#i keep waiting for the exhaustion of the last several months to catch up to me

[cheeezball]

actually maybe i do way too much for a single person to handle

[suguann]

✎. you've been on the run for a while. you knew someone would come eventually—but not him.

tags. fem!reader, old west era, bounty hunter simon, size difference, size kink, implied the reader's husband is a terrible human, accidental voyeurism, period-typical sexism, masturbation [18+ only]

masterlist

You’ve been running for months, first from your husband (the phantom grip of his hand still sending an ache through your wrist) and now as a wanted conwoman for stealing the clothes from an unsuspecting cowpoke who thought he was getting lucky. You can only imagine what Mama would say about trading your ruffled skirts for grass-stained trousers and boiled-leather suspenders.

(It’s unbecoming of a respectable woman, dear. Uncouth.)

She’d probably have a lot to say if she knew everything you’ve done to survive.

You hop from one place to the next only by the mere chance someone was willing to let a helpless woman accompany them on their travels. Nearly a month has passed since being stranded in a dusty old mining town after a man and his wife dump you off and leave you behind. Washoe’s a little gritty and not welcoming unless there’s money to spend.

It’s not exactly safe, not unsafe, either, but nobody asks questions as long as you keep your head down and play the part of a mourning widow just passing through.

You know you’ve overextended your stay when you can’t leave your room during the day without worrying about a noose and the open end of a barrel meeting you outside. 

(That your husband or that gun-waving cowpoke finally found you.)

Sleep practically clings to you like a second skin, but you don’t dare close your eyes—you can’t.

This is how you end up sitting in the corner of the saloon, using the last of whatever you have in your change purse to order something strong, something your husband kept locked away, and anything else he thought women shouldn’t have a part in. 

You don’t even realize that your eyelids begin to feel heavy, steadily blurring out the flickering lantern on the wall while you wait for your drink. 

You catch yourself once or twice before your head can hit the table, rapidly blinking away the exhaustion before your eyes slide to the swinging doors.

You should stay awake. 

You need to stay awake just a little bit longer—

Your luck runs out that day. 

It’s one thing to know it’d happen eventually, and something else to realize that you make it easy for him—the man with an infamous name and a faded black bandana covering half his face—how he walked into the saloon and scooped you up (all unladylike sleepy dead weight) out of the weathered booth without a fight.

When you’d woken up to find yourself trussed up and thrown over the back of his horse, you cursed him out with every word you could think of that would make Mama clutch her skirts. Your captor ignored you, only talking to you whenever he warned you he was about to set up camp. 

“Did my husband send you?” Acknowledging him after all this time tasted like pennies on your tongue.

The man, Simon Riley, had leaned back against his bedroll and tipped the brim of his hat over his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

That was several weeks ago. 

Now, you find yourself stranded in another state that’s more green and vibrant than anything you’re familiar with, stuck with a man who refuses to answer the questions you throw at him. He doesn’t talk outside a few cursory words you greedily latch onto. Anything’s better than silence and the sound of hooves hitting earth. 

The pace he keeps you at is exhausting. You complain about it enough until he moves you in front of him, tying your hands to the saddle's horn.

“I would strongly advise you to shut that mouth for the rest of the ride unless you want me to do something about that, too.” The low growl of his voice in your ear makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up, muddling your brain.

You’re distantly aware you had something to say to that, but you don’t. 

And that is really saying something.

It’s because there’s someone he needs to meet in town—an errand that lawbreakers who run their mouths aren’t allowed to go on.

This is how you end up sitting in camp alone, twirling around a knife he gave you solely for emergencies. 

(Surprise, sharp and quick through your middle, when he tosses his pocket knife into the grass beside you. “What’s to stop me from leaving?”

You could’ve sworn he rolled his eyes. “Will you?”

It doesn’t seem worth dignifying with a reply. You don’t want to travel alone, and there’s a high possibility of getting lost, finding yourself saddled up with worse company than the one you’re stuck with.

Until he evidently catches you again.)

He’s a lot nicer than you first gave him credit for—if only by a fraction—not that you know much about Simon other than what you overheard from gossip circles before you became Mrs. Thornton. Afternoons spent sipping tea laden with honey and lounging around a table full of cakes in the sun parlor while wealthy women talked behind their lace-covered hands to hide secret smiles you were too naive to understand. 

Trying not to stare at the bulge of his arms with thin pink scars—unlike the men you’re used to who got through life with a silver spoon hanging from their mouth—as he places his saddle back on his horse, you think you finally know what they smiled about.

You learn those scars also litter his torso from the time you accidentally walked upon him mid-way through putting his trousers on after washing in the river. It’d been too dark for you to see much else, and you quickly returned to camp before he could say something that would embarrass you both. 

Then, of course, tucked away into your bedroll, you can’t help wondering what the rest of him would have looked like if you had stayed a second longer. 

If his jaw is sharp or soft behind that mask he insists on wearing—that’s if he’d let you see at all. 

Simon’s always so serious that it’s often hard to determine whether he’s merely tolerating your existence until he can get rid of you or if he’s unused to traveling accompanied for so long. It’s not as if he goes out of his way to make pleasant conversation with you for you to assume otherwise.

You look off in the direction where he disappeared into the dense line of trees hours ago, wondering if you should go out looking for him (mainly because you’re hot and sticky from the humidity) despite his order to stay put. 

But after four hours turns into five, you head off, searching for something to help cool you off.

Luckily, unlike the heavily eroded lands you’re used to, there isn’t any water shortage in a place that sees rain three times a day, so it doesn’t take long to find a lake. You set your knife down on the stone-covered beach, followed by your boots, until you’re left in nothing but your undergarments. 

The water is icy cold and laps gently at your feet when you step in. You can’t find it in you to complain as the heat from the day slowly washes away the further you walk in and find a wide ledge to sit on. 

Your thoughts drift back to Simon, incessant and intruding even though you shouldn’t be thinking about him while wet and naked. And suddenly, you can picture it: his hands replacing yours as they trace along your neck. You have a feeling they’re probably rough and scarred from years of living hard and gunslinging, extracting the readily available knowledge that they’re big enough to encase your waist.

He could maneuver you around however he wants (you know this), and you feel dizzy just thinking about it.

Sighing, you sink deeper into the water while your hands smooth over the tips of your breasts and down your stomach. 

You wish you could see him without violating whatever personal preservations hide him from the rest of the world. Instead, you’re left with your imagination—the benefits of being a married woman and the little experience you have in the bedroom finally coming into play. 

Closing your eyes, you picture what he might look like under those sun-weathered leathers, knowing that the broadness of his shoulders isn’t only due to his vest and holsters but also from how his job has shaped him.

Your hands travel lower, fingers brushing through the creamy, soft wetness between your legs, evidence of what Simon does to you even when he’s not around. A moan, too high and breathy, slips past your lips as you use your middle finger to circle your clit in slow, clumsy swirls from lack of practice and patience that spreads warmth through your middle despite the cold water. 

It’s good, your fingers discovering places your husband always ignored—too many nights spent with your hand under your nightgown long after he’d tucked his cock away and gone to sleep—but probably don’t compare to the ones you’ve caught yourself staring at far too many times. 

They don’t fill you nearly enough, unlike how you know Simon’s would—thick and unrelenting. Rough and long, reaching deep enough to make you breathless.

Your breath hitches from pinching the tight, sensitive peak of your nipple until you feel a slight sting, and then it slips out, a tiny thing that’s only audible to your ears—Simon—a secret you now share with the lightning bugs and crickets.

“Dirty, no good rotten—” he’d tell you for thinking such lewd thoughts about him, for sinning so easily. Maybe you are, for getting so worked up over a man who isn’t your husband (no matter how terrible a husband he may be).

A man who’s so big that he makes you feel small, the type that gives before he takes. It’s enough to make you work your hand faster—your body vibrating from the chill of the water and the ache between your trembling thighs.  

Fantasies aren’t enough to sate the deep longing in your chest. Yet you’re slipping over the edge of ecstasy before taking your next breath—all of it builds up and gradually crests inside you like the lake rippling against the shore.

Afterward, it leaves you feeling soft and blurred around the edges, a watercolor painting drying under the sun while you wait for your rapid heartbeat to slow.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen shut until they flutter open, and you’re startled to find Simon standing at the shoreline, his chest heaving as if he ran here. 

(Though he probably did to see if you took the opportunity to leave.)

You’re glued to your spot on the rock, suddenly struck with the mortifying realization that he’d seen you come—that he possibly heard you cry out his name so intimately.

You watch him remove his hat and hang it on a branch with wide eyes. Followed by his undershirt, guns, and—

He keeps removing clothes until he’s completely naked on the shore—aside from his face that stays hidden—scars marred his chest, spreading to his collarbones and below the water as he steps into the lake and sits on another ledge across from you.

His mask makes him look more menacing, erasing any trace of softness there. And you wonder if he’s angry at you for wandering off.

"Come here." His voice is low and deep, rumbling in his chest.

You don't think he'd hurt you. If he wanted to, he would have done it by now.

At least, that’s what you’re going with to settle the nervous fluttering in your middle.

Water laps at your arms as you wade through the water, each shaky step bringing you closer until you stop before him.

"In my lap."

Your breath sticks in your throat as you do as he says, settling down onto his sturdy thighs, palms falling flat against his broad chest. That same breath comes out in one large exhale as his fingers slide along your jaw, to the nape of your neck, curling into your hair, wet and falling around your shoulders.

“Like this?” you ask, trying to ignore how breathy you sound.

He grunts, apparently in confirmation.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so conflicted in your life—fear and arousal turning into a messy cocktail in your veins.

“Why do I always have to use a heavy hand to make you listen?”

Your lips part. Breath growing short. “I’m sorry.”

And then—

Simon pulls your head back sharply, exposing your throat.

Your body goes slack against his. Mind blissfully blank.

“No,” he says, tone flat. “But you will be.”

[logaenhowlett]

IF ONLY YOU KNEW PART TWO - L.H.

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of everything that occurred last night, Logan decides it's time to stop running from his desires. [Set during Logan (2017)]

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Themes of grief and death, Language

A/N: Thank you so much for the love on part one! Didn't expect it to blow up that much. Good news is, it gave me the motivation to write more, so I have lots of ideas for Logan fics!

PART ONE

Over two hundred years, Death had become all too familiar for Logan. A foe that kept barreling in his direction, but always fizzled out before it reached him, instead striking those he cherished the most. When he was younger, he used to revel in feeling of being indestructible, immortal even. That faded away rather quickly once he realised what a curse it was, a cruel joke he grew tired of. Alas, the universe continued laughing.

He thought he could avoid all the unnecessary pain and misery by severing all ties to humanity, retreating to the ends of the world all by his lonesome. But not even the strongest soldier could resist the craving for connection for that long. When Charles had offered a place in his sanctuary, he refused at first, wondering why the universe always seemed to work against him. 

Eventually, the need to distance himself from everything and everyone became smaller. Charles had given him a home, a family, a sense of belonging and after a while, you. Logan was not one for retrospection, but he often recollects how drastically his life had changed once he’d accepted the responsibility of being an X-Man. How he’d gained a new purpose. He owed everything to Charles Xavier.

The shovel in his hand gets heavier by the second. He stops digging for a moment, sensing a whole lot of anger, sorrow and desperation waiting to burst out of him. He knew the end was near for Charles, ever since the incident the old man was barely hanging on. There were times when he wished Charles would just let go, just stop fighting against his mind and body, for his own sake. But that didn’t make his death hurt any less.

His own exhaustion was catching up to him too, having spent the last few days - hell, the last few months - putting everyone else before himself. He hasn’t been able to rest despite all your efforts.

As the last of the dirt falls onto the grave, Logan staggers backwards, his shoulders knock into the tree. He slides against the trunk a little as his knees begin to loosen under his weight, unsure whether it’ll be the adamantium poisoning or heartache that’ll get him first.

Laura’s sniffling snaps his attention, he watches as she curls into your embrace, nothing you were saying stops the tears from escaping. He can see you’re trying to keep your composure for the little girl, but he knows you’re just inches away from completely breaking down. Charles was the father you’d chosen, he had saved your life just as he’d done for countless others, brought you into his arms and gave you something to live and fight for. He knows you’re as defeated as he is right now. Despite every cell in his body aching to comfort you, he understands you need the time and space to grieve in your own way.

After moments of silence, the three of you return to the car. There wasn’t a lot of time left for Laura to find her friends and cross the border to get to freedom. Logan uses that to ground himself to reality, helping her would be a way to honour Charles, for everything he had done and represented. He vows that he’ll grant her wishes, even if it’s the last thing he’ll do. He owes that to Laura, to Charles and to you.

The stars twinkle miles above, painting the night sky with their luminous hue. Logan pulls into the roadside near a lake, deciding it’s in the best interest of everyone to rest tonight. He steps out the car, scouting for a decent place to start a fire. Laura silently accompanies him to gather wood, her eyes follow you as you wander towards the lake, away from the two of them.

Logan senses her need rush to your side, he shakes his head slightly, understanding her distress, “She’ll be okay, kid.” It comes out a little hoarse, having been the first words he’d spoken all day.

All the smoking he’d done in the last two centuries comes in handy, he uses his lighter to spark flames, tending to it before it settles into a calm fire. He runs his hand down his face, his mind has been in overdrive for too long and all he wants is for one moment of quiet. Where he can surrender, stop trying to survive and just live.

“Why are you hiding?” Laura asks him, holding her hands toward the flame.

“What?”

She turns her head to find you in the distance sitting down on the grass with your feet in the water, “From her.”

Logan follows her line of sight, “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, kid.” 

“You want to die. Charles told me.”

He scoffs, the name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, “What else did he tell you?”

“To not let you.” She stands, finally meeting his eyes. “Tell her. If you want to be happy.” She doesn’t stick around for his response, instead making her way back to the car to sleep.

Her words strike a chord in him, he huffs lightly, ducking his head into his chest. What the hell did she know? Happiness wasn’t something he envisioned for himself. No, that often came in the form of alcohol or stupid cage fights. He never let himself indulge in anything else, having learned his lessons from what seems like a lifetime ago. 

The leaves crunching under your footsteps draws his attention, you sit down an arm's length away, prodding the fire with a stick. He doesn’t know how to address the giant elephant hanging in between the two of you. Last night, when you’d asked the question, the answer was right there on the tip of his tongue. So easy and so simple. But he withdrew, in such a cowardly manner too, deflecting as if he doesn’t ache for you with each passing day.

“He taught me how to play chess.”

He studies you for a brief moment, the tear tracks on your face shine against the orange hue of the fire.

“We used to sit every day, in the garden, I’d run straight to him after classes were done.” You continue, a fond smile on your face, “I was convinced he was cheating, you know? I never beat him.”

Your resolve crumbles and sadness washes over you once again, “And I never will.”

It dawns on him too, the finality of what had happened last night. He almost laughs at the thought of Charles, beloved by so many, resting in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. The universe is a cynical motherfucker.

If anything, he hopes the man felt proud in his last moments, happy for all he’d achieved in his lifetime. Logan wishes he could be even half the person his mentor was. He always berated him to reach out to those around him. To you. That joy was but a breath away from his grasp, all he needed to do is let you in. He must’ve sensed how well the two of you would get along, how you needed each other’s presence as a pillar of support.

“Why did you keep coming back?”

The question renders him a little speechless. Memories flash across his mind - Rogue, Bobby, Storm, but mostly, you. The two of you had always tiptoed around each other when it came to feelings, at times getting enough courage to finally say something, but never following through.

You stand up, thinking he’s absolutely not in the mood to talk. You don’t blame him either. That’s the thing between you two - there was always some silent understanding of the other.

“You.”

It leaves him so quietly, he’s not sure if you heard him. He’s already looking at you when you turn around, something in your eyes he’s never noticed before. Tell her. If you want to be happy. There’s no reason to hide anymore.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first,” He starts slowly, “You kept… creeping into my life and I… I couldn’t stay away.” A smile, a genuine smile, appears on his face, one that hadn’t graced him in a long while.

“I’ve been around for a long time - more than I should’ve.” He continues, his eyes never leaving yours, “I always… felt like I didn’t deserve to survive. It shouldn’t be me, standing here instead of someone else. But you, being around you… made me want to try.” A weight forms in his throat, he swallows it down, “Try to live not just for you - but for me too. I can never thank you enough for that. For sticking with me, for trusting me, for letting me… love you.”

You close the distance, gently resting your hand against his cheek. He leans into your touch almost instantly, even that simple gesture is enough for him. But you don't end there.

"Logan... I love you too."

He thinks his heart stops, your admission knocks the wind out of him. The old man was right, everything he'd wanted was right in front of him. He leans into you, tilting your chin upwards and kisses you with a burning passion. All the pain he'd suffered sinks to the back of his mind, nothing but a shadow compared to what he's feeling at the moment. When you pull back, doe-eyed and out of breath, he realises this is it. You're it.

In the distance, he catches a smile form on Laura's face, her eyes still shut as she pretends to sleep.

And we're done! It was always going to be a happy ending.

[lowkeychenle]

Late Nights [LMH]

Description: Mark's busy schedule only gives him time to come over late at night, but it's safe to say neither of you are complaining by the time you fall asleep.

Genre: Fluff/Smut (Shower sex for the win, but anyway, unedited and maybe not my best work but I just wrote this today in the last hour haha sorry in advance)

Content Warnings: Explicit unprotected sex (don't do this LOL)

Word Count: 1,801

Pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

Juliet's Masterlist

It’s well past midnight by the time the door to your apartment opens. After several months of making your relationship official, you’re used to this—to Mark coming to see you late at night because that’s when he finally gets out of practice.

He always tells you not to wait up for him, but you do anyway.

The sight of his silhouette in your peripheral vision has you turning in his direction. He runs his fingers through his freshly-dyed blond hair, a sigh escaping his lips as he walks toward you. Sitting on the edge of your bed, he gives you the slightest hint of a smile, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You’re awake.”

“You say that like sleeping without you is easy.” You reach over and intertwine your fingers. “How was practice?”

“It was alright,” he says. “Something was wrong with me today, I think. I couldn’t get any of the moves down.”

“How dare you have an off day, Mark Lee?” You narrow your eyes playfully at him, and he chuckles.

“Donghyuck is gonna kick my ass if I keep ditching him for you.” Mark rubs his thumb along your palm. “You’re much more fun than he is.”

“I think you could take him.” You sit up, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

“I was gonna hop in the shower real quick. Care to join me?” He quirks an eyebrow at you, and immediately, you know you’re putty in his hands. You nod, allowing him to pull you toward the bathroom. He flicks the light on, shrouding you both in fluorescent lighting.

Flinching at the sudden change, he lets out a tiny groan. You take a moment to appreciate him, the way his messy hair still somehow looks effortless on the top of his head, the too-large T-shirt nearly swallowing him whole. Two braids rest on either side of his face. They must’ve filmed something today if they styled him like this. You love it, though. It suits him well.

You help him take them out, starting the water. After months, he has yet to figure out how to work your shower. You’re sure, in reality, that he just wants you to do it for him. He’d never admit it out loud.

As soon as the shower’s ready, his hands are already sliding beneath your shirt. He moves sluggishly, as if his practice took a lot out of him today. Instead of teasing him about it, you allow him to remove your clothes before working on his own. Although, you’re not entirely sure getting clean is his goal when you two step beneath the steaming stream of water. Your back is pressed against chilled tile before you have the chance to register the drastic change in temperature.

He grips your waist, dropping his head on your shoulder. Pressing a kiss there, he takes a deep breath. You rest your head back on the wall, allowing him to do whatever it is he wants. It’s late, and you’re exhausted, but, unfortunately, this is really the only alone time you and Mark are allowed together.

In the morning, he’ll be gone by eight.

“Are you tired?” he whispers, fingertips tracing along the curve of your ass.

You grasp his hair, gently tugging him back so you can look into his eyes. Shaking your head, you lean forward and brace yourself for the electricity that comes with his touch. “Never too tired for you.”

Just as you suspect, his lips send a shiver down your spine. Your breath catches in your throat when you feel him beginning to harden against your stomach. Without another thought, you deepen the kiss, whimpering when his tongue enters your mouth.

“You’ll be the death of me one day, you know that?” he mutters, gathering your hands in his and pinning them above your head. “I missed you today.”

“Only today?” you tease him.

“Every second of every day,” he responds, touch dancing from your hip and dipping dangerously close to where you need him.

You’re already squirming, pushing yourself toward him in a feeble attempt to spur him forward. He slides one finger along your entrance.

“You’re always so ready for me.” His voice rumbles through your skin, sending another bout of warmth between your legs.

Knowing he’s about to give in, you close your eyes, rest your head against the tile, and widen your stance to allow him better access. Two of his fingers slide in with ease, and the sound that leaves your mouth echoes off the walls.

“I love you,” he whispers. “You look so beautiful like this.”

As much as you’re dying to touch him, his grip on your wrists is firm. You don’t want to test him tonight, not when he’s looking at you like you’re everything he’s ever wished for. He keeps a steady pace, eyes analyzing your face.

“I wish I could be inside you like this all the time.” He sets his forehead against yours, the deep brown of his eyes whirling with all the emotions he doesn’t get to show to you during the day.

“Need more,” you say, rolling your hips to aid his pace.

“Are you sure you’re ready for me?” he asks, thumb brushing your clit.

Your body jolts in response, craving him in every way possible.

“You don’t want to finish like this first?”

You shake your head. “Mark.”

He hums in response, gently removing his fingers from you. His gaze catches yours as he slides them between his lips instead, a low moan emanating as he sucks your arousal from them.

“God, you taste good.”

You don’t have to say another word. He releases your wrists and grips your waist instead, hoisting you upward. You latch your legs around his waist and your hands tangle in his hair. He slams his lips against yours, your mouths melding together in a harmony you’ve only ever been able to accomplish with him.

The kiss is messy, teeth clashing despite somewhat slower movements. He reaches down to grab his cock, sliding it along your entrance. A whine escapes you, but he swallows it with ease. Steam wafts around the two of you, the water mostly hitting Mark’s back. If he wasn’t pressed so closely to you, you’d be shivering.

“Are you sure?” He dips down to kiss your neck, tongue leaving a trail of saliva along your thundering pulse.

“Positive.”

He shifts a bit before you feel his tip. Your breath catches in your throat as he slowly slides in, stretching you to your limit just like he did every other time. Arching your back, you dig your nails into his shoulders. 

Your name tumbles from his lips, and his eyes roll back before he clenches them shut. Without wasting a moment, he starts moving, breathing ragged as he takes you slowly. His eyebrows furrow. You can’t help the moans leaving you every time he sheathes himself inside completely.

Both of you are usually partial to dirty talking, but today, he seems to just want to relish in the feeling and sounds he pulls from you.

He hits a spot inside of you that has you calling out louder and holding on tighter than before. Tonight, he grunts with each thrust, occasionally allowing your name to mingle with the steam.

His cock feels heavenly inside of you, rubbing and sliding against your walls as if he were made just for you. The slow pace drives you crazy, near making you beg for me. Like he can read your mind, his hand trails between the two of you and rubs circles on your clit.

The bubble in the pit of your stomach starts to tighten, and you try to stop yourself from getting lost in the pleasure. Everything about his movements is precise. He does it the way he knows you like it, having learned your body and what gets you off since you began dating.

The second you catch the dark, lustful look in his eyes, the bubble bursts. You swear your vision blurs as your hips slam toward his. Unintentionally, you scratch down his biceps to ground yourself, leaving angry red marks in your wake.

His thrusts pick up as he chases his high. Once his breathing picks up, you know he’s only moments away from following your lead. You kiss him, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip and tugging it.

His voice cracks mid-whine as he presses himself as deep as he can get. He curses, spilling inside you. You remain in this position for a moment, both of you breathing heavily as he showers your face and shoulders with kisses.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he groans.

“Says you.” You let out a breathless laugh, tracing the marks on his arms. “I guess it’ll be long sleeves for you this week.”

“Worth it.” He grins and pulls out of you. Setting you back on your feet, he pulls you underneath the stream of water. “I guess we should actually shower now, huh?”

The rest of it is spent with you helping him wash, and you even spend a little bit of time massaging his shoulders. He stares at you lovingly, head tilted with a slight smile playing on his lips.

“You’re everything, you know that?”

You raise your eyebrows. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I do. You didn’t have to stay up and wait for me. Hell, you didn’t even have to let me come over tonight. My schedule sucks, and I’m sorry about that, but I can’t help but love the way you’re okay with adapting to it.” He plants a kiss on your forehead. “No matter what you think, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You allow his words to sink in. They said a bout of heat to your cheeks, surely turning you red. He intertwines your fingers together.

“I’m keeping you up,” Mark murmurs. “Let’s get out and go to bed.”

He kisses you one last time before turning the water off and grabbing a towel for you. As soon as you’re dry, neither of you bother to put clothes on. He climbs into your bed with you. Like it’s a reflex, he pulls you to his chest and kisses the top of your head.

Sure, you didn’t have to let him come over and you definitely didn’t have to stay up waiting for him, but these moments with him are your favorite. They’re the ones you will always remember, even when his schedule starts to slow down and he’s free to spend more of his time with you.

He falls asleep with your head on his chest, his heart thumping steadily and soft snores escaping him. You smile, realizing you’d never trade these late nights for anything.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Same as it ever was 11

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: I'm just tryna get through the week.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The waiting room is excruciating. You find yourself standing more than you sit. Both are torture. Your concern mounts with your discomfort and the more you think of Hansen’s response. He’s a demanding asshole, he told you several times he takes what he wants, but today, he let you go. Even he could see something was seriously wrong.

Funny how you never dread the doctor so much when you’re there for Simone or Malik, but for yourself, it makes your insides knot. You can’t even think of the last time you made an appointment for yourself. That’s probably not good either.

As the doctor examines you and goes over your symptoms, you wince and struggle not to keel over. He’s patient and gentle, treatment you’re unused to. That stray realisation is even grimmer as it sticks in your head.

“Hmm, I’m going to be optimistic and say it’s a bruised tailbone,” he explains, “we can send you for imaging to check for a fracture but it wouldn’t likely be possible today. I’ll call the lab with a request, just to make sure.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” you lean on the examination table, “so what does that mean? Painkillers? Stretches?”

“Rest,” he points at you with his gold pen, “avoid sitting. You want to keep pressure off the tailbone. Lay on your stomach when you sleep.” He tucks his pen in his coat pocket and goes to the cabinet in the corner by the sink, “you’ll want to keep this handy.” He opens the door and slips out a box, “it’ll help.”

As he gives you the box, you consider the image of the donut cushion on the front. The inflatable seat is stuffed into the tight package. You’re not unfamiliar with it.

“Apply ice. Every twenty minutes for the next two days, then two to three times a day should work,” he takes his pen out and his little pad, writing as he talks. “Make your husband do some of the chores.”

You cringe. You nod as you accept his advice. You were just about to argue; you have two kids and a job.

“I’m writing you a note. You’re not working for a week at least. I’ll fax a letter that should be acceptable for the time-off,” he rips off the top page and hands it over.

“Thank you,” you utter again as you look at his chicken scratch. “What is this?”

“Something for the pain and something for your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure?”

“Your readings are elevated. It could be stress, it could be anything. Right now, I want you to keep track. Measure it and write it down. Come back in a month so we can go over the numbers.”

“Is it that bad?”

“At your age, it’s not entirely unusual,” he assures you, “better we catch it before it’s too serious. You get headaches? Feel tired?”

“Well, I have kids, I’m always tired and yes, they give me headaches sometimes,” you shrug.

“How often do the headaches come?”

“I don’t know, sometimes two or three times a week.”

“Do you have a history of migraines?”

“Not since college,” you answer.

“Ah,” he nods. “Take the pills, icy your tailbone, and stay in bed.”

“Doctor,” you go to argue.

“If it isn’t already a break, you’ll make it one,” he girds, “the lab will call you about your imaging appointment.”

You swallow down his orders. They’re much easier to follow than Hansen’s. And surely better for you. You thank him once more and leave the room, stopping by the counter to give your work address and get your imaging paperwork.

As you get to the car, you unpack the cushion and use the little pump to inflate it. You drop it on the seat and get in. It still hurts like a bitch but not intolerable. You sit behind the wheel and stare. 

You could cry as you go over the appointment. Is it that obvious that you don’t take care of yourself? That you don’t have time? The doctor saw right through you and that brings it all flooding in. You’re barely holding it all together, you’re not sure how much longer you can.

You make yourself start the car and pull out of the lot. You go down to the pharmacy and turn in the script, wandering the aisles as you wait for it to be filled. You take out your phone to check the time. A missed call from Pete and another from Hansen. You don’t have the energy for either of them. Once you have your meds, you have to get the kids.

You claim your prescriptions and start your race against time. Waiting to see the doctor alone took up the bulk of your day. Now you have to get through the rest.

You nearly speed up to the curb of the school, at the tail end of the pick-up as the clock ticks on. You roll around as you see Simone and Malik waiting with Mrs. Guinness. You roll down the window and wave, thanking her loudly as the kids rush to the car.

You get out to strap Malik into his seat as Simone grips her book in her lap but doesn’t open it. You’re breathing loudly as the pain coils around your spine. You muffle it and give her a smile as she watches you. Her eyes dart to the front seat.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Good,” you say as you snap the buckles together.

“What’s that for?” She points to the cushion.

“The seat’s uncomfortable,” you grunt and push yourself out of the back door. 

You shut the door and get in the front. You settle in, clicking in your own belt and fix your mirror. Simone is smart, too smart. She’s quiet as you shift into drive.

“Mommy, mommy! We played a game today–”

“Shh,” Simone interjects, silencing her brother, “mom,” she utter tenuously, “are you pregnant?”

You nearly scoff as you grip the wheel tight. You laugh and shake your head. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well…” she lets her thoughts hang in the air before she speaks to them, “you and dad have been… arguing and you have that cushion.”

“Trust me, I’m too old,” you shake your head, “don’t worry, you won’t be having another little brother.”

“Oh,” she hums, disappointed, “I was hoping for a sister.”

You take a breath. It’s all so complicated but some of it isn’t. They’re going to know sooner than later.

“Look, the cushion is because I hurt myself. I was waiting until we got home to tell you but I fell and hit my bum pretty bad. Got some bruising is all,” you explain lightly, “doctor says I’m good, just need to rest.”

“Mommy’s hurt?” Malik babbles. 

“Oh,” Simone accepts again, “I… does dad know?”

“He’s been working but I’m gonna give him a call,” you fight to keep your tone steady, “he’s gonna have to come home and help me out a bit.”

“Mommy, you can have Donny, he’ll make you feel better.”

“Mal, she doesn’t want your stupid dragon.”

“Sim,” you rebuff, “don’t be mean. Malik, you can bring Donny in to snuggle with me, okay? That’s really nice of you.”

“Ugh,” Simone huffs and you see her roll her eyes in the rear view.

“Sim, do you have enough time between chapters to help with dinner?” You tease. She doesn’t answer. “Oh, don’t worry, I can manage some mac and cheese on my own.”

You flip on the radio and let the music waft through the car, trying to push away the other worries. You are going to have to call Pete but you really don’t know how much help he’s going to be.

🗄️

You pull into the driveway and repress a groan. You’re really starting to feel it. Your legs are numb yet painful. You push yourself out of the car and grab your purse and the cushion, your keys jingling loudly in your hand.

You open the back door but Simone’s too quick. She’s right beside you, waving you off.

“I’ll get him out,” she insists, “the doctor said.”

“I know what the doctor said,” you chuckle, “thanks, Sim.”

Another car door snaps shut from somewhere unseen. You don’t think much of it as other neighbours often get home at the same time. You wait patiently for your daughter to unbuckle Malik as he squirms impatiently.

“About damn time,” the timbre roils in the air hotly.

You almost let a ‘shit’ slip through your lips as Hansen’s voice makes you tense. You squeeze the cushion and look over Simone’s head at him. She lifts Malik down onto the ground and she turns to face your uninvited guest.

“Ew, it’s him,” she sneers.

“Nice to see you too, toots,” he struts up the walk with his hands in his pockets, “isn’t this sweet? Got the whole clan together.”

“What are you doing here?” Simone challenges.

He tilts his head, brows arching, “you know, maybe I should give your mom some time off so she can teach you some manners.”

“Hansen,” you put your hand on Simone’s shoulder and sidle past her and echo the same question, “what are you doing here?”

“I’m actually being a good guy,” he leans around, speaking to Simone pointedly, “not evil at all. Checking in since I sent you off to the hospital.”

You hesitate. That’s not exactly believable. You know why he’s here; to taunt you. At least he has the discretion to try to hide that from your children.

“Bruised tailbone, doctor is sending a letter, I’ll have to take a few days off to recover,” you say cautiously, knowing he won’t like the news.

“A few days…” he mulls with a sour expression, “bullsh–” he stops himself as Malik comes for to cling to your leg, peeking out from behind you.

“Mommy,” your son whines, “I wanna go inside.”

“Tell him to go away,” Simone hisses.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hansen, I gotta get the kids inside and make dinner–”

“You can do all that but you can’t drag your –behind– to work,” he challenges.

“I have a doctor’s note–”

“I don’t f–” he struggles to censor himself, stopping as he waves off his agitation. He exhales and wipes the frustration from his face, “you’re right. You’re in bad shape, it’s plain to see. So where’s the husband? Shouldn't he be here doing the heavy lifting?”

“My dad’s on his way home,” Simone insists.

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” you repeat her lie, “to help.”

“Well, he ain’t,” Hansen bounces on his feet, “but I am, so why don’t I help you out, huh? We need you back to work,” he reaches for your purse, latching onto the strap. “So you should rest.”

“Dude, go,” Simone snarls and pushes his arm.

“Hey,” he growls back at her. “I’m helping.”

“We don’t want your help. She’s not at work, you don’t boss her around here.”

“Simone, Mr. Hansen,” you snip, “please.”

“I’m being a nice guy,” Lloyd retracts his hand and throws it up, “she’s the one making this hard.”

You look at your daughter as she sticks her tongue out.

“She’s twelve,” you state.

“Yeah, and what are you? Sixty?” Simone accuses him.

He recoils, his lashes batting violently, “excuse me?”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, “Simone, take your brother inside,” you hold your keys out, “let me talk to him. It’s just work.”

“And the doctor said–”

“Please, Simone, thank you,” you shake the keys.

She sniffs and takes them. She blows a raspberry at Hansen as she grabs Malik and tears him away from your legs. You rub your neck, the donut cushion around your elbow, as you wait, staring at Hansen as he watches over your shoulder.

“Why?” You ask pointedly.

“What? I’m being good. I let you see a doctor for your fucked up booty and now I’m just tryna fill the hole left by that deadbeat–”

“Not in front of my kids,” you say.

“I was polite.”

“You are arguing with a twelve year old,” you shake your head, “please, I will do my best to get back to work. I know you don’t give a shit but I’m in so much pain, I can’t handle this right now. So please, go.”

“Huh, alright, let’s understand something here, you might be a little broken at the moment but you don’t tell me what to do,” he snarls, “that’s the first thing. Second, you put a muzzle on that daughter–”

“Don’t,” you warn.

“That mouth,” he points in your face, “it’s the ass that’s bruised, not that.”

You clamp your lips tight as your nostrils flare. You stand in a deadlock, silently glaring back at your boss. You feel the tension ready to snap. This is the moment where you could fuck everything up.

Neither of you speak, each measuring your next word but almost afraid to say it. A screech of tires veers in behind your car and fills the end of the driveway. You flinch and look past Hansen as Pete’s garish sports car beams back at you.

“Just in time,” Hansen mutters as he turns slowly.

Pete hops out and swings the door shut, almost frantic as his hair flops forward.

“Hey, I’ve been calling,” he puffs and stops short as he notices Hansen, “uh, everything okay? Where… are the kids?”

“Inside,” you eke out, clearing the frog from your throat, “everything is good, alright?” You try to convince yourself as much as your husband, “Mr. Hansen was just checking in. I missed work today. I went to see the doctor about… my fall.”

Pete blanches and nods, giving a guilty glance to his leather shoes.

“Yeah?” He dares to look at you, “you okay?”

“Bruised,” you answer bluntly, “so I was just telling Mr. Hansen that I am fine. I just need a few days to rest. And I was going to call to tell you the same but I had to get the kids.”

“Your wife’s a busy woman,” Hansen interjects, “hard worker. And she speaks so highly of you, bud.” He claps Pete’s shoulder, “you’re a businessman?”

Pete twitches, as if surprised. He looks at Hansen’s grasp on his shoulder but doesn’t shove it off. There’s a moment of recognition in his eye. Men and their ‘business’.

“Yeah, I run a fitness agency. We do equipment and training, aiming to get into the big leagues, you know, furnish facilities on the National scale,” Pete goes into his pitch.

“Ah, fitness, thriving right now,” Hansen slips easily into his role, “you know, I’m not wearing Louis Vuittons because I work in a dipshit office. I invest and I do it well.” He pulls his hand back and puts it on his hip, “why don’t you tell me more about this agency? I’m intrigued.”

You just stare. This has been an awful, painful day and it just won’t end.

“Uh, yeah, sure, come on in,” Pete sputters excitedly, waving him up the drive. “I got all my stuff in my bag.”

“Great, dinner’s on me,” Hansen offers, “for your time.”

“Oh, awesome,” Pete grins, “I’ll just get my bag out of the car. Honey,” he turns to you.

“Uh, yeah,” you swallow as Hansen faces you with a smirk, “right this way.”

You turn and hug the cushion against your stomach, each step tender and tingling. You sense him behind you, too close for comfort. He snickers quietly as you get to the door. You stop with your hand on the handle.

“Please,” you whisper.

“Be good and I will be, too,” he shoots back.

[starkeysprincess]

ok i’m back again this time with some angst (it’s a longer one). i’d like to explore reader’s backstory a little more so what if rafe notices she still hasn’t touched the money on the card he’d given her (for “emergencies” he’d said) and never lets him buy any clothes or things that catch her eye when they’re out shopping. he’ll still send her things anyways when he can tell she’s really trying to downplay how much she wants it but her heart still drops when she finds the package outside her apartment door. soon it turns into being too “busy” to go shopping with him until eventually she’s coming over for their sessions less and less often. the thing is, she is actually busy. with the second job she had to get since her job at the upscale bar wasn’t enough to pay rent anymore. she couldn’t bring herself to sell the gifts he’d gotten her (one purse alone would cover several months rent) but she didn’t dare use his money for that either.

i think she’s ashamed she isn’t doing as well as she wanted him to believe and doesn’t want him to think she was only ever seeing him for his money. she’s so preoccupied with keeping the facade up and keeping her second job away from him though she doesn’t realize how little time she spends him now until he starts thinking she just doesn’t want to see him anymore (and maybe all the times she was “busy” was being spent with someone else, because i can see his own past issues making him get more and more worked up about it) - ❤️‍🩹

sorry that this took me so long to answer bae! i've either been exhausted or not feeling well so this is probs not the best but it's just what i think 😭

She's the type to not take anything from anyone, even if they offer it to her. Clearly, she's a hard worker and believes that if she wants something, she has to earn it herself. She thinks that when Rafe offers to buy her something that she likes, it's a pity gift when in reality, it's not.

She's been getting fewer hours at the upscale bar where she works at due to an increase in new hires, this of course, stresses her out because she was making a decent amount of money but now, she has to find a second job to help keep her afloat. Rafe noticed she started to come over less often and he was already assuming the worst, which would be that she was with another man. At this point, it's been weeks now since he last saw her so he decides to text her, asking her to come over, only to get a reply from her that read "I'm sorry, I'm busy, I can't tonight".

This triggers his past issues, which unfortunately start to make him get more and more worked up about why she hasn't been around. The entire time he's thinking she's in bed with another man but in reality, she's working her second job. She's been working non-stop and when she gets home, she is immediately knocked out, completely exhausted, and overworked.

i also like to think that if she was any other woman, he'd let it go and delete her number but when it comes to her, he can't. It's clear that she never leaves his head, I mean, this man is literally head over heels in love with her but he won't fully admit it.

in my opinion, rafe would show up at her apartment, standing outside the door, waiting and hoping she'd answer. Coincidentally, it would be her only day off when he does show up and when she opens the door, she's taken aback at his appearance. She could tell that he hadn't been getting any sleep from the last time she saw him.

She's in shock when he immediately asks her if she doesn't want to see him anymore and she can see the hurt in his eyes because she didn't realize that she's been brushing him off but to be fair, she's been working too much that she doesn't notice how much time has passed.

(Because i'm a sucker for this type of shit) When she doesn't answer him, he thinks he got his answer and starts to walk away but she chases after him, blurting out that she wasn't doing well financially and started working a second job. He freezes, turning around to look at her, and she's avoiding eye contact with him, too embarrassed. She even admits to him that she was too ashamed to tell him and that's the only reason why she's been brushing him off because she truly has been busy.

He wasn't sure whether or not to believe her until she made eye contact with him, she's on the verge of tears. Within the past few months of knowing her, he's gotten good at reading her and he knows she's telling the truth. She thinks this is it, this is where it ends between the two of them until he's pulling her into him, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head, his large hand soothingly rubbing her back.

I think once she's calmed down, Rafe wouldn't even hesitate for a second before telling her to quit both jobs. Before she can argue, he tells her to come work for him as his personal assistant, telling her not only will the pay be more than what she makes at both jobs combined but it's another way they can spend time with each other.

[lizzyscribbles]

An Exercise in Futility (Part 2)

Not entire sure where I plan to go with this, but the pen calls to me and who am I to deny her?

(Part One)

Some days Yoichi felt good enough to take the stairs, but unfortunately the awkward shuffling alone was already proving too much. After the second time around, he’d been forced to plop down in one of the puffy, plastic chairs and catch his breath. In his mind, he could hear his brother scolding him for pushing himself, but he knew his struggles probably had more to do with the fact he’d neglected his morning medications and therapies. Soft coughs rocked his chest, and with a trembling hand he reached up to rub it.

To be fair, he had fully intended on continuing any prescribed treatments at home when he’d started skipping appointments–it was one of the only ways he could convince himself to go through with the lies–but after a few weeks the piles of pills and heavy masks had seemed less and less appealing. 

So he’d just…stopped.

Thankfully, his brother hadn’t seemed to notice yet. The last thing he wanted was another freak out and hospital stay like he’d had earlier in the year. The scars on his chest still ached whenever he thought of the incident, urging him to rub over the freshly healed marks. Hisashi hated that particular habit of his, resorting to physically pulling his hand away whenever he did it within view of the other. Yoichi was never sure why the scars seemed to bother Hisashi more than they did him, but he’d stopped wearing the low cut, loose shirts he’d favored after he caught his brother staring at the thin, white marks with that look on his face one too many times.

Yoichi didn’t remember much of the most recent scare. He’d been in bed when it’d started, chest aching as it often did, and he’d gotten up to get some water. The next thing he knew, the toilet was painted a deep shade of red and Hisashi was at his side, gripping him like if he let him go he’d just disappear as he screamed through the manor. The rest of it was a blur, but the several months he’d spent in the hospital afterwards were burned into his mind forevermore. The wailing machines, the constant surveillance, and the lack of freedom to when pee by himself made him shutter more than the pain ever did.

He’d never say it to anyone out loud–least of all Hisashi–but after the last incident, he’d told himself that if it were to happen again he’d just let himself go. 

Yoichi didn’t want to die, per say, but he didn’t want to live either, especially not like that.

Being sick was exhausting. 

His watch buzzed, drawing him from his thoughts. Lifting it, he found Hisashi’s name displayed across its face. 

The car is waiting outside when you’re done, don’t forget to have the receptionist give you a copy of the notes from today. 

Yoichi smiled wryly, sending a little thumbs up and an “almost done!” for good measure. He sat for another minute or two before easing himself up from the chair and shuffling over to where his favorite nurse, Helga, sat behind her station. She smiled as he approached, grabbing a pen out of its holder, an appointment card at the ready. He smiled back, giving a half-hearted wave.

“How’s my favorite nurse today?” He rasped, leaning against the edge of the station for support.

Helga giggled. For a seasoned nurse well into her career, she had the laugh of a middle-schooler who’d been approached by her crush. “Yoichi, baby! It’s good to see you! How’re you feelin’? Your appointment go okay? You here for my autograph again?” 

“Sure am,” he quipped, “got the pen ready for me?”

She nodded, “you know I do. Whatcha got for me today?”

“November 18th, at 2PM.” He replied easily.

“You got it.” She was already neatly transcribing the information onto the little piece of cardstock. “I keep telling you the lovely lads and ladies over in Dr. Millard’s office would be happy to write this down for you, baby, you just gotta ask when you make the appointment.”

“Sure, if I actually made an appointment, I’m sure they would.” He thought to himself, instead choosing to say. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have a reason to come see you, would I?”

“You don’t need a reason to see me, baby, you know that! I’m always happy to say hello to my favorite patient.” She hummed, neatly signing the bottom of the card with a little flourish and a smiley face. “But there you go, I’ll see you in two weeks, okay? Oh, well, hm, no maybe I won’t…”

Yoichi’s heart jumped a little, but he swallowed his panic and smiled. “Oh? Why not?”

“My actual baby is getting married! We’re traveling up north for the wedding, so I’ll be out for a few weeks, but like I said, everyone else would be more than happy to help you!”

Yoichi nodded, pulling his lips into a little smile as he resisted the urge to sigh. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Helga left for good. There was only so long he could use the “I lost my reminder card” excuse with the other staff. Eventually, someone would look him up in the system and realize that his last actual appointment was six months ago and he’d canceled every single one since. Then they’d call Hisashi, since his older brother was technically his legal guardian, and all hell would break loose.

Yoichi couldn’t risk that, he was already pretty sure his brother was starting to suspect something–Hisashi always had been frustratingly good at reading him–so Yoichi had to make sure he had no reason to do so. Next time he’d have to bite the bullet and actually schedule a real appointment, then cancel it as soon as he’d opened the reminder text in view of his brother. That was usually enough to quell any suspicions Hisashi had.

He thanked Helga, wishing her the best and congratulating her on her kid’s marriage before making his way down to the ground floor and out the door.

[nani-nonny]

For some reason i imagined LCD would try to eat but meet a street cat that walk by him obviously hungry so he gives them some and that cat ends up begin loyal.

Heck i can imagine it try to show LCD it's kittens

I love that so much

He would definitely be the “dad that didn’t want the pet but eventually ends up babying the hell out of the pet and loving it more than his kids”

Fuck it, Leonardo meets cat vvv:

Leonardo collapses backwards, bracing himself on the building wall before turning to lean on it and slide his back down until he lands roughly on the alleyway’s disgusting floor. He takes this brief moment of peace to catch his breath, completely exhausted from chasing after a few pirates that have been robbing many homes in the Hidden City. He inhales sharply then exhales slowly, closing his eyes to focus on steadying his breaths.

He pulls out a stale piece of bread, one that on several occasions he had to shove back in his belt pockets because of “responsibilities” he has in the Hidden City. Will he ever get to finish it? Possibly never. It seemed the city always had a knack for calling for him with “impeccable” timing. The city has made him starve for a few days now, maybe more. He hasn’t been keeping track.

And just before he can take his first bite of the day, he hears something close by. He pauses.

He hears the rustling of paper and cardboard, disturbing his moment of peace. He listens for a moment.

Short scuttling, fidgety and hesitant. From the sound, he can tell it’s lightweight, whatever is making the noise.

He whistles sharply between his teeth, short and akin to an alarm.

The fidgety creature scrambles in a panic, scraping against papers and cardboard until he jumps from its hiding place. It appears to Leonardo’s right from behind the building’s fence.

A cat.

Dirty, small, and covered in fleas. He can see the cat’s bones protruding under its skin, and the way its ears flick off communities of bugs. Its stained fur makes it impossible to tell what color it truly is, and mangy whiskers twitch as it backs up. There’s a fearful look in its eyes as it backs up slowly, tail between its shaking legs. But it never looks away from the bread in his hand.

Leonardo narrows his eyes as he stares down at the small cat. He hasn’t eaten in days, what makes the dirty thing think he’ll give up his bread.

But one look in its big, pathetic eyes and his expression softens. He curses inwardly and clicks his tongue in defeat. He can wait a few more days for food, it’s not like it’s out of reach for him.

“You’re one ugly, little rat,” he tells the cat and rips off a piece of his bread. He tosses the piece to the cat, making it scramble away in a panic.

The cat crashes into several things in the alleyway before finally hiding behind a soggy cardboard box. It peeks from the box, eyes now locked on the ripped piece of bread.

He rips another piece, then another and another until he’s left with nothing but a handful of crumbs. He takes one and pops it in his mouth before tossing the rest on the floor.

He gets up with a grunt, ignoring his muscles that scream for a longer break. Tough shit, he mocks inwardly, he doesn’t deserve a break anyways. What was he thinking…?

Shaking his head, he walks away without looking back. He doesn’t have the time to lounge around, he has some pirates to catch. They could be a problem in the future, especially if those teens come back looking for him blindly.

The last he saw the pirates, they were heading toward Big Mama’s hotel. They could be working on the surface, supplying the stolen items to—.

He pauses when he hears the smallest mew. He looks over his shoulder to see the dirty cat staring at him. Not some piece of bread in his hand or the bread on the floor. It’s staring at him. And it’s then he sees two more cats, way smaller than the first, appear from the soggy cardboard box.

Kittens. It has kittens.

The tiny kittens eat the pieces of bread like it’s their first meal in months. They scarf the stale bread like it’s the best thing in the world. But the mother cat doesn’t eat, even when the kittens finish eating all of the bread.

And never did he feel more guilty for eating one, small piece of bread than he did now.

He looks away suddenly. Whether to save himself from the guilt or to refocus on his previous task, he couldn’t tell. But this time, he walks away at a faster pace, all while thinking of where the closest store is to this place.

[snowflakechallenge]

Meet the Mods!

Akamine_chan created The Fandom Snowflake Challenge back in 2012 as a way to remind herself “why I loved fandom so much”. Over the years the challenge itself has come to mean a lot to many of us, so by way of introduction some of the mods for this year have written about what The Fandom Snowflake Challenge means to them and why they are excited about it.

Muccamukk: Mucca mostly writes fic and reviews, usually in western media fandoms, and can never turn her back on a kink meme. She's been participating in the Snowflake Challenge off and on since year one, helping mod for the last five, and there still hasn't been any cake.

Misbegotten: I'm Misbegotten and this is my second year as a Snowflake mod. Fandom has been my happy place for many decades. My sad place too, but what's life without variety?

Sparrow2000: Hi I'm Sparrow2000 on LJ, DW and A03. I've made my fandom home in the Buffy 'verse for the last 20 odd (sometimes very odd!) years and it's where I write. I read in any fandom that catches my eye and I'm an avid reccer because I believe spreading the love keeps our fandoms alive. I've taken part in the snowflake challenge every year since 2014 and it never fails to energise my fandom joy. I'm thrilled to be helping out behind the scenes for the third year running and can't wait to see how everyone expresses their own fandom love this year.

Tjs_whatnot: Oh Snowflake, how I've missed your optimistic and cheery fandom energy! I've exhausted those resources pretty early on last year, so a refill is in desperate need! I've been part of the Snowflake family for ages now but I learn something new each year, so it's a new challenge each time. I can't wait to get reacquainted with the other old timers and meet some new, fun fandom faces. LET'S DO THIS!! ♥ ♥ ❤ ❤

Queer_scribbling: Hello, I'm Briar. I've participated in the Snowflake Challenge the past few years, but this is my first time helping out as a mod. For me, this challenge is a welcome reprieve from the doldrums of winter, and I hope the sense of community - lurkers, likers, commenters, and more - will help all of us to start 2024 on a high note.

Summerstorm: Hi! I'm Lix, and I'm back as a Snowflake mod after a few years off. These days, my fandom participation is mostly reading fic, playing ttrpgs (new this year! because I finally got good meds! I use a calendar now entirely to keep track of games?), and screaming on Discord about actual play shows, but I care a lot about those three things. Fandom is a load-bearing pillar of my life, and honestly I don't know what I'd do without it.

Pebble_in_a_lake: Hello! I'm pebble, a lifelong sci-fi and comic book fan. I've participated in snowflake challenge several years now, but this will be my first time pitching in as a volunteer. I love the fun and positivity it brings to the community each year as everyone shares their love for their different fandoms. Whether you're participating, commenting, or lurking, I hope you all have a very fun time. :D

Spikedluv: Hello to all returning and new Snowflakes! I love Snowflake and I’m thrilled to be part of the group bringing Snowflake to you again this year. The best thing about this challenge is that it reminds me of all the great things about fandom. The feeling of community. The comments and feedback. The squee that comes with discovering new fandoms and new fic and new friends. And while Snowflake only lasts for one month, these are things we can take with us into the rest of the year. As I’ve said previously, Snowflake has taught me that I need to be the change I want to see in fandom and gets me pumped up to go forth and be a more active participant.

Seleneheart: I love Snowflake because it is such a marvelous way to start the New Year - to know that I''m not a lone voice crying out in the wilderness, that there's hundreds of people who love fandom and they are all right here!

This is my sixth time to be a mod for Snowflake, and every single year I've come away with new friends, new ideas, and new connections with old friends. Some people I see all the time during the year, and some I see only during [community profile] snowflake_challenge - all of you warm my soul. I can't wait to get started!

Pronker: Hello there, I'm Pronker (DW, FFN, tumblr, twitter, theforce.net and AO3) and this is my second time modding in seven years' participating in the best challenge ever. :) I love to launch a new year with fellow fans' enthusiasms and creativity. Favorite fandoms: Hogan's Heroes, Penguins of Madagascar, Star Wars, Constantine, Greek Mythology, Star Trek TOS, Laredo, and my very first one, Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. See you soon!

Dizzydrea: Hi everyone! I'm Dizzydrea on DW and AO3. I've been in fandom for over 20 years, so I've seen some stuff. I only found out about Fandom Snowflake a few years ago, but I look forward to participating each year, though this is my first year as a mod. I'm a writer, up to about 50 fandoms now. I read a lot, too, and I like to comment as a way of paying it forward. I'm looking forward to seeing what everyone comes up with this year.

Cornerofmadness: Hi everyone! I'm excited to be back for another round of Fandom Snowflake. I'm Cornerofmadness on DW/LJ/AO3. I've been around fandom for decades, since the paper zine days of the 80s and 90s and been in online fandoms for more than twenty years so I've seen a lot, the good and the bad. I think that's the thing I like best about this challenge is we see so much of the good here. I'm probably best known in the Buffyverse, Fullmetal Alchemist, Prodigal Son and now The Owl House but I've had a toe in many fandom waters and hope to dip them into many more.

Vriddy: Hi! I'm Vriddy, a huge fan of Fandom Snowflake since I discovered it a couple of years ago and very excited to be part of it from the volunteer side for the first time this year! I'm mainly in anime fandoms at the moment, and looking forward to sharing all kinds of fannish joy with everyone this month. Such a wonderful way to start the year, I hope you all have a great time, too!

Tellshannon815: Hi again, back for another round of Snowflake, looking forward to seeing what you all come up with, discovering new fandoms, and hopefully making some new friends!

Turps: Hi, I'm Turps and I've been taking part in Snowflake since the very beginning and joined in as a mod a few years ago, and enjoyed the process so much I'm back for more.

Snowflake always gets my fannish year off to a great start, but what I love the most is how low-pressure it is. Some years I've managed to complete every challenge, and others only a couple. Sometimes I've done a challenge but not linked at the comm, and that's fine.

I've made some good friends due to Snowflake Challenge, but also see and read posts from people I only see once a year, and I love that. It's like meeting old friends who I have a quick natter with before heading off into the virtual distance, and I'm looking forward to doing that again.

As you can see the challenge means so many things to the mods, and to everyone who has participated before, and will hopefully also be meaningful to anyone joining us for the first time this year. You’ll find us all wading through comments, welcoming everyone, answering questions, keeping the peace, so if you need anything, don't hesitate to flag one of us down.

Tomorrow starts the first of the fandom challenges, so hope you all are ready for some fun times! Feel free to do any challenge that strikes your fancy (or all of them), or leave a comment on someone else’s challenge response at anytime.

[kpopimagi]

A Flower Under The Rain [Part 11-2]

Characters: Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and Kang Gyuri (OC) Genre: Angst, Romance Au: Hanahaki!Au  Type: Series  Word count: 6,074

It all began with a cough and then, a subtle sting in her chest. Kang Gyuri cried, knowing that in a matter of months, she would be another figure in the death toll of the most dangerous and cruelest outbreak in human history.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8-1 | Part 8-2 | Part 9 | Part 10-1 | Part 10-2 | Part 11-1

Warning! This is Part 2. If you haven't read Part 1, go back to catch up.

---> Read Part 1 Here <---

Junmyeon sent him to his room to clean himself and rest. Being alone with his thoughts was the last thing Kyungsoo wanted, but the instant he saw his reflection in the mirror, he knew why the doctor was so adamant. But not only the tiredness visible in his stance made him shiver, but the most haunting one was his blood-splattered clothes. He looked miserable and terrifying. Ignoring the exhaustion, the writer washed himself as instructed and went back to the office. 

A new white coat stood in the middle of the office, and Kyungsoo could recognize the guy anywhere. The moment the newcomer turned around, the dimpled smile that flashed across his face infected him somehow. The writer felt glad and relieved to finally see him, and he even found himself smiling for the first time in days. He almost ran to him and hugged him, unaware of how much he needed that simple hug.

“I didn’t know you missed me that much.” Yixing chuckled, hugging him back just as much.

“I’m just glad that you’re here now.” 

“Junmyeon put me up to speed,” Yixing said, guiding the writer to another small office that functioned as a meeting room. “You should’ve called us sooner, Kyungsoo.”

“I know.”

“Hopefully, we can get some answers,” Junmyeon said, coming into the meeting room with a stack of papers he dropped into Yixing’s hands. “Results are starting to come in.”

“I’ll get to it.” The new doctor said.

Giving Kyungsoo a quick smile, he walked away, leaving the writer with Junmyeon as he set up a camera and a microphone for the interview, and Jongdae prepared everything to take blood samples. The writer braced himself and sat down, ready to do exactly what he had avoided for years and answer every question, no matter how hard, how uncomfortable, or how much he swore to never talk about it. He now had the chance to help Gyuri, and if that meant opening up about the time he suffered the most, he, for all the things he felt for her, would. 

Two hours later, after several vials of blood and answering an unending list of questions, which Kyungsoo tried with all of his might to answer truthfully, he and Junmyeon came out of the office and found Minseok waiting. He didn’t say anything. He simply handed him a water bottle and a cookie, which made him chuckle. The writer found the cookie amusing, but as his friend walked next to him, Kyungsoo realized just how much that little gesture meant to him. They came back to the main office and found Yixing at his desk, buried in piles of documents.

“I've never seen an invasion this slow.” He said, letting out a sigh.

“Why is that?” Kyungsoo asked him, “Why is it taking so long?”

“Because it might not be one-sided love after all.”

The writer shuddered, someone behind him gasped in surprise, and someone else in the room asked if it was even possible, but other than that, everyone stared at the doctor in disbelief. The silence that followed after the initial shock was staggering, and no one dared to say anything.

“I have a theory,” Yixing said, his face shifting in a serious expression, “but I’ll be sure once I get the results.”

“You're saying Baekhyun is in love with her too?” Jongdae was the one who finally asked, “Not only that, but is he keeping it to himself as well?”

"It can't be,” Junmyeon wondered to himself. “There's no precedent for a case of that kind.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions yet.” Yixing said, chuckling nervously, “As I said, it’s still a working theory.”

“If they love each other like you're suggesting, why was she the one who contracted the disease?” Jongdae asked again, “Why isn't Baekhyun also sick?”

"How do you know he isn't?" Yixing asked back, his nervousness shifting into a smirk.

“I was suggesting the possibility, hyung.” The nurse whined, not entirely amused that the doctor would play along with his questions, “Why isn’t he showing symptoms? It's beyond me.”

“I have a question,” Minseok added out of nowhere, and everyone looked at him. “If you suspect her case isn’t entirely one-sided love, what about the suicides? Did anyone investigate the loved ones who killed themselves? Has anyone run any proper hanahaki tests on the suicide victims?”

Once again, the silence in the room was deafening while Yixing and Junmyeon looked at each other as if they had lost an unknown battle. Kyungsoo observed the different reactions and wondered why the doctors suddenly looked so gloomy.

“Why would we?” Jongdae added under his breath, sitting in front of his computer, and started typing almost furiously.

“I don’t get it.” Kyungsoo asked, confused, “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because South Korea had the highest rate of suicides even before the outbreak,” Junmyeon muttered. “Of course, no one tested anything when flower corpses started to pile up in the streets.”

“I’m checking the research archives to see if there’s a match.” The nurses piped in, going full into his research assistant mode.

“Yixing and I will go to the viral facilities to see if there are any recent cases...” 

A loud alarm buzzed in the office, making Kyungsoo and Minseok flinch. The doctors ran towards the door, and even Jongdae left whatever he was doing and almost jumped over his desk to follow them to the only place that would require all of them so urgently at the same time.

Gyuri.

That was Kyungsoo’s only thought. 

Gyuri.

Something was wrong with Gyuri.

Gyuri.

He followed the others, and soon after, he could hear her screams.

He could hear Gyuri screaming.

She was screaming in pain, and he found himself sprinting towards the room when someone stopped him. The female nurse in charge of bathing Gyuri was already dragging her mother out to let the doctors go in and do their job. He got the smallest of glimpses of her before the door closed in his face. The glimpse of her violently twisting in the bed that she dropped to the floor.

Then nothing.

Just an empty hallway and the sound of her pain. Next to him, her mother held onto him, sobbing uncontrollably. He could hear his friends inside the room throwing codes and orders around, calling medical terms that meant nothing to him, but above every other sound were her cries for help. And those screams went on for so long that it felt like an eternity, and he lost track of time.

“She’s fine for now.” Junmyeon informed Gyuri’s mother when he finally came out, but there was no hint of relief in his expression. “However, the stem keeps growing and piercing through her skin, so this won’t be the last time she’ll go into shock because of the pain.”

The doctor explained more things that flew right above the writer’s head, and he just stared at the door as the memory of her desperate screams kept piercing through his mind. Gyuri’s mother went into the room as soon as Yixing and Jongdae came out.

“We need the chemist.” Dr. Junmyeon said.

“Jongin? Why do you need Jongin?” Kyungsoo asked, the name snapping him out of the horrid memory while still replying in his head.

“Agreed, but I thought Kai had been off the grid for months now.” Yixing added, “We don’t have the time.”

“If the disease is advancing as slowly as you suspect,” Junmyeon said, getting significantly annoyed, “and if we don’t get a chemist like him asap, we might as well be torturing her.”

“Alright, I’ll find him,” Minseok said, his phone once again already against his ear. “Chanyeol, I need you to find someone and bring him in as soon as possible."

Kyungsoo watched his editor leave the hallway, giving his assistant more instructions on how to find Jongin, and that in itself was alarming. Then he watched the doctors get immersed in a conversation he did not understand. All he had left to do was stay rooted in his place, afraid that if he moved an inch, the sound of her screaming might return and burst everything around him into absolute chaos. 

He fought the horrible thoughts away, recalling all the times he had seen her somehow healthy. Those good days where her face seemed to shine, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled full of life, and in those quick moments, he could swear he saw mischievousness in her expression. The writer held on to those memories until he heard his name. Someone asked him something, and he flinched at the sudden contact. Taken aback and shocked to find himself in the now-dark hallway, Kyungsoo looked around to find Gyuri’s father next to him. He had his heavy hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him as if he were afraid to even touch him.

“Hey kid, Are you alright?” The man asked.

The question snapped him out of his reverie, and even though he was still confused by the sudden darkness around him, he nodded. He apologized and informed Gyuri’s father that his wife hadn’t left the room since the episode. That alone brought everything back, like an avalanche. Even though there were no more screams coming out of the room, he would never forget the sound of them.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Her father asked again, “You look a little sick.”

Kyungsoo pushed the uneasy wave of anxiety down his chest and apologized again. He assured Gyuri’s father that he was fine, but the man seemed to be more perceptive than he first thought, and his furrowed eyes narrowed harder on him. 

Feeling unnecessarily exposed, Kyungsoo excused himself and walked away, checking the hour and realizing the sun had set already. He went into the office to see his friends, but the stiff silence he found there made him hesitate. Junmyeon, Yixing, and Jongdae were there, each of them working at their respective desks and so focused in their tasks that neither of them noticed the writer coming in. 

The tune of the main entrance’s lock played around, announcing someone was arriving, and that made Junmyeon finally look up. Still in silence, he simply stared at the writer as if considering him, and Kyungsoo felt the need to ask if there was something wrong. Two voices coming through stopped him: one the writer recognized belonged to Minseok, and the other he wasn’t so sure who it belonged to. Suddenly, the owners of said voices came in, and the stiff atmosphere in the office lit up almost immediately.

“We found Jongin,” Minseok announced, “and this kid was waiting outside.”

But the newcomer looked nothing like a kid. A young man, tall and handsome in a near impossible manner, stood in the middle of the office and greeted everyone. However, if Minseok insinuated he was young, the guy did not behave like the youngest person in the room. The attitude and confidence he exuded belonged to someone who knew the way people perceived him.

“Sehun?” Junmyeon asked, looking at the young man with confusion, “What are you doing here?”

“Dr. Zhang asked for some additional tests and told me to bring him the results myself.” The young man explained, pulling a folder out of his bag.

Yixing got off his seat and practically ripped the folder out of the guy’s hands. They all watched him read through the results as Junmyeon, seemingly confused, kept asking to be put up to speed with what was going on. The young man ignored the questions and took a seat next to Minseok before introducing himself to Kyungsoo as Oh Sehun, Junmyeon´s new resident and assistant, and then Yixing cursed under his breath in Mandarin, which alerted everyone in the room.

“What is it?” Junmyeon asked, getting impatient.

“I sent some samples of the crusts to test.” Dr. Zhang said to himself, going back to his desk, “And I’m afraid my theory is correct.”

He clicked and typed stuff on his computer and was about to start explaining himself when his attention fell on Kyungsoo, and he stopped. Whatever he was planning to say wasn’t something he could say in his presence. Then he looked over at Junmyeon, and he was also looking at the writer with a certain glint of determination in his eyes.

“In theory, we shouldn’t discuss the case with you,” Junmyeon said to the writer. “However, since you agreed to be part of the research, I think we can find some leeway to share our findings.”

“In that case, I’m afraid my suspicion was right.” Yixing started, turning the projector on. “There was one special case: The Crying Blossom Lovers.”

Walking to the center of the office, where a rolled screen was set, and pulling it down so the image could be clear, Yixing prepared himself to explain. Everyone in the room paid attention to the slide projected on the screen and read the description of the picture of a colorful and lush willow tree.

“Cherry blossoms on willow trees?” Nurse Jongdae read out loud, “That’s not a thing. Cherry trees and willow trees are two different species of trees altogether.”

“Hear me out.” Yixing agreed, taking a moment to gather all of his thoughts, but the sudden excitement could be seen taking over his entire posture. “Two years into the outbreak in Japan, a woman and a man fell secretly in love with each other, but due to their families' different backgrounds and social standings, they could never be together. Long story short, she was the first to die, and he died days later. What’s interesting is that their bodies didn't turn into the common flower corpses we all know.”

With all that said, Yixing changed to the next slide, which showed two pictures of seemingly similar trees. They all observed the pictures in silence and disbelief. Kyungsoo saw Junmyeon stand in his place, completely frozen in shock. Minseok next to him squirmed, and after a minute, Jongdae let out a tiny curse. The writer himself stiffened once he noticed the details in the pictures. At first, to the untrained eye, both trees looked like completely normal trees with sturdy trunks, with their braches hanging low due to the weight of countless and beautiful flowers. And then, there were faces. He saw, in each trunk, as if someone had carved the shapes of sad faces. One was more masculine with sharper features than the other, but both of them appeared equally miserable. They had their eyes closed, and the natural lines and texture of the bark in the trunk made it look like they were shedding silent tears, making them look even more tragic.

“They turned into the cherry willow trees.” Yixing said in a whisper, admiring the pictures with a pinch of fascination, “They are the only ones of their kind. No one paid attention to the trees because they were thought to be simple wisteria trees widely known across Japan. Until one spring, they saw the sakura blossoms. To say that local botanists were shocked is an understatement.”

The silence and the shock remained in the room as the doctor changed the slide to a different picture. It was a closer look at one of the faces. The features were softer and more delicate; her lips were slightly parted, and Kyungsoo thought he could even see her eyebrows furrowed in pain.

“She was the willow tree.” Yixing explained, chaging to the next slide with a picture of the other face, “He was the cherry blossom.”

“What is it, then?” Junmyeon finally mumbled, admiring the picture, “Unconfessed love?”

“That’s my working theory.” Dr. Zhang replied.

“Why does nobody know about this?” Kyungsoo asked, his eyes growing darker and darker.

“Her family happens to be one of the most powerful in Japan, conglomerate giants.” Yixing said it with a sad shrug.

“I’m assuming he wasn’t that well off.” Someone added it with a grim tone.

“They spent a great deal of money to make everything disappear.” Yixing kept on explaining, “Even chopped both trees down and exhumed the bodies. No one knows where they are now.”

“How did you get your hands on all of this, then?” Jongdae asked.

"Oh, you don’t want to know.” The doctor replied with a playful wink and changed to the next slide. “Anyway, I managed to get some lab results from that case. That’s why I ordered some extra tests from Gyuri’s crusts, and this is how they look next to each other.”

“They’re the same.” Junmyeon wondered out loud.

Kyungsoo had been listening with all of his attention and stared at the new image on the screen but could not understand a single thing. All he saw were points and lines, codes, and words that once again meant nothing to him. 

“So you’re saying Gyuri will turn into a one-of-a-kind tree, and Baekhyun will follow sometime later?" The nurse asked in disbelief. 

“It's a long shot, but these lab results are too much of a coincidence,” Yixing said, leaning back on his desk, as if the idea were too heavy. “Or she might just be one of those one in a billion cases that don't follow the prognosis as we know.”

“Or she could be something entirely different,” Junmyeon said, and the determination in his voice gave Kyungsoo a chill.

The writer looked at the picture again and felt the queasiness in his stomach. Something heavy moved inside of him at the sight of that heartbroken, carved-like face in the tree. It was just a matter of time before that face would be the one he was so desperate to save. Gyuri would turn into a tree, and her misery would be so engraved in its core that it would come to the surface and be preserved there for years. And it was all because of her unconfessed love. He felt his heart sink. His entire body might as well have started crumbling when the thought came to him. He suddenly felt like the biggest idiot. The answer had been in front of him the whole time.

“Kyungsoo?” Junmyeon asked, and the writer was holding his head in his hands, struggling to keep himself straight. “Are you alright?

“I’m an idiot.” He said, recalling every single moment he had shared with Gyuri, "You said unconfessed love, right?”

The doctor agreed, and the tension increased in the room as everyone looked at the writer with expectation. In another situation, Kyungsoo would have struggled to speak his mind, but everything in him reeled in the wake of a new discovery.

“He never had the need,” Kyungsoo added, hardly looking at anyone in particular. “He doesn’t have to confess his affection for her because he has shown it ever since they met. The answer was right in front of me all this time.” He said, finally feeling himself crumble under the weight of that thought, “She kept telling me, over and over again, how much he cared for her.”

“Kyungsoo, we need to test him as soon as possible.” Junmyeon said with an urgency that brought him out of it.

“I know,” the writer said. “I’ll bring him in.”

He meant it. He would bring the guy to be tested, but nothing in him followed. He stayed in his seat, letting it all sink. A part of him was aware of the urgency of rushing out of the villa to get the guy, but he could not find the strength to move. He stayed there, refusing to believe that he might’ve had the answer all along.

“What an idiot..." Jongdae mumbled under his breath.

The small babble brought everyone’s attention to him. Kyungsoo was too distraught to even feel offended by it, but they all waited for the nurse to elaborate. However, Jongdae barely registered that everyone was expecting an explanation.

"Oh, don’t mind me.” He said, flustered to notice the silence in the room, “I just had a silly idea.”

Yixing leaned back on his desk again, and Junmyeon returned to his spot at the front of the room, observing the nurse with his utmost attention. Jongdae shrank behind his tiny desk.

“It’s really stupid.” He mumbled.

“If we will work with Dr. Zhang’s new idea, we might as well hear it.” Junmyeon conceded, crossing his arms over his chest in expectation. 

“Who knows,” Yixing added, getting more comfortable propping himself over the desk, “maybe it’s worth looking into it.”

Jongdae let out a sigh.

“It feels like it was so long ago,” he started, looking at no one in particular, “but do you remember those studies from the Royal Horticultural Society about plant behavior way before the outbreak?”

As if something seemed to click on the doctors brains, Junmyeon and Yixing looked at each other. Even the young assistant Oh, seated next to them, made a sound of recognition, and Kyungsoo just stared at them, lost.

“It was proven that a plant changes depending on its environment,” Jongdae explained exclusively to Kyungsoo when he realized the doctors got his point. “They tested it on two tomato plants; one grew better and faster when it was complimented...”

“The other died faster when it got bullied,” Junmyeon mumbled to himself.

“I was thinking that maybe,” Jongdae kept on, “the disease behaves the same way, but on a bigger scale...”

As if that turned on a switch on the doctors, Yixing and Junmyeon set on in motion, hurrying to their desk with that glint of determination in their faces that even Kyungsoo knew something big had shifted and changed.

“What are you doing?” The nurse sprung from his seat, panicking, “No, stop, it is a silly idea.”

“You’re a genius!” Yixing said, getting his stuff ready.

“No, I’m not.” Jongdae whined, sulking in the middle of the room as he watched his superiors get busy at their desks. “It can’t be, hyung!”

“Why not?” Kyungsoo was the one to ask.

“It makes sense,” Junmyeon said, running to the printer as it started spitting prints. “Maybe the disease isn’t as complex as we believe it is.”

“It explains why people die when they get rejected," Yixing added.

“Hyung, that’s a very simplistic way to see it." The nurse interjected, stomping his feet in a tiny fit, “It doesn’t answer how it is contracted.” 

“No, but it can buy us some time to keep them alive to find more answers.” Dr. Kim said, smiling at the nurse and making a sign for assistant Oh to join him, and both of them rushed out of the room.

“Brilliant, Jongdae,” Dr. Zhang pitched in, also leaving in a rush, “Absolutely brilliant!”

The office was silent once again, and letting out a whine, Nurse Kim turned to Kyungsoo and Minseok with a pout on his face.

“I swear I was just being dumb.” He said it as if apologizing. 

Once the nurse returned to his work and Minseok immersed himself on his tablet, dealing with the management of his business, Kyungsoo tried to remain still, although it was quite impossible when the heaviness in his chest kept growing and growing. He left the office, fighting off the anxiety, because now he had a mission. Junmyeon gave him a task, and it pushed him through despite the heaviness when the familiar voice of his friend and editor made him pause.

“Are you alright?” Minseok asked with a level of precaution in his voice.

It was a tone he hadn't heard from the editor since the old days of his curse. Kim Minseok was genuinely worried and unsure of the heaviness piling on his chest; Kyungsoo had no answer for him. He wasn’t sure if he was making it up, if it was really there, or if it was only his own anxiety taking a toll on him.

“Be blunt and honest, like you've always been.” The editor asked, “Are you in danger?”

“I don't know.”

Minseok nodded, most likely to hide the shudder or to stop himself from showing any distress in his body, but Kyungsoo saw it. He noticed the fright in his eyes, only because he had seen it before. 

“Be careful,” Minseok finally said. “You might've survived the first time, but I don't think you can dodge the same bullet twice.”

Aware of those words and yet still in a complete daze that steered his body, Kyungsoo drove all the way back to Gyuri’s house in Seoul. It was a long shot, but he had no clue where else to start. He could’ve asked Minseok to get the address. He didn’t know how, but he knew the editor had contacts and strings spread all over the city, and finding an address was an easy task. But he wanted something to do. He wanted something to pour all of his energy into other than just stand helplessly in that room with her. Almost mindlessly, he drove to the house, and just as he expected, the red car was parked there.

Kyungsoo wasn’t sure if that in itself was a good thing or not. It shouldn’t have been that easy. He wished it would’ve been an arduous quest to find the guy. That way, it would’ve been easier to blame him for everything, but finding him there, waiting for her, just made it all harder. The guy got out of his car as soon as he parked right behind him, and Kyungsoo observed him for a moment. He desperately wanted to find something wrong with him, but Gyuri had always been right about him. He did care for her. At least he cared enough to approach his car with almost threatening intent. Baekhyun hesitated when the writer got out of his car and instinctively looked over the other door, expecting to see Gyuri get out as well, but when it was evident that he was alone, his expression changed.

“Where is she?” Baekhyun walked to the writer as menacingly as he could.

Kyungsoo remained silent, watching the guy get closer and closer, demanding to know where Gyuri was. It wouldn’t matter if he tried to explain. Baekhyun was far beyond any civilized conversation. He recognized the same frustration in his eyes that he felt in his chest. He knew the desperation to do something, so he let the guy vent until he threw an arm at him. He was fast enough to dodge it, grab Baekhyun by the arm, and pull him forward to make him stumble and have an opening to go behind him. It was easy to get the guy in a chokehold. Especially when his legs gave up on him and Kyungsoo had him against his chest and his arms tightening around his neck. Baekhyun tapped the arm directly constricting under his chin several times, and Kyungsoo let him go. Baekhyun dropped to the ground, gasping for air and stumbling, and got back to his feet.

“Yah! What’s wrong with you?" He said, coughing, “You almost killed me!”

Ignoring the overly dramatic reaction, and in an effort to avoid the noisy neighbors that started peeking through their windows, the writer walked to him. Baekhyun backed away, cursing at him if he tried to pull that trick again, but shut up the moment he was close enough to grab him once more. Baekhyun let out a yelp when Kyungsoo put his hand on him and then grabbed the back of his neck.

“Yah, yah, yah!” Baekhyun yelled as Kyungsoo dragged him around the car. “Let me go!”

“Get in the car.” Was everything the writer said and practically dropped him by the door. “Now.”

Without saying more, Kyungsoo got in on his side of the car and was mildly grateful that the guy didn’t oppose more resistance and got himself in the car, albeit cursing very passionately under his breath.

“So I was right after all,” Baekhyun said, rubbing his neck when the writer drove out of the neighborhood. “You’re an abusive asshole.” 

Kyungsoo ignored him.

“Where is Gyuri?” The guy kept talking. “Is she alright? Did you hurt her? Come on, stop being such an ass and answer me.”

Kyungsoo kept ignoring him. He tuned him out of his mind and kept driving with a purpose, and one purpose only.

“Woah!” Baekhyun said, loudly and dramatically, "And I thought she was quiet, but you, you take the cake on infuriating quiet people.”

“Is that why she likes you?” He asked. “Nah, she wouldn’t fall for a boring accountant. And even less for a shy one at that.”

“Now stop being all brooding and cool and tell me where she is. Did you kidnap her?” Baekhyun asked again but looked at him, his eyes widening in alarm. “Wait, are you kidnapping me?”

The writer ignored him, and taking the hint that he wasn’t the chatting type, Baekhyun started humming a song—the catchiest hit pop song he could remember. As he expected, Kyungsoo looked at him in disbelief, but as soon as he did, Baekhyun sang louder, enunciating every word of the silly lyrics to perfection as if out of spite, and Kyungsoo let him.

There was no point in arguing with the guy, no matter how annoying he was. He had to admit he had a great singing voice, and it was no wonder Gyuri found so much comfort in it. Even he found himself feeling soothed by his voice, especially when he seemingly changed genre and emotion. Baekhyun wasn’t singing to irritate him anymore; he was singing to himself. Kyungsoo looked to the passenger seat and found the guy looking out of his window, staring at the scenery with a frown on his expression as he let the melodies coming out of him flow through his chest with ease. 

Some time later, as Kyungsoo drove nonstop, the sudden silence distracted him, and when he looked to his side, he found Baekhyun fast asleep. The seatbelt kept his head from hitting the window, and the tiredness was more than evident as he noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. As much as he wanted, Kyungsoo couldn’t find the guy remotely threatening.

He reached to turn the volume down so the music wouldn’t disturb the guy’s sleep but caught himself before doing it. He chided himself for caring for a split second and turned his attention back to the road ahead of him and the imminent chaos that would erupt.

A couple of hours later, he pulled into the gravel road that led to the villa, making Baekhyun jolt himself awake. The guy blinked several times, taking in his bearings, but the moment he looked at the writer, everything seemed to click in his mind.

“Where are we?” He asked, fidgeting in his seat, “You really kidnapped me, didn’t you?”

“We’re almost there.”

“How reassuring.” Baekhyun mumbled.

Leaving the subject to rest, he watched the forest slowly pass by his window, and the writer drove in a heavy silence that was practically unbearable.

“What is this place?” Baekhyun asked, recognizing Gyuri’s car in the parking lot. “There’s no way you’re an accountant. Either that or you work for very bad people.”

Kyungsoo wanted to laugh. He found Baekhyun’s quibs amusing, and for a split second, he felt the chuckle raising up his chest, but he would never give him the satisfaction. He couldn't let himself feel even a sliver of sympathy for the guy. As he stood in that moment, for the sake of his own heart, he couldn't afford to soften to him. It was hard enough as it was to let this guy, who was slowly killing Gyuri, win him over so easily.

“Has anyone ever told you you look like a penguin?” Baekhyun added, with a curious pout.

Luckily for the writer, they had arrived, and he had no need to stay in the car any longer and entertain the endless tirade of quick jokes and nonsensical questions. He got out of the car and made a beeline to the main entrance, suddenly feeling that same pressure weighing on his chest.

“Yah, penguin poop!” Baekhyun yelled.

Kyungsoo froze, not realizing that the guy was right behind him, asking questions. He hadn’t heard him. His entire attention was solely focused on what was behind the walls of that place, and Baekhyun must’ve sensed the gravity of the situation. The easy-going air around him was gone, and Kyungsoo couldn’t ignore him anymore.

“Gyuri is here.” He said.

It was a harmless statement. Just as it was, it could mean a number of things, but both guys felt the graveness of what it really meant. The shock that flashed across Baekhyun’s face was enough for the writer to know that he knew more than what he led on. He hesitated, his mouth opening and closing, wanting to say something, but Kyungsoo knew the feeling too well. If he asked, if he let those words out, it would only make it real.

“Don’t make her wait.” He said, sparing him from the burden of asking.

The writer started walking again, going into the villa, and when he looked over his shoulder, he found Baekhyun following close by, looking at nowhere in particular. His entire presence felt shifted off and frightened. If he had any annoying quibs left in him, the atmosphere of the place certainly squashed all of them.

They crossed the foyer as Baekhyun followed the writer in an awkward silence, but Kyungsoo couldn’t blame him. Something was wrong. Something must’ve gone wrong at the time he was out because the air not only felt heavier but the shadows were darker. The silence was quieter than ever, and for a second, he feared the worst. Something went terribly wrong while he was gone.

“Why are you doing all this?” Baekhyun asked as if he could sense the change in him, “I thought you hated me.”

Kyungsoo stopped dead in his tracks. The genuine worry in his voice, the eerie air around them, and the gut feeling in him made it impossible for him to continue. Suddenly, the pressure on his chest felt heavier with every breath, and the question loomed over him with a weight he never imagined could be that real. The worst part, the longer he thought about it, was that he had no immediate answer to it.

“That way,” he said, pushing the words out, pointing to the end of the hallway that led to Gyuri’s room. “She’s waiting.”

Whatever attention Baekhyun had on him, the guy forgot about it all and sprinted off, running to her. Kyungsoo was left alone in the darkened hallway, and the ground beneath him started to shift. The walls moved, slowly closing down on him, but all he could hear was that damned question.

Why are you doing all this?

His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and everything around him darkened even more.

Why was he doing all this?

He asked himself, and he knew the answer to that. He had a million reasons why at the tip of his tongue. He felt the thump getting so violent he could even hear it, and way in the back of his mind, a known voice was letting out a curse. Someone was running, his soft footsteps getting closer as everything around him kept closing in on him.

“Because I know what it's like.” He said under his breath, “To suffer alone and without any hope.”

“I know you do,” Minseok said next to him, pulling him up. “Hang in there.”

The editor’s voice brought him back to his senses, and he found himself on the floor, cowering against the wall as he clutched a hand over his chest, afraid that the roots might suddenly sprout out of him. He gasped for air, trying with all of his power to let the words out, but he couldn’t find a way. The words just kept on piling up in his mind, so loud and so heavy with meaning that all of them, as a whole, made his head spin.

Because I like her more than I dislike you. 

Because I know that she needs you more than she needs me.

Because I care enough to stop her from making the same mistakes I did.

Because I can’t let her be gone, filled with regrets.

“I won’t let her.” Kyungsoo gasped out loud, while everything around him started to go dark. “I can’t let her do that.”

Because I love her.

I love her.

[coldshrugs]

okay okay! what is tired in thavnair for the wip round up?

okay, so i was trying to write the first time io and estinien get Intimate. these (because it's two things in the same doc) are attempts to find the start of this concept T^T and then saying "maybe i don't need to write this at all" (before trying two more times LMAO)

i still like parts of these so i saved them. here we go:

There is a sag to his usually confident gait, a sense of exhaustion she hasn't seen him wear in months. She doesn't have to wonder at the cause. She feels it acutely; the path they've stepped onto leads to more danger than they imagined, and memories of Meteion and her song of oblivion, her challenges issued in darkness at the edge of all things still shadow both their minds. Determined as he is to get to the bottom of this new threat and aid his friend, he is tired. They exit the great hall and Estinien sucks in a heavy breath. He looks to Io, then shakes his head. "You don't have to do this." He is quiet, but his calm is led by a delicate tether. He struggles to keep the edge from his voice. "You've barely had a moment to rest since–” “It’s been months.” She reaches for him, an instinct that no longer has to be suppressed. He catches her hand, fingers lacing effortlessly between hers, and squeezes. “I’m fine. I’m ready for this.” He nods but says nothing. His disapproval is plain, but he decides to trust her.

and trying to fast-forward them to somewhere with a bed T^T

There is a tall, gold-trimmed shelf against the room's back wall, ornately carved, richly lacquered, and perfectly in line with everything else in this grandiose chamber. It holds very few items, but each time Io finds herself here, something new has been added to the small collection. It began, she suspects, as a repository for avoided letters. A hasty stack sits on the middle shelf, next to unused ink and an undipped quill. Seals of Ishgard pushed into blue or yellow wax. Some are still unfolded, waiting to be read a second time, perhaps. She wonders at the contents but doesn’t disturb them. But there are other things she can touch. An orchestrion, accompanied by several well-used scrolls, a few books describing the local wildlife, and a rather proudly displayed charcoal sketch featuring the eight foremost members of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. She grazes the edge of the thick paper as the determined smiles of her friends beam back at her. The brightly glazed vase holds a spray of flowers she brought nearly a week ago, lily and ginger collected from the jungle below. And in between all of these are little handmade trinkets from the city markets. She reaches for the newest one, a tiny ceramic karakul painted to look like a blooming shrub. Precious, that these are the things Estinien holds most dear. His silent attention prickles the back of her neck, armor clinking softly as he shuffles by the door. She turns to him, ready to tease, but he watches her with such a rapt tenderness that she can’t bring herself to do it. His joy is hers, and her smile spreads as unbidden as the well of affection in her chest. “This one is new.” She places the little sheep by her flowers. “I like it.” Estinien smirks, though he still looks as tired as she feels. He meanders behind a partition to change. “Aye, a find from the day before last. Seemed in need of a home.” “A good choice,” she says quietly, taking a seat at his dining table. From here, Io can hear Estinien remove his gauntlets. Though her armor is lighter than his, she longs to shed it all the same.

[onippep]

Let it Happen

The big Five-O, Peppi...ha! Don't you worry, I'll catch up to you soon!

Believe me, you don't want to. I walked up some stairs the other day and thought my joints were going to lock up.

[Laughs] Ah come on, I'm sure it isn't all bad! Just look at you! You don't look a day over 35.

Wait til you can see the white hairs.

You're alright, Peppi, honestly. You've been doing well for your age. I know it's a big number, but think of it this way! You're in a much better spot than you were a year ago! Several months, even!

Strange how fast stuff can change.

Yeah.

It's... been hard, either way, but yeah, a little easier. Especially with him.

Onippep?

[nods]

He's been a blessing for you. I hope I can continue to help you out wherever I can, but I think that frog's been doing a lot of the heavy lifting.

Super heavy.

But look at it. Does it look exhausted at all? No. That's passion. That's what love is, I think.

Big word.

Hm? Pbffft, no it isn't, bro, it's a simple word! Four letters!

Not what I meant.

Hear me out, though! It doesn't have to be complicated. Me and Brick? We're tight. He's like a sibling to me. First our fists were flying at each-other in that Tower, but now we're watching cartoons together every night and joking about rat and gnome things. I'd say that's love, too! Just in a different way.

...

Just-- point is, don't let more complicated definitions keep you from it. You can work for love, but it'll never be a chore. Never a stress. Let it come to you.

You're sayin' all of this as if I have a crush on that thing.

[gives him a look]

... WHAT. DON'T STARE AT ME LIKE THAT.

You're still such a scaredy-cat.

Oooh, awesome thing to say to me on my birthday, Gus! Come on, man. I'm not scared of anything.

Uh-huh.

...

...

...[snickers] Quit it.

Nuh-uh. You've been clammed up ever since we repaired that window. The tension can be cut with a dull spoon, compagno. [smacks his shoulder]

Whatever! Leave me alone. [chuckling]

It's my job to pester, you damn fruit! [laughs]

D-don't pressure me! I swear it's becoming clearer. Slowly. I just wanna be open to other options while I'm at it.

Anton's not coming back, sweetheart.

[shoves him playfully] YOU HURT ME. You hurt me good. You sure you're not single?

WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING THIS SO MUCH! You're insufferable!

[both laugh]

Back to being real-- I support you in anything you do, Pepp. Just don't overthink it. You're in a better spot now, you can process things. Don't let me set you back.

Yeah. For sure. I've-- been feeling shit I haven't felt in ages, so it's just a little jarring.

Ooh, what, the... [makes a butterfly motion with his hand]

[nods]

[mockingly] OoooooOOOoooo!~

A--OI! AYE! NOT SO LOUD!

Sorry! Sorry. I'm actually thrilled. I think something in you is healing, friend.

Pfft. Cheesy. You think so?

Yeah, absolutely. That doesn't just 'happen'.

...

[gestures]

I--uh. I just. Get super aware of time and everything, so I think that mixes into all of that. Age-wise.

You're middle-aged. You've still got plenty of time.

Easy for you to say, man, all my biological functions are already waning.

It's natural. It doesn't mean anything's ending, man. That happens as soon as we're born.

S-still, I can't help but think about how I've got a bit of a time limit to decide who I wanna be with for the rest of my life.

Sheesh. Easter really screwed you up, didn't it.

[chokes] You fuckin' think?! It's humiliating seeing everyone all married with kids while I'm the fag of the family that hasn't even gotten a date for the last 10 years. I'm such a loser, man.

Aye, easy, brother. You're fine. Look around you. Do you see anyone else across these fields? You're just in a really bad location, with bad circumstances. You're not some lesser man for that. If anything, the world owes you an apology.

That sounds like the most narcissistic thing I've ever heard.

It's got some merit to it. You have to believe me here, Giampaolo, I swear all the gays in town would be all over you if you were closer to the city.

Pffft. Whatever you say.

Next Pride, I'll prove it to you. You gotta come out this year.

I think I've still got my leather around somewhere...

That's the spirit. And who knows, maybe a certain frog can come with you. Enjoy the sights and sounds. Enjoy the You.

[flustered] Fffffuckin'. Whatever. [chuckling] My life's never been really ordinary anyway.

Your first mistake is ever thinking otherwise. My roommate is a giant rat. You suplexed a man with a pizza for a head and destroyed a giant Tower with nothing but your rage.

[sigh] ...yeah. You're right.

Sometimes you gotta let things happen. You'd be surprised.

Yeah. [smiles]

[betzabobababi]

Evolving Towards The Dark

Cancer fic 2

Hey olives! Welcome to my Second fic for my Cancer event. This took a while to get too, because a lot has happened in the past month lol.

Let me catch you up...First my apartment had mold in it, I moved out, then my new house burned down, I got an apartment, I went to Phoenix as a de-stress roadtrip, one of my family members passed away, I was severely depressed, and most recently, I broke my hand. I had a few WIPS and I wanted to finish one and post it so ya'll wouldn't be waiting so long for the rest while my hand healed.

Sorry I think i'm rambling, anyways, without any unecesarry delay here is 'Evolving Towards The Dark'

Summary: Change is a natural part of life, people agree to disagree, but sometimes an argument ends a life long friendship.

Warnings: Failed attempt at gaslighting, Swearing, arguing, yelling, friendship breakups, acting industry, character change.

Pairings: Tom Holland x GN!Best-friend!reader

Type: Angst

Listen to: I Can't Handle Change by Roar

.

.

.

.

.

.

You were exhausted. Your voice was hoarse. The screaming had gone for longer than ever.

"I don't understand what you need from me!"

"I don't need anything, I want it! I want you to stop changing for the worse because I know what happens if you don't! I know how it'll end."

Tom stares at you. His face is pale and his hands are shaking. You on the other hand are stoic, barely showing any emotion. What you said before…it was true. You could tell that if he kept going down this path, there wouldn't be a path to go down on anymore.

Not for him, not for you, not for you as bestfriends. But why couldn't he understand that?

"Y/n! I. can't. Change."

"But you can change for them? You can become who they want you to be, you can change to appease the public but you can't even tell me that it's changing?"

"You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you, and your God damn mind thinking that those rumors are true, I'd never choose them over you. You're my best friend! These rumors are making you crazy, I'm the only one you should be believing and yet you aren't! You don't believe me, probably because you don't want our friendship anymore."

You scoff, genuinely surprised at his feeble attempt to gaslight you.

"I don't want this anymore? Seriously?"

You wave your arms rattling your frame, your hands start to shake, your eyes narrow glaring at Tom.

"Are you kidding me?" You say.

"You are an asshole Tom. How could you say that? I've always wanted this to last! I always will!"

"I highly doubt that." he retorts back.

"You know I'm not as stupid as you may think I am? I know you. You know me! So why is this so FUCKING HARD TO UNDERSTAND!? I swear sometimes I feel like you just go out and party to make me feel left out! Your eye bags are a clear sign of that."

"Tom! What the hell!? God damn it! You're the one that makes me look like this!"

"You stopped texting me goodnight and I stopped sleeping well, you stopped making sure I ate during the day and I couldn't get myself to keep food in my stomach. You are the problem. Why don't you see that?"

He takes a look at you once more before shaking his head…"fuck this" he says before pushing his way past you. He walks to the door grabbing the handle before he turn back at you.

"Change is a normal part of life. If you don't want me to change. Then maybe I don't want this"

With that he opens the door and slips out, slamming it once he's outside. You stare at the door in shock, what the hell just happened?

As the silence sets in you quickly walk over to the window. From there you see Tom sitting in his car, head down shaking. Instinctly your hand reaches over to the doorknob. You stop yourself. Scolding yourself for still caring. But why wouldn't you? He's your bestfriend.

Was.

The moment he walked out that door, he walked out of your life. And honestly, it was for the best. His addiction of being perfect for the industry was making him change for the worse. You'd tried to be there for him. But he just pushed you away. He built a wall so high that not even you could get through it. So when he left your life, you felt like you could breathe again.

Change is a normal part of life. But not all change is good. As our own person, we need to be careful how we change, and who we change for.

Something Tom didn't do.

Tags: @popfishjr @scarthefangirl @book-place @im-dreaming-of-youtonight

[veryrealimagination]

“Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Day No: 26

Prompt: Working to exhaustion

Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries

Medium: fic

Trigger Warnings: none

SFW

Watts hadn’t had a day off in a month. His days had been twelve to sixteen hours long, covering for his ‘fellow’ constables and the detectives that he ran the errands off. He was one of the earliest people in and one of the last ones to leave. If he was allowed. There were times where he was ‘volunteered’ for the night shift alongside some of the ones that hated him the most.

After his kidnapping by James Gillies, and rescue after they got William out, his Inspector was not pleased by the weeks where he wasn’t there. He didn’t fire him, no, Inspector Brackenreid informed him when he came to rip him a hole. Apparently, he played it as Gillies getting information out of him whenever he came across something that needed a police officer’s knowledge. He was being punished for leaving them short handed.

He had to be there earlier than everyone else to get things ready. The desk sergeant had to approve of his work. The detectives used him for the most part to get witness statements, paperwork from the coroners and the city, running around with no access to cabs or a bike. He didn’t really get to have a lunch, barely managing to get something off of carts. Trying to get tea was a trial, if they didn’t catch him trying to make it and then take all of it. Water was better, if they had their keg filled. With the silent approval from their Inspector, they had been running him to the grave. He mentally debated on quitting and finding James again so he could have a life of sorts. Even if working with the man was about as dangerous as it always was.

Now, he was heading for the city coroner to get paperwork for a murder victim. It had been several hours since starting the day and he had yet to have something more than the single porridge bowl served at his boardinghouse. There had been two sneaked cups of teas, but he could feel that not being enough either.

Going through the doors, he had to stop at two different doors to stop the slight swirling of his eyesight. Closing them for a minute, he waited until there was enough strength to get through the morgue and not react to what was likely to be a victim on the slab before getting what he needed to get and run off.

His mind registered that Doctor Grace was with someone. Two someones. One deeper than the other two. A man, at least. While the swirling had stopped, there had been a fog floating through his ears and filling the back of his eyes. His mind told him that the other two were familiar, safe, but it wouldn’t actually give him the names of the people. That fog was doing its best to destroy his reasoning and sense.

Walking in, the white blurred at the edges and he almost paused before forcing himself forward. “Constable Watts,” a delighted voice called out.

*Oh, Julia.* His head jerked up too quickly at hearing his name called out that his sight spun around when he tried to focus. Stumbling, he grabbed a railing to keep himself from falling while he closed his eyes. “Llewellyn,” the deeper voice said, concerned at his state. He heard steps before someone gently got a hold of him.

“Wllum,” he mumbled, recognizing the other voice. The way he sounded and acted, unconsciously seeking his warmth, concerning the others although he couldn’t see it. Julia was quickly going through what she could see with the other woman. It took a deal to get himself to stop drifting. Three breaths in and out before he had more energy to talk clearly. “I’ll be fine. Just need a minute.”

“Looks as if you need more like an hour,” Julia commented, “William, there’s the chairs in the office. Let’s get him seated.” Between three people that weren’t willing to let him go without acknowledging what they saw, he was sat in the little visitor’s chair. Forcing his eyes to open, he was treated to the older woman getting a doctor’s bag out that must have been tucked in a corner, considering the dust.

Gently moving his head, Doctor Grace and William were out in the main room, quietly discussing something. “Uh, oh,” he mouthed. Doctor Grace wasn’t in the ‘know’ about his former ward status. If he was right, it was just been explained to her. It may go well, it may not.

“All right, Constable Watts,” she said, getting his attention again. The fog was still sloshing in his head, but the swirling and blurring was tempered now that he was out of the bright area. “Three very important questions. One, did you sleep last night?”

He nodded, closing his eyes when it didn’t go well. “Managed four hours.”

“Only four? You need more than that,” she pointed out.

“I, wasn’t let off until about one, and I woke up just before six,” he said, carefully filtering through his memories to ensure they were correct. “Had to get up for the porridge.”

She noted that for the third question. Although, she had a good idea on what the answer was. William walked in with Emily standing just behind him. “Two, how much sleep are you getting each night?”

“Four to five hours for the past month. That’s with luck. I’ve had a couple of nights where I only managed two, one, none,” he slipped, the fog blocking his filter that was warning him to stop talking, “The other constable they set on me sometimes catches me, sometimes doesn’t.”

The past month. There was something she was connecting, but she wasn’t sure on exactly why. Station House One hadn’t been involved with her husband’s death, and her almost hanging thanks to Gillies’s manipulation and setup. Llewellyn shouldn’t have been involved with the trial and almost hanging. In fact, she found out later he wasn’t involved at all on either side. He hadn’t been helping William, but he hadn’t been in the crowd that wanted her death.

William noted it as well. “Last question, Llewellyn, is that porridge the only food you had today?” she asked.

She noticed that he started to wobble after nodding his head at the last question. “I am not permitted breaks on most days,” he admitted, “My disappearance before William’s rescue is unacceptable for Station House One and they are punishing me for it.”

“It’s almost six,” Emily whispered, slightly horrified.

William frowned. Twelve hours without food. He heard from the other constables that Llewellyn was being run ragged over at One. His disappearance during the trial and reappearance after being rescued pointed to something that should be obvious.

The way he was getting treated over there, it almost made him want to break one of the promises they had agreed on before Llewellyn became a constable. Only interfere when necessary. When his life was in danger and it would be hard to keep from anyone.

“Doctor’s orders,” Julia said, “You’re going to get something decent to eat before sleeping for at least nine hours.”

“I,” Llewellyn attempted to say. His head was swirling with the fog and now a low thump of pain that usually happened when he hadn’t enough to drink had joined in.

“I can take the report that you were coming for,” Doctor Grace jumped in, looking over to him. “I am done for the day here.”

“Excellent, and we can get him a decent meal before getting him home for sleep,” Julia led.

His second attempt at trying to argue came out as a low groan. Someone pushed a tin mug into his hand and he immediately brought it up to take water filled to the brim. Simple sips turned into draining the mug. “Nothing to drink as well,” William noted.

He held up a finger to protest. “Two cups of tea.”

“When?” There was a pause as he tried to remember when he had those teas. That settled the older man’s case. “Another cup before we go.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Helping Hand 8

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of divorce, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, 40s reader

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

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

The car door shuts and jars you from your daze. You look over, your head bobbling as you squint at the empty seat beside you. You lean against your side of the car until the door opens suddenly and you're only kept from falling out by the restraint of the seat belt.

"Oh, dear," Jonathan's voice startles you.

You frown up at him, rolling your eyes to clear the fog. The last few days, the last weeks, months, and years all flow over you. The displacement of it clutches in your chest.

Just a minute before, you thought it was Andy who left you in the car alone, that you'd just sat through another of his lectures, more a dressing down. No, you're divorced now and that was a very long time ago. You wince as your shoulder thrums and give a pathetic wine.

Jonathan reaches across you and unbuckles the belt. He catches you as you slouch towards him, his proximity suffocating. He is your boss. You need to be careful.

Careful or what? You'll lose your shitty job and your shitty apartment. Big deal.

"Come, darling," he helps you stand, keeping an arm around you, "we can't have you falling now."

You set your feet, your body heavy and stiff. Your hips ache from the waiting room chairs and that persistent soreness that never seems to go away. You lean on him as he shuts the door.

He angles you around and you look up at the building before you. It's not what you expected. You're not at your apartment, instead walking, nearly stumbling, towards the sleek modern architecture of a detached house.

"Where..." you garble around your dry tongue.

"Well, the doctor did advise you not be left alone and you won't be using your arm any time soon. I figure for the time being, you might do well with some supervision, rather assistance."

"Mmm, but..." your voice trails off as he slows and takes the steps with you one at a time, they're low and long, a rather tedious design.

"But what?" He wonders lightly.

You blink as he stops you again, keying in the code on the pad beneath the door handle. You groan and shake your head. You should go home.

"I'll be fine," you argue.

"It is only one night," he counters smoothly, "I couldn't in good conscience--"

"You're too polite, you know that? And so proper," you mutter and let him usher you inside. You couldn't stop him if you tried.

He turns you and sits you a leather bench next to the shoe mat. Of course, his place is luxurious and immaculate. God, what he must think of the broken glass in your front door.

He bends to remove his leather shoes before he comes before you, kneeling to unlace your black orthopedic sneakers. The ones from Walmart with the memory foam. They don't do much for your arches.

"Why are you so nice to me?" You mope, brain fuzzy as your thoughts escape before you can filter them.

"Am I? Or am I just decent?" He scoffs, "darling," he stands with a grunt and bends over you, looping his arms around you to lift you, "I won't presume to know much of your previous entanglement but it might be that you've accepted treatment lesser than what you deserve."

He guides you through a broad square archway and into an equally refined room. You dare say your ex-husband might just drool at the aesthetic. He takes you to the couch and eases you down, pulling several cushions behind you before lowering you gently.

You tisk and look away from him, staring at the black and white portrait of Big Ben on the wall. You don't want to be here, it just reminds you of how pathetic you are. Look at you, broken and beat down.

You close your eyes and groan. You wait, refusing to look, until you sense him back away. You let out a long breath and try to relax. The tension is just making your arm throb and you don't have the energy to maintain it.

He returns and drapes a blanket over you.

"This should do for the time being. I've brought some lounge clothes you may borrow when you feel up to changing out of that uniform. Those things are not very comfortable," he chuckles, "I might make you some tea?"

"I'm fine," you grumble, letting your eyes open just slightly. Your head lolls as you feel ready to doze.

"If you'd rather sleep, that is probably best," he aquiesces.

"Hm," you sniff.

He lets out another soft laugh, "what? You disapprove of something?"

"No," you growl.

"You must. If it is some flaw I possess, I don't mind changing--"

"You," you snip, "you're too handsome and rich to be doing all this for me."

"Handsome?" He repeats coyly.

"Don't even try to pretend you don't know," your eyes close as you babble, "tall and blonde and... strong. I'm a divorcee who can't afford brand name mac and cheese." You yawn and sink back into the pillows, "I know it's only pity. Rich guys just wanna stroke their egos."

The words blaze in your mind as somewhere deep down, you know you shouldn't say them. You can't worry about your rambling as the painkillers mute any strand of sense left in you. He is right, sleep is best, sleep is your only escape.