#i swear the shit they put in that makes me delirious with fever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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Side Effects | Bruce Banner x reader

summary: you never know what might be in the beakers at another chemist's station. you never know which of your colleagues might come along just in the knick of time to become the only antidote to your affliction.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut! (dub con due to sex pollen), semi-public sex (because technically someone could have walked by but unlikely), guilt/hesitance, kinda pining??, fingering, creampie,

a/n: yes, this is an accurate depiction of emergency shower protocol in a chemical lab and yes it is every lab technician's worst nightmare. thankfully the other stuff is not an accurate depiction of any known chemical, lol.

You wiped your forehead with a tired sigh, staring down at the calculations in front of you before using your pen to scribble over them before tearing out the page and throwing it away.

“You still do that by hand?” Bruce interjected, making you look up at where he was leaning in the doorway to the lab, watching you work.

“Oh, Dr. Banner!” you greeted with a smile, wondering if it was too ecstatic. You weren’t so good at the ‘playing it cool’ thing like he seemed to be.

“We have all those fancy screens and digital whiteboards, you know,” he explained as he stepped in and looked around at your work. “Not to mention the computer can do that stuff for you.”

“I know,” you scoffed, “but I always feel better doing it myself, on real paper. Not that I’m having any luck at the moment…”

"Here, I'll give them a quick look while you take a break," he offered, glancing at the numbers from over your shoulder. "You just get up and stretch your legs for a minute, doc."

You always thought it was sort of silly for him to call you that when he was a doctor as well, but you didn't complain.

Regardless, you were about to tell him that it was fine and you didn't need a break, but he was leaning in closer to take your seat and the proximity was so intimidating that you hopped up and went along with it anyways. He sat down and pondered your calculations while you circled the lab, taking a moment to appreciate how nice it felt to stand up and move around after sitting for so long.

"Your handwriting is…" Bruce trailed off, adjusting his glasses.

"Feminine and graceful?" you finished sarcastically.

"Sure," he chuckled.

"Yeah, just like me—" you started to quip, but mid-sentence you (ironically) stumbled and tripped, using a nearby table to catch yourself— but you accidentally grabbed onto a beaker, which tipped over and smashed onto the ground. The liquid inside spilled onto the floor just before you did, and you winced as you fell into the puddle of the unknown substance.

“Shit!” you hissed as you scrambled to get up, looking down at your clothes and seeing they were covered in the fluid, which was beginning to evaporate, or steam, or something. Remembering lab safety protocols, you instantly began to strip, closing your eyes and wishing Bruce hadn’t come in just before this. As you shirked your lab coat, shirt, and skirt, you walked to the emergency shower, pulling the lever and gasping when the chilly stream of water poured down on you. Bruce looked at you with wide eyes before being kind enough to turn around as you shivered and removed your bra and underwear, now completely naked and weakly scrubbing yourself with your hands in hopes that none of the chemical had gotten onto your skin.

“What is it?” he asked nervously, turning his head back enough that you could hear him over the flow of water, but hopefully not so much that he could see anything important.

“I don’t know,” you answered, “it’s not mine. It’s something Dr. Sutherland was working on…”

“Is it… are you in pain at all?” he asked, even more concerned, and you tried to decide if you could feel any effects.

“N-no…” you answered hesitantly. You felt hot, and strange, and you were covered in rolling chills, but you figured that was just the situation you were in— naked in a tepid shower in front of your coworker who just so happened to be incredibly sexy.

“I should call poison control,” Bruce offered as he reached for his cell phone.

“No, I’m fine,” you denied as the water flow slowed down and you wiped your face, confident that you looked like a complete mess— but at least you saved yourself from whatever was in that beaker, right?

“Here,” Bruce offered an emergency blanket to you after pulling it off a nearby shelf, and it was not at all absorbent but it helped with the draft as you stepped away from the shower which was still leaking the last few drops of water onto the drain on the floor.

“Thank you,” you nodded nervously, shivering and dripping and looking back at him with no idea what to say at all.

“Do you feel alright? I should check you for burns,” he suggested. “I— I won’t look…”

“Please,” you sighed, pulling the blanket a bit to expose your chest and stomach. He brushed his hand over the skin there, making you instantly whine as heat burned just under your skin, clouding your mind and making you crave even more.

"Did that hurt?" he asked anxiously, pulling away, but you stepped closer.

"No it's… it's good, it's so good."

He furrowed his brow as he looked down at you, putting the back of his hand to your forehead. "You're burning up, doc, you must be running a fever of 105."

"Touch me more, please," you whimpered. It was like you were in a dream, everything foggy and distant, and the only time that anything made sense was when he touched you. Or maybe it was that his touch sent you further into delirium; you couldn't be sure.

He gasped when he looked at your quivering legs only to find slick arousal running down the inside of them, threatening to drip onto the floor.

"Oh," he sighed.

"Please," you begged mindlessly, "Dr. Banner, I n-need you…"

"No, you need medical attention."

You whined and grabbed as his shirt, humming at the feeling of his warm skin just beneath. If the forearms that he often left exposed in rolled-up sleeves were anything to go buy, his chest was probably toned and tanned, lightly dusted with dark hair… you were all but drooling at the thought. "Please, Bruce… just help me," you pleaded, looking up into his eyes which were swirling with conflict.

"I can't," he shook his head. "I'd be taking advantage."

He must have seen the heartbreak of rejection make you wince, because he tried to soothe you with his hands resting on your arms— even just that contact making you suppress a moan.

"I've wanted this for so long," he explained, "and you— you haven't. You're unwell, you need to go to a hospital."

You sobbed a little at the idea of being taken away from him and examined by strangers, when you knew the solution was right in front of you. "No, no Bruce they'll touch me! Nobody can touch me but you, I only want you."

He scoffed, but you heard the weakness in it and you needed him to give in soon before you melted from your own hear. "You're deranged— delirious," he reiterated.

"It'll feel so good, please Bruce, I'll be so good for you— anything you want, I'll do it, I'm yours."

"Stop talking like that," he winced. "I can't… I can't."

"I need to feel you inside me, Dr. Banner, I need it more than anything. It's just gonna get worse… please, help me. I want you. I trust you."

"You'll hate me in the morning," he asserted. "God, this is so wrong…"

But much to your relief, he reached down and hesitantly slid his thick middle finger through your folds, gasping gently as he felt how wet you were. "I should t-take you somewhere private."

"No, need you now— right here," you pleaded, trying to chase his touch with your hips.

"But if someone came by—" he began to fret, glancing at the door; but his attention was turned back to you by your hands weaving into his hair.

"Nobody else stays this late, god, Bruce please I just need you so bad—"

He cut you off with a sudden kiss, which was enough on its own to make warmth bloom in your gut, but then he started to move his finger again and you shuddered with a moan that was muffled by his lips.

"Maybe I can make you come like this," he offered as he pulled back just enough to whisper to you, "would that help you? It'll take the edge off."

You bucked and moaned against his fingers, just those subtle touches driving you wild. "N-no, it has to be inside! You have to fuck me, I need your cock."

He breathed through his teeth, like he was almost considering it, but then looked away. "I can't," he shook his head.

"Can't or won't?"

He frowned. "Won't. I'll get you off with my fingers, otherwise it would be… too selfish."

"Bruce, I'm literally begging you for it," you sighed, the irritated tone that you'd intended lost in the moans he elicited by rubbing your swollen clit.

"I know," he winced, "I know and it's killing me that I can't give you what you're asking for… I swear if it wasn't like this…" he trailed off as you looked up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth.

"What would it be like?" you asked lowly. "Tell me how you would fuck me."

For all his shyness before, there was a brief switch in his demeanor as he leaned in, breath hot against your neck as he whispered, two fingers sliding into your channel at the exact moment that he spoke.

"So fucking hard."

You whimpered, knees wobbling a bit as you tried to ride his fingers— but he wasn't pushing back, wasn't giving you enough force to balance against when you sought more friction. "P-please, Bruce— I know you want to, please, please baby I need it so bad…"

"I know," he breathed, free hand cradling your face as his thumb stroked your cheek, and it was so needlessly compassionate, so effortlessly soothing that your heart had no choice but to clench at his tenderness. Other parts of you clenched as well, in much more literal ways, but the heart thing was more important.

You gingerly reached forward and palmed his cock through his pants, moaning when you felt how hard it was. "You're desperate, too," you informed him with a little smile. "It hurts, doesn't it? It aches."

"Yes," he answered tensely.

"I'm hurting too. I'm aching, for you. Please, Bruce, help me."

As he pulled back and examined your face, he chewed his lip and contemplated. He couldn't stand to see you in pain, but he couldn't comprehend what he had to do to help you. Well, okay, that's not totally accurate because he had actually "comprehended" the idea of making love to you plenty of times. But that was just a fantasy, a very misguided one that he only indulged in in his weakest moments. And in those fantasies, shockingly enough, you were always completed lucid and of sound mind and body. He sadly could not say that for you at the moment, and of course he couldn't because of course when you were sober and healthy, you didn't see him that way.

Bruce prided himself on his logic, his integrity, his patience. Suddenly, those qualities were falling prey to a much deeper, carnal instinct that saw this not as a predicament but as an opportunity. Logic states, after all, that it would be wasteful to have everything he wanted thrown into his lap and to let it go to waste.

"Fuck," he groaned as he kissed you again, fucking you faster with his fingers. You moaned and went for his belt, barely managing to open it with your hands shaking so much; part of you had considered just trying to rip the leather off of him, and with the force of your need it seemed almost plausible.

Finally getting his trousers opened just enough to reach inside, you purred as you reached in and navigated past his boxers to wrap your fingers around his hard cock. It was so thick and smooth and hot and you almost wanted to drop to your knees and take it in your throat right then, but you had better plans.

He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, grinning against you at the way you whined, before wrapping his arms around you and quickly instructing you to jump.

It was infuriating, how easily he caught you when you wrapped your body around him. Infuriating and so painfully sexy.

He never broke the kiss as he walked the two of you to your lab table, sliding the papers aside and onto the floor to set you on it. You started on his aggravatingly-small shirt buttons while he pushed his trousers and boxers down the rest of the way, and god his cock was right there between your legs, so close but very much too far away for your liking.

You didn't have the time or energy to get his shirt off, settling for just running your hands over the exposed skin instead. He grinned and watched the path your hands made, hissing slightly when they wrapped around his shaft— for a second you swore you could feel it throb.

"Don't make me wait anymore," you whispered your plea, sighing a little when he nodded.

"Okay baby," he agreed.

"Been waiting so long," you whined.

"Me too," he nodded, and with a little push, his cock slid all the way into you and filles you to the brim. Even when you were completely drenched, the girth of him was so wide that it stung, that it tore you open, but you loved it. Your head fell back and just from him being inside you, you came. The substance had you so needy and sensitive that that was all it took. It wasn't enough yet, of course. You knew you needed more. But God, he felt so good you could hardly breathe.

"Baby," you heard Bruce gasp, his fingers digging into your hips. Your chest twisted when he laughed a little, breathless and just teetering on the line between complimentary and mocking. "Did you just come?"

You considered playing dumb, but nodded instead.

His smile was apparent when he pressed his lips just below your ear to suck on the delicate skin there, his teeth trailing up to nibble your earlobe lightly. You hoped he would leave a mark, you hoped he would leave lots of marks that you could remember this by for weeks to come.

"Couldn't help yourself, huh?" he asked breathlessly, whispering so quietly you could barely hear it over the beating of your own pulse which echoed in your ears.

"You feel so good," you justified, "so fucking good, Bruce."

"You too," he sighed as he finally pulled back and slid into you again, the friction making your back arch instantly. "Even better than I imagined."

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his hips, forcing him to push deeper with each thrust. When he pushed you to your limits it felt like you might just fall apart right there, but it was so worth it.

As if that wasn't enough, he reached down and circled a thumb over your overstimulated clit, grinning down at you at the sight of you writhing and bucking wildly in his arms.

"Fuck!" you cried as you tightened your hands on his shoulders into fists hard enough to risk tearing through his shirt.

"Too much?"

"More," you pleaded instead, crying out when he gave you exactly what you wanted with fast, rough thrusts into your drenched walls. "Yes," you sobbed, "yes, fuck— m'gonna come, Bruce, gonna come again."

"Go ahead," he encouraged, voice so much rougher than normal, "show me how good it feels, baby."

It felt like his words were the thin that pushed you over the edge, as if your body somehow both understood and obeyed his command. You could feel a renewed wave of slick leak out from you, enough that you could hear the wetness in each slap of his hips against yours. His name was somewhere in the litany of curses and praises that spilled from your lips, your mind too clouded with hazy pleasure to keep track of what you were actually saying.

"Just like that," he groaned, "doing so good, fuck, say my name just like that every time I make you come."

An easy enough stricture to follow, especially when it seemed like he was all you could think about. He looked so different with his clothes half-shorn and his eyes dark with lust. He hadn't taken his glasses or labcoat off and you weren't sure which of those you were happier about.

His lips and hands were all over you; you couldn't even keep track of everywhere he was touching you, that's how overwhelming it was. "God, you're so fucking perfect," he groaned against your skin, finding a hardened nipple as his tongue explored you and wrapping his lips around it. "You are so goddamn sexy, you know that? I love seeing you with your legs spread for me like a needy little whore. I love hearing you moan and knowing I'm the one making you feel this good."

He took a moment to look at you and soak in your shocked reaction to his words before leaning in to continue.

"I love feeling you come for me," he purred in your ear.

"Then you're gonna really like what I'm about to do," you shivered.

"Yeah? You can gimme another one already?" he smiled. "Such a good girl…"

You really couldn't help it, it felt like everything he did only enhanced your pleasure— his words, his hands all over you, not to even mention his cock inside you. As much as the hedonistic corner of your brain was happy to let this go on forever, the ramifications of constant orgasms were finally catching up with you as you wondered how much more of this you could take.

"F-fuck, are you close?" you asked weakly. "Want you to come for me, Bruce, please."

"I-I'll pull out," he suggested, although the way he looked down at his length sinking into you and pulling back out, covered in your abundant arousal, didn't exactly indicate that he was willing and able to actually make good on his offer.

"No!" you yelped, pulling him closer by his unbuttoned shirt. "It needs to be inside, Bruce, please come inside me."

"Fuck," he hissed through his teeth.

"Please, Bruce, please, promise you'll come inside."

"I will," he sighed, "fuck, I will baby, I promise I'm gonna fill you up so good, you're gonna have my come so fucking deep inside you…"

"Yes!" you moaned, completely unabashed as the unknown substance had apparently absolved you of any shame whatsoever. "Yes, I want it, Bruce, I want your come."

The moment you felt his seed start to paint your walls, you felt relief begin to wash over you. Your mind and body relaxed, the overwhelming heat under your skin subsiding into a comforting warmth, the desperation that had burned in your gut satiated at last.

And that left you staring up at him in realization of what you had done, just as he looked back at you with the same.

"God, I'm so sorry—" he shuddered, moving to pull away. Instinctively your legs wrapped around his hips again, holding him close.

"N-no, wait," you groaned, "it's okay. Don't go."

"You don't hate me," he said, the exhaustion in his tone making it hard to tell if it was a question or a statement.

"Never," you sighed with a weak smile, sitting up to clutch his face and kiss him again. "God, Bruce, now I'm just wondering what took us so long."

"Our lab safety is just too good, clearly," he smiled as he kissed you again, pulling back a little too soon to examine your face where he held it in his hands. "Are you okay? You should still probably go to a doctor…"

"I'm already with a doctor," you smirked, "and his treatment was very effective."

"Yeah, that was…" he trailed off, wide eyes as if he were reminiscing about what had only just transpired.

"Sorry for being so… desperate," you cringed. "I didn't mean to… um… impose…"

He just laughed and kissed your forehead, making you feel your cheeks warm a bit; ironic that with everything that had just happened, this was what made you blush. "A beautiful, amazing woman that I've been dreaming about for months begs me to take her in the laboratory… really inconvenient."

"I mean, cleaning up these papers and the broken glass is gonna be pretty tedious, along with the incident report," you frowned.

"I'll help you with it," he offered.

"Tomorrow," you decided. "Right now, I'm taking you to my place."

"Is that so?" he asked with a bemused smirk.

"Yep. We both are in serious need of a shower, and then I wanna go again," you grinned wickedly.

"I thought you said you weren't feeling the effects of the chemical anymore," he recalled, voice tinted with concern.

"I'm not," you reassured, "I'm just feeling the effects of you."

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x you #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x y/n

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honey-dewey · 3 years

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Superheroes Don’t Take Sick days

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Reader

Word Count: 2,190

Warnings: Marcus gets sick with the flu and suffers the symptoms, including vomiting and passing out.

Marcus rarely gets sick. However, when he does, it’s bad. Very bad. Plagued by the flu, he has no one to turn to. No one except his PA and significant other, who demands he goes home to rest. When he refuses, they decide to take matters into their own hands.

“Mr. Moreno?” You knocked on the door to Marcus’s office, a stack of folders cradled in your arms. “Mr. Moreno?”

“Come in.”

You kicked the door open with your foot, doing your best to balance the various paperworks. Marcus lifted his head off his desk, staring at you. “How many times do I have to ask you to just call me Marcus?”

“We are at work,” you pointed out, setting the folders on Marcus’s desk. “At work, I address you formally. Because it is, say it with me now, a formal work environment.”

Marcus grumbled under his breath, opening the folder on top. “Huh. This is,”

“A lot?” You finished for him, leaning on the edge of the desk and examining Marcus. He looked exhausted, shoulders slumped in and head bowed slightly. His glasses sat on the desk next to his phone, both of which were smudged to the high heavens. You grabbed his glasses and instinctively began to clean them, knowing he hated doing it himself. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yep!” Marcus said, leaning back and pressing his palms into his eyes. “Just tired. Missy was up all night, and so was I.”

You put Marcus’s glasses down. “Oh no! What happened?”

Marcus shrugged. “She’s just sick.”

You raised an eyebrow. “She’s sick,” you repeated, a familiar exasperation in your voice. You loved Marcus a lot and knew that he was super smart, but sometimes he could be really thick when it came to common sense.

“Yeah?” Marcus looked up at you, clearly confused. “Why are you using that tone?”

“Marcus,” you said plainly. “You are also sick. Go home.”

“I’m not sick!” Marcus insisted, putting his glasses on and moving closer to his desk.

You nodded, sliding off his desk. “I’m going to go grab Dr. Thirteen. We’ll see who’s right.”

The walk down to the medical wing of the building was quick, considering it was just below the offices. The doctor, a wonderful young blonde woman with an accent so thick you could hardly understand her half the time, agreed to come with you to check Marcus out.

“He did seem rather under the weather earlier,” she said as you two walked. “Came in asking for DayQuil.”

You swore under your breath. “I swear, if he’s got something serious I will murder him.”

Thirteen laughed, opening Marcus’s office door. “Oh boy.”

Marcus looked up, yet again, from his desk. He’d been using his arms as a pillow, glasses off once more. “Hey Thirteen.”

“Marcus,” Thirteen chided, going over to stand next to him. He kicked his chair around so he was facing her, letting her do her job. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uh.” Marcus looked from her to you and back again. “Like shit?”

Thirteen sighed, taking her stethoscope out of her coat pocket and setting it around her neck. “Feverish?” She asked, resting her wrist against Marcus’s forehead.

“Little bit.”

“Cough?”

“Yeah.”

“Congested?”

“Definitely.”

Thirteen made a face. “Nausea?”

Marcus started to get nervous, hands twisting in his lap. “Yes?”

“Okay.” Thirteen looked at you. “Take him home, by any means necessary. I’ll tell the boss, but he’s on medical leave for the next week, with recommended bed rest for forty eight hours.”

“What?” Marcus said. “But I don’t feel that bad.”

Thirteen shrugged. “You will. You have the flu, which is unsurprising given the season.”

“Oh.” Marcus looked at his desk, eyeing the folders stacked up on it. “Can I stay and finish my work?”

“No,” you and Thirteen said at the same time.

Marcus sighed. “Fine. I’ll go home. Coming with?” He directed the last question at you, and you nodded.

“Of course. If Missy’s sick too, then someone has to be there to take care of you. Also, I don’t want you driving.”

You managed to herd Marcus to the car with little issue, but he really didn’t look good. You had to repeat yourself three times when you asked him to put his seatbelt on, and he kept getting paler and paler until you were actually really worried.

“We’re gonna make a stop at CVS,” you said, turning into the parking lot. “If you go in, you have to wear a mask.”

Marcus, ever the stubborn hero, staggered to his feet and went somehow even paler, the last bit of color draining from his face as he wobbled in place.

“And we’re gonna leave you here,” you said, standing in front of him and crossing your arms.

“But,” Marcus said, his voice thick with congestion.

You cut him off before he could continue. “You wanna walk by yourself through CVS? Okay, let’s see it then.” You positioned yourself barely ten feet away, maybe three or four steps. Marcus shakily shuffled forward before almost toppling right over. You caught him, turning him back towards the car.

“No, put your hand- oh my god! Marcus!”

Marcus didn’t respond. He’d gone entirely limp in your arms, eyes rolled back. You got him back into the car, and by then, he’d woken back up, still delirious.

“I’m going in,” you said slowly, buckling Marcus back in. “I am cracking the windows and locking the car. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Just as promised, it was the fastest CVS run you’d ever made. Some Gatorade, medication, tissues, Clorox wipes, Lysol spray, and a few cans of soup later, you were back in the car. Marcus looked over, eyes half open. “Huh?”

“If you’re like this,” you said, starting the car. “I hate to think what Missy’s like back home.”

Missy was not as bad as Marcus. Laying on the couch, she barely had the energy to turn her head as you practically carried Marcus inside, but she was conscious, which you appreciated. “Dad?”

You winced at her scratched up voice. “Hey honey,” you said, laying Marcus in his recliner. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like crap,” Missy admitted. “Dad said it was probably just the sniffles or something, but then it got worse.”

Nodding, you handed Missy a box of tissues, nudging the trash can closer to the couch with your foot. “I don’t think it’s just the sniffles this time,” you said. “Where’s the thermometer?”

You took Missy’s temperature. She was at 100.7, which you decided could’ve been so much worse. You gave her a decongestant and a Gatorade, rubbing her back as she coughed violently.

“Marcus,” you said, standing. Marcus hummed in acknowledgment.

“Here.” You handed him the thermometer. “Take your temperature.”

You turned back to Missy, who was zoned out. “Missy, honey, let me clean your blanket.”

She grumbled as you took the filthy blanket, muttering out that she was cold.

“I know you’re feeling cold,” you said, tossing the blanket in the laundry. “But your blanket is dirty. I’ll grab you a clean one.”

As you gave Missy a new blanket, you heard the thermometer beep, Marcus pulling it out of his mouth and looking at it.

“Let me see,” you said, holding a hand out.

Marcus tucked the thermometer to his side. “Just 100, like Missy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Give me the thermometer.”

“But-“

“Marcus Moreno, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll give me that thermometer.”

Marcus handed the thermometer over, a guilty look on his face.

The thermometer read 101.5.

“Marcus!” You scolded, putting the thermometer down and pressing your wrist to his forehead. Sure enough, he was burning up. “No wonder you passed out earlier!”

Missy looked up. “He passed out?”

“In the CVS,” you said, grabbing another blanket for Marcus. “No biggie.” You really didn’t want to worry her, even though it definitely was a big deal.

By noon, everyone was sound asleep aside from you. You were sitting in the living room with a book, listening to Marcus’s and Missy’s labored breathing. Every so often, Missy would kinda wake up and shift, but Marcus remained solidly asleep until noon.

You put your book down, hearing Missy wake up as you rummaged through the kitchen. Grabbing a saucepan and a can of soup, you began to make lunch.

Missy trudged to her feet, joining you in the kitchen. “Hey.”

“Hey sweetie,” you said, checking her temperature. “Your fever’s finally starting to break.”

Missy perked up a bit at that. “Do I have time to go shower?”

“Sorry,” you said, stirring the soup. “Nope. After lunch though, absolutely.”

Missy ended up eating at the table, her blanket still around her shoulders. You, instead of joining her, did your level best to wake Marcus up.

“Marcus.” You shook his shoulder slightly. “Marcus. Darling. Sweetheart. Light of my fucking life. Missy do not ever repeat that! Marcus! Christ, what the hell?”

Marcus’s eyes cracked open. “The fuck?” He slurred. “Missy, don’t repeat that.”

Missy snorted and left to go bathe.

“I made lunch,” you said, holding up the bowl of soup you’d made for him. “Eat.”

“Not hungry.”

You raised an eyebrow, and yet again, Marcus shrunk back with that horribly guilty look.

“Fine,” he said softly, taking the bowl and fumbling with his spoon. You were on standby, which was a good thing, because barely ten minutes into the small bites of soup, Marcus startled to his feet, fell to his knees, and threw up on the carpet.

“Shit!” You yelled, helping Marcus away from the now dirtied carpet patch. “Oh fuck. Marcus, you okay?”

Marcus shook his head, eyes full of tears.

“Oh baby,” you said softly, hugging him and helping him up onto the couch. “Babe, hey, it was an accident. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? Just fine. It’ll pass.”

Marcus clung to you, sobbing openly. You rubbed his back, letting him bury himself in your shirt.

At one point, Missy came back, peering into the living room. “Dad?”

You shook your head, waving her away. She glanced from Marcus to the carpet and then back again. “Oh. Okay.”

Eventually, you managed to get Marcus calm. He sniffled, wiping his eyes, and you laid a soft kiss on his forehead. “Marcus, darling, stay here. I’m gonna clean the carpet, okay?”

Marcus nodded, hugging a pillow tight as you got up to grab the cleaning supplies. He watched with half open eyes as you cleaned the carpet, never once complaining.

When you finally stood, he made a small noise, drawing your attention. “I love you.”

You smiled. “I love you too Marcus.”

Everything in the Moreno household was calm throughout the rest of the day. Missy was getting better, able to make a phone call to Anita to reassure her that she and Marcus were okay. Marcus wasn’t feeling much better, so you and him cuddled on the couch, his head resting on your chest as you absently scratched through his hair. He napped for a bit, occasionally waking up and complaining he felt gross. You pointed out that he was still sick and encouraged him to drink more Gatorade before he fell asleep again.

Dinner was more soup, at which Marcus complained.

“Oh hush,” you said, putting the bowl in front of him. “Do not waste your voice complaining about soup you cannot taste.”

Marcus stuck his tongue out at you and took another bite of soup.

Missy went to bed shortly after dinner, the sickness sapping her energy. You sent her off with a kiss to the forehead and a promise to call the school and tell them she wouldn’t be going tomorrow.

“And you, mister,” you said, sitting next to Marcus on the couch and turning on Wheel of Fortune. “Aren’t going to work for the next week.”

“What?”

You smiled, feeling Marcus shuffle and lay in your lap. “You heard Thirteen this morning. Medical leave for a week.”

Marcus sighed, relaxing as you rubbed his shoulders. “Fine.”

Somehow, you two fell asleep on the couch, curled up in each other’s embrace. When you woke up the next morning, Marcus felt a bit better. But you had started to sniffle.

“Ha! Payback’s a bitch!” Marcus said when you took your temperature and sighed.

“Marcus. Sit the hell down before you pass out again.”

Marcus sat on the couch, a shit eating grin on his face. “Mhm. Kiss me.”

You raised an eyebrow, crawling across the couch until you were practically on top of Marcus. “Hmm,” you hummed, feeling his body heat underneath you. “Kissing you is what got me sick. I think not.”

You rolled off him, leaving one very betrayed boyfriend behind on the couch.

“Hey wait! You can’t just leave!”

Looking behind you, you smiled as sweetly as you could. “What? I don’t recall doing anything wrong Mr. Moreno.”

Marcus’s face twisted into a feral grin. “Oh you are so lucky that Missy’s in her room. Get over here.”

You laughed as he scooped you up, carrying you to your bedroom. “Marcus! You’re still sick! Be careful!”

Marcus plopped you down on the bed and quickly followed, trapping you under the warm blankets with his own body. “Get some rest,” he said softly. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Oh Marcus,” you said, thumbing over the patches in his facial hair. “I love you.”

“Love you too babe, now get some sleep.”

Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

#we can be heroes #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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super-secret-sick-fics · 3 years

Note

hii i requested the last fic and i loved it very much! excited for pt 2 :D

OH and it wasn’t even out of character it felt like exactly how they would react! you write suna especially well aquarius twins

Thank you!! I’m so glad you liked it :) Here’s part 2!! I didn’t proofread this at all, so I apologize for any mistakes.

I tried to make it so that they could each be read independently. Also I am bad at endings sorry lmao.

Sick & Delirious: A SunaOsa fic (part 2 of Sick at School)

Pair: Sick Suna, Caretaker Osamu

Word Count: 3,028

Warnings: Vomit, panic attack, swearing & fluff

Part 1 Here

___________________________

“Rintaro, you poor, poor baby!” Osamu’s mother cried as soon as she showed up to the front office of the school.

Shortly after the nurse agreed to let Osamu go home too, Suna and Osamu were escorted (slowly and with a small bin in hand) to the front to await Miya-san. They sat down and Suna almost immediately curled into Osamu’s warmth. If he wasn’t so sick, he’d be utterly embarrassed at how clingy he was being. Their hands had been joined since they left the classroom and Suna squeezed Osamu’s every time a cramp rolled through his body.

Now Miya-san was there, her hands immediately cupping Suna’s face and brushing back his hair.

“Geez, Ma. Give him some space. Bet ya won’t be that nice to me and I know you’re not being that nice to Tsumu,” Osamu scoffed.

“Well of course not,” she deadpanned, “yer both idiots. Rintaro is much nicer to your poor mother than her ungrateful children.” Osamu scoffed again.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay with you, Miya-san,” Suna interjected, undeterred by the Miya’s usual show. She looked over at him again and smiled gently.

“Of course. I’ve spoken with yer ma and she’ll bring over some clothes for ya when she’s off work. Now let’s go boys.”

***

“Shit, Rin,” Osamu woke up from his nap when Suna started heaving beside him. He sat up and rubbed Suna’s back as he leaned over the bed and threw up in the bin beside it. The crinkling plastic and splattering sounds reverberated painfully in Suna’s ears.

“S-sorry,” he spluttered.

“Don’t be,” Osamu whispered.

This was the third time in the last two hours that Suna and Osamu were awoken by Suna’s stomach. When they got back to the Miya’s house, Suna was directed to the guest room. Osamu leant him some clothes so he could change out of his uniform and brought him some water, crackers, and a bin. When he was getting ready to leave, Suna grabbed his wrist and asked him to stay. He wasn’t good at being sick and felt much better knowing Osamu was around to help.

When the fit let up, he rolled back into bed and wrapped his arms around Osamu’s stomach. He was shaking again, but this time it wasn’t because of the fever.

Honestly, he wanted to cry. He was so exhausted and his stomach ached so badly. His migraine was relentless. His body didn’t know whether it was cold or hot and all he wanted was to sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time.

It didn’t help that Atsumu had set up camp for himself in the bathroom that was shared between the twins’ room and the guest room. He said that he didn’t mind the sleeping on the floor as long as it meant he could flush the vomit away immediately, instead of having it sit mocking him in the bin beside his bed.

The two of them seemed to be on opposite cycles. Every time Suna thought he could get some sleep, he could hear Atsumu start puking in the bathroom. Then every time Atsumu had quieted down for a bit, Suna’s stomach attacked him. He felt bad, knowing that Atsumu felt just as bad as he did and had to deal with the same things. Never in his life did he think that he would ever feel bad for stupid Atsumu. His fever must be pretty high.

“Rin,” Osamu sighed. Whenever they were both awake, Osamu’s hands were on Suna’s body somewhere, comforting him with little touches and gentle pats. Suna’s favorite thing was when one of his hands was in his hair, the other moving, ghosting his fingers up and down his back. Right now, one of his hands propped him up in the bed and the other was lying dormant on Suna’s head.

“Rin, are ya crying?”

Suna nodded. Osamu sighed again.

Slowly and carefully, as to not jostle Suna’s stomach he was sure, Osamu wiggled himself into lying down and repositioned Suna so he was laying on Osamu’s chest. Then he started ghosting his fingers up and down Suna’s back and caressing the back of his head. Suna wondered if Osamu knew that was his favorite.

“I’m sorry, Rin. I wish I could help ya,” he soothed and something inside Suna squeezed. He whimpered pathetically and curled further into Osamu’s chest.

With that, the dam broke loose. Hot tears started soaking Osamu’s shirt as Suna sobbed quietly.

“I-I don’t f-feel good,” he cried. His throat hurt, from the bile or being ill in general he wasn’t sure.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” Osamu comforted. If Suna were more cognizant, he probably would’ve blushed at the pet name.

He was sure that he liked Osamu and that Osamu liked him back, but they had never addressed it. They were both content to let things happened naturally, not minding the little more-than-friend’s touches here and there or the less-than-platonic-flirting they did at practice and in class. Being in this situation though and having Osamu being the one to take care of him really solidified how Suna felt.

Osamu let him cry for a while before Suna started hiccuping dangerously again.

“Rintaro, yer gonna make yer self sick again,” he exhaled. As if on cue, Suna gagged.

“N-no,” he moaned. Osamu sat up, taking Suna with him and reached down to pick up the bin beside the bed.

“Ya gotta let it happen, babe.” He put the bin on Suna’s lap. Suna glared at it half-heartedly before he felt his chest tighten uncomfortably and a gag forced its way out.

“How is there even anything left?” Osamu lamented. Suna answered with a painful heave. He also wondered the same thing.

Suna’s stomach felt hollow and yet nausea continued to plague him. The room spun as he heaved. His throat was scraped raw. At this point, he was barely aware of Osamu’s presence behind him. Through the fog, he knew he was there though, and that was reassuring enough.

A gurgle came from his stomach and he moaned. Within a few seconds, a wet, crackling, burp brought up the blue sports drink Osamu gave him to try and keep him hydrated. A few more painful heaves brought up more blue tinted vomit before his stomach seemed to allow him a break.

He collapsed into Osamu’s side, panting.

“My poor Rin,” Osamu cooed, but it was muffled, like he was talking to Suna through a pillow. He pulled Suna into his side and kissed the top of his head. The movements were happening in slow motion though, and Suna was, for the second time that day, thoroughly confused.

“‘Samu?” He tried, but his tongue was heavy in his mouth and he wasn’t sure that he made any sound.

“Yeah?” Osamu asked, rubbing up and down Suna’s arm. And wow….no. He didn’t like that. It set all of his nerves on edge. He tried to squirm away from the unwanted touch.

“Rin?”

Suddenly, everything was Too Much. He pushed on whatever was wrapped around him. The soft fabric beneath his hand itched painfully.

“Rin? What’s wrong?” A loud voice boomed in his ears and he flinched away.

“Le’ go...” he gasped, his chest felt like it was on fire. He weakly pushed again. Whatever was encasing him did not budge. His eyes burned and his surroundings swirled alarmingly.

“N-no,” he choked on something hot and sticky.

Then he was released from the bindings holding him and he felt the world tilt forward for just a second. His chest landed on something and it stopped. He was forced upright, and his field of vision changed. A blurry figure appeared in front of him. Maybe a person?

Something captured his face on either side and his eyes blew wide. Cold. No. Scratchy? No.

“Rinta...he...loo..me...whas…ong?” The voice exploded through his brain again and he whimpered. What was happening? Why was he so hot. It was so hot.

“Ho-t…”

Why was he alone? Wasn’t someone helping him before? Where did that person go? He needed help.

“Shit,” a voice cut through his haze. Osamu?

“It’s….I’ve go….”

Too quickly, he was moving. Whatever caged him before was back around him and he tried in vain to break free.

“‘Samu?” A new voice. He whined.

“Move,” too loud too loud too loud. He was released from the bindings again for just a second before being captured again. This time they were hot. And wet. And they torched his skin. He wriggled in yet another futile attempt to get free. What was that roaring sound?

“Whas...on?” The new voice again. Closer. It hurt his head.

“Hi….feve...high…”

Suna was in a new space. Things were different around him now and the sudden change made him dizzy. He coughed and then his mouth was full. He dropped his jaw heavily and his mouth was empty again.

“Fuck!” A screech and he moaned in response.

He was moving again and then his entire body was being pricked with icicles. It put his surroundings a little more in focus.

“Cold!” He shrieked. He tried to get away from the ice, but was held down.

“Tsumu….sorr...ease..” Another force held him down. It wasn’t as strong, but Suna couldn’t get away from it.

“No no no no…” he repeated, his entire face felt heavy. Was that possible? He writhed in pain. It hurt it hurt he wanted out.

“I’m sorry, Rintaro, I’m sorry,” the first voice shook. It was clearer now. It still pounded in his skull.

“Please please please please,” he said and it hurt his throat.

“Rin, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It was Osamu. He thrashed harder.

“I’m sorry, Samu, I can’t—“ oh that was Atsumu. One of the heavy things holding him down was gone. He fought against the last one. He almost won. It was gone for a second before there was a splash and something behind him grabbed him around his waist and held him down.

“No please it hurts please.” He begged. Someone was crying.

“Rin, it’s okay. Please calm down.” Osamu was behind him now. Behind him. Oh he must be what’s holding him down. Okay okay. That was fine. But why was he torturing him like this?

“Samu no…” he tried to push away. He was really really tired though.

“Yeah, Rin it’s me. I’m trying to help. Please let me,” Osamu said. But his voice was wrong. It was shaking and tight. Was he upset? He was trying to help? Okay okay. He trusted Osamu. He relaxed into Osamu’s hold. It got tighter.

Suna wasn’t sure how much time went by. He tried really hard to trust Osamu, even though the ice prickled and burned at his skin. Eventually, the pain lessened.

There was a soft whimpering sound and he couldn’t figure out who it was for a while. Then he realized it was him. Next, he felt the tears on his face and his entire body shivering.

Slowly, his environment came into focus. He was in the bathroom, more specifically a bathtub.

Finally, the fog in his brain cleared and he put two and two together. Osamu put him in a cold bath to bring his fever down.

“Osamu,” he said through chattering teeth.

“I’m sorry, Rin, I’m sorry,” Osamu said. His face was buried in Suna’s shoulder, but even still, he could tell hear his voice shaking from the cold. More than that, he sounded desperate. Almost defeated.

Suna hated it. He brought a hand up behind him and placed it on Osamu’s head, letting his own collapse back onto his friend’s shoulder. Osamu stiffened before whipping his head up.

“Rin?” He choked and Suna nodded lethargically.

“Can we please get out?” he whispered. Osamu nodded quickly. He got out and wrapped himself in a towel before helping Suna up. It was then that he realized he was still wearing his clothes. They clung to him and he grimaced at the feel. Osamu enveloped Suna in a fluffy towel and hugged him tightly.

Suna relished in the warmth for a second.

“C’mon, let’s getcha outta these wet clothes,” Osamu murmured and let Suna go. He lead him back to the guest room and sat him down in the desk chair. Suna’s teeth chattered noisily.

Osamu left, only to return a minute later with new clothes.

“Do ya need help?” he asked. Still unnaturally soft. It was starting to unnerve Suna. He nodded in response.

A little while later, Suna and Osamu were both sitting on the bed, dressed in dry clothes. Osamu sat in front of him, rubbing a towel over his hair, trying to get as much of it dry as he could. He was quiet. Suna was content to let things settle before he asked what was wrong. He knew Osamu would either talk to him when he was ready or if Suna pried a little.

His hands stopped moving and Suna was about to ask if he could lay down when Osamu bent forward and buried his face in Suna’s neck again.

Suna was a little lost, but put a hand on Osamu’s still damp hair anyway.

“Still too warm,” Osamu mumbled. He nuzzled his face into Suna’s shoulder. He was starting to get really worried and really agitated at Osamu’s weird behavior.

“Samu,” he demanded softly, “what’s the deal?” Osamu tensed in his hold then he sat up so abruptly it made Suna a little woozy. When the vertigo passed, he was face to face with a furious Osamu.

“What’s the deal?” Osamu seethed. Suna looked at him with wide eyes.

“Rin, you were gone!” Osamu shouted, making Suna’s head pound. Osamu stood up ferociously and started pacing the room. Suna wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“Osamu, please I don’t feel good. Can you just be straight with me?” Suna complained. Osamu turned on him. His face was contorted and Suna was taken aback when he saw tears rolling down flushed cheeks.

“Osamu, what—“

“Rin, ya were gone. Ya were here but ya just weren’t. Ya didn’t know who I was or who Tsumu was and ya didn’t know where you were and fuck. It was terrifyin’. Ya screamed when I put ya in the tub. Saying that I was torturing ya and that ya were caged and shit,” Osamu sobbed. Suna’s chest twinged.

This was not his Osamu. He brought this man to this state?

“I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do. Ya kept throwin’ up but it didn’t seem like ya even knew it was happenin’,” Osamu continued. He fell to his knees.

“Yer fever was so high and it happened so quickly. Tsumu tried to help, but he’s still sick. My mom left to go get more medicine and I felt so helpless,” he whimpered before devolving into a fit of heart wrenching sobs.

Suna stared at the boy before him, shell-shocked. He eased himself onto the ground and crawled over to Osamu and hugged him. It wasn’t long before Osamu’s arms were wrapped around his middle and he started crying into Suna’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he soothed, “I don’t remember a lot of that. I remember being confused and cold and feeling like I was being held down, but I don’t remember anything else. I’m sorry, Osamu. I’m so sorry.” Osamu nodded, but kept crying and that was okay.

They stayed like that a little while longer, Suna shushing Osamu gently. Eventually, Osamu pulled back and wiped his face. Suna smiled softly at him and he chuckled sadly.

“Sorry,” he sniffled. Suna shook his head.

“I really need to lie down,” he said. He was starting to feel really heavy and nauseas again and it was getting difficult to keep his eyes open.

Osamu nodded and helped him back to the bed. He lay down and Osamu quickly followed, enveloping Suna into his chest. Suna nuzzled his face into the soft fabric of Osamu’s shirt. He felt Osamu place a kiss into the top of his head and give him a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry again,” he mumbled, half asleep already.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad yer alright. I’m sorry I freaked out on ya.” He stroked his hand up and down Suna’s back.

“‘S’okay. I’m just that important,” Suna yawned. Osamu chuckled and it warmed Suna’s heart and calmed his mind.

“Ya sure are. Go to sleep. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Osamu said. With his blessing, Suna fell asleep.

***

Later that night, Atsumu would show them a picture of the two of them cuddled up and drooling on each other that he took when he mustered up the strength to come check on things. Osamu yelled at him but Suna asked him to send it to him. He may have set it as his phone’s home screen.

By the next morning, Suna woke up to the sound of Osamu heaving beside him. It was unpleasant and made his stomach turn. Before he realized what was happening, he was sprinting to the bathroom and pushing Atsumu out of the way and emptying his stomach into the toilet.

“Sunarin, please,” Atsumu choked before turning to the bath tub.

Miya-san ran into the room and surveyed the situation.

“My poor boys,” she sighed, “I’m gonna go set up the livin’ room so I can watch all three of ya.”

And so Suna spent the next few days camped out in the Miya’s living room. Soon enough, Atsumu was well enough to help out his mom here and there. And when Suna was feeling up to it, he returned the favor and rubbed Osamu’s back as he puked disgustingly.

“Ya can go home if ya want,” Osamu panted between rounds. Suna shook his head.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you, stupid.”

Osamu smiled gratefully before his cheeks puffed out and he turned back to the bin. Suna laughed and kissed the back of his sweaty neck.

Maybe they didn’t define their relationship with labels, but Suna was pretty positive that he wanted to stick with Osamu for the rest of his life.

#I wish this ending was better #oh well #My fic #haikyuu sickfic #sick suna #caretaker Osamu #sunaosa #tw vomit #tw panic attack

43 notes · View notes

pikapeppa · 3 years

Text

Fenris/f!Hawke: Coin

Today: a little Fenris & Rynne Hawke hurt/comfort and pining during the Wilderness Years (i.e. the endless years between Act II and III). Including some delirious Fenris, Anders to the rescue, and Rynne pretending that she’s not losing her shit.

Dedicated to @huskypup203, with much love and hugs! xo

~7100 words; read on AO3 instead.

**********************************

Fenris didn’t feel well.

It wasn’t just fatigue from the protection job he’d just finished; he knew what the burn of muscle fatigue felt like, and this wasn’t that. His muscles were burning, certainly, but this burn was more of a pins-and-needles kind of pain than the hot ache of overexertion.

He was likely getting sick – probably the result of not sleeping enough. He knew he’d been spreading himself thin, spending all of his spare time doing odd jobs whenever he wasn’t with Hawke and the others, but he had no choice. He needed the coin.

Varania was in Minrathous, and she needed coin if she was going to make her way to Kirkwall. So Fenris needed to keep picking up jobs so he could make enough coin to send to his sister.

Once he and Varania were reunited, Fenris would finally know who he was. He would know his family and his past, and he would no longer be a rootless stray that Hawke had taken pity on. He would finally know himself, and he would be whole enough to call on the promise of love that Hawke had tied around his wrist so many years ago.

I need the coin, he thought, and he stumbled doggedly toward his mansion in Hightown. At this hour of night, the only other people around were the sort who would either run from him or jump him if they spotted an elf carrying a double-handed broadsword wandering through the streets, so Fenris stuck to the shadows as much as he could as he dragged himself home.

Odd how the shadows seemed darker than usual, though. He really needed sleep. He’d get a good night’s rest tonight, and then he’d feel better by the morning when Hawke came by to knock on his door with her usual chipper wish of ‘good morning, handsome’.

He wrenched his eyes open and put one foot in front of the other. He was almost there; that was his door right there. Venhedis, the thought of lying down in his dirty and dilapidated mansion had never been so appealing.

He reached for the doorknob and turned it, but the door didn’t open.

He blinked blearily, then tried again. Why wouldn’t the door open? It shouldn’t be locked. He owned nothing of value that required locking up.

Frustrated, he rattled the doorknob, and when that didn’t work, he rested his forehead against the door for a moment in exhaustion. Ah, the door was so cool. Cold, almost. Which was strange, considering that it was the summer.

Then the door suddenly opened.

Startled, Fenris leapt back and reached for his sword, then nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Fenris! What are you doing here?”

Hawke? He clumsily found his balance and stared at her. “What are you doing in my mansion?” he asked.

She chuckled. “This isn’t your mansion. Are you drunk?”

He gaped at her with growing confusion. “No,” he said. “No, I…” He trailed off and looked down the street. This was his street. He’d come to the right place. But he’d – had he turned left instead of right?

He turned back to face her once more. “This… I apologize. I made a mistake. I’ll…” He took a step back and paused as the ground heaved beneath his feet.

“Did you feel that?” he blurted. He looked at Hawke in consternation, but his confusion only deepened as he took in the uncharacteristic worry in her face.

She stepped out of the house and approached him. “Did I feel what?”

“That,” he said. “The ground. It…” He forced his eyes open and blinked hard. Was he falling asleep on his feet?

Hawke peered at him carefully. “Fenris, are you all right? Did you go on a bender without me? I’d be a little offended if you did, but maybe you’d better come inside.”

“I’m not drunk,” he insisted. “I – there’s nothing wrong. I’ll… I’m going home. Goodnight.” He stepped back, but a second later, he was on his ass, and his wrist was smarting from hastily catching his own fall.

“Fenris!” Hawke squealed. She crouched beside him and cupped his face. “Are you – Maker’s balls, you’re burning up. What the fuck–?”

She was touching his face. It had been years since she’d touched his face in this tender way. But her hands were so much colder than he remembered. Was she sick?

“You’re cold,” he mumbled.

She let out a little laugh. “Believe it not, I’m actually not cold at all. You’ve got a fever. Why have you got a fever, I wonder?”

He frowned. Her words were jocular, but her voice was tense. Something was wrong. Was she in trouble?

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “I’ll help you to fix it.”

She smiled faintly and stroked his cheek. “Such a gentleman, you are. Wait just a second, all right? I’m bringing you inside. Bodahn!” she yelled. She stood up and ran back into the house, and Fenris sat on the slowly spinning ground as he waited for Hawke’s return.

“Fenris?”

He opened his eyes to find Hawke hovering over him. Bodahn and Sandal were with her, but he could barely register them; she looked so worried.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Her face lifted into a smile, but he could still see the worry in her eyebrows. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said. “You’re just going to have a sleepover at my house tonight, that’s all. Okay, my strapping strong boys, can you bring him in?” She stepped back, and a moment later, Bodahn and Sandal were crouching beside him.

“All right, Master Fenris,” Bodahn said encouragingly. “Up you get, then.” He took Fenris’s arm, and Fenris balked a little at his touch; he didn’t know Bodahn or Sandal very well, and he didn’t like it when strangers touched him—

It seemed he had no choice. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, and Bodahn was supporting his left side while Sandal supported his right. The next time he opened his eyes, he was inside Hawke’s house.

I really did come to the wrong house, then, he thought fuzzily. How strange.

“On the couch in the study there, perfect,” Hawke said brightly. “All right, Fenris, let me have a look at…” She trailed off, and Fenris frowned; it was unlike her to stop talking so suddenly. It was unlike her to stop talking at all, really.

He blinked owlishly at her. She was staring at his chest. “What’s the matter?” he croaked.

A smile reappeared on her face. “Nothing,” she chirped. “You’ll be fine. Bodahn, do me a favour and go fetch Anders, will you? Quick as you can.”

Anders? Why was Hawke sending for Anders? He frowned at her. “You don’t need Anders,” he told her. “If something is the matter, I will fix it.”

She chuckled. “Unfortunately, this actually is something that only Anders can fix. I might be able to do a little damage control, though…” She started unstrapping his chestplate.

He grabbed her hand. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“You’ve been injured,” she said. For the first time tonight, her tone was serious. “There’s a gash across your right ribs. Can’t you feel that?”

He blinked. A gash? “No, I…” Now that she mentioned it, though, there was a faint and annoying throb of pain near the lower margins of his right ribs. But his whole body was being pricked by that pins-and-needles feeling, so it was hard for him to tell.

She gently pulled his fingers off of her wrist and continued to unstrap his chest plate. “What happened tonight? Bad night of wicked grace down at the Hanged Man?”

“No,” he said. He watched numbly as her fingers worked at the straps on his chest plate. In all the wistful scenarios he’d imagined of her removing his clothes again, this hadn’t been one of them.

“Sit up for a second so I can get this off,” she said.

He tried to sit up. Truly, he did. But his tingling and stinging arms wouldn’t move the way he wanted them to, and black patches kept swimming across his vision even though he could swear he was keeping his eyes open.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said hastily. “It’s all right, just hang on… Orana!” She ran out of the study, and Fenris gazed blearily at her bare legs as she ran away.

When he opened his eyes again, Hawke was kneeling beside him and unbuttoning his tunic, and Orana was standing over him holding his chest plate.

“You’re safe now,” he said to Orana. “Hadriana’s dead. She won’t harm you anymore.”

A look of confusion crossed her timid face, and Hawke’s eyes went wide for a moment. She looked at Orana. “What did he say?”

“He — he said Hadriana’s dead, and I’m safe,” Orana said in a small voice.

Fenris frowned. Something about this was confusing, but he couldn’t figure out what.

Hawke turned back to him with a smile, but he didn’t like her smile. It made her look more scared than ever. “That was years ago, Fenris,” she said. “It’s 9:36 Dragon now, remember?” She finished unbuttoning his tunic and started opening it, but he grabbed her wrist again.

“No,” he said loudly. “Not in front of — not while she’s—” He broke off and breathed hard. Orana was staring at him so fearfully, and if Hawke opened his tunic and Orana saw the tattoos that snaked across his skin, she’d stare even more, and he didn’t want… eyes crawling over his body, he didn’t like it—

“All right,” Hawke said soothingly. “It’s all right, Orana can leave. It’ll just be me, okay?”

He sighed and released her wrist, then closed his eyes. Fasta vass, he was exhausted. Why was his heart pounding as though he’d been sprinting?

He felt Hawke peeling open his tunic. A brief pause ensued, and then he felt a wash of tingling coolness over his right ribs.

He sighed. Hawke’s hands were so soothing and cool. How strange to think he would take comfort from the coldness of her hands when the memories that taunted him most were the warmth of her fingers on his skin.

He inhaled slowly and reached for her hand. “Hawke,” he muttered.

“It’s all right, Fenris,” she said softly. “Just relax. It’s just a bit of healing magic.”

She was touching him. Her hands, Hawke’s hands, his fantasies… no, not fantasies — memories, heated memories of her hands on his skin, touching him just like she was now, with no fear or hesitation…

He squeezed her hand. “Hawke,” he whispered.

********************************

“Fenris?”

Anders’s voice was loud and jarring, and Fenris didn’t like it. He liked it even less when Anders spoke again, more loudly than before.

“Come on, Fenris, open your eyes.”

He scowled and forced his eyes to obey, just for the sake of shutting Anders up.

Then he blinked blearily. He was in Hawke’s bedroom. Not only in Hawke’s bedroom, but in her bed. How — when had that happened?

Anders was staring at his face. He studied his eyes for a moment, then leaned away and pursed his lips. “His pupils are dilated. Fever, delirium, sudden onset, festering knife wound… It’s obviously poison.”

“You can heal him, right?” Hawke asked tensely. “You’re the cleverest doctor in all of Kirkwall, of course you can heal him.”

With effort, Fenris turned his head to look at her. She was kneeling on the floor beside his head, and she looked… venhedis, she looked scared. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was pale, but when he met her eye, she smiled and dabbed his face with a cold wet cloth.

Anders scoffed softly. “Of course I can heal him, not that the flattery hurts. He’s lucky that it’s a fairly common poison — dragonthorn and deep mushroom, from the smell. You can thank the latter for the delirium.” He started rifling through his kit of healing supplies, and Fenris frowned at him.

“You don’t need to speak of me as though I’m not here,” he said.

Hawke looked up at Anders. “And that? The Tevene? Why is he talking in Tevene?”

Tevene? Fenris thought in confusion. He wasn’t speaking Tevene. Was she delirious?

“I’m not speaking in Tevene,” he retorted.

Hawke gazed at him worriedly, and Anders squeezed her shoulder. “It’s just the delirium, Hawke. People tend to slide back to their first language when they’re really out of it. If you get him really high sometime, I bet you’d see the same thing.”

His hand was still on Hawke’s shoulder. Fenris glowered at him. “You’re not as clever as you think you are,” he said haughtily.

Hawke’s face twisted with worry. “Are you sure the poison isn’t affecting his brain?”

“There’s nothing the matter with my brain,” Fenris said loudly. In Tevene. Why – why was he speaking Tevene?

“It’s just delirium, I promise,” Anders said soothingly to Hawke. “Come on, let’s get some antidote into him. Once the poison symptoms settle, I’ll be able to close up that wound. Or you could close it, actually,” he added. “It’s a superficial wound, nothing you can’t handle.”

Hawke gave him a weak smile. “Now who’s flattering whom?”

“Vishante kaffas,” Fenris muttered.

“We all understood that,” Anders said dryly. He turned away and started doing something with his kit on Hawke’s writing desk, and Fenris closed his eyes, exhausted once more by the exchange.

Tevene, he thought disparagingly. He couldn't believe he was speaking Tevene. He hadn’t spoken Tevene since he’d left Tevinter, not even to those slave hunters Danarius kept sending after him. He’d purposely stopped speaking the language of his masters when he’d left Tevinter. Native language or no, there was no way he would choose to speak that vile language again.

“All right, here,” a man’s voice said.

Cool glass touched his lips, and Fenris turned his head away. “No.”

“Fenris, it’s medicine,” the man said. “Just drink—”

“No!” Fenris roared. “I am not your slave. If you want your drinks tested for poisons, taste it yourself and bear the consequences!”

“Maker’s mercy,” he muttered. In a slow, loud voice, he said, “Fenris, listen to me. This is an antidote. It will heal you.”

“Drink it yourself, slaver,” Fenris spat.

The voice didn’t reply. Fenris vaguely heard some murmuring voices in the distance, and a moment later, he felt a cool hand stroking his forehead.

A cool hand, a gentle touch, a scent of sandalwood — Hawke. He forced his eyes open.

Her ever-present smile, her bright coppery eyes: Hawke. It really was Hawke. An icy ripple of panic ran down his spine. Why was she in Minrathous? And why was she smiling at him?

She was holding a small glass bottle of poison. She raised the bottle as though to salute him, then brought it to her lips.

“No,” he croaked. He tried to reach for the bottle, but his arms were heavy and wracked with pain. “Hawke, it’s poison—”

She didn’t listen. She sipped from the vile bottle and pulled a little face, then raised her eyebrows. “Tastes rather foul, but it’s not poison, I promise,” she said. “It’ll make you feel better. Then you and Anders can squabble in the common tongue all you want.”

“I’d rather go back to the clinic to get some sleep, but sure,” Anders drawled.

Anders? Fenris thought. Why was Anders in Minrathous? When had he gotten here?

He slowly lifted his head. Sure enough, Anders was standing near the foot of the bed with his arms folded.

“What are you doing here?” Fenris asked.

“Still speaking Tevene, sorry,” Anders said cheerfully. “Will you drink that antidote now, then?”

Fenris stared at him. Antidote? Why did he need an antidote? Antidotes were for poison. Fenris hadn’t been poisoned. He just needed some sleep.

“Fenris,” Hawke said softly. “Look at me.”

He looked at her. She was smiling, but her eyes were wet.

“What’s wrong?” he said. “Tell me what’s the matter, and I will fix it.”

To his horror, a tear rolled down her face, but her voice was bright when she replied. “Fenris, you need to drink this, all right? You’re sick. You got slashed by a poisoned dagger, and you’re sick. You need to drink this antidote now.”

He frowned. Poisoned dagger…? Something about that felt familiar. A poisoned dagger from a fight… The fight from earlier this evening. The fight in Lowtown that he definitely had not been paid enough coin to get embroiled in.

Lowtown. Kirkwall. He wasn’t in Minrathous. He was in Kirkwall with Hawke. He was safe.

“I was poisoned?” he asked.

Her shoulders relaxed, and she grinned at him. “Yes, you were poisoned. Thank fuck, I thought I’d have to learn Tevene for a minute there. Here, drink this.” She lifted the bottle to his lips.

The fluid was bitter, and it hit the back of his throat before he was ready for it. He coughed and sputtered, and Hawke quickly moved the bottle away. “Shit,” she squeaked. “Fenris, I’m so sorry—”

“Sit him up a bit,” Anders said. “Just a little more upright.”

“All right,” she said shakily. “Come on, Fenris, up you get…” Hands were pulling on his shoulders and his arms, and he tried to wriggle away — so many people touching him, he didn’t like it, he didn’t want their hands on his skin—

Then he was leaning back against a body: a soft slender body that smelled like sandalwood. Hawke’s gentle cool hand smoothed his hair away from his forehead, and the glass bottle touched his lips again.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” she said thickly. “Drink it slowly, now. A sip at a time.”

She sounded like she was crying. Why was she crying? Hawke never cried. The only time he had ever seen her openly cry was when Leandra died. Was someone dying?

She touched the bottle to his lips, and her other arm curled around his shoulders from behind. “Please drink, Fenris,” she pleaded. “Drink it for me, all right?”

He obediently opened his lips. For Hawke, he would drink the whole bottle. He would do anything for her. He would do anything if it meant she wouldn’t cry.

He gulped down the whole bottle of antidote, then tried to open his eyes so he could reassure her, but his eyelids felt so heavy, and his limbs felt like sandbags — heavy, unmoving sandbags that were prickling with heat and pain and cold.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled.

She sniffled. At the end of the bed, Anders spoke in a quiet voice. “He’s going to be all right, Hawke. I promise.”

“He’d better,” she said in a stuffy-sounding voice. “Or the next person Aveline will be chasing down will be me, after I murder whoever fucking did this.”

“Don’t bother,” Fenris told her. “I killed them already.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, that makes things easier.” She let out a wet but genuine-sounding little laugh, and Fenris relaxed against her body. Hawke laughing, that sparkling little bark of a laugh… it was far better than hearing her cry. He never wanted to hear her cry. He never wanted to make her cry. Not like the time when he’d joined her here in this bed, their bodies pressed together in a tender and torrid embrace that he ruined by leaving her here with tears gathering in her eyes — tears that he’d been too cowardly to witness as he left her alone…

“Hawke,” he begged. “Don’t cry.”

********************************

“See, the fever’s breaking. I told you he would be fine.”

“All right, I’m sorry I ever doubted you. You’re the most brilliant and handsome doctor in all of Thedas.”

“It’s about time someone recognized it.”

A chuckle — Hawke’s chuckle, a sound he loved. Cool hands pressing gently against the fiery pain of his ribs.

“This gorgeous body of yours will be just fine,” she murmured.

Hawke’s voice — a voice he loved. She stroked his face, and her beloved hand was warm. “Go back to sleep, Fenris,” she whispered.

I love you, he thought.

*************************************

Fenris woke up to the scent of sandalwood on his bedsheets.

He opened his eyes, then stiffened in surprise. This was — he — this was Hawke’s bed. Why was he in Hawke’s bed?

He sat up abruptly, then clutched his head as a wave of dizziness gripped him. Confused, he looked around, then did a double-take.

Hawke was curled in a chair beside the bed with a knitted blanket around her shoulders, and she was fast asleep. Why…? This was so odd. It was like a role reversal of some kind. Fenris was accustomed to sitting in that chair while Hawke slept off an illness or an injury in this bed, but if he was in the bed while she was in the chair…? He didn’t even remember coming here. The last thing he remembered was stumbling through Hightown after that job last night had gone south.

Frustrated, he ran a hand through his matted hair. What had started as a simple protection job had ended up with Fenris single-handedly taking out a gang of eight thugs, including a pair of moderately skilled assassins.

I should have demanded more coin, he thought sourly. If he could track down the fellow who had hired him, he could probably intimidate him into paying an additional fee. But that would mean tracking that fellow down, which would take time that Fenris could use finding other jobs…

Venhedis, his head was spinning. He lowered his head into his trembling hands. Maybe he was sick. He felt exhausted, almost as though he hadn’t eaten or drunk in days, or like he was recuperating from a bad bout of the flu.

“Fenris?”

He looked up. Hawke was blinking sleepily at him, but her face lit up with a smile as he met her gaze.

She unfolded her legs from the chair and leaned toward him. “Hey,” she said. “How are you feeling?” She reached for his forehead.

He instinctively shied away from her, and she paused. “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I’m just checking for a fever.”

He hesitated, then leaned toward her slightly. She laid her palm across his forehead, then rested the back of her hand gently against his cheek.

“Fever?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “You had a terrible fever last night. Don’t you remember? You were burning up and sweating like crazy.”

“I was?” he said blankly. He had no memory of this. But now that she’d mentioned it, this would explain why his hair felt particularly grimy.

“You were,” she said. “Thank fuck for Anders. I was about ready to have a panic attack before he got here.”

He stared at her in surprise. “Anders? Anders was here?”

Her smile faded into a cautious look. “What do you remember about last night?”

“Not much, to be honest,” he admitted. “I don’t even know how I got here. From what I recall, I was on my way home from Lowtown after… um.” He trailed off. For the past few months, he’d been avoiding telling Hawke about the spare jobs he’d been doing when they weren’t together.

She raised her eyebrows. “After…?”

He sighed and tugged his ear. “I’ve been… making some spare coin on the side.”

“Spare coin?” she said. “Why? Doing what?”

He purposely avoided her first question. “Taking on odd jobs here and there. Tasks on the Chantry board, tips from Anso in Lowtown, jobs that Varric finds for me…”

She leaned back in her chair. “Is that why you’ve been off lately?”

“Off?” he said in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been quieter than usual. And a little more irritable.”

He frowned, and Hawke hurriedly continued, “Not in a bad way. You know I enjoy your handsome frown as much as your handsome smile. But you’ve just been, um, subdued.” She brightened. “But if you’ve been doing so many jobs and things, maybe you’re just tired!”

He pursed his lips. “You’re… not wrong,” he admitted. “I am tired.” He smiled faintly. “The last thing I remember last night was thinking that I couldn’t wait to go to sleep.”

“Well, you certainly got some sleep here,” she said. “You could probably use some more, honestly.”

“To be truthful, I could use some water,” he admitted. He pushed back the blankets. “I’ll—”

“Oh, Maker’s balls,” she exclaimed, and she popped up from her chair. “Of course you want some water. Are you hungry too? You’re probably starving. I’ll get you something!”

“Hawke, it’s — there’s no need,” he said hastily. “I can get it myself, if I have your leave. You don’t need to—”

She cut him off. “Don’t be silly, I’ll fetch it for you! You’re recovering from a poisoned wound, you shouldn’t be moving around so soon.”

He gaped at her. “Poisoned wound?”

Her mouth fell into a comical ‘o’. “Oh shit, I didn’t even tell you! That’s why you had a fever. You got slashed across the ribs with a poisoned dagger.” She sat on the edge of the bed and gave him a knowing look. “Whatever job you did last night didn’t sound like it went well.”

“No, it didn’t,” he said flatly. “I was paid to stand guard. I ended up fighting eight men on my own.”

Her amber eyes went wide. “What?”

He grunted. “I handled them, but apparently I was ill-prepared. Where was the wound?”

She pointed at his chest. “There. The base of your right ribs.”

He looked down at his chest. There wasn’t even a mark to show that he’d been injured — beyond the usual black-and-white marks of his tattoos, of course.

Then he realized, very belatedly, that his tunic was hanging open.

He hastily started buttoning it, and Hawke let out a little laugh. “Don’t button up on my account.”

He didn’t reply, and he couldn’t look her in the eye. In truth, there was little he wanted more than to be able to bare himself to her again, but not like this.

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” she said casually. “It was me who stripped you. Half-stripped you, I mean. It was purely to get at that wound, I swear.”

“I understand,” he said quickly. “I take no offense.” He finished buttoning up his tunic and started shifting out of her bed, but she held out a hand to stop him.

“Seriously, Fenris, stay here,” she insisted. “I’ll get water and something to eat. You’re still weak from the effects of the poison.”

He sighed. Unfortunate though it was, he knew she was right. He felt tremulous already from just sliding his legs out of the bed.

“All right,” he said reluctantly. “I am truly sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “All I’ve ever wanted was a handsome elf working up a sweat in my bed.”

His heart seized. He shot her a chiding look, but she was already laughing.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Fasta vass, Hawke…”

“I know, I know, I’m awful,” she giggled. “You rest, I’ll be back soon.” She chuckled merrily as she left the bedroom, and once she was gone, Fenris flopped back on the pillows.

A waft of sandalwood and sleepy sweetness rose from her pillows and filled his nose. He inhaled deeply, then sighed and closed his eyes.

A handsome elf working up a sweat in her bed… Fenris knew she’d been making a joke, but he also knew she wasn’t truly joking. She maintained a platonic veneer with him most of the time, flirting with him only as much as she flirted with all the others in their little group, but there were moments where her true feelings for him shone through — moments of candid honesty when the adoring look on Hawke’s face told him everything that her raspberry-red lips didn’t need to say. Moments that Fenris stored in his memory like precious jewels, because he, of course, felt exactly the same way for her.

Fasta vass, he wanted to work up a sweat in her bed. But not like this.

He sighed again, then rolled onto his side and curled his arm under the pillow — her pillow, which was infused with the intoxicating scent of her hair.

He closed his eyes and pressed his nose to her pillow. With every slow inhale, Hawke’s fragrance filled his lungs more and more until his entire chest and the backs of his eyes felt like they were throbbing with longing for her.

He exhaled shakily. Hawke, he thought wistfully. How was it possible for him to long for her so deeply, even though she was so close at hand?

He pulled a second pillow from behind him and curled his arm around it. He closed his eyes once more and breathed, and he imagined that it was Hawke’s warm and slender body that was coiled in his embrace rather than an unfeeling pillow.

With Hawke’s perfume in his nose and the softness of her bed enveloping him, Fenris fell back asleep.

*************************

“Fenris?”

He opened his eyes. The bedroom was dark aside from the bedside lamp, and Hawke was kneeling beside the bed.

He propped himself up on one elbow. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight o’clock,” she said. “You slept most of the day.”

He blinked. “I did? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed the sleep,” she said. “Especially after what you told me about all your side jobs.”

“Ah,” he said awkwardly. “Well… thank you for lending me your bed, I suppose.” He sat upright. “I’m sorry to have been an imposition—”

“Seriously, Fenris, don’t apologize,” she said firmly. “Here, I brought dinner up for us.” She hurried over to her writing desk, then picked up a tray and brought it over to the bed.

He eyed the tray with interest. It held a large dish of ham-and-pea soup, a plate of toasted Orlesian brioche, and a miniature apple pie that was still steaming hot.

His stomach grumbled loudly, and Hawke chuckled. “I thought so. Here, let’s get you fed.” She ladled some soup into a mug and handed it to him with a spoon.

“Thank you,” he said. He sipped from the mug and watched as she ladled out some soup for herself, then dipped the corner of a piece of brioche into her mug and took a bite.

She chewed her toast and smiled at him. “Go on, eat up. I know you must be starving.”

He nodded and selected some toast for himself, and for a while they were both quiet while they ate. As Fenris savoured the saltiness of the ham and the rich eggy flavour of the brioche, he couldn’t help but ponder the strangeness of this situation.

Here he was, sitting in the bed of the woman he loved, eating a meal she’d brought up for him after nursing him all night when he’d been so badly injured that he didn’t remember even coming here. The coziness of their current set-up, the comfort of this food and her bed and her lovely smile, the care implied by everything she’d done for him: it was all so… surreal.

A wistful sort of ache took hold of his chest. He’d never imagined that he would have this kind of comfort and care. When he’d fled Seheron, the only thing he’d imagined for himself was being free of Danarius for good. Good food, a place to live, someone to love: these were luxuries, things meant for people who were truly free. And despite no longer being a slave, despite the fact that he’d broken his chains several years ago, Fenris had never truly imagined that those luxuries would be meant for him.

Yet here he was, with all of those luxuries close at hand. But even so, something stopped him from reaching out and taking the most important luxury of all.

He took a deep breath to control the longing in his chest. Soon, he thought. As soon as he’d gathered enough blasted coin, as soon as Varania was here and safe, as soon as the hidden ghosts of his empty past had been cleared away: as soon as those goals were met, then he would take Hawke’s hand and tell her how he felt.

Then and only then would he be an adequate partner for the beautiful, impulsive, courageous woman sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Do you want some more?” she asked.

He looked up from his mostly-empty mug. “Hm?”

“Have some more,” she said. “Here, eat as much as you like.” She held out a hand for his mug.

“Er, all right,” he said, and he watched as she filled his mug with another generous serving of soup.

She gave him another slice of brioche. “So. These odd jobs. Why are you doing them?”

“For coin,” he said wryly. “Shocking, I know.”

She smirked. “I know that, you handsome fool. But what do you need all the extra coin for? It’s not like you have mortgage payments.”

He bit into a piece of toast to bide his time. He had yet to tell Hawke about his contact with Varania, and truth be told, he wasn’t keen to tell her about it even now. If he told her about Varania, she would immediately offer to give him the coin to bring his sister here, and for some reason, Fenris was determined to save the coin for this on his own. Varania was his family, and he wanted to prove to himself that he could provide for her, just like Hawke had provided for her own family all these years.

Besides, there was a small but persistent part of his brain that told him not to put all of his hopes on this plan. If it didn’t pan out and he wasn’t able to bring Varania here, then Hawke would feel sorry for him, and the last thing he wanted from Hawke was her pity.

He wanted to be strong for Hawke. He didn’t want to need anything from her — no coin, no pity, no sympathy shining from those lovely amber eyes.

He swallowed his toast. “Gambling debts,” he lied.

“Gambling debts?” she said. “You’re taking on rough thug jobs in the middle of the night for gambling debts?”

“That’s right,” Fenris said glibly.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying. Varric always spots you when you need coin for gambling. What’s the money really for?”

He shot her a resentful look and stirred his soup. “Perhaps it’s for a terrible investment that won’t have any payoff whatsoever,” he said — a pointed reference to the Bone Pit.

She barked out a laugh. “Ouch. That hurts. Fine, keep your secrets.”

He relaxed slightly and took another bite of toast. Three seconds later, however, Hawke leaned toward him. “Seriously though, what—”

“Hawke,” he complained.

She held up her hands. “I know, I know, I’m prying, but you know I can just give you the coin, right? If you need money, I can help you out, no problem.”

He wilted. This was exactly what he’d feared. “Thank you, but I don’t need your coin,” he said stiffly. “I can earn my own.”

“I know, but if it’s getting you injured–”

“I can support myself, Hawke,” he snapped. “I don’t want your help.”

A flash of hurt crossed her face – a flash so quick that other people might not have seen it, but it hit Fenris like a stab to the heart.

“Of course you can support yourself, I’m not saying otherwise,” she said easily. “I just mean that if you need anything, I’m your girl, all right? Anything you need is yours.” She smiled at him and took another bite of brioche, and Fenris sat there feeling like the worst kind of ass.

He felt the same for her. If ever Hawke needed anything, anything at all, he would do anything in his power to make it so.

Anything except be with her, which was what she wanted the most.

“Do you want some pie?” she said. “Orana made it, and it’s really good. It’s actually better than the apple pie from that one particular place in the market, you know the one that you like so much? I actually asked her to see if she could imitate their recipe, and wouldn’t you know it, her recipe is even better. It’s almost like the apples are smothered in caramel—”

“Hawke, I’m sorry,” he blurted.

She raised her eyebrows. “Sorry? What for?”

For not being enough, he thought painfully. “For being… irritable,” he said instead. “You want to help, I know. I’m just…”

“Please, Fenris, it’s fine,” she chirped. “I was prying and putting my foot in it. You don’t have to apologize. Here, have some pie.” She started cutting the little pie into two pieces, and he sadly studied her determined smile.

She held out a plate of still-warm pie — the bigger piece, he noticed — then blinked at him. “What’s wrong?”

I love you, he thought. He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. He took the pie and took a perfunctory bite.

It was delicious, he had to admit. He raised his eyebrows. “Orana did an excellent job. Remind me to compliment her before I leave.”

“You should compliment her in Tevene,” Hawke said slyly.

He stared at her. “In Tevene? Why?”

“You spoke Tevene to her when you were sick with the poison,” Hawke said.

He recoiled. “I did not.”

She laughed. “You did so.”

“I did not!” he protested.

“You absolutely did! Ask her later,” Hawke said cheerfully. “She’ll tell you.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Why are you so pleased about this?”

“Because I love a man who’s talented in tongues,” she said with a salacious smile.

He sighed and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Fasta vass...”

She burst out laughing. “Oh come on, you set me up for it! Really though, I love when you speak other languages. It’s gorgeous.” She batted her eyelashes playfully. “There’s nothing quite like hearing you cursing in a foreign tongue.”

He huffed and tugged his ear. “You’re too easily impressed.”

“I really am, it’s true,” she agreed. “Remember that time there was that Antivan performer who did sleight-of-hand tricks in Lowtown and I gave him a silver and later found out that he’d pickpocketed me and stolen my watch?”

Fenris snorted. “How could I forget? We all had to go on a mad chase around the city to get your watch back.”

“I had to!” she protested. “It was Bethany’s watch! She’d be rolling in her grave if she knew I’d lost it.”

Fenris pulled a face. “Fair enough.”

Hawke chuckled and lifted a bite of pie with her fork. “You’d think I would learn my lesson, but then there was that fortune-teller at the Hanged Man, you remember, the one who was also from Antiva?”

Fenris groaned, and Hawke laughed again, a lovely rolling sound of mirth that never failed to lift his spirits. She chattered on about the dastardly Antivan fortune-teller, and Fenris took another bite of pie and savoured the rich caramel flavour, and for a short time, he was able to forget his concerns about coin while he and Hawke talked and laughed and ate their apple pie.

Soon, however, the pie was gone, and Fenris had no further reason to remain in Hawke’s bed. He’d been healed and fed, and unbeknownst to Hawke, he had another job scheduled for nine o’clock.

He placed his empty plate on the tray. “I must get going,” he said, and he reluctantly slid his legs out of the cozy warmth of her bed.

Her shoulders fell in disappointment. “So early?”

He nodded. “I’m going back to the mansion to change. I feel filthy.” It wasn’t a lie; he really was starting to feel twitchy from the grime in his clothes and his hair.

“You can bathe here,” she suggested. “Use my enchanted bathtub. I won’t even peek, I swear.”

He gave her a chiding smirk, and she waved her hand. “All right, I’ll lay off and let you go.”

He started strapping on his chestplate and his gauntlets. When he was armored once more, he looked up to find Hawke watching him wistfully.

Her expression lifted into a smile as she met his eye. “Sure you can’t stay for a drink? I have decent red wine. Not ‘good’ since it’s not your precious Aggregio, but decent.”

Truthfully, there was nothing he’d like more than to stay with her. But if he wanted to stay with her, to really stay the way he wanted to, then he needed this blasted job.

He shook his head. “Another time. Save the wine for me.”

“I can’t make any promises,” she said as she led him downstairs. “Bels and Merrill and I are having a girls’ night tomorrow.”

“What, no Aveline?” he asked.

“She turned us down,” Hawke replied. “‘Not in the mood for babysitting’, she said.”

“I can’t say that I blame her,” Fenris said dryly.

Hawke placed a hand on her chest in mock offense. “That would hurt my feelings if you weren’t both completely correct.”

He chuckled as he followed her to the door. Once they were at the door, she paused and gave him a knowing look. “Take it easy tonight, all right? You just recovered from being poisoned. You should probably go straight to bed when you get home.”

He nodded, knowing she was right and that he couldn’t do as she suggested. “Understood.”

She nodded as well, then reached for the doorknob. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early.”

“By which you mean nine o’clock,” he said teasingly.

“Of course that’s what I mean,” she replied. “Nine o’clock is dreadfully early. Why, what time would you mean?”

Her eyes were wide with faux innocence, but her lips were curled in a smirk — such playful and lovely lips, lips that he’d once counted himself incredibly lucky to kiss, and which were now just out of his reach, forbidden to him until he was able to give himself to her without any qualms or fears.

Moved by her beauty her humour and his own beating heart, Fenris did something impulsive: he reached out and took Hawke’s hand.

He gently squeezed her hand, then looked her in the eye, and his heart squeezed with a bittersweet ache. Her eyes were wide with surprise and with hope, and Fenris already regretted this gesture of affection, even as he savoured the warmth of her hand in his.

“What’s this?” she said breathlessly.

“This is… thank you,” he said softly. “For taking care of me.”

“Of course I took care of you, you handsome fool,” she said. “I wasn’t going to leave you half-unconscious on the street.”

Half-unconscious…? No, never mind, he didn’t want to know. He gazed seriously into her eyes. “I mean it. The kindness you’ve shown me…” He swallowed hard as an unanticipated wash of emotion rose through his chest. “I… just wanted to say thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” she said firmly. She squeezed his hand in both of hers. “Just come back whenever you need anything, all right? I really mean that. I’ll do anything you need.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He wanted to tell her that he too would do anything for her, but he couldn’t tell her that without lying, not yet.

In order to tell her that, in order to fully give himself to her and to immerse himself in the richness of her love, he needed more coin.

With great reluctance, he pulled his hand from hers. “Goodnight, Hawke,” he said.

She smiled at him — that warm curl of a smile that he adored. “Goodnight, Fenris,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He nodded, then finally stepped out of her house and headed in the direction of his mansion. But when he reached the cross-street that led to Lowtown, he headed to Lowtown instead of his mansion.

He had a job to do and some coin to make. It’s for Varania, he told himself. It was for his sister, to prove that he could support a family, and to prove that he could support Hawke the way she supported him.

It’s for my family, Fenris thought, and he made his silent way to Lowtown.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fhawris #pikapeppa writes

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whumpfigure · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 16, Hallucinations

Timeline: four days after rescue

CW: pet whump, box boy stuff, delirious whumpee, medical drugging(painkillers), vaguely mentioned broken bones, conditioned whumpee, fever

"Javier you need to take him back!"

"I can't just do that Jenna! Russels wouldn't just leave the poor boy to bleed out for nothing! There has to have been a reason!"

"So what?!"

"Jenna he'll freaking kill him if I take him back!"

"And you'll get us killed if you don't! He has all your information. He can find you in the matter of hours! And guess what? He'll have our whole safehouse destroyed!"

"He doesn't know it was me!"

"Well he'll find out !"

The shoutings continue outside. They fight over the same thing everyday. And it's been four days. Bastet hears them shout everyday, while laying on a bed - his bed, as Javi says. But Bastet is not sure of it. It can't be his bed, if the owner of the house - the lady with fair skin and dark long hair, who they call Jenna - does not want him there. But Javi tells him the opposite. And the man with long blond hair agrees with Javi, whenever he comes to check up on his hands, give him his pills. He doesn't like pills. But the guy says they'll help with the pain, and he seems to be friends with Javi. So Bastet trusts him. Even if the pills' have made him feel weird since the morning.

Or maybe it's not the pills, and this new house is making him feel this way.

He feels cold, despite the thick blanket he's been given. But at the same time, his face burns like he's blushing. But he's not.

He tries to move. To pull the blanket a little higher on his torso. But it's basically impossible with both his hands wrapped up in splints, and he whimpers from the pain that spreads from his fingertips all the way towards his elbows when he tries to move his hands.

He puts down his hands by his sides, and rolls his head to the side. The cold of the pillow helps cool down the heat in his head, and he purrs at the good feeling it gives him.

Down the stairs, Javi and Jenna are still fighting. But Bastet doesn't listen - can't listen - as sleep washes over him.

He wakes up by the voice of someone calling him. Gentle and affectionate and familiar. Like he's always been.

"Look at my sweet kitten. All cozy and comfortable." Master's voice fills his head, close and firm. Bastet can almost feel his hands massaging the back of his neck.

But why? Why is his Master here? Or... is Bastet back home? But.. but Bastet doesn't want to be back. Or does he? He definately should. But...

Bastet opens his eyes, expecting to see Master's elaborate closet to his side. But instead, he sees nothing but the bed next to his, in the safehouse. And on the bed, the oh so familiar figure of his Master is sitting. Wearing his favourite gray suit, with the green ascot tie that Bastet always took good care of.

The figure of his Master looks at him, and his mouth moves. But the words Bastet hears do not match the movement of Master's lips.

"You seem to like it here, huh? All without your owner." Master's voice has an angry hint to it. The tone that always means pain and punishment. But his face is smiling. His head is tilted just slightly to the side. Just like how they taught Bastet in training. But...

But it doesn't seem right. Why would Master know any of the trainings? Why would he even do that?

Master's mouth opens again. But this time, the voice is not his at all.

"But you can call me Theo." The Not-Master's voice says, and this time the words match the movements perfectly.

Bastet frowns. Is his head playing tricks on him? Like back in there training where he would see that lady's fa-

Bright white pain fills his head at the thought, and he winces. Whining at the fog of training that spreads through his mind like plague.

"Hey, hey buddy, are you alright?" The same voice of Not-Master asks.

Bastet hears the creaking sound of the bed next to his, and a moment later feels a hand on his forhead.

"Holy shit, man. You're burnin' up!" Not-Master almost shouts, and Bastet flinches at the voice.

He opens his eyes, and this time, instead of seeing his Master, he sees a dark-skinned guy - not much older than himself - looking at him worriedly.

"Hey, sorry for scaring you. Uhm... Want me to call for Lev?" He asks, and gets back a little. "Or for Javier?"

Bastet just stares at him, utterly confused. He swears he was hearing his Master at first.

"Theo, is evetything alright? I heard a shout." Bastet's head whips to the other side to see Jenna standing by the doorway.

"No, I mean, yeah but." The Not-Master guy, Theo, runs a hand to the back of his neck. "He has a fever." He points at Bastet.

"Damn, already?" Jenna throws her right hand up.

"Ok, ok." She pinches the bridge of her nose.

"I'll send Lev to check up on him." She turns her back to go. And before leaving the room, mutters to herself, "God, it seems like you insist he stays here, huh?"

Tagging: @slaintetowhump @ashintheairlikesnow @liliability @ohmywhump @whumptywhumpdump @raigash @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @simplygrimly @whump-it @misspelledwitch @inky-whump @whumppsychology @inaridriscoll @rivertamandspike @spookyboywhump @faewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpzone @sola-whumping @whumpsy-daisies @crystalrainwing @a-whump-muffin @tears-and-lilies @cupcakes-and-pain @whumptober2020

#whumptober2020 #no.16 #hallucinations #pet whump #box boy universe #bbu whump #delirious whumpee #wru #whumpees r us #fevers #conditioned whumpee #bastet #austin #jenna #javier #theodore #lev #parni does whumptober

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justwritethatdown · 3 years

Text

The Bella's house is haunted by the ghost of a girl who died there in the 80's . They have a seance. Things go very badly...

Rating: M for vivid description of violence

Words count: 3k

Trigger warning: cruent deaths, mention of blood

(I’ve been meaning to tell you)

I think your house is haunted

Beca had moved in the Bella’s house and had been living there with the other girls for just one week when she started to notice there was something weird going on in that place.

At first, she thought it might have been one of the girls – definitely Amy – who was playing tricks on her; it was just annoying silly things, really, like misplaced objects, doors that opened and closed on their own or songs that mysteriously changed to Cindy Lauper while she was listening to her Spotify playlists. All things Amy could have managed to do with little effort.

What made Beca question her believes were the events of that day she was sick and decided to stay home while all the girls went to class and then to rehearsals. She was home alone, so nobody could be pranking her, but strange things continued to happen – doubled even.

It started with her headphones; Beca could swear she’d left them on the desk, next to her computer, but when she came back from the bathroom they were gone. The brunette looked for them everywhere and finally found them in the fridge

“Mh, weird” she mumbled to herself, making her way back in her room to start working on a new mix.

Halfway through her mix, her laptop started to flash and then it showed statics

“What the fuck!? Come on you can’t die on me right now” lamented Beca hitting her laptop, she took her brand-new iPhone 5 and saw it was doing the same thing “what the hell is going on?”

She threw the phone asides and stated that she was delirious, probably due to the fever, so she decided to make herself one of Chloe’s infusions. Beca put the boiler on the stove and started looking in the cabinet for the infusion, when the home theater they had in the living room started to blast Time after Time.

“Who’s there?” she called out but didn’t get an answer. If she was honest, she’d admit she was starting to freak out a little bit.

The brunette slowly entered the living room to see that nobody was there

“That’s not funny” she called out, doing her best to hide the shake in her voice “Amy I saw you, you can come out” she tried, but again, no answer. She gulped and went to turn off the stereo, then slowly sat on the sofa to calm down, but the boiler’s whistle made her jump

“Fuck” she spat out marching to the kitchen.

Beca took a deep calming breath pouring the boiling water in her favorite mug, put the boiler away and sat down to enjoy her drink. The warm bitter liquid running down her throat was starting to relax her and free her lungs, she put down the mug and rubbed her face with both hands, when she heard the mug crashing on the floor.

Chloe opened the door and the first thing she saw was a baseball bat moving in her direction. She dodged it and saw a very startled Beca holding it

“Beca what are you doing?” she squeaked

“I- sorry I thought…” trailed off the brunette letting her weapon fall and tiredly hid her face with her palms

“Hey, what’s going on, how are you feeling?” Chloe asked removing Beca’s hands “Oh my god, Bec, you’re burning up! Let me take you to bed”

“I broke a mug” mumbled Beca while Chloe was helping her under the covers “and my phone” she added

“Your phone is working…” stated Chloe showing it to her “don’t worry for the mug, now try to get some rest” she whispered tucking a lock of brown hair away from Beca’s forehead.

Beca let out a heavy breath and briefly considered telling Chloe what she went through

“Chlo…”

“Mh?” the redhead asked turning around with a soft smile

“Thank you” mumbled the brunette before rolling on her side. “Ghosts don’t exist you’re just delirious” she told to herself before falling asleep.

“You’re such a loser”

“You will never be one of us”

“There’s no place for cowards in here”

“Ahahahah”

It was night, the cold air was making Beca shiver. The area of porch she could see from her bedroom’s window looked different than usual and she couldn’t recognize any of the voices laughing at her. She wasn’t looking down from her window, she was standing outside the window. She was barefoot.

“Come on, we don’t have all night!”

Beca swallowed hard, her head was spinning, she slipped.

Beca woke up in her bed, damp with sweat, her – now working – phone pointed 4AM, she groaned and went back to sleep.

Weeks passed and then months, objects kept disappearing and appearing in weird places and Beca made sure to never be alone in the house again, but she never talked to anyone about what happened, she was too embarrassed about it – ghosts don’t exist.

One evening, after helping Jessica find her bracelet that ended up being in a plant near the bathroom, she decided to talk to Chloe about it.

“Hey Chlo, can we talk for a moment?” she mumbled, still uncertain about saying it out loud

“Sure, what’s up?” asked the redhead putting aside her Russian lit book

“I uhm… this might sound weir but…” she trailed off

“You know you can tell me everything, right?” assured her Chloe leaning in to grab her hand

“I – not that I believe in this kind of things, but uhm… I think there’s a ghost in the house”

Chloe’s face fell and she cleared her throat sitting back straight “Yeah, that’s Molly” she said casually, going back to her reading.

“WHAT?” gasped the brunette

“Molly” repeated Chloe “she died here in the 80’s” she explained

“You don’t actually believe she- she’s living with us, right?” stuttered Beca

“Of course, she is-”

“What are we talking about?” interrupted her Stacie

“Apparently we have a ghost” explained Cynthia-Rose who happened to hear the conversation

“Cool, a ghost story!” gasped Stacie excited “wait, I’ll call the others”

They moved in the living room after Stacie gathered all the girls and Chloe started telling the story

“In the 80’s this house was the sorority house of the θγτ. Those girls were known to be the cruelest sorority Barden had ever seen. They always made their new members prove their worth through impossible dares, like eating worms or doing dangerous things. Most times the new girls run away crying and were thrown out of the sorority, but there was this girl – Molly – who wanted to be part of the sorority more than anything. She was willing to die for it-”

“How did she die?” interrupted Beca, her throat felt tight and her heart was beating incredibly fast

“It was initiation night. They gave her a dare, a test of bravery…”

The crunching of chips coming from Amy destroyed the mood Chloe was skillfully setting with her story

“Amy, would you mind!?” lamented Cynthia-Rose

“What?” asked Amy stopping with her mouth full of chips

“We’re kinda in the middle of something here…” added Ashley

“Go on” spurred her on Stacie

Chloe cleated her throat “they told her that to be a member of the θγτ she had to walk on the ledge from side to side of the house only wearing her nightgown. They knew she was scared of heights, they probably thought she would have given up, but she tried anyway…”

“fuck…” whispered Beca, she had chills thinking about her dream

“She fell” added Chloe in a sad voice

“Do you want to contact her?” offered Lilly in her usual creepy tone

“Yes! Let’s summon a ghost” squealed Stacie

“Dude, no!” gasped Beca horrified

“What? You scared Mitchell?” challenged her the tall brunette

“I’m not scared” retorted Beca

“Come on, it’s Halloween week, it’ll be fun” tried Jessica and the girls agreed. Beca didn’t like it, she didn’t like it at all.

Lilly seemed to be rather expert on the field. She made them move the furniture and drawn a pentagram on the floor in the middle of the living room, she turned off the lights and placed five candles, one on each point of the circled star. The girls were sitting in circle around the symbol while Lilly placed herself in the center and started saying something Beca assumed to be in Latin.

Suddenly a gust of wind turned off all the candles and the room feel silent

“You girls shouldn’t be playing around with seances” Lilly said in a demoniac voice and someone, probably Jessica or Ashley – Beca wasn’t sure – screamed. Some of the girls turned on the flashlight on their phones and they could see Lilly standing up, with her hair down on her face.

“Shit, she looks just like Samara” said Amy

“You foolish girls, must pay respect to the rituals” Roared Lilly

“Fuck, is she possessed?” gasped Cynthia-Rose

“Lilly that’s the best Halloween prank I’ve ever seen” laughed Stacie “You look disgusting”

At that Lilly howled in rage turning to Stacie and showed her face, her eyes were completely white, and her body was still facing forward while her face was turned to look at the brunette. The girls screamed and moved away but Beca noticed Chloe was still on the pentagram

“Chloe what are you doing?” she shouted to her

“Molly” tried the redhead swallowing hard

The monster turned to face her and Beca grabbed Chloe’s hand to drag her away. Molly grunted and started to walk towards Stacie, in the meantime someone had turned on the lights and Beca could see that Lilly wasn’t wearing her clothes anymore, she recognized the white gown she was wearing in her dream.

Molly reached Stacie and cornered her

“Please, please not my face! Or the boobs, please-” begged the girl, but the spirit reached out to her throat and ripped her trachea out making blood splash everywhere. All the girls screamed in horror crying out Stacie’s name and the lights went out again.

The Bellas ran away in different places of the house and Beca had no idea where the others went, except for Chloe who had never let go of her hand. She had dragged her in a room and locked the door behind them, everything was dark and Beca could barely make out the silhouette of Chloe’s face.

“I can’t believe Stacie is dead” sniffed Chloe

“Yeah, that’s crazy” murmured Beca letting the redhead hug her

“I’m glad you’re her with me” she breathed out

“Me too, I can’t imagine being alone right now” confessed the brunette and Chloe pulled away from the hug

“No, I mean… I’m glad that it’s you” clarified the redhead looking into her eyes

Beca swallowed hard noticing how close they were and in the dim light she could see Chloe’s eyes looking down at her lips for a moment. It’s funny how you throw all cares to the wind when you think you’re about to die. Beca leaned in and kissed her. Chloe responded instantly pressing her against the door and slipping her tongue into Beca’s mouth. Her hands were desperatcely gripping at Beca and for a moment the brunette thought that maybe this was worth dying for.

Their kiss was interrupted by Cynthia-Rose pointing a flashlight at them

“Finally!” she cheered making them jump “we need to go to the basement, unless you have something better to do…” she added in a judgy tone

“Why to the basement?” asked Beca clearing her throat “of all places…” she added with a shiver

“To fix the lighting maybe?” retorted Cynthia-Rose

“Okay but why can’t you go?” asked Beca hissing when Chloe hit her with her elbow

“Because the black and the queer characters always die first in horror movies, and if you didn’t notice, I am black and a lesbian! So, I’m definitely not going there alone” explained the girl

“Of course we’re coming with you” agreed Chloe.

“Lock the door” intimated Beca once they entered the basement. They reached the electric cabinet and Beca pointed the light of the phone to it “you know how to do that?” she asked

“Yep”

While Cynthia-Rose was working on the cables Beca let herself get lost in the comfort of Chloe’s body pressed up against her back and the girl’s fingers intertwined with her owns. It caused a weird warm sensation, like if it didn’t matter that there was a murderous demon around the house and that they were all going to be slaughtered by it.

When the lights started working again the girls turned around to find Molly covered in Stacie’s blood standing in the middle of the room. Beca whimpered and pressed herself more into Chloe who had pretty much the same reaction, while Cynthia-Rose threw her flashlight to the monster hitting her in the face and gaining them some important seconds

“Go go go go go!” she shouted, and they started to climb the stairs.

As soon as Beca and Chloe were out of the basement door, it slammed shut behind them trapping the other girl inside. They could hear her scream and hit the door trying to open it, so they started doing the same until Beca couldn’t hear her anymore

“Chlo…” she tried, but the red head wouldn’t stop “Chlo-”

“We need to get her out of there Beca!” she cried

“Chlo, it’s too late… she’s gone” she sobbed “we have to go” she added grabbing Chloe’s hand again, but this time it wasn’t enough to calm her.

They started to run towards the door, when the couch slid between them and their target, they turned around to see Molly slowly approaching them.

“You don’t belong here” thundered Molly tilting her head “you didn’t complete the ritual”

“Yes, yes she does” gasped Chloe placing herself in front of Beca “Bree didn’t want her at first, but then she was okay with it”

“Chlo what are you doing?” whispered Beca, but the monster suddenly turned around and walked away “what the fuck?” breathed out Beca in confusion.

They saw Cynthia-Rose crawl out from the basement and ran to help her

“How are you what did she do to you?” asked Chloe helping the girl up to her feet

“Slowly, slowly, I’m injured” she gasped showing them a bleeding wound on her hip “she pushed me downstairs, I must have caught a nail or something”

“Come on, let’s take you to the bathroom, Chloe has a first aid kit” said Beca pushing the girl’s arm around her neck to help her stand.

On their way to the bathroom, they found Jessica with a tear-stained face standing next to the staircase that led to the second floor, Chloe moved to hug her and saw Ashley’s lying on the floor with her neck broken and some limbs twisted.

“Fuck” sadly whispered Cynthia-Rose rubbing her face with her palm

“Lilly was following us upstairs, Amy got away” sobbed Jessica “I couldn’t leave her”

“It’s okay, come here, it’s okay" tried to comfort her Chloe.

The group made it to Chloe’s bathroom and the redhead was trying to medicate Cynthia-Rose as best as she could

“What else did you see in horror movies?” asked Beca

“About ghosts? They’re usually here because they have unfinished business- ouch”

“Sorry" whispered Chloe

“ ‘s alright. But those were movies I don’t know- OUCH!”

“I’m done" promised Chloe getting up

“I don’t know if it applies to real ghosts” added Cynthia-Rose

“It’s all we have" huffed Beca “I need to try, and we still need to find Amy"

“I’m coming with you" said Chloe

“No, it’s too dangerous I don’t want you to get hurt”

“You’re not going alone” argued Chloe and Beca gave up

“Alright. Jessica, you stay here with CR”

Beca and Chloe started to wander around the house, looking for Molly

“Why did you think the ghost was after me?” whispered Beca

“Her name is Molly” corrected her Chloe “and I don’t know…” she trailed off

“You mentioned Aubrey, did she tell the ghost- Molly, to haunt me or something?” suggested Beca

“What? No" gasped the redhead “I just assumed because she’s been here the whole time I was in this house, but since when you moved in, she seemed to be… more nervous” she explained

“I had a dream about her" confessed Beca “I mean I was her. In the dream. The night she died… I think she just wants to be accepted"

They heard a loud noise and suddenly stopped swallowing hard

“we should check that” said Chloe in a tiny voice

“I hope it’s Amy" huffed Beca nodding

As it turned out it was Amy, but she’d just been thrown against the wall by Molly.

“Amy” shouted Beca without thinking, letting the ghost know they were there

“Beca, finally! Save me, I’m too important to die" screamed Amy trying to free herself, but the monster shoved a hand in her chest ripping her guts out.

“No!” cried Beca “stop it, what do you want from us?” she shouted at the ghost

Molly let Amy’s body fall to the ground and started to walk towards them again.

“You did not respect the ritual" she kept saying, the lights were flashing like crazy and there was wind coming out of nowere

Beca took a step forward “what ritual? What are you talking about?”

Molly pushed her asides and took Chloe by the throat. The redhead gasped trying to free herself from the bloody hand chocking her, but it was pointless

“You must complete the ritual!”

“I’ll do it! I’ll do your ritual” volunteered Beca

Molly instantly let go of Chloe and turned to the brunette

“Bec no" begged Chloe trying to catch her breath

“You are a Bella now!” she declared, confusing both Chloe and the ghost

“I, as co-captain of the Bellas, declare that you have passed the test and are a Bella. You’re one of us" she gulped, her heart was beating so fast it was hard to breathe, like if she’d run a marathon. Chloe had reached her and was standing beside her

“And I, as the other co-captain, approve that" confirmed the redhead.

“Thank you" whispered Molly.

Suddenly the lights stopped flashing and everything seemed to be back to normal. Lilly’s body fell to the ground with a thud and Chloe immediately moved to go check on her but Beca stopped her

“What if she’s faking it?” questioned the brunette

“Why would she fake it?” pointed out Chloe and went to kneel down besides Lilly.

“Is she…” asked Beca

“She’s breathing” assured Chloe relieved

“We should call the police” suggested Jessica once her and Cynthia-Rose joined them.

The police was still taking their depositions and Lilly was taken away with an ambulance, it was clear that the girls couldn’t have been killed by a person, but the policeman refused to believe their ghost story and kept asking them if they’d taken any drugs or were drunk. He kept bringing up an animal attack, almost like if he was trying to convince them.

Chloe went to sit on the porch next to Beca, both wrapped in those panic blankets they’d only saw in movies before that night.

“You saved my life" she stated humping her with the shoulder

“Well, you tried that first” answered Beca looking down at her feet “I noticed you stepping in front of me"

“Yes, but it turned out she was never after you… she just wanted the head of the sorority to accept her"

“If I only figured that out earlier Amy would still be alive, maybe Ashley too" sniffed Beca

“Hey, look at me” told her Chloe reaching out to gently tilt Beca’s face towards her “it’s not your fault, okay? If anything you saved the rest of us. If it wasn’t for you I…” she trailed off shivering at the memory of that cold hand around her throat

“I’m glad you’re okay" whispered Beca with teary eyes before leaning in to kiss her.

#Pitch Perfect #horror story #ghost story #bechloe #halloween #beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe horror #bechloe oneshot #pitch perfect one shot

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nonstop-haikyuu · 4 years

Text

Saving Kacchan

A another fic from my other blog! Just a small bkdk hurt and comfort piece that takes place after Bakugou was kidnapped!

Word Count: 1,638

“Stay back, Deku!” Bakugo insisted, just as the villain with stitches yanked him into the warp, disappearing from sight as Izuku dove towards them, only to smash into the ground as Katsuki was taken from his friends. The young heroes stared at the sight where the blond student had disappeared from then slowly turned to Deku, who was still lying on his stomach, a look of disbelief and something that could only be described as heartbreak across the face of Midoriya.

Todoroki inched forward, perhaps to help his friend to his feet or pat him on the back in reassurance but the shattered voice of Izuku rang out as he screamed, his voice rattling against the trees, the leaves fluttering at the sound.

Soon, Tsu and Ochako managed to catch up to the rest of their friends and as they broke through the line of trees into the small opening, they paused at the sight that greeted them. There, lying in the center of his friends, was a now sobbing Izuku, his arms lying limp at his side.

The frog like hero turned to Tokoyami, who was laying on the forest floor, confusion and frustration across his face then she murmured, “No… they couldn’t have gotten Bakugo.” But with a quick nod of her friend’s head, instantly one of Izuku’s greatest fears were confirmed: his life long friend and long term crush had been kidnapped by the League of Villains and no one had any idea on why they wanted him.

Eventually the group was able to make it back to camp, Aizawa encountering them as they broke the treeline, a now unconscious Izuku cradled in Shoji’s arms, the rest of the students limping in beside them. The damage was evident and it was clear that whatever the villains were aiming for, they at least succeeded in one part: capturing Katsuki Bakugo.

The first time that Izuku regained consciousness for an amount of time longer than a minute, his mother was downstairs in the cafeteria, grabbing something for her to eat. Aizawa was waiting bedside, to give an update as best as he could. However, the fever he gained from his injuries had turned him delirious and it nearly broke Aizawa’s heart to tell the young hero the truth about what had been going on for the last two days.

“Kacchan,” Izuku rushed out, nearly jumping out of his skin, “I need to find Kacchan, I can’t let Shigaraki have him, he’s mine!” His teacher laid a gentle hand on his shoulder then stated in the softest voice he could muster, “Stop, you’re going to rip your stitches. Bakugou… he hasn’t been found yet, but we’re looking for him.”

An almost inhuman screech erupted from the young hero then began thrashing around in his bed, fighting his teacher’s grasp as he screamed, “Kacchan! I have to find Kacchan! He can’t be left on his own, I won’t let him think that I left him behind!” A nurse rushed in then murmured, “It’s okay, sweetie, it’s alright, I think you’re just a bit delirious from the pain, so just lay back and relax, I’m going to give you something to numb that darn old fever of yours.”

The next time that he awoke, Inko was standing outside of his room chatting with a doctor then he turned to the left of him, surprised to see Recovery Girl putting away her lip balm as she sat in the chair beside the bed. She glanced up then said softly, “Oh Midoriya… I heard what you did for that young boy, to protect him. And poor Bakugou.. I am so sorry, Izuku. I know how much he means to you.”

Izuku’s body began to tremble, tears streaming down his face and she raised a soft hand to his face, wiping his tears away as she murmured, “It’s okay, sweetie. All Might is going to find him. Don’t you about a single thing, Izuku. The only thing that you need to worry about is getting better.”

He sniffled and curled into himself as best as he could without too much stress on his body then the recovery hero gave an understanding nod before exiting the hospital room. And so much more would take place over the course of the next few weeks. The heroes would rescue Bakugou, All Might would defeat All for One and retire as the Symbol of Peace, and the students of UA would move into the dorms as a further precaution to prevent villain attacks.

Izuku was finishing up the final touches in his room when someone knocked on his door, causing him to pause. Uraraka and Iida had both stopped by when they had finished moving in and they had offered Midoriya to go to lunch with them but he turned them down, citing that he still had so much to finish and he was still feeling the aftereffects of the camp attack. So who was knowing at his door?

He began to walk towards the door when the person began to knock insistently, clearly agitated that Deku hadn’t answered their first civil tap. Confusion set in when he realized that it was Bakugou on the other side of the door then the green haired teen opened the door to see a glaring Katsuki.

“Took you long enough to open the damn door, Deku. What are you, deaf? You know what, don’t answer that.” Bakugou muttered, pushing into Midoriya’s room. Izuku raised his eyebrows at his oldest friend then yelped, “W-Wait, Kacchan, what are you doing in here?!”

The blond shot him an annoyed look and settled at the foot of his bed as he answered, “What the hell do you think I’m doing in here, you damn nerd? I’m here to… I’m here to say I’m sorry. I know you got real fucked up when the League kidnapped me and I wanted to ask you… Fuck, this was a stupid idea. Fucking Dumb Hair and his fucking idiotic ideas-”

“Wait, Kirishima told you to come say sorry to me?” Midoriya asked in a quiet tone. Bakugou froze and glanced up when he realized what he had let slip then Izuku slid into a chair, staring down at the multiple journals he had stacked on the desk.

Katsuki came to a slow stand then crouched in front of the green haired hero before he admitted in a low voice, “No. I decided to come say sorry after I got unpacked. Shitty Hair wanted me to ask you something else because he has this stupid fucking theory about us, said he had actual proof to back it up too.”

Midoriya stiffened as the words set in and Katsuki took notice of the tenseness before he accused, “You know what he wanted me to ask you now… don’t you, Deku?” Color flushed into the shorter teen’s cheeks and he began to shake his head before Bakugou rose to his feet, tilting Izuku’s head upwards with a finger as the blond snarled, “Don’t fucking lie to me, nerd, I know you better than any of these extras could ever fuckin’ hope to. Tell me the truth: do you know what Kirishima wanted me to ask you?”

“I mean, I might but if I’m being honest, I have no real proof if it’s what he wanted you to talk to me about and if it is what I’m thinking he wanted you to ask then he has no right telling you to ask me that when he knows that I know that you don’t actually feel the same way-” Katsuki tangled his fist into the front of Izuku’s shirt then jerked up to his feet, leaning close enough to where their noses brushed then he hissed, “Quit your fucking blabbering, Deku, and tell me the fucking truth. Don’t tell me what you think you know, just fucking tell me what you think Dumb Hair sent me to ask you.”

Midoriya’s eyes widened and he gulped hard before he whispered, “I think he sent you to ask me if I had a crush on you.” His emerald gaze fell to the floor as Bakugou stared at him, his expression surprisingly unreadable. After so many years of knowing each other, Izuku thought that he knew every emotion and the way that Katsuki had viewed them but this one was new and so unfamiliar to the younger teen.

There was no telling what was about to happen, so how was Izuku supposed to protect himself when Bakugou would lose his temper? But then the truly unexpected thing happened; Katsuki released Deku’s shirt and cupped his face to pull him into a kiss.

Midoriya’s knees nearly buckled but the blond pulled him closer, his tongue peeking out to press into the young teen’s mouth before Katsuki backed away, a satisfied grin across his face. Izuku stared up at him with wonder in his eyes and the taller hero traced a thumb along Deku’s bottom lip as he rumbled, “Don’t fuckin’ assume shit, ‘kay, nerd? Makes you look like an ass and trust me, you have enough ass already.” The green haired teen stared at his oldest friend then he whispered, “You kissed me… Kacchan, do you like me?”

“You’re a pain in the ass nerd who doesn’t know when to stop talking. But you’re my fuckin’ nerd so yeah, I guess I like you or whatever. And if Shitty Hair hears that I kissed you because I let it slip that he wanted me to ask you out, I swear to God, I blast you to America, you got me?” A giddy laugh escaped Midoriya and he smiled up at Bakugou like he had hung the entire galaxy just for Izuku then he replied, “I got you, Kacchan. And I’m not letting you go this time.”

68 notes · View notes

orangecrane · 4 years

Note

Hey there Orange I saw your requests are open and I was wondering if you could possibly write something angsty with sprace? Happy ending or not! Your choice! I’m just depressed and I need more sprace content. Thanks!

no fault of mine

When what's supposed to be a happy day ends up being a terrible mess, Albert's left to pick up the pieces. But not everything is quite as it seems. (In which if people actually communicated a lot of pain could have been prevented. Maybe).

A/N: Thanks for the request, I hope it was what you wanted! If not just let me know. This got away from me a bit lol, I didn’t mean for it to get this long. Also, would anyone like a second part/follow up to this? I have a few ideas where I could take it but this was long enough as is and I was anxious to post it.

CW: Mild swearing, Illness (Fever)

“Damn Race, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Race absolutely lit up. He’d already been unreasonably upbeat all day, from having a huge smile plastered across his face from the moment he woke up to practically skipping to distribution. He’d also been unusually giggly and had been draping himself all over Albert with a level of drama that was usually reserved for special occasions.

“Oh don’t get him started,” Albert groaned, “he’s been talkin’ my ear off about his date with Spot for the past two weeks.”

“Ain’t you two been on dates before,” Finch directed at Race, “what’s so special about this one?”

“Yeah, but today is exactly one year after our first date! Spot’s got a big surprise planned an’ I can’t wait,” Race was practically vibrating. “We’s gonna meet by the bridge after selling today, it’s why I’m staying in Manhattan with Al today to sell.”

“Well, good luck wit’ that Race,” Finch smiled. “And Albert, I hope you still have ears by the time you get home.”

The smugness practically radiated off of Finch. Albert grumbled and rolled his eyes at his teasing tone. “Wouldn’t bet on it…”

---

Race had just sold his last pape and was on his way to meet Spot. He was most certainly not barely restraining himself from running all the way to the bridge. Besides, if he did that then he’d only be early and have nothing to do but wait around for Spot to show up. So Race walked, at a perfectly normal walking speed, the rest of the way to the place they were supposed to meet.

He still arrived about fifteen minutes early, but that wasn’t a big deal. He could just pace around a bit and daydream about what they were going to do once Spot got here.

Race dreamed of walks in the park, of admiring the very last of the autumn leaves before winter well and truly came. Of holding hands to keep warm in the chilly night air and stealing kisses in the shadows. Of sharing a proper meal, the kind lowly newsboys never got to eat. Race dreamed of Spot.

He kept daydreaming until a passerby accidentally bumped into him.

Huh… that was odd. He had been lost in his own head for so long that he hadn’t noticed nearly half an hour slip by. That in it of itself wasn’t weird, Race was easily distracted and had a vivid imagination. But that meant Spot was fifteen minutes late.

Spot was almost never late. In fact, he often prided himself on his punctuality. Race was the one who got sidetracked or miscalculated how long it took to get somewhere or just plain forgot.

He must’ve gotten wrapped up in something with his boys. Oh well, Race had made him wait enough times to be forgiving about it this once. Even if it was a special day.

So Race resumed his fantasizing. Warmth and sweet words and Spot.

But that only lasted so long. Because fairly soon, Spot was half an hour late. Now Race was beginning to worry. What was keeping him? Did Race have the wrong place?

Another thirty minutes passed. Spot was officially an hour late. Race didn’t think Spot had been that late to anything in his life.

Another hour. Race was panicking. Did Spot forget?

No, Race was certain he wouldn’t, couldn’t when they had spoken about it just yesterday. Race had tried to get Spot to tell him about their plans but Spot was ever tight-lipped.

Was he hurt? Spot was strong but it wasn’t impossible.

Did something happen to one of the Brooklyn kids? But if he had known he wouldn’t be able to make it, wouldn’t Spot have sent a runner?

Another hour. What if Spot wasn’t coming? The sun was setting and Race was still waiting.

Another hour. Spot wasn’t coming. It was dark and Race was cold. He wanted nothing more to curl up into a ball and cry. Spot wasn’t coming, he’d left Race waiting for hours on their anniversary. Race felt sick to his stomach thinking of how excited he was only a couple hours ago, how he spent all day looking forward to this, weeks of- of hope and excitement and love. And this is what he got for it.

But maybe.

Another half hour. Race went home, tears blurring his vision.

He couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes by the time he arrived at the lodging house. A few of the older boys who were still up tried to ask him how it went. He ignored them. Stormed up the stairs and into the bunk room, to find Albert waiting up for him.

“Racer, how’d it-”

He cut himself off upon spotting the tear tracks on his best friends face.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Race tore his boots off and climbed into his bunk. Glad that at least his best friend knew when not to push him. He’d have to talk with Albert about what happened in the morning, but for tonight he could wallow. And wallow he did. The moment he allowed himself to think of Spot and the disaster that was tonight, hot salty tears streamed down his face. It felt almost like they were burning him. Race just laid there, mulling over everything that happened and how hurt he was until his head was pounding and the tears stopped. Only then did his mind quiet and he fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

---

Race awoke to the piercing shriek of the morning bell. He groaned, yanking his pillow over his head and trying to block out the sounds of the boys getting ready. That, on top of the fact that he was so hot he was sweating, made him dread the coming day. He threw his thin blanket off of him in an attempt to cool down. He’s nearly back asleep when something clangs the bed frame near his head.

“Whadda fuck?” Race’s head was still ringing and getting up to sell was the last thing he wanted to do today.

“Up and at em, sleepyhead,” Albert proclaimed. Race groaned, he was so tired. “Oh man, you look like shit dude.”

Race cracked his eyes open just enough to glare at his best friend. “I feel like it too, now lee’me alone.” Race’s voice was so scratchy that it even surprised him.

“Maybe you shouldn’t sell today Racer,” Al sounded worried. He reached over to put his hand against Race’s forehead, but he batted his hand away and whined. Al frowned with concern.

Race was going to object, he really was, but his head was pounding, his throat hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. He ended up grunting and turning over to go back to sleep.

“Hey Jack! Racer ain’t lookin’ too good-” Albert’s voice faded into the background.

Race slept fitfully for a few hours, always too hot or too cold and in too much pain to really sleep. He wanted Spot. Spot always knew how to make him feel better, where was Spot?

Maybe he could ask some of the other guys, he could hear their voices but struggled to make out what they were saying.

“really warm”

“out in the cold”

The voices were too distant for him to recognize so he couldn’t understand what was going on. Wasn’t he supposed to be meeting Spot, was he going to be late? Race tried to push through the fog in his mind but only succeeded in confusing himself more. Why was it so warm, wasn’t it autumn?

“bad condition”

“crying- Spot” That was definitely Albert’s voice.

Race whined, tears of frustration stinging his eyes. He was tired and confused and just generally feeling pretty awful and he wanted either Spot or Albert to come make it better. Having them around always made it better.

Fortunately, someone noticed he was awake and shortly after he had his favorite red-head by his side. Race sat up and grabbed at Albert’s arm, looking somewhere between lost and scared. “Albie…”

“Heya Racer,” Albert began, real gentle, “how’re you feelin’ bud?”

Race just whined and buried his head into Al’s shoulder. Even the idea of talking hurt.

“Yeah, I can imagine, Specs n’ Daves say you’re runnin’ an awful fever. It musta been from being out in the cold last night.”

Race’s head was swimming and he had a hard time focusing on what Al was saying, but he thought he got the gist of it. Wait… “Spo-”

He was quickly quieted by Albert handing him a glass of water and gesturing for him to drink. Where did he get that? He certainly didn’t have it when he climbed up to Race’s bunk. Race drank the water in small sips, with Albert watching, until he finished the glass. Al took it from his hands and handed it to someone standing at the side of the bed. Oh, so that’s how he got it. Race was so, so tired.

Just as he was drifting off, leaning entirely against his friend, he jolted. “Spot- I’m supposed to meet Spot,” Race barely managed to slur out. Albert shared a look with the other boys who Race still couldn’t be bothered to identify.

“He’s not-” The mystery voice was cut off by a swift kick from Al.

“I… I need to meet Spot, where is he? I wanna see Spot!”

“Race why don’t you lie down,” Albert tried to gently push him back down.

“No,” Race said indignantly, deliriously. “Spot!” he called out, half expecting him to be just out of sight, like Albert had been. Why wasn’t Spot coming? He was always there for Race, Spot wouldn’t leave him like this.

Finally, Albert grabbed his hand. Through gritted teeth he said, “Spot’ll be here soon, he just had some business to deal with in Brooklyn, why don’t you get some rest in the meantime so you’ll have some energy when he gets here?”

Oh. That made sense. Race nodded agreeably and allowed himself to be pulled down to rest his head in Albert’s lap. He was tempted to try and stay awake anyway but he was exhausted and Al’s hand in his hair felt really nice, so he surrendered himself to sleep once more.

Though, this caused him to completely miss the discussion that followed.

“Spot’s not coming, we haven’t spoken to him at all, why would you say that?”

Albert rolled his eyes, he liked the guy plenty. but sometimes Davey just didn’t get it. “He was completely out of it, we needed him to calm down and he wasn’t gonna do that without Spot bein’ here so I did the next best thing. Besides, he probably won’t even remember this when he wakes up.”

“Well… maybe we should go talk to Spot and see if he can check on Race.” Albert was hesitant to do that. If only because of what he had seen last night.

“Evening distribution starts soon, you’ll miss it completely if you go to Brooklyn, and I have to stay here with the dumbass who went and got himself sick.”

“Tomorrow, then?” Davey insisted. And, well, Albert certainly had a few things to say to Spot given Race’s expression when he got home last night, so it really didn’t take much convincing.

“Yeah, I’ll head over tomorrow and get Jack to watch Racer while I’m gone if he isn’t any better.” Davey looked pleased at that, he still wasn’t fond of lying but he understood the utility of it. He really was worried about Race, and if Race wanted Spot then he wasn’t sure why Albert needed any convincing at all, but then again maybe he was missing something. He tended to miss social things like this.

Davey was ripped from his musings by Albert, staring down at him from Race’s bunk, “You better get moving or you’ll miss distribution.”

“Oh yeah! I’ll see you around Albert.”

“You too, Daves,” Albert nodded to Davey as he exited the bunk room.

---

The next day saw almost no improvement. Race was still running a fever high enough to be seriously disoriented and was continually asking for Spot. And Albert, once he left.

So Albert was on his way to Brooklyn to ask Spot Conlon just what the fuck he thought he was doing to Albert’s best friend. He wasn’t one-hundred percent certain what happened, but he’d spent enough of the last day listening to Race’s whining and rambling to piece together that Spot hadn’t shown up and Race had been left waiting for him for hours. He was also tempted to blame Race’s sudden sickness on him too, if only because he was frustrated and angry on his friend’s behalf and didn’t have anywhere else to direct those emotions. And maybe Race wouldn’t be sick at all if he hadn’t been out there in the cold waiting for some bastard who wasn’t coming.

Once he reached the Brooklyn lodgings he knocked twice loudly and stood there, arms crossed and clearly displeased. It was Digs who opened the door, normally Albert thought she was pretty cool but he was in no mood to be friendly.

“What are you doing here?”

“Where’s Spot?” She looked a little taken aback by his tone, and narrowed her eyes.

“What’s it to you?”

“I need to have some words with him.”

Digs observed him warily, “I have to talk to Hotshot, wait in the common room and don’t touch anything. She allowed him inside and disappeared up the stairs. It was about two minutes before she returned, Brooklyn’s second in tow.

“Get outta here ‘hattan.”

“Not until I give Spot a piece of my mind.”

“Spot isn’t taking visitors right now, leave,” Hotshot ordered. Albert was pissed but wasn’t willing to risk a serious conflict between boroughs, for now at least.

“Got any idea when the all mighty King o’ Brooklyn will deign to see me then?”

“No, now leave before we make you.” Digs was standing silently by Hotshot’s side, she hadn’t said anything since returning but was obviously willing to back her second’s orders.

Albert glared at the other newsies, and made his way to the door. He paused before exiting. “Hey, Spot!”

His voice echoed throughout the old building.

“He waited for you, you know,” Albert spat out before storming out of the Brooklyn lodging house and going back to Manhattan to look after his best friend. Someone had to, and he clearly wasn’t going to be able to get through to Spot.

---

Race woke up around noon on the third day feeling much better. He was still kind of dehydrated and groggy, but it seemed his fever had broken. He dragged himself out of bed, careful not to lose his balance on the way down, and slowly changed into a cleaner set of clothes and grabbed himself a glass of water.

Once he finished his first glass and went to fill it up again he was interrupted by someone else entering the room.

Albert looked surprised. “It’s good to see you on your feet, Racer. You feelin’ better?”

Race downed half his glass before answering. “Yeah,” he said, voice still raspy.

Albert smiled, then gently grabbed the glass from his hands and topped it back up. “”M glad, but Specs’d kill me if he found out I was lettin’ you overexert yourself when I was supposed to be lookin’ after you. And before you start poutin’, I’ll sit with you, Jack n’ some of the other boys have been pitching in to cover us so I can stay and babysit you.”

Race started pouting anyways. “I don’t need no babysittin’!” Race frowned, “An’ I don’t like the idea o’ the other boys needing to pay for us, especially when I was the only one who couldn’t sell.”

Albert snorted. “Too bad you big baby, you were outta commission and someone had to look after ya sorry ass.” Albert nudged him back towards the stairs. “Now c’mon, we got some stuff we need to talk about.”

Race followed him back up the stairs and to the bunk room, admittedly confused. He hadn’t been out of it that long, what could he have missed?

Albert took a seat on his own bed and gestured for Race to sit with him. Once he did Al handed him the glass back. Race took a few small sips. “So what did you wanna talk about?”

“Well the night before you got sick you were kinda a mess,” Albert began, “and then you had a nasty fever and seemed pretty upset about what happened. I think I got the basics but you were pretty incoherent…”

Oh yeah, that. Even the mention of that night made Race’s throat tighten. His hands started shaking slightly and Al once again removed the cup from his grasp.

Race sucked in a shuddering breath. “So uhh… basically? Spot never showed up, I waited for hours and- and I just kept thinking ‘Maybe he’ll be here in a few minutes and if I leave I’ll miss him’” Race trailed off.

“I only left once it was too cold and it was clear that… that Spot had either forgotten about me, didn’t care, or something bad had happened to him.” Race sniffled.

Albert looked kind of heartbroken on his behalf. He wrapped an arm around him and pulled Race into his side. “I went to go talk to Spot yesterday,” Albert admitted.

“You what?” Race turned to face his friend.

“I knew something had happened between you two and you kept asking after him.” Race flushed with embarrassment. “I wanted to find out for sure what happened, maybe give him a piece of my mind, and see if he could come see you. Figured he’d want to know you were sick, why wouldn’t he? Anyways, he wouldn’t speak to me at all and some of his newsies wouldn’t even let me see him.”

Race looked down and balled his fists in his pants. So Spot had really just stood him up and then refused to even talk to his best friend. They’d been together a year and Race thought he knew him, though with how things were looking, maybe not. He fully curled into Albert’s side. He didn’t want to think about Spot anymore, he just wanted to fall asleep to the sound of someone who actually cared about him breathing.

---

Four days after the anniversary Race was back on his feet, well enough to sell, and hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Spot. He spent the day in Manhattan on Jack’s orders. Couldn’t risk something happening to him too far away from home.

However, the day after he was allowed to return to Sheepshead once again. He was sort of expecting to run into Spot. After everything and Race not selling for a few days he thought that Spot would at least care enough to come talk to him. Then again he thought Spot wouldn’t ditch him like he did, so maybe it was a problem with Race’s judgement. Race just sold and went home, not feeling up to betting or waiting around for Spot. Again.

The pattern continued like this for a few days, Race would show up to sell, maybe chat with any Brooklyn newsies he came across, then leave. Whenever he tried to ask about Spot they just deflected. It was really starting to get on Race’s nerves.

If Spot wanted to break up with him why couldn’t he say it to Race’s face instead of hiding away like a coward. Everyday he waited for Spot to make the first move, Race wasn’t the one in the wrong here! And everyday he heard nothing.

Well Race was sick of waiting around for stupid Spot.

---

“Race? What are you doin’ here?”

“‘M here to see Spot.” Well, more specifically he was there to chew Spot out and possibly end their relationship if he didn’t have a damn good explanation for his recent behavior. He loved Spot, he really did but Race was not going to allow himself to be treated like this. He deserved better than someone who hurt him like this. But he wasn't gonna dump all that on a kid, especially one who could stop him from doing so.

The kid, Flicker, hesitated. “Spot’s not seeing anybody right now.”

“Well can’t I be an exception?”

“I’m really not supposed to…”

Flicker seemed very conflicted. Race didn’t want to use the kid but… he knew Flicker kind of looked up to him. It wouldn’t be too hard to persuade him to let him in.

“Please Flicks?” Using that nickname was dirty, but Race was at the end of his rope. Hopefully Flicker wouldn’t hold it against him.

His expression was downright pained. “I-”

Race gave him his most pleading look. “Listen, this is really important to me, I have to see Spot. You can trust me, can’t you?”

Flicker finally gave in. He glanced around nervously before quietly and quickly saying, “Spot’s in the refuge. Has been for a little over a week. We’s not supposed to say nothin’ bout it to anyone though.”

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 5 years

Text

WhatsApp? Part 4. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you

A/N: I know that at this moment I've completely forgotten about MCU timeline - but... Just fuck it, bro. Let me dream my dream, ok.

Warnings: Peter crushing into "puberty". Hard.

Tagging: @missdictatorme @songforhema

Read the previous parts and have an idea of what is actually going on :) : Part One Part Two Part three

Series Masterlist: H E R E

You were eager to see Peter the other day. Steve wrote as he promised, but none of his formal texts:

Steve: Hello, Y/N. Hope that you'll have a good day at work. Don't overstress yourself, I want to know you better. What about 6 p.m.? We will have more time. I have no work or work out to do today. That means I'm all yours to answer your questions if you're up to it. ;)

You fangirled over that man once again. He was polite yet way more friendly than in the previous days. You wanted to thank Peter in the most sincere way possible - so you bought him big Oreo milkshake he loved so dearly and left in your office's fridge. If there wasn't for Peter, you wouldn't crack up Steve's personality so early. You would do it as the time would pass, but Peter just saved your ass.

You could tell Deena or May, but you felt like Peter should be the one who will know about the success of your teamwork first.

You didn't want to be too I eager about Steve, so you wrote:

Y/N: I will be careful, don't worry about that. And I will be looking forward to that as well, handsome.

You lived for calling him handsome. In your mind, he had to be handsome. And you didn't know that every time it made him smile.

Steve: That's what I like to hear. :)

But when Pete came, it was around three p.m., he was really pale and he looked paranoid as hell. He was sweaty and he shook hard, and that made you worried about that boy. What happened to him? Did Flash take it too far this time? Nonsense. Pete wasn't minding Flash as much.

Liz. Something must've happened to Liz.

"Hey," - you came up to him. You looked him up and down, catching Val's stare. She liked Peter as well. Every woman in this office was his adoptive mom. But you were just the biggest. - "Something with Liz? You look like a piece of trash, Pete."

He looked at you as if you scared the living soul out of his body. He was scared to death. He put a hand on your shoulder, prepared to tell you something, but then he tensed, looking at his hand.

"I, I think I'm in puberty, Y/N," - he gulped out loud, looking you dead in the eyes.

"Peter. You're fifteen." - You stated, smoothing his hand on your shoulder. It was... Sticky. In a gross sense. - "You're in puberty for a looong time."

Peter looked at his hand and tried to take it off your shoulder. But it felt like he was glued to your tee.

"Flash attacked your hand with a second glue or what? You're scaring the hell out of me." - You tried to shook him down, but it was an impossible task. That hand hadn't moved an inch.

"Oh shit." - he cursed under his breath, catching his forearm with his second palm. - "Let go, let go, let go..." - Then it finally let go... And holy shit, you just heard how the tee is tearing apart and you saw its remnants on glued his hand. What. The. Fuck?

Everyone centered their stare at you two, in the middle of the office. You were too shocked to even move and Peter was about to faint. He turned away immediately, trying not to look at you. He still tried too shook the tee off.

"Peter what the fuck is this about?!" - You heard an angry voice coming from the hall. May just came back with lunch for everybody. She threw the bags with China aside and looked at Peter like she's about to kill him. - "Would you mind to tell me why is Y/N naked in the middle of the day in our office and you have her t-shirt in your hand? Hm? Is this funny to you, young man? You're so grounded for the rest of the week." - She stated, looking him up and down. She looked straight like some demon crawling out of the deepest ends of hell, ready to give Peter the biggest moral lecture of his whole fucking life.

"May I think he's sick. He's burning and I think he'll faint any minute. Look at him." - You mumbled as you were putting your sweater on, defending that poor boy. You knew it wasn't done on purpose. But this wasn't a part of fucking puberty. You didn't have sticky hands. No one in history had them.

"Dear lord." - May immediately turned off that demon mode, turning the mother mode. She came close to him, but Peter insisted on her staying the hell out from where he was standing.

"You're really not looking good. But I can't leave office, I have a meeting with a worker sent by the Stark industries, I can't leave before seven p.m.. Would you take him to the hospital? There's no time for a pediatrician." - She asked you with such a concern in her voice, staying feet away from Pete, looking terrified.

"Yeah. I'll finish my work tomorrow, it's nothing too burning. It will wait a day or two." - You nodded automatically, worried about him. He was about to faint any minute now. You took your backpack, supporting Peter with your body and leading him out of the office. You didn't realize that your phone was left on your working desk.

The traffic was a real terror. Peter shook like hell on the co-drivers side, hyperventilating into a paper bag. His eyes were closed and you just prayed for him not to vomit all over your car.

"Have you eaten something bad? What did you eat during the day? Peter, did you do some drugs or shit like that? I need to know before we get there." - You drive off the main road, sure it will be faster to the hospital. You just needed Peter woken up by the time you'll reach the hall. Then he can pass out.

"No, no. I swear I didn't do drugs... I think something bit me." - He showed you his wrist with a huge red spot on it. It was swollen so much that his fingers were twice their normal size. Holy. Shit.

"You think?! I'm fucking sure of it!" - You yelled. Your windows were rolled down, so when you yelled, a lady suddenly turned at you in shock. But you couldn't care less. - "What the hell bit you? Nothing leaves a spot like this for fuck's sake."

"I don't really know..." - Peter mumbled. His voice was quiet and you could hear he's in huge pain. This truly was an emergency. - "We were on a school trip to some labs. I don't even know what it was or when it - ewgh." - You heard as he vomited into the paper bag. You wish you could take a part of his pain on yourself - he was in a delirious state.

"Hold on ten more minutes, Pete." - You patted his shoulder carefully as he kept on vomiting, looking into the road. You didn't even care if he vomits in your car. All you wished was to be in the fucking hospital.

They immediately took him in. The nurses didn't even care if you're his family member or not, but you told them you were only a close family friend. Peter sat on the bed, crying, sweating and mumbling, wishing to make it stop, then vomited for ten minutes straight into a bucket they have him. You were there, nursing him, playing with his hair and hugging his shoulder.

They checked his pulse, took some blood from him, measured his temperature and asked you what could've caused it. You told them about the spot on his hand, then it was time to wait for all the results. You had to sit in the hall, patiently waiting for them to tell you what's wrong with Pete. You tried to find your phone, but it wasn't in your backpack.

Great. Peter was dying in your car, almost vomited all over it and you left your phone in the office. You realized you will not be able to text Steve back at six p.m., it was impossible for you to accomplish that. And you left your lunch at the office as well. You were hungry as a wolf but you were too afraid to leave the hall - news about Pete could come any minute.

Poor boy.

The doctor came to you at five p.m.. The waiting felt like hell. You sighed in relief when she was smiling a bit at you light-heartedly. She was nice - a small, thin young woman with short curly hair and beautiful chocolate skin. You almost jumped at her with fear in your face

"Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. My name's Dr. Smith. Nice to meet you. You came here with Peter Parker, right?" - She smoothed your shoulder and made you sit down again. You turned your eyes to her with anticipation. Dr. Smith took it as a yes, still smoothing your arm slowly. She was calming you don't and you didn't mind at all. That was what you needed.

"Peter is now stabilized, he doesn't vomit anymore, which is good. He's a bit better now after we gave him some antibiotics. You told my colleague that he was bitten by something, is that right?" - She crossed her legs over each other, looking you in the eyes. You nodded, relieved that Peter is better now. Not much, but even that bit helped a lot.

"Okay. We did inspect his blood and the good news is that he hasn't any toxins or neurotoxins in his blood flow. As far as we tested his blood, he has the blood of a newborn baby. I've never seen blood as clean as his. It is more probable that he's just ill and he had a shock because something bit him. He connected two dots and made himself believe that the bit is where this is all coming from. This is pretty common, don't worry." - Dr. Smith talked with you in a sweet tone, giving you a document with his bio stats. It looked... Ok. The results were good.

"Only thing I don't like is his fever. He had almost 105.8°F (41°C). He has a strong symptom of his body trying to destroy some virus in him, don't panic now. You may take him home, we gave him painkillers and the antibiotics, as I said, so the fever is slowly fading out. But. Wake him every hour and make him drink something. If you don't do that, his body can dehydrate pretty fast and that is a thing we want to avoid at all costs. Peter's going through a lot now. He needs to have a diet now to calm his stomach, prepare him some black tea with a bit of sugar and if he'll be hungry, give him some whiskers or rolls without anything, ok? And if the fever rises up again, call the ambulance." - She stood up. So did you. - "He'll sleep through one or two days, but don't worry. His body will handle this perfectly. He's a young strong man." - Dr. Smith offered you her palm and you shook it.

"Thank you, doctor. It was really nice to meet you." - You smiled at her and she watched as you joined two huge men with Pete on a wheelchair. They told you that they're going with you two - Peter wasn't even able to stand up on his own feet at his current state.

But that boy was totally out. He was giggling and pointing around himself, saying beep! almost every five minutes. Oh God, you wished you could make a video out of that. He was totally out of his mind.

"Y/N!" - He yelled all over the hall with an honest smile. He sounded drunk as hell, his voice was overly calm and mumbly. You smiled at him and took a side by his wheelchair for him to stop yelling. A lot of people watched you at that moment, some were confused, some were having fun. - "Can you see it too? Man, that is just awesome. Beep!" - The tip of his finger reached your nose and he giggled again. Peter was so out.

"Of course." - You assured him when you stopped by the ambulance car. He was holding your hand in a tight, almost hurting grip. Which was weird. Peter should be numb after medicine. Shouldn't he?

"Of course what?" - Peter asked and opened his mouth in anticipation.

"I can see everything." - You winked at him, took the bag off his lap and waited until the men helped Peter into the back of the car.

When Peter laid into bed, he immediately fell asleep. He was snoring really, really loud. You carefully took the phone out of his backpack and tried to call May while brewing him a tea as Dr. Smith ordered him. When she didn't pick up, you left her a quick voicemail.

"Hey May. Don't worry about Pete, he's better now. Two men from the hospital helped us to get to your flat and laid Pete in his bed. He's sleeping, his body is ok, he has only a higher fever, nothing too dramatic. I'll tell you more when you'll get home. And take my phone with you, thanks. Bye, Y/N." - That was it. You were watching a movie with a phone clock ticking down an hour. You woke Peter up twice and he drank a whole cup and a half of tea. When his head touched his pillowy he was immediately asleep again, snoring lightly.

You just sat there for a few more minutes, smoothing his sweaty hair. Then, when you heard the flack door opening, you lightly kissed his forehead and nudged him into a blanket like a mermaid.

May was home. And she looked totally wrecked. She had a long day at the office, then the thing about Pete... She was really to go to sleep. But she knew that she'll have to stay up to take care of Pete.

"Hey." - She hugged you and sighed in relief. - "I have your phone and your China. Thank you for saving my ass. Otherwise, I would have to go and the meeting would be canceled for sure."

"Pete's one of my best friends. He's maybe a bit like a son to me. I couldn't let him suffer. And thank you for that phone. Pete fell asleep again just minute's ago, I just made him drink." - You started to pack your stuff, but May stopped you.

"You can sleep on the couch. Your car isn't here anyway, you must've left it by the hospital. You can borrow mine tomorrow, I'll stay at home with Pete at home." - She offered you and you hugged her again. You adored that woman so much. Every time you've visited their place, it just felt like home. And May took you as her daughter and bestie, which was so good it was almost dreamy.

"In that case take a shower and go to sleep. I'll take care of Peter until... What about one a.m.? It's seven p.m. so you'll sleep a little at least." - You put your things next to the couch, taking an old tee and some old worn-out sweats from May.

"That's a deal. Also... That Steve of yours. It looked like he's ready worried about you. You better answer him." - May winked at you playfully, but you could feel she wasn't feeling too easy. Pete was in such a state she just couldn't feel easy. You almost forgot about Steve.

And those six texts were speaking for themselves.

Steve: Hey! It's six p.m. and I'm ready to get to know you better.

Steve: Okay... Is everything alright, Y/N?

Steve: I took it too far, didn't I? I'm so sorry.

Steve: Just answer me, please. I'm really sorry.

Steve: Y/N, come on. Please tell me that you're alright.

Steve: I hope you're safe at least.

Y/N: Omg! Handsome, I am so so so sorry for being so dumb. I left my phone at the office. I was in a hurry, my friend's nephew was really sick and I needed to take him to the hospital. I got to read your text now, Steve. I am so sorry.

---

Steve was thinking about what he has done wrong. He took on that you're a person who is keen on having everything on time. There was nothing he could do wrong technically - but Steve was too pure to realize that.

He was really sad about that, wishing that you'll text him back.

Sam just came back after a long jog in the downtown, looking hella pumped. He was proud of his looks and his muscles were perfectly tensed up.

For Steve, Sam was the well of knowledge about today's women. She almost jumped at him and Sam just stood there, almost shitted in his pants.

"Calm down, tiger." - Sam giggled at Steve and went to drink a glass of water. - "I'm happy to see you too."

"I think I have fucked up." - Steve almost shout at him with panic. Sam tensed up and watched him down and up with death stare. - "YOU HAVE TO HELP ME."

"Calm down, you PMS girl. Don't you try to cry? You know that I'll not make me go gentle on you." - Sam drank the water, looking Steve into the face, being not too scared about what Steve has done. - "Now ya tell Mr. March maker what the hell happened."

So Steve talked about yesterday, getting to know you better and really liking it, eager to know even more about you and talked you down to another round of the game. But then you didn't write on time - and you always did. You texted him back every morning exactly at 8:05 a.m., you went to sleep exactly at 10 p.m. You wouldn't just don't text in without a reason.

"You are making so much unnecessary drama here, Iceberg. How many texts have you sent for that hour you've been alone here?" - Sam asked worriedly and almost spat out the water our when Steve mumbled 'six' in a quiet tone. - "Holy shit. Rogers, you look soooo obsesses about that girl. Calm the hell down dude, you will scare her off hella fast if you'll continue like that, boi." - Sam chuckled at his friend devilishly.

Steve and girl. A perfect story for a book or for a movie. He was totally clueless about how to act with the women of this age. He wasn't exactly a hit with the ladies at his time - and these time were just too harsh for a man like Steve.

It was nice to see Steve being so into someone but if he scared her off, there will be nothing to repair here. Which would be really hard for that sensitive old man.

And Steve almost melted when his phone rang, his eyes immediately glued to the display. It was a text. And it was from her. He felt like laughing.

"Man, you are one lucky guy, I tell you." - Sam winked on Steve and got up for his two hours lasting bathroom routine. He had a complex vitamin and skin routine. - "Go get her, tiger!" - Sam yelled loudly and laughed again.

"She is just a friend, Wilson!" - Steve yelled back when the bathroom door shut.

"I can't even count how many time I've heard that already!" - Sam ended the chat. He always had to have the last word. That was one of his many characteristics which could be really nerving from time to time. But it was a friend after all of it. And he could Steve feel easy and make him laugh, and that was the point of their friendship.

He sat at their table, frowning at the texts you were sending him, telling him all about your chaotic evening.

That Peter, a nephew of your boss who was actually one of your best friends, tore a t-shirt off your body. You laughed about it now but you told Steve that you were freaking out when it happened. Then you described your evening in the hospital hall - and you told him that now you're watching after Pete.

Steve: Do I look like a creep now? Freaking out because you were late? I feel so uncomfortable now.

Y/N: You and a creep? Oh please. I think it's sweet. :)

Y/N: It is my fault after all that I forgot my phone at home, isn't it? Don't be sorry about being worried.

So you were completely fine with him freaking out. You even found him caring. That was so sweet in his eyes, you were overly so sweet.

And so you texted until one a.m. Well until the time you have woken up Pete for the last time.

You were really funny, texting him some of your stupid childhood stories, telling him how did you choose your job and why did you settle down in Queens. He told you more about himself - the stories of him trying to cook for the first time. He told you about his best friends - Bucky and James. And the dog in his profile pic, Fosco, was his friend's - her name was Sharon.

Time was running with the speed of light when you two could write, not having those formal barriers holding you down. You were such a playful person full of wonder and life. And Steve hadn't felt anything like that for a long time.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #captain america #whatsapp #sam wilson #the falcon #peter parker #may parker #aunt may #marvel #mcu

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letitrainathousandflames-archive · 5 years

Text

a cute HankCon drabble for @skeletordidntdieforthis, I hope you feel better soon, dear!

(HankCon, sick fic, fluff, I love these dorks)

Hank was miserable. Well, that wasn’t exactly new, but Connor did notice an increase in his crankiness for the past few days until one morning when the lieutenant shuffled into the kitchen, dragging his feet and rubbing his eyes before plopping himself down on a chair.

“Good morning, Hank.” Connor complimented him with his usual chipper tone

“Ugh.” came the answer, and Hank pressed his forehead to the table “What time is it?”

Connor’s LED blinked yellow for a second.

“It’s ten and thirty-two in the morning, the weather is rainy and will remain so for the rest of the day, the humidity level is-”

“Ten thirty.” Hank interrupted with a groan “Just say ten thirty next time.”

Connor hummed, placing Hank’s cup of coffee and two perfectly made toasts, butter spread evenly in a way that wouldn’t be out of place on an advertise, in front of him on the table. Hank raised his head back up, scrunching his nose, and Connor looked at the food with concern.

“Is it not of your liking?”

Hank waved his head, reaching for the cup of coffee and taking a sip with a grimace, voice hoarse.

“S’not that... I’m just not hungry.”

Connor blinked, LED turning yellow again as he scanned Hank’s body.

“Your body temperature is above your average.” his gaze moved up to Hank’s chest and face “There’s also what appears to be mucus collecting in your lungs and sinusis, and your throat is swollen. I assume you’re experiencing some discomfort due to that.”

Hank set his cup back down.

“Yeah, no shit, Con.”

Connor’s LED was back to blue, spinning softly.

“Your symptoms indicate you have a cold. The recommended treatment is resting, drinking plenty of water and eating consistently despite the lack of apetite induced by your impaired olfactory and tasting senses.”

Hank looked up to Connor with an eyebrow raised, although that alone made his head hurt.

“Connor, I don’t know if you remember, but we are supposed to go to work today.”

Connor blinked, LED yellow then blue in a second.

“Not needed. When I ran your diagnosis I sent a message to Captain Fowler stating that you are unwell. Fowler just replied with, and I quote: ‘holy shit, if you think he’s unfit to work he sure as hell must be a mess. Keep him there, take care of him and just make sure he sends in his reports by the end of the day’.” he nodded “I’ll handle the reports, you don’t have to worry. I’m glad the Captain is concerned about you enough to allow you a day off.

Hank rubbed his eyes, small chuckle escaping him while he nibbled on a toast only to give up after eating only half of it.

“He’s most likely thinking I’m piss drunk and he doesn’t want me to go barfing all over the bullpen.”

Connor shrugged.

“Whatever works.” and he leaned closer to Hank, placing his hand over Hank’s chest “Your temperature really isn’t normal at all. You need to take a bath, preferably with lukewarm water.”

Hank held Connor’s wrist, shaking his head.

“No, no, no, y’know what’s really gonna cool me off? A nice, cold beer.”

Connor looked at Hank’s eyes, annoyed look in his features.

“Hank, with all due respect, when it comes to your health, you should follow my instructions.”

Hank poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, a weak but amused smile on his face.

“Ooh, what you’re gonna do, huh? Are you gonna carry me there, huh?”

“If it’s what you want.”

Hank hesitated, almost laughed. The fever might’ve been making him dumb. Connor was joking, right?

“Wait wha-?”

Connor shoved his arm under the fold of Hank’s knees, holding him by his lower back with his free hand, and unbelievably enough, he just lifted Hank in his arms with a small, mildly strained huff as the chair under him clattered to the floor.

It’s unnecessary to say that Hank was absolutely dumbfounded by that. Sometimes he’d just forget that Connor was about five times stronger than a human of his size. Connor, however, just offered him a smile and proceeded to walk towards the bathroom with the lieutenant in his arms.

“Connor, what the hell! Put me down!”

Connor was still smiling, pushing the bathroom door open with his shoulder.

“You are being inconsistent, Hank. You just requested me to carry you here.” he eased down slowly, placing Hank sitting on top of the toilet lid and opening the faucets of the bathtub in a perfect balance of the temperature required “Do you need help undressing?”

Hank felt his face go even hotter than it already was because of the fever. They were together, sure, and they’d have sex already... more often than Hank expected to ever have at his age and with the way he looked, but getting naked in front of his boyfriend - the word still made him feel all fluttery, goddamnit - in a non-sexual context felt strange. He didn’t want to feel like an old fucked-up man being cared for his nurse. Didn’t want to lose that last shred of privacy.

Connor touched his face gently, and Hank tried to focus on his eyes, but the fever was making his brain all fuzzy.

“Hank, talk to me. You look lost. Are you experiencing dizziness or feeling weak?”

Well fuck it, he wouldn’t lie to Connor.

“Dizzy. Think I might need... might need help.”

Connor nodded, brown eyes full of concern as he gingerly reached for the hem of Hank’s pajamas.

“Can you lift your arms up for me?” he asked, and Hank nodded, helping him undress him of his shirt. “Good. Raise your hips now, I’m gonna get your pants. Can I get your underwear too?” Hank nodded again, and soon enough he was shivering, naked skin touching the cold porcelain under him “Good, you’re doing so good for me, Hank, thank you.”

Connor reached again to lift Hank in his arms and Hank allowed him to, shivering some more as he was slowly eased down into the water. Fuck. He knew the bath wasn’t supposed to be hot but...

“M’cold.” he muttered, eyes down “Can’t you crank up the temperature a bit?”

Connor knelt down by the tub, looking at Hank with a sympathetic look.

“Sorry, but no. We need your body to cool down.”

Hank brought some water to his face, washing it and swearing at the shivers. Connor brought his hand to Hank’s face, then over to the back of his head, running his fingers through the grey hair.

“Want me to wash your hair for you?”

Hank hesitated, hands sinking back in the water.

“Uh... sure.” he swallowed down “Please.”

Hank didn’t expect much from it. It was a simple process he’d known all his life - place shampoo on your palm, run palm over head, massage scalp with the tips of your fingers, let it lather, wash it out. But the way he would do it could not ever compare with the way Connor did it.

Connor would run his hands so gently over Hank’s head, long fingers combing through, nails delicately scraping over his scalp. His thumbs would press little circles to the base of his skull behind his ears and then he would touch Hank’s chin, tipping his face up to wash the foam out, staring at Hank’s face the whole time with loving eyes. Okay, you know what, Hank thought to himself, fuck the alleged last shred of privacy, rest in fucking pieces. This was way too good for him to deny himself.

“Am I delirious from the fever or is this just absolutely fucking amazing?” he asked with a smile

Connor pressed his lips together with a tiny smile of his own.

“Well, your body temperature is lowering back into normal, so I believe you are just finding this fucking amazing, and this makes me very happy.”

Hank closed his eyes while Connor continued to wash the shampoo off his hair.

“Okay but I’m boneless after this so I guess you’re gonna have to carry me back afterwards, smartass.”

“Oh, poor me.” Connor smirked “What a tragedy.”

#hankcon #drabble #fluff

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evadenly · 5 years

Text

Delirium - Whumptober Day 3

(Shout out to @7thchevronlocked for writing with me! Finn is from @whumpingtheirregulars and Fao is @7thchevronlocked 's OC)

Fao's beginning to realise that with Finn, there's no such thing as a good day. His problems are complex and difficult and it's a struggle to get things sorted. He's aware he's breaking all kinds of rules by ordering tests and medications, but people know him enough to trust him and his decision making. It's now obvious to more than just him that something's wrong with Finn.

When he finally gets the bloodwork back (after far too long, in his opinion) it really fucking worries him. He immediately calls for Finn's antibiotics and his anticonvulsants to be stopped. If he's right, it'll reduce his fever significantly and hopefully stop the side effects. There could be more going on, but it's a good start. Of course, there's then the worry about infection and seizures, but it's a risk they need to take in order to help Finn.

Finn's too warm and sweaty for Fao to stay in bed with him, but he does manage to wrestle his hoodie off of him in order to cool him down. It's virtually soaked in sweat and he dumps it in his locker to be taken home and washed, grabbing his spare to curl up in. Fao knows he should go home to Ely, but when she finishes her shift and comes to see Finn, he explains the situation and the fact that he's going to stay. Trying to stop Fao never works and Ely knows it, so she kisses his cheek and tells him she loves him and that she'll see him soon.

Fao ends up curling up in the chair by Finn's bed, the sleeves of his work hoodie pulled over his hands and his knees tucked up into his chest. It's not comfortable, but those chairs are never comfortable and it's the best of a bad situation. He ends up falling asleep, somehow, but it's short lived and he drifts in and out for a few hours, listening to Finn's nonsensical rambling.

It's the silence that wakes Fao up. Finn had finally stopped muttering, head tipped back as he tries to breathe. He's still not lucid, but it's easy to see he's struggling. Fao's by Finn's side as quickly as he can, ignoring the pain as he uncurls. Finn's breathing is too shallow, too fast, and Fao worries. He doesn't wake when Fao tries to rouse him, doesn't show any sign he's aware that Fao is there.

Still half asleep and very sore, Fao's struggling to engage his brain as to why Finn might be struggling with his breathing. But that doesn't stop him from sorting the supplemental oxygen, listening to see if things change. The poor kid can just never catch a break.

Finn still felt too hot to the touch, so Fao finds a nurse and grabs the obs kit off them. His blood pressure isn't exactly reassuring, but it's his temperature that worries him the most. Though slight, Fao has to admit there's an improvement. It's still too high, and with the timeframe, something has to be done.

Unlike Finn's obs, it's not something Fao can do alone, and so he finds the on call registrar and recruits their help (but also because sometimes you just have to be mean and wake the junior doctors in the middle of a shift). They put in place more aggressive cooling methods in order to reduce Finn's temperature more quickly. There's only so long he can stay that hot and Fao refuses to risk anything. It's now just a case of waiting and trying not to fall asleep whilst he waits for an improvement.

Finn whines when the ice packs are placed on him, trying unsuccessfully to get away. After a few seconds he's forgotten about them, too delirious to focus on much else.

The registrar is changing his ice packs when Finn retches, somehow managing to push himself half on his side. Before they can do anything, Finn's vomiting again, throwing up on both the registrar and himself.

Fao swears, grabbing a bowl and moving to help keep Finn on his side. He presses the call button to get some extra hands - Finn's going to need cleaning and his bed changing.

When Finn throws up a second time, Fao's ready, holding the bowl under his face and telling him he's going to be alright. He briefly looks up at Fao, but there's nothing behind his eyes.

It takes half the nursing team to get Finn sorted, having to move him to a trolley while they clean. Fao apologises to the registrar and sends them off to get changed.

They're sorted within half an hour, leaving Finn and Fao alone to get some rest. Finn sleeps for a while, but Fao can't. He doesn't dare to in case Finn vomits again and aspirates because Fao fell asleep.

In the early hours of the morning, Finn starts muttering again. It's more coherent than before, as if Finn was talking to someone in the room. He waits as if for them to answer before continuing, and carries on the conversation. Fao catches a few pieces, Finn apologising for not doing enough, giving a handover for what Fao can only assume was his last patrol.

Fao has to admit Finn's words make him feel a little uneasy. It's a good handover, for the most part, and it brings Fao back to Afghanistan in seconds. Fao's not sure if the fever is doing this, or if it's the PTSD or both, but he moves his chair closer.

“Finn? Can you hear me? It's me, Fao. You're alright, you're in London. Everyone's okay, it's just you and me.”

Finn continues talking, listing their injuries and his interventions. He whines softly, bringing his hand to rub at his chest as he continues. Apologies fall off his tongue, becoming more jumbled and desperate

“Finn? Listen to me, it's Fao. You're not there, you're in London. It's just you.” He repeated, slower than before, and rested a hand on Finn's arm.

He tries to pull away with another whine, mainly just succeeding in turning his face away. His rambling is fading, becoming less and less coherent again.

Fao's hand is warm on his arm. “Finn, it's okay. Look at me?”

“I'm sorry, I'm fine. I'm fine.”

“Finn? Breathe for me?”

“No, them first. I'm fine.” Finn's eyes are open, but he's still talking to someone who isn't there, no recognition that Fao is in the room.

“You're okay Finn, they're okay. I'm here to help you.” Fao told him. “Is it the pain? Are you in pain?”

“I'm fine. Not me.” He looks straight through Fao, reaching towards nothing. “Not important. ‘s okay.”

“Finn, it’s okay. Listen to my voice.”

“I'm okay. Don't need help. ‘s them, gotta help them.” It's borderline begging, Finn slipping in and out of consciousness as he talks.

“It’s alright, they’re okay. Everything is okay.”

Finn flinches as he pushes against Fao, confused when his hand catches something solid. He whimpers, clawing at his chest with his other hand.

“Shh, Finn, try and relax.”

Finn doesn't listen, can't hear Fao past the war raging in his mind. He grits his teeth and pushes his head back into the pillow as he holds his breath.

“Finn, can you hear me? Listen to me?”

There's no response, Finn curling in on himself, still refusing to breathe.

“Finn. Breathe for me, mate? Nice deep breath, like we did before.”

Finn doesn't. He's growing dizzy, but his breathing is the only thing currently under his control. He continues rubbing at his chest, fingers curling around bandages no longer there.

“Finn?” It occurs to Fao that nothing's going to get through to him, and that very soon if he doesn't stop holding his breath he's going to pass out. He's spent time with Finn's parents, he knows this is a risk. But it's the only thing he can think that will get through to him, and he's desperate to be able to do something.

“Daniels!” He snaps, voice commanding.

“Daniels!” Finn can't breathe, stumbling backwards, the pain in his chest finally reaching its crescendo.

“Daniels!” He's trying, he's fucking trying, but he can't. Can't make the air move in and out of his lungs.

“Daniels!” Harrison's hand is behind Finn's head, trying to hold him up. Finn reaches a clumsy hand up to grab his arm. He's sorry, so fucking sorry, but he doesn't have the strength to say so.

Fao's not sure if it's really working, but it's not made things any worse.

“Daniels!” He snaps again. “You're going to listen to me, alright Major? You're going to sort your shit out and look at me and you're going to breathe. I'm going to help you but you need to help yourself.”

Finn whines, pushing himself onto his side, and pulling his arms under him. Breathing hurts, it burns, but he can. He pushes himself up again, pressing his forehead into the bed and tightening his hands into fists. Each breath is a desperate gasp, catching in his throat and ending with a whine.

“That's it, there's a good lad. Keep going, keep breathing. You're gonna be okay. Look at me?”

He drops back onto the bed, trembling but breathing. He's still not fully present, his hand curling around the bed sheets as he tries to focus.

“Finn? Look at me?”

It takes too long, but he finally manages to focus on Fao. He's crying, but doesn't have the energy to wipe his tears away.

“Hey, nice to have you back with me. Come here, let me give you a hug? You're alright, you're gonna be alright.”

“Sorry. ‘m sorry.” Finn continues muttering apologies under his breath.

“Shhh, it's okay.” Fao says, laying down next to him. “You’re alright.”

Finn grabs onto Fao, sobbing. “Couldn't - Couldn't do it. ‘s my fault, ‘s all my fault.”

“None of it's your fault. You're alright. You did the best you could. Nobody wanted any more than that.”

“Still died - Couldn't do it, Fao. Needed me and I did-didn’t save them.”

“You did your best.” Fao said, wrapping his arms around him.

“Should've done more.”

“Nothing more you could have done.”

Finn's starting to panic again, pulling away from Fao.

“It's alright Finn, you're okay. Don't panic, it's just me. You're safe.”

“No, no.” Finn whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. “Was close - should have - no. I'm sorry.”

Fao holds him close, a hand rubbing over his back. “It's alright. You do so much, help so many. It's alright.”

@whumptober2019

#whump fic #whump #Deliruim #fever #tbi #head injury #hospital whump #whump prompt #whumptober #whumptober 2019 #whumptober prompts #whumptober day 3 #whumptober2019

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alfred-play-despacito · 5 years

Text

Tim and his Funky Protective Gloopy Parasite AU

I will most likely never get around to officially writing this, but I’ve had it saved since December and wanted to post it... I basically rewrote the entire Venom movie to fit JayTim, okies, so spoilers if you haven’t seen it yet. Also I borrowed a lot of the dialouge too.

Tim works as an investigator for Vicky Vale. She wants him to hack some shit to find out if there’s an affair going on between Harleen Quinzel and Pamela Isley. Or take photos. He can totally do a photojournalist type thing. Or both.

Tim’s long term girlfriend Steph is an intern at Neo Eden. Tim uses her employee login to hack into the system and look at Pamela’s emails— he finds reports about using humans as test subjects for alien parasite hosts to save the environment and stop global warming. The next day, he writes a report, bypasses it through the editors and posts it on the Gotham Gazette website. Vicky calls him in, fires him.

Tim: But this is real! Something finally important! People are dying! Vicky: We’re a gossip paper, Tim, not the Daily Planet. Isley has the money to sue us, you’re lucky she hasn’t shut us down completely.

Tim is all huffy, whatever, it’s fine. He only did it as a hobby/part time job, he has his whole Drake inheritance.

Steph has his stuff out on the sidewalk when he gets back to their place. She’s fucking livid. And tries knocking him in the face with a brick.

Steph: You couldn’t be fucking chill for, like, five minutes? Tim: She’s killing people with aliens on some Save-The-Planet agenda. Steph: That was my internship! I was lining up a job there! I got fired because of you. Tim: Do you really want to work at a place that’s experimenting with aliens though?

She breaks up with him. His face is on the cover of the Gazette, fresh off the press. “Drake Heir Posts False Rumors Attacking Pamela Isley.”

Tim: So that’s how Vickey got out of a lawsuit.

Tim’s just not in the mood for anything, depressed and all that, so he dedicates himself to living an Aesthetic Mood by buying some shitty apartment in the Bowery. It sucks but he gets a small routine. Friends with the late night shift at Batburger. His neighbors suck.

Eventually someone from Neo Eden approaches him. The dude is named Dick Grayson, he’s an undercover cop that’s been working at Neo Eden as a security guard to investigate the shady shit going on ever since Tim’s article was published. He asks Tim for help. Tim says no.

Tim goes across the city to the Burnley District to see Steph. He meets Cass, who graduated from Gotham University as a med student and now works at Gotham General Hospital. He’s really bummed and decides to call Dick back.

Dick brings him in at night to see the facility. Tim takes photos and then sees one of the poor dudes from Batburger is a test subject. He tries to help the dude out but it backfires (as things in Tim’s life tend to do) and the dude attacks Tim and that’s when Venom is transferred.

Tim and Dick sneak back out (because Dick’s not dying), and Dick drops him off at his shitty place in the Bowery.

Tim: So, are you going to get fired from GCPD?

Dick’s really vague but says he’ll be okay, his boss can sort it out (meaning Bruce.)

All the weird stuff starts happening to him. Crazy appetite. A fever. Venom starts speaking to him, just single words like, hungry and food.

Deliriously, Tim goes out and finds Steph grocery shopping with Cass. He is a little rabid and is raiding the frozen food section, Venom pointing things out, and Steph is really embarrassed. It reaches extreme levels when they pass the seafood section and Tim plops into the lobster tank.

They take Tim to Gotham General. Cass tries to do an MRI test but of course he spazzes because the loud noise hurts Venom. Tim claims he’s fine and leaves.

Back at his shitty apartment, he eats a bunch of garbage and pukes. Venom starts talking to him. (Diverging from the film for this next bit) Tim is kind of just like “fuck this,” and sits down to watch some mindless tv and hopefully nap. Venom introduces himself as Venom.

Tim: What the hell are you? Venom: I am Venom. Tim: You can’t just call yourself Venom. Every superhero or supervillain needs a civilian identity. Just because you’re some alien parasite doesn’t make you special. Venom: I’m not a parasite. Tim: Oh look, Friday the 13th is on. Awesome, I’ve never actually seen the entire thing, so be quiet.

Eventually Tim has an epiphany.

Tim: I’ll call you Jason!

Tim’s neighbor plays obnoxiously loud music and Jason freaks and Tim stomps over there to tell him to be quiet. The dude says no. Jason pulls his little freaky face thing and growls at the dude. The dude agrees to turn it down.

Eventually, Ivy finds him. (Looked at the security camera footage, got a photo of his face, tracked him down, etc.) A bunch of mercs come to attack him.

Jason: Don’t open the door.

Tim’s an idiot so he opens the door.

Tim and Jason argue over putting their hands up or down. Jason wins and attacks the mercs.

Jason: Outstanding! Now, let’s bite off all their heads; heads in one pile, bodies in another. Tim, exasperated: Why would we do that?

They leave the apartment, Tim catches his reflection in the window of a car. Jason scares him.

Jason: I can replace you. I can find another host, you’re just a replacement for my last one. Tim: Listen, if you don’t like me you can just leave, okay?

Mercs and drones show up so they go on a crazy motorcycle chase which includes Jason saving Tim from dying, like, twelve times.

They end up at a secluded warehouse, Tim is fully healed.

Jason: You’re mine, Timmy. Cooperate and you just might survive. Tim: Are you going to… you going to eat anybody else? Jason: Most likely. Tim: Ugh, God.

They go back to the Gotham Gazette office but security stops Tim from getting in.

Tim: If we go back to the apartment I can hack the security and we can come back and sneak in. Jason: Where’s the office? Tim: 22nd floor. Jason: Up? Tim: Yeah.

Jason takes that as permission (and it was NOT) to crawl up the side of the building. Tim is mildly panicking. They end up at the top of the building.

Jason: It’s almost peaceful up here. Tim: I’m not a fan of heights. Jason: Your world is not so ugly after all. I’m almost sorry to see it end. Tim: Don’t drop me, I swear to freaking god, you will never get tater tots again— wait, what the heck does that mean?!

Cue the airplane. Jason starts freaking out because of the noise, so he withdraws and then Tim starts falling.

Tim: Where’d you go? Jay, where’d you go? Jay—

Jason grips on to the building.

Jason: I got us.

Tim leaves the photos of Ivy’s lab that he took on his phone on Vicky's desk.

Jason: Jump. Tim, walking to the elevator: Nope. Jason: Pussy.

Mercs are waiting downstairs for them.

Tim: Guys, you don’t want to do this, trust me. Mercs: Masks! Copy! Tim: Okay, okay, have it your way… Mask! Jason: Copy.

Steph finds them after the fight. She drives Tim back to Gotham General to do more tests. Jason tells Tim to man up and apologize to her.

At the hospital, Cass looks at test results and says Tim has a parasite. Jason gets angry about being called a parasite. Cass explains that Jason is basically draining Tim in order to live. Tim feels really betrayed and leaves.

Tim gets captured by Ivy. Once it’s clear that he no longer has Venom she wants him dead. The Mercs take him out to the middle of an abandoned warehouse to kill him. Jason saves the day. Jason kisses Tim as Steph, and during the kiss morphs back into Tim.

Tim and Jason head off to find Isley.

Jason: Riot’s got shit you won’t believe. Tim: What are our chances? Jason: Basically zero. Tim: Alright, fuck it, let’s go save the world.

There’s a big fight. (Need to think about the rocket situation because I don’t want Ivy to die.) Riot tries to rip Venom from Tim. Tim reaches out and in a moment of pure gay love, Jason reaches out too, Tim’s fingertips brush Jason and they fuse together. There’s more fighting.

Steph cranks up a speaker and the noise makes Ivy and Tim separate from their symbiotes. Ivy goes to grab Riot but Tim pushes her away. Tim turns around and is impaled by Riot. Riot grabs Ivy and they go to board the rocket. Jason latches onto Tim, heals him, then they climb the rocket. Jason cuts through the fuel line and the rocket explodes. The fire hits Jason and Tim, so Jason detaches and allows Tim to live. Tim falls into the bay.

Later, Tim is back chilling with Steph. They’re friends now. Jason is interrupting the conversation and Steph is suspicious that something is going on. Tim claims it’s nothing and leaves.

Jason and Tim walk around together. Tim tries laying down some ground rules. Mainly that they can only eat bad people.

At the empty Batburger at night, a thug tries to rob the cashier at gunpoint. Jason asks if that’s a bad guy and Tim says yes.

Jason: We will eat both your arms, and then both of your legs, and then we will eat your face right off of your head. You will be this armless, legless, faceless thing, won't you, going down the street like a turd in the wind. Thug: What the hell are you? Tim and Jason smile: We are Venom.

The cashier is like, “Okay am I tripping on too much acid, or…?”

Tim: Oh… I have a parasite. Yeah. See you later, dude.” Jason: PaRaSiTe!? Tim: Symbiote is too complicated for the average Gotham citizen to understand. Jason: Well, you’re just a depressed hermit. Tim: Take that back!

They continue walking.

Tim: So… what do you want to do now? Jason: The way I see it, we can do whatever we want.

#jaytim #jason todd #tim drake #venom crossover

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marvelling-you · 5 years

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rather be dead, rather be fine

Rating: Mature Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers Word Count: 2210 Tags: Sick Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Catholicism but only slightly, First Kiss, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Slight Internalized Homophobia, rated for language Summary: Steve has a high fever. Both his mother and Bucky are afraid that this will be his last night. Everywhere you look, Everywhere you turn, Illness is watching, Waiting its turn AO3 Link: xx

When Steve didn’t show up to their painting class for the third day in a row, Bucky knew something was wrong. Steve was a natural when it came to the arts, and Steve never looked more alive when he had a palette and brush in his hands. Bucky would have swung by the apartment, but they needed more hands at the docks. By the time he left work, it was as if someone had filled his shoes with cement. Every step he took home got heavier and heavier, and his eyelids were no different. As soon as he got home, Bucky would collapse on the couch, falling into an uninterrupted sleep.

But he was going to make time today. He took long strides until he reached home, only wanting to drop off his books.

“Oh, James!” His mother, Winnie called from the kitchen. “Come here. I need you to do something.”

“What is it ma?” Bucky asked, following his mother’s voice. “Can you make it quick? I’m headin’ over to see Steve.”

Winnie stood at the stove, ladle in hand. With care, she poured some soup into a thermos. “This is for that poor boy. Sarah called and told me he’s runnin’ another fever.”

Bucky bit his lower lip, upset that he was right to worry.

“Is it really bad?”

Winnie sighed, screwing the top of the thermos tight. “Sarah sounded frantic. Just… take this to them, and this.” She handed Bucky the thermos, then pulled out her wallet. “Just in case he needs medicine.”

“Alright, ma.” Bucky shoved the money in his jacket pocket. “If I’m not back by dinner, I’m stayin’ over there.”

“I know.” Winnie gave Bucky a quick hug. “I know he means a lot to you.”

With a small nod, Bucky headed back out. As far as he could remember, Steve was always sick. Bad eyes, bad hearing in one ear, bad back, bad lungs. And his heart. Oh, his heart. The list went on and on, and Bucky could only feel angry at the world and the heavens. Steve was… wonderful, courageous, kind. Someone like him didn’t deserve so much pain. If it was at all possible, Bucky would share the burden, or fuck, take all of it. But that’s just a dream.

He arrived at the Rogers’ home, picked up the spare key and let himself in. No one was in the living room, and as far as Bucky could tell, no one was home. His heart pounded and his breathing hitched. They were here, right? Otherwise, they’d be at the hospital. Steve couldn’t be that sick, right? It couldn’t be that bad, right? It couldn’t be—

“Hello?” He called out. “Steve? You here?”

A door creaked open. A priest dressed in black clutched his bible, his face solemn. Sarah followed behind him with red eyes and her tear stained face. The priest only nodded at Bucky before leaving.

“James, I’m glad you’re here.” Sarah wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. Bucky gulped, his mind racing.

“Where’s Steve?” His voice was shaking. “Is he—”

“—he’s in bed,” Sarah said softly. “The priest just came by to give him his last rites. He’s not… he’s not doing good. His fever won’t go down, and he isn’t eating. My baby…”

Bucky set down the thermos in the kitchen, then rushed to Sarah’s side, pulling her in for a hug. Sarah was another mother to him. For as long as he’d known Steve, Sarah welcomed Bucky into her home many a time, treating him just as she treated Steve, like a son. Though it was only for a moment, Sarah allowed herself to sob, letting out the grief and fear she held for her son. Bucky let out a sound—something he couldn’t quite place. A whimper? His heart was crashing to the floor, shattering into a million pieces and he didn’t know if he was capable of putting it back together.

Sarah managed to pull away from Bucky, her gaze low in shame. “I, uhm, need to run to the hospital,” she said. “To prepare things, just in case. Please—”

“—I’ll stay with him.” Bucky smiled softly, though his eyes stung. “If somethin’... happens … I’ll call the hospital.”

“Thank you.” Sarah grabbed her coat and rushed out the door. Bucky locked the door behind her, watching as she raced down the street.

His mouth was dry as he walked over to Steve’s room, peering through the cracked door. As he entered, Bucky did his damndest to not let any tears stream down his face. Steve’s complexion was as pale as a sheet of paper, and he had dark circles under his eyes. The blonde smiled weakly.

“I was wonderin’ when I’d see see your ugly mug, ya jerk.”

“Punk.” Bucky rolled his eyes. Of course Steve would still joke around. He made his way over towards the bedside and sat on a chair—presumably the one Sarah prayed for her son. Upon closer inspection, Steve’s eyes were red.

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Can you do somethin’ for me?”

“Of course.” Bucky placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Did he get thinner? “Whatcha need?”

“My drawings… my paintings… sell all of ‘em. Knowing my ma, she’ll want to go all out for the funeral. I don’t wanna burden her like that.” Steve sighed as Bucky’s eyes widened.

“I’m not doing that, Stevie.”

“Why the fuck not?”

Bucky winced at Steve’s resignation to death. He wanted to say it was the fever making his best friend delirious. If not, where was fighter Bucky knew?

“‘Cause you ain’t dying.”

“I already look like a damn corpse.” He raised his shaking hand, spreading out his fingers as if he was reaching for the ceiling, as if he was reaching out for the Lord to take him. Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. “Maybe I wasn’t meant to live this long.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Bucky begged quietly. “Yeah, you got dealt a shit hand, but that doesn’t mean it won’t turn around one day. Maybe—”

“I’m fuckin’ tired, Buck!” Steve half-shouted, half-cried. He grabbed fistfuls of his blanket. “I’m so fucking tired . I… even if I get better, I don’t want this anymore. I want Him to take me. It’ll be a mercy.”

“A mercy,” Bucky echoed. “Dyin’s a mercy instead of, oh, I don’t know, lettin’ you live?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky slammed his fist against the nightstand, nearly knocking over the lamp.

“Well maybe your ma still wants you around!” Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not givin’ up on you, and I sure as hell ain’t givin’ you to anyone. Not even God.”

“But I ain’t yours to give.”

And Bucky knew that. Steve didn’t belong to him, even though he wished it every night. All he wanted was to hold Steve close and never let go. Bucky knew he was greedy He wanted to plant kisses on his forehead and hold hands when they walked to class. But those were unattainable desires. He didn’t even know how Steve felt towards him, though Bucky believed it was something along the lines of a familial love. He’d seen the way Steve stared as girls clung onto his arm.

Bucky stood up and inched closer to the bed. “Steve, move your ass over.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I said so, punk.” He bit his lower lip. “I already told your ma I was stayin’ here. So scooch.”

Steve grumbled as he made room for Bucky. “I don’t know how the hell we’re gonna fit.”

Bucky kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed. “Yeah, like that ever stopped us before.”

They both laid on their backs, Bucky’s large frame nearly overtaking the small bed. This wasn’t going to work, Bucky knew that. Instead, he shifted around so that he was on his side, facing Steve, who for all his complaining didn’t look upset as their eyes met. In all the years they’d known each other, Bucky couldn’t recall a time where Steve looked so haunted . He wanted to say something, do anything, but Bucky just didn’t know what would be best.

“You know you’re gonna be okay, right?” Steve asked, earning a puzzled look from Bucky. “After I’m six feet under, you’ll find a nice dame, get married, have a few kids. You’re gonna go out into the world and live . You’re gonna retire and all of this, right now… you’ll have so many good memories that you won’t even think about me.”

Bucky bit his tongue. He knew what Steve was doing, and he didn’t mean anything cruel by it. But that didn’t lessen the pain. His eyes were stinging with tears. He didn’t care to hide how he felt. Bucky wasn’t sure how he looked, but whatever expression he made was enough for Steve’s eyes to go from hollow to horrified.

“Buck, I—”

“—you’re a real fuckin’ piece of work, Rogers.” Bucky’s tears flowed freely as his voice hitched “You’re a fucking idiot. Like hell I’d never think ‘bout you. I swear… if you fucking leave me and go where I can’t follow… you really think I could forget you?”

“No,” Steve said quietly, his eyes watering. “But you should.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Bucky wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. “If I want to think about you, I’ll think about you. I already think about you every damn day.” He wrapped his arms around Steve and pulled him close, making the smaller man yelp in surprise. Bucky pressed the back of Steve’s head towards his chest. He could feel the heat of Steve’s breath through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Let it out, Stevie,” Bucky said quietly as he ran his hand through Steve’s hair. “I know you’ve been keepin’ it all in.”

Steve was shaking, so Bucky just held him tighter. And that was enough for the dam to break. Steve choked out a sob, only for it to escalate to a full blown cry, laced with anger, bitterness and grief.

“S’not fair!” He shouted into Bucky’s chest. “I don’t wanna die!”

“I know, Steve.” Bucky’s voice wavered. “I don’t want you to go.”

Against his better judgement, Bucky pressed his lips on the top of Steve’s head. He hadn’t done that since they were kids. Whenever Steve scraped his knee, or got a black eye, Bucky kissed his wounds.

“My ma does that for me,” he explained. “It makes the pain go away.” But when they got too old for such childish things, he stopped giving Steve his kisses.

Steve tensed up, and Bucky realized what he had done. The blonde looked up at him, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes wide and questioning. Although he was apprehensive, Bucky brought his hand to Steve’s chin, tilting his head upwards. He brought his own face closer, and kissed near the corners of those beautiful blue eyes, where all Steve’s tears were pooling.

“I don’t want your pity, Buck,” Steve said as he pulled away. “M’not a kid anymore.”

Bucky’s stomach twisted. “How could I ever pity you?” He swallowed thickly before allowing the words to float up and out. “I… I love you, Stevie. So damn much. I know it’s queer and wrong, but I can’t help it. Outta everyone in Brooklyn, New York, fuck even the world… you’re it for me.”

He didn’t expect anything, except for maybe a look of disgust. Instead, Steve buried his face back into Bucky’s chest.

“... is this a fever dream?” he asked. “Am I dreaming this?”

Bucky gulped. “O-Only if you want it to be.” He felt Steve shaking his head.

“No.” Steve looked back up at Bucky, then kissed his cheek. “I don’t want it to be just a dream.”

Before they knew it, they were giving each other small, lingering kisses against each other’s cheeks, each other’s foreheads. They gazed at each other for what felt like an eternity, as if to make up for the time lost due to fear of rejection and hatred. Bucky cupped Steve’s face, stroking his thumb against his cheek.

“Stevie,” he whispered. “Is this okay? Can I… Can I kiss you?”

Steve nodded and closed his eyes. As their lips touched, shivers crawled up Bucky’s spine. He’d kiss many a dame, but those kisses didn’t even come close to this.

“Let’s get some sleep.” Bucky said, pulling away, much to Steve’s disappointment. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, okay?”

Steve open his mouth in protest, but Bucky wouldn’t have it. “You’re gonna wake up in the mornin’ okay? We’re gonna have breakfast with your ma and I’m gonna run down to the store and get ya more charcoal. I’ll even model for you if you want.”

“As if your handsomeness could be captured on paper,” Steve said with a small chuckle.

Bucky snorted. “Sap.”

“But I’m your sap… aren’t I?”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled as his eyes fluttered close. “You are.”

Both of them drifted off the sleep, limbs tangled together. Bucky never felt such joy as the next morning, seeing Steve sitting up in bed, eyes focused on him, with sketchbook in his lap.

#stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #pre serum steve rogers #stevebucky #bucky x steve #steve x bucky #fanfic

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heartslogos · 5 years

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newfragile yellow [609]

Bull’s body is a frustrating source of heat at her back. Even over the sheets and not touching her by more than a hands width she can feel him like someone’s The last she checked he had an arm behind his head and was holding up a book with the other, slowly working his way through it.

She vaguely remembers asking him what it was when she woke up earlier upon noticing him in bed and he’d told her it was a book of poetry. Ellana swears she really was delirious then, but he’d read some out loud to her and even in a fever dream or in the Fade she’s never put those kind of words in his mouth so it must be real. Apparently it’s a book of poetry written by a spy. And there are things to be learned from things made by spies.

Ellana had neither the presence of mind nor the desire to question further in order to gain some semblance of logic, so she went back to sleep.

And now here they are, some time later, Bull still reading, and Ellana slowly going insane.

It’s too hot with him here. But Ellana doesn’t know which is worse — being too hot or not having him there. Because it feels very comfortable to have something solid at her back. Someone.

Him.

Ellana would kick the covers back, but Stitches has been coming in every hour — and if not him, then one of the others — to make sure she’s tucked in and properly covered. Apparently he’s going to have her sweat this out.

Jury is out on if this is working or not. Stitches claims that her chest sounds better, but Ellana feels like she’s roasting underneath these covers and she’s probably sweated through so many clothes that the laundress thinks that Bull’s got an army of women up here.

She wouldn’t be wrong, exactly. It just depends on what time of day it is and what part of the month.

Ellana groans, mouth feeling sticky as she tries to raise her arms up over the sheets and push her hair back and further away from her neck and back.

“Stitches is going to end up having to swaddle you like a baby,” Bull muses, but he makes no move to stop her as she slowly works her way out from underneath the covers. If she’s lucky it’s going to be Grim or Skinner who comes in next and they’re empathetic enough to her suffering that they’d let her get away with it for a while.

“I think I hallucinated God,” Ellana says.

“Which one?”

“The one with a furry ass.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t tell if it was real or not,” Ellana coughs, the motion sending sharp pricks of pain through her chest and throat. “I think he was lecturing me about something. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Some devotee you are.”

“Fuck off.”

“And you ride my ass about being a terrible patient. I’ve never told God to fuck off. Or you for that matter.”

“Do you want a medal for that?”

“Being sick makes you mean,” Bull laughs. “I would enjoy this more if you could do anything beyond mouthing off.”

Ellana groans, trying to sit up.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Ellana feels like she has six arms and forty seven fingers, and about six heads, all of them swimming about as the world wobbles to a stand still. At least one of them has to be a middle finger. And at least one of them has to be in his line of sight.

“You’re just holding up your entire hand.”

Ellana slowly turns her head towards her hand, and with a great deal of concentration that makes her temples pound, makes it so only one finger is standing up.

“That’s my girl.”

“I think I’m dying.”

“That’s what happens when you jump into a frozen lake. I may have done some stupid shit, but at least I’ve never done that.”

“You walk around the fucking mountains in snowstorms without a shirt and I’ve never seen you get this sick. I fell through thin ice once and didn’t dry off immediately and it’s like I’m being thrown past the gates of death by the Twins themselves. It’s unfair.”

“That’s life,” Bull says. “You need to throw up?”

“Well now that you’ve mentioned it.”

A bucket is summarily planted onto her lap, held steady by Bull’s hand.

“You’ve got the bedside manner of a Chantry Sister,” Ellana says dryly, and starts to dry heave into the bucket.

“Learned it straight from the Chantry Sisters,” Bull replies, “I’ve got water for you, too.”

“Do you have anything that can get my eyes to focus on one set of arms?”

“Wolf. You only have one set of arms.”

“Not according to my eyes.” According to Ellana’s eyes she’s got about a million of them all wobbling around at once. “I think my fever is worse. Check me.”

“Wolf, at this point, your fever is so fucking terrible that all I can get from you is that you’re hot. Just hot.”

“Stop checking out my breasts through this oversized tunic and check my temperature.”

“I’m not even looking at you. If there was a tool to measure the temperature of a body it would have hit its highest numbers with you about two days ago. Trust me, if your fever’s gone up at this point it’s passed the threshold where that exact degree matters. You want ice?”

“You mean the thing that got me here in the first place? Do you have to ask me that?”

“There’s a tub of ice waiting for you if you think you can stand without passing out.”

“What’s the point in you doing all those exercises if those arms can’t just carry me and hold me under the water until I die?”

“Wolf.”

“Fine. Yes. I’ll walk. Gods. You read all those books and you can’t have a sense of humor?”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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poorlilbeans · 6 years

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The Grossest Day of Yuuri’s Life

I haven’t figured out how to submit a post to the official page cause i’m an idiot, but here’s my fic for day one of sick days!

Summary: Yuuri, Victor, Phichit, Chris, Yuri and Otabek are stuck in an elevator together and Yuuri is hella sick. (2600 words)

WARNINGS: Vomit, poop, accidents, mild anxiety, crying, fever/delirium, confined spaces, hospital/ambulance mention. Really, this fic is fucking disgusting. Also there are a couple of lines in French, and my French is probably very rusty. Proceed with caution.

Years later, in an interview, Yuuri and Victor would be asked, “What’s the grossest thing that’s ever happened to you?” Yuuri would blush to his toes, laugh bashfully, and Victor would take his hand as the two did their best to recount a somewhat television friendly version of the story. It was just a memory, maybe a little funny in hindsight, and absolutely embarrassing. Currently, however, it was not years later. It was nearly 10pm, and Yuuri was stuck in an elevator with the Stomachache to End All Stomachaches.

They were in Quebec City in the dead of winter- some of the biggest names in figure skating had showed up for this invitational competition. It was a grand two day event, not a part of the grand prix series but still as competitive as ever, all in the name of fun, skating, and good sportsmanship. After free skates were done Victor and Yuuri had gone for a walk around the city, and shared a poutine for lunch before being invited by Chris to a Quebecois sugar shack for dinner. It had been loud and crowded, the cozy restaurant absolutely packed with hungry athletes. Yuuri was absolutely determined to be normal tonight; yes, he had been around people all freaking day, and yes, he was stressed, exhausted, and fighting to ignore a headache. But damn it, he was going to be normal, and he used up all the energy he could muster to socialize, and tuned out J.J’s boring rant about how awful American beer is compared to Canadian beer, how he’d drink a whole litre of the stuff if he didn’t have to drive home tonight, and joined everyone else in indulging in servings of tourtiere, pancakes, and Canadian maple bacon. He suffered in the cold with everyone else learning to roll sticks of snow taffy, and left for the hotel feeling uncomfortably full, but also pretty proud of himself for participating in all this social activity. With some of the younger skaters having left early to go to bed and J.J heading home with Isabella, Yuuri, Victor, Chris, Phichit, Yuri, and Otabek arrived back at the hotel together to spend some time relaxing in one of their rooms.

All of the skaters for this particular competition were housed on the ninth floor. Huddling into the elevator, Yuuri found himself burying his face in Victor’s scarf, dreading spending any time in someone else’s room, or worse, having other people in their room. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. His fingers and toes were tingling, and he felt cold sweat building and dripping under his jacket. In the cab home he’d assumed it was just anxiety- it had been a big day, after all- but now he felt sick and weak, and was feeling symptoms of his anxiety entirely separate from all of that. The lift started moving and Victor was stroking his back, always in tune with how Yuuri was feeling, but somebody else in the elevator knew him at least as well, and wasn’t interested in subtlety the way that Victor was. That somebody poked Yuuri on the butt with a selfie stick to get his attention.

“You don’t have to keep hanging out with everybody if you don’t feel up to it,” Phichit reminded him, poking his butt again when he hesitated to respond. Yuuri managed a half-smile and hip checked the device away from him, biting his lip when the movement sent a ripple of discomfort through his stomach. Phichit’s slightly-louder-than-intended voice had summoned all eyes on him, and Yuuri was working his jaw around an excuse about being tired when the elevator came to a creaking halt, stuck between the seventh and eighth floors. Everyone startled, and Otabek was the first to get his shit together and press the call button. Yuuri gulped, feeling his heart (and stomach) drop straight to his ass. There was a pause, and then a crackling voice sounded through an overhead speaker.

Bonsoir, Hôtel de Jardin Royale. All eyes rested on Chris, and noting he was already absorbed in tweeting about the stuck elevator, Victor rolled his eyes and spoke up.

“Allo, nous avons six personnes dans l’ascenseur, et il ne bouge pas. Aussi, nous sommes internationel. Parlez vous Anglais?” There was another brief pause, followed by:

Un moment, s’il vous plait. There was a clunk as the employee put them on hold, and Chris glanced up from his phone.

“His accent was fucking disgusting,” he commented, before busying himself again in Twitter.

“Your face is fucking disgusting,” Victor replied. Yuuri whimpered in discomfort and Victor brought a gentle hand up to his hair, gently petting him and scratching his scalp.

“What did you say?” Yuuri asked quietly.

“I just told him the elevator stopped and we’re all stuck in here. I think he’s getting someone who speaks English for us.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic,” Yurio snapped. He leveled Yuuri with an accusatory, if a little concerned, look.

“I’m fine, I just-

Hello, this is the hotel manager. Are you all alright up there?

“Hi,” Phichit chirped brightly. “We’re stuck.”

Yes, the engineers are already on their way.

“How quickly can you get us out?” Yuuri asked, and everyone raised their eyebrows. After all, this was basically a phone call, something Yuuri usually Did Not do.

It depends. The engineers will evaluate the problem and whether it’s safe to pull you all out before they get to work. If there is a medical emergency, and it is safe to do so, we can call the fire department to get you down.

“Are you okay?” Victor whispered, meeting Yuuri’s eyes.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” Yuuri wailed. He immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, realizing what he’d just blurted out. “I mean- I…” Yurio was howling with laughter, but everyone else at least looked sympathetic.

“So that’s what’s wrong with you,” Chris chuckled. Yuuri could swear he heard the manager holding back a snicker as well, but maybe it was just his imagination. He hoped.

Unfortunately that doesn’t count as a medical emergency- I couldn’t legally call 911 because you need the washroom. However we’ll do our best to get you out of there as quickly as possible.

Yuuri turned and buried his face in Victor’s scarf again. The pain in his stomach was quickly turning into nausea, and he was feeling weaker and shakier by the second. He zoned out as the manager gave them a generic hang in there and hung up the phone for the time being, only tuning back into reality when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

PHICHIIIT<3- Are you really okay?-

Yuuri glanced up, giving a short nod when Phichit met his eyes. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t look convinced. There was silence for a moment, but Yuri was in the elevator too, so of course it didn’t last.

“So, you need to piss, Katsudon?”

Time was crawling. Yuuri had long since sat on the floor, too exhausted to stand, and Victor sat beside him, helping him out of his coat when he noticed how sweaty he was. Before long everyone else followed suit and made themselves comfortable. At this point Yuuri was swallowing convulsively, and they still had no idea how long their imprisonment would last. Weirdly enough, it was Otabek who finally spoke up.

“Victor, I think Yuuri is going to throw up.” Yuuri felt the weight of everyone’s eyes landing on him, but he just couldn’t muster the I’m fine this time. He was too tired. His stomach hurt too much. He heard Victor sigh, felt him rub his shoulder. He didn’t sound surprised.

“Does anyone have a bag or something?” Victor asked. His voice was low, worried. It was Yuuri’s fault.

“Here, use this.” Yuuri slit his eyes open and watched Phichit pull a couple of maple leaf and fleur de lis keychains and some maple candies out of a shopping bag and pass it to Victor. Victor took Yuuri’s hands, moved them so they held the handles of the bag.

“Just if you need it, okay?” Being given something to puke in instantly made him ten times more nauseous, but Yuuri bit his lip, desperate to suppress it. There was no way he would throw up in front of five other people. No wa-

Fuck.

No.

Yuuri was gagging uncontrollably, desperately swallowing back wave after wave of sick. Victor’s hands were on his back, in his hair, on his hands, making sure the bag was open. His voice was in his ear whispering “just let it out, it’s okay, you’re okay.” He pressed his hand against his mouth and Yuri’s voice floated into his consciousness.

“If he pukes I swear to god.” A wet burp escaped and tasted sickeningly like maple syrup, and that was the last straw. Vomit splashed forcefully into the shopping bag. Yuuri coughed and heaved, and he genuinely didn’t know if the tears pouring down his cheeks were from the strain or the humiliation. Maybe both. He tried taking a deep breath, but it turned into a retch halfway. His entire abdomen clenched against his will, and as he heaved again, hot lava loudly and painfully exited him, straight into his pants and onto the floor. By the time he caught a break everyone was silent, staring in horror. Half delirious, Yuuri wondered if it was obvious he’d just shit his pants. Then there was a crackle above him, and the speaker buzzed to life again.

The engineers are here, and they’re working on fixing the problem. Unfortunately you are stuck between floors, so it looks like they’ll have to repair the elevator to get you back down here. How’s everybody doing up there?

“One of us is really sick,” Phichit answered frantically. “Are you sure you can’t get us out to help him?”

Unfortunately it isn’t safe to try and pull you out, but if you need it I can call an ambulance and have it waiting for him when we get you down.

“He doesn’t need an ambulance, he needs a bed,” Victor sighed. He was running his hand through Yuuri’s hair. It was so cool. So nice. He almost felt like he could fall asleep…

RING RING!

Everyone jumped, and Yuuri snapped awake as Phichit rushed to silence his ringing phone.

“Oh, it’s Ciao Ciao,” he mumbled, sheepishly raising it to his ear. “Hey.”

“Hi, Ciao Ciao!” Yuuri sang. He felt drunk. The unrelenting pain and fever was intoxicating, and somehow, covered in sweat and shit, holding a bag of puke, Yuuri was suddenly feeling surprisingly social. Phichit glanced at him, making no effort to hide the concern in his eyes. Not that Yuuri minded; even high on a boiling brain, he was pretty well aware of what he looked like right now.

“Do you want me to put him on speaker, Yuu?” Yuuri grinned dopily, and Phichit pressed the speaker button, letting the hand holding his phone fall to his lap.

“Where are you two?” came Celestino’s voice, and Phichit rubbed at his eyebrow.

“We’re in a stuck elevator. In the hotel. Say hi, everyone.” Four voices chimed in with a hello, followed by a loud belch out of Yuuri, and a responding gag from Yurio.

“Text me next time, you’re always on your phone after all. Is Yuuri drunk?”

“No, he’s sick, and we’ve been stuck in here for almost an hour,” Phichit sighed.

“I’m not sick,” Yuuri defended, having no idea why he suddenly felt inclined to lie about this. “I just have to go to the bathroom.”

“You already went to the bathroom,” Yurio spat. Yuuri threw him a halfhearted dirty look, but it felt a bit ridiculous given the disgusting mess he was sitting in. Looking up, though, he realized everyone in the elevator looked pale and uncomfortable. Otabek was hiding his nose and mouth in his scarf. Chris had his knees brought up to his face so only his eyes were visible. Yuri was blatantly holding his nose, and Phichit was grimacing as he talked to Ciao Ciao in a low voice. Even Victor was breathing shallowly, coughing to himself as he cuddled Yuuri, hugging the source of the nasty smell like a trooper. Guilt flooded Yuuri’s being all at once, and he was crying before he had a chance to realize how upset he was. Time was racing and crawling at the same time. He could hear Victor talking in his ear, Phichit talking to Ciao Ciao, Yuri saying something to Chris and Otabek in his biting voice, but it all morphed into overwhelming white noise. He could hear his stomach grumbling inside of him- something was still definitely leaking out of the back end of him, and he felt his hands tremble at the thought that he might throw up again. He cried and cried, desperately wanting to stop but unable to even remember what it was like to not be crying. He cried so hard he threw up, and it caught him off guard- only about half the puke actually made it into the bag, the rest coating his hands and lap. Then Victor was wiping his hands with tissues from someone’s bag, but it didn’t even matter because Yuuri felt so utterly disgusting. He was sticky and wet and smelly and after all of this nonsense his stomach was STILL hurting. It wasn’t fair.

By the time the elevator groaned to life the cramping had become too much to handle, and Yuuri had felt everyone’s glares as a second wave of mush filled his pants. He was so dehydrated he ran out of tears, but his hiccupped sobs wouldn’t stop, as hard as he tried to hold them back. Everyone else cheered when the elevator started moving. Yuuri just gagged miserably.

Everyone stumbled desperately out onto the first floor, gasping for fresh air. Yurio ran and puked in the fancy trash can in the lobby. Otabek actually stepped outside for a few minutes. Victor carried Yuuri out, and Phichit carried the sacrificed shopping bag at an arm’s length, depositing it in the garbage once Yuri was out of the way. The engineers were now holding their breath as they continued to work on the faulty elevator. Obviously the cleaning staff would have to be called down as well. The manager was apologizing profusely, offering them all coupons they didn’t want.

“So,” Victor spoke up, “Can I get him up to our room in the other elevator, or is that one going to break down on us too?”

“The other elevator is working just fine. Although given the state of this one, I’d have to request that you do your best not to… make a mess in the working one.

“I won’t,” Yuuri groaned, probably surprising the manager. He looked like he was asleep in Victor’s arms. “I just want to go to sleep.” He felt Victor kiss his head and start off toward the working elevator.

“I’ll come with you,” came Phichit’s voice. Victor startled.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. He’s really not well, and… well, we’ve lived together before. I know it’s hard taking care of him, ‘cause he gets so sick. I can run a bath and buy some ginger ale from the vending machine while you wipe him off.” Yuuri listened and felt affection for his friend well up in his chest. People were so good to him.

“And we’ll take the stairs,” Chris announced cheerfully, prompting quick agreement from Yuri and Otabek. The six split up and Yuuri settled in Victor’s arms, exhausted and ready to be clean and in bed.

#sick days #bodily fluids #w!oi #sick yuuri #sick!yuuri #tw vomit #tw diarrhea #fever #stomach flu #whump #yoi whump #yuuri katsuki #victuuri #my writing

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