#i think i should be able to snap my fingers and make my allergies go away cus this shit sucks i want out

[carcinized]

i think if you have one life threatening allergy you shouldnt also be allowed to have like 30 less serious but very annoying ones

#in the past 2 weeks i discovered first that the weird itchiness i get from cantelope has escalated to my throat nearly closing off #AND that i have a pretty strong reaction to poison oak which ive never had before but still got blisters from secondhand exposure #im scared for when i finally get stung by a bee/yellow jacket/etc. not only am i allergic to everything ever but my cousin has that allergy #the odds are not in my favor there #i think i should be able to snap my fingers and make my allergies go away cus this shit sucks i want out #epipens r expensive man #tobin talks

[sinnoh-research-and-restoration]

She’s out. They did do a test for several common allergies, with no real allergies related to common foods, pollen, or Poke on fur being found thankfully. However she did seem to have a suspected risk of allergies to being stung, and of course a medication allergy was found to be highly likely as you’d expect, so that’s to be considered. She also did get those vaccines, though she did find it concerning that a needle was used to administer them. Other than that, the only real other major thing of note beyond some lingering energy from the spade-time distortion and the memory loss was was noticeable scarring on her arms, legs, and torso, determined to be the result of a number of past encounters with aggressive wild Pokemon. Given how things were during the time of Hisui, it doesn’t take much to figure out why that’s so.

As for the ID, I let her know about that soon after we got back to my house and she quick to accept the need for such identification, though she did seem to think I’d use an old, bulky camera instead of my phone for the picture that will be required. Otherwise, I contacted the local authorities for how to go about the process for a faller, so that details that can’t be easily determined can be dealt with appropriately. As for Pokemon that Arezu came with, she didn’t recall any, though she did have a feeling some would appear if she did a certain action. She tried snapping her fingers once I suggested that as a possibility, but nothing happened beyond a local Snover that was nearby already being amused. Regardless of that, she does seem to agree that she should have at least one Pokemon, so once the authorities get back on the ID, it is going to be a Trainer Card. Hopefully, if she did have a Pokemon she knew also come over, it’s found soon, especially with the cold of the Crown Tundra being a factor.

That's very good. Few allergies will make it easier for her to settle in. The scarring is very likely to be from aggressive wild Pokémon, though it had been recorded that both the Diamond and Pearl clans had a somewhat more harmonious relationship with the local populations than the original Galaxy Team.

Certain recollections like what you've described with the camera will likely happen very often. Though she may not have specific memories, she is still aware of what her 'Usual' is. She may not be able to describe why something feels familiar, or why she, as you said, thought the camera used to take her photo would be large and bulky, but she still has a sense of what is 'Right' or 'Wrong' for her. Think of it like a form of Deja vu.

For her Pokémon, you could show her a list of Sinnohan or known Hisuian Pokémon, as that may prove to be a trigger for some of her memories. It is likely that, at the very least, she will be able to tell you what Pokémon seem familiar.

#Ask SRRF #pokemon irl #pokemon rp

[aurumacadicus]

@winterironmonth prompt -- SFW Thursday: Word

Word: Honey

I learned about Hot Honey and I’m never looking back, my guys. Could almost be nsfw except when given the choice between Humor and Horny I almost always choose Humor. Also the reason Tony does not immediately know that it was Bucky is because Bucky prefers peanut butter on toast but all they had left after the first half a loaf was extra crunchy and he likes his smooth.

--

Tony stared into his empty honey jar with a deep frown. It had been half-full yesterday, and it wasn’t a small jar. He tapped his finger against the side of the jar as if it would make the honey reappear. He had no idea who could have taken it. He kept it up in his personal kitchen, not the common one, and he was the only one with a sweet tooth in the house. And no one had made a recipe that required honey, otherwise a piece would have been left in his workshop for him. He wouldn’t have even noticed it was gone, except it had been left next tot he toaster.

Tony lifted the jar up to the light. All that was left was a teaspoon on the bottom. “Someone is in for a very bad time,” he said.

“Should I warn them, Sir?” JARVIS asked. He didn’t sound very sympathetic though.

“Nah, they’ll figure it out eventually,” Tony decided. He was sort of offended that the person had not even bothered to ask. He would have been able to tell them no, or warn them, or even offered to have a bottle couriered over for them. “Life’s natural consequences.”

“Very good, Sir,” JARVIS replied.

“Order another jar of this, too, please,” Tony added. “And a big red ‘don’t touch’ sticker.”

There was a pause as JARVIS put the order through, and then he helpfully answered, “Done, Sir. Shall I keep my cameras peeled?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Tony said cheerfully. Natural consequences were always good to watch later.

.-.

Tony was surprised to be called to medical. Literally no one on the team liked going there. But apparently Bucky had collapsed on his run with Steve and Steve had literally picked him up and sprinted him back to the tower, so Bucky hadn’t really had a choice. The doctors were concerned enough that they wouldn’t let him go afterward.

“It’s not that bad,” Bucky complained as the doctors fretted over his low blood pressure and irregular heartbeat.

“If you didn’t have the serum you’d be in a bad way for sure,” one of the doctors deadpanned.

“And you think he could have been poisoned?” Steve asked anxiously, staring at the readings on all the machines Bucky had been hooked up to. “Tony, we might need JARVIS to go over video footage for intruders.”

“No need,” Tony told him cheerfully. “He poisoned himself.”

Everyone in the room stopped. Turned to look at him. Stared.

Finally, Bucky sucked in a breath and snapped, “What do you mean, I poisoned myself?!”

“Not on purpose. But you did eat the rest of my hot honey,” Tony explained, crossing his arms. He didn’t even bother trying to hide his grin.

Bucky stared at him, bewildered. Finally, he said, “That honey wasn’t spicy at all.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, still grinning. “Ah huh. And yet here you are.”

“Wait, wh—did Bucky suddenly become allergic to honey?” Steve asked, horrified. Whether it was because he was afraid Bucky would go into anaphylactic shock if a bee buzzed by too close or he was terrified he also might develop allergies with the serum was a tossup.

“What kind of honey did you say it was again, Mr. Stark?” one of the doctors asked.

“Hot,” Tony said.

“What kind of peppers were u—” the doctor began.

One of the nurses was staring at him as if he’d just struck her. “Mr. Stark please this is absolutely more than I wanted to know.”

“You wouldn’t know about it if Bucky asked before taking my things,” Tony told her, smug.

“Dr. Stevens, Sergeant Barnes has overdosed on Viagra,” the nurse said, turning toward him.

The doctors and nurses froze again. Steve stared at Tony for a moment, then just turned and walked from the room.

“WHY DO YOU HAVE HONEY WITH VIAGRA IN IT,” Bucky bellowed, and a nurse slapped an oxygen mask on him while he was distracted.

“It was given to me by an old flame who went into the honey business,” Tony answered with a careless shrug. “I use it when—”

“Mr. Stark,” one of the other doctors snapped.

Tony held his hands up and took a step back, because there were a bunch of scalpels in their arms’ reach. “Anyway, it’s usually polite to ask before taking someone’s things.”

“You literally told me ‘what’s mine is yours’ when I moved into the penthouse,” Bucky began.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “It’s got a warning label. I had half a jar left anyway, and it’s all gone. Why’d you eat so much?”

“Steve and I were running a marathon today. I was loading up on carbs,” Bucky replied with a shrug. “Is there anything else I should know about in your kitchen?”

“Everything else like this is in the bedroom so no.” Tony paused, considering, then asked, “When you say loading up on carbs—”

“I ate that whole loaf of bread, yeah,” Bucky said. “I was gonna buy you another on the way home, but, you know. I passed out.”

“You literally deserve everything that’s happened to you, you fucking asshole,” Tony told him, because that was the bread he used for sandwiches and now he had nothing for lunch. He supposed he could get bread from the communal kitchen or wait for a courier, but he figured it would help teach Bucky for not reading labels if he nursed a grudge for a minute. Also they only had white and rye bread in the communal kitchen and he preferred his special seed bread.

“I’ll go get you some bread when this wears off,” Bucky said.

“It’s gonna take a while. It’s a slow-release thing,” Tony told the doctors helpfully.

Bucky groaned, loudly.

“You deserve this,” one of the nurses told him, and then prodded him to test his reflexes probably a little harder than necessary.

“I agree,” Tony told him without sympathy, and Bucky groaned again.

#aurumacadicus writes #winterironmonth #winteriron #long post

[ptergwen]

" i got you some flowers. but, if you have allergies, i also got fake flowers! just in case. " w peter parker 🥺

w/c: 0.6k

a/n: oh god this was made for him 😭 shedding real tears

-

there isn’t a soul on this earth that’s as caring as peter parker. if there is, you certainly haven’t met them. every little thing he says or does has thought and sincerity behind it.

peter’s kindness, his cheesy sense of humor, and his infectious smile all made it easy to fall for him. you went from being new friends to constantly pining after him in literally an instant. however, you weren’t alone in that.

it’s no secret peter collects crushes like pokémon, but you? his feelings for you chew him up and swallow him whole. if he hadn’t confessed them the other day, he was sure he’d die or worse.

thanks to peter’s dramatics, you two are going out on your first official date. you’d decided to meet at the park and take a stroll to get ice cream. you’re extremely excited yet a tad bit nervous for it. peter is always nervous around you, so he should be able to manage.

peter is already at the park when you arrive. he’s sat on a bench, his leg bouncing up and down while he anxiously surveys the area.

in your short time of knowing peter, you’ve learned that punctuality is his biggest struggle. the fact that he actually arrived early for you makes your heart soar.

“pete!” you call, walking over to the bench with a grin. peter’s head snaps in the direction of your voice. he returns your smile and adds a quick wave. “hey, y/n/n. i kept your seat warm, sit,” he pats the spot next to him.

obliging, you scoot close until your knee is touching peter’s. it subconsciously makes him steady his leg.

“you’re on time, huh? that’s new,” you observe. “hope i didn’t make you wait too long.” peter purses his lips cutely, poking your arm in reassurance. “no, not at all! besides, it’d be about time i got a taste of my own medicine.” you giggle at his words and lay your head on his shoulder. “hm, i can’t disagree.”

warmth radiates throughout peter, his scent of lavender flooding your senses as he drapes his arm around your waist. you’ve got a hunch he’s the most incredible at cuddling. you can’t wait to find out for sure.

“oh! before i forget…” peter suddenly breaks the comfortable silence. “i have something for you. hang on.” he reaches onto his other side, fumbling with a plastic bag to retrieve the mystery item. you chew on your lip to suppress another smile.

“gifts already? i think you skipped a couple stages,” you tease. peter exhales a breathy laugh. “calm down, missy. this one’s first date appropriate,” he assures you, his cheeks tinted pink when he turns back.

your playful demeanor changes upon seeing the bouquet of flowers peter holds out for you. it’s bright yellow daisies, the plastic they’re in patterned with butterflies and hearts. god, could he be any more adorable?

“i got you some flowers,” peter explains. you wrap your arms around the arrangement and hug it to your chest. “but, if you have allergies, i also got fake flowers! just in case,” his explanation quickly becomes rambling. he starts to dig through the bag for the plastic ones. “y’know, so no pressure because i could always-“

“they’re beautiful, peter,” you interject, grabbing peter’s hand in yours. “thank you so much! you’re ridiculously sweet. like, it’s unreal.” your fingers trace over his palm lightly. peter properly locks your fingers together. feeling bold, he leaves a light kiss on the back of your hand. “no problem, y/n/n. you deserve it.”

the blush coating his features brings a grin to your lips. “i’ll get you back,” you murmur. “order all the ice cream you can eat, on me.” peter scoffs, resting your intertwined hands in his lap. may raised him better than to let a girl pay on date one. “no way! i’m buying, whether you like it or not.”

again, there isn’t a soul on this earth that’s as caring as peter parker.

#peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you

[missdawnandherdusk]

The Boy Who Lived

Reader X Draco

Summary: A few months after the war, Draco gets attacked and left barely alive in St. Mungo’s. They refuse to treat him or take his money. You have a few things to say about that. 

A/n: Look at me writing! And I’ve really been meaning to write something like this for quite some time because it is so soft and fluffy with only mild angst if you squint. Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy and let me know what you think! I miss talking with y’all. 

“He... he’s gonna be okay, right?”

My heart feel when I heard the news. No matter how much I loathed the youngest Malfoy, hearing that he was in St. Mungo’s because some ne’er do well thought that the boy deserved to be tortured to almost death for what his family had done. My eyebrows furrowed as I parted from the small group of Alumni Gryffindors and watched the city behind the windowpane. I could hear the soft murmurs of Harry Hermione and Ron discussing it.

“Oh, come on Ron really!?” Hermione shouted.

“Well it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it!” Ron argued back.

“Deserves it?” I snapped turning. “Yes, I’m sure he deserved to be killed. An eighteen-year-old who fought on the wrong side of the war but walked away for his family! What would you give for your family Ron!?”

The golden trio stared at me, Hermione grinning and the other two looking dumbfounded. Not that it ever took much.

“So, your defending him?” Harry asked, his voice barely restrained.

“I don’t know, Harry,” I rubbed my face. “But I won’t stand here listening to how he deserved to be tortured for being loyal to his family,” my voice dropped ice as Ron’s gaze was focused on the floor. “I’m heading out,” I huffed, grabbing a coat.

“Where?” Harry stood. “You’re going to go see him aren’t you!?”

“Yes,” my voice was calm and soft as I paused at the door. “Maybe you’d like to join? Make sure he isn’t up to something?”

Flustered, Harry didn’t respond as I stepped outside and apparated to St. Mungo’s. The receptionist at the desk was genuinely baffled when I asked for Malfoy.

“Well, Miss, no one has gone and seen him. We were barely able to ID him. Do you think you could answer a few questions for us?”

“Uh, I can do my best? I don’t know him that well to be honest,” 

She nodded and started to prattle off questions.

“Middle name?”

“Lucius,”

“Mother’s maiden name?”

“Black? I think?”

“Allergies?”

“For Merlin’s sake I don’t know,” I huffed. “I’m just here to visit him,”

“I apologize miss, but we’re not sure what to give him to medicate him. We’d hate to give him something he might react poorly too,”

“I understand,” My temper diminished. “He likes apples,” a smile touched my face. “And I think he’s allergic to feathers?”

“Feathers?”

I shrugged as she scribbled something down on her notepad. “Alright Miss, thank you for the help. He’s on the fourth floor,”

I nodded and swallowed thickly, heading up to the permanent spell damage ward. I had only been here one other time, with Neville one Christmas to see his parents. It was different being here alone and being here for Malfoy of all people.

“Malfoy,” I gave the nurse. He led me to an estranged cot near the window.

It would be a lie if I said I hadn’t gawked at the sight before me. I had seen my fair share of injured and mangled bodies with the war, but this... this seemed unnatural.

His chest was thickly wrapped, red seeping through. His arms and shoulders not faring much better. I was thankful that he was half covered by a sheet. But despite the wounds that no doubt lingered beneath the white cotton, nothing could compare to the deep gash that drove down the left side of his face, distorting his features and pulling his lips down into a permanent grimace. His cheeks were hollowed out with malnourishment and his once creamy pale skin was deathly and translucent.

Tears stung my eyes as I wrapped my arms around myself. No matter how much Malfoy irked me, he didn’t deserve this.

“Are you his girlfriend then?” The nurse asked. 

“Stars, no.” I gasped. “Just... an old friend.”

“You’re both a little young to have old friends,” the nurse muttered. “Poor kid. Barely dragged himself here before collapsing in a puddle of his own blood.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I took a step closer to the hospital cot, nearing his upper half and the chair that was my destination. I winced in taking off my coat, the buttons tangled in my hair.

“Is he gonna make it?” My voice was hoarse as the question slipped out.

“If they can figure out who to bill. The Healers don’t want to heal a Death Eater much less a Malfoy.”

“Are you bloody joking?” I demanded standing promptly. “He’s just a kid! And...” I growled menacingly. “He’s going to die if he doesn’t get the medical attention he needs, now.”

“Well, ma’am, I... I can get a Healer in here but—” the nurse stammered. “It won’t be much use without a patron,”

With one final glance to Draco I hissed:

“You’re looking at his patron. Now get him a damn healer.”

Collapsing on the chair again, I sighed, mourning my savings account. I had spent a long time waiting tables and doing odd jobs, determined to move far away after school and the war finished. But it looked like that would have to wait. Besides. He was a Malfoy. If I really wanted to, I could finagle the money back from him when this was all said and done.

A Healer rushed in and ushered me out, despite my protests. I ended up back down at the receptionist desk.

“I thought you didn’t know him that well?” She asked, raising an eyebrow as I gave her my bank info.

“I don’t,” I huffed. “But I couldn’t let him die. Not because the Healers refuse to—”

 She just smiled at me.

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

“You what!?” Ron and Harry demanded.

“Have you gone mental!?” Ron shouted.

“They were going to let him die!” I roared. “You didn’t see him! It was worse than what Harry did to him!”

That shut both boys up.

Hermione wrapped an arm around me and led me to the sofa. Ron huffed and left the room. Harry however sat on the adjacent armchair.

“He’s really that bad?” The question was barely heard.

“It’s awful, Harry. He’s got a gash down the left side of his face... it’s going to scar no matter what they do,” I confessed to my hands.

“Dark Magic tends to scar,” Harry murmured. “And they... they didn’t treat him because he was a Death Eater?”

I nodded and rubbed my face.

“What else was I supposed to do?” It was the question that had been running through my head. “I couldn’t let him die,”

“And rightfully so,” Hermione encouraged. 

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

Every day that followed, I visited Draco. Sitting at his bedside. Each day he looked a little healthier. A little more color returned under his skin. A little more weight filled out his sunken cheeks. A little less blood was seeping through his bandages. One day I came in and the left side of his face was bandaged properly. I felt a pang of fury knowing that if it had been done sooner, there was less of a possibility of scarring but whoever decided he was worth killing among the Healers, also decided he was worth scarring. The anger faded and it left unshed tears in my eyes.

“Oh, what did you get yourself into, Draco?” I murmured.

Hesitantly I reached out for his hand. It was cold under my warm fingers. Experimentally, I felt more of his skin that was still like ice no matter where my fingers met the softness of it.

The next day I brought in a quilt and draped it over the bedsheet.

“That should keep you warm,” I murmured though I knew he couldn’t hear me. “You’ll get better soon,” it was a weak promise.

Somehow it became a part of my routine. I’d spend hours with Draco as he laid there unconscious and healing. Sometimes I’d read to him or just lament about my day—anything from Ron’s ridiculousness to what I had for breakfast, or even the flowers I noticed growing on the roadside. I did it because I knew he couldn’t hear me. I did it because he was almost easier to talk to than anyone else.

“You’re not so bad when you’re not talking,” The thought of him glaring at me for daring to say such a thing, made me smile to myself.

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

“He’s awake,” the receptionist informed me one day.

I didn’t reply as I ran up the stairs and burst into the long room where Draco remained. A fit of nervousness washed over me. Even though I had spent the last few weeks talking to Draco, he was still the same person he was when he went under.

Yet, I couldn’t deny how elated I was to see a grey eye meet mine, the other still trapped beneath gauze.

“Stars, Draco,” I smiled in spite of myself. The tears the stung my eyes were involuntary as well. “I know you probably don’t want to see me, but you have no idea how good it is to see that you’re awake,” I whispered, then turned and left.

Agony tore through me that night, knowing I had dug myself a grave to lie in. I kept myself away from the hospital for two days before in the middle of the night I arrived, not bothering with reception. There was no point in my lying awake staring at my ceiling when I could be at the place that kept me awake in the first place.

I knew that Draco would be asleep when I pushed the door open. The bandages from around his face had been removed, a faded pink line distorting and carving a path down his face. And I had been correct. He was asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically as breaths were drawn through parted lips. My quilt was still draped over him.

“I hate to make this all about me,” I sat beside him and spoke softly. “But who am I supposed to talk to... what am I supposed to do, if there’s no you? You’re the only one who listened...” I scrubbed my face.

“How daft is that? Craving someone to talk to while they’re in a coma? I should be happy that you’re getting better, but... that just means I lose you faster in another sense,” I studied his peaceful face. “Not that you’d ever know... or care.” I sighed and looked out the window at the stars about the sleeping city.

“I’m sorry, I never meant...” I huffed, rubbing my face. “Sleep well Draco, you’ll... you’ll get better soon.” I paused. “But I’m not too sure about me,”

Grey eyes watched me as I left.

It was another day that I avoided the hospital, before succumbing again. The receptionist eyed me warily.

“Did Mr. Malfoy forget something?” She asked. 

“Uh...” I drew a blank. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh stars,” The papers in her hands began to reorder themselves. “He checked out this morning, under the pretense that he would be allowed home if he had a caretaker. He listed you,” She handed me a random document and sure enough in Draco’s elegant script was my name.

“That lying Slytherin bastard!” I shouted, then sheepishly handed her the paper back. “Anything I need to know to take care of him?”

“He has potions with him, he needs to take them every morning and evening with or without food. He needs his bandages changed daily. He shouldn’t be walking and shouldn’t stress himself out too much in fear of a relapse,” She handed me another pamphlet of rules. “And absolutely no magic. It’s going to affect his healing process,”

“The little twat,” I muttered. “Thank you,” I smiled kindly before stepping outside and apperating to the Manor, a place I had been only a handful of times.

“Draco!” I shouted, bursting through the grand front doors. “You know it’s one thing to lie the receptionist, but I paid for your sorry ass! You can at least tell me that you left the hospital! Or return my blanket!”

“M-m-miss,” A house elf stammered, appearing at my side. “Please, Master Draco is asleep,” 

“Take me to him,” I growled.

“Y-yes ma’am,”

Again, all of my anger seemed to fade at the sight of Draco. He appeared absolutely ghastly. His grey eyes were trained on me, only barely open, as if it were too much effort for him. My blanket was draped over the large bed, looking out of place amongst the expensive silks and linens. I took a sharp breath in and let out an annoyed sigh.

“Hey there, drama queen,” It was barely a whisper as I sat on the edge of his bed. “What were you thinking? Checking yourself out like that? You’re not well enough to take care of yourself,”

There was a sort of fire that returned to his eyes at my words, though he made no attempt to speak.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I rolled my eyes. “You know I’m right,” His gaze dropped, almost as if he were pouting.

“I don’t like this anymore than you do,” I muttered. “But you need to get better, and you can’t do that alone. Not this.”

His eyes closed as if he were ignoring me, but his breathing evened out and I knew he had fallen asleep. A soft smile touched my face. Without the scar that distorted his features, it was almost as if nothing had changed. Almost as if there was no war. There was peace on his face. An innocence. All disrupted by an angry flushed gash.

The house elf informed me that he has taken the vial as he was instructed to earlier, and though night had barely settled in the sky, I was wary to leave him alone in the Manor. My eyes drifted to the chaise lounge that was in the corner of the lush room. Sighing, I stood, wandering to the room next door—thankful that it was another bedroom—and located pillows and a blanket. As comfortable as I could be, I settled onto the chaise and kept an eye on Draco until my eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

I was nudged awake. By the same house elf that attended to me the night before. I panicked when I saw Draco’s bed was empty and made.

“Master Draco wishes me to inform you that he is in the den downstairs, and wondered if you’d like to join him for breakfast,”

I gaped at the house elf.

“Uh, sure?” I scrubbed my face. “I’ll be down in a moment, thank you,” 

“Yes, Miss,”

Sure enough, Draco was downstairs, in a silk emerald housecoat, scanning the Daily Prophet like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Is there anything that you own that isn’t green or black?” I drawled softly, taking a seat in the adjacent armchair.

“Good morning,” His voice was as tires on grovel or perhaps the groaning of a whomping willow.

“So, he does talk,” I offered a small smile.

He took a careful sip of what I assumed was tea. The house elf set out another mug for me, pouring the hot water over the small bag of dried leaves.

“You said you preferred when I didn’t,” His voice was less strained after the tea.

“Suppose I did,” I hummed, fixing the rest of my tea to my liking. “Doesn’t mean it’s not good to hear your voice though,”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes trained forward, through the window panes overlooking how autumn had conquered the rest of the Manor.

“So, how are we going to do this?” He finally said. “You’re too stubborn to leave me on my own,”

I wanted to argue, but he was right. I was too stubborn.

“I... I can come in the mornings and evenings. I’ll change your wrappings and make sure you take your potions... do you need me here more than that?”

He shook a seldom ‘no.’

“I... should be off then,” I stood. “Thank you for the tea. I’ll be over around seven tonight?”

He didn’t comment as I made my way out. I hated myself but I counted down the hours until seven arrived. At work, at home, at lunch, all of my thoughts meandered back to how long it would be until I could see Draco again.

____________________________

Draco hated being reliant on anyone. He hated that he was weak. He hated that he couldn’t make it up the stairs without help. He hated the scar that pierced the left side of his face. He hated the face in the mirror regardless. He hated that you kept coming back. He hated that he wanted you to keep coming back. He hated that he had heard every word that you spoke to him while he was healing. He hated that you had said them. He hated that even when he was asleep, he could still hear your voice.

He hated that when he heard your voice pipe up in the house again promptly at seven, his heart fluttered.

He hated that you helped him up the stairs and into his room. He hated that you lead him to his lavish bathroom and sat him on the counter and began to undo his wrappings with such concentration that you seemed to tune his stammering heart out.

“Stars, Draco,” You murmured after unwrapping his left arm bandage.

He winced involuntarily. To be fair it looked a lot better than when they had first gouged the Dark Mark off his skin. And perhaps some part of him was grateful. All that was left was a skin graft and a scar in the shape of the Dark Mark, raised and angry like the line on his face.

“Dark magic always leaves a scar,” The words tumbled from your lips as your warm fingers brushed over the raised skin. He hated how he shuddered at the touch.

With all of his bandages gone—despite that his bottom half was still clothed—Draco felt bare, if not completely nude before you. He hated that too. Your eyes trialed over his chest and the marred skin that now belonged to him. Your gaze dragged up his shoulders, his neck, up the slice on his cheek, until your warm eyes settled on his.

There wasn’t pity in your eyes. Nor sadness. But rather understanding, and comfort. He hated that he noticed.

Wordlessly, you turned and began to draw a bath, filling it with what looked like a chance bath salt to you, but was the one his mother had once used for him, when he was young, and she was home. The scent quickly began to overpower the smell of sweat and soiled gauze and the hospital smell that lingered on his skin.

“I... Call if you need me,” You stammered and rushed out of the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. Maybe he hated that you left.

The warm bath water and the familiar scent calmed him greatly. It soothed the ache in his muscles and bones. As he draped the water over his skin, washing away the past few weeks. He so desperately wanted to wash you away too, but you lingered on him like the scars he couldn’t ever heal.

An excruciating pain shocked his system as he reached up to wash his hair.

“No, no, no, no,” He groaned, trying again and reaping the same results. “Oh, this is so not fair!”

“Draco?” There was a soft knock on the door. “Everything alright?”

He glared at the door; the words trapped behind pursed lips. He loathed this.

“I need help,” He growled.

Your head peered in, a gentle look on your face. You weren’t laughing at him or teasing him. You looked genuinely concerned.

“What do you need?”

“I... I can’t wash my hair,” He muttered.

“Do... do you want me...?” The question was timid. He didn’t remember the last time he had seen you timid.

He nodded.

With a few well-placed bubbles and some shifting, you entered the bathroom and rounded the tub. He directed you to the correct soaps and lathers. Before you began, your eyes darted around the room, trying to locate something. You rose and took one of the empty ornate cups on his sink. It had once held flowers or something, but it had been emptied for months. Flowers didn’t grow in the presence of Dark Magic. You rinsed it in the sink and took your position behind him again. He didn’t have the energy to question you.

Draco never thought how calming having someone else wash his hair would be. The glass you had taken from the sink was filled carefully with bath water and cascaded over his head and shoulders as your free hand kept the water from his face. Your fingers massaged his favorite lather into his hair, and he had to be careful not to let out an involuntary groan. You hummed softly as you worked, to fill the silence. Again, water flowed down his head, clearing the lather from his hair and into the water around him. Draco closed his eyes and relaxed as you reached for the oils, not afraid in your company. This time your fingers carded the oil through his hair.

He hated that he enjoyed it so much. He hated that it was over too soon. He hated that you simply got up and left when you were finished without a word and left him, half asleep, feeling incomplete without your soft lullaby or your hands in his hair.

He hated that you combed his hair for him. He hated that you were silent as you reapplied his bandages. Your eyes focused on the task at hand and not his racing heart.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” He loathed that the most.

In the morning, you undid his bindings and applied the healing balm that the doctor had sent him home with before wrapping him up again. You gently brushed his hair and ran gel through it, coiffing it like he used to. Somehow it looked different when you did it.

You rarely spoke a word as the days passed. Your morning and nightly routine with him becoming a ritual that he craved. To feel safe with you near. To relax even for just a moment for nightmares and terrors plagued his sleep. To feel more like himself, even if things would never be the same. You treated him the same. Despite the foul scars that plagued his skin.

He hated that you kept leaving.

“You’re dressed,” A smile rose on your face as you walked in one crisp winter morning. “I thought I’d never see you rid the house coat,” It was the most you had said to him since he had been unconscious.

“I thought I’d try,” Draco ran his fingers over the soft cotton of the dress shirt. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had with the buttons,”

A soft chuckle left your lips as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Is this where it ends then?”

The words shattered him more than torture ever could. He hated the thought. He hated the somber look on your face.

“Y/n, I...” Draco loathed fumbled his words.

“No, I guess this was... this was always going to end.” Your eyes didn’t meet his. “I should have just paid and left.” There was regret in your voice. Regret that he misread.

“So, you’re here for the money then?” His voice raised against his better judgement. “Is that why you kept coming back?” He couldn’t deny how deeply that wound pierced.

“What? No! It was never about the money!” Your voice raised as well. “If it was about the money don’t you think the first thing I would have done was gone to Paris to demand it from your parents!?”

“Then what was it about!? Some vendetta!? Something to goad over me!? As if you don’t have enough already!” He was gripping onto the stair railing tightly, his body threatening to collapse any moment.

“Merlin’s sake, I couldn’t let you die!” The tears he never say you shed, finally fell in front of him. “They were going to let you die!” Your head shook in denial as you pressed your arms around yourself, as it if would stop the tremors that shook your frame.

“You should have let them kill me!” He roared and you gawked at him—finally a reaction response to how he appeared. “It would make your life so much easier!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!?” You paced up the first few steps of the staircase, closer to him.

_________________________

I watched the light fade from his eyes.

“Draco!?” My anger turned to fear as his arm gave out and he fell to the step he was on. My close proximity allowed me to prevent him from tumbling down the stairs further.

“Stars, Draco,” I wept pulling him into my arms. He was out cold. “Don’t, don’t die on me, please,” I couldn’t stop my tears now.

I gathered him into my arms and with great difficulty, trudged upstairs, collapsing beside him on his bed. Righting myself, I gently brushed the hair away from his eyes.

“I don’t want this to end,” I confessed. “I don’t want to leave you, Draco,” I wiped away my tears. “Merlin, you have no idea how much I love you. That’s why I kept coming back,” I pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

I must have fallen asleep beside him because I was woken by a whimper and cry. A desperate plea for someone to stop. A guttural cry of mercy.

“Draco!?” I was wide awake and alert. “Draco! Wake up!” I shook his shoulder as gently as possible.

Petrified grey eyes met mine, filled with tears and terror. Not a beat passed before he pulled me close and clung to me, sobbing into my shoulder. After the moment of initial shock, I wrapped my arms around him, cradling him against me. His cries tore deep wounds in my soul. The desperation and agony that they possessed.

“Don’t. Don’t leave me,” He hiccupped through tears. “Please, I don’t want this to end,”

I ran my fingers softly through his hair, leaving soft promises of new beginnings in their wake. It was enough to lull us both back to sleep.

When sunlight crept through the windows, my eyes fluttered open, to see grey ones studying me. 

“Hello,” His voice was soft, his arm draped around me.

“Good morning,” A soft smile touched my lips as I sat up. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Draco sat up—without wincing. “Did you mean it? What you said?”

“Mostly likely yes, but which part are you referring to?” I teased softly, working on the buttons of his shirt to free him of the tight article of clothing.

“You’re gonna stay?”

“Well, not here probably, but as in I’m going to keep coming back, yes,” My fingers traced old and new scars.

“And this isn’t the end?”

“Not particularly,” I watched him shudder as I ran my fingers over his collarbone—something I had noticed months before and used against him now.

“And you love me,”

My fingers left his skin promptly as my eyes flashed to his. 

“Yes,”

.

Part Two

.

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @memalfoy-spidey @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise  @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie @xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel @darcypotter-blog @atomicpunkrock @thiccheerioss @lottie289 @boredashaeck @beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @deadlynyghtshayde @iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle @dragonsandbread  @okaydraco @the-queen-of-hell-things @cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter @angelotakunerd08 @thisisahugemistake @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @cleopatera @ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @peters-legos @quillsareforwriting @ghostlytoadalmondhairdo​ @wollymalfoy​ @lilpieceoftoast​  @paper-cats​ @floweryjh​ @sdicapriox​ @slothgirl22​ @peachesandpinks​ ​ @hufflautia​ @livize75​ @annie-mcl​ @riathearora​ @live-like-luna​ @justathoughtfulangel​ @coconutdawn​ @skteaiy​ @wannabeskinny-thinspo​ @naughtygranger​ @queenofmankind​ @dragonsandbread​ @abundantxadorations​ @moony-artnstuff​ @myforeveryoungblog​ @and-then-a-girl-with-luv​ @1-800-luvsick​ @pandas-rice-field​ @strawberriesonsummer​ @jjustsomerandomgirl​ @mrvlfangirl3190​ @in-slytherin-we-trust​ @emmaa-t​ @introvertedrae​ @infinity1o1​ @stoleurmomsvan​ @echpr​ @sunkissed-hufflepuff​ @dekulover​ @marshmallowtraver​ @cereuselle​ @lonely-skywalker​ 

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco x gryffindor!reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x #hermione granger #gryffindor #slytherin x gryffindor #draco lucius malfoy #redeem draco malfoy #redeem slytherin #draco malfoy redemption #harry potter #harry potter reader insert #harry potter rewrite #ron weasley #hogwarts #the boy who lived #slytherin #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #draco x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #slytherin x hufflepuff #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #ravenclaw x slytherin

[magicman111]

A Moth to a Flame - Chapter Two

One month later

Sasha joylessly toyed with the Music Box, opening its lid like a yawning mouth.

Who’d have thunk it? She wondered to herself. This tacky little thing could cause so much calamity?

How ludicrously out of place she looked curled up on King Andrias’ enormous throne, almost like the little girl playing pretend in the driver’s seat of her parents’ car. You’d be forgiven for not knowing she’d just led the swiftest, easiest toppling of a government in this world’s history.

Big blue dummy locked up? Check. The city’s army surrendered? Check. Their toad army less than an hour away? Check. Dimension-skipping Macguffin firmly in their position? Double Check.

Not a bad day’s work for a 13-year-old.

Marcy’s oversized sparrow was tethered to the armrest by his leg. A prize she’d taken for herself so she could cruise around her new kingdom in style. She saw to it he wasn’t under any duress, and the fact he was neck deep in an industrial sized bag of bird feed told her he was plenty comfortable.

Sasha managed a tiny smile as she reached out to run her fingers through the thickness of his coat. She dunked her hand in the bag and offered him an open palm of seeds; he eyed for a moment or two before gingerly pecking at the mound.

Thank Frog no one was around to hear the ‘d’aww’ escape her lips.

Her grandmother was the one she had to thank for her secret admiration of birds. Old lady had been a birdwatcher who ‘treated’ her to regular weekend trips into the forest when she was younger. This was long before her discovery of malls and arcades. Sasha wouldn’t dare admit it to even herself back then, but the ones they spotted together on those dewy spring mornings were beautiful to behold in their natural habitat.

Herons may now be forever ruined for her, but Joe—she thought that was his name—was a mighty impressive specimen. Poor guy somehow found the strength to carry all seven of them to Newtopia, only to nosedive into the moat at the end of the flight.

Definitely had nothing to do with her asking Marcy if she could take the reins in the last stretch. She and Anne were kind enough not to draw attention to it, same as they did the day at summer camp when they discovered her crying into her pillow. They were awesome enough to go along with her story that it was only allergies. She knew she had a true pair of girlfriends that morning.

Thinking about them only soured her mood afresh. She sprinkled the rest of the feed back into the bag and slumped against the backrest, arms petulantly crossed.

Here she was in the crowning moment of her young life and she couldn’t have been more miserable.

Maybe because her friends should have been here to share in this, but no, they had to go and act all noble. What else should she have expected? She always was the only one in the group with the guts. Anne had to be dragged kicking and screaming to ditch school and join her and Marcy in celebrating her birthday. Was it any wonder she had to keep taking control of the situation?

More likely... it was because deep down she knew she didn’t really want this. She certainly believed she did after they dropped that gloryhound newt general down a waterfall and when they successfully rallied the Toad Lords after retrieving Barrel’s Warhammer. Things only started getting complicated when they needed free tickets into Newtopia in the form of her friends.

She hadn’t counted on realising just how much she missed her clumsy, klutzy Marcy. Neither how effectively she and Anne were still able to work together as a team in spite of all the unpleasantness that had transpired between them during their time here, of which there was plenty. The fact that Anne actively encouraged her in taking down that molten toad monster was the rancid cherry atop the sludge sundae. For a while back there, it looked like they might really turn a corner and start afresh. All three of them could have gone home like none of this ever happened. Except by then it was already too late.

What recourse did she have when the Plantars invited them for the world’s most awkward dinner party or when they brought the house down at the Battle of the Bands? Tell Grime and all the toads who’d invested their manpower and futures in her that sorry, she was getting cold feet? There was only one grizzly way that would end both for her and Grime and the best scenario she could imagine involved heads on pikes.

... It didn’t matter anymore. Her friends had picked their path, she’d picked hers. As her mom always said, ‘You make your bed, you lie in it’. Funny how in her short life, she’d heard that line far too many times already.

Once she figured out how the Box worked, she’d send both Anne and Marcy on their merry way and they’d never have to see each other ever again.

Everyone would get what they want.

Good thing then she’d sent her soldiers to ransack Marcy’s room for all her research about Anne’s fateful birthday gift. Girl was a pack rat. She kept notes for every exam and project they were assigned back home. The less said about her laptop jammed with files of anime fanfiction and theories the better.

Plus, it was a good way to try and distract herself.

They came back into the throne room hauling burlap sacks full of parchments and emptied their contents at Sasha’s feet.

Daaang, girl, you've been in the zone.

She scattered them over her lap and the ample free space on the seat. They actually weren’t that hard to follow; colour coordinated with plenty of cutesy kawaii diagrams. Trademark Marbles.

Apparently, it worked a lot like those puzzle boxes Marcy got as gifts from relatives in Hong Kong. All it took was knowing the right sequence of buttons and zip! You can go wherever you want in the cosmos. Just a matter of finding the code for Earth.

‘I’m done listening to you!

I’m done trusting you!’

Sasha scowled, trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind where they belonged. She shuffled through a couple more pages until she found the one titled in glittery green and blue lettering, ‘HOME’.

Bingo.

‘You’re a horrible person!’

Ignore. Ignore.

Now all she had to do was jot it down on her palm and—

‘AND I AM DONE. BEING. FRIENDS WITH YOU!!’

She stopped. Her shoulders drooped. Then she just threw the page down on the floor and sunk into her seat further than she thought physically possible.

She normally didn’t consider herself that thin skinned a person, but man, that one hurt.

Traces of bitter tears creeped into her eyes.

What am I even doing anymore?

The sound of footsteps on crumpling paper and someone clearing their throat snapped her out of her self-pitying torpor. She fluttered her eyes dry to see Grime standing there awkwardly among the discarded parchments.

The diminutive, one-eyed former Toad Lord was hiding something behind his back. He actually looked pretty embarrassed about it too, which for a battle hardened war vet like Grime was actually kinda adorable in Sasha’s eyes.

“I, uhh, got you something,” he said, whipping out a long rectangular present wrapped in green paper and topped with a luscious red bow. “Had it made especially for this day.”

Now if there was one thing Sasha Waybright couldn’t say no to, it was a gift, especially from a trusted friend. They were the ultimate distraction from the blues and she couldn’t have been sitting upright and tearing into this one any quicker.

“Whaaat? Grimesy, you didn’t!” What she had pulled from the ravaged packaging wielded aloft her head made her gasp. “How’d you know I wanted to duel wield?!”

It was a brand new heron sword. An exquisite green second shortsword that would compliment Ol’ Pink perfectly.

She stared proudly into the smooth steel surface, admiring the craftsmanship. When she noticed the girl staring right back at her, however, her smirk vanished in an instant. The captain of the cheerleaders, the scarred swordswoman, the conqueror of Newtopia, whatever angle she looked at it, she didn’t like what she saw. Unbelievable as it may sound, even the joy of an awesome gift like this was not enough to make everything better.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it? Oh dang it!” Grime slammed his forehead. “I didn’t get a gift receipt!”

“No no, it’s just...” Sasha weighed the blade against her ungloved palm. Talking about these kinds of things was never easy for her. “What if Anne’s right? What if I am a horrible person?”

Grime popped up like a whack-a-mole behind the armrest. “Who cares what she thinks?” he scoffed. “You and I are in charge now, and we get to do whatever we want!”

“That’s the thing... I’m not sure what I want anymore,” she admitted wearily.

For all his years of training at the finest academies, his brutal combat in the colosseum and tactical expertise earned through a lifetime of military service as his forebears before him, this one had Grime stumped. Needless to say, talking about one’s emotions wasn't exactly encouraged during their upbringing in toad culture, so naturally it wasn’t one of his strong suits. Just one of the many things he and Sasha had in common.

“Huh.”

Still, he was a pretty fast thinker and came up with a fairly good idea on the spot.

“Why don’t you help me redecorate this place?” he suggested, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Take your mind off it. Cuz this right here...” He gestured to the cluttered mess in which she’d surrounded herself. “This is definitely not—I’m sorry, can I help you?!”

Both of them turned their heads when it became impossible to ignore Joe’s cone-shaped beak lightly nipping at Grime’s cheek.

“He probably thinks your warts are seeds.”

“For the love of—I knew he was eyeing me up on the ride here! There! Get lost!” Grime scooped up a fistful of feed and flung it over the marble floor, but the winged beast persisted with pecking his face. “Stop it! MY HEAD IS NOT A FEEDER!!”

It took an exceptional effort of willpower for Sasha not to laugh at the sight of her old man being preyed upon by the family pet.

Wow, she thought. Her old man? Was that how she saw Grimesy now? Seriously?

Perhaps up to a point. Okay, considering the options she had for parental figures back home, it wasn’t exactly the highest bar to pass, but it still meant something. Anything.

Who would have guessed this would be how they’d end up, especially given how they started off with her as his prisoner? Sure, it may have taken her helping him and the whole tower not getting turned into heron feed for her to be upgraded to his lieutenant, but they really had come a long way since then. There was a lot more honor and heart to the cranky old toad than she first thought, back when she wrote him off just as another blowhard with power. Now he genuinely considered her his equal both as a friend and comrade in arms. For Sasha, the feeling was mutual. A first for her.

When all was said and done, who else did she have left besides him and vice versa?

What the heck? Let’s tear this place up.

Untethering Joe, she whistled a tweet-tweet and gave the rope a gentle tug to encourage him to follow on their ‘indoor walkies’.

A cursory surveillance of the throne room told her there was a lot of work to be done. If this toad regime was to last a thousand years, the correct decor was an important first step. Thankfully for them, she knew a thing or two about fashion. For starters, there were way too many soft blues and purples. Rust red from top to bottom! She preferred keeping the stained glass windows, but they’d need entirely new designs. Hers truly would naturally feature in most of them, one showcasing her and Grime caving that narwhal worm’s head in with the Warhammer being an absolute must. The snakes coiling the stone pillars weren’t a bad touch, if just a bit too elegant for the whole ‘proud warrior race’ vibe they were going for, but she could still work with them. Now as for the throne, they were gonna have to replace it with something much more imposing. There was that super violent dragon show she and her parents used to watch that had the huge throne made out of swords. She was sure she had a picture somewhere on her phone to use as a reference.

“I’m sorry, what the heck is this?!”

Sasha could only denounce what they were gawking at as the single biggest affrontement to tasteful decorating known to man or amphibian. Yes, worse than inflatable furniture, carpeted bathrooms, beaded curtains, glass block bathroom windows, ‘live, laugh, love’ quotes on walls, rustic hearts, mason jars and nautical accessories all combined under the same inland roof.

Tapestries had their rightful place in a palace’s interior design, but the one sweeping across a section of wall depicting a gentle hearted Andrias sitting down by a lake, surrounded by flowers and lilypads was nothing short of vomit-inducing. Gathered at his feet and scooped up in his protective arms were his wide-eyed, childlike subjects. Even the fish and a lobster were surfacing to bask in their king’s magnanimity. Here the oversized salamander was truly the loving patriarch of everything the light touched. The mawkish display could only be topped off with a rainbow streaking across the sky.

Grime felt his stomach roile. If he ever needed an example to demonstrate the difference between kitschy and downright tacky, this was it.

“Y-y-y-yikes!” he gagged. “This thing’s gotta go!”

Sasha didn’t need a second invite. Besides, what else was Joe going to use to line his nest?

A joint effort tore the offensive piece from its place and it tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Dead silence fell over the room.

Hidden beneath the tapestry was... a mural. Including such a decoration in a throne room was hardly surprising, yet it was what it contained that shocked both the human and toad, so much so that they had to take a moment to recover.

“Woah,” they gasped at once, before starting to analyse what they saw.

The mural was a chaotic collection of nightmarish images painted on a night blue wall. Wild red flames spewing out hordes of beasts and the wreckage of buildings. Mountains of skulls and bones belonging to frogs, toads and newts alike. A flying... spaceship? A castle? Whatever it was meant to be, it firied a white beam up at what was unmistakably the Music Box. Pink, green and blue lightning bolts crackled out of the Box. Mesmerising orange gemstones or, more terrifyingly, eyes leaped off the wall and burned themselves into their minds. The frightening focal point of this one-way ticket to the school therapist’s office? Rising out of the middle of the inferno was the silhouette of a red-eyed, goliath-sized beast, its claws reaching up covetously towards the Box that hung right above its crowned head.

It may as well have been lifted straight from the tattered dream journal of a madfrog.

Any ideas of redecorating the throne room were long gone. Even the revolution they were spearheading suddenly seemed millions of miles away in the face of what they’d just stumbled upon.

Peering her eyes slightly, Sasha was the first to put a face to the shadowy leviathan, and when she did, she had to swallow her heart back down into her chest.

“Is that the king?” she asked, mystified. “With the music box?”

Sweat ran down the side of Grime’s nonplussed face. “If it is… it’s a really good thing we stopped him.”

Neither of them said it aloud, but both understood the situation at once. All this time they thought they’d been playing flipwart while the king played bog jump. Oh, how wrong they’d been. It was beyond anything that even the Toad Lords discussed. They knew that they had to reconvene with them as soon as the armies had reached the gate.

She took a couple steps closer to reexamine the mural more thoroughly, missed details emerging now that the initial shock began to wear off. Circuit board markings—the same inside her dad’s outdated computer when she foolishly dared Marcy if she could take it apart—worked their way around the images, serving as some type of frame. Odd choice for a world that didn’t even have steam engines yet. She also picked up the three small geometric figures standing atop the Box’s lid. An artist she was not, but they looked pretty human-like in design.

But humans did not exist in Amphibia. The three of them were the first of their kind to ever set foot in this dimension.

Weren’t they?

Alarm bells were ringing louder than ever before. This Andrias guy had been playing Anne and Marcy for his own ends this whole time, all to get his mitts on the Music Box! What did he plan to do with it? Right now, she still couldn’t say, but it was all bad. Outside of a kickin’ rock band, fire and skulls together were never a good thing!

Even Joe’s feathers were puffing up anxiously against her back. Not turning away from the mural, she raised her hand and patted his risen crest.

“I know, big guy. I don’t like it either.”

Grime’s voice rang urgently in her ears, “Lieutenant! Get over here, quick!!”

Sasha had spun on her heels and sprinted down the room to find Grime standing the wreckage of what used to be a display of armour. He’d evidently acted on a hunch while she’d been preoccupied. Judging by his thunderstruck expression, he’d just discovered something far worse.

“What is iooooh boy!”

This new second mural reminded Sasha a lot of Egyptian hieroglyphs. If there was any room for doubt about the technicolor stick guys, there was none here. Standing tall against an indigo backdrop in a neat row were the outlines of human beings; long gangly appendages, stumpy noses and everything. Some were wearing hooded capes, others were decked out in suits of armour. The couple in the middle looked particularly regal. No prizes for guessing the little wooden box they were holding in their hands, cementing their authority as if it were the globus cruciger.

Faded inscriptions were engraved along the bottom. They were written in a more archaic amphibian dialect, but being a toad of higher education, Grime was able to give translating them a decent shot.

These great beings of magic and might

Travelled from beyond to serve the night

Bow before these children of man

Or know the wrath of the—

“... Wu Clan?” He cocked his one good eye up at her. “Iiiii’m not getting it.”

There it was. Floodlights flashed in Sasha’s head. All colour drained from her face. A million and one thoughts were now firing across her brain at once, threatening to send her into cerebral shutdown.

It was at that moment she knew she’d been played. They all had. She didn’t know whether to be absolutely furious, betrayed or impressed.

Why that conniving, devious little—

That's when they heard the BOOM outside the window.

#amphibia #Disney's Amphibia #Disney Amphibia #amphibia disney #amphibia au #quisling marcy #Quisling Marcy Au #A Moth to a Flame #fanfiction #amphibia fanfic #amphibia fanfiction #Marcy wu #evil marcy #sasha waybright #captain grime #au #Amphibia true colors #true colors #amphibia sasha #amphibia marcy #alternate universe #alternate timeline

[thedeathdeelers]

anyway so i finally finished another Juke drabble (at 12:45am on a Tuesday when I have to be up for work in 5 hours lols) based on the word prompt “Dancing” sent in by @nervousmiracletrash

the word mostly just inspired the idea for this fic - but ya. still counts :) enjoy!

(also this fic refers to a movie about a friendly ghost from 1995, so i hope it still makes sense to you even if you haven’t seen it)

Now also up on my AO3

————

childhood crushes

“So you’re sure it’s in one of these?”

Julie’s eyes remained focused on the notebook balanced on her knee, skimming through the never ending lines of poems and lyrics covering every page as she answered Luke.

“Yes! I swear, I remember working on something similar with my mom a few years before she- A few years ago. If we can find it, we won’t have to start from scratch.”

Feeling a little stiff, Julie leaned back, her eyes never leaving the pages, as she rested against the foot of her bed, stretching her legs out in front of her. They had been sitting on her bedroom floor all morning, surrounded by piles of scattered old notebooks of varying colours.

“I know, but we’ve been up here for ages and we haven’t even taken any breaks yet.” She could almost hear Luke’s pout as he continued, sitting cross legged and leaning against her closet door. “I’m nearly done with my stack. Maybe we should just consider focusing on one of our other songs for now? Come back to this one later?”

Julie shook her head as she looked up, her eyes needing a second to readjust.

“I’m telling you Luke, we’ll find it. I won’t be able to work on anything else unless I get this melody out of my head. I know I can find the lyrics. They’re definitely here. Plus we’ve pretty much gone through the majority of my notebooks - there’s barely a few left. We’ll be done before it’s time to head down for band rehearsal, chill.”

Without waiting for a reply, Julie lowered her gaze back down, quickly finding her spot on the page she was in and resuming her search. Luke shook his head at the stubborn girl sitting across from him, a small smile touching his lips. He knew there was no point in arguing with a Julie that had already set her mind to something. Adjusting his sitting position to avoid cramping (who knew ghosts still had to deal with pins and needles, eh?), he dived back into the book in his lap.

It stayed quiet for a while after that, only sounds of paper crinkling under fingers, and soft whispers of words being spoken disturbing the peace.

That is, until disaster struck.

“Uh, Jules, why does this notebook have “Julie hearts Casper” written all over it?”

Julie was so focused on the poem she was reading, that Luke’s words took a few good seconds to fully sink in. But when they did, her head snapped up while her heart sank, the blood draining from her face. It would have been funny if she wasn’t the one panicking right now. Her eyes, now as wide as saucers, zeroed in on the offending journal, balanced on Luke’s left knee. She had completely forgotten about that.

“It’s nothing! Nothing just a- a- a pet’s name! Yes! We had a dog named uh Casper and I really loved him.”

She scrambled up, the notebook she had been so focused on only a few moments ago hitting the floor with a soft thud. She quickly reached Luke’s side, swiping the journal off his knee and out of his reach.

“I thought you guys never had any pets? What with your dad’s allergies?”

Julie froze on her way back to her spot by her bed, having completely forgotten that her dad, who she’s literally known her whole life, was allergic to dogs. Trust Luke to remember that tiny, throwaway detail, but completely “forget” that her dream box was out of bounds.

She slowly resumed her half hop trek to her spot, avoiding the minefield of papers and journals, making sure Luke couldn’t see her face for as long as possible. Her mind, on the other hand, was busy hastily trying to come up with a plausible excuse.

“Yeah, we uh- we had Casper for a week before we found out Dad was allergic. Had to give him away after that.” Julie held the journal tight against her chest as she turned back around to face Luke now that she was at a safe distance.

Luke’s eyebrows lifted, disappearing under his beanie. The disbelief on his face was palpable. He could always see straight through her.

“So you’re telling me that your dad didn’t know he was allergic to dogs until he was in his thirties?”

“He was still in his late twenties, thank you very much!”

“Jules, you know that’s not my point.”

“The point is we had a dog, I loved him very much and then he was gone. It was a sad time, can we just move on?”

He was still looking at her sceptically, but nodded his head regardless, diverting his attention to the dwindling pile of notebooks yet to be explored, spread out on the floor next to him.

Julie was just glad Luke hadn’t noticed the little ghost doodles decorating the spine of the notebook. She plopped back onto the floor, sneakily pushing the accursed nightmare under her bed.

It was only half an hour later however, just as her heart had finally reached a normal tempo, when Luke spoke up again.

“So, Casper huh? You guys really named a dog after a ghost?”

Trying hard not to groan out loud, Julie forced her features to adapt a natural expression, before lifting her face towards her band mate.

“Yes. Mom had just introduced me to the movie, and the name was still fresh in my mind.” She could see that he was still not buying her story, but there was nothing she could do. She was definitely not about to spill the truth to him.

Luke scratched his head, his beanie shifting with the movement.

“I see. So the little ghost doodles down the side there, have nothing to do with the actual friendly ghost? The one from the Casper movie released in the summer of 1995?” He was pointing in the general direction of where she had thought she had managed to carefully dispose of the journal. Apparently not.

Julie could feel her cheeks getting warmer, and curse it all, Luke had definitely noticed. That damn smirk.

“Not to mention the ghost painted on the back pocket of your favourite pair of jeans.”

She threw her head back, bouncing slightly against her mattress as her hands flew up to hide her warm face. Luke chuckled.

“Fine! This is mortifying, but fine! I had a crush on Casper as a kid, okay? Happy?” Her voice came out muffled, her palms pressing hard against the horrified expression taking centre stage.

But not even a few seconds later, did she feel hands wrapping themselves around her wrists and pulling her fingers away from her face. She hadn’t even heard him move. She kept her eyes closed, scrunching her eyelids together as tightly as she could. Maybe if she thought of it hard enough, her carpeted flooring would eventually swallow her up?

“So, you had a thing for ghosts, huh?”

She could hear the barely suppressed glee in his voice, making her eyes pop open in disbelief.

“Ugh! This is why I don’t tell you everything!” Now that her eyes were open, she didn’t know where to look. Maybe over his left shoulder?

A soft chuckle made its way out of his mouth.

“Aw, come on Julie! This is actually pretty cute. Kinda feels like fate, huh?”

“Really?” She deadpanned. Her eyes diverted to his face of their own accord.

“I mean, he’s a ghost from a movie from the 90s, the girl has the hots for him even though he’s clearly dead...I’m getting similar vibes here.”

“He was just a floating orb!”

He tried to cut her off with a sly “As opposed to cute air?” But she continued speaking over him, wanting to defend her old childhood crush.

“It was an emotional connection. A deep connection, exploring different emotions and representations of love, resulting in some pretty iconic lines and moments in the movie.” She sounded a little hysterical, a little ridiculous. But the whole situation she currently found herself in was ridiculous in and of itself, so there really wasn’t much pride left for her to hold onto anymore.

Luke hummed at her reply, his eyes brimming with humour.

“Thought about it a lot, have you?”

“Ugh! You’re impossible. Fine. You might as well know. It was my favourite movie for a long time. I’d watch it whenever I was having a bad day or whatever.” She shrugged, casting her eyes downwards towards her lap where their hands lay; his fingers still locked around her wrists. She knew she wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Was?”

“Yeah, well...It started hitting too close to home a few years ago so I just.. stopped.”

Understanding dawned on him, as she felt more than saw, the energy leave him in one fell swoop. She chanced another look at his eyes, and saw that the humour previously taken up residence had now shifted to something softer.

“Julie I- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that, I-“

“No, no Luke really. It’s fine. I’m okay now. I haven’t felt the need to watch any comfort movies or shows lately anyway. Maybe I’ll even revisit it sometime soon, who knows. See it with a fresh set of eyes.” She gave him a small smile as she tilted her head to the side. “Honestly, don’t worry about it.” After a beat of silence, Julie grasped at the chance to steer the conversation away from anymore embarrassing questions.

“Do you think we could stop looking through these for now? I’m getting hungry, and it’s nearly time for practice so...” She gestured towards the mess on her floor.

“Yeah, of course.” Luke looked at her for another second, checking that she really was okay, before letting go of her wrists and jumping up. He then extended his hand down to her, waiting to pull her up with him.

As she got up, she couldn’t help but appreciate how sensitive Luke could be when it came to her feelings. She reached up on her tiptoes, and sneaked a quick peck on his cheek, before pulling him along with her, leaving the mess of notebooks (and hopefully that whole topic of conversation) behind them.

A few days had passed, and Luke hadn’t brought up the movie again. She had assumed he had forgotten, or at least accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to get much more out of her concerning that topic. Or maybe he even felt bad. But then a week later, while Julie was sat in the studio on her own (a rare occurrence), she was proven wrong.

She was sat on one of the armchairs, scribbling away furiously in their songbook, inspiration having finally struck. She was so focused, her hands gliding through the page as she hurried to get every word down, that she barely glanced at Luke when he popped into existence to her right.

She didn’t even notice when he moved to stand in front of her, knees nearly knocking into hers.

“Okay! So I finally figured out the second vers-“ Julie looked up, stopping mid-sentence as she finally took in the sight of the boy standing in front of her.

“Can I have this dance?”

“Luke? Why are you dressed like that?”

“Humour me, Julie. Dance with me?”

The fact that there was no music currently playing was on the tip of her tongue, but Julie held back. She takes a few seconds to reply though, too busy drinking in the sight in front of her. He had his hand outstretched towards her, dressed in black pants and a white dress-shirt. She was hyper aware of the fact that he was dressed in the near exact way she had imagined him during her imaginary Perfect Harmony routine. The only difference was his hair - but she had to concede to the fact that he looked better this way. It was 100% Luke, and she wouldn’t have him any other way.

Putting her notebook with the pencil tucked inside on the coffee table to her right, she reaches over towards Luke, taking his proffered hand.

He pulls her up, just like he did in her bedroom the other day, and guides her to the centre of the studio. They stand there, staring at each other for a few seconds before a song starts playing on the old garage stereo - the same one that had brought them, him , to her in the first place.

every now and then,

we find a special friend,

who never lets us down

who understands it all

reaches out each time we fall

you’re the best friend that i’ve found

I know you can’t stay,

a part of you will never ever go away,

your heart will stay

Luke reaches over to grab her other hand, lifting both up to his shoulders. Once settled, he lets go and finds her waist, pulling her in a little closer. Following his lead, Julie wraps her arms around his neck, her eyes focused solely on his. She listens to the song that is playing, gently swaying from side to side with the boy in her arms.

She cocks her head to the side as she tries to figure out why the melody and words sounded so familiar to her.

“This song sounds so familiar? Like I’ve heard it so many times but I just can’t place...” As her sentence dies on her lips, a small gasp is heard escaping her. Julie’s eyes widen as memories of her younger self listening to this song and swaying along in her mother’s arms flood her mind.

cAll the while, Luke’s eyes are intent on hers, reading her reactions. His hands resting on her hips, slide past her hips towards her lower back, his arms fully wrapping themselves around her, pulling her closer to his chest.

“You didn’t!” Her eyes still wide, still unbelieving.

“I figured of all the things I could actually accomplish as a ghost, any childhood dreams you might have had - this might actually be it.” He shrugged, his shoulders moving under her hands. His grin turned boyish. “Plus I didn’t like the idea of another ghost having a hold on your heart.”

Julie has to try hard to focus on the questions she wanted answered, and not on his sweet confessions.

“But- I assumed you guys never got to watch the movie? It came out around the time you were too focused on the band and the gigs, and then...” She let the rest of her sentence trail off, never too comfortable mentioning their early demise.

“I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” She felt his shoulders shift up and down again. He shook his head at her as he continued. “I gotta say Jules, you really know how to pick ‘em.” She could see the mirth brimming in his eyes, his lips twitching as he tried to keep his amusement under control.

Julie’s eyes narrowed at him, even as she tried to keep her own smile from forming on her lips.

“Girls are all about that star crossed lovers’ life. Add in a dash of supernatural? Absolute dream.” She moved her hand, gesturing wildly to convey her (ridiculous, but secretly truthful) point.

Luke chuckled at that, the laughter finally spilling out of him.

“Lucky for me then, eh?”

Julie’s eyes softened, her mouth curling into that special smile she only ever reserved for him. She stood on her tiptoes, her lips a hair’s breadth away from his.

“Who said I wasn’t the lucky one?”

They stayed that way for a few seconds, still moving slowly from side to side as they stared at each other. They were so close they were breathing the same air. And just when Julie was about to close the distance, Luke shifted, tracing his lips across her cheek, her jaw, until they hovered by her ear, warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

And then he whispered to her the four words she had been dreaming of hearing ever since she was a little girl.

“Can I keep you?”

FIN

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie molina #luke patterson #juke #juke fic #jatp fic #julie x luke #my fics #aaahhh #i’m kinda proud of this one? #thedeathdeelers fics

[misssquidtracy]

Noble Intentions (Part 2).

My slightly belated ongoing contribution to Gordo’s FabFiveFeb week. Apparently, this is now going to be a 3 chapter doohickey of sorts. My boi has made it quite clear that any plans I had about length matter very little here.  

All credit for FabFiveFeb goes to the amazing @gumnut-logic 💚

Prompt: You did what?

Warnings: Mild strong language.

Genre: Humour.

Characters: Gordon, Scott, Virgil, John, Alan. Heavy on the Gordon.

-x-

Two months, seventeen hours, and eleven minutes earlier…

“You did what?”

Gordon winced as the mouthful of water Scott had been storing in his cheeks was spat clean across the table.

“What?” the aquanaut challenged, indignation creeping into his voice as he reached across Alan for another spoonful of sweet potato mash, “They were looking for models and I signed us up. It’s for a good cause!”

“A nude calendar?” John quacked, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, “Gordon, we’re a professional rescue organisation. We have a public image to maintain!”

“Not to mention better things to be doing with our time,” Virgil grumbled, scraping the last of his peas onto his fork, “What if an emergency call were to come through while we were…ahem…mid-pose?”

A scowl infected Gordon’s face as he metaphorically searched for a metaphorical shovel to metaphorically dig himself out of the metaphorical hole he was metaphorically digging, “I didn’t sign us up for all twelve months. Just our birth months.”

Another mouthful of water was ejected across the table, eliciting a gasp of disgust from John when he discovered that he was sat in the splash zone.

“You signed Alan up as well?” Scott all but squealed, “He’s a minor, Gordon!”

“Okay, okay,” the aquanaut sighed, wincing at the volume of his eldest brother’s voice, “I’ll take his place and do two sittings for both February and March. Problem solved.”

Disbelieving stares were exchanged across the table as Gordon polished off his dinner and traipsed to the sink to refill his glass.

“You’re off your onion!” Scott snapped, striding after the aquanaut and lobbing his plate in the dishwasher with more force than was necessary, “Well, we’re not going. You’ll have to go back on whatever promises you’ve made and cancel everything. And don’t think that order excludes you. International Rescue has a professional behaviour framework that we’re duty-bound to follow, and pasting our naked assess across couches and bales of hay doesn’t feature in it anywhere.”

Water was sloshed across the counter as Gordon rinsed his glass out and tried to contain his frustration. Typical Scott, always so hung up on appearances. He hadn’t even bothered to ask what the calendar was in aid of.

“We’ll send over a generous donation instead,” Scott placated, as if somehow reading Gordon’s mind, “Is it someone we’ve worked with before?”

“Children of Colombia,” Gordon replied, “They operate out of Bogotá and channel all their money into educational programmes and residential homes instead of advertising. That’s why I signed us up. I thought our ‘famous’ faces might help them a bit in that department.”

Moved by his younger brother’s kind hearted gesture, John opened his mouth to ask for more details, only to have his questioning tongue silenced by a glare from Scott.

If there was one thing that always made the eldest Tracy’s emotional kayak run aground, it was guilt.

“Well, they’ll have to make do with a fat-ass cheque instead,” Scott muttered, kicking the dishwasher shut and needlessly throwing a tea towel into the sink, “You can hate me all you want, but I wasn’t the one who made the rules. One day of disappointment isn’t worth us losing all of our credibility, plus our rapid response service would be redundant if all five of us were there at the same time. Nope, you’re going to have to tell them no, Gordon. And if I catch wind of you honouring the agreement beyond the aforementioned fat-ass cheque, I’ll suspend you from active duty for a week. Capisce?”

Without giving the aquanaut a chance to reply, Scott retrieved a banana from the fruit bowl and marched off in the direction of the lounge, his expression reminiscent of a pissed off camel.

“You saw that, right?” Gordon demanded, waiting until Scott was a safe distance away before stabbing a finger accusingly in the direction he’d walked off in, “I was minding my business, and he threatened to ground me! This is all because he knows I’d pull the whole thing off way better than he would.”

Both Virgil and John were smart enough to neither confirm nor deny their younger brother’s claim to nude fame. Alan had questions, oh so many questions, but was thankfully prioritising a text on his phone over his desire to seek answers.

“I’m telling you now,” Gordon continued, abandoning his glass and stomping off towards the pool, “If Poseidon appears before me and asks me to make a blood sacrifice, he’s gone. Gone, I say.”

-x-

“Hello?”

“Gabriela!” Gordon tried to keep his tone as upbeat as possible, “How are things?”

“Mr Tracy!” came the delighted response, “What a lovely surprise! I have some excellent news. We officially sold out of tickets for the International Rescue Calendar Class three days ago and, as a result of popular demand, will now be selling the resultant paintings off at a silent auction to raise money for a tutoring programme aimed at local women fleeing domestic abuse. Our forecasts show that we’re set to exceed our original target by almost eight five percent, and it’s all thanks to you!”

Great.

Lovely.

Wonderful.

Magnifique.

“Yeah, about that,” Gordon began, his tone hesitant, “You see the thing is, I now can’t make it. Something’s popped up and I’m kind of needed here. I’m so sorry.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone, “Okay…well, that’s not ideal. I won’t lie. But I’m sure we’ll be able to make do with four out of five. Which reminds me, do any of your colleagues have any dietary requirements or allergies that my team should be aware of?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t very clear,” Gordon clenched his fist as guilt began to gnaw at his insides, “What I meant to say is that none of us can come anymore. I’m afraid I was impulsive and signed us up before consulting with the rest of my team. I’m so sorry. We will of course compensate you for the losses you’ll incur in the form of a donation, plus an extra twenty five percent on top for the inconvenience caused.”

A silence that somehow managed to hurt Gordon’s ears descended over the line, punctuated by the odd stifled sniff.

“B-But I can certainly send a substitute over in our place,” the aquanaut gabbled, cursing the lack of a link between his brain and mouth, “He’s not an emergency responder per se, but he’s an integral member of the team and the one responsible for designing the Thunderbirds.”

The line crackled to life again as Gordon’s offer refreshed Gabriela’s composure, “Really? Oh, yes please. It’ll be a disappointment to everyone who’s already bought a ticket, but I suppose we haven’t technically misled them so long as there’s at least one representative from International Rescue there.”

“Perfect!” Gordon chirped, setting an immediate course for the hangers, “I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, don’t cancel anything. See you on Friday!”

Of all the brothers, Gordon liked to think of himself as the most strategic when it came to picking his battles. He’d grown up watching Scott, Virgil and John jockeying for position, and had then had Alan to sharpen his own claws on. All in all, being the fourth born wasn’t as bad as it sounded. He’d been exposed to both subservience and dominance in equal measures, and was acutely aware of how far he could push each of his siblings before they tipped into Bitch Fit Canyon.

Alan was a cinch so long as no references were made to his height.

John was manageable if bagels were in the immediate vicinity.

Virgil could be tamed with tears of remorse, fake or genuine.

As for Scott…well, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

TBC.

#Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #Alan Tracy #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #Tracy Island #tracy bros #tracy brothers #tracy boys #tracybros #tracybrothers #international rescue #kayo kyrano #Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward #jeff tracy #grandma tracy #thunderbirds fan #thundernerds #thunderbirds fandom

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

New World CH. Twenty Two

Title: Falling to Pieces 

Words: 2546

Warnings: Talk of death/dying, canon-typical violence, character death (major and minor)

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

New World Masterlist

Daryl Dixon Masterlist

The Walking Dead Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

The sickness started subtly. At first it was just a scratchy throat and a stuffy nose, normal symptoms of your allergies. Then the cough and fever came. Sam found you suffering in your cell and immediately freaked out.

 “[Y/n]!” He cried, rushing forward.

 “S-Sammy,” you croaked. “Stay a-away.”

 Sam didn’t listen to you, picking you up gently. You could barely move your body and were secretly thankful that he was holding you.

 “You have to get to A-Block. You’ll be able to get help there.”

 Carefully, Sam walked down the stairs, you curled into his chest. That’s when Dean and Daryl saw the two of you. He started to run towards you, but Rick stopped him.

 “You have to stay away,” Rick said. “Sam and Dr. S. will be able to help her.”

 Dean struggled against Rick’s hold and you could see Daryl standing rigid. You picked your head up to wearily look at them.

 “I’ll be fine, guys. You just make sure Adeline and Lottie are okay,” you said softly. A string of coughs wracked your body and Sam held you tighter.

 “I’ll take her to A-Block. Dr. S. wanted me to help out anyways so Hershel doesn’t have to expose himself.”

 “Take care of her, Sammy,” Dean said.

 “I will.”

 “See ya later, Dean. I love you, Daryl. Tell the kids I love them too,” you said before tucking your head back into Sam’s shoulder.

 “See you, sweetheart.” Dean watched worriedly as Sam carried you towards A-Block and when you were out of sight, he turned to Rick. Daryl was still standing rigid before he walked away.

 “Have you figured out who killed Karen and David yet?” Dean asked Rick after they watched Daryl.

 “No,” Rick said with a shake of his head.

 “I know Sam’s in there with her, but you need to keep an eye on everyone. Just in case whoever killed them tries again. I want them nowhere near [y/n].”

 “I will. Are you going on the run?”

 “I am.”

 “Keep an eye on Daryl. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

 “I will.”

 ---

 Everything hurt. Your head was pounding, body trembling, throat sore. You couldn’t move your body without immense effort so trying to help Dr. S and your brother was out of the question. All you could do was huddle underneath a blanket and try to keep warm. You were floating in and out of consciousness, not sure what was real and what was fiction.

 Sam had come in and told you that both Glenn and Sasha were sick too. He was carrying a cup of steaming liquid and made you drink it. It was bitter and gross, but you knew better than to argue.

 “Ada. Is Ada okay? What about Lottie?” You asked after clearing your throat.

 “They’re fine. Dean came by before they left on the run. Told me to tell you that he’ll be back before you knew it and that you’re going to be okay,” Sam said.

 “Good.” You started coughing, angling your body away from Sam. When you were done, you looked up at your little brother.

 “I need you to promise me something,” you said.

 “[Y/n], no.” Sam shook his head. You coughed again. “We’re not going there. You’re going to be fine.”

 “Sammy, this isn’t up for debate. If-If I die, don’t you dare let me turn,” you said.

 “[Y/n]—“

 “Sam!”

 Sam looked at you with wide eyes and you leaned back into your pillows.

 “I mean it, Sammy. I don’t want to become one of those-those things.” Another coughing fit hit you and when you pulled back from your pillow, you saw blood.

 Sam stared at the blood and you flipped the pillow over before falling back into it with a groan.

 “And give me a hunter’s funeral. Do it in the woods far away from the prison and make it big. A-Attract walkers and let me kill some even when I’m gone. And make sure the kids stay safe. Tell them that I love them so much and that they’re gonna grow up and kick this worlds ass.”

 Sam let a small laugh escape before it turned into a sob.

 “You’re not gonna die. Not on my watch.” Sam leaned over you and kissed your forehead before walking out of your cell. Eyes slipping closed, you were asleep in seconds.

 ---

 Dean

 Walking into the room with all the meds, Dean quickly made his way over to the cabinets. He threw them open and looked at Bob.

 “Which ones do we take?” He asked.

 “Anything ending with cillin or cin. C-I-N. Grab those.”

 Dean didn’t need any more information and started rifling through the meds. Once he cleared out his zone, he turned to Michonne. She gave him a reassuring look.

 “She’ll be fine, Dean. They all will,” Michonne said.

 “I hope you’re right.”

 When Daryl and Tyreese came back from getting the stuff on their list, the five of them started to make their way back outside. Running into some walkers with the same trails of blood on their face made things difficult and they had to jump out of a window to escape them. That’s when they found out Bob just had a bottle of booze in his bag.

 “You ain’t got no meds? Just this?” Daryl held up the bottle and Bob started breathing hard. “You should’a kept walkin’ that day.”

 “We’re out here, getting medicine for sick people and the only thing you can think of is yourself?” Dean said, seething. He took a few steps toward Bob and poked him in the chest with his finger. “My sister could be dead because of you. You better hope that she isn’t or you’re gonna be the one paying the price.”

 Michonne pulled him back gently and Dean let her, clenching and unclenching his fists to help him with his anger. Daryl went to throw the bottle and when Bob put his hand on his gun, Daryl stalked closer until their foreheads were touching. He pulled Bob’s gun out of the holster and grabbed the front of his vest when Tyreese tried to interject.

 “Just let it go, Daryl,” Ty said.

 “I didn’t want to hurt nobody,” Bob said, voice shaky.

 “Take one sip. When we get these meds inta our people, I will beat your ass inta the ground,” Daryl growled, shoving the bottle into Bob’s chest. “If [y/n] dies because of ya then you’re gonna wish you’d never found this group.”

 He walked away and picked up his crossbow. Bob looked at them walking away and when he met Dean’s eyes, he quickly looked away, not able to handle the death glare he was getting.

 ---

 The ride back to the prison was silent. Dean and Daryl were still pissed about what Bob did and if either of them opened their mouths, a fight would start. So everyone stayed silent.

 When the prison fences came into view, it was dark. Carl opened up the gates and when Michonne pulled up, Dean didn’t even wait for the van to stop moving before jumping out and running towards A-Block, Tyreese right behind him. When he got there, you were lying on your bed, fast asleep.

 “Dean, what are you doing here?” Sam said. He had turned around to go help some of the others when he saw Dean standing there.

 “How’s she doing?” Dean asked, ignoring Sam.

 “Better. You get the meds?”

 “We did. They should be bringing them in here now.” Dean looked at Sam and frowned. “What the hell happened to you? You got blood all over you.”

 “Some people died and managed to get out of their cells after they turned,” Sam said.

 ---

 Sam

 After Sam had that talk with you, he walked over to Hershel where he was holding an I.V. for an unconscious Sasha.

 “She’s coughing up blood,” Sam whispered.

 “Are any of the other symptoms worsening?” Hershel asked.

 “I don’t think so.”

 “Alright. I’ll get an I.V. set up for her. Caleb made a few.” Hershel looked around. “I don’t think he’s got much time left.”

 “I can get it,” Sam said.

 “No, I got it. You stay here and hold this up. Sasha’s just dehydrated and should wake up in a minute.”

 “Alright.” Sam took the bag from Hershel and sat down on the bed.

 Hershel walked over to you and quickly set up an I.V. in your arm before hanging it up. He checked your pulse and gave you a quick look over before walking out of your cell, closing the door behind him.

 “Hershel!” Lizzie yelled. His head snapped up to where Lizzie was standing and then was distracted by a walker coming at him. It tackled him to the ground, Hershel barely keeping its snapping jaws away from him.

 A man came out of a cell, gun in hand. He was trying to aim and while he was concentrating, a walker came up behind him, making him misfire the gun and shoot a woman in the stomach. That got Sam’s attention and he rushed out of Sasha’s cell, his own weapons out.

 “What the hell?” Sam said, skidding to a stop. Quickly, he stabbed the two walkers and the man who had been bitten and died. Then his head turned to where he saw Lizzie pinned to the ground, a walker on top of her.

 “Lizzie!”

 The two men came running to where she was and Hershel threw the walker over the rail.

 “Are you okay?” Hershel asked her.

 “I called him nice. He didn’t hurt Glenn so I thought that maybe he listens,” she whimpered.

 “Where is Glenn?”

 “His cell.”

 Sam ran over to Glenn while Hershel took Lizzie over to a cell. Looking at the little boy already in there, he closed the door.

 “You two stay put. Do not come out,” he said. Hershel ran over to Glenn as fast as he could and saw Sam checking his pulse.

 “Hang in there, Glenn,” Sam said. He looked at Hershel. “He seems stable for now but I don’t know for how much longer.”

 “We need the guns.”

 Hershel stood up and ran over to Dr. S’s cell to grab the guns, only to find that he had died. After he stabbed Dr. S. in the head and grabbed the guns, Hershel went to shoot the remaining walkers. He couldn’t bring himself to do it while the kids were watching so he lured them away before shooting them. After that was done, Hershel came back to where Sam and Glenn where.

 Glenn was wheezing and Sam had him on his side. Blood was coming out of Glenn’s mouth and Hershel thumped his back, trying to help him get all the fluid out.

 “We need the respirator,” Hershel said.

 “Where is it?”

 “On Henry.” The two men exchanged a look and Sam got up.

 “You stay here with Glenn and I’ll got get the respirator.” Sam gave no room for Hershel to argue and Sam was running to where Hershel threw him over the railing.

 Taking a breath, Sam jumped the railing and began wrestling with the walker, trying to get the respirator off of its face. A gunshot sounded bellow him, but Sam paid no mind. All of his attention was on the walker.

 “Sam!” Maggie yelled. She raised her gun and was about to shoot when Hershel called out.

 “No! You could shoot the bag and we need it for Glenn!” Hershel said.

 Maggie ignored him and shot anyways, hitting the walker straight in the head. Sam sat up and ripped the respirator off of Henry’s face and threw it to Hershel. Hershel took it to Glenn and Maggie was quick to go up the stairs. She almost stopped to ask Sam how you were doing, but Sam pushed her to her husband, following close behind.

 “Sam, we got this, you check on everyone else,” Hershel said. Sam nodded and quickly made his way to check on everyone, making you his last stop. He let out a sob of relief when he saw that you were okay and still alive.

 ---

 Dean and Sam

 “So [y/n]’s okay and so are Glenn and Sasha,” Dean said to Sam.

 “Yeah. They’re all pretty bad, but it looks like they’ll all be okay. Glenn seemed to have been hit the worst,” Sam said, brushing some of your hair away from your face. “Now that they’ve all gotten medicine, they should be good to go in a couple days.”

 “Good.”

 “Dean, [y/n] thought she was gonna die,” Sam said after a moment. “Told me what she wanted me to do when it happened and everything. I told her that she wasn’t going to die. But she came close, I know she did.”

 “She’s a tough son of a bitch, Sammy. She ain’t dying. Not like this.”

 ---

 [Y/n]

 The next day came around and you felt immensely better. Not enough to go immediately go back to what you were doing, but enough to walk around a bit. Both of your brothers had left a few minutes ago, you having been fed up with their constant hovering. But of course, nothing was going right.

 You had just gotten back to your cell when a boom shook the building. Walking as fast as you could, you got outside just in time to see the Governor cut into Hershel’s neck with Michonne’s sword. Stumbling backwards, you fell against the wall behind you in shock. The gunfire started soon after and you started walking forward.

 “Dean, Sammy!” You called. “Daryl!”

 “[Y/n]!” Your brothers came running up to you and you collapsed in Sam’s arms. Dean was holding Charlotte.

 “H-Hershel,” you said. Tears were in your eyes and you sniffed as Sam held you tighter.

 “I know, sweetheart,” Dean said. “But we have to get out of here.”

 “Alright. Where’s Adeline?”

 “She’s with Daryl. I’m gonna get Baby started up and we’ll follow the bus as planned,” Dean said. “Can you hold Lottie while I do that?”

 You nodded and took your daughter from Dean.

 “I’ll get the stuff from the shed. Meet you back here in five.” Sam kissed your head and ran off.

 “I’m gonna get my pack from my cell. I’ll be right back,” you said, giving Dean no time to argue.

 “[Y/n]!” He called after you. Cursing, he ran to the Impala and found it riddled with bullet holes. When he tried to start it, the engine didn’t make a sound.

 “Fuck!” He yelled. Opening the trunk, Dean grabbed what he could, stuffing it in a duffle before grabbing his gun and shooting at the people who attacked his home.

 “Dean!” Sam yelled, running up with a bag of his own.

 “Car’s been shot! Can’t drive it.” The two of them ducked down when the tank fired again and Sam looked at Dean.

 “Where’s [y/n]?” Sam asked.

 “She went to get her bag.”

 “What the hell Dean! She can barely walk right now!”

 “You think I don’t know that? I wouldn’t have been able to stop her and you know it! Now let’s grab her and get the hell out of here!” They got up and started running towards C-Block when the doorway exploded.

Taglist: 

@sesetiger @jazzy1118

#New World #daryl dixon x reader #reader insert #the walking dead x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #daryl dixon #The Walking Dead #x reader #daryl x reader

[musicfren]

the presents they measured (the presence she treasured) part 2

HOLY CAKES y’all! 5000 words and infinity pages later, me and @nottesilhouette have finally finished part two of our blind date fluff fiesta (part 1 here) Notte wrote a really big portion of this and deserve so, so much credit for it. She’s an amazing writer <3 Meanwhile I contributed all the many italics :P Happy @felinettenovember y’all!

“Adrien.”

“Felix.”

“I should have known.”

The class presses closer like onlookers at a street brawl, hemming them in. Felix glares at his infuriatingly pretty adversary from across the flimsy classroom table. So here stood the pretender, the imitation, the counterfeit who thinks he can outdo Felix in this game of grandiose. The air between them is taught as a heartstring, dangerously close to snapping, causing irreparable damage to the function of one of their hearts, and it’s a toss-up whose is going to make it out intact.  

Felix steels himself. He is not going to lose, and he is not going to break. 

At last, Adrien breaks the sharp silence. “So, why are we here?”

And then, from the back of the crowd, a malicious, irritated voice rings out, punctuated with the crisp pop of a bubblegum snapping.

“This has to stop now,” says Chloe, nose red from allergies, immaculate hair ruined by the rushing crowds. She plucks confetti from her hair, crinkling her nose, and dusts ash from her jacket disdainfully, still reeking of cherry blossom candle wax. 

“Whatever it is that you’re going through, everyone else is sick of it and we are putting an end to it NOW!” 

Felix and Adrien push back in perfect unison:

“But no one’s won yet!” 

“How will we know who won?”

Half the class gave them a deadpan look. The other half, less subtle, just outright glared. Chloe checks her nails, and then flinches when she notices one is chipped. She hadn’t even noticed it chipping in the midst of all the chaos, which goes to show exactly how out of hand this has gotten. It needs to get back in hand, and that hand needs a manicure! 

“Okay, listen up, you walnuts.” (This was clearly becoming a popular insult around the school) “Cuh-learly this nonsense isn’t going to stop until one of you meatheads gets handed a trophy and told by your daddy you did a good job. So, as surrogate daddy for the day, I am officially announcing the Grande Bataille pour Marinette. SABRINA!”

Sabrina scampers over with a flustered “yes, Chloe!” and a cascade of papers from the stack she carries under one arm. After several seconds of fumbling, she proudly produces an enormous poster, nearly as tall as she is.

“The rules are simple.” (They aren’t.) “You’ll each get a series of clues about something to do with Marinette. What chocolate she likes or something, I don’t care. Anyway, you’ll go where the clue tells you and do your little dance or whatever, and whichever of you gets to the end first will be set up on a blind date with Marinette. Then you can drown her in these stupid roses for all I care. Not my problem”

Felix looks from Chloe to Adrien. Adrien looks from Felix to Chloe. Chloe glares them both down in equal measure. They quail and nod, despite having absolutely no clue what this game is or how it works, because it seems like a good time to get out of that room. But whatever it is, the game is about to begin.

Chloe greets them with an irritated huff in the middle of central park. It’s a calm, sunny day, far too cheerful for the occasion. Felix arrives late, having almost gotten lost on the way twice and sprinting the rest of the way. Adrien chuckles as Felix skids to a halt, panting, already not off to a good start. Felix glares back, but if he has a response it’s lost among his sputtering gasps.

Chloe taps one irritated foot against the grass. Clearly she doesn’t want to be here any longer than she needs to be.

“Late already, I see. Whatever, lets just get on with this.”

Felix, still barely able to breath, raises a hand to tell her wait, but Chloe seems to have no interest in having this take any longer than necessary. With the air of someone picking up a particularly disgusting piece of laundry, she pulls out a sheet of paper with two fingers.

“What is… Marinette's… favorite color?”

Felix’s eyes go wide. They’re going to start with something this simple? And so quickly? This is less a test of knowledge than of reflexes! Oh no... he has to answer now, right now, before Adrien answers first. Okay, um... It was obviously green of course, everyone knew that. It was green right? Right...? 

The gifts she got were green. And she hangs out with Chat Noir, right? Marinette had said so often that he was her favorite hero, and she definitely likes black but she says it’s not a real color, and Felix was starting to get dizzy with the lack of oxygen to his brain, and the world was spinning, and he needed to answer right now, and--

No time to think. With all the scarce air left in his lungs, Felix croaks out “Green!”

Adrien looks at him with baffled incredulity. “...Dude, it’s literally pink, have you ever seen her?”

Oh, bother.

Chloe claps with such immense lack of enthusiasm, Felix thinks she might fall asleep right there.

“Bravo, bravo. Adrien, you get a five minute head start. Felix, not gonna lie, that was pretty stupid, I���ll tell you when you can go. Next clue is just in front of Marinette’s bakery. You do know the way there I hope?”

Adrien gives a mock salute and sprints off, leaving Felix to forlornly watch his hopes vanish into the distance. 

Despite having more time, more breath, and a considerably higher morale on his side, Adrien manages to arrive at the bakery exactly as Felix does. Silently, he curses his sense of direction. Of course he knew where Marinette’s bakery was. Of course he did. He just… had a moment of confusion during which he needed to look up the bakery by name because he didn’t have the address saved anywhere on his phone. That was all.

Felix is far too out of breath to focus on anything other than remaining alive. He trots weakly up to Sabrina who stands outside the bakery doors, a large official-looking binder tucked under one arm.

“Oh, you’re here. Good.” She flips through her binder intently without looking at them. They wait in tense silence as she searches for the correct page. The wind tosses Felix’s hair into a disheveled mess. 

Adrien gives him a wry nudge “Maybe you should take the time to study. You seem to be a little shaky on your basics.”

“Maybe you should learn how to see, Adrien, or did you miss the fact that the bakery is literally in full view of the park?” 

“...touché”

“Ah!” At long last, Sabrina has found the appropriate page. With a small, self-satisfied smile, she thumbs the edge of the page and looks up at them.

“Which class does Marinette enjoy the most?”

Felix, by this point, has lost all sense of coherency. What does enjoy even mean, anymore? Well, Felix certainly isn’t enjoying this game he was losing. Losing, losing… What is Marinette good at? That’s got to be something she enjoys, right? 

...what isn’t Marinette good at? Felix drifts in his thoughts, flashing through memories of her bright enthusiasm, the flush riding high on her cheeks in every class, the way she chews her pencil when she thinks and the scribbles on her arms, every word a work of art in her hands. The only time he’s ever seen her sink into her seat, hide her face in her hands, turn pallid and pale is… 

Gosh, she’s just good at everything isn’t she? 

“Everything except physics!” Felix blurts out before his exhausted mind can catch up to him. Sabrina looks at him in bewilderment, finger hovering above her binder. Is he serious? she thinks, mouth starting to hang open in question. Then, five whole seconds after Felix’s brain has crashed over the barricade and careened into the valley below, Adrien’s brain slowly sputters to life.

“Um… I have art with her third period! So… probably that one!”

Sabrina’s gaping mouth hangs a little lower. “What?!” She manages through a wheeze.

Felix jolts. “Wait!!! I thought the question is which is she best at, can I answer again?!”

“...unfortunately, despite having completely awful reasoning, Adrien has gotten the question right. He will progress to Marinette’s favorite fabric store five minutes before you will.” 

Felix sulks. Adrien smirks, and looks up the directions on his phone first this time. 

It’s awkward standing there with Sabrina waiting for the seconds to tick by. She’s typing away rapidly on her phone, not even acknowledging Felix’s presence, glancing around idly at anything but him. Felix is still trying to work out Adrien’s reasoning. Is that her favorite class because he’s in it? Did they mean which experience does she most enjoy, or which subject? Does Adrien know something Felix doesn’t, about who Marinette likes spending time with, or is he just too sheltered to consider how Marinette exists outside of when she’s with Adrien?

Four minutes and thirteen seconds into his wait, she glances up and then her eyes blow wide. Her typing speeds up more than Felix thought was humanly possible, and her mouth purses into a thin line, her skin pale and clammy despite the unusually warm day. There is an absolute cacophony of text notifications that makes his head spin. At last, she looks up at Felix.

“Okay, go.”

“...what?”

“Go!” She waves a frantically dismissive hand as if that explains things any further.

“Um… okay?” Says Felix, glancing at the watch that still visibly has time left on it. He’s not about to waste one of his precious seconds though, and bolts off towards where he hopes the fabric store is. Time is wasting.

Besides. Sabrina looked about ready to murder him if it got him out of there. 

Sabrina watches him go, glancing anxiously from her phone to the bakery window, and calls the class. There’s been a situation.

Marinette is thinking of going for a walk (it is a beautifully calm, sunny day after all) when she spots Sabrina outside the bakery window. Chloe’s friend-turned-servant-turned-friend-again has always been awkward around her, ever since the day Marinette had (temporarily) convinced her to stand up for herself. Still, Marinette thinks it might be nice to have someone to spend the day with, and waves to Sabrina before hurrying out the door. 

Sabrina meets her at the door with a “Hi, Marinette!” so aggressive they both nearly fall over backwards. 

“H… hey, Sabrina!” She says with an awkward smile. “Um… what brings you around here?”

She’s trying to look over Sabrina’s shoulder, maybe see if anyone came with her, but Sabrina almost instantly slides to block her view.

“Just! Going for a walk! Do you want to… walk… together?”

“I was going to, but you seem to be blocking the door?”

“Oh… yeah…” Sabrina looks over her shoulder and does not move. 

“Um…”

About ten seconds of awkward silence later, Sabrina’s wall across the doorframe abruptly vanishes, as she practically yanks Marinette outside. “Come! Walk! Let's do that, where do you want to go?”

Baffled, Marinette takes a minute just to blink in the new light. “I… was planning on going to the park.” She figures that, with the rare beautiful, warm, clear day in December, it would be a good chance to people-watch and sketch ideas in her notebook for new outfits.  

“NO!” It’s the most vehement Marinette has ever seen Sabrina and Marinette recoils from the suggestion immediately, not wanting anything that makes her friend uncomfortable. Even if the word friend applies loosely here.

“...or we could just… visit downtown for a bit?” 

If Sabrina had it her way, the two of them would go straight up to Marinette’s room and stay there straight up until the date rolled around. Since she doesn’t get to have that, this seems like an acceptable compromise. Downtown is plenty big enough. Right? 

Ten minutes later, and it’s too late to stop Marinette from going to her favorite store. To buy fabric. 

Sabrina whimpers quietly and sends a few more texts. 

By the time Felix gets to the store, Adrien has already answered and slipped out the door. Felix catches him smirking a few steps away from the storefront, but something about it looks off, a little strange. He looks haunted, stricken behind his smugness. 

Felix bursts into the store and spots Juleka, and immediately blurts out: “Did Adrien get it right?!” 

She shakes her head and ducks behind her bangs, and mumbles, “He said she likes to look pretty. And make other people pretty.” 

So Adrien has incurred his first five minute penalty. 

...and he’s still ahead!!! Felix growls, and decides on a new strategy. It must be more efficient to focus on getting the answer right than getting it fast at this point, because another five minute delay is irreparable, but a two or three minute delay might still be recoverable. He waits impatiently for the question, but Juleka is engrossed in her texts. 

As soon as he opens his mouth to demand fair play, Juleka grabs his arm and yanks him forcibly behind a mannequin. “Why did Marinette start designing for fashion?” she hisses in his ear, pulling him abruptly away and into a new aisle. Felix’s heart leaps to his throat. He can feel a jumble of incoherent words clamoring to burst out. He swallows them, and they taste like bile. 

No. He needs a right answer, right now. 

It’s hard to think, though, with the way Juleka keeps shoving him around, even going so far as to kick him behind his knees, sending him crashing to the floor in a heap. She makes up for it by helping him back up later, but does it count if she’s the one that put him there, and then held him there for long minutes by kicking at him again when he pushed himself upright?! 

Finally, he manages to gasp out between one move and another, “Because… clothes are a representation of who you are, and there are too many people with no choices except the same hyper-idealized body types and colors, and Marinette wants to make them feel at home in their own skin.” He says it all in one rushed, nerve-wracking breath, and forgets to breathe altogether when Juleka nods. It’s his first correct answer. He did it. He did it.

And yet Juleka still doesn’t let him go, her vice-like grip on his wrist not letting up at all. Precious seconds are getting lost, and she wont. Let. Go. 

Finally, finally Juleka seems to get the divine signal she had been waiting for, because she hisses the next location in his ear and shoves him through the door. And then, immediately after he steps outside, the worst happens. 

Marinette figures, being downtown already, she’ll take the opportunity to pick up the order of fabric she’d placed, since the confirmation email came in this morning. It’ll save her a trip tomorrow, at least. 

Sabrina seems to despise this shop with a vengeance, whining and pulling on Marinette’s sleeve to go anywhere else, but it’s Marinette’s favorite. All the complaints only make Marinette more determined to show Sabrina why this one is so good. 

Stepping in, Marinette makes her way cheerfully to the counter, where she strikes up a conversation with the now-familiar cashier. The two of them strike up a grand campaign to show Sabrina around the store, making the redhead cringe and quiver with every new section of the store. Her eyes seem hunted, constantly flicking back and forth looking for predators, seeming to track something Marinette never quite manages to catch. 

At one point, Marinette swears she sees Sabrina mouthing the name Juleka, and the word run on multiple occasions. But that would be super weird, so she assumes she’s just imagined it. 

Finally, Marinette steps up to the counter to package up the fabrics she’d ordered, plus a few odds and ends she noticed as they had walked around that she liked. There is, behind her, a mad patter of steps and then the chime of the door opening, but by the time Marinette turns to look, the door is swinging empty back and forth. 

And then the akuma alarms go off. 

Luckily, it’s Mister Pigeon, because apparently the lure of a sunny day was too much for him to resist feeding his pigeons. 

Unluckily, this is going to set Felix back ages in the competition. 

Still, he does enjoy  getting to talk comfortably with Ladybug, since the fight is so repetitive. They’ve both done this a thousand times, and the motions of defeating him feel like slipping into well-worn pyjamas. 

“So what’s been bugging you, ma coccinelle?” Her shoulders are tense, movements awkward. He knows her well enough to know it isn’t the akuma that’s causing this stress. 

She grimaces. “...this fight is nothing compared to the one in my civilian life.” She shoots him an exhausted grin, and his heart aches at the sight of it. He tries for reassuring and winces as his words fall flat. 

“Oh, dear. What’s going on? Certainly nothing a hero like you can’t handle,” he winks, and then flinches away from a barrage of pigeon excrement and his own awkwardness. 

“...you ever think about how nice it would feel to have two people love you so much they’d fight over you?” 

This, he’s familiar with. Perhaps not the same way, but he’s loved something like that. Loves someone like that. “I’d imagine you’d enjoy them trying to outdo each other for you, putting so much effort into pleasing you, yes?”

Ladybug slips into a corner and calls for her Lucky Charm, then turns to answer him. “You’d think, but this is neither lucky NOR charming. I… I feel like a prize. I don’t even know if these people know me at all, or anything about what matters to me. I thought I’d like having secret admirers, but it feels like more of a mask than ours.” She looks at him fondly through a slew of pigeon feathers. “At least I know who you are, Chaton, even if I don’t know what your name is.” 

He has nothing to say to that, so turns to tackle the villain with particular aggression, slapping sharp beaks and sharp talons away from her so she can focus, and so she can keep talking. 

“I don’t know. I just want it to end. I want to matter to somebody, I want to be their priority, y’know? I don’t want big gifts that seem more focused on outdoing the last and an audience for my every reaction-- honestly, they’re worse than the press!!” He catches her shooing away a stray reporter, and grins. She grins back. “It’s like I’m the prize at a gladiator fight, and I’m not sure if I’m the woman he marries or the meat the lion gets, and I’m not sure which is better.” 

That last line, paired with her sweet, soft grin is what breaks him. Quietly, he answers. “I’m… not sure there is a better.”

She tosses him the akumatized object and he catches it with claws covered with cataclysm. It crumbles in his grip, and he grins weakly as her yo-yo shoots out to catch the corrupted butterfly.

“Yeah, exactly!! I’m glad you know that, even if they don’t. My… my classmates said they’d take care of it for me, so hopefully it’ll be over soon. I’ll be glad when I can stop performing my adoration for these presents that I don’t even really like anymore.” 

“You'd rather have someone just be present, huh.” 

“...yeah.” Her earrings give off their last warning beeps, and she startles. “I’ve gotta go, Chaton, but… thank you for listening! You… don’t always say much and I know we don’t know a lot about each other, but I know that… you might not know my favorite color, or whatever, but you know the things that matter to me. The things that make me who I am, that drive me. We have the rest of our lives to learn those things.” Impulsively, she kisses her cheek and then swings away before Chat can respond, leaving him gaping useless at the skyline for a solid minute. 

When he comes back to himself, he chuckles quietly, and then decides he has enough time on his ring (and enough selfishness in him) to jump through the city as Chat Noir, which brings him to the Farmer’s Market much more quickly than Felix ever would’ve made it on foot.

Adrien, between navigating downtown on his own for the first time and the akuma attack, arrives at quite the same time as Felix, and glowers miserably at his rival for having caught up. 

Maybe Ladybug’s luck was rubbing off on Felix after all. 

They meet Luka behind a stall of hand pressed apple juice and apple tarts and some very distracted candied apples that Felix eyes, tempted, before focusing on their clue.

…Luka looks at them solemnly for a long moment, and then plays a deep, rich chord. He pauses for a second to let it ring out before playing another, deeper, even richer chord. 

No one dares interrupt. Nodding, satisfied, Luka begins playing a melody. It’s staccato, plucky, but gradually shifts into a neatly balanced harmony, before ending on a final, unimaginably rich chord that rings out into the silence. Then he simply looks at them, calmly, expectantly. Clearly neither Adrien nor Felix have worked out what the heck this is supposed to be. 

At long last, Adrien ventures to ask, “Um...what’s the clue?” “The answer. Is within. The question.” Says Luka without pause.

Felix, with more emphasis, asks again. Luka, now very grave, responds: “Be wise. And be true. To your love.” 

Felix looks at Adrien. Adrien looks at Felix. Luka looks contemplatively at an apple, and then wanders a little ways off following a bird. Adrien and Felix chase after him, and ask as one with great urgency: “What’s the clue?”

Luka lets out the infinitely mournful sigh of misunderstood artists everywhere. “...fine. The question, since you two clearly didn’t understand the first three times, is: what does Marinette want most from her future?”

There is a long pause as both boys try to work out how they were supposed to understand this from any of the previously given information. Then, collecting themselves, they both answer in a rush, tripping over each other to be the first to answer. 

“A fashion designer, with three kids and a gerbil!” 

Felix is still talking as Adrien finishes, and feels three sizes too big in his skin as he keeps talking, awkward and gangly and ridiculous. “She wants… the ability to be independent and self-sustaining without losing her passion for loving and caring for others.” Then, absentmindedly, he adds, “also, pretty fashion.” 

Another painfully long pause. Then Luka abruptly plays a sharp, twangy chord, so loud and sudden that the two boys jump.

“Good job, Felix!” He says, nodding approvingly “Sometimes the song isn’t just about the melody. You get a five minute head start.”

The blue-haired boy leans against a nearby stall and, satisfied, plays a contemplative chord. Then another. Then another. Felix watches him, confused, trying to determine the hidden message until Luka interjects “Four minutes”, and sends Felix scampering off.

He almost gets to the edge of the market before a thought occurs to him and he backtracks for a moment. Marinette had mentioned once the way she had finally, for the first time, eaten a candied apple she liked and fell in love with it, and the ones he’d noticed at the stall are the same gourmet brand she had loved. She had rambled to him for twenty minutes about how cutting the apple into slices had improved the balance of flavors so well, and why had she never thought of that before, and how the caramel was creamy and soft and sweet without being overpowering or brittle or sticky, and how creative the flavor combinations were. 

Felix grabs s’mores, which was her favorite, and toffee-dark chocolate, which she had wanted to try but didn’t get to. 

Getting this for her is worth losing his lead. 

Then he nearly jumps out of his own skin and bones when he notices Marinette just a few steps away, peering at another stall, and panics for a second, but Sabrina (who is by now very frazzled) rushes after Marinette and reminds her that she needs to get home and changed soon, and didn’t she want to pick up some red bean paste before that? Better hurry!!! 

Marinette, for the first time all day, doesn’t protest. Felix takes the fastest route to her house, in case her red bean paste excursion goes more quickly than he expects. 

In front of her house again, they meet Nino, who is looking uncharacteristically serious. 

The question he asks knocks Felix off balance, and by the time he even begins to get his wits around him, Adrien has caught up and Nino is posing the question to him, too. 

“What is Marinette most afraid of in a relationship?” 

Adrien answers first. “She’s worried she won’t end up with me.” Nino looks at him for a long moment, and then clearly makes a decision. Adrien is asked to elaborate, and he doesn’t hesitate before adding that “Marinette wants someone who’s kind like her, and who knows the little details about her. She’s afraid to be with someone who doesn’t pay attention to her because it shows they don’t care, and she doesn’t want someone who drags her down with heavy, loaded conversations.”

Felix’s heart sinks. Is that true? Has Adrien won before Felix ever even got to attempt the question? His heart rate spikes until Nino, very carefully, says: “It’s Felix’s turn to answer. Whoever is closer wins, unless we decide you’re both tied, in which case you’re you’ll get a chance to answer again.” 

“...shouldn’t you have explained that first?!”

Nino shrinks and smiles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh… haha… oops?” 

Felix decides it’s more important to answer. Nino will still be around to traumatize later, after all. He takes another moment, savoring the sensation to have time to think for the first time all day. Recalling the conversation with Ladybug from earlier, Felix realizes that Marinette and Ladybug are similar in a lot of ways. They’re strong, they care so much about the people they love, and maybe they’re both absolutely terrified of being seen as an idol or a pretty face, a trophy or a derivative of their history, or a doormat for their kindness and compassion. They don’t care about knowing something that they can tell someone else between casual conversations through the rest of their lives. They’re worried that they’ll get in a relationship and not be seen, and not be heard. 

He says so. 

Nino nods, and points Felix towards the park. 

He won? He won!!! He--

...he gets to go on a date with Marinette. 

Felix is slammed with the realization that he hasn’t won now. He… he knows Marinette, and he knows her well, and that’s not something he thought he would get to be able to say today. It’s more than winning or losing, all of a sudden. It’s friendship.

And, with a little luck and a lot of patience, maybe it’ll be more. 

Adrien suddenly bursts in on his revelry. “It’s not fair! That was a stupid question, how was anyone supposed to know that?”

The taller boy steps towards Felix, towering over him. Felix takes an involuntary step back.

“You didn’t deserve to win. She likes me!” Spittle is flying from Adrien's face, his precious model-coiffed blond hair hanging ragged over his face. Felix starts to back away, or point out that he had, in fact, known the answer by asking Marinette questions about herself and listening when she talked, and putting the pieces together, but a kernel of compassion grows in his stomach.

“She does like you. That’s why she’s your friend. And if she likes you more than that, I know she’ll let you know.” 

Adrien is looking at him silently, aghast as to how he could have been wrong. Then he storms off, muttering something about lawyers. Felix chooses not to gloat, because there’s nothing to gloat about. He hopes Adrien can get to know Marinette well, too. She’s worth the effort. He knows that now. 

He meets Marinette at the park, where the rest of the class has been setting up a picnic date. It’s gorgeous, with soft blankets laid out, pillows strewn across the edges of the blankets bordering a feast of their favorite foods. Candles flicker on nearby benches and fairy lights are strewn up through the trees, and it’s a miracle the weather has cooperated the entire day, honestly. 

“You would not BELIEVE what I had to get through to get here,” he starts, knowing how much Marinette loves a good story. 

“I’m… Alya just told me what shenanigans had happened today, because I wouldn’t stop asking why Sabrina was having a nervous breakdown by the end of the day. How’d you get that last question right, anyways?” She laughs, somehow bright and awkward at the same time. “I’m not even sure I know the answer!”

Felix feels a blush blooming across his skin. “Well, I thought-- y’know-- it’s just that--” Marinette interrupts him with a hand over his, and he swallows. “...you just… reminded me of someone I know.” 

“That’s a pretty special someone you’ve got there.” 

“...there’s a pretty special someone I’ve got right here, too.” 

They take a minute to eat, and snuggle into each other, and bask in the moment, the warmth of each other and the brisk sharpness of windchill and the twinkling lights of all the love (and maybe desperate frustration) their friends have poured into making this happen. 

Hours pass like that, half in comfortable silence, half in excited, rambling chatter. When the wind picks up, Marinette glances at her long-discarded coat and curls up tighter against Felix. He slips his hands into his gloves and holds her tight. 

They’re dozing off like that, half asleep in each other’s arms, when Marinette breaks the silence, eyes still closed, mumbling against his shoulder. 

“I guess it’s not much of a blind date anymore, but…” She leans in and kisses his cheek, ghosting over the still-warm presence of Ladybug’s kiss. “...I’m glad it was you here.”

#felinette november #felinette #felinette month 2020 #miraculous ladybug #too many italics #guys #she's not a prize #he is so smitten he will discover her deepest fears #and that's valid of him #meanwhile: Adrien's a jackass #and luka's a beautiful space creature #and chloe is a mean girls girl #and every single word is in italics #and the plot don't stop

[blueroseblaze]

If You’ll Have Me: Chapter 1

Read also on Ao3 here

The tinkering of metal harmonized with the soft music of the radio as you and Nero continued inspecting the van. Nico had long since gone home, saddling the two of you with the rest of the work. You didn’t mind though, any time you could spend with Nero was time well spent, even while doing menial labor.

“You okay?” Nero asked as he rolled out from underneath the massive vehicle, “You seem quiet.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you replied, “Just zoning out.”

Nero nodded, not pressing the issue any further. He stood from the roller seat and discarded the tools in his hand. He walked over to the sink in the corner, using the hem of his tank top to wipe away the sweat from his brow. You couldn’t keep yourself from catching a glimpse of his toned stomach as he did. But you quickly snapped yourself out of it.

Bad look, you thought, He’s with Kyrie.

“See something you like?” Nero teased from the other side of the garage, not even turning around to face you.

You clammed up and froze. Had you been so obvious? You continued staring at him, a guilty blush creeping up your face, exasperated by his turning his head and shooting you’re a snarky wink. You snapped your head away from his direction as he continued cleaning up.

You couldn’t escape the awkward silence, even the radio did little to ease your anxiety. Until an angel’s voice broke through the air.

“Nero! (Y/N)! Dinner’s almost ready!”

“We’ll be right there!” the young devil hunter called back. He turned to you from the sink, his expression as if the previous exchange never happened, yet there was a knowing glint in his crisp blue eyes.

“You staying?” he asked.

“Of course,” you replied with a smile, “If you’ll have me.”

“Always.”

You started to freshen up yourself hocking your tools onto the nearest surface and making way for the door. Nero stayed behind to finish tidying up and encouraged you to go on ahead. You stole one last look before making your way into the house.

The warm, welcoming aroma of Kyrie’s food wafted through the house, carrying you towards the kitchen. Your empty stomach growled the closer you got to the source. Turning the corner, you took a big breath in, exaggerating your reaction only a little to alert her to your presence.

“Hungry?” she asked in the songbird voice of hers.

“You know it,” you replied, “Nero will be in in a minute, he’s finishing up out there.”

“Well in that case you want to help me finish here and set the table?”

With little more than a nod you trotted over to the cabinet and pulled down the plates, cradling them in one arm as you searched the drawers for silverware. Hands full, you stepped into the dining room. You stole a look over your shoulder back towards the kitchen, listening to Kyrie humming a pleasant tune. You felt a smile stretch across your face, not realizing you had been stock still the whole time, not until a gentle had rested on your shoulder and Kyrie’s voice cut through your haze.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?” she asked.

You nearly dropped everything in your arms as your heart skipped a beat. Your eyes met hers and you noted her concerned expression.

“I-I’m fine,” you said, “Just lost in thought.”

“You been doing that a lot lately.”

“Yeah there’s just been a lot on my mind. But I’m fine, promise!” you reassured her.

She looked rather incredulously at you before removing her hand from your shoulder. Her hand lingered on you for a moment, her fingers feather light as she reluctantly pulled away. You took in a deep breath and resumed setting the table, cursing yourself for getting so distracted.

You sighed defeatedly. There’s no point in letting yourself get hurt like this. They are happy together; they’ve been happy together. There’s no room for you. They only have you around because you’re a close friend, nothing more.

You felt tears prick at your eyes as you set the last plate down. You’d been getting careless. The wanton glances and lingering stares would get you in trouble soon enough, no matter how nonchalant they seems when you got caught. You suspected they suspected you. And you couldn’t help the anger at yourself that rose in your chest. Luckily, your back was till turned to Kyrie, and you quickly pranced to the bathroom once the last piece of table wear was set. You locked the door and supported yourself against the counter, staring at the flushed mess that was your face.

Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Hanging around, savoring every passing glance or soft touch, no matter the context. You had to be some kind of desperate masochist. This couldn’t go on; you would only be hurting yourself and being a burden on them. This should be the last time you let yourself feel like this. Do everyone a favor and cut yourself out. Make this last time enjoyable, then dial it back.

You gasped at the knock on the other side of the door. You quickly composed yourself and let out a sound of acknowledgment.

“You okay in there,” Nero’s voice was muffled on the other side.

“Yeah I’m fine, just finishing washing up,” you lied.

“Ok don’t rush yourself we won’t eat without you,” he said.

“Don’t worry about me help yourselves.”

There was silence after that indicating he had left. Thank god, you thought, another confrontation dodged. You worked quickly, running the cool water from the faucet, and pressing damp towel to your face to relieve the redness in your eyes. This wasn’t the first time you had been driven to tears by your near addiction to your friends, but it was the first time you were so close to getting caught. There’s no good explanation if they had caught a glimpse of your distraught face. No allergies, no bullshit reminder of some stupid thing that made you sad. If you had gotten caught there was no way you would be able to talk yourself out of it. At least not without revealing to them that you were obviously lying to their faces.

Besides, how are you supposed to explain this to your friends, your friends that you have known since childhood, your friends that you followed to the mainland from the tiny island you all grew up on, your friends that have been together for years. How are you supposed to explain to them that you’ve been in love with both of them for so long? You can’t.

Which is why this has to end. You can’t keep letting yourself hurt like this. Why can’t you just let yourself stop hurting?

After a few more minutes you were presentable, a slightly bluish still permeating your face but nothing to give away the tears that flowed down your cheeks just moments before. You looked into the mirror and sighed before opening the bathroom door.

You walked into the dining room, surprised that dinner hadn’t been touched yet despite both Nero and Kyrie sitting there, plates empty.

“Did you wait for me?” you asked.

“Of course, we did,” Kyrie exclaimed with a smile.

“Why wouldn’t we wait for you?” Nero asked, slouched in his chair with his arm hanging off the back.

You gave them a smile that expressed both gratitude and annoyance, “But I said not to I don’t want it to get cold while you wait for me.”

Nero chastised you playfully before demanding you sit down.

Dinner was great, like it always was. Kyrie’s cooking could not be beat. It was a banquette of roast beef, potatoes, and mixed vegetables, enough to feed a small army. Or a hungry Nero. You also knew she made enough for you to take plenty home with you when you left. So thoughtful of her.

“And then I punched that ugly bastard right off the side of the bridge and timed how long it took until we heard it splash,” Nero chuckled, “Those army guys were certainly impressed.”

“You’re still not used to all the praise are you?” Kyrie inquired.

The evening was filled with chatter, laughter --mostly at Nero’s expense—and just general pleasantries. You swear you could listen to either of them talk about anything for hours and enjoy every minute of it. Nero’s improvements in his weaponry and his increased proficiency with his Devil Trigger form. Or Kyrie’s new craft project she’s begging you to try with her, because she thinks you’d be great at it. You hung on every word. You wanted to savor this, because you knew this would be the last time you could indulge in such a way. This had to be it, to save both yourself and your relationship with them. Sure, they would ask questions about your increased absence and why you suddenly started turning down their invitations, but it would be healthier in the long run.

Even after everyone was full, you all still sat around the table as the food got cold just talking, laughing, enjoying each other’s company. Kyrie even brought out a bottle of wine. Despite none of you really drinking that often the evening was filled with an air of “why not?”. Both you and Nero sneered jokingly into your glasses, wine was always more Kyrie’s  anyway, but you sucked it up and indulged in the bitter juice.

The bottle was half empty by the time it was agreed to bring the evening to a pause. You didn’t need to be tipsy on your way home, you reasoned. But you did stay to help clean up the dishes and put way leftovers. Kyrie tried to help but You and Nero refused, she cooked, so you cleaned. That’s how these things worked.

Now here you were standing shoulder to shoulder with the snowy haired devil hunter. You washing, him drying. You glanced over, noticing him taking an excruciatingly long time drying off each dish or pot you handed him. He didn’t look at you and seemed lost in thought like he was contemplating something, but you chose not to ask.

That ache in your chest was starting to grow again, starting with the swell of admiration and want for his closeness but only to be poisoned by your conscious screaming at you. Asking who you thought you were to catch feelings for two people already so committed to each other. An emotional vampire, a parasite feeding off the happiness of your friends’ relationship. What kind of homewrecker were you to even think about feeling this way?

You bit your lip, trying not to feel the burn behind your eyes as you gradually reached your limit again. You focused on your task, hoping that focusing on your hands only will distract you. You didn’t notice Nero look over his shoulder, or Kyrie approach you from behind. Despite your focus on your hands, you felt the atmosphere change. You slowly lowered the soapy dish into the water and turned your head to meet the gaze of your friends.

Kyrie stood a few feet from you and Nero. You could see the nervous look on her face as she played with her fingers, barley keeping eye contact with you. She shifted her eyes between you and Nero as Nero leaned against the counter, crossing his arms securely over his chest.

You heart rate spiked, panic running through your body.

Oh god, you thought, this is it. They found you out. They know how you feel and now they’re going to kick you out. Who could blame them? Who would want to keep a desperate lonely leech like you around? They were just being nice to you so they wouldn’t hurt your feelings but now they’ve had enough. Now they’re done with you. They’re going to tell you to leave and never come back.

The voice in your head continued to berate you with scenario after scenario of them letting you down easy, screaming at you, throwing you out onto the street. This didn’t help you with trying to keep a new reservoir of tears from brewing behind your eyes that they will notice any minute now. Keep it together…

“(Y/N),” Kyrie started in her beautiful melodic voice, “Nero and I want to talk to you about something.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat, “What is it? Is everything ok?” you asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Nero started, “We just have sort of a… proposal, for you.”

“Okay…?” You crossed your own arms over yourself protectively.

Nero moved so that he and Kyrie were both facing you and you would much rather be facing down a firing squad at this point.

Kyrie started again, “We’ve all known each other for a very long time, and you’re our best friend. You’re so smart and funny and kind. We don’t know what we would do without you around. We love spending time with you, and we always hate to see you leave.”

She’s just buttering you up to make this less painful… Or maybe? Maybe she’s softening you up to make it hurt that much more to get you to stay away.

It was at this point that Nero spoke up, “We can always talk to you about anything we’re dealing with and you’re always there for us. You never judged me when you found out about me being part demon. You were there when I lost my arm and when I found out about my father.”

“When we lost Credo,” Kyrie added sullenly, “You’re basically family to us we’re so close, and we love you. I know we say it a lot but I don’t think it shows how we really feel.”

You remained silent, taking in their words that warmed your heart but still left you anxious. Where was this going, really? It was true though, you were always there for them when they needed help, because that’s what friends do. You know they would always do the exact same for you. Like when Kyrie brings you hot soup and beverages when you’re sick, or when Nero patches you up if you get too close to a demon. That’s just what friends do for each other.

“When we say we love you,” Nero said, “We mean it. And not in like a family way… we…”

Kyrie took over, “We wanted to ask you, if you would like to join us.”

Your eyes widened and your mouth fell agape just slightly. This couldn’t be real. They can’t be asking what you think they’re asking. They probably just joined a new mainland church or they need an extra person to take care of the kids at the orphanage. There’s no way that they…

“Join you?” you repeated.

“We want you to be a part of our relationship, so it would be the three of us instead of just me and Kyrie.”

You dropped your gaze, looking down and shaking your head in disbelief. They were really asking. You couldn’t believe it, this had to be a dream. One you would wake up from any moment alone in your own bed at home.

“If you’re not interested we get it,” Nero said seeing your look of disbelief. Hopefully, he didn’t think it was offense. “We don’t want to force you into anything we just need to get our feelings out there.”

“Kyrie you…” you began struggling to express your thoughts, “I didn’t know that you were…”

“It’s never something I ever really explored but I always felt deep down, especially fpr you. Nero and I did a lot of talking and we found out we both feel the same way for you that we do for each other. There’s just something there that we couldn’t ignore any longer. So, if you want to give it a try, we would want nothing more.”

“Whoa, (Y/N) are you okay!” Nero exclaimed.

It was then you noticed that your dam had burst and the tears were freely falling down your cheeks. You stood there shaking with quiet sobs as you lowered your head and brought your hands to your face to cover your reddened eyes. You panted and hiccupped behind your hands until you felt another pair, warm and gentle wrap around your wrists, gingerly coaxing you to reveal your face. You sniffled as you met Kyrie’s worried amber eyes.

“We’re so sorry. We won’t bring it up again, I promise. Please don’t cry,” she begged.

“It’s n-not…t-that,” you sputtered, “I pro-omise…”

They were both silent as Kyrie still held your shaky hands in her own while Nero stepped aside to grab something to dry your tears with. Kyrie quietly shushed you encouraging you to calm down so you could speak clearly. You began to focus on your breathing, slow quivering breaths in and out in a broken rhythm.

You couldn’t believe it. After so long. So many years of wanting and pushing your feelings down for their sake. So many years of loneliness holding out for this exact moment, no matter how impossible it previously seemed. So long just wanting to be held by them, touched, kissed, and loved by them the way they do each other. This was really happening.  

Soon Nero returned with a bundle of tissues, handing them to you without a word but a very concerned face. It was still a few more minutes to calm yourself before you could speak.

“You…” you started dabbing your eyes as you went, “You have no idea how long… how long I’ve felt the same way. I just didn’t want to say anything because… because I didn’t want to ruin what we had. I… I didn’t want to just wedge myself in and risk ruining everything… so I k-kept quiet about how I felt.”

You sighed deeply as you calmed down more and more.

“I always had a feeling. I didn’t ask because… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or scare you off. So, I just always teased you about being in love with me,” he chuckled, “I was too scared to come out with it myself. So, I just hoped you would do it for me.”

Kyrie, still standing very close to you, reached out her hand, softly rubbing your shoulder to help calm you faster. She smiled sweetly at you, that same smile you had see so many times and locked away in your inner vault to cherish when she wasn’t around, like the selfish little love gremlin you were.

“So,” she began, “What do you think? You don’t have to answer right away if you don’t want to.”

You smiled at her, eyes still red and puffy but so much happier than you were before. You took Kyrie’s hands into yours Interlocking your fingers with her, sighing with the warmth of her skin.

“I want to, I really do. So yes… if you’ll have me.”

Both of them smiled at you, Kyrie bouncing with excitement as you wiped away the last of your tears. Nero came forward, wrapping his strong arms around both of you. You buried your face in his shoulder, inhaling his comforting scent before pulling away from him, hand still locked in Kyrie’s. You looked to her, and saw the rosy blush spreading over her freckled cheeks.

She looked away from you bashfully before asking, “(Y/N), may I kiss you?”

You blinked wide eyed at her and felt your own cheeks heat up again, this time not from crying. You meekly nodded and stood still as she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours. They were the softest thing you had ever felt like rose petals that had been sitting on a sunny windowsill in summer. Lips slightly parted so they would fit perfectly with hers you felt the heat radiating off her skin. In the end it was chaste, she pulled away with a quiet smack of your parting. You had little experience with kissing but this one sent sparks through your whole body you had never felt before.

You were both silent after the fact, sparing each other bashful glances until Nero stepped forward, scratching at his nose in embarrassment like he’s one to do. He was uncharacteristically quiet but very characteristically shy as he placed a light hand on your shoulder. He leaned in slowly, silently asking for permission to join in. You granted it without a word, only closing the distance between you.

His lips weren’t as full or soft as Kyrie’s, but they were still softer than you had expected. You took a breath through your nose as your lips began to work against his. It felt so right, still riding the high after kissing Kyrie now Nero, your head was spinning in all directions.

Nero was the one to pull away first, and for a brief moment you followed him, wanting more. But you stopped, you couldn’t be so greedy. Your skin tingled as Nero let his hand fall form it, his calloused fingertips lingering on your skin as he went. You could feel the goosebumps rising in the exact patterns as his touch.

“It’s getting late,” Nero said, his voice huskier than it was before, “We don’t have to do anything more tonight.”

“You’re right,” you said, your arm returning to their position securely across your chest, “I-I think that we should talk about this more later.”

“Do you want to spend the night?” Kyrie asked, “You still have some things here.”

It wasn’t uncommon for you to spend the night at their place when the night got away from you and it was too late and too much of a hassle to walk home. So naturally after some time you had accumulated a small wardrobe that you just left here for such an occasion. And sweetest Kyrie, had them all clean folded in a canvas box neatly tucked away in the linen closet.

“Thank you I would but, I think maybe it would be best if I went home for tonight, process everything.”

There’s no way you would be able to sleep tonight if you were here, especially after all of this. Your mind was still racing with adrenaline, excitement, and anxiety. Those kisses gave you enough dopamine to last you a long while, you’ll still be feeling their lips on yours when you’re trying to sleep tonight.

“I understand,” Kyrie said with a content smile, “But please come over for breakfast tomorrow so we can talk things over more.”

“I will that sounds great,” you agreed, “It is getting late if I leave now it shouldn’t take me too long.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Nero offered. Ever the gentleman as he led you to the door, you both sparing a quick goodnight to Kyrie.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc v #devil may cry v #dmc 5 #devil may cry 5 #dmc 4 #devil may cry 4 #nero #kyrie #dmc nero #dmc kyrie #nero x kyrie #nero x reader #kyrie x reader #nero x kyrie x reader #reader insert #dmc reader insert #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry fanfic #devil may cry fanfiction #my writing #my post #blue writes

[happyandticklish]

A Study in Weakness

Shinra is pointing out different weaknesses in human beings when he discovers a particularly interesting one in his friend. 

Shinra Kishitani often wondered how he had ended up with the friends he had.  A man in possession of super human strength that scientifically speaking shouldn’t be possible, and an info broker who delighted in the fulfillment of his every sadistic urge. Certainly he had received a rather strange lot in life. Although then again, Shinra wasn’t the most normal person himself.

That day, however, Shinra found himself discussing one of the only interests he and the info broker had in common: human beings.

“Isn’t it fascinating that no matter how strong or invincible a person may be, they still fall prey to the most insignificant of things?” Shinra was saying. Besides him, Izaya watched him with a look of ambiguous interest. “Physical attacks like concussions and colds can take us down instantly, not to mention mental weaknesses like fear and the blinding passion of love.”

“You consider love to be a weakness?” Izaya inquired curiously, raising an eyebrow. “That’s ironic coming from you.”

Shinra chuckled. “Yeah, but I don’t consider my love for Celty a weakness. Our bond only makes us stronger together!” He sighed happily, his whole face lighting up at the mention of his beloved Dullahan. His devotion to her was near unsettling, but so were a lot of things about Shinra.

They turned a corner, the sun shining hot on their faces so that they had to squint to see where they were going. “It is intriguing, I will admit,” Izaya agreed, hoping to put a stop to another rant about Celty before it could begin. “Humans are such interesting creatures. So very delicate, no matter how many pretenses they put up. It’s a wonder they manage to survive at all.”

“You’re a human too, you know,” Shinra pointed out wryly, plopping down on a park bench and hissing as the warm metal burned his thighs. “You don’t have to talk about us like we’re an alien species.”

“I suppose,” Izaya murmured with contempt. He turned to Shinra suddenly, resting his chin on his knee. “What about you? What’s your weakness, my dear friend?”

“Oh you know, the usual things. I have seasonal allergies, a hopeless devotion to a girl who doesn’t look twice at me, I’m unbearably ticklish, I have a crick in my neck that’s never gone away—”

“Hold up,” Izaya said, and Shinra paused his list. “You’re ticklish?”

“Yeah,” Shinra confirmed, seeming completely unembarrassed by the fact. “I think everyone is.”

That was news to Izaya. It was strange how you could know someone for so long and not know such simple things about them. He wondered what other secrets Shinra was keeping from him. Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed it when Shinra mentioned him.

“I bet even you’re ticklish, Izaya.”

Izaya scoffed. “Me? Ticklish? Please.”

Shinra narrowed his eyes. Izaya shifted uncomfortably on the bench. The conversation was going in a decidedly unpleasant direction. “I think you’re lying.”

“Oh?” Izaya replied tersely. “And why is that?”

“Everyone’s ticklish, at least a little bit,” Shinra explained. Izaya wished he would stop using the word so casually. It made his skin crawl.

“Well, I’m not. So I guess you’re wrong—”

“Prove it.”

“What?” Izaya snapped.

“Prove that you’re not ticklish. I’ll tickle you for one minute and if you can resist me I’ll believe you.”

Izaya found himself trapped in the scientist’s gaze and he swallowed, squeezing his knee tighter against himself. “Why should I?”

Shinra shrugged, turning away. “It’s up to you. I’ll just know you’re lying if you refuse.”

Though Shinra had seemingly just provided him with the perfect out, Izaya knew a trap when he saw one. If he refused right now then Shinra would know he was lying, and there was no chance that he wouldn’t use that information against him later. But if Izaya could hold out, even for just one minute, he wouldn’t have to worry about any of that.

Izaya forced a smirk, sprawling back so his body sat open and defenseless to the touch. “Alright then. Go ahead. But it’s not going to work, I’m telling you.”

If Shinra was deterred by his comments he didn’t show it. Izaya tried to ignore the pounding of his heart inside his chest, focusing instead on trying to somehow manually shut off his nervous system. Shinra moved so that he was kneeling in front of him, hands resting lightly against his sides. For a moment no one moved.

Then Shinra curled his fingers.

An unmistakable shudder of feeling coursed through his body. It had been a while since anyone had tried to tickle him and he was unprepared for the onslaught of ticklishness he experienced then. He was far more sensitive than he remembered. Izaya had never felt more present than he did in that moment, and he swallowed back an involuntary noise. Shinra appeared unaware of the effect he was having on Izaya, and continued to wiggle his fingers in that same, deadly spot on his sides.

He couldn’t do it. There was no way that Izaya could just sit there and let himself be tickled. He was practically holding his breath as he mustered every ounce of self-control he had to stop himself from squirming away or making any kind of noise at all. It was annoying, actually, how ticklish he seemed to be. Izaya couldn’t remember the last time he had been tickled, though he was sure there had been moments when he was a child when the subject had organically cropped up. Still, it was really unfair that it was only now that he was discovering the sheer depth of his sensitivity.

Despite all of that, though/, he found himself almost enjoying himself. Tickling was something that he had always found fascinating about humans, how such a seemingly innocent thing could send the greatest of fighters into hysterics in an instant. Izaya enjoyed taking risks in life, and he saw this almost as a show of endurance to see how long he would be able to hold out, as he had never been able to test himself before in this area. He made up his mind that no matter what Shinra did he would not crack.

This resolve lasted about five seconds before Shinra’s path descended to his hips. Shinra stared at the hands now clamped about his wrists and the reluctant grin evident on Izaya’s face. “I thought you weren’t ticklish.”

“I’m not,” Izaya corrected immediately. Even though by this point that was obviously not the case, he still wasn’t willing to admit it.

Shinra raised his eyebrows, grinning infuriatingly. “Uh-huh. I may not be as attuned to human nature as you, but I know when someone’s lying.”

Izaya released his wrists, choosing instead to cross his arms across his chest. It was a gesture he was hoping Shinra would see as casual, while in reality he just wanted to have his hands somewhere where he could control their movements. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Then you won’t mind me trying again, will you?” Shinra’s tone was light and teasing and struck a chord somewhere deep inside him; Izaya didn’t want to lose.

Izaya hesitated for a moment. “Not at all.” Maybe he could control himself better now that he was used to the feeling.

Unfortunately for him, the anticipation only made it worse. As Shinra reached for his sides, Izaya watched them with a hawk’s eyes, his body quivering despite himself. At the last second, however, Shinra’s hands darted down to squeeze his thighs instead.

Unprepared, Izaya jumped, his lips pressing down into a firm line as he barely repressed a squeak. Shinra was unperturbed. He traced lightly over the trembling thighs, bare due to the heat from summer. Izaya drew in a sharp breath, choking back whimpering giggles. The fingers climbed his thighs, continuing their ascent beneath the hem of his t-shirt.

When Shinra’s fingers first touched bare skin Izaya had two realizations. One, that he was a lot more ticklish than he had ever thought possible, and two, that this had evolved very quickly past friend territory. There was a nervous energy in the air that had absolutely nothing to do with tickling, though that certainly didn’t help. At another time, when Izaya was thinking more clearly, he might have had the common sense to stop Shinra, to put an end to whatever charade they were putting on. Instead, he found himself strangely content to allow the other boy to continue. Izaya chose not to dwell on that information, saving it for another day.

In the meantime, he struggled to contain the effect Shinra was having on him, biting his lip as his skin jumped under the feather-light touches. Shinra wasn’t shy about switching between his torso and his legs either, and Izaya fisted his hands by his sides, never able to familiarize himself to the sensation. By this time a minute had passed and Izaya had technically won their little game. Both of them had long since given up on counting, however, quickly realizing that this was about something else at this point.

“Is something the matter?” Shinra asked sweetly, scratching persistently at a certain spot on his inner thigh.

“Hmm, hah, n-nope, nohot at a-all,” Izaya replied just as sweetly, trying to glare at his attacker. But the effect was ruined by the smile plastered wide over his usually sarcastic expression.

His pretense could only last so long, however. It wasn’t anything big that broke him—a single finger sweeping over his side—but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. First a giggle, then a snort, and soon he was full on cackling as he squirmed under the ticklish assault. He didn’t stop him, weirdly, even though his laughter technically meant the end of their game. It was a couple minutes before Shinra himself finally relented, pulling his hands away and letting his friend breathe.

“I knew you were ticklish!” Shinra declared as Izaya tried to rub away the phantom tickles that still tingled all throughout his body.

“You’re dead Kishitani,” he growled, trying to recover any semblance of dignity. His cheeks were pink from laughter and embarrassment. “Just you wait—”

“Oh yeah?” Shinra challenged, raising his chin confidentially. “And just what are you going to do about it?”

Izaya smirked then, a predator’s glint in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll see.” And with that he pounced on his scrawny friend, long fingers digging into bony ribs with an untamed ferocity.

Unlike Izaya, unrestrained laughter immediately fell from Shinra’s lips as he jerked backwards. Shinra’s laughter was loud and buoyant, so exactly like his personality. He squirmed on the bench and pawed at Izaya’s hands, but not once did he protest the torture or try genuinely to escape. Izaya frowned, the lack of embarrassment on Shinra’s face irritating him. He momentarily stopped tickling him to stare critically at his friend. “Why aren’t you asking me to stop?”

Shinra drew in a deep breath, flushed and panting, but very obviously happy. He shrugged in response. “I don’t know. I guess I kind of liked it—it was fun.”

Izaya furrowed his eyebrows. “Fun?”

“Yeah!”

Izaya felt a blush blooming to his features, though this time it was for an entirely different reason. To cover up his own embarrassment, he smirked, looming over the smaller boy. “Alright then. Just remember you asked for this then!”

He jumped on him again and Shinra fell back into hysterical laughter, never once asking him to stop, and for a brief moment Izaya found himself smiling genuinely. This time, it wasn’t from the tickling.

#durarara!! #tickling #shinra kishitani #izaya orihara #shinra x izaya #tickle fic #tickle #izashin #fanfiction #shinyaya

[there-must-be-a-lock]

wings & the way down - part 4

Spencer Reid x Derek Morgan

Word Count: ~1870 this chapter

Warnings: None? 

A/N: A wild subplot appears! Gang’s mostly here, so we get to the fun stuff soon. Nobody’s reading this on tumblr, really, but I still feel the need to apologize for the delay! 

Catch up here. 

Monday, January 6 - Derek

As far as first days go, it could be a lot worse. It’s still fucking exhausting. 

They send the class president to meet him in the office, in the morning — blonde-haired and blue-eyed, straight out of a Colgate ad as she shakes his hand and introduces herself as “Jennifer, but my friends call me JJ.” 

Derek doesn’t fully trust girls like that, the ones who are so traditionally pretty they think they don’t have to be nice, but she’s cool enough as she shows him to his first class and gives him a brief tour, pointing out where he’ll want to go for his next class. He’s already feeling a little lost. 

People keep looking at him, and he wonders what they’re seeing. 

JJ seems to know everybody; she greets almost everyone by name as they walk, introducing Derek in passing. Most of the kids smile right back. It makes Derek reconsider his initial assessment of her; mean girls don’t usually get that sort of genuine warmth aimed in their direction. 

She invites him to eat lunch with her and her friends, but he has a meeting with Principal Strauss during lunch to talk about the student handbook, how he’s adjusting, and all the other fun shit. 

“No worries, standing invitation,” JJ tells him. 

“Tomorrow, then. It’s a date,” he replies, flashing his most charming grin. 

She smiles at that — not the flirtatious expression Derek expected, more like she’s laughing at a private joke — before waving and heading off to her own class.

The history teacher, Ms. Lewis, asks him to stand and introduce himself to the class, and to “Tell us something about yourself,” which… yeah, he saw that one coming, and he practiced it in front of the mirror last night. 

“Derek Morgan.” Not-too-bright smile; just casual enough to be cool, not cocky. “I just moved from Chicago. Psyched about the Vegas weather, not so much about the pizza.” 

He has to do the same thing at the start of every class. He’s going to be repeating it in his sleep, at this rate, and the more he says it, the more disingenuous it feels, trying to boil his identity down to one neat sentence. 

The English teacher, Blake, also asks him to say his favorite book, and Derek hesitates slightly. His instinct is to lie, say something cool and not quite as nerdy, but he catches himself and tells the truth instead. Nobody seems to care except the girl sitting next to him — dark hair, darker eyeliner — who raises a skeptical brow, like she doesn’t believe it. 

At the end of class, though, Blake pairs him with Eyeliner Girl for a project, and she gives him a begrudging smile before introducing herself: “Emily. Glad I’m not the new kid any more.” 

She scrawls her name and number on a piece of paper and slaps it down on the desk in front of him, saying something about meeting up later in the week, as she starts to pack up her stuff. Derek notices an enamel pin of a pansexual pride flag on her bag — between a Joy Division patch and a pin that says “Death Before Decaf” — but before he can figure out whether he wants to comment on that, she’s on her way out the door. 

Most of the day is just a blur of new faces and names and trying to remember where the fuck he’s going. Strauss is brusque but sharp. The place is huge, but there seem to be a lot of girls eager to show him around. People have been friendly enough; the whispers he hears are curious, instead of vicious. 

Derek feels a little bit like he’s got a spotlight on him every time he walks through the halls. At least here it’s a spotlight and not a bullseye. 

He wasn’t nervous for any of his classes, or anything, but he’s definitely nervous before practice. He’s not sure whether Coach Rossi told the team anything about why he ended up transferring mid-year. 

He’s braced for some hostility when he introduces himself to the team captain. “Hey, man, I know this has got to be weird, but—”

“Hey, apparently you can help us win some games,” the guy says, with a disarming smile. “Foyet. Glad to have you.” Derek breathes a little easier as they shake hands. 

Coach Rossi, meanwhile, isn’t like any high school coach Derek’s ever met. They’re usually big and loud and kinda aggro, but Rossi’s quieter, deadpan, well-dressed. He’s got this unimpressed expression, like he has seen some shit in his day and is not going to be bothered by any amount of macho teenage posturing. 

It feels good to be back on the court. The team’s not stellar, but fuck, it’s better than what he left behind, any day of the week. Derek’s in his element, here, and after a day of uncertainty, it’s nice to know he can still do this. By the end of practice, he seems to have won over most of the guys who seemed a little frosty at first, and that’s really fucking nice too. 

He hangs back for a minute to talk to Rossi, afterward, to thank him and just touch base. Then there’s talk of uniforms and making sure he has a locker, before the next practice, and by the time he gets showered, the rest of the team is gone.

He doesn’t mind walking back to the main building on his own. It feels like he’s been smiling and shaking hands and working so damn hard to make a decent first impression that he hasn’t been able to properly breathe all day. 

The school is mostly deserted, at this point — there are a few teachers still working at their desks, a couple students packing up. He gets a little bit turned around trying to find his locker again, wandering into an out-of-the-way section of classrooms near the auditorium before hitting a dead end. He retraces his steps and takes the right turn this time. 

Then he hears an argument around the corner, unmistakable in the relative quiet. He winces, wondering if he should announce his presence somehow, but it doesn’t sound like the kind of thing he wants to interrupt. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” a female voice is saying. “But every time I think about it… it’s terrifying. It’s easier for you, you’ve never—”

“You think this is easy?” another girl snarls. “Fuck that and fuck you. I told you, I’m not doing this. No fuckin’ way.” 

With that, heavy footsteps stomp away, echoing down the hall. 

Derek pauses for a moment, listening, but there’s no more sound; he waits a few seconds anyway before turning the corner, where one of the girls is still standing silently. 

When she whirls, startled by the sound of his footsteps, he realizes it’s JJ. 

It just takes her a blink to pull herself together at the sight of him; if he didn’t see the tears streaking down her cheeks, he’d almost believe it when she aims one of those Colgate-ad smiles in his direction. 

“You okay?” he asks hesitantly. JJ nods vigorously. 

“Totally! I think it’s allergies or something,” she insists. Right.  

“Think I’m a little turned around. How do I get out to the senior lot?” he asks her. 

“I’m heading that way, I’ll show you,” she says. As they start to walk, Derek can see her, out of the corner of his eye, wiping away tears discreetly. “How was your first day?” 

“Not bad, can’t complain,” he says, shrugging. “Pretty weird being the new kid, but… what are you gonna do, right?” 

JJ hesitates before saying, “Must be nice. Getting a fresh start, no expectations.” 

That’s not the usual line. Most people say it must be difficult, having to start over where nobody knows him; most people ask if he misses home, and they don’t consider what he’s trying to get away from. 

He doesn’t ask JJ what she wants to get away from — instead he says, “That’s what my momma keeps saying: I can be whoever I want to be.” 

“So who do you want to be, Derek Morgan?” 

“Just want to be myself,” he says, and she looks up at him with a small, sardonic smile. 

“You make it sound so easy,” she mutters. 

He laughs. “Yeah, fair enough.” 

This time, her smile seems more genuine. JJ points him in the right direction and then ducks into the women’s bathroom, with a wave and a reminder that she’ll see him for lunch. 

Derek heads toward the front door. He’s fishing around in his bag as he walks, looking for the keys to his uncle’s truck, when he walks right into somebody rushing out of the men’s bathroom. 

“Fuck, sorry, are you —” He stops dead, still with an arm out to help steady the other person, because the other person is Spencer. 

Spencer, who looks just as surprised as Derek feels. They lock eyes for a second, and Derek’s insides go on an entire fucking roller-coaster ride in one frozen moment. 

“I thought you were in college,” Derek blurts out, half-laughing, but Spencer doesn’t look even a little bit happy to see him. He’s gone pale. 

“What? No, still in fucking high school, last I checked.” His voice is bitter, and it cracks on the words. “I just take college classes sometimes.” 

“Oh.” 

“I thought you were visiting,” Spencer says, pushing his hair out of his face like he wants to be pulling it instead. 

“I am,” Derek says, stomach sinking when he realizes Spencer still isn’t smiling. “For another six months.”

Spencer’s mouth drops open, and Derek has a visceral flash of sensory memory: those pretty pink lips brushing his cheek. 

Spencer scowls. “So you’re — you go here. Fantastic.”  

Derek’s too tired to pretend the venom in Spencer’s tone doesn’t hurt. 

He snaps, “Did I do something wrong here, or did you just wake up on the bitchy side of the bed?” 

Maybe not his most mature reaction, but. It’s been a long fucking day.  

Spencer digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, for a second, and Derek can see the tension in his fingers. Then he exhales and it’s like all that twitchy furious energy drains out of him at once. He just looks exhausted. 

His voice is low and croaky as he says, “I liked that you didn’t see me the same way as everybody else does.” 

“So, what, you think that’s gonna change just cause we go to the same school now? What kinda asshole do you think I am?” 

“The kind who wears a varsity jacket,” Spencer mumbles. His eyes are huge and hurt and soft, and Derek recoils slightly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Spencer shakes his head. “Never mind. Just — trust me, okay? You’re better off pretending you don’t know me.” 

“I want to know you, though,” Derek says quietly. 

Spencer’s phone is vibrating. He looks down at it and then gives Derek one more sad little half-smile as he starts to walk away. 

“If you still feel that way by the end of the week, give me a call,” he says over his shoulder, already pushing the front door open. “But you won’t.” Before Derek can respond, he’s flipping the phone open and saying, “Hey, Mom. I’m on my way.” 

When Derek collects himself and follows him out, Spencer’s already gone. 

.

.

.

#moreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #derek morgan

[gendercraft]

When I Fell Overboard [Chapter Five: Bad Habits]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: Sebastian struggles with his relationship with Maru as she strives to get close to him. Meanwhile, he and Elliott get closer and closer.

Trigger warnings: Panic attacks, fighting, snapping, potentially unsympathetic Robin, crying, food mention, let me know if I missed anything please

Elliott’s eyes were the colour of honey. When he breathed, slow and relaxed, his chest rose and fell, gently, very gently. Everything about Elliott was gentle, from the hand running through Sebastian’s hair to the smile gracing his lips. It made Sebastian feel like he was floating. 

“Do you want to practice more?” Sebastian asked quietly, his voice a little raspy. 

“No.” Elliott pulled Sebastian closer. “No, I don’t want to move.” 

Sebastian smiled and buried his face in Elliott’s shoulder. His cabin was the one place things really quieted down, his anxiety really calmed. Sometimes, when he started to have an attack, or when a stray thought felt like it was physically attacking him, he would cringe or dig his nails into his palms, and Elliott would pull him out of his shell and count with him, or distract him, or remind him that everything was okay and he was okay. That he made mistakes but that didn’t mean he was a bad person. 

Elliott always knew what to say. 

And on days when Elliott’s motivation had left him, when no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t write more than a few sentences, each word like pulling teeth, Sebastian was there to tug him away and lay down with him. Elliott would read, and Sebastian would listen, and they would fall asleep together. Part of Sebastian wished he could spend all his time in Elliott’s cabin. 

“I’m hungry,” he mumbled, but didn’t move. 

Elliott chuckled. “Are you wanting dinner, or a snack? We have more pomegranates.” 

“Too much work. What else?” 

Elliott rested a hand on Sebastian’s stomach. “What exactly have you eaten today?” 

“Uh.” Sebastian blinked. He tried to remember back to before he escaped to Elliott’s cabin. “Some crackers, I think? I don’t know, I was working.” 

Elliott sat up, and Sebastian pouted. “What about soup? How are you with spicy foods?” 

Sebastian sat up as well, running his fingers through his hair to get out the knots. “I mean, it’s not my favourite, but I like some spicy foods. Why?” 

“Have you ever had tom kha soup?” 

He shook his head as Elliott wandered into the kitchen. Sebastian followed, dressed in his long t-shirt and a pair of Elliott’s sweatpants—his jeans were too uncomfortable to cuddle in. 

“It’s my favourite,” Elliott said, pulling onions and garlic out of the cupboard. “You’ll try it? No food allergies, right?” 

“Yeah, I’ll try it. No food allergies.” 

“Intolerances?” 

“El, I’ll eat anything. Why, do you have food allergies?” 

He smiled. “Elliwyn has a lot. You’ve gotta be careful, you know.” 

Sebastian rolled up his sleeves, revealing pink and red patches of eczema on his arm. “What can I help with?” 

“Can you get the—” Elliott stopped. 

He frowned and stepped forward, carefully taking one of Sebastian’s hands. Sebastian paled as Elliott ran one finger along a patch of rough skin. 

“Are you hurt?” 

“N-no,” he managed. “No. Not really. It’s just my eczema.” 

“I had no idea it could be this bad,” he confessed. “This looks painful.” 

Sebastian forced a dry smile. “You have no idea. But it’s fine right now. I mean, it’s never great, but it’s, I don’t know, it’s fine. I can help with dinner—”

Elliott brought Sebastian’s hands up and kissed his cracked knuckles. Sebastian was going to die. Did he seriously just fucking do that? Holy shit. The floor had fallen from under him and his heart had stopped and wow, he was kissing his wrist now, too, despite the littering of scabs and open skin. 

“That’s better,” Sebastian choked out, and Elliott laughed. 

“Good. Can you get the coconut oil?” 

Sebastian got a hold of himself as they cooked one of Elliott’s favourite recipes. Sebastian took it seriously, brows drawn as he focused on chopping vegetables, measuring spices. Elliott chuckled as he watched. 

“You can relax, you know. You’re not being graded.” 

“I don’t want to ruin it.” 

“I doubt you would. I’m right here to guide you.” 

They sat in the bed to eat, leaning against each other. 

“This is good,” Sebastian mumbled. “I can see why it’s one of your favourites.” 

“Isn’t it? You did a phenomenal job, Sebastian.” 

He blushed. 

“Do you want to spend the night?”

Sebastian choked on his soup. “What?” He spluttered. 

He chuckled. “I mean, you’ve been staying so late as it is, I figured you might want to get some rest before taking the long hike back.” 

Sebastian’s heart raced. Did that mean something? Was Elliott… hinting at something? Sebastian gripped his bowl. He couldn’t tell if they were flirting or if that’s just how Elliott acted, and he was leaning towards that just being how he acted. Elliott was a very romantic person, and very complimentary—any time they walked through town together and he spoke with Leah or Evelyn or Pierre, he was like sunshine. But just because he waxed poetic about Evelyn’s eyes didn’t mean he was flirting with her. 

Besides, he found it very hard to believe some nights that anyone could be interested in him. He was overdramatic, and edgy, and boring, and his skin promised he’d never be handsome. Elliott had called him handsome once, but Sebastian had thought it through and determined he was just being nice, or he didn’t know about Sebastian’s skin yet. 

“I want to,” he admitted, “but…”

“Your mom?”

He nodded. “She likes it when I warn her ahead of time. And I know, I know. I’m an adult. It’s just… things have been strained right now. I don’t want to push it.” 

Elliott rested a hand at the back of Sebastian’s head. “I understand. Another time?”

He smiled. “Sure. Another time.” 

“Wish I could see that more often.” He took another bite of soup, then grinned. “You have a lovely smile.” 

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I do not.” 

“You do. Like I said, I wish I could see it more. You’re so… tortured.” 

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I have depression, I am not tortured.” 

“You torture yourself. I help sometimes, but I wish there were more I could do.” 

Sebastian hesitated, then reached out and took his hand. He ran his thumb over the soft skin. “You do enough. I’m… really glad we started talking.” 

“I am, too.” 

They finished eating, and before Sebastian left, Elliott drew him in until Sebastian rested against his chest, breathing deeply and slow. Elliott cupped his face with a smile. 

“I’ll see you soon.” 

On the walk home, Sebastian couldn’t help but smile. Elliott always made him forget about his problems. Which is why he didn’t expect the intervention when he got home. 

Mom, Maru, and Demetrius sat on the couch as he stopped at the top of the stairs. He looked into the sitting room. 

“Do you… need something?” 

“We should talk,” Mom said. 

Demetrius patted the ottoman, sat across from the three of them on the couch. “Come sit.” 

Sebastian was numb as he walked into the living room. He sat on the ottoman. “What is it?” 

Robin and Demetrius glanced at each other, then turned to Sebastian. 

“Why do you two think you’re fighting so much?” Demetrius asked. 

Sebastian blinked. “I don’t… uh… I don’t really know, uh… haven’t we…?” 

“We haven’t been fighting as much as usual.” Maru crossed her arms over her chest. “But we’ve still been fighting. And I think,” she met Sebastian’s eyes, “there’s too much pressure put on us.” 

Sebastian straightened up with a frown. Is she taking my side? 

“Sebastian,” Demetrius sighed, “what kind of pressure are you putting on her?” 

His heart sank. He snapped his gaze to his step dad, flinching back. 

“That’s not what I said!” Maru laughed. 

“What else could it be?” Robin asked nervously. She glanced between Sebastian and Maru. “Sebastian, you’re… you’re stressing out the entire household. We need to fix this.” 

He gripped the hem of his hoodie, pulling and twisting it around his fists. He might cry. He wasn’t going to, he would be able to push it back and hold it in, but the danger was there, the heat behind his eyes, the constricting of his chest. 

Why is everything my fault? 

“Maybe we should… untangle… the fights you’ve had recently,” she suggested. “We can start with the truck.” 

“Okay,” Sebastian managed. “What about the truck?” 

“You were pretty upset when I gave it to Maru—”

“Because you promised me!” 

He flinched. Fuck. He was going to pay for that—they certainly wouldn’t listen to him now. 

“Well, Sebastian—” Maru sighed. “Sometimes things get in the way. I might get a promotion because I got the truck, it’s simply not as important as a concert.” 

Sebastian grit his teeth. But you always get what you want. 

“Besides,” Demetrius said, “it’s Robin’s truck. At the end of the day, the decision she makes is final.” 

“Why’d you change your mind?” Sebastian asked desperately. “I asked you weeks in advance—”

“You were acting like a brat.” She frowned and clasped her hands. “She needed it for a job opportunity and I was sick of the fighting, so I made a decision.” 

Sebastian threw his hands in the air and Maru lurched forward, grabbing his arm. “It’s not a big deal.” She met his eyes, face serious. “It was just a truck. That’s not the problem here.” She stared at him intently. 

What is she trying to tell me? 

“That’s not the problem here,” she repeated. 

“What about your… job,” Demetrius said, and Maru sighed. 

Sebastian slumped. Here we go again. “What about it?” 

“Well, no one really gets… what it is,” Mom said. “We would all feel a bit more comfortable if you got a real job, maybe you can work at the clinic! Or I know Gus is always hiring, JojaMart—”

“JojaMart?” Sebastian blanched. “You’d rather me work for JojaCorp than freelance?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Maru mumbled. 

“Okay,” Demetrius sighed, “maybe not JojaMart, but the saloon or the clinic would surely be a good fit.” 

“For who?” Sebastian stared between them in horror. “Do you even know me?” 

“Yes, Sebastian, we do,” Mom snapped. She shook her head. “It wouldn’t kill you to have an excuse to leave the house every once in a while.” 

“Maybe it would!” Sebastian leaned back. “You know how bad my anxiety is, I can barely eat at the Stardrop without- without-” 

“And how are you supposed to live your life like that?” Demetrius quirked an eyebrow. “You need to have real life skills, not just what you can do on the computer.” 

“Throwing me in the deep end won’t solve anything!” 

Maru sat back with a sigh, crossing her arms. “This clearly isn’t helping.” 

“Fine,” Demetrius said. “What about your sleep schedule?” 

Sebastian grit his teeth. “What about my sleep schedule?” 

“It’s completely unhealthy. You sleep all day, Yoba knows what you do at night—” 

“I work at night!” He stood and took a few steps back, looking between them all with wide eyes. 

Mom raised an eyebrow. “With all those distractions? Really?” 

“Yes, really. And I only sleep six hours a night!” 

“A ‘night?’ That’s not accurate.” Demetrius chuckled. 

“This isn’t solving anything,” he mumbled, and turned to go to his room. 

“Wait! Sebby, before you leave.” 

He glanced over his shoulder. She was looking at Demetrius nervously, worrying her lip between her teeth. 

“There’s one more thing we need to talk to you about,” Demetrius said. 

He flicked his hood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, stood by the staircase down to his room. “What?” 

“Elliott.” Mom smiled nervously. “You’ve been spending… quite a lot of time with him.” 

No. 

No no no no no. His parents were not homophobic. Right? There was no way. 

“We’re worried,” Demetrius said. “You haven’t gotten him smoking, have you?” 

Sebastian blinked. “What?” 

“I noticed his ear is pierced,” Mom said. “Was that you?” 

Sebastian shook his head in bewilderment. Elliott has an ear piercing? “No! I haven’t done that since high school!” 

“He’s a very nice man. We don’t need you rubbing off your bad habits on him, okay?” 

His heart cracked in half. Its shattered remnants fell to his stomach, stabbing through his abdomen. “What?” He asked softly. 

“Everything we just talked about,” Demetrius said. “It’s already causing problems between you and Maru. You wouldn’t want to ruin that young man’s future, would you?” 

“His future as a self employed writer?” Sebastian asked dryly, and the pain in his stomach lurched to a peak. I can’t believe I just threw Elliott under the bus. 

Elliott was such a good writer. He was nearing completion in that short story he was writing, and he gave Sebastian snippets sometimes. It was good. Needed some refinement maybe, but it was good. And he was so… ambitious. There was no doubt in Sebastian’s mind that Elliott could make it. And here he was, smashing his dreams to pieces. 

“He has consistent income,” Mom said. “He’s doing well for himself.” 

“Sebastian obviously has consistent income.” Maru rolled her eyes and stood, brushing down her overalls. “He buys his own groceries and offers to pay for a piece of the bills every month. It’s not his fault you won’t let him.” She stopped next to him. “You’re right. This isn’t solving anything. I’m going to my room.” 

Sebastian watched her leave, stunned. Her door shut. 

“Well, Elliott’s… He’s not…” Mom struggled. She looked to Demetrius for help. 

“He hasn’t ruined his body, for one.” Demetrius gestured to him, and Sebastian wanted to hide. 

He liked his hair. He liked his tattoos. He loved his piercings. So why was he so ashamed? 

“Something has to change, Sebastian, we can’t go on like this,” Demetrius said. 

“Something.” He laughed wetly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He stared at the ground. “Right. I guess I’ll work on that.” 

He turned to the stairs, and waited. Waited for a That’s not what we meant or a We love you just how you are or a I’m sorry. 

“Thank you,” Mom said quietly. 

He stalked down the stairs. His door clicked closed softly, his phone cold in his hands. 

“What a lovely surprise!” Elliott grinned through the phone. “I was just packing up dinner and thinking of you. Do you want me to bring you some of the leftovers?” 

Despite himself, Sebastian smiled. He sat at the edge of his bed. “No,” he mumbled. “No, I’m okay.” 

“What’s wrong, stormcloud?” 

“I… have to ask you something.” 

“Okay, shoot.” 

“Am I… do I…” He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, you fucking idiot. “I don’t…”

“Sebastian,” he said softly. “What is it, darling?” 

“I’m not, like, rubbing off on you weird or anything, right?” 

Pause. 

Then he laughed. “I’m sorry?” 

Sebastian grinded his teeth. “I’m serious. You know, my… bad habits.” 

“Well, I don’t smoke, and I don’t put myself down every three seconds. Am I supposed to notice more?” 

“Don’t be obtuse.” 

“I genuinely don’t know what you mean, my love.” 

He laid back in bed, drawing in a shuddering breath. “You know, my… my piercings.” 

“Your piercings? What about them?” 

“Did you get an ear piercing?” 

“Oh, you noticed? How kind! Yes, it stung like a bitch, but I was younger so my pain tolerance wasn’t-” 

“It’s not new?” 

Pause. He laughed. “No, love. I’ve had it about five years. What is this about? Did Caroline catch you again?” 

“Not Caroline,” he mumbled, and quickly ran through everything that had happened. 

“Oh, darling…” He sighed. “I am so, so, so sorry they did that to you. You didn’t deserve that. I can promise, there is nothing wrong with how you are and what you do. I mean, I’m not thrilled about the smoking but… No. They’re wrong. Please don’t listen to them, my love.” 

Sebastian wiped his eyes. “You’re sure?” 

“I promise. Do you want to come back? Offer still stands.” 

“I don’t want to risk getting caught by them again. I can’t very well escape out a window.” 

He laughed. “No, you can’t. I can always come to you.” 

“I don’t want them to catch you, either.” 

“How can I help, darling?” 

Sebastian worried his lip ring between his teeth. “Uh… can you read to me?” 

“Of course! What would you like me to read?” 

“I don’t know,” he rolled onto his stomach, “we finished the short story collection. I’m too tired to start a novel.” 

“Well… I did finish what I was working on. It hasn’t been critiqued yet, but—” 

“Read it.” Sebastian settled with his earbuds and pillow, humming. “I want to hear.” 

“Okay,” Elliott said softly. “Okay, one sec. Ah! Got it. Okay. Ready? ‘Every day Penelope carried a metric ton of bricks around in her stomach…’”

#elliott sdv #sebastian sdv #elliott/sebastian #stardew valley #sdv

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

The Rose Prince (Pt.3)

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

Roman spent most of the trip trying to focus on the feeling of Logan's fingers running through his hair, he felt light-headed and dizzy, as though he'd been dreaming this whole time.

"Welcome home your highness, I assume your trip went well?" Roman perked up as he heard a voice from outside the carriage.

"We have much to discuss in terms of the trip, for now I want Prince Roman escorted to his room and given as big of a meal as he can handle," came the reply from Janus.

"Of course your highness," said the voice from outside the carriage. Roman sat himself upright and took the hand of the coachman to get down from the carriage, Logan hooked an arm around his waist soon after.

"But I'm not hungry-" Roman murmured, he felt like he might faint soon, everything hurt so badly.

"Nonsense, I saw the food they were giving you, it would hardly feed a child, let alone a full grown prince," Janus said matter-of-factly.

"Just trust us, whatver's going on back there isnt normal, you need help Roman, and like it or not we're going to give it to you," said Logan, Roman could almost feel his gaze centering on the bruised wrists.

"Yes sir," Roman responded, finally deciding it was best not to argue in case they sent him back for disobedience. He wasnt really sure if they could do that, but he certainly didnt want to find out. He heard Logan let out a sigh as he followed him into the castle.

Soon enough he found himself seated at a small table in the kitchen, there were so many different smells that he couldnt quite place, and they were all wonderful.

"Anything specific? Any allergies?" Said a voice from behind Roman. Roman turned to find a short man with wide lilac purple eyes and wild purple hair hair holding a notepad.

"Oh uh- no- nothing that I can think of-" Roman replied, the shorter man rushed off, looking back at Roman occasionally, almost like a frightened animal.

Soon enough a plate of chicken, mashed potatoes, and a few types of vegetables was placed in front of Roman. It looked and smelled delicious, but Roman couldnt seem to reach a hand out to grab the fork and eat it.

"Is it not good?" Came the voice of the man who'd made the food.

"No it's not that- its- I dont-" Roman went quiet.

"I'm sorry. . ." Roman muttered.

"Here, I'll eat something with you so you're not alone," said the man, grabbing a few things off the shelf.

It was a few more moments before another meal was made and the man sat in the seat across from Roman.

"I'm Virgil by the way, Virgil Liddell," he said.

"Roman Prince-Duke," Roman replied.

"You're not stuck in there anymore you know, you can do what you want, they cant take you back," Virgil said as he started to eat.

"How do you know?" Roman said, taking a careful bite of his food, as though he might drop dead if he ate it to quickly. Virgil merely shrugged.

"Prince Janus is very worried about you you know, I havent seen him this frantic since Logan nearly broke a leg the day they got married," Virgil said calmly.

"He shouldnt worry, I'm fine. . ." Roman muttered.

"I highly doubt that," Roman froze as he felt Logan's arms around him.

"Good afternoon Prince Logan," Virgil said, not looking up from his food.

"I thought you were busy?" Roman said as he looked up.

"Janus is talking with his advisors, I've got nothing else to do besides dote on you," Logan said, pressing a kiss to Roman's forehead.

"You dont have to do that," Roman mumbled, biting his lip as he felt tears burn the back of his eyes.

"What if I want to?" Logan replied.

"You shouldnt," Roman said hoarsely.

"To bad, I'm going to," Logan said, pressing another kiss to Roman's forehead.

Roman almost whined when Logan moved to sit down next to him instead.

"I'm eating. . ." Roman mumbled.

"Good, you need to," Logan said, smiling and running a hand down Roman's back. Roman shuddered slightly at the touch.

It seemed like hours before Roman finally finished the meal. It felt strange, to actually be able to finish something for once, and not feel sick.

"Are you tired now my love?" Logan said as Roman let out a yawn.

"A little. . ." Roman mumbled.

"Come on then, let's get you into something comfortable," Logan said as he stood up.

"Virgil, you can go now if youd like," Logan turned to Virgil for a few seconds before holding an arm out for Roman to grab.

"Why do you call me that," Roman mumbled as they walked away.

"Call you what my love?" Logan said, turning his head slightly toward Roman.

"Call me 'my love', you've only just barely met me," Roman responded.

"I find that calling someone by an emotion makes it much easier to identify, and as we are married, calling you 'my love' makes the most sense to me, because I should certainly be able to love you, shouldnt I?" Logan answered.

"Oh. . ." Roman said quietly.

"Is something wrong?" Logan said, raising an eyebrow.

"No-" Roman responded quickly.

"Alright, let's get you into something comfortable, do you mind if I assist you?" Logan said as he opened the door to Roman's room.

"If you wish," Roman answered.

He didnt focus much, simply felt the fabric move away from his skin and the cold air rush toward him.

"Would you like me to leave so you can take that off my love?" Logan said. Roman snapped back into focus and realized he was gesturing to the white binder around his chest.

"Oh- Uhm- yes- thank you-" Roman answered. He watched as Logan scattered a few articles of clothing on the bed, and then left.

Roman sat there for a few moments before he began to change, the cloth felt soft against his skin, he tried to avoid looking at the scars and bruises littering his arms, he hoped they'd go away soon.

He just barely heard the door creak open as he buried himself in the covers, and he welcomed the embrace of the Crown Prince as he drifted off yet again.

"Dont worry my darling, you're safe and sound here," Janus muttered, Roman let out a low groan.

"I know it hurts darling, just go to sleep now, get some rest," and Roman fell into yet another dreamless sleep, clouded with something he couldnt identify, wishing for something to fix the pain in his gut.

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

Tag list:

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@willowaudreykeyes

@pricklyfish777

@the-sad-strawberry

@itsnithbabey

@private-snippers

@extercs-experiences

@rich-flower-17

@theonetruebeepboop

@mycatshuman

@teamplutoforlife

@melodiread

@meowthefluffy

@frawkeye

@cemmy

@nerosdayinhell

@thecolorfulolive

@frog-candy-bee

@psychedelicships

@pixelated-pineapple

@bullet-tothefeels

#cori writes #rose prince au #ts virgil #ts sides #ts roman #ts logan #ts janus #roloceit #romantic roloceit #romantic roceit #roceit #loceit #romantic loceit #logince #romantic logince #tw abuse #tw scars #tw bruises #tw blood

[sherrybaby14]

Fever

Summary:   You are sick.  Steve’s your boyfriend and wants to help your fever break.

Warnings:  Smut, flu-like-illness, I am going to label this Non Con (PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS OFFENDS YOU)

Pairing:  Steve x Reader

A/N:  I have been sick for a week (not like I haven’t been bitching about it non stop) So this is super self indulgent.

Words: 2500

It started with a tickle in the back of your throat.  You tried to ignore it, but an hour later you found yourself coughing.  Maybe it was allergies.  Time ticked away at your desk, you started to get cold.  Too cold.  You touched your forehead.  The temperatures didn’t match.  

You were sick.  There was no more denying it.  Your boss and coworkers would understand, they weren’t the ones you were concerned about.

There was a reason illness was contagious.  It kept people away and away they should stay.  You winced thinking about the last time you were sick.  Steve was giddy to take care of you.  At first you thought it was sweet, counted yourself lucky your boyfriend’s enhancements included an immune system.  But you had been wrong.  So wrong.

With a shaky hand you pulled out your cellphone and typed a quick text:

I have to work late.  Sorry.  Can’t hang out tonight.  I’ll call you tomorrow.  

Before you could even put the thing away the typing bubble appeared.  

Why are you texting?  You know I like phone calls.  

You didn’t get a chance to type back before his name appeared on your screen.  You took a deep breath and let out a coughing fit.  Keep it together.  You planted a fake smile on your face and answered.

“Sorry baby.  We’re just swamped.”  You tapped at the keys on your computer.  “If my boss catches me on the phone he’s going to freak out.”

“What’s wrong?”  Steve’s voice was stern.  “Your boss never cares.  Is he giving you a hard time?  Do I need to come down there?”

“Steve we’ve talked about this.  You can’t always be my hero.  I can handle some stuff on my own.”  The tickle and urge to cough came back, you tried to bite it down.

“And we have talked about you quitting that dumb job and letting me take care of you.”  Steve’s words were biting.  “Really, you’re not even happy there.  You could write or paint or work on whatever…”

You tried to cover the phone, but the cough exploded right in the middle of Steve’s chase your passions speech.   You pressed your eyes shut and hoped he didn’t hear.   Once you calmed down you realized another spat was coming.

“We’ll talk about this tommorrow.  I have to go.  Bye. I love you.”  You hit end and then started coughing into your sleeve, letting it all out.  

“You look like shit.”  Your boss was in front of your desk.  “Go home.  Take tomorrow off too, the next day even.  Don’t come back until you’re at one hundred percent.”  

You glared at your boss with an open mouth and dizzy head.   Why did he have to be so understanding?  Why couldn’t he demand you back the next day?  

But he was right.  You nodded and grabbed your purse, shutting down your computer.

“Feel better.”  He waved as you left the office.  

The entire time all you could think was fuck, fuck fuck.  

~~

When you got to your apartment the fever and aches had set in.  The cough strangely enough had disappeared, or at least your other ailments hurt enough that you weren’t paying attention.

Maybe a train ride to your parents was worth it.  You could hide out there for the week.  Your mom could take care of you like a normal person.  Lots of sleep and binge watching.  Chugging seven-up and a random glass of Hawaiian Punch.  Even a hot toddy or two to help you sleep.

Yes.  Steve would never try anything around your parents.  It was a safe space for you to recover like a normal person.  That was the ticket.  

The idea was so promising you crawled into your bed thinking about it, a smile on your face.  The perfect solution, and you would be able to rest. Rest.  Maybe closing your eyes for a bit wouldn’t hurt.  You would need your strength for the train ride of course.  You pulled the comforter over yourself, promising you would close your eyes for five minutes tops.

~~

The bed dipped behind you.  You let out a groan and hugged the pillow tighter.  You were equal parts too hot and too cold.  It felt like your head wasn’t even part of your body.  

A hand touched your shoulder and you winced.

“Shhh.”  The comforter was flipped away.  

“Wha?”  You started to turn.  

“You fell asleep in your work clothes.”  Steve guided you into a sitting position.

“Please.”  You felt a sob coming. “I can’t.  Not like last time.”

“Shhh.”  Steve put your arms in the air and lifted off your shirt.  “None of that.  Hush.  Let me take care of you.”  

“Everything hurts.  Please.  I don’t know if I’m hot or I’m cold.”  Your lip quivered.  

“I know Baby.”  He put your arms down and then went for your pants, pushing you back into the mattress with his other hand.  “Don’t worry about lying to me right now.  We will deal with that when you feel better.  And I plan on making it my goal to nurse you back to health.”  

“Steve, not like last time.”  Your tears were so hot they burned your eyes.  “I can’t.”

“Hush.  Save your strength.”  He picked up your hips and pushed your pants down.  

A shoe hit the ground with a thud.

“You didn’t even take off your shoes?”  Steve shook his head.  “You really need my help.”  

You squinted your eyes shut, unsure if you wanted to help the tears fall or fight them off.  Fighting didn’t seem to be in your wheelhouse at the moment as Steve tossed your pants on the floor, leaving you in your bra and panties.  

“I need rest.”  Maybe logic would work, but your head was swimming so much it may have not made any sense to him.  “Just sleep.”  

“Oh sweetie.”  Steve’s hands went underneath you and he I clipped your bra.  “You have no clue what you need.  That’s obvious.  You’re so lucky I am here to take care of you.”

You clenched your thighs, not wanting the reaction your body was already producing.  

“No.” You tried to wiggle away as he slipped off your bra, but once the garment left Steve pinned your shoulder to the bed.  “I’m too sick.  Please.  I’m so cold.”  

“That’s the fever talking.”  Steve’s other hand slid down your body to your panties.  He hooked his fingers under them and dragged them off.  “Don’t worry.  We will break that nasty thing together.”  

“Everything hurts.”  You put your hands to his chest and realized he didn’t have a shirt on, was probably already naked and you let out a sob.  “I can’t.  You can’t.  Please, just be normal.”  

“Normal?”  Steve parted your thighs.  “If you weren’t so sick I would think you wanted a kinkier time tonight.  Lying to me?  Now insults?”  

He positioned himself on top of you.  You brought you hands to your face, equal parts mad at yourself for disappointing him and not stopping him.  

Steve’s lips met your stomach and you shivered.   He kept moving until he arrived at your pussy.  His tongue ran up your slit and you cringed at how wet you already were.  

The realization snapped you back to reality and you sat up, trying to shove his shoulder as the room span.

“NO!”  You slapped your thighs to his head.  “NOT NOW!”

Anger flashed in his blue eyes as he reached up and grabbed your wrist.  

“This is the best medicine.”  His voice carried a warning that matched his features.  “You’re lucky I can take care of you this way.  Now LAY DOWN!”

Your shoulders started to shake as you fell backwards.  Were you right? Was he right?  Everything was so fuzzy.  Your brain couldn’t even began to process before his mouth covered your entire sex.  

Your hands went to the bed and you started to fist the sheets, now bending your knees and lifting your feet from the bed to give him easier access.  Steve sucked down hard, pulling you into his mouth as his tongue slid inside you.  Fuck. You were already so wet.  This almost seemed unnecessary.  

This was wrong.  A chill ran over your fever addled brain and there was an ache in your thigh and back from the position.  Your feet hit the bed and you began to pant.  There had to be a way to stop this.  To stop him.

“I’m going to puke.”  You bit your lip.  

Steve sucked hard before his mouth vanished, leaving your clit pulsing and pussy empty.

“Lying again?”  He shifted to his knees.  “There are no signs of that sort of distress.  You need my help.  Stop fighting.”  

“I’m sorry.”  You turned your head in shame.  Then a wave of heat covered your body.  Why were you feeling guilty?  You said no!  He should respect that.  

The bed shifted to your left.  You looked up at Steve as he put a hand on your cheek cradling your face.  

“I’m giving you some leeway because of your sickness.”  He turned you to your side and wrapped an arm around your middle before placing a kiss on your temple.  “And I appreciate the apology.  There’s my girl.”  

He held you tight to his chest.  Spooning.  Maybe he heard you.  Maybe he really was just concerned about you wearing your work clothes.  You let out a sigh of relief as you snuggled back into him.  

Then his hand came forward and he lifted your leg onto his thigh.  You grabbed the pillow and dove your face into it, biting as you felt him line up.  Shaking your head from side to side in protest.  

“We need to break that fever.”  He began to slide into you, easier than you wanted to admit.  “Get you to work up a sweat and beat those germs away.”  

The position made you feel his cock make it’s descent.  Your fever rattled brain couldn’t focus on anything, but he felt so giant.  If the rest of your body wasn’t already sore this would have broken you.

“Please…stop.”  You spoke into the pillow, unsure if he even heard you.

“Oh baby.”  He kissed the top of your head.  “I know, it’s hard to take your medicine, but I promise we will break this fever and then you will feel so much better.”  

He bottomed out and you winced into the pillow, feeling all of him.  

One of Steve’s hands was on your hip and the other on your shoulder.  He began rocking you into him as he pulled out and slid back in.  

“You’re so hot.  We need to cool you off.”  He kept kissing you. “Let your body take what it needs.  Shut off that beautiful brain.  Give it a rest.”

Rest.  That was all you wanted.  Not this.  

“You take me so well.  See your body knows what it needs.”  His hand left your hip and snaked down to your clit.  “We’ll raise that temperature until it crashes.   I know just what you need.  Let me take care of you.”

You whined into the pillow and realized it sounded like a moan.  Was it a moan?

“There’s my good girl.”  Steve rubbed your bundle of nerves harder and pulled you tighter as he picked up the pace.  “Taking the treatment.  Doctor’s orders.”

The tears were flowing freely now, but you weren’t sure if you were rocking against him or letting him take control.  Either way you were starting to give up.  

Then you noticed another reaction: the tightening in your belly.  You leaned forward, hoping it would satiate it.

“That’s it sweetie.”  Steve moved even faster.  “The best cure there is.  Take it.  You always do so well.”  

You screamed into the pillow, not understanding how your orgasm was forming anymore than why you were now humping against him, desperate for it, no longer concerned with the aches in your body or fever in your head.  

He was right.  This was what you needed.  You sobbed, not even bothering to think about the reason behind your tears as you let everything go, fell forward into the pool.  

“I’m here to take care of you.”  He grunted.  “Let me take care of you.”  

“Ahh!”  You let go of the pillow as you cried, the waves of pleasure melding with the illness.

Your body shook as the chills, fever, aches, and ecstasy melted into one.  

No thoughts came to mind as you passed out.  Still feeling equally hot and cold and confused.

~~

When you came back to you were on your stomach, Steve’s warm body behind you, still pumping in and out.

“Why?”  You croaked out with a horse ness.  

“Shhh.”  His fingers were on your clit, playing it into life.  “We’re getting close to breaking. Just enjoy.”

Everything was so hot.  You wanted to buck him off of you, your legs shaking as you were covered in sweat.  But then you noticed the tingling in your pussy.  

A scream left your lips as you bit into the mattress.  Your body shaking as an orgasm ripped through you.  What number was it?  Did you know?  Did you care?

Exhausted wasn’t even in your vocabulary as you collapsed into the bed.  

“There we go.”  Steve pushed into you hard with a grunt.  “You broke.”  

Sweat seeped out of your pores as Steve’s cum coated your insides.  

The heat vanished from your form as you popped your eyes open and gasped.   The swimming of your head slipping away.  

Steve kissed the top of your head and rolled off of you.  You were spent, unable to move.  

His hand appeared in front of your face with some pills and a water.

“We have to keep you hydrated.”  He put them in your mouth and brought the water to your lips.

You took them down and let your head drop.  Sleepiness covered your body, but before you could slip away his hands were on your calves, massaging deep.  

“I’m going to work on these sore muscles.”  He pushed hard into your leg.  “Then we’ll get you a nice warm bath.  But don’t worry, I’m here for the long haul.  If that fever comes back, we’ll take care of it again.”

You moaned.  Hating it that you already felt better.  

-

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfic