#anyway i have heating pad and chugging water

[bamsara]

ok no yeah i hate human hormones and body chemicals actaully because the anxiety caused some physical symptoms and i had muscle spasms and speech problems for 30ish minutes and i havent had a Moment™️ like that in like 6 months, i think this game is rigged

also, i should stop drinking caffeine. again. attempt 2# at quitting caffeine i believe in us

also 2x i want to art stream. i want to draw. i will force this body to my will

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

“Just – don’t do it, Lance. I don’t want you to end up in the west wing, or things are going to get bad in here.”

If Lance is being entirely honest, he has no desire to deviate from Hunk’s directions. At least he didn’t. If Hunk hadn’t said anything, it probably wouldn’t have even occurred to Lance to go to the west wing anyway. This is the second time he has been warned away from the west wing, now. If Lance was curious before, he’s burning with it now.

But Hunk is his friend, and he’s doing him a favour, so he bites his tongue and nods his head and walks down the way Hunk instructed him too. It helps that he’s ravenous, and is more focused on food than anything. 

But he won’t lie and say that he doesn’t have to force himself away from dark hallways and beckoning shadows.

———

“Oh, Lance, hello!” Colleen greets him enthusiastically when he walks in the door. Lance wiggles his fingers at her in a small wave. “I’m glad you came out, dear. I was worried.”

“Got hungry.”

“Of course, of course. Sal, heat up the food, will you?”

The giant wood burning stove in the corner of the kitchen chugs to life, vent forming an enthusiastic grin. The sound of frying meat and salted potatoes fill the air, making Lance’s mouth water.

The kitchen is quiet at this time of night; warm. It makes him think of his Abuela, on the many nights when neither of them could sleep, guiding his hands as he kneaded dough, sliced meat, prepared vegetables. Things he can do easily, now, without thinking, in a way he has never been able to do with a plow or bailer. Things that form callouses on the tips of his fingers rather than the pad of his palm. 

He shakes his head, shoving the thoughts in the back of his mind. It doesn’t matter, now. The food is warm and smells heavenly, and more importantly, there’s no screaming fiancé to reckon with. 

He scarfs back the food so quickly his stomach aches, forgetting to be self conscious. Colleen’s laughter is only teasing, after all, and there is no one else to see it. He smiles sheepishly at her and wishes her goodnight as he finishes his third plate, watching her hop off to a cabinet. 

Slowly the lights in the kitchen fade as candles burn low and the embers of the oven start to die out, shadows shifting on the cluttered walls and full shelves. Lance picks up one of the newer candles before the kitchen goes completely dark, placing it gently in a (non-animated, thankfully) teacup to guide him down the corridors. He remembers Hunk’s instructions, pausing for a moment to flip them in his head so he won’t get lost in the wide, dark hallways – left, left, right; now left, right, right. Stick to the path. 

He walks out of the kitchen, closing the heavy door gently so as to not wake anyone. He takes his time, not quite comfortable in the dark but not quite afraid, either; his shoes, worn and thin, provide a light enough cover that he can almost feel the smooth marble floors on the soles of his feet, and his free hand traces along the wall as he walks, feeling the rough bricks and occasional soft tapestries. He keeps his candle close to his face, both to help him see and to try and soak up some of the tiny flame’s warmth. His cloak is back in the servant’s quarters – his room – and the castle is warmer than outside but barely. 

His fingers brush over a soft tapestry, threads so thin and tightly woven he can barely feel the difference between them, and then brick again, and then air. He pauses, holding his candle a little further from his eyes and squinting to make out what’s in front of him. 

Difficult to see in the low candlelight, a massive stained glass window towers in front of him. The colours are too dark to make out, but when he places the candle at the base of the window and steps back, he can see the vague shapes of a young man, tall and regal and dark-haired, holding a sword and standing in front of a castle. Below him are panels of farmland and forest, and beside him are orchards, vills, estates. Above him, to the right, is a shining sun. To the left, a crescent moon.

Left, right, right. Don’t veer off the path. 

Lance bites his lip, and follows the path of the moon.

The corridor, somehow, seems colder. As if the bricks are further away from the sun, no longer leaching the warmth collected as it was shining. The darkness seems blacker, too; heavier almost, and soon his candle burns down to the base, extinguishing, leaving him to stumble forward completely blind. He reaches out to steady himself, to trace the wall to stay on track, and has to choke back a scream when he feels a face instead of a wall, sharp teeth digging into the flesh of his palm, snarling and furious. It takes him several minutes to calm his racing heart, work up the courage to reach forward, again, touch the face, map curve of the stone jaw, curling horns, and twisted, scowling mouth. A gargoyle, although Lance has never heard of one inside before.

“Rich people are so goddamn weird,” he mutters to himself. 

Shaken but determined, he moves forward. 

As he creeps forward, more and more carvings dot the walls, each one angrier and angrier. At one point he has to pull his hand away, continuing forward on his legs alone, because he fears cutting himself on teeth that only appear to get sharper, brick that only seems to get rougher. He keeps his arms extended, moving forward slowly, cautious of what might be in front of him, too scared to stumble.

Eventually, his knuckles hit a door, the sound of the slight impact bouncing off the walls and echoing down the hallway. He flattens his hands against the grainy wood, mapping out the knots, the iron studs and hinges. He’s surprised to feel the lock pulled free. He wraps his fingers around the door handles and tugs, pulling the door open with a groan.

Moonlight spills into the hallway. It’s silvery and faint, but it’s enough that Lance can see the outline of his hands, even vaguely in front of him. He pushes the door open further, wincing at the slight creak, just wide enough for him to slip in. 

The room is…huge. And destroyed.

Inside, it’s even easier for the moonlight to lift some of the oppressive shadow. It’s not bright by any means, but the window that makes up the back wall is massive and clear, and the doors are wide open, letting the full moon spill into the crowded, dusty room. Lance steps cautiously forward, hands still extended, looking around with wide eyes. 

Broken furniture litters the floor, leaving splinters and shards of metal everywhere, casting long shadows on the wall. Lance is careful to step around it, but in his attempt to steer clear he very nearly walks into one of the many torn drapes and tapestries hanging from the walls and ceiling. He ducks at the last second, avoiding a facefull of it, but he still nudges it with his shoulder, causing a cloud of dust to fall to the floor, powdering his face and hair.

“Aw, that’s fucking disgusting,” he says, swiping it off his face and resisting the urge to throw up. He shakes out his hair, hyperconscious of how little it actually does, hoping that there is some kind of well he can find on the grounds in the morning to bathe. Or, God, maybe even a real bath! With hot water! It’s a castle, after all. There should be.

He looks again at the state of the room, with the shattered glass all over the wall and holes punched into the plaster walls. Paint is peeled or scratched off in many areas, especially where decorative fabric has been torn, or where coat racks or lampposts have fallen, scratching the walls on their way down.  On second thought, hot water baths seem too nice for this shithole.

A glint catches his eye, and he lifts his head just to find himself face to face with his own fragmented reflection, startled expression mirrored back to him, brown eyes wide and eyebrows creased. Half the glass is missing, and the rest of it is spiderwebbed, in shards. The ornate carvings of the mirror’s frame have been half-crushed, like the whole giant, floor-length thing was picked up and smashed on the floor. 

Sufficiently spooked, with his abuela’s warnings of bad luck ringing in his ears, he starts to turn away, unsure if he can be cursed if he didn’t break the damn thing but unwilling to take his chances. He's in a rough enough situation. He can’t really afford to make it worse. But as he moves forward, he catches sight of another face reflected out of the corner of his eye, and whips around to face it, hand curled protectively over his heart. 

“Oh,” he breathes, air knocked out of him, transfixed on the portrait across from him.

It’s painting, or at least, it was. Like everything else in the room it’s been destroyed, half the man’s face shredded cleanly away. Left only is the shining thickness of his dark hair, the length of his pale neck, and the perplexing, swirling indigo of his eyes. He looks hauntingly familiar, in the way a name on a tombstone brings on a shudder of vague recollection, a chill down one’s spine.

Wary and curious, Lance slowly reaches forward, pinching the corner of the ripped flap of canvas with his thumb and pointer finger, cognizant of the accumulated grime, and hesitant for a reason he doesn’t understand. Slowly he begins to flip the canvas up, running his pinkies along the rejoining seams, too dark to make out the rest of the painting quite yet but noting the strong chin, sharp jawline, regal set of the shoulders – 

A red light pulses, suddenly, nearly blinding the room, and Lance’s eyes squeeze shut on reflex, hands dropping to his sides. He turns slowly once it has faded, heart pounding, and sees to his great shock a flower, encased in glass, floating atop a small table, glowing as brightly as a ruby.

As if in a trance, he walks towards it, tripping over a table but quickly righting himself, eyes glued to the flower; noting the way it seems to rotate, almost too slowly to track, and sparkle like freshly fallen snow in early sunlight. He stops when he gets close, admiring it in almost a single-minded focus; the deep, dark green of the stem, the sharp thorns in great number along it, and the softly glowing pinkish-red of the three triangular petals. Lance has seen nothing like it before, not in his sister’s garden, not sold in the town square, not even wild. The flower is enchanting, and Lance is reaching out before he can stop himself, pressing careful hands to the glass and lifting it quickly, setting it on the floor and standing again as fast as he can manage, unwilling to take his eyes off the flower for even a second.

He’s nervous, now, as the flower lays without barrier, brighter and softer alike in the cool air and silver moonlight. His reach to touch it is slow, almost as if he must caress the air around it first, single finger poised to rest gently on the widest petal.

A shadow suddenly dwarfs him. He rips back his hand at light speed, but it’s too late, and Prince Keith snarls at him, teeth bared and mouth twisted and far more horrifying than any gargoyle.

He says nothing for a moment. Condensation huffs out of him in a cloud in the cold night, enveloping his head like a halo of smoke. In the next second he’s leaping forward and Lance doesn’t have time to move, doesn’t even have time to pray, can only let out a strangle shout and sharp inhale. 

But Keith does not claw him to death, or sink his teeth into Lance’s heart. He only slams the glass case back over the flower, wrapping himself around it almost protectively, mouth still twisted and eyes still angry and cold.

“Why did you come here,” he hisses, stalking towards him, matching every step Lance takes backward. His claws scratch on the floor with every step. 

Lance says nothing.

“What about this place seemed inviting to you?” Keith’s voice is low, carefully controlled. With every word Lance’s heart lurches, and with every step his lungs get tighter and tighter. “What about the darkness and closed door made you feel you had the right to enter?”

There’s no overt animosity to his tone, no animation. His voice is flat; deadly. This is not some kind of banter; there is no upper hand for Lance to gain. This conversation doesn’t need him at all. 

This is a cornering. A final toying with a trapped animal.

“It’s only a flower,” Lance manages, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Keith roars, a hundred times louder than before, shaking the very ground with the force of it. There is nothing human or humane about it. 

“Do you realise what you could have done?!” he shouts, so mounstrous it reverberates in Lance’s bones. He slashes wildly, splitting an already broken chair in two, flinging the halves at the wall.

Lance presses himself against the wall, as far away from him as he can manage, breath coming in short pants. “I didn’t mean –”

“Get out!” Keith booms, and Lance doesn’t waste a second.

He turns around, and he flees.

— — —

next chapter

[whore4mattsstubble]

td i didn't feel good bc i had really bad cramps but i could stay home bc i have exams

but i sat out in pe and a few boys were making fun of me and kept saying i was a "lazy bitch" and i literally started crying bc of my stupid fucking period and they kept making fun of me but my teacher (who's a boy) understood what was happening bc i told him earlier so i could sit out and he made the boys do 50 burpees 🤧🤧 and he made sure i was ok

anyway, do you have any advice for getting rid of cramps or like calming yourself down on your period

heat pads. hands down the BEST thing ive used to help my cramps!

also advil\asprin

any other paracetamol or painkiller, sleep and CHUG THA WATER GIRL.😜 and win pe teacher😘

[restlesscrybaby]

Could you do Jack x reader on their period please? I completely understand if you can't due to keeping it gender neutral! It's the time of the month for me and it's been a little tough but it's absolutely okay if you don't want to!

GRAAAH Periods suck!! Surry this isn't in usual format, more of like actual headcanons !! Tryna chug these out for yall ^^!!

~~~~~~~~

~ JACK HORNER PERIOD COMFORT HEADCANONS. ~

~~ P.S. a lot of these are silly, just for laughs, since I hoped it'd make you feel better! ~~

~ SURRY PEOPLE WITHOUT UTERUSES! THIS IS FOR ONES WITH ONE 💪💪💪 ~

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Let's be honest here..

Jack doesn't understand them tbh.

I mean YEAH HE DOES I'm sure, just.. Not in a good way.

100% asks you what the fuck the difference between a 1 (one) sized pad is and a four (4) sized pad is.

'Can I use your hand as a heating pad?'

"... Why the fuck would you need me to do that?"

After some pleading, he does it.

His palm faces down upon your uterus, where it aches the most, as you relax.

Pie is probably your biggest period craving now.

I mean, you're constantly around it, the smell of it, tbh you can't get away from it.

Let's be honest, you've probably bled out by accident.

Confused pointing?

Panicked screeching.

It took him only a second for it to click. But, he just cleaned it up.

Sometimes, he wanted to rip it out your body.

You got very moody too, but you also got very agitated. Or, heartless, depending on what kind of uterus sufferer you are!

Oh, and the body aches.

Honestly, when you'd show that you were aching, he'd get a tinsy bit worried.

Just a tad.

Or, if you preferred tampons,

Oh the horror.

You showed him how one worked. Just on a glass of water.

Terror.

"THAT? GOES INSIDE YOU? AND JUST.. EXPANDS?"

Yes. Infact it does. Surry Jack.

Don't tell him it can get stuck inside if you rip the string by accident.

Don't let him learn what a diva cup is.

Or, if you prefer diva cups. Yeah. That.

You tried to show how it worked.

A simple pinch, using your fingers curved into an okay hand, showing how it did that.

Horror.

Why does it do that...

More of, did you just have to reach in and pull it out? How does that work.

You probably had to explain it for an hour.

When he had to buy these products, he probably wanted to throw a fit at the prices. But money is money. Whoever made them made money, that's how the world worked.

Maybe he should figure out how to make these products. I wonder if he made simple things like that if he'd get even more money, sorry, anyway!.

But, when you laid in bed and whined out how bad everything hurt,

He couldn't help but feel..

Somewhat bad.

He'd place his palm against your lower belly, using his hands heat to try to warm it up and ease that screaming cramp attack.

Sometimes, he'd be kind enough to get a shower running for you, and set out a robe and fresh clothes. Help you if you needed him too,

He wasn't too good at making an impression during times like this,

But he made just enough,

When he'd walk in the door,

A bag in hand, a smile upon his face,

"I remembered your size this time."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

[4dtk]

heloo! can I request hand-holding (3), kisses (6, 12) hugs (32) and touching (12) with renjun, thank uu^^

why do my renjun drabbles always end up so long LOL . btw age old kiss under the mistletoe <3 never too early for x’ams imagines i guess LOL, enjoy!!!

hand-holding, 3: cold hands in warm hands

hugs, 32: long-lasting hugs

kisses, 6 & 12: slow kisses, kisses on the corner of their mouth

touching, 12: pushing a strand of hair behind their ear

renjun’s eyes couldn’t leave yours. well, more of your body as you talked with mark, gesturing grandly about his new single that he dropped. he remembers you playing it whenever you met up, rapping the lyrics back to him that only had renjun groaning in embarrassment. staring around the room, he scans over the members in the party with a smile. having had taken a rest from the all the alcohol earlier, he was glad to be left alone to his… indulgences where no one could interrupt him.

“hey.”

“gah! wh- what the hell?” haechan shocks him out of his stupor, easily avoiding a smack on the back from renjun. his laughter gains attention from others, but otherwise they just return a cheeky laugh back while conversing. soon, the other is able to pick up on his loneliness, partially blaming it on the crazy challenge he dared renjun to do earlier. the partial reason, however..

“are you ever going to confess to (y/n)?” haechan raises a brow.

“keep it down! christ, hyuck. just because some members here have their partners on their arms doesn’t mean i should rush to make (y/n) mine.”

“oh, but you’re so obvious that it’s tiring to watch,” haechan sighs, taking a swig of his drink. the both of them admire the theme of the party for a little bit, red and green decorations hung from the spacious dorm, held on the fifth floor because they were the ‘cleanest’ (against jungwoo’s wishes and with kun’s agreement, they settled for an early celebration on the 23rd).

the speakers blasted christmas music, no doubt from the talented mr. bublé who was a compulsory artist to listen to, along with other renditions of christmas songs that just felt good. fairy lights from the members’ rooms were brought to be set up. plus, with ten’s recent sunset light purchase that he bought for the felines, the room was soon bathed in joyous lighting that could rival decorations outside.

“dude. the members had to have their partners fly in because they’re both so busy. (y/n)’s already there, c’mon the opportunity is right there — and this is the one time you’re able to unwind and relax. just go for it, man,” haechan is relaxed and laid-back, haven’t yet experienced the palpitations whenever one looks at their crush. the only exception was probably a rookie idol back then, but that was old news.

“if you happen to want to cuddle or fuck later, we’ll leave you alone.” this time, renjun was able to land a punch to his shoulder, expression turned into a scowl.

“you’re right, i guess. i’ll see what i can do.”

a gasp, “renjun admitting i’m right? rare.” renjun gives the other a lighter smack with a smile, chugging down the last bit of his water before heading over to you. he feels like he’s walking through snow whenever he wants to get to you, the resistance strong with each step. curling and uncurling his fingers, he loosened his freezing hands as you wrap up the conversation with mark.

“renjun! have a good rest? donghyuck was trying to avoid you for the past fifteen minutes, because he knew you’d get another headache if he talked to you.”

“i’m having one right now,” renjun jokes, emphasising his point by rubbing some fingers on his temple.

your laugh is like first snow. or like the heater that’s currently fuelling the house with heat. he isn’t sure what to choose, but he knows he likes it and wants to make you laugh more.

“do you need to rest again? i’ll promise i’ll be quiet-“

“delivery?” someone calls out. with a shout, you’re already at the door, receiving another batch of booze since the grocery shopping you went on earlier severely underestimated how much these boys can drink. “oh- uh-“ renjun swoops in like prince charming, hand brushing over yours while he steps forward to help you. they tingle like electricity, deciding against pulling away which would leave you to struggle.

“miss (l/n) (y/n) and mr huang renjun. please freeze in your place,” haechan’s annoying voice penetrates throughout all the conversation happening and you swear the man beside you mutters a curse as you two try to haul the booze past the member. “place the beer down. you aren’t going anywhere, anyway.”

before any of you can ask for an explanation, he points above you which displayed a mistletoe. “surprise!”

the delivery man’s voice scares you, until you realise it’s johnny, hidden under a very smart disguise of a fake moustache and a replica of the uniform. your mouth hangs open even when johnny squeezes past you with the booze effortlessly hanging from one arm, sighing inaudibly at the absence of the heavy drinks.

“so?” the members are looking at you expectedly like they’re watching a movie. there’s endless thoughts swirling in your mind even when renjun grabs your hand with his timid one, but it calms you down just a little when he brushes a thumb over your skin. it’s like you’re waiting for the director to yell out ‘cut!’; even you thought you’d do better on a movie set.

“(y/n)-“

he’s cut off by your lips crashing onto his, garnering a few ooohs and ahhs, including the satisfied smiles and sighs of relief. renjun’s lips taste like a mixture of the candy cane drink he spat out earlier, and some whiskey with coke. it’s a confusing taste, but with the pace your lips are moving with each other, it allows you to draw out every other time you imagined kissing huang renjun.

it doesn’t even come close, if you’re being honest and even if you’re standing in front of countless other men he calls his members in a ridiculously sized k-pop group. renjun deepens the kiss when he turns his head, cold, but clammy hands coming up the cup your cheeks. they shock you for just a bit and there’s a shameless smile into the kiss as renjun continues to deliver pecks onto your own.

he chuckle and it sounds like well-written christmas movies, or the very first listen to michael bublé’s christmas album. you aren’t sure what to choose, but you know you like it and want to make him chuckle more.

in a blink of an eye, you’ve grabbed his hand, heading straight for one of the rooms that you often see when renjun’s gaming with haechan. you recognise it straight away from the set-up and in a rush to shut the door, you stumble just a bit before meeting the hard wood of the door in a roar of laughter.

“great, now they’ve locked two people out,” haechan nudges johnny.

“three!” johnny’s partner calls from the doorway, which makes the living room shake in another round of cheers, getting back into the natural flow of things before everything got interrupted by a plant. faintly, you hear them ask if the plan worked, and haechan’s prideful answer right after.

slowly, you peek out of your hiding spot being your hands. renjun’s eyes shine, “so you like me.” it comes out flatter than he expected and he winces.

you snort, taking a step closer to him on the door, half leaning on it. without any prompting, the other’s arms encircle your waist, now pulling you flush against him while your head rest on his front. the next moments are spent in comfortable silence, the rowdy party going on outside giving you a little of a main character moment. your breathing syncs up, chest expanding and contracting with the deep breaths you take. there’s always a puff of mist leaving your lips, but it appears less now that you’re in your crush’s arms.

“yeah. i like you,” you nod, coming to face him after the tight embrace. his fingers touch your cheek experimentally and you flinch, the pads freezing cold to the touch. maybe it’s because he didn’t touch whiskey for the past half ’n hour. gently, you take his hands in yours. “why’re you always freezing?”

“ugh. you figured me out. tactic to get you to hold my hands.” throwing your head back in a silent laugh, you shake your head in disbelief.

“at least you haven’t caught on to me, holding your hands down so you won’t have to-” a kiss to one corner of his mouth. “restrict me from-” another to the other. “doing this.” lastly to his lips.

renjun entertains your dramatic flair with his jaw hung open. it doesn’t last long, though. “why would i restrict you from doing that?” you shrug, letting go of his hands now that they gained sufficient warmth. renjun silently decides it’s not enough, but first, he wants to kiss you again. his fingers are less freakishly cold now, brushing against your skin to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. it sits there obediently, dissimilar with the way you did it. ‘it always falls out!’ you want to tell him later, but first, you want to kiss him again.

“huang renjun, you drive me crazy.” grinning, renjun knows it’s your way of confessing before his lips collide with yours with the fervour that hallmark movies lacked, and ironically, a plot which hallmark movies embodied. and just like that, you wish you could hold a pause icon over your head, because you wanted this to last for as long as it could.

[writemywaytoyourheart]

BTS Reaction: You Have An Ovarian Cyst

Requested: yes a long time ago ;-;

Genre: fluff

Warnings: uh, mentions of ovarian cysts but it's not that bad lol

A/n: I know it's taken me a long time to get something out and I'm sorry about that. But I hope you enjoy this anyway 🙂 love you guys!

KIM SEOKJIN:

I love this man...that is all

"What do you want for dinner tonight, princess?"

Jin looks at you from across the shopping cart between you two as you browse the vegetable aisle. He frowns when you don't seem to be paying attention to him, just keep gently pushing on the avocados to test their ripeness.

"Y/n?"

"Huh?" You finally look up at him and he smiles.

"I asked what you'd like for dinner tonight." 

MIN YOONGI:

"Oh, sorry." You laugh quietly, but Jin immediately picks up that something is wrong. He comes around the cart to put his hands on your shoulders, making you face him.

"Is everything alright, princess?"

"Yeah...it's just..." You look around to make sure no one overhears you.

"It just hurts." You finally whisper.

"What hurts?" Your husband whispers back.

You point down at your lower abdomen and it clicks in his brain. You had been having a lot of ovary pain recently, so you went to the doctors to get it checked out.

It turns out you have an ovarian cyst, but it wouldn't require any surgeries. The doctor just told you a few things that might help ease the pain until it goes away.

Jin has been a saint this whole time, doing everything he can to make it better for you. Now, he nods and pulls you in for a quick kiss on your forehead. Then he whispers, "I've got an idea."

At Seokjin's urging, you end up buying chocolates and almonds and a few other foods that are high in magnesium. The doctor told him that magnesium high foods should help the pain. When you get home, he makes you sit on the couch while he gives you some chocolate and almonds as he puts the groceries away.

When he's done, he comes over and sits next to you, pulling you in and kissing your cheek. "You just snack on those, sweetheart."

"Thanks, Jinnie."

"Love you, princess."

d@mn...the duality is gonna give me whiplash

"Ouuuch, Yoongi!" 

At your call of distress, your fiance runs into the living room from where he was producing in his studio. He sees you all curled up on the couch, your face twisted in pain as you clutch your abdomen. 

"Yoongi it hurts." You whine. 

"Oh, baby." Yoongi comes around the side of the couch and sits on the floor where he can be face to face with you. He gently takes one of your hands away from your stomach and holds it close to his chest.

"Have you taken your supplements today, love?" 

"No." You say weakly. 

"Ok, I'll be right back." He lets go of your hand to go and grab the supplements your doctor told you to take every day. 

You gladly move and smile softly when he cuddles into you, nuzzling his nose in your hair. "I'm sorry you have to deal with this, baby."

He comes back with them and a glass of water, and then helps you take it.

After you've chugged some of the water and taken the supplement, Yoongi has you scoot over so that he can lay on the couch with you. 

"It's not so bad when I get to cuddle you like this." You whisper tiredly. 

He smiles and kisses you gently, "Try to get some sleep, love."

JUNG HOSEOK:

heeheheheee i luv he

KIM NAMJOON:

"Is it still hurting, babe?"

You can hear the worry in his voice clearly. You clear your throat and whisper into the phone, since you're in the middle of your workplace.

"Yeah, but it's probably nothing." You hear him sigh at that.

"Y/n-"

"Sorry, Hobi. I have to go, my boss is coming."

You hang up and quickly get back to work before your boss catches you slacking off. The rest of your work day goes by rather painfully, with your worried boyfriend constantly texting you to make sure you're still alive.

By the time you're home, your lower abdomen is in so much pain its taking all you have not to burst out crying. You unlock your front door and walk in to plop yourself on the couch in a heap of misery.

Then a series of quick knocks sounds on your door. You barely have enough time to lift your head before you hear it unlock and your boyfriend comes in, his brows creased in worry.

"Babe, I've been worried sick about you all day!" He cries as he hurries over to you. "That's it, I'm taking you to the doctor."

Not even half an hour later, you're at the doctors and explaining everything that's been happening. They do an ultrasound and it turns out that you have an ovarian cyst on your left ovary.

No wonder.

Hobi is diligent on taking notes about how to help you, he listens to the doctor intently, madly scribbling everything that's important.

When you're back at your place, Hobi gives you some painkillers and cuddles you in bed.

"Are you doing okay, Jagi?" He asks every few minutes. You can't help but laugh at how worried he is.

"I'll be okay, Hobi. Thank you for everything."

"You can always count on me, Y/n."

so smol and soft ;-;

PARK JIMIN:

"Are you okay, y/n?"

You turn to your husband at his question. He's holding your hand gently as you two walk through the park with ice cream in hand.

You hadn't realized that you were zoning out. The truth is you aren't okay, you're miserable. You found out last week that the pain you've been having is an ovarian cyst. Namjoon has been a sweetheart and taken care of you as best he can. He's always trying different ways to help you cope with the pain.

"It just hurts a bit." You admit after a moment of silence.

Namjoon nods understandingly, "Do you want to head home?"

You nod and he kisses your forehead gently before tossing his empty ice cream cup in a nearby trashcan.

It only takes a few minutes for you to get home. Once you're there, you pull off your shoes and groan as you hold your abdomen and stumble to your bedroom.

"I'll be in there in a minute, sweetie." Namjoon calls after you.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door opens and you peek your eyes open to see Namjoon slipping inside. He's carefully carrying a little tea cup, walking slowly and sitting next to you as softly as he can. Then he hands you the tea cup when you sit up.

"What's this?" You ask sleepily.

"Ginger tea. It'll help with the pain. I did some research." He laughs shyly at the smile on your face.

You take a sip of the hot tea and hum in satisfaction, "It's amazing. Thank you, baby."

"Anything for you, babe."  

KIM TAEHYUNG:

hot dog hot dog hot diggity dog

"Ok, jagiya. This isn't normal."

Jimin is practically in tears himself watching you cry over your period pain. He knows cramps are painful, but this seems like it's so much worse than usual and he's really worried. But you insist that it's normal for periods to hurt as you lie on his bed in tears.

"But not like this!" He cries, wringing his hands. "You've been unable to move for hours I think we need to call the doctor."

"Jimin, I'm sure it's nothing." You sniffle tearfully and wipe your nose with your shirt sleeve.

He sighs and lies next to you, cuddling into your side in hopes of putting you to sleep. But a few hours later, he's awaken by the sound of your crying. He sits up and gently pulls you to sit up too.

"We're going to the doctors, right now."

~

The doctor told you that you have cysts on your ovaries and that's what's been causing your horrible pain. He gives you a few tips to help and Jimin listens intently.

Jimin drives you back to your apartment and helps you to the couch, then he grabs a fluffy blanket and drapes it over you. After that, he runs to get some pain medicine and comes back to give it to you with some water.

"Thanks Jimin." You croak tiredly. He smiles at you and brushes your hair out of your face, "I'll always be here, Jagi. The medicine shouls kick in soon." Then he leans down and kisses your forehead.

"Get some sleep."

oh pllssss give me a hug. you so cute.

JEON JUNGKOOK:

You smile half-heartedly at a text message from your boyfriend. You checked your phone immediately after you got out of your doctor's appointment. And of course, Tae had already messaged asking if everything was alright and if the doctor had given you any diagnosis.

He was going insane watching you in so much pain every day for the past few weeks. He kept insisting you go to the doctor and you finally did it today. It's a good thing you did, because apparently your pain isn't all in your head like you thought it might be.

Your doctor let you know after some ultra sounds that you have an ovarian cyst on your right ovary. He gave you a few things to do and some supplements to take to help ease the pain, but that's really all he could do until it went away on it's own.

You send Tae a quick text, telling him that you just got out, you're okay, and you will tell him about it at home.

When you get to your apartment, Tae opens the door before you even get a chance to fish your keys out of your purse. You laugh at his wide eyes, "Hey Tae, when did you get here baby?" You ask as you make your way inside and take your shoes off.

"Oh, I came over right after I got out of practice. I've been waiting for you, are you okay?" He asks worriedly, taking your hand as you walk over to your couch and plop down.

"Ohh, I'm fine. It's an ovarian cyst."

The look of horror on his face makes you laugh again. He isn't laughing as he kisses your cheek, "I'm sorry baby, is there anything I can do to help?"

You think for a minute before nodding, "Can you actually grab me the heating pad? It's in my closet."

"Of course!" He jumps to his feet and hurries to grab it. When he gets back, he cuddles into your side and gently puts the heating pad to your abdomen.

"Thanks, Taetae."

"I love you."

oofie it hurts i luv he smile

"Oh baby, is it bad right now?"

Jungkook hurries over to the side of your shared bed the moment he sees you curled on your side, your eyes squeezed shut. You nod, feeling your husband tuck your hair behind your ear and put his hand to your forehead. "What can I do to help you, honey?" He asks desperately.

"I don't know." You whisper hopelessly.

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek in frustration. He doesn't understand why the doctors can't just fix everything and help you to stop hurting so much. He knows it will go away eventually, but he can't stand seeing you in so much pain right now.

He sits next to you and continues to brush his fingers through your hair, hoping it'll at least distract you. While he brushes your hair, he calls his eldest hyung. Seokjin always knows what to do.

"Jin hyung, what do I do?"

~

A few minutes later, you feel Jungkook shift and get up from the bed. Then he goes into the bathroom and you hear the tub start running. A little bit after that, your husband comes back in and kisses your cheek, "Come on, baby." Jungkook whispers as he practically carries you to the bathroom, where he helps you undress and step into the warm bath. You sink down, grateful when you realize he sits outside the tub and keeps holding your hand.

"I put some epsom salts in, it should start helping soon." Jungkook whispers softly.

"Thank you, Kook. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetie. Now, just relax." He reassures you, kissing your lips gently.

[satendou]

⟼  dirty, filth, grimy

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢  pairing: bokuto kotaro/reader

⇢ au: aged up!au, pro!bokuto

⇢ summary: bokuto isn’t slick, and isn’t a shower supposed to help you get clean?

⇥  masterlist

⇥  requests are open! | rules

⇢  warnings: established relationship, smut, fingering, locker room sex, shower sexy, unprotected sex

⇢  word count: 2.3k

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢  a/n: i was on a roll with public sex when i wrote this ionno. also i’m sorry i always have to go back and edit to say thank you to @keijiskitten​ for beta reading for me idk why i always forget ugh but ily and appreshiate u sm

The squeal of wheels and thudding of balls against the floor slowly petered out as the team got ready to go home. The only one who was not quite ready to leave yet was Bokuto, who had continued practicing his spikes for a while after the rest had showered up and started cleaning. So you were stuck waiting around for him to get finished, helping him clean up and then settling in to wait for him to shower.

He gave your forehead a quick peck on his way by, and you watched him shed his shirt as he walked towards the locker room, the fabric sticking to his back with sweat as he slid it up and over his head. Just as he put his hand on the doorknob, he stopped and turned back to you wearing the most mischievous smirk you had ever seen. 

Which was saying something, when it came to Bokuto.

“Say, you haven’t showered yet, have you?” he said, taking slow steps back in your direction. “I saw you helping the others earlier. That’s pretty gross, _____.”

You blinked at him in confusion. Way earlier, you had filled in for someone for a few minutes, tossing balls to the setter while he went to get a drink-- not even long enough to break a sweat. With the way Bokuto watched you like a hawk, mostly to make sure you were paying attention to him showing off for you, he had to know that.

“What’re you up to, Ko?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

You knew that look. He was plotting something.

His hands came out, held up in defense, still wearing a mischievous smirk. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, _____. You need to shower, I need to shower. I just thought we could conserve water is all. Ecological consciousness and all that.”

You snorted and stood up, pulling your bag off your shoulder and setting it on the chair, followed by your jacket “You’ve been spending too much time with Kuroo. Ecological consciousness, is that the best you can come up with?”

As you fell into step beside him, he took your hand and dragged you towards the door. “Don’t be mean, _____. And besides, it worked, didn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes and nodded. It wasn’t like you knew how to say no to him anyway, and he’d have just pestered you if you had. But try telling him that.

The door opened silently, the lights flicking on automatically when they detected movement. The silence inside was almost eerie. You were rarely in there in general, let alone without the team, so you had never noticed before. Your footsteps echoed as Bokuto led the way to the showers, the handle squeaking quietly as he turned it, setting it to the temperature that he liked. 

His shorts hit the floor and then his hands found your shirt, tugging it up and off of you. The rough pads of his fingers skimmed up your back to your bra clasp, and then it was gone too. Palming your breast in one of his warm hands, he smirked at you. “You’re so pretty, _____.”

You trembled when he pinched your nipple between his forefinger and thumb and pulled, letting it go and watching it jiggle and bounce. Your pants hit the floor next and you stood naked before him. Even after years together, you flushed under his intense, hungry gaze, like you had every time since the first. The way he watched you was both flattering and unnerving, like he wanted to eat you up-- or out, which you didn’t doubt either. 

The thought made you blush harder, knowing firsthand how good he was at that.

“Watcha thinkin’ about, princess?” he asked, guiding you by the hips as he walked backwards into the warm water. He groaned as it beat his sore muscles, pulling you right to his chest under the spray. 

“Um, you,” you whispered, tapping on his chest with your fingertips. Absentmindedly, you slid your hand up and over his broad shoulder, cupping his neck, watching the water collect against your fingers and spill over. It always amazed you how warm Bokuto was; he just radiated heat like the sun. With his arms wrapped around you, your body pressed to his firm one, you felt safe and comfortable, protected. 

And more than a little turned on.

“Me?” he asked, and sounded genuinely startled. He looked down at you with wide eyes, searching your face for...something, and you laughed.

“Of course you, you dork,” you said, tugging on his bangs. The water had washed the gel keeping his spiky locks upright and it now fell down naturally into his face. “Who else would I mean? You’re so dumb, Ko.”

In response, he pushed his bangs up and off his forehead, slicking it back. “You’re so mean to me, _____.”

“You bring it on yourself, you know. ‘Me?’ Honestly,” you said. You squeezed the back of his neck, pushing against it and he willingly came down, pressing his lips to yours before he could respond. Your tongue slipped past his lips, probing against his and tasting the remnants of the fruity energy drink he had chugged not long ago. He groaned, his hands sliding down and squeezing your ass. You could feel his erection pressing between your legs, but you weren’t quite ready to give in yet.

Pulling away, you smiled, and he recognized the teasing intent behind it. When you pulled out of his arms, he whined and made to drag you back, but the water made it dangerous to play around so he let you slide free, watching you pick up his body wash and loofah.

As slowly as you could manage, you started to scrub his chest in slow circles and watched his head tip back. Your free hand rested on his abs, thumb mimicking the movements of your occupied hand, collecting up the suds that slid down.

He groaned as your hands ghosted over his hip and laughed at the tight squeeze you gave his ass and squeezed yours, causing you to giggle.

“If we get caught we’re so dead, you know that right? Coach’ll give you so much receiving practice your arms will fall off,” you warned as the loofah slid from your hand, hitting the floor with a wet slap. It fell on deaf ears as Bokuto swept you up in a heated kiss, tongue probing between your lips for a taste.

“Worth it,” he grunted, guiding you carefully backwards until your back met the wall. With one arm propped over your head, he used his knee to guide your legs apart. Wet fingers probed your slick lips, splitting them open to graze your entrance. “So ready for me already, babygirl.”

You sighed as he eased his way in, thumb flicking your clit. You raked your fingers through his hair, tugging on the knots created by the water, rocking your hips into his fingers. “Always for you, Ko. You feel so good.”

His cock twitched at your easy praise, moaning low in your throat as he slid a second one into your tight heat. Your soft hand wrapped around his bobbing cock, using the water as a makeshift lube to pump, thumb smearing precum down his length. His hips jerked in time with your hand, fingers syncing up as they thrust in and out of you, little moans reaching his ears until his lips covered yours again.

His fingers curled inside of you, the tips massaging just right and your lips parted, thighs squeezing down on his hand.

“Ko, Ko, shit,” you stuttered against his lips, fingers locking in his hair.

He pulled back, eyes glazed and nodded, pulling his fingers from your opened cunt with a slick noise. Guiding you to turn around, you leaned over and slid your hands up the back of your thighs. You squeezed, fingers parting your folds for him and he licked his lips at the sight of your glossy pussy spread wide.

“Baby, that’s so sexy,” he groaned, fingertips gliding down through your folds and clit, on display and dripping for him. “Didn’t know you had such a dirty side.”

“Well, I’m about to let you fuck me in the team locker room, I think I can afford to have a little fun,” you responded, voice raspy as he dipped his finger inside you one last time.

He fisted his cock in his hand, guiding the tip to your creamy entrance, and groaned when you clenched around him. His jaw slacked open, tongue wetting his lips as he continued to press into you, hands helping to spread your ass further apart so he could watch himself disappear. 

Halfway in, he pulled back out and the sight of your slick covering his length caused him to groan and slam back into you, eliciting a squeal from your parted lips.

“Ko, fuck, that feels so good, oh my god, so big,” you babbled, words just pouring out of your mouth. You couldn’t help it as he battered your cervix, flared tip dragging along every nerve ending inside your stretched pussy. Only his hands on your hips kept you from slamming into the wall with every thrust, pulling you backwards to meet his hips and filling the small stall with wet slaps.

His head was angled down, eyes glued to the slide of his slick cock in and out of your pussy, and he groaned deep in his chest when you squeezed down on him. He couldn’t help the jerk of his hips, his pace stuttering as a strong lance of pleasure shot through him.

“Baby, what are you doing to me?” he asked when you giggled, probably at his response. He sounded blissed out, starting a slow, shallow rocking motion inside you. 

You could feel every vein and fold of his shaft drag along your spongy walls, grinding against your g-spot and cervix and clit, and your toes curled from the overwhelming pleasure. When you squeezed around him this time, it was out of your control, a moan loosing from your lips and your nails curling into your palms. Your cheek met the wet tile wall, mouth slack as he started to fuck you again, hips slamming into yours faster than before.

You prattled his name like a mantra, mixing praises and moans in against your will as the coil built tighter.

“So good, Ko. You fuck me so well, every time. Gonna cum, baby, please make me cum,” you moaned, craning your neck back to look at him. His piercing yellow eyes met yours, mouth twisted somewhere between pleasure and a smirk and it sent shivers down your spine, mixing with the pleasure in your gut and you whimpered his name.

His fingers curled in your now-damp hair and pulled you up, twisting your head so that he could kiss you. It was sloppy, tongue delving between your lips and lapping at yours, and when he pulled away a string of drool came with him. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Wanna feel you cream all over my cock.”

A high whine left you, his sharp eyes hypnotizing you as he pounded your tight hole, his words sending heat lancing through you and the coil snapped. Your back arched, body going rigid in his arms as your fingers scrabbled for purchase on the tiled walls. His movements slowed, riding you through it with small rolls of his hips as your moans bounced off the walls and drowned out the sound of the water still falling over you.

When you finally went limp, leaning against his chest, he nipped at your ear before whispering, “I’m so close, baby, stay with me. Let me cum in this pretty pussy, ‘kay?”

You nodded, lips parting as he started moving again, just as hard and fast and before and a scream bubbled in your throat. It was both too much and too good, the pleasure almost painful but there was a deep need to feel him bury his cock deep in you, hear him moan your name as he filled you to the brim.

It didn’t take long, listening to the small whines and moans that left your lips, nails digging into his wrist as your overstimulated pussy spasmed around him.

“C-Cumming,” he moaned, his broad frame curling around yours, hips jerking as he used your pussy to milk himself dry. His breath came in pants, hot puffs of air against your sweat slicked skin, and then he was pulling out of you, admiring the fucked out look on your face when he turned you around.

Your arms curled around his neck, letting him hold you up as your eyes fluttered. “You’re gonna have to help me stand, Ko. I can’t feel my legs.”

He laughed, the sound too loud in the aftermath of that. It was so intense you had forgotten you were literally in a public place, anyone able to walk in on you at any moment. “A job well done then, huh?”

“As always,” you murmured, nuzzling against his neck. He kept one arm around you, holding you close as he turned the temperature of the water down a little. “Now let’s shower so we can get going. I’m starving.”

At the mention of food, he perked back up, his energy returning as if he hadn’t just fucked you into the wall. In record time, you were both scrubbed down and getting dressed, heading out into the gym to gather your things up.

“Can we just get something to take home? I’m pretty tired after all that exercise,” he said, rubbing the back of his head as he watched you pick your bag up.

You rolled your eyes, catching his mischievous yellow eyes roaming over your body before licking his lips. “Yeah, Kou. I’m sure that’s your reason for wanting to get home.”

He shrugged, tossing a beefy arm across your shoulders. “What can I say? I’m a man of taste. And I really, really wanna taste you.”

⇥  masterlist

⇥ taglist: @lyovochkaa​ @kunimwuah​

[theladyofdeath]

A Rainy Day in October {Elriel}

31 Days of Halloween: Day 7.

All installments co-written with @snelbz​

Based on a prompt sent in by anon: “ Hi ! For your Fall prompts, can i request an elriel where they are stuck at one’s appartement because of a very rainy autumn day ... and like, you know , maybe there is only one bed or something 😆 - anon “

Autumn/Halloween 2020 {Collection}

The rain was pouring, soaking Azriel’s hoodie as he ran from his car to the landing of the apartment complex. He tried to shake off as much water as possible as he hurried up the stairs, wondering how much the items in the large paper bag he carried remained dry. 

He had called Elain that morning, after he’d gotten the call saying that work was cancelled for the day. They were expected to start paving a back road just outside of the city, but paving in the rain was a nonexistent talent.

Which meant he got to spend the day with his girlfriend. 

He’d stopped on his way and had picked up a bottle of premade mimosa, some chicken, bacon, and cheese croissants from the deli, and a giant bag of caramel corn.

Elain’s favorite.

He knocked on the door just after ten, and waited for her to answer.

When she did, he didn’t expect her to still be in her pajamas.

He chuckled and asked, “Not getting dressed today?”

“Nope,” she said, popping her lips on the P noise. “We’re having a lazy day.”

“A lazy day, huh?” He asked, walking in and setting the bags on the floor. He immediately tugged the hoodie off, only to find that his t-shirt beneath was soaked, too. “Could that lazy day include putting my clothes in the dryer?”

Elain shook her head as she laughed quietly. “Yes, and I’ll get the sweats and t-shirt I wore home the other morning.”

The reminder of what had taken place between them only a few nights before had Elain’s cheeks heating and Azriel smirked. “Okay.”

He headed towards her laundry room and tossed his clothes in the dryer. He was unbuttoning his jeans when Elain appeared with a bundle of clothes in her arms.

“I can’t believe you made it to your door in those,” he said, nodding to the bundle in her arms as he yanked off his jeans and tossed them into the dryer before pressing start. “They swallow you.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “they do, which is why I love them.”

“That’s the only reason you love them?” he asked, amused, as he pulled the sweatpants up over his briefs.

“That,” she said, slowly, “and because they smell like you.”

“Smell like me?” he repeated, pulling his shirt over his wet hair. “Hopefully I smell good.” 

“Delicious,” she promised, and then he was charging at her, lifting her up, and tossing her over his shoulder. She laughed, bracing her open palms on his lower back. 

He carried her back to the living room, where Elain had already lit candles and taken out every single blanket she had ever bought and put them on her couch. 

“Lazy day, huh?” Azriel asked, and he dropped Elain down on the couch. 

She bounced a few times on the cushions before coming to a still. Her grin was still wide when she said, “Yes. It’s cold, it’s raining, we both have the day off, and I’m ready to eat junk food, get drunk, and watch ridiculous Halloween movies.” 

Azriel shook his head, slowly. “I knew there was a reason why I loved you.”

That was new for them, saying  I love you, and every time Azriel did, it made him feel completely and utterly alive. 

Elain’s smile softened. “One of the many reasons, I hope.”

Azriel smirked. “It’s a long list, I promise.”

He padded back over to the door and got the paper bag before bringing it back to the couch.

Elain was elated by his choice in snacks and she popped the cork off of the mimosas, drinking it straight from the bottle. They were snuggled up on the couch watching the Nightmare Before Christmas when Azriel said, “So I have a question.”

“Shoot,” she said, popping a piece of caramel corn into her mouth.

He waited for a second then said, “How would you feel about...moving in together?”

Elain froze and Azriel quickly added, “I know it’s only been a few months.”

Elain didn’t say anything, just stared at the caramel corn that stayed a few inches from her mouth, frozen in midair. 

“Please say something,” he said, quietly.

“I just… I wasn’t expecting that,” she said, laughing, softly.

“No, I know, I just…” He started rubbing the back of his neck, a usual sign that Azriel was panicking inside. “We’ve been best friends for ten years, Lainy. I’m in love with you. I have always been in love with you, since the ninth grade. I just...we’re with each other every day, anyway, you know? And, you’ve been sleeping at my place, and I’ve been sleeping here, and doesn’t it just make sense?” 

“You want to move in with me...because it makes sense?” she asked, lifting a brow.

“No,” he said, quickly. “I want to move in with you because you’re the last thing I want to see before I go to sleep and the first thing I want to see when I wake up.”

Elain’s eyes softened as she leaned back into him. “We’ll see.”

“We’ll see?” he asked, chuckling. “See on what?” 

“We know a lot about each other, Az, but we’ve never lived together,” she said, simply, taking another chug from the mimosa bottle. “I have to know what you’re going to be like to live with before I live with you.”

He knew that little smile on her lips.

She was playing with him, teasing him.

“And is there something that might be a dealbreaker that I need to know about?”

Elain pretended to think long and hard about it, which resulted in Azriel poking her in the side. She giggled, pulling one of her many blankets up over her body, and halfway over Azriel. “Leaving the toilet seat up.”

Azriel huffed a laugh. “Leaving the toilet seat up?”

“Leaving the toilet seat up,” she confirmed, nodding. “What if I had to go in the middle of the night? I mean, I wouldn’t turn the light on, because turning the light on in the middle of the night is torture. And, if you left the seat up, I’d sit down, and fall into the toilet, then I’ll be tired and mad and, disgustingly enough, probably wet from toilet water. So. Yes. Leaving the toilet seat up is a dealbreaker.” 

“Hmmm,” Azriel began, his arms around her tightening. “Alright. I guess I could follow that rule. Anything else?”

Elain sighed, tapping her chin as she thought. “Flowers. I like to be brought flowers from time to time, even in the fall and the winter. I like to have them in a vase on the table, year round.” 

Azriel tried to control his spreading grin. “Alright, I can do that.”

“Are you remembering all of this?” she asked.

“Yes,” he promised. “Anything else?” 

She looked up at him. “You have to promise to always kiss me goodnight.” 

“Always?”

“Always.”

“Every night?”

“Every single one.”

“And if I don’t?” he asked, unable to stop that spreading grin. 

Elain shrugged, pressing her lips together, trying to look serious and so miserably failing. “I’m kicking you out.”

“Well then I guess I’ll have to make sure I remember to do that,” he paused, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Every.” Kiss. “Single.” Kiss. “Night.”

The kiss lasted longer this time. But when Elain pulled back, her brown eyes were sparkling. “If you can agree to those terms, I guess we can move in together.”

He smirked. “Who’s apartment will we live in?”

“Oh, this one,” she said, without any hesitation. “No doubt.”

Azriel snorted. “I was hoping you’d say that.” 

It was true that his studio apartment didn’t have much room, even though he did love the aesthetic of it. Elain’s was practical. She had her bedroom - their bedroom - and then her spare room, along with a nice, big bathroom and a kitchen that had a giant island in the middle of it.

Not to mention the massive living room and outside balcony. 

His studio apartment was about as big as Elain’s kitchen, alone. 

“How about a pet? Are we getting a pet, if I move in?” Azriel asked. 

“A pet?” Elain hummed. “Maybe a cat. I like cats. You like cats.” 

“I do like cats,” Azriel agreed. “I wouldn’t mind a little black kitten.”

“An all black cat?” Elain asked. “They say they’re bad luck, you know.”

“They’re spooky, I like spooky,” Azriel argued, lightly. 

“Spooky,” Elain mused, trailing her fingers up and down his jaw. “I guess I can do spooky, if it means I get my flowers.”

“I’ll always get you flowers. And I’ll cook you dinner when you’ve had a long day.” He caught her hand and pressed kisses to her fingertips. “We can go on those god awful early morning hikes you love so much.”

“I love early morning hikes,” she muttered.

“I know,” he said, kissing her, softly. “And I’ll gladly go with you.” Even though he loathed the mornings.

“What else?” She breathed. 

“I’ll rub your back after work,” he promised. “And, I’ll clean, and do the laundry. I’m very good at folding clothes.”

Elain laughed, breathily. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Azriel whispered. “I’ll also bring the mail in every day and make sure the toilet paper and shampoo are always stocked.”

Elain grinned, kissing him, yet again. “Gods, you’re the perfect roommate.”

“I know,” he agreed, making Elain laugh. “Is that a yes, then?”

Elain pulled back and took his face into her hands. “Of course it’s a yes.”

As the rain continued to beat on the windows, Azriel showed Elain many, many more ways he could be her perfect roommate.

[crownedaxo]

Sleep? Never Heard of Her

College is kicking Techno’s ass.

Wilbur huffs, annoyed that his headphones are suddenly missing. Tommy has been out with friends all day and Phil has been at work, so that only leaves one possible thief. Technoblade. Wilbur marches up to his brother's door and bangs once before barging in, “Techno my head… phones…” The middle child’s rage dissipates as his eyes find his older brother. Techno is on his bed surrounded by heavy textbooks and thinning notebooks. There are several pens and pencils scattered on the floor and bed around the usual stuffed animals and a few laminated flash cards fall off the bed. However Techno, instead of having his face in these studying materials, is instead asleep, holding his stuffed pig. His flower patterned pajama pants are rolled up to the knees and the band tshirt has also been pushed up. The heat of the summer has the blankets on the floor, and his long pink hair is tied up in a bun. The bags under his eyes could probably carry the textbooks that caused them. The headphones Wilbur has been looking for, sure enough, are around Techno’s neck, and Wilbur can hear pop punk playing deafeningly loud from them. The younger brother sighs and quietly starts clearing the bed, being sure not to close any books so no page was lost. It seems college is kicking Techno’s ass. Wilbur takes the empty monster and red bull cans from the night stand and throws them in the recycle bin, then grabs a water bottle from the fridge and places it and a bottle of Advil on the nightstand. He’ll text Phil to pick up some healthy food on the way home, even if that means complaining from Tommy. Wilbur shuts the door quietly and jumps a bit at a knocking at the front door. “LET ME IN!” The youngest brother shouts, and Wilbur shuffles quickly to open the door and shush him. “Techno is asleep, shut up!” Tommy instantly changes into a whisper like Wil’s, “Finally? How long has it been?” “Too long,” Wil responds as the two brothers fall onto the couch. “I’m gonna ask Phil to pick up some chicken and salad on his way home.” Tommy whines, “Gross, I’m not eating that! Tell him to get pizza.” “No. Starve.” Tommy punches his brother in the shoulder. Wilbur punches back. They do this for two minutes. Thankfully quietly, knowing Techno would not appreciate being woken up by their fighting, and would probably suplex them both through the coffee table. Even if that meant Phil suplexing Techno through the window. Just a vicious cycle of suplexes. Wilbur delivers the last punch, “What did you and Tubbo do today?” Tommy is immediately distracted from their fight, “Oh it was so fun man we went to the arcade and I beat him at DDR.” Wilbur snorts, “That’s a fucking lie.” Tommy gasps quietly in offence, “How dare you Wil, I would never!” “Toms, you get winded climbing the stairs. Tubbo plays soccer at school. There’s no way you beat him in a very physically draining game.” Tommy huffs and chugs his diet coke he left on the coffee table yesterday. Gross. “I’ll have you know, Wilbur, I am incredibly capable. And I did beat him! Even if that was only because Ranboo and I kept pushing him off the pad.” Wilbur muffles his laugh with his sweater sleeve, “Wow Tommy, teaming with the enemy. You’ve changed, ‘Big Man’.” The offence on Tommy’s face is priceless. Wilbur wishes Techno could see it. 

When Phil comes back from work, he’s carrying a few bags as promised. “Tommy, come help me cook please.” Tommy groans in annoyance as he is yeeted off of the smash bros stage by Wilbur in the moment of distraction. “Fine. I don’t even like this food.” “Uh huh,” Phil says with an amused smile. The two blondes set to work in the kitchen, falling into a pleasant rhythm. Tommy ends up doing most of the cooking since Phil has to keep Wilbur out of the kitchen for fear of a fire, but Tommy’s the best cook anyway and he enjoys it, so it’s fine. On another one of Wilbur’s arson attempts, Techno’s door opens, and attention turns to him. He’s a mess of hair and eye bags. “I’m gonna take a shower, no one use the water.” “I’m cooking though, Tech.” “Sounds like a you problem, Toms.” The two brothers lovingly flip each other off, and Techno grabs a towel from the hall closet. Once the running water is heard, Wilbur turns to Phil, “He’s been awake for like 32 hours and only slept like 3 hours.” Phil sighs, “I don’t even know if it’s stress or insomnia at this point. He has an appointment soon to get better meds because he said his insomnia ones weren’t working and he hates the adderall, but I don’t know what will help.” Tommy waves the knife he was using to cut the chicken around, “I know what’ll help. Going to that college and beating up the professors. But no, no one wants to use the Tommyinnit method.” Phil laughs quietly, “Oh trust me, we want too. It just won’t help.” “What if we knock him out, I steal his clothes and wear a wig, and go for him for a bit?” Phil bonks Wilbur, “You know he freaks about missing lectures, and I know you’ll fall asleep and not take notes.” “That’s not a no!” “Food’s done,” Tommy says, and the shower water sound stops. Fucking psychic, Techno is. Techno is out and dressed as soon as Phil is done plating. “Welcome back mate. Did you sleep well?” Techno shrugs and takes his plate to the couch. “Techno, play smash bros with me! Wilbur keeps cheating!” “I don’t cheat you little shit I’m just better than you!” “No one is better than me. Big Man. Tommyinnit. The legend.” Techno silently grabs a controller, and the other three would be worried at the quietness if they didn’t know how too much time studying fries Techno’s brain too much for him to properly formulate words, and the stuttering and grasping for a forgotten word is incredibly embarrassing to him since he’s usually so eloquent. So the two brothers play a few rounds, Techno taking bites of salad in between kicking his brother’s ass. The plates are cleaned and Tommy reluctantly gives up. Phil talks quietly to Techno, “Are you gonna go back to studying?” A nod. “Can I stop you at all?” Shake of the head. “Do you wanna use us as body doubles?” Another nod. Wilbur chimes in, “You can keep using my headphones too.” “Oh, Techno, did yours break again?” A small nod. “I’ll add a new pair to the shopping list then. Go get your work. I’ll be here if you need help.” Techno drags out his many textbooks and drops one flat on Tommy where he’s laying on the floor. “Ow, what the fuck Tech!?” Tommy receives a middle finger in response which he of course returns. Techno does not need words to bully his brother. He uses Tommy as a table on the floor as Tommy just keeps losing in smash bros to Phil. 

An hour later, the floor bros are asleep, and Phil drapes blankets over them and places pillows beneath their heads. Who knows when they’ll sleep again if he tries to move them and they wake up? Phil and Wilbur climb into their own beds and soon join the two sleepy bois. Thankfully, Techno is still asleep when Phil gets up for work in the morning. He slips a note next to his face, ‘You don’t have a lecture today :) -phil’ That should stop his groggy brain from freaking out, and Phil is off to work. 

[cuddlepilefics]

22.    Christmas Fair

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Bang Chan

Caregiver: 2racha

 Chan’s POV.:

Officially we were on break over the seasonal holidays but me being the workaholic I am, I wasn’t able to sit still and do nothing. That’s why I went to the studio to work on some new tracks. It was much more fun to compose stuff if you could just play around a bit with out the pressure of deadlines. I spent most of the day alone at the studio, losing track of time as I tried out new beats. My members were probably resting at the dorm or roaming the city. There was a small Christmas fair in the town center and my phone kept blowing up with begging texts, asking if we could all go there together. After replying that I’d love to go there tomorrow because I’m busy at the moment, I muted my phone to avoid distractions as far as possible. When I finally shut my computer off and bundled into my coat, preparing for the walk home, it was already very late in the evening. I skipped lunch and haven’t had dinner yet, so I decided to pick up a bite to eat on the walk home. I’d be passing by the fair anyways, why not get something from one of the food-stands there.

 Changbin’s POV.:

Chan had been at the studio all day. It was already getting late and one by one my members all went to bed. The only ones remaining in the living room were Jisung and me. We felt a little guilty because our leader was still working and we didn’t. After all, it’s 3racha that produces the songs for stray kids and 3racha also includes Jisung and me, not just Chan. That’s why we grabbed notepads and worked on some lyrics, hoping they’d be of use when Chan would present us the new tracks he was working on. We had both tried to call Chan numerous times over the past thirty minutes to convince him to come home but he never picked up. Then suddenly my phone rang. “Chan?” – “Yeah, hey. I saw you tried to call me?” – “Yeah, we wanted to ask you to come home. It’s getting late.” – “Ah, I’m already on the way back. Y’all already had dinner, right?” – “Hyung, it’s almost midnight. Everyone accept for 3racha is asleep already.” – “I’ll eat a bit on the way, so it might take a bit longer. Should be home in about twenty minutes.” – “Alright, take care, hyung.” – “See you.” And with that the call ended.

 Chan’s POV.:

I didn’t really enter the fair because I mostly just wanted to get home quick, but I found a food stand on the outer edge of the fair which sold fish cakes. I bought a fish cake and also picked up a small bag of roasted chestnuts to snack on while walking. I stuffed the bad of chestnuts into my pocket, feeling the heat through the fabric, so I’d have my hands free to eat the fish cake. The meal was perfect to warm me up on a chilly night like this. I finished the fish cake and munched two of the chestnuts before arriving home and unlocking the door. After kicking off my shoes, I made my way to the living room, where I sound Changbin and Jisung between scattered sheets of paper. “Hyung, you’re finally back”, the youngest 3racha member whisper-shouted. “You are aware that we are on Christmas break, right hyung?”, the older rapper scolded. “Aish, yes I am”, I said directed at both of them, “But hey, I brought you some roasted chestnuts to make up for not being home.” Changbin just rolled his eyes at my poor attempt to distract them, while Jisung happily accepted the bag from me, immediately nibbling on one nut. I have to admit, he had never looked like a squirrel more than he did right now. We both chuckled at our youngest before saying good night and getting ready for bed.

The evening seemed to fade out peacefully but the truth was that my belated dinner turned out to have been a mistake. Or at least my food choice had been a mistake. The fish cake wasn’t agreeing with me so well. I couldn’t remember whether there were hints of it being undercooked or if it tasted weird, I just knew that my stomach wasn’t too happy about it. It had started to hurt a few minutes after I arrived home. Slowly the pain increased into cramps, that felt like somebody was stabbing the upper area of my abdomen with a dull knife. I knew that I should just go to bed, everybody else was asleep already. Maybe I’d be able to just sleep it off.

My attempts to sleep the pain off, ended about ten minutes later when the pain had turned into nausea. I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could because Changbin had just gone to bed and was probably not that deeply asleep yet. Slightly bent over with one arm around my middle and the other braced against the wall, I stumbled to the bathroom, flicking on the light. I did make it to the toilet but as soon as I had settled on my knees in front of it, the urge to throw up was gone. I pushed myself back up, groaning in frustration that I had gotten up unnecessarily but as soon as I was on my feet again, I immediately felt sick again. The cycle repeated itself a few times, till I decided to just stay in the bathroom whether I had to throw up in the end or not.

 Changbin’s POV.:

I hadn’t been asleep yet, when Chan left the room again. He was probably just going to the restroom, so I closed my eyes again, trying to go to sleep. When he still wasn’t back twenty minutes later, I suspected, he had snuck to the living room to continue working there on his laptop. It’s not like that had never happened before, so to me that was the most likely explanation for his disappearance. I was getting angry at our leader’s behavior, we were on Christmas break for duck’s sake, why couldn’t he just make use of the time he’s given to rest? Controlling my anger to not wake the younger Aussie in our room, I quietly pushed off the blanket and slipped out of the room, determined to drag our leader’s workaholic ass back to bed. When I got to the living room however, everything was dark. Now I really had no idea where my hyung could have gone. On the way back to my room, there was light shining through underneath the bathroom door.

I gently tapped my finger against the door, opening it when I heard a low “Yeah?”. Chan was resting with his back against the bathtub, looking up at me with dark circles under his eyes. “Hey, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in bed?”, I frowned, noticing the yellowish pallor of his cheeks. “Kinda stuck here”, he mumbled, closing his eyes. “How so?”, I asked, taking a seat opposite of him. “Dinner’s not sitting well. I’m ok, it just hurts right now but everytime I try to get up, I feel like I’m going to be sick”, he breathed. “Was it the chestnuts?”, my eyes widened, remembering that Jisung had finished almost the entire bag. The leader shook his head: “Fish cake” Ok, at least that made only one sick member. “What are you going to do now? Just stay here for the night?”, I questioned. “Probably”, he shrugged, muffling a burp into his fist. “I actually hope I’d just throw up. I’ll probably be fine once it’s out”, he admitted uncharacteristically shy. I sighed and got up.

 Chan’s POV.:

Changbin just left and I was glad he’d get the sleep he needed, even though I really didn’t want to be alone right now, it was still better that making one of my dongsaengs stay awake with me. I could handle myself, always have. Could I really? Another twist of my stomach made me doubt it as my mouth started to water. I shifted back onto my knees in anticipation, when the door cracked open once again. I didn’t turn to look at whoever came in, not even when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, I got you a bottle of water. Maybe if you chug that down really fast it will make everything come out”, Changbin whispered, setting the bottle down next to me. “Thought you had gone back to bed”, I mumbled sheepishly, wrapping my arms tighter around my middle and gritting my teeth as I was hit with another cramp. “And left you here? Never!”, my dongsaeng gasped. I felt really fuzzy and warm at this comment but was soon brought back to reality when a wave of nausea washed over me. I decided to go along with Changbin’s idea and uncapped the water bottle. Raising it to my lips, the very first sip made it clear that I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. I struggled to swallow and it seemed like my mind was preventing me from putting anything else into my already upset stomach. Choking, I spat out the water that was still in my mouth, handing the bottle back. Luckily, the rapper got the hint and quickly took it from my hand. The coughing triggered a gag but that was it. “S-Sorry, c-can’t”, I forced out between clenched teeth, still hovering over the toilet. Changbin sighed and rubbed my back in soothing circles as I breathed heavily, on the edge of throwing up but not quite there. I could taste the fish cake, I could even feel it at the back of my throat but it just wouldn’t come out. Frustrated teeth make their way down my face and I didn’t even bother wiping the away, knowing there’d just be new ones.

 Jisung’s POV.:

I always needed some time to fall asleep. I heard shuffling in the hall and people talking in hushed voices but decided to stay in bed, if they don’t value their sleep, it’s their problem, not mine. Until I heard quiet sobs, that is. Startling at the different noise, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, careful to not wake the maknae I was sharing a room with. Padding down the hallway, I followed the noise, ending up in front of the bathroom door. I tapped the door twice as a warning, before carefully pushing it open and stepping in. Sitting on the bathroom floor, I found my other two 3racha members. “What’s going on?”, I yawned, squatting down next to them. With Chan seemingly unable to speak, Changbin answered for him, his hand never leaving the leader’s back: “Channie-hyung had a fish cake for dinner, which isn’t quite agreeing with him. He really needs to be sick but can’t. I tried to make him chug water but he can’t even get that down and I have no other idea what else to do.” Oh, that explains why our hyung is crying so hard. He must feel really bad if he’d voluntarily throw up. I chewed on my lips, thinking hard. The water would have been the first thing to come to my mind too but then I had a different idea. Grabbing a hair clip from the sink, I motioned for Changbin to switch positions with me. He nodded, watching me closely, trying to figure out what I wanted to do.

I knelt down behind my oldest hyung, clipping his bangs back in one swift motion. “Hyung, I’m going to hug you really tight, ok?”, I muttered into the leader’s ear. He nodded, removing his arms from his stomach, gripping onto the edge of the bathtub and toilet seat instead. I gently snaked my own arms around his middle, feeling his tense abs under my hands. “Just slap my arm if it hurts too bad or you want me to stop”, I warned before slowly tightening my arms around him, increasing the pressure I was putting on his stomach. At first nothing was happening, Chan only flinched a bit in pain, till he suddenly pithed forward in my hold, retching harshly. I could see his knuckles turning white, as he braced himself before retching again. This time, there was actually something coming up, although it wasn’t much. I closed my eyes, afraid the feeling of Chan’s stomach, contracting underneath my arms in combination with sight and smell, would send my own stomach over the edge. Instead, I just kept holding my hyung in a back hug, feeling every twitch of his muscles and following his movements when he jerked over the toilet bowl, trying to ignore the sounds of liquid hitting liquid. Every cough, gag or burp was amplified by the porcelain bowl, forcing me to grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut, while trying to keep my grip steady. ‘Alright Sungie, just think of puppies, cute little puppies’ I told myself.

Changbin must have seen my face change color because he tapped my back before gently pushing me to the side and taking my place. I don’t usually get sympathy sick but that just now was really testing my limits. With a jerking motion of his head, he signaled for me to leave. His eyes told me that he got it handled and that I should flee as long as I still could. I nodded quickly, slipping out of the bathroom and closing the door between us. Shakily, I went to my room to get my phone and headphones to drown out the noise coming from the bathroom. Turning up the music, I went to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. While I waited for the water to boil, I fetched two peppermint teabags, dropping them into a teapot. I decided to make more than just one cup of tea because my own stomach was still doing flips too. I was still waiting, when my stomach tightened, forcing me to quickly lean over the sink. Luckily the weak gag brought nothing up but that was a close-call. I rested my forehead against the counter, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. I was able to get my bearings and straightened back up to pour the water over the teabags, taking the teapot along with three cups to the coffee table.

Soon, the pair emerged from the bathroom, Changbin supporting a sweaty Chan to the couch, before taking off to fetch a bucket, just in case. “Feeling better?”, I asked, anxiously playing with my fingers. “Yeah, thanks mate”, the oldest replied, voice hoarse from getting sick. He curled up on the couch, drawing his legs up a bit as he shivered. He must be pretty cold in his sweat-through shirt, so I pulled the woolen blanket we always keep in the living room from the back of the couch, covering his trembling form completely. Only barely catching the quiet “Thanks”, a small smile spread on my lips as Changbin returned, placing a bucket next to the couch. He guided me to the other couch where we could cuddle while keeping a close eye on our leader. Seems like we’re in for another 3racha all-nighter….

[hot-tea-gardenparty]

Title: The Heavy Hands of Hope

Author: coffeeforcastiel

Rating: G (mild language)

Pairing: Destiel, Dean/Cas, Dean Winchester, Castiel

Notes: So....you all are gonna hate me here because this drabble down below is...well it’s a sad one. I do not know why I felt the need to write a sad drabble after 15.18 and not like...a fun, cute, ‘Dean-coming-to-save-Cas” coda...which is actually what I had intended to write when I sat down last night at my computer. But this came out instead. Maybe this is where my heart was yesterday and so....this is what it produced.  The funny thing is, I do not think this is actually what will happen in the next two episodes of the show. I really don’t. FYI, I believe Dean will be better than this in handling what happened and I DO THINK that Cas will be coming back.

So it’s strange my brain did this the way that it did. *shrugs* Anyways, hope you like it and please let me know if you did!

Dean lay in bed. For how long he’d been there…that was another question entirely.

Longer than what was usually acceptable, he knew that much. But damn if he wanted to stay in bed, stare at the ceiling and pretend the world didn’t exist, he figured he’d earned that right…especially after what had happened. Especially after loosing what he had.

He rolled over, his sweat pants scrunching up between his calves and knees under the thin blankets as he tiredly eyed the tall, frosty glass of water Sam had left on his bedside table a few minutes prior. Sam had knocked softly on his bedroom door, stating he was going to take the Impala in search of any nearby hunters to tell them the good news…that Chuck was defeated. That they had won.

Dean couldn’t muster up enough give a shit to respond besides a shrug and a grumbled, “Don’t do anything stupid.” As Sam nodded in uncomfortable understanding, a forced smile upon his face. The faded white light of the hallway bulbs illuminated Sam’s front as he walked out of the room, muttering a quick ‘see you later’ and shutting the bedroom door with a soft click. Dean sighed in release, listening to his brother’s footfalls as they echoed down the hallway, through the war room and up the bunker’s main stairs.  Dean could have sworn he’d heard Baby’s engine roar and rev as Sam drove her out of the garage.

He should drink something. Probably. Something other than whiskey straight from the bottle, Dean thought, his head pounding from the past few days of drunken stupor and cold, leftover pizza.

Lifting himself to sit upright, Dean grabbed the glass of water, chugging the entirety in three large gulps. His headache was pounding even worse behind his eyes with the immediate change in position and now he felt like he might have to puke. Lovely.

Throwing his feet to floor, Dean recoiled at the loud clattering of the empty whiskey bottles he’d forgotten about, his feet scattering them further around the head of his bed. He sighed in annoyance at himself and grabbed his phone from the bedside table. He had a few missed text messages from Sam, asking him how he was the past few days he’d been holed up in his room and one from a random hunter asking for assistance. He stared at the screen, his thumb scrolling through his recent outgoing calls.

Sam. Sam. Charlie. Sam. Jody. Donna. Sam……..and then….Cas.

His thumb held still, hovering over the green call button next to Cas’ name.

Dean took a deep breath as he sent the outgoing call to Cas’ cell.

Ring. Ring. He had no idea why he was doing this. Ring. Ring. What was the point? It’s not like Cas would answer. Ring. Ring. Click…click…Please leave a message for… “I do not understand. Why do you need me to say my name?” Beeeeeeep.

Fat, wet tears splashed onto the lit phone screen as Dean hung up. He choked on the salty loneliness grasping at the back of his throat as he started to chuckle humorlessly over the fact that Cas still hadn’t changed his voicemail greeting after all these years. It’s not like this was new information for Dean, he’d listened to the greeting many times before…but this time….

This time, Dean knew he wouldn’t get the chance to tease Cas about it. To tell him to change it. To make him just use the basic voicemail greeting that came with the phone. The idiot.

Cas was gone.

Gone for good.

Wiping away the tears streaking his cheeks with his palm, Dean threw his phone to land on the mattress and slowly padded his way to the kitchen to find his favorite Costco sized bottle of pain killers. He poured out four pills. Should be enough to numb his…everything.

Dean grabbed another glass of water and swallowed his pills in the shadowed kitchen, the only light coming in from the hallway through the open doorway. The silence of the bunker was almost eerie.

No Sam, no Jack, no Cas…it was just Dean, alone in the large expanse of underground. His movements, no matter how small, seeming to echo and reverberate around the gray concrete arches and cold steel shelving. It felt strange. Dean had always considered the bunker his new home, since by now it was as comfortable and familiar as the Impala. He had even carved his initials into the library table. But now, even with Sam still around and the random visiting hunter popping in on their drive throughs, the bunker’s walls felt still and cold. Lacking somehow.

And Dean knew…he knew…with a bitter tang in his throat and a hot, restless sorrow in his stomach, he knew…it was Cas.

Without Cas, it was as if a piece was missing in a close to finished puzzle. You wouldn’t be able to see the full picture, the beauty of the vision, without this essential, important fragment. It had only taken Dean too many years, too many avoided conversations, too many lonely, drunken nights, to finally realize it.

But now…it was too late. He’d waited too long.

Cas was in the Empty. Drowning in the ether of mistakes, pain and regret. Cas had made that decision and Dean was made to agree. He hadn’t been given a choice.

Of course, Dean didn’t like that plan. Didn’t want to go ahead with it once he realized it was happening. But who would? Who would want the suddenly realized love of their life taken away from them forever? So yes, Dean had wanted to beg him to stay. Wanted to plead with Cas to rethink this. He wanted to cry out, crocodile tears openly flowing down his face, leaving clear trails down his grimy cheeks. He thought about grabbing onto the lapels of Cas’ trench coat, bringing his face close and confessing his true feelings lips to lips. He wanted, he should have, told Cas everything, right then, while the vengeful world seemingly paused around them for just a second, held back by a flimsy wooden door and streaks of blood.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. Dean had wanted so much more, even if he never really stated the desire out loud. He wanted to stutter stupidly around the “I love you,” and the “I don’t think I can do this shit without you,” and “Please forgive me” as he held Cas’ face in the palms of his hands or brought him close enough that they felt each other’s breath on their lips. He wanted to finally be able to admit it all. To spill the confessions he had held back by the dam of his repression, let them flow out of his mouth and drown him in the emotions filling up thick, magnetic, heated air.

Castiel changed everything that day, but what else did he have to lose? Dean had already waited too long, and Cas had to do something. Say something. Make it all matter in the end.

A bitter sounding laugh left Dean’s lips and echoed around the kitchen at the memory of Castiel’s final moments, as the inky black took over and dragged him away. Even after all that Cas had said, all that had been done, Dean still couldn’t respond. Like a fucking coward.

He sat on that dungeon floor and wept for what seemed like hours. He looked up at the beige ceiling, eyes wandering between each flaking chip of paint, connecting the proverbial dots in the constellation, all of them coming together to form an image of Castiel in his mind. He felt like he was waiting for a sign as his last tears dried in sticky trails down his cheeks. Waiting for the acknowledgement he knew wouldn’t come.

“….I do love you, Cas. I love you too. I love you too.”

If Cas did hear him, there was no way he could let Dean know…not from where he might be…not from his eternal sleep, at least.

But Dean could hope….even though he knew it was worthless.

 ~Fin~

 Again....I am sorry for the pains....but thank you for reading!

[iwritesickfic]

1/2 Aaaaah I’ve fallen quickly in love with your writing, I love your style. A couple of prompts, since you asked for them: Peter thinks he’s recovering from a bad illness- genuinely so fed up of being ill that at this point he’s willing to pretend to himself and everyone else he’s feeling better. Meanwhile he’s still staying up late working, and one day he gets stuck in the rain on the way from class and needs some help... and Ashlyn is closest...

First, thank you!!!!!! Second, this is long as hell and I also got sucked into the DRAMA of it all so I hope you still enjoy it :) might write a second part if we’re feeling it? anyway, enjoy and thanks for the kind words and prompts :)

It seems like it’s been forever since Peter hasn’t felt like shit. It’s like his body is trying to make up for all the years he spent avoiding every cold and flu that went around. He has to admit though, the main reason he’s still ill is because he won’t really give himself the time to fully recover. As soon as he’s feeling halfway decent, he dives back into life as normal - which for him, is 6 hours sleep and living on coffee - and within a week he’s back to being practically bedridden.

Leo is fed up with it. Big time. At least that’s what Peter’s gathered. Leo’s never said as much, but Peter figures he must be getting tired of it by now. So much that Peter’s stopped telling him how he’s feeling. At first it was just lying by omission. Now it’s lying-lying.

Today, everything’s concentrated in his head. His sinuses are throbbing, and his eyes hurt to move. He’s been swapping between chills and feeling too hot all day, and he’s pretty sure everyone in his lecture class hates his guts for his constant sniffling. He ran out of tissues about an hour into the six hour course, so he’s stuck wiping his nose with the crumpled leftovers and the few napkins he finds in a pocket of his bag.

By the time there’s only an hour left in class, he’s lost all ability to absorb anything the professor is saying. He’s shaking so badly he can’t take notes even if he wanted to. He’s considered leaving early, but to be honest, he’d rather put off his walk to the train as long as possible. He decides when he gets home, he’s chugging some nyquil, taking a cold shower, and going the fuck to sleep. He’s got a date with Leo tonight but he’ll need to make some excuse.

When the professor finally ends the class, he gets a rush of dopamine at the thought he’s only a 15 minute walk and a 30 minute train ride from some relief.

He stares at his phone, trying to think of something to tell Leo.

something came up, can i see you thursday?

Leo texts back almost immediately.

we already rescheduled twice are you sure you cant make it?

Peter bites his lip.

it’s a thesis thing. im sorry i promise thursday night.

He starts to pack his bag, and his phone buzzes.

ok, good luck love x

He pushes down the wave of guilt he feels and slings his bag over his shoulder. His heart drops into his stomach when he gets to the building’s lobby. It’s raining. Really raining, not just drizzling, but pouring. He swears, and sits down on one of the benches. He can wait.

Ten minutes later, the rain still hasn’t let up, and he knows if he doesn’t get up now he’s going to end up asleep on this bench whether he likes it or not. When he stands, the world starts to spin, and he has to bite back a whine at the way his headache worsens.

He pulls his hood on, even though it won’t make much of a difference, and takes a step outside. It’s not even five minutes before he’s soaked. At first, the rain almost felt nice on his fevered skin, but now he’s freezing. The cold’s worsened the way his nose is running, there’s mess all over his upper lip, and he can’t stop sneezing. His hair is stuck to his forehead, water gathered in his eyelashes. It’s another five minutes before he realizes he’s not getting to the train. His knees give out, and he has to catch himself against a bus shelter. He manages to make it to the bench inside, and sinks down, hyperventilating. He looks around aimlessly, hoping something will catch his eye and give him some semblance of a plan. And it does.

He’s on 110th and Amsterdam. That’s a block from Ashlynn’s apartment. Less than a block. He stands up, waiting for the world to stop spinning before making an attempt to walk. He tries not to think about the cold, or the way he can’t feel his toes, or the pounding in his head. Just focuses on one foot in front of the other.

He finds himself at her building. He presses her buzzer with shaking fingers, praying she’s home. He doesn’t have to wait even 30 seconds before the lobby door opens.

he steps inside, unable to hold back the heavy sigh of relief at the sudden warmth. He stands there for a moment, swaying slightly, before making his way to the elevator. Somehow, he finds himself at her door, and knocks. he hears her footsteps padding closer and closer before she’s standing right there, in front of him.

“Peter?” she looks puzzled until the world starts to tilt and he grips the doorframe to stay upright. “Whoa, hey, are you alright?” He opens his mouth to speak but three harsh sneezes come out instead, and he buries them into the wet sleeve of his hoodie. “Ok, c’mere.” She pulls him inside, and before he really knows what’s going on, he’s sitting at her kitchen table.

“S’raining,” he mumbles, and she hums in response.”M’cold.”

“I can tell. Here -” She starts to strip off his hoodie, which is totally soaked through. His shivering worsens, and she palms his forehead. “Shit, Peter.” She takes the hem of his t shirt and hesitates. “Can I...?” He nods, and she peels it off. She unties his sneakers and pulls off his socks, then bites her lip. “I can grab you a pair of my roommate’s sweatpants and you can change in the bathroom, yeah?” He shakes his head. There is no way he’s walking anywhere right now. She goes red. “You want me to...”

“M’gonna pass out if I try to stand up, Ash.”

Carefully, she unbuttons his jeans, tugging them off until he’s sitting in his underwear. She disappears for a moment before coming back with a towel, and wraps it around his shoulders. She places a box of tissues on his lap, and sits down in the chair across from him.

“What’s going on?”

“M’sick.” She laughs softly. Peter gingerly starts to wipe his nose, wincing at the raw, chapped soreness. He blows, and a spike of pain hits him between the eyes.

“Yeah, I can tell. Why were you -”

“Walking home from class,” he mumbles, and she nods. She stands up, and reappears with a thermometer. “Can we not?”

“If you wanna stay here then you’re gonna have to let me baby you,” she says, and if it didn’t hurt so bad he’d roll his eyes. He lets her stick the device under his tongue, and while she’s waiting for the reading she starts heating up water for tea. The thermometer beeps and she removes it gently. She frowns.

“What?” She takes a deep breath.

“It’s high, that’s all.” He raises his eyebrows at her. “102.2.”

“Not so bad,” he murmurs. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open. Sitting here in the warmth of the kitchen his body is finally deciding it’s had enough. The sudden warmth is also making his nose run. He sniffles.

“I’m not even gonna comment on that. C’mon, you can lay down on the couch. I’d offer you my bed but I don’t think you’ll make it that far to be honest.” He nods, and she pulls him upright. He manages to make it the few feet to the couch, and lands heavily. She swaps the towel for a blanket, and he’s never felt something better than the way it feels on his freezing, damp skin. Dry and warm and heavy. He curls up on his side, holding a tissue under his still-leaking nose, and he doesn’t last 30 seconds before falling asleep.

He’s awakened suddenly by the harsh ring of his cell phone. His headache is worse, despite the rest, and though his nose has stopped running it seems, his head is fully, hopelessly congested. He digs through his bag to find his phone, and frowns when he sees it’s Leo. He considers letting the call go to voicemail, but that’s before he sees the 5 previous missed calls.

“Hello?” He hates the way his voice sounds - sick and congested and torn up.

“Peter, what the fuck is going on?”

“I’m uh...I’m home working on thesis.” It takes him a moment to remember his lie from earlier.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why then do I see a photo of you, shirtless, on Ashlynn’s couch?” Peter knows immediately that he has fucked up, big time. “Do I really need to explain to you why that makes me upset?”

“Leo -”

“You better have a good fucking explanation for this.” Maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s the fact he hasn’t seen Leo in weeks, or maybe it’s the build up of all the guilt he’s felt lying to him, but Peter feels tears start to fall. He breaks into sobs, and they make his headache exponentially worse.

“Leo, p-please, I -” He can barely speak around his tears. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad at you for what?” His voice is cold. “Tell me. I want to hear you tell me.”

“It’s...it’s not -”

“Tell me, Peter.”

“I didn’t want...I didn’t want you to be mad at me.” His fevered brain can’t quite string together the right words.

“How would...” He trails off. “How would sleeping with Ashlynn not make me mad?”

“I didn’t - we...it wasn’t...I know you’re tired of taking care of me, so -”

“What?” Leo’s tone has shifted.

“I know you’re sick of me being sick, so I was gonna just go home and sleep and then it was raining, and I was so fucking dizzy, and I was on 110th street -”

“Wait. Stop. Let me get this straight. You’re ill?”

“Yeah,” he says, and the guilt is absolutely eating him up. “I didn’t want to bother -”

“Love, why would that be bothering me?” Leo sounds almost sad.

“You-you’re so busy, and -”

“Peter, I don’t know what kind of miscommunication happened here but I’m not...I wouldn’t be bothered if I knew you weren’t feeling well. I mean, I’d be upset but just because I don’t want you to feel bad. I wouldn’t be mad at you or angry with you or something like that. Why would you have that idea?”

“I’d hate me if I was you,” he chokes out, and Leo sighs.

“Peter...Look, can I come get you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know that, that’s not why I asked.” He pauses. “Where’s Ashlynn?”

That’s a good question. Peter isn’t sure. At class, maybe?

“Not uh...not here.”

“Ok, I’m gonna call you back. I love you, ok?”

“Mmhm. Love you too.”

“Ok, just relax. Everything’s alright. Hang tight.”

“Ok.”

[celticvampriss]

This is a prequel fic to Established Rhythm involving my own OC, Kira Skye, and a developing romance with the Mandalorian.  If anyone wants to be tagged when I update let me know.  You can read this by following the link or reading the chapter below the read more. 

TAG LIST: @banana-batman

A scream followed the hydraulic hiss of the central lifter and a body flew over the extending boarding ramp.  It landed with a crunch on a bed of grime and dust, sending a wave of rodents scattering into the trash that had built up in the corner of the mud caked buildings. The sun was blocked by a haze of cloud and smog, the air thick with greenhouse heat that added a nice pungency to the overall smell.

The Mandalorian looked down at his feet, meeting a pair of wide brown eyes that naively saw no issues with the landscape they were about to enter.

“This is no place for a kid,” He said, almost to himself.  The Kid liked the occasional sound or he’d get mischievous, and so Dyn was working on the habit of narrating.  If only to save his ship from idle green hands.  “Any chance I can get you to listen and stay put?”

The Kid cooed, already heading down the ramp.

Dyn sighed.

He let the Kid walk for exactly two tense minutes before scooping him up and quickly weaving his way through the city to his destination.  He couldn’t say this was an ideal choice for a new base for the Enclave, but then it wasn’t his place to have a say.  He was the reason they’d had to move.  Dyn had already memorized the layout, easily finding the new base and proceeding inside.  There, at least, surrounded by familiarity and even—despite the new scenery—as close a sense to ‘home’ as he could claim, The Kid would be safe on his own legs, but had protested being set down.  With a sigh, Dyn continued to carry him.

As he neared the Armorer, the one who had summoned him, he noticed a face that didn’t belong.  A woman with no helmet or armor—who wore quite the opposite in a brightly colored gown with dark hair twisted and bent into an elaborate design—his eyes lingered on her.  It was jarring to see a face in the Enclave, he’d imagine it was similar to walking through the halls of your childhood home and seeing a ghost leaning on the kitchen counter chatting with your parents.  

He found the Armorer and set the Kid down as he sat and waited.  She was in the middle of working and didn’t care to be interrupted.

With a spray of steam, she threw down her smithing gloves and came around to greet him with a silent nod, which he returned.

The Armorer’s gaze drifted briefly to the Kid and then back.  “We have a time critical situation that will require your cooperation.”

“What do you need?”

“We need protection and immediate evacuation for her,” The Armorer gestured past the open archway of the armory, to the woman he noticed earlier.

His fists clenched. He couldn’t refuse the request.  `“Why?  What does she need protecting from?”

“She’s proven to be a great asset to our community, with connections that might just get us some ground in our plans for the future.  A little less hiding.”

“A politician?”  No wonder she needed protection.  

“Not exactly, but there are those who will silence her if they had the chance.  We can’t risk that.  So you are going to get Kira Skye off this planet and keep her alive until we contact you.”

Dyn glanced at the woman again, her chin high in the air, shoulders set, though closer observation showed the snagged and frayed edges of her dress—recent damage—and that elaborate hair design was lopsided.  If he were to guess, she was a highborn lady, someone who had grown up with credits and privilege.  And still ‘no’ was not an option.

“Fine,” He relented, “But my ship is small, she’ll have to travel light.”

“She has one bag,” The Armorer gestured to a small, well made rucksack near the door.

They exchanged terse parting words and Dyn scooped up the Kid to leave.  He hesitated, then grabbed the rucksack and slung it over his shoulder. Out in the hall, the other Mandalorian’s had left, and she was alone and staring questioningly in his direction.

He sighed, resolving himself to this situation outside his control and silently hoping that it wouldn’t turn out the way he was predicting.  Now, closer, he noted the signs of fear and unease in her posture and manners.  “Guess you’re with me,” He said, “Come on.”

Kira followed him silently. If he knew that would be her only moments of silence, he might have appreciated it properly, for now he was only grateful to put that planet behind him and that she hadn’t cried.  

She marched up the boarding ramp, head high, and immediately crossed her arms as her eyes bounced around the main cabin.  Once inside the Razorcrest, he set her bag and the Kid down.  “Sit tight until I come back.”  He headed for the cockpit.

“Wait,” She marched after him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m getting you off this planet,” He said, “As ordered.”

Her mouth opened and closed, green eyes flashing with a touch of insanity.  Her heart was racing, too.  He wasn’t sure what had brought her to this moment, but he was starting to piece it together.  One bag, nice clothes that were freshly torn, and how hard she was trying to cover her fear and panic with forced confidence.  She started to wring her hands together, fingers working over and over each other as her breathing grew heavier.

“Here, sit.”  He guided her without touching her to a seat—a crate that was the right height—and then the shut bay door.  

“I’m fine. Really.  I’ll be fine.  I just,” She swallowed, “I just need some air.”

He didn’t know how to tell her that all her air would be recirculated from the air scrubbers and life-support systems for the foreseeable future.  It was the kind of comment that wouldn’t help anyway.  Instead he found a canteen and offered her old water that, maybe, hadn’t gone stale.

Kira chugged it, water spilling out the corners of her mouth, and when she finished she swiped at her lips with the back of her hand.  “Thank you,” She said through heavy breaths, “I don’t remember the last time I drank anything.”

Sitting wasn’t wise. He needed to get them airborne and on their way if the threats to her life were that serious.  Yet, every time he turned to do just that, she stopped him.

“Can I come?”  She pleaded, eyes big and the barest tremor in her lips.  The Kid had already crawled his way up there, though how was a mystery, and he did have the seat for another.  There wasn’t any reason to say no except that there was a lot of people encroaching on his solitude and, though he wouldn’t say he hated it, he wasn’t used to it either.

“Sure,” He relented. She crawled into the seat behind his, pulling her legs up under her and getting cozy.  He’d never be that flexible, especially with all the armor.

“What’s that flashing?” She asked, as the engines started up and he went through the launching sequences.  He glanced down, where her finger was pointing.

“Proximity sensor.”

“What does that do?”

“Alerts when we’re close to things.”

He felt her rise, her hands gripping the back of his seat while she craned her head around him to look. “What about that?”

“It’ll take a long time to explain every switch or indicator,” He said, “And you should be seated. Or you’ll fall.”

She sat and he heard the safety harness click.  “I have time, you know.”

He sighed.  The Kid cooed in his lap while every other minute she fpund something new to say or ask.  He counted one blessing, her constant talking was keeping the kid happy which meant he didn’t have to do it.  Once they were moving, he technically didn’t have to stay in the cockpit, but he liked to.  Or, rather, sitting in the cockpit had become a habit when he was alone and had nothing else to occupy him while traveling.  Now, he supposed, there were things he could do, like see to Kira’s temporary living situation.  The Kid had found a shelf to call home—forgoing the crib he’d tried to build for him—and didn’t take up much space.  As for accommodations, the Razorcrest had exactly one sleeping cabin with one single bed. There was a cot somewhere in his gear, buried, but he’d have to make it work.  He could hardly stick her on the cot in the middle of the open.

“Where are we going?” She asked, ending a solid 47 seconds of silence.

“Not sure yet,” He said, “Right now, I’ve got us heading toward the outer rim.  Best place to lay low.”

There was a touch of awe in her voice, which was so naturally expressive he hardly needed to see her to know every emotion she was feeling.  “I’ve never been this far from home before.  I’ll admit, for as much as I’m afraid, I’m also excited.”

“That’s nice,” He added, though it wasn’t to be dismissive.  She seemed to pick up on that and babbled on.

“I’ve read about a great many planets, learning and reading are my favorite activities, since I hadn’t gotten out much as a child.  If I’d known I was going to be traveling, I’d have read about ships and their functions. Then I’d have a better idea what all these things do,” She gestured around the cockpit, “Like I’ve been staring at that panel up there for ages, but I can’t decide if it’s meant to show the engines or the life-support functions.”

“Neither,” he said, ���That’s an optical transducer panel.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means there are sensors in places sensors aren’t normally found.  Keeps the ship more secure.”

“How does it—”

“There’s a manual,” He said, rising and scooting around her legs to a cabinet above her head.  He brushed off some of the dust and handed the data pad to her.  “Everything about the ship is in there.”

The thing was a relic, he’d never touched it in the years since he’d owned the ship, but the look in her eyes when her fingers closed around half a century old data pad you’d think it was a gold plated set of rare jewels.  She stood up, hugging the data pad to her chest, and they were very close together—nowhere else to stand—and she looked like she might try to hug him.

“Your room is down here,” He avoided quickly, heading down the ladder and away from the smothering intensity of her eyes.  

She followed him down, saying something about ladders and climbing them in dresses and impractical shoes, and how she really wished she had been able to grab a proper change of clothes. “As it is,” She continued, “It’s just more of this.  I hadn’t a chance to…” She swallowed.  “I took what I could and, unfortunately, that means nothing of real use.  I don’t even have shoes.”  She gestured to the high heel of her footwear and then proceeded to rip them off and chuck them in a corner.  “I’ll clean those up later.”  She said, marching barefoot past him.

“There’s only one cabin with a bed.  I’ll need a few minutes to get what I need out, but then it’s all yours—”

She held up her hand in a very commanding gesture, though somehow she managed it without the condescending air.  “Out of the question.”

“There’s no other room.”

She looked around, “I can figure out something out here.”

“You can take the room.”

“No.”  She crossed her arms, and gave him a look that said quite clearly he would not win this debate.  She would outlast him.

He sighed.  “Then all I have is a cot.  I need to find it first.”

“I’ll help you look.”

They searched through the accumulated junk and odds and ends for a good half hour.  Mostly silent, except she had to constantly ask him questions about the things she found.  She even cleaned as she went, neatening each displaced object whether it was trash or not. Her path through the minimal storage space was an organized trail.  He looked back at his path, and it was just a mess with a walkway in the middle.  They found the cot after another half hour and he set it up and placed it against a wall.  At least, without carbonite bounties taking up space, there was more room to walk, but that still didn’t leave much.  There was also the issue that the cot needed to be secured.  He found some tools and welded it in place. He’d hack it apart later.  Or leave it, didn’t matter.

“Thank you,” she said once he finished.  He nodded.

“I’m sorry I don’t have much for sheets, but there’s an extra pillow.” This was a lie, there was only one and it was his, but he was starting to learn that if he told her that, she’d refuse it.

“Ha!” She tore open her rucksack and started tossing long, flashy garments over the faded, dull green canvas of the cot.  “Guess they did have a use after all.”

“Can I get you anything else?”  There wasn’t much else to offer.

“No, thank you.  I’ll be fine.  Please don’t worry about me.”

He nodded, then hesitated to leave.  It was still bothering him, her not taking the room.  He didn’t want to voice it, but he thought he could guess the reason. Still, the question wouldn’t come, so he watched her awkwardly for a second, before snapping back to his senses and attempting to leave.

“You want to know why I refused your room,” She stopped him, eyes knowing.  How she had guessed his question, he decided not to imagine.  She gave him a knowing wink and then tapped her head.  “I know a bit about the culture and I’m not about to throw you out of your space when, of the two of us, you’re the one who needs privacy.”

He had a feeling that was it, but then he hadn’t expected her—anyone, really—to be that considerate of what he needed.  People often attempted.  If they weren’t skirting the line of rudeness, then they would at least be civil about it.  But never adjusting their own comfort for his.

He left her.  He wasn’t quite tired, so he returned to the cockpit to try and settle on a place they could restock supplies.  Her voice drifted up from her cot, a slow, luring song in words he didn’t understand.  She was singing.  He might have minded, except her voice was pleasing.  Lyrical, but strong, he decided to enjoy it rather than tune her out by adjusting his audio sensors.

It wasn’t long before she fell asleep.  He swiveled in his seat, glancing toward where she lay, but unable to see her.  He only knew she slept because the singing had stopped.  It had been nice, but the quiet was welcome.  Alone, with only the sounds of the ship, it was a piece of his old normal.  He settled back to enjoy the encompassing solitude, when Kira’s voice startled him into standing.  He hopped down the ladder, though he couldn’t imagine that any danger had found her in the two hours since he’d left her, and he realized she was still sleeping.  Her voice babbled incoherent strings of words and phrases.  

Of course she talked in her sleep.  He had a feeling that his moments of solitary quiet would only exist in memory.  

[fantasticmrspideyman-blog]

love-sick puppy pt3 word count:2033 summary: am I not good enough for you?

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3

               It felt like Harrison took years to come back from the corner store. The pizza had arrived already, and Tom and I decided that instead of letting it get cold, we were going to start eating before he got there. I sat cross legged in front of the couch, my plate sat on the coffee table, the open pizza box close to the opposite corner from me. Tom sat next to me, his leg pressed against mine gently, for some reason causing a blush to creep up my neck slowly. Everything he did now since kissing me caused my face to heat up, and my insides to turn into knots. He had chosen some Adam Sandler movie to watch, but with him it seemed like I never minded what movie we watched together, I just liked being with him to watch it. The front door swung open and I looked up. Harrison stood in the doorway with a wide smile over his face and two bags in his hands.

“I got pop!” He announced, as if we were unable to see the contents through the plastic bags. I giggled a bit and he came over, setting the bags down and grabbing a slice of pizza for himself before sitting closer to the television, next to the pizza box. I reached over, grabbing one of the bags to see what soda he had bought, but only found candy in the bag.

“This isn’t pop, Harrison.” I deadpanned, throwing the bag at him, receiving a groan in response. He pouted slightly, picking up the other bag and handing it to me, turning his attention back to the television while I rummaged through the plastic. All six of the drinks he bought were cream soda except for one, lone Dr Pepper in the bottom of the bag. I grabbed it without hesitation, knowing that it was for me anyways, then set the bag in Tom’s lap so that he could grab one of the cream soda’s that I had left behind. He winced slightly when the coldness of the bag hit his leg, shooting a look that I didn’t catch in my direction before reaching his hand in and pulling one out, returning the bag to Harrison.

“So, how was it?” I asked, looking over at Tom who almost choked on his pizza at my question. When I asked, I had meant how was his trip to see his family, not how was the kiss but it didn’t seem to click in his head. His eyes were slightly wide when he looked over at me, an eyebrow raised as if to ask if I really wanted to talk about it in front of Harrison right now. “You were gone for a month.” I reiterated, watching as he let out a relieved sigh and looked down at the soda in his hand, taking another deep breath.

“It was nice!” He finally said, looking over at me with a large smile, “My mom was glad to see me at least. I can’t say the same for my brothers.” Tom chuckled, taking a bite out of his pizza. I bumped my shoulder into his, get another smile from him thrown in my direction. I looked over at Harrison who was basically chugging a cream soda like it was water and I scrunched my nose.

“How can you drink it like that?” I asked him, picking up my own Dr Pepper and taking a small sip. He looked over his shoulder at me, taking one last sip before setting it on the floor next to him.

“God’s tears.” He said simply, referring to the drink. I snorted, shaking my head at him and looking down at my pizza again.

               It felt like the night was dragging on forever, the tension between Tom and I only getting worse by the minute. Finally, when the pizza was pretty much gone, and Harrison had drunk four cream sodas by himself, he stood, looking over at the two of us.

“Well you two, looks like I should be heading home. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Harrison proclaimed, a deviant smile on his face when his eyes flicked over to Tom. I smiled at him quickly, waving a goodbye while I bit into the crust of my last slice of pizza. He did a two-finger wave to Tom and I before turning and leaving the apartment, turning the lock on the door before closing it. It was a habit that we all had when we left each other’s houses, giving that little sense of security to each other. I looked over at Tom, chewing the inside of my lip before taking a deep breath.

“Are you staying the night?” I finally got the courage to ask. In the past it had never been an issue to spend the night with each other, but something felt different asking him now. Tom shrugged his shoulders, smiling at me cheekily.

“I mean, my bags are already here.” Tom joked, taking a sip of his drink. I grinned, butterflies filling my stomach. I finished my crust and stood, picking up the plates and empty pizza boxes, stepping over Tom’s lap to get to the kitchen. Oli meowed loudly, making it obvious that he was hungry. I looked at the time, only 10 o clock so I didn’t feel too bad. Tom followed behind me, throwing away his can and leaning down, scratching the back of Oli’s neck while I grabbed the bag of cat food from under the counter, picking up a packet of wet food as well. For breakfast I usually only give Oli dry food, but at night is when I gave him wet food as well because he became one of the pickiest cats ever. Tom picked Oli up, talking to him in a baby voice and petting him, making my giggle while I filled his bowl.

“And you always said you hated cats.” I accused, pushing his arm gently. He let Oliver jump out of his arms, padding over to his food bowl.

“I like your cat. That’s it though.” Tom explained in a matter-of-fact tone. Tom was with me when I adopted Oliver, one of the first things I did when my boyfriend and I broke up. Even though I had been living by myself for a while, my boyfriend made it feel like I was still living with my parents all over again. I had to go through him to do just about anything, and having a cat was something that he was super against. It wasn’t because he was allergic or anything, he just didn’t want something else taking away my attention from him. When I finally broke up with him, the first thing I thought about was finally adopting a cat like I had been wanting to do since I left my parents house. Living by myself got lonely fast, the apartment being quiet all the time, every noise making me jump slightly. When I had mentioned the idea to Tom and Harrison they had both jumped on it, saying that it was a great idea and would probably make me feel better anyways. Tom did say though that he wasn’t exactly fond of cats, and maybe getting a dog would be better, but I was firm on my idea of getting a cat. Not even a week later, Tom took me to a local shelter to look and see if they had any kittens, but as soon as I saw Oliver I knew it was meant to be. I instantly fell in love with Oliver, not even wanting to look at other cats other than him. Every cat that Tom tried to get me to look at just wasn’t Oliver and didn’t make me feel the same way that Oliver did. When I first held Oliver, I knew that he was meant to be my cat. He was almost three years old already, so not a kitten like I had originally wanted but that didn’t matter as much as I originally thought it did. He was just as playful and spunky as any kitten that I could have adopted that day, but Oli was the one that was really what I was looking for. Ever since adopting him, we were basically inseparable when I was at home. If he wasn’t laying in my lap or sleeping in my bed, he was at my feet purring and meowing, either wanting to be pet or wanting a treat, which he got plenty of. There was one time that Tom tried taking him on a walk outside, but that didn’t go exactly as planned. Needless to say, Tom didn’t attempt that again.

               It felt like every time we sat on the couch together, he was pushing how close he was able to get to me. His arm slung over my shoulders lazily, his eyes trained on the television but every few moments he would look over at me. I had my phone pulled out and I was scrolling through Instagram, pretty much liking every photo I went past. After a few moments, he had his cheek pressed to my shoulder, looking at the pictures with me.

“Who’s that guy?” He asked, pointing at a photo that I just liked of an old friend that I had in high school. I looked at it for a moment, then pressed the side of my head to his.

“That’s Jay. He was pretty much my only friend in high school. At least…he was the only one that Samuel approved of. I guess he didn’t feel intimidated by Jay?” I explained, looking over the photo for a second more. I had to admit, Jay had always been handsome, but he was never exactly what I would call my ‘type’. He was the stereotypical skater kid who worked at Zumiez in the mall and talked about how stoned he was all the time. He was my best friend though, and Samuel didn’t care when he and I hung out. I guess it was because Samuel felt superior to Jay, though he wasn’t. Samuel was a year older than both Jay and I but had been held back when he was in middle school. He didn’t act like he was any older, majority of the time he acted like a completely immature douchebag, but that wasn’t the type of person he was when the two of us met. He was different, but something changed when we started getting older. Tom looked at the photo again before picking his head up and looking at me.

“He doesn’t really seem like the type of kid you’d hang out with.” He accused, making me laugh and look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s because I only hang out with you and Harrison now.” I retorted, getting a toothy grin from him. He rested his head again, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. I looked at him from the corner of my eye, smiling a bit. “What are you thinking about?” I finally asked, his eyes meeting with mine after a while. He looked like he was chewing on his inner lip before he sat up, his back straight against the back of the couch. I swallowed hard, knowing that he was probably going to lay something heavy on me.

“Am I not good enough for you?” Tom finally asked, looking at me sideways, his head tilted slightly. I felt like my heart cracked when the tone of his voice changed, sadness dripping from his words. I looked down at my lap, my hair falling around my face, but I shook my head, laughing almost coldly.

“Not good enough for me? Tom…you don’t realize that you’re too good for me…way, way too good for me. You don’t realize that I’m not that great.” I said, shaking my head again and looking down at my lap. I could feel the couch next to me shift, his hand reaching out and tucking my hair behind my ear. His lips pressed to my neck gently and his mouth came up close to my ear, making my breath hitch.

“I think you’re amazing, love.”

[potrix-the-queerschlaeger]

Tony and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

A/N: This is a very belated birthday present for @upallnightogetloki, who wanted more of Nāga Tony and Bucky. If you haven’t read the first part, my inspiration were the Nāgas mentioned in Hindu culture, but I’m totally picking and choosing, here. Basically, in my A/B/O ‘verse, they’re snake shifters living normally among humans.

Set in a nebulous, alternate universe, set after Avengers 1, with everyone happy, alive, and still friends. What even is CA:CW?

~6K, rated M for swearing, mostly.

(Also: check the (spoilery) tags if you’re iffy about A/B/O ‘verses. This got a little weird. In a cute, fun way, though?)

Monday

Bucky blinks blearily, not entirely sure why he’s awake hours before his alarm is supposed to go off. He yawns, and when he doesn’t hear anything unusual, he closes his eyes, ready to doze off again, but huffs when a stray elbow catches him in the ribs.

“Babe,” he mumbles, nuzzling the back of Tony’s head, and tightens the arm he has wrapped around Tony’s chest. “‘S still early, go back to sleep.”

“Sorry,” Tony whispers back, reaching down to slot his fingers through Bucky’s. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

They lie quietly for a few minutes, still apart from Tony’s thumb stroking over the back of Bucky’s hand, and Bucky slowly, lazily running his nose up and down Tony’s neck. But then Tony twitches, and lets out an aborted noise of discomfort, and Bucky’s instantly on high alert.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, propping himself up on one hand, and gently rolling Tony onto his back with the other. “Are you hurt?”

Tony looks soft and sleep-rumpled, mostly, and maybe a little paler than normal, though it’s difficult to tell in the dim light. Bucky brushes his hair back, then presses the back of his hand against Tony’s forehead. “It’s not time for your heat yet. Is it? You feelin’ sick?”

“Not really,” Tony says, and takes Bucky’s hand, moving it to lie just below his belly button. “It’s just my stomach, feels kind of bloated.” He grins, tongue-in-cheek. “Probably from Clint’s chili last night.”

Bucky presses down gently, eyes widening when he’s met with more resistance than expected. Tony’s certainly in shape, especially for a man his age, but he doesn’t usually have washboard abs like Steve or Thor, although it almost feels like it now. His stomach, while not looking any different from what Bucky can tell, is definitely more firm, almost hard.

And sensitive, if Tony’s sudden, sharp intake of breath is anything to go by.

Bucky stops moving, and pulls back a little. “Does it hurt?”

Tony’s shaking his head before Bucky’s even finishes asking his question, arching up shamelessly to push his stomach into the touch. “Keep going, feels nice.”

“So spoiled,” Bucky accuses, smiling, as if they don’t both know that that’s entirely Bucky’s fault. He leans down to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Tony’s hipbone, and lightly strokes both hands up and down Tony’s sides.

When Tony gasps, he hooks two fingers under the waistband of Tony’s sweats, and arches a questioning eyebrow up at him. Tony nods eagerly. Bucky grins, and goes to work.

More after the break. Or read the rest of it on [AO3].

Tuesday

“We do have a front door, y’know,” Bucky teases, but he does put down his knife, and wipes his hands on a towel before letting Rhodey pull him into a hug. “It’s this big, rectangular hole at the bottom of the building? That opens when you walk towards it, all on its own? Apparently that’s all the rage these days.”

“You’re hilarious,” Rhodey deadpans, clapping Bucky on the back a couple of times before stepping away. “The landing pad’s easier.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, and turns back around, pulling another sweet potato onto the cutting board. “Mhm, sure. ‘Cause gettin’ in and out of your armour doesn’t take longer than the actual flight from your apartment to the tower.” Under his breath, but still deliberately loud enough for Rhodey to hear, he adds, “Has nothin’ to do with you bein’ a showoff at all.”

Rhodey has Bucky in a loose headlock, and Bucky’s ranting about cooking etiquette and knife safety when Tony walks into the kitchen. He’s covered in what Bucky hopes is grease or oil, trying and completely failing to look stern with his mouth twitching tellingly, hair sticking up in all directions, and the too long sleeves of one of Bucky’s henleys—which Bucky’s been missing for the last half week—falling down over his hands.

It’s stupidly adorable, Bucky thinks, and some of that must show on his face, because Rhodey makes a mock disgusted, long-suffering noise under his breath, shoves Bucky away with a hand on his forehead, and goes to hug Tony instead. Bucky laughs, entirely unrepentant, winking at Tony behind Rhodey’s back.

For a moment, Tony smiles back, eyes twinkling mischievously, but then he suddenly goes pale, before turning faintly green. He practically jumps away from Rhodey, nearly stumbling over his own feet, and covers his mouth and nose with his hands.

“Tones?” Rhodey sounds concerned, and Bucky is, too. He quickly steps closer to put a steadying hand on Tony’s elbow, asking, “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Tony croaks, nodding, and when he removes his hands, a normal, healthy colour’s already returning to his cheeks. “Ugh, sorry. I don’t know what that was. I got a whiff of your aftershave, and I just,” he trails off, wincing apologetically at Rhodey.

Rhodey frowns. “It’s the one I always wear,” he says, craning his neck to sniff his collar.

Tony shrugs helplessly, leaning into Bucky when Bucky curls an arm around him. “Maybe you’re gettin’ sick after all?” Bucky suggests, and pecks Tony’s cheek when Tony scowls up at him. “You did have that stomach thing yesterday.”

“I’m fine,” Tony insists stubbornly.

Bucky and Rhodey share a pointed look, making Tony huff, cross his arms over his chest, and pout. Bucky reels him in closer, and peppers kisses across his face until Tony scrunches up his nose, and starts pushing at him, laughing softly.

“How ‘bout,” Bucky says, pressing a final kiss to the tip of Tony’s nose, “you go an’ take a shower, then find a movie for us to watch while Rhodey helps me finish dinner?”

Tony grumbles some more for show, but forty minutes later, he’s happily snuggled up against Bucky’s chest, feet in Rhodey’s lap, munching on his burger and sweet potato fries, and making fun of the shitty science in the movie.

Wednesday

“Communal floor, please,” Steve says, leading Bucky into the elevator, and uses his towel to dab at his damp face.

Bucky hangs his own towel over his shoulders, and fumbles with his hair tie for a moment before getting it loose, and shaking out his hair. He sprays sweat everywhere in the process, grinning when Steve grimaces, shoots him a dirty look, and mumbles, “Asshole,” under his breath.

“Language, Captain,” Bucky chides, and Steve, as usual, groans, throws his hands up in the air, and complains, “You weren’t even there, Buck, you’re not allowed to tease me about this!”

“Watch me,” Bucky shoots back, and then they’re off, squabbling, bickering, shoving, and trying to trip each other on their way to the kitchen.

Bruce takes one look at them, sighs deeply, and gets up, taking his tea with him. “Keep it down, would you? Tony’s asleep in the den. He looks like he could use the rest.”

Steve makes an apologetic face. “Sorry.”

But Bucky frowns, checking the clock on the microwave. It’s only a little after two in the afternoon, and they’d slept in for once—weekends mean nothing in the superhero business—until nearly lunchtime after turning in early the previous night. He grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge, chugging it in only a few big gulps, then goes to check on Tony.

And, sure enough, Tony’s sacked out on the couch, wrapped up in the thick duvet from their bedroom with only his head peeking out. His hair is a complete mess, as usual, but there are also dark circles under his eyes, and he looks exhausted, even while asleep. Bucky gently rubs his flesh and blood thumb over the skin under one of Tony’s eyes, feeling guilty for not having noticed sooner.

It makes Tony stir, but Bucky quickly shushes him, running a soothing hand through his hair. “Everything’s fine, babe, go back to sleep.”

“M’kay,” Tony mumbles, inhaling deeply a few times to get some of Bucky’s Alpha scent, before turning his face into a cushion.

Steve, having tiptoed closer, peers over the back of the couch, then raises a questioning eyebrow at Bucky, who can only shrug in response.

He’s still worried when Tony wakes up in time for dinner, but he does look a lot better, and keeps insisting that he was just catching up on sleep. Which, with Tony’s schedule, does make some sense.

Bucky decides to let it go, but ushers Tony to bed a good hour earlier than usual, anyway. Just to make sure.

Thursday

Tony swallows his mouthful of what Bucky’s pretty sure is vanilla ice cream with a big portion of the leftover pulled pork from their earlier BBQ, and sighs in obvious bliss, eyes fluttering shut. They snap back open when he goes to load his spoon up again, and discovers his bowl is empty.

“What,” Bucky demands, and can’t even enjoy Tony’s startled yelp over his growing disgust, “the hell are you doin’?”

“I, uh. I was hungry?” Tony offers, but he’s looking shifty, clearly knows that this is at least a little weird. “What, is that a crime now?” he asks defensively, protectively pulling his bowl against his chest. “You’re always on my case about not eating enough.”

Bucky just stares at him until Tony wilts, and averts his eyes. “I wanted a snack, and it seemed like a good idea at the time? And it’s actually not that bad?”

“Well.” Bucky shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then back again, not sure where to go from here. “If you say so. I think I’ll stick to a sandwich, though.”

“Whatever,” Tony says, but he’s smiling, relieved, as he hops up onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “I guess I can forgive your culinary deficiencies. If,” he waves his bowl at Bucky, “you get me another one of these.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Bucky mutters, and flicks the back of Tony’s head on his way to the fridge.

He does fix Tony another bowl, though.

Friday

“—what your problem is, man, but you need to calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! You calm down!”

“That doesn’t even make sense! Tony, what’re you—hey, no, that’s not fair, you can’t—hey, ow! You asshole!”

“You know what you did, don’t start with me—”

“I have—stop squeezing me, dickbag—I have no idea what it is you think I’ve done, but—”

“Stop lying!”

It’s like walking into the darkest timeline; the coffee table is overturned, popcorn and soda spilled everywhere, the lamp on the floor, one of Clint’s shoes sticking up from behind the TV, and the curtains ripped partially off their rods.

At least nothing’s on fire. Yet.

“What the actual fuck do you two knuckleheads think you’re doin’ here?”

Both Clint and Tony freeze at the sound of Bucky’s voice, but Clint doesn’t remove his hands from Tony’s hair, and Tony doesn’t make a move to let Clint go. Neither of them look the slightest bit ashamed, and, for a moment, Bucky considers just walking back out, and leaving whatever this is for someone else to deal with.

But his Alpha instincts put up a protest against the prospect of leaving his mate in the middle of a fight, never mind that Tony’s more than capable of defending and looking out for himself. And tends to get huffy when Bucky conveniently forgets that. Since Tony seems to be pissed already anyway, though, and it doesn’t look like the situation is about to resolve itself without further collateral damage, Bucky doesn’t feel too bad about stepping in.

“All right, c’mon.” He places his hands on his hips, and quirks an eyebrow. “Cut it out. Clint, let go of Tony. Tony, for fuck’s sake, unwrap Clint.”

Tony hisses, baring his fangs. “He—”

“I didn’t do shit!” Clint yells, and all but pushes Tony off of him the instant Tony has uncurled his tail from around Clint’s legs. “One second we were watching the game, shooting the shit, and the next he turned all scaly, and went completely berserk!”

“You drank from my glass!” Tony yells back, and lunges at Clint again, toppling them both back onto the floor. “It was my glass!”

“That’s what this is about?” Clint asks, incredulous. “Are you serious right now?”

“Screw you!”

“I didn’t mean to, it was an accident. Come on, man, what—”

“You could’ve asked! That’s what normal people, who weren’t raised in a goddamned barn, do before taking—”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, looking heavenward. If there was any of the Catholic upbringing still left in him, he’d be praying for strength right about now. Instead, he grabs Tony by the back of the neck, ignoring his angry cursing and flailing, and pulls him off of Clint.

With his free hand, he points at Clint. “And you. You know our kind gets territorial sometimes. Which,” he directs at Tony, when Tony shoots Clint a gloating little smile, “doesn’t excuse any of this bullshit. Clint, ask before touching his stuff. We’ve talked about this. Tony, remember that Clint’s an idiot, and doesn’t do half the crap he does on purpose.”

“Hey,” Clint objects, but it’s weak. He gets up, stretches, and cracks his neck. “Whatever, man. Tony, I’m sorry I accidentally took a sip from your glass, please forgive me, yadda yadda.”

Tony glares some more, before slumping. Eyes fixed on the floor, he admits, so quiet is barely audible, “I might have overreacted.”

“Little bit, dude, yeah.” Clint grins, and holds his hand out for a fist bump. “Friends again?”

“Obviously,” Tony sniffs, haughty, but he does bump Clint’s fist.

Clint nods, still grinning widely. “Okay, I’m out of here. If Cap asks about the chaos, tell him I was never here.”

“You okay?” Bucky asks, once Clint is gone, rubbing a hand up and down Tony’s back.

In answer, Tony tucks his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck, mouth open against Bucky’s skin, breathing him in. Bucky tugs him in close, holding him tight, and rests his cheek against the top of Tony’s head, gently swaying them from side to side.

“I just,” Tony mumbles mulishly, a few minutes later, his face still hidden away. “He got on my nerves all afternoon, and the glass thing was just the last straw. It was stupid, I know that, I really do. But I couldn’t help it, I felt—I felt protective over that glass. It was mine. And he was touching it.”

“It’s a very nice glass,” Bucky offers, laughing when Tony pinches his side. “An’ this isn’t nearly as bad as the glitter and glue incident last month.” He pauses, then adds, “I don’t know why we even let the two of you be alone in a room together. It never ends well.”

“Clint’s a dick,” Tony grumbles, but it’s without heat.

“Wanna go swim for a while?” Bucky asks, kissing the side of Tony’s head. “Work off some steam? I feel like shiftin’, too.”

Tony smiles, and presses a kiss to the sensitive spot behind Bucky’s ear. “Sounds like a plan.”

Bucky lets him nuzzle for a moment, then says, teasing, “After we clean up here, of course.”

Tony groans dramatically. “Ass.”

Saturday

“Thank you, Tony,” Pepper says, smiling, when Tony puts a plate piled high with every greasy food the brunch buffet has to offer in front of her. She pats her swollen stomach, and Bucky’d always thought that thing about pregnant women having a glow about them was bullshit, but it’s definitely true for her. “It feels like all I do anymore is eat, sleep, and cry.”

Happy very carefully doesn’t say anything, but one corner of his mouth curls upwards, giving him away. Pepper huffs, and swats at him. “Oh, shut it, you. This is all your fault, now you have to live with the consequences.”

“Not complaining,” Happy says, and takes her hand, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it.

Tony pulls a face at them, because he is a forty year old child, then winces when Pepper, presumably, kicks him under the table. Bucky shares a commiserating glance with Happy, who just shrugs, and rolls his eyes a little, clearly fond.

“So,” Bucky says, leaning back, and draping an arm over the back of Tony’s chair. “Gettin’ anywhere with the name?”

“Grace,” Pepper says, at the same time as Happy says, “Emma.”

“That’s a no, then?” Tony asks dryly. Then, eyes lightening up, he suggests, “How about—”

“Not Antonia,” Happy and Pepper say in unison, before turning to grin at each other.

Tony gasps, all feigned betrayal, and presses a hand to his chest. “Words can hurt, you know.”

Brows arched challengingly, he reaches across the table, snags a piece of baked brie off Pepper’s plate, and pops it into his mouth. He chews obnoxiously for a few seconds, smug and satisfied with himself, then suddenly stills, face scrunching up.

Before anyone has the chance to ask what’s wrong, Tony pushes back his chair, and quickly puts his hand over his mouth when he starts gagging. Everyone stills, waiting with held breath, but then Tony shakes his head, says, “Nope,” from behind his hand, and takes off in the direction of the bathroom.

Bucky’s right behind him, locking the bathroom door while Tony falls to his knees in front of the toilet, and starts retching. Wincing in sympathy, Bucky grabs some paper towels out of the dispenser, wets them, and then goes to crouch next to Tony, pressing a few of the them against the back of his neck. Tony makes a grateful little noise, before cutting himself off with a groan, clutching at the toilet seat when the next wave of nausea hits.

“Fuck,” he croaks, once he’s done, sitting back.

“Here.” Bucky hands him the remaining towels so he can wipe his mouth, and brushes the sweaty hair away from his forehead. “Feelin’ better?”

Closing his eyes, Tony leans back against Bucky, breathing in and out deeply a few times before answering. “Little bit.” He grimaces, and throws the balled up towels into the toilet. “Wow, that sucked.”

“Any idea what that was all about?” Bucky asks, standing, and gently pulling Tony back to his feet as well. “Was the cheese bad?”

“I don’t think so?” Tony shrugs, moving over to the sink to rinse his mouth. Once done, he continues, “It tasted fine.”

Bucky gestures around the bathroom, skeptical. “Doesn’t look fine.”

Tony hangs his head, and sighs, before meeting Bucky’s eyes through the mirror. “I feel okay now,” he insists, but holds up a hand when Bucky opens his mouth to argue. “But I’ll have Helen take a look at me if things are still off on Monday. I’m not calling her in on a weekend because of a stomach bug that’s probably going to resolve itself in the next twenty-four hours.”

“I don’t like it,” Bucky says, stepping up behind Tony. He wraps his arms around his waist, and rests his chin on his shoulder. “But I guess I can live with that. We’re callin’ her if you puke again, though.”

“Such a worrier,” Tony huffs, acting put out, but there’s a pleased flush to his cheeks. “Okay, deal.”

Bucky gives him a careful squeeze, and kisses the side of his head. “Deal,” he agrees.

Sunday

If it were up to Bucky, he wouldn’t leave Tony’s side after the incident at brunch yesterday. But Tony’d put a quick end to his annoying, unnecessary, Alpha-dumb—to quote Tony—hovering, and gone to swim a few laps by himself after sending Bucky off to his weekly bro date—again, quoting Tony—with Sam.

“—and then I sprouted real wings, and flew off into the sun.”

Bucky blinks, looking up from his phone to stare at Sam. “What?”

“Oh, so you are listening,” Sam says, pointed. “I must’ve gotten confused because you’ve been staring at your phone for the last ten minutes. My bad.”

“Ex-fucking-cuse me for worryin’ about my mate,” Bucky grumbles, but he does put his phone away. Then takes it out again, and makes sure the volume is up, before shoving it back into his pocket. “Shut up,” he tells Sam, who, of course, isn’t even nice enough to try and hide the fact that he’s laughing at Bucky.

Sam just sips his coffee, looking amused. Because he’s an asshole.

“Do we need to talk about how you lost your shit when Stevie fell outta that chopper, ‘cause if I remember correctly, you—”

“That was completely different,” Sam insists, glaring. “He had a punctured lung.”

Bucky clucks his tongue dismissively. “It’s Steve. He has a punctured lung, or several broken bones, or a concussion that’d kill a regular human every other week.”

They both pause while they let that sink in. Bucky’s the one who bursts out laughing first, but Sam isn’t far behind, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, what even are our lives these days?”

“Tell me ‘bout it,” Bucky snorts. He grabs another handful of bird food from the bag sitting on the bench between him and Sam, throwing it close to the group of pigeons watching them. “Caw caw.”

Sam cackles. The pigeons keep watching them, slowly inching closer. Before they reach the food, though, Bucky’s phone goes off, and they scatter in a panic, cooing angrily.

“Aw,” Sam says sadly, frowning after them.

Bucky fishes out his phone, heart skipping a beat when he sees that it’s Tony calling. He firmly tells himself to not be ridiculous, takes a slow, steadying breath, and answers, as casually as he can manage, “Heya, sweetheart. What’s up?”

There’s a too long beat of silence, and yep, there’s Bucky’s anxiety again. “Tony? Hey, are you all right, babe?”

“Uhm.” Tony doesn’t sound hurt, at least, but Bucky can immediately tell that something’s wrong by the way he hesitates. Again. “So, uh, no rush, but could you, maybe, come back early? And bring Sam? And have him bring his first aid kit?”

Bucky’s instantly on his feet, impatiently gesturing for Sam to get a move on. “Not gonna lie, you’re scarin’ me here. Are you—”

“Oh, yeah, no. I’m fine. No, really,” Tony says, and Bucky can hear him smile, “I am. It’s nothing bad. I think? I mean, we’ve only ever talked about this in really vague terms, but I don’t think you’re going to hate it. Or, well, I hope you won’t? Great, okay, now I’m starting to freak out, which, wow, so not the reason I should be freaking out right now, but—”

“Tony, hey, breathe.” Bucky listens to Tony inhale shakily, then breathe out again a little more calmly. “That’s it, you’re doin’ so good, you’re doin’ great.”

For some reason, that makes Tony laugh. It’s a little shrill, nearly drowning out his whispered, “Oh my god, you have no idea what you just said.”

Sam, in the meantime, has managed to flag down a cab, waving Bucky over now. Bucky slides into the backseat gratefully. “Tony? We’re on our way, ten more minutes. Are you alone? Is there anyone else home?”

“I, ah. I don’t really want anyone else here?”

“Okay, seriously, what’s happenin’ with—”

“Shit, there’s more? I gotta go—”

“Tony, don’t you dare—”

“Just, get here. Please.”

Bucky pulls the phone away from his ear with shaking fingers after Tony ends the call. He doesn’t notice his prosthetic hand is gripping the door handle tight enough to dent it until Sam discreetly taps his knuckles. “Fuck.”

“JARVIS would’ve alerted the medical staff, or the rest of the team if something bad was happening,” Sam reasons, which does help, if only a little. “Right?”

“Right.” Bucky nods, mostly to himself. “Right.”

He does jump out of the cab before it even comes to a full stop, though, running for the door. He forgoes the elevator in favour of the stairs, startling one of the janitors. “Sorry!” he calls over his shoulder but doesn’t stop until he reaches his and Tony’s floor, at which point he realises he has no idea where Tony even is.

“Jay, where—”

“Sir is in the lagoon, Sergeant Barnes. He requests your presence.”

Bucky races across the living room, into Tony’s office, then through the hidden door into the formerly secret, artificial lagoon area. “Tony? Where are you? Are you—what the fuck?”

Tony, fully shifted and lying on the sandy shore, cringes, curling in on himself, and around the—the egg?

“What the fuck?” Bucky repeats as he slowly inches closer, eyes flitting between Tony’s sheepish face and the—yes, that’s definitely an egg. “Tony, what the fuck?”

“You sound like a broken record.” It’s supposed to sound teasing, joking, but Tony’s obviously nervous, voice shaking ever so slightly.

That’s enough to snap Bucky out of his shock. “No, hey, that’s not—I’m surprised, is all.”

Tony’s shoulders lose some of their tension. He chuckles, hoarse. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

After another moment of open-mouthed staring—this is unusual, even for them, sue him—Bucky shakes himself, and begins to shuck his clothes. He’s shifted when he reaches Tony, and wraps his tail around Tony’s, reassuring, eyes never leaving the egg. He lets his hand hover over it, awed. “Can I—?”

“Go for it.” Tony’s smiling for real, now, eyes warm and soft. Then, smile morphing into a grin, he says, “It’s yours, you know, daddy.”

“Dumbass,” Bucky says absently, preoccupied with—with his kid, hell.

He, very gently, cups a hand over the egg, carefully stroking along its curve with his thumb. It’s surprisingly warm, pulsing a little, and Bucky can’t help but smile, too, finally looking up at Tony. “Babe! We made this!”

Tony preens. “Yeah, we did. Actually—”

“Honestly,” comes Sam’s voice from the door, eyes wide, brows up, “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, here. Congrats, though.”

Bucky beams at him. “Thank you.”

“Maybe you could just,” Tony waves his hand around, “check them? There probably should be heartbeats, right?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. I can certainly try, we’ll just have to—”

“Wait, wait,” Bucky interrupts. “Them?”

Tony lifts his tail, revealing four more eggs. Sam chokes on a laugh. Bucky feels a little faint, all of a sudden.

*

“So,” Sam sums up, half an hour later, “neither of you knew this could happen?”

“Both my parents were human,” Tony says, head on Bucky’s shoulder while Bucky cradles all five—perfectly healthy, as far as Sam can tell—eggs in his lap. “Apparently, everyone thought the Nāga lineage of the family had died out generations ago until I came along.”

“My mother was human,” Bucky explains, “so no egg-laying in my family. My father died early, an’ none of my sister inherited the Nāga genes. Pretty much figured everythin’ out on my own as I went.”

Sam eyeballs him, then glances down at the eggs. “Not everything, it looks like.”

Bucky flicks some sand at him with his tail. “Shut up.”

“Careful,” Tony hisses, reaching for the eggs. “And don’t fight in front of the children.”

“I don’t think they’re far enough along to catch it yet, sweetheart,” Bucky says, amused, but helps Tony transfer two of the eggs into his own lap.

“That’s the thing, though,” Sam says, thoughtful. “We don’t really know, do we? They have heartbeats, yes, they’re all warm, and none of them have any cracks or fissures, but that’s all I can tell you. You sure there’s no one else you could ask, someone who,” he chuckles under his breath, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying, “actually knows anything about the procreation habits of mythical, aquatic snake people?”

“Our kind’s pretty rare these days,” Bucky sighs, running a finger along some of the patterns on one of the eggs. “Didn’t even know there was anyone else before I met Tony. I doubt there’s more.”

Tony coughs awkwardly. “Actually,” he says, “I might’ve had JARVIS call someone already?” When both Bucky and Sam only look at him, expectant, he winces, but goes on, “He’s not one of us, per se, but he’s probably our best option, especially on short notice. He is Atlantean, after all, and we did help him out with those freaky mutant sharks, so he still owes us one—”

“No.” Bucky glowers at Tony, and seriously considers pushing him over into the water, for all the good that would do. “No fuckin’ way, I hate that guy.”

“Bucky, honey—”

“He’s such an asshole, though,” Bucky whines, but he knows Tony’s right.

And Tony knows that Bucky knows, because he looks apologetic as he runs a soothing hand through Bucky’s hair. “You can always mock his clothes, if worst comes to worst.”

“Damn straight,” Bucky mutters. He would’ve done that anyway. “Who runs around in a speedo all day, anyway? Gill-breathing dick.”

*

“Somewhat small,” Namor concludes, peering closely at the egg in his hand. Bucky has to restrain himself from snatching it away. And punching Namor in his dumb, pointy face for good measure. Namor brings the egg up to his ear, listening intently for a couple of moments. “Otherwise in good health. Strong.”

Bucky does grab the egg, then, protectively holding it in the crook of his arm. “Great, thanks, now go away.”

“What’s the incubation time?” Sam asks, the traitor, completely ignoring Bucky. “I’m assuming the environment is suitable, considering Tony built it for himself?”

Namor looks around the lagoon critically. “It will do.”

Bucky bristles. Tony takes his free hand, and squeezes his fingers, before turning to Namor. Excitedly, he asks, “So. How long until they hatch?”

Reluctantly, Bucky hands the egg back over when Namor gestures for it. He examines it again, and Bucky nearly loses his shit when he taps it. Fucking taps it!

Tony elbows him sharply, but he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh when he whispers, “He’s not going to scramble our kid, relax.”

“Just so you know, I’m puttin’ a ban on egg puns right now,” Bucky tells him, entirely serious.

Tony pouts at him. “Spoilsport.”

“My estimation would be twelve to fourteen weeks,” Namor says, drawing their attention again. “Although it is difficult to tell. I have known few of your kind in my time.”

“Okay, wait.” Tony twitches a little, nervously petting the eggs he has cradled in the loop of his tail. “You’re saying we’re going to be parents in, what? Three months? That’s a third of the time I was expecting! We’re not prepared! Why don’t we get nine months?”

Namor looks supremely unimpressed. “You are not human.”

“But!” Tony flails around. “Five?”

“Ah, yes. A small litter,” Namor says, nodding. His lips curl, clearly disapproving. “Not much of a surprise, considering the parentage. An anomaly and a half-breed, I—”

“Oh, you fuckin’ hypocrite!” Bucky explodes. He has the good sense to hand his egg over to Sam before shoving Namor in the chest, hard. It’s satisfying how offended the bastard looks. “Your father was human, in case you conveniently forgot ‘bout that again.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then, Namor sniffs, and turns around, head held high. “It might be best if I take my leave now.”

“Goodbye, your majesty,” Bucky mocks.

“Always a pleasure to see you, buddy,” Tony adds.

Sam, both hands cupped over the egg’s sides, says, “No fighting in front of the children. Come on, guys.”

“Sir,” JARVIS pipes up, timing as uncanny as always. “The Atlantean convoy wishes to know where to leave their gifts.”

Tony perks up at that. “Gifts?”

“Traditional Atlantean children’s clothing—”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Great, tiny speedos.”

“—gems, and approximately fifty kilograms of fresh shrimp.”  

Sam collapses, laughing, and even Bucky has to grin at that. “Such a weirdo.”

Tony shrugs, unconcerned, and suggests, “Paella party?”

Friday (eleven weeks later)

Exhaustion is etched into every line of Tony’s face, and Bucky knows that he himself doesn’t look any better, but he can’t remember ever having been happier in his entire life. He scoots a little closer to Tony, brushing some of the sand off Tony’s stomach. On Tony’s chest, Eloise wiggles, tiny rosebud mouth pursing, before opening in a yawn.

There’s collective cooing from everyone close enough to see.

Tony bends down to drop a kiss on her head, chuckling softly when she happily swishes her tail. “Hey, pretty girl.”

“They’re all pretty,” Steve says decisively. He gently rocks Augustus in his arms, stroking the tip of one finger over the dark red and gold scales on his cheeks. “The prettiest. Yes, you are, so pretty.”

Pepper, sitting with her feet in the water, her own daughter in her lap, looks a little dreamy. “I miss her being that age,” she sighs wistfully, tickling Emma-Grace’s belly.

Clint raises an eyebrow at her. “She’s nine weeks old.”

“Still,” Pepper sniffs. Happy consolingly pats her shoulder.

“You’re all baby crazy,” Clint accuses, as if he hasn’t glared anyone who’s tried to pry Rosalie out of his arms so far into submission.

Bucky shares an amused look with Tony. Not that he blames Clint; they do, indeed, have the best, smartest, prettiest babies. Bucky can say as much, entirely without bias.

There’s a splash from the of the pool, followed by Thor’s booming laugh. He has, thankfully, decided to wade a little deeper into the water, since, apparently, the Æsir aren’t big on bathing attire. And Bucky can do without Tony’s knowing smirks whenever his eyes catch on some of Thor’s ridiculous muscles for a beat too long.

Thor’s smiling hugely down at Victor, big hands helping him float on his back, praising, “Very good,” while Rhodey watches them closely, ready to jump in if necessary.

On one of the towels, Natasha is holding Theodore, not moving a muscle, looking as scared as Bucky’s ever seen her. Bruce and Sam are kneeling next to her, Sam helping her adjust her grip, while Bruce rubs her back reassuringly.

Bucky narrows his eyes at them. “Are they?”

“All Bruce does whenever I bring it up is blush,” Tony says, waggling his eyebrows. “Which I’m assuming is a yes.”

“Go Nat,” Bucky whistles lowly, making Tony laugh, and Eloise fuss unhappily. He quickly scoops her up, apologising, nuzzling her hair, and making shushing noises. “‘M sorry, darlin’, shh. Daddy’s sorry, he didn’t mean it. Everything’s okay, you’re fine, sweet girl.”

Eloise, always the most complacent between the five of them, settles easily when Bucky tucks her against his neck, letting her scent him. She snuffles a little, then seemingly decides that Bucky will do for now, and promptly falls asleep.

Proud, Bucky glances over at Tony, not expecting the soft, open look on his face. “What?”

“I love you,” Tony says, face flushed. “So much.”

Bucky’s answering smile is undoubtedly sappy, but he doesn’t care one bit. “Love you, too,” he says, and leans in for a deep, lingering kiss. “All of you.”

Eloise, of course, chooses that moment to pee all down Bucky’s chest and stomach.

Not that it changes anything.

[it-refused]

Prompt:  I'd love to see you do sickfic between Alphys, Papyrus, and Undyne (combination of shipping and platonic). It doesn't matter who gets sick!

Thank you for the prompt, undertailsoulsex!  I actually kept going a bit past this point and was starting to write about Papyrus going home and starting to get sick, too, but then I realized I was plotting out like an 8-9k fic, whoops.  x.x

Rating: G

Summary: It’s dangerous when Undyne sneezes.

Undyne sneezed and the force of her head moving knocked a hole into the sheetrock of her apartment.

"WOWIE!" Papyrus rushed over.  "IS THIS A NEW TRAINING TECHNIQUE? IMPRESSIVE!"  He copied her, minus the sneeze, and now there were two holes in the wall.  He rocked backward and sat down, hard, on the floor.  "NYEH-HEH HEH!  NEXT TIME, I WILL HIT THE WALL EVEN HARDER!  AND MY HEAD WILL BECOME...STRONGER?"  He looked confused.  "THAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THIS EXERCISE, CORRECT?" He rubbed his skull.

"Yeah, sure!" Undyne was a tiny bit embarrassed, so she decided to just roll with it.  "The next part is where we, uh...go down to the hardware store and grab the stuff we need to fix that, before Alphys gets back!"  She sniffed and wiped her face on the back of her sleeve.

"NO ONE SHOULD UNDERESTIMATE YOUR WISDOM!  WE SHOULD NOT BREAK THINGS UNLESS WE CAN PUT THEM BACK TOGETHER AGAIN."

"Exactly!" She slapped him on the back, and he doubled over, his face knocking onto the floor.  The floor was carpeted, so they didn't have to figure out how to fix that, too.

"PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH ME WITH THE ARM YOU WIPED YOUR NOSE ON," Papyrus said.  

"Sure!  I'll just blow my nose on this big red tissue hanging around your neck!"

Papyrus was on his feet and across the room in impressive time.  She wished she'd gotten out a stopwatch.

Undyne's gills on her sides felt stickier than normal.  Alphys had asked her that morning if she had allergies, and now Undyne was wondering, too.  A cold would be a pain in the ass.  She cleared her throat.  Did it feel a little sore?  NAH!  She had too much stuff to do!

Papyrus drove them to the hardware store and called his brother to ask what they needed to pick up.  Undyne leaned against one of the shelves and rubbed at her eye.  She was suddenly starving.  She wanted to stop at a fast food place and get a few bags of the greasiest food she could find. Maybe she could tell Papyrus she needed to stop there because Alphys was collecting the kids' meal toys.  

She sneezed, again, and knocked half the things off the shelf she was leaning on. Nothing broke, but she and Papyrus hung around trying to help the staff clean up her mess.  She was politely thrown out after another sneezing fit almost broke one of the workers' arms.  

"This is bullshit!" she yelled, outside the building.  Not getting thrown out -- that was pretty reasonable.  Her sneezing was starting to really get to her.  Her gills kept twitching and her eye itched. What was left of her other eye wasn't feeling great, either.  

She sniffed and wiped her nose on the handkerchief Papyrus had lent to her.  It was custom-made, with a photograph of his face printed on it.  She didn't think he had thought through the design, but she was still going to use it.  She'd managed to destroy her own in the last hour.

A strong gust of wind made the trees lining the street bend, and Undyne noticed dust get tossed off and blown through the air.  She shook her fist at it and yelled.  If she did have allergies, pollen was her most likely enemy.  

A human walking past heard her cursing out the trees, and joined in.  "Yeah, fuck you, pollen!" she yelled.  

"You think you're safe because you're too small to punch, but JUST YOU WAIT!" Undyne said.  

A few more people came over, curious.  

"OH!  YOU HAVE BEEN VERY BUSY, UNDYNE!"  Papyrus said, when he left the hardware store.  "THIS IS AN IMPRESSIVE MOB YOU HAVE FORMED IN SUCH A SHORT TIME."

She took a breath to reply, but something caught in her throat, and she coughed.  Papyrus urged her back to his car, and back home, leaving her new friends behind.

"This sucks!" she said, when she could talk again.  

"YOU WERE VERY ANGRY AT THOSE TREES, BUT I AM SURE THEY WILL DECIDE TO LEAVE THEIR OLD WAYS BEHIND THEM," Papyrus said.  "THEY WILL SHED THEIR PAST.  THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS POSITIVE OF THIS."  

"I wish I'd knocked those trees down with my bare fists!"  She said, still angry.  "But then there'd just be more pollen everywhere! People shouldn't have to suffer like this!"  They needed a hero to--

She started to cough, again.  This couldn't be a cold, right?  She hadn't had one of those in years.  She was too tough for colds!  Or, anyway, she'd been really lucky and they sucked.  She'd spent that whole illness alone, only getting up to heat up some water for tea every now and then.  

She remembered Alphys offering to bring her soup, and turning her down.  Undyne hadn't really wanted Alphys to see her with ooze seeping out of her orifices.  She still didn't, but she sure wouldn't mind some of that soup.

"Do you think Alphys will make me something good if I'm really sick?"  Undyne asked.

"WHAT? LIKE...SOME KIND OF GOOD...WHAT?  ROBOT?  OF COURSE!  PERHAPS ONE THAT WILL TEND TO YOUR WHIMS?  OH!  I CAN SEE IT IN YOUR EYES THAT MY FIRST GUESS WAS WRONG!  LET ME PUZZLE IT...OH!  WILL SHE MAKE YOU A GOOD PUZZLE?  I CERTAINLY HOPE SO.  I HAVE IT ON THE HIGHEST AUTHORITY THAT PUZZLING OVER LOVINGLY CRAFTED PUZZLES WHEN YOU ARE ILL KEEPS YOUR MIND SHARP AND HELPS YOU RECOVER FASTER THAN YOU OTHERWISE WOULD."  

"Where'd you hear that?" she asked, curious.  

"FROM THE GREATEST AUTHORITY OF ALL: ME!  PAPYRUS!  A WELL KNOWN AUTHORITY ON BOTH PUZZLES AND HEALTH!"  

"Alphys is really good at making puzzles," Undyne said, rubbing at her eye. "She's such a nerd!"

"WELL, THEY SAY THAT WHEN YOU SOLVE A PUZZLE MADE BY SOMEONE WHO CARES PASSIONATELY ABOUT YOU, THAT PASSION TRANSFERS TO YOU, AND YOU CAN THEN OVERCOME ANY OBSTACLE, PUZZLE AND NON-PUZZLE ALIKE."

"Who's they?" she asked, grinning.

"THEY ARE I! THE GREAT PAPYRUS!"

"Yeah!  My head feels like someone shoved a damp towel in it, so I don't think I get what you just said! But I like the sound of it!"  

"I PROMISE YOU THAT IT SOUNDED JUST AS YOU WOULD EXPECT FROM ME."  

"That cleared it up.  Thanks!  Anyway, I hope Alphys makes me some soup or something," she said.  Alphys had some really fancy expensive ramen she saved for special occasions.  It cost like two bucks. Maybe she would lovingly prepare it for Undyne.  Maybe...she'd wear something cute when she brought it in for her?  ...No, probably not, but...maybe it wouldn't be so bad being sick, this time.

They fixed up the wall and Papyrus made them both lunch.  She sat down on the couch and didn't want to get up again.  Her whole body felt heavy, and the couch was more comfortable than it had been yesterday.  

"Wow, you've really leveled up your cooking skill!" she said, surprised by how good Papyrus' lunch tasted to her.  Maybe she was just very hungry.  

"I AM ALWAYS IMPROVING, WHICH IS SURPRISING TO HEAR FROM SOMEONE WHO WAS ALREADY THE BEST," Papyrus said.

"You can't let any loser catch up with you," Undyne said.

"IT MUST BE DIFFICULT.  BEING CURSED TO ALWAYS BE SECOND BEST.  WHOEVER IS SECOND BEST TO ME, I HOPE THEY NEVER GIVE UP."

Undyne laughed.  She loved Papyrus' enthusiasm.  

"NOW, I KNOW THAT YOU HAVE AN ENORMOUS NUMBER OF IMPORTANT TASKS TODAY, BUT SINCE...YOU KEEP HAVING...SETBACKS...YOU MIGHT HAVE MORE SUCCESS WITH THEM IF YOU WAIT UNTIL TOMORROW TO COMPLETE THEM," Papyrus said, speaking with great care.

"I guess I don't want to have to fix another wall," Undyne said.  It was annoying, but she should probably get her sneezing under control before she destroyed the home she and Alphys shared.  

"MY FATHER TEXTED WHILE I WAS COOKING THIS DELICIOUS MEAL AND INFORMED ME THAT MY BROTHER HAS CONTRACTED SOME VILE ILLNESS.  PERHAPS YOU HAVE THE SAME THING?"  

"Maybe something's going around."  She set her plate down and pulled her legs up on the couch.  Yeah, a nap sounded like a good idea.  

When Undyne woke up, she felt even worse than before her nap.  Papyrus wasn't around, but he had draped a blanket (or, four, actually, when she counted) over her before he left.  He had left a large glass of milk on the table, and her dirty plate from lunch was long gone and probably washed and put away.  The next time anyone said anything bad about Papyrus near her, they were going to learn what the word "pain" meant, on an intimate level.

She got to her feet and brought the milk into the kitchen.  She put it in a saucepan and tried to heat it up on the stove.  She came close to boiling it all away, but at least the small amount she had left wasn't cold.  

Undyne heard the front door rattling in the next room and padded over to the door in bare feet, sipping her hot milk.  

"Oh, dammit!" Metal hit floor.  Alphys had dropped her keys again.  

Undyne opened the door for her.  "Hey, what's going on out here?"

"Just my dumb useless claws being d-dumb and useless again!" Alphys said, bright.  She scooped up her keys and straightened.  "Oh! Undyne!  You look awful!"  She blanched.  "I mean--I mean, you look amazing, but...maybe...not...well?  god, I couldn't have said that any worse, right?"

"If I look like shit, I look like shit," Undyne said.  That meant how she felt matched how she looked.  

"You don't look like--you don't look that bad!  Just...you should be in bed!  I think my, um, hypothesis was wrong.  There were three monsters out at the lab, today!"

"I guess Papyrus' brother is sick, too," Undyne said.  

"I saw Dr. Gaster posting about that online," Alphys said.  She came inside and Undyne closed the door.  Alphys locked it.  She nervously touched Undyne's arm, pushing just a little bit, like she was trying to direct her to their bedroom.  

"I just got up," Undyne admitted.  "Papyrus convinced me to take a nap, and now I feel even more like crap."

"I wonder if we have any medicine left?"  Alphys asked.  

"You were really chugging it," Undyne said, laughing.

"I think there's a little, though."  She started to go and check.  "Oh, uh...what happened to the wall?  Should I ask?"  She laughed, nervous.

The spackle hadn't dried fast enough for them to paint it up like new, yet.  "That was a pretty big sneeze,"  Undyne said.  

"Oh, uh...jeez. Maybe I can reinforce the walls with something?  Later?  Wait, I was getting medicine."  Alphys started to walk again, and then stopped.  "Or...Undyne, what do you want me to do?  I want to help, but the worst I've seen you sick was from, um, a hangover, maybe?"

"Do you remember when I was sick right after we met?  And you said you'd make me soup, but I thought I'd gross you out too much, so I was a coward and didn't let you come by?"

"That's not how I remember it, but...do you want me to make dinner?"  

She didn't sound really into the idea.  "I'm okay, so you don't have to."

"What?  No, I want to help!"  She suddenly stood up as straight as she could. "Sorry I'm so...everywhere.  I really really want to help!  So tell me how?  Or...I can just...guess?  Ok!  I'll start some soup, and then go get your medicine.  If we don't have any, I'll go out and get some after dinner!  So I won't change into my pajamas right away so I won't look like a complete loser when I go to the potion shop later.  Ok.  Ok!  I know what I'm doing!"

"Yeah!  You've got it figured out."

"And...you!" Alphys turned on her.  "G-go to bed!  Put on lots of blankets and stop moving around!"

"You're really taking charge, Alphys," Undyne said.  "I like it!  Sure. I'll go settle in, and you can bring me stuff!"  She kind of liked this.  

"Is that what you usually do, when you're sick?"  Alphys asked.  

"I drink lots of hot tea, turn up the space heater, pile on the blankets, and sweat it out.  The germs come right out of your pores.  Sometimes I'll toss the blankets in the dryer right before I use 'em!"

"And that works?"

"Sure, I guess! It doesn't kill me, anyway," she said, smiling.

"Um, ok.  I'll bring you the space heater later."

Undyne grabbed the extra blankets off the couch and brought them into the bedroom with her.