#does the fear of failure not paralyse you? does it not keep you in bed hours after your alarm went off?

[tapucocoas]

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[onbeinganangel]

warmup ficlet for @the-starryknight! she picked 'i know we’re not together but i might die today so i’m going to kiss you just in case there is no later' from this wee list of kisses and asked me to drarry it up and I rubbed my hands together in glee knowing fully well i was about to put together a hell of an angst sandwich

not beta'd, not edited, just angst with a happy ending directly from my heart to yours! (cw: some canon-style mentions of blood, violence, injury and also kind of patient/healer relationship)

damned if you do it and damned if you don’t

(draco/harry, 1.8k)

Draco had pictured it so often throughout his life he sometimes couldn’t honestly believe he had made it all the way to twenty-seven.

He remembers saying it after being thrown on his arse by the family Abraxan. He’d been very little, then. Five or six, maybe. He’d cried, big fat tears running down his face, and when his Mother finally managed to pull his tiny fists down and stop him from hiding his crying behind them, he’d announced, “Maman, I am dying.” She had assured him he very much wasn’t. They’d had scones with big heaped spoonfuls of clotted cream and raspberry jam in the garden and he’d soon forgotten about his fall.

A few years later, he fell off his broom and straight into the lake. Dobby had spelled him dry to avoid him getting in trouble and he was still heaving, coughing up water and panicking when he told the Elf, “Dobby, I am dying.”

Then there was the incident at Hogwarts. He still felt the sharp talons on his skin way after the hippogriff was far, far away, as he bled, holding onto the gashes on his arm and announced to the whole class, “I am dying, it’s killed me!”

Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, it was more constant. It was the heavy burn of the Mark settling on his arm, it was the feeling of all his organs lighting up in pain and his bones breaking under Crucio after Crucio, it was the sounds of Nagini slithering outside his bedroom door at night, the sickening thud of death, the unsettling screaming, his aunt’s shrill nails-on-chalkboard voice, Greyback’s growls. A neverending chant of “I am dying, I am dying, I am dying, I am dying” inside his head.

It was confiding in a ghost, it was crying because the fear of failure was so intense he reckons he would have preferred to be dead then, it was the only person he believed was actually kind and pure and incapable of willingly inflicting pain on anyone slashing him open and leaving him for dead on a bathroom floor. Draco had looked at Snape, murmuring spell after spell over him, and he’d whispered, “I am dying.”

It was learning how to be numb, how to not feel, how to keep everyone out of his mind and away from his thoughts, it was the paralysing terror of crawling around in the shadows, the bone-deep dread of dropping leftover bread rolls on the floor by the bars on the dungeon and kicking them swiftly into the other side, where they kept his classmates. It was sneaking a blanket or two down and saying to himself, “If they find out…”

It was the persistent horror of knowing you don’t believe in what you’re doing and knowing you’re damned if you do it and damned if you don’t. Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, Draco would lie in his bed at night — his own at home, his own in the dorms, Pansy’s in the girls’ dorms when it got bad, and he would say it to himself, hoping it would become true, “I am dying.”

But he hadn’t. Despite all odds, Draco is happy. Twenty-seven. He’s got friends, a flat, a job he loves and he’s good at. He’s no longer spat at on the streets. He survived, he made amends, he managed it all. Most of all, he had managed not to die.

Until now, that is. This time he’s pretty certain he won’t be afforded such luck. He feels the curse hit him square on the chest. It’s his own fault, really, for not realising there was someone already in the room he entered. He’d been too busy throwing a rather flourished Incarcerous across the room at the two potions dealers he’d been running after for the past five minutes to notice the third man.

Draco is falling backwards before he has time to even think about anything, his wand clanking noisily seconds before he joins it on the floor.

Then: “Incarcerous.” He hears it — muffled but there. And after, “Fuck, Draco.”

He’s way too familiar with the way his Auror partner works not to know it’s him when the strong arms wrap around him and pull him up. “Oh, Merlin,” he hears. His eyes flutter back open for a couple of seconds and he can tell he was right, even if it’s all blurry: red robes, orange hair, worried blue eyes.

Fear. “I am dying,” he thinks. “Harry,” he says.

“You’re gonna see Harry alright,” Ron says. “He’s gonna have words about having to heal you again,” it’s almost like a joke. Like a Ronald-typical joke. But there’s an edge of worry there. There’s panic. Ronald doesn’t panic.

And it dawns on him. Draco tries to look down but it’s all red. The burgundy of his robes, the sticky dark red of drying blood on his hands and the fresh and vivid blood still pouring out of his chest. He’s not gonna make it to St. Mungo’s, he’s never going to make it to Harry.

“I am dying,” he says, and Ron makes a noise that can only be described as half agony, half agreement.

It smells like St. Mungo’s when he wakes up thinking “I am dying.” Very faintly, he hears the same voice he always hears in his dreams. Maybe he is dead. The voice never sounds like this in his dreams, though: disembodied, frantic, quick. Draco catches half words, half sentences, half conversations that don’t make sense. A different voice is saying “just do it” and “you’re powerful enough” and “sod protocol” and “I am his partner, I brought him here.” The voice from his dreams responds with things like “unstable” and “I don’t know” and “can you please try” and a “I can’t get in touch with her” and “not without consent forms” and a louder, angry “he’s not going to d—“

Draco tries to move towards the voice.

“Draco!” Says the first voice and three pairs of feet come towards him.

“Don’t try to open your eyes, don’t try to talk, don’t try to move, okay? We have stopped the bleeding for now, but we’re still trying to reverse the curse.”

“Harry.” His Harry.

“Yes, hello. We have got to stop meeting like this.”

“I am dying,” Draco croaks out.

“I won’t let you.”

Draco wants to speak. He wants to say “I am dying, I don’t want to die without telling you,” but he has no strength. His thoughts are going faster than the newest Firebolt as he hears Harry tell whoever else is in the room (Ron?) to leave. He wonders if this is it. This what they show you in the films: your life flashing before your eyes right before you die. He thinks of Harry shaking his hand after his Auror graduation ceremony. “Well done, Malfoy,” he’d said. He thinks of that first time he’d been invited over to Ron and Hermione’s, a few weeks after he became Ron’s partner, and Harry had laughed at his stories, lips wine-red and plump, eyes kind like he’d never expected. He thinks of every moment of almost in between them, every moment where Draco considered blurting it out, saying what was on his mind. The Christmas Gala as he towered over Harry and fixed the little chain on his robes for him, and that night at that dingy club for Hermione’s birthday where they’d stared at each other for forty minutes and when Draco had decided he couldn’t take it anymore, he found out that Harry had left. Or just last month when they’d gone out to buy a housewarming present for Luna and ended up eating leftovers on Harry’s sofa, exhausted from people and walking. There are too many. Too many instances of hesitation, too many “nearly-but-not-quites.”

And he’ll die and won’t ever get the chance to tell him, to kiss his handsome, stupid, precious face, and it aches — it hurts almost as much as that spot just to the left of his breastbone where the Curse had hit, where he was profusely bleeding not long ago.

“Closer,” he manages, very quietly.

Harry approaches, but not close enough, not even close enough for Draco to grab at him.

“Cl— clos—uh—closer,” he tries again.

And Harry’s right there, by his bed and he looks beautiful in his Healer robes (unheard of, really) and Draco is blinking his view into a sharper focus and listing all the things he knows he loves, the things he doesn’t want to forget: the white-ish storm of a scar that slashes through Harry’s eyebrow, the shiny (shinier than usual?) green eyes, the touch of stubble, the slightly crooked nose, the lips — oh, the lips, plump and sweet looking and Draco will never get to find out just how sweet. And then, he has to do it. Because if he’s going to die anyway, he may as well use his last breath on this.

He pushes himself off the pillow slightly and his hand pulls Harry’s green robes closer until their lips meet, clumsily and hard — Harry not expecting it, Draco waning from the efforts of pulling Harry closer, but Draco will die knowing he’s kissed Harry. And if there’s no later, at least he’s done it. At least Harry knows.

“Stop. You’ll hurt yourself,” Harry says, and pushes him back down. Gently, like everything he does.

“But—“

“I know, darling. Me too.”

Darling? Harry… too?

“I’m going to heal you, okay? I’m going to heal you and we’ll do that again. I’ll take you to dinner, or brunch, I know you like brunch. Or just coffee. We’ll go to the pictures. I’ll hold your hand. We’ll go flying. We’ll go clubbing and I’ll dance with you, I promise I will, and I’ll let you tell me how bad I am. I’ll find you a copy of that book you were talking about with Hermione, no matter how much it costs. I’ll throw my name around if I have to, okay? And we’re going to do that again, properly. When I’m not your healer and you’re not hurting. I’m going to heal you now, you just—“ he stops, then, breathing wild and panicked.

Then, a small sob. A kiss to his forehead. Draco doesn’t remember closing his eyes.

“You just hold on, yeah? Don’t go anywhere.”

And Draco would cry if he had the strength, he would say yes to all those plans and more, but he focuses on the feeling of Harry’s magic sinking into his body like and he holds on, just like he was told to. He holds on, even if he doesn’t know exactly to what. And he thinks maybe he’ll get lucky again, and he’ll stop picturing himself dead like he’s been doing his whole life. Harry’s magic feels like love, like poetry, like cascading words of affection whispered into the space between his ribs, it feels like hope. And Draco holds on and thinks to himself, as loud as a thought can go, “I am not dying.”

[letsdiscoverkitty]

Therapy summary: 20/02/19

Today’s session has left me feeling utterly exhausted (even more so than usual, and that is saying something!). I find it quite helpful to write down the things we talked about so that I can remind myself/look back if I need to, so I will give this a whirl, it might be a bit of a ramble, which I am going to blame on the tiredness... NOTE: This will be long as we talked about quite a lot to, including my depression (for the first time). Also, TW because, well, you know why.

- Okay so to get it out the way, my weight was down slightly. Which yeah, it’s not great but it’s been fairly stable recently and is within a certain range...so we kind of moved on as lingering talking about it wouldn’t have necessarily helped as we both know the severity of the situation/I have been reminded about it enough already. - In general things have been rather messy and hard, my intake has been stable, maybe a bit more than it was but I know it is not where it should/needs to be. I’ve been wanting to make changes but feeling utterly paralysed day after day. - Today was the first time in therapy that we have openly talked about my depression....which I did not realise until T pointed it out. A lot of the focus was on how the depression/anorexia cycles keep each other going. This came about as I have kind of realised that one of the things that has been holding me back in terms of committing to change is that I was “allowing” my depression to dictate major parts of my routine. - For a long time this has meant not setting an alarm for the mornings and trying to sleep in as long as possible (one reason is because I am always tired but also to put off having to face the day), thus putting off breakfast as late as possible as I did not/do not see the point in getting up...Anorexia then jumps on the bandwagon saying it is then too late to make changes/increases to breakfast, that I can do it later. Then lunch gets pushed back further and further because I ate breakfast late (it has not been uncommon for me to have lunch past 3pm recently)...Again, when lunch would finally come around, the excuses of it being “too late” in the day to change things/increase would come in, with anorexia also reminding me that I would be having a snack in x time, so I should just wait until later... - I was always vowing that I would make changes “later” and that “tomorrow” things would be different but they never were... - This cycle has been going on for weeks/months and I have been beating myself up over it time and time again. I’ve been telling myself that I am a failure/need to pull myself together/talking to myself in very negative ways (that I would not say to anyone else) and dragging myself down a lot by feeding into these negative spirals. - Another example of depression getting in the way of things is that I have gotten stuck in the habit of not showering until gone midday and just sort of sitting around not really doing anything (unless I had to be somewhere) as I didn’t feel like there was any point in getting up and ready for the day as I had no purpose...this then feeds into the whole “what’s the point?” “why even bother trying? there is no reason to eat more” and anorexia jumps on it all dragging timings out and manipulating anything it can get its hands on. - These two ‘main’ things have both then been exasperated by the effects of starvation/malnourishment and ensured that I have stayed trapped in the same cycles day in and day out. We spent quite a while talking through some of the side effects of starvation/malnutrition (and the science behind it) which helped to get my head around it a bit more (I know the facts, it is just so hard to apply to myself) as it can be so easy to brush it off and forget how intertwined depression and anorexia can be and how they affect one another. - For example, I find my mood drops quite a lot in the afternoon, usually after lunch until well into the evening. This, we came to agree, is likely because my lunches are quite messy/not enough, as well as there being quite a bit of time between breakfast and lunch. There is a lot of science behind it that actually explains quite a lot (e.g. blood sugars and the importance of having all macronutrients at each meal as they each have their own role to help sustain energy, hormones, absorption of vitamins etc)

- I don’t know why or how but after months of knowing it, something has begun to actually shift over the past few days in terms of facing up to the depression cycles. I think a lot of it has been pure exhaustion/frustration of going around and around and around time and time again, but also because I have been a lot more open with mum and she pointed out a number of things that I was not necessarily thinking about/aware of before... - T and I were able to talk about how important it is for me to have a more positive/healthy morning routine as those are the hardest times for me. This is something that I have begun addressing over the past few days in a CBT style - I have begun setting an alarm for the mornings (the first day was roughly half an hour before I was ‘usually’ getting up, then the next few days have been 10minutes earlier). I force myself to get up and out of bed, and then get in the shower straight away. For me this is so important as even just the simple act of getting in the shower and starting the day off can put my mind in a much more stable place. I also find the routine of “get up, shower, get ready for the day” makes me feel a lot more, idk, purposeful? and again with a slightly clearer headspace. - It has not been easy, so far from it. I have been an anxious ball of mess and I am only a few days into the shift, but I know deep down it is what needs to happen and actually, this is evidence to myself that I CAN make changes. That I can go against these routined patterns and nothing terrible happens. - T emphasised how important it is to keep working on this and that in order to do so it might be worth trying to factor in at least one “thing” in each day to give myself that feeling of “purpose” as otherwise my depression clouds over and drags me down v easily. Whether it be going to a coffee shop, the library, a little walk, a specific craft thing etc. I agreed to aim to think about things one week at a time and try to schedule some things in, which is apparently a CBT depression worksheet (which I think I have used before and I did find helpful as it gave me more structure/feeling of purpose). She said that it is important that even if I don’t want to leave the house and I have down to say take my nan for coffee, that I stick with the plan like I would a prescription and not allow my depression to dictate when/if I follow it.  - Anyway, what came from all of this, in the end, was that I need to try to approach the eating side of things just like I am with the mood/depression/sleep....so much easier said than done but it is the truth. - Again, it helped to talk through some of the side effects of starvation that I have been really struggling with, as anorexia has been very very loud. This included: constant food thoughts (seriously so sick of this), irritability, low mood, feeling of needing to hoard and buy more food in case it runs out/the supermarkets stop offers/run out, I AM SO BEYOND COLD all the time and can’t warm up, tiredness, sleep never being restful, and the sheer constant exhaustion. - We then tried to talk about lunches but ahh my head got so messy that I could hardly think straight :(  - I’ve been worrying A LOT about getting things ‘wrong’. Whether it be the speed of increasing, the foods I use, the timings etc etc. I feel like I should just be able to do it by now and keep beating myself up, but as T pointed out, this is not helpful in any way/shape/form. My mind gets so caught up in the “what if’s” that I forget that there is no evidence behind those fears/worries... - As ever, the only way to find out is to collect “the data” and see what happens. To do the actions. Follow through. COMMIT. Actually make changes. Because, as we said for the millionth time, talking doesn’t change anything, action is where it lies.  - I will have to admit that one big fear is gaining on less calories...I am so scared to increase incase I start gaining on an amount that is “less than maintenance” or I “should” maintain on. I know the science. I know why I MIGHT gain weight at first. Yet applying it to my own situation feels so alien/wrong/doesn’t make sense. AN comes up with all the excuses and reasons under the sun as to why to put things off and wait...why today is not quite right, or perfect, or whatever it is. It is so incredibly frustrating and I am so tired of the bullshit that goes around my head 24/7. I also know from the past that it does take a lot more than you think to gain, but again anorexia has managed to “convince” me that this time I have definitely broken my metabolism and that my weight will skyrocket and I will always have to restrict just to keep it stable and I will forever me trapped in the hell of disordered rules and actions.....blergh. - The thing is that I KNOW that I need to gain weight (heck right now I actually HATE so much of what being like this has done/is doing to me and how I feel. I genuinely hate leaving the house and seeing people because I am ashamed/embarrassed of how I look :( ) yet it’s like I can’t allow myself to have this chance. That I believe so strongly that I don’t deserve to get better. That it isn’t possible. That this is all there is....So many thoughts start swirling and excuses firing.  - My lack of mental clarity at the moment due to malnutrition is such a huge hindering block. I can’t concentrate. I cant think straight. I can’t be “present” in conversations. My mind constantly wandering. I literally feel like I am floating, barely even existing in this space. Just trying to keep going is so exhausting that it often feels so much “easier” to listen to those disordered thoughts (which in the moment i believe are what is “right”) as they are so automatic. I let them guide me, make decisions, dictate my days....but in doing so that is exactly what is/has been keeping me trapped and stuck for months on end....

Wow, gosh, if you got to this point in this post then I really do want to give you the biggest hug in the world (and a sticker) because this has been quite the ramble. Right, so, summary...below are the goals we set out for the next two weeks (T is off next week and training as well so we can only have a text check in  :( which is so not ideal but these things happen):

I need to continue to set alarms to get up in the mornings, shifting it a little earlier each day if I can (this will hopefully help get my eating into a bit more of a ‘normal structure’)

Have a shower when I wake up

Try to factor in one thing each day to “focus” on/give me a little purpose/reason (no matter how big or small it may feel, it matters)

Continue to work on the “little acts of defiance” that I have been trying out the past few weeks to help build my confidence

LUNCH NEEDS TO BE LUNCH. (I am so bloody stuck with this one though :( we talked about maybe trying to buy some premade lunches? but ah I dont know)

Increase meal plan by 300 calories minimum

Make sure lunches have all necessary components (as well as dinners and nothing gets cut out or compensated for)

Be kind to myself (in many ways e.g. take care of my hands (using hand cream but also things like keeping food as SIMPLE as it can be so I don’t get trapped in the internal tossle with anorexia over decisions/options/calories as it becomes a form of torture)

Try to speak to myself in a kinder way/try to stop myself when I find the negativity beginning to ruminate

Weigh myself ONCE a week and check in with T next week. I need to give this experiment a proper go, not keep putting it off and waiting. I need to collect the evidence for myself. Increase my meal plan and ride out the wave. 

Gosh, it all feels like A LOT and thinking back on it now, it is!!! And there is no wonder why I am tired after that session. There is so much I have to focus on/do over the next two weeks but I think writing it down like this has helped put it more simplistically/focused, especially with the bullet pointed goals at the end. The review with my consultant is coming up too so I really really need to continue to take this turn in the road that has just started and show that I can do this and that want to (because I do, I do I do). Okay come on Kitty, time to ride out this messy and shitty pathway. God I am terrified. Scared. Apprehensive. Worried. Anxious. amongst all the other emotions flying around. I am already finding myself questioning every single thing I have written/thought/talked about but I am trying to stay grounded. I can’t let anorexia win. I can’t. I need to trust the process. Trust my T. Trust that it will be okay in the end (short term pain for long term gain, REPEAT) and as simple as it is I just have to give this a go.  If I never try, I will never know, and I will always wonder. 

[lumifuer]

Circumstances

Pairings: Donald Pierce x Reader Words: 1,302 Warnings: Angst and fluff Request:@brooklynalpha :  Donald pierce, number 13 Like flirting each other not only him 😏😂 Summary: Donald gets injured during the mission.  A/N: Well, it took a different turn, didn’t it? I hope you’ll be happy with the outcome and thank you for the request! 

[Donald Pierce +  “Are you flirting with me?”]

The earsplitting sound of my ringing phone shook me awake. Struggling to keep my eyes open, I sat up and reached for the phone. Contact's name made the blood in my veins freeze and I could feel a growing lump in my throat.

The thought of sleep sunk into oblivion as I answered the call with shaky hands. "Don?" I whispered with hope still present in my voice. "Hey, kiddo," I heard one of the Reavers' voice but was unable to identify him correctly, "there's been a little accident at work. I think Pierce would appreciate your company now." I shut my eyes and covered the mouth with my palm to mute a sob. Logan and Donald couldn't have survived this witch hunt. Not both of them at least. And up until that moment, I had no clue who was easier to say goodbye to. The decision was made inside of my head once I saw Donald's number on my phone screen. "You still there?" I instinctively nodded, still trying to fight off the despair that was tearing apart my insides. "Yeah," I spat out, "and I'm gonna be there in a minute." I hung up, preventing him from asking any more question that I wouldn't be capable of answering without bursting into tears. I jumped out of bed and put on the first clothes that happened to be within my reach. It was only on my way to the elevator that I realised that the black shirt didn't belong to me. The scent of Donald's skin that I knew so well was painfully reminiscent of how I always felt with him around. The feeling of guilt and helplessness was swallowing me whole and I couldn't keep up with wiping the tears from my cheeks.

The way to the Transigen hospital seemed to drag on forever. Every intersection that I had to overpass welcomed me with a bright red light and if that wasn't enough, it started pouring and I was forced to slow down by overcautious elderly drives more than a few times.

I parked right next to the entrance, not bothering with locking the car. I was praying that I wasn't already too late. As soon as she saw me, rain-soaked and frightened, the receptionist sent me to the room number 23. I thanked her with a quick nod and ran in the shown direction. When I took the right turn into the corridor, my eyes laid on the Reaver with whom I probably spoke earlier. Even from afar I could see all the dirt and dried blood on his uniform. He motioned me to come closer to him. Only then did I realise that I stood still in the middle of the hallway, completely paralysed by fear. I covered the distance separating me from the room within few quick steps and peered through the open door. Three doctors were nervously circling around the hospital bed in desperate efforts to recover the consciousness of the person who was lying on it. The monotonous sound of the machines intimating a heart failure was splitting my skull in half. Although my vision was blurred by tears that were streaming down my face, I noticed a metal arm hanging by the side of the bed. The men from Donald's division was saying something to me in a low voice but I couldn't distinguish the words coming from his mouth. It was like a nightmare, the kind where the whole world seems to suddenly shrink with a blink of an eye and the purpose of everything is to cause a suffering and despair. I was trying to keep away from Donald's body, partly because I didn't want to disturb the doctors but also because I caught a glimpse of his face. He was pale, his eyes were shut with his head lifelessly dropped to one side. From time to a spasm would go through his body as doctors were trying to restore his heart's work. But the thing that worried me the most was the enormous burn wound covering the right side of his face and a part of his neck. Similar to those of people who barely survived an explosion. I could also notice a lot of minor cuts and bruises on his skin. My reverie was stopped abruptly by a single beep that echoed in the room. I turned my face to the pulse monitoring device and even though I was trying my best not to give into hope, the sight didn't make it any easier for me. Just a second later I could hear another short sound which was followed by yet another. I looked back at Don. The doctors seemed more relaxed but didn't stop their efforts just yet. However, thanks to this tiny improvement, there was finally enough space by his side for me to fit in. "Baby?" I whispered, running my fingers through his blonde hair stained with blood. I was quite aware that it was naive of me to expect a reaction, nevertheless, the lack of it ripped the heart out of my chest and tore it to pieces. My mind snapped and I lost the remaining control over my emotions. The teardrops were falling freely and I was sobbing, even though I still remembered that people around were, in fact, colleagues from work. For a short time, I almost forgot about my commitment to Logan and Gabriela's cause. The minutes were passing by both slowly and incredibly fast at the same time. My eyes were fixed on the blurred sight of Donald lying motionless on the white hospital sheets. The doctors were bustling around cleaning the wounds and securing them with bandages. Once Donald's pulse was stabilised, they left the room. A quiet sigh of relief escaped my mouth. I rested my head on the mattress and listen to the regular beating of his heart. The sight of his chest rising and then falling slowly was so unspeakably soothing for me. It might have been still too early to start celebrating but I could breathe with ease once again. All of a sudden, I felt his hand squeezing mine and I immediately straighten my back, trying to be closer to him. "Don?" I whispered. He opened his eyes and almost right away a beautiful smile brighten his expression. "Hi," he said in a weak voice, "looking good, baby." I laughed and brushed his hair away from his face. "How are you feeling?" I asked, "Does it hurt a lot?" He shook his head in response and ironically the slight movement caused him pain because he frowned and bit his lip. "Bet they will give me some new improvements," he said, raising his metal arm gently brushing my cheek with it, "you have some getting used to them ahead of you." "If they will work as efficiently as those you already have, I won't complain," I replied with a wink. "Are you flirting with me? You?" he teased, slightly raising his eyebrows, "Shame I hadn't known that was all you needed, I'd stand near explosions more often." "I'll stop you right there," I rolled my eyes. The smile stayed on his lips the entire time, even when he was shaking his head, visibly amused. "I mean it," I gently cupped his cheeks, bearing in mind that should avoid touching his new scars, "I was worried as hell." "Can I honestly say I'm happy you were or will it make me an asshole?" "You're already an asshole." "Then come here," he pulled me closer with his hand and pressed his lips against mine. I could feel his smile growing even wider under the touch.

Thank you for reading! Requests are still open!