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imaginedhaven · 4 years ago

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Reluctantly Rooming: Part Twelve

Link to Masterpost

I didn’t think I’d have this done so quickly, but here we are!

Content/Warning: While not intended to be a main focus of the work, this chapter does contain discussion of sexual orientation and the revelation of a side character as a trans man (who is almost assuredly not trans in the original canon). While I definitely want to be as respectful as possible even though I’m only barely broaching the topic, I cannot claim to be trans myself, so if I’ve gotten something wrong in my admittedly-minimal talk about it please tell me!

Today’s prompts:

Aelin getting stood up for a date

and

Inappropriate exclamations during an innocent massage

~*~*~

Aelin crossed her legs, leaning forward with an interest she was struggling to feel. “So, Ilias, you said you’re here for work? What is it you do?”

Ilias grinned a little too sharply at her, amusement flashing in sea-green eyes. “I work in… private security. I’m afraid I can’t say more than that.”

“Right.” She began to fidget with the skewer that had held her drink’s cherry, searching for something else to say.

“You seem uncomfortable. Want to get out of here?”

Oh gods, was he really…? Yes, he was leaning in, and the way his eyes flitted down her torso and then back up meant he was saying exactly what she thought he was saying.

“You know, if I’m being honest I don’t know if this is going to work,” she blurted out. “I mean, with you being based so far west of here, and traveling all over for your work… I’m not looking for forever on a first date, but maybe something a bit more stable than that.”

Ilias’ brow furrowed, then he nodded with an easy grin. “Fair enough. I definitely can’t promise stable.”

~*~*~

It had been a while since Aelin had been on a date with a woman, but she knew without a doubt that wasn’t the cause of the nerves settling in the pit of her stomach as golden eyes flashed at her from the barstool beside her. “Can I ask you a question that’s probably a bit rude?”

Her companion—Manon, that was her name—merely raised an amused eyebrow.

Aelin blurted out the question that had been at the tip of her tongue for the past several minutes. “Do you find that people being both scared and turned on is a normal reaction around you, or is it just me?”

Manon smirked, flicking her platinum braid over her shoulder. “It’s what I aim for,” she replied with a flash of sharp teeth.

Aelin laughed. “Okay, if I’m being honest we’re probably a terrible romantic match, but I like you. This is probably weird, since we’re on what’s supposed to be a date, but I have this friend who I think would absolutely love you…” Aelin trailed off, scrolling through the pictures on her phone.

Pointed nails dug into her shoulder as Manon peered at the screen. “I’m interested.”

Aelin blinked. “I haven’t told you anything about Elide.”

“I can see what I need to know about her from the way she’s holding herself in that picture. I’m willing to meet if she is.”

“I’ll introduce you on the condition that you teach me that trick you used on the guy you passed on your way in.”

“Deal.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.”

~*~*~

Aelin sighed from the corner of the bar, shaking her head as Lysandra gave her a questioning stare. Ress was late. Incredibly late, not just something she could attribute to traffic.

She swirled the whiskey in her glass, watching the amber liquid to stop herself from checking her phone for the fifth time in as many minutes. He would show up if and when he showed up, and she was determined to not be bothered by it even though it bothered her immensely.

Maybe she should take Lysandra up on her offer to set her up. It couldn’t be worse than her experience trying to find people on dating apps.

Finally, her phone chimed as the screen lit up with an unfamiliar number. Aelin, it’s Ress. I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. There’s been a huge disaster at work and apparently I’m the one who gets to clean it up.

Aelin sighed. Well, at least he’d texted her.

~*~*~

“Three flops in as many weeks, Lysandra, I think I’m cursed.” Aelin sighed and nestled further into the couch. “I mean, I went on a run today to try and calm down. Who goes on runs?”

“Rowan goes on runs,” her friend replied wickedly. “And I told you from the start that dating apps were hit or miss. This isn’t college anymore.”

“I didn’t have to worry about it in college,” she reminded her.

“That’s right, you were doing that thing with Sam where you thought you were a lesbian and Sam hadn’t fully come to the realization that he was a guy yet. You know, I still can’t believe you two wound up staying friends after how that fell out.”

Aelin grimaced. Some days she couldn’t quite believe it, either; she had hardly been graceful about it in college. “It took a lot of distance and a lot of growing up,” she admitted. “And a lot of admitting that I said a lot of things I didn’t mean.”

“Anyhow, if you’re ready to hear my ideas, I could set you up with Archer.”

Aelin frowned, rubbing at a sudden cramp in her calf muscles. “Is that a person’s name, or a profession?”

“It’s his name. I can help you with that, if you want.” Lysandra leaned forward and took over, deftly massaging her leg.

“And how exactly do you know this Archer?”

“I worked with him at that massage parlor in Rifthold.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Lysandra’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Aelin scowled. “No one from Rifthold.”

Green eyes softened in understanding. “He’s not like—”

“I don’t care. No.”

Thankfully, her friend dropped it there, instead focusing on working the knot out of her sore muscles. “I could also set you up with Rowan.”

Aelin groaned. “Oh gods, Lys. No.”

“What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? My ability to live with him, and therefore my home?” She turned her head just enough to glare at her friend, otherwise remaining practically boneless as she sprawled across the couch.

Lysandra laughed. “You think Aedion wouldn’t kick him out over you?”

“I don’t want it to come to that. So no, you’re not setting me up with him.”

“But you could go on runs together, and when you push yourself too hard he could probably carry you home.”

“You’re a terrible influence. Remind me why we’re friends again?”

“Because you’re a worse one,” her friend grinned. “Besides, I can do this.”

A few deft strokes of Lysandra’s hands had the tension leaving her leg, and she moaned in relief. “Gods, that feels so good.”

“See? Everyone likes my hands, they’re one of my best features.”

“Don’t get all smug with me—yes, right there!”

A loud noise near the doorway had them both freezing and looking over, only to discover that Rowan had gotten home early and looked absolutely mortified. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Aelin, you have a room.”

Aelin blushed hotly as she played back the last several moments of their conversation. Exactly how much had he heard? Hopefully it was just the last part; as awkward as it was, it was easier to explain than her misplaced attraction to him. “As trite as this sounds, it’s not what it looks like.”

“So you haven’t brought one of your recent dates home?” As odd as it was to think, she was relieved by the scowl on his face; the expression combined with his words indicated that he hadn’t heard them talking about him.

“Gods, no. This is Lysandra. From the bar, remember?”

Bless her, Lysandra stood and waved with a grin. She was less thrilled with what her friend proceeded to say, though. “Your friend here pushed too far running and hurt her leg. I was just helping with that.”

Immediately Rowan’s gaze fixated on her legs, obviously searching for any obvious sign of injury. Aelin sighed. “I’m fine, buzzard. It was just a muscle cramp.”

He nodded, the motion sharp and jerky, and strode into the kitchen, fetching a glass of water with almost mechanical precision. “I guarantee you didn’t drink enough water before you ran. This should help prevent it from coming back.”

She scowled, but obediently sipped from the glass after he handed it to her. “I thought you weren’t supposed to right before running. Doesn’t that upset your stomach?”

“I’m talking about yesterday, Aelin. You should be keeping well-hydrated on a daily basis if you’re going to take up running.”

“You just want me to drink more water,” she accused. “That sounds made up.”

“Just try it,” he replied. “You’ll thank me later.”

Her head jerked back toward the living area at the sound of a door closing, only to find that Lysandra had taken the opportunity to quietly let herself out. Her friend grinned and waved from the driveway when she saw her, clearly realizing she was caught and utterly unrepentant.

Aelin sighed and turned back to Rowan, who was watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite identify. “You’re really okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “I just needed something to help me not think for a while after these shit dates I’ve been on lately, and I’m told drinking alone is a sign of having a problem.”

The corner of his lips quirked up in the barest hint of a smile. “They must’ve been really bad, to make you consider running as a viable option.”

Aelin shrugged. “I mean, I’ve had worse, but I’ve also had better? It was just one miss after another, you know?”

He glanced at her again, then turned toward the refrigerator. “I think I have everything we need to make pasta, if that’ll help you feel better.”

“You’d actually make me pasta?” She frowned; there had to be some kind of catch. There was no way he would simply allow that many carbs to be on his stovetop at the same time.

“I would,” he replied, heading toward the pantry and grabbing…

“Wait, that’s not pasta,” she blurted out. Gods, she knew there was a catch.

He laughed, rolling up his sleeves before grabbing their eggs as well. “It’s not pasta yet.”

“You can’t seriously mean—” There was no way he was actually making pasta from scratch. There was a reason it came in boxes, she was sure of it.

“I can and I do. Now either stop talking and watch or get out of my kitchen.”

Aelin chose to watch, and the play of muscles in his forearms as he made and kneaded his own pasta dough was almost enough to make her forget about why she’d thought it was a good idea to try dating again in the first place.

Almost.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou @mymultiversee @swankii-art-teacher @rowansfirebringer @livsdriverslicense @courtofjurdan @danibutterr @woollycat22 @rowaelinismyotp @sleeping-and-books @acciowests @stardelia @anidealiveson

#rowaelin #haven writes #reluctantly rooming

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here4theheartbreak · 4 years ago

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Debuting and Dating (2Seok)

⭒ AO3 Link Here!

⭒ Relationships: Hoseok x Seokjin (2seok)

⭒ Genre: smut

⭒ Rating: Explicit

⭒ Word Count: ~3.6k

⭒ Tags: smut, PWP, getting together, idol-verse, loss of virginity, makeshift sex toys, face fucking, barebacking, coming untouched, dirty talk, clothed sex, semi-public sex, almost getting caught, bottom!Jin, top!Hoseok

⭒ Summary: Jin's had a crush on Hoseok since he met him, and it finally paid off. Now if only he could get more than a minute alone with him.

⭒ A/N: This fic is for @thebtswritersclub January Prompt - New Beginnings/Beginnings.

The first time that Jin saw Hoseok he was both intimidated and in awe. The way he moved, the professionalism, the maturity for his age; Hoseok was the perfect man in Jin's eyes. Unfortunately - Jin knew he didn't have a chance with him. In addition to being absolutely perfect, Hoseok was also likely absolutely straight. That, and he seemed to hate Jin with a burning passion. Not that Jin was surprised. He wasn't that good of a singer and his dancing was horrendous; more times than not after practice Hoseok would need to pull him aside and work with him longer. It was embarrassing in and of itself, and made far worse with the fact that Jin's crush wasn't going anywhere.

It wasn't until a week after debut that things came to a head. Jin and Hoseok were - as usual - stuck in a practice room far later than the other five as Hoseok went over a few moves that Jin had been struggling with. Jin was near tears, exhausted and ready to quit. The response from the potential new fans hadn't been all that good - with the negativity outweighing the positivity in Jin's mind. He was a failure and he knew it. Though the fans weren't all specifically calling him out for being bad at his job, there were enough.

"Why do you even bother?" Jin asked softly as the two sat on the floor during a few minutes of rest.

"Hm?" Hoseok glanced up from his phone.

"Bother with me. I'm no good."

"You debuted."

"Being dragged along by everyone else."

"Namjoon can't dance perfectly either," Hoseok said simply.

"Right, sure. So he's in the back with me. But he raps perfectly. And he writes most of the music. And he's the leader. What can I do that can't be done by someone else in the group just as well if not better?"

"Cook?" Hoseok said, trying to smile.

"Yoongi."

"You're a good singer."

"Jimin's just as good and can do all my parts."

"You've got the looks."

"So does Taehyung."

Hoseok remained silent for a moment. Jin looked over, surprised to see a sad look in Hoseok's eyes.

"What?"

"I know one thing that you do that they can't."

"What's that?"

"Beat yourself up like this. You're good at your job, Jin-hyung. And even if you weren't... We all love you and want you to succeed. You deserve so much. I'd be heartbroken if you left. I mean we, we would be."

"I won't leave you guys," Jin said. He sighed and rose, his knees wobbling a bit from exhaustion. "One more time."

Hoseok nodded and hopped up, seemingly full of energy once more. They went through the moves four more times, and Jin thought maybe was improving. Until the fifth. Brows furrowed, he counted under his breath as he stepped to the music. He could feel Hoseok watching him, having asked him to do this one on his own. Step, step-- Jin's knee finally gave out on him. The world tilted as he went down, throwing his arms out to brace for the impact.

It never came. Hoseok had rushed forward, catching him and keeping him upright, their chests pressed together. Jin opened his eyes, surprised to find himself nearly nose to nose with Hoseok.

"Thanks... Sorry."

“Don’t worry about it. You’re exhausted. Come on, enough for today.”

Jin shook his head. “One more.”

“No. You’re falling over. Once more and you might collapse. Come on, let’s go shower and head home.”

Jin nodded, letting Hoseok guide him to the shower room. He sat as he stripped, his muscles barely able to keep him up. His legs were cramping in the worst way, and each movement was agony. Though he kept his groaning silent, Hoseok seemed to notice. He crouched down, working his strong, slender fingers into Jin’s tight calf.

“You’re hurting, huh?”

Jin hissed, falling backwards onto the bench. “Sorry—“

“Don’t apologize,” Hoseok said. “I get it. Just relax. Let me help.”

Hoseok began to work his muscles loose. It went from agony to calm to pure pleasure as his hands moved cleanly over Jin’s legs. He rose, sitting on the bench to work on his thighs. Jin’s eyes were closed.

Hoseok chuckled. “Glad I’m good at this,” he said.

Jin opened his eyes and looked down. Much to his embarrassment, Hoseok was looking pointedly at his crotch. Wearing only boxers, it was obvious he had an erection, tenting the front of his shorts. He scrambled up, covering the tent as well as he could.

“I didnt— I’m not— I don’t—“

“Breathe,” Hoseok said simply. He rose from the bench and approached Jin. “Do you get hard during massages normally?”

Jin considered lying. Saying yes would help him escape trouble, but lying to Hoseok felt bad. His hesitation seemed to be all Hoseok needed.

“I thought so. So it’s me then?” Hoseok asked, as if Jin had given an answer. Jin lowered his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“Silly thing to apologize for. You should ask me out instead.”

Jin’s head snapped up quick enough to make his neck ache, his eyes bulging. Hoseok laughed. He stepped a little closer to Jin, shifting so his chest was pressed against his arm. It took Jin a second to realize what he was doing. His cock, just as hard as Jin’s, was pressing against his hip. Hoseok shifted, his eyes fluttering shut.

“I’d say yes, spoiler alert,” he whispered.

Jin’s heart may have stopped. The world seemed to go a little fuzzy as every sense he had focused on the feeling of Hoseok’s cock, sliding over his hip. It felt big. It was hard. It seemed - if Hoseok was being honest - to be Jin’s fault he was in that condition. So, being polite, it would only make sense… Jin let his hands drop from his crotch. He turned, cupping Hoseok’s cock through his shorts. Hoseok gasped, smirking a little.

“Is that a yes to the date then?”

“Mhm,” Jin breathed. He began to stroke Hoseok through his shorts. “Do you think we’re alone?”

“Hm… Nobody else would need the shower room,” Hoseok said.

“Good.” Jin sank to his knees. “I should fix the problem I caused.”

He pulled Hoseok’s shorts down, his heart skipping a beat and his stomach knotting up when his cock was revealed, hard and curved, thick in all the right places.

Jin had no idea what he was doing. But Hoseok needed pleasure and dammit he’d do it. He wrapped his lips around the tip, moaning at the salty sweet taste. Hoseok gently pressed on his head, urging him forward. Jin relaxed, letting more slide into his mouth, sitting heavily on his tongue.

Hoseok fisted his hair, guiding his head back and forth.

“That’s it. Suck on my cock, Jinnie. Make me come.”

Jin moaned happily around Hoseok’s cock. His own throbbed in his pants. He reached down and squeezed himself through his shorts. Hoseok pulled him off his cock, and Jin instinctively went forward, sticking his tongue out to lick at the silken tip, dribbling clear precome.

“Perfect,” Hoseok cooed. “Made to have a dick in your mouth.” He drove two fingers into Jin’s mouth, stroking his tongue all the way back.

“Do you have much of a gag reflex, pretty cocksucker?”

Jin shook his head no, letting himself drool around Hoseok’s fingers.

“Good.” Hoseok removed his fingers and grabbed his spit slicked cock. He rubbed it over Jin’s plush lips. “Can I fuck your throat?”

Jin nodded eagerly.

“Just open your mouth. I’ll do the rest.”

Jin obeyed, opening his mouth wide. Hoseok slid his cock over his tongue before fisting his hair. He slammed him forward, his cock driving past Jin’s throat. Jin gagged hard, eyes watering. His cock jerked and dribbled precome as Hoseok began to pump his hips, his cock sliding almost all the way out before slipping back down his throat.

He held still, balls pressed to Jin’s chin as Jin struggled to breathe around his thick, throbbing cock.

He reached down, beginning to jerk off.

“Don’t,” Hoseok growled, pulling his cock out to let Jin breathe. “When I’m inside you - in any way - I don’t ever wanna see your hand on your cock.”

“Please,” Jin begged. “I gotta come.”

“Then you come with something in your holes like a good boy. Either from my cock or your fingers... Or...” he drifted off. “Here.” He walked over to their bags and dug in his own, pulling out a hairbrush with a smooth plastic handle. He pushed it into Jin’s mouth. “Slobber on it.” Jin did as requested, sucking it like a cock. While he did, Hoseok pulled his shorts down just over his ass, keeping his cock covered with his boxers. He spat in his hand, rubbing it over Jin’s hole.

“I’m gonna open up this hole soon,” he commented. Jin moaned around the brush. He nodded. Hoseok pulled it out. “Relax.”

He lined up the handle to Jin’s ass and pushed.

Jin moaned happily, his ass opening for the makeshift toy until it could go no deeper. Hoseok bunched up their shirts, balancing the brush.

“There. Now you can bounce on it like a cock while I use you. Come from that.”

He stood back up, watching Jin start to ride the brush for a moment. It wasn’t perfect, but it hit his spot and made his cock dribble, so it worked. He opened his mouth, letting Hoseok slide back down his throat. He began to fuck his face, not holding back.

Jin’s cheeks burned both from lack of oxygen and from the pornographic clicking, gulping noises he was forced to make as Hoseok used his throat like a sex toy. He continued to ride the brush, chasing his orgasm.

A little surge of pride struck him when Hoseok shuddered. “I need to come. Hold your breath and swallow.” Hoseok said. He drove deep and held Jin’s head. Jin obeyed, swallowing around his cock. He felt it jerk, gagging I instinctively. The thick come filled his throat, forcing him to swallow or choke. Above him, Hoseok moaned his name, shivering as he came.

Jin reached back, fucking himself hard and fast with the brush until his orgasm hit, cock spilling down his thigh. He moaned, coughing as Hoseok pulled out, one final rope of come dribbling over his tongue. His entire body shuddered as his orgasm washed over him, as well as the lack of oxygen. Hoseok crouched, immediately hugging him close.

“That was amazing,” Hoseok whispered.

“Still on for that date?” Jin asked.

Hoseok grinned against his shoulder. “Of course… Come on, let’s clean up.” He helped him up and out of his messy shorts, leading him to the shower.

The two quickly became inseparable. Though they kept their relationship under wraps from everyone but Namjoon, they spent as much time together as possible. Whether it was training after the group choreography sessions, going to lunch or dinner together, or taking ten minutes to make out in one of Big Hit’s broom closets, Jin could not get enough of his beautiful boyfriend.

Their relationship progressed naturally and quickly. Nearly eight months into their relationship, the two were crawling out of their skin. They were both eager to take the next physical step. Unfortunately - getting time alone to take that step was near impossible. Jin didn’t want to rush it. He was losing his virginity, and it would be special. Hoseok was understanding though, admittedly, impatient as well.

One weekend, Jin crawled quietly into bed with Hoseok. Not a new thing; they often spent evenings kissing quietly while the rest of the group slept in beds far too close for comfort. But Jin had a different plan tonight.

As the shared quiet kisses, covered up to their necks with Hoseok’s blankets, Jin pushed his hand down the front of Hoseok’s shorts.

“Take me,” he whispered against his mouth, cupping Hoseok’s thickening cock.

“Here?” Hoseok leaned back, staring at Jin, wide eyed, in the darkness.

Jin nodded. He stroked Hoseok slowly to hardness. “If we move slow enough the bed won’t creak. I need you, I— I know you want it too and I’m tired of waiting.”

Hoseok nodded. He kicked his boxers off, pushing them further down the bed. Jin rolled over, pressing his bare back against Hoseok’s chest. He felt Hoseok slide his shorts down just over his ass, keeping them up in the front.

He reached under the mattress, finding the little bottle of lube he knew Hoseok kept there, and passed it back.

The click sounded loud in the room, and Jin kept his eyes open, searching the other members’ beds for any sign of movement. He bit down hard on his lip when Hoseok began to rub his opening, the cool lube sending chills down his back and bringing his flesh into goosebumps.

Hoseok’s fingers were long and skilled, pulling his tight rim open, slow and steady. preparation. Within minutes Jin was swallowing down his moans, biting on the pillow to remain silent lest he wake the other members. Hoseok’s breathing was almost infuriatingly steady; only the persistent nudge of his cock bumping against Jin’s leg as he stroked it gave away his arousal.

“Please—“ Jin finally whispered, glad for the snoring and shifting of their members to bury his weak sounds.

“Be silent,” Hoseok returned. His fingers disappeared from Jin’s hole, only to return with more lube. Jin cocked his knee higher, letting Hoseok shift and kick one leg between his. His tip bumped Jin’s virgin hole.

“Ready?” Hoseok’s question was nearly a breath. Jin nodded quickly.

Hoseok hesitated until a member moved, their bed creaking, before he pushed at Jin’s resisting rim. They both gasped.

Jin chewed at his lip to remain silent. Hoseok worked his cock forward agonizingly slow, burying it centimeter by centimeter in Jin’s ass. He felt like he was being split in two. His own cock throbbed in the confines of his shorts, balls already aching for release.

“Just push it in,” Jin hissed. “I can take it.”

Hoseok nodded against his shoulder. He reached up, covering Jin’s mouth with his hand. Jin felt his hot breath on his shoulder, then his teeth, gripping firmly in a bite. The persistent tip disappeared... Before his hips snapped forward.

He buried half his thick, bare cock in Jin’s ass. His teeth dug painfully into Jin’s shoulder, muffling a deep grunt.

Jin shouted into Hoseok’s palm, tears of surprised pleasure pain springing to his eyes. They both went still, waiting to see if anyone woke. When the normal sleeping sounds of the members continued around them, Hoseok began to push more in. He kissed the spot he’d bitten, letting his hand drop from Jin’s mouth and instead rest on his belly.

Jin shuddered softly on each press. Hoseok’s cock was splitting him open in a way he’d never imagined. The steady throbs and twitches seemed to bump his prostate directly, urging weak droplets of precome to dribble into his boxers. He wanted so badly to strip them off and roll Hoseok over, settle onto his cock and ride him until they both were exhausted. But it was impossible. The risk of getting caught - while arousing to both - was too high.

Jin sighed contentedly when Hoseok’s balls pressed tight against his ass, the final few centimeters of his cock now holding Jin’s hole open. The two began to shift slowly, shallow thrusts that wouldn’t make the springs creak, moving in time with other members’ snores and noises.

Jin began to milk Hoseok’s cock, shifting and clenching, bearing down and relaxing. Hoseok’s fingers bit into his belly and he smirked.

“Feel good?” He breathed.

Hoseok huffed against his ear, nipping the lobe before kissing it.

“I’m going to wreck your hole the second we’re alone,” he threatened.

Jin’s cock throbbed. “Yes—“

Hoseok pulled halfway out and drove in, the squeak of the bed mixed with a member shifting a few mattresses over. Jin flailed, struggling not to cry out.

Hoseok chuckled darkly. “Yeah, just like that... But you’re gonna scream for me.”

Jin huffed, nodding quickly.

“‘M never coming anywhere but this hole,” Hoseok continued. His fingers dug into Jin’s stomach and hip when Jin began to wiggle and clench more quickly.

“Never— Ah!” Hoseok’s hand clamped over Jin’s mouth, silencing him.

Next to them, Jimin sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked around blearily. Even in the dark, Jin could see his scowl; he’d definitely heard that.

The two held their breath until Jimin laid back down and was still, only relaxing when he hadn’t moved for a few minutes.

They began to move again, doing their best to muffle their noises in the bed or each others’ skin. Hoseok’s cock seemed to swell the longer they went; Jin’s ass beginning to ache from the constant steady pressure and onslaught.

Hoseok found a lazy rhythm that let him give Jin deeper, longer strokes. Jin panted into his pillow, his cock throbbing, aching for release. He reached down to stroke himself but Hoseok grabbed his hand, pinning it to his chest.

“You come on my cock.”

“Please—“ Jin whispered. “I need—“

“You will come on my cock. I watched you come on my fingers last week. I know you can do it.”

Jin nodded. They went still for a moment when Namjoon shifted and rolled in his bed, afraid their quiet arguing had woken him. While they laid still, Hoseok began to tense and relax, causing his cock to twitch and shift deep inside Jin.

When Namjoon settled back down, Hoseok began to move more freely, covering Jin’s mouth with his hand once more. He angled his thrusts to bump Jin’s sensitive prostate, driving him closer and closer.

It felt like ages that Hoseok’s thick cock was buried in Jin’s hole, teasing and edging him but never quite letting him get there. Jin knew he’d be sore, but couldn’t bring himself to care. It was the most delightful torture he’d ever experienced.

Four times, six, on the eighth time of dragging him right to that edge, Jin sobbed brokenly, muffled by the pillow.

“Please—“

“Just let go,” Hoseok whispered. He pulled out and hesitated until Namjoon snored loudly before slamming in. Jin squeaked, his cock throbbing. Hoseok repeated the action twice more. Jin’s stomach knotted. His balls drew right to his body, goosebumps breaking out over his skin despite being covered by a few blankets and sweating already from the strain.

His cock twitched. It began to spurt rope after rope of come into his boxers as his entire body convulsed. His stomach began to ache and his balls felt like they were being squeezed dry as his orgasm continued, Hoseok’s cock bumping his prostate and milking it for all it was worth. He could hear Hoseok huffing, just barely over the sound of his own racing heart. His rim was sore, lower back burning as the muscles in his ass fluttered and clenched rhythmically around Hoseok’s shaft.

He worried he was hurting him until Hoseok’s breath caught. His fingers dug almost painfully into Jin’s hip.

“Take it,” he huffed. His balls began to throb against Jin’s ass, matching the steady twitch of his cock deep inside him.

Jin’s eyes rolled back. He gave a full body shudder even as his orgasm began to fade. Hoseok was finishing inside him, no condom, filling Jin’s sore, used ass full of his come. Jin couldn’t hide his smile as Hoseok’s cock twitched with each rope splashing inside him.

“Give it to me,” Jin whispered, his smile growing when Hoseok shuddered. “It’s where it belongs— Oh—“ Hoseok pushed impossibly deeper, his entire body shivering once more.

“There you go,” Hoseok whispered against ear. “All full of my come.”

“Thank you—“ Jin was cut off when Hoseok turned him as well as he could still buried in his ass, and kissed him hard.

“If you two are finished, can you fucking go to sleep?” Came Jimin’s sleepy voice. Jin squeaked, looking over at him.

Jimin was peeking out from under his pillow. “I don’t care,” he whispered. “I’m not mad. I just wanna sleep.”

Jin laughed a little and nodded. “Sorry we woke you.”

“Go back to sleep now, we’ll be quiet,” Hoseok said.

Jimin nodded. He smiled a little. “You two are cute together. I’m happy you found each other.”

“Thank you, Jimin,” Jin whispered.

Jimin rolled over, wiggling deeper under his covers and sighing.

Hoseok grabbed Jin’s hip, gently pulling out. Jin grimaced, soreness setting in.

“Sorry,” Hoseok said. He pulled Jin’s boxers back up. “You should change.”

“In a minute,” Jin said. He rolled over to face Hoseok and cuddled up to him, kissing him once more.

“Was it good for you?” Hoseok whispered against his mouth.

“Perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Hm… Same to you. You should go back to your bed though, before we fall asleep.”

“Let’s just sleep together,” Jin sighed, wrapping an arm around Hoseok. “The others do.”

“Think it’d be okay?”

“I wanna sleep with you,” Jin said instead. “Who cares. We need to come out to them all soon.”

Hoseok nodded against his shoulder, wrapping his arm around his middle. “We do. We’ll talk to Namjoon tomorrow. Get some rest, hyung.”

“I love you,” Jin mumbled against Hoseok’s chest. The silence drew on for a moment as Jin listened to his steady heartbeat.

“I love you too,” Hoseok finally said in return. Jin couldn’t hide his smile; that was the first time Hoseok had verbalized that particular phrase. As he drifted off to sleep, Jin realized he felt more at peace than he’d ever felt before. The group was doing well, we finally felt like he fit in, and he’d found the man he hoped to spend the rest of his life with. It was perfect.

#bangtanarmynet #btsguild #jinseoknet #networkbangtan #boymeetsmxm #thebtswritersclub #2seok #hoseok x seokjin #jhope x jin #jin x hoseok #jin x jhope #mywriting #smut

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years ago

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Words: 4,240 Sam x Reader Warnings: none really! Summary: What what! Ohhh the feels... In the aftermath of Sam's break-up, he is sorting through his feeeeelings. A/N: Stuff is happeningggg. This is Part 8 of a series. Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5, Part 6, and Part 7 first!

Your name: submit What is this?

“What is that?” Dean stared at the book in Sam’s hands. “Sammy, are you serious? Come on, man. You can’t be reading that depressing Russian stuff… No wonder you’re always moping around here lately…”

“Okay, first of all, I have not been moping. Second, this is one of the greatest literary works of all time.”

“Dostoevsky?” you asked, stepping into the library, snacking on a small bowl of pretzels. Dean immediately plunged his hand into it and stole a few and you tried to wrestle the bowl back away from him.

Sam laughed at the exchange. “Yeah,” Sam said. “The writing is incredible.” He stuck a slip of paper in the book to mark his place and shut it, turning to give you a small smile as you slapped Dean’s hand away as he reached for your bowl again.

“Ow!” Dean gave you a sour look but ceased trying to steal your snack. “Alright. We need a hunt. There has been entirely too much sitting around here lately,” he said.

“Have you forgotten that my hand is still in a cast?” Sam said, gesturing with his injured hand.

“No. But Y/N and I don’t need you,” he said with a snarky grin.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t know what to say even…”

“I don’t know. You probably could have started with ‘Sorry I didn’t say goodbye and just ran off’,” you said, your tone a little harsh. You thought your anger had abated somewhat over the last few weeks, but maybe not enough. “‘Sorry I lied to you and Dean and, worst of all, Sam’ for—for how long exactly?”

There was only silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. “Look, I was just calling to tell you that I’m going home for a while. So, if you were wondering where I am, that’s where I’ll be.”

“…what about this mystery man?” you asked her. “Is that over already?”

“No, but… I just need to sort through some things.”

“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

Another pause on the other end. “I am really, really sorry that I lied to you.”

“Yeah, well… I hope you learned something from all this.” Dean and Sam came wandering out of the library, expressions of concern on their faces. “I gotta go.” And with that you hung up.

Dean’s eyebrows raised in an inquisitive expression. You shrugged. “My sister. She’s going home for a while. I mean, not home exactly, you know, but out hometown.”

The Winchesters nodded. “So, about that hunt, Dean…” you said.

Dean looked eager but Sam still looked uneasy. He didn’t like the thought of you hunting without him being there. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you and Dean’s skills he just… the thought of sitting out helpless filled him with fear. It was just the what ifs.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam watched from the Impala as the door to the building busted open and you and Dean came rushing out. You were limping and Dean had your arm over his shoulder, taking some of your weight. Your left pant leg was soaked with blood below the knee. Sam threw open the door and was immediately on his feet, rushing over to you and Dean, his expression completely consumed by worry.

Dean had a shadow of what would certainly be a nasty bruise around one of his eyes soon, but he looked otherwise no worse for wear. When Sam got close he could see a large gash through your jeans on your calf. You gritted your teeth but gave him a smile through the grimace as he looked back up to you, his face clouded with unease. “Oops,” was all you said.

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked urgently, moving to your other side to take more of your weight.

“Well, I may have gotten thrown into a pile of rusty metal. Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Coven was a little bigger than we anticipated,” Dean said gruffly from the other side. “They were hurling curses at us from all directions as soon as we walked in. God, I fuckin’ hate witches…”

“Dammit, Dean! I told you this was a bad idea!” Sam scolded him, his heart racing with his anxiety. “We should have waited!”

“Sam, I’m fine. It’s not that bad,” you said, doing your best to reassure him. You tried to hide how much pain you were in. The gash in your leg was deep. It would need stitching. “If we had waited, there would be more dead people and probably more witches. I’m okay, really.”

The muscle in Sam’s jaw tensed. “You’re bleeding a lot,” he said. Dean rushed to open the door to the Impala for you, giving Sam a moment to look you over more thoroughly. You had little cuts and nicks everywhere and he was sure that you’d be pretty banged up and bruised tomorrow. The furrows in his brow deepened.

“Well, I’m gonna need stitches for sure. But I’m fine,” you said. Sam slipped his arm from around you and immediately unbuttoned his flannel. He ripped off one of the sleeves easily and bent to tie it around your leg, which was difficult with his casted hand but he managed.

You breathed in a sharp hiss of air as he tightened the fabric over the gash.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay. Thanks.” You gave him a tight smile, but Sam could see beads of sweat breaking out along your hairline. You were clearly doing your best to downplay the injury.

“Alright. Come on, hot rod,” Dean said, rushing back around the Impala to help you hobble over to the car and slide into the back seat. You leaned back against the headrest and shut your eyes as soon as you were inside. Sam slipped in next to you, his tall frame a little cramped in the back seat, but he wanted to keep a close eye on you for the drive back to the motel.

In no time the Winchesters were helping you back inside their room and Dean was pulling stuff out of the first aid kit. Sam helped you sit down on the edge of one of the beds, and you swung your legs onto it. You pressed your back up against the headboard and Sam sat down on the other bed, facing you.

You looked over at him. “Sam, would you mind pouring me a nice, big glass of whiskey?” you gave him a pleading smile. “I’d like to be a little bit intoxicated while Dean sews my calf muscle closed.”

Sam felt a pang of regret but he got up and grabbed a glass, pouring in a generous share of hunter’s helper. But he also grabbed a second glass and filled it with cold water from the tap. He brought them both over to you, handing you the whiskey and setting the water glass beside you on the nightstand. “Just make sure you drink some of the water too. Please,” he said, giving you a serious look.

“You got it,” you said, nodding. You immediately downed the entire tumbler of whiskey and Sam sighed heavily, giving you an anxious look.

Dean was ready with the first aid kit and he had filled up the ice bucket with warm water. “Sammy, would you go grab all the towels and washcloths from the bathroom?” he asked, settling on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Sure.” Sam came back with a stack of towels.

“Alright, boss,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself here,” he said, untying the scrap of Sam’s flannel from around the gash and shoving a towel underneath your leg.

You could already feel a warmth starting to grow in your chest and head from the whiskey. “Hey, I didn’t do anything to myself,” you retorted. “I didn’t put that pile of scrap metal there and I certainly didn’t throw myself into it.”

Dean laughed gruffly. “No, you did not.” He pulled out his knife.

“What the hell is that for?” Sam asked urgently.

“Well, I need to get into Y/N’s pants and quite frankly we don’t have time for my usual process, so—” he said, throwing a smirk specifically in Sam’s direction.

“Dean!” you scolded him, but you couldn’t help letting out a small laugh. You felt your cheeks growing a little pink. Sam threw a dirty look at his older brother.

Dean slipped the knife into the cut through your jeans and slid it around your leg, cutting away your lower pant leg so he could better see the wound. He tugged the scrap of fabric off and tossed it to the floor. “Yikes. Okay. Here we go.” Sam watched fixedly as Dean washed away the blood on your leg and poured some disinfectant over the area, eliciting a few expletives from you due to the burn. Sam watched you grit your teeth and clench a fist, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back against the headrest for a moment.

He came around Dean to your side and gently touched you on the shoulder. Your eyes shot open and met his kind, warm hazel ones. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. I think that whiskey is really starting to kick in,” you said. Your head was starting to feel a bit fuzzy and the warmth you felt in your chest was expanding outward.

Dean’s voice called your attention back to your leg. “Alright. I’m gonna start stitching you up. You ready?”

You gulped and nodded, bracingly yourself for the pinch of the needle and the uncomfortable sensation of the tug of the thread. Sam sat down next to you on the edge of the bed and held out his uninjured hand to you. You felt yourself blushing a little, and your heart responded in a nervous whir, but you placed your hand in his. Dean began.

“Son of a—!” you squeezed Sam’s hand in yours and shut your eyes, doing your best to take steadying breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth. Sam watched Dean work carefully.

“Dean, you gotta make your stitches smaller—”

Dean shot an annoyed glance at his brother. “Really, Sam? You know this isn’t my first rodeo? You wanna get in here and do it? Oh, wait, that’s right, you’re a cripple. So, why don’t you just be quiet and let me work, okay?” He turned back to his work, working skillfully and quickly.

You gave Sam’s hand a squeeze and despite the sting of the needle couldn’t help from giving him a small smile. His worry was so sweet… You felt the effect of the whiskey growing and let out a sigh, drawing a look from Sam.

“You okay?” he asked, more anxiety on your behalf manifesting in a small worry line near one of his eyebrows. You heart was racing from the way he was looking at you and the feeling of your hand in his.

“Mmm. Mhm,” you managed, pointing to your head with your free hand. “Whiskey,” you said. You heard Dean let out a gruff laugh.

“You frickin’ lightweight,” his deep voice said.

You ignored him and shut your eyes against another pass of the needle, giving Sam’s hand another tight squeeze. You felt his thumb suddenly passing over the back of your hand so softly it was almost as if you were imagining it. Your heart skipped a beat and nervous butterflies appeared in your stomach.

“Almost done,” Dean said. Another minute and he tied off the stitches and wiped the blood from your leg again. He grabbed the antibiotic ointment, applied it to your leg, and wrapped the whole thing up with gauze. “Done,” he announced, giving you a crooked half-smile.

You stared down at your leg, all wrapped up. “I’m part mummy now,” you said. The Winchester brothers had a comically similar expression on their faces, eyebrows lifted at the slight slur in your voice. They exchanged an amused look.

Sam was relieved, and his face broke into a small smile, deep dimples appeared on his cheeks. You were fine. “…How about some water, Y/N?” Sam asked, picking up the glass from the nightstand and handing it to you. You accepted it obediently and took a sip. Sam moved down toward your feet and untied and pulled off your boots. He tugged off the sock from your injured leg, which was soaked with blood. Dean was gathering up the bloodstained towels and throwing them in the laundry bag by the bathroom.

“Thanks, Sammy,” you said. The slur was even more obvious in your voice when you said his name.

He sat down on the other bed across from you, a little amused smile still on his face, elbows on his knees, hands interlaced a little awkwardly due to his cast. God, you loved those dimples. “ ‘Sammy’, huh?” he said.

You nodded, sipping some more water. “Sorry. Should I not call you that? Only Dean is allowed to call you that.” You were holding his eyes unabashedly. The whiskey was giving you a little more courage.

The smile on Sam’s face grew. “I’m okay with it. You’re the only other person I don’t mind calling me ‘Sammy’.” His face turned serious again though as he looked at the other little nicks and cuts on your hands and face. He grabbed a clean washcloth from the nearby stack and wet it with warm water from the ice bucket. He pressed it gently to a cut on the back of your hand, wiping away the dried blood. Your eyes stayed fixated on his face while he worked, drinking him in. There was another cut near your collarbone and Sam’s heart started to race.

“Um, do you mind if I—?” he asked, gesturing to the crimson mark.

Your eyes didn’t leave his face. He could have asked you for anything at that moment. You shook your head in answer to his question and Sam watched you pull your bottom lip in between your teeth for a moment, not knowing it was from nerves and that continued blooming feeling of warmth in your chest. He gulped at the nervous tightness in his own throat and wondered again at how intimate this felt with you, how the air seemed charged. He couldn’t even really remember a time when he had felt this with anyone else.

Sam gently pressed the washcloth to your skin, dabbing at the cut, wiping away the dried blood there. You shut your eyes at the sensation and leaned your head back against the headboard. Your leg was aching and burning, but you felt surprisingly relaxed even though your heart was racing in your chest with Sam so close to you. You worried he would hear it pounding.

“That’s better,” Sam said, drawing away from you again, feeling the space between you growing as if each inch were a mile. Your eyes flutter open again and you caught his.

“Thank you.”

Sam nodded, giving you a half-smile that had a flood of thoughts behind it. Just then Dean stepped back out of the bathroom and went to the small minifridge. He grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and a beer from the fridge. Sinking down into the armchair in the corner, he wrapped the ice pack in a towel and applied it to his cheek and eye. He popped the beer open with another hand and let out a loud sigh. “Well. That’s that,” he said. Dean gave Sam a knowing look, obviously sensing some mood in the room, and Sam was grateful that your eyes were closed again so you didn’t catch it.

You let out a yawn and Dean stood up, his hand still pressing the cold pack over his eye. “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m beat. Y/N, you can take my bed tonight when you’re tired. I think I’ll just go crash in your room now…” Dean gave a pointed look to Sam whose eyes went a little wide. He gulped nervously and gave Dean a questioning and somewhat harried look. Dean only grinned at him. “Alright. Well, hope you can get some rest even with that leg, Y/N,” Dean said. “Night,” he added, opening and disappearing through the door to your adjoining room with his beer.

Those nervous butterflies flitted to life again as you glanced over at Sam. He gave you a small but bright smile, and it lit up the multifaceted hues in his eyes. “Are you tired?” he asked you.

You shrugged a little vaguely. “I can’t tell,” you said. “I just feel… warm.”

“Warm?”

You nodded. “Mhm. Whiskey.” Sam couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was so relieved that you were alright, that your leg wasn’t worse. He smiled at the answer and slur in your voice.

“Yeah, you sound a little like whiskey,” he joked.

“Sorry about your flannel,” you said suddenly. Sam cocked his head in a question. “You ripped it. And then I bled all over it.” This elicited another laugh from Sam and he shook his head.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” He looked thoughtful and glanced down at his cast, resting his other hand over it. “I hate this,” he said. “Not being able to be on the hunt. Being out of commission. Sucks,” he said, catching your eyes. “But I stand by what I said before. I’d still do it for you again.”

You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth nervously again and Sam watched your eyelashes flutter as you looked away. God, that drove him crazy.

You managed to find your voice somehow. “You know, I’d do the same thing for you.”

Sam’s heart hammered harder in his chest. He wanted to kiss you so badly right then. The way you were looking at him went straight through him, straight to his heart. But your words were still a little slurred from the whiskey and it just wasn’t the time. He finally tore his eyes away and straightened up from where he was sitting. “You should rest. Now we need you to heal up fast, too.”

You nodded and watched fondly as Sam went over to his duffel bag and pulled out his book, settling in against the headboard of the other bed to read. Sometime shortly after, you fell asleep, still propped back against the headboard, your head lolled forward. Sam shut his book and got up as quietly as he could. He slipped his arms around you, one underneath your knees and one behind your back, and gently moved you farther down in the bed so your head was on the pillow. You stirred only a little as he slipped away from you again, his heart jumping at the feeling of you in his arms, no matter how brief. Sam grabbed the comforter and folded it over you, shutting off the light on the nightstand and laying down in his bed, even though he knew sleep wouldn’t come. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of you… and whether he ever would find the right moment to tell you how he felt, or to show you.

You awoke to a cruel ache in your injured leg and glanced at the clock next to you, glowing in the darkness. It was just after 2 am. You realized you were covered over with the blanket and knew Sam must have done it, and you smiled at his sweet kindness, always so consistent. You started to slip out of bed but you immediately heard Sam’s quiet voice.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

You smiled. “I’m okay. I just have need some ibuprofen for my leg,” you said.

“I’ll get it for you,” he said, immediately climbing out of bed.

“You don’t have to get up, just go back to sleep. I’m fine,” you reassured him, but he was already refilling your water glass and digging the pill bottle out of the first aid kit.

“I was already awake. It’s okay,” he said, handing it to you.

Your brow drew down low over your eyes as you accepted it from him. “You were? Sam, you need sleep,” you said, and the worry was heavy in your voice.

“It’s alright. It’s not like I’m hunting right now. Sitting around at the bunker doesn’t require much sleep. I’m okay.”

You swallowed a few painkillers and looked at him for a long moment. “Come over here,” you said, patting the empty other side of the bed.

Sam felt a jolt of electricity up his spine. “What?”

You gave him a small smile, sweet and warm and kind. “Just come here,” you said, laying back down in your bed, stretching your injured leg out, turning to face toward the other side of the bed.

Sam swallowed hard at the nervous bundle in his throat. His heart was absolutely pounding. He worked up the courage and made his way around to the empty side of your bed, hesitating for a moment, unsure of what exactly was happening.

“C’mere,” you said gently. “Lay down.”

Sam swallowed hard again and laid down beside you. As soon as his head settled on the pillow beside you, you slipped your fingers into his hair and ran them gently through the silky strands. Sam shut his eyes at the sensation. It was raising goosebumps on his skin and he felt his mind instantly quiet. He could have laid there forever, so close to you but not quite touching, your fingers running through his hair. He drifted off to a deep and peaceful sleep for the first time in a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Dean was up quite early, checking his black eye in the mirror and frowning at the dark purples and broken blood vessels ringing his eye like a halo. He wanted to shower and change, but he’d left all his clothes in the other room. He made his way to the door and listened carefully for a moment. He didn’t hear any movement and it was still pretty early, so he figured you and Sam must both still be asleep. He cracked the door open as quietly as he could and peeked inside. He was surprised to see you and Sam both asleep on the same bed. You were separated by half a foot but your bodies were clearly angled toward one another and Dean smiled even wider when he noticed that your hand and Sam’s were quite close, and perhaps had been intertwined at some point.

Dean tiptoed in and made his way over to his duffel bag, shouldering it as quietly as he could and trying to sneak back out of the room, but he heard movement behind him as he was nearing the door and glanced over his shoulder to see Sam was now awake, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He noticed Dean with a struck expression and rose from the bed.

Dean grinned widely at his little brother and wiggled his eyebrows at him, his hand on the doorknob to the other room. Sam looked nervous and glanced back down at you before crossing the space to Dean and pushing him into the other room, shutting the door behind them both.

Dean couldn’t suppress the smile on his face and Sam was shifting his weight a little anxiously from one foot to the other. “Did you have a good night, Sammy?” he asked through his grin.

Sam swallowed hard. “Nothing happened, Dean, so you can wipe that smirk off your face.”

“I’d say something happened. That’s the first time you’ve had a decent night’s sleep in how long? Aaaand you were in the same bed, sooo…”

Sam gave his brother an appraising look. “Nothing happened.”

Dean just laughed gruffly. “Come on, Sammy. Even just sleeping in the same bed… that’s—that’s something. That can be… intimate.”

Sam gulped at the tightness in his throat and swayed a little on his feet as Dean slapped him hard on the back and then departed for the bathroom.

It did feel like something.

#sam winchester fic #sammy #sam series #sammy the moose #fanfiction #supernatural fics #spn #the wrong bed #supernaturalfreewill

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shebeafancyflapjack · 4 years ago

Text

Consequences

Follow-up to What She Needs, because who doesn’t love make-up fluff.

She wakes to the sound of eggs sizzling on a frying pan, the greasy smell of bacon wafting over her. Her stomach rumbles but she’s not ready to get up just yet, snuggled into the sofa beneath the shirt that’s been laid over her.

It’s not a bad position to wake up in but it leaves her a little disoriented.

What time is it? If she’s on the couch then it must be the afternoon but...they wouldn’t be having fried eggs and bacon this late - not that either of them gave a fork about eating routines, it just wasn’t usual. She doesn’t recall practicing walking or swimming earlier, her hair isn’t damp, her calf muscles aren’t cramping...

Ten seconds is all it takes for the time to rearrange itself properly in her head, for the barrage of memories to slot in place like a magical jigsaw and recall why she’s waking up alone, on the sofa, in the morning. And why she shouldn’t be calling the nearby chef over for a good morning kiss. He doesn’t deserve one...not yet. So she stays quiet, pretending to stir and mumble to show she’s awake, but keeping her eyes and mouth shut.

At least he left a nice, warm indent for her to lay in for as long as she wants to stay there and let him wait on her.

She barely remembers the nightmare that forced her to seek out Michael’s comfort, it’s been dissolved by the peaceful sleep and sanctuary she slept through until a minute ago. When her mind attempts to recall it, against her will, all she catches are the worst sensations of fear and loneliness, absence of all hope, her skin crawling as if covered in dung beetles. Again. Eleanor inhales, letting the scents and sounds of the beach house return her to the present.

Michael places her mug on the coffee table. Fork, she’s gonna have to give in and sit up now. She’s prepared to wait until she hears him move back to the kitchen. Then his fingers stroke some of her hair from her face, then brush against her cheek. Forking...

“Y’know I could bite your hand right now.” She murmurs, eyes still closed.

“It’d be worth it.” Michael tells her, softly; “Plus Janet would just grow it back.”

“Ugh, gross.” Eleanor wrinkles her nose; “You’re like a lizard.”

“Oh so it’s fine when you call me a...” She opens her eyes in time to see him bite his tongue as he kneels beside the couch; “Never mind.”

Indeed. She’s glad to see he’s smart enough not to dig his hole even deeper than it already is.

He gives her a humble smile; “How you feeling?”

“Still annoyed with you. I’ll update you when that changes, bud.” Eleanor pushes herself up and yawns.

“I figured that. I meant after...Last night...”

Oh.

“You can just say ‘nightmares’, man, it’s not a forbidden word.” She accepts the coffee when he passes it to her; “And I’m okay...Don’t even remember it. Just is what it is.” And it sucks; “It’s not like you can take them away or anything.”

“I could. I mean...” he takes a breath, “I could always...take the memories away...It’s crossed my mind more than once.”

She takes a sip of her drink, studying the conflict on his face.

“...Could you do it without erasing our time together?”

Michael shakes his head.

She shrugs; “Then it’s not an option, dummy.” Her eyes harden when he dares to look touched by that; “And don’t assume that means I like you again!”

They don’t say another word to each other until she’s nearly finished her breakfast, sat the kitchen island, stomach ravenous after eating nothing but Janet-delivered snacks with her drink instead of dinner the previous night. Michael sits opposite, slowly making his way through his hash browns, eyes cast downwards, almost unnaturally quiet.

He nudges a couple of baked beans with his knife, looking pensive. He takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Eleanor glances up, still chewing her eggs. Wow, was that really so hard? To be fair, she’s hardly one to talk. It was hardly a word she was used to saying in life, unless it was something along the lines of ‘Oh I’m sorry you can’t handle how hot I am’ or ‘Sorry...not sorry, psyche!’.

Michael puts down his knife; “I don’t think of you...Of any of you guys as cockroaches, not really. Humans have always astounded me with how...resilient you guys are. You’re like rubber, everything that hits you just bounces off...I’m sure there’s some kinda great intellectual saying with that analogy...” He waves his hands; “Anyway...Truth is, I’m never been good with handling anyone being better than me...It took me two hundred years of being an apprentice until I got my own neighbourhood. Do you know that’s the longest any demon was in training for? Most fly solo after the first fifty years or so! And even before that, no matter how good I thought I was at torturing, there was always another demon wo was better and getting more praise...I was never strong enough to compete so I would take it out on...” His jaw clenches with shame.

Eleanor swallows the last of her food. She keeps watching, not saying a word, letting him get out everything he’s been clearly rehearsing in his head as he cooked.

“Having someone be better at my old job was one thing...But when there’s someone better at being what I truly have always wanted to be...and never will. Someone who also gets to spend more time with the woman I love...Who knows how to be a better...person,” Michael reaches to sip his own coffee; “The truth is...I’m the one who feels like an insect between the two of you. I feel...scared...” he clears his throat; “Scared that I’ll always fall short of the rest of you...I don’t have anything that compares to your strength or Chidi’s wisdom. Fork, I don’t have Tahani’s confidence...even Jason seems to understand some lessons more than me, with those inane stories he tells which always seem to somehow be on point!”

It’s true, every nonsensical ramble about the DJ’s life seemed to neatly tie in to some ethical thought experiment. He had a talent for it. That and firing spit balls around the chalkboard.

Michael manages a smile, his cheeks turning pink to match his shirt; “You’re not small and gross to me. You’re...magnificent. And gigantic. Like...mammoths.”

Eleanor snorts.

“That the best you can do?”

“Oh c’mon!” Michael scoffs; “Mammoths are awesome! They....Oh, I forgot, you haven’t seen one. Would you like to? I can get Janet to-.”

“No, no....Well, maybe later, I’m sure Jason would love to ride one, but...” She sighs and slides off her stall.

It’s impossible for her to resist those puppy dog eyes anymore. She moves around the island and shifts her butt onto his lap, throwing her arms around his neck. He blinks, stunned, as she moves in close. One of her hands unhooks to run her fingers across his soft, white hair, smiling as her nose touches his. Michael dares to put his hands on her middle, holding her tight and secure.

She presses her lips to his, lightly at first, before cupping his jaw and moving her tongue to massage her demon boyfriend’s, sharing the taste of bacon between them. It’s been over a week since they’ve had a chance to hold each other and kiss, properly, like this. Having to hold off on the good stuff out of keeping to her newfound principles and to teach him a lesson was not easy.

But totally worth it.

Eleanor hums as she pulls back, holding onto his shoulders; “Apology accepted. And as for that whole, ‘having nothing that compares to us’ schtick...You know that’s bullshirt, right?”

Michael looks puzzled. What a dingus. Eleanor touches his face, thumb stroking across his cheekbone.

“You care, dude. That’s your virtue. It’s why I’m so in love with you, even when you drive me crazy. None of us taught you that...It was right there, locked away inside of you, but you brought it out and you cared for me when I needed to....And you kept on doing it, even when you could’ve stopped...You tried to sacrifice yourself to save me and my friends....You keep putting your neck on the line for us...Don’t ever think that’s worthless, okay? We’re all super grateful to have the most caring, if a little immature and arrogant, demon on our team.”

There’s a wetness growing on his blue eyes, making them shine behind his glasses. She should really add ‘sappy’ to that list. Eleanor kisses his cheek as one tear leaks.

“Maybe that’s why you sucked at torturing. You only went so far to prove your worth. Your heart was never really in it?” She wonders.

He shrugs; “Possibly...Mostly because I don’t have a heart.”

She slaps his chest, lightly; “Y’know what I mean. Do I have to make you one like you’re the forking Tin Man just so you get the point?”

“...Yeah, okay.” He seems excited to have another trinket for his collection.

“Well, I ain’t crafting shirt that’s more complex than another paperclip bracelet, so ask Janet for one.” Eleanor smiles, leaning in to hug him tight around the neck. He squeezes her back, no doubt feeling the same relief as she had, to be back in each others arms without a worry for the weekend.

He hesitates before asking the next question.

“Am I allowed back in the bed tonight?” He says, sheepishly.

“Well....I suppose it will save me the walk if I have another bad dream.” She slips off of his lap; “...Only on one condition of course. You apologise to Chidi.”

His face falls, like a little kid who just had his candy snatched away.

“What, today? He’s not even here! How am I gonna...Can’t I just repeat what I said to you to him?”

“No, that’s cheating.” Her voice turns stern, ‘tutor’ mode activated; “You gotta think of a way to say sorry to him in a way he’d appreciate.”

Michael sighs and taps his fingers on the surface.

“I...I suppose I could...write him an essay on Consequentialism, drawling parallels it to this whole situation?” He suggests, looking to her for the go ahead.

“That’s....actually brilliant. He’d love that! Go for it.” Why are the two men she’s closest to in this afterlife the biggest dorks?

And, worse, she’s pretty much one herself now.

Michael grins, perking up from her approval; “Oh, great! I’ll get right on it and...Then what, do you want me to go back and read it to him?”

“No, just say it to Janet and she can repeat it to him back at my house.” Eleanor waves off; “...But you gotta have her disguise herself as Chidi while you’re reading it, so it feels like you’re saying it to him.”

“That’s gonna be disturbing as well as awkward.” He shifts, frowning.

Eleanor kisses his head before whispering; “That’s consequences, baby. Now get to writing. I’mma gonna go ask speedboating with Janet on those waves until you’re done. Then we can have the couples getaway this is supposed to be.”

As he gets up to put the dishes in the sink, she makes sure to give his butt a good slap, just to add in that incentive. She adores the startled, giddy look on his face that it always leaves him with. Damn it’s tough to stay mad at someone so cute.

After changing out of her PJs and into her bathing suit, sunglasses resting on her head, she goes to head out the patio doors.

“Hey, babe...” Michael stops her, having finished washing up. She turns to see his smile; “...Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Chidi’s gotta accept your apology so don’t half-ash it.”

“I wasn’t just saying thanks for that...” He stares at her, adoringly; “....I mean for everything, Eleanor. Thank you.”

She tilts her head to the side. Then a smile.

A quick skip towards him, leaning up on her toes, hands on his shoulders to reach that mouth of his again. Fork, it’s more effort to reach him when he’s upright. She gives him another kiss, a little motivation, something to remind him of what he misses out on when acting like a deck.

“You’re very welcome...Now make your hot girlfriend proud by doing your homework.” She smirks, one hand stroking down his chest; “Then come fork me into the sand, ‘cause I’m horny as Here - and if you don’t, I’m gonna get Janet to make me a clone of Jason Statham to spend this weekend with.”

If that doesn’t force the dumb demon to get his ash into gear then nothing will.

#idk if this turned out like i intended this morning #kinda forgot throughout work #but wanted to finish it #hellstrop fanfic #established relationship #npl au #fluff

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snakeboistan · 4 years ago

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‘Cause You Had A Bad Day (You’re Taking One Down)

AKA: A Nagisa-Centric Sick Fic

Pairing: Nagisa x 3-E (platonic)

Today was not Nagisa’s day. Not at all.

It all started when he woke up that morning feeling like he had been hit by a freight train that was coming at him at full speed. Groggily, he blinked open his eyes to find his forehead covered in a glistening sheen of sweat covering his forehead and a giant boulder that he could not see had him pinned down onto his bed. With strenuous effort, he had rolled over, planted his feet onto his bedroom floor and clutched onto his bedside table to help him stand up - and then almost fell over backwards because of how his head spun from the movement. He had dragged his feet towards his bathroom and his reflection in the mirror above the sink would’ve made him gasp if it weren’t for the woodpecker drilling in his cranium and the raw scratchiness of his throat. His normally porcelain white face was flushed pink and his eyes lacked their usual brightness. Oh god, of all days for him to get a fever, it had to be on the day they had an English test. Well, at least it was Friday so he’ll have the whole weekend to sleep it off. He was then overcome by a feeling of dread as he threw himself before his commode, retching and emptying out the contents of his stomach - which already felt unnaturally empty to begin with. Groaning in despair, he fumbled an arm above him to flush the toilet and flip down the lid so that he could rest his head on it’s cooler surface as he breathed deeply.

‘This is the worst,’ he lamented, noticing how his body was currently shivering despite the heat of the early morning sun, ‘completely defeated by a stupid fever. And I’m supposed to be a trained assassin. How the hell am I supposed to kill Koro-Sensei if I can’t even stand up properly or think straight.’ With a hefty sigh, he pushed himself upwards, blinking rapidly as he waved his arms about to steady his shaking legs. ‘I bet Karasuma-Sensei doesn’t let something as small as an illness stop him from doing what he does. That man has like no chinks at all. I can’t afford to skip, not with my grades. If I don’t want to let him and everyone else down, I’ve got to act as normally as possible. I’ll be a liability if my sickness drags me down and the last thing I want is to burden my classmates. An assassin should be able to overcome anything and shouldn’t get in the way so that’s what I’ll do. Hopefully, it’ll get better later.’

Once he had dressed himself in his usual school clothes and tied his hair into his usual pigtails, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed off to school, choosing to skip breakfast and not pack himself lunch with the hope that the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach would die down if he didn’t eat anything. What followed was what Nagisa would describe as the worst walk to school he had ever undergone in his entire life: his throat was dry, tongue parched, body weak and every noise he heard only amplified the throbbing in his head. His insulating clothing felt suffocating, his black tie practically holding his neck in a choke hold, and he knew the heat he felt radiating off of him wasn’t due to the fact that it was nearing summer.

“Hey, Nagisa,” Sugino called, somehow materialising out of nothing, “what’s up.”

Nagisa tried not to jump from shock. Normally he would’ve been able to hear his best friend from a mile away, would’ve been able to discern the tell-tale thuds of the taller boy’s favourite sneakers against the concrete and sense his presence before he could’ve said a word. It was common knowledge in their so-called ‘Assassination Classroom’ that sneaking up on Nagisa is about as difficult as getting Fuwa to go twenty-four hours without referencing a manga - his ability to observe his surroundings and everyone in them was one of the few things he was actually good at. To make up for his current lack of observational skills and his tinted complexion he hastily threw on a smile and greeted, “Oh, hey Sugino. Nothing much. How are you.”

Sugino narrowed his eyes at the shorter boy as Nagisa mentally congratulated himself for stringing those words out coherently. With a raised eyebrow, he replied slowly, “I’m fine, thanks. Are - are you okay, dude.”

“Of course I am,” he laughed, somewhat nervously, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look a bit… tired.”

“I am,” he sighed, “I stayed up a bit late to study for that test we have today. I guess I was kind of pushing it with my sleeping hours, huh.”

Sugino looked at him for a second before stating, “sure.”

Sensing that Sugino was going to probe into something that he really didn’t want to discuss right now (or ever), he continued, “hopefully I studied enough. I mean English is my best subject so I’m hoping for at least an eighty-five percent.”

The sceptical look was washed off of his best friend’s face as his features softened into the usual fond smile he wears around the bluenette, “I’m sure you’ll ace it, man. I know how hard you work. You’ve just got to watch out for those spelling errors, right.”

“Right,” Nagisa echoed with a half-authentic grin, whilst in his mind he castigated, ‘you can’t let your guard down like that, idiot. You saw the way Sugino looked at you. You’ve got to get better at hiding this before you inconvenience the entire class and mess up their day. God, mom was right - I really am a burden. Just spend the rest of the day like nothing’s wrong and hopefully this will go down.’

Unfortunately for him, his pain only got worse and every step up the E-Class mountain made him feel like his calf bones were being split open. It was a considerable effort for him to remain upright as he conversed with Sugino, and his sweat-slicken body made his shirt stick to his skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. His muscles were screaming at him, begging him to stop what he was doing and to just collapse into a heap on the forest floor but he continued to trudge along the path towards the classroom at the top. He could do this. He’s used to hiding his emotions. He’s spent years mastering the art of concealing what he truly felt, surely he could last seven hours - even if they were under the watchful eye of a superpowered octopus, a government agent, one of the world’s top assassins and twenty-six assassins in training.

Upon entering the classroom, he gave his usual greetings, whilst narrowly avoiding any direct contact with any of his classmates lest they feel his unnaturally high body temperature, before slumping onto his seat.

“Hiya, Nagisa,” Kayano chirped, as bubbly as always, “how are you doing?”

Nagisa looked up and hoped that the weak smile he gave her did not resemble a grimace at all, “I’m fine, thanks. How are-”

He was interrupted by a smooth voice, “you sure about that, Nagisa? ‘Cause you’re looking a little on the red side.”

He swiveled his head around and immediately regretted that particular action as his migraine worsened. Karma, who was standing next to Kayano on the adjacent side of his desk, had on his signature smirk but the look in his eyes was calculating. He huffed out a laugh, “I’m fine, Karma.”

“Really?” the redhead raised an eyebrow, “because you look like the walking dead.”

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night, that’s all,” Nagisa argued, tone a tad bit on the defensive side, “I was so caught up in studying for today’s test that I only got like five hours.”

“That’s not good, Nagisa,” Kayano admonished with a gasp, “you need to take better care of yourself, you know. Studying is important but so is your health.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nagisa mumbled with his head down.

Great, it’s only been like two minutes and I’m already making them worry.

“Besides,” Nakamura chimed in with a grin, “you’re great at English. You were one mark away from me in the last test we took so you shouldn’t worry so badly.”

“That’s what I told him,” Sugino said, “but he’s Nagisa. He just has to worry about something.”

They all traded fond looks as Nagisa let out nervous chuckles. It was then that his stomach constricted sharply. He quickly excused himself with a squeak of ‘bathroom’ before fleeing the classroom, unaware of the narrowed golden eyes that followed him.

Once he was locked within the cubicle of the building’s lavatory, he was quick to once again empty out the contents of his stomach, thanking every deity out there that he arrived early so his discordant gagging wouldn’t have been heard by their teacher with his enhanced senses. It was then a lightbulb when off in his head as he mentally slammed a palm against his forehead. Zipping open his schoolbag, he fumbled inside before drawing out a bright red first aid kit. With a sigh of relief, he opened it and grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen but then his hope dissipated when he capsized it to find it empty. Oh, right, he gave the last few pills to Okano the other day when she was complaining about her menstrual cramps and he forgot to go to the pharmacy to buy more. ‘Dammit, Shiota. What if someone else needed those. Your classmates could be in pain and you would’ve been useless in helping them.’ Despairing at his fate, he flushed, got up, washed his hands and made his way back to his classroom, wrapping his arms around himself to hide his shivering.

Entering the room again, he was met with concerned looks from his peers. Giving them a comforting smile, he walked as confidently as he could with the little energy he had back to his desk, ignoring the eyes that he felt on him. Luckily for him, before anyone could speak, they all felt a gush of wind whoosh through the classroom and in a blink of an eye, their homeroom teacher stood before them.

“Good morning, students,” he called out cheerfully, “I hope you all are ready for your test today. I know that it’s the last day of the week but I’m sure that each of you will be able to power through. Now, I can see that everyone is present but why don’t I take the register anyways as you boys and girls try to kill me, alright? It will be a perfect warm-up exercise to get you all pumped for the day.”

And with that, their class’ school day began as it always does; with Koro-Sensei holding the register and calling out names whilst dodging bullets at Mach 20. Even in extreme agony and lethargy, Nagisa could only find amusement in that as he aimed and fired, whilst simultaneously doing all he could to not let the abnormally heavy gun slip from his grasp. When roll call was over, he could only tell that his fever was getting worse as he was hunching down to grab the stray anti-sensei bbs that lay littered on the floor. He knew that he should probably tell Koro-Sensei that he wasn’t feeling well, that he could use some medicine that he knew that the octopus could get in less than a nano-second but doing so would draw attention and alert the others and then everyone will know how weak he is, how he can’t handle his own immune system, how he is unfit to be an assassin. Or even worse, they’ll be concerned; they’ll fret and worry over him and lose focus, make mistakes that could cost them, their billion dollar yen and the fate of the Earth. He could ruin everything. So it’s best to keep quiet. Even when his throbbing head feels like shutting down and his skin is on fire and there's enough sweat covering his body to water the tulips in the E-Class garden.

Fortunately, he was able to complete the test to the best of his ability. It was a comprehension assessment and it wasn’t too challenging for him, which was good because he was able to put more effort in keeping his head up than he planned to. Unfortunately, however, his theory of the fever getting better was horribly horribly wrong. If anything, it became worse, if that was even possible: His stomach twisted sporadically every time he took a breath, the cave of his mouth and the empty vessel of his oesophagus stung like they had been rubbed raw and so every painful swallow only increased their pleas for water (he had finished his bottle and he was not going to be asking to borrow anyone else’s), he could feel the build-up of perspiration along the outline of his shirt under his arms (he was so glad that he wore a dark waistcoat to school) and he could see the way his hands would shake no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. It was already the second period of his five-period school day and so all he had to do was last three more lessons and he can go home and hibernate for the rest of the week. He had no idea how he was going to survive Physical Education with the military training exercises that Karasuma had them doing for the past three days. He hoped and prayed that they wouldn't be sparing because that would require contact and fast moves and there’s no way he’d be able to hide anything then.

He didn’t have to wait that long, however, because he was found out by period three.

After spending their break acting as normal as possible without drawing attention to the way every single cell inside him ached and groaned as well as the fact that he was without his usual breaktime snack, he walked into the classroom, ready for their science lesson. Today they were going to do a practical (something about reactions or something, honestly he couldn’t concentrate at all at this moment because his mind was so hazy and he was currently too busy trying not to cry). He turned to Sugino, his regular partner in science, before Karma swiftly walked in between them.

“Yo, Nagisa,” he said, “wanna be partners.”

Nagisa blinked at him before looking around him to meet Sugino’s eyes. The baseball lover only shrugged and then walked away to pair up with Kanzaki. With the way he and the redhead shared eye contact as he left, Nagisa was sure that the two of them were planning something for once the twisting of his gut was not due to his current affliction.

“Uhh, sure,” Nagisa agreed, half because he has a problem with saying no and half because he was sure that even if he did refuse, Karma would still pair up with him anyway.

“Great,” the taller boy grinned.

As soon as the class had set up the apparatus and began their experiment his conjecture was confirmed as Karma had stated, “so what’s with you?”

Nagisa almost dropped the textbook he was holding, “huh.”

The other boy scoffed, “don’t play dumb, Nagisa. There’s something wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong, Karma.”

“Oh really. Then explain why you didn’t eat anything during break today-”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“-Or why you look like you’re about to keel over any second.”

“I told you. I stayed up too late.”

“- Or what that little trip to the bathroom was for.”

“I had to use the bathroom like any other normal person. I didn’t realise that I had to tell you the purpose of everywhere I go. And what’s with all of the questions?” Nagisa didn’t mean to sound so defensive or snappy, not to one of his best friends who he knows is only looking out for him. He knows that that’s how Karma is; whilst Nagisa approaches problems with caution and care, the redhead goes on with a complete offensive attack - assaulting with blunt words and hard facts to break you down. He doesn’t believe in the roundabout way, he’s always direct and wants things done at the time. His ability to get what he wants is one of the qualities in the other boy that Nagisa admired, but right now it was a pain in the neck. He felt cornered and trapped and something inside him, the viper he could feel curling around in his unconscious, was ready to lash out and bite and that’s the last thing he wanted.

“Hey, no need for that tone,” Karma held up his hands, “I was just asking. There’s no harm in that, right.”

Nagisa let out a sigh, “you’re right. I’m sorry for snapping. It’s just that I really just want to get on with this.”

“I still think you’re hiding something.”

“Karma, I’m trying to read the instructions. You’re kind of distracting me.” (it’s not like he was able to read the words anyway, they all seemed to blur into one big smudge of dancing black on the page)

“Why can’t you just say what’s wrong. What’s the big deal.”

“Karma.”

“Just go ahead and say it, Nagisa. What are you so afraid of.”

“I - I,” he sighed wearily, dropping his shoulders, “I should get another test tube. We’re missing one for the experiment.”

“Nagisa,” he could hear Karma calling him but he ignored it as he speed walked to the front desk to grab another piece of apparatus. It was on his way back that he could feel his stomach give a lurch. His heart was racing as the pain in his head had reached a new intensity. His stomach dropped and he felt apprehension crash over him.

‘Oh no,’ he thought as his hands began to shake.

His surroundings started to lose focus. The floor was swaying under his feet.

No, no. Not now. Not in front of everyone.

His head felt light. So so very light.

‘Come on Nagisa, one more step,’ he urged before his eyes rolled. He could faintly hear the sound of glass breaking and horrified shouts of his name before the world went dark.

…..

The first thing Nagisa noticed when he came to was that this was not his bedroom. His eyes opened after steady blinks, and the first thing he found himself facing was a blur of different colours that he was sure didn’t belong in his house. Once his eyes adjusted themselves and focused properly, he recognised it as a notice board with lots of paper pinned onto the multicoloured backdrop. Then he realised that his forehead was covered with cold water, probably from the ice pack that he found lying on the floor next to him. It was when he heard the soft clicks of a computer’s keyboard that he registered that he was in the teachers’ lounge. With a gasp, he sat up on the row of chairs that had been pushed together to form a makeshift bed, the softness under his palms made him realise that a pile of blankets were thrown on to make him more comfortable. Karasuma, who was the one that was using the computer, turned around on his chair to face him.

“Nagisa, you’re up. How are you doing,” he asked as he stood up and walked towards him with a bottle of water, “we were all very worried.”

“Uhh,” was his coherent reply.

“Here, this will make you feel better,” the man said, holding out the bottle as well as a small white tablet. When Nagisa reached out to grab them, he found that his right hand was wrapped around in a bandage. He blinked at it in shock, “when you fainted, your hand landed on some glass. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll inform your classmates and the target that you’re up and I’ll be right back.”

Nagisa watched as Karasuma left, and continued to observe the door for a few seconds before looking down at the uncapped bottle. He threw his head back and downed it hurriedly, yearning to relieve the pain in his throat. It didn’t do much since he still felt like just begging god to just finish the job and get it over and done with but he appreciated it regardless.

“OH NAGISA, I WAS SO WORRIED!” Koro-Sensei wailed as he appeared before him with medicine boxes, books on fevers, and five bottles of water, “WHAT A TERRIBLE SENSEI I AM TO BE UNAWARE OF MY STUDENT’S SUFFERING. THE SHAME. AH, I HOPE YOU CAN FORGIVE ME FOR BEING SO CARELESS.”

“Koro-Sensei, please,” Nagisa said, “it’s not your fault. I was hiding it because I didn't want anyone to know.”

“Bu-but why,” his teacher asked, sniffling, “as your teacher, it’s important for me to be aware if you’re not feeling well. OR AM I NOT APPROACHABLE ENOUGH FOR YOU TO UNLOAD YOUR WORRIES?”

“No, no,” he replied quickly, “I just - I just don’t like people knowing when I’m not feeling well, that’s all.”

The octopus paused. Slowly he said, “why’s that Nagisa? Do you think that your classmates will treat you any differently if they knew?”

Nagisa looked down and mumbled, “it’s - it’s just that. Well, we’re supposed to be assassins, Sir. I don’t think trained killers let themselves fall back just because they’re not well.”

“Nagisa,” Koro-Sensei’s voice was stern but still held his kind and gentle tone, “you are a valuable member of this class. Every single one of your peers consider you an asset, an ally and a friend. We all look after each other here. We are all striving towards the same goal. Together. As students and as assassins, an important aspect of life is to be able to work as a team. To carry on through your strongest and lift each other up at your weakest. I see you looking out for others. Why won’t you let others look out for you?”

“I just didn’t want to be a burden, “ Nagisa whispered, “I thought I could deal with it.”

“Nagisa, you are not a burden. You have a burden. A burden that you have no need to carry on our own. I know this may seem difficult to you, but please: next time you find yourself in a situation where you can ask for help, don’t be afraid to.”

Nagisa looked up and despite the wide smile on his teacher’s face, he knew that the octopus was serious. He nodded.

“Wonderful,” Koro-Sensei beamed and clapped his hands, “now, I’m sure that the others would want to see you so I’m not going to keep them waiting any longer.”

“About time,” Karma said as he walked in.

“Were you there the whole time?” Nagisa asked as Koro-Sensei gasped theatrically.

“Karma, I thought I told you to wait in the classroom.”

“I know,” Karma smirked, pulling up a chair and sitting on it, “but the thing is that I didn’t want to.”

“WHY DO YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME!?”

“Uhh, Sir?” Nakamura popped her head in, “are you going to leave or not because the rest of us are waiting.”

With a cry of despair, the teacher left the room. Nagisa turned to face Karma.

“I-,”

“You okay,” Karma asked, cutting through the apology that Nagisa had at his throat, “and don’t you dare lie.”

“I’ve been better.”

“God, Nagisa. Why did you try to hide this? You scared the c**p out of everyone. It would've been funny to see Terasaka lose his s*** if it weren’t for the fact that you were lying on the floor, bleeding and not responding to anyone. Did you know that you had a temperature of 40°C?”

“I’m sorry, Karma. I didn’t want everyone to freak out, I swear, that’s kind of the reason why I didn’t tell you guys anything. I just -” he was cut off as his migraine increased and his stomach flipped. His wince and groan of agony made Karma’s eyebrows furrow.

“You good? Do you want to rest more?”

“I - yeah. I think that might be best.”

“Alright then,” Karma pulled out his phone and began scrolling through it, “rest all you want. I’ll make sure no one comes to bother you.”

…

The rest of the day continued with his classmates coming to check on him, even after school was over: Sugaya had made an A3 sized get well soon card and the entire class had signed it, Fuwa decided to help him go to sleep by reading a manga to him like a bedtime story, Sugino and Kayano berated him for hiding his illness before hugging him, Hara offered him some soup to help him feel better, Hazama offered to use a spell to ‘expel the sickness and other evil entities’ from his body (he was quick to decline that), most of the girls were fussing and doting over their ‘kind of little brother’ and were quick to do whatever he wanted to help him get better (especially Yada, who actually had experience with looking after her sick younger brother) whilst the boys tried to cheer him up with funny anecdotes. When it was time to return home, Karma and Sugino took turns in carrying him down the mountain and to his apartment (ignoring his protests and reminders that they would get sick), even going as far as to tuck him in and place a bottle of ibuprofen on the bedside table. They left with promises of returning the next day to make sure that he was taking care of himself and as they did, Nagisa couldn’t help but be glad that he had such loving classmates.

#assassination classroom #my writing

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sheerfreesia007 · 4 years ago

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Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 46)

Title: Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 46)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007

Words: 1,403

Warnings: None? There’s mention of pain but not much else.

Tags: @synystersilenceinblacknwhite, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @randomness501, @sevvysaurus, @paryl, @fioccodineveautunnale, @talesfromtheguild, @secretsihideinside

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711

Author Notes: I struggled with this one. :/ I didn’t have the drive to write for a few days and I feel like this isn’t the best it could be. It’s a filler chapter so not much happens but we get some more Tequila time, which is always nice. :) I hope you enjoy it. (Also that Comic Sans font post that’s floating around tumblr is true I used the idea to help me write this.)

Gif Credit: Google

Huffing softly you grimace in discomfort as your knee twinges in pain. You’re on your knees hovering over a plastic tote filled with all of your holiday decorations and you’re trying to stretch your right knee out in front of you. Hissing in pain you sit back on your ass and your hands immediately move to your knee. Massaging the skin above it first you huff softly trying to breathe through your nose like your physical therapist taught you.

Your apartment door opens and you watch as Tequila enters only to stop in the doorway with a furrowed brow. He then moves quickly to crouch down next to you with concern filled eyes.

“How can I help?” he asks softly holding his hands above you wanting to help but not knowing how to.

“Massage the muscles on the top of my calf while I massage these.” You explain as you show him your hands. “It’s cramping on me.” You say softly.

Tequila does as you tell him and begins to massage the muscles at the top of your calf and you groan in relief. His larger hands are much better at digging into your muscles and the relief is almost instantly.

“Fuck, that’s good.” You hiss softly and Tequila chuckles. “If this whole secret agent gig doesn’t work out go into massage therapy you’d make a killing.” You said half seriously and Tequila laughs loudly.

“Sure thing Cur.” He says good-naturedly. “Why don’t I get you situated on the couch and you tell me what else needs to be packed up?” Tequila suggests lightly as you slowly stop massaging your muscles. Nodding your head you hold your hands out to him and he slowly lifts you to stand on your feet. He hands you your cane and you hobble over to the couch before sinking down into it.

“Most of it is packed up Whiskey helped me with most of it the past few weeks but there’s still the kitchen I have to finish cleaning out. I was saving that for last not knowing if I would be staying here or at Whiskey’s ranch.” You explained and Tequila nodded before grabbing some moving boxes and newspaper that you had saved up from everyone at HQ. You got to taping the boxes and setting them out in front of you as Tequila began bringing in the glassware, dishes and glasses.

“Doesn’t Whiskey have all of this stuff at his apartment in New York?” Tequila asked as he sat next to you and began wrapping plates in newspaper.

“Yeah, but his stuff is much older than mine so he wanted to donate his stuff and use mine in New York. Besides he likes my glasses better than his.” You explained as you held up your rounded cups and Tequila laughed shaking his head.

“Of course he does.” He murmured softly. “So are you all done with your doctor appointments here now? And you’re just going to transfer to your new doctor in New York?” he asked.

“Well I’ve got a few more therapy sessions to get through before I’m done with those. But I’ve only got one more visit to the knee surgeon and only a handful more physical therapy appointments.” You answered easily shrugging.

“And it’s all healing up nicely? I’ve seen you around HQ with the cane and I gotta say you wield that thing like you did the frying pan the last time we were on a mission.” He said jokingly and you laughed nudging him in the shoulder.

“Yeah the doctor has said he’s pleased with my recovery and the physical therapist is brutal but it’s helping. I’ve only had one or two bad days this week with my knee and that’s much better than where I was a month ago.” You say as Tequila nods in understanding.

“Well that’s good. I’m glad you’re healing well. We all miss you at HQ and we’re sad to see you go.” He said somberly and you turn to look at him feeling the hairs on the back of your neck starting to rise. You had a twisting feeling in your gut as you watched him suddenly wary of him. “Ya know Ginger is real sorry about the mission-“ he began to explain when your hearing cut out.

You felt your lungs start to constrict and you balled a fist against your left thigh at the mention of her name. You were instantly transported back to that alleyway where Alexi had his beefy arm wrapped around your neck and you stared into Ginger’s scared cowardly eyes. Your whole body suddenly felt chilled and frozen as you remember the feeling of dread overcome your body as you watched her turn and run from the alleyway. The feeling of Alexi’s hot breath ghosting over your skin as he laughed darkly in your ear was still there on your skin and you flinched away from Tequila on the couch.

It was that flinching movement that managed to pull you out of the trance like state that you were flung into, as your knee twisted in agony and you moaned softly gripping it with your hand. Tequila was instantly on his feet hovering around you and you just held your hand up to ward him off.

“I’m sorry I didn’t-“ he began to apologize but you cut him off with a hard glare.

“Why would you bring her up?” you snapped at him angrily and he looked at you in surprise. “You know I don’t trust her, can never trust after she turned and ran leaving me for dead.” You hissed as the anger inside of you began to rise.

“Cur, I didn’t mean-“ Tequila began to explain and you cut him off again.

“I don’t care what you meant to do Tequila.” You said coldly as you glared at him. “I still have nightmares because of what she did. I have nightmares that she’s on their side helping them torture me. I don’t care if she’s sorry or not for what she did. I never want to see her or talk about her again, understand?” you stated firmly and Tequila stared at you in shock.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known you wouldn’t want to talk ‘bout her. I’m so sorry.” He said softly and you nodded your head watching as he sat in front of you on the floor. “You still have nightmares?” he asked softly.

“Last one was the night before. They’re worse when Whiskey is gone.” You said sullenly and Tequila nods his head. “I can never trust her for what she did Tequila. She left me at their mercy and they almost broke me. I would never wish what they did to me on anyone. I trusted her to have my back in the field and she didn’t.” you explained softly and Tequila nodded his head.

Tequila came up to sit next to you on the couch and scooted as close as he could to you before wrapping his arms low on your waist. He hugged you close to his body and you sighed softly as you fell into his body taking the comfort he was offering.

“I’m sorry. I won’t bring her up again until you say it’s ok.” He said softly to you and you nodded your head against him as the two of you leaned back into the couch just relaxing in the silence in your apartment. “It’s gonna hell without you here.” He said softly and you smiled solemnly as you turned into his chest and wrapped your arms around him.

“I’m gonna miss you.” You said softly almost sorrowfully. Tequila instantly picked up on your tone and tightened his arms around you.

“I’m just glad you’re going to be with someone who will make sure you’re okay and will take care of you when I can’t.” he said softly. “Plus now I get to come and visit you in that swanky New York apartment more.” You burst out into delighted laughter at his words and shook your head as you smiled at him.

The two of you didn’t get much packing done that day as the two of you just relaxed in each other’s arms on your couch for most of the day just taking some time to just exist in each other’s presence. It was probably the most wholesome and bonding time you had ever spent with Tequila.

#my writing #fallin' all in you #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman the golden circle

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chicgeekgirl89 · 4 years ago

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With a Little Help: Chap. 1

Fandom: 911

Characters: Eddie Diaz, Christopher Diaz, Bobby Nash, Hen Wilson, Evan Buckley

A/N: A follow up for “Eddie Begins.” Because I’m in love with this man and he wasn’t whumped enough.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It’s amazing how many thoughts go through your mind when you’re dying. Because despite his best efforts, he is definitely dying. There’s nothing but water all around him, some of which has now gone into his lungs, causing them to burn like fire. He’s cold, surrounded by eerie darkness, and he knows he’s drifting.

The day he met Shannon. Their wedding. His buddies in Afghanistan. Buck. Bobby. His family. Christopher.

The one thing in his life he never knew he needed.

Christopher.

The one good thing.

Christopher!

His eyes shoot open and his limbs flail as panic overtakes the dreaminess. His son. If he dies here, if he gives up, Christopher will be an orphan. And he can’t let that happen. Not this time. Not after everything they’ve been through.

His muscles are like lead but he’s no stranger to fatigue so he pushes past it, forward, any direction he can and the next thing he knows, by some impossible miracle, his head breaks the surface.

Gasping, choking he sucks down lungfuls of cold, wet air. He half floats on his back, half splashes and flails toward the shoreline. It’s not graceful or pretty, but he’s not out of the woods until he gets out of this water and everything has gone pretty much numb making it hard to do anything but hurl his body forward with awkward lurches.

He drags himself up on the bank, still gasping like he’s run a marathon and all he wants to do is lie down and sleep for a year, but he can see and hear the commotion where the mouth of the well is and he has to let his squad know he’s all right so he pulls himself up onto his feet and stumbles his way toward the ruckus.

That’s when his legs finally, truly give out and he nearly face plants into the mud, but gentle, familiar hands are there to catch him and keep him upright. Buck’s face swims before him and Eddie tries for a smile, not quite sure he manages it. None of them look happy to see him, in fact they look completely horrified. “You never seen a guy covered in a little dirt before?” he tries to joke, but the words don’t quite make it past his lips. Instead what comes out is a string of jumbled nonsense that’s neither Spanish nor English and definitely doesn’t make any sense.

Oh. Not good.

Bobby and Buck have him on either side and they half carry, half drag him after Chimney and Hen toward the ambulance. He tries to help but his body no longer seems to be following orders.

“Nice and easy,” Bobby says as they lay him flat on a backboard.

Then Chim and Hen are right in his face. “Let’s get this off of him,” Hen orders even as she’s already cutting through his shirt. “Buck get some blankets. Where’s that warm saline? He’s freezing!”

He really doesn’t want them to cut his clothes off since he’s now full on shivering, but before he knows it he’s been stripped down to his skivvies. Bless his abuela for always telling him to wear clean underwear.

He still doesn’t feel like he can quite get a full breath, which he tries to explain to Hen but she shushes him, listening to his chest as Chim stabs him with an IV. He’s so goddamn tired and he just wants to close his eyes but Hen snaps at him. “Edmundo Diaz don’t you dare go to sleep on me now!” she says forcefully, rubbing none too kindly against his sternum.

The shivering gets worse, even with the warm IV that’s starting to flood his veins. He feels his left calf cramp painfully and lets out half a groan. Feeling is starting to come back and with it a truckload of pain. It’s like he can feel every, single muscle in his body is screaming at him. “Hang in there Eddie, we got you,” Chim says.

Chimney who hardly ever does anything but smile, is looking at him with so much concern that Eddie wonders if he should maybe be more worried about his fate. “Christopher,” he rasps out. He’s got a will but it hasn’t been updated since Shannon…and now he panics. Who’s going to look after his kid if he dies? Why didn’t he think about this sooner? He’s a god damn firefighter, he should have a will that provides for his kid—

“Christopher’s fine Eddie.” Bobby comes back into view his hand sliding comfortingly into Eddie’s and he grabs it like a lifeline. “He’s home safe and now you are too. Just take it easy all right?”

If Bobby says it, it must be true. Things are starting to get a little hazy. He’s not quite sure what happened anymore. If he could just get some sleep—

Thank god for Hen and her ability to know everything because he’s barely started retching when she yells, “Get him on his side!” Hands pull him and he gags on

water, bile, anything that was in his stomach is now on the ground.

Wouldn’t that be a headline? ‘Local Firefighter Dies Choking on His Own Puke After Rescuing Child.’ Not the way he wants to be remembered. It almost makes him laugh but he can barely breathe let alone find the energy for humor right now.

“What’s he saying?” Chim asks.

“I think he’s praying,” Hen answers and it’s only then that Eddie realizes that indeed, prayers are slipping past his lips. Prayers he’d long thought forgotten, dredged up from the depths of his childhood Catholic school education, tumbling out as the realization of his mortality hits him like a truck.

Finally they wrap him in a blanket and lift him from the ground. “We’re taking you to the hospital Eddie,” Hen says, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re going to be just fine.”

The blankets and warm fluids help his mind to come back around and he stays conscious on the way to the hospital. But by the time they get there the coughing has set in. His body is beyond unhappy and doing its level best to not only expel the well water he inhaled, but apparently his lungs as well.

His painful breaths fog up the oxygen mask and he pulls it to the side so he can speak. “The kid okay?” he rasps to Chim who’s adjusting one of his IV’s.

“Good to go,” Chimney says, smile back on his face. Okay that’s a good sign, maybe Eddie’s not going to die.

The hospital takes forever. He’s not hypothermic but it’s borderline. His chest x-rays come back okay but not great. They insist on more tests and the sun is rising before they decide he’s stable enough to go home with lots of warnings about coming back immediately if any complications come up. He makes promises he has no intention of keeping and then escapes out into the morning.

Bobby is waiting for him. “Thought you might need a ride,” he says.

“Yeah, thanks,” Eddie says, gratitude flooding through him. He’s bone weary and all he wants is to do is go home, hug his kid, and pass out for about twelve hours or so.

“You feeling okay?” Bobby asks as he drives.

“I’ve been worse,” Eddie says cryptically, fighting sleep.

“I know you’re exhausted,” Bobby says. “So I won’t push. But if you need to talk, just know my door is always open.”

“Thanks Bobby,” Eddie says gratefully.

How he got so lucky to have this man for a captain he’ll never know. But he is beyond thankful to work with someone who cares so much. Who knows when to push and when to let up.

They pull up to the house and Eddie spots the babysitter’s car in the driveway. He’s supposed to relieve her and take Christopher to school but he can barely keep his eyes open. “Why don’t I take Christopher to school?” Bobby asks shrewdly.

The man has raised kids. He gets it.

“Nah,” Eddie says, taking a breath and trying to muster up the energy to unbuckle and get out of the car. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“Eddie, let me get this one,” Bobby says. “It’s no trouble.”

“Cap I—“

“Don’t ‘Cap’ me right now,” Bobby says kindly but firmly. “We’re family. You’ve had a rough night. This is the least I can do to help out.”

He gives in, both because Bobby’s right and because he’s truly not sure he’s capable of driving safely right now.

They go inside and greet Christopher who is, as always, ecstatic to see his dad and thrilled to be going to school with Bobby. “But why aren’t you taking me Dad?” he asks as he pulls on his backpack.

“I uh…” Eddie searches for words.

“Because I asked to take you,” Bobby covers smoothly. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to hang out with the 118’s only honorary firefighter. We have a lot to catch up on.”

Christopher accepts this answer and immediately starts telling Bobby about a science project they’re doing that involves Skittles as they head for the door.

Eddie doesn’t even make it to his bed. He collapses on the couch and within seconds he’s dead to the world. The next thing he knows Christopher’s afternoon carpool is honking outside.

He rallies for Friday. Truly he thinks he makes a remarkable effort to appear like a normal, happy dad in front of his kids’ classmates and teachers, all while feeling like he’s been hit by a bus. Every muscle aches and his chest still burns. Coughing fits are a special version of hell that cause every breath to be knifelike. Thank god Christopher has a playdate after school that involves dinner because by the time six o’clock rolls around he feels like death.

He makes another remarkable effort for bedtime, tucking his kid into his Batman sheets and kissing him goodnight before falling face first into the couch.

Christopher wakes him up in the morning. Well, wakes is a strong word because full consciousness seems like a real struggle right now. His head aches, his joints throb, and he cannot stop coughing. “Daddy?” Christopher asks in his sweet, singsong voice, patting Eddie gently on the cheek.

“Hey bud,” Eddie croaks.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m just feeling a little…a little sick today,” Eddie says, following it up with a hacking coughing fit.

“Can we go get donuts?”

Right, it’s Saturday. They usually hit up their favorite donut spot. “I think we have to skip today,” Eddie says. “Sorry bud.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get some cereal.”

God he couldn’t love this kid more. He never complains, never pitches a fit, even when things don’t go his way.

Eddie tries to get up and go help to make sure they don’t end up with cereal all over the floor, but his head pounds even more violently against his skull forcing him to lay back down with a stifled groan. God he feels like shit.

He’s in and out of sleep, more in than out. When he’s awake he wishes he was asleep because breathing is so hard and his body hurts so much. Christopher might be talking to him and a part of him knows he should get up and take care of his kid, but every time he thinks about it his eyes drift closed.

The next time he wakes up it’s because someone is trying to break his ribcage. “Bobby?” he croaks.

#911 #Eddie Diaz #Eddie Diaz Whump #Eddie Begins #Post ep #Fanfic #Christopher Diaz #Bobby Nash

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mithrilwren · 5 years ago

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Closed Hold

The long awaited next installment of the Shadowgast Figure Skating AU (inspired, as always, by the amazing art of @fiovske) is finally here! I don’t know if it’s cheating, since I was already planning to write this, but I’m also counting this as my submission for Day 7 of @essek-week because hey, it’s definitely an AU! :D You technically don’t have to read the first two works in the series - Inside Edge and 3 Turn - to enjoy this one, but some details may make more sense in context. Also, warning that things get a little NSFW by the end, in case that’s not everyone’s cup of tea! [Also on Ao3] [Find the whole series of one-shots in this AU here!]

(cw. implied past dub/con, chronic pain)

Essek never thought he’d find himself in a place where he could call sharing a hotel room with someone else ‘comfortable’. Yet here he is, sitting at a little table with his laptop open while Caleb slouches against the headboard, too engrossed in his novel to care for posture or dignity, Essek finds himself at ease in a way he didn’t know he was capable of - at least, not in another’s presence.

A bottle of wine sits open and half-finished by the tray on the nightstand, and every so often Caleb reaches over and takes a bit of carrot from the remains of Essek’s salad. He eats absentmindedly, the motion so regularly spaced that Essek can’t believe he’s aware of what he’s doing. He should find it disgusting, but not a single drop of dressing spills onto the sheets, and there’s something about the movement that’s almost mesmerizing in its steady, involuntary rhythm.

He almost wants to tell Caleb that they can order more food, if he’s still hungry. He doesn’t need to pick the scraps from Essek’s plate. But he knows enough now to say that the suggestion would be ill-advised - or rather, he knows enough now to say that he doesn’t know what Caleb’s reaction would be, and that is a good enough reason to be cautious. Slow steps have worked well for them in the last few months. There’s no reason to take unnecessary risks with something so delicate.

These evenings, where they share the same space - conversation - a good meal - are still difficult to come by. There are murmurings of renewed hostilities between the Dynasty and Empire, and orders from the Bright Queen to reduce contact while the situation cools, and fewer and fewer public spaces they could go where privacy would be assured. Essek is certain that some would find the idea of the two of them sneaking off to hotel rooms together, only to do nothing more illicit that talk the night away, an utterly unbelievable story. But truthfully, it’s only after long nights of competition that they find themselves in the same countries - much less the same cities - and neither has the energy for much else after so many hours at the rink.

And besides, this quiet time - where both are engrossed in their own worlds, but still close - it’s just as soothing as a calm bath, just as warm in his chest as a hot drink, and Essek wouldn’t trade it for any more exciting diversion.

Caleb stretches, the book’s spine knocking the top of the headboard as he curls backwards like a cat. As he settles once more, there’s an audible creak - not of the wooden bedframe, but of tendon against bone. Essek glances over again in time to catch a wince of pain in Caleb’s jaw, and his fingers pushing gingerly against the small of his back. Eventually, he flips on his stomach and resumes his reading.

“Are you alright? That sounded... unpleasant,” Essek says. Caleb doesn’t even look up from his book to reply.

“Sorry to bother you,” he says coolly, “I’ll try to keep it down.” A note of dry humour laces his voice, and as always, Essek’s heart lifts to hear it. They’ve gotten easier around each other, slowly but surely, and Caleb’s knife-sharp, often obscure wit is one of the greatest discoveries he’s made in the process.

Still, Essek’s concern isn’t assuaged. Caleb took a hard fall this evening - not so disastrous as to knock him out of the running, but ugly enough that Essek had ached in sympathy as Caleb picked himself up off the ice. If he isn’t bruised from calf to hip, which Essek quietly expects, he’s at least likely to have twisted something in his back from the awkward one-handed press he had to do, to get back on his feet in time for the next element.

“Did you stretch enough?” he asks. Caleb hums noncommittally, nose still pressed into his book, and Essek thinks back to the moments after Caleb’s routine finished. “I didn’t see Beau there this evening. Were resistance bands enough, or did someone else help you?” Again, there’s no answer except a grunt. Essek gets the sense he’s being purposefully ignored. “Caleb,” he says, more loudly. “Please tell me that you stretched.”

“Stop worrying,” Caleb says, flipping another page. “I did stretch.”

“Clearly not enough,” Essek chides, standing so he can better survey Caleb’s posture. Even prone on his stomach, he’s still favouring his right side. Not a good sign. “You need to take care of your body, or you’re going to injure yourself, permanently.”

Caleb shrugs. “I’m old, Essek - too old for this sport, according to most people. How much worse could it get?” A twinge of heat sparks in Essek’s stomach, something low but simmering to a boil, until his hands are clenched and his jaw clicks with the effort of not snapping.

“Worse,” he says, and at last, Caleb looks up. The rising frustration fades just as quickly as he clocks Caleb’s assessing gaze, and pivots to embarrassment at his own unguarded reaction.

They need to choose another subject, and soon is not quick enough.

“Just… will you let me help you? At least to work out the worst of it, before you fall asleep on that book and wake up with a cramp.”

Caleb’s eyes narrow. “You want to... help me stretch?”

Essek clucks his tongue at Caleb’s dubious tone. “I assure you, I’ve had many years of practice, and it’s always easier with a partner than with a band.”

Caleb’s gaze grows more distant, less like he’s looking at Essek, and more like he’s found a ghost at the edge of the room.

“...I know,” Caleb says, voice softer than before, but still, he doesn’t move from his place on the bed. Essek sits down on the other side, leaning closer, but not so close that his weight disturbs Caleb’s half of the sheets.

“Then let me help. It would set my mind at ease, at least.”

“Well,” says Caleb, with a small smile, still not quite meeting Essek’s eyes, “if it would set yours at ease… give me a few minutes.”

Caleb pushes himself up at last, closing the book while trailing a rather forlorn finger down its spine, as though saying a reluctant goodbye to an old friend. Then he walks to the hall between the two rooms of the suite, and begins jogging lightly in place.

Caleb’s warmup gives Essek plenty of time to consider his plan of action. He closely watches the muscles twist beneath Caleb’s long-sleeved tee and loose sweatpants, searching for a place to start. Pain in the lower back often stems from tightness of the hips, which is also one of the most difficult areas to stretch without help. Essek notices too that his shoulders still ride up to below his ears as he runs, creeping higher and higher with each footfall. That could use work, and maybe his obliques as well, if the side Caleb jarred today isn’t too bruised…

At last, Caleb finishes and returns, slightly more cherry-cheeked than before, but not huffing and puffing - just enough to get the muscles warm and limber.

“Show me what you usually do for cooldown,” Essek says, still seated on the bed, and Caleb launches into a series of standard stretches, ones that any skater has in their arsenal. Essek does notice the age difference between them as he watches, but not in a significant way. Caleb’s joints don’t bend with quite the same arc as they might have for a dancer ten years younger, but he’s still very flexible. His arabesque reaches past his head - though Essek notes a small tremor in the inside of his thigh as he holds the position, and there’s an unsteadiness there that concerns him. It could be hip tension, as he suspected before, but Essek worries-

But it’s one in a million chance, as it was for him. There’s no logical reason to believe the tremor is anything more than fatigue.

“That’s it,” Caleb says, rising back into a standing position after his final lunge. Essek presses his fingers to his lips, considering.

“Let’s start with your shoulders,” he suggests. “You have a good range of motion overall, but I’d like to loosen them up, the right one especially.”

He moves behind Caleb, bracing one hand on his left shoulder while placing a flat palm against the apple of the other, and begins to gently rock the joint in its socket.

It’s a position he’s quite accustomed to, having done the same for others on his team when he was far younger - back when he still had peers, rather than admirers. And yet, there’s something strangely more aware in coming back to the action as an adult. He feels the differences between his own body and Caleb’s keenly. Though Caleb is far from stocky - very few figure skaters are - the muscles beneath Essek’s hands are less lithe than his own. Broader, as though bred for a different purpose, and whittled down to their current lean shape. He wonders if Caleb grew up doing manual labour of some sort, a kind his body still remembers in form, if not in substance.

For the first few pushes it almost feels as though those muscles are getting tighter. Like Caleb is tensing, resisting the movement. Essek frowns.

“Breathe,” he instructs. Caleb, with effort, takes a deep breath, and the catching of the tendon finally releases with a soft click. The process goes much more smoothly after that, the joint sliding like butter in his palm by the end of the seventh rotation. He moves to the other side, and has no more issues.

As Essek steps away, Caleb swings his arms forward and back experimentally. “Better?”

“Much,” he says, smiling a surprised grin. “Thank you.” Essek nods.

“Of course.”

“Anything else?”

“Hips, I think, if that’s alright with you.”

He guides Caleb down to the floor and onto his back, and takes a position on his knees at his side. Though Caleb ordinarily has a few inches of height on him, from this position, he feels very high up. Caleb waits, motionless, as Essek hooks a hand under his knee and raises it up slowly, watching the microsmal twitches in Caleb’s expression for any sign of pain or discomfort as he pushes the leg up towards his chest. But Caleb’s eyes fall closed, and whatever resistance he had offered before, he lets Essek’s hands work now without any complaint, bodily or otherwise.

When he spies the first twinge in Caleb’s jaw, Essek slows his pace, but continues pressing, trusting his hands to feel when the resistance is too great. It’s a delicate balance; too little pressure, and the stretch does no good, but too much, and he risks injuring Caleb. He could strain muscles, even tear ligaments, if he’s not certain of how hard to push.

It requires a great deal of trust, he muses, to let someone do this for them. Since his days as a trainee, he has allowed few others to help him, unless they’ve proven themselves time and time again to understand the nuances of his own situation. Mirimm is one of the small number on that list, and his own mother, when she still had time for such things.

Who has Caleb - cautious, reserved Caleb - given such trust? He knows he’s seen Beau follow Caleb into the locker room at least once, so presumably her, but have there been others?

He presses one more inch. Caleb winces, but does not fight him. He remains perfectly still.

An awful, nauseating thought floats into Essek’s mind.

He lets the leg float gently down to the floor, bowing the knee out ever so slightly so that the joint has a chance to rotate, then removes his hands to his lap. Caleb cracks one eye open, looking up at Essek and raising an eyebrow, as if to say is something wrong?

Yes, Essek thinks, I’m afraid there might be.

“Caleb,” he says quietly. He does not want to ask this question. He must ask it. “Did… Did Ikithon ever-”

Both of Caleb’s eyes fly open.

“No,” Caleb says, the clipped syllable harsh, and it sounds believable, and Essek so wants to believe him. “Whatever you are thinking, no.”

Essek breathes out slowly. “Then this sort of thing-”

“I would not have done with him.” Caleb turns his head to the ceiling, staring up at the hospital-white plaster, and Essek is still very conscious of his height, so he leans back on his hands into an uncharacteristic slouch. “He was… he was not a hands-on sort of teacher, so to speak. He preferred to instruct, and trust the three of us to do as he asked.” Caleb falls silent for a moment. “With them, yes,” he says at last. “We did this sort of thing together, always.”

Astrid. Eodwulf. Names never to be forgotten, though Caleb has only spoken them aloud once. They are burned there, in Essek’s mind, along with every spare detail Caleb has told him of his past. He wishes, some nights, that he did not know. That he could exorcise the names from his memory, and the pain from Caleb’s as well. But at least the burden is shared between them now, and he has to believe that is better than the alternative.

Essek reaches out and pats Caleb’s ankle. “I’m sorry to bring it up,” he apologizes, and Caleb’s smile is acknowledging, and forgiving too. “Do you want to keep going?”

He’s gratified that Caleb seems to genuinely consider the question before answering. It gives him hope that he hasn’t, yet again, overstepped a line, one hidden beneath the layers of uncertainty between them he fears he’ll never fully unravel.

“I think so.” Caleb shifts his hips. “It was already feeling a little better.” He lifts his other leg, just slightly, and as Essek shifts around to take it in hand, he thinks again of trust. Of Caleb putting his body in his hands, believing he will treat it kindly, even when others have not. The warmth in his chest grows, and grows.

He presses down, and this time Caleb keeps his eyes open.

When Essek is satisfied that both hip flexors are as loose as they’re going to get without professional help, he asks Caleb to sit up, then kneels behind him. He leans his weight into the space between Caleb’s shoulder blades until Caleb bows, forehead touching his knees as he curls his arms beneath them. Already, Essek can see the difference in the fluidity of the movement from earlier, and he presses with his thumbs at various points of the lower back, pleased to discover that most of the tension there has been released. He guides Caleb back up, then prods at his upper back. The left side isn’t bad, but his right… Essek can barely go five inches without finding another knot.

This isn’t the result of a night or two of inadequate stretching after a competition. This is months, years worth of stress gnarled up beneath the skin and never adequately dealt with, if addressed at all. No wonder Caleb’s shoulders rise so high that the judges take off points for it. No wonder relaxing at all is a force of will. His body is wound so tightly that Essek barely needs to dig deeper than the surface to find the evidence.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a massage?” he asks, curious. Caleb’s incredulous little laugh ripples out beneath his palms.

“A very, very long time. That’s a kind of luxury I can’t usually afford.”

Essek wants to argue that it isn’t a luxury - that it is, in fact, essential to the proper functioning of a figure skater’s body. The benefits in terms of flexibility and mobility are incalculable. And yet, without sponsorships or other income, the calculation must be done.

How very far Caleb has managed to go, despite his lack of resources, continues to impress Essek, but scrappiness doesn’t equal a healthy body that will outlast the competitions to come.

“They have a spa here, downstairs,” Essek suggests. “It might be closed now, but I’m sure if I called the front desk-”

“No,” says Caleb, just as clipped, though his voice softens much more quickly than it did before. “Thank you. I don’t- it doesn’t appeal to me.”

“A massage?”

“The environment,” Caleb replies. “The table. All of it.” Essek doesn’t press for more details, sensing he’s hit upon another wall neither is eager to dismantle tonight. Caleb’s shoulders are already rising again beneath his hands. He smoothes them back down with his hands, not fully conscious of what he’s done until the motion is already complete.

“Would a bed be better?”

“What,” ask Caleb, glancing over at the bed, mere feet from where they currently sit on the carpet, “order up?” He chuckles again. “I think that you might have a harder time explaining that expense to your superiors than an extra plate of room service.”

“True.” It takes Essek far longer to offer the second suggestion, because even though he fully expects Caleb to refuse, he still has to work up the courage to speak it. “Or, I could try my hand?”

Caleb swivels, his face so close to Essek’s that his bangs tickle the tip of his nose. “...Oh?”

“I’m no professional, but I have some experience.” No need to explain more than that, about the hours spent frantically massaging his own legs in the bathroom, willing the cramps to release in time to make it onto the ice. He knows that he can coax a bitterly stubborn muscle into functioning, and Caleb’s would be far easier than his to manage.

And still, he’s nervous in the seconds after speaking - not for fear that he can’t do what he’s offered, but that Caleb will say no, and be upset or offended.

That he will say yes, and the place that leaves them.

“...Ok.”

Caleb stands, then turns back to Essek, who still kneels on the floor. His hands flutter nervously at the hemline of his shirt, first tugging up the fabric, and then letting it fall back down. “How do you- I’m not sure what the procedure is. What do you need me to do?”

Essek swallows, fighting down the lump of anxiety in his throat. He pushes himself to his feet, and tries hard to project his usual air of confidence, one he does not currently feel.

“It would be easiest if you took off your shirt - if you’re alright with that, of course. I have some oil in my bag.” He goes to fetch the bottle from the other room: massage is still an essential part of his travel regimine, and he keeps it with him at all times. By the time he returns to the bedroom, Caleb is still standing where he was before, but now barechested, clutching the discarded shirt in his hands. Essek pauses at the doorframe, momentarily caught off guard, then shakes himself and continues on.

“Lie on your front.” Caleb does, still watching Essek as he approaches from the corner of his eye, and the look in his eyes is apprehensive.

Essek can feel it too - the difference now. The tension in the air that wasn’t there before. What they did for the last fifteen minutes was accustomed. They’re both athletes, used to having their bodies maneuvered by others for very specific purposes. The practice of guided stretching, while still sensual in the more general sense, doesn’t carry the same implications for them as it might for those outside their world.

But as Essek sinks down onto the side of the bed, and as he ghosts his cool hand over Caleb’s skin and watches the goosebumps rise at his almost-touch… he realizes this is something different entirely, and that they’re both aware of it. Caleb turns his face into the mattress, out of embarrassment, maybe, Essek can’t quite tell, but he knows his own face is burning just as bright as the flush creeping down Caleb’s neck.

It’s intimate, to a degree that frightens Essek more than it excites him.

“A little closer,” he murmurs as he sets the bottle aside and warms a generous squeeze of oil between his palms. Caleb shuffles over far enough that their hips brush, and Essek leans forward and places his hands in the shallow plane between Caleb’s shoulders. The skin there is pale, and freckled, and he traces lines between the marks with his fingertips before running them down the length of Caleb’s spine with one smooth stroke.

Up and down, he moves his fingers through the hollow places of Caleb’s back lightly, not pressing yet. For now, his only aim is to warm the oil further, and to make sure Caleb is comfortable and relaxed. And that when he finally leans over and begins the massage in earnest, his heart will have calmed sufficiently that Caleb won’t be able to hear it beating through his skin.

It’s not as if they’ve never touched before. This is not their first kiss, nor even their first fumble in the dark. But it had been dark, those times. Here, in the dim glow of the lamps over each nightstand - here, in a hotel room only they share, with trays of food set aside and Caleb’s toothbrush by the bathroom sink - here, where he can’t pretend the depths of his feelings aren’t evident to anyone who would dare look - he can’t see Caleb’s face, but he can see his own hands, and what they’re doing, and how much he wants to keep doing it.

He wants this. He wants Caleb under his hands, breathing out slowly as Essek’s fingers find the hidden spots within him where pain festers, and begin to work in slow circles, drawing out gasps of discomfort as Essek presses deeper, and deeper, and deeper still. Caleb arches his back and he runs his other hand down his shoulder, comforting him in a way Essek wasn’t taught, but what he learned to do for himself, when his own agony became too great to bear. A muscle shudders beneath his knuckle, spasming involuntarily, and he watches chills run down the nape of Caleb’s neck: raised goosepimples of referred pain. He knows that sensation well. If one part aches, the whole of the body is affected. You might never be able to name the true source of the pain.

At last, the first knot loosens, and Essek eases off. Caleb visibly melts into the mattress as the pressure releases. “My apologies,” Essek whispers, and even so, his voice sounds too loud for the intimate space they’ve created in this room. “I’ll try to be gentler on the next one.”

“It’s alright,” mumbles Caleb. “I can take it.”

They’re not unaccustomed to pushing through pain, the two of them. One cannot be a figure skater and not learn how. One cannot have lived through what they have lived through, and not be an expert in the subject.

“Alright,” Essek says, “I’m starting again.”

He goes over each half of Caleb’s back in quadrants, feeling for the places where the muscles draw together and kneading the tension out. Each time, Caleb tenses, but as soon as the knot releases, his bones become looser, his body sinking deeper and deeper into the bed and his breath coming in slower intervals, and though at first every wince was followed by screwed-tight eyes and clenched fists, by the time Essek finds the last problem spot, his expression has slackened to something almost dreamlike.

“Caleb,” Essek murmurs. “Are you awake?”

“Mm,” Caleb hums. “Yes.” His voice is lower than Essek has ever heard it before.

“Shall I continue?”

Caleb hums again. “I wouldn’t complain.”

Essek smiles at that, adding a little more oil to his palms and returning to his earlier broad strokes. Caleb’s shoulder blades shift more freely under his hands now, the muscles relaxed and uninhibited. He raises the arm that lies closest to the bed’s edge experimentally, testing the range of motion and watching the way the shoulder glides easily in its socket. Encouraged by a tap on his side, Caleb shuffles a little more towards the bed’s edge, and Essek slides off it. He pulls Caleb’s wrist out until the ligaments are stretched to their fullest extent, then lays the arm back in place at his side. Ideally, he’d want to do the same for the other arm, but Caleb looks so peaceful now, half-asleep in the sheets, that Essek is reluctant to force him to reposition.

He’s not unaware of the scars exposed by their current situation, and no more so than in this moment, as he gazes down at the roughened brown and white patches in the space between wrist and elbow. He’s glimpsed them before, and he knows part of their story, can even guess at the rest. But not tonight. Not here. This isn’t the time for more questions. He doesn’t need to know more than that Caleb is with him, and that he trusts Essek enough to do this, despite his history.

Essek has caused his own share of hurt. He has done selfish things, with no other purpose than to advance his own career. He has been cruel, and uncaring, in order to achieve all he has in his life. But Caleb trusts him, and that is enough to make him desperate to live up to his expectations, unrealistic as they may be.

When he’s satisfied with the rest of the back, only the neck remains. Caleb’s hair is still pulled into the remnants of his elaborate show ponytail, but as usual, bits have begun to fall out. Essek sweeps aside what strands have caught in the oil, caught off guard by how soft it remains. Most skaters with hair as long as Caleb’s cake their hair in hairspray before competition, to prevent loose ends and flyaways. Even Essek’s hair, so carefully gelled at the beginning of the day, would likely crunch like fresh snow under another’s hands. But Caleb’s hair is loose, and just slightly curled at the ends, and for a moment, Essek’s mind flashes with a vision of pulling the tie fully free. Of running his fingernails against Caleb’s scalp, of feeling those auburn flames pour between his fingers, of leaning down and pressing his lips to the place below the ear where hair and skin meet and breathing deep of hotel soap and his own shampoo and Caleb-

He startles out of the daydream with a small hitch of breath. This is not what this is about, he reminds himself sternly. Essek panting after him like a schoolboy is not what Caleb needs. He may ache to try all things new and unexplored, all the things he never thought he would have the chance to experience, but he is, as always, in control of himself. He has to be, or it will all go wrong. In what way, he does not know; the things he fears are undefinable, but that does not make them less of a yoke around his neck.

Essek runs the pads of his thumbs along the spot where he’d just been imagining his own lips pressing, smoothing out a path to Caleb’s shoulders. He takes care not to let his other fingers encircle Caleb’s throat, and so they bat like moths around the empty air, without a place to land. Caleb arches up again, but this time the noise is pleased, rather than pained. Essek shifts his hips, reminding himself again that this is not the situation they’re in. That he cannot read too much into the sound. That he should never assume what Caleb has not explicitly agreed to.

There isn’t a part of the back before Essek left untouched by oil, though the lower parts are drying, leaving the skin tacky but still warm from friction. Essek does one last assessing stroke with the flat of his hands, and finds nothing remaining to fix. He sits back, and considers what to do next.

With Caleb on his stomach, there has been a safe screen of separation between the two until this point. Essek did not need to work hard to hide any reaction of his to the experience, other than in his voice. But there are still muscles on the front of Caleb’s shoulders to work, and an incomplete massage can be worse than no massage at all. He doesn’t want to leave anything tight enough to pull his back muscles out of alignment again.

But then Caleb may see him, and know.

Know what, again, he cannot say.

It takes a few taps on the shoulder to rouse Caleb from his comfortable state, and even then his words are slurred with pleasant doziness. “Do you need me to move?” he mumbles, before pressing his face back into the mattress.

“I’d like to finish your shoulders from the front, if that’s alright.” Caleb murmurs his assent, but makes no attempt to move from his current position. “You’ll… need to roll over. For me to continue.”

Caleb grumbles good-naturedly, but does manage to turn himself over, immediately flinging one hand over his eyes to block out the - thankfully, dim - light. Essek starts to reach for his wrist, meaning to maneuver it back down on the sheets, but after a moment of thinking, he instead reaches over and grabs a pillow from the other side of the bed. Essek tugs the pillowcase off and tosses the pillow itself to the floor, then folds the fabric neatly into a band, which he lays over Caleb’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Caleb murmurs, and another thrill goes through Essek’s body. He can see Caleb’s mouth moving now when he speaks, his lips that are slightly parted, soft and unconcerned as he breathes in and out, as his chest rises and falls with the same rhythm. Essek has never dared to look so long.

He chides himself again. Caleb is blind in his current state, and any unnecessary stares on Essek’s part are as good as leering in this context. This feeling, of towering over someone… it isn’t something to enjoy. He’s always relished the feeling of control, of being above the rest. But with Caleb, Essek is an equal, and so when he offers him control, Essek cannot take pride in having earned it. He can only fear betraying the trust he’s been given.

Essek starts again on the massage, letting the discomfort flow out of himself and into the motion of his hands. With every breath Caleb takes, his collarbone rises to meet Essek’s palms, and he bites the inside of his lip, and keeps his own breath steady, and his eyes focused on the task at hand. His body is a distraction, but one he is proficient at ignoring.

The front takes far less time than the back. Caleb is so loose by now that his muscles want to follow Essek’s lead, and do so without complaint. The only stir Caleb gives is when Essek’s hands stray too close to his windpipe, but even then it’s more a twitch than a flinch, and Caleb settles back down immediately into his previous boneless state once the fingers retreat.

Essek has kept his eyes in line until this point, but in a moment of weakness, he lets them wander down the expanse of Caleb’s chest - slim, but defined muscles, skin waxed smooth save for the trail of hair that runs past his navel, and there, yes - a bruise along his side, as ugly as Essek expected, but already beginning to yellow at the edges. He carefully avoids it as he runs his hands down Caleb’s sides, drawing trails of oil like paint strokes all the way to his hips, just shy of the band of his sweatpants. Caleb shivers, and that’s when Essek notices, though he tried so carefully not to put himself in the position to.

Caleb is hard. The bulge isn’t obscene, but noticeable, and impossible to ignore, once Essek makes the realization. His mouth goes dry, hands stuttering to a stop halfway back to Caleb’s shoulders.

Of course, he knew it was a possibility, that Caleb might be affected in the same way… touch is a powerful thing, even absent of desire, and he knows that Caleb does desire him, at least under some circumstances…

“Are we finished?” Caleb asks without moving his head, sounding regretful, but not displeased.

He must be aware of it. How could he not be, of his own state? But he hasn’t said anything. Hasn’t made any effort to hide it, or to call Essek’s attention to it, as though he’s simply unbothered whether Essek knows or not.

What courage that must be - to accept that others see you, without any shame.

He… he wants to find that courage as well.

Essek reaches up with one hand and removes the folded pillowcase from Caleb’s forehead. Bleary blue eyes squint up at him, half lidded against the light. The other hand, he moves to the sharp bone of Caleb’s hip, fingertips just skimming the edge of the bruise, and then the place where Caleb’s waistband pulls away from his skin. He waits until he’s sure Caleb is looking at him before he speaks.

“Do you want me to go lower?”

He brushes his fingertips again at Caleb’s waistband, so that his meaning is clear. And even still, he hesitates to do it, unsure he’ll be able to go through with the offer, regardless of Caleb’s reply.

He is still so uncertain, about so many things.

“...I wouldn’t complain,” Caleb says, echoing his previous words with a wry smile. It’s that smile, that humour, that utter expression of ease... he only realizes in hindsight, that that was the only thing that would have convinced him to move forward. The only way he would have been alright with it.

“A word, and I will stop.”

“I know.” Caleb’s eyes have already begun to drift closed again, but they open once more when Essek taps him on the shoulder.

“And still, I’ll say it again. A word.”

Caleb’s humoured smile shifts to something softer, almost fond, and he lifts one hand to cover Essek’s and pats it gently.

“I know my limits. You can trust me to say how much is too much. Right now, I am happy for more.”

“...Then I’m happy to give it.”

Moving to Caleb’s other side so he can recline on the bed as well rather than perch at the edge of it, Essek gathers what oil hasn’t yet dried on Caleb’s skin in one hand and reaches down past the waistband, fingers grazing through a thicket of coarse hair before settling on heated flesh. Essek draws Caleb out, grateful that his eyes are closed, so he can’t see the full extent of Essek’s embarrassment. His experiences prior to Caleb had been… limited - which is to say, non-existent - and even if this is not the first thing they’ve done together, he still finds himself impossibly shy, when it comes to it. For lack of anything else to concentrate on, he returns again to Caleb’s hair, leaning forward on one elbow to touch the tresses spooled across the pillow, as his other hand begins to move up and down.

Some of the curled tips are still damp with oil, but most of it is dry, and fans out in a beautiful array of red and copper highlights. He follows their path to the crown of Caleb’s head, where his bangs are swept to one side, not hanging over his eyes. Though his other hand is on Caleb, he’s still seized with the impossible, unfullfillable urge to touch. To be closer than they are, closer than they could ever possibly be. He threads his fingers into the hair around Caleb’s forehead, dragging his nails gently against the scalp, and Caleb tilts his head back into Essek’s hand.

Caleb’s lips part, but his breathing isn’t ragged or hurried. It’s still slow and relaxed, if a little heavier than before. His eyes are closed, but not held shut tight. His shoulders stay where they are, content to remain immovable after Essek’s ministrations, and his mouth still holds a little smile at the edges, and his face, a softness, like what Essek is doing is just another part of the massage.

The atmosphere isn’t even particularly erotic, Essek realizes, and realizes too that the lack of gravity in Caleb’s response is settling his own nerves. There are no shouts of ecstacy or scrambling hands, no open mouthed devouring kisses, or desperation, or even lust. Just… comfort. Just pleasure, without expectation of rapturous release. Just being together, in this way, because they want to be. Because it feels good to be.

Caleb’s shoulders only begin to tense near the end, and even then it’s easy to coax them back down, so that when the final moment comes it’s with a long, slow exhale, and a body more relaxed than before. Essek’s right hand stills, but his left keeps on stroking Caleb’s hair, until at last Caleb’s eyes open.

“I’m very tired,” is the first thing he says.

“I can tell,” Essek replies fondly, then lowers himself down to the mattress, so that they’re at eye level when Caleb turns his head to him.

“That was wonderful.” Caleb smirks. “You have been holding back your skills from me. What else are you hiding, I wonder.” Essek chuckles softly, and Caleb nudges forward and presses a tender kiss to his mouth. “I should treat you as well, hm?”

Caleb turns his body to Essek, reaching down between them to tease at the drawstring of Essek’s leggings before hooking his fingers into the waistband and beginning to slide them over-

Essek jerks to the side, catching Caleb’s hand before it can go any father.

The lights. The lights are still on, and Caleb will see-

“Essek?” Caleb asks, eyes confused.

“You should relax. You said you were tired,” Essek says, and Caleb shakes his head, and begins to move his hand again.

“I’m happy to-”

“Don’t.”

Caleb stops this time for good, and Essek sits up quickly, pulling at his waistband to make sure not a single inch of skin is showing.

“Essek-”

“I trusted you to know your limits. Trust me to know my own.”

There’s nothing but silence for as long as Essek can bear to look away, and when he finally turns to look at Caleb once more, he expects to find frustration in his eyes, or annoyance at Essek for having soured the mood.

Instead, Caleb’s expression is one of quiet understanding.

“Of course,” he says, and sits up too, so they’re at eye level again.

He wants to apologize, but can’t bring himself to, so he sits there, staring at the floor and saying nothing.

At last, Caleb gets off the bed.

“I should shower again, get cleaned off.”

Essek nods, eyes still on the carpet, until his vision fills with the sight of a kneeling Caleb, his face impossibly close.

“Thank you,” he says, “for telling me.” Caleb cups his chin and leans forward, kissing Essek gently on the cheek. The ice in his bloodstream begins to thaw, in slow waves. “Take some time for yourself. I’ll come to bed soon.”

Then he’s gone, and Essek stares off at the light from under the bathroom door for a good few minutes before folding over onto the mattress. The heat of Caleb’s body hasn’t yet faded, and Essek curls into the warm spot where he lay, and pulls the sheets over his shoulders.

He lets the tactile comforts that remain - the smell of oil, the warmth of the blankets, the sound of running water - seep into every part of him, and waits for Caleb to return.

#critical role #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #essek week #ice skating au #my writing #this was both very fun and very stressful to write #it's definitely outside my comfort zone #but im happy with how it came out

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

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Oubliette

i found this in my Google Docs with no memory of writing it at all. since the next chap of Carrie AU isn’t done, y’all can have this for now! i’ll probably use it for a longer fic, since it’s obviously not finished, but here it is. what happened before to lead up to this and what happens after is honestly up to the reader because i forgot

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“Put her in.”

Joan had to get away. She tried to scramble out of the trunk, but rough hands shoved her back. “Don’t leave me here! Please!”

“There are consequences for everything, Joan. You know that.”

“Yeah! Maybe next time you won’t be such a selfish jerk!”

Joan pulled at the edge of the trunk, trying to get up. The lid slammed down and she only just missed it crushing her fingers.

She heard them walk away, and she screamed, “No! Please! Please come back!”

Nothing.

She pounded at the trunk lid, making as much noise as possible. “I’ll be good!” She cried. “I’ll do better! I’ll be better!” She kicked and pounded until she was drenched in sweat and hyperventilating.

Still nothing.

“Please don’t leave me here! Please! Please!” Her voice slowly trailed off, and she finally laid still, spent. She kept whispering “please, please, please” after silence and darkness surrounded her. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

She ran her hands over the walls and floor and winced. Her hands and feet throbbed and stung.

There was no choice, though. She felt every inch of the trunk, looking for a catch, for a tool. There was only metal, harsh with corners and ridges and a couple of foul-smelling rags. No crowbar. No jack.

Even with a tool or a catch, even if she could get herself out, they would only find another way to bully her, probably worse. She would wait. They couldn't possibly leave her long. She counted her breaths like she did after running. Someone would wonder where she was if they left her too long. Someone would hear her kicks and screams from the old car in the theater’s back parking lot. Someone would come...

The musty air was stale. The trunk was small. She couldn't stretch out her legs. Metal dug into whatever part of her it touched.

Since there was nothing she could do, the best thing was to rest and wait. They would come back.

The air grew chillier by the minute. Her arms hurt. Her head hurt. Her feet stung. Her fingers and hand throbbed.

Her body distracted her from her thoughts.

Some time later she woke, surprised to find she’d slept. Night birds and insects sang and cheeped and whistled. Her ears, nose, fingertips, and feet were cold.

She held up three fingers in front of her face and thought she saw them. Then she felt her hand with the other and found her palm was in her line of sight. The sensation was very much like jumping into the deep end of a pool with her eyes closed then spinning underwater until she couldn't feel which way was up. She was as hidden from the world here as she would be under the ocean.

She felt around the small compartment again, this time using a methodical search pattern. But she had missed nothing the first time. No blanket, no water, no food...no way out.

Kicking the trunk again, she could get neither leverage nor any sense that the latch might give. The pain in her feet intensified and when she felt them, her fingers came away slick with liquid. No matter. She changed position and tried kicking at the seats. They budged even less, and the movement shoved her head into the metal car frame.

She couldn’t save herself. They could leave her here and unless someone came looking for her, she could be long dead and no one would know it had been she could die, alone and forgotten, in the trunk of this run-down, rusted out hulk of a car, and no one would ever know. She shivered.

The ache of cold settled into her, and the trunk grew damper with her breath and the humidity and dew. She packed herself into a corner, trying to trap and conserve warmth, and tried to hope that she'd be released soon.

The next time she opened her eyes, it was warm, and she could see shadowy shapes. It had to be morning. The night animals were silent, and birds sang their morning trills and tunes. She couldn't hear anyone nearby, but she still screamed and shouted for any actor, any worker, any street urchin who may be creeping through the back on the theater.

Her voice gave out after what could have been two hours or four.

The sun had gotten higher, and the temperature was up. Sweat dripped everywhere and tickled as it hesitated at the tops of her curves. Thirst warred hunger. The air was thick with sweat, blood, and heat. She was light-headed.

Soon. Certainly soon they’d let her out before she passed out again. Certainly the punishment was sufficient to the offense by now.

She snorted at her foolish hope that John would magically appear and free her. If he were alive, if he cared, if he could, he would be here, and she would be somewhere else.

Wishful thinking did not make things so. It was time she accepted that she was alone in this world.

Two hours later, she pressed her flexed foot against the side of the car, breathing into it as she tried to relax her calf. She felt the cut on her foot break open again.

Her shoulder ached where it pressed into the metal floor, which was cold again and painful to the touch. She'd been curled into a cramped ball for so long she doubted her ability to ever straighten out.

Her mouth and eyes were sticky, scratchy. Her stomach cramped. The exertion required to move was too great, so she lay still. Her chest ached with the effort to draw air.

Had it been two days? Three? Should she be more worried about the fact that she hasn’t gone to the bathroom at all or that she has missed four shows? Those music projects she promised the director were also due by now...

The director. Had he or anyone else called to ask about her? Maybe they would send someone to look for her and she could make a ruckus and she would be freed.

But if it was true about nobody really caring about her...and it was unlikely anyone would look in the trunk of an old car...

She would die here.

She wondered absently when--or if--they would get her out and, if they did, where they would leave her body.

There were things she had wanted before she died. She had wanted John to come back. She had wanted to see the ocean, even if she couldn’t swim. She wanted to be told that someone loved her. Just one time. One time would have been enough. Just one.

The growing chill meant it was becoming dark outside again, and her damp clothes stuck cold to her skin. She shivered away energy she did not have. Her teeth chattered. Her thoughts flowed slowly, and there were long moments when she simply drifted, unable to focus on anything at all.

She knew she would not wake up from this night...

And then she heard jingling.

It was distant. Everything was distant. Her mind. Her body. Even the pain. All far away.

She heard the slide of metal on metal.

A click sounded near her. It was a lock opening.

Joan flinched, hitting her head on the wheel well. Again. She scooted against the back of the trunk, trying to wedge herself far away from whatever was coming next.

The metal lid raised, and cold, crisp air rushed in. It stung her face, her hands, her legs. She coughed. Her lungs burned with the sudden influx of fresh oxygen. She tried not to cry, but her body betrayed her again. Her throat and the corners of her eyes contracted, and tears rolled across the tight skin of her cheeks.

“Get out.”

Joan tried to move. Her muscles ached and cramped in her sides, back, and legs. The arm she’d been lying on was numb and wouldn’t support her. She tried not to catch her foot on the lip of the trunk. She tried not to stumble and fall as her feet touched the ground. She tried to unbend her legs to stand up.

She never wanted to know what she looked like at that moment.

Tears kept leaking out of her eyes, even as her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Everything was pain. Standing, hunger, humiliation. Pain and fear. The fear of and uncertainty about what came next, or didn't come next.

Still, she heard the whisper--aloud or in her head, she did not know--of her one thought: “Thank you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

The sheer relief and the high of breathing fresh air along with the gratitude that they’d let her out, that she was alive after all...it overwhelmed her. It was too much.

Silent sobs shook her. Her whole body trembled with pain, with cold, and with emotion.

“God, you’re disgusting.”

Joan looked up at Jane’s scornful stare of disgust, at Kitty’s sneer behind her, and thanked them weakly.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #six fanfiction #joan on the keys #jane seymour #katherine howard #brat kat #unsympathetic jane

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evesbeve · 4 years ago

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Hand In Hand

Wrote this a few weeks ago for the wonderful @blublublah! <3

Title: Hand In Hand

Summary: Ben was dead, and then he wasn’t. Sometimes that’s too much.

Content Warning: Panic attacks, sensory overload

(Read on AO3 + FFN)

___

Ben didn’t ask for his day to start cramped in a car with six other people.

He didn’t complain about it. There was already enough nagging going around about who should be driving, which route to talk, how much time till they got there—twenty minutes, Ben had calculated… It just wouldn’t stop.

After reverting the apocalypse, they all decided it’d be a good idea to get together as a family once a week. So far it’d only resulted in fighting, but Ben had high hopes for this week’s trip to the mall. If things got too tense, everyone could just go their own way, and then regroup later.

After all, as excited as Ben was, he was still not used to being part of the family squabbles.

It’d been almost a month since he’d been brought back from the dead, and everything was so new to him. He often found himself running his fingers through the pages of his books instead of reading them, snuggling in his bedsheets instead of getting up, holding his hot cup of chocolate in his hands instead of drinking it.

People. He could touch people, and it was amazing.

But hell, getting out of that car really felt like a rock had been lifted off his chest. His few seconds of freedom were cut short when Klaus grabbed Ben’s hand and pulled him up the stairs.

The first thing Ben noticed was how insanely huge the mall was.

He’d been there before, back when Klaus was living in the streets. It was a convenient place to spend the day when it rained.

And yet, as familiar as the scene before him was was, standing there alive was a brand new experience, almost a bit scary. The entire first floor was filled with a people—rush hour on a Saturday, what were they thinking?—and every few steps a new shop had its doors open, with flashing signs and music and everything a mall was supposed to have.

Ben held his breath and tightened his grip around Klaus’ hand.

“Next time you run off like that, try not to kidnap Ben,” he heard Allison’s voice behind him. “We kinda like him.”

He smiled, trying to forget about what was going on around him. “Thank y—”

“You may be fond of him, dear sister,” Klaus began, and Ben immediately knew it wasn’t going to end well, “but I adore him.” He pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, and once he finally let go, Ben gasped for air.

“You’re going to strangle him,” Five said, taking a sip from his cup.

“Where did you even get the coffee?” Vanya asked, quiet as always. “We’ve only been here for three minutes tops.”

Diego sighed. “Space jumped the moment I handed him his pocket money.”

Five rolled his eyes in frustration. “I’m not a kid.”

“Guys.” Luther stepped between them before they could burn down the entire building just by glaring at each other. “Let’s calm down and settle on what we’ll do?”

“I wouldn’t mind picking up some coffee for myself before starting,” Allison said. “So we could start with the food court?”

Ben felt Klaus let go of his hand and take a step forward, in the middle of their circle. “Diego here wants to check out a gym-store-thingy or something.” He squatted and flexed his arms, not caring about all the strangers staring at him. “Gotta invite all that muscle in his,” he patted his stomach, “sacred temple.”

“Not when you say it like that, I don’t,” Diego said pushing Klaus to the side. “But he’s right about the store.”

For a moment, no one spoke, and Ben’s attention was driven back to all the background noise, reminding him of how little space there was between them and all the other people. He almost reached out for Klaus’ hand again, to ground himself a little but—

No, that was silly. He was okay, just a bit dizzy. And maybe he had a headache. And maybe his throat was a little dry. But he was okay.

“Well we’re obviously not going to have lunch this early,” said Diego, “but I see no reason why we shouldn’t split up. Whoever wants to get something to drink or snack on or whatever can go get it, and we’ll regroup in a bit.”

“That’s okay by me,” Vanya said. “I could use a coffee too, so…”

Allison smiled. “Anyone else?”

Ben really wouldn’t mind something to drink. “Me,” he said, his voice raspy and quiet and not the way he wanted it to sound.

Klaus pouted. “You’re breaking up with me?”

Oh. Klaus wasn’t coming. He was staying with Diego.

Maybe it wasn’t too late for Ben to say he changed his mind. He could get some water when they stopped for lunch, and keep Klaus company. Then again, he’d been standing there looking at him like an idiot for enough time already, and he didn’t want to seem desperate. Not in front of the others.

“I’ll be back for you,” Ben joked, trying to lighten the mood a bit, and gave Klaus a pat on his shoulder.

“Stabbed in the back by my own brother,” Klaus mumbled and shook his head, but a smile was visibly growing on his face. “Don’t think I’ll forget about this, Benjamin.”

Ben smiled thinly. “I’m sure you won’t.”

“Ready to go?” Allison asked, pointing towards the escalators.

“I’ll come with,” Five said before downing the last of his coffee, then throwing the cup in the bin next to him. “This one wasn’t strong enough.”

“Isn’t this your fifth cup today?” Vanya asked as the four of them stood on the escalator.

Ben never heard Five’s reply. He was too bothered by how tight everything felt, their bodies close to each other, surrounded by strangers. He could feel someone’s bag rubbing against his calf, even though his jeans were long, covering his skin. He almost tripped when they reached the top—none of his siblings noticed, too busy chatting about things Ben couldn’t pay attention to—but he regained his balance and followed them quietly.

The further up they went, the worse it became.

The top floor—the food court—was almost as cramped with people as the entrance of the mall, maybe even more, only this time most of them were holding paper plates or trays with their food. Ben did his best not to bump into them, and even when it was all over, he kept staring into the crowd, making sure no one brushed against him.

“… you want?”

Ben jumped, turning to his right, only to see all three of his siblings staring at him. He cleared his throat. “Sorry?”

“I said, what do you want?” Allison repeated her question, and it was only then that Ben realised they had been standing in front of a counter to order their drinks.

He stood still for a few seconds, his ears warming up from embarrassment, while the rest of his body turned cold. “I, uh…” He anxiously looked around. “I’ll have what Vanya had.”

Vanya smiled at him, and Allison finished up the order. In just a few minutes, Ben had a cold cup of… whatever it was he ended up ordering, in his hands. He took a sip and his nose immediately wrinkled; mocha. Ben didn’t like mocha.

“Let’s go find the others,” Allison said, and they started walking again.

Ben held his cup close, nervously chewing on the plastic straw, sometimes even daring to take a sip—it wasn’t as if he could just throw the coffee away right after ordering it. He held his cup up, to see how much was left. He was going to be busy for a while.

He sighed, taking a step forward, only to realise his siblings were nowhere to be found.

Ben had been left behind.

That was okay. He’d just meet everyone on the ground floor. He looked around him, trying to spot the closest escalators, but his view was being blocked by a sea of people.

Ben was right in the middle of it. Right in the middle of said sea, and a new wave was coming, then another one, then another one. He did his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart, to find his ground again after feeling like he was floating, but everything was hazy, blurry, confusing, scary—

There were voices. People talking, yelling, laughing, kids screaming and crying, and somewhere in the distance he could hear a dog barking, and all the sounds, they were piercing through his ears, and—

He spun around, only to bump into someone. He was being glared at, but he couldn’t form an apology, and instead lost his footing, dropping his drink. His hands were now free, and the illusion—no, it wasn’t an illusion, it couldn’t be—of falling was getting more and more intense, and Ben tried to cover his head before the impact with the ground—

There was no impact. Ben wasn’t falling. He was spinning, or maybe everything else was, and he was alone and—

His stomach growled, threatening him to do something, anything, to get out of this situation, but there was nothing that could get him away from everyone, so Ben just stood there, hands wrapped around his stomach, trying to block everything that was being thrown at him.

The sight of nothing but people, the sound of footsteps against the ground, the smell of all different kinds of foods, the faint taste of bitterness in his mouth, the touch of all the strangers’ bodies brushing against his own, the fuzziness, the mumbles, the nausea, the dryness, the tightness, blurs, ringing, sickness, drought, suffocating—

—a flash of blue. Then another. Then nothing.

___

His body hurt. His head, his chest, his stomach. He was still falling as he looked around frantically, trying to spot Klaus, his family, anyone, anyone at all, but there was no one, nothing—

“…at me.”

Ben flinched away from the sound, wherever that was, his body brushing against the ground, until his back hit a wall, and the ringing came back. He tried to focus, to see what was happening, but everything was blurry, blurry and uneven and unknown and hostile and he needed to disappear before he made everything else do.

“It’s me,” the voice said, and Ben didn’t have anywhere to run to this time. Instead, he brought his knees closer, burying his head in them, and covered it with his hands. “Ben, it’s me, it’s Five, look at me!”

Ben crept his eye open, his vision slightly fixing itself until it finally focused on—

Five.

“I don’t—” Ben tried to speak, but his throat blocked his words. “I don’t understand, how… how can you be—how am I—?”

“Breathe,” Five said, slowly placing his hand on top of his, but Ben flinched away again. “Give me your hand, Ben,” he said, but Ben couldn’t process any of the words spoken. “Come on, give me your hand.”

His hand.

Ben nodded and hesitantly reached out for Five. It wasn’t until Five took hold of him that he realised how much he was shaking. Five guided their hands to his heart, Ben’s heart. “I need you to breathe with me,” he said. “Breathe, Ben, can you do that? Breathe.”

He did his best to follow Five’s instructions.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Hold.

Repeat.

Ben felt like a little kid, hiding behind the counter on a mission, struggling to hold himself together right after slaughtering a bunch of strangers, fighting to push on through the tear in his stomach and the tear in his heart.

Five had always been there then, to hold his hand the same way he did now, until Ben was well enough to at least pretend he wasn’t hurting anymore.

Until he disappeared.

“Can you breathe on your own?” Five asked after a while. Ben nodded, and so Five started to pull his hand away, but Ben didn’t let him.

If Five was ticked off, he didn’t show it. Instead, he sat down, properly this time, next to Ben, his back also against the wall, and let him hold his hand.

Ben continued breathing, only then feeling the tears roll down his cheeks. He sniffled, wiping them with his sleeve, and looked around, trying to figure out where they were.

“Storage room,” Five said, as if he had been reading his mind. “I teleported us here.”

The flash of blue, Ben recalled. That’d been Five.

What in the world happened?

They stayed quiet for a while. Ben didn’t really know what to say, or even if he needed to say something at all, and Five wasn’t speaking up either. He was burning up with embarrassment without exactly knowing why, and hoped Five wouldn’t notice.

But Five always noticed. Despite rarely pointing it out, he’d been observant ever since they were kids. It often led to comfortable silences between the two. It was their way of coping.

“Feeling better?”

Clearly they weren’t doing that today.

Ben opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He should have calmed down by now, from whatever he just went through. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He wasn’t dead. He was okay, or at least he should have been, so why couldn’t he just—

“I get them too,” Five snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Get what?” Ben asked a little bit too quickly.

Five sighed. Ben could see the hesitance in his eyes—they always betrayed his emotions.

“Panic attacks,” he finally said. “After coming back from years of isolation, sensory overloads are to be expected.”

Oh.

A sensory overload. Yeah. That made a lot of sense.

Ben felt stupid for not realising earlier. The signs were all there. He could always tell when Klaus went through one—his senses slowly coming back after a fix, all his senses becoming more and more vivid—so he should have known.

And now Five was having them too.

Panic attacks. It made sense, after everything he’d been through, things Ben couldn’t even bear to imagine, but it was still a hard pill to swallow. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” Five interrupted, a hint of bitterness in his voice, but not towards Ben.

Ben pressed his lips together. “Does anyone know?”

“That you had a panic attack?” Five asked. “I told the others we wanted to check something out, so unless they somehow followed us here, then—”

“Not about me.”

Five mirrored Ben’s expression. “No.”

Ben wasn’t surprised. “You need to tell them.”

“No.”

“Five.”

“No.”

Ben sighed. “Why?”

“For the same reason you won’t.”

Ben bit his lip. Five didn’t want to worry their family, the same way Ben didn’t. As long as he could deal with it on his own, he’d keep quiet. He couldn’t risk having the others thinking he needed them.

Ben suddenly found it really difficult to swallow again.

“It doesn’t have to be today,” Ben said, ignoring the sensation, “but you know you can’t keep it a secret forever, right?”

Five turned his head away. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be comforting you.”

“You’ve always been shit at it,” Ben said, getting a huff out of his brother. “But you’ve already done it, okay? I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. And I don’t just mean today.”

“Ben—”

“When you were gone, I missed you every single day. Every single one,” Ben said. It was as if he had suddenly forgotten about his breakdown. “I’d cry myself to sleep and beg for you to not be dead, but…” He took a deep breath. “And then at Dad’s funeral, you showed up, and I started begging again, begging I could talk to you.”

Ben tried to read Five again, but he was looking away.

“When I found everyone,” Five began, “you and Vanya weren’t there. And then I found her book, and your statue, and I—” He inhaled sharply. “When I realised I could save everyone except you…”

“But you did,” Ben said, squeezing Five’s hand. “You did save me.” He felt Five squeeze back, meeting his gaze.

They spent a few more minutes like this, leaning against each other in a comfortable silence, and Ben couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What is it?”

“Being alive is hard,” Ben said.

Five huffed, but didn’t bother to hide his smile. “Tell me about it.”

Ben almost did.

He held himself back though. He couldn’t do more emotions today. Not after everything that had just happened.

“We should head back.” Five said, as if he knew what Ben was thinking. “The others must be wondering where we are.”

We should head back. Ben’s mind traveled back to the crowd, back to the voices, back to the spinning and the suffocating and the—

“Vanya and I wanted to check out the bookstore,” Five said. “It’s quiet there, so…” Would you like to join us? Five was asking, in his own way.

Ben smiled. “Thank you.”

Five nodded and jumped on his feet, helping Ben up. “How does a shortcut sound?”

Even after they’d left the storage room behind them, Five didn’t let go of Ben’s hand.

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aliceslantern · 5 years ago

Text

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 16--Unlucky

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Unlucky.” A routine case with a vengeful patient leaves Demyx with more than he bargained for.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It had been kind of a long day. Drizzly, but in a vague sort of way, as though the sky couldn’t make up its mind. Demyx only had one call left before shift change, and a last-minute one; a woman had badly cut her hand by the marketplace and needed help. It would be a quick fix, at least, before he could go home and collapse into bed.

The population around here was getting to be more dense, though it still paled in comparison to many of the cities he’d visited. A few people he’d healed greeted him. He still struggled to remember all their names.

The woman was waiting by her front door, her face ashen and drawn. She had a towel wrapped tightly around her hand, and it was soaked through in places. “Good, you’re here,” she said.

“Ouch, what’d you do?”

“Trying to do some slice and dice on some vegetables… and, well…” she shrugged. She was youngish, maybe thirty or so. Her apron had splotches of blood on it.

“It happens more than you think.” He smiled. “I can fix it. Why don’t you sit down?”

She sat on her stoop. He could barely see the inside of the small home, the onions and tomatoes sitting on a now-dirty cutting board. A bloody knife. A kettle had been put up, but was not yet boiling.

Demyx sat next to her. “How’s the pain?”

“It stings more than anything. The peppers, you know.” She bit her lip.

Before unwrapping it, he gave a quick scan of the wound, and cast a spell to coagulate the blood. He set the bloody towel aside. It was a clean cut, but one that probably would’ve had trouble healing on its own. He cleaned it quickly. She hadn’t even lost much blood, and it was shallow enough that it wouldn’t scar with a spell. He had it fixed in five minutes. The woman flexed her hand.

“You’re all set,” he said. “Just try to be careful next time, okay?”

“Oh, before you go. I was about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

Demyx hesitated. “That’s really nice of you, but I should let you get back to your dinner--”

“I insist.” She smiled widely, revealing straight, even teeth. “It’s the perfect kind of day for it.”

“Uh… sure. Thanks.”

She went back inside and came back a moment later with two mugs. “It’s a special blend. I made it myself.”

“Oh, are you a botanist?”

She laughed superficially. “You could say that.”

Demyx sipped at the tea. It was incredibly bitter, and he tried not to flinch. “The taste really is… unique.”

“Thanks. I thought so too.” She didn’t sip at her tea immediately.

“Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I guess, in a sense. I just moved back in a few weeks ago. This was my sister’s house, but she… well.” The woman sighed. “She fell to darkness some years ago.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m getting along just fine on my own.”

He drank the tea probably too quickly, eager to get rid of the sour taste. “That’s good. I’ve noticed the people here are really friendly. You’re in good company.”

“I’m sure I am.” He wondered if he was imagining the dark undertone of her voice. She had been talking about her dead sister, after all. “We seem to be pretty welcoming to just about everyone.”

“Yeah… I really like it.” He tried to smile. “Thanks again for the refreshment. I’ll see you around.” Demyx realized he hadn’t even asked her name, but when he turned back to fix this, she had gone inside and shut the door. He brushed off the weirdness as a lack of social skills and started the long walk back.

It did seem much longer than usual. His calf muscles were getting tighter as he climbed the shallow incline, even though he usually took it a few times a day. Demyx attributed it to exhaustion, the weather. Once he was on the flat surface of the postern it didn’t fade, however, and in face the ache seemed to be creeping steadily upwards. He tried to think about what it might be. Potassium deficiency? Dehydration? He’d probably feel better with water and rest.

He kept making his way upstairs. The cramping was getting worse, more uncomfortable, almost painful now. Had he burnt out again? That had felt kind of similar. It would figure. Broken bones and pneumonia were high-cost heals, and he’d had a couple. He started to dig in his kit for an ether, found half of one, and had just brought the bottle to his mouth when a sharp pang in his chest made him double in two. The bottle fell to the ground and shattered, spilling the shiny green liquid all over the floor. “Shit.” He rubbed at the pain, trying to get it to ease enough to stand. A hot burning sensation replaced the pain, and his vision seemed to shimmer.

It wasn’t--no--

Demyx dug out his gummiphone and dialed Even.

His voice was sharp and snippy. “Boy, I’m in the middle of something. What do you want?”

“I think I’ve been poisoned.”

---

Demyx couldn’t make it as far as the lab. His muscles were too tight, and painful, and he sat propped against a wall waiting for help. He dug through his bag with shaking, achy fingers to see if he had any antidote, but he’d used his last on a kid who’d accidentally swallowed cleaning products. He had to wait and hope he could make it until help came.

At least it was fairly quick. “What on earth did you do to yourself?” Dilan asked sourly.

“Not me,” he hissed through his teeth. He could feel sweat coursing down his face.

“Can you walk at all?”

“Hurts too much.”

Dilan hefted him up like a baby. Being moved hurt worse than the stillness, and for a moment he thought he might faint. “You’re much lighter than you look.”

He tried to keep breathing. His head was swimming too much to try and figure out what had been done to him, and why. Even was smart. Even could handle it.

“So what is this? An accident? A cruel prank?”

“Don’t know.”

“We’re almost there.”

Time seemed to stretch, elongate…

“Demyx, try to stay awake.”

“Sorry.”

There were so many damn hallways in this place.

“Here. Set him over here.” Even’s voice, high and stressed.

“He’s been slipping in and out of consciousness.”

A sharp stab of cool fluid into his arm. Demyx’s eyes fluttered open. He could just barely feel the canvas of a cot under all the pain.

“There you are,” Even said. Another pinprick, this one in his hand. “How do you feel?”

“Hurts.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“I’m sorry, I’m hesitant to give you anything while we’re trying to get you to metabolize this nasty business. I’m going to take some blood, alright? Let’s see if I can’t figure out what this is. In the meantime, I'm just going to keep a steady antidote drip.”

“Okay.” The words would’ve meant more to him if he could focus. His muscles were stiff, tight, and burning. Demyx wasn’t sure to be glad or not he was conscious. He shivered, hard enough that Even had trouble getting blood. Even tucked a scratchy wool blanket around him.

"I should tell Ienzo."

"No," he hissed. "No, I'll do it after."

"You're very ill. You'll probably be very ill for the next few days."

The generic antidote was making him more lucid, but it also made him more aware of the pain, insidious and awful. "That bad?"

"I'm still doing research. But you're lucky you recognized it and got to me when you did."

Through a sort of haze Demyx watched Even at work at the nearby table, watching him pipette blood and examine it under a microscope.

Time was moving weirdly. It could've been ten minutes or two hours. The pain eased in the slightest. He was desperately tired, and desperately thirsty, despite the fluids he was taking. "Even?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"Will I die if I go to sleep?"

He smiled sadly. "No, you're rebounding enough. Get some rest. You'll need it."

Demyx slipped in and out, never quite getting all the way asleep…

"It was quite alarming to see. I haven't yet gotten the story. I think you may be right, Dilan. Someone clearly has ire for us."

Demyx blinked. Something cold wormed under the skin of his hand. "What…"

Even patted his wrist. "A more specific antidote. Go back to sleep."

"What was it?"

Even frowned. He sat on an upturned crate next to the cot. "A type of neurotoxin that causes your cells to stop accepting water. Essentially, it would've been a very quick, very painful death from dehydration. Not to worry, I've made a serum which seems to be combatting it. Your vitals are already stabilizing."

Demyx considered the irony of this. "She must've known."

Even's eyebrows furrowed. "Who?'

"The person who did this." He tried to sit up, or at least prop himself up, but his muscles were horrifically sore. “About my old powers—”

"Don't move," Even said gently. "I figured you, of all people, would understand this part of palliative care."

The joke didn't phase him. "Why else would she use a poison to dry me out?"

"Who?"

"The woman, the one who--" Hot nausea brought tears to his eyes. "I'm going to throw up."

Dutifully, Even handed him a pail to be sick into. This dealt with, he tried to focus.

"She gave me tea. After I healed her. I thought the cut was too clean, that she acted weird--"

Even sighed. "You gave her the benefit of the doubt. As any competent physician would." He paused. "Do you remember where she lived? We should let the committee know. The last thing we need is another maniac on the loose."

Demyx swallowed the taste of bile. He told Even what he remembered, but this exhausted him into a stupor. Even gave him another dose of the real antidote. He drifted off and woke suddenly, disoriented, is his own bed. There was still an IV in his hand. His head was pounding in time with his heart, an insistent thud like a metronome, and his stomach was sour. The blackout curtains of the room had been drawn, leaving it blessedly dark and cool.

In the semidarkness, he did not quite realize that there were other people in the apartment with him. The lamp by the couch was on, and it was here Even and Ienzo sat, mumbling to one another too softly for him to make out. Demyx felt horrifically thirsty, and despite all the time that had passed and all the fluids he’d taken he still didn’t feel the need to use the bathroom. He wondered if the poison had done more damage to him than he’d thought, that it had fucked with his kidneys, and if he should say something.

One thing at a time. Worry about sitting up first.

A sharp, splitting pain in his ab muscles nearly made him gasp out loud, but he managed it at last, treading dizziness. His skin was tacky with dried sweat.

The muffled conversation abruptly stopped. Ienzo stood and all but ran over to him. “You scared a few years off my life. Easily,” he said. He pulled Demyx into a gentle embrace, and if he hadn’t been so dehydrated he probably would’ve cried. Demyx couldn’t help but lean into the comfort. Too soon, Ienzo broke away and touched his face. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, wonderful,” he said hoarsely. “I could run a marathon.”

A twitchy, anxious smile broke the tension in his brows. “Are you still symptomatic?”

“Well I feel like roadkill. Like a hangover times one thousand. But the worst of the pain seems to have stopped.”

“Good.”

Even gently steered Ienzo out of the way and took Demyx’s pulse. “Aerith appraised you when you were unconscious,” he told him. “You should be alright, more or less, so long as we keep your electrolytes up to snuff. The antidote seems to have worked before the poison caused lasting damage. I’ve made more, in case our little friend decides to strike again.”

“I’m still so thirsty.”

“I’m sure it must feel that way. You’re getting more than enough fluids.”

Ienzo turned towards the window, peeking through the curtain at the moonlit night. His arms were crossed and he clutched his elbow so tightly Demyx could see the knuckles were white. He wanted to console him, but considering his brain felt like it had been microwaved all he could focus on was how shitty he felt. “Can I change clothes?” Demyx asked Even. “Maybe take a bath? I feel gross.”

Even raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel up to it?” he asked. “You should really rest first.”

“I’ll feel better. There could still be vestiges of the poison in my sweat. Which I’m kind of covered in.”

“That’s a fair point. Ienzo?”

He jerked, as though startled.

Even squinted at him. “Could you help him? I’m sure he’d prefer you over me.”

“Yes. Of course,” he said stiffly.

Standing was treacherous, and he had to lean heavily against Ienzo. In the privacy of the bathroom he let Demyx undress, his back turned as if they didn’t see one another naked on a regular basis. Demyx hung the IV fluid on a rack normally devoted to towels and settled in the warm water. “Well, this is humiliating,” he said slowly.

Ienzo sat on the covered toilet. “I’m sure.”

“I feel like an invalid.”

“You’re very, very weak.” He sighed. “While you were resting, I studied that compound. Things could’ve been so much worse, Demyx.” His voice trembled in the slightest. “It could’ve caused irreparable, irreversible damage to your brain. You could’ve had memory loss, or been paralyzed-- why are you laughing?”

The deadly anger of his tone sobered what little humor Demyx had found. “I can deal with memory loss.”

Ienzo paled, his anger dissolving. “Yes… that was… tactless of me.” A pause. “You could’ve lost so much, aside from your life. Motor skills… the ability to speak…”

“Motor skills?” He looked at his wet palms, which trembled faintly. He hoped it was from anxiety and nothing deeper. Aerith would’ve said something, right? “You mean I couldn’t play Arpeggio?”

“Amongst other things.”

He’d been too sick to realize it. He could handle the thought of death, even being disabled, because there was nothing wrong with not being able to walk or talk. Whatever would have happened, he could handle and adjust. But losing Arpeggio? Again? He felt wetness in his eyes and tried to blink it back.

“This is probably traumatizing,” Ienzo said softly. He took Demyx’s hand.

“Probably? You think?”

“I hope this is an anomaly, a lone act of cruelty. The committee is opening an investigation. Once you’re well, they want to question you.” He slumped a bit, as though his body weighed too much. “I am… furious. Even if this is revenge against the apprentices, there was no reason for you to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Unless she knew about me being in the Organization.”

“That is… possible, yes. Even so. It would’ve made far more sense for her to target one of us.”

“I interact with people more. Maybe she was trying to send a message.” His stomach was feeling a little worse, and he settled more deeply into the tub.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I had hoped Dilan was wrong, about the townspeople harboring grudges against us. I was naive.”

“You were hopeful.”

Ienzo looked up. There were tears in his eyes.

“Maybe it’s got nothing to do with our pasts. Maybe she’s just crazy and wanted to hurt someone.”

“Maybe,” he said, though Demyx could tell he didn’t believe it. “Is it helping? The bath?”

“It feels good. I’m so sore.”

“You probably shouldn’t stay in too long. I’d feel much better if you were back in bed. I should probably change the sheets, in case you were right about it being in your sweat.” He stood. “I’ll do that now. If you need me, shout.”

Taking a bath wore him out. Once he had actually brushed his teeth and gotten dressed again, he fell asleep for an indeterminable length of time. When he woke up, he was still achy, still thirsty, but a little bit less so. He kept down tea and a bowl of rice, was able to get to the bathroom on his own. It was a small victory.

Aeleus visited him. After all this time they weren’t very close, but Demyx appreciated the gesture regardless. “I’ve made you some bone broth soup. It’ll help get your strength back.”

“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

He sat in the chair at the bedside. Ansem had taken Ienzo out for lunch, though he didn’t know that Demyx asked him to do this. Ienzo needed air, some time to decompress. “How do you feel?”

“Much better,” Demyx admitted. “I’m getting there. Slowly. I can’t wait to get this thing out of my hand.”

“You gave Ienzo quite a fright.”

“I think it hit him harder than it hit me, to be honest.” Demyx bit his lip. “To a degree I think he thinks it’s his fault. That the woman was really after one of you, that this was some sort of revenge. It’s probably triggering him. That’s why I wanted him to talk to Ansem.”

Aeleus nodded sagely. “You know him well.”

Demyx laughed a little. “Well--I hope so. He’s hard to figure out, but I’m getting better at it.”

“You’ve become very considerate. Compared to then.”

He scratched the back of his neck with his untethered hand. His hair was a mess, but he saw no point in making it look good today. “I’ve worked really hard on that. The way I… used to talk to the others, makes me… ugh, cringe.” He bit his lip. “You want to know something really horrible? When Demyx heard about you guys at CO getting killed, he was happy. As much as a Nobody could feel, anyway.”

Aeleus’s expression barely changed. “You had to develop a sense of empathy from scratch. I, too, hardened my heart. So to speak. It was the only way to get through.”

“I already asked Even and Dilan. But how did you end up with Ansem?”

Aeleus thought about this for a few minutes. “We can say it was… progress for progress’s sake,” he said slowly. “I was young, I was idealistic. I’d heard that Ansem was pushing the boundaries of what could be, and I… feeling somewhat stuck in a rut… craved that change.”

“Did you feel trapped in Radiant Garden?”

“I believe I did. To hear him speak of other worlds, of other cultures was… intoxicating. It changed absolutely everything. Now I try my best to not be jaded. This place… I hope to nurture it.”

Demyx understood. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job.”

---

He slept again, deeply, and woke up disoriented a little after noon. He felt weird, and it took him a minute to process that he only felt that way because he wasn’t thirsty. Demyx waited for Even’s confirmation, but getting rid of the IV made him feel a million times better. He was able to at least rest on the couch now instead of in bed.

Aerith came by with Leon. She confirmed that the poison was gone from his system, but that he should still rest for another few days, at least until the fatigue dissipated. She made them tea and, exam and pleasantries over, they set to business.

Demyx told Leon everything he remembered, every detail to how she looked and acted, to how the tea tasted, where she lived. He’d told Even all this in a sort of fugue state. Giving the report made him feel vaguely nauseous.

“We’ve investigated the leads,” Leon said. “It’s so weird. When Yuffie went to that home, there was nobody there. There was no sign it was even inhabited. We’ve asked around, and nobody’s seen this person in days. We’re thinking she came over with one of the last Traverse Town flights. Without a name, and without records… she’ll be hard to catch.”

Demyx bit his lip. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Leon sighed. “Yeah, us too. And we’ve let everyone know--not that it was you, but that someone had been poisoned, and not to accept anything from strangers or what seems or tastes suspicious. The restaurant owners are all pissed at me, but I don’t do this to be liked.”

“Even has samples of my blood and the poison. If that helps.”

Aerith’s eyes brightened. “You know, it might,” she said. “Maybe if I can figure out where it came from, we can find out more about the person who did this.”

“I’d say you guys in particular need to be extra careful,” Leon said. “In case this was targeting you specifically.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Do you think it is? Has anyone ever, like, mentioned anything about us?”

Leon tapped his fingers against his notepad. “Not that I can recall. I sent Yuffie out to do some recon. She’s good with people. If there’s anything to be found, she’ll find it.”

“And at least we have and can make more of the antidote, should someone need it,” Aerith said. “It’s good you were able to recognize it for what it was.”

“I kind of have you to thank for that. That, and years of getting bitten by asshole Heartless.”

Leon smiled. “We’ll call you if we need more information. Though this brings up an important point. We need to know who lives here. What they’re doing here. Town is growing so fast. We’ve been so focused on the literal infrastructure that I nearly forgot there needs to be other infrastructure too.”

“Oh, bureaucracy.” He tried not to flinch.

“Sort of. We should start a basic census, at least.” He thought about this for a moment, tapping a pen against his chin. “Well, I hope you have a quick recovery.”

Aerith gave him a hug. “Be well.”

---

It took him about ten days before he was feeling normal. It definitely felt like he’d been really sick for a long time. He’d lost weight, and ended up having to buy a belt because nothing fit right anymore. He hoped to gain a few kilos and get back into shape. Demyx was sure if he tried to do magic right now it would wipe him out, or worse.

One of these days he and Ienzo took a walk into town to get some groceries. At first, a flutter of anxiety crept under his skin, because even though Leon said they kept his identity hidden in terms of the poisoning, he feared everyone would know. But they were treated more or less normally.

“I figured I’d use this time as an excuse to bake more,” Ienzo said. “If you need to gain weight, that’s a good way to do it.”

“I won’t say no.”

“I know you won’t. I do enjoy it.” He stood to Demyx’s left, so he has trouble reading Ienzo’s expression. He swore he heard some artificiality in it.

“Can you make macarons? The last time you did I swear I met god.”

“To be fair. We’d just smoked marijuana. That does affect taste. ...And any supposed divine revelation.”

“Even so.”

“That was a good night. We should do it again when you’re well.”

A blush crept into his cheeks. “Yes.” They hadn’t had sex in nearly two weeks; maybe if he wasn’t exhausted when they got home Ienzo might want to.

“Do you feel up to taking the long way home?”

“I think so. I’m not that tired yet.” The early morning air was fresh and cool, and he drank it in gratefully. Even with open windows, the air inside could only feel so clean. “I’ve missed being outside.”

“You’ve dealt with all this beautifully.”

“No point being weak and also miserable.”

“I suppose.”

Demyx looked back towards him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why is it you ask?”

“I wanted to make sure.”

He sighed. “Admittedly, it did dredge up some negative memories,” he said. “You and I… have a complicated history of collapsing on one another.”

“We have the combined constitution of a wet tissue.”

He chuckled. “As well as luck that is both terrible and great.” A pause. Demyx let him take his time. “I know it’s not my fault, but I do feel… guilty. If this is a targeted attack, who knows what else might happen should someone with a grudge seek revenge?”

“I really hope it isn’t that.”

“I do too--” Ienzo’s head snapped up. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I swear I saw someone--maybe I’m paranoid.”

“Might be a Heartless.”

“Are you strong enough to fight one?”

“Maybe a Shadow--probably not much more. Maybe we should turn back towards where there are more claymores.” A seed of dread started to grow in his stomach.

“Yes. I agree.”

They walked back along the blue stone that bordered the edge of town. Ienzo kept looking over his shoulder; Demyx couldn’t help but do the same. They heard rock scrabbling. “We’re definitely being followed by something,” Demyx said, as softly as he could.

“What should we do?”

“Try and act natural until we get somewhere safer.”

Ienzo squeezed his hand more tightly than he normally did. “I’ve got a pocket knife. But I don’t think that will be much use. And my magic is still very limited.”

“Well, we’ll see. Might want to dust off that strategizing part of your brain.”

There was a quiet thud behind them. Demyx turned, tense, ready to draw the Keyblade.

The figure wore a cloak. Not an Organization cloak, a regular, run-of-the-mill cloak. It was brown.

But Demyx, after years of recon, didn’t need to see a person’s face to recognize them. The height, shoulders, and general bearing were enough. He exhaled and put a hand on his hip. “What are you doing here?”

The figure, craving anonymity, said nothing.

Ienzo squinted, confused.

“You trying to finish the job, or what?” Demyx asked.

The figure flicked back their hood and scowled.

“For the record, poisoning a healer isn’t the best way to go. We tend to be pretty resilient. You should’ve just stabbed me.”

The woman’s face was flushed red with anger. “You weren’t supposed to survive.”

“Yeah, that’s how assassination works.”

Demyx turned back to Ienzo. He was frozen; he looked like he’d been struck. Demyx wondered briefly if he’d been hit by a Stop spell, but he was still blinking, and his hands were shaking. More obvious than anything, though, was the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

“Little Ienzo,” she said coolly. “Though--not so small now, are you?”

Demyx tried to think. “Who--” he began, but the woman cut him off.

“Go on, tell him,” she said.

He shuddered, then said, “One of the test subjects. One of the victims. She and her sister.”

“But she’s human,” Demyx said. The conversation he’d had with her previously clicked. “Or--”

“Not all of the people who were exploited fell to darkness. In the--the early days.” He steeled himself. “Regardless of how you feel. Take out your anger on me, not on those around me.”

“I think you were the most disturbing one,” the woman continued. “Of all the scientists. What did they do to you, to get you to act the way they did? And why are you reopening old wounds?”

“I want to help people heal from what I did. The darkness hurt me too.”

She took a step forward. Demyx tried to shove Ienzo behind him instinctively. “Not everybody wants to forgive and forget,” she said.

“More people do than don’t,” Demyx cut in. “And how is trying to kill us solving anything?”

To his surprise, he felt Ienzo taking shelter behind him; he was confused for just a second before he felt Ienzo pressing the gummiphone into his back.

The woman scowled. “He’s got you under his spell too, I see.”

Demyx rolled his eyes. “Honestly, if you want to manipulate me, you’re going to have to be a lot more clever than that.”

Ienzo pressed his palm once again against Demyx’s back. The message was clear; stall.

“What did you think any of this would achieve?” Demyx asked. His heart was hammering, but he tried to maintain a sculpted look of boredom. “So you kill me. What would your next move have been? Infiltrating the castle? Trying to off us one by one? And then what? Regardless, you’d get caught. We work with the committee. They’d notice if we were gone.”

She seemed thrown by this. Behind the bravado, he noticed something like pain.

He sighed. “Look. I get it. I do. I know how it feels to be violated, and then to be so angry, so desperate, so hurt you’ll do anything to make it better. But you don’t have to do it this way. If you want, we can… I can help you.”

She clenched her fists. “You’d help the person who tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Honor code, right?” he held up his hand, and then wondered if this was overkill.

For a moment she said and did nothing, her expression blank. Her hands opened, relaxed. He breathed a small sigh of relief. Someone would be here soon.

With a flash, almost faster than he could really perceive, he saw the knife, but before he could duck or draw the Keyblade Ienzo threw him down and caught the knife right against his shoulder. In the space of about two seconds, Demyx smashed the hilt of the Keyblade against her temple, and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious. He turned back to Ienzo. “Why the fuck would you do that?” Demyx hissed. “Lay down.”

He was breathing heavily, a fine film of sweat all along his face. “Feels mostly like she hit bone,” Ienzo said through his teeth.

“That’s for me to decide.” He ripped off his sweatshirt and packed it around the wound.

“Don’t do magic. Help is coming.”

“Let me at least check to see if it hit an artery.” The bleeding wasn’t visibly too much, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. It could all be internal.

“You’ll hurt yourself--”

“Shut up. You just got fucking stabbed.” He tried to find the energy for a spell. It didn’t seem to want to come. He pulled hard, pulled deep within himself, and immediately felt his body start to protest. He gagged.

“Demyx--”

“No. I’ve got this.”

“Demyx, I’m fine. Really.”

He applied pressure to Ienzo’s wound. He texted Aerith, in case she wasn’t already on the way. “You still with me?”

“I don’t even feel dizzy.”

“Don’t lie.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “If you die I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I’m not going to die.” The way he was breathing seemed to betray that. “I’m not finished with you yet.” His eyes rolled a little bit.

“Ienzo.”

“Still here.”

“Don’t shut your eyes.” He had to try again. Demyx pulled harder, tried to find the magic. Blackness swam over him for a minute.

He heard their footsteps before things could get bleaker. He wasn’t sure if it was from trying to use power, or from panic, but things seemed off, his ears ringing. Aerith crouched to heal the wound, Leon crouched to accost the woman. A small, dusty smelling hand patted his cheek. “Come on, kiddo,” said the voice. Yuffie’s face barely slid into focus.

“I’m five years older than you,” he mumbled, and fainted.

He came to about fifteen seconds later when she tipped an ether into his mouth. He drank it all down, flinching at the oily taste. He turned to Ienzo and Aerith--he was pale, his eyes closed--and a strangled sound caught in his throat.

“He’s alive,” Aerith assured him quickly. “He’s alive. He’s asleep. He’s going to be fine.”

“Oh fuck,” he said to the ground. “Fucking--”

“What a day, huh,” Yuffie said dryly.

---

“I do believe Aerith’s instructions were that both of us were to rest. I also believe I don’t need any more pillows. Nor do I need them fluffed.”

Demyx took a step back. Other than being a little pale, Ienzo seemed completely back to himself.

“You’re doing it again,” he said drolly, and took another drink of the blood replacement potion.

“Doing what?”

“Taking care of me instead of yourself. Come to bed. Lie with me.”

Demyx did so.

Ienzo slid his shirt down his shoulder. “See? I don’t even have a scar. So before you exert yourself wittering over me--”

“You took a fucking knife for me.”

He put a finger over his lips. “Which was a calculated risk I knew probably wouldn’t kill me. In the moment, I admit, I was more concerned about your wellbeing than mine--”

“Probably?”

“Demyx. Breathe.”

He tried to listen.

“I’ve seen too many people die this way.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Ienzo pulled him close.

He cried for a long time.

“I know you want to protect me,” Ienzo continued. “I think it would be easier, and more productive, if we agreed to protect each other instead. Can you agree to that?” He brushed a tear from Demyx’s eye.

“Yes.”

#beyond this existence #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #even #aerith #beyond this existence: new life #idk how this chapter turned out to be 5000 words

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tidtrek2020 · 5 years ago

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My names Mary Tidbury, I’m 21 and I was diagnosed with Systemic Lupus Erythematosus and Antiphospholipid Syndrome when I was 14 years old. I’ve written my story; I really hope you all read it. Thank you in advance.

On July 20th, 2012, my 14th birthday, I started to get bad pains when I breathed/ sneezed/ yawned/ laughed. I was away with my nan on one of her bowls holidays and I had a go at playing. On the final night of the holiday I started getting these pains when I breathed in and me being a young just turned 14 healthy child surrounded by all these older people who had aches and pains of their own, I bit my tongue and smiled my way through the night. Fast forward a couple of weeks and I’ve told my mum and dad about these pains at this point, so mums booked me a Drs appointment and dad has told me there’s nothing wrong I’ve just pulled a muscle from playing bowls. At this point the pain has increased I’m only taking short breathes, I learnt how to not sneeze, yawn and definitely not laugh. I went to the doctors and one of the first things they said to me was “it could be lupus, but then again you’re too young for that so we won’t test for it”. I would just like to point out in this moment that Lupus can affect anyone of any age. However, It mainly effects women of childbearing ages from 15+. I was one year younger than that age. Anyway carrying on, when I went to bed I had to find a comfy position so I could breathe normally and every night I would wake up and not be able to get comfy again so I’d wander the landing whimpering and crying about being in so much pain but not wanting to disturb anyone but also wanting everyone to wake up and take this pain seriously, I ended up having to sleep sitting up in a corner leaning against a pillow, it was the only way I could fall back asleep. Fast forward again a couple of months to end of October, I think I’d been tested for pretty much everything possible except for lupus. They finally after almost 4 months decided to scan my lungs. To which they found multiple blood clots on my lungs and it was extremely serious. It was then that they did the lupus test and found that I had SLE and APS. I would just like to say at this point I was only aware of the SLE. I was immediately referred to see a rheumatology Dr and the haematology Dr; I was but on Hydroxychloroquin by my rheumatology Dr and Warfarin and Fragmin injections by the haematology clinic. For a good few weeks I was making daily trips to the haematology clinic to check my INR it then turned to weekly when my INR was put in a range of 2-3 and I was taken off of the Fragmin injections. The clots had finally gone away and I was back to full health but left with an illness that no one knew about and so I felt very isolated and alone. I would play down the symptoms I was experiencing daily as no one around me knew what it was like to live with a chronic illness. So, it was a very lonely period of my life.

In between 2012 and 2015 I started to fully get symptoms of lupus. I started to get bad joint pain, the worst of this was when I woke up one morning before school and I couldn’t move cos my hip was in so much pain. This does still happen occasionally, but I just need to take pain killers and it can usually help.

Moving on to the end 2015, I’d left secondary school and I was working as a horticultural apprentice at a garden centre. I had been put onto Rivaoxyban in replacement of Warfarin. I started to get twitching movements in my right arm, I thought nothing of it at first I carried on with my life as usually over the next few months and into 2016 the movement I was getting in my right arm was worse than ever I had no control over it and my speech started slurring and my right leg had started moving involuntarily. I was signed off work and was undergoing tests left right and centre to try and figure out what was wrong with me, at first they thought it was a stroke so I was referred to a neurologist where I underwent numerous MRI scans and CAT scans but everything was coming back clear. I went back to my rheumatology Dr and was told that I had something called the Chorea movement. This is a flare up of lupus, I was put on Quetiapine which is an antipsychotic drug, and this suppressed the part of my brain that was telling my body parts to move and my speech to slur. By June 2016, I was back to full health and back working again and was taken off the Quetiapine.

In this time also I was having double vision with my eyes. We think it was part of the chorea and I went to plenty of eye Drs but nothing. I still occasionally feel the pressure of it on my eyes, but it did slowly fade away in the end. But I’m still not 100% sure what that was as it was never confirmed.

Moving on to 2017, now this next part I literally just don’t talk about because I find it very embarrassing but to be honest it was one of the scariest months of my life. In July I had been put on Sertraline, the Antidepressant. I was at a very low time in my life, and this was helping. Moving on to September of that year, being completely honest I also have PCOS (polycystic ovaries syndrome) so I never know when my periods are going to come, and I usually go 2 months between them. So basically, I started my first period since going onto Sertraline at the beginning of September. To cut a long story short, I bled for 4 weeks constantly and extremely heavily. I remember my mum and dad were away for the 1st 2 weeks and it was when my mum came back that I told her that I was worried because it just didn’t seem to be stopping, at this point I was very tired and had very little energy. A week later it was still going on but me and my mum had way before planned to go pick my brother Stanley up from Paris where he had spent a year as a cast member in Disneyland. 2 days before this trip I was sent home from work as I just wasn’t ok and my manager (who is luckily my bestie Lucy) saw this. However, this didn’t stop me from going on this trip with my mum.

On Thursday 28th September me and mum travelled to Paris by car I pretty much slept the whole way, we got there late at night, so I basically just got out the car and then got into bed at the hotel and slept the whole night through. The next morning me and mum went off to spend the day at Disneyland Paris as Stanley could get us in for free, we went to Hollywood Studios where Stanley was and when he was on his break we went to queue to go on Crush’s Costa, we went through the backstage area and as we were 3rd in line I suddenly became really sick and dizzy. I turned to Stanley and I think I just looked at him ran back the way we came and threw up in the backstage area and went back outside to meet my mum. It was this moment I knew I seriously wasn’t ok. We carried on though and we stayed there for the entire day, I ended up in a wheelchair and I only went on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride but all in all I still had a really great day being surrounded by the Disney magic. I can’t really remember the next day I had very little energy left and just know that we went shopping and I got the cosiest trackies and slippers.

On the Sunday we came back home. I have flashes of what happened in this journey and my mum has always told me it was the longest and scariest journey. We had to make a detour on our way home to drop Stanley off at Warwick where He was starting Uni, I remember just sleeping the entire way. I literally had no energy I was so tired and felt so ill. I remember having to get out of the car so that they could unpack all of Stanley’s stuff but then I carried on sleeping. I vaguely remember waking up when it was just me and mum in the car and saying, “don’t take me to A&E, just take me home I’ll just sleep it off”.

Next thing I know we’re at the JR, mums telling me to get out the car and go book myself in she’s just going to park. I didn’t make it to the reception, mum ended up finding me in the ladies bathroom. I can’t remember how long I was waiting in A&E for, but I remember just wanting to lay down and sleep. They kept on taking me into rooms and getting me to lie on the bed so they could review me and then send me back out to sit on the chairs back in the waiting room. The 3rd time they did this I remember just thinking fuck off and let me sleep, I closed my eyes and he was like ‘ok you can stay there’.

That night I was admitted to hospital and proceeded to have 2 blood transfusions, they immediately stopped my blood thinners and was taken off of Sertraline as they believed that this had interacted with the Rivaroxyban and caused this to happen. I was in there for around a weeks’ time until I started to feel a bit livelier. It took me around 3 weeks to fully recover. I was now completely off the Sertraline and they changed my blood thinners to Apixaban.

I’ve never said this to anyone, but this scarred me really badly and still does to this day. The fear I have whenever my period comes around and is really heavy. It stops me from doing anything, I panic constantly and for the week it goes on for my anxiety is sky high. I panic if it goes on for a little too long or if it doesn’t look to be slowing down. I remember the time I was literally knocking on deaths door and makes me really emotional every time I think about it.

On the 3rd January 2018, I was at work which at the time was in a restaurant so lots and lots of walking around and long hours. I was half way through a 12 hour shift just finished my lunch break and went back to work when I suddenly started to get cramp in my calf on my left leg, it would build up after I’d walked a while and I’d ignore it and it would eventually become unbearable and I had to stop what I was doing and wait for it to go.

This went on for 2 weeks before I was adamant that something was not right and I believed it was a blood clot, I’d had a previous clot, so I knew what it felt like. My mum took me to minor injuries in Abingdon and they refused to review me because I wasn’t injured. They booked me an emergency appointment with my GP, and we went straight there, I went in and I said to them I think I have a blood clot in my leg. They asked me several questions and did a Doppler test on my ankles to test if they could hear my pulse. They could. The Dr turned to me and said you haven’t got a blood clot we can hear your pulse fine; you’ve probably just got a sprain and should be fine in 8 weeks’ time. 8 weeks come and go and I’m still in absolute agony when I walk, I’ve been diagnosed with social anxiety anyway so social situations become non-existent because I became so terrified of having to tell people I needed to slow down or stop completely that I didn’t got out. I carried on working and bit my tongue and got on with it because that’s what you got to do! I went back to the Drs after 8 weeks as I was still getting cramp when I walked a short distance. I go through a Doppler test and they are now struggling to find my pulse in my left ankle. A week later I get a call from the Dr to say that they are referring me to the Vascular unit at the John Radcliffe. My appointment was booked for the 18th April but was cancelled and they had scheduled a new appointment in May. I couldn’t make this appointment as me and my eldest brother Will were going away for a month from the 10th May - 10th June to travel round Europe. I tried to get an earlier appointment so that I could be well for the trip, but this didn’t happen. The week before we went away, I went out for dinner with my parents and when I came home, I started to get a dead right leg and after about 20 minutes it finally went away. The next day at work I found that I was no longer getting cramp in my left leg, but I was getting it on my right. I carried on as I would as I was going to see a specialist after I got back. This trip was the best month of my life and despite being in agony I took plenty of codeine and powered through. I think this was the first time I didn’t let Lupus/APS flare up win (at the time I didn’t know it was a lupus thing but still) but usually I hole myself up and become very depressed (even more so than usual). But this time I was outside every single day and night and getting fresh air constantly. I got back on the 10th June and my appointment wasn’t scheduled until the 18th. Me and my sister Annie went to see Ed Sheeran at Wembley stadium on the 15th, coming out of that show I think it was the first time in the 6 months I’d been experiencing this pain that my sister actually realised how much agony I was in. We were walking back to the station I was powering through and pretending I was fine and speed walking; I just couldn’t do it I was on the verge of bursting into tears and sobbing and Annie looked over at me and she made us stop.

At my appointment with the consultant on the 18th he performed more Doppler tests and he came to the conclusion that I didn’t have a blood clot everything felt and sounded fine. He was going to set up a scan for me just so they could look at my veins and arteries, but he was 100% positive that the scan results would come back clear...

Fast forward to the 10th July, 3 days before I was due to have the scan me and my brother Stanley were going into Abingdon to do some shopping, we’d parked on the 3rd floor of the multi-storey car park. We got back to my car after walking up 3 flights of stairs and my right leg was fully cramped up, I sat in the car and said to my brother that we’re going to have to wait I need to let my leg to stop cramping. A couple of minutes turned to 5 and it still wasn’t going if anything it was getting worse. I’d gotten out the car tried walking it off, taken my shoe off but none of this worked, I was in complete agony I turned to Stanley and told him he would need to drive us home. I remember sitting in the passenger seat of the car with my eyes scrunched shut because I could feel tears coming but I just breathed through it, we finally got home and I hopped over to the sofa and as soon as I sat down I lead there and just remember letting out a huge wail of a cry and continued to cry my eyes out. I was in so much pain Stanley called my mum and dad and they came home from work. I remember thinking I can’t see an end to this pain, I was so scared, and I was even begging everyone to just make it stop. I was vomiting because of how much pain I was in.

The only way I can describe this pain is imagine getting cramp in your calf muscle, and imagine it not going and getting more and more painful, that’s what it was like.

My mum had rung 999 and an ambulance was on their way. They finally got there, and they ran some tests on me and took me away to the hospital. I can’t remember how long I was waiting in A&E before a Dr saw me but I know before they did I had a cat scan of my legs, I was wheeled into a room where the on call vascular Dr told me I had 3 clots in the arteries in my legs. One on my right groin, one behind my right knee and one on my left groin. I was being admitted to hospital and needed emergency surgery to take the one out of my right groin. The next morning, I was first on the table. My mum was stuck in traffic trying to get to the hospital and I was sat in my room with all these Drs and nurses coming in drawing on my leg about what they need to do. I remember being absolutely terrified that I wouldn’t wake up and that I’d die without telling my family how much I love them. This without a doubt was the most terrifying hour of my life. Not even 5 minutes before they take me down my mum walks through the door and although I was terrified of what was to come, I’ve never felt so much relief.

The surgery luckily went really well. Later, that day they do a few more scans on me so they can figure out where these clots have started. They did an echocardiogram on my heart and saw something there but couldn’t get a good look at it, so they decided to look at it with a camera. I was heavily sedated so I would fall asleep and they could stick a camera down my throat. Knowing my luck of course the meds wore off 5 minutes to quickly and I woke up whilst they still had the camera down my throat. I was a very panicked experience and I think my throat was cut up for about a week afterwards.

As a result of this scan they found a massive clot on my heart. At this point I was having infusions of heparin and was back on warfarin. Trying to get these clots gone.

I was in hospital for 16 days, one of which was my 20th Birthday. I spent 6 days in the vascular ward and 10 days in the heart centre before I was finally given the all clear to leave. This isn’t where this story ends though, I was still getting cramp in my right leg so In January 2019 I had minor surgery under local anaesthetic to sort out a narrowing in my artery behind my knee. I’ve also been left with scarring on my heart from the blood clot and will need to have my aortic valve replaced at some point in my life.

Once my right leg was sorted and the cramp was no more, I realised that my left leg still was cramping up. I went for more scans and it was confirmed I needed major surgery again to remove the last clot.

I went in on the 6th of November 2019 and was out by the 8th. Surgery went very well, I also can’t thank the nurse who was on every night I was there enough for how much she got me through, I was very distressed for the time I was there, and she was an absolute godsend to me!

I had a very tricky recovery from this op I was signed off for 2 months in total as my wound became infected.

I’m now happy to say that I’m fully recovered and in no pain.

I just want to say I know there are a lot of people who are worse off than me but this is my story and it’s fucking shit and has left me both mentally and physically scarred. The last 8 years have been incredibly hard but I’ve hopefully come out the other end of it now, but I still find the memories painful and writing this has left me in tears as for some stupid reason I feel like I’m attention seeking when I talk about all this stuff and I’m really panicking about putting this out there.

Anyway, thank you for reading...

Peace out ✌🏼

https://www.lupusuk.org.uk/

https://www.mind.org.uk/

https://www.aps-support.org.uk/

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theclanscript · 6 years ago

Text

the five keys to lee hoseok

⋈ pairing: hoseok x reader ⋈ word count: 3,704 ⋈ genre: fluff ⋈ notes: as promised ♥

1. He likes to share his time with you, for better or for worse

The slim silver bar was hanging over your head like a guillotine. You were flat on your back, your knees angled, your feet firmly pressed to the ground. There were voices, laughter, but they seemed so far very away and the bar so very close. You were sure that any second it would come crashing down on your throat, crushing your windpipe, snapping your neck.

A real guillotine seemed like the preferable option.

“There we go.” Hoseok leaned over you and gave the bar a reassuring slap. You flinched and looked to your left where your boyfriend had just adjusted the second round weight, making sure it sat tightly on the round piece of metal.

Bench pressing.

Of all the things Hoseok could have chosen when you had suggested that morning that you could come to the gym with him, for once. He usually went considerably late on Sundays – you would never, ever be up for his 4am workouts – and he had been dilly-dallying around the house in the morning, following you around, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and whispering into the skin of your neck how he had so little of you these days, how he missed you, loved you, and every sweet word had been accompanied by a brush of his lips and an invisible pout.

You know, you could show me that new gym you’re going to.

Foolish.

Rookie mistake.

You should have just made him ditch the gym to help you pick a new TV show to binge watch.

Even when he had marched you past the treadmills, ellipticals, and other machines straight into the weight room, you had anticipated a few light dumbbells and maybe some squats. You had seen cute videos on the internet where one person would hold down their partner’s feet as they did sit ups and were rewarded with a kiss and a silly little giggle for every exertive movement. Instead, Hoseok had done some light warm-up exercises with you, and less than twenty minutes later you were lying face-up on a cushioned bench.

And now you were expected to press.

“Alright, babe.” Hoseok stood at your head, smiling down at you as if he was having the best day ever. You swallowed a sigh. The things you were willing to do for this man. “Grab the bar, but don’t put out your elbows too far. You want them closer to your body to make sure the rotator cuff can do its job. Also, make sure your thumbs are reaching around so the bar can’t slip from your hands and fall down.”

Your eyes widened but Hoseok didn’t notice. He was busy emphasizing his words by positioning your hands the exact same way he had just instructed you to. When he was satisfied with his work, he bent down to steal a kiss from you while you were gripping the metal as if it had already been released from the rack.

“Don’t be scared. I only put on 50lbs, 25 on each side, that’s a fairly low weight to start with.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, far from convinced.

“I’ll spot you.”

“Does that mean you’ll keep me from dying?”

Hoseok chuckled. “Yes.”

You released the sigh this time and braced yourself, which effectively consisted of you pressing your back into the cushion and flexing your calf muscles close to the point of cramping. Just when you were about to accept your fate and lift the bar from its secure position, you heard a voice coming from outside of your field of vision.

“Hey guys.” Hyunwoo leaned over you just like Hoseok had earlier and offered you a friendly smile, his crescent eyes curling in the opposite direction as the corners of his mouth, as if they were going to meet halfway.

“Hey,” you greeted and relaxed your body. You could barely keep yourself from dropping your arms and turning into an upward-facing pile of humiliation.

“I didn’t know you lift,” Hyunwoo said and gave Hoseok an impressed glance.

“I don’t, really,” you admitted shyly. “It’s my first time so Hoseok went easy on me.”

Hoseok beamed at you, not noticing Hyunwoo’s pause. Hyunwoo narrowed his eyes and touched the tips of his fingers to one of the weights clinging to the bar as if he could confirm something he had noticed earlier by making contact with the black iron.

“Easy?”

“Yeah,” you replied hesitantly. “25lbs on each side isn’t much, is it?”

“It’s not,” Hyunwoo agreed.

“Good.”

“But these weights are in kilograms.”

Hoseok’s smile froze. Hyunwoo raised an eyebrow.

“What?” You sat up so fast you hit your head on the silver metal and could barely stop yourself from cussing out the bar, the bench, the pressing, and your boyfriend. Hyunwoo immediately rushed off to get an ice pack for the bump forming on your forehead, and Hoseok was already kneeling next to you, stumbling through a tirade of oh my god’s and are you okay’s and I am so sorry’s. Once the pain started to subside you reached for him and made it a point to laugh and kiss him and tell him it was alright. You knew the swelling would go away on its own, but it was in your hands to ensure Hoseok wasn’t going to be the one to scar.

Still, you made him buy you junk food on the way home and spent the rest of the day on the couch with him, your head in his lap, watching a new show until you blissfully fell asleep with his hand in your hair. And on days when you felt dramatic – or when he suggested to take you to the gym again – you were quick to remind him of the time you had almost fallen victim to a vicious bench press murder.

2. You’ll know he’s truly comfortable with you when he can finally be selfish

The bus was racing through the streets despite the considerable amount of traffic. It was raining heavily and sometimes it felt like the metal monster you had entrusted your life with was lifted right off the asphalt, floating on water for a few feet before regaining traction. You were used to it, unlike some tourists who were clinging to the plastic handles, probably praying they’d make it to their destination in one piece. Your fingers where ghosting over the screen of your phone without much purpose, to the point where your whole hand froze when the display suddenly changed to an incoming call, your idle brain needing time to process the unexpected interruption.

Hoseokie.

“Aren’t you at work?” you said after you had picked up without a greeting. You had been dating for far too long to still bother with formalities.

“Yeah.”

You frowned. His voice sounded tired, heavy, like the rainclouds over the city, and just as triste.

“Are you okay?”

Hoseok sighed. You listened. You already knew you were about to get an answer he rarely let himself give.

“No.” Another moment of silence. “Can you come here?”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t you meet me at home?”

“I can’t leave, I have work to do.”

Your first thought was then why do you need me there, but it quickly occurred to you that one had nothing to do with the other.

“It’s late.”

“I know.”

You held your breath. In your mind, you were trying to remember if this had ever happened. Not the fact that Hoseok needed you – that was pretty much a daily thing. But the fact that he disregarded your comfort, your convenience in favor of his own needs. He had never summoned you like this, never demanded you like this. He was a man of compromise, a man who always made sure that you had it easy, simple. It was almost unheard of that you didn’t get your way when it came to restaurant choices, dates, or movies, even if you didn’t particularly insist on anything. He was always just giving, giving, giving you everything.

And now, finally, he was ready to take.

It made you smile against your phone.

“I’m on my way. I’ll bring food.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Another moment of silence.

“I love you.”

3. He’s bad at fighting. Like, really bad.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Angrily, you kicked the covers off yourself and planted your feet on the soft carpet next to your bed. With sleep in your eyes and fury in your stomach you stomped out of the room, through the hallway, into the kitchen. Hoseok’s hands immediately stilled when he saw you, his eyebrows rising in confused surprise.

“You’re up?”

“Am I up?” you huffed. “Am I up?”

“Yes?” Hoseok said, suddenly sensing that he was in quite a bit of trouble.

“You’re running the blender like a madman at 2am and you’re asking me if I’m up?”

Hoseok squinted at you. “I just made a protein smoothie. I do that every morning, you know that.”

“Yes, I do, and usually I don’t even hear it. What were you blending? Small animal bones?”

“Frozen-“

“That was a rhetorical question!”

“This is ridiculous,” Hoseok snapped and grabbed his tumbler. “You can’t get mad at me just because you feel like it. I didn’t do anything differently. Maybe you weren’t sleeping well? Maybe you were already awake?”

“No, I wasn’t!” you protested, knowing full well that he may have had a point. But at 2am you were too drunk on the last remnants of the little sleep you had gotten to further explore any possible points that were being made.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s not my problem.” Hoseok stared you down from across the kitchen, his face and nerves worn from long busy days and short restless nights. You crossed your bare arms and stared back, the tiles cold against the soles of your feet.

“Maybe you should just sleep at the gym,” you growled, annoyed and hurt. “I’m sure they’ll let you blend all night long if you want to.”

“Yes, they would!” Hoseok yelled and stormed past you, pushing hard against your shoulder in the process. You stumbled aside a bit more dramatically than necessary and watched him disappear into the living room. Not even ten seconds later, he came back out, his wide frame seemingly filling up most of the hallway as he stopped in front of you.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he said, his voice still raised. “I hope that didn’t hurt. I’ll just make my shakes in the evening before I go to sleep. Okay?”

You couldn’t hide a small smile.

“Okay.”

“Now please go back to bed, you’re going to catch a cold out here.”

“Okay,” you repeated without moving. When people asked you if you and Hoseok ever fought, you always had to think for a moment before answering with a vague I guess. Your fights generally consisted of the two of you blowing up in each other’s faces and making up less than two minutes later because neither of you could bear the thought of being angry at the other – or them being angry at you.

Hoseok looked at you expectantly, then he rolled his eyes and smirked. He planted a quick smooch on your lips before putting his hands on your shoulders and physically turning you toward the bedroom.

“Goodnight, babe,” he said lowly, giving your butt a tiny slap to get you going. You giggled and went back to bed, sleeping better than you had all week.

4. Suddenly all his songs are about you; you’re his favorite melody

You were sitting in the old office chair in Hoseok’s studio, swirling, twirling, barely paying attention to what was happening on the computer screen. He had explained some of the knicks and the knacks of his soft- and hardware to you about a million times, but you were still astonished by how he was able to piece all of the little snippets and tracks together to create a beautiful, unique, stunning song, like he seemed to do all the time. His creativity was a well that never dried up, his resources as endless as his ambition. You were fascinated by everything Hoseok was and everything Hoseok did, his humble passion, his dreams deeply rooted in reality. You were convinced that he could do anything he set his mind to – after all, he had done it time and time again in the past.

The chair stopped when you got too lost in your own thoughts to move your body. You blankly stared at your boyfriend’s back, his concentrated shoulders, his nimble fingers, the line of his jaw. Despite the fact that you had nothing to do, you loved watching him work, loved watching his eyes and his expressions as he combined notes and melodies that only reached you as muffled sounds from his headphones. He was so enthusiastic, so genuine, so beautiful you couldn’t help but reach out your fingertips and touch him. Hoseok immediately slid the headphones down to his neck and turned around, a patient smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry, are you bored, babe? I’ll be done in a second, I just want to finish arranging Jooheonie’s rap on this.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you replied softly, inching closer with your chair to put a hand on his cheek. “Take your time. I’m okay.”

Hoseok looked at you for a moment. Then he turned slightly to free his right leg from under the desk.

“Come here,” he said and pulled you toward him, guiding you by the waist until you were sat on his leg. “I’ll show you something else.”

You wrapped an arm around his neck as he put the headphones on you, making sure not to cover your left ear so you could still hear him. He snaked his right arm around you to operate the mouse. With a few clicks he opened a new file and soon a quiet melody filled your ear, filled your head, filled your heart. You swallowed hard.

“This sounds so sad.”

“I was sad,” Hoseok admitted and pressed you closer to him. “I started composing this when I was on tour and had somehow convinced myself that we couldn’t last. We had only been dating a few weeks and then I was gone for a couple of months. It was a really hard time. For the both of us, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, not wanting to remember all the times your relationship had been put to the test, and not wanting to think about all the times that were still ahead of you. “But we made it.”

“We always have,” Hoseok added. You looked down at him and met his eyes, your own pain and hope mirrored in them. The melody still tugged on the strings of your heart and you felt tears burning their way up your throat. To stop them, you leaned down and kissed Hoseok; a kiss to ban all the sad memories and seal the promise that you would always, always make it.

“It’s a nice song, though,” you said once you had parted. Hoseok smiled and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah. But I prefer to write happy songs about you.”

“Oh? How come I don’t know any of them?”

“Oh, baby,” Hoseok chuckled, his eyes boring into yours as if they could tell you everything before his words even got the chance. “You know all of them.”

You couldn’t help but blush a little. There were times, times like this, when Hoseok got so sincere, so intense, it froze your body and set your soul ablaze. His steadfast arms around you, he had a way of making you feel so safe, safe from harm, safe from the world, safe from yourself. You had become a stronger, a better person because of him – and, in part, for him. He was your favorite motivation, your favorite inspiration.

Your favorite reason.

“I wrote another one about you,” he suddenly said, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist. “It’s not finished yet, but you can hear bits and pieces of it. Like Jooheonie’s rap.”

“Sure!” You sat up again, shimmied a little to find a comfortable position on his leg, and waited for him to start the track. The song was upbeat, fun, and you found yourself humming along to the music within seconds. You watched the screen as Hoseok skipped part of the base melody to get to Jooheon’s rap that made you laugh from the very first line.

“What do you think?” Hoseok asked, grinning at you swaying and humming along to the melody – a melody that reminded him of you so much. It was clear, cheerful, playful, simple; as simple as his feelings: he loved you. There were not conditions, not fine print, no ifs or buts.

It was just you.

“Speak of the Devil,” Hoseok mumbled when his phone started ringing. He grabbed it from where it was lying on the desk and picked up.

“Hyung!” you could hear Jooheon’s voice blaring from the other end, but Hoseok was quick to cut him off.

“Sorry, friend, don’t call me.” He swiftly pulled you into his chest again and his hot breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine. “I’m a little busy right now.”

5. He deserves nothing less than everything

From the moment Lee Hoseok met you, he knew he wanted in. He wanted in your life, in your head, in your heart. He wasn’t the type to come on strong or confidently, Lee Hoseok was shy smiles, stolen glances, standing a little closer to you than he probably should have. He was sweet text messages all day and night, he was have you eaten’s and let me know when you get home’s. He was the type to listen and remember because, well, manners, but also because nothing was quite as important as you. He knew that it would eventually have to balance out a little, but as long as he could, as long as it was humanly possible, he would give you everything.

Because you were his everything.

Hoseok was no fool, though. If you hadn’t reciprocated his feelings, if you hadn’t let him into your life and your heart, he would have simply walked away. Or tried to, anyway. He knew the pain of cutting you out of his life would have been shorter and more bearable than having to face the constant reminder of everything he wanted but couldn’t have. It would have been easier to never see you again than to have to see you as a friend.

But, much to Hoseok’s secret bewilderment, you loved him back.

You had opened all the doors for him, quite literally; he thought he was going to burst into tiny pieces of happiness when you had given him the code to your apartment. You held nothing back, and Hoseok was more than willing to place his heart at your feet. You had no doubt in your mind that he would be by your side forever.

When you had found love with Lee Hoseok, you had found the love of your life.

And he loved you just as much, deeply, desperately, devastatingly.

It wasn’t hard to give him everything because it never felt like you were losing anything. All the love you gave, you received tenfold, all the sacrifices you made, he made up to you a million times over, and you knew that all you had given was safe with him.

I have another thing to ask of you, he had whispered the night he had proposed; a night of the brightest stars and softest touches.

What more could a man want, he had breathed into your ear on the day of your wedding; a day of the most precious firsts and sweetest promises. His arm had been holding you close to his body as he led you across the floor, the song you had chosen filling the air, your movements effortlessly matching as you danced surrounded by your loved ones. There had been tears in his eyes, or maybe your own. They were tears of happiness, tears of pride, tears of reassurance that everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.

In the years that followed, you would sometimes catch Hoseok staring at you absently, his fingers hovering above the keyboard or the plate or whatever he had been in the middle of, and when he noticed you staring back at him, he would smile, gently, almost shyly, and look at you, behold you, with love and contentment and calmness. The way that only Hoseok could look at you, and the way he only looked at you.

I truly have everything.

You gulped and took a deep breath. You got up, walked out of the room and into the living room. You sat on the sofa next to where Hoseok was watching YouTube videos about the myths of protein. He kept watching for a minute or so until he noticed you weren’t assuming your usual slouching couch position, instead sitting straight like an arrow and staring firmly ahead with your brows knitted together. He paused the video and sat up himself.

“Something wrong, babe?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“You’re not feeling well?”

“I feel fine,” you replied and cleared your throat. “For now.”

Hoseok inched closer to you, visibly alarmed now.

“Babe? Will you please look at me and tell me what’s going on?”

Finally, you turned toward him, barely able to contain the feelings raging in your chest. Your fingertips were tingling, your stomach upside down, and you were sure rainbows would spill from your mouth if you opened it.

“Hoseok, you were wrong.”

“I was?”

“Yes.” You almost giggled. “You do not have everything.”

Hoseok seemed a little relieved at your smile. He leaned in to kiss you, his lips lingering against yours, his hand finding your waist and squeezing it tenderly. He looked like he thought you were making a joke and he had to wait for the punchline.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded and held up the pregnancy test in your hand.

“Positive.”

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