#i hate the constant management of a machine that should just be replaced at this point

[therewasatale]

his scars

On Ao3.

Summary:  Each Lord had their own rules, and you have broken Lord Heisenberg's.

Note: I saw a bunch of fanarts with Heisenberg having a lot of scars, so I played with the idea.

Each Lord had their own rules. Which if their servants did not follow, they had to pay a heavy price.

Rules like that; you must not go to the lower levels of the factory alone. If Lord Heisenberg said something, you had to do it without question, especially for your own safety. And if you visited his private room, you always had to knock before entering.

You’ve always followed two of them. However, your attention slipped over the last one as you hurried out of the elevator to Heisenberg's room. At each step, you could feel the slow, rhythmic thumping of the factory from behind and below you as the various machines and tools worked non-stop. Every click, tap, or squeak has become as familiar to you as your very being.

Pulling closer the book you got from him a month ago, you tried to gather your thoughts about what you wanted to say. You'd have never thought a darker fantasy would appeal to you so much. It had a mystery, a bunch of different, but still interesting characters, and an oppressive background that the story slowly began to bring to light by the end of the first book. The ending was open for a promising sequel.

And you entered his room. Without knocking.

Inside, the smell of thick tobacco and oil rushed your senses.

"Heisenberg, I brought back the book! And imagine it's already-"

"WHAT IN THE LIVING HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" He yelled.

You froze in place in the doorway. The sudden shout shook you up completely and you gripped the book tighter in your hand so you wouldn’t drop it.

Your gaze was immediately drawn to the man, as he was standing by the bed.

Heisenberg's shirtless upper body was covered in a myriad of thin scars, like cobwebs across his entire body. Starting at his neck, they ran down his chest all the way to his waist, and probably continued under the pants. The scars on his arms were gnarly, from long healed injuries, which were most likely the results of fights. However, some of those on his chest were too straight and clean to come from an accident.

"Get. Out." He didn't look into your eyes. Objects trembled around him. A knife rose into the air from his desk. "NOW!"

You didn’t look back when the door slammed close behind you. Not when the elevator was already climbed up a few levels. And not even when you got to your own room and threw your back at the door. You felt like a hand was wrapped around your throat and it began tightening its fingers, ever so slowly.

Long minutes passed and yet you still felt as if your heart was trying to break out of your chest. The only thing you could clearly hear besides the beating of your heart, was your own panicked breathing.

"Shit..." you slid down with trembling legs. You had to wrap your hands around your body to try stop the trembling.

It was over.

You broke his rule. And now he's going to kill you, if you're lucky, he will make it quick.

Each Lord had their own rules, and now you have broken Lord Heisenberg's. Like a stupid fucking kid.

"Shit!"

You were aware of the fact that the people in the Dimitrescu castle disappears and got replaced very often, and you were really surprised how different Heisenberg was from what you imagined. He shouted a lot and swore even more, but he never tried to hurt you, even on his worst days, he just grumbled impatiently and vented his frustration on his machines.

He was loud, but understanding in his harsh way. Impatient, but still a good listener on his good days. He was rough, but you knew he cared about you, in his own grumpy way.

You were happy. You enjoyed living here.

But now...

Now you had to get out of here.

The sudden thought helped to clear your head with such force that you have managed to get on your feet. You didn't want to die. You didn't deserve death for a complete nonsense.

You had to get away.

Heisenberg waited while as the elevator started upwards.

He didn't even have to move his hand. The knife spun around its axis then it slammed into the wall with tremendous force, then again and again and again. It didn't stop until the blade bent from the force. His fingers trembled, bolts and gears threw themselves around him in all directions. The legs of his bed buckled as the springs in his mattress straightened, pierced trough the material and then snapped and shot themselves into the ceiling.

"Fuck!" He grabbed his dirty-gray hair and pulled it hard enough so the pain would clear his head a bit. He needed to calm down before he smashed everything around him. The bed creaked behind him, as two of its legs finally gave up and fell to the ground with a thud. Then there was silence again. This snapped him out from his blind anger.

He shut his eyes tightly. Letting his shoulder sunk, he took a step back and threw his back against the cold wall. He needed to take a few deep breaths to slow down his pounding heart.

When he opened his eyes the first thing that caught his eye, was a scar running through his forearm. He clearly remembered getting it in a fight against a bunch of lycans. Years ago, when he started constructing his factory the territory of the lycans stretched all the way to the area where the main building would be. At the time, they didn’t even know who they were facing and sometimes they ventured through the fence. That evening, Heisenberg did not expect them in such numbers, let alone that they will attach wooden spears on their arm to counteract his powers.

With a sharp exhale he lowered his arm.

Those creatures became what they were thanks to Cadou. Technically, they were all related. He took a deep breath, knowing it well that these thoughts didn’t help and were not important right now.

He gave himself a disgusted look before he got dressed. When he buttoned the last button on his shirt, only then he let his thoughts wander again. An unpleasant feeling settled into his chest.

You saw him. And now you will run away.

It was over.

He knew that the body he had to live in was utterly repugnant. The body which was experimented on by Mother Miranda, conducting studies and surgeries until she was satisfied with it. The body she put the parasite in and which cursed him with this fate. He hated her for making him this way, and he hated himself for being her child.

He still woke up time to time drenched in sweat from nightmares where he has been implanted with the parasite over and over again.

It spread throughout his body and turned his existence into pure hell. His thoughts burned away by the eruption of the unbearable pain, he felt as if his chest would open up and his heart would tear itself out of its place. However, the worst part of it all, was the realization that something was trying to subsume his consciousness. Claws tore into his brain and tried to suppress part of his being. It was almost successful, but Heisenberg held on.

And when he woke up after the procedure, he found himself in a whole new hell.

You were the only thing, along with the constant building, that kept him happy day by day, and helped suppress his raging hatred. On the worst days he still could felt the Cadou trying to making its way into his head. But you always were there to help him, or at least, you tried and he was grateful, even when he didn't say anything.

He knew full well that this would not last forever. Because why would it last? In this godforsaken horrible place everything fell to pieces and rotted apart eventually.

He took out a cigar from the depths of his coat.

He didn't want anything; he didn't ask to being like this. And yet you stayed with him. He had you. But now, you saw him.

The bitter smoke slowly rose from his lips.

Everything was over.

 Hours have passed. Night arrived, or just the tiredness told you that.

You thought about running away again and again trying to figure out how, and when you should do it. The first thing you thought was that you had to find a way to do it as soon as possible. The elevator was an option, but you would have risked running into Heisenberg, or, more dangerously, into his servants. He could send them after you at any time.

It was risky.

Or there was a ventilation system that weaved through the factory. You could use that, though you were afraid of getting lost inside of it forever rather than getting out. Escaping trough, the dumpster promised only similar chances.

You even started to think that maybe first, you should talk to the man. Or at least try to talk to him. Though your reasonable-self protested profusely against this emotional suggestion.

However, your pride also spoke up and somehow, it made you stay. You're not going to run. Not anymore. Not from him.

So, you waited.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, you hoped you would have a chance to talk to him. You just couldn’t decide when to go to him. Every part of your body shivered as Heisenberg's angry voice echoed in your head. You had to go to talk to him, but you were simply unable to leave your room, at least for now.

Fortune was on your side for once.

Your door opened slowly. You felt your shoulders tense up and you swallowed dryly. You couldn’t look up at him.

"I thought you would have left already." His voice didn't sound as harsh, as you would have expected.

You glanced up at the man who was leaning against the doorframe. He folded his arms in front of his chest, his eyes were hidden behind his black sunglasses.

"Why should I leave?"

"Well," despite his words his voice sounded surprised "I yelled at you."

"You've yelled before."

Heisenberg snorted a little and rubbed his hair under his hat. This didn’t go as he thought it would. "Well yeah, but..." his words let him down.

"What happened to you? I mean your body…?" You got up from your bed. He was just a few steps away from you.

The man drummed with his fingers a couple of times on his arms. "I fell."

"Heisenberg..." you took a careful step towards him.

"Lord Heisenberg." He corrected you. "If my bitch mother is forcing this prestigious bullshit then we should keep to it." He sounded more annoyed than angry. He continued to drum slowly with his fingers, but you could also feel his eyes watching you from behind his glasses.

"I'm sorry that I didn't knock."

For long minutes, the only thing could be heard was the rhythmic thumping background sounds of the factory.

"Well...Yeah..." He scratched his graying hair slowly as he pushed himself away from the doorway. "Listen, if you want to go, then go. I'm not going to stop you, just don't ever comeback. All right? Have a nice life, or whatever. That giant trash is actually looking for new maidens," He turned around.

You managed to stand up and hurried after him stopping him in front of the elevator.

"What?" Heisenberg glanced down at your arms as you hugged him. "(Y/N)?"

"I'm sorry." You snuggled closer to his back, hiding your face in the fabric of his coat.

"For what?" His hands shook, he had to stop himself from touching your arms. The thought made him tremble a bit, but he realized that you were trembling too. You were so close to him, he could felt your body against his, your finger griped into his clothes.

"For not knocking. And not saying sorry. And for not trying to talk to you." His coat smelt like tobacco and oil, just like everything around him did in this place. For you, it felt like home.

When he didn't answer, you spoke again.

"I don't want to leave. I'm sorry."

There was another quiet minute. You were about to let him go when he finally found his voice.

"Are you sure? But you saw me." He carefully caressed your hand with his fingers. "You saw what that bitch did to me."

So, you were right, those wounds were too straight to be from some kind of accident.

With your eyes closed you enjoyed the gentle touches, as he run his fingers along the top of your hands, and then slowly moved up on your arms as well. He slowly relaxed between your arms and leaned closer to your body. Even his breathing became more even.

When he sighed, you let him out from your hug and stepped beside him, looking up at him "Come with me, Lord Heisenberg." You gently took his hand and pulled him after you. heading back to your room.

"Hm?"

"I need some rest, and you too. And I'm sure you've destroyed half of your room."

Heisenberg pulled down his hat into his eyes. Damn.

"Why would I have done that?" Oh, for the love of god, shut up you, idiot! He snorted to himself.

"Because you care about me, just as much I care about you. Come." You pulled him all the way to your bed. Turning towards him you took off his hat and glasses.

"Mh, what?" His tired eyes looked straight into yours.

"Your eyes are really beautiful."

"Oh shut up." Stepping next to you, he threw himself on the bed.

You never dared to ask why you got a bed which was big enough for two people. Whether someone owned this room in the past, or the man had some kind of plan for you. But right now, as he leaned back to the bed, you haven’t really found a reason to worry about that. Climbing next to him, you hid under his arm. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you sighed deeply.

"Well, I hope you're happy."

"Very much, thank you."

He snorted and listened quietly to your steady and calm breathing as he tried to ignore his own pounding heart. He fervently hoped you wouldn't notice this. This hope was unfortunately false considering that you were only a couple of centimeters away from his heart.

The redness spread through his face even more so than before.

He didn't imagine this could happen. You shouldn't have been here anymore. You should have gone to the village a long time ago and not looked back. You should have left everything...and everyone behind.

Instead, you were here. And you laid next to him so damn close. His skepticism struggled against the notion.

Like anything would just become magically fine after this.

"You know, you can't fix me with cuddling, right? I'm messed up in the head and even more fucked up in my body." He swallowed dryly.

"What are you talking about?" Raising your head, you looked straight into his eyes.

"I just told you." He let out an impatient huff. "You can't fix me, I'm this fucked up. And it won't go away after some warm cuddling and snuggling. Sorry to ruin your hopes."

"I don't want to fix you, Heisenberg."

"What?" Every answer of yours caught him off guard.

"Why would I want to fix you when I like you this way?" You leaned closer, slowly kissing him. His body tensed, you could feel his grip tighten on your shirt, then his lips gently kissed you back. The kiss tasted bitter, like his cigar. He pulled you closer and didn't let go until you yourself pulled back.

Looking into his eyes you smiled gently. "Besides, I've been here a long time, so I'm pretty sure I'm just as messed up in the head."

"Damn." His grey eyes almost sparkled. "God damn."

You let him pull you closer, snuggling up to his shoulder.

"So, we're messed up together."

"Pretty much, yeah. But somehow it doesn't bother me."

Heisenberg was sure by then that you could feel the pounding of his heart, but he didn't mind it now. He gently caressed your face with his fingertips from your forehead through the line of your nose all the way to your chin. He spent a lot of time under your eyes.

"Listen, I know she did something to you." You placed your palm carefully on his chest. "But your body isn’t scaring or disgust me." You gently caressed around his heart trough his shirt. "It's your body, it belongs to you and I like it. I mean it's yours and it's fine."

"Mh," he replied tellingly.

His heart finally started to quiet down. Good. He needed to think with his god damn head and not with his heart. Everything happened differently. For hours he believed, no, he knew, that you have already ran away. He wanted to give you time, that was one of the reasons he didn’t come after you for so long. And yet, deep within him he felt he can't just let you go. Who knew what he would have done if you would have told him to his face that you are leaving him? He felt as if his whole world started to tremble.

It was as if you could feel what he was thinking you snuggled closer and rubbed your head against his shoulder.

The man sighed softly.

But you stayed. You were here, and you were honest. Maybe he could be a bit honest too.

"Sometimes, I dream that I'm just a machine myself." He gently played with your hair. It was a long time ago when he touched something this soft. "That I'm lying on one of Mother Miranda's experimental tables, and when I look down at myself I see nothing but gears and bolts that work together inside me. It's not my body anymore, I lost my real one. Then I start to lose my mind as well. And she just watches me, every damn time. Calling me his son. " He rubbed his face into his hands.

Raising your head a little you laid it back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"What are you-"

"Sh."

The man snorted, in confusion and embarrassment.

"Hm, all I can hear is your flesh heart beating in your chest. The rhythm is pretty fast but maybe because of the many cigars."

"Oh, shut up." He hid his face in his hands and tried to rub the crimson of his face away.

"All right, all right." You snuggled back to his shoulder. "Still, I'm not going anywhere."

"You can be a stubborn bastard sometimes."

You chuckled, clearly proudly and as you embraced him a smile remained on your face.

The room around you was filled with the sounds of the thumping factory. It felt comforting. Your heart started to quiet down as you let your consciousness relax from the rhythmic noises around you two. His hand drew gently circles on your shoulder.

"Can we stay like this for a while?" You asked, what he didn’t dare to ask.

"Sure." He pulled you even closer and buried his face into your hair. He seemed to relax even more. He raised a finger, and his sunglasses slipped off, levitated under his coat, and raising it up gently laid it on the two of you, before it landed itself on your nightstand with a small clink.

"Thank you." You muttered as you gently drifted towards sleep.

"Yeah-yeah." He kept his face hidden in your hair.

You won't leave him, at least not now. Maybe you will actually stay with him, maybe you were stubborn enough to do it. He ignored his worries about the future, instead, to his own surprise, he let himself be happy for once. He slowly fallen asleep with you on his side, listening to your breathing.

[xhanisai]

Confront the boundary line of good and evil in my heart

AO3 / FFN

Summary: 

It wasn't her fault! No way whatsoever! But still... Still... 'It really does hurt so bad...so much, I can't take it!'

~(x)~ . . . Tick. Tock. "I'm so sorry Chat Noir! I didn't mean to- I just- I just completely broke down and she was right there and I needed someone-" "It's okay, Bug. I understand, don't apologise," Tick. Tock. "It's not okay at all! You've wanted to know for so long, so patiently and I have always said no- and then look at me now! A hypocrite! This is probably a huge sucker-punch for you and I hate that I've always kept on hurting you back then but now, this takes the cake-" "N-No, I'm fine, honest...really. What matters is your happiness and wellbeing-" "But what about you!?" "..." Tick- "...Kid, talk to me, please. The way you're staring out into space is scaring me." The subdued, raspy voice belonging to the ancient being of destruction went unheard. The boy in question continued to observe the empty space in front, sitting on top of his bed with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms folded in front, hiding the lower half of his face. If one were to enter the room, they would instantly freeze from the glower of the boy's fiery emerald greens that were begging to pool with unshed tears and the aura of his stone-cold demeanour. From the waft of his internal turmoil, even a blind person would be able to pick up that he was currently the host of bad luck. "...Adrien...I want to help, I want to understand, so talk to me!" Once again, Plagg was left ignored, leaving him no choice but to float back down to his pillow and direct his pleading kitten eyes at the blonde, his tiny heart shattered from the state of his chosen. Alas, even he was helpless, his feline ears and whiskers drooping with sorrow. 'But you won't understand. You never did and you never will. No one will ever understand.' Adrien didn't even flinch, didn't even bat an eye. He was a statue of apathy and aloofness; though deep down inside, he was a maelstrom of agonising pain. Oh, so much pain. It was excruciating. He wanted to suit up and claw through the rooves of Paris whilst screaming in anguish. He wanted to find every billboard that had his face on it and tear through it all like paper. He wanted to shred and pulverise his useless, traitorous heart along with its despicable feelings and emotions. But most importantly, he wanted to rip the magical ring off his finger and throw it into La Seine with all his might and then cry for the rest of eternity. And he hates that he feels that way. Absolutely, ridiculously, hates that he feels betrayed. Self-loathing and disgust have taken over his body like a puppet and rendered him completely useless, like a toy forgotten at the bottom of the box, never to see the light of day ever again. The feeling of uselessness and pure shame replaced the blood running through his veins and numbed him to the point where he was equivalent to a powerless machine. He felt his throbbing heart fall deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. It wasn't her fault! No way whatsoever! But still... Still... 'It really does hurt so bad...so much, I can't take it!' The younger, softer, naive part of himself which was usually tucked away within the dark, hidden crevices of his heart, screamed as if the rest of humanity's lives depended on it. It was taking Adrien everything to keep him out. 'Is it too much to ask for only one constant in my life? Is it too much to ask for one thing to remain the same? Is it too much for anyone to stop keeping me at arm's length!?' . It is. . It is. . Deep down inside, below the platinum chains and iron bars of solid, concrete denial, he always knew that Ladybug never considered him as close as he did with her. And why should she? Just because he performed an act of common, proper human decency and helped an old man get his walking stick back? Just because he was gifted with the power to destroy anything he touches in order to save the day? Just because he knew how to fight possessed villains alongside her? Just because he's in love with her? . "I'm literally the worst." Adrien finally spoke out loud ever since he returned from...that patrol many hours ago. Despite his words, his soul couldn't help but weep and pray that it was all one huge, cruel nightmare. A twisted, sick joke that whatever deities out there have concocted up just for him. Anything! Yet, this was his reality. "I disagree." The boy snapped his gaze towards the kwami, his brows furrowing for elaboration on the little God's part. "I may not be human but I do have feelings and I can empathise. I've existed from the beginning of time and I've witnessed many, many things in my lifetime." Plagg then floated towards him, settling on Adrien's arm so that he was face to face. "You're not in the wrong here, kid. It's okay to feel like this-" "No, it's not!" Adrien's sudden outburst had the kwami shoot away in surprise, the boy instantly turning baffled at his own harsh reaction and then visibly paling even further. He caught sight of his own reflection on a nearby mirror, cringing at the monstrous mess that looked back. With a frustrated sigh, he leapt off the bed, solemnly treading towards his windows, fingers digging into his upper arms as if he was hugging himself. . The luminous moon that shone through the night sky, what was once a beacon of freedom in the past, never looked so unappealing to the distraught hero. His usually glittering eyes were vacant, devoid of any joy and hope whilst his lips were etched in a permanent frown. How many fake smiles and empty words of wisdom did he force out in front of his Lady earlier on? He's lost count. And how many more times will he have to keep doing that, knowing that there will always be another person out that there that Ladybug trusts more than she'll ever trust him? . "I stand by with what I said," Plagg quipped once more, his host quietly surprised with how the little God managed to get so close without him realising. "The two of you have been thrust into a messy situation with very little guidance and a whole bunch of rules which only complicated it further." He then directed his eyes from the moon to the boy. "Yes, I agree that Ladybug's decision in confiding with someone about her identity was a good idea, but as a result of that, it's brought you so much pain. You are not the worst and it's okay to cry it out. It's okay to tell her how you really feel." He placed one of his tiny hands on Adrien's cheek, ears and whiskers still weighed with melancholy as the boy allowed his eyes to prick with tears. One drop. Two drops. Three drops. Four. "It shouldn't hurt- I...I shouldn't be so selfish! Even if she never told me, I was able to tell that she wasn't able to handle her civilian life any longer, especially after becoming the Guardian- I'm supposed to protect her and be by her side! Not throw a tantrum like a three-year-old just because I'm not the one she decided to tell about her secret identity! And then adding my own stupid feelings and insecurities to her plate? I'll be a burden!" The dam was broken and the overwhelming feelings within Adrien cascaded like a tsunami. "You have plenty on your plate as well-" "But I'm used to it, she isn't. I was born and raised to deal with these kinds of things anyway so it's a no brainer for me to shut up and accept it all with a smile-" He paused abruptly, a wet gasp escaping his throat as he leaned against the glass for support when even more realisation sunk in. 'I have been dealing with so many responsibilities ever since I was born...and that puts us on the same boat...so why couldn't she have confided with me then?' Adrien dropped to his knees, fingernails scraping against his scalp as he tried to fight back against those negative thoughts and questions. 'Why am I never good enough? Not for Maman, not for Père and now...not for Ladybug...?' 'Why am I even here then?'

"Adrien...you don't need to put a mask on when you're with me. Cry it all out. I'm not gonna sit by and watch you destroy yourself from inside out because of your inability to address your true feelings. I'm right here, I'll even destroy all the wretched butterflies that dare to come by- so please, let it all out," "I can't! If I do, I'll never be able to go back and nothing will be the same again-" "And if you don't, then things will change for the worse and trust me, kid, that is the last thing you need." Finally, Plagg's words unravelled the obstacles that slowed down the flood and Adrien couldn't help but give in. His body shook and a whole new fresh wave of tears pooled down his eyes, teeth biting down on his lip to prevent the sobs from bursting out. . "...It hurts Plagg...it hurts so much! I love her...and I trust her so much but it hurts! I know she trusts me on a level and I know that multiple times she's mentioned that I'm irreplaceable but dammit! Why does it all feel like a lie!? She did the right thing in telling her civilian best friend, she finally has someone to look after herself- but why does it feel so wrong? Why is my heart in so much pain? Why can't I stop crying? If Ladybug won't lean on me, then what am I here for? And if I can't lean on Ladybug...who...who do I have?" . "...I may not be much and I may talk about nothing but cheese...but you'll always have me, kid," "I want to believe you, I want to so badly, Plagg...but I can't. I feel so alone...I've always been alone... ...And I'll always be alone..." . . . A couple of hours ago, just shy under midnight on a lone, hidden rooftop, if a curious civilian looked up, they would have seen Ladybug and Chat Noir locked in an embrace. However, what they would have noticed first was the absolutely broken, heartwrenching expression Noir wore... ...As if his entire world has fallen apart... . . . ~(x)~ A/N: Just wondering if I should make a sequel and give these two poor cats a happy ending~

[mandelene]

✿: feeling so out of it, they need constant attention

You’ve got it! 💕  Thanks for the ask!

Someone asked me to write asthmatic Matthew in the ER a while ago, and I didn’t do it, but here it is now. 😂 I hope it's not total trash.

Sweet Normalcy

Word Count: 1555

Chest pain, the dull aching kind that flares up every time he inhales, that’s all he feels. Keeping his eyes open takes a great deal of effort, but the constant hissing flow of nebulized albuterol being delivered through the mask on his face makes it hard to get any sleep. Maintaining a train of thought for longer than fifteen seconds is also a sudden challenge. When he rolls his head to the right and looks up at the monitor behind him, he sees his heart rate is in the 140s and his oxygen saturation is at ninety-five percent on albuterol and oxygen. That’s not normal for him. None of this is normal. He can’t remember the last time things got this out of control.

“Matthew? Any better, love?” Dad asks him from the chair to his left. He’s been sitting there for hours now, continuously keeping vigilant watch.

It’s a busy night in the emergency department, and it feels a bit like he’s in a bad fever dream. The doctor checking in on him introduced herself earlier, but he can’t recall her name. An alarm goes off every few minutes from someone’s monitor, and it takes him longer than it should to recognize that it’s his monitor making that noise and alerting his nurse to keep coming over to assess him due to his seesawing oxygen saturation and heart rate.

Matthew’s not even sure what time it is anymore. He barely remembers anything. Every hour or so, he will doze off into a fitful half-sleep for twenty minutes or so before waking again and feeling disoriented. A nurse could tell him he’s been here for a week, and he’d believe them.

“Matthew? I asked if you’re feeling any better?” Dad asks again, leaning forward in his seat to grab his clammy left hand and squeeze it gently.

“A little,” Matthew lies, for his father’s sake. He wonders where Alfred and Papa are. They were here earlier, he’s pretty sure.

“I can tell when you’re not being truthful,” Dad sighs, squeezing his hand harder. “You’re not improving. You need to be admitted. This is ridiculous. You should have been admitted hours ago.”

Matthew hates seeing him stressed like this, but he also knows there’s nothing he can do about it at the moment. He feels himself slipping into momentary sleep again, and his eyes flutter shut. He wants to go home. Wants to be in his bed…Is it morning yet?

“Sixteen-year-old with a history of asthma…Patient accompanied by his father. Patient began oral corticosteroid treatment two days ago at home after experiencing wheezing, chest tightness, and coughing that was not fully improving with usual rescue medications…”

They’re talking about him—Matthew realizes that much, at least. He opens his glazed eyes and sees a new doctor approaching him. His ID badge says he’s a critical care doctor. Matthew’s not sure what the difference is between him and the other doctor he saw earlier, but he honestly can’t be bothered to care. He wants to sleep. Desperately. And he wants the chest pain to stop.

“Matthew, buddy?” the doctor says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t want to breathe anymore. His chest hurts too much, and speaking would require taking another agonizing breath.

"Mmmrgh" is all he can manage.

“He’s been less and less responsive,” Dad supplies from the other side of the room, and Matthew can hear the nervousness in his voice, which is unsettling. Dad rarely ever shows how anxious he is when someone’s sick. “I can’t get him to talk to me in full sentences anymore—just phrases.”

The doctor carefully sits him up, and Matthew feels his whole body shake. He rests his elbows against the stretcher to brace himself. A cold stethoscope touches his back, and he shivers.

“He’s still not moving air. He needs to be brought upstairs to intensive care to be monitored. We’ll continue IV steroid treatment and continuous albuterol. If he’s still like this, we can consider non-invasive ventilation and take it from there. Our main priority is to protect his airway.” 

Dad says something, but Matthew doesn’t hear it over the noise of the nebulizer. He just knows he’s going to be moved soon and the treatment is going to become more serious now. If he weren’t so tired, he might be scared.

The doctor leaves, and Dad goes back to holding Matthew’s hand. “It’s going to be all right, love. You’ll receive better care soon and hopefully, you’ll start to feel better,” Dad tells him before using his other hand to pet his head. “Try to rest. I’ll be right here, and I won’t let anything happen to you, understand?” 

Matthew nods. His eyes do close again, and he does get some brief rest. The next time he’s aware of his surroundings and wakes up, he’s already in the ICU, which means he slept through his transport. The respiratory therapist is setting him up on a BiPAP machine, and once it’s on, it makes his chest hurt even more, which he didn’t think was possible. He grits his teeth against the pain and tries not to make a fuss about it—it would just make Dad worry even more. The air being forced into his lungs is welcome yet excruciating at the same time.

But he doesn’t have to say anything for Dad to know he’s suffering. It’s written all over his face. “I know, poppet. It’s just temporary. It should help.” 

It’s so exhausting that he falls asleep again without even needing to think about it. Again, he has no idea how much time passes until he sees the sun shining through the windows of the hospital, indicating that it’s finally morning. The BiPAP mask squeezing his face gets replaced with a regular oxygen mask again, and it occurs to him that his chest feels much lighter and his head is clearer. The worst is over. The air in his lungs feels crisp and refreshing...Almost sweet, even. 

“How are you feeling?” Dad asks for the millionth time, still perched next to him. 

“Better…For real this time.” 

Dad hasn’t slept, of course. He never sleeps in such situations. He was likely watching him all night and conversing with his care team. “Good. You gave us all quite a scare.” 

“Sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s not your fault, love. Not at all…Do you think you’re feeling well enough to have some breakfast?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dad gives him a relieved smile and then goes off to request a breakfast tray for him. It gets brought up within half an hour, and even though Matthew feels a bit nauseous from the steroids in his system, he knows he needs to eat to gain some energy back.

He’s given some pancakes, a fruit cup, and orange juice. He decides to make a move for the orange juice first because his mouth feels incredibly dry and gross. He picks up the carton and that’s when he notices just how shaky he still is. His hands are trembling violently from all of the bronchodilators in his system.

Dad quickly takes the carton from him, sticks a straw into it, and then brings it back up to Matthew’s lips. “Here, poppet, I’ll hold it for you.” 

“…I can do it.” 

“You’ll spill it. Don’t be stubborn.”

It doesn’t feel great to have poorer motor skills than a toddler, but Matthew sips some juice through the straw anyway, allowing himself to be fed because he doesn’t have a choice. He finishes the entire carton, one pancake, and half of the fruit cup before his stomach protests. Dad doesn’t seem too happy about him not finishing the meal, but he doesn’t push it either. 

And just as he’s finishing up, he finds out Alfred and Papa are outside of the unit, waiting to be allowed in. He’s only permitted to have two visitors at a time, so Dad leaves to take a quick trip home to eat and shower while Alfred and Papa take watch next. 

“Dude, you’re alive! Thank God, man. No offense, but you were looking really rough and out-of-it yesterday,” Alfred exclaims upon arrival, bright-eyed and full of pep as always. “It’s good to see you’re looking more like yourself now.”

“We’re so relieved, mon chou. Your father said you may be able to come home as soon as the day after tomorrow.” 

“I hope so…Sorry for making everyone worry.” 

Alfred throws his hands up in the air and shakes his head dramatically. “I have to teach you everything, don’t I, Mattie? You’re not supposed to apologize for being sick. You’re supposed to milk it for all its worth and make everyone feel bad for you and buy you get well soon gifts. Tell Dad when he comes back that you wanna play the new Pokemon Snap on the Switch.” 

“That’s what you want to play, Alfred.” 

“Yeah, but we can share it, right?” 

“Alfred, your brother is seriously ill, and all you’re thinking about are video games again! Where did your father and I go wrong? You could show some sympathy!” Papa scolds, pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation.

“It was a joke! Kinda…Obviously, I love ya, Matt! I was really worried, too!” 

And he has never craved normalcy as much as he does now. 

Yup. Things are already going back to normal.

[un-beel-ievable]

The demon brothers making plushies that look like MC 🧸

Author’s note: Please do not repost!! If you like my writing, please leave a like and a comment (and follow me to see similar content in the future :D)!

_____

Lucifer ☕:

• It's impeccable, as everything Lucifer does is. Lucifer's attention to detail is second to none.

• He tries to play the plushie off as no big deal, but literally everyone can see how much effort he's put into his handicraft. The eyes of the plushie are the exact same hue as yours are (Remember when Lucifer disappeared for a week and didn't tell anyone where he was going? I'll tell you now -he was wandering from craft shop to craft shop, trying to find thread that would reflect just how beautiful your eyes are.), and he's somehow managed to replicate a tiny version of your favourite graphic tee -down to the small imperfection on the printed design.

• Wherever he goes, the plushie follows. If he's taking a power nap, it sits on his pillow. If he's doing work at his table, it sits on his laptop, ready to help (however much a plushie can help, anyway). Even when he's in student council meetings, the plushie follows. (Diavolo thinks it's adorable, and has a miniature chair custom made for the "newest student council member". Lucifer can't decide on whether Diavolo is mocking him or not.)

Mammon ��

• He tried his best, he really did. And I'm not saying that because the plushie he made was terrible, no, it was actually pretty decent!

• He doesn't have a clue on how plushies are made, but when he saw the plushie you made of him, he decided he wanted one too. But of you, of course. 

• He's too prideful (More like your big brother than you'd like to admit, huh, Mammon?) and embarrassed to admit to you that he has no idea what he's doing, so instead of asking you for help, he turns to YouTube videos and craft blogs to learn how to crochet. After restarting his 2nd row for the 76th time and having to untangle his ball of yarn for the 40th, he's almost ready to admit defeat.

• But then he imagines how happy you'd be when you laid eyes on the plushie he'd made of you (because "EVERYONE would want a plushie made by the GREAT Mammon, it's an honour to be chosen to be MY model." )...and suddenly he's crocheting like he's been practicing for years instead of hours, breezing through instructional videos and reading written patterns like a pro.

• His final product is slightly lopsided...but other than that it's really good!! Especially for someone who had never touched a crochet hook in his life before.

• Uses mini you to practice asking real you out.

Leviathan 🎮

• Is relatively decent at using a sewing machine. After all, he tailors his own cosplay. (And if a new season of 'Ruri-chan: Magical Girls Forever!' comes out and Ruri-chan happens to be wearing an outfit he particularly likes in it...sometimes he creates a tiny replica of it for his Ruri-chan nesoberi.)

• Ruri-chan has her own shrine in a corner of Levi's room...and now you do as well!

• Your "shrine" is basically a wooden shelf (painted in your favourite colour, of course) with a cork board mounted on the wall above it. Plushie you sits on a tiny throne on the shelf, with all the presents the real you has ever gifted him surrounding your cotton stuffed twin. The noticeboard holds a countless number of momentos -mostly photographs of the two of you and tickets from all the anime concerts and events you guys have been to.

• (The throne you sit on is a replica of the fairy queen's rose quartz throne in season 4, episode 19 of ‘Ruri-chan: Magical Girls Forever!' . Official merchandise, of course; there are only about 50 of the official ones left in existence. Ruri-chan had been perched on this very throne for over a decade, all of the other demon brothers were shocked when Levi dethroned Ruri-chan just for you.)

Satan 📚

• His plushie is perfect. Almost...too perfect.

• He's become an expert in plushie making after ploughing through an endless mountain of craft books and making his way through all the handicraft videos to ever exist. And his work shows the results of his diligent research...his final product looks machine made. Flawless. No one can fault him on technique...his work is outstanding. But somehow, something is still...off. It's too perfect, too lifeless. There's no personality to it whatsoever.

• So he spends the next week experimenting with different techniques and materials. He tries crocheting, knitting, making sock plushies...but somehow he still can't capture what makes you...you.

• Mammon notices Satan giving himself a brain aneurysm over this, and makes a comment on instead of trying to think his way through the situation like he always does, he should just "feel for it, you know? Put some heart into it."

• Mammon usually says some strange things...but this time Mammon's words actually seem to resonate with Satan. So he gives it a shot, and pours his entire heart and soul into the next plushie he makes. While the plushie looks virtually the same as all his other attempts, somehow this one feels different. 

• It feels right.

Asmodeus 👄

• Commissions someone to make the plushie of you for him

• Okay, so he doesn't make the plushie by himself (he doesn't want to break a nail). But he's incredibly involved in the designing process.

• Fusses over everything from the measurements to the exact colour (and I mean exact ) of thread they're gonna use to embroider on your eyes. Makes whoever he's commissioning do multiple samples throughout the process, and if he even finds 1 tiny fault with it he tells them to burn it and start over. His criticism is brutal, but if it isn't going to be perfect then what's the point?

• When a plushie is finally made to his satisfaction, he immediately gets down to the incredibly important task of creating a doll sized replica of your closet. He's incredibly through, there's even a tiny version of that one sock you have that's had a rip through the heel for years.

Beelzebub 🍔

• Poor Beel has no idea what he's doing...not even a little bit.

• He's watched the same crafting video so many times that half of that content creator's revenue is probably generated solely by Beelzebub himself.

• Where is he supposed to insert his crochet hook again? Oops...time to rewatch the video for the 286th time, I guess...

• His massive, beefy hands are just not made to do delicate handicrafts. He's already lost several sewing needles (pray to Simeon that no one steps on them) and his balls of yarn seem to be getting tangled up with each other just from him looking at them?? Oh, and he snapped a crochet hook clean in half just now, because he set it down on the table too hard. He's crying because all these things are happening and he has no idea why.

• Belphie walks in on the catastrophe and is pretty surprised to see his brother sobbing over a ball of yarn. Beel's never really been that into handicrafts. But when Belphie sees that Beel has actually set his snacks to the side just to concentrate on making this plushie of you...Belphie knows it's serious between the two of you.

• Belphie offers to help his twin out and between the 2 of them, they manage to finish the plushie within the next couple of days (instead of the next couple of years...which is how long it would take if Beel was left to his own devices).

• "Look!! I even attached a tag that says 'made by Belphie and Beel'!" :3

• (Please be proud of this wholesome boi.)

Belphegor 🛏

• Isn't that bad at handicrafts.

• He used to do them with Lilith, back before the war. She was amazing with her hands...much better than he was. She made him one of his cow plushies...he's always treasured it, but after she passed it became all the more precious to him. Her namesake now sits on the softest pillow he has in his bed...the cow plushie to lead all cow plushies.

• He's seen the way you've looked at Lilith (the cow plushie)...and knows while you don't hate her or it, it must be difficult to have a constant reminder of someone whose shadow you'll never know if you can step out of.

• So he decides to make a plushie of you. Not to replace Lilith (both the cow plushie and his actual sister), but as a symbol of his affection for you. To remind you that you're just as important to him as Lilith was (and maybe even more so).

• His plushie making process mostly goes off without a hitch; he doesn't encounter any major problems. He still remembers the basics, and unlike Beel he doesn't have the physical strength to snap his tools in half...he's too sleepy (All that potential nap time wasted on plushie making...).

• His finished product takes up a pride of place on his pillow beside Lilith (the cow plushie). Knowing that the 2 of you are watching over him while he sleeps makes him feel truly happy for the first time in years.

[captcas]

illicit affairs

illicit affairs by capthamm

They’ve talked about it at nauseum, but it doesn’t make it any easier. The set-ups and glares from their friends at the constant “not interested”s. The fake first dates and the constant sneaking around… she wouldn’t trade a second of it.

part two of capthamm’s captain swan’s folklore read on ao3 / read the ao3 series / read invisible string

Hoping for any reprieve from the cold, Emma pulls down the ends of her ¾ length sleeves and tucks her fists into her elbows. Bouncing lightly on her toes she curses him under her breath, “Killian, where the fuck are you?” She turns to her left mid-pace and slams into something solid.

The overwhelmingly familiar scent of saltwater and vanilla body wash overcomes her.

Before she can think, two rough hands are grabbing her cheeks and she’s melting into a kiss that feels more like home with every second. All traces of the cold she was so desperate to rid herself of are forgotten, heat sinking to her bones.

When they come up for air Emma speaks first, “You’re late.”

She knows he probably has a good reason, but sometimes their situation makes her act childish.

Killian as chuckles softly, the warmth of his breath tickling her lips where she can still feel the remnants of his kiss. “I know, love. I’m sorry. Liam he–”

She cuts him off with a kiss, “I don’t care. How long do we have?”

His shoulders sag beneath her hands and she knows she isn’t going to like the answer. “Not long, darling.” He steps back, only a few inches, but enough for the chill to return ever so slightly. He brushes the hair out of her eyes and she can see the pain in his.

She hates this too.

They’ve talked about it at nauseum, but it doesn’t make it any easier. The set-ups and glares from their friends at the constant “not interested”s. The fake first dates and the constant sneaking around… she wouldn’t trade a second of it.

Liam had a strict no fraternizing among employee policies. He hired Emma on one condition– Killian was not allowed to fall in love with her. Liam made one fatal error in his offer that day– he didn’t account for the fact that Killian was already in love with Emma.

A loophole KJ points out to Emma every chance he gets.

A secret loophole they spend every single day in.

Their loophole.

Emma met Killian by pure coincidence. Ruby begged her to go to some charity gala and Emma went because she’s pretty sure she owed her one. Killian hating stuffy events as much as she did had them spending most of their night in the same corner… together. Everything after that felt like fate.

She had recently quit her bail bonds job (a skip kicked out one of her teeth and she did not get paid enough for dental surgery) and Killian’s brother was opening a new boat rental company. They needed an office manager and Emma talked up her stapling and faxing skills.

“Do people still use fax machines, Swan?”

“No but I still know how to use one… just in case.”

“Fair enough. For the record, if it were up to me, love, you’d start tomorrow.”

But it wasn’t up to Killian. Liam was guarded (protective) and didn’t like the idea of letting Emma into their small operation. It took four months of her sticking around before Liam even entertained the idea– Killian and her falling into a best friendship as though they’d known each other their whole lives.

Emma didn’t learn about Liam’s one condition until over a year after Killian called her telling her that she got the job.

He asked if she wanted to grab drinks after work and one shot led to another. Soon they were spilling their darkest secrets, both of them blushing when they admitted growing feelings for one another, and Liam’s ultimatum sort of slipped out.

Emma found the loophole.

Now here they are next to a dumpster in the middle of November hoping Liam doesn’t have some huge change of character and actually take the garbage out for once in his life. They’ve never discussed what happens if– when– they get caught.

Emma moved her way up to an event manager and Killian is officially a partner– Liam touting that Killian has to fight for what he wants despite every single one of their clients and friends knowing Killian would be there in no time. They’re both killing it professionally and a lot of that thanks goes to Liam, but their schedules are completely opposite one another.

They don’t have to be, but complaining about it would mean telling Liam about the loophole.

Their loophole.

Them.

And they just aren’t ready to do that… right?

He kisses her one more time, “I’ll come over tonight, love.” Emma nods before pulling herself tight to his chest, letting go only when she feels his Apple Watch buzz against her hip signaling his impending meeting.

She isn’t sure when the official shift happened, but she’ll never forget the first moment she laid eyes on Killian. Something in her gut told her to walk towards him and sit in the empty chair beside him. (Maybe there never really was a shift.) She’s let her gut lead them the rest of the way to where they are now.

Her gut tells her they should come clean.

She doesn’t want to listen this time. As much as sneaking around gets old, Emma’s always held her cards close to her chest. The fear that opening up their relationship to the rest of the world will ruin it is so tangible that it drives Emma to keep up their charade.

Just a bit longer.

Killian has insinuated that he’s following her lead– even offering to march into Liam’s office and confess it all on multiple occasions– but Emma’s not ready.

She’s not ready to risk losing him.

Emma heads up a few minutes after Killian and catches his eye as she enters the small office. He smiles softly and the ache for more is palpable.

She’s not going to lose him.

This moment, one of a million stolen glances between the two of them, isn’t unlike any other, but it brings her an epiphany all the same. Somewhere in the routine of secrecy, Emma grew comfortable, but suddenly it feels like 1,000 needles are pricking every inch of her skin. The comfort vanished and with it came a wave of realization, no matter what Liam says, Killian isn’t going anywhere.

Her feet move before her brain can tell her it's a bad idea. Killian is talking to Liam about the upcoming rental schedule when Emma walks into their shared office, “The Larson’s are taking out the Roger on Tues– Emma, what’re you–” She interrupts him with a kiss for the second time today.

Emma can tell he’s stunned at first but it doesn’t take long for him to smile and kiss back. She probably kisses him longer than appropriate due to the actual fear of what Liam is going to do– technically any kiss is inappropriate but that’s not really the point.

Killian breaks from the kiss first.

“Finally.”

The voice is British, but it isn’t the one she'd recognize in a crowd of thousands.

Killian breaks first again, “Pardon?”

“Bloody took you two long enough! I’ve lost enough money on Ruby’s blasted pools.” Liam points a rolled up piece of paper, previously tucked beneath his armpit, “Just keep it PG at work. I don’t need some HR nightmare.”

Emma is still stunned when Killian speaks again, “Brother…”

Liam looks up, and Emma could swear his eyes are slightly glossy, “Killian, who am I to keep you two apart? Company policies shouldn’t come between what could be a real second chance at love for you both. It’s been painfully obvious you two are into each other. I’m just glad you’re finally acting on it so I don’t have to watch you make eyes from across the office all day.”

Emma flinches at Liam’s casual mention of their pasts, but soon her hand is in Killian’s and she’s reminded her demons can’t hurt her anymore. She beat them, she’s stronger than them, and she shares them now.

It’s then that she finds her voice, “Thank you.”

Liam nods (the only sort of affirmation she’s ever received from the older of the Jones brothers), “Don’t mention it. Just tell Ruby it happened yesterday, then at least she won’t win.” Emma nods in response, and can’t help but glance up at Killian– every trace of pain in his eyes has been replaced with what Emma can only describe as love.

She’s sure her eyes are mirroring his perfectly.

As it turns out, glances are even better not stolen and lunch breaks are much more enjoyable spent far away from dumpsters and cold parking lots.

[firepiplup]

How do i say no to people

You know that analogy about people with adhd having spoons for energy management or whatever? My spoons are on backorder from like 2 months ago and more got on that list now

The problem is that all of the things I'm being asked to do are Very Important Things

I have to feed my diabetic cat. This in itself is not a problem, however she's needs to eat at a specific time (12 hour spacing) and my current sleeping situation along with work do not allow this to happen consistently. Currently trying for 7:30, we'll see how it goes

My apartment has bedbugs, and there's no way in fucking hell I'm sleeping on my living room floor until my scumlord landlord actually gets the guy to come back to spray because he did spray but I'm still seeing adults and i "need to give the spray time to work" it's been fucking 2 weeks i don't know how is supposed to work but i feel like after 2 weeks whatever spray you did isn't going to get any stronger i just want to sleep in my own bed it's been like this since fucking March

With that part explained, I'm sleeping at my mom's house on the other side of town. This in itself isn't much of a problem, however as "payment" i have to take care of her dog in the morning, to practice because she's going on a week long vacation in October and none of her dogs can just be taken care of like normal dogs. He needs to wear a diaper to leave the room while i pick up his shit and soiled weewee pad and mop the floor, give him some time to be out of his room, and then feed him his special food mix. The other dog has allergies and probably will get into something he shouldn't, then not use the bathroom outside even though he literally has a doggy door that has constant access to the backyard. Neither dog get along with each other, which is why they are separated. Thank fuck the cat is just normal, this is why i prefer them

Now with THAT explained, it's difficult to take care of my own cat on time in the morning. But as the legendary Billy Mays says: But wait, there's more!

I just got rehired at my job working in a local understaffed pizzeria. My friend, ego also works there, is on vacation (good for her, she deserves it, absolutely no negativity towards her) so i have acquired her hours. So i now work 6 days a week, kinda sorta clopen but i guess it's more of opelose. Or a combination of both? Idk. The point here is, I'm then dealing with essentially running half a restaurant alone 6 days a week, with it not being 7 purely because the owner himself ALSO has the same work schedule as far as I'm aware, and wanted to give himself a day off, and since we are so understaffed it would be impossible unless we literally closed. My tasks include answering the phone, washing dishes, making sandwiches, making dinners, folding pizza boxes, and cleaning the tables/equipment on that side of the restaurant. So essentially everything except making pizzas, cleaning the pizza area, mopping in general, and driving. We generally close at 9, 10 on Friday and Saturday. Guess who was explicitly rehired to close those days? Guess how that's going to work with me having to be home around 7:30 to take care of my own cat? I have no idea either. It's only for about 3 weeks, but my mom, whom i have not asked for any additional help with anything, won't feed the cat while i have work, even though there isn't a guarantee that i can leave on time to THEN RETURN to close, because again I'm the only one on that side of the building. I understand the fear of the bedbugs, so that's probably it, but it still fucking sucks because the kitchen is on the other side of the apartment from the bedroom and there is literally no reason to go there to feed her. But i get it

Did we get to where i can do my own ADLs? Of course not. My neighbor is in the hospital, and her husband is blind. This is a new development that was only discovered an hour before starting this post (about 3:30 am for me). She's ok, it's for mental health reasons, and that's her own business about that. Her husband being blind is not a new development however. And he needs help taking care of the pets, specifically the birds. Which is fine, they just also need to eat on their own schedule. 8am, around lunchtime, and 8pm. Guess who's still at work? One of the birds is special needs because her beak got injured and needs to be essentially spoon fed. Which the blind husband can't do at all. Fairly simple task, but just adding to my obligations that are Very Important because they involve making sure things don't starve to death while my neighbor is in Crisis

Ok let's see, that's 4 Very Important Tasks/Obligations, and only one was originally my own voluntary one. Still not at taking care of myself yet, but i have my shelter, i have my job ("part time" minimum wage, hurray. Part time because even with me being there 6 fucking days a week open to close it still isn't technically enough hours for the state to recognize it as full time), and I'm taking care of *counting* about 8 pets for the next week. Will unemployment give me my money that I've been claiming since March? No? Will they let me claim with my new working hours that makes that while process even harder? Technically but it'll take over an hour for it to process and it doesn't even do that in the end? Well fuck, guess i have to wait to get paid on the books in cash and beg for a hand written paystub and have my hours worked written down. Glad i earned $100 this week, i hope now that my hours have increased i get some more

Next on the list, appointments. Because I'm a dumbass who can't remember shit if it isn't consistently recurring, i overbooked myself for next week. My much needed therapy appointment with my therapist that I've only met once and is the replacement for my much better therapist that i actually had a relationship with is supposed to have a session with me on Tuesday. Will i remember to do it this time? Possibly since i actually remembered it's on Tuesday. Will she send me the reminder text with the zoom link? Probably not. Wednesday, my one day off, thank fuck for that, is the main problem with the scheduling. My med appointment is for 11:30. Cool, can do. Driving lesson at 12. Oh, that's a little close, but i can manage that probably. I only average 1 lesson per year and a half, so it's fine, it's "healthy" to be nervous about operating a death machine powered by explosions. Have to go to social services to pick up, or attempt to, a new food stamps card. They probably close at 5, and add a Non Driver, i need to rely on someone to take me. The sooner the better, but it can't be during the lesson. Don't forget to take care of the creatures before and during all of this.

Ok. Great. There's an hour before work. Time to shower, because it's so fucking hot I'll be sweating like crazy by the time i get around the corner to the pizzeria, with me literally getting out and dressed and then walking out the door. Glad i finally did still to take care of myself. Eating? I might have something i can heat up quickly while the cat eats and so i can take my own meds. Dishes? Those are going to have to wait, i hope the heat wave doesn't get too bad, but it's been like this for a while, still slowly chipping away at them. Sleep? Severe insomnia. I partially blame the bed, my mattress is so comfortable, i hope the bedbugs like it because i can't fucking use it right now. I'd be sleeping so fucking soundly if i were in my own bed, and yet here i am. Maybe i should take the Trazodone now. I just hope I'll wake up on time. Oh look I'm exhausted, can't afford to buy comparatively better prepared coffee from Dunkin, so i guess my shitty at home coffee is going to have to do. Black because i don't have any creamer or milk or lactose free milk in my house. Just the way i hate it. Gonna have to deal with that i guess, maybe I'll learn to like it

The coffee pot lives in my fridge now. I'm worried to put it with the other dishes because if it sits there, not being washed like everything else, then i won't even have the option of coffee. It's just water and ground up beans, I'm sure it's fine

Maybe i can find some kind of coping skill/hobby to help me through my limited me time. Let's see.... I like to crochet, and that helps me get through the dishes by letting me alternate between them and a row/round on one of my many started projects. What? It's in a giant garbage bag with a bedbug treatment stick because of the damn ass bedbugs? Can't open it for at least another week and even then there isn't a place to put the yarn safely? Well fuck. I found that really helpful with keeping me grounded. Umm, well looking online, i should *checks notes* buy new yarn in the meantime and keep it somewhere safe. Uh, well, i can't afford more yarn now and i have nowhere to put it. Videogames it is maybe? Oh fuck now I've hyper focused too long on pokemon, rhythm heaven, and whatever daily games i do, i think i have 5 of those of varying lengths of time spent on them

Did i remember to brush my teeth? No. Do i remember that i should and then when i get out of the shower so i forget to actually execute? Yes. Have i gone insane? Probably

How many spoons is a person supposed to have per day? It takes more for me just to get through the day in general. Why does everyone need me to do their Very Important Tasks? Why is there never anyone else? Can my neighbor just not buy more birds when she gets home from Crisis?

I just want to have good mental health, why is this so hard

[medicatemedrmccoy]

Check-up

For the anon ask yesterday, again, thank you for the ask! :) I think my fluff machine might be broke at the moment but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Why am I incapable of writing short drabbles?

1885 words - Leonard x Reader

You walked slowly through the corridor, down the familiar hallways towards medical. You had put off going to medbay for as long as you could physically stand it. 

Unfortunately your simple runny nose had turned into a full blown, bone rattling cough that you could no longer ignore, especially at night while it kept you awake, accompanied by a low grade fever that was giving you the chills. 

Your steps got slower and slower as you approached the bright lights of medbay along with the beeping of various machines. You could feel your heart begin to beat faster as your stomach churned and your throat start to go dry, only irritating it further as you gave as much of a muted cough as you could into your sleeve, trying not to draw attention to yourself. 

Your courage had all but faded as the doors to the medbay suddenly opened wide, startling you as you caught a glimpse of various doctors and patients milling around.

You quickly ducked into the closest hallway, hoping to get away and hide before anyone saw where you were headed. You thought you had made a clean getaway since no one seemed to notice you, except for one sharp pair of hazel eyes you hadn’t realized had caught you at the last second. 

“Dammit!” You muttered to yourself, leaning back against the cool wall, you closed your eyes and tried to steady your breathing. You tried to take some deep breaths but your lungs wouldn’t let you as you began to cough once more, leaning over with your hands on your knees as your eyes watered. 

“Well now, that doesn’t sound very good.” A quiet voice said from closer than you were expecting. Your eyes shot open as you started quickly, standing up straight as you stared into the hazel eyes of a very concerned Leonard. 

“Len.” Was all you managed to choke out as another round of coughs racked your frame from the sudden movement. 

“Y/N? What’s going on? Why don’t you come inside so we can get that looked at. You sound terrible!” Leonard began to fuss lightly with a slight huff at how far you had let this ailment go before coming to see him. He went to put his hand on your elbow to gently usher you into medbay. 

As soon as you felt Leonard’s touch, you froze stock still, feet firmly planted on the floor so that not even god himself could’ve moved you. You tried to speak but nothing came out, not even a cough, which surprised you. 

Leonard misstepped slightly as he went to help you into medbay, not expecting to meet your sudden resistance. Quirking and eyebrow at you he gave you a once over and before he spoke, he met your eyes. He’d seen that look of fright in a certain blonde haired captain before. 

“Tell you what. Meet me at your quarters in ten minutes, alright?” Leonard said as he moved his hand from your elbow to your shoulder, squeezing gently. You briefly wondered if Leonard could read minds and that was how he knew everything. 

You swallowed slowly, as you looked up at Leonard, wincing slightly as your raw throat protested. You gazed into his eyes and his frustration that was apparent with his former outburst was all but gone from his eyes that were now gentle and held concern. 

The only thing you could do was nod. You knew Leonard was being nice so he didn’t scare you off, you knew all too well what might happen if you refused. You remembered many times when Jim would come running into your quarters, trying to hide from the hypo wielding doctor and it never turned out in the blondes favor. You still remember the red welts on Jim’s neck and the hours of wincing and grumbling that followed. 

You quickly did an about face, not looking back as Leonard made his way inside his medbay, no doubt to gather some supplies. Your feet carried you defeatedly back to your quarters. You hated the one on one attention but you hated the medbay more. 

Sighing as you punched in your keycode, you prepared yourself the best you could as you sat on the sofa, bouncing your leg and coughing into your elbow as you waited for Leonard to show. 

The doctor didn’t keep you waiting long, you could hear him punching in your code and you sat up a little straighter in your seat. The door quietly swished open and Leonard stepped inside with his medkit and stethoscope around his neck. 

He gave you a small, reassuring smile as he sat his medkit on your small coffee table before taking a seat himself next to you. You started to feel warm, and you didn’t think it was the fever. 

“I’m sorry.” You blurted quickly as Leonard looked up from adjusting his tricoder, not interrupting you but encouraging you to continue as he raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

You gave a breathy sigh as you continued. “Normally I’m not like this, I come to my physicals and everything but sometimes with more invasive stuff it comes back up and I can’t help it.” 

You realized how confusing you sounded as the words seemed to tumble out of your mouth and probably figured it needed even further explanation as you saw the slight confusion flit in Leonard’s eyes for a brief moment at what “it” could be. 

Taking a small breath, you continued before Leonard could interrupt your small moment of bravery. “I’d rather not go into details but let’s just say that my doctor I had while I was growing up lost his license for malpractice on his younger patients.” You winced slightly as you finished, thinking back on the memories. 

Leonard sat still for a moment, his hands frozen in place on his tricoder as the implication of your words sunk in, the space between his eyebrows narrowed as his face flashed a brief scowl of disgust before smoothing out once more. 

“You know I’d never do anything you don’t want me to right? And neither would any of my staff if I have anything to say about it.” Leonard said gently as he took your trembling hand into his that you didn’t even realize was shaking and gave it a small squeeze of reassurance.

“I know.” You wheezed out slightly, trying to suppress a cough as you tried to keep your emotions in check. “I know no one on board here wouldn’t, but I still can’t get past it sometimes.” You replied quietly, your voice small. 

Leonard pursed his lips for a moment before patting your hand gently and grabbing his tricoder. 

“We’ll talk more about that later, alright? Let’s get you feeling better first.” Leonard said as he squeezed your hand again gently. He then angled himself to better be able to run his tricoder over you. You nodded your permission, wanting to get this over with. 

Your previous confession had seemed to exhaust you even further. You were glad that Leonard was choosing to wait for the discussion, you were too tired tonight. 

Leonard worked quickly, seeing the tiredness in your posture. He ran the tricoder over your chest and along your back. His expression got more grim as he checked your lymphs and used his stethoscope to listen to your lungs. 

“So how long have you been sick Y/N? You’ve passed a simple cold and gone all the way straight to pneumonia.” Leonard’s expression set in a slight scowl as he replaced his stethoscope around his neck with a quiet click. 

“Uhm, maybe last week? The cough only started a couple days ago.” You said softly, trying not to encourage the doctors anger, you could see the vein in his forehead starting to bulge slightly. 

“Dammit, Y/N. You should have said something sooner. We could have gotten to it quicker, so now it’s going to take longer… where did you even get pneumonia?” Leonard started to rant quietly as he fixed up a couple hypos.

You knew he was trying his best not to get upset, and you really couldn’t blame him. You’d probably be angry too if you had to deal with people dodging medical attention on a constant basis and making their symptoms worse on top of it. 

You also knew where you got the pneumonia, and that person had sworn you to secrecy. So now you risked the wrath of the doctor if you lied or letting down a friend and you were debating on which was worse.

Unfortunately for you, or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it, Leonard was too good at his job. Before you could even answer, he knew by your hesitation. 

Leonard sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Jim. I’m gonna kill him. I should have known when you two canceled movie night. You never pass up an opportunity to torture me with old movies.”

“What can I say?” You smiled softly and shrugged. “Torturing you is half the fun of movie night.” 

“I’m going to let that slide on account of your being sick.” Leonard said with a small sigh. “Now let’s get this started.”

You eyed the hypos warily and Leonard seemed to sense your unease. 

“I wouldn’t give you anything without explaining it first. You know that right? I’m going to take care of you.” Leonard asked as he looked over at you, watching you nod. You knew he never would but shots of any kind still made you nervous.

“This one is a steroid and this one is an antibiotic. It’ll be a good start for now and hopefully help you breathing a little easier.” Leonard said as he rubbed your neck softly with his thumb before pressing the hypo gently to your neck. 

Leonard was done almost as fast as you could blink and was then pulling you over gently across the couch. You didn’t protest, you felt exhausted down to your bones and happily laid across the warm spot that Leonard previously occupied. 

“You rest here for a bit and I’ll be back soon to make you something to eat. I have another quick matter to attend to.” Leonard said with slightly narrowed eyes as he put a pillow behind your head and covered you with a blanket from the back of the couch. 

You knew that matter was Jim and you couldn’t help but smile softly as you watched Leonard pack up his medkit. He kissed the top of your head gently before making his way out the door. 

You quickly dug around in your pant pocket for your communicator, making yourself cough in the process. You quickly flipped it open and sent a 911 message to Jim. He’d know what it meant and you could only hope that he would read it in time before Leonard reached the bridge but you doubted the warning would do much good. 

Taking a deep wheezy breath, you settled on the couch, already thankful that you could already breathe a little easier, you settled into a light doze, waiting for Leonard to return.

[mckinlily]

shalluraweek day 4: horizon/beyond

Summary: horizon/ beyond  Shiro and his relationship with the beyond

read on ao3

“There just—there just has to be something beyond this, right?” Shiro gestures to the stars, lying on his back next to his boyfriend having snuck out of the Garrison once again.

Beside him, Adam snorts. “Sometimes it’s really unbelievable that you’re like this sober. Are you sure you didn’t sneak a sip, Takashi?”

Shiro huffs. “I have to fly us back, Adam.” He might not be totally sure of what it takes to be a good boyfriend, but he’s pretty sure not killing your significant other with drunk flying is bare minimum.

“Sure, sure. Be all responsible, Shirogane.”

“I’m the one who snuck us out,” Shiro reminds him. “You hadn’t figured out how to get around the security cameras.”

Adam just grumbles and settles himself more firmly against Shiro’s shoulder.

“I just…I want to find it. You know? I don’t know what it is, but it’s out there and I want to be the one to find it.”

Adam hums, and Shiro thinks that he understands.

Two years later, Shiro finds out that Adam really, really didn’t.

And then Shiro is being carried past row after row after row of alien prison cells on an alien ship that glows sickly purple and green, and he’s finally got a glimpse of what hides (fights, expands, destroys) beyond the stars, and he almost wishes he hadn’t.

* * * * *

Shiro’s in the head of a machine that is beautiful, marvelous—and semi-sentient. The last year of his memories of been scraped clean and replaced some gooey, dark mess. The Black Lion is powerful under his hands, though it is hard to tell if it’s good or bad. There is some part of the Lion that’s not quite…it's jagged and dark, it's…

(Traumatized, Shiro will realize someday. But that is not until much later.)

Whatever the Black Lion is, Shiro doesn’t have time to give it more than a passing thought because all he has been able to think about is the four teenagers he’s responsible for since they went through that wormhole and keeping them alive. The Lions and the alien princess and her advisor all come second to that. Shiro will work with the tools he’s given and process later.

But there might not be a later.

They have the Lions but no clue how to use them.

The tractor beam from the Galra ship is pulling them in.

They’re going to be captured. And Shiro doesn’t remember what happened to him, but he remembers how it felt and—

No! No no no no no. They’re going take him again. They’re going to take his TEAM—

They need something more. The impossible. They need Voltron. And Shiro shoves everything he has—his will, his determination, his fear—into his Lion and out toward his teammates that he barely knows but will already die for. He pushes until he finds some flicker of beyond and then he yanks it together into being—

(Later, much later, Shiro will learn Voltron isn’t supposed to work like this. Voltron works much better, is much more powerful, when its weight is distributed evenly among its parts, not held together solely by the will and spine of the Black Paladin. Later, Shiro will learn that what he has been doing is supposed to be impossible. Later, his team will step up and demand to do their parts.

But that is later, not now. Now his team is in danger. Now they need a paragon, so a paragon is what he will be. Possible doesn’t even factor into it.)

* * * * *

There are layers to Voltron beyond what even they’ve seen. Shiro catches a glimpse of this when he is thrown into the astral plane with Zarkon.

And then he gets far more than a glimpse when he is trapped in it indefinitely.

The stars and nebula and massive, glowing eclipse are beautiful but haunting. Shiro stands (sits? kneels? floats?) on a glass surface that seems to change without warning. The rules seem strange and different here. Constantly doing and undoing. Thoughts drift by as light flares or comets or ripples in the fabric of space, and they feel like they should be familiar but they’re off. Written in a code he doesn’t understand, unfolding in a plane he doesn’t have access to. Everything seems wrong, disconnected from anything he understands.

Shiro is losing himself. He can’t tell it it’s the astral plane that’s being made and unmade or if that’s him. Sometimes he looks to his right and sees part of himself miles away. Sometimes he looks down and sees nothing at all. He’s losing track of what he is.

The Black Lion appears on the plane with him, huge and consuming, it’s her thoughts that are the comets and ripples in this strange place. When that doesn't comfort him, she creates an avatar of a more familiar lioness—if lionesses were pitch black and three times the size he is. The Black Lion curls around Shiro when the plane starts to waver, and Shiro buries his face in her flank. She feels like the impression of fur, the idea of flesh and blood. Not quite the real thing, but all he has. When he closes his eyes, he sees pinpricks of light in her fur, like stars in a polluted sky. She wraps around and around him, holding him tight, the only thing keeping him together.

Time doesn't have meaning beyond too long in this place. Until it does. His hand glows first—his right hand, the one that was taken from him, that he shouldn’t even be able to feel—red and warm and tingly, like gentle flames licking up his palm and onto his forearm. And then there’s tickling of grass against his fingers, movement and flickering green and vines climbing up his bicep. In one leg, he feels blue, push and pull, and cool, refreshing adaptability of water while he feels the prickling of sand against his toes in the other and solid strength of rocks building on top of each other. The sensations grow until each of his limbs glow, circling his dark and empty torso.

Empty—for now. As Shiro looks down, he sees light spark and grow, like an exploding star around his heart. It burns brighter, expanding through his chest and then covering his whole body, filling him with light and life and feeling—

(Love. Five very different flavors but it’s all love.)

—and Shiro’s back in his body again. There are strong arms around him, moonlight hair brushing his face, and voices and hands brushing over him—“We found you”—“He’s back”—and his name—

“Shiro. Shiro, Shiro, Shiro…”

* * * * *

He’s back. And he’s scared. He was scared when he went to Kerberos (excited, nervous, anticipatory). Scared when they first formed Voltron (desperate, terrified, determined). Scared in the nights when the night terrors hit him and he couldn't sleep (terrified, self-hating, horrified, violated). But now he’s scared in a brittle way. Like the fear that used to come and go has hardened into jagged plastic. He feels like the dried up mudflats in the desert, rigid and fragile, like the smallest touch could crumple him. He holds himself together with pure will and the knowledge that he has to. There’s a war to be fought and he refuses to not be apart of it.

He just isn’t sure what there is for him beyond that now.

* * * * *

Allura finds him curled up against the view screen of the observation deck. Shiro isn’t entirely surprised someone has come looking for him or that she’s the one who was assigned to find him. He’s both grateful and embarrassed that she’s the one who has to see this.

She crosses her legs as she sits down—the diplomatic dress rarely makes an appearance in these days of constant battle—and settles down beside him.

“The others are worried about you. Apparently you said some things in Voltron that were… concerning.”

They’ve gotten better at utilizing Voltron in the passing months, which includes a greater amount of synchronicity between their minds. And, consequently, access to a level of Shiro’s thoughts that he’d rather they didn’t have access to.

“I’m not suicidal.”

“You are not?” Allura’s voice is carefully non-judgmental.

“I don’t want to die,” says Shiro fiercely. “I won’t if I don’t have to. I’ve just accepted the inevitable.”

Shiro’s made a deal with the universe: his life for the life and safety of his paladins. He’s aware the universe doesn’t work like that, so he will make it make good on that deal. He refuses to accept anything less.

“I understand,” says Allura. “Coran was worried about that in me as well.”

Shiro believes her. He wishes he didn’t because if Allura understands, that means she knows the pain and darkness he’s fighting against every day, and he doesn’t want anyone to have to know that, let alone someone he deeply cares about. But Allura does know and does understand, and Shiro suspects that’s why she’s the one who came here in the first place.

Allura cups his jaw. Shiro doesn’t flinch as she brushes her thumb over the stubble on his cheek. Her expression is filled with some kind of emotion that Shiro is scared to put a name to. But words aren’t necessary because she leans forward and presses her lips against his.

“Allura,” breathes Shiro as she pulls back, just a little. Her hand is still cradling his jaw.

“Coran told me I needed something to live for beyond the war,” she says. “That’s what it is for me.”

She says it simply, like she isn’t worried at all, but Shiro knows her too well to believe that completely.

“I…” Shiro reaches up and covers her hand with his. She’s so beautiful. And strong and brave and flawed but somehow that just makes him love her more.

(Shiro’s not sure when he decided he loved her, but it’s a truth that has beat in his heart for so long, it’s hard to imagine it was anything but a foregone conclusion.)

“I don’t think… Allura, my head’s still such a mess. I’m not—I don’t think I can.”

Shiro doesn’t think he could manage a relationship right now. Even if he wants to. There’s so much right now. So much stress and demands on his (their) time. And so much he needs to work through before he can open himself up to another person the way he knows he would need to.

“I know,” says Allura, still so calm. If he were anyone else, he might miss the water gathering in her eyes.

Shiro takes her hand, folds his fingers over hers, and presses it close to his heart. Then he leans forward and kisses her back, just as gently and lovingly as she did him. “It’s not you.”

When he pulls back, Allura’s lips are trembling. He wishes he could pull her into his arms, comfort her, brush all the sadness away, but there’s too much storming—inside him, outside them, in the universe.

“Maybe…” He hesitates, cognizant of promises he can’t keep.

But Allura reads him anyway. “...Later? After the war?”

Shiro swallows. He rubs his thumb over her knuckles, still holding her hand close.

Allura’s fingers dig into his shirt as she leans forward. “Then after,” she says, her intensity giving away her emotions. “You’re right—there’s too much going on right now. But after, when we have time. We can try then.”

Shiro wants—he aches with how much he wants. But he shakes his head. “I don’t think that either of us are capable of keeping that promise.”

“Then I protect you, and you protect me,” says Allura. “We keep each other safe.” She glances down, voice softer. “I never want to lose you again.”

Shiro’s heart falls. He squeezes her hand, assurance that he can’t guarantee. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

Allura looks up at him. “So…until then? Promise?”

They’re dancing around what they should say. And, Shiro realizes, on Allura’s end at least it’s deliberate.

Shiro will absolutely regret it if he dies before he can tell her he loves her. By setting this boundary, she’s saying he has to survive (they both do) until he can.

Shiro gently sets her hands back in her lap. And then he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead because even if he can’t say it, she has to know she’s loved. And by him.

“Okay. Promise.”

* * * * *

The war doesn’t end neatly in a final battle against Zarkon. Or Hagar. Or Lotor. There’s Sendak and other generals. And then there’s warlords. And unrest caused by the sudden power vacuum. And rebuilding an inter-galactic political system. There’s pockets of Galra control scattered across the universe that may take decades to eradicate completely.

But gradually…things slow down. They aren’t constantly watching their back anymore. There are other forces besides Voltron fighting for good. The universe isn’t on the brink of destruction, and Shiro makes the call it’s time to bring the paladins home.

(They’ll go back out there, they all know. There’s still so much work to be done, and Shiro knows his team too well to assume they’ll be satisfied letting someone else do it. But for the time being, they’ve earned a break.)

Emotions are high and bright and excited as they travel to Earth’s the solar system. Lance is chattering a million words a minute. Pidge has both her father and her brother around her, projecting a map tracking their distance to Earth. Hunk is excitedly listing the foods he missed, and even Keith looks excited, though he seems wary of Lance’s promise to introduce him to every single member of his family. Coran is practicing his “earthling slang” and almost certainly getting it wrong on purpose. Traveling will take at least a day, and they are all gathered together in the kitchen to wait it out. Shiro slips out and makes his way to the bridge.

Allura is there alone. She has charts up, monitoring the wormhole’s progress and documents listing out trade agreements. Useful stuff, but certainly not urgent.

“Hey,” says Shiro.

Allura jumps like she wasn’t expecting anyone to find her, and when she smiles, it’s small. “Hello.”

Shiro’s heart hurts. This is hard for her, he knows, even if she tries to hide it. He wishes he could make it better, but he doesn’t know how. He can’t keep his paladins from their families, and he knows Allura would never ask them to. But the fact of the matter is, they get to go home, and she never will. He doesn’t know how to make that not hurt.

But true to form, Allura quickly pulls herself together. She scrolls through one of her screens though Shiro would be surprised if she actually read any of it.

She offers Shiro a glance as he approaches her. “The war is over.”

“True,” says Shiro.

There’s awe and a little bit of shock coloring both their voices. Astonishment that it finished, and they’re both still here.

Allura smiles at him against, and it’s barely stronger than the first time. “You finally get to go back to Earth.”

“Yes,” says Shiro, stepping in front of her. “But that’s not what I’m looking forward to.”

“It’s not?” Allura finally dismisses her screens and gives him her full attention.

Shiro steps onto the dais with her. He feels nervous—it’s been so long since their conversation in the observatory—but he forces himself forward. There’s a lock of hair that’s fallen in front of Allura’s face. Shiro catches it and tucks it behind her ear, fingers lingering against her skin.

“No. It’s not.”

In hindsight, Allura’s reaction is exactly what he should have expected. For a moment, she’s frozen, staring at him mouth partly open. And then she explodes into him, arms wrapping around his neck, kissing him like she’s been waiting her entire life for this. Shiro holds her close and kisses her like the same is true for him. Maybe it is.

They still don’t know what the future holds or who they are beyond the war, but that’s okay because they have each other. They made it through.

And now they’ve got all the time in the universe to figure it out.

[taztaas]

My Boy Builds Coffins

Inspired by: My Boy Builds Coffins by Florence + The Machine Sunlight by Hozier 

Relationships: Kravitz & RQ, Taakitz

It starts like this:

A wagon rolls into town one afternoon. All colors, shameless shanties and swaying lanterns - gently glowing. 

With it, a group of three. One man, and - this is crucial - two elves, twins to be exact.

And most importantly, an elf twin named Taako.

*

The funeral home smells like dust. Dust, always dust no matter how much they clean. Dust, sometimes flowers, and that certain smell most enterers can’t identify but both remaining members of the MacAllister family know is death, death.

*

Her son stands at the window in the front in his black suit, his white-gloved hands clasped neatly behind his back, like usual. Like every day since his father died.

“Brooding,” she says.

“Thinking,” he says, or “I’m just people-watching, Mother.”

“You think too much,” she says and it makes him smile a little, but all it does is remind her of the days when he was young and happier and hopeful. And how all that joy withered to nothing, slowly but surely.

*

Kravitz used to play with the litter of kittens behind their neighbor's barn, until one day, they were just gone. Something was wrong, she knew immediately when he came home with a slow opening of the door and his footsteps barely audible on the hardwood floor. She was washing the dishes when it happened.

“They're dead, aren't they,” he asked, just a boy still, his hair curling just barely below his ears and she had said yes because they both knew it was the truth. He looked thoughtful but wouldn't look at her, his mother, in the eye.

“I hope they didn't suffer,” he said absently as he climbed up the stairs to his room. She was left alone in the kitchen with her hands covered in dishwater, and with a lump in her throat she fought hard to swallow.

*

Put in a burlap sack and thrown into the lake they were. She tried not to think about it. She hoped her son didn’t know.

*

Working at the funeral home is not what Raven wanted for her son but it’s what they both ended up with. Kravitz grew from a somber boy into a somber man and it saddens her to see him so serious.

“A damn shame,” his father, her husband, would say if he was still alive. But he lived his life building coffins, he left this life in a coffin and all he left them was coffins.

Now Kravitz builds them, for better or worse, in sunshine and rain.

*

She joins him by the window just in time to see one of the elves blow Kravitz a kiss. The shock on her son's face, his feathers ruffled, makes her hide a smile in her palm.

*

The elves are a wild kind. They talk too loud, they laugh too loud. They wear too little or too much, they dress so strangely.

“They stay out too long after sundown, and their windows are lit until close midnight,” Susan tells her in a stage-whisper, a basketful of fresh-baked, elven-made goods hanging on her arm, the hypocrite.

Raven looks at the bakery window, sees the elves laughing and tossing flour at each other. She sees people leaving the establishment with their hands full and their mouth smiling.

“They sing such terrible songs,” Susan continues, hissing, like it’s all some kind of devious conspiracy.

Raven realizes she never liked her, truly.

*

“He’s busy, probably,” Kravitz says under his breath, wringing his gloved hands. “Most- most likely.”

“More the reason why you should go offer a helping hand, Kravitz,” she says without looking up from the flowers she’s arranging. It’s been a week already, and Raven has heard all the rumors, while Kravitz has just been looking. He feels safe behind the glass, she figures, though the window is a poor cover to hide behind.

Raven prefers to leave her son to his own devices most of the time, but she has seen. She can’t help but notice the way Kravitz’s eyes have been glued to one of the elves in particular. The brother, Raven knows by now. The sister is married to the human they arrived with.

“I don’t think-”

“You think too much,” she says again and leaves the flowers in favor of grabbing her son’s arm and dragging him towards the door. “Just go , Kravitz.”

“Mother!”

“Go, and don’t let Susan catch you, or we’ll never hear the end of it,” she says and ushers him, pushes him , out of the door and towards the bakery on the opposite side of the street. The building smells like cinnamon, fresh bread and has an atmosphere that livens up the whole village.

*

The next morning, Kravitz comes down the stairs looking like he always does but somehow, he’s different.

She’s his mother, she can tell.

She smiles at him.

He smiles back.

She feels her heart jump with joy.

*

Kravitz is quiet and gentle. A soul born in cold and rain.

She remembers that night well.

It’s a boy!

Her baby cradled in her shaking arms, her husband’s hand was heavy and proud on her shoulder. Just like his mother , the midwife had said. Dark skin, hair black as winter night but unlike her, his eyes like pieces of coal ready to spark with flame.

Congratulations, Mr. MacAllister, they said to him, ignoring her.

She hummed a tune and held her son while outside, white November turned into a grey December.

The night was long but in the morning there was sunlight, sunlight.

*

They’re in the back room having tea when front door bangs open and makes them both jump. Raven manages to hold onto her cup - and avoid an incident - but Kravitz spills his and he peels his soaked gloves off with a hiss and a grimace.

They both know who it is, even without the carelessly spoken oops that follows. There’s only one person who would enter a funeral home in such a way.

They move to the front to greet their guest, Raven still cradling her cup in both her hands. She smiles to herself as she observes the tension in her son’s shoulders melt away. Taako’s very presence seems to help lessen the gloomy atmosphere of the room.

“Goddamn it’s grim around here, would it kill you two to have some music on or something?” Taako complains as he invites himself in with a basket full of something sweet-smelling hanging on the crook of his arm.

“Would it kill you not to torture us with your baking Taako?” Raven asks good-naturedly averting her eyes from the scene. The way Kravitz’s face lits up with a smile is enough for her. She knows her son is in love, she doesn’t feel the need to spy on the pair’s reunion. though their separation has been brief, they saw each other yesterday, last.

Taako scoffs, “It's not torturing if I'm bringing you some.” He drops his basket on the very expensive, wooden desk and out of the corner of her eye, Raven notices the crumbs now littering the surface. Kravitz does not. He’s too busy staring into Taako’s eyes.

She hums in answer and lifts the cloth over the basket, grabbing one of the scones she finds underneath to enjoy with her tea.

Taako grabs Kravitz by the forearms and pulls him into a gentle sway, humming a melody.

She leaves the room with her delicious prize, knowing her son is in good hands. Kravitz’s voice is warm and Taako’s laugh is high and tinkling.

*

They reach the summer solstice. Their little town is much changed from before the brightly-colored wagon arrived. The midsummer festival with its flower crowns, birch saplings, and the huge bonfire remains constant, however.

Raven skips the festivities, just like every year. But this year she enjoys the look on her son’s face when he’s dragged out of the house by Taako.

She has an uneasy feeling but she tries to ignore it, as she often presumes the worst. 

But also, she’s never wrong.

*

Come dawn, the bakery burns.

*

“They’re dead, all three”, they say, when the sun has revealed the destruction in its entirety. Raven can see her son’s world crumbling into pieces as their eyes meet.

Good riddance, some of them say.

Some say, they knew the three newcomers were somehow wicked.

They’re all dead, the human man and the elves both.

In her mind’s eye, she sees Kravitz’s hands making a coffin.

A coffin for his lover.

White like a dove, the bird, and the loving nickname he gave his beloved.

She hates the world for being so cruel.

*

She doesn’t see Kravitz cry but she knows better than to assume he doesn’t.

His gloves are gone now. Replaced by bandages covering his burned hands, wounded when he and disappointingly few others dug through the still-smoldering rubble of the bakery. They all knew they would find no survivors. But Kravitz had wanted to confirm, to see the dreadful truth with his own eyes.

*

By the time it’s obvious that the fire was no accident, they’ve found no bodies. Raven doesn’t know what to think of it, but she dares to hope. Kravitz paces the hardwood floors, his eyes empty and dead.

*

It’s a cool and quiet night, a week after the fire when they hear a gentle rapping at their window.

Kravitz only has eyes for his untouched bowl on soup. His spoon is idly stirring, but Raven looks up and gasps, loud, as she spots a wayward flash of golden hair in the darkness behind the glass.

Kravitz stirs and raises his eyes to her but she’s already hurrying to the window, pulling at the latches and pushing it open.

She hears Kravitz’s chair fall to the floor as he rushes to his feet because it’s Taako, leaning against the frame like he isn’t supposed to be dead. He doesn't look good, doesn't look well but he isn't dead

“Looking grim as usual, MacAllisters,” he quips with a grin that softens first into a smile and then turns into a frown as he takes in Kravitz’s rumpled suit and messy hair. “You look tired hon, wait, what happened to your han-?”

Taako cuts off as Kravitz surges violently forward with a choked gasp of the elf’s name and then they are both tumbling out of the window and down onto the dewy grass below.

*

“Taako, he- I mean, they’re leaving and he wants- no he, he needs me to go with him.”

“I know, Kravitz,” she says gently and reaches for his hands, holds them between hers.

“Mother,” he says, his eyes sorry and pleading. “Mother, I’m-”

“I know , Kravitz.” She smiles. “I loved, once. Truly loved. But it was a different time,” she says and thinks of golden eyes and long silver hair even though she shouldn't. Her husband was a good man.

“You must go, Kravitz.”

She brushes the hair out of his eyes and cradles his cheek.

“You must live.”  

He sobs and surges forward to embrace her. To her shame, it catches her off guard. She squeezes her eyes shut against the tears, hides her face in her son’s hair.

“I promise I’ll write,” he chokes out.

“And I will treasure every letter,” she replies, her voice shaking but she is smiling - of course she is. She can’t recall a time when she last felt this happy.

*

In the morning, Raven takes her tea out to the back porch, eats a leftover scone, and basks in sunlight, sunlight.

[thenotsofantasticlifestory]

Broken

Eustass Kid, Killer

Warning: Trauma, Cursing, Angst but good ending, Mentions of gore

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: This was the piece I did for @doctorgerth contest, and I won 1st! ahhhhhhhhh

It had been three days since their fight with Red Haired Shanks, and three days Kid had refused to leave his cabin. Under threat of violence, anyone who tried to check on him was met with cursing and flying chunks of metal. Killer was the only one who managed to go and stay in one piece. The doctor had tended to the others on the ship (those that had survived) but Killer alone went to change Kid’s bandages each day. He’d bring food, and do his work, Kid was always silent, never making eye contact and speaking only in the occasional grunt. Killer wouldn’t try to prompt him, just leave the food, take the old tray with him, and head to the doctor to change the wrappings on his own ruined arm.

Killer didn’t like this. The simple luxury with Kid was that you never had to guess what he was feeling, it was always more than apparent. He had always been open to his emotions, his anger was loud, his happiness louder, even his sadness was never held back. But seeing him now, this silent empty version of Kid, as though someone had scooped out his essence and left the hollow husk behind.

This was not the Kid he knew.

This was not the Kid he followed unquestioningly into battle. This bottled up wreck of a man that sat in his bed with a dead look in his eye, this was worse. A broken toy left alive only at the good whim of a Yonko. So, Killer kept close by at all times, waiting for the inevitable break (because he would, Killer knew that).

So, for the fourth night in a row, he stood guard outside of Kid’s cabin. The silence of the past few days at any other time would have been a welcome reprieve, but now it only raised his anxiety. A muffled curse and some shifting from inside brought him to the door, listening for a moment longer before entering.

Kid had ripped off the bandages from his shoulder, fingers scratching at the still healing mess of nerves and skin, his nails brought forward small specks of blood.

“It just doesn’t fucking stop,” he snarled. It was the first thing Kid had actually said since the fight.

Killer took a chair by the bed, “What?”

Kid ran an angry hand through his hair, before slamming his fist against the mattress, “The fucking pain- it’s, fuck- it still feels like it’s there!”

He motioned to grip at the stump his arm but Killer wrestled the hand away, “Kid stop, you’re gonna make it worse.”

Worse.

It really couldn’t get worse than this could it? Not likely.

The itching was the worst, ‘phantom pains’ he overheard the doctor say. He’d awoken again and again in the middle of the night to that shooting, tingling pain that ran through his arm, but when he moved to scratch at it, he was met only with the gaping void of where the rest of him should have been. He should have been used to it by now, but every goddamn time he was smacked again with that reminder that he was broken, not a whole man anymore. His hand would hover over the place where flesh and bone once were, if he closed his eyes, he swore he could practically feel it, but it was never there. Not anymore.

It was the simple things that made him feel the worst, things he never thought about. Painting his nails, taking apart scrap, even changing his bandages; the most mundane activities he would perform without thought, and now needed help. Killer was always there, even with his own damaged arm in a sling, but at least he would heal. He would be whole still. And Kid hated him for that. He hated this vulnerability, having to be taken care of like a child because he simply couldn’t do those things anymore. And he knew it wasn’t fair to hate his friend for his luck, but it didn’t stop the feeling from bubbling up his throat.

But the very worst was the broken image he held of himself now. The undefeatable, powerful Captain Eustass Kid was dead and gone, buried somewhere under the heel of Red-Haired Shanks. The confidence and courage he entered every fight with was torn down with this visible reminder of how easily he could break. A constant reminder that he had been too weak when it counted and every scar unlined that point.

Killer had gathered up the old wrappings, tossing them into the waste and retrieving a fresh roll from the bedside.

“Let me wrap it up.”

Kid sneered and turned away, leaving Killer to sigh in impatience.

“Kid, come on.”

“I can do it myself,” Kid said, motioning to take the wrappings from Killer.

“No, you can’t.”

Kid continued to wrestle for the bandages, elbowing and using the rest of his bulk to assault, “Yes, I can just-“

“Kid,” Killer reached out to grab at him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he lashed out with his good arm, sending Killer sprawling back, toppling over his chair. A yelp of pain followed by low groaning as he cradled the burned flesh of his arm. Kid felt himself go limp, eyes wide.

“Killer…” the blood drained from his face, horrified at his actions, “I-…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean-“

Killer rose wordlessly, expressionless through his mask and righted the chair, resuming his place at the bedside. Adjusting his arm back into the sling, with a few twitches of discomfort, he returned to the task of Kid’s bandages. Kid didn’t fight back this time, keeping his stare into his lap as his fist white knuckled against the sheet. Silence stretched between them as Killer finished wrapping the stump of his captain’s arm.

“I fucked up…” Kid finally said.

Killer’s head rose, searching the newly scarred face of his friend, as Kid continued, “People are dead and it’s my fault. People who expected me to be strong enough to protect them and I fucked it up…

“I- “Kid’s jaw tightens, swallowing down the unwanted emotion though his voice is thick with it, “I was too fucking stupid and I couldn’t even-…” His breathing picked up, hard and aggressive, hating how he sounded. Hating the hot prickle of tears that were blurring his vision.

“Kid,” Killer said.

Kid watched as Killer removed his helmet, fumbling with only one hand, and dropping it to the ground. His cheeks were already stained with tears and Kid felt something inside him break.

“I failed you too,” Killer choked out, chewing at his lip but not wiping at the fresh tears that trickled down, “I couldn’t save you and we promised-“he choked suddenly, the weight of memory shaking him, “we said we’d always protect each other. And I’m- I’m so sorry Kid, I- “

He’s silenced as Kid smothered him into his own body, one arm wrapping around and Killer returns the embrace. There’s discomfort and pain, between the ripped flesh and broken bones but neither loosened their grip. They’re not sure who broke first, but as soon as that shake of silent sobbing rocked one body the other followed. And they aren’t sure how long they stayed like that, locked against the other in the dead of night, but it’s what was needed, because they are broken and battered and not even whole, but they are alive. And for now, that’s enough.

Eventually Kid lets go, rubbing at his face to erase any trace of his breakdown and chuckled, “Don’t fucking apologize, you look gross.”

Killer actually chuckled too, “You started it…”

Kid took the roll of bandages nodding to the arm in the sling, “Let me help with that.”

With a bit of maneuvering, Killer got his arm out of the sling, letting Kid peel off the old bandages. Each strip exposed angry red skin, still poorly scabbing and Killer hissed at the sudden feeling of cold air on his sensitive flesh.

Kid’s nose wrinkled, “That’s disgusting.”

“Like you look any better,” Killer retorted.

That tension and stress that the two had been holding in since the fight had begun to thaw, as they banter and chat while working at rewrapping Killer’s arm. Between Kid’s remaining limb, and Killer’s unhurt one, it’s an awkward task but things are finally falling in to sync again, the well-oiled machine they’d always been.

“You know,” Killer said, “I bet you could make a pretty badass replacement arm anyway.”

Kid stopped, his eyes going wide as the sudden realization hit him, and his face stretched into a wide grin, “Yeah…I could-…yeah.”

Killer could already see the gears turning in his head a spark behind his eye; this was the Kid he knew, this crazy convoluted inventor that backed down for no one.

“Quick, give me some paper and pencils,” he puts his hand out to Killer, who’s already grabbing sheets from the desk. As if in a trance, Kid is madly scribbling down diagrams and notes and the two work late into the night. By the time the sun begins to rise, they are passed out, dozens of sheets of drawings, some more serious than others, littering the room. And it’s a small start, to fix what has been broken.

[writingsofmyimagination]

Conjecture |11|

Idol Reader Au, Enemies to Lovers AU

Summary: Your management refused to renew your contract unless you collaborated, so you ending up working with Min Yoongi. A guy you’d disliked from before both of your debuts. There is more to their past than meets the eye.

Links to other parts:  | 1 |  2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 

May do one more after this, we’ll see. 

Words:5049

Rating:18+

Warnings: SMUT!! (BDSMish themes, Yoongi Switch, Masturbation, Slight exhibitionism maybe) Swearing, mentions of eating issues, alcohol comsumption. General sass.

Permanent Tags: @msunnsstuff  @rosey-roseu @eyelessmin @backtonormalthings

Reblog, Like, Comment pwwwweeasse :)

//

As the coffee machine was whirring away crushing away the strong beans, he remembered the way your eyes flitted when he’d said those words. It was panic. Was it panic because you didn’t feel the same? Or was it just because when he said it? Or was it both? He hated that he didn’t know.

“Are you growing the beans yourself?” He heard you call from the bedroom. The coffee had been sat ready steaming for minutes.

“Sorry baby, I just got distracted” You were sat up, sheet pulled up around you; legs almost pressed to your chest as you took the cup from him. As he stood to leave to start the shower you tugged at his hand, pining. He smiled weakly bending down to give you the kiss you wanted.

“You better not have been heading to the shower without me Min Yoongi”

“And what if I was?” he countered.

“Then I’ll have to you show why it’s better to shower with me”

“I’ll be honest then, I was heading to the shower” he confessed, smile adorning his lips as he grabbed a towel from the side.

“So I’ll see you in a minute then? He added.

“You know I’m a woman of my word” He would never get enough of the teasing smile you rewarded him so often.

//

“Sharp scratch” the nurse warned puncturing your skin with a needle. The long tubing snaking its way into a bag filled with liquid loaded with vitamins. Your reflection staring back at you as the makeup artist was puffing powder all over your face. Your manager and his assistant were stood observing the whole process. His PA was your favourite person right now. You were running on minimal sleep, no food and you felt like crap; she had amazingly managed to call out a nurse out for you last minute.

“Okay so the plan is you will be on the red carpet straight after BTS, Yoongi will hold back so the press can get photos of the people behind the collab of the year” 

Your reflection smiled at the compliment. For the show you will be sat at our section a few tables behind the boys until you get called for you performance and your presentation.

“Got it, please don’t go over the plan again”

The heated leather seats of the car contributed to soothing your pre-event nerves. The bright natural white light flashes seeped in; even through the tinted windows.

“They’re ready Miss YL/N” The driver said before leaving the wheel to hold the door open for you. You smiled in thanks as you stepped out onto the carpet with full grace. The muttering and shouting of the press increased. Probably with the excitement that Yoongi is still stood on the red carpet and they are finally going to get pictures of the two of you together. Yoongi was wide eyed staring at you, trying his best to not let his jaw collapse to the floor. 

He’d realised why you’d kept the outfit away from him. The slit of your dress teased the front of your thigh under the royal blue dress. Your thigh was decorated with a leather strap wrapping round attached to a heart shaped metal ring. The dress ruffled neatly, delving into a v at your cleavage. The middle of the dress sat tight enough to reveal your figure but you made sure it was loose enough so you had some room; there would be lots of alcohol consumed throughout the night. It was long brushing lightly against the surface of the velvet red carpet beneath your feet. Your hair was in a pony tail which was curled to perfection, your fringe quaffed round into a wave shape, pinned and secured with copious amounts of hair spray.

Your red carpet smile was on show instantly; greeting the flashes. With elegant steps you took up poses at the ‘photo spot’. For the first time in a long time you was riddled with the pinch of nerves. These would be the first proper public photos of you together and actually ‘together’. Today that ‘together’ was his hand snug to your waist. His fingers digging in gently enough to not be detected in the photo evidence.

“I know why you kept that dress away from me now” leaning his head to your ear; both your smiles refusing to falter.

“Yeah and why’s that” you replied, still staring outwards innocently at the crowd.

“Because you knew for one that I wouldn’t believe how beautiful you look” Roles reversed he was now facing forward and you was leaning in to his ear

“Did I?”

“And two you knew I’d damn well be impatient to fuck you in it” The filth through the sweeter than sweet gummy smile had you turning to face him with a bright happy smile shrouding the absolute shock you felt internally. He mirrored your smile turning to you. The perfect red carpet couple shot.  The onlookers were probably begging to see a kiss. As much as you wanted nothing more; you would not give them the satisfaction. Both of your managements would also probably not take kindly to the action. He took your hand and you moved from the spotlight to the reception of the venue.

“Jesus they went nuts” Hobi chuckled slapping an arm at Yoongi’s shoulders when you re-joined the others. The flurry of noise reverberating around the whole room

“Kpop’s hottest couple” Jin toyed.

“Alright guys, calm your tits” You laughed, your eyes clapped onto another artist from you label and waved to get their attention.

“I’ll see you guys later when you win artist of the year yeah?” Aimed at the guys

“And I’ll see you for our performance” You left him with a gentle squeeze of his hand to join your agency to finally be ushered to your seats.

//

The buzz backstage oozed chaotic energy, runners running on their last legs searching for anything anyone needed last minute. You stood in the right wing in the same outfit as the music video; sound from the stage pushing your senses to their limit with the bass. Past the energetic fire of the Monsta X performance you could see Yoongi waiting in the other wing. The static of the radio of one of the stage directors buzzed behind you.

“Y/N” you turned to the call

“Erm Yoongi says you’re going kill it” She stood silent waiting for your response.

“Erm tell him I said to stop being a dweeb”

The stage manager had a smile on her face while communicating your professional message to the other manager. Your legs felt the weakness first, energy draining from your muscles.

The cheers erupted as the performance finished, half the boys heading towards you; Wonho included. The sweat glistening off them walking past you with warm knackered smiles. Wonho had just reached you with an even warmer smile placing a clamming gentle hand on your arm when you collapsed.

Your eyesight still non-existent; a constant blackness. You were conscious; you could make out all the scuffles of shoes scurrying around you.  You recognised the panicked tone of Yoongi, it was harsher and angrier than you remember ever hearing. The words not picked up by your dazed state. You felt a rush of air beside you move as a figure left you and was replaced with another. The blackness turned to fuzziness with colour and clarity finally returned to your vision. Yoongi was staring at you with fierce concern, pupils blown. His hand was stroking your head and brushing your cheek. You’d been moved to a small dressing room and set down on a low sitting sofa. Only Yoongi and the stage manager were present; she was avoiding eye contact leaning against the door finger pressing against her ear piece muttering. The brightness of the room had you squinting as you adjusted to your vision. The desk below the illuminated mirror was littered with an array of bottles powders and god knows what other beauty products.

“5 minutes until you’re up, are we going ahead?”

“Of course not she need medic…” Yoongi snapped

“I’m fine, we’re performing!” you interjected sitting up. You were met with daggers

“We are not” wide eyes looking at you with defiant glare.

You stood almost knocking him back.

“We’re on” Evil stares shooting at Yoongi. You brushed yourself off, gulping down the glass of orange juice which had been placed beside you and walked briskly towards the door. The manager opening the door and following you out. You knew you should have eaten but you just couldn’t; you couldn’t bare the thought of any negative comments about your body. The internet was cruel.

Yoongi’s going to be furious

Eyes welling up; but you had to push them away. The look of the absolute worry was shoved on his face; he may have looked angry but you knew that wasn’t how he really felt. No words were spoken as he was escorted in a rush to the other side of the stage.

Your stage persona fit over your face as smoothly as silk. So did his. He said nothing as you rested back to back waiting for the lights to illuminate. It was awful, the comfort you’d swoon at normally when he was close felt a million miles away.

The fighting and harsh words at the start of the song were strongly meant coming from his mouth; it was the emotion of the start of the song through and through. It hurt. The disagreement in the lyrics transformed into words of reconciliation. This was where your sincere words were laced with apology rung true. The audience were stunned with the secret authenticity of the performance. You’re harmonising with his softer rap even melted Yoongi’s demeanour. The closeness of your bodies singing to each other his hand in yours, fingers locked. You’re final note you hit perfectly, diaphragm giving you all the support it needed. As the lights dimmed, you both partly breathless in your finishing position your head resting on his chest and his hand cupping the back of your neck.

You really felt like the situation had calmed. The pair of you both finding comfort through the work you both lived for. It didn’t stop you briskly walking off in the opposite direction to him, more in shame than anything against him.

You ignored the multiple vibrations on your phone as award after award was given out. In your sight you noticed his head turn to you on multiple occasions moments after you felt another vibration, he was a few tables in front of. Far enough to not have any face to face contact. You finally got the signal to go to backstage. It’s not that you didn’t want to reply you just didn’t know how to talk to about it; so you played safe and avoided it. Temporarily.

“And the artist of the year award goes to” Taking your time building the suspension, the smile reached your face before you spoke

“They’ve achieved a phenomenal amount this year…BTS” you announced with pride blooming through every inch of you. They were all humble in their approach to the stage. You bowed to them one by one, first handing the award to Namjoon. Being closer to the boys they all came in to give you a hug and a gentle kiss on the cheek. Congratulating each one in turn.

“I’m sorr…” you began

“I love you” He whispered before following the others in landing a kiss at your cheek. Your head snapped away with a huge shocked smile you couldn’t depress, unsure how to react. He just smiled as normal as anything compared to your expression.

The twitter memes are going to be priceless.

//

“God I love the after party” You sighed relieved slumping yourself onto Yoongi’s lap who was sat a table with his brothers all laughing away. There had been way too much alcohol to thankfully avoid any serious conversation that was overdue and necessary.

The after party was always a place artists and managements could truly relax; all media were not permitted. The lack of nosey eyes allowed artists to relax and be more themselves. You’d see couples that the Kpop world knew nothing about; there was even gay couples which the industry certainly wouldn’t approve of. It was the best part of the MAMA’s for sure. You certainly wouldn’t be able to be on his lap with his hand parked on your bare thigh.

“Bet you didn’t think you’d be think you’d be handing out the award to your boyfriend did ya” Jimin asked, cheeks flushed out with alcohol.

“Actually I had no doubt you’d get it, you’re smashing this industry with a sledgehammer and It couldn’t happen to a better bunch of guys”

“Thank you Y/N but please go back to being the sarcastic, high maintenance woman we know and love, you’ve had way too much to drink”

You shoved Jungkook knocking the cheek out of him. You got yourself up and made your way to the ladies room. Evil plan ready for you to execute; stepping out of your thong and scrunching it in your hand before heading back to the buzzing room, the live band filling the room with all the songs from the last few years. Side stepping and dodging through the sea of inebriated idols you finally got to your table. You resumed your position on Yoongi’s lap pushing your behind down into his lap harder than you needed too; shielding your hand shoving the underwear into his hand like it was normal as you carried on talking to Hobi about god knows what. Yoongi stole a glance as to what’s been gifted to him. His grip on your thigh tightened at the recognition. His hand slid in his pocket exchanging your underwear for his phone. You opened your phone at this vibration

-If we’re not back in our room sharpish I will not be responsible for my actions-

Another vibration.

-I need you in that dress-

You read the texts, not replying on purpose plonking your phone on the table. Yoongi’s hand that was nursing his glass grew tighter. His hand moved further up your thigh unapologetically. You grabbed it standing up removing any more temptation.

“Well I’m going to call it a night guys. I can’t deal with Jin’s dads joke anymore” you teased, Jin flipped you off in retaliation.

“I can say I agree” Yoongi agreed standing up holding your hand; Jimin noticed.

“Yeah sure, we all know why your checking out early” Jimin teased. You were too influenced by alcohol to be embarrassed.

“And what Park Jimin? I can tell you now his hips would even give yours a run for your money.

“ooooooooooo” Jungkook oooed with the others joining in. Jimin shrugged back leaning on the table defeated erupting in giggles. Yoongi shook his head concealing the chuckle funnelling through his lips practically dragging you away before you embarrassed him even more.

“I’m just going to go apologise to Wonho, I’ll meet you by the elevator”

Apparently when you passed out Wonho was the one to catch you and take you to the side room. When Yoongi had rushed in you were conscious again but only just; you were still unresponsive. Yoongi had asked immediately what was wrong and what happened. Wonho knowing you and exactly what it probably was responded ‘She’s fine, she just wouldn’t have eaten’ to which Yoongi snapped back ‘Well that’s not exactly fine is it, get out!’ You remembered hearing a harsh tone which you now know belonged to Yoongi.

//

“You did not compare my hip movements to Jimin’s”

“It… it just came out, I’m sorry” You laughed stepping into the elevator. Giggles carrying on as you leant against the back on the mirror.

“You definitely will be” Flushing his body against yours as the doors dinged shut.

“What? You going to get those hips working?” you teased smirking at each other before he punished you with a hot kiss. You pulled at his shirt needing every part of him as close to you as humanly possible. The heat that flooded every inch you when he was flush against you.

“Aren’t we going to talk about earlier?” His forehead leaning on yours, hands cradling yours.

“Leave that until tomorrow plleeaaasseee” you whined.

“I promise we’ll talk about it, I just need you first” you added.

“Well I better make you sure don’t have the energy to get out of bed for a while then”

//

You dragged him into you by his tie pressing you against the desk in the hotel room. His lips showering yours with attention, his hands preoccupied smoothly gliding up the outside of both of your thighs dragging it over your behind.

“You smell and look sooo good” Inhaling at your neck, the exhale heating your skin already flushed with heat; result of the alcohol and the need for him. His fingertips now up the inside of your thigh. The anticipation had you gripping harder your already balled fist entangling the chest of his white shirt. His jacket already shed on the floor. You hand gripped his wrist.

“Uh uh” you teased

“Not yet” His eyes rolled, bottom lip pushed out.

“Don’t pout” you scolded. You pushed him giving yourself room to escape to grab a chair round the oak wood table and placed it facing the bed. He waited obediently for you to fetch him by his tie; shoving him into the chair stepping yourself over one of his thighs. You began fiddling his tie un-done; his eyes following your movements with a diligent gaze, hoping to get a glimpse of where you were going.

“Hands behind your back” Eye flashing excited gazing up at you. You tightened the tie at his wrists.

“I’ve happily imagined having you tied up to a chair since you released Agust D” you confessed. His head shot up contorted with a raised eyebrow

“I can think you’re an asshole and still want to fuck you” justifying yourself. He smirked with approval.

“You know when I’ve had a drink my patience and control over myself sucks, please tell what you’re planning, I’m already desperate …”

“Well this will be frustrating for you then” straddling one of his thighs teasing each and every one of his button undone. Giving you access to the milky skin beneath. Nails scratching down his torso; faint red trails down his stomach.

“You really are a tease you know that”

“Would you want me any other way?”

He responded with silence.

“Thought so, you’re going to watch me get myself off” His head shot straight to your direction as you sat on the edge of the bed crossing your legs.

“Wh…”

“But you’re going to tell me how to do it” you interjected as you stood

“Dress on or off” already clasping at the zip.

“On” your eyebrow cocked in response.

“If anyone’s going to strip that dress off you it’s going to be me” You shrugged your shoulders loosely and slid yourself on the bed, holding his gaze tightly with yours.

“Shall I start here” placing your hand on the inside of your thigh

“Mmmhmm go slowly higher” you did. Depending on how desperate he was will influence how much he will tease and torture you. Generally when he’s tipsy he’ll torture you until you’re near enough crying with desperation for any contact which he normally denies you; when he’s past tipsy he’s impatient. It’s a dangerous line you love to walk.

“Tell me how wet you are for me”

So he’s way past tipsy

His eyes were raging with nothing but fire yet the way he was fidgeting told you he was struggling. And you hadn’t even done anything yet.

“How desperate are you to know?” Teasing yourself, you were so wet; and he’d hardly done anything as well as you.

“Please baby” he whined

“I need to know”

He was right

“Wet enough for you to come and fuck me right now” your words dousing the fire in his eyes with petrol

He was not expecting that.

You ran your fingers slowly through your arousal, not patient enough to have no contact but patient enough to go slow until he’d finished picking his jaw up from the floor.

“Go in slow circles baby, I love watching you get impatient”

He kept you doing slow circles for far too long. The asshole always did it, seeing you slowly build, craving anything harder and faster; he thrived on it. You’d curse and whine but when the orgasm ripped through you, all that slow build released in an instant always had you thanking him.

He said nothing; eyes fixated on only you. You’d fully laid on the bed doing as he asked.

“Yoongi” you whined, the fabric of your dress becoming uncomfortable at your heating skin.

“Mmmhmm” he replied

“Please give me more” You didn’t need more, the spring at your centre was already tightening; you  wanted nothing more.

He ignored your request and remained silent. Eyes taking everything in; how your back was arching off the bed, how your whines became longer and more breathless. He let you carry on until your legs began to quiver

“Stop!” You did but more out of surprise than actual obedience.

“I’m not giving you that baby, you know that’s mine”

           You’d never tell him but you loved how selfish he’d become; every orgasm he wanted to steal from you. He wanted each one to be caused by him. It killed him to go away and you made damn sure you teased him and drove him crazy when he was; he made damn sure he got you back when you were home.

“You’re cruel!” you panted in defeat hauling yourself off the bed. You straddled his waist the bulge in his trousers pressing against your throbbing core and rocked a few times; stealing a soft moan past your lips.

“And you’re not? He countered.

Fair point

“Tell me why I should untie you?” sucking in your bottom lip

“Because you love it when I fuck you so hard that you scream my name and I can’t do that if I’m tied to a chair can I and I’ve been good for you”

He was not wrong and he knew it.

Kissing him you went behind him and pulled at the knot releasing him. You slid the shirt of his shoulders. He left and made his way to the balcony door unclicking the lock.

What the fuck, now is not the time to get some air

“You coming?” his expression gave nothing away, looking as calm and stoic as he does when resting.

In a huff you crossed your arms pouting

“I thought you were going to fuck me? You’re making me regret untying you”

“I am…on the balcony, so get yourself out here before I drag you out” You stood their blank, your body preparing for the adrenaline you felt start to heat up. You took a few seconds of pondering the consequences of getting caught, before your body took over and went out putting its needs above your better judgement. The sea of still orange hued lights mingled with the specs of headlights moving slowly through the streets.

If you wasn’t so desperate you’d have felt the chill of the breeze lazily swaying in the air. The second your foot hit the cold stone floor you were dragged and pushed hard against the rails, his frustration apparent. Nails biting harder through your dress; hands running up the slit of your dress less than delicately. The tips of your hands tugging at the base of his hair at his neck keeping his lips harsh against yours.

“You’re so wet for me, and you didn’t let me have it” He purred into you.

“It’s all yours now” you dragged his hand through how much you needed him. Your sigh was captured in his mouth, he pressed himself against your body harder pleased with the result.

“You’re just so impatient” you teased. His hand switching and taking control of yours and near enough threw you round pressing your stomach firmly against the cold barrier; hands automatically bracing round the bar as he shoved your dress up and over your ass.

“What if someone see’s, our neighbours have balconies to you know” your voice pitching higher at the end when his hand came down harsh; stinging your behind. Part of you was too far gone to care who saw, but your rational side knew it would be an absolute media shit storm.

“They’ll only see if we take too long, and there’s no way that’s happening baby” his belt brushed against your behind unhooked and undone as he relieved himself from his trousers.

“Don’t you dare ask me if I’m ready Min Yoongi” you warned needing everything from him right now.

“Done” he obliged pulling your hips backs; perfect angle for him to thrust into you.

“You feel so fucking sweet” he panted through a heavy breath.

“Shut up and just make me cum already” you commanded, pushing back into him. You were met with a violent tug your neck was strained, hair pulled back.

“Now who’s impatient” You wordlessly responded clenching around him. His head knocked into the top of your shoulders; faltering.

“God you’re going to end me one of these days” he gurgled at your neck. Time was a non-existent factor, neither of you needed long, the anger, the passion, the alcohol saw to that.

“Tell me your close, cum for me” he panted; knowing he was not going to be able to keep going for much longer.

“Ask me again” you whined, releasing your hand from the rails and ran them up to your clit. His hips starting to buck unevenly.

“Please fucking cum for me, I want to feel you shake around me as you cum…undone” he stuttered.

You were done, crying out expletives into the brisk night whining his name.

“Jesu…”

You were both done. Adrenaline pouring out you. You’d just let one of the biggest hip hop idols fuck you on the balcony of your hotel; and you didn’t get caught.

“I take it we’ve made up fully now” you enquired in a half chuckle.

“I could never stay mad at you. I just want you to be happy, with me and within yourself. Promise me we’ll work on this”

The pair of you looked less like animals and more of a couple enjoying the ethereal skyline together. You were in his arms, gazing into his blown out eyes. Both of your chests slowing down bit by bit.

“I love it when you’re soppy; if only army knew just how much” you toyed. He nudged you from the side.

“I promise I’ll try, be patient with me” finally accepting now you was in the unit with him you needed to sort your shit out.

“Well never stop being a complete closet softie and fucking me like that and we’ll be fine” quickly coating over the seriousness with cheek and humour. Your star move.

“I better start making sure I leave my studio a bit earlier then, can’t have you going without  what your incredible ass deserves can I” he tucked your hair behind your ear, resting his forehead against yours.

“Well if I knew all it took for you to say that was me slipping some underwear to you in public I would have done it sooner. You pushed your hands against his chest. Your body fully drained of adrenaline; the pinch of the freeing air was beginning to feel harsh against your skin. He shot you a defeated smirk as you walked past heading in to the warmth of the room.

“I’m going to replace this dress with fluffy pyjama’s seeing as you can’t resist me in it”

He Followed your footsteps into the warmth.

“Baby I can’t resist you in anything, especially! your pink unicorn pyjamas”

“If your hinting for round two you can forget it, I’m exhausted” His hand pinched at your zip unlatching the metal teeth with the other hand edging round your hip.

“I thought that was a pretty good try for me” You Slipped out of the snug dress, it pooling at the floor round your ankles.  You unhooked your bra and quickly snuggled yourself in your fluffy top. A mocking wolf whistle left his lips. The daggers you shot him were broken down by your lips which couldn’t do anything but find his sarcasm amusing.

“Fuck you Yoongi” you sniped. Your bag thudding on the floor. Knowing the fake seriousness was non-existed in your pyjama top and nothing else

“Yeah?” He closed the space between you with rapid predator steps. The lack of time stole you your chance to defend yourself. You squealed as you were shoved onto the bed hands pinned above your head.

“I know you’re tired you so I just want you to lay back and let me take care of you, I do promise you’ll be even more tired after you’ve had me between your legs. I just want to hear you whine for me once more” Your eye’s shone brightly absorbing the sparkle that danced in his.

“God I love you” you breathed. His hand trickling over your chest under your top blossoming the goosebumps in a trail of where his hands had been

“But if you don’t hold me all god damn night after this I’ll…” He cut you off, the kiss was hot, hard but full of need and want with a undertone of softness he’d reserved only for you.

“If you take this off I will” He tugged at your jumper lifting it up giving him access to clamp his lips over one of your buds.

“I thought you couldn’t resist me in it?” You teased, his kisses going lower.

“Your skin against mine though feels much better”

“Fine! Now are you going to make me victim of your tongue technology or not”

“You know damn well I will”

[doctorgerth]

Broken

Written by: @thenotsofantasticlifestory

Anon: Pineapple

Theme: Broken

Characters: Kid, Killer

Fic: Angst, Cursing, Trauma

Word Count: 1550

It had been three days since their fight with Red Haired Shanks, and three days Kid had refused to leave his cabin. Under threat of violence, anyone who tried to check on him was met with cursing and flying chunks of metal. Killer was the only one who managed to go and stay in one piece. The doctor had tended to the others on the ship (those that had survived) but Killer alone went to change Kid’s bandages each day. He’d bring food, and do his work, Kid was always silent, never making eye contact and speaking only in the occasional grunt. Killer wouldn’t try to prompt him, just leave the food, take the old tray with him, and head to the doctor to change the wrappings on his own ruined arm.

Killer didn’t like this. The simple luxury with Kid was that you never had to guess what he was feeling, it was always more than apparent. He had always been open to his emotions, his anger was loud, his happiness louder, even his sadness was never held back. But seeing him now, this silent empty version of Kid, as though someone had scooped out his essence and left the hollow husk behind.

This was not the Kid he knew.

This was not the Kid he followed unquestioningly into battle. This bottled up wreck of a man that sat in his bed with a dead look in his eye, this was worse. A broken toy left alive only at the good whim of a Yonko. So, Killer kept close by at all times, waiting for the inevitable break (because he would, Killer knew that).

So, for the fourth night in a row, he stood guard outside of Kid’s cabin. The silence of the past few days at any other time would have been a welcome reprieve, but now it only raised his anxiety. A muffled curse and some shifting from inside brought him to the door, listening for a moment longer before entering.

Kid had ripped off the bandages from his shoulder, fingers scratching at the still healing mess of nerves and skin, his nails brought forward small specks of blood.

“It just doesn’t fucking stop,” he snarled.  It was the first thing Kid had actually said since the fight.

Killer took a chair by the bed, “What?”

Kid ran an angry hand through his hair, before slamming his fist against the mattress, “The fucking pain- it’s, fuck- it still feels like it’s there!”

He motioned to grip at the stump his arm but Killer wrestled the hand away, “Kid stop, you’re gonna make it worse.”

Worse.

It really couldn’t get worse than this could it? Not likely.

The itching was the worst, ‘phantom pains’ he overheard the doctor say. He’d awoken again and again in the middle of the night to that shooting, tingling pain that ran through his arm, but when he moved to scratch at it, he was met only with the gaping void of where the rest of him should have been. He should have been used to it by now, but every goddamn time he was smacked again with that reminder that he was broken, not a whole man anymore. His hand would hover over the place where flesh and bone once were, if he closed his eyes, he swore he could practically feel it, but it was never there. Not anymore.

It was the simple things that made him feel the worst, things he never thought about. Painting his nails, taking apart scrap, even changing his bandages; the most mundane activities he would perform without thought, and now needed help. Killer was always there, even with his own damaged arm in a sling, but at least he would heal. He would be whole still. And Kid hated him for that. He hated this vulnerability, having to be taken care of like a child because he simply couldn’t do those things anymore. And he knew it wasn’t fair to hate his friend for his luck, but it didn’t stop the feeling from bubbling up his throat.

But the very worst was the broken image he held of himself now. The undefeatable, powerful Captain Eustass Kid was dead and gone, buried somewhere under the heel of Red-Haired Shanks. The confidence and courage he entered every fight with was torn down with this visible reminder of how easily he could break. A constant reminder that he had been too weak when it counted and every scar unlined that point.

Killer had gathered up the old wrappings, tossing them into the waste and retrieving a fresh roll from the bedside.

“Let me wrap it up.”

Kid sneered and turned away, leaving Killer to sigh in impatience.

“Kid, come on.”

“I can do it myself,” Kid said, motioning to take the wrappings from Killer.

“No, you can’t.”

Kid continued to wrestle for the bandages, elbowing and using the rest of his bulk to assault, “Yes, I can just-“

“Kid,” Killer reached out to grab at him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” he lashed out with his good arm, sending Killer sprawling back, toppling over his chair. A yelp of pain followed by low groaning as he cradled the burned flesh of his arm. Kid felt himself go limp, eyes wide.

“Killer…” the blood drained from his face, horrified at his actions, “I-…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean-“

Killer rose wordlessly, expressionless through his mask and righted the chair, resuming his place at the bedside. Adjusting his arm back into the sling, with a few twitches of discomfort, he returned to the task of Kid’s bandages. Kid didn’t fight back this time, keeping his stare into his lap as his fist white knuckled against the sheet. Silence stretched between them as Killer finished wrapping the stump of his captain’s arm.

“I fucked up…” Kid finally said.

Killer’s head rose, searching the newly scarred face of his friend, as Kid continued, “People are dead and it’s my fault. People who expected me to be strong enough to protect them and I fucked it up…

“I- “Kid’s jaw tightens, swallowing down the unwanted emotion though his voice is thick with it, “I was too fucking stupid and I couldn’t even-…” His breathing picked up, hard and aggressive, hating how he sounded. Hating the hot prickle of tears that were blurring his vision.

“Kid,” Killer said.

Kid watched as Killer removed his helmet, fumbling with only one hand, and dropping it to the ground. His cheeks were already stained with tears and Kid felt something inside him break.

“I failed you too,” Killer choked out, chewing at his lip but not wiping at the fresh tears that trickled down, “I couldn’t save you and we promised-“he choked suddenly, the weight of memory shaking him, “we said we’d always protect each other. And I’m- I’m so sorry Kid, I- “

He’s silenced as Kid smothered him into his own body, one arm wrapping around and Killer returns the embrace. There’s discomfort and pain, between the ripped flesh and broken bones but neither loosened their grip. They’re not sure who broke first, but as soon as that shake of silent sobbing rocked one body the other followed. And they aren’t sure how long they stayed like that, locked against the other in the dead of night, but it’s what was needed, because they are broken and battered and not even whole, but they are alive. And for now, that’s enough.

Eventually Kid lets go, rubbing at his face to erase any trace of his breakdown and chuckled, “Don’t fucking apologize, you look gross.”

Killer actually chuckled too, “You started it…”

Kid took the roll of bandages nodding to the arm in the sling, “Let me help with that.”

With a bit of maneuvering, Killer got his arm out of the sling, letting Kid peel off the old bandages. Each strip exposed angry red skin, still poorly scabbing and Killer hissed at the sudden feeling of cold air on his sensitive flesh.

Kid’s nose wrinkled, “That’s disgusting.”

“Like you look any better,” Killer retorted.

That tension and stress that the two had been holding in since the fight had begun to thaw, as they banter and chat while working at rewrapping Killer’s arm. Between Kid’s remaining limb, and Killer’s unhurt one, it’s an awkward task but things are finally falling in to sync again, the well-oiled machine they’d always been.

“You know,” Killer said, “I bet you could make a pretty badass replacement arm anyway.”

Kid stopped, his eyes going wide as the sudden realization hit him, and his face stretched into a wide grin, “Yeah…I could-…yeah.”

Killer could already see the gears turning in his head a spark behind his eye; this was the Kid he knew, this crazy convoluted inventor that backed down for no one.

“Quick, give me some paper and pencils,” he puts his hand out to Killer, who’s already grabbing sheets from the desk. As if in a trance, Kid is madly scribbling down diagrams and notes and the two work late into the night. By the time the sun begins to rise, they are passed out, dozens of sheets of drawings, some more serious than others, littering the room. And it’s a small start, to fix what has been broken.

[toocool2btrue]

I Just Do..

Lance leisurely strolled to one of his favorite places in the Garrison. The corridors that are usually filled with the various staff members were now mostly empty consisting of only a few people saying goodbye to their colleagues or discussing last minute issues.

Lance shook his head at the sight of a man rapidly flipping through his file , while simultaneously discussing about the flight details on his ear peice. He felt bad, knowing that man would be still working for a few more hours. After all being part of the Defenders project wasn't easy.

A few other officers acknowledged him as he walked further along the corridor to a certain lab.

He chuckled to himself, it's been almost 10 years since he was cocky cadet here. It would be no exaggeration to say that he had gone through alot of changes but if there was one thing still constant was his need to check up on Pidge.

Over the years the reasons have changed several times but as always he was again walking around the hallways with a firm destination in his mind.

Although the amount of times he had gone seeking for her is uncountable. There was specific time, that would forever stay in his mind....

"Are you gonna keep standing there and watching me like that ?" Pidge asked, eyes not leaving the screen of her computer.

Lance jumped in surprise.

"Uh.. no" he mumbled, scratching the back of his head, He hadn't realized he had been staring.

"Sorry" he whispered, finally walking inside.

She simply shrugged in reply, ducking down in her laptop screen more. She was sitting on the floor surrounded by different wires and machine parts but as Lance made his way towards her, she cleared a bunch of parts to make a place for him.

He accepted the invitation and took a seat beside her, "So what are you working on?" he questioned.

"I am modifying the-" she explained as Lance leaned closer to inspect the codes onthe screen. The tips of her uneven hair brushed against his neck, sending a faint shiver down his back.

He glanced at Pidge. She was still looking intently at the screen, Unbothered.

"I also installed a surveillance camera for Katlenecker" she informed, her eyes still not meeting his.

She opened the tab which showed Katlenecker in her den, chewing on hay.

"No way!" Lance grinned, leaning more close.

Pidge grinned, finally looking at him, "And you thought I was a neglectful parent"

"I sincerely apologize. Your a great parent in your own tech savvy way" he teased.

"Moo!!" a sound echoed from the laptop.

"Wha-" He jumped in surprise, almost falling back on a pile of wires.

"Sorry...I forgot to tell you about the.. spea-speakers" she managed to utter, clutching her stomach tightly trying to hold back her laughter.

Lance grinned as Katlecnecker once again mooed in the background accompanied by Pidge's laughter.

After a moment Pidge finally composed herself, turning her attention back to the codes.

"I don't suppose you came to check my progress on the modification. So what's up?" she questioned.

Lance mentally facepalmed, he had completely forgotten about his original plan.

"So Pidge you are a girl.."

She faced him again with a mischievous grin gracing her face.

"Took you sometime to finally register that" she teased.

Lance gulped, this might be a bit more difficult than he anticipated.

He scratched his head, trying to peice together the words.

"What I meant to say was that you are the only other girl on this ship and I need your help" he held his breath.

The sound of typing momentarily stopped.

"Oh" she simply replied, this time her tone was missing it's cheekiness.

"I know this might not be your ideal topic for a conversation but please help me" he begged.

"What kind of help?" she finally asked.

"Thank you so much!" he grinned, opening his arms for a hug.

Pidge simply rolled her eyes at the gesture, "Lance.." she warned.

Lance pouted, dropping his arms but the pout was quickly replaced by a excited smile.

"So what do girls look in a guy other than good looks ?" he asked curiously earning a surprised look from Pidge.

"What?" she questioned.

"Come Pidgey, don't tell me you never had a crush. I won't believe it" he exclaimed.

"Probably someone very smart" he wondered

His eyes perked up as she muttered something inaudible to herself.

"Your going off topic and I am losing my patience" she reminded turning her attention back to her computer.

"Sorry" he nodded getting up.

"So what should I do to make Allura like me?"

"Do you think she likes the serious leader type. I could probably stop joking around and focus on my sharp shooting skills."

"Lance.." Pidge called.

"Although sword fighting looks more impressive and heroic but no way I am gonna ask Keith for help" he decided, pacing around the room.

"Lance..." she tried to interrupt again but to no success.

"Maybe I should ask Shiro for some pointers, also maybe his workout schedule too. Do you think I should learn to cook some traditional Altean food?"

Pidge watched as her friend paced around the room talking to himself. She finally decided that it was time to take action, abandoning her work she walked towards the unsuspecting boy.

She grabbed both of his shoulders tightly and gave him a firm shake.

"Lance!! Listen to me" she demanded, looking furiously at him and for a second he thought it was his end.

Fortunately her demeanor relaxed and her grip loosened on him.

She sighed, testing the sentences in her mind before speaking.

"Look.." she started in a softer tone.

"You want my advice right?" she asked.

He simply nodded, noticing the lack of space between them. His face hovered right above hers,in turn she looked at him with thoughtful eyes as if there was a complex equation written on his forehead.

"Just be yourself" she simply stated, the distance between them increased as she finally moved, walking towards her equipment.

"I know it sounds cliche but it's true. You don't need to be a leader, learn how to sword fight or cook Altean food to make Allura like you. Just be yourself and when the right time comes..." she whispered.

"She will love you for who you are" she added with a small smile.

"Really?" Lance asked, his heart filling with joy to which Pidge simply nodded.

She turned her attention back to working onthe machine, she promised Hunk to complete.

"Although you might want to tone down the flirting. It's annoying" she commented to which he chuckled.

"Aye aye ma'am" he gave a mock salute.

"So are you gonna let me work now?" she asked.

"Thanks again for the pep talk " he grinned.

"No problem. See you later"

As Lance turned towards the door to leave, one last question made him pause.

"Hey Pidge" he called out again, he was now facing her back.

"Hmm?" she asked, still not facing him. For some reason he felt easier asking the question that way.

"Do you really think someone could like me for...me?" he held his breath.

There was a short pause.

"Of course" she reassured but he there was still a doubt creeping in his mind.

"How do you know?" he wondered.

Pidge sighed to herself , grateful for the fact Lance couldn't see her face.

"I just do..." she whispered

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

Lance smiled softly at the memory. It still surprised him that how blind he had been at that time, the one he was searching for had always been beside him.

He counted himself one of the luckiest people alive, despite unknowingly hurting Katie Holt in the past.

He still got a chance to hold her hand.

His pace quickened seeing the familiar lab in sight, he quickly typed the password and was greeted by one of his favorite sights.

Guess somethings never, despite all the changes Katie Holt had gone through herself. She still couldn't help herself from overworking, of course being the head of The Defenders Operation didn't help either.

He carefully made his way towards her, Katie Holt was fast asleep surrounded four empty mugs of coffee. The desk was covered with different designs of the ships, she had been earlier working on with Matt.

Lance quickly packed her things and although didn't have the heart to lightly shook his fiancee.

She shifted slightly but still didn't wake up.

"Katie.." he whispered but she still didn't budge.

"Pidge!" he called, shaking her a bit more.

"What is it?" she grumbled in her sleep.

"Time to go home. Enough work for today" he chuckled.

"Just leave me inthe lab" she replied still not opening her eyes.

"You know.." Lance grinned leaning closer.

"Your mom is still here and I could just call her" he suggested.

He grinned in satisfaction as Katie Holt immediately opened her eyes.

"I am awake" she stated, grumpily getting up.

"I hate you" she stated, still half asleep.

Lance wrapped his arm around her small frame and then kissed her the forehead.

"Love you too" he whispered as she leaned closer to him.

"I am sleepy" she complained.

"We need to get dinner first. You didn't have lunch either" he informed.

"How do you know that?" she asked yawning.

He simply grinned, "I just do.."

----------

Hope you liked it!

Please Reblog if you enjoyed the story.

[zecretsanta]

Regarding the Events of the Past

To: @erisofimladris​ From: @akane-crashkey​

I chose this because I really enjoy the Junepei ship and angst, but for the longest time, I genuinely struggled to find an idea that would work. I ended up rewriting my submission several times with different ideas. And then something happened to me that lead to me getting this idea. While this story isn’t the greatest or realistic, it’s true to my emotions.

JunePei angst, tw for alcoholism, emetophobia

Even though he hated the taste, he couldn’t stop himself from downing the entire 550ml bottle of vodka. The memories had been too much for him to bear. He had seen people engage in human organ trafficking like they were kids trading candy at a playground and to make things worse, Akane wasn’t here. She was away on a mission for crash-keys.

Normally, when things got this bad, Akane would be there for him, listening to him as he cried over what he’d seen; the suffering. He would rest his head on her shoulder and she would stroke his hair, all without judging him. Somehow, this always made him feel better.

Now that she was gone, Junpei’s emotions were out of control and the memories kept getting worse and worse until he couldn’t take it. He had told his therapist about these memories (Akane had signed him up for therapy against his wishes about six months ago) and his therapist had told him about focusing on something else to help the thoughts go away.

In Junpei’s case, he would focus on Akane and their shared childhood memories and bonds. With time, the memories would erase themselves from his mind and Junpei wouldn’t have to focus on them anymore.

Without Akane here, that wasn’t the case. The memories kept on getting worse and worse which was why he turned to alcohol. He had driven over to the liquor store to buy a medium-sized bottle of vodka.

After an hour, he had finished the entire bottle and its effects began to take place. The memories became less profound the more time that went on, and by the time he had finished the whole bottle, they were completely gone.

What replaced those memories were slightly less pleasant effects. Instead of the intrusive thoughts in his mind, he kept hearing an annoying buzzing sound that reverberated all the way throughout his skull. That lead to a constant feeling of nausea that hit his stomach. When he stumbled to the toilet to throw up, he kept tripping over his own feet. When that happened, all he could think about was how angry Akane would be if he managed to puke on the ground.

He laid over the toilet bowl for a while, wondering if there would be anything else that his body would force him to vomit up. Thankfully, there wasn’t, and he rested his head on the toilet lid, panting, as he flushed. After that, he washed his hands.

But hey, at least the memories are gone, Junpei thought to himself as the dizziness got too much to bear and he closed his eyes in an attempt to make it all go away. Eventually, unconsciousness overtook him and he passed out, hitting his head on the bathroom counter as he collapsed onto the ground.

====

When Junpei woke up again, he was surrounded by an annoyingly bright light, beeping, and an excruciating pain pounding in his skull. It took two seconds for him to realize that he was in the hospital. What happened to me? Junpei thought to himself, looking around for some semblance of familiarity.

His eyes latched onto Akane’s. Her eyes were red-rimmed and tear-filled, as though she had been crying for a while. This created confusion for Junpei. She was supposed to be on a Crash-Keys mission for the next three days. So why was she here? And why was he in the hospital in the first place.

“Junpei, why?” Akane asked, holding onto Junpei’s right hand. While he hadn’t realized it until now, there was an IV line placed into his left hand. “Why what?” Junpei croaked.

“Why did you do that to yourself?” Akane asked, bursting into more tears. She grabbed a tissue out of her sweater’s pocket and blotted her eyes with it. Suddenly, he remembered that he had drunk an entire bottle of

Vodka but he didn’t remember anything else after that.

Junpei then felt the memories, the ones of human trafficking, the ones where he investigated a child trafficking operation and the pain he had seen in their eyes. He remembered seeing Guy X, and how he had initially thought how disgusting it was as opposed to the fact that it had been an actual human once. He tightly grasps Akane’s hand as tears form. He faces the memories from other timelines, holding Akane as she slowly dies. Watching Snake die in an incinerator. Slowly getting poisoned and watching Akane struggling to breathe because Carlos failed to pick the right locker.

“To make them go away,” Junpei whispers, holding back a sigh. “It was too much to bear.” He ignores the searing pain in his head (which seemed to be getting worse by the minute) and looks at Akane with his tear-filled eyes.

“If it weren’t for our ESPER connection, you would have died, Junpei. You sent out a message through the morphogenetic field that you weren’t feeling well. I tried texting you and contacting you back but there was no response so I called the paramedics and they found you in the bathroom, choking on your vomit as you had a seizure. You could have died Junpei!”

The other shoe fell and Akane began crying, “I was so worried about you! I had to take a plane home and leave the rest of the mission to Aoi and Light, who had to join in at the last moment. You scared me so much and when I found out you were in the hospital, I felt so bad that I wasn’t there for you. Especially because I know you needed me.”

Akane blotted her eyes with the tissue, “You were in a coma for a few days because you hit your head on the counter when you fell and your brain began to swell. They thought you were going to need surgery and you’re so lucky that you didn’t.”

“Kanny, I’m so sorry,” Junpei apologized, trying not to cry because seeing his fiance so upset was making him upset as well. He now understood why his head hurt so much and why he had a line running into his hand. “I really am…” he whispered, tears slowly trickling down his face.

“No, I’m sorry,” Akane apologized, squeezing her fiance’s hand harder. “I should have been there for you. If it weren’t for that mission, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Junpei looked at Akane with tears in his eyes. He blinked them away and focused on her eyes. He couldn’t let the memories overwhelm him, not now. “So, has anyone else been here to visit?” Junpei asked in an attempt to change the subject.

“Well, this so happens to be the hospital that Diana works at so whenever she has free time, she pops in here. Aoi and Light came back from the mission yesterday, so they stopped by for a bit when they got back, however they left rather early because they were tired. Sigma has been here whenever Diana’s been off work and Phi’s been here frequently as well,” Akane replied, giving Junpei a shaky smile.

“When am I getting out?” Junpei asked.

“Well you were in a coma for three days and they brought you out of it today; that’s why you’re not hooked up to all of the machines that one would expect you to be. Diana said you could probably be released in about a week or so. You did have some awful brain swelling,” Akane said.

Almost as if she heard her name or something, Diana popped into the room, her red hair tied up into a ponytail. She was wearing blue-green scrubs that so happened to have a small picture of a cartoon character on the right side of her chest. “Junpei, you’re awake,” she said.

“I guess,” Junpei said, scratching his head awkwardly.

====

“So, aren’t you glad you get out today?” Akane asked her fiance. In the week that he had been in the hospital, he had been put on a new dosage of antidepressant medication as well as Paxel to help control his Post-traumatic-stress-disorder.

“I guess,” Junpei says. While the time he had spent in the hospital had involved a lot of boredom, he had been under close monitoring due to suffering a brain injury. Thankfully, his condition never worsened and he was free to leave today.

On his bedside table, he had a vase of flowers, along with some cards, and a singular balloon. Aoi had given him a repurposed birthday card that said, “Getting a get well soon card is like a reward for not dying.” While Akane didn’t really like that very much, Junpei found it hilarious and couldn’t stop laughing when he saw it for the first time.

“We’re leaving this card in the trash,” Akane said, gesturing to his card from Aoi. Junpei shot his girlfriend a disappointed look. “I want to keep it,” he said, placing the card in the suitcase that Akane had brought for him.

“Fine, do whatever you want,” Akane said, rolling her eyes at Junpei. “Just so you know, you’re not allowed to put that atrocious card on our bedside table.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Junpei said with a huge grin on his face. He wasn’t initially planning on doing it but now that Akane mentioned it, he planned on it. She wouldn’t be able to stop it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Akane giggled, “If I see it out there, it’s either going to be going in the trash or you’re sleeping on the couch for a week,” she joked.

Junpei continued sorting through the things in his hospital room. While he had done most of the packing last night, he had a few things left to sort out. He generally preferred a cleaner environment and his own hospital room was proof of that. Even though Junpei had stayed at the hospital for around a week, the only proof that he had stayed there was the gifts on his bedside table.

Akane’s face twists into a less playful expression and one that meant seriousness. “Junpei, if things ever get that bad again, you need to tell me. I don’t care if I’m not there, I will find someone there for you. But I don’t want to go through this ever again, okay?” Akane says, gripping onto Junpei’s left hand. The IV in it had been removed a few days ago as Junpei was no longer in need of intravenous medications.

“I promise,” Junpei said, kissing Akane on the cheek.

“Now what do you say to getting burgers when we’re out of here?” Akane asks, her face returning to the prior playful expression.

“I’m down for that. I’m sick of this gross hospital food anyways.”

[aswithasunbeam]

hamilton spending his birthday in bed with eliza and the kids doting on him would make the cutest lil story!

I felt suddenly inspired to write this! Hope you enjoy!!

Of Sprained Ankles and Ice Cream

[Read on AO3]

Rated: Teen and Up

Summary: Alexander spends his 40th birthday trapped in bed with a badly sprained ankle. Thanks to his loving wife and family, however, the day turns out far better than expected.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Eliza demanded.

Alexander gave her a guilty glance over his shoulder as he continued to wrestle unsteadily with the stuck bedroom window, his bandaged right foot hovering an inch off the floor. “It’s stuffy in here,” he said. “I wanted some fresh air.”

“And you couldn’t wait two minutes for me to come back? Doctor Charlton just said you should stay off your feet as much as possible.”

He shrugged, then pulled at the window with renewed force. “Can you help me? I can’t quite get the leverage I need.”

She shook her head as she moved across the bedroom to assist him. Ever since Robert Troup had brought him home from the fire patrol with a badly turned ankle from a spill on the icy streets, it was all she could do to keep him still. She’d get him settled with his medicine, some tea, and a book, his leg comfortably propped up on just the right number of pillows, only for him to leap back up insisting he needed a different book, paper, any excuse not to stay in place.

The constant up and down wasn’t doing him any favors. His ankle was still horribly swollen and black and blue beneath the tightly wound bandages. He’d been in such pain that morning—pale, sweating, and sick from the constant, throbbing ache—she’d worried he’d truly broken a bone in his fall. When Doctor Charlton had finally arrived an hour ago, his face had fixed in a frown as he’d tried to ascertain that the bone was still firm. It was, he’d decided at last, but he recommended ice and bed rest until the swelling reduced.

Eliza unstuck the window with little effort, and the cold, crisp January air rushed into the room.  “There now. Come on,” she said, ducking under his air to brace him. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He hopped the few steps back to the bed with her assistance and sat with a sigh. A rueful smile tugged at his lips when he met her eye. “This isn’t how I imagined I’d be spending my fortieth birthday.”

“I know, honey.” It wasn’t what she’d imagined either. All her plans for a grand party had been pushed aside the moment Troup had practically carried her husband through the door last week. “We’ll do something special when you’re better, I promise. For now, you need to rest and heal.”

“I don’t want to rest. I’m bored,” he complained, even as he laid back. She plumped the pillows at the foot of the bed and slowly guided his injured leg back into place. He hissed with pain when her fingers brushed against his bandage.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wincing with sympathy. “Do you want some ice? Or some more brandy?”

“Ice is what got me into this mess. And I can’t have any more brandy without eating something.”

“I’ll bring the stew back up for you, then.” He’d refused it earlier, too nauseated from the pain to have any appetite.

“I’m not hungry.” He flipped the blankets back over his lap with a frustrated huff. She could feel his mood shifting again as it often had over the past week, the pain and boredom combining to leave him supremely grouchy.

Turning to the bedside table, she poured the brandy in the glass decanter out into a small glass and handed it over to him. “Drink. You’ll feel better.”

“I can’t keep drinking brandy on an empty stomach. Are you trying to get me drunk?”

She snapped fingers. “Darn. You figured it out.”

That made him laugh, at least, some of the foul humor easing from his expression. He took a sip and replaced the glass on the table. His hand ran over the spine of the book he’d been reading, and he frowned. “I want something else, I think. Something more cheerful. Maybe Swift?”

He made to rise again, but she caught him by the shoulders. “Stay.”

“But Betsey—”

“No. You’re never going to heal if you keep putting weight on that foot. I’ll get you a different book, and anything else you need for the next few days.”

“I hate this,” he said, real melancholy leaching back into his voice.

“I know,” she consoled him. She couldn’t stand to see him so gloomy on his birthday, but she had little idea how to cheer him up.

“I feel like a prisoner.”  

The comparison sparked a sudden idea. Smiling, she pulled away from him and went to the door. Rather than go to fetch his book, though, she shut the door with a soft snap and turned back to him. His brow wrinkled with confusion.

“A prisoner, you say?” she asked, a hint of flirtation entering her voice as she climbed up next to him.  

A smile curled over his face as she leaned close, her lips ghosting over his neck. His hands settled on her hips. “Mm-hm.”

“Well, then, this won’t do.”

After a long, leisurely kiss, she brought her hands down to his and slowly pushed his arms up over his head to rest against the headboard. She held them in place with her right hand and reached for the tie to the bed curtains with her left, looping the fabric loosely around his wrists.

“Eliza?” He laughed with surprised delight, his head craning to look at the makeshift manacles. “What are you doing?”

“That’s better.” She sat back on her haunches with a grin. “You should have the full prisoner experience so long as you’re being held here.”

“I think this technically kidnapping.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Oh. Are you going to press charges, counsellor?”

He laughed again, beaming as he tilted his head, considering. “Being held captive by my beautiful wife? I honestly can’t think of anything better. Please never let me go.”

“Never,” she agreed, leaning over to kiss him again.

He wriggled his wrists from the loose binding and brought his hands down, one going back to her hip while the knuckles of the other caressed her cheek. She rolled on top of him, kissing him with more purpose, all thought of his injury gone from her mind as she pressed closer to him. Her leg moved as she adjusted over him, bumping against the pillows at the foot of the bed and eliciting a sharp yelp of pain from her husband.

“Ow. Damn it.”

“Sorry,” she said, rolling hastily off of him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, bending forward to adjust the pillows propping up his foot and glowering at his injured limb. He looked up at her regretfully and repeated, “I hate this.”

She rubbed a hand over his tense shoulders, the amorous intent of moments before now gone. “I wish there was more I could do to help you.”

“You’ve been nothing but wonderful,” he countered.

She nuzzled her nose against his neck affectionately before shifting her legs off the bed to stand. “I’ll bring you your book and some ice. Will you at least try to eat something?”

He nodded. “I’ll try.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and headed downstairs towards the kitchen.

Their maid looked up from the ice cream machine when Eliza entered. For all the other surprises she’d had to table due to his injury, this one at least he could still enjoy. Smiling at the young woman, Eliza asked, “How’s the ice cream coming along?”

“Almost ready, ma’am,” Mary answered. “Is Mr. Hamilton feeling any better?”

“He’ll be all right,” Eliza said. She placed the small stew pot back over the fire. “I’m going to heat up some stew for him. He needs some food in his belly so he can take something to manage his pain. Bring the ice cream whenever it’s ready, though. That’ll cheer him up more than anything.”

Mary smiled. “I will, ma’am.”

While the stew heated, Eliza stepped out the back door and scooped up some snow to make a cold pack. Shivering, she hurried back inside, prepared a tray, and peeked at the pot to find the stew bubbling merrily. She scooped it into a bowl and carried the tray back upstairs.

“It’s cold in here, Papa,” she heard Johnny complaining as she approached the bedroom.

“Well, get under the covers,” Alexander urged. “Quick, quick!”

She entered the room in time to see her five year old burrowing under the blankets. Alexander looked over at her, utterly amused. “Careful of Papa’s leg,” she said.

“I am, Mama,” Johnny assured her, lowering the blankets enough for her to see his eyes.

“You’re right that it’s too cold in here, though.” The room was beyond chilly with the window still open. Placing the tray on the side table, she moved around the bed to close it. “That’s better.”

Alexander had pulled the tray onto his lap. “I suppose.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cold pack?” she offered, picking up the snow filled pack and holding it up for his inspection.

He nodded, mouth full of stew. For all he’d refused food throughout the day, he was eating with enthusiasm now. His pain must have eased finally. Carefully placing the pack over his ankle, she patted his knee tenderly.

“Feeling a little better, sweetheart?”

“I am,” he said, holding a hand up to cover his mouth. “Thank you for the stew. It’s delicious.”

She sat on the other side of Johnny, dropping a kiss to the boy’s curly, dark hair. Her little boy wrinkled his nose until she tickled him under the armpit. He pealed with laughter, wriggling away towards his father for protection. Alexander chuckled as he wrapped an arm around their youngest, drawing him close. Johnny cuddled up against him adoringly.

Almost as soon as Alexander had finished eating the stew, Mary came up with the ice cream in a small bowl. Alexander’s eyes lit up at the sight of the treat, just as Eliza knew they would. He’d always had a sweet tooth, generally, and he especially loved vanilla ice cream.

“Ice cream!” Johnny exclaimed, bouncing with excitement. The excited call drew her other children from their rooms, Philip, Angelica, Alex, and Jamie all standing hopefully in the doorway.

“Come in, come in,” Alexander invited. They all scurried in, settling around him on the bed, huddling close against the chill of the room. Angelica cuddled against his other side while Pip and Alex sat cross legged at the foot of the bed. Jamie, always eager as his father for sweets, sat as close as he could to the ice cream bowl. Glancing at Mary, Alexander added, “I think we’re going to need a bigger bowl, and some more spoons.”

“I’ll bring them, sir,” Mary said.

He let Johnny and Jamie have the first taste, then took the spoon back to take a big bite. “Mm-mm. There’s nothing better than vanilla ice cream.”

“On a cold January day,” Eliza added, shaking her head.

“Exactly.”

Over the noisy chatter of their little ones, she said softly, “Happy birthday, my love."

He grinned as Jamie stole the spoon away from him again. His eyes scanned over his children all gathered around him before he looked at her, love and gratitude shining in their depths. With absolute sincerity, he replied, “I think it’s one of the best I’ve ever had.”  

[hollandbaby]

honey whiskey - shawn mendes

a/n: first fic i’ve written in a while. sorry I’m a little rusty. uh this is like 4.9k words which is the longest thing i’ve ever written? also there’ll be a part two!! i never thought i’d be much of a series writer but, hey, i guess uni has changed me

warnings: swearing, sexual references, some sexual harassment language

The run up to Christmas means that bars are getting a lot busier; people meeting up for business before they get too busy with family priorities, friends meeting up for drinks and planning gift giving, even some couples just wanting a nice night out before they’re completely flooded with responsibilities to buy presents for the ‘obnoxious mother’ or ‘uptight uncle’. That’s how you find yourself now; pouring shots, pulling pints, swept off your feet as the bar fills up with people. Your manager, John, is helping you along with your coworkers, it’s truly all hands on deck in this situation.

“Fucking hell, I wish people would choose somewhere else to go for christmas cocktails,” your colleague Katie says to you as she stands beside you, shaking a cocktail shaker as you pour some Jäger bombs. You laugh at her attitude, wishing the exact same thing. You’ve been working since 3PM and your bar doesn’t close til 1, meaning you won’t be home til about 2AM.

“You and me both, but nowhere else has absolutely delicious Christmas cocktails,” you laugh, sending her a wink.

“Ugh! It’s so annoying though, I hate this time of year,” she sighs, pouring the cocktail into a glass. You put the shots onto a tray, laughing as you walk over to the front of the bar.

“You’re such a Scrooge, Katie.” You laugh, walking past her to continue serving your customers. You feel overwhelmed with the amount of people who are at the bar in comparison to the people who are behind it - there’s only 4 of you. That is, until John comes round the front of the bar with a guy you don’t know, but recognise. He’s wearing a denim jacket, some black jeans and black boots and god he’s tall, and so handsome. His silky curls are messy on his head, his jawline is sharp and his smile may be the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. His cheeks are rosy, possibly from the cold weather outside.

“Everybody, this is Shawn,” John shouts to you all, trying to be heard over the commotion that is the customers and music. “He’s gonna be helping us out this evening!” A chorus of ‘hey’s and ‘hello’s follow John’s statement, he and Shawn immediately get to work as you continue your own work

“Shawn is so fucking hot,” Katie says as she comes over to you, taking a bottle of beer out of the fridge and popping the cap open. You laugh at her, “I’m serious, dude! Look at him!”

“Yeah, Katie, I’m not blind. But I don’t think Sam would be too happy about you drooling over someone else,” you nudge her.

“Oh she won’t care! She trusts and loves me. Besides, I was thinking more for you,” she chuckles, lowering her voice as she notices Shawn approaching your end of the bar, retrieving a bottle of beer from the fridge. He flashes you both a smile, saying a small ‘hey’ as he does so. Katie laughs at your reaction, you mumble a quick and squeaky ‘hello’ before turning to continue serving your customers. You can’t help but cringe at yourself, you’re not usually so baffled by attractive men but Shawn is so different.

As the night goes on, people start getting more drunk, and making requests. You have a laptop behind the bar controlling the music, and it isn’t until Lost In Japan begins playing over the speakers that you finally realise why you recognise Shawn. He’s in the corner with John, pouring shots and laughing along with him, John teasing him for the amount of girls dancing around and throwing themselves over the bar. “Katie!” You yell to her, trying to get her attention even though she’s pulling some pints for customers. You rush over to her, temporarily forgetting the gin and tonic that you’re pouring and telling her; “Katie, this is Shawn’s song!” She looks at you and laughs, looking behind you to see Shawn bopping along to the music.

“Holy shit! I thought I recognised him, but I didn’t realise that was him. Sam is gonna freak when I tell her!” She shouts excitedly, almost spilling the pint she was pouring. You laugh with her, before she turns to you and says “you should seriously go talk to him, babe.” You laugh even harder, saying “yeah, right, as if he’d ever talk to me!” Before returning to your almost forgotten drink.

Throughout the night, you catch a lot of glimpses at Shawn. You almost always catch him smiling, and his smile is so infectious, you find yourself smiling as you shake your head and attempt to concentrate on what you’re doing. You go over to a customer with the card machine, asking for them to insert their card and enter their pin. However, the card is declined, leaving you with the unfortunate task of telling them that their card has been declined and to try again. After 3 attempts, her card is still being temperamental, and you can see she’s getting angry.

“I’m really sorry, ma’am, but your card is still being declined. Do you have any cash or another card, perhaps?”

“No, I don’t have another card or any cash. Can you just try it again?” She snaps at you, clearly annoyed and drunk.

“I’m sorry, I’ve tried your card 4 times now and it’s still being declined.” You say politely, even though your heart is beating in your chest and you feel like crying. The next thing you know, Shawn is beside you, gracing you with his warmth and your breath hitches in your throat.

“Hey, honey, is there a problem? John asked me to come see what’s up,” his hand subconsciously resting on your back gently.

“Oh, uh, this lady’s card keeps being declined-“

“I told her to try again, but she’s being useless. Shawn, would you be able to help?” Her finger twirls a strand of hair and she pushes her cleavage up, clearly flirting with him. You don’t blame her, he is gorgeous. But your focus was on how she called you ‘useless’.

“Y/N isn’t useless at all. In fact, she’s doing an amazing job considering how busy it is in here. I think you should apologise.” He says, making heat rush to your face. You’re flattered that he’d even notice you’re working hard.

“Well, I’m sorry. For snapping about my card. Uh, I’ll contact my bank and see what the problem is. Forget the drinks for now, thanks.” She says before walking away almost bashfully. You turn to him, and see he’s already smiling down at you.

“Thank you, for helping me out,” you say, your attention on Shawn now. You notice that John and Katie are both serving the last two people waiting, so your undivided attention goes to Shawn.

“No problem, she was a bitch anyway,” he laughs and god it’s a beautiful laugh.

“You should see what it’s like when someone gets really angry at me. It can be a lot worse than how she acted.” You chuckle, trying to laugh off the situation.

“It’s not fair that you get treated so badly,” he says, smile replaces with a look of concern for you. You grab a cloth and some spray, wiping down the counter before taking some of the glasses through to the glass wash. Shawn follows you, grabbing some glasses from off the counter. He helps you load the tray, the close proximity meaning you can smell his cologne; a musky smell which is so enticing. “So, what’s it like working here constantly?” He asks, as he passes you some more dirty glasses to put in the wash.

“You really wanna know? It’s uh, hard at times. There are always drunk people who can either be overly nice or overly ... disgusting.” You let out a breathy laugh, it’s insincere and Shawn can tell.

“Disgusting how?” He knows what you’re talking about. He’s never been to a bar or club where the pretty girl behind the bar isn’t hit on, or talked about extremely sexually. It infuriated him.

“Disgusting like ‘let me see your tits’, and that’s not even the worst of it.” You feel shy telling him this, for some reason. You’d met the dude a couple hours ago when he offered to help - which Katie pointed out was ‘super generous of him’ and winked at you - but you felt so comfortable around him already.

“God, that-that’s fuckin’ horrible, I’m sorry people are like that, honey.” He hates it, hates that he can’t help you, hates that he can’t protect you from disgusting people.

“Anyway, how’s your career? I hear you play music sometimes?” You chuckle, lightening the mood. Shawn could talk for hours about his music, it’s the only constant in his life. He’s fulfilling his dream, he’s got a lot of love and support behind him and god he could talk for hours.

“Yeah, I sing occasionally. I’m not that good though.” He laughs along with you, and he loves your laugh.

“Shut up! You know you’re good, Mendes.” And it’s true. He knows he has talent, he knows he puts a lot of work into his music, he works so hard for it, and he knows he’s good. But when you tell him he’s good, he can’t help but smile and he can’t help the rush of blood that covers his cheeks, making them rosy. He’s just glad the lights are dim enough out in the back that you haven’t noticed he’s blushing. Before he can respond, Katie comes out the back telling you they’re about to call last orders.

“Jesus, is it already 1 already? Fuck,” you run a hand through your hair, tying it up before preparing yourself to go back out behind the bar to serve the last rush of people for the evening.

“God, time flies when you’re having fun, eh?” Shawn says, a hand running nervously through his own curls. He doesn’t want the night to end, he’d only just started talking to you and he didn’t want to ever stop.

“Wow, you sounded so Canadian then,” you chuckle, before serving a customer. He smiles at you, but you don’t see.

As the atmosphere dies down, with people slowly making their way out of the bar and heading home, you and Katie clean the bar whilst John and Shawn scoot the last remaining people out. It proves difficult for Shawn as a lot of the girls want pictures, and he’s just too damn nice to say no. You can’t help but smile at how kind he is, stopping to take a photo with everyone even though he’s clearly ready to go home and they’re all clearly drunk. “So, how is lover boy?” Katie asks as she takes the nozzles off of the pint levers, ready to clean them.

“Katie,” you whine, annoyed that she keeps insinuating you and Shawn are already dating. “You know he could probably get anyone he wanted, why the fuck would he want to date me?”

“Dude you’re hot as shit for a start, and second, that shit doesn’t matter. He likes you, I can tell,” she continues scrubbing the bar as you unload some clean glasses from the tray. You bite the inside of your cheek, contemplating what she’s saying. Does she really think he likes you? How do you go up to him and ask him out without looking like an idiot if you’re rejected? You weren’t usually so bashful or shy about talking to attractive people, but Shawn truly is something else. You look up, before turning to move the tray out into the back, and catch Shawn’s hazel eyes. He looks so pretty under the light, his jacket long forgotten after the rush of business, his crimson shirt unbuttoned more than before, creating a slightly disheveled look. But, fuck, he looks hot. He catches your eye, giving you a dazzling smile before he has to take another picture with someone. You send him a small wave before going out into the back, loading trays of dirty glasses into the wash. John returns behind the bar with Shawn, announcing that he’d offered to help close down and clear up, but John had to get home due to his early morning start. “Alright, buddy, you’re in perfectly capable hands here. Call me if you guys need anything, thank you all for your help tonight!”

“So, what can I do to help?” Shawn asks, leaning on the bar. You can see his broad chest, his rosy cheeks and his hands. His curly hair is slightly sweaty, and you can’t help the dirty thoughts running through your mind.

“You could sweep the floor for us, please?” You ask, and Shawn smiles at you, nodding his head as you go to retrieve the dustpan and broom. “We usually sweep and mop the floor behind the bar last as it’s always dirtier.” You send him a small smile, and as you pass him the broom your hands gently scrapes against his, and you feel so cliché and stupid for the rush of electricity shooting up your arm, causing goosebumps to form and the hair to stand up. Shawn smiles at you again, and you wonder if he realises how he’s affecting you. Katie waltzes over to you, box of beer from out the back to put in the fridges, chanting a quiet ‘y/n likes Shawn’ causing you to turn and gently slap the back of her head.

“‘The fuck was that for?” She laughs, knowing damn well she’s winding you the hell up.

“You gotta be quiet, man, he could fuckin’ hear you. Besides, I barely know the guy-“

“Which is exactly why you should get his number! Start texting, then ask to meet up for a coffee or something!” She interrupts, squatting down to stock the fridge. You pass her a few beers at a time, saving her from getting up and squatting back down every so often.

“Between studying and working, I don’t have time for a date!” You laugh, trying to convince yourself that you don’t need a date with Shawn. But, truth be told, you’d really like one.

“That’s bullshit! You don’t have any time for one coffee date? Babe, you have lectures for 4 hours, tops, and then you’re free for the evening!” She’s right. You know she is, and that’s why you stand, biting the inside of your cheek and contemplating whether to get his number or not. You look over to him, and see that he’s dancing along to the music which is now playing softly over the speakers as he sweeps the floor. He’s singing quietly to himself and it’s so endearing and sweet that you might explode. You just cannot get over how sweet he is, he came to the bar with the intention to hang out and have fun, yet he gave that up to help you out and now he’s helping you close? Oh, yeah. You’re fucked.

“Katie, I’m fucked.”

“What?” She laughs, confused. She finished her sentence a good 2 minutes ago, not realising you were contemplating this entire time. “You mean, you wanna get fucked?”

“God, you’re so gross,” you laugh along with her, helping her to her feet. Shawn comes back behind the bar, emptying the contents of the dustpan into the bin before turning to you both, clapping his hands together and asking what’s next. You can’t help but smile at him, he’s just so fucking sweet and hot and he can sing and play guitar? He’s a triple threat.

“Actually, we need some stuff from the cellar, y/n was just about to go but it’s quite a bit, would you mind helping her?” Katie says, smirking to herself. It’s subtle, but doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Yeah, ‘course I’ll go with.” And there’s that damn smile again.

“Great! I’ll mop up the floor while you’re doing that and then I think we’ll be good to go!” Katie smiles, such a cheeky smile as she turns to hand you the list of things you need to bring up. You shoot her daggers before leading Shawn down to the cellar.

“God, it’s freezing down here,” is the first thing he says when he steps into the cellar; “are you not cold?”

You let out a laugh, something you’ve found yourself doing a lot tonight. “I’m kinda used to it by now. It has to be cold for all the draft pipelines, and a lot of the stock too.” You and Shawn grab the things you need; a few wines, beers, ciders and spirits. The whole time you’re down there, you and Shawn are laughing and chatting. The conversation flows so easily between you, he asks about your studies and where you’re from, and you ask about his music which he unfortunately didn’t get round to talking about earlier. When he starts talking about it, his face lights up like a kid on Christmas. And that makes your heart beat real fast, a swarm of butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“Sorry, I’m talking too much, huh?” Shawn says, a hand moving to scratch the back of his neck as his face flushes a rosy pink.

“No, no no! Not at all! It’s great that you’re so passionate about your job! Wish I could say the same but I’m kind of stuck here,” you laugh, nudging him gently with your shoulder. Shawn looks at you and laughs with you, his eyes crinkling as he does. You can’t help but feel a little vulnerable; sharing your thoughts and life stories with someone you’d only met a few hours ago, let alone Shawn Mendes. “Gotta pay the uni fees somehow.”

He shakes his head as he smiles at you, the cold air in the cellar turning his face pink again. You grab everything and head upstairs, and Shawn is impressed by your strength; watching you balance a few cases of ciders on top of a box of wines which is stacked up on top of a box of prosecco, all whilst walking up the stairs is highly impressive to him. He’s so enticed by you already and he’s only known you for a couple of hours. But he also feels like he’s known you forever. You reach the top, holding the door open for Shawn as he passes through, saying a small ‘thank you’. You follow him behind the bar, putting your boxes down onto the countertop before opening them to top up the fridges. Shawn gives you a hand, you kneeling on the floor as he passes the stock down to you to put in the fridge. You see Katie out of the corner of your eye and she’s still smirking to herself, she’ll probably make a joke later about how you were ‘on your knees for him’, which will earn her another smack and a ‘shut up’ from you.

“How’re you getting home tonight?” Shawn asks, as he passes you the last bottle of Corona. God, could he get any sweeter?

“I was gonna walk, actually, I only live about 5 minutes away,” you say, getting up to your feet and taking the cardboard boxes out the back to the cardboard bin.

“You were gonna walk? By yourself? At 2AM?” He sounds confused, almost upset, that you’d walk home that time of night.

“Yeah, I do it every week, it’s no biggie,” you laugh, emptying the rubbish bin, replacing the liner with a new one. Shawn looks at you, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. There’s no way he’d let you walk home alone, probably not even in broad daylight.

“What about Katie? Does she never drop you home?” He asks, concerned. He’s a caring person normally, but damn he seems to care more about you than he has about anyone else in such a short amount of time.

“Katie’s girlfriend comes to pick her up and she goes a completely different way to me. Honestly, I don’t mind walking home it’s quite nice,” you shrug, but he’s not having it. Katie has offered to take you home before, but you didn’t want to be out of the way. Sometimes she demands it, other times she gives up against your stubbornness and just lets you be, telling you to text her as soon as you’re in the door safely. You never fail to let her know you’re home, and she never fails to tell you she is too and that she’s about to do some nasty shit with her girlfriend. They’re very in love.

“Okay, then I’ll walk home with you,” he suggests, taking the bin from your hand. Your hands touch again and, god, you hate that schoolgirl feeling you get. But you really like him, his hands are so large and so warm and you wonder how they’d feel holding your own, or running along you-

“Earth to y/n?” Shawn chuckles, noticing the slight flush of your cheeks.

“Sorry, um, you don’t have to walk me home, Shawn, it’s fine, really-“

“Nonsense, I’m not letting you leave this bar without me.” He smiles his perfect smile again, and you melt into a puddle.

“I mean, if you don’t mind? It’s not far, uh, how far do you have to go to get home?” You ask, hoping he’s not going out of his way for you.

“Not far, don’t worry honey,” he chuckles again, taking the bin outside to the large general waste bin. Katie takes this opportunity to come back behind the bar, walking over to you and wiggling her eyebrows.

“He’s walking you home, huh?”

“Oh, shut up, Katie it’s not like that,” you say, but your stomach is turning and you can’t help but smile a little.

“It’s absolutely like that. You should get his number when he drops you home!” She nudges you, causing you to drop the sanitizer spray you were holding.

“Katie! God, you’re so annoying sometimes,” you whine, but you don’t mean it. Katie knows that, and she knows that she’s right. Deep down, you know it too. “We still need to sweep and mop behind the bar but you’re in my way.”

“Well, I’m sorry, boss,” she jokes, moving to in front of the bar and leaning in the counter, on her phone.

“Texting Sam?” You ask, moving along the floor with the mop, scrubbing the floor until it’s squeaky clean.

“Yeah, she’s on her way now. And, by the way, I want a long text from you, either tonight or tomorrow morning, with every juicy detail about Mr Mendes and your night,” she wiggles her eyebrows at you, but you roll your eyes at her. Even if you wanted something to happen, you wouldn’t after only knowing him for a few hours. Would you?

“I doubt anything’ll even happen, Kate,” you move to put the mop and bucket in the back, emptying the bucket and cleaning it out. When you move back out, Shawn has returned, his cheeks and nose a little red from the cold, and he has his jacket back on. But his shirt is stil unbuttoned, and you can still see some of his broad chest and god you just about die right then.

“Is that everything? Sam’s outside,” Katie asks, putting her own jacket on.

“Yeah, that’s everything. Do you have the keys? I’ll lock up,” you ask, Katie taking the keys out of her jacket pocket and chucking them to you, which you catch perfectly. You let out a chuckle as you move round to the front of the bar, turning off the lights in the process. You give Katie a hug goodbye, telling her to tell Sam you say hey and to text you when you home. She tells you to text her too, and then winks at you to which you roll your eyes. You notice Shawn is stood by the door, on his phone.

“Sorry we took so long to clean up,” you begin, but Shawn shakes his head and smiles at you.

“It’s okay, honey, you’re doing your job,” god you love when he calls you that. You smile back at him, putting your leather jacket on before turning off the final light, Shawn opening the door for you and following you outside. You lock the door, checking it about 3 times before you’re satisfied. “Can’t have anyone breaking in and stealing all the booze.” Shawn jokes, flashing yet another gorgeous smile at you.

You laugh at his joke, replying with a “yeah, that’s my job!” Before heading home. The walk home is lovely; the cool air is nice in comparison to the overly heated, busy bar. You notice Shawn is quite close to you, possibly for body heat, but you’re not complaining. It’s nice to have him close, you feel safer.

“Do you drive?” He asks, wondering why you’d walk home every night if you had a car.

“Yeah, I do. I have a car too, I just don’t want to use it when there’s a more environmentally friendly option of walking just 5 minutes down the road from my home.”

“That makes sense. But, it still scares me that you’d walk home by yourself at 2AM.” He says, genuine concern laced in his voice. You smile at this, biting your lip. It’s so cute how caring he is. “I have a little sister, she’s only 15 so she doesn’t go out but I won’t want her walking home by herself in the dark when she’s older.” He seems kind of sheepish when he admits this, but you find it lovely. This is the first he’s spoken about his sister all night, but you can tell how protective he is of her and how much he loves her.

“Must be pretty cool for her having you as a big brother,” you say, voice sounding a lot louder than it actually is due to the lack of surrounding sounds. You’re starting to feel the cold, even though you’re only a few minutes away from your home. You notice you’re walking a lot slower than usual, because you want to spend more time with Shawn.

“I think she’d say otherwise,” he laughs again, his shoulders shaking with his laughter. You look up at him and smile, you can’t seem to stop smiling around him. God, it’s all so cliché and cheesy but he’s just one of those people; his smile lights up a room and his laughter is so contagious you physically can’t help yourself.

“So she doesn’t think you’re the cool, famous big brother?” You nudge him with your shoulder, smiling up at him. The wind is blowing your hair all over the place and you can’t tame it, but Shawn thinks you look gorgeous. The street lamps are dim, but nice; accentuating your facial features but casting a shadow.

“Nah. She loves me, but I think she thinks I’m pretty lame and overprotective. Which is true,” you round the corner and see your apartment building, causing you to pout a little. You’ve enjoyed spending time alone with Shawn, even if it was for a mere 5 minutes.

“So, uh, this is me. Thank you for walking me home,” you say, as you retrieve your keys from your pocket, “do you have much further to walk?”

“No, I’m about 15 minutes that way,” he points behind you.

“Do you want me to call a cab for you? lt’s the least I could do considering you walked me home safely,” you offer, pulling your phone out of your back pocket to check the time.

“No, thank you, honey. I’ll be fine,” he smiles yet again, and your heart beats a hundred miles a minute, yet again. The way he calls you honey is so sweet and smooth; exactly like honey itself. “Have a good night, y/n.”

“Wait, Shawn, would you wanna get a coffee sometime?” Your heart is beating out of your chest, your palms are sweating and you can’t control your breathing; this is a first for you. You’re not usually so nervous around boys, but Shawn is so different. And, god, when he smiles, you just about die.

His cheeks flush, again, and he says “yeah, I’d like that. Gimme your phone and I’ll put my number in, drop me a text when you’re free, students seem to be really busy these days.” And there you go again, letting out a breathy laugh alongside him. You unlock your phone, going to contacts and handing it to him. He puts in his number and gives his phone back to you, telling you to text him when you’re inside. “Okay, Mr Protective, I didn’t realise I’d have my own personal bodyguard,” you chuckle before telling him, more seriously, “text me when you’re home okay, please.”

He smiles at you, putting his now cold hands in his jean pockets before saying, “promise. Goodnight, y/n.” And flashing you one more dazzling smile. You smile back saying a soft, “night, Shawn,” before heading into your building, stupid smile plastered on your face as you text Katie ‘im home safe, and i got shawn’s number’. with a response of ‘omfg are u serious?! get that D bb yessss’

You get into your flat, immediately putting your pyjamas on and making yourself a cup of tea to warm you up. You sit in bed, texting Katie, telling her about Shawn and everything you enjoy about being in his company, when you get a text from the man himself. Your face lights up, his text saying ‘honey i’m home :)’. You chuckle again, responding with a ‘good, i was worried my bodyguard was gonna get hurt’ and a ‘thank you again for walking me home’, to which Shawn replies ‘lol i’d be a bad bodyguard if i got hurt myself ;)’ ‘anytime, can’t wait for that coffee date :)’ and you fell asleep with a giddy feeling in your stomach; a sickly feeling of happiness.