#still have a migraine and my entire body aches and burns

[battywitch]

😩

[xticklemeemox]

The Love You Want: III, Part Three

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AO3

Word Count: 10,333 or something

I am ngl I made that last part with the drumming up, I don't even know if ST has a song where II uses all those parts of a drumset at the same time.

Writing slow burn hard they just love each other in my head already I can't do this, fast burn it is... that is mainly a bunch of yearning

For the few days Vessel is sick, II and III remain a constant at his side. He is grateful for their presences, but- He doesn't know what to do with their clear affection and care.

Vessel allows them to hold him, his body half strewn over their laps as either II or III hold him as close as he'll allow. Even sick as he is, Vessel grows distressed whenever they try to hold him in places near his chest or neck, not allowing either of them to even hold his forearm in attempts to deter them from his wrists. They hold him as he cries from the pain of his migraine, as his body aches.

He is cool against their stomachs even as his fever runs rampant under his skin, most prominently felt on his forehead. They wiped his tears and shushed him gently, so soothingly that sometimes it made Vessel cry harder, taking turns watching over him when one needed to sleep or eat.

III was still so new, but he settled in so easily with them, eager to talk Vessel's ear off at any hour of the day. To keep him company when everyone knows Vessel gets no reprieve from this sickness. Every day they would show Vessel a new drawing of a different flower, the one worded meaning written below or to the side. They were in increasingly better quality, Vessel notices, as III very slowly improves their skills with traditional art. It was touching, for III to sit next to Vessel with Vessel's book on flower languages open next to them, carefully inking lines into a spare of Vessel's notebooks.

Vessel had gifted it to them when III dejectedly realized that they had nothing to draw with here. They didn't even think about it while at the store.

III hugs Vessel, then, and if Vessel's heart was in his chest, it would have stopped. Vessel doesn't push III away. He is so warm, head leaning against Vessel's own and arms wrapping securely around him. When III pulls away after a few seconds, it kills Vessel to write out a request for no hugs, unable to meet III's confused, but understanding gaze.

Vessel wants III to hug him again, and again, and again until Vessel is sick of it though he's sure he would never tire of III's warmth wrapped around him. Wonders what it would be like if II hugged him. If he was even tall enough for Vessel to comfortably rest his chin on the top of his head. Vessel wants to pull II to himself, wrap him securely in his arms-

III isn't what Vessel expects. II wasn't either.

III redo's the braid in his hair, even as it gets gross with oils and tears until finally the both of them help Vessel into the bath, giving him the mercy of keeping on his underwear, as uncomfortable as the sensation is. It should be mortifying, to let someone else care for him this way but II was there the last time he was sick, and III never shows any judgment, not even with the full scope of Vessel's self-harm scarring on display.

Vessel likes the way he feels cared for when II washes his hair and III fills the silence with idle chatter and jokes that are sometimes the furthest thing from funny yet never at someone else's expense. Vessel tries to pretend his metaphorical heart doesn't flutter when III brushes a finger under each of his six eyes in wonder, tries to pretend he doesn't flinch away when that same careful hand reminds him of someone else as it brushes his jaw in something a bit too close to grabbing it.

III pulls away with a quiet apology and doesn't comment on it, only squeezes Vessel's hand and goes back to talking about their budding plans to start a garden. They help him dry off as Vessel looks down with an embarrassed blush the entire time, leaving him for only a moment to change into dry underwear and pajamas.

III can't stop staring, glad Vessel is too embarrassed and staring resolutely at the wall to notice because II certainly does. II smiles knowingly at III as he rebandages Vessel's arm and thighs, and the shorter man is thankful that there hasn't been any more cuts added. He supposes its the one good thing about Vessel being too sick to move around much.

II brushes his hair when his arms shake from the effort and lets III show II how to re-braid the damp strands.

II makes Vessel soup, even knowing he doesn't need it. Vessel appreciates it anyway. He can't remember when someone had made him a meal before II, and it makes II happy to see Vessel eat it.

II and III only speak of the weakness of the vines all throughout the house down in the kitchen, where they are sure Vessel won't hear. They're hesitant to leave him alone, even for a moment, but its hard not to notice the lack of movement of the vines when usually they react so keenly to Vessel's emotions, and II is quick to point it out when they're alone. They're listless, like they're weighed down, only moving like they used to when Vessel leaves the room with help from one of the others, reaching out to him, brushing his arms and legs and catching gently in his hair as though to caress the unruly strands. III is a little bit in awe, to truly see something so supernatural, even though they had accepted a God, had undergone and seen the results of their own transformation into a vessel of that God.

As Vessel's sickness wears off, he tries to speak less and less, not from a lack of trying, but because it hurts. As the days drag on, his tongue aches like its on fire, and eventually he is afraid to move his mouth at all. On the third day, Vessel is in the middle of listening to II talk about a new style he wanted to incorporate into his drumming while III also listens in rapt attention, laying on his stomach with his hands under his chin, feet kicking leisurely. Their masks lay piled atop one another on Vessel's nightstand. It hit suddenly, the spike of pain lancing through his tongue.

Iron fills his mouth and Vessel nearly leaps off the bed, stumbling instead, to reach the trashcan that he hasn't needed as often the past few days as his stomach settled.

Blood spills out of his mouth like a river, the taste of iron coating every inch of his mouth unceasingly. II and III exclaim his name in shock and worry, II hopping off the bed and pulling Vessel's face into his hands, carefully keeping his hands away from Vessel's jaw. He turns it this way and that, inspecting him for any obvious wounds.

Vessel lets his tongue spill over his lips to show where it hurts at II's prompting and both II and III stare in confusion at the appendage. It drips blood over his chin onto the floor, split right down the middle about halfway into his mouth.

"Your tongues' been split." III says, an odd expression of interest on his face.

Vessel tilts his head in confusion, head still held in II's careful hands. The touch is soothing, and Vessel basks in it. "A change from Sleep, maybe? Where the split begins, your tongue fades into a black at the tips. " II inquires, contemplative.

Grim realization settles over Vessel's features, but there is no regret to be found in the bond, only acceptance.

The blood spilling from his lips begins to darken as black seeps into the red. It mixes together, swirling like the stars in the sky.

"Your... Vessel, your blood is- black is mixing with the red." III states unsurely, leaning closer to get a better look.

Some emotion they don't have time to try and name raises to concerning heights and Vessel pulls away from II with an expression of great distress.

II and III share a look of concern, a silent conversation passing between their bond with ease. They really need to have that talk with Vessel, they both know that if they do, so many things will come to light, if Vessel will only speak of them.

Vessel needs to see. He doesn't care if the knife gets taken away, he has others. He needs to see, see what using something that wasn't his has done to his blood. He doesn't regret a fucking thing but he needs to see with his own eyes what he has done to himself, in the same way he loves to watch the blood drip down his skin with some morbid fascination at the glimpse into what he looks like on the inside.

Before either II or III can figure out what he's doing, Vessel is pulling a blade from under his mattress and slicing into his arm as they cry out his name in alarm.

Blood spills immediately, and distantly, Vessel knows he went deeper than he normally would've.

Like III said, it is human red mixed with pitch black, swirling together like oil and water, never mixing to become entirely one color.

III pulls the blade out of Vessel's hand with haste, cutting themself on the sharp edge, throwing it somewhere Vessel doesn't care to follow. II is already trying to staunch the bleeding with one of Vessel's blankets.

Vessel's bond does not change to anything like shock, only a little more realization as he watches, entranced by the sight of his own blood.

"Sleep's blood." Vessel manages, though its slurred and far more quiet than usual.

He looks up and all six eyes zero in on the blood on III's hand, dripping slowly between the cracks of their fingers as they try to hide it.

Clarity bleeds into the mess of Vessel's mind.

He slams the door of his bond shut and III cannot stop the tears that fall from their eyes at Vessel being gone, even if he is right in front of them.

"I-" Vessel starts, "S- orry. Sorry. Sorry." He repeats, unable to stop the tears that well in his eyes and slip over.

They drip onto his shirt and the blanket where his blood is seeping through. "Sorry, sorry, sorry-"

III shakes their head frantically, "Not your fault, Vessel. I'm the one who grabbed the bladed part of the knife like an idiot."

II cannot speak, cannot form a word and shove it past his lips because he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that if a single noise escapes him, he will break down into sobs that will never cease. So he keeps his lips tightly shut, biting on the lower one to remain silent. He has to be strong, for both Vessel and III's sake. They are upset by the proceedings and so II needs to remain calm in the face of the storm, for their sakes. For them. No matter how he wants to cry, no matter how it causes his throat to ache or his eyes to sting.

He has to be strong for them.

Vessel lets III hold his hand with their injured one, as III holds his available hand to Vessel's bleeding forearm with help from the now ruined blanket. They both fall silent while II leaves to get a medkid he keeps in a few places throughout the house. He'll have to show III where they're all hidden, II thinks grimly as he picks up the pocket knife III had thrown, pocketing it.

III cannot feel Vessel's guilt at making them cry, at hurting them. Its all consuming, eating away at his mind with such force he wants to claw out of his own skin. He wants to apologize, over and over and over again with the hope that III can forgive him.

When II comes back, Vessel insists that II wrap up III's hand first. He holds his arm close to himself, refusing II no matter what he says. II is desperate to get bandages on Vessel's arm and III just the same, so III offers up his hand quickly to get it over with faster.

Vessel apologized with every wince, a repetitive 'sorry, sorry, sorry' that only further saddened II and III. III was trying desperately to reassure him that it wasn't his fault but it was like talking to a brick wall as Vessel stared at III's hand with unseeing eyes still leaking tears even after the injury was bandaged up.

It wasn't a bad wound, all things considered, but Vessel just wouldn't stop staring with wide eyes that screamed of his shame. III excused himself to take the bloody blanket to the washroom as II began on Vessel's arm and as soon as that door closed behind him, still feeling Vessel's gaze on their back, III rushed down the stairs and all but collapsed into the washroom door after closing it as quietly as they could, struggling to keep his sobs quiet.

The blanket is still held tightly in his hands, and when III can see the blurry crimson and black stains still wet beneath their fingers, they drop the blanket to the floor as though burned by the plush fabric.

They do not want to look at it, covered in Vessel's blood as it is, and it makes III sick to look at. It was one thing to see Vessel's scars and watch II rebandage the healing cuts on Vessel's thighs and arms and hips-

To watch as Vessel so casually cut into his own arm without even hesitating- To watch as blood beaded slowly at first on the surface, then started dripping down as it all gathered at the opening of the wound-

Every time III closes their eyes they can see that exact moment, imprinted into their eyelids-

III sobs harder, struggling to breathe through their nose as he hiccups, hiding his face in their hands. Even as Vessel's bond is closed -He's gone, he's gone, Vessel is dead, III can't feel him, he's dead- , III is glad for II, who keeps the bond open so III can feel he's alive, though he's upset, as upset as III is and still holding strong to the mask of courage he's wearing for Vessel's sake.

Waves of reassurance are stemming from II's bond and III latches onto those feelings like a lifeline, trying his damn best to send the same thing back even though he can barely think through the red bleeding behind their eyes.

Red was III's favorite color. Of his memories from Before, they can remember wearing it often, and how they always wished to dye their hair a bright firetruck red color but could never commit to it.

Red reminds him of blood, now. He wonders if he'll grow to hate it.

As III's sobbing dies down and they gain control over themselves, they venture back up to Vessel's room after grabbing a clean blanket from the cupboard. They nearly scream when Elvira, who had taken residence in that very cupboard whose door had apparently not been closed all the way, meows and blinks bright eyes up at III that seem to glow in the darkness. III picks her up along with the blanket she lays on. When they knock, it is II who tells them to come in. Said man has taken residence towards the middle of Vessel's bed as the taller man lays on his side, half on top of II with their head buried in his stomach, hiding his face from view. Vessel's arm is noticeably bandaged, laid across the material of II's shirt that Vessel doesn't occupy, hand fisted in the material so tightly its like Vessel fears II will disappear. II lifts the arm not occupied holding Vessel close to beckon III closer, and III couldn't stop himself if they tried.

Elvira jumps down from III's arms and makes her way to lay against Vessel's back, rubbing contentedly along the length of his spine before settling down with her tail flicking back and forth.

III crawls onto the bed and takes up residence on II's other side, laying the blanket over all three of them, II laying his arm over III's shoulders to pull them closer. II's chest is warm under III's head as III reaches out and grabs Vessel's hand with his injured one. Vessel doesn't pull away, doesn't make a sound or move at all except to blink slowly at III, like he's not all there in his own head. Even so, he squeezes back, entwining their fingers together, careful of each of their claws.

III notices something for the first time then, notices that while he and II have long, sharp black nails, Vessel's are shaped a little differently. His are sharper, curved down only slightly. III glances to Elvira, whose tail he can still see as it slowly flicks back and forth as it lays over Vessel's hip. Vessel and Elvira's nails kind of look similar, in a way II and III's don't. He lets the thought linger in the back of his mind, focusing back in on Vessel and II beside them.

The bond remains shut, but III can feel Vessel's skin on his own now, the touch grounding him to the reality that Vessel is alive, Vessel is okay.

None of them keep track of how long they lay there until II, forever the sleepiest one out of the two of them who can sleep, eventually succumbs to exhaustion and begins snoring lightly. III forces themselves to stay awake for Vessel's sake, but after a while, can feel their eyes begin to droop in exhaustion as well. For as much as the Second and Third Vessels don't need sleep, human emotions are taxing at least and utterly draining at worst, and the last couple hours have been an exhausting affair.

"Sleep." Vessel says, and at first, III thinks he is calling out to their God.

That is not the intent behind Vessel's words, and he refuses to use that power unless its required for their health. Vessel really is only urging III to sleep because the other is tired, and does not need to stay awake to keep Vessel company. Already, Vessel is coming back to himself from where his mind had half slipped away from his body. He'll be back soon.

Though III shakes their head in refusal, it is only a few moments more that their eyes are slipping closed for the final time, succumbing to their exhaustion much like II had.

Vessel is content to bask in both II and III's touch, and listen to the soothing sounds of their respective breathing, II's snoring, and the occasional sniffle from Elvira at his back when she kicks him in her sleep.

Feeling III's bandaged hand in Vessel's kind of makes him want to die.

::

Both II and III have nightmares that night.

Vessel eats them and feels sick, disgusted with himself when they're both about him dying, covered in his own blood with numerous wounds in his arms or his thighs or both. He can never tell them what he does. They wouldn't understand.

The nightmares taste delicious, sliding down his throat so easily and settling in his stomach. Vessel is satisfied, and yet, he craves more. More.

::

The next morning, as the edges of the sun peek through the corners of Vessel's blackout curtains, Vessel slips out of bed, the chill of the room seeping into his bones as he leaves the warmth of the others, grabbing his mask from his nightstand and buckling it on. That warmth leaves his skin in minutes, and Vessel wants to get back in bed and bask in II and III's bodyheat, but he has something he wants to do.

His most recent journal full of lyrics sits on his dresser, and Vessel grabs it, then one of his many pens that lay about.

Gifts always seemed to placate his past partners, even if II and III were merely close friends. Friends.

Vessel is silent as a wraith as he heads downstairs, Elvira trailing after him, thankfully only meowing when they get to the bottom of the stairs. Vessel goes around turning all the lamps off first, which had all gotten left on the night before. Then he makes sure to feed Elvira, who rubs against his leg the entire time he's fixing up her food. After giving her a few careful pets on the head, he heads off.

In the kitchen, he makes tea for both II and III. A floral sort for II that Vessel sees him using often, and a sweeter blend for III, that Vessel adds far too much sugar into. Vessel likes his coffee sweet, but even he thinks the sheer amount III uses in their teas and coffee is pushing it.

He carefully pens two notes, one for each of them, wasting a few pages of his notebook to get the wording for III's as close to what Vessel wants as possible, even if he still overthinks the whole thing he has planned. As he places both of their drinks on an older silver platter that has begun to show signs of age, II's bond clears of sleep, while III's remains fuzzy.

Vessel realizes suddenly that his bond is shut off when II's panic strikes through him, distant, and Vessel can feel the faint, faint impression of II tugging on his side of the bond in frantic question. Vessel's own bond is locked shut, but he opens it a crack, so II can feel his presence again. II's bond calms immediately, and if Vessel concentrates, he can feel the relief II is purposefully sending Vessel. Guilt churns Vessel's stomach. He really hurt II yesterday, didn't he?

An idea strikes him, and Vessel tears off a couple small pieces of paper from his notebook again. Before each drink, laid in front of them, he draws a little smiley face with six dots for eyes, and their names right next to them.

II is still in bed when Vessel pushes open his door. When Vessel enters, II looks over from where he is running his fingers through III's curls. It would be comical how small II looks with III laid beside him, their head still on II's chest, if it didn't make Vessel so sad to see.

Vessel wants to be close to them that way. He's not sure when his feelings evolved from some mix of envy and jealousy into just wanting to hold both of them. Perhaps somewhere between just caring for III and loving them the same as he loves II.

"What's this, Ves?" II asks, keeping quiet so as to not wake III.

"Apology." Vessel replies, sidestepping a stack of books with grace and coming to a stop at his bedside.

He holds out the platter, and while II takes his drink, he smiles wide, but his eyes are sad. "You don't need to apologize, Vessel, I told you already. I- I- just please don't do that again. You scared me. Scared us. But thank you, for the tea. It's just as I like it." II corrects himself, voice as soft as his smile.

Vessel looks away with all six eyes, before forcing himself to meet II's kind gaze with one pair while another watches the slow rise and fall of III's chest. "Sorry. Won't hurt in front of you again." He manages, the words coming out a little slurred, but its the most he's managed in a while.

"That isn't what I meant, Ves. I'd prefer you not to hurt yourself at all." II takes a careful sip, and sighs when Vessel averts his gaze again.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't apologize. I-" II pauses, releasing a long breath before gently jostling III after setting down his mug. "Three, Ves made you tea."

III doesn't stir the first time, nor the second, but the third time II shakes his shoulder finally works. They blink their eyes open, pretty blues surrounded by endless black, squinting with sleep still.

Their mug is still steaming as Vessel holds the platter out, and when their eyes light up at the sight and they shoot up, Vessel cannot help the blush or the widening of his eyes, nor the tiny little subconscious smile that pulls at one side of his lips involuntarily. III is just so pretty.

Vessel is still looking at II, and he is also struck dumb by the others beauty. Why did Sleep have to pick such pretty vessels? It wasn't good for Vessel's heart. He knows if he could feel it in his chest, it would be thumping wildly.

III grabs the little note first, with the smiley face. They're smiling when they show II, who holds up his own little drawing. Vessel's face feels hot, and its not because of the fever he'd gotten over.

They both compliment it, laughing lightly and saying how cute it is, how accurate, and somehow Vessel's face grows even warmer.

III takes the mug with both hands, then, and without a care for the temperature, takes a large gulp. They smile afterwards, a big grin that radiates the same happiness Vessel can feel faintly through the bond, "Just how I like it. Thanks, Ves!"

III laughs when Vessel blushes up to his ears again, and Vessel folds his arms in front of himself, using the platter as a barrier, holding it tightly. While taking greedy sips of their drink, Vessel takes a moment to sit beside them on the bed, taking pleasure in the way they make room for him and also get closer at the same time. Their knees all touch as II and III sit cross legged, while Vessel bends one knee and lets the other hang off the bed.

It's comfortable, as he finds things usually are with these two. Vessel is free to simply... exist, here, in this house. II and III never yell at him for making too much noise, or when he asks to hold their hands. Their touch is always gentle, never crossing the line into painful. They're- They're both so gentle with him in ways he isn't used to.

Vessel has never loved someone who was gentle with him. He always seemed to gravitate towards people who treated him like he was used to, treated him with familiar pain and anger. II and III are nothing like the people he fell for before. He is glad for it.

Realizing this only solidifies Vessel's resolve to give them those notes, to do what he's going to, despite the thought making him nervous. It won't be much different from the contact you allow now, Vessel tells himself.

Vessel loves them, he knows. Somewhere deep inside, Vessel hopes II loves him like he says he does. Hopes that maybe III can love him like Vessel can see he loves II.

So Vessel listens as II asks for opinions on what meal he should prepare later that night, listens as III makes corny jokes that are sometimes so stupid that they all laugh anyway. Vessel gives his own input on things, with short sentences that are becoming easier and easier to say, and feels as though he is heard, he is seen, and he is not in trouble for it.

His smiles come easier and easier the longer he spends with them, and Vessel could not be more thankful to Sleep for bringing both of them to him than in that moment.

Vessel waits until the afternoon to enact the second part of his plan, going in search of the others when he's sure they're apart. He finds III first, the other in the practice room with all the lamps turned on, strumming at their bass to one of Vessel and II's songs. They're good, even if they don't have all the parts down yet. The bandage seems to be limiting the things they can do with the injured hand picking at the strings, and Vessel still feels so guilty.

III looks up when the door squeaks as Vessel pushes it open enough to get through, smiling when they see Vessel. "Hey, Ves! I was just finishing up in here before I go to water my plants! Did you need the room, or want to practice together? I know we haven't practiced as a group yet."

"Ah, no, I- Was looking for you. Want to give you something." Vessel stumbles over his words, a little surprised that III looked so happy at the sight of him.

"Oh, what is it?" III asks as he sets the bass aside carefully, standing and meeting Vessel halfway.

'Thank you for the flowers you left me on those receipts, but if anyone's smile were like sunshine, it would be yours. I've wanted to tell you.' Vessel hands over the note, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks hidden by his mask.

When III sees what Vessel has written, taking a couple minutes to squint at the elegant cursive writing, they grin brightly, leaning closer with a glint in his eye. Vessel leans closer on instinct, not quite realizing that their foreheads are nearly touching. "You're adorable, Sugar. I plan on giving you many more in the future, to go with all the ones I gave you while you were sick. And real ones, eventually! Alas, my children need watering, I'll see you in a little while."

With a sly little grin and a peck against the cheek of Vessel's mask, III bounds off with a skip in their step but not before they get to see Vessel's pointed ears turn red. They grin triumphantly as they bounce off and Vessel is left reeling.

When Vessel regains his composure, he sets off to find II. His blush is still prominent when Vessel finds him in the altar room, cleaning the offering table of invisible dust. Vessel's heartbeat pounds in his ears with his nerves, though it must be only him that hears it, since II seems none the wiser. It's a curious thing, one that Vessel doesn't want to think about.

Vessel glances at the sigil on the wall that contains his beating heart, but can't stomach looking at it for long due to the phantom pains of ripping it out creeping up on him.

"Ves? Everything alright?" II asks when he notices him, putting down the rag they were using, uncrouching and walking towards Vessel, a cutely concerned expression on his face.

Vessel does not allow himself to back out, does not let himself over think it any longer. He hands over the folded note, watching intently as II opens and then reads the single word written.

'Hug? :::)'

II looks up at Vessel with wide, disbelieving eyes, but there is excitement there too. Vessel opens his arms wide in invitation and there is no hesitation on II's part to collide with Vessel, almost knocking both of them to the ground. II is laughing, happiness surging down the bond like a tidal wave. Vessel huffs out a laugh of his own, wrapping his arms a little tighter around II.

Vessel didn't know someone could be so happy to simply... hug him. Not even with any skin touching.

Vessel had put on many, many layers of his thickest clothing, and it was greatly uncomfortable, but he wanted to hug II, just once, so he doesn't mind. II holds Vessel tightly, arms wrapped around his waist, and even then, II is keeping away from Vessel's chest, leaning his head into the space nearest Vessel's shoulder.

Vessel is swimming in elation, utterly content and happy and his heartbeat thumps in his ears and there are butterflies in his chest. Vessel adores II. Utterly adores him, body and soul.

II is one of his beloveds. Vessel would die for him, kill for him. Vessel- Vessel thinks he might have wanted to live for him if death was permanent for him anymore.

II is warm, so warm, and hugging him feels right. Right in the same way his mask brings him comfort, in the same way III's voice makes him happy to hear, just as II's does.

Vessel wants to cry, wants to hold II tighter, to never let him go. Vessel wants II to open him up and climb in to where his heart used to rest. Its where he and III already reside anyway.

Where Vessel's heart used to be, II and III have made a home, whether they know it or not. Vessel wants to live in every breath II and III inhale and exhale.

Vessel and II hold each other for what feels like hours, but must have only been minutes. Despite his initial contentment, Vessel grows more and more anxious the longer he hears his heartbeat. He worries that II, if he can even hear it at all, may begin to wonder why the thumpthumpthump isn't sounding from Vessel's chest, but under the floorboards and in the walls.

Vessel forces himself to start pulling away. He relishes in II hesitating to begin doing the same, hopes with everything in him that the happiness he felt from II was real, that the disappointment II is broadcasting distantly down the bond is real, that Vessel's mind is only playing tricks on him.

Vessel wants II to love him so badly he aches with it, but Vessel is a coward who is stuck under the abuse he suffered, who doesn't know what it means to be loved.

Vessel excuses himself, blurting out an excuse that he had an idea for a song, glad for his mask to hide his tears, even if his smile is true. Vessel... doesn't know what he's feeling. He's sad, happy, confused and filled with all consuming yearning.

II stares after Vessel, his own longing mirrored in the bond. Vessel wants to hold II again, but his heart stops him. It beats under his feet like a drum as he escapes the altar room, flustered and crying and elated and about to crumble under his fear of the unknown.

Vessel escapes to the practice room to transfer his emotions onto the worn keys of his piano.

After that, Vessel recovers quickly. They all paint smiles on their faces in the hopes of reassuring one another. Vessel quickly regains his usual health, though his migraine has only devolved into a headache but he is quite used to those.

He knows that if they decide it is time to give up the caring act, then he at least wants to make sure III's hand remains cared for. He can do that much, at least. It was his fault, after all.

He expects things to change, for III to lessen the casual touches but they continue to lean on him when standing near each other. They continue to ask to hold his hand, they continue knocking on Vessel's door to talk or read together.

III continues drawing him flowers, talking over his plans for the garden he wants to put out in the front of the manor. Vessel helps them design the layout, such as which flowers they'll put where, with occasional input from II. During one of these planning sessions, III asks Vessel if he'd like to help him with the garden itself, even after it was completed. Vessel couldn't refuse, not when III was looking at him with a big, hopeful grin and shining eyes.

Every drawing Vessel gets from III is pinned next to the original receipts with the utmost care. Every time Vessel leaves his room, the sight causes a smile to pull involuntarily at his lips.

II and III do not leave Vessel to rot under the weight of his negative emotions even if they cannot feel them. They comfort him in small ways, always reaching out to help, and it is only right Vessel does the same to the best of his ability.

It is a struggle to navigate III's outgoing personality, when louder noises or sudden movements cause Vessel to flinch or go silent, when he had been working so hard to get used to his new tongue and speak around the thorns wrapped around his throat at the same time.

Vessel does not want III to stop being themselves. All he wants it to get used to them, used to the way they live because Vessel does not want them to leave. Vessel doesn't want to keep letting those in his past, people whose faces he can't fucking remember, taint what he is creating with II and III but he is afraid. Always so afraid.

Faceless, nameless people haunt his every move, his body, his blood, their actions are ingrained in his soul. He is nothing without them, they made him who he is.

It is easier to forget what they did when II and III are nothing like them.

III worms himself into Vessel's heart so easily, with pretty smiles, jokes, and an exuberant personality. It feels like they belong there, beside II, in Vessel's heart. He can't recall a time when he felt this way, safe, in someone else's presence. Its easy to feel safe when II holds his hand or smiles when Vessel enters a room. It is easy to feel safe when III sits on Vessel's bed and goes over all the different plants they saw that morning, showing Vessel the rough sketches of his favorites.

The house seems to notice the change in Vessel's heart, and it's only been a little while since III arrived.

When III loses something, and he loses things often, he always seems to find it after a few minutes, returned to whatever surface is closest. II explains that its just the house, and that things don't stay missing long, that the vines are sentient and react to all of them, but not quite the way they react to Vessel.

Vessel knows better. He knows what lies in the altar room, what beats through the walls and floorboards though it is not apparent unless he is in the altar room itself.

He knows exactly why the house helps them.

Vessel always has fallen in love quickly, with the entirety of his heart.

::

III is flabbergasted. Utterly appalled.

"Who organized this nightmare?!" They exclaim, waving a hand at the entirety of one of the living room walls, lined with bookshelves, which are filled to the brim with books.

"Well, we didn't really... organize anything. Vessel just stuck them all down here because I told him he couldn't keep them all in his room. Some are mine, but since there wasn't any order to them, I also just stuck them wherever." II explains, sheepish.

Looking at all the bookshelves, he realizes it is a bit of a mess. There is no order to any of the placements, not to mention a lot of the books are just stacked on top of one another until they can't fit on a shelf any longer and are placed on a different one.

III sighs in mock exasperation before beginning to sort. II offers to help but III shuts him down quickly with a pointed glare at the rest of the mess. II sits back down and simply stays nearby, watching and keeping III company.

III arranges all the books on the shelves in alphabetical order by authors last name and in sections based on genre, dedicating specific bookshelves to each of them living there. It takes hours, and when they are finally done, they ask about Vessel's room.

"As I said, I told him he couldn't keep any more than seven stacks because he trips over them all the time. Nearly split his head open- Well, I'm exaggerating but he scared the shit out of me. Anyway, he now stacks them all as tall as they'll go before toppling while sticking to my seven stack rule. I'm sure you noticed them in his room while we were taking care of him."

III grimaces, remembering how they, too, had tripped one night while going to the bathroom when he was watching over a sick Vessel. Even with the night vision, they were half-asleep and their coordination was a bit off. The whole stack had fallen over, some of the pages in a couple of them getting folded, and Vessel had only waved III's panicked apologies off with a tiny, half-hearted smile.

Vessel didn't tell them that his books had often been put through worse intentionally, by others, long before Sleep came to him. That folded pages was far better than torn pages, or books where entire chapters had been purposefully ripped out. Hateful words written in with permanent marker or scribbles left everywhere.

II had always been careful with both Vessel's and his own books, and Vessel knew III did not trip intentionally, and made sure to tell III that much, at least. III's smile came out a little wobbly, and when they came back from the restroom, they had scooted as close to Vessel as the other would allow.

"Do you think he'd mind if we brought all of 'em down here?"

II takes a minute to ponder the question but ultimately decides that he doesn't think Vessel would mind at all.

III goes to ask, a little nervous but not sure why. When he knocks on Vessel's door, pushing it more open a moment later when Vessel tells them to come in, III does not let himself falter.

Vessel is laying on his bed, Elvira curled on his chest with his hand in her fur as she purrs up a storm. Vessel slides one pair of eyes to look at III curiously, keeping the top pair closed and the bottom pair eyeing Elvira with clear affection. They're adorable, and III wishes very suddenly they had a phone, wanting desperately to capture the moment.

"Hey Ves, I was organizing the books downstairs and wanted to know if you'd mind me putting yours down there as well?"

Vessel tilts his head just slightly, the action coming across a little odd as he is still laying down, but he nods easily. He bites his lip when III smiles, opening all six eyes to look at III properly, before asking shyly, "Can I keep a couple of the ones I'm currently reading in here?"

"Of course!" III exclaims, a little sad that Vessel looked so nervous to ask for something so ordinary, "Keep whichever ones you want, I don't mind. I'm gonna start taking some down, I hope you don't mind me coming in and out for a bit."

"I'll help, they're my books." Vessel says before turning one set of eyes to stare down at Elvira forlornly, "Gotta get up, Ellie."

The cat meows in complaint, stretching out over Vessel's chest further. Vessel picks her up as he sits up, her body hanging limply in his hands as he holds her so gently, meowing in docile outrage. The small, misshapen braid in his hair falls into view, II's work that Vessel had refused the shorter man upon him asking to take it out because it looked 'awful.' A few more tiny braids have been woven into other parts of Vessel's fluffy mess, III's additions that they are very proud of. If II's hair were longer, III would love to add braids in his too, but will settle for the both of them torturing Vessel with II's practicing. III and Vessel match, with the braids, and III feels warm at the thought, giddy even.

Vessel apologizes again and sets her down, where she immediately hops off the bed and runs out of the room past III's feet.

III watches her go with a smile before bending down to pick up as many books as they can carry. His and Vessel's longer arms allow them to nearly carry a stack each, and III tries their hardest not to drop any as they head down the staircase. Glancing at Vessel as he follows them, III concluded Vessel is surprisingly elegant for a man that trips over his own items so often. He's noticed it often enough in the way Vessel moves about the house, silent and lithe. He's pretty, always so pretty.

When they bring down those stacks, II follows them back up without a word, only a loving brush of his fingers against III and Vessel's shoulders as he breezes past them. II makes a comment that somehow, Vessel had accumulated more books since the last time II was in there, and there were more of them strewn about under his bed and on his desk.

Vessel blushes in mild embarrassment at being caught as he hurriedly puts his mask on, avoiding II's disappointed gaze.

Things go quicker then, as II is easily able to carry more books than they can. III makes it a game to see how many they can stack in II's arms before he loses one or II's arms get tired. No strength limit was reached before all the books were taken downstairs, II not having broken a sweat, but he had dropped at least four making his way down the staircase. Vessel had snorted quietly, an action quite unlike him, but III supposes they also thought it was funny to watch II be swamped by books that he couldn't really see past, stacked as high as they were in his arms, laughing easily and with his whole chest at II's expense with nothing but pure affection. Vessel and II glanced at each other with little smiles as they looked at their Third.

After all the books are brought down, III thanks II first, giving him a peck on the cheek. II blushes but kisses III's cheek back, right over one of their little freckles which had slowly been growing into the shape of a question mark.

Vessel is a bit jealous, but III, despite not being able to feel it as Vessel's bond is almost entirely shut off from them, quells it quickly when they walk over to Vessel, kissing his masked cheek and calling him Sugar again as they thank him for helping.

Vessel stammers out a response, too flustered to pay much attention to what was said, excusing himself, cheeks burning as the vines on the walls writhe gently, reaching out in III's direction longingly.

III laughs quietly when he's sure Vessel won't hear and assume it was out of cruelty, leaning into II who has come up to lean half against their side and back. "You're far bolder than I am."

"He's just so pretty when he blushes. I can't help it." III admits, turning around to wrap II in a hug, enjoying how the action sends mutual contentment lazily down their open bond.

They melt into each other easily, "He is pretty when he blushes. Too bad his mask covers it most of the time."

"Yeah, but the blush always spreads to his ears if I get him flustered enough, so its still kinda visible! Well worth it if I can get him to smile too."

II hums an agreement, closing his eyes as he takes in III's heartbeat and the rise and fall of their chest. III lets the hug linger for a few minutes, happily enjoying II's warmth and swaying them back and forth a little while they hold one another.

"I'm gonna make labels." III decides suddenly after a few minutes, "For each of our shelves, I mean."

III pulls way to begin writing out little notes to tape onto each bookshelf. Each section, if whoever owns the shelf or shelves has multiple genres, are given a piece of paper taped over.

They do their own first, and since they mainly read dystopian and sci-fi, it's pretty easy, adding an upside down question mark to represent themself. II's shelves get a big label with the Roman numerals for II, like his name, and a pair of crude drumsticks, and then taped to the right of his name something for the genre, 'II's Gothic horror.' Vessel only has textbooks, so that's what III puts on Vessel's shelves, of which he has quite a few, filled to bursting even after being organized. III adds a little, six eyed smiley face next to Vessel's name on his label, because it's cute, like Vessel himself.

"So, do we just not need phones?" III asks, as he begins rearranging the books on the lower shelves of one of Vessel's bookcases, after realizing they did that shelf wrong.

II smiles sheepishly, "Vessel never said anything and I was kind of leaning into the mystical messenger of a God thing. Didn't think phones fit that, uh, vibe."

"We should definitely get phones. Vessel turns his bond off, and doesn't seem to like going into town with us. It would be best if we had something to communicate with! I think he'd feel better about it too."

"Also, I need photos of you both to admire when I'm sad." III states bluntly, a bright grin directed up at II.

II blushes down his neck but laughs anyway, letting it fade out before stating seriously, "You can just come to either one of us. I'll never refuse you and I'd imagine Vessel wouldn't, even if the physical contact would be limited."

"Let me rephrase. I need photos of you both to admire whenever I want. Just to have them. You're both very pretty and I need physical evidence to carry on my person." III jokes, but in reality, they know they're not joking at all.

II snorts, but doesn't say anything further, only shakes his head in amusement, letting III continue working.

When the organizing is done, II comes to stand next to III to get a better look. III leans their arm on II's head, gently, without much of their weight and II only looks mildly put upon. III gives II a kiss on the cheek, a shy little smile afterwards. II returns it, getting on his tiptoes to kiss their cheek in return.

"The little drawings next to our names are cute." II says as III places their arm on his head again.

"Thank you. Oh! I'm getting a gaming console. As much as I love to read, I love gaming just as much."

"Sure, not like we're wanting for money. Sleep has us set for eternity with that credit card Vessel holds on to. Never played any games myself though."

"Oh, you have got to try NieR: Automata! I- Hm, I think I was only on the second ending but that shit is painful but so, so good. Soundtrack is one of the best I've ever heard."

"Maybe we can rope Vessel into watching you play then." II agrees, interested.

"Hell yeah, this game is going to make us all cry, just you wait."

::

The first practice session they have as a band is the most chaotic one to date. All three of them were trying to get the feel of how they wanted their music to go with a bass added in to the mix. Vessel couldn't quite sing yet, struggling with his voice still, and so they decided to work on his piano segments and how II was going to incorporate his drumming into the song they were working on.

Fiddling with the tuning on his bass while Vessel sat at his piano playing the song, III was half-watching II playing a drumbeat full of hi-hats and fast bass drum kicks, casually as though it was second nature.

When II moved to play a beat on the medium tom, his drumstick slipped out of his hand due to the speed at which he was drumming. As it flung towards the wall, silver glinted in the lights of the practice room as it spun, transforming into a battle ax with a spray of golden sparks. It barely misses III, who lets out a loud shout of alarm, jumping back and falling on his ass while simultaneously trying to protect their bass.

Vessel startles at the sound, hunching into himself and slamming his fingers into the keys of his piano, creating a discordant sound at the same time the battle ax made a loud thwack as it struck the wall.

II looks down to find that his other drumstick has transformed in his hand as well, and put a fucking hole through his snare drum.

Everyone stares in silence, stunned by what has just occurred. There was something to be said about vessels of a God having strange eyes or skin that turns pitch black, or literal fangs. It was something else entirely for an everyday item that II has used his entire life to suddenly turn into a deadly weapon while in use. It was something else entirely for said deadly weapon to break through a drum head as though it were paper. It was something else entirely for said deadly weapon to get launched in the direction of someone he cared for, barely miss them, and get stuck in the wall five inches deep.

"What the fuck." II states, with a blank expression.

They all continue to stare, looking back and forth between the wall and II's broken snare, as though II hadn't said a word. II wonders if they sit and stare at the weapons long enough, they'll turn back into drumsticks like nothing ever happened. He wonders if this was a dream given to them by Sleep-

Ah. II has an idea.

II reaches out and tugs on the bond in his chest that leads to his God, so different from the ones he shares with Vessel and III, and yet so similar. He does not tug with the same intensity or aggression as he did before, but Sleep is clearly displeased all the same when they answer his call.

"While not as disrespectful as the last time you called upon me, I am quite disappointed, my Second. What is it you have called me for?" Sleep's voices bounce around the practice room, displeasure clear as day.

"Why- Why in the everloving fuck did my damn drumsticks turn into axes?" If there was a way to exclaim something with utmost feeling while having the most dead expression in the world, II would have accomplished it.

"It is a gift. You ate the apple of Eden, and it has granted you abilities." Sleep states, indifferent to the confusion his vessels share.

Vessel turns his head away, refusing to look anyone in the eye, or even in their general direction. He is well aware what the apple of Eden is, but to find out the others ate it as well is... unsettling. His heartbeat thumps on his tongue, and its like he can still taste it, still feel the texture of his own heart as he bit into it.

II glances at Vessel and takes a gamble. At worst, the God can correct him and he'll apologize to Vessel for assuming things without first asking for a proper answer. Its besides the point as to whether Vessel would answer in the first place.

"Is it like Vessel's ability to put people to sleep?" II asks, and purposefully does not glance at Vessel as he does so.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vessel stiffen further, going rigid as a corpse. Ah, so II was right. He should feel satisfied at the confirmation of his theory, but he is only profoundly saddened.

"That ability is not my Firsts. It is not meant to be wielded by anyone but myself. It is a dangerous ability, much like the Firsts penchant for-" Sleep pauses, and everyone turns to look at Vessel as he frantically shakes his head, six eyes begging Sleep not to say anything.

"As I was saying, you have all been granted a gift by eating the apple of Eden. It is only a matter of unlocking them." Sleep continues as though He had never even mentioned another dangerous ability that Vessel is using, "My First and Third ate the entire apple, so their gifts will be stronger. You, my Second, ate everything but the core. Transforming your drumsticks into weapons of battle will likely be the extent of your gift alongside your superior strength."

II will not be forgetting the God's slip up. III either, from the way they squint in displeasure, their brow furrowing alongside the thinning of their lips.

"My... strength?"

"Yes, you are far stronger than any human ought to be. Especially one of your... stature. You're quite vertically challenged for males of your species."

III cannot stop the laugh that spills from their lips, a little high pitched and unsure. Even Vessel, who has remained silent and tense, manages a small, silent huff of a laugh.

"Yes, well, thank you for answering my question, Sleep. That was all I wanted." II bites out, flustered as his brows furrowed in something akin to anger, perhaps outrage.

There is a laugh that echoes around them, sounding as though it was from a man and a woman, a child and an elder, fading into nothingness.

With an answer given, the silence wears off quickly.

"Sorry Vessel, didn't mean to scare you, but that sure scared the fuck outta me." III apologizes, and Vessel slowly untenses, glancing nervously at the weapon in the wall with one pair of eyes, III as they finally stand from the floor, and the last pair on II.

Plucking the ax out of his snare as though it weighed nothing, II walks over to grab the other from the wall. Despite how deeply its stuck, he pulls it out with ease. The weapons look right in his hands, as though he was always meant to wield them.

"Suppose I'll be keeping these in my room until I figure out how to turn them back." II mutters, before heading to the door, bond radiating fervent upset.

III has wandered over to Vessel, trying to coax the other into standing. He remains frozen in his seat, two pairs of eyes now watching II as the last set watches III. Through his mask, which he continues to wear nigh on constantly, unlike the others who do not feel the need to hide around people they care for so deeply, his expression is hidden from view. Without the bond, without being able to see his face, Vessel's feelings remain a mystery.

"Vessel," II stops just before the door as III silently rejoices Vessel letting them hold his hand, "I'm not upset with you, to be completely honest so you don't think I'm angry. I'm upset you hid something dangerous to your health from me, and clearly there is still more I've not been told. I just- I want to talk it over with you."

Vessel loses some of the tension in his shoulders, then, disbelieving relief creeping into the cracks of his soul. He knows he cannot avoid this, no matter how he wants to.

"Tomorrow." Vessel states, hoping that if he gets it over with faster, the longer he'll have to pick up the pieces of his heart when they learn what Vessel has done for them.

He knows they will not be grateful. They do not seem to like anything Vessel does that puts his body in harms way. Its something Vessel doesn't understand, but has grown to expect from them.

As the day turns into night, Vessel emerges from the practice room he had insisted on staying in, long after II left, no matter how III tried to convince him to go rest or come out for dinner, even just to be near while the others ate.

Quiet laughter can be heard as Vessel makes his way into the upstairs sitting room. He pauses at the top of the staircase to listen as III giggles at something II has said. It makes him smile, but also causes sadness to weigh heavily on his chest.

III opens their door to leave his room, an empty mug in hand, just as Vessel turns to head to his room.

"Vessel!" III sounds so excited, so happy to see him, and Vessel wants to believe he's reading their faint emotions right in the bond so badly.

"Did you want to sleep with Two and I tonight? We've got room!"

The vines on the walls tremble with Vessel's heart, his longing and desire. Vessel glances at III's hand, hanging limply at their side. The bandage is starkly visible. Shame fills him up, foul like tar, burning the back of his throat.

Vessel shakes his head. Vessel... doesn't want to refuse. But he is afraid they'll notice his lack of heartbeat. He's too afraid of the outcome of tomorrow. Perhaps he should bask in the affection they are willing to give him before they take it away but Vessel is a coward.

The hope Vessel felt faintly through the bond crumbles, but III smiles anyway, a wobbly thing that Vessel can tell they're barely holding up, "Okay, um, we'll- we'll see you in the morning then?"

Vessel gives a shaky smile back, unable to help himself as he walks forward, moving his mask up a little to leave room between it and his skin, taking III's hand and placing it under the mask on his cheek. Vessel leans into it, closing all six eyes for a moment, before pulling away, dropping III's hand and fixing his mask at the same time.

"See you in the morning."

III stares after Vessel as he turns away, not seeing II come to lean against III's door frame.

"'Night Ves." II calls out quietly, but Vessel doesnt turn around, no matter how he wants to.

They both watch him go, desperately hoping he'll turn back around and join them anyway.

He parrots the saying even quieter before his door shuts behind him firmly, hoping they don't notice the tears dripping down his chin.

[fruit-salad-ship]

Normal Peach is pretty stubborn when she gets sick. I can't imagine how stubborn former gladiator Peach would be when sick. She could be close to fainting with an incredibly high fever and she would still be pretending as though everything is fine. Cue her confusion as Grey and Plum fret over her and she's too weak to turn down their attention.

I think about this AU a (un)healthy amount. I swear.

Dont you just love it when a woman who could kill you is also a walking disaster with affection and has no idea how to live a normal life due to being a literal killing machine for the vast majority of her existance? no? just me? huh.

super clueless soft peach is my entire life. not enough AUs highlight it

this is unedited, there will be issues. I care not. Have the free food.

The fighters been sick and had to go out into the ring, and win, or die. Her body has struggled through a lot, and she has always survived despite the odds. Now, in a less severe setting, she still upholds the old ways. It’s not been too long since arriving in this new job, she’s still finding her feet, but the rainy season comes, and all her old injuries flare up. Agonising, nagging pain that just seems to riddle her without mercy. None the less, peach soldiers on, not once does she complain or ask for things to be adjusted to help cope. Grey notices her moving stiffly, she’s working harder to bypass the aches and pains in training, still keeping her exacting standard, and he spots her rubbing her knee, trying to keep herself loose during guard duty, rolling her shoulder, trying to keep fidgeting, don’t let the stiffness settle in. He suggests she take a moment to rest but she never does, unaware that she’s dealing with a lot, and if anything, the work is a welcomed distraction from her old injuries.

But this is not the worst of it, not by a long shot. Plums first to catch the creeping ailments, she asks peach a question one day as the guard stands beside her, and peach doesn’t answer, doesn’t even react as if the question wasn’t heard. The second pry for her attention is asked, is the soldier ok? She looks sweaty, exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes evident. Truth be told peach hasn’t slept well for a couple of nights, plagued by aches and gradually worsening tightness in her chest, desperately trying to stave off a creeping illness with as best a home remedy she could make with what little she had. Perhaps she stayed out in the rain working too long last week, it’s for sure caught up with her now. No matter, peach straightens up upon her boss’ prying, breathes, focuses, and says she’s fine, despite the sweat on her brow, and the migraine settling in.

By the end of the day she’s praying for the release of her shift to come, hardly able to hear, the ringing in her head is so loud. She’s stowing her gear in the barracks, manages to get out of it all, the process is a blur before she starts to make her way to her little room, but ends up leant up against a wall in the hallway leading to staff common space, head spinning, her normally sturdy stance is shaken, falling to a knee, and losing consciousness before her face even hits the floor.

The next thing Grey knows is he’s got one of his off duty staff rushing into the barracks, a young lad, worried, exclaiming that he needs to come help. In the rush behind this youngster, Grey listens as he stammers about finding her collapsed on the floor, and seeing as there’s only one member of the guard that’s a woman, the captains worry increased. They turn a corner and see two other members of staff knelt beside Peach, her whole form glistening in the candle light. All they know is they found her like this on the floor, none have dared to do more than check see if she’s still breathing, something you cant miss because it’s so difficult, a raspy struggle for air. Grey feels how cold she is to touch, forehead burning, he felt the heat radiating from her without even putting his hand to it, having seen this a few times before.

He scoops her up in his strong arms with seeming ease, though she is anything but light, rushing to the main house with her held tight, getting a house worker to go fetch Plum as soon as he arrives, placing the unconscious woman down on a cushioned bench for a moment. Peach did not wake, her breathing shallow, a shake to her hands even in this state. Plum comes down draped in her finery, expecting news or some kind of event beginning, but not this. Her mild interest turns to immediate worry, picking up the trailing fabric of her outfit to shift unhindered as soon as her eyes fall on the pair, her pair, one of which is looking awful, the other worried. “Is she hurt?!” Her gentle touch fretfully checked, no stabs, no wounds, no blood, realising just how cold she was.“they found her in the staff hallway, didn’t even make it to her room.”

She asks him to moves the sick fighter to a spare room within the main house, somewhere most staff don’t reside, while quickly fetching items from her desk before returning. Grey’s got his staff, his friend, tucked away in fine sheets, asking one of the young women trying to help to get cold water and a cloth. “Take this, ride to town, and bring back a doctor, please.” Plum's hand extends towards her head of guard and passes him a broach, a family crest made of fine gold with mother of pearl inlay. This token proved who Grey worked for, and how well off they were, Plum would pay to get this fixed, whatever it took. He nods, places his hand gently on her arm in comfort, before turning to leave, a final glance at his girls. As he ventures for help, the lady of the house sits beside this idiot, total fool, taking a cool damp cloth, pressing it to her head. “You should have said something…” Her concerned nag that peach can’t hear. “Why did you ignore this? What were you thinking?” With the cold compress placed on her forehead, she busied herself, removed the braces on both her arms, and for a moment, she got a quiet opportunity to look at a part of this woman that she avoided drawing attention to. The seared brand on her wrist, a constant source of sadness for the fighter, with her unconscious, running a thumb over it was possible, feeling one part that was particularly deep, healed a little less clean that the rest. She must have got this as a child, the barbaric practice spared no one, and whoever did this had been aggressive with their methods no doubt. Looking her over, it seemed all methods of handling this woman were that way inclined, criss crossed with scars. It changed nothing, she wouldn’t leave her side.

The doctor arrived late in the night, Grey with him, leading the way into the house. He checks her over, and in his examination finds the same brand Plum had, retracting. “This is a slave, why are you wasting money on her? Just buy another if she doesn’t pull through.” He began to get up to leave, being barred by Grey in the door, his irritation quiet. Plum did not stand, she sat on the other side of the woman, and kept her companions hand in hers, looking sternly to the doctor. “You will treat her, you will take the money required, and you can return to your night.” Angering or irritating someone they needed was not wise, but a stern tone was all that was needed, he looked from her, to Grey and back to the woman struggling to breathe in bed, taking a seat once more to continue checking for various signs of what was plaguing her. He suggested a hand full of medicinal herbs, and how to use them, asking Plum to send an errand boy to pick up more potent medicine from his establishment the next day. He looks down his nose at Plum, who ignores his judgement, before he leaves in the dead of night.

Days pass before they got any sort of recovery signs, medicine is give, and all of the doctors orders were followed to the letter, before finally the fever breaks. Peach has been tended carefully, and finally, after a long time out cold, she opens her eyes just ever so slightly. She is laid beside Plum who’s reading, her curled up position comfortably on a plush chair. It’s late evening, golden hour creeping in through windows that have fine fabrics surrounding them, blowing in the wind calmly, light flooding into the room. A room the fighter doesn’t recognise immediately. It’s luxurious and spacious, a room of wealth. She groans, slowly coming around, becoming increasingly aware of her headache, of the soreness in her spine, and the groggy feeling lingering in her chest. Plum put her book down instantly, gesturing to a member of staff out of view to get Grey, they’d discussed this, before rushing to take the hand of the woman in bed. Her hand is no longer cold and clammy, there is warmth to it.

“you’re awake!” Such a squeeze to the woman’s mitt, feeling Peach squeeze back weakly with a hoarse grumble. It is no more than a minute before it truly sinks in to the fighter where she is, the smell of this building, the quality of the sheets she’s nestled in. Her body despite still feeling weak sat up quickly, she managed to mumble out “I gotta go- can’t be here.” Before making a fair attempt to stand, perhaps she would have made it if it weren’t for her boss, the tiny delicate frame of this woman who put her hand on her chest and pushed her back down. “Stop, you’ve got to rest, lie back down.” Her gentle shove was enough, for the first time in a long time peach couldn’t fight back. She’d had many a body ache before, but this was the worst, every joint as if it was set in stone. She doesn’t try again, has neither the strength of mind or body to go against her employer, watching the little woman slide up near her on the bed, that skin contact from someone so important, so beautiful, making it harder to breathe than before. “The doctor said you’d no doubt ignored symptoms for a while, what were you thinking?” The fighter accepted her defeat, just this once, and lay there, eyes set on the ceiling, unable to meet her gaze. “I…It normally goes away. I didn’t want to be a problem.” Her attempt to be less of an issue caused way more than she had liked, the worm of guilt sneaking into her head slowly. “Sorry.

Peach knew she shouldn’t be there, not in the house, not in a guest room. She had her own quarters, she should have been put in there and left, she’d pull through. Doctors were expensive, she’d have to work for a long time to earn enough to pay that debt off. If this was her old life, the pits, she’d have been thrown out to fight sick, surely meeting her death. She didn’t even remember getting out of her gear on her last shift, the whole thing was a blur, before she was suddenly just…here, cared for…something no one had done for her since she was a child, before all the mess that happened. She hardly recalled that early memory, but lying there with plum talking to her, telling her about what she’d missed, it felt like home. A thought she tried to shake, did everything she could to ignore, revelling in the hand that held hers.

Grey was suddenly at the door, peaking in, making sure he wasn’t just bursting in on something that’d stress her out, he was just so happy to see her with eyes open. Alive, awake. His relief was visible, joining the girls, calmly sitting on the other side of the bed, able to try to lessen the situation, make a dumb joke. For a moment, he swore she even smiled when she saw him, a weak, half sided smile, but appreciation none the less. Peach didn’t know why they were here, or why this was happening. No logical explanation made any sense to her, their dedicated time and attention felt alien, undeserved. She’d made a mistake, getting sick like this wasn’t acceptable, and now she’d have to live with that on her head. Another weight to carry around.

She felt nothing but awkwardness and shame for the care they’d given, their efforts wasted on someone like her, they could be handed to someone else more deserving. She was fine now, it wouldn’t happen again. They’d found her becoming more reserved as the day progressed, as if her returning strength bolstered her ability to isolate herself. Every time plum returned to the room to check up on her she’d gotten up, made the bed, and was sat up in a chair, just waiting. Plum said don’t leave the room, so she didn’t, still followed her orders, just…didn’t feel right being in a bed like that, or in a space as nice as this. Tried not to touch anything, just in case she broke it, or it was special in some way she didn’t know, just sitting, waiting. Plum showed irritation with her behaviours, which she apologised for, but none the less, didn’t know what else she could do. “Why cant you just try to relax? I brought your book, theres nice clothes for you to swap to if you want, you’ve got a meal you’ve hardly touched.” Her boss asking her to do things could be hostile, could be kind, it made no difference, she had to do it. Peach awkwardly sat back on the very edge of the bed, and picked her book up. The feather keeping her page taken, trying to do what she was told, just…relax right? Reading does that. She could at least follow that instruction.

The lady of the house sighed, trying to get this fighter to take a break was like getting blood from a stone. “Fine, at least come and sit in the garden with me.” Peach went to put the book down, but was stopped. “Bring that.”

“I don’t have any of my gear, should I go get it?” She’d make a lousy guard without a sword at the very least. Surely she should be back to work attire for this? “You’re not working, you’re sitting, no swords, no armour, no shields. Just…c’mon.” Her gentle hand took the larger woman and tugged ever so slightly, feeling her follow, an expression of confusion across her face.

Grey had to keep working, make sure the grounds were secure and his staff were informed, having had three of the men find her unconscious, the rumours started to circle. Many of the young men serving under him asked about Peach, she’d not been very open to conversation, but now and then she’d quietly help one of the youngsters with their stance, tapping their shoulder or shifting their foot with her own to improve it. One raid she’d saved a young boy from a bandit, he’d surely have perished then if not for her, an act she didn’t think much of, she did her job. Guarded. She took no praise for it, and didn’t suddenly become chatty and open, but the boy was determined to get to know her better, surely she’d have some good stories to tell at the least, right? The older guards found her quiet nature very comforting, she listened to their tall tales, and often shared meals sat with them in the communal areas, as they tended not to ask too many questions, or look to her with as much curiosity. They had seen it all, and so her taller, broader, damaged form was not so surprising. She had started to belong, and so when she didn’t show up for her shift, they asked, and Grey obliged with an honest answer. Every morning they’d ask to check in, see how she was doing, some even stopped by the room she was held up in, seeing her sleeping form, just to make sure she was still there, that she didn’t need anything. She never did.

So for Grey to see the woman out, in the sun, not lugging the armour around she was known for, nor with sword in hand, was quite a pleasant surprise. He could see out the window of the barracks that Plum had brought her into the light, trying to get her to just recover peacefully. There was a clear disconnect, he could not hear their conversation, but Peach looked lost, and Plum was laughing gently about whatever was said. The two seemed to settle into it. He saw the fighter sit awkwardly for a moment beside her boss, her attention caught by a bee flying low past her, watched it land on lavender, didn’t take her eyes off it until it took off and moseyed away at a leisurely pace. By this point the breeze picked up and caught her hair, uncharacteristically down, seeing her take a big inhale, shut her eyes for a brief moment, breathe. Perhaps she was better suited to the outdoors. Grey recalled the dank conditions of the underside of where she’d come from, those fighting pits lined with stone and mud. All colours felt dark and dirty, what little light cast by sconces just never enough. So now, sat in sunshine, with the calm green around her, no walls, no roof over her head, she seemed to actually enjoy for a moment. Every time a new bug would inch closer she’d get distracted by it. He found it impossible to take his eyes off her, she had a curiosity he didn’t notice before. She showed Plum one that she’d let crawl onto her hand, some kind of grub or caterpillar from what he could tell sat this far away, to which plum recoiled. He longed to hear what was said. The little woman watched in horror as Peach just calmly looked over this little creature on her, before letting it take its time to move from her to a leaf.

Sitting turned to lying, somehow, maybe it was the fresh air, this woman dozed off out in the open, plums little body against hers as she read to herself. He had never seen the fighter relax like this, whatever illness had its grips on her truly must have worn her out. His break allowed Grey to wander over to them out in the gardens, sitting with Plum, neither waking the warrior, she slept soundly. “Good to see her taking time to recover.” Both watched the rise and fall of her chest, that dreadful struggle to breathe that afflicted her clear, she was quiet, calm. “Yeah, seems she’s like a big cat, a pit lion. Put her in the sun and she goes down finally.” The similarities were uncanny, her behaviour was so similar to that of the caged beasts used to rile crowds, creatures from far off lands who don’t belong in cages. “I don’t think I’ll ever disconnect that imagery now.” This time spent so close with her, though sickness none the less revealed a far softer side that hid beneath the surface, she was not all tooth and claw after all, even if she herself didn’t even know what to do with that softness.

Her steady decline into some small domesticated behaviours progressed. She was forced to take the rest of the week off, every day she’d return to the gardens, and each time would seemingly let go of some of the tense movements, shed the weight in her shoulders until by the end of her time off, she was freely roaming the space, she even discussed with the gardener of her own free will. She was…learning. Plum and Grey watched from afar as she seemed to show an interest in something, a huge step. Her strength returned, and in the process, something else, something new started growing from the ruins of her past life, she was always defiant, but now she had something to put that frustration towards, to channel all the unfair moments she’d survived into something good. Perhaps getting sick, though terrifying for those around her, was a moment to let her see that she could slow down, that she was allowed to extend her interests to other things outside of work.

The parting moment when plum finally allowed her to return to work, left Peach in a strange situation. She had never had to sincerely thank someone before, and found herself tripping over her words as she tried to come off as genuine as possible. She certainly made a mess of it, but despite that, her boss smiled. It was quite something to watch someone so strong and so capable, fidget and find it impossible to look up from her feet, the blush as she said the wrong thing, backtracking quickly, trying not to be an idiot. “You didn’t have to help me- not that I’m ungrateful, I’m not, it…I-I just…I need to pay this back somehow. Take it out of my wages, I’ll make up for the lost hours. I don’t know if I’d have pulled through without you getting a doctor, it was a huge inconvenience to you, to everyone-“ Plums quiet smile was unmistakable, resting her head on her hand at the desk she sat behind, paused on signing a letter, placing her writing implement down half way through the conversation. When peach fell silent, trying not to feel like she messed up every word of that, she held her breath as her boss stood, walked calmly around the desk, pausing mere inches away, looking up with those big brown eyes she struggled to connect with, glancing away nervously. “For the record, I don’t want repayment, never did. This was no trap to shackle you to a debt” her gentle touch to the woman’s arm for the first time didn’t cause the fighter to flinch away at all. “But I see you’re struggling with this so I will think of some way that you can make this up to me, just not now, get settled, I’ll call on a favour or two someday perhaps.” The conversation is ended with Plum tugging at the woman’s hand, bringing her down to a more manageable height, one sweet little kiss on her cheek, before turning to get back to work at the desk. Peach is freed to leave, and does so with a whole new kind of fever. Her boss finds it endlessly entertaining that she gets so flustered from the slightest shred of affection.

Finally it was time for her to go back to work, she was fighting fit again, recovered and finally sat back in the guard house, donning gear on a bench. Other staff entered the building, all greeting her, happy to see her well once more. Her presence put the youngsters at ease especially, she was some kind of affirming energy to them, like a mother hen that they all flocked to, even if peach herself didn’t notice at all, Grey did, saw them all rally to her without thought. Magnetic personality type, even if she said very little and showed limited emotional range. She was stable, sturdy, and they needed that. In a way, the whole house needed it. She was gaining a family, something she didn’t even notice yet.

[thechronicpaingame]

I know I'm going on a lot about this facial pain but I need to write or focus elsewhere because I feel ready to burn everything down. I've had a LOT of pain over the years but this is in its own entire bracket. I know what a 10 feels like, the issue is this is like an 8, but constantly. With no pain meds touching it. I can't think, I can't eat, and now my body is deciding being sick is gonna help 🤷🏻‍♀️

The dentist is trying to get me a special mouth guard / mouth bite thing made for me as an emergency (because I broke down into tears in the dentist 🤦🏻‍♀️) and she doesn't think a simple mouth guard will work well enough. Definitely can't really afford but I'd pay whatever for just one day of this pain gone.

Doubled my steroids due to the vomiting today, feels like my body's reaction to the pain. I don't think since my polyarteritis / stills flareups have I been sick from pain.

I don't know what else it could be if it's not this? It's not like stabbing or electric type pain, it's a severe, deep ache kind of pain (bilaterally). Feels like a migraine in the whole bottom of my face.

Anyway, enough moaning I guess. Just struggling q bit and needed to write this out.

[baiboop]

Sharing my Heart

Chapter 4

Adam felt the moment Micheal had entered his body, the moment that white hot luminance came in contact with Adams flesh and soul.

It was like being burned, Micheals grace was so hot that it felt cold, but the cool burning didn’t hurt, admittedly, it felt nice.

He felt Micheals grace forging a space inside of him, melting and burrowing in, joining him within his anatomy.

Having apart of the heavenly host inside you is hard to describe, but to the best of Adams ability, being one with Micheal was like- finding a missing piece of yourself that you never knew was missing. You’re still you, but so much better.

After Micheal’s grace settled inside of Adam, he felt his entire body working the most harmoniously it ever had. He felt no small aches, breathing was immediately easier, and he detected no other unpleasant sensations at all.

After a couple seconds of Michael adjusting internally, Adam felt a mental push.

He felt Micheal pushing to the front, into control.

Within moments Adam was giving in, giving up control. (Not that he could’ve resisted Michael if he had tried anyway.)

Adam felt his consciousness shifting farther inside of him, moving over to make room for the bodies new host. So many odd sensations came with the push, so many things changing and making room to accommodate Micheals presence inside.

Adam could still see through his own eyes, however after the shift it felt like looking at a movie screen.

He could see his own body move, his hands, his feet, he could see the area around him changing when new things came into view. But Adam wasn’t controlling any of it, he was made to idly observe the outside world.

Then Micheal flew.

Adam still had trouble seeing anything. (Albeit this time he didn’t feel ill.)

Everything looked melded and warped together, he wasn’t able to make out any discernible shapes or figures.

Assuming human senses just weren’t built for viewing things like angelic flight, Adam ignored it.

At the moment, Micheal and Adam were both viewing the world through the same eyes. Still, Adam wasn’t in control of the body but he had been conscious and watching up until this point.

Adam felt another tug mentally, coming from Micheal’s grace. He wasn’t sure why, had he done something wrong? Why was Micheal pushing him further in?

He has never been possessed before, obviously, so he wasn’t exactly sure how it was meant to work, was he not allowed to watch?

He didn’t really understand what being pushed meant either, where he was going, or why it was happening.

It was all new to him, and so, so confusing.

He did know how it made him feel, though.

It felt kind of like when his mom would shoo him away when busy or on the phone, it felt like being unwanted, an annoyance.

Adam felt a tad bit offended that Micheal didn’t want him to see what was going on, it was his body.

He knew that was a childish emotion to have, of course he isn’t going to be involved in the archangel’s business. It was silly to think he would have any involvement anyway, he’s just a vessel.

Even with that being known Adam still felt a little sorry for himself before submitting to the push. Adams consciousness instantly shifted deeper into his own psyche.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, the push giving him the same sharp pain as a bad migraine. He felt himself, materializing? He wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling, but sensations started to come back, he was once again aware of his limbs, he could wiggle his toes and feel the clothes on his skin.

Once he opened up his eyes again, he found himself enveloped within the likeness of his own home.

A chill ran down Adams spine, the last time he had been here had been… The day he found his mother, the day he was lured and slaughtered.

He treaded carefully around the living room, looking at pictures of his mom and him together, his senior portrait and graduation photos, as well as some photos of a younger version of himself smiling with his grandparents.

The tinge of fleeting happiness Adam got from these memories was blanketed by his extreme unease.

Formally preoccupied with the photos, his mind now became focused on his last moments in the house. His breathing picked up as he looked around the house, remembering seeing what he thought was his mom, remembering being dragged away by monsters, and remembering what happened after they had captured him.

He has a full body shudder and feels his chest squeeze, starting what he knows will be multiple minutes of intense duress.

“You are in distress.”

Adam hears a voice from behind him and spins around, startled by being joined so suddenly and at such a time.

Adam is still breathing hard, and covered in a cold sweat but studies the other figure. He was physically identical to Adam, but something was different. It obviously wasn’t him, and for more than the reason of he just knew that wasn’t him. The doppelgänger carried himself entirely differently and spoke in a voice nothing like Adams.

Looking at the man gave Adam something akin to the uncanny-valley feeling you get from looking at mannequins for too long.

He knows it’s Micheal but he’s not sure why he looks so… Similar... Perhaps Micheal can only appear as the body he is inside of?

“I.. I guess yeah, I am.” Adam says back, choosing to ignore Micheals appearance for the moment, and fidgeting with the zipper on his coat.

“Why?” Micheal questioned, face almost expressionless except for the slight movement of his eyebrows into what Adam couldn’t even call a furrow.

“I determined familiarity would comfort you. Does this not comfort you, Adam?” Micheal continued, the same twitch of his brow catching Adams eye.

Adam scoffs feeling agitated by the angels response.

“No. It doesn’t. You have my memories dont you? You’re in my head, this place just makes me think of my mom and… Everything that happened here.” Adam replied, unable to disguise the negative emotions and letting them through into his tone.

He squeezes his fingers into his hands, nails digging into his palms and shuts his eyes trying not to picture the memories of his death, as well as not wanting to see the house around him any longer. Adam waits in tense silence while Micheal is (presumably) thinking about what to do next.

“My deepest apologies, Adam. Please allow me to re-attempt construction of a suitable habitat for you.”

Adam shifts on his feet, eyes still closed, nodding in response to Micheal.

Some of his previous annoyance wearing off because of the angels mellow approach. Ultimately he remains wordless though.

Adam peeks through his eyelids when he hears the ringing tone of Micheal’s grace, the area around them quickly morphs into a different living room. His grandparents living room.

Adam looks around him, eyes opened fully now, and caught by the living room window which he walks over to.

He presses his hands and forehead to the glass, peering out, everything is as it was.

He already feels calmer now that he’s out of his living room.

The unease and sour memories cease, replaced by better, brighter ones of childhood. The blue sky and fluffy cumulus clouds almost make him crack a grin, he pivots back around to where Micheal is standing, watching him. Right as Adam was about to start his questioning, Micheals words began.

“I must sincerely express my gratitude to you, Adam. Because of you, I will now be able to fulfill my fathers divine plan and usher in paradise on earth.”

“I- You’re welcome, I guess.” Adam furrowed his brow, eyes sliding away from Micheal, who was still wearing Adams face, and to his surroundings.

He is in his grandparents house. How is he in his grandparents house?

This is the first instance where Adam starts to wonder where Micheal can push him. Is he still in his own body? Had Micheal removed him from his own body?

“Is this.. Heaven? Am I in heaven?” Adam asked, shyly clasping his wrist, the fear of being wrong making him feel a little silly for even asking.

“No.” Micheal responds.

Adams head turns back to meet ‘Micheals’ face and he feels a blush cover his cheeks. He stops a moment waiting for Micheal to elaborate, but when he doesn’t Adam offers a follow up question. “Okay. So can you tell me where I am?”

“Of course.” Micheal holds Adams gaze for a moment, before realizing what the human meant to say was, “Tell me where I am.”

“You are within your own minds inner sanctum.”

“So I’m inside like, my memories or..” Adam trails off, not bothering to make any guesses in the fear of being even more wrong than before.

“Your understanding is partially correct. Would you prefer I give a detailed explanation? I could draw a graph as well.”

Adam chuckled before realizing that the angel probably wouldn’t be cracking jokes. (He really didn’t seem the type.) He was likely dead serious about the graph.

“Oh no, no graph. Just explain it to me. In a way you think I would understand, please.”

“Very well. While the body is still active, your human soul is directly related to the consciousness you’ve formed in your brain.

The soul is what makes you human, the soul is a human and all of its idiosyncrasies.

Souls are uniquely tailored to each person, and hold all information about you as an individual.

The brain formed consciousness holds all of this information as well.

It stores your bodily functions, sensory receptors and anything else that has to do with your physical form.

It aids in the formation of thoughts and emotions when the soul is still attached to the body, but once detached the soul is fully capable of doing this for itself.

A human soul is capable of holding all of this input seperatly, hence why once in heaven you mortals are able to remain fully functional, excluding the dropping of all brain and body activities such as digestion or breathing. These functions, obviously, become obsolete to a human soul outside of its body as there is no body to help sustain.

If the soul were to leave the body, but the body remained alive, the consciousness would stay to retain what little of you there is left to salvage.

The body would no longer classify as human in the eyes of heaven and would just be seen as an empty vessel.

The human body is not able to properly function without its other half, it will maintain a state of homeostasis however, the mind would be permanently altered.

That is why while in the body, mind and soul work together as comrades to keep you functioning in perfect order.

With that explained, I am sure you will understand with ease that you are residing within your soul and your consciousness.

Your memories are housed within your brain but they are also ingrained into your soul, making this a combination of the two.

While technically you are within a physical plane I have created off your memories, this is still your mind and soul. The adjustments I made are very minor. I only changed what I needed to in order to make this space livable for you.

I saw to it that you would be comfortable, should you choose to remain awake within the vessel.” Micheal finished.

Adam stared at Micheal, his mind having a sizable amount of trouble wrapping itself up in the idea of separation and togetherness of mind and soul, even with Micheal dumbing-down the explanation specifically for Adam. After a minute or two of silence between the them Adam spoke.

Adam chose not to ask any follow up questions about the logistics of the memory-scape he was currently in because he wasn’t sure if any explanation would really help, and after his moments of thought he was pretty sure he at least could grasp the concept.

“Remain awake? What do you mean by that?”

“I could put you to sleep, if you so choose, of course. Time would pass but you would not be aware of anything until I awoke you. It would be as though you just blinked.” Micheal explained.

“No, no. Don’t do that, I’m fine in here. Besides it won’t take too long, right?” Adam said while walking to the bookshelf and browsing the titles, noticing some where unreadable or repeats.

“Very well.” Micheal responded, ignoring his question and disappearing only a moment later.

——

The next week with Micheal was spent in preparation of the prize fight. Adam remained the copilot in his own body, idly observing Micheals tasks when allowed. Micheal hadn’t spoken directly to him since the day he switched the scenery inside the memory-scape.

Since that day, the outside world had become viewable to Adam on a couple occasions but mainly he was left to his own devices within his mind.

When he became bored with watching Micheals heavenly duties, which only happened once during a period he was granted extended viewing time (About seven hours, which was like six hours and forty five minutes longer than average.), he retreated to the re-creation of his grandparents home.

Their home was on the outskirts of Windom, Minnesota, towards St. James and Mankato.

It sat about an hour and thirty minutes away from his moms home in the heart of Windom.

His grandparents had an older home, it was a ranch on about twenty acres of land. A pond situated out front, with farming fields and apple trees out back. There was a faded red barn behind the house, where they held grandpa Milligans farming tools and his old, aluminum fishing boat.

Adam had free reign of the space, it felt just like a normal physical plane, he could feel himself, other objects and even textures. Everything felt entirely, well, real.

Micheal had mentioned his creation of this physical plane specifically for Adam, thinking slightly harder on this topic inspired Adams note-to-self, if Micheal popped in once again he would ask him how exactly this inner world was created.

Adam found himself spending almost all his time in the mowed yard of the home, occupying himself with laying in the sun, watching memories of clouds going by. Walking and jogging the trails around the houses property would probably be the thing Adam spent the second most amount of time on.

He loved the summer breeze, sweet smelling air and warm sun situated up in the sky.

The sun felt great on his face, even when he broke a sweat he didn’t feel overheated, everything was just, perfectly pleasant.

Despite this, the days passed excruciatingly slowly. The clocks on the walls were frozen at 12:47 pm and the sun never moved from its high position in the sky. The calendars were marked as June 29th, 2002, this was a memory from 8 years prior, the summer after his second year of middle school.

Adam had his very own summer afternoon, frozen in time, just for him. He should be happy, this is nice, plus Micheal went out of his way to make this for him instead of just instantly putting him to sleep, so he should feel grateful.

He was kind of happy, it was nice and all, but it made for a very difficult environment to tell time in.

Adam didn’t sleep or eat while inside this memory-scape, so he was down two big pass-times.

This afternoon Adam found himself pacing the halls of the old ranch muttering to himself and waiting for Micheals next allowance of outside viewing to take place.

He paced back and forth for what he counted (pretty badly) to be about 4 hours. Finally Adam felt some release on whatever aspect of Micheals mind that was blocking him from sight.

When the view came in from the outside, he saw that Micheal was, from what little he could gather, instructing Raphael on ‘temporary heaven maintenance and leadership.’ Or something like that.

He happily relished this break from the insane boredom that was his solitary confinement.

Just being able to view some outside world, even one he couldn’t recognize, was perfectly stimulating for his brain.

Those couple minutes everyday are what kept Adam from going insane in there. Before Micheals conversation with his angel brethren was even over, Adams viewing ability ceased.

It had lasted about three minutes this time. Three minutes, that Adam got to see the outside world.

After being locked back up in his own head, he walked down the hall of his grandparents house and to the guest bedroom he stayed in when he was there as a child. He opened the door, approaching the bed and flopping down face first on it.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the cotton fabric of the sheets. “Sleep… Sleep. Ugh please, just sleep.” Adam sighed, digging his nails into the pillow before lifting and slamming his fist back down onto it.

This is the longest amount of time Adams ever been awake, straight, in his life, he had to be on the fifth day by now.

“Okay, I am going to sleep now.” Adam said aloud to himself. He thought maybe the verbal reassurance would work in favor of him trying to shut his body down to get some rest in. Adam laid on the bed for hours, on his back, eyes closed, covers up.

He even closed the blinds and door. Leaving the room in a tranquil total darkness.

He may not be sleeping but he’s definitely in a relaxed state and feels the same way you feel when you’re close to sleep, so that was nice at least.

After a long while he finally felt the tug of his mind to get up. He started feeling distracted by his thoughts: When was Micheal going to fight Lucifer? When will this be over? What if he never got out of here?

This effectively ruined his relaxed state.

Adam sat up, eyes fixed on the alarm clock next to the bed. An inquisitive look passed his features as he reached out to tap the buttons on top of it. He played with the settings and up/down arrows attempting to change the clocks time, to no avail.

The red numbers on the clocks screen would flicker but never alter. Adam scoffed aloud, rolling his eyes and harshly setting the clock back down. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, heading towards the door.

Adam walked to the kitchen, standing at the sink and staring out the window above it.

He can see the large dug out pond, the woods to the right of the pond and the gravel-dirt driveway to the left.

He stares at the blue water of the pond, the bright shine of its reflection catching his eyes and making him see spots when he looked away.

His eyes pass over the wooden dock he had helped build with his grandpa, summer of ‘99.

A small smile tugged at Adams features, the smile started to take shape for a moment, before he could snuff it out.

‘Would water feel real?’ Adam thought to himself.

Habitually he looked over at the clock, rolling his eyes again when he was met with 12:47.

He decided just then, he quite literally has all the time in the world. (As he’s not even sure if this internal feeling of the passing-of-time correlates to the outside world whatsoever.)

Adam takes off his shirt, flannel and jacket. Throwing them over the kitchen table and chairs. He walks out the front door at a brisk, determined pace, heading straight for the pond.

He stands in front of the pond, the ground is slightly squishy under his feet and the bottom of his boot sinks in a little.

He sits on the rickety wooden dock (honestly they hadn’t done the best job on it), untying his boots and slipping them off along with his socks.

After getting his shoes off, he got back to his feet. Adam stood there in just his jeans and boxers, contemplating for a moment. Nothing in particular just mostly, everything.

He felt the warm wind touch his exposed skin and ruffle through his hair.

He reached for the zipper of his pants, un-zipping and kicking off his jeans, before walking to the edge of the hand-made dock.

He bent his left knee, sticking the opposite leg out and into the water.

He dipped his foot in, promptly feeling the familiar wet sensation that is water.

Water. It feels like water, for real! Adam takes his foot back out, and walks a couple steps back on the dock. He then runs the short distance of the dock, jumping at the end, up and into the water in a canon ball.

With a pretty impressively sized splash Adam is in the water, submerged but floating back up. He kicks his arms and legs propelling himself upwards, his head breaches the surface and immediately upon contact with the air Adam is gasping for breath.

Does he even need to breath anymore?

He wonders to himself, not dwelling on it too long.

A huge smile forms on his face as he treads the water of the deep pond.

He swims around the entire pond four times over before back-stroking over to the wooden dock. He reaches his arms out to the dock, planting them on top and holding himself up with them. He lets out a huge sigh of relief and laughs out loud. “This is amazing!” He exclaims, to no one in particular, although he hopes Micheal can hear him.

He pushes himself back off the dock and swims the pond a couple more times, trying every swimming style he can think of.

After he exhausts himself from swimming he floats on his back a while, eyes closed, letting the sun beat down on him.

He feels better, so, so much better.

As he’s floating there, eyes shut tight, he starts to hear something. Mentally, something feels off. He feels Micheal waver in what he sort of thought might be, anticipation? Or anxiety even?

He hears it again. At first just a melodic sea of different frequency and pitched ringing, then words, the ringing morphs into words that he hears repeat three times.

“Lucifer has taken his vessel.”

[ferinehuntress]

CHRONIC PAIN

Karlach is constantly in pain, always. Ever since the installment of her engine, she's had phantom pain she had to deal with from the incisions and procedure upon her body. Karlach doesn't have anything normal anymore, her body runs like an engine: a living engine.

Her blood isn't like blood cells but now takes on a black appearance, and it is sticky and tarry like old oil that needs replacing. Thos any creature that tries to bite her or drink her blood, with find the taste bitter and extremely hot. Her blood is also extremely flammable.

Returning to the Material Plane, Karlach's engine just isn't adaptable due to its old material. This is why Karlach is constantly in pain and moving. Its not just her ADHD, but the fact that if she stands still, sometimes the pain can come like a thousand needle pricks, just throbbing and aching pain, but it can be even worse as she has often said she can feel her body burning from the inside. This isn't just from the overactive engine overheating, but also because her body is constantly in the same pain. sometimes she doesn't know if her engine is about to blow or if its just a really bad episode that is going to leave her weakened. This chronic widespread pain can make her sensitive to certain sensations.

Touch can become painful, like someone using a knife when they touch her, noise can be louder and more unbearable to her already sensitive ears, even light and temperature can become troublesome.

One severe days, Karlach will often just burrow into her tent and try to bear with the pain. She can barely move, talk, or process much of anything and healing spells do not help. She won't eat and she will be riddle not just with body pain but migraines and become a bit more snappy then usual.

While Karlach may appear fine on most days, its not uncommon to see that she is constantly moving. Bouncing, jumping, randomly walking when everyone else is still. She has to keep moving and it keeps her mind off of the pain. These chronic pain can be dehabiliating and difficult at night, and its why Karlach is not very good at stealth (besides the fact that she is 7' buff tiefling).

This pain goes away if you fix Karlach's engine completely (not the two adjustments from Dammon, but based on my headcanon of getting Karlach an entirely new engine from the Steel Watchers).

[sassypotatoe1]

I don't wear a mask because I have sensory issues with them LET ME FINISH but I really want other people to mask so I'm protected because I am immunocompromized. Masks hurt my ears like crazy, like develops into migraines hurt, but I still need the protection of masks, especially in hospitals where I spend an inordinate amount of time.

The other day I got a blister on my toe, and basically immediately it got so infected that within minutes it was swollen. Within an hour it was swollen and red like a fleshy red golf ball. I thought it might be a bug bite of some kind or some really aggressive strain of athlete's foot so I went to work. 2 hours into work my body starts aching like I have a nasty flu. All the while my foot gets more and more sore and hotter and swollen. I order lunch for myself thinking food will make me feel better.

I eat, but I still get worse through the day. I get home, and burping hurts, and I feel like I'm about to pass out. I go check on my dad who's making a firewall and then walk back, and by the time I get to the porch I feel like I'm genuinely about to pass out. Instead I throw up violently, something that never happens. I get reflux, I have impeccable control over my gag reflex and can breathe through an urge to vom. Not this time. I throw up uncontrollably and it burns.

I'm thinking at this point an insanely venomous spider bit me I'm that sick, so the next morning I go to the emergency room because I don't want to lose my foot. I get there, doctor looks at it, "oh it's just an infected blister". I got sick so quickly and so violently from a simple blister that I needed a strong ass iv with paracetamol, ibuprofen, some nausea medicine and an entire bottle of penicillin antibiotics.

I got put on the biggest dose of the strongest antibiotics the infection was so aggressive. Now just a month later I have a uti from keeping a pad in an hour too long. A pretty aggressive uti but luckily not as aggressive as the foot infection.

These stories were told to illustrate just how fucking vulnerable I am to getting dangerously infected from ridiculously simple things. What's a sniffle for most is pneumonia for me. What's a sore spot for 2 or 3 days for most is a risk of sepsis that warrants an emergency room visit for me. What's a slightly stinky full pad for most is painful burning urine for me for a week.

We actually do not give a flying fuck about covid at this point. We just want you to wear a mask when you're sick at all, even if it's just allergies, and we especially want you to mask up at hospitals. If someone at the emergency room gave me a viral infection like flu while my immune system was battling the toe infection so badly already I would be dead. From the flu. Luckily the medical staff at that hospital are still masking and they isolate beds really well.

Point is, unless you're like me and masks hurt so bad they cause migraines, wear. Your. Fucking. Mask. When. You're. Sick. You can actively kill someone by coughing in their vicinity if they're immunocompromized. Despite the pain masks cause me I still wear them to the hospital, my psych appointments and when I'm sick. If I can do it when they literally give me migraines you can too.

I'm tired of my coworkers standing in front of me, while I'm masking and visibly disabled, and making fun of students for masking because "don't they know the pandemic is over".

I'm tired of them telling students that they don't need to mask anymore, while I'm standing there masking.

I'm tired of them basically saying "wow so many people are calling out sick again, but not you since you're masking....anyway too bad there's nothing to do about people getting sick 🤷"

Just tell me you don't care about disabled lives. Thank you to the seldom few who see me masking and ask if I you to mask too. But maybe keep masking when you're not around me? There are other high risk people around you than just me. There are low risk people who go home to high risk people they don't want to get sick.

also, STOP COUGHING THEN SAYING DONT WORRY ITS NOT COVID!!! AAAAAHHHH

I'm not just worried about COVID. There are other things you could have and get me sick with. Even if you're just sneezing or coughing from seasonal allergies, you could still be spraying other germs at me that can get me sick. Stay home if you're sick. If you can't then wear a damn mask. Our school still provides them, so you don't even have to buy them yourself.

[weepingvoidpenguin]

One of Your Favorites

Jealous Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have an objective. Get Rumlow to confess. Simple enough, right? No. Aside from his usual condescending attitude towards you, Bucky has made it extremely apparent that he doesn’t think you’re capable of - well, anything, but especially not handling Rumlow. And yet, he is the biggest challenge of this entire ordeal.

Warning: T R I G G E R WARNING!! ATTEMPTED SA, DRUGS, language, light smut. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF SA WILL TRIGGER YOU. 

Word Count: 8.3k

   “We have good intel stating he’s working as a double agent for HYDRA. Selling information, exploiting tactics, even going so far as to tell them where we’ll be and when.” Natasha scanned the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention during the briefing. 

   You slouched back in your swivel chair and twisted to-and-fro slightly with your hands gripping the arm rests on either side. It took all of your willpower to act engrossed in her words. And you meant every single drop. You’d been paying attention, sure, but the only issue was the dominating presence two seats to your right and directly in your line of sight to Natasha. You rolled your chair to the left to clear the path for the third time, only for him to block your way without missing a beat. The growl that left your mouth was nearly involuntary. Nearly.

   How long would this man act like a child? Despite his graceful and seemingly unsuspecting movements, you were fully aware his placement was intentional. This was not the first, nor did you doubt that it would be the last, time that Bucky acted impudently toward you. Frankly, you’d grown bored of his behavior. It was the same thing everyday. He would act a nuisance during the briefings, speak over you whenever he had the chance, steal the limelight from you and invalidate any concerns or thoughts you shared. The whole charade grew tiring and he had been dancing on thin ice for months now.

   You averted your gaze from burning holes through the freshly washed, brown locks and switched your attention back up to the redhead. Thankfully, too, because you managed to catch the end of her sentence just as she locked eyes with you.

   “And that’s why Y/N is going to be the one to extract the information from him,” she finished.

   You blinked, “Wait, what?” 

   Bucky straightened his posture and threw a quick glance your way, “Yeah, what? She’s got no heat, couldn’t toast marshmallows if we gave her all day. She shouldn’t lead this, she wouldn’t know how,”

   “Well, tonight might be a good time to start learning, then,” Steve chimed in, throwing a wink your way. You smiled and appreciated his aid, not because you needed it but because at this point, you were seething and if you opened your mouth to defend yourself this meeting would go south, quickly. Luckily, Steve always believed you were capable of a great deal of things and knew you strove for more experience so any opportunity to lead or expand was one he thought you should take. 

   “Besides,” Tony spoke up, twirling a platinum pen between his fingers from across the table, “our little double-agent has always had the hots for Y/N so unless you’re gonna be the one to bat your eyelashes at him and get him alone in a room, Mr. Barnes, we have to use his own flaws against him.” He turned to face you and held up a hand, “Not to say that liking you is a flaw, you’re great Hot-Stuff but exploiting him is our best option indefinitely,”

   “Do I have to seduce him?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow towards Nat, trying your damned hardest to avoid the unmistakable glare the brown-haired super soldier was sending your way. 

   “The only thing you have to do is extract any information on him that you can. Get him a little drunk, catch him in a slip-up or two, take note of any inconsistent stories and be on your merry way,” she reassured, “How you manage to do that is up to you,”

   “Ooh, extortion,” Clint chirped up from the far back corner, his hands rubbing together maliciously around an arrow he pulled from his sheathe, something you noticed he did a lot when he was uninterested; be it a person, mission, or conversation.

   “No. Not extortion,” Steve shut it down and you chuckled at how Clint’s countenance fell into one of disappointment. 

   “Not yet anyway,” Natasha mumbled and you sighed as she walked around the room and handed each of you a folder with your individual objectives inside.

   “But he’s such a pervert,” you grumbled.

   “All the easier,” 

~

   The rest of the day was drudged with Nat while she taught the pertinence of body language (both yours and theirs), verbal ruses, and overall ensnarement. You bat your eyelashes until you were certain you would catch enough wind to fly away, smirked enough that your cheeks began to ache and raised your eyebrows ‘til you felt the impending wrinkles on your forehead. By the end of the drill you weren’t sure you were even going to make it to the company party from the migraine creeping its way on.

   “How’s the bait coming along?” His voice alone caused you to roll your eyes but you paid no mind while you rubbed at your temples and stood up alongside Natasha.

   “She’s not gonna be able to lie to me any time soon but she can flirt her way to whatever she wants,”

   “Benefits of targeting a narcissistic misogynist, they don’t think anyone can fool them.” Tony belted as he sauntered into the room with strawberries, offering them out to you while he munched on one.

   “She’ll still mess it up,” Bucky countered, “Make someone else do it,”

   You plucked the fruit off Tony’s tray and examined it, trying to figure out whether you were going to consume it or use it as a weapon.

   “I really appreciate your words of encouragement, James. Unfortunately, they’re not wanted, nor are they needed.” You bit into the fruit and glided towards the door, looking over your shoulder at the super soldier, “So unless you actually have something to contribute, I suggest you stay the hell out of my way while I get the job done,”

   Nat walked out behind you and handed you a tiny, skin-colored device meant to conceal itself and you placed it in your ear. 

   “The conversation is gonna be recorded so we can catch any inconsistencies. We’ll all be able to hear what you’re saying so tread on delicate waters but don’t be afraid to shake mountains if you have to,”

   You nodded and opened your door for her to enter your room knowing she’d want to help you get ready for the event. Natasha, shocking as it turns out, enjoys company while preparing for events. She would much prefer to be surrounded by people than be alone. You never had gall to ask her why that is. Or maybe you respected her too much to ask.

   An hour had passed, maybe two, but you enjoyed the silence between you both. There was no need to fill the empty quiet when it was so comfortable and welcoming. You two spoke without words at times and that was probably your favorite personal skill. Eventually, there came a knock on your door and you opened to find Wanda with her flat iron and make-up bag in tow. It’d long since been decided that your room was the gathering center.

   Wanda helped you finish touching up your outfit and you waited on your bed while they finished getting ready. Nat occasionally quizzed you on certain situations and how you should act depending on the tones and moods of the conversation. You tried to explain that you didn’t have difficulty reading a room but Nat tested you all the same. 

   “And if he puts his hand on your thigh?” She called out from your bathroom.

   “Then he loses it,” you practically sang in response.

   You were met with a flying hairbrush and laughed at the onslaught.

   “You’re not the only one with that mentality,” Wanda called out as well, her iron glossing over thin strands of hair.

   “Nat knows I can handle myself.” You sat up on the bed and went over to your closet to collect your favorite pair of shoes to go along with the formal attire Nat selected for tonight. “What a coincidence that we happen to have a company party the same night we have to extract information,” you hollered over your shoulder, moving aside terribly worn shoes while you scoured for the pair you had in mind.

   “This objective has been in the works for weeks now,” Nat released the tendril of hair from around the barrel and pinned it to her head so it could cool.

   “Wow, thanks for the heads up, then.” You gripped the desired pair and placed them beside your nightstand for later.

   “The plan wasn’t solid until we knew for a fact that Rumlow was coming. It’s a company party so it’s not mandatory but once he heard you were making an appearance, it didn’t take very much persuading,”

   You rolled your eyes and plopped back down on your mattress, “He’s so annoying, I doubt I can hold much of a conversation with him,”

   “Take a shot or two to ease your nerves, if he sees you drinking it’ll put him at ease too. He’ll be more inclined to drink,” Natasha recommended. “But don’t act too out of character. If you were always curt and short with him and suddenly you start acting over-friendly, he may get suspicious. He’s an idiot but he’s a paranoid one,”

   You nodded, taking a mental note to have a half-empty bottle in your grasp when Rumlow arrives. If he thinks you’ve already been drinking, he might also consider catching up. 

   “Y/N? Not uptight for once?” Wanda sarcastically questioned. “I can’t picture it,”

   “Oh, fuck off,” you grumbled and in turn received laughter from the two girls. “Besides, of all of us I’m by far the least uptight. Barnes takes the cake for that one,”

   There was a beat of silence that you didn’t register before you were met with a response.

   “Ya know, he’s not as bad as you paint him out to be.” Nat unpinned the curl from her head and moved on to the next section, “He’s got some serious loyalty and always willing to volunteer first for everything,”

   You lifted your head to stare at her reflection through the mirror, “What are you talking about? He’s annoying and irate and lacks a filter,”

   “Mmm, irate isn’t the word I would use,” Wanda countered, looking over to Natasha.

   Nat shook her head in response, “I’d lean more towards . . . over-protective,” 

  “Much better,” Wanda agreed.

   You squinted your eyes at their image and felt the corners of your lips turn downwards, “Over-protective? Since when are you two defending Barnes?”

   “We’re not defending him, per say.” Wanda glanced over to Nat, “We’re just trying to give you a fresh perspective,” 

   “You could give me a brand new pair of eyes and I’d still see him the same,” you retorted, now leaning on your elbows due to the strain on your neck. 

   They ignored the comment, “And he’s only annoying to you,”

   “You’re telling me he doesn’t annoy you at all?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

   “More like . . . he doesn’t go out of his way to mess with us.” Nat applied a nude color onto her lips.

   “So you agree that he goes out of his way to irritate me,” you stated rather than asked.

   “That’s been made very apparent,” Wanda responded. “But you have to wonder why,”

   You huffed a little and sprawled back out on the bed just to result in staring at the ceiling above. If you looked hard enough your mind would create pictures from the chaos of the cracks and shapes began to form. Sometimes, when the night lay still and life seemed to dwindle at the edges of your reality, you could swear a familiar face fashioned together and your imagination ran wild with the images you’d see. Some that brought a warmth to your cheeks even now. 

   You shot up out of bed and shook the memories from your vision. Ugh. He haunts you even when he’s not actively tormenting you. How he’s managed to crawl his way so deeply within your skin you had no idea but you fought for control of your thoughts whenever you caught them slipping into that hellhole.

   “Or slipping into euphoria,” Wanda chimed in.

   “Wanda!” You scolded, crossing your arms, “Euphoria my ass,”

   “Yeah, he thinks so too,” she continued and you chucked the abandoned hairbrush back their way. 

   “Stay out of my head,” you jokingly sniped at her but was met with a low chuckle.

   “I didn’t even have to be in your head to know what you were thinking of,” Nat defended and caught your weapon of choice.

   “Are you guys done yet?” You rolled your eyes and stretched yourself out before swiping up the pair of heels you’d chosen and sliding them onto your feet.

   “Why? Are you in a hurry to see a certain someone?” Natasha teased and Wanda let out an eruption of laughter.

   “All right, I’m done.” You made a beeline for the door and threw it open, “Lock up when you’re finished!” You bellowed over your shoulder and made your way to the top floor of the building where all the parties are typically held.

   You didn’t run into anyone on the way up and you used that time to calm yourself, prying inch by inch away from the invasive thoughts that called for you in the darkest hours of the night. But, then again, maybe those tormenting thoughts weren’t that bad? You mean, he certainly IS handsome, very much so actually. And he has the most knee-wobbling smirk you’d ever come to know, not to mention those little tricks he does with his knives always manage to entrance you. God, did he know how to use a knife. 

   On more than one occasion had you caught yourself staring at how his hands encapsulated the hilt of the blade. How they clenched and relaxed, drawing out some of the more prominent veins on one of the extremities; of course, you were even more so enticed by the hand he hid as well. You’d imagined what it felt like to have such strong hands grip onto your thighs and coax you into spreading them open with just a few teasing touches here and there. You couldn’t fathom the front you’d put up would last very long, he was stellar at pulling reactions from you. He’d see you break under his caresses and he’d degrade you like he always did but this time it’d emit a different response from you, one that made you whimper and shake. At that, he’d probably call you a good girl, he definitely seems the type to switch between degradation and praise, and would press his mouth up just where you wanted it the most. You’d try your hardest to be quiet but damn the way that tongue moved against you and the way he’d pull you harder against his face at each sound of pleasure you let slip past your lips. He’d enjoy it, too. Eyes closed as he devours you, he likes to put on a show for you to watch. Give you a memory that’ll slick your thighs later that night if he hadn’t fucked you into a coma by then. He’d make you watch him and if you dared to close your eyes you’d earn a firm, cold smack on your ass. He knows you like when he uses temperature play. He growls a little too, he can’t help his innate behavior. Then, just as the accumulation is coming to its apex he’d pull away abruptly and kiss you straight on your mouth so you can taste yourself and that’d earn him another whimper which would result in another smack that leads to that cold metal trailing its way to your core and just as he pushes the tip of his finger inside-

   You cough and straighten your posture as the elevator door opens. When had you leaned up against the back wall of the elevator? Oh Gods, you could feel the slick at the apex of your thighs and you squeezed them together as inconspicuously as you could in fear that you were producing a . . . scent that would be rather difficult to conceal. But the slick only grew worse when you locked eyes with the person stepping into the elevator.

   Fuck.

   “That’s what you chose to wear?” He asked, a certain venom in his tone that immediately calmed the ache in your heat.

   “And what would you have me wear instead, Barnes?” You quipped back, your body facing forward as he took his place beside you in the cramped space.

   There was a beat of silence. Then another. “Not that,” he responded.

   “Well I’ll make sure to ask you next time since you have such impeccable taste,” you retorted, your eyes yet to abandon the sight of the closing doors.

   You weren’t sure of all the effects of the Super Soldier Serum that had been injected into Bucky and all that it heightened but you prayed to any God that would listen that his hearing wasn’t one of those things. You were too preoccupied with attempting to settle the hot pulse beating between your legs to worry about how loud your discomfort came across.

   “What do you look so nervous about?” Bucky’s gruff voice prodded. “You can’t possibly be nervous about the mission considering how big-headed you are,”

   You took a deep, long breath and held it to soothe you. Had you not been so previously preoccupied, you’d have given him hell for the insult. “I’m not nervous about that,” you sniped and rested back against the cool wall to satiate your burning skin before lifting your gaze to him only to find him already examining you.

   “Of course not, I just said that,” he retorted, bringing a gloved hand to his face to rub along his jaw, “there’s obviously nothing for you to worry about,”

   You scoffed, “And why is that, Barnes?” Cue the dramatic crossing of your arms. 

   “You’re smarter than Rumlow and significantly better trained. Overall, he really doesn’t hold a candle to your ability,” He paused for a second, his whole frame tensing until he remembered to relax, “But that’s not really saying much considering it’s Rumlow,” 

   You hadn’t noticed you raised your eyebrows until you felt your face fall, “Ah, there he is. You had me worried there for a second, Barnes. Thought you might actually try something new and display common decency for once,”

   A corner of his mouth turned up subtly and he shook his head. You trailed your gaze down to his hidden hand and stared long enough to burn a hole through the fabric.

   “If something’s bothering you, Dollface, go ahead and speak up,” 

   You weren’t sure what possessed you to say anything, especially knowing how touchy the subject was for him but the words left your mouth anyway, “I don’t know why you insist on hiding yourself,”

   He lurched his head back, your statement seeming to have a physical affect on the man and you mentally slapped yourself for saying anything.

   “I’m not hiding myself,”

   “But you are,” you interrupted, your thoughts coming out in pools of candor, “you aren’t your hand. You aren’t your past. You are you. Presently. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. That’s not even the same hand you had back then. It’s not tainted and neither are you. I say drop the gloves,”

   “And why would I care about what you say?” He growled, his eyebrows furrowed together and his neck tight in potential restraint.

   The elevator dinged and you looked towards the opening doors, “You don’t have to but they don’t look right with your suit either.” You walked through the exit and sauntered over to the others who had already gotten the party started, leaving Bucky dumb-founded behind you. “I need a shot,”

   “Already ready,” Tony quipped up, holding the small glass in the air for everyone to behold before bringing his cheek to yours in mock welcoming, “This’ll up your tolerance for the next hour, try to get all your drinking done within that time-frame,”

   You pulled away with a warm smile after faux kissing his cheek, “Finally!” you displayed and threw the liquid back in one swift motion, your face scrunching together against your will.

   “Yeah, she’s got a kick to her,” he mumbled and handed you a fruity drink to chase it down with. 

   You went around and said hi to everyone as you recognized most of those present. You made small chatter with those lesser known and drank the liquid in your hand significantly quicker than you’d like to. You excused yourself after you finished the drink and walked over to the bar, scanning the room as you were handed another glass. No Rumlow in sight.

   You headed towards the foosball table and gripped the handles after setting the beverage down on the counter beside you. You flinched as a reflection of light caught your eye and at first you thought your glass was the source. Until your eyes fixated on the reflection’s actual origin. To your far right, and up a few steps you found Bucky conversing with Steve, a dull light emitting from his hand. Not a glove in sight.

   “So, where’s your boyfriend?” Sam inquired when he filled the opposing spot.

   You rolled your eyes, “Bucky’s not my boyfriend,”

   “Bucky?” Sam’s tone chirped up teasingly, a knowing look wearing on his face.

   Your grip tightened around the handles and you slowly pulled away to throw the little white ball through the circle, your hands immediately twisting the miniscule players around. Your eyes shot back and forth, your sight never leaving the darting sphere. Sam still managed to win the first point.

   “Ha!” He shouted in triumph, bringing his finger up as if to scold you, “Don’t think you got away with that comment either, Y/N,”

   “What comment?” you questioned and gulped most of your drink before slamming it back down on the table.

   You heard your earpiece come to life with quiet static and you tried to keep your face masked. Rumlow had entered. Not a surprise either, the party was finally starting to pick up now.

   Sam threw the ball in and you turned the players meticulously this time, brute strength hadn’t helped you earlier so maybe you should take it slow. Steve made his way over to the table and threw his drink back, the liquid trickling down the side of his face before he wiped it away. Sam won the second point.

   “I play winner,” Tony chimed, standing beside Steve.

   You made a point to catch up and now you two were tied at three each. 

   “Best out of five?” You proposed, quirking an eyebrow at Sam.

   “If you didn’t want to play anymore you could’ve just said that,” he teased and you smirked at him as Tony made a subtle show of handing you another drink and you finished your second. “Loser takes two shots?”

   “Deal.” You nodded, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice as a small crowd began to form around you two. Rumlow amongst them. 

   Your jaw dropped when Sam shot the ball directly into your goal as soon as he’d let the ball go.

   “What the fuck?” You shouted, “No fair! That doesn’t count!”

   Thor erupted in laughter to your right and you blinked slowly, staring at the gargantuan man. 

   “It most certainly does,” Sam shouted back, his grin practically touching his ears.

   “Sam, take it easy on her,” Bucky muttered from beside him, quickly averting his gaze from yours and his expression loosened, “The brat hates losing,”

   “Brat?” You snarled.

   Bucky took a swig of his beer, watching you the entire time and you reeled back the fire beginning to form in your chest just to bring your drink up to your lips and chug the entire thing down. You handed it over to Tony who left to replace it. 

   “Last point,” Sam stated, “It’s not too late to quit now,”

   You shook your head and blinked away the feign distortion you were supposed to have. “Just play the ball,”

   “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teased and threw the ball in. 

   You wanted to win. Desperately. But you had a character to play tonight and she was supposed to be drunk. So you hit your hand against the corner of the table just as Sam happened to make the winning point. You grumbled and threw him a glare when Tony broke through the crowd.

   “Coming through,” he shouted, handing two small glasses to you while you gripped your knuckles in pain. “Noooo, you’re not getting out of taking these. C’mon, take your punishment,”

   “Yes, Daddy,” you grumbled and cringed at your own words when the realization hit you. Whatever. You were supposed to be drunk, anyway. 

   “Daddy?” Tony quipped and pulled the drinks back towards himself, “Maybe you should be cut off,”

   “What?” You argued, leaning slightly on the table with your hand and snatching the drinks from Tony’s hold, effectively spilling some on yourself. “See?” You lifted up the half empty shot glass, “This barely counts as a shot,”

   “I’ll get her a new one,” Rumlow offered and disappeared before anyone could argue. 

   “She really doesn’t need another-” Bucky tried to interject and take the shots from you but you twisted around and chugged down the one full glass.

   Water.

   You looked up at Tony and his smirk was barely noticeable. But you could tell. Bucky nearly ripped the other drink from you but Tony blocked his path and you exaggerated your next drink as Rumlow broke back into the crowd, shot in tow.

   “Here.” Rumlow’s calloused hand held the drink up above you and you stared at him with a questioning look. “Open,” he ordered and the fire burning in your chest fought to destroy everything in its vicinity. You bit your lip in refrain but tossed your head back and opened your mouth.

   Static broke over your earpiece. Don’t drink that! Wanda’s voice erupted.

   Your eyes widened as the liquid made its way down but you coughed hard to stop whatever you could. 

   Why? Steve’s voice came through right after.

   You choked on the liquid and shut your eyes at the way it burned its way down. You reached your hand out to grab someone’s drink to ease the burning and grasped a tall glass and tossed it back. The burning didn’t ease up and you felt a hand rest on your back.

   “Are you okay?” Rumlow’s voice rang out and your skin nearly recoiled from the contact, “How about we get you some water?”

   You looked up at him when the burning subsided minimally and nodded your head, letting him lead the way to the bar. He parted the crowd and someone took step right behind you to follow when the presence suddenly died out abruptly. You turned around to check who it had been and found no one.

   Why? Steve asked again.

   Where’s Wanda? Bruce broke through.

   You lifted your head and flitted your gaze around the room until you found the familiar Sokovian on the couch, laying down with her eyes closed. You pulled away from Rumlow but his grip on your hand tightened and his steps grew in haste. You whirled your head to yell at him but the way the room swayed with the movement cause you to shut your mouth in surprise. 

   Didn’t Tony say you would have a higher tolerance?

   “Couch...” you muttered, pointing over your shoulder just in case your target was curious enough to ask but the message was delivered.

   Rumlow hoisted you up onto the bar stool and stood on your open side, using his body to keep you from falling over. Or to cage you in.

   “I don’t feel good,” You rested an elbow on the countertop and held your head up.

   “I can’t imagine you would. You’ve been chugging those drinks like they’re water.” Despite that, Rumlow motioned to the bartender and asked for two more.

   You giggled and your head lulled forward with the action. You let Rumlow catch you from tumbling over. Why did your body feel so heavy? Not to mention the way everything around you dazed about. You couldn’t catch a single action, let alone attempt to read Rumlow’s body language. But you did happen to notice the way his eyes searched the room before coming back to you.

   “You okay?” You rested your forearm against his chest and pushed slightly to allow yourself a better view of his face.

   A small smirk, “Am I okay? What about you?”

   You smacked your lips and brought the ice cold glass to your lips. That’s not water. “I’m doing reeaalllyy good,” you drawled.

   Rumlow chuckled and pushed you deeper into the chair, “I can tell.” He took a sip, his attention never faltering from your body, “Just be sure to pace yourself from here on out,”

   You made a show of cocking your head to the side and letting a smile sprawl onto your face as you studied him. 

   “What?” he questioned, a curious lift in his brow.

   You shook your head gently and kept your gaze on him over the brim of your glass, “You’re just . . . not what I was expecting,”

   “And what were you expecting?” 

   Don’t forget to bat your eyelashes. “Worse,”

   “Sorry to disappoint,” he jeered, his attention once again cast throughout the room before centering back on you.

   You followed his action but quickly came to the conclusion that moving any pace faster than a sloth was going to make you nauseous and you could barely keep a thought together. Your stomach began to rise in your chest and the fear seized your throat shut. Why couldn’t you hold onto a thought for longer than a second? It was like you were aware of your lack of consciousness but could do nothing about it because any thought or bout of panic phased through just as soon as it arrived.

   “What are you so tense for, Rumlow? You know you’re not currently on the clock, right?” You teased, your head leaning on your shoulder as you spoke.

   He brought his drink up to his lips and finished it off in three gulps, “I’m not tense. It’s just hard to turn it off sometimes,”

   You nodded slowly and pushed your drink towards him, “Relax. You know everyone here,”

   He shook his head and placed your drink back in front of you before asking for another beer.

   “And two shots!” You shouted to the bartender, throwing two of your fingers high up and instantly regretting how fast you’d done it.

   “Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asked you, a side smirk beginning to form.

   You placed your finger over your lips and hushed, “Shh, I won’t tell if you don’t.” You dragged your lower lip down and his eyes fixated to commit the scene to memory. “Besides, I always feel dumb if I’m the only one drunk,”

   He motioned to the rest of the party, “Believe me, Sugar, you’re not the only one enjoying yourself,”

   “But are you?” 

   “Am I what?” 

   “Enjoying yourself?” 

   Your skin crawled when he placed his rough hand on your barren thigh, “Absolutely,”

   Don’t forget what you’re here for. Don’t let the objective slip. Gods, how the fuck were you supposed to retain anything when you were so sleepy? And why was it so warm?

   “Hot,” you mumbled, fishing around in your glass for an ice cube to rub on your face.

   “Thank you,”

   You threw your head back in laughter and nearly earned yourself an up-close and personal view of the floor had Rumlow not wrapped an arm around your waist and held you steady. Once he was certain you weren’t going to toss yourself onto the ground, he parted your legs and stood between them to keep you rooted to your seat.

   All the movement had you spinning and you white-knuckled Rumlow’s cotton shirt to keep yourself grounded to something, anything. Red warning lights were firing up in your chest and you tensed with the way your body buckled to the panic coursing through you. Your heart pounded in your ears and danced across your skin, lighting it on fire and making the room too stuffy to bear. Please, no. Not now. Focus. Snap out of it. Come back, stay back. Your breathing hitched and you looked down at the sensation crawling its way up higher on your thigh. Too hot. Everything was too hot, if you didn’t get out of this now you would never-

   “Vision!” You cheered, happy to see your friend.

   The presence on your thigh recoiled slightly.

   “I’m taking Wanda to her room, seems she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Vision informed and you’d only just then noticed the body in his hold.

   “Wanda!” You smiled, admiring her peaceful features as she slept in his arms. You poked at her cheek then jerked your gaze back up to Vision. “What? Wanda doesn’t drink,”

   She’s not acting, Sam’s voice erupted in your ear and you flinched at the sound. 

   Vision’s eyes went from you to Rumlow then back to you slowly, “Y/N . . . are you okay?”

   You beamed at him and slowly brought up your thumb. “Good,” you responded.

   You followed Vision’s gaze back up to Rumlow and smiled at the agent beside you. You guess he’s kind of cute. In a strange, unsettling way.

   “She’s had a lot to drink, so we’re just trying to slow down the pace. Aren’t we, Y/N?” Rumlow looked down at you.

   You nodded fervently, “Yup!” 

   Vision hesitated but knew he didn’t pose much of a threat with Wanda in his arms unconscious, so he quirked a smile and walked towards the hall.

   Someone get to Y/N, something’s not right, Vision ordered and you lifted your head up to find him. You could have sworn he just left.

   “Here.” Rumlow handed you a glass, “Drink this, it’ll cool you down,” 

   You stared at the glass in his hold and looked up at him, “You drink it first,” you slurred, holding your finger up at him.

   He cocked his head to the side but took a swig of the drink and you watched it go down his throat. You shrugged and grabbed at it.

   Do not drink that, Nat ordered from somewhere and you looked around in wonder at who she was yelling to.

   Bucky, Sit down! Steve growled.

   Like hell, responded a voice you knew all too well.

   Your smile grew and you looked through the crowd, “Bucky!” You feverishly called, completely expecting to see him before you. Rumlow’s head lifted instantly, his eyes scouring the area.

   “I’ve got this, Pretty Boy,” Tony hastily spoke, “How ya doin’, Hot Stuff?” He interrogated and you reeled at the tone.

   “Quite well, thank you,” you responded tenaciously and attempted to take a swig of the drink in your grasp.

   Tony’s hand shot out and covered the top, slamming the cup back down on the counter and effectively getting the drink all over your dress.

   “What the fuck?” You tried to shout but the words came out heavy and required too much energy to speak.

   “You’ve had enough for tonight,”

   “It’s just water,” Rumlow defended but Tony paid him no mind.

   Your jaw dropped open and you glared at the older man. Who the hell did he think he was? Tony’s stare burned through your skull and despite your irritation, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was so pissed.

   “Are you mad at me?” You drawled, lulling your head to the side.

   “No,” he responded curtly. 

   “Am I being too loud or something?” You pushed. You couldn’t imagine you were any louder than any other drunken bastard at this party.

   “No,”

   Get her out of there or I swear to God I will, his voice hissed into your ear.

   Your eyebrows rose slightly in excitement, “Mmm, Bucky,” you smiled and Tony nodded.

   “’Mmm, Bucky’ is right. Wanna go see him?” Tony offered, sticking out his hand for you to take.

   You fell forward into Rumlow’s chest but shook your head furiously none the less, “For what? So he can tell me I’m horrendous at my-”

   Oh shit. Your job. The job.

   If only your body didn’t feel so heavy and your mind so light.

   You pushed off Rumlow’s chest and glared at Tony, “I can handle myself,” you insisted, a new sort of sober tone making its way through that caused him to do a once-over. “I know what I’m doing,”

   “How many drinks have you had?” Tony challenged and you fell silent.

   Then you felt a tap, and another and a few more.

   “Six,” You said, hoping you’d counted right.

   Tony, don’t you even fucking consider it, Bucky threatened.

   “You could at least change, recuperate and then come back,” Tony offered and you sighed a breath of relief before nodding.

   “Deal,” you agreed, “I’m hot anyway,”

   Tony gave you one last glance before turning around and blending into the crowd on the other end of the room.

   You looked up to Rumlow who’s gaze was still locked on the sea of people, “Don’t you wish you’d taken that shot now?” you tried to jeer, every last word bringing you deeper and deeper.

   “Are they always that intense?” He questioned, not turning his attention to you.

   “They can be over-bearing,” you admitted, hand grabbing the water from earlier and pressing it up against your forehead, “They consider me the baby so they’re always criticizing and suffocating until I just wished they’d disappear.” You took a gulp, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the family and I like that I have a cause but . . . they don’t let me do anything. It’s exhausting,”

   You let out a long breath and smeared the condensation from the glass onto your chest. Rumlow studied you then, not just your body but your reaction. He was watching how you dropped your shoulders at the confession and how you faced your back to them to block them out. 

   You plastered your torso on the countertop and tried to slow your heartrate down. You couldn’t be the only one here unfathomably hot.

   “Why is it so fucking hot?” You questioned, fanning yourself weakly.

   “There are a lot of people around,” Rumlow offered, “how about we go somewhere else? Tony did say you had to change,”

   You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes and meekly groaned in compliance. “Fine,”

   You lifted yourself away from the counter and gently placed your feet on the floor. You’d touched the ground faster than anticipated. Had the ground always been so close?

   “Don’t worry, I gotcha.” Rumlow threw an arm around your waist and helped you trudge towards the elevator.

   Where the hell are you going? Bucky yelled and the sound of shuffling could be heard from his end.

   We can’t let you leave with Rumlow, Y/N. We’re not even sure you’re acting anymore, Sam stated.

   Rumlow pressed the button when you couldn’t muster the strength to do it yourself. The level that your room was on lit up and the doors began closing. You thought you saw Rumlow wave at someone but the mock smile on his face didn’t make it seem like a warm good-bye.

   Your legs had all but given out by the time the elevator reached your shared floor. 

   “Heavy,” you muttered, letting Rumlow carry your weight fully.

   “I know, Sugar. We’re almost there,” he soothed and you conceded to the fatigue wearing you down.

   Your head hung low and your arm dangled uselessly at your side. The familiar sound of your door sliding open caught your attention but you did nothing. You couldn’t. 

   “How . . . know . . . my room?” You questioned, each word causing you to pull from an empty well of energy.

   “I’ve been here before.” Rumlow tossed you onto the bed and sprawled you out.

   “Oh. Ok.” You tried to turn on to your side but strong hands gripped down onto your ankles.

   Rumlow sighed and slipped the heels off your feet, examining the pair like he wanted to wear them. You extended your feet until you felt every muscle in your leg stretch to its capacity and let out a groan of pleasure at the release. Those shoes hurt so bad.

   “You seem . . . intelligent, Y/N.” Rumlow dropped your shoes onto the floor and slithered to the side of your bed, standing beside it with his hands tucked into his pockets.

   A bead of sweat trickled down your forehead, “Hot . . .” you croaked and he nodded.

   “You’re right. It is getting kind of hot.” He brought a hand up to his neck and ripped off the tie hanging around it.

   Get the fuck out of my way, a growl erupted in your ear.

   We’re going with you, Buck, Steve responded before knocking something over.

   “So, what I have a hard time understanding is. . . why you’re here?” 

   You groaned a weak ‘huh’ but even that didn’t sound right.

   “You’re good at what you do, you finish every mission successfully and yet you’re underappreciated.” He took a seat at the foot of your bed and placed one of your legs into his lap, “Why do you allow them to treat you like that? We wouldn’t,”

   The shuffling in your earpiece halted.

   “We?” 

   He began to massage your calf and brought your knee up to his lips, peppering light kisses on it. “We could use someone with your skillset, babe. We’d take real good care of you,”

   The shuffling started again.

   Rumlow had made his way onto your thigh at this point and you let out an involuntary moan when he skimmed over a delicate part on your inner knee.

   “Ya like that?” he questioned but didn’t wait for a response. He brought a hand up to his temple and grabbed the earpiece. You figured he just hadn’t taken it out from his earlier shift but when he pulled it apart, you understood why he always kept it on him.

   “Flash . . . drive earpiece?” Your weak tone tilted a little. “W-why tell . . .”

   “I figured I’d give you the option to leave since you seem so . . . suffocated. If you said yes tonight then I would remind you tomorrow. If you didn’t,” he chuckled, “well, you wouldn’t remember anyway.” His hands trailed to your mid-thigh and you squeaked. “I’m impressed though, I’ve never given anyone else as much as I’ve given you tonight. The drug usually works so quickly on others, but not you. It’s kind of hot, actually,”

   Sick fuck, Natasha growled through a ragged breath.

   The world around you was slow or maybe it was you that was slow? You couldn’t tell, honestly. But when Rumlow moved as if he could predict your actions before you could make them, you wondered whether you were moving at all.

   “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon,” Rumlow sighed.

   You shook your head, or thought you did but despite the way your body was live-wired, it remained still against all desire. 

   Fight. Move. 

   You managed to push your legs shut but his hand slithered between and spread them open similar to opening a door, but this required much less force.

   “Kill,” You threatened and the sinister smile that crawled its way onto Rumlow’s face was vile enough to sink your heart into your stomach.

   “Kill is fucking right.” Someone snarled and your door was ripped from its hinges.

   Rumlow’s hand jerked away from your body and Bucky seized his open palm, intertwining their fingers and pushing Rumlow’s so far back that they touched the back of his own hand. The cracks were sickening onto themselves but had you not been so weak you would’ve turned from the sight altogether. You really couldn’t fathom how his fingers were still attached at all.

   “Lay another hand on her and you won’t be able to use it again.” Bucky spit.

   Despite Rumlow’s pain, the sinister smile remained sprawled on his face, “You should’ve heard the noises she made,”

   Bucky’s grip tightened and the bones in his palm broke next, “I did,”

   Natasha flew in right behind Barnes but completely dismissed the two and headed straight for you with a needle in hand. Your eyes shifted from the needle to Nat’s face and back again until she stabbed it into your upper arm. Ouch. 

   “Wha-”

   “Shh,” Natasha hastily hushed, “Keep your strength, you should be back to normal soon,”

   Steve came behind Nat and scooped you up to lead you out of the havoc going on in the room. Nat turned her focus to Bucky and reached over to grab the earpiece from Rumlow. Who knows if his nose will ever heal back normally. You held one finger in the air as Steve stepped over the splintered door.

   “Goddamit, Y/N,” Steve huffed, jogging towards the elevator and pressing the floor that led to the infirmary.

   “We won,” you croaked out, a small smile on your face and Steve shook his head.

   “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” 

   Steve looked you up and down for bruises but couldn’t find any and you promised you weren’t lying to him when you told him Rumlow did not get very far in his ‘advances’ at all. You had to swear the mid-thigh was the worst that it came to. 

   Bruce was the one that took a few blood samples and made sure everything was reversing back to normal. Apparently, as soon as Rumlow took you to the bar Tony handed Banner the shot glass that Rumlow gave you and Banner ran analysis on it. The cure was pretty easy to find.

   After being given strict orders to lie down for the next hour or so, it had been decided that Rumlow was to be turned in considering all the evidence required to make the arrest was in the flashdrive and everyone was to gather together for a ‘family night’. Whatever the hell that meant.

   You were in the middle of debating which movie to pick with Steve when the infirmary doors flew open.

   “Where is she?” Bucky nearly shouted upon seeing Bruce.

   “That’s my cue.” Steve stood up just as Bucky rounded the corner, “If you need anything me and Banner will be right over there,”

   You smiled and thanked him then turned your attention to the super-soldier who just arrived at the foot of your bed.

   He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at you. No, not really. Not at you but through you. A few painstakingly slow seconds went by that way.

   “You owe me a new door,” you joked, a half-smile on your face.

   “Are you okay?” He asked, finally registering your presence.

   You nodded slowly, “I am,”

   Then a few more seconds.

   Bucky turned his gaze down to his hands, both of them barren and on display for the world to see, before shifting his weight between either foot, “Did he- did he touch you?”

   “Not really. Just really liked my legs for some reason,” your attempt at another quip didn’t reach Bucky. He stared back up at you waiting for an answer, an honest one. You sighed, “The damage is more mental,” you admitted, now you were the one not able to look up, “I didn’t like being in this altered state of mind. It’s invasive and . . . scary. He could’ve done things, much worse things but it never got that far or that bad. It was more realizing that I wasn’t completely conscious or present and having that state of mind be taken advantage of, that mostly frightened me. Ya know?”

   “More than anyone,” he answered immediately.

   You looked back up towards him, finally making eye contact, “But I’m fine now, really. Just a little spooked. Steve wants to do a movie night tonight and I would actually prefer that over being alone.” Your eyes fixated on the way his hands clenched and unclenched on the bar by your feet, “If I’m alone then I’ll get stuck in my head about it. Besides, I consider this a hard victory with a few bumps in the road,” 

   He chuckled, lulling his head a bit, “You’re too stubborn for your own good,”

   You shrugged, “Maybe. How’s Rumlow?”

   Bucky hissed and moved over to the side of the bed where he took a seat, “He’s unconscious. And has a hand that he’ll never be able to use again. But other than that, he’s fine,”

   You chuckled and Bucky watched how the laugh met your eyes. He liked that look on you. It was one of his favorites.

   “Why are you looking at me like that?” You questioned once it fell silent between you two again.

   “You called me Bucky earlier,” he remembered.

   You scoffed, “I call you Bucky all the time,”

   “Not to my face,”

   “Not to your face,” you agreed, a teasing smile dancing on your lips and Bucky had one that mirrored yours. 

   “It was nice. Hearing it, I mean,” he admitted and a wave of warmth made its way to your face.

   “I see your hands are exposed,”

   He looked down as though he weren’t aware that he’d taken off his own gloves, “These bad boys? A friend of mine reminded me that I’m not my past. I’m my present. Why hide my growth?”

   You twiddled your thumbs together, “She sounds smart,”

   Now he scoffed, “Oh, it wasn’t a girl, it was some old buddy of mine.” He quirked up a brow, “Unless the person being a girl would make you jealous because in that case it was most definitely a girl,”

   You fought against the natural tug at the corners of your mouth, “Is she at least pretty?”

   “Stunning,” 

   “Smart?”

   “Genius,”

   “Good at her job?”

   “Amongst the best,”

   “Then consider me jealous, Barnes,”

   Bucky chuckled and you watched how the laugh met his eyes. You liked that look on him. It was one of your favorites.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Night Drive (Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa) Rated

Pairing: Dilf!/College Professor! Kim Hongjoong × Younger College Student! Reader (Female) × Dilf/College Professor! Park Seonghwa

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Dilf AU.

Summary: Being picked up by her boyfriend for a date, Y/N has no idea about Hongjoong's plans nor about the surprise guest joining them in their little night drive.

Word Count: 6K+

Warnings: Aged up/Older Ateez (but age differences are still within legal boundaries), exhibitionism, voyeurism, breast play, fingering, tiny allusion to infidelity (which I do not condone nor justify), breeding/pregnancy kink, slight creampie kink, katoptronophilia (mirror kink basically), daddy word, degradation, manhandling, unprotected penetrative sex (always use protection), Dom! SeongJoong, Sub! Reader

Taglist: @seacottons @little-precious-baby @yunhofingers @multidreams-and-desires @brie02 @deja-vux @daniblogs164 @couchpotatoaniki @a-soft-hornytiny @yunsangoveryonder @minhyukmyluv @mingismoon @nanamarkie @ateezbabysitters @rainteez02

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Rolling down the darkly tinted window of his midnight black Buick Regal, Hongjoong greeted the young and beautiful student that was standing by the curbside of the entrance to his college dormitories, her face lighting up instantly when she saw him. Wasting no second, she quickly opened the door and fitted her frame inside the passenger seat of the car.

"I was supposed to get the door for you." His lips curled up slightly into a pout.

"I know, but..... I just couldn't wait to see you." Leaning over, she boldly pressed her lips against that of the older male's, a soft and content hum being breathed out by him, soon turning into an annoyed whine when she pulled back too soon for his liking.

"Professor." Her tone changed slightly, a suggestive giggle escaping her lips as she leaned back in, this time the kiss turning more heated with her tongue attempting to slide inside his mouth, which he would have allowed had he not had on the back of his mind the other plans he had for the night.

"Naughty naughty girl, wanting to get frisky not even a minute into our date." He snorted softly as one of his hands came up to lightly pat her cheek with his palm in a chastising manner.

Switching the gear shift to drive, Hongjoong pulled out of the entrance and onto the main road to take both of them to the place he had chosen for their nightly getaway. The girl beside him was clearly anxious and he didn't blame her. It had been a grueling time the past weeks due to the semester being over and everyone, students and teachers were stressing over final exams. Hongjoong's hand still ached somewhat from grading too many papers and reports, his head pulsing endlessly with a killer migraine. But at last, that was all over and he was finally able to take his younger lover out properly, spend time with her after missing her voice, touch, body, and all of her in general. He had the entire evening planned out, unlike anything she would have expected. It was hard for him to suppress the smirk creeping into his features as he thought about how the night would end if his plans succeeded how he wanted them to.

He often took a small glance to see her pretty face looking out the window, tediously watching all the shops and cars they passed on the drive to whatever destination he was taking to her, which he adamantly refused to say, keeping his lips sealed. Every once in a while, he'd notice the way she squirmed in her seat, her fingers occasionally playing around with the hem of the white skirt she decided to wear or her palm straight on rubbing the side of her thigh.

"Oh so you are indeed horny my little kitten. Absolutely perfect." Hongjoong thought to himself. It was exactly how he wanted her: wet, horny and desperate by the time they made their first stop.

"Honey, I hope you don't mind, but I have to stop here for a second."

The girl didn't protest, simply nodded and didn't think too much about him pulling up and parking in front a luxurious building. Parking the car, Hongjoong waited patiently until a familiar figure finally came out and made their way over to his car, waving a hand in his direction. Not knowing there already was an occupant in the front seat, the stranger hastily opened the door, taking a step back when he saw who was sitting next to Hongjoong.

"Y/N?" He questioned in shock.

"Professor Park?" She exclaimed just as he, her head whipping over to demand an explanation from Hongjoong as to why one of the other professors from the university was currently there, especially when their relationship was to remain a secret from the school. Hongjoong however kept his grin plastered on, as if nothing was the matter.

"Sorry Hwa, looks like someone already took your seat."

Pointing over at the backseat, his friend let out a soft huff as he began closing the door.

"Wait! Seonghwa, don't close that door yet."

Reaching his hand over, Hongjoong unbuckled Y/N's seatbelt before telling her:

"Honey, go ride in the back with him."

Her eyes bulged out, her mouth muttering softly to him if he was insane, yet Hongjoong was still calm as he reached a hand up and caressed her cheek.

"Trust me baby." He whispered before placing a soft peck on her lips.

Reddening significantly, Y/N got out of the car, thanking the other male when he was kind enough to open the door for her to let her inside first before he himself took his place right next to her. Both of them looked over at each awkwardly, wondering what on earth was Hongjoong thinking. Y/N averted her gaze and stared at the floor mat, desperately hoping that afterwards, the witness to hers and Hongjoong's relationship wouldn't go directly to the school board and cause problems for them. Seonghwa on the other hand had so many questions spiraling in his head, mainly his friend's relationship with the student next to him, and more importantly, why he had kept that secret from him. The car ride now felt even more long and brooding with the tension in the air, the music playing from the stereo not helping at all and just making the environment more unpleasant.

Looking back at them through the rearview mirror, Hongjoong let out a small chuckle.

"I'm sure you're both wondering why I brought you here without telling you the reasons."

Seonghwa and Y/N glanced briefly at one another, the older male shrugging softly, just as lost as she was. Sighing softly, Hongjoong continued.

"Well to start off, I think it's very clear that all those rumors about a teacher and student sleeping together are indeed true my friend."

Seonghwa widened his eyes at Hongjoong, his lips parting as he let out an astonished scoff. Although more than once he heard a few whispers every now and then about his colleague getting too friendly with one of his students, he always believed them to be lies, knowing Hongjoong to be a sensible and well respected professor that would never risk his career over something like that. As if reading his friend's thoughts, Hongjoong piped up once more.

"What can I say? I couldn't resist myself when I saw her, especially when you see what's underneath those clothes of hers."

Peeking his head over, Hongjoong sweetly smiled at the quiet girl.

"Baby, do me a favor and unbutton your blouse for me. Let Seonghwa see those pretty tits of yours."

Y/N was taken aback by his sudden order, her voice getting caught in her throat and stammering out a bit of gibberish as she tried to remind herself to form proper words.

"Hong- Hongjoong!" She whisper yelled at him, embarrassed about being asked to do such a dirty request in front of another teacher. Seonghwa himself shifted uncomfortably in his seat, still saying absolutely nothing as he tried to look somewhere else.

"Oh come on kitten, don't be shy. You have the cutest set of tits a man could see. Besides...." Y/N could clearly see the smug grin on he was donning through the rearview mirror, his eyes also looking at her direction.

"I know very well you want Seonghwa to touch you. I heard you the other day talking with your friends, and if I remember correctly, you said you wouldn't mind having him play with your body and be his little toy."

Y/N lowered her head in shame. She didn't believe Hongjoong would have heard her when she said that. She didn't even dare lift her eyes to the man next to her, afraid of seeing whatever expression he had in his face. She did however, hear him chuckle amusedly, his voice finally being heard.

"Oh my. Hongjoong, is she really that much of a whore that she's fantasizing about fucking other men even when she has you?"

Taking off his seatbelt, Seonghwa scooted over towards her, his face coming so dangerously close she could feel his breath against her ear.

"What darling? Does he not fuck you enough? Is he not treating you properly? Or do you perhaps just want a more......endowed cock?"

Y/N couldn't help but shudder when his hand lifted up to cup her chin, turning her face so he could look her directly in the eye. Seonghwa couldn't deny that her startled look turned him on extremely.

"Now I'm extremely curious to find out just how cute you really are without those clothes on. Is Hongjoong just talking you up or am I really going to have to restrain myself from eating you up if I tear those clothes off one by one?" He hummed softly as he brushed his lips against hers, causing Y/N's breath to hitch slightly.

"Kitten, I believe I gave you an order a few minutes ago and you know I hate repeating myself. Undo your shirt so Seonghwa can look at your chest."

Y/N bit her lip as her hands reached up and began to pop each of the buttons of her grey cardigan. The pair of eyes on her right were burning a hole right through her and it only served to deepen the intense wanting she was feeling in between her legs. After undoing enough buttons to expose her black bra, Y/N pulled the material down enough so her breasts could pop out of them. The soft groan her teacher emitted helped fuel her pride, especially after looking up and seeing him nearly drool at the sight, tongue coming out to moisten his luscious and pink lips.

"Fuck Joong....you weren't kidding when you said she has a pretty rack." His hand clenched and unclenched itself in an effort to meet from reaching out to cup one of her tits in his palm.

Knowing exactly the lustful thoughts running through his friend's mind, Hongjoong was more than willing to grant them without any grudges.

"Now kitten, I want you to be a good girl and let Seonghwa play with you as he wants. Tonight, you're going to be his personal toy and you have to do everything he tells you to do. Am I making myself clear?"

Y/N quickly nodded, too aroused and turned on that she wouldn't have cared if it was Seonghwa touching her and Hongjoong watching or Hongjoong touching her and Seonghwa watching. She just wanted someone to help the emptiness she was feeling.

"You're serious about this Joong? I can really use her as my personal sex toy?" He questioned with a wicked grin, hand coming up to clasp around Y/N's jaw.

"She's all yours Hwa. We have a couple minutes before we reach the hotel that I booked a room in. Think you can get her wet enough by the time we get there?"

Seonghwa let out a hearty laugh at Hongjoong's challenge.

"I'll get her drenched without making her cum, don't worry about it."

Tilting her face towards him, Seonghwa winked at her before crashing his lips onto hers. Just as she suspected, Seonghwa's lips were soft and plump, and they seemed to be avid fans of nibbling playfully against her own lips. The hand that was on her chin swooped itself down and pressed itself against her sternum, fingers delicately caressing the skin around it. Sweeping his hand with feather light strokes, Seonghwa moved his fingers across the top of her breasts and then to the sides, caressing each and every inch of her skin, being careful not to directly touch her nipples. He wanted to tease her, rile her up, have her writhe and whine about the lack of contact on the parts of her body where she most needed him. He was enjoying himself, enjoying as he silently tortured the girl by merely touching the outer parts of her soft mounds. It didn't take long for her to notice this cruel pattern of his, the frustrated groan she poured out as his tongue devoured her mouth being a tell tale sign.

"Such an impatient one." Seonghwa chuckled, dragging his tongue down the side of her neck.

He then surprised her by cupping one of her breasts into his large hand, tenderly massaging the spongy like flesh while his thumb worked to harden the nipple even more. Y/N threw her head back, giving Seonghwa more access to press tiny love bites across her neck and collarbone. His other hand, being bored with nothing to do, came up and proceeded to give the same treatment its twin was receiving, groping it and fondling it until she was releasing the cutest noises to bless his ears.

"If you're already like this with me just touching your breasts, how will you be when I play with that pussy of yours?"

Y/N couldn't help but let an embarrassingly loud moan escape when she heard him say that, her walls tightening and clenching around nothing as she thought about having Park Seonghwa sliding his hand in between her folds. Even Hongjoong was surprised by the effect his friend was having on her, making him slightly jealous and yet not so as he was enjoying glancing over every now and then to watch his beloved girl be used in such a way by another man. He couldn't quite explain why, but offering up his prized possession as nothing more than an object of pleasure to someone else, his closest friend nonetheless, made him get unbelievably hard. If he could, he would have whipped himself out and would have started to beat his meat, but unfortunately he had to pay attention to the road in front of him, going slightly above the speed limit in an effort to reach the hotel as fast as possible, all while occasionally sparing a glance or two through the mirror to look at Y/N's lust filled state of mind.

"Spread your legs for me young lady. Let me see just how wet you are."

Obeying without hesitation, Y/N made sure to pull up her skirt, revealing the skimpy choice of lace underwear she had chosen for the evening. Seonghwa sucked in a deep breath when he saw it.

"Did you come here knowing you were gonna get fucked?"

"More like hoping she would get fucked." Hongjoong spoke up with a lighthearted teasing tone.

Hooking his fingers on the top of her panties, Seonghwa practically ripped the material off her body, sliding it down her legs before bringing it up to his face and inhaling deeply.

"Oh god you smell so delicious." He grunted as his nostrils basked in the scent of her arousal.

"Why don't you keep them as a memoir? Cause after tonight, I'm not letting you touch her again."

Hongjoong's statement made Seonghwa remember that he still had a task at hand. Making sure to tuck her panties inside his pant pocket, Seonghwa turned his attention back to her glistening folds. They were practically inviting him to shove his hand as far as it could possibly reach inside, he was very tempted to even fist her tiny hole right then and there. But he would much rather prefer to work her up even further, tease her until she was begging him to fuck her. When she saw his hands come down, Y/N instinctively parted her knees even further, adjusting herself on the seat so he could reach every part of her exposed womanhood.

"You've trained the slut well Hongjoong." Both the trainer and his trainee lit up at the praise from their guest.

"Yes, my girl is the best." Hongjoong proudly added, as he reached a hand back to squeeze one of Y/N's legs in a loving manner.

Seonghwa's thumbs slid themselves right up to her groin, massaging the tendons at either side of her pussy, only briefly allowing them to brush against her lips. Y/N couldn't help but gasp as he pulled the flesh at either side, stretching out her wet entrance slightly, the cool air from the air conditioning hitting right at her slopping mound. Seonghwa continued this pattern of pressing her swelling lips apart and then rubbing his fingers down the sides, frustrating the recipient as he didn't actually touch the parts where she needed him most. He was toying around with her again, no doubt trying to get her to beg.

"Please daddy-" Being so frustrated by the slow, shallow movements of the fingers that refused to budge and stimulate her clit, Y/N called out for the person in front.

"Babygirl, you're asking the wrong person. I told you that for now you're Seonghwa's little plaything. So if you think I'm going to intervene, you're absolutely wrong." One corner of Hongjoong's lips curled up when they heard her pleading whines, yet he still did nothing.

"Why don't you ask him yourself what you want? No.... beg him. I know for a fact he likes girls who beg."

When she looked up at him with a pout, Seonghwa let out an amused chortle.

"What is it you want darling? Hmm? Tell me." He encouraged her as his fingertips faintly brushed against her clit, causing her legs to tremble and her hole to secrete more juices out her body.

"That... please...touch me there." She groaned as she tried to take hold of Seonghwa's hand and place it right on top of her heat, but he kept it firmly away, lightly laughing at the state she was in.

"Where darling? You're going to have to be specific."

He was making her feel more and more frustrated to the point of losing all timidity and decorum.

"Park Seonghwa fucking pound my pussy with your fingers!"

Hongjoong widened his eyes in amazement at her use of his colleague's name, but he wasn't mad. On the contrary, he wanted to see how her tiny show of disrespect for the older male, who was also her professor, would play out. Seonghwa stayed still momentarily, making Y/N believe that she might have gone too far. Just as she was about to apologize, a half strangled yelp was pulled out of her body when two fingers dove inside her drenched hole with no warning, aggressively starting a pace of deep strokes, burying themselves as far as they could reach. While his 2 longest fingers were busy working her open, his thumb decided to occupy itself by rubbing against her clit, its rhythm matching that of the other members.

"This what you wanted?" Seonghwa asked, lips attaching themselves onto her neck once more.

"Oh God yes! Yes! Fuck! You're gonna make me cum..you're going to.."

Y/N panted loudly, hips practically humping themselves against Seonghwa's hand, trying to reach that peak that was just within her reach. Just as she felt herself about to spill over, Seonghwa stopped all movements inside her pussy and against her clit, hindering her desire to cum.

"No! Please!" She cried out, eyes scrunching with tears as her head dropped back on the head rest of the car. When her own hand tried to reach down to her groin, Seonghwa was quick to catch it, nearly crushing it in his own.

"No darling, we're having none of that. I told you I was going to get you wet without letting you cum. We could have taken this the easy way but you chose to disrespect me and therefore I had to punish you. Now..."

Releasing her hand, he dropped his fingers and stuffed them back inside her pussy, her walls pulsing against them, screaming to be allowed to release into his palms.

"Let's try this again."

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as she felt the delicious sensation of Seonghwa slipping his fingers in and out of her, this time setting a more slow and sensual pace. Being edged by him for what seemed like hours and having been dangerously close to her high just minutes ago, it didn't take long for Y/N to start producing those endearing moans of hers again, her high building up once again rather fast. She melted into his touch, hips once again grinding up as if they had a mind of their own. Just as her walls clenched up once again, Hongjoong made his presence known.

"We're here."

Letting out a disappointed sigh at being denied her orgasm again, Y/N began to quickly fasten the buttons of her top while Seonghwa helped out by adjusting her skirt and pulling it down to cover up her lower half. Helping her out of the car, Hongjoong gestured for them to follow him as he led them through the reception desk and towards the elevators. As if it was fate, the elevator they got in was completed alone, leaving the three of them inside as it climbed up towards the respective floor they were assigned to. Looking over and seeing was currently distracted by watching the numbers on the screen change, Seonghwa took the opportunity to continue his fun, fingers snaking under her skirt to cup her ass. Being startled by the sudden touch, Y/N let out a soft whimper that was heard by Hongjoong. Looking over, his eyes immediately spotted what was the cause of her reaction.

"Seriously, couldn't even wait til we were behind closed doors?" Hongjoong let out a disappointed click of his tongue.

"Hey, you did say I was free to play with her as I liked. Besides, wanna make sure she stays as wet as possible cause as soon as the door is locked, I'm stuffing her full of cock."

Y/N's thighs squeezed themselves together after hearing him say that, the action not going unnoticed by both men at her sides.

"Just wait a little longer doll and I'll make sure you cum like you want to."

It seemed like forever until the doors finally opened to let them onto their floor. Knowing just how antsy the other two were about fucking each other, Hongjoong went up ahead of them and quickly slid the key in. Opening the door, he let them both inside first, a suspicious smile still on his face that confused his friend.

"You're enjoying this a little too much aren't you?" Seonghwa quirked an eyebrow up at him, his hands making a quick work of his shirt.

"Oh trust me when I say I'll enjoy it even more by the end of it." Hongjoong answered as he took a seat on one of the beds.

"I don't want you complaining later though if your little slut prefers my cock over yours." Seonghwa's little taunt had absolutely no effect on Hongjoong, he knew very well where his sweet heart's love resided with.

Turning around, Seonghwa was surprised yet also not surprised to see Y/N already naked on the bed, her legs spread out and inviting him to take advantage of her. Her facial expression seemed restless, eyes begging him to come over and end her torture already. Coming over to the front and seeing her more clearly, Seonghwa felt his cock twitch when he saw her full nude body, the light in the room letting him fully see all the details he couldn't quite clearly make out back in the car.

"Oh lord, she is absolute stunning Joong." Seonghwa complimented as he finished undressing himself, his cock already leaking at the tip.

"I did tell you once that younger babes were extremely hot and better. Well now you get to fuck my babe." Hongjoong's face proudly donned a satisfied expression at someone else appreciating his girlfriend.

Looking over at the dresser that had complementary goodies left for them, Seonghwa went and grabbed the pack of condoms since he hadn't planned on getting lucky that night.

"Ummm actually Seonghwa, I want you to fuck her raw, and be sure to spill your cum inside her."

His friend wasn't the only one who looked at him as if he was insane, Y/N was shocked by his request.

"N-no Daddy......" Her voice called out.

"Hmm? Why not princess?" Hongjoong smoked at her.

"My birth control ran out 2 weeks ago. If he cums inside me, I could....." She didn't even dare finish that sentence, but she knew they understand what she meant. Hongjoong however continued to look unfazed, in fact, his smile grew wider, almost to the point of being mischievous, which slightly worried her.

"Even better if I ask me princess, you see..... I want you to be bred." His confession both scared and aroused both of the other two participants.

"You've really lost your mind."

Giggling at his friend's words, Hongjoong looked at him with an assuring gaze.

"No I haven't. But trust me Seonghwa, I won't say anything, no one will know. Just do me this favor and fill my baby's pussy up with your cum."

When Seonghwa still hesitated, Hongjoong decided to persuade him even further.

"Look at her and tell me you don't want to stuff her young cunt full of your cum. And if you do knock her up, think of how cute she'll look with a swollen belly, carrying your child."

Unable to resist looking over after Hongjoong painted that image in his head, Seonghwa's gaze dropped towards Y/N's stomach. He unconsciously bit his lip as he thought about how fertile she probably was, and the thought of impregnating her with a baby of his own was driving him wild. Tearing down anymore hesitations he had, Seonghwa went back over to where she was. Y/N gasped when he pulled her towards the edge of the bed, hands keeping her legs open as he rubbed the tip of his cock against her folds.

"You ready to get knocked up with one of my babies?" He chaffed at her, smirking when a loud moan was drawled out by her as she pressed herself against his shaft even more.

"Cause I know I can't wait."

Letting out a piercing grunt when the cock of her professor penetrated deep inside her, Y/N's hands clutched at the sheets underneath her, whimpers already being poured out as Seonghwa's hips snapped roughly against hers. She shut her eyes as she sunk deeper and deeper into a blissful, euphoric haze, feeling nothing but how deep the cock inside her was being driven in, the head brushing against her cervix. That thought alone had her inner flesh pulsing and squeezing against the girthy shady tearing her apart, making her dizzy and blind with nothing but lust. She couldn't even register or hear all the sounds coming out of her own mouth.

"Such a nice and tight pussy. Keep clenching around me like that and it won't take long for me to fill you up with my seed." Seonghwa hissed, a hand dropping to rest on top of her stomach.

Y/N's back arched upwards, mouth fully agape as the most earth shattering wails were produced even heard by the rooms next to theirs.

"You enjoying this darling? Don't worry. You're certainly not the only one."

Clasping his fingers around her jaw, Seonghwa tilted Y/N's face so she could look over at the bed next to where they were. She spasmed violently when she took in the image of Hongjoong, sitting there shirtless, pants and briefs pulled down enough so he'd be able to pump his cock in his hand. When he had undressed, she didn't know, but she couldn't take her eyes off him, watching as he jerked himself off to the scene of his friend fucking her into the bed, the pace of his hand matching the pace set by Seonghwa's thrusts.

"Oh trust me she's enjoying this just fine. She's absolutely loving being treated as nothing more than a fuck toy, being lent to another man as her owner gets off on the sight of her being bred." Hongjoong's words were not helping as she started to tense up, feeling ready to explode and cum all over the thick cock inside of her.

"Please, please Mr. Park..." She muttered out, face turning towards him once again.

"Please what toy? Speak up." He commanded her as he started grinding his hips harder into her, the movements of his pelvis rubbing against her engorged clit and heightening her pleasure.

"Please let me cum. Wanna cum." She begged him, whine after whine being forced out of her each time Seonghwa pushed back into her body.

Feeling merciful, especially after edging her so much in the car, and more so because he felt himself about to shoot his load in her as well, Seonghwa moved his hand that was on her stomach so it could come down and rub aggressively at her clit.

"Go on baby. Cum for me so I can breed you like the little bitch you are."

Y/N toppled over the edge after hearing those dirty words, strangled cries and unintelligible words slipping out of her throat. She couldn't stop shaking underneath the older man that was fucking her, body out of control as it twisted and writhed from the sensuous oblivion she fell into. Desperate gasps scrambled for air as liquid gushed out of her to coat the dick that was still being driven in her.

"Oh fuck fuck! I'm going to cum inside your little hole now."

She barely registered the grunts being said by the person in front of her, her body only feeling and paying attention to the hot fluids being impelled to her womb. Knowing she was full of cum and it was extremely probable she'd be pregnant thrilled and excited her, while simultaneously making her anxious and nervous.

After finally catching his breath, Seonghwa pulled out of her, the cum that was leaking out of her threatening to make him hard again and fuck her once more just to see it all over again.

"Don't get any ideas." The warning voice of his friend brought him back to the reality that the young woman on the bed was only borrowed for the moment, and mostly due to the sick amusement of said friend.

Dressing himself up in his clothes, Seonghwa went over where Hongjoong was.

"Satisfied?"

Hongjoong snorted as he looked down at the tiny splatter of cum that had dripped into the carpet.

"Very much so."

Rolling his eyes, Seonghwa finished putting on the last of his clothes before picking up his phone. Seeing the time, he apologized and told Hongjoong he needed to get home right away.

"I'll take a cab. I'm sure you probably want some more time with her."

Hongjoong blushed a little at his friend's insinuation. Before Seonghwa could walk out the door, Hongjoong called out to him.

"Hey....say hi to your wife and kids for me."

Seonghwa couldn't help the laugh that bursted out his lips.

"I will. See you soon."

Closing the door, Hongjoong was finally left alone with his girl, who was currently sitting up, staring at him intently. Getting up from his seat, he came over to where she was and helped her stand up. Smoothing out some of her disheveled hair, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, his free hand tilting her face up as he pressed his body closer to hers. Pulling away to soon for her liking, Y/N pouted at him as she wrapped her hands around his waist.

"Come on. We gotta get you cleaned up."

Taking her hand, he guided her inside the bathroom, where he sat her against the vanity counter. Noticing that she was still looking at him funny, Hongjoong tilted his head to the side and cupped her cheeks.

"What's wrong babygirl?" He mimicked her tiny pout, a feat he often did that tended to annoy her, making her feel as if she was a little child.

"Funny how you care so much about getting me pregnant, yet you get someone else to do the job for you."

Huffing loudly, she brushed past him to be able to get inside the shower, but she was quickly pulled back by one of his hands that slammed her back against the counter. Looking up, she was expecting to see an angry expression, but instead Hongjoong had a smirk that told her he was up to no good.

"Is that what's bothering you princess? The fact it wasn't me the one breeding you? Oh baby.."

Turning her around abruptly, Y/N gasped when he pried her legs open and pressed her chest against the cold marble counter. When she felt his dick come to live and poke at her ass, she immediately pressed her lower half out towards him, the action making Hongjoong get a smug expression.

"You really are the best girl kitten, offering yourself to me like the little slut you are."

Y/N felt her body getting hot once again when on of Hongjoong's hands caressed in between her thighs, running up dangerously close to her heat until he reached her entrance.

"Ok then kitten. Let's fill you up with my cum now, since you want it so much."

Being stuffed with a cock once more, Y/N clung onto the counter underneath her as Hongjoong was showing no mercy as he rammed into her from behind. He always did enjoy brutally fucking her until she was left sore and limping, something no one would have ever guessed given his stature being more on the shorter side. But he definitely made up for it with his experience in making a woman numb to everything except the feeling of his dick being pounded into their pussies, precisely the feeling Y/N was going through at the moment. Her head rested itself against the counter, unable to bear the overwhelming pleasure the man behind her was putting her through.

"Oh no no kitten. I'm having none of that."

Wrapping his hand around her hair and twisting it to a makeshift ponytail, Hongjoong forced her to look up into the mirror in front of her. The ravenous and almost beast like way his eyes stared at her made her weak, pussy contracting around his length as her legs started to wobble.

"Look at you, I want you to watch as I fuck you full of my cum. Look at how I'm going to knock you up with my kids."

Strangled panting was the only audible sounds Y/N could make out, through the mirror she could see that Hongjoong was falling into the same haze she was in. Releasing her hair, he wrapped his hand around so it could rest on the top of her belly button, gently caressing the soft skin there.

"You're such a good girl for letting me do this. You know I'll take care of you right?" His loving reassurance, followed by the light presses his lips made on the nape of her neck were making her go insane. Her mind was running wild with thoughts of Hongjoong getting her pregnant, such a risky and dangerous situation but she was ready for it.

"Hongjoong fill me up! Fuck a baby into me! I want it, I want your cum!"

Her desperate pleas had an immediate effect as Hongjoong pistoned his cock deeper in her, a few last powerful jolt of hips and he was filling her to the brim, her tight pussy making sure to milk him out of every last drop of cum he had in him. Feeling him spill inside her and seeing him throw his head back in pleasure through the mirror, Y/N followed not long afterwards, shockwaves rippling through her body in another intense orgasm. It was a miracle Hongjoong still had his hands around her hips to keep her from falling down to the ground due to the violent shake of her legs. Even after they had both calmed down, Hongjoong still stayed nestled inside of her, nose brushing against the back of her head, inhaling her scent passionately. He let out a tired hum as he buried his face into her neck.

"I love you so much." He admitted, which made Y/N smile.

"I love you too." She responded, turning her head to press a kiss on his temple.

"And I can't wait to carry your baby."

[wyn-n-tonic]

We Can Stay Like This Forever

Word Count: 2,385 Warnings: Uh... yearning. A crumb of smut. Dialogue heavy bullshit tbh. Author's Note: God okay, I've been sitting on this for like a month now? I wrote this when I couldn't focus on my own characters anymore and my brain needed to visualize parts of the scene I was trying to write using the body language of a character I already know and love so well. This is written in second person but the reader has a name. It was an experiment dashed out in a drunken fervor that made my editor weep. Anyway, if you see any of these lines in a book one day... no you don't.

MASTERLIST

“Javi, I haven’t loved you since I was twent—“

“That's bullshit and you know it,” he interrupts, voice coming out hard but arms crossed tighter than they have been all night, replacing the pressure of kevlar he’s so used to. Protective, defensive, stopping the bullets from reaching him where it matters the most.

Your lips are raw from dragging your teeth across them but biting down is the only thing that stops the tears from springing to the surface. You never thought you’d see him again, you never thought he’d be standing in your kitchen only strides away; two for him, four for you. You saw the news coming out of Colombia, heard it in the supermarket passed from ear to ear straight from his dad’s mouth. Javier Peña was the walking dead.

Javi left Lorraine for you. You gave him a choice and he made it and you, being certain he’d lean the other way, couldn’t live with that guilt. When you wrote that first letter, you didn’t expect a response. You just wanted to apologize, you wanted him to know that you were sorry. You didn’t expect to hear his voice on the other end weeks later when you picked up the phone. Hell, you had pushed the letter so far out of your mind that you’d forgotten you’d included your number.

And now he’s standing in front of you, tangible as ever. No longer just the boy you loved but a man aged so roughly by sun and stress that you are breaking within wishing that you had been there to smooth it all over.

“Goddamn it, Clara,” that hard tone reaches towards you again but he loosens his stance, the toned arms still holding close to his body but the tension bottoming out to his exhaustion, “are you going to say anything or are you going to just keep looking at me like I’m a fucking ghost?”

“Is that not what you are?” Your voice is broken when you find it again, the tears really do come now. “A ghost from my past come back to haunt my bad decisions? Tell me I fucked up?”

“Is that what you think I’m here for? Is that why you think I came to you first thing instead of my family?” He exhales a breath you didn’t realize he was holding and drags a hand through his hair, pinning you in place with his eyes. “Can I smoke in here?”

“I thought you quit.”

“Yeah well,” another exhale, the slightest hint of laughter on his lips, “I thought a lot of things I’ve been wrong about too.”

And god, those eyes. Simultaneously the warmest, softest brown but so black they look like blown out pupils. Like he’s the one who’s been snorting the cocaine, not busting those that do. You don’t even register the insult before nodding your head. What’s a little cigarette smoke when you run the risk of him walking out that door and not coming back?

But isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that the purpose of this conversation? Are you not being the same bitch you were all those years ago praying that he’ll be the one to walk out on you this time? Bringing it back full circle to that decision you forced on him half a lifetime ago?

“Yeah?” He doesn’t sound sure and even though your eyes are anywhere but on his now, you haven’t felt his leave you this whole time.

“Yeah,” you whisper to your feet like they’re the most interesting goddamn thing in the world.

After years of practice, he’s quick about it, you don’t even realize he’s lit up until he lets go of that first puff and, with it, the entire room changes. It’s not angry, it’s not hard, it’s… twenty years of heartache and longing compounding, neither party believing they’re good enough for the other.

You look back at the tired man standing in front of you, “Javier, I—“

“No. No, let me talk,” he rubs his eyes with his free hand, drags it down his golden cheek and smirks. Another inhale and, “I didn’t come here to tell you that you fucked up, you’ve said it plenty. We’ve been talking for months, we fell back in stride like nothing ever happened, like I hadn’t spent years pretending every woman I fucked was you because it was like you’d never left my side. Almost twenty-five hundred miles, Clara, I was a world away from you and when I came home at the end of the day the last six months…” he’s the one biting his lip now, “I could call you no matter the time and the sound of your voice made me feel like a normal person. Like I still had a shot at this world beyond the bounty on my head.”

His exhaustion, his softness, is palpable now as he stops to suck in a breath like he hasn’t taken one this whole time and then…

“If you didn’t love me, you wouldn’t have written. If you didn’t love me, you would’ve hung up. If you didn’t love me, you wouldn’t answer the phone at one o’clock in the fucking morning to tell me to breathe through the anger and the sadness and the horror I witnessed. But if that’s the story you want to stick with, I��ll go. I don’t expect anything I just…” his voice hitches, the cigarette long forgotten between his fingers, “I just wanted to see if your face still lights up when you laugh or if that had changed after two decades. It hasn’t and it’s still both my favorite sight and sound in the world. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder to watch it grow through the years.”

He looks to the right of him and throws the cigarette in the sink. Pushing off the counter with his other hand, he takes one step forward and fixes his eyes on yours again. “Tell me I’m wrong, Clara. Tell me you don’t love me and I won’t ever darken your home aga—“

“I love you.”

And he’s on you. Just like that. Just one more step to close the distance and his body presses to yours. His large hands come up to cradle your jaw and his nose slots perfectly into place against yours and his lips touch down like a plane with faulty landing gear, crashing against yours all hot breath and stale tobacco and, oh god, the smell of him. Soap and sweat, the chemical make up of his scent flooding your senses to make you feel whole again when you didn’t even know how much you missed it.

His hands are sliding down gently, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. With his strong arms lifting you away from the counter, you no longer need to support yourself against it and you’re grabbing for him, trying harder to wring the space from between you like a worn rag but nothing is left.

The feel of him is something new, however. He’s not that scrawny kid who awkwardly held you to him, unsure of how his touches were affecting your body and pleasure. No, this Javier is different. Older, experienced, more tender than you remember him ever being, so sure of himself and just… thicker. Two shirt sizes up from the man you walked away from, his formerly wiry muscles are almost bubble wrapped in a way. What used to knot against you in hard planes of flesh and bone now give quietly against your touch as you’re pulling at the only thing that separates you now.

But suddenly, he’s breaking away. All heavy breaths and wildly flushed cheeks, his lips have left yours and the ache you numbed in his absence returns like a migraine after sleep. You need him and he’s gone again and you’re chasing his kiss with a whine as he replaces his lips with a thumb, cradling your face once more and shushing you, “Cálmate, mi amor. Está bien. Are we moving too fast right now?”

And you are breathless as you answer, “We are not moving fast enough, Javier.”

“I just don’t want you to think that this is all that I want. That you will wake to find an empty bed tomorrow.”

“If I woke to find an empty bed tomorrow, that’s exactly what I’d deserve.”

Those eyebrows knit up in confusion, the lines that have made their home on his forehead making you simultaneously weak in their beauty as evidence of his life and sad in the tragedy that you weren’t there to watch him earn them.

“Clarita,” his tone is so soft, the endearment coming to him as naturally now as it did in the before, “If it’s punishment you think you deserve then I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong. I chose you, you didn’t beg for it. I did that of my own accord. And when you chose to walk away because you felt guilty, I did beg you. I’ll own it, I begged and pined but you couldn’t get out of your own head long enough to see that you were never the issue, you were the solution. You still are. I have searched for you in everybody I’ve ever met. So tell me,” his hands are wrapping around your arms now, “Are you ready to forgive yourself and find me in your bed tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” comes barely audible through parted lips as his find yours once more, knocking the breath from your chest as his hands slide down to your hips. He digs his fingers into the denim there and slowly starts to guide you through the home that’s not his thinking, correctly, that the only door at the end of the hallway is the destination he really booked from Bogotá.

And he is burning a hole through you, his entire being set on fire against you in the already blazing Texas heat. He is gentle as he pushes you down, climbing on top with one arm out to break both your falls. His shirt was abandoned somewhere in the kitchen, shoes kicked off in the hallway with your shorts not far behind. His belt buckle is riding against you as he rocks his hips down, forgetting the metal between you in his hunger for you to feel him.

He feels you wince, the whine swallowed between his lips but he’s pulling back like he’s electrocuted you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” your hands are shaking as you take advantage of the space between, “just take your pants off.”  

He hits you with that crooked smile and meets your hands where they’re still trembling at his hips and, god, he’s swift. He wastes no time kicking off his jeans and falling back into you, pressing back into you. You can feel him straining against his briefs but his patience is unmatched as he savors every taste of your mouth, every nip at the warm skin of your neck and chest. His hands are exploring the years that have marked your body as you mentally catalogue the scars that have taken over his.

He’s pushed your shirt up as far as it will go without leaving you but when he finally does to lift it away, the separation is so quick that it feels like nothing. He’s everywhere and you’re delirious, half thinking you’re imagining him moaning into you as he takes your hand in his to put it where he wants it.

You almost think…but, no, that’s not how that works. Your brain is fucking with you, unable to reconcile the man on top of you with the memory of the boy you loved once upon a time. But you swear, he’s bigger. He holds his breath as your hand slides between him and his waistband and he’s looking down at you like he’s never been touched at all. The sadness showcased across the softness of his face is made worse by the sheen of sweat and blush across his nose. You’d almost believe it if you couldn’t feel the heartbeat in his hardness, waiting for you to make the next move.

After two beats of aching silence, looking up into the galaxies he has the audacity to call eyes, your other hand moves to push at his waistband. If you thought he was urgent before, the graceful rush to join your efforts is gold medal worthy. Your senses are delayed, you’re not sure if the sound of fabric hitting the ground comes before or after he’s ripping at the only bit of fabric that separates you now.

“Fuck,” he rests his forehead to yours, “I'll buy you another pair.” The confusion bubbles into laughter as you realize that, yes, he actually tore them from your body.

But the bubbling laughter in your throat squeezes into a tight gasp, the air punched from your lungs as he steadies himself against you. His long fingers are brushing your hair to the side as he leans down and whispers against your lips, “Can I?”

“Please,” but your begging is lost in his response before the word has fully left your lips. He is grabbing in a way you haven���t felt in years. Hungry, like he can’t get enough, like it’s all he needs.

It is devastating, the build up. He’s ripping through the deepest parts of you and you’re convinced, wholeheartedly, that the only truth you’ve ever known rides on the waves of his name. His grip tightens, his teeth dragging down your jawline and warmth takes over as an earthquake shatters what little composure you’ve kept.

He moans low in his throat once.

Twice.

Three times it dies out against your ear like it’s only meant for you. Like it was all only meant for you.

He’s smiling as he softens, you can hear it in his voice as he slowly asks, “Can we just stay like this for a minute?”

You press your lips to that dimple, singular and lonely on the right side of his face; so far gone from a five o’clock shadow, you’d almost think he’s been forty all his life.

“Javier,” your fingers wind tighter through the sweat slick curls at the crown of his head, “we can stay like this forever.”

TAGLIST: @justanotherblonde23​ | @greeneyedblondie44​ | @icanbeyourjedi​ | @princess76179​ | @bbuckysbeardd​ | @notcookiebelle​ | @knivesareout​ | @empress-palpat1ne​ | @phoenixpascal​ | @lexi-b-writes​ 

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

helping heart

request: hi so i have chronic migraines, which means at least once a month (sometimes more) i get a migraine that is so bad that my vision is blurred and sometimes i even puke. and so i just got over one and i was wondering if you could write a mgg fic where he helps the reader through one? cause that would be great :) thank you!!

word count: 1,607                                                                                     reading time aprox: 6 mins

masterlist

My brain pulsated at an inhuman rate, thumping against the walls of my skull. Waves of agony spasmed throughout my head, reverberating through the soft muscle that resided in it. I forcibly shut my eyes, shielding them from any source of light, despite me already cornered in a dark room. 

I sat in Matthew’s trailer waiting for him to finish a few of his scenes. But what I didn’t know was that I would have to push through an oncoming migraine alone. I shuddered in the white fluffy blanket that was wrapped around me, it smelled of pumpkin spice and Matthew’s worn out cologne. A buzz coming from the fridge invaded my sensitive ears, making the entire experience more intolerable. 

I feebly pulled the covers over my head, drowning myself in my own darkness. An inaudible whimper escaped my lips, a reflex from the oscillating intensity of my migraine. I curled up in the fetal position, feeling my stomach begin to cramp up. I felt the bile begin to build up like plaque in the back of my esophagus, threatening to spill over any moment. 

Suddenly the door opened, letting light protrude from the outside. Matthew’s soothing voice met my ears, amused at the high pitched voice cracks in between his words. Despite my relief at his presence, my body continued to throb at an agonizing rhythm. 

“Okay thanks again BJ- no, yeah I’ll- I’ll see you in a few, bye” He laughed, sending chills down my spine from the volume at which he spoke. Usually I would have no problem with the gregarious ferocity of his voice, but my circumstances limited me to a shrill feeling in my eardrums. “Huh...why is this-” He flipped on the light switch, eliciting a groan from me. 

“Matthew can you turn that back off please?” I meekly requested, shutting my eyes tighter than they already were. I flipped around on my stomach, stuffing my face into the pillow under me. 

“Hey baby- migraines again?” He asked, shuffling closer to where I was after he had dimmed the lights. “Do you need anything?” He asked, kneeling down beside me; his voice came out like a whisper: soft and pacified. 

A muffled ‘no’ slipped passed my lips while the cushions I laid on sunk, indicating that Matthew had sat himself at my feet. He ran his fingers up and down the side of my ankle in a tender manner, humming a calming melody in the process. 

“How was filming?” I croaked, feeling the muscles in my throat tense up at the utterance of my words while I turned around to face him.. My voice was raspy with phlegm from not speaking all day, earning a concerned look from Matthew. 

“It was pretty okay. I have a few more scenes to shoot and I’m done for the day” He declared, reaching his arms out to invite me into his embrace. I gracefully accepted his offer, fitting perfectly into the vast space of his arms. I breathed in his scent, basking in the instant gratification I received from the warmth that embodied him.

“What else did you do today?” I wrapped my arms around his waist, looking up at him from below his shoulder. My head rested perfectly against his chest as I inquired about his daily adventures. 

“I got brunch with AJ, bothered Aubrey [Plaza] a little bit, and antagonized a toddler. You know all the normal things” He confessed, earning a stifled laugh from me. 

“Sounds like your day was eventful” I replied, nuzzling my head into his blazer. I felt the cotton fibers brush against my cheeks, sending a tickling sensation down my nose. He placed a longing kiss to the top of my head, using his hand to brush away the tangled hair that had accumulated when I was resting. 

“Yeah it was…” He whispered, muffling his voice in my hair. “But it would’ve been better with you” He sweetly confessed, placing a finger under my chin to pull me into a chaste kiss. “See...already much better” He joked after he pulled away. 

A faint blush made its way to the apples of my cheeks, shaking my head in wonder at how this man still made me feel nervous after two years of putting up with him. My fingertips hovered over the crevice of his neck, feeling the individual spikes of stubble graze my skin. 

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” He asked once again, caressing my cheek with his thumb. 

Before I could nod and reassure him, a wave of nausea washed over me causing the contents in my stomach to be regurgitated. I pushed myself off of Matthew forcefully, sprinting to the small bathroom in his trailer. I struggled to pull my hair out of my face as my stomach acid burned the layering skin of my throat. I choked and wheezed, feeling my body weaken at the sudden expulsion of liquid. I hadn’t even realized that Matthew stood behind me propping my hair up into a ponytail until he had laid a consoling hand on the small of my back. 

I groaned in pain, tears trailing down my cheeks as I shut down entirely. I prayed for the ache to stop, hoping that my migraine would end up in the toilet just as my lunch did. Saliva dripped down my chin, making the scene an unattractive mess. Matthew handed me a paper towel afterwards, letting me clean myself off while he waited by the door. 

Once I finished, I opened the door with an embarrassed grimace. My eyes were still sunken and grim because of all the crying that I did, my cheeks flushed alongside it. I whimpered, falling into Matthew’s arms while he whispered positive affirmations. 

“Let me take care of you bubs” He declared, swooping me up bridal style and carrying me to the bed in the back of his trailer. He set me down, bringing a few fluffy blankets to adjust my comfort. He kissed my forehead before leaving the small room to fetch something. 

I trailed my hands along the soft sheets of his bed, letting each fiber in my body focus on the warmth that the covers provided me rather than the discomfort that flooded my body. I was still dizzy from my trip to the bathroom, my vision a bit too wonky and disoriented for my liking. 

With the sound of shuffling feet, Matthew made his way back to the bedroom with a hot cup of tea and a heated eye mask. “I thought this would help alleviate the pain a little bit” He smiled sheepishly, causing my heart to inflate at the small sentiment. 

I kissed his cheek as a sign of gratitude, immediately grabbing the heated eye mask out of his hands. He laughed at my haste, sitting down next to me at the edge of the bed. 

“Is there anything else you need?” 

“I have all that I need here” I professed, leaning my head against his hip. “Come cuddle” I demanded, making grabby hands at him. He playfully groaned in response, curling up next to me as he pulled me to his chest. He peppered kisses on the top of my head, exhaling in reprieve as he finally was able to share a moment with the woman he loved. 

“You know what Y/N?” 

“What is it?” I beckoned, my mouth muffled in his shirt. 

“At least you weren’t throwing up because you’re pregnant” He teased, pushing a few stray hairs off my forehead. 

“Is that something you’re interested in? Getting pregnant?” I implied, nudging him jokingly. His throat vibrated against my head while he laughed, a few straggled coughs escaping his lips at my suggestion. 

Silence engulfed the room, leaving the both of us in each other's arms. The feeling of security I felt in Matthew’s arms was inexplicable, reveling in the fact that I was able to be beside this man. Love radiated from the both of us as we were grateful for each other's company.  

“I wouldn’t mind” He spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence. I hummed against his chest in confusion, looking up at him to proceed. “I wouldn’t mind if we had a little kid to have around” He confessed, pressing his lips on my forehead. 

“Weren’t you just yelling at a toddler before you got in here” I quipped. 

“To be completely fair, I think the guy was sent in to replace me on the show” He laughed. 

“Well if that was ever the case, then you’d have more time to spend if we ever had a little one to take care of” I replied, diverting the conversation back to the subject we were tip-toeing around earlier. 

“That would be really nice” He cherished the idea while I pictured a world where Matthew was a dad and where I was lucky enough to start a life with him. 

“I’m so lucky to have you Y/N” 

“Well I’m even luckier to have someone take care of me even if I almost got puke all over their wardrobe” I teased, nuzzling into him further. “But I love you so much goobs” 

“Did you just call me goob-” 

“Shut up, I literally professed my love to you and all you do is complain?” 

He chuckled, pulling me in closer to him, wrapping the covers around the both of us, creating a perfect environment for slumber. Both of our breathing steadied, letting the heaviness of our eyes take control. With the last few conscious huffs of air, Matthew whispered a few words that explained all that he felt. 

“I love you even more” 

-

taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @howdycharlie​ @linthebinbag​ @honeymilk-4​

cute lil fluffy one since i’ve been so angsty

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: v

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2  ||   chapter 3   ||  chapter 4   ||  chapter 6  || 

word count: ~4k

coming to terms now, are we?

warnings: descriptions of medical settings, discussion of surgery and injury but nothing graphic, god fluff, nasty big fluff

——

wow. halfway through y’all. thank you to each and every ONE of you who have given this story a chance. enjoy some fluff and get ready for next week 👀 once again, beta-ed by the wuv @keiqos !!

||||||||||||||||||

Exhaustion had long since clawed a hole in your skull. 

It was one of the many forms of malefactum that came from your fucking quirk, damn it to hell. The days following any sort of intense overstimulation episode of yours were always hellish. Constant fatigue, burning migraines, dry eyes, and confusion always waited for you by the time you rolled out whatever pushed you over the edge.

The villain attack was probably the worst episode you’d had, ever. 

The entire trip to the hospital had been sort of a nightmare. There were so many people that needed treatment after the attack, so many of them worse off than yourself. You were lucky enough to get into a dark hospital room fairly quickly, allowing some of your symptoms to dull. 

You were just coherent and aware enough to deal with everyone you needed to, paperwork and legalities of your visit sorted. You even managed to send a few texts to your parents and work groupchat to confirm that you were safe. 

After a myriad of late-night tests and exams, it was confirmed that the next morning, you’d have a procedure to mend your leg.

...

Fixing the internal damage to your leg caused by the tearing of the glass was a fairly quick affair, according to your kind-smiled surgeon.

“I know it seemed abrupt, to do it so quickly,” The surgeon stuffed her hands in the pocket of her scrubs. “But, we’ve flown in extra medical personnel to help deal with injuries from the attack and well, you’re an easy fix.”

You smiled, the best you could, groggy with the anesthetic, “I’m glad it isn’t too bad.”

“Nope! Not at all,” She laughed, far too pleasant for all the chaos just outside your dimly lit hospital room. “We’ll keep you here tonight, and you should be able to go home tomorrow afternoon. You’ll need to keep weight off of that leg for about three weeks. We’ll have a follow-up appointment then, and make sure you’re healing alright. Sound good?”

You nodded, some tension releasing from your chest.

The procedure left you with a heavy plastic boot, clasped up to your knee. Not to mention your body ached with fatigue. 

Most of the rest of that day was spent spinning in and out of sleep, only waking for basic checks and a delivery of flowers you received from the teashop’s owners complete with a passive-aggressive reminder that ‘this had nothing to do with us, you can’t sue <3.’

 Your constant company was Hawks’s scarlet feather. As you moved through the bends of your quirk and post-surgical recovery, you held onto it like a lifeline. With each stroke of the soft filaments, your heart rate monitor would beep slower and slower towards a relaxed rhythm. 

It made you think of him, and how he felt with your quirk activated. 

Despite how shitty the circumstances were, really feeling Keigo with your quirk was heavenly. Feeling him in general, physically was a fucking blessing. You spent a lot of time that night and first day at the hospital fantasizing about how the beat of his heart felt like amber drops on your tongue and orange-bound warmth in your chest.

You wanted more of it.

 Keigo stayed around to help deal with the mess, for once in his career. It was weird for him to spend the following day after the attack helping out on the scene. It was even weirder for the other Pros around that were aware of his reputation of simply not doing that.

It was out of character for him.

But, then again, Keigo hadn’t ever spent as much time at someplace he enjoyed like the teashop. Hell, the whole street. He’d patrolled plenty of areas for long stretches of time, but he’d never grown attached.

You were, obviously, a big part of that.

Seeing you hurt left him frazzled and fucked, and staying behind to help pick up the mess and provide aid made him feel a hell of a lot better. Sure, it was different, having local Pros look to him for guidance when he had to purely rely on his training from the Commission as opposed to his professional experience. He did well, he knew, especially based on the way the scene calmed even when he simply flew around.

Keigo had the power to bring people ease, even if he struggled with it himself. 

The idea made him think back to you, undoubtedly still in pain, but more than likely entirely fine. He ignored the urge to text you anxiously as he was still parsing over the very sweet interaction the two of you had, even if it was in such a bad circumstance. 

Your sweetness at the end was his constant reminder that you would be okay. 

The implication and Keigo’s knowledge post- ‘the miel incident,’ as he was calling it, was obvious, and god, he wanted to fucking drown in it. The thought of having you so close that he could hear your heartbeat and feel the drum of your voice against your chest made him weak. 

He was so fucking weak for you.

It was distracting, as it always was. It seemed fairly unavoidable especially as anxiety chewed at him. The one thing that lulled him was the far off feeling of the feather he had tucked in your hand. It had to be close to you still, the beat of your heart sending him shudders if he focused on it hard enough.

It became too much, thinking of you.

As his feathers swept piles of rubble, he pulled out his phone, the sun beginning to sink in the evening sky. 

 You had spent most of your recovery time in and out of consciousness, enjoying the time to rest and sleep. 

A short buzz from your phone forced you into a half-wakeful state. You reached to the table next to the hospital bed, grappling for your phone.

 [birdboy]: hey r u alive, 

[birdboy]: how r u feeling

[birdboy]: speak 2 me

 You cracked a sleepy smile. 

 [you]: alive, tired, surgery-ied. 

 You took a quick snap of your booted, propped up foot.

 [you]: getting discharged tomorrow babyyyy

[birdboy]: oh fuck what happened?

[birdboy]: u sure ur good

 The feather against your collarbone twitched, filaments waving. You thought little of it.

 [you]: i tore some shit in my leg

[you]: and yes, just tired as fuck and want to be home

[you]: hospitals SUCK

[birdboy]: true, true

[birdboy]: would u... 

[birdboy]: like a visit perhaps?

[you]: u sure??

[you]: i know ur busy and i dont wanna use up ur freetime

 There was a pause in Keigo’s nearly instant responses.

 [birdboy]: dove.

 Your breath stuttered in your chest. That was newer; you only remembered it vaguely from the . It felt far more intimate than just ‘angel,’ and it made you shiver as you read it.

 [birdboy]: busy schedule??

[birdboy]: i’ll make the time angel

[birdboy]: i’d love to come visit u

 You couldn’t help the smitten expression that burst across your face.

 [you]: and i’d love to see you

 You wished you could’ve continued the conversation, but your night nurse knocked to offer you pain medication and sedatives and you couldn’t say no to more rest. Your mind and body needed it. 

As quickly as it was administered, you were out again. 

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 You were exhausted. Still. 

When you heard voices just outside of your door, you couldn’t help cracking open your dry eyes. It seemed far too early for them to collect your vitals. The room was still dark, large windows only showing a trace of the dawn’s light stretching from the east.

Your sleep-addled mind stretched to listen:

“Thank you so much for the autograph! My son is such a huge fan of yours.”

“Oh, really! Tell him I say hi! I really adore my fans.”

Giggling.

“Is she a fan?”

“Sort of, more of a friend of mine.”

 He... said it again.

 A shaft of light sprayed into the room, your quirk firing at the sudden intrusion. You groan, pawing at your eye with your fist, the feather held between your fingers blocking some of the light.

Even with your diminished vision and tired mind, you still caught it when he laughed at your reaction, stepping into the room.

Honey, softness, cream and heat that made your chest thrum like embers.

“H-Hawks?” Your voice was still itchy with sleep. 

“That’s me.” His laugh rolled over you as your quirk receded, palms thrumming with the silkenness of his voice, “It’s good to see you, dove.”

“S’nice to see you too,” Your chest thrummed with his words and you couldn’t restrain the smile that spread across your face, “‘Ya know, you woke me up, just now.”

Hawks gave you a little chuckle, moseying his way to a chair nearby the bed and window, “Sorry about that. I had to sneak in here before official visiting hours so I didn’t cause a ‘scene’.”

You snorted. 

“You, causing a scene?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him, “Hawks? Never. Not once.”

He stifled a laugh, dragging the thinly-padded chair closer to the bed and leaning back into it, “Glad to see you’re in good spirits, considering you’re still here and all.”

“From what I can tell, it could be a lot worse, especially compared to other people that were there,” The end of your sentence turned sullen, your expression darkening. 

Hawks let out a little sigh, “It wasn’t pretty, that’s for sure. But, you’re safe, and most folks are safe. Bright side.”

“Bright side.” You repeated, softer, looking up from the plain sheets to meet his gaze. 

You took him in, quickly. 

He looked a bit worse for wear, the exhaustion from the days before still visible on his features. The dark circles under his eyes almost looked worse, perhaps uncovered and deeper since the attack. His wings weren’t even visible from your angle, plucked too short and sparse to be of much use. 

But, Hawks was, undoubtedly, still stunning. 

It was almost distracting, how unavoidable mentally eating him up was. You’d felt what he was like during the attack and that had apparently broken some mental dam for you. Holding back just how much you liked him seemed futile, at least mentally. 

You would let yourself be honest, at least with yourself, as a treat. 

What probably also pushed you over the edge was the fact that he wasn’t in his hero uniform, for once. You’d only ever seen him in his tan and black get up before. Seeing him casually dressed was shocking and very hot.

Hawks wore a simple black long sleeve with a long, wool jacket over it, black jeans, nothing seemingly extravagant except for the nicer looking chunky sneakers he wore and the fat gold watch on his wrist. It was all designer, knowing his paycheck. Without all of his normal regalia, you could better see that his pierced ears carried some light yellow stones that played off his eyes.

His feathery golden waves were messy, falling over his forehead and temples. The curves and angles of his jaw looked accented by the rising dawn light that was just beginning to filter into the room. There was the smallest quirk in his plump lips, but it hardly detracted from how stunning he was. 

He was remarkably gorgeous, naturally, and you let yourself think about it freely.

 Keigo felt a bit bad, seeing you in your state. 

He tried to be subtle, looking you up and down, heart-thumping his chest as the feather in your hand-picked up your own pulse. It had sped up when he entered the room, even more so when you started to beam at him despite your state.

You looked like a bit of a mess, and with anyone else, Keigo might’ve indulged himself in being a little bit of sarcastic shit about it, but he didn’t with you. It didn’t seem right. 

Your booted foot was propped up, a hospital gown askew over your collarbones under some thin blankets you were nested underneath. Your dark circles could’ve been worse, but your eyes were shining and alert, all directed on him it made him ache all over in the best way.

 The feather twitched in your hand, your gaze darting to it. Heat spread across your cheeks. 

“Oh, uh, shit,” You stretched your arm to pass the feather back to him. “Here’s this back. Sorry, I’ve kinda been holding on to it... a lot.”

“It’s alright, that’s why I gave it to you,” Hawks assured you, the feather whisking from your hand on its own and back to the downy stubs that Hawks had left. “Just a little reminder that good ol’ Number Two is looking out for you.”

You hardly needed a reminder. Thoughts of Hawks had been filling your head since it had stopped from swirling from your quirk. The thought of him leaving a bit of him with you only warmed your insides. 

“How could I ever forget?” You leaned back into your pillows, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Thank you, Hawks.”

Hawks blinked at you, reaching down to rustle something down by his feet, “For?”

“You know, saving my ass.”

“That’s my job, angel.”

“Still. You thank me every time I make you your drinks, right?” You shrugged at his wide-eyed expression. “Same principle. Except, your life isn’t on the line when I make you lattes.”

“Oh, angel,” Hawks drawled and deflected. “That is a false statement. I rely on those. They’re my lifeblood.”

A little realization dawned on you.

You gave him a sad little smile, rubbing your own knuckles for some semblance of comfort, “It’s gonna be a while until I can provide anything life-giving, then.”

The teashop was destroyed and who knew how long I’d be until they reopened. Not to mention that your leg was post opt and you couldn’t exactly work on it. 

Practicality aside, what saddened you most was that Hawks didn’t have much of a reason to see you without the shop. 

As much as you had feared it at the beginning of your friendship, you had gotten comfortable with Hawks’s presence in the shop and in your life. 

Too comfortable, and now it was biting you in the ass.

Thorns stabbed in your chest.

 Keigo noticed your slow-falling expression and frowned, “What’s on your mind?”

 “It’s nothing, just, uh...” You shook your head, blinking up at him,

Your voice cut off as your gaze refused to settle on him, Keigo clearly seeing your discomfort. 

“Without the teashop, you know...” Then, with that honesty that scared him, you finally met his eyes, gripping the sheets of your hospital bed, “I’m gonna miss seeing you.”

The principle made Keigo’s mind swirl.

You missing him.

His thoughts slipped back to ‘the miel incident’, and your mutual feelings that you very obviously didn’t fucking know about. If you did, he was sure you’d know that he would be missing you a lot without your normal interactions. 

This certainly wasn’t the setting to tell you, you were still stuck with an IV and probably somewhat traumatized by the event, even if you seemed in good spirits.

But, he could help assuage your fears. Subtly. Let himself use his honed arts to comfort rather than connive. 

“Dove, it’s alright,” He gave the softest smile he could, shreds of real vulnerability in it coaxed out by you without you even being aware of it. “Just because the teashop isn’t around right now doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you.”

The stunned expression on your face would’ve been cute if it didn’t make Keigo’s heart stutter painfully in his chest.

 “You... You do?” Your voice was so soft, you surprised yourself.

Hawks was a busy, busy man. Why the fuck would he bother with you? There was no cute coffee shop aesthetic in your foreseeable future. Maybe some decent drinks, but you wouldn’t be very mobile. You had some supplies and gear to make teas and some drinks at your apartment, but nothing as expansive as was destroyed at the shop. If it was flirty banter keeping him near, there were certainly other people he could go to for some natural chemistry, right?

He doesn’t need you.

Why the fuck would he bother with you, outside of what you could offer him?

“Dove,” Hawks’s voice shook you from your thoughts. “I’m here right now, aren’t I?”

“Uh,” You stuttered, mind catching up to the very obvious conclusion that, yes, Hawks does like having you around. “I guess, yeah.”

He frowned, leaning back in his chair as one of his smaller feathers whisked to your forehead, patting it a few times, “(Y/N), I like spending time with you. I care about you.”

Oh.

That was a little more vulnerability and truth than either of you expected.

Your eyes darted up to meet his, seeing a hint of unbearable fear before it was wiped away.

 You didn’t know it, but it was just you that pushed that fear off Keigo’s face.

He forced his shaking hands to be still, mouth drying after saying words that he wasn’t sure he was ready to say yet. God, they were true, but were they okay? For him, or you?

And then you gave him the gooiest, biggest smile you’d ever graced him with, “I care about you too, Hawks. Thank you.”

 It made both of your guts turn to mush.

In a stunned moment of silence, both of your breaths stuck in each of your throats. Neither of you could tear your gazes away from each other.

You both tightened your grip on your respective fabrics, your heart rate monitor beeping faster as you swallowed. 

Hawks opened his mouth, inhaling, but he was quickly interrupted by a knock on the door. A head poked in, the same nurse as before.

“Hey, sweetheart, we need to take your vitals quick,” She came in, waving to Hawks gleefully.

Hawks’s softened eyes were gone, you realized. Torn away from the moment and now speaking comfortably with the nurse as she checked what she needed to.

Your hands shook.

 Keigo noticed it, too, his own trembling as well. 

 The idle chat between Hawks and the nurse fell on your ears, though you didn’t process any of it. You were far too busy mentally coming to terms with the fact that Hawks cared about you. And, based on his tone and that familiar (but usually hidden) adoration in his eyes, it was a bit deeper than you expected and knew how to swallow.

You took a slow breath as the nurse left, Hawks waving with a wide smile plastered on his face.

When the door shut once more, there was a lull of silence that settled over the room. More early morning sunlight was beginning to slant into the room, throwing gold over the otherwise drab and lifeless greys and whites of the room.

The intense mood had been thoroughly interrupted by the nurse, but perhaps it was a hidden blessing. 

Both of you were terrified, but so deeply yearning. You both were a bit too raw. 

Maybe it would be better to let the fear fade, just a bit more. 

 “Oh, shit, I nearly forgot,” Hawks reached down next to him, pulling out a bag you hadn’t realized he had brought him. He set it on the edge of the bed. “I got you something.”

“Hawks.” You groaned, shaking your head and running your hands down your face. “You need to stop being so nice.”

“Can’t do that, (Y/N). I’ll be as nice as I want,” You could see that his grin was shit-eating through the space between your fingers. “Besides, you haven’t even looked at it yet.”

You took the bag into your lap, noticing the ruffles of tissue paper that puffed from the top. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” You told him, albeit still pulling the paper from the top to reveal a small, wrapped, fluffy object.

Hawks hummed, leaning forward to set his elbows on his knees, “You’re right. I didn’t have to. But, I wanted to.”

As carefully as you could, somewhat suspicious, you peeled back to the paper. 

Your eyes widened.

It was a plushie, round and soft with a filling that made it feel like a marshmallow in your arms. The design was familiar, a character from one of your favorite cartoons, but you’d never talked about it with Hawks.

“I figured you could use a little pick me up after all this,” Hawks tilted his head and winked. “Did I get the character right?”

Your mouth fell open, blinking, “How did you... know? That I liked this one?” 

“The little pins on your apron,” Hawks tapped his chest. “I figured you must be pretty fond of this one, since you had a couple of buttons for them, right?”

You wanted to give you a coherent, thankful statement to Hawks. Really, you did. Instead, you stared down at the doughy, round-eyed plushie. Maybe a few overwhelmed tears gathered in your eyes, which you promptly sucked down and shook your head.

“Thank you, really,” You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand. “But, fuck, Hawks—”

 For a moment, Keigo thought you were upset with him. Based on the slight contorting of your face, and the wetness in your eyes, his heart seized up. His fingers twitched from where they cupped his chin, wanting to shoot out and comfort you somehow. 

However, Keigo stayed put as you turned back towards him, plushie carefully gathered in your arms and hugged snugly and perfectly to your chest.

“You gotta stop being so fucking nice,” You sighed, pressing your face into the soft fabric of the gift. Your words were muffled, but Keigo heard each one perfectly. “I’m gonna start getting ideas, you know.”

Sure, Keigo could’ve pushed some of your buttons and fluffed himself up for some fun, flirty banter that would be undoubtedly lovely, but it wasn’t the time. You’d had a very long and tiring few days, and Keigo could see and imagine that you were in all sorts of disrepair.

Keigo stood slowly, moving just next to your bed where you turned your head upwards to look at him. Carefully, he placed a worn hand on your shoulder, feeling the small bit of bare skin exposed by the thin gown.

“Don’t worry about that right now, dove, okay?” Keigo let his voice go soft, quiet, and gentle as he could make it. Without thinking, he squeezed your shoulder, rubbing his thumb just under your collarbone.

It was too much, maybe. But neither of you would complain.

Keigo could see and feel the way you relaxed, eyes going half-lidded and leaning into his touch, even putting the slightest amount of your weight into it. 

It was probably the most precious and sweet gesture he’d ever experienced. 

He made it his goal to make more like it. 

(Anything to see you so instantly mushy.)

 “I saw a coffee machine when I was coming in,” Hawks voice was a hum, hand on your shoulder not moving. You didn’t want it to. The heat pressing against your skin made you melt. “Want me to grab us some? I know I need it.”

You managed to giggle, craning your neck to fully look up at Hawks. You swore you could see the slightest quiver in his bottom lip.

“I’d love some.”

“You sure you can stomach shitty coffee?” The thumb rubbed over your collarbone, Keigo’s pretty eyes searching your face, portraying far more than your words. “That’s my territory, angel.”

“I guess I’ll stoop to your taste,” You gave him a smirk like sweet lightning and tentatively, carefully, reached your hand up to wrap around his own, squeezing. “I take my coffee black.”

 ||||||||||||||||||||||

taglist: @thepandapopo @sinclairsamess

[bowandcurtsey]

Most certainly Anony! Serving one fluffy wizard king to your doorstep! Hope you get better soon~

Julius x reader

Warnings: None!

Initially you were just down with cough and a runny nose and Julius thought you’d get better in a day or so, but a common cold turn into a nasty fever.

Your body was in pain, your head throbbing and you saw white flashes over your vision at times. You could barely even get out of bed to kiss your boyfriend goodbye before he left for work. 

Julius was worried about you. He couldn’t focus on his work after seeing you in that state before he left for work in the morning. Piles of paperwork to do, but his mind repeatedly ran back to you. He summoned for Marx.

“Cancel all my plans for today and maybe tomorrow.” He removed his royal robe and he left without another word.

Marx knew that when the wizard king removed his red robe he was bound for home, instead of his usual shenanigans, looking around for new magic. He prayed for your wellbeing, because he seldom saw the wizard king taking leave from his work so abruptly.

You drifted in and out of your sleep, hardly able to sleep well because of your aching body. You opening your heavy eyelids and was pleasantly surprised to see your boyfriend standing right in front of you. You broke into a weak smile for him.

“Don’t you have to be a wizard king today hun?” You waved him off, “I’ll be okay..”

He touched your forehead. “You’re burning y/n.. quite literally.” Julius’ heart broke seeing your pale face. “The wizard king has a more important thing to take care of today,” He stroked your face and gave it a kiss. “Taking care of his queen.”

He left the room and after awhile came back with a bunch of things. “Come, take your meds,” He helped you to get up and gave you a cup of water. Your lips pulled to a frown at the sight of the meds, but you knew you had no choice. After he ensured that you took your meds (very unwillingly), he tucked you back into bed again and a cold towel was placed over your forehead. 

He climbed into bed with you, propping his head up with an elbow. “Alright my queen, time to take a nap alright?” he patted you. 

“Get out of the bed honey.. You’ll catch my flu and fever too!” you protested.

“Shhh. just sleep my love~” he cooed at you, ignoring your protests. 

You drifted off to a deep slumber. 

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

When you woke up it was already night time, you looked at the clock. 8PM. You had slept for a solid 8 hours. Although you still felt restless, your body felt better, your muscles ached lesser and your bad migraine gone. Julius was no longer by your side, but you could see fresh ice in the pail of water beside you. Your man had been constantly changing your cold compressions over your forehead. 

A mouth watering aroma filled the air and your tummy growled in response. Your boyfriend sauntered in, seemingly sensing that you were already awake. He must have used his time magic to alert himself beforehand of when you woke.

“Hungry my love?” He set down a tray of warm chicken soup with macaroni beside the bed. he carefully scooped some of the contents on a spoon and blew gently on it. “Ahhh.” He fed you bit by bit, asking how you were feeling and telling you about his cooking tales. 

You devoured the entire bowl in mere minutes. 

“Good that your appetite is back~ Time for your meds now~” He chirped, happy that you enjoyed his cooking. 

You pouted. You absolutely disliked taking the bitter pills. “I’ll be better after a good sleep again babee” You tried to convince him. 

To your surprise, he took out a pudding from under the cloche he brought in earlier on. “Taadaa! It’s your reward, for being well behaved!” 

Your lips curved upwards into a wide beam of happiness, you had a sweet tongue and you absolutely loved desserts. Julius couldn’t help but chuckle at your face lighting up as he gave you a little tiny spoon and watched you gobble the entire pudding down. 

“Rest now dear, I’ll be cleaning up the dishes and I’ll be back to cuddle you to sleep again alright?” He gave a chaste kiss to your forehead before gathering the utensils up and bringing them outside. 

About 30 minutes later, you started feeling drowsy again, strange, you thought to yourself, You didn’t take any meds, so was it the food coma kicking in?

Your handsome blonde man came into your room, he was in his night robe as well, fresh out of the shower. He climbed into bed with you and pulled you into a warm embrace. His skin was smooth and cool, strong arms held you as you lay on his chest. 

“I’m so sleepy again...” you mumbled against his skin. 

“The meds are taking effect love,” he hummed. 

You looked up at him, confusion in your face. 

“I put the meds in your pudding because I knew you didn’t like taking bitter stuff and weren’t good with swallowing pills.” He tapped on your nose lightly with his finger. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, then continued leaning your head on his chest. “What did I do to deserve you my wizard king?” you whispered. 

“You stole my heart, that’s why my queen.” you heard him answer, before you drifted off into a good night’s sleep again. 

-end-

I hope you get better soon sweet Anony! (*^3^)/~☆

[phantomgirl15]

Going Angst Week Day 2: Obsession/Instinct

Warnings: implied suicide, gun use, trauma description.

Rating: M                          Words: 1,649

The halls were almost empty, school having gotten out not long ago. Danny was alone, his backpack slung over his shoulder as he walked slowly to the place he had agreed to meet. His shoes were barely grazing the floor, his instincts telling him that something was about to happen to him, and not something good. He heard a few chuckles from down the hall, his head slowly rising to see a familiar face staring back at him.

"Weston."

"Fenton."

Danny continued to slowly hover towards Wes. He felt the tension in the hallway as he stopped in front of the classroom that was designated for their use. He waved for Wes to enter first. The redhead slowly turned himself and walked towards the desks in the room, Danny following, still feeling the unease that he felt in the hall.

"So why are we here?"

Danny crossed his arms lightly over his chest, waiting for Wes to once again say anything. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand themselves up. Shivers ran up his spine as he saw what was in Weston's backpack.

"Hey. Why do you have that?"

He saw a Fenton ghost gun. His eyes widened as Weston continued to stay silent and put his hand over the device.

"How did you even get that into the school?"

Wes pulled it from his backpack. It hovered in his hands for a moment, Wes looking closely at it before making eye contact with Danny and holding the gun to his face. Danny could feel the laser his mom had installed for aim.

"Tell me why you killed Kyle."

. . .

Danny had been feeling a weird irk in his core all day, it was only a Wednesday, the weekend not close enough. His core pulsated at him to tell him that he needed to go ghost soon. He hadn't had a reason to for a while, all the ghosts avoiding the town for the past week. The town had been almost too quiet.

He felt his head pound for a moment, his core forcing him to feel the irk harder, stronger. He groaned in pain for a moment, the loud commotion in the hallway not helping with what felt like an oncoming migraine. He saw his friends down the hall, waving him down frantically.

"Hey, how's it going, dude?"

Danny fist-bumped Tucker, hugging Sam.

"Eh, you know. Just feeling that urge to go ghost ASAP."

"Why don't you just try ignoring it?"

Sam smacked the back of his head as she walked past him and gestured to the lunchroom that they were scheduled to go to.

"I don't know if I can. It's just... Instinct, you know? It feels like something bad will happen if I don't."

Danny hauled his backpack higher on his back, Tucker snickering a bit.

"Dude, you're acting like an animal. I'm pretty sure you've turned taking care of your ghost half into an obsession."

"It's not an obsession!"

"That's what all people who are addicted to something say."

Sam laughed as they got to the lunchroom and sat down, the conversation beginning to stress Danny out. Sam could feel the cold around him spreading further from his body.

"It's not an addiction. I promise. I think I'll just go for a flight after school."

Tucker felt the static around Danny from the conversation topic's stress. The air around him almost made it feel like he was playing with static electricity. He shivered a bit, the air chilling his spine.

"If you say so. Just be careful."

. . .

"What does that have to do with you killing my brother?"

Wes moved the gun closer to Danny's forehead, Danny raising his hands in surrender.

"Chill, chill. That's the late morning the day it happened. I'm getting there."

"Speed it up."

"I can't if you want the full story."

. . .

School got out, the final bell ringing. Danny sighed in relief, rushing himself home to drop his backpack off before feeling the usual cold, tingly sensation as he let his ghost half show. He breathed deep, letting the air out of his lungs completely, his ghost portion stopping the breathing.

He took a step towards his window, swinging it wide open. Another step and he was floating above the town. He felt the spring breeze and leaned back a bit, his core pulsating calmly. He felt it almost thanking him for giving it time to be free.

"It's not an obsession."

Danny whispered gently to himself, feeling a warm pulse in his chest, almost a heartbeat - which wasn't normal for him. He gasped, feeling the need to breathe out of shock. The warmth grew stronger, Danny feeling the need to use more powers than just flight. He felt his body aching from too much power in his core.

He moved a bit, stretching himself out before flying towards the center of the city. He saw the school below him, a few kids just getting done with practice and study groups. He felt the warmth spreading through his whole body almost making him itch under his skin.

The feel of it was unbearable to Danny, he almost felt the need to protect the city.

"Oh god."

Danny ran his hand through his hair, his glove getting lost in the white mess on his head.

"It is an obsession."

He felt a few muscle spasms, felt his ghost half begin to act more like a ghost than a human, the one thing he always tried to prevent. He felt the ghost's anger, rage burning through him, no longer feeling that he was in control of himself. He fell the pull of the ghost, the fangs he always kept hidden sliding out and showing themselves.

Danny felt his body dive, closing in on the school at a rapid pace. He found a room in the building, one student left. He didn't even care who it was. He saw that it was a redhead, assumed it was one of the Weston's. He no longer cared which one. It was going to be hell for him now that he couldn't control his ghost portion.

. . .

"That tells me nothing."

Danny became flustered, not certain why Weston was expecting more.

"I... I blacked out. I don't remember what happened after that. I woke up the next morning to my alarm for school in my bed. I can't help it that I had ghost instinct."

Danny paused for a moment.

"Because I couldn't control it anymore. Because it's an obsession."

Wes let the gun charge, making sure it was pointed dead center in Danny's forehead.

"You couldn't control yourself? I had to see that he never came home. Because you killed him. At school. His blood was all over the floor, the walls, the ceiling. I had to be shown that video footage. I... school couldn't happen until they managed to clean that up."

He swallowed harshly.

"Because you couldn't stop yourself, I had to lose part of my family. This school will never be the same. Nothing will be the same."

Danny opened his mouth, wanting to defend himself.

"It might be your "obsession" to take care of your ghost half, to let it have its ghost tendencies... But that doesn't overpower my obsession to reveal your secret to the whole town. Whether I die or not."

Danny felt the warmth again, felt his fangs slide out. He felt the power of his ghost half spilling into his human half. Wes stepped forward again, his hand tremoring a bit from fear. He felt the sweat on the back of his neck, cold drips running down into his shirt.

Danny's core glowed, a white light showing from inside his chest. Wes noticed it. He noticed the white rings that appeared at the waist, hovering for a moment before revealing the white-haired ghost boy. Wes felt the hands that grabbed him, pushing him against the wall, not even having been able to see how fast it had moved to grab him.

"You think, that I care? I'll just let my ghost become the new me. Nobody liked Fenton anyway."

A small laugh erupted from Danny's throat. Wes tried to gulp down some air, his lungs almost refusing.

"What are you gonna do about it?"

Wes raised his forearm slightly, the gun still charged. He saw the laser on Danny's shoulder.

He pulled the trigger.

Danny fell backward, grabbing his shoulder and hissing. Wes pulled himself back up, his shoulder aching from the recoil that made him hit the wall harder. He charged it again, Danny rushing hard at him, he pointed, his eyes closing as he pulled the trigger again.

Wes's eyes opened, slowly, one at a time. He saw the gaping hole in Danny's chest, right where the glowing had been. Danny had frozen entirely, his mouth hanging open, hands reaching for his chest. Wes saw the face change from anger to shock. The pain crossing his face, the body collapsing on the floor. He saw the white rings again, and now the human Danny was lying on the floor, the same hole in his chest, his eyes glassed over.

Wes felt his jaw quiver, a small breath being all he could get in. Tears ran down his face, the Fenton's ghost gun being charged one more time. He pressed the small button on the back, the almost unnoticeable button, the charge switching from green to blue. Wes pressed the trigger, collapsing to the ground, his tears stopping as he slumped up against the wall. He looked to the security camera, knowing that Danny would be revealed after this mess. The school could no longer keep it a secret.

"I'm sorry."

Wes barely pushed out his last few words, his brother once again in front of him, smiling and waving to him cheerfully. Wes smiled, seeing his brother again was all he had wanted.

[thepencilnerd]

Pasta and Dinner Parties

"Edamame," Theo says.

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer.

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.”

Draco and Hermione have reached a domestic milestone. They've finally decided to move in together. Draco invites her over for dinner, but what would a little Slytherin hospitality be without some sugar and spice?

Rated M for language and discussions of heavy topics in future chapters

Full fic + updates on AO3

"Luna sent a box of these over, wonderful isn't she?" If lovesick eyes had a picture to accompany the definition, Theodore Nott’s face would be front and center. In his left hand, he held an empty cardboard carton with a sticky note adhered to the front flap. 

Simmer for 10 minutes with a sprig of rosemary and a teaspoon of salt. Keeps away the balfspracks. 

Blaise rubs his eyes. It’s half-past five and he’s already had it with Theo. Had it. Patience wore down to the bone. Basta. Finite incantatem. In all honesty, he’d gladly throw himself in front of a flying—

A shorter figure crept up from behind. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gives her boyfriend a peck on the cheek, which seems to loosen the wrinkles settling over his forehead. 

"Ladies," Pansy jests, mediating the arguments between the two as always. "I'm sure there's more than enough pasta to go around." 

"Not pasta," Blaise muttered. He tried to concentrate on the lingering warmth Pansy’s lips left on his face. The poor bloke sounded like he was about to hurl.  

At this, Theo rolled his eyes and waved dismissively. “Yes, yes, yes, you can flaunt your Italian heritage some other time, now let me work my culinary magic!” 

Blaise takes a deep breath. High blood pressure, he remembered Pansy saying. Need to stay calm. "Mate, I love you, I really do, but if you don't tell me what those green things swimming about in my favorite crockpot are, you have another thing coming."

"You used a crockpot to boil pasta?" Pansy’s head popped up from behind Blaise’s shoulder. Her nose wrinkled like she’d caught a whiff of something foul. 

“Not pasta.” Blaise was a broken record.

Draco groaned from the living room. The headache from earlier evolved into a full-blown migraine by the time lunch was over. His eyeballs were absolutely throbbing. He jammed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as if it would relieve any of the aching. To no avail. 

"Granger's coming over in half an hour and we’ve yet to transfigure a dining table." He verbalized his misery in as simple terms as he could. Sitting on the living room couch, he calculated the farthest distance from the kitchen and found himself just a few feet away. Problem with having a small flat. He couldn't find it in himself to raise his voice. Not with the demon baby currently going stir-crazy with a gavel in his skull. 

He questioned his level of sobriety when he agreed to this.

Meeting Hermione Granger’s parents had been less stressful than this. 

Introducing her to his mother was a Christmas tree full of Christmas presents compared to this. 

Sitting in a train compartment with 2nd-year Hufflepuffs sounded more bearable than this. 

Why, oh why, did he have to open his big mouth that night? 

“Seems proper that I’d at least get to share dinner with them before we move in together,” Hermione shrugged. Her hair was still damp from her—their—shower. Stray curls escaped, framing the curves of her face. Draco loved how her sheets always smelled like her soap. The scent of her shampoo was reserved for the pillowcases. 

“Come over for dinner,” he suggested. Quite impulsively, really. “Allow me to treat you to an evening of... Slytherin hospitality.” Draco’s trademark grin served him well. Resting on his side, Draco was propped up on one elbow with no shirt and sheet draped over his bottom half. She wanted to believe he was wearing briefs underneath. He looked absolutely wicked. 

Hermione scowled tentatively but surrendered with a smile. Her chest rose before she let out a sigh. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I’d experienced an inkling of that before.” Mirth graced her tone. 

The embers from the fireplace bounced off of her bare skin like rays of summer sun; warm and welcoming. Draco’s fingers fondled the strap of her bra, the only thing she was wearing, and earned a breathy giggle from her. Tugging the lace down, he sat up and started pressing a trail of kisses along her skin. Goosebumps erupted where his lips traced her flesh. The bath had stained her skin; she tasted of rosewater and honey. 

Hermione let out a hmph and tried to focus on the book she was holding. She developed a knack for knowing when he craved attention. Whenever Draco came over, he turned into a literal child. Always nagging and begging for her every time he got the chance. If she wasn’t superglued to his side, Hermione would bet a million galleons he’d throw a fit. 

“Turn around and face me instead. I don’t fancy being smothered by your hair while we sleep.” 

“How do you turn on the stove?”

“Granger, help me fix the antenna!” 

“Could you take a look at this spot on the back of my head? I might be balding.” 

“Granger, I think I nicked myself on the aluminium.” 

“If you weren’t wearing so many clothes, we’d probably warm up faster. Becoming a pair of popsicles isn’t exactly on my bucket list.” 

This time around, his demands were very clear. 

“Pay attention to me.” 

Hermione’s eyes shot up from her book. Shock painted her features like a splash of cold water. 

She blinks once. Twice. Three times for good measure. And then, her lips break into a blinding smile, pearly whites and all. The corners of her eyes curl into half-moons and her whole body shakes with glee. 

Sweet Merlin, he was fucked. 

Setting her book down on the nightstand, Hermione sits up straight and looks at Draco expectantly. He sits unmoved beside her. Staring. Admiring. Waiting. The cheeky grin that etches into her face is one Draco would give the world to see every day. 

Draco leans back against the headboard and stretches his legs out towards the foot of the bed. Scooting closer to her, she flips her leg over his awaiting lap. She’s straddling him in the span of two seconds. The feel of her bare flesh against his is utter bliss. 

Her arms wrap around his neck like a koala bear and her head nestles into the crook of his neck. Despite lathering him in her soap, he still smelled like Draco. All these years of dating and she still couldn’t put her finger on the bevy of aromas. 

Draco mirrors her actions like a reflection, one and the same. His arms make her feel so incredibly small when encased in them. Like a bear cub. Or a kangaroo in a pouch. Maybe mammals would be an appropriate term to generalize how warm and safe she felt in his embrace, but it wasn’t the most attractive or poetic—

“I thought we finished showering earlier,” he sighs into her hair. “Why is there steam coming off your head?”

She blows a puff of air into his neck and he jolts at the sensation. Ticklish. Draco knew that secret would die with Hermione and she was honored to keep it. Unless it served her in times of duress. 

“I was just thinking about how safe I am when I’m with you.” The tip of her nose brushes against the junction above his throat and feels his heartbeat, delicate but strong. 

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Da-dum.

Pulling back, he slides his left hand along her cheek and she leans into it like second nature. Hermione raises her right hand and cradles it over his. The way it pales in proportion almost makes him break into laughter. When she presses open-mouthed kisses down his bare wrist, Draco resists the urge to take her right then and there. It’s too perfect of a moment to ruin. Not tonight. 

She’s even more tender when her lips reach his scar. The marred flesh that takes him back to his inescapable past. A reminder of everything wrong he’s been taught since childhood; everything bad in this world; everything wrong he’s done throughout his entire life. 

But more importantly, it’s a symbol of how much good was left in this dismal world. 

It’s a battle scar that reminds him that he lived.

Something that motivates him to keep trying. 

A reminder of how despite being swallowed by the darkness that plagued the world, he chose to hold onto light. 

A reminder of how above everything, he chose Hermione and Hermione chose him. 

He takes a moment to look at her, really look at her, and melts. 

Hermione is a vision actualized. He sees the dreams and aspirations swirl about her irises in flickers. Roaming freely and always there when you needed them. He wants to bask in them. Relish in them. In her. For as long as she’ll keep him, no matter how infinitely small or finitely large. He’d burn through galaxies if it meant seeing her happy and safe. Anything and everything he could provide for her was his to offer. She need only ask. 

Draco Malfoy was wholly and irrevocably head over heels for Hermione Granger.

Magic and might, save him. 

No really, save him.

What the bloody hell was that infernal yapping? 

"I, for one, thought it would be better to go to an Italian restaurant, but Blaise here," Theo quipped. “—wanted to dish out his non-existent cooking skills,” He paused to stir the pot. “At least Luna was kind enough to—”

Blaise stomped his foot on the kitchen tiles. Miracle they hadn’t cracked yet. There was no point in trying to hide his tantrum. “Just because my ancestors were Italian doesn’t mean I’m a master chef!” He narrows his eyes. “Honestly Theo—” The words die in his throat when Theo fishes out a noodle from the pot. Maybe it’s just his eyes playing tricks on him but he swears it flipping wiggles. “What in Merlin’s great magical kingdom is that abomination and why the ever-loving fuck is it green?” 

Pansy gave his cheek a pat. “Colorful, Blaise. Truly” 

"Edamame," Theo says. 

"The fuck did you just call me?" Blaise’s face contorted quicker than a shifting boggart.

Another eye roll. “The pasta, it’s made from edamame.” Theo pronounces it with a certain twinge of pomposity that would have Percy Weasley reeling. Too many syllables. Vowels too lengthy. “Type of soybean, I reckon.” 

"IT'S NOT PASTA!" Blaise’s roar shook the walls of the foyer. 

Pansy snorts into her mug. “I don’t know about you, but I think this dinner will go swimmingly.” 

A crash echoes from the kitchen and Theo lets out a screech that rivals grindylows. 

Pansy takes a long, calm sip. Likely pumpkin juice. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if it were laced with some pre-appetizer spirits. How she managed to deal with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum was beyond him. Hell, he needed some right about now. At least to dial down the nerves. Not to mention the spike in blood pressure provoked by his flatmates. 

The remaining minutes pass like clockwork and before he knows it, the front door dings. Never has a bell sounded more menacing than now. Why is he so nervous? She’s met them a few times before and they’ve definitely shared rounds of drinks. No doubt, gone to Diagon Alley with Parkinson, Lovegood, and Weasley. The tolerable one. 

Did he clean his room? 

Theo promised to dust right after tea but the bloke was delusional about everything except Lovegood. A bit poetic, not that Draco ever cared to admit it. 

Pansy and Blaise stopped by the market yesterday and restocked the pantries and fridge. 

And then Luna dropped off her bag of goodies this morning. 

“She’s early.” Theo stuck his head out from the kitchen. Why was he covered in flour? 

So many questions. Draco didn’t even care to know the answers to half of them. 

“She’s always early when she’s excited.” 

The three stooges stand shell shocked and stare at Pansy. They just stare. 

She blinks like an owl and shakes her head. “Honestly, are you three just going to stand there or is someone’s boyfriend going to get the door?” 

Draco’s brain registers the words too late for his liking. He’s dead sober but his brain is all fuzzy. Just as she’s about to knock for a second round, Draco’s feet propel him to the door so fast a whip of apparition cracks. 

The door clicks open to reveal a dazzling frame. Hermione Granger is, to say the least, an unreal figment of everything good in the world. War heroine, member of the Order of the Phoenix, magical, academic, and practical genius, pure in mind and soul, and his girlfriend. His girlfriend. His. Donning a pair of black leggings and a flowing cream blouse, she’s bundled in a beige trench coat and blush pink scarf. Dark mahogany brown ankle boots boost her height by a few centimeters. Draco still overshadows her by a good head or two. Nevertheless, it’s a thoughtful effort. She’s holding a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. 

“Hello—woah!’ 

Draco’s arms are around her instantly and she’s brought into the house. His broad shoulders envelop her into a cloaked embrace that lets his scent wash over her. He never wants to let go. 

Initially surprised at the abrupt shift in balance, Hermione relaxes into his hold within seconds. He still smells like her soap and Draco and… smoking?

“Blaise!” a female voice shrieks. “Don’t just stand there Theo, do something!” 

A cloud of smoke—contained by a bubble charm, thanks to Pansy—swirls above the stovetop, large and foreboding. The source? A deep green crockpot placed on one of the burners.

Wait. Why is a crockpot on the burner? Hermione wonders.

“I told you we needed to salt the water and add the rosemary! Now you’ve got balfspracks all over the bloody place!” Theo’s voice changed from panic to mockery. He turned his nose upright and growled in a nasal tone. “‘Oh, salt is acceptable, but rosemary? Unacceptable. A disgrace to all cuisine Italian. May as well—’”

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. By the end of the day, he’d probably have to ask Hermione to heal his bruises. “Bloody hell…” 

“Oh, it’s my fault now, is it?” Hermione realizes Blaise’s name suits him very well. Almost too well. In any other life, he might have been sorted into Gryffindor with that fiery temperament. “Next time we have a guest over, we’re ordering take-out. From Hogsmeade!” 

“Someone help me get rid of this burnt pot of—whatever the hell pasta Theo was making,” Pansy gags while trying to contain the swelling bubble. The scent is overwhelming. Something between seaweed and polyjuice. Perhaps a vile mixture of the two. 

“EDAMAME!” 

“NOT PASTA!” 

Draco can’t tell whether he wants to burst into laughter or cry. Maybe he’ll do both. Hermione was there to wipe away the snot or tears, regardless of whichever it would end up being. 

Giving him a chase kiss, Hermione placed the gifts in his hands and made her way to the lounge. Draco was going to kill them. He was going to kill them dead.

She pulled out her want and raised it towards the giant orb of smoke, confidence igniting her eyes. Her wand moved as if it were on its own, guided purely by magic and intent with an undeniable essence of Granger. She draws a broad circle that covers the entire room and summons the wisps of smoke like a magnet. The ashy tendrils of burnt food claw their way out of the floorboards and ceiling cracks, latching on for as long as they can before they’re drawn out Aiming towards the ajar door, the coils of smoke and singe are thrown out the entrance with a deafening gust. 

A single strand of hair falls out of her ponytail. 

She blows it out of her eyes with a single, deliberate puff. 

The corner of her lip quirks upwards the slightest. 

It’s so fast you’d miss it if you blinked. 

If Draco wasn’t so overcome with the urge to skin his friends, he’d dive in there right now and kiss her numb. 

The flat has returned to an atmosphere of calm. 

“Fucking finally,” Draco mutters out loud. Not intentionally but he doesn’t regret it one bit. 

Pansy, Theo, and Blaise resemble owls; wide eyes, unmoving bodies, twitching necks that swivel side to side. 

Theo breaks the silence with something along the lines of a chortle. “Welcome to our humble abode, Granger.” 

“Pleasure to have you here,” Blaise adds. His hands are still clenched around Theo’s shirt collar. 

Pansy is still trying to catch her breath having inhaled a hefty amount of the fumes. Blaise and Theo had probably tumbled around the living room enough to avoid the thick of it. Still, she refuses to let it impede on her hostess abilities. 

“Hermione!” Pansy coughs. “Why don’t you and Draco check out upstairs while—” she pauses to glare daggers at the two boys covered in God knows what, “—we deal with the mess down here.” 

Hermione draws out the excess smoke from Pansy’s clothes and hair with a swish of her wand. The next thing she does makes the three boys’ jaws unhinge. They bring each other into a warm hug and laughter rings in the air.

“It’s good to see you too, Pans,” Hermione breathes. Draco was definitely going to have a fit over this later.

Hermione gives Theo and Blaise a shy wave. Hopefully, they’d understand. In any other instance, she’d be more than happy to rid their clothes of the stench. They wouldn’t even have to ask. But this was Pansy Parkinson and if Hermione knew Pansy Parkinson, she knew that the Slytherin would want to drag on punishment as long as possible before even thinking of succumbing to forgiveness. 

Hermione Granger’s stubbornness coupled with her Gryffindor loyalty? 

She’ll be damned if she lets either waver when surrounded by friends. 

Draco clears his throat forcefully and offers his arm. “Upstairs then, shall we?” 

Hermione loops her arm through his and grins. It’s contagious and Draco already feels his anger ebb into affection. 

She speaks almost as lightheartedly as the wand movement for a levitation charm. "We shall." 

[janekfan]

Chronic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802141

Thank you @taylortut for helping me!!!

Jon looked at the clock.

537.

The glowing numbers burned themselves into his retinas. How had it been less than an hour since last he’d checked? No use for it. Better to get himself up and ready for work. But he’d closed his eyes against the headache blaring like a klaxon and he’d have to open them again at some point.

Taking advantage of his lonely flat, Jon allowed himself to indulge the noise pushing its way through grit teeth as he maneuvered his sore legs from under the quilt. He sat a moment, pressing the bare soles of his feet on the cold floor and levering his heavy body upright with a shaking arm.

Exhausted.

And it’s only--a quick glance.

544.

The hell was wrong with him?

Since just before accepting the position as Head Archivist, and rightly pissing off both Sasha and Tim on her behalf, Jon felt like he’d been constantly coming down with something. Dizzy and nauseous and unable to eat, he was chronically exhausted and while he’d never slept well at the best of times, it was evading him more than ever.

And there were his mornings. Struggling to motivate himself out of bed, brushing his teeth with his eyes closed and leaning against the wall. Deciding he could forgo a shower just once more and choosing instead to make breakfast. Forcing himself to eat a piece of dry toast with his heart hammering away in his throat and half laying on the table, panting through his tea. Mentally, Jon prepared himself for the walk to the train, automatically going for his cane because lord knew he needed the support.

He’d get to the Institute hours early.

At least that made him look good?

Taking advantage of being a cane user, Jon opted for a reserved seat, the guilt at truly needing one eating away at his insides. But there were black spots at the corners of his vision and he had to sit down before he fell down and the guilt is a far sight better than causing a scene. The trip was too short. His chest ached from the constant pounding and he pressed the hand not holding his cane for dear life against his breastbone. It didn’t help but the pressure and touch grounded him enough to stand up. To head to the cross street. To wait for the lights to change. To stagger down the stairs and into his office, to drop into his desk chair and focus on every breath of air moving into his body and back out of it.

Jon put his head down. There was no one here. Wouldn’t be for a couple hours yet and he was exhausted, shaking from it. Nauseated. There wasn’t a fever. He’d gone as far as to purchase a thermometer to be certain when the strange symptoms refused to abate no matter how often he let himself rest, no matter the meals he tried his damndest to eat, the water he drank down. He was trying. Jon couldn’t remember ever taking such good care of himself and of course it refused to pay off. In Uni, he’d driven himself into the ground with little consequence. He’d maintained those habits until a few months ago and now--

Muffled voices drifted through his door, the rise and fall of easy conversation. The kind he’d once been allowed to partake in. Laughter filled the air and while Jon wished to join them he knew he wasn’t welcome.

Why had he done it?

Why hadn’t he refused Elias?

Because you’re selfish. You’ve always been selfish. Needy. Greedy, grasping, always striving to know answers and never satisfied with what you're given. You take what you don’t deserve.

Reluctantly, Jon stood, slowly, because doing anything quickly these days has him ducking his head between his legs or waking up on the floor without any recollection of how he came to be there. He could at least collect their research in person, greet them. Try to be the boss they deserved.

Sasha was the boss they deserved.

“Ah, g’good morning.”

“Jon!” Martin, smiling shyly. “You’re here so early!” He began to stammer and Jon’s legs began to ache. This wasn’t a good day. They seldom were anymore. “I m’mean, of course y’you are, you work very hard!” Martin was saved by Tim swinging an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ve broken ‘im, boss.” A flush rose in Jon’s cheeks. He could feel it. “No worries, Marto. He’s always been an early riser.” While it was said in jest, the tone settled heavy in Jon’s chest, directly beside the pain blossoming like a thorny rose. Luckily, he was rescued by Rosie, standing halfway down the stairs and informing him that Elias requested him in his office. Jon didn’t relish the climb, no matter how grateful he was to escape out from underneath Sash’s heavy gaze. She had every right and he would bear his punishment in silence until she chose, if she ever did, to forgive him.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jon limped out of Elias’ office without any recollection of what they’d spoken about or if he’d even spoken at all. Thumping pain and panic and he knew he was rude to ignore Rosie at her desk but he wasn’t in any shape to hold a conversation, fairly certain that he wasn’t able to currently speak, far too focused on trying to hide how ill he was. But every sound was magnified tenfold in his ears and he could barely remember where the door to the archives was with the way his head reeled and spun. Jon wanted to sink to the ground once he had the door between himself and the lobby but he’d never make it to his feet again after that. Push through, he told himself. Get to your desk. He allowed himself a moment, two, just to put his head to rights, to try and breathe through the battering of his pulse.

And oh god he wasn’t going to make it and he wondered if somehow Elias knew. It was as though he’d kept him standing there talking about nothing until Jon hit his limit, knowing he wouldn’t have the strength to get back to his office.

But he had to try and he’d almost gotten down the ridiculously narrow stairwell before he forgot nearly entirely why he was there in the first place. Was he going up? Down? Meeting with someone? Just arriving? He could barely breathe and the panic welling in his throat was choking and the black was crawling over his eyes and the dizziness only increased and he needed...needed…

For a moment, Jon didn’t recognize where he was, the migraine, the fuzziness, conspiring against memory and reason. But he knew this color, the hideous lick of paint some contractor had splashed over the walls a lifetime ago.

Breakroom?

Wha--

“Jon!” He winced, his own name like broken glass shredding every sense to ribbons. “Christ, are you alright?” Martin, the sounds he made were shrill, grating, and if he’d been able to tell him to be silent, he would have. “We heard the noise--you’d, you fainted! On the stairs! Luckily it was only the last few.” Jon blinked, dull and dumb, forcing himself up, up, up, and through heavy mist and fog in his search for words. Weary to the marrow of his aching bones, Jon slumped on the cushions and tried to think of a way to stop Martin’s incessant chattering. Tim and Sasha, alerted most likely by all the commotion, stood over him and he craned his neck up to look at them. Tim especially looked furious.

“You could have been seriously hurt!”

“S’sorry…” And he was, between his rabbiting heartbeat, throbbing migraine, and difficulty drawing breath into his exhausted lungs, he wanted to cry with how sorry he was.

“This is ridiculous. You need to take better care of yourself.” Jon wasn’t sure why the sting from Tim’s accusation cut so deep and he hung his head, biting trembling lips to prevent the tears threatening to spring free.

It wasn’t fair.

By all accounts he was taking care of himself. More than ever!

“Did you even eat today? Drink anything?” He nodded, miserable, unwell, and equipped with no better answers than the truth.

“Tim. He’s just come to.” The understanding was the final straw, and Jon’s sight blurred with salt damp. “I’ll make sure he eats something before going back to work.”

“Alright, Martin. If he gives you any trouble, call.” At Jon, he pointed. “And you, no trouble.” And he nodded miserably.

“Okay, they’ve gone.” The familiar sounds of the kettle heating filled the room, the clink of a pair of ceramic mugs, the rustling of the tea bags, Martin’s distracted murmuring, all combined to calm him. “How long have you been feeling this way?” Jon looked up, surprised, and shrugged one shoulder, accepting the small plate of biscuits and nibbling slowly and when he finished those, Martin offered up the tea. Sitting with him in companionable quiet, he sipped on his own cup. Nothing more was exchanged and when Jon finished he thanked Martin for the company and locked himself away.

Jon was at wit’s end. Nothing he tried seemed to improve anything and the few times he did speak with a doctor, he was sent away with the same, useless advice, or worse, told he was imagining things, making it up, having panic attacks even though he was familiar with those and this was not that.

Work was a nightmare made even more miserable with the overwhelming amount of paperwork, statements, boxes, misfiled folders and envelopes and items and Jon missed the easy camaraderie and understanding he’d had with Sasha and Tim. Maybe he should resign, try and salvage what little of the relationship they still had, or, or invite them out for dinner, his treat, but Elias would never let him quit and the very idea of entertaining exhausted him. A cuppa appeared at his elbow filled with something new, something floral and slightly sweet, accompanied, as always, by a few biscuits.

“That’s a lot of work, Jon.” He sipped, grateful, lifting an eyebrow in response.

“I knew it would be when I accepted this position.” Undeterred, Martin stumbled forward.

“Y’yeah, I mean, you would have. Of course. I just--” A breath. “I’ve finished with my other assignments, ready for round, uh. Well, another round!”

“Ah. Alright, I’ll bring something over when I pick up your translations.” Martin took back the cup, nodding enthusiastically, and Jon appreciated that it was business as usual, selecting a few he’d been putting off and making his way toward his assistants ignoring inquiring looks in favor of taking the chair Martin offered up to go over his expectations. Short, succinct. A few notes on one translation, advice to remember for next time, and Jon felt reasonably confident Martin could handle himself. It wasn’t until he’d gotten back to his office that Jon realized that was the first time he’d been offered a chair. It was becoming apparent that Martin was good at noticing the little things about them. A blush heated his cheeks and he tried to rub it away, feeling ridiculous that such a small act of kindness made him feel so seen.

Jon pushed forward, ignoring the warnings his body was trying to give him in favor of plowing through his work like he’d always done, and by the time he made it home, was on the verge of collapse. Hot tears of frustration stung at the corners of his eyes, spilling over when Jon allowed himself to feel it. More than anything, he was used to having control over himself, working when he wanted, burying himself in the research, devouring knowledge. Now he was at the whim of his physical form. Paying more attention to it than ever before and never knowing if he was going to wake up and have a good day or a bad day and it was maddening. Managing whatever it was without knowing what it was, was impossible with no rhyme or reason he could discern.

So in the absence of both, Jon kept shoving his way through how difficult it was because if he could just be normal through pretending everything was normal, then it would be.

Jon knew Tim was cross with him and managed to avoid him for most of the day, taking breaks here and there like he’d promised Martin he would do. But his luck, while it had been holding steady, had just run out and he found himself cornered in the breakroom.

“What do you think you’re on about?” Frustration had long since turned to outrage, boiling over.

“Tim, I. I’m not sure what you mean--”

“Damn it, Jon! You’ve already taken on a job you aren’t fit for! You can’t keep heaping your work onto Martin and then swanning off!”

“That’s.” He balled his hands into fists, nails biting crescent moons into his palms. How could he explain when even the doctors thought he was making it all up? Heat rushed through him, top to toe, flushing his face and he wavered, legs threatening to buckle, vision threatening to go dark. He was going to pass out a second time today if he didn’t sit down. But that would mean walking away from Tim, and he didn’t think the man would let him. At least not until he was done telling him off. Better to be silent. Try not to pay attention to how erratic the persistent beating caged behind fragile ribs had become.

“Why didn’t you say no?” Because he wanted to be useful. Because Elias made him feel like he was capable even if he wasn’t. “Why didn’t you just let Sasha have this?” Because he was an awful, selfish person. “God, Jon. Why did you drag us all down here with you?”

Because he was lonely.

Because they’d been friends. Once.

Rather than remind Tim that he was free to go at any time, that he and Sash hadn’t been forced or coerced into accepting positions here in the archives, Jon pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Well?!” Sharp, strident, Tim’s shout echoed around in the space between his own hurting, agonal breaths in his ears.

“I. I, I need to si’down…” wanted to lay down. Wanted to sleep, trembling with exhaustion, about to go down.

“What?” Lashes fluttering as he gripped the thread of consciousness with both hands, he barely registered Tim’s hands around his shoulders, guiding him into a chair and pushing his head down between his knees. “Jon?”

“M’okay…”

“You are clearly not.” A wide palm settled on his back, keeping him folded over. It was helping.

“S’mm...been. S’fine.” The floor came back into focus, all the little cracks and imperfections and Jon counted the streaks in the pattern in an attempt to ground himself but kept losing track of the number. Neither moved until Jon attempted to sit up, slowly, accepting Tim’s help.

“Jon?” He looked spooked, pale. “Please, what’s going on?” His hand settled in the crux of shoulder and neck, thumb ghosting along his clammy skin, and Jon allowed himself to find a morsel of comfort in the familiar gesture, the threat of tears closer than ever. So he reached for him.

“I don’t know.” And Tim pulled away as if burned, the frustration and anger rising in his face again, and Jon was bereft. “T’truly! I--”

“Why won’t you be honest with me? Don’t you trust me?” Standing, he took a step backwards, away from him, the hurt in him a palpable thing. “We’re supposed to be friends!”

Yes. They were friends. It was most likely why for the first time in a long while, the pain in his chest wasn’t a physical ache.

“Tim, I.” Fingers folded to fists to rest on his knees. But he was already gone.

“Jon!” Tentative, Martin lifted his chin. “Oh, oh.” Having been crying, Jon figured his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and he didn’t bother attempting to hide the evidence. “Alright.” Martin went about making tea, chamomile, herbal and calming, placing it before him on the table with a chocolate digestive. “Drink this down and then go home. It’s half six.”

“Mm.”

“Sleep will help.”

“Mm.”

“I could speak to them for you. If--”

“No!” All but shouted. “No. That won’t be necessary, Martin.” Carefully he stood, paused. “Thank you.” And left.

Jon called off.

Called off again.

Again.

Apologized to Elias in a curt email requesting leave and was granted it.

He ignored his phone. His texts. The knock at the door and Martin’s voice behind it. He slept when he was tired and he was tired often and it was easier besides, to finally listen to the screaming of his body. It was after hours on his fifth day gone when Tim let himself in with the spare key to Jon’s flat.

“Hey.” Sheepish, he held up his hands in surrender, a bag of takeaway from Jon’s favorite place dangling from one. “Martin said you wouldn’t let him in.” Dressed in the most comfortable clothes he had, which were also the shabbiest, Jon glared at him from where he laid on the couch. “I was an arse.” Slowly, he sat up, making Tim wait on purpose, a powerful frown still aimed in his direction.

“You were.” He was aware he looked a mess, greasy hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, but he felt a sight better for the rest he’d gotten.

“Would you accept an apology?” Folding his arms, Jon leaned back into the cushions and fixed his stare at whatever rubbish was on the telly.

“Might do.” Silently, Tim scurried into the tiny kitchen and Jon listened to the familiar sounds of him rooting around for cutlery. It smelled delicious and comforting, a reminder of nights spent together laughing at nothing on this same couch and despite himself, Jon began to relax.

“I’m sorry.”

“Alright.” Tim’s face split in a wide, relieved grin, and he flopped down next to him, planting a loud kiss to his temple before urging him to eat. “Martin sent you here.”

“An angry Marto is not to be trifled with.” Through a mouthful of noodles, Tim chuffed in laughter. “Wouldn’t tell me anything, other than to stop being a prick.”

“He did not.”

“He did not. But it was more than implied!” He put his bowl on the low table in front of them, sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees. “And he was right. I didn’t give you a fair shake and accused you of awful things. And I know you’re doing your best at this job.”

“Gertrude isn’t making it easy.”

“Neither is your health, I take it.” Jon set his own meal aside, curling into the padded arm.

“No. It isn’t.”

“And you don’t know what’s causing it?”

“I know some things that help. M’Martin has been invaluable.”

“Has he, now?”

“Leave off!”

“Okay, okay.” But he continued giggling as Jon felt his face go hot, muttering.

“He really has.” This time Tim pulled him gently into an embrace.

“Then Sash and I will just have to catch up.”