#chicken noodle soup challenge

[kevinkevinson]

bonus day 61 Chicken Noodle Soup

From 광주 한 거시기의 gang, ayy 금남 충장 street 거긴 내 할렘

[elixirfromthestars]

On Days Like This

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: The comforts of sick days with your boyfriend Matt.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): fluff / descriptions of mild sickness / sick + comfort

requested by anonymous

a/n: hello! i'm jumping between wips and i was able to finish this bingo request 💖 originally it was just going to be the first part, but then I got carried away 🤭✨ as always feedback is appreciated! and my writing challenge is still on going 💗

birthday bingo masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

When He's Sick

“ Matt, don’t even think about it,” you warn as he reaches for the armrest of the couch. You know what he’s about to do and you refuse to let him do it. You’re not letting him move a muscle while he’s sick. 

“ I got it,” you add, rushing to the front door and answering the knock that rang throughout his apartment seconds earlier. Matt grumbles something under his breath as he sinks back onto the couch—a resigned sigh leaving his lips. 

Your boyfriend gets a little grumpy when he’s sick. He relies on his senses to see and it’s hard to do that when he can’t breathe out of his nose and has a constant ringing in his ears. The delirium of his ongoing fever further muddied his brain. The clouding of his senses was overwhelming to say the least and you were trying your best to help remedy that. 

You open the door and grab the items you instacarted to make him some homemade chicken noodle soup. You make your way back to the kitchen where you take the items out and start preparing the meal.

You peak out into the living room. Your boyfriend resembles a child all snuggled up into the blue cotton blanket you draped over him earlier. The slight hum of the television in the background casting a light glow onto him. 

He won’t admit it now, but he secretly loves being taken care of. Its not a feeling he’s used to, but when it comes to you he welcomes it. 

When you’re done preparing the ingredients, you pour them all into a pot to simmer. You wash your hands thoroughly and then make your way over to your boyfriend. Its time to take his temperature again.

“ Hey, how are you feeling?” You ask, your tone filled with a gentle worry. You lower to your knees to be eye level with him.

“ Like my head’s going to explode,” he groans quietly. You give him a weary smile, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. You’ve done this so many times you can’t tell if his fevers gone down or not. 

“ Open up,” you request as you inch the tip of the thermometer to his lips. He does as told and you take his temperature. 

“ One hundred and two. Looks like that medicine is starting to kick in. You were at one o’three earlier,” you say, slightly optimistic. This does nothing to cheer your boyfriend up as he’s still in his sickly haze.

You kiss your fingers and then press it onto his lips,“ Soup will be ready soon. I promise it’ll make you feel better,” your voice brings him a comfort he direly needs. Coupled that with the indirect kiss and the way you’re brushing away the strands of sweaty hair from his face—he’s in heaven. 

“ Thanks, baby,” he manages to croak out. You brush another strand from his face and he leans into your touch. “ No need to thank me. I’m here for you,” you reply with a soft sincerity. 

Damn the medicine and the soup. All he needs is you. 

After about another forty minutes the soup is done and served in a bowl. You let it cool down a bit before heading over to the couch, setting the bowl down on the coffee table. Matt can faintly pick up the savory aroma in the air and he gently sits up. He intends to reach out to grab the bowl until you swat his hands away lightly. 

“ No. I got it. You focus on getting better. I’ll do the rest,” there’s a slight pout on his lips as you say this. You’re tempted to kiss it away, but you stop yourself. The last thing either of you needed was for you to get sick too.

You blow on the soup a bit before serving him the first spoonful. The warmth spreads throughout his body blanketing him better than anything else did. 

You were right. The soup did make him feel better.

When You're Sick

A content sigh escapes you as Matt massages the lavender scented shampoo into your scalp. His fingers are delicate, but working with purpose as he lathers every strand. Your body was already melting into the bath, but with the way his hands were working—you’d soon melt into him. 

There wasn’t a strand of hair left untouched by him. He gave every bit of it his full attention. Wanting to make sure he was doing things right. He had never done this for anyone before. 

The bath was Matt’s idea and his doing. When you came down with the flu and complained about your achy muscles and congested sinuses—he knew just what to do. 

Well, more like the internet told him what to do and what products to buy.

His every touch was gentle and soothing. The scent of lavender was calming to your senses so he left it in your hair to settle for just a bit while he worked on lathering a rosemary scented body wash into your skin. His fingers work in slow circular motions, applying just the right amount of pressure to pacify the ache. 

“ How’s that?” he asks, fingers gliding over your back as his circular motions continue.

Now you were completely melting into his touch, “ Perfect. That seriously helps so much,” you reply a little breathless, your eyes closing to focus on the feeling. 

Matt grinned, pleased that he was able to help you. He loves taking care of you as much as you take care of him. Being the one you can lean on, on days like this, means everything to him.

When You're Both Sick

“ Come here,” Matt’s quiet voice rings out in his dark bedroom. The slightest sliver of moonlight coming from his window. His arms are outstretched in your direction as you make your way into the covers. 

You sniffle briefly as you snuggle into his side, his arms enveloping you immediately. You clear your throat to hold back a nasty cough that is trying to fight its way out of you. 

Your bodies tangle under the blanket, trying to calm the chills that run through both of you. Matt’s head rests delicately on your head as your face nestles into the crook of his neck. 

The cold medicine starts to take effect as your eyelids get heavier. Matt’s breathing has relaxed signaling to you he’s on the verge of falling asleep too. 

“ Goodnight,” you whisper, tilting your head to plant a soft kiss to his jaw. 

“ Goodnight,” he whispers back, planting a loving kiss to the top of your head, pulling you impossibly closer to him. 

You fall asleep just like that.

[opiopal]

mc actually helping solomon improve his cooking .... Tooth rotting fluff

dude the first thing I thought of was matching aprons,

like maybe they don’t even say anything cute on them, or maybe they do, but it’s absolutely a baking pun,

but I also immediately thought of mc having to let him down gently like…. Pookie your cooking has almost killed all of us at some point… but that’s ok because i know how to Cooke more then just mac’n cheese! I can imagine mc starting him off with very basic stuff, like things you’d make in a highschool culinary class. They’d start him off with a simple stir fry, just with noodles, chicken, and some veggies- and after multiple attempts he gets something that doesn’t resemble the souls of the damned! Which they are both equally excited about!! Mc boasts about him to the others and shows off pictures that they took of his edible creation, the others may not be as impressed but they do give a simple compliment or two(strictly just bc mc is the one so happy abt it- also half the time it’s praise given to mc for being so willing to take on such a challenge)

as time goes on they could even start having little cooking dates, which is just them both working in the kitchen together, which normally consists of Solomon asking what would be a good ingredient to add into the stew/fish/chicken/potatoes, and mc typically steering him away from things that would make the food inedible- but over time they end up with better and better meals for dinner! I could also see mc going up to the human realm with Solomon once he gains enough experience to participate in a potluck! And he’s just so excited for weeks before the trip, what should he make? He heard that chili is popular- but if it’s popular then other people would be doing it too! Maybe something sweet? He couldn’t do a cake or cupcakes since making enough to feed everyone, since it would be too much of a hassle to carry with them. Maybe he could make some sort of stew or soup- or he could try making ravioli noodles from hand! Oh but that would also take a very long time, though of course mc would help him. eventually mc helps him to make up his mind, and it’s such a blast. Even though the food they end up bringing is a bit simple, it’s very much so enjoyed by the other people there! And honestly the smile on his face is just so precious,

also mc totally has a chart hung up on the wall for him, which is basically little cooking tips, like, you made something a little too sweet? Add a small amount of vinegar or lemon juice slowly to combat it. Do not mix too much baking powder with a cake batter unless you also want to be feeding the oven. Is the stew a little bit thin? Let it simmer a bit longer- is your sauce a bit thin as well? Try a bit of flower or heavy whipping cream, in small amounts. Ect. ect. and mc absolutely makes him call them whenever he has questions, it doesn’t matter the time of day, mc would rather step out of a student council meeting for 5 minutes then come home to the kitchen being completely destroyed…

[chrystal-ink]

Shadvent calendar Day 5

Shadow x GN Reader

Soup kitchen

One of the many things Shadow did in his free time was volunteer once a week at the local soup kitchen. It started out as just another way for him to honor Maria's memory but the more he volunteered the more he enjoyed doing it, he preferred to stay in the kitchen doing prep work or dishes. They didn't allow him to cook anymore on account that he was truly a terrible chef.

Unfortunately the Kitchen didn't have any options today, the flu was going around and it wiped out half of the volunteers. Since Shadow was immune to the virus he was put in charge of cooking under one condition.

You had joined him a few times at the kitchen, you enjoyed serving the community with him even if you two weren't always stationed together. Today you were in charge of making sure Shadow's soup was actually edible, a truly taxing challenge indeed. Chicken noodle soup should be easy to make, right?

"Honey I love you, but you can't cut the carrots that big they're going to take forever to cook."

"why wouldn't they cook in time? they'll be in the same pot as the the rest of the soup"

"Because carrots are thick they take time to get soft that's why you cut them thinner."

"Why do we need to add carrots anyway it's a chicken noodle soup there should only be two ingredients."

"It's for flavor Shadow"

"I still don't see why it's necessary"

"I know sweetie, just cut the carrots."

🥕

"Shadow did you season the chicken?"

"Was I supposed to?"

"I'll take that as a no."

🍗

"what is bullion anyway?" Shadow asked

".....I don't actually know, but you need it for soup."

Before you knew it the two of you had produced a pretty decent soup, the pleasant scent of broth floated through the air warming the spirits of everyone around. The kitchen manager tasted the result of your labours and deemed it a success.

Soon enough it was serving time. You and shadow were placed at your serving stations, you poured the soup while Shadow handed out bread.

Shadow couldn't help but steal glances at you from across the room. Seeing how you served everyone with a warm gentle smile.

He felt lucky that he had found someone like you. Always willing to help, even on your bad days when all around you was falling apart you still showed kindness to anyone who would accept it from you.

Once dinner service was over and the washing up was done the two of you were headed home. Hand in hand the both of you walked past the buildings and parks enjoying the scenic route as you made your way to your house just outside the city.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight"

"No need to thank me Shadow I love doing these things with you. even if I have to put up with your terrible cooking skills" you jested.

"My cooking skills are perfectly fine thank you very much."

you giggled "of course they are sweetheart" you smiled kissing him on the cheek. "maybe they're not for everyone though"

The two of you continued your walk home chatting about the dishes Shadow could and couldn't cook, as well as your own cooking failures.

" I swear I turned the stove on low."

"well evidently you did not seeing as you almost burnt the house down. it didn't taste too bad though, it had a nice crunch to it."

"You actually ate it?!"

"I was not about to let perfectly good rice go to waste y/n, burnt or not."

"And you liked it?"

"it had a nice texture."

"Well maybe I'll have to burn it again sometime."

Shadow smiled at you. "that's all i ask for my love."

[nartothelar]

But for the vampire au, have you considered Emmet getting Severely Hurt™️ and Ingo turning him to keep his brother alive?

Or do they have an agreement to just let things happen?

“No.” Emmet responds simply, decisively.

The answer is expected and yet, the disappointment Ingo feels is an unwelcome heaviness, his constant frown turning genuine without it meaning to.

Ingo had asked the very same question thrice times now.

Once was when they were kids. It was casual inquiry that came with little prompting; he had asked out of curiosity more than anything. Ingo had asked Emmet after they had defeated a trio of challengers off hand. Emmet had laughed, light and airy, when he answered. They had gotten ice cream using their winnings after.

The second time had been following a much more harrowing experience. A safety check forgotten, a simple mistake by a depot agent newly hired, had resulted in a derailed train. Fortunately only a few were injured. Unfortunately, one of those few was Emmet.

Ingo had asked him with bags under his eyes, something quite silly since Ingo didn’t even need to sleep. (Was that makeup? Emmet had joked with an exhausted smile.)

Emmet, laying in that hospital bed, IV's in his arm and a cask around his left leg, had responded much the same, a chuckle rather than a laugh. Perhaps his headache had come back to manage much more than that. Ingo didn’t attempt to change his mind and offered him the chicken noodle soup Elesa had brought for him.

And the third time was right now: Ingo sitting across from Emmet in the dining room of their shared apartment. It was morning and even though the windows curtains were drawn, the room was illuminated with a soft glow. In front of his brother was a plate of eggs and toast, him nursing a cup of black coffee. In front of Ingo was just a cup of tea, untouched and cooling.

“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”

“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”

The way he asks shows his cards far to easily. Whoever had said Subway Boss Ingo was hard to read must have not tried at all.

His brother looks at him, assessing him, and then looks away.

Emmet is silent for a minute, simply gazing at the cup in front of him. His food was getting cold.

Most would think Emmet was being hesitant when answering, that this was a sign he didn’t want to answer at all. But Ingo knows him well. He knows he wants to go over what he will day and that he voices his thoughts properly.

Ingo is patient and waits. Finally, Emmet answers.

“I like the sun.” His brother says, looking at him. The color of his eyes haven’t dulled all these years. “It feels warm on my skin. It feels good.”

“I love eating. The taste, the action. Yup!" Emmet picks at his plate with a hum. "I want to eat what I like, when I like."

“I like my independence." Ingo's tea leaves an ashy taste as he sips it - a floral chamomile bag floats at the bottom of it. "I do not want to be dependent on others. I do not want to be dependent on things out of my control."

"I know that I will have to sometimes." Emmet really looks at him now. "And that is ok. But I still feel the same way.”

Ingo squeezes his mug, before he relaxes his grip. Emmet notices.

Emmet lays his palm on his chest, closing it into a fist near the middle.

“I like being human.” It sounds final, the words like a gavel to wood, the way it echoes in his mind. “I do not want to be a vampire.”

Ingo wants to argue. To convince him that the pros outweigh the insignificant cons, but he does not. No. Usually Ingo is more eloquent with his words, but the fear that rises up in his throat makes his usually well thought out words more brisk, more succinct, more honest as he says the obvious.

“But you are aging.” Ingo says. You are dying, Ingo tries, fails, and a refrains to add.

Ingo hands are smooth, his face without a wrinkle. He looks as the same as he as when he first became a subway boss. He has since he was sent to Hisui. Forever youthful. And Emmet.

Emmet's hands are calloused, wrinkled from years of maintenance at gear station. His hair is thinning and his temples were turning white. His stride not as brisk as it was years ago.

“I am.” Emmet replies. “And I will continue to age.”

Ingo knows Emmet. He is stubborn, just like himself. That is how he is. He knows he will not change his mind. And that makes him clench his jaw, look down at his cup with furrowed brow.

“Ingo.”

Ingo snaps his head up, fear turning to anger that makes him feel sick. He should not be angry, but he is.

“Then you plan to reach your final stop?” Emmet’s smile dims. Ingo continues anyway. “Leave this station?” Without me? Ingo clamps down before he utters the accusation.

“You....you will have me wait here for you to die? And do nothing?!”

And there it is. Ingo barring his greatest fear since he got turned. The thing that has plaguing his mind since he stood at the grave of his old clan leader in Hisui, at the cemetery where his other wardens were laid to rest. What he had realized as he saw time passes by, years of constant goodbyes and tearful farewells.

It was that, no matter how grand his ideals, the simple truth of the matter was that he was utterly powerless to the passage of time.

Ingo doesn't realize that he has stood up until he is already towering over Emmet's seated form. His fangs barred and he suspects his eyes are slits.

And despite that, Emmet looks calm. He looks...sad.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Ingo says softly, deflated as the anger leaves his body. To live on as those around him pass. To see enjoy his life without the people he cares most around him.

Ingo feels arms wrap around him and he wraps trembling arms around Emmet too, his head laying on his shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, simply holding each other, not letting go.

"I'm sorry I never gave you the choice." Emmet finally says. Ingo's hands grip at Emmet's shirt. "We were young. You were dying. And I was desperate. I did not want to lose you..."

Emmet pulls back after that, not all the way, but enough to look into Ingo's face. His fangs have retracted, his eyes normal again. "But those details do not matter now, do they?" Emmet sighs out, that sad smile still there.

"They matter. Of course they matter." Ingo protests, but he doesn't elaborate pass that.

Emmet looks at the floor, thinking about his words and looks at Ingo again before saying, "Everything reaches its final terminal."

"Not me." Ingo says. It comes out bitter.

"Everything does." Emmet repeats, shaking his head. He squeezes Ingo's forearm before he lets go. "I did not give you a choice. but you can choose for yourself now."

His brother’s crows feet, a result from decades worth of smiles, crinkle at the edges as he looks at him. "Just as I choose for myself."

Ingo dwells on those words, on what his brother is offering. A choice and a decision to make. Emmet looks at him and Ingo understands.

With a sigh (a concession, a compromise), Ingo nods and accepts Emmet's answer.

That heaviness Ingo feels is not fully gone from his mind, but it has lightened, the tension of the room dispersing like the morning fog.

Emmet notices, smiles, and sits back down to finish his breakfast. Ingo follows. And then the silence is filled anew with his brother's latest retelling of yet another dealing he had with a rude passenger yesterday.

Ingo listens and they both laugh and talk and all is right and as it should be that morning, in their shared moment of time.

Him and his brother were a two car train, always have been, no matter their differences. And no matter what, he was going to be there with him until his brother's final destination.

And then after that, once that engine has long gone cold, Ingo would decide when his last stop was too.

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 7th: Wayne | The Seeker - The Who | Warm a/n: vampire!eddie, eddie & wayne, implied steddie. un-betaed because I’m challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 | link to masterpost on ao3

Wayne takes Eddie in officially when he’s 13 years old. It’s winter in Indiana and the kid shows up without so much as a jacket. 

Who doesn’t buy their kid a jacket in Indiana winter? 

Well, Clyde Munson, apparently. 

He’s dropped off at Wayne’s trailer with no coat and refuses to shake Wayne’s hand when he offers it out in a gesture of good will. Eddie’s a skinny kid, a little scraggly and a lot ornery, but nothing Wayne knows he can’t fix with some hot dogs and a few hugs.

He’s almost always cold though, no matter how much weight he puts on, or however many layers he wears. Wayne makes sure he has a good coat and tries his best to keep the trailer warm but it’s tough in these midwest winters. 

Trailers hold the heat in the summer, and unfortunately, the chill in the winter. 

He takes the opportunity to Eddie how to make the best hot chocolate, even the occasional tea, and passes along his favorite soup and stew recipes. Grandma Munson taught Wayne and Clyde when they were kids, and it’s a goddamn shame that Eddie was robbed of making those memories, too. The intention was to share family recipes but Wayne’s pretty sure that Clyde’s forgotten the old peach kitchen in its entirety. Eddie loves them though, all of them– potato soup, chicken noodle, beef stew. 

They keep him and his heart warm at the same time. 

Wayne watches Eddie grow up, watches him struggle in school and with himself, but he knows his boy is trying. He hadn’t had the easiest start to life so Wayne gives him yards and yards of slack when he fails his senior year twice, when he grows his hair out, when he plays that racket at all hours of the night, when he’s brought back to the trailer park by Chief Hopper instead of to the station. He has an agreement with his old fishing buddy, and Chief Hopper knows Eddie’s misguided but harmless. 

But then Chief Hopper dies, or so he thinks, and Eddie doesn’t have this protection from the closed-minded townspeople who see him as a leper, a stain on their town. 

Eddie’s accused of murder and Wayne knows that his boy who only drinks hot chocolate out of his Garfield mug and shivers until there’s two thick blankets thrown over his shoulders didn’t do it. Not when he’s constantly talking about protecting the younger kids of Hellfire Club from the “dystopian nightmare of normalcy” and taking a cut of his weekly dealing profits to buy cat food for the park strays. 

Wayne understands why Eddie runs, but it leaves him sitting alone, wondering, afraid. Eddie’s his to keep safe, no matter how old he gets, and now he can’t. He can’t protect him from the town, he can’t protect him from the media, he can’t protect him from the basketball team or the earthquake that follows. There’s no way to link them logically, but he knows in his heart of hearts that Eddie’s disappearance and the odd series of catastrophic earthquakes are related. 

It only gets worse when Dustin gives him the bloody guitar pick, that red one Eddie wears daily cold and sticky in his calloused hands. No one will tell him the truth, but Eddie is a survivor. If there was a way to climb out of a ditch or from under a tree, he would’ve. Hell, these friends of Eddie’s that Wayne meets in the aftermath look like his company coming back from the War. 

The Harrington boy in particular tells him the same story: Eddie was lost when the Earth splintered open and he pushed Dustin out of the way in a show of self-sacrifice, but his eyes seem desperate, unfocused, lost. 

Wayne knows this was no earthquake and goes searching. 

Every night for months, Wayne goes out into the woods and looks. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, exactly, but he ignores everyone who tells him to let it go and work through his grief. He doesn’t need to mourn until he knows for sure that Eddie’s dead and he doesn’t. Not when the Harrington boy looks like there’s a truth beating at his chest as he watches him with a kind of pity that doesn’t match the story. 

It’s a sweltering summer night when he heads into the woods looking for answers for the last time. He and his flashlight search the brush, look beneath bushes and behind gnarled trees. An owl hoots in the distance and Wayne hears the snapping of twigs behind him. 

Wayne turns to face whatever approaches him, frighteningly calm. After the past few months, he’d welcome a bear. 

What he finds instead is Eddie. Or, well, a version of Eddie. His eyes are less chocolate brown and more red velvet, and he was always a pale kid but Wayne doesn’t remember the bluish bags beneath his eyes. He’s still Eddie– there’s something different about him, but it doesn’t matter. Not to Wayne. 

“Eddie?” Wayne steps forward. 

“Hey, old man.” His voice echoes, almost musical, but it breaks all the same. “I shouldn’t be here, but I couldn’t keep you in the dark anymore. A lot of things happened, but I’m… well, not quite alive but I’m okay. Or, at least I’m gonna be.” 

“Son, what the hell is going on? Let me help.” Wayne’s heart pounds in his rib cage, hard enough to be felt in his stomach and heard in his ears. 

Eddie’s eyes dart down to Wayne’s chest and back up, shaking his head rapidly. “It’s a long story, and it’s not over yet. But when it is, I promise I’ll tell you. You just– you can’t tell anyone about this or that you saw me. You’ll be in danger.” 

“Does anyone else know?” He asks, but he knows the answer. Suddenly, Steve's reactions all make sense. 

Eddie nods. “He wants to tell you too, but it’s not time yet. Just, please, listen to them. If they tell you to leave town, do it. If they tell you not to trust someone, don’t.” 

“I’m just supposed to accept that you’re alive but not really, and trust the people who kept this a secret from me blindly?” 

“Yes. I know how it sounds, but they’re your only allies right now. There’s a lot going on beneath Hawkins, Wayne. It might not be safe for much longer.” 

Wayne swallows and takes another step towards Eddie, watching as he flinches and crinkles his nose. “The earthquakes, right? They weren’t just earthquakes, were they?” 

Eddie sighs and lifts a hand to his nose, an old tell that he’s clearly brought into whatever new version of himself he’s become. “Just listen to them. Trust them. Please, Wayne.” 

There’s a desperation to Eddie’s voice that makes Wayne ache. He steps closer and outstretches a hand, the same one he’d offered all of those years ago when Eddie arrived, scraggly and scared at the trailer. This time though, Eddie takes it. 

His hands are still cold, and Wayne brings up his other hand to hold Eddie’s tightly between his shaking, calloused fingers. 

His boy’s always just needed a little extra warmth.

[igncrxntripley]

Would you mind doing headcannons for when secret weapon gets sick, like damn near fever coma sick?

headcanons: in sickness and in health

A/N: i was so excited when i saw this we love fluffy judgement day

tags: poly!judgement day, fem!reader, illness, brief mention of medicine

mentions: @babybatlover @ripleyswhore

y/n knew something was wrong when she woke up and had little to no energy to move

not only was she shivering to no end laying against damian (a human furnace) but she was sweating like she just finished working out

he's the first to notice something is wrong and starts making a to-do list of how to make their baby feel better

"finn, we need chicken noodle soup asap" "dom, check what medicine we have and run to the store if we don't have anything" "rhea, set up the couch and the living room"

no one wastes any time for their babygirl; dominik is already taking inventory of medicine and going to the drugstore for more, rhea has the best blankets and pillows on the couch with y/n's favorite movies and shows, and finn is slaving over a hot stove making soup

damian starts by getting y/n changed into new pajamas and braids her hair way from her face, which proves to all be somewhat of a challenge because y/n has latched herself onto his body and won't let go

eventually he finishes and brings her downstairs to get comfy with rhea but since y/n won't let go, he gives in and brings both girls to his chest to cuddle

rhea's usually pretty tough but she's most definitely concerned when y/n can barely keep her eyes open; damian's spending just as much time calming rhea down and making her feel better as he is y/n

"she can't even fuckin' keep her eyes open, what if something's wrong?" "she'll be fine once dominik gets some medicine"

dominik is easily taking way too much time at the store, because not only is he getting medicine but he's getting all of the juice and anything to make y/n feel better

but once he gets home he's playing nurse; rhea practically has to hold y/n up to get her to take medicine and drink something

finn manages to leave his soup long enough to bring out a damp towel and hopefully start breaking y/n's fever

eventually all five people are on the couch, damian and rhea being the main cuddlers on duty while dominik and finn are the runners for anything they need

they manage to keep y/n awake long enough to finally eat something even though finn is spoon-feeding her like a baby

each one of them is amazing with taking care of y/n, and when she's finally feeling better she apologizes

"you wasted your whole day taking care of me and now you're probably all going to get sick!"

not a single one of them cares, because they know they would all do it for one another

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Let's call it Fate | Part 15

(A/N) Who wants my uterus? I'm done with that thing. Also, yes this is a reference to what happens to Terzo. :)

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: google translate translations, abusive parents (especially mother), arranged marriage, age gap, bullying, talk of grandparents and death of a grandparent, mistreatment of Ghouls, threats, angst, fluff, kissis, bit more spice

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

The moment was quickly interrupted by Papa Secondo softly clearing his throat. Both you and Copia quickly turned to look at him, a blush covering your cheeks.

“As much as I hate to interrupt this moment-” his tone suggested that he very much enjoyed it. “-I assume that means that you two are going to take care of Primo tonight, si? Great! I’ll be in my chambers if you need something. His medicine is on the table.” He started to walk to the door, before turning around again and calling out to Copia. “È quella giusta, vero? Sei fortunato che sia completamente innamorata di te, altrimenti la prenderei per me.” 

Copia chuckled before pulling you closer to himself, a dangerous spark in his eyes, as you got the feeling that whatever the older Emeritus brother had said, was about you. “Provaci, caro fratello, e ti taglio la testa.” Secondo laughed, making you glance at Primo, who thankfully didn’t stir in his sleep. “You know I like the challenge, little brother. Anyway, good night.” And with those words, Papa Secondo left the room.

You turned to look at Copia, an eyebrow raised. “Do I want to know?” Copia snacked both arms around your waist and pulled you close until your noses were almost touching, your chest pressed to his. “He said that if you weren’t so in love with me, he’d take you for himself.” The thought that any of the other brothers, hell, anyone else, would desire you like that had never crossed your mind. And you didn’t know if you were supposed to be flattered or scared.

“What did you say?” His lips found their way to the column of your throat, where they ghosted over your skin, a smile pulling on them. “I said that if he tried, I’d cut his head off.” A quiet moan escaped your lips at his words, and as if to emphasize what he’d just said, he bit down on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to break the skin. You never knew this possessive side of Copia, but you had to admit that you liked it.

Before either of you could take it further, Swiss and Dew returned. A very quiet Dew and a very smug Swiss when they noticed the position you were in. You would've hit him if the taller one hadn’t been carrying a very comfortable-looking couch. Softly. Instead, you glared at him, watching as he placed the furniture down, the blanket, book, and cloth all on top of it. Dew was trailing behind him, wheeling in a small cart with everything else on it.

Once the Ghouls had placed everything where you wanted it, you pulled away from Copia and hugged both of them, thanking them quietly. “We also told the kitchen to prepare some chicken noodle soup. He gathered the vegetables from the greenhouse. I hope you don’t mind.” You were surprised when Dew spoke up. “No, of course not. Thank you so much. Both of you.” Dew nodded and turned, heading for the door, but Swiss stayed for a second longer.

“You gonna be okay?” You nodded, forcing a smile onto your face. “Copia is going to stay with me; I’ll be fine.” Swiss nodded, hesitating, before handing you a slip of paper. “My number if you ever need something.” You couldn’t help but throw your arms around his neck, thanking him again. He returned the hug, before pulling away gently and leaving. You stayed there, rooted to the spot, until Copia pulled you out of your thoughts. “Come, let’s get comfortable, si?”

The night was spent mostly awake, with a few short naps sprinkled in between. When you weren’t next to Primo, either standing or sitting on the side of his bed, you were lying on Copia, your head on his chest as his hands softly caressed your back. You tried reading but found that you couldn’t concentrate on it, so instead, Copia took to read it aloud. You were still struggling to pay attention, but his voice was enough to keep you calm.

By the time the sun was rising, you could barely keep your eyes open, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but startle awake every time you started to fall asleep. Thankfully, the replacement came in the form of Papa Secondo and Terzo. When they ushered you out, Copia didn’t even try to get you to walk, instead, he picked you up and carried you back to his apartment, where he fell onto the bed with you. You had never fallen asleep quicker.

When you woke up, everything felt wrong. It was too hot, and there was a slight pounding in your head. The light streaming in from the windows was too bright, and you weren’t sure what time zone you were in. Beside you, you heard a deep and sleepy groan. Copia had one warm thrown over his face, effectively shielding his eyes.

“Amore…I think I’m too old to stay up all night.” You chuckled and pulled yourself closer to him, resting your head on his chest as you gazed up at him. “I know…but thank you for doing it. I’m glad I wasn’t alone.” Lightly lifting his arm, he blinked down at you, a soft smile on his lips. “Anything for you, cuore mio.”

After resting for a few more minutes, both of you got out of bed. Slowly, hand in hand, you shuffled to the kitchen, where Copia brewed coffee for the both of you. While waiting, you checked the time and realized it was already past lunch. You missed the lessons that morning. A silent curse escaped you, catching Copia’s attention. “What is it, amore?” Instead of answering, you just held up your phone and let him read the time. But instead of panicking, Copia just shrugged and returned to the coffee machine.

“I assumed we’d be sleeping in, so I asked Secondo to excuse us for today.” You frowned. “When? I don’t recall you doing that?” Copia chuckled as he picked up two filled mugs and led you to the couch, where he sat down the mugs before pulling you down with him. “As we left. You were half asleep by then, so I’m not surprised you didn’t notice.” While talking, he pulled you closer until you leaned your back against his chest, sitting between his legs.

You spent the rest of the day lounging around in Copia’s apartment, only quickly letting Lila know that you were okay and you would see her soon. After Copia and you ate dinner, you decided to go and check on Primo, where you found Terzo, sleeping soundly on the couch while a very irritated Papa Secondo sat next to Primo’s bed and played some kind of card game with his older brother. The older man looked better already, and you couldn’t help but smile at him as he noticed your presence.

“Ah, tesoro, fratellino. We were wondering when you’d come back.” Primo waved you over, and you followed the invitation, standing next to his bed with Copia behind you, his hand on your waist. As soon as Papa Secondo noticed you two, he let out a relieved sigh and got to his feet, leaving his cards on Primo’s bed. “Thank Satanas. I’ll get this bastardo back to his quarters; you take over from here.” Without another word, Papa Secondo slapped Terzo over the head, waking him up, before dragging him out of the room. You couldn’t help but laugh as you watched, Primo also letting out a chuckle while Copia just shook his head.

“Those two told me what you did last night, and I want to thank you.” Primo looked at the pair of you, a grateful smile on his face. You waved it off, smiling right back. “Please, it’s the least we could do. How are you feeling?” Primo padded the mattress next to him, and you sat down, waiting for him to answer. “Much better, dear. Thank you. I’ll take the weekend to rest, but I should be fine starting next week. Although I can’t miss this week’s black mass. We are celebrating Secondo after all.”

You looked back at Copia, who nodded. “Si, it’s his birthday.” Immediately, your mind went into overdrive, trying to think of a good present for the former Papa, but you came up empty. “Don’t worry, amore. He hates his birthday, hates that we have to celebrate it. He wouldn’t care for a present anyway.” You nodded, although you couldn’t help but feel sad for him. No one should hate their birthday. At least now you had a mission: make Secondo enjoy his birthday!

Translations: È quella giusta, vero? Sei fortunato che sia completamente innamorata di te, altrimenti la prenderei per me...She's the one, isn't she? You're lucky she is utterly in love with you, or I'd take her for myself. Provaci, caro fratello, e ti taglio la testa...Try it, dear brother, and I'll cut your head off. amore...love si...yes fratellino...little brother tesoro...dear cuore mio...my heart Satanas...Satan bastardo...bastard

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Ghost Masterlist

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[emo-batboy]

Depression meals Battinson has made himself at least once while unsupervised to the shock and horror of Alfred

(Alfred has to sleep at some point. that’s when Bruce decides to wreak havoc and make these barely edible monstrosities)

(Btw he’s vegetarian, fucking fight me)

Pepper jack cheese between two seaweed sheets

Uncooked ramen dipped in the seasoning packet

Ready rice with cold tofu

Spoonfuls of peanut butter

Instant grits with one slice of American cheese

Pop tart dipped in hot chocolate

Spaghetti noodles with no other ingredient than a mountain parmesan, didn’t even put salt in the water

“Technically bread” (water and flour, microwaved…he was having a really bad day)

Bread, cheese, ketchup, microwave = pizza

Cream cheese and jelly sandwich

Vegan hot dog microwaved without a plate. He picked it up from the microwave with a piece of white bread and ate it just like that. No dirty dishes

kraft mac and cheese with one single raw asparagus

Various little kiddie-themed smoothie shots

Dry cereal

Cheddar cheese wrapped in a flour tortilla

Vegan dinosaur nuggets (microwaved, tho he tried to cook it in his hot coffee once, it didn’t work)

Frozen snap peas straight from the bag, unthawed

Tomato soup with cheez-its sprinkled on top

Tried to make a meal completely out of vitamin supplements once, based entirely on the exact amount of nutrients you need in a day

A family-sized bag of generic brand corn chips

Hard boiled eggs (they were supposed to be soft-boiled) and paprika

Blueberry bagel, toasted, no butter

Cold chicken noodle soup in one of those paper cartons from the corner store (it gave him food poisoning)

Microwave grilled cheese

Cucumber rolls (cucumber slices he rolled in microwave rice)

Leftover cake washed down with a protein shake

A hunk of mozzarella cheese, microwaved

Frozen Garlic bread (it’s actually good like that, he swears)

Four 5-hour energy shots to make a 20-hour energy (his heart rate didn’t go back to normal for two days)

Fruit snacks squished between two slices of wheat bread

Tried to dry scoop protein powder once, worked about as well as the cinnamon challenge

Pistachios with the shells (it was an accident. He did not notice)

Refried refried beans (for protein)

Handfuls of mushy, room temperature blueberries

Tofu block cut up with a spam slicer and dipped in mustard

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 3 | Earning Trust

Amanda knew immediately the second she crossed the threshold of her home that she was in over her head. The minuscule boy in the palm of her hand needed intense care, and his size, being no bigger than her thumb, was going to be an immense challenge. 

Still, Amanda knew she made a promise to this boy, and she refused to let him down now - especially after they first met. She had earned a fragment of trust, and she intended to keep it. 

Finally making it past the mountains of boxes, she stepped into her kitchen and set her hand onto the counter. The slight jostle made the poor boy whimper pitifully. 

“You’re okay. I’m here,” she reassured just as she had done the whole way home. Seeing him in full light, Amanda wanted more than anything to give him a bath, but more importantly was the fact that he needed food. One handed, Amanda fished out a bowl and a standard can of chicken noodle soup and began heating it in the microwave. 

She wished she could give him something a little more nutritious and home-made, but that would have to wait. At the moment, her life was upside down. Everything happening was the last thing she wanted, but it was what she needed. 

While the little boy stayed huddled in her hand, Amanda continued to work. She realized after fumbling around for a minute for a spoon that she had nothing in her house that would be small enough for the child. Amanda, as her thoughts bounced around her skull like a bouncy ball, didn’t want to scare the child with a spoon that he could sit on; but he also needed something to eat the soup with. 

The boy watched with his insightful eyes, keeping eerily quiet, while Amanda searched. 

Feeling the pressure of his eyes, Amanda suddenly came up with an idea, but she’d need the boy to listen to instructions for this to work. She snagged a dish cloth from her sink and ran it under the water, moving delicately to not startle the little boy. When it was just barely damp, she turned off the water and held out just a little corner for him. 

“Could you rub your hands on the cloth? Okay? Rub your hands on the cloth,” coaxed Amanda as she mimicked the motion with her thumb and index finger. The infinitesimal child blinked uncertainly before inching himself across Amanda’s palm, making a tingling shiver shoot up her arm, and imitating the motion, rubbing his hands on the cloth. 

Her mind was absolutely numb. This boy was absolutely amazing. At every turn, she was discovering something new about him and what he understood. Did that mean he could speak as well?

The thought was fascinating, but it would have to wait because, just then, the microwave dinged. Amanda moved instinctually at her own pace simply to look over at the kitchen appliance, but it was enough to jostle her hand and make the boy whimper and take cover against Amanda’s curled fingers. 

“Oh… oh no… It’s okay, sweetie. I’m sorry,” muttered Amanda as she curled her fingers a little tighter. The boy whimpered again, hiding his soft brown eyes as he kept them shut tight. His breathing was rapid, and he was trembling ever so slightly. Amanda could feel him against her fingertips. It made her heart hurt, so she tried coaxing him a little more. “I’ll move slower. I promise. You’re okay.” 

Seemingly convinced, the sandy haired boy to open his eyes once again after a few minutes and looked back up at Amanda. To her, it looked like he was seeking reassurance in her eyes, and she freely gave it. 

“There you go. See? All better,” Amanda encouraged. Moving slower now, Amanda retrieved the soup, a soft drink cap, and the loaf of bread from the kitchen counter. With the items neatly organized, Amanda dipped the cap into the warmed soup and tested the temperature to make sure he wouldn’t get burned before daring to lower both the cap and the little boy to the kitchen counter. 

Goodness… he’s so small. He looks like one of those little salt and pepper shakers, Amanda thought as she kept her hand on the counter, the boy still sitting on the edges of her fingers. He was looking around at all of the cabinets and drew his legs in toward him, obviously intimidated. 

To make this a positive experience, Amanda acted quickly and pinched off a corner of bread and offered it to the boy. His little features furrowed in confusion as he carefully took the bread from in between her pinched fingers. He rotated around so he could face her but didn’t leave the safety of her hand. 

It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only option she had. She didn’t want to force the boy off. If her hand was where he felt safe, then that was where he should stay. 

Amanda moved the cap of soup onto her palm in front of the boy before pulling her own bowl toward her. 

“Here now, watch me, okay? Just dip the bread into the soup, like this,” instructed Amanda. Keeping her hand steady, she took her own piece of bread and dipped it into the liquid, swirled it around, and then brought it to her lips for a bite. The soft brown eyed boy watched Amanda do this several more times before looking down at his own piece of bread and, to her amazement, dipping it into the broth in the lid, imitating Amanda’s behavior. 

Thankfully, Amanda didn’t need to continue repeating the action because the moment the bread and salty soup touched his lips, the boy began to eat ravenously, broth dribbling down his front and into his already filthy clothes. 

Now really able to see him, Amanda saw that the little boy’s outfit consisted of a shirt with a faded yellow button on his front that took up most of his chest and a big green button on his back that was like the one on his chest. He was barefoot, mud caked in between his toes, and his pants were obviously soiled. 

It made Amanda’s heart twist in her chest. How long had this boy been out on his own? 

When the little pinch of bread was gone, the most pitiful look filled his eyes as he looked back up at Amanda eagerly, to which she happily gave him another piece. He inhaled three fair sized bread pinches before he showed signs of slowing down. It was on the fifth piece that he slowed and stopped, simply holding the bread close and nibbling on the edge absentmindedly. 

Amanda knew she would need to get some utensils for him, but now was not that time. Now, after the boy had some food in him, she managed to convince him to drink a little bit of water before she shuffled both of them to the bathroom. 

A bath was in order. 

She stepped up to her bathroom sink and began to run some warm water. She found some vapor bubble bath that would probably do the little boy some good and added that to the running water in the sink. 

At first sight, however, the boy whimpered and scuttled across her hand to grasp her thumb with all of his might. He was shivering violently and fell to his knees. Amanda kept her free hand cupped near her thumb in case the little boy accidentally lost his balance. Perhaps it was instinct, but the boy’s ability to balance on such a malleable substance like a hand was incredible. 

She couldn’t pause to marvel at him now, however. 

With a feeling like a punch in the gut, Amanda tried figuring out how to convince this child he was alright and that the water was alright. 

Did something happen related to water to make him so afraid? Amanda wondered. The horrid thought that he had been swept away in a rainstorm from his family made her heart clench. Just keep reassuring him. Show him it’s okay. He trusted you with the bread, right? 

It was a weak argument, but it was all she had. 

“It’s okay sweetie,” coaxed Amada, speaking once again in a low, sonoric tone. “It’s just water, see?” With that, Amanda carefully placed her other hand under the water and moved her fingers around, splashing the liquid around the sink. The little boy continued clutching Amanda’s thumb as he whimpered. 

She had to try something else. Then, she got an idea. 

Amanda cupped her one hand and caught some of the water in it before pulling it away from the faucet and holding it up to the little boy. 

“Here, see? It’s just water,” reassured Amanda as she tapped the puddle of water in her palm while holding it up to the boy. 

He turned his soft brown eyes to Amanda before looking back at the water. Tears still staining his face, he leaned forward and barely touched the water with the tip of his finger. 

The miniscule boy instantly retraced his finger and huddled against Amanda’s thumb, but a smile from her and another reassuring, “It’s okay,” had the boy tapping the liquid until the tears stopped. 

It would take Amanda another twenty minutes to coax the little boy under the stream of water where she gently massaged soap into his hair and over his clothes. While she worked, she watched the boy’s eyes drifting further and further down, drowsiness overtaking him. The sight was adorable beyond words. Though tentative, his trust mixed with exhaustion was making this little boy fall asleep in her hands. 

Amanda dried him off, careful not to jostle his head, and carefully constructed a toga-like outfit. Cutting away the little boy’s clothes was nerve wracking and made Amanda’s heart ache at seeing all of his injuries as well as his little ribs, which were clearly visible. There were also numerous bruises on his body as well as scratches, some of which ran from the base of his back to the top of his neck. 

Was he attacked by something? How long has he been out there? Where are his parents? Did he have parents? 

Amanda organized a shoebox with some snacks, water, and bedding and set the unconscious boy inside. Evidently, he had fallen asleep in her hand while she put together a space for him.

His little forehead furrowed as he twitched and turned into the bed Amanda made for him.

Now, more than ever, she needed to find out about this little boy, and, beyond that, she needed to find a way to protect him - no matter what.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

Beginning

[themculibrary]

Tony Takes Care Of Sick Peter Masterlist

Am I A Dying Man? (ao3) - Odd_I G, 5k

Summary: Peter Parker didn’t get sick, not any more. He hadn’t been really sick since before the bite, and that was what? Three years ago?

He was pretty sure it had something to do with his super healing, but he wasn’t completely sure. They never really had to test it out, after all. But he healed fast, so it generally made sense that his weird radioactive spider system also fought off any infections and illnesses.

— OR —

Peter gets sick, is a dramatic little shit, and Tony is just done with everything.

Appendicitis (ao3) - tommyparkerr T, 15k

Summary: In which Peter doesn't realize until too late that the flu shouldn't be this painful, and Tony Stark is right there to both lecture and comfort him (and accidentally call him his kid in the process).

Blankets (ao3) - kiwifeather G, 1k

Summary: Tony cares for an under-the-weather Peter the best way he knows how (which is pretty good, because he's a Dad™ now).

et tu, brute? (ao3) - turtle_bean G, 3k

Summary: Peter rounds the corner and gives a half-hearted hop. “All ready for the mission, Mr. Stark!”

Yeah, no.

“FRI, give me a read.”

“What -”

“101.7 degrees Fahrenheit, Mr. Stark,” Karen announces from Peter’s suit.

--

or, peter is sick, ned’s worried, and tony is... well, tony.

Extra Noodles (ao3) - duskblue G, 4k

Summary: Peter is staying with Tony while May is out of town. Unfortunately, Peter doesn't feel the best, so Tony is on a mission to figure out what's wrong so he can take the best possible care of him. He enlists his good friend, Bruce Banner in this task.

flushed away (ao3) - underpassgraffiti G, 2k

Summary: "I'm dying," he decides, flushing the toilet and resting his forehead against the rim. He feels disgusting. "I'm dying, I'm gonna die. Spider-Man dies to ravioli."

"Should I alert Boss?" Friday chirps, and Peter groans, waving a hand uselessly.

"No, m'fine," he grumbles. "WebMD will save me."

or: peter gets food poisoning & tony takes care of him.

Into the West (ao3) - ChocolateAndRedbull G, 1k

Summary: When a feverish Peter lets himself dwell on the past, Tony makes sure that he’s there to talk him through it

it's in the job description (ao3) - iron_spider_suit G, 8k

Summary: Peter gets sick just in time for movie night with the team. Tony does his best.

lessons in the metric system (ao3) - akapeterman G, 2k

Summary: “Pete,” Tony said slowly, “You’re sick.”

“No!” Peter said more urgently. “I’m hyp’thermic.”

“Trust me, you are the opposite of hypothermic right now, kiddo.”

or; Peter and Tony decide to road trip to Canada. Unfortunately, a peppermint air freshener happens to be Spider-Man's kryptonite. Confusion ensues. And honestly, Peter blames the American school system. They really should be more clear about the difference between Celsius and Farenheight.

Of Chicken Soup and Brooklyn-99 (ao3) - AnnabelleBlack20 G, 2k

Summary: Peter hadn’t gotten sick since the spider bite. But then again, his rotten Parker luck had a mind of its own. Lucky for him, he’s got a superhero in his corner. Nothing but pure fluff between IRONDAD and his SPIDERSON!

shaken up realities (shaking up reality) (ao3) - lemonlillybee M, 5k

Summary: This takes place after Endgame, and it’s a bit angsty, but everyone lives!

Written for the following Sicktember 2022 prompt: Cold Sweat

Sick Puppies (ao3) - OllieCollie G, 7k

Summary: Tony has been through a lot in his lifetime—from being kidnapped by terrorists to saving the world multiple times and just about everything in between—but he may be facing his toughest challenge yet: taking care of two kids with the flu.

Since I Have You (ao3) - lunasquared G, 2k

Summary: He didn’t register the fact that he started falling until he was caught by a pair of arms right before he hit the floor.

“Whoa there kiddo,” Tony said, helping Peter over to the couch. “What’s going on?”

“‘s hot.” Peter mumbled as he laid down on the couch thankful to finally be off his feet.

OR

Peter gets sick and Tony helps take care of him.

we all have a hunger (ao3) - MotherKarizma G, 6k

Summary: “Morgan,” he croaked, throat afire, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey – hey, it’s okay, I’m just…”

“You’re sick.” She mustered up something like bravery, using it to straighten her back and plaster a very grown-up look on her face. “I’ll get Daddy!”

“No!” Morgan jumped, eyes wide. Peter fought to calm his voice. He offered her a smile that couldn’t have been convincing, not even to a five year old. “No, you don’t have to. I feel better now. You don’t have to tell him.”

Morgan’s lips wobbled. Peter knew what her fake pout looked like well enough to know this wasn’t it. “Petey…”

Peter had a lot of reasons to feel guilty. He felt guilty for scaring her. He felt guilty for forgetting to lock his bedroom door, for making scaring her a possibility. He kind of, in a way, felt guilty for doing it in the first place, though not nearly enough to stop.

But more than anything, he felt guilty for this: “Morgan, promise me you won’t tell him. He…he won’t let us swim anymore if you do. And I’m not sick, my tummy just hurt a little bit, but I’m all better now. Promise me you won’t tell him, okay?”

“But…”

“Morgan. Promise.”

When I'm Sick Or Suffering (I'll Still Call You) (ao3) - l_u_c_k_y_c_l_o_v_e_r G, 2k

Summary: Peter comes down with the flu, but a certain superhero makes sure he doesn't have to deal with it on his own.

Wingman (ao3) - Sahiya G, 4k

Summary: Holy shit, Rhodey thought. Tony’s a dad.

[endless-summer-soldier]

cruel to be kind - chapter three

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (90s college AU)

summary: it started with a dare. Bucky restlessly pursues Y/N, seeking just one date. as he chases her, he realizes she's different from she challenges him, so he starts to catch feelings. but it all falls apart when she learns about his initial motivations. based on 10 things I hate about you!

warnings: alcohol use, cursing

word count: 1k

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Y/N woke up and let out a long groan. Her head was pounding and blurred visions from the night before slowly entered her brain. Then suddenly she realized she was parched. Water. She needed water. She crawled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. Her water bottle was about halfway full when her roommate, Carol, entered the room, back from a morning run.

“Well you look like shit,” she said.

“Feel like shit,” Y/N added.

“What exactly did you get up to last night?” Carol stretched in the living room as Y/N chugged down her water.

“Went out with some asshole. It was a mistake.”

“Oh come on, he couldn’t have been that bad. He got you home.”

“He got me drunk, I made a fool of myself, and then he rejected me.”

“Oh you left out the part about maybe having a concussion.”

“Ugh…don’t remind me about that.” She drank more water and then the realization hit her “Wait, how…?”

Carol smirked, “The ‘asshole’ left this under my door,” she held up a small handwritten note, “Wanted me to keep an eye on you and make sure you were okay.”

Y/N had no response to that. She enjoyed her disdain for Bucky. She didn’t need to go around catching feelings just because he did something sweet. Y/N grumbled and retreated to her room as Carol watched her with a knowing look.

Bucky woke up the next morning and his first thought was about Y/N. He hated to admit it, but he was worried about her. And he knew he had his work cut out for him since he had bruised her ego the night before.

So he put himself together and headed to her apartment. He stopped to pick up a couple coffees, hoping to bribe her into liking him again.

He softly knocked in rhythm on her door and heard shuffling from the other side. He could almost sense her looking through the peephole eyeing him up.

“Go away,” she said firmly.

“I brought coffee,” he retorted.

“Oh, well in that case, leave the coffee and go away.”

“Come on Y/N…”

“I made myself perfectly clear. Leave.”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why do you care?”

He sighed and let out a chuckle, “Because I like you!”

There was a long pause before she said, “Well, I don’t like you.”

“That’s the best you could come up with? Damn, you must be really hung over.”

“I’m walking away from the door now,” she said.

He chuckled at her stubbornness, but respected her commitment. He scrawled a quick note on the coffee cup that read Call me once you’re feeling better with his phone number.

He sauntered off, knowing it wouldn’t be that easy. He started considering his next few moves.

He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard from her in a few days. In fact, he anticipated that. So he moved on to phase two.

He approached her front door and knocked, this time hiding from view of the peephole. He heard the lock switching and knew he was in. As soon as the door was open he barged in, taking Y/N by surprise.

Before she could say anything he started unloading the stocked grocery bag. 

“I have everything you could possibly need. Gatorade, ginger ale, homemade chicken noodle soup, saltines, lemon ginger tea…” He pulled out each of the items as they were announced and placed them on her kitchen counter.

“Bucky…what the fuck?”

He looked at her with raised eyebrows encouraging her to continue.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Well you never called me. So you must still be very sick and I thought ‘Hm, if I were really sick, I’d want someone to come over and take care of me.’ So here I am with all the best remedies.”

She was so close to smiling but she kept her composure and responded. “I’m not sick you asshole. I just didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Now that cannot possibly be true. We had such a lovely time together on our date.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Whatever you say sweetheart. Just remember I was the perfect gentleman. I picked you up, I walked you home, and I didn’t take advantage of you in your vulnerable state.” He hoped the last part of his statement would help her understand why he declined her advances that night.

“What a shame, I don’t remember any of it.”

“I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it then. Oh, did I mention that you agreed to go out with me again?”

“Liar,” she joked.

“Can’t blame me for trying.”

She shook her head, “You can leave now.”

“If you insist,” he said. He didn’t move, hoping she would reconsider.

“I do,” she opened the front door wide and signaled for him to make his way through it.

“I have to say Y/N, you are really good at this whole hard to get thing.” He made his way through the door and turned to face her, shooting her his winning smile.

“Bye,” she said as she shut the door in his face.

“I’ll see you later!” he shouted through the door.

Bucky continued to pursue Y/N for the days that followed. He tried out a few different tactics but most of them involved buying her coffee or walking her to class. Her defenses came down a bit, but she still declined any date suggestions Bucky threw out there.

“What’s your endgame here?” she asked him at one point.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

“Because I have never met a girl as interesting as you. And I want to spend time with you and get to know you better.”

She rolled her eyes, “I bet you tell all the girls that.”

“Not a chance.”

“Hate to break it to you but sweet talk doesn’t work on me.”

That was the moment he realized he needed to step things up so he began planning. His friends were constantly telling him to give up, that the dare wasn’t worth all this effort. But it wasn’t about that anymore. Bucky had never struggled when it came to women. Usually his tough exterior and ocean blue eyes were enough to do the trick. Y/N was so different from any other girl and the challenge was a great motivator. He wanted to know what made her tick.

[rickfucker]

can u please just infodump about ricks autism?like his stims,his “icky sensations” etc?thank you! <3

Please forgive the informal nature of this; I obviously have not been writing a lot lately, but I'm back on my Adderall and thinking about Rick as much as I think about Astarion from Baldur’s Gate.

First of all, Rick’s love of Birdperson is because he’s so unlike anyone Rick’s ever met. He’s totally straight forward, no guessing games on his intentions. Given a theory that I just reblogged a day ago, he’s probably got familial trauma similar enough to Rick, in their distrust of love, and possibly marriage. Birdperson is serious and goal-oriented, but lets loose around Rick’s influence BECAUSE they’re both autistic as fuck LMAO.

Rick is hella stimmy. He’s big on echolalia. Always whistling, humming or singing, repeating brand new alien phrases (wubba lubba dub dub, duhh) that have a good mouth feel. Writing songs with his favorite words. Also totally makes fun of people who can’t whistle.

I’ve talked before about his food & texture sensitivities. He’s totally fine eating spaghetti made out of people, but lo mein noodles? Absolutely not; too slimy. He can rip the head off a snake with his bare teeth, yes. He's just so specific with the things he dislikes. Take a chicken breast for example - that's fine. Breaded? Fine. Gravy on chicken breast? Fine. Gravy on breaded chicken breast? Bin it. Anything attached to a bone? No, thank you. Anything that still looks like the animal (whole fish filet, for example), no, thank you. Soup? Better be vegetable and no solids except croutons only. That way, nothing gets too soggy.

He inspects every chip/crisp/french fry before eating for black or green parts. If they have any blemishes like that, they’re getting chucked. He tried once to eat one once, just to challenge himself, and nearly got sick. The texture was simply ungodly.

Some one-off thoughts:

He hates a lot of different clothing textures, which is why he’s always wearing the same outfits. He cut off those clothing tags and cloned the result so he doesn’t have to deal anymore. 

Usually wears shoes around the house. Doesn’t like walking around the house without socks on.

Clumsy when he’s not on high-alert, like on adventures. Got hella bruises on his legs from running into the living room furniture & his work areas in the garage.

Definitely particular about temperature. He keeps his room a toasty 71 degrees, but never 72.

that's all I got for now. Hope you enjoy, anon.

[theflirtmeister]

Domestic hoffheight :( need some cocaine inducing fluff of the guys ever :( some chicken noodle soup for the soul

On the third day, Adam demanded his bed back.

Mark refused to move from his cocoon of bloodstained pillows and sheets, because fuck whatever Adam said. His entire body ached, one moment cold, the next burning hot, and the new stitches up the side of his face prevented him from eating anything more challenging than soup. He had spent the last three days drifting in and out of sleep, pretending not to notice when Adam checked his forehead for a temperature, or tucked the blankets around him.

Now Adam was standing there with his hands on his hips, glaring. His apartment was exactly the kind of shithole that Mark had been expecting when he dragged himself up the flights of stairs, dripping blood onto the concrete steps. There were band posters and club flyers stuck to the walls, clothes strewn on the floor and on the backs of chairs. It felt like student living, but Adam was too old to be a student, and was now just pathetic.

“Get up,” Adam said. “I’m sick of sleeping on the couch.”

“Didn’t ask you to sleep there.” Mark rasped. His throat hurt from screaming, everything raw and tender.

“You didn’t give me much choice,” Adam said. “I had nowhere else to put you.”

Mark shuffled a little to the right-hand side of the bed, but didn’t otherwise evacuate. He was comfy, and the idea of sleeping on the sofa whilst trying to keep his face from falling apart didn’t sound ideal. Adam had sewn him up with the same thread he used to patch his jeans – Mark was surprised he didn’t complete the look with a safety pin.

“Good enough,” Adam muttered, and climbed onto the bed. “You’re a real dick, you know that Hoffman?”

Mark didn’t reply. Adam lay beside him like a corpse, staring up at the ceiling, hands by his sides. He was wearing his version of pyjamas, an old band shirt and a pair of boxers that slipped down his hips. His skin was goose-pimpled, and Mark started to tug at the covers, because watching Adam freeze for the sake of martyrdom was pathetic.

“What are you doing you weirdo-” Adam started, and Mark managed to pull him underneath the thin sheets, before Adam could protest further.

Adam went very still and quiet as Mark arranged the two of them, until Adam’s back was pressed up against Mark’s stomach. He was cold to the touch, and Mark wrapped one arm around Adam’s waist, burying his nose in Adam’s hair. He smelt like cigarettes and laundry detergent, unlike the horrible rot he had stunk of when Mark had gone to collect his corpse from Kramer’s bathroom.

“You’re going to get blood on me.” Adam muttered as Mark rubbed his face against Adam.

“You wanted the bed back,” Mark replied hoarsely. “Shut up and be happy.”

“Thrilled,” Adam said sarcastically. “I love having you snorting in my ear like the fucking pig you are.”

Mark shoved his nose into Adam’s ear and inhaled loudly, causing Adam to squirm away from him in disgust. Mark gave a wheeze of a laugh as Adam furiously rubbed at the side of his face – annoying him was so easy.

“You’re the worst.” Adam snapped. “I take you into my home, and you bleed all over my things and cry all the time and slobber on me.”

“I didn’t cry.” Mark prodded Adam’s back.

“Did cry.” Adam muttered. “When you were delirious and throwing up over yourself. It was real fucking pathetic.”

“You’re pathetic.” Mark replied lamely.

He didn’t want to know what he had said when his body was going through shock – whose names he’d called out, what secrets he’d spilt to Adam. He can barely remember the first day, but has a faint memory of being held on the floor, Adam’s fingers digging into his wrist as he screamed in pain. He thinks he may have begged for Angelina.

“Great comeback,” Adam said. “Ever considered a career in comedy Hoffman, instead of serial killing?”

“Fuck you,” Mark said, resisting the urge to prod him again. “I should have left you chained up.”

“Who else would sew your ugly face back together?” Adam asked. “Everyone else is dead.”

“Shut up,” Mark grunted and dragged Adam back towards him, tangling their legs together.

Adam, surprisingly, didn’t put up a fuss, allowing Mark to hold him. He must have felt some sympathy for Mark, or else was nervous that Mark would bite his throat open if he kicked him away. Mark hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since he was a child; one-night stands rarely stayed the night, and it was strange yet familiar to listen to Adam’s quickened breathing.

“I’m making you get out of bed tomorrow,” Adam said, his voice quiet. “Even if it’s just to sit on my fucking couch. No more feeling sorry for yourself.”

Mark could have protested. He could have screamed and shouted and threatened Adam, hidden under the covers like a child. Instead, he nodded his head, tightening his grip around Adam’s skinny waist. If he slipped his hand underneath Adam’s shirt, he could have counted every rib. Mark wondered if Adam had as many as his original namesake.

“Okay,” Mark said. “I’ll leave the bed.”

“Good,” Adam said, and reached across to turn out the light, the room cast into an ominous level of darkness. At least there was still a strip of light underneath the doorframe leading to the outside hall, and Mark stared at it until his vision blurred. “You better not snore.”

“No promises.” Mark grunted, and closed his eyes.

He listened to the sound of Adam settling down for sleep, arranging his arms in several positions before he was comfortable. He was warm as he pressed himself against Mark’s stomach, hair tickling Mark’s nose. Mark’s jaw throbbed, and he chewed the other side of his cheek to try and distract himself from the pain.

“Goodnight.” Adam said suddenly, and Mark gave him another squeeze.

“Night.” He said, and let sleep swallow him up.

[leastdepressedomorifan]

alright so kusuke does usually fuck with kusou and does very much care about him even with all of his challenges but the one time he never fucks with kusou is if he gets sick. kusuke will stand outside kusous room 24/7 the second kusou gets sick and will do everything in his power to help kusou back to health without being way too overbearing like m*koto is like kusou weakly calls out for him and kusuke is next to his bed in like 5 seconds with a bowl of chicken noodle soup

[drpeppertummy]

fantasizing about winter,,,,,,,,,

[stuffing, tummy rubs]

Val sneezed. It was a sound Connie had grown very accustomed to over the past month or two, and it wasn't going away anytime soon. Winters were hard on her poor old demon. Demon never seemed like the right word to use--he looked like an ordinary man, and a very sweet one at that--but she wasn't sure what else to call him. He'd been born and raised in hell, his big dark eyes glinted red in the sunlight, and he had huge leathery wings that he could unfurl and hide away at will. All of these things he could hide, but the one thing he couldn't mask was his cold tolerance. His healthy body temperature was well over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. It made him perfect to cuddle with on a chilly night, but it also meant cooler weather was absolutely miserable for him. It wasn't unusual for him to have a cold lasting from October to April, and the dead of winter was nearly incapacitating.

It was January now, and as much as Val tried to avoid the freezing outdoors, there were times when it was inevitable. It had been an exceptionally harsh winter so far. The sun seemed to have checked out for the season, and each day was cold, damp, and gloomy. Snow was piled high outside, never having a chance to melt between storms. Wind seemed to be constantly whistling through the trees, and the old house creaked as it braced itself against the strong gusts. Connie typically didn't mind the cold, but this winter was a bit much even for her. For Val, it was brutal. Even inside he remained bundled up, often keeping a blanket wrapped around himself as he moved about the house. He'd been spending this particular night curled up against the arm of the couch, sniffling and dozing off.

Ordinarily, Connie would be accompanying her shivering partner on the couch, enjoying his warmth and trying to provide some of her own, but tonight she was in the kitchen. She'd never been much of a cook; Val and his love for the kitchen had been a godsend (devilsend?) for her and Calvin. Tonight, though, she wanted to try her hand at a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup. Their leftovers from earlier that week were nearly finished, and, looking at Val sniffling away under his blanket, she decided he needed a break from cooking. A bowl of hot soup would do them all well.

Although cooking wasn't Connie's strong suit, the soup didn't prove much of a challenge. She'd followed a simple but effective recipe that a friend had given her ages ago. The result was a creamy, fragrant soup simmering away in the largest pot they owned. She covered the pot, feeling pleased with herself. The soup looked restaurant-worthy, and she hadn't even left much of a mess to clean up. As the timer ticked along, she quietly washed the cutting board and the few knives she'd used, then wiped off the counter. She peered around the doorway as she dried the cutting board. Val was fast asleep now, slumped against the arm of the couch and snoring softly. Connie glanced at the timer. It would be another ten minutes before she could shred the chicken and add the noodles.

Ten minutes had come and gone, and the soup was nearly ready. Connie sat down beside Val. She hated to wake him; he looked so sweet and cozy, and he surely could use the rest. Still, he needed to eat. Gently, she nudged his shoulder.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she said softly, brushing her fingers against his cheek. Val yawned and sleepily took her hand.

"What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"Shoot," he mumbled. He stretched his arms above his head, and his joints crackled softly as he shifted. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." He pushed himself upright, yawning. He should have looked well-rested, but his hair was a mess, his clothes were disheveled, and the texture of the couch upholstery was imprinted on his cheek.

"Oh, your hair looks nice," giggled Connie.

"Yeah?" Val ran his hands through his hair, attempting to smooth it out. "How about now?"

"Not as cute," she teased, tousling his hair. He smiled and planted a kiss on her cheek. As he did, the timer beeped. "Think you can stay awake long enough to have some dinner?"

"Is that what that is? It smells good."

"Looks good, too. Hopefully it tastes good," said Connie.

Calvin and Mona were both staying at their friends' houses that night, leaving the two of them alone. Rather than sit at the table as they would with the whole family, they opted to eat on the couch, a blanket draped over their shoulders. The soup had come out even better than Connie hoped. She'd thrown in a few extra cans of vegetables--peas, carrots, corn, green beans--along with diced potatoes, tender shredded chicken, and far more egg noodles than the recipe called for. The broth was creamy and flavorful but not too rich, and the heat radiating from the bowls was comforting.

"You always say you can't cook, but this is great," said Val.

"Isn't it? It's Elaine's recipe."

"You definitely did it justice." Val was going through his soup much more quickly than Connie. While his cold tolerance was miserable, heat didn't bother him in the slightest. Before long, his bowl was empty and his belly was full.

"Have a little more," Connie suggested. She blew gently on her spoon. Her bowl was still half full.

"Y'know, I might," said Val. He didn't often go back for seconds, but the hot soup was a great comfort against the cold, and he wanted to show his appreciation for Connie's cooking. As he stood up, the feeling of fullness in his stomach became more apparent. He almost reconsidered the second bowl, but it was too enticing to pass up. He ladled himself another serving and returned to Connie's side. Rather than hunch over the coffee table as he did with the first bowl, he sat back against the couch this time to give his belly some space, holding the bowl in his lap.

As Val worked on his second bowl, he began to regret the decision to get seconds. He was already full, and as he ate his stomach grew tighter and more uncomfortable. He sighed and rested a hand on his rounded belly. Connie, finishing up her soup, turned to look at him. Her eyes dropped down to his bloated middle.

"Sheesh, Val, when I said 'have some more,' it was a suggestion, not an order," she chuckled. "Don't go making yourself sick over there."

"Hey, your cooking's just that good," he said, smiling at her. "I might have to quit, though. I don't think I can fit the rest of this."

"I'll say. That tummy looks like it can't take another bite." She gave his belly a firm pat. It sloshed quietly in response. Normally Val's belly was flat and a little bit soft, but after almost two big bowls of soup, it was round and solid, with little give left to it.

"Do you want the rest of this?" He offered her his bowl, which was nearly empty.

"Nah, we'll just throw it back in the pot," she said. "Nobody needs to know."

The two of them cleaned up after themselves and put the rest of the soup away. Some of it went in the freezer; the rest would easily last another week. With a soft grunt, Val dropped himself back onto the couch.

"Oof, I'm stuffed," he sighed, resting his hands on his stomach. He was wearing a heavy oversized flannel over a heavy oversized sweater, but the bump of his bulging tummy was visible even under his form-concealing outfit. Connie sat down beside him and pulled the blanket back around them both. She leaned against Val and slipped her arms around him, idly rubbing his belly. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and they sat for a while, quiet apart from the gentle gurgles of his overstuffed stomach.

Connie was beginning to doze off, lulled into drowsiness by Val's warmth, when she suddenly felt him perk up. She looked up, covering a yawn. He looked like he was thinking.

"Hey, how's some hot chocolate sound?" he asked. Connie laughed.

"How can you possibly have any room left for hot chocolate? Your tummy feels like it's about to pop!"

"Aw, come on, there's always room for a little dessert," he grinned.

"Well, you do make some damn good hot chocolate," said Connie. "Alright, I'm on board." Val rose from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. Connie remained on the couch. She chuckled to herself, shaking her head. Val had an irresistible sweet tooth, and nothing was going to keep him from indulging it. She wasn't about to complain, though. Nothing compared with Val's hot chocolate. Before she met him, she was never much of a hot chocolate person. Her recipe involved Swiss Miss and a microwave, and not much else. Then Val came along, and her tastes were spoiled for life. He made it on the stove, with milk and cream and real chopped chocolate and all sorts of other little additives that made for a wonderfully rich, sweet dessert. She wouldn't even classify it as a beverage; it was right up there alongside chocolate cake in her mind.

Finally Val returned from the kitchen, a mug in each hand. He delivered one to Connie, then sat down with his own. His belly sloshed softly as he did. She glanced skeptically down at his stomach.

"Are you sure you have room?"

"Sure I'm sure," he said, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. His stomach let out a gurgle of protest, but he didn't seem troubled by it. Connie raised an eyebrow at him, then turned her attention to her own mug. She didn't believe for a second that he wasn't still stuffed, but she supposed he'd at least have the sense to stop before he made himself sick. Or exploded. He had, after all, had the sense to give up on the soup.

As Val slowly enjoyed his hot chocolate, he wondered if making it had been a good idea at all. Connie was right--he didn't have room, and his stomach was reaching its limit. It couldn't stretch any further at this point, and was now just growing tighter and tighter with each swallow. In addition to that, the thick, heavy drink was a bit too rich for his already overstuffed belly. Sighing, he lowered his mug, resting it atop his leg, and placed a tentative hand on his stomach.

"Holy crap, Val," said Connie, looking down at his distended belly. "I don't want to say I told you so, but I think I can say I told you so."

"Yeah, you did," he groaned, setting his mug on the table. He looked down and was surprised to see his stomach bulging out very noticeably. "I may have overdone it a little."

"I'll say." She carefully placed her hand on his belly. It was tight as a drum.

"Worth it, though," he said, flashing a tired grin at her.