#but ill keep that for when i have to stay up until midnight for a song again

[spatio-rift]

lawl

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head. (3.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ A/N: Thank you to my numerous beta readers, including but not limited to @the-unforgivenn, @lofaewrites, @lokis-army-77, and @corroded-hellfire, and to @hellfire--cult for the divider. I am forever indebted to y'all.

chapter one: room for one more

It was always the quiet nights, wasn't it? The ones where the only sounds came from cars barreling down Queens Boulevard and splashing through puddles left by an earlier rainstorm, or from the clock ticking on the wall. 

The ones where your mind wandered until you’d thought yourself in circles, overanalyzing every last decision you had ever made.

The ones where you allowed your guard just down enough that the slightest oddity threw you off-balance—something or someone out of place. 

It was during the quiet nights like that night where you should have expected the unexpected, because New York City never stayed still for long. 

The evening’s sluggishness was normal; tourism always slowed in the springtime. The newest shows on Broadway were already months old, not to mention the warmer weather brought both an uptick in crime and pollen count. If out-of-towners were going to schlep to the East Coast, they’d prefer to see the cherry blossoms hours south in Washington, DC than to get mugged on the 1 train. 

Business picked up in the winter months when people flocked from around the world to witness the Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, or Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, even though they were several bus and subway transfers away. Outsiders to the tri-state area struggled to differentiate between boroughs; it was unfortunate for them, but you counted on it to keep business alive. 

The only guests who consistently frequented your family’s motel were junkies looking for a place to shoot up away from the NYPD’s watchful gaze or affair-havers who were considerate enough not to sully their marriage beds—just their vows. You were in no position to judge; their money was what kept the lights on, but it was impossible not to compare your clientele to the suits who stayed at the Marriott down the street. They wouldn‘t even allow homeless folks to sit within twenty-five feet of the building, let alone stay under their roof.

You leaned on the desk, wood grain pinching your elbows. You tapped your pencil against your textbook as you read, its margins cluttered with notes about different types of parent-child attachment styles. 

Sleep prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring the words on the page in front of you. Focus. 

Secure attachment occurs when—no, you’d already read this line. Twice. 

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, gently slapping your cheeks in a futile attempt to stay awake. Taking a full course load instead of your usual part-time was your academic advisor’s ill-conceived idea, bolstered by the prospect of an earlier graduation. In your haste, you’d neglected to consider two important factors: all of your studying now had to be done during your night shifts, and graduating meant telling your parents a truth they were unready to hear. 

They were so proud of the motel, regardless of its reputation. It might as well have been The Plaza from the way your dad boasted about it. The three of you shared an unspoken understanding that you worked the front desk because paying an actual employee would put them under. Maybe if finances weren’t so tight, you could have freely admitted that your future plans didn’t involve taking over the business. 

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your head rested on your book, a small puddle of drool pooling atop Bowlby’s theories. 

Ping ping ping ping!

Time slowly stretched out before you, your conscious brain clawing its way out of its hazy fog. It took a beat for you to recognize that the incessant noise came from someone repeatedly smacking the tiny bell that sat on the desk. 

“Hey, hello?” an impatient voice called out, jolting you from your impromptu nap. You blinked away the residual sleepiness and took in the sight in front of you: a curly-haired man, likely not much older than you were, a cigarette that had been nearly smoked down to the filter tucked between his lips. He had a patched guitar case strapped to his back and clutched a black garbage bag filled with what you hoped was clothing.

“Sorry,” you grumbled, wiping the moisture from your chin. “Need a room?” 

“Mhm.” You could practically hear his eye roll: no, I just stopped by in the middle of the night for a quick chat. Fancy a cup of tea and a scone? 

He plopped the garbage bag on the ground; its soft landing and the way it wrinkled told you that whatever was inside was, thankfully, not a body.

You nodded and turned around to the wall of keys behind you. There was no shortage of rooms; the only occupied one was being rented by Phyllis, a sixty-year-old self-described ‘entertainer of gentleman’ who paid double her bill in exchange for your silence. 

He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the countertop, grinding it into the base for good measure. “How much per night?” he asked, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out a wallet held together with duct tape. 

“Fifteen.”

The man breathed out, his bangs fanning over his forehead. “Jesus.” He fished two twenties and a five from the billfold and placed them in front of you. “This should cover me until Friday, yeah?”

Nodding, you folded the bills and tucked them into the register kept under the desk, only accessible by key because of a series of break-ins during the late ‘70s.

The man lit another cigarette as you pulled out the ledger and a pen. “Name and date here,” you said, pointing to the ‘check in’ column. He took a drag before scrawling his name on the line: Eddie Munson, 5-4-93. 

“All right, you’ll be in…” you scanned the assortment of keys dangling from their hooks. The walls were thin, and this guy seemed decent enough, so you decided to spare him the theatrical sound effects of Phyllis’s room 10 endeavors. “…room 4. Make a right down the hallway, and it’ll be the second door. Can’t miss it if you try.” 

Your attempt at humor fell flat, both of you too exhausted to laugh. You strode past it, clearing your throat as if dispelling the tension. When you placed the key in his calloused palm, you couldn’t help but notice that the base of each fingertip is a half-shade paler than the rest of his skin. 

“Thanks.” Eddie mumbled. He tapped the cigarette above the ashtray, the gray flakes falling into a neat pile. His right bicep flexed underneath his denim jacket as he heaved the garbage bag over his shoulder, careful not to bang it against the guitar. 

He scuttled out of the tiny room masquerading as a lobby, shoulders hunched from the weight of the bag and of the burdens he inevitably carried. No one shows up to a motel in the middle of the night without a story or two. 

After years of greeting guests at the front desk, you liked to think you had a decent read on them. Eddie was quiet, maybe even introspective, but not necessarily shy. He was tired; no, more than that: he was worn down, like so many other people who had come through these doors. 

Most importantly, Eddie didn’t seem like he'd be much trouble. He didn’t stumble in wasted and reeking of booze or fidgeting as he awaited a fix. He wasn’t shouting or poorly concealing a wandering eye or making lewd comments. He’d made pretty much no impression at all besides being a bit gruff, which was just fine with you. Your personality wasn't composed of rainbows and sunshine at this hour either.

You looked at the clock and sighed when it only read 2:17. It’s already tomorrow, you thought grimly. Just under four hours until you could walk ten feet to your room, curl up in your bed, and sleep until it was time for your afternoon class. After years of balancing school and work, you were in the last two weeks of your final semester, and then…what? You casually inform your parents that you were leaving the family business–essentially forcing them to close it–to pursue a career in social work? 

That was sure to go over well.  

To their knowledge, you were studying hotel management and hospitality in order to “improve the business.” That was why they’d relented when you’d asked to start taking classes, switching you over to the night shift to avoid having to hire a new employee.

What they didn’t know is that your school didn’t even offer that as a major. Nor were they aware of the acceptance letter into NYU’s Masters of Social Work program that was stashed inside your dresser drawer, hidden from sight. That was a conversation for another day when you found the strength to face their disappointment.

Chaos waited to strike until the end of your shift. 

Just as you packed your book back into your bag, a familiar, skunky odor wafted past your nostrils. 

Ignore it, you thought. Let it be Dad’s problem when he takes over in five minutes. But if you could smell it, so could any of the cops patrolling the boulevard. One more citation and the motel was in jeopardy of being permanently shut down, and you couldn’t take that risk.

With a frustrated sigh, you yanked open the desk drawer and reached in for a pen, instead pulling out an unopened box of crayons. A twenty-four pack of Crayola—the good kind. You plucked a waxy cornflower blue from its spot and scribbled Be back soon on a Post-It note, sticking it on the front of the desk. Grabbing the pepper spray canister from its spot next to the register, just in case, you started down the hall. Marijuana wasn’t Phyllis’s drug of choice, though it might have been one of her various gentleman suitors’, but the scent was too strong to be coming all the way from room 10.

Maybe this Eddie Munson was trouble, afterall.

You knocked on his door, firmly but without aggression. It certainly wasn’t the first time you interrupted someone’s buzz, and it wouldn’t be the last. You knew better than to go in guns a-blazing; it’s easier to catch flies with sugar than vinegar. 

Eddie opened it after a moment, cracking it halfway and revealing a lit joint pinched between his plush lips. One forearm was perched on the doorframe, showing off faded ink of a litter of flying bats and a dragon-esque creature. He was clad in only navy blue boxer briefs, but his lack of attire was no surprise. Many guests were shameless, not bothering to cover the holes in their Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities and showcasing faded yellow stains on the crotch. What confused you was the elastic waistband proudly proclaiming ‘Calvin Klein’ that cut off the soft hair trailing from his belly button. It seemed absurd that he would have been lugging around any designer clothes in that trash bag, but there was no other possibility. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his curly bangs out of his face. Half-lidded brown eyes scanned your form, trying to determine whether you were a narc or trying to bum some bud off of him. His window was cracked open enough to let in fresh air, which also meant that the acrid smell could easily be let out.

“You can’t smoke that here,” you reported matter-of-factly, just as you had a million times before. When he cocked a challenging brow, you continued. “Cigarettes are fine, but no weed. The police will come after us and you.”

He looked around the room, unbothered, and absentmindedly scratched at his bare chest. A demon’s head was sketched just above a sparse patch of hair. Under different circumstances, or maybe in another life altogether, you would’ve asked him about his tattoos; if they had some philosophical meaning or were the products of spur-of-the-moment decisions. You could have blathered on about the ideas you had for your own future tattoos, if you ever worked up the nerve to actually get one. 

“You mean to tell me that with all of the skeevy shit that goes on around here, the cops are gonna waste their time on a little pot?” He scoffed and took another defiant pull, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling away from you.

I guess chivalry isn’t dead, you mused, stifling an eye roll. “No, but they’re always looking for an excuse to ‘investigate,’’' you threw air-quotes around the last word, “so they can bust us for more serious things, and that is the perfect one.” You gestured to the joint only to be met with an eye roll. “Look, you can either put it out, smoke it somewhere else, or you can leave. Full refund, but you can’t stay here.”

His stare locked onto your steely eyes and clenched jaw, only breaking when you’d straightened your posture to stand your ground. “Whatever,” he huffed, but he snuffed it out. A glimmer of a smile danced on his lips, disappearing nearly as quickly as it arrived. Despite its fleeting nature, it managed to thaw you enough so that your arms weren’t held quite so tight to your body, your expression less rigid. “Just trying to relax and get some sleep, like you were while you were supposed to be ‘working.’” It’s his turn to supply the air-quotes, both in mockery and as a gotcha. A teasing lilt elevated his voice, smoothing out the edge he’d greeted you with earlier. 

“I wasn’t sleeping, just…resting my eyes,” you volleyed back, your smirk betraying any semblance of the tough façade you’d worn. 

Eddie crossed his arms and walked over to the garbage bag of clothes. He rummaged through it for a moment before procuring a pair of gray sweatpants, stepping into them hurriedly as though he just remembered his minimal attire. 

“Maybe if you chose more interesting reading material, you wouldn’t be sl—resting your eyes on the job,” he amended, gesturing to the textbook in your canvas tote bag. “Ever heard of Stephen King?”

“I live in a motel, not under a rock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You live here?”

Shit. That wasn’t information you regularly divulged. Sure, this guy seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Prime example: wearing designer underwear while using a trash bag in lieu of a suitcase. 

It was too late to double back, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. The sole of your sneaker dug into the old carpet. 

Eddie looked like he wanted to say more, lips parted and eyes wide like there was a follow-up question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Before he could ask it, your gaze landed on the clock radio: six AM on the dot. 

“I need to go,” you said hurriedly. Shame at your sudden shyness burned a hole in your belly. Eddie Munson was a guest; for all intents and purposes, he was a total stranger. There was no reason to be intimidated by him. “Good luck falling asleep,” you added with a weak smile. 

The easy banter that had been building between you dissipated in an instant, taking his good mood with it. His goodbye was a sardonic salute, the mattress springs creaking wearily as soon as you closed the door behind you. 

Sure enough, your dad was in the tiny lobby, assessing some peeling wallpaper. “Gotta fix that,” he mumbled to himself, thumbnail picking at it aimlessly. He turned around when he heard the door open and smiled when he saw you. 

“Sorry, I was helping out a guest,” you rushed to explain, hoping he wasn't too anxious to find the desk left unattended. 

The wrinkles in your dad’s forehead became more pronounced. “Is everything alright?” The phrase ‘helping out a guest’ could range from unclogging a toilet to calling the police for a domestic dispute. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reassured him quickly, flashing an exaggerated thumbs-up. “No law enforcement necessary. Didn’t even need to use the pepper spray.” You waved the canister in your palm before placing it back. 

He beamed, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your scalp. “It’s times like this where I just know I’ll be leaving this place in good hands.” 

You swallowed the bile that crept up your throat and feigned a smile when  he pulled you in for a tight hug. The mingled scents of Irish Spring soap and drugstore aftershave tickled your nose, and tears stung along your lash line. 

If only you knew, you thought, giving him one last squeeze before you headed to your room. Disappointed wouldn’t even begin to cover it. 

Your parents would never say the word aloud; they’d look at each other and heave identical weighted sighs. Their lifelong goal of a long-standing family business would vanish in the blink of an eye. Dad would pretend there was a chance that they could afford a new hire, even going so far as to fumble through the years of financial statements before inevitably throwing in the towel; Mom would force a pained smile and hoarsely encourage you to follow your dreams, even at the expense of theirs.

You shook the thought away as you trudged towards your room, sneakered feet like sandbags below you.  Dwelling on this scenario had you teetering on the brink of insanity, so you’d willed yourself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Like the motel’s newest guest and his smile. The way it softened the hard lines on his face, offering you a glimpse of how he wore happiness. Something about it made you want to see him happy again. 

You can’t even figure out how to make yourself happy, you thought, peeling back the starchy sheets and finally crawling into bed, much less a stranger. For all you knew, he was just relaxed because his high was starting to kick in, and not from some warming presence you’d supplied. 

The sun cracked pink through the sky, visible through the paper-thin curtains hanging on the window. You had become accustomed to this backwards routine, able to fall asleep while daylight broke. It took a few extra moments this time; you were anticipating marijuana-tinged fumes to float through the vents when Eddie ignored your instructions. 

It was that flicker of a smile that had you almost certain he would spark up once you’d left. The smile of someone who so naturally flouted authority that he no longer bragged about it. Yet time ticked by without a hint of evidence that he was smoking again. 

Which begged the question: if the smile didn’t signify defiance, what did it mean?

Eddie Munson is definitely trouble, you surmised just before you drifted off, but nothing you can’t handle.

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @chrissymjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @reidsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @bewitchedmunson @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[starry-bi-sky]

Part uh, four? of "Clone Danny"

...taking a risk and @ing @minnesota-fats since they seemed pretty hyped about this au. So i figured they'd want to know when the next part came out.

So where did we leave off? Oh yes... Danny taking the stairs two at a time to book it away from Bruce Wayne before he realized that he and Danny shared the same face.

So safe to say after Danny calls Tucker and they both panic over Bruce's appearance, and he finds himself slinging on his black hoodie and stuffing his pockets with his mask and his jawbreaker gloves before scaling down his second-story window to book it over to Tucker's place.

(you never know when there might be a ghost attack)

It's of no surprise to him when Sam is already there when he arrives at Tucker's, and they all migrate to Tucker's room to come up with a plan of attack. Was Danny gonna tell Bruce Wayne that he was a clone? hell no! He decided to let the man live in ignorant bliss and he is sticking to that decision no matter what anyone says.

Besides, his parents can open that pandora's box, considering they created it.

So their plan of attack? Literally just "avoid Bruce Wayne like the plague until he leaves" which is... a bit difficult right now.

"you could stay at our place until he leaves?" Tucker says

"And what if he stays for a month?" Danny asks, overthinking as he's become prone to do. Ghosts are unpredictable after all. "I cant have a month-long sleepover at your place."

"You could wear a mask?" Sam suggests

and Danny makes a face, "What kid wears a face mask in their own house?"

"You could feign an illness."

...And so on and so forth. They discuss ideas for nearly an hour until Sam leaves and Danny needs to head out as well before his parents discover that he's gone. (he cant exactly tell them he snuck out his window)

(He crawls back through his window only to get the daylights scared out of him by Jazz, sitting on his bed and wanting to talk to him about Bruce Wayne being, apparently, in their living room. Danny kicks her out instead because he already talked about it with Sam and Tucker and doesn't want to talk about it again for tonight)

Skip to later that night when he gets woken up by his ghost sense triggering. He wakes up with a chill and mist breathing out of his mouth, tasting like what freshly fallen snow smells like and ozone. It makes his teeth chatter.

Danny doesn't bother checking the time, and grabs his mask from under his pillow and his knucklebuster gloves. he all but sleeps in his hoodie and padding so all he does left is his boots and vest and thermos.

(He grabs his bat on the way out, and keeps his mask in his pocket until he steps outside)

when he sneaks into the kitchen, halfway through pulling his hair into a ponytail, light draws his eyes and there, up at who-knows-o'clock, is Bruce Wayne on his laptop. In their living room. He looks up at the same time as Danny.

Danny makes direct eye contact with him. Again. But there's no door to slam in his face....and behind Bruce Wayne, standing ominously at the window outside, is fucking Skulker. of course it is.

"...Mister Wayne." He says after a considerable silence where he's not sure if he's staring at Skulker or at Bruce. Skulker just stands. Menacingly. Like he crawled straight out of a horror movie.

Danny's not sure if Wayne's seen him or not.

(Bruce has, indeed, seen him in the reflection of his laptop. And considered investigating the problem just before Danny appeared.)

"...Mister Fenton." Wayne says moments after, sounding pretty calm and uncurious about what he's doing up. "What are you doing up?"

…Nevermind.

"Go…ing on a midnight stroll?" Danny says, he's a terrible liar but people never seem to assume he's off kicking ghost butt.

"With a bat?"

(Note: this is the only time Danny curses the fact that the Fenton Creepstick is painted with glow-in-the-dark-ectoplasm-infused paint. It's saved his butt numerous times in both finding it and smashing it into ghosts' faces. But now its just a hindrance.)

"...We have a ghost problem." Danny says, feeling like he came straight out of a sitcom. "What are you doing up?" Skulker looks like he's getting impatient behind the anti-ghost glass. Danny promptly ignores him.

"Just doing some Wayne Industries work." Bruce says.

And Danny nods thoughtfully. "Cool. Cool... Bye." And he turns and books it out the door.

He just barely has enough time to make it to the street and put on his mask before Skulker damn near takes his head off with his usual proclamation of skinning him. Danny, pointedly, sarcastically signs back his retort until he can get further away from the house.

\\\\\

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

[kamaluhkhan]

maybe it's my fault

pairing: shuri x fem!reader

summary: lately, you've been feeling a ton of pressure, you're way too busy, and you're barely sleeping. life is taking its toll on you, but you drop everything to be with shuri when she needs you most.

warnings: angst! mention of illness and death (t'challa's, mostly). reader has a bit of a saviour complex. lots of plot w/ a little smut ;)

author's note: hi hi it's been too long since i've written a fic, but i just rewatched black panther so i decided to finish one of my drafts. this could be read as a part 3 to my other shuri fics, but it's wayyy more angsty than i usually write. also happy endings.....we don't know her! you've been warned.

you were in the kitchen, chopping up fruit for a smoothie, while sam and bucky were watching the news in the living room. you could only hear muffled sounds from the tv thanks to the lecture you were rewatching through your earphones, hyperfocused on absorbing as much information about genetic coding — the topic of your last exam before spring break — so it was easy to miss sam calling your name until he was practically shouting. you finally removed one earbud.

"yeah?"

“when's the last time you heard from your girlfriend?" 

"i don't know," you answered, still mostly focused on your professor droning on about complex protein structures while you kept cutting up strawberries — and tried to keep your eyes open. you probably hadn't slept in 36 hours. "we've both been busy. why?"

there was no immediate answer, which you didn’t think much of until you looked up and saw what they were watching. in shock, you accidently let the knife slip, and it nicked your thumb instead of the fruit.

"fuck."

blood dripped from your hand, but your eyes stayed glued to the screen.

KING T’CHALLA, RULER OF WAKANDA, DEAD FROM UNKNOWN ILLNESS. COUNTRY IN PERIOD OF MOURNING. 

you could tell from the way bucky and sam were silent that they were also overwhelmed with the news. t’challa was an avenger, a teammate — but he was also a friend. he was compassionate and wise and always made you feel welcomed, even when some of the elders disapproved of shuri dating an outsider. this hurt you, deeply, especially after losing so much of the team in the battle with thanos. but none of that mattered — all you could think about now was shuri….

you instantly pulled out your phone, and tried to call her. 

it’s shuri. i’m probably designing better technology, so i’ll call you back with that. 

you then tried the kimoyo beads on your wrist, but still no answer. 

“i have to go.”

sam nodded. “just let me look after your hand first —”

“i’ll deal with it on the quinjet.” you ran to your room down the hall, and grabbed your overnight bag (thank Gods you hadn’t unpacked yet, even though you’d decided to stay over at Avengers tower this week). “i just finished fixing up the old one, so i’ll take that and you guys can still use the new one for your mission tomorrow. if i leave now, i’ll get to wakanda by morning.” or maybe midnight. or afternoon? there was also a time difference that you couldn’t quite remember. “i’ll call peter on the way, let him know what happened. can you tell the others?” whoever is left, you thought to yourself.

again, sam nodded. bucky mumbled a simple take care as you start to leave for the quinjet.

sam called your name, so you turned around before a few tears could escape. he brought you into a hug. you couldn’t help but stiffen, a reflex because of so many i’m sorry for your loss hugs you’d gotten used to. when sam pulled away, he put his hand on her shoulder, eyes sincere but sad. “it’s gonna be alright, kid.”

you really wanted to believe him.

shuri’s lab was all too familiar to you. there was something perpetually alive about the space: always people talking, inventions being brought to life, loud music blasting. 

but, right now, it was silent. only shuri was there, designing something on the holograms and taking notes. 

you hear her A.I. griot announce that someone had arrived, but shuri doesn't seem to care.

“i told you i did not want to be disturbed,” shuri grumbled.

“he made an exception,” you replied, trying to keep your tone playful.

shuri didn’t say anything and kept working. “did my mother call you?” she finally asked. “i told her not to.”

you moved closer to shuri’s workspace until you were right next to her, leaning backwards against the desk but keeping your eyes on shuri and trying to pull her attention away from whatever she was working on — a suit, you guessed.

“she didn't call me. i came as soon as i heard,” you answered, crossing you arms. “but i did talk to her and she seemed…worried.”

“there’s no need to be,” shuri said. “i’m fine. we had the funeral — it happened, it’s over.”

you uncrossed your arms, sighing deeply. “you know, your brother once told me that in wakandan culture, death isn’t the end. it’s a stepping off point. then, he told me that he believed, even if they’re gone from the physical world, the people we love never leave us. their lives aren’t over if we honor them, keep loving them.”

t'challa's thoughtfulness helped you after losing tony and steve, and it was something you wished you had heard earlier in life. something that gave you hope, made you feel a bit lighter when it felt like the weight of the world was crushing you.

but, hearing this prompted shuri to freeze momentarily, though she couldn’t bring herself to look you in the eye.

"i am not my brother.” she went back to working after that.

for a moment, you simply watched your girlfriend work. shuri’s hair was different — braids gone and shorter than the last time you had seen her. her jawline was also sharper and her eyes a bit more sunken, like she hadn’t slept or eaten in days.

when it became clear that shuri wasn’t going to stop, you turned around and focused your attention to the holograms she was juggling. it wasn’t a panther suit, but what looked like a deconstructed dora milaje armor that shuri was redesigning.

“you want this to fly?” you noted the thrusters placed on the feet of the suit.

shuri glanced at you briefly before enlarging the section in question. “yes.”

you hummed, reaching over to zoom out to a full view of the suit. “if you add small repulsors, the wearer will have more control over how and where they fly.”

 “i was going to add something like that to the back.”

“i’d suggest the shoulders,” you said, tilting your head. “small, triangle shaped — kind of like angel wings. also, if you add reinforced plating to the shoulders and arms, you can redistribute the extra vibranium through the repulsor energy so the wearer can materialize a blade or a laser.”

“brilliant,” shuri mumbled under her breath.

you nudged shuri with your shoulder. “you would have figured it out eventually.”

“i know.” shuri leaned into you, a sign that she was softening. “that’s why it’s brilliant. i wish it'd thought of it sooner." she whispered the last part. there was a faraway sadness to her tone that made your heart ache.

you turned to face shuri, and gently put your hand on her cheek so she met your gaze.

"i think it's a sign that your beautiful brain needs some rest, baby." you knew what shuri was like, and based on your conversation with queen ramonda, shuri had locked herself in the lab for days.

shuri sighed, moving to kiss your palm before realizing the state it was in — freshly wrapped in a thin layer of gauze that you had bled through.

“what happened to your hand?” she questioned urgently.

“oh. nothing serious. just a slip of the knife.”

wordlessly, shuri brought you over to the medical bay and gestured for you to sit down on the table. you did, and shuri settled between your legs, using vibranium to heal your cut.

"shuri," you called after a few moments of silence, leaning your head down slightly to try and catch her eye. "you know i'm here for you, right?"

"i know." she finished cleaning the wound and wrapped your hand in a fresh vibranium-woven bandage. you wanted so badly to do the same — to wrap up shuri's grief, to protect her from pain, to help her heal.

"i mean that you don't have to, i don't know, act like everything is fine. we can talk about what happened — we can talk about t'challa."

"i know," she repeated, eyes finally meeting yours as she rested her hand on your knee. "i just....i can't. it's either i shut myself in the lab for hours or i think about my brother and want to burn the world down. and i can't...." shuri choked back a sob and her grip on your knee tightened.

you brought your hand up to her cheek, gently tracing the dark circles under her eyes with your thumb.

"well, what if we try another option?"

you spent the next few days in wakanda with shuri, ignoring your responsibilities in new york. most of the time was spent lazing around the royal palace, but with you shuri at least got enough sleep and food, even if you barely left her room at first. eventually, the two of you actually ate in the formal dining room. you could have sworn queen ramonda teared up when her daughter showed up again to share a meal since t'challa's passing. queen ramonda gave you a warm smile before the feast was served.

as you were walking back to shuri's room, stomachs full from a delicious dinner, your phone vibrated. you checked to see who it was: peter, texting to remind you of a lab assignment you had slipped your mind.

"oh shit," you groaned.

"what is it?"

"an assignment for my genetics class that i completely forgot about," you explained, rushing to open your laptop, which you'd left on shuri's nightstand after the two of you binged a few episodes of star trek (the original series). "one of our lab partners fucked up the results, so pete and i had to sort things out, but we've both been so busy...."

your phone vibrated once more, this time displaying an incoming call from jimmy neutron, your affectionate contact name for peter parker.

"i should take this."

shuri nodded. "let me help, yeah?"

considering how brilliant shuri was, you offered her your laptop without question. you paced back and forth, talking with peter over whether or not failing this assignment would mean you both failed the class, until shuri's voice cut through your conversation.

"why do you have a file with my brother's dna?"

you know exactly the file she was talking about, and it made you stop in your tracks to face shuri. you thought you were being too careful when you didn't attach his name to the file — but, apparently, you weren't careful enough.

shuri was sitting upright on the bed now, practically glaring at you as she waited for your answer. you tried to ignore your increasing heart-rate.

"pete, i have to go." you could hear him start to protest on the other end of the line, but you quickly ended the call. "well, we keep blood samples from every team member in case something happens."

hopefully your answer satisfied shuri.

it didn't.

"this isn't with your avengers files, though," shuri pointed out. you tried to grab the laptop back from her, but she moved it out of your reach. "and even if it was, you would have noticed something wrong."

"shuri," you warned, finding it harder to not let your voice waver.

"did you know my brother was sick?" her tone was harsher than before.

"shuri —"

"the samples show abnormal cell growth at an earlier stage than when i was working on a cure for him," shuri noted, turning the laptop screen towards you. like you, she must have spent hours looking at t'challa's dna to the point of memorizing its sequence. "so either you didn't notice that something was wrong, and we both know you're too smart enough to miss something that obvious, or — "

"shuri." this time, when you said her name, it was less of a warning and more of a plea. you did not want to go down this road. frankly, you were hoping you never had to.

"you knew my brother was sick and didn't tell me," she finished. shuri handed you the laptop and you closed it slowly, watching as she walked to the other side of the room before facing you again. "tell me that isn't true."

all you could do was bite back tears and hope the floor swallowed you whole. when it didn't, you took a deep breath and stood up.

"i can explain." you approached her, but she took a step away from you and scoffed.

"what's there to explain?"

"just....please." you walked back to the bed and took a seat. "let me explain."

t'challa intercepted you at your favourite coffee shop about four weeks ago.

it was march in new york, so hints of spring were starting to peak through the winter snow. you had back to back classes, but you always had time for a coffee in between.

the cold air hit you as you exited the shop, a drink warming your hand. you noticed him standing there: no dora milaje, no fancy suit, just t'challa. he wore sunglasses and a sleek black trench coat with a purple scarf, his silver necklace peaking out from the collar.

"t'challa?" you called, almost doing a double take. the two of you were friends, sure, and probably future in-laws, but the image of him waiting for you outside a student-run cafe felt too out of the ordinary. "is everything okay?"

he smiled softly, taking off his sunglasses. "of course," he said. then, t'challa did something that surprised you even more: he greeted you with a hug. as he pulled away, he added: "just in town and thought we could catch up. shuri said this was your favourite place for cinnamon lattes."

you shrugged. "my girl knows me well. could we catch up later, though? i have a class in...." you glanced at your phone. "right now, actually." you looked back up at t'challa, and something about how his smile faded away made you feel like this was more important. "you know what, i can get notes later. come on."

t'challa followed you to a bench nearby, scanning the area as you made the short walk. the two of you sat in silence for a few moments before you broke it.

"so, is everything okay?" you asked again, taking a sip of your drink.

"actually, no." he paused, voice low. you waited for him to continue, your heart beating fast as you tried not to expect the worst. "i'm sick, y/n."

"you're sick," you repeated slowly, letting the words sink in. "i'm....i'm sorry." you reached over and squeezed t'challa's hand. he gave you a sad smile in return. that was the thing about t'challa: he was always trying to put on a brave face.

"i need you to help me find a cure."

"of course," you answered instantly. you loved t'challa like he was family; you would do anything for him. but, something felt a bit strange about his request. "why not go to wakanda, though? i mean, i'd be happy to help, but the technology there is way more advanced than anything i could do in new york. shuri's lab has all the resources we would need."

t'challa shifted in his seat, breaking eye contact.

then, it hit you. the impromptu meeting, the uneasiness of t'challa's demeanor, the whispers as he explained the situation.

"she doesn't know, does she?"

t'challa shook his head. "she doesn't even know i'm in new york."

suddenly, you throat tightened and it felt difficult to swallow your coffee.

"am i the only one that knows?"

"you and nakia," he said. "i'd like for it to stay that way."

"but — but it's shuri. you're her brother and — and she can help us find a cure."

"so can you," t'challa countered. compared to your nervous stuttering, he kept his voice clear, measured. "you're studying biochemistry and cellular biology, correct? top of your class? my sister says you are almost as brilliant as her."

"almost," you laughed, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve before returning to your conversation. "t'challa, why not just tell her?"

t'challa reflected before responding, his eyes following a couple holding hand as they walked past you.

"my sister is happy," he finally said, turning to you. "i wish for her to stay like that for as long as possible. i believe this is the only way."

it broke your heart to know that, even as he was suffering, t'challa would do anything to protect shuri. you both knew what shuri was like: she would drop everything, go back to wakanda, spend many sleepless nights trying to solve this problem, to save her brother.

"are you sure?" you practically whispered the question.

"yes. i trust you can take care of this. in fact, i know you can. please, y/n."

his urgent tone, the sincerity in his eyes; t'challa was desperate, you could tell. this wasn't a decision he made lightly, to keep such information from everyone, including shuri. if you were the one he came to for help, help you would.

so, you promised keep his secret, to handle it yourself and carry on as normal. t'challa would return to his normal duties as king for as long as he could hide his illness. but, you set a term as well: if you couldn't find a cure within two weeks, when shuri went back to visit wakanda at the end of the month, t'challa would tell her and let her work to find a cure.

"one more thing," t'challa said after you had discussed your agreement. you were about to part ways, but you turned around when you heard him speak again. "shuri can never know that i came to you first. she's proud, my sister. if she finds out, she'd never forgive either of us."

you nodded firmly, but as t'challa turned to walk away, you called his name once more. you ran towards him and hugged him, tight. it startled him at first, just as you were when he greeted you, but he hugged back.

if you knew that was the last time you'd see him, you'd have held on longer.

over the next week or so, you worked relentlessly. you would've worked at the lab in avengers tower, but you knew you had more privacy at oscorp. occasionally, you went to class or had avengers business to take care of, but otherwise this was your life: rearranging dna sequences, examining blood samples, and mixing chemicals to try and find a cure for t'challa.

you came home one night, after hours in the lab. your only break was a brief stint stopping doc ock from robbing a bank. she'd managed to throw you around pretty hard — sleep deprivation made you an easier target, apparently — leaving you with a nasty bruise on your side. peter arrived to the scene just in time, and suggested the two of you celebrate with sandwiches as delmar's (where spider-man got a discount), but you made up an excuse so that you could return to the lab.

the apartment was dark when you entered, with only the kitchen light on, so you figured you were the only one home. you dragged yourself over to the sink to get a cup of water. you drank it in three gulps, and were reaching for another when you felt someone grab your side.

"fuck!" the cup fell from your grasp as you winced in pain. you turned around, too tired to even wonder if there was an intruder in your home, but met shuri's gaze instead. she was wearing boxer shorts and an oversized i ♡ wakanda shirt she'd gotten for you as a joke.

"shit. sorry." she knelt down to pick up the broken glass. you tried to follow, but winced again at the sharp pain in your side that prevented you from bending over. "don't worry. i've got it," she reassured, standing back up. "you've been busy lately. and pete told me about the fight with doc ock. you should rest."

you ignored her last comment. "i thought you were coming home late tonight."

shuri raised an eyebrow. "i'd say it's well past late." she gestured towards the clock on the stove. it read 2:27 am.

"right." between hours in the lab, with no cure in sight, and being thrown around by a scientist with metal tentacles, you were exhausted. it was the kind of exhaustion that settled into your bones, made everything feel heavier. not to mention the weight of the very big, life changing secret you were keeping from shuri....yeah, you weren't particularly in the mood to chat with your girlfriend in a dimly lit kitchen with broken glass at your feet.

before shuri could ask more about your day, you excused yourself to take a shower. you closed the bathroom door behind you, stripped yourself of your clothes, and hopped in the shower. you stood there for a few seconds, letting the warm water wash over you, until you were startled by the shower curtain opening.

"sithandwa, are you okay?"

"other than the minor heart attack you just gave me, yeah," you huffed.

shuri tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "are you sure?"

"i'm fine," you snapped. noticing how shuri's eyes widened slightly at your outburst, you tried again, your voice softer. "i'm fine."

you lifted your arm to close the shower curtain, but let out a strangled moan when the sharp pain in your side returned. shuri furrowed her brow at your reaction, until her eyes landed on the dark bruise forming under your left ribs. instantly, shuri joined you in the shower, fully clothed.

"you're not fine," shuri decided, placing her hand gently on your skin. "why didn't you go back to the med bay to have this taken care of?"

peter asked you the same thing when you parted ways earlier, but it was easier then to shrug off the severity of your injury. besides, you had to finish up some work at the lab. but here you were in front of shuri, completely exposed, no where to run.

"i...didn't have time. you can scold me later, okay? right now, i just want to relax."

you exhaled as shuri's fingers grazed your skin. with how preoccupied you had been — along with the guilt at hiding t'challa's illness from her — you and shuri hadn't been intimate in what felt like forever. it felt good to be close to her, for her to touch you again.

by then, shuri's clothes were soaked through, the white fabric of her shirt clinging to her skin, transparent enough to reveal her dark nipples underneath. you couldn't help but stare.

"like what you see?" shuri smirked. her fingers started trailing south, reaching your hips.

this made you roll your eyes, and you just had to smile at how cheeky your girlfriend was being.

"you know i do, pretty girl."

"hm. you said you wanted to relax?"

you nodded, and not even a second later shuri had her body pressed against yours. it sent a shiver through you, despite the warm water from the shower. she brought a tattoed hand up to your face, craddling your jaw.

"then relax," shuri whispered. she started placing kisses up your neck, and when she reached just below your ear, she added: "let me take care of you."

shuri gently pushed you against the wall, the ceramic tiles cool on your back. to your annoyance, she took her sweet time leaving kisses down your body.

"shuri," you whined when you felt her teeth graze one nipple while she pinched the other between her fingers.

"what is it, my love?" shuri pulled away from your chest. you knew she loved teasing you - something you mostly loved to hate. sex with shuri sometimes took hours: it was slow, deliberate, accompanied by an orchestra of laughter and moans and pleading (lots of pleading).

this time, though, she didn't even give you time to beg. shuri simply got on her knees in front of you. she briefly ran her tongue through your folds before tilting her head back to meet your gaze. "is this what you wanted?" shuri smirked when you moaned as she slid a finger into your cunt.

the shower went cold by the time you two were done.

you started drying off, carefully as to not further your injury. shuri left to put on fresh, dry clothes, leaving the ones she had soaked through in a wet heap on the floor. you were just slipping on your underwear when shuri returned, catching your eye in the mirror.

"what?" you chuckled at how coy she was being, hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

"i have a surprise for you," shuri sang. she moved from the doorway to standing behind you, the two of you looking at the mirror. "close your eyes." you complied and felt a coolness surround your neck. shuri placed a kiss on your jaw, which made you smile. "open them."

you were met with the sight of yourself, top half completely bare except for a deep purple pendant around your neck.

"do you like it?" shuri gently wrapped her arms around your waist, eyes never leaving your body in the mirror, and you allowed yourself to melt into her. "it reminded me of the sky on our first date, and how beautiful you looked." she reached a hand up to trace the silver chain. "i was thinking i'd remake this with vibranium, maybe make it so the necklace holds your suit like t'challa's. you'll have to wait until i get back to wakanda to make the upgrade, of course."

at the mention of her brother and her home country, you stiffened.

"shuri." you exhaled and you turned to face her. "are you sure that you don't want to go back to wakanda sooner?"

shuri tilted her head. "why would i do that?"

"i don't know. more time with your family...."

"i've spent my whole life with them," shuri countered. "i'm moving to new york so that we can start our life together."

"i didn't ask you to do that — "

"don't push me away, okay?" she interrupted, wrapping her arms around your waist once more as though they would keep you in place forever. "you've been doing that lately, and i know you're busy, we both are. but, life is crazy and scary and unpredictable, and all i know for sure is that i love you. and i need you."

you wished you could return her words, as you have many times before, but the sentiment now felt empty.

it felt wrong for you to let shuri love you passionately, when you were being so careless with her heart.

you tried to shake away that feeling, telling yourself that keeping t'challa's secret was the best situation to keep him healthy and shuri happy - to protect both of them from any pain or suffering.

you told yourself that enough times, you almost believed it was true.

shuri looked at you now, and for the first time, you felt the heat of her anger targeted towards you.

"how long? how long did you know my brother was dying and let me believe everything was okay? how long did you lie to me?"

you took a ragged breath. "two weeks."

"two weeks?" shuri shouted. "i couldn't save him because i didn't have enough time to find a cure. you took that from me."

"i spent that time trying to find a cure, but....but i wanted to protect you, at least for a little while."

"no one asked you to protect me!"

internally, you kept replaying what t'challa had said: he wanted shuri to be happy, yes, but she could never know that he came to you himself and told you he was sick weeks before he told her. you wanted to honor the promise you made him, even as you now felt shuri slipping through your fingers.

you were never a quitter, though. it was your best — and possibly most self-destructive — trait. you tried to approach shuri, to grab her hand, but the second you made contact, she jolted away.

"my brother is dead because of you."

her words felt like a knife. you felt dizzy — there was no way to stop the bleeding, so you sat back down on the bed to ground yourself.

"i....i tried to save him," you defended. "after i first found out, i tried to find a cure myself."

shuri scoffed, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes at you. "you just had to be the hero, didn't you? running around, wanting to save everyone. like you're the only one who can."

"i really tried," you choked. by now, you were holding back tears, feeling your head start to ache. you started massaging you temple to relieve some pressure, but it didn't work.

"and what kind of sick game are you playing, coming here pretending to be supportive? you're just feeling guilty."

guilty was definitely something you felt, but it wasn't why you came here.

you got back up and tried to approach shuri one more time, walking over to her slowly.

"i came here because i love you, shuri." your voice was softer than it had been before. "i loved t'challa, too -"

"don't you dare say his name," she growled, once again moving away from you briskly. "and i don't care if you love me, because i can never look at you the same way. we're done."

hands by your side, staring at shuri from the opposite side of the room, you almost couldn't process what she had said. she repeated her last sentence, this time a bit louder, and you shook your head as though to wake yourself up.

"shuri, please, don't do this. we're both in pain — "

"you have no idea the pain i'm in," shuri interrupted, and you noticed how she choked back a sob. "you can stop trying to be a hero for me. i don't want you. i don't need you." she paused. "not anymore."

to prove her point, shuri finally approached you. she tugged your necklace — the one she had so lovingly given you — hard enough for the clasp to break.

both of you were startled by the severity of her actions, how final it all felt. shuri looked, almost regretfully, at the purple pendant in her hand, but never met your gaze. she then turned away from you, the room settling into an uncomfortable silence as she waited for you to leave.

and you did, a few moments later.

[kyday]

Solace | Kate Bishop

Summary: It's one of those nights again where Kate disappears and doesn't come back until it's early morning. You have finally had enough. warnings: bad writing (sorry not sorry), few swear words. light angst with a happy ending. enjoy!! wordcount: 1200+ ------------------

Katiee 💘: hey love, i know you’re at work right now, but im just telling you that ill be busy the entire day. I have so much to do today so i might not be able to open my phone as often.

You: hi babyyy, its fine. i get it,  just make sure to text me once everything  is over, okay? love you.

Katiee 💘: of course, dont worry. love you too, mwuah! 9:23 am

It was 11:34 pm, the flickering lights of NYC fluttered outside your window, and the constant noise of cars passing by was nothing new. You had been up all night waiting for a reply from your girlfriend, Kate.

Her last reply was in the morning, after that— radio silence. Her silence was unnerving, although you had gotten used to her doing this, it never was this drastic. You kept opening your phone every time it turned on, expecting it was her message, but still; nothing.

You: babyy, are you free noww? if not, i hope you finish up soon. mwuah. 6:02 pm

You:

heyy, i know this is probably just one of your busy days but are you donee? lucky misses you already.  text me when you get this. 7:35 pm 

You:

kate, Im getting worried. you haven't been answering the entire day. is everything fine? please text me once you see this. 9:00 pm

You:

Kate??? Please tell me you’re okay. I'm worried sick. 9:58 pm

You anxiously paced around your bedroom, at the corner of the room Lucky was sleeping on his bed. He was planning on staying up with you but at 10 pm he accidentally fell asleep. You make your way to the dining room, leaving a light on— you’ll wait for Kate here.

You can feel your eyes slowly giving up, trying to keep yourself up— you try to rub your face to stay awake a bit more. 

This hasn’t been the first time Kate has done this. Ever since last year when she hit that large bell tower, she had changed. There were times you often pretended to not know when she had cuts or bruises— she was a bad liar. You can often see her limping or wincing every time she moves.

You never questioned her about it though. You didn't want to overwhelm her especially since her mother got sent to jail for murdering people. But ever since that— it seemed like she was burying herself in her work more and more. The cuts or bruises were more visible, you remember when she didn't come home for a day and she blamed it on her cousin who was in town and wanted some tour around NYC.

Right as you were about to fall asleep, you heard the sound of keys clattering and curses being mumbled as the person entered the front door. You recognized the voice to be Kate. “Fuck, fuck fuck.” 

She stopped in her tracks when she saw you standing in front of the couch. There was a moment of silence between you, “Where the hell have you been?” You questioned in disbelief. She puts down her bow on the nearest table, you watch her intently.

“The company had me go overtime since there were extra projects due. Look, I sorry-” 

She explains but you quickly cut her off. “Oh my god, then why the hell do you bring your fucking bow or why couldn't you even text me once? Do you think I'm stupid Kate?” She sighs, massaging her temple.

“Y/n, let's not do this right now.” She mumbles, giving you a tired look. “I'm tired, we can talk about this in the morning.” You shook your head immediately.

You stepped closer to her. “No, we are talking about this now. Because in the morning you’ll be gone even before I wake up. Goddamit, I'm not oblivious! I know that your work isn't from seven am to eleven fucking pm!” Kate is starting to become more irritated with you, trying to bite her tongue from saying anything.

“What the hell are you hiding from me? I was worried sick, I waited up until what? Eleve-” You look at the clock. 12:10 am. “Its fucking midnight!” Kate knows she deserves this, but she's tired, way too tired to fight right now.

“Who said you had to fucking wait for me?” She replies, stunning you.

You let out a sarcastic laugh, “Oh my god, maybe because I'm your girlfriend, Kate! Have you ever thought of that?”

As the tension in the room thickened, Kate's expression softened, and she let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to worry you," she said, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "I know I've been distant lately, and I haven't been completely honest with you."

You can feel your frustration, but you are also worried. “Then why, Kate? Why do you keep shutting me out? Why are you not telling me the truth?” Kate looks down in guilt, her superhero duties have been such a huge thing for her that she forgot her true priority, you.

“I haven't been honest with you..” She starts off.

“No shit Sherlock.” You mumble, earning a smile from her.

She coughs, “I know this may uh- this may seem unbelievable but I've been working with Hawkeye to bring this organization down.” She stopped to see your reaction, but your face was like stone. “And just— today we were so close to getting them but they got away.” Kate continues, her voice turning into a whisper at the end, you can hear the disappointment in her voice.

“But you didn't have to hide it from me, Kate.” You start, tears welled up in Kate’s eyes.

“I didn't want to make you worry, I'm so sorry.” She whispers.

You walk over to her and wipe her tears. “I'm always worrying about you, you know that. It doesn't matter how crazy your story is. Hell, if you told me you were fighting aliens, I would believe you. Because I trust you, Kate. And I need you to put that same trust in me.” You explain, hugging her.

You can feel her nod against your chest. “No more secrets, okay?” 

“Okay.” She mumbles, latching onto you.

You chuckle, “Come on, we can cuddle in bed.” She protests for a second, saying she wants to lie down on the floor. But you manage to convince her into going to the bedroom for cuddles.

She plops down on the mattress, and you follow behind her. “I'm sorry again, I won't do it again, love.” She looks up at your eyes, you smile at her. 

“It's okay now. Just go to bed, okay?” She nods, and she inches closer to you before pressing her lips onto yours. “Goodnight baby.”

“Goodnight love.” Kate mumbles tiredly, cuddling up to you. And for a moment, the loud cars outside quieted down, and the bright city lights weren't so bright anymore. 

Kate realized that she could only have this comfort with you.

[fruitcoops]

So I just reread the fic about Jules birthday, and I’ve always liked the part where Remus tells Jules that he’ll always be more important than hockey. Could you write a fic about that if you haven’t already? Like Remus leaving in the middle of practice or something like that? Idk it’s up to u:)

Fic O'Ween Day 3: Midnight! Read more amazing works from these prompts at @noots-fic-fests and of course, character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW illness (coughing, mentioned vomiting, fatigue)

Remus leaned against the countertop for support and stared at the floor. “But he’s okay, right?”

“He’s okay,” his mother answered. She sounded beyond exhausted.

Remus nodded and rubbed his fingers under his eye. The night suddenly seemed so much darker. “How’re you and dad? Taking time off?”

“We’re alright.” He knew that low edge to her voice—it was the same one his own took on when he was trying to hide his hurt. Silence fell over the line.

“Mom.”

“Your dad can’t get PTO this week and neither can I.”

She cleared her throat; he closed his eyes. “Can Leanne keep an eye on him?”

“Visiting her daughter in Florida.”

No parents, no neighbors, no way they’re getting a babysitter for a sick kid… “I’ll be on the next flight.”

“Remus, no.”

“There’s nobody else—”

“Honey.” He could see the way her eyebrows drew together in his mind. “Honey, you’re on the road this week.”

“I know.”

“In Montreal.”

“They can handle a couple games without me.”

“You’re practically a rookie, Remus,” his mother insisted. After a pause, she lowered her voice. “You’re not going to damage your career when we can get a babysitter, or—or I can find a couple days off. Hell, your dad’s got a pullout at the office he can rest on.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“Remus John, you have a responsibility to your team.”

“Jules comes first.” If there was one thing Remus would stand by no matter the circumstances, it was his family. The Lions would survive a roadie without him. Jules would never be alone and sick on his watch.

His mother was silent for a long time.

Remus picked at a chip in the granite. “There’s no babysitter that will watch him, is there?”

A sigh traveled down the line. “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby. Give Sirius my best. Sleep well.”

“I will,” he lied. The call went dead and he turned, bracing both hands against cool stone. Sirius’ footsteps were soft, his hand gentle. Remus sniffled. His chest was a vise. “Mom says hi.”

Slow circles pressed between his shoulder blades. “What happened?”

“Jules got the flu, and they can’t get time off work to stay home with him.” Fucking assholes in fucking corporate. Remus swallowed around the clog in his throat. “Sounds like he’s pretty sick.”

“Does he need to go to the hospital?”

Remus shook his head. The hand on his back slid down and wrapped around his side, guiding him to lean on Sirius’ chest. “Do you want me to book your flight while you call Coach?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He didn’t let go. “God, I hate being so far away.”

Sirius’ other arm came around him and held him tight.

--

Remus and his father talked the whole ride home from the airport, and said nothing at all.

The house was just as he left it at Christmas. No snow remained, and little frost—crocuses peeked out of the lawn where the squirrels had snatched and buried them.

Apologies for the late notice, but due to a family emergency, I will be in Wisconsin until the 22nd. Thank you for your understanding.

Rapid responses. Cranky responses. Remus had tried to keep a level head, even through the tremor of his hands on the computer keyboard. The organization wasn’t happy with him, but when were they ever?

It didn’t matter either way. Fine or not, suspension or not, they weren’t going to stop him from making chicken soup and raspberry Emergen-C for his sick little brother. He was damn lucky to have Arthur on his side, easing the retribution from men in offices who had hardly bothered to meet him at the start of the season.

“Your mother’s worried.”

Remus glanced up from his hands. His father was facing forward, brow pinched while he pulled into the driveway. “Yeah.”

The engine turned off with a sputter. “Be gentle, okay?”

“It’s not your fault they wouldn’t give you time—”

“Be gentle.”

Remus bit the inside of his lip and nodded. A goldfish cracker peered out at him from the crevice by the door. This passenger seat always made him feel so small. He slung his backpack out of the seat well and stepped out, letting the crisp air nip his face and bring him back. He needed to come back more. The heartache had lessened, and distance was simply exhausting now. Running fast and far to Gryffindor had seemed so smart before.

The front door still squeaked when he turned the doorknob. Remus was glad for that, at least.

His mother smiled when she saw him. “Hi, baby, how was your flight?”

“Hey, mom.” It was good, he started to say, only to have the words fall from his mind the moment she stepped around the kitchen table and wrapped him in her arms. It’s been a lot I love you I missed you how are you where’s Jules—“Uneventful, thankfully.”

“Good, that’s just the way you want it.” She gave a little sway, one hand cradling the back of his neck. He felt a light pulse of pressure. Her back, ever tense, relaxed slightly. “It’s so good to have you home.”

Remus breathed deep. Lemon-scented cleaning spray and drugstore shampoo, laundry detergent and just-sharpened pencils. He pressed his nose tighter to her shoulder and felt her squeeze him, just a little. “Missed you.”

“Oh, Re,” she sighed. A hand rubbed along his spine for a few hard, grounding, wonderful seconds. Warmth seeped in around his edges. The floor was solid beneath him, the walls sturdy. A kiss found his temple. “Baby, we missed you, too.”

A rattling cough made him wince. “Jeez.”

“I know.” Her face crinkled into a grimace when they separated and she looked back down the hall. “That started up two days ago. Poor thing. Keeps him up at night.”

“Aw.” The cough was followed by a rough throat-clear that made Remus frown. “Fever and everything?”

“102, as of this morning.” Hope ran a palm over his shoulder, the way she tended to right after he came home. Remus tried not to think about that too hard, or else he made himself sad. “You’re sure about this? You could get sick. It’s the middle of the season.”

Remus tried for an encouraging smile. “My immune system’s great, mom. I’m in good shape, I take my multivitamins. Eat my Wheaties, and all that.”

“Hmm.” She scrutinized him for a beat. “You better be.”

“I’m basically indestructible.”

Her laugh bounced off the corners of the house like it always had. “Let’s not get hasty, hon.”

“Mom?”

Remus’ heart sank.

“Dad?” Jules croaked, a little louder. “Did the neighbors come over?”

“Hey, J,” Remus called. The floorboards gave a light groan when he set his bag down at the end of the hall. “It’s me, bud.”

Silence followed. The bathroom nightlight was on, casting the hall in gentle blue. His hand drifted toward the first door on reflex (cool metal knob, lock on the inside, jimmy it three times in the winter when the frame sticks), but he managed to step past it and knock lightly below the ‘J LUPIN. DO NOT ENTER.’ sign scotch-taped to the old wood.

“Jules? I’m opening the door.”

The first thing that hit him was the smell. Stale, sweaty, feverish—Remus did a double-take without meaning to.

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Jules rasped from somewhere to his right. “Hey. Hi, why are you here?”

“You slept too long. It’s June. I’m here for the summer.”

“Hey.”

“You’re sick, dummy.” Remus tried to be subtle about propping the door open wider with a loose hockey glove. “I’m taking care of you.”

With the new, faint light from the hallway, he could see just how terrible Julian looked. His unconvinced squint didn’t help the sallowness of his skin or the heavy bags carved under his eyes. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh, you have a roadie in—” Another hacking cough interrupted him. It shook his tiny frame hard enough to make his knees bend under the covers. Remus’ heart gave an acid lurch.

Agitated heat radiated off him to the point that Remus could feel it when he perched on the edge of the bed. The sheets were a tangled mess; one blanket half-tucked, the other mostly on the floor. “Deep breaths,” he soothed when the coughing turned to a few aggressive sniffles. “Take it easy.”

“Montreal,” Jules finished in a mutter. He wiped his nose on the edge of his baggy t-shirt (almost certainly their father’s, with the way it dwarfed him) and laid back with a long huff. “You got a roadie in Montreal. Dad ‘n me are gonna watch the game.”

“Dad and I.”

“Shhh.”

He smiled to himself and tugged the top blanket down to shimmy the next one into position. “Well, you and I can watch it. How’s that sound?”

“No, you need to play,” Jules groaned, but even that was weak. He curled onto his side and peeked out of his huddle, dull-eyed and flushed. “How come you’re here anyway?”

“Told you. I’m taking care of you.”

“But hockey.”

“But you.”

“But…hockey.”

“But you.” His stomach gave a little pull. “You’re more important than a couple games, bud.”

Jules didn’t look like he believed him. “…okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re R—”

“Don’t you—” Remus bit back his words (and his grin) and whacked lightly at the outline of Jules’ legs under the blankets, coaxing a crunchy sort of laugh from him. “Watch it. I’m in charge of feeding you for the next few days.”

Jules’ giggling trickled out with a last sniff. “Mom and Dad gotta go to work, huh?”

“Yeah.” The wrinkle of his nose was almost certainly reflected on Remus’ face. “But hey, we’ll have fun.”

“Mmm.”

The air shifted, along with his gut. Jules’ breaths were heavier. His eyes, lidded. His forehead was far too hot against the back of Remus’ hand when he checked it. “Tired?”

“Mhmm.”

Wrapping him in a dozen blankets and cuddling him as tight as possible wouldn’t help. Logically, Remus knew that. The temptation was still there. “Too hot?”

“Warm.”

“Want me to take a blanket?”

Jules shook his head. His eyes were closed fully now. “Weight’s nice.”

Every inhale hitched when Remus rested a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling for his pulse. That, at least, was calm. Jules had sweated through the old grey fabric there. He combed a few strands of hair off his burning brow and swallowed around his dry throat. “Want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

“Gonna nap.” Jules’ twitched, as if he was trying to readjust but lacked the energy. “Here when I wake up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be here.”

--

The evening passed without issue. Night rolled in with a gust of wind that hissed across the windowpanes while Remus dried the last of the dishes. Jules had managed to get up and come to the table for dinner, but he had looked even worse in the brighter light and barely ate half a bowl of soup. He could see their mother struggling not to fuss over him, not that Jules had any oomph to give real protest.

What kind of family emergency is this, Lupin?

A family emergency. I can come back the 22nd.

You’re missing two games. Do you understand that? Weasley won’t play you for the third, either.

I understand.

Is this a funeral?

No.

A wedding?

No.

It’s a request for nonvital time off, then. This could very well result in a fine.

I’m aware of that. Time off for a family emergency is covered in my contract. I’m permitted to miss four games.

Are you really going to put in a request for this? For a nonvital midweek trip instead of two NHL games?

That’s precisely what I’m requesting, yes. This is an emergency and therefore it is vital.

Remus had not missed the bureaucracy of the NHL during his time on the ice. There was still administrative irritation, of course, but it had not been nearly long enough since he played email tag with someone determined to make his life harder. ‘Nonvital emergency’. It made him want to laugh and lose it at the same time. What a fucking joke.

A sudden rustle and thud—likely Jules’ elbow hitting the wall between their rooms, ouch—startled him from half-sleep. Clumsy footsteps pattered on the floor; a door creaked and closed, quickly followed by a dry heave. Remus winced in sympathy.

This bedroom felt too small. His feet touched the end of the bed if he stretched out. There were only a few inches’ allowance for his shoulders on either side before he hit a wall or the edge of the mattress. Even his stuff felt smaller, as if the books shrank in his hands and the trophies had been made for someone Jules’ size.

He supposed they had been. Juniors was a world away, these days. He had turned the idea of keeping a potential you-know-what ring here instead of in Gryffindor, but never really committed one way or another. That, too, felt far off. He was stuck in the middle of a spectrum, where nothing felt quite right.

The toilet flushed, but he didn’t hear Jules leave. The low timbre of their father’s voice buzzed in the hall for a second; he didn’t catch Jules’ response. Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed with a huff and stood despite the creaking protests of his knees.

The blue light looked eerie in the cover of real night. He propped Jules’ door open again as he passed. A little ventilation couldn’t hurt. He paused in the doorway of the bathroom and crouched down, lowering himself to the cool linoleum with a soft groan. “Sup?”

“M not gonna throw up again.”

“Okay.” Remus flexed his ankles against the cabinets and tilted his head back. The soft towels buffered him from the wallpaper. Next to him, Jules’ forehead was stubbornly pressed into the crease of his elbow where he rested it on the toilet seat. “Still sick?”

A wordless mumble answered him.

“I’m gonna make chicken and dumplings tomorrow.”

Jules weakly raised his head. “Really?”

“Yup. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch. All that good stuff.”

Quiet fell over them for a long moment. “What are you talking about?”

“What, you don’t want a science lesson?”

“Nerd—”

He knew it was going to happen before Jules’ first jerk forward and caught his side when he wobbled, giving gentle pressure until he was upright. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, I got you.”

“Ugh.”

“I know. You’re doing great, J.” It was over as fast as it started. Jules trembled lightly under his touch, sweaty again, all too warm again. His knuckles stood out in harsh midnight shadows where he gripped the porcelain, thin arms shivering.

Jules sniffled. “I wanna go to bed.”

“I bet.”

“I’m tired.”

“Can you stand up?” It took Jules a moment to even start moving; when he did, it was sluggish and unsteady. Remus hovered his hands close and resisted the urge to scoop him right up. Jules wouldn’t like that. He hated being babied. It was still fucking hard to watch him pull himself to his feet.

A rinse-and-spit and a cool washcloth on the back of his neck made Jules sigh. He leaned right into Remus’ hip, head at the base of his ribs, and staggered along on foal legs while Remus guided him back to bed with a lump in the base of his throat. There was no fuss about being tucked in—he simply sighed again, so content it hurt. Remus smoothed out the hem of the comforter by his neck just one more time, once more, just so he could be sure.

--

Their parents were out by the time Remus woke. He distantly recalled the sound of them leaving, but the plane left him groggy enough not to notice or care. Jules was still snoring loud enough for him to hear it through their shared wall.

Breakfast, then. Something light. Oatmeal or eggs, if he could keep it down. Broth, if not. Remus would have to check the fridge for Gatorade and lemons.

It was strange to be functionally alone in the house. The carpet felt too soft, the curtains too still. A bright pink sticky note was stuck to the table with his name written in big letters at the top. He’d check it later.

Message To: SB <3

Morning :)

Fever’s still going, nasty cough, the works. I’ll keep an eye on him today.

Miss you

He clicked his phone off and set it aside—hopefully, Sirius wouldn’t be awake for some time yet. They didn’t have practice for two more hours in his time zone. He liked to sleep in on days like that. Remus, on the other hand, had work to do.

Quick eggs and bacon for himself took fifteen minutes. He parked himself at his usual seat without really thinking about it, pulling a dish towel and a fork from their drawers with an absent mind. He hadn’t dared to check his email yet and seriously contemplated leaving it alone until he was back in Gryffindor. Time off was time off. Professional hockey wasn’t big on ‘work from home’.

Jules shuffled in half past ten and made a beeline for the couch.

“Good morning.”

A grunt answered.

“Sleep well?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Want oatmeal?”

Jules’ mumble seemed vaguely affirmative. Remus set the kettle on and dug a pot out of the cupboard, then turned to rummage in the pantry. This was setting up to be a silent morning.

Measuring for a sick preteen was almost as strange as picturing his childhood bedroom as a normal size. Remus had only cooked for himself for years, then himself and Sirius, with the occasional potluck dish for a team dinner or holiday party. A single cup of anything was a novelty. “Want sugar?” he checked once the oats and milk were simmering. Jules snuffled in response, dragging one of the knit blankets further over his head. “Lemme check your temperature and then you can tell me, yeah?”

“Mmkay.”

A quick search of the medicine cabinet revealed no thermometer, and the same went for the hall closet. Remus spent a good five minutes riffling through the bathroom drawers and Jules’ desk before he found it propped against the base of his dolphin lamp. It had been left uncapped; gross. He made sure to give it a thorough wash before moving back into the living room.

“Blanket down.”

“No.”

“I can’t see your mouth. C’mon, just for a second.”

“Cold. Bright.”

“Twenty seconds, J. I promise. You can count.”

The blanket lump shifted. “Twenty?”

“Fifteen. Then I’ll bring your oatmeal over and leave you alone.”

A handful of shallow breaths filled the silence before Jules’ forehead poked out, then his glazed eyes, and finally the lower half of his face. Remus grimaced. His nose was red and chapped from tissues, and a faint crack split the side of his lower lip. “Have you been drinking your water?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Jules slurred.

Remus knew he wasn’t getting a better number than yesterday. Not with this vague lucidity, and not when Jules was hardly able to hold a fragment of a conversation. All the same, it made his gut sink when the thermometer beeped.

“Whuzzat?”

“102.5.”

“ ‘S worse?”

“Yep.”

A resigned nod told him Jules expected as much. The blanket swallowed him up again. Remus pulled it down over his feet before heading back to the kitchen.

Three hours passed with all the rush of a snail on codeine. Jules rallied to choke down his oatmeal before going down for a noon nap, let Remus rouse him to gulp down about a gallon of water, and overall remained sedentary while Remus channel-surfed for anything even slightly interesting on daytime TV. They settled on NCIS from one to 2:30, NCIS: Miami from 2:30 to four (with a brief break for sandwiches, or toast, in Jules’ case), and rounded it out with NCIS: LA while Remus tossed some rotisserie chicken and chopped vegetables in a simmering pot of broth.

“Re?”

“Yeah, bud?” Bisquick puffed over the side of the mixing bowl in a soft cloud.

“My stomach hurts.” Jules’ voice wavered. “And my mouth feels weird.”

Fuck. “Bathroom, hustle.”

The glimpse he caught of Jules before he vanished down the hall confirmed it: pallid skin, dilated pupils, sweat gleaming on the back of his neck. Remus rinsed his hands in the sink and dug the box of Pepto Bismol tablets out of his bag, and sent a silent thanks to whatever small mercy it was that left him without a reactive gag reflex.

He spent twenty minutes sitting sideways with water seeping into his pants from the bathmat. “I’m gonna throw up until I die,” Jules whined, pressing his forehead to Remus’ palm.

“You’re not gonna die. Definitely not while I’m here.” He slid his hand around to press against the nape of Jules’ neck and gave a light squeeze. “You’re almost done. Work it out, buddy.”

“Gonna miss the game?”

Despite the sweat, despite the illness, despite it all—Remus smiled. Of course Jules would be thinking about that when he looked like death warmed over. He wouldn’t be a Lupin with anything else on his mind. “We’ve still got half an hour.”

Jules gave a faint push back into his hand. His lower lip wobbled. “I don’t want to miss it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, but it wasn’t even slightly funny. He took a shuddering inhale and sniffled again, harsher. “I don’t want to be sick anymore, I don’t, I’m so done, I don’t like it.”

“Jules…” The redness had flooded his cheeks and ears, inching down his neck with each horribly choked breath. Jules’ eyes were bright, but not like usual. He blinked and a drip tracked down his nose. His exhale wasn’t much of an exhale at all—it wracked him, made him sway. “Oh,” Remus murmured. “Oh, hey, c’mere.”

The edge of thirteen had left Jules gangly, all bones and joints. He still fit just right in the hollow of Remus’ chest and arms. A shivering, overheated mess, but a mess that fit all the same. Fuck it, Remus thought as he tightened his arms around Jules and let him fall apart in the safe dark. He didn’t care if he got sick. This was the most vital emergency he could possibly think of. If the administration had a problem with that, he’d happily turn his gear in before leaving Jules to burn through this alone.

“I’m tired,” Jules whispered through shuddering breaths. “My head hurts ‘n my stomach hurts ‘n everything else, too.”

“I know, bud, you’re being so brave.”

A damp, wounded noise made Remus wince.

“But hey, you haven’t thrown up in, like, five minutes.”

Jules felt around blindly for a tissue and blew his nose several times before answering. “I guess.”

“You ready to get up? Have some dinner and watch the game?”

“Dizzy.”

“Okay.” He pressed the wrinkles out of Jules’ shirt with his palm and felt him go limp. “I brought some super special secret hockey medicine, if that’ll help.”

“…is it Gatorade?”

“No, but we have that, too.” He rattled the box next to Jules’ ear. “Pepto Bismol. My secret weapon.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s the pink sh—stuff.”

“Nice save,” Remus said dryly. “This is the same. It’s easier to keep down, though. And it works faster.”

“Makes my stomach stop hurting?”

“It might help.”

He waited a beat, then two. A clammy palm extended from the tangle of limbs near his middle. He dropped two of the chalky tabs into it and loosened his hold by a degree, enough for Jules to pop them both in his mouth and frown immediately. “Yuck. It’s crunchy.”

“Keep chewing.”

“Why is it coming apart like that?”

“Keep chewing,” Remus repeated through a light laugh. “Doesn’t work if you talk the whole way through.”

Jules tucked his legs closer to himself, pushing him further into Remus’ lap. As horrible as the past twenty minutes had been, he seemed better for it. The fevered sheen to his face wasn’t quite as nuclear. His breathing sounded more even and controlled.

“You finished?”

“Mhmm.”

Jules might have looked better, but Remus didn’t have the energy to fight the coddling urge this time. He slid his free arm across the back of Jules’ knees and hefted him up like a cat gone boneless, and received no protest whatsoever. Instead, Jules curled into him with a long, relieved sigh. Remus’ heart may have shattered a little.

The pregame show was just wrapping up when he set Jules gingerly on the couch and pulled the blanket around him. Half of his waterbottle was gone in a few desperate swallows; Jules wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and all but collapsed onto the throw pillows, a heap of exhaustion. The belltower by the middle school tolled six. His sandy hair was damp at the root when Remus passed a hand through it. They’d fix that eventually. Fluids first (hockey first), then everything else.

New Message From: SB <3

Heading to the rink. Miss you love you : )

Remus smiled down at his phone as he set Jules’ bowl on the coffee table and folded himself into the armchair.

“Tell Sirius I say hi.”

“He’s literally right there,” Remus laughed, gesturing at the TV. “He’s not gonna see it for ages.”

“Still.” Jules poked around with his spoon for a few seconds before attempting a small sip of broth. An approving nod followed. “It’s good.”

“Glad it meets your standards. Eat. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch.”

Jules’ eye roll was weak, but very much present. “I know, I know.”

“You gotta know that stuff.”

“I’m not gonna be a doctor.”

“Yeah, but you’re still gonna be a person.” Remus cut a dumpling in half with the side of his spoon. “If you don’t know how to feed yourself by the time you move out, I’m totally making fun of you.”

“Whatever.”

They both booed when the Habs skated out, and cheered when the Lions appeared soon after. Jules couldn’t muster much more than a rough whisper, but the soup and a bottle of Gatorade seemed to help. Remus made him get up and stretch during the first period intermission (to immense complaints, but eventual acquiescence) before letting him rest while he washed up in the kitchen.

New Message From: SB <3

First period up.

How’s J?

New Message To: SB <3

Haha yeah we’re watching

Temp’s high, still pretty sick. Getting better tho

Made soup

The response was almost immediate. Remus’ heart skipped at the thought of Sirius glued to his phone even after a rough period, just to chat with him.

New Message From: SB <3

Oooo jealous

New Message To: SB <3

Yeah you should be

It’s a real rager up here

Miss you. Go get ‘em.

A simple heart and hockey stick emoji followed. The grey bubble cycled for a moment before disappearing. That would be the midgame meeting. Remus was glad to be home—wouldn’t trade this—but he had to admit the hockey ache was still there. Even easy choices had consequences.

By the time he looked back, Jules was asleep. Remus checked his forehead as delicately as he could and was pleased to find it slightly cooler than that morning, if altogether too warm. The pattern of creaky floorboards laid a map in his bones as he moved through the house: first to open Jules’ window, then to let his blankets air out, and while he was at it, he may as well wash the sheets. The nightstand and bookshelf needed to be wiped down. It wasn’t hard to get that done while the washer rumbled on the other side of the hall. In the meantime, the soup had cooled enough to pack up in Tupperware to stack in the fridge for later. Who knew if Jules would suddenly get his appetite back? The kid was a bear when he was hungry.

He lingered for the end of the second period and swapped the sheets into the dryer at the start of the third with a cookie and a cup of Emergen-C for himself. He damn well better not catch whatever germs Jules had percolated from the hellscape of middle school. Sirius had called him ‘stubbornly healthy’ on too many occasions for it to be disproven. Besides, the administration might actually fire him if he came back from an emergency and was immediately out for three more games.

“Re?”

The sound of a quiet voice took Remus’ off-guard in the last few minutes of the third period. “What’s up?”

Jules shifted around until he could prop his chin on the throw pillow and blink blearily at Remus. “Did we win?”

“Game’s still going. 4-3, Lions.”

“How much time?”

“Just under five.”

Jules attempted a whistle, though it came out as more of a shaky breath. “Almost there.”

“Dad texted. They’ll be home in a few, traffic was rough.”

“Oh, okay.” A small smile lit his face. He burrowed back under the blanket. “That’s good.”

“They’ve been asking about you all day.”

“Did’ja tell them I was fine?”

“Something like that.” Sort of. Maybe. He had been gentle about it, at least. Gory details would only make them panic.

He made sure to poke Jules awake for the last minute of the game before shepherding him down the hall to brush his teeth and shower. It was only 8:30, but Remus felt weary all the way to his core. He made Jules’ bed while the water ran and tried to tuck the sheets in along the wall a little deeper this time, just in case one tried to end up on the floor again. If he had the time, he may as well do it right, pinched fingers notwithstanding.

It was all worth it when Jules trudged back into his bedroom and threw himself into bed, only to gasp aloud. “Aw, man, this is great.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus laughed.

“Oh, wow.” The bumps of Jules’ feet kicked happily under layers of fabric and down. “It’s all warm, and cozy…”

“Get some sleep,” he reminded him, and turned out the big light. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”

He made it halfway across Jules’ carpet.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“You—” The faint outline of Jules’ head was backlit by his lamp. Remus could see the shadows of his hands fidgeting with the top blanket. “Will you…can you tell me about the soup stuff? The proteins and all that.”

Remus hesitated. “For real?”

“Yeah,” Jules said with a surprisingly enthusiastic nod. “It sounds cool.”

“I mean—yeah, sure. Uh…” Jules’ desk chair looked wildly uncomfortable for this time of night, so edge of the bed it was, he supposed. The sheets provided a nice cushion when he sat. “Okay, have you ever heard of macromolecules?”

“That’s a made-up word.”

“It’s what you’re made up of, actually. How about DNA? You know that one?”

--

Lyall opened the front door with a muttered curse for the bitter wind and the worse traffic. It was brutally unfair that the one day he tried to come home early, everything went to hell and kept him an age and a half longer. What kind of karma came after a father trying to get home to his sick kid?

“It’s awfully quiet,” Hope remarked behind him. The door opened at last; warm air rushed over them. “Boys? Are you up?”

The NHL postgame show was playing at a low volume, next to a plate with crumbs on it and a mug so old the pattern had washed off it. One of Hope’s blankets from her knitting phase was haphazardly piled on the couch. The evidence of both of them there, present and accounted for and safe, plucked at his heartstrings. “Why do I feel like this is exactly where they sat for the entire day?”

She shook her head. “Good for them. I’m jealous. Remus? Julian? Are you home?”

Remus’ bedroom door was closed. The bathroom fan was still on, and steam clung to the corners of the mirror next to a still-damp towel. It couldn’t have been long since they went to bed, then. Lyall pushed Julian’s bedroom door open wider and covered his mouth with his palm.

They had nearly rendered each other invisible, save for Remus’ legs stretched over the side of the bed and Julian’s arm resting atop his pile of blankets. Julian’s congested snoring drowned out the heavy, even rhythm of Remus’ breathing. As far as he could tell, only one of them had actually been prepared for bed.

“Oh my goodness,” Hope whispered at his shoulder. Her grin was radiant, even half-covered by her palm. “I don’t want to move them.”

“Re’s going to wake up with one hell of a side cramp if we let him sleep like that.”

“You do it, then.”

“…no.”

Hope scoffed fondly and tossed her hands in the air, then kissed him on the jaw as she stepped deeper into the bedroom. The whole place felt lighter, Lyall noticed. Julian had been holed up in here for two days, refusing to come out for anything but necessities. Whatever Remus had done, it worked wonders.

“Remus,” Hope singsonged in her quietest voice. She shook his shoulder, soft enough that for a moment, Lyall forgot Remus wasn’t a toddler anymore. “Baby, you need to wake up. It’s bedtime.”

“ ‘M asleep,” Remus mumbled without opening his eyes. “In my bed.”

“This isn’t your bed, lovey,” she laughed. “Come on, up you go.”

“Goin’ to sleep, promise.” His eyelashes fluttered, nose crinkling. “Talking ‘bout—‘bout proteins. Jules wanted to know.”

At the head of the bed, Julian didn’t show so much as a hint of waking. Lyall stepped forward and braced his hands under Remus’ arms, then hoisted him into a sitting position as gently as he could manage with the unexpected weight of an athlete to counterbalance him.

Remus jolted, startling into consciousness. “Woah—”

“Shh, shh.” Lyall helped him stand on clumsy legs and guided him to the door with a last playful glance at Hope. “I’ve got you, buddy.”

“Fell asleep.” Remus blinked hard. “Jules’ bed. Wanted me to stay. Time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Oh, god, ‘s early.” A yawn overtook him, spilling more of his weight into Lyall. He didn’t seem to know where his own feet were, but he went easily into the room next door.

“Alright,” Lyall huffed as he helped Remus stumble toward the bed and splay over the mattress. That old thing was definitely too small for him these days. Funny, how times changed so rapidly. That same bed used to make Remus look like nothing more than a pile of sheets. “Brush your teeth?”

A drawn-out snore answered him.

Lyall smiled to himself in the darkness and ruffled the back of Remus’ hair. “Night, Re.”

A single socked foot twitched in response. That was good enough for him.

(Jules’ fever broke the next morning. By the end of the day, he was well enough to go with them to the airport and give Remus the fiercest goodbye hug either of them had experienced, with a pinky-promise that the Lions would win the next game he played.)

[whats-k-popping]

sick han with prompts 1, 31, 81 and caretaker chan?

Remember back in July when I opened requests for this prompt list?? I'm so so sorry it's taken me this long to finish! But I hope this anon is still around! Thanks for requesting it. Despite the long time it took me to finish, I really did enjoy writing for Stray Kids. While I really enjoy them, it's the first time writing them. I hope the characterization is decent.

Pairing: Chan x Han - platonic intentions but read as you want.

Prompts: "You're burning up" || "Hey, are you still with me?" || Holding your hair as you're vomiting into the toilet. You keep apologizing, but seriously I don't mind.

Words: 2197

Warnings: Fever || Emeto || Graphic Descriptions of illness || Slight Angst

Jisung's been staring at the same piece of paper for hours now. He holds his head in his hands as he watches the words blur together, swimming around whatever percentage of his vision hasn't been plagued with floating black spots.

He promised Chan he would finish these lyrics, but he hasn't been struck with a single ounce of inspiration. And he's been re-reading the draft for so long that the words he's already written hardly make sense anymore. As much as it pains him to admit, he's not going to be able to finish it. 

Chan is sitting at his desk, while Jisung's sitting cross-legged on the floor. It's amazing, Jisung thinks, just how focused and dedicated his leader is. It's nearly 2 AM, and they've been holed up in this studio trying to finish this song since 6 PM. Chan hasn't complained once. He hasn't so much as stopped for a bathroom break, still clicking away on his laptop. Meanwhile, Jisung is putting all his energy into making the words on the paper stay still. It's just not fair. 

Eventually, the swirling syllables make his head pound and his stomach roll. He suddenly feels like he's on a boat in the middle of the ocean during a tropical storm. If he so much as glances back at that paper, he's going to lose his dinner. So he pushes the pages aside. 

The rapid fluttering of the paper startles Chan, who turns and looks at the youngest producer for the first time in hours. He looks confused, "You good?" 

Jisung nods, one up and down motion because anymore may make him dizzier than he already is. "I just need a little break. Been staring at the same thing for too long. It's starting to look like gibberish." 

Chan smirks, knowing he's been there before. He glances at the time and is shocked at just how much time has passed. Working until the early hours of the morning is nothing new for him, but usually Jisung calls a quits around midnight. Especially if they have early schedules the next day. 

The leader walks over to the younger member and drapes a blanket over his shoulders, "Take a rest. It might help refresh your mind." 

Jisung only protests for a moment before he rests his head against his folded arms. The blanket brings him a warmth he didn't realize that he was missing,  "Wake me in 30 minutes." He requests before quickly succumbing to the exhaustion. 

30 minutes passes like seconds to Chan, never an expert at keeping time when in the production zone. He falls so deep into the track he's working on that he forgets Jisung is even in the room with him. He's reminded when the young rapper lets out a whine loud enough to break through the leader's headphones.

Chan turns his chair to look at Jisung, who is still curled over the table asleep. Despite the whine that alerted him, he seems rather peaceful. So the leader assumes that it was just Jisung talking in his sleep. He's no stranger to the younger mumbling weird and random things in his sleep. 

He spares a glance at the clock and finds that two hours passed in the blink of an eye. It's after 4 now and Chan thinks maybe it's time the two of them head back to the dorm. Before Jisung wakes up with an awful cramp in his neck and an ache in his lower back. They have dance practice in the afternoon, and Chan knows Minho will not shy away from scolding him if Jisung's not in his best condition. 

Making sure he's triple saved his work, he shuts down his station and slides himself beside the sleeping rapper. As he scoots a little closer, he notices that Jisung's face is glistening with sweat. And his skin is noticeably pale even under the dimmed studio lighting. Weird, he thinks, Jisung seemed fine when they were working earlier. He presses one hand against Jisung's forehead and the other against his own. Jisung's skin is blazing compared to his. 

When Chan pulls his hand away, Jisung subconsciously follows. And when he can't find the cool hand anymore, he blinks himself awake with a quivering pout. His eyes eventually settle on Chan's figure beside him and he whines. "Hyung, where'd the cold go?" He slurs the words together, it's nearly indecipherable. 

Chan quickly realizes what Jisung wants and holds his hand back out for the rapper. Jisung takes the hands and holds it close to his face like a stuffed animal, nuzzling his cheek into the leader's palm. "Feels nice." He mumbles, nearly falling asleep again. "I feel funny," he admits.

"I'd bet you do," Chan uses his other hand to play with the rapper's sweaty strands of hair, "You're burning up." 

Jisung shakes his head, and Chan feels it in both of his hands more than he sees it happening. "No, not that. My tummy." He whines, "my tummy feels funny." 

At that, Chan moves the hand from Jisung's hair and presses it over his stomach area. He finds the rapper's middle swollen. And he can feel the organ gurgling angrily through the fabric of Jisung's shirt. "Oh, Hannie." Chan comforts. "You must've caught some kind of bug. Poor thing." He rubs the younger’s stomach, trying to relieve some of the pressure. 

Jisung leans into the touch longingly, inching himself closer to Chan. "Hyung, ‘m sorry," he whines, "I don't think I can finish the lyrics tonight." The words fall out of Jisung's mouth like an afterthought, a similar slur to his sleep talking voice. 

Chan clicks his tongue. In all honestly, Chan had even forgotten about the lyrics and deadlines and group responsibilities. His sole priority right now is Jisung's health. “Don’t worry about that right now, Sungie.” he reminds in a soft voice as he strokes through Jisung’s sweaty hair. “Let’s just get you back to the dorm.”

What’s usually a simple task seems impossible. Jisung is so out of it, he can’t even force himself to stand on his own. Chan has to pull him up by the armpits. And even once he’s on his feet, Jisung sways a little before his head falls against Chan’s shoulder. “Hey,” he nudges the younger, “Are you still with me?” he panics, thinking Jisung had passed out on him. At this point, he’s thinking of skipping the dorm altogether and going right to the hospital. Jisung’s gotten too sick too quickly. 

When he feels Jisung nod his head against his chest, he relaxes a bit, just relieved that his dongsaeng is still conscious. He does his best to keep Jisung engaged while he thinks up a plan to get them back to the dorm. Walking doesn’t seem like a reliable option. 

While Chan comes to terms with the fact that he’s going to have to carry his sick member home, Jisung pushes Chan away with a force the leader didn’t know he still had. Jisung’s eyes widen and he lets out a wet hiccup. Clamping a hand over his mouth, Jisung runs out of the studio. Chan doesn’t have time to question the newfound burst of energy as he bolts after him. He follows him into the bathroom and into the largest stall at the far end. Jisung doesn’t even try to waste time locking the door. There are no obstacles in Chan’s way, which he greatly appreciates. 

Jisung bends at the waist over the clean bowl, stomach contents immediately slip between his finger tips, staining the seat and the walls. Some droplets splatter on the floor in front of him. He removes his now vomit soaked hand and uses it to grip the side of the bowl, mirroring his other hand. For a second, they are the only thing keeping him from smacking his head against the porcelain. But two hands support him quickly, one on his waist and the other on his shoulder. Jisung doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to resist as they guide him into a kneeling position. It’s probably for the best. His legs have nothing left after his sprint from the studio.

“Okay, okay,” Chan soothes. “I’ve got you.” 

Jisung just shakes his head, tears streaming down his cheeks as he continues to heave into the toilet. He has so many things he wants to say, but he can’t get a syllable out between gags. It’s warm and it burns his throat. The taste left behind just makes him more nauseous. When he sniffles, the sting of vomit burns the back of his nose. It’s a miserable experience. 

Strands of Jisung’s longer hair dangle in front of his face, frequently getting caught up in the sick pouring from his mouth. Chan does his best to pull them back, but every time he thinks he has them all one strand falls loose and dangles around the younger's mouth. It's a never ending cycle of carding and tugging at Jisung's hair. Chan even gets remnants of vomit on his hands in the process. But he manages to hold back the grimaces of disgust to spare Jisung's feelings. 

Jisung momentarily loses his sense of awareness to his surroundings. The only thing he can think about is the eruption of mostly digested food, stomach acid and bile pouring out of him. Every time he thinks it's over, he's starting again before he can even get in a decent breath. After 10 agonizing minutes, Jisung finally catches a break. He's able to take a deep breath that doesn't trigger a wave of nausea and assumes his whole body is empty. There's a hollow feeling in his abdomen and he briefly wonders if he's actually thrown up all of his organs in the midst of it all. 

He's shocked into reality when present company tugs at his hair, jostling his whole head. He's got a headache now, and that didn't help. He looks at the offending individual with as much malice as he can muster. It's a mere 2% intimidating. 

"Do you feel a bit better now that you've gotten it all out?" Chan asks, so gentle and kind and hand still clamped to the back of Jisung's head. He doesn't look mad. 

Jisung can't understand why he isn't. He sniffles, trying to ward off a new wave of tears. He's not sure why he's crying now. Maybe it's shame, or guilt. It could be the headache. It's probably the fever. But there's a lot going on. Jisung is overstimulated by his own emotions. It pours out of him like a fountain. "I'm sorry, hyung!" He whimpers. 

"I'm sorry for being so gross. I didn't mean to. And you had to stay with me." 

"Hannie-" 

"And I missed the toilet a bit. I made a mess here. And some of it got on you. I'm so sorry," 

"Han, it's-" 

"What if you get sick now? How will we get work done?" Jisung's eyes widen, "and I didn't finish the lyrics like I promised. I'm sorry, hyung! I tried. And you couldn't finish your work either. You stopped to take care of me." 

"Han Jisung!" Chan tried a third time in a more demanding tone. It startled the younger rapper, which Chan feels bad about. His dongsaeng needs comfort. Not scoldings. But it did finally got him to stop rambling. He softens his tone quickly. "You don't need to apologize for anything, alright?" He assures. 

Jisung just continues looking at him, still too stunned by his hyung's authoritative tone to react. 

"Everybody gets sick sometimes. It's out of our control. It's my job, as your leader and your hyung to take care of you when you need it. So I need you to let you me. And don't worry about work or the deadlines. I know you're doing your best with the lyrics. And they will still be there when you're feeling ready to finish them. But for now you need to focus on your health and getting better. Do you understand?" Jisung nods. "Good, now. How are you feeling? Any better than earlier?" 

Jisung shakes his head this time. "My tummy feels empty now. But I have a headache, and I'm really really cold." He admits, "Hyung, I just wanna go home." 

"That's my Hannie," Chan smiles, petting the younger man's hair. "Let's get you home. I'll get you two days off schedules so you can rest up. How does that sound?" 

Jisung smiles a bit. Chan thinks it's the smallest smile he's ever seen in his life. "Thank you, hyung" 

"You're welcome Sungie." He helps the younger to stand up and guides him out of the bathroom. He asks Jisung to wait on a hallway bench while he calls Changbin. It's nearly 5 AM now, and the third 3racha member is probably waking up to get ready for his morning workout. Probably the only member ever willingly awake this early, besides the ones who don't sleep.

While they wait for their fellow producer, Jisung bobs in and out of sleep leaning against the bathroom wall. Chan's taken to cleaning the mess that became of the stall without complaint. Because that's just what hyungs do.

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

A/N: The ending feels a little rushed to me. I always feel like I want to keep writing until the sickie feels better, but that would be a super long fic. So I apologize for the abrupt ending.

As always, thanks for reading to the end! I really appreciate each and every one of you who make it this far! Feedback is always appreciated. And please let me know if I missed any tags or TWs. Please call me out for any errors you notice!

[from-izzy]

you: my favourite scene | tbz kim sunwoo

» ​PAIRING: tbz kim sunwoo x fem reader/original female character​ » TROPE/AU​: friends 2 lovers! non-idol au! (high) school au! » GENRE​: fluffy fluff, bit (?) of angst, ​sunwoo is super loving, understanding and patient, hurt and comfort » WORD COUNT: ​5562 » ESTIMATED READING TIME: ~20 mins » WARNINGS (lmk if i missed anything!): heavy mentions of food, disordered eating, brief mentions of abandonment, topics on mental illness (implied depression and anxiety)

this was my first story i ever uploaded on tumblr! this gained 88 notes (8 rbs, 80 likes) and that number is still so massive to me. i remember seeing my very first like notification and i was so surprised that it happened within around 12 hours of when i first uploaded it (pretty sure it was midnight tho so i couldn't be as chaotic as i would have really been)

but here it is again!

def better grammar and punctuation (i seriously dk how i let those mistakes passed when i first uploaded it). i did do some editing, replacing dialogue/thoughts to narrative sentences because i didn't want to necessarily post a story that i wasn't proud of (and also because i wanted to keep my stories similar to the original ones before so...yeah).

please remember that all your struggles are valid and i sincerely hope that the world around you is a place full of love, hope and kindness. never feel inferior with asking for help. i believe that asking for help is one of the bravest things ever.

When your roommate texted Sunwoo as a final choice, the boy didn’t hesitate to rush over despite it being extremely early in the morning. He didn’t spare his friends a response when he logged out of the game and ended the call, sprinting over in his pyjamas and a random jacket from his hanger. He probably woke his sister up but he didn't care about the consequences at the moment.

About a year ago at the classroom, Sunwoo walked back to get his wallet, cursing to himself as he had to line up once more at the back of the line and his stomach was not having it after skipping dinner the night before. He caught your friends sighing and was incredibly frustrated at you for not taking care of your health. Sunwoo knew the situation was serious and was about to leave, holding in his anger until after school, not wanting to disturb Choi Jiyeon, his seatmate and new friend. His worries took over when her cries were louder and he approached the scene.

They were pretty much strangers at this point. School had only started for a month and they only got to know each other then. Sunwoo didn't know what took over him to approach the same group back then.

Jiyeon didn’t expect the sudden appearance of the boy, her eyes crying as she kept on denying her friend’s request to go eat something. Jiyeon loves her friends but unfortunately, they are not too understanding of her situation. So when she craned her head up to silently plead at Sunwoo through her tearful eyes, he made up an excuse as they both left the classroom. That day Jiyeon told him about her struggles and Sunwoo remembered promising to himself that he would research and stay by her side; as a seatmate.

But now the following year, Jiyeon's roommate opened the door for Sunwoo, smiling weakly as she gave an acknowledgment nod to the guest. He knocks on the familiar bedroom door before introducing himself and entering the room.

"Heard from a little birdie that you haven't eaten in a while." This situation isn't new for either of them; heck Sunwoo has seen her tearful eyes, full of tears so many times, yet it still breaks his heart to pieces whenever he gets the news from her close friends or roommates that she hasn't been eating for the past couple of days.

The first time it happened again after the day in the classroom, Sunwoo panicked and had a tunnel view to just get food in her stomach, believing that was the most important thing. He didn’t expect the next episode to occur so early and he has not researched the topic very well at that point. But as time went on, Sunwoo learnt certain signals from her, what she's comfortable with as well as to just provide her comfort in the hard time. 

When Sunwoo opens the door to the bedroom, he sees the fully covered figure under the blanket, gulping his sadness down. It’s the scene that he hates the most: You just lying down, lifelessly in bed, crying and fighting alone. You would never call him no matter how much he’s offered and it made him worry more as time passed. "Jiyeon…it's Sunwoo."

Sunwoo could see that she heard him, shuffling slightly as a reaction, "Sunwoo?" she whispered too gently for him to hear. Unlike his previous visits where she would make the effort to make eye contact with him, Jiyeon kept herself hidden as the past month, she has established her own feelings towards her friend.

Sunwoo nods even though Jiyeon can't see it. The bed sank a bit as he sat on its edge, "Is there anything that you were maybe wanting for the past few days?"

"I don't know…"

Sunwoo's heart clenches at how dry and lifeless her voice is. Before he knew it himself, Sunwoo slowly pulled down the blanket much to Jiyeon's surprise and she sat up to try and get the big fabric over again when Sunwoo pulled her weak body into a hug instead.

"You're so cold…" Sunwoo held onto Jiyeon tighter than ever, arms around her shoulders, resting his face on the crook of her neck.

Jiyeon's breath hitches at his warm breath against such an intimate place, "S-Sunwoo…" that only led him to tighten his grip on her upper body even more.

"Please let me get something for you…" He couldn’t bear seeing her suffering alone like this.

Jiyeon thought long and hard about something that she is able to put into her mouth easily, also thinking about her ability to swallow the food without feeling guilt, "I…guess I want some meat mixed with vegetables…like the ones inside of dumplings…but I don't want the dumpling skins…"

Sunwoo's face visibly lit up at the mention of the food she wanted, nodding excitedly at the request. He pulls away, smiling at Jiyeon and repeats her order once again, "Ok! I'll be back! Just stay here and I'll be rig---"

"No wait, don't go!" Before Sunwoo could fully let go of her hand that he had excitedly shaken earlier on, Jiyeon clasps her tiny hands on one of his hands, pulling him back down to the bed, "I don't want to be alone…"

"Hey, you're going to be fine." Sunwoo's expression softens again when Jiyeon looks up at him desperately and fearfully. With a soft act of comfort, he uses his other free warm hand to caress her cold cheek, "If you want me to stay, I can order delivery. Is that a better plan?"

Jiyeon nods, tears flooding her eyes at the way Sunwoo was so delicate about the whole situation. She slowly crawls over to the edge of the bed with the blanket rolled up on her hands, going closer next to Sunwoo.

The boy just observes her movements until she sits next to him, taking note of her shivering figure and pale face. Carefully taking the material from her hands, Sunwoo stands up and wraps the fabric around her shoulders, tucking the edges in to stop warmth from escaping.

To Sunwoo, Jiyeon looked like an extra adorable burrito and he couldn't help but blush profusely at the endearing sight. He bends down from his standing position, tucking stray hairs behind her ears, "Do you want me to make the call here or outside?"

"Here…" one of her hands escaped from the warm environment, "could you…hold my hand?"

"Of course, I will."

Sunwoo kept his word, giving reassuring squeezes and thumb brushes on her hand during the whole call. He tried his best to keep the food names short and concise, not wanting Jiyeon to be stressed by the whole situation. When the phone hung up, Sunwoo sat down comfortably on the floor in front of her, still holding her hand, "It'll be here soon."

A comfortable silence envelops them both as they stare into each other's eyes attentively. If she didn't read him wrong, Jiyeon could see sparks of life and happiness in him, as well as comfort and warmth in his eyes. The sight made her heart beat faster though she also worried that her crush on Sunwoo made her delusional about something that wasn't there in the first place.

When Jiyeon downcasted her gaze, she missed the way Sunwoo slightly frowned as he pouted a little, "I'm sorry…" She couldn’t finish her sentence verbally but what she wanted to really say was: sorry for wasting your time and money on me when you could be using it for other things. Why couldn’t she say it? It’s not as if Sunwoo would look down on her in any way. He would’ve done so ages ago if that was the case.

But no.

Sunwoo stayed by her with those gorgeous, patient gaze and that smooth, comforting voice. That did scare her because she fell in love with Sunwoo even more and giving her heart to someone else, is a big gamble. With that, she stayed quiet because she had a feeling that if she ever said anything, he would smile awkwardly, tap her shoulder timidly and walk away without another doubt.

"For what?" Sunwoo didn't get an answer when he realised that Jiyeon started crying, her mind filling up with horrible thoughts and ideas, "Jiyeon." He jumps up from his cross-legged position, crashing his body to hers once again, "I have no idea what you're apologising for but you haven't done anything wrong, so don't apologise."

"Sunwoo…I--" She struggled heavily to form any sentence in her head, let alone in real life. Sunwoo hushed her, cradling her face between his palms, "I just can't…"

"Can't what?" Sunwoo whispers back. Even if his tone was stable, his heart started beating fast at the possibilities behind her words. The words would have ranged from the smallest to the biggest of things and Sunwoo didn’t even want to begin to think of the possibilities. While Jiyeon only shakes her head, not answering his question explicitly, he just nods, opting to give her physical comfort like before, "I'm just going to get the food alright? It should be outside the door."

Jiyeon couldn't answer, feeling numb and tired as the tears just kept flowing down. Sunwoo himself was on the verge of tears. He recalls the day when he was late to the first day of last year when the new student became his seatmate for the school year. Sunwoo knew the moment she flashed her smile that his heart would be in deep trouble yet, he still introduced himself with an entrancing smile anyway.

"I'm not going to leave you alone." The said girl widened her eyes when she heard the slight voice crack in his sentence, seeing how tears pooled in his eyes, "I promise you that I won't. I'll be right back."

"Please come back soon." With shaky hands, Jiyeon couldn't help but cradle Sunwoo's cheek, brushing his skin with her thumb delicately.

"Close your eyes and count to forty-five. I'll be back in front of you when you open your eyes." With a nod and her voice starting, Sunwoo dashes for the door before relocating to the kitchen, washing his hands and peeling off the dumpling skins, putting them aside for him to eat later on. Putting the filling back into the container, he sits down on the floor again whilst catching his breath and when Jiyeon opens her eyes, he's surely there with a comforting smile.

Jiyeon wrapped her arms around her body tighter when Sunwoo smiled warmly at her, "You're actually back…" A lone tear fell off as she worried herself over and over again, "You came back…" 

But the thing is, Sunwoo has always come back over and over and over again.

Sunwoo frowns at the comment, feeling his heart clench at the way you were most definitely worn out from your fight. Unlike previous days when she would smile back and thank him, it seemed like there was something definitely on her mind today, "You know I'll always come back for you right?"

"Yeah…" though it felt unsure. Sunwoo wasn't sure what made her so hesitant but he couldn't help the hurt to flash against his eyes as he nodded at her words dejectedly, "I'm going to give the container to you, alright? As always, I'll sit behind you, back to back and just wait for you, okay?"

Her gut swirls with anxiety and suddenly the white, somewhat translucent takeaway container didn’t seem scary to her anymore. But the boy that held onto it while thoughtfully reciting the plan that they have always adhered to? That made her look away.

"Sunwoo, I think you should go this time…" The fear took over her and she blurted the sentence before she even knew it. All the thoughts that freely swarmed in her head suddenly collided against each other and Jiyeon bought her blanket to cover the lower part of her face.

"W-What?" With no clear answer from the girl, Sunwoo's frown deepens and he gulps in nervousness at her words, "How about if I wait outside? Hm? Is that a better plan?"

"O-Outside…?" She recalls a random day after school when they were both playing basketball together.

"Yah Kim Sunwoo!" Jiyeon fell into a fit of giggles when Sunwoo engulfed her back to his chest with his arms around her waist tight, swaying her around to keep her away from the ball, "This is foul play!"

"Whatever you say!" Sunwoo kept her in his hands for a little more, smiling brightly as the basketball bounced further away from them. When their laughs die down (though their smiles haven't), he turns Jiyeon around to face him. He grins, the corner of his lips stretching widely to the sides.

Jiyeon couldn't do the same however, the comments from her friends that she's falling in love with Sunwoo filled her head. She didn’t really know why she kept on brushing it off. Jiyeon always believed that love would come and she would always tell herself to accept the feeling. But when reality strikes, it feels like all the pep talks and preparation vanished without a trace. Nervously with wide eyes, she looked up at the mischievous boy who only looked at her with a fond smile, "Sunwoo." she whispered to him.

"Hm?" For the first time in a while, he lets one of his arms around your waist go, only for it to fix your hair up a little bit, waiting for your response. Sunwoo lets himself bask in the feeling of being close to Jiyeon, loving how physically close they could be without feeling awkward; or at least that’s how it felt to him. Undeniably, Sunwoo knows he has fallen in love with the teenage girl and though the feeling scared him, he allows himself to let go of his fears at least just this once.

"If, just if, one day I told you that I can't hang around you anymore,” Jiyeon finally looks up at his slowly concerned gaze, “what would you do?"

"What would I do?" Sunwoo crashes his eyebrows together in confusion, "Well, I mean I don't need to think about this because it'll never happen though! I'm too awesome for that!" He finishes with his widest, signature grin. 

Jiyeon laughs at the very Sunwoo-like response before continuing, "Just an ‘if’…you never know what could happen in the future."

"Well," Sunwoo didn't even want to think about it; a day where you would push him away indefinitely. He’s definitely thought about it, no doubt. Most of the situation was about how he would confess and it would ruin this friendship that he could never dream of letting go, "it'll depend on the situation but I would wait for you. If it's just during that certain time when you need immediate space, then I would wait outside for you or something. But if it's long term," His hand that was playing with your hair stops, cupping your cheek gently as he looks longingly into your eyes. 

Sunwoo knew at that point that he was indeed very much in love with Choi Jiyeon. Days of questioning have finally brought him this realisation and he smiled radiantly with the thought in his head. Jiyeon gives a confused frown but slowly starts to relax it to a smile when Sunwoo’s thumb caresses your blushed cheek softly. 

Sunwoo enjoyed this moment where it felt like you were the only ones in the world, all the surrounding noises blurred out from your attention. His thumb that rested on your cheek unknowingly moved back and forth as you enjoyed the soothing act.

Sunwoo's action made the world around Jiyeon stop momentarily. With that beautiful, deep, loving gaze, she waited, "If it's long term?"

He sighs out, "Look, I don't even want to think about the long term. But I know, and I know for sure, that I'll wait for you."

"You…will?" Jiyeon breathlessly confirms as Sunwoo nods with a small tiny smile and half-lidded eyes.

"I will. I’ll always wait for you. So don’t worry yourself over such a thought."

"Promise?" Just like little children, Jiyeon holds up her pinky between their faces, waiting for Sunwoo to link them together. 

He chuckles before sealing his words with the old ritual, "Promise."

Jiyeon squirmed at the promise that she practically forced him to make. Yet Sunwoo still kneeled before her with his hands under her smaller fingers and hands. His hands became colder by the second as his grip became just a tiny bit tighter, hopeful for a positive response.

Your response, however, cut his heart like a knife, "I think…you should just go home, Sunwoo…" 

The last class before lunchtime commences with the students waiting and hustling about the room, waiting for the teacher. Jiyeon’s seatmate talked to her friends from the row in front, telling her the menu her mother packed for lunch, and her friend responded with something similar. 

The discomfort grew too familiar for her and Jiyeon wanted nothing but for the seat to swallow her, hoping that something would protect her from hearing such words about the one thing she couldn’t stand the most at the moment. Or she wished that she could run away like she did instantly when morning break started. When the strict teacher finally came, she couldn’t be any happier at how his booming voice made the whole class quiet instantly and Jiyeon gulped down harshly as a thankful tear came out from her.

In the opposite classroom, Sunwoo clenches his phone underneath his table as his bank account balance is shown once more. He stares at the higher number, furrowing his eyebrows at the transaction made into his account. Further information shows that Jiyeon was the one who did the act and he scoffs in confusion and dumbfoundedness, “What the hell is she doing?” 

Sunwoo thought that he knew Jiyeon well: where she would go when she was happy, when she was sad or when she was struggling. But the earlier morning break proved him otherwise as he ran practically through the whole school to find you, both for the relief of seeing you as well as to ask what was in your mind the other night when you said those hurtful words to him. 

Looking to his left, where he could see the girl on the other side through the classroom windows, he sees the tired look on her face and that signature lip bite that she always does when she's in a hard time. The class was about to end in three minutes and Sunwoo was going crazy about how impatient he was to run into the other room. He made sure his headphones were connected to his phone, turning up the volume a little bit to hear that it was connected properly without being caught by the teacher in the act.

When class is dismissed, he bumps and squishes through people from both classes to a desk in the middle of the class. Girls were entranced with his presence and the boys were greeting the social boy. However, Sunwoo had a really small tunnel vision, only running to a downcasted figure that when approached closer, was just her trying to hold in the cries with her hands on her ears to block out the noises.

Sunwoo comes around to the side of the desk, his phone and the neck of his headphones in one hand. Amongst the still bustling area, he’s surprised at how much he can hear Jiyeon's shaking even though it actually was really quiet. That made him realise how tense and angry his facial expression would’ve been, his heart softening when he heard her struggles.

Carefully, Sunwoo stood behind Jiyeon, picked a random song and tucked it away in his pocket. His left-hand wraps around her tense wrist softly, lowering it down to her lap, whispering words of comfort before engulfing her left ear with his headphones. He did the same with the right ear afterwards, carefully observing how her body slowly relaxes at the tune.

Sunwoo thought that he knew Jiyeon well: in this situation, he could relax that he actually did. 

He waits patiently for her to come back to the present, sitting down on the table directly behind hers as he watches the song change from his phone screen for the next fifteen minutes. Sunwoo feels the pain once again: the pain that he couldn’t take away as he could do nothing but wait for her to acknowledge his presence. Upon last night’s events, Sunwoo was contemplating just leaving his phone on her desk and walking away as he didn’t know how glad she would be with him near her. The thought doubled the pain in Sunwoo’s heart and he decided to click the phone to sleep. Before he could put it on Jiyeon’s desk, however, her body visibly relaxed and Sunwoo widened his eyes and froze, knowing that she’s fully calmed down now. 

Jiyeon’s crying eventually ceases, opening her eyes with a final sniff. Usually, when she did let the light back into her eyes, Sunwoo would be in front of her, flashing that beautiful smile of his that she had come to fall in love with. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she didn’t see the usual scene. Her hands come up to both sides of the headphones, pulling them down to rest the headband on her neck shakily. She knew all too well that even when she was crying with her eyes tightly shut, it was Kim Sunwoo. 

It was Kim Sunwoo that came to her rescue and made her feel safe once again.

It was Kim Sunwoo who waited for her to calm down when everyone knew how much he cherished his break time and food.

It was Kim Sunwoo who made her fall in love all over with him once again. 

Jiyeon just stared down at her undecorated nails, pretending to find something interesting about it. In reality, she was just biting her lips, shutting her eyes back and forth in an internal battle to look back at the figure behind her. Her shoulders slumped unconsciously as she recalled her passive actions to Sunwoo the day before, basically kicking him out of her apartment. Jiyeon mulled over her actions the whole night, knowing well that it was so unfair that she pushed Sunwoo out when he most probably rushed over to help.

“Thank you.” Jiyeon says clearly to the person behind her. Sunwoo heard her gratitude clearly, nodding softly still with an incomprehensible face as he just looked at his shoes below him. Noting no response from him, Jiyeon twists her upper body back to see the dejected Sunwoo. Her heart clenches at how he didn’t make the effort to even look up, wishing even more now that he would at least flash her a smile. But that is too much to ask after what happened and Jiyeon knew that, “Sunwoo, I---”

“Why did you send me money?” His tone wasn’t welcoming at all, icy and cold as if he hated the girl. The students that were in the classroom were no more when they heard his tone, quietly packing up and walking away, not wanting to get involved in the drama; though of course, they’ll talk about it outside the classroom.

“I-I just…” Jiyeon stammers, gulping her nerves down. She notices how Sunwoo clenched his fists. The one that held his hand was clenching so hard that his phone was waiting for him to confirm if he wanted to shut the device down, “For delivery last night…”

“You’ve never paid me back. Why now?”

“O-Oh..I can transfer more. I’m sorr---”

Sunwoo scoffs, his whole face grimacing in anger, “That’s not what I meant.” His fiery orbs finally met down with Jiyeon’s red ones, her tears still escaping here and there. All Sunwoo wanted to do at the moment was wipe Jiyeon’s remaining tears, cupping her cheek and pulling her warmth to him. But not now. It’s not the right time, “Jiyeon, I don’t understand why you pushed me away. Of course, if you need space that’s fine. I would always give it to you if you need it, without a doubt or question. In fact, if you need it right now then I’ll leave. But that’s not the only thing you did. You transferred me money and you think that I’m asking for you to pay after all those times?” He stopped for a second, a million sentences running in his head that he rehearsed last night alone in the confused darkness.

“I just…haven’t been able to pay it back.” Jiyeon didn’t know what else to say. She adjusted her position, turning her body so that the left side of her body was facing him, her foot hitting the rear chair leg. Sunwoo didn’t miss how her small fists were now side by side together on her thighs as she stuttered to find some words, “S-So…yeah.”

“Yeah?” After a short time to finally breathe after his long rant, Sunwoo managed to ground himself back, his emotions no longer heated. But now, his heart weighed heavily at everything between him and Jiyeon, “Don’t pay me back.” Sunwoo’s voice wavered, turning his head to the side, trying to control his emotional state, “I did all those things because I care for you, Jiyeon. I care about you so much that it physically hurts me when you’re crying alone, fighting alone like that. You never let anyone in and although I want to say that ‘it’s alright’, I also want to say that it’s not. You have me. Jiyeon, you have me. But you just pushed me away.” 

But it’s hard, isn’t it? To show the side of yourself to someone that you desperately try to hide. It becomes even harder when you try to hide it from someone you like, “I think…” Jiyeon whimpers at the words she’s about to say, contemplating to say it. Is she really going to push him away like this? Will she ever be able to let go of the fact that Sunwoo won’t be her friend anymore? Will she be able to let go of Kim Sunwoo in general? Her heart beats for Sunwoo but her mind is telling her that with all the love Sunwoo receives, why would he ever pick her?

Sunwoo raises himself off the table with the intention of walking away and giving Jiyeon some space. Looking down at the top of Jiyeon’s head, he couldn’t help but blurt out a bit of his feelings, “You don’t know this but I’ve never had a crush on someone before.”

The sudden new topic made Jiyeon lift her head up to face Sunwoo. Unexpectedly to her, Sunwoo was already looking down at her with absolute adoration when he said his words. Jiyeon gasps lightly when Sunwoo starts to lightly tear up, “S-Sunwoo.” Forgetting her earlier thoughts, her body reacted first, standing up to be in front of him, “Hey…why are you crying?” Testing the waters very carefully, Jiyeon slowly raises the back of one of her hands to wipe his cheek.

Sunwoo, of course, lets her do so. He takes notice of her warm hands that completely contrasted yesterday, feeling comforted as he lets out a relieving breath and a small chuckle. Both of her hands were resting on Sunwoo’s cheek so gently, with her thumb wiping motion on his cheek, that he felt like his whole body was being wrapped comfortably by her. He just kept on staring at Jiyeon’s worried expression and the way her lips were throwing out words of comfort, “How am I supposed to ever walk away from you when I’m so in love with you?”

Jiyeon flinches at the sudden confession and before she could back away, Sunwoo quickly places his palms over hers back to his cheeks firmly. His eyes look weak due to his own tiredness from not being able to sleep soundly yet full of strong love for the woman in front of him, “W-What did you just say?”

Exhaling softly at the way Jiyeon looks so unsure, Sunwoo repeats his main point differently, “I’m confessing my feelings for you.” Her once confused parted lips, found each other once again as she searched Sunwoo’s eyes and all over his face for any lies, “I’m not playing with you, Choi Jiyeon. I can see the reluctance in your face.”

“Sunwoo, you have girls lining up for you,” Jiyeon whispers to him, her tone convincing him that something is wrong. “Waiting for you. Girls who are so much easier to be with. Girls that won’t push you away. Girls that won’t make you run out of the house at midnight. Girls that are…not a burden.” In denial, Jiyeon shakes her head, “You don’t lik---”

“Is that what you think you are to me?” Sunwoo counters her calmly, “A burden?”

“I’ve always been a burden all my life. Why do you think my parents left me?” Jiyeon lost all the strength in her arms, and the only thing holding her hands on Sunwoo’s cheek was all his effort, “My grandparents are loving but their lives would’ve been so much easier if I was nev---”

“Mine wouldn’t,” Sunwoo interjected. Whatever it was that she was about to say, it was something to put down her self-worth and he couldn’t handle such things coming out of her. Lowering both of their linked hands, Sunwoo intertwines Jiyeon’s hands with his, “You don’t know how much energy you give me every day. How much motivation you give me throughout the day. How loved and cared for you make me feel.” He shrugs, ignoring the loud beating of his heart, “But now I guess I’m finally telling you.”

The apprehension in Jiyeon’s eyes made Sunwoo comfortingly smile, hoping to ease some of her anxiety. Just like what Jiyeon did towards him earlier, he lets go of one of her hands to rub his thumb on her cheek. It was silent as they were comforting and seemingly communicating with each other through their loving gaze at each other. And so when Jiyeon lets out a small smile, Sunwoo beams brighter than ever, “I like you, Kim Sunwoo.”

“Then date me. Date me and let me love you back.”

Jiyeon blushes at the straightforward statement. Sunwoo flutters his eyes shut as she brushes the hair away from his face, “You won’t regret this?” she breathes the question softly.

Sunwoo shook his head, gently placing his forehead on Jiyeon’s, “Not if you won’t.” He responded in a similar manner. 

“Sunwoo.” Jiyeon turns to her side and glares at her boyfriend who has been staring at her for the last three minutes. Not only did it distract her studies but the way that he looked at her so mesmerisingly made it hard for her to even breathe at this rate, “Stop looking at me.”

Sunwoo kept an innocent smile, pushing his face further forward, pressing a quick peck on her lips, “Why?” He playfully asks.

“You said you were hungry! Go get some food!” Jiyeon pushes Sunwoo away by the shoulder, the male dramatically pushing himself back, “Don’t be dramatic!”

“Fine fine, I’ll go.” Sunwoo drags out the last syllable in the sentence, frowning and slumping on his chair a little bit before standing up with his phone, “Do you…want anything?” Jiyeon could only smile softly as usual, stopping her vigorous typing on her computer at his question.

It’s been more than three years since their relationship started and Sunwoo has been so patient in her journey that every single time he carefully asks the question, Jiyeon could feel her heart melt and fall in love with the boy more and more each time, “Give me a kiss before you go.” She puckered her lips to him, tilting her head up.

Blushing furiously at the unexpected request, Sunwoo buffered before leaning down to hug his lips with her familiar ones. His hand was on Jiyeon’s nape, softly holding her head in this intimate moment. Jiyeon melts even further with his attentive actions, smiling widely in the kiss. Before completely pulling his hand away, Sunwoo brushes her hair out from her forehead to press another kiss. Leaning away to face each other with rosy-tinted cheeks, he asks once again, “Anything else?”

“Make sure you have a safe trip there and back.” Jiyeon presses a kiss on Sunwoo’s cheek before ushering him to go. But he didn’t do anything as he just kept on staring at his girlfriend who reflected the same glimmering look of love in her eyes towards him. Sunwoo’s hand, which still didn’t leave her nape, prevented her from turning away, “ Kim Sunwoo, stop looking at me! I'm not that nice to look at…"

It wasn’t Sunwoo’s plan to stare at Jiyeon for that long. He’s just naturally attracted and so in love with her that he didn’t realise that she was the only thing that he would search for in a whole hall of people, with different colours and different noises. Choi Jiyeon finally let her walls down as they overcame life’s challenges together hand in hand. Kim Sunwoo couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her. "You will always be my favourite scene to look at."

navi/masterlist!!

tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️

[magiarec]

🆘🏠 WE NEED SAFE HOUSING.

We moved across Canada last year to escape severe medical abuse, but our living situation rapidly degraded. Our next door neighbour is a violent racist homophobe who has dedicated the last year of my life to harrassing us. More details will be under the cut. After months of searching we finally found a new apartment an hour away, and can have it any time in the next two weeks as long as we have the money. We do not have that much money. We can cover moving costs, the remainder of rent on our current place, and all our normal medical/etc bills. We've asked family for help and gotten a resounding "bootstraps" from them. Mutual aid is my only hope.

Our triad is LGBT (what, all at once? yes!), severely mentally ill, two of us are disabled, and one of us is latina. I'm currently still trapped waiting on a reply from immigration, legally can't work yet, and I don't feel safe doing sex work here when an arrest could mean deportation.

🌈 ♿ £0/2000

total cost: deposit (600), rent (1200), eating this month (200)

Here’s what we’ve been trying to get away from for a year. TW for racism, homophobia, slurs, child abuse, assault, graphic violent/sexual threats, sexual harrassment, fatphobia, the police having to get involved, and anything else that I can add if you need. I’m going to list these in the order they happened.

• Tried to break into our house during a four hour long extended breakdown. Hammered on the door til it dented. Threatened all of our lives multiple times. This went on until 2am. First police report.

• Spent a week hammering on our door or window and screaming “WAKE UP” at any time between 4-6am if she heard us using the kitchen the night before.

• Followed me up and down the road when I ran errands calling me a disgusting pig, the d slur, and a pedophile. Followed all of us down the road more than once screaming at us for being worthless [d slur]s while she was a mother.

• Told her children I was a pedophile, and that I might kidnap them one day. Loudly. In front of their friends. Described in graphic detail what she assumed I would do to them if I did.

• Waited on our doorstep for me and pulled out a fistful of my hair when I tried to push past her to get inside. I have not left the house alone since. Second police report.

• Multiple months of her waiting until after midnight to begin blasting religious sermons or the same fucking eminem song six times through our conjoining walls.

• Began weighing our fire escape grates down while screaming at us that she’d burn us alive to ready us for hell.

• Waited until I was home alone and then came up to the door and began calmly telling me that she’d, quote, “cut my clit off” before offering to bring her guy friends over to rape me straight.

• Taped naked photos of herself to our bedroom window.

• Brought a fucking ant infestation into the basement apartments we split and tried to punch me in the face when I told the inspector we’d been putting down traps and all of the bugs came from her side of the building.

• Chased my husband down the side of our house, spat on his face, and tried (almost succeeded before we both tackled it shut) to kick the door open. Third police report that they actually bothered to come out for, and the first one where the officer who arrived took the genuine threats and physical assault seriously.

It’s going on trial tomorrow. Our landlord has had months to evict her for the assults, or not paying rent, or the harrassment, or the way she keeps threatening to shoot his family and calling them the N word. He has told her instead that we’re “probably” moving out soon for the past year and she insists she’s staying until that point - a thing we found out this week when confronting him about her still being here. We also found out that his plan to rent us her bigger unit is contingent on us furnishing it and leaving it for two months when his family comes to stay for a wedding in August.

We also also found out that when the baliffs said they can’t evict her until he does [basic legal step that she could contest] [... that he could have done last year] he decided it wasn’t worth it. So he’s going to illegally evict her. By waiting u til she leaves next week, unlocking her unit, loading her belongings into a van, changing the locks, and installing a gate. His plan is to have her arrested for tresspassing when she tries to come back to her house.

This is insane. It is not legal, it’s deeply unethical even if I hate her ass, and there is no way in hell that she will not just blame us for it when it happens. My husband leaves for work at 4am. She knows this. I am dead fucking certain she will attack him or us before the week is out if we remain here. I am terrified and traumatized and need your help. Please, please help.

[your-favorite-roommate]

serial killer slimeriana concept

cw for implied killing and blood

someone is killing the islanders, the federation workers, leaving corpses littering the island. the egg event starts, thereve only been about 2 kills so far, but theyre still wary (is it an animal? another islander? the federation?). mariana and slime are together obviously, mariana is wary of everyone, no way hes taking this stranger into his house, knowing where he lives, what if hes the killer? or what if this egg is a trap? either way, no trust. they take care of juanaflippa for a bit, they hate each other, they love each other, its all good. until slime starts disappearing at night. now mariana doesnt really care what they guy does, he wouldnt have even noticed but he was staying over for the night (for once) and slime must've thought he was asleep, slipping out of bed quietly and grabbing… something, mariana couldnt quite see, slinking out the door and into the night

mariana doesnt really give a shit what his government assigned husband is up to in his free time (though it is a bit weird that its in the middle of the night. whatever, must be a night owl). but he does hear when slime gets home, ever so quietly but inevitably given away by the creaky door that he swore he'd fix. mariana got out of bed to see what was up, walking out of slimes bedroom and coming face to face with the man himself, covered in… something he couldn't quite make out in the dark. slime looked startled, breathing picking up, but he tried to play it off cooly, quickly shoving something behind his back. whatever, let him keep his secrets.

"mariana! i didnt… uh, w-what are you doing up, mi amor?" "you were out for a while. just checking on you" "oh, well, yes. im fine, you can go back to bed, everything is fine." "go shower before you get in bed. whats are you even covered in? looks like… mud, or slime or something" "slime! like my name! yeah, yeah no, its slime. im sorry mi amor" he kisses marianas cheek, a metallic smell filling marianas senses "ill go shower, of course. i was just out fighting slimes"

[missuswalker]

DUDE I requested the volleyball reader one and oh my god I’m so fed it’s so good got me kicking my feet giggling cackling sweating bro (thank u cat emoji anon for requesting a part 2 ily) idk how u have such good brain thoughts to write allat

Would u be opposed to a fic of mysterion x f!reader who’s kinda like spiderman 🤔🤔🤔 omg what if it was similar to miraculous ladybug where they’re friends irl and Kenny’s all flirty then but when they’re in their superhero roles it flips n the reader is the flirty one instead?? And maybe they fight against Leslie or something sending a robot army man idk u can literally write whatever and I’ll eat it up fr fr THANK UUUUU

MEOWWW MEOW MEOW NEVER OPPOSED TO MYSTERION (and ikr, cat emoji anon is so scrumptious 😻) (i love frequent anons, they're like my best pookies) (also i love all of your ideas 🤭🤭)

don't know her // mysterion x fem reader

✮ summary: being the walmart spidergirl of south park has it's perks, especially when you get to hang around mysterion all night (pt two here) ✮ warnings: mentions of blood, kind of short (read a/n)

"Hey, I'll call you back later, sweetheart, I've got some shit to do," Kenny interrupts, giving me a 'bye'. I knew exactly what that shit was too. I've known Kenny for years and I had kind of caught on to the fact that he was Mysterion.

I take this as my opportunity to slip into my suit, pulling my mask over my head as I slide my window open, climbing onto my roof. This was just about my nightly routine at this point. Talking with Kenny on the phone until midnight, then meeting up with him as Seven.

The backstory of the name name originally came from Kenny himself. Well, came from Mysterion. Kenny had no idea that I was Seven. Basically, Mysterion asked for my superhero name, though I didn't exactly have one. After telling him that, he named me after the building we were behind which happened to be a 7-Eleven, and it kind of just stuck.

Walking down the alley Mysterion and I usually met in, I see that he's already there. "Seven, you've gotta stop coming out here, I've told you too many times that it's way too dangerous for a rookie to be out at night."

I put my hands on my hips, looking around. "You say that and then still wait for me at the same spot every night. You'd miss me too much if I stopped showing up," I tease. "Don't flatter yourself. I come here because I know you'll show up and get yourself into trouble. Don't start thinking I have a crush on you or something."

"Then who do you have a crush on? Must be a real treat, huh?" I snort, taking a seat on an empty crate. "I don't see how that's any of your business. It's just a girl from my school anyways, you don't know her," he sighs, kicking at the dirt. "I'm just curious," I defend, throwing my hands up in mock surrender.

I felt a little upset, though, that the girl has a good chance of not being me. "If I tell you about her, will you stop coming out here at night so I don't have to babysit you anymore?" I think for a moment, trying to figure out if I even really wanted to know.

"Sure," I answer, deciding I might as well. He sighs, obviously not thinking I was actually going to agree to it. "Okay, well, uhh... her name is Y/n. I've been friends with her for a really long time, and she's hot. That good enough for you?"

Well, damn.

"Nah, I'm still gonna come out here." Mysterion groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Well, nothing is happening tonight, just go home." I shrug, beginning to walk away. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

"No you won't. You're gonna stay home."

"Keep telling yourself that."

a/n: GUYS IT'S SHORT BECAUSE THERE'S GOING TO BE A PART 2 🤯🤯

you have to remind me, though, bc i'll forget 😻

next one will have the fight scene and seven's mask gets pulled off + romance idk

not proofread (ill do it later i swear)

[xdarkestdesirex]

When Faith Meets Juvenile - Chap 4

This is a Dale Holt x reader story. There's no (y/n) insert. I'm just avoiding the use of the reader's name, and it is female-based. There are hints of physical appearance but nothing in-depth.

This writing contains highly sensitive content like violence, drugs, the use of weapons, abuse, mental illness, hostage situations, talk of suicide, religious abuse, smut, and other mature themes. Reader discretion is advised. MUST BE 18+ TO INTERACT.

I do not allow anyone to copy, alter, or repost my work as their own.

2254-word count

prev

I anxiously sat on my bed, holding my knees to my chest, watching the second hand on my clock go tic’ tic’ tic.’ It was fifteen minutes until midnight, which meant it was fifteen minutes until I was supposed to sneak out of my house. I still can’t believe I told Dale Holt I would do this a few hours ago. Pins and needles were shooting through my body, and my legs were shaking uncontrollably. The only bad thing I’ve done is lie to my parents. Going against them like this created a knot in my stomach, and I was debating not going and just staying home. I know he would be disappointed, but surely he’ll understand. I got up from my bed and started pacing back and forth. Both my parents are sleeping, and their room is on the opposite side of the house from mine. The only person I worry about is my brother, whose room is next door, and he could hear me leave through my window. 

I decided that I couldn’t risk being caught by my brother. He would make things worse for me than they already were, and I couldn’t bear any more of the treatment I’d been getting. I walked over to my desk chair and grabbed my pajamas, which were folded neatly on the seat. I had already dressed for the occasion: a plain black crew neck that was a bit oversized, light denim mom jeans, and a pair of white sneakers. I even had a bag I put together with snacks and a blanket. Now that I think about it, he probably would’ve laughed at me for bringing all these things when sneaking out. My cheeks heated up just thinking about the embarrassment. I was about to take the crew neck off when I heard a weird tapping behind me. It wasn’t loud, but enough to get my attention. I turned around to see a boy’s face peeking through my window. My heart stopped for a moment, and a scream caught in the back of my throat. 

Dale Holt was standing outside my window. 

I ran towards my window and quickly opened it. “Shhhh!” I whispered to him while motioning to my lips for him to be quiet. “W-what are you doing here?” I whispered.

“I was tired of waiting and knew you would chicken out, so I decided to come to you instead.” His signature smirk was plastered on his face. 

“I wasn’t going to chicken out! I was just about to leave!” My voice broke through the whisper I was doing, and I slapped my hand against my mouth. I wanted to prove to him that I wasn’t a chicken. I started pushing on the edges of the screen for my window to try and pop it out as quietly as possible. Dale stood back and watched me with amusement as I struggled. How did I do this that one time I chased after my brother? Maybe it’s because Dale’s deep blue eyes are so focused on me that it’s making me nervous. 

“Let me, Doll,” he said after having had enough enjoyment of watching me fail. He pulled something out of his pocket to pop the screen clean off. I stood there in awe and embarrassment that it was so easy for him. “Are you ready?” he said in a low, husky voice. All I could do was nod my head.

As I went to climb out of the window, I stared back at the bag I had prepared for tonight. I quickly grabbed it, slinging the strap around my neck, and with help from Dale, I was out of the house. He gripped my hand tightly and pulled me with him as he started to run, forcing me to run alongside him. The adrenaline coursing through my veins made it easy to keep up with him. It felt like we were running away together, and slowly, all the anxiety I was feeling only ten minutes ago left my body.

When we reached Dale’s truck, I bent over and tried to catch my breath. Dale leans against the side of his vehicle and folds his arms over his chest. I curse his good physique for not winding him as much as me. After a minute, I regained my breath, stood back up, and stared at the boy before me. The moon glistened off his pale skin, making him look almost angelic. I quickly averted my eyes from him and looked towards the ground. 

“So, Doll, how does it feel to be out after curfew?” His teasing tone drips from his mouth, and I can’t help but scuff in response. 

“Why don’t you ask me again once we’ve been out for a while?”

“You’re right,” he pauses and then asks, “How does it feel to be out after curfew?” He flashes me his annoying grin. I roll my eyes, but a stupid smile still finds its home on my face. 

“Anyways,” I say,  “Where does the ‘oh so famous’ Dale Holt plan to take me.” 

“I don’t know,” He shrugs his shoulders. 

“What?” That was all I could get out. Doesn’t he know where we’re going? I thought he had a place planned when he asked me to sneak out with him.

“I figured we could drive around until we feel like stopping and make a spot to camp out for the night.” He winks at me. Oh my god. What was that for? My whole body is suddenly sweating in the cold air. There’s no way we’re camping somewhere, and does he plan to do something with me? Sneaking out was so stupid of me. Why did I think this would be an average outing with a friend? But then Dale speaks up like he’s reading the thoughts in my mind. “Relax, Doll. I’ll bring you back before anyone notices, and I won’t do anything to you… Unless you want me to.” 

Why did he have to add that last part? Thankfully, it’s dark out, or he might notice how my face turned into a steaming tomato. 

“L-l-lets get going, then.” I rush to the passenger side door and fling myself into the truck before he can say anything else.

Dale gets into the driver’s seat and puts the key into the ignition, causing the truck to roar to life. Once we were out on the desert roads, the brunette male turned the nob to the radio and blasted the music through the speakers. His eyes focused on the road ahead, and mine focused on him. He was carefree, with one arm hanging out the window, wind kissing the tips of his fingers, and the other tapping to the beat of the music while he steered the truck. When the next song came on, Dale turned to me and said it was his favorite. He spun the volume nob in hopes the music would get louder, but it was already up as loud as it could. His other arm returned to the car to clutch the wheel, and Dale began to bang his head along with the beat. Once the lyrics started, he turned to look at me and belted each word at the top of his lungs.

All I could do was stare in awe as he rocked out. A weird feeling washed through my chest as I saw Dale having fun. I couldn’t help but slowly lose myself in the beat and started to bang my head along with his. I didn’t know the lyrics to this song, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have fun. His smile seemed to grow as he watched me let loose. His voice was off-pitch from the singers’, but oddly, it was my favorite tune. I could listen to him scream-sing any day.

We’ve been on the road for about an hour now, and we’ve been blasting music and dancing/singing along to each song. I didn’t know much about what was playing on the station he had on, but I was starting to love the banging of drums, loud guitar, and gritty vocals. At some point, I rolled down my window and stuck my head out, feeling the wind whip at my cheeks. I’m not sure what came over me, but the overwhelming feeling of screaming into the void of darkness got the better of me. So, I gave in to my intrusive thoughts and screamed as loud as I could.

Dale looked at me questioningly, “What was that, Doll?” 

“I couldn’t help myself,” I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks.

Not too long after, Dale turned off onto a dirt road, slowing the truck down once we pulled into a large open field. He threw the vehicle in park, flung the door open, and jumped out. Dale made his way onto the other side and opened the passenger door for me. His soft yet calloused hand grabbed mine, and he helped me hop out of the truck. I didn’t need help; the truck wasn’t tall, but I wouldn’t refuse him. We walked a few feet from the car, and I pulled the blanket out of my bag and laid it down on the ground. Dale plopped his body on the blanket and stared at the sky. I followed his moves and laid down next to the male, making sure to keep a few inches between the two of us. The sky was beautiful. So many stars were visible tonight, and I was trying my best to find all the constellations I could. I looked towards Dale, who was lying there with his eyes closed. His face was soft, and he looked so peaceful. 

“Are you sleeping?” I ask the brunette male.

“Just resting my eyes,” Dale spoke quietly.

“Mmhm,” I playfully nudged his side. 

Dale propped himself up to face me, causing him to hover slightly over my body. “Not sleeping, Doll.” And thankfully, he laid back down, or else he’d noticed the heat blooming on the apples of my cheeks. Stupid boy is always getting me flustered. I hear the sound of a flame and glance over to see a white stick perched between the male’s lip as he lifts the lighter to said stick, causing the end to glow red as he draws the smoke into his lungs. Dale blows the cloud of smoke into the air and then catches my eyes with his. “You want a drag?” He questioned me.

“Uh, no thanks, I’m good.” Cigarettes give me the ick, but watching the way he inhales and how his jaw and neck move is alarmingly attractive. 

“Good answer, Doll, you don’t want to get addicted to these things like me,” Dale lets out another puff. 

“It would technically be illegal for me to smoke it, anyways,” I cringe at myself for the ‘goodie-two-shoes’ reply I just gave. I’m supposed to be breaking the rules tonight. 

Dale stops mid-drag and looks at me wide-eyed, “What do you mean by that? Aren’t you 18?”

“I’ll be 18 next week,” I said casually.

“Ah, fuck,” Dale runs his hand over his face, and his body tenses up, “I should probably take you home now.” 

Why was he freaking out? I know he’s 19, but the fact that I’m not quite 18 shouldn’t bother him. It’s not like we’re doing things we shouldn’t. We’re just hanging out as friends do, but—there is his Juve sentence, so maybe he’s scared people will get the wrong idea if they notice us together?

“You don’t have to worry about people getting the wrong impression about you,” I state.

“You don’t understand,” his voice becomes stern. “People will always have the wrong impression of me.” Dale stands up and motions for me to do the same. A sigh escapes my lips, and I stand up, collecting the blanket and shaking it off before folding it back into my bag. I probably shouldn’t push the issue. He could probably get in trouble if he’s on probation. 

“Look, I know you went to Juve,” I said, looking Dale into his deep blue eyes, “I’m not sure why you did what you did, but the Dale I’ve met and have gotten to know is a kind guy. People are stupid to make assumptions based on a mistake you made.” 

“Oh, Doll, you don’t know anything about me,” Dale’s voice was low. I could barely catch the hint of sadness behind his tone, but it was there, and it made my chest hurt. He made his way back into the truck, and I just stood where I was, staring at the space where he was standing. I wanted to ask what he meant, and something profound inside me wants to figure it out. Slowly, I returned to the truck and sat on the passenger side. Unlike the ride out here, which was loud and full of laughter, the ride back was quiet and tense. Dale stopped his truck in the same spot where he had picked me up and refused to look at me.

“Well, thank you for this experience,” I said while exiting the vehicle. 

I slowly walked back to my house and climbed through the window, placing the screen back where it goes, shutting it, and locking it before drawing the curtains. Once I changed into my pajamas, I got under the covers and snuggled deeply into my blankets. Falling asleep was complicated, with all the thoughts running through my mind. Dale. What is his story?

AN:

Sorry for the long wait. I wish I could promise this won't happen again, but I'm afraid it probably will 🤧. This outing didn't go quite as planned for the reader and Dale. They both wanted to have a good time, but as Dale found out, the reader wasn't precisely 18 yet, and it kind of freaked him out. The last thing he wants is for someone to make a claim that he likes underage girls (even though she'll be 18 soon and he's 19). His record isn't clear, but if someone were to say something like that, it would ruin his life forever. He's also not that kind of guy and would gladly beat anyone to a pulp if they were. He also knows darkness lurks within him, and he feels touched that the reader thinks he's kind. But if she were to uncover all his monsters, he's sure she would think the same about him as everyone else.

[age-of-greta]

The Moon

The Moon represents illusion and deception, and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be. Perhaps a misunderstanding on your part, or a truth you cannot admit to yourself.

Author’s note: hi!! welcome back to The Moon! This chapter is… a lot! Get ready. Anyway, no posting schedule, but all parts will be uploaded on Wednesdays at midnight est. There are only a few chapters left, but I’m unsure when it will get wrapped up as I will be on vacation soon. Just bare with me! Enjoy this chapter :)

Pairing: Sam x reader & Jake x reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, language, adult content, sexual situations, angst

Word count: 4.6k

PART 11:

The threat of cooler air began to creep in. That’s the first thing you noticed as you sat out on your porch. It was still summertime, but you noticed the warmth had begun to fade ever so slightly. That was the opposite of how you felt. It had been a few weeks since the Fourth of July party. You and Sam were incredibly solid. You were blissfully happy. He made you laugh until your stomach twisted. He made you smile until your cheeks were numb. He made you grip the sheets until your knuckles turned white. He gave you butterflies everyday. But there was still a twinge of doubt deep down in you. You two had never been tested. You didn’t fight. The secret you had been keeping about you and Jake loomed over you like a dark cloud. You had thought about telling him, but could never muster up the courage to say those words to him. The thought of his face twisting up in hurt made you physically ill. The thought of him leaving you over it was unbearable. So you decided you would just keep it bottled up, like a curse.

“Are you ready for tonight?” A beautiful voice asked as he sat down next to you on your patio.

You sighed. “I guess so. We haven’t been out in so long it feels a bit foreign. Are we old?”

Sam laughed. “No, we aren't old Birdie. I do get the sentiment though. However I have an inkling that once you get a few tequila sodas in you that social butterfly will bloom.”

You scoffed. “I’m embarrassing when I’m drunk.”

Sam makes a face at you. “You are not. You’re cute, and I cannot wait to see her tonight.” He says giving your cheek a light pinch.

You giggle and swat his hand away. “Yeah yeah. If you plan on showering you better go now. I have so much to do tonight.”

Sam sucks in breath. “Ooh sounds like I’m in for a treat. Not sure I can wait. Want to come jump in the shower with me?”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Go!”

Sam holds up his hands while chuckling as he heads back inside.

You two were going out with the rest of the gang. Which will be the first time you’ve all been out in a while. As well as the first time you’ve been out as a couple. That means you would be seeing Jake. Truthfully, you hadn’t seen or spoken to Jake much. A part of you mourned the friendship you once had. Sam had been staying with you for the majority of the time. You two often did things with Danny. You two had gone out to lunch with Josh, but had done nothing with Jake. You wondered if Sam or the other two had picked up on the shift. It was hard not to. Before you all were going out it was decided that you and Sam would come over for dinner then Uber to the bars after. You sat in the middle of your bedroom wrapped in a towel trying to figure out an appropriate outfit for both. You finally decided on a mini black dress with sheer puffy sleeves. It was a loose puffy dress and dipped down slightly low, but it wasn’t too much. You put it on and grabbed a pair of lacy heels to tie around your calf. After, you did a full face and took a while with your hair placing curls and fluffing. Then added jewelry and perfume before presenting yourself to Sam.

“Ready?” He said, still glancing down at his computer. He must have been working while you were getting ready.

“I think so.” You said back.

“Oh goddamn.” He said when he looked up. “Babe you look fucking incredible. Wow.”

You smiled at him and twisted your hair. “Thank you Sammy.”

He let out a breath. “You’re killing me. I’ve changed my mind. I’m taking you into that bedroom and we aren’t coming out.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.” You say batting your eyelashes.

Sam smiles at you and groans. “Fuck.”

You laugh. “We really should be going though Sammy. We’re going to be late.”

Sam nods his head. “You’re right, although being late is on time for us.”

**

When you got to their house they were still cooking. They had made chicken carbonara and some “vegetarian bullshit” which is how Danny put it, for you and Sam. It smelled good. Jake was in the kitchen breaking a sweat over the hot stove, he didn’t really acknowledge you. You weren’t surprised. Josh was working on making the dining room into a suitable eating environment, he was such a good host. Danny was hanging around talking with you and Sam until he was summoned into the kitchen.

“How much longer?” Sam asked, grabbing a beer.

“I dunno, maybe fifteen minutes?” Jake said, still not looking up.

Sam nodded and grabbed your hand, leading you down the stairs. “Wanna show you something.”

He led you right to his piano. “I’ve been working on this new little ballad.”

He took a seat and you propped up against the piano. He began to play and beautiful melodic chords grazed your ears. Sam was a fantastic musician, but something about him playing the piano made you feel feral. He was so focused, mouth agape, eyes fluttering, hands sliding back and forth like butter. He was a spectacle, and you were in a haze watching him. When he finished he looked up for your approval and was met with sultry eyes.

He smirked at you. “What? Did you like it?”

You smirked back at him. “I loved it Sammy.” Then you sit down next to him on the bench. “It was hot.”

He curls his lip up. “Yeah? I got something else too. Go ahead and sit up here for me baby.” He says, tapping his hand on top of the piano.

You look at him strangely for a second before doing as you were told. You had to do some wiggling to get yourself up there, but you made it.

“Sammy what does-“ You began, but then he started playing. Your eyes got a little wide and a giggle came out of you as the spot underneath you vibrated with force. He continued on and so did your giggles.

“Sammy! Oh my god.” You said with laughs. If the situation weren’t as ridiculous as it was you probably would have had a different reaction, because fuck it did feel good.

“Stay right there baby.” He said, continuing to play.

This was torture. It was like edging you for his actual touch. You took a deep breath and rode out the vibrations, still watching Sam. You were beginning to become flustered. Then, he stopped.

“Did you like that one?” He asked, smiling innocently.

Your face was starting to flush. “Yes.”

Sam bites his lip for a minute. “Can I tell you something?” He says getting up and putting his hands next to your waist.

“Please do.” You reply.

“So I’ve always had this… fantasy right?” He says with a wicked smile.

Excitement grows on your face. “Oh yeah? Do tell.”

“Well the thought of bending you over this piano has crossed my mind a few times. I think about it sometimes when I’m playing.”

You swallow hard at that. You were beyond into it.

“Won’t they hear?” You ask, but it comes out more as a whine.

Sam leans in close and nips at your neck. “Nah. They have records on, plus the kitchen noises. We should be just fine.”

You close your eyes and slightly arch your back. Sam continues to kiss down your neck and collarbone. Then gets down on his knees. He pulls your dress up and kisses your thighs. Each kiss searing into your soft skin. You take a few breaths to try and compose yourself, but it’s no use. He takes his hands and begins raking them down your thigh before he slips your panties off. A soft moan slips past your lips. He grabs your legs and pulls you towards him, then his tongue meets your center. Obscene sounds are coming from below your dress, but at the moment it’s like music to your ears. When Sam incorporates his fingers you know it’s only a matter of time before that dopamine high courses through your veins.

“Fuck fuck.” You whine out.

Sam takes his hand that was planting you in place and instead covers your mouth. Now your moans and sounds are muffled, which only further riles you up. Your legs begin to shake.

“That’s it baby.” Sam says.

Hearing that was all you needed. You moan out into Sam’s hand while arching back on the piano. Your hand hits the keys which make an abrupt sound. You don’t care. Sam comes up and sees you slightly panting, but you can tell he’s not done with you. He grabs your waist and carefully helps you down.

“Bend over for me doll.” He says undoing his belt and taking off his shirt.

You happily obliged. Sam runs his hand over your ass before giving it a light smack. Then he glides the tip around your entrance which elicits a shiver to run up your spine.

“Sammy quit teasing.” You whine.

Sam takes in a quit breath and then sinks into you letting out a groan. He starts slowly pumping in and out of you, but quickly picks up the pace. Sam reaches over and pulls your breasts out of your dress, giving your nipples a slight squeeze. You look over and see a mirror- what a sight it was. Sam’s face, the way his hands are running over your body. It was so pornographic and so fucking hot. As he starting bucking into you faster the piano began to make sounds as the keys were rattling. You and Sam didn’t care you were too busy chasing that high.

“Fuck baby can you give it to me again? I need you to try- I’m so close. Fuck you’re so good. You feel so good.” Sam praised.

That makes fire burn in your core again.

“Yes Sammy I can just for you. Keeping fucking me just like that. Oh fuck.” You say back.

Sam loves when you talk dirty, and you knew saying those words wasn’t playing fair, he would really have to restrain himself to keep going. But you knew he would get you there. He always did, typically more than once.

Sam said nothing in response, you knew he couldn’t keep talking without coming. Instead he just let out a moan and pinched his face up in total concentration. When you saw that in the mirror you were done for. Between the obscene sounds, the piano keys sounding off, Sam’s face, and the feeling-oh god the feeling. You were burning up inside.

“Sammy- I’m- Sammy” You moaned out as you fluttered around him.

Sam was right behind you. He let out a grunt as he released inside of you. Then you both stayed there catching your breath and attempting to come back down. Finally Sam departed, and you winced from the loss of contact.

“Stay right here baby.” Sam said softly.

You attempted to shove your breasts back into your dress while Sam came back with a wet cloth. He ran it up and down your legs and softly pulled your dress down while placing a kiss on your shoulder.

“Now, let’s go see if dinner is ready.” He said, taking your hand.

You let out a laugh. “You’re going to have to give me a minute to clean myself up.”

You hurried into the bathroom and fixed your hair, makeup, and dress. Then went back out to Sam. You were less of a mess, but still looked slightly disheveled. You took his hand and climbed the stairs then made way into the kitchen. It looked like they were wrapping everything up.

“Ah there you two are.” Josh said, giving you a side eye. “That was uh an interesting tune coming from the piano. What were you playing, Sam?” Josh continued with a smirk.

Sam sucked in his cheeks. “Nothing in particular. Just fooling around.”

Josh nodded his head. “Well that was evident.”

Your face started to turn red, but before any more conversation stimulated Danny cleared his throat.

“Okay well everyone to the table. Come on now.”

You started to follow the other three into the dining room but stopped when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around, there was Jake with a look of discontent on his face.

“Yeah?” You asked.

He reached down and tugged at your shoulder strap on your dress then grazed his fingers on your skin, fixing the material. That sensation caused you to shudder slightly.

“Your strap was all fucked up. Wonder why?” He stated, then walked past you.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes before going into the dining room. It was going to be a long night.

**

“Hey thanks man.” Sam said, climbing out of the Uber XL and taking your hand.

Somehow you all had ended up at the same bar you had been at that first night they were in town. Everyone was in a somewhat good mood. Even Jake seemed to have lightened up by 0.1% - which was a vast improvement. You walked in with Sam and giggled.

“What?” He asked with a sly smile.

You shook your head. “Nothing. It’s just the last time I was here I was in bike shorts and a tank top and now.” You say motioning to your outfit.

Sam smiles at you. “I thought you looked hot then, and tonight?” He chuckles. “Baby, I’m pretty sure I showed you how hot you look tonight. But genuinely, I believe you look beautiful all the time.”

You smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “My sweet Sammy.”

Suddenly, Josh had shimmied himself between you and Sam and put arms around the both of you. “As much as I love to see you two groping each other, can we drink now?”

You huff a laugh. “Lead the way to the bar Josh.”

Josh somehow got all of you to the bar and decided to order. “Can we get two salty dogs for me and the guy with the luscious curly hair down there, a bourbon on the rocks for the slightly less handsome version of me, and two tequila sodas for the lovebirds?” He says motioning to each of you.

The bartender gives Josh a strange look before nodding.

“You don’t always have to be so obnoxious.” Jake pokes.

Josh sighs. “You see dear Jake, I actually do. It was in my contract, just like yours says to be perpetually mopey.”

Jake snickers a laugh at that. You’re positive Josh is the only one who could say that to him and get away unscathed.

Your drinks arrived moments later and you all thanked your bartender while Josh got the first round.

“Alright, jukebox, pool, and darts anyone?” Josh suggested.

You all followed suit. The next hour consisted of pool games and a fair amount of drinks. You were buzzed, Sam was very touchy with you, Danny & Josh were intense with their pool game, and somehow Jake’s mood had lightened.

“Bullshit!” Danny yelled out.

“Yes! That’s it! That’s the money shot! I win!” Josh exclaims back.

“Gentleman! Let’s settle this in darts huh?” Sam suggested, while the others nodded.

“Birdie?” Sam questioned.

You shook your head. “No thanks. I need to pee, I’ll come watch in a bit.”

Then you head off for the bathroom, pee and freshen yourself up. You still looked good, you thought, just maybe a little undone. When you emerged from the bathroom you could see the dart game, but Jake wasn’t participating. He was sitting at a booth near them on his phone. You decided it would be weird to sit somewhere else, so you walked over and sat down at his table. He looked up at you and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” You shrugged.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just didn’t expect you to sit here.”

“Hm. Last time I checked you didn’t own this booth, but maybe your name is etched under the table.” You quip, then pretend to check under the table top. “Shit. Nope I didn’t see it Jake.”

He cracks a smile at that. “Smart ass.”

You couldn’t help but smile back.

You both sat and watched them play, in the corner of your eye you saw an older woman head to the jukebox. You were curious as to what her music taste might be. Then you heard the opening to Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac. You laughed to yourself at the situation you found yourself in and the song.

Time cast a spell on you but you won’t forget me.

I know I could have loved you but you would not let me.

I’ll follow you down til’ the sound of my voice will haunt you.

You’ll never get away from the sound of a woman that loves you.

“Yeah, cheers to that.” Jake says, suddenly raising his glass towards you.

You look at him and laugh, roll your eyes, then clink glasses with him.

It was nice to know Jake’s sense of humor was still intact, and maybe, just maybe you two could get past all of this.

**

You woke up the next morning slightly hungover. You were in your apartment alone, as Sam had to go to the studio for a while today. You couldn’t help but feel giddy. Jake seemed to be softening, Sam continued to enthrall you, and you were starting to feel at ease with everything. You climbed out of bed and began to clean up. Margo was coming over with lunch in a bit, then Sam would be over later. He was so excited because he was going to show you how to make pickles with the cucumbers he had been growing. Secretly, you were just as excited about it too. You took a shower, did some skincare, and put on a record while you made coffee. After all of that the hangover finally started to go away. Then a knock on the door made you grin, Lana was bringing salmon and cream cheese bagels. That was just what you needed. You opened the door and gave her a smile.

“Hi.” You say.

She gives you a look. “Hi. Someone’s cheery this morning. Did you get fucked last night?”

You scoff and take the food bag from her as she walks in. “Can I not just be happy to see you?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She pokes.

You two head into the living room and sit on the couch.

“So.” She starts. “How are you and Sam? You two seem to be living in a fairytale- you’re obsessed with each other.”

You smile at his name. “We’re great, but we are not obsessed with each other. Just the right amount.”

She laughs. “Yeah right. These bagels are so fucking good.”

You take a bite and savor as the flavors hit your tongue. Definitely what you needed.

Your phone makes a ding next to you and you pick it up. You had a text, from… Jake?

Found your panties under my bed. Shall I give them to Sammy boy?

Then accompanies that text with a photo of the black lace panties in hand.

A small smile appears. You know Jake was joking, it was nice to see him interacting with you like this again.

Bold of you to assume they’re mine.

You replied back.

You get a response within seconds.

Believe it or not, you’re the only one who has been in my bed. Plus there’s no way I could forget who these belong to. I’ll slide them under my brother’s door.

You know it feels wrong, but you giggle at that. It leaves a strange feeling in your chest.

Very funny. Just toss them.

You said.

“Oh is that Sam now?” Margo says through a laugh.

You look up in mild horror for a moment before you nod your head. “Yes.” You lie.

“See! I could tell by the way you giggled like a schoolgirl. You totally love him.” She continues.

Now you feel guilty. It’s not like you were flirting with Jake right? Just harmless banter. You shake your head at Margo and change the subject, you don’t want to revisit what you had just felt moments ago.

**

“Hi babe.” Sam says, setting down countless bags and pulling you into a deep hug.

“And that’s my cue to go!” Margo says, dramatically grabbing her things.

You laugh at her. “You sure you don’t want to make pickles with us?”

Margo snorts a little. “I’m good, but thank you for the generous offer. Call me tomorrow?”

You nod, then she pats Sam’s shoulder and bolts out the door.

“She is so strange.” Sam says through a laugh.

“She is. That’s why I love her.” You reply.

He smiles down at you and then leans in for a kiss. His hands run up and down your body, it feels like fireworks in your skin. His tongue slips in your mouth and you let out a soft moan, which causes Sam to grip your flesh harder.

Before things escalate you pull away and take a breath.

“We have pickles to make Mr. Kiszka.”

“Fuck the pickles. Take me to your bedroom.” Sam replies.

You laugh. “Later. I promise. I may or may not have gotten a new little outfit in the mail that you would like.”

Sam groans. “You’re killing me.”

You kiss his nose. “I’ll make it worth your wait.”

Sam chews on his lip. “I know you will, but right now I need you to back up about ten feet away until I can collect myself.”

“I think I can do that.” You say with a giggle, taking some bags into the kitchen.

You loved that Sam always wanted you. It made you feel so confident.

You and Sam set down the bags in the kitchen and begin to unpack them.

“Are these the cucumbers from the farmers market?” You ask, taking them out of the mesh bag.

“Yes ma’am they are. Organic.” He says, holding one up.

“You’re the best.” You say, giving him a smile.

“I know.” He replies chipperly. “So, are you ready to learn Birdie?”

“Oh I’m so ready. Teach me your ways Sammy.”

He pulls out a few mason jars, vinegar, garlic, dill, and red pepper flakes.

“Interesting.” You say, staring at the spread before you.

“Can you grab a cutting board for me?” He asks.

You nod and grab the biggest one you have as well as two knives. Then you two began cutting and washing the cucumbers.

“We are going to do spears and chips here. You cut the chips.”

You can’t help but giggle at how serious he was. “Yes, chef right on that for you.”

“Don’t cut your finger off.” He says with a smirk.

You two get all of the cucumbers cut up and Sam instructs you on the next steps.

“Okay now we are essentially just going to throw everything into the jars. So mix the vinegar with plenty of fresh dill, garlic, and a splash of red pepper flakes. They’ll be a little spicy but delicious.”

You two get everything mixed together and portioned.

“Okay actually this smells kind of good. I’m impressed.” You compliment.

“Now you get it.” He says with a smile. “But I actually wanted to add something to the chips batch that’s supposed to preserve the crunch but I can’t remember what it is.” He says furrowing his brows a little.

You start soaking the cucumbers in the vinegar mixture. “You don’t remember what it was?”

He shakes his head. “No, for the life of me I can’t. It was something simple too.”

“Just google it.” You suggest.

He shrugs. “Good call.” Then he begins patting down his pockets. “Shit. I left my phone in the car.”

You shake your head. “It’s okay go grab mine. It’s in the living room I think.”

“Okay.” He says, heading out of the kitchen.

Your hands are deep in this mixture, but you're almost done. You can’t wait to wash this off of you, and hope you don’t smell like it later when you show Sam your new lingerie.

A few minutes pass and Sam still hasn’t returned.

“Um, did you get lost? I'm putting the lids on!” You slightly yell, then begin to close the mason jars. You are sure he will make you reopen them for some reason.

No response.

You tightly secure the lids and then begin washing your hands and finally he appears with your phone in hand. He looks weird.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks with concern in his voice.

You look at him strangely. “What?”

“Why does Jake have your panties?” He says, turning your phone around to show you the photo.

Your blood runs cold and a wave of anxiety crashes through you.

Sam has a look on his face that you have never seen before. You’re so caught off guard you can’t even speak right now.

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t even snooping. I unlocked it and this immediately popped up.”

You take a breath in. “It’s not what you think.”

He frowns at you. “Did you cheat on me? With my brother?”

You begin to shake your head vigorously. “No Sam, I would never do that.”

He continues to stare at you. “So what? Did you fuck him?”

You look up at him and tears begin to pool in your eyes.

He huffs out. “Oh my god. You fucked him. You fucked Jake.”

“No Sam it was before you and I. I swear- we were drunk and it just it- I don’t know.” You frantically spit out.

The way he is looking at you makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. There’s no look of love or admiration. Just solemnity and hurt.

“And you didn’t tell me?” He asks, almost in a whisper.

“I didn’t know what to say… I don’t want to hide things from you, but it didn’t feel right to say those words to you.” You reply back, meekly.

Sam stares at the wall for a minute. “Am I some sort of second choice to you?”

“What? No, of course not.” You begin, but Sam cuts you off.

“I guess I’ve always known how you felt about him.” He says quietly.

“Sam please just-“

He holds his hand up at you. Sam sucks in a deep breath and pushes his hair back. “I need some time.”

Your face falls. “What does that mean?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I need time.”

He grabs his keys and heads towards your door.

“Sam…” You say.

He stops in the doorway and his eyes linger on yours.

Then he’s gone.

And you’re standing in your kitchen by yourself with six jars of fucking pickles.

Once your body catches up with your mind, you grab your phone and immediately try to call Sam.

Straight to voicemail.

You sink down to the floor as tears begin to fall.

Fuck.

***

[carnivoured]

cyborg au, characters and their stories (driftcells/hld x dc au) ⚠️ mild spoilers for hyper light drifter ⚠️

—

the drifter

after being taken in by the guardian and allowed to stay in the apartment, he meets altie in the sword master’s dojo, who turns out to be the guardian’s roommate. the drifter loses his arm and half his face in the midnight woods. both the guardian and altie found him just outside the town and brought him back to their apartment where altie offered to create a prosthetic (which the guardian was opposed to, but kept themself silent). the drifter agreed, he didn’t want the loss of an arm to slow down progress on their journey. that was the start of many upgrades whenever badly injured that led up to becoming a cyborg like altie.

-

the guardian

after losing their spouse and child, the guardian decided to search for a cure to the illness and protect the townspeople from enemies and other trouble. altie has offered them robotic upgrades before but has turned them down (they would rather live naturally, like their family had). the guardian dies later on in the three’s journey to both the illness and a fatal injury. his doppelgänger, the knight (who would have been the guardian’s co-op version), remains alive and follows them until they defeat judgement.

-

altie (the alternate drifter)

after having her family slain, a young altie decided to use old broken parts to recreate figures of her deceased family members to cope. this inspires her to start creating mini robots with old parts and eventually get into creating prosthetics and other mechanical parts for the dying or injured. while scavenging for old parts, she keeps getting injured and decided to replace most of her body (it’s also why she’s very tall). she becomes roommates with the guardian after becoming a good friend of theirs, supporting them after their spouse and child had died. she gets a severe burn on her face after accidentally triggering an explosive she was trying to create and replaces her face with a mechanical one.

(also she is a black and grey dog. i headcanon that the in-game altie doesn’t wear a mask and just a mechanical jaw, so in this au she also is)

-

the shadow doppelgängers (co-op)

the shadow doppelgängers show up when judgement notices that the jackal is trying to lead heros to defeat it. judgement sends a part of itself to each hero that crawls out of the hero’s shadow. however, to judgement’s dismay, it loses control over the doppelgängers after they are sent/are too far away from judgement. the doppelgängers protect them when they think their original is in danger or are alone. until then, they live in their shadows.

altie’s doppelgänger showed up first, escaping from her shadow and often following her around. when she met the guardian, it returned to her shadow and hasn’t come out since (the guardian has never met the doppelgänger, and altie never mentioned it to them). the drifter’s doppelgänger shows up after he loses his arm. it was the one who brought the drifter back to the town where altie and the guardian save him. his doppelgänger seems to only want to appear when the drifter is alone, so altie and the guardian don’t know about it. his doppelgänger stops showing up when judgement is defeated. the guardian’s doppelgänger scrambled out of their shadow shortly after their death. it only showed up then because it was sent while the drifter and altie were traveling with them, so it felt unneeded until the guardian was dying (however, it was too late to save them). it travels with the drifter and altie until judgement is defeated.

-

judgement survives

the monster wasn’t truly “defeated”. it cut off connection to its body and retreated to the core in the back of the drifter’s neck that controls his arm in the form of a much smaller judgement. while the drifter and altie recover and meet the newcomers from the other world (dead cells), judgement attempts to kill the drifter from the inside, making his mechanical parts rust and causing him horrible nightmares out of anger that he and altie were able to reduce it to its current form.

this gives altie a really hard time, having to help replace or fix the drifter’s parts every other week. the drifter tells her that he should do it himself, but she insists on helping him.

the drifter prefers to stay around with his friends at all times, but one day he gets a weird feeling, tells the others he’s going out for some air, and meets his doppelgänger which freaks him out until he realizes that it finally came back out as a warning that judgement is still alive (it isn’t being controlled due to judgements tiny size and limited power. it also doesn’t know how it is still alive since the connection is still severed, it only appeared because it realized it was able to)

bobby silly gets close to drifter during their time there cause he’s teaching him how to behave and how their world is like and yeah they find out they love each other at some point. altie gets back into creating prosthetics for the injured and taking care of the drifter when the lingering affects of the illness get bad/when he needs to get his parts replaced or fixed. she doesn’t become friendly with bobby or laure for a while because of that and also because she thinks they’re weird lol. but she and laure also kiss at some point later haha

—

i’ll reblog or post the story of bobby and laure soon. this au was originally created for driftcells but i really love them all, so it’s kind of just a cyborg crossover au with ships in it (i guess anyone can be shipped together in this but when i write about them it will often be driftcells and altielaure. but the guardian, drifter, and altie are implied to have thought of one another as a romantic interest at some point while the guardian was still alive, but have preferred not to get into it because of their journey.)

also ik the drifter is supposed to die and it’s ending is BEAUTIFUL but this is just an au so i can draw and write about my faves

[draw-you-coward]

ao3

The knock comes in the middle of the night, amidst the dark and the cold. The sound is muffled, insulated by the layers of freshly fallen snow that hold the cabin in a snug embrace. Roza only hears it because he is near the entranceway, fetching more logs to feed into the fireplace. He pauses, waiting for the noise to come again. It does so feebly, much more so than Eirwen making biscuits on the roof—a thok thuk thum.

The heavy door does not have a peephole. Roza drops the logs and pulls back the deadbolt, ready to react if the midnight trespasser means them ill. When he opens the door, however, it is a friend and not a foe that awaits him.

“Laranthir?” His hand creases with his surprise. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

Laranthir peers at him pitifully. His strong shoulders are hunched, his head bowed. “C’n I come in?”

“Of course—do not stand in the cold.” Roza ushers him in and deadlocks the door once more. He retreats from the wet thump of boots in the doorway to move to the sitting room, where his house slippers and his house husband are. The latter looks up when he enters, solicitousness deepening his gaze.

“Are your feet cold?” he asks, soft as a feather. “You can have your socks back if you need them. I can finish another time.”

Roza’s feet are cold, because he had planned to spend the evening with them shoved into a blanket while Trahearne duplicated their coverings, but now he slides into his slippers without comment, waving off the offer.

“Keep them. Laranthir just showed up at our doorstep.”

Trahearne straightens at that, putting his work aside. “What?”

“He is somewhat inebriated, I believe. He’s at the door.”

Trahearne gets up and slides past him, squeezing his shoulder. Roza wiggles his toes before following.

Laranthir is on the doormat still, looking discombobulated as he holds his boots with one hand. His mouth tugs downwards when he sees them, and he says, “I’m sorry… I dunno where to put these.”

“On the mat is fine, Laranthir. Just—there we go.” Trahearne helps him, checking his state with a touch, a sharp eye—and confirming with a single glance back at Roza. He does not need to; the Dream is sad and a little confused, and there is not another sylvari soul around for miles.

“Come. Would you like something to drink?”

Laranthir laughs, and there is something sharper, like a knife’s blade pointing inwards. “I think I’ve had enough of that for one night.”

“Just water, hot cocoa, or tea.” Trahearne guides him to the sofa. “Roza can put something on for you.”

The sadness blooms as Laranthir sits, turning to dismay. “Roza? Can’t he stay here?”

Another glance is exchanged, as quick as one flap of a moth’s wings. “Of course,” Trahearne acquiesces, retreating, and Roza slips into his place.

“What happened?” he asks as he kneels on the ground.

Laranthir considers him through a lidded gaze. “You’re such a sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching out. “Really, such a sweetheart.”

Roza doesn’t know how to answer that, so he doesn’t, and instead deposits a few strands of hair into his searching hand. Drunk people are much like small children, Canach had told him once. Babies love pulling at your hair until you go bald, Kasmeer had told him another time. The combined knowledge brings itself to a natural conclusion.

The hand does start stroking in wonder, which means he must have hit a target. Laranthir stares at the leaves in his hand with eyes that are a million miles away and mumbles, “’e stood me up.”

“Ah,” says Trahearne. He leaves for the kitchen, mission selected: chocolate, hot or not. They have biscuits as well, from the ladies’ housewarming gift. Roza stays, gazing into the face close to his.

“What an idiot,” he denounces.

Laranthir wheezes out a laugh. “Yeah,” he replies. His shoulders droop. “Yeah,” he repeats thickly.

Roza rises and sits next to him. “Do not shed tears for someone who could not see how precious you are,” he says. “You are worth so much more than a passing whim.”

Strong arms squeeze him as if he is made of plush rather than bark. “This is why I came to you,” Laranthir mumbles into his side.

“Hm?” A little too strong, but Roza tries not to strain. “I cannot provide you such company, dear brother.”

“Doesn’ matter,” Laranthir slurs. “I don’t even look anymore, ‘cause of you. Don’t know what I want.”

“Ah.” Roza pauses. “I… you can still look, you know. You should not mind me—It is none of my business whom you associate with.”

Laranthir looks at him blankly, and he looks back. “What?”

“What?” Roza echoes, confused.

Laranthir hums, petting at his hair—he’s a handsy bastard when drunk, huh—and after a solid twelve seconds declares, “Not what I meant.”

Trahearne returns with Roza’s mug and one of their extras, as well as some biscuits. He sets everything down on their coffee table instead of handing it to them, because Laranthir is currently avidly twirling a long leaf of hair around his finger, and Roza does not trust his grip strength to loosen (and would like to remain as not bald as possible for the time being). Laranthir points at Trahearne with his free hand and says, “Him too.”

Trahearne puts on an inquiring face. “Pardon?”

Roza thinks he understands. “Trahearne is not overprotective at all,” he says anyways, which is patently untrue. “He’s only put me on a leash a handful of times.”

Trahearne scrunches his face into his you’re being a disgusting freak in public expression. Laranthir, however, thinks that is the funniest joke in the world, and laughs long and loud. Roza discreetly unwinds his hair.

“Doesn’t matter,” Laranthir muses at last. “’m happier here. Love you both.”

Roza grabs his drink in his hideous handmade mug (which his beloved detests not because of its hideousness, but because he bought it, which makes it someone else’s handmade mug and therefore “pointless”) and lets its heat distract from his warm cheeks. “Be a good man and say it back, Trahearne,” he murmurs after taking a sip.

Trahearne quirks a flippant eyebrow at him. “I’m happier here too,” he says.

Pissant. Roza would flip him off, but Laranthir is looking at him with puppy eyes, and he does not wish to ruin the moment. Fine. Fine. “Love you too,” he mumbles as unintelligibly as he possibly can, blowing bubbles in his drink.

Trahearne cups his hand around his ear—he can wear the leash next time, how about—but Laranthir smiles at him, so beautiful and full. And perhaps he is right, and very little matters besides that.

~*~