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bloodfromthethorn · 2 years

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Broken Bones

Falling without any kind of safety net isn't really anyone's idea of a good time. Turns out, landing's worse.

Part twenty-one of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3.

Despite what everyone seemed to believe, Mac couldn’t actually pin down when, precisely, he’d developed his fear of heights. Bozer had always tended to assume it had something to do with that time Donnie had ‘accidentally’ shoved him off the top of the climbing frame in the gym and he’d wound up with a concussion after falling ten feet, but the truth was the fear was much older than that. His earliest memories were hazy and indistinct at the best of times, but he had a vague sense of his mother soothing him when he’d been afraid of the edge of his granddad’s deck. As an adult he could comprehend that the drop was scarcely five feet, but to his tiny child’s frame, it had seemed like miles.

Regardless, the point was that the fear predated any concrete event he could put a name to. Maybe he had fallen as a child, but he didn’t have anyone left to consult about that theory. Instead, he’d chosen to accept long ago that it was simply an innate aspect of his personality that he’d have to deal with. Before he’d become a spy he hadn’t realised he’d have to confront that particular fear quite so often, but such was the price he paid for the life he chose to live.

All of that being said, he’d never quite understood why so many people were intent on telling him that his acrophobia was an irrational fear. Clearly the people saying that had never been dangling off the edge of a third floor balcony by nothing but their fingertips.

“Hang on, hoss, I’m almost to you.”

“Please don’t say ‘hang on’,” he snapped back, strained. His eyes stung with sweat, and he could feel tremors trying to infest overworked muscles, held back only by the absolute knowledge that if he so much as shifted, he’d lose his tentative grip on the iron railings. He’d made a point of not looking down, but the overactive imagination he’d never been able to constrain was more than happy to fill in the blank, gaping void he knew was beneath him.

“Yeah, okay, my bad,” Jack replied, sounding almost as out of breath as his partner. Mac knew that he was racing towards him as fast as he possibly could, but he’d been on the other side of the compound when the blast had nearly thrown Mac clear out of the building. It was going to take him a hot minute to navigate the complicated stairwells and corridors. “Just keep talking to me, alright? Keep me in the loop.”

“Talking- ah- talking’s not all that easy.”

Truthfully, breathing wasn’t all that easy just then. Dangling from his arms as he was meant that he couldn’t properly expand his ribcage without pulling himself up a little every time, and he could already feel the heavy weight of fatigue settling in his muscles. If Jack didn’t show up soon, there was a good chance Mac would pass out from oxygen deprivation before he figured out a way to get back on solid ground.

“I know it’s not. I’m going to be there any minute now, don’t you worry.”

“Mind- mind the-” He struggled, swallowed, ran out of air, and then blinked away the black spots in his vision with determination. He needed help but he’d be damned if he let Jack get hurt trying to save his sorry ass. “Debris,” he hissed.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard the boom, don’t think I didn’t. What have I told you about playing with explosives when I’m not around, huh?” There was a sudden, thoughtful pause. “Do you know if there are any other charges I need to worry about?”

The same, abrupt fear that his partner had just encountered washed through Mac like a wave. He would have slumped in place if he could; as it was, he could do nothing but force himself to breathe. “Don’t think- so. Not sure.”

“Proceed with caution then, I hear you.” From the continued panting Mac could hear over the radio, he’d wager that Jack hadn’t so much as broken stride. He was far too well-trained to not be cautious of walking into what could be a literally-explosive situation, but equally, there wasn’t a chance he was going to leave Mac when he was in so precarious a position.

Instead of wasting the last of his oh-so-precious air participating in an argument he would lose, Mac took the time to try to bolster his fading reserves. His whole body was starting to hurt, but by far the worst was the burning, blazing ache of his hands and shoulders. Every beat of his heart lit them up with fresh pain and he feared that if he faltered even a little, they’d fail him in an instant. Even with a will of iron and an intense desire to not fall off this balcony, thank you very much, he knew that he didn’t have much longer left in him.

In the back of his mind, buried under sheer blind stubbornness and a reckless streak a mile wide, he heard the gentle, persistent call of the ground far beneath him.

“Jack,” he murmured helplessly. There was no breath left in him to put strength in the word; all he could do was whisper it with his final, heaving exhale.

“Mac,” his partner snapped back, but it sounded so distant. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and no amount of blinking rid him of them. In a last ditch effort at getting the leverage he needed to take a breath, he kicked out his legs to find nothing but empty air; the balcony he was clinging to protruded several feet out from the main wall, leaving his entire body entirely disconnected from the structure. He didn’t have strength left in his arms to even try pulling himself up.

Maybe it he’d had a little more leverage, or maybe if the explosion that had knocked him over the railing in the first place hadn’t winded him so badly, or maybe if he’d been just a little bit stronger-

-but no.

His strength was spent. The darkness rose up to claim him like a mother might wrap a child in a warm blanket. The last thing he felt was the cold iron of the railing slipping away from his fingertips.

There was a moment when Jack approached the crumpled body of his partner in which he was certain that he’d failed. Desperation and urgency were both high in his blood but they weren’t enough to stop him skidding to a sharp halt a few metres away, some deep seated part of his mind begging him to pause so he could brace himself for what he was about to discover. A stupid instinct really – there was no amount of time on earth that would be enough to prepare himself for identifying the corpse of the man he’d dedicated the last ten years of his life to.

But it was only a heartbeat. Hiding from the truth wasn’t going to make it hurt any less, and the rest of the team on the radio deserved answers.

He forced himself to take a shaking step forwards, then another, then another, and then all of a sudden he was crashing to his knees besides Mac’s still form. His first observation, unwanted as it might be, was that there was surprisingly little blood for such a long fall. He instantly shut that line of thinking down and reached out with a trembling hand to feel for the pulse point on the side of Mac’s neck.

It was still beating.

The breath rushed out of him in one smooth swoop, so forceful he nearly collapsed in on himself from the sheer relief of it. It was the most he allowed himself; with the next breath, he was back in action.

“Matty,” he snapped, knowing she was listening with baited breath, “Mac’s alive. Get me a medevac right now.”

She breathed out an exclamation of relief that Jack only half listened to, preoccupied as he was with establishing visible injuries without touching Mac. He might still be alive – thank god – but there was no telling what damage had been done by the fall. The one thing they had going for them was that Mac had had the luxury of falling onto reasonably soft ground; two days of solid rain had softened up the bare earth that ringed the entire exterior of the building and while it was hardly a crash mat, they’d be looking at a very different story if it had been concrete.

From what he could see, the kid’s left leg was badly broken, presumably having taken the first impact, and his left arm was, if not broken, then at the very least displaced. It was hard to identify quite how badly, given that Mac was slumped on his side and Jack couldn’t get a good angle on it without moving him, but he definitely wasn’t lying right for his shoulder to still be in one piece. The rasping breathing also paid tribute to what was likely to be more than a few broken ribs. Further up, a gash over his eyebrow revealed where his head had finally hit the ground. Jack could only hope that he’d managed to absorb enough of the shock elsewhere that he hadn’t managed to scramble his brain.

In all, it looked like a textbook example of someone who had been trained how to fall while minimising injury. Trust Mac to pull off efficient aerial manoeuvres while free-falling and barely conscious.

Without evidence of any nasty bleeds, Jack’s attention moved on to assessing Mac’s spine. With careful fingers and several muttered apologies, bitten out through an iron grip on his control, he felt his way down from the base of Mac’s skull, all the way to his tailbone. It wasn’t a wholly reliable technique and he definitely wouldn’t be moving Mac until the EMTs arrived, but he couldn’t deny the soft relief that flooded him when he felt nothing dramatically out of place.

“You don’t get to do this to me, Mac,” he said, wishing he sounded strong instead of small. “You go kaboom, I go kaboom, remember? You’re not allowed to take on any explosions without me.”

If it hadn’t been for the pervasive quiet that had fallen over the grounds, Jack might have missed the sound that followed. It was near silent, more of a wheeze than a voice, and yet he felt it spark something in his chest all the same. In the next instant, he was back beside Mac’s head.

“Hoss?”

With his face pressed awkwardly into the loamy earth, Mac could only open one of his eyes and it still managed to be one of the best things that Jack had ever seen. Far less promising, however, was the bubble of red at the corner of his lips. Dread dropped like a stone in Jack’s gut.

Mac made the sound again, his mouth moving just enough to reveal bloodied teeth and releasing a bead of blood that carved a path down over his cheek. Horrified as he was by the sight, it took Jack a staggeringly long amount of time to realise that Mac was trying to say his name.

“Mac, Jesus, don’t try to talk,” he scolded, reaching out to brush Mac’s hair of out his eyes before he remembered not to touch. “I’m right here, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

A soft whimper escaped Mac. In the dim light, Jack could just make out the glistening in his one visible eye and he felt the pain of it lance through his chest. Tears of his own welled up before he had any chance of stopping them.

“I know it hurts, hoss,” he said, like he had any fucking idea what Mac was feeling. “It’s going to be okay, I promise you.” Throwing caution to the wind in the face of such pain, he finally let his hand come to rest softly on the top of Mac’s head. He didn’t smooth his hair back like he wanted to – there was still just enough caution in him to put that idea to rest – but the physical connection seemed to help bring something in Mac’s brain back online.

He blinked slowly, releasing the tear that had gathered at the corner of his eye, and tried to look up at his partner. Either because he realised how much pain it would cause him to do it or because he genuinely couldn’t, he didn’t make any effort to turn his head. It was better that way, Jack knew, but the sight of it still sent a thrill of fear racing through him.

“Medics are on their way, alright Mac? Just got to hang tight for a few more minutes. We can do that, can’t we? It’s hardly nothing.” That was all well and good for him to say. He wasn’t the one lying there in so much pain he could scarcely breathe. “While we’re waiting, let me get a check on you, alright? Can you blink once for yes and two for no?”

There was a brief pause as Mac apparently mulled that question over, then a slow, performative blink.

Jack tried to smile encouragingly at him, but he knew Mac would be able to see right through him. He was far too panicked to even try hiding it. “That’s great kid. Okay.” With his free hand, he reached over to where Mac’s right arm was lying limply on the ground beside him and very gently squeezed the tip of his thumb. “Can you feel that?”

A single blink. Thank god.

“That’s great news,” he said, not caring that he was repeating himself. With a slight wince of apology, he moved to Mac’s other hand, the one attached to the broken arm, and repeated the same thing. “And now?”

Another blink, accompanied by a tightening of Mac’s features.

“That one hurts more?”

Blink.

“Alright, we expected that. I’m so sorry hoss. You know I have to check.”

Blink.

“Does that hand feel numb at all? Any tingling or pins and needles?”

Two blinks.

Jack grimaced. “This is going to suck, but can you try moving your fingers for me? Just a little?”

Again there was a pause, as Mac struggled to process that request through whatever haze of concussion and agony he was currently working with, then the fingers beside Jack’s hand twitched. It was little more than a spasm, really, but it was everything Jack needed right then. “Okay, hoss, that’s great, you did it. You can relax them again, okay? You did good.”

Mac just watched him in silence. What little Jack could see of his face was carved in deep lines of distress and the blood seeping from his lips hadn’t slowed even once he’d given up on talking. A punctured lung, Jack was willing to bet; that the kid was still breathing at all suggested it was only one of the two, thank fuck, but that was still one too many. There should never be a circumstance where his partner was lying on the ground, broken into a hundred pieces, when Jack hadn’t been there to catch him.

For what felt like the hundredth time, he shook away the thought like a dog shaking off water. Now was not the time for self-recrimination or raging at the universe; he could worry about all that when Mac was whisked off to the inevitable surgical suite.

“Alright, this next one is going to be a bitch,” he warned, steeling himself to do it. “Blink if you can feel this.”

He had to remove his hand from Mac’s head to reach his feet, but he knew that it had to be done. Uncharacteristically, Mac had been wearing combat boots for their infiltration – Jack hadn’t bothered to ask why, but it had probably done a lot to stop his ankles from shattering in the fall so he wasn’t about to protest it – which meant the closest he could actually get to the soles of his feet was halfway up his shin. It wasn’t optimal; once the EMTs got here, they’d have to cut the boots off and do a proper blood flow and sensation check. But, for the moment, sans any cutting tools and deeply unwilling to put Mac through the agony of taking his boots off in the traditional way, he’d settle for digging his nail softly into the meat of Mac’s calf.

This time the wince preceded the blink, sharp enough that his whole body twitched. Going off how Mac instantly froze afterwards, Jack was willing to bet that moving had set off a whole new cacophony of pain.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he blubbered helplessly, shuffling back up to Mac’s head on his knees. He’d never been good at seeing people he cared about in pain, and that went double when it was Mac or Riley. They were his family and he’d do anything to keep them safe; watching them hurt felt like knives beneath his skin. He’d almost say it was a fitting punishment for letting them get injured in the first place if they weren’t the ones suffering.

A couple of strained, rasping breaths later, Mac managed to get his eye back open from its pained squint and blinked twice. Rejecting the apology? Or saying it wasn’t necessary? Jack had no way of establishing which without asking and he wasn’t getting Mac to waste his strength on soothing Jack’s shredded nerves. Instead, he just continued a mumbled litany of assurances and empty promises that help was just around the corner.

With some level of nerve responsiveness established, there was nothing else he could do besides monitor Mac’s condition and report it to the incoming EMTs via Matty. He felt paralysed, unable to do anything to help his partner beyond just being there. That Mac seemed to take some small comfort from his presence did little to make him feel less like a failure.

None of this should have happened. Jack should have been there. If he had been- well, he didn’t know what he could have done, but he would have thought of something. Anything that would have meant Mac didn’t have to go through this.

As distressing as it was to watch Mac fighting to breathe through the agonising pain, watching his blinks get slower and more lethargic as he drifted towards unconsciousness was a hundred times worse. Jack tried to keep him awake as long as he could with one-sided conversation, but there was only so much he could do.

By the time the medevac team was racing across the lawn towards them, Mac’s eye had slipped closed and nothing Jack said could get him to open it again.

After the fall he’d had, the list of Mac’s broken bones was as unsurprising as it was horrifying. The only thing keeping Jack from really losing it was that the fool had somehow managed to protect both his spine and his skull, with both showing bruising but no permanent damage. Elsewhere was… less good.

A dislocated shoulder leading to a snapped humerus. Five broken ribs, two of which had shredded his left lung. A fractured hip. By the time the doctor started listing the injuries to Mac’s legs, it became easier to name the bones that hadn’t been broken.

The headline information was that Mac would live. Assuming his reconstructive surgery went well and his body didn’t decide to reject any of the metal pins currently being used to hold him together, he’d even live well; it would be a hell of a long time before he was up and walking, the doctors said, but they did have hope that he would, indeed, walk. In that regard at least the combat boots had made all the difference. Jack had spent a not inconsiderable amount of time since learning that fact wondering how he could convince Matty to make them required attire for all field agents.

It was that or beat himself up over letting Mac get hurt at all.

Although, then again, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t have time for both. Mac’s surgery would take hours and even once he was out, the doctors had indicated they were planning on keeping him sedated for a good while yet. There was already going to be a lot of pain in his future; there was no need to wake him up now to feel the worst of it. The best thing he could do for himself was rest and heal without aggravating any of his numerous injuries.

All Jack had to do was wait. Riley was heading over to join him – no doubt with instructions from Matty to make sure that Jack looked after himself instead of falling to pieces at Mac’s bedside – but her flight wasn’t due in for another few hours yet. Even with the travel time, she’d likely arrive before Mac made it out of the operating theatre.

God. What a fucking mess.

Multiple surgeries and a frankly alarming amount of sedatives meant that Mac didn’t wake up for any meaningful length of time for another week and a half. He’d dozed in and out for several days, but his body had clearly taken control from him and decided that it needed rest to heal. Jack would have worried over it if the doctors hadn’t been so relieved at his constant progress. As much as Mac lying still in a hospital bed sent all kinds of alarm bells ringing in Jack’s head, he couldn’t deny that the rest seemed to be doing him some good.

Riley was a constant source of support. She’d brought her rig with her so she could still be involved in on-going Phoenix operations – which Jack realised belatedly was why Matty was so content to leave them in general peace – but even then she hardly left Jack’s side. As expected, she continually hassled him about sleeping and eating, bullying him into the crappy hospital shower every morning while she took up his regular spot beside Mac. After the trauma he’d been through, neither of them were willing to leave him to wake up alone even once.

Fortunately, they needn’t have worried. After so many brief stirs, staying awake just long enough to acknowledge where he was and that his team was with him, the first time Mac properly woke was a reasonably calm affair. He already recognised the hospital and he had some vague memories of how he got there, though he clearly wasn’t willing to examine them too closely at the moment. Jack, able to remember every second of the whole nightmare in perfect clarity, was all too happy to oblige.

There was the pain of course; even under a hefty dose of morphine, Mac had far too many broken bones to not be feeling something. When Jack had asked him directly about it, he’d brushed it off as minor but there was no hiding the tightness of his eyes or the downward curl of his mouth when he thought no one was looking. In the end, it was almost a relief when he fell back asleep and stayed there for another twelve hours.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t until the following morning when he actually started asking the questions Jack had expected as soon as he was coherent.

“So, what’s the damage?”

He’d waited to ask until Riley was out of the room – on a coffee run – and he pitched it like he wasn’t particularly invested in the answer. To anyone else, his disinterest might have appeared genuine. For Jack, the sharp worry in his eyes was impossible to miss. “You’ve done a real number on yourself, bud,” he admitted quietly. “There’s a lot more metal holding you together than there was a week ago.”

Mac winced a little, even having already known that. “How bad?”

Jack couldn’t hide the grimace that overcame him, then covered it by rubbing at his eyes until he could pull on a suitably relaxed expression. “In a word, bad. But, if you keep your PT appointments and don’t do anything stupid in the next couple of months, the doctors are confident you’ll regain full mobility.”

“Yeah?”

There was so much gentle hope cradled in that word, it seemed to illuminate the air around it. Jack breathed out shakily. “For real, hoss. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“No, I know, I just-” Mac let out a sigh of his own, his eyes momentarily drifting to the ceiling tiles as he gathered himself. “I remember- bits. It’s all pretty foggy but…” He bit his lip. After a strained silence, he finally admitted, “I didn’t think I was going to make it.”

Jack’s hand found Mac’s unbroken one without conscious consideration. A thousand self-recriminations sprung to life in his mind for not being able to do anything to keep that dark, sorrowful look out of his partner’s eyes, but he brushed them all aside in favour of fixing Mac with his sternest look. “Hey, now, none of that,” he scolded gently. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters. All of the what ifs don’t matter when you’re sitting right here breathing and in one piece. Mostly,” he tacked awkwardly on the end when his gaze flitted down to Mac’s numerous casts.

He’d feared the slip might upset him, but he warmed with relief when his partner snorted quietly.

“I’m not gonna lie, this was a bad one,” he said when Mac refocused. “Real bad. You weren’t the only one thinking- Well. Maybe let’s just both agree to never do this again, alright? I don’t think my heart can take it.”

“Deal,” Mac agreed quickly, the smallest of smiles curving his lips.

“The main takeaway is that you’re going to be alright. It’s gonna suck, don’t get me wrong, and I swear to god if I catch you trying to saw off your own cast at any point I am dragging you into medical by your goddamn ear-” Mac snickered again, and the faux irritation Jack had put on dispersed into quiet, simple joy at the sound of it, “But we’re going to be okay. All you need to worry about right now is resting up and healing, you hear me?”

“I hear you.” His eyes were already drooping, fatigue swooping back over him now that the worst of his stress had passed. Shoulders that had been creeping up around his ears in suppressed panic sank back down to leave him slumped casually against his pillows. “Thanks Jack.”

“Don’t mention it.”

With both legs and one of his arms in plaster casts, the wheelchair was an unavoidable necessity, no matter how much Mac scowled at it and insisted he could hobble about with boots and crutches. Already wise to his tricks, none of the medical staff even pretended to humour the suggestion. Jack just muttered darkly at him and, when grouchiness failed, resorted to guilt-tripping Mac with comments about how worried he’d been for his safety.

In all honesty, he was surprised that that tactic worked as long as it did. For an entire week, Jack got to enjoy Mac’s sullen griping about needing to ask for help for the most mundane of tasks; the novelty of the whole experience did help to soften the worst of the transition, but Mac had never been an easy-going patient at the best of times and it wasn’t long before he was glaring into the middle distance every few minutes. Rather than getting himself worked up over his perceived failure over and over again, Jack chose instead to be bemused by his partner’s irritation.

…Which was a tactic that came to an abrupt end when he returned to Mac’s house following a quick trip to the store to find the certified genius sprawled on the hallway floor, his wheelchair all the way in the living room and an overturned end table beside him.

Bright, burning panic flooded Jack’s veins, only to be rapidly snuffed out when he caught Mac’s expression of cowed embarrassment. Instead of racing to his side and fussing over any potential new injuries, Jack sucked in a deep breath, held it while he crossed his arms, and levelled Mac with the most unimpressed expression he could muster.

“I suppose you have a brilliant explanation for this?”

Mac’s face betrayed some level of pain, but blushing as he was it was hard to determine how much was physical and how much was the awareness that he’d just pissed off his partner. “Yes?”

“Care to share what it is?”

“…No?”

Jack sighed, putting his head in his hands for a long moment to wish for strength he didn’t feel. “’Course not. Jesus. Okay, first things first, have you hurt anything?”

He was already ducking down to Mac’s side to check, but Mac’s one working arm was quick to bat him away. “No,” he said more seriously. “Winded myself, but it wasn’t a bad fall.”

“You’ve got about two unbroken bones in your entire body right now hoss, there’s no such thing as a ‘good’ fall.”

“A hundred and eighty-nine, actually,” Mac supplied waspishly, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Oh, you so do not want to get smart with me right now.”

Assured that Mac wasn’t about to either bleed out or break any more bones, Jack crossed the ten feet or so between them and the abandoned wheelchair. He rolled it to Mac’s side and wordlessly started to help hauling him up into it. Cowed by his partner’s frustration and his own embarrassment, Mac let it happen without further comment.

It was only once he was settled back that he forcefully caught Jack’s eye. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I just wanted to grab my headphones from my room and I didn’t want to deal with the chair.”

Just like that, Jack’s anger evaporated. “I know it sucks man, but you’ve gotta take things slow. If you need anything you know I’m happy to get it for you. Waiting an extra ten minutes to listen to some music is a better option than breaking something the docs can’t fix.”

Looking not unlike a child being scolded, Mac’s eyes dropped to his knees. “I know. It was stupid.”

Jack sighed heavily, wishing things could be easy just this once. “It was,” he agreed when he was sure he could speak levelly. “But no harm done, right? Most people say they learn from their mistakes and god knows you don’t make many of them. Maybe you’re just due a refresher course.”

“A refresher course in… waiting for my headphones?”

“I was gonna say ‘accepting help’, but whatever works for you man.”

He snorted. “Yeah, okay, that’s fair.”

Caving to the impulse, Jack ruffled the kid’s hair fondly and laughed when he got smacked away. “You’re going to be alright bud. Just gonna take a little while. Now, where are these headphones of yours?”

#macgyver #angus macgyver #jack dalton #fanfiction #my fanfic #whump of july 2021

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indigowallbreaker · 3 years

Note

Can I please have “How could I have been so blind?” for Felix x Dimitri?

(my first idea for this was quite fluffy and comedic. then I remembered these are the heartbreak prompts. so I went with Feels instead <3)

55. "How could I have been so blind?"

“As far as I can determine,” Mercedes said, “Felix simply passed out due to exhaustion.”

Dimitri frowned, eyes falling to Felix in the infirmary bed. His unbound dark hair looked akin to spilled ink across the while pillows. Rarely did Dimitri see Felix with his hair down-- the sight left Dimitri feeling oddly depraved. As if he should not be seeing such a thing while Felix was sleeping.

“You’re sure?” Dimitri asked, looking back to Mercedes. “He has not taken ill or been poisoned in some way?”

Her lip quirked up, likely in response to his paranoia, but she schooled her features quickly and shook her head. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s simply overwork. There are signs he is dehydrated, and...” Mercedes sighed. “Well, it looks to me like he’s lost weight since the war. With your permission, I’d like to talk with his staff and see how often he takes meals.”

“You have it. What does he need now?”

“Rest, your Majesty.” Mercedes lay a hand on Dimitri’s arm. He relaxed at the touch, unaware he had been standing so stiff. “He needs sleep. And perhaps a good meal and a few lectures on taking care of himself.” This last she said a bit louder and with a pointed look at Felix, as if he were awake to defend himself. Dimitri could clearly imagine Felix’s pout if he had heard that.

The mental image nearly caused Dimitri to chuckle. Instead, he covered Mercedes’ hand with his own and smiled for her. “Thank you. I appreciate your swiftness in this matter.”

With a return smile. Mercedes placed a kiss on Dimitri’s cheek, waved to Dedue, and left the infirmary. Presumably she was off to interrogate Felix’s staff. Dimitri now looked Felix over more critically. Perhaps his face was a tad thinner, but he had always been more slight than Dimitri or Sylvain.

Dimitri pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy exhale. No, he was making excuses for himself. Just under an hour ago, Felix had collapsed in Dimitri’s study-- there could be no doubt he had been overworked. By Dimitri.

“How could I have been so blind?” Dimitri muttered.

Though he had not addressed Dedue, Dimitri heard him step forward. “Felix is a grown man. It is not your responsibility to look after him.”

“Felix has never been good at looking after himself. I should have noticed something before today. It should never have reached this point. Few work as close with me as Felix, and I never even thought to--”

On the bed, Felix let out a low hum and curled tighter on his side. Dimitri and Dedue stared. When Felix did not move again, Dimitri let out a relieved sigh. He had caused Felix enough grief for one lifetime. Mercedes said Felix needed rest-- and rest he would have.

“Let us go,” Dimitri said, his voice soft. A bit of Felix’s hair had stuck to his lip when he moved. An ache pulsed through Dimitri’s arm, demanding he remove it.

Fist clenched, Dimitri turned for the infirmary door, trying to turn his mind back to work. “Do you wish for a messenger to tell us when he is awake?” Dedue asked as he followed.

Oh how Dimitri wanted to say yes. How he wanted to sprint back here the moment he heard the news and kneel at Felix’s bedside with a thousand apologies.

“No. I shall bother him no further.”

“As you wish, Dimitri.”

He winced. Dedue using his name in public always meant he frowned upon a decision. Ignoring that, Dimitri left the infirmary, sure that he was making a choice Felix would one day appreciate.

(send me a heart-breaking dialogue prompt! mind the tags!)

#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #felix hugo fraldarius #dimilix #felix fire emblem #dimitri fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #breaking prompts #want to challenge myself to vary up my genres #darkmercutyus

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ranhaitanisgf · 3 years

Text

;; 𝖆𝖑𝖇𝖊𝖉𝖔

otherwise read as: you’re a stressed out bitch and albedo is worried

❧ masterlist

Being an assistant to the Acting Grandmaster of Monstadt is no easy task. It was your job to make sure that Jean wouldn't get overworked again, and to keep her in tip-top shape.

When the job was offered up to you, you immediately accepted; Jean was a close friend of yours, and it hurt you to see her so stressed out every day while still tending to the everyday tasks of helping the citizens of Monstadt. You were willing to take on her mountains of work to give her a break, because Barbatos knows she deserves it. [perhaps he does-]

"Are you sure about this (Y/N)? It's a lot to get through, surely I can at least help somewhat-" You rolled your eyes at her, shooting her a playful smile.

"Jean! It's finee, I got this! You just go take a break, maybe go out for lunch with Lisa? I'm sure she would be more than happy to oblige!" You winked at her, laughing at her slightly flushed face

"Well, if you're sure, then I will be taking my leave. But please let me know if you need me to come back at any moment, and I will be sure to come and help." You turned her around by her shoulders, marching her out of her office and leading her to the doorway of the library.

"Now! Go and take a break! Go on a date and romance that-"

"(Y/N)!!" You giggled at her reddening state.

"Alright, alright...LISA!! JEAN'S HERE AND SHE HAS SOMETHING TO ASK!!" You called. You saluted to Jean, who was looking at you with panicked eyes.

"(Y/N)!!"

You raced back to her office, quickly grabbing the piles of paperwork and list of commissions to do today and sprinting down the steps into the basement of the headquarters. [idk where the lab is so bear with me here]

"(Y/N)!! Get back here!!" You could hear Jean yell in the distance.

As your assistant, it is my duty to help you with your future, and that includes matchmaking. You'll forgive me when you have a girlfriend.

"Albedo!! Door!!" You yelled out into the hallway. Sure enough, just as you were about to run into the door, it opened, letting you inside before closing swiftly behind you.

Panting, you heaved the piles of paperwork onto a nearby cluttered table, accidentally knocking over a few oddities.

"I was about to visit you, but it seems you visited me first." He chuckled.

Ahhh, cute!!

"Do you mind if I do this work in here? I wouldn't want someone to walk in looking for Jean and just find me lurking about." Albedo nodded, and you sighed, sitting down in a nearby chair and rolling your neck in preparation for the time that would be needed for the mountain of paperwork in front of you.

"Did you give Jean another break today?" Albedo asked softly.

"Yup! As her trusty assistant, I gave her a date as well!" He chuckled at this, wrapping his arms loosely around you from behind and resting his chin on your head.

"And I presume that's why you ran in here full speed?" An amused tone filled his voice, and you could imagine the playful smirk on his lips.

"Yup! Now, to get this work done!" You thought that once you started, Albedo would go and work on his experiments and whatnot, but to your surprise, he stayed behind you, watching as you filled out forms and whatnot for Jean.

"Albedo?" It had been almost half an hour, and while you not were displeased that he had stayed, you were a bit confused as to why.

"Ah...nevermind." Yeah, you weren't about to risk him leaving.

After a while, he got off and moved to the chair beside you, reaching to the main table in the middle of the room and grabbing his sketchbook and a pencil. He started sketching something on the paper, and you tried to lean over to see, but he angled himself back. You frowned, pouting as you laid your head on the table, continuing to sign papers.

"(Y/N), are you almost finished?"

"Not nearly, why?" Albedo let out a long sigh, not responding to your question. You brushed it off, not thinking much of his response.

Several hours passed by, and you were almost done with the paperwork. Albedo had stayed in the lab the entire time, sketching for a majority of the time, using the time he wasn't sketching to briefly tidy up a bit.

"(Y/N), are you done yet?" He asked, shutting his sketchbook and placing it on the table.

"Almost done, I probably need like another hour. I have no idea how Jean did this all by herself before..." Your head rested in the palm of your hand, your eyebrows furrowed as you thought of how exhausted Jean must have been, especially with the Fatui in the city, as well as the Stormterror threat that had happened a few months back.

If only I had noticed sooner...

Your pen paused against the parchment as you thought of your actions in the past.

"How about you finish the rest tomorrow (Y/N), and we can maybe grab some dinner and go home?" Albedo's hand gently grabbed the pen out of yours, setting it down on the table.

"No no, I should finish it now. It has to get done at some point; besides, I'm doing this for Jean. I told her it would get done, so it's going to get done." You picked the pen back up and continued on with doing the work, rapidly scribbling across the parchment as your eyes scanned over the document.

A frown appeared on Albedo's face. You hadn't told him, but he knew you felt guilty for not noticing Jean's fatigued and stressed self before. You didn't really notice it, but you were always working just as hard as Jean, just in a different way. On top of being Jean's assistant and taking on her work, you were always helping people around Monstadt with little errands, doing extra commissions on top of the ones assigned, attending to emergencies in Monstadt, Dragonspine, and Liyue, and so on.

He was getting worried about you; he didn't want you to end up fatigued like Jean was before. The only problem was that you were quite stubborn and didn't like to listen to other people when it came to your well-being. you always said that you would take a break if you weren't feeling well, but Albedo saw right through that lie.

"(Y/N), please. I'm worried about you." You looked up at him for a moment, your eyebrows furrowed in a confused look.

"Why are you worried about me? I'm fine Albedo, really." He merely sighed in response, his gloved fingers reaching out to gently brush your darkening eyebags. You looked to the side, groaning

"You're reminding me of Jean when she kept overworking herself; she said the same thing to me. I don't want to see that happen to you (Y/N). It's not healthy to keep taking on all of the work, so please just come and rest. Do it for me?" You could see a glint of sadness and desperation in his eyes, and you nervously looked down at the documents before looking back to him.

There isn't too much, so I might be able to get the rest done tomorrow...

"Ahh, okay then, you've convinced me. Let's go." You stood up from the chair, stretching out before stacking up the papers before you left.

As you walked out of the lab with Albedo, he discarded his gloves and put them in his pocket, and laced your fingers together, enjoying the feeling of warmth from your hand. the two of you made your way to Good Hunter, quickly grabbing some food before heading home.

It was late at night, which meant that the stars were out and shining in their full glory. the moonlight poured out, spilling onto the streets with a milky glow.

"Albedo, thanks..." He looked towards you to find a most amazing sight indeed.

You shyly looked away, a red tint coloring your cheeks. As he looked at you, you slowly made eye contact with him, giving him a small smile.

His unoccupied hand shot up to cover to lower half of his face as he looked away; he could feel the intense flushing of his cheeks at the cute look you had sent him.

"Ah, it was my pleasure..."

Cute...

#albedo #albedo x reader #xreader #x reader #reader #readerinsert #oneshot #fanfic #albedo kreideprinz #albedo kreideprinz x reader #albedo kreideprinz x reader oneshot #;; hana writes genshin

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lununnunna · 3 years

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i cant sleep without you || todoroki shouto x reader

have you ever grown so used to one’s presence that you find yourself unable to complete an otherwise simple task without them?

warnings: angst, death, not a happy ending, tiny breeding kink if you squint hard enough

shouto did his best to keep a regular schedule for you, as he didnt like to be away from you— because for starters, he didnt want you to be hurt and/or kidnapped by a villain looking to exploit the second highest-ranked hero, secondly, because he loved you, and lastly, because he hated missing out on time he could be spending with you.

thats why, on the few occasions he told you he’d be home late, he wound up finding you still waiting for him in the ungodly hours of the night.

“i couldnt sleep without you here,” you would confess, fingers fiddling as if you were shy, though your tired gaze told him you only wanted to sleep. and that was a sentiment he wholeheartedly agreed with.

he would let out a soft puff of air, a gentle smile on his lips as he welcomed you in his arms, nose buried in your neck as he carried you up the stairs despite his weariness from battle. after all, he would always have enough energy for you.

you never minded his dirtiness on nights like those. he never once heard you complain about how sweaty he must have smelled, or how he might soil the bedsheets. you would only cuddle into him, seemingly ignoring all else solely for the comfort of him, and in the morning hed find you humming to yourself as you drew him a bath, the first aid kit on the bathroom counter. a part of him felt as though he didnt deserve to be spoiled this way by you, but youd constantly remind him that he did. you would tell him he deserved the world, and everything you did was out of love— also, that tending to his wounds wasnt spoiling him, and your melodious laughter would spill into your explanation about how his wounds probably should have been cleaned right away.

it also didnt help that he couldnt bring himself to refuse your gentle touch, small, slender fingers tenderly washing away the sweat, dirt and blood built up on his skin and in his hair. by the time you were done, he was left smelling of sunlit strawberries— a scent that wasn’t his first choice, but was the “fee of your service.”

you would leave him to dry and dress himself, and when he left the bathroom, he would find the bedsheets missing. you had once again taken on a chore without prompting and without complaint. god, he never deserved you, did he?

there had also been nights when he’d be home late without your knowledge— and when he finally stepped through the front door, he found you in the dark, silent tears soaking your skin.

it didnt take much to spot his injuries, and realize the reason he had been late. “why didnt anybody call me?”

it felt like a stake in his heart, how quiet your voice was. how broken sounding. how much worry and fear and sorrow filled your wet gaze. he vowed to never let you feel that way again— but sometimes, he couldnt help it.

he couldnt help the night you ran to him, lying in agony on the street of the city. he couldnt move. he hated seeing you cry. he hated not being able to kiss away the tears on your cheeks, hated not being able to tell you he was okay, not being able to hold you tight as you screamed and begged for him not to close his eyes. he had always made sure to have energy for you— but his body betrayed him as his vision grew dark, his body feeling heavier with every passing second.

the last thing he heard, the last thing he felt, was your anguished cries and your tears on his cheeks.

“i cant sleep without you here,” you whispered to what you thought was his comatose state in the hospital, moonlight filtering through the window. his mind felt numb. his feelings were hazy. yet nothing could stop him from recognizing your voice; your touch. he managed to squeeze the hand that was grasping his so tightly, and by the time the nurse entered the room, he was conscious enough to fix you a weak smile.

you began to cry.

time was a fickle thing. the nights he spent with you felt too short, and the nights away from you felt too long.

he craved more time with you, more memories— and someday, more noise. he knew it was too early for kids, but he wanted them. he wanted several with you. and to add, he wanted the time to be home with them. you didnt like how hard he was pushing himself just to make more time, though.

and you didnt like when he got angry with you for expressing this.

god, how foolish he had been. he never meant to snap. he was tired and overworked; a fault that was entirely his own. the same fault you had been trying to point out to him.

regret had settled deep in the pit of his stomach the moment he saw your wide-eyed, tearful expression. you looked so small before him, and he moved to cup your cheek; to apologize for the harsh words that had left his mouth as a result of the stress and anger that momentarily blinded him.

but you flinched.

and never had he felt such a sick feeling in his gut, twisting and carving away at his insides. panic and anxiety flooded his senses, tides of rage and self-hatred washing over him. it made him tremble, watching, frozen in place as you took a step back. and then another. and then you turned away, gaze hardened as you disappeared up the stairs. he fell to his knees, stewing in his remorse.

you had given him the silent treatment for the rest of the evening. he didnt blame you. he had also been silent, not wanting to speak to you— he didnt trust himself, and more importantly, he felt as though scum like himself didnt deserve to in the first place. no good husband would ever speak to his wife that way, stressed or not.

“im going for groceries,” you muttered quietly, so quiet he barely caught it. he watched as you slipped your shoes on, every atom in his being screaming at him to hug you— to hold you tight and kiss you goodbye. he wanted to tell you to drive safe, to offer to come along, to tell you he loved you. anything but watch you leave without another word from either one of you.

and he so desperately wished he had gone with you.

that night, you were caught in a wreck. that night, you left him. that night.. he lost you. the love of his life. his everything.

he lost you.

and every day since then, he had been lying in your once-shared bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, recounting every moment of that day. he wallowed in the empty place beside him, tears soaking your pillow as he let out screams of agonized rage. he would get so angry that hed nearly burn away the bed— but the thought of losing your scent, still soaked into the sheets, would drag him back into his broken sorrow.

and there he would remain for the hours of the night, staring out the window as he waited for the sun to rise. his eyes felt heavy. he knew he was exhausted. and yet, he couldnt bring himself to sleep. he couldnt quiet his mind.

ironic, wasnt it? ironic that his wish for more time with you, was exactly what took you away from him. ironic, that every day since your death, he had been feeling everything that you must have felt when he came home late.

except this time, you werent coming home.

and he cant sleep without you.

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thearchvillain · 3 years

Text

of horsefairs and maidens. part 1

nikolai lantsov x reader

link to part 2

summary: The weather is warm and the air thick with the scent of summer blossoms at the epicentre of horse auctions and races, Caryeva - and Nikolai Lantsov has been bored out of his mind for the past... what feels like an eternity. When even counting how many times his brother has made a fool of himself lost its appeal and became nearly tragic to watch, Nikolai retreated to the edges of the fair only to find that pretty girl Vasily had been dragging around all day hiding on the outskirts, seemingly desperate to escape the supposed Lantsov charm. Or whatever version of it Vasily had offered. "Tomorrow then.", he leaned down beside her, "I'll buy all your father's horses if that's what it takes." Watching her from the side he could just see the tiniest of smirks grace the corner of her lips, "That's an expensive sport you're wanting to try out." "Well, have I ever told you that I have a lot of money?" "Silly me, and here I was thinking you were a mere peasant." "Was it the humility? The rogue charm?"

word count: 2085

warnings: mentions of animal abuse, also Vasily being generally shitty as always

A/N - this is my first attempt at writing this sort of AU/imagine/excerpt, and I’ve gone overboard with the word count (as always), but I hope you will like it! i thought i might fit it into one part, but both Nikolai and the main character had so much to say I figured there would have to be another part thrown in there haha also we have some (briefly) confused!Nikolai, so I hope you enjoy that!

She'd hidden herself well, standing at the very edges of the fair where the trees cast their shadows long and wide in the evening sun, offering a pocket of peace to both the animals and the humans looking for a moment of silence, or cold breeze not laden with the scent of alcohol and sweat and horses.

Nikolai had been watching her for a while, straight-backed and still in her rider's outfit, standing near the rickety fence and looking at the horses not quite suited for the finer crowds that milled around the crown prince back at the heart of the fair. He supposed it was a good place to hide, not so much because of the forest behind them, but because his brother was far too vain to venture this far out.

"I saw you before, you're the girl who's been entertaining the crown prince.", he said, casually, noncommittally. She'd been ignoring the sound of his steps as he'd approached her from behind, drawn in by some sight before her, and even now she didn't so much as glance over her shoulder. Instead, she let out a sound that might have been a snort, but more lady-like, "Well, he's certainly not been entertaining me, so someone had to get the job done."

Nikolai stopped just short of the fence, to her left, and finally when the girl turned her head to see who she was speaking to he could see the brief flash of recognition in her eyes. So she hadn't known who she was speaking to. The surprise stayed there only for the briefest time, then morphed into something that might have been calculation, as if she were weighing her options - to speak of the prince to his brother this way was a dangerous game, at least if one wasn't familiar with Nikolai.

She finally settled on a slight nod, as graceful as it was superficial, "My apologies.", then she cocked an eyebrow, "Tell me, your highness, could this cost me my tongue?"

Cheeky. He smirked, "Only if it's me you're speaking of this way, and even then only because it would be a terrible lie. I'm wonderfully entertaining."

She made a noncommittal sound and looked back at her horses, "Does it run in the family?"

Nikolai felt personally slighted that the giant lump of muscle that was a horse a few meters away from them seemed more interesting to her than he did, but it wasn't like he was going to just back off, "At least give me a chance, it'd be a shame for you to think we're all like that."

"Like what?", she turned her clever eyes back to him and smiled, "You make it sound like I've implied the crown prince is not charming."

"Oh, you haven't. I'm the one implying it.", this seemed to draw out a chuckle from her. Take that, horse. "You're rather good at hiding distaste, I'll give you that."

"Who says I'm not hiding it now?"

"Ouch.", his hand went briefly to his chest in a theatrical display of hurt, "How come you're not nearly as charming to me as you've been to Vasily?"

"Because you don't seem like a jackass. How's that for the capital offence?"

"Personally, I see none, merely a good judge of character."

This time the chuckle she let over her lips was a bit less restrained, and he'd be damned if he didn't take that as a win. Now her eyes slid back to the meadow in front of them, beaten down by horseshoes and boots until it was nothing but mud, and Nikolai watched her watch that same horse she'd been staring at since he'd first spotted her. One could claim it was nothing special if it weren't for its size - he'd be damned if that wasn't the largest horse he'd seen since the army, and probably the roughest-looking.

"Do you have a penchant for the uglier specimen or are you just wondering about his size?"

The girl gave him the dirtiest look he'd been given in a while, "He's not ugly, just old and overworked.", then as if to sound less stern, "But he is a big boy, even for his breed."

Well, that attempt at a joke about his looks fell flat. He wasn't used to that. "How do you know?"

This seemed to be more her tune because she perked up and pointed one long, elegant finger at the horse, "Do you see the way he's walking? And the scars on his flank?", she didn't wait for the answer, he could hear the urgent irritation in her voice, "He's been severely abused - his hind leg has been broken and never set properly, and you rarely see a valuable work animal this scarred from beatings and equipment."

Now Nikolai looked, actually looked, he could see the ridges of old scars crisscrossing his entire body, and something off about the way he ambled around as if to put a distance between himself and the people. "I thought he was a warhorse, that those were battle wounds. Not something his owners would do to him."

He could see her soften a bit when she heard the shock and disgust that laced his tone, her eyes going briefly to him before she looked at the horse again, "Vasily wouldn't even look at him."

"You tried to show him to my brother?"

She frowned at his tone, "I had no choice! My father won't let me buy him, and he's going to be sold for meat if I don't get him before this hell show is over."

"You want to buy him?"

No, actually, this was the dirtiest look he'd received from a woman, "Well, of course. He deserves a peaceful, loving retirement. He's suffered enough."

Now it was Nikolai's turn to look incredulous, "I thought you were letting my brother drag you around like a prized mare because you wanted an actual prized mare."

She sputtered, incredulity lining her features before she finally found her voice, "Excuse me?"

"Not like that --"

"Like what then?"

Nikolai cleared his throat, if only to buy himself time, "Well, this went off the rails fairly quickly."

She turned her entire body towards him now, and he could feel the anger vibrating off her tiny frame in waves, all directed at him, "You were never on the damn rails."

Fair enough. "It says nothing of your character, anyone who listens to his drivel for an entire day should be well-compensated for their emotional trouble."

"I'll need to be well-compensated after this conversation."

"I don't think that old horse will do it though."

She smacked him on the arm. It took Nikolai a second to process what had just happened, as he looked down to his arm where her fist had punched him with all the righteousness of a woman scorned, then back up at her, incredulous once again. "I was joking."

"Try doing it again, but this time make it funny."

When Nikolai didn't answer quickly enough she put her hands on her hips and raised a brow, "Well?"

"Well-- my extensive education in diplomacy tells me I should ease off with the jokes and perhaps try to apologise?"

Her brow somehow went even higher, it made him feel young and squeamish.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you were accompanying my brother for your gain."

"Oh, please, of course I've been advising him on horses because I want something out of him, why else would I listen to him compare me to a mare and act like he'd written me a sonnet."

"He compared you to a horse?"

"An expensive one, so it's fine in his mind.", she let out a shaky breath, the anger still simmering beneath the soft rosy tint that coloured her cheeks. Nikolai couldn't help but stare, taken aback by the simplicity of her intentions, her irritation - she'd been keeping her cool the entire day, nodding prettily whenever his brother said something, offering him her expertise only to have it thrown back in her face because she was not meant to be listened to, only showed off. And she was not a girl that wanted to be showed off or ignored, that much was clear.

"What?"

She turned to look at him, and Nikolai caught himself mid-stare, too absorbed in his thoughts to recognize that he'd been looking at her a bit too long. "Nothing, I'm just impressed."

"With what?"

"You.", he smirked, "I mean you've been suffering under his charms all day, then mine, and at the end of it you're restrained enough to only punch me in the arm?"

She frowned, her eyes sliding to his arm, uncertainty on her features, "Can I get in trouble for that?"

"Oh no, I'm into it."

She raised a brow, and Nikolai couldn't help the smirk that passed across his lips. Then he said, out of nowhere, "Will you come to dine with me?"

"As you said, your brother thinks I'm his prized mare."

That was only half a no, so he thought he might still have some wiggle-room left there, "Well I think you're far prettier than that. At least a good racehorse."

"Saints I want to smack you again."

Nikolai leaned in, his voice conspirational, "Well, yeah, that was kind of the point."

That chuckle again. He noticed that the feathery hair at the back of her neck curled delightfully when she turned to look at the fair and wondered briefly what she might look like when she let her hair down from her ponytail. His thoughts were interrupted when she said, "I can't. My father wants me to keep him amused, so Vasily might buy from him instead of the breeder from the next town over."

Nikolai frowned, "So he sent you out to entertain the creepier of the two princes like a well-trained monkey?"

"You just physically can't say a sentence without petting your own ego, can you?"

"Oh, you're noticing that just now?"

She leaned her forearms on the fence, staring out at the distance, "Are you really surprised? My sister probably knows even more than I do about the horses, but it was never about the knowledge."

Nikolai wished he could tell her he was, but he'd been made all too familiar with how these things worked in court, why his mother had paraded him around so much, with his pretty golden curls and charming smiles.

"Tomorrow then.", he leaned down beside her, "I'll buy all your father's horses if that's what it takes."

Watching her from the side he could just see the tiniest of smirks grace the corner of her lips, "That's an expensive sport you're wanting to try out."

"Well, have I ever told you that I have a lot of money?"

"Silly me, and here I was thinking you were a mere peasant."

"Was it the humility? The rogue charm?"

He'd just turned his head to look at her, a smirk playing on his lips, ready to come up with another joke to try and get another laugh from her when his brother's voice carried over from somewhere behind her, "Brother. I see you've met my advisor.", there was an edge to his voice, even if he was all drunken smiles, "She's pretty isn't she?"

"The prettiest.", Nikolai replied, pleasantly, even if he knew that wasn't quite the most interesting thing about her, "Come to save her from me?"

"Always.", Vasily's eyes went to the girl, and Nikolai realised he'd never asked for her name, "Did he bore you?"

"Not at all.", the mask slipped back onto her face, as empty as it was pretty, not that Vasily would ever notice, "I see he's inherited your charm."

"Yes, but not quite all of it."

Nikolai cast a glance her way and offered a slight smirk, something unspoken about it, an intimate joke, "I shall leave you two alone, I'm sure you've found another horse to bore her with, brother."

Vasily cleared his throat, "See you at dinner, little brother."

As he walked away, he could hear Vasily ask her for the details of their conversation, the jealousy seeping into his voice like poison. Then something about the workhorse they'd been looking at, wondering why she'd ever want that broken halfbreed. Nikolai knew why his brother had raised his voice when saying that, knew those words were meant for him more than her, but he was too tired to care. Tomorrow then. Hell, he might actually get himself some horses of his own tomorrow.

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov imagine #grishaverse #shadow and bone #of horsefairs and maidens #reposting this to the new standalone blog!#for practicality's sake #really sorry for the confusion tough <3 #i'll be posting part 2 and other excerpts on this blog from now on :)

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cuddlepilefics · 3 years

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can you do a skz one where Chan is working hard for a comeback, doing a lot of writing, producing, ect. but then he gets a cold, (snz centered) but he refuses to take a break, so Felix has to force him to take a break. With lots of Chanlix fluff please. 🥺🥺 (p.s I LOVE your writing, you are quite talented, and just have a way with words. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ love you ❤️)

Thank you, this really means a lot to me considering that English isn’t my first language.

I alread wrote something similar. You can find it here.

It’s never this cold in Australia

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Chan

Caregiver: Felix

No one’s POV.:

Stray Kids would have another comeback soon, which left them with almost twice as much work as usual. Felix hated those times when they prepared for comebacks, not because he didn’t like to make new music, hell, he loved making new music, rather because Chan would always overdo it on himself and the younger could do nothing but watch the leader run himself into the ground. This time was no different and it had actually been a few days since any of the members had seen their leader apart from the dance practices they spent together. Not even Changbin and Jisung were allowed to stay in the studio with their hyung because after the songs were written and most lines were recorded, Chan had to edit them. Since the other two members of 3racha wouldn’t be able to help much with editing other than approving or disapproving, they were more of a distraction to the Aussie, so in hopes of not stressing him out more, they left him to work in peace. Maybe if there were no distractions, he’d finish faster and take the time to rest afterwards. However, assuming there were no distractions, was wishful thinking. There certainly still were distractions, the worst of them a headache that had started bothering Chan a few days ago. He wasn’t surprised at all, considering he slept even less than usual, spending day and night looking at his laptop screen. The Aussie was no stranger to headaches, often overworking himself. The only thing he was grateful for was that he hadn’t had a migraine yet like he always got them when he was too stressed and sleep-deprived.

As days passed, the headache wasn’t the only thing bothering him. After falling asleep in front of his laptop at the studio again, Chan woke up with a completely blocked nose. Unable to breathe through it in the slightest. The pain had shifted right between his brows, causing his eyes to water. The light coming from the screen in front of him didn’t help either and after saving all his open files, he closed the laptop. Feeling more exhausted than he had in a while, he dropped his head onto the desk and closed his eyes again. If he had the energy, he’d move to the couch at the back of the studio and allow himself a small nap. Not longer than an hour though because he couldn’t afford losing the time he needed to finish everything before their deadlines. He had slept just fine in his chair earlier but now it didn’t work anymore, leaving the Aussie to just sit with his eyes closed, head on his arms, as he started overthinking. Sure, the headache could be caused by exhaustion but now his nose was stuffed up and he felt so cold. If he could, he’d get up and adjust the air conditioning but getting up sounded way too tiring. Though Chan didn’t want to admit it to himself, he could tell he was coming down with something and the thought of getting sick stressed him out. What if he wouldn’t be able to meet the deadlines? No! He could! He had worked through illnesses quite a few times before, so why shouldn’t he manage to do that now?

He didn’t know how much time had passed but his phone started to buzz with a reminder that he had to be at the practice room within the next ten minutes. Groaning at the thought of having to move around and music blearing loudly, Chan forced himself up and tried to remind himself of the positive things. Maybe dancing would help warm him up and he wouldn’t feel so cold afterwards. Stumbling to the door of his studio, the Aussie braced himself against the door frame and drew in a shaky breath. His nose tingled, causing his eyes to water before he ducked into the crook of his elbow with a rough sounding sneeze. Chan cleared his throat, wincing at how raw it felt, and used his sleeve to dab away the irritated tears that had spilled from his eyes. Trying to pull himself together, he made his way to the practice room and occasionally rubbed his arms to generate warmth. His previously blocked nose had started to run and he sniffled lightly before pushing the door open and cringing at the bright ceiling lights. Most of his dongsaengs were already there, stretching or going over short sequences of the choreography that they didn’t feel confident in yet. “Hyung!”, Jisung yelled, jogging over and hugging the leader, “Guys, he’s alive! Hyung, I didn’t think we’d get to see you anymore.” Chan barely noticeably flinched at the rapper’s loud voice and hesitantly hugged back, grateful for some warmth.

After some more teasing about not having seen the oldest in ages, they moved on to practicing but it didn’t go too well for Chan. Just standing upright already made him feel lightheaded, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that the fast step sequences caused the oldest to stumble frequently. His head was thumping with the same beat blasting from the speakers as Chan braced himself on his knees panting. It was only now that he noticed how difficult it was to breathe through a nose that was stuffed up and somehow runny at the same time. The dancing also hadn’t done much to warm him up like he had hoped it would. Usually he’d dance in a t-shirt only but today, he wore a sweater over his t-shirt, not even taking it off after one hour of dancing when all of the members were drenched in sweat. To be fair, he was drenched in sweat too but at the same time, he still felt cold. Seeing how out of breath their oldest was, Minho announced they’d have a ten-minute break to drink something and catch their breaths. They all knew Chan didn’t like to be called out when he wasn’t doing as well as usual, so the others just went to drink something and chat with each other, while Felix made his way over to his fellow Aussie, lowly asking: “Hey, you alright there? You’re looking pretty tired.” – “I am, both. Just haven’t been sleeping much”, the older replied quietly, letting out a shaky breath as he sat down next to his bag. Uncapping his water bottle, he struggled it really drink something because he couldn’t breathe while there was water in his mouth.

Chan put his bottle back into his bag and closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose, willing the headache away. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”, Felix hummed, sitting down next to his friend. The leader shrugged, sniffling: “Jus’ goin’ back to the studio. There’s so much I still need to finish and I don’t nearly have the time to.” The younger hummed in acknowledgement, not pointing out how miserable the other sounded. Felix could tell Chan was sick, the fact that he never took off his sweater being a dead giveaway, the slight rasp and congestion present in his voice only a confirmation. There was something else the dancer knew, the older wouldn’t do anything different from when he was healthy, he’d still work as long and as hard. This was one of the things he hated the most, watching his friend suffer but not being able to help because Chan didn’t want help. Help in this case would mean standing between him and his work and the leader would never tolerate that. Right now, it almost looked like he was dozing of against the wall and Minho felt guilty as he had to call them back to practicing. Felix got up first, reaching out both hands to pull Chan up, smiling sympathetically: “You sure you’re up for more dancing?” – “Lix, come on. I’m fine, really. We nee- ne - we need hESH! *sniff* we need to get this perfect”, the leader replied with a watery smile, that Felix could tell was entirely fake.

He also could tell that Chan was really frustrated with himself. Most of the group already had the dance moves down, the only one still struggling was their leader. They knew the sole reason for his difficulty with the choreography was that he wasn’t feeling well, whether that meant he was sick like Felix claimed or just sleep-deprived from all the hours he had worked through the night. Since they had mastered the dance and knew Chan would master it too when he was feeling better, Minho and Hyunjin, who were in charge of their practice session, called it a day. They convinced Chan that it was only scheduled for two hours and that they had different schedules now. It wasn’t entirely true but they were certain the oldest would end up either hurting himself or fainting if he kept dancing. After their practice was officially over, the group dispersed and practiced the things they wanted to improve for their comeback, singing, rapping or secretly returning to the practice room after Chan went back to his studio. Felix had tried to convince him to come back to the dorm, to take a warm shower and eat a proper meal but the older was stubborn, almost getting mad at the boy who only tried to help him. It wasn’t like the leader didn’t want to take a warm shower to get rid of the sweat and the chill that had settled bone-achingly deep but he was already stressed enough as it was and he knew it would only get more stressful if he wasted time that could better be spent working.

At this point, Felix knew he wouldn’t achieve anything by pestering the older. He’d only make him angry and cause him to hole himself up inside the studio even more, so he relented and watched with a heavy heart as the leader shuffled back to the studio. From around the corner, he heard two painful sounding sneezes and sadly shook his head, walking off into the opposite direction. If he couldn’t get Chan to come home with him, he’d at least get him a fresh t-shirt and hoodie because if the older wasn’t already sick, he’d certainly be after sitting in a room with air conditioning, wearing his sweat-through practice clothes. Unsure about the last time the leader had a decent meal, Felix also took the time to make some soup, pouring it into a thermos and packing a bowl and spoon, so his hyung could eat it at the studio. He grabbed a big sports bag and filled it with fresh clothes, the soup and a thick scarf the older had bought him during the first winter Felix experienced in Korea. Shortly before leaving the dorm again, he remembered to also shove a travel pack of tissues into the bag. If only Chan would take better care of himself.

The leader sat in front of his laptop, suppressing the urge to cry as the screen blurred in front of him. By now, one of his sleeves was constantly pressed against his nose, either to rub at it as he sniffled quietly or to keep him from sneezing all over his keyboard. He couldn’t tell when exactly his nose had gotten so sensitive but it only took as much as one slightly too forceful breath to make it start tickling again, which in turn would make his eyes water more and cause him to see even less of the screen in front of him, yet Chan refused to admit that his attempts of getting something done were unsuccessful. The leader pulled both of his sleeves over his palms to rub at his itchy face, sighing in frustration. His breath started to hitch again and giving into the feeling this time, he simply kept his sleeves over his face, waiting. "h-hESSH! hISH’iew!” He sniffled carefully before he dared to remove his hands, instead swiping his sleeves under his eyes to dry them. When did he start feeling this bad? Sure, he had started to feel this cold coming on earlier, yet he never thought it would cause him more than some congestion. Blinking at his screen, his eyes instantly started to water again, still, he tried to work through it, determined he wouldn’t let a cold keep him from meeting his deadlines.

Chan had taken off his shoes after some time, pulling his legs closer to his body as he curled up in his chair, trying to stay warm. He had already adjusted the air conditioning when he came back to the studio but it didn’t help much. By the time Felix arrived to the studio, it seemed like the leader was staring through his laptop screen rather than at it. He also didn’t notice the younger’s arrival, startling when Felix appeared next to him. The dancer heard him mumble something incoherent, not understanding a word but frowning at how out of it the older was. “Sorry, what was that?”, he hummed, resting a hand on Chan’s shoulder. The leader cleared his throat before repeating: “I said, ‘s never this cold in Australia.” The younger was stunned, to him it felt pretty toasty in the small studio after the air conditioning had been completely turned off. Worriedly he pressed his palm against his hyung’s forehead, causing the older to shudder. He clicked his tongue, stating: “Well, I can tell you why you feel cold. You’re feverish, which I’m pretty sure you knew already.” – “I-I hhh… hh’HDJsHhiew!” – “Mhm, exactly my point. You’re sick and should come home to rest”, Felix emphasized. That seemed to wake Chan. The drowsy fog in his head disappeared as his eyes finally focused on his dongsaeng, arguing: “I can’t. There’s still so much to do, I’m not going to finish this on time. God, I’m already so behind with everything. The comeback is too soon. If I don’t at least finish another three songs tonight, it’ll be a disaster.”

Sighing, Felix turned his chair away from his laptop, so it was facing him instead. “Hyung, it won’t. I know it’s already great as it is and Stay will agree with me. There’s still enough time till the comeback and Binnie-hyung and Sungie can help you. Besides, I don’t think you’re going to get much done with a fever like this”, he tried to reason. Face hardening, Chan got out of his chair, voice raised: “How would you know if the time is enough? You have no idea how many more songs I still have to edit. Those people won’t be Stay anymore if I can’t give him the music they are expecting from us. I could get stuff done tonight if you weren’t distracting me from it!” Voice cracking and giving out towards the end, the leader dropped back into his chair. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he mumbled apologies over and over again. He had never meant to snap at the younger like this and he’d also never raised his voice at Felix like this. Biting his lip, Felix pulled himself out of his dazed stupor. Chan’s outburst had been unexpected but he was sure the older didn’t mean it, so he forced down his shaken-up emotions and embraced the other, who quietly hiccupped, wiping at his eyes.

“Ssh, you’re okay. It’s okay, hyung. Everything’s just a bit too much right now, hm?”, he whispered, running his hand through the other’s disheveled curls. Chan nodded with a wet sniffle, trying to fight back the tears that just continued coming. His bottled-up stress and frustration now bubbling over. Pulling him to his feet, Felix guided the older over to the couch and sat down with him after quickly retrieving the bag he had brought. He pulled out the tissues and handed them to Chan, who messily wiped his cheeks before blowing his nose, irritating it again. “hISH’iew!” – “Bless you”, the dancer hummed, handing him another tissue as the first was already soggy. He kept rubbing his friend’s back, hugging him from time to time as he waited for the older to cry his emotions off of his chest. It took almost twenty minutes for Chan to calm himself down again. He didn’t even know why he was so upset, mainly feeling emotional and sensitive from his fever. Seeing he was still shivering slightly, Felix pulled out the scarf he had brought with him and laid it across the leader’s shoulders before rubbing his arms up and down. The older closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the couch, clearing his throat repeatedly. “Does your throat hurt too?”, the younger asked quietly. Chan shook his head, rasping: “’s jus’ dry from breathing through my mouth.” – “Oh, have some water then”, Felix instructed, handing him the bottle from his desk. He didn’t fully believe his hyung, so he was going to find out the truth differently. Of course, Chan’s wince didn’t go unnoticed as it was obvious swallowing hurt him.

Rolling his eyes at the leader’s stubbornness, Felix handed him the fresh clothes. It took some prodding because Chan was feeling way too cold to take off the shirt he was wearing but he felt much more comfortable in his clean hoodie afterwards. The younger was now wrapping the scarf around his neck to protect his already strained voice from further harm, while Chan was already dozing off in his sitting position. Gently nudging his arm, Felix reminded: “Come on, we still need to go home before you sleep. Did you eat already?” The leader shook his head. “You can either eat a late dinner back at the dorm or I brought you some soup. You could eat here and then go straight to bed when we get back”, he offered. This time Chan nodded. Furrowing his brows, the younger asked: “Yes to which option?” – “Straight to bed”, Chan muttered, barely staying awake. Felix quickly took out the soup he had prepared, glad when he found it still steaming, and agreed: “You can you straight to bed but please eat this first. You can’t run on protein shakes, granola bars and coffee the entire time.” – “That works pretty well”, the older argued, blowing onto the spoon. The dancer rolled his eyes, muttering: “Well, that’s debatable.” They sat in silence, apart from Chan’s soft sniffles, as the leader ate the first warm meal he had had in a week. He didn’t want to admit it but the soup felt nice, warming his sore throat and his entire body from the inside. Plus, His dongsaeng certainly wasn’t a bad cook, at least not as far as he could taste with his nose blocked.

Felix packed up the things he had brought, while Chan saved his files and slid his laptop into his backpack, ready to let the younger take him home. Although the thought of leaving the building into the night didn’t seem too appealing, the leader reminded himself of the warm bed waiting for him at the dorm. A bit lightheaded still, he relied fully on Felix’ arm around his waist, guiding him home as his eyes fought to stay open. He got even more unsteady as his breath hitched and he gripped onto the younger’s shoulder for support. The dancer slowed down even more, steadying his hyung as he brought up his arm sneezing into the crook of his arm twice, almost toppling over. “Bless you. We’re almost there”, Felix promised, dragging a sniffly Chan down another block towards their dorm building. The leader looked dead on his feet as the light in the entrance hall of the building illuminated his face. The younger wince as he grasped just how much the older’s condition had declined since their practice in the afternoon. Quietly whimpering, Chan pulled his hood further over his face to block out the uncomfortably bright light that made his eyes burn and head pound. After what seemed like a whole journey, they made it up to their dorm, kicking off their shoes. As promised, Felix walked the leader straight to his room where all the older did was changing into thicker sweatpants before curling up under his blanket. Felix left the room for a few minutes and returned with some water and medicine, whispering: “Since you ate something earlier, you can take something for your fever and headache now. I’ll leave the water on your nightstand in case you get thirsty or your throat bothers you during the night.” With a grateful but hoarse hum, Chan took the medicine before curling up again and burying his face in his blanket. "hESH! *sniff*” – “Bless you. Do you want cuddles?”, the younger offered. Shaking his head, the older replied pitifully: “Don’t want to get you sick too.” – “I didn’t ask you if you wanted to get me sick, I asked if you wanted cuddles”, Felix chuckled. Letting out a shaky laugh, Chan admitted: “I-I guess I do.” – “Alright, scoot over. Don’t worry if you still feel cold, you’ll get your very personal Australian sun.”

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priscilla9993 · 3 years

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Killian Jones and Alcoholism

This is mainly a summary of things relating Killian/Hook to alcohol/rum. It was done for a college paper and is very long, therefore it’s under the break. To warn you, it is going to be mainly Wish Hook based since I needed to narrow it down and it was easier to show how he handled alcohol as a recovering alcoholic. Enjoy!

The character in question for this case study is Killian Jones, well known by his more colorful moniker of Captain Hook, as portrayed from the ABC TV show Once Upon A Time. He lives in a region of a fantasy realm known as the Enchanted Forest. He used to be a Royal Navy Lieutenant with his older brother Liam, straight-laced on being good and not getting into trouble in any way, especially after getting somewhere in life and no longer subjected to being an indentured deckhand like when their father abandoned them as kids. During a daring quest to Neverland to find some medicine for the king, Peter Pan said they had been tricked to bring back a poisonous plant called Dreamshade, meant to be used as a weapon against unsuspecting enemies. Killian was wary, ready to denounce his service to the king, but his brother was willing to have faith in a noble king and country. With one swift motion of the plant’s prick hoping to prove otherwise, Liam began dying and realized his mistake. Recruiting the help of Pan and some magical water, Liam was cured but soon died in Killian’s arms on the voyage back to the king, the price of the magic being death if Liam ever left Neverland with the water running through his veins. His brother’s death made Killian vengeful at his king and country as his brother had been noble until the very end and everyone else was corrupt, playing noble, proving to him that the world was at fault. From that day on, he took over the ship and decided to be a pirate named Captain Jones, pursuing freedom, and throwing away all he’s ever known because being noble didn’t serve justice. This starts his life of thievery, promiscuity, and never-ending drinking. His coping solutions to deal with his emotional pain only gets worse when he loses his hand, first love of his life, Milah, and his honor after losing a duel against Rumplestiltskin, a coward turned into a powerful Dark One; which leads him on a path of revenge to kill the Rumplestiltskin, “the crocodile”, to avenge Milah and his pride. This leads him to makeshift a hook for a hand and him going by the nickname of Captain Hook, leaving the last piece of his past behind and never letting himself be vulnerable again.

Throughout the series, whenever he or someone in his vicinity is having a rough time, his solution is to pour out some alcohol and drink his feelings away, acting like an egotistical flirt rather than expressing himself and wallowing in misery. His choice of alcohol happens to be rum, a hard liquor. The acute symptoms he has in the show are the loss of judgment, a reddened face, confusion, potentially heightened sexual desire, and sometimes blackouts/unconsciousness. There are multiple times where he’s in a tavern, pouring doubloons into drinks for his crew, rum for himself, and flirting with women/barmaids to have a nightcap with. From here on, I will refer to him as Hook unless stated otherwise. On one occasion of his usual proclivities displaying or implying such symptoms, Hook tries to seduce a woman named Emma. She manages to use his habit of drinking to her advantage, making him jolly and willing to take her back to his ship for the said nightcap; her actual objective was being a distraction while his future self did recon for info on how to get back to their timeline in a Back to the Future sort of way. He continues heavily drinking on the way back with Emma without a care for his health. As soon as the plan goes awry with Hook seeing double, Emma not realizing Future Hook was still doing recon, he gets knocked out for good measure and partial jealousy. Future Hook justifies this, saying his past self was “asking to be knocked out, will wake up upset, and blame the rum.” The lines construe how frequent the drinking was for his future self to determine Hook’s ill-mannered disposition while drunk.

Eventually, in a parallel way that stems from drunk Hook, is a feeble and spent pirate coined as “Wish Hook”. I have and will be focusing on this iteration for the whole of the paper, but what was written before was his younger self’s background. Wish Hook is the same guy as Hook, but years older down the line, differing paths from Future Hook as he never found love again with someone like Emma and had let his grief and alcohol from more recent negative events consume him. Wish Hook had lived out most of his lifespan, having been a sober father, but cursed to be poisoned any time he drew near his daughter after a witch encounter. Haunted by his regrets and somber circumstances, he turned back to an alcoholic, spending his days eased by rum. His body and actions in this form show the physical and mental effects of chronic alcohol consumption. About ten years or less had passed between his younger self and he had become an experienced middle-aged man with a complicated history, yet he looked far older than his years and decrepit. Without a doubt, by looking at him, people could assume he was an old drunk, his liver and heart having gotten fatty and overworked from the alcohol catching up to him. His belly was rotund, his hair disheveled and gray with streaks of white, his stance crumbling to nearly falling over with each step, and clothes dirtied with filth and old rum stains. Wish Hook still had a flirty and dramatic personality to cheer himself up and mask his turmoil, rum making him courageous and numb, while his actions told another story. He didn’t have sexual desires or try to provoke anyone by that point, just wanted to drown himself in alcohol. His words typically came out slurred, his movements sluggish and unrefined, and he had low problem-solving skills when it came to formulating a plan based on anything other than motive.

In the Enchanted Forest, alcohol like rum is not hard to come by as long as money is involved. Killian Jones/Captain Hook as a pirate drinking rum all the time did not affect him negatively socially or career-wise. If anything, it boosted his status and reputation. For him to be mingling in bars asking for expensive hard liquor and fine women to spend time with was a pleasantry. Bar owners got money, the crew got free alcohol, the women got paid, and he got to immerse himself in pleasure rather than thinking about trivial or serious things. Hook was the life of the party as a pirate captain, seen as a person with good tastes and great to have a fun time with when it came to alcohol. However, when it came to settling down and being a father later on in his life, Wish Hook reserved himself back to his more vulnerable side, caring about how his alcoholism could affect his parenting or child’s perspective. There are moments like that where he’s introspective and wants to do better by others that look up to him or who he cares about. In the show, when he is parenting, there is never a time where he has a bottle or flask of rum stashed nearby or is drinking. Wish Hook deems alcohol as the problem when it affects his judgment or his perceptions on how he could hurt the way people he loves view him. Love in any form brings him back to his core of being the best person he can be.

Killian Jones’s problem originates in nurture rather than nature because his alcohol problems started after he needed a reliable coping mechanism to lean on to deal with grief and anger. Although both nature and nurture influence him, for argument’s sake, nurture has the upper hand. Growing up, his father was a person he looked up to and wanted to be like, but that changed when he found out his father was a criminal who sold him and Liam to pay a route for a selfish escape. What little of his parents shown on-screen left betrayal or sadness in him, not the desire to drink. His parents weren’t clear on alcoholics or drug users as far as it goes. The only things he inherited from nature were probably his mischievous personality, temper, looks, and a high tolerance for alcohol. Living on a ship and being a poor deckhand, Killian didn’t seem to be the kind of guy to squander his savings on alcohol or other frivolous means. However, he would be on a ship constantly surrounded by adults who drank with a captain who cared more about money rather than morals, feeling squandered by his oppressed freedom and building resentment for authority. Without his brother steering him on track, Killian was no more than a young man with impulsive rebellious nature. When Liam went to get them navy papers to earn them their freedom from Captain Silver, it took Killian an offer of temptations from Silver, as much alcohol as he could drink and a bet on his money, for him to fall hook, line, and sinker; no pun intended. Alcohol and gambling meant a reprieve from thoughts, a chance at earning more than what he had before, and the same social standing as the other men aboard the ship. Perhaps, as much as he wanted to be strong as his brother, one good force cannot shield against all of the negative parts of society and adulthood. From Captain Silver, Killian got his first taste of alcohol and his desires did the rest, leaving him blackout drunk and penniless for Liam to find. As he grew older and slowly became Captain Hook, there was nothing about pirate life, being an adult, or people to keep him from drinking. He needed people to talk to, who supported him and he could feel vulnerable in front of, but the few people he trusted in his life were dead. As anyone knows, pirates steal treasure, so they’re not exactly the forgiving or down-to-earth types. Instead, rum became the solution to drown or fuel his emotions, being the substance of celebration and de-stressor.

Hook’s rum/alcohol addiction would fall more on the dependence spectrum rather than abuse. What had started as a small reprieve to the woes of life became a daily saving grace when he was wracked with loneliness or anger. He depended on the rum to mask his disposition of physical pain from his missing limb as well as emotional pain having experienced love and loss. Abusing alcohol meant that it would put him into dangerous scenarios, have little to no commitment to change his habits to improve his health, and he’d put off important social aspects. If it was alcohol abuse, Hook wouldn’t try changing his habits when he sees it affects others or his relationship with those he loves. Sure, he spends most of his life binge drinking and making merry with the tides of life, but when given the chance and support to abstain from alcohol, he takes it in a heartbeat. For Wish Hook, the thought of being a father who abandons his child or messes up under hazy judgment didn’t add up to him. With the birth of his daughter, Alice, he made a vow to stay with her as long as he could and to be the person he thought she could be proud of. Nevertheless, when he had lost purpose in life by something he had no control over (via death, distance, or curse), his first reaction was to either turn back to alcohol or solve his problems. Sadly, after he had spent a couple of years looking for a cure for his poison heart curse, he gave up hope and chose to go from sobriety back to alcoholism, into a form of regrettable self-destruction. Hook knew that it was not the way to go about life but he felt he had no other choice and had nothing left to lose, leading him to further prioritize and depend on rum to continue living. He built a tolerance to it, needing a copious amount to get drunk, and potentially suffering withdrawals from it after getting in too deep. From the state he was in by the time he gets old and portly, being a nearly homeless drunkard, it can be assumed that he spent most of his days looking for money to acquire more alcohol so he could feel okay.

Finally, by the end of the series, Killian Jones had managed to go through all the stages in the Stages of Change Model. He was in the Precontemplation stage as a pirate and Captain Hook as he didn’t see a problem in his daily rum and alcohol festivities, making no commitment to change his ways. By the time he gets to be Wish Hook and becomes a father, hesitant about settling down, he could be in the Contemplation stage. He’d want to do something about his alcohol problem and not be stuck relying on it but doesn’t know how to go about it or why he should, therefore staying stagnant to change. When he has his daughter, Alice, in his arms for the first time, we see him in the Preparation stage, planning to give up his ship, sea life, status, and most importantly, rum. Hook gives himself time to think of why he would do so and how he’d commit to it, eventually telling his crew the news. By the time he is taking care of her, he has already taken the actions needed to wean himself off alcohol and apply himself towards abstinence, taking him through the Action and Maintenance stages. There is a relapse back to the Contemplation stage in the paragraph before when he becomes poisoned and loses hope. Even so, the silver lining is that he had made the hard journey back into the Maintenance stage with the help of Ariel detoxing him and others giving him a magical second chance of bodily time renewal, sparking the hope to reunite with Alice and find a cure for his poisoned heart.

Plans go awry on this end as we get to his final iteration as he is teleported and cursed into our modern day and age as Detective Rogers. Although his memories of what happened in the past as this persona are fuzzy, he is shown to stick to his renewed alcohol abstinence and maintains that in many ways, just like when he was Wish Hook. His habits become integrated as a function rather than a hindrance as part of the Maintenance stage. As Rogers, we can see him frequent bars such as Roni’s or Flynn’s Barcade when he is invited out with others. He is shown to let others know what to get him, as a regular or not, something non-alcoholic. This usually shows up as sparkling water or regular water with a lemon slice in it. His friends and work partner continue to support his sobriety through friendly acceptance and never forcing him to drink alcohol along with them. Rogers is tempted by alcohol again when he believes a missing girl from a cold case, one he was responsible for since he was drinking on the night she went missing, is dead. He sits on a park bench alone grieving, a full bottle of rum next to him, ready to drink. As Rogers gives it a whiff, he is disgusted at himself for getting back to this state again and slams the bottle down on the bench in frustration, not even having taken a sip. He came too far that doing so again would be meaningless and would get him nowhere. Even though he is in situations full of temptation, he makes huge strides to not relapse and maintain his sobriety, with the hopes that it will eventually lead him back on the right path of happiness and belonging. Fortunately, his actions have positive consequences that ring true when the curse breaks and he gets reunited with his daughter and has the strong support of friends and family. In conclusion, Hook is a flawed human being that is more complex and his struggle with alcohol/rum is just a part of him, one he will never lose but continues living with.

#killian jones #captain hook #wish hook #detective rogers #killian jones meta #alcoholism #alcohol #stages of change #character study #ouat s7 #liam jones #slight emma swan mention

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2manyfandoms2count · 3 years

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I love you (not) - Chapter 9

Tackling two prompts of @marichatmay again ('take a break' and 'cuddles'), it's probably not going to help much with catching up on the schedule but it's okay.

We are now a little over a third into the story, and... Are those real feelings that are emerging in the fake relationship? Perhaps... Still quite a bit of oblivious dumbassery to go, though, else it wouldn't be fun :D Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 9: In which Marinette gets mixed up in her checklist

"I'm sure I'm missing something…" Marinette mumbled as she read through her extensive to-do list of the day, tapping her pencil against her chin.

School

HomeworkFrench: Dissertation Maths: exercises 5,9,12 p.132 Science: Lab report English: Act III, scene 1 Hamlet History: revision test Extra last minute?

ALYA’S BIRTHDAY PREP: coordinate surprise party + finish gift

Kitty section: costume prototype for single 2

Art project: finish dress

Picnic Alya, Nino, Adrien

“I swear there was a seventh thing I needed to do today.” She squinted, scanning her surroundings in the hopes that it would jog her memory. There was so much going on these days that things kept piling up, but today she was determined to catch up with everything. She didn’t have much of a choice, anyway; most of the items on her list had a set deadline, and it was coming at her faster than she liked. She preferred not to get hit by the truck head on.

Her eyes landed on Chat Noir’s blanket, which she’d draped over the back of her chaise after he’d left on the night of his birthday, over a week before.

“Right! Chat Noir - Ask Chat Noir to take a break, ” she mumbled, scribbling down the last point, before setting the list down next to her computer keyboard. She'd abandoned the idea of full on breaking up with him given how their relationship was dragging on; a break seemed softer to ask for first, and it could easily be followed up by a breakup.

It was going to be a long day, but with a bit of rigour, and thanks to her early start, it would all work out.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much for one day, Marinette?” Tikki peeked over her shoulder, letting out a small yawn.

“Well, maybe for a normal girl, but not for Ladybug.” She yawned reflexively, and her kwami shot her a pointed look. “I know, I know. I have to power through, though - it’s not my fault I got sidetracked so much these past few days. I honestly wonder what Hawkmoth does as a living, the man has too much time on his hands.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get a tiny bit more sleep? To help with your productivity?” Her Kwami asked, looking slightly worriedly at the bags beneath her eyes.

“It’s 6am, Tikki, not the crack of dawn. I’ll have to be up by the time I fall back asleep again.” She waved her concern away. “I’ll just let the stress adrenaline work its magic. It’s going to be fine, don’t worry.” Tikki pouted doubtfully. “Now, would you mind reading me the Hamlet scene while I finish sewing up my project?”

---

This is a disaster , Marinette thought as the formulae she read on the page danced in front of her eyes. It didn’t matter how many times she went through them, they just didn’t compute.

She looked at the time: 6:45pm. She had fifteen minutes before her picnic, and she had to finish her maths homework, her dissertation, her History revision, the Kitty section prototype, and send out individual messages to remind everybody of their tasks for Alya’s birthday so it wasn’t too short notice for the weekend.

She tried to ignore the palpitations of her heart; maybe she’d overdone it on the coffee during the day. It wasn’t like she had a choice, anyway.

She’d discovered as she'd walked into class that she had a class president meeting with Mr. Damocles over her lunch break, which had been when she’d planned to squeeze in some of her work.

Then, while she’d been packing her bag at the end of her classes, ready to leave, an Akuma had emerged. It had been a tricky one, too; Chat and her had spent about an hour chasing it around Paris before finally catching it.

Adding to that the fact that her 6am rising had left her exhausted by the second period of the day, she really hadn’t been the most efficient anyway.

“I think you know what you need to do, Marinette,” Tikki said apologetically, as if reading her mind, floating up to her with her phone in her flippers. Alya’s number was already dialled on the screen.

Marinette sighed and took the phone from her, pressing the green button before lodging it between her shoulder and her ear.

“Hey girl!” Alya’s excited voice sounded on the other end of the line. “Nearly ready to go? We really picked the right night for a picnic; the weather’s super nice.”

“About that…” Marinette winced. “I’m so sorry, I won’t be able to make it.”

“You’re kidding, right? You ’re passing up on an opportunity to have a picnic with Adrien? Are you ill?” Alya said after a small beat.

“Trust me, I surprised myself.” Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose. “I just feel like I have a bit too much on my plate right now, and I wouldn’t be great company if I came. I hope we can find another time to go out again, but I think studying and going to bed early is what’s best.”

“It’s true that you’ve seemed kind of out of it lately,” Alya said compassionately. “Don’t worry about us, take care of yourself! I promise I’ll take loads of pictures, it’ll be like you were here. And I’ll bully Mr Agreste with you after our exams to get Adrien out again if needed.”

“Thanks for understanding Alya.” Marinette smiled.

“That’s what best friends are for!” She could almost see her wink. “Now, get back to work and then go to bed! We’ll see you tomorrow.”

There was a bit of chatter on the line before Alya hung up, as she met up with Adrien and Nino.

“Wait, Marinette isn’t coming?” Adrien’s almost disappointed voice was the last thing Marinette heard before the communication ceased.

She found herself quite immune to it. She decided not to dwell on it.

---

Adrien enjoyed the picnic very much, as he did any opportunity to hang out with his friends, but his eyes kept drifting to the empty space next to him, where Marinette would undoubtedly have been sitting, were she with them. He hoped she was alright; Alya had told him that the reason why she wasn’t coming was because she was studying, which was fair considering the amount of homework they’d been given in the past few weeks, but he did feel like she was overworking herself a bit.

He didn’t doubt her ability to take on all of her projects, but he wished she’d slow down a little, for the sake of her health. What would he do if his everyday Ladybug burned out?

He wondered what Alya’s curious gaze meant when he voiced his thoughts about the situation. He panicked a little when she said that maybe a boyfriend could help get her mind off of work - firstly, because Marinette technically had a boyfriend, which he was surprised Alya of all people didn’t know. He thought the two girls told each other everything. Was Marinette keeping their relationship a secret on purpose? Was she confused about their status, which, he had to admit, he wasn't sure was himself? Was she (the thought scared him) ashamed of him?

Secondly, he found his heart squeeze peculiarly at the thought of Marinette having a boyfriend other than him . He decided not to dwell on it.

He couldn’t help but take the long way home, passing at the bottom of her building, after the picnic, though. And, seeing that there was still light in her room at past 11pm, he decided that he should probably do something; for her well being, not as an excuse to see her, of course.

He transformed in a back alley, then extended his baton so he could peek through the window closest to her desk. Maybe she was already asleep, but had forgotten to turn her lights off.

The sight of her bent over a sheet of paper, hands buried in her hair as if ready to tear it out of her scalp made him knock.

Marinette jumped at the unexpected sound, and looked up, looking quite haggard. Her features softened when her eyes met his.

There was a hint of a smile on her lips as she opened the window. “Hey Chat, what are you doing here?” She yawned.

“Bedtime patrol, just making sure that citizens are going to bed at a reasonable time,” he smiled, stifling his own yawn.

“That’s nice of you. But, does that mean that I’m in trouble?” she drawled out, leaning forward to boop him on the nose. Her exhaustion was clouding her better judgement.

“Depends, are you nearly done with your studying?”

“When will I ever be nearly done,” she snorted, turning around to take a look at her checklist.

Her feet caught in the straps of her backpack and she wobbled forward, but Chat pounced inside in time to catch her before she could tumble down.

“Woah there, little lady… Your spatial awareness is worse than ever,” he said fondly as she clutched his arms. “Sorry, but I’m not letting you get back to work.”

“But I need to finish something…” Marinette protested.

“What you really need is to take a break.”

Marinette paused to think about it. Taking a break with Chat Noir… she seemed to recall that was on the list.

“Okay.” She shrugged.

“Good. Come here, then.” Chat Noir sighed in relief at her lack of resistance and started to lead her towards her bed, but before he’d let out his whole breath, Marinette was already trying to make her way back to her desk.

“Wait, I actually still have so much to do…” She reached for her flashcards, which tumbled at their feet.

“Okay, tell you what.” He kept hold of one of her hands as he picked the flashcards up to avoid her escaping. “Why don’t you take a small nap, and I’ll stay here and keep an eye on the time. I’ll wake you up in an hour, and when I leave I’ll turn a blind eye on your choice between going to bed and getting back to work.” She looked at her doubtfully, and glanced at the cards in his hands. He took a closer look at them; their content was that of the test they had the next day. “I can read you these while you fall asleep so it’s not too much of a waste of time, if you want.” He waved them in front of her face, hoping she’d say yes. He really needed the revision, too.

Marinette nodded and he led her to her chaise, helping her lie down on it. He started draping his blanket over her and was about to go and sit in her desk chair when she grabbed his free hand and pulled on it, a lot more strongly than he would have expected from her, especially in her exhausted state.

“Take a break with me.” She shifted to her left and patted the newly formed space. “Please?”

Her pleading bluebell eyes were difficult to deny.

“Okay,” he said as he sat next to her. Marinette snuggled up against him and sighed contently.

Chat’s heart skipped a beat. He wrapped a tentative arm around her and cleared his throat before starting to read. “The Hundred Years’ war actually lasted one hundred and sixteen years, from 1337 to 1453…”

His own tiredness hit him like a truck after a couple of pages, when he heard her soothing, gentle snoring. He lowered the flashcards to watch her sleep. She looked so tranquil, a peaceful smile drawn on her lips as her body slowly followed her breathing.

He felt his eyes close, and soon the both of them were breathing in sync, holding on to each other.

Needless to say, Chat left a little later than anticipated the next morning, woken up by the rising sun. Neither of them complained, though; both had had one of the most restful nights in a while, and both aced their History test.

Each wondered if they weren’t onto something in terms of revision technique.

Adrien almost gloated to Alya about how maybe Marinette didn’t have a boyfriend who took her mind off of work, but she had one who took care of her while she studied. Almost.

#marichatmay2021 #marichatmay #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #ml #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #ml ship month #marichat #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #day 11: take a break #day 12: cuddles #elle writes #love you (not)

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charlie-boio · 4 years

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Fire - Thomas fic

Pairing: Thomas x Reader

Summary: Your dorm building is on fire, and Thomas has no idea where you are.

Word Count: 3636

A/N: This was gonna be shorter, but whatever that’s just my theme at this point. This is a quick Tommy fic before I dive DEEP into Mitch. This actually came to me in a dream soo hope y’all love it as much as I do. Pretty proud of this one for sure!

WARNINGS: Fires, mentions of death (no actual death), angst

Thomas’s eyes were starting to blur together. His eyes scanned over the same sentence again, trying to make the words stick in his head. Finals week was already kicking his ass, just like the last two weeks of classes had been doing. Last week, he had a test, two projects due, and an essay due all on the same day. What are the fucking odds of that?

Worst of all, he barely had any time to see you. You couldn’t even study together since Thomas preferred to study in his room while you had to study at the library. A few times you two had managed to grab lunch together, but you both had to eat quickly before rushing off to continue studying or finishing up an assignment. Not to mention the sheer exhaustion made you both too tired to keep up an engaging conversation.

You couldn’t even spare a text often, besides good morning/goodnight along with the “I miss you” texts. However, today, you had excitedly called him, saying you thought you would be finishing your work early, and you excitedly invited him over so you could spend the night together.

“Or I could come over there if you’re still studying. Like I really don’t even mind if it’s just my head in your lap and I’m watching a movie on my phone by myself while you work because I just miss you so so much and these past two weeks and we haven’t gotten to talk and I’d really like to-“

“Baby, you can definitely come over tonight.”

“Really? YES! Oh my God I’m so excited to see you! Should I bring my computer for the movi-oh wait should I bring clothes so I can stay the night or is Newt not going to see his-“

“I can kick Newt out. You’re staying the night, okay? Here, I’ll work through my break so I can have the night off too. I’m sure my body could use the break anyways.”

“Tommy, I don’t want you to overwork yourself for me I don’t mind-“

“I won’t, I promise,” Which was a lie, but he really thought he could get through his work enough for you to come over. Even if he couldn’t, he’ll just tack it onto tomorrow. It would be worth it to see you.

“…okay. Please don’t kill yourself over this Tommy. I promise I don’t mind I’ve just been aching to see you-oh FUCK! Forget to meet up with my professor oh FUCK I have to go bye baby I love you!”

Click.

Thomas’s fingers froze on his keyboard. He turned to his phone that had you on speaker, but all he saw were the words “Call ended.”

You two hadn’t said those three words to each other yet.

Of course, Thomas loved you. More than anything. Loving you was one of the only sure things he had in his life right now but wasn’t sure how he was supposed to tell you. He’s never loved anyone as strongly as he loves you, and your relationship was still fairly new, only four months in, but he was certain more than anything that you and him would be together for the rest of your lives.

Thomas broke into a grin and choked out a laugh. You loved him too.

Unfortunately, his insecurities started to kick in, saying how you didn’t mean to say it, you’d been in a hurry, and that you didn’t actually love him. He closed his eyes and put his face in his hands for a few moments, taking slow and deep breaths.

“It’s okay,” he whispered to himself. “Just get this done, then you can see her…and tell her that you love her too.”

Thomas brought his hands back to the keyboard and resumed typing, even more determined to finish now that there was a reward dangling over his head.

“You’ve got to be joking?” Gally managed to wheeze out.

“Dead serious!” Newt gasped between breaths.

The pair continued laughing, loudly, much to Thomas’s annoyance. He’d been working steadfast for the past few hours since your guys’ phone call, making excellent progress along the way.

Unfortunately, he’d hit a rut, and just when he had needed peace and quiet, his roommate Newt came back with Gally after they’d had dinner together. Newt had mentioned when they had entered the room that Thomas was still studying, to which Gally replied that he should study in the library like a normal person.

Thomas had decided then he did not like Gally.

What made it even worse was as their conversation continued, so did the volume and Thomas was this fucking close to snapping at the both of them since there’s a perfectly good common room down the fucking hall.

Just as Thomas was about to turn his chair and give them a piece of his mind, the door burst open and a scared Minho came into the room. He frantically looked around, then turned to Thomas. “She’s not here?”

Thomas furrowed his eyebrows, “Y/n? No, she was gonna text me when she was coming over, which should probably be soon now that I-“ Thomas clamped his mouth shut when he took in Minho’s facial expression: a mixture of fear and guilt. “What’s wrong?”

“Her dorm building is on fire,” Minho said, wincing.

For second, Thomas froze. On another night, on any fucking other night this week he would’ve been reassured that she was at the library studying her ass off. But today…

Minho, Newt, and Gally all were looking at Thomas with apprehension.

Thomas jumped from his chair, knocking it over. He shoved Minho aside, who called after him, “I didn’t see her outside…” and ran down the hall, not registering Minho’s statement. He sent multiple texts, one right after the other.

To Princess: Hey, I just wanted to check that you were still in the library

To Princess: I know your busy, but just a quick text letting me know you’re okay idk if you’ve heard, but your buildings on fire I need to make sure okay

To Princess: Please baby I’m getting scared

To Princess: Y/n please tell me you’re okay

Thomas pushed open the outside door, and nearly fell over from the sight. Across the courtyard he could clearly see your building, which was in the process of being burned. The top floor was almost completely obliterated, and it was about halfway through burning the third floor, which happened to be the one you lived in. He could see the firefighters doing their best to extinguish it, but they weren’t making much headway.

His feet were moving before he realized it, running towards the crowd of people that had gathered and was scanning for your face, unable to find you. He was calling you now, which went straight to voicemail. He sent texts despite knowing that you weren’t seeing them since at the very least your phone was off.

To Princess: Y/n I need you to answer my calls

To Princess: Please

To Princess: I love you

To Princess: I didn’t get to tell you that yet

To Princess: Baby please don’t leave me

To Princess: I love you

Thomas spotted Brenda, your roommate. He felt a minor pinch of relief flood his system; Brenda studied in her room all of the time too. If she’s here then you got out okay too.

He pushed his way through the crowd until he came up to Brenda, who was talking to the RA of her floor. He grabbed her arm, earning him a seething glare until she realized it was Thomas.

“Hey Th-“

“Where’s Y/n? I didn’t see her in the crowd but since you’re here then that means you two got out ok right?” He flashed her a pained smile that quickly faded once he realized that instead of her directing him to where you were, her eyes widened.

“She’s-She’s not with you?” Brenda asked, her voice cracking.

Thomas’s stomach dropped; he started to feel himself shake. This can’t be happening! He thought.

“N-No, she was going to text me once she was done, but she wasn’t in your guys’ room?”

“I was in the basement common room, I-I don’t know if she was there or not…” Brenda said, tears forming in her eyes.

It was only when Thomas saw Brenda’s tears that he realized he was crying, tears streaming quickly down his face.

“…So no one knows where she is…” The RA said slowly. A moment of silence passed by. A moment that said everything they needed to know.

Thomas turned and looked at the burning building, his breath catching in his throat while he felt the tears start to burn.

“No…” he whispered.

Another moment passed without the three of them saying anything until Brenda pointed in the far direction. “There she is!” she exclaimed, a smile on her face.

Thomas whipped around, and sure enough, there you were. You were staring up at the building in shock, with Minho and Newt standing by you, asking if you were okay.

Thomas ran, all kinds of different emotions flooding his system as he reached you and pulled you into a tight hug. He let out a shaky breath as he felt your arms snake around him, hugging him just as tightly as he was.

You two stayed there like, holding each other close, until finally his emotions settled for a brief moment. Thomas felt…angry. Unbelievably angry.

He grabbed your arms and forced you back, glaring down at you. You’re smile fell quickly from your face, furrowing into a worried look.

“Thomas-“

“Where the fuck were you?” Thomas asked, tone harsh.

“I-I was at the library. Tommy you know I study there-“

“Then why didn’t you answer your phone?” Thomas was raising his voice, and each time he did you grew smaller. “I tried calling and left dozens of texts-“

“It died! I didn’t realize until I had finished studying-“

“And you didn’t bring your charger? Like you always do?” His grip on your arms was stronger.

“Baby, I had forgotten it, I’m sorry! I meant to grab it then text you that I was on my way over-“

“Y/n,” you clamped your mouth shut at that. Thomas rarely called you by your name. “You’re not fucking getting it I thought you were dead! I thought you were in that fire burning alive!” He was practically screaming at you, his gaze unkind.

“Tommy…” you whispered.

“We’re leaving. Now!” He snarled at you, tugging you forward with one arm.

“Thomas,” Newt had started, but Thomas wasn’t listening. He marched forward with you trailing quietly behind him.

His mind was racing at a thousand thoughts a second. Deep down, he knows he shouldn’t have snapped at you; it wasn’t your fault, but right now he was just angry at everything. Every so often he’d glance back at you, making sure you were still there and that he wasn’t dreaming.

For you, the walk back to Thomas’s dorm was agonizingly slow. You glanced down at the piece of paper that you had been writing for the past hour and half.

You were half way to the library when you realized the slip up you’d made. At first, you had completely panicked, but after having several pep talks with yourself in the mirror, you somehow convinced yourself that this was a blessing in disguise. You could sit down with Thomas, tell him how you feel, then you two could have awesome sex afterwards (which you haven’t had for awhile since you barely saw each other). After finishing your work you were going to head over, but then decided to write out what you had to say. Unfortunately, you’d been staring at the piece of paper for about half an hour unable to fully express how you felt. Then, everything you did write wasn’t good enough for your Thomas. You couldn’t describe how he made you feel, and how much you loved him.

By the time you had fully written something down, you realized how late it was already on the library clock. Reaching down to grab your phone to text Thomas, you realized that it had died while you were sitting there, which you were sure that it was at 30% but now it wouldn’t turn on. Then, well the rest is history.

You hadn’t meant to. You just wanted to make sure that when you told Thomas that it was perfect and everything he deserved.

Of course, now you realize that deserved someone better than you. Someone prettier and smarter. Someone who doesn’t spend so much time studying, and doesn’t forget simple things like a phone charger. You fought back the tears; you didn’t want to guilt Thomas, you didn’t want to make things worse, and honestly, you didn’t want to be yelled at anymore.

Thomas didn’t speak to the entire way back. He merely lead you to his room, throwing his phone charger at you. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and left. You blinked, confused. But when you figured it out, a fresh wave of pain shot through your heart. He wasn’t coming back. He must’ve kicked Newt out for the night for his original plan, so you two would have some time to yourself…

You rushed over, plugging in your phone and turning it on. You read of all his messages, and you couldn’t stop staring at the last text.

I love you

You blew it. He did love you, then you had to blow it.

The dam holding everything back burst open, and you let all of your emotions run free. You sobbed, loudly, trying to let everything out. Hugging your knees to your chest, you fell to the side on Thomas’s bed, muffling your sobs into the sheets. Time was lost to you. Hours flew by, or maybe it was only a matter of minutes.

After awhile you sat up, feeling empty and numb. Your throat was raw, your eyes and cheeks burned, and somehow you were cold despite the layers you were wearing. You weren’t sure if sleeping in Thomas’ bee was okay, but once you laid down you decided you didn’t care. After weeks of studying and the stress of today, you were exhausted. Your eyes closed for only a few moments before swiftly falling asleep.

“You’re being a dick,” Newt said, his arms crossed.

Sitting in the common room of Minho’s dorm, Thomas sat on the coach reading something on his phone, or at least he was supposed to. In reality his eyes were glazing over.

When he had first arrived, he’d shot everyone glare, and they all got the message to not bother him. He’d been angry, so incredibly angry he was practically vibrating.

Now, it was close to 1:00am, he’d calm down significantly. He rubbed his eyes together, feeling the burn of exhaustion behind them. It had been a long day.

“Tommy,”

“I know,” Thomas snapped, then sighed. “I’m sorry,” his voice was quieter now, and Newt’s stance softened. “You don’t understand…I really thought she had died Newt. I don’t know what I’d do without her. I love her,” Thomas took in a shaky breath. “I know she’d never intentionally do that to me. Ever. I just…”

Newt hummed. He uncrossed his arms and sat next to Thomas. “That’s what happens when you fall in love, Thomas. You care, and you’re allowed to feel emotions. Honestly, it was the perfect storm. It was the one day she was done early, the one time she forgot her charger, the one time her phone died, everything just lined up perfectly.”

Thomas nodded along. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“You could’ve been upset. I would have. But you’re right you definitely shouldn’t have yelled at her like that.”

“I feel shitty.”

“You should. If you didn’t then I’d be concerned. You should feel somewhat bad for yelling at someone you care about. Even if they deserve it, which y/n didn’t by the way.”

“Will…will she forgive me?”

Newt rolled his eyes. “Obviously. She loves you too. And don’t even try to convince yourself otherwise.”

Thomas smiled to himself. For the first time, he actually believed that you could love him.

“I’m gonna head back. Thanks Newt,” Thomas said as he stood.

“Happy to help. No go apologize for being a twat, Tommy.”

Walking back into his room, he felt a twinge if guilt stab him. His bedside lamp was on, but you were clearly in an uncomfortable sleep. Occasionally you’d shiver, despite the covers, or you’d twitch. Thomas knelt by you, feeling his guilt spread through his body. Your fair was blotchy and your eyes were pink and puffy. His heart clenched tightly; he should be drying your tears, not causing them.

Sitting loosely in your hand was a slightly crumpled folded piece of paper. Tentatively, he lifted your fingers and grabbed it, leaving his hand. Opening it, he could see it was addressed to him.

Tommy,

This is probably my thousandth time writing this, but I just can’t seem to write down everything I want to say to you. I have such strong feelings that words don’t seem to do it any justice, so I guess I’ll just come out and say it.

I love you.

I love everything about you: your smile, your beautiful eyes that I just get lost in, the look of you face when you’re concentrating hard on something, and the way you make me feel so special every single day we’ve been together. You’re sweet, kind, and just everything I’ve ever wanted.

I know I said it earlier today, and yes that was a slip, but I’m glad it happened. I feel like I’ve loved you for awhile now, and just haven’t had the courage to tell you. Well, now I want to be able to tell you every single day that I love you, I love how I can be myself around you, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for us. Because I know that as long as we have each other, nothing can stand in our way.

I love you so much Tommy. I love you with everything that I am.

Forever yours,

y/n

Thomas wasn’t sure when he’d started, but some of his tears started falling onto the page, smudging the words together. He let the paper flutter to the floor, staring up at your sleeping form. You loved him too.

He just hoped you’d forgive him.

He didn’t plan on waking you, deciding he’d sleep on the floor if had too. He was trying to keep his hiccups done and his own sobs quiet so he wouldn’t wake you. Grabbing Newt’s pillow, he set it on the floor next to his bed. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling through his tears.

You stirred, eyes blinking open. Thomas froze; he didn’t mean to wake you.

“Tommy…is that you?” you asked groggily.

“I’m so sorry,” Thomas sobs became more uncontrollable, wrecking through his body while he tried to take in deep breaths, but he couldn’t get any air into his lungs.

Next thing he knew, he was on his bed with your arms around him. His face was buried into the crook of your neck, soaking the sweatshirt you were wearing. He heard you murmuring soothing words into his ear while you ran your fingers through his hair.

After awhile his breathing calmed down, and his tears stopped flowing. He lifted his head to see fresh tears on your face, giving him a watery smile.

He lifted his hand and wiped away some of the lingering tears. “Baby, why are you crying?”

“I don’t like seeing you upset.”

He chuckled at that. “Neither do I, princess,” Thomas swallowed. “I’m sorry. Really. I-I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. It’s not like you did anything wrong, or you set your dorm building on fire. I just-I just got so scared that you were gone, because I-I don’t want to lose you. I-I love you,”

You smiled softly at him, squeezing his arm. “I love you too, Tommy. Have for awhile now, I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Thomas let out a breathy laugh and bit his lip. “…I read your letter…”

“Yeah?”

“You…you really feel that?”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Of course, I literally just said it too.” You were smiling brightly now, and Thomas would do anything to keep that smile on your face. The way your eyes lit up, crinkling around the edges. Somehow, he was falling deeper in love with you.

“I know this week has sucked with finals, and I had plans for dinner. I was gonna tell you today after you said it on the phone. I know you didn’t mean to say it, but I thought it’d be a perfect opportunity. Tomorrow I have my last final, so if you wouldn’t mind postponing your studying so we can spend the morning together? Have breakfast? Then you can study and I’ll take my final. Once this shitshow’s over we’re gonna be spending so much time together you’re gonna get sick of me.”

“Tommy, I’d never get sick of you. Breakfast sounds wonderful. A lazy morning with the love of my life.”

There wasn’t much talking after that, save for the occasional mutters of ‘I love you’ now that you could both say it freely. Mostly, it was soft kisses, gentle touches, and the two of you holding each other so close that eventually lulled you both into a deep sleep.

152 notes · View notes

derireo · 3 years

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the workaholic ↦ tsumugi, tasuku, itaru, izumi

There was a reason why Izumi worked so hard.

A look into Izumi's self-worth and repressed memories.

「 3.3k words 」

cw: angst, hurt (no comfort), family issues. can be connected to my same age troupe series but doesn’t have to be.

Izumi didn't really like staying at home anymore.

Not after her dad left and her mom had to start juggling more jobs in order for them to have a few meals a week while on top of that paying for their bills.

She'd stay a little longer at school, hang around the lonely alleyways and shortcuts that ran along the neighbourhood, sit inside convenience stores until evening.

Just so that she wouldn't have to go back to an empty home.

Her passion for the things she used to love died out too, and she eventually quit her extracurriculars, including her theatre class.

She was grateful that she learned how to care for herself when she was young, but it was tiring. She didn't have enough clothes to wash when her mom rarely came home. There was no point in using the dishes if she was the only one eating. And if it meant saving more money, she wouldn't even turn the lights on in any of the rooms. Not even the washroom.

There were very few times when her mom would be able to spend the night at home with her, but again, there were few.

Izumi wanted to feel happy, seeing her mom's face, but it was hard when she always looked so tired. So angry.

They rarely talked when her mom was home, but Izumi would still cook her dinner and clean her room before she'd tuck in for the night.

And there were just some times when Izumi didn't want to be in her presence at all.

"You never do anything in this house." Her mom said one night in passing as Izumi was gathering their empty bowls.

The sentence caught Izumi off guard, making her pause in her ministrations. She looked up from the table to look at her mom in curiosity, and was met with an aggravated frown.

"All you do is stay out late and eat all the food that I work hard to put on the table." She complained quietly, tapping her finger against the wood that they sat at. "I don't recall you ever doing anything for this house."

"Mom, I–" Izumi's laugh was one out of pure disbelief, but her mother didn't let her finish.

"You're so useless.. You do nothing all day and complain about school and how you're always tired. You don't do anything. I'm the one working three jobs, for Chrissake." Her mom laughed in turn and ran a hand through her hair, standing up from the table with an exhausted shake of her head.

"I have work tomorrow. I'm leaving at four." She finished, standing to leave for her room. "Ungrateful brat."

And well; Izumi couldn't really say anything anyways. She took in a breath and made her way to the sink after she heard a door shut, a cold chill slowly running up her spine.

Her mom wasn't wrong. She wished she could do more, really.

"Welcome! Is this a job application?" A middle aged man bowed towards Izumi who held a neat folder for him to take, nodding her head to answer his question.

He opened the folder as Izumi clutched the strap to her schoolbag tightly. The man squinted at the few things on her resume and scratched his neck, offering Izumi an uneasy smile when he handed the file of papers back to her.

"You have all the traits we're looking for in a new employee," he said kindly, "but I fear you're too young for me to hire. I couldn't give you night shifts and graveyard like you asked anyway."

Izumi sighed, having already known the outcome. But she just couldn't let it go.

"I need this job." She said quietly, bunching the strap she held in her hand with a death grip. "I want to help ease my mom's burden."

And as much as she didn't want to use the guilt card, she really wanted the job. If it gave her an excuse not to be home, she'd gladly take it.

There was a frown, a pinch of the nose, and a sigh.

Suddenly, Izumi was being asked for her folder again and she quickly gave it back, her sad, doe eyes slowly regaining a bit of light.

"I'll send an email if I manage to get you the job." The middle aged man sighed once more, waving off a surprised Izumi who nearly shouted. "..Now go home."

"Thank you, Mister!" She saluted, regaining some newfound energy she never knew she had.

And with that, for the first time in months, did she go home before sunset.

She got the email a few days later during class. She was opening and closing her fliphone with a bored expression on her face as her teacher went to explain the difference between kanji and hiragana.

> From: [email protected] – I got you the job. Training starts next week at 4pm.

Izumi almost shouted. Almost.

What she did do was drop her phone in surprise, her legs jolting up and clambering against her desk. The loud noise obviously disturbed everyone around her and she floundered when her teacher glared.

"Something interesting happening over there, Tachibana?" He grouched with a frown, to which the classmates around her either giggled or whispered as she fumbled to grab her phone from the floor.

Her smile was elated, but at the same time panicked, and she shook her head in denial. Shoving her phone into her skirt pocket (that she had to sew in herself), Izumi straightened her tie.

"No, Sir. Just a rat startling me."

And like many other times, Izumi was the starter of chaos, everyone in the room beginning to panic at the idea of having a real rat inside of the school.

The class ended with all of the desks in disarray, and a flustered Izumi bowing in apology to her teacher who had his arms crossed.

And Izumi absolutely loved her job. Although it was busy on weekdays because students would visit after school, she loved the rush; she loved feeling like she was doing something.

She loved the feeling of being useful.

Time would fly by as if she was only working for an hour so; sometimes she wouldn't even want to leave once the next worker would come in for their shift.

She was a fast learner too, and her manager, that middle aged man, would watch with an impressed expression on his face.

Graveyard shift was another thing, but if it meant Izumi wouldn't have to be stuck home alone with her thoughts, she'd take any day they had to offer.

It was a boring shift, usually receiving visits from overworked business men or the occasional drunkard who needed something to sober up.

There were a few times where she'd have customers who were around her age; kind of odd, but at the same time not really.

There was one guy her age who would visit at around midnight to three in the morning, and a duo that would come by at six-thirty sharp.

"Energy drinks again? Chigasaki-san." She would scold the boy who donned a pair of glasses and their school's tracksuit.

His visit was always quick, and he never opened his mouth to speak to her after the night he introduced himself that one time.

"I see Takato-san has dragged you out again." She would comment when the two boys would stalk in; the taller one buying water bottles while the blue haired one would eat a breakfast snack.

The interesting thing with this duo was that, the blue haired boy would stay inside and accompany Izumi while the other would perform his daily morning jog; something that the young girl found distasteful.

"Are you sure you'll be okay going to school?" The boy would ask her every day he visited. He found out that when Izumi did graveyard shifts on a Sunday or weekday, she would head to school right after, not even bothering to take a nap or a break.

And to put the blue haired boy's mind to rest, the other friend would walk in; barely having broken a sweat: "We can walk her there. Let's go."

And this duo– she thought she would forever be grateful for them. They took care of her whenever she was barely able to herself; walking her home after they finished their classes at their own school and helping her with her assignments before forcing her to go to sleep on the days she didn't have graveyard.

But the thing was, when she met those three again while trying to revive the theatre her father left neglected, she didn't seem to remember any of them.

Meeting Itaru Chigasaki again was like meeting him for the first time, and he was surprised, but at the same time not. With how often he visited her konbini back then, maybe he would have stuck in her subconscious, but, maybe not. He didn't try to make conversation with her back then anyways so he couldn't blame Izumi for anything.

Meeting Tasuku Takato and Tsumugi Tsukioka again was much the same for her.

Tsumugi was devastated that she couldn't remember them, and Tasuku, annoyed.

"Oh. I don't really remember anything that happened during my high school days." Izumi had said in passing one afternoon when Muku asked her if she had experienced anything similar to the story of Ouran High School Host Club.

There was an incredulous gasp from Muku, saying that it shouldn't be possible. High school was probably a significant time in your life when you were still young!

"I just remember working and studying a lot. And I rarely stayed at home?" She answered him with a question and frowned, scratching her head. "It kept me busy because the house was always empty and I had nothing better to do."

"Eh? So then how did you get back into theatre?" Tenma asked from his side of the couch, squinting at Izumi through the sunglasses he didn't bother taking off after coming home.

"When Sakyo gave me no other choice but to save the company."

"But there was also the letter that Matsukawa sent, right?" Sakuya piped up, tilting his head. "I feel we would have been in a lot of trouble if she never got it."

"Yeah, I don't even remember what I was doing before I got that letter, honestly. It had nothing to do with theatre that's for sure." Izumi scratched her cheek.

Speechless, Tasuku plopped himself down in the chair that sat beside Izumi's side of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Do you remember anything between the ages of fifteen and nineteen?" He inquired, frown etched onto his face as both he and Tsumugi shot each other a look from either side of the room.

Itaru chewed at his granola bar with an unreadable expression on his face, but secretly anticipated Izumi's answer just like everyone else.

"Not really." She responded slowly, looking over at the man who sat beside her. Tasuku huffed out a breath; already giving up on receiving a satisfying answer.

"Do you remember any friends from high school?" Tsumugi inquired next, resulting in an excitable nod from Muku who had regained his energy.

Izumi frowned.

"I didn't have any."

Itaru sighed; feeling like they were going nowhere with all of this nonsense and beating around the bush.

"Yes you did." The blond argued albeit not as aggressive as he wanted to.

He couldn't be upset or annoyed when he didn't even try to become friends with her back then. He recalled the many nights he ignored her after their first meeting, never looking into her eyes as she tried to start a conversation with him.

But even if he wasn't her friend, he at least knew that Tasuku and Tsumugi were. He'd see them walk her to school every single morning and watch as they'd tentatively walk away as Izumi got scolded for the umpteenth time for arriving so late.

Izumi fell silent at Itaru's response and awkwardly crossed her arms over her chest; becoming defensive at his tone.

"How would you know?" She tried to keep her voice level, but she sounded small and embarrassed.

Tenma, Muku, and Sakuya began to frown at this new side of the director.

Tsumugi decided to pipe up at this time, eager to let the attention on the director snap towards him.

He gripped at his wristwatch with meekness riddling his features as he spoke. "Tasuku and I were your best friends in high school."

And then the lounge room went silent.

Tasuku visibly relaxed in his seat once the cat was out of the bag, and the three younger members with them whipped their heads to look between the Winter Pair in shock.

Izumi's face warmed.

"That isn't right." She shook her head and shrunk into the couch; still in disbelief. If that were the case, she wouldn't have said she didn't have any friends in the first place.

She wasn't exactly the best person to be around in high school and she always struggled to be interesting. How could she have friends when all she did was work, work, work?

How could she have friends when it felt like she'd been alone her whole life?

It...didn't make sense.

Not to Izumi at least.

"I didn't have time to make friends." She murmured, wrapping her arms around herself to get rid of the sad chill that crawled up her arms. "And the ones I had before left me when I quit theatre."

Tasuku pinched his nose between his fingers while Itaru flipped his phone in his hand several times, Tsumugi watching the gears turn in Izumi's head only to end up with them stuttering and breaking down.

Was she only remembering the bad things? Or was she repressing memories that she didn't want to remember?

...Did she want to forget them?

Tsumugi anxiously tapped his fingers against his knee. "You don't remember us."

"I don't think I've ever seen you two before I came to Veludo." Izumi twisted her fingers in the fabric of her sleeves. "Itaru made it sound like we knew each other too which is weird."

To Tsumugi it seemed like her brain was refusing access to this specific part of her life; the memories so heavily blocked that she couldn't retrieve them. Couldn't remember them.

Her high school days were so bad that she grew to learn how to send them all the way to the back of her mind; never to be seen again.

It was like she was experiencing repressed memory...

And, well, Tsumugi understood the severity of that at the very least.

Tasuku and Itaru on the other hand couldn't understand.

They couldn't find themselves to.

"I don't think there's a point to this conversation anymore." The violet eyed man resigned with a hint of aggravation swirling around his tone.

It looked like he was seething from where he sat beside Izumi, strong arms curled around his chest as his glaring eyes stared at Tsumugi who had an expression full of sadness.

"If it was that easy to forget us after all those years spent together then I don't want to hear anymore of this."

Tsumugi could feel the hairs on his arm stand at the icy tone lacing Tasuku's voice.

"Just let her explain why—"

"Why? Why what?" Tasuku tittered. His blood was starting to boil; he could feel the steam coming out of his ears.

It was unfair. Along with Tsumugi he spent four years taking care of Izumi only for her to forget them? Those early mornings and late nights they spent with her to make sure she was staying alive wasn't enough to have them ingrained in her brain?

She was ungrateful enough to forget all they had done for her? Feed her meals, keep her company, help her forget that she was alone?

She was like family to them. Was it not the same for her?

If she left the company, would she forget them a second time?

They never knew where she went after graduation.

"She was barely able to do anything back then. Who helped her pass sciences, math, and the like? Who helped her in literature? Comprehension?" Tasuku listed off angrily, unable to notice the way Izumi was shrinking in her seat while at the same time staring off into space.

It was like her ears were filled with cotton.

"Who carried her home every single night when she was barely able to stand from exhaustion? Who fed her meals to make sure she wasn't starving?" The Winter Troupe member continued, vision going red with anger as he remembered all of the times a limp Izumi would hang off his back.

Remembered the tears that would stain the back of his uniform.

He shook his head.

"I've never met someone so damn ungrateful. She would've been useless without us, Tsumugi." The exasperation in his voice was clear.

Izumi pursed her lips, ears picking up the words like she was resurfacing from a huge body of water.

"Tasuku." Tsumugi scolded—

Useless. Izumi mused.

His anger was understandable. If what all that Tasuku had said was true, she couldn't blame the betrayal and hurt they felt.

But as much as she wanted to remember, she couldn't pick anything up from her high school days.

What else could she remember other than the feeling of coming back to an empty home and a mother who ignored her existence?

...Tasuku was right.

But it still hurt.

She tried to ignore the words Tasuku was spewing in order to save herself, but it was futile.

She was useless for not being able to remember.

She was useless for not doing anything.

Useless for doing everything she could and it still not being enough.

What even was considered enough?

Stop thinking.

The empty house. The molding walls. The lonely bed.

Her mother—

Fuck! Just snap out of it.

"Er...Sorry." She laughed to cover up the fact that she was on the verge of tears. She shook as she struggled to get off the couch. Her sudden apology made Tasuku stiffen as Tsumugi and Itaru watched their director with shocked expressions.

The weight of the situation suddenly felt real. Very real.

Should— should they look away? Tenma, Muku, and Sakuya had already left once Tasuku went on his mini rampage because they were terrified of what was to come.

So it was only the four adults left.

"I just remembered something." She pointed her thumb behind her in the direction of the hallway, smiling as she did so. "I'm backstage crew for this theatre's rehearsal tonight, so... I have to go get ready."

She bowed deeply to the three men who sat there in stunned silence, profusely bending her body so that she wouldn't show her face as she backed away, only swiftly turning around when she reached the hallway.

"I'll offer her a ride." Itaru spoke up after a good minute of silence and stood up from his spot on the couch.

Silence blanketed the lounge room like a cloud wrapping around an airplane once the blonde left to grab his keys from mini table beside the stairs.

Tasuku brought his hand to his face to hopefully wipe away the stress that was riddling his features.

The rattle of Izumi's own keys were heard down the hallway, footsteps rushed as papers rustled in her hands while she bolted towards the stairs.

"Izumi, I can drive—" Itaru murmured once her hand reached the railing of the stairs, but was interrupted by her wavering voice.

"I don't need it. I'll be fine." She laughed a little, just to ease Itaru's worries if he had any but refused to look him in the eye as she walked down the stairs. "I'll call, if anything."

Itaru twirled his keys back into his palm and cleared his throat. Yeah, that's fine.

"Stay safe." He called out in his soft spoken voice.

"Yeah." Came her response, then the sound of the front door slamming shut.

He shuffled towards the kitchen window not too long after, to see Izumi sprinting down the street with a teary grimace.

Huh. He recalled a time when he came across a similar expression up on the school's rooftop.

But he had left her there just as quick as he had come.

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#act! addict! actors!#tasuku takato #tsumugi tsukioka #itaru chigasaki #izumi tachibana #dr: same age troupe #?

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onceinabluehanguangjun · 3 years

Text

moon in my window

Summary: for the @mdzsnet Lan Wangji birthday celebration, have some chronically depressed Lan Zhan and how his family (main focus on his husband) helps support him

Word Count: ~4k

Tags: depression, post-canon

ao3

“Ah, Er-gege, you’re too kind.”

Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the bed, a cup of tea in his hand which he held out to Wei Wuxian. He smiled in thanks, but couldn’t hide the wince. Mo Xuanyu’s body was admittedly very good at putting up with Wei Wuxian’s spirit, but it was still much less accustomed to him than Wei Wuxian’s previous body and therefore was much more susceptible to silly things. Like runny noses and never-ending headaches. Apparently Mo Xuanyu didn’t overwork his brain in the same way Wei Wuxian did. Who would’ve guessed?

With the wave of Lan Wangji’s hand, the little bit of light that shined through the paper windows was gone and they were engulfed in darkness. It lessened the pressure on his temples just enough to be thankful even more.

“Is this medicinal?” Wei Wuxian asked softly. Lan Wangji hummed his confirmation. “Ah, we should talk to Wen Ning and see if he remembered the tea Wen Qing would make me whenever I wouldn’t let her stick me with needles. It always worked for whatever was messing with me.”

“I will,” Lan Wangji said softly, voice low and careful as to not make it worse.

Wei Wuxian drank the tea as fast as his body would allow before he put the cup back in Lan Wangji’s hands and tipped forward. His head rested against the soft, expensive fabric that all the Lans wore and it just made him want to pull him into bed and trap him there for hours. Well, most things about him made him want to do that.

“Can Er-gege stay in today? Sleep sounds so nice.”

“I cannot,” Lan Wangji said softly, his arm wrapping around him and his warm hand pressing to his lower back. Wei Wuxian whined quietly, as much as his headache would allow.

“You’re Chief Cultivator, no one can tell you what to do,” Wei Wuxian said. Lan Zhan hummed, holding him carefully and closely.

“Senior Wei is the one who has a class to teach,” he said. Wei Wuxian blinked a few times as his thoughts shifted back into focus. Sometimes it was too easy to forget how good things had become. He had a husband, he had a garden, he got to teach cute little Lans about using their heads instead of just reciting rules.

All of which he loved, but a whine still found its way out into the world as he thought about having to teach when even the shielded sun of the Cloud Recesses hurt him.

“Lan Zhan, who let me have responsibilities?”

Lan Wangji breathed in slowly, head bowing to rest against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. He sat there for a moment and, truthfully, for a moment he thought he might’ve convinced him to spend all day in bed.

“Er-gege,” Wei Wuxian breathed, sliding his hand beneath his hair to touch the nape of his neck. Lan Wangji seemed to rest a little more weight on Wei Wuxian which was admittedly out of character. He turned his head a bit to look at him, squinting in the darkness to get a better look at his face, headache be damned. He looked fine, if only just laying against Wei Wuxian. “Ah, Lan Zhan, I see. You do want to stay in bed.”

There was a long stretch of silence before a low grunt of agreement. Wei Wuxian smiled and scratched at where his hair met his neck.

“I can’t, you see,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Lan Wangji’s clothed shoulder, “This humble one has a class to teach.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji said. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and Wei Wuxian felt warmed at how much he’d been able to wear him down even if they did have to get up.

Still, they sat long enough for Lan Wangji to pass him some spiritual energy to help him power through his headache and then he was pulled to his feet.

“Ready, Wei-qianbei?”

“As ever. Give it a try.”

Wei Wuxian leaned back on his palms as he watched Lan Jingyi focus very hard to activate the talisman he’d invented. Their assignment for the week was to create a new spell or talisman of some sort inspired by the word ‘alarm’. He shouldn’t have been surprised when a piercing noise wailed through the room in one short burst before the talisman disintegrated. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but laugh at the hoard of Lans all covering their ears with wide, annoyed eyes turned to Jingyi who sat with red cheeks as if that wasn’t what he intended. They all knew it was.

“Perfect! That’ll startle anything,” Wei Wuxian praised, leaning forward to scribble notes for grading later. Jingyi smiled, any embarrassment gone away to make room for pride as he went to sit back beside Sizhui.

It’d taken awhile to get Lan Qiren to let him teach for real. Weeks of having him shadow every single thing Wei Wuxian did around the littlest juniors, constant grunts of disapproval, a whole separate sheet for grading Wei Wuxian that he would bring to his attention over tea every evening. But, honestly, he didn’t mind it too much. After everything, it felt somewhat normal. Besides, he was sure Lan Qiren liked him a bit more by the time he willingly handed over a few classes.

Convincing him of this class specifically, though, was a bit tougher and had to be discussed with all of the Lan Elders in a very formal meeting that required Wei Wuxian to break out his single set of white robes. They’d waited until Lan Wangji was off on a night hunt, getting rid of his unrelentingly protective gaze before bringing Wei Wuxian in to discuss giving the older disciples lessons on creating new things so they’d be better equipped to come up with something if they ever got stuck‒or at least that’s how he sold it. The minimum age they’d agreed on was the group that were done with all other sit-down classes and tended to be the main ones going on night hunts which was fair enough. It meant he got to spend more time with Lan Sizhui and he’d never complain about that.

“Alright, who’s next?”

Before anyone could even respond, the doors to the lanshi burst open. Lan Wangji stood in the doorway, tall and regal and intimidating and every bit Hanguang-Jun. Wei Wuxian felt his heart flutter childishly in his chest as if that wasn’t his husband. Husband. Ah, wasn’t that incredible?

The juniors’ eyes followed Lan Wangji as he basically glided down the walkway. Wei Wuxian smiled as he came near despite the rigid set to his features. He knew he had some important‒which typically translated to annoying‒business today.

“Have you come to learn on your break, Hanguang-Jun?” Wei Wuxian teased. Somehow, though, the crease between his eyebrows deepened and worry pricked at Wei Wuxian. Was he angry with him for some reason?

Lan Wangji walked up to the teacher’s platform and to the side of his desk before kneeling on the ground. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as Lan Wangji bowed his head into his lap before adjusting himself. And there he was, the great Hanguang-Jun, laying on the floor with his face buried in his husband’s stomach and his arms wrapped around his torso. Wei Wuxian wondered if Lan Wangji could feel how hard his heart was beating.

Considering this was rather unprecedented, Wei Wuxian dumbly looked up at the juniors to guard their reactions. All of them with one exception were looking anywhere in the room other than the scene on the platform. Wei Wuxian locked eyes with Lan Sizhui‒who, for once, didn’t seem too flustered by such a bold display‒and watched as he gave a curt little nod. He wasn’t sure what he was nodding about, but he assumed it was a subtle way of saying to just let it happen. As if he needed approval to do that.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said softly, resting his hand on his husband’s cheek. He used his thumb to smooth out his already perfect eyebrows and couldn’t help his smile as Lan Wangji visibly relaxed a little. His eyes stayed closed and he looked every bit like the jade everyone said he was. “Alright. Sleep well.”

Wei Wuxian looked back up, his hands sliding to cradle the back of Lan Wangji’s head against his stomach.

“Anyone got a quieter one to try next?”

Lan Wangji stayed put for the entire length of his break before silently getting up and walking back out.

His class was nearly over at this point, but it was clear everyone had questions that he couldn’t answer. Their Hanguang-Jun had definitely changed and gotten more bold since Wei Wuxian came to live in the Cloud Recesses, but not like that. That was… Well, there was something wrong, to say the least. Even if it was sweet to just have him lay there for at least four incense sticks worth of time. He would have to ask him once they got back to the jingshi.

“You all did great today. For next week, how about something inspired by the word ‘heat’,” Wei Wuxian said.

“Wei-qianbei, don’t we already have at least a few different existing talismans for that?” Lan Huizhong asked. He grinned as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Looks like you’ll have to think quite hard to come up with something, hm?” he said. Lan Huizhong smiled just a little bit‒no excessive smiling and all‒and bowed.

Wei Wuxian gathered his things and started to walk out of the lanshi. He was going to drop these off at the jingshi and then he planned to slip in on one of Lan Xichen’s sword forms classes. He did that relatively often and could feel the way that was slowly but surely helping to build Mo Xuanyu’s core. If he played it off like he was just there because he was bored, no one needed to call him out on it.

“Wei-qianbei, may this disciple speak with you for a moment?” Lan Sizhui called. Wei Wuxian grinned as he spun to see him, though stopped himself from teasing him about the formal way he called him when he saw the serious set of his features. It seemed everyone was very serious today.

“You don’t even need to ask,” he said. Lan Sizhui looked around to make sure they were alone and still took a step closer. He was breaking some rule, Wei Wuxian thought‒impropriety, personal space, secrecy, something. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s Hanguang-Jun,” he said softly. Wei Wuxian was very interested at this point and stepped even closer. “He is… melancholy.”

Wei Wuxian searched his face as he slowly repeated, “Melancholy?”

That didn’t sound right. Lan Wangji had made him tea this morning and shared his spiritual energy. Lan Wangji had smiled when Wei Wuxian had braided his hair the night before and had smiled before he bedded him. Lan Wangji had shared a bath with him, had washed his hair, had done many, many things for him as he did every day. That didn’t seem melancholy.

“Forgive this disciple’s forwardness,” Sizhui said, though he didn’t sound like he was sorry. He sounded, Wei Wuxian thought with untimely fondness, like the man who raised him. “This humble one does not mean to insinuate that Wei-qianbei does not know his husband well. Wei-qianbei is attentive and thoughtful, that is obvious. But… Xian-gege, for all that you may know him and see him and spend time with him, I know him better than anyone.”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t even be hurt by that statement. It was the truth that Lan Sizhui had probably spent more time with Lan Wangji than anyone else in the world, perhaps even rivalling Zewu-Jun at this point. Lan Wangji had admitted in the dark of one night that he’d spent many years paranoid that people would find out his A-Yuan was a Wen and that they’d go after him, so he kept him out of the dormitories until he was nearly fourteen and even then made a point to watch over him as often as he could just in case. Of course he knew him well.

“He’s always been… sad, I suppose, but some days are worse than others. Sometimes he can seem happy and other days it’s…” Lan Sizhui trailed off, looking to the side and swallowing. Wei Wuxian’s stomach twisted in his gut. “He’s been very well since you got back, but today is one of those… other days. Zewu-Jun and I handled it in the past, but now it’s sort of your duty as his husband, isn’t it?”

“Yes, A-Yuan, I think it is,” Wei Wuxian agreed. Sizhui’s shoulders relaxed a bit and that familiar smile found his lips.

“If you need help, just ask. It isn’t something you can fix completely, it’s more of making sure he doesn’t feel worse and alone. I think he’d appreciate your company. He did come to you,” Lan Sizhui said. Wei Wuxian nodded and tried to smile through the guilt in his stomach. How blind he’d been to his husband’s feelings.

“He did. I’ll do my best, thank you,” Wei Wuxian said.

“Xian-gege,” Sizhui said before he could walk too far away, reaching out to grab his arm, “It really isn’t your fault, it’s no one’s fault. It just… is.”

“It is a bit my fault,” Wei Wuxian suggested, laughing softly to try to make the guilt sound less, well, guilty, “I didn’t see it before.”

“How could you see something you weren’t looking for, though?” Lan Sizhui said, “And, really, he has been much happier since you came back.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said, trying his best to get rid of the guilt. There was no place for that when he needed to just take care of his husband in the way he took care of him. “We’ll have tea tomorrow, all three of us.”

Lan Sizhui smiled and nodded, “I’d like that.”

Wei Wuxian had to convince himself to not skip Zewu-Jun’s sword forms class. Lan Wangji still had meetings and Wei Wuxian would be helping no one by pacing around the jingshi for hours. Besides, he would still need his strength, wouldn’t he?

His mind, however, wasn’t all there as he thought about Lan Wangji and started dissecting every moment to see what he’d missed. This morning when it took him longer than usual to get out of bed, was that a sign and something he would need to look for? That distraction, however, led to a small, eight year old Lan accidentally nicking Wei Wuxian’s cheek with his sword. It wasn’t even enough to bleed, but Young Lans crying in guilt was not a part of the agenda and class ended early.

That left Wei Wuxian to go back to the jingshi and wait for Lan Wangji to be done for the day so he could do his best to make up for all the times he’d had Lan Wangji coddle him when he was the one who needed to be coddled. He prepared a bath, talismans on it to keep it warm, and stripped to nothing but his underrobe. After letting his hair down entirely, Wei Wuxian decided to meditate. He hated it, but it passed the time while also helping his core, so he settled in.

It was easy to slip out of it the moment Lan Wangji walked in, eyes visibly tired and shoulders rigid. Wei Wuxian rose to his feet and met him near the door, conjuring an easy grin.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he said softly, reaching up to hold his face in his hands. Wei Wuxian didn’t even need to pull him down, Lan Wangji’s body moved towards him as he wrapped him up into a hug. He had to stand on his toes, but he didn’t mind. “Your husband already drew you a bath. Come, let me bathe you, hm?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hummed. Wei Wuxian smiled and left a kiss on his shoulder before beginning to tug him behind the privacy screen.

Wei Wuxian reached up to remove his forehead ribbon first and folded it neatly to get it out of the way. His hands worked to strip him of his layers and it was hard not to see how much he was putting in to seem like he wasn’t struggling. That crease between his brow, the way his entire body was full of tension, the way he looked exhausted. How hadn’t he noticed before?

“My Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathed, leaving a soft kiss to his chest as he rid him of his last layer, “My love.”

He got rid of his own last layer and got in the bath first before ushering him in. Lan Wangji got in without even one playful look and laid against Wei Wuxian’s chest without any convincing. He sunk into the water up to his chin, his knees poking above the surface in response. Wei Wuxian didn’t know what else to do other than wrap his arms around him and bathe him slowly.

He thought of Sizhui’s words, how there wasn’t anything to actually do. Just make sure he didn’t feel worse or alone. Though Wei Wuxian could remember‒albeit faintly‒times when he’d felt very lonely despite being surrounded by people. He wasn’t sure his presence alone would be helpful.

“Let me hold you tonight,” Wei Wuxian told him, rubbing his hands over his chest, “Is that something you would like?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hummed. Not even a ‘whatever Wei Ying likes’. Wei Wuxian raked his fingers through his hair.

Wei Wuxian worked at his body slowly. He didn’t have much spiritual energy to give him, but he tried his best to make up for it in rubbing at all the tense spots and paying extra attention to places Wei Wuxian knew he liked to be touched. The back of his neck, his arms, his hands, things that felt present.

They eventually decided to get out of the bath and move to bed. Lan Wangji seemed to be moving in slow motion as he got out of the bath. Wei Wuxian didn’t bother with drying him off with a cloth, instead making a talisman to dry them both.

“Did you eat anything, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked as they both got dressed in night robes. Lan Wangji made a noise that translated to no. “Should I go get something from the kitchens?” Another ‘no’ noise. “Lan Wangji, you have to eat something.”

Then there were no noises.

Wei Wuxian looked over to his husband to see him staring at him, all that tension he’d tried to get out of his body filling him right back up like it’d never left. It seemed he’d done something wrong. Or, perhaps he’d always been doing something wrong if simply being an attentive husband set off alarm bells in Lan Wangji’s mind.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, what are you staring at?” Wei Wuxian asked, hoping to play it off as he sat in bed, “Am I not allowed to be responsible for once?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said and maybe Wei Wuxian was being a little bit more obvious than he thought.

With a sigh, Wei Wuxian patted the bed and Lan Wangji climbed in beside him. Wei Wuxian led his head to his chest and held him there for a moment while he thought of a way to say what he was thinking and not be insulting.

“Sizhui and I had a talk today,” Wei Wuxian told him, running his fingers through his hair slowly, “And he said that you were sad. He said that you were always sad. What kind of husband have I been if I haven’t noticed, ah?”

Lan Wangji had gone tense again, but he didn’t try to pull away. His fingers slipped over Wei Wuxian’s collarbone, careful as silk.

“Does it bother you?” Lan Wangji asked carefully. Wei Wuxian made a hurt noise, trying to keep the situation as light as he could.

“Aiya, Hanguang-Jun, how could you accuse me of such a thing? As if anything about you could bother me!” Wei Wuxian said, reaching out with his other arm to grab his thigh. He pulled Lan Wangji until he was all but cradled in his lap like a baby, regardless of how much bigger than Wei Wuxian he actually was.

“Wei Ying…”

“No,” Wei Wuxian said, sighing as he allowed himself to be a little serious. He rubbed his thumb in small circles against his husband’s thigh, still keeping him in his arms, “No, it doesn’t bother me. I… Obviously it isn’t the same, but I do understand the constant of it, I guess. Shijie was, for as long as I can remember, nearly always ill, some days worse than others. The way Sizhui explained it made it seem like that’s how it is for you, only… melancholy.”

“There is nothing left to mourn that is more powerful than Wei Ying breathing,” Lan Wangji said slowly, hesitantly, “And yet I still… It seems I forgot it was this way since the beginning.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, don’t let that make you worse, alright? I understand, I do! There is nothing worse than feeling bad when you have every reason to be happy, I understand,” Wei Ying said, trying his damnedest not to crawl out of his skin while saying that aloud. But Lan Zhan needed it. He was meant to make him feel less lonely, wasn’t he? “I do apologize for being so needy this morning. I didn’t realize.”

Lan Wangji shook his head. “No apologies.”

“Yes, but‒”

“Wei Ying will have whatever he desires.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, don’t say things like that, I might take advantage,” Wei Wuxian said warmly, nuzzling his nose into the top of his head, “But, truly, it’s alright. I’m here and I plan to annoy you for the rest of this life and probably a few more, so of course it doesn’t bother me. You may have to tell me sometimes if I don’t notice right away, but I will never mind it. I get to cuddle you during class and everything. Do you know what I would’ve done in my first life if you cuddled me in class? I would’ve fainted!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hummed. But his eyes had closed and he let his body relax a bit more in Wei Wuxian’s grip.

Wei Wuxian smiled and traced his jaw with his thumb, pulling his legs a bit closer so he could cover him up with a blanket. If this is how bad days ended for the rest of their life, he wouldn’t mind.

“My cute little Hanguang-Jun, so small,” Wei Wuxian cooed, kissing the side of his face as he tucked the blanket around him. A smile pulled at Lan Wangji’s lips and although it didn’t stay, it still was worth everything. “Ah, you like that? Should I baby you more, my love? My A-Zhan, hm?”

It was easy to just hold him and cover him in kisses and cuddles without any expectation for him to say anything back or even smle if he didn’t want to. Wei Wuxian held him until he fell asleep and then held him a bit longer before he eventually had to slowly get up and find something to eat. There were some loquats in a bowl that were there for any late night snacking on Wei Wuxian’s part or just if he forgot to eat in the first place, so he sat and ate a few while staring where Lan Wangji laid the entire time. It wasn’t until he crawled back into bed that Wei Wuxian realized he no longer felt guilty.

It simply was and would be and Wei Wuxian was more than willing to take it in stride.

#mdzsnet #wangxian #wangxian fic #lan wangji #wei wuxian #the untamed #mdzs #my fic #actor/character birthday fic

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twelves-writings · 3 years

Text

[Please suggest title ideas!] (934 words)

Hels was back.

Joe nearly spat out his drink (Red Bull, by the way) when he heard the news. Xisuma was just referring to Welsknight’s counterpart; he knew that. But Joe knew what that really meant. The Knight wasn’t the only resident of Hels, and certainly wasn’t the only one with a connection to the Hermits. Joe could still feel the burning on his skin, though most of the scars had long since faded. Memories like that don’t fade. Every time he overworked himself, whether staying up late or moving shulker boxes around, he was back there. The trickster was still watching. Threats were dangled above his head like swords. He was a mortal at the mercy of a god.

He went to Cleo right after the meeting. She listened to Joe, understanding the pain he’s been through, having been through similar events by the same being. The discussion was unique for lack of acting. All emotion was pure, raw, as fresh as it was all those years ago. They talked for quite a few hours, the tears eventually drying and breath leveling out.

“Thank you for listening to my rambling, Cleo,” Joe said, standing up from his chair in Keralis’s Cleo’s office, “but I’d best be off to my base. The sun is beginning its course towards the horizon, and I need to lay my-” He interrupted his sentence with a yawn. “-my head down and dream.”

Cleo stood up as well, accompanying her friend to the door. “Yeah, emotions really wipe you, huh.”

Joe let out a weak laugh. “I’d certainly say so. Goodnight Cleo!” Joe had no energy left for an elegant exit line, and the two were more than okay with that. With a rocket he was gone. …only to return a moment later upon realizing using the Nether was a much better option than flying. He still wasn’t quite used to the travel time to his new base. With a giggle from Cleo, he had begun his journey home.

His thoughts were spinning the whole time, so much so that he nearly got himself lost. Once he reoriented himself for the tenth time, Joe was able to reach his base without a hitch. He didn’t remember most of the journey, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was finding a nice, soft bed, to let his dreams take him away to untouched places, soft and sweet and-

He passed out the second he stepped out of the portal. Waking up five minutes later to find himself not in bed, but on a concrete and glass floor was annoying. Joe managed to drag himself to bed just before drifting into unconsciousness for the night. He wished for an empty and restful sleep, unburdened by the problems of conscious life…

“NO!” Joe flung up with a start. His wide eyes darted around the dark room. The sun had not yet risen, blue skies not yet trading places with the darkness. Joe’s shaking hands scrambled around for his communicator. Startled by the bright light it emanated once he found it, he read off the time: “Three AM, great.” He flopped back onto his bed. Confused by his lack of lack of sight, he realized he had worn his glasses all through the night. He removed them with a sigh. “For goodness sake… Lest I be able to slumber peacefully, my daily responsibilities fading as my mind slips into dreams, scenarios I have not and will not encounter during my lifetime? Why must I be punished both in conscious and unconscious states, imagination setting up for only heartbreak and loss? Why must I awake at ungodly hours of the night only to ponder as to how I have gotten to that point?” He sighed once more, closing his eyes. “Will I be allowed to sleep again, unhaunted by the memories that plague me?” He mumbled his impromptu poetry to any soul who would hear. Would his pleas be heard and answered? Not likely, but ranting to no one was helpful nonetheless. It always was.

Joe tossed and turned throughout the remaining hours of darkness, his wishes for rest left unanswered and ungranted. His thoughts and memories raced like broken shoes on netherrack. Burning though his soles, he willed himself to carry on. Every time he slipped, wishing to glimpse the pure black of eternal dark, he jolted forward. Rest was for the worthy, and he had simply gotten lucky. But what was luck if not built up skill combined with chance, and would that not make him worthy? I’m too tired for these thoughts, but he thought them regardless. Even as the sun rose on a forgiving day, Joe’s musings refused to cease. The slash of Veches’s sword still burned in his chest. His corporeal form slipped for a moment - a moment too long in his opinion. There was a reason Joe strayed away from diamonds this season.

After hours of staring off into nothing and everything, he found the will to stand. Today was a new day, with new adventures and trials. Said trials will not be fatal, and if they are? He will rise again, unscarred by whatever got the better of him. Respawn is a luxury Joe is glad to have, as well as amazing friends who will help him get his items back. His friends have his back and he has theirs. Relying on others was odd at first, but it quickly became a great relief. Joe doesn’t have to be alone anymore. Whatever evil may come, they will fight it together.

And until then? He lived happily.

#heres some more maybe not too bad writing!#joehills #twelves writings #twelves rambles #ask to tag

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twomoonstwosuns · 4 years

Text

crush.

pairing: poe dameron x reader

warnings: none

word count: 2.3k

a/n: ....part 2? i have something in mind, but i’d love to hear from people if they wanna see a part 2.

[part 2]

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

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“I’m fine, Poe.”

“I didn’t ask you that.”

You threw your head back with a sigh of frustration before looking up at Poe. He was leaning against the table in front of you with his arms crossed, looking at you concernedly.

“How long?” He repeated. Your tongue poked in the inside of your cheek as you tried to avoid the question. But Poe was persistent and would not let this go until he got an answer out of you.

You’d put in a long workday. You had gotten up early, consulted with the squadron leaders, and had gotten information from Leia regarding a mission she was sending Poe on. Since then you were researching and strategizing, only leaving the room for food and bathroom breaks. You glanced at the clock to your right. It was nearing 5a.m. You had been up for nearly 22 hours.

“Awhile.” You finally answered, running a hand through your hair. “But I really need to get this done. I’m meeting with Leia in the morning and she’s counting on this being ready for your mission tomorrow.”

You nodded towards the papers in front of you. On them were a bunch of strategies for the different complications Poe could run into on his mission to Jakku the following morning; confrontation tactics in case something went wrong, escape plans if he had to abort the mission, and plans for worse case scenarios.

“You can’t keep overworking yourself, though.” Poe didn’t even look at the papers. His focus was still on you. “It’s not healthy.”

“I know. I don’t pull all-nighters all the time, it’s just—“

“You pulled two last week.”

You looked down in embarrassment at being caught in a lie. You were so careful; trying to make sure you looked bright-eyed and fresh everyday so no one knew you were so overtired.

“Ok, fine.” You were unapologetic as you looked back up at Poe. Maybe it was the exhaustion putting your emotions on edge, because you were getting annoyed and feeling defensive. “But Poe, this is a really important mission you’re going on. And you’re going alone. So many things can go wrong. I’m not letting you go unprepared and if I have to sacrifice some sleep to make sure of that, so be it.”

Poe admired your devotion to the cause. To his safety.It was on par with his. But that meant, like him, you bordered on recklessness in order to get things done and get results. The only difference between you was where you did your jobs. He leaned forward, his face much closer to yours.

“You’re great at what you do even on your worst days,” he said with an easy smile, holding your gaze. Your face softened. “If you can honestly tell me that everything isn’t starting to blur together or that you haven’t read the same thing six times in a row, I’ll leave you alone.”

You couldn’t tell him that. Because you really didn’t know what you had been working on the last hour or if you even accomplished anything. You eyed the papers in front of you.

“I don’t know Poe, I’ve still got so much work to do.”

“Leia will understand that you need a break. In fact, as your commander, I’m ordering you to take a break.”

Poe stood straight up, hovering over authoritatively. You arched your eyebrow. Gone was the overwhelming concern in his voice, replaced now with the flirty tone you both were known for displaying whenever you were together.

“You know technically, you’re not my commander.”

“But I am a commander, so I have some authority over you.”

“No you don’t. You’re full of it.”

He had a half smirk on his face, which made you smirk back at him. Even tired, you could dish it right back to him.

“Just a couple of hours. I promise to have you back here with plenty of time to finish everything. Please, Y/N?”

Your name was soft as it left his lips. You looked at him as you considered his words. His eyes were pleading, almost begging. He was right; you probably should take a break. A twenty minute power nap would get you right back on track, you thought. Or you could keep working in the privacy of your own room. Poe would walk you to your door and go back to his quarters, never the wiser.

You gave a defeated sigh as you stood up. Poe smiled victoriously as he started helping you gather papers, handing them to you to place in a folder. You followed him out of the room, hitting the lights as you left.

“Wait Poe, what are you doing up at this hour?” You asked as you fell in step with him, now the one filled with concern.

“Can’t sleep. Don’t worry about it.”

You stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“I always worry about you.”

Poe looked down at you. Your eyes were glossy from fatigue, but they still mesmerized him. His jaw clenched, like he didn’t quite want to say what was on the tip of his tongue. You raised your eyebrows, urging him to talk.

“I slept for a bit, woke up and couldn’t fall asleep again. Guess I’m just feeling anxious about this mission.” He admitted as he started walking again. You walked swiftly to catch up with him. “Kind of dumb, isn’t it? I’ve been on so many missions now that I shouldn’t be feeling anxious about another one.”

You shook your head.

“It’s not dumb, Poe. The unknown is…terrifying. To be honest, I’m scared anytime you leave. Anytime anyone leaves. We’ve lost too many good people.”

“Is that why you do what you do?”

Poe gestured to the folder in your hand. You tightened your grip on it. You didn’t quite know how to answer the question.

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly. “Apart from the fact that I’m not the best flyer, I feel less anxious about this war with the First Order knowing we’ve prepared you the best we can. Obviously anything can go wrong no matter how much we prepare you guys, but at least you’re not going into anything without some kind of a plan.”

“I don’t think you know how many times you’ve saved our asses out there.”

“I don’t know if I want to know. I try to cling to the hope that things go smoothly every time you leave.”

“Your hope gives me hope.”

Your whole body felt warm. Sure, you and Poe shamelessly flirted with each other all the time, but this was something different. It had taken you weeks to admit to yourself you liked Poe a lot more than a friend, the flirting now making your heart ache a little bit more with the knowledge that he would probably only ever be your friend. And now he was saying things like this and making your heart swell with want.

“I really wish you weren’t going alone.” Your voice was nearly a whisper, the weight of everything heavy on your shoulders.

Poe exhaled through his nose, his hand grabbing yours and squeezing once before letting go again.

“Me too.”

You wanted to grab his hand, intertwine your fingers and not let go. You had had many heart-to-heart conversations with Poe about how you both truly felt about everything going on and what the future might be like, but none of those conversations drove you to tears like this one did. You convinced yourself it was the overtiredness keeping your emotions just below the surface, but deep down you knew it was your feelings for Poe making you care even more.

“Wait a minute,” you said, pulling yourself from your thoughts as you recognized the hallway you were in. Poe was pulling out his card. “Why are we at your door?”

“Because the minute I leave you alone in your own room, you’ll go back to work.”

Damn him, you thought to yourself. He figured out your plan. Apparently the disappointment read on your face because he chuckled as he opened his door and said, “I know you Y/N.”

You huffed in frustration as he ushered you inside. You’d been in his quarters plenty of times, but not doing anything other than chatting. You saw BB8 tucked into his charging station.

“Plus,” Poe said, seemingly not done teasing you. “My bed is bigger and probably more comfortable than yours and you really need sleep.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

“Careful Dameron, someone might think you’re trying to get me in bed.”

Poe laughed as you removed your shoes. He took them and moved them next to his by the door.

“You are welcome in my bed anytime Y/N, but you really need to sleep now.”

You fought the grin that threatened to cross your face as heat rose to your cheeks. The all to familiar ache was not back in your chest. Your flirting was going to get you in trouble someday, especially as your feelings for Poe grew stronger and stronger. But you couldn’t stop. It was so easy to flirt and talk and whatever with Poe.

“Y/N?”

Poe appeared in front of you, looking at you curiously.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you were good. You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.”

“I’m good.” You assured him. “Admittedly tired.”

“I don’t want to say I told you so, but—“

You bumped your shoulder into his as you passed him to get in bed. It still felt a little weird to you, a little too intimate for just friends, but you were so tired at this point that you couldn’t care anymore.

“Thank you, Poe. Really.”

Poe nodded his head in acknowledgement, bringing his hand down to brush away the hair that was about to fall into your face. His touch was burning.

“Get some sleep, Y/N.”

You closed your eyes, melting into Poe’s sheets. They smelled like him and it calmed you. You settled in, feeling sleep creeping up on you quick. You were surprised when you didn’t feel Poe next to you, assuming he would try and go back to sleep himself. You cracked an eye open and saw him sitting in a chair, watching you.

“Weirdo.” You teased. “Are you really gonna sit there and watch me sleep?”

“Can’t have you sneaking out.”

“I’m not going to sneak out. You ruined my plan.”

Poe smiled tiredly, his own exhaustion kicking in. You recognized it immediately. He was about to give up sleep to let you sleep in the same way you were giving up sleep to help him prepare for his mission. It was a never-ending circle. You scooted yourself back and patted the now empty space.

“Come get some sleep.”

Poe’s eyes widened slightly and he looked at you questioningly.

“What?”

You perched yourself up on your elbow.

“You’re seriously telling me you’d rather sit there for however many hours you’re making me sleep instead of getting some rest? That kind of makes you a hypocrite you know.” Poe was silent and staring at you. Your face fell and you spoke quietly, the teasing manner now gone. “It’s fine, Poe. I can see you’re still tired and you need sleep, too. Come on.”

You held your breath as you watched Poe. Your thoughts were running wild. Maybe you overstepped, took the flirting a little too far. But you were genuinely concerned.

Poe’s thoughts were all over the place as well. He was tired and really wanted a little more sleep. Plus, the idea of curling up to next to you was sotempting. Poe nodded and crossed the room, both of your hearts skipping beats as he slid in next to you.

“Told you so.” You mumbled with a tired laugh.

Poe just shushed you, not trusting himself not to say something stupid with how close you two were. He was a confident man, but that confidence had begun to diminish whenever you were near him. He supposed that’s why he flirted with you so hard, because it came so naturally to him since he was that way with everyone. But here in his room, in his bed no less where things were more cozy and intimate, he couldn’t trust himself to not say what was really on his mind. He couldn’t tell you how he wanted to pull you closer, have your head rest on his chest while his fingers wove through your hair. No, he couldn’t tell you that. Not right now. Poe was a talker and he knew it was only a matter of time before something slipped out that he wasn’t ready to tell you yet.

Poe fell asleep before you did. You moved just a hair closer to him, admiring the way his eyelashes rested gently on his cheek. You fought off a laugh as you realized that you were now the one watching him sleep like a weirdo. But you couldn’t help it.

You were lucky to have him in your life. From his kindness to his loyalty, Poe was someone you enjoyed being around all the time. You would be forever grateful that he came into your life. If you had to swallow your feelings to not ruin your friendship, you would. The last thing you wanted to was to scare him off. He was too important to you to lose.

But there was a thought that crossed your mind as your eyes fluttered closed.

His bed was barely bigger than yours and it definitely wasn’t more comfortable. Everyone had the same sheets and mattress, you knew that from the numerous times you had accidentally fallen asleep in Jessika or Kaydel’s rooms. You wondered if he knew this when he brought you back to his room. As sleep overtook you, you let yourself go into a dream where you allowed yourself to believe for just a minute that maybe, just maybe, he liked you too.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron reader insert #poe dameron fanfiction #star wars fanfic #poe dameron fluff #star wars imagine

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misscorn · 4 years

Text

Day 6 Confession

Day 6 of @takaritsuweek 😄😄

***

Masamune stumbled into his apartment at a fresh 2:57 in the morning, completely exhausted, but relieved. One of his author's had had a nervous breakdown causing an issue with getting the manuscript and then once Masamune did finally get his hands on it he realized the author had been so reluctant because it was complete trash and then the printers were giving him a tough time and-

Masamune took a deep breath. It was fine. He got it done. He was the editor-in-chief of their department for a reason. There was no use stressing over it anymore. No, now was the time to let his exhaustion hit and allow himself to pass out on his bed.

It had been like this for the past few days now, Masamune coming home so late after a grueling day at the office. It wasn't even hellweek, no, instead it was just Masamune's own personal little hell made special just for him by whatever God or Goddess thought it was funny to mess with him. Not to mention all this trouble meant he hadn't gotten to see Ritsu outside of work recently, which pissed him off to no end. Hopefully it was finally over.

Only, there was one small, teeny tiny problem left.

His living room light was on.

Masamune knew for a fact that he did not leave his light on before he left for work. He wasn't so careless. Did he have an intruder in his home? Shit, he was too tired to deal with something like that.

Slowly and quietly, Masamune peeked around the corner and was shocked at the sight in front of him: Onodera Ritsu, on his couch, clearly focused as he made and reviewed edits.

'I must be so tired that I've started hallucinating.' Masamune thought to himself. Still, it was a nice hallucination. A life in which Masamume comes home to Ritsu after work is a life Masamune longs deeply for.

Masamune did give Ritsu a spare key in the past, but there was no way the brunette would ever actually use it. Right? Carefully, Masamune approached the Ritsu-mirage, not disturbing him out of his little work bubble until he reached forward to gently pinch his cheek.

Ritsu nearly leaped to his feet, smacking the hand away and pressing himself against the other end of the couch to get away from Masamune's touch. "You scared me!" He complained, placing a hand over his heart, feeling it race.

"You're real?" Masamune stared.

"Of course I'm real! What are you even talking about?" Ritsu huffed. "I came over earlier to ask you to review my edits, but you weren't here. Then I remembered you gave me a key and I decided to wait." Ritsu explained briefly. "...Are you mad that I used it?"

"No! Please, feel free to use it every single day. In fact, forget ever going to your apartment and just move in with me." Masamune said as he flopped on to the couch beside him.

"N-Now you're just speaking nonsense." Ritsu said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. Maybe they could still go over some stuff before the two of them went to bed. However, Ritsu went wide-eyed at the time. "Three in the morning?! What are you doing coming home at three in the morning? It's not even hellweek, yet, moron!" Ritsu scolded. How had it gotten so late? Ritsu must have completely lost track of the time.

"Eh? What are you getting so worked up for?" Masamune yawned.

"Editor-in-chief or not, you still need to take care of yourself, which includes getting a proper amount of sleep! Did you even eat dinner?"

This felt wrong. These roles should definitely be reversed. The irony wasn't missed by Masamune.

"Aw, are you worried about me?" Masamune asked, his tone teasing, but instead of Ritsu blushing or quickly getting defensive and denying, the brunette frowned and crossed his arms.

"Of course I'm worried about you!" Ritsu said.

Masamune shrugged. "I'm fine, a few late nights at work never killed anybody."

"A few? How often have you been coming home this late?" Ritsu asked.

Masamune's tired brain tried to make sense of the timeline of these past couple days before he finally responded. "I think this is the fourth night." He said.

"Takano-san!" Ritsu exclaimed in a disapproving tone. Ritsu had thought that Masamune seemed a little out of it at work lately, but he hadn't been that worried since he trusted that if Masamune needed time off then he would take it. Obviously, he had been wrong.

"It's fine, it's fine, let me see your edits." Masamune said.

"Absolutely not." Ritsu stood and grabbed Masamune's hands, somehow managing to pull him up as well. "You are going to bed. Right now."

Masamune, irritable from his tiredness, made a sound of protest. "You're not my mother, Onodera. I can put myself to bed when I'm ready."

"Obviously you can't." Ritsu put his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at the taller man.

"Stop acting like you're the most responsible adult in the world and like you haven't literally worked yourself to the point of passing out. It's annoying and hypocritical."

"I know I'm not, I never said I was! And I'm seriously trying to get better at not overworking myself, so don't even throw that in my face." Ritsu said, starting to get equally as irritated.

"Why are you even really here?" Masamune asked, crossing his arms.

Ritsu was slightly taken aback by the question, hesitating for a moment before he spoke again. "I-I told you, I wanted you to review-"

"You would not have stuck around this long just for that. Yesterday you probably would've rather died than use that spare key I gave you. So why are you here? To nag me to death? To scold me like a child? I'm a grown man, Onodera, I don't need-"

"Why are you allowed to care about me, but I'm not allowed to care about you?!" Ritsu demanded, balling his hands into fists. "Why can you fuss over me and bandage me up when I'm clumsy? Why can you take care of me when I'm sick? Why can you be concerned about my well being, but I can't be concerned about yours without being annoying?! Isn't that part of what love is? Looking after one another? Why can you smother me to death with what you call 'lovey dovey' stuff, but I'm not allowed to love you back?! I love you, damn it, so let me!" He looked down, unable to maintain eye contact.

Masamune merely stood there, gaping at Ritsu's outburst and confession. "Ritsu, I..." He started, for once looking off balance and unsure.

"It's not fair. It's not fair if I'm the only one who has someone looking out for me." Ritsu said, a soft sniffle escaping him. "I want...I want to take care of you too. I want to be sure that you're okay, too. B-because I l-love you." He gripped the ends of his sleeves, using them to rub away some tears. So embarrassing...this was totally embarrassing. Mortifying, even. It was enough to make Ritsu want to quit his job, crawl into bed, and never come out from under the blanket.

Masamune stared, processing Ritsu's words as the brunette started to hurriedly gather his things. "S-Sorry for dropping by unannounced. I-I'll just go now." Ritsu said, quickly walking past Masamune, still trying not to burst into tears.

"Wait!" Masamune grabbed him by the wrist, not letting him get far. "You think I'm just gonna let you go after you say something like that? Idiot!" Masamune pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly both as apology and as a means to keep him there. "Don't go. Stay the night here." Masamune pleaded, giving his body a gentle squeeze. "I missed you."

"...I missed you too." Ritsu said softly. "That's why I came over." He admitted. "I...I just wanted to see you. I figured the edits would make as good as an excuse as any." He let his head fall against Masamune's chest.

"Say it again." Masamune requested, raking his fingers through Ritsu's hair.

"I wanted to see you."

"No. Tell me you love me again." Masamune began to tear up as the weight of Ritsu's words finally started to sink in.

Ritsu's shyness returned to him, his moment of courage over, but the sound Masamune's pounding heart was enough to make the brunette confess once more.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

#onodera ritsu #takano masamune #takaritsu week #sekaiichi hatsukoi

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ethereousdelirious · 3 years

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Happy early birthday @febrileminded!!!!!!!! I wrote 4k words of CV sickfic and I would have kept going except I literally ran out of time (hashtag adulting sucks). I’m hoping to write a part 2 in the future, but I hope you like this!! <3 <3 I hope your birthday is awesome and everyone is nice to you and you get awesome presents

The icy mountain wind caught Trevor dead-on and made his cloak flutter and snap violently, made his nose and cheeks sting.

"Fuck," he muttered, trying ignore the way breathing made his throat itch. He had thought it was just the cold air and the elevation making him woozy, but after two days of grueling travel through the mountains, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more at play.

Sypha and Alucard walked a bit ahead of him, Sypha leading the one horse they had managed to acquire before leaving the previous town.

Standing against the purple sky, the fresh evergreens made a perfect frame around Sypha, Alucard, and the horse. It would have been beautiful if it wasn't so damn uncomfortable.

Trevor coughed lightly into his palm and hastened his step so he wouldn't lose distance. Neither Syph nor Alucard seemed to be having as much trouble as he was, and the thought of being the weakest made him edgy.

"I can't believe people live up here," he forced himself to say, mostly to provide an excuse for his ragged breathing.

"What?" Sypha half-turned to look at him. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes watered from the cold. "What do you mean?"

Trevor took a breath to tell her about the paths he had seen, the not-so-distant chimney smoke farther up the side of the mountain, but Alucard spoke first.

"A small group of people from the neighboring towns made their homes up here in the process of mapping out this pass." He gestured broadly. The wind made his hair flutter and he continued sourly, "I can't imagine why they stayed."

Trevor chuckled for the sake of disguising a few coughs underneath and pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders. He had already tried offering it to Sypha once and she had declined in a tone that brooked no argument.

"And this is when the sun is out," Sypha said, glancing upward.

Though she couldn't see it, Trevor nodded. They had had remarkably good luck with the weather. Today marked the third morning that a nearly cloudless sky had greeted them, although today it was purple and tiny, glittering ice crystals danced on the breeze.

Trevor sniffled, then wiped his nose on the hem of his cloak when it continued to run. "I don't suppose there's a tavern up here," he half-joked, knowing that Alucard would have something snide to say.

It was half irritation and half self-preservation that made Trevor set himself up like this. He knew when he was getting sick and if they kept walking in silence like they had been, with no other sound that Trevor's sniveling and coughing, the others would know, too and he simply couldn't allow that.

Sure enough, Alucard scoffed and did not deign to turn around when he said, "So three days without some imbibing some piss-water calling itself 'ale,' that's your limit?"

Trevor was saved by having to respond by the interference of Sypha, who evidently felt this comment was mean-spirited enough to warrant a hard look. "Don't pick fights."

"My hero," Trevor said drily.

Despite his best efforts, the conversation died out. Trevor tried to keep his throat-clearing to a minimum and wiped his nose on his cloak so often that the skin began to feel raw. The breeze picked up, cooling the sweat that formed on his neck and brow. This created an uncomfortable discrepancy. He was undeniably hot from all the physical activity, almost uncomfortably so, but the cold air kept his face and hands icy and pale. (His hands, at least, were almost greenish-blue from the lack of blood flow).

They had just stopped for a break when the first real snowflake drifted by. Trevor looked up. How had he not noticed the purple-gray clouds closing in overhead?

"I was afraid this might happen," Alucard sighed. Fucking prick. Like he knew what the weather was going to do.

Trevor wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He could feel where it had beaded up on his neck and under his arms, but he wasn't about to start undressing just for the sake of airing out.

Besides, Sypha and Alucard seemed fine. And if they were fine, then Trevor was fine because he wasn't about to hold everyone up so he could nurse a little head cold.

His chest and throat burned as if to remind him of symptoms he had forgotten. Chest cold, then. Regardless. He was fine.

Annoyed, he adjusted his cloak over his shoulders and glowered off into middle distance.

"We should move quickly," Sypha said. Though Trevor didn't move his head, more and more snowflakes spun into his field of vision. The whirling sensation made his temples throb.

"I'm good to go," he said. "I was just worried about Alucard."

"Me?" Alucard sneered. "I'm not the one panting like an overworked mare."

And, like clockwork, they all turned their heads to the horse, who was happily nosing at a patch of grass.

Trevor barked out an abortive laugh that threatened to snowball into an avalanche of coughs. Sypha giggled and even Alucard looked like he was working hard to suppress a smile.

The mood quickly dimmed when the wind whipped up a thick flurry of snowflakes.

Trevor stood up slowly, his body aching to an almost insulting degree. Under his clothing, his body burned hot while the rest of his exposed skin was already numb with cold. "Let's go," he said, grabbing the horse by the reins and leading her back to the path. Sypha and Alucard followed.

"We should only have one more day of travel," Alucard said, and Trevor could hear in his voice how hard he was working not to stutter from the cold.

"If we don't get trapped by the snowstorm," Sypha added, a dark note of worry staining her voice.

Trevor put his head down and urged the mare to move faster.

Something was off about Belmont. He'd been moving much too slowly since the journey started. Alucard had chalked it up to some miscellaneous defect in the human form at first, but then he realized that Sypha was doing fine while Trevor was starting to lag behind.

He was keeping up and he wasn't complaining, so Alucard hadn't minded so much at first, but now… Now they were in the middle of a snowstorm that was rapidly becoming a blizzard with no hope of shelter in sight and Belmont. wasn't. keeping. up. Even over the howling wind, Alucard could hear Trevor's heavy, ragged breathing punctuated by the occasional strangled cough.

Alucard rolled his eyes and turned around.. Whatever the deal was, they didn't have time for it.

"Pick it up, Belmont. We need to move quickly."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Trevor spat, glaring at Alucard with red-rimmed eyes. "And here I thought we were just out for a leisurely stroll." He wiped his face with his hand and Alucard frowned. It was near-impossible to tell, since they were all damp from head to toe, but Trevor might have been sweating. His cloak had no hood, but he'd pulled it up over his head to stave off the snow. Still, the back of his neck glistened with sweat or melted snow.

Alucard narrowed his eyes and Trevor glared back, still panting.

"Didn't you just say we needed to hurry?" Sypha prompted.

"Something's wrong," Alucard said, still staring at Trevor. They were all pink-cheeked from the cold, but Trevor's cheeks had taken on a stronger reddish tone than the delicate pink dusting Sypha's cheekbones and nose. He couldn't seem to stand up straight and his breaths sounded wheezy and painful.

"Looking is free," Trevor said "but touching will cost you."

"You're slowing us down," Alucard said. "I'd like to know why."

"This is slowing us down," Trevor said, with a pointed look at Sypha, who was shivering. "Let's go already."

Alucard kept his steely gaze locked on Trevor. "Fine. But you'd better keep up."

They trudged onward. It was impossible to tell from the clouded-over sky, but Alucard estimated that barely an hour had passed since the storm had started. The sun shone watery rays where it could through the thick gray cloud cover.

"Do you really think we can make it to the next town?" Sypha yelled over the wind

"We don't have a choice," Alucard answered. "We can’t stop, not in this weather." He paused in case Trevor had a smart-ass remark he wanted to make, but Trevor was silent.

Well.

Not silent. Just as Alucard was ordered, he was keeping up, but the grueling pace was costing him dearly. He was panting so hard he could barely speak and still stupidly trying to muffle coughs in the soaking-wet cloak draped over his shoulders.

He looked for all the world like a drowned rat. Were the circumstances less dire, Alucard would have told him so. As such, he kept his mouth shut. Trevor didn't look like he had the energy to argue.

Something was obviously wrong with him. Alucard wasn't sure if Sypha had noticed, not that that meant anything. There was no time for side conversations, no space in their current predicament for fussing and arguing. Trevor could deal with his little chest cold on his own until they got someplace safe.

Of course, things never could go as planned. The storm raged on and Trevor's coughing only got less subtle as they shuffled through the growing snowdrifts.

After one particularly loud bout, Sypha looked sideways at Alucard. He shook his head.

Then he thought for a moment, and amended himself. "We can stop if we see shelter," he shouted over the wind.

Sypha nodded.

Then came the gentle sound of a body hitting the snow.

"Shit." Alucard spun around and was unsurprised to find Trevor facedown in the snow. It had piled up about shin-high by now, so at least he hadn't hurt himself in the fall.

Sypha, less pragmatic and a touch more tender-hearted, cried out and rushed over to kneel in the snow by Trevor's side. "He's burning up."

"We need to get him up."

"On the horse?" Sypha asked. It was her turn on the reins, but she had let go when she had gone back to Trevor. Alucard took the lead before the shivering mare could get any ideas.

Trevor sat up suddenly and threw himself drunkenly to his feet, swaying and looking around with suspicious, fever-bright eyes. Water dripped from his face and the hem of his shirt. "I'm fine." Vapor rose from his mouth and body.

"You're steaming," Alucard pointed out. "Get on the horse."

"I can walk."

"Get on the fucking horse!" Alucard snapped. He told himself it wasn't worry that made him so edgy, that he was just angry at Belmont for slowing them down, but deep down he knew better.

"I can walk."

Alucard ground his teeth and looked at the horse, who was obviously suffering. "Fine. Sypha, take her. Belmont, come here."

Trevor glared and for a moment, Alucard thought he wouldn't move. But he did, staggering through the snow. Stiffly, Alucard grabbed Trevor's arm and ducked under his shoulder.

No one said anything. They started to walk again.

It was slower going now, and the tension grated. Trevor was blazing hot, but cooling down quickly. Even with a fever, hypothermia would set in faster now that his clothing was wet.

Through the grace of… something-- Luck, God, fate, Alucard did not know-- they rounded a bend and found the looming shadow of a barn. Nobody spoke, but they moved ahead with renewed speed, as much as they could manage given the circumstances.

Alucard deposited Trevor against the barn wall and kicked the door in without a second thought.

The barn wasn't warm but it was shelter from the wind and might as well have been paradise for all Alucard cared. Sypha led the mare in and Alucard dragged Trevor from the wall to an old hay bale that was beginning to sprout grass.

The doors flapped in the breeze. Alucard bolstered them as well as he could with further hay bales, then turned his attention back to Trevor, who was shivering and dangerously pale.

He gave Sypha a quick scan-- She was also pale and shivering and her lips were nearly blue, but her eyes were clear and focused.

"Are the supplies dry?" Alucard asked. "Any of them?"

Sypha began to dig through the mare's saddlebags while Alucard took the decidedly harder task of taking care of Trevor. Perhaps he should have switched with Sypha, but it was far too late now.

"You need to get out of those wet clothes."

Trevor managed to wheeze out something that sounded like a scoff. "I'll do it myself."

"Your hands are shaking."

"So are yours."

"Fine." Alucard backed up a half-step.

"You don't have to watch." Trevor glared at him. To his credit, he did seem surprisingly with it for a man who had just collapsed, but he was still far from okay. "Belmont," Alucard sighed. "Do you not understand just how sick you are? You have a fever and we're still a good day of travel from the next town, given the weather conditions."

Trevor coughed pointedly into his sleeve until Alucard turned back to Sypha.

"Anything?"

She nodded. "Pretty much everything is still dry."

"Good. You should get changed too."

Sypha nodded and ducked into a corner.

"Aren't you going to change?" Trevor asked, slightly out of breath. "Or are you just going to order everyone else around?"

Alucard drew in a very deliberate breath, held it, and let it out. He wasn't going to rise to Trevor's bait. "I'll get changed as soon as Sypha is done, so she can keep an eye on you."

"I don't need a fucking babysitter."

Alucard wished he had a mirror so he could show Trevor exactly how bad he looked. His cheeks were flame-red while the rest of his face, particularly around his mouth and eyes, were deadly pale. He was shaking and Alucard had no doubt that he couldn’t stand on his own. "You look like a corpse."

"That's rich coming from you."

"Should I make a fire?" Sypha interrupted. She looked around at the structure of the barn and frowned. "I don't know if it would be safe."

"There's not much we can burn either," Alucard said, forgetting Trevor for the moment.

"Better not, then." Sypha came closer and rested her hand on Trevor's back. "You'd better go and get changed.

Alucard nodded.

By some miracle, Sypha managed to get Alucard and Trevor to agree to sleep together in the hay loft. Even with the shelter from the wind, it was too cold to sleep alone. So, after making sure the mare had water, they all climbed up the ladder and settled down.

Trevor was obviously fighting very hard to seem fine even though he could scarcely go a minute without coughing.

He wouldn't sleep next to Alucard, so Sypha found herself wedged between Trevor's fever heat and Alucard's gentle coolness.

She waited until Trevor's coughing died down and his ragged breathing evened out, whispered his name a few times to make sure he was asleep, then nuzzled Alucard's back to get his attention. It was a little more intimate a gesture than she was used to with him, but Trevor had his arms wrapped around her and she couldn't move for fear of waking him.

"Yes?" Alucard whispered.

"Do you think Trevor is going to be okay? I'm worried about him." Even now, he radiated heat against her back like a campfire and his breaths wheezed. "I can tell he isn't feeling well; I don't know why he's trying so hard to hide it."

Alucard sighed, and for a moment, his shoulders pressed harder into Sypha's chest. "Belm-- Trevor is stubborn. I'm sure he has his reasons, but--" He paused. "To answer your question, yes. I do think he'll be okay as long as he doesn't do anything stupid." Another pause. "Oh, no. He won't be okay."

Sypha nudged Alucard's back with her forehead. "Don't make jokes."

"Never."

Sypha was sure she wouldn't sleep at all. Hay poked through the blanket they'd laid down and she was too hot with Trevor pressed up against her back. He obviously wasn't sleeping well; his breathing came in erratic bursts and he made small noises of discomfort intermittently.

Yet somehow, Sypha fell asleep. She was only aware of this when she woke up to the sound of deep, grating coughs and a rush of cold air on her back. She shivered and rose on one arm, squinting in the dim light.

Alucard reacted faster. He hopped over Sypha in the blink of an eye and leaned against Trevor, holding his head steady with one hand and supporting his weight.

"Oh, shit."

Sypha blinked hard. She could just make out the silhouettes of Alucard and Trevor. He was nearly limp, and she got the distinct impression that Alucard's hand was the only thing keeping his head steady. "Trevor?" she whispered.

"Sypha, he's on fire. Bring the blanket over here."

"I c'n make my own way home," Trevor mumbled.

"Hush," Alucard said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Before you embarrass yourself." Sypha dragged the blanket over and watched as Alucard carefully arranged Trevor on top of it.

Trevor tried to speak again and coughed so brutally that Sypha was afraid he might hurt himself. "Actually," he slurred in a ragged voice, "I don't feel s'good."

"We know." Sypha knelt beside him and smoothed his hair out of his face. Now that she was closer, she could smell the tang of fever sweat and make out his pained expression.

"Sypha."

"What is it?"

"M'tired."

"Rest, then."

Trevor hummed an agreement and closed his eyes. Sypha stroked his hair.

"I'll be right back," Alucard said. He had evidently been looking through their bags, because he was holding one of Trevor's spare shirts. Before Sypha could ask for an explanation, he leapt off the side of the hay loft.

With nothing else to do, Sypha sat down properly and continued to stroke Trevor's hair.

Alucard touched down beside her almost silently. He nudged her out of the way and placed the spare shirt, now folded, over Trevor's brow.

Trevor winced but did not open his eyes.

"What's that?" Sypha asked.

"I got it wet in the snow." Alucard ran a hand through his windswept hair. "To cool him down. We don't want that fever getting out of control."

"Good thinking," Sypha said. Despite herself, she yawned.

"You should get some rest," Alucard said immediately. "The saddle blanket might be dry by now; I can go and--"

"It's fine," Sypha said, touching his hand. "Wake me after a few hours, okay?"

Alucard nodded, and she settled down in the hay to sleep.

As he sat and watched Trevor sleep, Alucard went through the events of the day and tried to think of something, anything, he could have done to prevent this from happening. He couldn't have known that Trevor was going to get so sick or that a storm was going to blow in, but… Maybe there was some detail he missed, something he passed over--

Trevor whimpered and interrupted Alucard's train of thought. "Belmont?" Alucard whispered. "Trevor?"

Trevor sat up so fast he would have smacked his forehead against Alucard's if Alucard hadn't caught him. "Let me go!" Trevor's hoarse cry shattered the silence and he thrashed so severely in Alucard's arms that Alucard's nearly let go of him out of sheer surprise.

"Trevor, calm down, it's me." Alucard let go and allowed Trevor to scoot back, away from him. "You're safe with Sypha and me."

"I don't believe you." Trevor was breathing so hard Alucard wasn't sure how he was still conscious.

"I'm right here," Sypha said from where she'd been asleep.

"We won't hurt you," Alucard promised.

Trevor coughed shortly and seemed to come back to himself a degree or two. "It's cold," he said plaintively, sounding so unlike the Trevor Belmont that Alucard knew. He sounded meek. He sounded scared.

"Come back over to the blanket," Syoha said.

Trevor nodded and crawled back over to Alucard, who promptly wrapped him up in the blanket. Seeing Trevor pliant, so obedient, made Alucard's skin crawl. Still, he wrapped his arms around Trevor. "It's okay," he said gently. "You're safe here."

A moment later, Sypha joined them. Gradually, Trevor stopped shivering and went still between them save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Trevor felt like he'd been run over by a horse. No. He felt like he'd been shot off his horse, which had subsequently run over him. And all this had happened while he had a hangover. That was how Trevor felt.

It took him a long while to piece this comparison together, as thoughts swam lazily in his brain like fish in a pond and knitting them together into something coherent was painful.

Plus, he kept coughing and losing track of everything. The coughing was bad. It made his ribs ache and his head pound and his throat burn, and if it went on for too long, it made him dizzy.

Despite all this, he kept his eyes firmly shut in the hopes that he could fall back asleep. He was more than exhausted, so tired it made his bones ache, but he was also cold and getting colder and the rampant shivers wracking his frame were nearly impossible to ignore.

"I feel like shit," he announced in a hoarse, croaking voice, in case someone helpful was nearby and felt like bringing him a glass of water. Or putting him out of his misery. "Am I dying?"

"His fever must be down," Sypha whispered.

"Sypha?" Trevor opened his eyes and immediately closed then again. The room, wherever he was, was fairly dim, but even the gentle light sent an explosion of pain through his skull so strong it made his stomach turn. He coughed into his arm and groaned when he resurfaced, opening his eyes slower this time. The cold disappeared in a flash and he started to reach to take off his cloak and shirt before he realized his hands were shaking.

"Have some water," Sypha said. She came over and went to lift his head, but Trevor shied away and gave her a hard look.

"I can sit up," he said, a little offended that she thought he couldn't.

He couldn't.

He tried, but dizziness immediately overtook him and black spots clouded his vision. Sypha, bless her, caught him without saying anything and lifted a water skin to his lips

Swallowing sent stabs of pain down Trevor's throat, so he only had a few sips before pulling away. "Why'm I so tired?" he asked, sliding down so his head rested in Sypha's lap. Not waiting for answer, he added, "M'so hot." A gentle breeze rustled his hair and then Alucard appeared in his field of vision holding-- "S'that my shirt?"

"Relax."

As tired as Trevor was, it was hard not to relax. He turned his head and nuzzled Sypha's belly to make her laugh, which she did. Alucard draped the folded-shirt over Trevor's eyes, and it felt like Heaven on his overheated skin. Every instinct in him told Trevor to push back, to not let them see him so weak, but he was so tired.

It occurred to him to say so and find some corner to curl up in, but the thought dissipated into smoke almost as soon as it came and someone was stroking his hair and he was so comfortable…

Sypha's feet were starting to go numb, but she didn't adjust her position, not wanting to disturb Trevor. Instead she took Alucard's hand and guided it to Trevor's forehead.

For a moment, she thought Alucard might protest, but then he softened and began to stroke Trevor's hair.

"Your hands are cooler than mine," Sypha whispered.

Alucard raised an eyebrow before conceding defeat with a nod. "Do you want to move? I can hold his head."

"Thanks." Sypha waited for Alucard to slide his hand under the back of Trevor's head. She shifted positions so that she was sitting with her legs splayed out, Trevor's head resting on her thigh. Noticing Alucard stifle a yawn behind his lips, she gave him an arch smile. "There's room for both of you if you snuggle." Alucard stiffened like he was going to refuse, so she added, "Come on, you stayed up all night watching over him. I know you're tired."

"So did you," Alucard said, but Sypha could see his defenses crumbling even as he argued.

"Half the night. Besides." She leaned back until she was fully horizontal. "I can sleep, too."

"At least take my coat." In a flash, Alucard was knelt behind her, tucking the folded coat under her head.

"Thank you."

Alucard was silent, back by Trevor's side. "Do I really have to--"

"Yes."

"Alright." Alucard settled down against Trevor and rested his head on Sypha's thigh.

"Good night."

"It's morning."

"Good morning, then." Sypha closed her eyes.

#tunglr is being weird about read mores again so lmk if this whole body of text shows up on the dash n i'll try to fix it #ethereous writes #incredibly minor for the fic but i've been wanting to write a character literally steaming for a while now dghjdbgdf it can happen!!!#usually after working out and going out in the cold but i don't see why a fever couldn't cause that as well >:3 #also gosh i really hope this is in character #i had to stop watching cv because my laptop got ruined and it took me so long to get it fixed that the whole idea of watching cv just #completely exited my brain #i definitely think i'll finish it when i have time tho

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