before.

.“Your room?” Gwyn asked sharply, staring at Azriel, then at still, quiet Irena. She seemed to be utterly shell-shocked, not that Rhys could fault her. 

"Gwyn," Rhys said carefully. It was best if none of them...interfered right now. This was between Azriel and his mate.

"Az, how long have the two of you..." Cassian asked, clearly having come to the same conclusion, but Rhys interrupted him. *Leave him be,* he warned their brother.

*Leave him be?! I had no idea that he and Irena are...whatever the fuck they are!*

“Two years. She’s my mate,” Azriel answered, not even looking at any of them, completely concentrated on said mate. 

"Mate," Irena agreed weakly. "Mine."

"Yours," Azriel agreed, his voice hoarse, as he picked her up carefully like his mate was made out of spun glass. "Let's tuck you into bed, Love," he told her softly. 

And off his spymaster went carrying the priestess that was his mate.

Rhys could just stare after them. 

"Did you know?" Cassian demanded sharply.

"I had absolutely no fucking clue," Rhys admitted weakly.

He felt the guilt swirling inside him, deep and bitter and vicious. He should have known. He should have realized and supported Azriel.

But it had been Rhys who had pushed him so far away that he hadn't told him. That he didn't even think that he could tell Rhys that he had found his mate.

And it hurt. Gods, it hurt. To know that Azriel had kept something that he should have been so happy about to himself just so he wouldn't have to deal with Rhys's bullshit.

Cassian started barking orders...About a stretcher and about Merrill's body...It would be taken away and prepared for the last rites. 

It wasn't often that one of the priestesses died. It wasn't...They were safe here. They were supposed to be safe here...but whatever happened in this room…

“What even happened?” Rhys asked, as he turned around to surview the carnage. 

It was bad. Really bad. 

“Irena went to talk to Merill, because Merrill got…angry with one of the newer acolytes…” Gwyn said, her voice shaky. “Merrill was in a bad mood because Irena forbid her newest research project.”

Her newest research project? It was well known that Merrill was brilliant. So for Irena to…

"Why did she forbid it?" Rhys asked curiously.

"It involved some form of spell crafting. Irena wanted Merrill to have supervision from a spellcrafter, because it was a language that none of us actually understood and we didn’t eve know about what kind of spell it was…Merill didn't think that was needed," Gwyn said weakly, wiping away tears. "And now look where that got us. God, how could Merrill be this stupid?"

"It wasn't stupidity, it was probably arrogance," Cassian said with a sigh. "It's dumb luck that only...that only Irena got hurt.

Rhys couldn't but agree with Cassian's assessment. It was a miracle that Irena was alive. That she'd survived when Merrill’s body was…near unrecognisable….clearly it had been closer to whatever had blown up in their faces

Merrill had probably thought she knew what she was doing, but she didn't have the skill or training to work on advanced spell work. I

rena wasn’t the type of person who would deny research on a whim either. If she believed that Merrill needed supervision then Merrill had needed supervision.

Irena was clever. And cautious. 

Azriel's mate was a damn good judge of character after all.

Gods, Azriel's mate. What a thought…

The spymaster and the priestess. Rhys’ near silent brother and…and gentle, caring Irena, the beating heart of the library. 

Rhys would need to wrap his mind around that in private. 

“I’ll seal…this room,” Rhys said quietly. So nobody could enter. And then he would probably turn Amren loose in it, to turn around every fucking stone, so that they figured out what that spell had been that had reacted like it. The last thing they needed was for the spell to have any sort of consequences that involved Irena. 

"Clotho," he greeted the priestess as she arrived, inclining his head. 

What happened? she demanded, holding out her usual piece of paper. 

Rhys felt his stomach churn at that question.  

How the hell were they supposed to tell Clotho that not only one of the priestesses had tragically died…but one of the others was currently holed up in an Illyrian warrior's room, recovering from injuries that should have killed her, and that said Illyrian warrior was said priestess's mate, so was probably not going to leave her alone anytime soon?

And that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the absolute clusterfuck this whole situation was. There was nothing to do except to simply tell Clotho the truth and hope that she didn't have a breakdown.

"There was an...accident. Merrill is dead," he told her bluntly.

For a moment Clotho was just frozen in place. But he could tell that his words had hit her hard. That she was shocked, horrified, stunned beyond belief. HOW?!

And Rhys took a deep breath, trying to find a way to explain what had happened. 

To explain how one of her charges had been killed in a room where she was supposed to be safe…How her own experimentation, her own research had killed her…

And how no one had even noticed that a priestess had been mated. 

No...how the shadowsinger had mated to a Priestess and hadn't even thought to tell them because Rhys had acted like such as bastard to his brotherthat Azriel had actually thought it preferable to keep his mating bond a secret.

"Merill didn't listen when Irena turned down her research proposal," Gwyn said suddenly with a shaky voice. "Irena went to talk to her this afternoon, because Merill made Meera cry...It looks like the spell that she was taking apart went...haywire. Merill was killed in the backlash...Irena was hurt.”

Rhys just nodded. It was a reasonable explanation, even if it didn't cover everything that had gone on. At this point in time, he was almost more concerned about Clotho than anything else. The poor female looked ready to collapse.

I told Merill to keep away from that spellbook. We still don’t know what it even contained, Clotho agreed, even her handwriting looking shaky. 

He could tell that she was in shock and grief. Could imagine how she must be feeling. Clotho protected the Priestesses with all she had. They were her flock. To lose one of her charges...There was no way that Clotho would not blame herself.

She was going to blame herself for something that wasn't her fault at all. And the thought made Rhys feel sick to his stomach.

Clotho had enough weight on her shoulders already, the last thing she needed was guilt over something that was not even her fault.

IRENA?! Clotho demanded sharply.

"Alive, if just barely," Rhys informed her, trying to push down his own guilt at the thought. "Madja is with her."

In the dormitory?

"No, in Azriel's room," Cassian said bluntly. "Apparently they have been mates for... two years.”

Clotho's head snapped around, facing Cassian, her eyes wide. 

Nobody had seen that coming, not even one of Irena’s closest friends. 

It seemed like both of them had kept it quiet. Azriel must have so badly wanted to protect his mate from…from him, that…

The thought made Rhys feel sick. Azriel would rather keep his mate a secret than reveal to Rhys that he had found her. 

Than tell him that he had found his perfect match, that there was a female in this world that loved him above all others, who understood him, who supported him.

And it was all Rhys' own fault. 

He didn't have any other thought. There was no other explanation. If a friend didn't trust him enough to confide in him that he had found his mate, it was because he had done something wrong. So wrong that Azriel hadn't felt like he could tell him.

She wanted to be with him? Clotho demanded.

"From the look of it, she was barely conscious, but still claimed him as hers. And Azriel certainly seemed to think that she would want to be with him," Rhys told Clotho. 

And why wouldn't she? He was her mate. Her mate. 

"He won't do anything to her," Cassian said fiercely. "She's his mate."

Rhys agreed with that. Of all the males in existence, Azriel was by far the least likely to do anything that Irena would not like. Hell, he wouldn't do anything that might make her even feel mildly uncomfortable. And if she told him to back off, he would give her as much space as she needed.

"Mor, whatever Clotho needs," he told his cousin, who had brought Madja there, who just inclined her head, seemingly shaken. "I'll seal of this room...we'll need to...figure out what to do with it," he said softly. "Clotho, whatever form of memorial you would like to hold...take all the time you need and then let me know."

Clotho looked at him sharply before nodding weakly. She probably wouldn't need his help when it came to something like this. She knew how to handle something like this. How to give her fallen a last farewell.

"I want to check on Irena," Gwyn said, her hands shaking as she crossed her arms.

Rhys nodded. That was fair. Of course Gwyn wanted to check on her friend. And at this point all anyone could really do was wait anyway. "Let me seal the room and then we can go," he said softly. "But I need to warn you, Azriel will be...overprotective," he told her. "Chances are, he won't let you get close to her at all."

"I don't have any doubt about that," Gwyn said dryly. "But she's my friend. I should at least be allowed to check on her."

***

He cleaned the blood of her skin...The shadows procured one of Irena's nightgowns. She didn't protest when he held her up and Madja pulled the soiled, ruined dress from her body...didn't even flinch away from his touch on her naked skin.

They had never gone further than some heated...kisses...further than his hands slipping under her nightgown and pressing against her soft skin. He had never wanted to push. Azriel had been willing to give her all the time in the world. 

It had taken months until she had been ready for a hug…longer for a kiss. And he had waited. Gladly. He had gladly waited, because it was worth the wait. She was worth the wait. 

Her marriage wasn't something that she was just going to get over, and Azriel was never ever going to push her for more than she willingly offered him. 

He had never wanted to undress her under these circumstances. So he closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss to her head, not looking at all. 

Irena didn't make a sound, didn't even really respond...just stared into the distance. He wasn't even sure she really noticed what was happening to her. Wasn't sure she even noticed Madja cleaning the wounds…cleaning thin, silver lines, scars of her past, mostly hidden by her clothing, but still visible. 

This was also when they saw the rest of the wounds...and the fact that her bad leg was broken.

Madja bandaged it carefully, stuffing pillows underneath it to keep it elevated, wrapped the rest of her bruises and scrapes with a tincture.

Still, once she was clean, no more debris in her hair, her skin as clean as he could get it...and the new nightgown was fitted over her skin, he tugged her underneath the thick goose feather stuffed duvet and then the furs.

There was no resistance on Irena’s part. She just let him do as he pleased, let herself be maneuvered and tucked in with the patience of a parent settling a little girl into bed. She didn't say anything. Didn't protest at all, even when he curled his own large body around her smaller frame, even when his wings came around her, shielding her from the outside world.

But she didn't move to snuggle up to him either. Didn't reach for him, didn't try to press her body into his. Just...allowed him to pull her close and hold her as tightly as he wanted. Her body was limp and unmoving, the only emotion on her face a sort of...emptiness. A blank expression that...it was terrifying.

He wrapped his arms around her with a sigh, running a gentle hand through her hair with a sigh. He knew that she was in shock. That she had just survived something terrible, something traumatic. So it wasn't surprising that she wasn't really responsive at the moment, that her skin felt like ice to him and that she was shaking slightly, trembling…

But the instinct to comfort her, to protect her from everything that might hurt her was roaring in his chest. He couldn't pull away from her, even though he knew he should. Even though he knew he should just be thankful that he had her, that she was here, in his hands, breathing.

She felt so thin in his hands. So fragile. Like she might break if he didn't hold her close. And that feeling, the knowledge of how vulnerable his mate was, it was almost too much for him to bear.

“I have pain potions and a sleeping draught,” Madja said quietly.

Azriel felt his jaw clench at the mention of a sleeping draught. He wanted Irena to rest, needed her to sleep away some of the horrors, but there was also some instinct in him that revolted at the idea of making her vulnerable like that. That revolted at the thought of knocking his mate out when she couldn't protect herself.

“Is that alright, love?” He asked her softly.

She didn't answer. Didn't even stir. The only sign that she had heard his question at all was the way her fingers clenched more tightly in his shirt. The only outward sign that she even understood that he was there at all. That she could even hear him. "Love?" He asked again, his voice a gentle murmur. "Do you want the sleeping draught, love?"

“Sleep?” She repeated weakly. 

“Sleep.” He promised her.

She simply opened her mouth in response, letting him pour it down her throat and swallowed.

He ran gentle fingers through her hair as the potion began to take effect. As her eyelids drooped and her limbs went loose and he could almost watch the tension leaving her body. He couldn't help but press a soft, tender kiss to the crown of her head.

Azriel couldn't put into words how good it felt to have her in his arms like this. To have her safe and protected and healing.

Madja left with the promise to be back soon…and as soon as she left there was a knock at the door. He didn’t want to deal with his brothers. 

*We could bar the door, master,* the shadows offered.

Azriel considered that for a long moment. It was tempting. Really, really tempting to just let the shadows seal the door and tell everyone to fuck off. That they could deal with the rest of the world later and he could just focus on Irena for now.

He knew that he couldn't though. Knew that he couldn't keep the world away from Irena. For all that he would like to protect her from all the harm in this world and lock her away into the safety of his arms, he knew that he couldn't do that. And that Rhys would throw a fit if he didn't let them in immediately.

He sighed softly, his arms tightening around his mate. He didn't want to deal with his brothers right now. Didn't want to deal with Rhys lecturing him about his decisions. Didn't want the pity and understanding in Cassian's eyes, his careful kindness. He didn't want to have to hold up the strong facade when his brother pushed and pushed and pushed.

“Come in,” he said flatly.

Azriel sighed softly as the door was opened and his brothers entered, both looking at him with concern. There was something else in Rhys' eyes, something that he wasn't sure how to name. The High Lord had an indecipherable look on his face as he moved to come stand next to the bed.

But it was Gwyn that shouldered both Rhys and Cassian out of the way, that immediately went to Irena’s bedside.

“She’s asleep,” he warned her softly. “Madja gave her a sleeping draught.”

The Valkyrie moved in silence, but Azriel could tell that she desperately wanted to reach out and touch her friend. Could tell that there was some instinct in her to touch Irena, to comfort her, that she was fighting against. He almost felt bad for her, knowing how hard it must have been to hold back that urge to offer comfort, knowing how desperately she had to want to soothe her friend's pain.

He knew that the two of them were close. That Irena was well liked by practically every priestess…That Roslin was her very best friend, but that she also got along with seemingly everybody else, including Gwyn. 

 And he wanted to let her get close to his mate. He really did. But the need to keep his mate safe was too strong. Was something that he couldn't fight against. So he just pulled Irena more firmly into his chest.

His only saving grace was that Gwyn seemed to understand. Didn't even try to argue with him or demand to get close to his mate. She just stayed at a respectable distance and didn't protest when he pulled Irena closer to his chest.

He could tell that she recognized his possessive nature for what it was. Just a desperate instinct to hold and protect his mate from further harm. And she didn't argue with him. 

“You are the one who gets her the tea and the cookies, aren’t you?” She asked him suddenly. “I was wondering where she got them from. They were always good but the tea has definitely gotten better the last two years.” 

*See, Master?!* the shadows cooed, seemingly heaving and then coming to blanket Irena in their very presence too. *We are getting her the best tea!*

They seemed very pleased with themselves. 

Azriel knew that when he wasn’t in Velaris, some of the shadows even kept Irena company through the night, cuddling themselves beneath her blankets with her. He also knew that Irena loved it.

Knew better than anyone even his shadows that those moments of comfort, those little gestures, mattered more to his mate than any large gifts ever could. Irena had never cared about large gestures, about pricy gifts, didn’t care about gifts or public displays of  affection. 

But those little things…she loved those little things. Loved her shadows coming to spend time with her…loved it when he gave her a back rub to ease the pain in her back, or when the shadows brought her the tea that she liked or her favourite cookies.

And Azriel…he loved giving her that.  He was happy to provide each and every one of them. He would do anything for her at this point. Would bring her anything that she asked for with enthusiasm. Because he loved it when her face lit up or when she smiled when he brought her something she didn't expect to get. That was something that he would never get tired of.

Azriel would never get tired of watching her face light up with happiness at the smallest of gifts that he gave her. Would never tire of feeling those little gestures bring her even a small moment of happiness. It brought him somuch joy to see her delighted by something so small. Made something inside of him fill with warmth.

“I’ll let her sleep,” Gwyn said softly. “Tell her when she’s awake that she owes us all the gossip. None of us had a clue that the two of you were seeing each other.”

Azriel inclined his head in response, a soft grin pulling at his lips despite everything. "I'll be sure to tell her." Not that he thought that there was anything to gossip about.

Gwyn left with another smile. Which left him with his brothers. 

“Az.” Cassian said with a weary sigh. ”What the fuck.”

Azriel frowned sharply, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he looked at his brother. His arms tightened around Irena unconsciously, the protective instinct coming into play.

He knew Cassian, knew all too well that his brother liked to be a pain in his ass, liked to push him further than he wanted to be pushed. "I'm not in the mood for your bullshit, Cassian," he warned his brother in a low growl. "Say whatever it is that you feel the need to say, and then get out."

He knew that he probably looked completely insane. Knew that he looked like a madman clutching onto Irena with an iron grip and growling at anyone who dared get too close. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the instincts that seemed to be pulling at every muscle in his body, couldn't stop the tension that was coiling tight as a spring.

“How long has… this been going on?“ Rhys asked delicately. 

“Two years at next Starfall,“ Azriel answered flatly.

Cassian whistled softly at that. "Two years?!" He asked incredulously. "And you didn't think to tell us?"

Azriel's jaw clenched automatically at the words. 

He had thought to tell them. Numerous times. 

He had just never wanted to. 

First he had wanted to let things settle and solidify before announcing it to his family and letting them come swarming in to analyse their relationship…Later…later he just hadn’t wanted to. 

They were completely happy when nobody knew. Why change it? 

Azriel knew that he probably should have anticipated this reaction. Probably should have expected his brothers to be confused and annoyed, probably should have anticipated them wanting to know more. But he just hadn't wanted to deal with the questions and inquiries and curiosity and judgement. 

So he had kept his relationship with Irena a secret.

“It was none of your business,” he said simply.

Cassian stared at him, dark eyes pained.  “We are your brothers,” he said quietly.  

“Quite frankly, I just didn’t want to deal with whatever opinion you cook up about us,” Azriel said flatly.  His brothers were way too nosy and curious for their own good. Always had been. “We are happy. I didn’t want you to ruin that.”

They would have never respected his privacy or any boundary he had tried to set up. 

He knew that Cassianwas probably annoyed that he hadn’t told him about his relationship with Irena. Knew that he was probably feeling left out and...excluded. That he was hurt that Azriel had kept this from him. But he just couldn’t find it within himself to feel any sympathy at the moment. Not when his patience was already wearing thin. Not when he could still feel the fear of almost losing Irena thrumming under his skin.

He couldn’t deal with this right now. Couldn’t handle whatever pity or lecturing his brother would give him. Just wanted to hold his mate and try to keep the fear of losing her at bay.

That fear was already too much, already consuming him and threatening to swallow him whole. The only thing that kept him sane, the only thing that kept him from falling apart was the knowledge that his mate, his Irena, was safe in his arms. And he needed to focus on that if he wanted to keep it together.

“Azriel.” Rhys’ choice was choked.

Azriel stiffened at the sound, his attention flicking to his brother automatically. There was something in Rhys’ voice, some emotion in his eyes that Azriel couldn’t quite discern right now.

He had heard his brother choked or emotional or desperate before, but this was something else. This was emotion in his brother that he had never seen before: raw, unfiltered, and painful.

The tone of Rhys’ voice, the almost anguished look in his eyes had Azriel holding his breath for a moment. Had his heartbeat picking up speed as he waited for his brother to speak.

The tension was heavy and thick as he waited, his muscles coiled tight as he waited for Rhys to speak. His whole body tense like a tightly wound spring.

“I am sorry,” Rhys whispered quietly.

Azriel stiffened slightly at that, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. His muscles were still tense, still ready for a fight, but the raw apology in Rhys' words, the emotion in his voice...it surprised him.

It was unexpected. He had expected the anger and the hurt and the bitterness, not the raw emotion in his brother’s voice. Not the apology.

He almost couldn’t believe his ears, almost wanted to ask his brother to repeat himself. But he just stayed quiet instead, just tensed and listened and waited for his brother to continue speaking.

He couldn't even blink as he waited, as he hung on every slight movement or small change in expression on his brothers face. The tension was so thick, so heavy he could almost taste it. But he still didn't move an inch. Just waited, every muscle still as a statue as he watched his brother with an almost desperate intensity.

“I am sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t want to hurt you,” Rhys said quietly. “I…we would have been happy for you,” Rhys promised him fiercely. 

Azriel felt his throat go dry at the words. The apology, the admission of his brother's intent to protect him, it was so unexpected that he almost couldn’t comprehend it. He felt some of the tension drain from his body, some of the tightness in his muscles loosening slightly.

Azriel's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that he almost couldn't hear anything else over the sound. The raw emotion in his brother's voice, the sincerity in those simple words...it was overwhelming.

“You were hurt,” Rhys said softly. “I understand. But you could have come to us any time over the last two years and told us and we would have been a happy for you,” he promised him fiercely.

"Would you have really?" Azriel asked softly. "Would you really have been happy for us and not made a problem out of nothing?"

He wanted to believe his brother, truly he did. But there was still a small part of him, the small part that had been hurt and mistreated and rejected so many times before, that was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The part of him that was looking for a catch, looking for the sign that this was just another manipulation.

He didn't want to feel this way, didn't want to look for the betrayal and rejection that had been written into his very soul. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't help the small part of him that was constantly looking for the next blow, bracing for rejection and hurt.

“We would have,” Cassian said fiercely. “You found your mate, Az.”

Azriel nodded slowly.

“How did you even hide it?” Cassian demanded, crossing his arms.

“I do know how to use a sound shield,” Azriel gave back flatly. 

Cassian let out a low chuckle at that, shaking his head as he grinned. "Well, you've always been more adept at keeping secrets than I am," he teased, a sly grin pulling at his lips. “ Since when do you sleep surrounded by furs by the way?” Cassian muttered.

“Irena gets cold,” he said simply.

“Wait, she spend the nights here with you?” Cassian suddenly realised.

"None of your business," Azriel replied flatly, not even trying to hide his annoyance with the nosy question. "Just focus on keeping your own mate happy, brother."

“How do you even sneak her up here?!”

"None of your business," Azriel repeated flatly. "My relationship with my mate is my own business, not yours."

He knew that he was being stubborn, that he was probably being unreasonable right now. But he couldn't help it. His emotions were too raw, too overwhelming for him to handle the intrusion into his personal life. He just wanted to focus on Irena and making sure she was okay, not on his brother's questions and prodding into the details of his relationship.

It was none of their business how he and Irena spent their time together, how they snuck around the house without being caught. That was something private, something sacred between them. And he wasn't going to share it with anyone, not even his own brothers.

He just wanted to protect that intimacy between him and his mate, wanted to keep it safely guarded from prying eyes that might not understand. He knew that his brothers cared about him, but he also knew that they could be too nosy for their own good sometimes. 

“…is she aware what these furs mean?” Cassian asked him pointedly. 

Was she aware that Azriel was laying claim to her with every single one of those furs that he hunted for her? Aware that he was following Illyrian tradition, regardless of how much…of how fucked up it was in many senses? 

“Yes,” he said simply. Kinda. A little bit. 

"So it's...serious?" Cassian asked him.

"She's my mate," he snapped back.

Cassian held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, a sheepish expression on his face.

Azriel let out a low groan, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just…leave it alone," he said tiredly. "Please. I'm not in the mood for any more questions right now."

He just wanted to be alone with Irena, wanted to hold her close and let the warmth of her body soothe his frayed nerves. He didn't want to deal with his brothers and their incessant questioning. Didn't want to talk about his relationship with Irena or how serious it was. He just wanted to be with her and that was it.

. His emotions were just too raw, too close to the surface for him to hold back. He just wanted a moment of peace, of quiet, with his mate.

He just wanted to hold her close and breathe in the scent of her skin, wanted to feel her warmth against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. He just wanted to know that she was safe, that she was still here with him. Was that really too much to ask?

He let out a long breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. He didn't want to be angry, didn't want to be frustrated. But he couldn't help it, couldn't help the surge of protective instincts that came over him every time he thought about how close he had come to losing his mate.

"If you need anything, let us know," Rhys said quietly.

Azriel stiffened at the words, his hands curling into fists at his sides automatically. He knew that Rhys was only trying to be supportive, that he was only trying to offer his help. But Azriel didn't want that. Didn't want his brother's help or sympathy. He just wanted to be left alone with his mate.

He wanted to protect her himself, to take care of her and keep her safe without his brothers' interference. He knew that Rhys only meant well, but that knowledge did nothing to calm his instincts. All he could think about was how close he had come to losing his mate, how close he had come to never seeing her again. And the thought terrified him.

It made his heart clench and his gut twist in fear and pain, his hands clenching tight as he struggled to keep his emotions under control. He didn't want to be vulnerable, didn't want to let his brothers see how much this had affected him. But he knew that it was pointless to try and hide it, that his brothers could probably see the rawness of his emotions written all over his face.

Azriel didn't try to argue with his brother, didn't try to explain himself. He just nodded.

[fourmoony]

GOING TO SLEEP WITH A MARAUDER AND YOU'RE IN BED, HES SHIRTLESS AND READER AND HIM JUST TALK AND KISS AND ALL THAT FLUFFY STUFF THANKS LOVELY

this went a little angsty! thanks for requesting :)

cw: mentions of chronic pain, painkiller use, mentions of car crash, brief mention of post-car-crash-trauma, scars

remus lupin x f!reader, 1.5k

Remus is propped against your pillows, the room glowing with the light of the television, when you exit the bathroom. He turns the volume down when he hears the door click shut, turns his head until he’s looking at you with a tired smile. He looks so soft, buried in your nice, clean bed sheets; hair a mop of curls that’s starting to rest on his forehead the longer he avoids going to the hairdresser’s. His eyes bleed with exhaustion from a busy day.

You’d spent the morning in a cafe with Sirius, the afternoon at the park with Harry, and the evening having dinner with Hope and Lyall. It’d been nice, both in company and in weather, but the excessive walking and being on the go has taken it out of Remus. That much is obvious by the way he has a throw cushion tucked under his knee, poking out from under the blanket. He tries to throw the blanket over his leg, tries to hide the obvious admittance of pain.

You slide into bed next to him, a frown on your lips. “You’re in pain?” You ask, pulling the shoddy attempt at a cover up job back until his elevated leg is on full display.

Remus jolts with the blast of cold air, his stomach muscles flexing. The skin of his torso is on full display, the moonlight coming from the window showcasing his skin in a silvery light. There hasn’t been a day since you met Remus where you haven’t found his beauty astonishing. He is truly the most stunning person you’ve ever come across, even if he refuses to believe you when you tell him. The scar on his hip bone juts out from the band of his boxers, followed all the way up by a collection of raised scars that litter his skin like constellations.

Your fingers brush the particularly jagged scar across his rib cage as you lean in to look at Remus’ swollen knee. He huffs, clearly irritated that his plan of hiding the pain has been foiled. His knee is warm to the touch, the skin around it swollen. “I’m always in pain, dove.” Remus replies, flatly.

You hate that it’s true. Your boyfriend has good days and he most certainly has bad days, but he never has days where he’s not in some sort of pain. Remus’ illness has taken a lot from him; his childhood, at times, his social life, his freedom. You think maybe Remus thinks if he lets you know how bad it can truly be, it’ll cost him you, as well. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times you remind your boyfriend that it won’t scare you away, it never seems to stick.

“Okay, tough guy,” You scoff, finding that Remus often responds better to sarcasm and tough love than being babied or fussed over, especially when it gets bad, “fancy getting up to get me a glass of water?”

“Get it yourself, lazy girl.”

You can’t help the startled laugh that falls from your lips, eyes wide as you catch the sly grin on your boyfriend’s face. Remus laughs soon after, leans forward to press a loving kiss to the crown of your head. His own way of saying you know I’m kidding. You do know he’s kidding, so you kiss the underside of his jaw in return.

“Take some pain killers, baby. You know they’ll help, even if only enough to help you fall asleep.”

“Already have.” Remus chirps, pulls you by the shoulders until you’re resting across his chest.

Your boyfriend runs like a furnace at all times, the familiar feeling of warmth mixed with the signature scent of his shower gel has your muscles uncoiling as you relax into him. You’re cautious of putting all of your weight onto him until he shifts, further into the pillow mountain he’s created and pulls you along with him. He breathes deep at the relief he must feel from the new angle, reaches onto his bedside table for the television remote.

“Any requests?” He asks, words mumbled into your hair.

His arms are tight around you, thumbs brushing where they meet in the middle of their waist. You settle in, hook your leg over his good leg. One of his hands slips to the curve of your bum at the opportunity you’ve presented him, a gentle, nonsexual touch, but intimate nonetheless. “Not really. Just whatever you like.” You hum quietly.

He turns the volume back up a smidge on the sitcom you both like. His touch is soft and feather like, a comfort that pulls you fast stead towards sleep. The slow rise and fall of your boyfriend’s chest has your own breaths syncing up, lips turning every now and then to press kisses over his heart.

“Do you ever think about the crash?” You ask, eyes focussed on his raised knee.

Remus doesn’t startle. He might have, at the beginning of your relationship. He’d only told you in bits in pieces, back then, that he’d been in a terrible crash as a boy; the reason for his terrible joint and muscle pain.

You feel him shake his head, lips still firm against your hair. He presses a kiss there, then dips his head until he’s closer to your ear. His voice is quiet, tired, perhaps a little sad when he speaks; “Not as often, now. When I was a teenager, when I was in constant pain because I was growing all the time - yes. I thought about it every day and I thought about how unfair the world was, how unfair my life was.”

“What changed?” You ask, quietly.

He’s silent for a moment, only the sounds of his breathing and the quiet drone of the television can be heard. You can tell he’s thinking it over, a sense of unpleasant nostalgia somewhere in the way he audibly swallows and the slight twitch of his fingers against your skin. Eventually, he sighs, “A lot of things, really.”

"I changed doctors, for a start. They're much more understanding of my condition at the one down the road, much more patient and less skeptical of whether I'm faking it for the free codeine."

You laugh a little at the idea. Half the time, Remus refuses to take pain killers at all. "I like Doctor Frank, he's nice." You tell your boyfriend, who hums in agreement.

"He is," Remus agrees, "And then there was becoming an adult. Hard enough without carrying around so much anger. I was sort of forced to just let it go. Accept that this was my life and I was still capable of so much despite my illness."

You can't help but smile at that. Remus is the gentlest person you know. He's rough around the edges, a sarcastic, smart ass and a mean flirt, but he's gentle, all soft beige cardigans and old library books, gentle touches and even gentler kisses. Your boyfriend has never once dared to raise his voice at you, even in his moments of utter agony. He's kind and has a big heart and you can't imagine fifteen year old Remus, angry and hateful and mad at the world. It wouldn't have suited him.

So, you're proud of how far he's come. Even if he still deals with the trauma of the crash, the hatred he has for the scars it left him with and the pain he lives in. It's less. It's dialled down to one, maybe a two on his bad days. Your Remus looks at the world like a challenge, now. A challenge to overcome, to be the best he can be, to keep fighting. You love him so, so much, and you place a kiss to his heart as the feeling washes over you. Bright and light and floaty.

"And you, dove."

Your lips curl upward at his words, spoken so soft you're not really sure if you were supposed to hear them. Remus pulls you impossibly closer, holds you tighter as he ducks down to your ear, breath fanning across the skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"If there was ever something to live for, something to not be angry about. It's you. The way you love me, your patience, your laugh, your smile. I think you were the universe's apology for that crash." Remus presses a kiss to the side of your neck when he's done and it sends a shiver through you.

There's tears in your eyes. Blinding you until your boyfriend becomes a blurred cheeky grin amidst the blue light of the television. But you're happy. So happy and so in love.

But you can't fight the urge to tell Remus, "Your consolation prize."

His startled laugh is music to your ears, a softness breaking through the storm clouds of your heavy conversation. He tuts a moment later, kisses you for the millionth time, "I prefer God given solace."

You roll your eyes. The man doesn't believe in God, but you'll take the compliment, you decide, as you curl back into him.

"Thanks for opening up. I know it's hard."

You feel his shrug, "Anything for you, dovey."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mad Season 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, social anxiety, chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker

Summary: a class project gets messy. (short!reader)

Note: you can't stop me from giving a tiny reader to these two and I will not listen to anything ever.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You can't focus on one thing. Your eyes flit around. Shining tables, floating screens, metal tools and gadgets, cabinets with glass doors house endless supplies, Stark-branded emblems from wall to wall...

The lab is extraordinary, well above the shared spaces at the university. A dream come true for any but especially for a student used to ramen and a used single mattress. 

"You... you really get to come here whenever you want?" You rasp as your throat tickles. 

"Yup!" Peter answers at twice your volume. You wince. You tend to mumble and you're just not good with loud noises. He pauses to measure his voice, "uh, yeah, so I figured we could do our project here, study buddy." 

"Oh, mhmm," you hum as you fold your hands over your chest and sway. As awesome as it will be, that usual dread comes over you. What if you break something? What if you get in the way? 

"Pretty cool, right? Mr. Stark is so awesome." 

"Mr. Stark? Yeah, yeah..." you cough and lower your hands over stomach. "Thought it was a rumour..." 

"Yeah, he helped me out in high school after I won a robotics tournament. He's chill." 

You nod, almost frantically, as your eyes skitter around without focus. Your chest starts to tighten and you blink big. Peter shifts away from you. 

"Hey, you need a minute?" He asks. 

You look at him and keep nodding. It's why your happy you got him as your partner. He checks in. Not to mention, he's never annoyed by you. 

"I'll be here, wanna take a breath in the hall?"  

You squeak but don't quite get out a yes please. You spin and scurry to the door. You flinch and jump back as it slides open on it's own. Peter laughs and a small smile curves your lips but you're too nervous to laugh. 

The hall is empty. You bask in the solace, calming yourself against the wall. You just get a little worked up in new places. Or loud places. Or crowded places. Then it makes it so you can't breathe and then... 

You pull out your reliever inhaler and take a careful puff. You close your eyes and lean your head back as you wait for your heart to slow. In, out, in, out. 

You grip your inhaler as you stay unmoving against the wall. Your ears prick, listening for any sign of life, as you retreat behind your eyelids. Another breath and you'll be okay. 

"Um, miss?" A rocky voice jars you away from the wall and your eyes snap open. You nearly collide with the man before you. How did you not hear him coming? "Are you alright?" 

You bat your lashes and reach to play with plastic bow clip in your hair. He watches the motion as you nod, "yes, sir. Sorry. I..." Your mouth is sticky and parched, your surprise balls on your tongue. You clear away the lump, "you're... the Winter Soldier." 

His brow twitches, "Bucky." 

"Sorry, sorry, er... Buck...y," you trail off. You swing back and forth, "sorry... again, I..." 

You're embarrassed and lost. You give a sheepish look and turn away. You hurry back to the door and hit the keypad. It blares back at you in rejection. You don't know the code and you don't think your fingerprint will work. You stare at it helplessly. 

"Here," Bucky approaches and presses his thumb to the pad. "You new here?" 

You shake your head. Your chest wracks. You bring your puffer up and suck without thinking.  

The door slides open and you flit through. Peter leans on a table over his phone. He looks over as you enter and stands straight, tapping his fingers on the metal. 

"Hey, you found Bucky!" He grins. 

"Kid," the man follows you inside. Wait, why? Is he going to tell Peter on you? You didn't mean to call him that. You didn't know he wouldn't like it. 

"We're just having a look around," Peter explains, "we're both in engineering. Classmates." He introduces you by name, "Mr. Stark won't care too much if I'm doing homework." 

"Mm," Bucky grumbles as he goes to a far table. 

Peter shrugs and faces you again. "He can be a bit grumpy. We can get outta here." 

He comes forward as you hear metal tinking behind him. You glance over as Bucky works on his metal forearm with a thin tool. His vibranium fingers seems to work on their own as he wiggles the tip in a groove.  

"Grumpy and has super hearing," Bucky snipes as he keeps his attention on his arm. 

Peter's brows pop up and he rolls his eyes, "come on, let's get outta here before he gets his arm calibrated." 

You turn and go back through to the hallway. The door shuts behind Peter and he sighs. He points you down the hall as you shuffle aimlessly. 

"This place is sweet but you know, some of the regulars can be a bit much," he jokes. "You'll get used to Buck. He's never in a good mood. Better when Sam's around but... well, he's grown. Shouldn't need a chaperone, right?" 

You tilt your head but don't say anything. You don't know much about them. You learned about Captain America and The Winter Soldier in history back in high school. Your knowledge of the Avengers and their current roster is extremely lacking. Other than the Spidery one. Everyone on campus talks about him. 

"Mmhmm." You drone. 

"Gee, sorry, I know it's a lot, huh? Didn't mean to overload you!" He chimes. 

You shake your head, "I'm okay." 

"I know, I know. Kinda nice having someone quiet around. Ned is a chatterbox and the worst project partner. He just wants to talk about girls or lego." 

You dip your head to show you're listening. You glance at your inhaler and yuck is away in your crossbody bag. You drop your arms straight and continue next to Peter to the elevator. 

"Wanna get a slice? I'm starving," he says. "My treat." 

"Oh... you don't..." 

"Nah, don't worry about it. I just want pizza without May telling me not too," he chuckles. "Trust, I know a great place." 

You purse your lips and push your shoulders up again. You give a silent surrender with a tilt of your head. Even if you feel a bit guilty, you won't say no to free food. 

[megalony]

A Burden On You

This is an Evan Buckley imagine, based on an anon request. I hope you will all like it, any feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii  @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme

911 Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) has a chronic illness and begins to worry that she may be relying on Evan too much. When she has an accident at home, she's too nervous to tell him or ask for help.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Happy birthday," A soft grin lit up (Y/n)'s face and she held out the navy blue and silver striped bag in her hand towards Eddie.

She could feel Evan's arms curve around her waist and a shiver flooded down her spine when he tilted his head to the side and kissed her temple. His fingertips ran up and down her hips and his chest pressed down into her back and shoulders, keeping her pinned against his front.

They both watched Eddie spin on his heels and a glimmer of shock fluttered in his eyes while he formed a bright smile. He happily took the present and leaned to the left to place it down on the table before he reached out for them both. He was careful. He always was when he was around (Y/n), just like the rest of the team. Eddie wanted to hug her but he never knew if he might hurt her or cause her some discomfort.

(Y/n) looped her arms around his shoulders, grinning wider when she became wedged in between them both like they were sardines squashed into a tin.

"You made it. How are you?"

"Good, we're good. I've missed you all, and Chris." (Y/n) patted his shoulder before she sank back into Evan's chest and reached down to hold his wrists that were around her waist.

She hadn't seen anyone from the station in weeks and it always made (Y/n) feel bad when she didn't get to see them or have a catch up.

"He's missed you too."

(Y/n) didn't always like socialising. It wasn't easy to be around people whenever she was in the middle of a flare up. She had fibromyalgia. Chronic pains that affected her in hundreds of different ways; little pains that Evan would barely bat an eyelid at, crippled (Y/n) down in agony. Illnesses flared up her pains and made her feel faint. Cold weather sank into her bones and made her stiff muscles even worse. Headaches felt like hammers tapping away at her head until she was sure her skull was caved in.

When her condition flared, it worsened (Y/n)'s sleep and she had a lot of trouble sleeping. She couldn't usually stay asleep for too long which led her to be tired during the days and if she slept for too long, her muscles seized up and it made walking or bending or any general movement almost impossible.

She had been all ready and lined up to attend the station Christmas party until she has a fall. She had been dosed up on painkillers and on the day of the party, (Y/n) could barely walk. Her leg had shooting pains radiating from her hip to her foot and her leg had seized up for days.

"Where is he?" Evan glanced his eyes around the station while he rested his chin on top of (Y/n)'s head and began swaying them from side to side.

He wanted to see Chris but he couldn't spot him anywhere in the station so far.

They had all decided that since Hen and Bobby were on shift today, they would throw Eddie a big party here at the station. Then at least everyone could be here to celebrate and it was a relaxed atmosphere and there was much more space to party.

"Helping Bobby put the candles on the cake. Which reminds me, I've got a bone to pick with you." Eddie pointed his finger at Evan who was trying his best not to grin.

He squeezed (Y/n)'s hip lightly when she leaned her cheek against his neck. He didn't have to look down to know she was grinning because she knew exactly what Evan had done to wind Eddie up. He couldn't simply turn up to the party and give Eddie a present, Evan had to play some sort of trick on him or mess him about in some way. He had had a quiet word with Chris yesterday ready to wind Eddie up.

"Oh?"

"Thanks for telling him I've just turned forty- which I haven't and you know it. He's been running round telling everyone he can't fit enough candles on my cake."

Eddie hadn't been best pleased this morning when Chris woke him up to wish him a happy birthday and suddenly exclaimed that he was forty. It didn't take long for Eddie to work out where Chris had learned that from. But once they arrived here, Chris gave a handful of candles to Bobby and began telling people he didn't have enough candles for how old his dad was. Eddie wasn't near forty yet, he had a decade to go before he would be forty.

"You're welcome old man."

"Buck we're the same age." The smile slipped from Eddie's face as he planted his hands down on his hips and shook his head.

"I'll go grab us some drinks," Evan kept his voice quiet and hovered his lips over the shell of (Y/n)'s ear. He grinned, brushing his nose against her skin as his grin morphed into a smirk when he knew he had riled Eddie up. He let his lips wander down to (Y/n)'s cheek where he pressed another kiss before he unravelled himself from around her and moved towards the stairs.

"He's just trying to wind you up, don't listen to him." (Y/n) patted Eddie's shoulder before she left him to look through his presents that were steadily piling up on the table.

(Y/n) fluttered around the station floor for a little while and had a quick chat with Hen before she moved towards the stairs. She knew Chris would be up there somewhere and she wanted to see and talk to him. It had been two weeks since Chris had been round to stay with her and Evan and (Y/n) was starting to miss him. He was like their nephew, they were his main babysitters and he regarded them as his aunt and uncle.

It took a while to get herself up the stairs. It didn't matter that her pain was on a very good level today, she still felt stiff today and her legs were barely under her control.

Exercise was one of the main things that helped her condition.

And with Evan being hooked on his training and exercise to help with his job, it was something they did together. Evan would go on runs and do hard training in the morning, but when he wasn't at work, he would train in the afternoon with (Y/n) for a while. They went on a lot of walks as well.

(Y/n) needed to keep moving, if she sat or laid down for too long, her muscles would start to seize up and her pain scale would increase. She was usually on the go from the moment she got up until the moment she went to bed. It didn't matter how slow (Y/n) moved or how little she managed to get done in a day, she was always up and about.

Her eyes found Evan before they scouted round and found Chris. While Chris was trying to fit as many candles on the chocolate cake Bobby made as possible, Evan was stood over near the pool table close by the fire pole.

He had two drinks in hand and his hips were slouched back against the pool table that wasn't being used.

A smile pulled at (Y/n)'s lips as she advanced towards him, she could draw Evan into a game of pool while Chris was busy in the kitchen. He loved a game and whenever he lost, especially to (Y/n), he would get fired up and they would keep going until he won at least one round. And (Y/n) was feeling good tonight, she was having a good day and felt able to try and beat Evan in a game or two.

She advanced towards him and tried to see who he was with. (Y/n) didn't recognise her. She was probably one of the new recruits, Evan said they'd had quite a few new recruits in and out of the station in the last week or so.

Evan tried to force himself to smile as he leaned his hips a little further back into the pool table until he was almost sitting on it.

This was the part of parties he didn't like; getting dragged into conversations with people he'd rather not talk to. And Evan was programmed to be kind and polite, it was in his nature so he didn't find it easy to walk away or find excuses to leave.

He didn't want to be talking to Lucy.

She wasn't someone Evan was very fond of, she was very full of herself and she didn't fit well with the team. She seemed to want to do things her own way and work on her own rather than work with them all as a team. And the last time they had all been out to a club after work, Lucy had tried to kiss him.

That night had been forgotten. Evan had politely declined and hurried away as fast as he could, and from then onwards, Evan did his best to avoid Lucy. They both tried to be polite and pretend it didn't happen but he didn't want to be around her when she always tried to get a bit too close to him and she didn't understand he didn't want to be around her like this.

"So, you've brought you're girlfriend this time?" Lucy took a long sip of her beer and leaned her right arm out on the balcony rail. The way she tilted her head to the side and smiled made Evan shiver uneasily.

"(Y/n) always comes with me to the station parties." Evan's lips quirked into a dazed, slightly confused smile.

Why was she so surprised? This was a party and families and partners were always invited to tag along. And this party was for Eddie. He was Evan's best friend and therefore he was close to (Y/n). Of course she would be here to see Eddie and celebrate with everyone.

"You didn't bring her to the Christmas party, did you?"

"No, she wasn't very well."

Evan bit the corner of his lip and looked down at his feet. Why was she doing this? Where was she going with this conversation?

Christmas had been difficult for everyone. They had numerous emergencies, all of them had been called in for extra shifts at one point or another. Chris hadn't been very well, he had a bad chest infection which meant Eddie was stressed. And then (Y/n)'s condition had flared up and she could barely walk so Evan had been anxious and desperate to stay home with her to look after her.

He turned up for an hour at the Christmas party, then he went home to stay with (Y/n). It felt better to be at home than trying to party and have a good time when he wasn't feeling the festive mood.

"Oh, Hen mentioned she has fibromyalgia. Isn't that a bit, annoying, for you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Something dangerous burned in Evan's eyes and his smile turned into a broken grimace as he looked down at her. Whatever she was thinking, she best not say it to Evan because he wasn't going to hold his tongue or mince his words here if she went down this road. He wasn't in the mood for someone to start disrespecting his partner.

And the way Lucy leaned back and shrugged her shoulders gave off such a casual vibe that made Evan feel worse. She was openly being rude and stood so normal as if she wasn't doing anything wrong.

"I just mean that you're always looking after her, you're not meant to be her carer Buck, you have a life. It makes her quite a burden on you."

A tremor rattled through (Y/n) and she turned around quickly before Evan realised she had been close enough to hear. Tears burned in her eyes but she pushed them away and coiled her arms around her waist. She needed to move; quickly. Before Evan turned or looked over his shoulder and noticed she was here. (Y/n) couldn't deal with the conversation that would follow if he knew she had just heard that.

Her eyes locked on Chris who had finished adding all the candles he had onto the chocolate cake. She made a beeline towards the kitchen and stood next to him and Bobby, leaning down to kiss his temple when he looked up at her with a grin that made her heart swell.

A single tear traced down her cheek but (Y/n) quickly swiped it away and tried to take a steady breath to control herself.

"Dad's cake."

"He's gonna love it… although I don't know how long it will take him to blow out all those candles." Her voice came out oddly steady considering how uneasy and wobbly she felt.

Was she truly a burden on Evan? (Y/n) did her best not to call him if he was at work and she wasn't well or had a problem. She always told him to go out with the guys from work or his friends even if she didn't feel well enough to join. (Y/n) pushed Evan to do things and live his life and not stop or hang around for her.

At least, that's what she thought she did.

Did she hold Evan back? Did she burden him and make him care for her too much? Was he becoming her carer instead of her partner?

Evan was a busy man, he had a very demanding job and (Y/n) would hate to be a demanding girlfriend who stole his attention and all of his free time. Maybe she needed to try and make sure she didn't rely on him as much. Maybe, if she had another flare up, it would be best to keep it from Evan and try to look after herself. He couldn't always be there to help her and do things for her or look after her; (Y/n) needed to look after herself and put less strain on Evan.

"Listen to me," Evan pushed himself up off the pool table and took a step closer until he was towering over Lucy with a menacing look and a fire burning deep within his eyes. "I don't know who gave you the right to judge, but you need to stop. Now. I'm her partner, so whether or not I look after her- which is something I have every right to do- that's none of your business."

How could she stand there and talk to him like that when she didn't know anything about him and (Y/n)?

If Evan wanted to look after (Y/n) and help her when she was ill, he had every reason and right to do that. (Y/n) never asked, Evan didn't even offer, he just looked after her because he loved her and he wanted to. Evan had a deep rooted sense of wanting to be needed and if he felt needed, he would do everything he could to look out for his family and do anything for them.

He loved (Y/n), he loved looking after her and making sure she was alright and Evan would never want (Y/n) to think she had to cope alone when he was right here.

"Don't talk about my girlfriend like that again."

Evan glared down at Lucy until she held her hands up in surrender and looked down at his chest to avoid his furious gaze.

He turned around and left her standing there before he ripped into her even further and caused a scene. The fire burning in his chest simmered down when he looked across at the kitchen and caught sight of (Y/n). She was stood with one arm around Chris in front of a cake with the most amount of candles on that Evan had ever seen.

Evan leaned over and placed the two cups down on the counter beside the cake before he wrapped an arm around (Y/n)'s waist. His arm curved around her middle so his hand could curl over her hip and he tucked his face into her neck.

He felt the way she shivered when he kissed her neck but when he looked down, his brows furrowed. She was tapping her fingers against the counter and he could see her biting down on her lower lip so much she was almost drawing blood. She was anxious about something.

His head tilted up and he pecked her jaw, nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

"Everything okay?"

"Hmm. I'm gonna record you all, Chris wants you to help him give Eddie the cake."

He muttered a quiet 'sounds good' against her jaw and began smoothing his thumb over her hip. He wasn't entirely satisfied that she was alright, it was almost as if Evan could feel the unease radiating off of her and through to him and Evan hated not knowing if something was wrong or upsetting her.

But if she told him everything was alright, Evan wouldn't push the matter. He would take her word for it.

***

Tears streaked down (Y/n)'s face as she raked her hands up and down her thighs and down over her knees. Her eyes were starting to become puffy and sore and it only made her feel worse when she couldn't seem to stop herself from sniffing and letting herself wallow and weep.

Today wasn't a good day.

She had been tired enough to oversleep this morning and while the extra sleep had done her some good, it didn't help her legs. She had woken with knees so stiff they started to throb when she tried to walk about. Pins and needles had raked up and down her left leg from her hip to her knee and had lasted until mid-afternoon.

Everything hurt. (Y/n) didn't know why today she was having a flare up, but everything ached and burned and felt like she was being cut to pieces. Banging her shin on the corner of the couch had left her a crying mess even though it was a light bash. Small pains felt like the end of the world when her fibromyalgia was playing up.

Every hour, (Y/n) had forced herself to get up and move about, just to walk around the apartment and get some movement back. She didn't go on her usual walk outside because she didn't feel up to doing it alone.

Evan was at work until lunchtime tomorrow and when he was at work, (Y/n) usually skipped her daily walk because she hated to go out alone. She knew she wasn't burdening Evan by their daily walk because he loved his exercise so it benefited both of them.

Reaching up, (Y/n) dragged her hands down her face and wiped away the tears as she tried to take a deep breath. She had been laid in bed for just over an hour and she needed to move about. She would be going to sleep soon and sleeping made her stiffness worse so she had to do another lap around the apartment before she settled for the night. (Y/n) already knew she wouldn't be sleeping well tonight, both because she was in too much pain and because Evan wouldn't be here with her.

A silent string of curse words muttered beneath her breath when she started to walk away from the bed.

Her legs were barely moving.

Her left leg had gone back to being numb and useless and her right thigh was shaking when she tried to walk. She was going to have to keep moving for a while now to reduce the pain as much as she could before she went to sleep.

(Y/n)'s left hand grabbed the handrail and her right hand glided down the wall to help ease herself down the stairs.

Sometimes she felt like a little old woman when her legs barely moved and her fingers didn't want to curl or bend or move the right way. She felt like she needed to go up and down the stairs on her bum or her hands and knees. It was utterly humiliating if she was ever at someone else's house during a flare up. Walking and hobbling around like this was bad enough when she had to do this in front of Evan.

It had taken (Y/n) a while to let Evan see her like this, she didn't want him to pity her or look at her any differently.

And he didn't. If she wasn't feeling well, he would walk behind her and hold her hands or her hips and help her up and down the stairs. He would carry her if she asked or if she just gave him that certain look. He loved carrying her around, it was his favourite thing to do.

"No-"

A gasp burned in the back of (Y/n)'s throat when her foot slipped. She barely felt her heel scrape against the lower step but she couldn't hold onto the bannister and hold her weight up to stop her from falling. The pain of her back hitting the stairs blinded her and stopped her breathing but when she slid down to the left and smashed the left side of her chest against three steps, a scream tumbled past her lips.

Her body turned into a trembling, shaking mess on the floor when she finally stopped falling and landed with a horrid slap at the bottom of the stairs.

Her arms shakily coiled into her chest but her breaths burned into another scream and she stretched her arms back out.

Her chest was on fire. It felt like she was laid on hot coals. The pain was horrendous, like a knife stabbing into her ribs. Tingling sensations shot down the base of her spine. She could barely feel her legs except for the spiking pins and needles tearing through her muscles that went right down to her heels which were thudding and felt like pins were prodding at her heels.

Tears began to pour down her face and her wet lips wobbled and bubbled as she tried to breathe but ended up gasping and crying out loudly.

Her fingers were curled into her palms and (Y/n) didn't have enough control or will power to straighten them out. She shuffled her trembling hand around to the right side of her chest beneath her bra strap.

She had broken her ribs.

(Y/n) knew they were broken without having to touch them. She had broken a few bones in her life and she knew her pain levels. Her pain was more concentrated and a lot worse than what other people experienced. Small things were amplified and things like broken bones or torn muscles felt like she had been shredded to pieces.

Inching forwards, (Y/n) tried to slide until her back was no longer wedged against the bottom step.

Moving wasn't going to be easy. She doubted it was even going to be an option right now.

(Y/n) didn't have the energy to drag herself back up the stairs that had now become her enemy.

She wasn't going to crawl into the bathroom around the corner because she couldn't be bothered to dwell in there and cry. There was no energy to try and bandage herself up and patch herself back together.

The sofa was too far away to crawl to and her phone was upstairs on the bed so she couldn't call for help.

No!

No. (Y/n) was not going to call anyone for help. She didn't want paramedics coming round to take her to hospital. She wasn't waiting all through the night in A&E only to have an X-ray and be told she could be bandaged up and sent home with stupid painkillers that never worked to take the edge off. And (Y/n) wasn't calling Maddie and having her friend and sister see her like this. It wouldn't be fair to ruin her night like that.

She couldn't call Evan.

No way could (Y/n) call Evan when he was at work. She wasn't going to panic him and drag him home and make him care for her. He would have to help her back up the stairs and patch her up and console her and (Y/n) was not going to be the burden everyone seemed to think she was. She had to look after herself, Evan wasn't here and he couldn't always come home to look after her.

It didn't matter how much she wanted Evan to come home and hug her right now, she was on her own and that was how things had to stay.

A groan tumbled past her lips when she flopped onto her right ride and heaved herself to lay facing the stairs. Her arms stretched out in front of her so they weren't cocooned to her chest and causing her anymore unnecessary pain. She did what she could to straighten her legs out and stop them from throbbing and aching as much.

Her chin tucked down into her chest and she closed her eyes, despite the tears pouring down her face that would surely flood the apartment soon.

No, (Y/n) would stay here until she felt recovered enough to get herself back upstairs into bed.

***

It took (Y/n) well over fifteen minutes to heave herself up the stairs. It seemed pointless and futile to try getting up during the night when she was throbbing and aching and still drenched in tears. (Y/n) spent the night on the floor. She knew either way she wouldn't be sleeping and she had no effort to climb up the stairs just to lay and cry in bed.

Staying on the floor was easier and let her recover her energy. It was well into the morning by the time she managed to find the will power to start her ascent up the stairs. Her knees bashed and twanged against the steps and it made her whole body shudder each time. Her fingers dug into the steps and she leaned her weight onto the wall as she sat and shuffled up.

When she was up the stairs, She crawled over to the bed and spent another five minutes trying to heave herself up.

It was surprising how quickly sleep overtook (Y/n) once she flopped onto her stomach on the bed. Her body was exhausted. Her chest was in immense agony. Her brain was on last reserves. She had spent the night laid on the floor, unable to sleep and unable to move.

She didn't know what time she managed to get into bed, just that it was late into the morning. And she didn't know how long she slept for, just that it had to of been for a while because she managed to hear the front door opening.

If (Y/n) was more herself and less drained, she would of tried to get up and meet Evan at the door or at the very least, meet him at the top of the stairs. She wanted to get up and move about and stop him from realising something had happened for her to now be in bed at lunchtime. But she was aching and broken and felt too defeated to care.

Her arms curled around Evan's shirt that had been left on the bed and she burrowed her face into his pillow, breathing in his scent to try and stay calm and drowsy. She shuffled down a little until the cover was over her shoulder and mostly hiding her whole body and head from view.

Why couldn't she just disappear?

Why was Evan with her? Why did he love her when she truly was a burden? She was to much effort. Too much hassle. Demanding. In pain. Needy. Everything was wrong with her-

"Babe… baby, where are you?" Evan's sing-song voice rang out through the apartment as he dumped his bag down by the front door and moved towards the living room.

His lips pulled into a frown when he realised the tv wasn't on and (Y/n) wasn't downstairs. He knew her shoes and keys were still by the door along with her bag so she hadn't gone out anywhere. He knew the bathroom and kitchen were empty so he headed up the stairs.

He could feel his heart racing in his chest when he looked around the bedroom. The curtains were still closed; (Y/n) always opened them as soon as she woke up. She loved to look out at the view in the morning, especially on a sunny day like this. The tv was on but it was showing the news. (Y/n) didn't watch the news; she hated it. There was a glass on the floor and juice soaked into the carpet. Clothes and pillows were thrown onto the floor.

What had she been doing?

"Sweetheart, what are you doing? What's up?" Shockwaves rattled through Evan as he moved to kneel down in front of the bed.

He laid his arms out on the bed and carefully peeled back the cover while his chin propped up on his exposed arm. He brushed his finger across (Y/n)'s cheek and swiped his thumb across her lower lip, pulling it gently until she finally opened her eyes to blearily look over at him.

Evan knew her like the back of his hand. Her sleep pattern was always troubled because like Evan struggled to switch off or stay asleep due to his hyperactiveness and his job, (Y/n) struggled due to her fibromyalgia. They had routines to stop her from being in so much pain. She never slept in, especially not this late. She was always up and moving about to keep her muscles loose and working and from seizing up.

"Tired," (Y/n) tilted her head and kissed the palm of Evan's hand which she knew tickled him because his finger twitched against her cheek.

"Couldn't you sleep?" When she shook her head, Evan moved his hand and slowly carded his fingers through her hair. "Well, do you want to get up with me? Maybe a walk will make you feel better?"

They usually had a walk after dinner. Evan knew if (Y/n) stayed in bed for much longer she would feel worse when she eventually tried to get up and he hated to see her in pain. They could have lunch and go for a walk and try to stay busy for the afternoon so she could feel better and sleep well tonight. Evan would be here tonight anyway and she slept better when he was with her, he always knew that.

"Hm."

"Well I'll go grab a shower then we can head out, sound good?" He leaned across to kiss her before he got up and started to rummage around for some fresh clothes.

(Y/n) didn't dare look at her chest when she tried to get changed. Her fingers felt a little less tense than earlier so it was easier to change her shirt but lifting her arms high had her wincing and gasping in pain. She dragged her fingers through her hair and put it up into a loose ponytail but when she dragged her numb feet towards the stairs, shudders ran through her.

What if she fell again? What if she couldn't walk down properly?

(Y/n) didn't want to go downstairs. She didn't want to take the risk and hurt herself again. She didn't want Evan to see her be so stupid and silly and fall like she did last night.

Shivers rolled through her aching muscles and her chest twinged in agony when she looked at the stairs again. Tears welled in her eyes and she suddenly moved to sit down at the top of the stairs. Shuffling down would have to do for now.

She shuffled down one step before she cried out and leaned nearer to the wall. The thumping vibration made her chest jolt and stole the air from her lungs. Her forehead slumped onto the wall and her nails dug into her knees until she was sure she was drawing blood beneath her leggings.

"Baby, you alright up there?" Evan leaned against the bottom of the bannister but his smile faded again when he realised (Y/n) was in tears.

He joggd up the stairs until he was close enough to kneel down in front of her with her knees pressed up into his chest. He smoothed his hands up and down her thighs and kissed her thigh.

"You're really having a bad day, hm? Come on, let's get you down."

(Y/n) didn't want him to help. She didn't want to ask Evan for help, but she wasn't truly asking and he wasn't being put out. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden, but was she being a burden if Evan was only offering to help her down the stairs? He helped her all the time, did that count as being annoying to him?

And she didn't want to go down the stairs on her own. Not after last night. Her body was shaking just at the thought.

(Y/n) momentairely forgot about her damaged ribs until Evan tried to slip his arms around her waist. When he helped her he usually lifted her up and sat her on his hips so he could carry her on his front. He would squeeze her thighs and kiss her neck and tell her he wasn't putting her down until she had kissed him at least a hundred times.

The moment Evan pressed his arms into her sides and placed his hands down on her back, (Y/n) cried out. It was hard not to scream and she choked on a gurgling cry when Evan tensed and froze in front of her.

"What? What did I do?" Panic surged through Evan's voice and he tried to pull back to look down at her but she wouldn't let him.

Her face tucked into his neck and her trembling arms curled around his neck to stop him from trying to move away from her. Evan gulped when he felt (Y/n) begin to whimper into his neck and her shaking broke through into him and made him rock back and forth on the stairs.

"Baby, you're scaring me."

"J-just a bad day… my chest hurts t-that's all."

He didn't believe that, but Evan wasn't going to push the subject here on the stairs. He tried to think how to get her down without touching or hurting her chest.

"Let's try get you down, tell me to stop if you need to." He moved his hands down beneath her bum and cupped the top of her thighs. He leaned his weight backwards and very slowly straightened up to keep his balance so he didn't topple them both backwards down the stairs. Once he was stood up, Evan kept his hands on her bum and turned around to start walking down.

He could still feel the way she was shaking against him and her breaths were fast and shallow against his neck. She wasn't well today and it was worrying him to no end.

(Y/n) braced her hands on his shoulders and slowly uncurled her legs from Evan's hips until she was stood on her feet again.

Her head started to spin and her breaths started to run away without her. Each breath was starting to hurt. It was like taking a proper breath made her ribs splinter and break all over again and the thought had more tears rushing down her face. But she wiped them away and turned towards the door. She needed to put her shoes on and grab her jacket.

A walk would do her some good and hopefully take some of the pain away and make it more bearable. She would grab some painkillers when they came back and dose up so she could breathe and speak and move without worrying Evan. She wasn't going to panic him any more than this.

"We're not going if you're in this much pain. What did you do, bump into the door or something, baby?"

Evan braced his hands on his hips and cocked a hip to the side when (Y/n) looked down at his arm. He knew she tended to focus on his tattoos to distract herself when she couldn't look him in the eye.

"I'm okay. I need to keep moving, let's go on a walk." (Y/n) swiped the remaining tears from her face and tried to take proper breaths to calm herself down.

Anger tore through Evan when he watched (Y/n) turn her back on him and move towards the door. She wasn't well, he could see it. He could see the way she was still breathing fast and shallow and she was shuffling rather than walking. Her legs must be stiff and him touching her chest made her cry. Something wasn't right and she wasn't telling him.

When (Y/n) leaned down to pick up her shoe, Evan saw the way she winced and moved a hand to cradle her side but even her light touch seemed to burn her and make her whimper.

He wasn't playing this game.

Evan kept his steps light and agile and the moment he stood behind (Y/n), he didn't give her chance to argue or try and ward him away.

"Evan-"

A shriek tore past (Y/n)'s lips and she leaned forward to brace her hand on the wall when she felt Evan behind her. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it up before she could stop him. He pulled it up to her shoulders and let the hem of her shirt fold over her shoulders and neck so he could see what she was trying to hide from him.

"Evan, I- I-"

"What the fuck happened to you?!" His hands hovered over her sides but he didn't dare touch her. He let her turn around in front of him and it let him see the damage more clearly. Bruising had bloomed all along her back and around the left side of her chest. Various colours ranging from black to purple to splotches of red and brown. She was a canvas that had been splattered with paint.

What had she done? What happened while he had been at work? Why on Earth didn't she call him?

A small knock to any part of (Y/n)'s body caused her immense pain so Evan couldn't imagine the agony she was going through with these kinds of bruises.

"What. Happened?" Evan held (Y/n)'s chin between his thumb and finger and tilted her head up so she had no choice but to look him in the eye. He could feel his resolve crumbling when tears started to drench down her face but he wasn't budging until she told him what had gone on here.

"I fell."

"You fell? Fell into what, baby? This is bad… Christ baby girl this is real bad." Evan crouched down in front of her and moved his hands to hold her hips. He kissed her stomach and felt a shiver tear through her abdomen before he looked around her chest. He tried to dance his fingertips along her chest as delicately as he could. Evan knew she was sensitive at the best of times but even more so when she was hurt.

He didn't want to touch her and add any more pain, but he wanted to see the extent of her damage. The way she cringed and cried out and grabbed his shoulders made Evan feel tears welling up in his own eyes.

"I think you've definitely broken a few… come on, talk to me."

(Y/n) stayed silent, rolling her lips together as she moved one hand to point towards the stairs.

"What… oh- fuck no. You fell down the stairs?" Evan pulled back up and dragged his fingers through his hair. "Why the Hell didn't you call me? Baby you've broken your ribs, you could have broken your neck why wouldn't you call me to come home? Why didn't you tell me when I came in?"

Tears traced down (Y/n)'s face before she could stop herself and her hands moved up to cover her face. She could feel each shallow breath panting into the palm of her hands and her tears soaked into her fingers. She didn't want to be doing this. She didn't want to be crying her eyes out in front of Evan like this, but she couldn't stop herself.

She couldn't seem to do anything right. All she did seemed to go wrong or make things worse and now she had panicked and upset Evan when that was the last thing she wanted to do.

"Baby why didn't you call me-"

"Because I'm not being a burden to you!"

(Y/n) dropped her hands back down before she smoothed them up and down her thighs to try and stop them from shaking and sweating. She could feel herself hiccupping through her words and her chest felt like it was shredded to pieces with each fast breath she panted.

But it was the look in Evan's eyes that made her heart drop down to the pit of her stomach.

His blue eyes seemed to turn five shades darker until they were navy blue, bordering on black. Redness swelled beneath his eyes and a sheet of crimson burned along his neck and flushed his face.

His brows furrowed and he seemed to straighten up and become taller at the same time as he took a step back.

Evan didn't understand. What had he done to give her that impression? What did he say to her out of context or in passing or without thinking that made (Y/n) wonder if she had become a burden to him? Whatever he had done, he didn't mean it. Evan never wanted her to have that kind of impression and he thought he had done everything right so she wouldn't ever think like that.

"Why would you say that?" The utter defeat in Evan's voice made a sob burn at the back of (Y/n)'s throat and she tilted her head back as if it would somehow push all the tears to the back of her head.

"Because I am."

"What did I do?" His question left her stumped. Their conversations had shifted, he was on a different track completely. "What did I say to make you think that?"

(Y/n) moved her hands and tangled her trembling fingers together, shaking her hands out to try and release some nervous energy but it only made her fingers ache. Why was Evan on that track? He had never done anything that made her feel like she was a burden to him and she had never said something like this to him before. (Y/n) would never want Evan to think that way because there was nothing he could do that would make her think bad of him. Ever.

"Evan…" Her wrist swiped beneath her eye and collected a fresh stream of tears. "Everyone sees it. T-they see how I burden you… I can't rely on you for everything and keep doing this to you."

"Who the fuck told you that?"

Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip deep enough to draw specks of blood that pooled around her tongue and made her cringe. She could barely see Evan due to the tears cascading down her face and she wasn't sure she wanted to see his reaction either.

Her head tilted back to look up at the high ceiling above them when she whispered "Eddie's party."

A gasp tumbled past her swollen lips when Evan's hands suddenly cupped her face. She didn't hear or see him move. He stood directly in front of her, close enough that (Y/n) could feel each turbulent breath that fanned past his lips and mingled with her own. She could feel his rough chest rising and falling less than a centimetre away from her own and she couldn't look anywhere but at his eyes when he tilted her head back.

His thumbs glided across her burning face just beneath her eyes and he brushed the tip of his nose against hers until her breathing hitched and her nose twitched and tickled.

"That was one person who knows nothing about us. Baby, no one else thinks like that, no one else is that warped and stupid. What she came out with doesn't matter-"

"It does! Evan you… you shouldn't have to be my carer-"

"The only thing that matters here is us. If I tell you I wanna look after you then I will and no one can say shit about it. You're not making me do anything. If I wanna carry you up and down those stairs for the rest of my life, I'll do it. If I wanna stay home and help you when you're having a rough day, that's my choice. No one is forcing me to do anything, I look after my girl because I love you."

There was nothing anyone could say that would make Evan feel differently about this or make him see things differently.

Lucy had no right to say what she did and he wished to God that (Y/n) hadn't heard, or that she had at least listened to what he said in retaliation.

It didn't matter what anyone said because they weren't in this relationship. Evan wanted to look after (Y/n) when she was ill, he wanted to stay home and make sure she was resting and had her meds and he wanted to help her go on walks and exercise to feel better. He wanted to pick her up when she couldn't climb the stairs herself. Evan wanted to stay home with her rather than go out alone and have a boring time he would regret.

Evan was never going to regret staying home with (Y/n) or helping her or looking after her because he loved her and he saw caring for her as a sign of his love. It wasn't a habit or a ritual or a job he had to do.

Nothing would make him see this situation any differently.

"You should have called me."

"And say what? Evan you're a fireman, I c- I can't make you come home when you're at work and your job is important-"

"(Y/n) you're important too!" His tone and pitch took (Y/n) by surprise and she shuddered when his thumbs pressed into her cheekbones so he could get her to look at him again. "If you have a fall and you're hurt, then I expect you to call me. I don't want you hiding things like this from me. My job is just that, it's a job and it doesn't mean more to me than my family."

If she got hurt, Evan wanted to know. He wanted her to call him whether she was crying or screaming or half passed out on the floor. Evan wanted her to ring him and tell him she was injured and she needed help. He wanted to be the one to help her and if he couldn't come home right away, he would make sure someone was there with her.

He didn't want to sit at work being none the wiser that she was hurt. It ground Evan down and made him angry beyond reason that he had been thinking everything was fine when (Y/n) had clearly been in agony, home alone.

She should have called him.

"Promise me you won't try and hide things like this from me."

"I promise," Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper carried away on the wind, but it was enough for Evan. It was enough to calm the storm raging through his soul and make him finally take a proper, deep breath.

He leaned down and closed the distance between them. Tasting her lips, stealing her breath, swiping his tongue across the little flecks of blood welling up on her lower lip. He let his fingers slide down to curl across the side of her neck while his nose brushed hers and his lips stayed hovering over hers even after they pulled back.

"Now please, let me take you to get checked out."

[writingjourney]

I’m having a severe chronic illness/pain flare up today that’s kept me in bed all night and all day today- I’d love some headcanons for the Papas when it comes to caring for a sick or chronically ill partner if you have the time! Maybe even a short ficlet if you feel inspired to! ☕️😮‍💨📚

I hope you're feeling better by now! ♡ I managed to write a short snippet for each Papa, trying to keep it somewhat vague as to what type of pain reader is experiencing. Copia can be read in whichever role you fancy :)

content: 1.5k words total, each papa x gn!reader, hurt/comfort, reader with chronic pain [Ao3 link]

Primo

He's successfully shut out the rest of the world, one harsh look and the Sibling who tried to pester you scattered off like a fearful rabbit. He's tucked you under the blanket with the firm insistence of a nurse who's overseeing your strict bed rest. Primo knows one thing by now, having forced his body through decades worth of hard work – you can only push yourself so far before you shut down, before you cannot recover without sufficient rest.

"I could have just helped them quickly," you insist. "It's already getting be–"

"I will not have these idioti risk your health with tasks they can do themselves, fiore."

And that's that. He's well aware that no one is going to be brave enough to complain about him to Sister, half the Ministry too scared to bother you at all while you're with him. Primo knows you care about your work which entails that you'd never have called off unless you collapsed right in front of him. But he likes to think that you enjoy it when he's just as stubborn as you are.

"Drink some more water, amore." Perched on the edge of the bed, he hands you the glass, perpetually full as if by magic. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you admit. "The heating pad helps."

"Good." He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Now, time to get some sleep."

"Join me? I think it's time for an old man nap."

He narrows his eyes, playful but not unserious. "I will show you who is an old man when you feel better."

You give a tired laugh and he softens up the moment you've draped yourself over his chest, long fingers stroking along your arm. With his steady heartbeat against your ear it's easier to fall asleep and for once it's comforting to know that the rest of the world can wait.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Secondo

"Ah ah, no getting up, amore."

You sink back into the pillows, caught in the act. "I just want to–"

"No." The rhythmic scratching of pen on paper, books and notepad pages scattered on the small desk he carried into the bedroom to work from home today. "Whatever you need, you just tell your Papa."

"What if I have to go pee? Will you oversee that as well?"

He glances up over the rim of his reading glasses. "Do you?"

"No."

"Then why are you trying to get up?"

"I was going to look at what you're doing."

"You are not well, amore. You need to learn how to rest."

You pull the blanket up over your head and turn to your side, your next words grumbled into the fabric. "That call is coming from inside the house."

"What was that, hm?"

Before you can reply, the mattress dips under his weight, his presence immediately taking up all air around you. A thrill runs through your whole body, clouding the pain for a short but sweet moment.

"I know I am not leading by example," he concedes, a heavy hand stroking along the shape of your arm, down to your hips and then following the trail of your spine back up to your head. He tugs at the blanket there, revealing you to him. "Do you need more medicine? A book to read? Music?"

"What I really need is you," you whisper. "And… perhaps some more ibuprofen, yeah."

Secondo lends you one of his rare smiles, thumb softly stroking along your cheekbone. As though he can't resitst he leans in for a short but soft kiss, nose brushing against yours but careful not to exhaust you. "I can do that, amore. Make some space in the bed while I get it."

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Terzo

You haven't been particularly hungry, dozing for hours, closing your eyes to drown out the world, anything to sit out the pain and discomfort for however long it takes. When the surprising smell of freshly cooked food slowly creeps into the bedroom you feel your stomach grumbling for the first time in days.

"Terz?"

He does not reply. You furrow your brow, debating whether it's worth getting up to check on whatever he's fabricating. It's less that you don't trust him in the kitchen, he's perhaps lacking the cooking practice but he more than makes up for it with his quick wit. It's more so that he's been anxious ever since you got ill, desperate to help, flinching whenever you show any signs of pain, and he's already easily distracted on the best of days.

Before you've made up your mind the door creaks open. A smile lights up his face when he finds you awake, arms occupied with a steaming bowl that he carries between two oven-gloved hands.

"I hope you have an appetite, amore," he says.

You sit up, heart swelling at the sight of him in a kitchen apron. Before he sits down on the chair by your bedside he places the tray over your lap that you've been using, unable to sit for too long, and then sets down an old porcelain bowl you know he inherited from his grandmother. The rich aroma of the hearty broth floods your nose, tiny pieces of pasta swimming alongside finely chopped vegetables.

"Pastina Soup," he explains. "My nonna made this when I was not feeling well as a little boy, she used to say it is medicine against anything. I know how to make this in my sleep, amore. The kitchen is fine."

"I didn't say anything!"

"I see it in your eyes, you don't trust me with the stove." He raises his brows and you can't help but laugh, a sound that melts the tension out of his posture. "I know I know, I have been a bit of a hectic mother hen, hm? But I do not like seeing you unwell."

"I'm grateful, my love," you whisper, taking his hand in yours for a reassuring squeeze. "I've not been taken care of like that in a long time."

He eases into the chair, proud smile stretching his lips, and watches as you try the first spoonful. Warmth spreads from your belly to your limbs, the broth rich, so full of flavor that you feel revived from the taste alone. At your delighted hum his smile grows, so much that you can see the dimples in his cheeks. It's perfect.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Copia

"Relax, amore," he whispers, pulling you firmer against his chest with an arm tightly wrapped around your front. "I can feel that you are still tense."

"I'm trying." You let your head fall back until it meets his shoulder. The steaming hot water of the bath eases your pain in a way that makes it somewhat more bearable. "It just takes some time to get used to the heat."

You inhale the scent of lavender bubbles, figure that you should be glad he finally made you use the fancy bath bomb and foam that you've been trying to keep for a special occasion. It feels too luxurious to waste, too much of an indulgence. Copia has been insisting on this, though, after you've been in agony for days and he's been fussing, heating pad, medication, all not helping enough to take away the discomfort of such persistent pain.

"Still tense," he whispers a few minutes later, voice so close to your ear that goosebumps prickle at your neck despite the heat. You can feel his hands now, slowly working into your muscles, fingers smoothing out the knots. It's… not uncomfortable, though you have to wince on occasion when he hits a particularly sore spot. "What do we do about this, my baby?"

"I wouldn't mind if you just kept going with this," you whisper.

And he does, though his lips start to trail the softest of kisses up the side of your neck now, across your shoulder, anywhere he can reach without moving you too much. Once the water cools down you'll slip back into sweats, cozying up in his bed with a movie. It's the closest you can get to finding peace while you're not feeling well, hoping the flare up will fade if you allow yourself the needed rest. It helps him, too, though he's much better about doing his stretches and staying on top of things.

"Thanks for forcing me to relax," you whisper drowsily, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace.

He chuckles, wrapping you up between his arms and legs and the sweet scent of the bath. "We both know you never would have used that bath bomb, amore."

I hope these were comforting to anyone who might need it <3

Masterlist – My Ao3

[hhighkey]

Taken, part 2 // Uvogin, one shot - part of hhighkey's phantom troupe universe series

Rating: mature Story Contains: stockholm syndrome, love??, implied past kidnapping, implied references to depression, suicidal thoughts, unnamed chronic illness, medical inaccuracies, marriage, rough sex, size kink, lots of come im so sorry, manipulation, female reader Note: about 17k words, ao3 link: xxx, link to part 1

The union could never be legal, technically Uvogin didn’t exist, but that didn’t matter. Not to you when he confidently proposed with the biggest grin months after getting you back from Bates, going on a ramble about the thought of you being someone else’s wife terrified him. To him, it furthered his ownership of you, and was another way to show his utmost commitment and love. Not that kidnapping you four years ago was a total display of it or anything… That it took someone else trying to marry you for him to think of it. 

Never sure what to categorize as the happiest day of your life, for now that day took the cake. How even on one knee he was taller than you, a gorgeous ring in hand (you could thank Chrollo for that as you found out later). The idea of being someone’s wife when you were little had been like a dream, you’d always gawk at wedding stores and the dresses on display. It was more of a fantasy to look the prettiest surrounded by even prettier decor, not necessarily about the concept of ‘in life and death.’ After so long with Uvogin you understood that marriage wasn’t about a gorgeous wedding but about the vows and status it brought. Because your relationship with Uvogin was the epitome of together until death. And with each day getting harder to get out of bed, blood painting your tissues after coughing, you realize that death is on the horizon.

However, for the last few weeks Uvogin was doing his best to avoid a certain group. The term ‘bachelorette party’ became a forbidden term to me murmured around him, it’d be a night where he’d have no control. However, three people weren’t letting him off easy as you found amusement in him trapped.

“Fuck no.” Uvogin grunted, eyes tensely looking over the three female Troupe members, “She doesn't leave my sight when I’m not workin’.” 

“It’s a thing Uvo.” Machi said, “You’re not supposed to see the bride a few days leading up to the wedding, especially the night before and day of.”

“Okay so you can have her tomorrow then.” He waves them off, going to grab your arm, but Machi cuts him off stepping in front of you.

“No, you can survive two days without her.” 

“Whaddya wanna do babe?” He focused on you, pretending not to hear the pink haired woman. 

Your mouth falls open as you glance between Uvo and Machi. Your chest flutters with discomfort being in the middle of a strange face-off, where you particularly didn’t want to see Uvogin perturbed with you if you agreed with the girls. “Um..” 

“The four of us are going to do something tonight.” Pakunoda steps in, her voice level like she were talking to an overly large toddler not getting its way. 

“Like what?” 

“None of your business.” She stared at the larger man down. 

“Well Y/N’s my business so, anything she does is my business.” 

“It’s bad enough we can’t force Phinks and Feitan to let us have their girls, but let the poor bride-to-be have a bachelorette party where nothing can possibly happen. Then she’ll be your wife in two days and you can dictate the rest of her life, how about that?” Machi huffs, annoyed, “Go bother Nobu if you get bored but we’re taking her.”

“Yeah, no you ain’t.” He went to push past her, but she shot a hand up pressing on his chest. 

“What do you want to do, Y/N?” Machi asked. 

“I- Uvo I would really like to spend time with them.” With a slowly ticking clock on your life due to the state of your health, you think you should say what you want. For a second you remember, like a little flicker at the back of your brain, times spent with friends shopping, movies, gossiping about boys. Makes your heart yearn for that type of connection again. Clarity seemed to leak into the depth of your mind the sicker you got. 

He frowned at you and time seemed to stop until he nodded, “Alright.”

“That was easy, thought we’d have to steal her in the middle of the night.” Shizuku said absentmindedly, which earned her a few glares. 

Uvo fretted over you before he let you go, fingers prodding along your delicate skin as if you were the most precious treasure, as if you’d break from one touch alone. 

“Behave.” His words come across as a warning but you hear the depth to it, the worry rather than a threat. 

“I always do.” You tease, moving to hug his thick, muscular torso. A small part of you wants him to scoop you up and lock you away with him, your heart beginning to panic at the idea of separating from him. Yet your mind told you to stay strong no matter how badly you wanted to melt right into him. 

Uvogin made a few more tiny threats towards the girls before he finally left, telling you he’d be at the Base. For a moment your chest twisted in pain knowing he’d be hours away, not working. You could survive being without him due to his job, but not knowing he was free.

So you stood in your townhome with Machi, Paku and Shizuku watching you. Sure, you considered them your friends at this point, slowly considered most members of the Troupe your friends. Yet you knew their loyalty to you was really loyalty to Uvogin, the help protecting you, keeping you healthy, keeping you happy- was all for him. While you’re sure they care for you as a person enough to make small talk, you’re Uvogin’s property through and through. But this moment as you debated what to do, made you want to feel hopeful. The three of them didn’t need to do this. It made no sense for them to fight with Uvo for days to let them host something. 

How Machi’s fingers dug into your bicep as you involuntarily took steps forward, 

“Don’t.”

You didn’t know how to be without him. Your body was slowly dying, and not the dramatic bullshit of aging. So perhaps it was quickly dying. The ever exhausting fog you lived in where all you had was Uvogin to care for you. His warmth disappearing from the room settled a chill and awareness. 

Machi has her normal blank expression, but she seems pleased when you nod, “So, what are we doing tonight?”

The looks exchanged made you wary. 

The devilish upturn of Machi’s lips makes you wonder if you should go run back to Uvo. But the part of you, stuck oh so deep down, that couldn’t rebel for years was overjoyed as it wretched its way out. 

“We are going out.”

“Out..?”

“You know, what normal girls do, dress up and get drunk, flirt with men.” 

You cringe at the last part, discomfort swirling in your gut. Normality. Normal girls. You play the words over and over, hearing her words echo as a harsh reminder. But also self reflection as these three weren’t normal either. Farther from it and yourself. Perhaps you nodded, agreeing to the location they wanted, because you’d missed out on so much. Though the sour taste in your mouth lingers as you all get ready as if it were any other night- that everyone in the Troupe was all aware of the fact Uvo kidnapped you. No one told him that he should reconsider, that it’d be selfish. But did you even want that? Would you have wanted Machi or Nobu to tell him to let you go? Because the thought makes your stomach flutter with wrenching nerves you don’t want to think about, as society’s version of normal wasn’t yours. And like that, you snapped back to the image staring back at you in the mirror, the girl chronically ill yet irrevocably in love with someone they shouldn’t be.

You look- strange. Yet you’re taken aback by the beautiful girl Paku had turned you into, makeup breathing life back into your sullen state. A flash of somebody else, a younger version of you reflected, prior to knowing what you’d become and with who. It’s nostalgic almost, thinking about the minimal times you’d gone to a bar with a coworker or an old school friend, how you debated over what to wear or how to do your hair. With Uvo it was simple- he didn’t care what was on your body, or if you had makeup, he controlled everything you could and couldn’t do and it simplified everything. 

The dress fit you like a glove, pushing cleavage up and you wanted to retreat into yourself.

The night sky preys down on you. Buildings feeling like they were closing in, the openness of the town, the fresh air felt like a jail. The fact you were in the open with options was suffocating, but you walked with your arm linked with Paku’s trying to save face. Trying to push down your insecurities and thoughts of Uvo getting angry with you. He’d never have let you wear this, never had let Machi push a shot of vodka down your throat prior to leaving. Thrilling. Yet terrifying. The best way to sum up what coursed through your veins while wanting to turn around at the same time. 

The lack of alcohol the last five or so years was clear, the shot made your cheeks tinged pink and a dazed smile on your lips. You tried hard now to sway as you walked and luckily the cool breeze against you the last few minutes helped to bring you back down. The taste of it was exhilarating- dancing on the edge of inebriation and the thoughts that came with it!

“I- Can’t.” You take a step back, “Too many people- I can’t.”

“Hey- Y/N.” 

You stare at the ground as you stumble back to some steps, letting the cold pavement press against you. Stuck inside yourself as your world spun you began to ramble, 

“I- Only people I’ve been around are the Troupe. No more than 12, never more. A-And Bates kept people away from me. No- No, too many. Feels suffocating, like I can’t breathe.” You look at them with terror written across your face, “Why are you all doing this for me? Because you know I’ll die? Or because you feel bad for me? Y-You know he kidnapped me, I’m not allowed to use phones or see my old friends, my family thinks I’m dead. Yet…” 

Machi crouches down to get eye level with you, “You deserve a night of freedom and fun you should have had. You’ve given all of us more kindness than we deserve all these years. And Uvo has never been happier in all the time we’ve known him. We want to repay it back before you die as his wife.” 

“We’ll take any backlash that comes of this, with your state Uvo wouldn’t dare to upset you.” Paku said, correctly inferring the nagging at the back of your mind that this would make him furious.

“You could get away with a lot more than you realize because he’s terrified of you dying, remember that.” Machi’s intensity bores into you in a way that makes you sit straight up. Either from the fact her nen could kill you in an instant or she was trying to instill you with a backbone. 

“How much longer do you have, Y/N?” Shizuku asked. 

“I… Don’t know.” You push your fingers against your temple, trying to stifle the weight of everything on your shoulders. The sting of the vodka still in the back of your throat, your eyes focused on the heels you wore. 

“A year at most, probably eight months.” Machi replied.

“Why- Why would Uvo be scared to upset me? Hasn’t stopped him before.” You flinch at the reminder of your impending doom, no matter how much you were coming to terms with it; It was Uvogin’s karma.

“With my non-professional medical guess, who's been there since the start, is that there’s so much medicine can do if you’re giving up. Uvo doesn’t want you to want to die, selfishly wants you to hang on for as long as possible even if you’re in pain.”

Oh. It felt like you hit a wall. A harsh wave of soberness and the realization of where you were, “I wondered, why it took him so long to think of marrying me? Did Bates love me more to go through those lengths? What did I do to deserve all this?”

No one spoke. It would have been hypocritical for them to, they were just as big of monsters as Uvo. That they didn’t need you looking at the situation from an outsider’s viewpoint anymore, a discomfort settled within their guts. 

“Can we- still go to that bar?” You ask, breaking the silence you caused. 

As much as you spilled to them unprompted, knowing your words wouldn’t spur them emotionally to do anything, you were always smart not to let anyone in on the doubt you felt. On the anxiousness since Bates, on the second guessing if your emotions for Uvo were real. You knew everyone would take it wrong, that you’d been indoctrinated or rebelling. 

Because hadn’t Uvo washed away every insecurity that made you doubt your love? All this hushed proclamations whilst his cock was buried in your guts. The small touches and the fact you no longer had to lift a finger. His ever permanent seeming presence. Right? Ringing struck up in your ears forcing you to shake it off, Right. Right. No question about it as you stared at the ring on your left finger. You were excited to be his wife, to further cement your love. You had to be. 

“Of course,” Paku said, “Let’s go. You can hold onto us as much as you need.” 

Everything was a blur after they helped you up from the step, urging you to forget about your woes. The line wasn’t a long wait before you’re stepping into what felt like an alternate dimension. Thick sweat-infused-air with the smell of alcohol, bodies shoved like sardines, and strobe lights beamed around. 

Music. Music! Oh it made you sway in utter glee as the bass reverberated in the depth of your soul. You felt like a fish out of water with your fingers intertwined with Paku’s, looking around the room like an awe struck child seeing the world for the first time. 

A glass was shoved in your hand and you indulged, then again, and again. Uncaring for the strength of the liquor or the overly sweet syrups, the taste of freedom was absolutely addicting. How you’d missed alcohol in all this time, you’d beg Uvo to let you drink again. Soon your vision blurred along with your doubts. 

It was tiring always worrying. Always wondering. Being on edge. Doubting. It made you suffocate and being able to let go was pure relief. Giggle and laugh with the three Troupe members like any other friend group would. Even if they weren’t as into or as relaxed as you, watching your every move, you didn’t mind. They were doing this for you.

Any man that approached you was shooed off with a threatening glance from Machi. You were encapsulated in a perfect bubble as you bounced around sucking down another tequila infused drink. Not caring that you didn’t know any of the lyrics because this was music you’d never heard before. When was the last time you’d listened to music? You stop as you warm, bodies pressing to you, and you realize you don’t know. 

You tug your dress further down your thighs, attempting to cover more. You falter in your steps and arms are on your waist in an instant. 

“Ready?” Shizuku stares through her glasses at you.

You nod. Was it late? How long had you been inside the club dancing to your heart's content as your mind went to mush. 

The air outside was frigid compared to your body’s temperature, to the red flush along your skin and sweat beading at your hairline. Hair a frizzy mess. Mascara smeared under your eyes with the glitter from atop your lids. You hadn’t smiled so big in so long, to the point your cheeks ached as you tried to skip along the paved sidewalks, giggling like a madwoman. Pakunoda never let you get far though, listened and responded to your entertainingly slurred words and statements. And how you slowly began to wear down, to slow in your steps as you wrapped an arm around her. Contentment resonated from you. 

They’re on edge first, you not noticing the sudden change in atmosphere. That the aura around you all dropped, anger seething through it. Three forms stood past the turn. One particularly large. 

Uvogin. Flanked by Nobu and Phinks, who looked more annoyed than anything. Yet it wasn’t them that brought concern, because Uvo looked halfway ready to destroy the local buildings. 

“The fuck are you all doin’? Thinking you can take my soon to be wife out to get drunk, take ‘er somewhere I don’t fucking know.” He’s rigid, a murderous aura surrounding him. Muscles flexing as his jaw locked. Oh Uvogin was a big and terrifying man yet you looked at him like the dark, bustling city was naught. 

“Uvo!” You squeal, delighted, your core flush with warmth as you don’t notice his anger. Your thoughts are screaming for him, chanting his name like a prayer because there he is! He’s suddenly in your sights, though you aren’t sure why there’s two of him, but all you want is to squeeze him, take him for yourself. The way his thighs squeezed against the fabric of his shorts you narrowed in on, thinking about running your hands against them, prodding into the skin. Massaging and kissing and moving to his thick co- your core goes warm, such liquid goodness that you can’t fathom being away from him any longer, your daydream making you go numb.

You push off Paku and skip over to Uvo, practically throwing yourself into him. Which he caught you with ease even without prior notice. You nuzzled into his warmth, feeling his calloused fingers run along your arms. You don’t feel how he tugged down your dress as it’d ridden up, or as he checked for any marks. And you certainly didn’t feel the genuine panic, terror past jealousy of you drunk around others. The fear of you out without him. Finding someone else more interesting upon realizing how much he’d taken from you. Living a life that didn’t include him. And if you wanted said life back over what you two built on the cracked foundations only help up on your (possibly) messed up sense of reality. 

“Hi baby.” Uvo said in a fairly choked back tone; his attempt to seem relaxed towards you while he was really seething. In his mind he had to blame his fellow Spiders, that this was on them, not you. 

“Want you.” You whined softly, eyes filled with heated want that bore into him. Your palms flat on his chest feeling his erratic heart beat like it was your lifeline, “Missed you.”

You don’t remember much, not as you swayed in his grasp, vision splitting your environment from doubles to triples. The hazed joy settled into a comfortable exhaustion as your eyelids drooped, uncaring for the voices that argued around you. It doesn’t matter that it’s getting heated, not to you, this night has been better than the stars above. Topped off with Uvogin at the end. As your head falls limp, knees buckling, your last drunken thought is on the wedding. 

Feeling your body beginning to go limp as you mewled into him, Uvo picks you up cradling you into him. Your touch grounded him. Your excitement to see him might have been what stopped a possible massacre powered by his anger and fists alone. You’d missed him terribly even when you had the whole world at your fingers, and he loved that. Filled him with a sense of pride. 

“We’re going.” Uvogin nodded to Nobu and Phinks.

“Good fucking thing I didn’t let my girl come. Will have to tell Feitan ‘bout this.” Phinks grumbled under his breath.

“We’re heading back to Base.” Nobunaga tells the girls, “Come if you want, will be a tight squeeze.”

The group began their departure, silence amongst a still bustling town. Tension thick enough to cut with a knife, trepidation building within a few of the Spiders. Strange looks from some, especially at the large man carrying a girl who looked like she had a rough night out. 

Soon buildings died out. Lights limited. Roads turning to dirt, fences showcasing expansive private overgrown property. Countryside came into view with a car waiting, as Phinks pulled out the keys. For a second they all share uncomfortable glances unsure how they’ll all fit, but one person in particular had a dark cloud above her.  

“Uvogin.” Machi said dangerously low, fists clenched and Shizuku ready to grab her if needed. “How long have you had her now, four years, or is it five? She’s not going anywhere she’s in love with you, as much as she’s able. She doesn’t know how to think without you telling her what to think about, nonetheless run away anywhere. Where would she go? She relies on you for everything and more, you are her life. And she’s happy about it I guess, babbled about you all night. She doesn’t have long and you know it, don’t let her go it’ll do more harm than good but… let her say goodbyes. Proper ones to those you took her from.”  

“No.” He responded without pause, “You’ve gone soft, Machi I’m surprised. I ain’t letting her out my sight from here on out, I’ll let Chrollo know I need a fucking sabbatical or something. You’ll be lucky if I let any of you see her again.” 

“She’d be upset about that.”

“Whatever.” 

“You say that now.” She knew he was bluffing, and of course he was. 

He squeezed your sleeping frame before settling into the passenger seat of the car, keeping you tight to him. He stared at your angelic form feeling his heart squeeze, “Don’t do something like this again. And one day maybe you might understand a sliver of what I feel for her and why I do what I do.”

Uvogin couldn’t fathom missing another one of your breaths. Not a single one. Because from here on out he’d claim them all as his. 

-

This was how it was meant to be- your wedding day- you realize as you stare at your reflection. You remember the attempted one with Bates felt like walking to your doom, while this time around with Uvo? It felt like you were walking through a floralled field surrounded by a thick lavender odor, heading towards the rest of your life. It felt right. 

A white gown flows along your emaciated body that has a faint golden sheen from the joy swirling within you. Excitement coursed in your veins as you finished final touches for your hair and makeup, relying on Paku heavily for assistance. 

It’s Fall, the orange and red leaves falling delicately around you as you carefully walk along a gravel path with grass laying flat from overuse. The cooling air filled with a cinnamon spice odor so acutely that of the lengthening nights as Hallow’s Eve was around the corner. Feeling wrapped in the comfort of your favorite season, a molten liquid spread as you inched closer and closer to the altar. Arm looped in Paku’s, a smile lives etched on your face as tears prick at your eyes, swirling sentient settling within. After much convincing, Uvogin agreed to an outdoor wedding at sunset, not being able to say no to you. The Trope had done an immaculate job at setting up a cozy venue

It was a whirlwind. Walking down the aisle to Uvogin. How he looked at you with misty eyes and utter happiness, looking devilishly handsome in a tailored suit, something you never imagined seeing him in. He towered over you with a powerful aura that made you feel safe. Nothing else existed when in Uvogin’s orbit. How his hands held yours, staring so intently like you were the entire world. That you were all that existed on this plane, that all he wanted was to whisk you away as soon as vows were shared. 

You were always his, but to Uvogin this tied you to him forever. Emotionally linked your cute self to him in a way that meant everything to you, while to him the title of marriage did little to change his feelings. It made your heart swell and your face beam with love, making this worth it in his eyes.  

And it was worth it to see you walking down the aisle to him. His pupils dilated, shoulders dropping, mouth quirked up at the sight of you in a white gown. An angel. His heart soared and he stood a tad straighter beaming with pride. 

Closer. Closer to him. Time seemed to slow as you both became so consciously aware of the other, of how your hearts raced in rhythm combining. Circulating souls, winding and meshing, flowing together like pieces of twine twisting and twisting. Paku handed you off to him and he’s lit with a burning need as your smaller hands slot into his perfectly. A necessity so pure, like a starving man who’d kill for his survival, burn the world to the ground to have you. 

Nothing else mattered besides you; not Chrollo who began the ceremony, not the eyes and pleasant words of the other Spiders and their partners (who stared hopeful at their lovers). 

Only your tears of merriment as you peered up at him like he was your savior, mattered. He was your salvation. The sweet words that left your lips as you cried through your vows with breathy laughs, built him up more and more. Uvogin’s vows were strong, filled with his promises of protection and love, his thinly-veiled apologies for the past and the excitement to continue as husband and wife. 

A faint cinnamon smell wafted on the breeze, heavy earthy-spice amongst the falling leaves. The sun is setting beyond the horizon. Dimming violet skies flourished as the ceremony ended- you in Uvogin’s arms as vows sealed with a kiss. A symphony of harmonious noises blurred out your surroundings, a deafening buzzing that should have made your stomach churn and your instincts blare red. Instead it’s elation that spurred your tunnel vision as you kiss your husband passionately uncaring for anything else. 

Maybe you were too far gone from the clarity you’d had, from the questions of Uvo’s real feelings you once picked apart. All of it drowned and stamped out. Glowing delight crammed into every vein and bone, to your most miniscule of nerves. Plugged up so thick with the taste of Uvogin that you’re almost drunk off his scent alone, off the way his eyes raked along your body. The thought of him looking and touching anywhere else made you want to die. Like he was the oxygen you breathed. A fresh intake of air seeping with amber and intoxicating caramel, the taste of a maple tree’s smoky bark going up your nostrils to the tip of your head. 

Dizzied by his musk. Dizzies as your mind buzzed like a million honey bees flew about in crazed circles. Unable to wipe the grin off your face as Uvogin picks you up Bridal style to carry you off. Marital bliss is already consuming the two of you whole, Uvogin’s aura a violent red as his chest swelled with possession. 

Every inch of Uvogin; from his flexing muscles to his grueling height where his toes tingle with want. He was wounded so tight. Chords pulling and pulling, fraying as they did, and any moment they’d snap. He’d snap. Flustering begins to control him and you can see it in his eyes. The fire. The lust. All of it.

Uvogin wastes no time getting to his corridor of the Base, since everyone wanted the loud man in his own area to reprieve them of his usual antics. 

And he wasted no time placing you on the bed with a thump, your giggles music to his ears. Pure joy shimmered across your features and it had been far too long since he’d seen it. Uvo relishes in it as he helps you out of the wedding gown (tries to help while you beg for him not to rip it). Because for the rest of the night he has plans that will keep you a mess on his cock as you cry and scream for more, drunk off overstimulation, none of your innocent happiness to be found. Only your reliance on him. Your need for him. 

You’re on your back faster than you can blink, Uvogin pulling you to the edge of the bed. On his knees between your thighs you watch him with insatiable lust clouding your eyes, your senses, sending little volts of electricity up your spine as his rough fingers traced the skin of your inner thighs. How he kneaded and stoked, your mewls and constant jerking making a devious look fall over him. 

“I ain’t gonna be nice, gonna fuck my pretty little wife til’ she can’t take it. Then I’m gonna keep going.” His breaths fans along your clothed cunt, your liquids beginning to soak through the white fabric. 

You nod, feeling the numb tingle of anticipation wash over your body. Your mind as if it hung out to dry, lust dulling your senses. 

The sudden onslaught of his tongue has you seeing stars. He knows exactly how to tease your entrance to make you squirm and gasp, knows how you like how he oscillates his long tongue inside you to pull out an orgasm. Stroking your inner thighs so playfully and feather like, 

“Uvo- pl-please!” You beg, fingers yanking at his scalp. You need him like you need oxygen to breathe. Your senses are so dull, the air smelling thick of your juices and sex, a tangy musk that is sweet because it’s because of your love for him that you feel this way.

“Need somethin’?” The vibrations of his deep voice sent shivers up your spine, your mind spinning in lust as with a flick of his tongue, the way it then drags along your folds brings you back to your high. 

Sobbing for him as you snap, squirt dribbles and he laps it up, sucking your engorged clit to make you shake. To make you tremble and jerk and try to push his face away as slurping noises fill the room. 

“Ne-ed you!” You sob, “In me!” Your head is spinning and all you can think about is having his cock stretching you out. 

He relinquishes with a final kiss above your clit, pulling to strip himself of his clothes.

Uvogin is more than aware of the size difference between you two, you’re so small beneath him, just so cute laying in awe at his naked hulking body as his hand goes to stroke his godly length. You’re so tiny, so breakable and while he is always as careful as a man like him can muster, right now all he wants to do fragment you into a thousand little pieces. 

“You’re so damn tiny, wife.” Blood rushes to his cock, hardening it even more as the tip leaks precum swollen and red. The way his hand engulfs parts of your leg as he gropes makes him burn and he knows he can’t hold back much longer. 

“You want this fat cock in your tight cunt? You wanna be nice and full, all stretched out? Gonna take all I give you?” 

“God yes, Uvo.” You keen, “Please, fill me.”

“Who do ya belong to, wife?” His eyes darken as he lines his cockhead up to your dripping entrance. 

You squirm and moan lewdly, unable to focus as pleasure grinds at your core, “Y-You Uvo! My husband, I’m yours- your wife- yours.” You babble as his swollen tip continues to tease you. 

“Cunt is mine.” He thrusts in fully, a silent scream escapes you as your eyes roll back. Uvogin’s cock pulses and he groans in pleasure, muscled legs trembling as his nerves are shot full of an addictive high from your body, “Tits are mine.” He engulfs one of your breasts in his hand, thumb rubbing over a pebbled nipple. “Whole damn body is mine. Your fucking mind is mine, I own you.” His thrusts turn erratic, slapping skin reverberates in the room as your little pussy takes his ginormous size and violent force behind each fuck against your cervix.

Already a mess, you’re easy to move, easy to morph as Uvo adjusts you on the bed. Angle was just right, your ankles held down at your head and his hips just so to drive into you so deep you won’t be able to walk. Your orgasm blossoms as squirt juts from your hole as Uvogin’s long cock spreads you too wide and too deep, the pain electric and overwhelming but your hips shake. 

“You’re so pretty baby, so damn good takin’ me like this.” He grunts, throwing his head back as he continues to fuck into you, his balls slapping against your ass. “I love ya, love how you squeeze me. You want my cum this bad? I’ll give it to you, get you nice and full from it. Take me deeper now, you can do it, yeah?” 

His vulgar words are disoriented in your ears but they make you feel obscene, make you smile sordidly with tears in your eyes, and nod like your life depended on it. 

You’re lost in his wicked aura. Your wedding night lived up to all you would have hoped for it, as your dress lay discarded and you were folded in different positions as your husband drove the both of you to pleasured highs again and again. Heavy spurts of come coated your insides, too much so that it trickled out and painted your thighs, painted the sheets. Again and again he plugged you with his cock and filled you with heavy grunts, letting you feel the hot come shooting out from him for far too long, far too much that you could almost taste it in your throat. He hit every sensitive spot you loved that made you feel mushy and braindead, just a reliant little thing on him. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You could barely hold your head up or moan how much you loved him and his cock. Your eyelids grew heavier, while your body shook from the continued rapture. 

Uvogin kissed you so lovingly, so much so that it hid his true malicious intents you couldn’t understand in your fucked out state, “I got you baby, gonna let me use you?”

You nod. Smile like a drunken idiot, and go lax. You feel every thrust, every pulse and curve of his cock, each slap against your ass, each kiss, lick, grope along every open inch of skin. You knew this was heaven. Heaven as he pushed you to your chest, hiking back your ass and slamming in. Your poor cunt quivered, gaping wide from his girth as his come leaked out, lower tummy inflated and Uvogin watched you with a glint in his eyes, and he couldn’t keep his emotions in. He let out a monstrous roar, one the brute was known for, and he let you take every inch of him uncaring if you broke or said it was too much. But you took it. You always did. Even if your gummy walls tried to force him out, tried to tighten up too much but he’d always push past the defenses to claim you and feel your clamping cunt as it came, as it squirted. And god as he’d toy with your aching clit he’d see you spasm even in your passed out state.

His fingers gripped your hips, they’d leave bruises he’d stare at proudly tomorrow. And he knows more marks will follow, he needs to mark you, to show anyone who you belonged to on all open parts of your skin. Your eyelids were finally permanently closed at this point, once done-up hair a mess, makeup all smeared. Tiny mewls all that escaped your parted lips. Yet your pussy still squeezed him like a vice, milking him for all it was worth begging for more, “Still so fucking needy for me aren’t ya? Don’t worry I’ll fill you all night till I got nothing left, you know your husband will always take care of you.”

-

Uvogin could never help himself when it came to you from the second he laid eyes upon you. His feelings are too intense and overpowering of his superb fortitude, years of destruction and rigidness in his work. And it took awhile the first few months before he took you because he adored who you were, and did not want you to become a shallow version of yourself. But he always knew it was his job to protect you as your friend turned captor, turned partner, turned husband. 

What type of man was he if he couldn’t keep his love safe? He’d spent years diligently watching over you, even going as far as to check your body for harm. Make sure you ate well, slept enough, and had a good amount of things to keep you mentally entertained. He knew you like the back of his hand and it was why he struggled from the start when you couldn’t get healthy. But with his mind set on it, it would happen, he was sure. 

Uvogin wasn’t always suited for tough conversations when it came to you, overall happy with everything. Never complaining about not being able to contact anyone outside the Troupe or go outside without him or an escort. You stopped going stir crazy after accepting your feelings for home were true all those years ago, loving his clingy touches and loud humor. 

But as the weeks went on after the wedding, your state got worse. And so did his helplessness, the gut feeling that he was still not doing enough. His optimism wore on himself as much as it did you. 

Everything about you makes his heart race at such a speed he wonders if one day you’ll give him a heart attack. Simply based on his overly obsessive actions and thoughts, his every waking being is all for you. 

“Uvo, stop it.” You swat at his large hand that held a protein bar, “I’ll just throw it up. Don’t wanna.”

So maybe it was all coming to head after almost two years. Exasperation with the situation that turned into taking it out on the other. More or less you wanted a break from the pity, the treating you like a little porcelain doll by your lover. 

“You gotta eat, babe. Can’t survive off that baby food shit.” He sighed referencing the nasty apple sauces, ground up food into weird shakes that made him gag. 

“Better than nothing.” You murmur, staring aimlessly at the blankets you sat under.

Uvogin ran a hand through his hair, feeling disgruntled by your frail form not even looking at him. He moved towards the bathroom, dropping the bar in the trash. He wants to scoop you up, pin your chest to the mattress to fuck into you to hear you chant his name. 

He doesn’t mean to snap at you. But god he can’t fucking stand to watch what you’re doing, because he’s not stupid. He missed his girl, her smiles and snark, how she’d be equally all over him as he was towards her. His best friend and lover wrapped up in one. While he wasn’t cruel, swore if you were in pain then so was he, but he was tired of this push and pull. 

“You’re giving up.” His words come out harsher than he intended, but the bitterness bubbling up his throat spurred them on.

“Stop.” 

You wipe at your eyes because of the sudden tear that fell down your cheek. His words feel like a painful stab to the gut. 

“I can’t- I won’t watch you die, Y/N. Not even thinking about what this is doing to me. I can’t be without you.”

Anger filled you but you couldn’t breathe, dry heaving through your sudden sobs that hit you like an avalanche, “Doing to you? I’m the one dying, Uvogin. I’m the one in pain every day and every breath.”

He flinched at the usage of his full name. 

“Let me die, please it hurts so bad and I have fought. Fought for you, for us but I’m so tired. You need to let me go so you can move on with your life rather than be stuck as my caretaker.” Desperation laces your words, all you want is for him to hold you in his arms. Not for him to stand by the door with a faraway look. The sorrow on his features and the regret swirling in his eyes. You know he’s hurting, but this is destroying you.

“Is that what you think?” His fists clench, muscles going taut as they strain against his shirt, “That you’re a burden? That I’m better off without you? I take care of you because I love you, not out of some stupid fucking caretaker duty I’m obligated to.” 

“But aren’t you? You are the one who kidnapped me, you have to care for me or throw me to the curb if I’m not fulfilling my duties.” You spat, and you don’t regret the words as they slap him in the face making it twist in a dark glare. 

His brows pinched together, lips purse as he exhaled jadedly. The fierce mocking chuckle spewing out made your blood run cold, “We going there?”

“Maybe we should. We never have properly, always joking about it because it worked out for us. I downplayed what you did because you always respected me, kept me as me. Didn’t force me to fuck you, or be with you. And we always had amazing rapport even before that.” The aggravation of talking to him like he was a non-receptive 8ft plus wall made you want to rip your hair out. Not a flash of any emotions on his face leaving you to reel and second guess. 

“What’s the point of this babe? Gonna start throwin’ shit at me again? Begging me to let you go?”

“No!” You sit up straight, rolling your shoulders back feeling frustration and the sudden want to rip your hair out, “I love you. Only way I’ll ever want to leave is if you no longer feel the same, or if you hurt me. But jesus Uvogin, put yourself in my shoes even with your limited fucking ability to empathise. Because sometimes I wonder if you love me the way I love you, or if I have fucking stockholm syndrome!”

“What do you want me to say?” 

“The truth, how you really feel.” You press, almost as if you wanted him to snap. You’re tired of half truths, of him dumbing everything down like you’re a child.

“The truth?” His eyes narrowed as his chest thumped, felt like his insides were turning inside out in absolute agony, “Truth is I feel fuckin’ useless and you no longer care about living. You are leaving me, you’ll be dead. And now I’m hearin’ you think your feelings are fake? What a fucking time this is.”

“How am I supposed to not die, Uvogin? Tell me. I sleep all day, take handfuls of pills, IV for fluids. My body is rejecting it all and you don’t care that I’m in pain, you care more about having me around so you can get off.”

An explosion of red aura escapes him with a growl, his fist coming down on the closest piece of furniture. You gasp, heavy sobs returning as you recoil in ear. Realizing what he’d done, he tried to approach you, but you cried for him to stay away. Fear. Dizzied confusion written on you and Uvogin doesn’t know how to take it away. Not even the first few months after taking you, had you looked at him like that. And it made him want to die. 

“Y/N, M’sorry. Fuck. You’re my life, I love you. You aren’t some fucktoy to me, you’re the reason I breathe. And I’m so scared of the day I gotta live without you. It’s no excuse, but please. Would never hurt you, you’ve gotta know that right?”

You stare at him. Blank. Fingers gripping the blankets you used as a shield until your  knuckles turned white. Wet streaks falling down your face, off your jaw staining the fabric. 

“By begging me to stay alive… You are hurting me.” You whisper, but he can hear. 

“Fine,” He growls needing to leave your presence before he lashed out more, “Then you got my fucking permission to die, wife. I’m done.” 

He spares you no other glance as the door slammed behind him. You’re left trying to pick up the pieces, pick apart his words. Unable to hold back the flood of sorrow that seeped out, hysterical, airy cries as you heave. Pathetically quivering as you hugged yourself, slowly rocking back and forth atop the bed as it sets in. You think he means he’s done, he doesn’t want you, this is him washing his hands of you and your fate. 

You call for him, his name falling onto nothing, sniveling and blubbering like a mess. The air suffocates you, thick as it wrung you out. Dull skin prickling like a thousand needles inserting within you. Searing pain behind your brows and temples as it felt like your head was being crushed as your eyes went puffy and red.

Stuck in limbo staring at the wall. For months you’d been living under pitying glances, careful words, and locked up in an ivory tower of protection against the world. Even yourself. 

Your actions not your own as you move like a woman possessed, a ghost haunting the halls of its resting place. How you dressed for the colder weather outside the Base, discarding the disaster of splintered wood Uvogin left during his outburst. You moved with whimsical intent and glazed over eyes. In a trance as you padded along the eerily quiet halls then the main room, not a Spider in sight. Not that they could have stopped you, or even noticed as Uvogin’s screaming caused them to scatter. Pity as they had no choice but to listen as his deep voice echoed through every cranny spewing hurtful words.

Nobody stopped you as you opened the door to the outside. As you stand in the doorway contemplating stepping out, you realize it’s the first time you’ve been able to go somewhere without permission, with your own autonomy. With that you leave, crossing an invisible boundary that leaves you feeling lighter.

You walk, slow, stumbling as your lungs struggle to adapt. 

Unable to get far, you collapse unto a patch of grass, overlooking an expansive patch of trees overgrown with weeds and vines. 

On replay in your mind is the fight you’d just had with Uvogin, how his words sliced you deep. How he struggled with your pain, and how you spent too much time keeping your thoughts from him to ease his own. A selfish feat. But they were fearful, self deprecating thoughts that plagued you day in and out. The heaviness of accepting an eventual death that could be at any turn. The realization of your complacency and how the doubt Bates’s kidnapping of you set a spiraling turn of events. That you doubted your love feeling anxiety over his touch or telling him those three words- and how it made you selfish. More than ever. That you now saw Uvogin’s actions in the evil, manipulative light they were, and you did not care. Not anymore. His charismatic, strong nature over you was irrevocably his property, his wife, and this would have happened kidnapping or not. 

The cold, you feel yourself becoming one with it as your shallow breaths exhale fog around you. Your body feels numb as your pulse slows at an alarming pace. It’s comforting, serenely quiet before a high pitched noise sounds in your ears. The scenery is beautiful, you admire it as your eyelids droop, this was a good place to pass. To rest. The sky so blue, the sun high and bright, alluding to a perfect Summer day yet you shiver from the almost freezing temperature. 

You hear footsteps approaching and you hope it’s Uvo, that he’d get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness, that he’d make it up to you. But it’s not and you almost laugh, maybe he really did mean he was done with you. 

“Chrollo?” You jolted back to reality at the sight of the Phantom Troupe leader, at first having thought the figure was imaginary. In all these years you never conversed much, Uvogin having said the passing of his wife permanently altered him. 

“Y/N, dear.” His tone is gentle. He approaches and you see the heavy coat and blanket he carries.

“Don’t.” You stammer, “I’ve made my choice, I ask you to respect it. Just make sure he’s okay once I die. I used to think he deserved it after everything, after taking me but- god,” You let out an insane sounding laugh, “I don’t want to leave him, but I can’t live like this. Coughing up my lungs, blood, always tired, unable to eat. My body is giving out on me.”

“When I lost her, I thought my life was ending.” Chrollo laments, closing in on you to wrap you in the warm fabric. He takes a seat beside you, “It did. I’m forever stuck, unable to move on. And truly? I am okay with it. But there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for any members of the Troupe so they never have to experience the magnitude of losing your wife.”

“I understand but-”

“I want you to tell me what it is you truly want. If you could have one wish.”

You respond instantly, not needing to think of your answer, “To be healthy and live the rest of my life with Uvo.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I believe you.” Chrollo sighed, “I wanted to respect your wishes but I had a feeling you were accepting the path of a martyr as all roads appeared exhausted. I found someone, a skilled doctor from another continent who has treated and helped patients with symptoms similar to or more extreme than yours. He likes the challenges of strange chronic illnesses.”

You straighten, an invisible weight feeling like it’d been lifted off of you. Your mind is short circuiting however, as if you’d been unplugged. You’d had to come to terms with your impending doom after a multitude of medical avenues were taken at no expense. But Chrollo’s outreach must have been intense, it must have taken ages to discover if you’re only now hearing of it. 

Hope rushed into you. A re-ignited fire burning bright within, making the idea of living another day plausible. Something you wanted. 

“Does Uvo know? Where is he? He left me I… Thought he was done. That he didn’t want me-”

“I sent Feitan to find him, I wanted to talk to you first. The doctor is already on his way. I did not want to waste time if you agreed. And if you truly wanted to rest for eternity, I’d have sent him back.”

“How.. But the Troupe- please don’t kill him after.”

“No, it would be a waste. He is miniscule as a threat to us, I actually thought him to be dead all these years. I knew him briefly in Meteor City, he would come to treat the children.”

“Ah.” Knowing the doctor wouldn’t die for helping you released you from any possible qualms you’d have had, “Chrollo?”

“Yes?”

“I appreciate it, and I apologize for making you come out here.”

“Do not. Uvogin should be the one apologizing to you.” Chrollo stands with ease, then helps you stand, “I wouldn’t let him off easy, while we all deal with things in our own way, he’d have always regret walking out on you if it were the final time. We should never take time with our loved ones for granted. I am only glad I could find a possible solution for you.”

You’re swelling with appreciation, genuine happiness that you don’t think you’ve felt since the wedding. And before that? Prior to your initial pneumonia diagnosis almost 18 months ago. And definitely prior to Bates. With the burst of joy through your veins you want to throw your arms around Chrollo and thank him profusely some more, but that’s not something you’re physically capable of. Your legs can hardly hold you upwards as you two walk, him having to keep a firm grasp on your waist and arm in case. Slowly the path turned into the walkway for the Troupe’s base, the walking time taking practically double what it should have. But that’s okay, you’re too filled with ambition dreaming about having a normal functioning body once more even if Uvogin still wants to be done with you. 

Your teeth chatter, tips of your extremities a bright red from the chill. Unable to stop shaking even from the sudden heat inside. 

Chrollo helped you into your bed in Uvogin’s room, telling you he’ll have Machi swing by. The warmth of the room and the mound of blankets covering you, it’s suddenly easier to sleep than ever. For now you let yourself dream about good health, about treatments working, but still worry scraped the back of your mind when it came to your husband. Burning deep in your gut at the thought of your vows meaning nothing. As you begin to drift off–  

You hear a deep voice yelling laced with panic. Uvogin sounded ready to rage, to throw furniture across the room, you could picture the anger radiating from him through his tone. Because his words are hazy to you, and even as the door bursts open you’re unable to look. The feeling of large hands combing along your cool skin was the last thing you felt before falling into darkness. 

Uvogin shudders in relief as he watches your chest rise then fall. Your wind stained cheeks still pink as his thumb dragged along your face. He’s coming down from an intense adrenaline fueled high, his heart hammering in his chest ready to burst. How angry he’d been as Nobunaga followed hot on his trail attempting to put reason into him. And how Feitan appeared out of thin air with a look mixed with pity and contempt, saying Chrollo needed him for an emergency. How his stomach dropped filled with nauseating butterflies as his mind jumped to you, that him storming out left you vulnerable. That you fucking died somehow, as he’d let you think he was done. His selfishness towards his lack of control wracked him with guilt as he raced back to the Base. 

But instead Chrollo awaited him with a stern lecture even as he tried to push back yelling for you, body screaming for you to be against him. Yet Chrollo sat there amused over his idea to let Uvogin’s thoughts run rampant to a worse case scenario, sickeningly wanting him to feel the sorrow, the agony of losing you to get it through his thick head this wasn’t all about him. Then the leader informed him of the doctor on his way, giving one final effort to help you. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Uvogin repeated as he pressed wet kisses to your skin, inhaling your scent like it was his own personal drug. His addiction to your frame in his as the bed creaked when he joined you under the blankets. 

How tiny you are compared to his monstrous form, precious and fragile as you subconsciously nuzzled into his warmth even in a half conscious slumber. He can feel all the cold that rattled you melt from your body due to his own heat, how you no longer shuddered as you fell further limp with relaxation. Little mewls escaping your lips. The jerk reaction of your leg twitching as you murmured something under your breath. Not quite actual words but always made his lips quirk. 

“Uvo?” You exhale with a smacking of your lips, a whimper as you attempt to shift. Arms and legs trembling as you stretch out waking from your quick douse of sleep, “You’re back?” 

Your delicate lashes flutter as you languidly look about. 

“Do… You still want me?” 

Oh his heart shattered from your frail words as you rubbed at your eyes, eyes glittering from the wetness in your lash line. Your bottom lip trembling that all Uvogin can do to show you his devotion is press a chaste kiss to you. 

“Always.” He grunted before deepening his lips against yours with force, slipping his tongue inside your mouth to taste and to claim. 

You gripped his bicep, head spinning from the suddenness of his stealing your breath. Now suffocating in his warmth, his scent, and his touch as you lose yourself in the pleasure running down your spine. Emotions all over. Anger at him for leaving, for yelling. Relief he’d come back. His hands roam underneath your clothes to lay ownership over your body, a heavy groan vibrating into you as he tugged you closer. If it were even possible. He’d tie you to him if he could, keep you glued to him, be inside you to be molded as one. 

As you become more aware, your feelings of betrayal towards him coming back, you push on his pectorals. And when he doesn’t budge you push again harder, words laced with venom shooting from your mouth. 

“I want you off me.”

He looked like a kicked puppy, surprised as he pulled away. Someone so big with his bulking muscles looked like he wanted to shrivel up before he regained his senses, then attempted to entrap you in his arms.

“You don’t get to crawl into bed and kiss me after what you said. Would you have come back? Would you be this happy if Chrollo didn’t tell you about the doctor?”

“Baby.” He murmured miffed as you squirmed from his grasp, “I-”

“He found me outside, I was so cold and lost, going to just die there.” Uvogin’s face twists to something unreadable and devastating, but you continue, “He asked me what I wanted. If I would accept help from one last doctor, it would be okay if I said no. Uvo I’ve had to come to terms with all of this on my own, you’ve always been so convinced it would be okay. But don’t you understand we were out of options? We have limited time, all I wanted was to rest, to enjoy whatever I had left with you. Yet you storm off. I know it’s been taxing for you but I have tried so hard to stay alive.”

You don’t want to cry, you don’t want him to see you suffer more. You get up from the bed, seeing how his arm twinged as he held himself back from grabbing you, Uvogin was smart enough to understand times you needed autonomy to stick it in your head that you had a semblance of control.

“And I am going to do whatever it is this doctor wants to try, but if it doesn’t work you need to accept that I’m letting fate have its turn with me.” 

It felt like an eternity as you and Uvogin stared into the depths of the others eyes, watching every movement the large man could make. The apprehension in his body language as the gears turned in his head put you on edge. For he was stubborn. 

“Alright.”

Alright. He says it like it’s a defeat but offers a faint smile to follow it up. You sigh from the comfort it brought you, physically allowing your shoulders to relax from where you stood. The bed served as a thick barrier between you physically, but the expanse there mentally was like a cavern. 

“Uvo.” You sniffled, lips quivering as the necessity for him brought you to tears. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t as you remembered his words from earlier.

“C’mere baby.” 

“No.” 

He says nothing though you have ideas what he’s debating doing. 

“I can’t. Not after what you said. How willing you were to tell me to die, then walk away.”

From words spoken out of quick anger, Uvogin watched as the relationship cultivated between you two seemingly came crashing down. A thread wound so tight, pulling and pulling for months, finally snapped. And he knows he needs to patch it back up as quickly as possible, get you back into his orbit. 

He groans into his hands, pushing against his cheeks running his fingers against his skin down to his jaw, eyes moist. An incredulous look flashed across his face as his mouth opened then closed, then opened back up to speak but with no words to follow. 

A standstill, you wipe at your tears, “I think we need some time apart.”

“No. Absolutely not, you’re out your fuckin’ mind if you think I’m leaving your side.” From confusion to immediate discontent, his chest overflowing with annoyance at your stupidity thinking he’d give you space.

“But you did. Earlier.”

Uvogin had nothing to retort back for once as his brows pinched together. His thick fingers flexed as he focused on containing his growing temper he felt towards himself, the divide he put between you two. 

“And I fucked up. Got no excuse for my behavior besides I was pissed, I know I’m big and breaking shit around you isn’t the answer. Walking away won’t fix it but I had to leave before I did anything I’d regret. Couldn’t scare you further or risk hurting you. The thought of me being the reason you’re ever hurt makes me fucking ill, I’d rather break every bone in my body. I love you, and I’ll prove it to you every single day over and over if I gotta. But I’m not giving you space.”

It’s the most genuine apology that’s ever left his lips, has you warm inside and brain flitting to accept immediately. You see and hear the regret, it pulls at your heart making your stomach flutter with butterflies. He knew exactly what you needed to hear but this time around he said nothing he didn’t mean in an attempt to sway you back into his arms. He was a truthful, passionate man overall, only straying when absolutely necessary in keeping you happy with him. And he sees you perk up. Knows he’s got you.

“I’ll hold you to that.” It’s hard to hide the twinkle in your eyes, the involuntary upturn of your lips, or your reddened face because of him. How you know you’re giving in to him too easily and that you should make him work for it more. Get on his knees and beg, maybe do a few things while down there too. 

Because against better judgment you’re across the room and straddling the expanse of his large hips. Your lips desperately pressing into his uncaring for the way your lungs throbbed within you, not until you’re pulling back. A coughing fit comes over you, heavy and mucus filled, from the depths of you making you shudder. Uvogin holds you, petting your back as you hack against his chest. Burning. You felt so hot it was almost unbearable as the intake of any air was torturous for your frail body. 

He sighed into your hair, listening to your erratic pulse, “My sweetest girl. I got you. No matter what happens with this doctor, I’m here.” 

And you believe him, whether or not out of necessity. It doesn’t really matter anymore. 

You fall into a strange cycle with him the following days. Uvogin becomes your ever present, ever hovering gigantic shadow that moved precisely when you did. His intense gaze feels like a permanent fixture upon you, watching, assessing every move you made. From the food you consumed so that it was up to his standards of health, to taking over shaving your legs, to not letting a single person touch you besides himself… It brings you back to the first year you spent with him before the relationship blossomed, to how robotically he controlled your life. 

Pieces of you wanted to brush him off, punish him as exasperation boiled within you. Unable to push his hands away without a glare. His gigantic form pressing against you constantly.

But this was different, you had to believe so. He was scared to lose you. Bad enough you wandered outside with him knowing because he stormed off, almost leaving you to freeze to death. So day in and day out you're met with an onslaught of kisses and tender touches along with his over-protective barrage. In your soul you feel it though, the light at the end of the tunnel slowly approaching. Just what that light was- you weren’t certain.

-

Two weeks later on the dot does Chrollo arrive with the mysterious doctor in tow. You’re nervous sitting atop the table in the small infirmary in the Troupe’s basement. You remember the medicinal scent from the one other time you’d been down here and it makes you squirm, palms sweating as you fiddle with Uvogin’s fingers. . 

Uvogin had pulled a chair to be beside you, a large hand engulfing one of your own as the doctor carefully looked you over, taking vitals, and a few vials of blood. You’d pouted at the sight of the needles, begging Uvo for some help which only brought a wicked grin to his face. You knew he liked how hard you’d squeezed him as blood was drawn, making a face at the nauseous feeling it brought. He’s trying so hard to keep your spirits up and you daresay it’s working?

Things had been strange, more tense in some ways, Uvogin seemingly walking on eggshells around you. Scared to upset you. Overly doting if that were even possible for the clingy man who would choose to spend time with you over Troupe business. (Which took you far too long to realize how serious he was the first time he told you that.)

“I’m going to run these tests I need real quick. I need to be able to count out a few possibilities to confirm what I think our path is. My nen will speed up the process so sit tight.” The doctor, who was a short man with an overgrown beard, said offering a kind smile. 

“Thank you.” You take a sharp breath in and glance at Uvo. The door clicked close, leaving the two of you to sit in heavy silence.

You watched him slowly kiss your knuckles one at a time, expelling the unruly feelings of obsessive jealousy coursing through him. His overly possessive nature regardless of your health, hated the doctor’s hands on you. Was grounding himself as his lips dragged along your skin, “Feeling okay?” 

“Nervous. Hated describing everything I’ve dealt with, though I know he needed to hear it.” You sighed. The insurmountable effort to get out of bed each day was wearing you down, at this point you’re surprised you’re able to at all. Mornings begin with faint cries and whimpers as Uvo helps you up. Then you stay placated in the same spots, droning away at whatever is shoved in front of you. And night time was when your bones could relax and mind could have its reprieve from the constant synapses shooting aching pain through you. 

You didn’t speak much as butterflies spurred from Uvogin’s invasive touching, continuing to claim parts of you as his own as you wait. But there was a twisting past the sparks he made you feel, one dreadful and sickening. A wandering mind down alleyways of deceit telling yourself there’d be no magical cure or good news; that you’d spend your remaining time wasting away in suffering. 

Eventually the door creaked open and the doctor strode in, head stuck in a clipboard, “Alright.”

You’re sitting straight, electricity shooting through your spine. Uvo tenses next to you, his grip on your thigh tightening ever so slightly.

The diagnosis was in the air of what you’d expected. Pneumonia from the time before Bates kidnapped you never properly healed. It expanded into more. Your respiratory tract was giving up and the rest  of your body did too. It wouldn’t be long before you’d begin coughing up blood per the doctor, the statement shaking you to your core.

“I see antibiotics have not done much, which are always the first line of defense. Which I believe a more aggressive track should be taken.” 

“And what is that?” Uvogin asked in a low voice, fringing on threatening. 

“I would like to put you into a medical nen induced coma.” 

“No.” 

“Uvo.” You grab his wrist as a silent plea, “He’d know better than us on treatment.” 

Your insistence has Uvogin backing down, as in his body physically relaxing. His muscles twitch in the arm you grasp. 

“I have seen and treated 3 cases of hemoptysis or pneumonia successfully this way. And have studied cases of past colleagues too. We are in the unique situation where my nen would be the driving factor rather than what a normal hospital would use. Your body would be given complete rest, no need to fight each day to walk or eat, or even rest. It would give your white blood cells the ability to fight this intense infection. This has turned a lung infection into something chronic, this is the only route that makes sense to take.”

“How long will the coma be for?” You race to articulate your swarming thoughts. They’re all jumbled due to your lack of medical understanding and the fear seeping in. But between you and Uvo, you need to be calm so he is. Because when it came to you, any sense went out the window. 

“Two weeks. But I would be able to tell from test results if you’d need longer. Then afterwards for 3 months there’d be a strict regimen of pills.”

You take a deep breath in, “And if this doesn’t work?”

The doctor gives you a solemn look, which you understand, “Then we’d want to make you comfortable.” 

It was a scary thought. Going to sleep and not waking up one day. One that you’d rather prefer than a malicious death, like torture at the hands of Feitan. While you feel confidence in this doctor, in that you’d wake up from the nen coma, it’s what comes after that makes bile churn in your gut. 

The doctor wants to put you into the coma pronto. 

Uvogin wants to argue, you see the fire in his eyes, the desperation on his face. The silent anger vibrates in him as he wants to scoop you, his wife, up and leave. His silent pent up feelings of failing you coming to the surface. 

He holds your hand as your body goes limp. The pink glow of the doctor’s nen cocooning you inside, not allowing Uvogin to touch you. He hates it. 

The days go painfully slow. 

An hour felt like twenty. 

The first week felt like a year. 

Uvogin was more combative than normal, aggressive with his words when he used them. Abnormally quiet but everyone knew to steer clear of him. Leaving your side was an absolute no-go for the large man, needing to watch every delicate breath to prove to himself you’re still breathing. 

If someone like Uvogin was truly capable of true self reflection- he probably would have during this time. Sure, his mind occasionally filled him with doubt, if his life choices were some fateful cause of your doom. Much like his thoughts had when Bates had you, at least this time he had his eyes on you. 

When the second week finally came to an end and the doctor confirmed it was safe for you to be woken up, that your vitals showed drastic improvement, Uvogin was elated. 

How endearing it was as you whined, eyes fluttering as you struggled to wake. Limbs heavy as you reach in the air through blurry vision, attempting to claw at your face. How you mewled for him relishing in his suffocating touch, fueling his protective instincts more than ever. 

You properly wake to lips against your own, stealing your breath before moving to your jaw. Through heavy eyelids you can make out the side of Uvo’s head, then threading a hand through his wild locks. You can feel his burning lips kissing, the nipping down your neck as he sucks the delicate skin between his teeth to leave marks. A fast sigh of pain leaves your lips as a jolt inside you grounds you to your surroundings. 

“Uvo?” You croak, voice betraying you as it doesn’t sound like your own. Throat dry and hoarse, it hurts to speak so you don’t. 

He doesn’t respond to you right away, Uvogin groping and squeezing at your skin. Swirling heat envelopes your weary limbs, sweat pooling along your hairline as your core goes flush with molten liquid. Sleep still dragged on your eyelids. You could barely move your own legs from the exhaustion and traces of medical nen pricking along you.  

Your legs move, Uvogin spreading your thighs wide. The bed creaks as his weight presses on it. His body exudes searing heat. Burning you as you squirm and mewl about the heavy fog weighing down on you. Chest heavy, heart hammering so much that you hear the blood pounding in your ears as you swallow in anticipation. 

The feeling of your nightgown hiking makes you gasp. Your panties peeled off your form felt like jabs of knives down your numbly tingling skin. 

Uvogin’s thick cockhead prods at your folds, “Fuckin’ hell your soaked. Thinkin’ of me in your dreams?” He chuckled cruelly. 

You whimper as a moistness between your legs fill you with shame, his words only prodding it further. 

Mind lit in static fire, blue and orange with smoke paralyzing your brain as your hips jerk to meet his involuntarily. Body blistering from head to toe, confusing lust settled in you as you feel a pained stretch through your smoky mind. 

“Fuck you’re tight.” Uvogin grunted as he sank his cock further. 

He’s splitting you apart. You cry out, a ghastly moan as your walls spasm around the large length forcing its way in. Dazed and overwhelmed. Impossibly full before you could properly register you were even alive. That you’d been in a coma for two weeks. That now, your poor cunt was shoved full of cock and your stomach expanded as Uvogin grunted with each vicious inch he pushed further in. Fingers seized at his biceps nails drawing blood, toes curled as your legs trembled with feathery pleasure whilst all you felt was unnatural. 

You’re being pushed and pulled every which way, caught in a dangerous undercurrent that shows no reprieve to let you swim upwards. Extraordinary pleasure blossoms within you, petal by petal unfolding and its bright colors glimmering in ecstasy. Ecstasy that choked you up to where you couldn’t breathe as tears brimmed at your eyes, desperately trying to gain senses.

Uvogin began to fuck into you slow, uncaring for the lack of prep, primarily driven by his insatiable want for you. Driven by the fear over your health and his lack of control. That shoving his cock into you to feel your poor gummy walls squeeze the life out of him, settled his churning emotions. That the incessant burn of anxiety in his chest was being snuffed out, and all because the electric pleasure of being one with you brought him. 

“Uvo!” You cry so sweetly for him, all hoarse and face filled with confusion. He was your lifeline in the storm. A storm he brought upon you. One that lifted you and dropped you as his cock hit your most sensitive spots, nestling up against your cervix only to pull out and thrust in again. 

Your lust filled whimpers only grow as Uvogin manhandled your thighs further apart, resting them on his biceps as he towered over you. His thick muscles corded with each push to the hilt of his hips flush to yours. Smacking of skin filled the dry air, your pain still twisting with rapture as his name repeats off your tongue. 

He leans to capture your lips, an inhuman-like groan from the back of his throat tickles your ears. It was one of desperation, higher pitched and letting you see him with shields down. His gigantic body practically trembles upon you as he picks the pace up, pistoning his hard cock over and over, and over. Mind blurring. Squirt dripples from your abused hole as you reach your high through a giant wave of pleasure. 

“Missed you.” Is all he moans. Again. And again.

Your arms move around his neck, legs attempting to wrap around his expansive waist. You can’t imagine him being any further, needing him closer, even closer than the part of him inside you. Because as you blink furiously, registering in your post orgasm haze, about the medical nen coma. That you don’t know the state of your health or the day of the month it is, instead all you can feel is your husband’s cock burying deeper into your guts like he’d never get to again. Overstimulated and too full, Uvogin roared as he came feeling your perfect velvet walls so tight, his vision whiting out. The way the bulge in your lower tummy inflated, the way he re-hardened in seconds to empty you to slam back in. A silent scream all that escapes you.

Fucking through each other’s highs there was nothing you could have ever wanted more than him like this. Maybe you would have wanted him to wake you properly to meet with the doctor to know whether or not you’d live or die. But you’d take this heated moment as you lose your mind as he fucks your sensitive nerves and toys with your clit, murmuring loving yet intense proclamations into your ears. 

Blissed-out face. Uvogin’s eyes burning into yours. Sweat falling from your foreheads. Cries of love. Heavy breaths. Electricity swarms you two, bodies lit in flames of passion and his possession over your body, mind and soul. As he comes again, letting your tiny cunt greedily take his warm seed, your chest sores and a pathetic smile tugs at your lips. You’re babbling incoherent words. Letting him grope you and kiss, and nip and play with your most sensitive areas even as you cried for a reprieve. His come leaked from your folds, an intense river of the warm seed trickling down to the bed, leaving you oh so empty from it and the aftermath of losing his cock. You cried for him to go back inside, that you needed to feel close to him to be one with him. Your hips bucked and jerked as tears fell, pitiful pouts before he laughed.

He sucks and licks along your cunt, slurping your juices and his own seed. Playing with your sensitive and enlarged clit as tingles shoot along your core, twisting so good in your belly. Sweet salvation as you sigh in joy and blurry vision from the pleasure his mouth gave you, collapsing further into the pillows and opening your legs further to welcome him. Fingers threading into his hair to keep his head in the very spot you needed. 

A whimper bubbles from you as he kisses up your aching slit, before leisurely dragging along your sensitive bud that feels just right. Furiously working you to another climax as he suckled your clit, a finger stroking inwards of your thigh. He pads along your sopping entrance and you shudder, watching as two fingers sink into your cunt. Two of his large fingers, which one alone bigger than most cocks. Stretching you out so good as he pumped and curled to your liking, stimulating all the spots that he knew made you go dumb. Uvogin thinks he wants to watch you lose yourself to him but he knows this is a fine line he’s on already, taking advantage of you in such a vulnerable state. But he can’t help himself! You’re just so cute and he’d been so scared the last two weeks. He needed to have his cock deep in your little pussy, the one he’d been so good not to fuck whilst you were in your coma. He wonders if you’d let him fill you again as he jerked his hips against the mattress as his cock began to harden again. 

You’re grinding against him, he smirks before latching back onto your clit and listens to every vibrato of each moan. Of each cry and beg as your slick rushes from your tight cunt, ecstasy blossoming inside you once more as he coaxes orgasm after orgasm from you, him allowing your roadmap of pleasure to lead back to the thick tip of his cock prodding at your slit once more. You smile, so stupidly with a wet face and flushed skin, hardened nipples and asking for him to fill you up again. 

And he does.

Until you're leaking of him. Barely conscious and not able to even moan in pleasure. Until you're trembling and neither your arms or legs can support you anymore. Till he’s shooting blanks and still nudging himself back into you even as you drift off.

Uvogin ruts into your barely there form, pulling you to the edge of the bed so he can have a better view. His come dried and caked onto your skin. Hair a mess. Face swelled red and dried with streaked tears. He grunts as his feet garner support from the ground so he can pound back into you without worrying about the mattress holding him. He doesn’t care that you aren’t crying his name or begging for more. All he sees and cares about how you still squirt little streaks of juices from your hole and across his abdomen. How your body is so obsessed with his touch that he can still make you orgasm even as you lull in and out of sleep. Your clit is so engorged, pink and sensitive but he can’t stop playing with it, rolling it between his calloused fingers as you squirm. Or sucking on it so harshly you passed out earlier, only awoken by him tapping your cheek, pulling the back of your head up so you could watch his cock morph your insides to him as you barely understood what was going on before spasming and blanking out again. Staring into your blank eyes, mouth open in an O-shape, he tells you how much he loves you, and that everything is going to be okay. And of course you believe him, he’s your husband after all, the only man you’d let use you like a fuckdoll in your sickly state to the point your tummy inflated from his thick spurts of come.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll come back to the reality of your situation. Tomorrow. For now you’ll bask in your husband as an escape.

-

It’s the next day, your legs and core are so sore, when you meet with the doctor. It felt like the pink blush was permanently painted along your cheeks as he checked over your vitals. Uvogin watched you smug, one hand tracing circles along the low of your back. The memories of yesterday are prevalent in the air, the thought of it makes you go flush. Uvogin knows the effects he has on you even in such a serious moment that you almost want to smack him for it.

This was it. The moment of truth. 

You're fluttering with anxious nerves, stomach churning and you’re eyeing the garbage can for the chance you puke. Thundering in your ears as your heart hammers and blood rushes. It’s like your surroundings were null as you carefully watch the doctor’s every move, listen to his every breath and word to analyze what they mean. Looking for any sign in his body language that you’re fucked, that it failed and you’re officially out of options. 

But it doesn’t come. He smiled warmly between you and Uvogin. 

“As I expected, my nen coma was a success.” 

As he expected? Had he seemed so certain two weeks ago? You didn’t think so, but apparently he believed off of past patients that you’d recover?

He continues, “Your body was able to replenish itself not having to strain itself the last two weeks. You’re out of the danger zones to where traditional medicine will be able to bring you back to around 90% of your strength. While it’ll never be completely perfect, permanent damage has been done, you’ll no longer be in chronic pain day in or day out, or worrying about coughing up blood. You can go up stairs without stopping and go for walks without needing someone’s assistance. You’ll have energy, an appetite, no longer with permanent symptoms of pneumonia, and excitement towards the future once more.” 

You immediately look to Uvogin, who for once looks pleasantly surprised. His eyes glitter as he meets your gaze, and he smiles. It’s genuine, not forced like everything had been at one point to keep your spirits high. Immediately, you fling your arms around him, tears prick at your lash line. Hugging him as tight as you can knowing you couldn’t hurt him, while his boisterous laugh is like music to your ears. 

The doctor sends Uvogin out of the room to fetch food, saying he’ll go over your medications now. 

For a second you stutter, your whole body short circuiting as you don’t want Uvo to leave. But his encouraging nod your way before he closes the door helps you relax. 

You quickly discover why the doctor wanted time alone with you.

“It’s fairly simple, these two bottles of faint coral-pink pills are for the next two months. They’re high dosages which is why they’re rather large pills, do your best to get them down. Take them with food as well.” 

The doctor grabs two other bottles, your stomach drops as you feel a change in the air. 

“Now, I’ll keep it simple. I can’t tell if you’re happy, what kind of doctor would I be if I helped you recover just to keep you with a dangerous band of criminals?” He laments, “The pale yellow pills are for the final month, they’ll cement the work of my nen and the pink pills. You should not regress for the rest of your life, they’re strong and will kill off any remaining infections or diseases. You’ll be lethargic so I recommend taking them at night.”

“What about the blue ones?” You ask, stomach feeling like it was in the pits of hell the way it violently churned within you. 

“They’ll undo mine and the pill’s work and will allow you to pass peacefully. Take them for a final way out.”

“You- How could…” 

“I’ll write down directions, yellow pills if you feel like the pink ones worked. Blue is needed if more aggressive medications are needed after the two months. At your discretion, who would argue?”

For a split second you wonder if this was a test. But you just smile at him, “I really appreciate your help. It’ll be nice to breathe normally again.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

It took all your strength to not focus too intently on the blue pills as the doctor explained to Uvogin what they meant. He was completely bought in by the ‘deceiving’ explanations, no inkling present that one of the bottles could kill you.

You don’t want to think about it, not too much. You want to think about having autonomy once more. To breathe without hacking, to walk without needing help, to eat without getting sick. 

Month one- you take the bottle of pink pills. Each day, you aren’t sure if you’re truly feeling better or if it’s a placebo. A week of getting out of bed without tears or an aching body, is when you realize recovery was possible. You begin to enjoy full meals with Uvo, seeing the delight on his face when you bake for the first time in over a year. You two laugh at the mess, how half the pastries were burnt but it’s progress as you salvage the edible parts to feed the other. Your deep, nasty cough still surfaced each day. Less and less mucus each time. You’d sleep through the nights, once again becoming the one to wake up first like a waiting puppy for its owner, how expectantly you stared down at him nudging him to wake. How for the first time you were able to initiate sex with no worries of getting sick or him hurting you, as you took his swollen lengthy cock into your mouth. Him standing over you as he lets you explore him with your tongue. He’s so heavy and you giggle, warm and needy as you suck and kiss, lick along his thick veins to the point he can’t handle your teasing. You cry as he fucks your face but they’re good tears, and he watches as you swallow and then open your mouth to show him. Uvogin never leaves your side but for once you feel joy towards it, not frustration. 

Month two- you still take the pink pills and the improvement is astronomical. You giggle like a maniac as you skip about the fluttering grass outside the Troupe’s Base. Uvo watches you spin about before falling to the ground in exhaustion, he smiles as you bask in the sun. You’re breathing heavily but no coughing fits come. You’re bright red and clearly tired but you can still get up to keep going. He’s relaxing under a tree and you’re running around like your life depended on it, he thinks you’re just so damn cute. This is the month you return to more hobbies, become more talkative and want to watch more shows or finally give him back snarky remarks. Uvogin almost dies from the elation, the lightness of his chest at how life returned to you, how you were you. Not the husk of a person stolen away because of disease, you’re happy. Right? 

It’s now month three- you stare between the two bottles. ‘Take the blue pills for a way out.’ The doctor's words reverberate, you’d ignored them for the first two months not wanting to worry about it. Not wanting to get in your head before making a decision. 

You sit in the main room of the Troupe’s Base, Chrollo had called a last minute meeting the night before so Uvogin had to cart you out of bed, ruining a rather good dream. You’re staring at the medications on the counter, then eyes flickering to the clock. Today was the first day you needed to make your choice, the one you’d avoided for so long. 

Sickness numbed your mind at times, while at others allowed you to see things for what they really were. You think. You’d been ready to die, to be released from chronic neverending pain, but now having life back changed your mind. Little things you’d always taken more granted were now things you would never want to lose again. Maybe you’d lost yourself a long time ago, maybe you were always a horrible person to love Uvogin, but as you recount all these years with him you don’t want to lose him. Or the way he loved you. The doubt you’d had towards him after Bates was finally washing away, you walled all the incessant ringing you’d have in your ears off. No more were you susceptible to the common sense you had at the start of your captivity to always hang onto the truth about him. You walled it all off, brick by brick in your head. 

Maybe a part of you wants him to suffer. Wondering how he’d react when you suddenly fell sick again and passed, would he be ruined? Would he move on? You figured he’d do something dumb, find a way to get himself killed more likely. So you walled those feelings off too. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi.” You smile as Uvo walks out from one of the halls. You mewl into his large hand as he cups the side of your head before moving so you could lean back into him. He’s so large over you that when you lean back on the side of your chair that you only reach up to his thighs. 

You crane your neck to look up, “Everything okay?”

“Yep. Nothin’ for you to worry about.” He looks at the bottles on the table, “So, what ones you thinking? Can you mix them depending on how you feel each day?”

“Uh, don’t know about that, doubt it? I’ve been trying to recount everything to make a decision. Because I mean… I can’t complain, I feel good.” 

“Right.” Uvogin held a hand for you to take, then he grabbed your waist to help you up, “Up to you then, babe.”

The feeling of his thumb circling against your clothed side and the suddenness of standing makes your head spin. In a moment of striking clarity you reach to grab one of the bottles, certain in your choice.

“Yeah?” 

“Mhmm.” You grin up at him, squeezing his hand as you lace your fingers with his. 

The bottle of yellow pills rattles in your hand as you two make your way to his room. The blue pills sit forgotten, almost screaming out for you to change your mind, to think things through again. That you needed to at least leave cracks in the wall you created to protect yourself, just in case. But you didn’t. You coated it in shiny protective layers of something in your mind, causing your chest to surge in feelings of love and all things gooey and over the top. Just stars left shining in your eyes as you look at him. 

The month of taking the yellow pills passed, they made you lethargic like the doctor said they would, causing you to get mass amounts of sleep. But he was right, they made you feel good as new. 

You sit cross legged in the townhome, leafing through pages of your book as Uvogin shuffles around in the kitchen. He’d insisted that he’d make dinner tonight, which you told him takeout would be just as satisfactory (and probably better anyways). 

After multiple interventions on your part you two finally sit connected at the hip as your weekly show plays, food in hand. When Uvo finishes he tucks an arm around your waist pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your hair. A heaviness in your chest suddenly becomes apparent, each time you swallow the food seeming dry and tasteless. 

“Uvo?”

He sensed the tension in your small body immediately, but didn’t say anything as he knew you were still adjusting. While physically you could handle a lot from long walks or eating actual food, mentally you were still catching up with the changes. 

“What’s up?”

“Can I tell you something?” You ask meekly. Your fingers feel sweaty, you have to set the food down on the coffee table immediately. A storm rages within you. One side telling you to spill, the other telling you to let this be a secret you die with.

“Anything.” 

“The- You remember the blue pills I could have taken instead of the yellow ones?” More screaming within you to stop. Like hands were physically trying to drag your voice back down, that this would only anger him. 

“I do.” 

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, focusing on your hands in your lap. You’re more aware of his hulking presence holding you to him than before. You’re more aware of his steady heartbeat and breaths as you wait for them to speed up, to show his anger.

“You can’t get mad.”

“Mad ‘bout what? You end up taking any?” 

Your heart is hammering in your ribs, like it’d burst out ripping you and all your biggest fears into the open. It’s giving you away, you know it. The room felt like it was closing in, suffocating you until you took a deep breath in. No lies. You were given a new chance at life and you would not keep this from him. Couldn’t. It was best it came from you rather than someone else somehow down the road. 

“They would have actually killed me.” 

Silence. 

“Uvo?”

“Yeah?”

He’s not reacting how you thought he would. He starts to fucking laugh and you’re staring at him like a deer in headlights. It makes feelings of annoyance bubble in your chest, anger as your nose flares and your pupils dilate. 

“Why… Are you laughing? It’s not funny.”

“Course it’s not, babe, but I already knew.” He shrugged. 

“How?”

“Shalnark. Guess he got curious what was in them after you said you wouldn’t be taking them. I said he could have ‘em to do whatever that tech freak does.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Came to me and told me they would have regressed your pneumonia and caused you to pass in your sleep eventually. So I assumed you were aware of that, the doctor probably lied to me, and you made the choice to live. Of course I had to wonder what if you didn’t know and it was all luck you didn’t take them, now I know it wasn’t.”

“That’s why you didn’t say anything?”

“Yep, figured if you didn’t know you’d have flipped shit.”

“Why are you acting so calm? You’re freaking me out.”

Uvogin forced you to look up at him. He pulled you in for a quick kiss, “Because you chose me. You had all that time to think about it so you must have known for certain you wanted to be with me.” He grinned deviously, “Course I’m a little irked but, I do deserve some shit still for kidnapping you. I’d say it all worked out though, huh?” 

You playfully smacked his chest, unable to hide your grin, “You know I looked at the blue pills as a way out if the medical coma and pink pills didn’t work. That if I was back in pain, I couldn’t believe it almost, I was ready to suffer again. Not once did I want to use them because I wanted to be away from you. Sure I wondered if you deserved to suffer for the shit you do, but I love you. I wanted help from that doctor because I want more time with you, I could have said no to Chrollo three months ago. So I knew what my choice was from the start. You’re all I wanted those months with Bates, I had time to think, unravel my feelings yet you’re it for me Uvo. Guess you’ll get your karma in another way.”

“So fucking cute, wife.” His lips crushed onto yours again, his tongue shoving inside claiming you. He pulled you to straddle his lap before he pulled away to rest his forehead against yours, “You had me believing in that stupid karma shit, you know that? Glad you’re finally passed me being a mass murderer and all that.”

“Don’t say it like that!” You groan, shame prickling the back of your neck making you go warm. The wall is still strong in your mind, keeping you happy, keeping you from fully feeling that shame that should have made you go comatose. Instead it allowed you to kiss him with all your might, tugging at the shirt he wore. A kiss turned to desperate chaos as teeth gnashed and lips fought for dominance, saliva shared and dripping as lewd moans began to fill the air. Carnal touches. Salacious grunts. Swirling hot sex filled air controlled you two as clothes thrown discarded and forgotten, unneeded. 

You’d made your decision. How much of it was really your own, was left up for discussion. You’d never know how much of this you really wanted, or if you’d fallen in love out of necessity for survival. Or if Uvogin really was who you were meant to be with. But all you knew as Uvogin forced his swollen cock passed your tight unprepped walls, you’d never want anything more than this man as you cried. You who practically passed out as he breached your aching cunt and to the hilt of your cervix, outlining your tummy and pushing to stretch you even more as he yelled out for you. This man who loved you furiously and would destroy the whole world for you if you asked. And that- wasn’t that the grandest declaration of one’s feelings you could receive? 

Right? 

authors note on an alternate ending— i view it as if reader were to die than this would head towards canon where uvogin dies by kurapika’s hand and he’s all content because he gets to see you again :))

[sungbeam]

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 — part two

nonidol!ji changmin x f!reader

messing around with demonic rituals isn't exactly how you imagined getting bound to changmin's soul. (note to self: salt circles don't work when you draw the pentagram inside it...)

▷ genre, warnings. f2l, technically a college au, demon au (it's different from night terrors i swear. also it's not as intense lol), comedy, suspense/mystery, swearing (a lot... sorry 😭), drinking, low fantasy/supernatural elements, mentions of chronic illness, mentions of rituals and pentagrams, self induced soulmates? 🤔 but ofc 😂, kissing, mentions of blood, very small amount of violence (like one scene), what is a mfking slow burn like who needs to take their time w falling in love i sure don't 🤷🏻‍♂️, one allusion to death

▷ part word count. 18.5k out of 34.8k / read part one here

a/n: HI IF UR STILL HERE THEN YAY 😭 PLS DONT READ THIS WITHOUT HAVING READ THE FIRST PART. ALSO, ENJOY!

PART IV: THE SPELL

THERE WERE ONLY SO many ways to make a boy squirm. On top of that, there were only so many ways to make a demon boy squirm. Halfling status was of no consequence to certain observations of patterns involving the laws of attraction.

Case in point: Ji Changmin's dilemma.

“You look a little lost, man,” Hyunjae chortled into his friend's ear to bypass the bone-rattling volume of the house music.

Shuhua's friend Yangyang had thrown quite the rager in his shared house with his roommates. There was probably about a hundred people shoved into the first floor of the house, with some littered across the lawn outside and the backyard, too. The five of you had arrived as a unit and donated a few cases of beer to help the hosts out, but proceeded to grab your own drinks, disperse, and mingle.

Changmin coughed as he blinked furiously out of whatever daze he'd been in. His neck and ears had turned a brilliant shade of vermilion, but the dim lighting was his savior tonight. Oh, to have the shadows on one's side. “What?” he stammered.

Hyunjae's smile widened at his flustered reaction. “I'm sure Yn can introduce you to whoever her friend is.”

The roaring in Changmin's ears dulled considerably. “What?” he repeated, but this time, the word had an upward intonation at the end. Now he was confused.

He glanced back to where you were standing further into the living room. Who?

Oh.

Changmin hadn't even noticed you'd been talking to another person. His focus had been… elsewhere. Not that said focus was anywhere inappropriate in the name of Friendship—of course, the burn in his throat was the alcohol and the tightness in his chest was the soul-bond. That was all. He hadn't been considering the dress hugging your figure or the way your smile brightened your face—no, really it was the entire fucking room. He didn't want to linger on the thought of that torturous car ride over either, with his body pressed against your side and your perfume so sweet in his lungs. Was it possible to replace the very air he breathed with it?

Essentially: he was not faring well tonight. What had gotten into him? He'd attended plenty of parties with you before, and he hadn't been this strung up before.

Or maybe he had… he wasn't so sure of a lot of things at this moment. He wasn't supposed to be able to get tipsy on this human alcohol.

Only a week had passed since the soul bond was forged between you and him, too. Though he knew it was supposed to be an emotional and metaphysical link, he was certain it had nothing to do in terms of creating things that were never there in the first place.

Hyunjae grinned at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Come on! We should go introduce ourselves.”

For a moment, Changmin cringed at the thought of him appearing beside you with all the swagger he knew he lacked. He took a deep inhale and glanced back over at you… something in his mind flipped like a switch. “You know what? Sounds like a plan,” he said to Hyunjae, plastering a typical dimpled smile on his face.

The two of them maneuvered their way over to your position. As he gained proximity, the tightening in his chest gradually loosened, a rope slackening. Despite the loosening, it didn't mean the weight had gone away. The weight filled him with something comforting like his heart and lungs weren't alone in his ribcage.

He kept his eyes glued to you as he and Hyunjae neared.

You must have felt his gaze because you turned around to meet his eyes soon enough. There was a dilation in those pretty eyes and a smile that reached them.

“What have you been up to?” Changmin shouted to you over the music as he sidled up beside you. Your shoulders brushed against one another and he fought the urge to pull your form to his.

“Nothing much,” you chirped back, sharing his grin. You gestured to your talking companion. “This is Leona, by the way! She's a friend of Indigo's.”

Changmin finally pulled his eyes away from you. Leona, as you had introduced, was not someone he recognized. He didn't know many of Indigo's friends, but she smiled at him widely. “Nice to meet you!” she said.

“Nice to meet you, too. I'm Changmin,” he nodded back.

“And I'm Hyunjae,” his friend chimed in, raising a hand in greeting. “Did you come with Indigo then?”

Leona nodded her head. “I did! She went to go find Juyeon, so I'm not sure where they are now, but Yn found me wandering and we've been chatting since.” She flicked her attention back over to Changmin, and he cocked his head at the sight of something peculiar. He could have sworn there was a flash of electric blue in her eyes.

“Are you a student here?” he asked. He couldn't have imagined the blue, could he? But if she was a friend of Indigo's, then there was a good chance he hadn't.

“No, I'm from out east by Blue Brook,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm just in town for a couple of days visiting with my, uh, sisters.”

No, Changmin was certain now. Leona was a member of Indigo's coven. Blue Brook was where Indigo was from, and it was well-known amongst the supernatural community in this state as a witch's county. There were probably a dozen or so covens in that one area, but Indigo's was one of the largest. And if Leona was a witch, that meant…

Leona arched her brows at him expectantly. Demon? she mouthed.

Changmin stiffened beside you, and your head whipped over to him when you read her lips, too.

You swiftly turned to Hyunjae. “Hey! I'd love a drink, Jae. Let's go get one!”

Hyunjae's eyes widened as you snatched up his wrist and started hauling him in the direction of the kitchen. “Wha—hello? Bye, I guess?” he laughed in disbelief, sending a wink at Changmin through it.

Changmin pressed his lips together. He knew why you had taken Hyunjae away, but that didn't mean he liked it. Should it not be his wrist you were holding?

“She knows?” Leona's voice tore him out of whatever jealous stupor he was in. That cloud had returned to his head, the tightening to his chest.

He held his hand to his brow. “Yes,” he sighed. “Is there a reason you needed to make it so obvious?”

She shrugged innocently. “He didn't notice.”

“He could've.”

Leona wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, loosen up. I forget that folks outside of heavily concentrated paranormal centers are so uptight about their identities. It's your heritage, for goddess's sake.”

“You mean you forget that you're privileged enough to live in a highly concentrated paranormal area,” he nearly snarled back at her. Adrenaline rushed into his veins with an uncontrollable velocity and bite. He wouldn't have gotten so worked up about this normally, but he already accepted that tonight was likely going to be filled with the irregular. “If you said it even louder than a whisper, that could've put you, me, and her in danger.”

Especially with some lunatic running around targeting demons with energy-draining curses, he couldn't be too safe.

The witch made a face. “I guess I know why Indigo's no fun now, too. No wonder you're friends…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes found someone behind Changmin.

Changmin peered back over his shoulder and locked eyes with a familiar face in the crowd. Indigo's dark eyes widened considerably at the sight of him before she began shoving her way through partygoers to reach him. He raised his arm up like a flag to signal where he floated in the ocean of people.

The crowd quite literally spit the poor thing out and she had to grapple onto his arm. “Where'd she go?” she exhaled out, head on a swivel.

“She's right—” Not here…? The place where Leona had been right beside him was vacated, as if she hadn't been there at all. Why did she run from Indigo?

“Changmin.” There was a desperate strain behind Indigo's voice as she wrestled his collar with her hands and dragged him down to look her right in the eyes to ensure he was listening. “Leona has been releasing empitachynsia synthios in the party. I don't know exactly where, but I found one broken flask of it on the second floor with Juyo.”

Empitachynsia synthios? In the Old Language most covens grew up learning, that term translated directly to ‘acceleration of emotion.’ Based on the vague knowledge Changmin boasted on potions, empitachynsia synthios was a potent liquid that turned into vapor when exposed to oxygen, affecting those who inhaled it by escalating their emotions to alarming proportions.

Changmin's eyes went as big as Indigo's. “She fucking drugged the party with an airborne stimulant?”

“Just the second floor,” Indigo corrected with a grimace, but she released the vice grip on his shirt collar. “I managed to convince Juyeon that it was someone's dropped perfume bottle, but I left him with Lee Minho on the porch to clear his airways.”

Changmin's head swam. Lee Minho—black cat spirit—okay, then Juyeon was fine. He dragged his hands through his hair with a groan. “Hell, if I had known, I wouldn't have turned away from her like that. Sorry, Indigo.”

“No, no, it's my fault for letting her come at all,” she dismissed with an anxious flick of her wrist, then flexed her fingers to crack her knuckles. “She's been acting strangely for the past few days and I should have taken it more seriously, but I thought it was because she needed to relax a bit.”

He exhaled through his nose and braced his hands onto his waist. “Yeah, she's got a loose mouth though, that's for sure.”

“Good goddess, what'd she say?”

“Let's just say that Hyunjae could've found out who I am.”

Indigo's face ashened to a horrified shade. “Shit. I'm so sorry about her. This is turning out to be more and more of a disaster.”

You can say that again, Changmin thought, but he wasn’t about to put the blame on Indigo for something that was her coven sister’s doing. Though, he couldn’t imagine what manner of thought convinced Leona to release such a strong, and potentially dangerous, potion into a house full of young adults. It didn’t matter that some were horny or hammered—all that mattered was that there would be consequences to this, and it wouldn’t even be their faults.

Indigo recruited his help to locate the runaway witch and Changmin was swift to agree. There were only so many places in this house that Leona could have run off to, but the problem was the amount of people here.

As he and Indigo hunted, he couldn’t help but linger upon the effects of empitachynsia synthios that he was aware about—its presence in the air must have been the reason for his own unrestrained thoughts earlier, both in regards to you and Leona. He convinced himself that that was the reason, not the bond or any feelings of his, but the artificial intensification of whatever miniscule feelings that lingered. The potion could not work from nothing—that wasn’t how magic worked—but he could stomach confessing to a little bit of the feelings from earlier.

This, however, should have not been his main concern. If he had even gotten a little bit of the potion in his system, then what about you? Were you feeling alright? Were Hyunjae and Shuhua unaffected? Hyunjae hadn’t acted differently from his usual self; he hadn’t had much to drink either—that applied to you, too.

Changmin could only come to a shaky conclusion that even if all of you had inhaled a drop of empitachynsia synthios, the dose was not strong enough to have any noticeable effect on your emotions.

It was some divine fortune or providence that, not even ten minutes later, Indigo reported that one of her friends had gotten a hold of Leona in one of the rooms upstairs. With all of the panic that had plagued the two of them, Changmin and Indigo agreed to take their separate ways for the night and to be grateful for a swiftly concluded catastrophe.

The remaining adrenaline left in his system fueled him in his search for you and Hyunjae, wherever the two of you had ended up. The bond had squeezed his chest cavity all throughout the past ten minutes when he was away. His senses led him toward the kitchen, whose crowd was hardly any better than out in the living room. He couldn’t quite differentiate the pounding of blood in his ears from the heavy bass in the house speakers; he could hardly hear himself think. But his eyes found yours and Hyunjae’s forms squished together in one corner of the kitchen, and there was no need for him to think anymore.

Hyunjae noticed Changmin first and tore his attention away from his phone where both you and he had been hunched over watching clips of cats on Instagram. “Hey, done so soon?” he posed the question with a teasing lilt in his voice.

The teasing, though no fault of Hyunjae’s, made Changmin’s eye twitch. Even the suspicion that Changmin was interested in Leona left him with a sour tongue and clenched throat. “Indigo came by,” he said with little inflection to signal the end to that conversation. He inclined his chin to you, who had yet to raise your head. “Oy, Y—”

Your head lolled slightly onto Hyunjae’s conveniently-located shoulder, and the shift in angle revealed to your two friends that you had, in fact, fallen asleep.

Changmin and Hyunjae shared a fond laugh between themselves, glancing at one another in silent agreement. The former quickly pulled out his phone to snap a picture of you unawares, saving it to the group photo album of drunk mishaps.

“How much did she drink?” Changmin lowered his voice, even if the music didn’t give a shit whether you were asleep or not.

Hyunjae screwed up his face into something like unserious exasperation. “I dunno what she was thinking, man. We were talking and she drank waaay too much of the flavored soju. You know how that stuff tastes and goes down like juice.”

Changmin bobbed his hand knowingly. “I think I’m done for the night, to be honest,” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I can take Yn home. Have you seen Shuhua around?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” Hyunjae slipped his phone into his pocket and carefully swapped places with Changmin. “She came by with Yuqi to get refills of some cocktail and said that a few of them were playing Speed downstairs. I’ll probably go join them. Have you seen Juyeon?”

The weight of your head settled comfortably into the crook of Changmin’s shoulder, and he couldn’t help but gently ghost his fingers over your nose to brush the hair out of your eyes. “Huh? Oh yeah, he’s with Indigo and Lee Minho.”

Hyunjae stared between you and Changmin for a pregnant second, but nodded afterward. “Got it. Well, get home safe, man.”

Changmin clasped his free hand with Hyunjae’s. “Same to you.”

When it was only you and Changmin, your living and breathing pillow considered his current position. He did intend on escorting you home—you grew drowsy when you drank a little too much, and as Hyunjae asserted, it was the flavored soju’s fault; but he was loath to wake you from such a peaceful-looking nap. He twisted his head in a way to peer down at your face, your cheek squished against the muscle of his shoulder and your lip gloss leaving a shiny smudge on his shirt sleeve.

He exhaled a careful breath, then gently gave your shoulder a shake. “Rise ‘n’ shine,” he sang. The grin on his face was remarkably large and unsuppressable as you stirred with a small whine.

“There’s a new picture in the drunk folder, isn’t there?” You glowered while lifting your head up and blinking to adjust your vision. You squinted your eyes at him. “You’re not Hyunjae.”

“Is that so disappointing?” He hoped his voice didn’t betray the miniscule shard of bitterness that just pricked his chest. He reached over and helped you with an errant strand of hair; there was no need for him to sulk when he was the one with you now. (Hell, did he think like this all the time or was the potion still in his system?)

You still couldn’t open your eyes much and you yawned. “No, of course not. What time is it?”

“It’s nearly half past midnight.”

“Not bad,” you said. You yawned again, gingerly dabbing at the corners of your eyes when they began to mist. “I think I drank more than I planned to.”

Changmin chuckled, “Yeah, I figured. C’mon—I’ll take you home.”

The pair of you departed out through a side door in the kitchen, a rather convenient exit that helped you evade wading through the living room crowd to get to the front door. The alleyway on the side of the house was illuminated only by a single light above the kitchen door to accompany the trash bins.

You stumbled alongside Changmin with your wits not having returned yet.

His hand bumped against yours. “Can you walk?” he laughed, glancing over at you.

“If I said no, would you carry me?”

Perchance his pulse jumped. “Sure.”

There was nothing, to him in that moment, more lovely than the way you lit up like the fucking sun. Even the shadows in the alley washed away briefly in awe of your elation—an elation he elicited. “Really?”

His cheeks dimpled and a laugh, breathy but giddy, tumbled out of his mouth. “Yeah. Hop on.”

Thus, Changmin found himself strolling along a deserted sidewalk with your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms draped loosely over his shoulders. You had your head tucked into the warmth of his neck as you focused on trying to arrange an Uber to come pick the two of you up at the nearest 7-Eleven; Changmin fought every instinct in him to be still, including his heartbeat. There would be no hiding, even if you were drunk and less observant. Something about your weight on his back eased the ache in his chest at the front.

The night had a bearable chill to it. He rather enjoyed the silence encapsulating you and him, and the shadows clinging to his heels as if they were his guardian. Every so often, he would step into the glow of an amber circle of light and watch your entwined silhouettes cascade across the sidewalk.

“How’s the Uber situation coming along, sweetheart?”

He held his breath until you answered. “Almost,” you murmured in a small voice, focused. The white light of your phone screen streamed up the underside of his jawline from where you held it and also clung to him. “Done!”

He smiled and refrained from turning his head; that would be a dangerous thing to do with your mouth quite literally against his throat. “Good job. When will they be there?”

“I scheduled it for 1:30,” you replied matter-of-factly. You turned your phone off to ease the light shining up into his face, and settled your head against his shoulder in a more comfortable position. “Minnie?”

Ba-bump. “Yeah, Yn.”

“I remember why I drank more than I intended to earlier.” At his quiet prompting, you continued, “Hyunjae was asking about you. It was… he was kind of skirting around it, but he was kind of saying that we’ve been acting weird lately. He mentioned something about you and Leona—I think he saw that she mouthed the word ‘demon’ to you. So I got a little worried and thought if I got a bit tipsy, he’d change the subject.”

Changmin’s steps faltered, but he recovered neatly. A lump seemed to have lodged itself in his throat and it was no longer because he could feel your breath against his pulse. “Is that right,” he muttered, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He had been so careful, too, and all it took was one, little word to shatter his efforts. “Thanks for getting drunk then,” he jested in an effort to lighten his own mood.

“Maybe he doesn’t actually know,” you said to him quietly. “It took you at least two tries to get me to believe you, and Hyunjae’s more of a skeptic than I am.”

But Changmin simply couldn’t be too sure. Of course, what you said held ground, but paranoia was often a pebble in his shoe. “Don’t… don’t worry too much about it, okay? I’ll figure it out as we go.”

“I’m here for you, too.” You lifted one of your hands to give his head a pat. “Well, I’ve always been here for you, but now that I know your secret, you don’t have to hold onto it alone.”

He couldn’t fathom how mere words could warm him from the inside out as if you had taken a handful of whatever sunshine you radiated and placed it in his core. When you had asked him that day why supernaturals were forced to hide their identities from humans, he didn’t linger on the idea of his words sticking with you. He supposed he had underestimated you in that way—you were his friend, and you cared about him as much as he cared about you. Of course you would take those words to heart.

And perhaps that was what eased his anxieties about Hyunjae for the time being. He and Hyunjae were as good of friends as you and him; giving him the benefit of the doubt was what felt right.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

You hummed. “I’ll protect you, Minnie. Hyunjae—well, I guess it should be Leona, huh? Leona can catch my hands.”

Changmin’s joyful laugh echoed against the nearby houses. “Oh, you’re too cute.”

He felt your sigh even more than he heard it. “You’re always laughing at me,” you sulked. “I’m trying to be sincere here. Hey, that rhymed.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” He was not super sorry; the grin wouldn't leave his face. “Thank you, Yn. Really.”

By the time you and Changmin raided the 7-Eleven, caught your Uber, and returned to your apartment complex, it was swiftly approaching two in the morning. Your knees no longer wobbled like those of a newborn giraffe, so you walked beside Changmin to your apartment unit. The hallway, alight with its typical blinding fluorescents, was appropriately deserted and effectively made even the smallest of whispers ricochet like the acoustics in an arena.

Changmin had walked this path to your apartment door dozens upon dozens of times before, and though the scenery and the smell hadn’t changed a bit, the feeling that nestled itself into the very fibers of his being had. The ache in his chest, the inconsistent thrumming of his heartbeat, and his headspace had all changed.

Your keys rattled with a tinny sound as you isolated your apartment key from the others. You shoved the carved metal inside the locking mechanism, then sent him a sidelong glance. “Wanna come in for a bit?”

His mouth went dry and it was difficult to pull his lips into the shape of the words that he didn’t want to say. “You should sleep. We should both get some sleep.”

He liked to think he imagined the slow blink of your eyes and the way your eyelashes brushed over the fleeting disappointment in them. “You’re right,” you sighed good-naturedly. You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as a thought occurred to you. “I do have to be up in a few hours; I almost forgot.”

“Why’s that?” he chuckled, and the image of your feet propped up on your desk as you finished a last minute reading for one of your classes painted itself in his mind’s eye.

“Ah, uhm, Chan’s driving me up to see my parents and his sister.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you wished you could reel them back into your throat.

Changmin’s expression shuddered as the carefully constructed bubble that had formed around his reality tonight burst. The brightness of the hallway lights were suddenly stifling, and he feared what exactly lurked behind its artifice. It reminded him so starkly of your childhood friend—the cordial and warmth he put on as a show a stark contrast to a foreign murkiness that lurked below the surface of the water. There were only so many ways to make Ji Changmin squirm.

He managed a smile to reassure you. You didn’t have to censor yourself on his account, and he wished to know how you filled your days anyway. “Oh, that’s cool of him. Hope you guys have a nice trip home tomorrow,” he said, then brought his arm around your shoulders to bring you into a partial hug before he could talk himself out of it.

You reciprocated the action, but with both of your arms, slotting your bodies against one another so you were two hearts and one body for a second. “Thanks,” you murmured into his shirt. “And thanks for taking care of me. I should be the one taking care of you.”

Changmin pressed his cheek to the side of your head, his arms locking around your waist. The hidden implications behind your words weren’t lost on him, which was why he had told you that he would be good about the soul-bonding thing; about taking care of himself, so that you weren’t forced to in the name of your own privacy and safety.

He was the hazard out of the two of you, after all.

“You do,” he assured you. “You do take care of me.” By continuing to be normal with him, by continuing to treat him as you had always done, he could rest easy at night knowing that he still had a place in your life despite being who he was.

Love was felt in his chest where you belonged—you had made the bones of his ribcage your home, kept his lungs from collapsing, and rested your head against his heart at night. The bond had inadvertently made him two halves of a whole, and he could no longer bear to be without the other half.

There was too much negative space, you thought, as you laid in bed that night (morning). The ceiling was a rather interesting thing to look at with its imperfect, popcorned edges and the dark masses lying in the bottom of the lights, the dead carcasses of foolish insects who couldn’t help themselves.

In particular, there was a distinct lack of someone else. It was strange how fast another’s presence could grow on you, but how could that be when the two of you had already been friends for a couple years? When had spending time with Changmin become essential to easing an unseen ache in your chest?

When you were in the 7-Eleven earlier tonight, Changmin had filled you in on what had really happened at the house party. The idea of a witch being in your midst, releasing a perfumed potion that could escalate someone’s emotions was a frightening prospect. How many other times had you been in similar situations and none the wiser?

And if that potion had worked its way into your system or Hyunjae’s or Juyeon’s or Shuhua’s, then how did it affect Changmin?

A mental image flashed in your head. The first time one possessed another’s body would almost always feel akin to a dream. You were looking at yourself from an outside perspective at the party, your head tucked toward your chest as you slouched over Hyunjae’s shoulder. The body you were seeing through had laughed with him—subconsciously, you knew, exactly which laugh belonged to whom. But when he had pulled out his phone to snap a picture, that was the moment it came together.

When you woke up on Changmin’s shoulder at the party, you couldn’t be too sure that it was a dream; it had felt too real. Your physical body had yanked your astral form back into its vessel right before your eyes opened.

You lifted your hand up to your face in the dark and graced your fingers over the path Changmin’s had when he brushed the hair out of your sleeping face.

That same hand fell onto your sternum, the hard bone at the very center where you imagined your soul to rest deep within. You wished you could wrap your hand around the line that connected you to him, because then, maybe you could cling to it… and maybe it would make more sense as to how your mind ended up in his body tonight.

PART V: THE DIABOLICAL

TRUTHFULLY, 8AM was too early to be pondering moral dilemmas. Options as to how you would tell Changmin about your out-of-body experience flipped through your mind like a deck of flashcards. You were a hypocrite. You were a massive, clown-faced hypocrite whose thumbs hovered over her keyboard as you debated on how best to start the text message:

Option 1: Heeeey, you know how I gave you shit about possessing my body without permission? Well… we're even now.

Option 2: Guess what lol I might be going insane but I might have had a dream that wasn't a dream about possessing your body.

Or, last and certainly least, option 3: I'm pretty sure I'm interpreting your gestures wrong because I have feelings for you. Also, did I mention that I possessed you during my nap last night?

When you were drunk last night, you couldn't be so certain. (Saying this was if sleeping for less than three hours would've helped clarify your memory any better. Drunkenness and sleep deprivation were more alike as states of brain rot than one might think.) Nonetheless, you determined that you were in the wrong—not because you possessed him; that was an accident. You were in the wrong because you had contemplated murder for Changmin doing the same thing to you.

The question was: how? How were you able to take your soul and jump physical bodies? Changmin said this bond was largely for the benefit of the demon, but he also mentioned that the only reason his experience occurred was because he was exhausted.

If control was the baseline of demonic magic, and Changmin was under the influence of a powerful emotional stimulant, would that justify how you were able to pull it off?

(And if he really was under the influence, did that mean you were getting your hopes up about your feelings being reciprocated? Option 3 was looking less and less attractive.)

You chewed on your bottom lip meditatively as the driver's side door opened to your left.

Chan sighed as he dragged his seatbelt over his chest. “I can't believe I forgot to get gas last night,” he said, cranking the engine. “I could've sworn I did.”

“Maybe you just imagined it,” you teased quietly. When you peered over at him, you couldn't help the frown tugging down at the corners of your lips.

The eye bags and puffiness weren't exactly subtle on him. You could acknowledge that it was rather early for both of you to be up and at 'em, but it was essential to hit the road early since the drive was almost three hours.

Chan gave his head a rough shake in the same manner as a wet dog would. “Guess so,” he said before a yawn cut him off.

“Are you sure you're okay to drive?” You plucked one of the paper cups in the cupholders and handed it to him.

He gratefully accepted the cheap gas station coffee and took slow, measured gulps of the scalding liquid. “I think I should be fine. You should rest; you didn't get a lot of sleep last night, right?”

As he began pulling the car out of the quaint lights of the gas station proper, you adjusted your sitting position. “Chan,” you mused, “you look worse than I do right now. Were you up late last night, too?”

“Maybe a little later than usual… I was just—y’know, preparing some things for today.” He nudged his blinker on and craned his neck to check for oncoming traffic. When it was safe, he pulled out onto the road.

At this point in the morning, there weren't many cars accompanying the two of you on your journey north. The sky was a blanched blue further enfeebled by the pale autumn sunshine. You would instinctively settle in to watch the passing scenery—mountain ranges, pastures, and the like—but you continued to keep one eye on your driver this time around.

“Preparing things,” you repeated softly, turning your phone off having long given up on deciding on a text message to Changmin. “Are you—are you okay? Is everything okay?”

He liked to fuss over you, but you weren't ignorant to his own struggle. Chan was the one who faced adversity, not you—at least, in your mind. Sure, you faced your own troubles, but it hurt you to see him hurt. The two of you hadn't been as close recently, which was no fault of yours or his; people drifted apart sometimes. That was the way of life, but it didn't mean your care for the other waned even the slightest.

Chan physically loosened up his tense muscles. “Yeah, of course. I promise that I'm fine.”

Your eyes shot wide open as they tracked a trickle of something dark and viscous seeping down from his nose and into the cradle of his Cupid's bow. “Oh my god.”

Your friend's eyes flitted off the road for a second. “What?” He brought a hand up to his mouth and pulled it away. “Shit,” he muttered and gritted his teeth. The blood had dribbled into his mouth now to stain the white of his smile a gory crimson.

“I think you need to pull over,” you fretted as you tore through the center console for tissues.

Chan clutched the ball of tissues in one hand and held it up to his nose. “I'm fine, Yn—”

“Pull over. Now.” There was enough force behind your voice to make him twitch, but you suspected that the slight tremor wasn't unnoticeable either. Just how much had he been overexerting himself lately? “I'm driving.”

He didn't have a choice. Defeat clung to the tails of his exhaustion, digging the grooves of his eye bags deeper. Chan didn't argue as he pulled off to the side of the road.

You didn't have to pretend to be even a little angry—you were frustrated, yes, but only because he was clearly not in the state to drive for three hours. It was irresponsible and stupid, you wanted to say to him.

But after swapping seats and glancing over at him in the passenger seat, you opened your mouth with no voice to use. Chan couldn't meet your eyes as he kept the bloody wad of tissue to his nose. You didn't have the heart to reprimand him, and he sure as Hell didn't need that from you.

You reined in your concern and resumed the drive.

Changmin wondered if texting you was too desperate. Before one judged him too harshly, there once was a time when he didn't think about interactions like this as if they were rocket science. There was a time when he could text you with ease and without stress.

That was no longer the case.

“Please tell me you didn't spend the entire morning on your phone. That's a horrible example for the kids, you know.”

Changmin had known Aunt Jenna and her husband Kian were outside the door before they could pull out their house keys. His two cousins, who were reading and napping, respectively, on the rug scrambled to their feet with screeches of welcome to their parents. Changmin pretended their pitch didn't nearly destroy his eardrums. “No,” he protested, “we finished their homework really fast, so we were just chilling.”

“Yeah, eomma. We were just chilling!” parroted the youngest of the two—Dae—as he clung to his father's arm like a jungle gym.

Kian gave a laugh as he waddled into the kitchen with his hands full of groceries and a kid. The second child, Julia, wrapped around her limbs around his ankle; hence the waddling.

“Just chilling,” Jenna deadpanned, unimpressed. She swiped the bags from Kian and set them on the kitchen counter, peering over at her nephew. “Well, were they good?”

Changmin dimpled, nodding. “Yup. I think they deserve ice cream.”

“Oppa gave permission!” Julia hooted.

“I've got it,” Kian mused, squeezing past his wife in the narrow kitchen space. “Kids, go grab your jackets and we'll go down to the store.” He glanced between Jenna and Changmin. “We'll give you two some space.”

As soon as the front door slammed shut and the sounds of eager children disappeared down the hall, Jenna joined Changmin in the living room. Today was the day Changmin promised his aunt he would watch her kids. Rather than being out the entire day, Jenna and Kian promised to be back once they'd completed their long list of errands. Changmin didn't mind watching his cousins for the past few hours; they were, over all, decently well-behaved. (Plus, it was easy to bribe them with the promise of ice cream for good behavior.)

Jenna hiked up one leg beneath her as she claimed the opposite end of the couch from him. “How are you? Has it fully faded?”

Ah, there was no beating around the bush then. He sucked in a breath, but nodded. “I'm pretty sure, yeah. I haven't felt anything for at least a week.” It was strange to go from a period of sporadic headaches to none at all. It was like waiting for a dormant volcano to suddenly awaken; would the curse strike again and how soon?

How did he even come to be cursed? Now that was the question of the hour.

“Good, good. I don't… I can't sense it from you anymore,” she said, nibbling on her fingernail. “You had me worried there, Changmin-ah. How's your friend? Her name's Yn, right?”

A smile crawled onto his face. “You and Mom are always so bad with names.”

“I got it right, though,” she pointed out, but didn't deny his accusation.

“Yeah, she's doing alright.” He licked his lips and became contemplative. At least, he was pretty sure you were doing alright. The memories of last night came rushing back at him in a dizzying whirlwind of laughter, thrills, and warmth; the undeniable wholeness in his chest, your lips at his pulse. He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “I'm trying to focus my efforts on the curse situation now though,” he said after clearing his throat. “I think that should take priority.”

Jenna gave a grave nod. “I'm inclined to agree.”

“Right. I reached out to that one guy you told me about.”

“Oh, the prince? Did he answer?”

Changmin hummed an affirmative. “You said he's a… demon prince. What circle is he from and how the Hell was he let out?”

Out of all the years Changmin knew his Aunt Jenna, it never ceased to amaze him that she was friends with a duchess of Hell. She was more of a social butterfly than his mother, but the extrovert quality didn't necessarily grant one the keys to class mobility and intermingling. Demon pride ran as dense as concrete most of the time, so it was a wonder that Jenna kept in touch with her highborn friend even after moving to the human world.

Jenna squinted one eye. “Ah,” she drawled, “pretty sure he's only second prince. His older brother's inheriting the throne to the third circle.”

Damn. A prince to the third circle, huh? Changmin chewed his bottom lip and his knee began bouncing up and down fervently. He was aware that there were plenty of the supernatural among him on campus, but he didn't go out of his way to interact with them. There had been a party here and there, but he couldn't get away with too much since his closest friends were all human.

“Well,” he continued from earlier, “he replied to my text and agreed to meet with me.” The task had been surprisingly easy. He imagined demon princes, or demon mobility in general, to be unbearably arrogant with each boasting an ego the size of the moon; however, this prince didn't treat Changmin any differently than if he were a classmate with a mutual friend. It was… nerve-racking.

“That's great! The hard part is over.”

Changmin made a face. “I really don't think that was the hard part.”

She flicked her wrist flippantly. “Nonsense. He'll be just as anxious to uncover the culprit as you are.” Jenna cocked her head to the side in thought. “And, well, who knows? Maybe he knows how to break a soul-bond.”

Changmin cradled his hopes for this interaction close to his chest as the day went on. He was supposed to meet this guy in the early afternoon at one of the music studios by campus—apparently, he practically lived there. Word through the hellfire was essentially that this prince was barely seen at his apartment, in class, or outside for that matter.

Suffice to say that Changmin hadn't a fucking clue what he was walking into.

He chained up his bicycle just outside the studio building with his phone's GPS open in one hand and the other absentmindedly rubbing at his chest. (It had been tight all day; you must really be at home, hours away from where he was.)

He glanced up at the unassuming brownstone facade towering above him. This was supposedly the place. The numbers 1117 were tacked onto the side for the building's street address, and Changmin triple checked that it coincided with the address sent to him.

When he was satisfied, he strode over to the front door and let himself in.

The interior of the building was a labyrinth of its own with white plaster walls that looked the same down every corridor. The building designer had left a small mercy, however, in the form of a large directory in the lobby with arrows directing the weary wanderer down a certain path depending on their desired studio number.

Changmin located the number and followed the signs. Before long, he stood before a sleek, black door with A8 emblazoned on its surface. He inhaled deeply, then knocked.

A long moment passed.

Changmin drummed his fingers against the seam of his pants and glanced up and down the empty hallway. Did he get the wrong room?

As if the demon prince could hear his thoughts (Changmin wouldn't be surprised if he could), the door opened. A light brunet poked his head out into the hallway, his eyes large like a doe's and paired with a rather warm smile. “Ji Changmin, I presume?”

Changmin cleared his throat, awkwardly bending himself at the waist in a hasty bow. “Yep, that's me.”

“Not here, not here,” Prince Kim Hongjoong of the Third Circle hushed with a grimace. He flicked his hand in the air, widening the opening to flag him inside. “You really don't need to bow to me, man.”

Oh. There wasn't anything Changmin could think to say except to mutter out an apology under his breath. He ducked into the dimly lit studio, and Hongjoong shut the door behind him. The studio itself was larger than Changmin expected with a small couch shoved into a corner, an expansive mixing desk with a couple monitors, a mini fridge tucked beneath, and a recording booth that spanned the entire back half of the room.

A demon's vision, even a halfling's, didn't worsen or get better with more light, but Hongjoong still turned it up. “Sit, sit,” Hongjoong insisted, gesturing to the couch in the corner. He took his own perch upon the office chair by the mixing desk.

Changmin stiffly lowered himself onto the edge of the couch and placed his bag by his feet. He placed his hands on either of his knees. “Ah, thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” he said.

Hongjoong nodded. “Sure!” That smile was both beautiful and sharp; Changmin couldn't put his finger on it, but it was the epitome of demonic royalty. Hongjoong's expression sobered slightly. “But when you said something about the curse going around lately, I did think that it would be best to talk about it as soon as possible.”

“Right, same here. Were you inflicted by it at any point?” Changmin decided that Hongjoong didn't look any worse for wear, but not everything could simply be observed upon the surface.

“I was lucky,” he replied, shrugging. “Probably because I don't go out much, but I can't be too sure. What about you?”

Changmin dipped his head once. “My aunt says I was, and I had been feeling more exhausted than usual and had random headaches. It's faded by now—but that's because I'm half-blooded.”

Hongjoong nodded his head in understanding. “Okay, glad to hear you're not doing too bad now and the curse was able to fade for you” —he paused, massaging his jawline, before turning to his laptop on the mixing table— “that clears something up for me, at least. Here—I’ve been putting together a document with my findings.”

Changmin stood from his seat and leaned over the desk to see the screen. It seemed that despite Hongjoong's lack of touching grass, the prince did get down to business. He wondered if all princes of Hell were so attentive to their species’ needs; cynicism though told Changmin that they weren't.

“Basically, with your testimony, it seems that whatever curse was performed was intended to only affect those of demonic heritage.” Hongjoong scrolled down to one portion of the document to add in this new nuance. He then worked his way down to a section where there were three images pasted side by side on the screen. Changmin recognized that they were books, but he couldn't identify their titles or purposes. “Which then narrows the curse's point of origin.”

Two images were deleted. The one left was a tome fitted with a dark colored cover. Deep purple veins seemed to scar the black and its edges were torn and crumpled like decaying flesh. There were letters engraved into the front—Changmin squinted to read them: nem focta diabolica. It was an old dialect, more similar to Latin than the more modern dialects used in Hell.

“‘For diabolical deeds?’” he murmured. His eyebrows creased. “That's the Book of the Diabolical?”

Hongjoong hummed, “Yes. You've never seen it?”

“Not until now,” he said while shaking his head. A shiver rattled down his spine and he braced his hand on the desk by the laptop. The Book of the Diabolical was one of the several forbidden cursed magic tomes that existed throughout the realms. Each tome was stuffed full of curses written to specifically target a species. The often lethal effects and methods of use were why most originals were banned and locked away. “But you said that my testimonial is what confirms that this was only targeted toward demons. Could we not have assumed that based on reports of who have been affected?” The reports had only noted a pattern of demon victims. If anybody else was affected, word would have likely been spread.

“Yes and no,” the prince replied. “We can make a judgment call based on reports, but your experience specifically is what gives us cause. If your mild symptoms are due to your half non-demoness, then we can now conclude that the curse is only supposed to work on demons.”

Changmin straightened as his mind went to work, putting together the pieces. “So now we just need to find out who is in possession of the Book of the Diabolical.”

A solemn nod. “I thought it would be easier to track down, but there's been nothing through my contacts about recent acquisitions. We know there are copies of the book that exist, too. It's just… ah, frustrating.” Hongjoong combed a hand through his dirty blond strands, a muscle twitching in his jaw at the thought.

It must have been another layer of aggravating to be a prince and have no control over the situation. Changmin truly could only imagine. “Do we know exactly which spell was used? I know it's energy-stealing, but the nature of it could lead us toward an answer.”

Hongjoong leaned back into his chair as Changmin settled his back against the edge of the table. “I do,” the prince said. “I consulted my circle's chief authority on magic and she mentioned that it was a spell that took energy in order to transfer it to another living being. The spell is also able to locate demonic entities without knowing them personally, so any demons within a certain radius of the spell would be cursed.”

At his own utterance, Hongjoong lurched into an upright position. “So we need to determine where the curse was performed!”

Changmin jolted slightly at his sudden exclamation. “How do we do that? Is it like checking for radiation poisoning?”

“Kind of. We'd just need a sample to match.”

“I'd offer my blood, but I'm not sure how potent the magic is any—”

There weren't many ways to describe what happened simply because Changmin himself couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

One moment, he could breathe perfectly fine; the next, he'd doubled over, desperately clawing at his chest as every ounce of air left his body and refused to come back. Black spotted his vision, narrowing his sight into a tunnel as his knees slammed against the ground.

His blood thundered in his ears as the pain in his chest seized his body whole. Someone had taken a knife and carved their way down the center of his chest.

Then, as quickly as it'd come, it was gone.

Sweat dripped down the sides of his face as Changmin greedily inhaled air into his lungs. Hongjoong was right in front of him, his arm hoisting his body into an upright position. He was murmuring something, but the sound was muffled… little by little, the pain and the blood in his ears dwindled to nothing but a terrifying dream.

Changmin grabbed at his chest as if he could feel the strained pull deep down where soul lived—where you lived—

His eyes shot wide open. “Yn.” The stabbing sensation that pierced his chest now was no longer physical agony but pure, unbridled fear.

He fumbled around for his phone and Hongjoong grabbed it from where it had fallen onto the floor. Worry creased the prince's brows. “Are you okay, Changmin? Who's Yn?”

“My—my soul—” Changmin dialed your number, half blinded by the sweat and tears blurring his vision.

Hongjoong seemed to understand. “Something happened to her?”

“I don't—I don't know.” All he could think about was the fact that you were with Chan and that he was afraid.

You and Chan arrived at your parents’ house just before the clock hit noon. Your childhood home was much like it was when you left and visited every break: half-dead azalea bushes and a rusted wind chime hanging over the porch; hallways and a stairway adorned with the occasional family picture and portrait from over the years; and the smell that clung to the walls, and when bottled up, would be called “home.” It had been where you and Chan spent so many of your formative years together running, playing, crying, and living.

Lunch was eaten at home, and while you stayed to help your parents out with a few errands, Chan went ahead to the nearby hospital to see his sister.

You followed behind him nearly an hour after he'd left, your stomach full and your hands buried beneath a basket of treats that your parents put together for Chaeyoung. Flowers had been considered, but then your dad reminded your mom that flowers could not be eaten, and that had marked the end of that conversation.

The room the nurse's station directed your toward was down a lengthy hall of clean white. You'd consumed media before—books, shows, movies—where a character had a distinct aversion to hospitals because it reminded them of a lost loved one or a moment of distinct pain and weakness. Whenever you passed by the open doors or closed curtains of these rooms, you couldn't help but wonder how many of these people thought the same.

At the end of the hall, you stopped before a closed door whose accompanying window was sealed off with closed blinds. You couldn't tell by squinting through the slits if Chan and Chaeyoung were inside, but there was a little whiteboard off to the side with “Lee Chaeyoung :)” written in dry erase marker.

You lifted your fist up to the door, gently knocking upon its surface. When there wasn't an answer, you took the gamble to let yourself in.

Either the hospital was generous this time, you thought to yourself, or Chaeyoung just got really lucky. The room was spacious for a single person, but there was only room for one bed. Shoving a second in here would have been cruel and unusual punishment. The television hoisted onto the opposite wall from the bed was playing an old episode of Friends at low volume, a comfortable white noise for the sleeping form tucked into bed.

You carefully tread over to the bedside where you saw Chan's backpack left on the chair. You set the basket as quietly as possible onto the nightstand, your eyes flickering over to Chaeyoung to ensure you didn't wake her.

Just as you were moving Chan's backpack off the chair, a book slipped out from the open zipper.

“Shit,” you whispered, barely catching it before it slapped against the linoleum. You'd seen a lot of books before, but this one… you peered at it with a small frown. It was incredibly worn at the edges and the cover design seemed to be something like human veins but in the color of a deep violet. There were words scrawled at the center, but you couldn't get a good look at them before you heard Chaeyoung stir from the bed next to you.

You shoved the book into Chan's bag and set the backpack down, simultaneously dropping your butt into the chair. “I woke you up, huh?” you winced.

Chaeyoung smiled sheepishly at you. Even with the nasal cannula and the formless hospital gown, she was beautiful. Though her skin was more blanched than usual, it didn't take away from the utter warmth she radiated in this sterile environment. In that way, she and her brother were so similar. “Hi, Yn-ie,” she mused. “And no, I was just pretending to be asleep.”

“Well, that's not very nice then. Were you planning to let me watch you sleep this whole time?” you teased back at her. Your lips pulled into a fond smile. “How are you feeling? Any better today, unnie?”

She lifted her hand up onto the railing of the bed and you gently clasped it with your own. Throughout the years, she had come to be almost like your own older sister figure, in a way. “I'm a little tired, but it doesn't hurt a lot, so don't worry. A little coughing here and there, but nothing a bit of water won't fix.”

You wished you could believe her.

“But enough about me. What's going on with you? Are you seeing anyone yet?”

You choked on your own breathing air, pulling a grin out of Chaeyoung. You had to let go of her hand in order to thump your own chest. “You sound like my mom,” you retorted as heat crawled up the back of your neck.

Chaeyoung made a movement akin to a shrug. “I'm bored; sue me… so are you?”

The silence in the room was enough to speak volumes. The way your mind immediately flashed to a particular demonic friend of yours made the tightness in your chest hum gladly. You rubbed the spot with the heel of your palm absentmindedly.

“Oh, well you have to tell me about them now,” Chaeyoung gushed, squeezing your hand. “You can't even deny it—your eyes just went so soft, Yn.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. How were you supposed to tell her that they were only feelings? The urge to tell her about the knot around your ribs was suddenly too great; it was like looking into Shuhua's eyes and denying everything to her. “He's,” you stammered, “we're friends.”

“That's usually how it begins,” she chimed in.

You fixed her with a look. “And he's…” How did one say “everything” without saying everything?

Chaeyoung grinned, knowingly. “I know you'll just deny it, but it's—” Her words broke off with a violent cough.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you scrambled off your chair to reach for the tissues on the nightstand. Her coughing fit raged on without a moment of mercy, not even to let her breathe air. Each one grated on you for your stupidity, for letting her waste her energy on coaxing an answer out of you.

She took the tissues gratefully, shoving them against her mouth as she hacked up globs of crimson red to stain the paper and sheets.

You began searching for water. Maybe medication. Anything that might soothe her for a second.

The door bursted open, and Chan and an older man with a white coat hurried into the room. You ducked out of the way as another nurse barreled in after them. The doctor and the nurse converged on Chaeyoung's bed and you held your hands close together by your chest as you stood next to Chan in the doorway.

“They heard her heart monitor skyrocket from the nurse's station,” Chan said quietly with his eyes on his sister's bed. His eye bags had not gotten better as the day dragged on, but you had been foolish to think for a second that this trip would make him feel any better. His hand gently warmed the place between your shoulder blades. “Come on. Let's give them the room.”

You and Chan ended up in the hallway just outside the door. Your back was pressed against the wall facing the window while Chan practically paced a hole into the floor.

Just a minute ago, he'd seemed almost resigned. But the energy around him had become frantic, frazzled. You grew wary and nervous simply by watching him, your fingers cracking knuckles and tugging at loose strands on your shirt sleeves.

He tore his hands through his hair for what felt like the fiftieth time, and you stepped forward. “Chan—Chan, please just sit down. You're going to tire yourself out like this.”

“Yn, I can't,” he said, and the tremble in his voice was unmistakable.

You grabbed his hands away from his head to force him to look at you, to stay still. “She's going to be okay.”

His eyes glittered with mourning. The jewels that welled up in his eyes poured down the slopes of his cheeks. “She's not,” he rasped, shaking his head. “They said she's getting worse and—and I—I don't know what to do anymore.”

There was a heavy pang in your chest, but you forced both you and Chan to the side of the hallway closer to some of the chairs left out. He balked, stopping in his tracks. “Yn, I don't know how to save her. I've tried everything.”

You squeezed his hands and your eyes began to sting. “I know you have,” you breathed out. “I know you have and I am so sorry.”

“I don't know, I don't know,” he sobbed. He hung his head. “It's my fault. I should've tried harder—I could've done better—”

“Chan,” you cut in, “why in the world would you blame yourself? You've done so much for her; Chaeyoung would never blame you for this, not ever.”

Chan lifted his head and you were so certain there was a glint of purple in his eyes, but there were so many tears it could've only been a trick of the light. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Anything.”

His fingers curled with yours and you believed that he was finally squeezing you back—that he was finally leaning on you. “Can you promise me that you're not chained to him?”

What?

You hardly registered what he just asked you when you keeled over. A searing pain ripped through your body and twisted around your sternum. It was as if someone had wrapped their hands around that central bone and was trying to tear it out of you. Your heart and lungs seized all at once—you couldn't breathe.

Oh my god—you couldn't—breathe—

Air rushed into your lungs all at once, and you found yourself grappling onto the sides of a chair. Chan was saying something to you—they were words, but words you couldn't hear correctly. …so sorry… can't… you… like me.

Your center of gravity tilted violently on its axis and leaned toward the ground. As blood pumped violently back into your skull, you could feel the cold embrace of unconsciousness pull you closer.

A pair of hands grasped yours again, and you felt something cool pressed into your hold. A cup? Water?

“Yn? Yn, can you hear me? I'm gonna call a doctor—”

“No, no,” you waved the comment away with a weak hand. Your vision gradually cleared along with the fog in your head. You groaned quietly, bringing the paper cup to your mouth and poured it down your throat. Your chest heaved with labored breaths and you slumped into the chair you were draped in. “I'm fine now.”

Chan's face was twisted into deep worry as he leaned over you. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Yn, I can't lose you, too. That looked and sounded awful. What even happened?”

You closed your eyes. “I… I'm not sure.” It was like that one time you had nausea while Changmin was possessing you. But that wasn't nausea; whatever the Hell that had been, it was closer to your heart being clawed out than a measly migraine. “Would you mind just, uhm, getting me more water, please?”

“Yeah, of course. I'll get you a proper bottle from the vending machine.”

“Thanks, Channie.” You blindly patted his hand, and heard the sound of his footsteps soften as he hurried away.

You brought your hand up to your chest and let the warmth of your palm soothe the ache that haunted you. What was all that? There was no way that could have been a heart attack. You hadn't felt it in the heart.

“Shit,” you huffed as your phone vibrated in your back pocket. With a slight grunt, you managed to maneuver your hand beneath your body to answer the call. “Hello?”

A heavy breath filled your ears. “Oh Hell… are you okay?”

Déjà vu, much? You pulled the phone away from your ear to see the caller ID. “Changmin? How did you” —the pieces clicked together in your mind and you straightened in your seat— “oh my god, you felt that?”

“Are you okay?” he repeated instead with more strength.

“Yes, yeah,” you exhaled. The pain was slowly receding to the edges of your memory and breathing gradually became nature again. “Did you feel it, too, then? Are you alright?” The though of him enduring that pain at the same time as you—your heart might as well have fallen straight into the pit of your stomach.

You definitely weren't mistaken when you heard a sniffle from that side. “I'm alright,” Changmin said softly. “I just—I needed to hear—I needed to make sure you were okay.”

A smile pulled so strongly at your mouth that the corners curled downwards. “Well I'm okay now. I promise.”

“When are you coming home? I… I need to see you.”

Your free arm wrapped around your stomach and wished it was his. Unconsciously, your eyes raised from the glossy floor to the presence coming back down the hall with a water bottle in his hand. (Was it survival instinct that had you looking at him in a light you never once considered before?) “Soon,” you promised with all the tenderness in the world. “Wait for me?”

“For however long I need to.”

PART VI: THE CURSED

Nightfall swaddled the world in its embrace when Chan pulled his car into the parking lot at your apartment complex. The headlights sliced through like twin blades across the sidewalk to blind the bushes lining the building’s perimeter. Sleep hadn’t claimed you at any point during the drive back down to the university, and you could feel the dryness begin to sting at the corners of your eyes.

You grabbed your bag from between your legs as Chan let the engine thrum beneath you. “Thanks,” you said quietly.

“Yeah,” he muttered back, dragging a hand down his face.

The drive hadn’t been much better. If someone asked you to point to the exact moment you were aware of the rift between you and Chan, you wouldn’t be able to tell them. There was a cloud of uncertainty, dark and stormy, that now blocked the radiance you were used to.

You glanced out of the window with your palm ghosting over your chest and you locked eyes with a figure loitering by the entrance to your apartment complex. The jump in your heartbeat was confirmation enough of who it was.

Fingers grazed over your shoulder—you shifted away, something you had never done before. A meekness took over your counterpart’s face. “There’s nothing I could say, is there?”

“You’ve never brought this up to me before,” you countered. At some point between Chaeyoung’s hospital room and the apartment parking lot, you figured out what Chan had asked you and who he was referring to. ‘Chained’ was an interesting word choice; you foolishly decided not to dwindle on it too long while you were within five feet of him.

It was a lot to think about. The chasm that gradually stretched between you had never existed before, and it cracked through the bridge that was your history with him. Your immediate thought was that the bridge was worth saving, but whenever you leaned over to grab the flayed ends, there was something in the dark that snapped at your fingers.

“He’s… Yn, he’s not who you think he is.”

You shoved the car door open. “I’ll make that judgment for myself. Good night.” Without another word, you stole into the night and let the door’s slam echo in the quiet.

As you made your way across the sidewalk to Changmin, there was an undeniable skip in that reliable rhythm called a heartbeat. The more you closed the distance between you, the less your chest ached and tugged. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered the sound of tires dragging over gravel and lights fading away, but if it wasn’t in your direct view, you didn’t quite care.

Changmin didn’t look hurt, at least from the outside. His dimpled smile graced his features as he took a few steps to meet you.

“Hey—” Your mouth muffled against the fabric on his shoulder as his arms scooped around you and pulled your body flush against him. An emotion bubbled up in your chest, then your throat, as you relaxed into him. The ache was gone, but he was here. You slowly brought your arms up around his middle and allowed the unspeakable to simmer.

You heard a small sound by where his face was tucked into your neck, and when the realization hit you, you could only laugh. “Are you sniffing me?” you snickered.

“You smell nice,” he sulked.

You patted his back. “So not only are we leashed, but you have also adopted the characteristics of a dog—”

“I’m letting go now.”

“Noo, don’t let go. I’m sorry,” you said and locked your arms around him. You both knew he could break out of your hold at any point, but in your arms, he remained. “Are you okay? You wanted to see me right when I got back.”

A breath was released against your skin, and it was so similar to the brushes of wind that he demonstrated early on as a physical manifestation of his power. “I needed to see you,” he corrected. “I needed to see that you were okay.”

The top-left quadrant of your ribcage fluttered. “I… yeah that was scary, wasn’t it?” you whispered. The phantom pain ignited within your breast for a moment, and you screwed your eyes shut. How could a single touch cause such physical agony? You were careening toward the truth you had been avoiding for hours now. You were peering into a dark chasm with no end to the bottom, but the longer you delayed, the longer it would continue to instill that fear and anxiety within you.

You cupped the back of his head with your palm, brushing your thumb through the strands of hair. “We need to talk.”

He hummed. “We do.” Changmin straightened and while one of his arms lingered about the curve of your waist, the other lifted toward your face. Before he could touch you, he stopped himself and pulled the hand back down to his pocket. “Are you tired? We could talk about this tomorrow?”

The thought of tomorrow morning’s lecture, but leaving the seat beside Shuhua empty, made your stomach sink. Your nod was reluctant. “I guess so… thank you for coming though. It was sweet—good. It was really good to see you. I—”

That hand from just a moment ago reappeared to cup the underside of your jaw and drew you over to kiss you.

(Under oath, Changmin would have admitted that there was a part of him that had been craving to kiss you since that day in his apartment when he confessed that murder from your lips was damningly divine; but if you were to ask him now, he would have said he simply didn’t want to say good night yet.)

You weren’t out of your wits enough to be completely slow as to what was happening. His touch was hesitant and bereft of the full strength he wished to impart. The brush of his lips against yours was fleeting and he was pulling away all too soon.

Cheater. You grabbed a handful of his hoodie in your fist and yanked him back over to you. You’re not getting away with that.

He stumbled in surprise, slapping his palm against the wall over your head. That arm was looping back around you in an instant, and your chests pressed together as if connected by opposite poles of a magnet. He was better this time around—sloppier, more fervent. His fingers dug into the meat of your waist, his mouth bruising against yours.

You wondered if a few minutes spent devouring the air between each other was enough to carve the other’s name into your mouths permanently.

His mouth glistened in the low light when you pulled away to relieve your lungs. Changmin’s eyes were hooded, pupils dilated to the black of deep space: consuming, but wondrous. “Another thing to talk about tomorrow then?” he exhaled out against your skin.

You nodded—that was a given—and you watched his eyelashes flutter as he leaned in again. Something deeply satisfied purred in the recesses of your center, somewhere only one’s soul might dwell. (Love was felt in your chest where he belonged, after all.) You breathed him in as he kissed you once more. It wouldn’t matter if the invisible string that tethered you to him eventually faded because your souls were far too comfortable with each other to ever let go.

The sun hung midway between the sky's precipice and the horizon, washing the world beneath it in a whimsical filter of gold. While Mondays were usually a lighter load for you, today happened to be the one you stacked all of your academic appointments onto. It wasn't until about three in the afternoon that you were able to see Changmin again.

You stepped out of your department advisor's building with your hand raised to shield your eyes. Waiting for you at the curbside and straddling his bicycle was the other half of your soul bond.

“You like guys with bikes?” Changmin grinned, half laughing as he nodded to you.

You threw your head back and couldn't fight the smile off your face. “You pick up all your girls like this?”

“That would be a yes, 'cause I only have one girl and I don't have a car.”

Your laugh bounced off the nearby walls and made Changmin's cheeks hurt from how wide he smiled. You made your way over to him, and he curled his hand around your waist, thumb rubbing into your hip bone. “Hi,” he mused.

“Hi.” Nothing had been said between the two of you since last night besides wishes of good sleep and to perhaps see one another in your dreams. (If dreams were considered a weakness to demons, it was safe to say that Changmin didn't give a damn.) You licked your lips. “So where do you wanna talk? Because we do have to talk about some things.”

“I know. Juyeon said he won't be home, so I thought we could go back and talk, and maybe… watch a movie, if that's cool.”

You snorted. “You kiss a guy once and he suddenly gets game.”

His eyebrows went sky high as he handed you his helmet to strap on. “Actually,” he scoffed, “we kissed at least f—”

“Ah!” You pressed your pointer finger to his lips, fixing him with a pointed look and ignoring the warmth in your cheeks. “That's semantics. Is this even safe, by the way?” you asked, gesturing to the back of his bike where he had a small rack installed over the back wheel.

“Yeah, you just need to hold on tight.”

You threw one leg over the middle and braced your feet over the two bars jutting out from either side of the back wheel. Your arms came around his nearly nonexistent waist, the side of your head resting against his backpack. “You just want me to hug you.”

Changmin laughed from the front. “You said it, not me!”

Who said sharing a bike was romantic? Certainly not you, but there was plenty of fluttering in your stomach that made you think otherwise. You didn't keep your face against him for long, and lifted it up to feel the wind across your cheeks and through your hair.

It was strange to think of him as a demon when you had known him longest as a good friend. There was nothing remotely unhuman about him, but what made someone a human? Was it physical traits or lack of magic ability? Was it the realm we hailed from or was it simply… prejudice and stereotype?

Whenever you thought back to that fateful night, you couldn't believe you'd harbored even an ounce of fear for him. A part of you thought he'd pulled all those stops to make you scared, but the other part knew that maybe they were necessary out of his own alarm.

When you arrived at his apartment complex, he locked up his bike in the room in the lobby. The two of you worked your way up to his floor, a light conversation bubbling between you about what movie you should watch after you filled each other in. Speaking about anything regarding the supernatural out in the open like this was not ideal.

“—it’s really not even that scary,” Changmin insisted as he fished around his bag for his keys.

You crossed your arms over your chest, unconvinced. “I know you've got a thing for Chucky, but—”

His mouth fell agape as he managed to grab his keys and shimmy open the lock on the door. “I do not have a thing for Chucky. That's just disgusting and perverted. I thought you were better than—oh. Shit.”

You were about to ask him what was wrong when you followed him in through the door. Seated on the couch was Juyeon, Shuhua, and Hyunjae, two of whom had their arms crossed and their faces fitted with matching masks of suspicion.

“Hi guys,” you greeted awkwardly and nudged the door closed. What were they talking about without you and Changmin?

“We’ve been expecting you—ow! We agreed that I was going to greet them,” Hyunjae hissed to Shuhua who had dealt a brutal blow to his ribs with her elbow. “Also, your elbow is so fucking bony—”

Shuhua harrumphed, sitting up straight with her chin inclined. “We’ve been expecting you. Juyeon purposely lied to Changmin so we could confront the two of you.”

You and Changmin exchanged nervous glances. Your counterpart then swiftly turned toward his roommate with an expression of betrayal. “You lied to me?”

Juyeon went doe-eyed. “I’m sorry, Changminnie—they made me!”

Hyunjae’s cough was annoyingly loud, and he thumped his fist against his palm like a gavel. What was this—court? “Ahem. We all agreed that we needed to catch you guys in the act and to hold an intervention. I tried” —he dragged out the word ‘tried’ as if he’d nearly died in the Sahara Desert while doing it— “to confront Yn about it at the house party, but then you went and got yourself drunk.”

Oh. You performed a mental rewind all the way back to last Saturday. Oh no.

You and Changmin gravitated toward one another’s side. “What exactly,” Changmin drawled with narrowed eyes, “are you holding an intervention about?”

“Guys, please. We’re not fucking stupid,” Shuhua huffed. “We know you’ve been sneaking around together. And whether you’re actually dating or just hooking up—”

You choked on your own spit.

“—we need to know if you’re committing friendcest.”

You had to hold back both a laugh and a tremendous sigh. This was about fuckass friendcest, not Changmin’s demonhood. You opened your mouth to relieve your friends of their concern when Changmin beat you to the punchline.

“We’re not sneaking around for that reason,” he said, his eyes flickering over to you. You felt the back of his hand graze yours, and you blinked at him. While it was true that the original reason you started sneaking around was not because of mutual attraction, there was a tablespoon of truth to that now. If last night hadn’t happened before this conversation, it would have been a lot harder for you to answer their questions, and if you had talked about the kiss before…

There was conflict across Changmin’s face as he warred with himself on how to properly put yours and his hunt into words that they would understand. There was undoubtedly a build-up of years’ worth of guilt mounting in him to put pressure on his reveal of the truth, but it was clear that he was still not ready for that conversation yet.

You stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “He’s lying. We have been dating,” you declared. It was an innocent white lie that was somewhat truthful. “We” —you cleared your throat as every pair of eyes darted over to you, including Changmin’s— “wanted to try it out. We only really have gone out a couple times though, and it hasn’t been long since it started. We’re sorry we hid it from you guys.”

Changmin’s eyes gleamed with gratitude as his fingers braided with yours and he cupped around your bound hands with his free one.

A beat of silence passed as the other half of your friend group exchanged glances with one another. Had they expected you to deny it?

At last, Shuhua broke out into an almost pouty smile. “I wish you guys didn’t hide it from us, but if you’re happy…”

“We hid it because we weren’t sure yet and didn’t want it to affect the group’s dynamics,” Changmin chimed in. He squeezed your hand at his side. “I mean, I’m happy.” He glanced over at you, cheeks dimpled. “You?”

You smiled back, nodding. “Very.”

Juyeon sniffled and clasped a palm over his mouth. “Ugh, this is so romantic. You guys look so happy together. I need to tell Eric and Indigo about this.”

“Man,” Hyunjae feigned exasperation, but even he couldn’t hide the large grin on his face, “I really thought this was gonna be more dramatic. Glad you guys really were just sneaking around and dating and stuff, and not like, hiding a body or anything.”

You and Changmin looked at each other again and produced similar sounds bordering on a suspicious level of nervousness. “Yeah… definitely nothing like that.”

The other three were, unfortunately, sharper than you liked to give them credit for. “Wait, what do you mean—”

“Bye now!” Changmin whisked you out of the apartment unit with a slam of the front door. Yours and his giggles wrapped around one another as you left, leaving your dumbfounded friends high and dry.

When you and Changmin had escaped to the end of the hallway by the stairs, you finally released the breath you had been holding. Keeping Changmin's secret was one thing, but lying to your friends was another. What you claimed back there wasn't a total lie, but in this case, perhaps ignorance was bliss. You didn't doubt your friends would be supportive of Changmin's heritage, but if it was something he wanted to continue to keep undisclosed, then that was his prerogative and it was not your truth to reveal.

Yours and Changmin's hands remained intertwined as you made your way back down to the lobby. Since his apartment was clearly occupied, you would need to find somewhere else to speak privately. The answer came in the form of a park nearby, who's trails and pathways were rather vacant at this time of day.

Changmin locked his bike and helmet up at the park's entrance before his hand found yours again. “We are dating now, right?”

You snorted. “That's the first thing on the agenda?”

“Well, yes,” he beamed boyishly at you, swinging your hands between your bodies. “Are you saying that what you told them back there was really a lie?”

“I mean, no,” you stammered. Heat prickled beneath the surface of your skin and you fought to avoid his direct gaze, so knowing. “We are dating, if you're okay with it.”

“Sure.”

“Sure?” you squawked. Such indignation in that pretty boy smile of his. Your expression flattened into a deadpan. “I suppose I do have something to confess before we put a label on it.”

Changmin smiled to himself. “This is the moment you tell me you're a serial killer, isn't it?”

“You're really sick in the head,” you joked back. “But no, I mean that… well—hear me out: that night at the party when I was asleep? I may or may not have possessed your body.”

Changmin halted so abruptly that you were almost yanked back into his body from your linked hands. “What?”

You squeaked out a nervous laugh. “It's not, y'know, that big of a deal. It was only for a few seconds, and it really could have just been déjà vu or something.”

“No. No, it makes sense.” He shook his head, then pressed the black of his knuckles to his pursed lips, eyebrows creased together in a pensive stare. “My mind wasn't the most stable, so I wouldn't have been able to stop you from coming across the soul bond. It's just an interesting notion to consider; I've never heard of a case like this before.”

“Ah.” You were glad he wasn't bringing up the utter irony of the situation. “Maybe you can ask Aunt Jenna, and I bet most demons don't regularly come across that potion very often.”

Changmin cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “That's true. There is something that I've been meaning to tell you though. I don't know if you remember the random headaches I used to get” —you hummed your acknowledgement— “but it was apparently because I, and other demons in this area, were inflicted by a curse.”

Your face shuddered. A curse? How long had he been holding onto this?

His mouth set into a line. “I didn't want to worry you, but my being half human pretty much saved my life. It was… something from the Book of the Diabolical—a curse that stole energy from one being to transfer to another.”

The Book of the Diabolical rang a distant bell in your head. “That's really scary,” you murmured.

“I—I know,” he said, taking you by your arms, “but I'm working with another demon on campus to solve it. It shouldn't affect you at all because they've only been targeting demons, but—”

“That's incredibly worrying for you to say—”

He exhaled, “I know, I know. I can take care of myself though, especially now that I have this other demon to help.” Changmin's grip on your body tightened, but not to an uncomfortable degree. His possession of your gaze was even more secure; there was an urgency within him that compelled you. “I'm telling you this now because… because I can't stomach the thought of you getting hurt, and I need you to promise me to be careful.”

You brought your hand up to cover the back of one of his. “But you said this curse only affects demons,” you whispered.

“Yes, but” —he cut himself off, tearing his eyes away for a moment. He bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. “I just have a very, very bad feeling about something.”

“Then tell me what it is,” you pushed. There was no way you could safeguard yourself if you didn't know what he was worried about.

Changmin considered you for a moment, then in a low voice, said, “It's about Lee Chan. I know you're friends with him, but I just can't put my finger on how he's connected to all of this.” Your eyes fell away from his, and his heart stuttered in his chest. His palm was gentle as he ran his thumb over your cheek. “Please. Please just be careful, sweetheart.” Please believe me.

At last, you nodded and slowly raised your head up to meet his eyes once more. “Okay,” you said, “I promise.”

There was a beat of hesitation in his heartbeat again—he couldn't bear to be without his other half.

Your conversation with Changmin was severed short when he received a call from his demonic friend—a Kim Hongjoong—about an update regarding the curse's residual essence. He biked you to your apartment complex first, walking you to your door. He left soon after, but not before bestowing a lingering kiss to your brow, the words between the stressed lines of his eyes imploring.

You promised to call him tonight, and you shouldered your way into your apartment. Your heart had not ceased to stop rattling in its confines since Changmin admitted his wariness about Chan. You didn't know why you didn't immediately agree with him then and tell him about your thoughts from the hospital day, but your thoughts whipped around in your mind, trapped in a violent rip current.

The reason you had looked away from him earlier was not because you doubted him, but because you feared those whispers of suspicion were quickly becoming your reality. It was a grave accusation to name Chan specifically, and to even suspect him having a hand in recent diabolical deeds, but you couldn't deny that your view of him was morphing into something else.

It wasn't right, you thought. Lee Chan was the sun—bright and warm. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Right?

You fumbled for the lights in your darkened apartment. It was strange that your roommates weren't home; usually they would have been. You suppressed a yawn as you failed to find the light switch for some reason. Had you been this tired all day? Your eyelids were growing heavier and heavier by the second…

“Shit,” you muttered as your foot hit something solid on the floor. Your fingers caught the switch and light flooded into the room.

A gasp tore out of your throat. By your foot laid the body of one of your roommates, her limbs splayed sporadically, but her chest still rising and falling with breath. (Asleep?) You lifted your head, and a dooming chill fell over you as you realized that the body on the couch was your second roommate; and there—the third's hand poked out from behind the kitchen counter.

There was another aspect to survival instinct. It launched into effect as soon as you spotted a figure emerge from your periphery.

You whipped around and reached for the door handle, but to no avail. A strong arm caged around your middle and slapped over your mouth. Whatever was on his hands—dry, chalky—dragged a cough from your throat. Though your heart pounded in merciless rhythm, it seemed only to work to your detriment.

“Can't let you do that,” said the voice behind you, gruffly. It was familiar.

The world grew darker… dimmer… your body's thrashing slowed. You screamed and attempted to flail around, desperate to get free. Why the Hell was your body getting weaker? Why—why were you tired—

Just before you surrendered to unconsciousness, the epiphany slammed into you like a truck. The worst part was it was way too fucking late.

If desperate people found faith, then Lee Chan was admittedly the most desperate of them all. Most people—humans, it should be clarified—found faith with the established religions of the world. There were truly far too many to count, but desperate and depressed ten year old boys were more resourceful than others gave them credit for.

The problem was that Chan was a creature made whole by the love imparted onto him by you and his older sister, as well as the neglect and hatred sown by his parents. It made for a dynamic persona—a soul torn asunder by the people he yearned for most. He wished his parents could have cared more, then perhaps he wouldn't have cared so much.

(Though, if they had cared even an inch more than they had, he wouldn't have traded their lives for Chaeyoung's in the first place… maybe he would have still done it, but he might have regretted it, at least.)

Wasn't there a definable point when a hero became a villain? No, he didn't like thinking of himself in those terms. “Protagonist” and “antagonist” were far too restricting. It was similar to the stigma surrounding the forbidden tome of curses in his possession; why was it forbidden if it was so very useful?

The only thing was that it lacked the spell he seemed to need most right now: a spell to convince you of the pure evil you had bound your soul to. Whether it was inadvertent or purposeful, Chan would do you a favor: by severing the demonic soul bond, he could save you—his beloved little sister. He could save you and protect you from an ill-begotten fate.

But even as he settled your unconscious body over the summoning circle sketched in confident, chalk strokes, he racked his brain for any possible reason why you were bound. To what end was your bargain with Changmin? Were you so desperate as to strike a doomed deal with a half-demon? He considered your face with a frown; even in sleep, your browser were furrowed with stress. He needed to get a move on.

The Book of the Diabolical laid open atop your desk where he had pushed it into the corner. The entirety of your room was rearranged in order to give him a wide berth to work—bed shoved to the far reaches, drawers and file boxes relegated to the closet. The middle of the room featured your body over his summoning circle, rounded out with burned phlox candles who's scent suffocated the room in its bitterness.

Chan hunched over the book and consulted the line of curse he had tabbed with a sea otter sticky note. Over the past several years of his life, he dedicated himself to learning how to decode the old dialect of this tome in order to use it to its full reaches. “Asmantha's star for summoning, check. Burned phlox, mhm. Conscious blood of the victim…” his voice trailed off as he caught miniscule movement from the corner of his eye. “You're awake already? What a weak spell.”

Your body stilled. “Chan…?”

“Just another minute,” he promised and reached into his backpack down by his feet. He withdrew a slim paring knife he had brought with him from his apartment. “This'll all be over soon.”

His eyes scanned over the lines of directions. Without looking back at you, he said, “I also wouldn't do that if I were you.”

You froze with your fingertips centimeters away from the edge of the summoning circle. If your nail had so much as crossed the line, your body would have been rendered paralyzed. It wasn't a pleasant feeling—Chan knew from experience—but it was a necessary evil.

“What are you doing to me? What is all this?” you queried, your voice as small as a mouse's.

He could feel your eyes go to the paring knife in his grip, and the thought occurred to him that it was troubling you. Chan turned around then with a reassuring smile, only to be met by your eyes, so round with fear. Oh. “Yn, this is for your own good,” he crooned sweetly with all the boyishness that you were used to. “I'm just doing you a favor. I know demon bonds are really hard to get rid of. They're nasty things, but I have a way to do it with minimal damage.”

You eyed him warily from your side of the line. “You mean a soul bond?”

Chan barked out a laugh. “Is that what he called it? Fucking disgusting,” he spat. Every molecule in his body boiled with anger—for you, of course. How dare Changmin fool you into some romantic vision of such a treacherous, vile thing? “I don't expect you to understand right now, especially if he's gotten into your head, but I'm going to help you.”

“Help me? I don't need any help—”

“You’ll thank me later,” he interjected with a click of his tongue. He nodded his head toward you. “Now hold out your hand. I just need a little bit of blood, and we'll be done.”

You scrambled backward on your hands. “What? No.”

Annoyance twitched in his jaw, but his chest twisted with something heavier. You were so far gone… if he didn't act now, it would be too late. “I'll come in there myself if I have to,” he replied and rose to his feet.

Wild, unbridled fear flashed across your face as your head swiveled around. You were trapped between a knife and the circle bounds, prey meeting predator.

Chan stepped into the summoning circle, brimming with determination. The spell's incantation swam fresh in the forefront of his mind, locked and loaded upon his tongue for the proper moment. His thumb ran over the flat side of the blade and he stalked over the chalk markings. “I only need a little,” he reassured you.

“Don't do this,” you sputtered, “please! You don't have to break the bond.”

Your words only spurred him on. Chan lunged for your ankle, and you rolled out of the way, the crown of your head narrowly missing the edge of the circle. It was to your slight advantage that he had drawn the thing so fucking large, but it only gave the lion more room to play with his food.

Rich purple fractured across his irises and you could no longer dismiss it as just a trick of the light. Stupid. You had been so fucking stupid.

He pounced again. The breath flew out of your lungs as you hit the ground, your hand grasping his knife wrist where it was poised above your cheek. Your entire body shook as you held him back. “Stop,” you cried. “Why are you doing this? Chan, we're friends.”

“That's exactly why,” he grunted and used his body weight and gravity to inch the blade down further.

Pure adrenaline was all that kept your limbs from failing. Sweat collected between the grooves of your palms and fingers, your heart racing at two hundred beats a second. Every ounce of energy went toward survival. “I don't” —you heaved at his wrist to get it to move away— “understand.”

Chan squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Tears had welled up in the linings, trickling down onto your face. Agony contorted his own, flushed, as he exerted every exhausted bone in his body. He'd used so much of his energy lately. “I can't have you end up like me,” he said through gritted teeth. “And if I can't save noona, I can still save you.”

He slammed the knife down.

Your head jerked out of the way, just as the tip of the blade crunched into the wood floor.

Before you could tumble out of the way, he snatched the front of your throat with his free hand and pinned you in place. Your hands whipped up to your neck, desperately clawing at his fingers and knuckles, your airways narrowing. Blood from his hand trickled down from your angry marks, a river of red flowing to stain your own skin.

“Please,” you choked out.

He didn't listen. You felt the bite of steel; blood, hot and thick, bubbled out of the cut and dripped down the side of your face onto the floor like a tear.

Chan kept his hand around your throat. His eyes, drowning in his own sorrow, never left your face. You once knew his eyes, but the purple that corrupted them struck you with fear. “Utimana catenia ab eterno effodiant sycut sol ad auroramae. Abi, daemon. Abi, daemon!”

You never thought you'd ever feel that same searing pain from the hospital ever again, but this was much worse. A guttural scream tore out of your throat with more wind than volume. Someone had dug their way into your body and was ripping their way out. They buried their fingernails and were shredding your muscle, cracking your bones apart, and they wouldn't stop until they saw the cold light of day.

The physical sensation—it was no clean slice. When a rope was pulled under strain, every fiber unwound until it snapped. You couldn't breathe. Every fiber of your being, physical and metaphysical, clung onto the soul on the other end of the line.

The rope splintered. Only then did you lay still.

Air once again flooded into your lungs, but your chest ached and ached and ached. Your throat burned from your crying. Your head hit the ground beneath you and you pawed at your sternum. The negative space was so damn loud. He wasn't there—he wasn't there—

“Yn?” A shaky voice, small and childlike. Chan's face appeared above in your line of sight with worry written stark over his face. “He's gone now.”

He's gone now. A cough boiled up in your throat, and you turned your head to hack up the residual blood. It was as if something truly had broken in your body. An entire piece of you was missing.

When you remained silent, Chan dragged himself up to his feet. “You’ll be grateful one day, you know? I'll clean this up and leave you be—”

You didn't have the heart or strength to lift your head, but you heard what happened next.

Chan's breath caught, followed by sounds of growling protest. There was a foreign voice or two over by the doorway. Take him to the Third Circle. We'll deal with him later.

The heart in your chest, its beats weak, stuttered into a pitiful skip as if it could sense the other half of it approaching. A face appeared in your view, his eyes wet and blood seeping from his nose. “Yn?” he rasped, wiping the blood with the back of his hand.

His blond hair hung in his eyes as you peered up at him. Your body relaxed in the presence of the one it yearned for most.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking, as he dipped his head to touch his forehead to yours. I'm so sorry I'm late, so sorry I let him hurt you. You could feel his body shake with silent cries. “I am so fucking sorry.”

“He said you were gone,” you managed to croak with your hoarse voice. Your nose and eyes stung with oncoming tears, and as soon as the dam broke, you could not reverse it.

“I'm right here,” he assured you. His arms wrapped around your body and pulled you up toward his chest.

“It hurts.” You pressed a hand to your chest where the gaping chasm now sat. You didn't know how deep your soul laid within, bruised and battered. “Are you okay?”

Changmin loosened a wet chuckle from his mouth, holding the side of your face tenderly. “I should be asking you that. I was so scared—Hell—” Loss was a unique feeling. It was strange because you were right here in his arms, but no amount of proximity soothed the visceral throbbing in his chest. He once was whole, one part loved and the other part loving. But what was done, was done: the goal you and Changmin originally had in mind was accomplished, but neither of you were sure that you wanted it anymore.

The two figures you didn't recognize approached the summoning circle. One was a boy who looked human enough, but with eyes that seemed too sharp. The other beside him was a woman with gray hair, styled to coiffed perfection as a bed for the pair of curled black horns jutting out from the crown of her head.

You struggled into an upright position and leaned back against Changmin. “And” —you cleared the congestion in your throat— “you are?”

“Kim Hongjoong,” said the former with a sad tilt to his smile. He gestured to the woman. “My colleague, Amari.”

“Prince of Hell and Magika Supreme,” Changmin muttered into your ear.

Your eyes went wide. “Should I bow?”

Hongjoong waved his hands in front of him. “No need. Are you feeling alright though? Soul bonds are… they aren't the easiest things to live without once you've had one.”

“You know what it feels like?”

“Definitely not,” he said sheepishly. “But I can guess. Changmin collapsed when he felt his end was devastated. I, uhm, imagine that your experience was similar.” The prince lowered himself into a crouch to be eye level with the two of you. “Your friend—the one who did this to you.”

Your throat squeezed tight with the phantom of his hand around it. “Chan?” you stammered. “What's happened to him?”

“We've taken him into custody,” the Magika Supreme replied with a low voice and perfect posture. “Did you know that he had a copy of the Book of the Diabolical?”

There was that title again. You shook your head, but pointed in the direction of your desk. “That thing? I didn't know what it was until now. He—he had it when I was at the hospital with him yesterday.”

“Do you know how long he's had it in his possession?”

You were about to answer, when Changmin cut in. “With all due respect,” he swallowed, “Yn deserves her rest, not an interrogation.”

Hongjoong exchanged glances with Amari, then nodded and rose to his feet. “Fair enough. We'll help you clean up and be on our way—”

“Wait.” You didn't expect them to listen to you. “I need to know what happened. I don't—I still don't understand.” When had everything gone wrong for your friend? In your mind's eye, you could picture the canyon that spanned yours and Chan's relationship, the tattered bridge hanging listlessly over the gorge. You could not banish his words from your head: I can't let you end up like me. And if I can't save noona, I can still save you.

Hongjoong pressed his lips together. “Your friend has been using that book of curses for a very long time to steal energy and transfer it to his sister. Recently, your Changmin and many others fell victim to one of them.”

Your hand fell over where Changmin's rested across your middle. Could he feel the guilt sloshing in the pit of your stomach like turbulent waves?

“We believe he targeted demons specifically because of a deal he made with a demon in his past.” A shadow fell over the prince's face, and you read the grave sadness embedded there. “He must have held a grudge against our kind since that rotten deal.”

It made sense. As much as it caused bile to creep up your throat, the pieces were slipping into place. The pure, venomous loathing he directed toward Changmin and the soul bond—if he had experienced a demonic bargain before, he would not only be aware of the existence of the supernatural, but the nature of such soul-binding deals.

Chan had done it for Chaeyoung—that conclusion wrung you through the deepest pits of Hell and destroyed you. He'd done it to save her life, but it hadn't been enough.

“What's going to happen to her?” The bloody tissues and crude scratches of her coughing crushed into your mind. “She didn't ask for any of this.” They said she's getting worse.

The Magika Supreme was the one who answered. “The energy Lee Chan stole and imbued her with was corrupted, which is unfortunately why Miss Lee's condition is worsening.”

An idea manifested in your head and you shifted to sit up out of Changmin's hold. “Then can you—”

“Yn,” Changmin lamented, predicting where your mind had wandered.

“—save her? Could you save her? Is there any way?” Someone titled with Magika Supreme must have the power or authority to achieve something like this. Chan's love for his sister fundamentally fueled all of his actions. Every malicious deed he pulled, every incantation he uttered, had been with the intent to save Chaeyoung from a fate she could not control. You wished his desperation hadn't shoved him over the edge; you wished he never had reason to get to such a point.

Amari paused, but not because she was uncertain of the possibility. She passed a glance to her prince, then to Changmin, before returning to you. “Of course, there is always a way, but it would require something in return.”

“Name it.”

Changmin grappled onto your arm. “Yn, you're walking into another soul bond. Please, just think about this first,” he implored, forcing you to look him in his wide eyes, dark and entreating.

It was reckless, you knew, but Chaeyoung was dying. Her brother tried all his life to lead her from a fate she couldn't control, but it only doomed her more. Were you simply continuing the cycle or could you do something good for her?

“The difference between your friend's magic—” you and Changmin's attention flitted over to Hongjoong, “—and the Magika Supreme's is that the latter won't be using corrupt magic to steal corrupted energy.” Hongjoong's smile was something warm and reassuring. What an effortless prince he made. “Whatever healing magic she'll use will work without crippling Chaeyoung's health more. Though, I can't promise about side effects; nature is a difficult divinity to fight against.”

Right. You blindly curled your fingers with Changmin's and the touch eased the throbbing in your chest. “What would you ask for in return?”

“You would be called to testify against Chan in our court,” Hongjoong stated, but not unkindly. “Take your time to think about it. I'm sure Changmin has my number.”

In the blink of an eye, Hongjoong and Amari were before you one second, then gone without a trace. A light gust of wind brushed past your face as the only evidence of magic being used. Beneath you, your floors were rid of the summoning circle and candles; and the Book of the Diabolical had disappeared from your table.

You and Changmin took your time returning your room to its former state. Your roommates outside in the main living space had all woken up from their forced slumber, their minds blank of the events leading up to Chan's ambush.

The emptiness in your chest left none to be desired. You sat in bed with your head against Changmin's shoulder, his hand playing with yours while your other rubbed your chest absentmindedly. No matter how much pressure you put, the chasm remained. Staying close to Changmin though remained second nature.

“What're you thinking about?” he murmured into your hair.

You tilted your nose up to graze his pulse. “How I'm going to tell Chaeyoung about this. She deserves to know what happened to Chan, at least.”

Changmin gave a slow nod. “I agree.”

Your eyes flickered up to his. “You're okay with me telling her? I can leave you out of it.”

“No, that's okay. She doesn't really know me,” he chuckled, that dimple impressing into his cheek. His smile widened as you leaned over and pressed your lips to it. “Are you feeling alright though? After everything?”

There wasn't much you could express with your words at the moment. How did one describe the loss of a friend? And how did one string together the words to tell someone that they loved them, that they were both the remedy and reason for the pounding of your heart? You did not know either for the time being. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

“What? The hole in your soul?” He pressed his palm flat against the center of his chest to feel the distant beat of his heart, slow, solid, and steady.

“That, and not being able to possess you.”

Changmin squawked in indignation. “And you say I'm the creep?”

“You literally still are!”

Both yours and Changmin's laughter lit up the dark, one spurring on the other. Though, if the shadows truly claimed him, then he was the night to your day; the other half for your whole; the one. Even if this entanglement began as an accident, all of the love you held for him was fully intentional. You would keep it safe in your chest, where he would always belong.

[the cast of incantations will return... maybe?]

a/n: IMPORTANT!!! i would like to write a follow-up/sequel to not only continue the plotline, but to also get a chance to better explore minor character dynamics, subplots with loose ends, and the literal fallout of these events because leaving it here is VERY unsatisfying. it would fulfill my creative needs esp since this was written under an extreme time constraint, but i also won't feel inclined to unless u reblog TT so pls. reblog and lmk what u thought ! thank u so much for reading :')

[farter-imperator]

Thinking about chronically ill Dew, and the first time Aurora and Phantom meet him, he's in a coma.

He had been doing so well with his recovery, and then almost overnight, he'd gone into a downwards spiral, and the decision had been made to put him into a quintessence-induced coma, to give his body time to rest and heal.

Aurora and Phantom were summoned after that point. They always found it weird how they never had a lead guitarist in their band practices.

Eventually, they were invited to see Dew, when the pack couldn't change the subject any more.

Dew's infirmary room was so plain, so sterile. He looks too small for his bed. A tube down his throat, an IV in his arm, sticky pads on his chest hooked up to a heart monitor. The only sound in the room was his raspy, assisted breathing, and the slow beep of the monitor.

In fairness, the pack should have explained what a coma was to Phantom and Aurora before taking them to visit Dew.

Phantom thought Dew was gonna wake like he'd just been napping. "Is... Is anyone gonna wake him up, or are we just gonna watch him sleep?"

Aurora, on the other hand, was Uncomfortable. While the other ghouls had gathered around the bed, she'd stayed back by the door. Just stared at Dew from a distance. She didn't like the noises and smells and feeling in the room, and the tube in Dew's open mouth, down his throat, was plain scary to her.

Cumulus ended up going back to Aurora, to keep her company. Pressed a kiss to the top of her head, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gave Aurora a squeeze.

"Is he hurting?" Aurora had whispered, barely a squeak. "It looks like it would hurt..."

"He's alright, Rory." Aether said, in his most doctorly voice. "He can't feel any of this. He's just sleeping, having nice dreams. He's probably dreaming about being on stage right now."

Aurora didn't know whether to believe Aether, or if he was just saying it to put her mind at ease.

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Better Off

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You're not the person they fell in love with. Warnings: Grief over disability and chronic illness, self-worth issues, angst with some comfort, fem!reader

The apartment feels hollow, its four walls a constant reminder that you are not alone, yet the echo of your thoughts suggests otherwise. It is a peculiar sort of loneliness—one that gnaws at the edge of your consciousness even as you share this space with three others.

A glance around the room tells the story of their presence: the crimson and gold of James's Gryffindor scarf casually tossed over the back of a chair, Remus's books arranged neatly on the shelf, their spines creased from frequent use, and Sirius's leather jacket thrown haphazardly over the arm of the sofa, a silent testimony to his reckless nature. Yet, for all their silent company, you feel disconnected, as if trapped within a body that refuses to obey the simplest commands.

You lay there on the couch, where most of your days now begin and end, the sun streaming weakly through the cracks in the curtains. The pain is a constant companion, a tide that ebbs and flows but never truly recedes. Each wave leaves you gasping, your body exhausted from the struggle to merely exist.

You sense their concern in the way they move, in the glances they think you don't see. The helplessness is there too, palpable in the air between you and them when James's hand hovers over yours, his fingers brushing lightly against your knuckles as if to remind you of warmth, of life. Sirius's thumb traces a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle yet hesitant, like he's afraid you'll shatter under the weight of his worry. Remus stands by the door, his presence both grounding and distant, caught between the instinct to give you space and the desire to pull you into an embrace that might just break with its intensity.

Their efforts are not lost on you, nor is the love that fuels them. But love alone cannot bridge the chasm that grief has carved within you.

On some days, the hopelessness is so heavy it nearly suffocates you, pressing down on your chest until each breath is a struggle. You can't shake the thought that maybe they'd be better without you dragging them down, without the constant reminder of a loss they didn't experience firsthand. Guilt gnaws at your edges, eroding what little strength you have left.

You see the weariness in their eyes even as they try to hide it behind smiles that don't quite reach their eyes. James's grin always widens the most when he's hurting; you've noticed that much. Sirius plays the part of the unaffected rogue well, but his hands shake ever so slightly when he thinks you're not looking. And Remus... Remus is the hardest to read, his calm exterior a mask that betrays nothing except the hint of fear lurking in his gaze—fear not for himself, but for you.

You know the truth: there will be no recovery for you. Your affliction is not some temporary inconvenience that can be vanquished with enough determination and sweat. It's not like the battles they've fought and won. Instead, it's a war you lose every day, over and over again, each surrender a little more final than the last.

You sometimes wonder if, in their moments of quiet, they feel frustrated with you. If they miss the version of you that could run alongside them without faltering, stay awake into the late hours sharing stories and laughter, plan for a future that seemed as boundless as the sky itself. The you that was so full of life.

The thought gnaws at you, a constant companion to your physical pain.

The front door opens and closes with a soft click, the sound as familiar as your own heartbeat. You don't need to look up to know who it is; James's presence fills the room instantly, his energy warm and comforting even from a distance. His hair is tousled from a day at work, glasses sitting askew on his nose, but his smile is genuine as he spots you curled up on the couch.

"Hey sweetheart," he greets, dropping his bag by the door and crossing the room in a few long strides. He kneels beside you, one hand cradling your face as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. The contact sends a thrill of warmth through you, anchoring you in the moment. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," you respond automatically, the lie slipping from your lips before you can think better of it. The truth is too heavy, too raw to voice aloud. You've tried before—on days when your body feels like an anchor, pulling you down into depths you never wanted to explore—but the worry that flashes across James's face is worse than any physical pain.

His thumb brushes softly against your cheek, a silent reassurance. You know he doesn't believe you, not fully, but he doesn't press for more. Instead, he simply nods, accepting your words for what they are: a shield, however thin, between the two of you and the reality of your condition.

"Alright," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. Despite the casual tone, there's a steadfast determination behind it—a promise wrapped in two syllables. "Just let me know if you need anything."

You nod, and he moves back towards the kitchen, his retreat masked by the excuse of preparing dinner. But you watch him, see the way his shoulders slump ever so slightly when he thinks you can't see, the tremor in his hands as they busy themselves with the mundane task of cooking.

There it is again—that gnawing guilt, the insidious whisper that you're a burden, an imposition. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady the erratic beat of your heart against the tightness in your chest.

The sound of the front door slamming announces Sirius's arrival, his presence as commanding as the robust gust of wind that follows him in. "Prongs! What are we havin'?" he calls out, his voice echoing through the quiet house like a clap of thunder. James mutters something about pasta, but his response is lost in the shuffle of pots and pans.

Sirius spots you on the couch, his boots heavy against the wooden floor as he crosses the room. His face breaks into a grin, wide and untroubled, but it softens when his eyes meet yours. The transformation is subtle, meant only for you. "Hey, beautiful," he murmurs, sinking onto the sofa next to you. His arm drapes around your shoulders, pulling you into the warmth of his side. "I've missed you."

You smile and lean into him because it's easier than moving away. He smells like cigarettes and leather, a scent so intrinsically Sirius that it tugs at something deep within you. It's comforting in its familiarity, yet it also serves as a cruel reminder of all the things that once were. The impromptu road trips on his motorbike, the reckless adventures that always ended with Sirius laughing, his hair wild from the wind. You miss those times. You miss you.

Remus is the last to arrive, his presence as quiet as a whisper. His greeting is soft, carrying a hint of relief when his eyes find you nestled between Sirius and the couch cushions. You are here, but not quite present, a shadow lingering on the edges of their world.

"Hello, love," he murmurs, crossing the room with a grace that belies the weariness in his bones. He bends down to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips cool against your skin. Then he settles on the floor, leaning back against the couch, close enough for his hand to rest lightly on your calf.

The four of you stay like that for some time, the only sounds those of dinner preparations drifting from the kitchen. Sirius's arm remains steady around your shoulders, a constant reminder of the warmth that exists even in the darkest corners. Beside you, Remus's breathing is a gentle rhythm, another anchor grounding you to this moment.

For a second, you allow yourself to believe that this could be enough—that you could stay here forever, wrapped in the love they offer so freely. But reality is a harsh mistress, and the truth returns like a low, persistent ache.

Eventually, the pasta is served and the boys fall into easy conversation around you. You try to focus on their words, to anchor yourself in the reality of this moment, but it's like trying to grasp at smoke—everything is blurry and distant, their voices echoing as if from the end of a long tunnel.

Your fork moves listlessly through your food, pushing it around rather than eating. It's not that you're not hungry—you are, deep down—but the effort to lift the fork to your mouth, to chew and swallow, seems insurmountable. You can feel the weight of their gazes, even when they pretend otherwise, watching you with concern etched into their young faces.

A hint of your usual spirit surfaces as Sirius tries to coax a smile from you with a jest about James's insatiable appetite. But his laughter falls flat, swallowed by the thick tension that hangs in the air. He looks at you, his grey eyes clouded with confusion that quickly morphs into concern.

James's thumb traces reassuring circles on the back of your hand, hidden beneath the tablecloth's heavy drape. It's a silent promise—a vow—that he's there, and he isn't leaving. You want to draw strength from it, but all you feel is the hollow echo of exhaustion.

Across the table, Remus watches, his gaze cautious and unreadable. He doesn't say anything, but you can almost sense the weight of his thoughts pressing against your skin, making you itch to retreat further into yourself. His sympathy feels like a cloak too heavy to bear.

"I... I think I need to lie down," you mumble, pushing away from the table. No one stops you, no hands reach out to pull you back. They never do. You know they're trying to give you space, to respect the boundaries you've set in place, but part of you wishes they wouldn't. That they'd tell you it's okay to not be okay. Yet it's unfair to expect them to understand when you barely comprehend it yourself.

Once you’re alone, you finally release the breath you've been holding, your shoulders slumping as the tension leaves your body. The room feels smaller somehow, the walls closing in around you as the reality of your situation sinks in. The darkness is a shroud, wrapping itself around you, but it offers no comfort.

You crawl into bed, pulling the covers over yourself as if they can shield you from the world outside. Your body aches, each twinge a reminder of the battle you've fought—and lost. And yet, the physical pain is nothing compared to the torment in your mind.

There's a creak as the door opens once more, and you know without looking that it's Remus. His presence is like a balm, soothing yet heart-wrenching in its familiarity. He doesn't speak, just slips under the covers beside you. His arms encircle you, drawing you close against his chest. Your body fits against his as if moulded for this very purpose—to find solace in the midst of despair.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to the only anchor in this storm. Tears prick at your eyes, unwanted but inevitable. They fall silently, darkening the material beneath your cheek. Remus' hand moves in slow circles on your back, a wordless promise that he's here, that he won't leave.

"It's okay," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble of comfort against your ear. "We're here for you. We always will be."

You want to believe him, to let his words wrap around you like a protective shield. But some days, faith feels as elusive as the wind, slipping through your fingers just when you need it most.

The mattress dips once more, and you sense rather than see Sirius’s lean form stretching out alongside Remus. His scent—a familiar mix of parchment and the faint traces of a woodsy cologne—drifts over to you, offering another layer of security. He reaches across Remus to brush your hair back from your face, his fingers warm and steady against your chilled skin.

"Hey," Sirius murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying the strength of an unyielding vow. "We've got you."

You try to focus on his face, but it's like trying to grasp smoke; it slips through your consciousness, leaving you with an impression of earnestness etched in grey eyes and a firm set jaw.

You feel that same warmth seeping into your bones, the cold fear that has held your heart in its icy grip beginning to thaw under their relentless care. Your eyes flicker shut, the world blurring into soft shapes and muted colors as you let yourself sink further into the bed, the lines between wakefulness and sleep blurring.

The mattress dips and shifts once more as James moves to your side, his chest pressing against your back. His arms encircle you and Remus, creating a cocoon of warmth and familiarity that wards off the chill of fear gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. The pressure from their bodies is a tangible reminder of their presence, a silent promise that they will not let you face this alone.

James' lips brush the top of your head, a feather-light kiss that stirs the loose strands of your hair. His breath is warm, a whisper of life against your chilled skin.

"We're here," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through your bones. "We'll face whatever comes together."

A sigh escapes your lips, barely audible. It's a relief you hadn't known you needed, the exhale of burdens held for too long. The tension in your muscles begins to ease as warmth envelops you. James' breathing is a steady rhythm against your back, his chest rising and falling with a comforting predictability. His arms tighten just so around you—a reaffirmation of his presence, his promise to keep you safe.

To your front, Remus is an anchor. His heartbeat, slow and constant, thrums through the fabric of his jumper against your cheek. Every inhale brings the faint scent of parchment and something uniquely him—a calm in the midst of storms.

And behind them both, Sirius watches over you all, the strength of his arm draped over Remus' waist a silent vow to protect. His fingers play a gentle melody on Remus' hip—once, twice, thrice—a quiet reminder that he, too, is here. That you are surrounded by love, even when darkness threatens to consume.

You focus on their breaths, let it become your lullaby. Each exhale chases away a sliver of fear, each rise and fall of their chests against you a balm for the uncertainties that gnaw at the edges of consciousness. They are with you, in this moment and every one that follows, and the weight of that knowledge is both humbling and empowering.

Tomorrow, you promise yourself, you will find the strength to keep going. But tonight, wrapped in the warmth of their love, you just sleep

[mythicalmaven]

Beyond Boundaries - Oscar Piastri (PART TWELVE)

I'm sorry in advance for the angst, i promise you, they'll be fine lol! Next chapter will be very angsty as well (which ill post later tonight), but I promise you that after the next one, it will get better! <3 Just trust me lol

Sorry btw for the long update wait, I fell ill sadly. Just got a bit better, so immediately took the chance to update lol. Upcoming Thursday I'm getting surgery for a chronic illness I have, so i've written a few chapters in advance to give you some updates. Would you want me to upload them asap? or prefer it to be spread out more?

Masterlist ↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!norris!reader ↳word count: 3.2K ↳chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, ↳chapter warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, kissing, talking about feelings, angst

↳series summary: Since Oscar joined McLaren as your brother’s teammate, you two have quickly become best friends. Recently promoted to be Oscar’s physiotherapist, you both relish the opportunity to spend more time together. However, as the new role brings you closer, you both realize you might be feeling more a little more for each other than just friendship

It was the morning of the Japanese Grand Prix, when you stood by the window of your hotel room, bathed in the soft glow of the rising sun, when the faint sound of a rattling door handle reached your ears. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, knowing there was only one person it could be.

When you had checked in, you’d handed Oscar the spare keycard, giving him the freedom to visit whenever he wanted. It had become second nature, the quiet understanding between you two—no need for formalities.

As you continued to gaze out at the horizon, you felt a familiar warmth as two arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you into a gentle embrace. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, and you heard his soft voice, warm like a summer breeze. "Hi," he whispered, the sound sending a ripple of comfort through you.

You leaned into his touch, feeling your heartbeat quicken, but in the best way. "Hello to you too," you whispered back, your voice almost lost in the quiet of the moment.

The scent of his cologne, something undeniably him, drifted over you as he shifted slightly, his lips brushing softly against your cheek. "I missed you today," he murmured, his breath warm on your skin, the tenderness in his voice making your chest tighten.

Turning slowly in his arms, you faced him, your eyes catching his as you looked up through your lashes, teasing a bit. "Oh? Did you now?" you replied, your hands moving to circle his waist, fingers idly tracing delicate patterns on the fabric of his shirt.

"Yeah," he breathed softly, as though the admission was a weight he carried all day, now finally let go. His hand moved gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear with such care it made your heart flutter. His eyes flickered to your lips, lingering for a moment before lifting back to meet your gaze. There was a silent question in his eyes, one you had both answered many times before, but today, it felt different. Slowly, so slowly, he leaned down, and the world seemed to still.

His lips brushed against yours, feather-light at first, as if he was testing the waters, savoring the moment before fully sinking into it. The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, but filled with such tenderness that you felt your whole body tingle with warmth. He kissed you like he was rediscovering something he’d been longing for all day.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, your senses filled with nothing but him—the soft press of his lips, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his thumb gently caressed your jawline as he cradled your face in his hand. Every nerve in your body came alive, responding to the gentle way he moved against you, slow and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to cherish this moment.

You melted into him, one of your hands slipping up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. The kiss deepened ever so gradually, the gentleness of it leaving you breathless. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t filled with the electric tension of your earlier kisses—those had been urgent, as though you were afraid the moment might slip away. But this… this was different.

Oscar kissed you like you were precious, like he wanted to memorize every second. His lips moved against yours with a softness that made your heart ache in the best way. When his tongue finally brushed yours, it was slow, careful, an exploration rather than a demand, sending a wave of warmth flooding through you. The butterflies in your stomach turned into something more—a heady rush that made your knees feel weak. The kiss was languid, unhurried, each movement filled with an intimacy that spoke volumes, as if you were the only two people in the world.

When you finally pulled away, the air between you crackled with the quiet intensity of what had just passed. Oscar’s forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with your own, both of you a little dazed by the experience.

He blinked, as if coming back to reality, and a small, breathless laugh escaped his lips. "Wow," he murmured, his eyes soft and filled with something that made your heart skip a beat.

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth in your cheeks. "Yeah… wow indeed."

The moment stretched between you, neither of you in a rush to let it slip away, both basking in the afterglow of the kiss, hearts pounding, completely in sync.

Oscar absentmindedly twirled a lock of your hair around his finger as he spoke up, his voice still hoarse from your earlier kiss. "Since I can’t really take you out on a proper date… I was thinking we could maybe order room service tonight after the race," he suggested, his tone soft and tentative. "And, maybe watch a movie together? If you’re up for that?"

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth spreading through you at the thought. The smile that had been playing on your lips since the kiss only deepened. "That sounds perfect," you replied, your voice light but filled with affection.

Oscar smiled, leaning in to give you a soft, chaste kiss before pulling back. "We’ve got to head out in about 30 minutes, by the way. Lando’s meeting us in the lobby," he added, his eyes twinkling as he mentioned your brother.

"Right, sounds good," you responded, but hearing Lando’s name tugged at something in the back of your mind—something you still needed to tell Oscar. Taking a deep breath, you began, "Speaking of Lando…"

Oscar raised an eyebrow, settling himself on the edge of the bed as he looked at you curiously. "Hmm?"

You shifted slightly, scratching the back of your neck, feeling a flicker of nerves. "Well… Lando knows. About us, I mean. That we’re, you know… trying to give this a shot."

Oscar's expression softened immediately, and he reached out, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your skin. "Okay," he said simply, his voice calm, encouraging you to continue.

You exhaled slowly, glad for the comfort of his touch. "We were having dinner yesterday, and you know how brothers can be. He just… knew I was hiding something. I didn’t want to lie to him, so I told him—about how I feel about you, and how we’re figuring things out, no labels or anything."

Oscar’s grip on your hand tightened, but it wasn’t in discomfort—it was reassurance. "It’s okay," he whispered, his voice so gentle it made the tension drain from your body.

You glanced down at your intertwined hands, the weight of his acceptance making you feel lighter. "You’re sure you don’t mind him knowing?" you asked cautiously, meeting his eyes again. "I know we agreed to keep things private, and I didn’t want to disappoint you…"

Before you could finish, Oscar gently pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping securely around you. "Of course I don’t mind," he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. "Honestly? If it were up to me, I would’ve called you my girlfriend already."

A soft sigh escaped you, the complexity of it all pressing down again. "It’s just… complicated, Osc," you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder.

He pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. "I know you feel that way," he replied, his free hand coming to rest on your thigh, his thumb stroking you with the same tenderness as before. "And that’s okay. I’ll wait for you—for as long as you need. Even if it takes years."

A single tear slipped down your cheek, the weight of his patience and love overwhelming you. "I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

Oscar’s thumb gently wiped the tear from your face, his smile soft but unwavering. "Don’t be sorry, love," he said, his forehead coming to rest against yours, the warmth of his presence grounding you. "You’re here, with me, and that’s all that matters. Label or no label."

The sincerity in his words melted any remaining doubt, the comfort of his arms around you making you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

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You made your way from to paddock to the garage as you saw Oscar's call pulling into the pit lane, making his way to his designated garage. Normally you looked forward to this moment, Oscar climbing out the car and having your little post race debrief.

This time it was different, it was time for the plan that was made. You leaned with your back against one of the walls near the entrance of the garage, looking at what was unfolding in front of your eyes. Ava was standing in the garage, close to Oscar's car, taking the headphones of her ears, fixing her way too beautiful hair.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, your brother Lando. When you turned around you saw him looking at you with a caring look on his face "You sure you want to see this?" he whispered, low enough that only you would be able to hear.

You swallowed, hard. You shook your head "No, but I don't really have a choice, do I?" you replied, sighing softly "I'm always here after the race, it would be a bit unusual if I'm suddenly not there"

Lando agreed wordlessly with you, squeezing your shoulder "You struggling more with this plan every day, aren't you?"

You nodded, your hands fiddling with the hem of your McLaren team shirt "Yeah, but I'll be fine. I'll get over it"

Lando tried to keep talking to you, tried to keep you distracted so you wouldn't see the whole happening, the stupid media plan, but he saw the ways your eyes shifted to Oscar as he climbed out of the car, taking of his helmet. Lando noticed how you were watching Oscar making his way over to Ava, gently grabbing her hand, squeezing it softly. Purposefully making it seem as if he was trying to avoid the camera, while he made sure the cameras were pointed at him.

Ava send Oscar a smile, she looked genuinely taken away by how good Oscar looked getting out the car. Everything in you hoped it was just proving how good of an actress she was, but somewhere in you you were scared. She was pretty, in your opinion way prettier than you.

Your breath got stuck in your throat, a pang of jealousy stinging in your heart as you saw Oscar leaning down a little, pressing his lips to Ava's cheek, before moving his lips to her ear, clearly whispering something in her ear, something you couldn't decipher.

You felt yourself drowning in feelings you couldn't explain. You felt hurt, even though you knew this was totally planned & not Oscar's choice. It wasn't much, nothing more than a kiss on his cheek, but you wanted it to be you.

You wanted to be the one in his arms after the races, and not just being his behind closed doors. That's when you realized, you wanted to be his, and not in the way you were now. You wanted to be his girlfriend, something you could ethically never be.

You felts tears pricking in the corner or your eyes, as you turned on your heels "I-I can't do this" you stuttered to your brother, trying to rush off.

Lando grabbed your arm "Y/n.. don't go.. I want to be there for you, but you know I can't leave now" he uttered.

You knew he couldn't leave, since he still had some obligations he had to do, so you definitely didn't blame him in any way, but you just couldn't stay here any longer.

"It's fine, Lan. I-I.. I just gotta get out of here"

With those words you rushed out of the garage, making your way to somewhere quiet, leaving Lando dumbfounded in the garage, watching as Oscar made his way over to him.

Oscar looked in the direction you were walking, his eyes shifting back to Landon "Where is she going?" he asked, his voice a little timid.

"She had to.." Lando started, trying to come up with a lame excuse, not wanting to snitch on his own sister "meet up with someone from the medical team, something unexpected came up"

Oscar was a bit skeptical, but seemed to buy it. He wanted to speak up, asking Lando when she'd come back, but was cut off by the feelings of a hand grabbing his upper arm, specifically Ava's hand.

"Hey" Ava greeted to Lando.

"Hi" Lando spoke, a bit stoic. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It wasn't as if he disliked Ava as a person, after all, she was just doing what was told, but he just didn't like to see his sister this way.

She looked up as Oscar, giving him a small side hug, so she could whisper something "I think that was enough for the camera's, I'll be in the hospitality when you need me"

"Y-Yeah.." Oscar whispered, awkwardly hugging her back "Sure, I'll see you later"

Lando shot Oscar a knowing look as Ava disappeared from their sight, leaving the boys alone again. Oscar threw his hands up in the air "Please, don't even say anything" he whined desperately.

Oscar sighed again "Did she see it?" he asked, carefully.

Lando nodded, pursing his lips together "Oh, yeah, she definitely did"

Oscar felt himself freeze. His chest tightening, his voice quivering "Honestly, I don't think I can do this". The whole PR thing, I hate it""

Lando sighed, resting against the wall "Then why did you agree?" he asked.

Oscar looked around him, making sure no one would be able to eaves drop on their conversation "I didn't want her career to get screwed over because I couldn't keep my feelings in check"

Lando took a step forwards, moving closer to Oscar's ear to make sure he could whisper his next words soft enough "I honestly think this is destroying her as a person more, than you two going public would destroy her career"

It had been that same day, that Oscar had decided he couldn't do this. He didn't want to and he was going to talk to Zak about it. Tell him that he was to socially awkward for this, that he didn't feel comfortable. He wanted to say that he could come up with a statement explaining what exactly had happened between the mystery woman and him when those pictures of the two of you had leaked.

Though it seemed that luck hadn't been on his side. Every time he even got close to talking about it, something else came in the way. If it wasn't Zak, it was someone from the media team. All in all it had been over two weeks and he still hadn't spoken to Zak about it.

It ate him up inside, but instead of talking about it, he did what he always did. Pushing it away. Pretending like it didn't bother him. Convincing himself that he could do this for you, to protect you. Because that was what it all seemed to be about for him, protecting you from the media.

Every time he had confronted you about it, asked if you were still okay with it, you had lied to him that you didn't struggle with it. Trying to convince both him and yourself that it did you nothing. Oscar could sense that you were lying, but didn't want to press too much.

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A few race weekends had passed since the whole PR stunt began, and you found yourself lounging on Daniel’s bed, playing video games with him. You and Daniel had always shared a close friendship—he was like a brother to you. Lately, since everything started with Lando and him, your bond with Daniel had only strengthened.

Today, as with so many days before, you’d turned to him for advice. Letting out a deep sigh, you shifted your gaze to the ceiling. “I think I might need to end things with Oscar.”

Daniel mirrored your sigh, understanding the weight of your words. “It’s getting to be too much, isn’t it?” he replied gently.

Your breath caught for a moment; he’d hit the nail on the head. You had spent weekend after weekend watching the guy you loved cozy up to someone else. You knew it was staged, but that didn’t make it any easier. It was taking a toll on your mental health.

“Yeah, something like that,” you muttered, fiddling with the controller in your hands. “I just don’t think I can keep this up much longer.”

“Why not?” he asked softly, careful not to press too hard, just enough to let you get it all out.

“Don’t get me wrong—I’m completely in love with him. That’s not the issue. It just hurts seeing him with someone else, even if it’s all for show. I know the whole thing will wrap up in a month, but it’s not like everything magically fixes itself after that,” you confessed, the words spilling out in a rush. “I’ve been sneaking around with Oscar for weeks, lying to everyone but you and Lando. The grid knows the PR relationship is fake, but they don’t know about me and Oscar. And even after the stunt is over, I’ll still have to hide everything. I can’t share photos, go on dates in public, or even hold his hand.”

Daniel’s expression softened as he listened, searching for the right words to comfort you, but nothing seemed quite enough.

You looked over at him, a tear forming in the corner of your eye, threatening to fall. Pressing your lips together, you tried to keep your composure. “It’s just… Oscar and I can’t ever be official. They wouldn’t have started this whole PR stunt if it were okay for us to be together. As much as I love my job, I regret taking it sometimes. If I’d chosen something else, maybe I wouldn’t be in such a difficult position.”

“If you hadn’t taken the job, you and Oscar might never have admitted your feelings in the first place,” Daniel pointed out gently, turning on his side to face you. “And they only started the PR thing because you two hooked up at that nightclub. It would’ve looked unprofessional if it was just a one-time thing. But it’s not; you love each other. Honestly, I don’t think anyone would be against you and Oscar being together. You two are practically made for each other.”

“I don’t know… it’s just so complicated, and there are so many ‘what ifs,’” you replied, more to convince yourself than anyone else. “Besides, we don’t even know if things would work out if we made it official. What if it all falls apart?”

“You need to talk to him,” Daniel urged. “Tell him how you feel about this. Don't give up on something magical. Don’t break things off just because it seems complicated. All paths lead to Rome, little Norris.”

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After your conversation with Daniel, you’d finally made up your mind. You were done hiding, done sneaking around in the shadows. You wanted to be with Oscar—fully, openly, without pretense. The decision had settled inside you with a reassuring certainty, and today was the day you’d tell him. The plan seemed clear: head to his driver’s room after qualifying, catch him before he left for the hotel, and let him know how you felt.

Heart pounding with nervous excitement, you navigated the bustling hallways, each step drawing you closer to Oscar. You could still hear the faint echoes of post-qualifying chatter and laughter from nearby rooms, mechanics and drivers cooling off from the adrenaline. Reaching Oscar’s door, you lifted your hand to knock—only to notice that the door was slightly ajar, just enough to offer a sliver of the room within.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned closer, peering through the narrow opening. There he was—Oscar, standing close to Ava, his hands resting gently on her hips. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. Your breath hitched, freezing you in place as the scene unfolded. For a moment, your mind scrambled, searching for any explanation. But as her lips pressed deeper against his and their kiss grew more intimate, the truth hit hard and fast.

You tried to look away, tried to step back, but it was like your feet were cemented to the floor, your heart dropping with every second that passed. Silent tears began to slip down your cheeks as you watched. Oscar still hadn’t noticed you—but Ava’s gaze flicked briefly in your direction, a glint of awareness in her eyes. She saw you there, knew you were watching, and her hand moved up to cradle the back of Oscar’s neck, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, almost as if she were putting on a show.

The shock held you captive for a moment longer, but the pain soon snapped you free. Stumbling back, you turned on your heel and hurried down the corridor, every step growing faster until you were practically running. The people passing by shot you curious glances, but you couldn’t care less. You just needed to get away, far from the image now seared into your mind.

Blinking back more tears, you found yourself searching for the one person who might understand. You spotted Lando in the paddock, looking relaxed as he chatted with a couple of engineers. Noticing your approach, his smile faded, concern flashing across his face.

You came to a stop in front of him, breathless and barely holding back the sob that threatened to spill. “Lando…” you choked out, struggling to keep your voice steady.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His expression turned serious, his voice gentle as he pulled you into a hug.

You swallowed hard, the words coming out in fragments, voice as soft as a whisper. “I thought… I thought he was mine, but… he was with her. I saw them… kissing.”

The realization dawned in Lando’s eyes as he pulled away from the hug, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You didn’t need to say much more; he understood. With a quiet nod, he guided you away from the bustling paddock, giving you the space to let the tears flow freely.

"I am going to kill the asshole.." he mumbled, the anger in his tone evident.

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Taglist @aceyalonso @saachiep81 @landosgirlxoxo @andruuu28 @il0vereadingstuff @silentreader128 @edixttor @sugakookie132

[moonsandmobilityaids-inactive]

The Connection Spell Part 2

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: Sirius and James experience your symptoms for a day Warnings: Chronic illness, referenced unhealthy eating habits Series Masterlist

You wake up to the faint light of dawn seeping through the gaps in the curtains, the room still heavy with sleep. James's arm is draped across your waist, his breathing slow and steady against your back. Sirius lies on your other side, his chest rising and falling rhythmically against your shoulder blade. And Remus—always the most restless sleeper—is a quiet presence on the edge of the bed.

The ache in your joints is a familiar torment, an unceasing reminder of the battle you wage day after day. But right now, it's just a dull throb—more nuisance than crippling pain—as you ease your body beneath the warmth of the quilt, reaching for the pill organizer on the nightstand.

Your fingers tremble slightly as they fumble with the daily compartments, finally prying open the one marked with today's day. The pills rattle against the plastic, a symphony of promised relief. You tip them into your palm, their smooth surfaces cool against your skin. Without hesitation, you pop them into your mouth, chasing them with a few sips of water from the glass that sits ever-present by your bed.

James stirs beside you, his hand tightening momentarily on your hip before relaxing again. He doesn't wake, but the subtle change speaks volumes. Even in sleep, he's attuned to your movements, aware of every wince or sharp intake of breath. There's comfort in that knowledge.

Sirius is the next to wake, his sharp eyes finding yours in the dim light. There's a determined set to his jaw, a silent promise that mirrors the one you've heard from him so many times over the past few days. He's ready for this—for whatever pain it might bring—if only to understand a fraction of what you endure.

"Morning," he murmurs, reaching for his wand where it rests on the bedside table.

His fingers brush against yours—a reassuring contact—and then he's sitting up, his back resting against the headboard as he readies himself.

James pulls himself upright beside you, his gaze tender but filled with the same stubborn resolve. You can see it there, flickering behind his eyes. The look they give each other across your shared bed speaks volumes. They're doing this because they love you—because they want to understand, even if it means stepping into the storm themselves.

Your relationship is unconventional by all standards—a bond between four souls rather than two—but the depth of their affection for you is unwavering, an anchor in the tumultuous sea of your life. This shared understanding, this willingness to walk through fire together—it's just another testament to the strength of your connection.

"Alright, let's do this," Sirius says, his voice a low rumble that fills the room. He exchanges a glance with James and then turns to you, meeting your gaze with unwavering intensity.

You know there's no changing their minds—not when they're like this, so determined to feel what you feel. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you resign yourself to their decision, knowing full well the pain they are about to willingly step into.

Remus watches from his perch on the edge of the bed, silent but attentive. His eyes never stray far from your face, reading each subtle shift in expression for cues on how you're feeling. It's a skill he's honed over years of shared experiences, and right now, it serves him well.

"Only if you're sure," you whisper, knowing that you can’t stop them.

You watch as they exchange a glance, their expressions mirroring the resolve that hardens your own features. This is it—the moment when the threads of empathy and understanding will be woven together in a tapestry of shared pain. It's a testament to the depth of your bond, this willingness to step into the storm that rages within you each day.

"Alright then," James murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple—a simple act that speaks volumes about the affectionate protector he has always been. "Here goes nothing."

With a flicker of uncertainty, Sirius leans over, forehead resting against yours. The contact sends a shiver down your spine, but not from cold. It's anticipation—an awareness of what's coming next—that makes your breath hitch in your chest. Your heart beats faster, matching the rhythm of an unspoken promise: In sickness and in health, for better or worse.

This isn't just another spell—it's a symbol of their commitment, a tangible bridge between understanding and experiencing. As the incantation leaves their lips, there's no turning back. The die has been cast, the decision made. Now, all that remains is to weather the storm together.

The four of you rise from the bed, your movements slow and deliberate as you navigate through the tangle of sheets toward the door. As always, James's hand lingers on the small of your back, a silent promise of support. Sirius is at your other side, his arm brushing against yours in a comforting rhythm that anchors you amidst the sea of uncertainty.

You make your way down to the Great Hall, each movement another reminder of what lies ahead. The hallways are filled with the usual morning chatter, but it all feels distant, muted by the gravity of what's about to happen.

James, Sirius, and Remus move around you like satellites orbiting a planet, their attention never straying far from your form. They're attuned to your every shift, every wince of discomfort—they see it all, even when you try to hide it behind a well-practiced smile. It's this level of care, this intuitive understanding of your needs, that has helped you survive so many difficult days.

But today is different. Today, they will not only witness your suffering—they will feel it too. For now, though, there’s no hint of what's to come. James and Sirius appear as they always do: strong, confident, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. But beneath their bravado, there’s an undercurrent of anticipation—a subtle tension that belies their casual demeanour.

They take their seats beside you, their hands automatically reaching for pieces of toast and cups of tea. Their movements are fluid, untroubled. But something changes within moments. There's a flicker of something across both their faces—a momentary tightening of the jaw, a slight narrowing of the eyes—that suggests the first tendrils of discomfort have begun to unfurl within them.

"Everything alright?" Remus asks from across the table, his gaze sharp despite the early hour.

James and Sirius share a look before turning back to him, their smiles just a touch forced. "Fine," James replies, reaching for the jam pot. His hand shakes slightly, but he manages to smear a dollop onto his toast without incident.

"Right as rain," Sirius adds, pouring himself a cup of tea. His voice is steady enough, but there's a stiffness to his shoulders that wasn't there moments ago.

Despite their assurances, you can see the truth etched in the lines of their faces, hear it in the faint tremor of their voices. This isn't just morning stiffness; it's the beginning of something much more pervasive. The realization settles over you like a heavy blanket, smothering any hopes you may have had about the effectiveness of the spell. You watch them closely, noting every minute change in their demeanours, every sign that the pain is setting in.

"Maybe we should head back to the common room after breakfast," you suggest, keeping your tone light despite the worry gnawing at your insides. You know their fingers feel tight, that their head hurts slightly, that their muscles throb and their joints ache.

James's fingers flex around his fork, the simple act of holding it now requiring more effort than usual. He glances at you from under thick lashes, a faint grimace pulling at the corners of his mouth. "We can do that," he agrees, though the strain in his voice belies any semblance of normalcy.

Sirius is quieter than usual, his playful energy dulled by this new and unwelcome sensation. He takes a sip of his tea, but the warmth does little to ease the tightening grip of discomfort coiling in his stomach. His grey eyes meet yours across the table, their depths clouded with something akin to regret—not for agreeing to share your pain, but perhaps for not understanding what that truly meant until now.

Remus watches them both, his brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of their sudden change in behaviour. His gaze flickers between James and Sirius before landing on you. There's no accusation there, just quiet concern wrapped in layers of empathy. After all, if anyone knows about concealing pain behind a brave front, it's Remus.

"I think that would be best," he concurs, pushing his plate away. Breakfast suddenly seems less appealing when those around you are battling unseen demons. The Great Hall continues to buzz with its usual morning chatter, oblivious to the silent struggle unfolding within your small group.

You reach out and place a hand over James's where it rests on the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You wish there were words to express how sorry you are, how much you appreciate their willingness to bear this burden with you even if you were against it—but language feels inadequate in the face of such profound sacrifice.

"Thank you," you whisper instead, hoping they understand the depth of gratitude carried in those two simple words.

The corner of James's mouth lifts in a wistful smile, and he turns his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. Beneath the table, he presses his knee against yours—a silent reassurance despite the tremors beginning to ripple through his frame.

"Always," he says, his voice barely audible above the clatter of dishes and hum of conversation. After a slow walk back to the common room, you lead them to your room. The four of you enter in silence, the weight of reality settling around you like a thick fog. It clings to everything it touches, muting colours and dulling edges until only the barest outlines remain.

"Merlin," James groans as he collapses onto your bed, his body sinking into the mattress with a soft thud. Sirius follows suit, sprawling out beside him with a sigh that morphs into a low growl as another wave of discomfort rolls through him.

You roll up to your bed, running your fingers over the worn cover of your charms textbook without really seeing it. Your focus is instead trained on the two boys sprawled across your bed—their faces drawn tight and bodies rigid with tension. You're used to this; most of this has been part of your life for so long that the constant ebb and flow of pain has become something akin to background noise. But watching them grapple with these sensations for the first time... it's a stark reminder of what you've learned to live with.

As the clock strikes ten, the familiar lightheadedness begins to descend upon you. It's nothing more than a soft whisper against your consciousness, easily brushed aside after years of practice. But the sharp intake of breath from the bed tells you that James and Sirius are experiencing it differently. The fact that they're not used to this sensation makes it hit harder, like a sledgehammer to the chest rather than the gentle tap you've come to expect.

A faint smile tugs at the corners of your mouth—not out of schadenfreude, but because of the bitter irony of the situation. "Welcome to my world," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. There's no satisfaction in seeing them suffer, no vindication or sense of justice served. Only empathy—for you know better than anyone what lies ahead.

James reaches out a shaky hand, reaching for you. He tugs your wheelchair towards him, and you transfer to the bed. His head finds its way to your chest, listening to the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat—an anchor amidst the storm raging within him. Wordlessly, you wrap your arms around him, holding him close as his body shudders with each new surge of pain.

Sirius moves too, drawing near until his side presses against yours. One arm snakes around your waist, holding fast even as his muscles spasm under the onslaught of foreign feelings. Every fibre of his being screams in protest, rejecting the cruel mimicry of your existence that he'd willingly embraced just hours before.

"Y/N," James's voice is a hoarse whisper, "how long does this... dizziness last?"

Sirius shifts beside you, his fingers digging into your side as he battles the invisible force pulling him under. His grey eyes meet yours, mirroring the question lingering in the air.

"It'll pass after my midday meds," you reply, your own voice growing fainter with each passing second. "But there's nothing else I can do, if I take them now, I’ll have four to five hours of dizziness in a row before bed, which is worse than four hours split in two."

James’s grip on you tightens momentarily before slackening, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. There's a silent plea in his hazel eyes—a yearning for relief that you know all too well—but he knows better than to ask. Sirius's jaw clenches, and he buries his face deeper into your shoulder, seeking solace amidst the storm. He doesn't speak, but his silence is loud enough to fill the room, echoing off the stone walls and amplifying the tension that hangs heavy between you three.

Beneath your touch, you can feel James shivering, tiny tremors rippling across his skin like waves lapping at the shore. It's not from cold, but from the unnatural sensations wreaking havoc within him. Frustration clouds his features, and for a moment, you're reminded of the countless times he's fumed over failed Quidditch strategies or tricky Transfiguration assignments. But this is different. This time, the challenge isn't something he can overcome with sheer determination or a clever trick up his sleeve.

"It’s alright," you soothe, running a hand through his tousled hair. The strands are softer than they look, slipping through your fingers like fine silk. It's an intimate gesture—one reserved for moments of vulnerability when barriers crumble, and pretences cease to matter.

You wish you could do more, offer some form of respite or distraction from the relentless assault on their senses. Yet, all you have are comforting touches and whispered reassurances—small tokens of empathy wrapped in shared understanding.

Sirius exhales sharply, his hot breath ghosting over your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. His hold on you borders on painful, each spasm of his muscles squeezing tighter around your waist. Despite the discomfort, you don't pull away. Instead, you press closer, allowing him to draw whatever strength he can from your presence.

"How do you go to classes? How do you... do anything with this?" James’s words are strained, each one carrying the weight of the unfamiliar discomfort wracking his body.

"I just... I have to," you reply, trying to keep your own pain from seeping into your tone. It wouldn't be fair to add to their burdens now, not when they're finally beginning to understand yours.

James lets out a shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening for a moment before relaxing. "You shouldn't have to."

"And yet I do," you murmur, reaching up to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead. Your touch is gentle, hesitant, as if afraid any additional pressure might shatter the fragile peace you've found.

A flicker of something crosses James's face—guilt, perhaps, or regret—but it's gone as quickly as it came. His eyes meet yours again, searching for answers you don't have. All you can offer is the truth, raw and unfiltered, laid bare between you like an open wound.

"We'll figure it out," he says eventually, pressing his lips to your hair in a tender gesture that speaks louder than any promise. "We always do."

The words hang heavy in the air, a tangible reminder of your shared reality. Your arm grows tired from supporting James's weight, but you don't move it away. In this moment, you are each other's anchors amidst a sea of chaos and confusion.

****

You take your medication, and slowly, the dizziness fades to a dull throb at the back of your mind—an unwelcome guest that refuses to leave entirely—but manageable for now. You take a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of parchment and ink fill your senses. It's grounding, bringing with it a sense of normalcy amidst the storm.

"Come on," you say quietly, reaching over to shake James's shoulder gently. "We should get something to eat."

James stirs, his eyelashes fluttering open as he blinks up at you. There's a weariness etched into the lines of his face that wasn't there before, a testament to the toll the potion has taken. He nods, pushing himself upright with a groan. Beside him, Sirius shifts, his hand sliding off your waist as he pulls himself off your bed.

Lunch is a quiet affair, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain and the low hum of conversation from the neighbouring tables. The Great Hall buzzes with life around you, oblivious to the transformation taking place within its ancient walls.

Neither James nor Sirius touch their food, their plates untouched save for the occasional idle push of a fork or spoon. They can feel the pain coursing through your body and the tightness in your muscles, and none of it makes them want to eat. Instead, they sit hunched over, their shoulders touching for comfort as they adjust to the waves of discomfort rolling through them.

You can feel their eyes on you, watching every movement, every expression. They're looking for signs, clues to what comes next—for both themselves and for you. It's unsettling, being under such scrutiny, yet you understand their need for answers.

Your fingers curl around your goblet, the cool metal offering a brief respite from the warmth spreading across your cheeks. You lift it to your lips, taking a small sip of water before setting it down again. Across the table, James mirrors your action, his hand shaking slightly as he brings his own cup to his mouth.

"I didn't realise..." His voice trails off, leaving the thought unfinished, but the implication hangs between you nonetheless. I didn't realise how hard it was for you.

Beside him, Sirius shifts, pulling his legs closer to his body. His eyes meet yours, reflecting a mix of emotions—confusion, concern, perhaps even a hint of fear. But beneath it all is an understanding, silent and profound, borne from shared experiences neither of you wished for.

"Neither did I," Sirius admits, his gaze not faltering as he reaches for his glass. He takes a long drink, swallowing hard before placing it back on the table. His fingers brush against yours, a simple gesture that speaks volumes about the shift in your dynamic.

"Is everything all right?" Lily Evans's voice cuts through the silence, her eyes narrowing in concern as she takes in their hunched forms. "You both look a bit...off."

James and Sirius exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them before they turn back to their plates, pushing food around without any intention of eating it.

"Fine," James grunts, the single word strained as he tries to focus on anything but the discomfort coiling inside him. Beside him, Sirius nods, his grey eyes clouded with a mixture of pain and determination.

But Lily isn't so easily dismissed. She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table as she studies them more closely. Her gaze flickers to you, seeking answers that she knows won't be found in evasive responses or half-hearted reassurances.

"What happened? You two never skip meals," she presses, her brow furrowing further at the sight of their untouched food.

Before either James or Sirius can answer, Remus speaks up from your other side. His tone is flat, devoid of the usual warmth that characterises his interactions. It's not meant to be rude, but rather protective—a shield thrown up against prying questions and unwanted attention.

"They're just not feeling well," he says, covering for them with an ease born out of necessity and years of friendship. "Probably something they ate."

Lily opens her mouth to argue, but the look in Remus's eyes stops her short. There's a finality there, a quiet warning that this topic is off-limits. Confusion mingles with worry in her expression, but she nods slowly, respecting the boundary set before her even if she doesn't understand why.

"Let me know if I can help," she offers, hesitating slightly before turning away.

Remus gives her a small nod of appreciation, then returns to his meal, effectively closing the discussion. But the tension remains, a palpable presence hanging over the Gryffindor table.

Underneath the cover of the long wooden table, James's hand finds yours again. It's a tentative touch, fingers brushing against your wrist before wrapping around your own. The pressure is light yet grounding, a silent plea for understanding hidden within the simple gesture.

Your heart clenches at the contact, at the unspoken admission of vulnerability from someone who has always been a pillar of strength in your life. This was his choice, yes, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier to bear witness to his struggle—especially when that struggle is a mirror image of your own daily battles.

Wordlessly, you squeeze his hand back, offering what little comfort you can amidst the storm raging inside both of you. It's a small gesture, almost insignificant compared to the magnitude of what lies ahead. Yet in this moment, it feels like enough—like some semblance of normalcy salvaged from the wreckage of uncertainty.

The remainder of lunch passes in relative silence, punctuated only by the occasional murmur of conversation and the clatter of cutlery against plates. With every passing minute, James and Sirius's discomfort grows more apparent—a stark contrast to their usual boisterous demeanour that does not go unnoticed by those around them.

"Let's head back," you suggest once everyone has finished eating, pushing away from the table with a grimace as your back protests the movement.

You lead the way out of the Great Hall, Remus at your side while James and Sirius follow closely behind. The journey back to Gryffindor Tower is slow, each step an exercise in endurance as they struggle to keep pace with your wheelchair. By the time you reach the portrait hole, their faces are pale, lines of strain etched deeply into their features.

Back inside the warmth of your bedroom, they sink onto the edge of your bed, a sense of relief washing over them as they shed the weight of prying eyes and whispered assumptions.

"Are you all right?" Remus asks, his voice soft with concern as he watches them carefully. He knows better than most what it means to bear pain in silence, to hide the truth beneath layers of denial for the sake of self-preservation.

"We're fine," James replies, although his pained expression suggests otherwise. Next to him, Sirius nods, his jaw clenched tight as he shifts uncomfortably on the mattress.

But you see past their bravado, recognising the subtle signs of distress that mirror your own too well. You watch as Sirius rubs his hand over his thigh, the same way you often do when the ache becomes too much to ignore. And then there's James, who can't seem to sit still, his fingers drumming restlessly against the blanket—an echo of your own restless fidgeting whenever your body refuses to cooperate.

"You don't look fine," you remark, reaching for the glass of water on your bedside table.

James merely shrugs, but there's a flicker of something akin to understanding in his hazel eyes. They've seen how you move between your bed and the chair, the constant adjustments you make to avoid letting your back lock up or your legs cramp. But seeing is one thing—experiencing it firsthand is another entirely.

"I think we underestimated..." Sirius starts, trailing off as he meets your gaze across the room. There's no need for him to finish the sentence. The unspoken words hang heavy in the air, acknowledging the reality that none of you were quite prepared for.

Silently, you observe as James and Sirius shift again, their movements stiff and awkward under the weight of the spell's effects. Every so often, one of them winces, a sharp intake of breath betraying the extent of their discomfort.

A pang of guilt twists in your stomach as you watch them, a reminder of the burden you carry daily—now shared by two individuals who chose this path willingly, if not fully comprehending its toll. It was never meant to be like this, you think, your heart heavy with guilt and gratitude in equal measure.

You reach into a drawer on your bedside table, pulling out a small jar of hemp gel. The familiar scent fills the air as you unscrew the lid and dip your fingers inside, coating them with the thick substance. Carefully, you apply it to your lower back, where the pain is usually most intense after sitting in your chair all day.

"Does that help?" Sirius asks, watching as you rub the gel into your skin.

"A bit," you admit, capping the jar and setting it aside. "It takes the edge off, at least."

He nods, his gaze thoughtful as he absorbs this new piece of information. You've never been one to complain or ask for extra help, but seeing you take care of yourself in such a routine manner brings home the reality of what you deal with on a daily basis.

"You don't do that often," Remus points out from across the room, his tone more observation than accusation.

"True," you reply, avoiding his gaze. "It's too much effort but I'm not having them in extra pain when I can avoid it."

There's silence following your admission, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the distant hoot of an owl outside. It's an uncomfortable truth, one that speaks volumes about the toll your condition has taken—not just physically, but mentally too.

James shifts beside you, his body curled against your side as if trying to absorb some of your strength. His fingers brush against yours, tracing the fine lines etched into your palm. It's a simple gesture, one borne out of curiosity rather than pity, yet it sends a jolt of awareness through you.

You glance down at your hands, instinctively closing them into loose fists. They're strong, capable—tools that have adapted over the years to compensate for what your legs can’t do. But they also bear the brunt of your struggles, their joints aching from hours spent gripping the wheels of your chair or manipulating objects beyond their natural reach.

"Is it always like this?" James murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He doesn't need to elaborate—you know exactly what he means.

"This is a good day," you confess. "Cutting up food, buttoning clothes, writing—it all puts strain on my fingers."

"But you manage." It's not a question, merely a statement of fact. For despite everything, you've found ways to navigate around the obstacles life has thrown in your path.

"Yes," you say softly, meeting his gaze with a small smile. "I manage."

"Maybe I could help with your essays," Sirius suggests after a moment's thought. "You just dictate, and I'll write."

"And we can assist with buttons and such when needed," James adds, glancing at Remus for support. He nods in agreement, though there's a hint of worry etched into his features—a mirror of your own unease.

"I don't need it every day," you explain, frowning as you search for the right words. "Most times, I'm fine on my own. But sometimes..." You trail off, unsure how to articulate the frustration that tightens around your heart like a vice.

"What do you do when 'sometimes' happens?" Remus asks gently. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he watches you closely—always the observer, ever attentive to the details.

"I usually stay in bed those days. Skip classes." You shrug, trying to make light of the situation despite the heaviness creeping into your voice. "You’ve seen my worst days, but sometimes it is just my hands, so I’ve been getting notes from Remus for years."

"That explains why you're always up-to-date despite missing many lectures," Sirius grins, but his eyes betray a deeper concern.

"But what about food?" James asks suddenly, brows furrowing as he considers the logistics. "How do you manage meals?"

The room falls silent once more, all eyes fixed on you. For a moment, you consider brushing off the question, feigning ignorance or changing the subject entirely. But then you remember their commitment—their willingness to understand—and you find yourself speaking the truth instead.

"I don't, really. I can't get down to the kitchens because of wheeling the chair, so eating becomes... complicated. Even something simple like a sandwich can be nearly impossible."

"And during summers?" Remus probes further, his tone steady despite the horror flickering behind his eyes. "When your parents are working?"

"They keep cans of soup in the cupboard," you respond, almost mechanically. "If I can manage to open one, I just heat it up and drink it from a mug with a straw. Mostly, I can handle a cup without much trouble, and I can shuffle around the house without actually pushing the wheels of the wheelchair." You pause, noticing their stricken expressions. "It doesn't happen often over the summer, though. The warmer weather seems to help."

A heavy silence descends upon the group, filled only by the crackling embers in the fireplace. Your confession hangs in the air, a stark reminder of the unspoken trials you face each day—a reality they're only beginning to comprehend.

The day drags on at a sluggish pace, the four of you tucked away in your room as the afternoon sun filters through the window. You alternate between sitting up in bed and reclining in your wheelchair, seeking any position that might alleviate the discomfort gnawing at their limbs.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Remus asks for what feels like the hundredth time, his brow furrowed with concern. He's been watching you closely all afternoon, his gaze occasionally flickering towards James and Sirius who seem equally preoccupied with their own thoughts.

"I'm fine," you reassure him, although your voice lacks its usual conviction. "Just trying to keep them out of pain."

"I’m exhausted," James admits, running a hand through his hair. His eyes are heavy with fatigue, but there's something else lurking within them—a flicker of understanding perhaps, or maybe even empathy. It's hard to tell.

Sirius nods in agreement, shifting uncomfortably on the edge of your bed. He's quieter than usual, his trademark smirk replaced by a thin line of concentration. You can't help but wonder if he's feeling the same exhaustion that's slowly creeping over you, weighing down your eyelids and tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You watch as James rubs at his temples, wincing slightly at the pressure. Beside him, Sirius shifts again, his hands clenching and unclenching around the bedspread. There's a tension in his jaw that wasn't there before, one that speaks of a discomfort he isn't used to bearing. And yet, despite everything, neither of them complain. They simply endure, just as you have done for so many years.

It's not until the late afternoon rays begin to fade into evening shadows that you realize how much time has passed. Your stomach rumbles quietly, reminding you of the meal you've skipped. With a sigh, you push yourself upright, reaching for your wheelchair.

"We should head to dinner," you suggest, ignoring the dizziness that washes over you, but James and Sirius exchange glances through the dizzy spell, their expressions wavering between reluctance and resignation.

You can tell they'd rather stay put, but whether they accompany you or not, they'll still feel every jolt, every twinge of discomfort that comes with navigating the castle corridors.

"Come on," you coax gently, offering them a small smile. "If we go now, we can grab some food and head back before anyone notices."

They nod, pushing themselves off the bed with more effort than you've ever seen from either of them. Their movements are slow, hesitant—mirroring your own as you roll towards the door.

"Y/N," James begins, his voice strained. "Maybe we should—"

But you cut him off with a shake of your head. "No, we need to eat."

Your words hang heavy in the air, filled with a determination that leaves no room for argument. You reach for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly under the weight of what lies ahead.

Behind you, James and Sirius follow silently, their hands hovering protectively near your shoulders. As you make your way down the winding staircase, the world tilts dangerously around you, threatening to pull you under. But you refuse to give in, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your wheels against the stone floor.

When you finally reach the bottom, you pause, taking a moment to catch your breath. Ahead, the Great Hall looms large and imposing, filled with the familiar sounds of laughter and chatter. For once, however, those voices hold no comfort.

Your body aches, the muscles screaming in protest as you make your way towards the Great Hall. Every bump, every jolt sends waves of pain radiating through your limbs, but you grit your teeth and press on—it’s only bothering you because they can feel it, after all.

"Are you okay?" James asks from beside you, his brow furrowed with concern. His own steps are slow, laborious—mirroring the heaviness that clings to your bones.

"I'm more worried about you," you reply. Without another word, Sirius pushes open the door, revealing the bustling scene within.

Students mill about, their laughter ringing out above the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation. But despite the warmth that fills the room, a chill settles over you—a stark reminder of the reality you're facing.

You take your usual seat at the Gryffindor table, flanked by James and Sirius. Their presence is a steady constant amidst the chaos, silent support against the tide of unease that threatens to pull you under.

The food appears with its customary flourish, platters heaping with roasted meat, steaming vegetables, and fresh bread, and you begin to eat.

Beside you, James and Sirius fare terribly. They pick at their meals, pushing food around their plates more than eating it. Their eyes flicker to you every so often, filled with an unspoken mix of concern and guilt.

"You need to eat something," you insist, reaching for a roll and handing it to Sirius. He takes it without protest, nibbling at the edge without enthusiasm.

James watches you closely, his expression unreadable. "Y/N..." he begins, but trails off, unsure how to continue. Instead, he reaches out, his hand finding yours beneath the table.

****

After dinner, you all return to your room—James and Sirius's faces are pale, the lines around their eyes pronounced. Even Remus looks worn down by the day's events. You reach for the third blood pressure pill of the day, shaking one into your palm before popping it into your mouth. The cool water chases away the bitter aftertaste as well as some of the dizziness still clinging to your senses.

As the medicine takes effect, you feel a subtle shift in the air. James and Sirius have been quiet since leaving the Great Hall, their bodies hunched over as if carrying an invisible burden. Now, they glance at each other across the bed, a flicker of relief crossing their features.

"Is it... wearing off?" James asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hand reaches out, resting against your chest as if to confirm that your heart is still beating.

"I think so," Sirius replies, mirroring James's action with a hand on your stomach. His fingers tighten slightly, tracing small circles against the fabric of your shirt.

Sirius shifts closer, curling up beside you with his head tucked under your chin. One arm wraps tightly around your waist while the other drapes lazily over your legs. His breaths come in shallow puffs, tickling the skin exposed by your collarbone.

With your free hand, you reach out to Remus, who has remained silently vigilant by your side. He moves forward eagerly, slipping onto the bed and pressing close to your back. His arm snakes around your waist, joining Sirius's in a comforting embrace.

Despite everything, you can't help but feel a sense of peace washing over you. It's in the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath James's cheek, the warmth spreading through your veins where Sirius holds you tight, the gentle pressure of Remus's hand on your hip.

It's a quiet understanding—a tangible reminder that no matter what happens, you're not alone. This shared experience, though born from pain, has only deepened the bond between you all, strengthening the threads of love that weave together your unconventional group.