#sometimes it's normal sometimes it's ''lie on the floor in a puddle of sweat and pray'' and i don't have an early warning system

[oimoi-op]

Apparently hot flashes during periods aren't normal and having that and other pre-menopause symptoms just so happen to be yet another perk of diabetes <3

[apixrl]

IT'S YOU.

hanta sero x fem!reader

WARNING(S): slight angst. mostly arguing / tension but fluff towards the end.

word count: 5.3k

song: it's you // gavriel

note(s): if u stan him ur immediately just so hot and sexc and if not ur just really stinky sorry not sorry

italian translation - translator !!

The heavy pouring rain waged war against your once dry and stylish jacket. The piece of clothing now resorted to an added weight as you strode forth to reach your apartment complex. Luckily you were only a street away, your hurried walk turning into a legitimate jog when the storeyed building came into sight. It was Friday night, meaning the day you worked overtime for the sake of earning a little extra as well as filling in for a coworker. Most of the day the weather had been miserable, the sky maintaining a mundane and drilling grey cloudy sketch that slowly collected into rain. Luckily your morning walk to work hadn't been affected by the downfall but the weather had chosen to stick around for your walk home.

Your jacket glued itself to your frame as its capability to keep you dry fleetly decreased, the hoodie underneath beginning to dampen ever so faintly too. Your pants were already taken to the rain, answering its call by absorbing the water into the fabric and making them exceptionally uncomfortable to wear. The pair of shoes on your feet struggled to bind together as they countlessly stepped in puddle after puddle, wearing and tearing with every step you took.

Cars passed by, tires causing gushes of water to hit the pavement. The street lamps did nothing to show your presence as they sped by, your body growing damper from the droplets of water hitting you. You briefly scolded the inconsiderate drivers in your head, eyes glancing ahead to meet an approaching individual. They were most likely a neighbour but given the darkness surrounding you weren't entirely sure, ultimately deciding to keep your head down and not draw attention to yourself.

In truth, this wasn't the only reason.

During the last week and a half, your want to socialise was relatively low, finding a lot of your spare time spent at home and in your own company. The separation from society was healthy for your recently plagued mind, spending afternoons finding all kinds of homely leisure to pass the hours by. It felt much more wholesome and enjoyable to endeavour in a story from your bookshelf or writing poetry in your journal straight from the heart rather than sitting aimlessly on your phone. Simply scrolling through social media to bore the day away.

Why the sudden stray from society to your own little world? Well... sometimes having a popular Pro Hero as a boyfriend came with its cons. Especially when hardships came between. As of the Tuesday approaching, it would be your ten-month anniversary with your partner - Hanta. Or what he was better known as; Taping Hero: Cellophane.

Yours and his meet was rather mundane truth be told. What started as a journey to purchase a recently released volume of one of Hanta's favourite manga comics took a drastic turn and became something much more meaningful. He caught you grabbing the final copy available, smoothly swooping in to attempt to charm you into giving him the comic (the ravenette had been to about five stores before that during patrol - a rather lousy thing to do but he justified his actions with lack of spare time). However, he walked out with a date two nights later instead, finding himself be moved by your own charms and attraction that Hanta urged himself to ask and not miss the chance.

From there, things were taken slow. His social status was shared pretty quickly, faster than Hanta felt comfortable with - liking the idea of you liking him for who he was over his fame and wealth. It didn't affect your perspective of the ravenette, since you had already fallen for him before such information could be told. It took a month before you officially became boyfriend and girlfriend, and life couldn't have been better for the pair of you. For the most part, your relationship was perfectly stable and as healthy as you could make it. But unfortunately, all good things must come with a cost.

See, one thing you were to learn with growing closer to Hanta was he kept his personal life extremely separate from his heroic persona. Such a statement was made very clear before you brought your relationship to the next level since the ravenette requested that if you were to become lovers that he would want it to remain private. So he could feel he had a somewhat normal life outside of his duties as a hero. Whilst becoming a Pro was his dream and the man loved his job, Hanta was also a sucker for peace and quiet too. Having that metaphorical and literal balance in his life granted him inner peace, and as his partner, you respected that.

At least at first, since you didn't think you would reach ten months together and still be hiding behind sunglasses whenever the pair of you wanted to see a movie.

You couldn't lie, it was endearingly sweet Hanta felt that way, partly anyway. The fact he cherished your love and relationship so close to his heart that it was only shared between you two. But your irrationality couldn't help but make you wonder how in a concerning way, Hanta's desire to keep you from his greatest achievement in life (becoming a top ten pro) almost felt like he was hiding you... like he didn't want you a part of it. And once that thought struck you as the ravenette rested peacefully beside you one night, it didn't shy away anytime soon. Given the fact you had spoken briefly about making yourselves public in the past with little to no issue, you didn't think you would cause harm by bringing it up again. But it seemed your choice of when to bring it up was poor, as it most certainly did not run smoothly between you.

Something about his day had irritated Hanta, and so you pinning such focus on the subject seemed to pass him over his limit. There were a few snaps here and there, which you didn't necessarily appreciate, and Hanta's lack of enthusiasm and care for your request made you all the more upset. So weighted emotions matched with the evident disagreement surely lead to Hanta storming out of your apartment with such a slam to the door you wouldn't have expressed shock if your neighbour's stepped out in the hall to see the chaos ensuing.

That was nine days ago, and so far neither of you had seen nor spoken to the other. You'd made attempts to contact him since then, attempts you knew before you tried would come out unsuccessful. But from observation, Hanta was surprisingly a complete mess when it came to emotions based on negativity. Whenever the ravenette grew angry or agitated he became a closed book, so hard for you to read that the only thing you learned that worked was to give him space. To let him get through his upset alone since he never seemed to allow for outer help and comfort to assist. Which you despised because you wanted to help him through his troubles. To be there as the big spoon or to be the shoulder to cry on. But stupid male pride got in the way, Hanta building a wall so high and thick between him, his emotions and you that truth be told you had no idea how to push through.

So you resorted to letting him get over it in his own time, knowing deep down he would come around eventually. It wasn't the first quarrel you'd had and hopefully not the worst, and you knew this was Hanta's way of dealing with it. Whilst you had been willing to wait it out, you placed that thought in your head thinking it to be only two or three days before Hanta made some sort of effort.

But it was nine. And that was beginning to concern you greatly.

You finally reached the stairs leading up to your apartment building, the relief flowing through your system so freeing and wonderous. All that was left was to type in the passcode by the main doors and you would be merrily under shelter, able to kick off your trainers and slip into some comfy sweats. Perhaps even make yourself a warm cup of cocoa and watch an episode of a show you needed to catch up on before the sweet release of sleep. Or so you thought it was going to go.

Twenty minutes later and your thumb grazed lightly over your phone's home screen, imaginatively stroking the black hair of a certain boy you loved dear as he smiled cross-eyed back at you. The photo was taken when Hanta took you ice skating in the countryside during the winter which previously passed. He discovered a secluded location hiding a spacious lake that had been glazed with thick, sturdy ice. After numerous times of losing your balance, Hanta deemed it amusing to take a photo with you as you sat on your backside in defeat. And whilst it did humiliate you, you adored Hanta's goofy looking face in the photo. Hence why it was your background.

You'd found yourself staring at the photo the night prior too, contemplating whether to try to call again or not. What if something was wrong? What if Hanta was injured and somewhere under repair at one of the numerous hospitals in the city? God... what if the doofus finally slung himself across the city as crazily as that Western hero he never shut up about and fell to his death? And your setback from social media was the reason you hadn't found out yet? See! This was a reason why you wanted to go public! At least in an emergency, somebody would know who to contact!

Your brows crinkled at that final thought, what began as concern moving back a step to annoyance and you settled on tossing your phone behind you on your bed in defeat. Proceeding to stand upright, you tugged the oversized hoodie (Hanta's hoodie not to mention) on your person and wandered through the rooms of your apartment to your kitchen. Where the bubbling of your kettle boiling water filtered your ears. The low hum calmed you as you leaned against the counter in thought, arms crossed over your chest and your eyes focused deeply beyond the wooden flooring.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The noise went unheard at first, so occupied in your head you mistook the sound for the kettle boiling. But when the triple trill sounded again, it dawned on you that that was most certainly not how a kettle was supposed to sound. Snapping out of your focus, your head lifted to the kettle before it scanned the room around you. Nothing seemed different at all, and nothing inside your apartment had a reason to make such a sound.

Unless you had rats... then maybe that would make sense.

Please don't be rats.

Having no initial success, you blankly went back to your thoughtful state - the kettle finally boiling. Permitting you to fill the lavender painted mug that waited impatiently on the side, four heaped teaspoons of cocoa powder begging for hydration inside. Now actually having something to do you hoisted yourself off of the counter, stepping to the one opposite to do the task at hand. But then just as you were going to pour the heated water...

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!

This time it was more rushed and heightened, holding a lack of patience to a certain extent. It was there you finally trailed your eyes left, right and centre, your E/C irises landing on the french doors past your sofa which lead to your balcony. Doing as much as possible to downplay your panic by putting on a brave face, you manoeuvred from your perch in the kitchen and headed for the doors to glance outside. Thankfully the light on the balcony was switched on, giving you a glimpse of silhouettes to the arrangement of the outdoor area. At first, nothing seemed different at all. Just the usual setting your balcony always had. A few potted plants and a small sakura blossom which you'd been growing from the seed, as well as a glass table and four chairs. Not to mention the closed up umbrella and pole reaching for the stars above too. But looking over your observations, something went amiss. Since when did you have five chairs?

Squinting your eyes in a struggle to focus better, they were only set to widen as it hit you what you could see. There, perched on your balcony in a squatting position was a person... balancing perfectly on the thin pole as their head leaned forwards to occasionally peer inside the glass doors. It took a second or two for you to figure out what was going on. But the moment you recalled the fact you had a boyfriend with the ability to swing from rooftop to rooftop, your heart both plummeted to your feet and leapt to the heavens above simultaneously.

After realising what was happening, you moved to the lock of the glass doors and grabbed hold. That movement seemed to indicate shifting on the exterior because the person on the other side stood upright and casually stepped off the railing as though it were a stair. You swallowed thickly, clamping down on the inside of your cheek in worry that you could not see his face. Unfortunate for your nerves since at least then you could gain some form of presumption to what his expression read. So walking in blind, you unlocked the door and jiggled it open, the glass door sliding to the side easily. Quickly did the silent walls of your apartment be filled to the brim with the heavy downpour of rain and distant car horns in the distance. As well as the overhanging state of tension in the air as your eyes trailed up the slender frame of your visitor and meeting the ebony eyes you'd been missing for far too long now.

"What... what are you doing here?" You uttered out after a long twenty seconds passed. Upon opening the door no words were said, only the longing gaze of two conflicted lovers. Hanta stood before you with a discouraged expression, lips tightly pursed together with no catchphrase toothy grin to show. He was donning his hero costume, though his helmet appeared to be missing for reasons you didn't know why. But it didn't help Hanta one bit since his black locks were laced with the heavy downpour from above. You imagined his hero costume was drenched as well, damp spandex sounding all too discomforting in your head as you used it as a focus to ease the nerves you felt to the sudden visit.

"Hey," Hanta finally said after what felt like a millennium. What were his usual cheerful tones came out low and unsure, like the ravenette hadn't come prepared and was relying on other factors to push himself forward. With sunken brows and a clear of his throat, Hanta continued as he lifted his eyes to meet yours. "Can I come in?"

"Oh... right, sure," You stated blankly and stepped back for him to do so. At first, you wanted to ask him why he decided to come to your balcony of all things, but the look in his eyes had convinced you to wait for that chance. There was just something about those gorgeous orbs of ebony you couldn't say no to - conflict or not. Luckily your apartment flooring was hard, meaning any water from Hanta's shoes (or soles as his costume didn't use shoes) could be mopped up and dealt with later. Not that you were thinking about that at all. Your mind was too focused on processing what was going on.

"I was in the neighbourhood and you know that my tape is crap in rain so... I didn't know where else to crash," Hanta started once inside your apartment. He nervously laughed as though to ease inner feelings, hands meeting his hips in a lost attempt to make conversation. It was mainly due to the fact you hadn't properly greeted him, sort of dawdling between him and the sofa. You looked Hanta up and down and sighed, seeing how soaked he was.

"Here... slip this on," You lifted your hands over your head to tug the hoodie off, holding it out for Hanta to take. It was his anyway, and it would be a lie to say you weren't wearing it for his scent. Underneath the hoodie, you donned a simple black tank top you tended to wear during your morning jogs or times of exercise. The ravenette took it reluctantly, initiating you to head for your bedroom. "I'll go grab you some pants too. And a towel for your hair,"

"Oh... okay then," Hanta was genuinely astonished by the hospitality, watching you disappear down the hall. As you grabbed the aforementioned items, he began to remove the top half of his hero costume. It was true that Hanta loved his hero costume very much but when it came to the rain he wanted nothing more than to change the design completely. The spandex soaked up the rain and it took hours to drip out, not only dampening him but also multiplying its weight much more than double its usual. With his tape dispenser shoulder pads placed on the floor, Hanta stripped himself of his top half. Sighing when he discovered the rain had seeped through and dampened his skin. Luckily you entered the room shortly after, carrying some grey sweats of Hanta's and a freshly cleaned towel.

"So... is there any other reason you decided to scare the crap out of me on my balcony?" You questioned flatly, a hand on your hip as you held the towel out for Hanta, placing the sweats on the sofa cushion next to him. He mumbled a quick thanks, promptly starting to dry his upper half.

"Well yeah," The ravenette stopped momentarily to glance your way, ebony eyes finding you back at the countertop in the kitchen where you resumed the task of making cocoa. Hanta quickly expressed a sigh. "W-We gotta talk,"

"About?" You asked innocently, though you were fully aware of what was being implied. Chewing the inside of your cheek as you did your best not to make eye contact, Hanta furrowed his brows at you.

"I think you know,"

"Well, are we starting afresh or picking up where we left off? The moment you decided to storm out of here and slam the door shut?" You spoke in a passive-aggressive manner because truth be told, you didn't appreciate Hanta's way of handling your last discussion at all. So you were certainly planning on letting him know. Speaking of which, Hanta was now scrubbing his raven locks dry as his eyes closed in response. Almost like he expected you to react in such a manner. Though he refrained from biting back, knowing that would only make it worse. Not his aim for visiting.

"Starting afresh,"

"Okay then," Was all you said, stirring your spoon and tapping it quite obnoxiously on the side of the mug before dropping it into the kitchen sink. Then you moved to the fridge to grab yourself some squirty cream. The can practically empty, it reminded you how badly you needed to go grocery shopping the next day. As for a reply, from across the room, you could only see the essence of hesitance. Either from Hanta figuring where to go from that or ultimate regret for even coming. Your bets were on both.

"Look Y/N -," The ravenette began, relatively quick to dry the rest of himself off and to put on the remaining clothes. Just as he was prepared to skirt over to your side, his actions ceased upon seeing you setting yourself down on the armchair opposite. Hanta had a moment where he didn't move, unsure what to do before he resorted to sitting down on the sofa. Feeling it the only safe thing to do. "I don't want problems between us. It's the last thing I want, okay?"

"I um... okay," You said, fingertips tapping lightly against the ceramic mug filled to the brim with whipped cream and cocoa. Hanta met your gaze for a split second, hands proceeding to fiddle with the other much more prominently.

"But... I want you to know that I've been thinking about it and well... I guess if it'll make you happy, I'm willing to do it and go public," Hanta spoke through a sigh. Peculiar, because a week ago you would have probably broken into a bright smile and jumped straight into the ravenette's arms then and there. Yet, you remained in your seat and mouthed a small oh of... disappointment was it? Whilst you weren't certain what it was, it most definitely felt like that. Which was odd because the words Hanta had just uttered were the ones you had been waiting to hear for months now.

Funnily enough, it didn't take you long to figure out why. Because throughout the previous week and the lack of contact, that's exactly what had been the route of the problem. The way Hanta treated you during your last interaction and the lack of communication mixed with it. It wasn't the original issue anymore. Of course, you still wanted that. But you additionally craved a sense of closure for how you were treated.

"Hanta I...," Hanta's brows crinkled together in a frown, not shy to display his confusion to your hesitant tones.

"What? What is it? T-That's what you want right?" He replied.

"Yes, it's what I want. But that's not the issue anymore,"

"What do you mean? I'm not following...," His response made you scoff. Not exactly great for the situation at hand. You remained silent for a little bit longer, scratching the side of your head as you sat upright to elaborate.

"Hanta... you haven't texted or called me in over a week. You walked out of here after a fight and practically went radio silent!" Was your protest, watching as Hanta fell back against the sofa. Unbeknownst to you, there was another reason he did this. An inner conflict he had yet to unveil. A prolonged silence ensued as if Hanta was trying to find the correct words to say.

"Because I needed space Y/N... time to think!"

"Yeah well we both did... but even calling just to say that would have been reassuring," You weren't finished despite trailing off, Hanta seeming to notice by the way your lips were faintly parted. "I know you have a busy schedule but... but...," The thought entered your mind for a split moment, doing much more damage than intended.

"But what?"

"It doesn't matter. I-it's stupid," You tried to brush it off, suppressing the thought further down into your system so it wouldn't win you over. Hanta didn't seem to like that though, his head tilting your way with his eyes boring into your own. He could tell when something was bothering you, just from your body language.

"No. Tell me,"

"You're not losing interest in me, are you?" It sounded ridiculous the moment you uttered the words, and it sounded even more ridiculous as Hanta's hands met the bridge of his nose in a heavy sigh. Quickly causing you to further your point. "I-I just thought that you not wanting to go public and being 'busy' was a nice way of saying -,"

"Don't even finish that sentence,"

"Sorry," The silence lingering between you both drowned out your voice, to which you looked down at your hands with a sigh. The ravenette sat upright rather abruptly, shifting onto his feet and coursing a hand through his hair. There was a clashing frown on his face as he reflected on the words he just heard.

"I can't believe you would even think that... that I'm growing tired of you!" Hanta called out in disbelief, near offended by the accusation. His body twisted to face you, eyeing you down for some sort of explanation or justification to what you said.

"It's hard not to when you're giving off all these... these signs!" That was your best response. Though you were set to be cut off by another sharp sigh from Hanta. One of many expressed that rainy night. You watched as he walked on over to the glass doors he entered moments earlier, observing the rain slashing harshly against the clear surface. It had grown even heavier since his entry, the back of his mind relieved to be out of the dangerous weather and inside closed doors. He didn't ponder on it long though, returning to the situation at hand and leaving the indistinct 'pitter-patter' of the rain behind him.

"Y/N have you ever thought for a single moment why I've kept you secret for so long?"

"You said you liked your private life to be away from your hero one... a-and I get that!" You replied urgently. "I'm okay with all the publicity and the social media responses and -," As though he expected that answer, Hanta interrupted you with a near saddened laugh. It caused you to frown and glare his way, about to raise your voice if not for his own voice filling the apartment.

"You know my job isn't just walking around being a celebrity, right?" Hanta glanced back at you. "I'm a hero for crying out loud! I protect people from danger! People like you!" The ravenette pressed a closed fist against the glass pane of the door, forehead inches away from the surface since Hanta shifted most of his weight onto it. You tilted your head, frowning.

"I know that but -,"

"But do you?" Hanta's tone came off harsher than intended to emphasise his point. But he was quick to abandon it, clicking his tongue in defeat to a battle in his head when he realised he had to explain his case. He'd been reluctant to say anything about his activities in the last week since technically not even the press knew, but lying wasn't going to get Hanta and you anywhere. So he surrendered to the urge and spoke. "Listen, the reason I didn't message you this week is that I've been working non-stop over some drug trades going on. One's that have been going on for a while underground and ones that have gotten good people killed. I haven't had the time to focus on us even though our fight has been in my head all week and I've been shitting myself over talking about it because I don't want to lose you! I couldn't imagine life without you, Y/N and I feel like an ass for treating you how I did last time we spoke! But I haven't been able to tell you that because access to my phone has been slim, and I couldn't-,"

"Hanta?" You stood up gingerly, only speaking up due to the change of Hanta's aura. He had started curt and sharp but slowly tumbled into a more emotional demeanour. The more personal his small speech grew the more it started to affect him, probably the impact of his own thoughts taking their toll. There was even a voice crack at some point, one you'd never heard before. Hanta took a deep breath, bracing himself to speak again.

"It sounds like a lame excuse but it's the truth. I didn't want to say it. But I can't lie to you," He continued. "It's cases like this that have kept me from wanting to go public. B-Because if those people were to figure out who you are because of me...," There was a stifled shake of a breath, Hanta's voice quietening in fear just at the thought. "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself,"

You were speechless. So speechless you weren't even mad anymore. He was finally... finally being vulnerable with you and that seemed to be enough for you to erase all your grudges. Sure, work wasn't an excuse for everything. But in a circumstance like this one - with the job that Hanta lead, you could understand his reasons and in spite of your worry you knew the rules. No mobiles on operations. And finally, he was confiding to you about why he struggled with the thought of announcing your relationship. So in a very reluctant manoeuvre, you plucked up the courage to walk up behind him and wrap your arms around Hanta in a sorrowful hug. Hanta tensed up at first, breath running short, but he didn't push you away. A hopeful sign.

"I'm sorry for making it such a big deal when you had other things to think about," You said, pressing your lips to the back of his shoulder blade and giving the surface a peck. You remained there for a good few, adamant seconds before retracting. "And I'm sorry for never looking at it that way... or considering your feelings on the matter,"

"Y/n it's fine... just...," Hanta seized the opportunity to turn around to face you, running a hand through his ebony locks with one hand as his other slithered around you to return the hug. "I'm sorry I made you doubt me... I feel like shit about it and it wasn't my intention at all,"

"No! No! Don't apologise. It's okay, " You brought a hand to fiddle with the string of his hoodie. As much as it wasn't what you wanted, you had to see Hanta's perspective and understand his feelings too. This was a two-person relationship after all and had you known his feelings ran that deep, you wouldn't have pressed the matter as much as you had. "Look, we don't have to announce anything to anyone okay? If it makes you comfortable and happy then I'm willing to remain a mystery a little longer,"

That returned some colour to his face, almost like Hanta feared you would oppose him even still and the situation would grow for the worse. With a small sigh of relief, he finally allowed a smile to press to his lips. A smile you knew all too well and had missed for a while now.

"Thank you for understanding," Hanta exhaled, pausing as his eyes hovered onto you with an ounce of playful intent. "And I guess we could be a little bit less discreet when we go to the cinema together," You smiled faintly, finally satisfied with the decision you had come up with. Better yet, a compromise. The very thing you had wanted to start with... clearly your concluding thoughts had been premature.

"Thank you... it means a lot,"

"Yeah... I love you," Hanta spoke gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you too," You stood on your tiptoes to lightly peck his lips, Hanta humming softly in approval as he returned the gesture. After a few seconds, you pulled back though, feeling a smile on your face as you did. It was enjoyable to kiss his lips again, another thing you had missed greatly in your week-long deprivation of your boyfriend.

"So, how does some hot cocoa sound? I can imagine you were sat on the balcony for a pretty long time," You pulled away from the hug, but kept hold of Hanta's wrist as you tugged him along with you. Hanta shook a fist in grateful triumph, sighing out in bliss at the offer.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask! Hot cocoa sounds amazing," He smiled, pausing temporarily before adding on. "But are cuddles on the table too?" You glanced back at him, half expecting the request. But there was no way you were going to say no. You shook your head in amusement before answering.

"I think we're both in desperate need of cuddles, so I think so. Yes,"

"Amen to that,"

[secretobsessionstuff]

I was just thinking about how sweet madix & riley, and alexi & micahs friendship. and it had me thinking....maybe would you write something where madix & riley are both laid up in bed with the stomach flu, riley being worse off. madix tries his best to comfort an emotional and sick riley, but it’s hard when he feels so bad himself. cue a quick phone call to alexi & micah to ask if they would mind bringing them a few supplies and perhaps some help. absolutely no pressure of course! <3

Ahh thank you so much for the lovely request! I’m really happy with this one :) 

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Madix does not consider himself a sympathetic puker. That’s why when Riley threw up into the bucket for the third time that night, Madix knew it wasn’t empathy that made his own stomach turn.

Riley shivered and spat into the bucket, feeling horrendous and entirely sick of this stomach bug. No pun intended because he was in no mood to be making jokes. All day, his head had been either buried in a bucket or hovering over the toilet. Currently, he preferred the bucket because it allowed him to sit on the couch. It was nice to be able to lean against Madix and have his shoulders rubbed.

Swallowing a sudden wave of nausea, Madix handed Riley a cloth to wipe his mouth. Riley reached for it, but stopped mid-way. His throat bobbed as his face got even paler. The boy still had one more retch in him. Madix, seeing this, brought the bucket back to his lap. He turned his head to the side so as to not trigger his own belly anymore.

With nothing left in his stomach to throw up, Riley dry heaved. His whole body quivered against Madix from the force of it. He might also have been shaking from the sobs that racked his frame. “Madix…make it stop,” he begged, with snot and tears running down his face.

“Oh love, I’m sorry.” Under normal circumstances, Madix might have said that he would gladly take the pain for himself, but he guessed it would be redundant at this point.

Along with the sadness, Madix also guessed that Riley was getting frustrated with this virus. He hadn’t been able to eat anything all day without it coming back up. Then again, they didn’t have much food in the house that wouldn’t unsettle his stomach. They were running low on supplies, and Madix was running low on energy.

He started to suspect that perhaps Riley wasn’t the only victim of this illness when the same nausea hit his system. This was earlier that day when he was trying to get Riley to eat something, meanwhile the food that he put in his own stomach was sitting uneasily. The nausea kicked in then, and he stupidly decided not to upset his stomach anymore by drinking water. No one had been nagging at him to stay hydrated, but now he wished there could be. Riley was much too upset and sick to tell – not that Madix could blame him. Still, he had to tell Riley something, before he threw up right then and there. That would absolutely not make the situation better.

Riley groaned and took the cloth to wipe his mouth. He was indeed frustrated. “I still feel nauseous…” he mumbled while hugging his stomach. “I hate this.”

“Believe me,” Madix said without making eye contact, “I know how you feel.”

“What do you mean?”

Madix rubbed the back of his neck. “I uh…don’t feel so hot either.”

Riley’s eyes grew wide. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. Normally he could deal with Madix being sick if he was already sick himself. But the human brain is a clusterfuck of an organ, and sometimes it cannot be expected to act predictably. Sometimes your brain tells you that everything sucks, and that crying is the only solution, and that Madix being sick is the worst possible thing to happen right now. Who was going to take care of us?? How would we deal with a sick Madix while we’re sick?? Because apparently Riley’s brain thought of itself and Riley as two separate entities.

“Are you going to throw up?” Riley asked with an unsteady voice.

Madix immediately regretted telling Riley how he felt. He watched his boyfriend’s eyes grow ten sizes, and watched his chest heave frantically. He guessed the combination of having a fever and feeling terrible made the perfect recipe for panic.

Before Madix could lie about needing to throw up, Riley gagged into his hand. The emotions and nausea became too much, and his stomach was back at it again. Luckily Madix shoved the bucket under his chin just in time to catch the bitter yellow bile that spilled past his lips.

Without thinking about it, Madix stood up from the couch after handing over the bucket. Seeing the thick bile come from his boyfriend’s mouth was too much for his own stomach to handle. Saliva was quickly coating his tongue. “Ry, I have to…” he mumbled with a hand over his mouth. “…I’ll be right back.”

Madix felt bad for leaving Riley in the middle of vomiting, but he desperately needed to do the same. His legs led him to the bathroom where he fell to his knees in front of the toilet. The remnants of his lunch rushed up his throat and splattered into the bowl. A wet belch interrupted the stream, but was soon followed by another wave of vomit. Madix squeezed his eyes shut involuntarily, wetting his eyelashes with tears. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the rim.

His stomach gurgled loudly. He felt like the organ was getting revenge for being forced to wait so long. He wrapped his arms around his aching belly and moaned. It was hell, and now he knew how Riley truly felt. Madix couldn’t help but despair at the thought of going through the same things Riley had all morning. And he would need to do it alone.

In his hazy feverish state, Madix had a thought. The fact that his fried mind was able to come up with a thought was shocking, but there it was.

His phone! Where was his phone? He needed to make a call.

But first he needed to gag over the toilet bowl for another few minutes. For now, it seemed like his stomach just wanted to be an asshole and make him think that he was going to puke. The threat of puking never disappeared, but soon Madix got tired of waiting. And fuck, he could hear Riley calling to him from the living room. Riley’s voice sounded thick from having just brought up another sludge of bile.

Madix wanted to go to him, to rub his back and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But if Riley felt anything like how Madix was feeling, he didn’t think that anything would ever be okay. And guess what? What if Madix wanted someone to rub his back? He wanted someone to tell him that everything would be okay.  

That’s when he remembered the call that he was going to make. The phone was in his pocket, but even that felt too far for him to reach. Slowly, Madix propped his back up against the tub and called Micah. He put it on speaker so that he didn’t have to hold the phone to his ear.

Micah answered on the first ring, but could only hear heavy breathing on the other end. “Madix? Are you there?

Madix finally got the energy to respond. He was weak. “Can you…come over?”

“Madix? I can’t hear you very well. You sound all echo-ish.” Micah’s voice was so loud as it reverberated in the bathroom. “Are you okay?”

“No ‘m really sick. Riley too.” Madix felt sweat dripping down his forehead. “Please come over.” He hoped that Micah could understand his messy speech.

There was ruffling on Micah’s end before, “oh okay, okay. Just hang tight. We’ll be right there.”

“Wait…Bring stuff.”

“Bring stuff?”

“We’re…dehy…” he was going to say ‘dehydrated’ but there were some technical difficulties in his brain. The hardware was overheating. He found a solution. “…thirsty.”

                                                      …

With some deductive skills, Micah had a pretty good guess for what was ailing his friends. The echo of the phone call easily told him that Madix was in a bathroom. Dehydration plus camping out in a bathroom were not hard puzzle pieces to fit together.

He and Alexi stopped by the store for Gatorade, soup, and anything else needed to fight a stomach virus. While Alexi debated over which flavour of sport drink to get, Micah rushed him along. “Just pick one! Madix sounded horrible on the phone.”

“What if they don’t like the yellow kind?”

“Oh my god, let’s just go!”

“Fine…” Alexi muttered under his breath, “but if they hate it, it’s your fault.”

Micah accepted full responsibility if they didn’t like the drink, and raced for the checkout. They threw the bags into the car and off they went to help their friends once again.

Upon entering, they immediately found Riley sleeping on the couch with the bucket on the floor. It was still full of bile because clearly neither of the sick boys had the energy to clean it.

While Alexi placed the groceries in the kitchen and began to open the drinks, Micah crouched by Riley’s head. His skin was deathly pale. Micah woke him up with a light shake.

Riley jumped a little as he awoke from his restless sleep. He rubbed his eyes, not understanding what he was seeing. He could swear that Micah was in his house for some reason. And he was right. “Micah?”

“Hey Ry. How are you feeling?”

Riley looked around and spotted Alexi as well. His brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Madix called us,” Alexi answered while carrying over a bottle of Gatorade. “Can you sit up and take a sip of this for me?”

Riley did sit up and accepted the bottle. His mouth was insanely dry, but that’s not what he cared about in that moment. “Oh my god Madix. Go help him!” He looked worriedly between the two boys who just showed up. “I know he’s been throwing up in the bathroom, but I just – I couldn’t… I –”

“Shh, slow down,” Micah said softly. “It’s not your fault. I’ll go check on him right now.” As he left, Micah heard Riley ask if they brought any other colour of Gatorade. Yellow wasn’t his favourite.

Micah was scared that he was going to find Madix passed out in a puddle of his own vomit. That was not the case. He found Madix drenched in sweat, not passed out but barely lucid. Madix didn’t even react when Micah came into the bathroom. His head was resting on the toilet seat and it looked like he was fighting another wave of nausea. The bowl was full of half-digested stomach contents. Madix whimpered quietly to himself.

Micah slowly sat down, and immediately put his hand on Madix’s damp back. “Oh Maddy, look at you.” The heat from his back was astounding.

Madix did not open his eyes, but his shoulders lost a bit of their tension. “Micah?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Micah’s chest ached when the boy reached out his hand to hold onto him. He was usually only very touchy with Alexi, but Madix looked like he needed it to survive. Micah scooted closer and brushed a hand over Madix’s cheek. Of course, he found it burning. Normally, Micah would feel very awkward touching a friend’s face but there was something about Madix’s desperation that made it okay. The way Madix leaned entirely into the touch made Micah forget about any apprehensions.

Madix squinted from the bright light. He hadn’t realized how long his eyes had been closed for. He also hadn’t realized how much he needed the presence of someone else. It was like drowning in dark water. No one around to pull him from the waves that kept pushing him under. No one to pierce the thick darkness where he found himself.

Then suddenly a lifeline.

A choked sob came from Madix. “I feel horrible, Micah. I can’t stop throwing up.”

“I know, I know.” Micah rubbed his back harder. He tried to hold back his own emotions. He had never seen Madix this vulnerable.

“I – I couldn’t…. st-stay with Riley.” Tears streaked down Madix’s face as he cried and struggled to catch his breath. “It hurts…my belly.”

Micah didn’t say anything. He just continued to let Madix know he was there. He wanted to let Madix be completely selfish for once in his life, God knows he deserves it.

If Madix were lucid enough to hear what he was saying, he would have told himself to stop making such a big deal about a little stomach-ache. The good news was that he wasn’t lucid enough, and this provided him with the outlet he needed. Somehow, his head found Micah’s shoulder and he rested it there while he feverishly rambled.

Micah let this go one for as long as he could, but he had to stop it eventually. Madix was hiccupping and crying, and generally working himself up to the point of making himself sick all over again. When the hiccupping turned into empty heaves, Micah spoke. “Okay, hon, you have to let yourself breathe. Can you breathe with me?”

And Micah took a long inhale, making sure that Madix did the same. Through sniffles and hiccups, he copied the rise and fall of Micah’s chest. “That’s it, Mads. Again.”

The two of them took another deep breath in, and Madix’s breathing slowly became less shaky. Micah smiled at the progress. “That’s it, Madix. Everything is going to be okay.”

[flamingo-writes]

Zoro x reader! They've been traveling companions for a year before they met Luffy and became pirates, so they're close to each other. S/O fell in love with Zoro but he rejects her, so they stayed as close friends. Then, after 2 years passed, S/O is still friendly to him and the others but seemingly moved on while Zoro's love for her grow, and while he was still ambitious towards his dream, he felt so lonely as he watched S/O move on, even if she's happier than before.

Hello!! I’m so sorry for the late response!! 

From the moment I read this request, I fell in love with it!! It took me a while to write it, but here it is!! Let’s go! (I slipped a bit of Law x Reader to add to the angst, I hope you don´t mind XD) 

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: angst

Posted: 06.05.2020

Unique Kind of Pain — Zoro x Reader / Law x Reader

It didn’t matter how much time Zoro spent training, it never seemed to be enough. As soon as he got down from the crow's nest, and he saw you there, it instantly hurt. Almost as if someone poked his heart with a needle, it stung. Constantly. His decisions haunted him, and were slowly carving a whole in his chest. 

The sight of you was unbearable. And it pained him. Seeing his best friend should not hurt this much. And yet, the weight of his mistakes seemed to follow you everywhere. Your smile, the warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice. Oh, the sound of your voice when you called his name. 

“Zoro! Come see this! Look what Ussop did!” 

That same gentle voice that had been calling his name for several years now. He remembered he sometimes found it annoying. The way your voice pronounced his name when you were angry. The concern, when he got injured. The annoyance when you got lost and were looking for him. Back then, he disliked the ways your voice called his name. But now, each and every single time you called his name felt like a cursed blessing. 

He wiped his face with the towel, as sweat kept falling from the intense training. His heart shrunk at the sight of your smile, your eyes reflecting fascination at Ussop’s newest project. 

“You’re amazing, Ussop” 

“Thanks, [Name]!” Ussop giggled. 

He could hardly concentrate on Ussop's new additions to his slingshot, as he was distracted by you. Your smile radiating fascination as it shone all the way into your eyes. The sweet smell of your hair that now haunted him in his sleep. 

Over time, as his feelings for you grew and grew, things got worse. Little by little. It hurt. But it wasn't so bad. Not yet at least. 

At least not until the whole Dressrosa chaos was over. In Punk Hazard, Zoro could tell Law was being particularly friendly towards you. But he could easily ignore that. God knows what happened in Dressrosa. For a fair amount of time, you stuck with him, fighting side by side. And suddenly, you were gone. 

Back in the Sunny after whatever shit show Fujitora tried to pull before you left. Everyone was on the ship and it was only you who was missing. Zoro's heart was in his throat, wondering if you were alive. 

A series of conflicting feelings overwhelmed him at once when you ran across the deck and jumped into the ship. A cheeky laugh escaped your breathless lips as you apologized to your crewmates. As your eyes scanned the Sunny, they stopped when you saw Trafalgar Law, rather weak, sitting on the grass.

"Law!" You sprinted one last time towards him. 

Falling in your knees as you slid a few feet, colliding with the doctor and wrapping your arms around Law. 

"Oh god, you're fine!" You said breaking the hug and looking at him. "Your arm! You got it back" 

"Yeah. I was not going to lose my arm. Fuck that" He chuckled "You dissapeared, I was worried" 

"I went looking for Luffy...sorry" 

"It's okay, you're fine and you're here" One of his long hands brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, lingering on your cheek as you leaned into his touch, looking into his grey eyes. 

The whole scene, while for most of the strawhats looked rather adorable, for Zoro ir was unbearable. 

A sting pinching his heart, as well as an uncomfortable twist of his guts suddenly angered him. Not angry at Traffy. Zoro knew it was childish to get angry at him. He was angry at himself for digging his own grave like this. He wished he was the one in your arms, and not Law. He wished he had corresponded to your feelings back then.  

Without saying much, he turned around and left. Drowning himself in yet another intense training. Probably more intense than before. His mind constantly picturing you in Law's arm, his imagination torturing him, playing him. Picturing you kissing him, clinging to him, as his hands roamed your body, whispering sweet nothings back and forth in each other's ears as you were both consumed by desire. 

The sweat puddling on the floor didn't seem to be enough. The strain in his muscles and the fatigue weren't enough to stop his head from wildly betraying him. 

"Oi! Zoro!" Franky called, cheerfully climbing the ladder to the crowsnest. "Robin says dinner is ready! Since sanji isn't here, she cooked for us tonight" 

TFrabky's fatherly instincts needed a single glance at Zoro to notice he was pushing himself way too much. 

"Zoro? Aren't you overworking yourself?" 

"I'm fine," Zoro grunted, doing another sit up with a bar and weights on his shoulders. 

"No you're not!" The cyborg hurried to his side. "Stop that, if you injure yourself, Chopper not only will get mad, but you won't be able to work out for a while!" He begged as Zoro growled lowly and put the weight on the floor before sitting down on the ground "Don't you feel like everything hurts?" 

"That's precisely the problem"  Zoro whispered to himself, however Franky managed to listen clearly as day.

"What?" 

"Nothing" Zoro answered.

"Do you feel alright?" The swordsman looked at Franky, noting Franky was being insistent.

"Yeah. C'mon. Let's go" Zoro shrugged.

"Zoro, don't lie to me. I know something's bothering you" Franky said louder than before.

"It's nothin'" 

"Its [Name], isn't it?" 

Zoro stopped dead cold at the entrance of the crowsnest. He glanced at Franky over his shoulder.

"I noticed the way you were looking at her when she ran to hug Law" Franky said. "If you like her why don't you tell her?" 

"I can't" 

"Of course you can! Aren't you guys best friends?" Zoro glared at Franky, feeling somewhat annoyed, and also desperate.

"It's more complicated than that" 

"Talk to me, kid" Franky said, resting one of his huge hands on Zoro's shoulder. 

He took a deep breath, thinking. He'd never talked to anyone about it. When you confessed your feelings for him back in Thriller Bark. He wanted to keep it a secret, but his body urged him to let all those intrusive thoughts out. Maybe talking to someone would help him soothe his nerves instead of intensively working out. 

"After dinner," Zoro said. 

He wanted to buy some time, maybe put his thoughts in order before talking to Franky. 

Strangely enough, what normally felt like a blink of an eye,the usual chaotic dinner scene now seemed to go by in slow motion. 

On one hand, his thoughts seemed to float around the room, shapelessly, and without an order. His mind was a total mess. Ten times more chaotic than the traditionally loud strawhat mealtime.

On the other, your flirty playful game with Law. You were talking to him, not really minding the other conversations taking place in the kitchen.  His arm was around your shoulders as the both of you were deep in your conversation. Zoro could tell how your "mindless" playing with his hand wasn't so mindless. 

After dinner, Zoro politely waited for Franky to be done and the both of them left the kitchen without saying much.

Zoro told Franky the whole story. Normally, he'd like to go straight to the point and keep the details to himself. But talking to someone about it, felt so liberating, all of his thoughts left his lips without second thoughts. 

Franky listened. Carefully. And very rarely interrupted Zoro to ask something. In the end, he remained silent for a few moments, letting all the information sink in and drawing conclusions.

"I still think you should talk to her. Maybe she'll get mad, considering the circumstances. But she still deserves to know. Especially because it's bothering you this much" He began "Even if she gets mad, she's your friend. I've seen you guys fight and yell at each other, and half an hour later, see you guys laughing as if nothing happened" 

"I don't know…" The swordsman whispered

"Think about it…" 

Zoro sighed loudly, looking at the moon shining bright close to the sea. 

A set of silhouettes left the kitchen into the deck. Not noticing Zoro and Franky, Law and you made it to the edge, looking at the moon and the stars. 

Zoro watched, silently, feeling his burdens weigh on his shoulders heavier than all of the weights up in the crowsnest.

It didn't take long for Law to place a hand on your waist, as you spun on your toes looking at him. Unable to hear what you were saying back and forth, Zoro could tell where this whole scene was going to end up. 

It didn't take long for you to stand on the tip of your toes, and for Law to leane down. Any trace of space was gone. The both of you trapped in a kiss Zoro craved. 

He felt nauseous and light on his feet. He turned around, unable to keep watching as you wrapped your arms around Law's shoulders. 

"I'm sorry, Zoro" Franky whispered upon   witnessing the scene.

"I am too…" Zoro said defeated. "I'll talk to her tomorrow, I'm off to bed now".

"Goodnight, kid," Franky said looking at Zoro as he silently made his way through the deck to the guys' room.

"Night, Franky" He whispered, not helping but peek once more, as Law had you in his arms, kissing you passionately. 

It hurt. It hurt as bad as it hurt when he realized he had feelings for you. And hurt like the pain your eyes reflected when you confessed to him back in the day. It hurt like the realization that you had moved on whereas he had fallen for you. And boy, what a unique kind of pain that was. 

[justmeandmysickies]

Sevan’s turn

This is kind of a part two to this fic. It’s quite long cause I got carried away so sorry about that.

warning: description of vomit

Well, this sucked. It was safe to say that Sevan was miserable.

Yet his day had actually started out quite nicely. He’d been woken up by the smell of fresh coffee and eggs and upon entering the kitchen Sevan was greeted by his handsome boyfriend pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Naoko had just returned from a nightshift at the hospital and swiftly decided to surprise his boyfriend with a nice breakfast before getting some sleep himself.

So Sevan enjoyed the delicious meal the taller man had prepared for him before getting ready for work. His day was mostly uneventful, his students going easy on him since the young man was still learning and obviously trying his best.

Unfortunately, lunch was when things started going south. Stepping into the school’s cafeteria, the strong smell of food had Sevan’s stomach churn uncomfortably. Not thinking much of it at first, he got himself a cheese sandwich and sat down in his usual spot next to his friend and colleague Sungjin. A few bites in, however, the uncomfortable churning turned into full blown nausea blooming in the pit of his stomach, causing Sevan to abandon his lunch.

The nausea did not subside over the course of his lunch break but neither did it increase in intensity, so Sevan considered that a win. Unfortunately for him that ‘win’ did not last long.

Now that he was sitting in his last class for the day, Sevan was feeling positively miserable. His stomach was cramping painfully, and every wave of pain threatened to send the delicious breakfast he had up his throat. It took him every ounce of willpower in his body to not double over and whimper in pain right then and there, but he had to keep up his appearance in front of his students, so Sevan powered through.

The end of class approached painfully slow but finally the bell rang, and the students hastily left the classroom while Sevan let himself sink into his chair.

He was confused as to why he was suddenly feeling so awful but if the memory of his boyfriend slumped over their toilet a few days ago was any indication, he’d probably caught whatever Nao had been dealing with at the time. And that worried him a lot – if Naoko was hit hard, Sevan with his compromised immune system had to prepare for the worst. So he decided that it’d be best to get home as quickly as possible.

So there he was, at the front door to their shared apartment, fumbling with the key. His plan? Complain to Naoko for getting him sick (yes, he was aware that it was technically his own fault for not leaving Nao alone but shhh) and then getting all the kisses and cuddles he so desperately needed.

Which is, of course, exactly what he didn’t get. The apartment seemed suspiciously empty, as Nao would usually be sitting in the living room curled up with a book by the time Sevan got home. The sofa however was unoccupied. A quick glance at his phone confirmed what Sevan had been thinking.

From Baby: Getting some groceries. Be back in an hour or so. Love you.

Great. Of course his boyfriend was not home to comfort him. So Sevan did the only helpful thing he could think of – he took some Pepto Bismol, the thick liquid settling heavily in his stomach, and went to lie down in their queen-sized bed, arms wrapped protectively around his tormented middle.

He hadn’t even noticed he was dozing off until a hand on his shoulder startled him awake.

“I’m sorry angel, I didn’t mean to scare you. Hard day at work?”

Upon seeing his boyfriend’s gentle eyes, warmth instantly spread through Sevan’s body.

“Work was fine but I’m pretty sure I caught your bug. I feel awful.”, Sevan sighed, still rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Naoko’s face darkened at the statement. They both knew what such a stomach bug would mean for Sevan. It would take him at least twice as long to recover as it would take other people. And a visit to the hospital was often unavoidable. Nao did not like the idea of that at all.

“Have you taken any medication yet? And what about your temperature, how high is it?”, at that the taller man put a hand on Sevan’s forehead.

“Damn it, you feel warm. We need to bring your temperature down before it gets bad. I’ll have to call Marissa; I’m not going in today. There is no way I’ll go to work and leave you alone.”

There it was. Naoko’s mother-hen-mode. It happened every time Sevan was sick, without fail. Sometimes it was quite amusing to Sevan. Seeing his usually so calm and level-headed boyfriend freak out like that. And normally the sick man would tell him to quit worrying so much – he’d be fine. But right now Sevan felt far from fine.

The loving warmth he had felt upon seeing his boyfriend had turned into an uncomfortable heat spreading through his entire body. His stomach felt like it was on fire, causing Sevan to desperately clutch at the upset organ. He sat up and leaned forward, his nose almost touching his thighs, hoping the pressure would lessen the pain. Unfortunately, the motion of sitting up proved counterproductive. Dizziness hit Sevan like a brick making his vision swim.

Sevan whimpered as a wave of his breakfast suddenly surged up his throat. He tried to swallow it back down, but it was a losing battle. Pink-tinged vomit noisily splattered onto the wooden bedroom floor. A low groan escaped Sevan’s mouth before a second wave of half-digested food joined the puddle on the floor.

Naoko, who had left to find some supplies so he could properly care for Sevan, had no idea of his boyfriend’s unfortunate predicament, since Sevan was a rather silent puker. However, the sob coming from the bedroom was anything but silent.

Alarmed, Naoko jogged down the hall to find his boyfriend. The smell reached him even before he saw the state his poor boyfriend was in. And the sight wasn’t a pretty one either – Sevan’s shirt was drenched in sweat and tears were streaming down his face. If they were caused by pain or exertion Nao couldn’t say. At the poor boy’s feet sat a considerably large puddle of vomit.

Nao winced in sympathy. He put a hand on the small of his boyfriend’s back rubbing gentle circles, the other hand coming up to cup Sevan’s forehead, keeping him from falling forward.

Sevan was panting hard, and Nao bit his lip nervously. His boyfriends condition got worse alarmingly fast. Luckily, Sevan seemed to be done for the time being and Naoko crouched down next to him, carefully avoiding stepping into the puddle, and put a comforting hand on Sevan’s knee.

“Okay baby, how about we get you cleaned up and then we’ll take a trip to the ER, hm?”

“Noo”, Sevan whined, “No hospital. Not yet. I feel better, I promise.”

Naoko sighed. It was always like this. No matter how bad Sevan felt, he’d always fight going to the ER.

“Fine, no hospital for now. But if you get any worse, I will not hesitate to drag your ass to the emergency room, so help me god.”

Sevan chuckled at that – his boyfriend could be so dramatic at times. Then he remembered that he just threw up so much on their bedroom floor, it would put ‘The Exorcist’ to shame, and figured that maybe, just maybe, they could both be a little dramatic every now and then.

And with that he let Nao hoist him up so he could take a shower. To say Sevan was exhausted would be a massive understatement. So it took them quite a while to properly clean up with Sevan basically falling asleep on his feet.

When Nao finally put his boyfriend to bed about thirty minutes later, medicated and luckily somewhat hydrated, Sevan was out in a matter of minutes.

Naoko knew that they’d probably end up in the hospital anyway but as of right now his boyfriend actually looked somehow peaceful and that was all he needed for now.

[melon-wing]

Animosity [Pirate AU]

[Pirate AU Masterlist]

This story is set a few years after the events of ‘Trauma’.

~

“Cadet! You missed a spot over there!”

Loud clanging of metal rang under deck as the metal bucket was kicked over, spilling muddy water all over the floor. Grian balled his fists holding the dirty piece of fabric he had been cleaning with. He had been almost done with his duties for the day. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. If he spoke up now, he’d be reprimanded again. And if there was one person that seemed to hate him more than the First Mate it was his Captain.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get right back to it”, he said in a flat voice.

There was a grunt of annoyance – probably at his tone – and the bucket was kicked once again, flying into his direction and hitting him in the chest, splattering some left over muddy water all over him.

“Try again, cadet.”

Grian gritted his teeth, starring up at the First Mate, trying to keep his hate from showing. “I’m sorry, sir.”

The older man nodded and walked past him, right through the muddy puddle and Grian knew he’d be busy cleaning everywhere once more.

“Why were we the ones who needed to take a rebellious orphan runt like you… I hope some pirate gets rid of the burden for us soon”, the First Mate muttered under his breath, but Grian could still hear him. The moment the man walked around the corner, Grian held up his middle finger, mouthing a few choice words in the direction.

He remembered being so happy when he had finished his last classes at the navy’s academy. He had graduated with top grades and had been promised a good position… So they had put him onto a ship with some really prestigious overly-decorated people. Prestigious assholes was more like it. The last time those guys had done any amazing feat, TFC had probably still roamed the six seas.

Grian took another deep breath, looking at the mess he’d have to clean up and sighed. He wiped off his hand on his shirt and then took out his locket to look at the small picture. It always helped him calm down before.

“And this was your dream? Scrubbing floors in the darkness? Or would they have let you out there with your charming smile?”, he whispered, pausing for a second before shaking his head at his own antics. Taurtis wouldn’t have been back-mouthing higher ups landing him below deck. Taurtis would have been smiling through it all. If only Taurtis was here and they could go through this together.

Grian sighed in annoyance at himself. If Taurtis would be here, Grian would either be still rotting on that damn island or living the life of a pirate, killing and torturing innocent people. He would have become a dirty criminal. He couldn’t complain about being forced to clean a little. One day he’d have his own fleet below him and then nobody could order him around anymore.

And so he kept scrubbing the deck, praying that none of the other higher-ups would walk up and force him to start all over again. A few minutes later he could hear footsteps, clenching his hand around the rag, not daring to look up. If he didn’t make eye-contact they sometimes pretended he wasn’t there and went on.

“Grian?”

Grian’s head snapped up, his whole face lighting up. There was only one person on this ship that would pronounce his name in such a weird and endearing way.

“Sam!”

The moment he stood up, Sam took in his dirty appearance and his mood darkened. “Who did that? And don’t tell me again that you stumbled. We both know it’s never true.”

The brunette smiled at him, but soon his eyes travelled over the mess on the floor. “Did they put you on cleaning duty again? Man, those old men don’t deserve someone as good as you. They are wasting all your talent.”

Grian smiled at the compliment and slowly stood up. “It’s alright. I haven’t been on this ship that long yet. It’s normal for the new guy to do stuff like that.”

Grian just shrugged, looking down at his muddied uniform. What was he supposed to say? They both knew what was going on around here, but there was nothing they could do about it and Grian didn’t want to risk Sam getting into a fight with the first mate – again.

“Don’t worry, Sam. I’m used to cleaning. It’s not different from the work mama used to give us back in the orphanage.”

Sam’s face seemed to lighten and he chuckled a little. “Well as I remember you and Taurtis loved to ditch exactly those chores to go play pirate and navy, leaving me to clean up the mess.”

“Oh, please” Grian laughed as well “As if you ever did any work. You had all the younger kids wrapped around your finger, doing all the work for you. No wonder mama called us the troublemaker trio. We were really bad… the three of us.”

Grian sighed and let his hang a little, his hand automatically searching for the locket beneath his clothes. “Good times...”, he whispered quietly, only to be suddenly engulfed by arms, pulled into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there anymore to save him.”

Grian just shook hist head. “That’s not your fault. I’m glad you weren’t there to get hurt, so I have at least one of you still with me.” Sam gently caressed Grian’s back, helping him calm down from the memory of Taurtis’ death.

“Still… I should have just waited two more years until you guys were old enough to join the navy with me. Maybe things could have been different then.” Grian shrugged at that. Things might have been different if Sam had been there. Sam had always been the best fighter amongst the three of them. But against pirates? If Sam had been there Grian might now be mourning two friends instead of one.

With a sigh Sam finally let go of him, smiling at him with so much pity in his eyes. “Now who did that to you Grian?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

Grian didn’t answer at first. He didn’t want to get Sam into trouble, but he felt the need to share what was happening, if only to have a place to vent. “It was the First Mate...”, he finally admitted quietly. In an instant Sam’s face was furious again and Grian was sure that he’d do something stupid if he didn’t stop it. “You can’t fight with him about that. You’ll only make things worse. Especially not now, so close to your promotion! They might take it back.”

Sam seemed to calm down at his words, if only by a little. "This sucks! They shouldn't be allowed to do shit like that! It's not fair. Once I'm Captain I won't do something like that."

Grian smiled at his friend warmly. He knew Sam would be an amazing captain. He was just naturally good with people, all charming and charismatic. "You won't have to wait much longer."

"Listen Grian..." Sam looked at him out of serious eyes. "When I become Captain next week, I'm gonna try to get the higher ups to transfer you to my ship. I won't let you stay behind. I could imagine no better First Mate than you."

Grian blushed a little at the compliment. Sam had that way of always making him so cheerful with just a few words. "That would be really nice. I'd like to serve on your ship." He had looked up to Sam his whole life after all. Commandeering a ship alongside him would be like a dream come true.

"And now let me help you out a little, alright?"

"You shouldn't! If someone sees..."

"Nonsense. I might be an Officer, but I'm not above helping out a fellow crewmember."

Sam got onto his knees, picking up one of the cleaning rags and smiling up at Grian. "Now come on. If we do it together, we'll be done soon."

It took them both almost half an hour, but they were finally done. Grian wiped the sweat from his brow, looking to Sam with a satisfied smile. He opened his mouth to say something when he heard the sound of steps approaching. Sam jumped up hurriedly, hiding the cleaning rag behind his back just in time before the Captain walked around the corner.

"Officer Sam, Cadet Grian." The Captain looked from Grian on the floor to Sam and raised his eyebrows. "Officer Sam, I do hope for your own good that you didn't help with the chores.”

"No, sir! Of course not!"

"Because if you did I might need to write you up and that might delay your promotion so we can keep you here a little longer."

Grian could see the way Sam's hands tensed behind his back, clinging to the rag, which was hard prove of what he had just done. The Captain walked up to Sam and Grian acted on instinct. He hurried to his feet, pretending to knock the bucket over by accident, water hitting the Captain's shoes, who jumped back in surprise. Grian took the moment their Captain wasn't paying attention to rip the rag out of Sam's hand.

"So sorry, Captain! I didn't mean to do that! I am really sorry!"

The Captain looked at him furiously and then his eyes snapped back to Sam. "You two trying to hide something?", he spat and Sam took his hands out behind his back, raising him defensively in front of him. "I was just talking to Cadet Grian, I swear."

The Captain grumbled. Grian was pretty sure he knew that was a lie, but didn't care enough to call them out on it. "Leave now, Officer, before I change my mind!"

Sam looked at Grian, hesitating, but Grian shook his head a little. If Sam stayed back he'd only make it worse for both of them. With a last worried look, Sam saluted and walked away, probably back to his post.

"Cadet Grian! You will clean this mess at once."

"Yes, sir. Of course."

The Captain then eyed him from top to bottom, sneering at his dirty uniform.

"Cadet Grian... How many times do I need to tell you, that you have to keep yourself presentable. You are no longer a dirty orphan boy. The navy paid for your education, the least you could do is look nice and presentable to thank them."

"I'm sorry, sir, but it was..."

"Oh by the gods, I don't want to hear your whiny excuses again, Cadet! When you are done here, freshen up and then go to the kitchen. You are on potato peeling duty for tonight."

"But..."

"Also on pan cleaning duty after we are done. Don't make me take your food away as well."

Grian hesitated, but nodded. "Yes... sir."

"That'd be 'Thanks for letting me have dinner, sir.'" The Captain looked at him smugly, clearly enjoying the way he made Grian bow under him.

"Thanks for letting me have dinner... sir."

Grian didn’t dare to raise his head until the steps had retreated far enough. On days like these he wished he was still back at the navy academy. His teachers had always been nice to him, telling him he’d do great things in the future. He missed the days when Sam had come to his room to help him study. Here everybody seemed to think he’d gotten his good grades because of his looks after some nasty rumour about him being involved with his teachers had spread. But he’d pull through. Once Sam had his own ship he’d follow him. Everything would be better then.

~

Grian yawned, rubbing his eyes a little and then returned to scrubbing the pans. Everybody else on deck was laughing and having fun. His Lieutenant had decided that no help was needed for cleaning up, which meant Grian would spend half of the night in here to clean up everything. If he was lucky he’d get three hours of sleep before he needed to get up again. That was if the Captain or First Mate didn’t decide that he’d need more punishment.

He had hoped that maybe Sam would sneak in to help him out a little, but he probably hadn’t managed to find an excuse to get away. Grian hummed a little to himself, a tune that had been stuck in his mind since forever, that always raised his mood.

He just put in another pan, when a loud bang echoed over the ocean and their ship shook. The wooden basin Grian was using for cleaning tipped over, spilling some of the water over Grian. Damn he was going to be in trouble with his Captain again. What was going on up there? Did some idiot drink too much and fire one of the cannons again? Grumbling a little Grian put the cleaning rack into his back pocket and tried to heave the basin back up again.

There was another thundering sound and Grian could hear shouting and screaming. No. This wasn’t a drunken mistake. They were under attack. Grian ripped off his apron and ran up to the deck. The moment he opened the door, smoke entered his lungs and he began coughing. Parts of the deck were on fire, some of his crewmates already hurrying to put them out.

Another deafening boom of a cannon shook the deck. Grian turned his head into the direction it had come from. There was another ship, sailing parallel to them, all canons smoking. Grian’s gaze travelled up to the flag and his heart sank. A red flag pirate ship. This was going to be bad. Another cannon fired and hit their ship in the side, making it shake. Fuck. Grian needed to get ready and quick. He ran back under deck, cursing himself for not carrying his sword with him at all times. He had done it in the beginning, just as the rules stated, but everybody had kept teasing him about it.

Grian stepped out of the door and was already met with a sword. The pirates must have boarded the ship while he had been running for his weapon. Grian held his own weapon up in defence and began to engage in the battle. His eyes kept darting around, trying to find Sam in all of this chaos. They always fought best together and Sam was the only one Grian trusted 100 percent to have his back.

He skidded through the hallways, diving into his room and grabbing his trusted sword. It had helped him through many fights, it would do its job now once more.

“Protect me, Taurtis”, he whispered a little out of breath, touching the locket softly as he was running for the deck once more.

Grian managed to push his opponent back enough for him to hit the railing, and one shove with his elbow made him fly overboard. He suppressed the urge to shout for Sam, knowing that it might draw unwanted attention to himself. His eyes darted back and forth. There were multiple pirates on board now, fighting with his crew. He didn't dare to look too closely at the bodies on the floor. If they followed the principles of their red flag all of those men would be dead or dying. In the crowd his eyes were suddenly drawn to his Captain who was having a hard time fighting. Grian rushed over, but a guy stepped in his way, smiling brightly.

"I'd rather you look at me now, boy", his opponent said with an amused undertone, completely unbefitting of a battlefield. Grian’s head snapped back and he moved just in time to block one of the sword strikes. Unlike his first opponent, this guy was actually quite good at fighting and they were pretty evenly matched, especially with Grian's attention constantly being drawn to his Captain's battle. Why was nobody helping him? Where was the first mate? Where was Sam?

"I don't think so, boy. Give our Captains some private time", the pirate said in an amused tone, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder before pointing his weapon at Grian.

Grian looked past him and his heart fell. He recognised the opponent his Captain was facing. They all knew about him: Captain Doc. Grian had already heard about him when he'd still been in the academy. Raised by the frightening TFC, Doc had taken over his ship, swearing revenge on every human being for the death of his father.

"You are really starting to annoy me. You in love with my Captain or why do you keep looking over there?"

Grian felt fury rising inside him. He practically glowered at his opponent and with one elegant turn batted his sword away and rammed his elbow into the guy's face, making him stumble back a little.

There was a loud scream and suddenly Grian felt like everything was happening in slow motion. He turned his head to the side and saw the body of his Captain falling, blood spraying from his throat. Doc stood in front of him, bloody blade still raised. Everything seemed to stop for a moment as Doc looked emotionless at the fallen body. He then raised his head, looking around and for a second their eyes met. And then everything went back to normal speed as Grian's opponent came charging at him again and Grian had to defend himself.

"YOU BASTARD!"

A guttural scream echoed over the deck, and Grian would recognise that voice anywhere: Sam. Grian was being pushed back by his opponent, but he still couldn't focus his attention onto the battle. He kept looking sideways. Sam was running up to the fallen body of their Captain, murderous eyes on Doc. And then Sam raised his blade and charged Doc.

Grian's heart sank. Nobody had ever won a battle against Captain Doc. Nobody ever survived to tell about a battle fought against him. He froze, as images of Sam's bloody body flashed in front of his eyes, reminding him suddenly of Taurtis' death. A sudden pain in his right side brought him back to the present. He had been too slow and the blade of his opponent had scraped by his hip, leaving a bloody scratch. Grian cursed and hurriedly stepped back, blocking the next attack coming in. He needed to finish this. He needed to help Sam. He couldn't lose another friend. Sam was all he had left from his old life. The only good thing still here.

Grian felt determination rise inside him and he began relentlessly raining attacks upon his opponent, who looked at him in surprise, but then simply smiled enthusiastically, fighting just as fierce. Grian could hear Sam shouting insults at Doc, but the pirate stayed silent or just wasn't loud enough for Grian to hear. He kept listening to the insults but otherwise focused on his own fight. As long as Sam was shouting, he was alright. As long as he was shouting he was alive.

"You should just give up, boy. It is futile. Give up and I might let you live."

Grian huffed, looking with hatred at the pirate. "Sure thing, red flag", he spat out, watching the pirate pull a grimace at his words. Well look at that, a pirate not being happy with being called a murderer. Where was that dumb pirate pride of his?

A loud scream stopped his train of thoughts. Sam!

Grian's eyes drifted over and he saw Sam's blade sliding over the deck as he fell onto his back. Doc was slowly walking closer. Adrenalin rushed through Grian's body. When his opponent charged again Grian ducked under the blade and forgoing his own weapon, he used his free fist to punch the pirate square into the face. His opponent fell backwards and Grian ran off without one glance back.

Doc raised his blade. Sam was still on the floor.

A loud clang and Grian's whole arm was shaking as he blocked the attack by the Pirate Captain.

"Don't interrupt my duel." Doc's voice was a low threatening growl and it sent shivers down Grian's spine, but he stood his ground, glaring at the Captain.

Doc's gaze travelled to the side, furrowing his brows as his eyes landed on Grian's former opponent who leaned against the railing, holding his bloody nose.

"Ren, did you seriously let a little boy beat you? Tell me again why I made you my First Mate." The pirate – Ren – shrugged and gave his Captain a lop sided grin. Doc sighed and turned back to Grian, eyes searching him. "Interesting."

Grian knew he had to do something. He couldn’t let Doc end Sam’s life.

"I challenge you to a duel. If I win, you let the rest of the crew live", Grian said, trying to sound confident in the face of certain death. He couldn't care less for half of his crew, but he'd do anything to save Sam.

Doc smirked, sharp shark-like teeth showing, not a hint of joy in his face. "Oh, boy. No need to challenge me. I'll fight every single one of you if I have to. But do tell me what I'd gain from accepting that deal. What's in it for me?"

Grian faltered. He hadn't thought this far. In the navy, challenges like that would be accepted based on honour alone, but that seemingly mattered little to a pirate. What would he even have to offer?

"Scared to lose, pirate?"

"Never. I'm just curious what you think you have to offer to come in between me and my prey."

"If I lose I'll join you", Grian blurted out. Doc looked at him taken aback and then burst out laughing.

"And what makes you think, I'd want you?"

Grian shrugged. "Maybe the fact that I beat your First Mate without really paying attention to the fight." Okay maybe that was stretching it a little, but if it helped him get Doc to accept it didn't matter.

Doc's eyes travelled to Ren again, who was now fighting another one of Grian's crewmates, face still bloody.

"You got yourself a deal. When I win I'll take you and you get to watch me kill all of your little friends and if I get bored with you, I'll kill you off as well." Grian noticed the way Doc had talked about 'when' he would win, not 'if'. He swallowed. What made him think he could win against Doc, when nobody had ever managed that?

The fight started without any more warning. Doc was relentless, raining hit after hit upon him. Grian swore he could see sparks flying when their swords met. Unlike in the fight against Ren, he couldn't risk losing even a little part of his concentration. If he let his attention waver for even one second he'd lose in the blink of an eye.

Grian ground his teeth together and then started becoming more aggressive. If he just stayed defensive there was no way he'd be able to win. He needed to win. If he didn't then Sam would die. He couldn't bare watching another one of his friends die before his eyes.

Doc raised an eyebrow at him as Grian began hitting back, trying to find an opening for an attack. But Doc was always fast enough to block him, fluidly moving into a counter attack. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed a few pirates watching them, no longer fighting. That meant nothing good for the rest of the crew. At least noone intervened, letting their Captain fight his battle on his own.

There was a whimper to the side, from one of the pirates and Grian noticed Doc's eyes filling with worry and darting to a white haired man for a second. Grian jumped at the opportunity immediately, blade flying forward. Doc's eyes snapped back to him at once and he hit the blade to the side, a grin on his face. And too late Grian realised that this had been a part of Doc’s strategy. Grian’s blade flew out of his hand, far off to the side. He hurriedly took a step back. Doc was grinning widely now, holding his blade up, pointing it straight at Grian's throat.

"Looks like I win. How naive of you to think a boy like you could win against me."

Grian's eyes were darting around hurriedly, looking for a way out, a way to win. He had no more weapons on him. The only thing he still had was...

Grian hurriedly moved, pulling the cleaning rag out of his back pocket. He wrapped the rag around his hand, movement hidden behind his back, heart beating like crazy. If this didn't work he was done for. And if it worked it might still hurt him beyond repair. All in all it was a stupid idea. Grian's eyes darted to Sam for a second. Sam who was being held to the floor by two pirates, probably so he couldn't intervene in their fight. With determination in his eyes, Grian turned back to Doc.

"Got a little knife hidden behind your back or something?", Doc taunted in amusement and then strode forward faster, raising his hand and bringing it down fast. Grian swallowed hard and sidestepped the attack. When the sword was right next to him, his arm shot out and he grabbed the blade with his wrapped hand, holding it in an iron grip. Doc had been so sure of his victory and just a second too slow to react. His grip wasn't as hard as Grian's and he couldn’t free his blade fast enough.

Instead of pulling as Doc most likely expected, Grian shoved hard, feeling the blade cutting into his skin, but he ignored the blinding pain. Doc seemed to stumble a little and Grian used the opportunity to kick at his legs, making the Captain fall backwards, pulling Grian with him. As they were falling he kept a tight grip on the blade and with one strong pull he managed to rip the blade out of Doc's grasp. In one fluid motion he turned the sword around, still holding onto the blade with his bleeding hand, the other hand grabbing onto the handle and when they landed he pressed the side of the blade under Doc's chin, sitting atop of the fallen Captain.

"One wrong move and I'll kill you, pirate."

Doc looked up at him out of breath, his eyes wide and full of surprise. For a moment they were just staring at each other as the deck fell into complete silence, the sounds of fighting and cheering coming to an abrupt end. A few seconds passed and then Grian heard hurried steps coming closer. His hands began shaking as he pressed the blade a bit harder against Doc's throat, drawing a bit of blood.

"Stop, Etho. Noone touch him."

The steps behind him stopped, but Grian was still on edge. Doc below him seemed to have recovered from his surprise and looked at him almost bored.

"What is your name, boy?"

"G... Grian."

Doc smirked at him, looking rather intrigued. "Grian, huh?" The way Doc rolled the name on his tongue, voice almost growling, made Grian falter, loosening the pressure of the blade a little. And suddenly a knee hit him in the stomach, as Doc threw him off, their positions switching, the blade back in Doc's hand. Doc was now the one leaning over him, looking down at him in deep thought. The sword was resting at Grian's throat, bound to kill him any moment.

~

"Should have killed me when you had the chance, Grian", Doc said with a smirk. Grian closed his eyes, expecting his life to end any second, but it didn't. When he was opening his eyes again, Doc was still looking at him as if he was thinking about something.

"Ren! Call our men back. We are leaving."

"You sure, Doc? You never…"

Doc still kept his eyes on Grian as he replied. "Grian and me had a deal after all. He won. We will leave." Doc leaned closer, his lips now right next to his ears as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Mark my words, Grian. The next time we meet, I will kill you. Noone ever fights me and lives to tell the tale."

And as sudden as it came the pressure on Grian's neck was gone and Doc stood back up, leaving Grian lying on the floor. Grian stared after him as he went over to Ren and true to his words the pirates were leaving, one after the other jumping back onto their ship. Sam finally rushed over, helping him into a sitting position and firing a flurry of questions at him. But Grian couldn't hear anything, his whole attention still focused on the pirate Captain. Doc climbed the railing and turned around to look at him one more time, smirking devilishly and taking a bow, before taking a rope and swinging over to his own ship.

"Grian? Grian! Talk to me! Are you alright?"

With Doc gone Grian was slowly noticing everything else around him. The Deck was on fire, bodies lying everywhere. Sam was looking at him in worry and Grian nodded slightly. "You?"

Sam smiled and pulled him into a crushing hug.

"You are an idiot. You could have died!"

"Well, I'm glad I'm an idiot or I would have lost you."

The following days seemed to pass in a blur, so many things happening all at once, almost overwhelming Grian. It was a wonder they had managed to make their way back to the navy headquarters with the state their ship had been in after the battle, but they did. The casualties of the fight had been high. The ship's first mate had miraculously survived without even one drop of blood on him, taking over the Captain's position of their ship at once. Grian had been forced to go to the hospital as soon as they had returned. Luckily for him the doctor there had been able to fix his hand, but had told him that the wound would leave behind a scar he'd carry forever.

Grian's eyes searched the crowd of navy soldiers as he stepped into a huge room, slowly walking over the walkway left open in the middle. His eyes landed on Sam, smiling back at him, looking all dashing in his brand new Captain's uniform. Grian returned the smile and stepped up a few stairs towards an admiral, stopping in front of the old man and saluting.

The admiral pinned a medal to the lapel of Grian's brand new uniform and his stoic expression disappeared as he smiled at Grian proudly.

"Congratulations. You are the rising star of the navy... Lieutenant Grian."

[98prilla]

Deathworlder Down

Next

Previous

AO3

Warning for blood/violent imagery.

based on @delimeful ‘s wonderful WIBAR AU

...

Flashes.

 The arena, blood on his hands, of all different colors, teeth bared, trying, begging, the other aliens to stop, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but they don’t understand or don’t believe him, and then they’re lunging and instinct takes over, and when he blinks, it’s to a puddle of pepto pink ichor and a mangled body in his hands.

…

The cell, he’s back in the cell, and they’re coming, and he wasn’t ready and Patton isn’t hiding and the door opens, and he lunges, biting, scratching, kicking, screaming, the stun batons sending lightning through his veins, spasming his muscles, and he was aware of Patton’s scream, as he’s dragged away, his pretty blood splattering across the floor, and he’s beaten, shocked, kicked, all the while hearing Patton’s anguish as his feathers were stripped from him all over again, only this time, when they throw Patton back in his cell, his eyes are empty and blank, his body broken and still, and there’s nothing left of the chirping little ampen, and there’s nothing left of himself, as he loses his mind, ripping and tearing through the wall, tearing everything in his path to shreds until a blaster goes off and shoots a hole clean through his chest.

…

He’s running. He’s on an alien planet, and he’s running, and he can hear them behind him, they’re catching up, as he tears through the brush and the trees, leading them away, away, away, from camp, and he staggers as a dart hits his neck, the world spinning on it’s axis as he goes down hard. He can feel the chains being shackled around him, the collar fastened onto his neck, and he can’t even breathe, as electricity burns his skin, from the collar, sends him into unconsciousness, and when he wakes, he’s back in the cell. And the nightmare restarts.

…

“no…” He’s walking home, it’s late, the streetlights on, as he slinks through the shortcut through the park. He hates it, but it’s the fastest way home, and he’s never had any trouble, though he’s heard stories of people getting jumped.

 “No…” He winces, at a sharp pain in his neck, for a moment thinking he’d been stung by a bee or a wasp, but when he reaches to feel, a small dart comes away in his hand. He stares at it, befuddled, before he feels another sting, stumbling against a tree as the world starts to tilt, trying to stay upright. Cloaked figures, shrouded figures, language he doesn’t know, and he tried to call out for help, tried to get away, but another wash of dizziness stole his breath, and he fainted.

 When he woke up, he was on the ship, in the cell.

 “NO!” He jolted upright, pulse racing, breath caught in his throat, the cell, the ship, he was on the ship, needle, needle in his arm, what were they taking this time? What else could they take, they were going to sell him for parts, maybe this was finally to off him for the scientists, he felt dizzy and lightheaded, weak, disoriented, maybe the tranq patch had worn off early, maybe he had a chance to get away, maybe-

 A hand, a scaled hand came into view, and he hissed, scrambling backwards, falling off the edge of the furniture he was on. One second it was the sterile room, the iron bed, the suited figures, then it was a couch, smooth walls, soft light. His vision flicked between the two and he couldn’t figure out which was the truth and which was the lie, the suited figures turning towards him, batons out, crackling with energy, the scaled figure trying to reach out, trying to say something, but he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t and it burned, and he was dying, he was sure this is what dying felt like, as he scrambled further back, further away, hissing again as the tug pulled the needle out of his arm, pressing his hoodie sleeve against it to stop the bleeding, but the red, red, red, brought him right back, and it was everywhere, and there was too much, and it wasn’t all his, the bodies scattered across the floor, the colors blending like some macabre watercolor painting, swirling and blending and mixing and-

 Touch. Touch against his shoulder. He’d curled into a ball, hands over his ears, forehead touching the floor, making himself as small as possible, trying to hide, but the noise was everywhere and they’d found him and he was going to die, going to be sold off for parts and he was so stupid-

 Then the touch moved, a small, so small, hand slipping under his chin, gently tilting his head up, feathers tickling his skin, as he met those big, doe eyes. Feathers. Blue. Antennae, moth like. Fluffy. Safe.

 Safe?

 “Breathe, Virgil. Can you do that? In… out…” the words sounded so far away, and not quite in sync with the mouth movements, but he tried to follow them, tried to understand, tried to copy his movements. “good, kiddo. You’re doing good. Do you know who I am?” The feathery being asked, and his mind stalled. It must have shown on his face, because the being’s dropped, expression sad, and he hated that look on Patton’s face-

 “Patton!” He rasped, voice barely a whisper, throat dry and sore, not helped from the hyperventilating he’d just been doing, from the panic attack. “Patton…” his eyes welled up, and he opened his arms, Patton flying into them without a second thought, hugging him as wide as he could around his chest, Virgil careful as he held him, letting his face rest against his soft feathers, mumbling an apology about getting them wet, met with Patton’s relieved little choked laugh.

 He was shaking, he couldn’t stop shaking, the room still flickering, time and space folding in on itself, and it was making him dizzy.

 Then Patton started doing the chirp, coo, pattern, vibrating against his chest, grounding him as he struggled to get his breathing under control, to force his mind to the present, but it wouldn’t stop slipping.

 “s-sorry… I… I'm so-rry…”

 “Shhh, you’re ok, kiddo, it’s ok.” He just shook his head, chest constricting, choking on the air, it burned in his lungs and made him want to scream, just to relieve some of the pressure, but there wasn’t enough air.

 “virgil. Can you tell me, five things you can see? Take your time.” Logan, crouched down a fair distance away, to give him space.

 “Y-you… patton… R-roman… the… the couch and the… the… n-needle" his breath caught again, his panic flaring, eating him up.

 “Alright, good, stay with me, Virgil. Four things you can feel.”

 “Pa-tton. My hoodie… the fl-floor. B-andages?” he asked, realizing his arms were carefully wrapped in them.

 “you hurt yourself. Nothing serious, it’s alright. Three things you can hear.” He managed a deep breath in, forcing air in and out to answer.

 “Chirp/coo.” He said, smiling slightly at Patton's added little trill. “my h-eart, my voice.” He answered, focusing on the feeling of his hands against his hoodie, Patton's warmth against him.

 “Excellent. Two things you can smell?”

 “Metal… myself" he wrinkled his nose slightly, smelling his own sweat.

 “Last one, one thing you can taste.” Logan's steady voice, and he thought for a moment.

 “Copper.” He answered, looking up, finally, meeting Logan's eyes for a brief moment, before his gaze flicked to Roman, who stood frozen by the couch, scales half raised in alarm, but also… worry?

 “Virgil. How are you feeling?” Logan asked, snapping him back to attention, realizing he’d started to drift.

 “um. Sore. Achy. Tired.” He answered, head thumping back against the wall, hissing as it hurt more than expected.

 “I was going to warn you about that. We found you fallen over, unconscious on the bathroom floor, bleeding from your head. You’ve been severely ill, and mostly fitfully unconscious, for nearly seven days.” Logan explained.

 “Why didn’t you tell us you were so sick!?” Patton scolded, though his voice was gentle.

 “i… I didn’t want to bother you. I’ve been sick before. It’s… its fine.”

 “no, it isn’t. Virgil. You are severely underweight and malnourished and sleep deprived, all factors that compromise your immune system making it more difficult to fight off disease and you very nearly died because you seemingly cannot comprehend that you are an important member of this crew and we will gladly help if you just ask for it!” He flinched at Logan shouting, his hands clenched into fists. He’d never heard Logan raise his voice, didn’t even know he could, but his mind snagged on what Logan had just said, and he shook his head.

 “I… but I’m not. Important. You’re…a family. I’m just a tag along, because you were basically guilted into taking me with. You don’t… want me, here, and that’s fine, I wouldn’t want me here either, so the least I can do is take up the least space and use the least stuff and make myself as little of a nuisance as possible because then maybe I’ll get to stay longer before you get sick of me and kick me off.” Usually he wouldn’t be this candid, but he was tired, and he felt floaty and not all there, his normal anxiety not holding him back.

 “Virgil… that's not true.” Roman added, Virgil's bitter laugh echoing harshly through the space.

 “Sure it isn’t. You’ve made it clear, what you think of me. And you know what? I’m terrified, constantly, that you might be right. Sooner or later I’m going to hurt someone. It’s… it’s the only thing I’m good at, hurting people. Sometimes I think I should just bail, just leave a note and run, before I hurt anyone. Before I ruin it all. Before I ruin this… this amazing little family, you guys have.”

 His eyes slipped closed, against his will, exhaustion weighing him down, settling into his bones from the panic attacks. “I w-want it so badly, it h-urts sometimes, but I can’t… I know I can’t have it. Be part of it. Know I’ll just… just be in the way.” He mumbled, not even sure if he was speaking aloud, anymore.

�� “Virg… we'll talk about this later, ok? Just… can you make it back to the couch? You need more sleep.” Patton asked, moving off his chest. He nodded, managing to peel his eyes open, stumble to his feet, collapsing face down on the couch before blacking out as soon as his head hit the cushions.

…

 “Well. His fever’s broken. There’s no point using these, any further.” Logan, trying to keep his voice steady as he packed up the IV line and supplies, considering hurling the needle out the airlock, just to spite the universe for forcing him to use it.

 “I… I need to go. Think. About… things…” Roman poorly explained, darting from the room, as Patton sighed, feathers fluffing and resettling, worried gaze flicking between the doorway Roman had vanished down, Logan storing the medical supplies, and Virgil, face down on the couch. His forehead was a lot cooler, now, and his breathing finally seemed to be normal, deep, steady breaths. His eyes weren’t twitching in his sleep either, a good sign, Patton had learned early on that eye twitches meant bad dreams, nightmares. That was when he would curl up around Virgil’s head and churr softly, a low, rumbling vibration in his chest, that he used to soothe kits, but it also seemed to do the trick on the human. Most of the ampen soothing methods did, which he would have once considered odd, since they relied on empathy to work. But if anything, Virgil had too much empathy, his words playing back in Patton’s mind.

 “He thinks we don’t care. We don’t… don’t consider him family, why would he… after everything, still think that?” Patton asked softly, looking up at Logan’s sigh.

 “He’s been hurt, Patton. Deeply, psychologically, hurt. He’s so used to being in fight or flight mode, that is all his body knows how to do. His body, his mind, it doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend, safety. And after… after what he went through, how they demeaned him and treated him like a wild animal, like a… a specimen, it’s no wonder that he struggles to comprehend his own self worth, lacks any sense of self esteem or importance. He had to fight every day just to survive, just to keep you safe, and though I am thankful for it, it likely has contributed to his fear of himself. He knows how easily he could hurt any one of us.”

 “He won’t though! He’d rather tear himself apart than hurt any of us.” Patton protested.

 “I know, Patton. But he clearly doesn’t. He doesn’t take care of himself, he doesn’t trust himself, Patton, and until he starts doing that, understanding that he is wanted and loved and safe, I’m afraid he won’t take care of himself.”

 “Then we’ll make sure he does. I will physically fight him.” Patton muttered, determination clear in every bristling feather, and Logan chuckled slightly, shaking his head.

 “I would enjoy watching you take down a human, Patton, especially since Virgil would let you, but violence is not going to help in this situation.”

 “Still. If he won’t take care of himself, I’m going to make him take care of himself.” He ruffled Patton’s head as he passed the couch, barely containing his smile at the small squeak the motion illicited, stopping at a small tug of his hand.

 “Lo? Thank you. For getting him through.” He softened, looking back at Patton, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

 “Of course, Patton. Get some more sleep, now that he’s safe, won’t you?” Patton nodded, drawing away and circling a couple times before settling down curled around Virgil’s head, careful to keep a layer of blanket between them, so he wouldn’t accidentally siphon off energy in his sleep. Virgil needed all of it he could get.

@fortheloveofjanus

[neighborhoodmoonchild]

My Last Hope (Clairvoyant!Taehyung x Spirit!Reader)

Genre: Supernatural Au, Angst

Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of insomnia, death, murder, stalking, POV switching

Word Count: 7K 

Running. Faster. Take the stairs three at a time. The crash of glass. A loud bang. A puddle of blood.

Taehyung awakens with a start, chest heaving and a thick layer of sweat causing goosebumps to break out across his sweltering skin. He’s disoriented, gaze hazy and not catching on anything to focus and ground him. He’s panicking. Rubbing furiously at his eyes and slowing his breathing to a steady rhythm, he sits up in his bed and peels the comforters away from himself. The light peeking in from his window helps him fix his attention and he remembers that he’s in his room, safe and sound. Just a dream.

A few hours later and dawn is stretching across the sky, lighting up Taehyung’s apartment as he marks another tally in his journal. That’s the 15th time. Nothing’s changed, no break in the days, it’s all the same. Rickety steps. Broken glass. Blood. But what does it mean?

After making himself breakfast and staring off into space for a good twenty minutes, he decides it’s a good enough time to start work. Working from home was the only way he could, somewhat, get anything done. Too many distractions flooded the outside world, too many things that catch his eye and his alone. In the safety and comfort of his own abode, at least he wouldn’t get weird stares when he spent too long searching for a glimpse of something not really there, or straining to hear something no one else could. 

Taehyung spends what he would say as a good hour of being ‘productive’ before he starts getting that weird sensation again. The one that tingles from his toes, up his spine, and into his head. The one that makes him feel full of static and like everything around him is alight and spinning.

Drawing his eyes away from the screen ahead to survey his surroundings, he tries once again to pinpoint the cause of his discomfort. There has to be something causing this, there is no way that this is just a normal thing now. After his efforts come up dry, he goes back to his laptop, ending his work to just blindly search the internet to try and shake it off. 

As if to make this strange feeling worse, Tae finally looks at what he’s been searching for the past twenty minutes, and it leads him to an address of a house. An old, abandoned, familiar house. 

His blood runs cold. Flashes of his nightmares course through his vision, and he has half a mind to close the laptop, put it somewhere far away from him and lock himself in his room. 

“Maybe I’m still asleep,” he murmurs quietly, taking a few mere seconds to collect his thoughts and calm himself down. But instead of dropping everything and moving on, he delves deeper into the place. Built in the early 1800s, abandoned a few years prior to the present, and about to be demolished by the end of next month. Nothing seemingly out of the ordinary, and Tae has plenty of experience with that.

Yet, something about it still pulls him in, beckons him to dive even deeper, until it’s almost 3 a.m. the next morning and his eyes glaze over so bad he can’t see straight. His head lolls back and he finally starts to fall asleep.

Crash. Broken glass. A scream. Blood. Tae shoots from his chair so fast it tips to the side and both come tumbling to the ground with a loud bang. His neighbors probably hate him already with the number of times he’s awoken in the night screaming when the nightmares began. 

He rubs his sore side and sits up with a loud sigh. A quick glance at the clock hanging on his wall says noon, and he’s grateful he got at least a few hours of semi-peaceful slumber. Even after his nap, however, he still feels that tingling sensation at the back of his neck. 

When he looks back up at the picture of that house on his laptop, the feeling grows until it’s coursing through every fiber of his being and he can’t just ignore it anymore. If he’s being honest, Tae does that a lot. When it all becomes too much for him, his preferred course of action is to pretend it doesn’t exist. If only things were ever that simple. 

Pencil scratches haphazardly across paper as he takes note of the address in his journal. Now, trespassing in some creepy rundown house all the way over on the east side of town is not what Taehyung would call a good time by any means, but it sounds better than a lifetime of nightmares and static nerves. Sometimes the best way to face a nightmare is head-on and hopefully he can keep his. 

—

That night, as Taehyung drives away from the familiar buildings that make up his block in favor of the desolate rural houses that make up the east side, that feeling inside his body seems to grow. However, it was no longer an uncomfortable, static feeling, more like, a fuzzy warmth he didn’t know he was capable of. 

If his intuition has taught him anything, it was that this is a sign he’s finally doing something right, and he rarely gets those. 

Driving at night made him a bit uncomfortable, not going to lie, but he didn’t have much of a choice. The house was too far to walk and he wasn’t sure if he’d even make it there if he walked alone. In the dark. At night. 

Taehyung is prone to giving himself anxiety he surely doesn’t need, he argues it’s one of his many charms. When he finally pulls up to the house, well, he actually parks a block away so it wouldn’t be too suspicious, he starts mulling over all the possible outcomes of tonight.

99% of them end poorly. 

Just as he is about to put the key back into the ignition and give up on his dumb theory, the feeling overwhelms him to the point he feels sick. He flings his car door open and heaves himself out onto the concrete, sure he was about to vomit. 

It takes him a second to collect himself, pushing off the ground to come to a wobbly stand. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll go.” He’s not sure why he’s addressing the feeling as if it were another being, it’s just this sense he gets that it’s trying to tell him he needs to buck up and do it already. 

Great, so even mystical forces are calling him out for being a coward, awesome. 

Brushing himself off, he stalks to the back of his car, grabbing his bag and a flashlight out of the trunk and starts towards the house. 

The closer he gets, the creepier everything seems to get. The paint is peeling off the siding, broken windows haphazardly boarded up. As he ascends the few steps up to the porch, each one creaks in a different pitch, adding a terrifying soundtrack to the night. 

Taehyung stares at the door, falling slightly off its hinges and debates whether it was right to go in or not. It’s not like he was invading anyone’s privacy, nobody had lived there in years.

His hand slowly reaches out to grasp the door handle, the cool metal of it contrasting the burning of his skin. He’s not just nervous, he’s terrified.

He’d never investigated his feelings before, and none of them had ever been quite as strong as this one. He was worried if this would make his affliction worse, or if this was all going to be some trap.

Again, Taehyung was mildly paranoid, but for good reasons. 

A loud creak sends a shiver up his spine as the door swings open, the gust of air it created sending some dust and cobwebs into the air.

His head shoots from side to side, making sure no one was watching him before he enters the house, careful of his steps. 

The inside of the house didn’t look as old and battered as the outside; in fact, it looks pretty normal aside from the ominous white sheets covering a few pieces of furniture and the spiderwebs making their homes in every corner. 

Despite his fight or flight response telling him to book it back to his car, he pushes himself to keep going, looking around as if he were searching for clues for something.

Maybe he was?

Taehyung does his best to check out both the first and second floor, not so much investigating, more so just trying to occupy his mind so he didn’t freak himself out, 

Upstairs he found a room at the far end of the hall that connected to a balcony. The room itself was nice, as nice as any abandoned house could be. The walls were a soft light yellow, intricate filigree detail, a vanity at one side and a bed at the other. 

He felt almost cozy in the room, something he hadn’t felt in any of the others. It was significantly less creepy and as his eyes roamed over every inch of the place, it felt almost familiar to him somehow. 

The door to the balcony overlooks the backyard, a roaring river cutting through it, woods at the other edge.

He watches the water rush and splash violently over the rocks and sees a small patch of dirt eroding at the bank. He’s not sure if it’s the air or the sight that makes him feel so cold. There’s a small set of stairs that lead from the balcony back down to the first level, so he takes each one cautiously and hops to ground. 

As he is about to head closer to the strange patch of dirt and grass washing away, he hears the distant roar of sirens, shaking him to his core. 

Taehyung books it back to his car, throwing his bag and flashlight in and tearing away from the sidewalk as quickly as he can. 

It doesn’t even matter that they might not have been for him, something in the pit of his stomach said something was very wrong and he wouldn’t stick around to find out.

Taehyung passes the cop car on his way out of the neighborhood, tensing up every muscle in his body. The officer doesn’t slow down or go after him, so he figures he’s in the clear. It’s not like he was doing anything super illegal anyways, right?

Tae is long gone when the officer arrives at the house. He’s been here before, right after the accident. He wasn’t happy to be called back after a neighbor called in a possible vandal. He was already in the area, though, and decided he’d humor them. 

The officer does his rounds, checks the house, the front yard, the basement.

It’s when he heads back out toward the river, the same bank catches his eye. Just to be safe, he gets closer, but the closer he gets the weirder things get.

There, at the edge of the bank, the mud washing away into the water, he sees a bone.

This just turned into a crime scene. 

—

Taehyung wants to sleep in, he deserves it after the shit he put himself through last night. There’s this nagging feeling trying to wake him though and after fighting with it for too long, he decides it’s just not worth it anymore.

Sitting up, long yawn escaping as he stretches his limbs out, his eyes catch on the remote on the sodden table in front of him. He reaches out to grab it, flicking the TV on, it opening on a random channel. 

Seems normal enough, but Tae never watches TV in the morning.

It’s when his eyes read the words ‘Missing girl’s body found’ on the ticker across the bottom of the screen, he pales, turning up the volume to hear the story. 

“News sources say the body of 22 year old Y/F/N Y/L/N, who went missing 5 years ago, has been found in the backyard of her childhood home.” 

The shot cuts to the scene unfolding behind the reporter, the house from last night as clear as day on the screen. Taehyung thinks he actually feels his heart stop beating. He’s sweating buckets, goosebumps easing across every inch of his skin. He can’t breathe. 

“You know, I really wish you had found me first dummy.” 

Taehyung jumps out of his at the presence of an unknown voice right next to him, plummeting to the ground with a loud thud. 

There you sat, on his couch, head in your hand, staring at him like he was being dramatic.

“Who the hell are you? How did you get in my house?” His questions come out as short gasps, figuring he really was in the middle of a heart attack or something. He was dying, that was the only plausible explanation.

“What, you’ve never seen a ghost before ‘Ghost Whisperer’?” Your sarcastic comments don’t phase him, he’s still too stunned about everything happening he’s not sure what to do.

“I’m going crazy, aren’t I?” He says it more to himself, but you take it as an invite to comment.

“No, you’re no crazier than you were yesterday or any other day before that.” 

He scoffs, rubbing his elbow that bashed against the edge of the coffee table when he fell, “Yes I am, obviously, since I’m seeing,” he points to you, not actually looking at you, scared of what could happen, “you, and you’re apparently a-a-“

“Ghost. Spirit. Apparition. A dead person.” He finally looks at your face and just stares for a second taking and processing the information. 

“Right,” is all he can muster.

You stand up and walk over to the TV, crouching down and staring at the scene, your body being pulled from the earth by the river. If you could feel pain or sickness, you’re sure you’d be thoroughly feeling them right now. 

You’re hand slowly comes up to the screen, finger pointing to the body bag strapped to the gurney as it’s rolled out of your yard and into an ambulance, “That’s me.” You’re telling him, but your also telling yourself.

Taehyung doesn’t know what to do. First of all, there’s a fucking ghost in his house. Second, there’s a dead body at the house he visited last night. Third, there’s a fucking ghost in his house.

Taehyung has seen crazy things before, but never a full-bodied apparition like you. What does one say to a ghost as they watch their body be found? Can you comfort a ghost? Did he want to comfort you?

In all honesty, it took everything Taehyung has in him to not piss himself he is so freaked out. 

You turn back around to face him, “Do you know why I’m here, Taehyung?” 

His eyes widen, “You know my name too? You just show up in my house like you know me?” 

You roll your eyes, walking over to him, trying not to be too offended when he scoots away. You crouch down next to him this time, “I’ve been with you for a while, actually, I just didn’t have the capacity to do this,” you gesture to your ‘body,’ “until now apparently.” 

He leans a bit closer, intrigued at your revelation, “What do you mean you’ve been with me for a while?”

Before he can move away, you shoot your hand out to rest on his shoulder. He suddenly gets that overwhelming tingling sensation again, but it’s so much stronger now. 

You pull your hand away when you see the realization on his face. 

“Wait, have you been, like, inside of me this whole time.”

Another eye roll, “No, I was not inside of you, more like floating around you, simply put.”

You both sit there in awkward silence for a few seconds, before he runs his hand through his air exasperatedly, “So what now?” 

Your eyes widen in excitement. Now you’d finally get a chance to understand why you’ve been stuck here for so long.

“You are going to help me figure out how I died.”

—

“No.”

“You have to.” You feign a pour and push his shoulder. Tae ignores you, pretends he can’t hear, feel, or see you.

It’d been two days since your abrupt appearance, and in those two days you’d sufficiently annoyed the shit out of Tae. There was no way he was getting involved in an open murder investigation.

“The cops will figure it out, go annoy one of them.” 

You step in front of him, blocking his way to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.

“You’re the only one that can help me, I already told you that.” A huff escapes your lips when he pushes past you, your arms folding across your chest as your attention follows him.

“Nope. You’ve got the wrong guy, I’m not helping you.” 

“Why not?” Leaning across the counter, you catch him roll his eyes, making your agitation grow. 

“Because I can’t.” 

“Why?”

“Maybe someone murdered you for being so goddamn annoying,” Tae whispers to himself over his mug, but you still hear it, pushing away from the counter to approach him.

“Why are you such an asshole?” He smirks, finding it funny when you got so riled up.

“Why are you so annoying?” Oh, if you could muster up enough energy to physically slap him, you would. 

Turns out full body projecting is harder than you thought, and while you’re glad you can at least do that, you wished you could touch things again.

The only thing you can do is sigh, turning away from him, “It’s not like I had a choice of who can see me or not.” 

You’d spent years wandering alone in limbo, an in-between, roaming the earth with no guidance. You couldn’t remember anything about what happened, except for a few small things long before it.

There was no light, no pearly white gates and angels to welcome you to heaven. There was no fire and screaming like hell. You were just there, in your house, surrounded by people but no one could see or hear you. If it was possibly, watching your family live on without you would’ve killed you again. 

You’d spent years trying to find one person, just one, to acknowledge you, but you’d always come up empty. 

Then you came across Tae. It was when he spent more time out in the world, before he let the things he could see drive him to hole up in his home. You’d sensed another spirit in the area, and tried to locate it, to maybe have someone or something to talk to. 

You saw Tae, staring in the direction of the energy source, but you couldn’t see what he was looking at. He looked scared.

You approached him, forgetting he was a living being and you were not. It was when you lay your hand on his shoulder to comfort him, and he reacted, you’d realized you’d found the one person who could feel you. 

You’d stuck around ever since, and as your energy grew (you may or may not have been borrowing some of Tae’s), you influenced him more and more until he’d decide to go to your home. 

Since you had no memory of how you died, you figured that’d be a good place to start looking for answers on how to pass on. 

Taehyung was the only tether you had to the living world, whether you both liked it or not. You’d spent too long wandering around and you were done. You wanted answers, you wanted to be at peace. 

You let yourself dissipate into the air, figuring it was more trouble than it was worth to use up your energy on fighting with him. You just needed some time to yourself, and figured so did he. 

When he watches your figure disappear, he can’t help the guilty feeling crawling up his throat as the coffee slides down. It was just all so much to take in right now and with the investigation, a murderer on the loose, and you, he felt overwhelmed. 

He knows it’s just as hard on you, though, too, and wishes he’d been more sensitive. 

Taehyung was always good at saying the wrong things. 

—

After his comment, you’d been more distant lately, and whether he liked to admit it or not, he kinda liked having you around, even though you were annoying as hell. 

Taehyung has been on his own for so long, he had forgotten what it was like to have a friend, and while you were dead, he thought a ghost friend was better than no friends. 

So, even though he didn’t like nor know what he was doing, he decided he’d at least look into what happened 5 years ago.

Flashback

“Yes, I’m fine, I’ll be home in, like, 10 minutes.” You hang up on your mom, knowing that she’ll probably reprimand you once she sees you, but you were too excited to care. 

You’d stayed after school to help the Art Club decorate for their Halloween fundraiser this weekend, and the President asked you if you’d like to dress up and work the haunted house with him. 

Kim Namjoon is many things, but forward was not one of them. You cool accepted, even though you were jumping up and down on the inside. The Kim Namjoon was asking you to hang out Saturday night. It was like a dream come true. 

Your walk home was filled with going over all the different ways the night could play out, your lovesick mind always ending it with you both kissing and living happily ever after. Cliche, but you couldn’t help it. 

As you rounded the corner to your block, you felt uneasy, like you were being watched. Calmly looking over your shoulder, you sand your surroundings for eyes. The street was pretty empty, though, save a few parked cars and the rare one heading down the road. 

You shake your head, waving away any paranoia and keep going.

What you didn’t see was the familiar red car parked down the road from your house, it’s occupant’s eyes following your every move.

That night, after a lighthearted scolding from your mother, you help her wash the dishes from dinner, your dad placing a kiss to the tops of your heads before retiring to his office for the night. He worked a lot, but you couldn’t hold it against him, he was a good dad.

Bidding your mother Goodnight, you retire to your room to wash up and start the pile of homework that had grown on your desk.

As you tackle what you can with your fluffy pajamas giving you strength, you get that weird sensation of being watched again. You turn your head to stare out the door to your balcony into the backyard. 

Nothing. 

Creeped out and tired as hell, you draw your curtain, turn the light off, and go to sleep. 

Saturday came quicker than you could hope, the excitement over your costume and your date/not date with Namjoon skyrocketing your mood. 

Joon had met you in the hallway before school let out on Friday to ask you if it was alright if he picked you up, to which you quickly said yes. He told you what his costume was earlier that week, but when he’d asked about yours, you said it was a surprise. 

You kept it classy but cute and chose something that you knew and Namjoon would appreciate. You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he showed up at your door. 

You walked home again that evening, the feeling of being watched lingering through the whole walk. You were bothered, but you didn’t want anything to spoil your mood. 

In retrospect, you should’ve said something. 

The last thing you remember is going to a haunted house with Joon, something happening, and walking home.

Then, nothing.

End Flashback

Tae’s research into the known details of your disappearance came up short. The only thing he could gather was that you were on your way home from a school event but never showed up. 

The police told your parents that at your age, it was normal for kids to just disappear for a few days. 

After 3 days, they started a missing persons search. 

Weeks of looking came up with nothing. 

The investigation started out as possible foul play, but after some evidence was unearthed, it turned into a runaway. 

No criminal evidence found, no new details or leads, and the case quickly went cold. 

To the town, you were just another teen runaway.

Your parents fought hard for justice, knowing there was no way you’d run away, but the more time passed, the more tired they got. Funds dried up, people made horrible clamping about you and your family, and they didn’t know how to fight anymore.

They lost their only daughter and no one seemed to care.

In the end, they sold the house and moved as far away as they could. 

The hope that they’d find their daughter alive diminished until it no longer existed.

Taehyung felt a sorrow he’d never known before. How could something like this happen to anyone?

From his point of view, it looked like the only ones who took it seriously were your parents. 

How could the authorities brush away someone’s life like that?

You’d been with Tae for so long, you could tell the changes of his emotions, and a pang of sadness shot through you that felt familiar. 

Despite still being mad at him, you appeared behind him, looking over his shoulder at the screen of the laptop to see article after article about your disappearance. Then, focusing on Tae, you the smallest tear slide from the corner of his eye. 

Your arms reach out to wrap around him, phasing right through him but he can feel your presence. 

Eyes squeezed tight, you wished you could feel him, not just to comfort him, but to feel comfort yourself. All you could do, though, was try.

“I’m sorry I was a jerk.” Tae doesn’t turn from the screen to address you, he just closes his eyes, focusing on the static feeling from your ‘touch.’ 

“I’m sorry I was annoying.” He cracked a pathetic grin, finally turning when you had pulled away.

He sticks his hand out, offering it to you to shake. You look  at him confused, knowing you can’t grab it, but he just waves it up and down until you stick your hand out and put it near his. 

You imitate a shake and a giggle escapes your lips, “What was that all about?”

“I’m going to help you find the truth.” Your eyes shoot open, locking on his. There is no hint of sarcasm, just pure determination.

Taehyung was going to help you find peace if it was the last thing he did. 

It was what you deserved, what your parents deserved, and he wasn’t going to let anyone brush you aside again. 

—

“Are you sure this guy can help, Tae?” You whisper, trailing behind him as he heads deeper into the building. 

Taehyung, before his affliction took over, had actually had friends of his own before. One, a few years older, had become a detective a few years back, at least, that’s what he’d heard.

Yoongi was a serious guy, and he had a passion for finding justice, and Tae knew he was just the man to aid them on their investigation.

Taehyung was realistic. He knew there was no way he’d be given access to the new evidence or the open murder investigation. 

He needed someone on the inside, someone who knew the game and how to play, but could still be trusted.

So, he emailed Yoongi, very vague just in case, and he’d offered to meet Tae today in the old warehouse they all used to hang out in when they were teens. 

Here you were, standing exactly where Yoongi had agreed upon, when Tae hears footsteps.

Yoongi approaches carefully, seeing his old friend right where he told him to be. 

He wasn’t going to lie, he had absolutely no idea what Taehyung could possibly call him out here for, and his email didn’t help. 

Having not seen him in years, Yoongi goes in for a simple handshake, but Tae goes straight for a hug. He missed his hyung, more than he’d thought once he actually saw him. 

Yoongi wasn’t ever one for physical contact, even when they were younger, but he knew there must be an important reason for meeting, so he let the kid hug him.

“Thank you for meeting me Yoongi, sorry I haven’t kept in contact these past few years.” Tae feels guilty for shutting his friends out, but he didn’t know what else to do, they’d never understand.

Now, he needed at least Yoongi to.

“It’s okay, we all got busy. So, why are we here?” Yoongi wanted to get down to business, he didn’t like idle chit chat. 

“Right. This is going to sound crazy, but I need your help solving a murder.” 

He’s surprised to say the least. At first, his mind jumps to Taehyung being involved in something serious, but he knows his friend well enough to know he’d never commit murder.

“Why are you investigating a murder?”

Tae rubs the back of his neck, growing more uncomfortable by the second.

“I’m just going to be honest with you. Don’t laugh, and please, hear me out.” 

Tae waits for the elder to oblige before beginning.

Once he goes through all the nitty-gritty details, he can tell by the look on Yoongi’s face that he doesn’t believe him. Tae looks from Yoongi to you, then back again, and wonders how the hell he’s supposed to prove himself.

“Taehyung, it’s not funny to waste people’s time.” Yoongi turns to leave, and Taehyung starts panicking. Yoongi was his only lead, as if this didn’t work out, he wasn’t sure what else he could do. 

You can tell the situation is turning sour, so you figure the best way to prove Tae is telling the truth, is to prove you’re there.

You search your surroundings quickly, finding a piece of pipe on the ground. You grab it, mustering up all the energy you possibly can until you actually feel it in your hands. 

You push away the excitement and focus on moving it. Slowly, you drag it over until you’re blocking Yoongi’s exit. 

He stands there, staring at the seemingly floating pipe, and is wondering if he’s lost his mind.

You take the opportunity to write your name in the dirt as bets you can. You’re growing weaker, but you finish it and the pipe drops to the ground.

Tae watches your form dissipate into the air again, afraid you’d disappeared, but he feels your presence at his shoulder again, so he relaxes. 

Yoongi, on the other hand, is staring at the dirt, frozen, mouth gaped wide, and pale as a ghost. 

“Believe me now?” 

Yoongi followed Tae back to his house and they start their dive into the case.

—

Yoongi is able to get his hands on some of your files, both new and old, and the two of them start a board to piece the puzzle together. 

The only problem, they have no idea where to even begin.

You go over the events you remember with Tae as best you can, Tae filling in Yoongi and then adding new information to the board. 

You stare at it, your picture idly in the center, pictures of everyone you knew around you, as well as crime scene photos, news clippings; everything.

The longer you stared at it, the more frustrated you got. Yoongi and Tae’s leads kept coming up empty and they were no closer than when they first began.

“Are you sure she’s telling us everything?” Yoongi questions Tae, and you scoff, even though he can’t hear it. Tae looks at you with a smile, before turning back to Yoongi and nodding.

“Apparently.” Tae, even though he was finally helping you, didn’t lose his joy in antagonizing you, but you had your own fun so it was only fair. 

You’d hide his things, or phase through him because he said once it felt weird, so you’d do it just to annoy him. Annoying Tae became your new favorite thing.

“Didn’t she say she felt like she was being watched when she was walking home?” Yoongi turns from his puzzled stance towards the board to where Tae was staring, figuring it was you.

You nod, and Tae relays it to him.

“How long had she had that feeling?” 

You had to think about it. So many years had gone by, it was harder and harder for you to recall memories from your past. Bringing up so much at once, now, though, was helping them resurface.

You remember the feeling starting around 4 months before the incident. You’d been to a party one night when the cops showed up to send everyone home. It was when you were escorted to one of the cars that you first felt it.

After that, it’d only gotten worse, but you weren’t sure how to bring it up to your parents, or if you even should. It wasn’t like you could prove it, it was just a feeling. 

The harder you thought, the more memories flooded. 

You tried to picture every instance in your mind as it happened. The party, after practice, the dance, fall festival, these were all the times you could remember it happening. 

After the first month, it started happening when you were at home. You could see yourself in the moment clearly, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find any connection. 

After Tae relayed all of this to Yoongi, he just stood there staring at the board for a while. Tae grew tired quickly, leaving the room to make some coffee, and you followed.

“I’m sorry I’m not much help,” you admit, face turning down in a frown. You hated that you couldn’t remember that night or what had happened to you. It wasn’t fair.

Tae turns to you quickly, sympathetic smile on his lips, “It's not your fault, we’ll figure this out, I promise.” He holds his pinky out to you, causing you to smile, bringing yours up to lay next to his. 

It was simple gestures like this between the two of you that made you almost feel like you were alive again. 

Tae is about to say something when Yoongi shouts for him to come quick. You both sprint into the living room, seeing Yoongi circling something in every crime scene photo frantically. 

“What do you see in all of these photos?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer. Tae takes a closer look, you just behind him peeking around his shoulder. You see the faint image of the same man in every single picture.

He’s not close enough to quite make out, but he’s definitely in every single one. It’s eerie, the man standing just outside the frame, staring at the scene. It sends shivers through you, well, as much a shiver as an entity can feel.

“There’s the same guy in every picture!” They both exclaim together, clapping hands together in the air. Yoongi and Tae finally had a lead. 

Tae turns to you, “Do you recognize him?” You stare at one as hard as you can, but the image is too fuzzy for you to know for sure. 

“I don’t know,” is all you can offer. Tae looks a bit disappointed, but it doesn’t last long, Yoongi offering, “We can get these enhanced so she can have a better look.”

With that, they call it a night, well, you call it a night, while the boys continue, too excited to stop any time soon. 

Yoongi decides it’d be better to stay with Tae until they can figure this out.

—

A knock on Tae’s door at 5 a.m. has everyone in the house scrambling.

Yoongi is the first to get presentable, opening the door to two local officers.

“What can I help you with officers?” He says, gritting his teeth. Local cops were a bane in Yoongi’s existence. Nothing against the position, he’d had to go through it himself, but nowadays, he remembers just how incompetent and cocky they can be.

“Is Kim Taehyung here? We’d like to ask him a few questions about his whereabouts the night of October 19th.” Yoongi is about to ask them why the hell that was necessary when Tae comes up behind him.

“I’m Kim Taehyung,” he says, trying to sound confident but failing miserably. When they brought up the night he’d visited your house, he knew things were about to go down.

“Were you at this address that night?” One officer shows the address along with a picture of the house to Tae, to which he shakes his head.

  “I drove through the neighborhood to go see a friend, but that’s it.” 

Tae didn’t want to lie, but something in his gut told him the truth would end a lot worse. 

The officers look from each other back to him.

“We have a witness account identifying you at the house that night, sir.” Tae thinks he’s done for, but Yoongi comes in with a quick save. 

Luckily, Tae had brought Yoongi up to speed on everything, so he knew he could set the perfect alibi. 

The officers don’t look too convinced, but they leave. Yoongi shuts the door and Tae releases the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in.

“That one officer looked familiar.” You say, popping up behind Tae, causing him to jump. He swears one day you will actually kill him.

“Which one?” Yoongi questions, walking into the living room, the both of you following suit. 

“The taller one with the dark hair and mustache. I’ve seen him before.” 

Yoongi takes this information from Tae and scours the board. His finger shoots out to one of the photographs.

“That’s him,” he says and then gestures to the figure next to him. It clicks in everyone’s mind that the man next to the officer is the same man in the rest of the pictures. 

“You don’t think...” Tae starts, everyone taking glances at each other in silence. 

“We might have just found a rat.” 

—

“You can’t just bring him in without reason!” Yoongi yells as the officer escorts Tae out of the building and into the car.

He ignores Yoongi, taking Tae away.

Yoongi follows pursuit in his own vehicle. 

After a few hours of interrogation, Tae exits the police station, finding a furious Yoongi in the lobby.

“What the hell did they want?” Yoongi shouts, storming after Tae. Tae just gets into Yoongi’s car and slams the door. 

It’s not until they get home that Tae shares.

“That cop from the photo, he tried to get me to confess to being at the house that night.” 

Yoongi runs his hands through his hair, clearly exasperated, while you watch on in silence.

“Did you tell them anything?” 

Tae scoffs, “Of course not!”

The room goes quiet, tension thick in the air. 

Yoongi is worried their investigation is blown.

Tae is worried your murderer will get away.

You’re worried for your new friends’ well-being.

“Let’s just stop.” You say, eyes trained on the floor below. Tae shoots up from his place on the couch, looking at you in disbelief.

“No way, we’re so close, I can feel it.” He says, approaching you.

You look up at him, lips curling down, “I don’t want anything bad happening to you.” 

Tae isn’t sure what to say. He’s too invested in this to let it go over a little scare with the police. This was bigger than all of you knew, and he couldn’t let your chance at peace slip away over him.

“I did learn something new though.” Tae turns away from you to address Yoongi, ignoring your wishes for him to stop.

“I saw that cop talking with a guy that looked just like the photo guy when I was leaving. They were whispering and looking around all suspicious.” 

All of a sudden their off on theory tangents and you’re too exhausted from worrying about Tae to stick around.

Yoongi is finally able to enhance one of the photos a day later, enough to get a clear look at the mystery man. 

When you finally look at his face, it’s like opening Pandora’s box. 

That night, after the haunted house, Namjoon offered to drive you home, but an emergency came up. 

You told him it was no problem and instead of calling one of your parents, you decided to walk home. 

You enter the part of town that had few houses with far stretches of woods in-between. You were spooked, but there was nothing to do about it, so you kept going.

A red car pulls up next to you, a familiar face, the officer, through the window offering you a ride. 

You accept even though your whole being is saying that something isn’t right.

There’s someone else in the car you didn’t notice before. 

He never takes you home.

You’re standing there, shaking, eyes wide in fear and Tae can sense the overwhelming terror coursing from you.

“Are you okay?” Tae asks, concern taking over his body.

“He offered to drive me home...Tae.. he never took me home.” You sob, falling to the ground. Tae goes to comfort you but remembers he can’t. He can’t touch you. He can’t hold you as you fall apart. He can just watch.

Yoongi is standing there, utterly confused, but when he sees his friend drop to the ground, he stops what he's doing.

Tae stares at you, hurt evident on his face, guilty he can’t help you, and then looks up at at Yoongi. 

A tear slips out of one of his eyes, but it’s not from sadness, it’s from anger. 

“Those bastards are gonna pay.”

When you finally remembered, your energy had completely depleted. Tae couldn’t see or feel you and he was growing more worried by the second. He didn’t let that stop him from helping Yoongi go back to the house to search for evidence. 

When they pull up, they see a car parked outside.

Your killer is here.

Tae tries to rush at him, fury telling him to beat the living shit out of him. Yoongi holds him back, keeping him in the car until the man leaves. He manages to snap a few pictures for evidence, and reminds Tae that if he does anything stupid, it’ll ruin everything.

After a few minutes pass, another car pulls up. This time, your parents step out of the vehicle, staring at the house they once called home. They look tired, like they haven’t slept in days.

He bets they never thought they’d be back here, let alone to bury their daughter. 

They wait till they leave, finally leaving the vehicle to search.

Coming up with nothing, Yoongi offers to go back to his office and try the resources there.

Weeks go by, the local authorities slowly leaning towards another cold case. Yoongi and Tae, however, are hot on the trail.

Yoongi was able to use his clearance to look at the evidence the police filed away. There, he was able to draw connections to you and the man. Multiple witness statements had been disregarded when it came to a familiar looking man seen around your school and on your path home. 

The evidence was quickly piling up, and it was firing up the boys. 

The match to set the whole thing ablaze? Tae found a connection between you, the man, and the cop you recognized. 

Turns out your father had filed a complaint against the town for the man showing up in your backyard one day. The cop to address it? The same one. The suspect is the cop’s younger brother who has a history of stalking underage girls.

Yoongi was right in his opinion on local cops, the bastard was covering it all up, probably even helped him.

Going to his superiors, Yoongi was able to get jurisdiction over your case. 

The greatest day in Taehyung’s life was watching the two men get taken away in handcuffs.

Your parents invited both Taehyung and Yoongi to your service, and you gave Tae the okay to go. 

He stood with you at your casket, closed considering the amount of time and decay your body had gone through. 

He cried that day, more than he ever had before. Not just because he was burying a friend he never truly got to meet, but because you finally got the justice you deserved. 

Tae throws his tie on the couch when he get home, entering the living room, plopping down to rest against the back of it. 

You just stand before him, watching him breath, his eyes closed.

You walk forward, leaning close. 

As Tae opens his eyes, he sees your figure close, and then feels the sensation of lips on his forehead.

You poured all of your strength into this final goodbye. You could feel the warmth of his skin as your lips pressed to his forehead, leaning away to see him staring in shock.

He reaches out to grab your hand as you back away. His fingers graze yours, and you both feel the sensation of physical contact. 

“Thank you Tae, for everything.” 

You finally passed on. 

He cried for the second time that day.

—

Years later, Taehyung is back in town. It’s the anniversary of your death, and he wanted to visit. His right hand is wrapped tight around one much smaller than his, his left arm holding another tiny figure close. 

He knows the path to your stone by heart. When they approach, he stops just before it, staring at the words. He lingers over your name and smiles. 

“Daddy, where are we?” The little one lets go of his hand and instead holds the small bouquet of flowers close to him.

Taehyung looks down at the little boy and smiles, patting his head.

“I want to introduce you to my old friend.” He says, gesturing forward, the little boy taking the bouquet and setting it down by your stone. 

He sets the youngest at his feet, dropping to sit down in front of your headstone, gathering his children in his lap. 

“Do you want to hear the story about how I met my best friend?”

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

This. Is.  a rollercoaster of emotions my guys. I’m sorry I had to do it to you, but I did. Honestly, I’m overly proud of this one, like, it may be my favorite. It is my favorite. Hope you guys enjoy a little cry fest over Tae, I know I did. Also, a birthday shout out to @arxsu, I hope you like it! Our little Kookie gets Halloween, so get excited. Stay Spooky!💜

-Moonie🌙

[lostinthewiind]

Hiii I adore your fics! do you by any chance also write about floyd talbert? i feel like there's not a lot of fics out there about him. xx

Dear, sweet anon, I write about all the Band of Brothers boys. This is a song fic because I can’t get this song out of my head and it gave me such a cute idea. Hope you like it :)

Song: Patient - Charlie Puth 

Please Be Patient with Me

Returning from war was hard. For many of the men who kept in contact, the letters sent back and forth were filled with the stories of new, everyday challenges such as loud noises and sleeping in a bed that was just much too soft. Struggles ranged from small and minuscule to life-altering and crippling. 

Returning from war was hard, but for some, it was harder than others. You were among the few that was finding every new day to be a battle.

Your transition back into civilian life was a rather odd one. As soon as you returned from the front lines, you married the love of your life, whom you had met during the war, Floyd Talbert. For a month or so the two of you lived happily without many issues. You bought a home, you both got normal jobs, and you lived like a perfect, newly married couple. 

Then, one night, you woke up in a cold sweat after having a nightmare. You were screaming and crying and it took Floyd almost a full hour to convince you that you weren’t sitting in a cold, snow-covered foxhole in Bastogne. Almost every night since then you had had the same nightmare. It got so bad that you started sleeping in the spare bedroom, even though Floyd told you he didn’t mind and that you didn’t bother him. You could see it in his eyes every time you woke him up in a fit of tears though — the look of exhaustion and internal distress. 

It wasn’t just the nightmares. You also began struggling with everyday tasks. One morning, on your way to work, an engine backfired and the next thing you knew, you were huddled up on a street corner looking like a deranged meth-addict. You lost your job after a couple of weeks after that due to the fact that you kept zoning-out and reducing to tears by the incessant clacking of all the keyboard typing around you or the drop of a coffee mug in the break room.

You were a complete and utter mess, and just like you had predicted, it all eventually came crashing down on you at once.

All you were doing was making breakfast. Nothing too complicated, just cereal. You had woken up in a relatively good mood and, since you had no job to go to, decided to spend the morning on the porch in the sunlight and eat your food. 

You had opened a few of the house windows because of the pleasant morning breeze, but sadly, had forgotten to close all of the doors. When one of the open doors got caught in the draft and slammed shut, you froze on the spot. 

Your breathing immediately became heavy and you felt your pulse quicken. Your fingers tightened around the sides of the ceramic bowl in your hands and you squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to will yourself into a calmer state.

Then another door slammed.

Your hands flew over your ears and you collapsed right there on the kitchen floor. You drew your knees up to your chest and backed yourself up until your spine was pressing firmly into the lower cabinets. You felt the tears welling up in your eyes, which made you feel weak, consequently only making you more upset. 

For hours you sat there, shaking and crying on the floor. 

When you heard the front door open and close, you felt a small wave of relief wash over you, followed by guilt. Floyd was home, and even though you knew he would be able to calm you down, you hated that he had to calm you down.

What kind of man wanted to be married to a woman who became a puddle of fear at the simple slam of a door?

“Y/N!” Floyd called through the small house as he wandered around looking for you. When he finally sauntered into the kitchen and saw you sitting in front of him, he dropped down onto his knees beside you and pulled you into his arms without a second thought. 

“Oh, darling.” Floyd held you tight to his chest and rubbed soothing circles into your back. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but all that came out was a pathetic sob. Burying your face into his neck, you let the cries escape you. A part of you was glad that you hadn’t been able to speak. You didn’t want Floyd to know how much of a mess you really were. A door? Really? You were shaking and crying over a door?

Floyd decided to stop pressing you for info for the time being. He knew that something had obviously startled you, and right then, that was all he needed to know. He was well aware that you were extremely self-conscious about your PTSD and always tried his best to play it off as something completely and utterly normal — which, considering what you had been through, it was. 

Without saying another word, Floyd held you, kissed you, rubbed you, and sat with you in his lap for hours. The sun had begun to set and the once tolerable breeze coming in through the open windows had turned frigid, but the thought of moving didn’t even cross his mind. 

Floyd was willing to sit with you for as long as it took for you to calm down, whether that be all night long or not.

Finally, after what seemed like days of sitting with your face buried into Floyd’s skin, you pulled back and wiped your tears away with your sleeve. Floyd watched you, his kind eyes full of patience and love.

“I’m sorry.” you choked out, your voice scratchy and broken. “I’m so sorry you had to come home after a long day at work to this…to me.”

Floyd’s heart shattered. “No, don’t say that.” he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t be sorry about something you can’t control. It’s not your fault at all.”

“You’re such a good, kind, patient, loving man…” you told him as you pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes. “Every day I feel guilty for tricking you into marrying me…into marrying someone like me who can’t even make breakfast without breaking down into tears.”

“You didn’t trick me into marrying you.” Floyd pressed a kiss to your tear-soaked lips. “I knew exactly who I was marrying when I said ‘I do’ and never once have I regretted it.”

You scoffed. “Not even when I wake up screaming?”

“Not even then.”

“Not even when I cry on the floor like a child?”

“You’re not a child, but no, not even then.” Floyd intertwined his fingers with yours. “You’re not the only one who’s having a rough time. At the factory, when the delivery truck doors drop down, I jump. Sometimes I end up taking twenty minutes coffee breaks by accident because I’m in a trance and I’m replaying Smith sticking me with his bayonet over and over again. Sometimes when I come home I stand outside the door for a while just trying to work up the courage to come inside and accept that all of this is real. You’re not the only one, babe.”

A small smile spread across your lips. Not at his confession — because hearing the things he dealt with made you upset — but at the fact that you weren’t alone in this; whatever this was. “Really?” you asked.

“Really.” Floyd nodded. “Two days ago I got a letter from one of the guys and he said that whenever he falls asleep on the couch he wakes up thinking he’s on the plane into Normandy. We’re all a little broken baby. It doesn’t mean we’re any less worthy of a good, happy life.”

Leaning in, you kissed your husband and cupped his cheek with your hand. Never in all of your life had you felt so loved and accepted and you had no idea what you had done to deserve such an amazing man.

“It was the doors,” you confessed. “I opened the windows and the doors slammed shut. I got scared by the doors.”

Floyd placed a kiss onto your temple. “Guess I’m just gonna have to take all the doors off of the hinges then. I think it’ll look nice; really open the place up. What do you think?”

“I think I love you,” you chuckled.

“I love you too,” Floyd whispered. “Now, please, baby, will you come back to bed with me tonight and stop sleeping in the spare room? When I wake up and you’re not there I can never get back to sleep.”

Your eyes fell and you found yourself closely examining the buttons on his shirt. “What if I have the nightmare again?”

“Then I will hold you, kiss you, tell you how much I love you, and lie with you until we both fall back asleep in each other’s arms.” 

“Okay.” you nodded as you pushed yourself out of his lap and onto your feet again. 

“Okay.” Floyd smiled as he followed you, letting out a small shiver in the process as a cold wind blew through the house. “But first I’m going to close these damn windows.” 

“Wait, don’t.” you blurted out. Floyd eyed you quizzically and for a brief moment, you felt a feeling you hadn’t felt in a while course through you — maybe it was bravery? “Don’t close them. Leave them open. Let the doors slam. As long as I have you, I’ll be okay.”

A wide, toothy grin spread across Floyd’s face as he held his hand out to you. “Let them slam,” he repeated. “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

[parkerspastel]

soft | chapter four

warning - this chapter contains smut, kn*tting, and more. skip this one if you feel uncomfortable with these subjects.

Once May and YN arrived back at her family’s apartment, the woman had YN head into her room. May grabbed every blanket she could find in the entire home so YN could nest if she wanted to. The unmistakable scent of an omega in heat filled the air, which caused a sigh of relief to come from May. She had gotten YN to a safe place before any alphas had gotten to her.

YN laid on her bedroom floor, curled into a ball between probably twelve blankets, eight pillows, and a ton more stuffed animals to create her nest for the next week or so. 

May wouldn’t have to stay for the full week, though. YN’s father’s ‘girlfriend’ would be there after a few hours to take care of said girl. But did that mean that May wasn’t going to worry for an entire week about her nephew’s best friend? Absolutely not.

Desperate moans floated from YN’s room as slick coated her thighs. She did everything she could to try and relieve the building pressure in her abdomen: nothing seemed to work.

Her voice was whiny and her breath ragged as she whimpered out the same word over and over, “Alpha.”

It flew off her tongue like a prayer. “Alpha, please-!” She whined as her hand began to make its way into her soaked lace panties, causing moans to leave her lips between the whines for an alpha.

Her mind was so clouded that she didn’t even remember that May was in the apartment with her, which lead to her yelling in frustration as her body begged for an alpha’s knot.

Meanwhile, still at school, none of her friends had an idea as to where she went. All Peter knew was that May had picked her up sometime during second period, and every fiber of his being was telling him that something was wrong. That he needed to be with YN immediately.

The remaining four teenagers ate in comfortable silence with the occasional joke or question, usually from Ned or Betty. MJ was too busy staring at Gwen Stacy to notice Peter’s uneasiness. 

After he had taken a few bites of his mashed potatoes, they became bland and stale in taste. He was too worried about YN to even have an appetite, which worked out in Ned’s favor.

“Hey Peter, you gonna eat those?” He asked pointing to the potatoes with a plastic white spork, as the students were no longer permitted to use normal forks due to an issue at the beginning of the school year. 

Peter just shrugged in response, “Sure. Take ‘em. ‘M not hungry.” His words hung in the air as MJ’s attention was grabbed by them.

“You’re always hungry. What’s going on? Spill.” The girl said while sliding Peter’s tray over to Ned. “And don’t lie.”

“I’m worried about YN. Okay? She never leaves school early, not even that time that she had the flu during finals week and passed out on her way to the nurse’s office.” He wasn’t embarrassed of his words, though. No, it was quite the contrary. His posture had straightened and he held his head high as he spoke, something that Peter rarely did.

“Lover boy, why don’t you just call her? Or even just go see her after school. I know that you know how to get into that apartment.” Betty said with a huff, “You’re making it way more complicated than it needs to be, okay?”

Peter, now flustered, sighed. “You’re right. I’m making this way more complicated than it should be. She probably just went home because she felt faint or something.” He decided to ignore his instincts to stand up from that lunch table and run himself all the way to YN’s apartment and make sure that nothing was wrong.

After school Peter called YN’s cell, which went straight to voicemail. “Hey this is YN’s phone, drop a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” Her sweet voice coming over the receiver put Peter even more on edge. She usually didn’t let his calls go to voicemail. 

Peter had arrived to her apartment just after May had left YN in the care of her father’s ‘girlfriend’, he had decided to try the front door first. 

As the door opened, he was hit with the sweet smell of an omega in her heat. “Hello?” A woman with red hair greeted, her voice seemingly familiar.

“H-Hi, I’m good friends with YN LN, and I wanted to make sure she’s doing okay. She left school early today, and she usually doesn’t do that.” Peter said quickly, ignoring his instincts to rush to whatever omega was suffering and fix it for her.

The red head’s eyes met his, and immediately Peter knew who he was talking with. “Peter, she’s in the middle of something right now.”

As if on cue, YN’s voice rang out through the apartment once again, “Alpha!” She whined, causing Peter’ cock to twitch inside of his jeans. 

“You need to head home, Peter.” The woman said sternly, “Her father has me here to make sure that nothing happens that either of you would regret, okay?” Her voice was hard and commanding.

“Nat, please!” YN begged through the walls of her bedroom, trying her hardest not to cry. “Just let him fix it!” She cried, throwing her head back on the wood of her bedroom door. 

Natasha was reluctant to even allow Peter into the doorway, “You need to go, Peter. It’s a bad idea, okay?” 

“Can I at least just talk to her?” The boy asked with a pained expression. It took everything he had not to shove past Natasha and help YN through her heat. “She’s my best friend before anything else.” He stated with finality. 

The woman sighed, “Okay, but you have to keep the door shut. No arguments about it.” She allowed Peter to enter the home with a bit of wariness. If he didn’t listen, she would have quite the mess to explain to May, Tony, and YN’s father.

Peter raced to YN’s door, but kept the boundary Natasha had set in mind. “YN? Can you hear me?” He asked softly, placing a large hand on the painted wood that separated the two teenagers.

“Alpha,” She whined, causing Peter’s cock to twitch once again. “It hurts so bad alpha.” She cried, turning to face the door.

“I know omega.” Peter said gently, though he was becoming increasingly frustrated with the rule Natasha had set. He had almost moaned when he heard YN’s gasp at being called by her classification. 

Tears pricked her eyes as a large puddle of her slick pooled beneath her and onto the wooden floor, panties having been discarded a long while ago. “Please fix it alpha.” She begged as the tears began to glide down her cheeks.

“Baby I can’t,” He said sadly, his heart hurting at her tone of voice. “Natasha said that I can’t.”

She let out a sob as her forehead hit the hated door, “Please, alpha, I need you to fix it.” YN begged once more.

Peter’s eyes were beginning to water as well as he spoke, “YN, baby, I need you to listen to me, okay? Are you listening?” He asked.

“Yes.” YN replied quietly as another bout of pain went through her stomach. 

Peter took on a more ‘alpha’ tone of voice as he spoke once again, “It’s gonna be okay baby. ‘Mega, I promise you’re gonna be okay. If I could take it all away, I would. But ‘mega, you’re gonna have to be strong, okay?” Everything he said was the opposite of what he wanted to do. He wanted throw open the damn door and take her, get rid of the pain she was feeling. 

“Okay alpha.” She spoke with a pained tone, trying her best not to cry out for him as more pain ripped through her. 

What neither of them had realized, however, was that Nat was stood in the other room listening to their exchange while speaking to May on the phone.

“I really don’t think either of them would regret it, May. She’s in pain and I can smell his rut already.” The red head said to the other woman with a sigh. “Neither of us really wanna allow this, but it’s probably the best thing for them. She’s on birth control…” Natasha trailed off, her shoulders moving to create a shrug.

“Okay, but did you talk to her father?” May questioned with a quirked brow, tapping her fingers against her kitchen table anxiously.

Natasha nodded to signal a yes, though May couldn’t see the gesture, “He just said not to interfere and see what happens.”

A particularly bad round of pain ripped through YN’s body, ending any resolve Peter had not to fall into his rut. “Omega, it’ll be okay, okay?” He said in his ‘alpha voice’. YN whined, now smelling his rut in the air along with her heat. 

“Oh shit, May he’s in his rut now.” Natasha said quickly, her eyes widening. “What do you want me to do?”

May sighed, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. If he gets aggressive, just let it go. I don’t want you hurt or something broken.”

Natasha hadn’t a choice as she heard Peter speak once more, “Omega, I want you to get back from the door, okay?” 

YN complied, sliding back as fast and as far as she could. The door swung open to reveal Peter, the outline of his hard on extremely visible in his jeans.

YN immediately presented for her alpha, ass in the air and face to the floor. Peter slid out of his clothing before sliding a finger down her folds, collecting her slick on his finger. He grinned as he took in the sight before him, her pussy glimmering with the slick her body had produced. “Beautiful, perfect omega.” He uttered as she wiggled her ass in the air. 

“Alpha please, I need your knot. Please!” She begged, pressing herself up against him. 

Peter obliged, shoving himself inside her, bottoming out as she moaned in both pain and pleasure. “God ‘mega, you feel so tight around me.” Peter groaned as he began to thrust in and out of her, giving the relief she needed so desperately.

“Alpha!” YN moaned as drool dropped from her lips while she was being rammed into. “I’m- I’m gonna-!” She whined.

“Me too ‘mega, let go baby.” Peter said between grunts, and YN followed his order to a fault. Hearing her moan out his classification while her walls closed around him was enough to cause him to finish inside of her, his knot locking them together for a little while.

Peter maneuvered so that YN was sat atop him whereas he was laying on his back on the floor, the two of them covered in a layer of sweat and slick, though neither of them cared much. 

Peter pressed a kiss to her forehead as she came to rest on his chest, his thumb drawing soft circles on her upper arm. “Thank you Peter.” YN said sleepily, whining gently as he slid out of her, not liking how empty she felt without him.

“No problem, YN. Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?” Peter said in a loving tone as she crawled inside her nest of blankets and pillows, and her body was covered up with the sweater Peter had been wearing. 

He smiled at her as she gestured for him to join her in the nest she had built, which was rare for an omega to do. The two slept in each other’s arms as Natasha and May, who had gotten there halfway through the encounter, peeked in on them. “So you aren’t really dating her dad are you?” May questioned quietly as they looked upon the sleeping teenagers.

“No, but Dan isn’t even sure he’s her dad so it’s an easy lie. She believes it enough. C’mon, I’ll set up a movie. I’m guessing you’ll wanna stay here for the next few days anyway.”

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[summerofspock]

*slams my fists on the table* give me azcrow pwp fic now it I’ll die

well my dear. here it is.

**

Ever since the thwarted apocalypse there had been a shift in Crowley’s relationship with Aziraphale. He can’t quite put his finger on it but if he had to explain he would use the following series of examples.

Before, Crowley was almost always the one to reach out; tempt to lunch here, bribe with a bottle of wine there. But now, Aziraphale calls him every other day or so and they get dinner or go to the theater or they end up back at Aziraphale’s bookshop chattering about the same old nonsense. It’s gotten to the point where it’s almost…domestic.

And it’s giving Crowley the willies.

Not that he hasn’t been desperate for something exactly like this for years (alright, millennia), but he has no idea why.

Is it Aziraphale saying, ah yes we can finally be proper friends? Or is it something more like, now that I don’t have a heavenly assignment, I’ve gotten rather bored?

By mutual agreement, they slowed down on the use of their powers, not wanting to draw attention from Above or Below for the time being, and Crowley supposed it had made things a little dull. He isn’t going speeding through downtown London or popping over to Germany for those chocolates Aziraphale likes. Instead he’s stuck in London limited by typical human transportation and trying to find new ways to entertain himself that aren’t demonic in nature.

Though he still tosses in a little mischief just for fun. He isn’t about to give it up entirely.

And while he understands boredom acutely, he’s entirely unprepared to walk into Aziraphale’s bookshop on a Tuesday and hear the telltale sound of sex echoing from the backroom. Passionate moans and grunts and the slap of skin.

He stumbles and knocks over a pile of books.

Drawn like a moth to a very disastrous flame, he feels himself pulled across the bookshop to stand in the door to Aziraphale’s office only to find the angel sitting at his desk and staring at his computer screen in consternation. A busty blonde is gasping as an ugly muscled man pushes in and—

Startling at Crowley’s sudden presence, Aziraphale looks over at him and immediately brightens. “Crowley! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The only thing that Crowley can manage is “What are you doing?”

Read on Ao3

He sounds unbearably stupid even to his own ears but whatever burst of embarrassment he should feel doesn’t register over the continued noises coming from the computer.

“Ah,” Aziraphale says wiggling in his seat and only then does Crowley notice the spread of magazines and books in front of him. Playboy, the Kama Sutra, what look to be honest-to-satan print outs, all of naked people in compromising positions. “Do you know what pornography is?” Aziraphale asks and then shakes his head as if he’s being silly. “Of course you do. I’m an angel and I know, of course a demon does.”

Crowley was passingly familiar with pornography even though it was an entirely human invention.

Ah-ah-ah, yeah, fuck, just like that.

Crowley covers his face with his hands and grits out, “Can you turn that off?”

With a click of the mouse, the room falls into silence.

“Would you like to explain why you’re watching pornography? In your bookshop? During business hours?”

Aziraphale flaps his hand, typically dismissive of any criticisms of his abysmal business practices. “Did you know I’ve been on this earth for nearly 6 millennia and have never engaged in intercourse before?“

Crowley grinds his teeth and feels his cheeks heat. What is he supposed to say to that?

“I realized that now, since we’re more or less living as humans, there’s so much left to try. I already like the food and the drink but I’ve found myself curious about this sex business. Have you tried it?”

With every passing second Crowley feels like the floor is collapsing deeper and deeper as he tries to find his footing in this horrifying conversation. “Once or twice,” he says, it’s only sort of a lie because he tried it by himself a few times but stopped because he thought Aziraphale would somehow know about the images that played in Crowley’s head when he masturbated. Soft angel hips and curling blond hair.

“Was it good? It seems to bring humans an awful lot of pleasure.”

“‘S alright,” he manages, shrugging his shoulders and Aziraphale scowls.

“That’s what you say about cheesecake. Sometimes I think you’re no judge of things.”

“I don’t know, angel. What do you want me to say?”

Aziraphale huffs. “Well alright, then I suppose I’ll have to try it out myself.”

The abject horror that Crowley feels at the mere of idea of anyone besides him touching Aziraphale, being close to Aziraphale, hearing those noises like ah-ah-ah—

“With a human?” Crowley asks incredulously instead of anything more incriminating.

Aziraphale’s scowl deepens. “Of course not. That’s far too risky. I’m already in hot water with Heaven and fornicating with humans is extremely frowned upon.”

Crowley snorts in acknowledgment and tries to piece together what that could possibly mean. If not humans then

“I was actually hoping you’d be interested in trying it out,” Aziraphale says, some of his frustration giving way to that bright twinkling expression he gets at the prospect of trying something new. Though it’s usually reserved for trying the newest restaurant on the block. “Especially if you’ve already done it. You can show me the ropes, so to speak.”

Something slithers up Crowley’s spine and he has the distinct fear that he might lose control of himself and become a very snake-shaped puddle. He takes a deep breath and says, “Alright.”

Which is the exact opposite of what he meant to say.

Aziraphale claps his hands and grows somehow brighter. “How delightful!” he says and then stands, taking Crowley’s hand  oh god have Crowley’s hands always sweat like this, very inconvenient and dragging him upstairs.

“Right now?” Crowley squeaks and Aziraphale looks back at him amused.

“What? It’s not like we have other plans. Assignments to get to or what have you.”

Which is how they end up on Aziraphale’s bed, clearly rarely used, a small thing with a tartan duvet that barely surprises Crowley at this point.

And while Crowley thought he knew what to expect, he still almost jumps out of his skin when Aziraphale’s fingers come up to his waistcoat and start tugging at the buttons. “What are you doing?” Crowley asks sharply and Aziraphale fixes him with one of his patented long suffering looks.

“Undressing you. Did you think we were going to do this fully clothed? Seems like it would be much less interesting.”

Crowley swallows and tries to relax as Aziraphale slides off his coat and then his vest, leaving him only in his gray shirt and jeans and feeling hopelessly hot about the collar.

Aziraphale pulls back and looks at him expectantly. When Crowley just stares at him, he huffs and starts undoing his bow tie. The motion, swift and practiced, draws Crowley back into himself and unbidden his hands go to Aziraphale’s own waistcoat, opening it slowly.

Crowley falls into the memories of thinking about exactly this moment. Tugging off Aziraphale’s clothes, putting his mouth on Aziraphale’s neck, rolling the soft folds of the angel’s body in has hands. Warm and delicious and perfect.

Aziraphale smiles at him and Crowley could almost categorize it as a smirk but before he can the expression is replaced by one of intense focus, pink tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to unbutton Crowley’s pants. The scrape of his fingers against the part of his body that Crowley so rarely thinks about causes a spark in his belly, shocking and hot before Aziraphale pulls his hands away in frustration. “Can you take those ridiculous things off?”

Crowley laughs, surprised at himself for being able to make such a normal sound while this unbelievable thing is happening, but he does what he knows best and obeys Aziraphale’s request.

After he’s shimmied out of his jeans, Aziraphale gives him an appraising look. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen each naked before. Or have we?” he asks, suddenly distracted as he looks down at the duvet.

“This is hardly the time, Aziraphale,” Crowley grates out, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable in just a t-shirt while Aziraphale is still dressed in is pressed shirt and trousers.

“Right,” Aziraphale says, returning his attention to Crowley and settling his hands on the demon’s thighs.

Trying to focus, Crowley undoes Aziraphale’s shirt and gives a little frustrated groan when he encounters an undershirt. “How many layers are you wearing?” he asks.

“Not all of us go about without underpants on.”

Crowley grunts, indignant, but not indignant enough to respond as he undoes Aziraphale’s belt and in a fit of inspiration, pushes him back onto the pillows to pull off his trousers and underwear.

Aziraphale’s legs are dusted in dark blonde hair, thicker about the shins and thinning as Crowley skates his gaze up to Aziraphale’s hips where the roll of his stomach settles over his pelvis looking as good as Crowley had always dreamed.

“Take off your shirt,” Aziraphale demands, breaking the moment.

“Only if you do too,” he says back before sitting on his heels to tug off his last article of clothing.

When he looks back down, he sees Aziraphale stretched out in nothing but his socks — of course his socks — looking very comfortable indeed and very unfortunately flaccid.

Crowley is not in the same situation and his cheeks burn at the thought that he’s so turned on and Aziraphale is just there, looking at him.

Aziraphale sits up against the headboard and reaches up a hand to take off Crowley’s glasses. “Seems a bit weird for you to keep them on,” he explains even as Crowley looks away.

He can feel Aziraphale’s gaze on him, assessing and cataloging or whatever that blasted angel brain is doing.

Patting the bed beside him, Aziraphale says, “Lay down, my dear. Let me look at you.”

Hesitantly, Crowley stretches out on the side of the bed closest to the wall, feeling very exposed, his erection pressing up against his stomach.

It’s been a very long time since Crowley has had an erection. Perhaps a century. And that had been one of those times when he’d tried on the whole masturbation thing for a moment so this is entirely uncharted water.

“How very fascinating,” Aziraphale breathes as he runs the back of his knuckles over Crowley’s clavicle, down his sternum where they come to a stop just below his ribs. It makes Crowley’s heart skitter in his chest and he’s not sure if he hates it or loves it. Which is really the story of his demonic existence at this point.

“Can I touch your penis?” Aziraphale asks frankly which absolutely shatters the romantic image Crowley had been building up in his mind until that moment.

“Please don’t say penis,” he says, closing his eyes with an irritated groan.

Aziraphale looks affronted. “What would you prefer? Dick? Member? Cock?”

And now the rest of Crowley’s face feels like its burning. “Please no.”

“Well how are we going to do this if you won’t let me use words for your primary sex organ?”

And now it’s getting worse. Crowley resists the urge to cover his face. “How about you do what you want and I’ll stop you if I don’t like it.”

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. “Fine but you better say something.”

And perhaps Aziraphale had the right of it because without warning he wraps his hand around Crowley’s cock and the demon nearly shoots of the bed in surprise. “Really, Crowley, calm down. You’re acting like I’m trying to murder you.”

Forcing himself to breathe normally, Crowley lays back down and tries to relax as Aziraphale runs his hand up and then down, twisting slightly at the base and making Crowley’s toes curl.

“Did you like that?’ Aziraphale asks in a low voice, a quiet breath in his ear, and Crowley nods, certain he’ll make a fool of himself if he speaks.

Aziraphale hums against his neck, body curled against Crowley’s side as he continues to move his hand for a few moments before abruptly pulling away. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

And then Crowley is forced to watch the swing of Aziraphale’s pert little arse as he walks out of the bedroom. His cock pulses hopefully.

Returning after only a few moments with a bottle in his hand, Aziraphale holds it up with a toothy grin. ��Lube!”

Crowley falls back against the pillows and can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him. “How long have you been planning this?”

Aziraphale falls into a stance that Crowley knows well: his I’m about to tell a needlessly detailed story, please listen stance. “Well, I decided on Saturday to start researching the intercourse process. Positions, angles, types of genitalia and partner configuration. And when I wasn’t sure if I would be able to obtain a partner, I purchased lubricant with the intention of pursuing self-stimulation. However!” he says happily, “I realized on Sunday that you were an ideal partner. So here we are.”

While ideal partner is not exactly the most romantic declaration in context, it still makes Crowley’s heart flutter. “Very scientific of you,” Crowley deadpans and his sarcasm is missed by the angel who does a little happy wiggle on his way back to the bed.

After Aziraphale settles back down next to him, contemplating the bottle of lube, Crowley’s attention is drawn back to his still soft penis, nestled against his thigh and looking no more interested than it had 10 minutes ago.

Knowing that Aziraphale is about to go a bit wild — as he tends to do when excited — Crowley pushes his through his anxiety and lays a hand on Aziraphale’s hip which fits so well in his hand and is so warm that Crowley thinks he might drown in the surge of want that crashes into him.

“Angel,” he says. It’s a bit rough around the edges but he manages.

Looking up from the instructions label, Aziraphale meets his eyes and his brow furrows. “Yes, my dear?”

“Do you, er, need anything?” Crowley asks with a meaningful glance between them.

Aziraphale looks down and says, “Oh! I suppose I didn’t even think about that. I got a bit excited.”

Aziraphale stares at himself for a moment and then asks, “Well…how does it work? You seem to be doing just fine.”

Is he really about to have a conversation about the birds and the bees with an angel? Who he has been in love with for centuries?

“Erm, are you not…are you not, er, interested?”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asks, looking at him blankly.

Crowley closes his eyes, both embarrassed and full of dread. How nice it is to have to ask your friend if they’re physically attracted to you. “You have to want me. Be aroused? Attracted? Ringing any bells?”

“Well, you are very attractive,” Aziraphale says it’s obvious. “At least I’ve always thought so. And I feel like — looking at you is sort of like looking at the menu at the Ritz. A lot of options. All delicious.”

Crowley can’t stand the disgustingly sappy squirming thing his stomach is doing but he pushes through, “Where do you want to start?”

Aziraphale pulls back and one hand goes to Crowley’s upper arm, the tips of his fingers brushing his skin, as he looks over Crowley’s body once more. The strange feeling of exposure is still there but it’s also warm and arousing and now Crowley knows Aziraphale likes looking.

“Here,” Aziraphale says before leaning in and brushing his mouth over Crowley’s collarbone, the angel’s hand tightening around his elbow as he sucks in a breath through his nose.

Crowley stays still as Aziraphale nuzzles his way down his chest, pausing to kiss each new patch of hair, his nipples, the divot of his sternum, the underside of ribs — which tickles but he bites his lip so Aziraphale will never find out about that particularly embarrassing tidbit.

“Mmm, I was right. You are delicious,” Aziraphale murmurs, mouth still pressed against Crowley’s chest.

Crowley can only manage a strangled sound, the spring coiling inside him threatening release before he grasps Aziraphale and rolls the angel onto his back. “Your turn.”

Aziraphale pouts a little but it fades into a gasp when Crowley succumbs to the long buried urge to bite the place where Aziraphale’s neck meets his jaw. He licks over the light stubble, the acrid taste of aftershave mingling with something warm like cinnamon and brandy. Kicking one of Aziraphale’s legs out, he clambers over him, slotting his knee between the angel’s legs to align their bodies. When their chests press together, Crowley’s reptilian instincts scream warm, soft, sleep and the comfort of it suffuses him for a moment before the realization that it’s Aziraphale under him and the hands on his back are digging into his shoulder blades silently asking for more. And, well, he can’t say no to that.

Sinking down Aziraphale’s body, he conjures up all the images he ever played behind his eyes whenever he had experimented with his sexuality before. It had always been blonde hair, pink cheeks, breathy laughs and that sunshine warm feeling that Crowley can’t shake for days after seeing Aziraphale.

It’s no starting place, those impressions, so he tosses them aside and does what feels right.

Settled firmly between Aziraphale’s parted legs, Crowley tries to think objectively. It’s a miserable enterprise given the way the angel is looking at him, soft eyes and parted lips and oh—

Crowley runs his nails down Aziraphale’s shin and comes into contact with the rough fabric of his socks. Rolling his eyes he says, “I can’t believe about to do this,” and then tugs off one brown sock and then the other before tossing them to the ground.

Slithering all the way to the end of the bed he gives Aziraphale a dark look and says, “I am never taking off your socks again. Your responsibility from here on out.”

“Noted,” Aziraphale says and it sounds breathless and isn’t that something.

Crowley curls his left arm around Aziraphale’s leg and folds over him, kissing his ankle and then his shin, dragging his lips over the soft hair and delicate skin. With each inch Aziraphale’s breaths grow unsteadier and Crowley reaches up his right hand to grasp at Aziraphale’s hip as much as to feel him as steady him.

He flicks his tongue over Aziraphale’s kneecap and is rewarded with a little hiss. Glancing up at Aziraphale from he is, laying on his belly between the angel’s legs, Crowley sees him, a hand fisted in the blankets and the other tossed over his face. It’s astounding and Crowley has to remind himself to focus on the task at hand.

He nibbles his way up Aziraphale’s inner thigh to his now thankfully half—hard cock and licks the crevice between where the angel’s thigh meets his pelvis, the dark blonde hair scraping over his tongue before he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of Aziraphale’s hip.

He feels fingers sink into his hair as another gasp echoes in his ears and if he was hard before he doesn’t think he had an understanding of how turned on someone could be until Aziraphale’s nails scrape over his scalp and he whimpers against the angel’s stomach.

“Is this—” he begins.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Aziraphale demands not letting him finish his half formed thought.

That’s enough instruction for Crowley who loses himself between Aziraphale’s legs, their comforting enclosure making him feel safe and warm as he kisses and bites at the soft folds of Aziraphale’s stomach, playing to the rhythm of the angel’s noises of pleasure until the desire to taste him becomes too much and Crowley sinks down and takes his half hard cock into his mouth.

The noise Aziraphale makes is something akin to a kettle whistling and if they were in any other situation Crowley would be laughing hysterically, instead he closes his eyes and wills his heart into submission. This is — this is more intimacy than he ever expected.

He’d resolved himself to something like an eternity of friendship. Aziraphale was so important. The most important. Something not worth risking just to indulge his own desires for closeness. The intimacy of dinner and conversation over wine was enough to make Crowley think he could last several more millennia before suggesting anything else.

Anything like this.

So he takes that feeling of gratitude (and yes, joy) and pours it into his actions, savoring the way Aziraphale’s cock hardens slowly in his mouth, the salty ocean taste of his precome when he grows hard enough, the weight of him in Crowley’s hand as he works it in time with his tongue.

But most of all Crowley lives in the moments between Aziraphale’s breaths and moans, feeling powerful and as close to loved as he thinks he’ll ever feel.

The fingers tighten in his hair and when Aziraphale says, “Crowley” in a desperate, naked voice, the demon thinks he might black out from sheer want.

What he doesn’t expect his to find himself unceremoniously tossed on his back and straddled by a very red in the face angel who presses his warm, oh so warm, palm into the dip of Crowley’s chest and says, “I want to penetrate you but it is absolutely acceptable if you would prefer to continue in this fashion.”

It’s ridiculous and arousing and so Aziraphale that Crowley can barely respond. The angel cocks his head and licks his lips, casting his hips forward so his erection grazes Crowley’s and fuck. “Yeah, alright. Yes. Please,” Crowley says and it sounds desperate and pathetic but his higher processing is completely shot so it doesn’t matter in the slightest.

Something giddy lights up the angel’s face before he lunges across the bed and grabs the lube. “After I decided I wanted to have sex with you, I read about this a lot. Anal penetration is quite interesting. Do you have a prostate?”

The words are a lot to parse in his hazy and aroused state, but Crowley tries his best. “Erm, I don’t—”

“Well, they’re human bodies regardless if we’re in them or not. So it seems likely,” Aziraphale says as he squirts some liquid onto the fingers of his right hand.

In a mirror of Crowley’s actions moments (hours?) ago, Aziraphale grasps at Crowley’s knee and hooks it over his shoulder as he comes down on his belly between Crowley’s legs.

At first he expects a sort of cold hard press but instead something hot and insistent flutters against the part of himself he had never explored during his brief forays into masturbation.

Aziraphale makes a little grunting sound and lifts his head, lips bright red and slick with spit. “Is this alright, my dear? I read that analingus is the best way to prepare for penetration.”

Crowley’s head falls back against the pillows and before he can say something scathing about analingus the tongue is back and doing remarkable things, causing sparks of pleasure to light behind his eyes and his leg muscles to twitch peculiarly. It is foreign and he feels vulnerable but so, so good.

Aziraphale pulls away and kisses his inner thigh. “This may be a bit cold,” he warns before that insistent press Crowley had expected and then Aziraphale’s fingers are inside him and its strange but it’s also Aziraphale and that swelling intimacy from before is back but even better and Crowley keens as his back arches and his legs shake.

“Oh I like that,” Aziraphale says from between his legs, his head bowed as he looks down at his work, the curly mop of his blond hair cascading over his forehead.

The next few minutes pass in a blur of sensations and emotions that Crowley can’t bear articulating.

The only words he manages to think are: yes, this.

Insistent hands on his hips rouse him and he looks at Aziraphale, feeling somehow like he can’t breathe.

“According to my research, penetration is easiest if you turn over and get on your knees—”

Crowley growls. “If you say anything else about your bloody research, I’ll brain you with your own lube. Now get inside me.”

Aziraphale looks a bit flustered but nods and dips his head to kiss the line of Crowley’s hip.

“Of course, my dear. No need to get tetchy.”

The press of Aziraphale’s fingers is nothing like the press of his cock and for a moment Crowley wishes he’d taken him up on that offer of any easier position, but then something gives and Crowley just feels full. When he opens his eyes at the new sensation, he sees the angel above him, a look of pure concentration on his face as he fists one hand into the pillow beside Crowley’s head and the other curls about his bent knee.

He hears Aziraphale groan. “Fuck.”

And then Aziraphale pulls back — and oh that’s a bit weird — but when he slams back inside Crowley sees stars and he can’t help but echo the angel’s sentiment.

“Fuck,”

“Good?” Aziraphale asks in a tone of voice Crowley doesn’t think he’s ever heard before, low and tight and…

He does his best to keep his eyes open, watch as Aziraphale moves against him, cataloging each pull and push of his hips to remember later in case this never happens again. But, despite his efforts, he finds himself becoming a mess of scrabbling hands and embarrassing noises and a tight coiling need.

Crowley is as surprised as Aziraphale — if his sharp intake of breath is anything to go by — when the coil releases and his nerves cry out at once, pleasure so acute he thinks it might be the only true benefit of this human body.

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale says, sounding overwhelmed as he drops his head to Crowley’s shoulder and continues to move his hips, first faster and then erratically before he also comes apart.

The angel collapses for a moment, sinking on top of him, and Crowley relishes the warm, comforting weight.

Aziraphale kisses his chest briefly before slipping away and Crowley feels abruptly empty and cold with a keen fear curling in his belly.

Looking like he’d washed his face, Aziraphale returns and hands him a warm wet cloth before settling next to him the small bed.

Crowley refuses to look at him as he wipes down his belly and takes his own leave to clean himself up in the bathroom. Do humans really do this every time they have sex?

Aziraphale is lying in bed, now clad only in his boxers and undershirt, smiling like a loon and Crowley freezes in the doorway.

“That was delightful, don’t you think?” Aziraphale says, tossing a spare shirt he has cradled against his chest at Crowley who holds it out, realizing it is one of Aziraphale’s and not his own.

He pulls the shirt over his head and it settles at the top of his thighs. It smells just like Aziraphale, that cinnamon brandy smell.

“Erm, it was alright.”

Aziraphale scoffs and scoots to the far side of the twin bed before patting the space he just vacated. “Typical demon. Why can’t you just enjoy things?”

Crowley sits on the edge of the bed, wary, but is tugged down against the pillow by an insistent Aziraphale, nattering the while. “I particularly liked when you took my penis in your mouth. What is that called? Fellatio? That felt very good. Not that the rest wasn’t equally spectacular —”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupts.

“Yes?” Aziraphale asks, wide eyed as Crowley rolls over to face him.

“Shut up.”

Aziraphale gives him an offended look. “Well, I don’t see how we’ll improve if we don’t review what parts we liked best.”

That pronouncement settles around Crowley and he has to stop himself from pulling away in disbelief. Instead he asks, “What? We’re doing that again?”

Aziraphale looks disappointed but still manages to sound bright when he says, “Not if you don’t want to of course. However I enjoyed myself and I suppose I thought you did too.”

“I did,” Crowley rushes to reassure him.

“Oh fantastic. It’s settled then. There’s so much to try!” Aziraphale says and then kisses him squarely on the mouth.

Crowley stares at him when he pulls back and then Aziraphale’s eyes widen.

“Kissing!” he cries, all excitement. “That’s what we should do next! Perhaps tomorrow?”

Bewildered, Crowley doesn’t complain when Aziraphale lays on his back and pulls Crowley against his side.

“Tomorrow sounds good,” Crowley says, closing his eyes.

[kheprrison-arts]

War Soldier Chapter Four

Fandom: Mianite Ship: Diacate Chapters: 4/? Summary: Tom receives a vision of what happened before he wound up on the island. Extra notes: Posting this before I go to bed. Turns out I was just missing a couple sentences.

Tom jolted awake, sitting up straight. Beads of cold sweat dripped from his forehead and his heart beating rapidly. It’s midnight, the moonlight shining through the window, lighting up the room’s stone floors and dust particles as they floated around with an eerie light.

The memory of his dream was already fading, but he knew what happened. It felt almost familiar, like what he saw was his own memories. But that should be impossible, he memories were specifically wiped from his brain from the gods when choosing him to live on this wretched island.

Now he just had questions that he knew for sure that would keep him awake.

He fell back in bed after his heartbeat and his breathing slowed to their normal pace. He moved house not too long ago, wanting to live closer to his friends. It’s been a few years since they returned home form the mess that was Ruxomar. Ever since then he’s been completely restless.

Well in all honesty, Tom has almost never slept. He and his friends constantly stayed awake through the days and nights, never seeing fit to lie in bed for just a couple minutes. They always forged weapons, brewed potions, tweaked their vaults, built new houses, reconstructed old houses. They always had something to do. Sometimes when they didn’t were the purge days which was on a set schedule of once a week on every Saturday no matter what, which was good because apparently no one on the island ever had anything to do one Saturday’s.

Tom sighed. Saturday comes in the morning, meaning he won’t be able to get the questions he has answered.

Not unless he goes now.

He clung himself out of bed (literally) and slipped on his gray hoodie and jogging pants before running out of his house in the cold rain. The house, again is very simple, built in the wall of a mountain. In fact it was his originally house, just refurbished is all. The bridge, still dinnerboned since the day before he went rogue and killed everyone. Not that the dinnerbonning of his bridge was what made him snap, he just felt the need to go rogue for the purpose of making his god happy.

He stopped under the golden trees just outside his house, standing in a deep puddle. He hadn’t realized how much it was raining. Pouring even. In fact, Tom was surprised there was even enough space for the moon’s light to reach past the dark clouds covering the sky. He took his pale hand and slicked back his wet, blue hair before it got too in the way while it had started to stick flat to his forehead.

Tom made a run for it after observing the area, though he made sure to be careful enough to not slip anywhere. He wouldn’t want his friends to make fun of him for shitting himself.

He arrived at the priest’s house and slowed down, not wanting to make too much noise though he knew the downpour was noisy enough so it’s not like Declan would notice the pattern of footsteps anyway. Besides it’s not like ye priest cared if you were up past midnight, because everyone was, he’d just ask questions to why you’re sneaking around in his courtyard and then just silently watch you. He’s kinda creepy sometimes. Sometimes you could describe him as aloof.

He slid trough the nether portal and immediately started running towards his god’s temple. He needed questions now before morning hits and he knew he only had a few hours.

He slowed down to a slow walking pace. He’s been through his god’s temple but it seems to almost be different every time. Plus it was just cool. Before he got to ponder too much on the dark and massive fortress-like building he caught a glimpse of a bright orange light. Despite there being lava pouring from the ceiling in multiple spots around the room and the pools of magma outside of the temple Tom knew exactly what, or who, the light was coming from. He could feel the demon’s cold presence yet warm atmosphere.

He walked around columns to find who the light was coming from and found his way to the throne his god was supposed to be sitting in.

Furia sat in the throne, maskless, with a devilish smirk spread across his face. His abnormally dog-like teeth glinted from the light of his arms and stripes and his golden eyes bored deep into Tom’s.

“Furia,” Tom mumbled, brows furrowing. Furia’s head tilted a bit, that crazy smirk still on his features. Tom remembered well if their last run in and he knew the fire beast wasn’t too keen on it. In fact he knew Furia wouldn’t think twice when wanting to skin someone alive, especially when his god is sleeping.

“Tomas,” Furia’s ear twitched, a rumbling rose deep within his throat. “How’s the weather down there?”

Tom chuckled, he could tell Furia was keeping his voice down obviously trying not to wake their god who was probably asleep in the room behind the throne. “Kinda warm down here,” Tom said, “you think it’s cold enough up there where I could join you?”

Furia’s smirk fell into a sneer and he stood up, almost abruptly. Around his waist is a sword sheathed, a sword Tom remember’s all too well. The sword he knows is long with a yellowish-green blade while the hold is a deep color, similar to the obsidian that’s attached to part of Furia’s molten arms. Furia set his hand on the hilt of his blade, resting it there while he slowly descended the steps leading to the throne. He kept his burning eyes on Tom who stayed completely still, he didn’t show any fear of the molten demon and made no move to grab his own sword. Mainly because he forgot to equip his sword but he knew exactly that if he let out one girlish scream then his god would immediately respond with a fistful of rage. Nothing would hurt the god’s champion, even if it were his own guardian.

Furia started to circle around Tom, like a vulture does to roadkill. Tom stood still, watching Furia when he came back into view. “You’ve changed, Syndicate.” Furia said quietly.

“Not really?” Tom’s brows furrowed in confusion, “not since last time I’ve seen you. I think it’s you who’s changed,” he pointed at Furia accusingly.

Furia only hummed, staring up at the blue-haired man with his golden eyes. He saw Tom was struggling with keeping a straight face, a smirk threatening his lips. Furia’s humming turned into what Tom assumed was a rumbling meant to threaten him.

“Listen, Furia, I just came here for answers,” Tom said.

“What do you want answers for?” Furia’s rumbling stopped and he smirked.

“I… I want to know what I saw.”

“Thanks for being specific,” Furia mumbled to himself, crossing his arms.

[postitnowke]

P5

stouthearted when the continued falling, and they had run out of food because of their master's negligence, and many had been forced to turn on their dead for sustenance. He could still smell the sickly scent of sweat, blood, sickness and fear of dead and dying victims, witnessing Indian and British servant alike screaming in absolute agony as the sickness engulfed them. Some had attempted to crawl weakly towards their families, seeking just a little bit of closeness and comfort before they'd passed on to their next life, only for their kin to turn on them and haul their infected family members back to the cots they were to sleep on and tie them to it so they couldn't escape again. When it was his turn he'd known better than to follow their example. His mother had never left it a secret that she had little care for him. She might not have abandoned him somewhere to die nor left him to be raised by someone who might think even less of him than she had when his infirmity had been realized, but this did not mean he was loved. She expected the child she had named Lungri, to be grateful that she hadn't tossed him aside as trash. And in truth, despite how her words stung and bit into him leaving his soul bleeding out, he was. Not all parents kept their children. He'd been born wrong, diagnosed with what doctors referred to as foot drop. It was a term describing the difficulty he had when lifting the front part of his right paw. Instead of walking correctly, the front of his foot would drag on the ground when he walked. Sometimes it was so bad he would need to raise his thigh when he walked, like a normal child might climb stairs. This would cause a set distinctive rhythmic slapping footsteps across the floor's surface as his bad foot was lowered down onto the floor with each padded step. Anytime he'd approached her with his usual shuffling noise she would become angry with her son, feeling he intentionally made a scene before the fellow servants. She was a woman of strict decorum. The world could and had been going to pieces before them and she continued to expect every one to go about business as she did. Failure to comply would earn a swift tongue lashing. She might have been born Dalit, but she was a master of speaking honeyed poison. So much so much was her proficiency that even the senior servants feared the blade expertly hidden within her words. She'd felt his physical weakness weakened her own image and had resented him for it. What made matters worse was that it was a neurological issue and the severity of the problem could change on a day to day basis. As a result part of his mother had convinced herself he really didn't need as much care as he asked for and that his odd gait was the result of him attempting to act the buffoon to get attention. As a result, she would often attempt to catch him out on his supposed fakery. Like most children, he'd wanted to please her and he'd made an attempt not to allow the weakness in his foot show, slowing his movement down so he could carefully place his paw down in a manner that was almost normal. Instead of being pleased by his attempts to placate her she'd seen it as reaffirmation that a good proportion of his problems were merely a cry for attention and would lose patience with her troublesome son whenever he'd moved too slowly. As melodramatic as he felt the statement was, he'd learned that, in her eyes, it seemed nothing he did was good enough to gain her praise. Her actions made it impossible to seek comfort from anyone, he expected judgment wherever he went. Perhaps this had made things easier for him when he too had contracted the disease. Unlike most of his fellow servants, he expected no one to be there to hold him. He'd remained curled into himself, covered in a puddle of puddle of his own vomit, chills wracking through him like palm leaves in a hurricane, he was unable to move without crying out. Pain like thousands of tiny fish hooks clamping him him tightly through his abdomen. It had felt like a group of fishermen during a contest had all realized they'd hooked the same fish and were determined to make it theirs. The constant tugging from all sides peeling the fish apart, ripping organs every which way, and parting muscle from bones. His coughing, a choking rattling thing, damaged his fragile body further, it was like he'd been in a rush to complete his chores and had grabbed a bite of naan bread to keep the hunger at bay, but in his haste had misjudged how much food his esophagus could handle. So instead of safely consuming the food it had instead felt as if he'd swallowed one of his master's cricket balls. Any water he might have gulped hadn't made it easier to remove the obstruction from his airways. Instead it seemed keen to work against him. He'd coughed up a a deep red foam, the swelling in his throat making it nearly impossible to breathe. To his knowledge he had called for his mother but once, a sign the delirium had been getting to him. If he had been conscious he would have been more surprised to see her slipping close to him to refill his empty water cup and give her son half of her own food. She'd taken the cup, pressing it to his lips, forcing him drink, to stay hydrated. She'd ripped the meal into easier to manage pieces, making him eat, to keep fed. He would later learn to his disgust that the food She'd given him had been hacked off the bodies of the dead and shared among the living after the food rations had run dry. They could still collect water from the holes in the roof but food did not come so easily, the master had seemingly forgotten they needed supplies. She had continued to give food to her son until she had been driven by the illness to take a lie in herself. She may not have been fond of her son in a way a mother was expected to feel for her child. He was too brittle too weak in body and wicked in spirirt that it felt like a punishment to be burdened with such a boy. But that didn't mean he wasn't still her son. No matter how much she might have wished for a better mannered and more physically abled child he was what she had been given. He was troublesome but this did not mean she'd wanted him dead. It was preferable to her that he live, a handicapped child was better than none at all. But he had wanted more than what she could give him, if she could not accept that he was handicapped, he'd still wanted her to love him. He knew she despised him for his infirmity, she'd made it obvious enough that even in the thrall of a deadly illness he'd thought better than to expect anything from her. Far more frequently he'd called for Tabaqui. His only friend, who, had he lived, would have spent the entire time by his side making ridiculous puns that would have encouraged him to get better just so that he could pretend to suffocate the wretched jackal with a pillow. But he wasn't there, the one person he'd most wanted to see, had died in horrific pain frothing and foaming at the mouth, no longer capable of telling friend from foe. Lungri had been attacked and almost bitten by Tabaqui. Had it not been for timely intervention he too may have been lost to hydrophobia. He hadn't cried when Brother Grey had snapped the jackal's neck. He'd been terrified, his friend had never been particularly strong in body and he'd been lifted clear off from his feet and slammed into the wall with enough force to make the dishes rattle. And then with a blast of noise he'd never ever forget the canine had ceased all movements. He'd waited for the still form to move once more but he'd waited in vain. Tabaqui had wanted so badly to die. Watching him whimper and beg for an end to his suffering had broken something inside of him that he'd never been able to fix. Besides, his friend would be reincarnated soon afterwards, hopefully as a Brahmin (the uppermost class in the Caste system). But now with his own mind lost to pain, he'd cried harder for his lost companion than he had ever done or would ever do again. On any other occasion he might have been ashamed of himself but he'd just felt so broken and abandoned by everything there was nothing left in him, his mind a overflowing water sack filled with feelings and disease. It would take him a long time to recover, his body weak and shaky months after the event. Two The and the various religions that had looked upon the disabled as having brought down their own misfortunes on their own through some manner of wicked action.

[thistlesconeslochsandhaggis]

The Hangover was always a silly movie. Never understood why people would do such stupid things or how they could even find shit like they did in Bangkok.

Well… now I understand.

Bangkok is not your typical city. Old traditions blend with new, rising trends and cultures. You used to be able to tell the difference between a man and woman, but now it’s not so easy. It should be, right?

Nah, some of those dudes pull off being a woman too well. They even pull it off better than some of us women; including me.

Usually, you can tell if it’s a man. You’ve got the square jaw, broad shoulders, big hands, and over compensation of trying to fit in too much. The one’s in Bangkok will make you question though. Some of the ones who are an actual woman look like men.

So how the hell can you tell? Easy… stay away from Thais for the most part unless you know 100%.

Anyways, that’s besides my point at this moment.

Never before would I have thought I’d have a night out in Bangkok. All of the teachers decided to head into the big city to celebrate one of our friend’s birthday. We wanted to party until the cows come home, and we did pretty much that.

Friday seemed to drag on. We weren’t doing anything save for watching kids practice for sports day. It seemed to take forever. We just wanted to get going and hit the road.

Finally, we got to do just that. Everyone seemed to be running late, and Sophie and I were ready to just leave them if they didn’t show up. The bus was set to leave at 5 PM, and if we hit the next one who knows when we would get into Bangkok.

Eventually, we all got together at the bus station and made our way down. It seemed to take forever. In reality, it kind of did…

Here’s the thing, in Thailand these buses seem to only reach a max speed of 60 kph. There are the rare occasions they hit 80 kph, but that’s few and far. For us Americans, that’s about 40 mph (AKA slow as hell!). Texans are used to driving 75 – 85 mph. We’ve got places to go and no time to waste. Thailand doesn’t run like that. They seem to have all the time in the world here.

Since it was Friday, and there was a holiday Monday, everyone was out on the road. What should’ve taken us about 2 1/2 hours ended up taking us 3 1/2.

We were all tired, cramped, hungry, and ready to get going. Energy was quickly slipping away. It didn’t help that earlier that week, and that day, I had the major shits. I was taking Imodium tablets to help me get through the days. I don’t know if it was some kind of food I ate or a bug, but it was not helping me one bit. The entire bus ride I was worried I was going to shit my pants. Then about an hour in I had to pee.

Great, right?

Yeah, the others found out a bit of my bad side. By the time the bus reached the station, I had a headache, my bladder was about to burst, I was hungry, and if I didn’t reach a restroom soon I was going to blow.

When we got off the bus everyone wanted to stand around trying to figure out what to do. I was in no mood to wait, so I started yelling to go and then pushed my way forward and walked fast to that restroom. I felt bad, but the relief I felt when I finally went was worth it. My bladder hurt for the next few hours it was so full.

Next thing we had to tackle were the taxis. We got a couple and headed to the hostel. We lost the guys in the other one, but they eventually found us.

When the taxi dropped us off, the girls and I were a bit confused. We expected to see the hostel in broad view. Peter took us across the street, then started to go down an alley. Bikes, trash, random people, and stray cats covered it. There were puddles of water, people cooking, and it looked as if we were about to head to a brothel. This had to be one of the sketchiest areas I’ve seen since I’ve been in Thailand. We turned down another alley way with a large purple building and saw the sign for the Compound halfway down.

Never would I have thought to find this place there. Surprisingly though, it was quite nice. The staff was friendly and everything seemed pretty clean. I’ve heard staying in hostels were nice, but refused to try it on my own. White girl alone in the big city and staying in a hostel? Not such a good idea. That’s why I was completely glad to go here with a large group.

We took some time to get ready, and then headed out to Khao San Road (about a 10 minute walk). I had a new dress, put on some makeup for once, and was ready! We were all ready to have a few drinks after the week we had.

Everyone was looking at us. We were white people wandering about in Bangkok at night. We stuck out like a sore thumb. One of the other teachers, Alan, made a comment about how I could actually cleaned up nicely. Not something you want to hear all the time…

I wanted to turn to him and tell him how huge of an ass he was or how he wasn’t that good looking either. But, instead, I punched his arm “lightly” and joked with him saying, “you asshole” when I really wanted to say you can shove it up your ass.

I’ll save you some time… I had more people flirting with me that night by far than he did. Karma’s a bit of a bitch.

In Thailand, it’s normally too hot to put on makeup for school every day. You’re up in front of the class yelling, walking around, the humidity clings to you, and you’re sweating a majority of the time. Yeah, I’m not going to put makeup on a whole lot.

Anyways, we were all starving and it took forever for people to figure out what to eat since we all wanted to accommodate each other. All I knew is that once I saw a Burger King I knew what I wanted.

I had not had decent meat since the first day I arrived in Thailand and a good burger sounded amazing. Most fast food places here taste a bit different, but Burger King was pretty close to what we got back home. It hit the spot and the beef was amazing! It was worth the 400 baht. I would gladly pay that again the next time I’m in Bangkok.

Some of the teachers had some Thai food and others got McDonald’s. After eating, we all met up and hit up some of the bars on Khao San Road.

Now let me tell you now, the prices are a bit expensive. They know foreigners are coming in with money. For them it might be cheap, but if you’re living on a Thai paycheck it’s a bit much. A drink can cost anywhere from 80 – 500 baht, sometimes even up to 1000 baht depending on what you get and where you go.

Khao San Road is crowded with people, street vendors, and food. You can try things such as scorpion or crickets, or you can head over to the next stall and pick up a gorgeous dress. Whatever your preference, you’re sure to find something on this road.

The first bar we hit up was the Golf Bar. It’s a great place to start off the night. For about 400 baht you can get a bucket filled with your poison. Since I wasn’t keen on drinking a lot too quickly, I splurged and got a Jack and Coke. For a Texan, this was heaven! I’ve missed good whisky so much. Thailand seems to focus on Scotch whiskies or Hong Tong (blended spirits).

All of us had a good time listening to music, talking, and dancing. We met up with a few other people and had even more fun. There was a Scottish and a Finnish guy. Their accents were wonderful!

As the night continued throngs of people flooded into the bar and crowded the street. Eventually, we ended up dancing, drinking, and smoking outside the bar. Each song struck a cord and we all went crazy.

When you’re out doing things like this, you never have a clue who you’ll meet. In fact, I met another girl from America. She had just moved to Austin when I had just moved out of there. It was such a funny coincidence. What was even funnier was when I learned her name later that night… Sammy. Yeah, who would’ve thought the two people from Texas with the same name and lived in the same spots would be in Bangkok on Khao San Road that night?

It wasn’t long before we were all sweating and the hair went up. To be honest, I don’t know how people can get drunk sometimes with it being so hot in Thailand (that is until I got drunk the next night in Pattaya haha).

We needed to change things up and head into some place cool. The club next door advertised air conditioning, dance floor, and great music.

Count me in! All you had to do was say air conditioning, and I’d be more than happy to pay the cover fee.

The cover fee was about 100 baht, but this included a free drink from the bar, so it kind of paid for itself. The area was great. There was a large Christmas tree and a huge dance floor. People stood up on the stage dancing, green strobe lights echoed through the room, and the atmosphere was alive.

We met up with some of the people from the previous bar and continued our drinking. This place was yet another one where I decided to splurge on a drink. I wasn’t going all out with beers, so I decided to spend a bit more for fewer. I got a Black Russian for about 400 baht and it tasted amazing. It was worth the price for some good liquor. You get tired of drinking beer and cheap stuff after awhile here.

I met up with the Irish guy from before and continued to talk. It was easy to spot he was a player. He was all over the women, and I know how Irish guys can be. They may be sweet, but they’re also smooth talking as I found out in Edinburgh.

At one point, I kept feeling like someone was watching me. Turns out someone was. The Finnish guy from earlier was there. At this point, I knew everyone had enough drinks so I became bold enough to walk over and start a conversation. If all else failed, I could lie and say I was drunk like them even though I had only a few drinks.

We had a few good conversations, but that was about it. To be honest, I had fun flirting with some of the guys. We were all out for a good time and needed a break from hectic work schedules or tiny towns.

At the end of the night, we all headed back to the hostel and hit the sack. I was glad the room was cold, because it was a perfect way to end the night. All snuggled up in a blanket and decent bed.

The next morning, the gang split up. Some of us stayed in Bangkok, others left for home, and Sophie and I headed off to Pattaya.

Before we left, we hit up a good place for some breakfast. It was about a 20 minute walk from the hostel and had food that wasn’t completely Thai. We got our fill of scrambled eggs and toast and Sophie got her bacon (though the bacon wasn’t exactly what she expected). It was definitely not your typical flavor or style. The restaurant was small, but quick and efficient.

It wasn’t long before we got a taxi and hit up the bus station for Pattaya!

One Night in Bangkok The Hangover was always a silly movie. Never understood why people would do such stupid things or how they could even find shit like they did in Bangkok.

[cornersofthew0rld]

Colombia; Vol. 3

And now to commence my segment on the northern Caribbean coast! Again, bits and bobs were written on the day and the rest was written post-travels, so apologies for any confusion with tenses/lack of cohesion.

Tuesday 29th – so we arrived to the bus terminal in Cartagena at about 1pm (an hour or two later than planned), and I took a taxi straight to my hostel, through lots of heavy traffic. After dumping my stuff I walked around the entire centro histórico (incredibly beautiful colonial buildings) and bought a coconut on the street filled with its yummy water. Had some dinner in the only cheap traditional restaurant where I had a chat with the owner who told me about his life in Cartagena (where he moved to from Medellin). Got back to the hostel in the evening, and was about to have a shower when I saw a HUGE cockroach crawling along the floor! So naturally I ran out screaming and had to use a different bathroom. Had a beer and a chat with the guy working the night shift who told me about his life, and went to bed at about 12:30am.

Wednesday 30th – I wasn’t sure what to do today at first, whether to do something in Cartagena or go elsewhere; but since the historic centre is quite small so I had already seen all of it, and the majority of the city is poorly constructed residential areas, I decided eventually to take a bus and then a mototaxi (a ‘taxi’ which is really just a motorbike; I had a helmet but of course no biking leathers, yes parents I was fine but yes I was also pretty worried about injuring myself!!) to la Playa Blanca, on La Isla Barú. Right now I am sitting here typing this in my hammock on the white beach before the crystal blue and very calm sea, where I am going to spend the night. I have to keep reminding myself not to get carried away with how much time I spend in each place, as I don’t really have that much time to travel most of the north coast! Only two or so weeks! But this beach is really incredibly beautiful, even though it’s sometimes annoying that I have no running water/wifi/electricity apart from one hour when the sun goes down. Oh and rats chewed massive holes in my lovely tote bag overnight because I left a few bananas in there. Gross!

Thursday 31st – I decided to stay another night on la Playa Blanca since it’s so beautiful, and the rent of my hammock was a mere £4 a night. I woke up accidentally at about 6am and witnessed the sun rising, which was beautiful; at which point the food sellers started walking the beach and I bought egg arepas, watermelon and papaya. During the day I decided to pay for a boat ride to the Rosario islands, a collection of tiny islands about a 20-minute ride from where I was staying. I snorkelled around the coral reefs and saw loads of weird and wonderful fish! Returned to the beach, got an amazing 40-minute whole body massage from a local lady for about £8, chatted to loads of the locals and guys selling things on the beach, and the very hippie Argentinian couple who were pitching their tent on the sand near my hammock. Lovely chilled out day overall, though I did manage to get sunburnt, classic English style.

Friday 1st September – did a bit of swimming around the Playa Blanca, drove a jetski for the first time to another little coral reef off the Isla Barú and had a look at the fish with a snorkel, before showering, eating ‘pan de coco’ (coconut bread – delicious!) and getting my stuff together to catch the mototaxi back into Cartagena, where I then took a normal car taxi to the bus station. Having spoken a lot to the Spanish girl who ran my hostel, she had put me in contact with a man in Taganga (a tiny beach town on the outskirts of Santa Marta) who runs what I thought was just a normal hostel but is actually an Airbnb (I suppose it got lost in translation) and would give me a private room for only 20,000 pesos a night (i.e. ridiculously cheap, about £5.50). There was loads of traffic on the way to the station so I missed the 3pm bus I wanted to get by about 20 minutes and was told the next one was at 5pm, so was sitting around sweating all the liquid out of my body and with very little nutritional food on sale in the station. I arrived quite late to Santa Marta, so had to take a taxi from Santa Marta bus station to Taganga, where I met with José, my host for the weekend. He showed me the house and I played with his gorgeous spaniel Toby, before settling in for the night – I don’t know what it is about long journeys, but it just tires me out so much even though all I did was sit down!

Saturday 2nd – since José had no plans for the weekend he offered to show me some of the cool stuff around the area! We spent the day on la Playa Grande, where we had lunch and did some snorkelling, ate dinner at home and then drove to Santa Marta to check out the port and walk around the old town centre, had a drink in a bar that was playing reggaeton! Then we went back to Taganga as I was still really tired from the previous day. It’s also impossible not to wake up early in this extreme heat, so I couldn’t have had a lie in if I tried.

Sunday 3rd – we drove up to Minca, the cloud forest a little way into the Sierra Nevada mountains, and hiked up to the set of waterfalls with Toby. José initially was not in a very good mood as he received news in the morning that his friend in Cali was in a serious car accident, but we managed to have a nice time nonetheless. We went home and cooked there and just chatted – spending time with José really helped me practise my speaking skills! His English is very limited which I really appreciate haha, as it forces me to explain difficult things in Spanish rather than reverting to English.

Monday 4th – José left very early in the morning to go to work in Bogotá, so I decided to take his advice and do the mini diving course available at one of the dive centres on the seafront. I got there at about 9am and ask to join the group for the day, and immediately got on with the instructors there. Even though I did snorkelling on Isla Barú and at la Playa Grande, it was a shame as clearly a lot of the corals were bleached and there just weren’t that many to begin with. And of course I wasn’t able to go down very deep. But this was without doubt one of the most amazing experiences I have ever had! Being able to dive down and coexist with these creatures even for just 40 minutes at a time is just wonderful. You can easily find statistics on the biodiversity of coral reefs and how despite the fact they cover a mere 1% of the earth’s oceans, they contribute about 20% to the fauna and flora species – this was apparent even on the short dives I did! I loved it so much I decided to stay in Taganga until Friday in order to take the 3-day diving course (which also allowed me to pass the NAUI diving test and become a certified scuba diver)!

Tuesday 5th – started the 3-day diving course this morning, which involved learning about all the kit, diving theory and doing underwater exercises with the ventilators and mask. We did most of the boring stuff (!) today, and did proper dives again on the following days; but of course it was still lovely to just hang out in the sun and have a laugh with the instructors. I moved into the very basic hostel of the dive centre (where they have cockroaches!!) to stay until I left Taganga, as it was free since I was already paying the fees for the course.

Wednesday 6th – 2nd day of the diving course – did two dives today; the one in the morning was to a little shipwreck off the point of the bay, and the other to the other side of the bay. Like the first day, I saw lots of morays, a squid, sea urchins, these weird lizard things that run around on the sand of the seabed, and of course plenty of fish of all different colours; and on this day I actually witnessed my instructor Yarith spearing a lionfish with his harpoon! This was made into ceviche later on that day, which looked incredible but alas, I of course did not eat it. Lionfish are the only species of fish that they are allowed to catch, as they were introduced to the Caribbean by humans (I think?) and are affecting the populations of basically all other fish on the coral reefs.

Thursday 7th – final day of the diving course, and today we went to Tayrona national park for the day – totally beautiful. Completely secluded white sand beach, crystal clear blue waters with visibility for like 15 metres underwater, and there was absolutely no one else around! The corals started a mere 3 or so metres from the shore, so I could see them just from swimming around on the surface! Loads of tiny hermit crabs about ½ of the size of my little fingernail, countless species of fish swimming in shoals, and all the other things I listed before. I took the boat back to Taganga with a couple of the instructors (the others were staying on the beach all weekend as the bogotanos who started their courses that day were spending their whole course there!) where we had a few beers before I turned in for the night.

Friday 8th – took the bus from Taganga to Santa Marta, got off at the stop and walked to the bus station, wading though torrential rain and ridiculous puddles up to my knees which led a truck driver to take pity on me and give me a lift to the bus station. Took a coach to Palomino, where I stayed at a very nice ‘hostel’ which was basically a hotel, it was so nice. Palm trees all over the area, a swimming pool, gorgeous huts for dorm rooms. Had a walk down to the beach and a little swim, then went back up to lie by the pool and swim there. Then a storm came down at about 4pm and it didn’t stop raining for about 5 hours so just hung around the hostel, had some dinner there and got chatting to the Colombians working behind the bar. When it stopped raining and they finished their shifts, I ended up going out to a salsa/bachata bar with them and having a dance! It was a nice place to chill out, but really I didn’t think the town was that interesting, there wasn’t a lot to actually do or explore and the beach wasn’t nice enough to just hang out there all day (although I suppose now I am a little biased, having already been to what I consider not only the best beaches in Colombia but the best ones I’ve seen in my life). Maybe if I wasn’t travelling solo and had chosen a better hostel (where people weren’t there to just chill out) I wouldn’t have got bored so easily.

Saturday 9th – checked out of the hostel by about 11am and then took a bus from Palomino to Riohacha, the biggest city (though still small compared to what I’m used to) in the department of La Guajira. Had a walk along the sea front, which was pretty dead by the time I got there as it was nearly sunset, bought a small dinner at a stall there before going back to the hostel, as there wasn’t much else to do and not many people staying at the hostel. Caught up on Game of Thrones after avoiding the internet for so long in case of spoilers! And had an early night, ready for the next day.

Sunday 10th – I was able to leave the bulk of my belongings at the hostel for the next few days, thanks to the kind hostel owner, as I knew I wouldn’t need much of it and lugging it around in the extreme heat would have been a pain. I took a shared taxi at about 9am from the hostel in Riohacha to Uribia, then took a mototaxi on a little tour around the Manuare salt flats (still very cool, but not as impressive as I was expecting them to be) and the flamingos that migrate to Musichi at certain times of the year. The driver of the mototaxi actually wasn’t as good at Spanish as I was expecting, as he mostly speaks the language of the Wayuu people who live in the region since there aren’t many people of European/other foreign origin there. He then took me back to Uribia, and as I was getting off (on the wrong side of the motorbike) I badly burned the inside of my calf on the exhaust pipe of the bike; the wound of which did not heal into a proper scab (it was just open flesh and pus haha, probably because of the humid environment and the fact I couldn’t properly disinfect it for a few days after it happened) for 2 or 3 weeks, and the scar of which I still have about 2 months later. I got onto the big jeep taking about 15 people to Cabo de la Vela through the desert, which basically just bumped over a dirt track for about 2 hours; this really is the middle of nowhere. If someone had a heart attack or something out there they would definitely just die; I think the nearest proper hospital is in Riohacha. I got chatting to a lovely hippie Spanish couple sitting next to me in the jeep, who said I could borrow their hammock to sleep in while I stay on the beach in Cabo, as they would be using their tent! This was so nice, I only had to pay about £2 for the two nights I was there to the rasta guy who owned the kite surfing centre, and also the thatched hut roofs which kept us sheltered from the sun during the day and the tree trunk ‘poles’ of which I tied the hammock to. We ate dinner all together at one of the beach restaurants that was next to our pitch, and settled in for the night not long after as there were basically no lights and it was pitch black by about 7/8pm.

Monday 11th – spent the middle 4 or 5 hours of the day hidden in the shadows of my hut, as the sun was so strong I was afraid for my skin and could hardly function in the heat anyway. This was a shame, but I had a dip in the sea every now and then, played around with one of the indigenous kids throwing sand with the consistency of a sort of clay-mud at each other, and later in the afternoon I had a walk through Cabo exploring, and met a Mexican guy who was also travelling by himself. Had some beers with him and the Colombian guys (not sure why I found this strange but they were all from Cartagena? I wondered how they all ended up there) who ran some of the kite surfing centres, before going to bed by about 1am, as I had a verrrry early morning the next day!

Tuesday 12th – got up really early, around 5am, to get my stuff into a jeep and travel a long way to Punta Gallinas, the most northern point of the whole of South America! This required a 2 hour long jeep through the desert again, to Puerto Bolivár, where we took a speedboat for 2 hours to Punta Gallinas. So we arrived a little after 9am, at which point we had breakfast in the little covered ‘restaurant’ (it was just a 50m2 platform off the sand with a thatch roof over it to cover us from the sun). We were shown to our hammocks, and then I took a short walk through a bit of the desert with a German girl to see if we could find something other than sand and cacti (we didn’t), at which point it was too hot to continue and I could feel myself starting to burn, so we headed back to the camp. The other boats had arrived from Puerto Bolivár (we had been the first) and so we set off in jeeps to see the Punta Gallinas landmark, a few photo opportunities at different sand dunes and bays, and then headed to a gorgeous beach where there were about a hundred pelicans floating around. I started talking to a hilarious German couple, Olga and Felix, who were just a few years older than me, and we had a lot of laughs together than day; I recommended the diving course to them if they had never done it before, and they said they might make a detour to do it. The Wayuu people living there had brought a cool box of beers and water, which were gladly received at this point as it must have been 40-45 degrees. I got chatting to a lovely Brazilian man called Biano who was doing yoga on the beach and of whom I was very jealous (I am not at the point in my practice where I can do headstands or handstands haha), and sat with him and the German couple for dinner, which was a huge meal and delicious. Those who ate fish probably had the best lobster of their lives – along with all the trimmings of rice, patacones, salad and other things, they had two enormously fat lobsters caught that day each, for about £10. I was still very pleased with my meal, which was the same except instead of lobsters I had some delicious green lentils and a fried egg. We stayed until long into the night just chatting and looking at the stars – we could see the Milky Way so clearly, it felt like a weirdly spiritual transcendent experience.

Wednesday 13th – left Punta Gallinas really early in the morning (though I was tempted to stay longer just to be in peace and quiet and enjoy the wonderful beach, Biano had already been there for 2 days by the time I arrived), got on the boat at about 5am to Puerto Bolivár, where the jeeps were waiting to take people back to Cabo de la Vela. My jeep back to Uribia, as I was supposed to be going directly, did not arrive at all and I was worrying that I would be stranded in the desert alone with no internet or phone service…another driver offered me his spare seat in his jeep to go back to Cabo de la Vela for free, which obviously I greatly appreciated, but was really annoyed as that had added another hour or so to my journey. I found the same Wayuu lady I booked the trip with in Cabo, and had a go at her for not sending someone to pick me up, as I had paid extra to go directly to Uribia; she apologised and said that since I was the only person going to Uribia from the port that they would not be able to set me up with a private jeep, so she put me straight on another jeep from there going to Uribia. I was of course still very angry, but there wasn’t really anything to be done at that point and I was tired, so I appreciated that at least I was getting my own jeep back to Uribia and went straight to sleep. Once I arrived in Uribia, I took a shared taxi back to my hostel in Riohacha to have a shower (this was amazing! I hadn’t showered since Saturday!), collect my rucksack and get the bus to Santa Marta; where I then shared a taxi to Taganga. I arrived in Taganga at about 8/9pm and went straight to my hostel to get some much-needed sleep!

Thursday 14th – got down to the dive centre at around 8am ready for my final dive in the Tayrona national park! And the lovely German couple I met in Punta Gallinas had decided to come too, so I had friends in them and the dive instructors, it was great! It was the same setup as the previous Thursday; boat to the national park, where we spent the whole day and ate freshly cooked lunch right on the beach, with absolutely no other people around. These dives were particularly special as I saw a manta ray!! I tapped on my oxygen tank to get the attention of Michael, my instructor, and the other girl I was diving with, and they were also both over the moon about it; my instructor told me when we reached the surface that even he hadn’t seen one before as they usually stay far away from the divers, and he’s been working there for a year or two, diving nearly every day! I feel so lucky to have witnessed that. We got back to the dive centre at about 7pm, and I was really sad to say goodbye; Gabriela (the 11 year old daughter of the owner), who seemed to have taken quite a liking to me, was also upset that I had to leave haha. I rushed to the bus station in Santa Marta as I had arrived later than expected and didn’t have much time to get ready to leave, but managed to make the 8:30pm bus back to Medellin.

Friday 15th – the night bus was really late arriving to Medellin, so as soon as I got off the bus in the station (about 2pm) I went to buy my ticket to Guatapé as I didn’t make it there the last time I was in Medellin. I had just paid to put my rucksack in the storage area of the station when the people at the ticket desk started shouting for me, saying the bus was about to leave; I rushed to go through the security and get my bag scanned, and was just approaching the bay when they told me the bus had just left. I was understandably very gutted about this, but accepted that I would have only been able to spend about an hour there anyway, which just wouldn’t have been enough time to fully appreciate it and see all the landmarks there – so I have vowed to myself that I will be returning at some point in the future. I went to find my hostel, where I relaxed a bit and started chatting in Spanish to a German girl (whose English was surprisingly not very good) who had arrived a couple of days before and was looking for an apartment; she said that she was going to be living in Medellin for the next year as part of her university degree! I was obviously very jealous! We went to the supermarket to get some food (where I also ended up spending about 30,000 pesos on a pair of trousers).

Saturday 16th – ate almost an entire watermelon and some granadillas and bread for breakfast, before sadly saying goodbye to my hostel in Medellin and getting to the stop for the ‘colectivos’ (shared taxis to the airport). Luckily these taxis take an amazing route up and around the mountain, so I had some wonderful views of my favourite Colombian city as I said goodbye.