#i faint if i get too hot i get migraines if i get too cool like you are all wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blossomwritesthings · 2 years ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: sick!fic. idol!minho. sick!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. reader pov. established relationship.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. mild thematic elements. angst galore. reader is sick. minho is a soft and doting bf. reader has a fainting scare/high temp/migraine. slight possessive behavior from minho (but in a cute and soft way, i promise!!). pet names (affectionately). cuteness overload.

word count: 8.3k

summary: it's the dead of winter when you suddenly come down with a bad case of the flu. and your doting boyfriend minho is more than happy and willing to help you through the pain.

a/n: yes, i am fully on the brainwashing and brainrotting train that is writing minho out to be a soft, caring bf. don't come for me, it's one of the only pleasures in my life rn!! i wrote this in one sitting (and yes, most of the content in here is based off of my own experience with the flu this past year), so it might be horrible or really amazing. lmk what ya'll think and if you'd like more of this content from me! :))

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). © ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

The first symptom of the flu to come upon you was a sore throat. It happened just after you and Minho had finished eating dinner - since it was a Wednesday night, Chinese takeout had been on the menu.

You were laying in bed, already cozied up in your pajamas and snuggled under the thick coverlets, reading one of the winter-themed books that you had recently checked out at your local library. When, all of a sudden, your throat started to feel scratchy. Every few minutes, you kept reaching over to your nightstand table to take a sip from the glass of water that you always kept there.

Just then Minho came out of the master bedroom’s adjoining bathroom, clad in the black sweatpants that he always wore to bed. He was shirtless since his hot-blooded self could never fall asleep if he had too many clothes on. You got a clear view of his chiseled chest muscles and sinewy biceps as he padded over to you with his slippers on and gave your forehead a gentle kiss.

When he pulled away from you and saw the discomfort that was evident in the way your brows were furrowed together, he frowned slightly. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He asked, tucking a few strands of your loose hair behind your ear as he peered down at you with those sparkly, expressive doe-eyes of his.

“I don’t know, my throat hurts all of a sudden.” You said, swallowing over the painful scratch in your mouth.

“Did you drink some water?”

“Yeah, but it’s not helping…”

“Let me make you some warm tea, then,” your boyfriend reached down and tenderly squeezed your forearm with a tiny smile stretching across his lips. “Surely that will help you feel better.”

“But- Min, it’s too late, you worked so much today… it’s okay, I can make it,” you protested, catching hold of his wrist and stopping him from leaving your side. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, even as your throat was screaming at you for something warm.

“It’s okay, kitten. Making the tea will only take a few minutes, and then I’ll be right back in bed with you.” Just then he bent into you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling away and ruffling some of your hair with a wide grin on his face. “Wanna help you, baby, hmm?”

And how could you deny that face? Those words? So, you released your grasp over him and watched him flood from the bedroom. Not a minute later you heard rummaging in the kitchen, as your loving boyfriend began to prepare a cup of tea for you.

In his absence, you tried - and failed - to get comfortable in bed again. Your book was long forgotten on your nightstand, and your throat had gotten so progressively worse over a few minutes that swallowing was starting to hurt.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take waiting any longer, Minho walked through your bedroom door with a huge, steaming mug in his hands. “It’s lemon-chamomile flavour… I added some honey for extra comfort, too.” He said as he placed it into your outstretched palms.

“Thank you, baby- don’t deserve you.” You mumbled in a quiet voice, offering him a tiny smile.

“Does it hurt to talk?” He asked as he turned off the lamp on your nightstand before rounding the bed and joining you on his side. He got comfortable underneath the thick duvet before switching off the last remaining light in the bedroom.

Everything was thrown into darkness around you, and for a moment, you were disoriented. But then you felt a familiar hand reach over to you and grasp one of your free hands, squeezing slightly, and you relaxed into your pillows.

“Yeah, kinda…” Your voice trailed off into the night as you took a sip of the tea. It was piping hot, but even still, felt amazing as it went down. You could already feel the chamomile and honey concoction soothing your discomfort away. “This tastes amazing, Min. Thank you.”

Minho snuggled deeper into the covers, shivering a few times from the chill in the air. It was the dead of winter and even with the heat blasting throughout your shared apartment, your place always seemed to have a cold draft traveling between the few rooms. “I’m glad you like it.” Your boyfriend’s voice was heavy, indicating that he was truly exhausted.

You leaned over to him and carded a few fingers through his dark, chestnut-brown hair. “Now, go to sleep, you workaholic. You’ve got a jam-packed schedule for the rest of the week.” You said into the quiet that had suddenly fallen over the bedroom.

Your words suddenly had Minho groaning into his pillow, “Don’t even fucking remind me about tomorrow’s schedule- it’s gonna be hell, for sure,” he began in that deep voice of his that would always come out late at night. You had told him many times in the past that you loved the sound of it, to which he cockily said that he’d try to stay up later with you so that way you could hear it more and gush over how sexy he sounded. Secretly, he loved the praise… a little too much, if you were truly honest with yourself. “You’ll be okay to go to bed?” He suddenly asked, bringing you out of your reverie of thought on his sultry ‘night voice.’

“Just fine,” you whispered, snuggling down under the sheets. You could already feel the heat that was radiating off of Minho’s body, as he slowly warmed the two of you up just with his hot-blooded self alone.

“Okay, then… goodnight, my baby. Feel better in the morning, yeah?”

“Goodnight Min. And sure, I’ll try to.” You replied in a quiet voice.

And then there was no reply from your boyfriend, as he swiftly drifted off to dreamland. After you had finished your tea, you snuggled up against him, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and pressing your back against his inviting, bare chest. The chamomile had helped immensely to take the ache in your throat away, and in no time at all, you were joining Minho in dreamland.

When you woke up the next day, your throat hurt like a bitch. You had thought that the night before had been bad, but nothing compared to how dry and scratchy it felt so early in the morning.

Turning over on your side with a groan, you cracked your eyes open against the bright light shining through from the bedroom’s large bay window. You noticed how Minho’s space was already empty. You shifted a palm across his pillow, noting the coldness of the satin fabric.

Stumbling out of bed a few minutes later, you realized how quiet the apartment was. With a glance at the nearby clock on your nightstand, the time read just past seven in the morning. Minho was already long gone.

Since your sore throat had only gotten worse overnight, you deemed yourself unfit to go to work that day. So after having called up your manager and telling her that you had to take a sick day, you slowly got ready for the day. The hot shower worked somewhat in relieving your throat pain, but not by much. And by the time you had dried your hair, brushed your teeth, and thrown on some comfy sweats and one of the many hoodies that you had stolen from Minho throughout your relationship, a spilling migraine had begun to bloom across your temples.

“Just my luck…” You mumbled to yourself as you made your way into the kitchen. With a glance around the adjacent living room/dining room, you noticed how the apartment looked more tidy than usual. Your boyfriend must’ve cleaned the place before he left early that morning. The thought of him picking up because you didn’t feel well left a wide smile on your face as your trudged to the fridge.

Having opened the thing, you noticed a huge soup pot that was covered with a lit, sitting on the middle shelf. A note was attached to the top of it, and it read,

Baby,

Made some rice porridge for you this morning. Didn’t have time to wake you up to tell you, so only kissed you goodbye. Text me after you’re finished eating- I haven’t made the recipe in a while and want to know how I did.

Love you, and hope you feel better,

- Min XX

You felt the emotions rising inside of you as you read the small note again, and soon, your eyes were turning watery from unshed tears. He truly was the best boyfriend ever. Minho was the type of guy who liked to share his love for you in actions. He loved cooking for you and cleaning for you. But over time, since you two had started dating, he had slowly become more expressive with his feelings through words as well. It was a nice change that you gladly welcomed and it made your heart all fuzzy to know that he was trying to be a better lover for you alone.

In no time at all, you had heated a portion of rice porridge for yourself. It was chock full of tender, flavourful chicken, and tons of veggies - like carrots, mushrooms, and even zucchini. You drizzled some fish sauce and soy sauce on top of it and used the chopped-up scallions that Minho had left for you to garnish the porridge.

You took a picture to send to your boyfriend before you dug into the meal. And instantly, you felt so much better. The heat of the porridge slid down your throat and coated your insides with a fuzzy, comforting feeling. It was so very delectable and you finished it in just a few minutes. After you were done eating, you made sure to take some ibuprofen that you had on hand to try and combat the splitting migraine that was upon you.

Sending the picture you had taken earlier of your meal, you quickly texted Minho.

Min Today 10:03

Me: Just had the porridge… WHY have you never made this for me before?! It was amazing!!

Within a minute, he texted back.

Min: Wow, I had no idea you’d like it that much, I’ll have to make it again. It makes me happy to hear that you enjoyed it. :) Did it help with your sore throat? You looked to be in discomfort when I left this morning…

Me: Yes! The porridge really soothed me, I feel better already!

Min: Ok, I’m glad then :) You took off work today, right?

Me: I mean, yeah, since I can barely talk :(

Min: Awe baby :( I’m so sorry. Just rest today, I’ll try to be home earlier than I was last night.

Me: I’ll just be laying in bed all day haha… and ok, have a good day at work! Love you <3

Min: Love you too <;33

Staring at the bright screen of your phone was only making your headache worse, so you turned it off and trekked back to your bed. The exhaustion hit you as soon as your back hit the soft mattress, and halfway through the comfort movie you had turned on on the tv, you were already drifting off to sleep.

Late that same night, the fever started. At first, your cheeks were just flushed, which could happen from time to time. But then, the back of your neck started to feel warm too. And soon, it felt like your entire body had been doused in a scorching hot pit of lava.

Keeping to his word, Minho arrived home an entire hour earlier than the night before. When he walked through the apartment’s front door at eleven with both hands full of groceries, you immediately stood up from the living room couch to help him unpack.

“No, no- I’ve got it. Go sit back down,” he insisted, trying to shoo you away with his hand as he placed the many bags atop the kitchen counter.

You peeked into one of them and saw a huge box of multi-flavoured popsicles. “What’s all this for?” You mumbled in a weak voice.

“You, my dear… want to cook some good meals to help you feel better,” Minho said, turning you towards him so that he could get a good look at your face. When he noticed the deep crimson flush that stretched across your cheeks and traveled down to the part of your next that was exposed from your - formerly his - baggy hoodie, his brows furrowed. “Baby, do you feel warm?” The light in his eyes flashed with concern as he gently pressed a hand against your cheek and forehead.

“Y-yeah, a little…”

“You’re burning up,” Minho said, voice a little panicked as he led you back over to the living room couch, the groceries suddenly forgotten. You had only ever gotten a fever once before in all the time that you two had been dating, and it hadn’t been all that bad, to begin with. And it sure as hell hadn’t made you feel as hot as you did just then. “Here, let me get the thermometer.”

Then he was gone from your side and rushing into your bedroom, in search of the only thermometer you kept on hand. Resting against the couch, you tried to focus on anything else but the soreness in your throat and the heat that flooded through your veins just then. The headache had come back with a vengeance a little earlier that night, the ibuprofen wearing off fairly quickly. Much to your demise.

Minho was beside you again a few minutes later, thermometer in hand. “Baby, open for me,” he instructed, and you opened your mouth slightly so that he could slide the small thing under your tongue. The metal felt cold against your teeth, and time seemed to pass by agonizingly slowly, as you two sat there on the couch and waited for the reading. When it finally beeped loudly, Minho took it out and inspected it. “Nighty-nine-point-eight. You’ve definitely got a fever.”

You closed your eyes then, resting an arm across your eyes and groaning into the crook of your elbow. Even your eyelids felt hot. “Fuck- I’ll have to take off more sick days from work. I really can’t afford to do that-”

“Kitten, I think that’s the least of your worries right now,” your boyfriend said softly just beside you. You felt his hand wrap around your knee and squeeze the skin there gently. “I’m going to get some cold rags, okay? Just- stay here.” By the way that his voice had turned a little high-pitched, you could tell how he was slowly starting to get stressed out about the whole thing. Which was saying a lot, since there wasn’t much in the world that could stress him out.

The two of you rarely fell ill, and when you did, it was always a mild case of the cold. So for you to have so many symptoms all at once, must’ve been very overwhelming for your boyfriend. But, what could you do? The sickness was here, and it was here to stay…

You felt something cold press against your forehead amid your thoughts, and you cracked your tired eyes open to glimpse Minho leaning towards you on the couch, two other wet washcloths in hand.

“These will help to cool you down,” he explained, as he helped move you forward a little bit so that he could place the second cloth behind your neck. Then you let him guide you so that you were fully laying down on the couch, limbs sprawled out. You were too sapped of energy to even ask what he was doing as he gingerly lifted your oversized hoodie. When you felt the coldness of a third, and final washcloth press against your stomach, you understood his sudden actions. “You should take some ibuprofen, that’ll help bring your fever down.”

“I can’t take it without first eating something.”

“Then I’ll make you some food- did you have dinner?”

You shook your head no, the motion only making your pounding headache worse. You winced and grabbed at your head, massaging one of your temples.

“How about I heat some of the rice porridge from earlier?” Minho offered before standing up from his kneeling position on the ground.

But just as he was about to leave your side, you stopped him by grasping at the fabric of his dark-blue sweatpants by his knees. He was still sweaty from the apparent dance practice that he had been doing in the studio just before he came home. “No- I- I’m too nauseous to eat anything right now.” You mumbled, voice cracking a little bit from the pain that was solidly rooted in your throat. Your cheeks were so hot, it felt like you had gotten a sunburn while laying out on the beach, when in reality- you had been lying around your apartment all day, not even catching a single glimpse of the sun through the hazy January clouds outside.

“Okay, well, maybe you can take the medicine later when you feel a little better,” Minho said. He was squatting down at your side then, brushing back your hair from your forehead. “Just rest on the couch here while I put the groceries away, and then we can go to bed.”

You nodded in understanding, too tired to say anything else as he kissed your hot cheek and finally pulled away from your side.

That night turned out to be absolutely horrendous.

You tossed and turned throughout it, not being able to get comfortable. The cold washcloths had done little to help bring your fever down, and the throat lozenges that Minho had gotten for you at the grocery store earlier merely coated your throat in this weird aftertaste that left you coughing for half of the night.

Not to mention the headache.

Which had turned into a full-blown migraine.

The ache wrapped around your entire head, and it felt like someone had your skull in a vice-like grip, squeezing and squeezing the very life out of it.

Your boyfriend, who stayed up with you for the entirety of the night, was a literal fucking saint. He made trips into the bathroom every hour to dampen your washcloths with cold water again and regularly made you tea to try and help relieve your throat.

“Min- baby- you need to stop helping me now,” you whispered through the daze of tiredness. Because if you were drained, you couldn’t imagine how your boyfriend had to feel - what with having worked for the better half of sixteen hours that day. “You have so much on your plate right now, I can’t expect you to stay up all night just because I’m feeling like shit.”

“S’okay, I’m not sleepy…” But the way his quiet voice drifted off at the end of his words proved differently to you.

You turned on your side in bed, catching a glimpse of your boyfriend’s slumped form through the faint moonlight that shined through the bedroom window’s curtains. His shoulders were hunched over, his head hanging low, as he massaged languid circles into the palm of your closest hand.

“Yes, you are. Now, go to sleep.” You said firmly, pushing on his shoulders so that his head hit his pillow.

At your forceful movement, his eyes shot open. “I can’t leave you like this- baby, you’re in so much fucking pain right now. I-I feel horrible that I can’t help you more.” He said, his tone desperate. He threaded his fingers through yours then, squeezing a little desperately, trying to convey how strongly he felt about staying up with you and helping you practically survive the night.

“I know babe, I know…” You pushed away a few locks of his dark, chestnut-brown hair that had fallen in front of his face, giving him a soft smile. “But you need to sleep now, okay? That’s how you can help me feel better- by going to bed. I’ll be fine, so don’t worry about me.”

Minho was silent for a few beats, as you stared into each other's eyes. You were both incredibly stubborn when you wanted to be, but on this topic- you wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t jeopardize his packed schedule while also letting the boys down just because you weren’t feeling well.

“Alright,” he finally surrendered in a defeated-sounding voice. “But, you’ll wake me up if anything happens, right?”

“Of course.” You leaned down into him and gave the crown of his head a soft kiss. “Love you, Min.”

“Love you too…” He said, his eyes already closed. And just like that, you watched his face relax, body melting into the soft downy mattress, as he finally drifted off to sleep.

And hopefully, you’d soon join him in blissful sleep as well.

Turns out that you didn’t get a wink of shut-eye that night, tossing and turning underneath your thin sheet - you had thrown off the thick duvet coverlet that had been laid on top of you early on in the night. A thick coating of sweat covered your entire body, even with the cold washcloths still placed on you. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, had been out like a light.

In your sleepless, frail daze, you hadn’t managed to catch him as he left for work early the next morning. But as soon as your eyes opened, your head throbbed from the bright light flooding through your bedroom’s curtains, and a strong wave of nausea overtook you.

You shot from your bed and barely made it to the bathroom. You leaned over the toilet bowl and hurled up the little contents that were left inside of you. The only thing you had eaten the day before was the rice porridge that Minho had made for you in the morning and two strawberry-mango-flavoured popsicles to try and ease your throat.

It still hurt like hell, and your head was pounding from your migraine. When you leaned back from the toilet, a loud groan escaped past your lips from the distress that you were in. You sat there on the cold, tiled bathroom floor for a few minutes, just taking in deep breaths and trying to persuade yourself to get up when all you felt like doing was tipping over and passing out from exhaustion.

In the end, you managed to get up from the hard ground and brush your teeth before making your way back to your nightstand, where you had glimpsed a small piece of paper placed just atop your latest pick from your local library. The nightstand’s clock read just half-past ten o’clock in the morning.

You probably didn’t get much sleep last night. Try to take a nap sometime today when you can.

You need to eat something, but, if you’re too nauseous, at least drink lots of water. There’s some Pocari Sweat in the fridge, so drink plenty of that.

And please, try to take some ibuprofen if you can. It will help bring down your fever. Checked it before I left, temp is now at 102.8. It should’ve broken in the night.

Call/text me whenever you want to, I’ll be available all day and will be home even earlier than yesterday.

Love you, Minho XX

Even through your confused state of pain and weariness, a smile graced your lips at your boyfriend’s thoughtfulness. Since you rarely got sick, it was uncommon for you to experience this exact side of him. It was a whole kind of new Lee Minho, and to be honest, you quite liked it. And although the doting could be a little excessive and suffocating, it was the thought that counted, right?

Somehow, you found enough energy inside of you to get up from your comfy bed and into the shower. The hot water felt amazing on your skin, and did wonders for your bad migraine. You stood under the spout for at least twenty minutes - maybe even more than that. And when you were too tired to keep standing, you sat down on the cold tile of the stall. The steam that the scalding water emitted all around you also helped to calm your inflamed throat down, and you basked in the comforting feeling for quite a while.

It was only after you stepped out of the shower, legs slightly wobbly, that you realized your mistake.

You had a fucking fever, for God’s sake-

It should’ve been very obvious to you-

Not to take a scalding hot shower for that long.

Even still, there was no turning back. And almost immediately, you felt the repercussions of your actions. As you wrapped a fluffy white towel around your body and grabbed for the blow dryer, you suddenly felt very lightheaded.

And not the kind of lightheaded that you would sometimes get if you stood up from a sitting position too quickly.

No, this kind of lightheadedness was the kind where you felt like you were about to fucking pass out.

Just then, you realized how hot your entire body felt. You thought that it had been bad before- but nothing compared to the sheer heat that radiated off of your body.

With a racing heart and shaking limbs, you slowly shuffled out of the bathroom, clutching onto the wall for support. Your vision was going in and out, turning so blurry that you could barely see in front of you.

You fumbled around your nightstand for your phone, and with quaking fingers, you dialed Minho’s number as fast as you could. You were standing just beside your bed, legs feeling like they were about to give out on you. You were so weary and confused and felt like you were about to fall over, so half of what you were doing didn’t even make sense to you. But you knew that you had to get ahold of your boyfriend- in that scary moment, that was the most important thing to you.

The phone rang once,

Twice,

Three times.

Please, just fucking pick up-

Please don’t be in a meeting or at practice or-

“Baby? I’m so glad you called, how are you-” His gentle, serene voice rang out across your phone’s speaker that was pressed to your ear.

You let out a sob of relief, the tears finally flowing down your cheeks. “M-Min, I-I can’t-“ It was hard for you to speak over the dizziness and confusion.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? What happened?” Minho’s voice immediately turned frantic at your mumblings.

“S-So dizzy- got out of the shower and- and gonna pass out- help me, Min, please-” It felt like your knees were about to buckle just then, but Minho’s voice cut through your heated stupor.

“Lie down right now, baby. You close to the bed?”

“Y-yeah-”

“Lie down, completely stretch out your body. Can you do that for me?”

You said nothing more, shifting towards your bed and collapsing on top of it with a tiny gasp of exhaustion. “I-I’m on it-”

“I’m leaving the company right now,” Minho’s exclamation broke through your daze of fatigue.

“W-What? Baby- no, don’t- you have an important recording today and-”

“To hell with the schedule!” He was suddenly shouting through the phone, making you pull it away from your ear from the loudness. It only made your headache worse. When he heard your whimper of pain, he began speaking again but in a quieter voice. “I’m sorry for yelling, baby- it’s just that, the company can’t expect me to go to work when the fucking love of my life is about to pass out from the flu that she has.” His voice was much calmer this time and helped to soothe your racing heart a little bit. Your limbs were still shaking though, your vision going in and out.

There was silence on both your ends, as your slow mind processed his words. You heard shuffling on his line and muffled voices. Then he was talking to someone - it sounded like Chan - their whispers were hard to hear over the static of the phone.

“Baby?” Minho’s voice cut through your tiredness. You opened your eyes weakly, trying to focus your attention on the painting that hung on the wall just beside your flatscreen tv. It was of a single, pink tulip positioned in a grassy field. The piece was something that Hyunjin had gifted you for your birthday in the past year. “I want you to stay on the phone with me until I get home, okay? Just keep talking to me - about anything - just don’t close your eyes, alright?”

His instructions seemed like absolute torture to you right then, because all you wanted to do was close your eyes and let go - let your mind drift off into wonderland for even a few blissful seconds. “I’ll try,” you started, voice quiet as you nuzzled into the bed’s thick duvet that was still messed up from the night before. You hadn’t found the energy to make it yet. “I-I threw up this morning.”

“Oh, darling- I’m so sorry I wasn’t there… but, I’ll be there soon, yeah? I’ll take care of you, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” His tone was laced with concern, and a tiny smile spread across your lips at how attentive he was being toward you.

The entire thirty-minute commute that he took every day from your apartment to the company, you stayed on the line with your boyfriend, talking about whatever came to your mind. You were still nauseous, so food was never brought up, mainly just the changing weather and what you wanted to do that weekend since he’d have a break from schedules that Saturday, which was quite a rare occurrence for him.

Laying down on the bed had helped your dizziness somewhat, but every time you shifted just a little bit, your vision would go blurry again. It was annoying as fuck, to add yet another symptom to your myriad of other problems.

“I’m pulling up to the apartment right now, so I’ll hang up. Wait for me, baby.” Minho finally said after what felt like an eternity of him traveling home from the company. You mumbled an incoherent ‘yes’ before he hung up the call.

True to your promise, you kept your eyes open, laying as still as a statue on the bed. You were back to studying Hyunjin’s flower painting just as you heard the front door’s keypad being used. A breath of relief left you as shuffling echoed throughout the one-bedroom apartment, and in no time at all, there your boyfriend was- rushing into your bedroom with a wild look in his eyes and flushed cheeks, his dark brows furrowed.

“Kitten-“ he breathed out in a sight of relief at the sight of your still-awake form, “C’mere.” He dropped his backpack on the floor next to the door before he was bounding towards you. In one swift movement, he was lifting you off the bed, taking you up into his arms, and cradling your head against his chest as he sat back down on the bed’s plush mattress.

The tears started again almost as soon as he had you in his arms. Your sobs wracked through your body, as he brushed soothing fingers through your hair. You knew that crying would only make your migraine worse, but you couldn’t give a flying fuck about anything just then. You were just so happy to see your boyfriend, after such a disastrous morning.

“Y-You came back for me,” you sniffled after a long bout of silence that was filled with only your cries. You pulled away from his chest, looking up at him through blurry vision. “I-I was so scared, Min.”

Minho swiped his thumbs underneath your eyes, gently catching your falling tears with the pads of his soft fingers. “Of course I did, baby. I love you… and it kills me to see you this way. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to help you.”

“Just glad you’re here now,” you whispered, clutching onto his waist a little harder. “I’ll feel better now with just your presence alone… but, how long are you staying for?”

He tucked a few strands of your still-sopping wet hair behind your ear. In your dizziness, you hadn’t found the time to dry it yet. “Not leaving you again, darling. The company gave me the day off, Chan helped me persuade them.”

“B-But you’re gonna miss such an important day of schedules and-”

Your boyfriend shushed you with a slender finger to your lips. “It’s already done now, Y/N. So let’s just focus on helping you feel better, alright? By firstly, getting you dressed.”

You looked down and realized that you were still only clad in your soaked towel. “Wow, I didn’t even realize I was still in this…” Your voice trailed off, as Minho placed you back down on the bed and made for your walk-in closet.

“Is it a sweatpants and hoodie kinda day again?” He asked as he poked his head into the closet.

“A-Actually, I’m too hot to wear anything thick,” you managed to stutter out, perched at the edge of the bed. And soon enough, your loving, doting boyfriend emerged from the closet with a pair of soft, black cotton shorts and a thin, maroon-colored camisole.

“Will this do?” He questioned, holding up the items for you to inspect them from across the room.

Wordlessly, you nodded your approval. And soon enough, he was shifting his way toward you. In no time at all, he had helped slip the shorts up your bare legs, the loose waistband resting gently against your hips. Then, he guided the camisole over your head, gently pulling the thin spaghetti straps over your shoulders.

“All good?” Leaning forward, he tucked a piece of your wet hair that had fallen into the front of your face behind your ear.

“Mhm- but my hair’s still wet from the shower,” you mumbled, staring up into his dark pupils that were dancing with a myriad of emotions - but especially, concern. “Carry me?” You asked, reaching out your arms to him, supple and waiting, like a small baby that wanted to be carried by someone they trusted.

“Always, kitten.” He whispered, just as he pulled you up into his hold. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he charged for the bathroom. And soon, you were sitting atop the granite counter, as he ran his fingers through your hair.

The blow dryer was loud in your ears, and the heat from it only seemed to raise your temperature even more. You still had your legs wound around Minho’s torso as he worked with nimble fingers to dry your hair. You tipped your head towards his hand every time he ran a brush through your locks.

When he was finished, he pressed a palm against your forehead for what felt like the millionth time that day. “You’re still burning up, baby…” His voice trailed off, as he leaned across the counter, grabbing a stray hair bobble. He pulled your hair away from your face and fitted it into a loose ponytail at the back of your head. Immediately upon the feeling of your thick locks being out of your face, a content sigh of relief escaped past your lips. “I really need you to take that ibuprofen, honey.” A deep frown bloomed across his lips, turning his mouth downwards in a displeased kind of way.

“My migraine isn’t as bad as it was earlier, so I think I can choke something down now.” You said. Your eyes were still closed, as you breathed in the familiar scent - of warm, dark roasted coffee and cinnamon sticks - of your boyfriend.

And in no time at all, he had you seated on the living room couch, your eyes trailing over the food that he prepared for lunch. There was a bowl of the porridge that he had made the day before, a piece of plain, white buttered toast, and a yellowed banana. Not to mention the medicine set off to the side with a tall glass of water.

“Eat, baby.” Your boyfriend took hold of the tray that the food was on and positioned it on your lap.

He was sitting beside you on the couch, gaze locked on your form with a certain kind of intensity that would make you anxious if you didn’t know him so well. The intensity he had was only borne out of concern. He so desperately wanted you to get better, that’s all.

“Thank you, Min… it looks delicious.” You pecked his cheek gently, watching as a soft smile cracked across his lips before you delved into the lunch.

You had to admit, the food was exceptionally good. The porridge helped to alleviate your throat, and the bread filled your stomach comfortably. You hadn’t realized how hungry you had truly been until you started eating. But halfway through the meal, you stopped when you noticed how your boyfriend hadn’t moved from his spot of watching you.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” You asked, motioning towards your spoon that was laden with porridge.

He shook his head slowly, “Want to take care of you first, that’s all.”

You gave him a deep frown. “Min, you're already taking care of me. Just making this meal is enough for me.”

“I know, but I wasn’t here earlier- don’t want to take my eyes off you for even a second, in case something happens.”

“I’m not going to pass out, baby. I’m fine now. So please, eat some lunch, yeah?”

“You still have the flu, Y/N. Just because you haven’t passed out yet doesn’t mean you won’t in the future,” Minho crossed his arms in front of his chest, canting his head to the side, eyes trailing on your red-cheeked face. “And I want to be sure I’m here to catch you if that happens.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence…” You grumbled softly, turning your attention back to your cooling porridge. There was no use fighting him on the matter anyway. He was a stubborn mule when he wanted to be, and apparently, Minho would run himself ragged before he ever looked away from you again.

It was only after you had finished your lunch, and had downed four ibuprofen pills and a glass of water with it, that Minho finally got up from the couch to put your dishes away and make something for himself. He rounded the couch a few minutes later, pressing a cold washcloth against your head. The sudden coolness surprised you, and you slightly sat up from your laying position on the couch to catch a glimpse of your boyfriend.

Minho took a seat at the end of the couch, near your feet, a plate of food in his hands. For his meal, he was having a rather bland-looking sandwich, with a green apple sliced thin set off to the side.

“That’s all you’re having to eat?” You raised an eyebrow at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at him.

His gaze was already on you even before you met his stare, as he bit into his sandwich. “Don’t pass judgment on my habits when you hadn’t eaten anything until just now.”

“But I’m the one who’s sick here…” You protested, shaking your head in disapproval at the lack of food on his plate. He was a growing guy, always in the gym, always straining his body for work. He needed to eat enough to fuel himself properly. Changbin was always harping about such things to the boys, but especially, your boyfriend. Since, as Changbin put it, ‘he never seems to get enough macros in for his height and weight range.’ Whatever the hell that meant.

To that, Minho said nothing, merely biting into his sandwich once more. His silence only made you more agitated with him, and that, coupled with your slightly-pounding migraine and your drowsiness only helped to add fuel to the fire.

“I”m worried about you, Min… you need to eat more if you want-”

“You’re worried?” He suddenly let out a dry, humorless scoff. And instantly, you recognized his tone. In the blink of an eye, his entire demeanor shifted. It changed from the intensity he had from caring for you, to the intensity that he always got whenever he was worked up. Whenever he was worked up about you, and your safety. “I’m the one who’s fucking worried here, Y/N!” He practically burst out in a loud voice, throwing his plate down on the nearby coffee table in his sudden exclamation.

“Minho-” You began in a soft voice but you were quickly cut off by his raising voice once more.

“Do you have any fucking idea how scary it was to get a call from you this morning and have you practically fighting for your very life to not pass out right then and there?” He ran a few frantic fingers through his hair, clutching at the roots, slightly bending over, and resting his elbows against his knees. “Because damn it- I was practically shaking from all the worry. And then I come home and find you literally naked and sopping wet and crying and-” Just then, his voice cracked, his words fading off into the distance.

And in the next beat, you were moving. Towards him, so that you were right up in his personal space. You took hold of one of his hands, pulling it away from tugging at his locks of brown hair. Squeezing your fingers between his own, you pressed a soft kiss to the top of his hand.

“Baby, I’m so sorry… it’s my fault that everything became such a big mess. I didn’t have to take such a long, hot shower.” You admitted, giving his skin another kiss.

Minho pulled his head up just then, as it had dropped between his hunched shoulders in his distress. His eyes slid over to yours instantly. “Don’t apologize, none of this is your fault. You were only trying to relieve your symptoms, I get it.” He held onto your hand a little tighter, like in that moment, he needed to be grounded in the reality of you. That you were still there with him, still living and breathing, albeit tired as hell and ill to the bone. But still, there nonetheless. “And please, just... don’t leave me, okay? I can’t lose you, baby… I can’t…” His voice became a tiny whisper at the end of his words, misery flashing across his face, radiating deep in the way that his eyes softened at the sight of you, his brows creasing with the tears that he could never seem to shed.

“Min, I have the flu… not the damn plague.” You laughed, lips grazing his hand again as you placed another peck against his skin. “And of course, I’m not going to leave you.”

“Good, because I’m never going to leave you either.” And suddenly, he was taking hold of you, pulling you onto his lap and burrowing his face into the crook of your exposed neck. He blew raspberry kisses against your heated skin, making you burst out into a fit of giggles. You kicked your feet up into the air, trying to escape him as his nimble fingers tickled you at your sides.

And all at once, just for a few minutes, he helped you forget about everything - about your sickness, the discomfort, and the fatigue. All of it. Helping by kissing away the swarthy thoughts and tension-filled temples.

Later that day, your fever finally broke. The medicine seemed to kick in just in time and helped to completely take away your headache. Your throat still felt dry and scratchy, but continually downing warm cups of tea was slowly helping that. You and Minho spent the day lounging around the apartment, watching random reality shows that were playing on the tv, and indulging in a whole pint of chocolate ice cream an hour before bed.

But despite having all that sugar and caffeine right before laying down, you found that sleep threatened to take over you as soon as your head hit the pillow.

“Will you go in to work tomorrow?” You asked, laying on your side and facing your boyfriend as he sprawled out in the bed just a little ways away from you.

“I don’t know… I hope not.”

“The boys will need you, baby. I think you should.”

After all, he was an integral part of the team. He couldn’t simply disappear from Stray Kids for even a few days and not have them feel the lasting effects of his absence.

“Let’s not worry about that and just focus on going to bed, okay?” He reached out to you, clutching onto your hip and pulling you towards him.

When your forehead was comfortably rested against his bare, muscled chest, you peered up at him with a faint smile pulling at your lips. “Thanks for taking care of me today, honey. I don’t deserve you…”

He pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead, his voice rumbling with sleep as he spoke, “I’ll do anything for you, kitten. And of course, you deserve me- I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

Without another word said between the two of you, you closed your eyes and breathed in deeply. Your boyfriend's comforting scent washed over you, seeming to soothe a tender spot inside of you, and all at once, you were falling fast and hard into a deep slumber.

The first thing you noticed when you awoke the following morning was that for once in what felt like an eternity, the blinding morning light shining through the bedroom curtains didn’t automatically make you feel like shit. Instead, it helped to place a content feeling deep inside your heart.

And the second thing that you noticed when you awoke the following morning was the fact that your boyfriend was still in bed.

He had both arms wrapped around your waist, and when you dragged away from his chest, a muffled groan fled from his slightly-parted lips.

With a glance at your nearby clock, you noticed how it was well past the time that he usually got up for work.

Minho cracked an eye open from the shifting of your figure, a lazy smirk blooming across his mouth at the sight of your eyebrows raising on your forehead in surprise. “Guess I won’t be going in to work after all…” He said, voice husky with sleep.

You squirmed in his arms until you were loose enough to get a good look at him. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and suddenly, you thought that perhaps the huskiness of his voice wasn’t just from sleep. “Why are you staying home today? I thought you said you were going to go into the office.”

Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, that same smirk was still on his face. “The sore throat woke me up in the middle of the night.”

A loud groan bubbled up and out of you, as you scrubbed a frustrated hand across your face. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Hey- well, at least you’re feeling somewhat better now… that way, you can take care of me when I nearly pass out after a hot shower.”

With that, you shoved at his shoulder gently, sending a glare his way. “This isn’t funny, Min. You shouldn’t have gotten so close to me- shouldn’t have kissed me! Now you can’t go to work for God knows how long because of this stupid flu!”

He waved a noncommittal hand in the air, batting away your worries like he didn’t have seven other boys who depended on him, like he didn’t have a whole company counting on his work, like he didn’t have millions of worldwide fans anticipating his presence. “Eh- to hell with it all, I was bored with work anyway. And besides, I cannot ever stop myself from kissing you, baby. At this point, I’m pretty sure it’s hardwired into my brain as a daily need to function.” He gave you a playful wink, and you rolled your eyes exasperatingly.

“You're so stupid,” you grumbled, hating the idea of seeing him go through the same pain you went through. You had survived the worst of it already, but you wouldn’t wish it on anyone - not even your worst enemy. “Well, you better promise that you won’t be a pain in my ass and actually accept my help when you need it.”

He shook his head noncommittally, “I shall make no such promises.” You felt a hand clutch at one of your sides, just as he was pulling you against his warm body once more. “Now, c’mere and give me a kiss.”

You smiled against his mouth, melting into his hold as he pressed kiss after soft kiss to your lips.

Because even though now you were both sick,

At least you had each other.

And at the end of the day, that’s all that mattered…

That Minho had you, and you had him.

So even despite feeling like a literal ball of hot, steamy garbage baking in the summer heat,

You felt like, at that moment, you could whether anything in life - any storm coming your way, any curve ball thrown at you, any toxic person coming into your path,

Just as long as you had him by your side.

As long as you had Lee Minho, your beautiful, loving, eccentric, doting boyfriend, you’d be just fine.

Fin.

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sicknessbysalem · 3 months ago

Note

Do you still write for simplysickness characters? Could you please write something for Lex and Soren? Really miss them… 💜

Something with a lot of comfort

i don't know if you're still around since this has been in my ask box for a long time. let me explain: i have been avoiding this ask literally because i got spooked about people coming at me for 'stealing' characters even though @simplysickness themself gave me these character to continue them once they moved on with their current job. so long story short I got too stressed to write this but i think i'm good now.

not sure if sparrow had ever posted fics centric to it, but in the canon lore of lex and soren, lex quit music and was able to work as an emt which he thoroughly enjoys. (also the canon lex and soren lore has been worked by me and sparrow for a long time)

since you asked for comfort, let's do it! if you have anymore requests, comments, questions, etc., send them my way!

tw emeto, migraines, nausea, overwork

Lex stumbled through the door of their shared apartment, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. His uniform was wrinkled, stained with the remnants of a long shift that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The familiar scent of home—faint traces of Soren's cologne mixed with the lingering aroma of morning coffee—welcomed him, but the usual comfort it provided felt distant, unreachable.

The dull throb that had started behind his eyes hours ago had escalated into a full-blown migraine, each heartbeat pounding against his skull like a relentless drum. He could feel the exhaustion in his bones, a fatigue that went beyond just needing sleep. Something deeper was wrong, but the last thing he wanted was to concern Soren with it. Not now, not when Soren had his own day ahead of him.

“Hey, babe,” Soren’s voice floated in from the kitchen, light and warm. Lex could hear the sound of dishes being put away, the soft clinking of plates against one another. “Just got done with breakfast. Do you want anything?”

"Not yet, no," Lex said, undoing the braid that was already half falling out the rest of the way, "I need to take a shower and get out of this uniform."

"Tell you what," Soren said, "You do that, and I'll make you some lavender tea and something to eat."

Lex winced, the thought of eating, or drinking for that matter, anything making his already queasy stomach twist in protest. He pushed a weary smile onto his face as he dropped his keys on the entry table and forced himself to respond. “Sure, fine."

Soren smiled, "I'd kiss you but I don't want anything you have on you from work."

"I would probably push you off if you tried," Lex said, "I'll be back in like fifteen."

For as tired as he was, Lex was quick to grab something to change into and start the water, letting it heat up as he stripped off his uniform. He'd take care of washing it later, for now he stepped into the bathroom, the cool tile under his feet grounding him slightly as he leaned heavily against the sink. The mirror reflected his tired eyes, the dark circles underneath them more pronounced than ever. He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. Every movement felt like it required twice the effort it should and he hated it.

As the water cascaded down, hot enough to almost sting, he hoped it would wash away some of the tension knotting his muscles, the ache in his head, and the bone-deep fatigue that clung to him like a second skin.

But as he stood under the stream, head bowed, the migraine only seemed to intensify, the heat doing nothing to ease the relentless pounding. He clenched his teeth, trying to will away the pain, but it was like trying to hold back the tide. The water wasn’t helping; it was only making him feel worse, the heat adding to his nausea. He quickly shut off the shower, his hands trembling slightly as he stepped out. He dried off as quick as he could, pulling on a t-shirt and some joggers.

For as much as he wanted to just go back to bed, that would make Soren worried. Soren was stressed, meaning he had somewhere to go. Lex wasn't going to stress Soren out, not more than necessary.

Lex tried to brush through his wet hair, grimacing as another sharp wave of pain lanced through his skull. He needed to pull it together, at least until Soren left. He finished brushing, by now the pain making his hands shake. He put his hair in a loose braid as he walked back to the kitchen.

The smell of lavender greeted him, and he saw Soren placing a steaming mug on the table, along with a small plate of toast. The simple gesture was filled with care, and Lex’s heart ached with guilt for not being able to appreciate it more fully.

Soren looked up as Lex entered, his eyes immediately narrowing in concern. “You okay, Lex? You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Lex forced a small smile, waving off the concern. “Just tired, you know how it is. Long shift. But I’ll be fine after some sleep.”

Soren wasn’t convinced; Lex could tell by the way his boyfriend’s gaze lingered on him, the way his brow furrowed ever so slightly. But Soren had learned to pick his battles, especially when it came to Lex’s stubbornness.

Instead of pushing, Soren simply nodded and gestured to the tea. “Well, drink up. It’ll help you relax.”

Lex gingerly took the mug, cradling it between his hands, letting the warmth seep into his palms. He took a tentative sip, the fragrant tea soothing his throat but doing little for the churning in his stomach. He set it down after just one sip, hoping Soren wouldn’t notice.

“So, you heading out soon?” Lex asked, trying to sound casual as he leaned against the counter, the cool surface a small relief against his heated skin.

“Yeah,” Soren replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Ksenia and I have that recording session, but I should be back by late afternoon. Are you sure you don’t need anything before I go? I can call and reschedule if you’re—”

“No,” Lex cut in, a bit too quickly. “I’ll be fine, Soren. You’ve got your own stuff to handle. Don’t worry about me.”

Soren’s eyes softened, a mix of love and worry shining in them as he stepped closer, resting a hand on Lex’s arm. “I always worry about you, you know that, right?”

Lex’s resolve wavered for a moment, the urge to just let Soren take care of him, to admit how much he was struggling, almost breaking through. But he couldn’t. Not when Soren had so much on his plate already. Lex mustered another smile, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Soren’s cheek.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I love you for it. But seriously, I just need some rest. I’ll be good as new by the time you’re back. Literally as soon as you walk out that door I will absolutely be sleeping."

Soren hesitated, his hand lingering on Lex’s arm before he finally nodded, though the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “Okay. But if you need anything, call me. Promise?”

“Promise,” Lex replied, hoping the smile he offered was convincing enough.

Soren sighed, clearly not fully satisfied, but he knew better than to push Lex when he was like this. He walked over and kissed Lex's cheek, “Alright, I’ll see you later then.”

Lex watched as Soren grabbed his things and headed for the door, the sound of it closing behind him echoing in the now silent apartment. The moment he was alone, Lex’s facade crumbled. He slumped into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands as the migraine pounded mercilessly against his skull, and a wave of dizziness made the room spin.

Lex sat in the chair, trying to steady his breathing as the relentless pounding in his head sent sharp jolts of pain through his temples. The room felt like it was spinning ever so slightly, a disorienting, subtle tilt that made him grip the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, trying to suppress the growing nausea that gnawed at his stomach.

His migraine had progressed quickly, the dull throb from earlier now a vicious, stabbing pain that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. Every sound, even the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, grated against his senses, amplifying the pain. The dim light filtering through the curtains felt too bright, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the world and focus on anything other than the turmoil inside his body.

But the vertigo wasn’t something he could ignore. It was as if the ground beneath him was shifting, tilting, and spinning all at once, making every movement feel like an uphill battle against gravity. Lex had dealt with migraines like this before—too many times, really—but that didn’t make it any easier. The nausea that accompanied the dizziness was creeping up on him, a sickening wave that rose higher with each passing minute. He needed to get to bed, to lie down somewhere more comfortable, but the thought of standing up and moving was daunting.

Lex took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and slowly pushed up from the chair. The moment he was upright, the room tilted violently, and his stomach lurched in protest. He paused, gripping the edge of the table, closing his eyes against the spinning sensation that threatened to knock him off balance. Nausea twisted his gut, and he fought the urge to retch, knowing that any sudden movement would only make it worse.

Theoretically he could lay on the couch, but his bedroom was darker, specifically for this reason. And the couch wasn't the most comfortable. If it was this bad, Lex wanted to do what he could to be even slightly more comfortable.

Gritting his teeth, Lex forced one foot in front of the other, his movements slow and deliberate as he made his way down the short hallway to his bedroom. The walls seemed to close in on him, the world narrowing to the few feet in front of him as he concentrated on just getting to his bed. But as he reached the doorway, another wave of vertigo hit him hard, sending him stumbling forward.

He barely made it into the room before his body was ready to give in. Lex could feel he either had the choice to lay down now or probably end up vomiting all over his sheets. The floor seemed like the better option.

He collapsed to the floor, the cool wood against his cheek a small mercy. He lay there, breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to regain some semblance of control. The dizziness was worse now, making his stomach roil, and he knew if he moved again, he wouldn’t be able to stop the inevitable.

The choice was simple, but neither option was appealing: he could stay on the floor and hope the nausea passed, or he could risk getting to the bathroom and throwing up. But even the thought of moving made the bile rise in his throat, so he stayed where he was, too exhausted to do anything else. The pain in his head had reached a crescendo, a throbbing, searing agony that made him feel like his skull was going to split open.

Time blurred as he lay there, the minutes stretching into an eternity as he battled the pain and nausea. His body felt heavy, every muscle aching from the tension he couldn’t release. He didn’t know how long he had been lying on the floor, but it felt like hours. Maybe he dozed off, maybe he didn't.

The sound of the front door opening barely registered in his foggy mind. It wasn’t until he heard Soren’s footsteps approaching that he realized Soren had come home. The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Soren’s concerned voice cut through the haze.

“Lex?”

Lex didn’t have the energy to respond, but he heard the soft sigh of understanding from Soren as he stepped into the room, his presence a comforting, familiar anchor in the chaos of Lex’s mind.

“There you are,” Soren said, “Why are you on the floor?"

"Well, the floor needed a hug," Lex said sarcastically, "Plus it was between puking my guts out and laying down immediately, so it was a win-win honestly."

Soren sat on the floor next to him, "Bad one, huh? How many hours have you worked this week?”

Lex managed a weak nod, not trusting himself to speak without setting off his already churning stomach.

"Five shifts," Lex forced to answer the question.

Soren placed a cool hand on his forehead. The touch was soothing, grounding him just enough to focus on something other than the pain.

“Alright,” Soren said softly, “just stay where you are. I’ll get you some water and a cold pack.”

Lex barely registered Soren leaving the room, his mind too fogged by the migraine to process much of anything. The nausea was getting worse, and even lying still wasn’t helping anymore. He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to vomit, knowing it was a losing battle. But before he could spiral further, Soren was back, his calm presence and soft voice cutting through the noise in Lex’s head.

“Here,” Soren said, helping him shift just enough to place the cold pack against the back of his neck. “This should help with the nausea. Just breathe, okay?”

Lex focused on Soren’s voice, the coolness of the pack, and the steady rhythm of his own breathing. It was all he could do to hold on as the migraine continued to wreak havoc on his senses. He didn’t have to say anything for Soren to know how much he was struggling; Soren knew him too well for that.

“Take it easy, Lex,” Soren murmured, sitting down beside him, his hand still resting gently on Lex’s back. “I’m here now. Just rest.”

Lex let out a shaky breath, the tension in his body easing just slightly at Soren’s reassurance. He didn’t have to fight this alone, not with Soren by his side. And as the nausea continued to churn in his gut and the migraine pounded in his skull, he held on to that one small comfort—the knowledge that Soren was there, and he didn’t have to face this pain alone.

“Here,” Soren said, “Let’s get you to bed?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lex nodded slowly.

Soren carefully helped Lex shift from the floor to the bed, moving slowly and with as much gentleness as he could muster. He knew that any sudden motion would only make things worse for Lex, whose body was already betraying him with a migraine that had escalated to a point of pure agony.

The bed was a relief, at least more comfortable than the hard floor, but Lex’s relief was fleeting. As he lay there, Soren’s presence a steady comfort beside him, the nausea refused to subside, growing stronger with each passing minute.

Soren sat next to Lex, brushing a stray lock of damp hair from his forehead before rubbing his hand along his upper back and shoulder. “You’re alright, Lex. Just try to rest. I’m right here.”

Lex nodded weakly, though resting was easier said than done. The room continued to spin, a nauseating whirl that made his stomach churn violently. He tried to focus on Soren’s voice, on the coolness of the pillow beneath his head, Soren moved the cool pack to rest better on his head, but his body wasn’t listening. The nausea was rising, a relentless wave that he could no longer suppress.

A low groan escaped Lex’s lips as he clutched his stomach, the pain in his head intensifying with every attempt to stay still. He knew what was coming, and he hated it—hated the helplessness that came with being so sick, the feeling of losing control over his own body.

His breath hitched as his stomach twisted, and he instinctively rolled onto his side, his hands trembling as he tried to prepare himself for the inevitable.

Soren was immediately alert, noticing the shift in Lex’s body language. “Lex, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Lex barely heard him, too focused on trying to hold back the wave of nausea that was threatening to overtake him. But it was too much; his body was too overwhelmed, too worn down by the migraine that had pushed him past his limits. He gagged, his body convulsing as the nausea hit its peak, and before he could stop himself, he was retching, the force of it making his entire body seize up.

Soren was right there, his hands gentle but firm as he reached for Lex’s hair, carefully pulling the loose braid away from his face, holding it back so it wouldn’t get in the way. Lex realized at some point Soren must’ve grabbed the trash can by his desk.

“Easy, Lex,” he murmured, his voice calm and soothing even as his heart ached for what Lex was going through. “Just let it out. I’m here.”

Lex could only cling to the bed as his body gave in, vomiting violently, the migraine amplifying every sensation—the taste, the sound, the pain that shot through his head with each heave. It felt like an eternity before the wave of sickness passed, leaving him breathless and trembling, his body weak and spent.

Soren’s hand was still on his back and Lex was thankful for it and aggravated by it at the same time. Everything was too much. The waves of vomiting—another one coming up, he was sure out of spite the second he thought about it—, the taste, the sound, the feelings of everything all at once.

Soren offered him a small sip of water to rinse out the taste when it was all said and done.

“Just a little,” Soren coaxed, holding the glass steady as Lex managed a tiny sip, his hands still shaking.

Lex leaned back against the pillows, too exhausted to do anything but close his eyes and try to breathe.

The nausea had eased somewhat, but the migraine was still there, a brutal, unrelenting force that kept him trapped in misery. But now, there was something else—a warmth that had been creeping up on him, something he hadn’t noticed until Soren’s cool hand brushed against his forehead, surely trying to push more hair out of Lex’s face.

Soren’s brow furrowed as he felt the heat radiating from Lex’s skin. He had initially thought the warmth was from the strain of being sick, but now, he realized it was more than that.

Lex felt Soren’s hand which felt cool touch both his cheeks and his neck. It was a relieving touch, easing everything for a moment.

“How long have you had that fever?” Soren asked, “Since you got home?”

“Fever..? No, I couldn’t have. They check us when we come in…” Lex said, “I’m just exhausted into a migraine, I don’t—“

“Lex, you’re burning up,” Soren said softly, concern lacing his voice as he placed the back of his hand against Lex’s cheek, confirming what he already knew.

Lex opened his eyes, bleary and unfocused, and managed a small, weak shrug. “Just… a little overheated. It’s nothing.”

But Soren wasn’t convinced. He could see the flush in Lex’s cheeks, the way his skin was damp with sweat, and the fevered glaze in his eyes. “Lex, this isn’t just overheating. You’re sick, more than just the migraine. I think you might have a fever.”

Lex groaned, not in pain but in frustration. The last thing he wanted was to be more of a burden, especially when he knew how much Soren already worried about him. But even as he tried to brush it off, he couldn’t ignore the heaviness in his limbs, the way his body ached in a way that went beyond just fatigue. “Maybe… maybe a little,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Soren sighed, his concern deepening. “Okay, we need to get you comfortable. Let’s see if we can bring that fever down.”

He moved with quiet efficiency, heading to the bathroom to grab a cool, damp washcloth. He returned and gently pressed it to Lex’s forehead, the coolness providing a small bit of relief.

“Just relax,” Soren murmured, sitting beside Lex and stroking his hair with one hand while keeping the washcloth in place with the other. “You’re going to be okay.”

Lex didn’t have the strength to argue or to hide how awful he felt. He let his eyes close again, focusing on the cool touch of the cloth and the comforting presence of Soren beside him. The pain in his head was still unbearable, the nausea lingering just below the surface, but there was some solace in knowing that Soren was there, that he wasn’t alone in this.

Time seemed to stretch and blur as Lex drifted in and out of a restless half-sleep, the migraine and fever battling for dominance in his already worn-out body.

“You know, for an emergency medical technician, you’re a real idiot,” Soren said, offering an affectionate smile.

“Yeah, well,” Lex said, “I’m your idiot.”

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #emetophilia #fever cw #fever tw #emeto writer #migraine cw #migraine tw

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jedi-bird · 4 months ago

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Recently I wrote up a guide for recognizing and treating heat related illnesses for my family and decided to share it here. DISCLAIMER: I am not a medical professional and do not work in the field; I did however work outdoors in a physically demanding job in all kinds of weather and had to help several people with heat issues during that time. This is not a comprehensive list, just an overview of what I learned.

Signs and symptoms of heat related illnesses

Heat exhaustion:

Faint, fuzzy, or dizzy feeling either in head or across whole body

Excessive sweating (check temperature if possible)

Clammy or cold sensation while sweating (if you are shivering, this is getting into serious territory and help might be needed. Shivering when it's hot is very bad.)

Rapid or weak pulse (test blood pressure if possible)

Muscle cramps anywhere in the body

Nausea

Irritability

Confusion

Heat stroke

Throbbing headache (see note below)

No longer sweating with a body temp at 103°F or higher

Skin is red or hot to touch or looks irritated or dry

Rapid nonstop pulse

Loss of consciousness or inability to respond to questions or prompts

Vomiting

Delirium or confusion

Slurred speech

Excessive thirst or dry tongue or mouth feel

(Note: not all headaches cause pain. Pressure in the head, halos from ocular migraines, or just any odd feeling in the head should be treated as a headache at this point.)

If heat stroke is suspected, call emergency services immediately. Time is of the essence here.

How to treat heat related illnesses

Again, please note that if heat stroke is suspected, call emergency services immediately.

Heat exhaustion:

First, start by moving the individual to a cooler or at least shadier location if outside. If you are inside a structure and the humidity is high, go someplace where it is lower (outside in the shade is good, especially if there is a breeze). If you are inside and air conditioning is an option, turn the temperature down to quickly cool off the room.

Next, remove any unnecessary clothing or covers. If a shirt can be unbuttoned, undo at least the first two or three. Propriety does not matter in emergencies. Roll up long pants to knees and remove shoes and socks. Remove hats, so long as the person is inside or in the shade. If outside with no shade available, put ice under the hat with a cloth between the ice and head.

Next, provide a glass or bottle of plain room temperature water. This is vital! Do not provide ice at this point! Make them take two to three small sips. Immediately stop if nauseous or if nausea gets worse.

(Side note: ice water might sound like a good idea but it can be dangerous at this stage. Hold off until the core body temp starts to come down on its own. Water that is too cold at this stage can bring on nausea.)

Take a cloth or a paper towel and moisten it with cool or cold water. An ice cube wrapped in a cloth can also work for this. Run it along the person's wrists, back of neck, forehead, and ankles. DO NOT LEAVE IT SIT ON ANY PART OF THE BODY! This is a trick to help bring the body temp down in a slow and safe manner without causing the body to go into shock (also why we don't give ice water yet). Shock is bad. Stock can kill you. Go slow.

Communicate throughout. Ask simple questions. If they start being unable to answer or appear confused, stop everything and call emergency services. If they can answer, move on to the next step.

If they are starting to feel better, let them have slightly larger sips of the still room temp water. At this point, if they can keep that down for ten minutes, it is okay to start offering food and other forms of drink if possible. Things like fruit juice or cut up cool fruit are excellent. That will get some sugar back into their body in a gentle way and can assist with recovery. Salad or popsicles is also good. Only allow a bite or two at first, slowly increasing if they don't get nauseous. At this point, it is probably safe to give ice water but alternate it with room temp or electrolytes.

Monitor closely at this point but allow them some space. Keep them in a cool environment with access to lots of water and places to rest. If they stop improving, call emergency services.

Heat stroke:

Call emergency services.

Seriously. Don't wait. Don't try anything else. Call for help first and follow their prompts. Heat stroke is serious and deadly. Time is of the essence and lingering does more harm than good.

Side note: if you are unsure which it might be, just call emergency services. Better safe than sorry. A minor heat related event can change very quickly so don't take chances.

Again. Can emergency services. Do it.

Medications and heat interactions

There are a lot of medications that can interact in dangerous ways with heat, so good hydration and keeping environments cool is a must. SSRIs, birth control, and blood pressure medications WILL make you more susceptible to heat illnesses. Treat this seriously. Limit activities during the hours of 11am and 5pm and drink plenty of fluids. A mix of electrolytes, water, and fruit juice are good. Ice in drinks is okay unless you have the above symptoms; to help keep cool though, they are great. Popsicles are also a good way to cool down and have the benefit of being fun.

Hydration is your friend. If you feel muscle twitches, you are probably dehydrated. Start drinking more and rest if possible.

Remember, SSRIs (antidepressants) can and will make you susceptible to the heat. Use caution in hot and humid weather.

Side note: This is not a full list of the types of medications that can make you susceptible to the heat. Please consult your doctor or pharmacist or look at trusted medical sites online for a complete list.

Heat exhaustion in the elderly

As we age, we react differently to things so symptoms can change. Older adults sometimes do not recognize heat related illnesses for what they are. They will often start to feel cold when they are actually hot and will instinctively cover up and turn off air conditioning. This is dangerous, as they will quickly overheat and become unresponsive. They will also develop problems faster than someone younger. When in doubt, call emergency services. Again, better safe than sorry.

Making sure they get adequate meals and keep hydrated is essential. Jello is a good option for those who do not like drinking fluids regardless of age. Checking in regularly and asking questions can help so long as they are honest. Remember, with heat related illnesses, we are all trying to protect each other so talk openly and honestly about concerns. Let's all work together to keep each other healthy.

Additional notes

Keep a very close eye on humidity levels, especially in homes. Houses tend to heat up quickly and because of appliances and sinks, tend to get very humid. High humidity mixed with high heat is deadly. There is a thing known as the wet bulb temperature that measures the ambient air temp by covering a thermometer with a wet cloth. Honesty, it's easier to just get a device that will tell you the humidity of a room. If the humidity gets too high, using fans will only make it worse since they can't cool the room down at that point. Air conditioning is your only option at that point. Humidity at or close to the same air temperature is very dangerous.

Lower humidity levels mean the moisture in the air is evaporating, which will help you feel cooler. Higher humidity will kill you especially when the outdoor temp is above 95°F/35°C. Use the air conditioning and if necessary cover up with a light and breathable blanket (something made of pure cotton or pure linen).

If air conditioning is not an option, placing a bowl of ice in front of a fan can help create a cooling breeze. Keep lights and electronics off as much as possible and keep windows covered to keep the light out. A fan placed facing outward in a single window or door can help push the heat out; keep doors to rooms open if doing this to create some airflow.

Avoid wearing polyester based fabrics in hot weather as they will just cause overheating. 100% cotton is best if possible. Loose clothing or thin layers is good. Keep hair tied back and away from the face and neck as much as possible.

Do not cover your head indoors. Let that heat escape. Fans are good alongside air conditioning but they are not enough alone.

Hydrate hydrate hydrate!!!! Seriously. Drink more water. Drink more electrolytes. If you feel thirsty, you are already dehydrated. Drink. If you cannot drink lots of liquids for health reasons or you just don't like it, jello and fruits such as melons are great alternatives.

Major appliances should not be run during the day. Early morning or late evening are the best times. They will heat up the house unnecessarily and make you more prone to heat illnesses. Early or late unless you have no other option is the best choice. Try to pre-cook meals while the sun is down or in the early morning to eat when it is hot if you can.

Keep all windows covered from sun up to sun down to help keep the heat out. Keep them closed while the sun is out too. Putting a fan facing inward in a window at night can help pull cooler air into the house (remember to turn it to face outward once the sun comes up), but air conditioning is still better so keep it running even if it's a cool morning. It takes too long for it to cool down a house if you wait to turn it on later.

Keep unnecessarily lights off during the day as they can also heat up a house. Unplug anything not in use or use power stripes with an off button. This also helps keep electrical bills lower so you can run the air conditioning more. AC is your friend if you have it. If not, look for cooling centers available in your area and take advantage of them.

When in doubt about anything, contact a trusted source. Family, health professionals, emergency services. Things can change very quickly and the whole point of this is to help with prevention. Avoid being outside while the sun is out as much as possible. If something feels weird, call for help immediately. Stay safe. Stay cool.

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taelonsamada · 2 years ago

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,,,, charrrrr my beloved

May I ask for soft wolf pack comfort tidbits???

This cold is kicking my ass ;-;

Absolutely my love ♥️ Putting it under a cut cause it got a bit long XD sorry it took me a while ^^;;; 🥰 🫂 ♥️

David/Angel:

“Daaavveeeeyy….”

The drawn out, nasal voice calling from the living room had David pausing, the faint smirk curling across his face safe from sight as he stood in front of the stove tending the pot of soup he’d been working on the last twenty minutes.

“Yes, Angel?” He called, turning his head just enough to look over his shoulder towards the lump of misery that lay on the couch. Knowing by this point not to rush over the instant he heard them call for him, that if something was drastically wrong, their voice would have far more tremor in it, rather than the petulant whine it currently carried.

“I need you to do me a really big favour… and not say no.”

He did his best not to roll his eyes, already aware of the direction this conversation was going, as it was the fourth time they’d had it.

“I am not going to kill you, Angel.”

“Davey, pleeeaassee…. Put me out of my misery…”

The Alpha simply shook his head, getting a bowl down out of the cupboard and ladling the homemade soup into it, giving it time to cool a bit on the tray while he gathered up a few other essentials.

“It’s not happening.”

“Meanie….”

David picked up the tray once it was fully loaded, walking over to stand beside the couch and stare skeptically down at the stuffed-nosed, sore-throated, head-aching mate of his that was bundled up in his hoodie and a thickly knitted blanket.

“Yes, I’m a terribly mean, heartless bully, wanting to keep the love of my life alive.” He agreed flatly, eyes narrowing at the starry eyed look they gave him and the broad smile they flashed, even as they sniffed loudly.

“I’m the love of your life?”

“Obviously, you menace. Now sit up, you can’t eat laying down.”

~~~

Asher/Baabe:

Babe was snapped out of the haze they’d slipped into by the loud rattling of keys in the door and soft cursing coming from the other side of it. Instinctively they wanted to get up and open the door, but their body wasn’t letting them do much more than blink without causing dizzy spells and nausea.

Luckily Asher managed to get in all on his own, letting out a soft, hushed cheer at his success and shutting the door as gingerly as he could.

“Baaaaabe…? I’m back.” He whisper-called, and they couldn’t help the weak laugh at the lengths he was going through to make as little noise as possible, hushed curses sounding from the hall as he wiggled free of his shoes and stumbled through the dim rooms, leaving as many lights off as he could. Babe watched him tiptoe into the living room, approaching the couch they were curled into the corner of with all the care of approaching a sleeping child.

He knelt down on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table, and they felt gratitude swell in their chest. Obviously Asher remembered how they’d nearly thrown up when he’d flopped onto the couch beside them and bounced them around a bit too much. Smiling down at him as he settled his chin on their knee, staring up at them with loving eyes.

He gave a smile in return before digging into the bag he’d carried in. “Okay, I’m pretty sure I got everything we need.” He assured, starting to lay out all the items on the coffee table. “Migraine strength pain relief, nausea medication - and I checked, it’s safe to take both at the same time - hot and cold compresses, an ice pack in case the compresses aren’t cold enough, lots of water, a new eye mask, the granola bars you like… oh, and I found this.”

Asher perked up as he pulled out what looked like a mini rolling pin on a handle, though it looked like it was made of glass. “Apparently this is a face massager, and you can either chill it or heat it up. I figured I could massage your head after icing it, see if that helps.” He offered.

Babe stared at him, feeling tears welling up in their eyes. Which grew even worse when he saw them and shifted instantly to concern. Before he could ask what was wrong, they said to hell with the dizzy spells and leaned forward in order to kiss what was easily the best mate in the world.

~~~

Milo/Sweetheart:

“Ah - no. No buddy, it’s not for you… Yes, I know, but it doesn’t matter, it’s not for you… Don’t give me that, I know for a fact your bowl isn’t empty. Stop it. Stop with the eyes.”

Sweetheart felt their chest seize and rattle as they laughed at the full on conversation that was going on in the kitchen. Able to hear the plaintive meowing that was answering every remark Milo gave. They couldn’t blame Aggro for wanting a sample of Marie’s cooking. All Milo was doing was heating it up, and despite the entire lack of appetite they’d had for the last few hours, the stealth was admittedly on the verge of salivating.

Leave it to Marie to make food delicious enough to beat the worst flu.

Looking down at their hand, they wrinkled their nose as they saw their hand flicker again, huffing once more and settling back a bit further into the couch. They’d nearly managed to make it out the door to work, but whatever bug had been plaguing them for the last couple of days had gotten bad enough that their powers had flickered just as they’d lifted their coffee mug that morning. The ceramic shattering on the floor had betrayed them, alerting their mate that it wasn’t just being overworked or tired.

Which had ended up with them stuck on the couch and Milo calling the Department to inform them that the stealth wasn’t coming in. Another call to Marie had some fantastic smelling food delivered, which had them feeling terrible for troubling the woman so deeply. She’d most definitely had better things to do that day than make food for them. Only the fact that there was enough for Milo eased the guilt, because of course Marie was convinced her son wasn’t eating enough.

They watched Milo heading towards the living room with two plates, dodging the cat weaving in between his feet with practiced skill and scolding Aggro for nearly tripping him.

He handed them their plate and pressed a kiss against their forehead, settling down on the couch next to them. Sweetheart watched him argue with Aggro over the cat’s attempts to get up on the couch and shove his head into Milo’s plate, and decided that a sick day now and then wasn’t so bad.

~~~

Sam/Darlin:

“I’mm find.”

“Yeah, cause last I checked, ‘fine’ has a d at the end of it. Sit.”

Darlin scowled sharply as their body listened against their will and they dropped back down to sit on the bed. Unable to keep from sighing in relief at the cool hand that pressed to their burning forehead. “Damn it, Darlin’… I could cook an egg on that head of yours.”

“…’m a wolve… we run hod.”

“Uh huh… and you’re so far past hot, you’re comin’ up on it again.” Sam scolded, gesturing towards their pillow. Darlin grumbled and huffed as they collapsed sideways, head dropping to their pillow and stretching their aching body out with a tired sigh.

“Dissis Ash’s fauld…”

“Says the one who refuses to wear more than one layer even when there’s ice formin’ on the water.” The vampire continued to chide, pulling the knitted blanket of his they secretly loved up over their waist and brushing their hair back out of their face. “But yeah, I imagine you’re not the only one currently dealin’ with this, if Asher indeed brought somethin’ back with him off the plane.” The fondness in his eyes mixed with worry had guilt swamping them, and they turned their head to lean into his hand.

“…sor’y… didn’ mean te…” Sam hushed them before they could finish, leaning in to press his lips against their forehead.

“You didn’t ruin anythin’, don’t even start. We got plenty of time to spend up here, and you’ll shake this long before we gotta go back home.” That grin they loved broke through, and he winked at them as he brushed their hair out a couple times. “And honestly, this may be the longest I’ll ever get ya to stay still… Lookin’ forward to gettin’ to fuss over you.” He teased, laughing at the whine they let out in response.

“Nnooo….”

“Oh yeah. Whole nine yards. Gonna make you food, change out cold cloths for your forehead, rub your feet, run you baths… gonna fuss over you like nothin’ you’ve ever seen, and you ain’t got the strength to stop me.”

Despite it being said like a threat, Darlin never felt more loved.

#*hugs*#feel better hun #being sick sucks #redacted asmr #redacted audio #my writing #redacted david #redacted angel #redacted asher #redacted babe #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #redacted darlin #redacted sam

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and-its-with-one-l-bitch · 4 months ago

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i NEED to see a titoshaundi proposal for the prompt thingy pretty pleasee 🫶🏻

Prompt 31 - Proposal - 1.6k words, post-SR2.

The linen curtains sway in the breeze behind them, the soft glow of twilight illuminating the rooftop balcony of the fancy hotel they're staying in. The Saints make big money, and now they spend big money, and Shaundi? Hell, she's a celebrity now, nothing but the best for her. She's dressed like you wouldn't believe, the curls of her hair tied back into a loose ponytail and her dress tailored to perfection. It's purple and shimmers in the low light as she leans back in her dining chair, a faint smile on her face as she watches Tito across the table they share. He's dressed nicer than usual, shoved into classy clothes that don't quite seem to fit his frame, too tight in the shoulders and too baggy around his waist, but he's clean and tidy and fidgeting with the box under the table. Shaundi loves to watch him. "You know, when you showed up here, it was a surprise," she begins, straightening in her chair and leaning towards him, "a good one. After all we've been through, dinner dates were not what I expected. You've changed." She remarks with something lingering between admiration and confusion. "What happened?"

Tito swallows, hard, and quickly runs the back of his sleeve over his forehead as a feeling of dread and anticipation settles in his chest. He's got to be cool. Taking a deep breath, he shakes his head and forces a smile onto his face, digging down into the same reserves that got him through all the shit with Maero to steel himself for what comes next. "Shaundi," he begins, reaching out for her hands and taking a hold of them harder than he means to, "you and me, we've been around this city too many times to count. Y- uh, you mean so much... to me." He stumbles over his words, laughs with a little frustration, and powers on. "I can't imagine facing the future with no- with anybody else." With sweaty hands, he picks the ring box up out of his lap and places it on the table, something still too tense about his posture. "I want to spend the rest of my life, no matter how long, with you." Tito says with a smile, and across the candle-lit table, she brings a hand to her lips, a single tear glistening in the corner of her eye. Pressing on, he opens the ring box to reveal an enormous, diamond-studded band, pushing the box across the table. "You've been with me through thick and thin, Shaundi. I can't imagine my life without you. Will you—"

"CUT!" Comes the bellowing voice of the director, booming through the megaphone he absolutely does not need and only adding to the migraine currently making Tito's head spin. The illusion of intimacy, however fragile, is shattered immediately. He grits his teeth and prepares to listen to the little man squeal. "What the fuck was that?!" The director snaps, hopping off of his squeaky chair as he comes waddling to the table. Glancing at Shaundi, Tito spots her rolling her eyes before dropping her chin onto her steepled hands. "It's meant to be emotional! Passionate! You sound like you're gonna puke!" Cries the director, his hands in the air like he's begging for God's intervention. Tito's jaw tightens in time with his fists, his face growing hot. He never wanted to get involved with this show - shit, he could have never heard about it again and been at peace, but oh no, he had to be a pest, had to keep showing up on set and picking on the producers, had to keep dropping in to make sure Shaundi was fine. She always told him she was when he called her on the phone. Funny how he never believed her. Guess his face became too familiar on set, gave the producers too many ideas, and with enough convincing from the star herself ("It'll do wonders for the ratings, Boss!") he relented and agreed to the stupid script. Turns out reality TV isn't all that real.

"I just... don't think it makes sense." Tito says through clenched teeth, every instinct telling him to lash out at the angry director in his face, but something about Shaundi's expression holds him back. She looks almost... sad. "Look, Stilwater knows me as a shit-head, right? You think a suit and some emotional music is gonna make them forget Shivington?"

The director waves the script under Tito's nose. "Showbiz, kid. You know that prick with the shiny hair, Josh Birk, hottest thing on TV right now? Guess what he did before TV? Not fuckin' charity work, I'll tell you that. You've got to sell the lines."

"I am sellin' the lines!" Tito protests, rising from his seat to stand over the director as he feels his temper flare. Thing is, he really is doing the best he can. Never was much of an actor, but these words? He'd mean them, in another context, maybe in another life, but here? Surrounded by cameras and vultures? He feels boxed in, prodded. Searching for an anchor before he starts to lose his cool in a more permanent way, he looks to Shaundi for help and finds her giving him a sympathetic look that begs for him to just give it another shot. Ever since she showed him that she's the brains between them - at least a dozen times by now - he's been loath to refuse any of her ideas, and the pleading in her green eyes does him no favors. Snapping his mouth shut with an audible clack, he straightens out his shirt and slowly sits back down. The director scurries back to his chair.

"Take it from the top, people!" Orders the spiteful little man Tito has quickly grown to hate, waiting for the crew to settle back into their places; Tito takes a little bit longer to settle down and pretend like he doesn't feel sick to his stomach, but then the cameras are rolling again and he doesn't have much choice. From the top. One more time. Play the charade just once more.

"Shaundi," Tito says through the same tight smile he had on before, "you mean... God, what am I fucking saying?" He mumbles, planting his palms on the table. "You don't even know how many times you've saved my ass. The world wants you wrapped up in a bow and put on screen but I fuckin' miss you. Have I told you that? I don't wanna lose you. I know I'm shitty at this stuff," he scoffs a little, "but you always let me get away with it. You do mean the world to me. I'm sorry I don't show that enough."

Shaundi's eyes are narrowed, but there's a tiny smile twitching at the corner of her glittered lips. Wildly off-script but finally feeling like he's making sense, Tito takes another breath to finish the scene, the scenario, whatever, when, "CUT! Jesus, is this amateur hour?" The director's in his face again, and this time Tito's really pissed off, whatever confidence he'd clawed back snuffed out by the reddened face of the shouting man and his megaphone. Shaundi looks defeated; she'd been invested too, maybe hoping for an end to the never-ending work day. The director raises the megaphone to his lips but doesn't get the chance to start yelling again, not before Tito has snatched the damn thing out of his hands and tossed it over the penthouse railing. It's a miracle the table and the director don't follow, with Tito grinding his teeth to keep from committing a serious crime on camera. He stands up and shoves the director out of his space, but stops short of storming off. He looks to Shaundi, still sitting pretty as a picture in her glistening dress but looking exhausted.

"I'm sorry." Tito says quietly, feeling the fight go out of him as his shoulders sag. She offers a wry smile as she stands up, brushing out any wrinkles in her perfect dress as she rounds the table. "I hate the cameras." Tito whispers as she gets closer, and she hooks his arm without a word. "Can we go?"

Shaundi gives the director an icy, arched-brow stare that quells any argument, but her disappointment and fatigue are evident in every movement. She pats Tito's arm and steers him past the cameras into the back of the set, finally letting out a heavy sigh once she's sure they're alone. "God, I need a smoke." She groans, letting go of Tito as she comes to lean against a wall, hands on her knees. She looks up at him through fake lashes and begins to cringe. "I'm sorry I put you through all that. I know the show pisses you off."

"No, it's just," he sighs, feeling awkward now that it's just them, "I'm not made for the celebrity shit. You're good, you know? You're a real... star?" He says uncertainly, the words uncomfortable in his mouth as he says them, but Shaundi just laughs. She looks a little brighter as she stands up straight.

"You wanna get outta here?" She asks coyly.

"Where you thinking?"

"You still got that shitty apartment in the Red Light district?"

"Sure. It's still got that mold problem, though." He says, and even if he doesn't realise it, she's got his defenses down again. He feels relaxed. Shaundi grins, grabs his hand and tugs until he's following obediently. Glancing up at him, she's smiling again.

"Perfect. I stashed some weed in your dresser a few months back. I don't wanna hear any hang-ups; you are going to smoke that shit with me, we are gonna watch a shitty movie on that busted television, and we're gonna forget about all this. You with me?"

Leaving the set and trailing behind her, fingers hooked loosely together, he feels in this moment that he'd do anything he was told. "Yes, Boss." He says with a dopey, lopsided smile. "Wait, my dresser?"

#OOOOOH this was so fun. Alternate cut where Tito throws him over the balcony >>>>.#THANK U CARRIE FOR THE PROMPT!!!! MWAH.#saints row #saints row 2 #boss: tito menendez #shaundi #boss x shaundi #writing

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dissociacrip · 1 year ago

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did i mentioned that i've almost blacked out 2x in the past 3 days. that's how ik something is off other than just the malaise/lethargy 'cause i am a faint risk but not usually by that much. 1st day was just sitting in class and i got really hot and sweaty all of a sudden and got those feelings in my stomach that are my personal tell-tale signal i'm having pre-syncope and had to go lay down in the hallway to get blood back to my brain before leaving. going back home and eating more food helped but then the next day it happened again even when i ate more than i did the previous day. very cool very fun.

i got iron gummies but idc if it's iron deficiency because back when i was dx'd with iron deficiency anemia that came with bad heart palpitations/PVCs and worse fatigue (barely able to get out of bed and well why would i if it felt like my heart was coughing just from things like darting my eyes lol) than this but also that was before + during the menstrual phase i'm pretty sure, not after. and the malaise/lethargy isn't new either that's been happening episodically for years but idk how that relates to my period bc i haven't kept tracked. haven't really kept track of the migraines or cluster headaches or whatever they are either.

everything on line w/ this points to hormone weirdness but idk if that hormone weirdness has been around for a while of it's related to birth control or what. man i don't really wanna see an ob/gyn for trauma reasons but i might have to once the semester is over if this keeps happening. like i had to leave class early to keep from blacking out and also skipped a work shift due to how bad that first migraine was. it's not just the physical shit but the mood shit too.

#j #body log #tmi -

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starlightments · 3 years ago

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PREVIEW: chapter one

When Keith’s notorious temper lands him in major trouble at school, he’s forced to serve out his time somewhere even more nightmarish than detention: the drama club. Despite his determination to avoid the spotlight at all costs, an unintentional mishap ends up getting him not only cast in the show, but playing opposite Lance McClain, a boisterous and bright-eyed thespian who Keith just can’t seem to shake – on stage or off.

Language: English | Rating: TBD | Art Credit: here

FANDOM: Voltron: Legendary Defender

GENRE: High school AU, rivals-to-lovers

PAIRING(S): Keith/Lance

. . . . . . . . . . . .

It’s getting late by the time they roll into Keith’s sleepy little neighborhood, the one with the crooked power lines and flickering streetlamps lining the sidewalk, dead trees swaying high above the rooftops like shadowy claws in the night.

Adam drives with stiff precision and only one hand on the wheel. The other is busy massaging tiny circles into his brow, right above the wire frame of his glasses, where a migraine is inevitably beginning to flare up.

“Almost there,” comes his low, weary voice.

Keith, drowsing in the passenger seat of Adam’s decade-old Volvo, sullenly stirs to life. Sensation creeps back into him like moonlight through the mist, only harsher, less pretty: the rattling engine, his throbbing nose, that split second of startled realization when he looks down and sees dried blood smeared across his knuckles.

He misses the silence—and the numb, hollowed-out feeling that came with it—but at least Adam has the decency not to pry. Earlier, while Keith was waiting to be picked up outside school, palm pressed against his busted lip in a messy attempt to stop the bleeding, he had already braced himself for what he assumed would be one hell of a tirade, but aside from a half-serious quip about tossing Keith into a roadside ditch if he gets blood stains anywhere near the leather upholstery, Adam hasn’t uttered a single word until now.

One of his better qualities, really, in Keith’s honest opinion.

“Yeah,” he mutters, slumping in his seat so that he can put his feet up on the dashboard. “I know.”

At the traffic light, Adam glances over, concern hanging heavy behind his eyes as he drags them up and down the boy’s face, examining his bruises in that cool, clinical way he sometimes has about him. It makes Keith want to snarl like an angry wolf.

“Put something cold on that when you get home,” Adam instructs, leaning over and calmly knocking his feet back off.

“I know that, too,” snaps Keith. His scowl threatens to split his lip open all over again. “I’m not an idiot.”

The light turns green, and Adam shifts the car back into drive. “Well,” he sighs, “that’s debatable.”

A row of quaint saltbox-style houses comes into view. Most of them have gone pitch-dark by now, except for Keith’s, which still has a faint glow sneaking past the living room curtains. Of course, his brother is probably inside—waiting up for him on the sofa, clutching diligently at his phone—and even just imagining it puts Keith on edge, skin prickling all over, hot and itchy with dread.

“You’ll be alright, then?” Adam asks once he pulls into the driveway.

“Sure,” says Keith, shouldering his bag. “Thanks for the ride.”

“It was definitely not my pleasure at all, whatsoever.”

Keith finds himself hesitating as he reaches for the door handle. A muscle in his jaw clenches, protesting what he’s about to say. “Just—don’t tell Shiro.” Then, after a moment of reluctant consideration, he grumbles, “…Please.”

Adam’s lip curls on one side, like it’s a secret. “I doubt I’d need to, anyway,” he says, nodding at Keith’s nose.

Huffily, Keith takes the hint; he uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe a fresh trail of blood away, and then clambers out of the car without any grace or regard for how Adam’s whole face puckers in disapproval. The Volvo swerves back onto the street in a spray of gravel, headlights fading into a distant, smoldering speck. Keith watches from the curb, watches himself get left behind in the gloom, before heading toward the light.

The way he slinks into the house feels like a well-worn routine. Every step is carefully calculated. He knows which floorboards creak the loudest, and exactly how to maneuver around them, but there’s nothing he can do about the screen door squealing shut behind him.

“Hey,” Shiro calls out from the living room. His voice just barely carries over the muffled prattle of some fast-talking infomercial salesman on TV, followed by the rustling of couch cushions. “How was your day?”

Keith swiftly ducks into the kitchen. “Uhh,” he calls back, yanking the freezer door open and rifling through it. Not that there’s much to account for in there—a couple ice trays, some frozen corn, and a carton of mint chip ice cream with a very questionable expiration date. “Fine,” is what he eventually settles on.

“Oh, really?”

He smacks a bag of corn over his left eye, and then closes the freezer door when, suddenly, out of nowhere, Shiro materializes on the other side of it. Keith jolts at the sight of him, feeling something go all tight and panicky inside his throat for a second, until he notices that lopsided little grin on his brother’s face.

“Because I heard it was…” Shiro takes an exaggerated pause here, tapping his fist against the bridge of his nose to pantomime a punch. “…smashing.”

Keith stares flatly with his one good eye as Shiro repeats the gesture, looking expectant, like his humor is impeccable and Keith is just being oblivious.

“Can’t cut the dad jokes for five seconds, can you?” he drawls. “That’s what you get for adopting a kid.”

“No,” says Shiro, dropping the act in an instant. He waves an arm at Keith’s disheveled appearance. “This is what I get for adopting a kid.”

As if to prove his point, Keith’s nose decides to leak again, landing with a quiet splat on the linoleum floor. When Keith glances down to look at it, even more spills out onto the front of his shirt.

Shiro sighs, slow and long-suffering.

“Sit,” he says, and Keith automatically frowns, bristling at the command before determining he’s too exhausted to argue right now, anyway, so he goes and hoists himself onto the kitchen counter.

This part feels like a routine, too: the fallout, the adrenaline crash. Guilt always comes after the fact, a delayed reaction, swarming in Keith’s chest like a secondhand smoke while he watches his brother get on his knees and wordlessly scrub all his bad, bloody impulses off the floor.

An apology buzzes around Keith’s brain, but this time, just like every other time, it turns to dust before it ever makes it to his mouth. He’s trying to figure out how to say sorry without saying he wouldn’t do it again—because he would, in a heartbeat.

He will not apologize for the kind of boy he is. The kind of boy this ruthless world forced him to become.

“Adam texted me right before you got in,” Shiro goes on, standing now, removing a first aid kit from the junk drawer next to the sink. “Said I should be prepared.”

Keith scoffs out loud, annoyed, but not entirely surprised. “Traitor.”

“Actually, you should be thanking him,” says Shiro. “Not many people would be willing to drive out of their way at this hour.”

“Yeah,” Keith mutters dryly, “Adam the saint.” The eye roll is implied. “You know he only did it ‘cause I’m your brother, right? Like, if he gets on my good side, then maybe you’ll finally get your head out of your ass and ask him on a date or whatever.”

Shiro startles so bad he nearly fumbles the kit right out of his hand. Watching him flush and fluster over even the slightest mention of his perpetual will-they-won’t-they with a certain fellow school teacher will never not be hilarious, Keith thinks, as his brother scrambles to compose himself.

“Wh—wh-ho-ho—wait, what. No. That’s…that’s not even—” Shiro starts, then abruptly freezes, a tentative little hitch tugging at his brow. “—I-I mean, why? Did he say something to you about…?”

Keith just smirks at him. He knows it’s insufferable.

“Nevermind.” Shiro shakes his head as if to recalibrate it. “Just—he’s just a friend, Keith, I’ve told you a million times,” he says, which isn’t a lie, but the faint hint of red still lighting up his cheeks makes it seem like one. His focus snaps back to Keith, almost accusingly. “Besides, how would you know? You just suffered a head injury. You could be severely concussed.”

“Right, yeah, I’ve been severely concussed for the past three straight years, watching you two dance around each other like you’re—”

“Aaand that’s enough of that,” Shiro blurts at once, crowding into Keith’s personal space, only to snatch the corn away and replace it with the cold, stinging press of a disinfectant wipe.

Keith jerks back, hissing, “Ow!”

“Uh-huh,” replies Shiro, undeterred.

“I said ow!”

“Well, it wouldn’t be so ow if you’d just hold still.”

He takes Keith’s chin between two fingers, not unkindly, but firm enough to stop the squirming. Up close like this, Keith can make out his brother’s expression in stark detail, every crease and wrinkle that digs into his brow. While Adam tends to wear his judgement boldly on his shirtsleeve, Shiro has always kept his hidden in the fine lines of his face. Keith closes his eyes, inhales loudly through his nose, and endures it.

“So,” Shiro says after a while, still rubbing at Keith’s wounds, “are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Miscalculated a right hook. It was a fluke. Won’t happen again.”

“Keith,” says Shiro, slower, sterner. “Why were there right hooks being thrown in the first place?”

Warily, Keith cracks one eye open. The guilt from earlier gives a nudge, a warning, pushing insistently at the space between his ribs, but Shiro’s gaze is gentler now. It’s a sort of familiar comfort that’s easy to fall into.

“Some jackass at school said some stuff, and I…” he admits in a rough, rumbling voice, “…I thought if I bashed his mouth in then nothing stupid would ever come out of it again.”

“Did he call you a name?” Shiro asks, quiet and careful, like maybe he already knows the answer.

Keith grits his teeth, then nods.

“A bad one?”

A pause. Another nod.

Shiro presses his lips together, setting the wipe aside with utmost seriousness. “Look, Keith, I’m not saying that little punk didn’t deserve it,” and he keeps his hold on the boy’s chin, tilting it higher, so there’s no choice but to meet each other’s eyes, “but you can’t keep getting yourself into trouble like this. There’re only so many strings I can pull at school before the faculty decides to suspend you for good.”

“Fine, then suspend me!” barks Keith, flinching away from Shiro’s grasp, all defiance. “I don’t even wanna be there, anyway!”

“Keith,” says Shiro. It’s soft but devastating. “We made a deal. Finish high school, or I’m not signing your application to the flight academy.”

The urge to yell comes to a sharp, shuddery halt in Keith’s lungs. He knows it’s useless. They’ve been down this road before, perhaps hundreds of times, and it always leads them to the same dead end.

His eyes have been pinned on the sky since he was ten, fresh out of his third foster home, when Shiro showed up in the clean-cut silhouette of his pilot uniform, collar starched, badges glittering like polished chrome, and Keith felt something burst to life under his skin.

That feeling follows him, even now. It keeps him up at night, wild with a longing he can’t quite articulate, counting the stars beyond his bedroom window and knowing he’ll never truly rest until he gets a taste of them on his tongue.

But right here, on this planet, in this middle-of-nowhere town, he’s stuck.

Grounded.

Keith swallows around the desperate ache in his gut. “Why can’t I just go now?” he practically whines, words slurred with the way his swollen lip puffs out at the corner.

“Because,” begins Shiro, “I want the best for you.” When Keith gives him an unimpressed look, he tries once more with vehemence, “Because accidents happen, Keith, and one day you might find yourself unable to fly, and then what’ll you do?”

Reflexively, his arm twitches—the prosthetic one, that is. Its metallic sheen catches Keith’s eye in the dim light, smooth and unnatural against the jagged strips of scar tissue around Shiro’s shoulder. Keith doesn’t have the heart, or the guts, to challenge him.

“I dunno,” he mumbles, shrugging miserably. “Be a teacher? Worked out for you.”

“Yeah, except you’d make a terrible teacher,” says Shiro. He offers a smile, small and rueful. “I pity the young mind that gets molded by you, mister right hook.”

He reaches out and ruffles Keith’s shaggy hair, which is annoying because it makes Keith feel like a little kid again, but it manages to break some of the tension, too, so he lets it happen. A laugh slips out of him as he swats ineffectually at his brother’s hand.

“‘Kay, so,” he says with a smirk, like he’s daring Shiro to do his worst, “what’s my punishment gonna be this time?”

“Well, actually, I was thinking you could stop by the auditorium after class,” Shiro tells him. “We could really use an extra hand with some set pieces for the fall play.”

An intense rush of horror sweeps through Keith. That is, in fact, Shiro’s worst.

“Shiro,” croaks Keith.

His brother perks up innocently. “Hm?”

“The drama club? Seriously?” Keith splutters for a moment, nearly going dumb with outrage. “Just—just—just put me back in detention like a normal person!”

“Oh, so you can punch another kid in the face like you did today? No, not happening,” says Shiro, packing up the first aid kit and tucking it back in the drawer. “I need you where I can keep a close eye on you, and I already promised Adam I’d supervise the first round of auditions tomorrow.” He throws a bright, sparkly grin over his shoulder at Keith. “We’re doing Romeo & Juliet.”

“Wow, so original,” Keith mutters, perfectly deadpan, as he slides off the countertop. “Also I don’t care.”

“3pm sharp,” Shiro calls. Keith, who’s already made it out of the kitchen, pauses on the staircase landing to flash his brother an unenthusiastic thumbs-up, then continues stomping up to his room. “I mean it, Keith, don’t be late.”

#klance #klance fic #klance fanfic #klance au #star writes

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cuterocks · 2 years ago

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i’m so deep in my feelings for nie mingjue, these are some headcanons i have

• he has a severe case of resting bitch face. 90% of the time he’s not angry or irritated or something, he just has his face relaxed

• hot weather drains him so much, and what’s even worse is that he runs hotter than everyone he knows. everytime he has a free moment for himself, he undresses and lays on some rocky ground to cool down

• he has always suffered from migraines, tho in his youth those were only constant faint buzzing, painful but manageable. of course, after baxia and the qi deviation migraines become unrelenting pounding behind his eyes

• he doesn’t like fineries, but not because he has no taste. it’s because complicated decorations confuses him since he has auras in his eyes a lot of the time, and strong and complex flavors and scents cause him nausea

• he is curt, because dealing with migraines leaves him fatigued. he cannot spend hours paying attention to useless ramblings that often hide other meanings, he has a limited amount of energy and he’s not gonna spend it on listening to jin guangshan’s self aggrandizing speeches

• he looks very strong, and people always comment on it, but the truth is what everyone sees is just 50% of what he was used to be. he feels so weak all the time but hides it well because his 50% is still really impressive. this doesn’t give him any solace though

• no one knows this, but the more he drifts toward qi deviating, the less he wields baxia. the fact is, when the qi deviation started manifesting, it’s already too late. unless someone finds a cure, he won’t heal, no matter how much or how little he wields baxia. so, since he gets weaker by the hour, he has no energy anymore to wield the saber

• everyone knows cultivation is all there is for him, but no one knows the feelings he has for it. to him it’s not just a display of brute force, it’s so much more than that and that’s why he’s so powerful. you can’t just practice strength, there’s also a lot of thought, attention to details, balancing of the mind. it’s just that all the work that doesn’t require sparring with others, he does in the privacy of his rooms

#nie mingjue #the untamed #cql hc

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snowflakeanimelover · 2 years ago

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Cool power ideas for a character(or you) in The Umbrella Academy show/fandom

These are powers I either made up myself or just ones that have existed. These powers will have flaws and explanations of what they can do. They are also ones that aren’t in the show.

These powers can be changed or added onto by anybody who wishes to use them in their stories/fantasy.

Healing

(This one can be pretty confusing)

Can heal any wound, big or small of any age and can heal from any poison.

Or, a wound from someone else can be transferred to the one yielding the power.

Both can not be used at the same time.

When taking someone else’s wound, the pain it causes will be inflicted.

If the wound is very fatal, the owner must stay awake for as long as possible to let the body/power heal it. Due to the wound being fatal, the person yielding the power will eventually “die”. And if the person has let the body start healing the wound, they will instantly pass out/die. If the person has allowed the power to start healing the wound, they will come back to life/wake up after it is fully healed.

If the person does not allow the power to start its job and they pass out/die, they will not come back to life.

The person will have the same symptoms as any wound would give them. But if the wound is fatal and they need to give the power time to heal it, they will have extreme fatigue. This is why it is very difficult to have them stay awake for the power to start healing. It’s a risky move.

Once they come back to life/wake up they will be extremely faint for a few hours because their body took a lot of energy and power to heal such a fatal wound. Soon enough, with much rest, they will be back to normal.

Metal, wood, plastic, or any other material manipulation

With any material manipulation, they would have to touch the substance to do whatever they wish with it.

They can be controlled by the mind(Although that’s a little too easy).

Examples: Metal; must be touched in order to make it move however the wielder wishes(Stretch or bend in any way). Wood; touch a tree or other wood objects to make it deform and reform however the wielder wishes(A tree branch stretched and bent, or a table stretched and bent).

Using this power will take lots of energy and can make the person extremely tired. Or, there can only be a time limit/weight limit of what they can use.

Water, Fire, air, or any other substance manipulation

Substance manipulation can be only touched or mind controlled.

the body is built with the substance.

Examples: Water; The person may be water itself or can touch water to manipulate it(A person’s skin can turn into water in which they can do all that water does or touch water to either throw, move around, etc.). Fire; The person can be fire itself, can summon fire from the mind, or can touch it to manipulate it(become fire and can do what fire does, summon fire with mind by looking or with touch, or touch fire to use and move around)

Using this power will take lots of energy and can make the person extremely tired. Or, they can’t use it in certain temperatures(Using fire in cold weather, using water in hot weather)

Controlling Time

Time can be controlled by the mind.(Not time travel/teleportation)

Time can be stopped, moved forward, or moved backwards.

Stopping time can be extremely tiresome and can give massive headaches/migraines. Moving time forward will have the same symptom and needs an extreme amount of energy. Same for moving time backwards.

Controlling time takes a lot of focus with no interruptions(Unless the user has had lots of practice and can do somewhat better at this. Depending on the person)

If used far longer than what the wielder can do, then they will get nose bleeds, possibly blown eardrums(by the loud ringing of time and energy malfunctioning), fatigue, and/or nausea.

Mind Reading

Can read anyone’s mind.

It takes lots of energy when used for a long time.

Cannot be used when tired, wounded, or sick. It can be used during these times if the person has had great training or they try to focus as hard as they could.

People can try to block the wielder from reading their minds. But if the wielder is skilled, then it may be useless.

Mind reading can cause nausea, headaches, and/or fatigue.

If you have any in mind, please add on! I’m curious to see what other ideas can be created. Again, these powers can easily be changed by whoever is wanting to use it.

These are free to take. But if you take one, please let me know! I would love to check out how you wrote it :)

#the umbrella academy #powers #made up powers #some already exist #flaws #explained powers #free to take #fun little writes #kate's blabs

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marveldc-imagines-hub · 4 years ago

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Subtitles: Episode 2, Don’t Touch That Dial

Subtitles Masterlist

Summary: A nondescript amount of time has passed since [Y/N] has met the Maximoff couple and the trio has since then gotten better settled in Westview, although none of them have yet to make the best impressions with their neighbors. [Y/N], Vision, and Wanda have found friends and confidants in each other when they haven’t much elsewhere but [Y/N]’s crush remains, begging the question, ‘Is there anything more to come?’ Meanwhile, the people of the cul-de-sac are planning a talent show and the atmosphere in Westview appears to be shifting. Follow along as the happy little world of Westview begins fraying at the seams while strange happenings occur and an unseen power desperately seeks to stitch it back together…

Word count: 13,766

Warnings: This one’s even longer. Fluff, sappy rom-com vibes, more possible second-hand embarrassment. It’s just as weird as the episode.

Tag List: @madamevirgo

~~~

“[Y/N], hon. I really think you should cool it on the coffee for the rest of the day.”

It’s possible that Agnes was right. The tiredness that was caused by a windy, sleepless night has recently been replaced by chaotic, synthetic energy that had your eyes wide and hands shaking slightly. You were on your fourth cup now, which you’d brought with you from the diner you and Agnes had had breakfast at. The two of you were going to pick up Wanda and go over to Dottie’s for actual breakfast—well, brunch—but you both had rocky relationships with the queen of the neighborhood and needed to mentally prepare. You had been up for a better part of the last night due to bushes and tree branches rattling against your windows, not to mention all your previous encounters with Dottie have been disastrous; you needed the caffeinated courage. Agnes just wanted to have something on her stomach beforehand so the alcohol hidden away in her handbag would sit better.

You hummed around your mouthful of coffee in response to Agnes’s mild worrying. You swallowed, then threw back the last of the no longer hot beverage and scurried over to a random trash can to toss the cup away. “There, see? All done. All nifty.” Just as an extra bit of proof, you gave her some jazz hands and shimmied as you walked back over to link your arm with hers.

Agnes tried to hold down a smirk but broke into a laugh when the shimmying started. “You look as jittery as a squirrel.”

“Not as fluffy as a bunny?” you asked with a wide-eyed pout, then reached over to poke a finger in the cage that your companion held; the rabbit inside, Agnes’s pet, immediately offered his head to be scratched. “Señor Scratchy, more like Mr. Cutie Patootie.”

“Fluffy too, of course,” Agnes offered, giving your curled updo a ruffle. “In a good mood too, which I suppose isn’t a bad thing. With Dottie around, we’ll need it.”

You almost cracked a grin but then thought about how you’d feel hearing someone say that about you and felt somewhat sad. Luckily, you found a quick reason to grin anyway as Wanda’s house came into view up ahead—

Only for the grin to turn into a look of confusion as a buzzing suddenly started in your ear.

You stopped cold, cocking your head as you strained to listen. The buzzing sounded almost like a lawnmower but coming from the sky—a helicopter, perhaps, but there was something off about it like it was happening inside your head—and the sound grew louder until it stopped with a sudden bang, making you jump.

“[Y/N]?” Agnes’s voice called. “[Y/N], are you alright?”

Drawn back to your surroundings, you felt a cold sweat on your back and noticed your hands had become clammy; the hair on your neck and arms stood straight up and your body felt suddenly achy, almost have you had come down with a cold out of the blue. You looked at Agnes with wide eyes and saw her staring at you, concerned with both arms gripping your sleeve.

It took you several moments to recover and when you did, you asked, “Did you hear that?”

Agnes looked at you incredulously, shaking her head just slightly. “Hear what?”

She hadn’t heard it? You felt like the strange sounds had happened right next to you.

The woman at your side continued, “I didn’t hear anything at all, except for Wanda coming outside. Then you just stopped walking and stood there, I couldn’t even budge you.”

Agnes nodded in the direction in Wanda’s direction and you looked that way. Wanda was indeed outside now, though she hadn’t seemed to notice you two coming up the sidewalk yet. Instead, she was looking down in the bushes near her fence, seemingly distressed. You followed her gaze and saw something glittering in the sunlight there.

“Well,” Agnes said loudly, officially snapping you out of your daze, “you seem fine now, at least. I told you all that caffeine was going to make you go looney!” She picked up the rabbit cage she apparently put down while you were… doing whatever it had been that you were doing, then kept walking as if nothing had happened.

You watched her for a moment before following. Then you noticed Wanda lean over and pick up whatever it was she was looking at but you couldn’t see what it was as Agnes obscured most of the view. You could, however, see Wanda’s distraught expression and it made you want to run and make sure she was okay; you noted that Agnes still had no reaction, though, and decided perhaps all that caffeine was the actual cause of all these weird feelings.

You felt the familiar pang of a headache as you and Agnes got closer.

“Look, it’s the star of the show!” Agnes chirped, leaning against the fence bordering the Maximoff lawn. You saw Wanda gasp and drop the thing back into the bushes but Agnes just grinned.

“Agnes!” Wanda replied in a way that seemed a little strained. She leaned over and covered the bush with an arm. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Then she noticed you, still a little ways behind Agnes, and the tension in her shoulders seemed to relax slightly. “And [Y/N]!”

You gave her a sheepish wave, still trying to recollect yourself. The faint headache was still there, getting a bit stronger whenever your eyes or thoughts drifted to the object Wanda was obviously trying to hide. At least you weren’t sweaty and clammy anymore, though. Not that that would matter. It’s not like you would be holding anybody’s hand on the way to Dottie’s.

You wouldn’t mind doing so if it happened to happen though.

Stop, you chided yourself, Bad. No holding hands with Wanda.

Unless you hold hands with both her and her husband, your brain decided to think on its own, which is totally cool too.

No, you chided your brain this time, no holding hands with married couples.

Fine, your brain conceded. Then after a moment, Just kiss them instead.

No!

Good god, that had been too much coffee.

You shook your head slightly and watched and Agnes handed Señor Scratchy over to Wanda who headed back to the house with him, though you hadn’t been paying attention to what they were saying prior.

“...he played baby Jesus in last year’s Christmas pageant!” Agnes was saying, to which Wanda looked over her shoulder and answered, “Ah!”

Then Agnes looked over her shoulder, and yours, and said, “Oh, morning, Dennis!”

You side-stepped to let the man pass and took the advantage to move to Agnes’s other side as she chatted the mailman up. You couldn’t help laughing a bit as she made finger guns at him and told him to stick ‘em up.

“Ho,” Dennis responded, putting his hands up momentarily and smiling, “Don’t shoot, I’m just the messenger.”

“Pew pew!” Agnes sounded, waggling her “guns” at him.

You offered your own, less theatrical greeting to Dennis as he walked by, then leaned over and bumped hips with Agnes when you caught her watching him walk away.

“Please tell me you’re not having an affair with the mailman,” you said.

Agnes choked, then threw back her head and did what you could only describe as a cackle. “What? Heavens no!”

“Good,” you replied, then slid a bit closer. Shimmying your shoulders at her, you teased, “Because I’m the only one you need.”

Agnes snorted and swatted you over the head but she was smiling. “You bird dog, get out of here. I’m married!”

“And I will duel your husband at dawn,” you cried, “I am the only one who gets to fight bar stools for the lady’s affections!”

The two of you chortled and separated as Wanda came walking out of the house and back towards you. She looked rather lovely in the pants and cardigan combo that she wore; you also quite liked the pattern of her shirt.

She looked between the two of you—you felt like her eyes settled on you for just a second longer but that was probably the caffeine too—and as she got closer said, “Shall we?”

“Oh, we shall,” Agnes replied, stepping back from leaning on the fence and offering Wanda her arm.

You saw Wanda glance back at the bushes and she linked her arm with Agnes’s and before you could think about your headache and stop yourself, you followed her gaze. You were now standing on the other side of the fence of the bushes that Wanda had tried to hide the object she’d found in and with a quick peer, you could make out a toy helicopter within the branches.

There was something very off about the helicopter, as there had been about the sound earlier. Looking at it was like the effects of one of your worse migraines but without the intense pain. Time appeared to slow way down and your head somehow felt like it was both floating and behind crushed at the same time. When you tried to look around it was like you were moving outside of your body, as if you had turned around to look at your own house across the street and yet hadn’t moved at all. Images of Wanda and Agnes’s faces, the Maximoff house and your own, faces and places that you didn’t quite recognize, the helicopter all floated through your line of vision, mushing together or overlaying on top of each other, and you couldn’t be sure whether you were actually looking around or if you had closed your eyes and this was all happening behind your eyelids.

After what seemed like a century but you were sure was only a very slow second, the helicopter came into focus again, and you felt like you were gasping or squinting or both, but without actually doing either. The toy had a very bizarre color scheme as if the colors didn’t exist in this realm of existence; you couldn’t quite place the names of them no matter how hard you tried. The helicopter’s bright colors—almost too bright to you; it felt like looking at the sun but you couldn’t look away—appeared to turn the entire world around you to shades of gray, including yourself. Yet again, you felt like you moved without actually doing so as you raised your hand, a shade of gray instead of your skin tone. Looking further, your entire outfit wasn’t the combination of your two favorite colors that you thought it was but a variety of grays, as well as the sidewalk you stood on and the fence and bushes you stood next to.

Your gaze settled on the toy helicopter again even though you were pretty sure you’d never actually looked away.

Blood? The helicopter was the color of blood and sand, with a touch of the color you suddenly hated with every fiber of your being, shimmery gray.

Then there was a sound like a thunderclap happening directly inside your head and everything was back to normal.

Wanda has just finished linking arms with Agnes and the girls were stepping to one side so you could join their line. Looking at Wanda’s smile directed at Agnes, and Agnes’s scheming look directed at you, the world didn’t seem so out of sorts anymore. You felt both very solid and like you needed to steady yourself but you didn’t have time for the latter and instead, you stepped forward, seeming much more confident than you felt, to link arms with Agnes.

Agnes, with her scheming look, clearly had other ideas. She suddenly stepped off the curb, jerking herself and Wanda to the side, not only blocking the way you were walking but pulling Wanda directly in front of you. Agnes herself settled easily but Wanda, who had no idea what just happened, stumbled and tripped; she tried to catch herself on Agnes’s arm she held, only to find it was no longer there and ended up falling backward.

Your arms shot out reflexively and caught her around the waist. Wanda, in response, reached behind her and braced herself by throwing one arm around your shoulders while the other caught one of your wrists and twisting in such a way that caused her to turn towards you and kick one leg up so she could steady herself on the other. The result was an almost picture-perfect dip, with you cradling Wanda’s upper body in your arms, her embracing you, and the two of you staring at each other in pure shock.

Then there was Agnes, standing next to the curb and brushing out a crease in her dress, looking oh so pleased with herself.

A deep blush bloomed across your face as you looked down at the woman—the very married and greatly loved by her husband woman—and your outsides and insides had the same idea of wanting to curl in on themselves and… either scream in joy or die, you couldn’t be sure. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of Wanda right away; along with the longing you often felt when seeing either her or her husband, though it was multiplied by infinity in the current moment, you felt a sudden fierce protectiveness over her come almost out of nowhere. You wanted Wanda Maximoff to be as happy and as safe as could be and it felt like if you let her go any moment before she was properly standing and solid on her feet that something very bad would happen like she would tip and fall and shatter into a million pieces.

Holding her was just very nice in general too.

You felt your fingers twitch at her waist and it drew you back out of your head. You noticed Wanda hadn’t yet pulled away either or moved in general, and you felt like you were going to spontaneously combust when you focused back on the face looking up at you.

Although she couldn’t possibly as red as you were, Wanda was flushed from her neck to the tips of her ears—she had the prettiest blushing face you’d ever seen, you were sure of it—and she was looking up at you from under her lashes, the expression on her face a mix of surprise and embarrassment and something softer than you couldn’t quite place. You felt her arm, warm and strong against the back of your shoulders, and her hands still tightly gripping your shoulder and wrist. For a moment, you felt the hand on your shoulder lightly knead the fabric of your jacket, as if testing something, before her entire grip on you loosened.

“Um,” she started, her voice sounding as dry as your throat felt, “thank you. For catching me.”

“Happy to help,” you croaked, then mentally kicked yourself and cleared your throat; the slight smile that appeared on Wanda’s lips wasn’t lost on you, though.

“Oh, lovebirds,” Agnes hollered over her shoulder as she walked ahead of you and Wanda, “the Queen of the Cul de Sac will order off with our heads if we don’t hurry!”

I had no idea that the devil wears plaid, you thought. Then you weren’t how long you and Wanda had been standing like that, or who had seen, and you were panicking.

You thought that maybe the two of you might scramble away from each other but it was quite the opposite. Wanda lowered the leg she still had raised and in one fluid motion, Wanda was back standing upright; in another, you twirled her around to your side and linked arms with her, and then the two of you were hustling after Agnes, who stopped and waited with her arm out so that you could link up with her too.

It was like something out of an old rom-com movie. Except it was a rom-com movie where the main character fancied both the love interest and her husband, something far too farfetched to end happily.

“Dottie can’t possibly be as bad as you say,” Wanda said. She looked from Agnes to you and you gave her a sympathetic look.

“Well, you’ll notice her roses bloom under penalty of death,” Agnes affirmed as the three of you made it to the outskirts of Queen Dottie’s castle and paused there. “If you don’t believe me, ask [Y/N].”

Wanda’s eyebrows raised.

You sighed. “The first day of meeting her I spilled wine on her dress and now I’m ninety percent sure that she thinks I want her dead. She also very much dislikes the idea of a lone stray cat living in her neighborhood.” You unlinked your arms with the ladies to gesture at yourself. “I was getting home late from work one night and she saw me, stepped outside to make sure I wasn’t going to dig through her trash bins.”

“Oh,” Wanda said with a grimace, “goodness.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, though,” you added quickly, “You’re lovely; I can’t imagine anyone not loving you.”

Agnes rolled her eyes while you blushed and scratched your neck. You could already see her gearing up for a pre-Dottie tutoring session.

And then she started with a look-over of Wanda’s outfit. “Wanda—”

“Hm?”

“—can I give you a bit of friendly advice?” Wanda must have caught the look too because she glanced over her outfit, the outfit you quite liked. Raising a hand to her chest, she asked, “Is it about the way I’m dressed?”

“Yes, but it’s too late for that.”

You scowled as worry bloomed on Wanda’s face. Unfortunately, you yourself had to learn how important dress was at these social events. You’d expected it to be just a gathering of friendly neighbors but it’s much more like a secret society and you had to look just right to fit it. Now you regretted not telling her sooner; you’d failed your first and only attempt at making a good impression so were content wearing whatever you wanted for the most part but Wanda definitely deserve the poor treatment she was going to get.

“Dottie is the key to everything in this town,” Agnes continued, unphased. “Country club memberships.”

Something you didn’t have.

“Parties.”

Something you didn’t go to.

“School admissions.”

Something you didn’t have to worry about any time soon but the way Agnes’s gaze drifted towards Wanda’s stomach made you wonder if the Maximoffs did. The thought made your stomach churn but you couldn’t figure out why.

“Well let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Wanda interjected with a smile and roll of her eyes. She happened to look your way and you thought the smile softened with her gaze just a tad.

You relaxed your shoulders.

Agnes trudged on. “You get in with Dottie and it’ll be smooth sailing from here on out. Just mind your P’s and Q’s and you’re gonna do just fine.”

“Or maybe I could just be myself, more or less.”

“I quite like that idea,” you offered. A wide-eyed glance from Agnes went unnoticed as you were too focused on the smile Wanda definitely gave you that time.

“Oh, Wanda, [Y/N]” Agnes said with a laugh, “that’s good.”

Wanda’s excitement for the event today seemed to lessen and you, apparently still high off the moment you thought you two had, gave her arm a gentle squeeze and an encouraging look.

She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she gave you an appreciative glance and pat on the hand. Your and her hands lingered for perhaps a second or two too long before they dropped back to your sides.

And then the queen and her merry homemakers sauntered their way out the front door.

“Everybody, hurry up please!” Dottie sang over her shoulder as she quickly walked down the front steps, followed by a line of housewives carrying various covered dishes.

Agnes twisted to look her way and waved. “Hiya, Dottie, your roses are divine!”

Both you and Wanda offered a polite wave as Dottie thanked Agnes, although she didn’t stop to chat. Her eyes did do a scan of your trio, though, and you felt your ears burn when a distasteful look was sent your way.

Agnes gave you a sympathetic smile and Wanda a look that said “Good luck; you’ll need it!” before sliding her arms under one of each of Wanda’s and yours and tugging the two of you along.

Your eyes wandered as one of the wives, Bev, talked animatedly about the setup for the talent show happening this weekend. Bored and feeling out of place, you looked over the group of women sitting a circle underneath the canopy tent by Dottie’s pool, purposely excluding Dottie and the woman talking, then the man jumping into said pool, then the man cleaning said pool.

You shouldn’t be here. This gathering really was a secret society of women of the neighborhood—not only women but wives in particular—to discuss homely and neighborhood business matters; you weren’t a wife and after screwing up with Dottie, you certainly weren’t involved in any of the other important business, nor did you have any interesting household gossip since you lived alone. The main you were here was because while out of place, you got along more decently with the wives than the husbands and when you’d first moved to town, Agnes thought you would be entertaining company to keep. She’d immediately hung you out to dry by telling her fellow women about you calling out their husbands’ poor attempts at comedy, which amused some of them enough to welcome you; in fact, Dottie had been one of those people, impressed by your initiative if nothing else, until you ruined your chances by ruining her dress. At the current meeting, you’d been specifically invited only because you were taking part in the talent show performance, which had also happened because Agnes heard you singing while doing garden work one day and somewhat strong-armed you in.

Your bored eyes eventually settled on watching Wanda, who sat a couple of chairs away on the other side of your mutual companion, and you were no longer bored. While you watched Wanda, she was watching Dottie like a hawk, awkwardly but cutely trying to mimic everything the other woman was doing. She stopped when Dottie started speaking, gripping the cup she was holding a lifeline and you chuckled moments before catty laughter erupted around you. You hadn’t heard what caused it, so you decided to tune back in.

“The devil’s in the details, Bev,” Dottie criticized, masking disdain with the lightness of her voice.

You heard Agnes mutter to Wanda, “That’s not the only place he is.” You couldn’t help but snicker.

Dottie was standing now and continued on, “As you all know, the talent show is the sole fundraiser for Westview Elementary…”

Agnes passed a flask to Bev with a cheeky grin as she sat down next to you and after taking a sip, Bev offered it to you. You didn’t have to think twice before snagging a drink of your own and handing it back over to its home.

“I hear you’re singing,” Bev chirped quietly to you, “For the talent show? I bet you’re a lovely singer, can’t wait to hear it.”

You blushed slightly and thanked her but didn’t say much more to avoid Dottie’s wrath.

The wrath that Wanda and her current companion, a woman with dark skin who looked oddly familiar but whose name you couldn’t place, weren’t able to avoid themselves, apparently.

“We only have a few hours until showtime,” Dottie said, “so a little less cross-chatter and a little more focus.”

As Dottie prattled on, you observed the two women curiously.

“...is for the children,” Dottie finished.

“For the children,” the other women echoed.

“For the children,” Wanda added after everyone else had already spoken, earning several displeased looks.

You didn’t bother to say anything, opting to take Agnes’s flask and have another sip.

“So, I want you all to give yourselves a big hand—”

Wanda, looking petrified, stopped in the middle of taking a bite of a cookie and started clapping. You hid your laugh behind a hand; she still had an entire cookie hanging from her mouth.

“—at the appropriate time, of course,” Dottie chastised, then continued on yet again.

Oh, darling Wanda, you thought with a grin, you poor, sweet thing, you. You rested your chin in your hand and watched as she made herself proper until Bev nudged you to take your elbow off the table. You huffed slightly but did so anyway, then tried to catch Wanda’s eye for a moment of solidarity, only to see her talking to the dark-skinned woman again.

Your gaze shifted from Wanda to the other woman and your brows furrowed. You swore you knew her from somewhere though try as you might, you just couldn’t place that face, those eyes, that awkward but friendly smile. Perhaps another newcomer to the area that you’ve seen t on the streets or at a shop? You couldn’t imagine where she moved into, though, as you were sure the last two open houses had been the ones occupied by you and Wanda and Vision.

You felt a sharp pang in your temple and grunted softly. You weren’t about to have an episode here of all places, so you quickly looked away and put the thoughts aside.

Just as Wanda and the stranger shook hands over their table. Uh-oh.

“I’m Wanda.”

“I’m, uh, Geraldine!”

“And I’m irritated!”

After getting scolded by Dottie a second time, Wanda locked her jaw and resigned to sitting in her seat with her hands tucked in her lap. She finally looked over at you with helplessness in her eyes.

You responded with a mouthed “I told you so” and a wink, then silently told her that you’d talk to her after the meeting.

A comforting face seemed to be what she needed because she relaxed again, though not completely. She settled in for the rest of the meeting and, finishing off Agnes’s flask, so did you.

After the meeting was over, Dottie asked Wanda to sit back and help her clean up, which you knew meant Dottie doing nothing but being condescending while Wanda did all the work. While Agnes tried to get you to walk her home and then warned you against your plan, you were adamant about staying back and making sure Wanda got through the rest of her first Dottie encounter in one piece. At this point, you knew fitting in and having people’s positive opinions was important to Wanda; you oftentimes felt like that yourself. Unfortunately, Dottie wasn’t the type of person to give out positive opinions easily—you had to earn it, which was hard enough without accidentally interrupting the main meeting multiple times—and that protective feeling for Wanda that had come out of nowhere earlier today still hadn’t faded. You knew Wanda Maximoff of all people didn’t necessarily need you but you wanted to stick around, just in case she did.

Maybe you were hoping that she would.

That and you couldn’t help but take one last shot at getting on Dottie’s good side.

“...and that is why you never do a seating chart on an empty stomach,” Dottie was finishing from her perch on the edge of a pool chair.

Wanda walked over to where you stood organizing a cart of dirty dishes so they didn’t all come tumbling down when whichever pretty busboy that Dottie paid finally came to take it away. She was huffing, carrying over yet another pile of dirty plates on a large tray; you skirted around the dish cart and quickly came to her aid, taking as much as your hands could carry from off the top. She offered a grateful smile that you returned before you both unloaded onto the cart.

Who owned or even used this ungodly amount of dishes?

A person who paid various pretty people to just be around, you concluded a moment later.

As you continued to organize, Wanda turned back around to grab a pair of three-tiered dessert stands, both of which had a decent amount of desserts left on them. “Golly, you’re a wiz at all this committee stuff, Dottie. Thank you for choosing me to help you clean up today, I feel so lucky.”

“You are,” Dottie agreed.

Wanda turned back to you again and made a face, then stuck out her tongue. You choked down a laugh after catching Dottie’s steely gaze over Wanda’s shoulder, settling for a smile as you took the trays.

Dottie was just as displeased as you’d expected she’d be that you insisted to stay behind and help.

“I really should try to make amends before this is over, shouldn’t I?” Wanda muttered. She caught a few plates slipping from the top of a pile and rearranged them.

“If you manage to do so, you really would be a Westview miracle,” you replied, taking a cup Wanda managed to catch before it tipped off the cart. “But first, how about I make you look ten times better, hm?”

Wanda gave you a confused look but you just patted her hand before switching places with Wanda and going to grab another tray of dishes.

You put on your friendliest smile as you began stacking as many cups as you could balance in one arm. “Say, Dottie—”

“Be careful,” Dottie chimed back, “or at least let me get out of your way first. Wouldn’t want a repeat of our first meeting, hm?” She ended her sentence with a venom-laced laugh, then gave you a tight smile.

You were pretty sure your eye twitched but you carried on, chuckling with her, “No, I suppose not. I really do apologize about that but you really shouldn’t hold such grudges. Worrying so much causes early-set wrinkles, you know.”

Dottie’s smile tightened further. You heard Wanda gasp and choke from behind you.

“Anyway, though, I really would like to make it up to you some time. My boss’s wife gave me two tickets to a food tasting event in town next weekend. I thought it might be something nice to do, plus it might give you some ideas for catering during the next event—”

“My husband and I would love to go out next weekend, thank you so much. Feel free to drop the tickets in the mailbox the next time you come around.” Dottie paused, then added. “Mailbox, on the opposite side of the porch than the trash bins.”

Your eye definitely twitched, maybe even both of them. You feigned an appreciative look as you finished stacking your dishes, then scowled as soon as you turned around and walked back to Wanda.

“Now,” you grumbled, “I beg the sweet release of death to come in a more timely manner. Oh, and whatever you do can’t possibly be worse than me, although I’m sure that was the case either way.”

“You poor thing.” Was all Wanda could manage, giving your arm a squeeze. “Guess it’s my turn.”

“Good luck, darling,” you said, then almost immediately regretted it. You don’t know why you decided to fake a British accent, nor why you felt the need to call her darling, but you couldn’t take back either of them now.

Wanda blinked, then laughed— before it was cut off by Dottie telling you both to get back to work.

“It’s more dahrling, less dahling,” Wanda teased. “British people do still use R’s.”

“Fascinating.”

Wanda grinned, gave you a final pat on the arm, then turned around to take her shot with Dottie. “I can’t help but wonder if you and I haven’t gotten off on the wrong foot, Dottie, and I would like to correct that if I can.”

A much better approach than you, you noted with an impressed nod. You walked a little ways off to grab another cart to even out the load of dishes; the current one seemed to sag under the weight.

“And how would you do that?” Dottie asked and you heard the rustle of fabrics rubbing together as she stood. “I’ve heard things about you. You and your husband.”

You stopped from your place behind the canopy’s pulled-back curtain. What on earth could she be talking about?

Wanda has the same thought. “Well, I don’t know what… you’ve been told… but I assure you, I don’t mean anyone… any harm.”

Your brows knitted together and you shuffled around the canopy’s aluminum frame to hear a little better. You couldn’t imagine Wanda hurting anybody, not on purpose anyway.

A pang in your temple. A surge of that fierce protectiveness.

You poked your head out just slightly from behind the canopy. All you could see was Wanda’s back and Dottie’s determined expression from beyond Wanda’s shoulder, and the fact that they were standing very close together.

“I don’t believe you,” Dottie stated simply.

As if on cue, the radio on the table started acting up, the music cutting to static combined with a jumble of noises. Like many things today, though, it sounded strange, as if it was coming from all around you, or directly from inside your skull. It stopped almost immediately as it started and music, regular-sounding music, returned. Normal, you thought, until you focused harder, and noticed a voice creeping from the background. It continued to creep closer, get louder like a person walking towards you would, until it was as loud as the static had been and the music was no longer audible. Your head throbbed as the voice sounded like it was coming out of your brain instead of into your ears but you couldn’t anything other than tighten your grip on the canopy.

The voice said, “Wanda. Wanda. Who’s doing this to you, Wanda? Wanda. Wanda. Wan—”

The radio shorted out, there was the sound of the glass Dottie was shattered, and there was another thunderclap in your head as the world around briefly flared into color. Color, not shades of gray, but then the gray was back as quickly as it had left. You didn’t know whether Dottie or the bizarre radio’s frequencies had crushed the glass or whether it had just been dropped, but you were walking over with a cloth in hand before you’d even gotten your senses back in order.

“Dottie,” Wanda gasped, her eyes flitting about.

Dottie caught a glimpse of the overly saturated blood spreading out from the gash in her palm—and seemed only mildly annoyed.

Wanda kept making sounds like she was trying to speak but didn’t quite know how to. She spun around to grab something to press to the wound and almost ran into you. She stared at you, cloth in hand, with wide eyes filled with equal amounts of fear and surprise, like your existence had been completely forgotten until that moment. Then Wanda grabbed the cloth, and your hand in the process; she gave you a silent thank you, your hand a squeeze so tight you felt her fingernails dig into the skin, then turned back to Dottie and pressed the cloth to her bloody palm.

Dottie grabbed her hand and said, somehow completely aware of the situation and also seeming totally spaced out, “Pop quiz, Wanda: How does a housewife get a bloodstain out of white linen? By doing it herself.”

Then she smiled and walked into her house.

You and Wanda stood in silence and it was then that you realized you felt the same way you figured Dottie did, similar to how you felt earlier today when you saw the toy helicopter in Wanda’s yard. You felt light and spacey and almost dizzy but without the world spinning, almost like you were a mind outside of your body, or a consciousness inside of a body that wasn’t yours. Time didn’t slow but rather sped up; you didn’t know when you’d started walking to Wanda’s aid and you didn’t remember the feeling of ever grabbing the cloth that you’d given her, and the whole event seemed to have fixed itself as soon as it started with the end result being your mind painfully aware of something being wrong but your body refusing to act like anything was.

All you’d really felt was your head throbbing, not with pain but with pressure, and the desperate urge to help Wanda. Then you did and everything was over.

Wanda.

You repeated her name in the form of a question; it felt different this time. She didn’t respond or really even move aside from reaching back towards you. You rushed over and grasped her arm and she let out a choked gasp.

“[Y/N].” She said it as if trying it out for the first time. It took her a bit longer to pry her eyes away from the spot where Dottie had been, then she held a hand to her mouth and looked at you. “What just happened?”

“I’m… I’m not sure myself.”

It took a bit longer again for her to speak, her eyes darting from you to the door Dottie had disappeared to and back. “Would you walk me home? Please?”

“Of course, Wanda.”

The walk home was quiet. The two of you had your arms linked as you did on the walk over but now Wanda gripped your arm with her other hand too. Like at Dottie’s pool, it was almost eerily silent except for your and Wanda’s footsteps. Tou could have chalked it up to being because everyone was already in town setting up for the talent show, something about it had you glancing around ever so often, as though you could catch someone peering at you through the bushes or through the crack of a partially opened manhole at any moment.

When you got to Wanda’s door, you had a quick chat about the talent show—as if none of the day’s earlier events had happened; she was very excited to hear you sing—and then she headed up the steps to her door. You gave her a wave and turned to walk home.

“[Y/N]?”

You stopped and turned back around, eyebrows raised slightly.

Wanda walked the three steps back down from her door and gave you a hug. “Thank you for being around today.”

“‘Scuse me, coming through!”

Of course, you’d be late. Of course, you’d get home, start practicing for your performance, pass out on your couch, and wake up five minutes before the show started with a suit and dress combo to still pull on and a few instruments to properly secure in their trunk.

You weaved your way between folks who were either going to the talent show or trying to ignore it and stumbled your way upstairs to the backstage.

Wanda was standing there in a magician’s assistant costume that almost had you on your knees and begging for mercy before you remembered you had a show to do that you were also very late for. She and the Black woman she’d been talking to at Dottie’s meeting—Geraldine, Wanda had informed you later—spun on you with an expectant gasp, only to slump in disappointment when they saw it was you.

“Golly, thanks for the warm welcome,” you muttered, setting your trunk down and popping it open. “Suppose I deserve it for missing most of the show, though.”

“I’m so sorry, [Y/N],” Wanda said as she paced over, “You look fab and I’m sure your performance will be a blast—”

“If I’m still performing?” you asked, directing the question at Geraldine with a hopeful smile.

“If you’re ready before the husband gets here, you can take their place,” Geraldine offered, “If not, you can finish the show off.”

Finishing the talent show, not nerve-wracking at all.

“Vision’s not here?” You gave Wanda a questioning look as you walked past her to look

at yourself in a full-body mirror on the other side of the stage to make sure your look was still in order. The top half of your outfit was a full, simple, black and white tuxedo with a matching black fedora that slightly offset on top of your hair; one of Dottie’s white roses, which you acquired after stuffing her and her husband’s food taster tickets in her mailbox on your way into town, poked out from the hat’s band. The bottom half was a simple skirt—actually, the skirt and undershirt of your outfit was a dress that your mother had pieced together and sent you for your “big night”—that was fashionable for the time but in a sleek shade of black that matched the rest of your tuxedo and with a white band around the hem, paired with a sheer stocking of a plaid pattern and low-heeled shoes that you would return to the shop tomorrow. Finally, for a little touch of color and a little for pop, a golden bejeweled broach was pinned to a crimson pocket square poked out of the chest pocket of your tuxedo jacket, golden geometric earrings hung from your lobes, and a couple of bejeweled bracelets and rings in the same colors adorned your hands. You wore bright, unglossed lipstick and nail polish to match, despite that not being in fashion. Luckily everything still seemed in order.

Wanda gave an exaggerated shrug as you walked back over to your instrument trunk. “Nowhere to be found, like he vanished!”

As if summoned, Vision came wobbling around the corner and up the steps. Well, he almost did; it took him two tries to get up the steps without falling back down.

“Oh, is that him?” Geraldine asked, her face twisting into a look of concern. “Looks like he’s gots a little hitch in his giddyup. Whoa!”

You twisted around, ukulele in hand to check if it was tuned, just as Vision was making it upstairs the second time. You smiled, quirking an eyebrow, only to stumble as the British man threw his arm around you to steady himself.

“Wanda, my little cabbage, you look smashing!” Vision exclaimed, his words slurring together just slightly. He began swaying and decided to lean almost his full weight on you; when you grunted and moved the instrument you were holding out of the danger zone of getting smacked is when Vision appeared to notice that he was balancing against a person instead of the railing by the stairs. He leaned his face closer and squinted at you—now that you weren’t concerned about going onstage immediately, it was significantly easier to get flustered by Vision and his, yes, absolutely smashing wife—then grinned and said, “Why it’s [Y/N] too, and looking equally as ravishing!”

You tried to keep yourself in check. “Heya cool head, not your wife. That being said, I’d say you look smashing yourself but you just seem positively smashed.”

“Oh, I know,” Vision replied, “I already told her that she looked nice. You heard me right, honey?” He went from so close to your face that his bangs were getting in your eye to only a hand gripping your shoulder as he flung his limbs wide, which was apparently a necessary move to look at his wife’s face.

You gave Wanda a look that was equal parts worried and amused. The look she returned was just worried.

Wanda walked over to you and helped maneuver you out of Vision’s grip so you could continue tuning your ukulele—actually, it was Vision’s that you were borrowing—then tugged her husband so you were at least a couple feet out of reach. “Vis, where have you been?”

“Oh, uh… me and the boys were playing a rather thrilling game of horses and shoes,” Vision responded, talking in a way that sounded like he was trying to talk under his breath while still speaking at full volume. “No, wait, that’s not it. Shoe horses! Oh, hrn… Ah! Horse’s shoes!” He put two thumbs up and smiled lopsidedly, clearly pleased with himself.

“Horseshoes,” you offered from your corner by the railing. You were done playing with the ukulele and checked to make sure your tambourine was safe and sound.

“Oh, yes!” Vision was his thumbs up towards you, both arms stretched out as far as they could reach. “Brilliant, you’re absolutely brilliant, [Y/N]! Aren’t they brilliant, Wanda, very brilliant and very nice-looking?”

“Well, uh, yes, I suppose,” Wanda agreed awkwardly, glancing over at you before pulling Vision back to face her; you swore you even saw her cheeks turn a shade darker. “Listen, something strange happened with Dottie.”

You were too busy biting back a smile to hear the rest of the conversation. You rearranged your hat and jacket back into place from Vision knocking them askew, then brushed any wrinkles out of your skirt. You glanced over at Geraldine, who was peeking through the curtains at the main part of the stage.

“I was just playing with his shoes!” Vision suddenly hollered, as the members of the previous act, including someone dressed in a horse costume, made their way around the stage.

“What is going on?” Wanda cried.

Geraldine responded in kind, “You are!”

You considered taking their places so Wanda had time to knock some sense into her husband but you knew if you went out now, you would sound like fingers on a chalkboard, and going out on stage at all was bad enough. Instead, you walked over and gave the couple an encouraging pat on the shoulder and a “Good luck!” before making your way down the steps and around to the viewing area to find a place to sit.

Dottie was onstage. Her hand seemed fine now. “I want to thank you all for coming out to support Westview Elementary, for the children.”

“For the children,” the crowd echoed, mostly deadpan.

“I have yet to see a child,” you stated at the same time, sitting back in an extra chair off to the side of the stage as to not annoy audience members with the vocal warmups you were about to start doing.

Dottie continued, “And for our final act—”

Geraldine scurried out from behind the curtains at muttered something in Dottie’s ear before rushing away again.

Dottie quickly picked you on the sidelines and gave a strained smile, although the daggers she was glaring made you sink down in your chair. “Sorry, everyone. For our next to final act, I give you Wanda and Vision.”

Wanda sauntered out from behind the curtains and down to the front of the stage, then planted herself slightly off to the side and threw one hand up as an entrance cue to Vision. At first, he didn’t appear and Wanda’s bravado faltered slightly as she looked out into the crowd.

You caught her eye and gave her an assuring nod.

Then Vision flying out of curtains and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Hello Westview! Good afternoon!” Still introducing, he stumbled down to the main part of the stage, bumping into a railing at some point and apologizing to it. He sort of settled and continued, “I am Glamour and this is my delightful assistant Illusion.”

“I am Glamour,” Wanda chimed in, talking and moving with even more animation than she normally would, “and he’s Illusion.”

“Yeah, what she said,” Vision said simply, then rambled on, “Tonight, we will lie to you, and yet you will believe our little deceptions because human beings are easily fooled due to their limited understanding of the inner workings of the universe.” He ended this definitely off-script statement with a matter-of-fact shrug and nod.

You regretted not going on first.

“Flourish!” Vision suddenly hollered, waving his hands in such a way.

This was going to be chaos, you decided, and it was.

Wanda and Vision’s act was a mess but at least it was an entertaining one. While the act did go on, Vision spent most of his time prattling on and yelling “Flourish!” while Wanda tried to keep things in check. Some of the tricks were good and even impressive at times before the “inner workings of the universe” became clear moments later. Vision’s first trick was to float up into the air, only for a pulley system to be revealed as Wanda moved a sign offstage. For the second, he picked up a piano with one hand only for the jarringly realistic instrument only for Wanda to slip up while carrying the one-dimensional prop away and show its bare wooden back with a large handle to grasp.

At one point, though, Vision trotted offstage and tried to perform a card trick for a friend while Wanda was helpless to stop him, but the end result was him going through an entire deck of cards trying to find the correct one. Then he went to pull Señor Scratchy out of his hat, only to find his hat laying on stage and Agnes’s rabbit hopping across it until Wanda managed to catch him and take him backstage.

Regardless of which tricks hit and which went wonky, the crowd, you included, seemed to love the Maximoff duo and hung onto the entire act. There were gasps and awes and you were personally still dumbfounded by the one where Vision pulled a hat through his body; the backstage curtains happened to fall at the perfect time to reveal a multitude of mirrors, only one of which that you knew had been back there previously, but a dull throb in the back of your head warned you to just let the mystery slide. After all, it wasn’t as fun if you spent the entire show pondering.

For Vision and Wanda’s final trick, Wanda brought out a large box called the Cabinet of Mysteries. At first, Vision stated that he was going to make his wife disappear but then he started locking up the Cabinet without her inside.

You caught Wanda’s act begin to slip again as her smile faltered and she began scanning the crowd. No else did, though, because Agnes suddenly hollered an offer of audience participation in the form of her husband, which caused everyone including Vision to laugh.

Then Vision was back to his trick, slapping the Cabinet’s side with a plastic wand and yelling, “Abrakadabra!”

“Uh, sweetheart,” Wanda murmured without breaking her pose.

Vision responded loudly, “Yeah?”

“Hi.”

“Oh.”

There was an awkward pause and you chewed your lip as you glanced around. People were waiting for the finale and Vision had just messed it up big time.

A chant of “What’s in the box?” started up.

Then you happened to look back to the stage just in time to make eye contact with Wanda as she looked around.

She grinned.

And then you were somewhere else, surrounded by darkness and wood panels.

You were only there for a moment but your eyes still needed a moment to adjust as Wanda and Vision open the Cabinet of Mysteries’ doors and you were greeted with a gasping and then applauding crowd. You blinked and, disoriented but not wanting to ruin Wanda and Vision’s successful grand finale, you put on your best smile and hopped out of the wooden box to strike a flourished pose.

“Ah-ha,” Vision voiced, seeming just as surprised as the crowd before grinning walking stepping up to your side.

Wanda stepped up to your other side and when you raised an eyebrow at her, she gave you a cheeky grin and mouthed, “Magic.” The wink she gave you afterward could have sent you to the moon but you still had your own performance to do. She made sure you were reminded of that by holding up a microphone.

Wanda and Vision each slipped an arm around your waist and you did the same to them despite their touch feeling very warm underneath the jacket of your uniform, and with one last “Flourish!” from Vision, the three of you bowed. The three of you bowed two more times before standing fully again. Wanda and Vision began to move away from you but you slid your arms to grab their own, keeping them there.

Wanda leaned in slightly, talking through her smile. “What are you doing?”

“Grab the tambourine in my trunk and go sit by Agnes. Ask her to inform you and wait for the cue.” When Wanda looked at you with a raised brow, you mimicked her cheeky grin and wink, mouthing, “Music.”

Vision leaned in now, although way too close. “What are we doing?”

“Tambourine, apparently,” Wanda responded, stepping away from you. You figured they were going to go and do as you asked but instead, Wanda continued, “Vis, take the cabinet and grab the tambourine; I have an introduction to do.”

Vision stood around for a moment before doing what Wanda told him to and Wanda slipped her arm around your waist once more and brought you a few steps farther to the front of the stage.

Now sitting at the edge of it was Vision’s ukulele and the mic stand, probably courtesy of Geraldine.

With you close at her side and you unsure where to put your hands, Wanda attached the microphone she held to the stand and turned it on. “As Dottie has said several times tonight, thank you once more for coming to support Westview Elementary, for the children.”

“For the children,” the audience echoed, still mostly deadpan.

“I still haven’t seen a single one,” you muttered. This earned you a pinch to the hip from the hand around your waist and you suddenly felt like your body was the same temperature as the surface of the sun.

“Now,” Wanda continued without missing a beat, “allow me to introduce helper of Illusion and Glamour’s grand finale and the final final act of tonight’s talent show, [Y/N]!”

The audience clapped and Wanda did with it as she detached from your side and slipped backstage after giving you an electric smile. Suddenly, you were much more aware of being on a stage in front of your entire town, save for the two people you actually wanted to see in it.

“Um, yes, hello,” you said into the mic, standing a little too close. You didn’t know it was possible to feel the amount of heat burning behind your cheeks and ears, and you wished to could shed your jacket but figured that would ruin the ensemble. You shook your head to clear it as you bent down to pick up your ukulele—

—and when you stood back up, you spotted Wanda and Vision—who seemed to have sobered up somehow—sitting at Agnes’s table with a tambourine on the table between them.

You bit back a smile as your gaze flitted between them; they each gave you a smile in turn before you continued, “Um, so, as you heard, I am the final act. My name is [Y/N] and I will be performing a song, “Can’t Take My Eyes off You” by Frankie Valli, acoustic on ukulele.”

You strummed the ukulele once, just to make sure it was still in tune, then you began to play. You leaned back from the mic to clear your throat and after a couple of bars, you came in:

“You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you

You'd be like Heaven to touch

I wanna hold you so much

At long last, love has arrived

And I thank God I'm alive

You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you

Pardon the way that I stare

There's nothin' else to compare

The sight of you leaves me weak

There are no words left to speak

But if you feel like I feel

Please let me know that it's real

You're just too good to be true

Can't take my eyes off of you”

You were a bit pitchy in the beginning but it didn’t take you too long to find where you needed to be, then it was smooth sailing from there; you even put a bit of a beat into it with a tap of your foot, which with a hard heel on a wooden floor in front of a silent crowd wasn’t too difficult to hear. At first, you kept your gaze pointed directly ahead and slightly above the crowd but as you began to relax and get into it, you couldn’t help but catch glances of a tapping foot here or a finger tapping on a glass cup there. Finally, your eyes drifted to where they wanted to be and you couldn’t look away from the pair seated next to Agnes even if you’d wanted to.

Vision was bopping along as he would when he was teaching you the chords and notes you were looking for, both feet and all ten fingers tapping, though his smile was particularly bright. Wanda was looking at you some type of sweet way, with that soft expression she’d had when you’d caught her in a dip earlier just today.

“I love you, baby

And if it's quite alright

I need you, baby

To warm the lonely night

I love you, baby

Trust in me when I say

Oh, pretty baby

Don't bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby

Now that I've found you, stay

And let me love you, baby

Let me love you”

You wanted the first part of the song to be softer but as you hit the second part of the chorus you smoothly added in a little action. You put a little flourish in your strumming—and almost missed a word because the idea of calling it a flourish made you almost laugh—added a little more power to your voice, and cued Agnes in, who began clapping along to the proper beat. It didn’t take too long for your audience, especially those who’d you caught tapping along earlier, to join in until the entire crowd was doing it, and happened you catch Vision’s eye while he clapping along a little more animated than everyone else. He grinned, a little bashful by the look of it.

Once she’d gotten everyone in, Agnes stopped clapping herself and instead pulled a tambourine of her own out of her handbag. You watched her nudge Wanda, who stopped her clapping and picked up the other tambourine, then followed Agnes’s lead until she got a hang of it. You’d think two tambourines would be a little hard to hear over a sea of clapping but it was Agnes and Wanda and as usual, they figured out a way.

You knew you’d chosen a popular song and you knew that some people would know it in full but despite Agnes trying to convince you that she’d have everyone joining in, you definitely didn’t expect the entire crowd to be able to stay in sync and follow the ebbs and flows of the entire song. It really was a bit of a magical moment and you found with that thought, you found your eyes settling on Wanda, who was jamming away on her tambourine and dancing in her seat, without missing a beat.

She must have noticed because she raised her head and looked back at you.

The song ended not long after and you couldn’t help clapping for the crowd as they did for you. You took your second set of bows on stage that day, hollered a “Thank you” to the crowd, and took off to the section of backstage that was still hidden by curtains with a wave as Dottie took your place to do the talent show’s conclusion. With layers of dark fabric now between you and the rest of the talent show, you could only hear muffled voices, which was perfectly fine with you as you were too busy tossing your tux jacket and hat aside and shaking out the tautness in your limbs caused by the nerves of performing on your own in front of a decently sized crowd. Although, technically, you and the crowd were performing by the end of it.

You tried to tune in to Dottie’s voice as you bounced over to look yourself over in one of the mirrors left over from Vision and Wanda’s performance. Your outfit was intact, albeit a little bit ruffled from the dancing around you just finished doing, with your hair looking a bit flat from being stuck under a hat. Your face was flushed with a warmth that you felt from your toes to your hairline but what little makeup you wore looked just as it did earlier minus your lipstick having faded somewhat. The best and worst part of your current state, you thought, came from that part; the smile you were wearing was radiant but it was lasting so long that your cheeks were starting to hurt, and even if you purposely tried to frown it away, it popped back up a few seconds later.

Especially when you thought about how much Wanda and Vision were enjoying themselves, because of you.

“Um, excuse me.”

Your gaze turned its attention to look at the reflection of Geraldine, who was standing behind you, in the mirror. “Oh, hey.”

She smiled, pleased that you didn’t seem disrupted. “Your singing was really twitchin’, you had the whole crowd into it!”

“I think that was more Agnes’s glaring than anything, but thanks.” You sent a less starstruck smile at her in the mirror, then picked up your hat to fan yourself as you turned around to face her.

“Agnes is way out herself,” Geraldine agreed, though you saw her smile falter and caught her fingers tapping nervously on the clipboard she held. “She could probably out-power Dottie if she really wanted to.”

“She doesn’t,” you affirmed, “she likes to use Dottie as a reason to sneak drinks into social gatherings too much.”

Geraldine smiled again but she wouldn’t fully look at you and when she did, her eyes looked like they were searching for something.

“You okay?” When Geraldine looked at you, surprised, you nodded to her hands that couldn’t seem to keep still. “Seem a little unglued and you keep looking at me funny.”

“Oh, uh, well,” Geraldine stammered a bit, then stopped. She took a deep breath, then tried again, “I know we saw each other at Dottie’s earlier and before you went onstage but… Do you know me?”

Your eyebrows rose high up on your forehead.

“It’s just,” she continued, sounding like she was forcing herself to talk slower, “you look familiar to me and I’m wondering if you think the same thing.”

“I… I suppose I did when I first saw you,” you said, setting your hat aside. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, you couldn’t help glancing around; specifically, you looked towards the curtains separating you and Geraldine from the outside world and wished that wasn’t the case. “I figured we’d met in passing, tooling or something.”

When you looked back at Geraldine, it was as if your personalities had changed. You were the meek one, shifting around unsettled, while she stood watching you with a thoughtfulness that was far from the nervousness you saw in her earlier. “I don’t know where I’m from or why I’m here. Do you?”

You couldn’t be sure whether she was asking you about yourself or her but your head was suddenly too foggy to care. Foggy and throbbing with a pain that made darkness tinge the corners of your vision. You went to step to the side and steady yourself on a nearby chair but found yourself reeling backwards. You smashed into the mirror behind you, which smashed into the wall behind it and shattered; you managed to stumble away from it before you got too badly hurt but you still felt shocks of pain up your right arm and a particularly bad one in your hand as you caught glass.

Before you could run into something else or completely lose balance and fall to the ground, you slowly maneuvered to the floor and braced yourself on one knee and your unharmed hand and you were vaguely aware that Geraldine had disappeared. You squinted through blurriness at your other arm and watched as spots of blood bloomed across the white fabric of your sleeve, weeped from the gash across your palm.

No, wait.

Not only blood but color spread out your bleeding wounds. Flesh tone bled from your palm and color wetted the jewels on your bracelets and rings, color seeped from a tattered tear in your shirt and faded into the wooden floor in your line of vision, as if everything was on one piece of paper and watercolor paint was bleeding across the lines of a sketch.

“[Y/N?]” Vision’s voice called, “Are you back here?”

You tried to hide your hurt arm behind your back and jerked your head in the direction of voices getting closer. You immediately regretted the sudden movement and tried to blink away pain—

When you opened your eyes, you were standing, completely fine, in front of the mirror, completely unbroken, and fanning yourself with your hat with your other arm, completely unharmed, at your side. When your eyes flitted around, looking for Geraldine in the mirror’s reflection, she was nowhere backstage.

Instead, your eyes settled on Vision and Wanda walking through the curtains, smiling and animatedly chatting and holding a small trophy between them.

Once they were through the fabric they looked around, Vision’s bright eyes settling on you just a moment before Wanda’s did.

You could have melted. Whatever concern or worries you had just a moment earlier certainly did.

“[Y/N],” Wanda beamed, “look at what we won!” She pointed and Vision raised the trophy for you to properly see; you managed to read “Inaugural Comedy Performance of the Year” etched into its base before the pair walked over.

You turned to meet them, placing your hat back on your head and snagging your tuxedo jacket to slip back into. “A trophy, congrats!”

“We tried to get you to come up on stage with us,” Vision said, “but we couldn’t find you!”

He certainly seemed to have sobered up since you last stood face to face with him.

You apologized, “Sorry, I had to come backstage. I was overheated and far too overwhelmed by the crowd, I don’t think I could have it up there again either way!”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Her expression shifted from proud to worried in a moment and she went to press a hand to your forehead before she seemed to decide against it. “Are you feeling any better?”

You felt the need to take a quick glance around backstage, though you couldn’t explain why. Then you nodded. “I am, much. Actually, since I wasn’t able to join you on stage and congratulate you there, how about we all get changed into clothes a little less eye-catching and we have dinner at my place, hm? I’ll cook and everything.”

“They can cook?” Vision teased to Wanda without lowering his voice at all.

“They can,” you responded, giving his side a quick jab, then smiled and slid around them. Stopping at the edge of the stage, you offered out your arms to them both. “At least a little bit. Shall we?”

Wanda faked a thinking pose and when Vision caught on he did the same.

“We-ell,” Wanda sang, tilting her head from side to side, “Oh, alright, we shall.” She walked over, tugging Vision along with her, and they each linked arms with you.

The three of you headed offstage.

“I disagree about changing, though,” Vision claimed suddenly; both you and Wanda gave him a look. “I think we all look—”

“Smashing?” offered Wanda.

“Ravishing?” you suggested.

“—absolutely neato,” Vision finished, nodding. “And I think we should show off to the town!”

You shook your head but you were smiling. “I already showed off to the town enough today.”

“And I’m still showing off too much,” Wanda agreed. She kicked one stocking-covered leg out for good measure.

“Oh, fine.” Vision scoffed.

He certainly did not admit defeat, though, and spent the rest of the walk home trying to convince the two of you.

Wanda and Vision, without his human disguise, danced into their home after a lovely dinner at [Y/N]’s—they could cook a bit!—and as they walked through the door, Wanda spun herself into Vision’s arm.

Vision slightly dipped her and said in a voice that was an octave or two lower, “You were tremendous Glamour.”

“As were you, Illusion,” Wanda responded with a pearly smile. She stood up straight and walked over to put their new trophy on the coffee table as Vision shut the front door. “Oh, I don’t know what I was so worried about. It wasn’t so hard to fit in after all!”

Wanda sat and got comfortable on the couch and Vision soon followed. “And all we had to do was be ourselves.”

“Well, with a few modifications,” Wanda said as she curled in closer under her husband’s arm.

“And it was all for the children,” Vision said. Halfway through the phrase, Wanda joined in, then they chuckled and gently bumped their foreheads together.

Then Wanda leaned back into the couch and Vision’s side, quiet. She glanced around the room, absentmindedly playing with Vision’s fingers.

“Wanda, darling, is something wrong?”

Vision’s voice brought her attention back to him. She smiled, leaned in, and gave him a peck on the lips, then looked at their joined hands. Her smile faltered; she felt like something was missing.

“[Y/N] made this funny point at the talent show, about the ‘for the children’ thing; ‘I haven’t seen one yet’ or something like it,” she said out of the blue. “They were an angel with me today.”

“Oh?” Vision responded softly. He seemed to cue into her befuddled emotions and leaned back, looking at her intently.

“At Dottie’s,” she clarified, then added, “They also walked me home because I was a little shaken up. Very sweet.”

“That’s right,” Vision said, “You said something strange happened at Dottie’s today?”

“More like a few weird things,” Wanda confirmed, then recounted the details. Most of them anyway; she kept out the part about the radio talking to her for the sake of her and Vision’s sanity. It sounded legitimately insane and was probably the result of her fear at the time making her imagine things.

Then again, Dottie had heard it as well… She couldn’t confirm that [Y/N] had.

“My, that is indeed bizarre,” Vision said. His hairless brow furrowed. “Is Dottie alright?”

“Well, she must be,” Wanda replied, “She was perfectly fine at the show today and didn’t say a word about it, so…”

Vision gave a thoughtful nod, then shrugged. “Must be.”

They both faded into cozy, albeit wondering, silence. Wanda began playing with Vision’s fingers again and she happened to look towards the front door.

“Hey Vis?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think [Y/N]’s attractive?”

Vision took in an unneeded breath so fast that he almost choked on his tongue. He spluttered, “Pardon?”

“You know,” Wanda continued, turning back in his direction but not looking at him, “A fox. A hunk. Ravishing.”

If Vision could blush he probably would have. He removed his arm from around Wanda’s shoulders and scratched the side of his face. “I was feeling weird when I said that. You know, the gum. I didn’t mean—well that’s not to say they’re not attractive either! Because they are. I mean, they look fine, I certainly wouldn’t say unattractive by any means, and I quite like their company. But love, I didn’t mean anything serious by it, I didn’t mean to offend—”

“I think they’re attractive,” Wanda stated simply, bringing Vision’s rambling to a quick halt. Her gaze drifted back towards the front door and she briefly used her magic to view the home across the street. Some of the lights were still on; she imagined their dinner companion was in the kitchen, washing up the dishes from their meal.

She wouldn’t mind cooking with [Y/N] or washing dishes with them after meals. Or having both Vision and them coming home in the evenings.

“Oh. Um, well… Oh?”

“Quite like their company too,” Wanda went on, agreeing with one of Vision’s earlier statements. Her eyes moved to the plant [Y/N] had brought them not long after they’d first moved in; the plant had outgrown its old pot at this point but had its original ribbon still intact on the current one. “And they’ve always got manners and compliments and they’re always getting so nervous that they're going to come off the wrong way.”

“Yes,” Vision said slowly, “They treat me the same way. Sometimes, if I’m not working, I’ll come to work the next day and have files on my desk with little notes clipped to them. And they’ll sometimes even bring me a snack or a water cup after coming back from their break or lunch, even though I’ve never even pretended to drink or eat in front of them.”

“Well, to be fair,” Wanda said, “regular humans do just randomly eat and drink things, and they do think you’re a regular human.”

“I often wish they didn’t, though,” Vision mumbled, rubbing his jaw, “because I’m not a big fan of lying to them and pretending as I do. I keep their snacks in my drawer until I’m heading home and then throw it out on the way because I don’t want them to see and feel bad.”

Wanda nodded, understanding. “I’m not exactly jazzed about lying to them either.”

They simultaneously sighed and slumped together.

What odd feelings, Wanda thought, for a married couple to have about their neighbor across the street.

“Wanda?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you feel the same way about them as you do me?”

Wanda tilted her head from side to side and tapped her chin as she thought. “Not how I feel about you now, no. But how I felt about when I first met you? Maybe. Or, at least, something like it.”

Vision hummed. “They feel a bit familiar, don’t they?”

“And we have such a good time together, the three of us,” Wanda added.

A small spell of silence again.

Then Wanda said, “I think we should ask them on a date.”

Vision almost choked on his tongue again. “You think we should— I mean— You and me? As you and me together or you and me separately?”

“Why not both?”

Wanda’s husband’s eyes bugged out of his head. If they weren’t in the middle of a serious conversation, she may have laughed.

“Can we… Can we even do that?” Vision asked.

“I mean, I don’t see why not,” Wanda answered, shrugging. “It’s not illegal to date another person. Just marry them, I think. Actually, I’m not even sure if it’s illegal to do that.”

“But isn’t that… An affair? Of sorts?” Vision squinted, quickly glancing between his wife and the window, whose curtains shielded his view from the person in question’s home. It almost felt disrespectful talking about [Y/N] without them present, which was odd in itself.

“No, not if we’re both dating the person in question, I don’t think,” Wanda said. Her brows knitted together a bit but then she perked up and placed her hands on Vision’s thigh. “I know when we can do it!”

“When?”

“We forgot to get your ukulele back,” She responded with a big smile. “We can go get it and ask them on a date.”

“What would we even do on a… three-way date?” Vision cringed at himself. He would never call them a three-way again.

“Picnic,” Wanda offered, then listed off, “Dinner out. A walk. Trip to a passion pit for a movie. Dancing but that would require one of us to know how to dance. Maybe [Y/N] knows how to dance!”

“I know how to dance,” Vision said with a scowl.

“No, hon, you don’t, but you’re wonderful all the same,” Wanda said and kissed him on the nose. “Besides, the three of us have almost been attached at the hip since we’ve gotten to know each other; it wouldn’t exactly be odd for us to go out and do things together. Hell, we did the talent show together today and it went very well!”

“The gum?”

“It went decently well!”

Wanda could see Vision warming up to the idea just as much as she was. She could practically see the gears turning in his head as he tried to come up with dates fit for three people.

After a moment, Vision gave her a solid nod. “Alright then! When we see them to get my ukulele, we’ll ask them on a date.”

“Yay!” Wanda clapped. “A date!” She hopped up from her seat and, drifting back to their previous conversation, she said, “Well, I think the children need some popcorn!” Vision said her name and she spun back to look at him. “Hm, what?”

Vision slowly stood and looked pointedly down at her stomach. She did too, then gasped and touched her ballooned out stomach. She looked as if she were a few months pregnant and after holding her stomach for a bit longer, she knew she was. Wanda looked up at her husband with a mixture of fear and wonder in her eyes; the look on his face mimicked her own.

“Vision,” she said softly, “is this really happening?”

Vision searched her face as he gently grasped her hands. His mouth quirked up just slightly as he answered, “Yes, my love, it’s really happening.”

They leaned for a kiss.

They were interrupted by a crash outside.

Both Wanda and Vision jumped as they looked towards the door. Then Vision scowled and released Wanda’s hands to walk over to the door.

“If it’s that damn tree again,” he loudly grumbled, “I am going to… rip it out by the roots!”

He walked outside and Wanda quickly followed.

You jumped back from your sink, almost dropping a dish in shock from the crash that had just come out front. You couple a couple breaths to calm yourself, then put your dish and drying rag down and headed to the living room.

“I swear,” you warned, loud enough so the trees outside could hear you, “I’ll come out there with a chainsaw! I don’t have one but I’ll find one and I’ll do it!”

You walked to the front door. You peeled back the curtain hanging from its window to see Wanda and Vision—who looked strange, though it was too dark outside to tell why—walking outside their own home and out to the sidewalk. You watched them, debating on whether to walk outside as well and help investigate or not.

“I don’t see anything!” you heard Wanda holler. Almost immediately, her and her husband’s gaze were drawn to a manhole cover in the middle of the street.

You followed their gaze and your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as the three of you watched the manhole slowly move out of place. From the corner of your eye, you saw Vision closer to Wanda, and you wished you could too, but you were stuck watching as someone climbed out of the now gaping hole in the road.

A… beekeeper?

A beekeeper and swarm of bees climbed out of the manhole.

You felt that now-familiar feeling again, foggy-headed but not in pain and fiercely protective of, this time, both her and her husband and her children.

Children?

You scrambled to get your front door open as the strange beekeeper of the sewer turned to look at the Maximoffs. You looked down to mess with the doorknob—

When you looked up again, you were standing on the front porch of the Maximoff house.

How weird.

You spun and looked around wildly, your eyes settling on the manhole cover closed tightly shut it in the street for just a few seconds longer than the rest of the environment, but everything seemed in order. Slowly relaxing, you turned back to your task of returning Vision’s ukulele.

You raised your right hand to knock, then stopped.

Color began blooming across your arm, beginning from the same spots you vaguely remembered cutting yourself on a broken mirror recently. This time, though, there were no cuts or blood, just gray tones coming to life in bright, vivid color. Gray turned to the color of skin and the green of your blouse—you’d thought it’d been green before but now you could properly see it—and when you spun around to observe the rest of the neighborhood, it was suddenly in color too. When you slowly, awestruck, turned back to Wanda and Vision’s house, it was wonderfully colored too, as was the ukulele in your lovely, now-in-color hand.

You grinned and excitedly knocked on the door, only for it to be opened moments later by Vision, wearing a very nice yellow and blue sweater or a white-colored shirt.

“Oh, [Y/N]!” He said it in a way that was a little too loud and he nervously glanced over his shoulder at Wanda, who stood a few feet back in a beautiful outfit of bright red with her hands on her expecting stomach.

You really did like her shirt.

You just liked her.

You just liked her and her husband quite a lot.

“Sorry, bad time?” You held out Vision’s ukulele to him. “I finished cleaning up and was about to go to bed when I noticed this still sitting on my coffee table.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Vision chirped, still just a little too loud than necessary.

“Oh, goodness, Vis, come inside.” Wanda walked over and nudged Vision out of the way, then smiled at you and took the ukulele out of your hand.

“Remember when we first met and you said he wasn’t always like that?” you quipped with a crooked smile, which broke into a cheek-hurting grin when Wanda giggled in response.

“Suppose I hadn’t realized it yet,” Wanda teased back. She offered the ukulele to Vision, who was still standing nearby and who was now pouting, then she moved to do the side. “Would you like to come in for a drink? We were just talking about you.”

Now you were the awkward one. “Um, yeah, sure.” You stepped inside and, glancing again at Wanda’s belly, added, “I can’t believe I forgot a baby gift. Congratulations, if I haven’t said it already.”

Wanda blinked, then shut the door behind you. “Oh nonsense. There’s plenty of time left for that.”

“I feel like it came out of nowhere; they might be here sooner than you think!”

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bxtchforstyles · 4 years ago

Text

The greatest headache ever

Harry Styles x Meredith Cooper

(part of the hey doctor series)

When Harry starts getting headaches bad enough to where he has to go to the emergency room, Meredith is there to help. This is the story of how they met.

Warning: mentions of hospitals, slight mentions of needles, just medical things.

Word count: 2.1k

gif not mine.

Whenever Meredith worked overtime at the hospital, those always seemed to be the same days that Harry didn’t have to go to the studio, or the days that Harry had something planned for the two of them.

Meredith was the definition of a workaholic, making it very difficult for her to often go home on time after her shift. Harry tried to get her to take more breaks as the years of dating her went on, but she never let up.

He would say, “baby, I’m only looking out for your health.”

To which she would respond with, “actually, I’m looking out for my patients health.”

She was at the hospital doing rounds, or maybe at the office seeing patients. She was always working.

So, maybe it was unbearable for Harry to never get to see his girlfriend, but when he really thinks about it, her working overtime at the hospital was the reason he met her.

FLASHBACK:

Grueling headaches were an often occurrence for Harry, so it never really occurred that he would end up in the emergency room from utter exhaustion.

“Good evening, Mr…” She looks down to find out what Harry’s name is on his chart, “Styles, correct?”

He nods, furrowing his eyebrows and wincing as another sharp pain echoed through his head.

“Okay, well I’m doctor Cooper. It says here that you’ve been having ongoing headaches for a while, so what made you want to come in?”

“Um…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his head, “I was at the studio, and I had been standing for a while and I sorta fainted.”

“Hm,” Meredith looked down, expecting any other injuries, “so, I’m guessing you cut your wrist on the way down?” There was a white bandage with blood showing through it wrapped tightly around his wrist.

“Yup.” He laughed as she began to unwrap the bandage, “Not to sound rude or anything, but you look a little young to be a doctor.”

“Unless you are suggesting that I am incapable because of my age, which I don’t think you are, then I take you saying I look young as a compliment.”

“Of course I meant it as a compliment.” Harry shakes his head with a small chuckle, making Meredith smile.

“Ouch.” She winced along with Harry once the bandage was all the way off of his wrist before she set it on the medical tray next to her. “Yeah, you’re definitely going to need stitches.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, “Are you being serious?”

“Do you really think I would joke about something like that? C’mon, I’m not that cruel.”

She was being honest, and Harry liked that about her. She wasn’t trying too hard to fit the entire doctor role that most of the arrogant doctors did.

She patted his shoulder as she stood up from the rolling stood she was sitting in, “I’m going to go grab a suture kit, I’ll be right back to fix you up.”

“I see you’re taking a liking to one of your patients over there.” Meredith jumped as she stood in the supply closet, turning to find Maggie, one of her friends (and colleagues) behind her.

“What?” She asked as she reached for the suture kit she had been looking for.

“Ya know,” Maggie snatched the kit for Mer’s grasp, “nurses are perfectly capable of a couple stitches, that’s their job after all.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbing the plastic container with all the tools necessary inside of it back, “I had some free time, he’s a pretty interesting guy, actually.”

“Guy? That’s it?” Meredith sees her friend's jaw drop, “Do you not know who that man is?”

Her eyebrows furrowed in response, “What do you mean? He’s a patient...”

“You’re about to suture the wrist of like the most famous popstar ever, Meredith!”

She whipped her head back around, “What? Who? Wait, what’s his name?’

Another one of the girls who works with the two of them walked up to where they were standing in the hall, appearing to have been eavesdropping. “Does she seriously not know who Harry fucking Styles is?”

The name definitely rang a bell, and Meredith had definitely heard it before, but she just could remember exactly where.

“What is he? A singer?” She looked towards Maggie, making her groan.

“Mer! You literally listen to his music!” Maggie smacked her friend in the back of the head, making her hiss from the sudden contact, “You know that one song that you were obsessed with over the summer, golden?”

Meredith nodded before her jaw dropped, “Oh my gosh! He wrote that song?”

Maggie copied her previous motion, nodding before turning her friend back towards where Harry sat, pushing her forwards. “Go get ‘em tiger!”

When Meredith walked back up to Harry, she stumbled a bit before setting all her supplies on the small, metal table that sat next to his bed. “Sorry that took so long, you are apparently the talk of the town all over the hospital.”

“Ah,” Harry only tucked his lips into his mouth, “really thought I was off the hook when you pretended to not know who I was, ya really had me sold.”

“Um…” the girl trailed off awkwardly, “I didn’t know who you were.”

"Oh, Im sorry, I shouldn't have assumed that you knew who I was.” He spoke, the shock in his voice was still quite apparent though. "I guess after a while of being recognized everywhere I go, I learned to act as if everyone knows who I am, and have the worst intentions. It's the best way for me to assure that my integrity is saved.”

Meredith nods, "I know I'm not famous or anything, but I somehow understand that.”

Harry's wrist was still obviously hurting, she could tell by the way he flinched every time she came close to touching.

"Okay, you may feel a small pinch when I insert the numbing agent, but after that, the stitches should be smooth sailing.” Meredith grabs his wrist, just above his injury, she had the syringe filled with lidocaine in her other hand, "ready?”

Harry nodded before she quickly inserted the syringe, beginning to numb the area. For a moment, it looked as if all of the color had completely drained from his face, his eyes falling closed.

"You doing alright?” Meredith light-heartedly asked, trying to ease the tension as she finished numbing Harry's wrist.

He looked quite dazed, as if he was in a trance, "I think I'm alright.” He sighed, leaning back in the chair, still having that void look in his eye.

Meredith stood up again, "Why don't I go get you a cool washcloth to put on your forehead while we wait for the numbing to fully kick in, you look a bit pale."

Harry smiled, "That would be great, thank you.”

When Meredith returned from the sink outside the procedure room, Harry was still slumped back in the large chair, his forehead glistening with sweat.

"Here ya go.” She smiled, placing the washcloth soaked with cold water on his forehead. He was surprised by the cool temperature at first, but he sighed in relief moments later.

"Okay, so I'm going to get started on the stitches now, if you're all settled.”

"Yeah, I'm okay, go ahead.” He held his injured wrist out to her.

It only took around thirty minutes for Meredith to finish the stitches, and once she was done she was already suggesting other treatments for Harry's headaches in question.

"I honestly think that you are getting these headaches from just pure exhaustion, the symptoms you are describing sound much like the type of migraines I had in med school, and with such a high stress level job, it would make sense why you wouldn't be getting enough sleep, correct?”

Harry bows his head, "It is true that I could probably use a little more sleep.”

Meredith begins to jot something down on the chart, "and some more water, since you also seem to be showing signs of moderate dehydration.”

"Whatever you say, doc.”

It was beginning to get harder and harder for Meredith to keep her level of professionalism, because all she could think to herself was is this super hot, famous, heartthrob flirting with me right now?

It was safe to say that she was beginning to understand why so many girls, including her own colleagues, found this man so enticing.

"Okay!" She quickly broke herself out of her daydream, "I think that's all I can really tell you, sleep more and drink some more water. But, if you start doing those things and you are still getting headaches, please don't hesitate to come back.”

"And as for the stitches?” He questioned, making her furrow her eyebrows.

¨What do you mean?” She countered immediately feeling stupid when he responded.

"I mean, won't I have to come back to get them removed?"

"Oh! Yes, I would say fourteen days." Meredith was mentally face palming at this point as her embarrassment took over.

She wasn’t even a huge fan of his, hell, she didn’t even know who he was a hour ago, so the reason she was stuttering like a blubbering idiot was beyond her.

“Can I just come back here?”

“Yup, I’ll be here.” She says with a bigger smile than she intended as she handed Harry the medical forms for him to fill out.

“Thank you so much.” He said gratefully as she said her goodbyes before walking out of the room and into the hall, where Maggie, and many other nurses stood, seemingly waiting.

An array of questions began to be shouted from many different people, some including:

‘How was he?’

‘Did you get his number?’

‘Is he coming back?’

Meredith was appalled by the amount of shouting going on, when everyone was well aware that the man they were desperate to know about, was only behind the very thin, wooden door.

“Are you guys fucking insane? Patient confidentiality!” She defended, adjusting her white coat before beginning to make her way back towards the nurses station at the end of the hall.

******

Meredith wasn’t expecting to ever see Harry again after he came in to get his stitches removed, which was a long, drawn out process because of Harry’s attempt to stall the doctor.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him again either, she would have been perfectly happy to. He was charming, and didn’t seem too arrogant, which was something she completely adored about him.

But it wasn’t until about three weeks after he had gotten his stitches removed that she felt someone approaching her on the cereal island that she stood in Whole Foods.

“Meredith?” She turned around, being met with a surprised look at Harry. “Sorry, can I call you that?”

She laughed at that, “I mean I wasn’t expecting you to call me doctor when I’m not even your doctor anymore. Can I call you Harry?” She countered his question.

He let out a sigh of relief, remembering how down to earth Meredith really was for being someone with such a high profession. “Well, I’m not your patient anymore, now am I?”

She looked back at the shelves, picking up her choses box of cereal, throwing it into the basket that was hanging around her wrist.

“I guess you do know who I am, don’t you?”

“I do now.” She responded, not really knowing what else to say.

Harry on the other hand, was debating whether or not it would be inappropriate to attempt to make a move on his doctor. Was she even technically his doctor anymore? He didn’t know.

He was always very straight forwards through, which was something he prided himself in. “Would it be weird if I were to ask you out on a date?”

Meredith liked the game that they were continuing to play, the one where he would ask her a question, and she would counter back with almost the exact same one. “Would it be weird if I were to say yes?”

“I guess that answers both of our questions.”

It was safe to say both of them left the grocery store blushing and smiling like idiots.

#harry styles #harry styles blog #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #solo harry #harry styles masterlist #hey doctor series

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cyberwolfwrites-fanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

quiet day

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30435417

words: 4,462

summary:

In which Peter has his quiet days and some bad days.

And meets some people on those days.

(Might become more than a one-shot in the future.)

Peter sighed in relief as the car door shut behind him, muting the sound of the rain and hundreds of teenagers rushing out of the school. The post-school day rush usually didn't bother him anymore, but he'd woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. He'd been up all night finishing his English essay after a particularly rough patrol, and he'd woken up nearly an hour before his alarm was due to ring because of the couple two floors down fighting.

It wasn't just the sleep deprivation that had him all out of sorts, either. Living with little to no sleep was the life of a high school student (and a friendly neighbourhood superhero), and was relatively easy to deal with. However, Mr and Mrs Fights-A-Lot's loud disagreement had set the mood for Peter's day—loud and intense.

Ever since the spider bite, there were days where his senses seemed to be dialled up to eleven (more so than they already were, that was). Every little noise would just seem just a bit too loud, just a bit too grating on his ears, the usual smells of New York would make his stomach churn, the sun would just seem a little too bright and the clinical-like lights at school just a little too intense. The day, most often than not, ended up with him curling up in a ball of misery with a migraine.

Today was no different despite the rainy day. Rainy days usually calmed him. They meant curling up in Ben’s old chair with Ben’s old blanket, with Ben’s special hot chocolate (the secret was a small scoop of vanilla or chocolate ice cream), and movie marathons with May (since Ben was gone). Recently, the rain typically meant a reprieve from the loud sounds and smells of New York, but today all it managed to do was make every bad smell, every clinical-like light in school, and every sound seem so much worse and grating against his senses.

“Hey, Happy,” Peter mumbled after crawling into the car. He curled up on the leather seat and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the blackout windows, which blissfully blocked out most of the grey-filtered light from outside.

“Hey,” Happy greeted him. He’d become much more friendly with Peter ever since they (meaning Peter and Tony) started to have lab days together at the Tower and Happy ended up driving Peter to and from school at least three days a week. “Don’t forget your seatbelt.”

Peter fumbled with the seatbelt as Happy pulled away from the school before curling back up in a ball and huddling into his hoodie.

As Happy’s car was modified by Tony, that meant that the windows were tinted, it was sound-proofed, and it somehow managed to smell like fresh, cool air. All of this was bliss to Peter’s oversensitive senses, and by the time they reached the Tower, Peter had managed to drift into a light sleep.

"Kid, you mind if I drop you off out front?" Peter startled at the sound of Happy’s voice and his migraine came back full-force. "Boss needs me to pick up some things for him."

"S'fine," Peter mumbled groggily, having to force the words out as he tried to gather his bearings. He slung his bag over his shoulder and reluctantly dragged himself out of the car and into the cold downpour outside. He shivered and pulled up his hood, but it was no use—it was raining cats and dogs outside and he was already soaked through the moment he stepped out of the car. Due to this, Peter didn't bother rushing into the Tower, simply not able to muster up the energy to do anything other than shuffle to the door.

It opened at his presence and shut behind him, gaining the attention of some of the staff. One of the desk clerks—the one Peter could never get along with—glared at the puddle of water he was trailing in and made a rude comment under her breath that he could hear clearly despite his migraine. Peter would have apologized for the mess but he couldn't form the words; it felt like they were lodged in the cotton-like feeling that had taken residence in his mouth. Instead, he just self-consciously tugged his wet hoodie sleeves over his hands and headed to an elevator tucked away in a corner of the room. It was one of the only ones that had access to Tony's personal labs, the Avengers's old floors, and the penthouse.

Like the front doors, it opened at his presence, but only because Friday gave him access. As far as Peter was aware, only Tony, Ms Potts, Happy, May, Colonel Rhodes (who Peter had yet to properly meet), and himself had access to this elevator. It had drawn him some odd looks when he first started hanging out with Tony, but now no one gave him a second look.

"Hello, Peter," Friday greeted him once the doors slid shut behind him. Peter closed his eyes and leaned against the cool metal doors, trying to ignore how the walls threatened to crowd around him.

"Hi," Peter managed to force out. His voice was quiet and strained, even to his own ears. It felt like he was being strangled.

"Where would you like to go, Peter? The penthouse, perhaps?" Friday suggested with a tinge of worry in her synthetic Irish-lilted voice. While not as warm or curious as Karen was, Friday was still kind and caring in her own way, even if her voice tended to sound reserved at times. She really only spoke openly to those Tony was on good terms with, and Peter could still remember the cold yet snarky comment she made to Senator Ross when he kept hounding Tony for something about the New Accords.

"Mhm," Peter hummed as a response, thankful that Friday was intelligent enough to not need verbal commands, which meant that he didn’t have to force more words out of his mouth. He tugged at the wet sleeves of his sweatshirt again in an attempt to self-soothe the anxious feeling creeping up inside of him. The hoodie was big on him even though it had belonged to Tony when the man was his age. Peter wondered if Tony had gotten it in a few sizes too large to bring him comfort from being away from home and attending college where everyone was older than him.

The thought made him feel marginally better.

It didn’t take long for the elevator to reach the penthouse and Peter clenched his eyes shut as the lights automatically turned on, hissing out a pained breath. Without having to ask, Friday automatically dimmed the lights for him. Instead of forcing himself to speak, Peter rested his fingertips against his lips before pushing his hand down, signing “Thank you” to Friday since it would’ve been rude not to say anything since she thoughtfully dimmed the lights for him.

“You are welcome, Peter,” Friday said, her voice much quieter than earlier. She had no doubt picked up on the fact that his senses were overwhelmed and he felt gratitude well up in him. “Would you like me to inform Boss of your arrival?”

Peter just shook his head and stumbled in the direction of the living room. He dropped his backpack and shivered slightly before his eyes fell on one of Tony’s hoodies laying on the back of the couch. After a few moments of deliberation (in which he determined whether it was worth the effort of making his heavy limbs move to pull off his wet hoodie), Peter just stumbled over to an armchair and pulled a throw blanket over himself. It smelled like Tony—coffee, motor oil, and a faint whiff of no-doubt expensive cologne—and it had Peter relaxing marginally, the behind his eyes almost seeming to dull at the face of the scent he’d started to associate with home and safety. He cuddled into the warmth of the throw, not able to bring himself to care that he was getting it and the armchair wet, and allowed his eyes to drift shut.

Only to be startled awake after what felt like five minutes. Peter couldn’t help the frustrated whine from leaving his throat, and to his horror, he felt his eyes prick with tears. He was so freaking tired and frustrated and he had a migraine and his senses felt wrung-out and he was so exhausted and every time he tried to sleep, someone woke him up! First, it was the couple from a few doors down, then it was Happy (not that Peter blamed him, the man had only been doing his job), and now it was whoever was talking extremely loudly.

When the voices became louder, Peter huddled into his blanket and sank further into the chair, hoping that it would swallow him up and make the voices stop. He clenched his eyes shut at the pounding in his skull and wished that whoever was entering the penthouse would shut up.

“Why are the lights so dim?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“Fri?” That was Tony. Something in Peter eased at the sound of the man’s voice but his eyes continued to burn and his throat tightened.

“I believe Mr Parker is dealing with a ‘code eleven’, Boss,” Friday informed Tony, her voice as hushed as it had been earlier.

There was a pause and then Tony rounded the corner. “Pete?” Tony asked as he spotted him curled up on the chair. Peter wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t. It was like his voice had been stolen like he was Ariel from The Little Mermaid and he swallowed against the tightness in his throat as he peered up at Tony with stinging eyes.

“Intense day, bud?” Tony asked him, his voice hushed.

Peter’s jaw wobbled as he worked it open and closed, trying to form the words to tell Tony he was fine. Tony didn’t have to worry about him, it was only a little headache, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He wanted to let Tony know that he was fine, that he was just being silly, and that they should go down to the lab like they were supposed to do. They had a project due in a week for his internship—it had been made legit a few months ago—because they were already so behind. Last week, a wrench had slipped out of Tony’s hands and had clattered against the metal table, and to Peter’s enhanced senses, it had sounded like a gunshot. He had frozen, his mind flashing back to Ben, and he’d freaked out. They hadn’t gotten anything done for the rest of the day because Peter had been a baby and cried.

God, he was pathetic. Tony probably hated him, it was his fault that he would get in trouble for not turning in the project. Ms Potts was a real stickler for that since Tony spent so much time messing around with him in the lab. He couldn’t even make his vocal cords work to apologize.

Some of his inner turmoil must have been visible on his face because Tony crouched down and cupped the side of his neck with a warm hand and said, "No, don't apologise. You don't need to say anything, Pete. You're allowed to have bad days. Okay, bud? I'm not mad. If you’re upset about the project, don’t worry, I can move the date back."

Peter curled in on himself at Tony’s words—so understanding and nonjudgemental—and suddenly everything seemed so much more intense. The sounds of the Tower exploded in his eardrums, the whirring of machines, the ticking of clocks, and the buzzing of the lights sounding like crackling thunder. The minimal lights in the room burned his retinas and he clenched his eyes shut, which only made the discomfort of his damp clothes more apparent. His wet jeans grated against his skin and he felt like his sweatshirt, which clung to him, was suffocating him. He threw the throw blanket off him, nearly ripping it in the process, hoping that it would lessen the suffocating feeling.

His exhale shuddered, not really a sob but nearly there, and his hands clamped over his ears to try and muffle the suddenly intense sounds. Tony muttered something that Peter couldn’t decipher as he moved into the chair beside him—the armchair he was in was massive, almost as if it had been made for the Hulk, and there was plenty of space for Tony to sit next to him—and he choked out a sound as Tony’s warm, calloused hand tightened on his neck for a moment before he was being pulled into the man’s side. Peter’s curled into the warmth that was Tony, his fingers grabbing ahold of the threadbare fabric of his old band tee—the man must have been in the lab before he came up to the penthouse, otherwise he’d be dressed in office clothes—and he tried to stop the whine that was building in his throat.

One of Tony’s hands carded through his wet, messy curls before a set of headphones slid over his ears, blocking nearly every little intense sound from Peter’s ears. The relief from his most troublesome sense made it feel as if he blacked out for a moment and it took him a moment to realize that he was trembling. His fingers tightened in Tony’s shirt and his shoulders shuddered in a mixture of relief and the cold feeling in his skin and the anxious, panicky feelings that had been running through his veins like adrenaline for what felt like days.

Tony’s thumb rubbed against the corner of his jaw in a soothing motion and slowly as the panicky feeling drained from him, he loosened the tight hold he had of Tony’s shirt and the furrows between his brows smoothed. His fingers loosened their tight grip on Tony’s threadbare shirt, lying flat against his chest to feel the man’s steady heartbeat.

Thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud.

Tony’s chest lifted and fell against Peter’s hands as he inhaled and exhaled, seeming almost exaggerated. Instinctively, Peter began to sync his breathing with Tony’s. When his parents had first died, and when Skip happened, May and Ben had taken him to a child therapist. He had been prone to panic attacks and one of the ways his therapist taught him to calm himself was to sync his breathing with someone else’s. And so, feeling the expanding and contracting of Tony’s lungs beneath his hands, Peter’s own unsteady breathing began to level out.

After a few more minutes of feeling Tony’s soothing heartbeat and matching his breathing, Peter reluctantly leaned away from him and slid the headphones off one ear.

“Stai bene?” Tony murmured. Are you okay? Peter translated easily. He swallowed and tried to speak but the words still caught in his throat. Tony’s thumb brushed against the corner of his jaw again, and understanding that Tony didn’t need him to speak, Peter just nodded. He tugged at his sweatshirt sleeves and made a slight face as the damp fabric dragged against his cold and numb skin. Tony noticed. “Your clothes are wet,” he said with a frown, rubbing a hand against his arm in an attempt to warm him up. “Aren’t you cold?”

Peter sniffled slightly and he looked up when a sweatshirt—a red threadbare MIT one—moved into his vision. He started at the sight of who he recognized to be Colonel Rhodes, otherwise known as War Machine—or did he go by Iron Patriot?—or, most importantly, Tony’s best friend. The man wasn’t wearing his War Machine armour and he wasn’t wearing a military uniform, instead, he was in a long-sleeved thermal shirt and a pair of jeans, which were encased by the man’s leg braces, but Peter could easily recognize him from the pictures Tony had around the penthouse.

“Here,” the man said in a gentle voice. Peter blinked at him and realized that the unfamiliar voice he’d heard belonged to him, and now that he thought about it, he was probably who Tony asked to get his soundproof headphones as he was pretty sure they had been in his bedroom. His jaw worked slightly, he wanted to say thanks, but Tony did it for him.

“Thanks, Rhodey,” he said, clapping the man on the shoulder when he stood. Tony then turned to Peter, who slid his soundproof headphones around his neck. “Why don’t you go shower and change, bud? Those wet clothes don’t look comfortable.”

Realizing that Tony was giving him out, at least for a little while to gather himself in private, Peter did as he instructed, taking the sweatshirt from his hands and heading down the hall to the room that was designated as his. His shoulders met his ears as he felt eyes on him and he felt embarrassed for the event Colonel Rhodes just witnessed. Pathetic, his mind whispered. He tried to shove the thought away.

“What’s a ‘code eleven’?” Colonel Rhodes asked when his door closed behind him. Peter could hear the concerned words easily and he stilled, wondering what Tony’s response would be.

“The kid has bad days,” Tony told him in a soft voice. “He’s been stressed recently and he’s got sensitive senses, so a bright light or a loud noise probably triggered a sensory overload. He’s probably been dealing with it all day.” There was a beat of silence, an exasperated sigh, and Peter had a mental image of Tony running a hand down his face. “He’ll be fine after some rest and quiet.”

The tightness in Peter’s throat had diminished when Tony calmed him earlier, but it tightened again and his eyes pricked with tears at how understanding the man was. He’d easily guessed what was wrong, what had most likely set him off, and knew how to calm him down. He swallowed thickly and stopped listening as their conversation turned to other things.

Peter’s shower was longer than it usually was. He stood in the dark—the bright lights and the buzzing sounds of the lightbulbs were still too much for his eyes and ears, even dimmed—and allowed himself to cry. He knew that the tightness and the emotions wouldn’t just go away and that Tony wouldn’t comment on the redness of his eyes when he got out. Colonel Rhodes seemed too polite to comment on it, either.

Instead of pulling on one of his own hoodies or another shirt, Peter tugged on the hoodie Colonel Rhodes had grabbed for him, the one that he’d debated on wearing earlier. It smelled like Tony’s cologne and dryer sheets, and Peter figured that Tony had probably only worn it for a few minutes before taking it off. The comforting smell threatened to make tears prick in his eyes again but he’d all but cried himself out in the shower, so he just pulled the sleeves over his hands.

When he tugged on a pair of sweatpants and some socks, Peter just stood in his bedroom, debating on what he should do. Tony and Colonel Rhodes were talking in the other room, and knowing that Tony had been eager for his friend’s visit, he debated on whether or not he should bother them. But Tony had wanted him to meet Colonel Rhodes, that was part of the reason he was here today, and so he grabbed his soundproof headphones just in case and shuffled out of the room quietly.

They didn’t hear him walking down the hall—Peter had had a lot of practice being stealthy so he didn’t wake up Aunt May after patrol—and so he had a few minutes to watch the two men interact. They were talking about something inconsequential, simply chatting amongst themselves about something. Peter caught Ms Potts’s name, so they might’ve been talking about the company or how Ms Potts was. Tony was smiling that warm, happy smile he got when he was alone and not in public, and the sight of it made the tight feeling in Peter’s chest lighten. Tony was here, he was happy. A dark thought threatened to cross his mind, about how he was a burden and that Tony didn’t want him here, but Peter shoved it away. He was tired of the bad thoughts already. Tired of everything, really, but especially at the depressing thoughts. He was here because Tony wanted him here and that was what mattered.

“Hey, kid.” Tony happened to glance at the hallway and spotted him. He had a slight, reassuring but concerned smile and his eyes scanned Peter, looking as if he was looking for a hidden injury. Peter gave Tony an awkward quirk of his lips and he tugged at his hoodie sleeves nervously when Colonel Rhodes looked at him.

Peter waved slightly and Colonel Rhodes smiled, seeming a little amused. Tony urged him further into the room.

“How about a proper introduction?” Tony said rhetorically. “Peter, this is my best friend Rhodey, otherwise known at War Machine, so try not to fanboy too hard.” Peter rolled his eyes slightly even if he was fanboying on the inside, now that he could think clearly. War Machine~! Tony turned to Rhodey, throwing an arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Rhodey, this is The Kid.”

There were capital letters, Peter could hear it. Colonel Rhodes could, too, if the amused smile on his face was anything to go by.

Colonel Rhodes held his hand out for a handshake, which Peter took. “It’s nice to meet you, Peter, Tony’s told me a lot about you,” he said. Peter glanced at Tony in surprise. He’s told Colonel Rhodes about him? Peter opened his mouth to say something, but the words got caught in his throat. He still couldn’t talk. He didn’t really want to, either.

"Speechless, are we?” Tony teased lightly, though the glint of concern in his eyes told Peter that he understood. He’d had his own quiet days before. “Alright, kiddie, so I was thinking that we could have a movie day today,” Tony said, changing the subject. “Rhodey and I were thinking about the new Harry Potter movie and pizza, you in?”

Peter grinned and made a thumbs up. He’d been wanting to watch Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them since it came out.

Tony grinned back and ruffled his head. “Good, go take a seat. I’ll get the popcorn. You too, Rhodes.”

Peter followed Colonel Rhodes into the living room, curling up in his usual spot on the couch. There was a slightly awkward silence before Colonel Rhodes shifted in his seat, turning to face him.

“You’re good for him, you know,” Colonel Rhodes said. Peter looked at him with furrowed brows and the man elaborated. “Tony. He was a mess after Germany, I was afraid that he’d go back to drinking.” Peter frowned slightly; he knew of Tony’s past, it had come up often enough in the news and in magazines when he was younger and he’d been an avid Tony Stark fan even before the man became Iron Man, but he couldn’t imagine Tony turning to alcohol. The man barely drank around him, maybe a beer or two during movie nights, but there was no expensive, fancy liquor anywhere in the penthouse. Colonel Rhodes caught his expression and he smiled somewhat sadly. “I don’t like the thought, either. I was kind of surprised when he told me that he was taking a break from hard liquor, but then he told me about you and I understood.”

Peter was confused. What did he mean?

“Tony’s never really been one for big responsibilities,” Colonel Rhodes told him. “He’s good at his work, brilliant at it, but it was more of a chore at times than not. The first big thing that he felt responsible for was Iron Man, he felt he had a duty to protect after all of the lives he’d taken.” Peter was slightly conflicted. He could understand the duty to protect, he’d become Spider-Man for that very purpose, but he disagreed that Tony had been the one to kill all those people with his weapons. His name might have been on them, but he hadn’t been the one to fire them, to target all of those people. Colonel Rhodes gave him an understanding smile; he no doubt agreed with Peter’s thoughts.

“Then came Pepper and the Avengers, but you saw how that last one turned out. Helping me with my braces distracted him for a while, but I was afraid of what would happen when I was doing fine on my own. Then he surprised me by starting to talk about you. Eventually, he’d be mentioning you in all of our phone calls; ‘I’ve got this intern, he’s brilliant,’ or ‘The kid’s coming over today, we’re making a robot,’ or ‘Peter came up with a good way to stop your braces from locking up after standing for too long.’” Colonel Rhodes rapped his knuckles against his braces and said, “Thanks for that, by the way, they haven’t locked up since Tony upgraded them.”

Peter’s neck burned at the sincere thanks and he smiled shyly. Colonel Rhodes became serious again. “The whole point of this thing is that you’re good for him, Peter. He’s as sober as he’s ever been, healthy as he’s ever been, has been sleeping through the nights, and he’s not having as many three-day lab benders as he used to have. So thank you, Peter.”

Peter swallowed thickly. “H-He’s helped me, too,” he managed to say around the tightness in his throat. The only thing that belied Colonel Rhodes’s surprise at him talking was a single blink.

“You’ve been through more than the average teenager, haven’t you?” Colonel Rhodes said with keen eyes. Peter nodded and the man smiled slightly. “Well, then I’m glad that you’ve helped each other.”

In the kitchen, the popcorn stopped popping and the microwave beeped. Tony came out seconds later and raised an eyebrow at the two of them. “What were you two talking about?” Tony said suspiciously.

“I was just talking to Peter about my leg braces,” Colonel Rhodes said, scooting over to give Tony room to sit. Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly as if calling his friend’s bluff but sat down, giving them each of their snacks.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road. Friday, can you play Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?”

As the opening scenes of the movie played, Peter and Colonel Rhodes exchanged a look of understanding. Peter still didn’t feel well, he was still tired and felt wrung-out, but knowing that he’d helped Tony more than he thought made him feel better. He leaned against the man and stole a handful of popcorn, smiling slightly at Tony’s playful indignant squawk.

This one-shot took me a ridiculous amount of time to write! I got the idea like two weeks ago, started writing it like two weeks ago, and ended up only adding a few hundred words each day, sometimes only like thirty or so. I'm happy I got it done, and while I don't particularly like the ending, I like the whole feel of this.

Here are some scenes that I cut out but couldn't bring myself to completely delete:

"Tony cares about you in a way that I knew he was afraid to feel—Has he told you about Howard?” Colonel Rhodes asked. Peter frowned slightly at the mention of Howard. Tony hadn’t explicitly told Peter what his father had been like, only a few mentions here and there, but Peter knew how to use context clues and how to extrapolate data, so he nodded. “Well, he likes to say that he doesn’t like children, that he’s not good with them, but he ‘s afraid of turning out like his father.”

Peter balked at the thought. Tony wasn’t like Howard!

“Exactly,” Colonel Rhodes said with another look of understanding. “Tony’s afraid of turning out like his dad so he tried to stay away from children, but somehow, he got attached to you. You’re making him happy, happier than I thought he’d ever be after everything that happened."

Tony was murmuring soothing words to him, some in English but most in Italian. The man had taken to speaking to him in Italian ever since he heard Peter talking to May in the language. Peter had first learned the language when he’d moved in with May and Ben; it had been a way for them to distract him from the grief and he’d gotten over his selective mutism—this was a common thing for him, the not speaking, not being able to speak—by learning it.

“Starai bene, mimmo,” Tony was murmuring. You’ll be alright, baby.

The whine Peter desperately tried to hold onto was pulled from his throat at the phrase. It was something May always said to him when he was sad or upset, but it felt different coming from Tony. May was kind of obligated to care for him—not that it made her comfort any less comforting or appreciated—but Tony was Tony.

A tear fell down the bridge of his nose. "He said I killed Ben," Peter said in a soft, quiet voice, "and that he died to get away from me. And my parents, too. And that-that May left for her conference or training seminar or whatever it is to get away from me. Everyone I love dies or leaves me, Tony, I don't want you to go, too."

"Oh. Quiet day, baby?" Tony asked softly, the pet name May usually used seeming to slip out.

#peter parker #tony stark #iron man #spiderman #colonel rhodes #rhodey #whump fic #peter parker whump #irondad #spider son #sensory overload

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