#from how much/how hard i was puking even just from a tiny sip of water

[symbiodyke]

so fucking sad. I won a raffle for a free tattoo from an artist I love but the universe decided today would be the day I have one of the worst migraines with aura in my fucking life and I had to cancel last minute. fuckin torn up abt it

also that stupid fema test went off on both me and my partner's phones while my migraine was full blast and I literally started sobbing lol

[paperpocalypse]

white rabbit.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 2. Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,874 words

Warnings: Swearing, panic attack

His idiot siblings are going to give him a goddamn aneurysm.

The hum of the Commission briefcase – which is now in 2019 without a single person attached to it – rings in Five’s ears, mocking. He resists the urge to scream and tear all of his hair out. All that work – wasted!

“Now what?” Luther asks as Five paces up and down the alley.

What do you think, you doorknob? “Now nothing, Luther, all right? Make your peace with God.”

“What? What about Allison and Vanya?”

“Screw them both. They should have been here.” Five’s irritated pacing turns into a run, and he furiously kicks a cardboard box. God, the alley smells like vomit and shit. Everything is shit! “Ugh!”

“What about Diego?” Klaus slurs out his two cents from his place on the ground. Useless puke bag. “He's quite a responsible young man, no?”

“Something must’ve happened to them,” says Luther.

Fuck that. Wherever they are, they’ll be dead soon enough. Does nobody understand that? Dead! Dead! Dead!

“Screw Diego, all right? Screw everybody!” Five seethes. “[Y/n] and I were better off in the apocalypse.”

He turns on his heel, trying to suppress the rising panic in his bones. Something catches his arm.

Your brow is furrowed when he meets your gaze, mouth set in a thin, worried line. “Five,” you murmur, voice soft.

A tiny sting of regret worms its way into his chest at your expression. But then he thinks of the briefcase, and the Handler, and he quickly looks away.

“Five!” Luther admonishes, casting you a concerned glance. “Come on.”

His brother’s tone grates on the last of Five’s nerves. Gritting his teeth, he advances on the large man. Your hand slips away.

“You know what, Luther? It's every sibling for himself now.” Five throws his arms out in a grand gesture, then makes his way over to the door. “How ’bout that?”

Yanking the door open, he storms into the building.

Five tries to think as he stomps up staircase after staircase, but he can’t hold onto a thought for more than a few seconds before it disappears into a muddle of static. Concentrate. He just needs to get to the flat and think of a new plan, yeah, again, and try to save the world for the millionth fucking time – he stumbles over a step and then rights himself, legs numb. His chest feels tight. Come on. Keep moving. Think, think! God!

You’re calling his name. He doesn’t answer.

There is another way. A Hail Mary. But what if they waste that last chance too?

He swears underneath his breath, heart pounding. Blood roars in his ears. He tightens his grip on the railing and tries to even out his breathing.

Shit. Now is not the time. He needs to get out of this stairwell. Everything is so cramped and it’s not helping at all –

“… Five.”

You’re behind him, and then you’re in front of him, and Five meets a blurry set of eyes for the second time. Breathe. Breathe.

“Do you want to go back outside?” you ask softly.

No more stairs. “Flat,” he manages to reply, gesturing messily at the door a few feet away. Just somewhere with some space. In. Out.

You nod.

Several minutes later, he’s sitting on the bed in the room that Elliott had given him, blazer folded over the footboard, face damp with sweat and tucked into the crook of your neck as he completely breaks down.

Your hands treat him gently, rubbing circles into his back and wiping his face. He grips your shirt until his knuckles are white.

“You can get through this,” you say to him. “Just breathe with me, okay?”

Five tries. He really does. A shudder wracks his body. You inhale. He inhales. Exhale. Exhale.

“Good job.”

Something wet runs down his cheek. Fuck.

Both relief and shame fill him when you dry his cheek with your sleeve.

It’s absolute shit, however long it lasts – Five doesn’t know how long. Too long. But you’re there the whole time, holding him like you’ve done before, and it helps even though he’s too embarrassed to admit as much. You help a lot.

As the hammering in his chest finally slows to dull thuds, he takes in another deep, slow breath, and loosens his grip.

“I’ll get you some water?” you ask. He moves his head in some semblance of a nod. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Carefully, you detach yourself from him; the mattress creaks as you stand up and leave. Five swallows, staring down at his hands. The air feels slightly chilly on the side of his face that had been pressed against you, and he uses the comforter to quickly scrub away the dampness. His eyes ache.

You return soon enough with a glass of cold water. He sips slowly at first, then gulps the rest of it down. You put the empty glass onto the nightstand and brush his hair away from his eyes.

“You need to rest.”

The word brings a brief wave of longing. Then stress follows soon after, and Five steels himself. “I need to come up with another plan,” he mutters.

Even though he’s not looking at you, he feels the sudden burn of your gaze as you put your hands on his shoulders. “After you rest.”

“The apocalypse –”

“Is still a few days from now.” Your words take on a honeyed, coaxing tone. “There’s not much else we can do today, so sleep. Please. I’ll take care of things while you’re away.”

You press down, and despite his previous protest, Five doesn’t resist.

“… Thanks,” he vaguely hears himself mumble.

When his head touches the pillow, it feels as if all his muscles give way. His eyelids immediately feel heavy.

The last thing he’s aware of is you taking off his shoes.

—

Five is thoroughly conked out by the time you pull the blankets over him, and after giving his forehead a tender peck, you tiptoe out of the bedroom and shut the door with a quiet sigh.

Now on to business.

The rest of the Hargreeves siblings, as well as Sissy and Harlan Cooper, sit up slightly as you stride into the living room. You make a point of looking at each one of them individually, cross your arms, and then speak.

“I believe explanations are in order.”

Diego is the one who speaks first. “I ran into Lila,” he says, maintaining eye contact with you. “She tried to drag me to the Commission while I was burying Elliott.”

“I see,” is all you say. “Allison?”

“Some men came in and attacked Ray and me at the house,” she explained. “Otherwise, I would have been on time.”

“Did you kill them?”

“I made them leave.”

“All right. Vanya?”

“Carl called the police to stop us on the way here. I had to deal with them.”

Sissy and Harlan are not supposed to be here. Based on the hard look Vanya is giving you, she knows that. You close your eyes and breathe out softly.

“All right. Well, I can’t change the past, and the briefcase is already lost, so I’m not going to shout about how everything should’ve gone,” you eventually tell them, eyebrows drawn. “I just want to talk to you about Five.”

“What's wrong with him?” Diego asks.

Klaus answers for you. “He’s pissed.”

Luther agrees solemnly. You frown.

“He’s stressed. Yes, he’s angry, but he’s mostly stressed and worried sick.” You uncross your arms. “Do you know what he did to get that briefcase?”

The siblings blink at you.

“He assassinated the board of directors,” you say. “I know you don’t know much about the Commission, but what he did was a big deal and very dangerous. And he did it for you. He does everything for you, because you’re his family, and he cares about you.”

“He has a hard time showing us,” Diego mutters.

“And you guys seem to have a hard time showing him,” you return. “It just … it feels like you see the apocalypse as Five’s problem. And maybe mine as well, but not yours. I understand that you’ve had to adapt and make a life here, but none of you except for Sissy and Harlan belong in this time. Whatever we’ll have to do from now on will require all of us to stay together. We can’t risk another doomsday.”

“Doomsday?” Sissy speaks up, alarmed. “What’s this about a doomsday?”

Vanya shifts. “It’s …” She touches Sissy’s hand gently. “It’s kind of a long story. I’ll tell you later, okay? You and Harlan don’t have to worry about it. We’ll fix it.”

“We will,” you confirm, nodding at the pair. “As long as everyone does what they’re supposed to.”

Luther looks at you curiously. “Why are you telling us all of this and not Five?”

Why, indeed. Glancing back in the direction of the bedroom, you think of Five tucked away in bed for the first time since he landed in Dallas. Hopefully, he hasn’t snuck out. You’ll have to check on him soon.

“He’d be too stubborn to admit it. It took me a long time to find out how much he sacrificed to help me in the apocalypse. And the Commission.” You smile frankly. “What’s more, he’s resting now. It’s been a long two weeks.”

“Shit,” Klaus mutters. “I forgot about the time thing. The old man must be one apocalypse away from a heart attack.”

“Yes. He’s not invincible.”

Everyone looks down awkwardly.

“We’re sorry for not making it. We didn't know. And we’ll tell him that.” Allison folds her hands tightly in her lap. “So what do we do now?”

Again, not much. Shrugging, you gesture to the couches and chairs that they’re sitting on. “Rest. Get cleaned up. Five and I will need to explore our options once he’s awake.”

With that, you turn and start making your way back to the guest room.

Vanya’s tentative voice stops you when you’re halfway through the kitchen. “Let us know when he wakes up?”

The other siblings voice their agreement. A genuine smile touches your lips. “I will,” you answer, pleased.

The murmuring in the living room fades as you continue walking. When you reach the bedroom, you gingerly open the door and poke your head inside.

Five is exactly where you had left him, tucked in with the blankets up to his chin and dead to the world. Soft snores reach your ears as you creep closer. Good. Seating yourself at the edge of the mattress, you run your fingers through his hair.

For the rest of the evening and most of the night, you watch over Five, keeping quiet and re-tucking the sheets around him whenever he stirs. He doesn’t open his eyes once. His siblings drift in occasionally, individually or in pairs, each of them looking every bit like they’re entering a lion’s den until you smile and beckon them closer. None of them speak, but they don’t need to. You can only hope that Five won’t be too angry with them in the morning.

A lot of work will need to be done then. But for now, your partner needs to sleep.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

“Don’t you ever get tired of the taste?”

The sharp crunch fills the air again, and Steve shivers from it like the sound is coming from inside of him, deep in his bones.

“Don’t you ever get tired of having the palate of a toddler?” Billy asks through a full mouth.

He’s spread out on the too-small sofa, ankles crossed where they’re perched on the armrest. It’s fairly warm out today, which means that he’s wearing a scandalous amount of clothes, and Steve would be delighting in that fact right now were it not for the pungent scent of vinegar.

The brunet simply crosses his arms. Glances over his shoulder towards the kitchen, and hardens a glare at no one at all.

“Do we seriously need to keep all of them? We don’t even have room in the fridge.”

“Aw, Stevie, if you really hate it that much…” Billy coos. Then, crunch. “Open a fuckin’ window.”

The howling laughter that leaves him has Steve biting back on a smile, as much as he hates to admit. He’s half tempted to open a window, but he instead chooses to round the couch and tap Billy’s ankle until he lifts his legs up.

The blond obliges him. Permits Steve to sit so he can splay his legs over his lap.

“Guess I might as well get used to it.”

Billy grins. Cozies further into the couch like a cat settling down to take a nap before he sighs comfortably.

“For a second there I thought you were gonna grab a trash bag and go bananas.”

“No, baby, I’d never throw away your gifts,” Steve reassures. He slouches in his seat and takes to fiddling with the seam of Billy’s tiny shorts. “You just have to promise me to brush your teeth before you come to bed tonight or I might puke.”

There’s a little snicker that makes Steve’s smile widen as he flattens his palm against his lover’s thigh.

For a while, things were hard. Really hard.

Billy couldn’t stomach solid foods, could hardly breathe on his own on a good day. And Steve sat by him the whole way through it. Sat by his bed in the hospital and had faith when Billy didn’t that he would get better.

It was on a particularly bad day, a day where the nurses had tried to incorporate something soft into one of his meals — mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes that didn’t go down well, or rather, didn’t stay down. All Steve remembers of that day was Billy crying, eyes red and puffy, nose running as he coughed and heaved, whining about how am I ever gonna eat pickles again if I can’t even eat this.

And Steve had pet his hair and helped him sip some room temperature water, even though he was a little confused.

As far as he knew, Billy didn’t even like pickles. Or, at the very least, didn’t care all that much for them. Not enough to tolerate them on a burger, and certainly not enough to cry about not being able to eat them.

Still, here they are, nearly a year later. With about seven full-sized jars of pickles on their counter, all with ribbons and balloons and get well soon cards fastened to them in some shape or form. Some from family. Most from friends. A few from strangers.

Steve recalls reading a card that was signed by all the guys down at the fire station, regarding Billy as a hero in their ranks.

If only they knew.

“Might get sick of pickles,” Billy sighs.

He holds a spear in his hand, eyeing it like he isn’t sure if he should because it’ll be his fifth in a row, and his stomach is still tragically sensitive. This jar in particular is from Max. Has a red ribbon tied around the rim of the jar and dozens of dollar store skateboard stickers plastered all over it.

That seems enough to justify the next crunch that fills the air.

Steve pats his lover’s thigh and shakes his head when the juice drips on the front of his shirt, thankful that he’s getting better.

Even if it means being surrounded by pickles.

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

[thisisgonnafuxkinkillme]

Pro Heros Comforting an S/O with various chronic illnesses

All Might/ Yagi Toshinori

For being a chronically ill person, you were a big baby about being sick. Well, for you, there was two types of ‘being sick’. One, the usual, was the everyday upkeep of your body, with the usual minimal discomfort of working a machine with missing or loose parts. On the other hand, another type of ‘sick’ would be you hunched over the toilet, or sweating in bed with a trashcan by your face, or sobbing in the shower because of how shit you feel. 

Today was one of those sick sick days. 

You never admitted to anyone when you were having an especially hard day like today, sometimes not even yourself. In between bouts of puking up the small amount of food you should’ve been able to keep down, you’d convince yourself that it was just because it was stale, or that this was a fluke, or even try telling yourself that you were over reacting. 

So when your boyfriend gently asked if you were feeling okay to be home by yourself, you enthusiastically replied, “of course I am! Go ahead and go to work, I’ll be fine!”

So, he did. 

And you were definately not fine. 

Mere moments after he left, you were hovering over the toilet bowl, heaving up bile. You screamed at your body to just stop, to please just give up, but it couldn’t hear you. Instead, it did what it knew how to do best: be sick.

Finally, it was over, and you found refuge pressed up against the cool tile of the bathroom floor. 

You were a mess of sweat, tears, snot, and puke. 

Thinking of that just made even more tears stream out of your puffy eyes. 

Pathetic. 

You shakily turned on the shower. Maybe a cold shower will snap you out of it. Your clothes didn’t matter; they’re just pajamas. So, you crawled into the shower, looking for refuge. 

The ice cold water pelted your blanched flesh mercilessly, providing both relief and shock to your system.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying your best to ignore your cramping abdomen and pay attention to the cool, refreshing liquid rolling down your back. 

In the end, though, you couldn’t focus on either of these things. 

Someone knocked at the bathroom door. By the way the person knocked, light and inquisitive, you knew it had to be him. 

He called out your name.

“Are you okay in there? Something told me to come check on you one more time,” he asked through the door. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He knocked again, a little harder this time. 

Still, you didn’t have the strength to respond. You rested your head onto the shower wall weakly. 

The doorknob wiggled noisily before he was in. 

“Oh, honey...” he murmured as he fully understood the situation. He flushed the toilet and opened the window to let in some fresh air. 

“I’m going to open up the shower now, okay?” 

He carefully pulled back the curtain and turned off the water. His heart panged to see you struggling like this. 

Like him.

He took a moment to cradle your cheek in his palm, cooing your name.

“I’m going to get you some fresh clothes. Don’t try standing up by yourself, okay? I’ll be right back,” he instructed gently. You nodded weakly.

He returned with some fresh pajamas and a towel. You shook your head.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he inquired, stroking your hair. You couldn’t help but begin to cry. It was so humiliating being taken care of. Hell, even needing to be taken care of was degrading. 

You squeaked out tiny words between sobs. He patiently tried his best to understand what had you so upset, but he just couldn’t hear you. 

So, his only chioce was to continue to clean you up. 

Gently, ever so gently, he dried you with the towel as best as he could with your soaked clothes on.

“Pumpkin, I hate to ask you this, but...can I take off these clothes to help you get into new ones? I promise I won’t look.” 

You sobbed pitifully. 

“I...Let me...let me try,” you managed to get out. He nodded.

“I’ll be right outside the door. Knock if you need any help at all,” he assured, kissing you sweetly on the forehead before leaving you alone. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to see you naked; he already had done that. It was just...you didn’t want him to see you like this.

Shakily, you stood up, grabbing the clothes. Your feet stepped out of the tub, only supported on shakey knees.

Knees that gave up on you.

Within an instant, you were collapsed onto the floor. You gasped at the impact, the wind being knocked out of you.

Toshinori was by your side before you could blink. He helped you sit up, asking tenderly if you were in any pain. You shrugged.

He sighed deeply.

“I...I’m so... sorry. You shouldn’t-“ you stammered before he shut you down.

“No. I should. It’s okay for you to need help. I understand. It’s not an inconvenience.”

“...but... your job... your students...”

“They’ll be fine. Right now, let me focus on you,” he asserted. You nodded, allowing him to undress and towel dry you before redressing you.

“Can you stand?” He asked. You thought for a moment before shaking your head. Instantly, the bathroom filled with smoke, and he appeared to you in his much more muscular form in order to carry you.

He being sick himself could never hope to carry you in his skinnier state.

You didn’t care however he looked. It was just that he was there. That he cared.

You were carried bridal style to your bed, and placed down ever so gingerly. Smoke surrounded you once again, cradling you for a moment before dissipating and revealing your boyfriend in his true form.

He leaned against the bed frame, coughing into a tissue.

A pang of guilt hit you, seeing how he’d sacrificed just a tiny bit of himself to keep you comfortable.

You pushed the guilt away, replacing it with warm love.

Instead of apologizing, you murmured a “Thank you.”

Aizawa Shouta

Today was a good day. Your joints weren’t achey, and you felt good enough to even go to the store with your boyfriend. Usually, he’d go by himself, or do a curb side pickup to save time, but you insisted that you wanted to go.

“Sho, please. I’ll be fine,” you assured him.

“I don’t want you to overwork yourself,” he replied skeptically. He knew your fighting spirit coming through when he saw your determined eyes, so he knew his words were of no use. However, he also was deeply worried about the pain that could show up later on that night.

Those were the hardest on Aizawa. He usually wasn’t home at night, so when he’d come into the bedroom and see the bedsheets strewn across the floor and your pain medications sitting idly on your dresser, the cap on sideways, he’d be instantly racked with guilt. He wanted to be there for you. Even if it meant seeing you in pain. He just wanted to be able to do whatever he possibly could to help alleviate things just a little for you.

Today, though, he relented, and you found yourself at the local grocery store. You chose to not bring your cane, opting to try to pretend that you were a perfectly healthy young person.

Bad idea.

About half way through your shopping trip, you could feel the beginnings of a flare up.

“Sho... Could you help me?”

He instantly took on your weight on one arm.

“Do you need to go home?” He asked quietly as to not stir the other customers. You shook your head.

“I’ll get you something. Hold on.”

And like that, he was gone and you were alone in the bread aisle.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead.

Stupid! You should’ve known better!

It wasn’t long before he was back, riding on a mobility scooter. He stood up, gesturing towards it.

You knew it’d help, but...

“What will people think?” You whimpered before you could even think about it.

He scoffed.

“Geez, baby. I hope you realize that other people’s opinions should never trump your own comfort.”

You nodded, still anxious about how it’d look for someone like you to be using something like that.

“But...what if someone actually needs it?” You ask as you guide yourself into the seat.

“You need it. It’s okay,” he reassured plainly.

That night, you had no pain. All your body was filled with was butterflies as Aizawa gently cuddled you to sleep.

Sir Nighteye/Mirai Sasaki

You’ve always been sick. It was a part of your identity that you’d come to terms with. Sure, your life was shaped different than everyone else’s, but you didn’t mind much. 

You brewed yourself some tea, breathing in the fresh steam from the kettle. The warm air made its way past your oxygen tube, warming you from the inside out. Today was going to be a good day. You could tell that much by the light rays of sun filtering past the blinds, and the way you weren’t a coughing mess by now. Usually, you were signaled to remember to take your meds and do your treatments by your own sputtering and coughing, but today, things were going a little different so far. 

Your boyfriend came into the kitchen, stretching a little, causing his bones to crack and pop. He retrieved his black coffee from the pot, lightly and lovingly brushing his hand across your upper arm as he moved. 

You instantly tensed up.

“Don’t do that,” you frowned, glaring at him, “it’s too early in the morning to think about that yet.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

“Your quirk. Don’t use it on me.”

He put both hands up, “If you wish for me not to touch you, I won’t.”

“That’s...not what I’m asking for and you know it.”

He allowed himself a tiny smile. He did know that. 

You turned around, moving your attention back to your tea. Mirai stared at you lovingly as he sipped on his drink. 

Two sugar cubes plopped into the tea, honey and lemon being stirred in next. Just how you like it.

Just as you were getting enveloped in the whirlpool you made with your spoon, Mirai broke your train of thought.

“Today’s going to be a good day,” he murmured.

[teddy06writes]

hi!!! could you maybe do a fic where the reader is recovering from an eating disorder? or suffering from one of you’re comfortable writing that! it can be with anyone :)

Fundy x reader

trigger warnings: a few swears, obviously mentions of eating disorders

premise: Fundy is always there to help you eat, even when it seems impossible

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

You sighed, listening to the sounds of your boyfriend tinkering around in the kitchen, after hearing that you were having a harder time with eating today Floris insisted on making you dinner.

Oh god, dinner. The thought of a big dinner -which was almost certainly what he was preparing- made your stomach churn and your hands shake. You’d tried eating today, you really had, nearly got almost half a bowl of cereal down at breakfast, and a few grapes around lunch, but you couldn’t get down more than that.

The road of recovery from your disorder was a long and rocky one, and lately it seemed like every little thing was setting you back by miles.

“(y/n)! Dinner’s done!”

Floris’ call pulled you out of your thoughts as you slowly pulled yourself up from your desk chair, wandering out into the kitchen, where he was setting plates out onto the table.

“I made pasta and chicken.” He smiled.

You did your best to smile back, “Thank you babe.”

Sitting down you took a sip of water, you glanced warily at the large plate he’d set at your spot.

He noticed this, trying to smile encouragingly, “I know you were having a hard time- I just kinda wanted to make sure you at least ate a bit.”

You nodded, trying not to let your hands shake as you picked up your fork, pushing the pasta around around plate.

Biting your lip you tried not to notice the way Floris was watching, a sad look in his eyes as you quietly whispered, “I- don’t think I can.”

The smell of the food had your stomach swirling as your boyfriend held up a fork full of food, “Here, I’ll eat first so it’s less scary, yeah?”

You nodded as he took a bite, motioning for you to do the same.

After a deep breath you did, reluctantly putting some of the pasta into your mouth.

He smiled, “See, it’s not that bad.”

You nodded again, forcing yourself to take another bite to mirror him.

It continued on, the two of you back and forth taking bites until your stomach felt like it’d explode from over eating, even though you’d barley had a quarter of the plate.

You took another sip of water, your hands shaking as you set the glass back down, still trying to avoid Floris’ gaze, fearing his judgment.

“Have a little more baby, you’ve gotta eat more.” He tried gently.

You bit your lip, abruptly putting down your fork as tears pricked in your eyes, “I can’t- I can’t do this. I feel like I’m gonna puke cause I ate too much.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Floris was already standing up, moving around the table to pull you into his arms, “You did good, and that’s good.”

You melted into his embrace, tears flowing freely now, “It- it just seems like I’m never gonna get out of this. And- and I know I have too but- but- but I can’t- it’s like my head won’t let me.”

Carefully he shifted so you could both sit on the floor, though you were now more in his lap, murmuring, “It’s gonna be alright. Your gonna get through it, I promise. I mean just look at how far you’ve already gotten, you’re doing so good, a tiny set back doesn’t mean your failing.”

You sniffed, leaning closer to him as he continued, “I can clean this up, and we can have the leftover tomorrow if your up to it, yeah?”

You nodded slowly and Floris got up, quickly taking the plates and moving around to begin putting the food into Tupper ware containers as you began to clear the rest of the table.

He took the glasses from you, “Why don’t you go find a movie to watch? When I’m done we can cuddle.”

You nodded again, shuffling out of his way and out to the living room, pretending not to notice as he quickly started eating the rest of his portion.

Not ten minutes later he was sitting down beside you, pulling you against his chest and asking what movie you’d picked.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled a few minutes later.

“Why?”

“I ruined your dinner.”

“No you didn’t,” He pressed a kiss to the base of your jaw, “You could never ruin anything by doing your best. You couldn’t ruin anything by having a small set back.”

You smiled a little, leaning back against him, maybe things were rough, but you’d always have Floris.

[angstyaches]

This is trope anon from before :) It might be interesting to see Elliot put off feeling sick, because he is so caught up taking care of everyone else? He kind of strikes me as a worry about everyone else first kind of guy lol. Then absolutely regretting it later haha

If not Elliot, Ryan also kind of gives me similar vibes

CW: mention of disordered eating/malnourishment, trauma mention, overwork, nausea, emeto, dizziness, blood mention (he’s a vamp, so yeah), pining (for absent partner), platonic/brotherly caretaking

Author’s note: Elliott and Felix are going to be just FINE! They’re not even broken up; Felix is just a little AWOL after a fight they had. I just loooove me some angst.

Elliott’s vision went pitch black for a moment as he stood and waited for the kettle to finish boiling. His stomach lurched so harshly that he almost turned towards the sink, expecting the return of the blood he’d drank for breakfast. Instead, he swallowed, closed his eyes, and breathed in slowly through his nose. He was overexerted, probably. He’d been pushing himself during his and Shayne’s ritualistic “sparring” (or, as Shayne called it, “trying to kick the shit out of each other” or “therapy”) session. Elliott had hoped his supernatural abilities would have begun to manifest by now, seeing as his transition to full vampire was complete. But still, nothing yet. Maybe the stress of Felix being gone was stunting his development. Maybe the stress was adding to how bad he felt.

The kettle clicked, reminding him of why he was standing in the kitchen in the first place. Elliott’s heart sank as he recalled Shayne’s eyes rolling back in his head, his body almost hitting the ground before Elliott could catch him. Turned out the kid had been starving himself again. Elliott would have punched his lights out if they hadn’t already basically been out.

A minute later, Elliott picked up a hot mug and crossed the open-plan kitchen and living area to where he’d left Shayne on the white sofa. He was conscious now, at least, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused.

The mug contained hot, weak tea and a few spoons of the glucose solution Ryan had concocted for Felix’s blood-and-sugar lollipops. Back in the day, when Felix refused blood and couldn’t hold food down, Ryan had fed him the solution like this, and it had kept him from passing out. The smell was so strong that Elliott almost gagged, his body so delicate as to protest merely being in the presence of human sustenance.

Elliott tried to hand Shayne the mug, but his cousin’s hands were so shaky he almost dropped it immediately. Elliott took it back, trying to ignore the fact that his own hands weren’t exactly the steadiest. He brought the rim of the mug to Shayne’s lips.

Shayne made a face and pulled away as soon as he took the first sip. His hand went to his mouth, like he was considering spitting it back out.

“Swallow it.”

A shiver seemed to roll through Shayne’s body as he did. His eyes watered like he was about to cry. “That tastes like shit, El.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for forgetting that you need to eat.”

“I didn’t forget I needed to…” Shayne mumbled. “I’m not stupid.”

“That’s extremely debatable. Drink.”

“I’m gonna be sick.”

“Drink,” Elliott said again, as calmly as he could, “or I’m going to get Ryan.”

The last of the fight went out of Shayne’s eyes. Elliott knew he didn’t want Ryan or Nancy to know things had gotten this bad again.

Victorious but not feeling it, Elliott brought the mug to Shayne’s lips again and again, letting him take small sips. At one point, he covered his mouth again, shoulders jerking forward as he gagged slightly. Elliott’s stomach flipped at the sound and he had to turn his face away until Shayne stopped. He didn’t usually puke from seeing somebody else do it, but he had a bad feeling that if Shayne threw up, he would lose it too.

Shayne shook his head when presented with the mug again. A tentative hand rested on his stomach. “I can’t, El. It’s so heavy.”

Part of Elliott didn’t want to yield so easily, wanted to make him finish the mug. He wondered what Felix would do, or how Charlie would have reacted to that pleading look. Elliott knew he wasn’t soft in the same way they were. He just hoped he wasn’t harsh.

He hoped he wasn’t frightening.

He swallowed against a swell of nausea in his belly. Whatever was gnawing at the pit of his stomach weakened his resolve.

“Okay,” he said, “lie down.”

Shayne gave a small sigh of relief.

Elliott took the mug back to the sink. White floor and wall tiles swayed all around him like he was inside the world’s most colourless kaleidoscope. He slowly breathed in through his nose, leaning on the edge of the countertop to try and introduce some form of balance to his body.

He’d extended the offer to Shayne, but honestly, lying down sounded like an absolute dream to Elliott, too. Maybe his body would stop freaking out if he got a little more rest. His sleeping pattern was completely thrown off, his mind raced in the middle of the night. Felix had star-fished across about forty different mattresses before choosing theirs, and while Elliott had acted like he didn’t care which one they bought, he had ended up agreeing that it was the best mattress he’d ever used. But sleeping there without Felix felt wrong, so his body had been rejecting it as much as physically possible.

Nowadays, he might as well have been sleeping in a wooden coffin like the stereotype dictated.

He turned around to check on Shayne, frowning when he saw that he was still sitting upright on the sofa.

“I thought you were going to try and sleep?”

“I can’t – I can’t,” Shayne whispered, lowering his head into his hands. “El, I – every time I try, I feel like she’s here. Breathing on the back of my neck…”

Guilt churned Elliott’s stomach this time. Elliott felt regrets like cobwebs sticking to his soul, and although he didn’t allow himself many, one of those cobwebs was the feeling that maybe he could have gotten Shayne out of Madelyn’s sooner.

“She’s not getting in here,” Elliott promised. “Ryan will have her head on a stick before letting that happen. Nancy will turn her blood into tar.”

“She doesn’t have to be here, El. She’s already here.” Shayne pressed a finger to either side of his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Jesus, I’m – I’m sorry, man.” Elliott laid a hand on his stomach, stifling a belch since he really didn’t need gas leaving his body to make this moment even more stressful. “What usually helps when this happens?”

As Elliot should have expected, Shayne gave a lifeless shrug. Alright, think, Elliott told himself, swallowing thickly. He’d never seen Shayne warm up to anyone until that day in the park when he’d been clinging to Charlie like his life depended on it. He liked to act tough (and who did he pick that up from, I wonder?), but really, Shayne just didn’t want to be alone.

He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t understand that feeling.

Elliott swallowed again, fighting the lump in his throat and the swirling in the pit of his stomach.

“Want me to sit with you?”

Shayne opened his eyes, looking genuinely surprised.

Elliott sank down on the sofa without waiting for a verbal answer. He hit the cushions a little too quickly for his stomach’s liking. It shifted noisily, semi-digested contents swimming around inside. “Now, if you think you can feel someone breathing on you, you can tell yourself it’s just me.”

“Ugh,” Shayne groaned, curling up on his side so that the top of his head was just next to – scarcely touching – Elliott’s thigh. “Do not breathe on me, man.”

Elliott smiled through his vaguely-concealed discomfort, glad that Shayne wasn’t facing him. “Afraid you’ll catch vampire cooties?”

Shayne didn’t respond beyond a soft groan that Elliott interpreted as “shut the fuck up, old man”. So even though he’d have loved to keep taunting his cousin and keep himself distracted, Elliott shut up, letting his neck rest against the back of the sofa and draping one arm up over his eyes. Lack of vision made the world feel a little less like the spinning drum of a washing machine. Elliott regretted dreaming up that metaphor, gritting his teeth as he realised his stomach felt like such a drum, too.

He was swallowing constantly, every few seconds now, chest tight with the effort of drawing slow, shallow breaths. It felt like the fibres holding his being together were frayed and left just shaky enough to throw everything off without causing him any actual, physical pain. Beneath it all was a tiny flame of anger; what the hell was the point in becoming a vampire if feeling unexplainably shitty at inconvenient intervals was still on the table?

An icy shiver ran down Elliott’s back, and he flinched where he sat. He slid his hand around the back of his neck and gulped another wave of saliva. Nothing was there, yet when he exhaled, he shuddered again. Shayne’s talk about Madelyn must have wormed its way into Elliott’s mind. Lord, he really was a mess.

He glanced down to make sure his sudden jump hadn’t disturbed Shayne. It was hard to tell if the boy was sleeping or just trying very hard to stay still. At least he didn’t seem to be panicked or shaking anymore. Elliott desperately wanted to stand up and walk around; moving and distracting himself would surely ease the building pain in his stomach, but he didn’t think he could get up without jostling Shayne.

Sucking in a breath and trying to brace his stomach for the move, Elliott shifted his weight on the sofa, cringing at how much the cushions flexed with him. He watched Shayne’s head, his breath still caught somewhere between his belly and his lungs. Another trickle of unpleasantly cool sweat ran down the back of his neck and his hands shook until he dropped the weight of his head into them. His elbows felt unbalanced on his knees. His stomach flipped, and he swallowed measuredly against its protests.

“El?”

“Yeah,” Elliott choked out, though he’d meant to give a friendly, open yeah? As in Felix’s chirpy Yeah, buddy? Are you okay? What can I do for you?

“Y’alright?” was all Shayne replied with.

“I’m good, yeah.” Upon tasting blood and bile, Elliott gulped again. “Just relax, okay? No one’s going to –”

Elliott jammed a fist against his lips in time to stifle a wet, shallow belch. The sound was so sudden and violent that his head shot forward, almost ducking between his own knees.

“Fuck,” Shayne gasped, scrambling upright despite the fact his eyes were barely open. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Elliott half-snapped, annoyance at himself manifesting as annoyance at Shayne. “I may have pushed myself a bit this morning, but I’m –”

He was once again cut off by a belch, this one rumbling up from much deeper inside him. His belly continued bubbling even after the air stopped being pushed up.

“El, I think you need to –”

“Don’t.” Elliott shook his head.

“Why did –” Shayne winced slightly and rubbed at his head. “Why didn’t you say you were feeling sick?”

“Because I was trying to look after you!” Elliott sighed into his hands. The tiny burst of frustration was dizzying on top of everything else. “Lord fucking knows you can’t take care of yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Shayne said back, though his voice was empty of any of its usual fight. “I’m – I’m trying, I’ve been trying… Elliott, just go to the sink!”

Elliott’s shoulders rolled as he covered his mouth with his palm, feeling a thick film grow over his tongue. He was tempted to swallow it down again but a cramp ripped through his gut, making all of his organs squeeze in defiance of him swallowing anything.

“Shit,” he somehow mumbled, sitting forward and pushing himself to his feet as Shayne pushed – weakly but with good intentions – at his back to help him up. Elliott sprinted across the kitchen tiles and flung himself at the sink, stars in his vision and blood in his mouth. He was unbearably dizzy as he heaved up what he’d drank that morning. At least it had been an animal-blood day, and he wasn’t watching mouthfuls of human blood pooling in the sink and trickling into the drain.

It was a waste, but it could have been worse. He choked on a sob, realising he’d never thought like this until Felix.

“Fuck,” Elliott gasped when something moved next to him. He hadn’t even noticed Shayne following him to the sink. “Christ. I feel awful… Why – why do I feel this bad?”

“You’re trying to force something you’re not capable of.” Shayne folded his arms and rested them on the countertop, eyes falling shut again.

Elliott spat bitterly towards the drain. “How the fuck do you figure that?”

“Because that’s my whole life summed up, El.”

Elliott gripped the neck of the tap and turned it on, directing the water around the sink to get rid of the mess he’d made. His head was spinning and his nerves still felt alive with electricity and just wrong in general, but his belly felt a lot better. He felt like he could breathe normally again.

“You okay?”

“I think so.” Elliott rinsed his mouth, running tap water into his palm and lifting it to his lips. It was cool, and soothing on his throat after the retching.

Shayne looked positively miserable as their eyes met. “What now?”

As he shut off the tap, Elliott brushed a wet hand across the back of his own neck, relishing the cold drip that started trailing down his back. He shut his eyes, feeling like he was ready to drift off to sleep on his feet, like a horse.

“Well,” he said, “how would you like to take a nap on a really nice mattress?”

[writingblock101]

Heir to the Throne (Jason Todd x Reader)

Hello, I love you all so much for being patient with me! I am super excited to share this! This is a continuation to my other two part fic For the Kingdom. You don’t need to read it for it to make sense, but it does give some background. 

A huge thank you to the absolutely lovely @incrediblysadstudent​ who edited and made some really amazing suggestions. She also runs a writing blog where she writes the batfam so definitely go show her some love! 

Warnings: Threats of violence, puking 

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish (I’ve missed you, my love) @mayahoelland2013

Word count: 4,800

You lean over the toilet with a groan as you retch again. Jason frowns with concern, one hand gently pushing your hair out of your face as his other comfortingly rubs your back. You pause, giving yourself a moment to breathe and spit into the porcelain toilet bowl. Jason leans over and flushes the toilet as you tiredly watch the contents swirl around then disappear. 

Sighing, you push past Jason’s hand on your back and fall against the wall, exhausted. Jason’s frown deepens, he hates seeing you like this. He tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, grabs the cup of water waiting on the bathroom counter, and brings it to your lips.

Your shaking hands wrap around the cup with Jason helping you tilt it, taking slow sips. As your grip on the cup gets stronger, Jason let’s go, opting to wrap an arm around your shoulder, bringing his lips to your forehead for a sweet kiss. You lean against his chest, your nose wrinkling at the bitter taste in your mouth. 

“You alright?” Jason asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” You respond, taking another sip of water to wash down the disgusting taste in your mouth. 

“Are you though?” Jason’s tone hardens in seriousness. “You’ve been puking for the last two weeks and you’re exhausted all the time. I’m worried about you,” He admits, pulling you closer to his chest. 

You stay quiet, staring down into the cup of water. Jason sighs, sounding irritated. He pulls his arm off your shoulder, running his hand through his hair with a frustrated huff. 

“You’re hiding something from me,” He looks over at you, nudging your shoulder. You force yourself to look up at him and feel guilt pool in your stomach at the deep look of worry in your husband’s eyes. “We agreed to not do that so whatever is wrong, just tell me and we can deal with it together--” 

“I’m pregnant,” You blurt. 

Jason blinks, his face blank. 

“You’re uh….” He swallows, blinking again in a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “You’re what?” 

You reach for his hand, placing it on your still flat stomach. 

“I’m pregnant,” You repeat, enunciating the two words slowly. 

“You’re… Pregnant…” Jason echoes back. Hearing himself say the words seems to break through the shock as a small smile works its way onto his face. “Holy shit!” He curses with an excited grin, his eyes lighting up. “You’re pregnant!” He exclaims, his eyes flicking from his hand to your face, his smile growing larger by the second. 

“I’m pregnant!” You confirm, your voice cracking as you nod your head. Tears of joy well up in your eyes. 

“We’re going to have a baby,” Jason’s eyes well up as well, as he pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face into your shoulder. 

You hug him back, squeezing with all your strength as a few tears slip, overwhelmed by how perfect this moment feels. 

You didn’t mean to be secretive and worry Jason, but you two have been trying to have a child for a little over a year, so you wanted to be sure before you got his hopes up. 

It’s hard to believe how far your relationship with Jason has come. What started as an unwilling arranged marriage has developed into a healthy, loving relationship. You were terrified of him, only knowing him through brutal battle stories in which his triumphs were bloody and his mercy was unheard of. The thought of marrying him terrified you straight to your core and made your insides burn with anger, but Jason has proved you wrong every step of the way. 

He’s shown you his passion for his kingdom, his heart which is incapable of half-ass love, and his deep respect for everyone around him. Jason is full of passion, fire, and snark. While you two have your bad days and your tempers create blow out fights, you always find your way back to each other because at the end of the day, he’s the love of your life. 

Jason pulls back from the hug, cupping your face with his hands, his thumbs wiping your tears. You can’t help but to giggle at the unshed tears brimming in his eyes. Jason huffs with a watery laugh too, leaning in and kissing you sweetly. 

You frown, and pull back, your nose wrinkling. 

“I just finished throwing up,” You remind him. 

“Yeah, I could taste it,” Jason admits with a chuckle. 

He rests his forehead against your, the excited grin never leaving his face as he runs his large hands across your stomach. 

“We’re going to have a baby,” Jason murmurs to you in amazement, as if he can barely believe the words himself. 

You place your hands over his. 

“Yeah, we are,” You grin. 

Jason kisses your forehead sweetly, pulling you close to him. 

Long gone are the days of feeling pressured by advisors to make an heir, tense, fearful sex, and awkward conversations. You’re going to be parents and you can’t imagine embarking on this crazy journey with anyone else. 

. . . 

A week later, you and Jason are sitting in the kingdom doctor’s office. Jason nervously bounces his foot while Dr. Thompskin spreads cold gel across your stomach. 

“It’s a little cold,” You giggle, feeling a chill run up your spine as you look toward your husband who smiles back tightly. Sighing, you reach out to Jason. “You have too much nervous energy.” 

Jason takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and chuckles. 

“Yeah, I guess I do…” 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the nervous one?” You tease, squeezing his hand reassuringly. 

“I don’t even know why I am so nervous…” Jason admits. “I mean, they’re in your body, you should be the nervous one, not me. I don’t even know if it’s really nerves, or if it’s just excitement. I mean, I’ve clearly been around pregnant people, but it’s different because it’s… you,” Jason rambles, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of your hand. 

“Jay, it’s okay,” You tell him, moving your hand to cup his cheek. “It’s okay to be nervous, I’m nervous too,” You smile gently. “But that’s why we’re here, to make sure everything is okay.” 

“Speaking of which,” Dr. Thompskin interrupts, moving the wand around your stomach, and points at the screen. “There is your baby, looking very healthy.” 

Your eyes dart to the screen as you and Jason stare in awe at the tiny pea sized dot hidden in the fuzzy black and white image. Usually, you don’t understand the hype around early ultrasounds-- you can hardly see the baby-- but staring at your baby, your heart soars with excitement. Faintly, under the sound of your heartbeat through the monitor, you hear another sound, thudding at a faster pace than your heart. 

“Is that…” You feel your eyes fill with tears as a smile breaks out across your face, listening more intently for the steady, thudding sound. “Is that their heartbeat?” 

“It sure is,” Dr. Thompskin smiles. 

You laugh, your grin hurting your face. A few tears slip down your face and you look over to Jason who is smiling with glossy eyes. 

“This is actually happening,” You whisper to him. 

“Yeah,” He grins, looking toward you. He gently squeezes your hand and turns his attention back to the monitor. “It is.” 

. . . 

“We need to hang some calendars,” You announce as you walk into Jason’s office, holding lunch on a tray. 

Jason stands and takes the tray from you, kissing you on the cheek. Despite only being three months pregnant, Jason barely lets you lift a finger. 

“Why is that?” He chuckles, pulling your seat out then moving to sit behind his desk once you are settled. 

“Because the advisors don’t seem to know how long a month is,” You roll your eyes.

Ever since you and Jason proudly announced the pregnancy, the advisors have practically been frothing at the mouth at the prospect of a male heir. While a female heir would be fine, she would be more likely to marry into another kingdom as opposed to expanding your kingdom like a male heir would. Of course, you and Jason don’t care; however, the advisors will not stop bothering you about the gender of the baby, which you don’t know yet. 

“How many times do I have to tell them I won’t know the gender for another month?!” You rant. “It’s ridiculous!”

The guard posted at Jason’s door snickers at your rant. You turn with a grin. 

“Something funny, Quill?” You ask. 

“Nothing, your Highness,” Peter stands at attention like the trained knight that he is. “But I think you’re overestimating the advisors abilities to read a calendar.” 

Jason starts cracking up while you sigh in exaggeration. 

“Shit, you’re right!” You exclaim, resting a hand on your stomach. “You know what will be worse? When we find out the gender, they’re going to “suggest” names.” 

“You know they’re going to suggest old names after past kings,” Jason rolls his eyes. “Like Olaf.” 

“Olaf?” You repeat back with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, let’s name our kid after the snowman in a kid’s movie,” You roll your eyes. 

“You could give them a really intense name,” Peter suggests. “Like Slade or something.” 

You pause for a moment, knowing that name is familiar. 

“Slade like the mercenary that recently assassinated the King of Cintra?” You ask. 

“Oh…yeah… maybe not,” Peter says quietly while Jason just grins. 

“So, I’m guessing we’re not going to go with outside suggestions for names?” Jason asks with a knowing smile.

“Probably not,” You snort, resting a hand on your still flat stomach, considering various names. 

. . . 

“And it’s…” Dr. Thompskin moves the wand slowly. “A boy!” She announces. 

“Oh man,” You glance over at Jason, who’s holding your hand, his eyes fixated on the monitor. “The advisors are so not going to leave us alone now.” 

“Fuck them,” Jason breathes, dismissing the idea of letting the advisors ruin this moment for you too. He kisses you sweetly, moving his other hand to your growing stomach. “We’re going to have a little boy,” He whispers.

You grin, pulling Jason in for another kiss then look back at the monitor, feeling tears of joy well up. You can’t wait for him to get here.

. . . 

“Your Majesty,” A lady curtseys while her lord husband bows. “We want to congratulate you!” 

“Thank you,” You smile politely, resting a hand on your now present baby bump, while the other rests on your aching lower back. 

“We heard it is a boy!” The lady grins then rushes forward, placing her hand on your stomach. “Boys always kick the hardest!” She winks. 

You blink, resisting the urge to shove the woman’s hands off you, but instead stiffly smile. 

“Yes, it is. He hasn’t started kicking yet, but I’m sure he will soon,” You tell her through clenched teeth as she rubs your stomach.

“Excuse me,” Jason’s voice smoothly cuts in. 

“Your Highness,” The lord bows and the lady curtseys, removing her hands from your stomach thankfully. 

“My queen is needed elsewhere,” Jason says assertively, pulling a protective arm around your waist to put distance between you and the noble couple. 

“Of course, your Majesty,” The couple bows again and Jason guides you back to the head table, his hand rubbing your sore lower back. 

Banquets are an annoying necessity to royalty, especially when they are a king’s coronation banquet to an ally kingdom. When you were younger, you didn’t enjoy them much since your parents often bartered you out to dance with handsy princes, but since marrying Jason, you’ve come to enjoy them more. 

Any lord or prince who would hope to dance with you is sent away cowering after one look from your husband. Instead, you are given an excuse to dance with Jason all night; however, being pregnant at a banquet brought its own set of headaches. 

At five months pregnant, you’ve developed a noticeable baby bump through your dresses. Despite being the queen of the kingdom, your subjects seem to take your pregnancy as an invitation to touch your stomach without permission, give advice and tips (or weird old wives tales), and share as many opinions as they can. Although you are appreciative of your loyal subjects, you also tire faster and you have to pee all the fucking time, so your nerves get quickly shot at banquets. 

“How are you doing?” Jason asks, turning you away from any prying eyes by shielding you with his body. 

“Oh, you know, tired of people touching my stomach,” You roll your eyes. 

Jason frowns. 

“We’ve been here long enough, I’ll talk to Dick so we can leave--” 

You stop listening to Jason when you feel feel a strange fluttering in your stomach, almost like bubbles. It flutters for a moment then stops. What was that?  It didn’t feel painful, just a little strange. You look down at your stomach, questioning your unborn son then it does it again--

Your eyes widen with realization and you snatch Jason’s hand up, placing it where you feel the fluttering. 

“What are you--” The fluttering happens again, cutting off Jason’s sentence. His eyes lock with yours, looking for confirmation. “Is that…?” He trails off quietly. 

“He’s kicking,” You grin, feeling tears bubble in your eyes. 

You can’t help but tear up, this pregnancy making you so emotional that it feels as though you’ll cry at anything.

“Oh my gosh,” Jason grins, moving to place both hands on your stomach as your son kicks again. “Hey, little guy,” Jason whispers. 

“He’s definitely in there,” You smile. You giggle as you feel him kick harder at the sound of your voice. “I hate to admit it, but that woman was right, little boys do kick hard.” 

Jason laughs, rests his forehead against yours, both of you enjoying the feeling of your son kicking at your hands. 

“Everything okay guys?” Dick walks over, oblivious to the moment you two are having. “I saw another person touching Y/N’s stomach and you looked ready to bite their head off--” 

You and Jason glance over at Dick with huge grins. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Dick raises his eyebrows. 

“He’s kicking,” Jason says proudly, looking down at your bump. 

Dick’s face lights up. 

“Really?” He exclaims. His eyes dart down to your stomach for a moment, his hand raising in excitement but he hesitates, knowing how annoyed you’ve gotten with people touching you without permission. 

You roll your eyes-- Dick is not some random stranger trying to touch you. You certainly don’t mind if he wants to feel the baby. You grab his hand and place it on your stomach, his face lighting up with excitement. He waits then there’s another flutter. 

“That is so cool!” Dick grins, shifting his hand to feel the baby kick again. “You guys haven’t picked a name, have you?” 

“Not yet,” You tell him. 

“Well, I personally think Dick Jr. would be a great name.” 

“Well, I personally think you’re wrong,” Jason tells him bluntly. 

Dick squawks indignantly, making you laugh. 

“Come on, Jay, you said something about leaving?” You ask. 

Jason glances at Dick. 

“Cover for us?” 

“Of course,” Dick grins. “But just consider Dick Jr,” He winks playfully. 

Jason chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he loops his arm in yours. 

“Dick, I can think about it until the day the baby is born, but it will never happen,” Jason promises. 

Dick mumbles something about Jason being unfair, but waves you two away. 

“Come on, your Highness,” Jason teases, escorting you from the banquet. 

. . . 

A few weeks later, you’re relaxing in bed, reading the latest book Jason gave you, Catcher and the Rye, while he gets ready for bed. You feel your son kick, his kicks getting stronger with each day. You smile to yourself, placing your hand where you can feel his feet kicking you and continue reading. 

The bathroom door opens, revealing your shirtless husband who crawls across the bed, his head laying next to your hip while his hands rub your stomach. 

“He’s kicking tonight,”You tell him. 

Jason lights up. 

“Really?” He asks. 

“Mmhm,” You shift his hands to where he last kicked and watch Jason grin at the feeling of tiny feet kicking. 

“You know, we are going to need to come up with a name,” Jason says, leaning down to kiss your stomach. “This guy will be here in a few more months.” He kisses your stomach again then crawls up the bed to lay back against the pillows, pulling you against his chest. Jason kisses the top of your head, leaning over to read the page you’re on. 

“I know…” You tell him. 

You and Jason had been tossing around baby names, but nothing was sticking. Neither of you wanted to name your son after anyone in your family and no one had yet to offer a name both of you liked. Naming a person is hard. 

“Have you thought of anything else?” You ask, abandoning your book to cuddle with your husband instead. 

“How about Liam?” Jason offers, taking a hold of your hand and playing with your fingers.

You wrinkle your nose. 

“I knew a Liam in school who was a little shit.” 

Jason chuckles, kissing the side of your head. 

“Okay, not Liam.” 

Neither of you wanted an extremely common name, but you didn’t want to do a strange name either. Finding the middle ground was difficult. 

“How about Nathaniel?” You offer. 

“Well, that would depend,” Jason starts. “I like that name, but it’s kind of a mouthful, so rather he or his friends… or my brothers would give him a nickname,” Jason rolls his eyes, probably thinking of Dick’s fondness of nicknames. “It would likely be Nathan or Daniel… or Nate. Do you like any of those names?” 

“They’re fine names, but I’d prefer those as middle names,” You admit. 

“I agree… How about Taylor?” Jason offers. 

“Taylor Todd?” You repeat. 

Jason giggles behind you. 

“If you say it fast enough, it sounds like tater tot.” 

“Taylor Todd, Taylor Todd, Taylortodd, Tayortodd, Taytortot,” You start laughing. “It kind of does!” 

“So, not that one,” Jason decides. “We suck at this,” He admits. 

You chuckle, leaning into him, your copy of Catcher and the Rye catching your eye on the nightstand. 

“How about Holden?” You ask. 

Jason looks down at you for a moment and follows your eyes to the book, pondering the name. 

“Holden?” He repeats. “Holden Todd. I actually like that a lot.” 

“It would be suiting for us to name our kid after a book,” You chuckle, recalling how you and Jason finally connected with each other years ago. 

Jason grins, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your temple. 

“Yeah, it would,” He places his hands on your stomach. “Hey, Holden.” 

Holden kicks again, making tears bubble in your eyes. 

. . . 

Your pregnancy hasn’t been the worst. Sure, you had some morning sickness and been more emotional than you’re used to, but you haven’t gotten any strange cravings, your mood swings aren’t too severe, and you haven’t been overly bloated. 

Despite the relatively smooth pregnancy, at month eight of the pregnancy, you’re ready for Holden to be here. Your back and feet are sore, you're exhausted all the time, and you’re tired of not being able to see your toes. Also, you now have the bladder of a squirrel. A squirrel. You just want to meet your son. 

You’re tired of going to banquets when you’re pregnant. The elaborate dresses you have to wear to the banquets are already a lot, but peeing in said dresses every thirty minutes? Yeah, you’re tired of being pregnant. 

Just like all the other banquets, you know random people are going to touch you and your stomach, ask invasive questions, and try to tell you what to name your baby. You’re probably going to get overwhelmed by all the smells and people then get very irritable, but this is the last banquet you and Jason have to attend for a while, so you’ll put on your kind queen face and behave. 

As servers bring in another round of food, you head swims from all the smells. You grimace, trying to ignore the overwhelming smells while listening to whichever lord ramble to you and Jason. Jason wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. Instead of focusing on the varied food smells melding together, you try to focus on how Jason smells. 

Focusing on the fresh scent helps some, but soon, even Jason’s familiar smell blends to the cocktail of food around you, making your head spin even more. 

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” You tell him quietly, rubbing a hand over your swollen stomach. 

“I can come with you,” Jason offers, taking your hand as he goes to follow you. 

“No, stay and socialize. I’ll be okay,” You promise. 

Jason looks reluctant, but agrees. You kiss his cheek and excuse yourself from your company then slip onto a side balcony. The instant fresh air eases your headache, making you sigh with relief as you lean against the large, stone railing. You kick off your shoes, toeing them to the side and out from under your long dress. Holden kicks, making you chuckle. 

“Nothing smelled good in there, huh bud?” You ask, fondly rubbing your stomach. 

You’re so excited for Holden to be born. You can’t wait to see what he looks like, to hold him, and know that he’s really here. 

You’re excited to be a parent and you’re even more excited to watch your husband become a parent. Jason’s relationship with his birth father was terrible to say the least. Meeting Bruce was one of the first strokes of luck Jason came across in his life, even if it was in the form of King Bruce Wayne catching twelve year old Jason stealing wheels from the royal carriage. 

While Jason is also excited to meet Holden, his anxiety about becoming a father is no secret to you. Despite being nothing like his father, Jason is still afraid of becoming him. You know Jason will never be like his father. Jason is going to be a fantastic dad who is going to love Holden so well. 

While daydreaming about the day your son will finally be born, you didn’t notice the balcony door open. 

“Well, what do we have here?” That voice sends chills down your spine. 

You spin around to come face to face with Roman Sionis. Roman was one of the few people you were unfortunately very familiar with prior to your marriage with Jason. His kingdom strong armed your parents' kingdom into an alliance, meaning Roman often made appearances at your family’s banquets. He’s always made you incredibly uncomfortable, even when you were little. 

“The Queen, knocked up with no King to protect her,” He hisses, taking a step toward you.

You feel your chest tighten. Jason’s war with Roman was no small ordeal. He nearly destroyed Roman’s kingdom, forcing the man to rebuild from the ground up. You hadn’t heard from Roman in so long that you’d figured his kingdom was destroyed, but if he’s at a banquet at the Russo kingdom, then that doesn’t mean anything good either. 

“So, what are we going to do?” Roman asks, staring at you menacingly. 

He takes another step. You step backwards but your back hits the railing. Roman steps closer. Your hand quickly covers your stomach, protectively. 

“King Jason has left his poor, defenseless wife out here alone with me,” Roman steps into your space, forcing you to lean back against the railing. “And,” His hand lays on your stomach, making your skin crawl. “She’s pregnant with the precious heir to the throne,” He hisses. 

Your heart races as you try to figure out your options. Roman has backed you into a corner. While you have training, unfortunately, that training doesn’t account for all the extra weight in your stomach. Your center of gravity is completely thrown right now. Any hit you try to land will be uncoordinated and likely easily blocked by Roman. 

“Well, I guess I need to teach the King a lesson about taking better care of his things,” Roman slips a dagger from his pants and your eyes widen. 

“Stop--” You say, finally finding your voice but Roman pushes a hand against your mouth forcing you back farther.

He presses the tip of the dagger into your stomach. Thankfully your dress is thick enough that the blade doesn’t puncture the fabric, but it’s not armor. If Roman puts any pressure, he’ll stab Holden.

Your arms shake against the banister, your whole body pinned by Roman’s. A layer of tears sting in your eyes.

“Sh, don’t worry,” His face hardens. “It’ll only hurt for a second. Maybe your precious King will learn a thing or two about what it’s like to lose something precious.” 

You feel him press the blade harder against you, your heart pounding in your chest. Holden kicks the hand you're holding tightly against your stomach, snapping you out of your stupor.  

No. He’s not going to hurt your baby. You refuse to let him. 

You shove Roman back as hard as you can, then throw all your body weight into a hard punch to his face. Your hand instantly screams in pain and you nearly fall over, not prepared for your extra weight to fling you forward. 

“You bitch!” Roman yells, wiping blood from his nose. 

He runs toward you, but there’s someone else tackling him to the ground before he comes close to you. Relief floods your system when you realize Jason is on top of Roman, beating his face to a bloody pulp. 

“Stay,” Jason punches him between each word. “The. Fuck. Away. From. My. Wife!” He screams. 

Roman collapses backwards, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his face bleeds profusely. Jason stumbles to his feet then quickly rushes toward you. 

“Are you hurt?” He demands, cradling your face. 

Tears spill over but you shake your head, your brain catching up with the terrifying event. Jason pulls close, holding you tight as you sob against his shoulder, so relieved that Holden isn’t hurt. 

“Come on,” Jason whispers to you, kissing your head. “Let’s go home.” 

Despite the gentleness in his voice, you can feel him trembling with anger. 

That night, you curl up against Jason, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. He reaches one hand down, rubbing his thumb over your stomach. 

“Thank you,” You murmur to him, not specifying what you’re thanking him for. 

The way Jason’s arm momentarily tightens let’s you know that he knows what you’re referring to. 

“Nothing is going to happen to either one of you while I’m around,” Jason promises, pressing a kiss to your head. 

You smile, curling against Jason’s chest, knowing he will do anything to protect you and Holden. 

. . . 

A month later, you’re looking over the early draft for new kingdom policy in Jason’s office when you feel a gush of water. 

“Jason…” You say quietly then a contraction hits, one much harder than the smaller ones you’ve been experiencing all day. 

You're bent over, holding your stomach, your other hand gripping the side of his desk. Jason is instantly on his feet squatting in front of you, not sure how to help. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He asks, helping you lower into a chair. 

Another contraction makes you grab your stomach, your eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you take a breath.  

“My water broke,” You manage, feeling another smaller contraction. 

Jason’s eyes widen at the implication, but springs into action. 

. . . 

Ten hours of labor later and you’re collapsed on the bed, your back pressed to Jason’s chest as you hold Holden close to your chest. He’s sleeping peacefully, his eyelids fluttering. You press another kiss to the top of his head, already covered in dark hair. 

“He has your eyes,” You quietly tell Jason, stroking your fingers over Holden’s nose. “And your head, full of hair.” 

Jason grins, gently rubbing a hand down Holden’s back. 

“He’s got your nose,” Jason points out. “And eye shape.” 

You smile fondly at your son, your chest brimming with love and affection.

“We made a pretty cute kid,” Jason grins. 

You turn to look at Jason, kissing him softly. 

“Yeah we did.” 

Welcome to the world, Holden Daniel Todd, you think to yourself. It’s a scary place, but nothing is going to happen to you, not while your dad and I are around. 

You press another kiss to the top of Holden’s head and feel Jason’s arms tighten around you. 

“I love you,” He whispers into your hair. 

You turn, kissing him again. 

“I love you too,” Then lay your head back against Jason’s chest. 

Jason shifts so he’s holding you more closely against him and one hand lays on Holden’s back. You’ve never felt more loved and safe in your life. As another bout of happiness warms your chest, you fall asleep to the sound of your husband’s heartbeat and the feeling of your baby breathing against your chest. 

Shout out to anyone who catches that Witcher reference. Hope you enjoyed! Request are closed until I am caught up again. I’m already working on the next request, hopefully it’ll be done sooner than this one was!

[heresathreebee]

That G-D Ring of Yours

High Fidelity’s Robyn Brooks X Female reader

Summary: You seek comfort from your neighbor Rob

Masterlist

There's probably gonna be a part 2

Word count: 2.5k words

Warning(s): +15 | implied cheating, internalized homophobia, heterosexism, author and Rob swearing, no hate to polyamorists but major hate to bad faith players, shameless self insert, no beta, barely edited, long as fuck I'm so sorry

Author's note: I'm having anxiety for no discernable reason and my brain has decided this is ideal fuel for a fic, so please enjoy. EDIT: ha ha yeah still anxious but we're doing stuff about it

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

"-- And she just touched my hand by accident and I just felt this–  this spark between us…" 

It was so sweet how he was talking about it. Or at least it would be were this not your fiancé explaining how he had been seeing another person behind your back. Had you rushed into things with him? Gotten hitched after three months because of familial pressure to settle down and start your family? Quite possibly.

But it didn't make that stabbing in your gut hurt any less. 

You had been a little gung-ho from date number 1, but he had been right there with you the whole time. Date number 2 happened the following weekend and then you just kept seeing each other more and more until before you knew it you had been introduced to each other's extended families and announced your engagement on Valentine's Day. 

You started to suspect something was amiss on Sunday, when you were braiding your hair on the bed and he had gone to take a shower. He accidentally set his phone screen aside with a text chat still open. Thinking nothing of it (he had already told you he was talking to Mark about getting drinks tonight), you looked at the name and saw it belonged to a woman you had never heard of before. Your immediate reaction was 'she must be a new coworker or a cousin,' but then you glanced again and saw the text conversation mirrored the same kind of ‘sentiments’ he texts you. 

The dirt burned into your brain for eternity: 

You had looked away then. You were actually not going to say anything at all to him that night– had planned to bring it up after Tuesday dinner with your auntie's family, but something came up. It turns out that Jessabelle also frequented the same Starbucks as you (and she's your age, not a teen like you worried). You can't even find it in you to be mad at her since it seemed like she had no idea who you were when she showed you the picture of her date at a baseball game. You tried not to puke as you asked for her number and to send her that picture "for her contact profile." 

You hadn't heard a word your fiance had said since the beginning of the phone call and you cut him off with some excuse you barely remember. You tossed your phone carelessly onto the couch and laid back on the cushions in defeat. What now? 

You weren't really a drinker or a smoker, and you didn't exactly have friends who would be supportive right now. You could hear them now, your family too– asking you what you did wrong, telling you to just forgive him or how to get even, or simply saying 'well what do you expect? Boys will be boys.' 

Maybe… no, you definitely need to get this off your chest before you do something stupid like pretend to forget about it. You had a bad habit of that because you tend to fall fast and hard. Perhaps your neighbor could give you some advice. 

Thank the Lord for fire escapes. Rob lived on the floor beneath you, always playing something good from her huge collection of vinyl records. You've told her at least a hundred times before if she played nothing but Phil Collins for the rest of eternity, you could die happy. You crossed your fingers and hoped you weren't being weird or invading her privacy. 

Thankfully, she seemed to be expecting you. She even motioned that the latch was undone and waved you inside. Ok the second wine glass made your face grow hot. 

"I'm not interrupting am I?" 

Rob gave you a warm smile. "I could hear you pacing around your kitchen for about an hour. Was about to come and get you actually." 

She pressed the glass into your hand and you made an effort not to grimace. Rob liked her drinks cheap and strong and she never held back. You tried a sip just to be polite, and she snorted at the face you pulled. 

"That's right, you like that sweet stuff. What's it called again?" 

"Stella Rosa," you mumbled, grateful when she takes the glass back and hands you a water to replace it. 

"Favorite flavor," she asked looking at her phone. 

"Uh… the peach and the rosé. They're all pretty good, not gonna lie." 

"OK, take this, grab a blanket from the hall closet, and tell me what's going on." 

You curled up on Rob's couch and put your feet up. There were piles of records all over the place, empty beer cans and a pizza box or two on the coffee table. Your neighbor tapped away at her phone screen before silencing it and slipping it in her back pocket. She gave you a minute or two to speak up, sipping her drink like you two had all night. Which actually you did as you did not want to see your fiancé right now. 

You felt two fingers gently tap your forehead. "Come on, dreamer, tell me what's going on in that head of yours." 

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I feel a little over dramatic saying my life is about to fall apart." 

Rob raised her eyebrows at you. "Damn, OK." 

You rush to correct yourself– explain your weird sentiment in more detail but you end up just vomiting words until your voice is hoarse. 

"I mean– like– like it's not falling apart per say or whatever– I… the rest of my life is fine its just my relationship that's screwed. Which I guess I'm more worried about because it's gonna screw up all my other relationships for a while too– dang it, let me start over–" 

"Babe! Slow down. Breathe." Rob switched drinks with you and against your better judgement you took a sip. Oddly enough it did calm you down. "So… it's your fiancé, right? What did he do?" 

You stared at her trying to unscramble your thoughts. "He… I found out he was kind of... dating another person. After I found out, he tried to explain that he didn't think I would mind–" 

Rob barked, "let me guess: he didn't think you were exclusive? Pull the Main Chick, Side Chick schtick? Tried to claim 'polyamory' after he got caught?" 

Two and two clicked together at last. "Yeah… yeah, he did!," you scoffed, "and it's not like it didn't ever come up in conversation: we spent our third date talking out our, like, sexualities and fantasies and fetishes and shit. If he was polyamorous, wh- why wouldn't he have brought it up then?" 

"That is so fucked." 

You took a deeper draft of her wine, coughing before setting it aside. Up until now, you've been numb. Now there's this wave of anger boiling up to the surface and you hear yourself getting louder. Rob doesn't flinch but she does give you this look of empathy unlike anything you've seen before. 

"If he– if he would have just asked me, I would have told him it was fine. My family does shit like that all the time: nobody bats an eye! If he really thought I wouldn't mind, he wouldn't have been so freaking sneaky about it. He literally lied, Robyn!" 

You whipped around and for a brief moment you knew you looked crazy. "He said he was going out for drinks with his guy friend, but he was making plans to go to a baseball game with a girl I've never heard of! If he really thought I wouldn't mind, or if he 'thought I would understand,' then why would go out of his way to lie about who he was with?" 

Someone buzzed Rob's door and she left you on the couch momentarily, coming back quickly with two bottles of your favorite wine. "Damn girl, these are kinda bougie: Peach or Rosé?" 

"I--"you choked, "Robyn you didn't have to–" 

"Peach it is!" She unscrewed the caps and handed you the whole freaking bottle of white, downing the last of her merlot and getting a fresh glass for you. 

You felt a little guilty she had spent money on you. But then again it had been her choice. If she didn't want you there, Rob wouldn't have let you in in the first place. Maybe you were just a tinsy bit worried you shouldn't be here. 

You and Rob took a break from talking to put on music and get a little tipsy. It came much easier with the help of the Stella Rosa, though Rob initially complained it was 5.5%, she did get accustomed to the sweetness pretty fast, and after consuming half the bottle, realized it was a little easier to get carried away with a drink like this. She admitted it was her first time trying rosé and now she was hooked. Eventually you started talking again, just spilling your guts out with no filter anymore. 

"I really think I just hate myself," you said cuddling the cool glassware. "When I found out, I wasn't even thinking of it as a betrayal of my trust– it felt like I was trying to come to terms with it so I could continue with the relationship. Not because it would make me happy but because… I don't know… it's what everybody else wants me to do. They don't even know about it and I was fully prepared not to tell them even though they'd want me to marry him whether they knew or not." 

Rob barked a laugh of surprise. "Doh-K!" 

"What?" 

"Nothing, nothing…" she said, "keep going." 

You stared off into the middle distance and leaned into her side. She was a tiny bit warm despite her lithe figure. Made you want to throw your blanket over her shoulders and share your greater warmth. 

So you did (you're not great at acting out your desires but this is nice!)

"It's just easier," the words left your mouth unbidden, "I don't even know what that means, but it's true. I don't want to marry him anymore but I don't want to break it off. Not marrying Fiancé means disappointing my family. It means having to find an entire new man to marry sooner rather than later because I'm already 'behind' and lowering my already low expectations. 

"It's not gonna make me happy, but I just think it's easier to keep this wedding going because at least I won't have to find somebody new who might not be as good for me just because I didn't want him. Another man won't make me happy so there's no reason to drop him... except that I don't want him." 

Rob's brow furrowed. "Are you saying it's easier for you to please your family than it is to be happy?" 

"Yes? I– no, I– … I don't know," you sigh. "I guess you could say my priorities are a little… mismanaged." 

"Sure, you could say that." Rob wrapped her arms around your shoulders and you inhaled the scent of her soap and cigarettes. "What if you tried… like… not doing that anymore...? You just said you do whatever your family wants you to do. So, just like do what makes you happy for a change." 

It really does sound so simple the way she puts it, doesn't it? Why are you doing this to yourself? You're not dependent on them for money or security or happiness for that matter. So... why has your whole life been centered around pleasing them? 

"I think… I think I've never really sat down and thought about what makes me happy," you admitted. "I think it's just been that way forever and I might have been too scared to try anything else." 

Rob hummed. "Are you still scared now?" 

Are you? You look into her eyes and ask yourself a question that has never crossed your mind with such depth. You used to be scared– but what is it about your happiness that you are so afraid of? OK, let’s start a little simpler: what are things that make you happy? 

“I like…” you swallowed, trying to break down the barriers you’ve built years and years ago. “I like… coffee. I like… short skirts. I like… girls– I like… my job. I like… music. I think I’d enjoy camping, you know, some day…” 

Your words… these things seemed so arbitrary and trivial. But in your house, these things cause dissent. “My family has an opinion about everything. There’s no right way to live in all of their eyes, but I think I figured out a way to get past it. Keep my head down and do what’s expected of me. Graduate college, get a respectable job, find a man to marry, drop the job and become a mother. Just… don’t make waves. It seemed better because the cousins who didn’t or couldn’t… well they became the butt of every joke at the family dinner. Lisa had one miscarriage so she was a ‘failure’ and Don never dated girls so he was gay and that was ‘bad,’ but grandma Zelda did everything a good Christian woman could do and they still gossiped about her behind her back… 

“And I just… I just let their ignorance control me for my entire life.” God, you could cry right now, but somehow it just felt too good to say it outloud. “That.. that is so fucked.” 

Robyn snorted, and you turned to her as if you’d forgotten she was there. There it was again, that sympathy. Not pity, she did not burden you with tears of her own or try to be angry for you. She just listened and understood. You twisted the diamond encrusted ring on your finger and stared at her. You felt it, that feeling in your heart. No one else had given you that look, like she could really see you. 

“You’re not going back to Fiancé, are you?” Her question was equal parts worrisome and hopeful and you already knew the answer in your heart. 

“No.”

And that was it. Decision made. Actually easier than you'd thought. Maybe not down the road but it felt good for now. There's the telling your fiancé it's over, the moving out, the public announcement, the inevitable feeling of failure, your family, god, his family too. Untangling your lives would be long and hard. You're not sure if you have that level of commitment and motivation in you but fuck it. Problems for tomorrow.

You rest your head on Rob's shoulder and hope your not pushing any boundaries. She doesn't stop you though, in fact she snuggles you deeper into her. You get the feeling she's been here before though your not sure which side or how bad it was for her.

"I like you way more in the few times I've met you than any man I've ever dated," you heard yourself say. "I'm sure that means something but I'm too tired to decide anymore. No tonight at least."

Rob chuckled. "I like you too, sugar."

If you made it this far, hi 💛 appreciate you, leave me a comment! Or just comment "💛"

[sickfic-shiz]

Rest

Whumptober 2021 | Comfort

Warnings: emeto/vomiting (stomach bug)

Notes: thought I’d post a piece of writing for the first time in a long long while, introducing some new characters! I’d love to talk more about them and answer any asks about them!

“You’re sick, go back to the dorm.” Muqing repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time in the two hours they had been studying together in the campus library.

Wu Ming was shivering miserably as he tried to focus on his notes, even beneath two jackets— one being Muqing’s which they had shrugged off and wrapped around him after watching him tremble for the first half an hour. It didn’t take a genius to tell that he wasn’t feeling well.

“I’m fine. I’m always cold. You know that.” Wu Ming replied with the same thing each time, scowling down at the words swimming on the page as if they had offended him. He knew fully well he was sick, or at least getting there, but he couldn’t afford to let his grades slip.

“Jesus, at least go back and take a nap first or something, how are you getting anything done?” Muqing grumbled irritably, before softening his tone somewhat. “C’mon, I’ll even walk you back if you want.”

“I really need to finish revising this. Just focus on yourself.” Wu Ming sighed, briefly leaning his forehead on his palm. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here either.”

Muqing muttered something under his breath pointedly, standing up in a manner that made his annoyance clear. “Fine. I’m going to take a break.”

Wu Ming watched him stalk away, before letting his facade crumble a little more, laying down on the table with a muffled groan. Truth be told, he felt awful. He was cold and shivery, and his stomach had started to feel oddly unsettled. His head was starting to hurt something fierce, and he hardly wanted to think about how he would get through his shift at work later.

“Hey.” Muqing’s voice came from above him some time later, and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I bought you some tea, it might help. You really should get some rest. At least before your shift.”

Wu Ming picked up the paper cup that had been set in front of him, immediately grateful for the warmth. He took a few small sips, finding it a welcome change from shivering. It was true he wasn’t getting much done right now. “Fine, you win.”

“Really?” The agreement surprised him. As much as he wanted Wu Ming to get some rest, he was also ridiculously stubborn.

“Sure. There isn’t much time left before work anyway. In exchange, get me some stuff from the pharmacy.”

“Okay, asshole. I’m not buying you tea ever again.” Muqing made a show of rolling his eyes, but still reached over to help pack and carry his things. “What do you want me to get you?”

When he returned with the requested medicine, (and several things that were, decidedly, not medicine, Wu Ming was a horrible scam) Wu Ming was curled up in bed, fast asleep. Muqing smiled despite himself, bending down to pull the covers up and wrapping them snugly around him. He rarely seemed to let himself rest, and Muqing almost never saw him go to sleep before he did.

He took the time to sort out the supplies he had picked up— painkillers, fever reducer and an antiemetic from the pharmacy, (the latter two he had gotten just in case) followed by green tea, canned soup and crackers from the supermarket. Muqing figured he could boil some water first, so he could bring the tea with him to work. The kettle boiled just as Wu Ming’s phone alarm went off, and Wu Ming moaned, sitting up groggily.

“You really are in no condition to be working.” Muqing remarked, even though he knew that it wouldn’t do anything to convince him. Instead, he pressed the back of his hand to Wu Ming’s neck to check for a fever, and he wasn’t particularly surprised to find that it was too warm. “Take your temperature first. If it’s too high, I’m dragging you to the hospital no matter what you say.”

Wu Ming took the thermometer that was held out to him obediently, still hazy with sleep. Muqing took it from him when it beeped, frowning. 37.9. To be fair, it wasn’t very high, but he almost wished it would be higher so he could justify manhandling Wu Ming back to bed.

“Did you get the tea?” Wu Ming asked, rubbing at his face in an attempt to wake himself up.

“Yeah, I boiled some water already, I’ll put the tea in a thermos for you so you can bring it to work.”

“Mm.”

“Take some medicine before you leave. I got you your painkillers and a fever reducer too.” Muqing handed the medication over, and placed a glass of water on the table. “Don’t take too many painkillers again or I will hit you and it will hurt.”

“Okay, okay. That was just one time.” Wu Ming fumbled with the packaging, his hands shaking more than he’d like as he took the pills. He didn’t feel much better after his short nap. In fact, his stomach was churning now, making him feel as if he would be sick.

“You could call in sick.” Muqing suggested, knowing it would be futile.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, because you’re too fucking stubborn.” Muqing glared at him, resisting the urge to just knock him out with a heavy book so he would rest. “Better not get a call asking me to pick you up later.”

Work didn’t start out too badly— he was just manning the register today, and it was a fairly straightforward job, even if he was standing right beneath the AC. Most importantly, it was at some high end grocer’s attached to a cafe, so it paid really well. However, it didn’t take long for his sick body to start protesting against the strain he was putting it through. Wu Ming alternated wildly between feeling hot and cold, and the shirt beneath his jacket was drenched in cold sweat after a few of these cycles.

Thank god he had worn a mask out. Forcing himself to sound cheerful was enough of a challenge, let alone having to muster up a smile. He took sips of tea from his flask in between customers, hoping that it would at least settle his stomach. He was so dizzy— at some points it was so bad that his vision was blurring and he was forced to guess at what he was doing.

Suddenly, he realised that he was about to throw up. Wu Ming caught the attention of his coworker, then gestured towards the bathrooms, not trusting himself to speak without throwing up. He didn’t think he could’ve spoken anyway, his throat feeling tight. After getting a response, he hurried towards the bathroom as much as he could without making it obvious that he was about to be sick.

Wu Ming was forced to tear off his mask and retch into the tiny bin by the entrance several times, bringing up a gush of liquid before he could stumble into one of the stalls. Hunching over the bowl, he braced himself against the wall with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around his stomach as he heaved. Wu Ming aimed as best as he could, trying to reduce the mess, but some of the puke splattered onto the seat regardless of his efforts. At least it was mostly liquid, most likely the all tea he had been drinking… as well as the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since early this morning, probably.

Wu Ming sank into a squat slowly, his legs feeling weak, yet still not wanting to kneel on the tiles. He needed to hurry up if he didn’t want anyone to get suspicious. He dry heaved a few times, then decided that he was done, at least for now. He cleaned up the splatters of vomit left on the toilet seat before flushing, ignoring how the swirl of water made him feel sick all over again. Wu Ming stood at the sinks for a while, staring at his sickly appearance and splashing some water on his face to wake himself up. As he turned to leave, his coworker entered, calling his name. Shit. He had taken too long after all.

“Manager sent me to check if you’d passed out in here.” They joked. “You okay? You’re looking a little ghostly there.

“I’m fine, I was just…” The nausea returned in full force, catching him off guard. Wu Ming spun around, gagging into the sink.

“Oh dear…” They gaped as he threw up into the sink painfully, awkwardly reaching over to pat his back. “Um, you’ll feel better after getting it up?”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming gasped between retches. “Just give me a minute.”

They nodded, watching him uncomfortably. It looked brutal, the way his shoulders shook badly with each heave.

“Sorry.” Wu Ming murmured apologetically when he was done, turning on the tap to rinse away any remnants of his stomach contents left in the sink. “We should head back before we get in trouble.”

“You should go home if you’re sick.”

“I’m not.” Wu Ming said a little more harshly than he had intended as he put his mask back on. He was so tired of being pressured to stop doing things. If he could afford it, he would’ve gone to bed long ago. Still, he hadn’t meant to snap. “I’m really fine. Let’s go back.”

“Alright, alright.”

They headed out together, and Wu Ming took up his position at the register again. It was terribly hard to focus through everything going on. The painkillers he had taken had started to wear off already, and he bit his lip anxiously. He should’ve brought them with him to make sure he’d get through his shift, though the bigger challenge would’ve been making sure it didn’t come back up right away.

“Ah Ming?”

Wu Ming’s head snapped up to see the next ‘customer’ he was meant to be serving, coming face to face with his boyfriend. “Guoqin? What are you doing?”

“Checking on you, what else? Muqing said you’d gone to work sick, and I was worried— you weren’t looking at your texts.”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming had lost track of how many times he had said this today, reaching for his basket to ring up the items. “You know I don’t text when I’m working.”

“You look dead on your feet.” Guoqin furrowed his brow, helping Wu Ming to pack the scanned items. “I’m bringing you to see a doctor after your shift at least.”

“I don’t- no doctors.” Wu Ming tried his best to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth and ignore the splashes of acid at the back of his throat. There was no way he would convince Guoqin if he threw up now. “I’m really perfectly fine. I just need some sleep.”

Guoqin studied him closely. There was no way he was well, but it would be nigh impossible to get him to a clinic if he was so adamant. “Fine, no doctors, but I’ll send you back to your room later, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Wu Ming didn’t think he could say any more without making a mess on the floor, so he kept quiet, hoping that Guoqin would leave. He managed it for all of about five seconds before his roiling gut decided that it was done with being ignored and he muttered a hurried apology before tugging his mask out of the way and booking it for the toilets.

Wu Ming slammed the stall door shut behind him, scrambling into a kneeling position in front of the toilet, too desperate to care about the cleanliness of the floor. He had barely managed to contain the vomit on the way over using his hand, which was now covered in light brown puke. He groaned in disgust even as he gagged into the toilet, now struggling futilely against bringing up the thicker remains of his breakfast. The tea was one thing, but Wu Ming hated few things more than wasting food. It had been a fairly good breakfast too…

The thought of food sent him over the edge, and he quickly lost the battle against the nausea. Gripping the side of the bowl tightly with his clean hand, the vomit sprayed forcefully into the toilet, now unrecognisable.

“Ah Ming, are you okay? Can you let me in?”

“I couldn’t-hrrRRK- get up for long enough, even if I wanted to.” Scratch that. Being seen— well heard, this time, in such a compromising position, twice in one day no less, was a far worse fate than losing his sausage and egg muffin. “Please, just… go outside. I don’t want you to be here for this.”

“Okay.” Guoqin finally agreed. He was worried, but he knew he would only add to Wu Ming’s bruised pride if he stayed. “I’ll be right outside.”

Wu Ming stamped down the urge to beg him to stay.

When he finally felt done, or at least too empty to bring anything up in the near future, he lay his forehead on the toilet seat, too exhausted to care. Hopefully he wouldn’t catch anything else from the germs. Wu Ming stayed in that position for several long minutes before he could muster the energy to get up. He reached up to flush the toilet, then slowly got to his feet, trying his best to breathe through the sudden vertigo. For a moment, he believed he was about to pass out right there. When it had abated slightly, Wu Ming left the stall to wash the puke off his hand, before heading out.

“Ah Ming, how are you feeling?”

…right, Guoqin had said that he’d wait outside.

“I’m…” Wu Ming had meant to say he was fine, but he was assaulted with a lightheadedness that knocked the breath out of his lungs. He couldn’t stop himself from tipping forwards, and the last thing he remembered before passing out was being caught.

When he came to, it took him a while to figure out that he was laying on one of the couches meant for the customers. It took him a bit longer after that to realize that his head wasn’t on a pillow, but in Guoqin’s lap. After he’d made that connection, his face flushed, and he weakly tried to sit up.

“Hey, stay down for a bit, you passed out.” Guoqin pressed him down firmly but gently, then pressed a hand to Wu Ming’s forehead. “You’re burning up, dear. I think I caught you in time, but do you think you hit anything when you fell?”

“No, thanks to you.” Wu Ming mumbled. He was so tired now that the thought of getting up felt overwhelming, not to mention going back to work. “How long…?”

“Just about five minutes. How are you feeling?”

“Sick…” No shit, Wu Ming berated himself internally.

“Yeah?” Guoqin hummed sympathetically, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. “Your manager said you should take the rest of the day off.”

“I… I want to go home.” God, he was getting all emotional and Wu Ming hated it.

“Okay, let’s get you back to the dorms. I’m sure Muqing will be worried.”

“He- he’s mad at me…” Wu Ming’s voice shook unnaturally, recalling what Muqing had said when he left. “He told me not to call him.”

“Shhh, that’s just the fever talking, you know that’s not true.” Guoqin reassured him. “That’s just the way he speaks, but he’d never stay mad at you. After all, didn’t he ask me to check on you?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, do you think you’re ready to head back? I’ve got all your stuff ready to go.”

“Mm.”

[kyoomiii]

♡ Realizing you’re growing up [hcs]

- ✎ characters ❝ iwaizumi, oikawa, and ushijima ❞

- [ trigger warning(s): none other than maybe one curse word ]

- ⚘ genre ❝ fluff, angst (i suppose it’s more bittersweet than angsty) ❞

❝ dedicated to some wonderful third years... σ(≧ ~ ≦ o) ❞

-kyo  ♡

It hit you the moment he began looking at colleges. Watching over his shoulder as he gathered information on what he might want to do in the next coming months, because this was it. Your last year of high school, and the beginning of your adulthood.

And you don’t know when, but eventually it begins to settle in for him too. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s considering leaving Japan, or the fact that he realizes that the school year was coming to an end, but the feeling lingers in the air as it strikes him that he really is almost an adult.

After the epiphany he keeps you close, shyly holding you more because you can both feel it slipping despite still being young.

And you’re right, because one day at lunch with just the two of you Oikawa was probably off doing who knows what he blurts it out, the look in his eyes almost guilty.

“I decided I want to go to Irvine California to study sports science- and hopefully, work with Takashi Utsui…”

The words set a pit in your stomach, your appetite suddenly lost as you look up at Iwaizumi who awaits what you have to say. So you try your best to muster the biggest smile you can, grasping his hand and placing a kiss to his knuckles which send a flare of red to his cheeks.

“Hajime, if that’s what you want to do with your life then who am I to stop you?”

“How did I ever get so lucky to have found someone like you y/n…”

His eyes are shining with happiness as he pulls you into a warm hug, despite being a boy with rough edges, Iwaizumi is incredibly gentle when it comes to showing you affection. He’ll litter your skin in soft butterfly kisses as his heart flutters with joy.

But it only lasts a moment as the conclusion he tried so hard to avoid comes to mind, easily overwhelming his heart.

“So this means…”

“Please don’t say it Haji, I know…”

“y/n…”

A silence falls over the two of you as you lay in each other’s arms, basking in the warmth of one another as you try to remember every detail of this feeling of unconditional love.

“I change my mind- I can’t leave you…”

“Hajime, no… Don’t give up what you want to do just for me, I refuse to hold you back.”

“So then what are we gonna do?”

“-I don’t know.”

Every moment from here on is precious. He holds onto it so tightly with every sundown and sunrise, never once staying away from you too long in fear that you’d slip through his fingers without him even noticing.

He begins to ease up on Oikawa too, his insults and attacks becoming less harmful as he recognizes that these may be the last in person interactions he has with his best friend for a long while- especially since Oikawa plans on leaving the country too.

Everything is moving so fast, it felt like just yesterday he and Oikawa entered the Aoba Johsai gymnasium, introducing themselves as first years, and stating their dreams of going to nationals.

But the blindfold is slowly lifted as he glances around the airport, his grip on your hand tight as his thumb caresses your skin. This is it… The gate to adulthood.

“I’m going to miss you y/n- you too Trashykawa.”

“Wow Iwa-chan i’m touched.”

“Don’t worry about us Hajime.”

He can’t help it though, as he gazes at both you and Oikawa with the most loving eyes, even if it did look like he was glaring at the two of you from someone else’s perspective.

“Hey… Thank you, for the past few years. They were truly something special.”

“Don’t get sappy on me now Iwa-chan! *THWACK* Owie...”

His attention turns to you, as he takes a step forward. His lips place a gentle kiss on your own.

“They say that if it’s meant to be that it will happen. I love you y/n, and I always will, no matter what, and there’s no doubt in my heart that we’ll be okay.”

“Hajime… I love you too. You’ll always be the one I love the most no matter what.”

He gives you one last peck to your forehead before turning back to his luggage.

Your stomach sinks as you watch him leave… Growing up is learning how to let go, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

“Ew… Tooru, you’re getting snot everywhere.”

As the ball bounces off of Oikawa’s arms before dropping to the floor, you feel your heart drop. Your body tensing as the gymnasium suddenly falls quiet. The daunting sound of the ball bouncing across the wooden floor echoing throughout the silent space before the sudden roar of cheers erupt from the stands and the opposing team. 

The memory plays in your head, repeating over and over, even as you hold his hand walking side by side surrounded by his boisterous teammates. The mood is light, but your heart is heavy as you walk with the other third years. Nevertheless you try, putting on your brightest smile for the younger members.

However despite all of your efforts you can see it in their eyes- they know, but even so they don’t pry, even as you and the rest of the third years depart.

Oikawa’s grip on your hand tightens once it’s just the third years, the tension in his hold doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you gently squeeze back.

He and Iwaizumi bicker as usual, something you’d miss seeing on a daily despite the fact that it annoyed you to no end, and judging by the looks in Matsun’s and Maki’s eyes, they’d agree, watching nonchalantly as Iwaizumi easily throws your boyfriend from your grasp.

“What are they competing about?”

“The usual.”

“I guess that’s what happens when you’re dumb…”

“So mean y/n-chan!”

“Oi you better watch it!”

And despite the heavy feeling in your heart, you laugh wholeheartedly as Iwaizumi playfully glares at the three of you or at least you assumed he was being playful

The group comes to a stop, the surrounding all too familiar, from the building, the landscape… Your precious memories are stored here in this one building that in your first year you’d call hell.

“Weren’t we heading home?”

“I think… In a way we are home Matsun..”

No one could agree with you more. Over the past three years this building, the gym, and the people within it have become your home. 

The boys, having decided to play for a while, set up the court. The familiar sound of shoes squeaking against the flooring fills the gym as all the third years scurry about.

“Shit, the ramen, I’m gonna puke.”

“You guys are like children...(((￣へ￣井)”

“Haha”

“Especially you Tooru.”

“y/n-channn ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚”

But just like your time here, their session draws to an end as the sun disappears beyond the horizon. They begin cleaning up everything they set out, and as Oikawa jogs up to you for his water bottle you can see it in his eyes, he felt it too…

“Go easy on them Tooru.”

With a gentle kiss to your forehead he nods, quickly taking a sip of his water before turning back to his team.

“Everyone… Can I have your attention for a sec?”

Maki seems to notice the sullen look on your face as he quickly holds his hand out.

“Oi! Knock it off! We’re going out of our way to finish things on a high note, let’s just end this peacefully- “

“Shut up!- Thank you! For the past three years.”

His words begin to sink in, the atmosphere all of you tried so hard to put up suddenly comes crumbling down as Oikawa’s shoulder’s begin to shake, tears streaming down his face. The quiet sobs of the third years following suit along with your own as you watch them from a distance… This was it.

Even as you say your heartfelt goodbyes, despite seeing each other in the morning tomorrow, you can’t help but feel your heart clench. Especially as you and Oikawa bid Iwaizumi a goodnight, leaving just the two of you alone.

“I told you to take it easy on them Tooru.”

But he knows that it was more meant for you than anyone else as he brings you into an embrace, his grip tight as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. The worries of the future suddenly lifting at his touch.

“No matter what happens in the future y/n… My heart will always follow you.”

“I love you Oikawa Tooru.”

“I love you too.”

The end doesn’t always mean goodbye…

After years of hard work and development you watch from the sidelines as the last practice draws to a close.

Third years standing apart from the first and second years as they say their final words of encouragement. And it begins to sink in for you that this really is it. Shiratorizawa, your home since Junior High would no longer be yours after this year. 

And to think, that at the end of your journey here, someone else's begins. The feeling is bittersweet as you say your goodbyes, a pang to your heart as you watch Goshiki cry once more.

You knew this day would come eventually, after all moments like this always come to an end. It’s made painfully clear as you glance around Ushijima’s dorm room. He had always been clean, but the sight of boxes and the bare walls make you uneasy, there are no traces of Tendou’s knick knacks, no doodles on the desks from when either you or the redhead get bored.

It’s almost like no one was ever here, as if some of your most precious memories didn’t make a mark in this tiny room.

Your mind is racing, jumping between past memories and the unknown future. The thought keeps you awake into the late hours of the night, and not even the soothing warmth of the boy next to you can set you at ease.

Ushijima is a light sleeper, it’s been that way since he was a boy, so despite the fact that you are not particularly loud the mere shift of restless movement from you has his dark olive eyes groggily opening. His face is ever so stoic, but his eyes gleam in concern as he looks at you.

He was never one for much affection, even in the confinements of his own room, but nonetheless he embraces your body, pulling you close as he rests his face against the top of your head.

“What’s wrong?”

And for a moment you find it hard to speak, your voice caught in your throat despite his gentle thoughtful touches

“Toshi… Do you ever think of growing up? Or the fact that our time at Shiratorizawa is coming to an end?”

Once again silence falls between the two of you. The only sound being that of Tendou’s soft snores from the top bunk.

“It’s a natural process of life y/n. Everyone grows up.”

“But it’ll be so different don’t you think? We’re going to be adults…This place will only be a distant memory.”

An unfamiliar feeling of worry engulfs your being.

“This won’t be our home anymore…”

Ushijima’s hold suddenly tightens, it’s hardly noticeable, hidden by the darkness of the room, but his eyes soften.

“y/n you are my home, just as I am yours. I will always be here.”

His words bring a sense of peace to your heart, they are fleeting and short, but they linger with you throughout the night, blooming with warmth as he holds you close. He has always been a constant in your life, and a constant he will remain.

“Thank you Toshi…I love you”

You almost miss it, the faint whisper of his voice 

“I love you too y/n”

Perhaps everything will be alright… Growing up means starting new chapters, not tearing out old ones.

[kiras-sunshine]

Beside you in a blinding bliss

Tarlos. 4.4k

For: 911 couple’s retreat  (@911CouplesRetreat) day 1 “you have never looked more beautiful” + hurt/comfort

Summary:

He places it on the floor, near his shin. The fake flame flickers a little, but it is dim, and it certainly doesn’t illuminate the bathroom.

“Now it’s an anniversary,” TK remarks, softly, with a tiny sigh.

ao3

or

**

author’s note: this includes slight descriptions of puking

***

The room spins as Carlos attempts to move and he has to grab the edge of the bathtub to steady himself. He is already sitting on the floor, but even the smallest movement makes spots appear in the corner of his vision and he has to take a couple of deep breaths to get rid of them.

He feels ridiculously weak, and the bathroom smells awful. He cannot get rid of the reeking, even though he has flushed the toilet multiple times since puking his insides out, and he just wants to curl up in a ball and forget the whole day.

The nausea still wallows threateningly in the pit of his stomach, but he isn’t convinced that the guilt wouldn’t be overpowering the waves of nausea.

TK didn’t seem angry or disappointed when he found him puking in the bathroom. If anything, he was just concerned and worried about him. Carlos cannot really blame him, he would probably have the same reaction if it was the other way around, but Carlos cannot help but feel like he has let him down.

It’s their first anniversary, and they actually had plans. Nothing too fancy, but they had a dinner reservation to a place they have meant to try for ages, and he had done the reservation months ago. Sure, it is only a dinner, but it is more about the meaning the date holds rather than about the food.

TK deserves the world, he knows that much and it’s ridiculous and slightly stupid, but he just wanted to give him a nice, stress-free evening and celebrate their love, but apparently even that proved to be too difficult.  

Work was plain terrible. They were understaffed and the whole shift was filled with a call after a call, and he didn’t really have a time to sit down and eat lunch, so he grabbed a sandwich from a food truck and he knew it tasted funny, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the thought too long because the dispatch sent them to another scene.

With his luck, he ended up with a food poisoning.

At least, that is his best guess. He felt a little off when he left the precinct and by the time he got home, the nausea was too strong to keep bottled up inside, and since that he has spent most of the afternoon camping out at the bathroom floor.

Carlos sincerely hopes it is a food poisoning because it could mean he would feel better quicker and the last thing he wants to do is to pass on some stomach bug to TK. It would be a terrible gift as far as anniversary gifts go.

Carlos tries to suppress a yawn and for a moment, he ponders whether he could just lie down and fall asleep on the floor. It feels like every ounce of energy would have been drained out of him, and somehow, even sitting up seems to require too much currently.

His mind definitely feels a little hazy and he knows exhaustion is taking over, but he is almost sure he hears the front door open and close. Despite everything, it makes him smile. It helps to know that he isn’t alone.

A few moments pass before he hears the bathroom door crack open, and TK appears to the bathroom. He is carrying a grocery store plastic bag and Carlos is happy to see him again, but his stomach lurches with guilt as he sees the concern shining in his eyes.

“Your beloved car survived without a scratch,” TK tells him, in apparent form of greeting, as he sits right next to him on the floor without any hesitation. He leans against the bathtub and glances at him, but he presses a kiss on his temple.

Carlos flashes him a lopsided and quick smile.

TK’s driving skills are infamous among the 126, even if they let him drive the ambulance nowadays. Judd sent him a lot of pictures of the destroyed traffic cones when he tried to teach TK to drive the ladder truck. TK himself sent him pictures of the battered rear end of the truck.

Despite all of that, Carlos has always let him drive the Camaro when he has needed it, but still TK immediately took it as some sort of highest form of trust. Carlos does trust him, with everything and anything, so it is not unwarranted of him to think that way, but TK has developed the habit of declaring, after every time he has driven, that his car still remains un-crashed.

“And you?” Carlos asks, hoarsely.

“What?”

“I care a lot more if you survived without a scratch,” Carlos points out, kindly. It feels like an obvious thing to say, but he likes to remind him of it, anyway. He has to close his eyes for a moment because the room spins a little.

Any reluctance he might have towards letting him drive is because he only worries that TK will get himself hurt. But he has seen him drive, he isn’t that bad at it. He just has an unorthodox way of reversing.

“I did,” TK confirms with warm laughter, “I mean I only visited pharmacy and the supermarket.”

Carlos had every intention of texting TK that he wasn’t feeling well when he first got home, but he never got around to do it, and when TK arrived back to the apartment from his own shift, he gave him a full check-up before darting to buy some medicine that would make him feel better and stomach-friendly foods.

“You once got kidnapped from a parking lot,” he mumbles. Moving feels awful, but he rests his head against TK’s shoulder because holding his head up on his own feels impossibly tiring.

“True,” TK says, but his voice softens as he continues, “how are you feeling?”

“Like dying.”

It feels like an honest answer. It is only maybe a tiny bit of exaggeration, but he feels miserable. His stomach aches and cramps, and it is hard to focus on anything else except the nausea. Carlos lifts his hand a little, but as soon as he moves it, it starts to shake.

TK’s fingers immediately curl around his shaking hand and it almost makes it stop. He holds it firmly, but still gently and places their intertwined hands at Carlos’ lap.

Logically, he knows that handholding cannot cure nausea, but it almost feels like it. Feeling the touch of his skin helps him to focus on something else. His touch is almost like a concrete proof that he is not alone and that whatever he is feeling will pass, sooner or later.

TK lets out a sympathetic hum, and his hand feels almost too warm against his. “No dying on my watch, but you do look like crap.”

Carlos snorts. “I guess we’re officially out of the honeymoon stage.”

He means it as a joke, even though his voice comes out a little meek. In all honesty, he has no idea where the end or beginning of their honeymoon stage would lie. He still gets goddamn butterflies in his stomach when TK even as much as smiles at him, and he is probably more in love than ever.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful,” TK replies, and his voice is light and teasing, but it doesn’t sound like a complete joke to his ears, even though it must be.  

Carlos can imagine the way he is looking. He looked pale already in the locker room of the precinct and he knows he is drenched in sweat. Generally, he feels gross. It still feels like a small miracle that TK is willing to sit pressed next to him, kissing his head and holding his hand, without any complaints.

“That’s the spirit,” he manages to crook out before his stomach lurches and he has to puke again.

The sudden movement makes him dizzy and the taste in his mouth is bitter and awful. It sort of feels like he couldn’t breath properly and he is gasping for air, but TK is rubbing his shoulders in a soothing manner and it helps a little to keep the panic at the bay.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “just breath. You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

He isn’t sure if he loathes more the feeling of sickness or the fact that TK has to be there to witness it. If there is ever anyone in front of whom he has allowed himself to feel weak, it is TK, but he still cannot shake the uneasiness of being so helpless and small in front of him. He is also willing to bet that TK sees a lot grosser things at work on weekly basis, but that doesn’t mean he should witness it from him.

Carlos doesn’t really trust his voice to answer, so he just nods. He wants to believe that and as he catches his breath, he, at least temporarily, feels slightly better.

TK is still stroking his back.  “Have you drunk anything?”

“No.”

He didn’t even manage to drink a gulp of water when he ate that damn sandwich before they were sent to another scene.

Carlos turns around again, placing himself back to the familiar spot against the bathtub. TK studies him with his gaze for a moment before he pulls a bottle of water out of the plastic bag. He hands it to him, and the bottle feels lukewarm in his hands.

“Try to drink a little bit, okay? If it feels bad or you cannot keep it down, I can hook you into an IV bag of saline. If you want to.”  

His voice is soft and sincere, and full of concern, and Carlos cannot tell exactly how serious he is with his offer. All he knows that his first-aid kit has gone through a proper upgrade since TK started at his new job and he wouldn’t be that surprised if they had the equipment for simple infusion, too.

“I don’t think a food poisoning requires a paramedic,” he replies, slightly tentatively because he doesn’t want him to take it the wrong way. He opens the water bottle with shaky hands and takes a small sip out of it.

“Too bad that you’re dating one,” he remarks, but he watches him like a hawk as he keeps slowly drinking the water. “If the water’s fine, then you can take some electrolyte pills with it. They should help too.”

He lets out a non-committal grunt. Carlos doesn’t exactly mind that he is taking care of him. He rather likes it, and it makes him feel loved, but he doesn’t want to burden him after the twenty-hour shift he has just pulled off. “No need to bring work to home.”

TK stares at him for a moment. He squints his eyes a little as he tilts his head to the side. He opens his mouth but abruptly closes it again. “You--,” he starts, but he ends up shaking his head. “I’m not taking care of you ‘cause of some oath I’ve taken at work. I want to take care of you ‘cause I love you, and that’s really not work.”

Carlos looks down on his own hands, a little abashedly. It’s nothing he wouldn’t know already, but it is still a different thing to hear him say it. He knows TK loves him, he tells him it often enough and he shows it, too. It is almost a tangible thing that he can feel, and his love surrounds him every day, and he had no real doubts he would be doing any of this out of anything else except love. But he has lived most of his adult life alone, and it is difficult to accept help when he is used to managing on his own. He wants to accept it, but he cannot silence the part of his mind that keeps insisting that he is asking for too much.

He bites his bottom lip as he looks back up to TK. “Yeah, okay. I know. I’m glad you’re here.”

TK gives him a small smile, but it is definitely genuine one. It makes a different kind of warmth to spread in his stomach.

“Are we in the realm of possibility of leaving the bathroom?”

“Not really,” Carlos breathes out. He wants to leave the hard and cold floor, and possibly crash into the bed, but all of that feels like a distant wish. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine,” TK reassures, sitting back right next to him. “Nothing wrong with a bathroom.”

“You don’t have to stay here,” he points out, softly. He is a grown adult, and he isn’t in any sort of mortal danger. There is no reason why he couldn’t deal with a food poisoning on his own. Knowing that TK is at home would be more than enough.  “This isn’t really how I imagined our anniversary to be.”

“There’s no way I’d leave you alone when you’re feeling this terrible,” he says, without missing a beat, and he sounds determined, “and I brought something.”

TK rummages through the plastic bag and pulls out something small that looks like plastic. He presses something at the bottom of it and orange light appears in the middle of it. Carlos wants to blame his exhausted and dehydrated brain for taking it so long to realise that TK is holding a led candle in the middle of his palm.

He places it on the floor, near his shin. The fake flame flickers a little, but it is dim, and it certainly doesn’t illuminate the bathroom.

“Now it’s an anniversary,” TK remarks, softly, with a tiny sigh.

Carlos is pretty sure his heart clenches with the love he is feeling. The candle itself is a pathetic sight, but it is the thought of it behind it that makes his heart feel too small for all the love it tries to contain.

“That’s—nice,” he says, little lamely, but he appreciates more than he can tell. His mind is still too foggy to form any more coherent sentences and his head suddenly feels a lot heavier than before.

“I had to improvise,” TK laughs, but he stops quickly when he looks at him. “You want to lay down?”

Carlos manages to nod, and suddenly TK’s hands are on his shoulders and he gently and slowly steers him into lying position, but he places his head on his lap. As soon as he settles there, TK’s fingers are already in his hair and he runs them along his scalp.

“You know, I don’t mind that much that our plans got cancelled,” TK says, softly, breaking the silence after a couple of quiet moments.

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better.”

He already feels miserable enough lying curled up on the bathroom floor and using his boyfriend’s thighs as a pillow. His self-pity is already covering all the pity he needs, and he knows he brought this on himself by eating the sandwich even when his instincts told there was something odd about it.

“I’m not just saying it to make you feel better,” TK huffs, almost amusedly, “of course I hope you’d be able to stand on your feet and not to puke everything out, but we can have dinner some other time.”

Carlos knows he is right. It is already a small miracle that both of them have the evening off, and he guesses the meaning and idea of the anniversary is more important than celebrating it on the actual day.

“Yeah.”

“It’s just a day,” TK says, almost casually.

It is ridiculous, but it breaks Carlos’ heart a little. He knows it is not TK’s fault if he isn’t bothered by the cancellation or if he doesn’t see their anniversary the same way as he does, but he cannot control the pang of hurt it creates.

Carlos knows he might come off as a reserved person, but he has always liked to make a big deal of any sort of celebrations he has shared with his loved ones. His sisters’ and friends’ birthdays. Their high school graduations. All the holidays. His parents’ anniversaries. TK’s one year of sobriety.

He likes making his loved ones happy and sharing happy moments with them and showing by that how much he loves and appreciates them, and just how proud he is of them. TK has always appreciated everything he has planned for him, and he had gone out and the above with Carlos’ birthday and with that horrendous tumour cake for his dad.

And it had been nice, that he had finally met someone who appreciated that side of him, and matched with him and made the similar effort for him, but he should have guessed that at some point, eventually, he and TK would clash on it, too.

He knows TK loves him, and it is not like he would be second-guessing his feelings or commitment, but it feels stupid and selfish to hope that the day that is supposed to be about the two of them would hold more significance for him.

That it wouldn’t be just a day among the rest of them.

If there is a silver lining, it is that his nonchalant reaction is easier to deal with than plain disappointment of their plans being cancelled.

“It is,” he lies, quietly.

TK lets out a heavy sigh. “That came out wrong.”

“It’s fine,” he rushes to murmur.

It is the truth. It feels worse than it actually is because he is already wallowing self-pity, and he knows it will be fine once he manages to sleep through the night and when he doesn’t feel like his stomach is plotting to kill him.

“It’s not fine,” TK insists, accompanied by another sigh, but it is a lot softer this time. “The anniversary, it’s a big deal. Of course it is and I want it to be a big deal. And I don’t want you thinking that it wouldn’t mean a lot to me, because it does.”

Carlos quietly hums as a response because it sounds like TK has something more to say.

“You mean a lot to me, and I’ve been so—happy during this year and so obviously I want to go all out on the celebrations, but just—all I wanted, really, was to spend the day with you, and while this,” he continues softly and vaguely gestures towards the bathroom “wasn’t the plan, I’m still not disappointed. I get to be with you, and I love you as much here as I’d in some fancy restaurant.”

Carlos is certain he is so dehydrated that there is no possible way for him to tear up, but still, as he listens to his quiet rambling, his eyes start to sting. It definitely awakes a whole another twirl of emotions inside of his heart, but this time it is just raw happiness, love and plain affection.

A tiny bit of embarrassment mixes in with it all, because he misinterpreted his words and demeanour, but he wants to blame that on his own insecurities and the food poisoning clouding his mind. But he is still a little bit of in awe because somehow TK knew exactly what he needed to hear, and all of it is just overwhelming.

“The restaurant would probably smell better,” Carlos ends up deadpanning, because he is still a little speechless.

A surprised laughter escapes from TK’s mouth and he shakes his head, but he scrunches his nose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And it means a lot to me, too,” he adds with more serious tone.

Carlos has known since the beginning that they share a connection that is special and profound, somehow, and he has wanted him since he saw him, but he is still a little bit in awe that they have made it so far despite their rocky start.

He wants him to know it, too, even if his mind cannot come up with anything too eloquent.

“I know,” TK replies, simply, “and you’re in no shape to go to work tomorrow, so I took a day off too.”

He sounds almost delighted as he declares it.

“You didn’t really have to do that.”

It feels just a bit unfair that TK has to use one of his day offs to take care of him, and only because he ate something that had gone stale.

TK brushes his thumb across his forehead gently. “The twenty-minute trip to the store was nerve-wracking enough, I’m not going to leave you alone for twenty-something hours. And it hardly is your fault that you got food poisoning, babe. It’s just bad luck.”

“I’m not complaining if I get to have you all for myself,” he murmurs as he shifts a little on the floor. He closes his eyes for a moment, but surprisingly the wave of nausea never comes. “I don’t know about the fault, but I cannot have that bad luck, I still ended up with you.”

TK laughs, and he is pleased because that is what he was aiming for. His laughter is beautiful, and he always wants to hear it, but right now it is the most soothing sound he could imagine.

“This has nothing do with luck,” TK says, gently, “but I sure feel lucky.”

Carlos just smiles at him.

“We could do new plans tomorrow,” he continues, running his fingertip along his collarbone. “I think we both have next Thursday off?”

Carlos knows that they have been together for a year and that it shouldn’t be too big of a surprise that TK knows his shifts by heart, but it still fills him with particularly fond warmth because they both have irregular shifts, so he has to learn his rooster, on top of his own, every week, and he does it every time.

“I guess we can celebrate our 371 days together too,” Carlos caves in, and through the exhaustion, he can feel the corner of his mouth twitching into a gradual but affectionate smile.

Carlos was never too caught up on the idea of celebrating the anniversary on the exact day, but it could have been nice. He guesses the anniversary is more about what they make it out to be, because after all, it is theirs. And knowing that TK is at least as much into the idea of it, warms his heart a lot.

“Exactly,” TK chuckles, “it will be the best 371-day anniversary you’ve ever had. And we can have dinner today, too, once you’re ready to depart the toilet. I’ll come up with something.”

“Trying to give me a double food poisoning? That’s cold.”

He tries his best not to smile, but it is impossible, and a grin breaks out on his face quickly. TK pretends to be shocked and offended, but his smile persistently stays visible, too, and the softness of his gaze never fades. He nudges him gently with his elbow.

“Hey, you’re on a strict stomach-friendly diet and just for that, I’ll mix the applesauce with the rice.”

Carlos frowns at the mere thought of that.

“The other option is bananas and toast. Mint tea is supposed to help, too.”

His stomach is wallowing still, but he is rather sure that all of that would sound unappetizing, even if he was feeling perfectly fine. He is also aware that he will at least try to eat whatever monstrosity TK comes up with because it is still made by him.

“Sounds—bland.”

“It’s supposed to be,” he remarks, “it won’t be a mind-blowing culinary experience, but when anything I’ve cooked for you would’ve been. The difference is that this time it’s going to help and make you feel better.”

“Thank you,” Carlos whispers, more seriously and sincerely than the situation probably calls for, especially when TK is cracking jokes about his own cooking skills, but he wants him to know he is grateful. More than those two little words can convey.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, “are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, a little,” he lets out a sound that only half-resembles a chuckle. “I’m still sorry I ruined tonight.”

TK might not blame him, and maybe, despite his own thinking that this would have been preventable, it is one of those uncontrollable things. Yet, he thinks he deserves an apology.

“Nothing’s ruined, really,” TK starts, “and this isn’t a terrible anniversary. Little unconventional for sure, but we’re together, in love and there’s candlelight, so I think we could’ve done a lot worse.”

“I know,” Carlos breathes out, “the candle really saved this.”

It sends TK laughing again. “And if we’re being completely honest, we have a tendency to mess up dinner plans. Especially the big ones.”

“True.”

“I’m willing to bet that if we ever get married, a natural disaster will strike,” TK jokes.

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Carlos feels how TK’s muscles tense up, and he goes a little still. His fingers stop moving in his hair, but at least he isn’t pulling his hand away.

Marriage isn’t something they have ever outright discussed. Obviously, they are both in it for the long haul, and he has always assumed that marriage is something they are slowly heading towards to. He knows TK has his own baggage about his failed proposal, but it makes him happier than he could say that TK can make jokes about marriage already.

Because Carlos can definitely imagine himself marrying him. He can more than imagine it, he wants to do it. He knows there is no rush, and that taking their time is a good thing, but he would marry him in a heartbeat or in ten years. Either way, he knows it would be something that will bring immense joy to him.

“Bold of you to assume it would be only one natural disaster,” he comments, a brilliant grin spreading on his face, “it will probably be at least two.”

TK immediately relaxes. He lets out a breath and continues to run his fingers through his hair. “There should be a safety manual for the whole thing.”

“Oh, definitely,” Carlos laughs, still little weakly, “evacuation plans and everything.”

After the active volcano, it feels like nothing that the universe throws at their way would surprise him anymore, and he knows they have had their fair share of weird and ridiculous calls, and that they have survived all of that so far, but a wedding would definitely be the biggest dinner possible, and it seems like tempting fate.

“We’ll send it with the invitations.”

He still feels weak and sick, but the feeling of pure happiness is starting to overpower both of them.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Carlos admits, quietly.

“Yeah, me neither.”  

[daddystevee]

you really love her, don’t you?

(steve harrington x fem!reader)

A/N: good lord i feel like i’ve forgotten how to write. Its been way to fucking long. Sorry its basically all dialogue. haha so basically instead of Robin and Steve getting stuck with the Russians, its fem!reader and Steve. Robin, Erica and Dustin go out for help.

Warnings: a few curse words, mention of blood and vomit?

Summary: After being friends for years, reader has always thought that both she and Steve always had some sort of chemistry. But after the first few weeks of summer and working with Robin, she starts to think otherwise. Before the big battle with the mind flayer, reader and Steve let out their true feelings

Work count: 1.6k

•

Steve started off as kind of an acquaintance to you. The two of you would see each other in the hallways at school, and even sat next to each other to talk sometimes in some of your classes. But the day you ended up on the wrong road at the wrong time you got sucked into a scary situation, and it kind of forced the two of you to become friends, and over time best friends.

Throughout the years of fighting with the upside down you had grown to love your best friend. Steve has started to show some interest in you a few months before the two of you graduated. Both you and Steve would go hang out alone, whenever you could, but never really called them dates or anything. He would always act super flirty when he was around you, but you never brought it up to him, hoping he would make the first move.

It all carried on until the two of you scored a summer job at the new Starcourt mall, slinging ice cream at Scoops Ahoy, and he seemed to find some interest in your new coworker, Robin Buckley. You and Steve would still hang out, but when you did he would always ask if Robin could come along. While you didn’t mind Robin coming and hanging out, you wished it could still be just the two of you.

As the summer progressed, both you and Robin cracked a secret Russian code and ended up getting trapped in an underground base for more than 24 hours. You heard Steve get punched too many times, and in the end of it all, both you and Steve got injected with some sort of truth serum.

•

You follow closely behind Dustin going to the front row of the movie theatre, and being told to sit. Both you and Steve do as you’re told.

“Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere.” Dustin says in a very serious tone.

“Fine, dad.” Steve says back sassily, turning to look at you causing the two of you to burst out in laughter.

“We mean it, Harrington.” Robin says in such a way that it makes your giggles die down.

“This movie is pretty boring.” you lean over to whisper to Steve. You tear your eyes away from the screen to look at him as he continuously shoves the popcorn that he had mysteriously picked up, into his mouth.

“You know what’s not boring?” he asks with his mouth still full of popcorn, “Water.”

“I saw a water fountain on the way in here wanna go check it out?” you ask while wiggling your eyebrows at him.

Steve leaned forward to look over to the two smaller children talking to Robin, thinking really hard about what you had just asked.

“But Dustin said to not move.”

“Steve, when have we ever listened to Dustin.”

He leaned back and made eye contact with you and shrugged, throwing the bag of popcorn onto the ground and grabbing your hand, pulling you up and out of the theatre.

•

The two of you stumbled down the hallway and to the fountain, as soon as Steve saw it he ran to it like it was an old friend that he hadn’t seen in years. He instantly stuck his face into the water and drank like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

“That’s amazing”

“Slow down, bucko. Maybe take her on a date first.” you say before grabbing Steves shoulders pushing him out of the way, “It’s my turn, you’ve had enough.”

As you’re drinking the mediocre fountain water, you see out of the corner of your eye, Steve wobble over to the middle of the floor and look up to the ceiling.

“Hey, Y/N.” he says, causing you to lift your head looking in the direction that your name was coming from. “You gotta check this out.”

You take your last sip of water before walking over to the boy and looked up to the ceiling as he was, noticing that the roof was very pretty but starting to spin a little too fast for your liking.

•

After rushing to the bathroom to puke up all that was in your stomach, you and Steve sit on the yellow, white and black checkered floor in silence.

“Hey, the ceiling finally stopped spinning.” you said opening your eyes for the first time since laying down to cool yourself off on the floor.

“Holy shit, you’re right. You think we puked it all up?” he asks

“I think so? Ask me something.”

“Um, when was the last time you peed your pants?”

“Today. When the Russian doctor pulled out that bone saw.”

“Oh, my god.” He let out with a loud chuckle causing you to start laughing.

“It was just a tiny bit!” you say before sitting up against the wall of the stall so you could hear Steve a little bit better.

“Okay, okay my turn.”

“Alright, uh.” you start thinking. Of all of the things you could ask him, one thing comes to mind. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Yup, Nancy Wheeler. But you know how that went.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re still in love with her?”

“No, but I think it’s because I found someone who’s a little better for me.” he admits

You sigh as he continues putting your head on your crossed arms that are on your knees knowing where this is going.

“It’s crazy. You know how ever since Dustin’s gotten home from camp he’s been telling me that I’ve got to find my Suzie. I think I was just scared of Tommy making fun of me or something.”

Robin

“Or that I wouldn’t be prom king or whatever. It was so stupid because the girl I should’ve been hanging out with has been sitting in front of me, the whole time. Cuz first of all, she’s hilarious. She’s so funny.”

Robin

“And, I think she’s so pretty, beautiful even. I’ve never seen anyone as gorgeous as her. She’s smart, way smarter than me. She even helped crack a secret Russian code. She’s honestly unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You know?”

Robin

With your head still low, you felt tears creep their way into your eyes, stinging a little at the corner. You knew you shouldn’t have asked this question, you knew where this would lead. Not thinking about how badly it would actually hurt.

“Y/N?” you heard followed by a little knocking on the stall in front of you, causing you to lift your head a little and look in that direction. “Y/N, did you just OD in there? “

You sniffled a little wiping the tears that had fallen onto your cheeks on the back of your hand, “No, I’m fine. I’m still alive.” you say followed by a deep breath.

Suddenly you see a pair of feet slide under the divider, followed by the rest of Steve.

“So what do you think?” he asks you with a hint of hopefulness in his eyes.

You take another small breath before looking up at the bruised boy in front of you. “About?”

“This girl?”

“She sounds amazing, and perfect for you.” you say knowing he’s talking about Robin.

“Yeah? You really think?” he asks excitedly.

“I mean yeah, it sounds like you really love her, don’t you?”

“I really do.” he responds looking into your eyes while reaching for your hand. You pull your hand away from him kind of quickly with tears forming in your eyes, causing his brows to furrow in confusion.

“What- what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing, nothing. I’m really happy for you, I think you and Robin are great for each other.” you say looking down into your lap.

“Wh- Robin? I wasn’t talking about Robin. I- I was talking about you.”

“You what?”

“I love you, you dingus.” he says as a small smile falls onto his lips. Steve switches sides, moving to sit much closer to you. You place your hand on his face, rubbing your thumb across his un-bruised cheek.

“I love you too, Steve.” You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but the kiss was short and sweet and it wasn’t like you had imagined. But given the circumstances, a dirty bathroom floor was not the place to have a long and passionate kiss.

“You know, that wasn’t anything like I had imagined it.” you say looking at Steve.

“I know, kissing on the bathroom floor covered in blood and vomit wasn’t exactly part of the plan for me either.” he says in response causing you to burst into a fit of giggles slowly turning into laughter. You were pretty sure you both still had some drugs in your system, but you felt better knowing that Steve felt the same way you felt about him.

While still laughing, you lean into kiss him another time but mid kiss Robin busts through the door with Erica and Dustin following close behind. You and Steve turn to look at your friends and Robin has a smirk on her lips as if she’s about to say something, but is instantly cut off by Erica.

“It’s about damn time, nerds. You two have been eyeballing each other since, the beginning of the summer.” she says with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes, and for some reason this caused the two of you to laugh even more. Sure it wasn’t perfect, but you now had a new sense of strength to make it through this, knowing that you had Steve by you and would be there for you on the other side of it all.

[feverishbangtan]

of migraines and other things

It’s 2:30am here but I’m finally done with it! Here’s some sick Yoongi for you all!

Sickie: Yoongi

Caretaker: mainly Seokjin and Hoseok

Word count: 3170

TW: emeto

"Welcome back to Korea! What are your plans for the next week?" One reporter yells loudly.

Someone else shoves their camera into the members' faces, trying to get a good shot of them.

"How was the last concert? How are you feeling now?"

"Are you working on a new album right now?"

Questions upon questions are being thrown their way but the members ignore them, giving a tight-lipped smile at most.

Seokjin has a scowl on his face, obviously annoyed and stressed with the situation. But his hand on Yoongi's back is gentle as he guides him through the packed airport.

Reporters eagerly awaited their return from Tokyo, the last stop of the Asian tour leg before they'll have a one week break.

Fansites of the boys gathered there as well. They are a lot more tiring to deal with. While the reporters stay in one place, taking pictures of the members and throwing questions at them, the fansites follow them around the airport, invading their space and shoving their cameras into their faces.

Seokjin ignores them, his attention divided between moving forward and the man next to him.

Yoongi suddenly stops walking and Seokjin nearly stumbles into him. His hand moves up to rest on Yoongi's neck, squeezing gently as he leans down to inspect the smaller.

"What's wrong Yoongi-yah? C'mon, just a bit more and we'll be out of this crowd," he encourages. Yoongi swallows visibly and nods, grabbing Seokjin's hand as they continue walking.

They only make it a few more steps before Yoongi stops again, squeezing Seokjin's hand to make him stop as well.

"Hyung-" Yoongi inhales shakily and swallows hard. He squints his eyes behind the sunglasses, the noise and bright lights irritating his migraine.

"I- I'm gonna be sick," he breaths out, trying to suppress the urge to throw up last night's dinner in the middle of the airport.

"You- what? Like, now? You have to puke now?" The panic is evident in how Seokjin's voice rises a few octaves.

Yoongi screws his eyes shut, trying to breathe through his nose as he presses a hand to his mask-covered mouth.

"I- okay. Just- Let's just- Let's go over there. You can sit down on the chairs, maybe that'll help," Seokjin suggests desperately, tugging the younger in the right direction.

The crowd seems to calm down a little as more airport security personnel arrives. Seokjin lost view of the others shortly after they left the plane but he knows they must be a few steps ahead of them.

Just as they reach the seating area, Yoongi starts gagging. He pulls the mask under his chin when he realizes it's inevitable, mouth already watering and the taste of vomit in the back of his throat.

Instead of sitting down on the chairs, as Seokjin suggested earlier, Yoongi leans over the big trash can, dry heaving a few times as he tries to fight it. He spits out the saliva and burps, whole body tensing as he tries to not throw up in such a public place. All the effort is futile, though, when he burps again and it brings up a stream of puke.

Seokjin stands in front of the smaller man, trying to shield him from the cameras that are still pointed at them, while simultaneously rubbing his back to comfort him.

"It's fine. It'll be okay," he tries to reassure the younger.

Once Yoongi is finally able to breathe again without gagging, Seokjin asks: "Are you done?"

Yoongi nods and uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

"Okay, then... Do you need to sit down for a bit? Or are you alright to leave?" Seokjin assesses their surroundings. There are still a lot of people and even with the security they have, it would be a mess to walk through that crowd.

One of their managers walks up to them, looking worried as he eyes the rapper. "There's a VIP lounge down that way," he tells them, pointing in the right direction, "The others are already waiting there and you can stay until the mass dissipates."

They move slowly and Seokjin's hold on Yoongi is tight. The younger has his eyes cast downward, trusting his hyung completely. The airport security does a good job, keeping all the people away from them and they arrive at the lounge quickly.

Seokjin sits Yoongi down on one of the couches, not paying any attention to the other members watching them worriedly.

Hoseok crouches down in front of Yoongi, gently placing his hands on the elder's knees to get his attention.

"How are you feeling, hyung?" He asks so quietly even Seokjin, who sits right next to him, barely hears him.

"Head hurts... and still nauseous," Yoongi mumbles and closes his eyes.

The loud noises and bright lights surely don't help his migraine at all.

Taehyung had given him his sunglasses before they left for the airport in the morning and Jimin had given him his noise-canceling headphones. Yoongi had to take off the headphones because he felt too disoriented when he had left the plane, but the shades were helpful.

They all feel bad for Yoongi. They felt horrible when they found out he had a migraine, knowing how bad they tend to get for the rapper. Jungkook had tried giving him medicine but that didn't help at all. The maknae felt a bit guilty, thinking he should've known this would happen when Yoongi and he went out for a midnight snack the night before and Yoongi ended up eating even more than him. But Yoongi was sure to reassure him that it wasn't his fault at all and there's nothing any of them could've done. He'd just have to push through it.

Pushing through it is a lot harder to do, though. Especially with how overwhelmed he felt when they walked through the airport. Now that he can rest in the quiet lounge it's a bit better and the members make an effort to be quiet.

"We'll be home soon and then you can rest," Hoseok promises.

He squeezes Yoongi's knees but the older tenses and groans. Right, Hoseok thinks, sensitivity to touch.

They all just sit there in silence for a while. Almost an hour later someone informs their manager that they got the crowd to leave and it is safe for the members to head out to their cars.

Jimin and Taehyung stay close to Yoongi, helping him maneuver out of the airport and into the backseat of the car. The ride home takes another hour or so and they are all exhausted. Jungkook ends up falling asleep and Yoongi wishes he could, too. He wants nothing more than to sleep but that is an impossible task in the moving car. He's very relieved when they finally stop at the gates of the big building their shared apartment is in.

Jungkook and Namjoon take Yoongi's bags so he doesn't have to carry them. Once inside, no one turns the lights on. It's late afternoon anyway, and there's still enough sunlight to illuminate the rooms. Hoseok drops his bags in the entrance in favor of helping Yoongi to his room.

"Do you want to shower first?" he asks as Yoongi slowly slips out of his pants.

"Can't. Head hurts too much," Yoongi whispers and crawls into his bed once he's changed.

"Okay, rest well hyung." Hoseok quietly closes the door to let the older sleep peacefully.

—

Later that evening Hoseok sneaks back into Yoongi's room. No one has heard even the slightest noise from him and the younger rapper is getting a little bit worried.

Yoongi looks up at him sleepily when Hoseok opens the door. He must've just woken up, hair messy and face flushed.

"Hi hyung, how are you?" Hoseok keeps his voice down in case Yoongi’s head is still hurting.

The older hums, "my head's feeling better. Thank you for asking Seok-ah."

His head doesn't feel like it's going to explode anymore but there's still a dull pounding behind his eyes.

Hoseok smiles brightly, happy that Yoongi's feeling better. "Good! Jin-hyung made dinner, do you want me to bring you some?"

The smile slips off his face when Yoongi shakes his head and burps into his fist.

"I'm not hungry. Actually, I'm still a little nauseous. I'll shower and go back to sleep."

"Maybe it's nausea from not eating all day. I'll tell Jin-hyung to bring you something." Hoseok leaves before Yoongi can even open his mouth.

He doesn't think he feels nauseous because he hasn't eaten all day. It feels different but not quite like before when he felt sick because of his migraine. Maybe he caught a bug or something.

Seokjin comes into the room after announcing his presence with a hard knock on the door.

"Yoongichi, Hoseok-ah said you're feeling sick?" He places a bowl on the nightstand.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, mustering the younger. Yoongi looks pale and generally unwell. Seokjin purses his lips as he presses the back of his hand to Yoongi's forehead.

"You feel warm. I think you have a fever," he announces, "Try to eat a little bit, and then you can go back to sleep."

Yoongi is hesitant to try the stew. His stomach feels tight and queasy. But Seokjin insists so he tries it.

It was a mistake. Yoongi knew it was a mistake but he tried it anyway and now he regrets it.

"I-" is all he manages to get out before he gags into his hands, luckily unproductive.

Seokjin curses and looks around the room. He grabs the trash can and shoves it under Yoongi's chin.

"I shouldn't have made you eat. I'm sorry, Yoongichi," the older apologizes and rubs Yoongi's back when he gags again. Seokjin pats his back to move the process along when he retches unproductively once more. With another heave, he throws up the little bit of stew he had. His stomach stops rumbling and it makes him feel a little bit better, nausea subsiding for now.

Seokjin grabs the bottle of water Yoongi always has on his bedside table and pours him a glass, "here, drink a little bit."

Yoongi's hands are a little bit shaky when he grabs it. He takes tiny sips, just enough to get rid of the horrid taste in his mouth before he gives it back to Seokjin. He doesn't try eating any more after that and Jin doesn't bug him about it.

Yoongi takes a shower and curls back up in his bed right after. He's exhausted and all he wants is to sleep. It's getting late anyway and all of the members must've been tired because it's very quiet in the dorm, all of them probably asleep by now.

—

Yoongi can't have been asleep for more than an hour when he jolts awake again.

His stomach lurches and saliva gathers in his mouth. It takes him a few moments to collect himself and realize what's happening.

He jumps out of bed and sprints to the bathroom. He barely makes it in time before he's bent over the toilet and throws up the water he had earlier before going to sleep. This isn't how Yoongi planned for the night to go. He just wants to sleep off the bug and feel better in the morning but it doesn't look like that is going to happen.

Even after he brought up everything that was left in his stomach, Yoongi still feels nauseous. He just took a shower earlier but his skin is already coated in sweat again. It makes his hair stick to his forehead and his clothes feel like they are glued to his body. It's very uncomfortable on his sensitive feverish skin.

Still feeling sick he does not dare move away from the toilet. And it turns out that is a good idea. Just as Yoongi's dozing off again, back leaning against the cold tile wall, a nauseating burp leaves his lips. Then another before he scrambles back over the toilet. Continuous unproductive heaves make his body shake. It's tiring and painful, his stomach cramping and his throat raw.

Yoongi doesn't realize when the door opens. He only notices that he isn't alone anymore when a soothing hand rubs up and down the length of his back.

"Ah, Yoongi-yah. I don't think you have anything left to throw up." Seokjin's soft voice whispers.

Yoongi isn’t loud when he throws up but Seokjin has always been a light sleeper so it’s no surprise he woke up. The younger has half a mind to feel bad about it, considering that none of them have gotten a lot of sleep lately and this is the first night they can all rest at home and don't need to worry about a schedule in the morning. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on that thought when his stomach cramps again and forces up a trickle of bile.

"I'll be right back," Seokjin promises and leaves the bathroom.

Yoongi wipes his lips with toilet paper but he doesn't have the energy to get up and wash the rancid taste off of his tongue. Instead, he just leans back against the wall, shivering at the cold seeping through his shirt.

When Seokjin comes back he brings pillows and blankets with him. He spreads them out on the floor and makes Yoongi lay down on the thick duvets. Jim puts one of them around Yoongi, who curls up underneath it, trying to get warm. He knows it’s probably just the fever making him feel so cold when his skin actually feels warm to touch.

"Here, drink a bit. It'll make you feel better." Seokjin pushes a water bottle into his shaky hands.

Yoongi takes a few careful sips but not enough to upset his tummy again.

Jin hands him a small pill. "Try to take this, too. It'll help with the nauseous feeling," he instructs and Yoongi swallows it with another sip of water.

"Thank you, hyung," the younger murmurs and curls up in the nest Seokjin created for him.

Seokjin stays with him throughout the night. He knows not to be too overbearing with the rapper, that would just make him uncomfortable. Yoongi can take care of himself, and Seokjin knows that but he doesn't want to leave him all alone.

So he stays, reminding the younger to drink a little bit whenever he wakes and staying next to him when Yoongi has to throw up again.

In the morning they're both even more exhausted than before. Yoongi from getting sick all night and Seokjin from waking up every hour to take care of him.

—

Namjoon is the one to find them in the morning. He walks into the bathroom, rubs the sleep from his eyes, and yawns. He jumps in surprise when he sees both Seokjin and Yoongi sleeping on the floor.

Namjoon goes to crouch down next to the eldest, shaking Jin's shoulder. "Hyung. Hyung, wake up."

Seokjin blinks up blearily at him. He looks around himself before recognition settles on his features. He puts a finger to his lips, signaling Namjoon to be quiet.

"Hyung, you should go to bed," Namjoon whispers and glances at Yoongi, "both of you."

Jin untangles himself from the sheets carefully, freezing for a second when Yoongi makes a noise in his sleep. Once he settles again, Seokjin gets up.

"Did you sleep here all night?" Namjoon asks, thinking about how uncomfortable that must've been.

Seokjin only nods tiredly as he walks up to the sink and splashes water into his face, waking himself up. He turns around and leans his back against the counter, mustering Yoongi, considering what to do next.

Eventually, he sighs and kneels back down, shaking the younger awake. "Yoongichi. Yoongi," he murmurs, "wake up. It's morning. You should go back to bed."

Yoongi grumbles but opens his eyes, blinking sleepily up at the two members standing over him.

"Good morning hyung!" Namjoon greets him happily. Yoongi does not return the cheerfulness.

"Yoongi-yah, you should go to bed. Sleep some more. I'll bring you breakfast later," Seokjin promises.

However, Yoongi turns back around, cuddling into the pillow, "I'll just sleep here. This is good enough."

Namjoon shakes his shoulder again, rougher than Seokjin. "No, hyung. You should go to bed or your back will hurt."

Yoongi lays still for a bit longer, debating on whether it really is worth it. He's achy and tired and just wants to sleep. He already spent all night on the bathroom floor so why can't they just let him rest there for a few more hours.

But there’s that tiny rational part of his brain that's trying to get his attention. Yelling at him that they're right and that he'll regret sleeping on this hard cold floor, even with all the bedding he's laying on. He should gather his leftover energy and drag himself back into his bedroom and sleep there instead.

Seokjin helps him back to his room and tucks him. He then places a bucket next to Yoongi's bed - just in case. He leaves with another promise to bring him something to eat later and get-well wishes.

—

Yoongi sleeps for most of the day. The fever and puking are taking a toll on his body and it leaves him tired and aching. He still has to throw up occasionally but it's less frequent than it was during the night.

The other members wake him up to give him something to drink - "You don't want to get dehydrated on top of this, hyung!" Jimin reminded him earlier.

Seokjin didn't want to be too obvious about it but he is worried. Yoongi has been throwing up for two days already and he still has a fever.

"How is he?" Hoseok asks when Jin walks into the living room.

He looks up to see everyone gathered on the couch. Seokjin sighs, "Not so good. He's still warm and he threw up again just now. If he's not better by morning I think I'll take him to the doctor."

"Hmm," Namjoon hums, "he doesn't usually get this sick."

"He doesn't usually get sick at all..." Jungkook mutters. It's obvious that they're all just as worried as Seokjin is.

"I'm sure hyung will be better soon!" Taehyung tries to look at it positively. The others agree with him, hoping he’s right.

—

That night Yoongi spends in his bed instead of the bathroom floor. He hasn't thrown up in a few hours, to everyone's relief. His fever finally breaks during the night and even though he's very sweaty and uncomfortable in the morning, he feels better.

Yoongi's still a bit weak and shaky and he refuses the meat Taehyung offers him for breakfast. "I don't think I can stomach that yet, but thank you Taehyung-ah."

He actually manages a smile and Taehyung is glad to see that his hyung is feeling better. They all are.

[hold-me-sickfics]

The Independent Jungkookie

Hi guys! This is my first post since being back. I’m sorta rusty, but I hope you guys like it!

TW: emeto/ slight fear of vomiting/ slight fear of being alone when sick

Word Count: 1343

_______________________________

“Breathe Jungkookie. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Jimin rubbed the maknae’s back as he retched into the toilet bowl once again. The lights were turned down low so they wouldn’t hurt the boy’s eyes.

“Hyung- “he gagged, “m’ not a baby.” Jungkook was the youngest of the group, which often led to him being treated like a toddler when he got sick. Though he claimed not to like it, the rest of the members knew he needed it.

“You’re right Kook. Sorry.” Jimin smiled half-apologetically.

Jungkook retched again, then leaned into Jimin’s chest.

“Here’s your Sprite bud.” Yoongi came in holding a glass of Sprite with crushed ice (not cubed. Jungkook hated it cubed.)

“Thanks.” Jungkook reached his trembling hands out to take the glass. Yoongi got down on his knees and gave it to him.

Jungkook took a tiny sip, and then gagged, turning back to the bowl.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

“Hey Yoongs,” Hoseok spoke in a low tone so he wouldn’t startle the maknae.

“What’s up?” Yoongi stood back up, and joined Hoseok out in the hallway. He closed the door behind them.

“Does he have a fever yet? Jin wants to know. Namjoon has volunteered to go get the liquid fever reducer since Jungkook won’t take pills.”

“I’ll have to check. Do we have the scanning thermometer? Jimin said he gagged every time he saw the one that goes in his mouth.”

“Um…” Hoseok thought for a moment. “Maybe? Hang on, I’ll go look.” Hoseok turned to leave, and Taehyung showed up right behind them.

“Hey, how’s he doing?”

“Hasn’t thrown up yet, but he’s awful nauseous.” Yoongi answered as he checked his phone. It was 3:25 a.m. Jungkook had woken up at 1:57 a.m.

“I washed the blanket he likes. Jin is setting up the living room so we can all sleep in there.” They all knew that Jungkook couldn’t sleep alone when he felt sick.

“Yoongi!” Jimin called from inside.

“Coming!” Yoongi opened the door to Jungkook finally throwing up. The poor maknae was in tears.

“Yoongi I feel bad.” The youngest rasped.

“I know bud. It’s alright.”

Jimin, who was still on Jungkook’s right side, was now holding him around his back, while Jungkook kept both arms around his churning midsection.

Jungkook’s back tensed as he puked up the remnants of dinner, and Yoongi wiped his face with a cool cloth. 

“Hyung, I’m the youngest but I can take care of myself.” Jungkook was still trying to act all tough, but the other members had just learned to let him talk like he was independent, and then treat him like the sick little boy he was.

“I know you can Jungkook.”

Yoongi and Jimin shared a look of sympathy for the little guy, but also a slight smile at how cute the maknae was when he was trying to be tough.

“Do you think you’re done?” Yoongi leaned down a bit to meet Jungkook’s eye level.

He shook his head, then retched.

“Hey I got the thermometer.” Hoseok stood in the doorway, holding the thermometer out to Yoongi. He would have loved to help the maknae too, but he was too much of a sympathy puker. Even with just coming into the bathroom, the smell was close to setting him off.

“Thanks, Hobi. Okay Kookie, I’m just gonna scan you real quick.” Yoongi pressed the button on the thermometer and pointed it at the maknae’s forehead.

The device beeped pretty quickly.

“What’s it say?” Jimin asked.

“100.8. He’s definitely got a virus of some sort.”

Jungkook whimpered pitifully. The poor thing was sweating through his t-shirt, and yet he shivered hard enough that it was difficult for him to sit up on his own.

Yoongi looked up at Hoseok who was turning green in the doorway.

“Might wanna tell Namjoon to go get that medicine. And popsicles.”

Hoseok turned to leave.

“Hyung, I don’t need popsicles to get over a virus.” Jungkook’s eyes watered.

They all stayed silent for a moment.

“What flavor do you want buddy?” Hoseok, like the others, saw through the façade.

“Grape please.” Jungkook whispered.

“You got it.” Hoseok closed the door.

“Think you’re finished now Kookie?” Jimin rubbed the youngest’ arm with his thumb.

“Yeah. For now anyways.” The poor boy was shuddering from exertion and chills.

“Let’s get you in the living room then.” Jungkook nodded, and let the other two boys help him up. Once they got him on his feet, Yoongi flushed the toilet so Jungkook wouldn’t have to see its contents.

Slowly, they helped him to the living room, and set him down on the couch. Taehyung had taken extra care to make sure Jungkook’s Overwatch fleece blanket came out of the dryer right when he entered the room.

“How ya feeling Kookie?” Taehyung asked as he tucked the youngest in the warm blanket.

“My stomach hurts.” His eyes started to water once again.

“Well, luckily for you, I have something for that.” Jin came over with a heating pad which was wrapped in a thin towel. He plugged it in, and flipped the on/off switch. 

Thankfully, the store wasn’t far from their apartment. 

“Namjoon is on his way back with the medicine and popsicles. Think you could drink a little tea for me?”

“I’m just gonna throw it back up.”

“We can hope you don’t. Hoseok?” Jin called.

“On my way.” The pitcher rattled with the crushed ice inside. Hoseok brought a glass of it into the living room and handed it to Jin.

Jungkook’s arms were already tucked into the blanket.

“Hey Hobi, grab me a straw real quick. A blue one if you’ve got it.”

Hoseok brought a blue straw just as he’d been asked to.

“Here you go Kookie. Lean up a little.”

Jungkook had been laying in Jimin’s lap, so Jimin cupped his head in his hand and helped him to lean up. Jin slipped the straw between his lips.

Jungkook took a drink, and then turned away.

“M’ done.”

Just then, Namjoon came in with a shopping bag.

“Alright JK, I got grape popsicles, orange-flavored fever reducer, and a pair of those fluffy socks you like since your feet get really cold when you feel sick.”

“Thanks, Hyungie.” Jungkook smiled a bit, though he was still shivering.

“Okay bud, can you drink this for me?” Jin poured 10mL of the fever reducer into a small measuring cup.

“I don’t want to…” Jungkook took a whiff of the orange liquid and retched.

“I know. Just try to breathe alright?”

Jungkook nodded, wide-eyes fearful.

A couple minutes passed, and Jungkook still couldn’t take the medicine.

“Okay bud. I’m gonna help you.”

Jungkook turned around to see Yoongi with a shot of pickle juice.

“You know how much I hate this stuff right?” Yoongi swirled the liquid around, mentally convincing himself it was just a jello shot.

“Yoongi, you don’t have to.” Jungkook glanced at the pickle juice shot, wishing he could trade.

“I know I don’t have to. Now on the count of 3, it’s bottoms up. Got it bud?”

Jungkook nodded, teeth still chattering from his chills.

“Alright. One, two, three.”

The boys downed the shots, with one’s taste buds revolting against them.

“Yoongi, you okay?” Taehyung asked.

“Yeah, just got choked up for a minute. I’m proud of you Kook.”

Jungkook smiled a bit, and then cuddled back down in his blanket, and further into Jimin’s embrace.

“Wanna watch a movie Kookie?” Jin asked, rising from Jungkook’s side.

“Can we watch Monsters INC?”

“Sure bud.” Yoongi slid in under the maknae’s feet.

“I’ve got the heat turned up. Let me get those socks JK.” Namjoon slipped the fuzzy blue socks onto Jungkook’s feet, and then covered them up again with the blanket.

“Just so you guys know… I could have done it by myself. I’m almost as old as you guys. I’m not a baby.”

“We know Jungkookie, we know.” Jimin started to play with Jungkook’s hair, and he was out cold asleep before the commercials even went off.

 The End

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-9)

Word count: 4.2K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, teehee ;)

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: There is no angst in this part whatsoever. Fun break, right? ;)

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23 the best! <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

Kevin kept stealing glances at you. It started out guilelessly, but then he got suspicious real quick.

“Something is up with you!” He finally proclaimed.

You looked up innocently from the bowl you were mixing the batter in. “What?”

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I know something is different today,” Kevin insisted. “Jack, back me up here!”

Jack looked up from his book, sweet and oblivious. “What?”

It only furthered Kevin’s annoyance. “Look at her!” He pointed a finger accusingly at you. “She’s humming!”

“She hums sometimes,” Meg shrugged from her place near the flowerpots in the balcony, where she sat cleaning her telescope.

You winked at her and she blew back a kiss.

“Did you see that!” Kevin shouted. “And now she’s winking!”

“Kev, you need to take it down a notch,” you grinned at him.

“Say what you want, Y/N, I know you’re keeping something from us,” he announced. 

“It’s just that I have an evening to myself for the first time in a while. It’s good to know that I can be in bed by eleven.”

“That’s a good enough reason to hum if you ask me,” Jack said absently. “God knows we’ve all wrecked our sleep schedules beyond repair now.”

“Y/N, Cas and Pam at least have night jobs,” Meg said. “We have zero excuses.”

Kevin gave up on trying to wriggle out the reason for your humming out of you and settled for stealing the cookie batter.

“Let’s not bake this. Let’s just eat this out of the bowl.”

You smacked his hand away, taking the bowl with you to the kitchen counter.

The door to the apartment opened and Cas came in. He looked ready to drop.

There was an outburst of excitement at his entry and he gave everyone a tired but happy smile.

“I thought I’d find you guys here,” he said, dropping on your sofa. 

“Long day?” You asked sympathetically.

He sighed. “It’s always a long day when you’re posted in the pediatric ward. I don’t look forward to it.”

 “But you’re so good with children!” Meg said.

You zeroed in on her. “How do you know that?”

“I-I ran into him at the hospital,” she said, suddenly busy with her lens. “It was nothing.”

Didn’t look ‘nothing’ to you, but you didn’t press her on it. Solidarity was the key to a healthy roommate relationship. Afterall, she had helped you out with Kevin earlier and hadn’t spoken a word about the coat.

You needn’t have worried, because Kevin clearly wasn’t over you.

“Y/N’s keeping something from us,” he complained to Cas promptly. “She’s humming, and smiling and baking those cookies!”

“She does all those things normally,” Cas said. You gave him an exaggerated bow, and Kevin’s jaw dropped.

“Now she’s- she’s doing that!” he spluttered.

You threw the kitchen rag at him. “Why are you scrutinising me with a magnifying glass, when we all should be clearly interested in Jack’s date! Why is nobody asking him the questions?”

“It was good,” Jack said, finally setting the book down. “Claire’s awesome! Hey, Y/N, guess what I found out? Her mom’s a Professor at the law school!”

“Really?” 

“Claire Mills, if it helps,” he added.

Professor Mills. You would have never guessed she had a daughter that old. She didn’t look it. You were instantly reminded of her barging into Sam’s office. What would have happened, if she hadn’t?

“You know what? Fine! Don’t tell me,” Kevin crossed his arms over his chest.

You walked over to him, and ruffled his hair. “It’s really nothing. If it was anything big, I’d tell you.”

It was true. A professor had smiled at you for a bit. That was all there was to it.

“Fine,” he gave in, sneaking away the bowl of cookie batter. “Keep smiling though, you light up the room.”

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

9th September 2008

‘You’ll be okay by yourself?” Aunt El asked you, worry creasing her forehead.

“Mom!” Jo groaned. “She’s not by herself! She’s with me.”

Ellen looked at her like that was hardly a good thing and you snickered.

“I worry that instead of her influencing you in a good way, you’re going to spoil her,” she admonished Jo good naturedly. “Please don’t get drunk and annoy the neighbours.”

“We’re totally getting drunk and annoying the neighbours,” Jo whispered conspiratorially behind her mother’s back.

Ellen was heading to Wisconsin for a bar owners convention. At least, that’s what she had told you. Jo believed it was a pretense for her to get drunk with her own friends.

“I’ll help out Jo at the diner,” you told your aunt, getting up to walk her to the door. 

Aunt El placed a hand on your shoulder. “You know you don’t have to, Y/N. Jo has plenty of help there.”

“I want to,” you offered, and she smiled.

“Alright girls,” Aunt El said. “Don’t have too much fun.” She hugged both of you and chasetly kissed your forehead. It was such a pure gesture of affection, it brought back memories of your Gran and the few faded ones of your mom.

“Pick your poison, my sweet child,” Jo grinned, pulling out a bottle of Vodka mere minutes after Ellen’s car had left the driveway. She had a hoard of bottles with her under the table. “We also have Whiskey, rum and this sweet mother of everything holy - Tequila.”

You stared at the assortment of liquor in horror. “Jo, I’ve only ever had beer, and two pints were more than enough to me as high as the holy heaven. This is a stupid idea.”

“In this house, we live for stupid,” Jo said, pouring some of the colourless liquid in a shot glass. “At least when my mother isn’t home.”

You looked at her dubiously.

“C’mon, Y/N, this will be fun!”

Her grin was so infectious that you gave in. 

“Pour away, bar wench,” you said, delicately putting your hand against your forehead like a gothic European woman. Your cousin howled with laughter and slid the glass towards you. “Let’s start with Vodka, shall we?”

The next day you would know that you shouldn’t have started with Vodka. Hell, you shouldn’t have started with anything! It felt like waking up in another reality when you opened your eyes the next morning. In fact, even doing that had been a struggle. The sun was shining too brightly through the tiny slit in the curtains, almost assaulting you in the eyes and your head felt like it had grown a few pounds over the night.

You groaned, wanting to roll over and go back to sleep, but a wave of nausea hit you and you shambled out of the bed, making it just in time to the bathroom to hurl your gut into the toilet. It was nasty and felt neverending. After the puking fit passed, you just curled on your side on the wet bathroom floor, wondering why the hell people put themselves through this? Sure, it had been a fun night, and after the second glass of vodka, you didn’t remember much anyway. Just really vague memories. There was some dancing on the staircase involved, jumping on the bed, and really loud music. Your throat was already sore from all the yelling and laughing, the throwing up had only made it worse.

You tried to recollect why you were in your bra and shorts. Oh, strip poker. You wanted to bang your head against the bathroom tiles, but even moving made the nausea worse. Only the thought of Jo finally made you get up and go looking for her in the house, which was a total mess. There were clothes everywhere. It was like the wardrobes had all burst open spilling clothes all over the house. 

And had there been crying? You remembered in flashes that you were sobbing ceaselessly in Jo’s arms at one point. 

Jo was nowhere to be seen. You did the only logical thing and called her phone.

“Morning, sunshine!” Jo answered on the third ring, voice absolutely nice and chirpy.

“How?” You croaked. 

Jo’s laughter echoed from the other side. “I’m just good at handling it. I was going to wake you before I left for the diner, but you were out for good. Figured you’d call when you woke up. Man, drunk Y/N is my new favourite person in the world. She’s a freaking rockstar! We are so doing this every weekend.”

Well, you wanted to dropkick drunk Y/N from the roof of the house. She got to have all the fun and you were the one to suffer especially when you didn’t even remember anything. From your seat next to the phone you gawked at the clock. It was just past noon.

You groaned.

“There, there,” Jo said sympathetically. “There’s a bottle of Advil on my nightstand. Take two and keep drinking water. You should be better in a few hours, okay?”

“Mhmm…”

“Do you want me to come over?” She asked, sounding worried now.

“I'll be fine,” you answered, quickly.

“Just keep sipping on some water and don’t skip the meal. Eat some bread, I’ve heard that helps, too.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Hey, Y/N,” Jo asked. Her voice hitched, as if she was nervous. “I’m going out with Dean after work. Is it okay with you if he stayed over?”

“Of course!” you said immediately. “It’s no problem at all.” 

“Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.”

After hanging up the phone, you studiously did what Jo had said. Took the pills, filled a water bottle and then snuggled up on the couch, playing some mindless sitcom on the TV.

You didn’t pay any attention to it. Instead, you thought about Dean. When you had first met Dean, you were a little unsure about what to make of him. He wasn’t exactly hostile towards you, but it wasn’t hard to spot the wariness, as if he didn't trust you being around Sam, or rather didn’t want to trust. After the funeral that had completely changed. He had been more than welcoming and understanding. In fact, he had taken the time out to show you around the town in his car. According to Jo it was super rare of him and that he must really like you. His words from the graveyard came back to you. “You have to take care of yourself first, before you can take care of anyone else.” It had been just for your ears, and you knew exactly who he had been hinting towards.

You wondered idly, if you’d had a big brother, would he have been just as protective of you as Dean was of Sam? But Dean wasn’t just Sam’s brother, he was more than that, he was also a parent. Must have been awful to be the responsible one since such a small age and then doing such a great job. Look at how Sam had turned out to be.

You sighed, readjusting yourself. You so wanted to call Sam, but didn’t want to disturb him when he was busy studying for the Bar. You had taken to dropping by their place in the mornings with food. It made you feel like one of those evil scientists, because Dean’s face would light up the moment he saw you, expecting the pie. It was all really cute. Sam’s eyes, however, were only reserved for you. There was so much longing in them that it made your legs weak. The moment he saw you, though, the longing would be replaced by purest of joys. You would run to him and he’d catch up in his arms, kissing you soundly each time. That feeling, of being so wanted, was the best thing in your life right now. 

It was always the little things. How he never touched you without being completely sure that it was what you wanted. The first night you had stayed over, you had woken up in the middle of the night to find him sleeping on the carpet below you. The sight would have melted the hardest of hearts.

You didn’t know what most couples did, had nothing to compare this with, but Sam was definitely different. He read to you. He would open his textbooks, and read out loud cases and laws and proceedings. You didn’t understand much, but you loved to see him so immersed in it, his deep voice had become an anchor, steadying your life around it.

Once, after much persuasion, he had obliged you by playing a piece of Chopin on the Grand Piano. He said he was rusty, since he had been out of practice for so long, only having started playing again recently. You didn’t understand classical music. Whatever he played, it was all lovely.

On Sundays you would go to the park with picnic baskets, and you would rant about the ducks endlessly. Sometimes Dean and Jo would join you, but mostly it was just the two of you, stealing quiet moments. The soft touch of his rough hands drove you mad sometimes, but he never did anything more than kiss you. At first you wondered if he didn’t want anything more, despite Gran’s ‘boys only want one thing’ speech, and it left you feeling so frustrated. You would have believed it too, that he wasn’t interested in you like that, if you hadn’t seen his pupils dilate after he kissed you. His hands would start shaking a little and he would gulp before pulling away. He felt something, even if he didn’t want to show exactly what it was. 

The clock chimed and you opened your eyes. Had you really fallen asleep again, despite having woken up at noon? The TV was still playing a rerun of Days of our lives. You sat up feeling steadier. In fact, your stomach was settled, too. It was like the hangover of morning had never happened. Despite it being only 6, it was dark outside. You walked to the window to see that the sky was overcast. 

Deciding to listen to Jo’s sage advice, you made yourself grilled cheese and ate it as quickly as you could before getting to the mess that the house was in. Dean would be flabbergasted if he saw the condition of the place. You grabbed all the clothes and folded them neatly into two piles- yours and Jo’s. Seriously? Had there been a drunk fashion show? Then rounded up the empty bottles and put them in the trash can. It took you over an hour to clean the rest of the house.

At least Jo had put the mail inside on the table before leaving. You decided to put it in the drawer for when Aunt El returned from her weekend. As you were sliding it in, you noticed that one of them was addressed to you and on the letterhead of-

You hurriedly tore open the envelope and pulled out the contents. Unfolding the first paper, you went through the content furiously for the words that you were looking for. As you read them, the paper slipped out of your hand, fell onto the table. You were running before you knew it, running out of the house and into the street. It had started raining outside and your feet slipped on the wet pavers of the sidewalks. Several times you slipped and fell, but you didn’t let that stop you. Each time you picked yourself up, running till you were drenched and out of breath, till you had reached his house.

You banged on the door, not stopping until it opened. Sam stood there, his annoyance swiftly melting into first surprise, then concern.

“Y/N!” He ushered you inside, quickly closing the door behind you. 

“Sam... S-Sam,” You tried to say and he immediately dragged you inside. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re shivering and soaked to the bone,” he fretted, seating you on the sofa and throwing a rug over you. “What were you thinking? You know you can’t deal with the cold!”

“Sam,” you said, grabbing his hand to stop him from hovering over you. “I- I got in!”

He came to a halt. “What?”

“I got into North Carolina Central,” you finally managed through chattering teeth. “I got in!”

His grip on your arms loosened just for a second and then he was pulling you to him, kissing you with an emotion that probably didn’t have a name. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, pulling back, a grin of true happiness breaking across his face. “You did it, Y/N! You did it! This is incredible.”

You could see that he meant it. Each word. And his eyes were saying more than that, they were brimming with gratification. Instead of saying anything, you leaned forward and kissed him some more, deeply, pouring all your feelings into it, till a violent shiver ripped through you.

“Shit!” He swore. “You’ve got to get out of these. You can use my bathroom to wash. I'll get you some of my clothes. Not that they’d fit.” He scratched the back of his hair, looking nervous.

Anything to get out of these clothes. Now that you were so cold, you realised just how reckless it had been to get wet in the rain. 

“Come on.” Sam slowly led you upstairs to his room. “I’ll just turn the hot water on for you.”

You looked around Sam’s room as he disappeared in the bathroom. All the times that you had been to the house, he had never invited you up here. Not once. Looking around, you noticed how clean and organised the room was. There weren’t many personal touches, given how little time he had spent here in the past few years, but there was a picture on his table, of him and Dean, laughing at something. 

“In you go,” Sam said, coming out. “There’s a towel for you, and er... I’ll leave the clothes on the bed.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled shyly and walked into the bathroom, clutching at your wet clothes. Locking the door, you stared at the girl in the mirror. She looked bright eyed and… happy. Like the whole world was at her feet. 

The hot shower did calm your nerves, soothing your skin and getting the mud out of your hair. It felt impolite to leave your clothes in the cloth basket at the foot of the sink, but what other choice did you have? Wrapping the towel around your body, you peeked out to make sure you were all by yourself, before stepping out. Sam had laid out a tshirt, a pair of boxers, sweat pants and even a sweater. You felt your face heated up at the sight of them. It felt so intimate to pull on the boxers. You pulled the T-shirt over your head next. It almost reached your lower thigh. Boldly, you decided to ditch the sweatpants, not feeling the need for them after a warm shower.

In the living room, Sam was tending to the fire, his back turned towards you. Feeling brave, you climbed down the staircase. Sam turned at the sound of your feet and his eyes widened, an audible gasp leaving his lips. The reaction was both flattering and encouraging as you walked towards him slowly and kneeled down in front of him. He gulped and breathed out, leaning back just a bit. You moved forward, caressing the side of his face. He sighed as if your touch pained him. 

“Is this not okay?” You breathed uncertainty. “Do you not want this?”

Maybe the hurt was clear on your face, because Sam drew your hand away from his face and placed it over his heart. Through the thin layer of his t-shirt, you could feel it pounding hard.

“Not want this?” He laughed breathily. “It feels like I’ve wanted nothing but you since I first saw you.”

You didn’t understand. “Then why don’t you ever-” you trailed off.

He took your face in his hands, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “Y/N/N,” he whispered and the hair on the back of your head stood straight at the intensity in his voice. He had never called you that before. “Don’t you see? You’re too good. I-I don’t think I’m saying it right… part of me feels that I don’t deserve this… I don’t deserve you.”

“Sam! What’re you talking about?”

He looked away, not meeting your eyes. It was something you couldn’t bear.

“Do you know what my first thought was, when I saw the acceptance?” You asked gently, placing your other hand which wasn’t resting over his heart, on his face, making him look at you. The very light stubble there prickled the skin of your palm. “That I had to tell you. It was enough to make me run in the rain, because I knew no one would be as happy for me as you would be!”

“I was happy because you deserve this and the world.” His eyes were a liquid galaxy. They held the universe’s power over you.

He still wasn’t getting it. “Sam,” you said, voice low. “I love you.”

His grip on your face slacked and his hands slid down to your shoulders, eyes roving all over your face, like he was trying to memorise every line, every curve of it.

“Y/N.” 

Your name falling from his lips did strange things to your body. Suddenly you were yanked forward and with none of the softness you had come to expect from Sam, but with a desperation that left you reeling. His fingers twisted in your hair and he was kissing you hungrily, like there was no tomorrow, like the world would cease to exist if stopped now. For you it would, if he stopped. You grabbed onto his shoulders, feeling the tense roll of his muscles as his lips traveled down the column of your neck, leaving wet kisses in their wake.

And you? Your body was on fire. It didn’t hurt, just tingled so pleasantly that you never wanted it to stop. An incoherent moan left your mouth as you held on to Sam like dear life.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded, unable to form proper words, and then fumbled with the hem of his t-shirt. God, don’t stop now. Don’t stop ever.

Sam yanked his shirt off of over his head in one swift move and you were left to marvel at that carved out muscles. You ran your hands lightly over his chest, abs and stomach till the skin disappeared beneath the waistband his pants. 

His hands disappeared under your shirt, feeling the skin of your back and shoulders. You shivered and he pulled his hands back. 

“Do you want to go upstairs?” He was nervous, you realised. You dipped down to his chest.

“Yes.”

Before he could do anything else, you stuttered, “Sam?”

His eyes were wide, breath coming pants. “Yeah?”

“I-I’ve never done this before… I want to... but I don’t know how…” your voice trailed off and you looked down at his hands where they held yours. 

Sam placed one finger under your chin and titled it up so he could look into your eyes, “We’ll take it slow… only if you want to. And if you don’t-”

You put your finger to his lips. “I want to, really.” You might spontaneously combust if it didn’t happen now. 

That was all Sam needed to hear. He scooped you up in his arms, and carried you to the very bedroom you had just left. There was no fire here, but the room was dim and his bed was somehow already warm. He didn’t waste a second before his arms were circling your waist. You caught hold of the hem of your t-shirt and pulled it over your head. Sam gasped, his eyes doing that thing again which made you go all weak in the knees, made your bones soft.

“Can I?” His voice was oh so soft, and when you nodded, he pulled you back to him, chest against chest and skin against skin. You’d be damned if it wasn’t the most wonderful feeling in the world.

“God, I love you,” he breathed into your hair. “I’ve wanted to say it for so long. I can’t believe that you feel the same way.” He kissed your forehead. “And you’re so beautiful. Each time I look at you, you take my breath away. What are you doing to me?”

This was what touched you the most about being with him. He treated you like the most precious blessing in the world, like you were some special favour granted to him by destiny when you were just… you. The only reason you could tell him that you loved him so freely was because you knew he felt the same way. How could you not know, when he looked at you like you were his wish come true? His every gesture, every word just went to further prove it. 

But he did try to prove it for every moment of the night, with his touches, kisses and reverences. He tried to prove it over and over. Later, exhausted, after he had fallen asleep, you lay with your head over his arm, thinking that he needn’t have tried at all. You would forever remember that he loves you. It was the one thing you would never question.

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

A/N 2: *Wiggles eyebrows* Finally some action eh? ;) Let me know what you think about it. The next chapter is mostly in present times and pretty crucial for the progress of the story, if I do say so myself ;)

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[ask-anti-cosmo]

Return of Anti-Cosmo

“So, you’re saying you work on a ship, and your boss was paid by some woman to drop a safe in the ocean?” You frowned at the man. “And…that’s significant?”

The scruffy seaman took out his phone. “Yeah, look!” He said and showed you a video of a very large safe being dropped into the ocean

“...And…?” You frowned unimpressed. “What was in it?”

“That’s the thing, she refused to say! We were paid for our silence, but I wrote down the coordinates cause I knew there was either something really good or bad in there! In the very least something of Value!”

“Why would she drop something of Value in the ocean like that?” You frowned.

“Well she certainly didn’t pay us thousands of dollars to toss nothing in the ocean.”

You thought about it for a minute. He wasn’t wrong, not one would lock trash in a safe and toss it in the ocean, it’d have to be significant. But what would they want to get rid of so badly? Maybe it’s a dead body or evidence. Either way, your curiosity was growing.

“Alright Mr…bade? How long ago was this?”

“About 15 years ago.”

You stared at him a minute. “and you only decided to come forward with this now…why?” you glared, feeling annoyed because now whatever was in the safe had time to deteriorate.

He looked a little bashful at this. “Well…I knew if I came forward boss would fire me…but I was fired last Friday so I figured…it was worth looking into now.” He said with a slight shrug.

You took a deep breath and sighed with irritation but decided it wasn’t worth getting mad over. “Fine, I’ll fund an expedition for your buried treasure, but since I’m paying for everything I get 90%.” You said.

“I only get ten percent?!”

“You’re honestly lucky to get that much. There is no guarantee there’s a profit to be made! It could just be a body disposal, then what do we get?”

“A reward from the police?” he asked hopefully.

“if that, and even if then it’d be minimal.” You frowned. “I’m doing this out of curiosity and boredom. If we find nothing, I will make your life Hell.” You assured. “I am older than I look and hate my time being wasted.”

He shivered but agreed, seeming very confident in the treasures for this endeavor. “Yeah, keep me updated! And I want to be there for the safe opening, I want to be sure I’m not being fooled!”

“Yeah yeah, get out while I make some calls.” You waved him off.

You were rich, you had connections, and you have eternity to spend, but that won’t stop you from tearing out the throat of Mr. Bade if there was nothing good or interesting in the safe. You didn’t mind your time or money being wasted if you get that much out of it, but you did make him a promise. And you kept your promises. Cross your heartless chest, you were an honest vampire.

~~~~~~~~

You easily had the voyage set up, a ship rented, a secure crew, and a plenty long enough cord to bring up the fabled Safe. A deep water submarine was attached to the boat with a robot crew, and a remote control way for it to find and guide the safe back up.

You and Mr. Bade were aboard, and although you were feeling a bit seasick, he seemed to be perfectly fine with the situation.

“haven’t been on the sea much?” he laughed at you.

“Not for years…” you huffed. Well, specifically decades but you didn’t advertise that.

You waited in the cabin for to pass the time before you were told that the ship had reached the coordinates.

You went to the room where The submarine camera footage was being recorded. You watched it get dropped into the water and descend into the darkness, shining it’s little lights around.

The sub seemed to take forever, drifting downward farther and farther till it found the floor of the ocean. It began to crawl along, searching for the man made object.

You actually started to drift to sleep before Mr. Bade jumped from his chair. “There it is!! That’s the safe!” he said with excitement.

You looked at the screen to see, sure enough, a mossy Safe that looked big enough to hide either a lot of treasure in it, or a body. “Bring it up then!” you ordered.

There was a lot of waiting involved, but no boredom as you watched the subs robot arms linking the chain around the safe. Then it followed the safe back up to the surface so you could see the progress and keep it from getting loose.

You saw the sunlight began to shine on it and went outside to see it starting to be lifted from the water slowly. Water poured from the cracks of the safe and seaweed and moss hung from the walls.

You grinned as you watched it slowly get set on the deck. “alright, let’s crack it open!” you declared and called forward your expert for getting the safe open.

It didn’t look high tech, in fact with the safe being at least 15 years old or more, it took your safe cracker almost no time at all. Mr. Bade rushed up to see what kind of treasure he had lead you to.

The door of the safe creaked open, more water poured out, and inside was a small man chained to the back wall, and drooping with a dead weight. He was covered in moss and tiny barnacles, his dark clothes slightly tattered from the water damage and small organisms that crawled around it.

A collective gasp went throughout the people of the deck and Mr. Bade swore under his breath.

“So it was a corpse…” you sighed in disappointment. “I half expected it…go get the coroner.” You called to a crewmate.

While waiting, you walked up to the drooping wet body to look closer, hoping there would be more inside. He wore dark blue clothes that looked almost Victorian. His hair was dark, looked almost blue, and upon closer inspection so did his skin, but you assumed it was discoloration from suffocating or perhaps the moss that grew on him. Not to mention an odd looking thing in his mouth, maybe a ball gag.

You squinted at the back of the safe to see a “do not feed the animals” sign behind him and gave a soft laugh. “Buddy, what in the world did you do to deserve this?” you laughed to yourself in disbelief. Maybe he was a cheating husband or something.

The coroner came over and looked around. “Well, any evidence will have been eaten or washed away at this point…let’s just get him out of there so I can inspect him farther on my table.” He said and called over the two policemen that accompanied him.

They used bolt cutters to cut the chains and ease the body out, pulling him onto a gurney. It was odd that he showed no signs of stiffness, but was still very droopy and almost ragdoll like.

You stepped forward curiously, looking closer at him. You noticed some weird black leather on his back. “what are those things on his coat?” you frowned and pointed to them.

The coroner blinked and looked closer. Just as he reached for them, suddenly they erected straight out, making you all jump back from the body.

The man’s red bloodshot eyes suddenly opened and he jolted up. His body convulsed a second before his hands came up and ripped off the ball gag off quickly. He got on his hands and knees and he began coughing up the water in his lungs. Everyone sat back, watching in shock as he gasped and puked up water and other particles of sea life.

“N…not possible…” the coroner said in shock as you watched the man catch his breath.

You walked closer to him, wondering what kind of being could survive 15 years underwater in a safe. Your mind started to race with excitement at the thought of him possibly being a vampire like you. There weren’t many of your kind left after all.

After he coughed up as much water as he could, he sat a minute, not moving besides breathing hard with an occasional cough. The black leathery wings on his back at reached weakly but started to droop once again.

You touched his back and he jumped back from you, baring fangs that made your heart soar. He glared at you with red rimmed neon green eyes. He coughed again before attempting to talk.

“what….year…is it…?” he said hoarsely.

“You’ve been in there for 15 years. That fellow over there watched you get dropped in the ocean before and lead us back.” You motioned to Mr. Bade.

“…wand.” He rasped out.

“Wand??” you asked in confusion and looked at Mr. Bade.

“Oh…I don’t know about a wand, but we dropped another smaller safe somewhere else, but I don’t have any clue where…” he frowned.

The supposed dead man growled in anger, but he tried to sit up.

“Sir, please stay on the gurney! You’re in terrible condition!” the Coroner told him urgently.

He started to lash out at everyone nearby, so you approached him and talked softly.

“You’re hungry aren’t you? You need blood to heal, right?” you asked softly.

His eyes widened but he didn’t say anything, just staring at you. At least he stopped attacking. “Its okay, we can help, okay? Just please calm down.” You told him. “Just…get on the gurney, and I’ll get what you need.”

“I…fine…” he frowned rasply and he sat on the gurney. He looked like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it. They carefully lifted him up and began to carry him to the medical room. You followed with excitement at finding another vampire. It’s always been so lonely and hard to find other vampires.

He let them bring him to the room before sitting up and curling up into a ball. The coroner tried to get closer but he snarled angrily, making him back off. You came closer with a blood bag, but if anything, he looked more annoyed and angry about it.

“Here you go.” You held it out to him.

He huffed and took the bag, drinking from it. He coughed again and even though he only took a sip, he set the bag aside.

“Hey, you should drink it! You’ll feel better!” you told him.

“Wrong kin-“ he said before breaking into a coughing fit.

“Wrong kind? Can you only have one kind of blood type?” you frowned.

He got up in frustration and took the bag with him. He walked over to the bare wall and spilt the blood on his hands and started writing on the wall furiously.

When he was done, he was breathing hard and looked back at you angrily. On the pale walls, he wrote:

“BLOOD OF THE UNFORTUNATE”

“Um…a misfortunate persons blood?” You asked in confusion. “Why would you need-“

He hissed in frustration and anger and began shoving people out of the way and rushed out the door.

“Sir! Get back here!” you called after him. You followed him. He kept grabbing people and breathing in their scent before shoving them away. He seemed to be going crazy, not finding what he wanted. “Sir!” you yelled again.

He stopped and looked back at you in a frenzy. “I! AM! ANTI-COSMO!!” He screamed, his voice sounding stronger than before, his anger tearing through the pain he was no doubt feeling.

“He is mad with hunger…” you realized and ran at him, tackling him to the ground. “Settle down!”

“Bad luck! I need bad luck!!” he screamed and fought back. You were able to get on top of him and attempt to hold him down as he thrashed. “I need bad luck!!” he insisted again.

“I think you’ve had enough!” you demanded and bit him in the neck.

He gasped and his grip got loose with shock. His attempts to fight back were nothing but weak flailing now. You held him down, making him lose whatever strength or fight he had left.

You have never tasted blood like his before, it was unreal. It tingled on your tongue and burned down your throat. It even started to make you feel giddy. Anti-Cosmo gasped and began to lay back and relax, seeming to be too weak to fight anymore.

You pulled away and studied his features, discovering that the blue skin you thought was moss, was his actual skin color that you could see. His eyes were still ringed red with signs of suffocation, and his ears were elfish, with earrings and a cracked monocle attached to one. You looked at the monocle to see it had to be prescription, so you unclipped it and called someone over so see if anyone could fashion a replacement, as well as find someone with bad luck. It must be frustrating not being able to see and you hoped it would help him settle down.

He pulled away from you and curled up, making you realize how small of a person he was, almost child like in size and proportions. His small wings retracted and clung to him sadly.

“I…used to be…a god…” he said softly.

“Hey, it’s okay…” you told him gently and scooted closer. “you’re…not a vampire are you?”

“I’m…an…Anti-Fairy.” He said slowly, the hoarseness in his voice becoming more faint. “I’m…powerless without my wand…” he said quietly and curled up tighter.

“No, you have wings and survived the safe and water pressure. You’re stronger than you think.” You told him and tried to get closer, but he let out a soft hissing screech.

“Even if I could find an unfortunate soul to feed from…I cannot pay them back.” He sighed. “I need to…to have perfect exchange.”

“How do you pay them back?” you asked.

“With my wand!” he said upsetly. “I need it!”

“Okay okay, we’ll look for it.” You promised. “Can you take blood and repay them later?”

“…yes.” He sighed in defeat.

“Then settle down. We’ll find someone to feed you.”

“Before I feed we must write down what they want from me with a guarantee of no change. Debts can change with time, but not if they’re perfectly agreed upon with proof of agreement.” He told you. Now that he was speaking more clearly you could hear a British accent in his voice.

“Okay then…what are you, a lawyer?”

“A dealmaker.” He stated.

“Like a demon?”

He actually smirked at this, his mouth twisting upward and showing off his fangs. “Yes…of a sort. But instead of a soul, I simply get blood.”

“Not a bad deal.” You nodded.

“As far as you know.” His eyes shimmered slightly with mischief. He then leaned slightly closer to you.

“What?” you frowned, starting to feel slightly uncomfortable.

“You bit me.” He simply stated.

“To…calm you down.” You stated.

“How did my blood taste? Like magic?” he whispered as someone came up.

“Um…ma’am?” he asked. “You said you needed someone with misfortune. Uh, Bill’s got a lotta health issues and too many medical bills to deal with…does that count as bad luck?” he asked.

You looked at Anti-cosmo expectantly. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“Yes, that will do.” He agreed. “We need some paper to write up his wish, so I know exactly what I’m exchanging for.”

“Wish? Like, a genie wish?” you asked

“Not too far off my dear.” He said and adjusted his collar.

“I’ll get you dry clothes if you want, maybe a shower…” you offered. “After you eat of course.”

He sighed, looking annoyed but significantly calmer than before. “Yes, fine.” He agreed. “But I can’t see a thing without my monocle.” He huffed.

You were able to find him glasses of close to the right prescription. He popped out the left lens and put them on with a sigh. “It’ll suffice.” He said.

You got Anti-cosmo paper and he wrote up a whole contract with almost printer-like speed.

“That was fast…” you blinked.

“I don’t do this normally. Usually the wisher says the right words, I grant it, then I take the blood as needed. But in this case, I am taking no chances.” He said and pushed the paper to the crewman.

“Uh…is there limits? Like, rules?” The crewman asked cautiously.

“Bigger the wish, the more blood I get. I’ve gone so long without I’d appreciate nothing small.” AC stated. “It doesn’t have to be huge though.”

“Uh…okay. How about a wish for good health?” He asked.

“Decent.” AC responded flatly.

“Uh…r-right…” he nodded, feeling awkward from the hard stares AC gave him with his sickly neon green eyes. He wrote down his wish and name on the paper.

Anti-cosmo began to stare at him hungrily as the doctor started to draw blood from him. You recognized the blood lust and started to worry that he’d get impatient and attack the man. You took his hand, making him flinch and look at you. He narrowed his eyes at you, almost suspiciously.

“And how old are you?” he asked.

“Its rude to ask a lady that.” You stated. You knew he must have known or at least suspected you were a vampire, but it was like he was messing with you. You certainly didn’t want it advertised and you wondered if he planned on messing with you the whole time about it.

“I am thousands of years old.” He offered, which certainly made you double glance at him.

“Then I’m decades old.” You offered, making him snicker.

“So vague.” He said with amusement. He was then offered a half pint blood bag by the on-site medic. His eyes lit up as he started to drink it happily. As he started to drink, the hemorrhaging around his eyes started to instantly heal and he started to look a little less deathly, but still blue skinned.

He finished and sighed with satisfaction.

“You okay now?” you asked.

“Very much so. I won’t be perfect till I get my wand though.” He sighed. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate that shower.”

“Yes of course.” You nodded.

You allowed him to use the shower in your suite and had the crew look for clothes that fit him while his were washed and dried. You weren’t sure they were worth saving considering the moss and water damage, but he was so petit, it was difficult to find anything to fit him.

You came into your suite with clothes you hoped would fit him but wasn’t sure. He walked out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. Even with his small stature, he certainly didn’t have a child body. He was most definitely mature. You supposed he had to be after 1000 years if he wasn’t lying about his age. You blushed at the sight of him, but he then ran into the door.

He cursed and squinted at the door and held his face.

“Oh, do you need your glasses?” you asked. “You set them over here.” You said and picked them up. You came over and set them on his face, making him blink and look at you curiously again.

He reached up and put a hand on your face before moving your lip up to see your fangs. You tried to pull away. “Stop it! Yes I’m a vampire okay?!” You huffed.

“What was it like? Drinking my blood?” he asked in a soft yet frightening voice. “I have never been fed upon before.” He said darkly.

“Yeah it was weird okay?! I only did it to knock some sense into you. I was excited at first when we met cause I thought you were a vampire too, but now I see you’re…” you paused when seeing his wings flex. “…different.”

“We’re not so different.” He said and tried to move into your line of sight. His height seeming to grow suddenly, but his wings weren’t flapping. You looked down to see he was levitating, but also about to lose his towel.

You looked back up in embarrassment but realized he made no effort to stop the towel from falling. “Would you cover yourself?! This is highly inappropriate!” you huffed.

“You invited me to your room.” He said, placing the blame on you as he touched your face again.

You turned away from him and tossed him the clothes you brought him. “Just get dressed!” you said, feeling slightly humiliated and annoyed.

“Oh, what gaudy clothes…” he complained.

“I’d sooner toss you back in the ocean than let you walk around naked.” You told him.

He sighed in defeat. “Oh fine. How is the search for my wand anyways?”

“Not good, it’s not like we have a giant metal detector that can find a small safe in the vast ocean. You may be stuck without.”

“I’ll find a way.” He insisted with confidence.

“I thought you said you’re worthless without it.”

“I still have minions I can use to help.” He shrugged. “It’s just finding them is the key.”

You heard his groan in in Disgust. “These clothes barely fit.” He complained.

You glanced back to see him only wearing a shirt but it was long enough to keep him covered. “Where are my other clothes?”

“Being washed and possibly condemned.” You frowned.

“If I had my wand this wouldn’t be a problem.” He huffed.

“Well you don’t, so it is. Get over it and deal with what we have till we get to land.” You said, getting annoyed with his complaining.

He looked surprised at your outburst and came over. “Even though I usually prefer to stay more modest, I must say I don’t mind in your company.” He said and you felt a finger run up your spine.

You flinched and quickly stepped away from him. “What the *beep* is wrong with you?!” you huffed. “horny *beep*!” you cussed at him, but he just laughed.

“What can I say? I feel more…loose around you.” He smirked, fluttering in place.

“Well you’re no helpless creature you pretend to be.” you huffed.

“You have questions for me I assume?” he asked, laying belly down in the air.

“Yeah…like if you’re powerless without your wand, how are you doing that?”

“I am a magical being with magic coursing through my veins, it’s does have its perks. Like how I can still do this without my wand.” He said and changed his form in a puff of smoke. He now stood in front of you as a black cat, strutting happily.

“You can shapeshift?” you asked.

“I can do little things for myself is all. I can’t help anyone else.” He said and changed again in front of you in the single shirt again. “Of course, I suppose I have my hands to work with.” He smirked at you.

“Couldn’t you shapeshift into a more modest outfit?” you glared.

“Oh dear, you’ve found me out.” He said sarcastically. “No, I can change my body and that’s it.”

“Well maybe I’ll make you stay a cat or a goat.” You folded your arms.

“Oh? And how will you do that?” he asked, leaning closer to you as he flouted up in the air.

You thought for a minute. Throwing him back in the ocean wouldn’t do much with his wings, and it’s be sadistic to lock him up considering he just got out of the safe. Then you thought of something.

“You grant wishes for blood right?” you asked.

“You’d give me blood to keep me modest?” he rose an eyebrow at you curiously.

“You’re the one being ridiculous! You won’t stop flirting with me!” You glared

“You bit me first.” He smirked, making you blush. He reached forward and stroked a finger down your neck. “Besides, I can’t be sure your blood would be satisfying anyways.”

You slapped his hands away. “That’s it, I’m going up deck. Stay here, float around, do whatever!” you said angrily and walked out.

He watched you leave with amusement. It has been so long since he’s got to toy with anyone, and you were just fun. Not to mention, it’s been even longer since he met another blood drinking fanged person. Which made you twice as interesting.

And he certainly had no intention of letting you go.

Part 2