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egcdeath · 3 years

Text

an apple a day

pairing: soft!ransom drysdale x reader

summary: it seems like an apple a day couldn’t keep the doctor or ransom away.

warnings: sickfic, a lot of fluff, brief mention of throwing up

word count: 2k

author’s note: join my taglist if you’d like! all feedback is appreciated <3

Ransom

U busy?

4:37 PM

Ransom

😏🍆😈

4:38 PM

Ransom

Wow ignoring me?????

5:24 PM

Ransom

Bitch

5:34 PM

Ransom

🙄

5:36 PM

A frantic pounding on your front door pulled you from a bizarre dream within your feverish slumber. You peeled the slightly damp cloth that rest upon your face from your sweaty skin, and lazily tossed it to the floor before audibly groaning.

“Coming,” you whimpered out, hoping that it was loud enough for whomever was at the door.

“Fuckin’ better be,” a voice grumbled as a response.

You rolled over slightly, whole body sore from the sickness that was currently ailing you, and willed yourself to get off of your sofa. Swinging your legs over the left side of the piece of furniture you managed to get up, and sluggishly made your way to the door, ignoring the ache of your neck from resting it on an arm rest.

It seemed like with every step you took, your sinus headache throbbed harder between your eyes, and your fever cooked you a bit more from the inside out.

After what felt like a lifetime, you got to your door and opened it, only to be greeted by your… well, you didn’t really know what he was to you.

“Christ, Y/N. You look like shit,” Ransom commented, raising his brows. “Did you get hit by a car or something?”

You gave him a blank look, and said nothing.

“Is this a bad time?”

“What do you think, dickhead?”

“You’ve had better days,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Okay, goodbye,” you rolled your eyes and slammed the door on him, finding yourself slightly out of breath as you lethargically shuffled away.

You collapsed back onto the sofa, and reached for a blue tissue box that sat on your coffee table. Did that even happen? Did you imagine Ransom coming to your door? Or was that part of your fever dream?

Settling back, and pulling a wool blanket over yourself, you began to doze off once again, not really having the energy to do anything else.

Ransom

I’m s-word

6:12 PM

Ransom

I’m not gonna say it

6:13 PM

Ransom

But you know what I mean

6:15 PM

Ransom

I’m coming back over baby

6:17 PM

You hadn’t even noticed the vibrating of your phone, as it was currently lodged under a mountain of pillows and cushions. It also helped that you were asleep once again.

This time when you woke up, Ransom was in your apartment, rambling about some encounter he had while he was out dealing with the public for you.

How was he even in your apartment? You felt like you missed a few steps.

“Sit up,” he commanded, setting down a plastic take-out bag, along with the spare keys you kept under your welcome mat on top of your coffee table, before dragging a seat from your kitchen into your living room.

The seat finally came to a stop in front of you, and you listlessly sat up. You watched as Ransom wordlessly opened the bag, revealing a massive container of a clear broth soup, and an equally large baguette.

“Am I dreaming?” You asked aloud.

“Why would you be dreaming? ‘Cause I did something nice? Or because I’m that hot?”

“Because I have a high fever that’s making me delusional,” you told him, and his brows furrowed once again.

“Let me see,” he mumbled, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead, and humming in thought, “Yeah, you’re pretty hot,” he agreed.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” you mumbled, a random churn in your stomach suddenly taking a huge blow out of you.

“Hey, I did a good thing for you. Don’t get bitchy with me now,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes slightly at you.

You sighed as a response, and Ransom gave you a little smirk before going to open the lid of the soup container.

“Open up wide, Beloved,” Ransom said in a playful tone. If you had the energy, you’d shoot something sassy back at him, but you were finding yourself in less of a state to do so with every passing moment. You simply followed along with his orders, opening your lips so Ransom could deliver a little spoonful of soup into your mouth.

“Mm,” you audibly reacted to the liquid, “did you make this yourself?”

“Hm, you must be sicker than I thought,” he chuckled and dabbed the edge of your lip where a droplet of soup was left behind. “I picked it up on my way back over.”

“It’s really good,” you hummed, “feed me more.”

Ransom scoffed fondly, “you’re lucky I like you.” He began, dishing out another spoonful to you.

You paused to chew on a softened carrot, “you should’ve known that sick me’s demands of you were gonna be a lot more.”

Ransom rolled his eyes, and went back to feeding you. You were both quiet for a moment, maintaining a heavy eye contact while he fed you, until out of the blue, your stomach turned.

Your mouth filled with saliva as you realized what exactly was going on, and you rushed off of the couch with an obscene swiftness, just barely making it to your bathroom before you were emptying your stomach into it.

Ransom quickly showed up behind you, making his presence known by lifting your hair out of your face, and rubbing supportive circles onto your back. He cringed as he listened to you heave into the bowl, and when you finally leaned back, he used a thumb to wipe away the few tears that had begun to slip down your face.

“You okay?” he questioned, squatting down to your level.

“Just peachy,” you choked out hoarsely.

“Maybe you’ll feel better after a shower?” he suggested, flushing your sickness down the toilet while you attempted to catch your breath.

“Okay, yeah,” you began hesitantly.

“I’ll stay in here if you want me to make sure nothing bad happens?”

“You just wanna be a perv,” you weakly giggled.

“I’m just trying to be a supportive… I’m trying to be supportive,” Ransom found his way back up, and turned on the shower’s nozzle.

“Mhm, I’m sure,” you began kicking off your sweatpants when you heard the water begin to putter down, and gestured for Ransom to help you lift off your sweatshirt once he was facing you once again.

“I can’t believe you’re using up the last of that energy to have an attitude with me,” Ransom pulled you out of your shirt, then helped you up and began to direct you toward the shower.

You were more or less silent from there on out, focusing on maintaining your balance in the slippery room. Your brain seemed to become increasingly cloudy with every extra puff of steam. You leaned against the slightly warm tiles of your wall as you attempted to get through the genuinely hellish shower for a few minutes before deciding it wasn’t really worth it, and stumbling back out.

“Was I right? Did it help?” Ransom asked after your period of silence, handing you some fresh clothing that he’d grabbed from your closet sometime between the time you got in and out of the shower.

You shook your head, “shower kinda made everything worse,” you muttered, pulling a new shirt over your head. “My head is killing me. I think I just need to be in a dark room, or go back to sleep, or something.”

You sluggishly pulled on the rest of your clothes, then sniffled as you walked out to your bedroom. As you made your way to your bed, you pushed aside a mountain of tissues from earlier in the… day? Week? With all the sleeping you’d been doing, you genuinely

couldn’t tell what time or day it was. You slipped into one side of the bed, and grabbed a pillow that you promptly hugged.

Ransom slipped into bed beside you, a bottle of cold medicine in hand– when did he leave long enough to get you cold medicine?– and watched the tissues on your side of the bed fall onto the floor in a slightly disturbed manner. Yeah, he was definitely getting sick after this.

“Open,” he ordered, and you happily obliged, opening your mouth a bit so he could pour some medicine down your throat. You dramatically gagged, then wiped the corners of your lips.

“Gross, Ran,” you muttered, burying your face into a different pillow.

“Well, it’ll probably make you feel better. I brought you water for a chaser if you’d like. You probably need to stay hydrated, or some shit like that.”

When did he get water?? Probably when he was getting the medicine. But that would’ve taken him like, five minutes. And getting in bed didn’t take you that long. Right?

You were pulled out of your confused internal monologue by a pink plastic straw being brought to your lips, and you instinctively drank from it. You weren’t completely sure if it was all mental, or the medicine was kicking in extremely fast, but you were starting to feel a little loopy. Maybe time was being weird again because of your sickness.

“I feel like I’m dying. You and your stupid showers made me die,” you whined, pushing away the straw.

“I was only trying to help,” he insisted as he set the drink down on your bedside table.

“I’m your second murder victim,” you continued.

Ransom paused and looked down at you with raised brows, “what?”

“Y’know, I saw what you did to that delivery girl who was bringing me soup. You better clean that body up before I get better, ‘cause ‘mgonna be pissed if I have to do that myself.”

“Okay, I don’t know if you’ve been seeing things the whole time, or if the medicine is rewriting your memories. Either way, I think it’s time for you to go to bed,” he chuckled.

“You’re right. Night,” you hummed before turning on your side and closing your eyes. It was pretty much lights out from there.

——

When you awoke, it was to the piercing bright light of a laptop screen that broke through the darkness of night. You had to blink a few times for your vision to focus, but… was Ransom in bed next to you? Looking at a WikiHow article? If you weren’t completely mistaken, you could make out a faint How to Help A Sick Person Feel Better: 8 Steps (with pictures).

You sleepily reached out and grabbed his wrist, letting him know that you were finally awake. He quickly clicked out of the tab, pulling up his Twitter feed instead.

“Hi,” you greeted. “Why’re you being secretive?”

“I’m not,” he huffed.

“You are.”

“You’re still delusional from the medicine.”

“Probably. But you’re being secretive. And you’re bad at it.”

“Whatever,” you could practically hear the eye roll in his tone.

“It’s late, Ran. Why’re you still up?”

“I just wanted to, y’know…” he trailed off.

“To…?” you pressed.

“I wanted to make sure nothing would happen to you while you slept,” he rushed out. “Happy?”

You swooned aloud at this, “you are such a sucker. Put that laptop down and cuddle me.”

Ransom said nothing, but set the device into your night stand, and wrapped an arm around you, “‘re you feeling any better?” he mumbled as he relaxed into you.

“Kinda. We’ll see in the morning,” you slipped your hand down on top of his, and Ransom promptly moved it.

“You’re already pushing it tonight.”

“You’re always such a dick,” you scoffed with a laugh. “Goodnight, asshat.”

“Goodnight, you sick bitch,” he quipped back.

——

When you awoke in the morning, you couldn’t help but to notice how much better you were feeling. No headache, no nausea, a little fatigue, but hey, you just woke up, and that was to be expected.

As you sat up and glanced to your right, you found a pink-nosed Ransom with a box of empty Kleenex sat in his lap.

“Oh great, you’re awake,” he began in a nasally tone. “Since you wanted to get me sick, it’s your turn to take care of me,” he tossed the empty box at you, the cardboard falling softly onto your lap.

Something told you that this was going to be a long day.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombey x you #knives out #knives out fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #ransom drysdale

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therenlover · 3 years

Text

Heartsick (A James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again

Tags: Fluff, Sickfic, Cuddling, Marriage Proposal

Rating: 16+

Warnings: Language, Potentially Triggering Mentions of the Reader Being Ill for a Long Time/Almost Dying of an Unnamed Illness, Planning Your Own Death

Word Count: 3700~

This was crossposted to my AO3 under the same title!

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James Patrick March considered himself a fairly patient man. He had to be, in his line of work. Some things didn’t deserve his patience, like lazy workers or angry hotel guests, but when it came to things that did matter, he was willing to go to extremes. Murder, for example, deserved his patience. Once upon a time, the Countess did too. Yes, patience was a rare virtue Mr. March had possessed all his life.

When it came to you, though, he found his patience running short.

You had been a revelation all your own when you first walked through the doors of the Hotel Cortez with not even a suitcase to your name, radiating purity with every shallow breath. James had been excited to find you in some dark corner of the hotel and rip the life from your body. That is until you found his little nook at the Blue Parrot Lounge and seduced him with your charming personality and sweet smile. From that moment on the Countess didn’t matter anymore. The whole world was just him, you, and all of the deliciously naughty ways he wanted to debauch you.

James had insisted on moving you into your own suite on the seventh floor that very night, just a few short hallways away from his own, and given every luxury he could offer. He was nothing if not a gentleman. It just wouldn’t be right to move the one he intended to court directly into his bedroom, especially while he was still married to his previous wide. Despite the distance, things between the two of you went swimmingly. Even the murder, which James initially worried could drive you apart, was now a delightful shared activity when you chose to grace him with your presence during a kill.

That’s where the problems started.

Mr. March was a man stuck in his own time. That’s why, after 5 splendid years with you at his side, you still weren’t moved into room 78. This also meant your suite was a place he wouldn’t enter unless he was invited. Sure, you had a healthy sex life, but the Countess still had the March family engagement ring tucked away somewhere. He wouldn’t move you into his quarters or impose himself on yours until the two of you were at the very least engaged. The plans for his and the Countess’ divorce were moving, albeit slowly, when you stopped opening the door for James.

The first day he thought perhaps you were simply elsewhere, but after a week of nothing, he began to get angry. It was one thing to deny him your company, but to ignore him while he made a fool of himself banging on your door? That was a punishable offense in the March family playbook. So, he decided if you wanted to play hard to get, he would too. In his mind, James could practically envision you rushing back into his arms once you got over whatever was souring your mood. It wouldn’t be long until the whole nasty affair was behind the both of you once and for all, right?

Wrong.

A month since he last dined with you, James sat at his table in the Blue Parrot lounge alone nursing the remains of his 4th glass of scotch.

Liz was slow to walk out from her place behind the bar. “You want another?” she asked, holding out a crystal decanter, “or should I fish out the absinthe fountain a little early this year,”

“No, no I do believe I’ve had quite enough. Besides, it’s not as if I can actually get drunk anymore,” he huffed. Whether it was the drinks or his growing rage, Mr. March found his collar feeling a bit tighter. He reached up to pull at his cravat but paused when thinking about the ghastly wound it hid. In the end, he let his hand return to its place on his glass.

“Suit yourself,” Liz quickly returned the decanter to its place and began polishing glasses.

Somewhere in the distance, Iris picked up a phone and began to take an order for room service. James had an epiphany.

“Liz!” he shouted, getting her attention, “has Y/N been ordering much room service lately?”

Liz shrugged. “Only once a day for the past month. Why do you ask?”

“I find myself in a bit of a predicament. You see, Y/N began ignoring me about a month ago. I’ve been giving her a taste of her own medicine for quite some time now, and yet she has made no attempts to seek me out. Do you think, perhaps, there could be something wrong?”

The energy in the room began to still.

“Wait, Y/N hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

The dirty glasses were abandoned as Liz let out a humorless laugh.

“Damn you, woman!” James rose with a shout, slamming his glass down on the table, “what is she hiding!?”

“She’s sick,”

James’ heart would have stopped if it were still beating. He sat down again, bewildered. “What?”

“She’s sick. Fever, puking, tremors; the whole shebang,” As she spoke, Liz came back to the table and sat down on the plush booth across from him.

“But it’s been a month! Influenza shouldn’t last that long…”

“Well, it’s definitely not the flu, I can tell you that. Last time I brought down her dinner she nearly choked on her toast. She was so weak that I had to sit there feeding her soup because she couldn’t lift up the spoon long enough to feed herself,”

It was as if James’ whole world had come collapsing down on him all at once. Mortified, he let his head drop into his hands. “Why didn’t she inform me? Am I that pathetic a lover that she would rather suffer in silence than tell me she was ill?”

“Well, to her credit, you don’t exactly look like the most comforting type. When did she move in again?”

“Almost five years ago, it’ll be the anniversary of her first entering the Cortez on the 20th,”

“And how many times in the past five years have you, I don’t know, cuddled with Y/N,”

“You insolent-”

Liz lifted her arms, offering up a white flag. “I’m just asking a question,”

James opened his mouth to offer up a rebuttal but found he had no way to defend himself.

It was true that his relationship with Y/N tended to fluctuate between chaste and lecherous at the drop of a hat. Once they had made love, it was the only habit for him to leave her in bed and return to whatever was keeping him busy at the moment. Post-coital intimacy was simply something he had never experienced or needed. Unfortunately, seeing that the only time he spent with Y/N outside of their trysts were formal meetings or dinners, there had been no time for gentility or softness between just the two of them. If ghosts could blanch, he would have.

Noticing his sudden shift in mood, Liz rose, backing off. “Now, usually I like to stay out of your business, but because your little relationship makes Y/N happy I’ll give you some advice. Go down to the kitchen, have Ms. Evers heat some broth, and give Y/N her dinner personally, maybe even give her some extra attention as a little treat. That should fix the bulk of your issues. Got it?”

He was never one to take orders, but surprisingly James nodded. He stood quickly, smoothing his suit. “Thank you for your advice, Ms. Taylor, but I must depart. My paramour needs me,”

She nodded. “Any time,” James began to hurry down the stairs, but suddenly Liz shouted. “Wait a second,”

James paused. “Yes?”

“Only the living get sick, Mr. March. Maybe, after five years, it’s time for Y/N to extend her stay at the Cortez... permanently. Just something to think about,”

He gave her a sharp nod before disappearing down the stairs to the kitchen. 15 minutes later he was waiting outside your door with a rolling cart in hard. He had already been stalling there for 5 minutes when he finally, with a deep, steadying breath, unlocked the door.

The room was dark and silent, almost like a tomb.

Your voice rang out like a bell as James pushed the cart forward. “Iris?” you called weakly, “is that you?”

“No, darling,” he responded, closing the door behind him. Slowly, he bent down at turned on a small lamp. “You won’t need Iris to bring you your dinner any longer,”

“James,” You whispered, half reverent and half shocked.

He was far too taken aback by the severity of your condition to form an immediate response.

You were curled up in bed, folded in on yourself as you wheezed for breath. As Liz had mentioned your body was weak and wracked with near-constant tremors while you tried your best to prop yourself up on the headboard. James had to abandon the cart with your dinner on it in favor of rushing over and helping you sit up. As he took in your gaunt face, his heart broke.

Your soft voice snapped him from his thoughts.

“Am I dead?”

James shook his head. “No my love, not yet,”

Tears began to spill from your eyes. “I thought you’d left me, James. I thought I was going to have to rot in this awful, dark room for eternity, that maybe ‘cause I died while I was sick my ghost was too damn weak to get up,” As you spoke, you tried to grip the back of his suit, but found you were far too weak to actually hold the fabric. Your inability to even do the simplest of tasks only made you cry harder.

Mr. March was quick to pull out his handkerchief and wipe your eyes. “Oh, my dearest, that couldn’t be farther from the truth, but none of that matters now. I cannot apologize enough for my abhorrent behavior as of late,”

“Will you stay?” your words were laced with desperation, “just for a little bit?”

“Of course, my dearest. I think you’ll find it very difficult to get rid of me from now on. Besides, I couldn’t leave my beloved paramour without doing what it is that I set out to do,”

“Which is?”

James stood and quickly returned with the room service cart. As he removed the silver tray-topper, you found he had brought you a bowl of soup, a small plate of crackers, and a tall glass of ice water.

“I intend to make sure you are well-fed and taken care of,”

“James, you don’t-” you tried to argue, but he cut you off.

“Nonsense! There is, unfortunately, no way to sugar coat this, but I will try my best,” he whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you, “I have neglected you, darling, not just for the past month when I found my pride and ego keeping me away from you, but also for the past five years. I ignored your needs out of a false sense of propriety by bending to rules that are long dead and considered inconsequential. For that, I fear I may never forgive myself. Things will be different from now on, though. I hope to win back your heart properly now that I have realized the severity of my mistakes. Would you…” he paused, gulping, “would you be willing to humor me?”

You offered him a soft smile. “Oh, my beloved Mr. March, there’s no need. My heart has always been yours,”

Your words soothed him, and he offered you one of his debonair grins, the kind where his little mustache scrunched before his lips parted that never failed to sweep you off your feet.

“Now where were we!” he exclaimed.

“Dinner,” you responded.

“Ah, yes! Soup!” He was quick to get a spoonful of the warm broth and bring it to your lips. “You needn’t worry, my sweetling, I watched Ms. Evers prepare this herself. Nothing but the best for you,”

It was easy to accept the spoon into your mouth. Something inside of you knew that James would be taking care of you from now on.

The rest of dinner passed in relative silence, but you didn’t mind, far too tired to take part in any meaningful conversation. Instead, you simply enjoyed the attention. James had never been shy about his affection, but that affection always tended to come in the form of gifts or sex instead of close, intimate touch. It hadn’t bothered you enough to tell him. You always just assumed he didn’t enjoy that kind of love. Now that you’d had a taste, though, of his gentle yet constant affection, you knew you could never get enough.

Too soon the bowl was empty.

James stood, returning to the door with the cart as you relaxed and rolled onto your side. “When will you be back?”

He chuckled, opening the door. “Did you think you could be rid of me so soon, darling?” The cart was quickly pushed out into the hallway as James turned back towards you.

Your face flushed. “I just assumed…”

“Assumptions, assumptions,” he tutted, “It hurts that you have such little faith in me, but I admit I haven’t given you much reason to. As I said, things will be different now,” James perched himself on the edge of the bed with a smile as he untied his shoes and slipped them off.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes, darling, so I can join you in bed,”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had been imagining the first time James would actually stay in your bed to cuddle since the beginning of your relationship, but it had been years since you had given any thought to that silly fantasy. Could it really be happening?

Apparently, your surprise was evident on your face because Mr. March paused once both his shoes were settled neatly on the floor. “Is something wrong, my dearest?”

“Nothing, darling, nothing at all,” you were quick to explain, “we’ve just never done this before,”

James smirked like a predator who had just found his prey. “Such an innocent gesture from such a naughty little minx. I don’t recall you being so… flustered the night we met when I took you up to my suite and-”

“James!”

“Alright! Alright, my love, no more vulgarity from me until you’re fully healed and back on your feet. Well, hypothetically on your feet,” he emphasized his words with a dirty wink. Then he crawled into bed beside you as if he belonged there, scootching over until he was resting pressed against your side. You slotted into place, with your face resting in his neck and your leg thrown haphazardly across his hips as if you were made to fit his body. Holding James was like coming home.

You let out a soft, pleased sound at just how good it felt to be held.

James took this as positive feedback. As he settled in, he began running his fingers through your bedhead, combing through the loosest of the knots. Sensing something strange, he paused to put his hand on your forehead. It was uncomfortably hot. “You’re still feverish. Do you need anything? A cold compress? A wet washcloth? Some water?”

It was funny to hear him fussing over you, but it also warmed the deepest parts of your heart.

You made a negative huff against his neck. “No! You’d better not move. Your skin feels too good. It’s nice… cold. The only thing I could possibly want right now is for you to dim the lights and take your damn shirt off so you can cool more of me off,”

“I would, darling, believe me, but there’s just the small issue of the wound on my neck,”

“James,” you glared up at him, “I have literally ripped a dying man’s dick off in front of you. We have dinner with Jeffery Dahmer on your birthday every year, where I have to eat my salad as he zombifies whatever poor sap wandered into Sally’s clutches across the table. Hell, just a few months ago we fucked in that bathtub filled with some businessman’s blood. Your neck is just another part of you, James, it doesn’t bother me. Shirt. Off.”

“Have I ever told you that I adore when you take charge?”

You grinned as he undid his cravat and the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “Once or twice,” The thrill only lasted a moment, though, because before he finished unbuttoning his shirt he pulled away from your arms and got off the bed. A high-pitched whine escaped from your lips. “I thought you said you were staying?”

“I may be a ghost, dear heart, but my clothes can’t just disappear,” Always one for the dramatics, he shed his shirt and suit jacket to the floor with gusto. The sight of his bare torso made your heart beat faster. You had to remind yourself that you were sick and it would probably kill you to go for even a gentle round with Mr. March. Ah, but what a way to die…

James dimmed the lamp before returning, undoing his pants, and stripping down to his boxers. “Is this better for you darling?”

You nodded and reached your trembling arms out to your lover. “Much. Now come back to bed. You have five years’ worth of cuddling to make up for Mr. March, and I don’t intend on letting you wheedle your way out of even a second of it,”

He gave you a gentle smile as he found his way beneath the covers again. “I wouldn’t dream of it,”

Your face quickly found its way back into the crook of James’ neck. It was inhumanly cool, easing the constant burn of your fever and soothing your sore skin. The slit across his throat truly didn’t bother you. As you said, it was just another part of him for you to love, nothing more than a cosmetic imperfection.

Nuzzling closer, you took a deep inhale of his intoxicating scent. Perhaps it was the cologne he wore at the time of his death or even just what he naturally smelled like, but his pulse point radiated notes of sage and bergamot. God, how you loved him.

The pair of you were quiet for a moment with only the sound of your ragged breathing breaking through the air, but something urged you to speak your mind.

“You know, James, when you walked into my room tonight I assumed you were here to kill me,”

He chuckled. “I can’t say I didn’t think about it, my pearl,”

“Of course you did…” you went silent for a moment, “I wouldn’t have minded. This sickness is hell. I’m wasting away by the day and the pain never stops. I don’t mind dying, not when it means I get to spend the rest of time here in the hotel with you, but I don’t want to go out like somebody normal. My death needs to be special… I want to be the crowning glory of your murders, the most fantastic piece of art you’ve ever created,”

Pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your hair, James sighed. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but the moment I thought of you, wasting away in the darkness and succumbing to some common germ, I knew I couldn’t kill you. Not yet. I refuse to have my bride accompany me through eternity bearing a constant reminder of my failure,”

Your breath hitched. “Bride?”

Slowly, his hand made its way to your throat. There was no threat in it, he wasn’t using even an ounce of pressure. It was more of a gentle reminder of his presence; a physical conduit of his passion.

“Yes, bride. I don’t mind if you can only become Mrs. March posthumously, though I would prefer to wed you alive and enjoy your last moments of warmth in the throes of carnal delight on our wedding bed, it all depends on where your illness takes you next. Until then I will be glued to your side. No more harm will come to you. I shall nurse you back to health with my own hand so that you glow with life long after your death. Yes, Y/N, your death will come, but not until I have done my best to atone for my mistakes in your life,”

“Was that a proposal?” You gazed up at James with wide, misty eyes.

He huffed out a laugh. “I suppose it was, and a poor one at that! To think I stalled for years in the hopes of finding the perfect moment to present you with my mother’s ring only to pop the question in bed with no ring in sight. I do hope you’ll say yes. I’d be rather crushed if you rejected me after all this time,”

You nodded, small tears escaping as you pressed your face into his soft skin. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. I would’ve married you if you were the poorest man in the world and proposed with a ring-pop,”

“Then it’s settled. You shall be my wife as soon as you are well enough for me to fuck you again! I quite hate that Will Drake, but I believe he’s our best, quickest option if we wish to get you a dress commissioned. I have a few ideas drawn up already waiting in my office… perhaps I should call Ms. Evers and have her take them to him,”

“Shhhh,” you smiled into his neck, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, “we can figure out the details later. For right now, though, your fiancée is sick and she needs some TLC. What are you gonna do about it, Mr. March,”

He growled. “Well, I suppose ravishing you is off the table. Hmmm... what to do to my darling girl to make her feel better?” With a gentle nudge, he tilted your head up and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s a start,”

-------

a/n: I hope you liked it! I’m really leaning towards writing a second part of this where the reader actually dies, so let me know if you’re interested. Also, my requests are open if you want to see any of Evan’s other characters!

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thank you <3

#ahs #ahs hotel #james march x reader #james patrick march #james march #james patrick march x reader #I wrote this instead of something incredibly filthy and terrible I have planned for later...#evan peters #evan peters x reader #american horror story #american horror story hotel #I love this man

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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years

Note

Prompt- Rhys gets sick and feyre becomes mother hen👀

Sick Day

Fluff//1865 words

Cassian grinned. “I told Mor she shouldn’t do it. It wasn’t my fault.”

“Sure you did, Cass.”

“Don’t sound so skeptical! I am your general, one of the highest ranking officers in your court, My Lady. I would never lie to you.”

Feyre smacked Cassian on the arm. “Don’t you have something better to do? Like, I don’t know, harass somebody else?”

He gave a wide smile. “Why would I do that when you’re right here?”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Gods, you-”

A loud cough cut Feyre off.

Feyre glanced at the ceiling as if she could see her mate through it. She could, in fact, sense where he was. “Do you think he’s okay?”

A tired sigh left Cassian. “I am so sick of listening to you to worry about each other every time the other one blinks funny. It was a cough, Feyre.”

Feyre bit her lip. “Okay.”

Nyx cooing distracted Feyre’s anxious thoughts and she turned to her baby. He was sitting in Cassian’s lap. For some unfathomable reason, Nyx found Cassian hilarious, and he would sit on his uncle’s lap and giggle at the sound of his voice. Or at least, Feyre hoped it was the sound of his voice. Should Feyre find her newborn actually knew what Cassian was saying, the male would be flayed alive.

“Hi, honey,” Feyre cooed back, waggling her fingers at her son.

Cassian snorted. “You’ve gotten so gooey.”

Feyre scowled. “Me? Never. That’s just Rhys.”

“I’ll admit, Rhys is more of a softie than you are, but you’re not the bitch you used to be.”

Feyre gasped. She picked up Nyx and held him close. “Don’t say such things! He’s only a baby.” Then she covered Nyx’s ears and added, “And for the record, I am still a bitch. Don’t forget it.”

Cassian cracked a smile. “If you say so.”

Before he could say anything more, another cough sounded upstairs.

Feyre handed Nyx hurriedly to Cassian, who just rolled his eyes. “Go on, check on Rhysie pie. Gods forbid he has allergies.”

“I would punch you if you weren’t holding my son.” With that, Feyre winnowed into her and her mate’s bedroom.

Rhys was lying in bed. The room was dark enough that Feyre couldn’t tell what his facial expression was right now, but she could sense his discomfort through the bond.

“What’s wrong, Rhys?” breathed Feyre, rushing to his side.

“Lord, you’re fussy today.” Rhys had been going for a sarcastic tone, but it came out raspy and weak.

Feyre crossed her arms. “Let’s skip all the bullshit about how you’re feeling well and refuse to say anything. What’s wrong?”

Scowling, though possibly more at the situation than at Feyre, Rhys silently opened his mental shields. And Feyre was met with affliction.

She was overcome by the sensation of gut-wrenching pains and full-body soreness. Her throat was sore and her hands were clammy. Feyre felt dizzy, nauseated, likely about to fall over-

Feyre pulled out of Rhys’ mind quickly. “You’re sick.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Rhys groaned. “You should go. Don’t want you to get it.”

Feyre snorted. “For one thing, I can just summon a shield around my body in protection. Rather simple.” Feyre did indeed erect a body wrap of sorts, made of magic. Then she added, “And anyway, I love you almost enough that I’d deal with that just to be with you.”

Rhys’ lips twitched slightly. “Almost?”

Feyre smiled back. “We have to think about the Court. Wouldn’t want both the High Lord and Lady out of action. It would be chaotic.”

Rhys laughed, a brittle sound.

“I’ll be right back,” Feyre said.

“Where are you going?”

She pulled the blanket up farther on her mate as his sweating turned to shivers. “I’m going to ask Cass to watch Nyx today. I don’t want him to catch it.”

“Good idea,” Rhys mumbled, his eyelids fluttering.

Feyre winnowed back. Cassian glanced up amusedly. “Did our precious High Lord get something in his throat?”

Feyre scowled. “He’s ill.”

“How ill?” Cassian asked, not buying it.

In response, Feyre entered his mind and sent over the feelings she’d experienced when she crossed Rhys’ shields.

“Fuck,” Cassian exclaimed. “Give a male a little warning next time.”

“Careful,” Feyre scolded. “You’re holding my son.”

Cassian righted himself. “He’s actually sick. Gods, I don’t think that’s happened since last century.”

A stray snort escaped the dignified high lady. “You old bastards. I was wondering how you would feel about watching Nyx today? He’s so young; I don’t know how he would handle catching what Rhys has.”

“Oh, of course.” Cass smirked and turned to Nyx. “I have some busy things to do today, little male. How would you feel about helping?”

Feyre knew this was absolute bullshit; Cassian wasn’t totally useless but he sure as hell didn’t have “busy things.”

But Nyx burbled excitedly. One of his little hands reached for a lock of Cassian’s hair and tugged, his tiny wings flapping slightly.

“It’s settled then. Your son will be learning how to run the Night Court today.”

“Right. Because that’s what you’re in charge of,” Feyre responded drying, but she couldn’t help smiling at Nyx.

Cassian grinned. “See you. Try not to get sick or I might have to keep Nyx forever.”

Feyre smiled. “Right.”

They exchanged farewells and Cassian turned toward the door of their manor. “Oh, and don’t break anything,” Feyre called after him. “And don’t break my son.”

Cassian didn’t even turn back; he just flipped Feyre off over his shoulder, holding the baby in one hand. Feyre smiled, but she wasn’t actually concerned. For all his goofing about, Cassian could be surprisingly responsible, and she knew he would take care of Nyx well. Satisfied her child was in good hands and safe from infection, she walked over to the other room.

After dismissing the staff for the day (pay still included, of course), Feyre made for the kitchen. She used her magic to light a fire under the stove and she placed a pot on top. Even with her abilities, she normally wasn’t lazy enough to use them for everything, but she wanted this going as quickly as possible.

Worried about Rhys, Feyre used her magic once more to speed along the chopping. After dumping the vegetables in the broth she’d put in, she winnowed back upstairs.

Rhys was semi-conscious, exhausted but too pained to reach sleep. “Rhys, wake up.”

Rhys moaned. “Piss off.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you stay like this. You’re too uncomfortable to sleep well, Rhys.” Feyre helped him sit up, countering all of his protests with promises of soup.

“You don’t need to make soup all by yourself just for me.”

A huff of breath left Feyre’s lips. “I kept my family alive for years. I know how to make soup.”

Rhys sighed in resignation. “It’s not really that bad.”

“You say that like you wouldn’t be calling five healers over and praying to the gods I don’t die if our positions were switched.”

“Fair enough. We can both be rather protective of each other. But-”

“No buts,” Feyre said firmly. “I’ll be right back with soup. Drink this in the meantime. You need lots of fluids.” She waved her hand, summoning a glass of water on their nightstand.

Rhys sighed but reached for it, which was enough for Feyre. She left the room.

Soup was ready five minutes later. Her magic had really sped up the process; she was impatient and wanting to be with her mate, who she heard coughing again. As soon as she could, Feyre made her way back upstairs.

“Hey, babe.”

Feyre snorted and made a tray appear on him lap. She set the bowl down. “Hey.”

The glass of water was still mostly full, but Rhys had taken a couple sips. Appeased, Feyre moved to the other side of the bed and sat down next to her mate.

Rhys sighed, but reached for the spoon.

As he slowly took little spoonfuls, Feyre placed her hand on his forehead, and found him without a fever. A good sign.

She began gently rubbing his back. He was cold, and Feyre let warmth deep through her fingers, courtesy of the Autumn Court’s fire in very small quantities.

Rhys sighed in content. “Maybe I should get sick every day.”

“If it’s the only way to get you to rest, I suppose that wouldn’t be too bad,” Feyre replied, smiling. Her hands kept moving on his back. “I heard last century was the last time you got sick?”

Rhys swallowed another spoonful. “I vomited on Keir.”

Feyre took a minute to process this. “You did what?”

Rhys grimaced. “I wasn’t feeling well, but I thought I’d be okay to make the trip. I clearly wasn’t.”

Feyre burst into laughter. “Oh my gods.”

“Stop that,” Rhys demanded. “You’re not supposed to make fun of me while I’m not feeling well.” His features transformed into a pout.

Feyre couldn’t stop a grin from making its way to her face. “No wonder Keir doesn’t like you.”

Rhys tried to scowl, but he smiled faintly. “I’ll admit, he was a bit more civil to me before that. Only a bit, though.”

Feyre positively cackled. “This is why I love you.”

“Because I accidentally projectile vomit on people I don’t like?”

“Precisely,” Feyre said.

More broth, as well as a small carrot, was swallowed. Rhys sighed pathetically and Feyre just watched him, still massaging his back, trying not to worry too much.

Sickness in Fae was rare, and it usually didn’t last for long, due to their strong immune systems. He must have caught it from somewhere, and Feyre decided to warn her friends later to be careful. Everyone would be fine, but having all her friends sick would be a hassle, to say the least. At least Nyx was safe; Cassian would definitely be staying away from others today. He wouldn’t admit it, but he could be overly fussy too.

Rhys slurped the rest of the broth out of the bowl, holding it up to his face, while Feyre chuckled at him. Then she sent the empty bowl away with a wave of her hand. “Time to rest, Rhys.”

Rhys just pouted at her. “I’m not tired.”

“Liar. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Rhys reluctantly let Feyre help him lie back against the pillow. Several moments later, they were both situated: Rhys was absolutely covered in blankets to fight off the chills and Feyre’s arms were around him, her magic still warming his body.

Feyre entered his mind and sent comforting thoughts over, as well as urges to rest. It didn’t take long before he was snoring.

Holding her mate, comforting him through even a mild ailment, couldn’t have felt more right. Feyre desperately wanted him to heal, and soon he would, but for now she was content to listen to him breathe and inhale his familiar scent.

As Feyre herself drifted off, she just hoped she could convince Rhys to let her in his mind and show her Keir’s expression after being vomited on. Because that was something she wanted to see.

———

Tag List:

@feysand-loml

@aelin-bitch-queen

@story-scribbler

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@infernoqueen19

#feysand #acotar #sick day #my writing

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dinpascal · 3 years

Text

No Good Deed — Din Djarin

No Good Deed — Chapter One

➥ There’s an unconscious Mandalorian outside your door, along with some tiny, green thing clutching at his cloak. There has to be some sort of manual that tells you what to do in this situation... Right?

There were many things to hate about Nevarro. The miles and miles of just-barely crusted over magma, the Rebels that tended to brush through every now and again, acting all high and mighty and as if they were too good to set foot on such a planet. However, without a single doubt, the thing you hated the most was the damn Guild.

You had never been the type of person to judge another for their method of survival. You had done many... unsatisfactory things in your lifetime, just to see another day. A few of those still kept you awake at night, debating whether you were deserving of what you had, no matter how miniscule. The Guild, however, was an entirely different thing.

Perhaps it was the mere fact that at least seventy percent of the people you served were hunters from the Guild. And if not already in the Guild, aiming for opportunity to be. They were a cocksure group, always carrying themselves with an aura of arrogance and as if they were allowing you the privilege of surviving. As if your little, insignificant life was balanced between their fingers, because they were all so skilled in the art of bounty hunting.

A lot of mudscuffers, in your opinion.

You wiped your palms down your apron, which did little about the stickiness that was present from hours of drink-making. The hairs were no-doubt spilling from your braid, hardly remembering to breathe in-between each order and the chaos that surrounded you. Creatures of all kind called out to you in many different languages, some you understood and others you required your “partner” to translate. The droid was good for nothing apart from that, perhaps apart from being perpetually in your way. It reached the point where you no longer felt guilty for bumping it out of your way.

Today, evidently, was Greef Karga’s awaited return from some mission, leading to the assembly of many (impatiently) awaiting their next bounty. In other words, the bar was way past its capacity limit. Many patrons were shoulder-to-shoulder, filling the building with endless, buzzing chatter that made the ache that much more present at your brow.

“C’mon, I’ve been trying for months. Why don’t you let me take you out? Just one night?” You eyed your suitor as you collected empty glasses and bottles, eyeing him with a thoroughly practiced smile that gave him the impression you enjoyed his company. It was something you were forced to learn early in this occupation, if you were even remotely interested in tips. Customers, males especially, enjoyed feeling wanted. As if they had any semblance of a chance with the “pretty thing” that served them drinks behind the counter.

“Cardon, you know I don’t date bounty hunters.” You replied, taking a moment to take another order and busying yourself with making it. Luckily, very few (if any) frequenters drank anything complicated, often preferring spotchka and even simple shots of hooch.

The dark-skinned hunter smiled, moving to brush his hair back with a gloved hand. “And why not? Don’t think you could handle one?” If you had to decide, Cardon wasn’t the worst of the bunch you could choose from. He had ebony hair that touched the top his shoulders, the top half often twisted into a bun. He was tall enough, but quite lanky compared to many of the other hunters that frequented the cantina.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing. If you had to guess, the majority of the hunters you served only had one head. Instead of commenting further, you motioned towards his glass. “Want another, Cardon?” He waved a hand in silent agreement, seemingly coming to terms that he was, yet again, striking out with you.

“I think I’m your relief for the night.” You turned, positively beaming at the sight of olive skin and black eyes. “Alejad... My savior.” He grinned wickedly and threw a rag over his shoulder, lightly tsking at the mess you’d made of the bar.

“So very messy. Have I not taught you a thing?”

With a roll of your eyes and slight scoff, you began fingering the knot of your apron. “We’ll see how lucky you end up tonight. Karga isn’t even supposed to be showing up until second sundown.” You brushed your hand over his shaved head as you passed behind him, an act of affection you’d picked up in the time you’d worked together. Alejad had been the one to train you, considering no one else apart from the two of you seemed to want to work in this hunk of junk somehow considered a “proper establishment”.

Stepping out of the back entrance with your day’s tips firmly shoved in your pocket, the silence of the alley was almost dizzying compared to what you’d dealt with for the last seven hours. Despite the distant sounds of the hustle and bustle of the market, it was much more preferable. Almost anything was preferable to being cat-called and yelled at all day.

With a sigh and a brush of the back of your hand across your forehead, you finally made your way home. It wasn’t a far walk, just a few twists and turns that made it a comfortable enough walk to and from work. Your home was nothing exciting, nothing more than what you absolutely needed — the absolute bare essentials. It had once served as some kind of building for the Imps that were once stationed on Nevarro and eventually separated into two, unconnected homes once the Imps were chased (or killed) out. A little family had moved into the home above yours, made up of a young Twi’lek couple and a little, rose-colored girl you doubted had seen more than five cycles. You often found her crouched outside your home, digging through the dirt to find new additions to her rock collection. On the rarest of days, when you’d either be leaving or just returning from the bar, she’d already be outside as the first sun was rising and would offer you a toothless smile that made your heart warm.

However, given the first sun was only just beginning to set, there was no young girl parading about the property. Hopefully, she was busy eating a plentiful dinner with her parents and had a nice, warm bed to look forward to tonight.

The door creaked as you stepped inside, double-checking that you’d locked it behind you before making your way (all three steps of it) to the kitchen. With a quick look in the conservator, it seemed for the fourth night in a row now, you were having broth for dinner. With a sigh, you discarded your dirty apron aside and flipped the oven on to reheat your soup. It seemed you were in dire need for a trip to the market.

There were a dozen and a half things you needed to do around the house, including a deep clean of your floors, as well as stripping your bed and washing the linens that you’d ignored for much too long. Taking the trash out was sufficient enough for the night, right? Right.

The evening air was cool against your skin, the first emergence of the first sunfall of the night beginning to appear. In a matter of hours, the cool air would soon become too cold to bear without some kind of protection. It was an interesting contradiction. While the ground beneath your feet was warm, almost hot to the touch because of the molten lava beneath it, the air was often cool and bleak the moment the suns began to sleep for the night.

A soft noise behind you drew you from your thoughts, nothing more than a gentle, sad coo. You immediately turned, worrying a young babe had dodged their parents and was now exploring with no supervision. While Nevarro was now exponentially safer now that the Imps were gone, it still was no place for a child to be roaming at first sunfall.

The last thing, actually very last thing you had expected was the sight before you. A Mandalorian slumped against your home with a little, green creature clutching at the frayed ends of his cloak. It regarded you for no longer than a moment, big eyes quickly returning to the hunter and cooing softly once more, as if urging him to get up. It tugged at the cloak again, its free hand bumping against his shoulder as if the tiny jostle would wake him.

You stood there a moment, almost afraid to take another step towards the pair. Though you’d never met a Mandalorian yourself, their reputation was enough to make your legs shake a bit under your weight. None too long ago, one had caused the entire town to burst into gunfire and killed dozens of other hunters. Undoubtedly, he (was it a he?) knew more than a dozen ways to kill you. And the creature? While it looked harmless enough now, how could you know if it would begin spewing venom at you the moment you took two steps towards it? If you’d learned anything growing up, it was to not trust a species you didn’t know. And you’d learned that lesson the hard way.

As if aware of your thoughts, its eyes turned towards you once more and made another sad sound. It pulled at something deep inside you, something dormant and untraveled. Whatever it was, it urged you to move your damn feet and make the poor thing stop giving you those big, sorrowful eyes.

“Okay...” Hesitantly, as if standing eye-to-eye with a Nexu, you braved a step forward. When it didn’t abruptly move or hiss, you took another. “Hey... little guy,” you murmured, eyes flickering from gleaming silver to the little one’s, “What happened?”

It whined pitifully, turning towards the Mandalorian with a three-fingered hand as if motioning towards him and saying, ‘help him, will ya?’.

If it were any other situation, you may have found the little creature amusing. It didn’t seem to be able to speak, but its body language and big, bug eyes were expressive enough.

Once you were close enough to touch the Mandalorian, you slowly kneeled and made sure it stayed in your peripheral. You doubted it would suddenly sprout wings at this point, but you could never be too sure. Maybe it enjoyed playing with its food.

“I’m gonna... Take him inside, okay?” Much to your surprise, it nodded and backed away a couple paces to give you space. Okay, so the green thing was intelligent. Good to know.

With a steadying breath, you maneuvered your way around the Mandalorian so you could (attempt to) lift him. You imagined his armor couldn’t be light by any means, meaning you were going to have to carry a man already twice your weight, along with that much more in armor. “Knew I should have bought those weights...”

Sliding your arms under his armpits and securing your hold through intertwining your hands over his chest, you figured this was the best chance you had. There was no way you were getting him up over your shoulder and you figured dragging him by his feet wasn’t the best method, in case of a possible head injury.

The breath immediately whooshed out of your lungs as you straightened, using gravity to your advantage and using the force to drag him backwards, instead of back down like it wanted. The little rag-covered bean waddled after you, apparently not willing to allow the Mandalorian out of his sight.

The helmet lulled forward as you mostly-dragged him into your home, most certainly and unquestionably out cold.

In the middle of your kitchen, you paused. Where the hell were you going to put him? The kitchen certainly wasn’t spacious enough for him. It was hardly enough room for you to comfortably move about.

That left your bedroom.

“Just a little farther, alright?” You huffed, suddenly very keenly aware of the heaviness in your shoulders and triceps. The creature stumbling after the Mandalorian’s feet cooed in response, seemingly more content now than before.

It took you much longer than you would’ve liked, but eventually, you somehow managed to get the damn guy on your bed. His feet hung over the bed and no doubt was coating your sheets in dirt and blood and who knew what else. At least they already needed washed.

After taking a moment (minutes, really) to catch your breath and watching the bean climb its way up your bed and back to the Mandalorian’s side, you once more found yourself at a loss. What the hell do you do now?

Checking him for injuries was probably the best next course of action. You didn’t want the guy to die right here, on your bed, right?

With your hands on your hips and a sweat breaking out over your brow, you looked in the what you now mentally referred to as the bean’s direction. “These guys have something against taking off their helmet, right?” Your response was a sound you couldn’t quite differentiate between amusement and agreement. Nevertheless, you nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

After another few minutes of heavy consideration, you decided starting from the bottom-up was probably your best bet. If you were lucky, he was just incredibly sleep-deprived and absolutely nothing else was wrong with him.

The little bean at his shoulder watched as you methodically undressed the Mandalorian, beginning with the armor as his shoulders and then moving to his chest plate. You made a small stack of it just beside your bed, being careful to not add any dinks or scratches that weren’t already on them.

With shaky fingers, you began lifting his shirt to inspect any possible torso wounds. You were met with caramel skin etched in paler, puffier skin in various places where he’d been wounded and scarred over. A trail of dark, nearly black hair drew your gaze below his belly button and disappearing into his trousers.

You swallowed. This was not the time.

“Stomach looks good.” You mumbled, mostly to yourself. You pushed the fabric up further until it was under his chin, fingers delicately brushing across an angry, red line just below his left clavicle. It didn’t look serious and most likely just a result from his armor pressing into his skin, but it gave you an excuse to feel his skin beneath your fingertips. His chest was faintly dotted with hair, nipples pebbling at the sudden exposure to the air. “Chest looks good too.”

That left on more thing to check, the one thing you were hoping you wouldn’t have to do.

You sank back onto your haunches for a moment, teeth anxiously worrying at the inside of your cheek as you considered your options. You didn’t have to do anything — you’d already given him and his... pet? Child? Friend? Somewhere to rest and checked him for any serious, deadly injuries. On the other hand, however, what if he did have a head injury? Without aid, a head injury could easily and quickly result in death. And you certainly didn’t want a dead Mandalorian on your hands.

“Second option it is.” You murmured, brushing your palms down your trousers and taking a soothing breath. “But,” you began, pointing a finger in the air as you looked towards the bean. “I am not being that person.” You disappeared out of the room for a moment, quickly returning with a clean rag and making a show so the bean could see it. “See?”

The bean, seemingly content, made an inquisitive sound. With one hand, you curled your fingers under the helmet’s edge and searched for the locking mechanism. Once you felt the tiny button, you nudged it and released a breath as it unlocked. “Okay, okay... Just gotta do this quick...”

With one, shaky hand, you gently tugged the helmet free from his head, immediately snapping your eyes shut the second you no longer felt the weight of his head. Discarding the heavy thing aside, you took the rag and, as efficiently as possible with your eyes firmly shut, placed it over his face. Though it wouldn’t make breathing especially easier, it at least would preserve some of his modesty.

Once finished, you took a deep breath and regarded your work. You turned towards the bean with a triumphant smile. “Not bad, yeah?”

The bean regarded the rag with something akin to distaste but you couldn’t be sure. It was difficult to distinguish every emotion with its tiny face. The majority of your basis was just on its eyes.

You maneuvered your way around the pile of metal on your floor, as well as your own things to the head of the bed, eyes settling on the head of brown, presumably thick hair that stuck out from under the rag.

When was the last time someone so much as had seen a strand of his hair? Had anyone ever? Yet there you were, looking at not only it, but nearly everything else aside from his face.

You eyed the creature currently tracing a three-fingered claw up the Mandalorian’s arm. It seemed... Conflicted. As if the whole world rested on its little shoulders, now that the Mandalorian was no longer protecting it. Its tiny features were pinched in worry, shoulders slumped forward and ears drooping at the corners.

You wanted to console the little thing, except you still weren’t completely sure it wouldn’t nip at you if you got too close.

Turning your attention back to the man (because at the current moment, he seemed to pose less danger), you cautiously slid your fingers around the back of his head. There was nothing but thick, course hair, even as you rounded the back of his head. At the very least, there were no external injuries.

Until you looked down.

And found that his foot was twisted at an angle that it most definitely wasn’t supposed to.

“Well, kriff.” You mumbled, mostly to yourself. You regarded the said appendage for awhile, unsure quite what to do now. It wasn’t that you didn’t know what to do, but moreso the fact that you weren’t sure you wanted to go snapping a bounty hunter’s leg back into place. It was usually something a person informed another of before doing.

With a sigh, you turned your attention back to the little bean. Though you had little to no clue if it was capable of understanding you (though it had somewhat shown it could), it made you the teensiest amount less nervous to talk to it. “Maybe it’s better to do it while he’s out. What do you think?” The bean babbled something incoherently. You nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too.”

✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷ - ✷

Surprisingly, the Mandalorian hardly flinched when you snapped his ankle back into place. Most surprisingly, he hadn’t woken up either. Hours later and he was still completely dead to the world. Numerous times you had to check to make sure he was still breathing.

After about hour five, the bean decided to venture from his side. It appeared at your feet just as you were elbow-deep in washing, first inquisitively watching you scrub at your clothes, as if you were doing something it had never quite seen.

“Hey, little... Guy,” you finished lamely, pausing to eye the green creature as its head tilted to the side and those big eyes blinked. It made a soft sound, as if expecting you to easily understand. When you didn’t immediately react, it’s features pinched and it threw its arms up as if it were exclaiming something as it spewed into further coos and babbles.

You stared blankly.

What would a small, green creature want? A new, preferably clean rag for clothes? For you to throw something so you could chase it? Something to sink its little teeth into?

You faulted for a moment in your thinking. “Are you hungry?” It nodded immediately, fingers touching its belly and watching you with a look that clearly said ‘that’s what I was saying!’. “Okay, well, what do you eat?” It blinked as you stood from your washing, little feet tapping against the tiled floor as it followed you. “All I really have is broth, so it’s either broth or nothing.” It didn’t make any sound of disagreement or disappointment, so you took it as enough agreement and poured the still-warm broth (which you’d forgotten about until the stove beeped indignantly at you, still preoccupied with snapping a literal bone back into place) into a bowl. When it took the bowl you offered it, it blinked at it for a moment. Then it blinked up at you.

“What? It’s all I got, little guy so I—,” It cut you off as it set the bowl down, before lifting its arms up that very plainly was uppity arms that babies were known for doing. It left you to stand there for a moment, mouth falling open and eyebrows shooting upwards. “You’re a kid?”

It babbled impatiently, big eyes looking at its meal before back up at you again. “Okay, um...” Slowly, still not completely sure you trusted it, you picked it up and then its bowl of broth. “You need... Help?” It cooed in what you assumed was agreement.

That was how you found yourself sitting at your table, some kind of child creature sitting in your lap as you spoon-fed it broth and occasionally pausing to let it babble something or burp.

It was quite the character, you were learning.

And quite the conversationalist. If only you could understand a word it was saying.

Then you felt the atmosphere change... Shift. Where calm once sat, something you could only describe as charged replaced it. The child seemed to notice as well. Its head turned toward your bedroom, softly squealing and clapping its hands together. The Mandalorian was awake. There was a moment of silence as the dread pooled in your belly and a chill ran down your spine.

This was the moment you hadn’t really considered. Many people, especially a Mandalorian, wouldn’t like waking up in a strange place with their armor stripped and their damned helmet off.

Dank farrick, you just had to go and get yourself involved.

The seconds stretched as complete silence filled your home. Not even the child made another sound, though it was evident its feelings were a stark contrast from your own. Of course, it hadn’t dragged a Mandalorian into its home and practically stripped him bare.

There was a flash of silver at the doorway of your bedroom.

No good deed goes unpunished indeed.

#ok you do NOT understand how HARD it was not to refer to grogu as 'he' throughout this #i had to fix SO many mistakes #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #mandalorian #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #star wars #star wars imagine #grogu #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedor pascal x you

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allen-desu · 3 years

Text

Intrigue: A Canute and Thorfinn Character Study

Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with.

But then there was Thorfinn..

Very mild Thornute | Vulgar Language | Canon Compliant (Volume 3 specifically) | Spoiler Free

Brushing off my Tumblr to post this somewhere, best read on mobile.

Canute often found himself studying Thorfinn. In fact he was now, stealing glances of him while riding in a wagon through Wales. His nerves were getting the best of him and not wanting to think of signing a treaty without his father present, Canute instead tried to place Thorfinn to keep his mind occupied. The Prince found him to be a most intriguing character, and one that often eluded any solid characterization. It was egregiously annoying; for you see, growing up in the bloodbath of regal politics, Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with. Granted, Canute had Ragnar, and therefore he never had to put this skill to a real test for his vassal always fought on his behalf, keeping the young Prince’s best interests in mind. Nevertheless, his cautious observation skills were more often than not proven correct as the time revealed untrustworthy men to Canute.

But then there was Thorfinn. There are always exceptions to any and every rule, but even that logic still couldn’t stick Thorfinn under a neat label inside the Prince’s mind. The boy was not like the men he traveled with. Yes, he did the dirty killing, but he did it in a way that oozed indifference. Thorfinn killed swiftly and acted as if each man was a simple stepping stone to the fight being over, for the killing to be over. While the others he traveled with had a sick enjoyment for the act. Thorfinn did not socialize with the Askeladd’s band. He did not share in their spoils, including that of food and drink. Instead the blond hunted his own food, collected his own water. Only rarely did he ever get what he needed from what was plundered. Those rare instances were either when it was offered to him while marching, or on late and loud evenings, while the rest of Askeladd’s band made themselves merry, Thorfinn would slip some goods from tables abandoned for the night.

So, no, Canute would not label him as part of the band. This conclusion was frustrating, for if Thorfinn was not one of Askeladd’s men, why was he one of Askeladd’s most trusted pawns? Perhaps part of the answer was in the word “pawn” itself, but Askeladd was a cautious man as well. So much so that Canute knew it would bode well for him to try and keep tabs on what the man was thinking. So what was his reasoning to keep Thorfinn- who literally wanted him dead for some unknown reason to the Prince- under his thumb. The young blond was skilled and dangerous to have around. How did Askeladd tame-

Ah.. perhaps that was it.

Thorfinn was like something wild, pacing in its cage and waiting for its chance to do something about its keeper and free itself from its confines. Tamed to compliance, but would still happily bite the hand. Something akin to a wolf perhaps.

Canute looked up from his thoughts over to Thorfinn who was leaning on the opposite side of the wagon, his gaze far off and his eyes hard. Feeling that the Prince was looking at him Thorfinn shot daggers at Canute . Seeing the dirty teen do this with the image of a wolf in his mind nearly tempted Canute to chuckle and he swiftly hid his face from the other in case the temptation won him over. He could hear Thorfinn scoff and that was the end of the whole exchange. A lone wolf in an unfamiliar pack. The young Prince was satisfied with the description for the young warrior.

Canute was no longer satisfied. Thorfinn was his guard and, surprisingly, was taking the job seriously. He seemed not to care, was quick with sharp words at either Canute, Ragnar or Father Willibald. But on more than one occasion, the Prince would catch a small glimpse of Thorfinn nearby, seemingly disinterested, but close enough to come to aid or rescue. Any time he was not lurking and couldn’t be seen or found, a few hours or less after the fact, the shorter blond could be seen emerging from the tree line, a rabbit or more hanging over his shoulder.

In fact, this had just happened and Ragnar had convinced Thorfinn to add the rabbit to the meal he and the Prince were making.

“Highness!” Ragnar had announced upon entry. “We have beans, cabbage and a hare!” As he listed the items, Thorfinn had walked in behind him and closed the door to the cold. Canute was surprised to see him, tensed and annoyed, looking very out of place in the little home they had… procured.

“ A hare?” The Prince asked, ignoring how his own bout of tension was threatening to rise in his shoulders.

“Thorfinn caught it.” Obviously. “We’ll put it in the soup.”

“Well done.” As if Thorfinn needed or wanted praise for a deed he probably found to be child’s play. “Bleed it and skin it so we can wash the meat.” Truth be told, Canute wasn’t expecting for Thorfinn to just comply without some remark, and he surely wasn’t expecting Ragnar to take the rabbit from Thorfinn to do the task instead. It was jarring seeing his caretaker grab the rabbit from him, as if he had just seen Ragnar take a kill from a wild animal. At least that’s what flashed through his mind when the moment started. However, as it happened in real time, Thorfinn let his catch be taken and he was left to simply stand, awkward and unsure.

Canute, stirring the broth in progress mindlessly as he watched on, couldn’t help but consider Thorfinn for a long moment. This boy in front of him was no lone and wild wolf. The moment his gaze was felt, however, the creature came back and Thorfinn found a spot off to the side against the wall that he could sit at and brood.

Once the soup was done and the table was set, Canute and Ragnar somehow coaxed Thorfinn to join them at the table. The tension in the boy’s shoulders was palpable and Canute couldn’t help but take notice of it, trying to further categorize it. When Thorfinn actually acknowledged the meal in front of him, however, his demeanor changed. It was quick, merely a fraction of a second, but the Prince saw it- tried to burn the image into his brain to try and decipher later.

Ragnar’s compliments of the meal they prepared took Canute’s attention and he took this as an opportunity. Agreeing with Ragnar, “The rabbit made it work.” He looked to Thorfinn, “I’m tired of salted meat. You have my thanks.” There was no answer from the shorter blond, he just continued to look at their spread on the table and look lost. Almost as if he didn’t think it was real. The thought threatened to furrow the Prince’s brow. It made him realize yet again, Thorfinn was not amicable with the men he traveled with. When was the last time anyone showed this young man any kindness? When was the last time Thorfinn had the simple pleasure to share a meal with someone at all?

“What’s wrong?” Canute spoke, aiming to pull Thorfinn out of his stupor. “Eat up, you caught the rabbit.”

It seemed to do the trick, for Thorfinn picked up his bowl and spoon and tentatively took a bite. The look on his face, before it was hidden behind matted bangs, was one Canute would very much like to see again. Anger and/or indifference seemed to have a constant monopoly on Thorfinn’s features, but that one, quick moment of.. surprise? Or maybe he was just pleased with the taste of his meal. Either way, the emotion fit his face better, let the ridges between his brows smooth out for a second. Genuine, that was the word. Thorfinn seemed more genuine in that one instant than he did the entirety of the time that Canute had known him thus far.

“Pretty good isn’t it?” Ragnar mused, though the Prince couldn’t quite tell if he had also caught the glimpse of surprise from Thorfinn, or if he was just rearing up to dote and brag on Canute’s cooking talents. “Catch us a deer next, and we’ll really have a meal!”

“...” Not a real reply, but the young guard had acknowledged Ragnar. Thorfinn continued to eat, and almost absentmindedly, “I thought you noble types had everything cooked for you.” It wasn’t a question, a simple statement of thought, but Canute thought he would answer it anyways.

“I enjoy doing it.” The Prince began, “I don’t normally get the chance. Only Ragnar knows that I can cook.” A pause and Canute laid his spoon down in his bowl for a moment. “Do not tell anyone of this.” Thorfinns reply was instant and disinterested.

“Why not?” Followed by, “Who cares?”

Not sure what persuaded him to do so, but Canute began to tell Thorfinn of his father’s, the King, displeasure in the fact that he liked to cook- that it was a frivolous and useless skill to have. Though the shorter blond’s face was as neutral as ever, he did slow in his eating to listen, that alone made Canute feel as he wasn’t wasting his breath, that it was worth having someone other than Ragnar know of how intensely inadequate his father found him to be. Ragnar seemed to be confused at his tellings though. He was obviously not expecting his Highness to share. Giving his Highness an odd look he decided to try and lighten the Prince’s mood, though Canute wasn’t in need of it.

The two of them held their own conversation from there on out, speaking about different dishes Canute could prepare, or what Ragnar could teach him about new dishes he had yet to prepare. The mood in their little borrowed house was light. It was familial in its own way. The young Prince would glance over to Thorfinn every once in a while and was pleased to see that the ever present knot of tension in his shoulders was slowly becoming unraveled. The guard ate and listened.

Something in Thorfinn snapped and Canute shuddered because of it.

What happened in the next instant was too fast for Canute to follow in real time. Thorfinn had gotten up, more like sprung up, and was immediately at the door one of his signature knives pointed at someone’s throat. Had the man had worse reflexes, he would have impaled himself on Thorfinn’s steel. Ragnar was next in the initiative, questioning both Thorfinn and the man on what was going on.

“Agh- I’m on your side Thorfinn!” So it was one of Askeladd’s men. “I’m just bringing a message…” Despite this, it still took a long moment for Thorfinn to remove his knife from the man’s throat. Ragnar took the lead from there and was questioning the newcomer on Canute’s behalf, but Canute himself was still trained on his short bodyguard.

Thorfinn was still tense, still alert and ready to strike, but his initial instinct was slowly recoiling back into its original state. It was interesting to watch the slow movement of his shoulders and back muscles through threadbare clothing. However, Canute’s gaze was felt and Thorfinn shot him a look that could kill. Oddly enough the look from the dirtied blond softened a little, as if he was reminded that Canute was still there and his presence wasn’t something he should be afraid of. The thought struck the Prince as oddly satisfying. He wasn’t able to really dive further into that train of thought, however, for the man brought news of the English advancing on the hideout they had procured. Canute’s shock couldn’t beat out Ragnar’s rage. Heated words about Askeladd and his poor decisions were spoken, and then, just as suddenly as they had come, the man was gone, Ragnar following after him.

The little house was now too still and too quiet until it was broken by Thorfinn huffing through his nose.

“Can’t even manage to close the damn door on their way out.” He muttered, moving to do just that so the winter’s day wouldn’t try and suck any more of the hard earned heat out of the house. With the door closed Thorfinn relocated to his new post beside the door, leaning against the wall. The Prince watched him do this and suddenly Thorfinn was glaring at him again. “Have I fucking done something?” The shorter teen hissed.

“What?” Such an elegant reply, good job Canute. Not that Thorfinn gave two shits about that kind of thing.

“You’ve been staring. Like a lot.” Thorfinn turned to fully face Canute, leaning only one shoulder on the wall. “Still mad, Princess?” A smirk. Of course that’s what he would call him, but Canute realized he was talking about their squabble in the wagons the other day. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who your father is or who’s womb you crawled out of.”

“Still have the vulgar audacity to speak to me like that, but no.” Thorfinn raised a brow at him. “It was more of a shock than anything else. I don’t particularly mind that you speak so blatantly.” No matter how sharp the words, unfortunately. It seemed that the shorter blond did not have a reply for that and instead just refocused his attention to the fire instead. Canute also took this moment to recollect his thoughts. He knew Ragnar was angry, he warned Askeladd about the very problem at hand. Askeladd had paid him no mind at all. Still, the Prince was worried. Ragnar had left in the heat of the moment to a battlefield only to argue with the man leading the defensive charge. Not to mention, his soup would be cold by the time he came back. What a waste.

Perhaps the moments before Ragnar’s return wouldn’t entirely be a waste, though. Not if Canute played his cards right. He wanted to understand Thorfinn. Never before had he met someone that has proven themselves to be so complicated, especially since at first Canute thought him to be a simple brute among other simple brutes. Why was Thorfinn here, why was he in, but yet not considered, part of Askeladd’s band? What happened to him? The short blond hates the man, yet follows him around the country and overseas. He even follows some insane orders with the promise of some kind of reward.

Thorfinn let out an aggravated noise and was suddenly leaning over Canute, hands flat on the table with a bang.

“You’re doing it again. Quit.” The shorter teen growled. Canute blinked owlishly at him. What? Oh, had he been staring again? Nevertheless he continued to study Thorfinn, which was quickly making his guard’s blood boil. Then Canute stood forcing the other teen to stand back a bit and look up at him. He knew that Thorfinn was shorter than him, but it was still amusing to actually see it. Thorfinn carried himself to be larger, more intimidating. Said young guard was now glaring up at Canute through his dirtied bangs. “What?” He hissed.

“You confuse me, Thorfinn.” The Prince replied. Thorfinn also had a fair amount of confusion mixed in with his usual anger, and that fact pleased Canute a bit- at least the feeling was mutual. “I’ve just been trying to figure you out.”

“Well stop.”

“No, I shan’t” Canute replied swiftly. Thorfinn was prone to argue, but nothing came out. The Prince could take a guess as to what he was thinking. That the person in front of him was the same as the shy and bumbling Prince that was showcased and dragged around all of England these past few weeks? Yes and no. There was nothing political in this task, Canute had nothing to fear if he took a misstep. No repercussions. This was a purely selfish motive in which he had no problems pursuing as long as it was kept private. “Also it’s not that I can not, it’s that I will not”

“You…” Thorfinn struggled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“To you, perhaps not.” This reply really made Thorfinn angry, Canute could see it in the way his whole body tensed, gearing up to fight. Part of him wanted to see if his guard would actually hit him. However, before either of them could think through what they wanted to do next, for some odd reason, Canute had moved and held Thorfinn’s face in his hands. Both teens were now wide eyed and tense. Why did he do that? When did he do that? Just now? A moment ago?

Canute was the first to settle down from the shock of his own actions, and instead of pulling away like he thought he would, the Prince settled into the position. He let his hands feel the warmth of Thorfinn’s jaw and slid down to where his thumbs were still on the other blond’s face, but the rest of his fingers curled delicately around his neck. He knew his hands must have been cold, he was prone to be, but the proof lies in the fact that Thorfinn’s skin puckered into bumps right before he shuddered just slightly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Thorfinn asked, his voice surprisingly tame. He was definitely still angry and on edge, but thus far it seemed as if Canute was not in danger of being bitten by the wolf that accompanied Thorfinn’s anger.

“Indulging, just let me for a moment.” Canute replied softly, as if trying not to spook Thorfinn away.

“...the hell does that even mean?” The guard muttered in reply. Canute laughed lightly, amused.

“Don’t think on it too hard,Thorfinn.” No reply to that, but the dirtied teen in his hands didn’t pull away either. Good, that was good.

Now that Canute had somehow managed to get them into this situation, he took as much time as he damn well pleased to study the other boy. Not that he was naive enough to believe that staring at Thorfinn would somehow unlock his secrets, but he did think it would help. Thorfinn was a recluse. No one ever got too close to him and he would never let them, so the fact that Canute was quite literally in his personal space seemed like a major victory.

Thorfinn had hard light brown eyes, but if the fire flickered right they were more like unearthed amber or sweet honey. They were nothing like the Prince’s own eyes, a sky blue. The sky may be vast, but Thorfinn’s eyes were deep. What was that saying? The eyes were a window into the soul? Canute could readily believe that looking into Thorfinn’s.

Next Canute took note that, under all the dirt, Thorfinn was tired. He had coloration and lines on his skin that a boy of their age shouldn’t have. Did he ever sleep through the night? His guard was always up late and always up early, always seen at odd hours thinking about something far away... or a time long gone, perhaps? Beyond what dirt and sleepless bruising lay on his skin, was what lacked beneath it. Thorfinn was a genuine threat on the battlefield, how could someone so strong have such gaunt in his cheeks? He knew Thorfinn fended for himself, but from what he has seen, he does a rather good job at it. Granted, he doesn’t eat square meals. Canute thinks that just earlier was the first time he’s seen Thorfinn eat anything green, or not meat related. Still, a soldier's diet of salted meat and wine wouldn’t result in malnutrition. Was malnutrition why he was short? Just… Just how long had Thorfinn been taking care of himself? The men didn’t bat an eye at Thorfinn’s presence. In fact, while marching and the men told old stories, Thorfinn was in a good many of them. Years? Had it been years since Thorfinn had a meal like the one he had today?

“I don’t need your fucking pity.” Thorfinn’s voice startled the Prince. Was he making a face of some kind?

“I didn’t mean..”

“Save your breath, I don’t care.”

Canute thought it was best to not reply, so instead he wiped some dirt off of Thorfinn’s face with one of his thumbs. With a fresh bath, a sturdy brush, and some new clothes, Thorfinn could be considered handsome.

He wondered what Thorfinn was thinking. Was he actually trying to decipher Canute in turn or was he just waiting for the Prince to be done? Canute also wondered, truly, when was the last time Thorfinn was shown kindness? Affection? Perhaps he wasn’t a lone wolf at all, but something lost instead. When one finds themselves abandoned in one way or another, in an unfamiliar place, one must adapt. Did Thorfinn just adapt to killing? Fights because he has to? It was frustrating going through all these thoughts himself, but Canute knew for a fact that Thorfinn would not simply answer any questions that he asked.

Perhaps… Perhaps Canute could be the one to show him kindness? Maybe he could properly tame the wolf that was Thorfinn’s anger, and find the lost person it was protecting. Thorfinn was so hard to get close to though, even today he had been reluctant to simply share his rabbit and then a meal. So what could the Prince do? He thought of this and that, feeling Thorfinn’s pulse through the fingers on his neck. Absentmindedly he rubbed his thumbs in time with it, studying him. Again Thorfinn couldn’t suppress a shiver and again Canute was moving without thinking at all.

He had pressed their lips together. Why? Not even God above would know. Thorfinn’s lips were chapped, still and shocked against the Prince’s own, but he was warm. Unfairly warm and it seeped into Canute. He could stay this way for a long while if he was completely honest with himself, but one kiss was enough. A gesture of both kindness and affection that Thorfinn could seek out from him if he chose to do so if he ever needed to feel wanted. So Canute pulled away, but instead of the awkward moment he was expecting, strong hands pulled him back in at the hips. Thorfinn had leaned back up and continued the kiss.

The taller blond was not expecting this, but then again he was also not expecting to have kissed Thorfinn in the first place either. His pale hands slipped from Thorfinn’s face and neck and instead slid so Canute could rest his arms on his guard’s shoulders. The hands on his hips were most likely bruising him with how tight they held him, but that was part of what he liked about this moment. Thorfinn was holding him and kissing him like this was something he desperately needed. Canute returned its ferocity and leaned in, making Thorfinn crane his neck at an odd angle, and then ran his tongue over the shorter’s lips. Again this was something neither of them were expecting, not experienced enough to really know what they were doing at all to be honest.

However, surprisingly enough, Thorfinn had again let it happen, letting Canute test the waters. So he did. Canute pushed his tongue into the other blond’s mouth. He felt Thorfinn’s tongue with his own, the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth. It was oddly exhilarating, even more so when Thorfinn mimicked Canute and did the same to him.

As Thorfinn kissed him Canute moved them, pivoting them so Thorfinn was between him and the table. The shorter blond grunted when it happened and turned his head out of the kiss to look at their new position, to which the taller blond took as a chance to place kisses to Thorfinn’s jaw and neck.

“Don’t think that I’m just going to bend over like some paid whore.” Thorfinn muttered, his voice was a little deeper, thicker, Canute couldn’t help but like it, but also couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from him.

“I wasn’t really planning on it.” He mused, resting his head in the crook of Thorfinn’s neck. Canute watched as Thorfinn reached for his low ponytail and played with the strands tentatively. It almost seemed as if he had been wanting to do so for a while but never had gotten the chance to do so until now. Canute kept that nice little thought in mind as he placed more kisses up Thorfinn’s neck, trailing back up to his mouth.

The two of them kissed some more, each exploring at their own paces. Canute also let his hands wander; Thorfinn was all muscle and bone and very thin. The prince knew that one day, if Thorfinn’s disinterest in his own health didn’t kill him first, that he would be properly strong, with healthy muscle, and a fuller face. At least that’s what he hoped for. Thorfinn did not explore the way Canute did, but his grip remained tight and would squeeze him whenever Canute did something he liked. At some point their hands inched a little higher.

The heat between them slowly, so very slowly, faded and they were back where they started, Canute cupping his face. After a few moments that stopped too.

“Did this ever happen?” Thorfinn asked, voice quiet. Canute blinked at him, it wouldn’t bode well for him if Thorfinn ever told anyone of their little venture, but he was honestly surprised that the other cared at all. But more than that, Canute was surprised to see that the anger that was seemingly permanent on Thorfinn’s features was gone. In its place was something the Prince could not identify, but he would burn the image in his brain. Hard eyes were gone, in its place was only honey and a fair amount of color in his cheeks.

Canute decided he would be the one to give Thorfinn the kindness he deserved. Even if it was just in small doses, seemingly meaningless gestures.

“No.” He replied, leaning down to press a kiss to Thorfinn’s cheek. “But it could happen again if you want.”

The shorter blond huffed and made a gesture for Canute to move. He did and Thorfinn moved towards the door. Canute had expected him to leave, but instead he had taken his previous makeshift post at the door. “Whatever, your Highness”

The Prince took his place back at the table, smiling to himself. That response certainly wasn’t a no. He had more thinking to do.

#vinland saga #thorfinn #canute #prince canute #thornute #character study #vinland saga fanfiction #anime #manga

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ggukkiedae · 3 years

Text

❝𝕀𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕠𝕡❞

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜:

⇢ Episodes 5-6

𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜:

⇢ conversations written in italics are spoken in english. requests and feedback are highly appreciated!

⇢ script form (name: lines) are the interviews

Episode 5

she was in the back oh hoseok and taehyung’s car with a book open on her lap

“makdung-ah, have a sandwich”

hoseok handed her a sandwich which she blindly reached for and nearly knocked over, making hoseok shout and taehyung shocked

“got it! i got it! sorry, i’m a mess”

she was laughing and settled back in her chair, sandwich in hand and focus on her books

she saw seokjin in his sunglasses and choked a little “hobi oppa, where’s the water?”

they were talking about taehyung’s mixtape at some point

“oppa’s music is really nice, though. the stuff you let me hear is really good, i love listening to them” “thanks, aegi”

“look at you guys and your mixtapes. am i the only one who’s going to promote solo as an idol?”

hoseok and taehyung just laughed at her “we’re your biggest fans”

“we’re heeeeeere! my trampoline!”

hoseok opened her door for her and helped her out. she took her small carriers, still two because one held all her equipment while the other held her clothes and some skincare and makeup

“is it necessary to bring work here?” jungkook asked her

“i mean, you never know when ideas will pop up, right?”

a few minutes later, you can see her running up to the cars again “my guitar’s still in the car!”

miya: honestly, i was just excited to be able to relax again. i don’t think i ever slept that much anywhere else. the oppas say it’s good for me *laughs*

the first thing she did when she got in her room was to pull her blanket from the carrier with her equipment and take her plushies out of her backpack

she put them down inside the mosquito net “alright toph, koda, time for you guys to rest from the long drive”

she ran over to the upper house “yoongi oppa! can i help with the food!” “that would be much appreciated, princess”

she’s chopping up vegetables quickly, drawing hoseok’s attention

“sometimes, i forget you’re a good cook because of how clumsy you are. hyung, you know she nearly dropped her sandwich in the car earlier?” “oppaaaa, don’t tell them thaaaat”

she was grilling some marinated pork chops in the kitchen while the older members were outside. hoseok stopped by, and she cut him a little piece for tasting

“perfect as always, makdungie”

jungkook punching the broth behind her distracted her the slightest bit by making her laugh “oppa, you’re hyperactive today”

she brought the huge dish of marinated pork out to the table and yoongi had her taste the dakgalbi

“ooooh it’s smokey, i love it!”

she made sure to get the bowl with what looked like the least amount of noodles which yoongi noticed and made up for it by giving her a lot meat

meanwhile seokjin looked at her “i still can’t believe you won’t tell us how you make the marinade for your pork” “that’s a secret between me and yoonsungie oppa”

she ran off after eating saying she had to brush her teeth

right after she did, she ended up sitting by the deck with her guitar playing random melodies and writing them down

seokjin surprised her by arriving and going straight into the canoe

“oppa?” “i hit a ball into the lake by accident” “well, looks like a home run”

she laughed when his canoe hit the deck before setting her guitar down and helping him out of it

“oh god, i’m sleepy”

she headed up to the main house with seokjin where jungkook was half asleep

she settled next to him and somehow they made themselves fit into the small bench. they just passed out despite the other members being quite loud

hoseok and seokjin were trying to wake the two maknaes up. seokjin picked her up from jungkook’s grasp and she just ended up wrapping her limbs around him and burying her face in his neck and going back to sleep

“oppa,” she mumbled while seokjin was hitting jungkook with the foam roller, “this game is so violent. and loud. and making you move a lot”

“aigoo, you two won’t be sleeping in the boat house later at this rate”

next you see of her, she’s in the kitchen whisking eggs and talking to herself

“this whole process can’t be aired to protect my fried chicken recipe,” she looked at the nearest camera “please keep it a secret, editor-nims”

while jungkook is filleting the fish, they overlay the sound of her frying the chicken

“simple fried chicken when done well is worth a lot”

seokjin walked in, yoongi close after

“oppas, i’m making chicken! what else are we having for dinner?”

seokjin patted her head “you did well, princess. what about doenjang jjigae?” “oh, sounds good!”

yoongi helped her bring the plates of fried chicken out to the table which she began to set for them

jungkook hopped out to have her taste some of the sushi making her grin

then he threw her over his shoulder

“stop hovering over the chicken and come inside to help taste stuff!” “but the bugs!”

she ended up inside tasting yoongi’s jjigae

she stayed off to the side mixing a bunch of sauces together for the chicken if the others wanted to flavor it

jungkook came and playfully put some of the honey soy sauce on the sushi and tried it

“wah, hold on, that’s actually good” “oppa, save the sauce for the chicken!” “there’s also garlic parmesan and teriyaki!”

miya: it felt nice to have a lot of us in the kitchen. there were so many things going on both creative wise and, well, cooking wise. i usually cook alone at the dorms or with one other person, but being with a lot of people gives it a more chaotic but homey feel. it’s… it’s a very warm feeling”

there were compliments passed around for the chicken, sushi, and soup and she just had the biggest grin on her face while eating

seokjin placed a small plate in front of her “these pieces don’t have wasabi, so you can eat it”

“let’s have yoonmi’s marinated fried chicken tomorrow!” “oh, good. i already marinated them in the fridge for tomorrow, anyway”

yoongi pulled the soju bottle away from her “that means no drinking tonight, princess. we want you awake in time to cook lunch”

she headed for the boat house after dinner

Episode 6

jimin popped into her room while she was settling herself in bed. he crawled into her mosquito net with her and began tucking her in

“i haven’t done this in a while”

miya: jiminnie oppa had a habit of tucking me in before sleeping back when i was younger. we got older, though, and i started staying in the studio later, so he never got to do it much anymore. it was pretty nostalgic, and i felt like i was fourteen or fifteen again

“i though jinnie oppa wanted to play baseball with you” “i told him i’d come back after checking in on you”

he settled her plushies on either side of her head which made her giggle

“you’re growing up way too fast, aegi. i can’t believe you’re an adult now” “i guess so”

he kissed her forehead “you’re still our makdungie, though. sleep well, alright?”

she smiled at him “good night, oppa”

jimin: i think i didn’t enjoy yoonmi’s childhood enough. one minute, she’s a little kid who barely reached my chest. the next, she’s twenty years old, a successful actress and soloist alongside being in bangtan, and she has a boyfriend, too. i know she’s still my baby, but i feel like time flew by way too fast

the next day, she walked into the upper house kitchen to find seokjin and yoongi cooking. she was still rubbing her eyes, and her hair was a mess

“aigoo, our princess is still sleepy”

she walked right into seokjin’s arms and closed her eyes while he slightly rubbed her back

“should i cook the marinated fried chicken?”

yoongi patted her head “we have a lot of dakgalbi, it’s okay”

she settled on the table facing yoongi while he grilled, chin in her hands as she tried to stay awake on the table

yoongi woke her up and placed a fork in her hand knowing she’s too sleepy to properly use chopsticks

she ate in silence, eyes half-closed

jimin chuckled at her “sleep well last night, aegi” “mhmm yes, oppa”

when they finished lunch, she headed straight for the common area in the main house with her book

she sat reading in between jungkook and namjoon while they painted

“oppas, how’s the weather gonna be today?” “really nice, apparently”

she closed her book for a while before getting up. she silently made her way over to the boat house where she started doing her hair and makeup.

“i’ve got to do a self-photoshoot before i let the nice weather go to waste”

a few minutes later, she’s out on the deck with her phone on a tripod on video mode. she sets it up and presses record before posing by the fence

“god, i hope this comes out pretty”

she moves around a little before checking her phone

“ooooh these are kinda good. okay let me put on a dress and take pictures by the flowers”

jungkook glances at the view again a few minutes later and lets out a laugh when he sees yoonmi in a dress all done up and posing in front of her phone

“i didn’t think she’d actually do the self-photoshoot”

nearly twenty minutes later, she’s back in her loungewear in between namjoon and jungkook taking screenshots of herself from her mini self-photoshoot

she looked up and just watched jungkook paint

“it’s amazing how you can just do that” “i’ll teach you if you want to try” “maybe tomorrow”

she headed inside the common room and continued reading in there

when the sun started to set, she headed over to her room to put her book down

she washed off her makeup and headed up to the upper house

#yoonmi.inthesoop #bts 8th member #bts female member #bts female addition #miya #yoonmi #kim yoonmi

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skellebonez · 3 years

Note

AKLJFAHKLFAS, I LOVE THE WAY YOU WROTE SU! If you don't mind me making another request with Tang and Su, how about 34 and 51 with more freenoodleshipping?

HEY-O I heard it was your birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I know you’ve been waiting a long while for this prompt (too long, I have so many...) so I yanked it out of the list and went all out in writing it for you today! I really hope you like it, I tried to work with Su’s new bee form and I have come to the conclusion that bumblebees are the cutest little balls of fuzz with wings.

Truth be told, I forgot they were even here/Can you two save the kissing for later?

"Tang, you're later than usu-whoa," Pigsy startled as the scholar entered Pigsy's Noodles for is usual lunch, deep dark circles under his eyes and hair so messy Pigsy couldn't tell what style it was supposed to be in. "Uh... you ok?"

"Hrmg," was the response he recieved as the man took his usual spot at the bar, barely removing his glasses before face planting into the hard wood with a thunk. The motion made the large bee hanging onto his back jolt, wings buzzing as they craweled further up to his shoulder muttering something softly that Pigsy couldn't exacty hear.

"I think I'll take that as a no," the chef sighed, watching as Su tried to get any kind of response from the clearly exhausted man and was only rewarded with a heavy sigh. "Hold tight."

If it had been any other time in his life Pisgy would be incredibly horrified about a large cat sized bumblebee with pink eyes crawling over his significant other, but at this point in time he was... somewhat used to it. Kind of.. Sure, he was still not entirely used to the whole symbiosis thing and he still startled every so often when they popped up from Tang's back and when Tang suddenly looked at him with entirely pink eyes. But it didn't really scare him like it used to (he would never admit that it used to scare him and that his first time seeing Su one of the first thoughts that he had was that he didn't know whether or not Tang was allergic to bees and instant panic... he still wasn't sure if Tang was allergic to non-demon bees, but he thought that one of them would tell him if he was at this point), and now when he knew Su was around he just reacted as if seeing them were no different than seeing Xiaotian or Xiaojiao. And it kind of was, he supposed.

He hoped that Su was picking up on that, given how adamantly opposed he was not all that long ago. He remembered he was... well, he remembered and was trying not to repeat it.

With the two sitting at the bar he could easily watch them as he prepared a bowl of fresh noodles for Tang, making sure to sneak in a few extra pieces of his favorite ingredients. It was clear the man was exhausted, but even so he did not ignore Su when they started to nuzzle against his face. He watched as Tang lifted a hand without turning his head and gently pat Su's head, rubbing a finger in the soft fuzz between their wings and chuckling softly as Su emmited a tiny purr in response (and if the size didn't give away that Su wasn't just a bee that demon purr certainly did). It really made them seem more like a weird cat than anything else.

Pigsy couldn't help but smile, putting the fresh bowl down to let it cool as he moved to prepare some coffee. It wasn't anything special, he was too impatient to wait for anything more than instant when he absolutely needed caffeine and he always prefered tea anyway, but it looked like Tang needed a bigger energy boost to at least get himself home and he wasn't picky as long as the coffee had enough cream in it himself.

In time he heard a groan and the shuffle of Tang sitting up, buzzing of bee wings signaling that Su had moved to sit on their usual shoulder perch. That was as good an indication as any that Pigsy needed before bringing the still warm soup and just hot enough to be gulped coffee and place them on the counter in front of Tang.

"Coffee first, talk after," Pigsy said as Tang opened his mouth to say something, not missing the soft smile he shot his way before sipping the drink as Pigsy turned to grab something else.

"Oh caffeine how I appreciate you," Tang mumbed out as he took another gulp of the coffee, seeming to care less about the taste than anything else. "Almost as much as Pigsy and Su."

"Oh, it's second place only to the two of us, huh?" Pigsy chuckled as he turned back around with a small saucer of... something that he placed on the counter, clear liquid with yellow something floating around in it.

"Ooooh, oh, what is that?" Su asked, wings buzzing in curiosity. "It smells good!"

"It better smell good, it's for you," Pigsy said with a shrug, taking in the surprised expression on Tang's face and the way Su's head turned in curiosity. "It's uh... sugar water. With some pollen from the flowers outside. Supposed to be like... a treat for bees I guess? Wasn't entirely sure if the pollen was necessary but... uh, it's not something you should have all the time, kinda like coffee." He added the last bit with a smirk toward Tang who let out a laugh.

Su buzzed excitedly, slowly crawling off Tang and making their way to the saucer between the two men to give it a tentative taste before eagerly helping themselves to the treat. Again, Pigsy couldn't help but make the comparison to a cat in his mind.

"So," he said casually, leaning against the counter as Tang moved on from his coffee to take a bite of noodles. "Rough day?"

"Aaaaaaaaaagh yes," Tang groaned, putting his bowl down in an attempt to fix his hair. "I uh..."

"You didn't actualy go to bed last night did you?" Pigsy accused with no anger in is voice.

"I did! For... an hour..." Tang admitted, hiding his face behind his bowl to sip the broth. "I had work to finish and I was already behind and just... snuck out of bed to finish it and before I knew it you had gotten up?"

"I thought you got up to get a head start," Pigsy sighed, reaching out to fix a lock of hair that Tang had missed. "It can't be good to pull all nighters like that."

"It's not," Tang admitted with a scowl. "I feel like death. Apparently I also look like death because I was actually ordered to go home since I had managed to finish everything I needed to and what I was started on was beginning to sound like... gibberish."

"Yikes, that's bad," Pigsy frowned, remembering how Tang had asked him to proofread his work in the past and you could actually tell where he was starting to get tired as his sentences went from scholarly to 'was this person drunk when they wrote this' very obviously. "Can you make it home ok?"

"As long as Su keeps talking to me I'll be just fine," Tang chuckled, taking another thankful gulp of warm broth with a smile. "And maybe with a little... extra incentive to leave?" He raised a brow, smirking and pushing his bowl to the side as he leaned forward.

"I could just make you pay for those noodles," Pigsy teased, leaning forward himself. "But I think you have something else in mind."

He smiled as they both leaned forward, his snout making contact with Tang's nose before they tilted their heads and moved closer to-

"Hey!" Su yelped shakily from between them where they had tried to flatten themselves into the counter, startling them into pulling back and looking down at the cat sized bee. "Can you two save the kissing for later? Like. For 5 seconds from now. When Su won't be squished." Tang burst into laughter, covering his face with one hand and taking in stuttered breathes as he tried to stop himself. He carefully pushed the saucer of sugar water toward Su as they backed away from them, letting out a happy buzz when they deemed themselves at a non-squishing distance. "Ok, you may kiss now!"

This only served to make Tang laugh harder, laying his head down on his arms as his laughter devolved into just shaky and jumpy intakes of breathe. Oh, yeah. He was super tired if this made him laugh that hard.

"Truth be told, I forgot they were even here," Pigsy muttered, feeling his face heat up in embarassment.

But he couldn't feel upset with himself, not when Tang sat up and breathed heavily in less intense laughter and giggles, cheeks flushed and hair messed up again. Pigsy couldn't resist, he dragged a stool that was hidden behind the counter over with his foot and climbed onto it, leaning over the conter to grab Tang's scarf with one hand and gently drag him forward, giving him a few seconds to realize what he was doing and nod before smirking and pulling him into that kiss. His snout scrunched against Tang's nose and Tang broke the kiss with a giggle before bringing his hands up to cup Pigsy's face and tilt his head so they fit together better, lips finally touching the way they were supposed to and Pigsy rested his hand on Tang's shoulder.

He chose to ignore the other giggles and buzzing coming from the other side of the counter as he pulled away, smiling at Tang. "You get more if you go straight home and get some sleep."

"That is just the incentive I needed."

#i want a cat bee now #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #pigsy #tang #freenoodleshipping #oc: su #tang and su au #gift fic #ship fic

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

Reluctant hurt/comfort? Why yes!

Both Tim and Jon have a bad time after the Buried.

cw fever, illness, vomit mention, suicidal ideation, grief. Also as a note, the night I wrote this was a hard one, and the day after was worse and this might reflect that. I don't think this is one I can go back through and comb for more cws, so hopefully that is warning enough. Stay safe, and enjoy something that was very cathartic to write.

The day after the Buried, it doesn’t even occur to Tim that he should be hungry. He hasn’t needed to eat in so long that he simply forgets. Just downs glass after glass of water in the break room after a shower that lasts far longer than the meager supply of hot water. He can’t be fucked that Daisy and Jon still need to wash the muck off. At least Daisy has somewhere to go, Basira is hovering around, ready to ferry her out of this hell archive.

Of course, it’s his own fault that he doesn’t have a flat.

He supposes he owes Jon. Or something.

He doesn’t care.

He’s still angry. And tired and filthy and depressed. The only thing the buried did was keep him from dying. Hell of a suicide watch to be on.

Sometimes when he closed his eyes down there, he could believe it was Jon or Martin lying on him. Keeping his fingers from itching to do harm… Well, almost, anyhow.

After that, he sleeps. And sleeps.

And, well, after that. He feels like shit.

Complete shit.

When he was a teen with soup for brains, Danny got sick. A bad flu, but he couldn’t keep anything down for three days. Three days of foisting broths and lucozade on his brother with little success. Should have been taken to hospital, by all rights, but their mother didn’t really believe in the whole modern medicine thing, and well. Dad was away, so Tim couldn’t even get Danny to an adult who could help, even if he didn’t give a damn. It had been awful.

He really thought his little brother was dying. Cracked and dry lips, fever so high that he wasn’t coherent. Three days he sat vigil. Praying to a god he barely believed in.

A fever that scooped out his brother until he was praying for a breathing corpse. Giving oblations of thin liquid.

On the third day, his eyes opened and he stroked Tim’s hand, as Tim shook with exhaustion by his bedside. He had to be propped up to sip at his broth, but it was far better than trickling it down his unconscious baby brother’s throat.

Pure helplessness. Both in empathy for his brother, who was probably having a worse time than Tim, and because he was next to useless.

Three days and Tim can’t keep down food. Gave up trying. Just shivers on the cot, gazing nearly sightlessly at the ceiling, muscles too wasted to move. He doesn’t know if anyone notices that he’s gone. He hasn’t heard any word from Martin. Basira and Daisy fucked off days ago, as far as Tim can reckon. Then again, he doesn’t have so much as a working phone. He doesn’t even know if it’s been three days or thirty.

His skin feels hot and tight. Like the Buried is taking a new approach to suffocating him. A dreadful thirst clawing at him, but he doesn’t have the strength to stand and get water anymore. Barely could limp his way there before the lack of food and probable fever stole what little he had left.

Is this just some divine punishment for prodding too hard at the forces of evil in the universe?

He’d finally come to terms with the abstract and incidental nature of these things, but he can’t help the hazy imagining that he deserves this.

Failed to keep his brother safe, for all his bedside bargaining and promises made to the wind on long walks after his brother disappeared. All the broken promises betwixt his savior and himself. Bitter words corroding promises that could have been harder than diamond.

It was his fault. Couldn’t hold up his end, and he deserves this dreadful heat and the foul desert of his mouth. His body generating his own funeral pyre.

He wishes he could bring himself to care. But all he’s known since Jon betrayed him has been anger and dissent disinterest.

There is an ache at his very core.

He lies there, on the cot. Tangled in the sheets. Bone dry. Dry as parched soil. For he has no moisture to spare for sweat. His own body out of anything that could bring his temperature down.

Finding Tim isn’t easy. Jon’s body betrays him after the Buried. Months of uneasy sleep, and days of pressure on all the wrong parts of him leave him poorly put together and his joints slipping apart at the slightest provocation. He spends days on the floor of his office, in too much pain to move, too dizzy to stand, and running a fever from the pain in his squashed and shitty joints.

His own fault, but a small price to pay for Tim and Daisy.

He would have stayed there if it meant getting them back.

One less monster.

Of course the Eye doesn’t let him die. Aren’t humans supposed to die if they don’t drink water for three days?

He spends most of his time passing out when he tries to stand.

And he can’t bring himself to care. He’s so tired. Too tired.

He didn’t expect anyone to come after him. Certainly not Tim. Not after everything.

Well maybe he hoped.

(He did).

(Damn his… well it isn’t optimism. Damn his longing for someone to give a shit if he vanishes for days. He should know by now that no one is coming. No one ever does.)

Groggy and foggy and battered.

He’s tired. He needs a proper mattress for just one night, but he can’t even get off the floor. Just lays in the remnants of mud, waiting to whither like the corpse he is, one just hasn’t stopped breathing yet (again).

But something draws him upright, more or less. Clinging to the walls, bracing his stilted journey on aching limbs.

It’s probably the Eye. Probably the Eye, or maybe Jon’s piercing curiosity, control slackened by fever, peering though a hairline fracture in the door of his mind.

He all but crawls to the cot, securing a half empty water bottle from somewhere he probably should be worried about, but he arrives to find Tim burning away before him as his own vision swims dangerously.

A face in front of his. Features obscure and unreadable. He can read the worry in those eyes. Even in the half light.

Tim couldn’t hear Jon in the Buried. His hearing aids long since ran out of life. All for the best, for the singing of the coffin in the rain will haunt his dreams (not only in a spooky way) for the rest of his life.

Only knew it was Jon by Jon guiding his (Tim’s) hand with too thin and gentle and burned fingers to his (Jon’s) mouth. So Tim could read his lips by feel. An imprecise thing, but better than nothing.

Filthy fingers against dry and dusty lips. Almost like a kiss. Perhaps more intimate.

The face hovers closer. Thin and careful fingers soothing his brow.

Pressing water to his lips. Mouthing words that are lost to Tim. And even if they reached him, he knows he wouldn’t understand them.

Is this Danny before him? Would he know his own brother? After all these years? After the Stranger chewed him up and regurgitated …whatever. Is he lost as much as Sasha had been? Like she’d been?

And what good would knowing that do? He would rather keep the memories he has, doesn’t want to know the creeping uncertainties that plague him when he closes his eyes.

He supposes that the advantage of the Buried is that it keeps the mind off things that aren’t the slow process of returning stone to stone in a way that obliterates everything in between. Everything but fear.

Not Danny, but Jon, Tim discovers. Pulled awake by uneasy stomach, and panicked breath, to find Jon fluttering out of consciousness by his side.

He wants to be put out that they are flush with each other, but …but they were closer still in the choking darkness with air thick with the soil that Tim swears he can feel coating his internal organs.

He’s drifting off again when he hears Jon gasp awake, looking nearly as unwell as Tim feels.

The small figure curled at his back is not his brother. But he feels as warm and as fragile as Danny did when he sat his vigil. Counting the seconds between breaths. His heart stuttering when they lagged and caught in his raw throat in the muted hours between sunset and sunrise. The hours that Tim feared if he stopped willing the next breath to happen, they wouldn’t.

But Jon is hardly human. His pulse is jittery and uneven. Each breath just a little more strained than they should be. Likely matching Tim’s own.

Some distant part of him… the distant part that can feel Jon’s pulse when the rest of him is floating away, untethered to a body too light and empty without topsoil and rich loam to brace him into and against the earth… worries that his own furnace of a temperature is too high and will roast Jon.

Another equally distant part of him is annoyed that Jon dares to share this pyre of internal heat with him. …If this is how he goes out, he wishes he saw the stars when he still had any strength.

Tim wakes again to cool water against his tongue.

Jon is mumbling to himself fervently. And Tim can recognize that look. That fear. That determination. The will of someone breathing for someone else. Holding their life-force steady in the mind. Knowing to let it faulter is a death sentence. With wild certainty that is bounded in something beyond reason, for when you are willing another person to breathe, you are often beyond the reach of science.

And Tim wonders who Jon could possibly be breathing for, because there is no universe in the extensive multiverse that Jon would ever will the life into someone who has spewed such hateful things and led another fragile being he swore to protect to his death.

And yet…

Tim exhales deeply. Sliding into what looks to be a restful sleep for the first time in uncounted months. Watching the rise and fall of his chest look more natural and less like an afterthought, what little strength Jon had found, abandons him. And he curls himself around Tim. A small and fragile and dusty shield. And is asleep in an instant. Knowing without a doubt that Tim will sleep comfortably through the night, and if anything changes, Jon will know. Both in body and from beyond the waterlogged door in his mind.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #hoh tim #pots jon #eds jon #tw sucidal ideation #alex dont look #cw nausea

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reigning-rhapsody · 3 years

Text

Bittersweet

Strifesodos, past Gengeal; 2841 words

No TWs

The ear piercing noises of pots and pans and what sounded like now unusable plates briefly silenced the patrons crowding Seventh Heaven and let about everyone in the bar flinch in unison- all but one. Cloud merely quirked up a brow as his head shot towards the kitchen where the newest member of the staff, though it had been months since he’d joined and kept some work away from the ever so eager-to-work Tifa, had been on duty to cook for the evening.

I am, by no means, a great cook, he’d warned them at first, which turned out to be more than true, but his tastebuds didn’t lie, nor did his memory. He could tell what needed more salt and what had to stay cooking on the stove just a bit more until it was at its best, and he knew quite a few recipes for someone that, apparently, was no good as a chef. He wants to evade working any more than just as a bartender, Cloud assumed at first exactly because of that, but as good as the man was when it came to acting, as he had proven quite a few times, what he told was no lie.

Tifa insisted he should try cooking, and Gaia, it was worse than Marlene’s mud-pies from when she was younger. According to Barret, at least, who entered the establishment with a growling belly longing for a meal right as their chef in the making had finished his… attempt. A burnt pot and sore stomachs were the victims in the aftermath of Genesis Rhapsodos’ cooking despite everyone who passed him in the process paying attention to him wearing the glasses he was supposed to have sitting on his nose.

If one wanted to trust the promises given by Tifa, who insisted that teaching her new co-worker how to make some proper dishes was essential, he was a fast learner, and occasionally he even suggested to make a few meals he had memorized. No one knew as to why it was that he had recipes in mind, but no one bothered to ask either. One thing was clear though, the guy sure liked apples.

“Cloud, can you check on him?”, Tifa’s voice rung behind the blond addressed by it, barely able to be heard as the chatter and laughter picked up among the patrons again. She was busy, carrying two trays with food and drinks and a plate on one of her outstretched arms on top of it, so it was understandable she didn’t even wait for an answer and moved to the table that awaited their order. His next delivery would be in about twenty minutes and as slow as he could make himself walk, to evade whatever mess just occurred behind that door a few feet ahead of him would was impossible. Better get it over with quickly.

With a sigh, Cloud turned fully to face the direction of the kitchen and closed the gap that separated him from the door with a few swift steps slipping past filled tables. The blond swung the door open while his unoccupied hand rested in the pocket of his baggy pants. “Hey, the hell-?” He started, cutting himself off as his Mako infused gaze fell upon a kneeling Genesis staring at the floor like he was about to propose to it. Or rather, to the soup on the ground surrounding an upside down pot, porcelain pieces of what once upon a time were bowls circling the romanticized mess like ivory rose petals.

Genesis didn’t look up, nor did he answer, nor did he acknowledge Cloud and pretended the delivery boy wasn’t even present. He picked up the shattered vessels meant for the customers to eat what he begrudgingly prepared out of, seemingly doing his utmost to keep his eyes averted, or fully hidden to begin with.

Cloud narrowed his eyes and stepped forward so the door could fall shut behind him, swaying in and out of the room a few more times and allowing whatever curious mind sat in the much busier space of Seventh Heaven to catch a last glimpse of the scene playing out in the no-customer space, although who was sunken on the ground being covered by Cloud standing in front of him. He approached Genesis, both hands now in the confided space of his roomy pockets as he simply stared down at who he usually had to crane his head back for to make eye contact. Seeing someone who held himself so highly on the floor picking up shards with his own hands, it was amusing in a slightly sadistic way to say the least.

He knew that speaking up would only end in a discussion, then an argument and then a passive aggressive verbal fight that could break out into something physical at any given second. At least it sounded like that, anyway, but if it was the truth stood in the stars since the pair usually got interrupted when they got into another of their near daily banters. So he kept quiet and stayed put until the slender ginger would say the first word. And so he eventually did, pausing his task to exhale a defeated sigh and with what was left of his pride for the day.

And yet, he didn’t look up. “Not. A word.”, Genesis punctuated with a clearly irritated voice and Cloud just replied with an entertained huff. “Need help?”

“No.” “Uh-huh.” He didn’t have the time to put up with the mage’s stubbornness and crouched down, reaching out to grab the pot whilst his eyes remained on the culprit of the ruined meal. Finally eye-to-eye, Cloud noticed the missing black frame supposed to reach behind Genesis’ ears, “So, let me guess…”, the younger man started, turning the pot around and holding it by the handles, “You knocked this all over because you’re not wearing the glasses?”

That earned him a venomous glare, but an exposed one. Unlike Genesis’, his own vision was just fine, and thus not spotting the black supposed to be added to the color scheme around his face wasn’t just an illusion. “I don’t need them,”, the redhead barked back, “As I’ve told you before. You all are being dramatic over nothing at all.”

Hearing him out of all people judging what crosses the line of being too dramatic made Cloud snort and shake his head at how ridiculous that was, much to the wannabe-cook’s further annoyance. They locked eyes, three triplets and one glassy, milky-white outcast cataract.

The cracks scarring the porcelain skin roped themselves from his left eye over the same side of his cheek, shimmering through the applied makeup that attempted to hide them in vain as it had been vanishing with the sweat glistening on the man’s face from standing in a hot kitchen for hours on. Like veins dotted with thorns, they reached down his neck, reaching over the visible parts of his equally pale chest that was exposed due to the button up Genesis wore being partially undone. He could only guess how much of his body they tainted. They are what caused that vision problems too, as he’d been told by Genesis.

“I know I’m just mesmerizing, but make yourself useful if you refuse to let me handle this on my own.” An arrogant voice pierced Cloud’s zoned out thoughts and he blinked himself back into reality, not having the best experiences with anything piercing him. If it wouldn’t have been a vocal trigger that brought him back though, it would’ve been the smell of something burning.

“Agh- shit!” Genesis cursed under his breath and got on his feet again, groaning at his aching legs that fell asleep staying in the same uncomfortable position for some time. Cloud followed and watched the man place down the pieces of the bowls he’d already picked up next to the stove where a pancake was smelling like the victims of his flames- although it wasn’t on purpose for once.

Another swear muttered as he turned off the heat, or at least what Cloud assumed to be one since it was spoken in the ginger’s native language, and grabbed a spatula that rested on the workspace to his right to try and scratch the pitch blackness off the bottom of the pan. After some hard work was put into saving what could be saved, or what he hoped to save at least, that being the pan, Genesis put the inedible dessert on a nearby plate flipped over.

Both pairs of eyes in the room stared at it in silence, Cloud approaching with caution like what was sitting there was a Behemoth about to jump up and eat both of them whole whilst minding the puddle of broth, veggies and meat on the floor. He then stood next to the creator of the ‘food’ and stared it down. Roasted darker than his outfit, the smell was absolutely unappetizing and nothing looked appealing about it at all. It even took he blond a bit to figure out that there were apple slices mixed into the darkness, swallowed by it like stars during a cloudy night sky.

“Well… not that it was satisfactory, anyway.” Genesis admitted in defeat, much to Cloud’s surprise, although his ego must have been knocked down a few from their earlier confrontation. He might even go as far and claim he saw the slightest, embarrassed blush tinting the ex-SOLDIER’s pale cheeks, though mentioning it would only result in more than just a pancake ending up scorched.

“How the hell did you survive this long?”, Cloud asked with a wrinkled nose.”

“Thank you for your, as always, comforting words.”

“And what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. It’s-”, Genesis took a deep breath, tightening his ponytail by dividing it into two strings in his hands and pulling, “There was never a need for me to learn how to cook. As a child, we had someone that cooked for us, and when I went to Midgar I first lived off of cafeteria food.. which I, eventually, resented and blatantly refused to eat. Then it was takeout, mostly, and once we became firsts we got an apartment together, so I had Angeal cooking for me.”

The drop of his name briefly silenced Genesis who still had his leer cast upon the failed attempt of a pancake. His lips thinned and he swallowed dryly, hands placed flat on the surface of the workspace. He exhaled a breath through his nose and his shoulders twitched weakly in a half-chuckle. “‘You’ll stay out of the kitchen when I’m cooking. You’re banned from the stove, Gen.’”, Genesis mocked a deeper voice to the best of his abilities, a bittersweet smile curling on his lips, “Sugar sweet, no? I never needed to learn how to make anything for myself. It was a thing I had done for me, and people never minded, either.”

“Not that that would have gotten me to start learning.” He added after another few seconds filled with nothing but the mechanical whirring of the fridge a few feet away from them. “Angeal, he uh… He loved cooking, but baking even more. The pie he made was to kill for, and whenever he made it, I would sit there and watch. Talk to him, sometimes even help. Providing he let me, that is.”

Finally, he looked up again and turned his head to look at the other swordsman. “No matter what I will make, it won’t live up to what he did.”, his head then hung low once more, “Nor would it satisfy him.” The normally so confident and boasting voice, teasing and preaching highly poetic metaphors nobody but him understood, grew lower in volume, quieter with every word vocalized and brought to live by it, although it sounded dead, unenthusiastic. It wasn’t a voice that fit Genesis.

“Or me.” His hands visibly gripped the edges of the big table harder, like he was trying to ground himself so he wouldn’t fall into a void that existed to eat him up from the inside, fill him with the worst of what life had to offer. His eyes fell shut, knuckles turning white and his fingers shook ever so slightly until he straightened his posture to one that equaled that of a candle and let out a shaky breath between agape lips, mismatching eyes fluttering open again. “I should clean this up now. Don’t you have a delivery to fulfill, hm?” Genesis ushered, his intent to get Cloud out and not show any more weakness than what just occurred beyond noticeable. It went under his skin, let the hair on the back of his neck rise and spread goosebumps across his arms.

It was… so damn depressing to witness.

“Ah. Ah- yeah, right.” Cloud reminded himself and reaches for the PHS in his pocket, flipping it open to check the time. He had a few more minutes. Watching Genesis move to a cabinet where a few kitchen towels were stored from the corner of his eye, the blond warrior pocketed his phone again, ran a hand through his artfully spiked hair, took a deep breath that let his chest puff out, counted his blessings and took off a glove with his teeth to grab the round little mistake sprawled out on the plate. Leather glove dropped in his lowered hand once it returned from brushing back the sunny mess on his head, he made sure the golden-brown side was the one facing the floor and placed it against his lips. He swallowed, opened his mouth and took a generous bite.

The first few times of chewing were experimental, eyebrows knitted together and eyes nearly pinched shut, though he discovered that keeping the part which wasn’t tainted by the lord of the Underworld and all evil himself judging by the pitch blackness trademarking it did make it a lot more bearable. Whenever some of the burnt bit brushed over his tongue he just gave it his best to swallow that piece, his tastebuds welcoming the sweet flavor of the apples dancing over it whenever he was lucky to have some in his mouth the more bites he took.

Two down, about two or another three to go. It wouldn’t be a chore to eat it if it weren’t for the burnt side, he had to admit, so Tifa wasn’t lying when she said he improved and was indeed a fast learner.

“You’re insane, Strife.”

Cloud nearly choked on the load of pancake occupying his mouth the moment Genesis caught him forcing down the food. He cleared his throat and properly swallowed what was left on his tongue. He ‘tch’ed, glaring at the dessert like it was his worst enemy. “I didn’t eat anything yet today’s all. Don’t want Tifa to get on my ass for not eating again.” “And how would she know?” “She… just does- you should be glad I’m making what she’ll say to you less worse.” The sunny haired man silenced himself by ripping another huge piece out off the pancake, so much it only left one last bite instead of a possible three. Although his angles eyebrows raised into a less hostile expression when he saw the slightest bit of a smile growing on the auburnet’s plush cherry lips. He stopped chewing for just a moment, taking in- no, admiring what he did by refusing to let someone sulk and keep self loathing. “Get out, or I’ll tell Tifa all of what just occurred was your and only your fault.”

Cloud playfully rolled his eyes, though did as told and moved towards the door, no intentions of a further exchange made- not on his side, at least. “Oh, also-”, he was stopped by Genesis speaking up once more, coming to an abrupt halt and half turning around, “You should pay me a visit when I am on cooking duty again sometime, maybe I have more blissfully tasting food for you to devour.”

Cloud snorted, “No promises.”

“Don’t you speak to me with a full mouth, learn some manners.”, Genesis retorted with a playful hum before truly dismissing the other with a flamboyant wave of the hand that didn’t hold a soup-soaked towel.

This time truly exiting, Cloud pushed the last small bite of the pancake into his mouth and chewed with stuffed cheeks, hands returning to his pockets as he eyed the bar counter where the delivery was stored. Forcing down the rest of the half-bitter-half-sweet mistake, he glanced over his shoulder one last time to see Tifa hurriedly moving into the kitchen. He exhaled in amusement at the distant chatter coming from behind the door swaying door before it fell shut completely and blocked out the conversation though. Cloud moved behind the bar to crouch down and grab the package that needed to be driven to Junon and set on his way out of the warm and cozy confinement to let the cold air hit him full on.

Genesis sounded more like himself again, he noted.

#book of scintillation | writing #savior's sickness | cloud strife #and in the end all that kept me sane was you | strifesodos #I FINALLY GAVE THEM A TAG #not my proudest but it works #no idea if cloud is well written i am Not a cloud mun #forgive me cloud muns that read this #but STRIFESODOS!!!!#they live in my brain my fucking god #recalcitrant redemption | sideverse #burning passion | shipping #strifesodos #genesis rhapsodos #cloud strife

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gustafsnightangel · 3 years

Text

Shattered Lives Ch 40 Pt 4

She was sore, all over sore. That was the first thing she realized when she cracked her eyes open, everything hurt. She grinned, but what a night. They’d fucked each other like a couple of horny teenagers and even though every muscle in her body ached, it was worth it. She’d slept later than Gustaf, his side of the bed already empty, the sheets cold. Hissing as she climbed out of bed, she wrapped her robe around her and padded out to the kitchen to see the kids at the table eating breakfast, Gustaf in the kitchen making tea.

“You know that massage you offered my ass the other day after ice skating?” She said as he kissed her.

“Mmm, I do.” His smirk playful.

“I may cash that in.” She snorted. “I’m so sore. Muscle sore, like I used every single one.” She chuckled as he kissed her tenderly. “Who knew there were that many of them in the most uncomfortable places imaginable.”

“I’m sorry.” He said wrapping her up in his arms and kissing her again.

“Don’t be, it’s a good sore, but damn.” She laughed. “I’ll be feeling you for days.” She purred in his ear and she nipped it.

“Don’t tease kitten.” He kissed her and winked. “Or I’ll have to take you out to the igloo again.”

“Give it a few days and you can igloo me all you want.” She grinned and sat at the table with the kids as he brought the tea over, the don’t tempt me look in his eyes making her stifle the whimper.

They spent the morning out finishing off the forts and entertaining Lily with a pint sized snowball fight. Gustaf recorded the twins hitting Sildie in the face with a giant snowball. He laughed as she got her own back, tossing them into a fluffy snowdrift. He loved seeing that smile, not a care in the world, happy, and stress free. This trip had been good for all of them, relaxing, bonding, and working toward being the family unit the kids desperately needed. But most of all it was just the time to really process everything that had happened last year since he’d met her. His life had done a complete one eighty and he love it, it would settle more with time. Eating an early lunch Sildie stayed indoors with Lily so the boys could have boy time and snowball the hell out of each other. If she was being honest the night had taken a lot out of her, she was physically and mentally exhausted, but in a good way. He gave her that freedom, a freedom to let all control and responsibility go and just feel. When Lily went down for a nap at one, the boys were well into their snow wars, so she took a few videos and some quick photos on a semi cease fire and left them to it. Curling up in bed with her book she passed out a little while later.

She surfaced much later, dark outside later, and she felt worse than when she’d gone to bed. “Probably too much sleep now.” She snorted and went to take a shower.

When she came into the living room the kids were around the fire toasting marshmallows while Gustaf read to them, Lily half asleep in his lap. He stopped when he saw her and smiled.

“There’s my sleeping beauty.” He smiled, his comment earning him a snort from Sildie.

“Sorry guys I crashed out.” She yawned.

“It’s ok we had our snowball war, part two tomorrow.” Gustaf grinned like the kid he was at heart. His brow creased as she went to put the kettle on, something was off. Getting to his feet he snuggled Lily in and stood behind her, hand resting on her hip. “You ok love? You look a little pale.”

“I’m ok, just tired still, I actually feel worse than I did this morning.” She said honestly.

“You catch a chill last night in the fort?” He was concerned, no trace of humor in his voice now.

“I hope not, but if it is, it is. I have zero regrets, especially after what you did to me.” She smiled and played with Lily’s hair. “Go put her to bed, she’s out cold.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to have some tea and maybe some toast and go back to bed.”

“You’re sure you’re ok.” He looked at her flatly not quite ready to believe her.

“Stop fussing.” She said and chuckled. She was fine, just a little off which could be explained by the vigorous activity they’d partaken in last night. She sat with the boys as Gustaf got Lily down and heard about their day, the fun they had as she munched on some toast and jam.

Gustaf put Lily to bed and got the boys settled, Sildie on his mind. He hoped he hadn’t got her sick with his insistence of sex in the snow, igloo or not it had been cold. He came into the bedroom to find her curled up with her book reading like any other night. “How are you feeling?” He asked stripping down and getting under the covers.

“Stiff and sore and just generally tired, wiped out. I think it’s a combination of last night and all the stress leaving my body like you exorcised it.” She chuckled.

“Be serious Sildie.” His tone changed and her face fell.

“I’m ok, honestly, I’m just sore and wiped.”

“Did you eat something?”

“I wasn’t really hungry, but I had some toast.” She went back to reading her book.

“Proper breakfast tomorrow ok, don’t skip too many meals love.” He wouldn’t push because if he did she’d shut him down.

“I promise, breakfast tomorrow.” She shut her book and snuggled down as he flipped the light off.

“I love you Sildie.” He said tenderly.

“I know you do, but I’m ok.” She kissed his chest where her head lay. “I love you too.”

At three in the morning she knew she was in trouble when the mad dash to the bathroom hurled up bile and not much else, her throat feeling like she’d swallowed a coil of razor wire and the devious little gremlins were playing tug-o-war with it. “Shit.” She spat, she was sick. “Fucking shit.”

“Sildie?” The soft tap at the door made her feel worse. Gustaf would blame himself for this.

“I’m ok.” She said feebly as she hurled again.

He came into the bathroom to see her sitting on the floor, hair held back in one hand the other gripping the bowl like her life depended on it for stability. She’d gone ashen grey, his woman was sick. “You’re not ok.” He said gently.

“I feel like ass to be honest.” She croaked, even her voice was sore.

“I’m so sorry love.”

“Don’t.” She held up her finger. “Don’t. I don’t blame you. Shit happens, I’m sick, we’ll deal with it.” Once she realized nothing else was going to be expelled from her gut she started to get to her feet, Gustaf helping her.

“I’ll get it. Brush your teeth and get back into bed.” He said as she went to flush and clean up the mess she’d made.

“I can...”

“Teeth and back to bed. Don’t fight me on this love, you’re sick and look like death warmed up.” He kissed her brow. “And you have a fever.” He added with a sigh. “Back to bed.”

“Ok.” She said simply at the concern on his face. “I don’t blame you.” She said meekly.

“I know love.” He smiled and helped her get toothpaste on her brush. “I didn’t want you getting sick from it though.” He kissed her head and started brushing her hair, the loose braid enough to keep it out of the toilet should she need to puke again.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, resting her head against his chest while she tried to find the energy to walk back to the bed.

“Get into bed, drink some water. I’m going to see if I can find some broth or something so you have food in your stomach or the ibuprofen will burn a hole in your gut.” He waited until she’d finished in the bathroom and helped her into bed before heading to the kitchen. Hunting through their groceries he sighed when it didn’t yield any broth, but there were some cans of chicken noodle soup. “That will have to do.” Sitting the soup on the stove to heat he found some ibuprofen and took it into her, he needed to get the fever down. “I have some chicken noodle soup warming up.” He said handing two tablets to her and a cold cup of water.

“Ok.”

“If this gets worse Sildie we’ll have to take you home.” He said softly.

“No.” She said quietly, it came out more like petulant child’s whine. “I’ll be fine, probably just a head cold.”

“Here’s hoping, but if you get worse we go, no arguments from you.” He would hog tie her to the roof rack if he had to.

“The kids will be heartbroken they spent all that time on their fort.” Why, she thought, why when everything was going so well did shit have to fall apart? Couldn’t the kids have one fucking vacation, one fucking memory where nothing bad happened?

“The kids will understand. Your health is more important.” He kissed her temple. “I’ll be back with some soup and toast.”

Placing the soup in the biggest mug he could find he picked up the toast and brought it in for her, she was already dozing. Grazing his knuckles down her cheek she woke and focused on him, eyes glassy with fever. “Eat love. I’ve already let it cool a lot so it won’t scald your mouth.”

“Honestly that would feel better than the razor wire coiled up in it.” She sulked. She hated being sick and hated that she’d let herself get sick when the kids were finally building some good memories.

“Probably. Let me see what’s in the medical kit here at the cabin, we might get lucky with some throat lozenges or something.” She nodded and took a tentative sip of the soup. He came back to find her dunking the bread in the soup and eating slowly. He could see it was painful as she swallowed but at least she was eating. “I found a packet of lozenges and some stronger paracetamol and ibuprofen. That will have to do for the moment.”

“Better than nothing. Can you make me a ginger tea? I’ll see if I can sweat this out of me.” She handed him the empty cup and plate and got out of bed to put her base layer thermals on and a set of sweats. She was so cold her teeth were almost chattering.

“You’ll cook.” He huffed.

“Yeah, well, sweating it out is the only option I have so I’m not ruining the kids vacation.” She muttered and drank the water. Fluids and sweat it out and sleep. “Well that’s my itinerary for the next few days at least.” She mumbled bitterly as Gustaf went to make some tea.

“This is so fucking typical. I stop to rest and relax and bam, I get sick.” She grumbled to herself. After drinking the ginger tea she bundled herself up under the covers and shivered, the fever had well and truly set in. Sleep took her again and Gustaf stayed awake watching over her. Checking his phone for reception he texted his mother and she confirmed that they were doing all they could for the moment.

If it goes to her lungs bring her home and straight to the doctor. Normal cough is fine, coughing up yellow or green usually means it’s in the chest and possibly pneumonia. Don’t wait on that. Pneumonia, straight to the doctor or emergency room.

Thanks, I’ll keep you posted.

Please do. I’ll let Sam know as well.

Thanks mum.

Take care of her Gustaf.

He drifted to sleep until Lily’s cries woke him with a start, Sildie was still out cold. Brushing his knuckles to her brow he frowned, her fever was raging. He collected a cool wash cloth and wiped her face gently before placing it at the back of her neck to draw some of the heat away. The last thing he needed was her convulsing. Changing and dressing Lily quickly he woke the boys and gave them the run down. They were understandably bummed. “After breakfast I need you to pack your bags and help get everything ready in case we need to leave in a hurry ok? We’re not leaving yet, so you can play in the fort as much as you like.” They all nodded and hugged him. “She’ll be ok, were hoping it’s just a head cold.” Deep down he knew it wasn’t, not with a fever like that. The minute she started coughing they were heading home. They should probably head there now but he’d wait for now.

She slept most of the day, only waking when Gustaf forced her to drink and take pills to get the fever down. She hated him for it, but knew it was a necessary evil and he was worried. Her throat felt worse, she had a headache, and her appetite was non existent. The only blessing was she wasn’t coughing, yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time. She waved to the boys as they stood in the doorway and told her about the snowball fight they’d had and she smiled. At least they’d snuck in another round, she thought. And that was why she didn’t want to go yet. They needed as much time here having fun as possible.

It was around 2:30 in the morning when she started coughing. It started with an occasional one or two in her sleep, a slight tickle, but by seven she was coughing to the point of throwing up. She was a mess, hot, delirious, cold, achy, headache, the cough that wouldn’t quit, her throat so shredded and sore she could barely swallow, and she was only able to take short breaths. It felt as if her body was trying to expel her lungs out via any orifice willing to let them escape. And she was fatigued, like someone had taken all her batteries out.

“Sildie I need you to sit up love.” Gustaf said gently. “Stay sitting up ok?”

“I’m sorry.” She croaked and the tears she couldn’t hold back anymore fell. “I’m so sorry.” She cried and coughed, in no condition to keep her emotions in check.

“It’s ok love. You’re sick, let’s get you home so we can get you well ok?” He kissed her brow, the fever still raging. Whatever had her, had her fully and wasn’t letting go any time soon. “I need you to sit here while I get the boys ready and the car packed alright? Just doze and I’ll come get you when we’re ready to go.”

“Ok.” She sniffed, which only prompted another coughing fit. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok love.”

It was eleven by the time they’d packed the car up and double checked they had everything. Texting his mum he had a spot waiting at the hospital when they arrived, he’d drive them straight there.

Megan will come and sit with the kids and take them home. Sam will meet you at the hospital.

Great thanks.

How is she?

Worse. High fever, coughing until she pukes, short of breath.

It may have gone to her lungs.

That’s what I’m thinking.

Be safe, get her here as soon as you can.

Thanks mum.

Once he had the kids in the car he collected Sildie, carrying her from the bedroom straight to the car, she was barely coherent. Their vacation may have been cut short by a few days, but they’d made some memories at least, he thought as he drove. They would be back again for sure. The boys helped out so Gustaf could keep driving, feeding Lily a snack, keeping her occupied and happy. With one hand on the wheel the other held Sildie’s, the gentle squeeze every so often and reply squeeze letting him know she was at least conscious.

Megan met them all in the waiting room, Alex was with her for some additional support and a driver if needed. “Brendan.” Gustaf said quietly. “I know you’re all worried about Sildie, but I need you guys to go with Megan and Alex and let me get her seen to ok? I’ll call when I know what’s going on.” He hated doing this to the kid, the grief from the last time something major happened well in the forefront of his mind. The teen nodded barely holding back tears.

“I’ll be ok B.” Sildie croaked and winced at the pain in her throat before a coughing fit stole her breath.

Gustaf didn’t wait, he wheeled her to the desk and got her seen immediately. Sure he pulled some strings and his brother came in a moment later with the ER doctor. Sildie waved a hand at Sam, the thought of talking and the pain that came with it making her clam up. They took her away for chest X-rays and after a swab of her throat the doctor confirmed Gustaf’s suspicions, pneumonia.

“We’ll have to wait for the test results to be sure, but I’ll start you on some antibiotics, get some fluids into you and see in a few hours whether we need to admit you.”

Sildie shook her head. “I don’t want to stay.” She said, throat feeling like that razor wire had been ripped from it.

“You may not have a choice love.” Gustaf said gently.

“No.” She shook her head again and the coughing fit silenced her. “Not staying.”

“Let’s see how we go.” The doctor said and went out to order up what she needed.

“Sildie don’t make me fight you on this, if you need to stay to get well, you stay.” He had to be the voice of reason and he knew this wouldn’t end well.

“Then I’ll fucking walk out of here myself.” She spat. “I’m not staying.”

“Love you can barely stand.” He murmured, trying to keep the edge out of his tone.

“Fucking watch me.” She wheezed.

“Breathe love.” That wheeze was panic not pneumonia, though neither helped her right now.

“I feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest.” She hissed.

“That’s because your lungs are full of fluid.” Sam said gently. “Sildie I’m not going to tell you what to do, but you might want to consider staying.”

She shook her head. “Not. Staying.” Her voice breathless, but the edge was still there. That edge that clearly said don’t fuck with me.

The nurse came in and hooked her up to an IV, the drip forcing fluids in at breakneck speed, the antibiotics they added hitting her hard. Within about twenty minutes she was almost asleep.

“Lay back and rest love. We’ll be here for a bit.” He kissed her temple and wiped the tears. “I need to go call the kids let them know what’s going on ok? I promised them.”

“Don’t leave.” She cried softly. “Please don’t leave.” Complete panic took over, her wheeze almost causing her to pass out.

“I’ll call them Goose.” Sam said catching on. “Stay with her.”

“Tell them I’m ok.” She croaked. “And I love them and I’m coming home and I won’t leave them.” It clicked for Gustaf then, he should have see it like a flashing neon sign and mentally kicked himself. Fear.

“I will.” Sam smiled at her. “I’ll tell them you’ll call in a little bit ok?” She nodded and wiped her tears away, angry they’d fallen.

“I’m sorry love, I should have realized.” Gustaf said tenderly and held her hand not occupied by the IV, thumb stroking her inner wrist. She just shrugged and closed her eyes, willing the whole process to go faster so she could go home.

“It’s stupid. I’m a grown ass woman scared out of her fucking mind about being left in a hospital.” She mumbled before the coughing fit took her breath away.

“It’s not stupid and stop talking.” He said holding up his hand as her eyes focused on him when she opened her mouth. “I won’t leave you here, I won’t make you stay. You will however, do whatever it is the doctor tells you to do, no arguments. None Sildie.” He said sternly as she was about to protest. “You wanting to argue with me tells me this stuff is already working.” He kissed her fingers. “Close your eyes, rest, sleep. I’ll stay right here.” With that he kicked back in the chair and read his book he thankfully had on his phone.

The hours ticked by and she slept, to the point where the doctor came in to assess her and decided that while she was out cold to add another bag of fluids and antibiotics. Gustaf was more worried about the fever now than her lungs as she shivered, the heat radiating off her, hot and dry.

“I’ll have them draw some antibiotic shots for you to take home, we can keep her on the IV until the fever breaks, the bags are easy enough to change out. It’s either that or I admit her.”

“You’d have to knock her out and she’d never forgive me.” Gustaf said wearily, he was so tired.

“I’ll get you setup then.” He smiled. “Lay down next to her and get some sleep. I’ll discharge her in the morning unless her condition changes. Let’s keep her here as long as we can.”

“Thanks.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry about her outburst before.”

“No need, I remember her brother and wife.” Gustaf nodded, there wouldn’t be many in this hospital that didn’t remember.

Sildie barely moved when he stretched out beside her. Quietly he pulled the side bumper up so he could lean against it without falling out. “Lovely lady.” He sighed out, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. He breathed out and relaxed, she was in the right place for help, he was here with her, the kids were safe with Megan and his brother. It was the best he could do. It has to be enough, he thought. Even half comatose she found him, his scent wrapping around her. She shifted, curling against him, seeking the comfort and security of his body, of him. “I’m here love.” He murmured and caged her in with his massive frame. “Sleep now, rest.” He mumbled. Gustaf felt himself slip into sleep, the exhaustion finally pulling him under.

Gustaf wasn’t sure how long he crashed out for. However, Sildie attempting to get out of the bed woke him in an instant. “Sildie?” He murmured.

“I need to pee.” She fought with the covers trying to get free of them, her strength was non existent.

“Ok, let me help.” He said softly, half expecting the snap of her temper, it surprised him when it didn’t come. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” She croaked as she accepted his hand to steady her as she got to her feet, her cough stopping her cold. It stole her breath and he could see her chest heave as she fought for oxygen.

“Let’s get you to the bathroom then back on the oxygen.” He helped her shuffle to the bathroom with the IV pole, her legs weak like jelly. Sitting her on the toilet he left her to take care of business and stood outside, the door cracked open so he could hear her if she fell or passed out. He got her settled in bed again and sat beside her. “You should stay a few days love.” He held his hand up to silence her. “I understand you don’t want to stay, and if it was something a little less serious I’d agree with you, but you’re sick love, you’re struggling to breathe, and you’re fever is still raging. You need to be here, getting fluids and antibiotics to kick the crap out of whatever is destroying your system.” It broke his heart as tears streaked down her cheeks. “I love you Sildie, and I know being here scares you, I know that it’s the absolute last place you want to be, but we need to get you well love.” He took a Kleenex and handed it to her, the coughing and tears making her nose run. His decision to keep her here was strengthened when the tissue came away pink, tinged with blood. “I’ll do it with or without your approval love, but we need to admit you and get you better. Your approval will make it easier. You can hate me for it once you’re well.”

“I don’t want to be here on my own.” She sobbed quietly, she had no energy to fight him on it, her body wanting nothing more than to shut down entirely.

“I know love, and I’ll be here with you, but at some point I’ll need to go see to the kids and calm them down because I have a feeling they’ll be freaking out a little by now.”

“I need to see them.” She sniffed. “Be with them, not here.”

“I’ll bring them to visit.” He kissed her brow and willed her to just let him take care of her. “Let’s get you settled, I’ll see if Bill or dad can come and sit with you and I’ll go get the kids and bring them here for a visit.” He gripped her chin gently and brushed his thumb over her cheek as she cried. “I know you hate this and you’re angry at me for forcing you, manhandling you. I’m not doing it for giggles, it makes me sick to the stomach.” Her eyes met his. “I love you Sildie, let me take care of you.” Her subtle nod had him breathe a steady breath of relief.

As the admissions staff got her settled he phoned his family, Eija was free and would be there in thirty to sit with Sildie. He needed to get home, shower, eat, and get a grip on how he was going to function with the kids over the next few days. He called Megan and spoke with the boys, the fear evident on their faces as they FaceTimed.

“She’s ok, we just have to keep her here for a few days so they can make her better.” He said gently.

“Can we come see her?” Brendan asked, his voice shaky.

“I’m going to get her settled in and come home. Once I’ve had a shower and food we’ll come visit her later this afternoon ok?”

“Ok.” The teen nodded.

“Brendan?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s ok.” He saw the kids shoulders relax and knew it would be better once they saw her.

Eija waved to him as he paced waiting to see Sildie. “I’ll hang out until she’s settled.”

“Sounds good. She ok?”

“Pneumonia. It got her pretty good.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, and she doesn’t want to be here, same hospital as Quinn and Dana were in.”

“Oh shit.” She breathed.

“Yeah, the kids are freaking out a little too.” He blew out a breath and slumped against the wall.

“Just breathe big brother, you got this and we’ll help.” She smiled at him.

“Have I ever told you you’re the best little sister a guy could have?” He sighed.

“I’m the only little sister you have doofus.” She slapped him playfully as Gustaf hugged her.

“Thanks Eija.”

“Anytime goose. You two are good together.”

“Yeah we are.”

“She’s the one isn’t she?” Eija said softly.

“She is.” It was said without hesitation and was the absolute truth. Sildie was his soulmate and he’d protect and care for her until his last breath.

The nurse came and found him and took him into see her, she looked so small and frail curled up, eyes closed. Eija waited outside as he sat on the edge of the bed and toyed with her hair, it had lost its shine. Her eyes opened at his touch.

“Hey there lovely lady.”

“Hi.” She whispered, her voice and throat too raw to speak properly.

“Eija’s outside she’s going to sit with you for a bit ok?” She nodded at his words. “I’m going to head home and bring the kids back this afternoon. I’ll bring you your toothbrush and stuff.” He kissed her brow as the tears fell. “I’m coming back love, I need you to sleep and let the meds do their job.” She nodded again and it broke his heart to have to do this to her. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Her fingers gripped him, her separation anxiety flaring. Eija came in when Gustaf called softly.

“Not quite the girls day in, but I’ve worked with worse.” Eija grinned and it got a slight smile from Sildie.

“I’ll be back this afternoon love.” He kissed her hair and stepped away, he had to make it a clean breakaway or he’d never go. Eija sat in the chair and started talking, pulling Sildie’s attention to her. As he closed her door he leaned against the wall and took a few breaths.

“You’re killing me love.” He sighed, letting his head thud against the wall. “Fucking killing me.”

The doctor updated him, she’d be in for a bare minimum of four to six days. She was slightly improved this morning but not enough now she was coughing up blood and Gustaf felt a little better at forcing her to be admitted. He headed straight home, a shower and food at the top of his to do list. As he sat for food, the clean clothes making him feel like a new man, he organized a schedule with his family for the kids to be watched and someone to be with Sildie while he bounced between the hospital and home. He knew this was going to shackle Sildie, make her feel like she’s being handled, incompetent, but he had little choice and would take her wrath if it came to that. He felt like an asshole for pushing her, but her health was more important, she could rage at him after. His next call was to Oliver. Sildie was supposed to start back at the office on Monday, that was going to be postponed a few days. The kids tackled him in a group hug when he stepped through his fathers front door, he saw the worry on their faces, that deep seated fear for Sildie. “She’s ok, Aunt Eija is hanging out with her until we get there.” He took Lily from his dad as she lunged for him with her usual dad dad squeal.

“I’ll come with you, bring them back home tonight, I’ll stay with them at your place, they’ll settle better in their own beds.” Stellan said softly.

“I’ll need to stay with her overnight.” Gustaf said, knowing she’d sleep and heal faster with him there while she slept.

“As you should, she needs you.” They sat at the table and Megan sat a coffee and a plate of cookies beside it, the gentle squeeze of his forearm reassuring him that he’d done the right thing. “We’ll take care of the kids, you focus on Sildie.”

“She’s pissed at me for having her admitted.” He snorted as he bit into a cookie, Lily wanting one. He gave her a small piece and she stuffed it in her mouth devouring it.

“She’ll get over it.” Stellan assured him. “Sometimes you’re screwed either way. She’s sick, you made the right decision, don’t doubt that. She’ll see that once she’s able to think straight.” Gustaf nodded at his statement, he still felt like shit for overruling her, especially when she was so fiercely independent.

His conversation with his father and Megan relaxed him, taking the edge off his own anxiety. Loading the kids into the car, his father drove so Gustaf didn’t have to focus on traffic. He was exhausted already.

“Feels weird being back here.” Brendan mumbled and Gustaf pulled him in close for a hug as they walked.

“She’s feeling much the same way.” He told the teen, Brendan got it, he understood it a little better than the twins.

His heart lightened as he stepped into the room. She was sitting up trying to eat something, Eija eating her own sandwich. He watched her face light up at seeing him, the kids rushing in. “Ok, boys, don’t make her talk, it hurts.” He chuckled and she waved him off.

She didn’t care if it hurt to talk, she was relieved to see the kids. The boys told her about what they were doing and their stay at grandpa’s, their speech going a hundred miles a minute. “It sounds worse than it is.” She croaked, the use of her voice sending her into a coughing fit.

No, he thought, it’s much worse than you’re letting on love, but nice try. She was trying to set their minds at ease knowing they would be freaking out much more than she was. He sat Lily on the bed and she crawled into Sildie’s outstretched arms, the both of them needing the contact, her soft mum mum making Sildie smile.

“Hi little lady.” She whispered, whispering didn’t hurt as much. The rest of her felt as if she’d been dragged behind a truck for a thousand miles. So fatigued, just keeping her eyes open was a struggle, her bones feeling like someone had replaced them with lead, and she had a nagging headache. She knew Gustaf had made the right call by forcing her to stay and felt like a cranky bitch for fighting him on it. She’d grovel later, oh how she’d grovel.

He watched her energy fade, the fight to stay present for the kids, to make sure they were alright. Eija said her goodbyes and told Sildie she’d be back tomorrow to give her a manicure and watch some really bad b movies while Gustaf had kid duty. The boys crowded in for a group hug, the separation not as brutal as Gustaf had envisioned. Stellan had after all promised ice cream so the kids were putty in his hands. They were suddenly alone and he saw her relax back, eyes closing, it had exhausted her energy reserves.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered.

“Rest love.” He sat on the bed and stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“No, about fighting you on being here.” Her hand searched for his and she squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

He kissed her temple and lingered. “I would have tied you to the bed if necessary.” He growled and she huffed a chuckle which made her cough. “Shall we get you up for a bathroom break and to brush your teeth?” Her nod was enough. “You’ll feel like a new woman with clean teeth.” He helped her shuffle to and from the bathroom, a smile from her after cleaning her teeth lightening his heart. He sat her on the edge of the bed and undid her braid, gently brushing her hair, the action soothing them both. She leaned into him as brush and fingers soothed her anxiety, lulled and relaxed her body and mind. He took his time braiding her hair, the kiss to her head lingering to breathe in her scent and offer her the same comfort. “Let’s get you into bed.”

“Are you staying?” She asked, her words shaky.

“I’m staying.” He kissed her temple and got off the bed to help her get settled. Putting the bumper up he stretched out behind her and raised the bumper on his side so he wouldn’t fall out.

His arm came around her snuggling her in. “I love you.” She whispered.

“I love you too, sleep now love, let your body heal.”

“Thank you for staying.”

“Nowhere else I’d be.” He kissed her head and felt her relax, giving herself over to the fatigue and plummet into sleep.

That was his brutal routine for the next five days, wake, help Sildie, go see the kids, bring the kids to see Sildie, stay with her overnight, rinse, repeat. The upside was she was getting better, eating a little more, coughing a little less, but she was still fatigued and from what Sam had said she would be for weeks once she got out of the hospital. His time spent with the kids at home was put to good use finding a cleaner and persuading Alice into working for them part time while he was away, starting a few weeks before he left to get used to their routine. At least Sildie would have breathing room when she got home to take the load off, the only issue, getting her to slow down until she was back to full health.

She woke to the feel of him next to her. Her lanky man curled up in a bed not really made for someone of his height and massive frame snuggled in close. Rolling she looked at him, he was exhausted, dark circles painted under his eyes, a slightly haggard look of someone under a shit ton of stress with not enough sleep. She’d put that look there and felt terrible about it. Her own stupid stubbornness and pride. May as well have beaten him about the head with it, she scolded herself. Her head was clearer than it had been in days, the headache a dull roar, her throat still raw. But it was the soul crushing fatigue that she couldn’t handle. She needed a nap every few hours not able to stay upright or awake, her body was literally making her slow down or putting her down on her ass.

His eyes snapped open as fingers brushed his scruff, ice blue eyes looked back. Clearer than yesterday and she had a little more color in her cheeks. “Morning love.” He said softly, his arms tightening his hold on her as if she’d slip from his grasp.

“Morning.” Her whisper was still more comfortable than talking.

“You’re looking better.” He smiled. “Less corpse like.”

“Feeling better, little bit.” She shrugged and his smile got bigger. That was more than she’d said or done in nearly a week. “Can we go home?”

It was the first time she’d asked that since he had her admitted. “I can ask.”

“I’m glad you put me in here, I needed it, but I want to go home now, be in our bed.” He kissed her forehead.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Her fever had finally broken two nights ago, she was a normal temperature instead of that raging inferno burning her from the inside out.

“And I want to shower. I feel gross.” She chuckled.

“I think we can manage that.” He kissed her tenderly before prying himself from her side. Making sure she’d started eating, he went to the nurses station to page the doctor for her to be released, he really hoped he allowed it because fighting with her on this again would be the end of him. He needed a few days sleep in their bed too.

“Well Sildie you’re doing much better.” The doctor said positively. “But if I send you home you’re going to need to continue to rest and not push yourself. The fatigue you’re feeling is normal and it’ll take a few weeks for your body to bounce back. Your energy is going to be low for a little while longer and I want you to stay on the course of antibiotics for another two weeks.”

“She’ll behave or I’ll bring her right back.” Gustaf said in that tone that told her he meant every word and would in fact tie her to the bed if he had to bring her back. He raised his eyebrow at her glare, just try me, he thought.

“If your body says sleep, you sleep. The more you sleep, the more you rest, the faster you’ll heal.” The doctor added.

“I’ll rest.” She whispered, and she would, she didn’t want to see Gustaf look like this again, like he’d not slept or eaten in a month because she’d scared him halfway to an early grave. “I just want to do it at home.”

“Ok then. I’ll get one more round of IV antibiotics into you and you can go home this afternoon.” He said and that was that.

“Do you want a shower now or after they pull the IV?” Gustaf asked.

“After. I want to scrub this place off me before I leave.” She smiled. “You’re so tired love.” Her whisper caught in her throat. How could she have done this to him?

“I’ll be ok once you’re home and we can sleep for a few days.” His smile weary.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault love, shit happens.” He kissed her gently.

“Not your fault either.” Her fingers over his lips and the slight shake of her head silenced his retort. “It’s not. I probably picked up the bug ten days or so before I showed symptoms. It could even be as far back as the Christmas party. The doctor said with the bug and the amount of stress I’d been under it was no wonder I ended up sick.” She kissed him gently. “Not your fault at all my sweet man.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak as the relief flooded him.

“And I’m sorry I snapped, freaked out.” She added.

“I understand why. After everything that happened here I don’t think I’d want to be here either. Sam was here, mum works here too, they know me, us, it’s was easier. Next time I’ll take you to a different...”

“No. It’s fine. I just need to stop freaking out. That was then, this is now. Just the entire thing got shoved in my face, pushed my anxiety to the brink and being sick made it worse.”

“The kids were a mess when I went home the first night.” He said softly.

“I’m not surprised. That was the other reason I didn’t want to be here, what it would do to them. I didn’t want to put them through all this shit again.”

“They’re ok love and will be happy you’re on your way home. I know I am.”

“I want our bed.” She sighed. “In our home.”

“Oh fuck me I hear you on that one.” He chuckled.

“Are we ok?”

His brow creased in a frown. “Stronger than ever love.”

“I hurt you and I’m sorry.” His fingers toyed with the wisps of hair at her face, tucking them behind her ear.

“You didn’t hurt me Sildie, just scared a few years off me.” He kissed her temple. “No more now, we move past it. Get you better, lots of sleep and rest, and get those goddess curves back where they belong.” She’d lost weight, a substantial amount and she looked gaunt.

“You saying I’m too skinny?” She played.

“I like your curves.” He growled. “I’d like them back please kitten.” He hooked his finger under her chin and tilted her head up to look at him before slowly kissing her, that tender yet erotic kiss that made her toes curl.

“Then I need more than jelly.” She screwed up her face, clearly over the taste of it.

“I’ll get you settled in at home and go get whatever you want.”

“Pho. Buckets and buckets of pho and coconut shrimp.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“I need to lay down again.” She sighed. “Just being vertical wears me out.”

“Lay down and I’ll go make some calls, let dad and Megan know you’re coming home.” He said standing and helping her back into bed. “Dad’s been at our place with the kids so they can sleep in their own beds. And before you get upset, he chose to stay so they’d have more stability, it was the right call.”

“I know, it’s just... what a fucking mess.” She sighed.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s family, we stick together.”

“Still acclimating.” She mumbled as he kissed the top of her head and smirked.

“They’ll grow on you.” He said as she coughed. It was still there but not as bad as before, that was progress, it still left her short of breath. “Nap time, I’ll find you some ice cream or something and I have calls to make.” The real progress was her not clinging to him for dear life because he left her alone in the room for five minutes.

After talking with Stellan for nearly an hour he made his way to the dessert shop across the street from the hospital. With a tub of sorbet in hand he grinned as he saw her dozing. With the tiniest amount on the spoon he pressed it to her lips, her eyes fluttering open. “I would leave you napping but this will melt and it’s sacrilege to waste premium pear sorbet.” He said softly,

“Yes it is.” That smile, he thought, how he’d missed that smile. He handed her the tub and pulled his own out of the bag, she giggled which ended in a coughing fit. “I’m ok, better to cough it up than keep it in there.” She said and started to eat. “I can’t taste much but that feels so good on my throat.”

“Don’t make yourself puke. He chuckled. “That’s why I only got you a small one.”

“It’s enough and it’s not jelly.” She said eating another spoonful.

They talked as the final IV bag and medication worked it’s way through her system, the nurse coming by and giving her the last dose of antibiotics by injection and pulling the IV out. The nurse ran through her meds and got her ready for discharge, the doctor coming by saying she could leave when she was ready. “I want a hot shower before I go anywhere.” She chuckled and started coughing.

“Need some help?” He smirked.

“You are not fucking me in the hospital shower.” She quipped as she shuffled past.

“No sex for you for a while, period.” He countered. “I want you at peak performance when I have you next kitten.” He growled, kissing her hand before nipping her knuckles.

“Now there’s some motivation.” He heard her mutter as she closed the bathroom door. Smiling to himself he packed up her things, knowing she’d want to hightail it out of here as soon as she stepped out of the shower.

At this moment in time the shower she was currently broiling herself under was better than sex. There was nothing in the world like a good hair wash and scrub after you’d been sick and wallowing in your own sweat even when you’d done the personal hygiene wash twice every day. She emerged a new woman, had Gustaf help her dry her hair as she was already tiring, and dressed in some leggings and a sweater, total comfort.

He wasn’t wrong, no sooner had her feet pushed into her shoes she was ready to go. “Stay here I’ll bring the car around.” He said as he wheeled her to the foyer.

“Ok.”

He left her sitting in the wheelchair just inside the door to keep her in the warmth and jogged to the car, pulling up at the curb a little while later. She felt bad for having to lean on him so much, her energy fading as they drove home. “We’ll take it slowly, there’s no rush, the kids are still at grandpa’s with Valter.”

“Mario Cart wars?”

“Something like that. It took their mind of everything.” He chuckled.

“Good thinking.”

They made it to the elevator when the coughing fit started, the cold air getting into her lungs and bringing her up short. Pulling her sweater up over her nose and mouth to breathe warmer air she tried to level out her breathing as they took the ride up. “Damn that’s fucking dynamite.” She sighed exhausted.

“I bet.”

“I cough so much and I can’t stop. It makes me want to puke.” She whispered.

“Your body doesn’t want all the muck in there anymore.”

“Nope.” She said shuffling to the front door. “Home.” She sighed and he thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Her tone held such longing and love, they were home, their home. He opened the door to balloons and a welcome home sign the boys had made strung up over the kitchen island. Those boys jumped up excitedly and hugged her as she shuffled inside. Such love in this apartment now, he thought as he watched them, that smile on Sildie’s face both joy and relief.

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea @fay-walden @nandadb @grimeundglow

#gustaf skarsgard #shattered lives #gustaf skarsgard fanfiction

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amelialincoln · 3 years

Text

Stuck With You

“Hey, babe.” Link’s practically frostbitten cheeks burned against Amelia’s as he leant down to greet her with a kiss. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Amelia smiled, rubbing her stomach in a small circular motion. “I wasn’t expecting the morning sickness to last this long.” Link couldn’t help but grin at his girlfriend who looked picture perfect in her oversized woolen sweater and newly formed bump. “What’s so funny?” She grinned back at him.

“Nothing, I’m just lucky,” he replied with a shrug.

“Yeah, I’m sure you were thinking the same thing this morning when you were holding my hair back to keep me from spewing chunks in it.” She shook her head. Link chuckled, tugging off his flurry filled jacket and sitting down beside her. “I doubt we’re going to make it to Meredith’s for New Years at this rate.”

“Most people were cancelling at work. Other than half the staff who live at her place,” he joked. “I doubt anyone is going to be having too much fun tonight.”

“Oh, cause you’re stuck with me instead of drinking with your boys?” She teased.

“Right, Amelia, because I’d rather start the New Year with anyone other than you.” That received a small giggle and he pulled her onto his lap gently. “You feeling hungry? I was craving some soup with it being so cold.”

“That sounds perfect.” She nodded.

“Alright, up you get then.” Amelia gave a moan of protest as he lifted her to a standing position before tugging her hand into the kitchen. Luckily they had vegetable stock in the fridge so the rest was simple. Amelia sat at the island chairs while Link chopped the veggies and chicken before adding them to the pot to cook.

“No pasta?” Amelia whined.

“Why don’t you come over and help me rather than complaining?” Link chuckled. Amelia shot him a look of exasperation before joining him in the kitchen. She searched through the cupboard before finding her favourite bow shaped noodles and adding them to the pot. Link wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head as she stirred. “Smells good,” he mused.

“Thanks, it was all me.” She received a poke in the side for that comment. The couple waited patiently for the soup to cook before spooning it into bowls and setting the rest in the fridge for leftovers.

“What do you want to watch?” Amelia asked from her place on his chest as she lifted a spoonful of veggies into her mouth.

“I don’t really care.” Link shrugged, absentmindedly wiping a drop of broth from her cheek with his sleeve. Amelia put on some random documentary as the true crime junkie she was and settled into his lap comfortably.

“Not while we’re eating,” Link complained as the narrator ran over some graphic evidence.

“You’re trying to tell me that you’ve got a queasy stomach,” she asked, “when you shove people’s bones back in place for a living?” Unapologetically, Link set his ceramic bowl on their coffee table and swallowed with distaste.

“You were the one throwing up all day,” he grumbled.

“And whose fault was that?” Amelia batted her lashes, never allowing Link to forget that it was his fault for impregnating her.

“Alright, then.” Link picked up the tv remote and clicked the off button before throwing the device far enough away on the couch that Amelia wouldn’t attempt to go after it. “I just want to talk to you, I feel like I haven’t seen you all day.” Amelia’s irritated expression washed away.

“Fine,” she grumbled before pulling out her phone. Link almost threw that across the couch too before realizing which app she was searching for. “Our baby is the size of a mango today,” she stated proudly. “I can feel him getting heavier.” She placed his hand on the underside of her belly and smiled as he acknowledged the new weight there. “His lungs are apparently developing,” she squinted at her phone, “and he might start kicking soon.”

“That’s exciting, babe.” Link rubbed her back tenderly and she relaxed into his touch.

“I didn’t get that with Christopher.” She frowned. “I mean there were phantom kicks...but I don’t know how they’re actually supposed to feel.” “Well we’ll find out soon, I guess,” he offered, not really sure what to say.

“Yeah, exactly,” she said more brightly than he knew she was feeling. “You finished your soup?” She asked, slowly standing up with the assistance from his hand on her back. He nodded as she stacked his bowl on top of her own and made her way back into the kitchen. He followed her cautiously, noticing that she was deep in thought and messaged her neck as she wordlessly did the dishes. Link knew she wasn’t supposed to start nesting until her third trimester but he’d noticed, with amusement, how much of a neat freak she had become over the last couple of weeks.

“You dry?” She finally asked, handing him the pot.

“Sure,” he replied, moving to stand beside her. They stood in silence for a couple of moments longer before he asked, “have you ever heard of a babymoon?”

“Huh?” she replied, her hands deep in soapy water.

“It’s like a honeymoon...kinda but not really.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s like a trip you take before the baby comes. Like to celebrate the last time you’ll be together, just the two of you.”

“Sounds kind of dreary when you put it that way,” Amelia chuckled lightly. “It’s not like our lives are ending.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Link backpedaled. “It’s just to spend some time together before the baby comes.”

“Link, I’m teasing. That sounds really nice,” she assured him.

“Okay, cool.” He sighed with relief.

“I mean I think I deserve it if you can’t manage to give me an actual honeymoon.”

“What, I--”

“Link.” She rolled her eyes. “Teasing, again.”

“You suck,” he growled, flinging droplets of soapy water in her direction.

“Oh, really?” She taunted, spraying an enormous amount of water at him and soaking him from head to toe. “Shit.” She went to wipe suds from his cheekbone and slipped, landing embarrassingly on her ass.

“You okay?” The urgency in his voice immediately ended the joke.

“Link, I’m fine,” she winced.

“Are you sure? We could go to the hospital and--”

“I promise,” she confirmed. He breathed a sigh of relief, hovering over her and surveying her quickly. “Link, I mean it. You can get off of me.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” He grinned cheekily, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips before pulling away and leaving her wanting more.

“Okay, come back,” she whined, ignoring the fact that her clothes were soaked with dishwater.

“Nah, let’s get you in the shower. You’re all wet.” He smirked, pulling off her clothes shamelessly as he led her into their bathroom.

[][][]

Surprisingly, it was Amelia who convinced Link to stay up till twelve. Usually she was passed out at eleven tops with Link lying awake in bed for hours, deep with worries about parenting, the environment and everything else that he’d be bringing a baby into.

“It’s the baby’s first New Years,” she argued, pulling the fluffy white towel around her dripping body.

“The baby’s first New Years is a year from now,” he groaned from their bed. The hot shower and the amount of cardio he’d just performed had practically knocked him out and he wasn’t sure if he could keep his eyes open for the next half hour.

“Well it’s our first New Years.” She had him with that one. Link sighed before opening his arm to allow her to crawl in beside him. “Fine, I’ll stay up.” He didn’t. Link conked out about a minute later and their bedroom was filled with his soft snores almost immediately. Amelia sighed, running her hand through his hair and kissing his forehead lightly. She picked up a medical journal she’d been flipping through throughout the day and cuddled up beside him.

“Link,” Amelia shook her boyfriend awake.

“Huh?” His groggy voice responded before his eyes shot open. “Is the baby coming? Are you having contractions?”

“Uh, no.” She remarked. “You’re about four months too early.” Link nodded, swallowing nervously and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was what was keeping him up most nights. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Oh,” he breathed. “Sorry for falling asleep.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I just wanted my New Year’s kiss.” Link glanced at the clock and grinned before placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Was that what you were hoping for?”

“Mhmm.” She bobbed her head. “Thank you.”

short cute domestic fic hope u enjoy! didn’t have time to edit so I probs will tmrw but I wanted to get it up for y’all.

#amelink #amelia shepherd #AmeliaShepherd #amelinkfanfiction #amelink fanfiction #link #Atticus Lincoln #atticus link #atticuslincoln #greysanatomy

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justasparkwritings · 4 years

Text

Exile: Breaking Branches

Pairing: Timothée Chalamet x Reader

Genre: Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Timothée crosses the one line they've sworn they never would. Consequences, heartache, and despair enfold as Timothée tries to find his way back to her.

Exile Master List

She poured the last of the chardonnay into her glass, sipping slowly as she stirred the large pot of soup on the stove. The air had begun to bite, the leaves shedding their summers glow for autumnal comfort and eventual rest as winter hit. She was cozy in an old sweater she’d kept from an ex, his alma mater printed in large writing across the front. The years of wear and tear had become embedded in the print, cracking it to expose the maroon of the fabric it was pressed upon. She loved it, despite the gnarly way in which she’d come to collect it. It was her favorite garment for days like this. The cold air of fall, the emptiness of their home, and the long days where she needed complicated recipes to occupy her time… rather to bide her time until he called.

She glanced at the clock, he’d be calling soon, a call when he got up, before getting ready for set, or running his lines again, a call to start his day and wind down hers. She stared at the stove clock, permanently set either two minutes fast, or an hour and two minutes depending on Daylight Savings. She hated the thing; it was his purchase, a luxurious French stove with a manual written exclusively in French. Which was fine when Timothée was home, but alone she was at a loss of what buttons to push and how to fix it. Her remedial language skills were cute when they’d met, and she’d remembered a little more French from high school than she realized, but an entire manual with no pictures or diagrams? No, this was a Timothée chore that was waiting to be fixed. It had been waiting to be fixed since the first of the month, when they’d fallen forward.

She set her silicone spoon down and admired the space in front of her. She loved their kitchen. She had insisted on spending the most money on it and their master bath. They had found the home after a few months of looking. It needed a desperate remodel, a makeover to cleanse the house of years of neglect. It was in a secluded part of LA, with large trees and few neighbors. They’d bargained down the price and tossed it into their renovation budget. Which was why she stood on their herringbone reclaimed wooden floors, staring at their gorgeous French stove top, with the intricate black tiled backsplash that stretched the length of the wall. The gold hardware popped against the forest green cabinetry and accented the large marble island.

She sighed, resigned to the fact that he wasn’t calling today. She turned to set her wine down and glanced out the glass wall at their side garden. Tomorrow she would collect her harvest and add it to her soup, perhaps make a vegetable broth to be saved for another day in her empty home.

Across the world, Timothée was waking up, a hangover shredding through his body. He turned and looked at the person lying next to him, before getting up and searching for his boxers. She stood too and scrambled to find her own clothing before staring at him. Their eyes met, the haze of the alcohol and the realization of what had transpired crossed their faces at the same moment. She waved awkwardly, saying she’d see him on set, before darting out of his hotel room.

Timothée sat on the bed, head in hands. The grogginess of just waking up after a night of drinking was apparent as he tried to decide what to do. Would it be worse if he thought about it, or just called her?

She picked up on the first ring, excitement in her voice.

“Hi honey, I wondered if you were going to call,” She said, sighing.

She waited for him to say something, to greet her, call her a pet name, anything.

“I slept with her, I, I can’t believe, we slept together,” He exhaled it out through his lips, wishing desperately that the release of the statement would take the guilt and weight off of his body. He sat quietly, wondering what her response would be, hoping she could give him some sort of solace.

“Okay,” She said. She moved around the island to sit on their stools and took a gulp of wine. She began to bite her bottom lip as she set her phone on the counter, placing it on speaker.

“I’m so sorry,” Timothée said, his voice cracking.

“Tim, we have an open relationship,” She reminded him. He sensed the calm in her voice, the indifference to him relinquishing a regret she never wanted to hear in the first place.

“I know but, this, this is a line I didn’t want to cross,” He pleads. Why doesn’t she care more?

“It seems like you’re trying to make sense of this more than I am,” She said.

“I just, there was a line I didn’t want to cross and,” The tears are forming, the bile rising in his throat, he tries to inhale slowly, calm himself. If she’s okay with this, why isn’t he?

“And what? You did? Timothée, you have to live with yourself and the decision you made,” The words cut through him. They say the opposite of hate isn’t love, it’s indifference. He feels the air in their relationship starting to turn. She takes another sip of her wine and wipes the tears that have slid down her cheeks.

Their open relationship had been a mutual decision which they’d come to after his first film away. The desire for companionship, for intimacy on both their ends was palpable. Conversations became less about how they were doing and more about what they could do to get each other off. Their relationship became twisted, and once he’d come home, they’d forgotten how to be together. They had sat across from one another in her old one-bedroom apartment, sweltering in the summer heat. Did they break up, or did they find a way to work through it?

At first, they balked at the idea, an open relationship. Wasn’t that a phrase tossed about so people felt okay stepping out on their partners? Or was that the heteronormative notion they’d become invested in? What if, they supposed, when Timothée was gone for filming, they had an open relationship. They could sleep with or hook up with whomever they wanted? There would be no strings, no emotions. The utmost protection used, and most importantly to both of them, whomever she slept with while he was away was not to step foot in their home or her apartment. That bed was reserved for their love, and their love only.

Did they want details about who the other was fucking? What could be shared? They started by telling each other nothing. Which became complicated when they would come together in their bed with new tricks or skills. “Who taught you that?” was a question that became common in their first year as a selectively open relationship. So much so that they decided they would share who they were fucking, but no pictures, no googling, no details on what transpired. When they shared a new trick, it was “from a buddy”, and that was it.

They didn’t keep score, or a running tally to compare. They didn’t share details of how hard they came or what positions they used. They became so good at it that by year five, “I saw a buddy last night,” was all they ever needed to tell each other.

Which was why, in Timothée’s mind, this felt like a betrayal to both of them.

“I didn’t want this, I didn’t… Fuck, I’ve just been so lonely, and I’ve missed you so much,”

“Timothée this is what we agreed to,”

“I know I just, I can’t believe I slept with her,” He emphasized the pronoun, both in a show of his disgust with himself, and his deep guilt that it had been his costar. He knew how she felt about him sleeping with costars, how uncomfortable it made her when they’d walk red carpets or be at premiers. It became personal, intimate, addicting, when it was meant to just be a hit.

“How does she feel?” She asked.

“Well she left really awkwardly, and I don’t know if we’re ever going to talk about it,”

“Well it seems like maybe you need to do some soul searching,” The ice in her voice gave him goosebumps.

“Babe, I’m sorry,” He said, letting the crack in his voice radiate into the receiver.

“For what?”

“For talking about it with you, I know that our rule is that we don’t talk about who, but I just, I felt like I needed to tell you about it,”

“Tim, thank you for apologizing. Maybe you think it’s a big deal because you know how I feel about you sleeping with coworkers, or maybe it’s because you two are good friends and have been for years. You followed through on why we have an open relationship, but maybe you both took advantage of each other. She’s been broken up from Zach for what, a month? Maybe you feel guilty?”

“I feel so fucking guilty. So. Guilty.”

“Maybe you and Florence need to sit down and talk about it,”

“Ugh, yeah, you’re right,”

“Maybe that’ll make you feel better. Go get breakfast and lots of coffee.”

“We aren’t called until tonight,” He muttered.

“Maybe go back to sleep first,” She paused, the snap in voice striking her throat.

“I love you,” He said, his voice above a whisper, wanting to ensure her his heart belonged to her.

“I know you do,”

It wasn’t that in this moment, when he desperately needed it, that she didn’t return the sentiment. Was her love waning?

“When I come home, can we discuss this open relationship thing?” He asked, shoulders reaching his ears.

“Why?” She asked.

“I’m not happy with it,” He said.

“Because you slept with your friend and are trying to rectify it in your mind, or because you’re unhappy with it?”

In the best of times, he loved this about her. Her unflinching matter of fact statements, her ability to say what she thought, to ask the question that cut to the core of the other. But when he was hurting, all he wanted was for her to stop playing devils advocate, and just be there for him.

“I just want you,” He whispered.

“Okay, we can talk about it.” She said.

“I love you,” He said, punctuating the love.

“Love you,” She said swiftly before hanging up.

She sat back and tried to make sense of what had transpired. Because Timothée had fucked up, would she now have to rid herself of the occasional relief she sought from others? Because Timothée fucked up, would their relationship become toxic and unsustainable? Was she really worried that their relationship was doomed, or was she worried that she liked her rotation of strange men?

She didn’t know. And neither did Timothée.

Next: Five Whole Minutes

#timothee x reader #timothee x you #timothée chamalet #actor #male actor #writing #drabble #fanfic #actor rpf #rpf

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mrslittletall · 3 years

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Title: Warmth, Comfort and a Break Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Laurence the first Vicar/Ludwig the Holy Blade Word Count: 6.323 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32155129

Summary: When Laurence gets sick with a cold, Ludwig talks him into letting the sickness cure on its own instead of using the holy blood. Laurence isn't too happy about it... but agrees once he notices how long he didn't take a break anymore.

(Author's note: I am gifting this to RedFox because they asked me for a LauLu sickfic AGES ago and also gifted fics to me completely unprompted, which is so cute and I really wanted to give something back.)

When Laurence woke up this morning, he felt awful. A headache, a stuffed nose, a sore throat... and he was pretty sure he had a fever as well. All the classic symptoms of a common cold.

He had always gotten one without fail in his youth, not a single year had spared him, sometimes he even got them more than once a year, and because of his already poor health, it meant that he was suffering a lot under them, having to spend at least a week in bed waiting for his fever to go down.

Luckily, now that he had the Healing Blood, that wouldn't be a problem anymore. He could just get himself his morning blood ministration and would be as good as new, ready to start work for the day.

So Laurence got up, upsetting two or three cats that had slept on his bed, with the motion, and teetered over to his armchair, where he kept his personal blood ministration equipment for his room. It would be a bit difficult to set it up with his body feeling so weak, but he would manage. Just as he put the blood vial into the structure and was about to insert the needle into his arm, his door suddenly barged open.

“Laurence, what do you want for breakfast to- Wait, what are you doing?!”, Ludwig's voice boomed through Laurence' room and Laurence, having been startled by his boyfriend, just stood there with the needle still in hand, not moving until Ludwig had crossed the distance to him.

“Getting a blood ministration right in the morning? Laurence, we talked about this, you really need to tone down on the blood...” The disappointment in Ludwig's voice was unmistakable.

“I need it.”, Laurence said, his voice a mere croak. “I am sick, Ludwig. I got a fever.”

“Oh?”, Ludwig said and felt Laurence' forehead. “Indeed, you are burning up.”

“So will you let me have-”, Laurence started but got interrupted by Ludwig picking him up.

“Then let's get you to bed right away to take care of this sickness and make you feel better!”

Before Laurence could complain, he was stuffed back in bed, Mary curling herself up on his lap.

“Ludwig, what is the meaning of this?”, Laurence whisper-croaked, apparently his voice decided to fail him completely by now.

“You take too much of the blood.”, Ludwig said. “And you seem to simply have a cold. It won't do your body any good when you heal everything with the blood, it will stop knowing how to heal itself. Besides, when was the last time you took a break?”

“It hasn't been that long.”, Laurence said before breaking in a cough, noticing that Ludwig rubbed his back when it happened. “Ugh, I shouldn't talk too much.”, he croaked, though with a bit more voice. “Anyway, I only took a break...”

Laurence stopped when he had to think about when had been the last time he took a break. It wasn't that long ago, right? However, he was sure he had been able to swim during the last break and the weather in Yharnam very much was winter, with the city coated in a fine powder that looked like someone had poured sugar on the building's roofs.

“Alright, it has been a while.”, Laurence let himself fall back into the pillows and kneaded Mary's fur absentmindedly. While he certainly felt like he should take a break, he would like for it to be a break where he wasn't feeling like shit.

“See? Just stay in bed and let me take care of you.”, Ludwig said.

“What about the church hunters?”, Laurence murmured, trying to not overstrain his voice too much.

“They can live without me for a day or two.”, Ludwig said. Laurence frowned, for his sickness normally never went away before a week was over. However, the latest hunt had just been and they wouldn't need to call out another so soon. “Let's rather focus on what you need... you should drink enough.”, Ludwig eyed the jar of water on Laurence' night stand, “Yes, water is good, but tea would be better. I will send Florence in with some tea soon. You can drink it while I prepare your breakfast. Because you have a cold, a nice chicken broth should help you out.”

Ludwig got up and smiled at Laurence. “And I will make sure to make it extra salty for you.”

“Thank you...”, Laurence said, though he was pretty sure he wouldn't taste anything anyway. He watched as Ludwig left the room and then focussed again on kneading Mary's fur, the cat purring at the continued care. She was warm and soft and made him feel a tiny little bit better.

When he had been allowed to have a cat back on Byrgenwerth, he surely would have managed to get over all his sickness days with much more ease.

With nothing to do, not feeling super tired and having to wait for breakfast anyway, Laurence continued to run his hands through Mary's fur, until there was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”, he said, figuring that it probably would be Florence, for Ludwig had told him he would send her with tea. Not much later, the door opened and Florence entered with a tablet filled with a tea can and a tea cup. “

“Vicar, Luwig told me you are feeling unwell?”, she asked as she walked over to his bed. “Oh dear, you look like you sport quite a fever.”, she added after taking one look at him.

“Unfortunately yes.”, Laurence replied, accepting the tea cup he gave him. The tea was still steaming which felt like a blessing on his stuffy nose.

“I brought you some sage tea.”, Florence put the tablet down on Laurence' night stand, putting the jar of water on top of it as well. “Though I wonder why you haven't cured your illness with the holy blood.”

“Ludwig told me that I shouldn't take it for just a little cold.”, Laurence said, taking a sip from the tea. For most people it would be far too hot, but he always liked to drink his tea as hot as possible.

“Understandable. Besides, you got into a habit to take far too much of the blood.”, Florence said. “Not that I can't understand it. There is quite a rush whenever I have it... it's so hard to control yourself sometimes. I am glad to see that you try to be better with it.”

Well... if Ludwig wouldn't have come in, Laurence very much would have taken the blood ministration. And even though he had promised Ludwig to not take one daily anymore, he still had done it in secret... he just... often didn't feel well when he didn't take the blood. There was this sense of longing which only vanished when he got a blood ministration.

Alright, maybe he really had a blood problem, but regardless, as long as Ludwig would mother him, he wouldn't be able to get one in anyway.

“Thank you for the tea, Florence.”, he instead said. “I assume you already cancelled all my appointments?”

“Not yet.”, Florence shot up. “Let me take care of it right away.”

“Cancel them for the whole week.”, Laurence said as she left, being sure that he would be stuck in bed for a while. Once Florence was gone, he sighed and continued to drink the tea. At least it was warm and made his throat feel a little bit better.

Laurence drank three cups of the tea and then planned to nap, only for his body to tell him he had failed to go to the bathroom after waking up and he didn't make it any better by drinking so much tea. While he very much didn't feel like walking all the way there, he was fighting a losing battle, so he pulled himself up, gave Mary a stroke with his hand and then walked towards the door, feeling a bit like one of the infected with how much his body was wobbling. Just as he had reached the door, it opened and Ludwig stood in front of him.

“Laurence, I brought your- What are you doing out of bed?”

“I need to use the bathroom.”, Laurence whispered, a total contrast to Ludwig's booming voice.

“Are you sure you are able to make it there on your own? You look like you could faint any given minute...” Ludwig entered the room and put the tablet he was carrying on the table while Laurence supported himself at the door frame, catching his breath. Before he could reply to Ludwig that he didn't have a choice, he felt himself being picked up.

“I will carry you there.”, Ludwig said, gently cradling Laurence in his arms, who turned a bit red in the face and it wasn't because of the fever.

“Ludwig... what if someone sees us like this...”, he murmured.

“Then I just tell them that I'll help our sick Vicar out.”, Ludwig beamed at him. “Now let's get you to the bathroom before we need to change your clothes.”

“It isn't that bad...”, Laurence murmured as Ludwig carried him to the nearest bathroom. Laurence half expected that he wanted to come in with him, but Ludwig waited outside until Laurence was finished and left the bathroom after having washed his hands.

“Now let's get you back to bed and feed you your soup.”, Ludwig said and picked Laurence back up again.

“Why are you talking to me like I am a small child?”, Laurence asked on their way back. Last time he checked, he had been an adult for almost fifteen years now.

“Old habits die hard.”, Ludwig replied. “I used to take care of my younger siblings and whenever they got sick, I talked to them like this because it made them feel better. They were more calm when they knew what would happen next.”

“Well, I am not five years old anymore.”, Laurence said, letting himself hang limp in Ludwig's arms. “Besides... I used to be sick a lot as a child, so I can't be surprised anyway...”

“I am not trying to talk down to you or anything.”, Ludwig said, opening the door to Laurence' room. “But if you feel uncomfortable with it, I'll stop.”

As Laurence got put back into his bed, he considered Ludwig's words... Actually, it was kind of comforting. “...You don't need to stop.”, he said and leaned against the backrest of his bed, fluffing up a few pillows while Ludwig prepares his breakfast. Even though he couldn't smell much, he could smell the soup, for Ludwig must have used some strong smelling herbs in it. Even the smell made him feel better... surely after the soup was inside of him, he would feel better as well.

After Ludwig poured the soup from the pot into a bowl, putting the lid on the pot again, he dunked a spoon in it and carried it over to Laurence' bed. There, he sat down and took the spoon himself, filling it and offering it to Laurence complete with the words: “Laurence, say aaaah.”

“That's getting too ridiculous, Ludwig.”, Laurence crossed his arms and cocked his head a tiny little bit. “I can eat on my own. How about you prevent the cats from annoying me while eating? They are already interested...”

It was true, Mick, Mary and Amy had come already to sniff at the bowl. Ludwig gave Laurence a sheepish smile. “I am sorry, Laurence.”, he said and handed him the bowl, then got up and scooped the three cats in his arms. “But tell me if you need help.”

“It's just a cold.”, Laurence said, adjusting the bowl on his lap and grabbing for the spoon with his left hand. “Like you said earlier. I won't need help eating. I just am too weak to take care of myself for a while...”

Thanks to his trip to the bathroom earlier, the soup had already cooled a bit, but Laurence didn't mind if it would have been hot. It was cold outside anyway and even though his body felt hot, he felt so cold from the inside, did he have the chills already? The warm soup was a blessing for his freezing body and his sore throat. Ludwig had kept his promise and put more salt into the soup, so that Laurence could taste quite a bit of it. It probably would be too salty for anyone else, even himself when he didn't have a cold, but for this exact moment, it was the right amount of salt. It helped to make the herbs stand out also.

While Laurence chewed on a piece of chicken meat, he looked at Ludwig, who had decided to entertain the cats with a game to distract them from the food. All three of them were hunting a long string, one that looked like it came directly from Ludwig's boot. On closer inspection, it really came from it.

“I have toys for them.”, Laurence said, his voice feeling much smoother thanks to the warm meal.

“I don't mind.”, Ludwig simply answered. “My shoelaces are sturdy. They can chew on it for a bit.”

Laurence shrugged and continued his meal. After he had emptied the bowl, Ludwig came over to take it and was in the process of filling it up again, but Laurence stopped him. “I can't eat that much when sick.”, he said. “I am already full.”

“Well, you ate more than usual.”, Ludwig gave Laurence a smile. “I will keep the rest warm for later then.”

“Yes, that would be the best...”, Laurence murmured. “I think I want to nap for a bit...” He already felt his eyes getting heavy.

“Then I will look after you later.”, Ludwig promised and Laurence heard how the door shut when his eyes ultimately fell shut and his body tried to sleep through the sickness.

Ludwig returned later to check up on Laurence... with a couple of Laurence' favourite books. While he would have liked to just sit down in his armchair and read them himself, his headache had returned and it didn't get better when a sneezing fit overtook him after waking, which turned into a coughing fit, leaving Laurence gasping for air while Ludwig rubbed his back.

After Laurence' body had calmed down, it still told him that he better move as little as possible and so he cuddled himself in the blankets of his bed while Ludwig read to him.

Ludwig wasn't a good reader at all. He was slow, stumbled over words and sometimes had to read the same sentence several times to deliver it right. In truth, Ludwig was terrible at reading, especially aloud and normally Laurence would have pulled his hair at this style of reading. Ludwig had once said to Laurence that it always looked to him that the words are missing letters or mixed up and that he really tried to not riddle his reports with too many mistakes. Laurence had to admit to himself one day that reading and writing just wasn't Ludwig's forte. Some of the spelling mistakes even were pretty hilarious.

While Laurence truly had trouble with Ludwig reading so slow and snatchy, he very much admired that his boyfriend took the trouble upon him to read to Laurence, even though Ludwig knew he wasn't good at it. It made Laurence' heart feel quite a bit warmer, even though he didn't even manage to get through one chapter in an hour.

“Maybe I should try a different book.”, Ludwig said after he finally got through chapter one of an adventure novel. He put the book aside and grabbed for another one. Laurence grabbed for the cup of tea on his night stand, for Florence must have brought new tea while he slept and it was nice and hot again, and waited for Ludwig to pick a book.

“How to pick up Fair Maidens.”, Ludwig read. “What a pretentious title... Let's see.. Chapter one... Oh dear, are you alright, Laurence?”

Laurence had spit his tea all over his blankets when Ludwig had picked up the book, because not only was this a book that Laurence absolutely hated, it had been Gehrman's favourite book. He had put it into his bookcase in his office one day... so that he would never forget... Ludwig must have grabbed it as well when he picked out Laurence' favourites.

“Sorry, Ludwig, I didn't want to scare you.”, Laurence said and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his pyjama. “That book... was Gehrman's favourite...”

Ludwig looked down at the book on his lap and realization flashed over his eyes. “Of... of course, I remember... he was always reading this book. His copy was in a much worse shape, that is why I didn't recognize it... I normally recognize books by their cover and not their title...”

That only further cemented Laurence' theory that Ludwig and letters had decided to be common enemies, but that wasn't the point here. The presence of the book was such a grim reminder of the fact that his friend had vanished... before Laurence could properly apologize to him.

“I am sorry, Laurence, I know he is a touchy subject for you. I will pick a different book to read, but first we should change your pyjamas and blankets. They are full of tea. Wait here, I get a wash cloth.”

“Of course...”, Laurence said, putting the cup of tea back on his night stand, staring at the book that Ludwig had so innocently picked out. Gehrman had been Laurence' usual care taker when he was sick, so many weeks spend on the couch in the little cottage he inhabited with his dad, so many days where he had held Laurence' hair out of the way when the latter puked out his guts (again), so many instances where Gehrman had picked him up and laid on a more comfortable surface when Laurence had passed out again, treating any wound that got inflicted during the fainting.

If he would still be there, would he step in his old caretaker role and make sure that Laurence felt better soon? Or would he just tell Laurence to get a blood ministration and call it a day? Laurence would never know, for he never had managed to locate Gehrman (not that he didn't try to find him once and again...)

Ludwig entered the room again with a wash cloth as well as a new cover for his blankets. Glad for the distraction, Laurence stumbled out of bed and let Ludwig take care of him, let himself undress and clean up where the tea had hit his skin and once he was in a new pyjama, he sat himself in his armchair with a woolen blanket that Florence had knitted for his birthday once and waited until Ludwig was done with changing the tea sodden cover.

It was a good thing that no cats had been present during this small slip-up or Laurence would have had a few scratches as well as result.

He looked down at his arms at this thought. For a cat owner having scratches was normal, it happened while they played or when they tried to climb on him or when he was a casualty when they fought. His arms were completely clean from any scratches or scars from them. Because of his daily usage of the blood... Laurence hadn't even noticed how dependent he had become on it...

“Alright, Laurence, you can get back into bed.”, Ludwig said. Laurence got up, shivering on the short way over to his bed and was more than glad when he could cuddle himself in the comfort of his feather blanket again. “Let me read another book to you...”

Much later that day, when the sun had long set and snow swirled outside the window, Laurence' cold had taken a turn for the worse and he just wanted to go to sleep and hope that it would be better the next day... if his cough would even let him sleep!

Ludwig had brought some more tea to soothe his throat. He also had asked if he should bring some cough medicine, but Laurence declined... he knew what was in these things and that would completely knock him out. Besides, because of the holy blood, Yharnam barely sold common medicine anymore, pretty much every clinic had switched over to blood ministrations (of course they were under church control) and the ones that didn't only saw very few patients.

An earlier version of Laurence may have felt guilty about this, but the Laurence that lived in the here and now was long over feeling pity for them.

Laurence tried to drink at least one cup of tea before he would settle down to sleep, which was difficult when his body got racked by coughs again and again. Finally, after what felt like hours, probably only had been ten minutes though, his throat stopped tickling for the moment and he felt ready to just lay himself down and pass out.

...Maybe he should have sent Ludwig to get the cough syrup...

Ludwig insisted on staying with Laurence for the night, so that he could take care of him immediately should something happen or should he need help. Laurence knew that Ludwig wouldn't change his mind, but he didn't allow Ludwig in his bed, for he didn't want for him to catch Laurence' cold. Ludwig probably would try to take care of Laurence despite being sick (and of course he wouldn't take the blood for such a minor illness), so Laurence didn't feel comfortable with getting his boyfriend sick as well.

Ludwig decided to sleep in Laurence' arm chair instead, putting the woollen blanket over himself, settling in, his black hair not in a ponytail but falling upon his shoulders, looking like black silk. Ludwig had such beautiful hair, that was what Laurence thought when he looked at him and then decided to close his own eyes to get his much needed rest.

When Laurence awoke it was still dark, still the middle of the night. He felt so hot... had his fever taken a turn for the worse? He certainly didn't feel well... laying in his bed, breathing heavily, interrupted by a few coughs occasionally. Laurence rolled from his back on his side and hoped that the awful feeling in his throat would go away and that his fever would calm down soon, when he had another feeling deep inside of him...

The blood. He felt like he needed the blood. He hadn't been able to take it during the day, for Ludwig wanted for him to stay clear of it for a while... but he couldn't do this, he felt himself shivering and it wasn't from the chills, he felt like his body would dissipate if he didn't put the blood inside of it right now, his breath was going quicker and he just needed to get up and get a blood vial... just a tiny one... just a little drop, that was all...

“Laurence, where are you going?”, Ludwig asked, making Laurence aware that he wasn't in his bed anymore but had started to walk towards his cupboard. Ludwig came over to Laurence and laid his hand on his forehead. “By the blood, you are burning up. You shouldn't walk away in the middle of the night with such a fever. If you need to go to the bathroom, I can help you out.”

Laurence shook his head, that had not been the issue. He wanted... he tried to get the blood, despite him promising to Ludwig to not take it... he really had a problem apparently...

“Felt hot. Wanted to get some cold water.”, he rasped out, his throat feeling like gravel.

“You get into bed right away and I get you a cool wash cloth.”, Ludwig said and led Laurence back to bed.

Laurence laid himself back down and pulled the blankets over him when Ludwig left. Now., his mind said to him. Now you can get a drop of blood. Ludwig will never know it.

Laurence didn't move. Instead, he focused his thoughts on the cat that slept with him and pet its fur. He didn't even notice which one it was, he just needed something, anything to distract him from this need.

When had Laurence gotten so dependent on the blood? He used to have a blood ministrant monthly, for he had to cure his chronic anemia. It turned into a bimonthly one, then a weekly and soon... soon he had done one daily, for it wasn't only the healing properties of the blood, but also the rush of it... it made him feel good, made him forget his troubles, put him on some high...

No wonder Ludwig was concerned about him. That surely wasn't healthy. Though, how should Laurence get rid of this awful feeling, the feeling that something was missing from his body, something that he desperately wanted to replace?

Just as the cat he had petted screamed in protest for he had struck his nails in it, Ludwig entered again and looked a bit confused at the offended ball of fur that left the room.

“Laurence, I brought a cool wash cloth.”, he said and laid it on Laurence' forehead. “That should help you cool down, so that you can go to sleep again.”

Ludwig wanted to leave and sit back down in the armchair, but he stopped when Laurence tugged at his sleeve.

“Ludwig? Could you read another book to me?”, he requested.

Ludwig gave Laurence a big smile. “Of course.”

Even though it took ages for Ludwig to get through the one chapter he wanted to read, even though he fell over every second sentence and had to double-check on every other word, it distracted Laurence from his need. He would just focus on Ludwig and his non existent reading skills and nothing else. Ludwig would help to keep him grounded.

He soon fell asleep again.

Of course Laurence wasn't healthy the next day. He never had managed to cure a cold in a day without the help of the old blood. The same could be said for the day after the next day. Ludwig continued to take care of him, by giving him food (still mostly warm soup or stew), reading to him, delivering the cats to him so that they could warm him and getting tea into his system, hoping that he could sweat and flush the sickness out.

On the fourth day, Laurence felt finally better, though now he had a different problem... now his nose wouldn't stop running and he pretty much had blown his nose with four different handkerchiefs now.

“How are you feeling, Laurence?”, Ludwig came in with his bright smile and put Laurence' tea on the nightstand. “Here is your new dose of tea. Drink plenty.”

“In a minute.”, Laurence replied, sniffling. “My stupid nose won't stop running... I think I need another handkerchief soon...” Just as Laurence had finished speaking, a sneeze happened. He held the handkerchief in front of him to catch the brunt of it, but the warmth on his face and the red on the handkerchief made it clear that his nose hadn't liked the constant blowing this morning at all. “Fuck.”, he growled.

“Woah, you got a nosebleed!”, Ludwig looked rather shocked while Laurence just sighed.

“And? That happens to me all the fucking time even unprompted. Rather give me a new handkerchief, it's all over my hands already...”

Indeed Laurence' battered nose had already bled through the already sodden handkerchief he had held and now the blood dripped all over his fingers and down on his pyjama. Ludwig handed him a new handkerchief which Laurence pressed against his nose where blood and snot intermingled. A fairly unpleasant sensation.

“At least all the snot gets out.”, Ludwig said as he steadied Laurence, making him hold his head slightly downwards, so that the nosebleed wouldn't clog his respiratory system and would hopefully stop soon.

“Could have done without the blood...”, Laurence said. “Wait, don't I have to pay into the swear jar?” He remembered the two swears that had slipped earlier.

“I wanted to give you a pass because you aren't feeling well.”, Ludwig said. “But for the next one when you are healthy you have to pay double.”

“What even is the point then?”, Laurence murmured, folding the handkerchief so that the bloody side would point away from him and catch the rest of the blood with the clean side.

“Once your nosebleed has stopped... I wanted to ask you away, would you like to take a bath?”, Ludwig asked as his hand went through Laurence' hair which made the latter extremely relaxed, forgetting to catch the nose bleed and bleed all over the blankets. “Ah sorry, I forgot that happened to you...”

“A bath sounds fine.”, Laurence replied. “I need to get one anyway, I have blood all over my face and hands...”

Not only that, Laurence hadn't got a proper bath for a few days now and he felt all sweaty and gross because of the fever. At least it had gone down today, even though it wasn't completely gone. Why were his colds always so persistent?

Ludwig helped him out of bed, but didn't carry him this time, for Laurence made it clear that he would like to walk on his own, now that he was better. Ludwig still laid a hand around his shoulder and walked with him towards the bathroom, the small little personal one, which housed a sink, a toilet and a bathtub, which was big enough for two people. Laurence unlocked it with his key and stepped in, Ludwig closely behind him.

“I already let the water heat up.”, Ludwig said. “It should be nice and hot, like you enjoy it.”

“Thank you.”, Laurence sat down on the closed toilet and waited while Ludwig filled the tub with water. While he waited, his nose started to run again, so he pressed his sleeve against it and wiped it. He would need to put on a new pyjama anyway.

While Laurence and Ludwig waited for the tub to fill, Ludwig organized a new pyjama for Laurence, locked the door behind him when he returned and got towels from the shelf in the bathroom ready. Once the tub was completely filled, Laurence got up and fumbled with the buttons on his pyjama. Ludwig was over in an instance and helped him undress. Once Laurence was completely naked, he entered the bathtub and sighed when the warmth, heat even, engulfed his body and soothed his aching nose and chest.

Laurence didn't expect for Ludwig to get into the tub with him, so a surprised noise escaped him when his boyfriend entered as well.

“How can you sit in this heat without batting an eye?”, Ludwig asked, fanning himself with his hand. It seemed to be a little too hot for him.

“Because I love the heat.”, he replied and leaned himself against Ludwig's large frame, closing his eyes when he felt his boyfriend's embrace. He could stay in the hot water like this forever...

However, Ludwig didn't let him enjoy the moment for eternity, for Laurence had to get cleaned up, especially the blood that was still smeared over his hands and chest. The water hadn't managed to get rid of everything, for it already had crusted and was now caked over his body.

Though, it was very nice to get washed by Ludwig as well. Ludwig didn't talk much, just sometimes prompted Laurence to give him a certain limb or move in a certain way. He was gentle and with each stroke of the wash cloth, Laurence felt cleaner and a lot better, watching as the red streaks of his blood appeared in the water before fading and settling at the ground. While it felt a bit weird basically sitting in his own blood, there was so much water in the tub, it was diluted enough.

After Ludwig was done with cleaning up Laurence, he got his earlier wish fulfilled and was allowed to just sit in the bathtub, leaning his head against Ludwig's chest and get his hair stroked by the man he loved. Only shortly before they had to leave the tub did Ludwig intervene again, by washing Laurence' hair.

It had been so relaxing that Laurence even forgot about his cold while in the warm water, but once he was out, heavily shivering because of the cold air, he got reminded about it. Ludwig wrapped him in a towel immediately and helped to dry Laurence' body and hair, then helped him into the fresh pyjama he had brought.

“Stupid cold.”, Laurence murmured. “When will it finally leave me in peace?”

“Soon probably.”, Ludwig said as he let Laurence back to his room. “You look a lot better already. And this was all your own body and not the blood. Besides, you finally took a break again, so I am not exactly mad at your illness...”

“It is nice to spend so much time with you...”, Laurence had to admit. He was really working too much. He should make sure to take at least one day off each week to spend with Ludwig entirely.

After Laurence was tucked in bed again, Ludwig left to prepare his meal. Expecting some more stew or soup, Laurence poured himself another cup of tea and entertained the cats that gathered around his bed with a string that was knotted to a wooden stick. They surely had fun with this game, even though two of them had a little quarrel when they hit each other instead of the string.

All three of the cats present turned and ran towards the door though when Ludwig returned. “Woah, you guys better get out.”, Ludwig said and pretty much banished the cats from Laurence' room, blocking the cat door as well. “Or they won't let you eat in peace.”

Laurence' ever running nose was a blessing when it came to the food, because for once he could actually smell it and it smelled so good, his mouth actually started to water.

“I thought you must be tired of stew or soup.”, Ludwig smiled. “And since you feel better today, I made you another dish. Baked salmon with mashed potatoes and peas on the side, all topped off with a sauce hollandaise. Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Ludwig.”, Laurence said as he dug in, amazed at how well he could taste again and that Ludwig had put the exact right amount of salt he liked into the dish. It was truly wonderful and made him feel a lot better.

Laurence mostly took a nap for the rest of the day until Ludwig came back to him. With him feeling better, Ludwig decided to come into bed with Laurence and join him while Laurence read one of his books, being well enough again to read on his own.

Laurence smiled as Ludwig cuddled against him, soon falling asleep probably from the exhaustion of taking care of Laurence and having to keep up his job. Laurence purged the light not much later and decided to sleep as well.

Three days later Laurence woke up and didn't feel sick at all anymore. He checked his forehead and he surely had no fever anymore, he didn't feel the need to cough and while his nose felt sensitive, it was neither stuffed nor running without pause.

He got out of bed and walked over to his wardrobe, putting on his usual church robes. No sense laying in bed anymore, he could get back to work.

As Laurence put the church robe on, he noticed something in its pocket. He felt for it and found a blood vial. He held it between his fingers and stared at it.

He... wasn't sick anymore, so he wouldn't need it anyway... but... hadn't he been off the blood long enough for now? Though, should he take so much of the blood anyway?

Maybe later, Laurence decided, putting the blood vial back into the pocket. He had survived without daily blood ministrations in the past, he had survived this week. Maybe he should try and really tone down on the blood... even though he didn't feel strong enough to put that particular blood vial into his desk and lock the drawer with the key.

The door opened and Ludwig came in: “Laurence, what do you want for breakfast today? Oh, do you feel better?”

“Loads.”, Laurence answered. “I will get back to work today.”

“That's great.”, Ludwig came over and ruffled his hair, making Laurence melt in his touch. “See, it was just a cold, you did survive it, even without the blood.”

Laurence winced at the mention of the blood, thinking about that blood vial he would carry around with him. Time for an experiment... if he would manage to go a whole day without using it, he would consider it a success. For now, though...

“But I still would like that breakfast of yours.”, he said. “Can you make me a rice omelette?”

“Gladly.”, Ludwig said and left the room, leaving Laurence' alone, who sat down on a chair and felt the blood vial in his pocket.

“Only one day...”, he said to himself, hoping that he wouldn't fail. (Author's notes: Spoilers, he fails.

Ludwig has so much trouble reading because he is dyslexic, they just don't have a word for it in Yharnam.

If you want to know more about Laurence' cat, check out my “The Crazy Cat Vicar” fic.

The cough medicine is a reference to the Victorian cough syrup which is filled with alcohol, cocaine and other drugs.

I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave me a comment with your thoughts.)

#bloodborne #fanfiction #laurence the first vicar #ludwig the holy blade #LauLu #HolyVicar #SickFic #Common Cold #Fluff and Angst #Hurt/Comfort #Laurence has addiction troubles #Ludwig is dyslexic #littlewritesstuff

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