#i also..... might be sick...... got a bit of a sore throat.... ;v;;;

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

wifi! i really hope youre currently doing well, i just wanted to drop in as usual!! im a little inactive due to how focused i am with school currently but i'll be sure to drop in everytime i have the time to :) love you wifiii and your awesome works! have a great day lop loppp /p 💗💗

-💌

hello hellooooo!!! don't worry about being a bit inactive, school is very important!!!! even you dropping in to say hello brightens my day, you're going to do great in your studies!!!! :D

[wizkiddx]

work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove

[delicrieux]

Hello! May I have a one-shot with Kylo being injured and reader, who is part of the resistance, finds him and takes care of him? Thanks!

idk how this turned out to be 5k words but WHEW i mean if ppl want me to continue it im down so send in sum request of wat u think should happen!! xoxo gossip girl

requests are open! | masterlist | part 2.

Fear. The kind that makes it hard to breathe as if you are kept underwater; the kind that makes your muscles clench and freeze as all senses flow out one by one. Today had been almost too typical — you woke up, you trained, you talked to your comrades and learned battle strategy — and you were certain your evening walk would be just as uneventful. The breeze in your hair was playful; the setting sun provided warm light and set your surroundings in a pleasant, rosy glow. You like the fresh air; you like exploring; you like the freedom that comes with being alone in wilderness. And in turn, it serves as a reminder for why you are fighting in the first place. To preserve this peace, this freedom, that now has been tarnished when you stumble upon a body.

For a heartbeat you think he’s dead — his expression is lifeless and his face, pale as first snow, is bruised, covered in soot and dried blood. Willing your legs to move, you approach cautiously, not breathing, afraid to break the shrill, sudden silence — no birdsong, no wails of wind passing through trees… nothing. Life had, at that moment, stilled completely. But as you draw closer, grass crunching under your feet softly, you intake a breath of both relief and surprise. Dark locks of hair spray on his forehead and obscure the minuscule knit of his brows, his trembling lashes. He’s alive. The thought consumes you and you fall to your knees, skidding beside him, pushing his hair from his face and landing your palm on his forehead.

It’s awfully cold. Chilling. Almost biting at your sensitive flesh, urging you to pull away. It rolls in waves, this sudden cold, sudden sickness, as if it is a virus that spreads and you have caught it with this minimal contact. But you don’t pull away, despite the near overwhelming urge to do so, despite the fear returning with a new blow. Instead you glide your fingers down his jaw and press on his neck, breaking into a small, crooked smile once you feel a slow drum against them. He is alive, but barely. You glance about him, looking around the area. Nothing out the ordinary, no branches broken, no bushes disturbed and no trails left on the grass. How he got here is a mystery that will have to be solved a different time.

You hope he will tell you once he wakes up, if he even wakes up at all.

That, and, his name, too.

Your base is small and tugged away in a dense jungle, the tall trees and heat warding from unwanted visitors — the First Order. The compartments are small; there are barely above a few dozen people here; it serves more as a safe haven for lost wanderers looking for a cause or shelter, or a backup base in case others were destroyed and the rebels had nowhere to go. It is far away enough from war. Everyone here is, to some extent, safe.

You had never been on the front lines. You had never faced a Storm Trooper, had never seen the Force at work — if there even is such a thing, speculations speculations, nothing consistent, merely gossip — and you had never seen a dead body. Perhaps that is why you froze up so terribly at the sight of him. Perhaps that’s why you felt as if a void opened within you, swallowing up the last shred of light, of life, and leaving you hollow.

You should get used to the sight, though. There will be many dead in battle.

He’s the only one occupying a bed in the Medical Wing and he hasn’t woken up for two days now. His vitals are stable — no internal bleeding, no disease detected, nothing out of place as it seemed. But he is lost in deep sleep, constantly dreaming about something that made him tremble and muss and toss and turn, but never wake. It is entirely bizarre how his state is simply there, caused by no injury, no blow, nothing. And the more you take care of him… the more questions you get.

You eat in the cafeteria, a vast enough, pale walled space occupied by few people during lunch time. Next to you sits a blue eyed, blonde haired cherubic woman – she serves as the doctor, the only doctor here. She smiles lightly at you when you catch her gaze. You had always wondered why her name is Vendetta. 

The amount of denizens is small here, so small in fact that the only ones serving under this branch is a rag tag team of scavengers, travelers, nobodies that had abandoned their old lives to fight in this war. Rebels, quite literally, with a cause. Many have taken new names. Vendetta, too, had a name before this, a life, a different purpose. Though her odd choice leads you to believe that what ever had happened to drive her here was painful and severe, deserving justice. In front of you sits a tall, bony, brown haired, brow eyed mechanic with a scar running down half of their face – Q. And beside them, July – you had never seen him smiling, had never heard his voice hold a tender note in it. He is always displeased. Always with a frown.

“Seven.” Vendetta calls you, noting your blank stare, the untouched food in your plate. Seven. You chose this because you were the seventh child in your family, and, subsequently, the seventh person to join the Resistance when this base first opened.

“She’s probably thinking about the stranger.” Q mutters, taking a sip, “His origins are…” They glance about, leaning in slightly, “ A hot topic, after all.”

“We get injured wanderers all the time.” Vendetta waves them off, “As if he’s any different.”

“I don’t think we should be so quick to dismiss him, V.” July grumbles, his voice low, the sound of crunching gravel. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, observing the three of you with something akin to hostility, “You never know who may be working for the Order.”

“You can’t just assume that.” You pipe up, “He might just be another gambler dropped by the Floating Casino because he couldn’t pay his debts.”

“Or he might be a spy.” July stresses, glaring.

“No one knows there is a base here.” You continue, unrelenting, “Half the Resistance doesn’t know it exists, how can someone from the Order?”

“Still, I advice we exercise caution.” Q says calmly, a pleasant smile on their face — if anyone can defuse an argument before it starts, it’s them, “You never know what people are hiding, Seven.”

“Okay,” Vendetta chimes, “I will certainly not disclose this vital information when the man awakes from his comatose state. I shall make sure to confuse and frighten him further by chaining him to his bed.”

“Good.” July says.

“That is not what I had in mind, and you know it.” Q mutters, a tad disappointed, “I was thinking more along the lines of… An interview.”

“Too civil.” July mumbles, “I say we go with Vendetta’s idea.”

“That was not an idea,” She hisses, “it was sarcasm.”

“Fine, interview.” You submit, “Either way, I doubt anyone from the Order would not say they are from there. They are feared. Probably would think he has the upper hand, or something. Plus, our disguise is impeccable. We look like a research facility. Better yet, a shelter if no one wanders up to the main rooms.”

“I also sincerely doubt anyone, Order or not, is so good at lying first thing when they wake up.” Vendetta agrees.

July narrows his eyes at her, “That is an awfully naive observation to make.”

“Really now? It is a known fact that people half-asleep always tell the truth.”

Another hour of this and you feel drained and sore and with a mild headache. As much as their company has helped you, they can be a bit too eager to prove one another wrong. On most occasions you’d enjoy the chatter. Today, however, you feel too distracted to focus on anything. Q makes some good points, July argues, Vendetta and her biting comments pick at your skin. Always the blazing look in her eyes, always a certain gleam of anger hiding within her mellow, sweet tone. You excuse yourself when you finish your meal and they do not keep you from leaving. Perhaps they noticed you being out of it. Perhaps they were too caught up in their new topic – Lo and Chester’s sudden break up. 

It does not take you long to come to the Medical Wing. The door shuts with a silent sweep and your heart drops – the bed is empty. Before you can do much else strong arms wrap around you from behind. With a yelp you feel a hand squeeze your throat and your breath leaves you with a helpless whine, sparks flying in your vision. Your reflexes kick in before you can control them. In a panic, you elbow your attacker in the chest and the grip loosens a bit, enough to allow you to escape and put some distance. Inhaling mouthfuls of air, you turn to the man that had been sleeping since you found him in the wilderness.

You never quite realized how tall he is, or how angry he could be. He’s confused and you see fire in his eyes, a sneer on his face, and he stands unmoving, waiting for you to try something, anything, so that he could grab you and try to kill you again.

You raise your hands, palms up —a fragile, harmless motion to indicate you mean no harm. His guard is still up. He’s heaving and his shoulders are tense, his gaze not once leaving your form, “…Hi,” You wheeze, almost voiceless, “I’m not here to hurt you.” You indicate softly. Cold, again, as if thrown into a bottomless ocean; body heavy, like a stone. You gulp. “Are you alright?” You question gently, afraid to provoke him again. “You must be tired. You’ve been out for a while.”

“Where am I?” His voice is deep and scratchy and it seems to set him off. He trembles from anger, you can almost feel the steady build up of rage in his chest, ”Who are you?”

“I’m Seven.” You introduce, “I found you outside our base. Do you know how you got here?”

He takes a threatening step forward and your arms shoot higher, “I’m not your enemy.” You insist, “You are not a prisoner here. You were dying and I wanted to help you.”

He regards you for a silent moment as if unsure whether to believe you or not. However, you sense that he will not try to hurt you, for now at least. You give him a shaky smile, trying to ease him — you cannot imagine how frightening it is to awake in some room among strangers and not knowing where you are or what had happened. “Do you…know your name?” You continue your questions, your arms slowly falling by your sides. After another pause, he nods curtly, “Good. That’s good.” you step away from his bed, “Please, lie down. You’re still recovering. No shady business, I promise.”

You are a bit surprised that he listens, but you don’t show it. He’s cautious, regarding you as if you were some dangerous animal cornering him, and his walk is sluggish. You can tell it’s hard for him to move, but don’t say anything. You doubt it would do any good. He finally sits down and just stares at you. You try to smile again, “Do you know how you got here? It’s okay if you don’t.”

“How long have I been here for?” He asks instead.

“Two full days in the base.” You say calmly, “But out there?” You vaguely motion with your head to the outside world, “I don’t know.”

Your answer unnerves him. For the first time his frown falls and he stares at you with big eyes and a trembling lip, as if a lost child not knowing what to do. That expression warps suddenly and he looks away, his hands gripping the side of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

“Well, if there is…anything you need…” You start mildly, “You can call upon me. Or Vendetta. She’s the doctor here, so if you feel any pain or sickness, you should tell her. She’s sweet.” You smile, “And she will help. But right now, just try to rest…I’ll…leave you to it.”

You bolt past him to the door but– “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

You turn back to him, shaking your head lightly, “No. But it doesn’t matter. A lot of adventures come through here, lost and injured. You aren’t the first one. Now rest, please.”

He’s volatile, is what you learn upon the first days of his resurrection. His mood can change in a flip of a coin and he goes from placid to enraged in a blink of an eye. Tantrums, yelling — all signatures of a spoiled child not knowing what he has but simply wanting to break it. He’s nobility, or so your peers gossip. You hear snippets of all sorts of things, each more outrageous than the one before. The one that he is a prince kicked out of home for adultery seems to be the most popular one.

And he’s egotistical. He had not been, besides the attempted murder, that hostile and untamed towards you — the choking you told no one about as you concluded he simply felt threatened and scared. Though his other tantrums you are not so quick to chalk up as self-defense. Vendetta, exasperated, one evening told you that she somehow offended him — ”All I said is stop pouting because you need my help!” — and he, with a bruised ego, so high and mighty promptly jumped out of bed. Whatever he was trying to do backfired — perhaps he was trying to leave, or trying to grab something and to hit her with — but he slipped and fell and hit his head into the sharp corner of table. “And I said to him, oh I said: look what you’ve done now! Off to bed, quickly!” Vendetta finished bitterly, stabbing her fork idly into her food, possibly imagining his face there. His nose, much to V’s displeasure, was not broken, but an ugly gash and a dark bruise split his skin in half and he laid in bed sulking for at least a day.

As the week passed, he seemed to favor your company the most. It is not that he smiled and joked and laughed in your presence, and you were not exchanging secrets or hugging or even calling each other friends. He simply seemed to be more mellow around you, possibly because you oddly knew what to say and what to keep silent. It is as if you sensed the subtle shift of his moods; could read his expressions in a way no one could, perhaps no one tried. And you would come and visit him as often as you could when relieved of your duties — you felt responsible for him in a way, and you wondered if you would still feel this weight on your shoulders when he eventually left this place. After all it was you that had found him lying in the grass; it was you that had insisted to help him; and now, it is you that brings him food and tries to provide some comfort in a form of conversation. You don’t pry into his past, don’t even ask for his name, because you know he does not want to give it, and you won’t risk questioning in fear of another explosion of his temper. You talk about inconsequential things: what’s happening around the base, what sort of plants grow around here, what bugs could kill him before he took two steps. He especially enjoys hearing the rumors about him, even if he is too prideful to admit that they amuse him greatly.

“And what if I am?” He questions one evening, something akin to a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His eyes, a kind hazel color that could be beautiful if not for the persistent angry spark within them that is now, seemingly, vacant, watch you closely.

You frown softly, “Are what?” You question, “A prince?” He nods. You snort, “Well then, your majesty, I shall make sure to inform the others. What will be your first decree?” 

He pretends to think, “No more slacking around.” He says sternly, “This is supposed to be a military base, isn’t it?” He ends on a cheeky note. You gulp. Ah, yes, you might have let it slip that he’s in one of the Resistance’s safe houses, though you did not disclose the coordinates.

“On a mission to make fun illegal, are you?” You ask with a raised brow. 

He frowns, “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

Childish, really, though you suppose it is better than arguing with July.

You feel it before you hear it— rain and thunder. The merciless patter on the roof and on your window. In night the sound is almost deafening — a loud roar of an engine, followed by cracks of lightning and flashes in the dark sky. You would have slept through it if not for the pins and needles washing your skin behind the warm sheets thrown on your body. You stir. Thunder roars and a flash of bright white light illuminates your room and seeps through the cracks of your lashes. Cold, again, as if standing in the middle of a storm.

You finally sit up, rubbing your face and then looking around to see if your friends are playing some sort of joke on you. You were almost certain they had dragged you outside and left you to get drenched. But you are alone in your room and you frown and shiver from the biting cold. Groggily you throw the sheets away and leave your bed, not entirely certain where you are going but there is a pull in your gut and half-asleep you follow it. You think you might still be dreaming —the rain on your dry skin feels real, though all dreams feel real until you awake. You leave the dormitories and take the elevator to the first floor. The base is silent, save for the shrill of machinery. Finally, still in your pajamas and almost fully awake, you step past the main entrance and stop.

It’s pouring, a curtain of rain obscuring the confusing contours of trees and leaves and bushes. The darkness does not help. A bleak light pulses to life once you pass the sensor and your surroundings illuminate. Thunder, lighting, more rain. You stand safe and dry under the roof, and he stands at the very edge of it, half soaking, his face kissed and washed by the rain.

You are not sure what to think. He seems lonely standing there surrounded by darkness and water. It’s whispers, or something akin to that, that urge and beseech that he does not want to be alone. You hear them somewhere in the back of your mind. If he noticed you, and he should have with the light suddenly on, he does not show it. You approach him slowly, your footsteps concealed over the heavy drum of rain.

“Not used to it, are you?” You ask, your voice followed by a bolt of thunder. He stirs, head tilting in your direction. Your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet — there is no hostility in them, no anger, just a distant sadness. You give him a soft smile, “I can tell you don’t see it often. I didn’t, either, at first. I grew up surrounded by deserts and I had not seen a drop of rain for at least eighteen years. But, here… Well, there’s no shortage of it. We have storms at least once a week. You’ll grow sick of it before you leave, trust me.”

He says nothing, still looking at you. The light sniffs out. Both of you stand unmoving.

“Why are you here?” He asks, a note of genuine confusion slipping past his calm tone.

“I… don’t know.” You admit. A frown pulls on your brows and you bite your lower lip, staring into the heavy curtain of rain, “I…I really don’t know.” You turn to him, “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, savoring the silence. Then, “I got bored laying in bed.” Somehow you feel that anxiety has more to do with his sudden nightly venture, rather than actual boredom. Though, you suppose it is quite tedious doing nothing all day. You imagine he is active, judging by his built. He has a strong character and he knows what he wants (most of the time), or rather has a distinct sense of what he doesn’t want. You imagine he’d be a good commander, or leader, with his deep voice and unrelenting stare, if only he wasn’t so sensitive. He’s too unpredictable. Too uncontrollable. His emotions get the better of him too quickly for him to be unbiased. For that reason alone you deem him unfit to be a spy, or a soldier, or a figure of military power. He’d burn all he would build if that were the case. No, him being of noble birth and being stranded here as some sort of twisted punishment sounds believable enough.

“What are you thinking?” He questions, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hum, ponder whether you should be honest with him or not. “Don’t lie to me.” He says suddenly and you jolt, heart drumming painfully in your chest. For a frightening moment you figured he could read your mind. Then again, you have been spending a lot of time together. He must have noticed how gentle you are with him, how carefully you pick your words. His signature frown is back, you see it for a second when lightning strikes.

“I was thinking about your life.” You admit, “Your work. Whether you really are a royal as most of my crew mates seem to think.”

Flash. You see half a smile blooming on his lips.

“But I know you won’t tell me. Don’t worry, I get it. Ladies love a mystery.”

“What?”

It’s your turn to grin, “Oh, please, it’s almost all I hear about. Seven brought a brooding stranger with a secret past into the base. Lo…Michel… Two of your rapid admirers. I already told you that your arrival has sparked many speculations.”

“I…I haven’t…” He sounds uncertain, flustered almost, as if embarrassed, but there is no way he is, you refuse to believe it. He stumbles upon his words and lastly says nothing. You snicker silently. Another flash of lightning and you see the same confused, puppy-like look on his face you have had the pleasure of seeing once or twice. He does not shield it this time, this moment of vulnerability. He probably doesn’t see the point because darkness obscures everything again.

You extend your hand to him as a silent offering. How many things have you offered him now? Life, health, your company. He regards it, ponders a bit, lastly gently clasps his hand over yours. You jerk. Electricity courses through you and your eyes go wide, tingles rushing all over your body. Lightning strikes. You see wonder on his face, a mimic of your own surprised expression.

“Come on,” You stutter, tugging him, “you’ll catch a cold.” He follows after you. The light blinks on. You don’t know what is happening. Couldn’t have been the thunder, the feeling is not as intense. It felt more like a build up of energy; like you accidentally touched a circuit and it zapped you.

Impossible, you hear something alike his voice but not quite — it’s quiet, distant, muddy.

“Hm?”

“What?”

Once inside, the door sweeps shut behind you, “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” He sounds a bit ticked now, and you decide to drop it.

“Oh,” You mutter, “must’ve imagined it, then.”

His hand is cold in yours and you squeeze it just a bit, hoping he won’t notice and hoping that you will warm it. When you reach the Medical Wing, you tilt your head and say, “Wait here. I’ll get you dry clothes from the storage.”

But as you turn to leave he doesn’t let go, though doesn’t say anything either. He’s choked up — either he doesn’t know how to say it or doesn’t want to say it at all. He doesn’t want to be alone. Those whispers come again, ringing in your ears so quietly you aren’t sure they’re even there. You give him a soft smile, catching his gaze, “Okay, we can go together. You’ll probably stay here for at least another week, so, it’s best you know where the storage is anyway.” There’s no rush in your words, no annoyance, just simple acceptance. It eases him, relieves him of saying and admitting things he’s not willing to bring to light.

The walk is quiet and you still hold hands. His is much bigger than yours, rough, though not unpleasant. They are hands of a man that uses them often — for better, or for worse — and a twinge in your heart, a sudden thud of uncertainty, informs you that your previous speculations might have not been correct at all. His hand doesn’t feel like that of a prince (not that you would know what that would feel like), no, it feels like a hand of a soldier. But that inching of something amiss is swept away by warmth, silent happiness, a certain deliriousness that starts blooming within you and spreading all around. You feel him, somehow; feel a connection. You can’t put it into words exactly, you doubt you could ever explain it to anyone. It’s fragile. And beautiful. And maddening that such a devout emotion is sprung by something as innocent as holding hands

You wonder if he feels it. You somehow know he does.

The storage room is not big. Your hand slips from his as he chooses to stand by the doorway and you rummage to get his things. You feel braver. Perhaps it’s the tiredness that leaves you so open and bold, but searching you can’t help but ask, “So tell me…” You start, handing him some towels, “What were you actually doing? Besides being melodramatic.” You add, your lips quirking upwards.

He regards you with lively eyes and you see a grin lift his cheeks. He’s smiling, actually smiling, and you know this action is precious and rare and you can’t help but beam at him in return, “You think I was being melodramatic?” He questions.

You laugh a little, a breathless bell-like “Yes” falling from your lips as you fetch him dry clothes from the upper shelf, “All you needed was a cape to swing around.”

His expression abruptly falls and the temperature drops with it.

“Right, no cape.” You mumble, a tad disappointed, handing him his clothes.

As you make your way back, you can’t help but saying, “I just thought it would suit you, is all.”

“What else do you think would suit me?”

You raise a brow, trying to keep up with his drastic shift in moods: again, hes smiling, then he’s pensive, now he seems lighthearted, genuinely curious. “You like to ask a lot of questions.” You conclude.

He shrugs, “I’m just trying to figure out what you think of me.”

“And why are you curious?”

“Now you are the one asking a lot of questions.” He points out. You snort.

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

This again, followed by quiet chuckles. You don’t turn to the Medical Wing now, instead stopping by the elevator and pressing the red button. The doors slide open. You glance at him.

“So…” You mumble, “This is not how I imagined my night going, but…” You aren’t quite sure how to finish, how to vocalize the strange swirl of emotions in your chest, “Well, goodnight.”

You step into the elevator, going to push the button—“Ben.” He says suddenly, making you flinch and turn to him. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at the floor, “My name. It’s Ben.”

Again, that same energy, that same shock you felt when you first touched his hand ignites your body with something closely akin to happiness. Trust. Bond. He trusts you. The connection you felt was not an exaggeration. He would not have given you his name otherwise.

“Goodnight, Ben.” You say softly, fighting a smile that’s trying to rise on your face, “Sweet dreams.”

“…Goodnight, Seven.”

As the elevator doors shut, you think you hear him say “Thank you”, but that might have just been your imagination.

.

hope you liked it! xxx

.

[bucky-at-bedtime]

It Could Be Worse

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader (friends to lovers)

Summary: You think there’s an intruder in your apartment – turns out it’s Bucky and embarrassment ensues. 

Warnings: Second-hand embarrassment, whoops. Also nakedness. and making out. It’s wild. 

A/n: I don’t really know what this is but... here you go?? It’s a bit of fun, I promise. Also, this is just a short break from the hiatus while I had inspiration – we’ll see if it stays lmao. 

Wednesday

It was early – not even 7am – but the sun had woken you up, just moments before your alarm. You had hopped into the shower immediately, letting the warm water run across your sore muscles and making an effort to wake up.

You were about to get out, when you thought you heard your front door open.

Through a haze of steam and sleepiness, you sprung into action. At this point in your life, you’d learned to keep a gun in almost every room of your apartment – being an Avenger was wild. You stepped out of the shower, pushing your wet hair back and pulling a towel around yourself, before opening the bottom drawer and pulling out the ‘bathroom gun’.

You left the shower running, hoping the intruder wouldn’t hear you coming as you tiptoed down the hall, gun up in front of you, safety off and fingers hovering above the trigger. You could hear your heart pumping in your ears, knowing it was possible that you were about to walk into a gang of Hydra agents or thugs – once again, being an Avenger? Wild.

You turned into the kitchen, finger twitching over the trigger as you noticed the shadow standing at your open fridge, and as they turned to face you, you jumped into action – but the rushed movements of bringing the gun up to aim, caused you to lose your grip on the towel.

“Oh, my god! Bucky!” you scrambled for the towel at your feet, pulling it up to cover as much of your naked body as possible, clutching tightly at the edges. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

You didn’t need to ask – as soon as you realised it was him, you remembered what day it was. Wednesday. The day Bucky picks you up to get coffee. Definitely, not an intruder.

“Uh– I… shit, I’m sorry, the door– I mean it was unlocked and–” he was rambling, stuttering like he always did when he was nervous. A deep shade of red had saturated his cheeks as he turned away, running his hands through his hair. “I thought I’d just… wait for you here– I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t ‘ve– I didn’t see anything.”

It was a lie. You both knew it was a lie. He had seen everything. He basically had to battle himself to tear his eyes away – your bare skin made his heart jump from his chest, but you had no idea that your hold in him was as tight as your newfound grip on that towel. He thought the words might give you some comfort. He also didn’t want to admit how much the brief glimpse at your bare body affected him.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s... fine. Not completely your fault.” You clicked the safety of your gun back on and placed it down on the kitchen bench with a sigh. “I’m gonna go... get dressed.”

He groaned when your bedroom door shut behind you and fell back onto one of the seats in the kitchen, running his hands over his face. He was pretty sure he was never gonna get that image out of his head.

Monday

That was all it took – a brief moment of embarrassment, and now you would hardly even look at Bucky. He had tried, at first, to make normal conversation – asking you for new Netflix recommendations and bringing you cups of tea like he used to – but there was always something off. You had stopped making eye contact, and even when you did, it wasn’t the same. He was pretty sure he’d ruined a perfectly good friendship.

Sam was sick of hearing him complain.

“Dude, if you don’t shut up about her, I’m going to jump out of a plane. Without my wings.”

“Please do,” Bucky grumbled back, throwing another punch at the bag.

“I’ll tell you what needs to happen – she needs to get even.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Oh come on – it happens in TV shows. She just needs to see you naked, and everything will fall back into place.” Sam stopped, tipping his head back to take a gulp of water and wiping the sweat from his face with his t-shirt. “Maybe she’ll even like what she sees,” he smirked, sending Bucky a wink.

Bucky flushed in embarrassment (he seemed to be doing that a lot these days) and turned back to pick up his own water bottle. “That’s so dumb. That would just make things worse.”

“I thought you said things couldn’t get any worse.”

“Well, you seem to have found the one way they could.” Bucky hiked his gym bag over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at Sam.  “I’m going to hit the showers and head home – you and Steve still coming ‘round for the game tonight?”

“As long as you have beer in your fridge.”

Sam almost didn’t notice the middle finger that Bucky held up as he disappeared into the change rooms.

It was only a few moments later that you waltzed into the gym, ready to train. Sam spotted you immediately and a cheeky smile made its way to his face. He had a plan.

“Hey! What’re you doing?”

You gave him a confused look, raising an eyebrow. “Working out?” you deadpanned, changing direction to walk towards him.

“You said you wanted to learn how to box properly, right? You want a quick lesson?”

You knew how to punch – of course, you knew how to punch. You’d learned a lot of different fighting styles in your life, but never classic boxing. You figured it could be useful when your sparring with the others who knew it.

“Uh, yeah, why not?” you dropped your bag beside his, smiling thankfully at him. “You got spare gloves?”

He smirked – mission success, but you missed it, glancing around at the boxing ring and punching bags. You were excited to learn something new, and glad it was Sam teaching you. You knew if it was Bucky, you wouldn’t be able to focus.

“Yeah, they’re just in the locker room – I don’t think anyone’s in there.”

You started for the change rooms, oblivious to the running shower that had just shut-off, already trying to pump yourself up to train. You failed to notice the lump of clothes on the floor, or the bad sitting on one of the benches.

When you turned the corner, glancing behind a few shelves, you felt the air escape your lungs.

It was as if you had both frozen. Your eyes were wide and your mouth had dropped open, unable to tear your eyes away or even move. You were in a state of shock. Bucky’s hands were loosely holding onto long strands of hair, not even moving to cover himself out of complete surprise.

And then everything clicked.

He spun, hands covering his crotch. You got an eyeful of his perfect ass before you turned away, bringing your own hands up to your temples. Your heart was beating fast and you were saturated in embarrassment.

“Oh! Oh my god, that’s your– Bucky, you’re…” You felt heat rushing to your face and squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment.

There had never been any doubt in your mind that Bucky would look good with his clothes off, but seeing it in the flesh was so much better than you could ever imagine. Even after turning away, the image was seared in your mind – the glistening droplets of water clinging to his smooth skin, the defined muscles along his abdomen and the cut V-line leading right down to–

“What are you doing in here?!”

You tried to blink away the image, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Holy shit I’m sorry– Sam said there was no one in here and I was just coming to grab– y’know what? I’m just gonna go.”

The roles had suddenly been reversed – you were the one struggling through your words, the one stuttering over an apology while Bucky scrambled for a towel, or some shorts, or something.

You found yourself practically running from the locker room, still too shocked to respond to Sam’s faux confusion. You raced out the door. You really needed some fresh air. Or a cold shower.

You had almost made it to the elevator when you heard Bucky’s footsteps – he was running after you, and as you glanced back, you saw him haphazardly pull a t-shirt over his head, not seeming to care that it was on backwards.

You anxiously pressed the down button, praying that the doors would just open before Bucky got there. You almost cheered in excitement when they opened, allowing you to slip inside. But you did not account for how long they would take to close.

The first thing you saw was Bucky’s metal fingers, curling around the side of the door. His body followed, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. His hair was messed up, wild and still damp from his short run.

“Stop,” he huffed, holding his hands up as a sign of surrender, “You have to stop running away from me.”

You turned away from him again, running your hands across your face. God, you couldn’t look at him without wanting to jump his bones.

Bucky, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking at you – even with your clothes on, you were the most beautiful, irresistible thing he had ever seen. He realised how much he missed your smile – the one that used to warm up a room. He missed the look in your eyes when you looked at him.

Silence had fallen in the elevator, an awkward intensity filled the small metal box, but Bucky knew he had to fix this. He couldn’t live like this. He took slow steps towards you, a gentle hand on your shoulder prompted you to turn around.

“Look at me,” he mumbled.

He was close. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off his chest. You realised you were staring at his chin – the stubble there was far less confronting than his eyes and you knew if you looked any further down, that image would pop back into your head. You couldn’t have that – not when he’s standing this close.

“Please.”

Your eyes squeezed shut and you took a deep breath, trying to gain the courage to meet his gaze. When you finally opened your eyes, you were staring straight into his, and you were starting to think that was worse than seeing him naked. A shaky breath escaped your lips.

“I know it’s awkward – the last few days have been… so awkward.” He shook his head slightly, but didn’t take his eyes off you. “But it doesn’t have to be so weird between us. Ever since… the incident, things have been… off. And I’m pretty sure Sam just made it so much worse, and I’m planning on beating his ass for that but–”

“I hate not being able to talk to you. I hate not making you smile and I miss what we had– whatever that was.” his hands were suddenly on your arms, warm fingers brushing against your skin. You could feel yourself giving in, and with his final words, you were lost. “I miss you.”

You weren’t sure how it happened, but suddenly your lips were on his. Your fingers were tangled into his hair and you were pulling him down towards you. He froze, but when he realised what was happening, he basically melted into you an arm encircled your waist, pulling your body closer to his.

One hand stayed tangled in his air while the other moved to his shoulder, pushing him back against the elevator wall. Your fingers ran across his chest and the image of his naked body flashed in your mind and suddenly every touch, every brush of his fingers was like a fire on your skin, burning through your body like a shot of expensive tequila.

With a sharp intake of breath, you pulled away, one hand still on his chest.

“Woah,” he whispered, wetting his lips.

The elevator doors opened with a quiet ‘ding’ and you allowed your hand to drop. He pushed himself up from the wall and you both stepped out into the lobby. You were both buzzing from the kiss – Bucky could’ve sworn his entire body had been dipped in ice the moment your lips left his.

You adjusted your shirt and he ran a hand through his hair – but you knew neither of you looked presentable at this moment. Bucky’s short was still on backwards from his rushed exit. Neither of you said a word until you got out of the building, the fresh air seemed to snap you out of your trance.

You reached out, entangling your fingers with his metal ones and pulling him to a halt. The traffic rushed past behind you and his hair fluttered in the breeze. You could feel yourself getting lost in his eyes again and you had to look away to get the next words out.

“Okay, I know this usually happens before two people see each other naked and make-out in an elevator… but, would you want to get coffee?”

“Like, a date?” He sounded shocked, and you couldn’t believe that after that kiss, he didn’t expect this.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “A date.”

“Are you serious? Because I thought you hated me after I… well y’know. And then things were awkward and fuckin’ Sam made it worse. I thought for sure–”

He stopped rambling when you leaned towards him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I really don’t hate you, James.” you finally looked up at him again, your own face echoing the smile on his lips. “Especially after, uh… seeing everything.”

A chuckle escaped his lips and he threw his head back in amusement. “Oh, so that’s the real reason you asked me out?” he joked.

“Let’s just say its the… encouragement, I needed.”

Tags:

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[connorssock]

Hi, I'm that Comment person from ao3, and want to say hi, and ty again for your amazing writing, I always enjoy reading it :D I also have an idea for a prompt, but don't feel obligated to fill it if it's not something you'd have fun writing (*´罒`*) It's kinda long, so will send a 2nd message :0 2/2

Gavin is v depressed, and due to the amount of work he’s had recently, he’s been unable to, or forgot to pick up refills for his medicine, so one day he doesn’t come to work. Connor, Hank, and Nines notice, but don’t start to worry for a few days. Eventually Fowler asks them to go check up on Gavin, and they find him unable to even get out of bed or find the energy to pick up his phone to call anyone for help. They then stay w/ him until he’s ok, and maybe become closer? >

I am so sorry this took so long to fill, Comment! Partially it was because I needed a break between this and the chapter of Android Update 5.12 which was very very similar. And partially because it…sort of ran away a little. I hope it is what you were after though!

The Net To Catch Your Fall

It was the season for colds and flu. Gavin had been bracedfor it, a bug had been making its way round the precinct and the sore throat he’dbeen waking up with for the last few nights spelled a few not so great daysahead.

“Morning G-Man!” Tina chirped at him as he walked past herdesk.

“Morning,” he said. Or tried to, but it was more of a hoarsecroak.

“Well shit dude, sounds like you went to town on a hundreddicks last night.” It was reassuring to know that Tina was a sympathetic asever.

“I wish,” Gavin shot back with a grin.

“Want me to grab you some throat soothers?”

She was alright after all; her heart was in the right place.All the same, Gavin waved her off.

“I need to go to the pharmacy anyway; I’ll pick some upthen.”

Of course, he didn’t get a chance to go to the pharmacy.They were called to a crime scene half an hour before he finished work. By thetime they were done the pharmacy had long since shut. There was always the nextday.

Unfortunately, the next day was no different to the previousone. By the time Gavin could get to the pharmacy it was shut. He shrugged, hehad a few days leeway, he was organised and knew how to keep his shit together.It was going to be fine.

If it wasn’t going to interview potential witnesses, it wasa meeting that over ran or getting caught up in paperwork that needed to beurgently filed. Getting a warrant was no laughing matter and even a day’s delaycould mean the difference between a successful case and evidence beingdestroyed. A packet of throat sweets landed on Gavin’s desk.

“Since you still haven’t managed to cough up your lung, nomatter how hard you’re trying,” Tina said and walked away.

“Thanks,” Gavin tried to yell after her but his voice cameout more as a whine.

He popped a lemon flavoured sweet in his mouth and tried toignore the sluggishness that had been creeping through his body.

Things were getting worse though. He struggled to focus onhis work which he could blame on his cold but the blanket of indifferent dreadthat shrouded him wasn’t so easy to dispel. Finally, he had the time to go tothe pharmacy. It had been almost 2 weeks he’d been trying to go. Of course itwas the day he left his prescription at home.

The clock ticked over six and Gavin pushed away from hisdesk. There was no point in staying to finish the report he’d been staring atfor the last three hours. It wasn’t like anyone was ever going to read itanyway. He walked out of the precinct and didn’t look back.

His desk was empty the next day. A few people cast curiousglances at it but people assumed Gavin had finally succumbed to the bug goinground and had decided to take a day off to recover. When his seat stayed emptythe following day and the day after, Nines began to worry. He approachedCaptain Fowler with well-intentioned questions and didn’t expect the bluntanswers he got.

Fowler had no idea where Gavin was, he didn’t pick up hisphone, reply to e-mails. For the time being, he could be signed off as absentdue to sickness but if he didn’t get in touch soon, Fowler couldn’t cover forhim.

“Why don’t you pop round his? Check in with him. It’sunusual to take so long off without at least a message,” he’d suggested.

It got Nines thinking, he didn’t know what he’d say to Gavinupon encroaching on his home. He also didn’t want to do it alone. That’s how hefound himself with not just Connor, but also Hank behind him as they approachedGavin’s home.

There was no response to knocking. Not on the first attempt,or the second. After the third time, when Nines raised his hand to knock oncemore, Hank grabbed his hand.

“I don’t think he wants to answer the door,” he said.

Sullenly, Nines lowered his hand.

“What if he’s in there and he needs assistance though?”

They could hear Gavin’s phone ringing in the hallway of theapartment block. If the man wasn’t in, he’d left his phone behind. Just to makea point, Nines called it again and stared Hank down.

“Fine, if he gets pissed that we broke into his flat, you’retaking the blame,” Hank rolled his eyes and gestured to the door.

Nines lifted his hand and prepared to break through it

“Woah!” Hank grabbed his arm again. “Easy there.”

He reached for the door handled and twisted it. It openedwith a click and Hank shot Nines a look that spoke volumes.

“Always check the easiest route first,” he grumbled.

It was impossible to miss the way his fingers stillunclipped the top of his gun holster, ready to expect the worst. The apartmentthey walked into was stale for want of a better word. It hadn’t seen movementin days and Hank wrinkled his nose at the smell. Nines called Gavin’s phoneagain and they listened to it ring and vibrate from a room with the door ajar.Slowly, they moved towards it.

The room was darker than expected, the curtains haphazardlypulled shut and the phone lit up the room where it rang on the bedside table.The smell of days old sweat lingered and Nines was tempted to shut hisolfactory sensors down but something stopped him. On the side of the bedfurthest from the bedside table was an unmoving form.

Connor pulled the curtains away and they stared at Gavin whowas curled up in bed, bare shoulder poking out from under the cover. His eyesslid over the three intruders before turning back to the bedside table in anunfocussed stare. Out of shock, Nines rang the phone again and watched Gavin’seyes track to the noise before returning to his blank stare.

“Gavin?” Connor asked.

There wasn’t even a flinch of acknowledgement from the bed.Hank looked over the room, there was a half full bottle of water on the floorby Gavin’s side, his phone on the bedside table, plugged in and charging. Thosehe was happy to see. What was more troubling were the boxes of pills next tothe phone, indiscriminately piled up but thankfully none of them open alongwith pen and paper. It was obvious that someone had tried to write something,but sheets were scrunched up with scribbled out words. Whoever Gavin was tryingto write to, he had obviously failed.

“I don’t understand,” Nines started and Hank cut him offwith a sharp look.

“Connor, tidy up a bit in here please,” Hank nodded at theboxes of pills and the pile of clothes abandoned at the side of the bed. “You,come with me,” he pointed at Nines.

They walked into the kitchen where Hank began to rummage throughthe cupboards, looking for something easy on the stomach.

“My scans show that Gavin is fine,” Nines started again andHank slammed a cupboard door shut.

“Does that man look like the walking definition of fine?” hesnarled.

“No. I don’t understand. Even his lingering laryngitis isall but gone.”

“Just because your scans show that someone is fine doesn’tmean they are. There’s more to a human than just their body. Like there’s moreto you than your chassis and hardcoding.”

While Nines stood and contemplated the words, Hank continuedhis search. After a moment his eyes fell on the fridge which had a few piecesof paper held to it with magnets. Mostly they were scribbled reminders, shoppinglist, appointments and meeting dates. Amongst it all, he spotted a vaguely familiarlooking piece of paper. A prescription.

“Ah.”

That was all he said before he pulled it free and scannedover it. He frowned when he saw that date and looked at his watch as he workedout how overdue it was.

“Take this to the pharmacy, pick it up. Tell them it’surgent police business if they give you any trouble.”

Obediently, Nines took the proffered prescription and left. Itgave Hank a few minutes to find a pack of plain digestive biscuits in the backof a cupboard before Connor appeared in the kitchen doorway with an armful ofboxes.

“I’ve done what I can,” was all he said before he found theempty drawer and began to sort through the pills.

“I know, Con, I know,” Hank laid a reassuring hand on hisshoulder. “Baby steps, remember?”

Connor shot him a sad smile and wondered whether all humanswere so broken or whether it was a side effect of knowing him. He watched Hankdisappear into the bedroom and sighed. He hoped he was just unlucky in knowingso many humans cursed with depression.

Inside the bedroom, Hank put the plate of biscuits down onthe bedside table and took a good look at Gavin. His hair was falling in greasystrands, his usual stubble longer, almost worthy of being called a beard. Helooked hollow, eyes empty of all light and each breath a slight shudder like itwas the most difficult task in the world to keep breathing. It probably feltlike it.

“I can’t promise that eating something will make you feelbetter, but it might be a start,” Hank tried.

When he got no response, he shrugged. He hadn’t expected hisvoice and idea to work miracles after all. Without sighing, or even expressingany disappointment, Hank walked around the bed.

“I’m going to help you sit up, if you feel light headed atall then squeeze my shoulder and we’ll get you lying back down. But once you’reup, I’m going to but a biscuit in your hand and you’d going to eat it.”

There was no response but Gavin let his arms be positionedaround Hank’s neck and put up no resistance to being sat up. His face wassallow in the light and Hank gave him a moment, holding his shoulders to makesure he wasn’t about to keel over.

“Okay,” he muttered and let Gavin go.

It was almost like watching a haunted doll. Hank pushed abiscuit into Gavin’s lax fingers and after a moment they grasped hold of it.Mechanically, the biscuit was lifted to Gavin’s mouth and he took a bite, eyesstaring at the far wall. When he’d finished it off, there were crumbs on hisshirt but it was the least of Hank’s worries. Instead of brushing him down, heran a gentle hand through greasy hair.

“Well done,” he murmured and Gavin’s eyes fluttered shutbriefly. “Nines will be here with your prescription soon. Things will get backon track.”

He helped Gavin lie down again and wished they were at thestage they could at least change the covers on the bed.

True to his words, Nines was back with the prescription andhe helped Hank sit Gavin up again. They pressed two pills into his palm and watchedhis throat bob as he swallowed them dry. The water he swallowed after it was anautomatic gesture, not one borne out of need.

“Try to get some sleep,” Hank rumbled softly. “Nines willstay with you while Connor and I will sort a few things out.”

They left the door half open and Connor’s LED flashed yellowfor a moment as he listened to Nines start to talk. It was all inconsequentialthings, stories from the precinct, the cases they worked on, where they made adifference.  Not once did Gavin even huffout a note of acknowledgement and Connor reached out to Nines in silence.

His lack of responseis not a reflection of you. Do not lose heart.

It seemed to dissipate a little of the disappointment thatNines found himself sinking into and he continued talking to Gavin, even if hischoice of stories veered towards the more outrageous.

A quick phone call to Fowler and suddenly the three of themdidn’t have a day off together for two weeks. Each day Hank, Connor or Nineswas off and they could spend the time with Gavin until he got back on his feet.

“I read somewhere that animals could bring positive healthbenefits to humans,” Nines mulled over dinner one evening. It was Connor whowas sat with Gavin that night.

“I’ll take Sumo with me tomorrow then,” Hank nodded and eyedhis dog. “I’m sure Gavin used to have a cat.”

The next day was Hank’s first alone with Gavin. He got thereearly enough for Connor to be able to get to work comfortably and he ignoredthe puzzled look of seeing Sumo on a tight leash by Hank’s side.

For the most part, the day was quiet. Sumo had made himselfat home in Gavin’s flat, snuggled up next to him and occasionally turned tolick the man’s hand that was buried in his fur. It was the first time Hank hadseen Gavin move voluntarily, even if only to thread fingers in thick fur andgrip like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

The next day it was Nines with Gavin. He mostly sat on thebed, on top of the covers and talked. When he saw Gavin’s eyes droop, sleepthreatening to pull him under, his voice softened until he was certain Gavinwas drawing deep even breaths, eyelid fluttering as he dreamt. The fact he wokewith a panting gasp shouldn’t have surprised Nines, nightmares were on par forthe course really. But he hadn’t anticipated a hand shooting out to grab at hisin a vice like grip. Nines pulled the hand into his lap, the fingers of hisfree hand stroked over the knuckles until they relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin whispered, voice hoarse with disuse.

“You’re doing just fine,” Nines replied and pretended not tosee the tears that trickled across Gavin’s face, tracing the path of the scaron his nose.

With Connor there, it was a little less personal. He didn’tsit with Gavin all the time, gave him space as he worked at his kitchen table.There was the sound of a door closing which made Connor jerk upright, followedby the sound of a shower turning on. With a small smile, he hopped off thestool and walked into the bedroom. It only took him a few minutes to change thesheets, fluff up the pillows and quickly air the room. By the time Gavinstumbled out of the bathroom in nothing but a pair of boxers, Connor was backon the stool as though he’d never moved in the first place.

“Didn’t you used to have a cat?” Connor asked that evening.

Gavin had sat up by himself and accepted the small bowl ofthick soup with a brief moment of eye contact. Obviously it was the wrongquestion to ask because Gavin froze up at the words and his head dipped, hairfalling into his face like a shield.

“She’s the neighbour’s now,” he rasped after a minute ofsilence.

“I see,” Connor didn’t, but he wasn’t sure what he could sayto remedy the situation.

“When I last had an episode,” Gavin broke off for a momentfor a breath. “When I last got like this, I couldn’t look after her. It wasn’tfair. Couldn’t neglect her like that. So I found her a better home.”

He sniffed and Connor furiously tried to backpedal withplatitudes of Gavin doing the best for her, of her being happy in her new home.Nothing seemed to help, if anything it just made things worse and he had totake the bowl from Gavin’s lax grip before it spilled everywhere.

“Because anywhere was better for her than with me,” Gavingasped and pulled his knees up to his chest.

His tears stopped as quickly as they started but he didn’ttake the bowl back from Connor that evening. Even from the living room Connorcould head his stomach rumbling with hunger. Humans punished themselves in thestrangest of ways for the oddest of things.

Handover to Hank in the morning was a mixed affair. Sumo hadbeen allowed to charge ahead into the apartment and had already taken up hisfavourite spot on the bed next to Gavin. It left Connor with a chance to giveHank a rundown of all the good things (shower, clean bedsheets and sometalking) as well as the not so good (crying over his cat, perhaps it was bestto avoid the topic for a bit). All through it, Hank nodded and when he was doneand getting ready to leave, Connor was surprised to be pulled in for a hug.

“You did good,” Hank murmured against his hair, “sometimes agood cry is what’s needed.”

Puzzled, Connor left for work, mind racing through thereasons why inadvertently making Gavin cry was a good thing. He drew a blank.

Back at the apartment, Hank knocked on the bedroom door.

“Rise and shine,” he called, “the pill club is moving to thekitchen table today.”

There was no response from the bedroom but he didn’t expectmuch either. After a minute of puttering around and setting out breakfast, hereturned to the bedroom.

“Ready to face the world yet? I won’t even make you dress upif you’re not up to that yet. Just come out and keep an old man company whilewe take our happy pills.”

That at least got Gavin staring at him, the hand buried inSumo’s fur stopping. It was enough of a reaction for Hank to retreat, confidentthat Gavin was going to follow. Sure enough, a few minutes later thefloorboards creaked and Gavin appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had even puta t-shirt on.

“Sit, sit,” Hank urged him towards one of the stools as heperched on the other one.

Each place was set up identical, a bowl of porridge, a glassof fresh orange juice and a box of pills next to each glass. Gavin eyed it allsceptically, carefully tacking Hank’s movements as he took his own pills andpopped one out. He took it with a gulp of orange juice and smiled at Gavin.

“You too?” Gavin asked. He’d recognised the brand of pillsHank was taking, it was one he’d tried himself but the side effects were toomuch to cope with.

“Me and probably half the precinct,” Hank nodded.

“Huh,” Gavin huffed out and reached for his own pills. Twosat in his palm as he regarded them before lifting them to his mouth andswallowing them dry.

“There’s no shame about it, you know that, right?” Hankasked softly. He didn’t look at Gavin, kept his eyes carefully on the spoonfulof sugar he was sprinkling over his porridge.

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin finally admitted.

It was progress, Hank didn’t want to push for too much toosoon but at the same time there was something they needed to talk about.

“That night we first came over,” he began delicately.

Gavin stiffened in his seat, ready to bolt.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Hank heldup his hands to placate, “but the door was open, you made it easy for whoevercame to find you. No need to call the police, break your door in, cause ascene. Trust me, I know, I’ve been through the same process. The pills on theside, you were going to take them, once you wrote your notes. But you neverfinished a note. What held you back?”

The silence between them stretched to an uncomfortable levelas Gavin pushed his porridge around in the bowl. Finally, he pushed it awayuntouched and crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

“I didn’t have anyone to write a note to,” he bit out atlong last.

Hank nodded, no judgement showed in his face.

“I realised I was such an unwanted fuck-up that I didn’teven have anyone to say goodbye to. Nobody would miss me if I lay down and diedso that’s what I did. Wasn’t even worth taking the pills because they wouldhave been wasted on me.”

The outburst left Gavin’s chest heaving and Hank looked overat him calmly.

“Do you still think that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Gavin ran a hand through his hair thescratched at his beard with a disgusted frown.

“I don’t mean to pry and I know it’s none of my business,but,” Hank took a steadying breath and held Gavin’s gaze, “I thought you andNines might have a bit of a thing going.”

Gavin looked away at that and he scoffed.

“The poor bastard doesn’t know any better. He’ll find someonemore deserving soon enough.”

“Funny,” Hank mused, “that’s exactly what I used to thinkabout Connor. Don’t you think it’s a little unfair to be making that decisionfor Nines? Rather than asking him?”

“Can’t we talk about pills that make us less miserableinstead?” There was a whine to Gavin’s voice that made Hank smile.

“For what it’s worth, I’d have been gutted,” Hank finishedhis porridge and left the table to do the washing up.

The rest of the day passed quietly, Gavin burrowed back intohis bed but at least he was sitting up, back against the headboard and flickingthrough his phone. That evening he suggested that Hank go home but he was wavedoff.

“One more night on your couch won’t kill me,” he’d said.

In the morning Nines was at Gavin’s door, knocking politely.Hank opened it with a loose smile.

“He’s in the shower, had enough of beard itching,” he saidand stepped round Nines’ and patted him on the shoulder.

By the time Gavin emerged from the shower, freshly shaved tohis more usual look and hair towelled dry, Nines had breakfast set up.

“Hey,” a sudden bout of shyness took over Gavin and hestruggled to look at Nines.

“Hello Gavin,” Nines replied and held out a bowl of fruits. “Igot you some breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Gavin took the bowl and scooped up the box ofpills from the side. He popped two out and swallowed, chasing them down with astrawberry.

They stood in the kitchen awkwardly, Gavin munching on hisfruit for lack of anything better to do while Nines leaned against a counterand watched him. Eventually, the bowl was empty and Gavin ran out of excusesnot to talk.

“So,” he began and rubbed the back of his neck, “thanks. Foreverything. And sorry.”

“Are you apologising for your mental health?”

Gavin knew Nines well enough to find a hint of incredulityin in his voice. It made him dip his head and mumble his response.

“You are the way you are,” the words seemed so easy, comingfrom Nines, “you cannot help your chemical imbalance any more than I can helpmy core coding. We can both try to work around it with pills and layers ofsubroutines but neither of us asked to be the way we are.”

“I know that,” Gavin kicked at the ground in discomfort, histoes rhythmically stubbing against the floor.

“So you have nothing to apologise for unless you think Ishould be apologising for being built to be a killing machine.”

“I should have told you sooner, you should have known whatyou were signing up for right from the start.”

“You do realise I’m a state of the art detective androidwith real time lab analysis capabilities, right?” Nines let out a small smileas Gavin’s head snapped up in disbelief.

“You knew all along?”

“I happen to enjoy analysing everything about the one Ilove.”

The bowl went clattering from Gavin’s hand and he steppedaway with wide eyes.

“You can’t say that,” he gasped, a hand clawing at his chestas though trying to keep his heart in place. “You’ve not lived enough to knowthat.”

The unimpressed look Nines shot him was usually enough toinstil fear in anyone but Gavin had become immune to it over time.

“If you’re quite done.”

That at least shut Gavin up. Patiently, Nines offered up anarm in invitation for a hug and he tried his best not to roll his eyes whenGavin looked hesitant.

“I won’t bite. Unless you ask me to.”

“Prick,” Gavin huffed out a laugh and stepped over the bowlthat had cleaved in two as it fell.

“Are you quite done having an existential crisis?” Ninesasked even as he wrapped Gavin in his arms and rested his chin on top of hishead.

He could feel the brush of a smile against his collarboneand Gavin burrowed in a little closer.

“I’m not sure yet. Might have to stand here a little longerto make sure.”

Nines let him cling on, ignored the little shiver thatpassed through Gavin every now and then as he fought whatever inner demon itwas that had reared its ugly head again.

“Tomorrow,” Gavin mumbled into his chest,” “we’re going towork. And I’m buying you, Hank and Connor the biggest gift baskets I can find.”

“Or you could ask us to help next time you find yourself inneed. Preferably before things hit rock bottom,” Nines tried to compromise.

“Can’t promise that,” Gavin shook his head and looked up atNines with wide eyes. “But I can promise to try my best.”

“That’s all I ask,” Nines replied and leaned down to press akiss to his lips.

The next morning when Connor knocked on the door, both Ninesand Gavin were ready to head to work. They bundled into the taxi alongside Hankwho smiled warmly at them all before pulling Connor’s hand into his and linkingtheir fingers. Shyly, Gavin reached out for Nines and grinned when they did thesame.

[tere706]

Love is Blind - Chpt 16

(Oh boy, this is a monster chapter in so many ways. It's the longest chapter I've ever written (almost 5k!) and the angst is just dripping from this. 

So. I'm sorry in advance. Also: WARNING FOR BURNS

There is for sure one more chapter left in this story. I may come back and do a sequel of sorts for it, but I'll probably take a break before tackling that. I'd need to plan out some characters and plot points. 

Tagging: @inumorph, @dark-night-sky-99, @liadreyar-dragneel, @lunalustrix, @thirstyforvenom, @mltcp )

Eddie raked a hand through his hair, eyes flicking back and forth across the page. They’d gone back to their apartment so he could read through the information in peace. And so that he’d have easy access to the internet. He felt like shit, sweaty and exhausted from exertion and lack of sleep. But between the adrenaline and several cups of coffee he was still wired and awake. Eddie didn’t want to sleep. Sleeping would be time wasted finding Liz. Besides, he was afraid of what he would end up dreaming between his and Venom’s worry.

The papers started dry and clinical. It was mostly police and CPS reports for Aaron’s childhood. Eddie scanned through them to confirm that the teen hadn’t been in contact with his mother since he’d entered foster care. It also seemed unlikely that he would have gone back to any of his former foster homes, since he regularly ran away from them. Venom insisted that they check the current foster home once he was done with his research. Aaron probably hadn’t taken Liz to his current foster family, or she would have already contacted Eddie or returned home. That was if he’d even been responsible… but it was the only lead Eddie had right now. He and Venom had to stay focused on something. If nothing else, the teen might have information about Liz.

Even though Eddie hadn’t read any of Liz’s work, it wasn’t hard to guess who had written the psychological reports that began two years ago. She had mentioned using some kind of voice to text program for her writing, but he couldn’t remember what it was called. Didn’t matter now. Based on her reports, Aaron had started off an angry and introverted young teen. He had slowly come to trust Liz, perhaps because she didn’t represent a threat to him. Eddie could easily imagine someone finding her non-threatening with her lack of sight and warm personality. Liz’s later writing indicated her belief that Aaron was well on his way to a successful life. He wanted to go to college after high school and get a degree in welding. His grades in school had improved now that he was in a stable foster home and no longer running away to cause mischief with a street gang.

So why start a fire in the police station? And how? They had seen that fire, it hadn’t been a small trashcan fire. Half the station had been burned down. Eddie closed his eyes as he felt the fear and tension from Venom cause his guts to clench. Candles made Venom flinch, fire like that was just fucking terrifying. Eddie saw flashbacks to the rocket explosion, to the belief that Venom had sacrificed himself for Eddie.

EDDIE. FOCUS. WE ARE HERE AND WE ARE SAFE.

With a quick shake of his head, Eddie refocused on the papers. Liz didn’t have much information about the street gang Aaron had once belonged to. If the teen was still on the run from the police, possibly with a hostage now, it was possible he was using the former gang for help. They would have to track down some of their members after checking the foster home.

Eddie leaned back in his chair and glanced at the window. Sunlight was streaking into the apartment, giving it a cheerful golden glow that clashed with his current state of mind. It was still fairly early in the morning, well before noon. “Alright, V, plan of attack. We grab some food first and then make a few… house calls.”

GOOD. TIRED OF WAITING. LET’S GO FIND OUR LITTLE BIRD.

Eddie stood up and grabbed his jacket before pausing at the front door. “Shit. We left my bike at Calvin’s place.” He started reaching for his phone, thinking to call a cab. It wouldn’t be as fast, but it was better than walking. Would using public transportation actually be faster?

NO TIME, EDDIE. WE WILL GO.

He knew right away what Venom meant by that. “What?! In the middle of the day? You don’t exactly blend in, V!”

WE MUST HURRY. THIS IS FASTEST. BESIDES, MOST HUMANS DON’T LOOK UP.

~

Liz was pulled from her quiet misery by the sound of footsteps coming near. She didn’t bother calling out for help, she recognized the sound of these steps. But she did push herself up and turned to face Aaron as he approached. She really had no way to discern how long he’d been gone. Liz had carefully finished off the rest of the water in the water bottle and managed to move herself further away from where she’d thrown up upon first waking. She’d been considering trying to find her way around this place and escape on her own, but trying to stand made her head swim and it felt like she would be sick again. Besides, she had no idea when Aaron would be back.

“Sorry I was gone so long. I… needed to cool off.” Aaron murmured, setting down a plastic bag near Liz. “Um, since your stomach is upset, I got you some crackers. And a bottle of aspirin. Oh, and more water of course. Are you… feeling any better? You look a bit better.” He tried, he really did, to sound encouraging.

Liz took a slow breath, the thought of eating solid food made her queasy and she didn’t know if it was safe to take aspirin when suffering from a concussion. But the pain was bad enough that she decided to take the risk. She reached out and pulled the plastic bag closer, reaching in for the items.

“I’m feeling more awake, at least. But I’m not well, Aaron. I’m hurt.” She kept her tone as calm and gentle as possible. Riling Aaron up could prove deadly if he really had such poor control on his ability. “Thank you for getting these for me. You didn’t steal them, did you?”

Aaron huffed and stood back up. “No! I have some money. Cash. I don’t want to be tracked. Not much left, though.”

Liz nibbled on one of the crackers, she did know that taking aspirin on an empty stomach would only make her feel worse. So, that was probably why he hadn’t tried to skip town. Not enough money to make a clean getaway. Alright, that might have been a bit cynical of her to think. Aaron didn’t have anyone else to turn to, aside from his foster family, and they wouldn’t have been supportive of him running from the police either. There was an easy way to test that theory.

“Aaron, if I can get to a bank I could pull some money for you. Let you escape from the city and try to go into hiding.” Not that she had any intention of actually doing that. Liz had no desire to get in trouble for aiding his escape.

There was a long pause, probably Aaron thinking through the offer. “No. I don’t know how to go into hiding from the government. And I doubt I could get out of the country. We have to think of something else.”

“Like what? I don’t know what you want from this.” Liz pulled out another bottle of water from the bag, carefully unscrewing the lid and taking a sip. Her throat was still sore too, like she’d eaten too hot soup.

That made Aaron start his anxious pacing again. He never could stand still when he felt pressured and scared. “I don’t know! I want everything to go back to how it was before! I never asked to be like this. And I never meant to hurt anyone. I can’t really control it. I try, I really do.”

“You can’t turn back time.” Liz spoke gently, doing her best ‘calm and rational adult voice’. “Whether you like it or not, you have to face what you’ve done and what you can do. No one can make this go away, not even me.”

“No!” He was quick to snap. “I know it won’t, but I want to make it better. You’re friends with some of the cops. You can talk to them for me, make them help me!”

“I don’t know if you killed them in the fire or not.” Liz knew it was cruel, knew it would hurt him. But he wasn’t thinking rationally. Aaron had created a delusion for himself where everything would be put to rights because he willed it so. The world just didn’t work that way.

Aaron had stopped pacing at her words. The silence stretched between them, broken only dimly by the sound of distant cars and the choking cries of seagulls. Liz let it stand for almost a full minute before continuing.

“Yes. People died. I don’t know if they were prisoners or officers. As I understand, some of the bodies are proving difficult to identify because of how badly they were burned.”

“Stop it.” Aaron’s voice came out closer to a croak.

“Do you know how hot a fire has to be to distort and warp bones? I’ve no idea if teeth can be used. I’ve never studied something like that.” Liz didn’t back down, but she kept her tone distant and calm. There was no anger or malice in her voice.

“Stop it, please.”

“It was hot enough that they weren’t even sure if they had all the remains. It’s why the people were listed as missing instead of deceased in the news reports.”

“STOP TALKING!” The wash of heat, both in his voice and the air, hurt Liz. She flinched back, ducking her head down defensively. Aaron’s breath came in ragged pants as he tried to control himself. It was dangerous, pushing him to the point where he would snap like that. Liz knew what to use against him, but it was almost a betrayal of the trust she’d given him for the last two years.

Liz tilted her face back up when the heat passed, turning her face in his direction again. “You are a danger to yourself and others right now, Aaron. And there is nothing left for me to offer you. I can’t help you with the law. I can’t help you with your ability.”

“You said you’d help me!” Aaron shouted it at her, his voice almost cracking as he struggled between anger and pain.

“I will stand by you. I will support you. But I can’t do anything more to help you.” Liz spread her hands simply. “You’ve taken away all my options.”

Aaron didn’t answer her. He turned and ran from the building, footsteps echoing in the large space.

Liz waited until she couldn’t hear any trace of him. Good. Hopefully, he would stay away for a few hours. She planned to be gone by then. Liz grabbed the bottle of aspirin from the bag and quickly removed the plastic wrapping and cap so she could swallow three of the pills. She laid back down on her side, nibbling crackers and sipping water while she waited for them to start kicking in. Once she could stand and walk, she would find her way out of this place and get help.

She’d meant what she said to Aaron, as much as the words had pained her. Liz cared a great deal for the teen. His trust had been hard earned and he’d been doing so much to better his life. But Liz wanted to live more than she wanted to placate Aaron. If it came down to one of them, she was going to pick herself.

Liz just hoped she wouldn’t have to make that choice.

~

Judging by the number and frequency of the screams, Eddie believed he had sufficient evidence that people did look up to publish a paper. But Venom was right, it was faster to let him take over and swing them through the city. Traffic was a bitch, even on his motorcycle. And really, it would have been so much worse if Venom had had a meltdown in the back of a cab.

Thankfully, they hadn’t needed to question Aaron’s foster family. Venom had been able to tell from the scents in the air around the small home that the teen hadn’t been by. Eddie questioned Venom’s conclusions. They had no idea what Aaron smelled like, how had he known? Venom was already moving away from the area while answering.

“NONE OF THE SCENTS WERE OF A TEEN MALE. FEMALE YOUNG, FEMALE ADULT, MALE ADULT.” Venom had taken them to a rougher part of town, where the police reports indicated Aaron had been picked up from his street gang. He crouched on a roof, opalescent eyes narrowed as his tongue lashed the air.

You can’t just grab random people off the street and start interrogating them, V.

“AND WHY NOT?”

Maybe because it’s wrong? Even Eddie sounded tired, though. Too tired to really argue.

“WE WILL BE CAREFUL WITH WHO WE GRAB.”

By ‘careful with who we grab’, Venom obviously meant grab anyone that looked the least bit suspicious and then scream at them until they either passed out or wet themselves. Thankfully for all involved, Venom managed to catch his prize on the third try. The young man, Eddie refused to think of him as a child despite his apparent age, was only too happy to tell them anything they wanted in exchange for his life. He babbled off locations that the little gang liked to frequent and Eddie managed to prod Venom into demanding the name of the ringleader too. If nothing else, he would make sure that some justice was delivered to the person leading these kids into crime.

Venom was less interested in that. He was singularly focused on locating his little bird. After dropping off the kid, he was moving again. Eddie helped him with finding the locations that they had been given. Each failure only made Venom angrier and more desperate. They had no more leads if this didn’t work. Neither of them would be content with waiting for the police to look for Liz.

They were down to two locations when Venom landed on the roof of the warehouse. He crawled down the side of the building to peer into one of the windows. They were dusty and opaque with age. The space within was blocked by tall stacks of crates that turned the large warehouse into a maze of corridors. The lights within appeared to be off, but some light was filtering in from the windows. In the center of all those stacks it might be hard to see, but the edges were fairly well lit.

The place looked unoccupied, trash was littering some of the corners, but no recent evidence within his line of vision. Still, there was plenty of the inside he couldn’t see. Eddie nudged Venom to hurry up and do a sweep on the interior. They needed to move on to the next location if this was another bust. Venom quickly growled before smacking the window. It shattered under his blow, quite satisfyingly to be honest. He needed something to take his anger and worry out on.

Venom pulled himself into the warehouse from the broken window and froze. His eyes widened as his tongue lashed the air. Here. She was here. There was no mistaking the scent of his little bird. Relief slammed through them both as Venom dropped to the ground and ran toward the source, to the voice calling out.

“Hello? What was that?” Ah, she would have heard the window break when he made his entrance. Hearing her voice made giddy joy flood him, she was alright enough to be awake and aware of her surroundings. Everything was going to be okay, they would keep her safe.

Venom leapt around the corner of a wall of crates and stopped for a moment, chest heaving. Liz was standing, one hand against the wall of crates for guidance. She’d stopped when she heard his approach, body tense. Her clothes were rumpled and her face had a red tint like a sunburn. Venom and Eddie didn’t care.

“LITTLE BIRD…”

Liz’s hand dropped away from the wall of crates and she nearly sagged in relief. “Ven!”

He rushed to her, lifting one hand to gently cradle her face. His other hand wrapped around her waist to draw her closer. “YOU ARE HURT.”

Venom could feel her nod, face pressed into the warmth of his hand. “Yeah. I think I have a concussion. I don’t know how bad it is, but I really want to get to a hospital just to be sure.” She had reached up, wrapping a hand around his wrist and holding tight. Liz was quivering, breath coming in quick jerks.

“WE WILL TAKE YOU AWAY. IT IS OKAY.” His words were a soft rumble, almost a purr.

“No. It’ll make my head pound to start sobbing. I can keep-“

“What the fuck is that?!” Aaron’s voice, high pitched in shock and sudden terror, cut through Liz’s words.

Venom whirled in place, keeping Liz behind his bulk so he could face the source of the voice. The teen standing at the end of the crate wall behind Venom was almost six feet tall, but hadn’t filled out his frame. He still held himself awkwardly, too thin. The layers of baggy clothes helped to hide some of it, but even those were in poor repair. He’d likely had to steal what he could after escaping the fire at the police station.

“YOU.” Venom slowly grinned, eyes narrowed and teeth prominently on display. Here was the source of their pain and terror. This boy had hurt his little bird and taken her away.  

The teen stumbled back a step at that single word, but his eyes widened and flicked behind Venom for a moment. “Elizabeth?! Go, get away!” He shouted as he straightened. It looked like he wanted to stand up to Venom. A very foolish thing to do.

“Aaron, it’s okay! Ven is- No, don’t do this!”

Venom ignored her words, and the hand that reached out toward him, as he leapt forward. No, he wouldn’t kill the stupid boy. But he needed to learn a lesson about the consequences of his actions. Venom and Eddie would be happy to teach him.

Aaron yelped and tried to scramble back as Venom leapt at him. He fell back, catching himself with his left hand and raising his right. Heat blossomed in front of the teen briefly, then flames washed out in an arc from hand. More of the flames twined their way up his arm to his shoulder. Neither his clothes nor his body appeared harmed by the fire.

There was no way to avoid all the flames when he was still in the air, but the moment his foot touched the ground Venom sprang to the side and rolled. He snarled in rage and pain, feeling the sections of his being that had bubbled up and burned away from the touch of those flames.

Well, that explains the fires. Eddie remarked. Keep circling around until he’s facing away from Liz. We can’t risk her getting caught in a blast like that.

Now that was a good point. Venom started running to the side, slowly closing the space between him and the fire starter. Aaron had managed to regain his feet in those moments. He was panting hard, but turned to face Venom as he moved. The teen looked angry and scared, a potent mixture.

Aaron swung his arm in a half circle before himself, spreading down a wide swath of fire. Several of the crates on the far side caught fire as well. Venom cringed back from the flames, eyes narrowed.

EDDIE, WE MUST CLOSE THE DISTANCE WITH HIM.

Yeah, I noticed. Let’s try going up over and coming down right on top of him.

Venom backed up several steps. Smoke was starting to fill the air; the human wouldn’t be able to see him as clearly in the uncertain lighting. He ran forward and took a running leap to clear over the wall of flames.

They had an excellent view of Aaron backing up with both arms raised, flames curling up past his shoulders. A small spark crackled to life between his upraised hands. Then a torrent of flames was coating his body. Venom shrieked as his form bubbled and nearly boiled away from Eddie’s body. He retreated within his host, trying to protect the last of himself. Eddie landed on the concrete in a roll, gasping in pain. He’d been tucked into a ball by the time Venom retreated. His leather jacket took the worst of the flames from his arms, but his pants hadn’t faired as well. His roll had put the flames out, but he could feel the biting pain of fresh burns.

Eddie lifted his head, face twisted in a grimace of pain and rage. He needed to see the next attack so he could dodge out of the way, regardless of the pain. Eddie’s eyes widened in horror and he tried to throw himself forward, toward Aaron. Toward Liz.

“Liz, no!”

~

Liz struggled not to cry as she leaned her face into the warmth of Venom’s hand. Finally, she could start to feel safe again. Sure, she’d been working on escaping by herself, but knowing that she wasn’t by herself was like a weight from her shoulders. Venom and Eddie could get her the medical help she needed. And Eddie would be able to help her with Aaron.

“No. It’ll make my head pound to start sobbing. I can keep-“

She tensed when she heard Aaron’s voice behind Venom. He had turned away from her at the same time, so she reached out a hand to touch his back. Oh gods, this was not a good situation. Did… did Aaron think she was in danger?! Of course, he must see Venom as a monster.

“Aaron, it’s okay! Ven is- No, don’t do this!”

There was nothing Liz could do to hold Venom back. He leapt away before she could react. Besides, she didn’t think grabbing onto his waist would have slowed him much. She hadn’t even had a chance to warn Venom and Eddie about Aaron. Liz remembered the first time she’d met Eddie, passed out in her bed after Venom had healed them from burns. Fire was one of his weaknesses.

The wash of heat that came a moment later nearly staggered her. Liz stumbled aside and grabbed ahold of the wall of crates again. Fire crackled and roared ahead of her. Venom was snarling. Aaron was panting. But Liz was frozen in place. She had no idea where exactly the flames were ahead of her. And trying to walk away could just put her into the line of fire. Everything was happening too fast for her to be able to clearly hear where everyone was.

It felt like an hour had passed since Aaron confronted Venom, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two in real time. Then the sound she’d fear the most came to her ears. Venom was shrieking in pain after another blast of intense heat. Liz heard Aaron walking backwards toward her. She heard the sound of a body hitting the floor and rolling, even over the growing crackle of the fires.

Aaron was going to kill Eddie and Venom. Liz was going to lose them both in one moment. And the teen would destroy any chance of this working out in his favor. The deaths at the police station were an accident, probably. But this would be murder. Aaron was choosing to kill a man on the ground.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Liz pushed away from the crates, half stumbling as she lunged in the direction of Aaron’s footsteps with her arms outstretched. Her left hand contacted an arm and closed tight around it before she could think. Her right arm hit Aaron’s shoulder and the rest of her body slammed against him, knocking them both over. Liz thought she’d heard a shout, but her mind was preoccupied by pain.

The heat washed over her arms and she had tucked her head down enough that it was only mildly unpleasant there. But her hands, her arms… Liz knew she screamed as she held tightly to Aaron and the flames clawed into her flesh. It felt like she held to him for an eternity. The pain clawed its way up her arms and Liz had a manic thought that it would have hurt less to just cut them off.

Then she was being pulled away and something was hitting her arms, which just made them hurt more, not that she could do much to stop it. Liz tried to curl up, to protect her injuries. It just felt like too much effort to move. At least the pain was fading from her hands. That… probably wasn’t a good sign. She struggled to get her brain to focus. When burns stopped hurting it… it meant they were bad.

“Stay with me! Liz!”

Stay? But her head hurt, and the upper parts of her arms still hurt terribly, almost like the flames were still chewing at her flesh. It would be very rude if they’d left part of her burning, but she couldn’t muster the energy to do anything about it. Liz just wanted the pain to go away, why did she have to stay?

“Liz!”

And then it was quiet, and the pain was gone.

~

Aaron was shocked when something slammed into him from the side. He fell heavily to the ground, trying to twist around and kick the person away- Elizabeth! No! He gasped and pulled the flames back into his own body. There was a painful backlash in his head, making his vision swim. Or maybe that was the tears. Oh god, her arms were on fire! Aaron screamed and peeled her left hand off his arm.

The other man was there suddenly, pulling Elizabeth away from him. He had taken his coat off and used it to smother the last of the flames. Aaron just knelt there, staring at what he’d done. Elizabeth’s left hand was covered in white and cherry red patches, the fingers still curled. The burns swept up her arm to just below her elbow, changing from those white and red patches to reddened and blistered skin. Her right hand was reddened and blistered, but it was her arm that had touched his shoulder and the flames. The worst of the burns started on her forearm and spread up higher, half way to her shoulder along with her hand.

He felt sick as he watched the man touch Elizabeth’s cheek, trying to talk to her. She wasn’t responding, not even crying out in pain anymore. He’d done this. How many times had he promised not to hurt her? That he wasn’t dangerous? Aaron looked down at his hands, unharmed despite the flames. If he’d listened… could he have avoided this?

“Hey!”

The sharp tone made Aaron’s head snap back up, staring at the man with wide eyes.

“You have a phone?! Use it! Call an ambulance! And get those fires under control!” The stranger pointed toward the crates that were still happily burning away from the earlier fight.

“I… I don’t know if I can…”

“Then just call 911!” He turned away from Aaron again, talking softly as he crouched over Elizabeth’s body.

Aaron grabbed at his cell with shaking hands. The least he could do was not make things worse.

~

SHE’S DYING!

Eddie gritted his teeth at the weak protest from Venom. He was too weak to take control and get Liz to a hospital. They were trapped here until an ambulance came.

“Come on, Liz. Stay with me. Wake up, please.” He needed her to wake up. Eddie could barely look at the burns on her arms, they made him nauseous. Why had she done that?! To protect them, of course. Eddie was going to be very angry with Liz soon. And she’d have to listen to a lecture about stupidly heroic acts once she was better. Because she was going to be better.

Eddie felt for the pulse in Liz’s throat. It was weak and fast. Her skin was becoming cool to the touch. She was going into shock and who knew how bad the trauma from her concussion was on top of the burns.

Help her, V! Help me save her!

And to think, at one point he’d felt jealous that Venom might have preferred Liz as a host. Eddie regretted all of that now.

CAN’T He sounded miserable. WOULD HURT HER. SHE IS NOT A SUITABLE HOST.

Eddie cupped Liz’s face in his hands, bent over her. Helpless. The wail of sirens was growing closer.

“Hang on, Liz. Please. Don’t leave us yet. Please.” Tears fell to splash against Liz’s face.

[xadoheandterra]

Series: The Burning of Solheim Title: The Path Untrodden Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Ignis Scientia, Aranea Highwind, Gladiolus Amicitia Tags: Angst, Believed character death, Gladio is a fucking moron Summary:  Solheim was the height of civilization long enough that their ruins were ruins over 2000 years ago, and still had the power to function in the time of the King of Light. They should’ve realized something was very wrong the minute Prompto remarked on the lights being on, and yet no one was home.

Noctis felt the breath tear out of him with a sick and twisted sense that tied up near his heart. It ached, every inch of himself screamed because one of his wasn’t there anymore. It cloyed up into his throat long enough that he choked on the sensation and dropped to his knees, suddenly weakened as he felt the bond draw taunt and snap. He could hear the shards of glass in his ears, the sound of crystalline shattering depths in his very soul as he screamed.

“PROMPTO!”

He didn’t notice how Aranea cursed and jumped back nearly thirty feet or hear how Ignis yelled his name as he gripped at his chest and tried to suck in a ragged breath, tried to breathe through it like he’d been told as a child. It hurt—godsdamn did it hurt. Noctis bit down a sob and collapsed inward even as his magic burst outward in a maelstrom.

“Noct—NOCTIS—”

Fire whipped around him, ice burst from his feet, and lightning struck as Noctis tried to pull his sense out of empty, broken, shattered shards of crystal glass that hammered into his chest and into his heart. Then, just as it started, it stopped. The magic petered out and Noctis dropped forward like a puppet with its strings cut as his vision darkened into blackness.

Ignis bit out a curse; he’d heard of stories, of course, being Noctis’ royal retainer since they were children. He knew the things to look out for, knew that when they swore their oaths—him as Hand and Gladio as Shield—that in the off chance something was to happen, what it could do to Noctis. Oaths like theirs were nothing to scoff at, especially since the Lucis Caelum line bore magic like no other except perhaps the Oracles of Tennebrae.

Still, he hoped to never see the day where Noctis felt a shattered bond. Ignis hoped instead that he’d see his brother pass into the Beyond long before them, so that he’d never need to deal with this type of pain. Kings of the past had gone mad from it, from the loss of a Hand or a Shield, and Ignis thought they would do well to keep this from Noctis and yet—he struggled to his feet. The magic had battered him just as much, the way Noctis pulled on everything in the sudden expounded grief.

Weak-legged Ignis fumbled over to his King and hauled the twenty-year-old up into his lap even as he brushed his fingers through Noctis’ dark locks of hair and stared at a face slack in unconsciousness, yet still tightened from pain. He tried to pull the younger man up but grunted with the lack of strength for it—what he wouldn’t do to have Gladio here with him, now.

“Oh, Noct,” Ignis murmured and then grimaced as he glanced to Aranea who stared at them with wide and almost terrified eyes. “Commodore Aranea,” Ignis tried to project strength into his voice, even though he knew it shook, “I am afraid we will need to stop here.”

Aranea looked at them, pressed her lips together, and nodded slowly.

“I…will take you to Lestallum.” Ignis watched how she used her spear to walk, a faint limp to her movements and for a moment he debated the off of a curative for the woman—except that meant he needed to slip into the armiger and with a shattered bond that might not be the best idea at the time. Instead Ignis grimaced and gave a brief nod.

“If you do not mind also picking up the Regalia before we leave?” Ignis posited.

“Of course not,” Aranea agreed. She dropped down to help Ignis get Noctis up between them, glanced at him with an almost concern that had Ignis look away. “Are you alright?”

“I will be fine,” Ignis said shortly.

“And the Prince?”

“King.”

Aranea shrugged her shoulders. She muttered something about not understanding Insomnian ascension policies and an apology but Ignis didn’t listen. He focused more on Noctis and his breathing until she asked what she wanted. They limped their way back through the doors and into the winding, twisted halls; Aranea already with a radio out in her hand as she relayed the sudden need for departure and to have someone pick up the Regalia for them before they made it out.

“A stretcher will be ready once we reach the door,” Aranea said softly. “You mind telling me what that shit was?”

Ignis pressed his lips together and said, shortly, “A broken bond, and you better pray you never see one again.” He wanted to press his glasses up as he glared at her over the top of them, but she shook her head and said a soft apology as they started up the stairs. Ignis felt a little gratified that the woman could put two-and-two together and didn’t ask what a shattered bond meant. Granted he had no doubt she chalked it up to some ‘strange Insomnian magic’ but, well, the line of Lucis Caelum and their secrets and for good reason.

They breeched the door and Ignis immediately saw the stretcher that Aranea said would be waiting. With her help he deposited Noctis into place, once more with a careful brush of his fingers against his King’s brow, before he bowed his head and offered up a silent prayer for Prompto.

Ignis tried to reach Gladio the entire trip in the magitek dropship until they reached Lestallum, to no avail. Either the fool of a Shield left his phone behind and simply refused to answer, whatever the reason Ignis found himself grinding his teeth out of frustration. At any rate, with Aranea’s help, Ignis at the very least was able to get Noctis back into a room at the local hotel, Leville. She paid for the room, even, much to Ignis’ consternation.

“Here,” Aranea said once he’d gotten Noctis settled down. She thrust into his hands a slip of paper with a phone number on it, which caused him to frown in surprise. “Call me if you need any help. I’ll…keep an eye out for any Mythril for you, if we head back to Steyliff before you guys.”

Ignis rubbed at his eyes from under his glasses and murmured a short, “Thanks,” to which Aranea awkwardly nodded and took her leave. He sighed tiredly and tugged his glasses off, and with a sigh dropped them on the night stand next to the bed he’d gotten Noctis tucked into.

One hand reached out to grip at Noctis’ limp one, and Ignis fought hard to control and comport himself. The idea that technically Prompto could be dead was not something he wanted to entertain, even if the proof stared him stark in the face. Even now, to see Noctis—his little brother in all but blood—unconscious in what is undoubtedly a full stasis lock threatened to pull tears out of his eyes. How had this become their life?

Ignis scrubbed at his eyes with one hand and shakily tightened his grip on Noctis with the other. He murmured a short, “Wake up soon, Noct,” and bowed himself over the edge of the bed and over Noctis’ hand. “Please.” His hands shook and his breath shook and he tried to quell the fear that roiled in him. Fear that without Prompto Noctis would not wake the same—and it scared him to his very core.

For the next twenty-four hours Ignis remained by Noctis’ side and struggled with his own emotions. He thought to call Gladio some more on occasion for no other reason than to give the Shield a strong piece of his mind. A part of Ignis felt vindictive, lay the blame for this entire mess at Gladio’s feet. If he’d just been there—

—Ignis sighed as the phone rang and drew him from his melancholic thoughts. Tiredly he reached out and grasped at the device; he knew the number, knew that ringtone. With a tired message of his forehead and tapped to answer the call and raised the phone up toward his ear.

“Hey, Iggy, I’m—”

Ignis grit his teeth and said, voice thick, “I don’t want to hear it, Gladiolus.” Ignis could hear the way Gladio’s voice choked off in surprise. “You will get your ass to Leville in Lestallum, immediately.”

There was a moment of silence and then a softer, almost darker, “Something happen?”

Ignis felt a bitter laugh well up. Something happen? Oh yes, something happened. He gripped the phone tight and said, short because he didn’t want to listen to Gladio any more than he needed to right now, “Yes, something happened Amicitia.”

Another bought of silence, and then, “I’ll be at Leville in five.” Ignis rattled off the room number and hung up. He tossed his phone back onto the dresser and leaned forward, over Noctis, and sucked in another ragged breath. He’d yell at Gladio when he arrived, and then they’d move on from there.

Ignis straightened his back, got to his feet, and began to bustle about the room. There was much still that needed to be done.

When Noctis woke up it was to pain. He grit his teeth and sucked in a breath and his hands spasmed toward his chest even as he curled into his side. Faintly he could hear Ignis say something, but for the moment Noctis only focused on the way his heart hurt, and the way his back screamed at him. He could almost see how his legs twitched involuntarily until the cool, touch of an elixir brushed his skin with shattered glass.

Noctis relaxed ever so slightly as the pain faded away. He turned so that he could look to Ignis who stared at him without his glasses, eyes open in naked relief.

“You’re awake,” Ignis murmured, and then collapsed back into a chair.

“Iggy?” Noctis rasped, and his throat felt parched and sore and his head hurt something fierce. He tried to recall what had happened, but the memory slipped away like sand. Ignis reached over and gave Noctis a full glass of ice water that sat at the bedside.

“Don’t push it, your Majesty,” Ignis said softly. “Let it come on its own terms.”

It took Noctis a while, where he sipped at the water and just breathed. He didn’t see Gladio anywhere, and while a part of him ached at that he knew at least Gladio was safe and alive. That was when it trickled in—Steyliff, and the sudden inexplicable shattering of his bond with Prompto. Noctis sucked in a breath and closed his eyes.

“How long?” Noctis questioned. His hands shook.

Beside him Ignis plucked the glass from his hand. “Three days, your Majesty.” Noctis swallowed, reflexively. “Take your time, Noct.”

It took Noctis a few minutes before he was able to choke out, “What happened?” because he honestly didn’t know. He knew the bond shattered—and they weren’t meant to do that, really. Broken bonds due to death was one thing; this didn’t match anything he’d been told. It felt like Prompto had been taken from him, not died. Like someone went and plucked at the strings of Noctis’ heart, iced one over, and then snapped it in twine.

“We don’t know,” Ignis said eventually. “One second we were fine. The next Prompto had—he touched something, and then you were—”

Noctis swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then jolted in surprise when Ignis slammed his hand down.

“Don’t be! It is not your fault, Noct. It is never your fault.”

Noctis pressed his lips together; he wanted to ask wasn’t it? He was their King. He was meant to walk Tall in the face of his eventual demise, to sacrifice everything for safety of his Kingdom. His life was nothing more than a paltry sum granted by the Crystal to be taken away it its whim and the whims of the Gods and at the first sign of something wrong he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

The rest of his self-depreciative thoughts were broken before they could form in the way that Ignis reached out, grabbed him, and wrapped him in a tight hug. Noctis realized he had tears; his throat felt clogged up and he couldn’t quite breathe.

“It’ll be alright, Noct,” Ignis murmured. “Let it out, and take your time.”

Noctis shuddered. “The mythril—”

“Oh the mythril can go hang,” Ignis rumbled, “and if your next words are about Gladiolus, do not worry about it. We’ve talked, and he knows what he’s done wrong.”

Noctis frowned and mumbled, “Gladio didn’t do anything wrong,” in a confused sort of haze.

“Yes, Noctis, he did,” Ignis sighed. “We’ve discussed it.”

For a moment Noctis just curled into Ignis’ arms in the way he hadn’t done since he was a small child and they were introduced to one another. Noctis had the vaguest recollection that he’d been probably four at the time, and he could remember the utter strangeness associated with Ignis and how the older boy interacted with him, but the best part of those memories were moments like this.

After a minute Noctis asked, “He’s here?” and Ignis hummed lightly, chin rested atop Noctis’ birds nest of hair.

“Cor and Gladiolus are taking care of a problem at the power plant,” Ignis said eventually. “They should be done shortly if either one of them knows what’s good for them.” Noctis sighed. “Rest, Noct. You are still recovering.”

For a moment Noctis said nothing, but then he closed his eyes and murmured a soft, “Okay, Iggy,” and drifted back into sleep.

[saturdaysolaces]

photos from 15-17/7/2018 [as i’m writing this, 21/7 saturday] 

been MIA for a few days but i’m back now!! first things first, our “week” at our summer house kinda flopped; we drove back home on wednesday. we were supposed to stay until saturday but for a couple of reasons we had to leave a few days early; firstly, my headache is still not gone (so it’s been about a week) and at this point the possibility of it being a migraine is quite minuscule even though that was the first thing that i though it was. it is unilateral and around my eye, the pain itself isn’t that bad but it keeps persistently bothering me and i worry a lot (again, one of the infinite cons of overanalysing everything). also, today it switched sides, and the pain is exactly the same as with the other side. 

so, we left mostly because we didn’t have proper doctors at the town we were staying in (or even nearby), so the only option was to drive home and get it checked there. we went to the doctor on thursday morning and the doctor came to the conclusion i had a very general manifestation of tension headache. i immediately felt bit sceptical because i have had my neck jammed a million times before and never felt anything like this, but i went with it and have been stretching for a few days now. hope it’s just that and that i don’t have to pay another visit to the doctor’s office.

the second reason is that my headache combined with unbearable heat (it is 32 degrees celsius rn) and myriad mosquitoes isn’t really great in the context of getting sleep; i’ve had like 3 hours of sleep per day for the past week and i keep waking up at 5 am. plus, i have 2-degree sunburns on my upper back and shoulders which made finding a good sleeping position impossible because of the horrible pain. they don’t hurt anymore but itch like crazy and my skin has cracked and is still very red. i haven’t had a good night’s sleep at home either though because during the car ride home i got sick and had a bad fever for a few days. combined with that i seemingly caught a cold/flu again, my throat is quite sore and i woke up today with what seems to be either an ear infection or just excess earwax accumulating in my ear canals (i assume all the latter had something to do with us swimming a lot).

the body is an odd thing, but fortunately i’m still on holiday and have some time to spare, even though i hate being ill (especially because i get sick very rarely and when so happens it can last for a month – i had what doctors suspected to be mono but never diagnosed for 3(?) times?? idk if that’s even possible)

anyway, the photos above are from the days i spent at my summer house. on sunday me, my sister and my cousins went swimming and picnicking to the beach for a few hours (super fun!) and went for ice cream afterwards. the next day was spent in terms of food shopping and swimming again, and on tuesday we mainly tried our hand in sudoku and played some card games. i wasn’t bored which i’m glad of (i even got some biology done!) but my tiredness just got in the way, what can you do.

at this point i’m really looking forward to school beginning again, even though i have some things that i’m v stressed about. i just want to see my friends again and really just be the normal, productive and busy me, because i’ve found that i’m the happiest when i’m somewhat doing something meaningful. at the same time though, contradicting this feeling, is the fact that i do not want to go to school just yet. i thing 19 days is just perfect to get my mind and stuff organised and prepared but also have a few days just to lay down and sleep off my sleep deprivation. i managed to cram in about 4 units of physics today, and if i’m keeping up with the pace i might be finished in a few days (although i’m not in a rush!) because the units, at least compared to biology, are short in length and thus have little to take notes on, mostly just exercises that i mainly try to solve.

haven’t read for a while though because i’m trying to avoid bad posture and positions that might have contributed to my headache (if it is really tension-related, then i suppose my bad reading positions might correlate with it). for now, the main aim and focus is to get rid of my headache and then we’ll see what i’ll do.

hope you are feeling well! i am pushing through :>

[ephemerational]

Direction (V)

Message to “headless herald of hexadecimal hackery”:

“Sup. What are we gonna do about that webcomic idea?”

“I would need you to write it, otherwise I don’t know what to draw. Also how do you intend to pay me?”

“Just wanted to check in if you’re still interested. What do you mean, we’ll get money from selling merch and s…

“Don’t even try claiming that it will finance itself, I know comic artists, it’s never profitable”

I delete the message

“Don’t worry, I’ve still got a bit of cash, and I can write some articles for a quick buck”

“Fair enough, but you’ll have to pay for each page in advance.”

“And write comprehensive, comprehensible scene descriptions, from the explanation, it really wasn’t clear what tone you’re going for”

“Picture some insane posturban clusterpunk bullshit with metasensical absurdo abstractivist elements”

“Hold it right there, that sound sick, and real aesthetic, but those descriptors don’t mean anything. Posturban doesn’t even sound like a word. Be concrete and this is gonna be dope.”

“Yeah, I’ll send you some shit later”

In a strange state of inspired panic, I open Word. Last edited-turns out to not be anything related to the comic. Barely even three lines of text.

“My brain is broken, my mind is melting, and my psyche splattered across an uncountable number of unfinished documents but it’s thankless thinking with this corpse of a cortex, this cracked cranium full of incoherent ideas”

Sort of ironic for that to be the message of an obviously directionless, unpolished and unfinished piece of writing from a me that was either very tired or very drunk. Doesn’t matter. Delete.

“Hey brother, care for a good time?” called the coarse voice of a man, whose lung had clearly come into contact with more THC than oxygen, from a dark alleyway, trying to sell either bitches or drugs. I didn’t look to check which, seeing how I couldn’t afford either. “dark alleyway” in these parts at least is only a contextually meaningful descriptor, seeing how someone from pretty much anywhere else would consider the street I was running through at that very moment a particularly dark specimen. It had however not the slightest chance of comparing to the sheer amount of unfiltered lumodeficiency and delinquency that radiated from the offshoot the dealer/pimp called his own.”

What? No! This is a comic and not a fucking novel. Also wasn’t the protagonist supposed to be a hoodrat himself, why would he think/talk like this then? Fuck this, tabularaza the shit out of that and start from scratch. Jesus!

“ya’ll n****s…”

Can I say “N****s”? It would be kind of immersion breaking if I didn’t, or rather the characters didn’t. Not me who’s talking after all. On the other hand I’m pretty sure that’s not something those who would get upset over it are likely to care about. I could just claim that I am black, which is arguably even more racist, but they leave me no choice. Sacrifices have to be made to preserve the believability of a story.

Words flow onto digital paper the way it has always been. Opening a document and reemerging from the trance once a substantial amount of words has come to fill it. The text rarely even correlates to the thing that had been thought up, if there even was earlier consideration of what the white space might hold. It’s fascinating. Getting up is hard, speaking is hard, remembering is hard, but thinking? Thinking is passive. Not thinking is impossible and writing is just thinking while sitting at a keyboard.

Paragraphs about a young man trading the keys to a run down apartment to some thugs in exchange for them pretending to pursue him through the neighborhood replace nothingness. The chase, accompanied by gunshots, leads down the complex’s stairwell, through busy streets, a woman’s kitchen window and some dimly lit alleyways, one of which contains a bar called “Exisle”. Only the letters E-s-l of the neon sign are illuminated in a slightly on the nose reference to the cult classic “Regilith- The king’s rubble”.

The so far and henceforth unnamed main character, a morally light grey scam artist, upon bursting through the door, meets his contact. The journalist pulls on his cap twice as a signal, though this isn’t remotely necessary, as his nervous demeanor and pretend-poor style of clothing make him stick out like a sore thumb. He is dressed the way I would if I were to attempt to fit in in the huts, something I would imagine to be entirely unconvincing.

As the outsider scrolls through a newsfeed, reporting on the commotion outside, he is approached by the main character, whereupon they engage in some banter about who blew their cover more. The scam artist’s chase outside was of course a farce to present the image of someone worth chasing. He trades a USB-drive of unknown content against a decent amount of cash before ordering two whiskeys, the joke being that the bar owner is an Indonesian refugee who does not speak English, every order therefore resulting in a mystery drink, something the reporter did not expect. The main character’s scheme of unknown purpose proves successful as the two men part ways amicably.

That’s a good start, keeping things unexplained, building mystery. Good shit. I should ask Jerald if the “Exisle” thing is too on the nose though. Explicitly mentioning that the owner is Cuban so quickly after establishing the establishment seems kinda cheap, as opposed to simply having him talk with an accent, or acknowledging his origin later in the comic, when the audience has gotten used to the bar’s name. Whatever, that stuff can be ironed out later, for now this is a pretty solid hook. A bit of Momchelo… ah shit, it’s empty… A swig of actual whisky to celebrate then!

Just as I lift the bottle to my lips and tilt my head backwards in a “strangely cartoonish” manner which was once described as “Clearly indicating that [I] value the aesthetic of excessive drinking almost as much as the act itself”, Lloyd enters the room, contorting his face in a combination of pity and disgust.

“You made it to the kitchen, I see”

“Prepare to be even more impressed, as I tell you that I sleepwalked there from Lo’s room”

“Apart from the fact that I somehow find that less impressive than you moving your waking ass self to the ground floor; why the fuck were you in Lo’s room? Is he actually here for a change?”

“Nah, I just ate his stuff. Also talked to him for a bit, wrote some scenes for a webcomic… Pretty productive day overall if you ask me. If that was all the same day.”

“Man, I haven’t seen the guy in months now. I see how this house isn’t particularly welcoming to socially functional people, but still. Does he have a new girlfriend?”

“Haven’t heard anything since space girl broke up with him”

“Catherine?”

“Yes. Who else could I possibly mean by that?”

“I don’t know? I just find it weird that she got a cool sounding nickname”

“Just going with what fits, there are no personal feelings involved, freeloader.”

“Good to know. Say hi to Lo if you talk to him again, he never responds to me.”

“Will do. After I empty this bottle that is.”

“You can’t be serious”

“I wasn’t, but after that challenge: Watch me!”

A two thirds full bottle of hard liquor doesn’t go down as easily as a few cans of Momchelob, but it has the interesting effect of numbing my throat after the first few gulps, making the sensation of the liquid flowing down into my stomach almost surreal.

Lloyd either hasn’t dropped his disgusted expression over the duration of our talk, or he has chosen to reuse it now.

“I’m going to bed, try not to throw up on the floor again.”

I enjoy a few more minutes of almost sobriety before my vison cuts out.

[omeliafics]

A Music Affair: The Honeymoon - Part 2

Here is the last chapter of this whole wedding/honeymoon adventure of Omelia, guys. Hope you like it and, if you’re interested and haven’t read it yet, I already wrote what happens next a long time ago when I first had the thought of creating my own Omelia family in my Grammy Awards fic. I’d also like to thank @omelialover for proof reading this for me :)  Enjoy!

The couple had been feeling so peaceful whilst watching the sunset that they didn’t even realize that time had passed, until the sun finally wasn’t in sight, leaving the sky a dark blue and snatching them out of their deep thoughts.

“God, we have to get ready for the luau!” Amelia exclaimed as she checked the time on her wrist watch.

The couple took a quick shower and got ready for the hawaiian luau; they were having dinner at the other side of the beach.

Even though it was completely out of her comfort zone, Amelia had bought a floral maxi dress just for the occasion, since it basically screamed Hawaii. The dress was black with big red roses stamped on it, a loose fabric that opened a bit by her thighs to show off her legs and a v-neck cleavage.

With her heels in her hands, Amelia got out of the bathroom ready for their walk on the beach all the way to the place where the luau was being held.

“You ready?” She distractedly asked Owen, whilst adjusting her dress a bit.

“Wow…” Owen murmured when he saw his wife in that dress, drawing his attention away from the buttons he had been struggling with on his navy shirt. “You look stunning.”

“Why, thank you, babe.” She smiled at him, helping him with his buttons and getting on the tip of her toes to whisper in his ear. “Maybe you can do something about that later?”

“You bet I will.” Owen gave her a kiss on the neck before stepping back and heading to the beach with her.

Amelia and Owen had quite some fun at the luau. The place was filled with couples and families, they got to taste some of the most delicious hawaiian foods and all of this whilst watching some amazing cultural performances. They danced and even made some friends from the table beside them, a nice couple from Florida, relieved that they weren’t recognized and could spend the entire night pretending to be just a normal couple like any other.

After the event was over, around 1 am, Owen and Amelia headed back to their bungalow, walking on the beach with their feet on the sand.

“Ah! Owen!” Amelia squealed when Owen splashed some water on her feet, playfully pushing her towards the sea when the wave would retrieve, making Amelia run from it when the wave would go back, both of them laughing wholeheartedly. Amelia was caught by surprise by Owen hugging her and giving her a bunch of kisses all over her face; she lost her balance and fell down on the sand with him on top of her. “You’re ridiculous, Owen Hunt.”

“What did you just call me?” He raised his eyebrows at her, holding her arms above her head so she’d be trapped.

“I’m sorry, Famous Owen.” She corrected herself, laughing.

“That’s right.” He smirked, brushing his lips against hers. Truth be told, Owen hadn’t been able to take his eyes away from his wife all night long, eager to take that dress off of her and get himself lost in her amazing body.

“Babe, I love you....” Amelia began talking as he brushed his lips alongside her jawline and neck, feeling she needed to stop him before things got any further. “But, we’re not even near our bungalow yet and even though I’m totally not against sex on the beach, it’d be better if we were in privacy, right? Also, it’s a little chilly out here. So, let’s continue this inside, alright?”

Owen sighed and nodded his head, knowing she was right, getting up and helping her up as well. Since she had talked about it being chilly, he took off his coat and put it on her shoulders, before taking her hand in his and going back to walking.

Seeing her looking at him with a smirk on her face, he frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I’ve never seen you this turned on. I’m usually the horny one.” She stated, chuckling.

“Amelia, do you realize we haven’t had sex since before the wedding? Like, days ago?” He responded, seriously, which made Amelia burst out laughing.

“You know, some people spend months without having sex.” Amelia pointed out, making fun of him. “And you can’t even spend a few days without it.”

“Well, with the wife that I have, I’m definitely not ‘some people’.” Owen told Amelia, genuinely smiling at her, making Amelia’s heart flutter inside her chest. God, how she loved that man.

When they got back to their place, Amelia threw herself on the bed, feeling really tired all of a sudden.

“Okay, I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick and when I get back, I will turn on some music and we’ll head to the hot tub. How about that?” Owen said, an excited smile on his face.

“That sounds awesome, babe.” Amelia forced a smile to him, deciding to close her eyes for just a few seconds while Owen was in the bathroom.

When Owen got back, however, he found Amelia fast asleep in their bed.

“What…?” He murmured to himself, frowning in confusion. Amelia was fully clothed sleeping over the covers, even snoring a little bit.

Owen chuckled at the situation, watching her adorably sleeping before he took off her shoes and put the other side of the covers over her.

The next morning, Amelia woke up feeling more tired than the night before. Turning on the bed, she spotted Owen distractedly putting a tray with some food for her on the bedside table.

“Hi.” She greeted him, her throat feeling a little bit sore. It must’ve been because she had just woken up, she thought. Feeling her head a little bit heavy, she squinted her eyes at Owen, the sunlight disturbing her vision.

“Morning.” He gave her a half smile, then looking a little bit worried. “Are you okay? You slept for nearly 12 hours.”

“What?!” Amelia frowned, sitting up on the bed, the fast movement giving her a slight headache. Checking the clock, she realized it was already noon. “Oh my God, Owen! I can’t believe I fell asleep! Dammit, you were so excited for last night…”

“What?” He laughed at her worry about not having sex. “It’s okay, Amelia, it’s not a big deal.”

“And oh, we had talked about going to the beach this morning!” She moaned in frustration.

“It’s fine, we can go another time.” He tried to calm her down. “We’re staying here for two weeks, babe. There’s plenty of time to do all of that and some more.”

“No, I didn’t come here to sleep. I came here to enjoy our honeymoon.” She said, decidedly standing up and going through her bags to look for her bikini.

“Amelia, it’s almost time for lunch, c’mon. We can go to the beach later.” Owen tried to convince his wife, unsuccessfully.

“No, we’re sticking to the plan. We go to the beach now for at least an hour and then we can go to lunch.” She told him, making Owen roll his eyes at her stubbornness.

A few minutes later, they were at their private beach, enjoying some fruity non-alcoholic drinks in the sun while Amelia read a book and Owen continued to work on new songs in his notebook. The couple went into the water a few times and made out in the sea, but Amelia soon made her way back to their bedroom after sneezing a few times and getting a stuffy nose.

“God, I don’t know what’s happening to me.” She said after sneezing some more.

“It was pretty windy out there, babe. You might be getting a cold.” Owen told her, wrapping a towel around her.

“What? Of course not, I’m as healthy as a horse.” She denied, looking at him like he was mad.

“Yeah, sure.” He dismissed it, not wanting to argue with her. “Now go take a warm shower, it’ll make you feel better.”

Even though she didn’t believe she had a cold, Amelia did as she was told. But, getting back from the shower, she started to cough as well, realizing her throat was even more sore than before.

“What are you doing?” Owen asked his wife, who was searching for something in her suitcase while wrapped in her towel. It was quite windy in there as well and Owen was worried it might make her worse, which made him hurry to shut the windows closed.

“Uh, I’m looking for some clothes to go out for lunch.” She answered him whilst cleaning her runny nose with a tissue she had in her hands.

“What? We can’t go out with you like this.” He argued, handing her some clothes he had already separated. “Here, put on your pajamas and lie on the bed.”

“Owen, I told you I don’t have a cold!” Amelia raised her voice at him, annoyed, but quickly regretting it, feeling the pain it caused on her throat.

“And that I agree with you. I think it’s worse, you might have the flu.” He told her, insisting on handing her the pajamas.

“I don’t… Ugh!” She exclaimed, frustrated, snatching the pajamas away from him and throwing the towel she had over her completely naked body on his face.

If the situation was reverse, Owen would’ve loved that, but seeing Amelia was getting sick, he started to seriously worry.

“Okay, so I’m gonna call room service and order some soup for you.” He let her know, making his way to the phone on the bedside table.

“Ew, soup.” She made a disgusted expression, pretending she was throwing up.

“Lie down.” Owen mouthed to her in his most demanding way, pointing to the bed, as he was on the phone with room service. “Hi, I’d like to order a meal, please.”

Rolling her eyes at him before doing as she was told, Amelia breathed out in annoyance, feeling like she was being punished by her dad.

During the day, Amelia still refused to believe she was actually sick, claiming it’d pass the next day, even though her symptoms had only gotten worse.

Owen stayed by her side the entire day, making sure she kept hydrated and got some rest. But, in the middle of the night, Amelia woke up coughing a lot and feeling very cold, getting chills all over her body, to which Owen realized she had a fever, once he put his hand on her forehead.

Only half an hour after giving Amelia some paracetamol he found in their first aid bag, he noticed her fever was going down.

“Are you still getting the chills?” He asked her, holding Amelia closer to him under the covers in the dark room.

“No.” She answered, which was followed by another round of coughs. “Dammit, my throat hurts a lot.”

“I can still order that tea if you want.” Owen suggested.

“No, Owen, I can’t even sit up straight to drink tea right now.” She made her point, nestling in the crook of Owen’s neck, grunting with pain all over her body.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any syrup here right now, so the tea would at least make your throat feel a bit better until I can go to the drugstore get some medication.” He insisted, caressing up and down the arm she had thrown over his stomach. Owen hated seeing Amelia feeling so sick and not having anything left for him to do, so he kept suggesting things to make her feel better, but he knew how stubborn his wife was.

“No, it’s fine, really.” She said, her voice muffled since she had her face against his chest. “God, I just hate this so much. I hate being sick.”

“Oh, so now you admit you’re sick?” He messed with her, kissing the top of her head.

“Shut up.” Amelia told him off, keeping her face hidden. “What I hate the most is that I’m sick during our honeymoon! And this is probably gonna last a few days and we’re only here for two weeks, so we won’t get to enjoy the trip! I didn’t come to Hawaii to stay in bed the entire time!”

“Well, at least you were fine at the wedding. Can you imagine if you got sick on our wedding day? You’d be all disgusting with a runny nose on the pictures. And those are for life.” Owen made fun of her, trying to cheer her up.

“You’re ridiculous.” She giggled, looking up at him and seeing the bright moonlight that shone through the windows, illuminating his handsome face.

“Look, it doesn’t matter if we spend our entire honeymoon in bed, eating and watching TV while you recover. As long as I’m spending some time with you, I couldn’t have asked for more.” Owen told her, honestly.

“Yes, you could’ve asked for more. We could be having sex. Loads of sex, actually.” Amelia pointed out, annoyed at herself that she wasn’t able to do the amount of sexual activity she had planned for. “That is much better than just lying down here.”

She felt Owen chuckling, seeing him rolling his eyes in the dark.

“In fact, you shouldn’t be so close to me at all.” She continued. “You’ll get sick too and that will definitely make this the worst honeymoon ever.”

“Don’t worry about that, I don’t get sick very easily.” He noted.

“Oh yeah?” She raised an eyebrow, smirking at him. “That’s why I like strong men. And for other reasons too.”

But, before she could continue with the teasing, another round of coughs hit her, making Owen laugh at the situation.

“Try to think about getting better, babe. Get some rest and once you’re good, then we’ll get to the sex.” He chuckled, giving her a kiss on the temple.

Amelia’s flu lasted for a whole week, much to her dismay. The first few days were the hardest since she didn’t even had the strength to get out of bed or eat anything. But, Amelia refused to spend her honeymoon in bed the entire time, so whenever she was feeling a little bit better, she insisted for them to go out enjoy the sun and the beaches, the spa packages they had booked and some sightseeing at national parks. Owen felt like he was taking care of a stubborn child, insisting she wasn’t fully recovered yet and had to rest to prevent the flu from lasting much longer, but she wouldn’t listen to him, so he’d just take a deep breath and follow her along with whatever she wanted to do.

And they still hadn’t had sex because, even though Amelia insisted she was fine, Owen knew she actually wasn’t and seeing her like that had killed the mood for him, so he just focused on taking care of her. After all, they’d have many opportunities now that they were married and could take another trip back to Hawaii during their next holidays, so it wasn’t a big deal for him.

But it was for Amelia. That was the only honeymoon they would ever have and she wanted to make it a memorable trip. So, as soon as she got rid of the flu, Amelia decided to surprise her husband.

Owen had just gotten back to their bungalow one night after going to the resort reception to check on some things, since he was already dressed up for their date that night and Amelia wasn’t, giving her time to change.

“Hey babe, I talked to the receptionist and booked that cruise for us tomorrow. It’s at 6, if I’m not wrong.” He let her know. Noticing his wife was still in the bathroom, Owen sat by the end of their bed, making himself busy on his phone while he waited for her. “Are you ready? We have reservations at half an hour and I think the place is a little bit far than we think.”

“Actually, I was thinking of staying here tonight.” Owen heard Amelia’s voice coming from the bathroom.

“What? Why? You were so excited to go out and celebrate you getting better…” He frowned, looking up from his phone to the closed bathroom door. “Are you feeling ill again?”

“No, I’m feeling great.” She answered him. “I was just thinking we could celebrate it a little bit differently…”

The bathroom door opened and Owen didn’t even realize he had left his phone fall from his hands, mesmerized by the image of his completely naked wife posing for him in the doorway.

“Is that okay for you?” Amelia looked at him and leaned against the wall, smirking at his dopey face staring at her up and down. Owen was usually the one that took control of things in bed and made her go crazy with his touches and possessiveness, which always turned her on. But, once in awhile, Amelia liked to surprise him and be the dominating one. Seeing him look at her like that, like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, made Amelia’s heart flutter.

“Uhm, yeah. That’s okay.” Owen recovered from the shock and picked up his phone without taking his eyes off of Amelia, smiling at her.

“Okay, so I think you’re not dressed very appropriately for our date.” She stated, slowly walking towards him.

“Yeah?” Owen smirked, seeing her gently sitting on his lap, one leg at each side of his hips. He placed his hands on her thighs, slowly caressing them, while he tried to control himself.

“Yeah, so let’s get rid of a bit of that… And that…” Amelia said, while taking off his tie and starting to unbutton his white shirt, throwing it on the floor. When Owen made a move to catch her lips in his, Amelia stopped him, her index finger gently brushing against his mouth. “Nah-ah. I know you’ve been waiting quite a while for this, but tonight we’ll do it slowly. We’ll do it my way.”

“As you wish, milady.” Owen smiled, entertained by her teasing. “I’m at your service.”

“Good.” She smirked back at him. “Now, let’s stop with the talking.”

Owen pretended to be zipping his mouth and looked back at her, waiting for her next move.

Amelia pushed his chest hard, making him lie down on the bed and slid her palms on the inner part of his arms, forcing them up above his head. She laid down on top of his stomach, her breasts pressed against his chest while her lips made their way to his jawline and neck, nibbling onto his skin as her hands slowly roamed on the sides of his chest and torso.

Owen closed his eyes and let his senses be completely immersed by Amelia.

He had missed her touch and being intimate with her so much, even though it had just been about two weeks since they last had sex. It was like Amelia Shepherd was a drug and he was completely intoxicated with her, wanting to be with her every day and every time. And, beside his longing for her, which had been increasing with every single day that passed, that night was a special night for the both of them, since it was their first time as a married couple. So, considering all of that, Owen decided to give himself entirely to her and let his wife do whatever she wanted with him.

Focusing his concentration on her touches, he felt an electric wave through his body whenever she slightly brushed her lips on his neck or ran her delicate fingers on his stomach, the familiar scent of her hair and her warm breath against his skin adding to the excitation of his senses.

“God, I love you.” The words automatically left his mouth when Amelia was kissing his jawline, teasing him before she got to reach his mouth. Opening his eyes, he met hers, her face very close to his, noses and foreheads touching. “Sorry, no talking.”

Amelia smiled from ear to ear, her loving blue eyes shining in the poorly lit room, staring deeply into his.

“I love you too.” She whispered, her lips brushing against his before she finally kissed him.

Parting his lips, Owen deepened the kiss, lifting up his head from the mattress as he fastened the pace, eager for more of her taste.

Amelia’s fingers were intertwined in Owen’s locks of hair as she passionately kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip.

Owen’s hands unconsciously made their way to Amelia’s butt and thighs, squeezing on her skin, as he got more turned on by the second.

Realizing what he was doing, Amelia stopped the kiss and backed away a little, seeing him moan in complaint, just like she wanted.

“What did I say about slowing down?” She raised her eyebrows at him, a bossy expression on her face. Owen wanted to chuckle, but didn’t want to be punished again. “That’s enough with the teasing, though.”

Widening his eyes, he saw Amelia going down on him, leaving open-mouthed kisses along his stomach, until she finally reached the hem of his pants, looking up at him with a smirk on her face.

“Now, let’s get rid of this.” She said, unbuttoning his pants and throwing them on the floor, as well as his underwear.

Amelia, then, resumed kissing his inner thigh, seeing him holding her hair in anticipation, until she reached his most sensitive spot with her mouth, playing with her tongue.

Seeing how she was able to make him, Owen Hunt, the tough guy, so aroused and begging for more, gave her even more pleasure.

Feeling he was about to come, Amelia stopped and backed away.

“Amelia…” Owen moaned hard, complaining about the sudden break of contact.

She got on top of him, her lips against his as she held his face with her hands.

“I want you to hold it and wait for me.” Amelia demanded, looking into his eyes.

Owen nodded and finally entered her, watching her moving her hips on top of him, her hands splashed on his chest as she threw her head backwards and closed her eyes in desire.

Owen smiled at the sight of his stunning wife’s expression filled with lust and pleasure. He should’ve been used to this already, after all, they had been together for a long time. But he wasn’t. It always amazed him how amazing Amelia was and how much love and devotion she felt for him, one thing that, after his failed relationship with Cristina, he thought he’d never get.

Amelia leaned down, joining her body as close as she could with his and kissing Owen’s lips, exploring his mouth with her tongue while her palms looked for his and their fingers intertwined above their heads, holding tight onto each other as waves of pleasure hit them both.

Feeling that they were both at the edge, Owen took control for the grand finale.

In a swift move, he grabbed Amelia’s petite waist with his hands and switched positions, getting on top of her and fastening up the pace of his hips.

“Owen…” He heard Amelia moan under him, which was the most erotic sound he had ever heard.

Opening her eyes, she saw Owen looking at her, a look of admiration on his face as he smiled for her.

Amelia had never felt so safe and intimate with any man before. She had had a lot of casual sex and even some where it actually meant something for her, but never had she experienced that type of connection, intimacy and liberty in bed before. No man had ever respected her, cared so much about her feelings and well being or made her feel like a queen like Owen did. He was like this with her in every aspect of their lives, but it was in bed where she could really spot the difference and see how lucky she was for having a man like Owen Hunt.

The intensity of her pleasure hit Amelia even harder and, feeling she was about to come, she held harder onto Owen, her fingernails digging into his back.

“Come for me, Amelia.” He whispered in her ear.

She nodded and soon enough they both exploded, reaching climax at the same time.

Amelia’s body fell on the mattress, panting for air, and Owen relaxed on top of her, softly kissing her neck and collarbone whilst still inside her.

The couple rested and had a few drinks before they decided to skinny dip in their private little part of the beach. It was actually Amelia’s idea, but Owen loved to swim in the beautiful hawaiian sea and kiss his wife as much as he wanted to while the moonlight shone above them.

That night, Owen and Amelia still shared a shower and went for one more round, with Owen returning Amelia’s early favor and going down on her, loving to make her weak in the knees as she grasped onto his hair, begging for more.

In the week that passed, their last few days in Hawaii, the newlyweds enjoyed a lot of nights like that one, having sex at all the different places and positions they could think of and using the day to visit the most beautiful places in the island, since Amelia was fully recovered of her flu.

Going back home, Owen had to quickly unpack his Hawaii stuff and pack another bag of clothes, along with his guitar, since he had to fly to Washington, DC for this army charity project he had volunteered to do for three weeks, which included doing some shows.

So, Amelia stayed home alone, missing Owen like crazy and completely bored, since she still was on vacation for a little while.

Amelia had been feeling a bit nauseous and even actually vomiting for a couple of days, which annoyed her, thinking that it was the flu hitting her again or something. But, on the day before Owen was scheduled to arrive, Amelia noticed something.

She was lazily sat on the couch, watching TV with her legs up when a tampon commercial caught her attention.

Remembering it had been quite a while since she needed to worry about buying tampons, Amelia jumped off the couch, hands on her head and widened eyes as she paced around the living room doing the math.

“Oh my God. Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God…” She murmured to herself, trying to think straight.

Quickly picking up her phone, she called the first person she could think of.

“Maggie? Hi, it’s me. Where are you?” She greeted her best friend, an urgent tone to her voice.

“Amelia? Uh, I’m at a restaurant. Why? What is it?” Maggie asked on the other end of the line, realizing that this wasn’t a regular call.

“I need you to do something for me. As soon as possible, please.” Amelia requested, biting on her nails while she kept pacing around the living room. She had to ask Maggie to do that for her, otherwise there’d probably be a paparazzi following Amelia and, before she could even imagine, the rumors and gossip would be all over the place.

“Uh… Sure. Whatever you need.” Maggie answered, forever loyal to her friend.

“I need you to go to the drugstore and buy me… Uh…” She took a deep breath, trying to get those words out of her mouth. “I need you to buy me a pregnancy test.”

“WHAT?!” Her best friend screamed on the other end of the line, making Amelia back the phone away from her ear so she wouldn’t be deaf. “OH MY GOD, YOU’RE PREGNANT?!”

“Maggie, shut up!” Amelia exclaimed, worried about the other people around her friend that might be listening to her conversation.

“Yes, okay, sorry.” She apologized, then gave a little squeal of excitement. “Oh my God! I can’t believe this!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?” Amelia asked her friend. “Just buy me… Um, buy me three of those and let’s see.”

“Okay. Got it.” Maggie said. “I’ll be there in the blink of an eye.”

The blink of an eye, however, felt like ages to Amelia. She couldn’t distract herself and waited impatiently for Maggie, looking at the door the entire time.

When Maggie finally arrived, Amelia jumped to her direction and grabbed the bag with the boxes, whilst running towards the bathroom and yelling “thank you’s” at her.

A few minutes later, the woman was back from the bathroom, leaning her back against the wall and looking up at the ceiling.

“So?” Maggie asked, eager to know the answer.

Amelia took a deep breath and looked at her friend.

“It’s positive. They’re all positive.” She answered, emotionless. Not knowing how to feel or what to do. “I’m pregnant, Maggie.”

“Oh my God!” Maggie jumped up and down and hugged Amelia tight in her arms, more excited than ever. Realizing her friend wasn’t jumping like her, she stopped and looked at her face. “Wait, how do we feel about this?”

“I don’t know, Maggie, I have no idea how I feel about this!” She exclaimed, walking around the living room. “I’m nervous, I’m shocked, I’m… God, I’m gonna throw up.”

Seeing her friend look like she was about to get sick, Maggie put her down on the couch, rushing to give her a glass of water.

“Amelia, calm down, it’s going to be okay.” She reassured her, sitting down beside Amelia.

“We don’t know that!” Amelia said, after getting a big gulp of water. “I mean, I don’t know how Owen’s going to react to this. This wasn’t planned! And what if we’re terrible parents? What if we screw up? Our lives are gonna change completely now!”

“Amelia, look…” Maggie sighed, almost chuckling because of Amelia’s reaction. But, knowing her friend, she shouldn’t be the least surprised about her freaking out. “We both know Owen is a family guy and dreams about being a dad someday. He’s going to be thrilled by this!” She ran her hand up and down Amelia’s arm, trying to calm her down. “And of course you won’t be terrible parents, I know you guys. You might screw up a bit here and there, but who doesn’t? You’ll learn from your mistakes.” Maggie gave her friend a tender smile. “And yes, your lives will change, but for the better. Didn’t you guys talk about this before getting married?”

“We did, but it was briefly. Just some comments about the future. I didn’t expect it to happen this soon.” Amelia sighed, running her hand through her hair, a million thoughts going through her mind.

“Look, it’s going to be okay. And I’m sure it’ll be the best experience of your life.” Maggie said, smiling from ear to ear. “You’re having a little baby, Amelia.”

Amelia let that sink in for a minute, thinking about all of it.

“I am, aren’t I?” She smiled back at her friend, suddenly feeling emotional about the subject. Looking down, she put her hands on her belly, caressing it slowly. “I’m having Owen’s baby.”

Suddenly, their future became clear in her head. Owen with their baby in his arms, being an amazing parent like he was an amazing husband; their family going to the park together, smiles all over their faces; their kid backstage in one of their concerts, enjoying their music…

She had idealized all of this before, the night when Owen asked her to marry him. But now, all of this wasn’t a dream anymore, it was more concrete than ever. It was real life and it was happening. And, the more Amelia thought of it, the more she got excited about their future and the family they were building together.

[remembermemorablememories]

Monday, April 1, 2019

post #447

- woke up around 8am due to jet lag. ate breakfast with mom and dad. i just ate like two bananas :p they both went to work. i was most definitely sick with a sore throat. so i started drinking a bunch of hot water. dad told me to take some medicine so i did that. plus took some tylenol

- took a long shower. then watched some youtube videos. like peter mckinnon’s hollywood magic reaction video

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6m0agKATUU

very interesting stuff

- dad came home with panera. i asked him to get baja mac+cheese and chicken hoodle soup and he brought it home for me :D i ate that and it helped my sore throat feel better. he heated up dinner leftovers as his lunch and talked a bit more about china/the political system in relation to america. there are pros and cons to each system

- he went back to work and i went to sleep from like 1:30pm-4pm. then started to try to set up my internet in my apartment, looked a bit into wifi routers, then played smash online for two hours from 5-7pm. i got wolf into elite smash :D at like 4.27mil GSP

- ate dinner with the fam. dad made tofu + bean curd in a soup thing so it was easier on my throat. it helped a bit. wai po also called us near the end of dinner and i got to say hi to her :D 

- played smash online with deepak and tyrone from 8-10pm ish. then 1 on 1 with tyrone until 11pm. then i went to sleep

i was tired and felt kind of sick. i tried not to talk too much on our call but occasionally did chat so my throat was a bit sore

sigh. i guess if i’m sick it might as well be now. so i can have at least like a week to recover before i start working

the end

[artobsessed-writes4fun]

I Would Never Leave You

My AO3 for more works: artobsessed_writes

Keith felt awful. He had woken up with a terrible headache and a sore throat. He probably was getting sick. Dammit. He hated being sick.

Getting out of bed, he felt sluggish as he made his way into the kitchen to make coffee. Turning on the coffee pot he yawned and stretched his arms over his head, hearing his joints pop. He looked at the clock on their oven and read the time. It was 6:30 on the dot. He normally woke up around 5 so the fact that he slept in only added to his conclusion of him being sick. He sighed and opened the cabinet that had all their mugs in it. He pulled his out which was red and had a picture of a grumpy looking cat on it. It was a joke gift from Lance a few months ago, but Keith used it anyway since it was the only one big enough to hold the amount of coffee he need in the morning to function right.

After he had poured himself coffee, he went to the living room and sat on the couch. He was too achy to train like he normally did so he grabbed a book of the coffee table instead and decided to read. The apartment was quiet with Lance still asleep. His weapon never got up before 7 and even then, it was a struggle to get him out of bed. Keith liked the quiet though. It reminded him of how it used to be when he was living on his own. He never minded the solitude and was perfectly content with remaining on his own for the rest of his life. That all changed when he met Lance however and ever since then living with the Cuban boy and being surrounded by constant noise had become the norm for him. It was all Shiro’s idea anyway, making him take on a partner even though he hated working with people.  Keith had to admit, though having someone you can rely on to watch you back was nice. Not that he would ever let Lance know that, of course. It would go straight to his head and inflate his already gigantic ego.

It was around 7:15 when his weapon decided to make his way into the kitchen. Keith looked up and watched as the brunette stumbled into the room and nearly ran into every wall he encountered. Keith liked watching him like this. When he was quiet and still half asleep. It made him kind of cute. He went back to reading his book as Lance came over to sit on the couch with his own cup of coffee. If Keith could even call it that. He was pretty sure Lance put more sugar in it than coffee and just the thought of it made him feel sick. That might have also been because he was definitely sick now.

Lance sat crossed legged on the couch and sipped his coffee while turning on the T.V. He still had his headphones around his neck so he couldn’t hear the T. V.  Keith assumed he just turned it on so he had something to look at rather than the wall.

Keith got up from the couch around 7:30 to get dressed and ready for class. He didn’t want to be late again. Last time he made it to class after the bell his teacher had used him as a model for the experiment they were doing that day. He still shivers at the look in his teacher’s eye when he told the class what they were doing. If it hadn’t been for Lance stepping in and telling the teacher off Keith was almost positive he would have been another corpse on an examination table in his teacher’s lab. That was a terrifying thought. He went to his room and pulled off his shirt and pants and changed into an outfit that was more suitable for the day. He put on his red jacket, a dark t shirt and jeans. He pulled his gloves on too and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and fix his hair. Lance always made fun of him for wearing them but he liked them so he ignored his weapon like he does with most the stuff that comes out of his mouth. It didn’t take him long to get ready and he even took some cold medicine that was behind their bathroom mirror to help with his sickness. The last thing he needed was him being sick interfering with their work and getting one of them hurt.

Walking out of the bathroom he looked over to see that Lance was still on the couch watching T.V. Keith huffed and went over to him, flicking him on the head

“Ow!” Lance looked up with his clear blue eyes that made Keith’s heart melt. “What was that for?”

Keith didn’t answer him verbally and just signed to him in sign language that they needed to go now if they didn’t want to be late for class. Lance grumbled, but got off the couch anyway. He didn’t want to piss off his teacher’s any more than Keith did and it was another 15 minutes before they were both ready and leaving the apartment. Getting to school wasn’t hard. Keith’s motorcycle was fast and they only were delayed a small bit because Keith had zoned out at a red light and missed when it turned green so they had to wait for it to turned again. Lance had asked him if he was alright and Keith only grunted in response, telling him he was fine and that he didn’t need to worry.

They got to class a few seconds before the bell rang and went to their seats as quickly as they could. Pidge and Hunk were already there and looked at them with a knowing glance as they sat down. It wasn’t the first time they had cut it close with getting to school on time and Keith was no in the mood for lectures. As soon as he sat down, he leaned his seat back and kicked his legs up on the desk. He was tired, which was normal since it was early, but he felt like he had just run a marathon and then decided to swim ten laps. Their teacher walked into the class after the bell like he always does and started the lesson. Keith didn’t really pay attention though and before he knew it he had fallen asleep.

He awoke to shaking. He opened his eyes and was suddenly met with a bright smile and equally bright eyes.

“Dude, Keith. Class has been over for like the last ten minutes. You sure you’re doing alright?” His weapon asked as he went to feel his forehead, but Keith swatted his hand away. He didn’t like when people worried about him over something as stupid as a cold.

“I’m fine Lance. Just had a long night and needed to catch up on some much needed sleep.” It wasn’t a lie. He really had gone to bed late because of an assignment he had to finish before Wednesday. Lance didn’t seem convinced though and just frowned at him. It was unfair how good he looked even when he was frowning. Lance opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by Pidge when she came back into the room. “How long are you two gonna flirt in here? Shiro and I checked the board and we all have a mission today. Get your butts out here and let’s go. I’m sick of waiting.” She grumbled as she turned back around and left the room. Keith stood up before Lance could continue his earlier line of questioning and grabbed his weapon’s wrist, pulling him out of the room. Lance was quiet when they made it to Shiro and Pidge, who were waiting at the front of the school, which meant that he was thinking. Keith really hated it when he started to think because as much as he called the Cuban boy an idiot he was surprisingly intuitive and picked up on most things Keith tried to hide. It was probably because they were weapon and meister. They were more in tune with each other’s mental state that anyone else, but Keith still hated it all the same.

Shiro just looked at Keith as he and Lance got on his motorcycle. He was probably wondering why Lance of all people was silent. Keith just shot him a look that said it wasn’t his fault and Lance was just being weird again. Starting up his motorcycle and kicking the kickstand up he followed Pidge, who was on her hover board and Shiro, who had his own motorcycle.

“So, what is our mission anyway?” Keith asked a few minutes later over the sound of rushing wind in his ears.

“There is a village on the outskirts of town that has been terrorized by a non-human soul. They’ve been asking for help for a while, but I guess no one had time to go check it out. The board said the creature was close to becoming a kishin which is probably why they finally sent us out.” Pidge said as she came over to ride next to Keith so he could hear her.

Well while it didn’t surprise Keith that that was the only reason they were going to help, it didn’t exactly feel good knowing that. The whole reason he was an orphan to begin with was because the school did nothing to help his village when it was attacked by a non-human soul. He had hated the school for years because of that. He still doesn’t like it but he has managed to push most of his hate away since Shiro found him and took him in. The school may have not done anything to assist his village but it became his second home because of Shiro so he has a hard time hating it now.

Keith skid his motorcycle to a halt as they got the village. It was quiet and empty. He kicked the kickstand out and got off the bike. Lance was right at his side without a word. The place may have looked empty but they could feel the soul of a corrupt human lurking somewhere around. All four of them walked into the village. There was no one around, it looked like everyone had left in a hurry. They probably did.

Looking around, Keith tried to hone in on the aura of the non-human’s soul and locate it. A sound of a broken twig behind him made him whip around. Lance was already in weapon form and in his hand. There was nothing there but Keith knew they weren’t alone. He took slow, methodical steps toward the direction he heard the sound in. He could hear Pidge transforming behind him but he didn’t look back. All of a sudden, he heard a crash and barely avoided the long hand that reached out for him from one of the house next to them. Jumping back, he watched the creature pull his hand back into the hole in made in the side of the building it was in. It then pulled its whole body out into the open. The thing was disgusting. It had four limbs but they were long and bent in awkward angles. Its neck was also long and its head was hanging upside down, swinging around wildly as the creature moved. Its abdomen was swollen and dripping some kind of liquid.

Not staring at it long in hopes it wouldn’t make him throw up, Keith aimed his gun at the creature’s head and fired rapidly. The creature raised its hand and the shots bounced off it. Damn, this is was going to be tough. He kept firing as he watched Shiro run at it with Pidge. Pidge’s weapon form was a small blade that came to a point in the middle and was attached to a hand hold so Shiro could use her like brass knuckles. She was small but she also emitted electricity when she struck. Her Resonance let her blade because huge which meant she could deal more damage. Her and Shiro made a good team since they were already in Resonance and Shiro slashed at the horrifying creature.

Unfortunately, the thing had thick skin. Even with Pidge in her full form she could barely made a scratch on it. The creature tossed Shiro back and he hit the ground hard but was up on his feet in seconds. Well this was going wonderfully, Keith thought as he backed up and jumped up onto a low roof of one of the houses. If he didn’t get a head shot, they would be fighting this thing for hours. Lining the scope on top of Lance up with his target, Keith pulled the trigger.

His shot was off though. Right before he could shoot he suddenly got super dizzy and had to brace himself with one hand on the roof so he didn’t completely fall off it.

“Keith! Hey! Are you alright?!” Lance yelled as Keith shook his head a bit to clear it. He could feel his weapon’s panic through their link.

“I’m fine Lance. Don’t worry about me, just worry about hitting that fucking thing in the head.” It probably wasn’t the best time to get mad, but Keith was irritated. Not at Lance but at himself for being so incompetent. Even if he was sick, he shouldn’t have missed a shot like that.

None of the panic that he felt from Lance went away but he ignored it and lined up his shot again. The damn thing was moving now as he looked through his scope. Shiro and Pidge were still fighting it and it was almost impossible to get a clean shot. Of course, he screws up the one time he gets a break and now he has to wait for an eternity for there to be an another opening.

Finally, after what feels like forever he gets a clean shot. Taking it as soon as he can he pulls the trigger and nails the creature right in the head. It falls on its back and fails for a minute before going completely still and limp. Thank god that was over, Keith didn’t know much longer he would have been able to hold out. As he watched the creature fall, his world began to tilt. Shit. Maybe he was sicker than he thought he was. He expected to hit the roof or worse the ground but instead he felt two arms wrap around him and pull him back before he went toppling over the edge. “God dammit Keith. If you were sick why did you just tell me? You could have gotten yourself killed!” The sound of Lance’s voice was above him but it sounded like it was coming through water. His head was so fuzzy and it hurt, the headache that he has had all day seemed to be getting worse. He felt himself being lifted but he didn’t protest. He was too tired to fight Lance so he let him carry him back to Shiro and Pidge.

Vaguely Keith realized Lance doesn’t know how to ride his motorcycle which meant that they had to leave it there. Fuck. Pidge let Lance use her hoverboard since he knew how to ride that and she got on the back of Shiro’s motorcycle. Normally Keith hated Lance’s flying, it was so uncoordinated and he always took unnecessary risks, but the way he was flying was soothing. He was just riding the wind, making sure not to jostle Keith too much. Eventually Keith fell asleep. When he woke up, he didn’t know where he was at first. They had just been fighting a non-human soul, why was he suddenly wrapped up in a thousand blankets in a bed. As he looked around the room he was in. he slowly began to remember what happened. That’s right. He passed out during a mission and Lance had to take him home. Speaking of Lance, his weapon was sitting at the foot of the bed leaning against the end post and was drawing in his sketchpad. Keith knew he worried Lance quite a bit then. The Cuban boy only drew when he was stressed about something or after one of their fights. Sitting up, he caught the brunette’s attention.

“Hey.” Keith’s voice sounded hoarse and his throat burned. He tried to smile but the look on Lance’s face made it falter slightly

“Don’t ‘Hey’ me. What the fuck were you thinking? Do you know how worried I was when I saw you fall? You can’t do that to me Keith, you just can’t!” Lance’s face was red with rage. He had put his sketchbook down and was now crawling toward Keith, jabbing him in the chest with a finger when he got closed to him. Keith didn’t say anything as Lance continued to yell, his voice was stuck in his throat.

“You could’ve died for all I know. Do you know what that means? I would have lot another meister. Another one!” Keith could see tears beginning to form in his weapons bright blue eyes.

“I wouldn’t have died. It’s just a cold.” Keith’s voice was small and quiet. He hated making his weapon worry and even worse he hated making him cry. The Cuban boy has been through enough and Keith didn’t want to add to it.

“Just a cold?! Keith, you nearly fell off a roof!” Lance’s tears were flowing down his cheeks freely now as he grabbed Keith’s shirt and pulled him forward. Keith clenched his eyes shut bracing himself for the hit Lance was sure to give him. That didn’t happen though, what happened was that he felt those same arms as before wrap around him and hold him as if he would disappear any second.

“Please, please, please. Don’t do that ever again, don’t scare me like that ever again. I couldn’t handle it if I lost you. Not just cause you’re my meister but also because you’re the most important person to me ever right now.” Lance’s voice was muffled since his face was smushed into Keith’s chest. Keith couldn’t help it, he smiled softly as he looked down at his weapon. He knew he had scared the brunette badly today but he also knew that Lance cared about him a lot. Sighing, he brought his hand up and ran it through his weapon’s hair, calming him down.

Next time he’ll make sure he takes better care of himself when he is sick. For Lance’s sake.