#shifting beneath the blankets feels like rubbing against sandpaper

[letitbehurt]

I’m not usually a fan of sick Whump, but when Whumpee is running such a high fever that they’re shaking, taking uneven, shallow breaths, their skin chafing and burning against their clothes.

The moment Caretaker lays a palm on their forehead to check their fever and Whumpee sighs with relief because it’s so blessedly cold.

The moment Whumper cups Whumpee’s cheek with one hand and turns their head slightly, and Whumpee hates themself for leaning into it, but they just want the burning to stop.

#I’m running a fever and shaking and my skin is on fire as I type this #for reference: my eyes feel enough pressure to damn near pop out of my skull #shifting beneath the blankets feels like rubbing against sandpaper #breathing the cold air so quickly is drying out my throat #every inhale is a scratching pain #and oh finding that just right spot on the pillow where the pressure against your head almost feels good #sick Whump #whump

[allylikethecat]

Gatty, 4 and/or 44!

Hi! I couldn’t figure out how to combine these two prompts so I filled them both separately, I hope that’s okay! I also, surprisingly really struggled with “4. Kiss…where it hurts” so I hope that it comes across as not the worst (you can also now find one of the really depressing attempts that I wrote on AO3 lol) and I'm not totally happy with it but I was making myself crazy so here it is! 😊

Even if the prompts were hard, I really enjoyed working on them and it was a really fun writing exercise so thank you so much for sending them in! I hope you enjoy them as much as I did! Let me know what you think and feel free to send more requests / prompts, whether from the list or just from your own brain 😊 (and yes to those who are wondering I am working on the Ear Infection Fic™️ it has just ended up the most depressing thing I’ve ever written, which is NOT the vibe I want and so I’ve been trying to rework it)

Thank you so much again! 

❤️Ally

4. Kiss…where it hurts

Matty woke up crying. Curling in on himself as he squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into his curls, tugging on the ringlets as if that would bring him relief. He was desperate, nails biting into his scalp as if he could tear the pain out of his own skull. His breath came out in short, frantic, choking gasps as he tried to stay silent, trembling beneath the covers so that he didn’t wake George. He was both overheating and freezing at the same time. His skin hurt, the blankets he had chosen specifically because they were soft felt like sandpaper, grating against his skin, scraping away the epidermis as they rubbed against his body, shifting with each hitching breath he took.   

His stomach rolled ominously and he clenched his abdominal muscles, panting through the sudden mouthful of thick saliva, mentally willing himself not to be sick. Please, he thought desperately, his stomach squeezing as he swallowed hard, his entire body shuddering. He dry heaved, drooling against his pillow. Please, he thought, please allow me the dignity of not throwing up on myself. 

He should have known, he thought, as he tried to find the strength to stagger to the bathroom, eyes squeezed shut against the glowing green light of George’s laptop charger on the nightstand. He should have known a migraine was coming, he had been irritable for days, picking fights and running his mouth, getting himself canceled again and then spiraling in self loathing as he was pelted with the backlash like rotten tomatoes in a vaudeville show.

There was only so much of it that George could take, there was only so much that Matty could expect him to take before he packed it up and called it quits. He had been shocked, that after storming out of the studio that afternoon, George had followed him home that evening, and had crawled into bed silently beside him. Matty hadn’t dared roll over, had barely taken a breath, had pretended to be asleep even though he was desperate for George to hold him, to tell him that he knew Matty was sorry, that it was going to be okay, that George knew Matty wasn’t as bad a person as they said. Matty knew he was worse. He wondered when George was going to know it too.

His migraine medication was in the bathroom cabinet, a nasal spray he was supposed to take at the onset of symptoms. He wished he had realized it had started days ago, a stiff neck that he attributed to falling asleep on the couch. The cravings and stomach pains he had attributed to stress and anxiety. The mood swings that were attributed to just Matty being Matty, said with disdain and resignation. George had danced around the subject, trying to find the right words to ask if he was still taking his medication, eyeing the pill bottles on the kitchen counter skeptically, as he tried to calculate how many capsules were left. 

His feet touched the floor and his knees instantly buckled as the room tilted sideways, his elbow hitting his own nightstand on the way down, knocking over his glass of water and his phone, soaking the device and sending pins and needles up his arm. He groaned, a disheveled heap on the floor. 

George sat up, turning his bedside lamp on, Matty envied the way he was able to go from sound asleep to wide awake in moments. Matty moaned, the light too bright even against his closed eyelids. He rested his cheek against the cool, polished cement floor of his bedroom. He wanted to just stay there, on the floor, forever.

“Mah-ee?” George slurred, his voice thick with sleep as he looked around, frowning when he realized that Matty wasn’t in bed beside him.  

Matty let out a pathetic whimper in response. He didn’t think he was capable of forming words at the moment. His tongue felt swollen and heavy in his mouth, a far cry from the lethal, cutting weapon he had wielded without care that morning.

“Mah-ee?” George asked, more alert now, pulling the blankets to the side. “What’s wrong?” 

Matty couldn’t answer, he just smashed his nose against the floor and tried to breath. He could barely think against the pain in his skull. 

“Migraine,” he slurred desperately, trying to find a way to get his legs underneath him again, trying to find a way to stand, find a way to get to the bathroom so he could get his medication. George quickly turned off the lamp, bathing the room in darkness. He must have set something over his laptop because even the glow of the charger was gone, the room perfectly pitch black, like a painting made with Vantablack . 

He felt George’s hands, gentle and kind against his sweat soaked back, maneuvering him carefully into a sitting position, Matty’s stomach rolled at the change in head carriage. 

“Are you going to be sick?” George asked softly, and Matty found himself nodding, pressing his forehead against George’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. Even at his sickest, repulsed by even the smell of his own body, George’s musk was a comfort, wrapping him in an embrace that seemed to say everything will be okay. 

“I’m going to pick you up,” said George, his voice low, Matty could feel vibrations of the timbre in his chest as the floor disappeared beneath him and he found himself bridal style in George’s arms. Matty squeezed his eyes shut as George completed the short walk to the bathroom, knowing the way by heart even in the darkness, one arm supporting Matty’s back, the other his legs. This wasn’t the first time they found themselves in this position, and Matty hated that it wouldn’t be the last. Guilt and self loathing mingling with the bile in his throat as he thought about the way he had treated George even just hours before, and the kindness with which he was now being handled. 

George deposited Matty carefully on the floor in front of the toilet, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then to each scrunched up, closed eye as if he could take away Matty’s pain with his love alone. 

“I’m sorry,” Matty slurred, falling forward to bury his face in the toilet bowl, his stomach clenching as George carefully petted his curls, holding them back and out of the way. 

“I love you,” George responded, pressing another kiss to the crown of Matty’s head when he shuddered. 

44. Kiss ... out of lust 

George eyed Matty, transfixed as he sauntered across the stage, he moved with a sort of bastardized version of grace that was bewitching to watch. He was like a siren when he sang, batting his big brown eyes and biting his lip with a breathless whine at just the right moment, captivating his audience. Transfixing them, transfixing George. 

He had brushed up against a piece of their set earlier, George wasn’t entirely sure which bit, or when it had happened, and had snagged the thin, gauzy fabric of his top. George could see a faint line of the skin of Matty’s back between the fibers, pale and unblemished, just begging to have George’s manicured nails raked down the creamy expanse. George wanted to mark him, claim him, show everyone that he wasn’t theirs and he never would be. Matty was his.  

Wanting Matty wasn’t a new thing, but the impatient level of desperation, his dick straining against his zipper was one he hadn’t felt since he was twenty four years old. Matty would stand, basking in the glow of the spotlight, his shirt slipping from his shoulders, reminding him of a fifties movie star wrapped in a fur stole like Aphrodite herself gaining power from the adoration. 

The snag in his shirt had turned into a full on hole, growing larger as the fabric pulled against his sweat stained body when he moved, the new muscles in his shoulders and back rippling like ocean waves beneath his skin. George wanted to bite them, to lick them, to claim them, to feel the meat of them beneath his teeth where in the past he would have found nothing but bone. 

The Matty before him, climbing into the crowd, was so different from the Matty that George had fallen for all those years ago. The Matty that would fluctuate between a manic high and the lowest of lows, that would go days without food before binge eating until he was sick. The Matty  that would disappear for weeks at a time, reappearing covered in track marks and stinking of sex. The Matty that would George tossing and turning in his bed, in their bed, wondering if this time they wouldn’t find him, if this time he wouldn’t come home. But this Matty was healthy, this Matty was clean, this Matty had gained twenty five pounds, half of it muscle. George didn’t have to worry about breaking this Matty, not anymore. He was no longer terrified that he would shatter under his touch. 

Matty stumbled out of the crowd, grinning as he climbed back up onto the stage, his dress shoes slipping against the slick sides designed to keep fans from breaking down the barrier and bombaring their stage, putting their hands on Matty, claiming what was George’s. George wanted to get up from the drum kit, wanted to make his way to center stage, he wanted to dig his fingers into Matty’s curls, he wanted to make it hurt as he kissed him, show him who he belonged to before fucking him infront of God and the crowd. He wouldn’t do that though. He couldn’t do that, even as the animalistic part of his lizard brain screamed that they didn’t deserve Matty, they couldn’t have him. George didn’t share. Not anymore.  

His shirt was in shreds as he screamed the opened lines of “People” barely hanging onto his shoulders by a single button. The fans had grabbed at the already damaged fabric, desperate for a piece of Matty, for a piece of their idol. George was playing on autopilot as Matty writhed around on stage, the lyrics tearing themselves from his throat as if it caused him physical harm. He was almost surprised when the final notes rang out, and he found himself on his feet, subtly adjusting himself in his slacks before joining the rest of the guys at center stage. He dug his fingers into the back of Matty’s neck and Matty’s knees buckled, catching himself at the last moment as he looked at George, his pupils dilating with desire.

The second they were off the stage, George slammed Matty against an equipment trunk, still easily able to manhandle him despite the way he had bulked up in the last year. He ripped Matty’s shirt clean off his body, the black fabric having been barely hanging on by a single remaining button. He was like an angel losing his wings, falling, descending into debauchery and giving into carnal desire. 

“That was Dior,” Matty said, breaking off into a moan as George bit down on the junction of his neck and shoulder, slotting a knee between Matty’s legs, causing him to grind down desperately, needily on instinct as he thickened in his own trousers.  

“I don’t care,” George growled, licking over the pinpricks of blood, a perfect bloody replica of his dental records tarnishing Matty’s once perfect porcelain skin. Matty rolled his hips against George’s thigh, whining breathlessly even as his microphone pack dug into the small of his back. George wished he was still mic-ed up, wished that the dispersing crowd could hear how desperate Matty was, how overcome with lust he was, that he belonged fully to George. 

“I do,” Matty started to say before George covered his mouth with his own, biting at his lips as he licked into his mouth, suffocating Matty with his lust, making his head go heavy as he surrendered to desire. Matty’s arms found their way around George’s shoulders, his own blunt nails, bitten to the quick, digging desperately into George’s back, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

George broke the kiss, and Matty took a deep, trembling breath, his chest expanding as he panted, trying to bring the missing oxygen back into his lungs before surging forward, reconnecting their mouths. Why waste time with breathing when he could have George?

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #questions #answers #prompt fill #drabble #matty x george #matty x george rpf #gatty #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy rpf #the 1975 rpf #i hope these are a little bit of what you were looking for! #i really struggled with hurt for some reason which is funny because i feel like pain misery and suffering are my entire brand #check out ao3 for even more pain

[hansoulo]

thread count

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Reader (gender neutral, no Y/N)

Warnings: liek… cursing? mentions of nightmares. bed sharing. the works.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: posting this at noon bc im tired of staring at it in my drafts 🤡also i recognize that star wars decided glass is called transparisteel but given that it’s a stupid ass decision i’ve elected to ignore it. enjoyyyyy :)

“No.”

“Mando-”

“No.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your rucksack dropping to the floor with a heavy thud as you flopped back onto the bed. The one, single bed.

“It’s too late to go anywhere else, alright? We’re basically stuck here. Let’s just make the best of it, okay?” He grunted at this, still standing at the doorway gripping his disintegrator rifle. “Drop the ‘tude, tin can. Could be worse,” you mumbled as you reached to wipe a hand over your face, sinking into the soft sheets.

It was kinda nice, actually. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept on a real mattress, with real pillows and blankets that didn’t feel like sandpaper. The inn owner was sweet, a wizened old woman who’d only smiled when you asked if there were any rooms available. Just the one, she had said. Down the hall.

This was ridiculous.

The Mandalorian stepped forward, closing the door with a large hand on the rusted knob. The room was small and sparsely furnished, but it was a far cry from your usual, less than ideal sleeping arrangements, so you relished in the feeling of the pillows beneath your back before propping yourself up on one elbow, eyelids already drooping as you watched him. He looked… awkward. If you had any more energy, you’d probably laugh. “I could- ” he cleared his throat, setting the rifle against the wall, “I could sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed as you reached down to pull off your boots, throwing them haphazardly into a corner. You’d helped him with the occasional bounty for years, and known him for longer than that. You could share a fucking bed. Besides, it’s not like anyone else was around to see. Minus the baby of course, but it (he? she?) didn’t really count, right? It was already sleeping. “It’ll be fine.”

“No, I’m going to just-”

“Mando,” you glared, standing up. “If you sleep on the floor, you’re gonna be even more of an ass tomorrow morning. Just do us all a favor,” you waved a hand towards the baby in its pod, “and get over yourself, alright?” You reached down to the hem of your top, tugging it above your head before you heard him make a low, distorted sound - probably a cough, but the modulator made those kinds of things hard to tell. Left in your undershirt, you crouched down to stuff the fabric - dusty and soiled from a day of travel - back in your bag. “What?”

He shifted on his feet, his helmet ducking slightly at the sight of your exposed skin. “Oh c’mon,” you groaned, your expression teasing. “You stabbed a guy with a serving fork yesterday, Mando. I don’t think this could be any worse.” If you could see underneath his helmet, you’d be willing to bet he was blushing. Funny, how that worked. How he worked.

The bedsprings creaked underneath your weight as you laid down again, pulling the blankets out from their tucked corners. The window on the other side of the room lay open, bringing in a chill that had you drawing the covers tighter around your shoulders. “Could you close the window?” you whispered, tracking the glint of beskar through half-closed eyes as he complied with your request. His armor reflected orange light - dim and flickering from a small lamp hung beside the door - before it was snuffed out by a gloved hand. You let out a quiet thanks, not bothering to fight the exhaustion dragging at your mind as he stood above you. “I’m going to sleep,” you mumbled, turning on your side to face the wall. “Do what you want.”

⫸ ——-– ⫷

Flat, white light crackled across your vision and you opened your eyes with a groan. You could hear rain beating against the windowpane, glass rattling with every new roar of thunder in a way that had goosebumps erupting across your arms. It was dark outside, inky and fogged over save for the few flashes of lightning that cast the room in sharp relief. You didn’t really mind the storm - you usually liked them - but something about the way it sounded had you on edge. It was a bitter kind of rain, unrelenting and loud and really, really cold. Bracing yourself on your hands, you lifted your head, only to knock it against the edge of something metal. “Ow what the fu-” Oh. Oh.

He hadn’t been next to you before - no, you would’ve remembered if he had - but now... now he was. Next to you. And he… had a hand on your hip and- and you were still facing away from him but you squirmed, feeling the weight of his arm on your waist, heavy and slack. No gloves. No vambrace. No pauldron. Just… the helmet. No shit, bantha-brains. The Mandalorian let out a breath, the sound low and seeping syrup in your bones. Was he still asleep? Maybe you should- “Stop moving,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your words thick with sleep. “M’just cold.” It was a half-truth. You were cold, but the fact that you were pressed up against one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy probably didn’t help either. Neither did the fingers digging into your hip. Or the arm tucked underneath your neck. Or the hand attached to said arm that was skimming across your collarbone, seemingly unaware that it was touching anything at all. He drew you in closer and you could feel his legs slotted into yours, your toes brushing the bare skin of an ankle (that didn’t belong to you) before your scattered thoughts were forced elsewhere.

“Then why’d you take off your shirt?” he mumbled. The rain pounded a rhythm in your head, lulling you down and allowing yourself to sink back into his arms. You didn’t really want to think about tomorrow morning. If things would be weird. There was a chance neither of you would remember this when you woke up, though, so it’s not like it mattered. Even if you did - if he did - you knew it was all business.

“Hm?” you said, tucking your chin and scooting back slightly. Your back met the hard planes of his chest, his skin hot and thrumming even underneath the thick material of his shirt. The man was like a fucking space heater. Ha. Space heater. Funny. You were funny. And tired. And- wait did he ask you something?

“Why take off your shirt if you’re cold?” he repeated. The last word trailed off as a palm moved across the expanse of your stomach, his thumb rubbing circles across the raised seam of your undershirt and burning the skin beneath.

“I wasn’t cold then,” you huffed, reaching a hand over his and guiding it below the thin fabric until it rested still on your sternum. A better version of you, more awake and with more critical thinking skills - with the power of thought in general - would probably kick you for using the Mandalorian like a fucking hot water bottle, but that didn’t really matter. You were cold - and exhausted and laying on a bed that was very, very comfortable - and he was warm. You couldn’t really be expected to take any responsibility for this. “Plus, the shirt was dirty,” you added, only dimly registering how your fingers laced with his, tracing battered, scar-shiny knuckles in your half-sleep. He hummed and leaned forward, the metal of his helmet rounding smooth against your hair.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he said, his breathing falling back into tandem with yours as you felt your eyes fluttering shut. “Go to sleep.”

⫸ ——-– ⫷

“Mando, wake up. Wake up, please.” Your voice was tremulous as you shook his shoulder, stretched over tight with desperation and knocking against the walls of the room. Your plea bounced back hollow, a high, unrelenting tone that made your ears ring. Everything was caving in on itself, crumbling slow and then all at once in a way that had the sweat on your temples icing over. You weren’t a child anymore. You shouldn’t have nightmares. “Please.”

He sat up quickly, a hand bolting out to the blaster tucked underneath his pillow and aiming steady at the enemy that had yet to show itself. “Is someone there?” he asked, graveled over but still frighteningly alert. A light sleeper, you supposed.

You shook your head, wet tracks crackling on your cheeks as you spoke. “No, no one. It’s fine.” He relaxed at this, setting the blaster down at his side. His palms were dry when they came up to your face, slightly calloused but still soft as they traced over the rolling tears.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” you whispered, meeting the dark slit of his visor before ducking your head. “It’s nothing, I-” you sniffed, swallowing the air that was caught in your throat. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Hey,” he called out, hesitant and a bit unsure. “You okay?” You nodded, closing your eyes in an attempt to clear your vision before opening them a few moments later. The Mandalorian only stared, his helmet tilting with a cock of his head.

“Just nightmares,” you said when he remained quiet. “But they aren’t normally this bad.” The remains of a sob fragmented beneath your ribs, bubbling up in a wet cough that burned your throat. His hands came to rest at your back, flat and steady against your spine until your breathing evened. “I’m sorry,” you repeated after a few minutes.

The Mandalorian let out a quiet noise, gruff and a bit pained-sounding. “It’s okay,” he said, his fingertips pressing softly into your shoulder blades. You could only just hear him through the storm outside. “I get them too.”

You faced the beskar, gaze searching for the eyes you knew were looking at you and finding nothing but darkness. It was enough, though. To know he was looking. “You do?”

“Every night.” A beat passed before you hiccuped again, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s still late,” the Mandalorian whispered, his hands gentle as they reached around your shoulders. You let him pull the covers over you, feeling his words soak into your back. “Let’s just go to bed.”

permanent: @ah-callie @itzagoodthing @spookypym @opheliaelysia @watsonwise @damndamer0n @amarvelousmandalorian @bunnyart-blog @agirllovespasta @pascalispedro @pascalplease @coffeencontemplation @chelsfic @lesqui @javierpenaspinkshirt​ @symbiont13 @glowingpena @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @hiscyarika @lostingoogletranslate @keeper0fthestars @bobafvtt @halfwaythereroyal @starwarsiscooliguess @huliabitch​ 

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #sw fanfiction #the mandalorian oneshot #din djarin oneshot

[valhallanrose]

Dream a Little Dream

Some soft and sweet goodness that’s been rolling around in my brain for a little while. Thank fuck for brain power no longer being reserved for finals week. 

2.2k. Cadenza belongs to @arcanecadenza

In the late hours of the night, Miriyam found herself standing by the open window, cigarette between her lips and the cold winter air making her damp cheeks flush with heat. 

She’d jolted awake only a few hours after she and Cadenza had fallen asleep, drenched in sweat and biting back a shout of fright to try and keep herself from waking her partner. She was trembling, but she slipped out of bed as carefully as she could, washing her face and resigning herself to a sleepless night watching the stars go by. 

Miriyam had been there a while longer before Sappho, snuggled up against a sleeping Cadenza’s chest as if to fill the space her person had left behind, stirred and made a chirping noise that drew Miriyam’s attention. She looked over, watching for a moment, keen eyes picking up the unsteady rise and fall of Cadenza’s chest and the way her face pinched slightly from the depths of her sleep. It made her pause mid drag, then frown deeply as she put out her cigarette, approaching the bed and nudging away the cat that was kneading at Cadenza’s chest the way she did to Miriyam when she had her own nightmares alone. 

“Peach?” She murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning over Cadenza as she stirred. Miriyam’s hand slipped up to cup her cheek, trying to gently wake her and brushing a single tear away with her thumb as it leaked from the corner of her eye. “Cadenza...Denza, darling, I’m here. You’re alright.”

Cadenza stirred a bit more, a whimper escaping her lips when Sappho dragged a sandpaper tongue across her freckled cheek. Miriyam’s hand slid down the side of Cadenza’s face, landing on her shoulder and giving it a gentle shake with whispered words. 

“Wake up, Denza, it’s just a dream. You’re perfectly safe, I promise.”

Honey-brown eyes snapped open after a few more moments, and Miriyam sat back as Cadenza sat up, gently rubbing her back and letting her catch her breath until she was at least outwardly calm enough for Miriyam to gently prod at her. Sappho was already climbing into Cadenza’s lap, letting her tangle her fingers in long fur with a loud purr of contentment. 

“There we are. Perfectly safe, see? Nothing to worry about.” Miriyam kissed Cadenza’s temple as she spoke, gently tucking some hair behind her ears. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.” Cadenza murmured, voice hoarse with sleep, and Miriyam just nodded and leaned back slightly.

“That’s completely fine. Why don’t we go downstairs, then, make some tea?” Miriyam offered a hand to Cadenza, patiently waiting for her to wrap herself up in blankets while grumbling about how the bedroom was too cold and why would Miriyam open a window in winter before Cadenza set her hand in Miriyam’s. 

The pair made their way downstairs, filling the silence with the soft sounds of preparing two cups of tea - Miriyam, for better or for worse, had become quite used to Cadenza’s absurdly long steeping times - and only when they sat together on the living room couch, the raven haired woman curled under Miriyam’s arm, did Cadenza break the silence between them both when she was ready to speak. 

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, no, I was already up.” Miriyam nudged her playfully with her knee, then kissed her temple between sips of tea. “Not that that should stop you from waking me up if you want the company.”

A dark brow lowered, and Cadenza sipped calmly at her tea, tone serious but undercut with a touch of amusement. “Like you do?”

Miriyam choked on her tea mid-sip, Cadenza chuckling quietly beside her as her cheeks flushed and she sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck. “Alright, alright...yeah, I deserved that.”

“You did.” Cadenza’s tone was matter-of-fact, so much so that it sounded out of place when juxtaposed against her sleep mussed hair and her cocoon of blankets she’d pulled from the bed.

“Mm, well...I’m getting better. I used to not even want to talk about them.” Miriyam gave Cadenza a gentle squeeze, resting her chin atop her dark curls as she pulled her in closer. “Not that they’re anything interesting in the grand scheme. Just memories...things I can’t let go of.”

Slowly, Cadenza nodded, a sigh escaping through her nose as she leaned into Miriyam’s embrace. “...mine, too. At least, tonight they were.”

Miriyam was quiet for a long moment, fingers stroking through Cadenza’s hair as they sipped at their tea together - Miriyam only wrinkling her nose as she reached the end of it where the taste seemed strongest - before she finally spoke up again. 

“Do you want to go back to bed? I don’t think I’ll fall asleep again, but...I’m happy to lay with you until you do.”

Cadenza mulled it over for a long while, leaning into Miriyam’s hand as she closed her eyes and let her gently scratch at her scalp, before she answered with a shake of her head. “No...I don’t think I want to go back to bed just yet. Perhaps I’ll read, I did get a new book recently…”

“Hm...no, I think we need something fun.”

“Reading is fun.”

“It is, but I’m pretty sure the book you bought is a text on animancy, and that feels like more work than leisure. Do me a favor and dress warm.” Miriyam smoothed her hands along Cadenza’s jaw, kissing her between her brows and giving her a gentle smile. “Very warm, actually. We’re going to go out.”

“Right now?”

Miriyam shrugged. “Not like we’re planning on going to sleep anytime soon. Come on, I want to try and show you something. You’ll probably want both your sweaters, the wind gets chilly, and I don’t think I can keep you that warm.”

She turned Cadenza around and playfully nudged her toward the bedroom despite her protests, closing the door behind her with a singsong tone in her voice. “I’ll meet you on the roof when you’re done!”

*     *     *     *     *

By the time Cadenza climbed up onto the roof, Miriyam had already changed - in the most literal sense, anyhow. 

She stood just far enough back from the edge of the roof to keep anyone from seeing her in her more draconic form, wings tucked neatly against her back and muscles flexing beneath scales as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. The wind was cool, but she was warm, even without extra layers, but she couldn’t help but laugh as she turned her head to look at Cadenza upon her approach. 

Not only the two sweaters - she was wearing gloves, hat, scarf, the thick coat she wore when walking about town, the fur lined boots Miriyam had bought her for her last birthday, most likely a few layers of tights to keep her legs warm...she wasn’t sure how Cadenza wasn’t boiling.

“What’d you do, put on every piece of winter clothing you own?”

“You said dress warm. I’m warm.” Cadenza tipped her head back to look up at Miriyam as she straightened from her crouched position, breath fogging around her mouth. “Where are we going?” 

Miriyam offered Cadenza a clawed hand, lips pulling into the sweetest smile her sharp-toothed mouth could manage. “Not too far, I promise, it’s just a bit easier to see if I fly...but only if you’re comfortable.”

She expected some sort of hesitation, as what she was offering wasn’t something they’d really discussed and Miriyam had only shown her this form a few times before, but she was pleasantly surprised when Cadenza set her gloved hand in Miriyam’s without a moment of pause. 

“I trust you.”

Miriyam’s smiled broadened, and she carefully scooped Cadenza up into her arms, holding her snugly against her chest with one arm hooked under her knees and the other around her back. She adjusted a few times, making sure Cadenza was comfortable and secure, before she kissed her temple and let her wings flare wide. 

“Hold on tight, peach.” She murmured, and Cadenza barely had time to throw her arms around Miriyam’s neck before the pair shot straight up into the air. 

Miriyam could hear the squeak Cadenza made, felt the way her arms tightened around her neck, and she waited - ever patient for Cadenza to relax a bit more, chuckling as she muttered to herself where her face was buried in Miriyam’s neck. 

“I change my mind, this was a terrible idea - what are we doing?” 

“Do you want me to put you down?” Miriyam offered, and Cadenza shook her head, refusing to lift her head from Miriyam’s neck.

“No, no, just...give me a minute. I think the idea of even a controlled fall several hundred feet to the ground is more terrifying than staying up here.”

The silver-haired woman chuckled, a deeper and raspier sound, and kissed the top of Cadenza’s head as they flew in lazy circles high above Miriyam’s home. “I promise it’s not so bad, Denza. We’re perfectly safe, just...take your time, and when you’re ready, I just want you to look down.”

“Look down? Do you want me to pass out?” Cadenza tipped her head back slightly to glare at Miriyam, and the latter snorted, kissing the pink-tinged nose that peeked out from over her scarf. 

“Well, no, but at least I’ll know I can’t take you on longer trips this way.”

Cadenza’s brows furrowed. “What makes you so sure I’ll want to do this again?”

Miriyam chuckled, nodding toward the view in front of them both as she turned a wide arc toward the heart of Vesuvia. “Because there’s a whole world of views like this that you can see if we do.”

With wind pulling at her hair and curiosity at her mind, Cadenza slowly turned her head - looking out instead of down, because down seemed like a terrible idea - and gasped aloud as Miriyam flew a leisurely course over the city. 

At this hour, the lamps were aglow, lining every path with a warm golden glow that stretched from the South End to the Heart District. The stragglers heading home at the end of the night looked like specs, the buildings like dollhouses, the canals like stretches of dark silk in the calm of the night...and she could hear the music rising up from the bars and taverns, swatches of sounds she did and didn’t recognize as they passed overhead. It felt impossible to describe, in some ways, but perhaps that made sense for something she’d never considered possible to see in her own lifetime. 

Miriyam could feel her relaxing the longer they flew together, and eventually, Cadenza turned wide eyes 

“Is this what the world really looks like for you?”

Miriyam considered that for a heartbeat, taking in Cadenza’s flushed cheeks and the gleam of excitement in her eye as she devoured every sight and sound she could, and with all the seriousness she could muster she nodded. 

“My world does look like this.” She murmured, kissing Cadenza’s forehead before finally turning her gaze back to Vesuvia. “It makes Vesuvia feel so small, doesn’t it? Seeing it all from up here.”

“It looks like a toy set.” 

“Imagine a massive Ribbit wreaking havoc on it and it’s certainly more amusing.”

Cadenza laughed quietly, shaking her head as Miriyam continued with a smile of her own. 

“...I started coming out here when my nightmares made the bedroom feel suffocating. Took a lot of trial and error, learning to fly, and I certainly had more than a few ungraceful landings, but it’s something I’m grateful for. It reminds me that no matter how small my memories make me feel, that it’s all perspective - I made Vesuvia feel smaller than I felt, and I felt a little lighter. It’s silly and childish perhaps, but...it helps.”

Miriyam turned golden eyes on Cadenza, nuzzling her nose against hers.

“There are views more lovely than this. I think you’d love the southern lights, if I took you to the Scourgelands or the Crab Isle. Of course, nothing can compare to you,” Miriyam grinned as Cadenza groaned and smacked her shoulder, “but if your nightmares get to be too much, and you need a bit of an escape…”

Miriyam nodded out toward the city skyline, slowly being illuminated by the first rays of dawn for as long as they’d spent out in the sky. 

“...this is yours, too. All you need to do is ask.”

Cadenza had grown steadily quieter, and when she audibly yawned, Miriyam glanced down, lips pulling up into a smile at her sleepy expression.

“Do you want to go back?”

When Cadenza shook her head, yawning and tucking her head into Miriyam’s neck, Miriyam chuckled and smiled. “Alright...one more lap, and then to bed with both of us.”

Miriyam felt Cadenza shift ever so slightly, pressing a kiss to her jaw and whispering a quiet ‘Thank you’ that made her heart roar its delight as she bid her pleasant dreams. 

View be damned - the most precious piece of her world was right here.

#hi i'm soft #i love....them #sorry to get all mushy on your dashes but like #i have zero regrets #my writing #miriyam von helvig #cadenza #mirenza #cadenza x miriyam

[vannahfanfics]

All the World’s Sadness

Category: Hurt and Comfort

Fandom: Atlantis- The Lost Empire

Characters: Kida, Milo

Hi, guys! Another piece I worked on for applying to the Shepherd’s Journal Zine that I thought I’d share :) One more to go and I’ll have enough for the application TT.TT 

Kida hated the throne room. Kida was the queen of Atlantis; she ought to take honor in the throne that symbolized her royal blood and spiritual purity. The throne room was the culmination of generations of rulers, principles, laws, religion, and dignity; it wasn’t pompous or pretentious, but instead embodied the deep connection to the natural and spiritual worlds vital to the Atlantean culture. 

Behind the crescent-shaped, blanket-draped, wooden throne sat a massive stone depiction of an Atlantean soldier. The head had been detached from the body, representing not only the self-sacrifice of defenders of their homeland and the dangers of a violent, militaristic state. Beyond the throne sprawled a still, clear pond smothered in floating lilies and inlaid with the stepping stones that patterned a swirling spiritual symbol. Buried underground lay the cavern where her ancestors had filled Kida to the brim with the power to face the oncoming catastrophe of the erupting volcano. However, now it again remained hidden, contained beneath that quiet little pond. Vegetation sprouted around the room’s edges, filling the air with a freshness, and moss coated the ornate Greek-style columns supporting the roof of the building. 

Indeed, by all rights, it was a magnificent and regal throne room… But Kida still hated it, at least on that day- the anniversary of her dear father’s death.  

Kida squirmed uncomfortable against the blankets; their once soft, embracing cloth now felt like coarse sandpaper against her bare back, making the skin burn and itch. She tried to keep her twitching writhes to a minimum, not wishing to arouse her husband’s suspicions. Milo sat casually in the newly-constructed twin to the ancient throne, attending to the last remaining bit of subjects who’d come to counsel with the pair of royals. 

Kida’s attention had been nonexistent since she had awoken that morning; everyone noticed her lapse in clear guidance and focus, especially Milo. He’d naturally assumed the more dominant role that day, falling seamlessly into the caring and patient benefactor of the common people. One could almost call it an insult, the way he nonchalantly perched on the edge of the throne, elbows resting on his knees in a relaxed posture. Yet, no one would question him for the rapt attention he afforded each and every person, and the understanding smiles that graced his boyish bespectacled face. Despite everything, a small smile appeared on Kida’s lips as she observed him speaking calmly with a disgruntled fisherman who was commissioning for repairs to the docks. 

“Your request sounds very reasonable,” Milo announced as he straightened up and rolled his shoulders. “We’ll get right on that. I want a list of contractors drawn up sometime tomorrow, at the earliest available opportunity,” he noted to the royal scribe, who took a record of all the day’s decisions for the appropriate administrative staff to handle later. The fisherman jumped forward to shake Milo’s hand ecstatically, and the brunette just grinned and returned the Atlantean’s zeal with equal fervor. It was magical, how effortlessly Milo had earned the trust and respect of her people. Well, thinking back, perhaps it really wasn’t magical at all. 

“Unnnnnnngh!” Milo exclaimed as soon as the fisherman, the last caller of the day, exited the spacious room. The man stretched his arms above his head, prompting a series of pops from his stiff joints. “Whew! What a day,” he sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. Kida groaned, the ache in her bones and burning skin growing unbearable, and Milo side-eyed her worriedly. “Kida? Are you all right?” The queen refrained from answering in favor of glancing around the room. The staff had slipped into the royal compound’s bowels, leaving the husband and wife to do as they pleased. Now that her royal obligations had reached their limit, Kida eagerly jumped off from the throne, stumbling over her feet in the process and making her ankle bracelets clang together. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What’s all this?” Milo cried as she angrily ripped the clinging blankets from her person. As he hopped up to grab her lightly by the upper arms, she immediately melted into his lean frame, pouting dourly. Apparently, Milo hadn’t realized what day it was; nonetheless, he enveloped her in a crushing embrace, squishing her body against his. As Kida nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, Milo pressed his cheek tightly against the side of her head. He then patiently waited for her to voice her melancholy. 

“I don’t want to be in here,” she huffed bluntly. She felt Milo’s facial muscles contract as his eyebrows shot up to the roots of his hair. She said that, but now Kida didn’t want to move; comfort and warmth poured off Milo’s form, and she basked in them readily. She drank in his scent like parchment and rain and the faint hint of earth, feeling calm slowly ooze into her being. After a few more minutes, with Milo waiting ever-so-tolerantly, she murmured, “This is the place my father perished. It sickens me.” 

Silence descended. Kida’s face contorted slightly in confusion at the lack of Milo’s response, but then she felt the uncomfortable shift of his body. He coughed awkwardly and shifted his shoulders as he played with the dark blue cloth loosely wrapped over his thin frame. 

“I, er… Yeah, that’ll do it,” Milo chuckled in discombobulation. Despite herself, a teensy smile curled up the ends of Kida’s lips. Her frazzled husband could be so adorable sometimes. Milo coughed once more as he struggled to compose himself and offer proper consolation. “I, er… Darn it, Milo, you should be ashamed of yourself… O-oh, uh, right, you’re sad, um, and I’m supposed to make you feel better, ummm… I love you?” Kida snorted in laughter and leaned up to look him in the face. His golden-brown eyebrows were tightly knit together above the wireframes of his glasses. Milo stared at her, resembling a puppy puzzled by its owner’s action. Perhaps it wasn’t the most eloquent comfort, but Kida felt reassured nonetheless. She put a hand on Milo’s cheek and kissed the corner of his mouth. 

“I love you too, Milo. I feel better.” 

“Really?” he blurted, eyes blown wide. Kida chuckled in amusement, her other hand sliding down the length of his arm to link their hands and entwine their fingers. Milo gave her that lopsided smile that sent warm bubbles coursing through her body anytime she was graced with its appearance. Without saying another word, Milo wrapped his free arm around her to pull her in for another soft embrace, peppering kisses into her long, moon-white hair. “I wish he were here,” he admitted against her scalp. “He should’ve been allowed to see what a splendid queen you are…” Kida exhaled deeply and melted languidly against his frame, tracing his star-patterned tattoo’s jagged lines.

“Mhmm… I wish he would have been able to see what a remarkable king you are,” she countered. She couldn’t see Milo’s face, but she could tell he was flushing from the intense spike of heat that rolled off his body in a sudden wave. He began stuttering nervous refusals under his breath, so Kida continued, “You are a wonderful king! My people- our people- respect you immensely.” Her fingers walked a path over his shoulder and up his neck. When she reached his jaw, she flattened her palm against his cheek. She rolled her head over his shoulder to smirk at him, turning his face down to her as she did so. “I certainly could not hope to rule without such a kind and considerate man by my side.” 

“Well,” he considered suddenly, rolling his eyes up in pseudo-thoughtfulness. Kida snickered at his abrupt shift to a playful mood. In a second, he grinned widely and dropped down to press a sweet little kiss to the tip of her nose. “I certainly couldn’t hope to rule without such a strong, sophisticated woman by my side,” he contradicted coltishly. His tone was jesting, but seriousness swam in the sparkling pools of his eyes. Smiling lovingly, Kida stroked the contour of his jawline continuously as he gazed adoringly down into her sea-blue eyes. “At any rate, it’s a good thing he can see how well we’re doing, anyway.” It was Kida’s turn to be confused, and she quirked an eyebrow vexedly. Grinning, Milo jabbed his index finger towards the ceiling. 

Kida immediately understood. 

“Mhmm… Yes, you are right, Milo.” Above the barrier of the worn stone roof, her ancestors’ stone carvings orbited the mighty hidden city. Their mighty visages thrummed with the sparkling energy of life and spirit and magic; Kida knew her father’s soul coursed within those magical veins. She also knew that his wizened old eyes, with sight returned in his eternal afterlife, gazed upon her with all measures of fondness and pride. Kida’s eyes disintegrated the ceiling’s dark surface to envision his stone carving looking down upon her, and she smiled. “Yes, you’re right,” she repeated softly and snuggled into her husband’s body. “I know he can see how beautiful our amazing city has continued to become.” 

Sadly, her father was gone, and nothing could ever completely fill the void left behind in Kida’s heart. Still, all was not lost- she had a kingdom that uplifted her, and a loving husband who thought her the world. With so much love and support holding her up, Kida could face all the world’s sadness without question.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#milo x kida #kida x milo #atlantis #atlantis the lost empire #atlantis: the lost empire

[imnotwolverine]

In sickness and in health

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: Lisa is overworked and sick as a dog, while Henry is the ever-loving, doting caretaker. A little fluffy fluff on the Thursday morning, because I couldn’t sleep (surprise Henry sneaking in on Snyder’s watch party, I hold you responsible). 

Word count: 1.842

Disclaimer: fluff 

--

This is part 15 of the Tea for Two story. 

You can find the Masterlist here. 

--

< Go back to part 14

‘You’re not okay,’ He said softly, pushing my boggling body back in the pile of pillows on the bed. 

I knew he was right. I was somewhere in between a heavy cold and fever-town, but that definitely did not stop me from being obnoxiously stubborn. I wanted to go out for heaven’s sake! Right now my sexy heels should be carrying me through the restless city streets, ready to go to a party. To have fun! But no. It was New Year’s eve and here I was, sitting in bed, looking like a wet rag. And it sucked.

‘Well then at least you go. I won’t accept that I am spoiling this night for you too.’ I tried, my voice coming out too brittle for my liking. Henry’s face scrunched up. ‘You are a piece of work woman.’ He chuckled, giving me a loving look. ‘Thankfully..I can be just as stubborn as you are. And I. Am. Not. Leaving.’ ‘But Jason organised this whole party. And you so wanted to go. You’ve been talking about it for weeks now.’ ‘I know. But there will be more parties. And right now, you first need to get better.’ He cupped my cheek, trying to sooth away my frustrations.

I huffed in annoyance, moving my face away from his hand as I turned on my side, rolling away from him. ‘I hate this.’ I sulked, pulling up the blankets as I felt another cold shiver rush over me. Henry was quiet, his hand gently folding a bit of hair behind my ear, his eyes burning into the back of my head. ‘Can I get you anything love? Tea? Soup? ..A hug?’ His voice was gentle, unfazed by my moping.

I quietly shook my head, my head burning hotly beneath the blanket that I had dragged up to my chin.

It had been a while since I had felt so bad. Actually… Come to think of it. The last time was about a year ago, also during my holidays. I knew I was a bit of a workaholic. I knew I probably should take a few more weeks off in the year, to recharge. But then there always was this new cool project. Or I just couldn’t refrain myself from opening a few e-mails, which then totally escalated again to the point that I was having hour-long work calls. Yes. I was really bad at my work-life balance and my body paid the price.

I felt Henry’s body lift from the mattress as he got up again, his feet shuffling out of the bedroom as he let out the quietest sigh. From that sound alone I knew he was feeling upset and it made me feel crazy guilty. Guilty for him having to see me like this. Guilty for being the major cause of this. Why did I have to be so darn stubborn?

‘Henn?’ I called out feebly.

I heard his footsteps stop mid stairway.

‘Yes dear?’ He answered, his feet immediately moving back to the bedroom.

I rolled around so I could look at him.

‘I’m sorry.’

My jaw clenched as I saw him look at me with those big puppy eyes. It was more than evident that he was feeling worried about me, his nose flaring in discomfort as his eyes trailed over the small sweat drops on my temples.

‘Don’t be. Baby. Just..relax. Try to sleep a bit.’ He moved back to the bed and folded back the blankets, his hand picking up the washcloth from the nightstand, gently dabbing the sweat off my forehead. ‘No..I’m really sorry. This happens every time I take a holiday. My body just crashes. I… I work too much.’ I sighed, my eyes looking anywhere but at Henry, my hands fumbling with the covers. Henry sat down again on the edge of the bed, continuing to dab my head as the sweat drops kept rolling.

Gods I was feeling so shit. My head felt like a ton of bricks, my throat sandpaper and my muscles were aching so badly it felt like I had been hit by a truck.

‘I’m just so darn stubborn.’ I croaked, finally looking back at him. He smiled again. ‘Yes you are. And.. I like that, I do. Just not when you get ill because of it. I want to have you around for as long as is humanly possible, you know?’ His tender words made my heart buzz. ‘I know.’ I nodded slowly, rubbing my head into his hand and closing my eyes for a moment.

We stayed like that for a few minutes. His hand dabbing the sweat of my forehead as he began to hum a slow tune. I felt all worries wash away as the cold cloth gently travelled across my aching hot skin.

‘Could we at least move to the couch? I miss Kal.’ I hummed, finally opening my eyes again.

Henry chuckled. ‘If you promise me you’ll stay put.’ I shrugged. ‘Not like I can do much else.’

‘Okay then.’ He said, sitting back a bit so he could fold away the blankets. I pulled up my feet to get up, but before they even touched the floor I felt myself being scooped up by Henry. ‘I can walk.’ I protested, pouting my cracked lips. ‘And I.. like carrying you.’ He retorted, smiling smugly.

—

The tv was set to its lowest volume as we sat snuggled up on the couch. Henry was wearing a simple black sweater and jogging pants, his arms protectively wrapped around the pile of blankets I was wrapped in. I didn’t know whether I was comfortably toasty, or sick toasty, but I didn’t really care. Henry seemed more than a little happy he could have his arms around me and keep me safe. Ever the knight in shining armour.

‘Your mom told me you were a great fan of King Arthur and his knights when you were young.’ I said with my raspy voice, looking up at him as he peered at the tv. He sniffled, giving me a crooked smile. ‘I was..and still am by the way.’ His smile grew wider as he saw the amused look on my face. ‘How are you feeling?’ His hand brushed away some hair that was sticking to my forehead. ’Okay now. I don’t think I have felt this safe and cosy in my life.’ I snickered, nestling my head back in the nape of his neck.

‘Then I am doing a good job.’ He kissed the top of my head, resting his lips there before moving up ever so slightly. ‘What else did you talk about with my mum?’ His curiosity seeped through his semi-casual tone. I shrugged. ‘Girl things.’

‘Oh don’t give me that. We would have no secrets, right?’ The smile was evident in his voice. ‘Mmmm. Well I wasn’t the only one with secrets. You were pretty..open towards your mom about your secrets while I was asleep on your lap.’ I pushed myself up a bit, my arm shaking with effort. Immediately I felt Henry’s arm wrapping around mine, steadying me as my body trembled with effort. ‘Easy, easy.’ He whispered.

His eyes gave me a quick full-body scan to see if I was alright, before looking back into mine.

‘I’m okay.’ I confirmed with an amused tone as I laid a weak hand on his chest, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Henry shifted slightly in his seat, careful not to shake me up, before licking his lips and looking back at me. ‘Well..I hope that didn’t catch you by..surprise..’ He breathed, checking my reaction. My smile grew wider. ‘No. But you were right about one thing..’ I looked down at my hand on his broad chest, my fingers grazing gently over the soft cable knit. He wore this sweater so often the threads were baring thin at some points.

‘We haven’t really spoken about it all that much.’ He filled in for me. I nodded, looking back up. His tender eyes had gotten a whole lot more stormy now, his nostrils flaring.

He lowered his eyes, licking his lips again. Was he nervous?

‘Well just to confirm. I do want kids, another dog AND a house with a nice garden.’ I nodded, feeling my already hot cheeks burn as his hot gaze quickly peeked back at me. I folded one of my hands around my cheek, feeling the skin burn. ‘I’m not even sure anymore if I’m blushing or blazing.’ I snickered. He smiled, letting out a small breath as he leaned towards the sidetable to grab the cool washcloth and dab it on my heated face again.

‘Good. And marriage..still okay?’ He peered into my eyes as his hand gently pressed the cloth against my cheeks. ‘Of course. I could do with a different last name.’ I shrugged, feigning disinterest. He chuckled, his hand turning my head so I could see him raising a handsome eyebrow in challenge. ‘What?’ I chuckled, leaning into the coolness of the cloth, the moisture forming drips on my salty skin. Two can play that game, I thought, giving him my most seductive gaze. Henry swallowed harshly as his hand froze for a moment against my cheek, our eyes just looking deeply into one another.

In the back of my mind I half-registered the tv had started a count down. But his eyes. Those eyes. I couldn’t look away.

The sound got a touch louder as we heard the neighbours following along top lung, their count down sounding through the living room wall.

‘9..8…7..’

Henry sat up a bit, moving away the wash cloth.

‘6…5…4..’

Our eyes blazed as our lips were curled in stupid smiles. Blue meets green. Boy meets girl. Husband meets wife?

‘3..2...’

I let out a small gasp as Henry bent over.

‘I want it all with you Henry. I do.’ I whispered against his lips, our kiss forming a perfect seal of promises made.

‘HAPPY NEW YEAR!! WOOHOO YEAAAAAA!!!’ The neighbours went berserkers as a loud pop sounded of a champagne bottle.  

Meanwhile our living room was a whole lot more quiet. Much to our amusement. We let out a soft chuckle as Henry’s hand sneaked around my head, pulling me as close as he dared.

‘Happy new year love.’ He smiled, his cheeks showing those cute dimples as he pressed the wash cloth back against my heated skin, our noses touching.

‘Hmm..’ I hummed, leaning into the cool cloth and closing my eyes. ‘Happy new year.’

‘And..’ He sat back a bit. ‘I have a first proposal to make.’

My stomach did a little summersault as I gave him a confused look. ‘Now..?’ I asked, unsurely. He chuckled. ‘Now’s as good a time as any.’ He sat back a bit more and pulled my hands into his, giving me an intent look. ‘Dear Lisa. Would you, please, go on a holiday with me?’

I burst out laughing.

‘Oh by Merlin’s beard! Henry, you! Hahaha.’ I rolled my eyes, before nodding “yes”.

--

Part 16 > 

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x oc #fanfiction #NYE #insicknessandinhealth #teafortwo #cute #fluff #fluffy

[fleetwoodmoth]

Cybernetic Burn

I realized I never posted this, so I thought why not now

The sun was nearly set as Selene stumbled down the sidewalk towards the Paradise Lounge, its neon sign glowing through the haze of the late afternoon downpour. They were curled in on themselves, arms held tight against their own chest, feet finding a twisting line towards the front door of the bar. Their shoulder met someone else’s hard, but they didn’t stop to apologize, their head hurt too much to form words as the person cursed at them and kept walking. The headaches weren’t a new thing, they had woken up with a soft tapping behind their eyes over a week ago, and by now it had become a full blown banging that had enveloped their entire skull. They pushed open the front door roughly, barely catching a “watch it” from a patron who pushed past them out into the rain. The music was still pounding inside, making their ears ache as they maneuvered their way to the end of the bar. Despite the drudgery outside the place was still packed, it was an Apex Legends hang out after all, owned by the charismatic Elliot Witt, people flocked there to get drunk with the rich and famous.

The bouncer to the VIP lounge barely looked at Selene as they slipped past into the back, his name was Garrus but he mostly went by Bear, and he knew Selene and the other legends by a first name basis. The music was a bit more bearable in the lounge, and the company was more to their taste. It was much sparser than the public area, red couches beneath changing RGB lights and gauzy curtains, low tables with a spread of booze and frankly a lot of personal belongings; it was more like a clubhouse for the Legends. Elliot was working this bar tonight, something he did when the public bar was too overwhelming, he liked talking and he liked mixing, and since most of the customers were his friends he got to do a lot of both.

Selene sat at the end of the bar beside the emergency exit which was barely obscured by the drapery that decorated the walls, at the other end Renee swirled a martini, while Elliot laughed at something Makoa had said as he mixed a new drink. Selene slumped onto a stool, pulling their hood away from their head and pressing their fingertips into their eye sockets, it almost felt like their brain was on fire at this point, and it had been that way since about midday. Ajay had checked them out on request, but insisted that she didn’t find anything, and tried to give them some sort of relief, but the drugs didn’t work. It was Natalie who had asked if maybe it was something to do with their cybernetics, if maybe it was the electronics sending pain signals and not their organic material. They had meant to look into it, but that was when the real pain had hit and they hadn’t had the energy to do much of anything. It was why they were here tonight, at the bar with Elliot instead of at home trying to hide from the pain beneath a comforter. Maybe all they needed was a drink.

“I thought you were staying home tonight,” as if on cue Elliot pulled them from their thoughts as they squinted up at him.

“I was but—“ they chewed their lip as they rubbed at their eyes again, the lighting was starting to get to them.

“Drink some water yeah? You look sick,” his voice was soft, nothing but concern as he moved to take a glass from beneath the bar.

“No, I don’t need water, I need—“ they paused again, pressing their fingertips into their temples “something strong please,” they muttered.

They heard Elliot sigh “it’s not good for—“

“Elliot,” their voice sounded like two sheets of sandpaper rubbing together as they took his hand in theirs “please,” they pressed, making full eye contact with him.

Elliot searched their eyes for something, what they weren’t sure, but after a moment he sighed and looked away “alright, but just one, and if it doesn’t work I’ll take you home, got it?”

Selene forced a smile, they knew he loved them and was looking out for them, and despite the want to climb over the bar and get their damn drink themselves, they still loved him for that. They let his hand go as he went to fetch a bottle, they glanced down the bar from under the palm of their hand which they kept above their eyes to shade them from the intense light. Renee raised her glass with a nod before returning her gaze to a blank spot on the wall, something she did often, Selene always wondered what she was seeing when she did that. Elliot returned with two shot glasses, and filled them to the top with a dark grey liquid.

“What’s this?” They asked as their shaking fingers took hold of the first glass.

Elliot took the other, they hadn’t expected him to drink with them, but they were beyond fighting it now.

“Don’t ask, brace yourself,” he said clinking his glass with theirs.

They chuckled as they watched him down it, but as they moved to bring the shot to their lips something snapped. It was like a spark had been lit in a room full of gasoline behind their eyes. Selene jerked in their seat, dropping the glass and letting it shatter on the ground as they groped at their face. They made a choked gasping noise as they felt their stomach toss and heard their name being called. They felt their shoulder hit the ground with a crack as their nails dug into their forehead, the music playing from the speakers now sounded far away, drowned out by a sickening howling sound.

Selene could feel their fingernails catch on the seams where false skin met flesh, and they couldn’t stop themselves from tearing at it, the soft suction of squishy synthetic skin peeling away from metal as they tried to pry open their maintenance port. Wires ran between scarred flesh and hard warm metal, a network of organic and mechanical material working together to keep Selene whole. There was a proper way to access where their bone had been replaced with metal, a way to deactivate artificial nerves which ran to organic nerves, but instead they tore like a wild animal. Their mind was alight with one phrase which they were desperate to prove wrong you are going to die, you are going to die, you are going to die.

In the next moment they felt hands on them, pulling them from where they had collapsed against the bar to face the sky, their wrists were seized and for a moment they felt utter terror grip them. Images of the Hammond lab they had awoken in, years after they had fallen into their coma after a Titan accident, echoed through their panicked mind. Masked faces and gloved hands, water choking their lungs as they were forced back into a coma, tubes shoved down their throat as they attempted to plead for their life. They hadn’t realized they were shrieking until they heard Elliot as they took another breath.

“Please Selene, stop it,” his voice broke harshly.

They tried to force their eyes open, to see him, but the lights were still too bright, they clamped their eyelids shut as they turned away from them, arms trying to come up in order to shield themselves from the pain, but someone was holding them. They struggled with stiff arms and legs but hands held fast against their wrists.

“Someone is in their head,” they heard Tae Joon to their left, and wondered where he had come from.

“What do you mean?” A strained voice came from directly behind them, so close it made their head spin in confusion. It was then they realized they were in Makoa’s lap, and he was the one holding their arms.

“Please!” They cried, forming words for the first time since they had hit the ground “Please, please, please, stop it!” Their voice peaked as they tried to struggle again.

Selene gasped for air as if they were drowning on dry land, throwing their weight against Makoa’s chest and kicking out their legs towards Elliot. It felt like someone had injected their veins with acid, a searing feeling that began to spread down their left arm, they let out a pained wail again as Makoa shifted and they felt a new hand on their bare shoulder. It was then that the familiar burn of an improperly disconnected nerve ending being stretched away from their cybernetics made them jerk further into Makoa’s side. They gasped for air again, but this time they were sure they were going to vomit.

The next thought Selene had was of how tired they were. Their throat was raw and painful as they swallowed with a dry mouth, their eyelids felt as if they had been glued together, their ears felt full of water. They pulled a hand up to their face, rubbing at their eyes as they attempted to force them open, and despite their disorientation at the very least they knew that the pain had stopped. Finally they saw light, this time it was dim, a soft blue glow at their side as they tried to orient themselves. Finally after what felt like hours, they pried open their eyelids and blinked. They looked down at where they had been laid, finding the dark blue comforter of their bed, and for half a moment they wondered if they had dreamed it all.

“Hey,” the voice startled them from their stupor, their head snapping to the left to find Tae hunched over a small screen by their bedside. It was then they saw their left arm was outstretched and resting on a small table, the synthetic skin of their inside wrist having been opened to their elbow, and the maintenance port beneath it opened as well. Three thin wires were connected to ports beneath the small metal hatch disappeared off the side of the bed before reappearing connected to Tae’s laptop.

“How do you feel?” He asked after he let them adjust to their new situation.

“Tired.”

He hummed a response as his eyes darted back to the small screen in front of him.

“Where’s Elliot?” They asked hoarsely.

Tae looked up again, before nodding towards them, and it took much longer than they would have liked to admit to realize he was gesturing past them. Beside them in bed Elliot was curled up on top of the blankets, still dressed for work, his forehead pressed against their bare shoulder. They reached up with their free hand, pressing their palm to his cheek, focusing on the feeling of his breath against their skin. They closed their eyes again and sighed.

“You have to rest, Natalie and I are keeping an eye on your cybernetics, Ajay is on call in the kitchen if you need any medical attention. You’re safe.”

He said it so earnestly, making sure he had eye contact with them as he said it. That was something about Tae Joon, even if he was secretive and quiet, when he did speak they could tell he was speaking the truth.

#Apex Legends #Mirage #Elliot Witt #tae joon park #Lifeline #Crypto #Gibraltar #Wattson #Wraith #my writing #my oc #Mirage/OC

[comfort-questing]

part 1 - in which Winter Schnee, because she is Winter Schnee, is not sick, but definitely would be sick if she were anyone else

part 2:

...She woke slowly, to pain in her throat that came out as a harsh cough, to the same sharp pains redoubled up her back and down her limbs, to a strange swaying weightless movement in space that took her a moment to recognize. Someone was carrying her. Carrying her like a child, one arm under her shoulders and another tucked beneath her knees, her aching head resting in the hollow of someone’s shoulder; she could hear the rhythm of someone’s heartbeat under her ear, feel the rise and fall of their breathing...

Carried. She startled, realizing sleepily the horrid indignity of her position - tried to struggle free, but moving jarred the pain in her bones so that she winced and gasped. “Put me down,” she said, and her voice was a rasping whisper on a sandpaper throat.

The arms around her didn’t budge. “Well,” said a voice above her head, “I kinda thought you’d want to sleep in the clinic, not on the hallway floor.”

“The - clinic?” she managed, and then finally recognized the voice speaking. The realization nearly took her breath away. She tried to put something of the usual command into her words as she spat out: “Put me down, Qrow Branwen. How dare you - “

Then the catching in her throat and chest turned to coughing, and she shivered in the suddenly frigid air around her, struggling to get a clear breath in. She opened her eyes to see gray-streaked black hair, a stubbled chin, a faded jacket collar; the arm under her shoulders shifted, but Qrow didn’t pause in his walking.

“How dare I pick you up off the floor of James’s office, you mean?”

“I - what - I’m fine.” She struggled against his grasp, feebly. “I’m only a little tired. Put me down.”

Qrow sighed; she felt and heard it at once. “If you insist.”

The effort of coming upright almost brought the fog down around her again, but she took a deep breath and bit her tongue, grounding herself with the sting of it. Her feet found the floor; she steadied herself, but as Qrow stepped back her knees went weak again without warning.

She was never quite sure how she ended up on the floor again, sitting hands-and-knees on the polished floor of the thankfully deserted hallway. The next deep breath she took made her cough again, and it came out half a sob, tears suddenly burning in her eyes. Angrily she twitched to wipe them on her shoulder, but the sudden movement made the world spin and swing around her. Her elbows buckled, and this time she felt herself falling, and hated herself for it as she fell - how could this be happening - she had things to do; she had work to do...

Hands caught her before she hit the floor; someone was murmuring to her softly, rubbing her shoulders as she coughed again, a touch of warmth in a world gone desperately chill and empty. She blinked her eyes open, watching the ceiling lights reflect endlessly down the hallway’s polished floor, a row of cold lanterns marching into infinity.

“I believe,” she said, stiffly, “that I may - require some assistance.”

To his credit, Qrow didn’t say anything in response. She felt something warm and heavy brush over her, a soft fabric, and blinked to see dark crimson cloth draped over her shoulders. Qrow scooped her up in his arms again, cloak and all, steadying her securely against him before he began to walk again.

“Tell the General - I’ll be back after I - rest a little.”

“Sure.” Qrow didn’t sound particularly convinced. “Whatever you say.”

“I am not sick.” This was as bad as Penny. “I - I can’t be sick.” There was that wobbling in her voice, more pain behind it than just the roughness of her throat. She cursed herself for the weakness of it, sleepily, desperately.

“There’s a virus that would argue that point.”

She hissed her breath in between her teeth. “Put me - “

“Don’t say it, Ice Queen.”

There; now she was crying, between long shivering waves of pain, and no gritting of teeth was going to still it. The cloak around her and the body against her were the only warmth she could feel, and she clung to that awareness, even as her eyes slid shut again over the stinging tears.

Of course Qrow didn’t understand. She couldn’t rest; couldn’t lie in bed like a log. Nobody would have any use for her there - she’d failed the General, she’d failed Atlas... being weak like this...

Hazily, dimly, she was aware of a bed beneath her, hands sliding out from where they’d placed her there and pulling some blessedly warm blanket up to her chin. She fought against the weight of pain and exhaustion that bore her downward, but that only allowed her to feel the cup rim pressed to her lips.

“It’s only water.” Qrow’s voice was quiet, casual. “They’ll be along with something to take your fever down soon.”

“Along.” She reached out, into the haze. “Where - “

“Clinic.” A hand closed over hers, heavy cold rings laid gently on her skin. “Go to sleep, Winter. You’re going to be all right.”

She didn’t know if she believed him - if all right was going to happen again, after a day like this. Surely Ironwood wouldn’t wait for a sickly Winter Maiden. What if she was needed, what if...

But for that moment the pillow was soft, and the blanket beginning to warm her, and a touch to brush back the hair from her sweaty forehead, and so for now - perhaps - maybe - it would be all right to listen.

#whump #lady whump #whomp #rwby whump #whump fic #crow writes a thing

[darkredehmption]

In Good Hands

#SL #InGoodHands

@DamagedBrother @OfFeatherNFang

****

I remember blips of reality, like on a broken radar. Moments that came back to me in some semi-conscious state. Zsadist crouched over me. Street lights flashing by. The Chosen I’d saved hovering over me, her wrist at my lips. But I knew Chosen blood… knew it wouldn’t do the same for me as it did for them; for true vampires. Mahmen...

Sunlight… I wanted… needed… sunlight…

Then there was the manse again. The impossibly long tunnel. The intense smell of disinfectant. Diamond bright eyes. I struggled to cling to consciousness, to claw at it with nails and pure strength of will, but it just wasn’t there. My grip slipped, and I spiralled into darkness all over again.

By the time the darkness faded I knew it’d been a day at least, maybe more. I blinked slowly, the room coming into focus, my brain processing it piece by piece. The vials in the cabinet, the tiled, sterile walls, the lights pushed off to the side, and the machines, beeping my heart rate. There was a bench off to one side; I could see my backpack on it, my things scattered out.

The motel, I thought foggily, they’d been to my motel. Collected my things. I was almost relieved - I didn’t need some irritable motel attendant pitching my stuff in the trash for no-showing two days in a row. Or was it three? I had no idea at this point.

I’d been injured before, but never like this. Never with two bullets in my chest and a lung choking me with my own blood. I shuddered and grimaced as I tried to move, to lift my arms, but they felt like dead weights. Yep, there were definitely merits to hunting things that didn’t know about guns, bullets, or internal bleeding. I’d take a wendigo over this clusterfuck any day of the week.

Golden eyes appeared above me, and just like that, the anxiety, the grumbling complaints, faded out. Relief coursed through me at something, someone, now so familiar, and I relaxed back onto the bed. My heart rate monitor slowed down as I calmed. I resisted the urge to try and fumble the airline out from my nose.

“Z…” I slurred. And I tried to smile. I really did. Cause the fucker that had knocked me on my ass actually looked almost pleased to see me awake. Hard to believe after the times he'd knocked me out.

Zsadist:

[It has been a rough couple of days. We managed to get Malys back to the mansion alive, but he was in critical condition. Luckily V and some of the staff was already waiting for him in the garage with a stretcher. I had managed to stick around for a few hours to make sure he was okay. Finally Wrath found me in the tunnels and ordered me to go upstairs and rest. This time I didn’t disobey him even though I wanted to. I couldn’t get the picture of how Malys looked out of my head. So pale on that bed, bloody gauze covered the OR floor. But everyone kept saying he would be okay once the blood from the Chosen kicked in. They had to give him so much.

But I left. I left and I got some much needed rest. Well...sort of. Nightmares kept me up. The same one over and over again on repeat. I could see the mansion below me. I felt like I was flying. Maybe I was floating on a cloud. Everything was peaceful until gunshots were fired. They were so loud that all I heard was a ringing in my ears, and then falling. Falling into a pit of darkness. And when I woke I was on the floor in a heap, body drenched in sweat. No matter how many times I tried to fall asleep the same dream recurred.

So since sleeping was put on hold for a bit I found myself down in the PT suite. Again. Though he was the same. Knocked out on the bed and not recovering like he should be. Why? Why wasn’t the blood working on him? Peering through the window from the hallway, my brow raises as I see a backpack. Turning my head when Vishous appears from the direction of the pit.]

Who grabbed his stuff? [V looks in the window then lights a hand rolled. “Phury did. That guy has been singing his praises ever since he was brought back here.” I watched as the smoke curled at his lips. “I mean...what he did was...crazy. I’m not sure what his endgame is but currently he’s good in my book. Now if I could only figure out why the fuck he isn’t healing. Something is truly different about him and I feel like I’m so close to figuring out what that is.” Suddenly I remembered what I thought I saw in the alley. Wings. He had wings. Was he like...Lassiter? No. I mean Lass saw him. Wouldn’t he have known that shit? Besides I was running on little to no sleep. Vishous crushed his blunt against the heel of his shitkicker. “I need to step out…” That was code for head to the penthouse. “Don’t worry the staff is around and I’m just a phone call away.” He glances at the male through the window before exiting.

I had planned to just wait out in the hall, that was until the monitors started going off like fucking crazy. Looking around to see if I could spot Vishous, or hell a staff member but no one was in site. Shit. Quickly I head inside the room, moving over to the bed as I tried to figure out what was doing. But the moment I was at his bedside the constant beeping slowed down. And then I heard my name fall from his lips. I blinked. He was awake?] Malys...What’s the matter? Everything alright? [I grunted out.]

Mal:

I was on morphine, that was for sure, but whatever they’d used to put me under for what I assumed was an emergency bullet removal and stitch job of my lung was finally fading out of my system. The longer Zsadist stood over me, the more my head cleared, until I was better able to focus.

With care I shifted, trying to sit up. Rather than let me, the vampire simply snagged a pillow from somewhere, stuffed it behind my back, and pushed me back down. Hey, it wasn’t like I could resist. I felt like I’d been ridden hard and put away wet. But at least now I was propped up. Clearing my throat, I managed a grateful, if not embarrassed, smile.

“Uh, thanks.” Was that my voice? I coughed, my tongue like sandpaper as I reached for the glass at my bedside. Again the male was picking it up, helping me take a few sips then setting it back. “You… you don’t need to do this,” I managed finally, looking down at my chest, forcing a brittle smile. “Play nurse to the uh… weak ass half-breed. I’ve been hurt before.”

Though probably not this bad. I’d managed a whole twenty-four hours in bed thanks to my mahmen after getting mauled by a werewolf and breaking my arm. After that? Grabbed my car and went to a job two states over. If she knew a simple visit to reconnect with vampires would’ve done this to me she might’ve reconsidered the asking…

Beneath the blanket I could feel the bandages wrapped around my chest. I was healing faster than a human, but still not fast enough for what these vampires could do. Not after being given Chosen blood. I remembered that. Remembered their worried faces as I didn’t improve. Like they were failing me somehow.

“Are those females all okay?” I said instead, trying to distract from everywhere else my head wanted to go. And my phone… I could see it on the table next to my pack. Somehow it still had charge, and the tiny light blinked that I had calls. Messages. Maybe hunts waiting. I forced my eyes back to Zsadist. He was watching me with those perfect golden eyes.

Zsadist:

[He was awake. Maybe this was a sign that the Chosen blood was finally kicking it. That he was going to be healed. I stayed silent as I watched the male with a curious stare. When he struggled to sit up I reached for a pillow, placing it behind him as I pushed him back down. Did he think he could just get up and walk out now? He was stubborn like every other Brother in this mansion. Maybe he did fit in here with us.

My brows draw in slightly as I hear his raspy voice. Grabbing a glass of water at his bedside then bringing it to his lips. My eyes never left his as he gulped down a few sips. I set aside the glass then my lips twitch as he asked about the Chosens. Of course he wanted to know if they were okay. Scribe. Clearing my own throat as I rip my gaze from him.]

The Chosen are fine. More than fine. I mean...they are shaken up but you saved them. If you weren’t there...I don’t know what would have happened. [My jaw clenched as I pictured my Brother losing his mate and two of the females he is supposed to look after. Fuck. We truly owe this male a great deal. Slowly my golden eyes shifted back to him. My mind turning with so many things at this moment. Who was this male...and why was he here. Was he meant to cross paths with the Brotherhood? Sometimes I wished I was better at speaking what was on my mind. But my demons start to drag me down and I take a step back from the bed.]

Just...thanks. True? Um...Vishous went out but the staff is here. I’m sure you will have lots of visitors coming to check on you. I should...ah..

[Slowly I turn so I wasn’t facing him anymore. It was hard to back down when he kept those big eyes locked onto me.] I should probably see what’s going with the Brothers. Make sure I’m not needed somewhere else. [My eyes were trained on the savior’s phone. From all the notifications it looked like he was needed elsewhere too. I’m sure as soon as he was better he would be off and running back to Mahmen and these so called hunters. Reaching up to rub my palm over my chest, right where the Brotherhood scar was. What the fuck is going on with me? I couldn’t explain this...this...what feeling? I didn’t even comprehend what feelings were. They were totally new territory for me. So what was it then? What was going on with me?]

Mal:

I didn’t want him to go. It was an odd sensation, given I spent more time on my own than anything else - even preferred it that way - and it almost kept me silent. That was until his hand touched the door.

“Wait…”

Yep. Cool. C’mon brain. Any time now. Give me /something/ to say…

“I don’t like hospitals.” I almost cringed at the confession but pushed on. “If you leave… I’m just going to be staring at the ceiling either bored out of my brains or ready to blow them out ‘cause I hate being confined to a bed or… anything like this. So… unless you have some top secret warrior Brother business going on… would you mind staying?” I cleared my throat and looked away. “I mean… even until I pass out again…”

I was slow clapping myself in my head. On top of being injured, weak, a half breed, and borderline sociopathic, I’d also managed to add needy and dramatic to the list. Fuck me dead, what a nightmare. This Brother was going to think I was batshit, but I wasn’t lying. The thought of spending hours in here alone gnawed at me.

“Vishous,” I managed, my voice remarkably even considering the internal beating I was giving myself, “he’s the one with the eyes, right? Like… crystal eyes? And the tattoo.” Also the one who’d been ready to gut me like a fish, if I recalled the flipping of that dagger during interrogation correctly. “And the King, was he surprised I’m not a total dropkick?”

Zsadist:

[As soon as my hand landed on the door I heard one word from him. One word that made me completely stop in my tracks. It was almost like my feet were glued to the floor. I couldn’t leave. I had to hear what the male had to say. My dark brows draw in when he says that he doesn’t like hospitals. Being confined in a space like this freaked him out. And well...I could relate. When he was a prisoner and we had him tied to this bed all I could think about was the cell the mistress had me chained up in. Of course now things were different. He was no prisoner and was merely here to recover. But still it made him uncomfortable. And that was something I could relate to. Giving out a low grunt as I tilt my head back at him. Our eyes meeting once again.]

Fine. [I mutter.] Don’t expect a lot from me though. Small talk is not my forte. Ya feel me? [Lifting my hand off of the door so I can scrub it down my scarred face. Hell. People weren’t something I was good at either. They mostly hated me and I them. My head lifts when I hear Malys start to mention my Brothers. Okay. This could work. I could answer questions. Especially ones that had nothing to do with me whatsoever. Parking my ass in the small chair beside the bed. Leaning forward to rest my elbows on the top of my knees.]

Vishous, yeah. You should thank him when you see him next. He’s not an actual doctor but knows a hell of a lot more than us when it comes to this medical shit. He helped with patching you up. Then again don’t thank him...Just tell him how much you love the Sox’s or hate the Yankees. Either or will work in your favor. [I snort then nods] The King is…grateful. Glad that the Chosens are safe. Pretty sure he’s pardon all issues from previous nights ago between you two.

[My eyes stay trained on the tiled floor. No more bloody gauze, just the smell of disinfectant that burned my nose. Blowing out a breath as I look anywhere but at the male in the bed.] I assume you’ve also have...forgiven. Yeah? I mean... [Lets out a grunt.] You came to our aid. Put yourself in danger to protect the race. Now either you truly find yourself wanting to help or you are just sweet on Chosens because of your Mahmen. I mean either way...it puts you in a good position with the Brotherhood. And an even better one with the Primale. He will want to meet your Mahmen. My twin has had his mind wrapped around it since you spoke of her. Even more so now with all that’s transpired. [Finally my golden gaze met his and I was held captive by those eyes.]

Mal:

As the Brother came to sit by my bed, shifting forward to brace elbows on his knees, I caught glimpses of dark bands around his wrists, his throat. Resisting the urge to stare at them more intently, I instead processed his advice. A Sox fan huh? Well that could be a fun button to press. And the fact the King no longer considered me public enemy number one? Double bonus.

“I’ll be sure to thank him at some point,” I declare with a wry grin.

Exhaustion weighed on me but I pushed it back at the mention of my mother. That the Primale wanted to meet her… it made my heart monitor spike for a second. I tried not to curse at being attached to something that literally gave me away, but I couldn’t deny the idea of bringing my mother to Caldwell now seemed like a nightmare. Lessers roaming the streets attacking Chosen? The Brotherhood wary of anyone new? I hadn’t even been here a week and I’d spent my time either tied to this bed or bleeding in it. And besides, I was supposed to be leaving… not bringing more people in...

“I’ll have to speak to her about it,” I said finally, nodding. The choice would be hers, after all. I’d never deny her the desire to return here if she wanted to. Though I’d certainly be two seconds away from a heart attack every day if she did. “One of those messages is probably her. I was meant to check in,” I admit, brow furrowing. “Hopefully she hasn’t packed a bag and stolen my car to leave already.”

Taking a deep breath, helped by the oxygen line, I let my mind turn everything over. The scent of the male next to me, crisp and clean, had me returning to one image over and over. The male cursing me out as he tried to tackle me off a rooftop. His fang filled smirk as we faced each other for a fight.

“I want a rematch.” The words were outta my mouth before I could reconsider, but then again, I didn’t want to reconsider. I wanted to fight him again. My grin was tired but I could feel the spark in my eyes at the prospect. I’d even stick around a little longer for that. “This time no choke holds, fucker.”

Zsadist:

[I noticed when the male eyed my slave bands. He stared at them for awhile which made me think that this conversation was going to go a lot different. Or hell maybe it wouldn’t go on at all. If he knew what they meant maybe he wouldn’t want to talk to me. Slowly I straighten, resting my hands in my lap so the bands on my wrists wouldn’t be so visible. Dammit I should have worn my turtleneck.

I was so wrapped up with my own thoughts that I almost missed what he said. Something about thanking someone then messages. Huh? My head turns to eye his phone. Slowly I stand, moving over to retrieve said device from the bench. As I walk back to the bed I pause when I finally hear him loud and clear.]

Rematch? [My eyes darken slightly at the thought of another fight with the male. Playing out the previous one in my head. The way he moved, the way he hit. Fuck I could still taste the blood he drew in my mouth. A small growl forms and I have to bite it back so I wouldn’t startle the poor fool.] Yes. [Smirking wide, my fangs on full display now. I gazed down at his phone before tossing it onto the bed. Watching as it lands in his lap.] But no rematch until you get better. It’s not really that fun when the other person is too weak to stand up.

[I eyed the machine he was hooked up to and my brows draw in.] Vishous told me the Chosen’s blood is not working very well in you. Which is crazy to me cause Chosen blood is like the purest. Makes us heal so fast. So why the fuck aren’t you healing? Look...I get wanting to keep shit to yourself but...you all have us so puzzled on what this other half of you may be. I don’t think it’s human. [Shakes my head.] So I’m guessing some other kind of species. Whatever it is...it is definitely stronger than your vampire side. [Lifting my head so my golden eyes met his own.]

Mal:

Boom, what a fang filled smile that was. Were I a lesser man I might’ve been intimidated. As it was, my own grin turned feral at the notion. What would a no holds barred fight against the Brother be like? On the roof, neither of us had been trying to kill each other, just disable. But now? Bring. It. On.

Well, right until he smacked me back to reality with the whole ‘bed-ridden lesser target’ thing. I winced, my smile fading slightly, then disappearing completely when he brought up my lack of healing. I mean, I was better off than a human - a human would be dead, FYI - but had it been that male that’d been shot? He’d be up by now whistling dixie.

I could tell him. The thought occurs to me as I force my gaze up to meet his, my face expressionless now. They had an angel living here, for fuck’s sake. But always in the back of my head was the truth a hunter knew; if you were different, everyone saw you as dangerous. People killed things that were different. I would know. And besides… if the angel hadn’t sold me out… he had to have a reason. Right?

“Don’t worry,” I flipped a chill smile on my dial, flashing it at him and following it up with a wink. “I’ll still heal. Always do. I mean, all I’ve had all my life is Chosen blood, right? Maybe I have a super high tolerance for it,” I laughed, the action hurting my chest, pulling at stitches. “I’ll be fine to face your pretty puss soon, donchu worry,” I said with a small wave of my hand, like I could wave off his curiosity, his questions.

“And like I told the King,” I added, grabbing the device in my lap and flipping it screen side down, so I wasn’t distracted from speaking to the male before me, “I’ve never met my father. So… I can’t exactly help there. You ever find him though, let me know.”

‘Cause I’d be the first one in line to punch that fucker square in his angelic jaw.

“You know of anything else kicking around these parts I should be worried about?” The question occurs to me as an afterthought, my expression curious even as my hunter mind works over possible jobs. Whether these vampires knew it or not, there were offshoots of us out in the world that /did/ feed on people, and it was always a wrench to the gut when I had to put one of them down. If there were any in Caldwell, I’d have to take action. “I mean, you said ‘species’ like you know more than just us.”

Zsadist:

[My golden eyes narrowed into thin slits. Something deep down told me he knew exactly what that other half of him was. Or at least his Mahmen gave him some sort of idea of who his Father was. But I let it go. Weirdly enough I did. This male saved some important members of this family and I was not about to sit here and interrogate him. He already had enough of that from a few nights ago. So let him keep his secrets...for now. Cause I am damn sure not going to spill my whole fucked up life to this guy.]

Well…[Pausing as I think of Hadrian. Fuck. I had to meet up with him later this week for a training session. I had almost forgotten between the chaos that had been going on around here lately.] There are. I’m not sure who you...take down...but there is a um...shifter who is good peeps. Don’t kill him. [I grit my teeth slightly.] I just worked my ass off trying to convince the Brotherhood that he wasn’t a threat. [Lets out a snort.] But I did hear that there are some vampires that are different from us. Vampires that capture shifters and use them basically as their slaves. You come across those fuckers maybe I’ll look the other way.

[Rolling my shoulders as I stand and start to pace slowly around the room.] So much shit has been going down lately that I’m not even sure what is out there. Hell you say you hunt monsters? Just proves that there is more out there that we don’t know. Though...I will say this. [My head lifts and I eye the male. Holding his gaze as I speak] Just because someone is a bit different doesn’t mean...that they are a monster. [Slowly I look away.] I don’t know what you’ve heard of me...or hell any of the others but most of us have a past. Fuck if you saw what Rhage could do...you would lose your shit man.

[I immediately stopped talking when a member of the medical staff came into the room. She moves over to Malys. Grabbing his chart and writing a few things down. Every now and then my eyes met his. The silence dragged on until she left. When the door closes behind her I drop my head. Scrubbing both hands over my skull trim] I should probably let you rest. [Blows out a breath.] I mean you are good yeah? The staff is here and I’m…[Pauses then scratches at my nape] I’m just down the hall in the gym. Don’t think about leaving this bed to surprise me with a sneak attack. [Smirks as I roll my golden eyes to the fade. I meet his gaze once again.] Rest up, true?

Mal:

A shifter… well, that certainly gave me an avenue, particularly if said shifter was avoiding the kinds of vampires I needed to introduce to a forty-four. Or a chainsaw. And with any luck, the shifter was a decent breed. Not that I doubted Zsadist’s word; one just had to do due diligence when dealing with the kinds of creatures that could tear your head off with their bare hands.

Looking down at the phone in my lap, I somehow manage not to tense or flinch. In truth, I knew he was right. Different did not make a monster. Different just made fear. And fear turned people into monsters.

“Monster is a relative term, my friend,” I mutter, looking back up. “And I haven’t heard anything about y~”

My jaw snapped shut with an audible click of teeth as a female ventured in, examining a chart at the end of my bed and beginning to go over everything. She muttered something about morphine, which was probably why I’d felt the stitches pull, and my chest aching, then she was ducking out again. When she left, she seemed to take the conversation ball with her, and as exhaustion weighed on me, I didn’t try to get her to toss it back.

“Yeah… m’ good. You uh… try not to get too buff in that gym, aight? Wouldn’t want you to bust out of your favorite tank top or anything,” I manage dryly, shaking my head. “I’ll be fine.”

Luckily Wrath wasn’t here, or the King might’ve got a whiff of that lie. I doubted I could be fine. Not here, not anywhere. Even if some small, aching part of me… really wanted to be.

#sls #black dagger brotherhood

[danfanciesphil]

Give Me A Try (New Chapter)

Gay Instagram Model/Bartender Phan AU Part 6

(Part One)

(Part Two)

(Part Three)

(Part Four)

(Part Five)

(Read on Ao3)

The bar is empty, but the lights are swirling across the dancefloor. Britney Spears’ ‘Everytime’ is playing at a low volume, her deep, rough voice sliding chills up Dan’s bare arms. He is naked, and sprawled across the bar counter.

His face is turned towards the dancefloor, marvelling at how clean the floor is, for once. Somewhere at his navel, lips are pressing to his skin, over and over, like sweet butterflies landing on his abdomen. Dan sighs in contentment, eyes slipping closed. He opens them just in time to see Phil move over him, done with kissing his stomach now.

The shock of seeing Phil above him, also naked, their bodies pressed together on the bar, sends Dan into a flurry of panic. How did this happen? He is not prepared, not skilled enough to please such an immensity of a person. His hands ghost, trembling, over Phil’s shoulders, too reverent to actually touch.

“Do you want me?” Phil asks, absurdly.

All Dan can do is nod, vigorously, trying hard to convey how desperately he does without words. Phil sends him a wicked grin in return, sending Dan’s heart into palpitations. He sees Phil’s lips moving towards his, can feel the slide of Phil’s hips against his as their bodies move. He tries to ready himself for the onslaught of Phil’s mouth, but knows it will eviscerate him totally, the moment it happens. There’s no way to prepare.

He shuts his eyes, waiting for the missile of Phil’s kiss to strike him, when a voice permeates the air, grating and cold. “Knew he’d be shit in bed.”

Phil snaps his head to the side, annoyed. Dan turns too, blearily, to see Charlie Hickory standing in the shadows, sipping a Rainforest Cocktail with a nauseated expression, his lips blue from the liquid. He’s watching them with scorn, sneering in distaste. Dan tries to struggle from beneath Phil, to cover himself from Charlie’s stare, but he can barely move. Phil’s whole body covers him, and while it’s incredible, it’s also restrictive.

“Charlie, be nice,” Phil warns, then turns back to Dan. “Sorry about him.”

“What’s he doing here?” Dan hisses, feeling his cheeks heat.

“Oh, he’s just here to chill,” Phil shrugs, like it’s normal. “Ignore him.”

Dan tries to let Phil’s words placate him, but he can feel Charlie’s eyes burrowing into them, scrutinising their every movement. Phil tries to kiss him again, but Dan squirms from it, mortified by the third party watching.

“Can you get him to leave?”

Phil frowns. “Just pretend he’s not there.”

Dan wriggles again, glancing over at Charlie, who waggles his fingers. “Not sure I can do that.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I knew he wouldn’t have the balls,” Charlie sighs, tossing the Rainforest over his shoulder so that it smashes behind him. Dan tuts, knowing he’ll be the one that has to clean that up. Charlie stalks over to the bar then, seizing Phil’s face in his hands. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

He smashes his mouth into Phil’s, kissing fiercely, and the bar beneath Dan seems to fall away, he feels punched by the sight happening right above him, wants to drag Charlie off of Phil by his stupid quiff. Charlie pulls off, slightly breathless, and turns to Dan, still pinned to the bar by Phil on top of him.

“Give it up, Dan,” Charlie says, condescendingly. “He’s mine.”

At that second, Dan jerks awake, anguished and filled with fury. Charlie’s smug face lingers, ghostlike, in front of him. It churns his stomach, making him queasy and breathless. A minute or so passes, eyes closed against the sickness roiling within him as Charlie, and the bar, and the rest of the weird fever dream gently ebbs away. It’s around then that Dan realises his nausea is actually  a product of what feels like a raging hangover, if his pounding head, raw throat, and bitter tongue are any indication.

He peels open his eyes, rather reluctantly. For a wild, slightly scary moment, he has no idea where he is. Then, the zig-zag blanket draped over his body catches his eye, and the feeling of immense comfort sparks a faint memory in his brain.

He’s been on this couch before.

Dan looks around for his phone, heart already thrumming as he tries to recall what happened last night, what day it is, and whether he needs to apologise to Phil or anyone else for his behaviour. He thinks today is Sunday, which is good, because the bar is closed. He’d never forgive himself for this hangover if he had to work later.

He finds his phone in his shoe beside the sofa, almost dead, but flooded with notifications. Too bleary to read any of them, Dan just checks the time. 

It’s 11am.

“Crap,” Dan mutters, running a hand through his hair.

“Morning to you too, sunshine,” Phil says from a nearby armchair, making Dan leap out of his skin.

His eyes flick to the other man, who is slumped in the chair, nursing what looks like a much-needed coffee. His voice is rough and gravelly, his chest bare. He’s wearing pyjama pants with emojis on them, and slippers that look like loaves of bread.

“Morning,” Dan says. His voice comes out like sandpaper. “Um, what… what happened last night?”

Phil flicks his gaze across to Dan, eyebrow quirking. A smile spreads across his mouth. “You don’t remember?”

Remnants of memory snag across Dan’s mind: downing a shot as Tyler urged him on, dancing to ‘London Bridge’ by Fergie on the dancefloor (which, incidentally, Tyler refers to as Dan’s ‘stripper song’), Phil filming him with his phone…

“Bits and pieces,” Dan says unsurely. “Did I get drunk during my shift?”

Phil barks a laugh. “You could say that.”

“Ugh,” Dan grunts, rubbing his sleep-caked eyes. “Such a responsible adult. I’m blaming Tyler for allowing me to do that.”

“Might wanna check Instagram,” Phil says; he sounds suspiciously nonchalant about the suggestion. He pockets his phone, stands up, and heads for the kitchen beyond. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

As soon as Phil leaves, the chill of his words hangs in the air. Dan’s gaze falls, trepidatious, to the phone in his lap. It seems like a primed bomb, suddenly. He reaches for it with caution, not really wanting to know.

The moment he clicks onto Instagram, the notifications pour out in a stream, attacking him in their thousands. He goes to his own profile, and his jaw falls to the floor.

Followers 53,289

Dan stares at the number, uncomprehending. His notifications page is swarming with new followers, liking his photos, commenting beneath them.

He wonders, as he scrolls through them, whether he’s been hacked. Or if he drunkenly purchased a load of those fake follow accounts in a vain attempt to impress Phil. Then, he starts reading what these new followers are writing.

Who is he omg

Think I’ve found a new fave twink account :o

He’s cuuuute!

He might be cuter than Charlie…

The last comment snags his attention, mostly because of the name. Charlie.

“Any news?”

Dan starts, head whipping towards Phil so fast that it makes the room spin on its axis. “I… what’s going on?”

Phil titters, placing a cup of coffee in front of Dan. He reaches for it at once, taking a huge, scalding gulp. Eugh, he really needs to tell Phil at some point that he hates sugar in his coffee.

“I tagged you in my Instagram story last night,” Phil tells him. His tone is hesitant, as if he’s unsure whether this is good or bad news to relay. “People… reacted well to you.”

“I have fifty-three thousand followers as of this morning,” Dan says, blankly. He still can’t wrap his head around it.

“Congrats?” Phil offers, sinking back into his chair.

Dan places his coffee down, swallowing thickly, and types Phil’s name into the Instagram search bar. He goes to AmazingPhil’s account, thumb hovering over his icon, around which a think pink line pulsates, indicating that Phil has, indeed, updated his story.

He presses the icon.

Immediately, he recognises the bar where Phil is filming. It’s the bar Dan has worked at for the past four years of his life, Habanero, and it’s crammed with patrons, as it always is on a Saturday night. Nicki Minaj’s ‘Super Bass’ blares from the background as Phil films the crowds, ending with a close up of his own face, wide-eyed as he sips a cocktail Dan recognises as a ‘Habenero Hallmark’. It has a dash of chilli oil in it, after its namesake, which explains Phil’s subsequent wince and splutter after he takes a sip.

“Wait, what are you- are you watching my story?” Phil - the present-day Phil - asks from his chair, already standing up. Dan nods, barely hearing him. “Scoot over, I wanna watch with you.”

Dan turns to him, surprised, but obediently shuffles further into the sofa cushions in order to let Phil squeeze in next to him. To his mild despair, Phil slips his legs under the blanket as well, pressed against Dan’s. At least Phil has those stupid emoji pyjama pants on, Dan thinks, mercifully. Were he forced to be skin on skin with Phil beneath the blanket, he might self combust.

He turns back to his phone screen with some difficulty. Now, the Phil of last night is at the bar, filming a cocktail being prepared. With a sinking dread, Dan realises he already recognises the hands on-screen, but then the camera pans upwards, and Dan’s damp forehead is on show, his brow furrowed as he concentrates.

From off-camera, Phil shouts, “guys, this is Dan! He’s the best bartender in the world, and he’s making me a new cocktail ‘cause he’s a hero, and I didn’t like the last one.”

Dan watches his own face crinkle into a smile as he hears Phil’s compliment. He vaguely remembers this moment; he hadn’t been drunk at this point, he’s sure. Phil’s sweet words had felt like warm, melted honey drizzling down his chest. 

He watches himself stare up at Phil’s face, off-screen, with a gooeyness that seems nauseatingly transparent. Is this why all those people followed him? Because he is obviously, hilariously smitten with someone so far out of his league?

“Phil’s a wimp and can’t handle a teeny bit of chilli,” Dan tells the camera, eyes glinting with mischief. Dan, on the sofa, huffs a laugh at his own cheeky response. Both the Phil beside him, and the Phil behind the camera, laugh as well, making Dan’s chest swell with pride.

“I’d like to see you try it, Dan,” off-screen-Phil shoots back, making the Dan on camera narrow his eyes.

“You’re on, Lester.”

He abandons the cocktail he’s making, wipes his hands on his jeans and grabs six shot glasses from underneath the bar. Ohhh, sofa-Dan realises, the memory washing over him as it unfolds on screen. Suddenly his hangover is starting to make a heck of a lot more sense.

He watches, dismayed, as he pours the Habenero-chilli infused tequila into the six shot glasses, and, as Phil films him, systematically downs each one.

“What the fuck was I thinking?” Dan asks aloud.

Phil points to a person Dan hadn’t noticed, behind Dan on the screen. It’s vaguely recognisable as Tyler, but only vaguely, as he’s moving about too much to be sure. He’s cheering loudly, chanting Dan’s name, and getting the customers around the bar to do the same.

A loud, triumphant cry rises from the crowd as Dan throws the last shot down, his hands shooting into the air. Phil is cheering too, and Dan cringes at the gleeful, smashed look on his own dumb face.

“Holy shit,” Dan breathes, shaking his head. “No wonder it feels like someone shoved a red hot poker down my throat. Those chilli shots are lethal.”

“I can’t believe you did six,” Phil says, beside him, chuckling. “It was seriously impressive.”

The story jumps to further along in the night, and Dan is obviously trashed. He’s on his knees on the bar, hips gyrating as he pours a cocktail into a martini glass, his hair curled at the temples with sweat, his light grey shirt covered in glitter. Phil is still filming him, laughing. There are several captions adorning the video that Phil must have added whilst a little tipsy himself:

Brighton’s Best Bartender XD

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

GO FOLLOW @DANISNOTONFIRE !!!

The hearts, in particular, make Dan flush bright red. “Oh my fucking God.”

He wants to click off the video, and tries to do just that, but Phil stops him, grabbing his phone and laughing. “Nooo, let’s watch the rest!”

“Phil, this is humiliating!”

“Tyler thought it was a great idea. He reckoned me filming you would get the bar loads of new customers.”

“Oh my God, you’ve teamed up with Tyler of all people,” Dan groans, burying his face in Phil’s shoulder. “I’m doomed.”

It occurs to him, belatedly, that Phil’s shoulder is bare, and that it’s probably very inappropriate for him to be doing this, so he jerks away, blushing more. For some reason, this seems to make Phil sling an arm around him, pulling him close, and bringing the phone back in front of his nose.

“Just watch this last bit,” Phil wheedles, squeezing Dan to his chest.

Obviously, Dan is helpless to speak in this position, let alone refuse, so he just nods, frozen as the steady, even beat of Phil’s heart resounds in his ears.

The story jumps to the next bit, which is a photo of he and Phil, their faces pressed against each other, cheek to cheek. Phil has covered the photo with pulsating pink hearts. Dan has a huge smile on his face, and his eyes squeezed shut. He does not remember this photo being taken, and it kills him a little inside. He looks so blissfully happy, smushed against his favourite person in the world.

Phil hums a fond little noise, then clicks to the next image. It’s a boomerang, of Phil and Dan slurping down a single Rainforest cocktail, one stripey straw each.

“Fuck,” Dan breathes, wincing. “No wonder I feel so horrendous. How much did I drink?”

“After you lit those shots on fire, everyone started buying you drinks,” Phil tells him.

“I lit shots on fire?!” Dan exclaims. “That’s against the safety regulations, I could’ve burned the bar down! Why the fuck did Tyler let me-”

Phil laughs, squeezing Dan again. “Dan, don’t freak out. You were brilliant last night. Tyler said you alone made twice the money you usually do on a Saturday night, not including tips.”

Dan is silent, processing that. He decides not to respond.

The story plays on, and now there’s a photo of he and Phil filling the screen again. A selfie, like the last one, but this time Phil’s lips are pressed to Dan’s cheek. The caption reads:

New OTP??? #Phan ;)

It makes Dan suck in a breath, which he tries to disguise as a cough, probably not very well. Phil chuckles again, and screenshots the photo, despite it being Dan’s phone. Dan is, in a way, glad for this, as now he won’t have to screenshot it himself, and risk the embarrassment of Phil seeing.

“So… I’m guessing Charlie wasn’t there last night?” Dan asks after his heart has settled back into a regular rhythm.

Like it’s allergic to the mention of Charlie’s name, Dan’s phone instantly dies. He plucks it from Phil’s hand and sits up straight, letting Phil’s arm slip from his shoulders.

Whilst he’d been enjoying the sensation of having Phil’s arm around him a lot, it had been a bit too much for his hungover state. 

“Nah, he had to work.”

“So you just swung by on your own?”

“Thought I’d pop in and see you,” Phil says, smiling broadly. “I was on my way back home.”

“From?”

Phil sighs, draining the last of his coffee. “My agency in London.”

Dan nods, though he can’t begin to picture what that would even look like. “So you came in to grab some Dan-time, and I ended up getting hammered and crashing on your sofa.” Dan rolls his eyes at himself. “Sorry.”

“Hah, I think it was mostly my fault, to be honest,” Phil admits. “I was urging you on. It’s only fair that I let you stay with me instead of sending you off to try and cross town back to your place.”

“Well, you did get me a fuckton of Instagram followers,” Dan says. “So I guess we’re even.”

Phil smiles at him. “Glad you see it that way. But honestly Dan, I think you got yourself those followers.” Phil laughs, poking Dan in the side. “It was those dance moves, I reckon.”

Dan puts his head in his hands, cheeks warm. “Please don’t. I never want to see myself behaving like that again.”

“I wouldn’t mind a second show,” Phil quips. Dan lifts his head in surprise, but Phil is already moving off the sofa, throwing the blanket aside and standing. He stretches his arms above his head once he’s up, the long, tapered line of his back straightening in a smooth curve. “Anyway,” he says, yawning as Dan swallows a wave of longing to reach out and trail his fingers down the cord of his spine. “How about some breakfast, Coyote Ugly?”

Unable to help smiling, Dan shrugs his shoulders. “It’s okay, I’ll get out of your hair. I’ve already been enough of a nuisance, I imagine.”

He wishes he could remember the trip back to Phil’s flat after his shift, but that part of the night is a dark void. He hopes Phil didn’t have to help him walk or anything embarrassing. He’s pretty sure he’d remember if he’d thrown up, which is a mercy, at least. The last thing he recalls before waking up on the sofa, is upending a bottle of cherry bakewell vodka into the mouths of a few guys wearing pink cowboy hats. Then, nothing.

“Let me put it this way,” Phil says, throwing a smile over his shoulder at Dan. “I’m gonna make enough pancakes for two, so if you leave now then you’re responsible for me eating them all.”

Dan laughs, watching Phil walk towards the kitchen, empty coffee mug in hand. Perhaps he could stay for a short while. Maybe until his head has stopped throbbing. Or just until all the pancakes are gone.

*

He stays for pancakes.

He stays for pancakes on Monday morning too. 

Dan spends all of Sunday, and most of Monday on the angelically soft island that is Phil’s purple sofa. They play endless games of Mario Kart, and Fallout 4, and Fortnite, which Phil tells him he’s obsessed with, and now Dan is obsessed with too. 

They eat dozens of pancakes, they order pizza twice, they eat all the Pringles, marshmallows and chocolate in Phil’s cupboards, as well as any other junk food they can get their hands on. It’s hangover food, Phil assures Dan at one point. It doesn’t count. Dan’s not sure about this philosophy, but then again, one look at Phil’s abs is enough to make Dan believe anything he says about the matter.

When, somehow, it gets to midnight on Sunday, Dan tries to tell Phil he should head home, but Phil, who is slipping Season One of Buffy the Vampire Slayer into his DVD player, won’t hear of it.

“Just stay for one episode,” he pleads, pouting. Dan instantly relents, of course.

One episode becomes two, which becomes three, and a half… When he wakes up on Monday morning, he’s still on Phil’s sofa, but this time his head rests on Phil’s shoulder.

It’s torturous, to wake up next to Phil Lester - who never did bother to put on a shirt - and not be able to do anything but move swiftly away from him. To avoid the temptation of pressing himself against all those miles of perfection, Dan picks himself up, leaving Phil to sleep on, and jumps in his shower. Then, he goes to make pancakes, telling himself that he’s simply returning the favour.

As he flips each one, he stares, teeth clenched, into the sizzling batter, imagining Phil is the scalding hot surface of the pan, and he is the pancake, slowly cooking himself one side after another, willingly lowering his fragile batter to Phil’s torturous yet irresistible touch. 

To be friends with Phil is depraved. It’s self-torture, whichever way Dan looks at it. He’d like to pretend he’s no longer obsessed, now that they’ve spent time together, now that he knows Phil as a person, and not just a distant star. But it’s not true. 

‘Never meet your heroes’, Dan’s grandmother used to say from time to time. She would warn him that they’d never live up to the fantasy version Dan would construct in his mind. ‘People are always just people in the end’, she’d once said.  

But she was wrong. 

Every single thing Dan learns about Phil makes him more fascinating, not the other way around. Once, a year or so ago, Dan had stumbled upon the AmazingPhil account, and spent several hours scrolling through each photo, only to conclude that Phil Lester was the most beautiful person alive. 

Then, in the subsequent months, Dan had seen his videos, and heard him talk to his audience about his clumsiness and his fondness for fluffy animals. He’d heard Phil sing off-key anime intros, and sip bright cocktails with a glint in his ice blue eyes. 

And now, knowing Phil in person, Dan has only discovered more of the same wild, colourful vivacity in the man. It’s like ‘AmazingPhil’ is only a slice of him, a hint at the layers and layers of crazy, happy, hilarious, sweetness that make him up. 

It’s so unfair, Dan can’t help thinking. If meeting Phil IRL had been a disappointment, this would all have been so much easier to handle. He might have been able to stop being so madly obsessed with the guy if he’d turned out to be vapid and ordinary - like Charlie comes across, for example. But Phil’s not like that, and Dan should have known that he wouldn’t be. He should’ve said no the first time Phil asked him round, or left when Phil asked him to stay. Because every moment, every second he spends in Phil’s presence only makes it worse. 

He’s fucked, royally. Phil won’t want him back. He won’t consider Dan as anything other than a friend. He’s got Charlie, for a start. Successful, beautiful Charlie. 

And even if he didn’t, there’s no way his next choice would be a socially-awkward bartender who humiliates himself publicly after a few tequila shots. 

Dan sighs, switching off the stove, and shovels the pancakes onto two plates. 

*

Phil’s smile is rose pink and glittering as Dan brings him a plate of syrup-drenched pancakes. He gazes at them with wonderment, as if he just watched Dan conjure them out of thin air, as if Dan didn’t just break into all of Phil’s food cupboards, use his stove without asking, and make a huge batter-y mess of his pristine kitchen.

“Oh,” Phil says, swallowing his last bite. They’re watching Buffy, kind of, but mostly chatting. “I forgot, I wanted to ask you something.”

Vaguely, Dan remembers Phil telling him this a few days ago, back on the beach. He’d gotten distracted and never found out what it was. Intrigued, Dan turns to him.

“Yeah?”

“So,” Phil begins, eyes dropping to his plate as he sweeps a fingertip through a puddle of syrup. He looks… vaguely embarrassed. Dan is even more intrigued. “I was wondering what you’re doing at the weekend.”

Dan’s heart stops. 

He shakes any ridiculous thoughts of potential dates from his mind before they can properly form, irritated by his own stupidity. In what world would Phil Lester ask him on an actual date? He has a boyfriend. And he’s famous. The absurdity is actually laughable.

“Just working, as usual,” Dan says, twirling his fork against his own plate. “But only Saturday evening, obviously.”

Phil nods, sipping the tea Dan made him to go with his pancakes. “Cool.”

Dan waits for Phil to continue, confused. There’s definitely a dusting of pink along his cheekbones. It makes him look even more angelic than usual.

“...Why?”

Phil gnaws his lip, looking at Dan. “You can totally say no,” he says quickly, putting his plate down on the coffee table. “There’s no pressure, I just thought, maybe…”

It’s sweet, really, that Phil thinks there’s anything he could ask of Dan that he’d actually be able to refuse. 

“What is it?”

“I’m going to the Maldives for a few days for a shoot,” Phil says, sounding way less happy about this than Dan is sure he would be were the situations reversed. “I leave on Friday. I was just gonna ask if maybe you’d want to… stay here?” The request hangs in the air, a tempting, plump fruit dangling above Dan’s head, ready for plucking. “Like, while I’m away. I wanted to have someone around to water the plants and get the mail and stuff. You don’t have to, obviously, but I just thought as it’s close to the bar, and I trust you, and I don’t really know anyone else here-”

“Phil,” Dan interrupts, realising that Phil is rambling from nerves. He tries not to let the smile he gives splinter with stupid disappointment, born of the idiotic hope he’d tried not to feel. “I’d love to help you out. It’s not like it’s a chore to stay in your enormous, sea-view apartment.”

A relieved grin spreads over Phil’s face, and his shoulders sag of tension. “Really? You’re the best, Dan.”

He reaches over and grabs Dan’s hand, lacing his fingers through it and squeezing them. Dan’s heart squeezes too, as if Phil had wrapped his syrup-sticky fist around that, as well. He looks down at their intertwined fingers, aching; does Phil have any idea that this one, simple action is going to play on a loop in Dan’s head every night for weeks?

“And you don’t have to stay on the sofa while I’m not here,” Phil starts to say, drawing his hand away before Dan can even get used to the feeling. His breath catches in his lungs as the touch of him slips away. “You can just take the bed.”

“Oh, right,” Dan says, his mind not catching up for a moment. Once he realises what Phil just said, he reddens, stammering, “oh, wait, no, I don’t know if- the sofa’s really comfy I don’t need-”

“Seriously!” Phil insists. “It’s totally fine. I won’t be using it, after all. Just… maybe don’t bring anybody back to share it with you.”

Dan snorts at the ludicrousness. “As if.”

“Hey, I’ve seen the way people look at you when you’re working,” Phil says, his tone serious, his face joking. “You could pull anyone in that place if you tried.”

“Says you,” Dan mutters, but he feels a warm, pulsating orb of happiness deep in his chest.

“Anyway, so I’ll give you more details later in the week,” Phil tells him, bright and happy again, all traces of the pink on his cheeks having evaporated. “Stuff like the code to the front door, and the names of my houseplants, and how to work the TV and stuff. But seriously, you’re a lifesaver, Dan.”

Winston, Susan, Katie, and Totoro, Dan thinks privately. Those are the houseplants’ names. If Phil wants, Dan could provide him with the names of all his family members too. Or the breed of dog he’s considering adopting one day. 

“It’s really not a big deal,” Dan says before he does anything as stupid as revealing his ‘Phil Trash Number One’ status. He’s already thinking about how wonderful it will be to just walk up the road to Phil’s building after his long Saturday night shift, and fall into a comfortable King Sized bed. “Happy to do it.”

The next thing Dan knows, he’s being wrapped in two, ridiculously thick, big arms, and tackled to the cushions at his back. As he struggles to get free of Phil’s hold, Dan wonders whether his life is, at present, a dream or a nightmare.

*

Dan just about has enough time after leaving Phil’s to catch a bus to his place, change into some different clothes, then get the bus back to the bar. He’s ten minutes late, technically, but Tyler’s no better, so he gets away with it.

Technically speaking, Tyler is his boss, as he’s the bar manager, but they both know that they’re really a team. Dodie and Lara are the newbie staff, and they don’t see a difference in authority between Dan and Tyler. Most importantly, the jobs get done, and the money is made and counted up at the end of the night. Tyler and Dan have been doing this for years, so it’s rare that anything goes wrong. Sure, they bicker about who has to mop up the vomit, and who has to change the barrels, but most of the time they work well together, and get along.

As Tyler swans in to the bar this afternoon, Dan can tell that something is off with him. “Hey,” he calls out as he dusts the liquor bottles behind the bar.

Tyler doesn’t respond, he just stalks across to the staff room. He doesn’t even bother to go inside, he just opens the door, throws his coat and bag in there, and slams it shut behind him.

“All men are fucking dickshits!”

Dan raises his eyebrows. “Uh, not sure that’s the message we’re striving to convey at Habenero’s.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Tyler hisses, rolling up his silken shirt sleeves. The action is telling; Ty would never usually crease his designer shirt in such a way. “The gay community is toxic. I hate this bar, I hate Brighton, I hate my life.”

“Who's the poor lad you’re trying to hook your claws into this time?” Dan asks; it’s immediately evident that this is the wrong thing to say.

“Dan, do not project your lame little pining love drama with a D-List celebrity onto me just because you’re too dumb to see what’s actually going on.”

For a moment, Dan is thrown, not sure what to make of Tyler’s jibe. He’d expected Tyler to just tell him to piss off, but this seems oddly specific. He glances across at Dodie, who is watching Tyler with wide eyes, halfway through setting up the DJ booth.

If Dan didn’t know better, he’d think she was trying to send him a warning glance.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dan asks.

Dodie casts her worried gaze at Dan, then quickly turns away. He watches her suspiciously, then turns to Tyler again. He’s messing around in the cupboard where they keep the stereo controls, hooking up his phone to the dock and skipping through various songs as they burst from the speakers overhead.

Dan steps down from the stool on which he’s standing, throws his cloth to the bar, and stalks over to where Tyler is. 

He jabs Tyler in the shoulder. “Ty. What are you trying to say?”

Tyler whirls to face him, cheeks red. “Look, Dan, you have to wake up. You’re being taken advantage of.”

“What?”

Tyler sighs, eyes fluttering closed. “I was hoping you’d figure this out for yourself, honestly. I mean, it’s painfully obvious to everyone except you.”

“Nice to know I’m apparently the gossip of the bar at the moment,” Dan says, feeling his blood start to boil.

“Well what do you expect?” Tyler asks, rolling his eyes. “This is a gay club. All we do is bitch, you know that. And when one of the bartenders of the biggest gay club in Brighton starts hanging out with a fucking gay Instagram icon, we’re hardly going to be discussing the latest episode of RuPaul.”

“Right,” Dan huffs, getting even more annoyed now. “So what is it, then? What am I so apparently blind to?”

Tyler opens his mouth, but seems to catch himself before speaking. His eyes soften, regarding Dan in front of him, and he sighs. His shoulders slacken, and his fists unclench.

“Dan…” his voice has a pitying quality to it that sets Dan’s teeth on edge. “He’s stringing you along.”

“Who, Phil?” Dan asks, bewildered. “What do you mean? It’s not like that-”

“Yeah, it’s not like that,” Tyler interrupts, rolling his eyes like he’s heard it all before. “But he’s in here three times a week to keep you hoping that one day it might be.”

Dan snorts. ��I’m not delusional, Ty. Okay yeah, I have a crush on him, but I don’t actually think he’s interested. Besides, weren’t you the one who told me I should be holding out hope?”

“At first I thought you should!” Ty exclaims. “I thought he liked you, that maybe he was playing a hard-to-get game or something. But it just keeps going on and on. Why isn’t he doing anything about it if he fancies you? You’re obviously into him, and he knows that. What’s the point in fucking you around?”

“I’m out of his league,” Dan says, because to him, this is obvious. Charlie had even said as much to him, not long ago. “He’d never go for someone like me.”

“That’s complete bullshit.” Tyler jabs a finger at him. “If you like someone, you like them. It doesn’t matter about their job, or how much money they have, or their age-”

Tyler breaks off, flushing. Dan’s brow furrows - their age? He and Phil are only four years apart in age. That’s honestly never seemed to matter in the slightest, to either one of them. What’s Tyler on about?

“Anyway, the point is,” Tyler presses on, the words falling from his mouth in a tumble. “Even if he does have a bit of a soft spot for you, he’s being a dick about it. He’s flirting non-stop, putting ideas in your mind. He invites you over to sleep on his couch for fuck’s sake. Would you do that to someone you knew had a big fat crush on you?”

The image from Phil’s Instagram Story bullets into his brain, suddenly. Phil’s lips pressed to his cheek. The caption ‘#PHAN’. When Dan had first seen it, it had sent shivers up his spine, it had made him glow with happiness. Now, it seems cruel. What could Phil’s reason have been to post it, especially if one factors Charlie into the equation.

“He’s using you,” Tyler says quietly. “It’s the same thing he does with that brainless pretty-boy dick he comes here with. Posting photos of them together, titillating his fans with an are-they-aren’t-they romance, riling them up to get more likes.”

“We’re friends,” Dan says, though he doesn’t manage to convince even himself.

“Maybe,” Tyler says. “But he knows you like him, and he’s still stringing you along, even though he arguably has a boyfriend. He’s just gonna keep you on edge, primed for the moment he turns round and ‘sees’ you for the first time, ‘She’s All That’-style. But it won’t happen, Dan. You need to see that it won’t happen, and that if you keep hanging out with him like this, staying at his house, letting him kiss you for his profile photos, buying you drinks… you’re just gonna be miserable.”

The words have left Dan’s mouth, indefinitely. His mind swirls with the lights across the floor and walls, dizzying. Tyler’s words reverberate around his mind, crashing into the walls of the secret, tiny shrine of hope he’d built, until they one by one crumble to dust on the floor.

He’s using you.

Crash.

You’re gonna be miserable.

Crash.

He’s stringing you along.

Crash, crash, crash

For some reason, there’s a stinging sensation in Dan’s eyes. He takes a step backwards, away from Tyler. “I… yeah. Cool. I have to go change the barrels.”

“I changed them after we closed on Saturday,” Tyler says, confused. Dan ignores him, heading for the cellar in a slow, dazed movement. “Dan, wait, I’m sorry. I’m pissed off, I shouldn’t have said any of that. You know what I’m like when I’m moody, don’t be upset. Phil’s a nice guy! I like him, I’m just concerned- Dan! Please?”

Vaguely, as he closes the cellar door behind himself, Dan hears Tyler cursing under his breath. In the cold, damp darkness of the cellar, Dan slides down the closed door, not caring that as his bum touches the concrete, the rivulets of beer escaping from the barrels soak into his jeans.

He feels so stupid. Everyone could see how ridiculous he was being, this whole time. Even Phil must have seen how desperately, how pathetically Dan pines for him. Tyler’s right, why else would Phil stick around him? Dan being a superfan is easy to manipulate into something that will get Phil a bigger audience. If Phil plays along, the fans will grab at it, will see Dan as an exciting new contender for Phil’s love interest. Perhaps they’ll turn it into some crazy three-way love triangle between him and Charlie, kind of like in Dan's warped sex dream.

He swallows down a lump in his throat, too angry at himself to cry. He’s a pawn in a professional fame-game he doesn’t know the rules for, unwittingly being used as a plot device in the AmazingPhil reality show. He digs his phone out of his pocket, and checks his Instagram profile.

Followers 123,455 

The number glides over his skin, meaningless. “Welcome to the world of fake fame,” Dan mutters to himself, then forces himself to stand. He switches off his phone, grimacing.

No time to deal with any of this now, anyway. Over the next eight hours, Dan has to suspend his own drama-filled life, in favour of the hundreds of other gays, with their own squabbles and heartbreaks and drunk mistaken hookups. 

He can deal with this alone, later, back in his bed across the city, far away from the bar, and the roaring sea, and Phil. 

(Part 7!)

#phan #phanfic #give me a try #bartender au #phanfiction

[warriorqueen1991]

Monster (pt.2)

Characters: Werewolf Negan x Melissa (oc)

Warnings: Wound Care and Language

Notes: had gifs for this one but they wouldn't work, oh well lol... Merry Christmas everyone :) please let me know what'cha think ❤💋

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Pain.

That's all Negan could feel.

Deep.

Rolling.

Excruciating pain.

Cracking his eyes open he groaned as he tried to shift against the couch, his throat feeling like sandpaper as he let out a rough cough.

“Whoa!!...easy there big guy”

The soft sing song voice made him flinch as a pair of soft hands pressed his shoulders back against the couch. Grimacing in pain, he bared his teeth at her as he pushed himself up. Groaning in pain as he felt the bones in his back shift, he coughed “wha...what...what the fuck did you do to me?”

Melissa furrowed her brow at his rough voice “you died on my porch...least I could do was save your life”.

Shaking his head with another pained groan, he fisted his dark hair “fucking head is killing me”. Melissa scooted in closer to him, her hand coming up to rub his bruised spine “you need to rest, you could have internal bleeding...I...I need to get you to a hospital”.

Negan growled “no fucking hospitals, those fuckers would only make things fucking worse”.

Shaking her head, she continued to try and calm him down “hey relax, your safe here...you need to rest...it's a miracle your still alive”.

Jerking away from her touch he snarled as he moved to get up “don't fucking touch me...I need...I gotta fucking..” he trailed off as his face paled.

Melissa’s eyes widened before she quickly grabbed the nearby trashcan, shoving it onto his lap.

Sweat beaded across his pale skin as he threw up into the plastic can, his shaking hands gripping the container as he took deep wheezing breaths. His body trembling as he peered up at her from the trashcan, furrowing his brow.

“Why?”

Melissa looked at him in confusion “why what?”

Negan growled, wincing as he placed the can on the floor. His movements slow and shaky as he shifted carefully “why did you fucking help me?”

Giving a light laugh of disbelief, Melissa shrugged “cuz that's what you do when someone's dying infront of you”.

Negan closed his eyes as another wave of pain split through his skull, taking a deep shaky breath he opened his eyes to examine the I.V sticking out of his arm.

“So...what are you, some kind of fucking doctor?”

Melissa sighed, getting to her feet “yeah somthin like that”. Grabbing the pair of black sweatpants off the chair, she tossed them onto his lap “here...thought you might want some clothes”.

Negan lifted the gray blanket from his waist cocking an eyebrow at her “did you fucking wash me?”

Melissa smiled “well I wasn't just gonna let you waller mud all over my damn couch like a stray dog”.

Negan chuckled, dropping the blanket he looked at her curiously “thank you”.

Shaking her head with a soft smile, Melissa shrugged “you don't need to thank me”. He sighed with a pained cough “yes I do…” he shook his head “you saved my life...you didn't have to do that”.

She frowned as she noticed his hands still shaking, he was still covered in cuts and bruises. Getting to her feet she rubbed his bare shoulder cautiously “let me clean those for ya”. Negan gulped as he watched her walk toward the stairs “you uh...don't have to fucking do that ya know?”

Her answering laugh made him start to panic “are you kidding? Your already knocking on death's door without adding infection to the mix”.

He let out another wheezing cough, running his hand over his mouth as she ascended the stairs.

As soon as she was out of view he quickly swung his legs off the couch.

Feeling around his shoulder, he jerked the bone back in place with a loud crack. Gritting his teeth as he heard movement upstairs, he slowly slid his hand down around his side.

Taking a couple deep breaths he gently pushed three of his ribs back in place, a low groan escaping his lips as he tried to keep quiet.

He knew if she found out what he was she would freak out and try to kill him.

That's what people do when they don't understand.

They turn violent.

His injuries were far too severe for any human to have survived, it was miracle she hadn't noticed how broken he had been last night while cleaning him up.

He had a feeling she had probably been too embarrassed to really examine him without his consent.

Leaning back he took in a shaky breath as he pressed his fingers around his hip bone, grunting as he felt the bone shift.

Closing his eyes as he twisted his torso he pressed the palm of his hand against his hip slotting the bone back in place with a loud growling groan, his eyes glowing yellow as he bared his fangs.

“Sonovabitch!!!”

“Hey, you ok?”

Negan tossed the covers over his waist as he dropped his head in his hands, covering his eyes with a nod “fuck, yeah I'm...I'm good...sorry”.

Melissa dropped off the last step with a worried expression, the man was sitting up with his head pressed firmly in his hands. His bruised body covered in sweat as he ran his fingers up through his damp hair.

Moving around the couch she smiled, sitting down in the chair in front of him.

Rubbing his eyes, he lifted his gaze to her with a brief smile.

Opening up her medical kit she pulled out some gauze, antibiotic ointment, iodine spray and tape. Negan eyed the spray with a light laugh “that's gonna fucking hurt...your not a doctor, are you?”

Melissa smiled as she adjusted the spray, holding out her hand she sighed “Veterinarian”.

Letting out a wheezing laugh Negan scooted closer to the edge placing his wounded hand in hers. “Well your a hell of a vet darlin” he winced as she sprayed his hand, wiping the excess brown liquid from his skin.

Turning his hand over gently, she sprayed his palm apologizing softly as he grimaced.

Negan couldn't contain the soft growl as his eyes pulsed yellow, her soft hands caressing over his battered flesh almost lovingly. It had been years since a loving hand had touched him, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying her attention.

Wincing as she began wrapping his hand in gauze he smiled “so uh...why you out here all by yourself?”

Melissa smiled “I'm not...my dad lives with me, but he's visiting my mom in Houston”. Negan hummed in acknowledgement as he watched her wrap his other hand tenderly.

Melissa got up from the chair, letting his hand slide from hers before sitting next to him. Gesturing to his side she moved her bag up onto her lap “lean over so I can get the ones on your side”.

Grunting breathlessly as he shifted his weight, he moved so she could continue taking care of him.

As soon as the first cool sprays of Iodine hit his bruised flesh he clamped his eyes shut as they quickly shifted back yellow.

His fangs digging into his tongue as pain burned down his side.

Lifting her eyes to look at his pained expression, Melissa smiled “so…” she let out a quiet laugh “what's your name?”

Negan gasped “fuck….ah…” he hissed, gritting his teeth unable to hide his fangs "shit...Ne..Negan”.

Wrapping the gauze around his stomach she winced “sorry…” he growled breathing heavily through his nose “s’ok...uhh?”

Working on his healing gunshot wound she bit her lip “Melissa”. Her eyes lifted to watch his lips crook up in a slight grin as she shook her head.

“Ok Negan look, I don't know what kind of trouble you're in... but I know a bullet hole when I see one...and these wounds look like they came from the world's largest bear”.

Feeling him tense up, she smiled rubbing his back gently “I'm not judging you, really...I just need to know I'm not in any danger here”.

Furrowing his brow, Negan shook his head as he grabbed the sweats off his lap “I should go”. Grabbing his hand, Melissa tugged him back to the couch “are you crazy, your staying here till your healed”.

He grimaced “I can't guarantee your fucking safety”

Swallowing thickly she closed her eyes with a nod “I figured…” Meeting his gaze once more, she smiled softly “it's almost impossible that anyone is gonna look for you here...you don't seem like a bad man Negan”.

She reached up to dab the cut above his eyebrow with a piece of gauze “I'm a pretty good judge of character...so just…” she took a deep breath “...don't prove me wrong and we won't have a problem...ok?”

Negan's face softened at her kind gesture “you've done more than fucking enough for me darlin...I dont…” he winced as she pressed an iodine covered patch over his bullet wound. She smirked “not used to being helped huh?” he chuckled with a tight grunt “not really”.

“Well get used to it big guy”

He smiled as she applied another patch to his exit wound, her eyes drifting to his handsome face as his dimples peeked out from beneath his neatly trimmed beard.

She knew there was something strange about him, but it wasn't something bad.

Just different.

She hadn't imagined his eyes changing color, or his fangs.

But if it was a secret he wanted to keep, it wasn't her place to expose it.

Running her hand down his spine she watched with wide eyes as the dark bruises began to heal before her.

He sighed as she traced his spine, her fingers gently touching one of the smaller cuts as it stitched itself back together.

Looking over his shoulder he frowned, her eyes were wide in shock but her face filled with curiosity.

He knew she could see him healing.

Waiting for the flood of questions.

For the fear.

The anger.

He closed his eyes in preperation, only to open them in confusion as she got to her feet rubbing his shoulder.

“Ya hungry?”

Negan's mouth gaped at her briefly before he snapped his lips shut with a slight nod, his eyes softening as he smiled “thanks Melissa”.

She grinned “your welcome, Negan”

Heading to the kitchen she turned to face him with a coy smile “I'm gonna assume you're not a vegetarian?”

He couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head with a soft smile.

"Not in the slightest sweetheart”.

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