#Happy Thursday this was really depressing to write | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bloomingdog · 7 months ago

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Acolyte

word count: 2.7k a/n: hii i'm going through a depressive episode and this is my fic about soap with a depressed reader cos he's my babygirl. might expand on them idk i love soap i wanna keep writing for him

Johnny is a friend of Kyle’s, and Kyle is a friend of Farah, who is your friend. And Johnny, or Soap, is here because Kyle invited him since he had “nothing better to do”. And it’s alright, he’s fun and a little loud, he talks over people but always apologises. You were a little nervous to meet him, having been promised a get-together with people you were already well-acquaintances with, but the tears in your eyes, from laughing, that is, dismiss all previous nerves.

“And then he-” He’s cut off by his own wheeze, it’s been going for a couple of minutes; him and Kyle trying to retell a story about their captain, but they keep getting interrupted by their own laughter. You don’t think it’s that funny, if anything their reactions are the thing that make you all go into hysterics. It’s hard to feel sorry for all the other patrons.

You feel drunker than you really are, save for Farah, you only had two to three beers each. It’s the kind of silly drunkenness induced by being with friends. The forgotten UNO cards on top of the table shake as Johnny’s fist hits the table trying to catch his breath.

And the pub’s playlist keeps playing every top #1 hit from the last 20 years. And at some point you’re all performing a rendition of smash hit “500 miles”. And you’re getting giggly with sleep. And Farah’s driving you home. And she’s asking you about Johnny, which makes you giggly all over. And she’s telling you he’s single.

And then it’s morning. And there’s a message from an unknown phone number.

“Hey. This is Johnny.

Just wanted to let you know I had a blast last night, loved meeting you :-)”

It makes you smile trying to figure out what to write back. Why is it so hard to sound nonchalant while also a little interested in getting to know him?

“So did I!

Haven’t laughed that hard in a while lol”

That’s cool, right? It’s half a good response at the very least, since you get a response back.

“Wanna meet sometime?”

Oh, that’s good. At best, you get a little attention and maybe a lay, at worst you get a new friend. You keep texting throughout the day, you two fit like a puzzle piece: talkative, extroverted and active. He sends you a picture of a squirrel he saw earlier on his morning run, you send him a picture of your cat back with the caption “my asshole son” to which he replies “don’t be mean to him”. Those little interactions keep getting exchanged. On Monday, you send him a fun fact about a shark that had a virgin birth. Tuesday, he’s telling you about his fear of dogs. Wednesday is the perfect occasion for a picture of your cat, Gus, sleeping in a funny position. Thursday, your phone pings with a string of texts ranting about Glasgow City. Friday you’re texting Johnny that you’re at the restaurant you’re meeting at, a hole-in-the-wall that mastered the art of oily food and crispy chips, he replies he’s running late.

“I’m so sorry for making you wait.” Is out of his mouth before any greeting. “Are ye hungry?” It’s more a conversation starter than an actual question.

“It’s okay! No worries.” You’re just happy to be hanging out, not bothered by his tardiness.

The two of you sit and chat, you learn he has a tattoo of a revolver but won’t say where. He laughs at the face you make while imagining where it would be. “Don’t be dirty!” He chastises, it’s within the law that you steal one of his chips as payment for the teasing. You ask where does Soap come from.

“A’m good at cleaning.” It’s a short answer that explains enough, you’re not keen on pushing the topic any further. Luckily, he changes the topic rather quickly, it looks like he’s not a big fan of silences. “Tell me aboot Gus. How’d you get him?”

“A colleague’s cat had kittens, she was trying to find them homes, Gus was the only one left, runt of the litter you know?” He nods, listening, interested in what you have to say. “Kept pushing and showing me pictures of the guy until I caved. When I took him home he wouldn’t stop screaming, I think he might be part siamese, they’re really vocal. So, he kept me up all night, I thought he was sick or something, I even took him to the emergency vet, turns out he’s just a dickhead.” He smiles at the insult. “A very cute one, though.” You add, it’s hard not to love him even if he wakes you up at 6 a.m. on the dot.

“Can I meet him someday?” he might if you’re lucky enough.

You might as well thank every saint, divinity, and omnipotent being for your luck tonight. He accompanies you home, only because “he’s a gentleman”, according to him. The kind of gentleman that kisses you dizzy and gets invited into your flat.

You text Farah about the events of the evening before falling asleep, it’s not kiss and tell if she’s your best friend. And in the early morning you’re both woken up by an angry Gus, whose side of the bed has been stolen by a guy that almost doesn’t fit in it. You’re cuddled on his side, one leg over his.

“Gus-Gus….” It’s a groggy mumble of displeasure, you know he only wants to be beside you, but the hour doesn’t help your mood. Still, you move away from Johnny so he can jump onto your chest for cuddles.

“He does skirl alright.” That morning voice might actually be the death of you.

“Told you. He’s an asshole.” A breathy laugh makes his bare chest move as he turns to face you.

“He’s real cute though.”

“Are you not tired?” The early morning light peeks through your window, the sun isn’t even out yet and you can’t imagine anyone that is appreciative of being woken up so early.

“Naw, no’ really. ‘M used to it.”

It feels weird, good weird, to have him in your bed like that. Barely a week since you met, and he feels so close, more like a friend than a one-night stand, more than a friends-with-benefits. He checks the time on his phone before speaking again.

“Ye want breakfast?” Your eyes are closed again, hugging Gus close to your chest, hand moving up and down his fur but not doing much to pet him. His call of your name is answered by a groan, it makes him chuckle. He scoots closer to you, you can feel his arm coming up for Gus to sniff and the cat readjusts himself so his head is closer to Johnny’s. “Hi”.

Oh but the warmth dissipating from his body is to much, that and the soft noise of Gus’ purr drives you to fall asleep again. You only half dream, a mixture of images that won’t make any sense once you’re awake again, which happens rather soon as the bed adjusts and you feel a hand run through your hair.

“Can I make tea?” His voice sounds softer than earlier, you nod, opening your eyes just a smidge to look up at him.

“Biscuits in the cupboard…”That’s as much as you can muster now. “Wake me up when it's done?”

“Course.”

He left with Gus following behind, but you can’t seem to fall asleep again. That was…rather intimate. Your stomach feels hot and your chest tighter. Shooting your eyes open you’re quick to grab your phone again, Farah replied an hour ago.

“Wooo! Good for you”

“You’re gonna have to tell me everything about it btw”

“Farah”

“How pathetic is it to have a crush on your one night stand?”

Oh you don’t like that, calling him a one night stand, feels too impersonal, rude almost.

You’re getting out of bed, into your restroom and to the kitchen.

“Good morning” He leans against the kitchen counter where your meds are,he’s looking at his phone waiting for the kettle to boil, clad in his boxers from last night, hair a mess and body soft under the morning light. Even though it’s the same body it feels so different from last night, scars, bigger and small, litter his body, it’s muscular and soft at the same time, big pecs a tad too inviting and a tattoo on his forearm. Reaching for the pills would mean standing next to him, probably brushing against—no, touching him, and that makes you nervous. Oh. You’re embarrassingly down bad.

He stayed the entire weekend, Friday through Sunday. Next week it was picnic and football. You’re convinced any major team would be jealous of your 1-person teams and 5 meter field. He’s good, but you’re full of fear as he chases you for the ball, it’s the predator-prey kinda adrenaline that makes you score.

“Yes!”

“Offside! Offside!”

“What do you mean offside? There’s no one I can pass the ball to!” In fact, there’s not even a goal. You grab the ball and go back to him, looking straight into his eyes in fake defiance.

“Talking back to the referee? That’s a red card.” He looks so handsome like this, standing tall and unmovable, even if only joking, and you let him know via a quick kiss to his lips. He’s pulling you back to his lips not even half a second after, deep and slow, giggly. “Bribin’ me, huh?” You let out a soft, happy, sigh and kiss him again.

“Wanna go home?”

You tell Farah everything over a cup of tea and a piece of cake, of course. And she laughs at you, not in a mean way at all, only friendly and amused, still you hit her arm.

And the following week it’s film night. This one’s more spontaneous than the others, it’s been a tough week at work, you want a quiet evening and some company so you ask him if he wants to come hang out, he replies saying that he’ll be there in 30.

It’s the two of you, your favourite take out, Gus-Gus sitting on the back of the sofa and Fargo on the TV. He’s not paying as much attention to the film as he is to you.

“What?” You say, turning to look at him.

“Ye’r a beauty.” You smile shyly and kick him on the leg with your foot slightly. “A’m serious. I like you a lot.” A big smile grows on your face, and it’s enough confirmation for him to know you feel the same.

Or at least he thought so. There are no plans for this weekend, not for lack of trying, that is, Soap’s been trying to text you all week, it’s a big shift from your daily texting. He misses the little life updates you send him. Tuesday, he thought you might just be busy. Wednesday he stops trying to contact you, did he do something wrong? Went too fast? Are you ghosting him? What did he do that was worth the silent treatment? Thursday, he tries calling you, multiple times. Friday all rational thoughts have left his brain, did something happen to you? Are you okay? Christ, what if you’re dead? He texts Farah, swallowing his embarrassment.

“She’s okay, I think.”

“Going through a bit of a depression episode at the moment.”

“She’s going recluse, I know she wouldn’t mind a bit of help.”

“I have a spare key to her flat if you want to come get it.”

The string of texts floats around his mind, spare key in hand in front of your front door. He’s been inside before, but he was invited in, this feels invasive, but Farah trusted him, and she knew you best. He sent you a message before showing up, the last bit of chivalry he can offer before showing up in your home, it went through, and he hoped you read it even if you didn’t reply.

He calls your name upon entering, no response. Gus comes running up to him to headbutt his legs and meow, a quick look lets him know his water bowl is clean and automatic feeder full, that’s a good sign. His voice trembles as he calls for you again.

“You know where she is?” Great, now he’s speaking to the cat, and he meows in response, great, an actual conversation with a cat. Gus takes off and squeezes himself into a room with the door ajar, your bedroom. He knocks before entering, not expecting a response. The room is dark except for the light coming from your laptop, empty and half-full glasses taking up most of the space on your desk, chair full of unfolded clothes and a doughnut of blankets on the bed.

“Go away.” The doughnut speaks. His heart breaks at the sad, much softer than usual tone of your voice.

“Love.” The pet name slips from his lips, he notices but doesn’t attempt to correct himself. He walks closer until he’s sitting next to you. “Can I help you?”

You shake your head no, or what’s visible of it. “Go away, I stink.” He chuckles.

“That’s fine, smell better than the lads in base.” It’s a pathetic attempt at humour, you still shake your head no.

“You don’t have to do anything.” You don’t sound sad or angry like he thought you might, it’s emotionless, almost like an automatic generated response.

“But I want to. Want tae tak’ care o ye” He wants to make everything better, wants to fix everything, wants you happy and energetic and smiling. It’s silly how much he cares for you after barely a month of knowing eachother, scary now that he’s admitting it out loud. He pulls down the blankets for a full view of your face, his hand goes to your hair, it’s tangled, he’s careful not to pull on it. “Am gunna run you a bath.” It’s not a question, you laugh slightly and he smiles, realising what he said. “Didny mean it like that, c’mon.”

He helps you up from the bed and into the restroom. From your seat ion the toilet, you observe the way he turns on the tap and rummages through your cabinet, trying to find something to put in the water, you assume. “The orange bar in the back.” He halts, looks for a second and comes up with it, he leaves it on the sink while he turns off the water, you grab the bar and crumble a bit of it into the tub. He looks at you and gets up, you take it as your cue to undress and get in. Johnny comes back with a change of pyjamas and underwear and leaves again. You can hear him moving around and making noise, talking to the cat in occasion, while you clean yourself, when he comes back it’s to put your dirty laundry in the hamper. You don’t know why that’s the thing that makes you break and start crying. As soon as he notices, he’s on his knees next to you, softly caressing your cheeks and moving your damp hair away from your face.

“Whit’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you to do this.” Is no reply to his question. “I don’t want you to have to do this.”

“M’eudail.” He starts. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” You look up at him” I’m so sad all the fucking time and I don’t want you to have to deal with that, it’s not fair to you, you know? I don’t want you to have to take care of me or put up with me.”

“But what if I want to? Wanna take care of you, wanna put up with you.” You shake your head no, looking back down.

“Johnny, I’m so much. I get so clingy and stupid.”

“That’s fine by me.” There’s no deterring him. He lifts your head up by your chin to kiss your forehead, bright blue eyes staring at you.

And you realise how ridiculous this is. You’re crying in the bathtub, your friend-situationship is on his knees next to you, again, crying in the bathtub. You let out a sigh and nod.

“Okay.”

#cod mw2 fanfic #cod x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x you #soap x you

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palepinkgoat · 3 months ago

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weekly tag game Wednesday Thursday

I'm trying to return to Tumblr after feeling like garbage (sick and depressed) so here I go. Thank you for the tags @celestialmickey @mybrainismelted @francesrose3 @heymrspatel and @energievie!

name: karen

do you drink coffee? if so, what’s your coffee order? I love coffee! I drink plain mr coffee-esque drip coffee with just a splash of half and half in the morning. Midday I'm happy to have an iced oat milk latte!

what’s the best thing you ate today? I'm about to eat some lemon cake! But I also ate some spinach quiche today and that was pretty lovely.

tell us about your first pet (or if you haven’t had a pet yet, what’s your dream pet?) I don't really remember most of it, but we had a black cat named Woody when I was very young. He died when I was around 3 and him dying is one of my earliest memories.

if your life was a book, what would you call the current chapter? Sisyphus

what’s something you did recently that you’re proud of? I told my mom how I really felt about something she did. You can be an adult and still clash with your parents to the point where you are proud of yourself and don't just say ok and scurry away.

what was your first dream job growing up? I always wanted to write. Write poems. Write books. It's all I've ever wanted to be. And I always wanted to be a mom.

what’s the name of the latest playlist you made? Numbers. Songs with numbers in the song. For example: The Magic Number - (De La Soul my beloved) Goldfrapp's Number 1 (obsessed) , Edge of Seventeen (Stevie forever), Four Letter Word by Gossip (that voice!), etc. It's one of many themed playlists I work on with my old pal Nick. No tagging because my brain is exhausted. I'm sorry.

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 1 year ago

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Thanks (m, cold)

Hi guys, thank you again for voting on which scenario you wanted to see for this fic! It's a bit of a slow burn, and idk how I feel about the ending, but Elijah is staunchly miserable by the end so hopefully that makes y'all happy 😅 let me know if you like it 🫶

Ps I've been writing this for literally the past 12 hours so I cannot look at it anymore, I'll read it over and edit errors in the morning but I need to get it out before it drives me insane lmao. 5.5k words under the cut :)

CW: male snz, colds, coughing, fever, contagion

There was nothing quite as depressing, Elijah decided, as the days leading up to Thanksgiving dinner service in a restaurant. Well, unless you were Greyson.

“Goooood morning, boss! Two days til the Big Day; are you pumped?”

Elijah turned his chair slowly towards the door, where the chef stood grinning unironically. He thought, not for the first time, that Greyson was likely some sort of dog in a past life – a golden retriever, or possibly a lab. One of those ‘no thoughts, just vibes’ dogs.

“Am I pumped?” Elijah asked, glaring at Greyson. “For a day that should be spent drinking shitty beer and eating my weight in carbs spent instead putting on a fake smile for people who don’t even think of us as human? For people who go out to eat literally once a year, and make sure they do it on a holiday so they can feel powerful by forcing a restaurant to serve them, then complain about the price and stiff my servers? Am I pumped to barely break even, even though the restaurant will be packed from ten am until close, because those same people staunchly refuse to pay more than eighty bucks a head to stuff themselves silly? Am I pumped to listen to my staff complain all day, despite the fact that when each of them was hired, they were told in no uncertain terms that they would be working holidays?” Elijah clicked his pen closed loudly, stood to let Greyson through, and sat with him in tandem, his face set in anger the whole time. “No, Grey. I am not, in fact, pumped.”

Greyson broke their eye contact to wake his computer, the lecture obviously unexpected. “Clearly I should’ve read the room before opening my mouth,” he said, glancing back over at his boss briefly. “My bad, boss.”

Elijah, embarrassed that he’d let himself sink into such a state about something as stupid as a holiday service, pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Fuck. Sorry, Grey. You just caught me at a bad moment. I had two servers call out for today, I’m fuckin’ sweating because we really need everyone here for Thursday and neither of them are sure they’ll be good to come back in two days.”

“Hmm,” Greyson hummed, his eyebrows threading together. “That’s weird. I had Victor and Elise call out on my way in.”

Elijah felt his heart thump in his temple. “Did they say why?”

“I didn’t ask,” Greyson said, turning his chair to face his boss. “But I guess I should’ve. Did the servers say why they couldn’t come in?”

“Some sort of fever-cold thing, is what Jason said he had. Ashley just said she felt like shit.” Elijah pressed his fingers into his eye and sighed. “I need a cigarette. Care to join?”

Greyson, never one to turn down nicotine in any form, stood from his chair. “Thought you’d never ask,” he said.

The two of them walked through the empty kitchen in silence, Elijah entirely too wrapped in his own thoughts to continue their conversation. There was an ongoing joke, a trope, at this point, about holidays in the restaurant; everyone was always sick for them. Last Easter, the servers all had bronchitis, and a couple of Valentine’s days ago, Greyson had so many cooks call out with the stomach flu that they’d had to hire last-minute temps to fill in on the line. Despite doing nearly 300 covers, they barely made enough to cover the immense labor that seven temps on a holiday cost.

“Lij,” Greyson said as the two of them stepped out the back door and sat on the milk crates littering the loading dock, “it’s not going to be like Valentine’s. I can see your fuckin’ gears turning.” The chef pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, handed his boss one, and lit them both up. “Relax.”

Silence, once again, fell upon them as they smoked and watched fat snowflakes disintegrate on the asphalt. Elijah hoped that Greyson was right, that everything would be fine and he was overreacting – but he knew better than to hope. More likely than not, it was going to be what it always was on holidays: a shit show.

Matt and Mark, hand-in-hand until they spotted their bosses by the door, turned the corner and waved to their counterparts in tandem like well-trained circus animals. Elijah couldn’t help but smile as their fingers unwove from one another.

“Morning,” Elijah called, stubbing out his cigarette. Greyson did the same, and the two of them stood to let the younger men into the building.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Mark asked rubbing his hands together as he pushed the door open. Elijah shrugged as he held the door open for the other two and walked in behind them.

“My rage keeps me warm,” he said, prompting a laugh from Greyson and an eye roll from the younger men. “How’re you guys?”

Mark shot a look at Matt as they all walked towards the office at the front of the kitchen. “I’m well,” he said, pointedly. Elijah nearly stopped in his tracks when he glimpsed Matt glaring at his boyfriend.

“Matt…?” Greyson asked, an attempt at giving his sous chef a get-out-of-jail-free card. There was silence as the three of them turned, expectantly, towards Matt.

“I’mb good,” the sous said, his voice cracking on the second syllable. Elijah audibly groaned, Mark winced, and Greyson bit his cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity.

“Well, you certainly sound great,” Greyson said, palming Matt’s shoulder aggressively. “Would you like to go home and sleep that off?”

“Yes, he -”

“Ndo,” Matt said, cutting Mark off and shooting him a look. “I wandt to help prep.I’mb – hh! hh’NGTSH-uh!” Matt turned and pulled his coat up over the bottom half of his face to sneeze, then quickly gathered himself and stood up straight. “I’mb fine,” he said, convincing no one.

Elijah closed his eyes briefly and sighed through his nose; fortunately or unfortunately, he knew exactly why Matt hadn’t called off.

The week prior, Elijah and Greyson had dolled out raises and bonuses for the staff; this year was Matt’s fifth as sous chef. Greyson had basically written a dissertation of why his sous chef should be given a new title – Executive Sous – along with a significant raise and bonus. It hadn’t taken much convincing; Elijah knew exactly how hard Matt worked, and staying at the same restaurant as a sous chef for five years was nearly unheard of in this city, especially for someone as young as Matt. He and Greyson had agreed that Matt’s loyalty to the restaurant deserved to be compensated, and had surprised him before his day off with the new title and pay.

Matt had been surprised – shocked was probably a better word for it, honestly – and had confided in Elijah after Greyson had dipped early to meet up with a date that he felt like he didn’t deserve the raise.

“You do,” Elijah had said, laughing lightly. “We wouldn’t have given it to you if you didn’t deserve it.”

The younger man had shaken his head. “I just… I mean, Greyson is here way more than me. I get two days off mostly, and he doesn’t let me work longer than ten hours. And I love it here, you guys don’t need to, like, worry about me leaving if that’s what this is about.”

Elijah had given Matt a confused look. “Greyson should be here more than you, first of all he’s a partner, not just the chef, and secondly, he gets paid very well to be here eighty hours a week. That’s his choosing. You’re his employee – if you were here as much as he was and getting paid significantly less, that wouldn’t be fair. And we’re glad you love it here, but that’s not why we gave you the raise. We gave it to you because you’re a hard worker, and you deserve to be compensated for what you do.” Elijah had smiled at Matt, patted his knee, and finished with, “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Matt had just smiled back and nodded, but Elijah knew he hadn’t changed his mind about ‘being undeserving’. Elijah knew, via background checks that were performed by his off-site HR company, and via Mark being a blabbermouth the second he got a glass of wine in him, that Matt had been a bit of a troubled kid; he’d been bounced from one foster home to another as a kid, and then one juvenile detention hall to another as a teenager. Only when he’d dropped out of high school and gotten a job as a dishwasher at a Denny’s did he finally decide it was time to shape up. He’d worked his way into the diner’s kitchen, then a slightly nicer kitchen, and when he was 20, he’d shown up at the front door of Elliot’s in an ill-fitting suit with a speech about how he was ready to work somewhere that he could hone his passion, even if they couldn’t pay him a dime. Greyson had hired him on the spot, not even consulting Elijah, despite only having been the executive chef for a few months.

Elijah knew Matt felt that he owed Greyson, not the other way around, and this promotion and raise was the nail in that coffin of doubt. He knew there was no way Matt would go home, no matter how shitty he felt.

Greyson just shrugged at his sous chef’s denial of being sick. “If you want to stay, I’m not going to make you leave,” he said, walking into the office and changing from his sweatshirt into his chef’s coat. “Just don’t sneeze on the food.”

Matt rolled his eyes and stripped off his jacket to put his own chef’s coat on. “Yes, Chef,” he said, coughing into his elbow. Mark and Elijah exchanged sidelong looks.

“Are you feeling okay?” Elijah asked his junior manager. Mark smirked, hiked his laptop bag further onto his shoulder, and started towards the dining room – his makeshift office.

“Never better, boss,” he said, pushing through the swinging doors. “Never better.”

***

“So, is he coming in tomorrow?”

Greyson lolled his head to the side, hands still on his keyboard, and deadpanned Elijah. “The fuck do you think?”

Elijah pulled a hand down his face and nodded. “Yeah, okay, just wanted to check.”

While Matt had been relatively fine the first few hours of the shift, by the time the last guests had eaten, the sous had been so staunchly miserable that Greyson had marched his ass into the office, thrown his jacket over his shoulders, and pointed towards the back door. “Go. Home. Now.”

“Chef, I – HTSHH! Hh-! GTSH-uh!” Matt wrenched to the side, collapsing into a post-sneeze coughing fit that made the cooks flinch from five yards away.

“You’re not fine,” Greyson insisted. “You’re sick, and you’re going to get everyone else sick.”

Matt nodded, miserable, and hung his head. “Sorry, Chef,” he muttered, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket.

“Go,” Greyson said. “And come back when you’re well.”

Mark had taken Matt home in an Uber, and the cooks and servers had been able to leave relatively early, which left Elijah, Greyson, and a bottle of whiskey between them on the desk to figure out how they were going to handle the rest of the week.

Greyson sighed and reached for the bottle as he pushed away from his computer screen. He took a long pull and handed the bottle to Elijah, who followed suit. “I just… I don’t understand why he’d come in that sick,” Greyson said, pulling his hair to the top of his head and securing it with a rubber band from their drawer of office supplies. Elijah had to pull the bottle away from his lips to laugh. “What?” Greyson asked.

“You, of all people, can’t understand why he came in sick?” Elijah asked, incredulous. “You?”

“What do you mean me?” Greyson asked, snatching the bottle back. “If anything, he learned it from watching you.”

“Oh, spare me, Greyson,” Elijah rolled his eyes. “For awhile there, you literally came in sick three weeks a month.”

Greyson scoffed. “At least I’ve never passed out on the kitchen floor.”

“Yes, you have.”

“No, I almost passed out. You actually fuckin’ swooned. Collapsed in a puddle. Full damsel in distress.” Greyson took another pull and placed the bottle back on the desk. “So don’t come for me unless I send for you.”

Elijah guffawed at this. “Who taught you that saying?” he asked. Greyson shrugged.

“I heard one of the servers using it. I like it.”

“The servers are twenty years old, you dinosaur. The last thing they want is Grandpa Greyson using their jargon.”

“Fuck off, if anyone here is a grandpa it’s…” Greyson stopped suddenly, held up a finger, let his eyes flutter shut, then let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, that’s annoying.” He rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, then raised an eyebrow at his boss, whose face had drawn into concern. “What?”

“What was that?” Elijah asked, glancing over at the bottle of whiskey they’d spent the past hour sharing.

“I just thought I was going to – oh,” Greyson’s eyes widened. “No, dude, relax, I’m totally fine. I feel great.”

“‘Buzzed’ and ‘great’ are two different things, Grey,” Elijah said. He reached up to feel Greyson’s forehead, prompting the chef to lean back in his chair.

“Great as in healthy,” he insisted, shooing Elijah’s hand away. “Seriously, I’d let you know if I – HRRTSHHH-ue!” He caught the sneeze in his elbow – barely – and choked back an irritated cough. From the crook of his arm, he heard Elijah swear.

“I’m going to end your fuckin’ life, I swear to God,” Elijah muttered, pushing the bottle further onto Greyson’s side of the desk. “You let me drink from the same bottle as you, you dick.”

“I’m fine, Elijah, Christ it was one sneee – hh! - hh…” Greyson tipped his head back in anticipation, then lowered and shook it when the feeling once again dissipated. “See? Totally fine.” He sniffled – convincing, Grey – and immediately changed course. “Plus, it’s alcohol. It’s an antiseptic.”

“It one million percent is not,” Elijah said, rubbing his temples in defeat. “Greyson, you cannot be sick. We cannot be sick. How the hell are we going to be able to run Thanksgiving?”

“Elijah,” Greyson said, “listen. I am fine. Everything is going to be just fi – ITSHH-ue!” Greyson pitched forward into his palm and cringed. Elijah, begrudgingly, slammed the box of tissues they kept on a side table in front of the chef.

“Bless you,” he said while Greyson cleaned himself up. “And, I mean this from the bottom of my heart: fuck. You.”

***

“Hhh-! Huh… hnnn.”

“Bless you.”

“Oh, screw you, Lij,” Greyson muttered for the millionth time that day. He grabbed what felt like his hundredth tissue and blew his nose – only for the feeling to reignite. “Huhhh! Hhh...hh… guhh.” Greyson rubbed his nose again and angrily spiked the tissue into the trash can beneath his prep station.

“Bless you,” Elijah said again, mocking.

“You kndow,” Greyson said, turning towards his boss, who was seated in the office, not looking Greyson’s way. “Karma is going to combe for you for being an asshole to mbe.”

At this, Elijah glanced towards Greyson. “Karma? No, karma is having a cold and not being able to sneeze because you let your friend drink out of the same bottle as you when you knew you were getting sick. That’s karma, and you got what was coming to you.”

“Fuuhhh! Huh! Hh...fuck,” Greyson grumbled, coughing into his shoulder.

“Karma is also giving your sous chef a lecture about being sick at work, only to be get sick and have to come into work because you’re technically the most well of all the sick cooks and chefs.”

“Are you finished?” Greyson asked, throwing his hands in the air. “I get it. And to be fair, I did ndot kndow I was getting sick.” The chef sucked in painfully through his nose and collapsed into coughs once again.

“Mmhmm,” Elijah mumbled. When it seemed like Greyson wasn’t going to be able to stop the coughing, he took pity and got up to make the chef tea.

“Here,” Elijah said, slamming a paper cup in front of Greyson. “Drink it. Sickie.”

Greyson, unable to come up with a proper comeback, just did as he was told. “How mbany on the books tonight?” he croaked. Elijah sighed, pulled up his phone, and slid it towards Greyson. “Fuck,” Greyson said when he saw the number.

“All the people in the city who aren’t coming in tomorrow decided tonight was the night, apparently,” Elijah said, taking his phone back and putting it in his pocket. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked, in earnest.

Greyson nodded. “It’s ndot too bad,” he said, taking another sip of tea. “Just wish I could fuckigg sndeeze.”

Elijah huffed out a laugh. “You’re sure you don’t want to call Matt in?”

“Definitely no – hh! Huh...hhhITSHHHZUE! Oh thank fuckigg God – HUHHESTCH-ue! Hh! Hnn...HuhhhETSCHH-ue! HTSSHH-ue!”

Elijah whistled, long and low, and pushed the box of tissues towards Greyson. “Wow,” he said. “Bless.”

Greyson rolled his eyes as he took a handful of tissues and cleaned himself up. “See?” he said once he’d thrown them away and washed his hands, “Good as new. HTSSHH-ue!”

Elijah chuckled. “Sure, Chef,” he said, moving towards the doors to the dining room. “Whatever you say.”

***

In his thirty-nine years on earth, Elijah had learned a lot about himself. He’d learned that he was a hothead, and he had to really think about the repercussions of what was going to come out of his mouth if he wanted to keep the person he was talking to in his life. He’d learned that he was incapable of whistling, juggling, or any other party trick – but he could pull out a fantastic rendition of Queen’s Somebody to Love during karaoke, and that was enough to make him seem like he was fun at parties. He’d learned that he loved to have his own space, and should he ever find a partner, he knew they’d have to have separate bedrooms. And he had learned exactly what it felt like when he was getting sick.

Like… really sick.

When Greyson said things like, “I didn’t know I was getting sick,” it truly did not register to Elijah. Maybe it was because Greyson’s illnesses always seemed to be some sort of mixed bag – starting differently every time, with symptoms that varied wildly – or maybe it was because he just didn’t tune in to how he was feeling. Greyson always said he basically tried to ignore his body until it forced him to pay attention; maybe that was something that Elijah needed to attempt. Because Elijah… Elijah knew exactly when and how badly he was getting sick every single time.

It had started that afternoon, mere hours after he’d given Greyson shit about exposing him to this illness, the way it always did – with the type of sore throat that made you feel weak in your knees. Elijah had swallowed, then immediately felt dizzy with the pain that surged in his throat. Oh, he thought, touching his neck. Oh, no.

He was, of course, a creature of habit and attempted all his usual ways to quell the pain – cups of tea hidden in paper sleeves, lozenges he hoped Greyson was too stuffed up to smell on his breath, handfuls of ibuprofen – to no avail. By the time dinner service came around he could hear the rasp in his voice and, despite the ibuprofen, could feel the ache in his joints that meant he’d already made it to stage two; fever.

This was how he knew he was going to be down badly. If he could ride the sore throat past the fever and straight into congestion, he might be able to get away with just a normal cold. But if that fever set in before any other symptoms, it was all over.

“Yo,” Greyson said, approaching his boss post pre-shift. “Cand we quickly talk about the semantics of tomborrow’s buffet before people get here?”

Elijah lifted his heavy head from his pre-shift notes and blinked in Greyson’s direction. “Okay,” he said, brilliantly. Greyson’s eyebrows knit together, concerned.

“You good?” he asked, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. Elijah nodded slowly – surely, if Greyson was able to push through this illness with such ease, he was just being a baby about it. He swallowed through the knives in his throat and nodded.

“Just a headache,” he said. “What do you want to talk through?”

“Just wanted to see how mbany cooks you think I should have on the buffehh....ETSZHCHH-ue!” Greyson directed a massive sneeze into his elbow, and Elijah’s head about exploded with pain.

“Christ,” Elijah muttered, pressing his palm into his eye. Greyson muffled a cough into his sleeve and shook his head to clear it.

“Fuck, ‘scuse mbe,” he said, looking back at his boss. “Umb. Did I get you or something?”

Something like that, Elijah thought as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re just loud, and my head hurts.” He pulled out his phone, looked at the cover spread for the next day, and said, “Three cooks on the buffet. One for omelets, one for prime rib carving, one for dessert bar.” He looked up at Greyson for his confirmation. “What?” he asked.

“You just… look like you’re in pain,” Greyson said, carefully. “Did you take -?”

“Yes, I took ibuprofen,” Elijah cut him off. “Go make sure your guys are ready for tonight. Take a decongestant so they can understand you. I’ll be back there in a minute.”

Greyson pursed his lips, but didn’t argue. “Yes, sir,” he said, and left Elijah to brood.

By some stroke of luck, the third inevitable stage of Elijah’s illness didn’t hit him until after they’d finished service. He was checking the lead server’s station so she could go home, when suddenly it felt like a thousand bees collected in his sinuses.

“Yeah, looks good Riley, thanks, see you in the mo – IGTSHH-uhh! HSTSH-ue! HhhhINTSZH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side, the sneezes so sudden he barely had time to cover his mouth.

“Yikes,” Riley said, taking a step away from her boss. “Bless you.”

“Thanks,” Elijah muttered, pinching his nose to quell the itch.

“You pick up whatever has everyone else out this week?” she asked, taking off her apron. Elijah shook his head.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Have a good night.”

With all the servers gone, Elijah slunk back into the kitchen and sunk into his office chair, his head in his hands. He was not prepared to do a whole holiday service feeling like this. This was nightmarish, and he’d only felt sick for nine hours. Tomorrow? Tomorrow was going to be -

“Hey, bless you,” Elijah sat up and turned around at the accusation to see Greyson standing at the office door with his arms crossed. “Could’ve heard those from fuckin’ space.”

Elijah rolled his eyes, painfully. “Whatever,” he said, powering his computer up to finish the night’s paperwork. “You’re one to talk, I don’t think you’ve gone three seconds without -”

“HRRSHH-oo!” Greyson cut him off with a comically-timed sneeze directed into the collar of his shirt.

“-that,” Elijah finished.

Greyson grabbed a tissue and wiped his nose. “Yeah, but it’s been well-established that I have a cold. I was under the impression that you were still -”

“HTSHH! HRSHH! Huh-! HuhhESTZHH-ue!” Elijah once again collapsed in on himself, head both buzzing and pounding, the explosive sneezes grating the back of his throat.

“- well,” Greyson finished, and moved into the office to sit by his boss. Just as Elijah looked up from his lap, Greyson slapped a hand on his forehead.

“Enough,” Elijah said, pushing Greyson’s palm off. Greyson put both his palms on his knees and gave Elijah a knowing look.

“So, you’ve been sick all day, or…?”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, clearing his throat, “I’m fine.”

“You have a fever, Lij. Like, a pretty significant one.”

He knew, and he had known, but the words made Elijah’s eyes well and his throat close all the same. God, he hated having a fucking fever and all the stupid, ridiculous emotions that went along with it. Elijah took a breath, closed his eyes to collect himself, and addressed the chef.

“I’m not feeling 100%,” he said. “But I will be fine. You are sick – if I’m not 100%, then you must be at like 10% at this point.”

“I don’t have a fever,” Greyson pointed out, taking Elijah’s hand and placing it on his cool head. “See?”

Elijah bit his cheek to keep from snapping. “Alright,” he said. “Whatever. Still, you need to go home; it’s a big day tomorrow.”

“I will when you do,” Greyson said, shrugging. Elijah, completely spent, and done arguing, just turned off his computer – paperwork be damned for the night.

“Fine,” he said, putting his hands up in surrender. “Let’s call it a night.”

Greyson, clearly confused, just raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Alright boss,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

***

If there was one thing Greyson knew about Elijah, it was this: if you wanted him to admit defeat, you had to corner him.

When he woke up at oh-dark-thirty that morning, Greyson felt lucky that he was no worse for the wear then he was the night before. Was he stuffed-up to the gills? Yes. Did he have an incessant, grating cough? Yeah. But ultimately, it was a cold, and he’d work through far worse many more times.

So, despite the fact that it was still dark out, Greyson donned his hoodie and set out for the restaurant. On the way to the early-morning subway, he called Matt.

“...Hello?” Matt answered on the third ring. “Chef?”

“Mbornin’ sunshine,” Greyson said, coughing into the receiver. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uh…” Matt said, attempting to gather his bearings. “Better. Am I supposed to be at the restaurant now? I thought I was scheduled at eight.” Greyson heard him push back a blanket and plant his feet on the floor. “You sound like shit, by the way. Sorry about that.”

“Inevitable,” Greyson said, a brush-off. “And you aren’t scheduled til eight, but I have sombe very important, pre-work, Executive Sous shit I ndeed your help with.”

“Sure, boss,” Matt said, and Greyson could hear him changing clothes, using mouthwash, and whispering goodbye to Mark. “Anything you need.”

“Good man,” Greyson said, pausing at the top of the subway steps. “Could you pick up cough drops, Mucinex, and a hot water bottle, if you see one? Oh, and a real blanket. I’ll Venmo you some mboney.”

“Uh, sure, boss. Is this… for you?”

“Not for me,” Greyson said, coughing into his sleeve. “For Elijah. He’s down bad.”

“Oh. Oh, shit,” Matt said. “Yeah, okay, for sure boss. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, mban. Hey, I’mb about to head down to the subway, text mbe if you have any – hh! HTSHH-ue! Fuck, sorry,” Greyson wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Mbaybe grab more tissues while you’re there,” he amended.

“Sure, Chef. Bless.”

“You’re the best, Mbatt. Always knew you’d make a perfect number two.”

Greyson could hear the eye roll through the phone. “Don’t get sappy, old man,” Matt said. “See you soon.”

***

To say Elijah felt like shit would’ve been the understatement of the century.

When he woke up that morning, Elijah was fairly sure he was dying. The fever he’d crawled into bed with hadn’t budged, his sinuses were packed, and he’d officially acquired the final gem on his sick-as-fuck gauntlet: the cough. This day was going to be absolute hell.

Elijah did his level best to get ready for the busy service; he managed to take about half a shower before he had to sit down, dizzy from exertion; he’d gotten one contact in before sneezing so hard he almost poked his eye out and settled on glasses; he’d even found the strength to put on a pair of pants, though a button down was entirely too much for his shaking hands, so he settled on a cardigan that looked passable enough. God he hoped the servers – and Mark – would be able to hold down the fort out front, because this was nothing short of tragic.

Unwilling to deal with the subway and unable to drive safely in this state, Elijah settled on calling an Uber to work. It was early, a little before eight, but he knew if he didn’t get there now, he’d never make it.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” the driver said, leaving Elijah to immediately regret his decision not to drive. “Pretty early to be up and at ‘em. You heading to see family?”

Elijah cleared his throat as best he could before begrudgingly responding to the driver. “Ndot quite,” he said, his voice strained and congested. “Worki – HGSTHH-ue! HRSSH! ETSZCH-uh!” Elijah attempted to hold back the sneezes, unsuccessfully. Sans any tissues, he wiped his nose on his sweater sleeve. “Excuse mbe, sorry.”

“Working and sick on a holiday?” the driver said, shaking his head. “That’s rough, man. Bless you.”

Elijah’s face flamed, but he was in no state to deny. “Yeah,” he said instead. “Thangks.”

The rest of the drive was in blessed silence, and Elijah made sure to tip the guy extra for being exposed to whatever plague he was walking around with. When he finally pushed through the back door of the restaurant, Elijah felt like he’d already lived a lifetime today; he really wasn’t sure how much he’d be able to take.

“Elijah!” Greyson’s voice reached him before Elijah could even see his face. “Happy Thanksgiving, you sick old fuck!”

Elijah turned the corner and almost burst into tears – there stood Greyson, his face pale and nose bright red, and Matt and Mark looking no better, outside of his office; his office that had been, essentially, turned into a cozy-looking bedroom.

There were blankets on the floor, the chairs removed, and medicine on the desk. The harsh office light had been shut off, and instead one of the lamps from the host stand glowed gently from behind the computer. And, perhaps most heart-rendering, in Greyson’s hand was a bowl of steaming soup, and in Matt’s, a cup of tea.

“I know you hate working the holidays, and feeling like shit is just insult to injury,” Greyson said, setting down the bowl so he could guide Elijah into the office. “So we thought we’d mbake it just a little less shitty.”

Elijah allowed himself to be lead in, unable to find the words to thank his friend. He turned into his elbow to cough, a welcome respite from the tears he could feel threatening to spill over. “Grey,” he said when he’d gathered himself. “I… this is so… you guys…” he swallowed around the lump in his throat and shook his head. “I don’t kndow what to say,” he said, looking up at Greyson. “Thangk you.”

“Ah, save it,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his friend’s back. “You’re always looking after us. Call it our Thanksgiving to you.”

Elijah smiled a little, punched Greyson’s arm lightly, and allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. Heading to see family? the Uber driver had asked him. Maybe he had been, after all.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snez #snzblr #male cold #male snz #male ocs #original character

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weemsfreak · 1 year ago

Note

Can you write a fic about reader being depressed/in bed alot and not taking care of themselves so one day Larissa takes care of them and spoils them?! :)

Take Care of Me

Hello! I love this idea and I hope this is what you wanted! I might have gotten sappy at the end as I wrote it when I was intoxicated lol

Anyway, enjoy :)

Warnings: Depression, suicidal ideation, I think that's it

Some days you couldn't get out of bed. It wasn't that you didn't want to of course, you just really couldn't bring yourself to. Your amazing girlfriend, Larissa, knew of your illness, but never saw you so stuck before, so involuntarily inhibited.

The morning she noticed that you weren't your usual self and couldn't get out of bed, she called in a substitute and told you to stay home. That was three days ago. When she got home Thursday night, she slipped into bed with you and hugged you close to her without saying a word. She knew that you didn’t want to talk, and she let you cry into her without a second thought. It's not that you weren't happy with your relationship, hell it was the only thing that you thanked the gods for. You were just unsure, insecure, and tired. Your mind never ever stopped and you were oh so tired. Friday morning when you woke up, Larissa was still in bed next to you. You looked at her back, strong and pale, her hair spilling over her onto the pillow like a waterfall. God she was beautiful. You took in her freckles and the white of her hair, not a dark strand to be found. You felt yourself smile for the first time in days, but you still had no energy to get yourself up. You looked to your phone and scrolled before realizing what time it was, 9am. "Shit, Larissa get up, get up!" you sat up and shook her gently. She rolled over towards you and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back down. "What's wrong darling" she mumbled, still half asleep. "Riss, you slept in!" you said with urgency. Larissa opened her eyes and peered down at you, a small smile lit up her face. She said nothing and pulled you into her, nuzzling your face into her neck. She sighed, "Don’t worry love, I took the day off." You looked up at her with a confused look on your face, "You what?" Larissa barely took any days off, even when she needed a well deserved break. "I'm not going into work today, go back to sleep" she said quietly as she kissed your forehead. "Why? What happened?" you asked, still confused. She chuckled and looked down at you, "I took a day off to stay home with you, is that so hard to believe?" she jested. As much as you didn't want to admit it, it was hard to believe. Did she think you were incapable? Needy? Annoying? Did she think that you needed her to take care of you? In reality you did, but you didn't, you shouldn't. "Riss, I don't need you to take care of me" you grumbled, slightly annoyed. She started peppering kisses on your face which made you giggle. She cupped your face and looked at you with half lidded eyes, "I know you don't darling, I just wanted to relax with you." You took a deep breath as you calmed down further from your panic and rested your head against Larissa's chest, hearing her strong heart beat made you feel safe and it lulled you back to sleep.

You awoke around lunch time, this time you jolted upright with an anxiousness in your chest. You scanned the bedroom, Larissa wasn't next to you anymore. She probably decided to go into work, since you would just sleep the day away anyway. Tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of disappointing her and you put your head in your hands as they fell. You didn't want to feel like this, a body that won't start and a brain that won't stop. You knew you had so much potential and so much to do in life, but something was holding you back, something always held you back. You hoped that Larissa wasn't mad at you for not being productive this week. You haven't showered in days, you only ate snacks, and you desperately needed some fresh air. As you sobbed quietly, you heard the door to the bedroom open and Larissa entered from the kitchen. "Darling, what's wrong?" she said quietly, sitting next to you and pulling you into her arms. "Larissa I'm so tired" you sobbed into her chest. You took a deep breath, "I smell bad and I'm hungry and I look like shit" you sniffled. Larissa kissed your head before lifting your chin to meet your gaze. She smiled, "Can you get out of bed for me love? I want to help you." You looked into her deep blue eyes and found only kindness, adoration, and love. You wiped your eyes as you nodded slowly and reached to place a big kiss on her cheek. You would get out of bed, you could get out of bed, for her. She picked you up and you wrapped your legs around her as she carried you to the bathroom. She ran a bath for you with soothing oils and rose petals that she seemingly pulled out of nowhere before telling you to strip. You did so a little reluctantly before she picked you up and placed you in the bath. You laid back and closed your eyes, not even wanting to wash yourself, this was good enough. After a minute you felt a warm cloth on your skin and you peeled your eyes open to see your girlfriend sitting next to the bath. She smiled at you as she offered you a snack and a drink, which you gladly took. She gently washed you, and you basked in the warmth of hers and the waters touch. Once you were clean, Larissa took your hair out of it's bun and began brushing it. She hummed to you as she untangled your hair and ran her fingers through your scalp. You even mustered enough energy to shave while she worked on your hair. "Do you want to wet your hair, darling? So I can wash it?" You looked at her and nodded, sinking down into the tub. You took a deep breath and submerged yourself entirely, the water surrounding your whole body felt so cooling and calming. You opened your eyes while underwater and saw Larissa staring down at you. The water distorted her face and she looked so far away, even though you knew she was close. For a moment, you pictured yourself in the ocean, surrounded by an endless amount of water. You thought about sinking deeper and deeper, not even trying to save yourself from whatever was dragging you down. Perhaps you were letting yourself sink, maybe even wishing that you did. As tears threatened to fall down your face, you realized that it was impossible, you were submerged in water. You closed your eyes again and made no attempt to get out of the water, you could hold your breath a little longer. After some time you felt a hand reach for you and all of a sudden you were no longer underwater. You gasped for air and opened your eyes, realizing that you were in fact crying again. "Y/N that's not what I meant!" Larissa rushed out nervously. You blinked at her, "I know Riss. The water is just calming." She dropped her gaze to the floor for a moment before she shook her head and grabbed the shampoo, then she started to scrub your hair.

Once you were out of the bath and brushed your teeth, Larissa carried you and sat you at her vanity. She got out her lotion and rubbed it on your whole body, legs, arms, face, tummy, hands, and feet. She disappeared for a moment before coming back to you with a bag of nail polish. "Pick a colour love, I'll paint your fingernails and toenails to match" she hummed with a wide smile. You looked down at all the colors and set your eyes on black. Usually that's what you would pick, but today you wanted something different. You put your hand in the bag and searched for a bottle, lifting one out and presenting it to her. "This one?" Larissa asked, and you nodded your head with no hesitation. Once your fingernails and toenails matched, Larissa picked you up and set you on her lap. She sat you so that you were facing her, straddling her thighs. She began to do your makeup, secretly hoping that you wouldn't start crying again and smudge any of it. She did your simple look of eyeliner, mascara, blush, and she finished with red lipstick, her signature shade. She brought her hands up to cup your cheek and tiled your head down, giving a kiss to your forehead. She smiled, "There, my little puppy looks good as new." You felt tears threatening to spill again at Larissa's kindness but held them back, knowing they would smudge your makeup. You grabbed Larissa's face and lovingly pressed your lips to hers, hoping to calm yourself and prevent yourself from crying. You kissed your girlfriend passionately for a couple of minutes before she pulled back. "You smudged your lipstick" she fake growled against your lips. "I thought you needed some too" you winked.

Larissa picked you up and plopped you on the bed as you watched her get dressed and do her hair and makeup. She then came over to you with an outfit and touched up your lipstick. After you were dressed, she took your hand and sat on the bed beside you. "I have a surprise for you darling, if you're okay with going out today." You stared at her for a minute as you contemplated going out. You realized that you hadn't even walked around the apartment for days, Larissa had carried you everywhere today. Perhaps it was time to go outside, you knew you needed to see the trees and feel the breeze on your skin again. "Okay" you said quietly, trying to sound sure of yourself.

You stared out the window as Larissa drove down the winding roads of Jericho. It was a nice day, sunny but not too warm. You watched as you drove past your favorite noodle place, and you must have sighed because Larissa noticed what you were looking at. You pulled up to a hair salon that you've never been to before, but you recognized it as the place Larissa gets her hair done. You looked over at her and furrowed your brows. She grinned at you as her eyes sparkled, "I thought you could get your hair done, love. You could get a cut, color, whatever you want, it's on me." You looked at the salon and tried to picture yourself going in. You didn't have the energy to make conversation with anyone, but you did need your bangs trimmed, and you have been wanting to darken your hair for sometime now. You looked over at Larissa again with pleading eyes. "You don’t have to talk love. I'll come with you and make conversation. Just tell me what you want."

Almost two hours later you exited the salon. You had to admit, the dark color was a look on you, especially with your red nails and lips that matched Larissa's perfectly. Once you were in the car you pulled Larissa into a hug and squished your face to hers. "Thank you so much baby" you mumbled, giving her soft kisses on the lips. She brought her lips to your ear and husked, "Anytime darling, you look absolutely ravishing" before giving you a wink.

You stayed silent as Larissa drove. You were feeling a bit better about yourself now, you felt clean and rather pretty, you'd admit it. You watched your girlfriend as she drove, she was truly an angel sent from heaven. She never made you feel bad about yourself over your looks or your emotions, and she showed you nothing but love. So why did you feel so bad about yourself? Why did you feel so bad about everything? You were pulled out of your trance as she turned into the mall and parked. "What are we doing?" you asked confused. "We're going shopping!" Larissa exclaimed. You frowned, but you weren't totally opposed to it. You knew she loved to shop, but you only liked it when you were in the mood. Her smile faded but remained soft, "We won't be long, darling."

You walked through the mall with Larissa's hand in yours as she led you to a store. You had been at the shop with her before, but you had never bought anything yourself. It was full of very fancy and expensive clothing, clothing you liked, but had never wanted to spend the money on. Larissa led you to a rack of clothing that was your size and gestured to it. "What?" you asked, "This rack isn't your size." She giggled and put her hand on your back as she started to look through the dresses. "Pick out an outfit darling, I want to buy you something nice." Your eyes widened as you stared up at her, you didn't want her to spend more money on you. "Riss, this stuff is nice but it's too expensive" you whispered. She chuckled at you and kissed your forehead, "I'm buying you something nice, and that's final. Now pick something out" she said sternly. After 20 minutes, you had picked out a black jumpsuit, red dress, and a white two piece skirt. You hollered over to Larissa that you were going to try them on and made your way to the dressing room. As you tried on the outfits, you couldn't help but look at the price tag. You appreciated Larissa spoiling you and caring for you, but you didn't want her to spend all of her money on you. Surprisingly, you liked all of the outfits. More so than you usually did when you tried stuff on. Usually you hated picking out clothes, you guessed that these were expensive for a reason. You sighed, you couldn't make up your mind. Usually you opted for darker clothing and style, but today you were feeling a little different. You stepped out of the dressing room in the white two piece skirt and found Larissa waiting for you. "Hey Riss, do you like this?" She looked up from her phone and eyed you up and down, her mouth opening when she did. She smiled, "Y/N, that looks stunning on you, love." You looked down at the outfit questioningly, "Really?" You could see from the look in Larissa's eyes that she loved it on you, but it was still weird stepping out of your comfort zone. "Of course, white looks marvellous on you. Moving away from black, are we?" she taunted. A blush crept up on your cheeks as you looked to the ground, "Just this once" you mumbled. After Larissa bought you the outfit, she insisted that you go to the washroom and change. You weren't sure what her plan was, but you had to admit that spending this time with her and getting to dress up was super fun.

When you were on the road again, Larissa told you to close your eyes and not to peak. After a few minutes, you were still driving and you wondered why she told you to close your eyes so early. "Riss, I'm scared, why do I have to close my eyes?" She chuckled at you before turning into a parking lot. "Okay darling, now open!" You opened your eyes and swivelled your head around to see your favorite noodle place. Your eyes lit up and you almost smiled, almost. You turned to Larissa as a blush crept up on your cheeks. You reached out for her and she leaned into you, hugging you tight. "You know me so well" you whispered.

You both were dressed too fancy for this restaurant. You looked like you were going to an expensive restaurant, and you knew Larissa would rather that. Yet, here you were, eating noodles together at an average looking place. Larissa and you both got the ramen, and you held back a laugh when she picked up the chop sticks and put too many noodles into her mouth, panicking and looking at you with wide eyes. You reached your hand out and held her unoccupied hand, eating your noodles in the same messy fashion that she was. Larissa wasn't the best with chop sticks, but she tried, she would do anything to make you happy.

As Larissa pulled up to the beach downtown, you wondered how many places she's taken you today. You didn't want her to think you were fragile or needed to be coaxed out of your depressive episode, but you appreciated it none the less. As you got out of the car, Larissa took off her heels. "C'mon love, take your shoes off and follow me." You did as she said and grabbed her hand, following her down the sandy beach. As you walked slightly behind her, the sun illuminated her figure in a golden hue. You realized that Larissa was your rock, your savior, and your saving grace. She was always there for you when nobody else was, and in reality, she always had more energy and strength than you did, even though she worked harder than you.

"Two chocolate ice cream please" you watched your girlfriend say to the woman at the ice cream booth with a smile. God you would never ever get tired of that smile, her cute chubby cheeked, toothy smile. You walked along the beach further with your ice creams, feeling the hot sand in your toes. You needed this, to feel alive. To see the ocean, feel the sand and the breeze, to be able to breathe in the warm air. Until this point, all you've felt is trapped, no air, no ability to breathe. For days you've felt like you were in the ocean, trapped under water with nobody to save you and nowhere to go.

Larissa placed a blanket down on the sand, which she again pulled out of nowhere, and sat down, patting the spot next to her. You sat down and stared at the ocean, eating your ice cream and just trying to be in the moment. As the sun started setting, you looked around the beach and saw so many people sitting together, enjoying being alive. Perhaps there are moments in which being here is worth it. The world can be a lovely, enjoyable place, with lots of beauty to admire. You looked over at Larissa, who was lost in the sound of the ocean. You admired her beauty, you could never create someone as ethereal and as stunning as she was, it was literally impossible. You thanked the gods, old and new, that she was real, she was here, and she was yours. You really didn't want to save yourself, hell, you didn't know how. But maybe, just maybe, Larissa was sent to you for a reason. Maybe Larissa Weems, your incredible girlfriend and hopefully soon to be wife, was here to save you from yourself. Maybe life was worth living, if you could live it with her. You decided in that moment that as long as Larissa was alive, you wanted to be too. You smiled for the second time in the past few days, at nothing other than Larissa herself. You smiled not your hair, or the dress, or the food that she bought you, but at the angel before you, she never failed. You had Larissa, and that was everything you needed. A tear fell down your cheek as you smiled at her, and you had to stop yourself from bursting into tears. This time, it wasn't because you were sad, but because you were grateful, and in love. Larissa's eyes met yours as she licked her ice cream, and she watched a tear fall down your face. Her smile turned to a frown as she cupped your cheek in her hand. "What's wrong my love?" she asked. You looked into those sapphire eyes, ones you prayed you could get lost in forever. You grabbed the back of her head and crashed her lips to yours, tasting the chocolate ice cream that she had on her tongue. You kissed her and cried a bit before pulling back and resting your forehead against hers. "Thank you for taking care of me Larissa. I owe you my life, and I love you with every fibre of my being."

#larissa weems #principal larissa weems #gwendoline christie #wednesday netflix #gwendolineuniverse #principal weems #lesbian #larissa weems fanfic #so gay omg #larissa x reader

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theotherbuckley · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: @wikiangela @fortheloveofbuddie @disasterbuckdiaz @wildlife4life 💖💖

Okay so I’m mad because I just woke up to all these tags for WIP Wednesday only to realise it’s actually Thursday for me because time zones. Actually I feel like that should be a good thing it means it’s closer to the end of the week. Damn ignore my ramblings 😭.

So I haven’t had time to write any more Buck running fic stuff because uni has been crazy and I’m exhausted. But,, here’s some of a different fic which I have actually posted snippets before. It’s basically a depressing fic set in s5 when Maddie, Chim, and Eddie have left. I’ve written quite a lot of this fic a while ago but I’m not entirely happy with it. Alas, here it is.

Eddie gets shot on a Thursday. In broad daylight, and Buck is right there. And all he can do is watch. Eddie gets shot on a Thursday and Buck thinks that’s the moment it all started— when everything got bad again.

Because Eddie gets shot and Buck just stands there, frozen. With his blood splattered on his shirt, on his face, in his mouth. There is just something so wrong, he thinks, with knowing what his best friend’s blood tastes like before he even knows what his lips taste like, what his— It’s just all wrong.

Maybe it started before that, when he found out the truth about his entire existence. That he was just nobody. Just spare parts, created for a child that his parents might’ve actually loved. That he couldn’t even do the one thing he was made for; couldn’t even save his own brother.

It’s like his life finally made sense; why he was so screwed up. He was defective parts that nobody ever really wanted, just a means to an end, and he had failed at even that. So maybe it was then that things started getting bad again.

Or maybe it was the lawsuit, when nobody could even look him in the eye. Maybe it was when Eddie was yelling at him. You’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting.

Maybe it was the tsunami, where he lost Christopher. Sometimes he still wakes up screaming his name.

Or maybe it’s just that everyone is leaving. Again.

But no, he thinks, it was the shooting where everything just started crashing right back down.

Because Eddie was shot on a Thursday.

And now it’s months later and Buck still lies awake at 3am because he’s back there and he’s frozen and he’s watching his— Eddie get shot, 6 feet in front of him, and he’s just there and why wasn’t it him?

Why wasn’t it him?

Every time he closes his eyes it's all just red. Every time he closes his eyes he’s stuck watching as his best friend bleeds out on the road whilst he’s pushed to the ground by Captain Mehta and all he can do is just stare.

And Eddie’s reaching out to him, and people are screaming, he thinks, but for some reason it's all just so quiet. And he can’t do anything.

Except in his dreams Buck never does roll under the fire truck. He can’t move, can’t do anything except watch Eddie die.

And all he can think is why wasn’t it him.

Tagging: @honestlydarkprincess @eddiebabygirldiaz @eddiediaztho @jesuisici33 @your-catfish-friend @ladydorian05 @jeeyuns @bucksbirthmark @giddyupbuck @eowon @elvensorceress @watchyourbuck @housewifebuck @thewolvesof1998 @king-buckley @rainbow-nerdss @cal-daisies-and-briars <3 also anyone else who I missed or anyone who wants to share.

#wip wednesday #depressing Buck fic #911 abc #evan buck buckley #911 fandom #911 wip #911 fic #911 fanfic

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sherbetpoetry · 4 months ago

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an ode to being happy

sitting in a pale blue nightgown on her dirty carpet floor, spraying hairspray into a plastic bag, her friend tells her she needs to love less

“why? why shouldn’t i give my whole heart to girls i love?”

“i want you to be happy”

“but i am!! i’m happy like this”

“you’re huffing hairspray and taking shots of vanilla extract. you’re not happy. you do this to escape”

“maybe i just do it for fun, maybe i am happy and want the world to move in pastel spirals when i look at it too long”

“you’re manic, lizzy. you’re a bipolar girl who tried to kill herself twice just because a girl didn’t like you. you need to love less”

“i don’t. my love is beautiful and i want everyone who i love to know how much they mean to me, i want to make myself happy with the amount of love i bathe others in.”

“and when you don’t get the love you give you’re hanging yourself from the wisteria trees in the backyard, with a suicide note the shape of a heart, in a frilly pink dress. you treat yourself like a child in death, yet an adult in life and love”

i am not yet an adult but no longer a child, i'm drunk and writing in a pink pajama set with strawberry shortcake on it

my canopy bed is covered in lace and under it i bleed

even when i was young i wasn't happy, i hit myself on the head with a hairbrush because my hair wasn't perfectly straight, i wanted to be a girl i wasn't, i wanted to be a woman with long black hair and a tiny waist

i have been "happy" in my life, spending money, stealing car keys, drinking a bottle of robitussin on a thursday in february, knowing i would get addicted.

but really, i have been happy.

reading under moonlight in a kansas summer, the humidity wrinkling yellowed pages, dancing in my room, completely sober on a saturday

i've been manic, ive been so depressed i tried to die, but i've been happy too

sleeping over at a friends house, on buses in france, i forgot to take my meds then and i was still happy.

screaming my lungs out at a concert, my oldest friends next to me

sitting under the spring sun at a rocky beach, feeding pigeons turkish delight and cheese.

on a train, eating grocery store chocolate croissants, looking out at endlessly bright grass

i tried to die because i thought nothing could top that

nothing could top not understanding anything anyone was saying yet still feeling at home in a giant palace

but the feeling of looking out the window into bright midnight sky filtered through leaves being while an air mattress slowly deflates under you feels like home when you're in love

dying is not the solution for living without love

(im drunk sorry if this is shitty i just felt like writing about loving life and being happy even when ur like mentally fucked)

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oohaena · 5 months ago

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happy opening! genevieve (s/h, 21+) here, writing for han haena. (way) more about her under the cut, but i do also have a little profile & background for her if you're not reading all that. i’m available on ims and discord, so just drop a little heart if you’re interested in plotting!

the importance of financial independence is hammered into haena from a young age- soy sauce over eggs and rice, while a really fucking good meal, gets pretty stale when it's all that's in the pantry a week before mama han gets paid. the meagre cheques her father sends quarterly bounce more often than not, and her mom likes to lament that her marriage to him was the biggest mistake she made in her life.

marriage and education are just about the only viable ways out of the working class. with the way her mom talks about her ex, haena decides to work towards the latter. it's at yonsei business school she meets kim hyunwoo, who loves her drive until he realises he'll always be below her career in her list of priorities when she misses their wedding cake tasting for a meeting. he spirals, realises he feels unloved by her, has a quarter life crisis, and moves out of their shared apartment on a thursday afternoon.

he's not the focus of the story, so back to haena, who sells all his crap on karrot the next week. unfortunately, that's still not enough to cover all the cancellation expenses AND her current rent. coincidentally, she finds a flyer advertising an apartment for rent nestled between her windshield wipers. she views it her next day off and moves in the next weekend.

tldr: the brunette career-focused hallmark movie villain, but also living like the do you think a depressed person could make this meme.

has been here 2 months and is already considering breaking her lease early and moving out, because what is up with these vivid ass dreams omg. she wakes up mad as hell at her ex and goes and posts a hate comment on his yoga facebook page. forget kendrick, SHE is the biggest hater. she's chalking it up to the stress of ending such a long relationship + her being considered for a promotion at her job, but the deja vu will start soon...

works odd hours, because her boss dgaf when/how long she works as long as her projects get done. sometimes she's in the office 8am-12am, and sometimes she's at home working 3pm-2am. she codes and shit... don't ask me what she actually does. idk either. she loves her job, but it's also really challenging to go on as normal when her personal life is in shambles. does come off a bit deranged when you interact with her, but she's just an intense person.

her mom still doesn't know her engagement's off, because haena can't quite bear to break the news that her precious daughter's not living the life she's always wanted haena to live.

and honestly, haena's kinda putting it off because telling her mom makes it feel real. it's not that she's in denial--- if her ex came back to her, she'd probably have to go to jail for aggravated assault--- but that she hates that she couldn't have her cake and eat it too. it's just that it's all she hears: how women have to give up their careers for marriage. by getting engaged, she thought she'd beat the odds; unfortunately she doesn't even make it down the aisle.

do not get married just because it seems like the natural conclusion to a long-term relationship. what a lesson to learn the hard way, but haena's always liked her challenges.

power T. does her best to relate, but she's also a triple aquarius, so you should also know not to approach her for anything feelings-related unless you'd like to be smacked in the face with a verbal hammer.

possible meetings: haena's moving furniture @ 3am. your muse knocks on her door, because have some decency? she claims the feng shui here's awful and they get to talking about these weird dreams they're having / your muse runs into haena accosting mr 'excuse me SIRR!!!!!' and badgering him about carbon monoxide alarms, because there is something real weird happening to her / she's passed out, face-down unmoving in the lobby after a work dinner and your muse thinks she's dead

sorry i yapped so much, but anyway. if you're up for your muses to be the other charas in her Big Hallmark Movie Sequel where she gets her redemption arc after being Transformed by People, please hit the like! i'm big on chem & brainstorming, so i'd like to see what we can come up with, instead of set dynamics :^)

#oointro

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atwooozi · 5 months ago

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Almost Perfect (Sebastian x Fem!Farmer) Chapter 21: Flaws and All

Warnings: Slow burn, personal struggles, anxiety, depression, eventual smut

Summary: The Allers-Armstrong family attempts an unusual rehearsal dinner to prepare for a guest. (check the author's notes for content warnings.)

A/N: CW: emotionally heavy and talks about anxiety

Hello everyone! As it turns out I'm a liar and I am posting today instead of next Thursday. I'm honestly so happy that I was able to write this chapter. I actually have a beta reader for the other WIP that I'm currently working on and she's been so helpful with helping me think more deeply about character motivations and dialogue. If you wanna check out some of her stuff she goes by Zark or Linotte-Miller on tumblr. I think her writing is beautiful and I'm actually going to be helping her with her WIP once she's out of the planning phase so I'm really excited.

READ ON AO3

Chapter 21: Flaws and All

Fall 11

“I don’t think normal families do this,” Maru said as she took her seat at the table.

The “this” that Maru was referring to was a rehearsal dinner of sorts. And she was right, normal families didn’t do this, but the Allers-Armstrong wasn’t the most functional family, unfortunately. A good dinner in their house was one where no one talked, so a rehearsal dinner was practically a necessity if they were going to have a guest over who wasn’t Sam or Abigail.

Sebastian snorted as he took his seat across from her. “What makes you think we’re a normal family?”

“I think the term is nuclear family,” Demetrius interjected, obviously only half listening as he took his seat at the table.

Maru and Sebastian exchanged glances, but neither bothered to correct Demetrius. Correcting him right now would open a can of worms that would most likely bleed into tomorrow’s dinner. Angeline didn’t need to deal with that. In all honesty, Sebastian didn't want her to see the cracks in his family-life.

“Do you think spaghetti is too simple for tomorrow?” Robin asked as she took her seat at the table. Tonight they were eating salmon. Sebastian honestly loved all the meals that his mom cooked. He was just grateful that she would make enough for him even when he didn't join them at the table most nights. Sebastian couldn't help but feel worried when he watched his mom frown as she looked down at her plate.

Although this dinner was his mom's idea he didn't want her to stress over it. It was supposed to be fun…but why did it put such a pit in his stomach? It wasn't even just him, but his mom too. She was always so confident so if even she was worried then he must be doomed.

“I think we should have bean hotpot,” Demetrius suggested as he picked at his salad.

Sebastian made a face at Demetrius’ suggestion and shook his head. "No–Mom... Look, I think spaghetti is fine.” He did his best to reassure her. “I don’t really think Angeline is going to care.”

“Maybe we should make rhubarb pie, too?” Maru suggested, also doing her best to be helpful.

“Is rhubarb even in season right now?” Robin questioned.

“Oh yeah…” Maru pursed her lips and shrugged. “I don’t think we should just do spaghetti, though.”

Robin nodded, “Yeah, I think it’s too simple.” She looked over to Sebastian, pointing her fork in his direction to emphasize what she was saying. “Text Angeline and ask her what she likes.”

“Now?” Sebastian asked with a frown.

“Now.”

Sebastian felt conflicted as he hesitated to reach for his phone. Not that he ever cared before, but Demetrius hated when phones were out at the table. Something about it keeping a person from being present. Yet, Demetrius would read a newspaper or some scientific journal during dinner and that was never considered an issue. Regardless–Sebastian didn't want to create a problem that could easily be avoided.

“Yeah, you should do it now.” Maru agreed. “That way someone can go to the store before it gets too late.”

Sebastian sighed as he pulled out his phone. He didn’t realize it until now but his palms were sweating. He wasn’t sure if it was his nerves, the heat, or both. Not only were his palms clammy, but his fingers were trembling.

He swallowed thickly as he tried to will his hands to stop shaking, but it didn’t work. If anything, the shaking got worse. He balled his freehand into a fist to make the shaking stop.

“I thought we all agreed on no phones at the dinner table?” Demetrius said as he watched Sebastian with a disapproving look.

Sebastian frowned as he looked between his Demetrius and his mom. At this point, he wanted to text Angeline and tell her not to come. He wanted to lie and say that Maru had the flu so they’d have to reschedule. With the way his heart was pounding in his chest, he felt like he might faint.

This is a bad idea.

“Oh stop,” Robin said as she nudged Demetrius’ shoulder. “I told him to.”

Demetrius frowned and gave a shrug not saying much more, but it was obvious how he felt about it by the face he made. It made Sebastian grit his teeth because no matter what he did Demetrius would have a problem. If he didn’t listen to his mom he’d get a lecture. If he said no he wouldn’t text Angeline he’d get a lecture. If he broke the stupid dinner rules he’d get a disapproving look. He couldn’t win.

“I don’t want to have this dinner tomorrow,” Sebastian admitted in the steadiest voice he could manage.

“What?” Robin shifted in her seat to give Sebastian her full attention. “Why not Sebby?”

Sebastian just shook his head. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say. No, that wasn’t it. It was that he shouldn’t say it. He shouldn’t tell his fucked family that they were the reason that he wanted to cancel the dinner. How could he say that without it coming out horribly wrong and leading to an argument that he knew would get him kicked out of the house? How could he say that without breaking his mother's heart? He refused to do that.

He swallowed his words and took a deep breath. He wanted to be calm. He needed to be calm. But he couldn’t look up at them as he said the words, so instead, he looked down at the table.

“...I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Robin and Maru exchanged concerned glances before looking back over to Sebastian, waiting for him to continue. They sat in silence for a few tense minutes. No one ate, no one dared to say a word, the only movement came from Demetrius as he looked over whatever journal he had brought with him to the table. It all felt so suffocating. Between the arbitrary rules and the heavy tension that infected this house Sebastian felt like he couldn't breathe.

Sebastian couldn’t bring Angeline here. If he did she’d hate him. He was sure of it. She would see all his weak parts he tried his best to hide. The only person that made him feel normal wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore and he couldn't take that hit.

Sebastian stood up from the table abruptly, causing the table to clatter and quickly made his way out the door. Doing his best to ignore his mom’s and sister's calls for him as he ran away. He needed to get out before the situation became worse. It wasn’t the smartest move, but he wasn’t sure what else he could do at the moment.

Without realizing it, Sebastian was making his way down the mountain path to Angeline’s farm. Usually, when Sebastian needed to clear his head he’d either run off to Zuzu or hide out with Linus for a bit, but instead he was making his way to Angeline’s. Just the thought of her made him feel a bit more relaxed. She was his new safe place and as sweet as that was, it was equally just as terrifying.

Sebastian gulped as he stood in front of Angeline’s farmhouse. He wanted to run through the door and just collapse in her arms much like a child would do after a long day at school. He felt so emotionally exhausted. Would Angeline regret liking him if she saw him like this? He didn’t want to know.

“...Sebastian?”

Sebastian felt his heart stop when he heard Angeline’s voice call out to him. It was so gentle and full of concern. It made him feel so much lighter. And while that feeling was so comforting he could feel fear creeping into the back of his mind. He didn't want his happiness to depend completely on another person. It was too fast to be so attached, but he couldn't help it.

He really didn’t want her to see him so broken, but he could only hide it from her for so long. He reluctantly turned around to face her and he felt his heart start to beat once more, almost painfully fast.

She didn’t say anything as she walked towards him. Without any hesitation, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, nuzzling her face into his neck as she held him close.

It took Sebastian a moment before his body was able to respond to Angeline’s touch, but he returned the hug, holding her just as tightly to him. And without realizing it tears were rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t even know he was crying until his chest heaved as he sobbed into Angeline’s shoulder.

And what did she do while he cried? Angeline rubbed gentle circles along his back as she gently cradled his head, letting him cry into her now tear-stained shirt. She didn’t try to say anything or try to get him to stop. She just let him cry and he had never felt so thankful before in his life.

Angeline continued to hold Sebastian close, offering a silent comfort that he desperately needed. His sobs gradually subsided, leaving him feeling drained but slightly more at peace. The warmth of her embrace soothed his raw nerves that had been building steadily up for days.

“Do you want to come inside?” Angeline asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Angeline gently took his hand and led him into the farmhouse. It smelled faintly of pine, much like his own house, but unlike there this place felt more like home. It was small, but it felt cozy. It didn’t carry the same tense atmosphere that he was used to. He felt welcome.

“Sit, I’ll get you something to drink,” Angeline said, guiding him to a chair at the kitchen table.

Sebastian sat down, his legs felt like they could give out at any moment. He watched as Angeline moved around her small kitchen to get him a glass of water. He didn’t think it was necessary for her to dote on him like this, but he appreciated it.

Angeline poured him a glass of water and placed it in front of him before taking a seat across from him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked gently, her eyes filled with concern.

Sebastian took a sip of water, trying to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t sure exactly how to go about telling her that his family was a dysfunctional mess, but he also knew that keeping it all inside wasn’t helping him either since he basically had an emotional breakdown in her front yard.

“It’s just…” His voice was hoarse from crying. He tried his best to clear his throat before he continued. “My family is a mess a-and I don’t want you to see that.”

Sebastian looked away from Angeline and found himself staring at the floor. “I don’t want you to see me like this…”

Angeline reached across the table and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. “Sebastian, I care about you, no matter what.”

Her words felt like a lifeline that he wasn’t even aware that he needed. She pulled him back from the edge of his own despair. He took a deep breath and looked back at her feeling a bit stronger than he did just moments ago.

“I’m scared that if you see my family…if you see me, you’ll change your mind,” he admitted.

Angeline’s expression softened, and she stood up, walking around the table to kneel beside him. Sebastian tried to shrink away from her from his chair, but he couldn’t escape her gaze. She looked at him with eyes filled with unwavering support.

“Sebastian, I like you,” Angeline said firmly. “I want to be there for you through all of it.”

“But–”

Angeline shook her head. “ All of it. ”

Sebastian pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her close as if she could disappear in an instant if he were to let go.

“Thank you.”

Angeline hugged him back just as tightly, she made him feel as if he wasn’t so alone. He felt whole. They stayed like this for a while, finding solace in each other’s embrace. Eventually, Angeline pulled back slightly and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Wanna sit on the porch?” She suggested. “Some fresh air might be good.”

Sebastian nodded and reluctantly let Angeline go. They stood up and walked out of the cabin, hand in hand. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the acres of land. The view from the mountains was beautiful, but it was just as nice if not better from the farm.

Angeline pulled Sebastian down to sit with her, leaning against the wall. With her by his side, he felt like he could face anything. He wasn’t alone anymore. Not as long as he had her there.

They sat there silently, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Angeline leaned her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her close.

“Hey.” Sebastian broke the silence.

Angeline glanced up at him. “Hey.”

“Could you picture me living on a farm?”

Angeline giggled and nuzzled up to Sebastian. “Is it possible to be an emo farmer?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and if he wasn't so emotionally exhausted he'd probably laugh a little at Angeline’s lame joke. He felt a sense of calm settle over him as he sat there on Angeline’s porch looking up at the stars. If he could pick a moment to live in it would be this moment. He’d stay here forever.

#stardew valley sebastian x oc #fanfic #sdv sebastian #fanfiction #sdv #stardew sebastian #ao3 fanfic #stardew valley #sebastian stardew valley #sebastian sdv

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