#two hours of sleep because you keep waking yourself up violently coughing is not good for your brain i think

[companion-showdown]

Which companion is the most normal person?

TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 6

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence, and a line that hints at past physical abuse (depending on how you choose to interpret it) Warnings: Mild TW for implied/referenced abuse Notes: Okay so this was supposed to be somewhat therapeutic? But it ended up taking longer to get to that part than I intended, so... Don't worry though, next chapter will be fluffy and also involve more, like, actual Daniela scenes. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2 Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco

Chapter 6: Elegy

(Elegy: A piece of music in the form of a lament)

When you dream, you do not dream of being locked in a tower, awaiting a kindly knight to come save you. When you dream… you dream of your old home, infested with monsters, nearly unrecognizable. Of being forced to flee, leaving everything you loved behind. Of escaping to a remote, quaint little village, only to end up trapped once again, as friendly faces morph into gaping maws and fangs dripping red. When you dream, it is less a nightmare, more memories retouched, covered in a fresh coat of paint.

Waking up is but a brief source of comfort. One hand goes to your head, rubbing gently, as if you could wipe away all traces of your past. A quick glance around your shared room leaves you confused, but serves as a welcome distraction. Though there are six beds in the room, yours is the only occupied one, the others having all been vacated and made presentable. The only explanation that fit with what you knew was that everyone had gotten up, and gotten to work, without waking you. Panic filled you as you connected the dots, knowing that missing work was a death sentence.

Rushing, you rise to your feet, throwing your dresser open to search for fresh clothes. While the castle’s staff was almost entirely female, the Dimitrescu family didn’t enforce traditional gender presentation, allowing maidens to choose whether to wear a dress or a button-up and trousers. Remembering the wound on your neck, you pause, glancing in the dorm’s singular mirror to inspect your injury. Most of the blood had rubbed off in your sleep (and would likely be a nightmare to clean from the sheets). There were, however, a few spots where dried blood mingled with the protective scab. Considering how late you already were, you didn’t believe you would have time to clean up.

As much as you hated the thought, the best you could do was go for a button-up, hoping the collar would hide the worst of your disastrous appearance. Your hair was another matter entirely, far messier than it normally was, and you struggled to brush/comb it enough to be mildly presentable. Good thing Daniela won’t see me today, you think, remembering her insistence on skipping today’s lesson.

Then you remember the rest of your conversation with her; the yelling, being dragged to your feet, and the pain in her eyes. For a moment you feel woozy, pausing in the middle of buttoning your shirt. Your eyes focus on a spot on the now-closed dresser… and suddenly you wish you had paid more attention when you first woke up. There’s a note stuck to the furniture, clearly addressed to you.

Heard you had some trouble yesterday. We’re just glad you’re alive! A certain someone has been a lot nicer since you started playing the piano, and we’re grateful. To show that, we decided to split your morning duties among ourselves, so you can sleep in. If you’re reading this, then it’s still before 4 AM. Feel free to just relax for a while, or even get some more sleep! We’ll be by to make sure you’re up eventually.

Sincerely,

Daphne, Rosalia, Ygritte, Alexandra, Juniper, and Riley

“I… have… freetime?” You mumbled, still a little drowsy, but now also shocked. This was a complete first for you. Maybe even a first among the servants! Sure, you had been given breaks before, but having a couple hours to do whatever you wanted? No one had ever pulled strings like this for you before. It made your chest feel warm, and you just about forgot the whole mess with Daniela. “I’ll have to find a way to pay them back, even if they think they’re paying me back.” With that said you relaxed a little, no longer rushing getting dressed, though still leaving your neck the way it was. You figured you’d stop by one of the maidens’ restrooms before you officially started your shift.

In the meantime, you knew exactly what you’d be using this time for: finding those damn piano books you had been promised!

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

“Let’s see… dust, more dust, a dead spider, even more dust, and- oh shit, the spider is not dead,” you said, barely holding in a yelp as the arachnid scurries away from you. If you had known the attic would be so unclean, you might not have bothered to come up here. So far your targets had alluded you without giving so much as a hint towards their location. The library had seemed a likely location, but you had heard Daniela’s voice within, and anxiety had sent you dashing away. Up here, in an area clearly used for storage above all else, was the next best guess, as far as you were concerned. Still, you hadn’t seen anything worth your time yet.

Just insects, really. Not even terribly interesting ones. Well, there had been a shiny beetle of some sort, but it had crawled into a crack in the wall mere seconds after you saw it. Other than that, though, nothing but creepy crawlies. Creepy flyers?... Both, for sure. One fly in particular kept buzzing around you, weirdly interested in what you were doing.

Somehow you didn’t understand what that meant until a firm hand had wrapped itself around your neck. The grip was tight, putting more than enough pressure to make your vision blur. Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, the culprit didn’t intend to just choke you out. Instead they lift you and toss you aside- casually, at that. You hit the wall with a terrible crashing sound, certain to leave bruises, and narrowly avoid toppling into a stack of heavy crates. So much for enjoying some free time, you think. Stunned for several seconds, you find yourself left helpless as your attacker approaches.

“You’re not allowed to be up here,” a voice snarled, familiar enough to leave you terrified. Of course you had to run into the most violent of the Dimitrescu sisters. “Looking for a way out, hmm? Or are you stupid enough to think we’d leave a weapon where a wretched thing like you could find it?” Cassandra asked, pausing only to send a swift kick your way. A grunt escapes you, leaves you coughing, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as hitting the wall. Despite wanting to curl up and give in, you tried to drag yourself to your feet. Surprisingly, Cassandra makes no move to stop you, perhaps enjoying the sight of you struggling.

“Lady… Daniela… gave me permission,” you said between painful breaths. By the time you’re back on your feet, the vampire before you is watching you with narrowed, albeit curious, eyes. Normally it would take a lot of courage to face her. But you’re exhausted, in pain, and you’ve taken nearly as much hurt from someone who called themselves your lover. It’s not brave to stare down Cassandra, it’s foolhardy. It’s idiotic, really, and yet you find yourself unable to care. “I’m just looking for a couple piano books I’ve been told about, so I can use them to help teach Lady Daniela.”

“Oh? You’re her instructor?” Cassandra asked, a strange smile overtaking her expression. Something in the atmosphere has shifted, dangerously, but you can’t figure out why. Clueless to your self-betrayal, you nod in response. Instantly Cassandra’s smile turns into an open-lipped snarl, and she reaches out to grab you by the shirt, this time slamming you into the wall with her own hands. “Then you’re the reason she kept me up yesterday, crying non stop! I’m going to rip you apart, you vermin.”

The look in her eyes is, most definitely, the scariest thing you had ever seen. It’s feral, inhuman, and unstoppably determined. But when tears fall from your eyes, it’s not because you know you’re about to die. No, it’s because the last thing you think you’ll ever hear is the news that your partner had been sobbing for hours… and that you were the reason why. Your heart aches, both physically and emotionally, as you brace yourself for the bloody end.

Instead, the grip on your clothes loosens. You don’t dare open your eyes to see why.

“What the fuck do you want, sis?” Cassandra asked, sounding like she had turned her head away from you. Before you know it you’ve been let go, and you slide to the ground, too surprised to hold yourself steady. When you look up, you see an irritated Bela pulling Cassandra away from you, whispering something you can’t quite hear. They argue for a minute, under their breath, keen on keeping you out of the loop. Eventually the younger of the two storms away, but not before making a dent in the wall with her fist.

“What a child,” Bela said, rolling her eyes at the display. Then she’s walking back towards you, extending a hand in an offer of assistance (one you gladly accept). “That girl has the foresight of a magic eight ball, I swear. If she had actually killed you… ugh, I can hardly stand to imagine how inconsolable Daniela would become. Then I’d have two insufferable sisters. Regardless, do tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to come up here unaccompanied? It is normally off limits for servants, after all.”

“I-I, well… I mean, firstly thank you for saving me, I had no idea-” Bela holds a finger up in a ‘shut up’ motion, then puts it away as soon as you pause- “right, you don’t care. Look, I was just trying to find the piano books that Lady Dimitrescu mentioned, but I’ve looked all over and I can’t find them, so I should really just go,” you explain, eager to get out of the attic. To your surprise, Bela gives you an odd look before turning away. Then she takes no more than five steps, shifts to the side, and opens an old cabinet. Inside you can see a dozen books of sheet music, notably from several different decades, all worn but still in decent condition. “How did-?... I thought I checked there.”

“Well, you must have been distracted. Nonetheless, you know where they are now, and you owe me twice over. With that in mind… come with me. We have things to discuss,” Bela commanded, walking away before you could protest. All you can do is grab the sheet music, tuck it under one arm, and follow her to who-knows-where.

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

“I’ll have to have you make my tea more often,” Bela mused, letting the mug keep her hands warm. The two of you were sitting in some sort of study, a room that you had never been inside before. From what you could tell it belonged solely to the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. Inside were several shelves, each filled with well bookmarked collections, a desk next to a massive window, a couple simple chairs, and a few instrument cases. All in all it was an aesthetically pleasing room, organized but not exactly neat. You could certainly imagine Bela spending entire days in this chamber. “Now, why do you think I brought you here?” Her voice brings your focus back into the present moment, as well as sends a spike of anxiety through you.

“Based on what nearly got me killed earlier… Does it have to do with Daniela crying?” You asked, doing your best to indicate just how bad you felt about the subject. No matter how cruel she could be, you did honestly care about Daniela, and even wanted a real, healthy relationship with her. Desire, or willingness, wasn’t the root of the problem by any means. Something told you that Bela understood this, maybe even respected you for it.

“Guess there’s more in that pretty head of yours than air and symphonies, hmm?” Bela replied, laughing a little as she did. It was a far nicer sound than Cassandra’s maniacal giggling, for sure. “Now, I don’t know all the details about what happened- just that there was an argument, clearly a bad one, and Daniela barely made it through dinner before locking herself in her room. Luckily for you, our mother doesn’t seem to know about your little ‘fight’. She’s not sure what upset Dani, and I doubt my sister would tell her, so your secret is safe. Assuming that I blackmailed Cassandra well enough, that is. Anyway, I can’t help you, and by extension my sister, if I don’t know the full story. In case it wasn’t clear, that’s your cue to start talking.”

You’re surprised, admittedly, by a number of things. But Bela seems impatient, so you go over the details of the previous night with her, occasionally pausing to let her ask questions. The whole time her focus is on you, unwavering. There’s also a noticeable lack of judgement in her expression, even when you voice your regret about how you handled the situation, and what is there seems directed more towards Daniela than yourself. Once you finish, Bela releases a deep sigh. One of her hands goes to rub her forehead as if warding off a migraine.

“Well, I can’t say I’m terribly surprised, as much as I wish I could. Daniela’s always had her head in the clouds, and it’s left her tripping over her own feet more than once. Still, this is certainly one of her bigger messes…” Bela said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m going to have to talk to her about this, aren’t I? There’s no way she’s going to process this correctly on her own.” This time she seemed to be talking to herself, gaze locked on her tea as if it might suddenly offer to speak to Daniela in her place. When the tea stayed silent, understandably, she returned her focus to you. “You seemed upset, earlier, about this ridiculous situation. I am going to assume, from that, you are genuinely interested in my dear sister. Normally, this would be the part where I drain you of all blood, and possibly keep your skull as a memento... mori. Yours would look lovely on a window sill, I think.”

She pauses, head tilting a little to the side, clearly evaluating your artistic value.

“However, Daniela appears to care about you, far more than her usual fleeting infatuations. So, for now, I have decided not to eviscerate you, you’re welcome,” Bela cooed, teasingly, enjoying the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Still, you were glad that you would apparently be surviving the day. “So I’m going to give you some advice, which you will take, and you won’t even owe me anything extra for this. Daniela is in love with the mere concept of love- and she has been for as long as I can remember. Romance novels are practically the only books she reads. It’s… embarrassing, truly. More than that, I get the impression that she couldn’t even begin to describe what love actually feels like. She’s digested so much of that written drivel that it warped her senses. Of course, the, ahem, situation we find ourselves in, here at the castle, has undoubtedly added to this effect.

“To get to the point, Daniela’s terribly, hopelessly clueless when it comes to things like what she wants from you. And so I take it upon myself, as her older sibling, to ensure that you understand. Moreso, that you are not dissuaded. If this is an actual chance for her to experience real romance, then it could make her happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Bela explained. The look in her eyes was incredibly soft, to the point where it made you realize just how much this odd little family cared for each other. “Don’t give up, don’t let her occasional infuriating antics push you away. Given enough time… I think the two of you could, I suppose, compliment each other quite nicely. But if you break her heart? I will pull yours from your chest and eat it raw. Understood?” Gulping, you nodded quickly, ignoring the feeling of heat rushing to your cheeks. It was one thing for Bela to want her sister to be happy, but another thing entirely for her to acknowledge your “suitability” for the position. “Good. Now return to whatever it is you maidens normally do. I have a sister to talk sense into.”

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

Hours later, you stand alone in a display room, dusting various relics from bygone times. A trophy here, a bizarre art piece there, strange, unlabeled tools you can’t quite imagine are for wine-making. It’s a fascinating collection, really. But your mind is focused on other, far softer things. All you can think about is what Bela had told you, about how Daniela really is interested in you, and how she thought the two of you could make it work. After the chaos earlier in the day, this was exactly what you needed. Just some time to yourself, working quietly, thoughts all to yourself. Even your bruises bother you less, the pain fading out into the background. Considering where you are, though, it is not at all surprising that your peace cannot last. As soon as you finish your task you move towards the exit.

The door swings open, outwards, at your touch, only to reveal a familiar figure reaching for the doorknob. Both of you gasp, taken by surprise, before your gazes meet. Of course it’s Daniela. Who else would you bump into right now?

“I thought about what you said,” she blurts, suddenly, eyes wide and hands shaking. “We need to talk, yeah?”

[thezebrawlw]

Part 2 Donna x Maiden

Part one is over here.

---

Donna was speaking through Angie's voice. The doll was sitting on the maid's bed while Donna was in her own room.

The conversation was trivial, but pleasant, until Angie fell silent.

"My lady? Are you all right?"

Angie didn't move, she was still and quiet, just like the last time the dolls attacked her.

Startled, the maid carried Angie and ran to Donna's room. Again, a large group of dolls stood in front of the door and Donna's sobs were heard from the other side.

"My lady, I have Angie, please let me in."

Donna didn't answer.

"Please, I know she will make you feel better."

The crying changed from sad to hysterical and and quite violent blows began to be heard.

"I'm sorry about this."

Desperate, the maid broke the lock with some witch's spell. She entered the room, she couldn't see anything clearly, but she was sure Donna was in her bed by the sound of the sheets.

"Ma'am, here's Angie, please stop beating yourself up"

A pair of hands snatched Angie from her grip. The maid felt helpless that she could do no more.

"I withdraw, if you need anything else--"

"Stay."

The maid froze in place, for the first time, Donna's voice was commanding her to do something.

"Yes, ma'am."

She sat down on the corner of the bed. A cold hand gripped the dress over her leg. Donna was shivering, seeking comfort in her.

The next morning came with an annoying sunshine. The maid tried to get up to close the curtain, but Donna would not let her. They lay side by side, Donna wrapped one arm around the maid. Angie was the one separating them from a real embrace.

As expected, Donna slept with her veil on, but the fabric had moved out of the way for the night, so the lady could see her mistress's cheek and the corner of a pair of pale pink lips. She also noticed some long black eyelashes fluttering in her sleep.

Gently, the maid hid her face again, she knew Donna didn't want to show her face for some reason, so she respected her privacy and waited for her mistress to wake up.

Donna almost fell out of bed when she saw the lady next to her. The young woman greeted her with a quiet "good morning" and then asked how she was.

Donna was so confused and sleepy, she ended up answering on her own.

"I'm feeling... better, thank you."

"Would you like anything for breakfast?"

"No, not right now."

"That's okay. Then would you like to snuggle some more?"

Only then did Donna realise where her hands were. The dolls were right in saying that the young lady was very warm and that the living beat of her heart lulled a tired soul like Donna.

"I don't want to impose anything on you," Donna said.

"You're not, my lady, if you remember, I said I was going to serve you after all, didn't I?"

Donna didn't answer. She was silent long enough for the maid to think she had said something wrong.

"Yes, I'd like to stay here a while longer".

From that day on, Donna stopped using Angie to answer simple questions. Shy "yeses" when offered tea. Soft "no's" when the maid asked if she wanted to go out and play with the dolls. Angie would sometimes close her mouth so that Donna would answer more than two words, then "Good morning" and "Good night" were the first and last things she said every day.

The maid one day asked how the dolls' blade mechanism worked and was surprised to hear Donna talk for over an hour about her precious dolls. The second time Donna talked so much was one day when the young girl burned a biscuit sheet for the second time and Donna explained how to bake properly.

No one blamed the maid for having a panic attack when three young women came through the door shouting "Auntie Donna, Auntie Donna, Auntie Donna"

Daniela was the first to corner the maid. Bela peppered her with questions and Cassandra sniffed her all over.

"Girls, please, stop" Donna stopped.

"Who is she, Auntie?" asked Bela.

"Is she a prey?" continued Cassandra.

"Can I eat her?" asked Daniela.

"She's my maid, she's not prey and no, Daniela, dear, you can't eat her."

The Dimitrescu sisters left the young girl alone and rushed towards their aunt. They monopolised her for most of the day, for they wanted new dolls to play with.

When they left later that evening, Bela warned her aunt that she would tell her mother about her new maid. Donna wasn't sure how her niece approached things, because it was only a few days before a huge woman pounded on the door.

"¡¡Donna Beneviento, open the door this instant!!"

Unfortunately It was the maid who opened and once Alcina Dimitrescu saw the young woman, she didn't hesitate to wrap a single hand around her neck and lift her into the air.

"You little piece of-- How dare you defile my sister!?."

Donna, again, intervened before the young woman died of suffocation.

"Alcina, no, wait, wait, wait, wait wait wait!!!"

Donna and Alcina drank a special tea in the comfort of the living room. The servant girl was cornered in the corner awaiting her mistress's orders and ready to escape again if the situation called for it.

Donna explained to the Dimitrescu leader why the young woman was in her mansion and that she was now a good friend to confide in.

"If that is the case, I apologise for the way I acted, young lady."

"No hard feelings, ma'am."

"What is your name? I didn't hear it before."

Donna realised she had never asked that question before, despite the length of time she had been living with her, so she paid special attention to the answer.

"I'm afraid I don't have a name, ma'am. I think someone once called me Acacia, but it's been a long time since then."

"Acacia is a good name," Lady Dimitrescu complimented "Your blood smells like a witch, so it's no wonder you were named that."

"I thank you, ma'am"

"Donna, My dear, I'm sorry I had to come like this, you know how much I care about you."

"I know, Alcina, thank you, but it's all right."

"It's almost a pity, Heisenberg had already prepared the heavy weapons."

The maiden shuddered in her place, she didn't want to know what "heavy weapons" meant.

"That won't be necessary"

"If you called more often, this wouldn't have happened"

"I will, Alcina, I promise"

"In that case, I'll take my leave, it was good to see you, my dear."

When Donna and the maid were alone, the young woman slumped into an armchair.

"I'm sorry for what happened."

"It's all right, ma'am" the young woman laughed "It must be nice."

"What?"

"To have someone who cares about you."

"I'm sure people care about you too."

"I beg to differ, ma'am, my parents were the only ones who cared about me until they were murdered. After that people started to push me away and those who wanted me around were to use me. I'm sure one day you will do the former or the latter."

Despite the bitterness in her voice, Donna was not offended because she felt the same way about people. That's why she shut herself away, that's why she didn't want to talk to anyone, because people were scary and she didn't know how to deal with such situations if it wasn't for Angie.

"If something happened to you, I would worry," Donna blurted out without thinking.

The statement left the young woman speechless for the first time. She didn't know how to respond, even Donna belatedly realised her words.

"I... I'm going to see where Angie is.

Donna got up and left the young woman alone.

The young lady did not believe Donna's words. On the other hand, the leader of the Beneviento had not been so serious with someone new that she began to question the reason for the affection she had taken for the girl.

Her doubts were cleared up one night when Donna was returning from a meeting with the other lords. She had gone away for a couple of days in a coach and was returning in the same one. When she entered the mansion, she noticed that the place was a mess. There were no dolls in sight and the few that weren't missing were broken.

Donna rushed to the young girl's room. There she found all the dolls burned, the bed shattered and several bloodstains. The woman started to panic, but it was the explanation of a small doll that told her that hunters had come in the middle of the night and taken the girl away.

Donna didn't think twice and infested her entire territory with the cadou so that she would have time to find the girl. Her whole troop of possessed dolls searched and found near the forest a group of men fighting violently against a huge bush full of thorns.

Dona rushed to the spot, hypnotising the hunters into attacking each other. When she arrived, there was no one alive except the huge thorn bush.

"Acacia?" Donna spoke to the bush "Is that you? Please answer, it's okay now. You can come out."

The leaf monster shuddered and let the young girl free. The girl fell face first on the ground, bleeding from her stomach and legs, surely she was injured before she could defend herself on her own.

Donna hurried to pick her up, worried that the young woman's rhythmic heart would no longer beat. She removed her veil and placed her ear to her chest.

She was alive, but barely.

The young woman was breathing shallowly. Donna spoke to her a couple of times to keep her awake to ensure her life while she returned with her to the mansion.

"I'm so sorry," Donna sobbed.

"It wasn't your fault, ma'am," the girl replied, her voice breaking.

"I should have protected the mansion better."

"They would have attacked you" she spoke again "they were coming for you."

"And when they found you, they chose to take you."

The young woman laughed and then began to cough.

"Shut up now, save your breath"

Donna nursed the maiden and healed her before starting on her dolls.

During this time, the maid remained unconscious. Donna was afraid that the mansion would be attacked again, so she didn't for a moment allow the spores of her plants to stop producing hallucinogenic gases.

Donna kept watch over the young woman, watching her sleep and admiring her peaceful face. She wished that face would smile again and even hear her voice again. She wanted to watch her play with her dolls and maybe now she would join in the games.

She wasn't sure what that feeling meant, so she decided to ask the maiden if she felt the same way once she woke up.

Four days after the attack, the young girl opened her eyes, sleepily. Angie was lying beside her, watching her. The doll alerted Donna that 'mudface' was already awake.

Donna couldn't help but run into the girl's room and hug her too tightly.

"Ma'am, ma'am! it hurts!"

"Oh, for mother miranda! I'm so sorry."

It was then that the young girl realised that Donna didn't have her veil on. Her whole face was turned into a truly worried expression. One of her eyes could not be seen because of a bulge, her other eye was dark and deep, a black hole full of worry and caring.

"Woah..."

Donna didn't understand the young woman's expression until she noticed the lack of her veil. She was so distracted that she forgot to put it back on. She got up from the bed, but the young woman grabbed her hands.

"No, please, I want to see you."

Donna shook her head, trying to hide her face under her hair.

"Please let me go," she said.

"It's my wish before I die," the young woman said.

Donna turned fully towards the girl, her brow furrowed.

"You're not going to die, you fool."

The girl giggled and raised a trembling hand to caress Donna's cheek.

"You're beautiful, ma'am."

If the blood was still coursing through her veins, Donna would have turned red, instead, she ducked her gaze and tried to hide her right eye under her fringe.

"Don't hide like that, please."

"This is why I don't like to be approached. People always make fun of it, they always tease me about it".

"You talk like you don't know me, My lady, I would never make fun of you."

"Then I hope you understand that I care about you."

Neither of them knew what their statements meant, but they were sure that, from that day on, the two were more than just a friendship between mistress and maid.

The two were spending more time together, Donna had taught the young girl how to make some outfits for the dolls and so they spent their afternoons in the workshop.

The young maid, who felt comfortable being called Acacia, became another support for Donna when she had her anxiety attacks. Many nights they slept together. Just sleeping and enjoying each other's company.

Sometimes Angie organised tea parties where she no longer had to be the go-between, because Donna no longer felt shy about talking openly with Acacia.

One afternoon, they were both reading their respective books, this time sitting next to each other. Donna had fallen asleep late making a new doll and now felt sleepy. She didn't realise when her head fell on Acacia's shoulder. When she woke up, she couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed.

She apologised for using her as a pillow, but Acacia said it was fine. Only then did they both realise how close their faces were.

That night, Angie would scold Donna for not leaning in to kiss her. She told her they were too close. How could she have missed? Donna excused herself by saying it wasn't that easy.

"Next time, you're going to have to kiss her."

"Why me?"

"Because she respects you too much and doesn't want to offend you."

"She wouldn't offend me if she did."

"Then ask her to kiss you."

"Why are we having this conversation again, Angie?"

"Because I know how you feel and I know you love that girl."

Angie was right.

It was springtime, and though the dollmaker didn't like to go out, she would occasionally sit with Acacia on the porch to braid each other's hair and fill each other's hair with flowers.

"There, beautiful, as always," Acacia praised.

"Thank you."

When Acacia looked down to make a wreath for Angie, Donna spoke, her voice trembling.

"Hum... Acacia... have you ever? I mean..."

"Yeah?"

Donna couldn't help but resort to an old habit and carried Angie in her arms. Angie refused to move her mouth. Donna frowned and murmured for her to help. Angie didn't speak.

Acacia laughed at the unusual interaction between the lady and the doll. So she cleared her throat.

"My lady, I can turn away if it makes you uncomfortable to tell me something."

Donna gave up and nodded. The girl turned around and waited for Donna to speak. It was quite some time before Donna embraced Acacia and wrapped her slender arms around her neck.

"Can I kiss you?"

The girl stood still, blushing up to her ears.

"Yes, my lady, of course you may."

[mandelene]

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

You’ve got it! 💕  Thanks for the ask!

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

Sweet Normalcy

Word Count: 1555

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mmmrgh" is all he can manage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better…For real this time.” 

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

“Sorry.”

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

“Yeah.” 

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

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

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

“…I can do it.” 

“You’ll spill it. Don’t be stubborn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but we can share it, right?” 

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

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

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

Yup. Things are already going back to normal.

[stars-trash-18]

Paz Vizla’s

It was soft hours while I listened to a new playlist and all I could think of was this situation. I try to keep my readers as badass as possible while trying to create a connection to the audience, and I realize I may lose that connection since reader is a mother. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did because I sobbed like a baby proof reading this.

TW: Pregnancy mentions, injury mentions, blood, angst

You cursed the day you told Din he could use your home as a safehouse after the third time he came to you for healing .You curse the day Din Djarin led that giant blue hunk of metal to your doorstep, said hunk of metal charming as could be with the amount of blood he had lost. But none of that could be changed now, especially as you trudged through the muggy forest towards the coordinates DIn had given you, “in case anyone found out you had been harboring mandalorians,”. Your body burned as you marched further, not having recovered from the ordeal you experienced two months ago, the tiny bundle wrapped in the cloth around your chest holding to that testament. 

   As you continued to hike the hidden path you thought back to how it all started. First with Din showing up sicker than sin with the virus native to your planet, not knowing that he needed his vaccines renewed. Then his visits afterwards between bounties, bringing you supplies or making repairs to your home as repayment for your healing and quartering, until eventually you both became like siblings to one another. Until two years ago when he brought Paz to your door.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of blasters being fired up and pointed at you, you quickly wrapped your arm around the infant on your chest hoping to shield her a little as the armorer stepped forward. You were surprised to see her here from what recollections of what Paz had told you she rarely left the forge, much less to come see a possible threat since that was left to the hunters. 

“What brought you here Aruetii, how did you find us?” she questioned her voice carrying an intensity you knew meant she would not hesitate to protect her own. You opened your mouth to speak, but the ash that coated your vocal cords only caused you to cough so violently that you fell to your knees trying to regain your breath, the Armorer took notice how ragged you looked, your clothes covered in tears and mud with the wrap around you being the only clean thing. She physically tensed at the sight of the infant strapped to you before quickly offering a hand to grasp as she barked orders in Mando’a, a hunter taking the pack from you back as they shuffled you towards the covert. Making the decision that you were no threat in your condition.

----------------2 days later--------------------------

For two days you faded in and out of sleep as the tribe’s doctor tended to you, only waking for brief moments to nurse your daughter and ensure she was with you. When you were finally able to speak you requested only the Armorer to be in the room as you nursed your daughter again, her appetite as big as her father’s, your nerves still slightly frayed from your journey.

As the Armorer entered your room you presented her the mythosaur that had been tied to your daughter's swaddle. The Armorer knew whose it was the moment she turned it around to see the emblem of Clan Vizsla emblazoned on the back and you could see her mind run faster than light speed trying to figure out the story.

 “Rest assured Paz never broke his creed, what happened between us was only once a year ago and we took precautions,” you soothed the woman as she relaxed into a chair. You covered yourself as your daughter was content to just nuzzle into you for a post-feeding nap, “he left after that night and left that behind on accident and I never saw him afterwards so he doesn’t know about her,” you continued before the Armorer rose a hand to silence you.

“How did you find us,” she demanded this time, her thumb rubbing the necklace in her hand as she glared beneath her helmet at you. She knew you weren’t a threat, but she needed answers in case anyone followed you.

You sighed before answering, “Din gave me the coordinates after he took out a few bounty hunters sniffing around my home, I had an agreement to harbor him and anyone he brought with him in my home as a safehouse,” this seemed to ease the woman’s nerves as she leaned towards you to rest the necklace on your daughters blankets. You nodded your head at her before continuing, “They came in the middle of night two weeks ago, they tried to take me but I managed to fight them off long enough to set my home on fire and slipped into my shuttle with my daughter, when we made it here I only had enough fuel to reach the port and had to walk the rest of the way here, I ran out of my provisions two days before you finally found me,” A tear slipped down your face before looking down at the little jewel in your arms, running a finger over the nose you know didn’t come from you. 

The Armorer went to inquire more before the familiar thundering boots reached your door as it flew open, you jerked your head up and pulled your daughter further into your chest as she let out a startled wail. You quickly shushed her as your heart rate spiked, noticing the familiar blue of the armor in your door, his helmet locked onto the crying baby in your arms, his body rigid. 

 “Paz, good to know you’re not dead,” you quipped as you rocked and shushed your daughter. He had no obligations to you, but it hurt when you woke up to him gone without a trace after he had been flirting with you for months, only to never show up again and leaving you no way to inform him of your condition the following month. The Armorer took her leave after those words, sensing that there were things to sort out between you, and when she passed Paz she stared him down for his stupidity.

The room stayed silent for a moment before Paz lumbered over to your bedside, “are they mine, mesh’la?” he softly inquired, his fingers twitched in his gloves wanting to reach forward and run a finger over the infant’s small face. You softened a little watching the giant become a puddle, but steeled yourself for the answer.

“If you must know she is your’s,” you emphasized the last bit as you adjusted yourself in the bed, pulling the blanket that swaddled her to loosen it to allow some air flow. 

A loud sigh of relief left Paz as he pulled a chair to sink into by your bed,his elbows resting on his knees with his helmeted head in his hands. He made a pained groan as he looked to you, “If I knew you were pregnant…” he began before you swiftly cut him off

“You would’ve what Paz, stayed instead of abandoning me like I was some whore from a brothel, I don’t think so,” you spat with the venom that had built in you from that night, because that’s how you felt. Like a prostitute from a brothel, because once he had his way with you he threw you aside to never think of you again. You were too much of a badass to let some man throw you aside, you fought in a war and gave birth without an epidural for star's sake. That seemed to visibly shake Paz as he leaned over you to ensure he had your attention.

“Mesh’la never say that about yourself I never thought of you that way, I woke up to you in my arms and felt the most at peace I had ever felt in a long time, I knew if I didn’t leave then I would’ve stayed and broke my creed for you,” he rasped, his voice cracking in the vocoder to let you know that he started to cry, “I thought about taking my helmet off for you so many times but I had an obligation here to my tribe, If I left that would mean less supplies coming in and less security, the foundlings have went through too much for me to abandon them,” he continued as his body shook with unshed tears.

He twisted the blanket in your lap to try and calm himself before you wrapped yours around his much larger hand. You rested his hand on the side of your face as you looked at him, tears building up as relief flooded you at his confession, ‘Paz if you had only told me I would have understood, but you left and never came back,” you choked out as you wiped the tears from you face to look down at your daughter, who was sleeping peacefully in your arms. “I hoped everyday that you would come back and it wasn’t until I found out about her that I realized I had to stop hoping and move on for my child’s sake,” you broke as more tears took over. 

Paz wiped the tears from your eyes before resting his forehead against yours, “I wanted to return to you everyday Cyare, and I regretted never returning everyday and will forever regret not being there to protect you and my...our… your ade,” you said, stumbling over how to refer to your daughter.

 You rested your forehead on his for a moment before pulling your daughter away from you and forcing Paz to hold her. He held her like he held babies a thousand times before, but with the shakiness of a new father as he looked to you to ensure you were fine with it. You smiled at the sight wanting a holo of this moment before staring at him with intensity to ensure he got your message, “Paz she’s our daughter, I would never take that from you and never feel guilty for the past, you can do what’s right in the present and future,” you explained watching as he let out a large sigh of relief before he relaxed with his daughter to his chestplate.

“We have so much to work through Cyare, we have wounds to heal, but if you would have me I would love to have you stay here with the tribe, move in with me and raise our little warrior until we’re both ready,” he said hesitantly, reaching a hand out to take yours.

You sucked a breath in at the offer before shaking your head, “Paz i’m not a mandalorian, I don’t think they would appreciate me being here,” you said not turning him down but not taking his offer either. At that Paz took the Mythosaur necklace from the wrap and set it into your hand as he squeezed your fingers around it.

“Under our customs you’re the mother of a mandalorian, and you carry the mythosaur necklace of one, you may not have taken an oath, but the moment I left you this necklace you became one as an extension of me,” he vowed as he looked to you. So he didn’t leave it by accident.

“Then yes, I’ll stay with you Paz for as long as you’ll have us,” you breathed as you leaned over and rested a kiss onto his knuckles as you have done countless times before. His chuckle rumbled through his chest causing the sleeping babe to wake again and make a noise from being woken up again.

“It’s alright Dinui’ika I’m here now and I’ll never let anyone harm a hair on your head so long as I breathe,” he soothed the babe as he gently bounced her in his arms, in that moment you had forgotten to give him her name.

“Paz her name is Atria,” you said hesitantly as you ran a finger through her little wisps of hair. you had asked about the names engraved on the inside of his armor one day after he came to you to be patched after one of his more difficult bounties, he had stiffened before telling you that they were the name of his parents and left it at that. When you had been pregnant you couldn’t figure out a name for your unborn child, but the moment you held her in your arms his mother’s name came to your mind and you couldn’t picture anything else to name your little star, a small part of you wanting to have some connection to Paz so that she would know something about her father. Now you only hoped it was the right thing to have done, knowing how Paz was deeply troubled by his parents death.

He let out a choked sob before resting the forehead of his helmet against Atria’s forehead, “it’s perfect Cyare, just like you and just like her,” He said as he squeezed your hand, “you’re the strongest woman that I’ve ever met for putting up with me, I can’t think of anyone else to let use my mother’s name, let alone carry my child and here you are giving me my world” he praised. You knew in that moment you would be alright, you and Paz had things to work out but you knew in time that things would flourish between you and that your daughter will grow up to the most loved child in the world.

Tags: (thought ya’ll might like this one) @soradragon @remmyswritings

[pips-fics]

ask: can I request a sick jisung who is practically dragged back to the dorms by the members and he's so out of it that he starts saying things that make skz reassure and cuddle him? I live for fluff and angst lmao (also make sure to take care of yourself and don't stress about writing these late or anything! your health comes first, have a good day :)

tw: glass/injury/blood imagery (it’s a metaphor for guilt and not literal but somewhat graphic), self-loathing, vomiting

@anon who requested this: i have a very urgent fear that this is not what you were expecting when you sent this ask.  if this is too heavy, please let me know and i will be happy to write you something else

@everyone: we’ve got some pretty intense trigger warnings with this one so please don’t hesitate to skip reading this one, it’s all very interwoven in this fic an it’s not worth risking causing yourself harm for

some days jisung felt like glass.  glass that ached.  sharp and dangerous and fragile all at the same time.  he thought some of his members could understand this; others probably could not.

he did what he could to keep his distance.  he spent his whole day locked in the studio, taking painkillers that hardly blunted his headache every few hours.  a stress headache, he thought.  all the more reason to be productive, for once, but he felt boxed in.

a tiny shard of glass in an illusory metal box, unprotected and suffocating.

words poured out of him and onto the paper, but none of them were good enough to use.  instead, they pelted him like hail, each failure a knick in in his brittle skin.  one of them would be enough to make him shatter.

distracted by the task of attempting to hold himself together, jisung forgot about the passage of time until the soft fabric of his sweatshirt began to feel suddenly and violently abrasive on his skin.  his stomach churned, and, as his gaze landed on a clock reading half past midnight, he realized he hadn’t eaten anything for over 12 hours.

he made himself a bowl of instant ramen, and forced himself to choke it down, but his stomach only seemed to worsen at that.  he was so tired.  he nearly fell down the stairs on his way to throw out his bowl, but jisung couldn’t afford to go home yet, not when he’d barely made any progress at all.

he hadn’t expected to run into felix on his way back.

“are you going home soon?”  felix asked, frowning when jisung shook his head.  he tried to explain.

“i’m just stuck so… i have to figure this out before i give up on this song entirely.”

felix’s frown deepened, and jisung felt his glass soul crack further.  “you can finish it tomorrow, right?  you have time before the deadline, and you always get your assignments done on time.”

felix was really so sweet, jisung thought, and so supportive.  he probably couldn’t fathom how big of a failure jisung actually was in his own mind.

jisung shattered.

“easy for you to say,“ he said.  he was shaking, or shivering, his body cold but his rage red-hot.  “you don’t understand, felix, that one day i won’t.  one day i won’t get it done because i’ll run out of make-believe genius and everyone will realize that it’s all been just a game of pretend the whole time and i’ll—”

he broke off, choked up and nauseous.  felix looked almost as sick as jisung felt.  in a hushed voice, nearly a whisper, jisung forced himself to finish, the fight drained out of him at once.

“and i’ll have to admit that everyone would have been better off without me from the start.”

his eyes flickered to felix’s face, regret too small a word to describe his feelings about felix’s tears, even as it was all tempered by resignation.  this was always going to happen.  but that didn’t mean jisung was going to stick around and make it harder than it needed to be.

anyway, he still had work to do.

jisung doubted that felix would come looking for him.  he believed he had made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to be found.  he locked the door to his workroom anyway, and tried to get back to work.  instead, felix’s expression of hurt flashed in his mind, again and again, sticking to him like blood.

it was disgusting, jisung thought, that felix had been the only civilian casualty of his explosion.  it shouldn’t have mattered who it was, but at least if it had been someone like minho, or hyunjin, or seungmin, at least then he could’ve held on to the hope that they’d understand.  at least they had the same kind of faux protection as jisung.  felix was nothing but soft flesh.

all of a sudden it was too much to bear.  sweat dripping down his face, jisung leaned over the small trash can next to the desk and vomited, and felt that he deserved it.  he gasped and felt that he didn’t deserve the air entering his lungs, coughed and choked and sputtered until he threw up again and he sobbed.  a pile of broken glass on the ground.

jisung didn’t realize that seungmin had entered the room until he felt a hand pressed to his forehead.  he jerked away, struggled to speak as his body wouldn’t stop wringing gasping sobs from his mouth.

“how?”  was all he managed, though it wasn’t what he’d wanted to say.  why?  didn’t you hear from felix what i did?

something like mischief briefly overshadowed seungmin’s expression of concern.  “picked the lock,” he explained smugly.  then he softened.  “i can show you how sometime, if you want.”

jisung flinched.  seungmin still thought of jisung as a friend - which meant that he hadn’t heard from felix.  had he run into jisung by coincidence?

“i’m sorry,” jisung blurted out, realizing that this would seem nonsensical to seungmin only when he saw the look of surprise on his face.  but then it melded into understanding, and jisung felt lightheaded, and wondered if all of this was just a bad dream, because nothing was making sense.

“can we go back to the dorm and talk?”  seungmin asked.  jisung avoided his eyes and shook his head.

“felix told me what happened,” seungmin said, and jisung pinched himself, because seungmin was speaking far too gently for this to be real.  he didn’t wake up.

“then you should know - you should leave,” jisung said, trying to convey his urgency, but lacking the energy to do so.  he resorted to pleading.  “you’ll get cut - don’t you understand?  i thought you would understand.  i’m sorry.”

“sungie, you know we’re just worried about you?  felix is alright.”

“but then—”

“i kept him out too late tonight teaching me dance moves so i sent him home first.  he’s probably waiting up for you though.”  seungmin started gathering jisung’s things, then, putting them in his backpack.  jisung didn’t stop him.  if he was just shattered glass on the ground, cutting everyone who took a step in his direction, the least he could do was let seungmin and felix get some sleep.

“you know,” seungmin said as they approached the dorm, “i don’t think you hurt felix in the way you think you did.”

jisung stayed quiet.

“do you know that the first thing he told me was that you had a fever and you were being mean to yourself?”

this made jisung’s steps falter, trying to process two new pieces of information at once.  he supposed that explained why seungmin had been so understanding - and why it had taken so little for him to beak earlier.  

seungmin grabbed jisung’s arm to steady him and didn’t let go.  “of course i pried the rest of the details out of him,” he said, as if reading jisung’s mind.  “i think he’s right.  jisung, your worth is not measured by your productivity.”

this was, perhaps, the most groundbreaking piece of news yet.  they had reached the door to their dorm, but seungmin’s grip on jisung’s arm tightened.

“you’re our friend,” seungmin said, as if it were a fact and jisung was a human and not a piece of glass after all.  and seungmin’s mouth wobbled a little bit and jisung cried a little bit more and they both knew they’d never speak of this again.

jisung nodded, and it didn’t feel entirely like a lie.  when they went inside and felix told him he loved him, jisung didn’t choke saying it back.  a nagging shard of guilt remained when felix insisted on getting up with him when jisung was sick twice that night, but all of his sharp edges had dulled.  soothed, for the moment, by the reassurance of felix’s calm breathing as he fell back asleep.  that was the thing about breathing: it couldn’t help but be honest.  a sense calm, content, and safety washed over jisung like waves until he, too, drifted off to gentle dreams.

——

feel free to send more asks! | rules

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Ignorance is Blitzed (Part One)

When you come into contact with some substance that makes you sick while on a routine building search, Ron realizes he may not be as emotionally detached as he’d thought initally thought. WARNINGS: you get poisoned and feel pretty shit, there are some potty words, but all in all pretty tame (FOR NOW).

This will probably be at least a two part-er, so let a sister know if you want to be tagged(?)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You’d barely had a chance to get out of the building you’d been searching before you coughed so violently you fell to your knees, a horrible gasping sound tearing its way out of your throat before you even have a chance to scream for a medic.

You were dying. You had to be dying.

You’d found an ivory crushed tablet at the bottom of a footlocker you’d found inside of the bombed out general store the Nazi’s had been using as sleeping barracks, and instantly pinched some of it between your fingers for closer inspection, rubbing the chalky dust between your fingertips to see if it had the same texture as aspirin. 

It wasn’t uncommon for one of you to find medications and other rations in footlockers and other personal items during an inventory search, and most of the time you could easily figure out what it was and whether or not it was something Doc or someone else might need. 

But this tablet and it’s powder were unfamiliar (aspirin would’ve had a more obvious, sour odor that you would’ve clocked the minute you’d opened the footlocker’s lid), and when you brought it to your nose to sniff it more critically you instantly regretted it—the smell was chemical and harsh and it burned your nasal passage in a way you’d never experienced before. Your eyes had instantly watered and you’d exhaled sharply through your nostrils in a vain attempt to make the hurt go away.

The pain spread up your head and spiderwebbed into your brain. A bursting prickle of pain behind your eyes flared like a burning star, your face had begun feeling hot and your head was ringing. 

It’s too hot in here, I have to get out of here so I can breathe.

You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes as you stumbled back out the way you had come, bumping heavily between the rough stone of the wall and your friends as you desperately tried to remember the way out. 

You felt sick to your stomach as your skin breaks out into a cool sweat. Panic was setting in, with your ability to breath compromised as well as your hearing beginning to go white.

“Y/n?” you think you hear Martin calling your name through the fog that is taking residence in your ear canals, and something is trying to pull your hands from your eyes. “Hey kiddo, what’s wrong? What’d you find—?”

“DON’T!” You blurt, opening your eyes and wishing you hadn't when the room begins to spin. You see the light of the doorway over Bull’s shoulder-Bull? When did he get here?- and you close your eyes and forget everything else except for forward and outside and I can't breathe….

“Hey!” Someone (Luz?) growls as you shove the shape of him out of the way, and you don’t think you’re making sense but you’re talking all the same.

Stop talking, you need air!

When your knees hit the hard ground you barely have a chance to catch yourself on your hands before you dry heave so hard you can feel the ache of it in your ribs. Your heart is beating too fast and hard in your chest and if you could feel your hands you’d use them to tear some of your layers away because you’re boiling alive and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Fuck, what happened—WHAT HAPPENED?!”

With a great deal of effort you crack your eyes open again and spot Ron Speirs’ signature glare coming your way, shucking off his vest and bag without breaking stride as he neared. You’re aware of Martin and Bull by your sides, but you can’t seem to figure out what they’re saying.

Why is no one helping me? Can’t they see I’m dying?

“Don’t touch the tab- cough cough….the footlocker….!” you try again, tasting blood in your mouth after you released another hacking cough, and you’re dimly aware of Bull pulling your hat off of your head and sigh at the blissful chill of fresh air on your clammy skin.

“We got it, no one’s gonna touch it, y/n—” he murmurs somewhere to your left, and you think you nod in understanding but you can’t be sure/

“What’s happening?” Ron snapped, his rough hands grabbing your face and tilting it up so he could look at it. “Where does it hurt, y/n—?”

“I can’t breathe! It's so hard to breathe— Fuck, i think my brain is melting…”

“Your brain?” his voice is lower in volume now, yet your head still throbs as if he were shouting. Your head is thudding in time with your heartbeat, and you don't realize you’ve been crying until his thumbs brush away from the tears clouding your vision.

A tremble runs through your body and you squeeze your eyes shut as the world tilts from side to side unreliably. 

His rough hands are abruptly snatched back, but you can’t open your eyes to keep track of where they have gone. 

Suddenly, a set of arms hook under your knees and shoulders and you're lifted from the ground, your head reeling.

“Don’t!” she gasps as the person carrying her begins to quickly walk back the way you’d seen that Speirs had come from. “I’ll get sick on you—!“

“Then get sick on me. It’s not the worst thing to happen to this coat.” Ron says matter-of-factly, making his grip on you painfully tight as he begins barking orders at people around you.

“Ron—” you try again, but your body spasms in his arms as the pain in your head crests to new heights. “Oh, God, I think I’m dying—”

“Shut up.” He hisses, and you think you hear a stain of panic in his command. “Just shut up and try to stay awake”

You sob as you lean your head against his shoulder, your bones too big for your body and your skin aching.

The next time you blink Roe is suddenly there, and your mouth is so dry your tongue creaks as it moves in your mouth. 

You’ve been set on a lumpy mattress somewhere and Ron, Nix, Bull, and Roe are standing around you and talking amongst each other too quickly for you to catch. 

By some miracle you are able to shove Roe away from your side just in time to avoid your vomit as you lean over the side of the bed and throw up painfully onto the ground where his feet had just been.

Your head is so foggy now, and everything hurts so badly you wish that you would just die and be done with the whole thing.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up about that?” you hear Ron chide, and hands are smoothing your hair off of your face and neck with a gentleness you didn’t expect from someone so rough. “You heard the Doc, didn’t you?”

You shake your head because you honestly had no idea what Eugene may have said (because up until recently you hadn’t even known he’d been there), letting another set of hands push your shoulders back until you were laying on the mattress again. 

You felt Roe rubbing at the skin inside of your elbow as he prepared some sort of injection, and you tried your best to hold still so he could find a vein.

“C’mon, y/n,” Nixon’s voice was far away, and in your delirium you could’ve sworn he sounded just like your dad. “I know it’s tough but try to stay still—”

Home, home, should’ve stayed home. Wouldn’t have died like this at home….

“It’s okay, darlin’” Roe mumbled, cursing in French as another spasm of trembling runs through you. “It’s gonna be over soon—”

Before you can even begin to panic about that promise, hands grab your face again and turn your head away from the doctor, and when you open your eyes all you can see is Ron.

“It’s not poison, you’re not dying, Y/n- look at me! Good, now just look at me and the Doc’ll give you something to make you feel better—”

Th poke of the needle makes you cry out like a baby, but rather than getting angry with you Ron just nods and makes a soft tsking sound under his breath.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

You watch those dark eyes of his harden as he shoots a look towards Roe. “How long till that shit kicks in—?”

“Seconds. It may not knock her out, but she should start feeling better right away—”

Speirs didn’t bother waiting for the man to finish before looking back down at you and softening his gaze once more.

He must be scared, he wouldn’t be acting like this in front of other people if he wasn’t scared i might not make it.

Whatever Roe had injected you with was cold in your veins, blissfully cold, and you could feel it turning your spasming limbs to lead with each slowing thud of your heart.

Taking what had to be the first deep breath you’d taken in hours, you watch as Ron nods and makes a point to sync your breathing, his breath cool of your damp face as he exhales with you.

“Good, good. That’s good, sweetheart….”

Your eyes lose their ability to focus, eyelids now too heavy to keep open.

But the idea of letting them close and going to sleep filled you with dread, and even though you couldn’t articulate your concern Ron seemed to read your mind and you felt his lips at the shel of your ear.

“I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise you that you’ll be okay, okay?”

You weren’t sure if he was saying it more to you or to himself or to the other men in the room, but you nodded all the same.

A cool cloth is wiped across your brow and you feel yourself sinking into whatever medicated slumber Roe has concocted for you.

“What the fuck is Pervitin and what the hell was it doing in an SS footlocker?”

Bull’s voice sounds like it’s underwater, and the harder you try to listen and see what the answer is, you quicker you slip into the cool and inviting darkness that curled around the edges of your mind.

I could rest, you think with resigned exhaustion as you let yourself fall from consciousness. It’s been so long since I’ve rested….

The weight of Ron’s hand on your cheek was the last thing holding you to the world, and when that slipped away you followed suit.

And nothing hurt anymore.

******IMPORTANT HISTORICAL CONTEXT: 

After discovering boxes of tablets labeled Pervitin on a downed German supply plane (if i remember this correctly), the Allies realized that the Axis countries had developed a performance enhancing drug that would: 1. Keep soldiers awake and active for days at a time without needing sleep/food, 2. Increased aggression and confidence in battle, and 3. Kept soldiers from slipping into ‘shell shock’.

BIG PROBLEM THOUGH, BC PERVITIN IS LITERALLY JUST METH. REALLY REALLY PURE AND CONCENTRATED METH (which is BAD!)!

So, the Allies said to themselves: “Self, self here. Listen- what if we came up with our own Pervitin for our soldiers so they too can be better/faster/stronger?”

So, the Allies came up with Benzedrine- WHICH IS ALSO METH AND STILL VV BAD FOR YOU!

In this story, reader stumbles across some accidentally and unknowingly ends up ingesting it and you get vv sick (which is also a thing that happens to ppl who accidentally inhale amphetamines). Bc I’m a nerd I looked it up that nowadays you’d probably be given some sort of Benzodiazepine/nourishing fluids cocktail to counteract the side effects, so we’re gonna pretend that’s what the cure is in the 40s  MKAY? MKAY. 

(also tagging @mrsalwayswrite​ bc rumor has it they also have a soft spot for our dashing murder prince with nice hair and death in his eyes)

[hale-13]

Ultraviolet

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 7 - Sunburn

The best part about having free run of Tony Stark’s penthouse in the Tower is the Olympic sized pool that overlooks all of Manhattan. Peter could happily spend the whole summer here.

Words: 2503, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner

TW: Teenage Dumbassery

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Why are you wearing the Armani?” Peter asked, pushing the pair of battered bodega sunglasses he had been using for the past two years up to sit in his chlorine damp hair and squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dimmed lights of the penthouse. FRIDAY closed the automatic door to the balcony and pool behind him.

“First of all this is Tom Ford how dare you,” Tony said, pointing at him with the ‘dad finger’ but not looking up from his rapid texting. “Second of all I’m wearing the Tom Ford, not Armani you absolute heathen, because I have to step into a couple of meetings this afternoon.”

Peter hummed in confusion, taking a bottle of cold Gatorade (the red one because it was clearly the best flavor) from the fridge and chugging it before sitting on one of the barstools. Tony flicked his eyes away from his phone to glare at the puddle dripping off Peter’s swim trunks pointedly – Peter just smirked at him and cracked open the second bottle he had pulled from the fridge, sipping on it slowly. “I thought you were playing hooky all week?” Peter teased, referencing the plan Tony had laid out earlier in the week to do absolutely nothing of value while Pepper was out of town.

“That was the plan,” Tony conceded, tucking his phone into his inner jacket pocket and then fussing with the immaculate pocket square. “Pepper was supposed to land thirty minutes ago but she had to divert her plane to our LA office for… something. Honestly I wasn’t paying attention.”

“And that leads to you going to meetings?” Peter asked with a raised brow.

“Apparently,” Tony groused, pulling the colorful beach towel from around Peter’s neck and dropping it to the floor to soak up the puddle forming under the barstool. “Sorry buddy – I know I promised a week of fun bullshit but I think we both would prefer that I keep my head attached to my body so…”

“It’s fine,” Peter brushed off and it really was. To be honest, he was still tired from their thirty hour workshop bonanza and he could do with a nap. It was a pleasant day for June in New York with a good breeze and some light cloud cover – a nap on one of the obscenely large pool floats sounded heavenly. “I was thinking about napping anyway.”

Tony’s brow furrowed for a second before his hand darted out to land on Peter’s forehead. Peter batted his hand away, narrowly avoiding falling off the stool. “You don’t feel warm. Are you sick? FRI is the kid sick?”

“All vitals within normal limits Boss,” FRIDAY answered, almost sounding amused.

“I’m not sick! Teenagers can enjoy naps you know.” Peter protested, dodging another of his mentor’s attempts to check him for a fever. “It’s pretty much our MO actually.”

Tony rolled his eyes before slipping his tinted AR sunglasses onto his face. “Oh to be young again,” he said sarcastically, gathering up a couple thin files and his StarkPad, tucking his phone into his inner jacket pocket. “You sure you’ll be okay for a few hours?”

“Yes, Tony, jeez.” Peter said with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Oh joy, teenage snark. Aren’t I lucky?” His mentor questioned as he ruffled Peter’s hair into disarray, flinging little water droplets on the counter top and causing the loose curls to tighten up more as they dried. “I’ll be back in time for dinner. Want to grill?”

“Sounds good,” Peter said with a smile, finishing off his second drink and tossing the bottle in the recycling and waving as Tony entered the elevator. Peter let out a large yawn and stretched, sighing happily as his back popped and realigned, before hopping of the stool to gather his towel off the floor and get a couple bottles of water from the fridge.

The sun was bright and warm as he stepped back out onto the pool deck and Peter luxuriated in its warmth, momentarily blinded – he hated the cold more than anything and loved being out in the heat. It took him a few minutes to pick his pool float, Tony had collected an obscene number of ridiculous ones over the past month, but he eventually decided on the watermelon one for its large round shape. He loaded it up with his water, towel and sunscreen before pushing it into the pool and following it with a splash.

He agilely climbed up to sit in the middle and took the bottle of sunscreen, spraying on another protective layer before wadding his towel into a lumpy pillow and face planting into it. “Hey FRI?”

“Yes Peter?” FRIDAY’s voice asked from the waterproof speakers situated around the pool.

“Can you play my lofi playlist?” He nearly slurred, already half asleep.

“No problem Peter,” she answered before the soft music poured from the speakers and Peter let out a sigh before fully relaxing. There was truly nothing better than a nice warm nap out in the sun. The gentle rocking of the water was quick to put him into some of the best sleep of his life.

————————————————

“Peter? Peter! Wake up kiddo!”

Peter groaned, his body stiff and tight and hot and he cracked open his crusty eyes to stare at the edge of the pool. “T’ny?” He croaked out, mouth impossibly dry and vision blurred.

“Yes, Jesus, you really cooked yourself buddy. Can you paddle over here?” Tony was looking at him with worried eyes, pulling his jacket off and slipping out of his Italian leather loafers.

“Come over there?” Peter questioned, confused. The sun had sunk behind the tower and the rooftop was now covered in shade and Peter shivered. Why was it so cold?

“Pete focus up now. I need you to come to me.” Tony said, his voice patient but with the clear undercurrent of concern that he used when Peter had gotten himself into some form of trouble.

“Okay,” Peter grunted. He tried to shift his heavy arms and then gasped in pain, clenching his eyes shut. “Ouchies,” he mumbled, not making any effort to move again. A splash sounded and Peter opened his eyes to see Tony in the water with him, efficiently swimming over to his ridiculous pool float. “But Tom Ford,” Peter protested dumbly.

“This was last seasons suit anyway,” Tony dismissed as he reached the edge of the float, treading water. “I’m gonna help you get into the water Petey – you’re way too hot. It’s not going to feel all that great but you need to trust me alright?”

“You’re Iron Man,” Peter agreed, groggy. “Trust you.”

“Good to know buddy,” Tony said as he carefully reached out and put his arms under Peter’s chest. Peter let out a gasp as his mentor’s wet sleeve rubbed against his sensitive arm but kept his body limp and let Tony maneuver him to the edge of the float while barely keeping it from tipping completely over on them both. “Alright kiddo, take a deep breath for me and hold it okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter grunted before pulling in a large gulp of air and squeezing his eyes shut. To his benefit, Tony was fast – he lifted Peter off the float and dumped him into the water before hooking his forearms under Peter’s armpits and pulling his head up above water again. Peter coughed as he surfaced, more awake and aware now, and really feeling just how truly fucked he was. His skin from the back of his neck down was tight and burning and he remained limp to not stress out the damaged skin any more. “That sucked.”

“Sure did,” Tony agreed, carefully paddling the both of them to the shallow end of the pool where a gentle incline would lead back up to the pool deck. “Think you can walk if I help you?”

“Maybe,” Peter answered, but did adjust himself in the water so he was floating next to Tony with his arm wrapped around the man’s shoulder and Tony’s arm wrapped around his waist just below the edge of his swim trunks to prevent him from touching the tender skin of his back. Exiting the pool was difficult since Peter realized he had definitely burned the bottoms of his feet but, with Tony’s help, he was able to limp out of the pool and towards the penthouse door.

“We’ve gotta get you in some oatmeal,” Tony told him as they entered the living room. The cool air from the AC made Peter shiver but the cool polished concrete floor felt like heaven on the soles of his feet.

“Why oatmeal?” Peter asked, letting Tony steer him down the hall and past his own bedroom towards the master bedroom and into Tony’s own ridiculously huge bathroom.

“It’s an anti-inflammatory,” Tony told him as they entered the bathroom. The large porcelain tub that could probably fit seven or eight full grown men was filling with tepid water mixed with oatmeal – clearly FRIDAY had been listening to their conversation and had acted accordingly. Well that or Peter had missed when Tony had asked her to set it up.

It took some maneuvering, but, soon, Peter was lying face down in the tub, his head pillowed on a pile of soft towels with Tony applying damp washcloths soaked in the cool water and oatmeal to the parts of his back that weren’t submerged in the water. Peter shivered violently once, his failing thermoregulating attempting and not succeeding in functioning, before he just lay, missable, in the tub.

“Close your eyes,” Tony said, wetting another washcloth in the sink with clean water only and wiping his face down. He frowned as his hand ran over Peter’s forehead and he draped the cloth over Peter’s face and eyes to cool the reddened skin. “You’ve got quite the fever brewing Webs.”

“I just wanted a nap,” Peter moaned and he heard Tony let out a little sad sounding chuckle.

“I know. Just relax and try to cool down for now,” and then he stood up and walked to the door. “I’m going to grab you some dry shorts and get the bed set up. Try not to drown.” It took more effort than Peter thought it would but flipping Tony off over the lip of the tub was totally worth it.

He fell into a light doze from there – drifting off as the stinging in his back dulled down to a more comfortable level. “Oh Peter,” Bruce said from above him and Peter jerked in the tub, dislodging the washcloth from his face and causing his body to let out a sting of pain and protest. He let out a little grunt and Dr. Banner winced from above him. “Sorry Pete. I thought you heard me come in. You really burnt yourself.”

“I know,” Peter said, wanting to be irritated but too tired to feel much of anything. Bruce gave him a sad smile.

“According to FRIDAY your temp is down enough we can get you out,” Bruce told him as Tony leaned over the tub as well so both of them were staring down at him. Peter just blinked. “Let Tony and I do most of the work – you don’t want to stress your muscles. Once we can get you out and dried off I’ll get you started on some fluids and electrolytes and that should help some. And my aloe plant donated a couple of leaves to the cause.” Dr. Banner joked. Peter gave him a weak smile in response, not really looking forward the the execution part of Bruce’s plan.

Getting lifted out of the tub was nothing short of agony even though Tony and Bruce lifted him under his armpits again and left him leaning his chest heavily against the bathroom counter to keep as much weight off his feet as possible. Bruce pointedly left the room and Peter endured a few mortifying moments where his mentor had to help him dry off and change into a loose pair of athletic shorts that sat low on his hips so as to not interfere with the burn. He was going to have an awful tan line by the end of this he thought sadly, taking in the lobster colored skin of his back and neck.

Bruce crept back in moments after and had Peter lean his hip against the sink so that he could place the IV catheter into his forearm while standing – making it easier on both of them once they would get him settled into bed. The California king sized bed had been stripped down to just its fitted sheet and, with a little assistance, Peter did a controlled flop face first into the memory foam pillows, letting his eyes shut as he felt Bruce connect the IV line and the cool rush of fluids through his veins.

He was nearly out when a cold plop on his back tore his eyes back open in surprise and he felt immediate relief from his tight, hot skin where the wet mass had landed. “Feels good,” he slurred drowsily as a careful hand massaged the goop into his back. A second set was working on his tight calf muscles, loosening them up and easing the burn.

“Fresh aloe,” Dr. Banner told him. Nothing better for a sunburn.”

Peter hummed in agreement and let himself drift off, finally comfortable.

—————————————-

“I just wanted a nap,” Peter whined as he limped and hobbled into the kitchen of the penthouse almost three days later, Tony following a few steps behind to catch him if he fell over and relying on the walls and his ability to stick to anything to keep him from falling. “I wore sunscreen!”

“Clearly not enough,” his mentor told him, voice tight with irritation. Peter had been saying the same thing on repeat since he woke up from his nap and it was clearly grating the man’s nerves. Peter opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, cracking it open and taking large gulps. Even days later and after Bruce pumped him full of fluids Peter still felt parched and dehydrated. “You know you’re supposed to reapply like every hour in direct sunlight and water right?”

“Well I do now,” Peter answered, leaning against the stove so he could take the weight off his legs. His skin still felt so tight that it felt like it may burst. And the blisters… best not to think about it. Tony clocked the movement.

“Time for more aloe,” he said pointedly, shooing Peter off toward his bedroom. “I’ll get it out of the freezer and be right behind you.”

“Thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter said as he hobbled away. He passed by the door to the pool, the water sparkling brightly in the mid-afternoon sun and he looked at it thoughtfully. “Redo next week,” he promised to himself. He’d just have to get FRIDAY to wake him up every hour next time. Besides, he needed to even out his tan.

[janekfan]

omg you're taking prompts?? best day EVER!!! i was thinking. season 2, where jon is complaining about some kind of illness/pain that's actually worse than he's letting on? maybe elias sends jon, tim, and martin on some kind of gay little errand and jon's either really ill or already hurt, and he keeps trying to communicate that he really wants to go back to the hotel and lie down, but they're so angry with him that they assume the worst? then, comfort :) if you don't like this i can try again!

@taylortut :D I hope you like it!

6 hours and 47 minutes.

The average amount of time it took the train to travel from the London station to Edinburgh.

And that being if they didn’t run into some sort of delay. Or hit a cow. Rupture the fuel line and be trapped on the tracks for the rest of the day.

Jon massaged his temples, shifting uncomfortably on the hard cushion that honestly might as well not exist for how much good it was doing him. Barely back from their mandatory thirty days leave after the Prentiss, Elias, the prat, sent them away to investigate the vaults beneath the city regarding the murders committed by Burke and Hare nigh 200 years ago.

And Jon really, really didn’t want to.

He’d been looking forward to sitting in the dark of his office and going through statements at a snail's pace and possibly, possibly skiving off early because he hurt and hadn’t been sleeping well because of it. The injuries left behind had been deep and damaging and he'd walked out of the hospital with a brand new cane. Leaning against the window and easing the weight off his left side, Jon tried to let the scenery slipping by lull him at least a little bit. Tim and Martin were spending the majority of their time in the dining car sampling the assortment courtesy of Elias’ generous travel budget and that was fine by him. While Martin may be better at hiding it, both of them were quite angry with him and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the next week spent in their company.

Pain exploded in his bones, waking him from his nap and he whacked his head against the window blinking hard, breathing shallow, as he gathered his wits about him and took in Martin sitting across from him.

“Tim,” he admonished, setting a cup of tea down in front of Jon and turning the handle toward him. “Should perk you up a bit; you look tired.”

“Yeah, Boss.” Tim mocked him, prodded a particularly sore spot on his side. “Drink your tea.” Jon chose to ignore him.

“Th’thank you, Martin.” He spoke low, shrinking away, into himself, and holding the warmth close to his chest, checking his watch: two hours and change. Surely it wouldn’t be this awkward between them the whole week?

Jon was often wrong and this experience would prove no different as he pushed himself as fast as possible following Tim and Martin, the tip of his cane clacking unevenly on the cobblestones. It was dark and he had no desire to be caught alone on the streets at night, sure that whatever else had complaints with them wouldn’t hesitate.

“Tim, slow down.”

“Ah, sorry, Marto.” Jon looked away, feeling the heavy weight of Tim’s gaze press down across his shoulders and he almost stumbled beneath it, catching himself and thankful he’d chosen a backpack instead of luggage. “Tired from the train?”

“I happen to be, yes.” Authoritative, eyes cast pointedly forward. “Besides, it’s a nice night. Let me enjoy being away from the Archives for a moment, won’t you?” Tim laughed, pounding Martin on the back, and the two discussed going out for drinks at the various pubs they passed along the way. While grateful for the decreased pace, Jon was isolated and alone, throat closing up so tight it was like choking, face turning hot, but he refused to cry.

He’d dug this grave. He’d have to lie in it.

Unable to stand one moment more after climbing the stairs to their room, Jon collapsed heavily to the couch, digging his knuckles into his thigh in an attempt to stop the awful seizing in his muscles. His whole body was trembling with fatigue and when Tim suggested it was the perfect time to head into the Vaults he could have kissed Martin for insisting he was too tired tonight because he knew he was only saying it for Jon’s benefit and he didn’t understand why. How could he...after all. He hated him and he still--

“Well, I call rooming with Martin and there’s just one bed. That leaves the couch for your skinny arse, Boss.” He batted big dark eyelashes at Martin, making the other man blush furiously and sputter and despite himself Jon smiled, just a little, bidding them a quiet good night neither of them would hear through the door between them.

He could tell already he wouldn’t be getting much sleep, if any at all. The pain wasn’t anything sharp anymore, just a low level throb impossible to ignore, and no amount of adjusting or staying still or squeezing his fists so tight crescent moons were bit into his palms would change that. So he laid there, in the dark of an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar city, filled with unfamiliar sounds and listened to the deep and even synchrony of his employees’ breath. More street lights kicked on, the glow pleasant if only because he could see, transforming eerie shadows into shapes he could identify. Jon nibbled his bottom lip, shifted, pushed his feet into the cushions to exert pressure? Release pressure? He wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to accomplish other than keeping himself quiet.

Dragging his bag over he dug blindly through it for the bottle of paracetamol settled at the bottom, fighting with the child safety cap and tipping too many pills into his hand. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t touch it. Not really. But hoping for a placebo effect was better than writhing in agony and Jon swallowed them dry because getting up wasn’t an option. Rigid, shivering, he pulled up the blanket, trying to take comfort in its weight and the sun was coming up by the time heavy lashes fell shut over tired, burning eyes.

“Wakey, wakey, Boss!” Jon jerked violently awake, whole body thrumming in panic and pain before he had the sense to realize what was happening and by then Tim was gone.

“Sorry Jon, I tried to distract him.” Sheepish, Martin offered up a small smile and a cup of tea, setting it on the low table beside the couch. “You alright?” He’d relaxed back into the cushions, trying to gain back any of the soft, drifting nothingness he’d finally succumbed to and failing miserably. Good lord, he wasn’t well.

“Just fine, Martin.” Rubbing away the remnants of sleep, Jon struggled upright and took a sip. “Thank you.” Strong and dark and perfect, the caffeine would help. “When, what time are we investigating the Vaults?”

“Midnight or so? There will be fewer people on the streets then.” Silence broken only by Tim’s puttering in the room settled between them. “We’re hoping to sight see, be proper tourists for the day.”

“Ah.” He hid his disappointment behind the rim of his cup. Of course they would. Of course and they deserved it. “That sounds like a fine idea.” It didn’t. He wouldn’t make it, surely. Almost choking on his tea when his jacket came down over his head, Jon sputtered and coughed, catching a glimpse of Tim slipping on his trainers.

“And you’re not getting out of it.” Martin reacted to Jon's sigh with exasperation and hurt.

"Look, Jon. I know you'd rather be anywhere than with the two of us, but try to enjoy yourself?" And while that wasn't entirely true Jon was unfortunately too much a coward to refute it.

Which is how he found himself here, now. Nauseated, Jon sipped carefully on some juice, sitting stock still in his chair and watching Martin and Tim sample almost everything on the menu. He’d been dragged through the city and while he’d enjoyed some of the history and honestly their company, the pain cast a dark pall over the day. It was only on his third try asking for a break that they passed a pub and Martin suggested supper, and not a moment too soon. Even with the cane and Jon's white knuckle grip on his self control, his leg felt ready to give way.

“Come on,” Tim cajoled, tongue loose and on his third pint. “Don’t you want to waste Elias’ money with us?”

“Not that hungry I’m afraid, but go on. Looks good and you mustn't forget dessert.”

"Martin! You heard the boss-man!" After sitting in the low light, resting for a bit, Jon felt up to a drink, enjoying how it blurred everything at the edges and dulled the worst of it so quickly on an empty stomach.

When they returned to the room for a nap prior to their excursion, Jon barely remembered passing out on the couch.

It was cold, the jacket completely useless against the underground chill and his exposed fingers were numb on the handle of his cane, on the torch. Long after this happened, Jon asked for a reprieve. They’d been down here for hours already and they had all week so with no leads they could come back another night, couldn't they? It had fallen on deaf ears and when he tried to speak up again, this time because he’d fallen more than a few steps behind, it was clear he just needed to tough it out. Obviously, he was supposed to be handling this better and he was only embarrassing himself by being overly dramatic. Gritting his teeth, Jon pushed himself faster, catching back up only to lose ground seconds later.

“I’m. I’m sorry. I.” Why was this so hard? Asking for help, for a break, to go back and just please stop standing up. “Could we. Could we take a moment? Just. I mean--”

“Spit it out!” Tim’s frustration echoed painfully in the enclosed space, bouncing off walls and striking Jon from all angles like a series of blows. “We don’t have time for whatever you’re on about.”

We don’t have time.

“Leave off, Tim.” Something caught Martin’s eye and he veered away from the pair of them.

We don’t have time for you.

Stop it.

Stop being a child.

“Of course. Yes. Push on.”

Sick with exhaustion and shaking from pain, Jon was falling further and further behind, the torch losing its effectiveness as the dark closed in, heavy, tight, suffocating. He couldn’t call out. They wouldn’t. He. They’d made how they felt clear and asking again would only be shameful. But his cane wasn’t enough anymore and it dropped from his ennervated fingers, clattering to the ground while he held onto the wall with both hands. He’d be lost here, buried here, in the oppressive black, his body saved by the End for experimentation and dissected by medical students and he didn't think he cared about being forgotten but the thought of it felt far too real. He sobbed. It echoed. And he clapped his hands over his mouth and let the tears glance off them as he slid to the ground.

He’d just hide here. In the dark behind his eyelids, stifling the pathetic sounds forcing their way up his throat and between his teeth. If he was quiet he wouldn’t be found, nothing could find him if he was quiet. Not the things scuttling around in the black, not the pain doing its level best to gnaw its way through his skin, not the overwhelming weariness clawing open his chest, between his ribs.

“Jon!” He flinched. He hurt. He curled tighter despite it. He didn’t want to be found. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. “J--Christ, Jon.” Martin’s heavy footsteps slowed to a stop on the stone in front of him, shifted nervously. “Hey, what’s. Jon? What’s wrong?”

“M’.” But it was so much more than that and he didn’t know how to explain, so he didn’t and Martin’s voice came from above him.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn't you say it was this bad? ” But he had. He had tried. Hadn’t he? After being ignored he thought he was just being needy and dramatic. Annoying. Tim had similar injuries and he was fine. Jon ducked his head into folded arms, shoulders hitching with a shaky breath. He didn’t know what to say or how to justify how bad off he was.

“S’sorry.” He’d have to stand in a moment. To continue the investigation and even the thought made him want to cry. “Just need a. N’need.” But it hurt so much and when the next breath he reached for broke open he heard Martin sigh heavily, shoes scuffing the ground and this time his words were at his level.

“I’m sorry, Jon. You. You did tell us. We just didn’t listen. Thought you were cross at being sent here with us.” A warm palm enveloped his forearm. “What do you need?”

“N’nothing. Just.” Deep breath. Relax. You’re alright. “I’ll be ready in, in a m’moment.” Thick and hoarse, he didn’t want Martin to see his face. He didn’t want to see the disgust in his. “You, you go on. Tim shouldn’t be alone.”

“And you should?”

Yes.

Yes, because he’d be fine. He was always fine.

Before he had the chance to answer he heard Tim coming back, steps angry if there was such a thing, and calling through the tunnels.

“I see, just abandon me to the spooky vaults, serve me up on a platter next time, it’ll be faster!” Jon risked a look and saw Tim staring down at him. “What the hell, Martin? Jon, sure, but you too?” And that hurt, cutting to the quick of him deep enough that he almost checked for blood. Tim didn’t really think he’d abandon him, did he? “What’s with the secret meeting?”

“We need to go back to the room.”

“What?! We’ve barely started anything!”

“Jon needs a break.”

“Of course.” Scoffed, Jon could practically see him rolling his eyes

“Tim--! No, Jon’s been. He’s tried to ask a few times and I know we’ve got work to do but--”

“It’s alright, Martin. I can. Keep going.” The crease between Martin’s eyebrows deepened. “O’or stay here until you get back.”

“No,” Martin spoke sternly, “Tim, help me get him up.” Jon didn’t think he’d ever seen such a scathing look on his face before but it was enough to shift Tim. They lifted him together and as everything stiff stretched back out fire bled into his bones and he couldn’t help but cry out, trying to collapse back to the ground and into himself. “Oh, okay, Jon. Okay.”

“Ah, it’s.”

“If you say “fine” I’ll drop you right here.” Tim adjusted his grip, tried to take more of his weight and Jon was ashamed that he let him but--

"Good lord, Jon. You're so pale." When had Martin gotten so close to him? “I’m, I’m sorry.”

“S’alright.” The shaking started up again when he tried to take a step and Martin had to catch him before he collapsed all over again. This was so stupid. Why was he like this? Why did he hurt so bad?

“You can’t walk like this.”

“No! No, I can! I just…nngh.” His teeth were chattering, he was shivering. Just leave him here. This was mortifying and he all but gave up, following their soft directions until he was draped across Martin’s broad back and suffering through the strain of forcing his leg far enough forward for him to get his hand under it to lift him. Off his feet and pressed against a veritable wall of warmth, Jon lost his grip on the frayed threads holding the last of him together. They unspooled, slipped from his hands, and tears soaked the back of Martin’s collar.

"You're warm." Empty, sitting limp on the edge of the couch, Jon leaned into Martin’s hand on his forehead. “Are you sick?”

“No…” Clumsy fingers clawed open the bottle of paracetamol, irrationally angry when Martin only allowed him double the dose.

“Jon.” Tone firm, Jon looked up at him without lifting his head. Didn’t think he could if he wanted.

“S’mm.” He pulled in half a lungful of air with difficulty. “When it. When it hur’s like this.” The next breath strangled him and he thought he saw Tim and Martin exchange a look, one he couldn’t interpret and didn’t care to if it just meant they were leaving him here to go back to the vaults. He didn’t bother worrying about the new moisture dripping off his chin. He just wanted to disappear.

“Jon?” There was a packet of digestives being thrust under his nose and his stomach turned. "I haven't seen you eat at all today, or yesterday for that matter. I'm not going to let you take all those pills without at least a little something."

“Mm.” He forced one down his throat and pushed insistent hands away, swallowing the medicine with some lukewarm water Tim helped him hold, gasping when they manhandled him down to the cushions, sighing when something cold eased the fire in his hip.

“Ice, should help, okay?” And Jon concurred, new tears slipped between closed lids in relief, in weariness.

“Try and sleep, Boss.”

Quiet voices tugged him up through layers of cotton. Martin. Tim. Talking. Hushed.

“...shouldn’t have pushed so far.”

“So stupid...didn’t think…”

“Shh.” Caught eavesdropping. Jon swallowed. Everything they were saying about him was true, he wouldn't cry over it.

“Hey, Jon. How’re you feeling?” Sore. Foolish. Like he wanted the couch to open up and drag him down to wherever loose change went.

“Better.” When he made to sit up Martin stopped him. “Really, m’fine.” He stayed put.

“I need to apologize, Jon. I, I was so stupid. I didn’t even think about. Well, your injuries. Caught up in myself, I suppose.”

“No! I. Martin, it, it isn’t your fault. This,” he gestured to himself and laughed humorlessly. “This isn’t your fault.”

“We should have listened.” Now Tim was sat on the arm nearest his feet. His elevated feet and his face must have shown his confusion. “Did some googling. But we shouldn’t have let it go so far.”

“It’s--” he stopped abruptly at their combined frowns. “It’s. Um. Thank you, for taking care of me.”

“How is it?” Jon looked at his folded hands, guilty.

“I’d. If I could stay here today?” He closed his eyes, waiting for the frustration, the disappointment. “Not because I don’t want to, to, I want to. I enjoy your company! I’m.” He was botching this, just speak your mind, Sims. “I’m just. I’m very tired. Haven’t been, uh, sleeping much.” Opened them again when Martin cupped his shoulder and saw understanding reflected back.

“Sure. Of course you can.”

“We’ll make a day of it.” Tim flashed the company card. “Back soon, gents.”

The day was spent watching bad daytime television and Jon dozed on and off between being plied with sugary snacks and tea and watching Martin scold Tim for throwing wrappers at the worst of the actors.

“I’d clean it up, Marto, but,” he gestured to Jon’s feet where he’d tugged them over his lap. “I’m trapped, clearly.” It was so much like old times, away from the pressure of the Archives and Elias that Jon couldn’t help but smile. Maybe this could be fixed after all. Maybe it wasn’t all lost.

In the end, they’d discovered nothing new. No evidence to back up the statement givers that inspired this whole excursion in the first place.

6 hours. 47 minutes.

It didn’t seem such a long time on the way back.

[baby-n-boo]

Flu- Little!Tommy, CG!Philza, CG!Wilbur, CG!Puffy Flip!Technoblade Little!Ranboo, Flip!Dream

It had started with a splutter here and there, nothing to worry about, since it was Winter, the season of stray sniffles. Everybody in the SMP-who wasn't a genetically enhanced hybrid of some sort-was suffering from a running nose, maybe a few coughs now and then, but they didn't get super sick. Apart from Tommy, who didn't seem to shake his cold, still spluttering, complaining of a fuzzy headache and sore throat 'to end all sore throats' after a week of suffering. But soon enough, the few-and-far-between coughs had graduated to nearly as often as he breathed, paired with sudden, violent sneezing fits that left him breathless and red-faced, occurring more than he would let on.

But, on the morning that we set our story, Tommy had coughed too hard and woken himself up, a frequent occurrence in the past week or so, though hed never have let on to the rest of the facility that he was barely sleeping. But luckily, though he felt absolutely terrible and fuzzy-headed, like he could lie in bed all day and not feel any more refreshed, he had woken up Big, and was prepared to do what he had to, in order to stay that way. His solitary mission-Coffee-was clear in his mind as he carefully unlocked the clasps on his crib, ensuring he kept his favourite stuffie nearby, for mere novelty purpose of course. He blinked the sleep from his big eyes, impatiently rubbing his running nose on the sleeve of his sleeper as he pulled the side down and slid to the ground, glad for the fact he always woke up dry. He made short work of opening the usually baby-proofed door, CHATTR making no attempt to stop a clearly big Tommy from getting to his early-morning caffeine, all too aware of the violence and threats that usually ensued. The still sleepy man shuffled quietly towards the kitchen, muffling a few spluttering coughs in his stuffie, not wanting to wake the others. CHATTR was very quick to ensure he was informed of a -only really tiny- fact. The time being 4.03am.

Tommy was used to sneaking around early in the morning when he was big, liking to eat as little as he could and get to work with the day’s tasks, as quick as possible, before anyone could stop him. However, a spontaneous sneezing fit made his eyes water, and halted his plans. He had to stop in the middle of the hall, gripping his stomach hard as it started to ache, before slamming backwards into the wall, the explosive sneezes continuing. After only a few more, he slid to the ground, his legs too weak to hold his weight any longer. He hunched into a small ball on the floor to make it stop, the force of the sneezes rocking his small body back and forth, as he gripped his bear close. The sudden noise drew most of his family out of their rooms, sleep-tousled and wary, a few of them clutching weapons in varying stages of usability. But, when they saw the curled up man on the floor, clutching his bear with watery eyes, they soon calmed, used to the sight. Techno, tucking the pistol he had been gripping with deadly aim into a secret sheath in his PJ robe, ever royalty, smiled a little, before crouching down.

"Tom?" He asked carefully, as he put a hand forward. The little often didn't like to be touched by anyone but his carers-Wilbur and Phil, but in this case, he let him put his hand gently on the nearest knee with nary a flinch. Though that may have been because he was in the middle of a painful sounding coughing fit, the barking chokes wracking his body like they were ricocheting off of his ribs. Techno sighed sympathetically, helping him awkwardly to his feet, and leading him down the hall to the kitchen, as most of the others went back to bed for a few more hours sleep, though Wilbur followed the duo like a motherly phantom, already awake for an early workout. Techno was supporting most of Tommy's meagre weight as they slowly moved down the hall, having to take frequent breaks for Tommy to cough up a lung or sneeze some more, resisting the urge to scoop him up. But finally, they made it, Techno guiding Tommy to his highchair, ignoring his protests as he strapped him in. "You're safer here. If you end up all curled up like you did out there, you might fall off a normal seat and hurt yourself. So even if you don't like it, you're going in here." He explained, buckling up the straps and hooking the tray on, as Wilbur took a seat at the table, still silent. Once Tommy had started coughing again, rendering himself unable to continue the rather one-sided debate, Techno swept across the kitchen, grabbing a water for Wilbur, and flipping on the coffee maker for himself, and Tommy, though that was more of a courtesy than him actually having any purpose of giving it to him.

Wilbur had regarded the entire scene with worried eyes, sure that the other was deeply in his head-space, and concerned about the coughing that just did not seem to be ending, as Tommy hunched over the white plastic tray, his bear tucked securely into his lap. Call it brotherly intuition, but Wilbur knew that Tommy wasn't going to admit how deep he was falling into headspace, regardless of how terrible he felt, so, making a gesture towards him that he knew Techno caught, to signal as such, he looked away. Taking a gulp of the water Techno had handed him to take his mind off of Tommy's suffering, and to keep from running to a still sleeping Phil for comfort, Wilbur sighed, and pushed off of the chair, instead pulling on his sneakers. With a grunt, he pulled the door open and forced himself out of it, despite the fact that every part of him screamed to go back and capture the suffering man in a warm embrace, letting the door sweep shut behind him in a very unsatisfyingly silent movement, as he moved to work out his frustrations with a jog to warm up, before hitting the gym. The rhythmic slapping of his shoes on the springy asphalt sidewalk soon pushed all thoughts of worry out of his head, instead making his adrenaline surge, and his breath shorten ever so slightly, as he headed for his third lap of the course Big Tommy had set up for him the last time he'd gone on a renovating spree. Wilbur, pushing his body even further in a self-punishing burst of speed and endurance, that would have knocked out any sane, normal person, tried his hardest to get the last niggling feelings of something being wrong out of the back of his head, hearing slower footfalls behind him as his good friend, Charlie joined him silently for a few goes around.

Meanwhile, back in the facility mandated apartment, Techno had finished brewing the coffee, and, instead, was trying to convince Tommy to take his medicine-suspended in juice-from a sippy cup, unsuccessfully. "Come on, Tom, It's even got your face on." he encouraged, waving it in his face, but, burying his face in his teddy, he whined, and kept turning away. Sighing a little, Techno turned away, placing the Sippy back on the counter, and rubbed his eyes, more out of frustration than exhaustion, before turning back to the boy. "How about we go find Phil? He'll know what to do. And, he shoulda been up for this morning's jog with Wilbur." He suggested, unlatching the tray from the high chair, and popping the straps open from around Tommy. Exhausted, he slumped forward, leaving Tech to catch his weight, as he sniffled miserably into the silk-clad shoulder. "Yeah. Phil." He whispered, the words rasping painfully through his throat, not even caring as Techno continued to carry him down the hall towards Phil's room. His gait was smooth, and silent on the carpeted floor, thankfully not jostling his already pounding head, and he soon drifted back to sleep, free from the throes of endless coughing, at least for a short while.

Carefully pushing into Phil's room, still cradling Tommy to his side, Techno scoffed at the man, spread-eagled on the bed, his quilts not even bothering to cover a little of his bare chest, and pinched his leg, to wake him. His black PJ bottoms had bunched up about his legs in his sleep, making him look more like a medieval messenger than a modern day miner and father, but, as Techno placed a still sleeping Tommy down in the bed-side crib, he rolled over, his snores hitching, and caught sight of the duo through bleary eyes. "te’no?" he asked groggily, slurring his syllables together, before stifling a yawn with his hand, using the other to push himself up to a sitting position, and taking note of the red faced, whining in his sleep Tommy next to him. "Is he okay?" he worried, reaching over to feel the boy's forehead, all traces of sleep now gone from his voice. Techno nodded, with a grim face, and, making sure Tommy's teddy was securely tucked next to him for when he woke up, perched on the end of Phil's bed, staring down into his lap, at the tightly clasped hands. "He woke us all up really early this morning, coughing fit to die in the hall, but, when we tried to help him, he insisted he was big, and refused to take his medicine sippy. He asked to come see you, cause Wilbur's gone on a run to get rid of his nervous fluttering energy. I swear, sometimes he's more like a new mother than a brother to this boy." He weakly joked, but inside, the fear was coiling up, making him feel a little nauseous.

CHATTR, who had been silent up to this point, now piped up, and, in their ever-patient voice, alerted the two concerned adults. "It appears that Mister Innit is suffering from a very major form of influenza B. Having gone untreated for so long, it is at a very high risk of developing into pneumonia." He informed them, before illuminating the bedroom softly. "Might I recommend taking swift and decisive action when the young master awakens?" he mentioned, as Phil slapped a hand over his mouth. Shakily, he started hitting himself in the head with his good arm, his breath speeding up as he worked himself into a panic. "How did I not see it before?" He murmured angrily to himself, even as Techo grabbed his arm, and held it down to stop him. "Phil, its only flu. It's not your responsibility to notice everything about Tom. Thats why we are all here." He explained quietly, trying to calm him, though he just laughed hollowly, and kept staring at the sleeping boy. "Yeah. Influenza B. The one that can be fatal. Wilbur had it once, when we were younger. He almost died. Tech, promise me that Tom isn't gonna die! Tell me it's not true!" he panicked, turning to the pink headed voice of reason with tears in his eyes, as his voice increased in volume. He shook his head, unable to promise anything, but pulled Phil into a tight hug instead. "We're all gonna fight for him, we are gonna do even more than our best to make sure that doesn't happen." He assured, his eyes lingering on the little, who had now started tossing and turning, sweating through his onesie in distress.

The two of them stayed like that, watching over Tommy, and occasionally whispering to each other, for what felt like hours, until they heard a door slam open, clearly having been pushed, and Tubbo's voice filling the quiet facility, asking after Tommy. An answering cry from one of the many little's rooms followed, sounding like a fussy Ranboo, shortly before a berating from whomever had gotten up to care for the little-probably Puffy. The apology was drowned out by CHATTR entering back into the moment, and, a faint tinge of amusement in their voice, relayed some information. "Master Underscore is insisting I let him see Mister Innit. May he gain entrance?" he asked, and, a finger over his lips, Techno nodded, beckoning for the door to be opened. It swung open, and, almost immediately, Tubbo was upon them, asking hundreds of questions about Tommy, and why he wasn't up to go with him on adventures. Techno was quick to shush him, and point towards the crib, where Tommy, now starting to stir, was lain, subject to Phil's careful stroking of his hair.

"Oh, he's little." Was the teen's only response, instead deciding to sit on the edge of the bed, in the spot Techno had just vacated, and look on. "I know I have the hotel after school today, but can I stay anyway? I wanna playyyy." he asked hopefully, but Techno shrugged. "Since Tom's kinda outta commission, you're gonna hafta ask Uncle Sam." He smiled, watching as he slumped. "But Techyyyyyy..." he whined, turning his best puppy eyes on him, but Techno just chuckled quietly. "You'd have a better chance of success challenging your Uncle over there to a duel. Now go grab some breakfast, and get your butt outside, you tyke. Maybe I'll meet you at the park later. But only if you're good." He ordered jokingly, tousling Tubbo’s hair, before giving him a tight hug. He huffed, but obliged, wrapping his arms around Phil's middle too, and squeezing as tight as he could, laughing evilly when the older man groaned. "My bones are frail, Tubs. I'm too old for that!" he complained, reciprocating the tight hug with his free arm, which the younger boy valiantly took with nearly no complaint. Laughing, he danced out of reach as Phil tried to ruffle his, only just re-tamed, hair, a mischievous smile on his face, and smiled happily towards Tommy, who was silently watching the exchange through the bars of the crib with red eyes.

"Sorry nugget, guess you're in quarantine now?" he apologized, sending an air hug across the room, and grinning as he got to use one of the cute child nicknames Tommy always used to give him. "Keep me posted?" Tubbo asked hopefully, his grin only widening when Techno whispered an "Of course." Before he ran from the room energetically, already unbuttoning his formal shirt sleeves. "No running! And keep your shirt on, it’s nice-huh, there's no point." Techno came to the door, calling after Tubbo, shaking his head as he didn't listen anyway. Re-entering the room, he noticed Phil lifting Tommy out of the crib, and noticed just how deathly pale he had gotten over the past few weeks, as his head lolled weakly over the other man's arm and his laboured breathing became even more pronounced. A faint smell of dirty diaper was emanating from his direction, but, as Phil moved to take him to the changing table in the bathroom, he whined, and tried to wiggle out of the older man's hold. "I can do it myself, Phil." he murmured, his throat making his voice raspy and whispery, but, pretending he couldn't hear the boy, Phil carried on, laying the boy down on the changing table, before unbuttoning his onesie, and whistling at the diaper underneath.

Turning away to give the two some privacy, Techno started busying himself with straightening up the ornaments on top of the dresser, and the rumpled blankets on the bed, flinching every-time a rough cough sounded about the room, or a weak whine came from the boy at a cold wipe. It was almost unbearable, but, just as he was at his wit's end, about to leave, Phil padded back out, a limp, weak Tommy in his arms, wearing nothing but his diaper and a light blue plastic cover to hold back from leakage. Techno smiled softly, holding his arms out to hold the little, and shivered as his feverishly hot skin brushed against his arm when the boy was passed over. He was still speaking, trying to insist he was fine, but his voice was nearly all gone now, occasional letters breaking through the phlegmy stupor of his illness, so, ignoring it, techno pulled a light yellow shirt out of the drawer dedicated for Will’s little stuff, sure he wouldn't mind, and tugged it over Tommy's head, to give him at least a little modesty, watching as it fell to his knees comfortably. He reached back for a pair of sweatpants, but, a slight head shake from Phil, awkwardly lingering in the doorway, ready to leave, had tech withdrawing his hand, and, instead, carrying the little boy, his breaths now wheezing loudly as they went in and out, over to his CG.

Phil was quick to scoop the little boy back into his arms, cuddling him tight against his chest as if he was scared the boy might just turn out to be a hallucination, a figment of his imagination, disregarding the loud wheezing noises as he struggled to breathe. CHATTR lit the corridor in a dim blue, signifying they had a message, but their words came through muffled, as if underwater, through the stupor of fear and concern that Techno and Phil had surrounded themselves with. "Ice. We need Ice." The piglin murmured, holding up a finger to emphasise his point, as they reached the communal living area, where a little Ranboo was splayed across an entire couch, having his hair combed gently by Puffy , as he sobbed quietly, clearly unstable after his sudden awakening via over-excited Tubbo. Phil nodded numbly, clutching Tommy to himself as he looked around for Wilbur, who still hadn't returned from his run, Techno disappearing off to the ice machine in the front of the fridge.

Wrapping the cubes in a nearby hand-towel, he bound it shut, and brought it back over, gently placing it under the oversized shirt, onto Tommy's stomach, at which point he flinched, and started writhing to get away from it. However, even as his uncomfortable noises set Ranboo's wailing off again, techno stubbornly kept the makeshift icepack where it was, gently massaging the cold sensation into the little boys stomach, until he lost a little of the drawn, jaundiced aura he'd been sporting. "There we go. I bet that feels a little better, eh?" He asked, even as he smiled a little, and snuggled a little closer to Phils chest, having regained a tiny portion of his strength. The action, however, was merely a preceding event to a violent sneeze, that sent his head rocketing backwards so rapidly, Techno instantly started looking for signs of a broken neck, and, upon inhaling afterwards, his breath caught in his phlegmy throat, choking him to a sort of pinky-violet hue.

Puffy, sighing quietly, scooped Ranboo up onto her hip, and shuffled back towards the elevator, muttering something about never getting any peace, leaving the trio stood in the middle of the room alone. Techno kept the ice pack on Tommy's stomach, even as Phil shuffled awkwardly foot to foot, trying to look anywhere but at the little boy in his arms,even as the phlegm shifted, the violet finally subsided, and the boy started hiccoughing, tears streaming down his face that weren't all brought on by the coughing. "i'm big." He whispered, burrowing deeper into the shirt, and the ice pack, looking a tiny bit better, with the ministrations, though there was still a long way to go. "I promise. I'm big."

"Well, if you're so big, how about you go to your br-Techno, and let me go get us both a drink, eh?" Phil questioned, watching as the boy squirmed gently to get free. Techno smiled faintly, holding his arms out. "Come here, titch." He joked, but Tommy pouted, shaking his head. "Big enough to walk." He insisted quietly, holding the ice to his belly with one arm, leaving a wet patch on the yellow shirt. Sharing a quick questioning look with Phil, in which they seems to converse entirely, Tech raised an eyebrow, and warned. "I'll let you walk, but you have to hold my hand, in case you fall over." He compromised, seeing as Tommy weighed up the positives and negatives. "Mkay. Stiw want coffee tho." He mumbled, still using little vernacular, regardless of how old he claimed he was.

"Good boy. Come on then, let's go sit down, eh?" Techno enthused, helping him down from Phil’s arms. He nodded gently, holding himself like a cup filled to the brim, as he made a few tentative steps. "I cant promise coffee, Tom, but certainly a drink of some kind." Phil called from the kitchen, picking up the rejected medicine sippy from earlier, and adding it to the line up of mugs he was gonna take through. If the coffee machine would finish brewing the new jug already. "Come onnn." He groaned, combing a hand through his messy bed head, making a mental note to get a cut, as he drummed regularly on the counter top with his other hand. From where he was stood, he could only just see to the couch, where Techno was trying to convince Tommy to lie down, saying it'd 'help his head feel better'. A faint smile crept onto his face at the mini-tantrum the boy was throwing on mute, though, with a sigh, he knew that illness was no excuse for misbehaviour.

"Tommy." He warned, watching as the boy stiffened. "Behave, and do what Tech says. He knows how to help right now." He ordered, watching as he clambered onto the couch, and begrudgingly laid his head in the piglin’s lap. The coffee machine was still brewing a minute or two of silence later, seeming to go slow on purpose, so, turning to get a snack from the fridge, Phil heard the hall phone ring, and shook his head fondly, the old fashioned phone being one of Wilbur's little luxuries, even though they had CHATTR for it all. "Tech, that'll be Will saying when he'll be back, can you just quickly go and grab it? I'm sure Tom will be okay for a sec." He asked, hearing as techno pushed off of the couch again. There was the quiet sound of speaking from the hall for a few seconds, not even a minute, before he laughed, and bade the man on the other end of the phone a quick goodbye.

"About five-" he came through, calling back to Phil, before cutting himself off. "Phil? Where's Tommy?" He asked, fear in his-usually calm-voice. He whirled around, expecting to see him cracking up, or for the little boy helping himself to a now finally brewed coffee, but instead, techno was searching round the couch, no sick little boy in sight. The two of them stood there, shell shocked that they could take their eyes off of the boy for thirty seconds and lose him, until the elevator pinged, indicating that it had docked somewhere, and Phils head shot up. "oh no!" He gasped, scrambling towards the elevator. "Huh? I dont get it?" Techno furrowed his brows in confusion, still stood where he was, even as Phil started hammering the button for the doors. "He thinks he's big. Your lab!" He explained breathlessly, dashing inside as the elevator arrived.

_Techno gaped back, before sprinting into the elevator after Phil, grabbing his hands. "How did we not guess!" He shouted, as the metal box shot downwards at breakneck speed. Phil just shook his head, nervously pacing, too choked by fear to respond. The doors quickly opened again, and Phil went barrelling out, down the corridor towards Techno’s lab, the biggest one on the compound, but also the only one with the windows tinted black so nobody could see inside, closely trailed by Techno, who had the sense to turn off the security cameras as they passed, so nobody else could see what they were up to if they happened to look. He grabbed Phil’s arm as he raised it to pound on the door, instead knocking gently and politely. "Tommy? Are you in there? We’re not mad at you for running off, We just want to know you're safe." He called through the door, hearing the quiet sounds of items clinking into a pot and an occasional bubbling.

"Can...can you open the door?" He asked, hearing a stubborn voice waft back through, carrying a heavy, stuffy nosed denial, as the bubbling sounds stepped up a notch. "No' comin owt. Got importan stuff ta do." It yelled, as quiet footsteps could be heard, coming down the hall towards the lab, the long, light footfalls belying the fact Wilbur was back, paired with squared off, militant ones they knew too well. Dream. "Well, then you don't have to come out." He murmured back through the door, placing a hand on the cold glass, as Wilbur, looking determined, grew level with them. "But...can you let us in?" Techno purposefully kept his voice quiet and calm, one arm out to hold the two men- Tommy's other carers - back from smashing straight through the glass, like it looked like they wanted to. And, really, he couldn't blame them. If he had a sick little purposefully putting themself in danger, he would probably move heaven and earth to protect them too. But luckily, he didn't have anything of the sort. Just a sense of solidarity deep in his core, with the little boy on the other side of the-bulletproof-glass.

However, trying to be nice just wasn't working, as he quickly realised, sighing as he withdrew his hand, and stepped aside, for one of the other two to try. "Don't go crashing in just yet." He whisper warned them, before leaning against the opposite wall, watching as Phil tried to step forward. However, he was cut off by Dream, who nodded once, curtly, and stepped up to the glass, placing his hand exactly where Techno's had been only a moment or two before. He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back to give himself a more formidable posture, that made even Will shiver slightly, and dropped his voice to the deepest register. That level was usually reserved for full Daddy Mode, when one of his kids had done something super bad, like drawn on the walls with crayon. Techno, being a particularly mischievous switch, had had his fair share of that voice, only a hair of bravery keeping him from reaching forward to hold Will’s hand for support, despite the fact he was entirely big. "Tommy." Dream rumbled, entirely unamused by the little's behavior. "I'm going to count to three. By then, this door had better be open, or you are in some serious trouble." The order left no room for the boy to disobey, but, as the brewing stands kicked up into noisy motion, Dream was unphased, beginning his countdown. "One. I dont hear this door unlocking, Thomas." He spoke over the sound, voice clear as crystal. And just as cutting.

Subtly, he beckoned Phil and Wilbur over to his side, hissing his plan so quietly, Techno was surprised they could even hear it themselves. Nodding briefly, Phil placed his other hand on the glass like a rehearsed move, whilst Wilbur starting quietly asking CHATTR if they could get the three of them through the door, and Dream refocussed his attention on the countdown. "Two. I've got your brother and dad here now too. You better be telling CHATTR to let us in, or you're in for the longest corner time of your life, young man." Dream continued, knowing for a fact, by the continued sounds of brewing, that Tommy wasn't even trying to let them in. "Dun hear you!" He shouted back, clearly not entirely big, almost as if, in his extremely sick stupor, he was daring them to do their worst. Which, of course, they could, and would if it were not for some level of civility still keeping them from breaking in.

"One." Phil chimed in for the last number, the two of their deep Carer Voices legitimately making Techno wish he had brought his stuffed dog for moral support, as he felt himself fall slightly smaller, just from the environmental tension. "Tommy, you're already going to have corner time, you wanna make it longer? Don't make me come in there and get you." Philza warned, a vein beginning to pop in his neck at the effort of holding himself back, though he was just greeted by a stubborn silence. Dream sighed heavily, turning slightly so his shoulder was perpendicular to the door, and stepped into place to start battering the door down. "Zero. You're out of time. I'm coming in now. Get away from the door." Dream called through, starting to swing at the door, connecting with loud thuds. "I can and will break this, Thomas." He connected again, as the sound of the glass groaning echoed about the hall, muffling a scared whine from Techno, as he slipped properly down. He genuinely hated when anyone got all scary like this, especially Dream or Phil, it always made him feel like he was in a massive amount of trouble, like they were going to send him back to The Red Place if he misbehaved anymore. Logically, he knew that would never happen, that they all loved him too much, but, in littlespace, there was nothing he could think of more than just being sent back.

However, Will, who had backed away from the glass as Dream had started trying to smash through the door, looked over with concern, sure that he had heard something other than the hollow thuds of shoulder against glass. When he looked at Techno though, all he could see was an entirely composed, only slightly concerned mask on the piglin’s face, completely closed off to any other emotion, or study. Even for his empathetic experience, that had enabled him to tell when the slightest muscle feathered to bely a falsification, he couldn't tell a single thing about his expression. "So..." he started, trying to start up a conversation with Techno, sounding casual, as if the glass wasn't splintering under Phil’s ministrations. Will smiled weakly, but encouragingly as two big, innocent eyes focused up on him, and he released the seemingly forced casual position he had been maintaining. "Yeah..." he spoke carefully, as if he was trying to avoid saying something. Techno stepped slightly closer, resting his hand on Wilbur’s arm, and smiled back, a little toothily. "Gunna be okay." He murmured, so that only the two of them could hear. Will nodded, staring off into the void of the glass, and sighed. "Well, that's if Dream leaves any of him left to be okay." He chuckled slightly, seeing that the glass was only a couple of seconds away from shattering. He didn't want Techno to see that, the poor little one. He hated loud noises, and it wasn't like anyone could blame him, with his past.

"Hey, how about you go tell Puffy that we'll be bringing Tommy up in a minute or two, eh?" he asked, physically restraining himself from ruffling Techno’s hair as he nodded, and ran off, clearly little now, and chuckled. The sweet moment was quickly broken by the loud crash of Dream finally breaking through the glass,though, having resorted to kicking so he didn't fall straight through.

At first glance, it seemed like there was nobody in the lab, glass spread across the floor, and a half finished...mess of potion ingredients on the table, no interpretation of the pieces seeming to be instantly available. One of the downsides of Tommy being little and in the lab. Luckily, there was no blood this time, just a cowering boy under the table, choking on his own tears as he held his teddy close. "I sorry!" he shouted, as the two CGs gently stepped over the danger, to find him. He didn't dare get out from under the table, but, as Will held Dream back, and bent down himself, he did extend his arms for help. "Wilby, I sorry!" he hiccoughed, butt shuffling slightly closer so that Will could safely pull him into his arms, to swing him out of the small, enclosed space, into the light. He hissed slightly at the sudden change of light, burying his face deep in his unofficial brother’s shoulder, still sobbing.

"Hey hey hey, what are all these tears about? Its okay, we’ve got you now. How about we get out of this icky grownup lab, and we go back to somewhere safe? Wanna go find teddy?" Wilbur comforted, bouncing Tommy in his arms as he slowly inched out of the room, glaring at Dream for his violent threats towards the baby. Obviously he had needed something for disobeying when they told him to do things, but it wasn't entirely necessary to have scared the boy, especially in his currently vulnerable state. "Come on, honey, dry up those tears, its okay." Phil carried on, as the trio started back down the hall, Tommy still whining into Will’s shirt, wetting it with both snot and tears, in- if the adult was completely honest- a rather disgusting mix. Tommy just shook his head, nestling deeper into the soft cotton, still struggling to draw entire breaths, through his phlegmy throat, and the tears, and kept sobbing, not even paying attention as Will stepped into the elevator, hearing phil quietly ordering CHATTR to do certain things as he shifted his hand holds. One hand went to the back of Tommy's head, holding him close so he couldn't have looked at his surroundings, even if he had wanted to, since Dream was shadowing the two of them, and his carers really didn't want the boy to have another issue, when he was still on the comedown from the previous one.

When the small trio walked back into the main, communal room, they were faced with a solemn Puffy, and a Techno, who had fully given in to being small now, clutching his bunny as he hid behind Puffy-a small pink paci now bobbing securely in his mouth, absolutely from Ranboo, who was half asleep and watching cartoons on the big view screen, completely oblivious to what else was going on. Dream hadn't known what Phil had asked for, having been in the elevator after the other two, which, of course, had been planned, so he looked confused when Puffy didn't even say hello to either of them. "Alright, im going to go get this little one sorted out, if you could just wait here? I wanna talk to both of you about something once he's sorted." Phil explained, taking Tommy from Will, and heading down the corridor to Tommy's nursery, where he knew Tommy could calm a little easier, without Dream being in his view-line. Faintly, he could hear Dream starting to ask Puffy and Will what was up, and smiled, enjoying keeping him in the dark, hoping that it would reinforce his point that panic isn't always the best response. Puffy was certainly a strong enough personality-and caregiver-to deal with Dream’s endless questioning.

Dream’s voice, demanding to know what was going on in his biggest sounding way, faded away relatively quickly as Phil hurried down the hall with the baby in his arms, his sick sounds of wheezy breathing now pretty normal, though they still ripped out his heartstrings every time a wheeze would devolve into a cough. "Oh Toms, its okay, we're gunna get you all bundled up with your teddy, and your blankie, Mkay?" Phil monologued, as he turned into the nursery with a sigh of relief, placing the little on his flower print changing table. "Do you want your paci whilst i get your cute little butt all cleaned up?" He asked, not getting an answer over the little boy's wheezes, but one hand weakly curled into a grabbing motion as a few tears leaked down the baby's face. Phil wasted no time in plopping a cute little yellow pacifier into Tommy's mouth, which he immediately latched onto, suckling slowly as he drifted. "Hey baby? Stay with me honey." Phil begged, rising panic starting to choke him as Tommy's eyes started to drift shut again. "m seep." Tommy moaned, rubbing an eye slowly and wearily. Normally, sleep would be just what the doctor ordered, but, too scared to leave his baby, even for a nap, Phil shook his head. "Not yet bug. We can go ask Aunt Puffy to let you watch cartoons with Ranboo if you want? I'll get you some ice. And we can cuddle." He didn't want to smother the little boy, but he just looked so vulnerable, Wilbur's yellow shirt hanging off of his chest as he slowly moved, whining sadly.

"I know. I know, it hurts." Phil whispered, gathering the baby into his arms gently, flinching slightly as his boiling skin came into contact with normal temperature skin. "Collll" another whine. . Phil winced at this, hating the fact that the boy was so miserable. "Hey, it's okay, baby. Here. Take Teddy, and hold him tight. Ill grab you your blankie." He pressed the small, fluffy bear back into Tommy's arms, waiting as he sluggishly moved to accommodate it. "Well done honey." He praised, leaning over the edge of the crib, trying to find the light yellow blanket the boy loved so much. Of course, like everything, it was tangled around the bars of the crib, refusing to move as he tugged at it. Sighing, he weighed up the positive and negative ideas running through his head, eventually just rolling down the side of the crib and putting Tommy down on the mattress.

Flinching at the heartbroken wails that then started up, Phil employed both hands to untangle the soft material, which he quickly threw over his arm, lifting a red-faced Tommy back up. "Now that wasn't needed, now was it, baby? I only put you down so I could get the blankie you wanted, we don't need to be worrying." Phil admonished, lighthearted, throwing the edges of the blankie over his baby, not enough to sweat him out, but enough to cover the bare skin. "Now how about we go see Will? I heard he has a lot of cuddles for sick little boys like you." Tommy just whined, nestling his face between his teddy and his cg’s chest, snuffling sadly. "Awe, bunny, you really are sad. I've never known you to turn down cuddles." Phil murmured, more to himself than anyone else, as he headed back down the hall to the main room.

The scene was almost the same as when he left, Ranboo still blinking blearily at the view screen, Will now sat beside him, helping hold his sippy for him, and Techno still shadowing Puffy with her rabbit clutched determinedly between her hands. But this time, Dream wasn't demanding answers from anyone. Instead, he was sat way off in the corner, at the table, glaring angrily at everyone as he methodically ripped apart bits of lettuce from a salad bowl. Heading over to Puffy, Phil silently raised an eyebrow, prompting the only free caregiver in the room to try to explain what was up. "When I kept ignoring him, he gradually got meaner, and I put him in timeout. At the minute, he's trying to deny he's little enough for time out, but I think he's about.... five or six right now?" She estimated, as they both watched Dream move from one shredded leaf to a different one, his movements too jerky and rough for him to fully be his big self.

Phil nodded in understanding, smiling a grateful thanks as he looked down into Tommy's face, and saw him drifting off. "I'm being such a papa bear today. Can you take him?" he whispered to Puffy, who looked like she was gearing up to take the boy even before she had been asked. The nod that followed was too enthusiastic for anybody to have said no, so, chuckling slightly, Phil held out the baby to his aunt, who made short work of whisking him away to the couch. "He probably needs something to eat soon!" Phil called after the caregiver, who just held up a full bottle of formula, well prepared for the eventuality of having to look after Tommy. It was sort of a well-known fact that Phil exhausted all of his parenting in short bursts of nitro-papa whenever one of his babies was ill, so everyone prepared for being asked to take care of them for respite purposes.

Shaking his head fondly at Puffy’s pre-preparation, Phil's eyes lingered worriedly on his baby for a second, before ripping them away, sure that she would do a great job looking after him. After all, she had been caregiving for much more difficult littles than Tommy, which made for a lot of practice. Instead, he focused his attention on the moody little at the table, heading over there with many many thoughts in his head about what to say to him. But, when he actually got over there, all he could see was tears threatening to fall, and he melted. There was a reason he usually tag teamed being Tommy's CG with Techno and Will. And this was it. Phil could never stay fierce in the face of tears. Especially not from littles. So, instead of getting angry, he just swept the bits of shredded leaf aside, out of a seated Dream’s reach, and sighed. "Hi, little one." He murmured, taking one of Dream’s hands in his own, and massaging the back of it gently. He whined, shaking his head slightly. "m no lil!" he complained, thoroughly miserable, but Phil just took it in his stride, pulling out one of the other chairs around the table, and sitting down.

"You're littler than me right now though, aren't you? And that makes you a little one. You don't have to be really really little like Techno though. You can be a big and strong boy, kay?" Dream just nodded, looking over to Techno, who was stubbornly trying to get the toy weapons out of the chest without help. "But big boys have to have big talks about scaring the little babies, and they have to take their corner time like big boys too." Phil continued, trying his hardest to look serious, as dream’s eyes widened, and he slid off his chair onto phil’s lap. "Nooo! ‘m little baby! No corner!" he whined, trying his hardest to convince the caregiver that he was too little to be punished for what he did. But his efforts were fruitless.

"Nice try, mini milk." Phil ruffled his boy's hair, before pulling him back up to standing. "Now, tell me why you scared Tommy like that? He's very poorly, and you shouting at him didn't help." Phil prompted, holding Dream still as he started trying to twist out of the grip. Silence followed, and Phil's eyebrows dropped. "Dream..." he warned, his voice dropping down. "We can do this another way if you would prefer, but I doubt that’s the issue." Another careful warning, as a tear began to fall down the boy's cheeks. He shook his head, not wanting to speak, but, as Phil used a thumb to wipe it away, he let out a shuddering breath. "He sicky, n you were sads, so I helpin, but...but is just bad." He murmured, letting more tears fall. Phil started to talk, but he was cut off by Dream continuing, as he gazed off at a distant point, not even bearing to look into his daddy's face. "And...and den you were doin stuffs with tom, and mama doin stuff with Ranny, so I got big so ‘m not in way, and got shouty, and Mama says ‘m smol but ‘m no smol, I just got icky tummy cuz wan someon doing stuff with me, not Tommy. Tomm smelly." He whined, stamping his foot as he came to the end of what he was saying, still crying, as realisation dawned over Phil's mind.

"Awe, kiddo. If you were jealous, you could have just said. I’m sure your mama loves both of you a lot of a lot, and I know she doesn't want to make you feel icky. It's just that Tommy is very poorly right now, so he needs lots of hugs and kisses and icky medicines to make him feel better, and Ranny is having a hard day." He explained, trying to help Dream by drying up the boy's tears on the sleeves of his shirt. "Do you remember when you got a really icky tummy and you were so sleepy that you couldn't even hug the puppies they had at your drawing classes?" Phil asked the boy, watching as he nodded sadly. "Tommy's icky tummy is even worse than that time." At this, dream gasped, and tried to run over to the couch, though Phil held him fast. "So you have to be very gentle, and very quiet to him from now on, okay?"

Dream nodded solemnly, looking wise beyond his current years of 4, and stood still once more. A few stray tears still slid down his cheeks, but, for now, he was okay again. Phil, standing up, kept a firm hold of Puffy’s boy's hand, pushing the chair back in, and sweeping Dream into a tight, fatherly hug. "Now. I know your mama loves you lots and lots and lots, but these clothes are all icky from all the running around you did. Shall I come help you get changed into some nice clean and comfy clothes till she is ready? Then we can surprise her!" he proposed as he straightened back up again, his knees aching a little. Dream nodded happily, skipping slightly as they both headed back towards the bedrooms, for yet another change. The clock struck ten am, and Phil sighed heavily. It was going to be a loooooong day.

[btsqualityy]

Scripted: Part 17

Namjoon x Reader; Jimin x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff, President!Namjoon, Head of Security!Jimin

Warnings: (Reluctant) open relationship, mentions of cheating

Nine days. Nine days had passed without so much as a peep coming from Namjoon’s lips. There had been no change in his condition, for better or for worse, so it had literally turned into a massive waiting game for you and the citizens of South Korea. 

A majority of citizens were very much up in arms over the attempted assassination of their believed President. Many of them loved Namjoon for how insightful, progressive, and determined he was and it hurt their hearts to see some vile person try to cut that down. On the other hand though, there was a decent amount of the population who believed that Namjoon was a conceited asshole who needed this “reality check”; those are the people that you hoped would burn in Hell, right along with the dickheads who had tried to kill Namjoon.

Speaking of the killers, the last that you’d heard was that there were three possible suspects and that the special team that had been assembled just to find the conspirators were digging into that further. You couldn’t say that the news necessarily made you feel better, but it did ease the pain a little bit. 

As for you, you had been keeping consistent at Namjoon’s bedside the entire time that he had been unconscious. You’d leave sometimes, when Jimin managed to convince you that you needed to sleep in an actual bed or eat a full, regular meal, but that was only for a few hours at most and never overnight. Deep down, you knew that you probably should’ve been taking better care of yourself, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to leave Namjoon in that hospital room alone. 

As you were sat in your chair that was placed next to Namjoon’s bed, you were interrupted in the middle of reading a magazine by a knock on the door. As you lowered the magazine down onto your lap and looked over your shoulder, you saw Yoongi stepping inside. 

“Hey hey,” he called and you set the magazine aside before standing up, giving him a tight hug after he walked over to you. He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling away, and you motioned for him to sit down in the empty chair that was next to yours.

“How is he?” Yoongi wondered and you sighed dejectedly.

“Still no change,” you told him. “The doctors said that some of the swelling that he was having has gone down, but we’re not sure if that’s a sign of recovery or not yet.”

“Dammit,” Yoongi huffed, shaking his head.

“How are things at the National Assembly Building?” You asked and Yoongi rolled his eyes. 

“It’s almost as if those old bastards were waiting for something to happen to him,” Yoongi spat as he motioned to Namjoon with his chin. “They’re already trying to undo the Farmer bailout plan that he introduced a few weeks ago.”

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” Yoongi nodded. “You know that they’ve always hated him.”

“Yeah I do, but I never thought it was that bad,” you grimaced.

“Us being young, open minded men who are more concerned with the lives of the citizens than we are with lining our own pockets will always bother them,” Yoongi explained. “The only reason that I haven’t let them have it yet is because I don’t wanna undo all of Joon’s handwork and I don’t want things to be harder for him whenever he does wake up.”

“I appreciate it Yoongi, and I know he does too,” you smiled softly. “Speaking of that though, anymore word on those suspects?”

“Oh yeah, that’s what I came here to tell you actually,” Yoongi gasped, remembering what he had wanted to tell you. Just before he could start talking though, you heard a raspy voice call out to you.

“Y/N-ah?” You whipped your head to the side, your eyes widening when you saw Namjoon’s head turned towards you and his eyes wide open. You sprung out of your chair, moving to sit on the edge of the hospital bed as you gently picked up one of his hands. 

“Oh my gosh, you’re up,” you smiled, trying to keep the tears from welling up and spilling over onto your cheeks. “Are you in any overwhelming pain?”

“Here,” he croaked, his other hand that you weren’t holding motioning towards his abdomen. You nodded and then looked over your shoulder at Yoongi. 

“Can you go get the doctor please?” You requested and Yoongi nodded, standing up from his chair and speed walking out of the room. You then turned back to Namjoon, reaching up and running your fingers through his slightly greasy hair. 

“I’m so happy that you’re awake,” you whispered to him. Before he could reply, the door burst open and Namjoon’s doctor was walking inside of the room followed by Yoongi. 

“Mr. President,” Dr. Song grinned, reaching up and removing the stethoscope from around his neck. “We’re very happy to see that you’re conscious again.”

“T-thank y-yo-,” Namjoon tried to say before coughing violently. You furrowed your brows while Dr. Song set the stethoscope on Namjoon’s chest, listening to his breathing. 

“First Lady Kim, do you want to get him some water?” Dr. Song asked. “His throat is probably really dry after 9 days.” You nodded and stood up from the bed, moving over to the side table where there was a pitcher of water and paper cups, grabbing one and filling it up before going back to the bed. Dr. Song had pressed the button on the hospital bed so that the top half of Namjoon’s body rose, making it so that he was sitting up.

“Here, slow sips,” you encouraged him, holding the cup up to his lips and watching as he took small drinks from it. After he had downed about two thirds of the cup, you pulled it away and set it on the side table.

“Better?” Dr. Song asked and Namjoon nodded slowly.

“Lots,” he replied clearly. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Dr. Song wondered.

“I was...shot, right?” Namjoon said and both you and Dr. Song nodded. “Was anyone else hurt?”

“I was alright, but Momo, Jungkook, and Taehyung all got hit in the crossfire,” you revealed and his eyes got noticeably larger. “They’re all ok though, don’t worry.”

“Thank God,” Namjoon huffed, a sharp exhale escaping his throat right after and you figured that his chest must be hurting. 

“We’re gonna do some more testing and xrays on you, to see if there’s any pressing issues that we need to take care of,” Dr. Song spoke up. “I’ll leave you guys to talk in the meantime though.” Dr. Song bowed deeply to Namjoon before turning and walking out of the room. 

“You have some timing, you know that?” Yoongi chuckled as he moved closer to the bed.

“You’ve been handling things in my absence?” Namjoon asked and Yoongi nodded. “I know the old geezers have been giving you hell, huh?”

“You don’t even know,” Yoongi groaned, making Namjoon chuckle deeply which then set off another round of coughing. 

“Relax,” you admonished him, making Namjoon nod before he leaned back against the bed. 

“So, did you catch the fucking bastards yet?” Namjoon wondered.

“That’s actually what I was about to talk to Y/N-ah about before you woke up,” Yoongi smiled. “We found the people responsible.”

“So those three were guilty?” You said.

“Yep,” Yoongi confirmed. “They claim to have done it because they believe that Joon is ruining the great country that South Korea is with his progressive ideals, and all that other bullshit.”

“We’re sure those old geezers in Assembly didn’t have anything to do with it, because that sounds like them?” Namjoon pointed out and you couldn’t help but to laugh softly.

“We’re sure,” Yoongi laughed. “The three who did it are in custody now and waiting for their arraignment.”

“Good, I hope they burn in hell,” Namjoon spat and you just shook your head at how much he sounded exactly like you did.

................................

Later that night, after Namjoon had gotten more tests and xrays done, he was back in his hospital room. The doctor found that the bullets had done some pretty bad damage to his chest cavity so he’d have to have another surgery soon in order to take care of that. 

“Would you stop fawning over me?” Namjoon chuckled, watching as you made sure that his blanket was tucked over his feet. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you told him absentmindedly, moving up towards the top of the bed in order to fix his pillows behind his head. “Just because you woke up, doesn’t mean that you’re fine.”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” He pointed out and you looked down at him, sighing heavily.  

“Yeah, but there were a lot of times over the last nine days that I thought that was going to change at any moment,” you admitted, dropping down so that you were sat on the edge of the hospital bed. “As much as I wanted you to be ok, the constant image of you falling down those steps with your chest bleeding replaying in my head made it hard to believe that you’d ever wake up. I think that’s why I didn’t want to leave your side once you were out of surgery.”

“You stayed here with me the entire time?” He questioned and you hummed in affirmation. “You know, when I was unconscious, I had dreams.”

“Really?” You said in surprise. 

“Well, I’m not sure if they would be considered dreams in the conventional sense, but that’s what they felt like,” he explained. “I dreamed about a lot of things, but mostly you.”

“Me?” You squeaked. 

“Yeah. I dreamed about how we first met, and our wedding day, and the day that we found out that you were pregnant,” he said and you smiled sadly. 

“You almost fainted in our bathroom when you saw those two lines,” you laughed at the memory. 

“Can you blame me for being terrified?” He huffed playfully. “I didn’t want to be the kind of father that my dad was to me, to our child so I was scared shitless.”

“You wouldn’t have been like your father,” you assured him. “You couldn’t have been that bad even if you tried your hardest to be.”

“I had a lot of dreams about that too,” he said before elaborating. “About me and my dad and our relationship.”

“And how was that?”

“Let’s just say that a lot of the things that he’s talked me into over the years, were more for his benefit rather than mines,” Namjoon summed up and you nodded because you had always known that. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him. “I know you’ve always had mixed emotions towards your dad.”

“Yeah,” he sighed before looking at you. “Can I tell you something? And you don’t have to give me an answer but I’d like for you to think about it.”

“Sure,” you shrugged. 

“I remember that you asked for a divorce before we got out of the limo that night,” Namjoon started. “Do you still want that?”

“Joon, with everything going on, I haven’t even thought about that,” you replied honestly.

“But you’re with Jimin, right?” He asked and you hesitated for a few seconds before nodding. “Well, I hope that you’ll still maybe consider me.”

“Huh?” You grunted in confusion. 

“That night, I just gave up and agreed to the divorce because I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have,” he explained. “But in one of the dreams I had, I realized that I owe it to myself and to you to fight for what we have because we were good before all of this shit happened. I know that I’ve been the literal worst husband ever for the last eight months and despite whatever reasons that I thought justified that, it doesn’t make anything that I did right.”

“So what exactly are you saying?” You asked for clarification.

“I’m saying, that I’m going to fight for you Kim Y/N, because I love you and I’ve never stopped,” he declared firmly. “I’ll go to counseling, both on my own and with you, so that we could work on our issues if that’s something that you’d in interested in. And I ‘d do whatever else it takes to win you back.”

“It doesn’t just work like that though, Joon,” you told him weakly.

“I know and if you decide here and now that you wanna stay with Jimin and go ahead with the divorce, then I’m not gonna make it hard for you and that’s a promise,” he assured you. “But I’m also not gonna stand idly by without at least trying.” You just stared at him, wondering why the hell it had taken this version of Namjoon, the version that you had fallen in love with all those years ago in college, to show up. 

Instead of giving him an outright answer either way, you just leaned forward and pressed your lips against his forehead, letting your lips linger on his skin for a few seconds before pulling away from him. 

................................

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[after-avenging-hours]

Virtue & Valor [2]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

You and your husband have the perfect life. Jobs that you love, a happy marriage, an amazing sex life… You couldn’t ask for anything more. But when something unexpected shows up on your front doorstep that completely turns your world upside down, can your relationship survive the fallout? Or will you have to let your feelings go in favor of the greater good? Letting go of the past can be difficult, especially when the future looks so bleak, but maybe you can figure out how to move forward together. You may just make it out to see the other side.

Word Count: 4144

Warnings: Canon typical violence, brief mention of blood, slight hanky panky (not quite at smut level), and shit getting real

A/N: I wasn’t going to post this until a little later, but I’m really eager to know what you all think about it, so here you go!

“Mayday! Mayday! Engine one has been lost and engine two has begun to fail! Does anybody copy?! Hostiles have engaged and we are going down. Last known coordinates are-”

The sound of crunching metal is deafening to your ears. The world tilts and spins. The cross straps of your seat belt are the only thing keeping you in place with each violent jolt and shudder. An explosion of pain in your chest alerts you to the potential threat of a broken rib… or many. When you cough, red splatters against the console in front of you. The last thing you feel is the lick of hot flames against your skin before everything goes black.

You wake with a start, shooting up in bed and clutch at your chest. Your heart is beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. It pounds against your fingertips and echoes in your ears. Panic holds you in its vice-like grip, making your skin crawl and your lungs tight. Your hands desperately move over your collar and down your chest, searching for any evidence of injury.

“You okay?” the groggy voice makes you jump and whip around defensively. Steve tries to blink the sleepiness from his eyes as he looks you over with concern.

“Steve…” you breathe his name, the tension already lessening just by seeing him there. It’s okay. You’re safe. Your thoughts come in quietly, barely heard over the blood rushing in your ears. You try to slow your rapid breathing, taking in deep lungfuls of air.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting up and pulling your body into his chest.

You seek the comfort of his embrace. Resting your head on his shoulder, you wrap your arms around his thick torso, allowing his warmth to seep into you. “Nightmare,” you whisper in explanation.

He wraps his arms around you and holds you until you’ve stopped shuddering. He whispers soothing words into your ear and gently rubs your back to help you calm down. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, wanting to help, but not wanting to force you to talk if you’re not ready.

“I dreamt that I was in a plane crash,” you admit, barely above a whisper. You release a shuddering breath. “Maybe it was just because of that movie we watched, but… it felt so real.” A shiver of dread travels up your spine.

Steve’s arms tighten around you as he pulls your body into his lap. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “It was just a dream. You’re back with me now. Just focus on me.”

You listen to the steady drum of his heart beneath your ear and focus on it until yours slows down to match. Finally, the last of the tension eases out of you, before your body collapses against his.

“Do you want to get up or do you want a glass of water or anything?” Steve asks.

You shake your head, keeping your forehead pressed to his shoulder. “I just want you to hold me.”

“I can do that,” he assures you. After several minutes pass, you begin to doze off. When Steve is pretty sure you’ve fallen back asleep, he carefully lays back against the pillows and pulls the blankets up and over the both of you. He continues to hold you close until you’ve both fallen back asleep.

He wakes up again a few hours later with the first rays of morning beginning to creep in through the curtains. You’re still tucked in close, so he leans his head down and presses his lips to your forehead. “Good morning, Mrs. Rogers,” he wakes you with his rough morning voice.

Your breathing changes with a deep inhale as you begin to shift against him. “Already?” you protest blearily.

His chuckle makes you bounce against his chest. “I’m afraid so.”

You release a pouty groan, but move to sit up nonetheless.

“You sleep okay?” Steve asks watching as you cover a yawn with your hand.

Your hand drops back to your lap as you give him a curious look over your shoulder. “Yeah, Why?” you counter, noting the concerned look in his eyes.

The concern turns to confusion. “You had a nightmare last night,” he states like he’s trying to jog your memory.

You frown a tilt your head. “I did?” You try to think back, but nothing comes up. “I don’t remember that…”

Steve raises a brow and observes you for a moment before removing the thought from his head. “Probably for the best, then.” He pushes himself up and places a swift peck to your cheek. “We should get up. Don’t want to be late for school.” He stands and performs a quick back stretch before stepping out of the bedroom to get the coffee going.

You spend another minute trying to recall any sort of dream from last night, but when nothing surfaces, you shake the thought away and move to get up and join Steve in the kitchen. “TGIF,” you comment with another yawn.

Steve sends a smile of amusement your way. “You love your job.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still look forward to Fridays.”

“Doesn’t hurt that Fridays are half days either, I guess,” Steve chuckles.

“No, it certainly does not,” you agree with a grin. Normally Friday afternoons were reserved for teacher and department meetings, but a faculty-wide email had gone out at the end of the day yesterday telling everyone that the meeting had been postponed this week.

You and Steve share another quick breakfast before changing out of your sleepwear and heading out to the school. “Do you ever feel like our life is a little too perfect?” you find yourself asking as you stare out the car window at all the cookie-cutter houses with white picket fences and lush green lawns.

“How do you mean?” Steve asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

You purse your lips as you try to find the best way to speak your thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just… everything seems so easy, doesn’t it? Every day we wake up, go to work, go back home; wash, rinse, repeat. And yeah, that’s fine and all, but aren’t there supposed to be like little life issues sprinkled in between? We never have issues at work, never have issues with the house or the car. Hell, even our marriage is perfect! Aren’t normal couples supposed to argue over everything? We never have to compromise on what we’re having for dinner or whose turn it is to do laundry, we just do it. And don’t even get me started on the sex!”

That last one makes Steve laugh. “Are you seriously complaining about our sex life?”

“No!” you insist. “But Deborah did make a comment yesterday about how unusual it is that we still go at it like we’ve never left our honeymoon phase. It’s weird, right?”

Steve reaches over to grab your hand, threading his fingers between yours. He lifts your hand up and brings it closer to his face so he can place a kiss to your knuckles. “I think, in this case, it’s better to be the exception rather than the rule.”

You eye him curiously. “But you’ve never thought it was strange?”

He gives you a quick side glance before turning back to the road with a shrug of his shoulder. “I’ve had the thought before, yeah. But then I just think about how lucky we are to be so compatible. It’s a good thing that we don’t have any problems. Our life could be so much worse. Wouldn’t you rather be happy if you were given the option?”

“Yeah…” you agree, looking back out the window. “You’re right. I don’t know why I even brought it up.”

“I mean, if you want me to argue with you, I’m sure I can find ways to piss you off,” Steve sends you a goofy grin.

You laugh and shake your head. “That’s not necessary.”

 The school day itself is uneventful. Sometimes you worry that it will be more difficult to wrangle the kids into paying attention on short days, but your classes manage to go smoothly with most students still excited about the martial arts training.

Steve meets you at the locker room doors at the end of the day with a soft smile on his lips and a quick kiss of affection pressed to yours. The two of you stop for a quick lunch at a deli not far from the school before you head home. “How would you like to spend your afternoon, Mrs. Rogers?” Steve asks you as you both step back into the kitchen from the garage.

You release a hum while you think over your options. “I think the bathtub might be calling my name.”

“Oh yeah?” he questions, eyes lighting with interest.

“Care to join me?” you grin suggestively up at him.

His grin matches yours as he wraps an arm around your waist and yanks your body to his. If that’s not enough of an answer for you, then the hungry kiss that follows sure is. His tongue slips into your mouth, his taste mixing with yours and causes a delicious heat to pool between your legs. His hands grip your hips and he starts to walk you backward, through the kitchen and down the hall. You both know the way so instinctively, that you don’t even need to pull apart to see where you’re going. A trail of clothing begins to form in the hallway; your shoes, socks, and yoga pants mixed in with his boots, belt, and jeans.

You’re working the buttons loose on his shirt by the time your feet hit the tile in the bathroom. You let your hands make one quick swipe over his glorious abdominals before pulling your mouth from his with a gasping breath. His lips latch onto your neck before he’s gripping the backs of your thighs and is lifting you up onto the counter for the sink. The cold tile is a startling contrast against your heated core, making you moan.

“Oh god, we could probably take a bath in my underwear, I’m so wet,” you whimper, feeling the clench between your legs as Steve’s hips slot against your spread thighs.

Steve pulls away with a sharp laugh of amusement. “You’re always wet,” he remarks, a slightly prideful tilt to his mouth.

“Well maybe if you were a little less sexy,” you tease.

His eyes flash with want, “I’m a natural aphrodisiac.” Your laughter makes him feel like he’s flying above the clouds. Leaning forward, he places a quick peck to your nose before stepping away to open the faucet for the tub. “You want to light any candles?” he asks, holding his hand under the water to gauge the temperature. Once it’s warm, he flips the switch to close the drain and lets the tub fill up.

“Yeah, I’ll go find the lighter,” you jump down from the counter and make your way passed the trail of clothing back into the kitchen. You riffle around briefly inside the junk drawer, which really can’t be called much of a junk drawer because Steve keeps it impeccably organized, before grabbing the candle lighter.

You begin to head back to the bedroom when you hear a knock on the front door. Diverting course, you head down the opposite side of the hallway. Unlocking the door, you open it partway, making sure to stand mostly behind it to shield your bare legs. You find two people standing out on your front porch, a gorgeous redheaded woman, and an attractive man with dark hair and warm brown eyes.

Both of them look at you in shock. “Val?” they speak in unison.

Your brow furrows and you tilt your head in confusion, “Yes… Can I help you?”

They share a startled look. “We didn’t know you were here. Our intel only told us that Rogers was here,” the woman states.

Her words only confuse you further. “That’s correct. I’m Mrs. Rogers…”

The man begins to choke on his own saliva. “Wait, what?!” he sputters in between coughs.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Val?!” you hear Steve call from deep within the house. “Bath is almost ready. Where’d you go?”

You give the two strangers an odd look, before tilting your head back toward Steve’s direction, “Front door,” you call back.

“Oh… I didn’t realize we were having guests,” Steve states, stepping up behind you and looking over your shoulder at the two outside. “Hello. Is there something my wife and I can help you with?” he asks, not recognizing either of the people standing in front of him.

“Wife? When the hell did you two get married?!” the man asks, still in complete shock.

Steve frowns, hands moving to grasp your hips to pull your back against his chest, his protective instinct kicking in. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

“Sam,” the woman reaches a hand out to her companion’s shoulder, giving him a warning look. Her cool gaze then flickers back to the two of you. “I’m sorry for the strange introduction. My name is Natasha Romanoff, this is Sam Wilson. We’re currently looking into a missing persons case, and we were hoping to ask the two of you a few questions.”

You and Steve share a look of concern. “Missing person?” Steve questions. “Is it one of the kids?”

That question seems to catch the woman off guard. “Excuse me?”

“We’re both teachers at the high school,” you explain to her.

She quickly composes herself, “Oh… No, I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that. Is there a chance we could come in?”

You and Steve share a look, silently communicating with each other. He jerks his head to the side, indicating for you to go put on a pair of pants before he lets the two of them inside. You move down the hall, quickly grabbing your yoga pants and Steve’s jeans off the floor. You step into the kitchen first, slipping your pants back on and drop the lighter down on the counter. You then make your way to the living room.

“Forgive me for my state of undress. We weren’t exactly expecting company,” you hear Steve. He steps into the living room, hands buttoning up his shirt as the two strangers follow behind. He takes his pants from you with a grateful smile, bending down to place a swift kiss to your temple.

“Please, have a seat,” you gesture for the two to sit on your couch.

After Steve has his pants back on, he pulls you over to the lounge chair, taking a seat and pulling you onto his lap. The two of them give you a strange look, making you slightly uncomfortable. You wonder briefly if you should move to sit somewhere else, but the only other option is the floor.

“Have you both been married long?” Natasha finds herself asking.

You and Steve share a fond smile. “A few years,” he tells her.

She keeps her features fixed despite recognizing the vague response. “And you both teach at the high school?”

You nod, “Yes. Steve teaches art while I teach PE.”

“And how long have you been doing that?”

You purse your lips as you try to think about it. “Gosh, I’m not even sure. It feels like forever,” you laugh briefly.

Steve steps back in, “So, how can we help with your case?”

Natasha has to bite back a smirk recognizing his need to take control and get things moving in the right direction. “Tell me,” she starts, “What do you know about Captain America?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You mean the guy that left the Avengers? Not much besides what they’ve been saying on the news. That he walked away from the team and never looked back.” You nod in agreement.

“That’s not exactly what happened. You see, he left on a mission with one of our agents.” Natasha’s eyes flicker to you, looking at you expectantly. When she doesn’t see the reaction she was hoping for, she continues. “The two of them tried to infiltrate a research facility run by the terrorist organization called Hydra. Turns out the intel they had was fake and they’d been lured into a trap. Their plane was shot down before they could make it to the facility. They’ve been missing ever since.”

“That’s horrible,” you mutter quietly. You feel bad for them, but there’s a sort of emotional detachment like you’re not invested in the situation.

You feel Steve sit up a little straighter behind you. “What exactly does this have to do with the two of us?”

Sam releases a frustrated huff, “Steve, you are Captain America.”

You both stiffen in surprise, Steve’s hands tightening at your waist. “What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?”

“Sam.” Natasha sends a sharp glare of warning his way. She softens her features before turning back to the both of you. “Look, I understand this may be hard to believe and very confusing, but it seems that you both have completely forgotten who you really are.”

A long, uncomfortable silence stretches out between you all.

“Do you honestly expect us to believe that?” Steve finally asks incredulously. 

Sam makes another sound of annoyance. A sense of urgency lines his features as he turns to his partner. “Nat, we’re wasting time. We don’t even know where they are!”

She places a pacifying hand on his shoulder. “And we won’t be able to find them until we get their full cooperation,” she responds to him before turning back to you. “I’m afraid that we really must insist that you listen to what we have to say.”

“What do you mean ‘find us’?” you ask, the confusion plain on your face. “You’re in our home.”

The two of them share another apprehensive look. Natasha releases a long sigh before speaking. “There’s no easy way to say this,” she begins. “But you’re not actually here. We’re not actually here,” she gestures to herself and Sam. “None of this is real. This isn’t the real world. This is a virtual copy.”

“A virtual copy…” Steve repeats with a blank face.

“Did you guys get that from the Matrix?” you ask with a wry smile that’s bordering on amusement.

“We’re being serious,” Sam cuts in.

“No one has the kind of technology required to build a virtual world,” Steve argues. “Let alone the ability to download a human mind into it.”

“Hydra does,” Nat counters. “They’ve been able to digitize the human consciousness since the 70′s.”

You and Steve share a look of doubt.

“When your plane went down,” Sam catches the way Steve’s gaze sharpens and he corrects himself. “When the Quinjet crashed, it took the rest of the Avengers several hours to get to the wreckage. By the time we showed up, there was no sign of Captain America or Agent Valor. The crash was bad. There is no way anyone could have walked away from it. Even the Captain.”

Nat steps back in, “We could only assume that Hydra made it to the crash site first. They moved the bodies to a secure location and we’ve been searching ever since.”

“You’re spinning two very different tales here,” you speak up, barely understanding what they’ve been saying. “What does this plane crash have to do with a virtual copy of the world?”

“As Sam said, the plane crash was horrific. It would have been a miracle if anyone survived, and even if they did, it couldn’t have been without severe injury. When Hydra took the bodies, the only possible way of sustaining the life within would have been to download the consciousness into a virtual world until the body could be repaired.”

“We don’t know where they’re keeping your real bodies,” Sam tells you both.

“Do you realize how crazy you both sound?” you find yourself asking, staring back at them in disbelief.

Nat’s gaze hardens slightly. “Can you honestly tell us that you’ve never once questioned the reality of this world?”

That makes you pause when you remember the conversation that you had with Steve just this morning. Could your life really be so perfect because it was… what? A computer simulation?

“Do you have any proof that can validate the things you’re saying?” Steve asks.

“Our main goal was to establish contact,” Sam responds. “We didn’t know if we would even be able to reach you, let alone that your memory would be wiped.”

That makes you frown, “Our memory is just fine.”

“You’re the one that said you can’t remember how long you’ve been working at the school,” Natasha counters.

“That was just an expression!” you argue back.

“Okay. Then tell us exactly how long you’ve been married. When is your anniversary date?”

You open your mouth to respond immediately, but the words can’t seem to form on your lips. Your brows pinch together as frustration builds inside you. Why can’t you remember your anniversary? “I… I don’t understand,” you falter, glancing back at Steve. He looks just about as lost as you. “But… I can remember our wedding… And our honeymoon…” you protest weakly. You just can’t seem to remember the date.

“Hydra must have planted false memories. They have complete control of your minds. They can do whatever they want,” Natasha explains.

“The two of you aren’t married in the real world,” Sam breaks to you. “It’s fake, just like the rest of this,” he gestures vaguely around the room.

His confession feels like a punch in the gut. “That… that can’t be true,” you whisper brokenly. This seems to shatter everything around you more than anything else they’ve said.

You feel Steve shift beneath you. He lifts your hips enough so he can slide out from under you, leaving you to sit in the chair alone while he stands and moves to the other side of the room. Him physically distancing himself from you shakes you to the core. He can’t honestly believe in the things they’re saying, can he?

He crosses his arms over his chest pins your two guests with a long stare. “The things you’re saying sound impossible,” he starts. “But if, and this is a big if, it’s somehow true… why would Hydra keep us alive? Why not leave us for dead in the plane crash?”

“Hydra has a long history of turning our friends into our enemies,” Natasha replies ominously. “If they can find a use for you, they’ll use you until there’s nothing left.”

“Does this look like we’re getting turned into Hydra terrorists?” you ask, your frustration at this entire situation bleeding through your tone. “We’re high school teachers, for Christ's sake!” You shoot to your feet. “You know what? No,” you swipe your hands through the air. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this bullshit. Feel free to talk to Steve as much as you want, but I’m done. I’m sorry we can’t help you any further on your missing persons case.” Leaving it at that, you walk out of the living room and down the hall into your bedroom, letting the door slam shut behind you.

You feel a little bit like a sulking teenager, but your entire body is shaking and you just can’t seem to handle what’s going on. You step into the bathroom in your bedroom, frowning when you recall the tub full of water in the other bathroom that’s probably gone cold. “What a waste,” you huff before moving to the sink. You splash a few handfuls of cold water against your face, trying to calm your racing thoughts and bubbling emotions. Resting your hands against the sink, you let out a long sigh and stare at yourself in the mirror. “Why can’t you remember your anniversary?” you ask yourself as if the version looking back would be able to respond. She doesn’t.

“Great… now I’m the one going crazy.” You roll your eyes and then grab a towel to dry your face and hands.

You pace around your bedroom, too wired to sit still. You can hear the conversation continuing out in the living room, but you can’t hear what any of them are saying. You just want Steve to tell them to go away.

None of this makes any sense and the more you try to think about it, the more your head begins to ache. Releasing a groan of discomfort, you make your way to the bed to lie down. You curl up on your side, grabbing Steve’s pillow to clutch to your chest like a teddy bear. You draw a small amount of comfort from his scent, but it’s not the same as having him wrapped around you.

A part of you almost wishes that this whole place really was just a computer simulation. Because maybe then you could just hit a re-do button on this whole day.

Part 3

[jojo-fantasy-aus]

Fantasy Au!

Josuke x F! Reader - ch 7

It Takes Two.

This chapter is a but shorter than usual, but I hope Ya'll enjoy!

----

Your eyes fluttered open as you lay in the comfy, warm, bed. This was useless. You had been trying to fall asleep for hours, it felt like, but all you could do was twist and turn and flip your pillow over and over again. 

With a sigh, you sat up in bed, reaching over to the side table with a blind hand. The square matchbox was easy to find, and with a flick of your wrist you lit the candle next to you. The room filled with a soft warm light.

It felt impossible to quiet the thoughts in your head. You thought that you'd gotten over the guilt from the fight this morning, but you couldn't stop thinking about it. You were so angry, but why? After years of serving at the palace you thought you had learned to hold your temper, but everything had just felt so out of control.

And then there was Josuke. How had he remained so… so calm? He wasn't angry, just shocked. Or was he angry? Was he just hiding it? The more you thought about it the more your head hurt. You needed a break.

The cold floors slightly creaked under you as you stood and picked up the candlestick, gingerly opening the door to your room. 

You tiptoed down the stairs as silent as you could in such an old house, and the sound of a fire going was loud and clear in the quiet night. That was curious, who else could be up at this hour? A split second thought of the person being Josuke made your stomach flutter, and you pressed a cold hand to your hot face. Were you…? 

No. You decided that you would analyze your own thoughts later, it was much too late for this.

Finally reaching the last step, you headed towards the living room where the main fireplace was. 

Warm light leaked through a small crack in the door, and for a moment you hesitated before opening it further. The cold doorknob pressed into your palm as you pulled the squeaky door open to peer into the room.

The man half-asleep on the couch caught you by surprise, and your heart sunk when you realized it wasn't Josuke, staying up a little later, wandering the house with those fitted sleepshirts he wears…

You physically shook the thought from your head, stepping into the room fully. Okuyasu's eyes were open, but it looked like he hadn't noticed you. In fact, you were pretty sure he was snoring. A notebook and quill had been abandoned in his lap.

"Okuyasu?" The man snorted violently, and then choked on the breath, doubling over in a cough. You covered your mouth to keep yourself from laughing as he tried to regain his composure.

"Keeping vigilant watch over the fire I see?" You mused, blowing out the candle in your hand. Okuyasu gasped dramatically and ran to the fireplace in front of him, peering at the dying embers. He settled back on the couch once he was confident that the fire wasn't an immediate threat.

"Thanks for waking me up, Shigetchi would'a killed me if I burned down this house." You smiled brightly, settling down on a rocking chair yourself. 

"Not if Josuke got to you first." He let out a goofy chuckle before stretching his arms with a big yawn, stiff joints popping all at once. The silence settled for just a moment. 

" 'Mind if I ask why you're up so late, Miss?" Okuyasu said a little too loudly. You shush him, reminding him that there was, in fact, another person in the house. Once he nervously apologized you answered him.

"I haven't been able to sleep. I guess I've just been thinking too much." You subconsciously rocked back and forth on the chair as you spoke. Okuyasu nodded, leaning comfortably back on the couch. 

"We all seem to have that in common, huh?"

"All?" 

Okuyasu smiled in a goofy way, shaking his head before speaking up in his gruff, sleep deprived voice. 

"Josuke wouldn't go to bed until you got back, all he did was wait out in the stables the whole time. And even then he didn't fall asleep until a few hours ago." He laughed. Instantly your face flushed, a strange feeling blooming in your chest when you thought about it. Josuke worries too much.

" I fell asleep right after you left for the dinner thing. Had a dream- No! A divination about a new pumpkin bread recipe. Woke up 'bout an hour or two later with an itch to write it down, but…" Okuyasu glanced at the papers in his lap, some scrawled over and scratched out with the ink. He frowned, just slightly.

"I just can't seem to get it right." You hummed, brows furrowing. That was quite a predicament. The one thing you had learned about Okuyasu was the sweet man had quite the gift for baking, so much so that you'd much rather call it an art, and him an artist. Even then, he still hit walls in inspiration. Your face lit up when an idea flashed in your head 

"We could go to the market tomorrow? I heard from Shigetchi that they harvested the last of the fall crop recently, so they should have some good pumpkins ready. -mabye we can ask to borrow some of his spices too! I'm sure you'll have it figured out by then." Okuyasu's face lit up immediately, looking at you with stars in his eyes.

"Whoah!! That's such a great idea- I didn't even think about adding spices!!" Okuyasu cheered, snatching the quill back into his hand. You must have given him some kind of idea already, because he was already aggressively writing things down. He quietly rambled off the things he would need to get from the market under his breath. The small action ignited a smile, it was nice to see him so happy. It was no wonder that this goofball and Josuke were best friends, they were both filled with passion and excitement for even the littlest of things. 

You didn't realize you had spaced out until Okuyasu spoke up again.

"You're so smart! It's no wonder Josuke likes you so much!" Your face heated up in a split second. Did he really just say that?

"He what?" Okuyasu looked up at you, a face of confusion turning into panic. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the door creaked open.

"What're you guys doing?" You jumped at the sound of Josuke's voice. Turning around in your chair to face him.

He looked dead tired, almost half awake as he stood there. He was still in his pajamas, (weren't you all,) which were just some baggy pants and a green shirt with a neckline that maybe dipped a bit too low… But even still he looked so handsome.

The flush of blood in your face was hopefully still hidden by the looming night, as it had become even worse when you realized you were staring.

"I- well I couldn't sleep, so I came downstairs and found Okuyasu…" He sent you a pleading look. Right, maybe you shouldn't tell Josuke that he could've burnt the house down.

"-Trying to write down a recipe all night." Josuke's face shifted a bit, but he nodded. He sent a disappointed glare in Okuyasu's direction, and the mercenary panicked, frantically waving his hands back and forth in surrender.

"Look- I know you told me to stop staying up so late- but bro- this recipe!" You giggled a bit as Okuyasu struggled out the excuses. Josuke sighed, shaking his head at his friend. He was so caring. You could tell that from the moment you met him. You looked at him fondly, but he didn't turn to see.

Maybe having a little bit of a crush on Josuke wasn't such a bad idea after all. 

When the three of you eventually dispersed and went to bed, it was almost difficult to remove yourself from Josuke's side. An exchange of a soft Goodnight made your stomach flutter all over again, and the moment you closed your door you slid down the surface and onto the floor.

This was definitely not just "a bit of a crush" anymore.

Shit.

Josuke sighed heavily as he closed his door, heart wrenching as he pried himself away from you. You and Okuyasu had just been talking, that was all. Right? He shouldn't be jealous of his friend. There wasn't even a reason to be jealous. But then he thought of your giggle as Oku rambled, and the short moment you hesitated while explaining why you had been up so late, and his chest felt like it started to squeeze in on itself. 

He was overthinking this. Okuyasu would never try to court her when it was so obvious that he was trying to himself. He's a good friend, always will be too. 

He couldn't stop thinking about what Okuyasu said after he came home from Shigetchi's. Sure, he didn't know that Josuke had been watching over you instead of taking care of the horses all night, but his words still hit in all the fuzzy places.

"She's worried about you too, Ya'know that? Barely got a foot in the door before asking where you'd gone off too. 'Didn't get to answer before you walked back in to say hi," 

He had only been standing there for a moment before you changed the subject and started telling the two of them about your lead. He remembered how you couldn't look him in the eye. He had no doubt that it was because you felt terribly guilty for slapping him.

 Josuke pulled back the covers and crawled into the bed that had long gone cold. You had never meant to harm anyone, not for the short amount of time he knew you however. You certainly never meant to harm him in the way you did. It was the first time in a while that someone had gotten physical with him, and he didn't get mad. He supposed that it was simply because it was you. You, looking so… so scared. He would've been offended that you thought he was one of those men from back at the camp, but he out of all people definitely knew the toll that trauma can take on people.

"Love is fickle like that sometimes…"

The sentence had been burning into his mind for a while, and so had you. 

He fell asleep with the thought of you on his mind.

[toosicktoocare]

like father, like son

Spoilers for 911 Lone Star below!

A fic no one asked for: TK winds up sick because he’s not sleeping well since learning about his dad’s diagnosis and because he’s pushing himself too hard to be a better son. (Also, Carlos doesn’t really vibe with fever sex.) 

The dreams don’t actually start until a few days after his talk with his dad, after a moment of pure, unfiltered vulnerability spanning from one to the other, but when they do finally start to plague his sleep, they’re terrifying, encompassing his every fear into twisted images of dirty hospitals, blood splashing against walls from violent coughs, two large, decaying organs pressing against him, suffocating him, and his father, withering away before his eyes.

After jerking awake in a cold sweat two nights in a row, TK forgoes sleep because he would much rather take fatigue any day over the spoiled visuals that seem to stain his thoughts, even when he’s awake. He, instead, takes to the internet when he should be resting, researching the side effects of chemo, what to look out for, what dialogue could cause potential triggers, and the most important, the one he’s most determined to achieve by any means necessary, how to care for a cancer patient. 

He sleeps only a little, catching one to three hours a day but subconsciously not allowing his body to slip into REM, and his growing exhaustion goes relatively unnoticed until he wakes at three am after nodding off in a chair in his room with a medical book on his lap to a scratchy throat and a slight hint of pressure pushing behind his eyes. 

He slips to his feet, quietly resting the book on the chair, and he pads softly across his room to the bathroom, flicking the lights on with a wide yawn. His reflection leaves much to be desired, a pale, drawn man with deep purple bags under his eyes staring back at him. 

“Shit,” he mutters, a low whistle, almost impressed with how terrible he’s managed to look, but then he’s turning to cough lightly into the crook of his arm until he’s wincing from the uncomfortable tingle that almost burns against his throat. He hunches over the sink, splashing cool water on his face, and then he’s reaching for the ibuprofen, but when he can hear gagging from his dad’s bedroom, he drops the pill bottle, the loud clattering and rolling fading in the distance as he races out his room. 

“Dad?” He shoves his dad’s bathroom door open to see him curled around the toilet, shoulders shaking slightly. The panic in his eyes fades to sympathetic concern, a look he’s been sporting far too much over the last few days, and he crouches beside his dad, dropping a hand to his back to feel his muscles convulsing under his palm. Wincing, he smooths his palm up and down his dad’s back, repeating the action, just as his dad would do for him, until Owen’s finally reaching up to flush the toilet with a groan. 

“Sorry I woke you,” Owen rasps out, and TK’s eyes fall just a little. 

“You didn’t,” he reassures, spitting out a quick lie when Owen frowns at him. “I was already up. Had to piss.” 

“Creepy timing,” Owen says around a weak laugh. “Didn’t realize my stomach and your bladder were in sync.” 

Rolling his eyes, TK gets to his feet, reaching a hand out toward Owen. “You’re so weird,” he mutters when Owen’s hand finds his. He pulls him to his feet, a frown threatening to pull at his lips at the ease. His dad’s been dropping weight, and for just a moment, he’s almost pulled back to too-vivid images, but he shakes his head, willing the fear away. 

“You done?”

He keeps close to his dad when he sidesteps around him to the sink to rinse his mouth out, eyes trained to the slight tremor in his dad’s steps. 

“Yeah,” Owen groans, frowning at his reflection, and TK meets his eyes through the mirror. They share a silent conversation. They’ve been doing that a lot since they talked, neither knowing how to verbally convey what their eyes are practically screaming. 

“Are you alright?” Owen finally asks, turning from TK’s pale reflection to see if it’s merely a trick of the light or if his son truly looks ill. His frown deepens, concern taking over his forehead in deep worry lines, when TK’s poor image appears to not be just a trick of the mirror. “You look exhausted.” 

“I’m fine,” TK says easily, and he doesn’t fight it when Owen reaches the back of his hand to his forehead, only watching with a gaze that’s almost struggling to be patient. 

“You don’t feel feverish,” Owen mutters, stepping back to asses his son with a long, studious gaze, taking in the dark circles colored under his eyes, his slumped posture, and his almost sunken face. “Have you been sleeping?”

TK makes to answer, to reassure his dad that he’s completely fine, but Owen continues, not letting him sneak a word in. 

“I know it can be hard to shut your mind off, especially after learning about all of this.” He gestures weakly toward himself. “But, we can tell your therapist--” 

“Dad,” TK groans, turning toward the door. “I said I’m fine.” ‘I’m not the one with cancer’ is what he wants to follow with, but the mere thought stabs at his chest like a dagger that’s on fire, so, instead, he looks over his shoulder, smiling softly. “Stop worrying about me and go get more rest, old man.” 

The smile grows wide and genuine at Owen’s mock dismay, the latter even going so far as to slap a hand to his chest. “Tyler Kennedy Strand, you take that back right this second!” 

“The number doesn’t lie,” TK laughs out, running when Owen shoots after him, and he takes the light punches to his back, stopping only when Owen turns away to cough harshly. Tension flicks across TK’s muscles, and he spins around, frowning. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Owen breathes out, catching his breath. “Stop looking at me like that. You’re going to wrinkle.” 

“You are unbelievable,” TK spits out around a huff of a laugh as he turns to leave the room, calling out his goodnight as he shuffles back into his room. It’s almost 3:30 now, and his alarm is set for 6. His muscles are aching for his bed, but his heart’s been the only one allowed to make decisions as of late. He bypasses his bed and slips his sneakers on, waiting until he hears Owen’s soft snores before he slips out of the house for a run. 

*****

“Not to be an asshole or anything, but you look like shit.” 

TK’s hand freezes mid rub at his helmet, and he drags a narrow gaze up to Judd. “Good morning to you, too.” He frowns a little, the crack in his voice betraying him, and he pulls his gaze back to his helmet, ignoring Judd when the latter takes a seat beside him. 

“TK, man, what’s going on? You’ve been looking like a zombie for a week now, and you’re starting to sound like one, too.”

“I’m fine,” TK grumbles, but the few coughs that slip past his pursed lips say otherwise, and he can see Judd tense slightly beside him through his peripherals. 

“It’s your dad, isn’t it?” Judd leans toward TK, keeping his voice low, and TK twists his gaze over until he’s meeting Judd’s surprisingly soft eyes. The look alone has his shoulders slumping, and he sighs lowly. 

“It’s just a lot to take in, and I’m trying to do better.” If he’s not dissecting each google page or medical book, he’s catering to his dad’s every need, cooking for him, supporting him as much as possible while out on the line, and being at his side through the nightly coughing fits and bouts of nausea. “I’m trying to take care of him,” he adds, voice almost a whisper, and Judd claps a hand to his shoulder. 

“You aren’t going to be any good to him if you drive yourself into the ground. You need a little break.” 

“I can’t--”

“--sorry to interrupt this little pow-wow, boys,” Owen cuts in, talking loud enough to gather the attention of his entire team. “But I’ve just received an invitation to the bar tonight, so make sure you bring your dancing shoes!” 

TK doesn’t miss the way Michelle stops to roll her eyes before she hoists herself up into the back of an ambulance, but then his dad’s talking directly to him, voice carrying over the hollers from the others. 

“You’ll come, right?” He leans forward, whispering. “Michelle said Carlos will be there--”

“--Dad!” TK hisses out sharply, and the heat that creeps to his cheeks is evident, enough so to have Judd bellowing out a laugh beside him. 

*****

TK excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving his mineral water with Carlos as he maneuvers around bar-goers until he’s shoving the bathroom door open just as his lungs burst. He buries his face into the crook of his arm, coughing harshly. He’s been getting worse as the day’s dragged on, and it’s been getting harder to keep it to himself. He started spiking a low-grade fever toward the end of his shift, and if the chill clinging to him is anything to go by, he’d say it’s definitely spiking. 

He feels like shit, point blank utter shit. His muscles are aching, but not like they do after a particularly hard shift. They’re almost throbbing, feeling oddly restless, and his head’s pounding, behind his eyes, across his forehead, all the way to drum at his temples. Worse, though, he can’t seem to shut his mind off, not even with Carlos and his unfair muscles by his side. 

He takes just a few moments to splash cold water over his burning face, sniffling lightly when he dries his face, and then he leaves, coughing weakly into his fist as he moves back around drunks and dancing until he’s bumping Carlos’ shoulder. 

“Your dad just yee-hawed half the people off the dance floor,” Carlos shouts over the music, and TK shoots a gaze to see his dad moving through some weirdly graceful mock lasso toss. 

“Marjan got the entire thing on video,” Carlos adds, nodding across the room, and TK follows his gaze with a half-hearted laugh. 

“Hey,” Carlos’ voice is softer this time, almost gentle, and TK pulls his eyes to his, frowning slightly as he tilts his head. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” He leans in close to TK’s ear, and TK shudders against his hot breath. 

“I don’t know about you, but this place is kind of blowing my vibe, and my couch is really lonely--”

A quick distraction that TK smiles at, lips curling up almost deviously, and he nods quickly, allowing Carlos to pull him toward the exit. He spares a glance over his shoulder, fear suddenly gripping at his heart, but then he sees Michelle laughing as Owen spins her around the dance floor. It’s fine, he tells himself. He’s with the EMT Captain. 

He doesn’t mean to catch Judd’s eyes, but he does, and Judd nods once, an almost silent reassurance that TK clings to as Carlos all but drags him out of the bar. 

*****

TK’s melting against Carlos’ forceful touch, his body moving in sync with Carlos’ smooth movements. Their lips are molding to each other, their tongues battling, and when Carlos pulls away, dragging his bottom lip with him in a gentle bite for just a moment, he groans, back arching when Carlos drags sharp kisses down his neck. He’s almost lost completely to Carlos, but then Carlos is mumbling against his neck. 

“God, you’re on fire.” He nips at TK’s neck, almost drinking in the heat pouring off of him, and TK huffs around a small shiver, still feeling oddly cold despite being swallowed by the heat of Carlos’ muscles.

“Weird,” he grunts, a light moan slipping past his lips when Carlos’ hand trails down his stomach. “I’m actually freezing.” It’s a small slip-up, lost briefly in a moment of pure honesty, and then Carlos is pulling away quickly, a frown plastered to his lips. 

He’s hovering just above TK, hands pressed to the couch beside TK’s head, and his eyes are working over TK’s face. “You’re cold?” 

TK doesn’t really see the big deal because it’s probably just cold in Carlos’ apartment with the AC purring quietly in the background, so he nods, and then Carlos is rolling off of him and starting out of the room. 

“Carlos, what the fuck?” He shouts, his throat burning with each word until he turns to cough into the crook of his arm harshly. When he catches his breath, he turns his gaze to see Carlos walking toward him with a digital thermometer in his hand. 

“Doctor kink?” he starts, both brows raised, “I mean, if that’s your thing, I can get behind that--”

“TK, shut the fuck up and put this under your tongue.” 

TK opens his mouth to argue, but Carlos shoves the tip of the thermometer into his mouth, and he can’t do anything but oblige, slipping it under his tongue as he keeps a steady gaze to Carlos’ almost angry one. When the thermometer beeps, he moves to grab it, but Carlos is faster by a long shot, more so against TK’s sore muscles, and he frowns at the 102.2 degree reading, dropping it to TK’s hand as he presses a palm to TK’s forehead. 

“Woah,” TK breathes out at the reading, frowning deeply. He knew he had been running a low-grade, but this is way higher than he expected. “Shit,” he curses, eyes flying from the device to Carlos. “I’m sorry,” he spits out, but then his lungs quake with a need to cough, and he turns away from Carlos, coughing harshly into the crook of his arm. 

When he can suck in a deep breath without the burning need to cough more, he spares a hesitant glance back to see pure, dripping worry coloring Carlos’ eyes. 

“In the SUV earlier,” Carlos mutters, almost more to himself, “when you were coughing and said you accidentally inhaled some smoke on a call earlier. I should have known then.” He reaches over TK’s shoulder for a blanket folded on the back of his couch and drapes it over TK’s slightly trembling shoulders, and TK watches his every move. 

“Why didn’t you say earlier? I wouldn’t have pushed you--”

“--I wanted the distraction,” TK admits, surprising even himself. With the gig up, with Carlos staring at him with such consuming worry, he sinks back against the couch, allowing his illness to fully sweep over his body. He shivers, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, and he tilts his head against the back of the couch, eyes finding the ceiling. 

“A distraction from what?” Carlos pushes gently, careful to not tiptoe over into boyfriend territory. 

“Everything,” TK mutters around a weak cough, and he rolls his head to the side when Carlos lays a gentle hand to his covered knee, a small sign of encouragement that he’s listening but not forcing. 

“If I say I’m not ready to talk about it right now, will you not ask about it?”

Carlos considers this, and while the urge to push past TK’s wall is as hot as the latter’s fever, he nods slowly. “You can stay the night,” he says instead, moving with the need to see TK through what he’s sure is either a really bad cold or maybe the flu.

“I can’t,” TK starts, and he pushes the blanket away, making to stand, but his vision wavers, gray dots dancing across his eyes, and Carlos is quick on his feet, snaking a strong arm around TK’s waist and guiding him back down to the couch. 

“Why not? You can’t even walk.”

“My dad,” TK mutters, leaning heavily against Carlos. “I need to be with him... He needs someone with him to make sure he’s okay.” The panic from before, from leaving his father alone, hits him like a bucket of ice water being tossed over his head, and he’s shaking hard in Carlos’ grip, both from fever and fear, but Carlos’ only tightens his hold, a beacon of steady warmth he’s almost afraid to get too close to. 

Carlos really wants to ask about this because Owen seems fine, but the desperation clinging to TK’s tone has him considering his words. “I can call Michelle--”

“--no,” TK mutters, coughing against Carlos’ shoulder. “Judd. He’s the only other one who knows.” 

Carlos eases TK back against the couch, worry pulling at his heart as TK coughs and shivers and curls in on himself. “I’ll call Judd,” he starts, gaze drifting to the door for a moment. “Promise you won’t run?” 

“Couldn’t even if I tried,” TK chatters out, teeth clacking together, and Carlos makes quick work of calling Judd, rattling off what he knows. 

Judd’s worry on the other line of the phone apparently stretches back to a few days prior, and when he mentions he’s not sure that TK’s been sleeping, a pit grows in Carlos’ stomach, uncomfortable against the heavy weight of concern. 

Their conversation isn’t long, ending when Judd reassures him that he’ll keep an eye on Owen and will even make an excuse for TK’s absence. After, Carlos makes quick work of guiding TK to his bedroom. TK’s frighteningly compliant, only fighting him when he tries to pull an “Austin Police Department” hoodie over his head, snagging it from the back of a chair in his bedroom. 

“You’ll overheat,” Carlos tries, but TK somehow manages to pull the hoodie over his bare torso, and Carlos can’t say no when TK looks at him, cheeks flushed, hair sticking up at different ends, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled over his shaking hands, and the hem just covering a small part of TK’s bare thighs.

“Fine,” he mutters, breathing through a few curses as he helps TK into bed. He turns to get medicine for the fever, but TK’s hand is suddenly latching onto his wrist, surprisingly strong, and when he turns around, TK’s eyes, though glassy, are bright and aware. 

“Don’t.” 

“I’m just going to get some medicine--”

“--I can’t sleep,” TK admits, fingers digging into Carlos wrists as he coughs harshly. “I haven’t slept in a week.” 

“Jesus, TK,” Carlos breathes out. He’s getting more and more pieces of the puzzle that is Tyler Kennedy Strand, but the borders, the ones that support the picture, are still missing, as well as some middle chunks. “Why--”

“--you said you wouldn’t ask.” 

“Sorry,” Carlos mutters. “I’m just going to get medicine, and then I’ll come right back.” TK’s hand drops to the bed, eyes momentarily flicking to a color of fear that has Carlos rushing to the bathroom for ibuprofen and water. 

TK takes the medicine without question, wanting to rid his body of this shitty feeling just as much as Carlos does, and then Carlos slips some pants on and climbs into the bed, resting his back against the headboard, and TK watches him, eyes impossibly tired. 

“Do you think you can try to sleep? I’ll stay awake if you need me.”

“Judd’s with my dad?” TK asks, and when Carlos nods, he nods back, curling around Carlos’ hips, head resting against his thigh. He’s a little afraid to let his eyes slip closed, aware that he won’t have the control to not slip into REM, but when Carlos drops a careful hand to his hair, fingers carding softly through it, the fear eases a little, and he hums softly. 

“Is this okay? Have I gone too far into boyfriend territory?” 

“You have,” TK mutters around a yawn that’s followed by a few weak coughs. “But it’s okay for tonight.” 

[eerythingisshaka]

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Jason Momoa x Reader

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Bad attitudes/smut

Vroom vrooooom!!

Your eyes squeezed tightly in annoyance before you started to buck your blankets off of your body, punching your bed in aggravation.  Every weekend it’s the same thing: at 7 am your sleep is disrupted by the violent roar of a motorcycle engine.  You just moved in to your new place a month ago and at first you assumed that the disturbance would be temporary.  People work on their vehicles on the weekend, and testing things may require a few loud repetitious sounds. But EVERY weekend?  The two days out of the week you get to be able to sleep without an alarm blaring and you still have to wake like its a work day.

Today was even worse because it sounded like it was right outside your window.  The funk of fumes made you cough while you got up to look out your window.  No one was outside but you put your shoes on anyway.  No way were you taking this lying down.

No shame in your bonnet game, you walked out in your pajama shorts, tank and slippers to survey your surroundings in the parking lot.  You see some guy hunched over a big old looking bike, his back turned to you.

You marched over to him without abandon, building up your month's worth of frustration to fire off at him.

"Hey man!"

The putter of the engine must've drowned out your words so you shouted again.

"Hey! You know what the hell time it is? Some people are tryna sleep!" you said to the back of his messy man bun.

He turned his face to you slowly with a raised eyebrow, looking amused as his eyes settled on your slippers.

You felt self-conscious, taking a step backward and crossing your arms.  "I had to hear you tinkering at this garbage at ungodly hours for a month!"

He reached for the ignition and turns the motorcycle off.  

"It’s not garbage.  It’s vintage."

His voice boomed in the newfound silence, throwing you off your anger rhythm.  He wipes his dirty hands against his well worn jeans as he comes to a standing, towering over you like a giant.  

You felt a wave of vertigo just looking at him but remained on subject.   "Looks old, like it should be thrown away."

He crossed his arms bouncing momentarily on his toes just making him grander.  "Perhaps you have heard of a concept called recycling, refurbishing, or reusing.  Just because something has lost its luster doesnt mean its a pile of junk."

“Well excuse me for liking the finer things in life.  Couldn’t kill you to trade this in for something better and less noisy!  So keep it down in the meantime.”  You walked off in a huff, scraping the soft soles of your slippers across the pavement.

“Nice to meet you too neighbor, the name is Jason!  I could show you how to sew that hole in your shorts too since you like the finer things!”

You stopped suddenly, sticking your butt out to look at the supposed hole.

“Don’t worry.  Looks good.”  His voice dipped into a tone that sounded predatory.  You walked backwards glaring at him  as you made your way back around the corner out of his line of sight.  

You stopped for a second to feel your behind and come across the hole you got roasted on.  You kiss your teeth, feeling yourself get warm with embarrassment.  It didn’t matter to you because sleep clothes aren’t supposed to always be fancy schmancy.  You peeked around the corner and spied on him as he worked.  He had the nerve to talk about anyone with his dusty olive green Henley on with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his large forearms and that geometric tattoo.  You couldn’t care less about his opinion, long as his motor keeps quiet.   The next weekend, you stayed out hella late catching up with friends after work.  Happy hour was popping and you are a sucker for discounted drinks, especially when they are as good as the ones at your favorite bar.  Your Lyft dropped you off in front of your place at 3 AM and you trudged to your front door and catch a glimpse of something in your peripheral as you dug out your keys.  On top of the trash bag there was a note scrawled on a piece of paper that says RECYCLE.

“What the fuck?”  you say out loud and picked up the note, turning it over you see the signature -Neighbor J.   

You balled up the paper.  “Oh you think you run my life now?  Where the hell he get the nerve even coming up to my front door.  He don’t know me, but he will!”  You cursed out the air, practicing what you plan to say to him next time you see him and plotting your next moves.

A few hours later, morning broke and so did your peace.  A loud banging at your door makes your heart race from surprise.  You prayed silently that it’s no police as you bounded toward your door and look through the peephole.  

You jumped back just as fast when you recognize the face, snatching your bonnet off and fingering your curls loose to be more presentable.  You scuttled over to a nearby mirror to check that your shirt had no stains, and shorts no holes.  All looked clear but you didn’t want to open the door in loosely fitted mickey mouse pajama bottoms, changing fast into some boy shorts.

After a quick change, you finally answered the door, to be greeted by his broad back.  He wore a tank top today, mauve pink of all colors, giving a full show to the power he packed in his arms.  Plus his hair was out of its man bun, showing off its waves, looking so touchable.  His jeans and boots looked like the same ones from the last time you saw him.  You chuckle to yourself over his laziness.

He turned to you like a shampoo commercial with his hands on his hips.  “You put your crap on my bike?”

You crossed your arms and leaned on your frame, shrugging.  “No idea what you’re talking about.

He pulls a cardboard box from beside him with empty water bottles and old cereal boxes.  

“You think it’s funny, playing crap Jenga on my property?”

You rolled your eyes.  “It’s not crap, it’s reusable, remember?  Look, I got your note about recycling.  I just wanted to let you know I am way ahead of you.  My contributions are better than that gas you spew in the air from your bike.”

“Single use plastics are one of the biggest contributors to the destruction of earth’s ecosystems.  Why the hell would you waste money on them anyway?  Get a filter and a steel bottle-”

“Please!  Can you stop telling me what to do like I ain’t grown!  I know how sustainability works, that’s why I’m re-cy-cling!  Now if that’s suddenly a bad to do, I’ll Google that, but you ain’t God here.”

His stare read threatening to you, but you weren’t afraid of him trying you.  He seemed to be the type to not be challenged often and you yourself loved a challenge.  Multitasking the stare down, you memorize his facial features from his shaggy facial hair to the break in his eyebrow from an old scar.  

You work your neck for emphasis.  “Are we done here?”

He scoffs, kicking the box toward you before strolling off.  “Stop using single use plastics.”

“Ok, George of the Jungle!”  You taunt, sending him off with a wave.  Closing your door, you laugh out loud, giving a fist pump to the air.  You won this round whether he acknowledges it or not.  Plus you never heard that engine all day afterwards, catching up on your rest.

--

A couple weekends passed and one hungry morning you realize you’re low on food to eat.  You can’t chill on an empty stomach so you get your stuff to head out to your car.  

The sky was cloudy that day, making you yawn involuntarily as you start your engine.  It sputters, trying to turn over, but won’t kick off.  You tried this four or five more times before you sit back, punching your steering wheel.  Of all days for this to happen, today ain’t it.  

Suddenly the roar of a motorbike distracted you in the distance and a horrible thought passes your brain.  Jason knew his way around a motorbike, so a car shouldn’t be too different, right?

You get out the car and stomp towards the other end of the parking lot where you see you neighbor mounting his motorbike.

“Hey!  Hey!”  You yelled out, waving him down.  He saw and you notice his shoulders jump a little as a smile crawls across his face. You weren’t expecting that reaction.

“I’m gonna be outta your hair, I got my girl fixed up and I’m taking her for a spin.  Continue to catch your beauty sleep, doll,” he says sarcastically.

You look at his bike and gave the tire a kick.  "I'm not worried about that.  Glad you got it up and running."

Jason turned off the engine and scratched his beard, coming to a standing.  "What’s going on?"

You shrug, making Jason laugh hard.

"Now I really know something is up.  This is the first time you are speechless AND the last thing you said was nice? What did you do?"

You tried to fight your attitude because you still needed to ask if he could help you.

"I mean, I still think the bike looks rusty and dusty. Can’t tell it from some junkyard scrap but hey, there’s a pulse!"

Jason pointed at you, clicking his tongue. "And a good morning to you as well."  He kicks on his motor again and begins to move.

"Wait wait!" You shouted.

He turns the bike off again. "Sweetheart, I got little patience."

You groan.  "My car won't start.  I was hoping you could give it a look."

“DO I look like a mechanic?”  he asks, leaning forward on his bike.

You stared at him dumbfounded.  “You literally work on this bike all the time!  No one is doing that shit without some experience!”

“A motorcycle is not a car, ma’am,”  he said.  “Apples and oranges.  Hell, their practically fishes and trees!”

“Do you really wanna insult my intelligence?”

Jason held his hands up in the air.  “I don’t have to do anything when it comes to you.  You come with drama and mess in tow, and I’m tired of hearing it, if we’re being honest.”  He got up from his bike, heading in the opposite direction on you.

A raindrop on your face snapped you back to reality and by the time you looked up the clouds opened up their floodgates.

You covered your head.  “Dammit!  Jason!”   

You ran after him as he continued to stomp on to his place.  “There’s a thing called humility and being a good neighbor and something tells me you haven’t learned that before.”  He stops in the middle of his yard whipping around to face you.  His hair soaked in rain yet maintaining its wave intrigued you.  Most people look like a sad dog in the rain, but the wetness amplified his stoic appeal.

“You’re spoiled,” he says, rain falling off his lips as he enunciated.

“I need help!  That’s all I’m asking!”  

“You don’t ask!  You demand!  You demand I be quiet and play childish games when people call you out.”  His voice became more aggressive with demonstrative movement to emphasize his words.

You clasped your hands together.  “Oh!  Well it looks like you’re just used to doing shit YOUR way, and no one had the BALLS to step to you.  Well I am, so what?”  

You step right under his nose, rain from his body drops in your face.  He looked down at you amused.

“You better run along before you do something you can’t take back,” he warns.

“I don’t have regrets, just learned lessons.  So what you got?”

“What I got?”

“Yeah, what-”

His lips crashed into yours with momentum and strength.  His hands gripped your arms a little too tightly, making your hands splay in a shocked manner, unable to move.  His force mixed with the weather conditions made it hard to breathe and your will to do so causes you to push him back with as much strength as you can.

“What the FUCK WAS THAT?!”  You scream, wiping your mouth to no avail.

He stands there frozen, breathing hard.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“Like hell you don’t!  This the shit I’m saying!”  You gawk at him, seeing his shirt cling to his body as the rain weighs down the fabric.  Jason whipped his hair back unapologetically.  

“I told you.  You’re spoiled.  I don’t kiss your ass, so you’re mad.”

“I don’t remember asking you to kiss me at all, did I?”

He shrugs.  “I didn’t ask you to get in my face and threaten me, yet here we are.  Go dry off,” he says, taking himself back to his place and leaving you in the rain.

--

Later that night, you’re in the midst of finishing up twisting your hair  for the night when you hear the familiar sound of an engine blaring.

You check the time, 12:35 AM.  You’re instantly fuming, twirling a mad finger around your last twist end and putting on your robe.  

Stomping outside, you see him clear as day, outlined by the parking lot lights.  Jason sits on his bike revving it over and over as you walked closer and closer.  You get about 30 feet away from him when he turns the bike off.

“You fucking get on my damn nerves.  I’m sick of this!”  You shout at him.  

He got off his bike, standing with his hands in his pockets.  Soon as you were within arms length, you raise your hand and bring it to the back of his neck, pulling him into you.  You were ready this time, opening up to take hi essence in with your own.  Your fingers clutch the roots of his hair, pulling yourself up to him as much as possible until he helped you.  Wrapping his arms around your waist, he doesn’t miss a beat in your mouth as he lifts you to his level and you wrap your arms around his neck.  You bit his lips, groaning into his mouth excitedly.  

“I told you, I step up if you try me.”  you say.

He licks his wounded lips, eyes heavy with anguish.  “And I can take a hit, if necessary.”

You both stumble back to your place, fighting to feel each other’s skin quicker than you could get undressed.  You let your robe fall off at the door.

Your scratch at the bottom of Jason’s shirt, pulling it up as he surrenders his arms to your tugs, shaking his hair loose once you’ve freed him.

He pulled your hair back roughly, exposing your neck to his tongue grazing the pulse point of your neck.  Your nails dig into his hips as you fight the ticklish sensation, making him groan.

“Watch those claws, kitty,”  he warns, taking liberties with your body. The palms of his hands feel rough against your stomach when he traces your curves up to your breasts.  You breathe erratically, feeling the warm arousal build as your nipples greet his fingertips, but you pushed him back roughly.  As he stumbles, he looks at you defensively.

“Am I moving too fast?”  He asks as his chest rises and falls heavily.  You take your shirt off, standing in just your underwear.  He starts to unbutton his pants…

“Stop!  Don’t.”  You command.

He freezes in mid zipper pull, looking frustrated.  “Look if this ain’t happening, just-”

“Did I say nothing is happening?  I told you to stop.  And it would be good if you just listened, for once,”  you say, dropping your voice lower and quieter.  You walked up to him, moving his hand aside, pushing him against the wall.

“You find me attractive, right?”  You ask as your fingers find his zipper and pull it the rest of the way down.

He keeps his poker face as you stare him down.  “I do.  You’re very sexy.”

As he admits this, your palm slides down his stomach and under his waistband.  Under your touch you feel him grow, making your heart skip.

“Not sexy enough.  You still got some growing up to do I see,”  you reply as you pull his bottoms down, letting his dick recoil from its boundaries.  

Jason exhales sharply, bracing his back against the wall.  “You don’t have to.”

You settle down to your knees, observing the specimen before you, gripping his shaft as you look up at him.  “You don’t want me to?”

His hair framing his face, he pulls it back taking a deep breath.  “You got my dick in your hands, and you think I’m backing down now?”

“Then tell me what you want me to do…”  You say quietly, biting your lip as you watch him while stroking him, blowing slowly along his length, lips puckered and tempting.

He reached for the top of your head gently massaging your scalp.  “I want that big mouth to show me what it can do.”

You smirk, letting your tongue flutter around his tip, warming him up.  You feel his scalp massage slow as your lips softly kiss his member.  His head falls backward as you open your mouth wider, swallowing his girth deeper.  You look up at him, massaging his balls. 

“Oh God, you’re amazing.  Your mouth so soft,”  he moans, looking down at you, jutting his hips towards your face minutely.  

You allow your throat to open a bit more, taking hold of his thighs as he pushes himself into your mouth deeper. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.  Just look at you.”  He pulls out of you, bending down to take you in for a kiss.  He tastes himself within your mouth, fully devouring your mouth in a kiss.  You hold his hands against your face as he embraces you, feeling overwhelmed with passion.

“Fuck me, now.”  You growl into his face, getting up.  He pushes you against the wall he once stood, pulling your underwear down to your ankles, you steady your hands on his wide shoulders.  

He stands up looking you deep into your eyes as you reach for his dick, coaxing him to move on, but he grabs your wrists, setting them on his shoulders.  

“You’re too impatient,”  He says, running his finger across your cheek, nuzzling his nose against yours.  

You exhale.  “Damn right I am.  The one thing we can get along about, you’re trying to postpone.”

He chuckles, feeling between your thighs.  “You’re this wet for me?  You like me more than I thought.”

You roll your eyes, closing them when his fingers fit so easily inside of you, digging your nails into his shoulders.  “Maybe I just like the sex.  Thought of that?”

He shrugs.  “Let’s see what fits and talk later.  Your pink looks real good.”  

He grips his hands under you, lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist in one movement.

As he holds you, you feel for his dick, helping to guide his tip to your entrance.

“Teamwork, right?”  You gasp as he spreads you wider, pushing himself inside of you.  You exclaim, gripping the back of his neck for dear life.

“Did I hurt you?”  He asks.

You shake your head.  “No, keep going.  I want more.”

He obeys, pushing further inside your walls.  

“That’s it baby, deeper.”  You encourage him, you tighten up around him as your body relaxes to the new sensation.

Jason’s hands travel around your back, holding you close as works his length into you, working his hips like it’s his job.

“Ah, your pussy is so good baby.”  Jason moans in your ears.

“This pussy is good to you cuz that dick.  Give it to me, harder.”

Jason rams his length inside you, holding still as you writhe, repeating the action over and over.

“Yes, oh yes,”  you cry out, feeling tears reach the corners of your eyes, feeling a wave of pleasure creep and spread throughout your body.

Jason pounds your deeper, harder as you cry out, digging into his back, he pulls your mouth to his, kissing you passionately.  

“You take me so well.  I knew you were tough.  Keep cumming, I want all of you on me,”  he says.  You cover his mouth.

“Shut up, or I won’t stop,” you feel your body buckle under the pressure.  It became too much.

Jason opens his mouth, sucking two of your fingers as his pace quickens.

“I’m close baby, hang on.”  Jason cautions, gripping your breasts and he rests into the crook of your neck, giving all of himself into you.

His hand moves between your breasts, tracing your sweat with his lips.  He grunts with a guttural tone, “Looks good.”

“Pull…”  you say weakly between breaths, barely able to think straight.  Your body feels like it’s floating away from you as you hit another orgasm before you feel yourself go empty.  You look down to see Jason jacking against your stomach, strips of white paint your belly as he howls in euphoria.

You notice your heartbeat for the first time, pounding in your chest but you felt no stress.  Your mind is hazy as Jason talks but you can’t fully register what he’s saying.  He holds your face, looking concerned as he picks you up to take you to his bedroom lying you down.

You feel a towel on your stomach as you lay on your back, completely checked out of your surroundings.

“Sure, you can spend the night, no problem.”  Jason says half-jokingly as he crawls to the other side of the bed, pulling a blanket over the both of you.  You feel his hands in your hair, gentle massaging your curls as your eyes close.

The next morning, you wake with a fright, feeling this arm laid across your waist like a boa constrictor.  A snore behind your head makes you nearly jump out of bed.

“Good morning, beautiful,” a gruff sounding Jason stretches, kissing your shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa.  Don’t do that,” you say, sitting up and covering yourself in your section of the blanket.

Jason tousles his hair, moving closer to you.  “Oh no?  I can’t initiate this time?”

You push his face back.  “You can’t initiate ever!  This isn’t a back to back thing, so don’t think you got rights to me.  Where are my clothes?”

You see your drawers, robe and shirt by the front door.  “Can you close your eyes as I get my stuff?”

Jason lays back with his hands behind his head.  “Take the blanket.  I don’t mind my body being out.”

You make a face.  “Ew, just close your eyes and turn your head.”  Jason covers his face like he’s getting ready to play Tag.

You gather your panties, slipping them on.

“You don’t have to run off so fast, we were just getting to know each other better.”  JAson says behind his hands.

You talk through your shirt.  “Bullshit.  Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

Jason drops his hands.  “So there’s nothing to discuss?” 

You shrug your robe on, running your fingers over your twists that are now sexed over and slept on as best you could.  “I’ve already forgotten what we are talking about.”

He nods.  “Well I am glad you got function back to your legs.”  He smiles widely.

You groan.  “Happens all the time, you aren’t special.  And take your trash out, smells like shit in here.”

“That’s just sex in the air, sweetheart.”  Jason waves you goodbye as you flip him off, walking out the door.  When you reach your place, you take a deep breath, feeling the aftermath of last night coursing through your body still.  You felt positively sore, like after a good workout.  It replays in your head over and over; his hands on your body, his deep kisses,  his taste.  You shake your head, trying to free your mind.  No way is he taking up any space in your memory.  It’s over and done.  You take the morning to shower off, somewhat thoughtfully.

The next day you got ready for work, feeling better than you had in a while.  Dick was not the reason, so you thought.  You felt all around more positive until your peace became disturbed.

“No, no, no, NO!”  You yell out.  “It’s not even the fucking weekend!”

You pick up your purse, looking for your keys.  You curse yourself for keeping car keys and house keys separate until you remember you are without a working vehicle.

“FUCK!”  You didn’t want to see, you wouldn’t.  You’ll text your job and tell them what’s up and call a car.  Problem solved.  

You get out of your place, locking the door and notice the hood of your car up and Jason sitting in the front seat.

He turns off the engine, closing the hood, leaning on the car as he looked at you.  “Turns out I know cars after all.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?  For stealing my keys?”  you say with a sour disposition.

He tosses the keys in the air, catching them.  “You left them at my place.  I thought it was an invitation.”

“None of it was an invitation.  Give them to me.”  You walk up to him with your hand out like a three year old.  When he drops them in your hand, he doesn’t let go.

“Say….”

You tighten your lips for what felt like an eternity until you say, “Thanks!”

He lets go with a smile and walks away.  “I swear I was gonna do it regardless, but you had to initiate so…”

“You kissed me first!”  you shout a little too loudly for a neighborhood.

He looks back winking at you.  “And don’t throw something away that’s reusable.”

Masterlist

[spaceskam]

as pure as a prayer

day 5 of @malexweek : “Do you regret it?”   in the same universe as Him. warning: anxiety, depression

ao3

“I hate to be mean, but you need to leave.”

All eyes turned to Michael in different shades of annoyance, but he stood his ground. He’d been very nice lately considering the situation. They were sort of stuck in a bad place and both Greg and Alex had put themselves out in order to protect Michael and his siblings from bad things, but Michael’s first priority was Alex. And Alex wasn’t happy.

It’d been two months since they left the town and they were still in a tiny, two bedroom apartment while they saved money to eventually find somewhere bigger and more secluded. Greg and Alex were working as farm hands and left early every day, spending their whole day dealing with things only to come home and be stuffed in a small ass area. Michael could feel the tension in Alex’s body building more and more every day and he’d heard him cry himself to sleep more than once and he had often shifted just so Alex could have some semblance of alone time so he could stop feeling so overwhelmed all the time.

But it wasn’t working. He needed to be alone or he was going to bust.

“Where exactly are we supposed to go?” Isobel asked. Michael shrugged.

“Anywhere. Just for a few hours at least,” he said. He knew Alex would much prefer longer, but they couldn’t be too picky. “And I think we should maybe shift and stay in the woods for a few weeks.”

“Wait, hold on a minute,” Max said at the idea.

“Michael, we can’t just change our lifestyle completely because your boyfriend has problems,” Isobel told him and Max shared the same expression. Michael didn’t understand what the issue was. Of all humans in the world to change their lifestyle for, Alex was the easiest. Maybe they hadn’t noticed how nice he was. But how had they missed that?

“Please?” Michael said, “Alex moved himself to keep us safe and he’s unhappy.”

“Guys, let’s just go find some place to eat and then we can drive around for a little while,” Greg said, standing up reluctantly. He gave Michael that stern look that never quite made sense to him, but he let him anyway. “Tell Alex he can’t kick us out all the time, so he does need to get used to us. But alright.”

Michael didn’t say that Alex certainly did not need to get used to them, but he didn’t say anything. Alex didn’t need to change at all. Not one bit.

He waited impatiently as they all slowly left and he watched off the balcony to make sure they left before he went back to the room he shared with Alex. It was tiny and they had to leave to even go to the bathroom and it meant that, even on his days off, Alex couldn’t just lock himself inside forever.

He was all curled up on the air mattress, a pillow over his head as he pressed himself against the wall. He had things in his ears to block out all the sound, but he said they didn’t work well. He could still hear and feel everyone talking and walking and existing in ways that drove him insane. It made Michael feel guilty.

He gently touched his leg.

“What do you want?” Alex asked, pulling the pillow away. His hair hung loose and unruly everywhere which seemed like another reason to be sad. That, however, didn’t hold a candle to his bloodshot eyes and damp cheeks.

“I got everyone to leave for a few hours, it’ll be quiet,” Michael said softly, “I’m gonna shift and sit out on the balcony so you have the place to yourself.”

Alex stared at him for a moment before nodding his head and laying back in bed. Michael went into the living room before shifting and then walking out onto the balcony where he laid down to get comfortable.

Michael didn’t mind giving Alex space, not at all. Sure, he liked being with him, but it was hard to enjoy that when he wasn’t. And he wasn’t. He was just sad and angry all the time and would shut down. It led to them never touching despite sleeping in the same bed and hardly talking despite sharing the same space. He knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose and he wasn’t trying to be mean or distant. But he was miserable, so the least Michael could do was give him space.

Alex was doing a lot for him by choosing this life instead of where he was comfortable to keep him safe, so Michael could extend the favor until they could get a place in the woods.

An hour passed before he heard footsteps and Michael peeked an eye open to see Alex quietly wandering the empty space. He walked quieter most of the time now, like he was scared of irritating people in the same way they irritated him. Most sounds irritated him now, actually. He got irrationally mad when the oven beeped and Michael had seen him start crying over not being able to stop hearing the sound of the washing machine. It was scary and Michael didn’t quite get it. Greg had pulled him aside and told him it was overstimulation and it happened to Alex a lot when he didn’t get time to debrief; it was why he was so violent as a kid. It was hard to imagine Alex as anything other than extremely kind.

However, it really seemed to put into perspective why Alex had lived in the woods. It seemed those moments that Michael felt when humans treated him so badly was how Alex felt always. Isobel always said it was Alex’s problem. To Michael, though, it seemed like everyone’s problem. Wasn’t that how family worked?

Tonight, Alex pulled a bag of snap peas out of the refrigerator and curled up on the sofa. Michael tried not to watch him, tried to keep his attention to himself so he wouldn’t disrupt him. But, truthfully, it was a little hard. Alex was always so hard not to look at.

Once the sun had set completely, his footsteps got closer and Michael looked up to see Alex standing in the doorway. He’d tied a strip of fabric around his head to keep his hair out of his face and had taken his shirt off, his sweats hanging low on his tanned hips. He crouched down and pet the top of Michael’s head, scratching behind his ear before stroking the length of his back. Michael let his eyes close at the feeling. See? Not a violent bone in his body.

“Shift back?” Alex requested softly, “Greg texted me that he’ll be home in an hour and I want some alone time with you too since we never get that anymore.”

Michael nudged his nose against Alex’s knee in agreement and Alex gave him one final scratch before they both stood up and walked into the living room. While Alex’s back was turned to close the curtain, Michael shifted. He’d gotten quite good at doing it quickly, always only taking a little over a minute. He remembered when he was young, it took forever and it was painful. Now it was just a little bit of pain that he pushed through.

Once he was human again, he stretched and let his bones crack as they adjusted to the new form. Alex almost immediately came close and wrapped his arms around him. Michael held him right back and smiled at the feeling of being chest to chest with him again.

“I’m sorry you shift so much now, I know that’s gotta be a lot on your body,” Alex told him. Michael shook his head and kissed Alex’s bare shoulder.

“I’m alright,” he insisted, “Are you alright?”

Alex took a deep breath and shrugged, dragging his fingers over his spine. Michael immediately wondered if there was a way to give him space to be alone for a whole day. Maybe he could start looking for a cabin and figure out the rest later. 

“Do you regret it?” Michael asked, “Leaving for me?”

Alex raised his head and looked at him. He was tired and his eyes were sad, but he really looked at him. Michael waited for whatever he had to say.

“No,” Alex told him, “Not for you. Anyone else? Yeah, maybe I regret that, but… not you.”

Michael nodded and dropped his forehead against Alex’s. They were in the middle of the living room and they could have this moment without watchful eyes on them or without Isobel making a comment or without Max coughing in order to make them stop. It was easy to get on board with getting a more private space.

Alex tilted his head up and pressed a kiss to his lips, one that Michael reciprocated easily. He missed kissing him and he was eager for it, but he kept himself in check to not push too much. Still, he found himself on his toes and trying to press in closer despite all of his mental checking. Alex smiled for the first time in awhile and broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away. His hand went up to cup the back of Michael’s head, keeping him close as he bumped their noses together. Michael smiled.

“Hi,” he breathed. Alex huffed a little laugh and it was the best sound Michael had ever heard.

“Hi,” Alex said back, pressing another kiss to his lips, “Come lay down with me?”

“Yes,” Michael agreed. Alex smiled softly and Michael felt like his brain was melting. He knew he wasn’t all better, that just a few hours wasn’t enough to prepare him for another week or longer of this, but it was enough that he was okay now.

Alex kept his hand on his hip as he tugged him back into the room they shared. Michael kicked the door closed and, for a moment, he let himself think about a fun future where they could leave the door open. He felt slightly robbed that he never got the chance to have Alex like this when it was just them. He never got the joys of taking him apart on the floor of the cabin, in his safe space. Alex was always so tense here and they never got the chance to just be. 

But tonight they could.

Alex pulled him onto the bed and pressed in close. Michael could feel him trying to really put his all in this, trying to relax beforehand instead of using it as a relaxation technique. Michael dug the heel of his hand into the muscles of his back, his hip, his thighs, trying to work out all the tension. He didn’t think it was actually working, but it did something and Alex slowly relaxed in the wake of his hands on him.

Michael could finally see a light at the end of the tunnel.