#i was procrastinating folding my laundry okay. you know how it is.

[asthedeathoflight]

Okay so I was thinking someone should do something adjacent to this band au by @emilywaters but with Rembrandt as the lighting director but i fear that i may be the only person capable of this considering you know. Thats actually my job. But i have too many wips so you're getting this au in post form. Everything I changed from the original post is due to me writing out this entire post before I successfully tracked it down so like it's not me disagreeing I simply forgor.

I'm not sure what like level of fame they were supposed to be in the original but i need them to be doing stadium shows purely for Rembrandt's sake okay she deserves it theyre touring with an ma3 just believe me.

I think Cleon was originally their lead singer but she had to step down for. Reasons. Idk. So the Warriors are hard up bc their producer is on their ass about getting demos recorded for their next album but none of them really feel good about replacing Cleon.

Mercy is a mistreated burnt out pop idol who's just kind of getting listless at this point because she's basically just a prop for a brand and she can't even give a fuck about her music anymore. She meets Swan at a party and they hit it off and get blackout drunk and Swan wakes up the next day with a recording on her phone of Mercy doing a demo of one of the songs she wrote. She takes it in to their producer like here fine theres a demo are you happy and shes like??? Hello???? This is incredible??? Who is this singer??? And Swan is like hahaha. About that.

The producer reaches out to Mercy's management and theyre like um absolutely not she does not want to join your band she's a solo act but then Mercy gets Swan's number somehow and is like i DO wanna join your band actually but im stuck in this goddamned contract. So then its about them getting their record label to go up against Mercy's and get her out of her contract so she can be their new lead singer.

And also more importantly (to me) is the subplot about the like relatively young and inexperienced lighting girl from their home venue who Cleon insisted on hiring for their first tour and who just kind of stuck around and became part of the group. They tour with a disproportionately nice rig bc Rembrandt is a fucking nerd and none of them can resist her puppy dog eyes about getting shiny new toys. And like yeah she's kind of quiet and doesn't talk much in a group but she can hold her own against the fucking overhires giving her shit at whatever venue and not taking her seriously and she gets stars in her eyes when Ajax asks her about programming so like needless to say Ajax is a little bit obsessed with her. Rembrandt's job is half ordering around men twice her size and age and half real-time computer programming live in front of an audience. Ajax never stood a chance. There are always fans trying to see Ajax after the show and Ajax is always in the booth while Rembrandt talks about the latest patch grand ma pushed out and how she hates everything about it and everyone at that company is trying to ruin her life (she will have adapted and forgotten about this in two days until the next patch which alters her workflow .00001% upon which time she will again believe her career is over and she needs to call them to revert the console)

I think probably their relationship is more of a flashback moment bc obviously The Warriors can't be touring while they're looking for a new singer but I think when they're not on tour Rembrandt lives in Portland and does like weird indie performance art shit and Ajax stays in LA with Swan and the others and the long distance is kind of killing them. Could Ajax stay with Rembrandt in Portland for a few months and fly back down when they're actually recording stuff? Absolutely. Does this idea terrify her existentially for reasons she can neither articulate nor overcome? Also absolutely. But on a more fun note Rembrandt drags Ajax to USITT with her every year which is actually kind of fun for Ajax because in addition to Rembrandt being so excited nobody there is impressed at all by her being famous but they ARE impressed that she knows how DMX works. So. Who's laughing now Swan. The flashcards worked.

[moony-sky]

TL;DR - Mutuals don't need to worry. I'm okay, just need to work on myself a bit. Also lots of rambling about an app that gets my to finally do everything I should be doing and feel better about myself. Essentially I finally found something that works with my ADHD! It's called Habitica, and it turns chores and habits into a little video game.

So one night I had another breakdown and decided, you know what, I'm tired of this stuff. I'm tired of being unhappy with my life yet my every attempt to improve it seemingly going nowhere. I'm tired of always cutting off contact with my friends and then having to come crawling back a couple days later because I miss contact. (To my mutuals who have had to suffer from that, including this time: see either start or end of post)

Suddenly, I remembered an app I saw. Something about turning your daily tasks into a little game. It sounded just like the concept I was trying to utilize with a computer program I made to try to get myself to do stuff, so I figured I'd check it out. So I downloaded it, went through the tutorials, and added a bunch of tasks to it. Things like sorting out my laundry in my room every weekend so I don't get a pile of laundry on my chair, refilling my meds at the end of the week, some habits I should get into, and tasks that only have to be done once, such as calling the doctor or filling out forms.

So the way that the app works is that essentially it's an RPG lite of sorts. The tasks are divided into 3 categories:

Habits, which are either things you want to start doing (ie exercising) or stop doing (ie procrastinating). You can give each habit either a positive or negative button, or both.

Daily tasks, which don't actually have to be daily, but they are tasks that need to be done every X days or weeks, and you cross them off every day. You can add a reminder so you get notified you still have to do them.

To do, which are just thing you have to do at some point. You can give them a deadline but don't have to. These disappear the moment you mark them as done.

So how does this translate into a game? Well, you start the game by making your little character (nothing too special tbh), who then has stats, HP, XP and gold. Every time you complete a daily, to do, or a positive habit, you gain XP and gold, and might get an item. Every time you do a bad habit or don't do all your daily tasks for that day, you lose HP. There are also bosses to fight, either alone or with friends, with each positive task/habit contributing to the amount of damage you deal to the boss that day.

This sort of thing is perfect for me. I might not care that much about my own body sometimes, but I do care about my little video game character. Which means that if I don't fold my laundry, that character will take damage, so I must fold laundry. I want to get more items and deal more damage, so I want to do tasks. And it's on my mind more. Because of it being about a game, I think about that I need to do it far more often than just plain chores. Plus, they're all actually listed very nicely, meaning I can easily see what I need to do. You can even add subtasks! (Though you don't get rewards for completing those.)

To my mutuals: I'm sorry for always being like this and yes I'm okay and I have loads of stuff to tell you but... I just need some time to myself. I'm still talking with a couple of people so if it's important I can always be reached, but I just need to work on myself before I can return. Once things are going better I'll come back and tell you about all the fun stuff that happened while I was gone, I promise! <3

I'm sorry for the length I just got a bit carried away. I swear I'm not getting paid for this ad.

[bubblyhoney]

win for me

warnings: lAnGuAgE, alcohol consumption (both reader and all other characters are of age to drink), marijuana use, Making Out™️, a miniscule Flowers from 1970 reference. PSA: WHEN UR INTOXICATED AND/OR AT A PARTY, TELL UR FRIENDS WHO YOU WILL BE WITH AND WHERE YOU WILL BE AT ALL TIMES. DRINK AND PARTY SAFELY!

tags: sapnap x fem!reader

summary: a collection of moments throughout the beginning of your relationship

words: 5000

A/N: even though this isn’t my most organized or perfect fic this was so incredibly fun to write. and it’s a college!au!! one of my favs. hope you guys like!! let's pretend the pandemic doesn't exist for this one too (please wear ur masks btw)

-

Sophomore Year:

Smells like shit in here is your first thought upon entering the laundromat.

It does, in all honesty. What would you expect a place where college students wash three months of dirty clothes and comforters with vomit to smell like? Urine and just a hint of marijuana, incidentally. The door closes noisily behind you and a guy in a black baseball hat turns his head at the noise. Half of his face is hidden underneath the shadow of his scruff and he says nothing, but you still offer an obligatory polite-stranger smile. The place is pretty deserted, what for it being nearly 4 in the morning. And you’re a rare kind of customer; only a few things to wash and you brought your own detergent.

There’s an empty washer next to an old woman in an acid-trip of a parka, and you sweep past the few other patrons with your mesh bag close. The man in the hat nods at you as you pass, looking up from his phone.

Okay. Dark load in one and delicates in the other, you remind yourself. The quarters get pushed through the slot (not without dropping three and having to scramble to pick them up before they disappear between the machines) and you fill the dispensers with a flowery laundry detergent your roommates hates. Oh, and the clothes go in. Done. You relax into a cracked plastic booth around the corner of the machine, pulling a book of crosswords from your bag.

Somebody yelps halfway through filling out a five letter word (“a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep”) and you jump. Baseball Cap rips open the dryer, fumbling around and supplying a pair of gray sweatpants. You can’t help but watch. He digs through both front pockets, pulling out a wad of dollar bills. He sighs, shoves the pants back into the dryer, and starts it with a hard push.

“Gut feeling?” You ask. He looks around for a second and settles his gaze upon you. Nice eyebrows, you think.

“Yeah,” he laughs, slightly nervous. “Yeah. I wore them yesterday and just remembered I put some tip money in my pocket.” Leaning back onto the shelf behind him, he shoves his phone into his pocket and folds his arms tight to his chest.

“I feel you,” you empathize, and set down your pencil. “I washed a parking ticket with my underwear last week.”

He stutters out a laugh, nodding.

“That must’ve sucked,” he adds.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I wasn’t going to pay it anyways, but would’ve been nice to keep it for memory’s sake.” Rubbing at your knee offhandedly, you just watch him. He’s cute. And easy to make conversation with.

“Hey, um,” he mutters and clears his throat. “Do you by chance know some guy named Karl? Tall, messy brown hair and a horrible laugh?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

“Actually—,” you start but huff out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s uh, he’s dating my roommate. Why’d you ask?”

Reaching a hand to rub at his neck, his face twists into something sheepish.

“I’ve seen you at some parties this semester. I didn’t mean to sound creepy like that— I just—yeah.” His cheeks flush pink and he looks down to the ground.

“No worries,” you say, barely even thinking. “I think I’ve seen you too. You’re in Delta Tau Delta, right?”

“Nah, nah,” he laughs. “Just got some friends in there.”

“Ah.” You nod.

The conversation falls into silence, but not uncomfortable silence. He pulls out his phone again, and you look back to the crossword in front of you. The old woman between you leaves with a humongous load of blankets and a small family leaves with a cart full of bags; now it’s just you two.

When the washer with your delicates ding you nearly jump two feet in the air. Exhaling, you set your work down and open the door.

“Shit,” you curse as two bras fall onto the tile. You reach down to get a hand on a black lace bra and hide it quickly under your elbow. A sneaker squeaks loud in the almost-empty room and you see Baseball Cap’s shoulders.

“Here.” He’s kneeling as he hands you your pink bra and you accept it, biting your lower lip.

“Thanks,” you mumbles, slightly embarrassed, and step back to shove those bras and a couple pairs of your underwear into your bag. He offers you a small smile and backs off to his own machines, humming an off-key version of Unchained Melody to himself. Your other load of laundry gets shoved right on top of your delicates.

It’s when you’re nearly out the door, bell jingling, that you think to look back.

“Hey,” you start, almost stuttering for no reason. “What’s your name?”

He turns, dark eyebrows raised.

“My—uh… My friends call me Sapnap. You can call me that too.” Rosy cheeks once again; you seem to be making him awfully nervous.

“Sapnap.” You try it in your mouth, pursing your lips. “Okay. I’ll see you around Sapnap.”

He nods, affirming your statement.

“See you around Y/N.”

It doesn’t hit you until you’re buckling your seatbelt and starting your car that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.

Perhaps he knew more about you than you thought.

Yeah, you laugh to yourself. Karl’s got a big mouth.

Junior Year:

It takes you a collective twelve minutes to go talk to him.

It’s quiet in the library, students that happen to come here to study or procrastinate few and far between the scattered tables. Your poison today is a 4 page history paper on Normandy that you’d been staring at the instructions for for days. You’d already written a bunch of, frankly, horseshit for the body, but the introduction and conclusion were throwing you for a loop.

The vibes in Ridgeback Hall were also certainly off, today more than any other day; the main help-desk was empty and everybody had to do the tedious task of locating niche textbooks themselves.

Lifting your head from the wood of the table, you squint and focus your vision on the guy in the white tee and denim jacket that had been the focus of your thoughts for minutes. He chews at the end of his pencil, mouth screwed up into a ball, and shoots daggers at the empty notebook in front of him. You’re surprised it hasn’t caught on fire yet just from his gaze.

“Sapnap!” You whisper-shout, stretching your arms across the table as if it would make him any closer. A person with purple hair jumps at your voice but turns back to their laptop. “Sapnap!” you try again, tapping two fingers on the table. His head jerks up, eyebrows furrowed and an angry expression on his face, but softens at the sight of you.

“Y/N,” he counters, equally as loud but with a smile on his face.

“What’re you doing?”

“Calculus.” He sticks his tongue out, making an awfully tortured face. You laugh and wave your fingers at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He just huffs out a sigh, stacks all his papers in one pile, and gets up. The trek over to your table is short but he takes it so slowly you wonder if he always walks like that. Like a varsity basketball player who just got off a horse.

“You’re so slow.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles and settles into a chair across from you. “It’s 2 pm, give me a break. I need a Redbull.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” you say matter-of-factly and drop your chin onto your hand. He’s even cuter from this angle, you think briefly. He just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, Miss I’d-like-some-coffee-with-my-sugar-and-cream,” he teases, pointing to your venti iced coffee. It’s about as pale as the color of a band-aid. You just sigh and close your eyes. “You tired?” He flips his pencil in his hand and leans back into the seat, sighing.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I haven’t slept yet today.”

“Wow, you’re dumb.” He looks scandalized. You just shrug.

“Perhaps. I don’t really know why I did it actually— just for funzies!” You raise an arm but let it drop back down. “I stayed up playing Sims.”

“Feel that. I play Minecraft with my buddies until like 2 am every night too. It’s nice,” he decides and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flit over to his strong arms, admiring the way his denim shirt looks around them. Thick.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” He says too loudly and it warrants a ‘shush’ from another student. He reddens, but looks back down to you. “I—why do you ask?” You shrug, eyebrows raised.

“Just wondering. You’re too cute to not have one.”

“Right,” he huffs, but his cheeks stay pink. You two fall into easy silence, his eyes trained on the notebook in front of him and yours closed peacefully. “Are you dating anyone?”

They snap open not-so-peacefully.

“Nope. You wanna submit a boyfriend application?” A smile cracks your lips and he grins back.

“Maybe,” he replies and stares at your mouth. “I have to say—,” He stretches into a yawn. “I think I’m qualified.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow quirks. “And why are you so qualified?”

“Well, first of all, I work at Ace Hardware. That’s where cool people work.” He presses one finger into his palm. Then two. “And I have a bunch of free time because said job at Ace Hardware only likes scheduling me in the mornings. Plus, I’m hot.” He shrugs.

You nod faux-seriously, considering his list.

“Those are very good qualities, sir. I’ll have to get back to you on that.” You pause. “Okay, I’ll schedule an interview. How’s 7 pm at the Chili’s on Main? Chili’s is the designated interview place.” You wiggle your eyebrows. He just smiles at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was smooth.”

“Yeah, I know.” You carefully study your nails. “I’m pretty impressive.”

“Clearly,” he mutters and chuckles. “But I do like their salsa. And margaritas. We got a deal?” He holds out a large hand. You take it, squeezing tightly.

“Hell yes.”

When you see the man called Sapnap a week later, you are very obviously in a different state of mind.

Same state, same college town, but very different blood alcohol contents.

“Sappy!” You shout, raising your arms above your head with a stupid grin on your face. He turns, that familiar look of surprise evident in his expression.

“Y/N,” he laughs and approaches your group of friends in the kitchen. It’s Greek Wedding night at Delta Tau Delta, and you assume Sapnap came to support Delta’s “groom” Alex. You’d gotten uncharacteristically drunk, trading air for sangria, and you were now in the incredible stage where everyone was both your friend and your favorite person.

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, you mash your face into his bicep and giggle.

“Missed you so much,” you try to manage out of your mouth, but it comes out slurred and stuttered. “So much.” You’d gone to Chili’s two days before and promised another ‘interview’ in the next few days, but it felt like two months away from your beloved. Beloved friend, that is. Only one date.

“Yeah?” He places a hesitant hand on your back and nudges you into a standing position. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, shhhh,” you mumble and close your eyes. “Only— a lot.” Blinking them back open, you zero your gaze in on a bottle of Ciroc half-empty and looking very tempting on the kitchen island across from where you’re leaned up against the kitchen sink. He catches your gaze and steps in front of you, pleasant face filling your vision. You gasp.

“You are so cute.” Sliding your palms up onto his face, you hold his scruffy cheeks in your hands and smile all dopey at him.

“Is that your brain or the alcohol telling you that?”

“Uh,” you swallow. “Both. And my heart.”

He just shakes his head and his chest moves with a heavy laugh.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Are you having fun?” You ask, all concerned and furrowed eyebrows. You look like you’re genuinely interested and worried about if he’s having a good time or not, and it makes his expression melt.

“I’m having lots of fun,” he passes over his shoulder as he flips on the tap and fills a red solo cup with water. “In fact, I’m gonna have a nice, cold glass of water right now.” He shakes it like an owner offering their dog a treat.

You eye the cup in his hand, having half a thought that this might be some sort of backwards psychology move. The other half wins.

“That sounds so good right now— can I drink some?” Your eyebrows pull together and your bottom lip drops into a pout. It makes him blink for a second. He remembers the little game you’re playing and just hands it over, smug. You gulp it down quickly and crush the empty plastic into your palm with an exaggerated exhale. “Hit the spot,” you sigh, and pat your stomach fondly.

“You hungry?” Sapnap asks you as he steadies you with two hands on your shoulders. Something pops into your head at his words: a set of two McChickens and an Oreo milkshake.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, and mirror him by placing your hands on his shoulders. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

He just shakes his head, grin wide on his lips, and shrugs. Perfect teeth, you think.

“I haven’t drank anything, so I’m good to drive.” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “I know you’re smashed right now so—do you feel safe with me?” The question falls from his mouth and you truly consider it, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah. I’ll take this just in case,” you say, and take a large dinner fork from the counter next to you. It has some red liquid on it that you brush off onto the fabric of your jeans.

“That’s actually gross.”

“Yeah.” You grip it tighter in your head. “But it’ll do the job if you try any shit. I’ll put this in your eyeball.” Brandishing it, a smile stretches onto your mouth. He just shakes his head and heads for the back door, jerking a hand in your direction to get you to follow him.

The cool night air explodes on your face when you step onto the porch and it makes you blink rapidly. Sapnap is right at your side, offering a forearm as you slowly make your way down the two back porch steps. A tall blonde smoking half of a blunt makes a grunt noise as you two pass and your knight-in-shining armor looks up.

“Gonna go get some food. Want anything?” Sapnap stops on the rocky path to the sidewalk, tilted up to hear the blonde’s response. The other guy shakes his head but nods to you in passing.

“I’ll tell her friends where she went,” says the blonde, and disappears through the sliding glass doors.

Your hand falls from his forearm to his hand and grasps it tightly, swinging back and forth as you stumble to his car. You flash him a grin that he just chuckles at.

“Watch your step,” he warns as you yank on the handle of the passenger door and nearly fall off of the curb.

“I’m fine,” you huff, and scramble to get yourself upright into the seat and buckled. He closes your door and jogs to the driver’s seat, climbing in and starting the engine quicker than your head comprehends.

The small space fills with the sound of Letters to Cleo as he’s maneuvering out of his parking spot and he slaps a hand at the stereo button almost immediately. His cheeks redden as he glances at you once.

“I love Letters to Cleo,” you admit, and switch it back on. Ah, Co-Pilot. A classic. “Be my co-pilot!” You sing, loud and sharp. He shakes his head but huffs out a reluctant laugh.

“My older sister loved them. Bit old for my taste, but—you know. Can’t deny that I love a little bit of 90’s angst.”

“Absolutely,” you nod vigorously and pick at your nail. “Oh!” The fork magically reappears at your side and you grab at it. “For my McChickens.”

“And for me,” he adds.

“Yup. You too.” But you drop it onto the seat and lean forward, fumbling with the volume dial until you feel the lead singer’s voice thumping into your heart. “I love this lady!” You shout and rock your head to the beat.

Shaking his head, his shoulders move in an easy laugh. The drive-thru line is kind of busy for 2 am, he notes, pulling in right behind a navy BMW sedan. But it moves quickly, especially when you’re moving in your seat, scream-singing the lyrics to I Want You To Want Me.

“Yeah,” he says, loud into the mic. “Two.”

“Alright.” The voice reports from the speaker, a background clicking joining their bored tone. “Two McChickens, a double cheeseburger—ketchup and pickle only— , a medium fry, and an Oreo McFlurry. Anything else, sir?”

Sapnap chews on his lip, and glances at you. You just give an encouraging thumbs up.

“That’ll be all,” he reports.

“Second window, and your total is $9.67.”

He barely has time to call a “thank you so much!” before the line ends with a click. Rude.

“Jesus Christ,” you moan the second you sink your teeth into your first sandwich.

“Agreed,” he mumbles and pushes as much cheeseburger he can fit into his mouth.

“This,” you start, swallowing. “is the sexiest thing I’ve encountered in all of my years. I thank all higher powers when I consume McChickens…” Trailing off for dramatic effect, you stare down the sandwich before mimicking a dinosaur war cry and practically shoving it down your throat. He just nods in agreement.

“It’s so nice out tonight,” Sapnap comments, swinging a look out his rolled-down window. He parked right in front of the Campus Quad, large bubbling fountain the show to your dinner. And some geese fighting each other for half a rotting hot dog.

“Mhm.” You crumple up your wrapper trash and toss it into the empty paper bag. “Could totally go for a swim.”

He turns and gives you a look. You look right back.

“Should we?” It’s barely a question.

“Um, hell yes,” is all it takes for you to say before you’re clambering out of the car and starting for the fountain. He follows closely after, jogging to catch up with your borderline track-star sprints.

“Wait up!” He calls as you reach the border of the fountain.

“Ugh,” you sigh, impatient. “Hurry up.”

“Mouthy,” he grumbles before kicking off his shoes and bending to fold his pants up over his knees. You just climb straight in and brave the cold.

Squealing, you hop from one foot to the other, shoulders tight as you get used to the freezing water. He laughs and climbs in right beside you.

“Shit,” he curses, and shivers. “This sucks.”

“You suck,” you quip right back and splash around. He stares, disgusted, at the water soaking up your jeans all the way up to your knees.

“You’re gross for wearing jeans in a fountain. That’s worse than wet socks.” He starts to move around as feeling comes back into his toes.

“What, would you prefer me taking my pants off?” A sassy look paints your face and he rolls his eyes.

“No, but you could’ve folded them up like a normal person.”

“I think you forget,” you start, and splash a palmful of water his way. “I’m quirky.”

He gasps, face twisting as the water hits his thighs.

“You’re dead.”

If campus police were patrolling the Quad right now, they’d see two college juniors wading around in a fountain, water up to their knees, having a competition to see who can inflict the most damage. He won, it seems, because your shirt is drenched all the way up to your ribs.

“Okay!” You shout, hands spread to brace yourself. The water in his palm falls. “I’m cold and I want my other McChicken.”

“Fine,” he sighs, and with some difficulty manages to get out of the fountain and back into his shoes. You just make your way back over to his car barefoot, braving the mulch and poorly-sanded concrete.

You both finish your food quickly, discussing menial things like how fast food restaurants always skimp on the pickles and how it’s truly a disservice to the world that so many people don’t know it’s Biggie singing the song Kat dances on the table to in the 1999 classic 10 Things I Hate About You.

When Sapnap pulls up to your house, he shifts the car into park and lets loose a heavy sigh. You whip around, hand on your buckle, and sport a very confused look on your face.

“I’m tired,” is all he says. Head falling onto the seat, he rolls over to give you a half-lidded look. You nod empathetically and climb very carefully out of his passenger seat. Your drunk muscles haven't caught up to your mainly sober brain, which is impairing your ability to look like a functioning human being.

“Thank you for tonight,” you chirp, smiling in at him with your arms folded on the open window sill. The half-drank Oreo McFlurry is lukewarm in your hand. He stares at your flushed lips.

“Anytime you want a drunk McChicken let me know.” He winks. “I have a gift card.”

“You spoil me,” you coo, and step up onto the sidewalk. “I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?”

He nods, pursed lips fighting a grin.

Cute, you both think at the same time.

Sometime soon, somehow, means the very next day.

It’s breezy yet uncharacteristically hot out, and certainly way too bright for a hungover Y/N.

You’re sat on the porch swing, nursing a hot decaf coffee with lots of sugar and cream. Sunglasses sit comfortably on your nose, but you still have to squint. The pills you took have yet to kick in, so all you have to do is wait and try not to vomit into your mug. Suddenly, your phone lights up and buzzes to life. You press the green button and lift to your ear.

“What do you want?” Your voice is awfully froggy, you realize, and clear your throat.

“Good morning to you too.” Sapnap’s voice rings clear yet husky into your ear. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile. God, you’re whipped just for the sound of his voice.

“It is definitely not a good morning,” you grumble and switch him into speaker phone. You drop the phone into your lap and stretch out further on the swing.

“Good morning for me,” he chirps cheerfully. “Take anything for the headache?”

“Yes,” you report, sounding like a pouting child and rubbing two fingers into your temple. “Some idiot fed me ice cream last night so this morning I woke up having to both shit and throw up.”

“Aww,” he sympathizes, sounding way too entertained. “That sounds like a you problem.” You stuck out your tongue, but upon realizing he can’t see it, make a ‘hmph’ noise into the mic. “Anyways. I called to see if you wanted to go get breakfast with me. Waffle House, specifically.” You make a face but lift yourself up off the swing, wincing.

“I saw a rat eat an entire piece of french toast there once. But—sure. I’ll pay.” He starts to whine, but you scoff. “Let me love you, bitch. You pay for my McDonald’s and I pay for your pancakes. Easy trade.”

“Whatever. See you in five.” He hangs up right as you twist the front door open and drop your phone onto the couch.

“Who’re you talking to?” comes from the kitchen and you jump, pressing a hand to your chest. A shirtless Karl enters the living room with a bowl of fruit loops in his hand.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, and duck into the hall closet for your pair of dirty tennis shoes. “I was talking to Sapnap.”

“Oh,” he says around his mouthful of cereal with a grin. “You guys dating yet?”

You pass him a weird look, bending to tie your shoes.

“Gimme like two weeks. I’ll have him at my beck and call,” you laugh and collapse back into the couch.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He quirks an eyebrow and exits stage left into your roommate’s room.

The few minutes it takes for Sapnap to come to your house are short but filled with contemplation. Do you really want to date him? He’s certainly cute enough. Nice enough. And smart enough. He seems to like you too—

A honk interrupts your thoughts. Always having to be obnoxious, huh?

“You’re annoying,” you mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He just shrugs, tiny smile tugging his lips, and shifts into drive. The short trip to Waffle House proves more quiet than lively. He seems awake, actually, so you attribute the silence to your tumultuous thoughts. The music is nice, though. Bikini Kill is perfect for 10 am.

After you two order (three chocolate chip pancakes for him and two regular waffles with a side of hashbrowns for you), he finally breaks the silence.

“Hey, are we dating?”

You pause with your lip on the rim of your orange juice. Your gaze falls from his lips to his fingers wrapped around the coffee mug. Two silver rings adorn both his middle fingers and they glint underneath the fluorescent lights.

“Do you wanna?” You squint back up at him. The tips of his ears flush pink.

“I-uh… Yeah. Yes,” he says simply. You try to hide a smile, but realize there’s no point.

“Okay.” You take a long drink of your orange juice. “I really like you. A lot. A surprising amount, actually; I haven’t really dated seriously since highschool.”

He nods, shuffling his feet on the tile. What else does he have to be nervous about? you wonder.

“I’ve… kindasortamaybelikedyousincesophmoreyear,” he mumbles and you swallow.

“Huh?” Leaning forward, you set your glass down.

“Um,” he starts but doesn’t finish.

“Did you say you’ve liked me since sophomore year?”

“...Maybe.” His coffee becomes the most interesting thing in the world, apparently. “Do you remember that one time during the Summer Carnival where Karl lost his phone?”

“Uh—yes! Yeah, actually. I do remember that. He found it in the porta-potty. What about it?” The waitress sets down both your plates in front of you and you offer her a smile in thanks before she trundles off to the drink station. You pick up your fork and wait for him to continue.

“I left two hours early because you invited Michael from your computer science class.” You pause around your mouthful of potato and he just stares back, trying not to grin. “Yeah. I thought you were hot and left early because you brought another guy.”

“Michael is gay,” you say slowly.

“Yup.” He nods and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Isn’t that so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you tease but your cheeks blush pink.

“Anyways. Now I’m dating you, so. Win for me.”

“Ditto,” you murmur, and manage to fit half of your first waffle into your mouth. “This is the easiest it’s ever been to start dating someone.”

“It’s ‘cause we’re cool, I’m pretty sure,” comes from a mouthful of pancake.

“That’s facts.”

The rest of Pancake House is bustling, a few families with young kids and some other hungover college students scarfing down similar breakfast foods and confections. You two barely give any other customers the time of day, too wrapped up in conversation and each other. The waitress gets a heavy tip after an hour and a half of struggling to swallow dough soaked in syrup and chocolate.

Sapnap walks you to your door after breakfast, hand on your waist and pressed to your side. It feels good. Right.

“I’ll see you Wednesday right?” You ask, turning to him with hopeful eyes. How could he resist?

“Definitely. Wouldn’t miss Game Night for the world— I can’t wait to beat your ass at Uno.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You murmur but you’re already slinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing his mouth down to yours.

You taste like sugar, he thinks. His hands find the small of your back easily, pressing you further forward into him. You hum at that, tracking a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair to grip it between your fingers.

He smells both musky and sweet and cool at the same time: heaven. One of his hands slides up to grip at your neck, thumb rubbing at your jaw, and you make a pleased noise into his mouth. There it is.

“Y/N!” Shrieks from inside your house and you jump, pulling away from Sapnap with a smack.

“What?” You yell back, irritated, and he just laughs as he dips to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Stop tonguing your boyfriend and come help me with my photography project.”

“God damn it,” you sigh and drop your hands. His slide down to just rest on your hips, comfortable. “I have to go.” You're annoyed, that’s for sure, and he prays you aren’t too mean to your roommate.

“Alright.” He dips for a quick kiss one last time. Okay, two more times. Maybe three. But he pulls away, grinning. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

And then he’s stepping off your porch, walking to his car with his hands in his pockets. You watch his back fondly.

God, boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. Boynap. Sapfriend. You can’t decide on a name, but all sounds perfect.

Perfectly him.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments = welcome!

[mimi-cee-hq]

Laundry Days - Aran x f!reader

Summary: Three times you picked up his underwear and one time you missed doing it.

Genres, other tags: fluff, slice of life, humour, meet cute, domestic fluff, not suggestive lol, married under 25, neighbours to married lovers ;)

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: manga spoiler

This is for @neoheros & @coophi's 2021 Summer Haikyuu!! Writing contest. (Okay I'm pretty shy at first so it feels a little scary to tag you two but here's my piece.) I was going for the married under 25 prompt but ended up doing neighbours to lovers too. :D

Don't mind me spreading the underrated characters agenda as well. lol.

*****

A few articles of clothing spilled out of the dryer and onto your feet. Oops. Your neighbour must have forgotten them. You should've checked first.

Your own damp clothes sat inside the washing machine next to it, waiting for their turn to enter the dryer. It wasn't possible now.

You sighed, retrieving the phone from your pocket and scrolling until you saw the name of the neighbour who lived a floor below you.

Ojiro Aran.

You were sure this was the right person after a second look at your texting history. Who'd bring the garbage to the curb, where the lawnmower was kept, and keeping the duplex's stairway clear were some of the conversations you had with him.

You had yet to meet the guy, but he seemed amicable enough.

After shooting him a text, you thought to give him a call instead. Perhaps he'd think a phone call was strange. However, your clothes were damp and you shouldn't leave them for long. Was he even home?

You sighed. Crouched down, you returned the clothes on the floor back into the machine. A scarf, several socks, and a knit hat made their way back inside. But what was this?

Underwear. Men's underwear.

You scrunched your nose as you lifted it from the cold, tile floor. Was that a hole in it?

Click.

"Sorry I just saw your text!" a tall, dark-skinned man blurted out as soon as the door was unlocked.

"Oh! It's alright! I only texted you a few minutes ago!" you quickly explained, waving your hands in front of you.

You shouldn't have done that. The underwear was hanging from your hand.

"Ummm…" Aran scratched his cheek, eyes retreating from you.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!" you spat out, tossing the incriminating object to him. "It just fell out of the dryer when I opened it so I went to pick it up!"

Once in his hands, he recognized it as the one with the seam coming undone. "I… umm… should probably have thrown this one out."

"Umm… yeah… you probably should." Those words slipped off your tongue before you could catch them.

"I- I guess I'll go now," Aran said hastily.

He shut the door.

You let out a breath. That was awkward. Heat continued to linger in your body and you weren't sure who was more embarrassed by the encounter.

Wait. His clothes were still in the dryer. Did you dare ask him back?

The door slowly creaked open and Aran peeked his head into the room.

"I forgot something, didn't I?" Aran sheepishly asked.

"Yeah." The corners of your mouth lifted into a smile. "Yeah, you did."

"I'm Aran by the way."

"Y/n."

You never thought this would be how you'd meet your future husband.

*****

The office chair in your apartment was a comfortable spot for folding clothes. The webcam caught your face as you chatted with Aran whose image filled the monitor.

You smiled. Your husband was winding down after a long day with the team and decided to check up on you.

"I'm alright," you told Aran. "I miss you though."

"I literally just saw you yesterday!" he said. "I miss you too."

After that fateful yet awkward encounter with him in that laundry room two years ago, you had run into each other more frequently at the front doors of your duplex. Your classes ended at similar times four out of your five school days. You were surprised he even started a conversation with you. You wouldn't have been able to bear the embarrassment. Fast forward to a confession, a kiss and a rock-embedded ring, and you got a small, snowy wedding during winter break.

It was back to the books for you now, and you dreaded it. Chores seemed much better, easier. Plus doing them for your newly-wedded husband? You got giddy about that.

You quirked your brow, lifting a familiar piece of clothing from the basket.

"Hey, I thought you threw this one out," you mentioned to Aran, dangling his underwear in front of the camera.

"I did! That's, uh, probably a different one."

"Just how old are these?"

"Hey! Wait a moment! Are you folding clothes?"

You avoided the eyes on the screen. "Maybe."

"You have your paper due in a few days! I told you I was going to do it after flying back home."

"I know…"

Aran's eyes narrowed at you, a trademark expression of his. "You're procrastinating again, aren't you?" His tone implied disapproval.

"But I'm still being productive!"

"Y/n…"

"Okay, okay. I'll stop." Your foot pushed the basket away, sliding it across the floor. Maybe you could fold them after you hung up.

Aran must have read your mind. "Show me what the laundry bin looks like."

You groaned. He saw right through you. Complying, you removed the clipped webcam off the monitor and directed it at the pile of unfolded clothes.

"It better be like that when I get home."

"Alright," you said with a pout.

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Must he stop you from doing chores? They were a simple reminder you were married to him, as if the gold on your finger wasn't enough to show you.

You were his wife.

A smile snuck into your lips whenever that thought crossed your mind. The honeymoon phase was a peculiar, strange, lovely stage.

Yet it was fleeting.

*****

You groaned as you stood in the middle of the bathroom. Aran's white track pants hung off the counter, the red t-shirt he got for free from first year college laid on top, and of course his underwear, which likely went through hundreds of washes, remained on the floor.

Great.

You rubbed your temples, your headache getting worse by the minute. It was Saturday morning, and Aran, who was nowhere to be seen, had left his mess behind.

I'll clean it up later, he would tell you. You knew his mother had spoiled him, always picking up after him. You understood why he was like this, but why couldn't he just start doing it now?

"Do you have this problem?" you asked your friend through your wireless headset.

"What problem?" she asked.

"Does your husband always leave laundry around on the floor?" You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Aran never picks up after himself."

She laughed. You weren't sure if it was because you were a young, amateur wife or if she understood all too well.

Knowing her, probably a bit of both.

"Okay two things."

You listened.

"One, don't say always or never. That's lying."

"I'm not lying," you snapped back at her. You began to regret asking her.

"Are you sure he never picks it up and always leaves it on the floor?"

You left no comment.

"Exactly."

"Okay fine, but that still doesn't solve the problem. If only he just did it, it would solve everything–"

"Number two," she interrupted.

You groaned at her and she gave an amused snort in return.

"If you weren't picking up his underwear, it means he's dead."

You were aghast.

"You know I'm right."

Still aghast.

"What? No husband, no mess."

"I can't believe I asked you for advice."

"But it's true."

"Ugh," was all you could utter. She had several years more of marriage experience than you, yet you didn't want to acknowledge it.

You hung up the phone after you finished deciding today's outing with her, but you hadn't addressed the issue in front of you. Your head throbbed again.

Sighing, you picked up the underwear.

A few minutes later, the front door opened and you dipped your head into the hallway. Aran shuffled grocery bags through the door and into the kitchen. He yawned, placing the milk, eggs, and other items into the fridge.

A familiar coffee brand peeked out of a bag on the floor. Right. You didn't have your coffee yet because there wasn't any left.

You wrapped your arms around Aran and relaxed against his broad back.

"I can't put the food away like this," he said with a chuckle.

"You left your clothes in the bathroom again."

"Oh shoot!" He dropped a bag and started towards the bathroom but you tightened your grip on him.

"I put them away already," you told him. His body relaxed and he caressed your arm around his waist.

The honeymoon phase was a fleeting phase, novel tasks turned mundane, but your love for him grew deeper still.

*****

Aran was away again, this time at Tokyo in preparation for the Olympics. He eagerly called you during breaks, wishing to see his favourite person – although your hands were full as well.

"I miss you," he told you, his smile displayed on the screen.

"And I miss picking up your underwear," you told him with a smirk.

Like clockwork, he narrowed his eyes at you with a comeback. "Why don't you say you miss me like a normal person?"

"Because I'm your wife. I'm special," you told him as he rolled his eyes. "I wish I could be there though."

"You wouldn't be able to spend that much time with me anyway," he said. "Besides, one of us needs to stay home."

"I know." You smiled.

"I gotta go," he said as Atsumu yelled in the background. Aran blew a kiss at you.

You snorted. How cheesy. You returned the kiss anyway.

Hearing a mischievous squeal behind you, you told him, "I gotta go too."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

After you hung up, you turned around and sighed. A soggy wet diaper sagged on the floor and the little guy jumping in the crib giggled at you as if he did the funniest thing in the world.

You rolled your eyes and smiled before picking up the diaper.

"Alright kid. Let's put a diaper back on you and wash your sheets."

*****

I hope you liked it. This is a little different from what I usually write but I hope you still enjoyed it!

I blame Aran's current concern for giving me this idea along with the person who suggested I write Aran fluff. (As well as the seasoned wife I know who told her husband, "If I wasn't picking up your underwear, it means you're dead." lolll.)

I hope you stick around my blog to check out my other works! My current work in progress is a fake dating Suna series. I can't believe we're on chapter 10!

If anyone is interested, I have a Google form for my taglist.

[himitsu-luna]

Headcanon

࣪𑁍˖՚༹⌒ Domestic chores with Nct 127 ⌒ ༹՚˖𑁍 ࣪

ᨳ☆‧˚Taeil

Taeil always feels kinda discouraged to start doing the chores, and he drags you along on procrastinating with him

"Come here, Y/N, stay with me a little bit more! Let's cuddle five more minutes, okay?". You agree, ofc, and you stay on the bed for a little too long, talking about the zillion things you have to do, but not having the guts to leave each other's arms.

When you start cleaning the house though, he really gets into it. No dirty spots and no dusty surfaces escape his strong hands.

He plays the most random songs, from classic music to heavy EDM, and you vibe together while doing the chores, bouncing with your brooms in hands and spinning your stained cloths in the air.

In the kitchen, he always gladly cooks for you. But after a long tiring day doing domestic chores, you both agree on ordering some food, spending the night just chilling, watching a movie in the middle of which Taeil probably will fall asleep.

ᨳ☆‧˚Johnny

Johnny is the one who organizes the chores at home. He assigns what each one needs to do, and there you go, his high energy overflowing from his body, encouraging you and providing you the ignition you needed.

"I clean up here, you clean down there" - he says with a suspicious smirk. You don't know if he is making fun of you or if he is being considerate.

He needs his coffee pauses, and he makes you take a break too. You talk about the most random daily things, which always leads to precious bonding moments, the kitchen getting filled with laidback laughs.

Then you continue your activities, in your own pace, jamming to some soft background music.

Johnny likes to offer you rewards. "If we finish this today, I'll buy us some nice ice cream, and then I'll take you to the movies. Deal?"

ᨳ☆‧˚Taeyong

Taeyong has the most endearing way of convincing you that it's time to do some domestic chores. "Y/N, come hereeee! It's time for a couple activity!! I even got us matching rubber gloves, look!"

He doesn't let you do heavy tough stuff though. But when you see him struggling by himself and run to help him, he gives you the most precious smile, full of admiration and gratitude. A cute "Thank yoou!" (yes, in his cute english <3) leaves his mouth.

But there's one thing about doing chores with him that is a bit trick: he loves to rearrange the furniture and decoration. It's always extra tiring, but you have to give him the credit for your house being so cool and stylish.

Taking care of your pets is something that consumes a lot of time, but Taeyong does everything with happiness and sparkly eyes.

He makes sure you have some breaks, to keep hydrated and to eat something. He will prepare you some sandwiches, while you start to plan a little trip to the grocery shop.

ᨳ☆‧˚Yuta

Yuta and you have this synchronicity and telepathy. You think "I guess it's time to sweep the front yard". You get your broom and everything, and when you step out the house, Yuta is already there, cleaning everything.

"Oh, you had the same idea! Well, you can...", he says. "Oh, I guess I will...", you start. "....do the laundry.", you two say at the same time, smiling at each other.

He tries to do things in "Marie Kondo style". He takes a long time folding your clothes, but it's worth the effort. Your wardrobe is a beautiful piece of art.

If he thinks something is dangerous for you, he definetely won't let you do it. Changing the lamp? No no no! It's not that he thinks you're not capable of doing things, he knows you can do anything. He just can't live with the possibility of you getting hurt.

After a day of hard work, you take a warm bath together, and stay in bed for the rest of the night.

ᨳ☆‧˚Doyoung

Like Johnny, Doyoung assigns the chores. He knows the things each one of you is good at.

But he is the type of person that sees you doing something, and automatically says "Wait baby, let me do it for you", or starts helping you, out of habit.

For example: you're doing the dishes, you wash part of the things in the sink, and then you start to rinse them. Doyoung takes the opportunity to sneakily snatch the dish sponge and, it's too late, he won't give it back to you. "Don't get used to it though", he says with a little grin. You grin back, because you lost count of how many times you've heard this same sentence.

You have a lot of plants at home, and Doyoung treats them like real babies. He even bought one for you, a baby tree of your favorite fruit.

Cooking is his thing, so he makes sure you have a nice, delicious and nutricious meal everyday.

ᨳ☆‧˚Jaehyun

Jaehyun will gladly do anything you ask him to do with the best of intentions, and he does his best to help.

He looks at the weather forecast to see when it's a good day to do the laundry, he sorts the garbage for recycling, he researches the supermarkets with the best prices, and does other little things that seem unimportant, but that are truly essential.

He likes vaccuing very dirty places. The satisfaction he gets from seeing the clean path that the vaccum leaves among the dirty is priceless.

But he is clumsy, so you know you can't let him get near the fragile stuff. So the kitchen is a little bit dangerous for him

If he can't help you with something, he makes sure to support you, like a real cheerleader. "Oh yessss honey! You're doing great, wow!That's my baby!!", he says, already massaging your shoulders.

ᨳ☆‧˚Winwin

Winwin sees you getting ready to start cleaning, and he asks you what he can do to help, while wearing your spare cute apron, which makes you smile like a fool.

He follows you and do what you do, ocasionally asking you if the things he is doing are good enough.

He is extra careful when hanging the clothes out on the clothesline, making sure to spread them well to avoid any wrinkles. He knows none of you like ironing, and also you burned yourself once, and he doesn't want this to happen ever again.

He spends a considerable amount of time making your bed, changing the bed linen, tyding up the sheets and smoothing the pillows, so you can feel good in a clean space and relax with him after working hard all day long.

ᨳ☆‧˚Jungwoo

Jungwoo is very good at domestic chores. He is a tidy and organized person, so things go smoothly in your house

He has the ability of turning every boring task into a pleasant and funny experience. Out of sudden you're having a broomstick battle. Out of sudden you're blowing soap bubbles. Out of sudden you're with white flour blots all over your face, after a spontaneous flour smudge battle.

For your surprise, he is excelent on fixing things. His creativity helps him a lot, along with a couple of YouTube videos and a degree on engineering.

Times just flies by his side, and you get surprised when you see the sun going down by your window, as he streches his back and says "we're finally done!", pulling you for a little celebration dance.

Jungwoo doesn't want to cook after doing domestic chores all day long. He orders an amount of food that could feed well ten people, and you eat a lot while watching some nice series.

ᨳ☆‧˚Mark

Mark always tries his best at everything. He knows he is a little bit clumsy, so he does things carefully. Thank God he has spider senses.

A chore that is supposed to be finished in ten minutes takes thirty to be completed, but it's completely fine, because you know it will be perfectly done.

He used to get confused with all the types of cleaning products, but he eventually learned about them all and now he knows anything's purpose just by smeling it. "Mmmm very soft floral smell, must be clothes soap/ Very strong and citric, I guess this is disinfectant" (pls people, don't be like this, it's dangerous for everyone!!!)

At the end of the day, he is so satisfied looking at your team work. You can see it on his little proud smile, while he runs an arm over your shoulders and distractedly kisses your cheek.

ᨳ☆‧˚Haechan

Haechan whines for two minutes before starting doing chores, but he is a man of action after all. "The sooner we start it, the sooner we'll finish it", he says to himself.

You play rock paper scissors to decide who will be the one that will do the unpleasant chores, like cleaning the bathroom and taking the garbage out.

But hearing your heavy sigh after losing for him makes him go "ahh ok, I'll do it, don't worry, but it will cost you twenty kisses!"

He doesn't stop singing while doing the chores. He is like a walking karaoke machine,he knows every song you ask him to sing.

When he cooks for you, you often catch him talking to his mom on the phone, asking her about that dish you liked so much the last time you visited her.

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

•° Thanks anon, for the request!! I hope you like it!

•° taglist - @soleilsuhh @black-swvn @cupidluvstarrz @kpopsnowball @kaepopsicle @purplepsycho03 @najatheangel @dundun-baby @haifengg @intokook @emuava @reallylikethevibeshere @cafemochi

* If you want to be added to or removed from the taglist, just send me an ask or a message (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

•° Masterlist

...

[limenysnocket]

Expensive Thrifting

Taika Waititi x Reader

Summary: Like a lot of girlfriends, you steal your boyfriend's clothes. But, what happens when roles switch, and your boyfriend steals your clothes?

Request: @honorarytenenbaum (FROM A LONG TIME AGO I'M SORRY)

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 1.7k another shorty for you

A/N: Okay. So. To get back into the spunk of things, I've decided to challenge myself to write a fluffy fic this time. I didn’t edit it much, so be prepared for mistakes.

@honorarytenenbaum @olyvoyl

•○●•○●•○●•

"Hey Taik," your voice echoed through the large house, from your room, down the stairs and into the living room. "Have you seen my DBZ hoodie anywhere?"

You don't receive an immediate answer, so you go to look for yourself. After a quiet walk down the stairs, peering around every corner for him, you find him sitting in the living room, sitting on the couch, in a very... awkward position.

"Are you okay?" you were concerned. You've never seen his leg bend like that before.

Taika's head snaps right to you, and he looks speechless. He's trying to come up with something. "I'm great. Just chilling. Watching..." he looks to the television screen. The television wasn't even turned on.

"Go on," you encourage, now leaning on the guardrail to the steps and tilting your head. He's still quiet.

After another long, insane moment of hesitation, he finally picks up a bowl from the ground. "Grapes?" He offered them out to you, and all you did was just stare at them.

"No, I'm good," you hummed, eyebrows furrowed while Taika still tried hard to play it cool. "While you were having a stroke, I'm assuming, I think I lost my Dragon Ball Z hoodie. Have you seen it at all, or did it get mixed in with your laundry?"

"Uh, no. Nope. I don't even like that show. Sorry," he looked away and up at the ceiling like a purposely oblivious little boy. You were starting to catch on. Suspicious, but you didn't have enough evidence.

"It's hard to miss, Taika. You seriously didn't notice it going into the wash with your clothes? At all?" you held your hands up, and he began to twiddle with his thumbs.

"Nuh-uh," his answer was stout. He was still avoiding eye contact with you. You gave up.

"Fine," you huff, then drop down from the final step. "I'm just gonna go have a look for myself. You know, just in case." You walked right by him. His position didn't waver, except for his eyes that were bouncing all over the place in order to still avoid you.

Instead of actually digging through laundry, you hid behind a corner, and lurked there to casually stalk your boyfriend. He was still acting weird when you left. He would check over his shoulder from time to time, and after a minute or so, you finally saw him get up and start digging through the couch cushions. He didn't make much of a sound, but he certainly found something that he liked, because he picked something up, and he had the biggest smile you had ever seen on his face.

All it took was a little glimpse of red-orange fabric and you knew. He had your hoodie.

You burst from your hiding place instantly. "Taika David Cohen, I know what you're hiding!" You shout at him and instantly he's a deer in headlights, but not for long. His eyes never moved from yours and there was a brief moment of silence. He juked the couch corner once, at first thinking he should run to the kitchen, but ultimately made a break for the stairs, hoping to make it to the bedroom with the only lock. You, like a dope, ran right after him.

His long legs helped carry him, but you had unwithering speed and determination. At the end, he almost had you. His hand was on the doorknob and he was just about to slam the door shut to lock, but you pushed through like a tank and plowed into him. The force you had knocked him back onto the bed, but the hoodie was still in his hands. You reached for it, but he scrambled to the other side of it. He didn't notice where the bed ended, and fell to the ground as a result. He picked himself up, thankfully unhurt and unphased by the whole chase, and the thing you wanted was still in his grasp.

"Taika," you were panting on the other side of the bed, and you outstretched a frustrated hand. "Give me the hoodie."

"Absolutely not," he wasn't breathing as hard, and he hugged the hoodie close to his chest.

"This is the third time this week! Give me the damn hoodie! I just washed it!" You shake your hand to add emphasis, but all he does is just look at it with a disgruntled attitude.

"It's your fault for being gullible and not watching your things better," he stuck his tongue out at you, childishly. The longer this went on, the more huffy you became. All you wanted to do was relax in your favorite hoodie and maybe cuddle a little bit! That's all!

"Okay, that was a low blow from the biggest procrastinator on earth. And, like you said, you don't even like Dragon Ball! Why the fuck do you want it so bad!?" It was a petty argument, sure, but you were a bit hardheaded, so why not drag this out a little longer?

"I could like it!" He shouted and spluttered, trying to come up with excuses. "And it's comfortable. It's a massive size!" He held it out in his hands, just looking at it, and his eyes lit up. "We could share!"

"No."

His idea was stomped out quickly, and he went back to pouting. He wouldn't give it up yet.

You sighed, getting tired of trying to find a solution. Your eyes started to trail, looking for something, anything, to call it even. Just to your luck, you landed on the closet.

"Give me your One Piece sweater," you said, and folded your arms.

Taika, still admiring the piece of clothing in his arms, became suddenly baffled and looked right at you. The look he gave you said it all. "No!" That word was popular with him today.

"Why not?" You said, eyes lingering over to the closet again. "What's stopping me?"

His whole body tensed and his jaw shifted. It was a sudden standoff, just waiting for the other to make a move. At first, he tried to make up more excuses, but you taunted him like Chris Tucker in Rush Hour. With every stumble and fumble he made with his words, you played the shadow game with him.

When he was at his lowest, you bolted to the closet. He dropped your hoodie and ran right after you, just as the closet door swung open. Your hand was centimeters away from the hanger you needed, but Taika came crashing right into first, bumping you right out of the way with his hip. With plan b failed, you ran right to where he dropped your hoodie and managed to snag it in seconds just by the sleeve.

In your moment of glory, you were cocky enough to try and run out the door. Taika had been anticipating that move, ever since he got his One Piece sweater and saw you dive for your hoodie, he was waiting in front of the door. So, when you turned on your heel and made a mad dash, you ran right into Taika and his hand had grabbed onto the collar of the shirt.

Taika tried to yank it from your hands, and you gasped, holding on tight. He tried again and again and again, but you kept holding. Neither of you were noticed that the fabric was slowly starting to rip.

"Taika! It's not yours!" you yell, pulling back.

"I know, but I like it! It fits me!" he yelled back, and yanked it.

Childish taunts went back and forth, and both of you were both talking at the same time for a point in time. The room started to swirl, and eventually the strings keeping the hoodie together grew tired of the fabric and it just...

Snapped.

There was a piercing rip, and both you and Taika stumbled back. He left with the entire collar in his hands, soft string still dwindling from it and hanging from under his nails. You broke away with the rest of the hoodie. Once you realized what happened, it fell from your hands. You kind of just... looked at it. Your hand came up to cup over your mouth and your other arm cradled just beneath your chest.

Taika was talking to you, but you just tuned it out. When you finally looked back up at Taika, you had a look on your face that he only saw during actual, serious fights. He had royally pissed you off this time.

At least he had enough sense to move out of the way when you walked out of the room. He still had the collar in his hands, and he watched you go downstairs.

You needed to cool off for a little bit. You went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water and sat down on the couch. You curled your legs up to your knees and turned the television on. You weren't really in the mood to watch anything, so you endlessly flipped through the stations, reading the descriptions and quietly wondering how some of these shows even made it at all.

You hadn't noticed it, but Taika had summoned up enough courage to come downstairs. He brought a peace offering with him. He slowly crept to the living room, staying out of your peripheral vision for the time being until he was behind you and the couch. He cautiously came to wrap his arms around you, making you pause from your channel flipping and he buried his nose into the crook of your neck. He let the thing he brought slide onto your knees. It was his One Piece sweater.

He murmured a soft, "I'm sorry," into your tender skin and kissed at it.

You couldn't stay mad at him, no matter how hard you tried. Your hand went up into his hair and you massaged his scalp the best you could with one hand. "It's fine... but there's one thing you can do to make it up to me." You pulled away from him and folded your arms. He sighed, giving you a soft frown, but he only knew it was right.

"I'll buy you a new one..."

[thevirgodoll]

hi! i was wondering if you have any tips to stay organized and stay on task? i’ve been doing a short online course this year and have really struggled to ACTUALLY bring myself to do the work, as assignments and lessons are not under any time constraints i just don’t do it. i also have adhd so get bored or distracted easily. do you have any tips for me?

This is really close to me because I also have ADHD. I have both inattentive and hyperactive type. *As a result, this academic tip guide will be a guide for people with ADHD and not neurotypical people, without disability. There is a difference.*

I am doing online as well this semester.

1. I create a schedule. If I do not create a schedule, I will be unproductive the entire day. So, what will help you is to do things in orderly fashion.

For example, at 12p - I will do this assignment/watch this lecture. You have to dictate what time you’re doing everything. Then, you also have to block out technology distractions while you are working. 

-> Even if you’ve gotten halfway through the day with no schedule, write down or block off times on your digital calendar for what you are going to do at each time. ADHD is easier to tackle if you break things down into smaller tasks.

*Pro tip that I almost forgot: before you do anything, wear your day clothes. Don’t wear pajamas. Actually getting dressed or even doing hair/makeup changes things.

2. Download the Forest app after you have created your schedule. I consistently recommend this because it works in increasing productivity. It allows you to set it for however long you’re doing this task, say 30 minutes.

-> Why?: It will block all apps on your phone for (insert time here) to plant a tree, and if you leave the app your “tree” will die. Eventually, the more sessions you do, the more points you will gain to plant different plants, and eventually plant real trees around the world.

3. Have a list (& a planner) as well. Not only is the schedule creating structure, but the list creates even more structure so you know what you need to get done for the day. It also helps you not fall victim to the classic symptom of forgetting. Each day, you should write down what you WANT to get done and create your own times to look at lecture and assignments. Have goals for the day.

For example: complete assignment 2.

If you do not have expectations with yourself before the day begins, your ADHD will kind of take over and do something else. I have structure to my day. I set a timer to wake up at the same time. I take my ADHD medicine 90 minutes before my final wake up time, and I do my morning routine once it kicks in. Having the same routine helps.

-> Focus on your goals. Don’t be super harsh about the times.

-> Don’t overwhelm with how many things on to do list. Again, break it up into small tasks. For example, one part being: Wash dishes or fold laundry. It makes it less overwhelming to your brain and gives you a choice of which task. Typical non ADHD people just tell you to prioritize tasks but that doesn’t work for us. Do it in a random order and it gets the job done.

4. TAKE BREAKS! The other side to this is making sure that you give yourself adequate breaks.

*For hyperfocus, wait til your hyperfocus has started to wear off. Use it to your advantage for peak productivity. It is no joke.*

-> The misconception is that some people with ADHD are lazy and as a result, some ADHDers won’t take breaks. You can take a break. Healthy, long breaks do more for you long term.

-> Have a timer set. For example, after a 45 minute session or an hour session, I will take a break to do another task that has nothing to do with studying, like laundry, eating a snack, or stretching. Then after that task is done, I will go back to studying.

5. Have a workspace. Only do work at this space. I do schoolwork at my living room table and it is perfect. I do not study in my room because that is my sanctuary for relaxation and rest, not productivity. Make an effort to make the workspace clean, with your supplies - laptop, notebooks, pens, etc - readily available.

-> Once I get to my workspace, everything for the morning is already done. I’ve done my morning routine, so all there is left to do is hydrate while I study.

6. Recognize if you have adequate energy to do the task. Sometimes, with ADHD you may neglect your needs. If you are not getting enough rest, here are some tips:

•Bed should be for rest only.

•Blackout curtains

•Lavender essential oil, I have a diffuser but you can also put it on your pillow

•Background noise: pick what you want, lo fi music, rain sounds, binaural beats, singing bowls

•If all else fails, ADHD is often comorbid with other illnesses, meaning you could have a form of depression causing insomnia for example. This should be considered if you are having long term issues and symptoms.

7. Don’t overdo it. We are not neurotypical. Executive dysfunction is real - meaning our brains actually shut down when it perceives a task to be mundane.

-> You do not have to fit everything into one schedule for the sake of being “productive”. Each day should be what you know you can do, and there are different days to tackle different goals.

-> When you feel like you cannot continue, which is literally a symptom of ADHD, sit still for a few minutes.

8. Have a “What I Did Today” List. Because of how ADHD actually makes us feel, we don’t realize how much work we have put in. ADHD actually can be explained easily, we have about 2 dopamine workers showing up to work while most people are at maximum capacity. We are working overtime to do our best, even on medicine. So, acknowledging what we did today is good and encouraging, or at least reflecting in a journal.

9. Play music. It’s recommended to play study music without words because with ADHD we will submerge ourselves into the playlist of nostalgic 90s R&B. I recommend lo fi hip hop on YouTube, video game instrumentals, classical music, or jazz instrumentals. Whatever gets you going just do it!

General ADHD tips:

•Rewrite lecture notes and type the lecture notes.

•Color code with bright colors and pretty drawings or calligraphy

•Instead of telling yourself “I need to take notes” which usually leads to procrastination say “Rewrite lecture notes and emphasize main points” ... this is useful in your to do list but in everyday goals

•Generally try to get your assignments done ahead of time if there is structure to certain courses, if not, again, stick to the schedule. If you slip one day off your schedule then don’t beat yourself up. Breathe!!!

•Side effect of most ADHD meds is that you’re not hungry so buy easy things to eat like muscle milk or yogurt and granola or smoothies so you can sustain yourself

•Get a dry erase board to show what you need to do for the day and put it on the fridge with command strips

•To avoid forgetting things, put them at a table near the door where you leave your apartment/dorm/house.

•Don’t overthink the time it takes to get ready, often that’s why ADHDers are late. Better to be super early than late though - have a routine set so you know how long each task takes - for example “I know a shower takes me 15 mins, washing my face takes 60 seconds and a few more including sunscreen/moisturizer, etc...”

•In that same grain, set timers for going to the bathroom, showering, etc just in case you one day hyperfocus and push yourself too far

•Open the blinds!!!!

•Clean your room and tidy up your space. A cluttered space impacts your mental health in a really negative way. Your space reflects your mental state at times as well, so check in with yourself. Have a specific day where you know you’re going to clean, but ADHD sometimes gives us bursts of cleaning so take advantage of that as well.

•Anytime your water bottle empties refill it. Have your water bottle or mason jar next to your workspace, and drink 5-10 gulps. Seriously. ADHD depends a lot on hydration, especially if you are on medicine which naturally dehydrates you. If you do not stay hydrated, you’ll get that massive headache mid day and crash sooner. A lot of times, lack of productivity can be due to not drinking enough water.

•If you don’t take medication, then sometimes you may notice you love coffee, and that’s because it’s a stimulant. Too much of anything is not good, but balance it with water. If you’re going to use coffee to kinda “medicate” then do it close to when you’re going to be productive.

•Setting yourself up to do a task rather than envisioning the overwhelming act of doing the entire action. “Okay, lets just get up and get the first step down, such as opening the laptop or wetting the toothbrush.” Baby steps.

•Take advantage of accommodations! Your college more than likely has an Office of Disability Services. Also, email your professors...they’re actually just as stressed as you about classes being online.

•Remember that you’re already trying as hard as you can, so don’t listen to the narrative of “try harder”, “you’re *r word*”, “you’re cheating by using medication”, “just do it,” “it’s easy,” “what’s so hard about it?” or “you’re lazy”. Anyone telling you that, even yourself, is wrong. And DO NOT allow anyone to be ableist, even yourself.

•Validate yourself. Don’t let anyone to do the “I experience that too”/“I know what you mean”/“we ALL have trouble with this!” and they don’t have ADHD. No. It’s our experience, it’s valid, and unlike anything on the planet. If you’re reading this and you don’t have ADHD - no, you do not experience any of the things in my next bullet point.

•Don’t be hard on yourself if you stumble along the way getting this right. ADHD completely changes your executive functioning.

We see the task, but our brain blocks it.

We have something marked down as “important” but our brain tosses it out in the “trash”.

We watch an entire episode of a show, but our brain ignored the entire thing. Our brain picks and chooses what is stimulating, our brain changes our interests.

We have sensory overload, we have no dopamine, we have bursts of curiosity that cannot be contained (often inconvenient) and if interrupted, our brains cannot take it.

People often discount how many things ADHD actually changes because it’s widely misunderstood. I want to take the time to acknowledge that ADHD, formerly known as simply ADD, has different types: primarily inattentive, primarily hyperactive-impulsive, or combined which is what I have. So it’s not “hyper” and “relatable”. It is also not a buzzword to use to describe things. I must put stereotypes and misrepresentations of ADHD to rest.

It impacts us emotionally as well, which most people don’t know... such as rejection dysphoria — extreme sensitivity to being criticized to where our brains self destruct. Our brains don’t regulate emotions well.

ADHDers - do not fall victim to how everyone else operates and call yourself a failure. We have to work twice as hard and the results actually come out brilliant especially with our determination and imaginative ideas that are also seen in autistic individuals, honorable mention!

There’s good days and bad days. There’s literal changes in thinking that other people do not experience. We all collectively know wouldn’t be who we are without ADHD, but we all recognize the challenges. However, it makes me happy to see messages like this so that I can make a difference and hopefully help one person with ADHD, especially of color, at a time stop being so hard on themselves. 💗

[mimzy-writing-online]

How To Clean Your Room When You Have ADHD

A huge problem for people with ADHD (or any neuro-divergent condition or physical disability really) is not knowing where to start. You have this big project in front of you and you have no idea what to do first.

This is a guide based on the years of practice I’ve had learning to clean my room even when my mental illness and chronic fatigue is trying to ruin my life (and failing.) These are the steps I take, what helps me best.

This guide is designed to give you a chance to make a large, effective change in your room that positively helps your mental health. You are not expected to be perfect, you are not expected to do everything if it’s outside of your limitations, just do your best (and don’t push yourself too much... but I never listen to that self-advice, oops.)

Most important step: eat breakfast and take your meds. Trust me when I say this will keep you going, both in the energy and focus departments.

Next, try to recruit a friend or family member to help. By help I mean asking them to keep you company and keep you on track. Talking them will help keep you going, and give you someone who can offer an idea or suggestion if your ADHD gets you stuck.

Calling a friend over the phone is a good substitute if you don’t have someone to be in the room with you today.

Music is a good alternative to keep you moving if that’s all that’s available but trust me when I say having another friend with you helps a lot.

Supplies:

Trash bags

Empty hampers

Ideally access to a nearby washing machine and dryer

Micro-fiber clothes

Long duster

Prep:

Open your curtains (ideally) for the vitamin D and focus. Or turn on a lamp with a light quality/intensity you find comfortable.

Strip your bed. Take pillows, blankets, sheets, and pillow cases off. 

Washing sheets and pillow cases is mandatory because 1) it’s sooo so nice to go to bed at the end of the day and smell clean sheets, and 2) clean sheets are good for your skin, especially clean pillowcases if you have problems with acne.

Washing blankets, comforters, and duvet covers are optional. You should do it from time to time, but it’s not a priority like sheets and pillow cases. Some comforters and blankets can only be washed under specific conditions, or possibly only when absolutely necessary (because like, you stilled coffee or soda on it or your pet did something rude on your blankets.) Check wash requirements on the tags.

You can still probably ignore it unless you really want to. Again, this is about making a sizable change that positively affects you, not being perfect.

Put your sheets in the washing machine and put the rest of your bedding back on your bed and leave it there until you’re ready to put the sheet back on.

Next is laundry. Pick up every item of clothing off the floor or on nearby furniture. Every item. Even if you think, “I only wore this for a few hours the other day and there are no stains.” Wash them. 1) they smell like your floor, and that’s not a nice smell, and 2) trying to separate cleanish from definitely dirty is pretty demanding on mental focus spoons.

Just shove all those clothes in a hamper. It’s quicker that way. You’re going to wash them after your sheets.

Next clean up all the trash on your floor. Take a trash bag but don’t put in a trash can. You’re going to be dragging it with you while you work from section to section.

Food trash must go. 

Packaging and plastic wrap must go. 

Old school work can stay if you’re still taking the class or especially proud of that project, but otherwise just toss it. Find a folder or drawer for what’s left and store it away for now.

Start throwing trash on surfaces like desks, nightstands, dressers, and bookcases away.

Do not try to organize the inside of your drawers unless you’re planning to get really thorough. But that’s not today. Today you’re getting the basics done as efficiently as possible so you can feel better in your environment.

Take glasses, plates, mugs, and silverware into the kitchen.

Start working on cleaning up clutter on your desk and nightstand first. Next is dresser and bookcases. 

Use the micro-fiber clothes to pick up dust as you go. It keeps it from piling up, does not brush dust into the air, and goes quick this way. Dust tv and/or computer screens.

Pick non trash or clothing items off the floor. Try to find a permanent spot to either store or display it. If you can’t, maybe find a box to put those items in and revisit this problem later.

By now your sheets should be washed. Throw them in the dryer and wash your blankets if you’re ambitious. If not, wash your clothes next.

Take a break and have a snack, drink some water, maybe have a caffeinated drink.

Look at your room and feel proud, but also a little overwhelmed because it’s not done yet, but it’s getting there. Don’t worry. You can do it, I believe in you.

Procrastinate getting back to work. That’s okay. You have an hour before your sheets are clean, now is a good break time. Set an alarm for when your sheets should be dried and do whatever you want.

Alarm goes off, break over.

Dust the corners and tops of your walls to get rid of cobwebs. Having a taller or sighted person if this task is out of your ability (like it is for me on the eyesight front).

One last check for any dust around your bed. Move drinks away from your bed, nightstand and nearby surfaces.

Sigh, feel tired, and go grab your clean, warm sheets. Move your clothes or blankets from the washer to the dryer.

Come back, push all the blankets onto your (mostly?) cleaned up floor. Put the flat sheet on.

Feel tired and collapse on the covered mattress for a moment. You’re doing so good, and you’re almost there.

Make the rest of your bed.

Be very proud of yourself because you got a fucking lot done and I am sooo so fucking proud of you dude.

Optional things you can after this step:

Fold and put away laundry. This is a little concentration heavy. Make sure your friend/family member is nearby to help you stay on task. 

I highly recommend Marie Kondo’s folding method personally, saved me a lot of space in my dresser. Developing a set method for folding clothing makes it a lot easier to fold and put away in the future because your subconscious brain learns the motions and can practice them without you having to think too closely on it.

(She has several videos on YouTube, shorter than five minutes mostly, very visual with clear instructions, so it’s ADHD friendly, though not super blind friendly)

Now that your room looks a lot better, try putting those items that didn’t have a set place before. Your brain is probably seeing it like a whole new room and feeling refreshed.

That’s it, you’re definitely done now. Rest and relax. 

Turn on your favorite music, start doing your favorite task if you have the spoons, take a nap if you don’t have the spoons. Feel proud of yourself because you did a good fucking job.

It’s like... midnight now, and I’ve been up for two days, (because my ADHD brain was too loud last night to let me sleep. Mood? Mood.) I’m maybe a little too tired to edit this coherently, but you know writing these guides and posting them with minimal editing is so very on brand for my original posts.

Goodnight guys, I am off to bed!

I hope this helps <3 please leave me a comment in the replies or tags because I love going back to see what you guys left on my posts (believe that that I absolutely do this to my How to Write a Blind/Visually Impaired Character guide any time it gets fresh activity.)

Good luck, take care, and goodnight <3

[onebatch2batch]

kastle + "“Is that.. my shirt?” please and thank you❤️❤️

HI, I KNOW YOU SENT THIS A MILLION YEARS AGO BUT I JUST FINISHED IT SO HOPEFULLY YOU LIKE IT <3

--

If there’s one thing Karen hates most in the world, it’s laundry. Which isn’t entirely warranted, because a majority of her things are dry clean only, and she usually only has to do a load or two herself every other week—but still. She hates that it feels like an all day affair, she hates folding everything, she hates the feel of the lint of her fingers when she removes it from the filter. So when a warm Saturday in June arrives and she’s low on clothes, like really low on clothes, Karen realizes she should start a load. 

Unfortunately, her body is not on board with the idea. She wakes up slow, eats some late breakfast, and lethargically gathers the clothes strewn about her apartment. It’s a Saturday, so she has nothing to do but procrastinate. Procrastination forces her into the shower, and procrastination has her drinking coffee in a towel at the edge of her bed as she realizes that she has nothing to put on. It’s either she wears a skirt and blouse around the apartment or a towel until the first load is done. 

Or, her brain supplies helpfully, there’s Frank’s drawer. 

Karen’s eyes slide unwittingly towards her dresser, where the bottom drawer remains firmly closed. He’s been out of town for the last week or so with Curtis, up in the mountains with absolutely no reception. She knows it’s good for him to get away every once in a while, especially with his friends, but part of her—the smallest part, the only part not thinly veiled in denial—wishes he would have asked her along. It’s a thought she’s had a lot in the last couple days, accompanied by the hollow ache left by his absence. 

God, she misses him. 

She misses his surprise visits that turn into too much wine and inevitably leading to his crashing on the couch. She misses waking in the morning to freshly brewed coffee and he at the kitchen counter, head bowed over a book. She misses walking into the bathroom and inhaling Frank’s steamy post-shower smell: cedarwood, something earthy, something subtly metallic. It’s both a blessing and a curse to have him stay the night at her place; she only wishes it was in her bed, not on the couch. 

Karen sighs. Goosebumps are starting to pebble on her skin from the AC, and so she steels her resolve and kneels before Frank’s drawer. She’d casually offered it to him months ago over breakfast. You spend the night enough, she tells him while staring resolutely into her mug. Might as well have a change of clothes here just in case you need them. 

She had felt his eyes on her, all intense heat and wariness, long enough for her to fidget. And then finally he’d said: Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Karen. 

The drawer is filled with a myriad of things, and not just clothes. On the top of the pile there’s a paperback by Jack Kerouac, a box of ammo, and a pair of spare keys she suspects is to that intimidating black van he drives. Underneath is a pair of socks, boxers (that she hurriedly paws past), some grey sweatpants (that look absolutely sinful on him, she recalls), and a pair of dark jeans. At the very bottom is a long sleeved henley and a plain black t shirt—Karen pulls out the t shirt and slips it over her head before she can talk herself out of it.

It’s comfortable, if a little too big. The hem hangs just past her hips when she stands, so Karen slips on a pair of underwear and leaves it at that. The rest of the afternoon she spends doing laundry and pretending as if she can’t smell him on her with every inhale. And when the guilt starts to eat at her, she tells herself that the shirt will be cleaned and replaced before Frank even knows it’s missing. 

—

Except it isn’t, because of course it isn’t. 

Hour three of dragging herself through the slowest washing machine cycle in the world (she’d splurged a little on an apartment with a hook up, too unwilling to deal with the laundromat down the block) and the worst dryer to accompany it (she hadn’t so much splurged on the actual machines)—finds Karen on the couch, flipping through the television channels. It’s nearly four o’clock and the temperature outside has finally broken, so the air is off and the windows are open. A soft breeze occasionally brushes over the exposed skin of her legs. And there’s absolutely nothing on the television. 

So she does what any sane person would do, and returns to Frank’s drawer for the book. Not that she doesn’t have plenty of her own reading material, but she’s never read Kerouac and she’s a little curious what Frank sees in him. It’s halfway through the first chapter that she realizes there’s a key turning in the lock, and that Frank’s back. 

Because of course he would walk in to this: her, clothed in underwear and his t shirt and no bra; sitting with her legs stretched across the couch cushions, back against the arm; his book in her hands as she struggles to parse the casual run-ons of Kerouac; a basket of half folded laundry on the floor. And he does—his face appears at the end of the hall leading to her front door and he pauses, bag slung over his shoulders and eyebrows raised to his hair. 

“Hi, Frank,” Karen greets, carefully closing the book. “How was your trip?”

His eyes glance quickly at her exposed legs, and then up to his t shirt, back down to her legs, and then up to her face. Karen relishes in the warm flush that spreads across his cheeks, even if it is partially covered by his beard. “It was, uh, it was good,” he tells her roughly, unmoving. His eyes stray back to her lower half. “Is that...my shirt?”

Karen realizes that she should be embarrassed by her lack of clothes or admonished for going through his things without asking. But the only thing she really can feel is frustrated as a thought strikes her. That day in the hospital when she and Frank were alone--before Amy had interrupted--after Karen had all but blurted her feelings into the stale, tension-heavy room. His entire body had been covered in lacerations and zig zagged with stitches; his face was bruised and battered. He’d been so evasive with her, gaze hardly connecting with her own before darting away again. She’d been so afraid for him. Hopeless. And frustrated. 

“You could love someone else instead of another war.”

“I don’t want to.”

At the time he’d been so determined, so set in his jaw as the hoarse declaration hung in the air. She wonders if that’s changed now, months of spending the night and phone calls and take out dinners later. If she were to ask the same question now—what he would say? 

“It is,” she tells him evenly.

Frank’s hand tightens on the strap of his bag, a nervous gesture. “Why?” he finally asks.

“I haven’t been pining after you, if that's what you mean. I was out of clothes.” Karen offers him a small smile, trying to quell the bout of butterflies that erupt in her stomach at the rough edge to his voice. 

To her relief he smiles. The tension eases from his shoulders. “You don’t seem like the pinin’ type.”

“I’m not.” Liar, liar, no pants on fire. “You just got back?” 

He nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Was thinking about gettin’ dinner.” 

“You find the take out menu, I’ll put pants on,” she wages.

Frank’s blush rises. He coughs and then turns, walking into the kitchen at a pace quicker than usual. Karen fidgets with the hem of the shirt, waiting until she can hear the telling sound of the coffee machine being manhandled. She grapples for a pair of leggings in the basket beside her and hurriedly puts them on. 

“Sorry about the shirt,” she says loudly. “I was completely out of laundry and I figured you wouldn’t be back for a while. I’ll wash it for you.” 

Frank reappears in the doorway, eyes on the floor until he’s sure she’s fully clothed. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles. “It’s nothin’.”

“I went into your things, Frank, I hardly think that’s nothing.” 

At that, he meets her gaze. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he counters, shooting her a grin. 

Karen huffs out a laugh. “Whatever. Hang on, I’m going to change out of this and then I'll order the food.” 

“No.” 

Karen swivels her head to give Frank a surprised look. The intensity of his no is startling but he seems as shocked as she is. There’s a beat of silence, and then he clears his throat and looks away as his finger starts that familiar rhythm against his leg. “I mean. You don’t have to. If you’re comfortable.” 

She considers pushing it. She doesn’t. Not yet. 

“I am. Thanks.” 

—

Several hours later, Karen realizes their bottle of wine is empty. She’s sitting against one arm of the couch with Frank against the other. Her legs bridge the gap between them, and if she were to point her toes she could touch the strong muscle of his thigh. Their take out boxes sit empty on the coffee table, and Frank has his head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling. The apartment is quiet.

“So what did you and Curtis do in the mountains?” Karen asks into the silence, hesitant to break it but curiosity finally getting the better of her. 

Frank sips his wine, and then turns his head to look at her. Karen is struck by how handsome he looks, the setting sun’s orange rays highlighting the curve of his nose and the warmth of his eyes. “Stupid shit,” he tells her with a chuckle. “We chopped up some trees, went hikin’--that asshole’s still faster’n me even with that leg--I read a lot. Talked. Drank some.”

Karen waggles her eyebrows. “Does that mean you guys got hammered in a cabin?”

His mouth curves into an amused smile. “Takes a lot to get me hammered, Karen.”

“When’s the last time you were?”

Karen is always careful about asking questions regarding his past. She knows it’s dangerous territory--one small slip could turn their conversation from lighthearted banter to emotional warfare. That’s the last thing she wants for him, for them. 

Thankfully, Frank has a quick answer. “Can’t remember. Years.”

She hums, curiosity piqued. She wonders what an overabundance of alcohol does to someone like Frank Castle--someone who is already so intense, so physical. Someone who already isn’t afraid to cry in front of her, who isn’t afraid to show emotion--would he close himself off, shut down? Would he laugh more? Would he touch her more than the casual touches she already receives? Would he kiss her? A thrill runs through her at the thought. She stays firmly planted on the couch, fighting the urge to grab the whiskey in her cupboard and put her theory to the test. 

“What about you?”

“What?”

Frank fixes her with an amused look. “The last time you were sideways.”

“Oh. A couple weekends ago, Foggy came over.” She smiles, remembering. “Marcie was out of town so he brought over the wine and we did--well, this. Take out and wine. A lot of wine.”

There’s an expression on his face she can’t figure out. A mixture of forced casualness, of caution, of amusement. “So this is--...” He pauses, takes a drink of his wine, starts again. “This is what you do with your other friends?”

Two thoughts settle into the sudden ache in her chest at his words. That on one hand he does, in fact, consider her a friend. She’s not just a warm body to keep the loneliness at bay. Which she’s known that for a long time, of course. They trust each other in the way that only two people who have gone through a number of life-changing and dangerous ordeals together can--why wouldn’t they be friends? The second thought is how carefully he speaks the word friends, as if solidifying the idea. As if reminding her of their relationship status. As if to say, we’re friends, and I know you want more--but I can’t. So we’re friends.

“Yep. This is what I do with my other friends. All two of them.” The joke falls flat, overshadowed by the catch in her voice. Karen finishes off her glass of wine and decides she will get out the whiskey after all. Even if he doesn’t drink it, she needs something a little stronger than just another Rosé. She starts to get up, but his hand catches her ankle and keeps her firmly in place.  

“You’re upset.” He looks at her cautiously from under a furrowed brow. His hand doesn’t lift from her skin, and it sends an unfair thrill through her. Karen’s toes curl before she can stop them, pushing against his thigh. 

“I’m not upset.”

He frowns. “And now you’re lying. Did I say somethin’?”

She doesn’t want to lie to him. She also doesn’t want to tell him the truth. There’s a nagging thought in the back of her mind that says if she’s honest with him, he’ll be scared off. He’ll decide her feelings are too much for him to handle, and then he’ll leave. Again. 

Her heart couldn’t bear it. 

Karen tugs her leg out of his grasp and sets her feet on the carpet. He sits forward, trying to capture her eyes again. “Karen,” he says gently. It’s cautious and worried, and so completely Frank in the way he grinds out her name that the words escape her before she can stop them. 

“It’s nothing, Frank. We’re friends, and that’s all, and I’m being selfish wanting more. I’ve just been--I’m not trying to--...” she glances over helplessly, but he’s giving her a look that she can only describe as stricken. She looks away quickly, desperate for a change of topic. Desperate to pull herself out of the hole that she’s dug for herself. There’s a brief moment of silence where she tries to decide what to do, outside of leaping from her fire escape, and then she hears Frank move. The cushion dips next to her. Warm fingers intertwine with her own, and then his lips are pressed to the back of her hand. 

“Shit, Karen,” Frank murmurs, exasperated. “For a smart woman, you’re bein’ pretty stupid.”

She’s still stuck on her fact that his breath is dancing over her skin, and that he’s pressed against her side, and that he still hasn’t released her. That he hasn’t gotten up and made a hasty exit. His words barely register. “What?” she asks weakly. 

“Curtis and I did a lot of talkin’ this weekend,” he says, staring to look her in the eye. The sudden change of topic throws her off balance. Before she can get a word in, he’s continued on. His thumb strokes her palm. “And a lot of it was dumb shit. We talked about his new apartment, the one he had to get after Billy shot up his old one. He says it gets a lot of sunlight. He talked about how the vet group is going and what team he thinks will win the World Series this year. It was good, and easy. We talk about some hard stuff too. We talked about Maria and the kids, and the war, and you.”

She’s not sure she likes being in the ‘hard’ category, but he seems to be edging towards a point, so Karen remains quiet. 

“And after we talked through all that other stuff, Curtis told me I was bein’ an idiot. He told me that you’re a good woman, and an even better friend. That I needed to make a decision before someone else made it for me.” He pauses, looking away. In the following silence, she digests his words and tries to keep the hope from blossoming in her chest. His hand is still warm in hers, and the earthy, woodsy smell of him fills her nose. 

He doesn’t speak long enough for Karen to finally hedge, “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Frank.”

He turns back to her and offers a tiny, nervous smile. Not many things make a man like Frank Castle nervous, and the thought eases some of the tension from her body. She grips his fingers and holds her breath. 

“I’m tryin’ to tell you that I’m yours, if you’ll have me. I don’t want to be friends, Karen. I want you. I want more, too.”

In retrospect, her next words could have been a little more eloquent. She could have taken an extra second to think of something romantic and elated. Something that matches his earnestness. What she actually says is, “Frank Castle, you’d better quit keeping me waiting and kiss me.”

His eyes widen briefly, and then he’s grinning at her. His free hand cradles her cheek and between one breath and another he’s doing just that. Karen wont admit to herself how often she thought of this moment, but she does think about how every imagining doesn’t come close. She never could have pictured the tenderness with which he kisses her or the feeling that swells inside her. There’s no daydream in the world that compares to the softness of his lips or the sensation of his beard against her chin. She fists one hand in his coat, letting the other drift up into his hair. It’s longer, curling at his temple, and when she gently tugs he lets out a groan that makes her shiver. His tongue swipes at her bottom lip and she grants him access eagerly. The kiss devolves into wandering hands, heaving breaths, and the distinct feeling that Karen is being carefully, intimately devoured. 

After some time, Karen forces herself to pull away. Frank backs off immediately, a flash of concern in his gaze, but she gives him a small smirk, smoothing her hands over the hard planes of his chest. 

“How do you feel about me taking off the shirt now?” she asks casually. 

Her meaning sinks in quickly. His fingers grasp at the hem, dancing along the bare skin on her hips. Frank gives her a mischievous, sinfully attractive smile. “If you’re comfortable,” he repeats, and then drags his shirt up and over her head.

The buzzer on the dryer goes off in the background, but Karen has never been less inclined to attend to it than she is now. In fact, she thinks, if wearing his shirt gets this reaction, I may never do laundry again. 

It’s a nice thought, but then Frank lips meet her shoulder and she doesn’t think about laundry for a long, long time.

[luminous-studiess]

Ummm so I'm new to tumblr so don't judge if I did something wrong.Ummm how can I be like you? Like you know? Productive and smart.I always push myself but ended up being distracted by things (I have adhd and depression).I can't even remember anything after.I suffer,and continue suffering, from my mental illnesses.I just can't keep myself on track.My family makes fun of me for trying.I'm actually trying to find a part time job here but nothing hires minors.Idk please help meee.

hi, friend! answer under the cut because this will be long. 

please know you’re doing nothing wrong, and that the fact you keep trying to become better and to push yourself to always get things done despite difficult circumstances already shows that you ARE already productive and smart. 

second, it also helped me when i was struggling very heavily last year to learn  two things: 1) there will always be particularly bad days when you live with mental illness, but all the little efforts you take, it slowly does get less difficult. getting better does not mean completely getting rid of all the symptoms you experience, but mostly just learning the best ways and small, gentle things you can do for yourself to manage your condition. this really requires a gentle but firm balance between pushing yourself to do the things you absolutely need to do, but also knowing when what level of work/school/self-care or hobbies is the limit, so that you don’t get too overwhelmed.  this means most of the time, you don’t have to worry about being productive for its own sake. it helps me when i feel like i’m drowning to know how little i can do/the most non-negotiable bare minimum, that still helps me not to fall behind.

^ this is a small, cheap pad of sticky notes i carry with me throughout my entire day. it’s only big enough so that i can only write a few school tasks/personal things i need to do/chores, which helps me evaluate what exactly i can only get done, especially on days where i don’t feel well. checking off absolutely everything on my tiny list makes me feel like i’ve accomplished a lot, because i i have-- they aren’t necessarily a lot of tasks, but they’re the ones that i know really do need to get done. it also helps me focus when i have a lot of nervous energy, and have a panicked sense of “so many things need to get done!!!?” because i can give myself a bit of time to sit down, maybe turn on an episode of a show i like or make some coffee, and write down my tasks. it really helps me with the faint, tiny guilt and dread i used to feel day by day that i was being unproductive or lazy, because now i know i’ve fulfilled all my obligations to myself (everything from doing laundry, to making dinner) and to other people (schoolwork and other tasks). it’s okay to move at the pace that’s only possible for you right now. it’s better to feel comfortable with the smallest things you can do, and build on that as the days come. 2) getting distracted is normal, given Everything Happening Right Now, plus with a mental health condition that makes it hard to focus. it can also be hard to remember things when i study, because of my own health conditions, but i’ve found that the following things have helped: regarding distraction - use a small system that keeps you from accessing any distractions when you need to get something done. i try to leave my non-essential device in another room, and set up a timer-based blocker, to limit the websites i access. - i try to acknowledge the distractions as they come, and try to figure out why: am i hungry? am i tired? have i gotten enough sleep? do i need a break? if it isn’t anything serious, i just acknowledge that i’ve gone briefly off-track-- without guilt, without judgment. then i try to turn my mind back to the task at hand. - a good ambient playlist can make me feel more focused during hard tasks in the sense that i have some form of stimulation to keep the “itchiness” at bay. video game soundtracks and film soundtracks are also wonderful for long, tricky tasks.  - sometimes i just have to start to feel motivated-- the focus actually comes in in the middle of the task. the fact of starting something may actually make you feel motivated.

- procrastinate productively: sometimes when i really don’t want to study i turn on a movie or a show and use the time to clean my room or fold laundry. my life still feels put-together, and i enjoyed myself! win-win.

- and sometimes i realize that focus may be impossible at the moment: take a break, go for a run, do something you like, take a nap.  regarding learning and remembering things i used to have the worst time recalling things for school, until i prioritized two things: SLEEP, and not cramming. i used to get extremely poor grades in my first year of law school because i would put off studying at the last and latest moment-- a few days before exams, pulling all-nighters right up until the hour the exam started. i would also just use my free time to scroll on social media, instead of taking a nap or going to bed early. this was absolutely wrong. during the exam, i couldn’t recall anything because i was too tired, too frazzled, probably didn’t have breakfast, and because i had started and finished half a semester of reading in one night. my grades have gotten much better lately-- i’d like to think it’s because i’ve centered it around two things: (a) getting enough sleep every single night (helpful ESPECIALLY if you have health problems-- mental or physical), and (b) making exam day the least stressful it can be. how do i do this? - this means not only learning things for the exam, but also for classes on a daily period. you don’t have to study particularly hard, but you just have to study enough that you can understand what the professor is saying in class. set definite study hours every day, stop at a very specific and reasonable hour, and go to bed. try to get at least 6 hours of sleep. sleep helps me absorb everything better (idk science but this is from experience and also some very smart people i know ALSO prioritize getting sleep). wake up at a reasonable hour.  - how to study: read the syllabus, and try to get a decent overview of all the topics you need to cover before you start testing/making flashcards/doing active recall (which is IMPORTANT bc this helps you actually train your brain to retrieve information). imho as someone low-energy i find that rewriting notes/making reviewers/making flashcards makes me very tired and leaves very little time for actual studying, so it just helps to test myself by looking at the syllabus and trying to explain the concept to myself, then peeking at the textbook or materials to see what i’m missing. mind-maps are also energy-efficient ways of figuring out how concepts fit together. - how to study for exams: the very latest you should start is a week ahead. two weeks ahead is ideal. map out how much information you need to re-learn from the syllabus. move slowly with the aim of finishing the coverage by the first week. the second is for reviewing and RESTING. - THE NIGHT BEFORE THE EXAM: do a final, gentle survey over the topics you may not understand. stop at 10 pm. go to sleep.  - EXAM DAY: you’ve done the work. take the time to eat breakfast, test yourself SLOWLY AND GENTLY (avoid reading huge chunks of textbook at this point-- youll only confuse yourself), and set up your workspace to take the exam. crush said exam. as a final note: it can be hard to get things done when the people closest to you aren’t supportive. try to reach out on studyblr and find discord study with me servers, or study communities on reddit (they’re actually really nice), or with students in your class. if you need to talk, just dm me. you can do this friend, okay? take care always. gentler days will come. 

[zackcollins]

if you met me first ch. 2 || mathew barzal

chapter 1 || masterlist

Author’s Note: This was originally supposed to only be one part. Then I got an anon asking if I could write a part two because they’d like to see what would happen after the ending of the first part. Ask and you shall receive! But, uh... my stupid brain decided two parts wasn’t enough so, uh... they’ll be at least three parts. Knowing me though, they’ll end up being more than three. I hope you guys are okay with that (*insert sweat smile emoji*). GIF credit to chavelier!

Warnings: I don’t think there’s anything but feel free to tell me of anything deserves a warning. I’ll add it for you!

Word Count: 2.8k+

Title: If You Met Me First by Eric Ethridge

Additional: The reader is still gender-neutral. I made sure not to change that because I like consistency when there is more than one part and the previous part starts with a certain gender for the reader. Also! I’d like to thank @matbaerzal​ . I included something about a shorthanded goal for the Islanders but I don’t know much about their penalty kill alignments. She helped me with that by telling me some of the guys that are usually on it. She gave me five names but I ultimately picked Scott Mayfield. I’m not entirely sure why, if I’m honest. His name just spoke to me the most, I guess. Hope all of that’s okay and hope you enjoy this!

You sat there for a moment, phone gripped tightly to your ear. Mathew was breathing rapidly, starting to seem somewhat frantic. You sighed and bit your lip as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I have feelings for you too,” you said, though it came out sounding like one word because you were so nervous.

You heard Mathew’s breathing even out as he let out a soft sigh. He chuckled before the line went dead. You dropped the phone on your lap and felt tears prickle the corners of your eyes. You sat there for a moment, wondering how you could ever have been so stupid to trust his admission. You felt betrayed by the person that mattered the most to you.

Not wanting to deal with anyone other than yourself, you turned your phone off and shoved it in your desk drawer. Anybody that wanted to talk to you could wait until you were done wallowing in the self-hatred of everything that had just transpired.

Needing something to distract yourself, you decided to deep clean your apartment. Twice. You wanted to make sure your mind was occupied so no thoughts of Mathew crept in. You also wanted to make sure that you didn’t miss anything from the first time.

When you were sure everything was cleaned, you washed the two weeks worth of laundry that had been gathering in your bedroom. It took you two hours to wash it all but you managed to get it done. It took an additional twenty-five minutes to fold everything and put it away but the laundry was finally dealt with after you had procrastinated it for the last week and a half.

When you needed a break from your chores, you switched on the television. You needed something to numb your mind and body; something to switch your thoughts off. Whatever deity existed must’ve been out for vengeance because the thing displayed on the television when it came to life was a rebroadcast of the Islanders vs. Flames game from that afternoon starting from the beginning of the second period. As much as you wanted to switch it off, something inside of you told you that you had to watch it.

As the second period progressed, you noticed that Mathew was playing with more enthusiasm and grit than you were used to seeing from him. He had bodychecked multiple Flames in an attempt to steal the puck from them. It had worked a few times but it led to an interference penalty on one occasion that Mathew looked none to pleased with. Luckily for him, Scott Mayfield was able to steal the puck from TJ Brodie and score a beautiful shorthanded goal short side on Cam Talbot. When the camera cut to Mathew in the penalty box, he was knocking his stick against the door and smiling with a relieved look on his face. 

Your heartbeat sped up at that and you felt your stomach somersault. You cursed yourself for having a positive reaction to seeing him happy after what he had done to you. He wasn’t worth your time if he was going to toy with your emotions like he had, no matter how great of a friend you thought he was.

On the television, Mathew had exited the penalty box right as you had managed to get yourself under control. Josh Bailey had the puck and noticed Mathew behind the Flames defence. Josh quickly passed it to Mathew and Mathew sprung into action, skating toward Talbot. You gripped the arm of your couch, feeling every emotion you had tried to suppress hitting you all at once. 

Mathew made it to the hash marks before he was hooked from behind by Rasmus Andersson. The referee shot his arm up and blew the whistle as soon as Talbot grabbed the puck after it trickled off Mathew’s stick. You sunk into the couch and covered your face as the referee pointed to centre ice. 

You looked up as the referee was placing the puck on the faceoff dot on centre ice. You felt your entire body fill with dread as you watched Mathew skate in a circle by the Islanders bench. You didn’t know if you could handle seeing Mathew take a penalty shot. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to change the channel or turn the television off. Something was compelling you to watch this and you were too weak right now to fight against it. 

When the referee pointed to the puck and blew the whistle, Mathew quickly handled it on his forehand before skating down the ice. As he got closer to Talbot, he switched the puck to his backhand, then his forehand, then his backhand again and moved slightly to his left. Talbot froze briefly, opening his five-hole in the process. Mathew took that opportunity to hammer the puck in through Talbot’s five-hole on his backhand. Talbot tried to close his five-hole but all that succeeded in doing was pushing the puck over the line with his skates. The referee pointed to the net and blew the whistle. As Mathew went down the bench for his fist bumps, you noticed that he looked directly at the camera with a smirk on his face. You weren’t sure why but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had directed that at you specifically. Your stomach did another somersault at the mere thought of that. 

The rest of the second period was rather uneventful. A couple penalties got drawn by both teams but no powerplay goals or shorthanded goals came of them. You were somewhat dreading the third period, unsure if you could handle any shenanigans that Mathew would inevitably get up to. You still felt compelled to watch the game and you were still too weak to fight against yourself so watch the game you would.

As the third period started you heard a knock at your apartment door. You found that odd because you hadn’t been expecting anyone. You wanted to ignore it because you weren’t in the mood for visitors but the knocking became insistent. You grumbled to yourself as you walked across the room and through the foyer to open the door. You had really regretted not looking through the peephole as soon as you laid eyes on the person on the other side.

“Mathew,” you exclaimed, taking a step backwards in surprise. 

What surprised you even more was that he looked like he had been crying. As much as you didn’t want to see him right now (even though this was your first time seeing him face-to-face), you couldn’t in good faith leave him out in the apartment hallway while he looked the way he did. Your grandmother, who had been a therapist, would come back from the grave and smack you for being inconsiderate to someone that so obviously needed your help. 

“Can I—“ 

“Yeah… yeah,” you interjected, somewhat absentmindedly. You stepped back further so Mathew could enter. “Let’s go.”

Mathew smiled weakly as he brushed by you. You blinked a few times and shook your head to make sure this was really happening. When it was clear that it was, you carefully closed the door and latched it. Even though Mathew had been an asshole earlier, something inside of you told you he posed no threat and that whatever he wanted was something that needed privacy. 

When you turned around, you bumped your shoulder into Mathew’s chest. Mathew quickly reached out because you had stumbled a little. His face shifted from the anguish you get after a good crying session to guilt. You assumed the guilt was for standing too close to you and causing what happened to happen.

“Sorry,” he said, voice strained. “I didn’t mean… I just didn’t want to go into the apartment without you. I feel like it would’ve been rude because I don’t live here.”

You blinked when he took a moment to remove his shoes and place them on the shoe rack beside him before he followed you into the living room. 

Mathew sat on the couch beside you and motioned in the direction of the shoe rack.

“Was… was I not supposed to do that,” he asked, voice a little concerned.

You quickly shook your head, holding your hands up.

“No,” you said. “Wait. I mean yes. Fuck.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed before looking at Mathew again. He looked confused but he was still looking at you intently.

“You were supposed to do that,” you said, sighing again. “I’m just not used to people doing it on their own volition.”

Mathew nodded and opened his mouth like he was going to reply but he quickly snapped it shut. His head swivelled to look at the television and that’s when you noticed that you had left the rebroadcast of the game playing. And, from what you could tell, Mathew had just scored.

You grabbed the remote but Mathew placed his hand over the top of it, blocking the power button. You tried to yank the remote backwards but something about the way Mathew was looking at you made you drop the remote onto his lap. Mathew smiled, although something about the way his eyes flicked from you to the television and then down to the remote told you the smile was a façade to hide how he was really feeling.

Not wanting to push Mathew and make him uncomfortable, you focused your attention back to the television. Just as you did that, you heard Mathew shift beside you. You briefly glanced at him but all he did was point at the television and smile while looking nervous. You raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

Just as you focused back on the television, Mathew scored his hat trick goal. You felt your heartbeat stutter and your stomach do a flip. When you looked at Mathew, he was staring intently at the television but you thought you saw a few wet lines on his cheeks. You went to say something but the announcer screaming Mathew’s name drew your attention back to the television.

When you looked, two minutes of game time had passed and Mathew had potted another goal. Your heartbeat faltered and your stomach did what felt like its millionth somersault of the day. As you watched everyone celebrate with Mathew on the television, you felt tears prickle the corners of your eyes. 

You were watching the Flames fumble through a powerplay when you felt something nudge your leg. You glanced down and saw Mathew’s hand sitting on your thigh, palm up. You took the hint and placed your hand in his. Even though he had been an asshole earlier, you had felt the need to forgive him when he decided to come all this way to see you, even if he hadn’t actually said sorry yet. Actions spoke louder than words.

Mathew squeezed your hand, which made you look at him. He smiled softly, cheeks shining from obvious tear stains. You wiped away the tear stains right as the announcers screamed Mathew’s name again. You both looked at the television and saw that he had scored his fifth goal with only thirty seconds left in the game. 

Mathew grabbed your other hand and squeezed them both. As the end horn sounded, Mathew dropped your hands and nodded towards the television. You raised an eyebrow but focused your attention where he had directed. 

As the teams skated off the ice, a reporter pulled Mathew aside. He took his helmet off and placed it on the top of his stick.

“Mat,” she started, pausing when the crowd roared with a chorus of cheers and boos. She and Mathew both chuckled. 

“You had the game of your life this afternoon. Was there anything that motivated it?”

Mathew put his glove in his mouth and nibbled on it for a moment. When he was done with that, he took the glove off so he could run his fingers through his hair. The reporter didn’t seem phased by the delay as she stood there, holding the microphone in front of Mathew.

Mathew sighed and bit his lip as he put his glove back on. He leaned against the top of his helmet and looked at the reporter.

“The person I’m in love with loves me back,” he said, smiling softly. “I needed to impress them.”

The reporter smiled as she looked at Mathew.

“They better be impressed. You scored five goals and had two assists,” she said. “Go get them, Mat. I won’t keep you any longer. Congratulations again. On your game and your relationship.”

The television screen suddenly went black after that. You turned to Mathew and saw him holding the remote, his finger on the power button. He quickly threw the remote to the side and you both jumped a little when it crashed into the glass top of the coffee table.

“Sorry,” Mathew mumbled.

You put your finger on his lips and shook your head.

“Don’t,” you said, dropping your finger. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I just have to ask one thing.”

Mathew looked at you and raised an eyebrow.

“Why did you hang up after I told you I felt the same way?”

Mathew sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I called you during intermission,” he said. “Coach caught me with my phone and told me to hang up or he’d bench me for the rest of the game.”

You felt tension you didn’t know you had been holding onto release from your body. Mathew ran his thumbs across your wrists and you relaxed a little more. You melted into the touch and shifted closer to Mathew, dropping your head against his shoulder. Mathew took that opportunity to wrap his arm around you and run one of his hands soothingly along your back. You sighed and wiggled in closer to Mathew’s touch. 

The two of you sat there in silence. You were taking in the moment of finally being cuddled against the man you loved more than anything. It felt better than any of your wildest dreams. It made you feel complete. It made you feel happy.

“I’m happy too,” Mathew said, kissing the top of your head.

You hadn’t realized you had said that out loud but you were glad that you had. Hearing Mathew affirm your feelings made you feel ten times better. It made you feel better knowing that he wanted this as much as you did.

“Why wouldn’t I want this as much as you? You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. It just took Tito telling me that every person I’ve ever dated had a carbon copy of your personality for me to notice.”

Realizing you said that out loud made your face heat up because of the response you got. You buried your head as far into Mathew’s neck as you could. Mathew chuckled and lifted your head up so you were looking him in the eyes.

“Hey,” Mathew said, tapping your nose with his finger. “It means I like your personality type. And, more importantly, I like the original the most.”

You felt your stomach do a somersault for the nth time that day as you looked at the pure expression on Mathew’s face. You smiled as you brushed a piece of Mathew’s hair out of his face. Mathew leaned into the touch, humming softly. 

Your eyes darted down to his lips and then back to his eyes. Mathew nodded and that was all it took for you to surge forward and connect your lips with his. 

As you kissed, your mind went blank. You couldn’t think of anything but the fact that you were kissing the man that you had waited what felt like forever to kiss.

When you pulled back, Mathew was panting slightly and some of his hair was stuck to his forehead. You swallowed and ran your fingers through that hair to brush it away. Mathew shivered and leaned forward a little. You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his. Mathew puffed a breath against your swollen lips, which caused you to shiver. 

You pulled back right then to yawn and stretch your arms above your head. 

“Sorry, I—“

“Fall asleep on the couch with me,” Mathew said, laying down on the couch and moving as far over as he could to make room for you.

“Don’t you have to get back to the hotel,” you asked, though you did lay down and cuddle against him. 

Mathew chuckled and shifted around a little. You patted his shoulder when you were comfortable. He kissed the top of your head and slung his arm around you.

“Nah. We’re in our bye week right now. I don’t have to get back until tomorrow when I check out and we fly to St. Lucia.”

You hummed and closed your eyes.

Your eyes shot open a minute later when your brain registered what Mathew had said.

“I get to go to St. Lucia?!”

[writingblock101]

Test Day (Jason Todd x Reader)

This means I have officially written a quarantine fic. What a weird time to be alive. I also hit 500 followers so thank you for that! 

Request for anon: Fluff #7 “Oh, would you look at that? There’s nowhere to sit besides my lap.” with Jason

Word Count: 1,900

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish

When your alarm went off, you wanted nothing more than to turn it off and curl up against Jason’s warm chest and pretend you didn’t hear anything. But instead, you had to be a diligent student who actually studies so you quickly shut off your alarm and try to creep out of bed, but Jason already heard your alarm go off. 

“No,” He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you tightly. 

You sigh, leaning back against Jason for a moment, relaxing in his hold. 

“I need to study,” You tell him. 

“Five more minutes,” He mumbles into your neck. “It’s too early to study.” 

“Any time before 11:30 is too early for you,” You remind him. “My test is today, I’ve got to cram.” 

Jason grumbles, tightening his arms around your waist. 

“Jase, come on,” You start trying to uselessly wiggle out of his grip. “I’ve been procrastinating this whole week.” 

He sighs but releases his arms. You climb out of bed, but turn and pull the blankets over Jason’s chest again and kiss his head. 

“Go back to sleep,” You tell him. 

He waves you off. 

“Yeah, go study for your test,” He grumbles. 

You can’t help but giggle at his grumpiness but quietly creep out of the room and brew a cup of coffee. Once setting yourself up at your kitchen counter, you begin the long haul of learning as much organic chemistry as possible. While you weren’t completely helpless, the quarantine forced your classes online and completely destroyed your motivation. You’d been lightly studying throughout the week, but today was grind day. 

An hour later, Jason emerges from your bedroom, still looking sleepy and a little grumpy.

“Nice sweatshirt,” He comments, pressing a kiss to the side of your head then pours himself a cup of coffee. 

You grin, tugging on the strings of Jason’s hoodie that you’re currently wearing. It’s warm, big, and smells like Jason. Honestly, at this point, it’s providing more emotional support than physical comfort. 

“I’m surprised you’re up,” You comment, glancing at the clock over your oven which reads: 8:09 AM. 

Normally, you and Jason didn’t even acknowledge the outside world until after 10 o’clock unless absolutely necessary. 

“I don’t like sleeping in an empty bed,” He admits to his coffee. “I don’t sleep as well.” 

Your heart flutters at the comment, but you ruin the moment when you look back at the practice test open on your screen. Oh, you’re still here. You squint your eyes at the old tests as if it deeply offended you (which is has by existing, thank you very much). 

“Did you eat breakfast?” Jason asks. 

“Not yet.” 

Jason nods then opens the fridge and begins making eggs while you keep cracking away at old tests. He wordlessly sets a plate of food down next to you, kisses the top of your head, then sits on the couch to quietly watch TV and enjoy his breakfast. 

A few hours pass as you keep doing practice problems and drawing figures and formulas on your little whiteboard. You’re starting to feel better about the test, but you’re still unsure. Knowing your professor, he’ll ask a question that you have all the information to solve, but no idea how to do it. Your stomach grumbles and you decide you should probably eat lunch. 

When you get stressed or “in the zone”, your brain tends to shut off your appetite. You’d never noticed it until you started living with Jason and he pointed it out after watching you study for a final. Luckily, he’s helped you become more aware of it. 

Speaking of Jason, he disappeared back to the bedroom about an hour ago, probably to read a book or do research for his next mission with the Outlaws. As a thank you for making breakfast, you fix him a sandwich along with your own and walk it back to the bedroom. 

You find him on the floor, one of his dresser drawers open, surrounded by shirts. He brightens when he sees you walk in with food. 

“How’s studying going?” He greets. 

You shrug, handing him his plate. 

“It’s going. I’m starting to feel better about it, but there’s still a lot to go. What are you doing?” 

“Cleaning out some stuff,” Jason looks at his various piles. “I never really built my wardrobe back up after I came back, so a lot of this stuff doesn’t fit me.” 

“Are you going to order some new stuff online?” 

Jason frowns. 

“Maybe? I don’t like buying clothes online.” 

“You don’t like buying clothes period,” You correct with a smile. 

“After all this is over,” Jason vaguely gestures to the air. “I’ll be more than willing to go clothes shopping for at least the first week when quarantine ends, so I’ve gotta make it count.” 

You chuckle. 

“We’ll go on a shopping spree,” You promise. “Well, I gotta keep studying--” 

“Wait, why don’t you eat lunch with me?” Jason asks. “Take a break?” 

“This is me taking a break,” You gesture to him. “I gotta keep going.” 

“Come on, babe, you’ve been studying since 7 this morning. You can afford to stop and eat lunch.” 

“The longer I wait to get back to it, the harder it’s going to be to start,” You shrug. “Sorry, Jase.” 

He frowns, watching you leave the room to keep studying. 

Two hours later, you’re still going strong-- strong as in you’re still looking at the material, but you keep getting the same style question wrong and you can’t figure out why. 

“Okay, an amino has one nitrogen, so you add one, but an amide has one site of unsaturation so you subtract two which then makes it 2n+1,” You scan the possible formulas. “None of these answers have odd numbers,” You groan then flip through your notes, knowing you’re not going to find the answer because you’ve been looking for it for the past fifteen minutes and still found nothing. 

Jason emerges from the bedroom again. 

“Hey, babe, how’s it going?” He asks, getting something to drink out of the fridge. 

“I can’t figure out how to do these stupid problems,” You groan. “I could do them on the last test, but now I can’t do them with amino or amide groups because Dr. Meades never told us the corrected formula.” 

Jason frowns, and rounds the counter, looking at the various scribbles and cross-outs on your whiteboard and open notebook. 

“Maybe you should take a break,” He suggests, rubbing your back. “You’ve been going at it now,” Jason pauses to look at the clock. “For roughly seven hours.” 

“But my test is in three hours. I’ve gotten figure out how to do these problems because there’s always five of them on the test and if I mess up one, I’m going to mess up two,” Your jaw tightens as you feel the burn of tears building in your eyes. 

Oh, hell no. Organic chemistry is NOT going to make me cry. While you care about your studies, it’s not enough to make you cry. You take a deep breath, blinking a few times to force back the tears of frustration. 

“Some fresh eyes might help. Just take a few minutes to shut your brain off,” Jason tries to urge you but you brush him off. 

“I’m okay, I promise. I’m going to see if I can find some example problems,” You start typing on your laptop again, scrounging old tests. 

Jason frowns but leaves you to work. 

Two hours later, you get up to go to the bathroom. You stare at the blue walls of your bathroom feeling drained and exhausted. You hate organic chemistry and you hate online classes. Why are you even taking this class?! It’s stupid! 

After washing your hands, you glance at the clock on Jason’s nightstand-- one hour until you take your test. Sighing heavily, you walk back out to the kitchen to continue studying, only to find every seat at the kitchen counter and small dining table have been taken by a varying amount of objects including but not limited to: a tall stack of folded laundry, a pile of what you were guessing to be Jason’s shirt rejects, a stack of plates from the cupboard, and Jason’s ammunition bag that he takes on missions. 

You stare at the chairs then glance over at Jason only to notice he stacked your textbooks and DVD collection on the loveseat while he is pointedly sprawled across the other couch. He casually reads his book, pretending to not notice you. 

“Hey, Jason?” You ask. 

He hums in response. 

“What is this?” 

Jason looks around the room then sets his book down, placing a hand on his cheek in mock surprise. 

“Oh, would you look at that? There’s nowhere to sit besides my lap.” 

He opens his arms invitingly and you can’t help but laugh. 

“Jason--” You start to say, not moving toward him, despite the tempting offer. 

“No,” He cuts you off. “You have been studying all day. You need to take a break and you’re going to take it now.” 

“My test is in an hour.” 

“Honestly, if you don’t know it by now, you’re not going to know it for the test,” Jason tells you bluntly. “You’re going to be fine. Please, just take a break,” He looks at you pleadingly. 

You glance back toward your laptop which you notice Jason had shut then sigh and walk over to Jason, letting him pull you down onto the couch with him. You land between his legs with his arms wrapped tightly around you. 

“You’re going to do great,” He promises. 

You snort. 

“It’s organic chemistry, “great” does not exist in its vocabulary.” 

“Shut up, it’s going to be great.” 

“I got a 66 on the last test,” You remind him. 

Jason pauses for a moment. 

“You’re going to pass,” He fixes, making you laugh. 

“There we go. That’s the realistic prediction I need to hear,” You grin, tucking your chin under his head. “I just want the semester to be over.” 

“Yeah, I know doll,” He kisses the top of your head. “But you can’t keep trying to do your classes like this.” 

“Yeah, I know,” You sigh, playing with his fingers. 

You two stay like that until it’s time for you to log on and take your test. And what do you know? Jason was right, you did pass. 

“Told you,” Jason grins, kissing your cheek as he looks over your shoulder at the screen. 

“Yeah, yeah,” You roll your eyes, closing your laptop. 

“I’m just saying that you should listen to me more,” He points out. 

“Oh really?” 

“Uh-huh, cause clearly, I’m a genius.” 

“A genius you say?” You turn your chair so you’re facing Jason. 

“Yep,” He grins, stepping between your legs while your arms go around his neck. “I could put Tim out of business.” 

“I’m sure,” You roll your eyes. “You’re very humble about it too.” 

“Oh of course,” Jason flips his hair dramatically. “Not only am I a genius, but I’m also smoking hot.” 

You start laughing, shaking your head. 

“You’re a dork,” You grin, kissing Jason. 

“Yeah, but I’m your dork,” He murmurs against your lips. 

“Damn right,” You grin. 

The quarantine sucks, but at least you have a good company. 

I had a test on Tuesday, can y’all tell? (I did pass) 

[today-only-happens-once]

Patch Job

Title: Patch Job

Word Count: 4168

Summary: A pipe bursts. Roman is close to breaking, in a different kind of way. For @justisaisfine’s Sanders Bro AU. Family LAMP, platonic Thomas/Roman.

Warnings: angst/hurt/comfort, arguing, implied trauma, implied eating disorder, mention of/implied depression, overworked!Roman, imposter syndrome/feelings of inadequacy/insecurity in DROVES, crying, cursing, probably inaccurate plumbing stuff because I don’t know how pipes work, financial struggles and bad landlords, light embarrassment at lack of knowing things about plumbing.

A/N: Me? Projecting months-worth of emotions and insecurities onto Isa’s Roman? It’s far more likely than you think. Heavily inspired by parts of an episode of Freeform’s Party of Five, but no knowledge of that show is needed for this fic. It’s just where the inspiration came from (specifically the broken pipe and the “sh**ty patch job” line). It’s not my best writing, but I’m a little rusty and my brain is very full of lots of different things lately. My deepest gratitude to Isa for letting me play in their AU once again. It’s always meaningful to me.

Tags: @creativenostalgiastuff , @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @quoth-the-sparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @thepoolofthedead, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl, @angst-patton, @savingshae, @noneed4thistbh, @awesomelissawho, @unikornavenger, @bopthesnoz, @spiralofsilencetheory, @finger-gunsss, @crownswriter123, @swlotakulady34, @gaylotusthatexists, @analogical-mess, @dolphidragon, @flix-net, @narniasfinestavengingsociopath, @friedlieb-ferdinand-runge, @bibbidy-bobbity-booyah, @procrastinations-my-middle-name, @theburntesttoast, @monroig, @secretlyawyvern, @puddinglec4t

…

Roman startles awake, and for a brief moment, isn’t sure why.

Then he hears muffled cursing, and a panicked, strangled “Uh… Roman?!”—Roman places it as Logan’s voice immediately even in his half-awake state—and kicks off the thin blankets that remain tangled between his legs. He scrubs a hand across his eyes and blinks blearily around him. The pull-out couch is empty, which means his brothers are all awake. Roman checks the time on the clock hanging on the wall.

The boys had ten minutes before they needed to be ready for school.

“Roman!”

Logan’s sharp, strained voice is definitely coming from the kitchen. A second later, Roman thinks he can hear… hissing?

The eldest Sanders brother scrambles over the corner of the bed and nearly trips into the TV in his urgency. He skids to a stop in the kitchen entryway and freezes at the sight before him.

The cabinet under the sink is open, water spraying out from the pipe inside of it. Roman looks immediately for his youngest brother, seeing Virgil—frozen and pale—by the fridge. Patton is soaked, a plastic plate at his feet with three sandwiches on the floor quickly getting drowned by the water gushing from the burst pipe. His gray sweatshirt and jeans are soaked through. Logan is holding his hand out to block the spray as he blindly fumbles through a drawer that is just barely in arms reach.

Roman doesn’t know where to start. “What happened?” he asks, crossing quickly over to Virgil who is far too pale for Roman’s liking.

“Pipe just suddenly burst,” Logan answers as he clumsily pulls a towel from the kitchen drawer.

Roman nods, kneeling in front of his baby brother and trying not to cringe as part of his pajama pants are immediately soaked with the water that is rapidly flooding their kitchen. “Hey,” Roman says softly, “V, it’s just a pipe.” Roman counts it as no small miracle that Virgil looks at him. Makes eye contact, however brief.

It hadn’t been a guarantee. A loud, sudden noise. In the kitchen. The yelling that followed.

“Quite a wake-up call, huh?” Roman offers with a small smile, reaching a hand towards him. Asking. Inviting.

Virgil doesn’t smile back, but he looks at Roman for a moment before placing his hand in Roman’s own. His hand is shaking. Roman gives it a small squeeze. Neither of them lets go.

Roman turns back around as Logan wraps the towel around the break under the sink. He looks to Patton— soaked from the chest down.

“Pat,” Roman says. “Go change into something dry. And get Virgil some dry socks for me.”

Patton ducks his head a little and says something that Roman doesn’t quite catch.

“Hm?”

“This was the last clean thing I had,” Patton repeats. “I was gonna do laundry yesterday but couldn’t find quarters. And then I thought maybe I could ask Ms. Alice next door tonight to borrow their machine, but—”

Roman feels a twinge in his chest. “It’s my fault. Take one of my flannels. It’ll be big on you, but it’ll work until I get a load through.”

Patton nods and holds out a hand for Virgil to take. Virgil gives Roman’s one last squeeze before he follows quietly after Patton.

“And don’t forget to pack lunch!” Roman calls over his shoulder as Patton moves to the drawers in the living room. Roman looks back at Logan on the kitchen floor under the sink. His brother is soaked head to toe, and he’s fiddling with some part of the pipe that Roman can’t see from where he’s standing.

“We’re out of food, Roman,” Logan says, quietly and carefully. “Patton won’t say it, but I checked last night.”

Roman’s chest tightens even further. “What?”

“Those sandwiches on the floor was the last of what we had for lunch.” Logan grunts as he tightens something on the pipe.

Roman pinches the bridge of his nose against the impending headache he can feel coming. His acting job had helped with finances substantially, but Roman usually got groceries on Tuesdays. Filming had really picked up lately, and Roman was coming home later than usual; after the grocery store they usually went to was closed.

Roman had promised himself he’d ask the director for an extended lunch on Saturday so he could get groceries. Maybe if he offered to come in earlier on Sunday, then he could leave early today and swing by to get enough to last until Saturday when he could get the rest—

That didn’t fix the immediate problem.

Roman sighs and ducks back into the living room to the top drawer of the dresser. He pulls out the small bundle of singles and counts off twelve dollars. He’d been saving loose cash to go towards Logan’s college fund. Lunch at school cost a little over three dollars. Twelve should be enough to cover all three of them.

“Logan,” Roman says, returning to the kitchen and cringing a bit as his socks are immediately soaked in the growing pool of sink water. He hands the folded bills towards him. “Make sure all of you eat lunch, okay?”

Logan frowns, sliding out from under the sink but keeping his hand clamped around the burst. “Roman. I was thinking… maybe I should stay home today—”

“No.”

“You don’t know the first thing about fixing a busted pipe.”

“Neither do you,” Roman replies. He’s still holding the money out to him. “Look, I’ll figure it out, okay?”

“You’re not exactly the most handy person, Roman.”

“You’re not skipping school for this.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Logan!”

“You’re being an idiot,” Logan snaps. “If you would just let me—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Roman cuts him off firmly.

Logan stares at him, his expression carefully unreadable, then releases the pipe and gets to his feet. He switches the faucet off and the spray of water slows to a stop. Logan snatches the money out of Roman’s hands and brushes past him, out of the kitchen. It’s not until Logan is out of the kitchen and in the bathroom down the hall that Roman realizes what he’s said.

I can’t believe I just said that. He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

Logan leaves the apartment moments later with their younger brothers in tow. He closes the door behind them before Roman can so much as say his name.

….

Roman doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He’d dug around for some kind of manual, but there wasn’t much room in their tiny apartment to hide it, and he hadn’t been able to find it. A quick trip to the hardware store had led to Roman buying a part that he thinks looks right… maybe.

He’d been at it for hours. Roman’s hair is sopping wet and falling into his eyes no matter how many times he rakes it back and out of his face, and his white t-shirt is damp with sink water and stained with rust. He had already called the studio and said he couldn’t come in today, apologizing profusely and wondering distantly if his job would survive the phone call. He was certainly replaceable, right? And he was supposed to give far more notice than four minutes after he was supposed to be there.

Calling the landlord was out of the question, really. Past experience taught Roman that their landlord was largely unreliable for maintenance and reveled in any chance to pin damages on tenants and charge them accordingly (and then some).

The wrench in Roman’s hand slips from his grip and cracks against the wooden frame of the cabinet.

“Shit,” Roman hisses, shaking his hand as if it will ease the sudden sting in his knuckles.

He finishes tightening the piece and blows out a breath before he slides out from under the cabinet. Hopefully the patch would work. He uses the edge of the kitchen counter to pull himself to his feet and holds his breath as he twists the faucet on.

A second passes as water rushes through the faucet. Roman releases his breath. But it’s quickly overshadowed by the loud pop and the spray of water that shoots out from the pipe once again. Roman jumps and dives for the pipe as it douses his sweatpants, shirt, face, hair as he frantically tries to wrap a hand around the break.

He blindly fumbles for the towel that Logan had been using before he’d left, turning his face away as his fingers slip and the water hits cheek. Roman quickly ties the towel into several knots around the pipe. He scrambles to his feet—no small task, given the pool of water in their kitchen—and turns the faucet off.

The chaos holds its breath for a moment and Roman releases his again, sagging against the counter and shoving the wet strings of his hair out of his face again.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Do we really need the sink anyway? Roman wonders. The answer is yes. Of course it was.

He has to fix it, because they used the kitchen sink water for drinking and washing food because the bathroom sink water wasn’t the best. And besides, if they had any hope of moving out of here—and God, did Roman want to move—they had to make sure everything was at least in as decent of shape as it was when they moved in. Or the repairs would cost the amount of a down payment on another apartment.

Not to mention that he’d told his brothers he could handle it. He had to handle it, and he had to do it before they got home from school.

Roman’s spiraling thoughts are interrupted by his phone buzzing on the kitchen table. Roman doesn’t have a clue who it could be, but his heartbeat jumps for a moment.

Thomas flashes across the caller ID and Roman gingerly hops over the soaked towels that litter the floor before he swipes to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Thomas replies. “Vicki said you called off today but hadn’t been clear about why. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Yeah,” Roman says on instinct alone. “No, I’m fine.”

“Your brothers are okay?”

Roman swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah, Thomas. They’re okay. They’re at school.”

“Are you sick?”

“Wh—no, I’m not sick.”

There’s a beat. A hesitation. Roman can feel through the phone how Thomas wants to keep asking questions. “Okay,” Thomas says instead, and Roman isn’t sure why. Or why it twists a knot in his chest. “Do you need anything?”

No, Roman wants to say, the word built on instinct and fear pressing against the back of his teeth. But he looks at the clock—it’s a little past noon, which gave him about three and a half hours before the boys got home—and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

“I…um…” Roman doesn’t know why his voice trembles just a little. Thomas had told him that if he needed anything, he’d be there, right? He could trust Thomas.

He could trust Thomas.

His grip around the phone tightens a little. He laughs, empty and hollow as he looks around the disheveled, sopping wet kitchen. “Do you know anything about fixing a busted pipe?”

A slight pause, and Roman isn’t sure how to interpret it. “Yeah,” Thomas says eventually. Lightly. Like Roman had just asked him to run lines with him. “They want to do one more take, and then I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay,” Roman says, relief overpowering any other thing he should be feeling. “And uh, thanks.”

“No problem. Give me an hour.”

…

When there’s a knock at the apartment door fifty minutes later, Roman’s been doused with water about four more times. It’s not until he answers the door and Thomas is standing on the other side with a box of take-out from Roman’s favorite lunch place by the studio that the eldest Sanders brother realizes he probably looks a disaster. If Thomas thinks so, he’s gracious enough to not say anything.

“I brought lunch,” Thomas says, holding out the box towards Roman. “Something told me you probably didn’t eat yet.” It’s a light comment, more conversational than accusatory, but Roman feels his eyes heat a little. He blinks quickly.

“Uh, thanks,” he says lamely, taking the box and stepping aside. He realizes suddenly that Thomas had never been to the apartment before, and if he wasn’t quite so desperate to just fix the problem in the kitchen, he’d probably be a little bit mortified.

“You’ll never guess what Terrence and Valerie started doing today,” Thomas says as Roman closes the door behind him. “They started this whole ‘finish the lyric’ for showtunes thing between takes. Except they’re doing it with really obscure shows. Urinetown was one from Valerie and Terrence just made up the lyric because he’d never seen the show. He rhymed ‘urination’ and ‘station’.”

Despite himself, Roman barks a laugh. The corner of Thomas’s mouth quirks into a smile.

“They tried to get me to do one for Death Note the Musical. I’ve seen the anime, but I didn’t have a clue about the song they were singing.” Thomas shakes his head a little as they step into the living room. The pullout bed hadn’t been put away yet. Clothes litter the floor, left behind in the wake of the chaotic morning.

Thomas doesn’t even seem phased. “I think they’re gonna make it a regular thing. You should challenge them to it.”

Roman rubs the back of his neck and turns to look at the other actor. “Maybe,” he says, even as his stomach feels a little uneasy. “Assuming I still have a job after today.”

Thomas’s brows pull together, his head tilting a little in confusion. “Is there any doubt?”

“A little?”

“There shouldn’t be. They’re not gonna fire you just because something came up last minute one day.”

“You seem pretty sure about that.”

“I am.”

Roman stares at him for a moment, waiting for Thomas to elaborate. He has the sudden feeling that Thomas may have done or said something to someone in his absence.

Thomas arcs an eyebrow, then lifts a shoulder. “You’re more talented than you give yourself credit for, Roman,” he says, like it’s a statement of fact rather than one of the kindest things Roman has ever heard in his life. “And don’t think your extra hours these past several weeks have gone by unnoticed. Not by me, and not by the director. Taking a day—especially to deal with something like this—isn’t going to put your job in jeopardy. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Roman says quietly. He doesn’t know if he believes it. “Okay.”

“To be honest,” Thomas adds, slipping his hands into his pockets, “when I heard you weren’t coming in, I was kind of hoping you were taking a day to get some extra rest.”

Roman ducks away from Thomas’s sincerity. “Yeah, that’s… not really a possibility for me.”

He hears Thomas sigh, and tries not to wince. Maybe asking Thomas for help had been a mistake. He’d always wanted to impress Thomas, after all. The last thing he wanted Thomas to think was that he didn’t have his life handled. Losing Thomas’s respect would… devastate him, and Roman can’t help but feel like he’s rapidly heading down that path.

“Sorry,” Roman says.

“No, Roman, it’s…” Thomas stops, shakes his head. Tries again. “It’s not your fault. It’s just… your responsibility, and it shouldn’t be.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Thomas insists, and that brings Roman up short. “I mean, I get that you have your brothers to help you, but… still.” He glances around the apartment. “Actually, speaking of, I’m a little surprised that Logan went to school. He seems like he’d like to tinker to help you out.”

“He tried,” Roman says hollowly. His stomach turns against how he’d left things with Logan this morning. “I sent him to school anyway.”

“Ah,” Thomas says.

“I told him I had it handled,” Roman elaborates, and he isn’t sure why. Thomas hadn’t asked for more information, and Roman rarely offered it when it wasn’t asked for.

“You didn’t want his help? He’s a smart kid. Given the circumstances, I’m sure one day wouldn’t have—”

“I don’t—” Roman cuts in, and then snaps his jaw shut as the memories of his morning flood through his mind. Virgil, frozen and pale and barely responding to him. Patton not having clean clothes and also him not mentioning that they were out of food. Logan arguing with him. Roman saying he didn’t want to hear it…

“I need my brothers to feel like I can handle it.”

“The broken pipe?”

“Everything.”

A brief pause. “Did… you try asking your landlord for some help?”

“We—I can’t afford it…” Roman trails off and shakes his head. He sinks onto the edge of the pull-out bed and folds his hands between his knees. “Handling things is what I do.”

Thomas purses his lips, and Roman feels himself tense before Thomas looks towards the kitchen. “Then let’s take a look, yeah?”

Roman takes the hand that Thomas offers and pushes himself to his feet. “The kitchen is a mess,” he says.

“I’d be shocked if it wasn’t. Burst pipes tend to do that,” Thomas says with a faint smile. He squeezes Roman’s shoulder and then ducks through the kitchen entryway, seeming unbothered by the pool of water and sopping wet towels that litter the floor.

Roman self-consciously folds his arms across his chest as Thomas kneels down by the sink, peering closely at the pipe. He grabs the wrench that Roman had abandoned by the counter and sets to work.

“Hm,” Thomas hums, but Roman can’t see his face.

“Hm?”

“Hm,” Thomas confirms with an amused smile before he rolls a bit to be on his back and looking up at the pipe. “I think I may have figured out part of your problem. Come here.”

Roman kneels beside Thomas, and the older actor scoots to the left to make room so Roman can see what he’s talking about. He unscrews the part that Roman had been doing his best to wedge onto the pipe. “This is the wrong size. So that’s a small part of it.” Roman flushes in embarrassment, but Thomas doesn’t seem to notice. “Easy mistake, though. The real problem is that these pipes are pretty rusted, which I’d bet is why it burst. See this discoloration?” Thomas points.

“Yeah,” Roman says.

“It’s a bad sign. Plus, you’ve got this here—” Thomas points to a part of the pipe further up that Roman hadn’t even been paying attention to before—“which looks like a leak that someone tried to fix with duct tape.”

“I mean… it stopped the leak,” Roman offers weakly. He feels Thomas glance over at him, but he doesn’t meet his eyes.

“For now,” Thomas says, his voice oddly gentle. “But it won’t last very long.” He turns his attention back to the pipe. When Roman risks a glance over at him in the cramped space under the sink, he sees Thomas’s frown deepen.

“What?” Roman asks.

Thomas shakes his head a little. “Just thinking. If this pipe is corroded a bit with rust here, it’s likely it exists elsewhere too. So this will probably keep happening, unless you can get the bigger problem addressed—”

Roman’s chest constricts painfully and he slides out from beside Thomas. “Okay,” he says tightly. Strained. “Okay.” His fingers twitch and he pushes himself to his feet.

Thomas—slower than Roman had—also slides out from under the sink. He sits, though, with his back to the wooden cabinet beside the sink.

“I can get another job,” Roman says. He’s pacing but moving helps him think and he needs to think a lot right now. “Pick up a little bit of extra cash which could maybe get us a better shot of moving out sooner, or if not that, maybe enough to cover the—”

“Roman, this isn’t on you,” Thomas cuts in gently. “Your landlord should fix it.”

“But he’ll charge us, because—”

“Then I’ll get someone to come in and take a look. I know some people—”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out. I’ll just, ah, get the right size part to fix the busted section, right?”

“Sure,” Thomas says slowly, “but it wouldn’t fix the larger problem. A quick patch job won’t keep it from happening again if you really do have a corrosion problem.”

Roman rakes a hand through his hair. “But it’ll be enough for now. Right?”

Roman turns an imploring gaze onto Thomas, still sitting on the floor. Thomas’s brows pull together. “Roman, let me talk to—”

“I’ll handle it, Thomas,” Roman says quickly. “I’ll figure it out.”

The eldest Sanders sees a flash of frustration pass through Thomas’s brown eyes as the older actor pushes himself to his feet. “You keep saying that. But it doesn’t seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t!” Roman snaps suddenly, throwing his hands up. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, Thomas. I never do. I just… grab on tightly to whatever is the biggest mess and I try to hold it together long enough to stick until the next or a bigger mess comes along.”

Silence meets the end of his words and this morning flickers through Roman’s mind again before he shakes it off. “Sometimes that mess is one of my brothers and sometimes that mess is figuring out when I can get groceries and sometimes that mess is realizing I didn’t learn lines for filming tomorrow but I just… I do the very next thing and hope and pray it’s enough that my brothers don’t look too closely because if they do…” Roman’s voice breaks and he swallows hard against his burning, blurring vision. “They’ll realize I’m just a shitty patch job too.”

That’s all Roman is. That’s all he’d ever been, for as long as Roman could remember. A band-aid on the chasm that always threatened to swallow his brothers whole.

But for some unfathomable reason, his brothers trusted him to take care of them. And he doesn’t know what to do if they realized just how much their trust was misplaced. Just how out-of-his-depth Roman truly was, is, had always been. He’d spent his entire life trying and failing to fill the hole left behind by their parents, and he was a fraud but none of them had figured it out yet. Roman had spent countless sleepless nights hoping they never do.

Thomas is looking at him and Roman—the coward he is—can’t meet his eyes.

“Roman,” Thomas says softly in the silence, “you’re enough for them.”

“I’m not,” Roman says, and giving voice to that realization that he’d locked away in the recesses of his mind makes his legs feel wobbly. “I can’t… fill all the space they need, Thomas. It’s too big. I can just… try, because… because…” They’re all I have.

Thomas’s hand moves as if to reach out across the space between them, but he shoves his hand into his pocket instead. “You are enough for them. You give them every piece of yourself, and they trust you. And if, sometimes, the damage is a little bigger than just you can fix… well. You hold on tight until you can find a piece a little bit bigger.”

Startled, Roman looks up at Thomas through his blurry vision that clears suddenly when he blinks. The smile Thomas offers is sad, but there’s something earnest in his eyes that makes an entirely different kind of lump form in his throat.

Thomas doesn’t break from his gaze. “I know you’re used to being on your own, Roman, but… you’re not, anymore. You’ve got help. And… it’s okay to ask for it. It’s okay to let people know you need it.” Thomas takes a hesitant step closer. “It doesn’t mean you aren’t enough for them. They think the world of you. I knew that the moment they tried to fight me during that combat choreography practice.”

Roman laughs wetly at the memory. “Old habits die hard.”

“I know… But you’ve got people who want to help you with that part of it too.”

Roman sniffles and scrubs at his damp cheeks. Thomas seems to soften even more, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets and holds his arms out in an offering of a hug. “You’re not a patch job, Roman. You’re a person. People need help fixing things sometimes.”

Roman releases a breath and hugs Thomas, the feeling at once foreign and comforting. “Breathe,” Thomas urges. “Okay?”

Roman smiles faintly as he pulls back. “Okay.”

Thomas nods once, a faint smile tugging at his own lips. “Good. Now let’s fix a broken pipe.”

[willowistic22]

Soon You’ll Get Better (Redfinch)

It was four months ago when his world burned into flaming embers. But after some time, he’s starting to heal from all the pain. And so, his mind starts screaming the same question in a million different ways which all hurt him like knife cuts from different angles : How could he? 

Words : 3682

Part : - 

Warnings : Death, grief, hospitals 

A/N : Abt damn time I post a fanfic huh?? hehe i set a 2 fanfic a month goal for myself to keep the momentum going, so that would kinda explain it. Anyways here a fanfic. Inspired by a post I made a while ago the post is long gone idk where tf it is anymore now and there are elements of Taylor Swift’s ‘Soon You’ll Get Better’ but it’s not a songfic bcs in the fic the song is used as a song Albert wrote. Just read the fic and you’ll get it! Enjoy!!!

@fifty-for-the-racer since you were really passionate abt this idea, this one’s for you <3 

Walking through the hallway of his college dorm, backpack on his shoulder while clutching a few books he brought to class close to his chest. It’s full of other college students minding their own business. But they’re loud and fast, while Albert is slow and quiet. His mind is the one going at a fast pace. 

The weight and hollow feeling he has grown used to since four months ago doesn’t feel the same way as before. It doesn’t hurt as much. And somehow it felt wrong that he is moving on. He couldn’t move on. How could he?

His brain gets louder and louder with all these new thoughts that he’s been developing lately. As if the loud noises of fast paced college students isn’t enough to make him suffer. Albert lets out a deep sigh as the sight of his own dorm slowly comes to view. He can get some peace of mind for the time being since his roommate still has a class at this hour.

Albert slowly opens the wooden door but stops in the middle of his tracks upon his new discovery.

“I didn’t— I wasn’t— Race let me in before he left for class!” A boy, that obviously doesn’t belong here, sits on Albert’s bed with a few of his messy clothes on his lap. The boy stands up to approach him while frantically moving the clothes away from him, “I didn’t mean to snoop around your stuff, I swear! Your clothes were just- they were a mess and I thought I could fold it—“

“Woah, calm down there, Finch” Albert cut him off, closing the door behind him before he takes a few steps closer to the worried looking blond boy, “You know I trust you with my stuff”

He lets out a deep breath upon hearing those words, “I know, but… I never asked for permission”

Finch’s eyes meet Albert’s, blue and hazel orbs locked in a soft gaze. He sighs out, “I’m sorry”

Albert simply chuckles through his small smile, dropping his bag onto his desk along with the black snapback he’s been wearing all day which reveals his bright red hair in a messy floof, “No need to be sorry. Besides, I really need to start cleaning up”

Finch chuckles at that, dropping his guarded shoulders down. Wordlessly, Albert starts picking up his clothes. Separating them to two big piles on the bed, one dirty pile and another clean one for him to fold and put back to his closet. Finch hesitated on approaching to help. But after the redhead flashes him a warm smile over his shoulder, Finch gladly skips next to him to help.

For the most part, they don’t talk. Finch isn’t sure if he should, not that he’d know what to talk about anyways. But he doesn’t mind it. They could still hear other college students through the walls as it isn’t that thick. And the birds chirping outside makes its way through the single window next to Al’s bed, along with the rays of light coming from the afternoon sun.

“I’d hear an earful from mom if she ever finds out that my dorm is messy” Albert finally broke the silence upon feeling the little tension from the other boy next to him.

Finch steals a small glance to his side, a little surprise with the topic he chose to speak up about. But he doesn’t complain. If this is how Albert mourns, then he’s willing to help.

“Yeah?” Finch asked softly, stacking a clean pair of pants he just folded to a clean pile of other pants.

“Yeah” Albert replied, eyes still glued to his task of separating his clothes. He can feel a little smile makes its way on his face, “She’d tell me to put them back in my closet as soon as it's clean so I won’t forget”

By now, all the out of placed clothes are picked up since Finch had already started beforehand. The wooden floor and the rest of the furniture in his dorm are free from Albert’s clothes. He reaches for the drawer under his bed to grab the laundry bag.

“But… I always end up either forgetting or procrastinating” Albert smiled to himself with a chuckle as he rose up to put the dirty clothes in the laundry bag.

Finch laughs along with him, glad to see him smile while he talks about his mother. It’s been some time since he last saw it. He’s glad there’s progress being made.

It didn’t take long to put the dirty clothes in the laundry bag. He carelessly tosses the bag to a forgotten corner of his dorm, turning to face the neatly folded clothes on his bed so he can organize it in his closet. His focus however, caught on to a strange sound that came from the corner where he threw the laundry bag. A loud thud between a hard solid object with a mixture of unorganized notes originating from strings.

The two boys flip their heads towards said corner, on the remaining space between the wall and the edge of Albert’s bed. There, lay a dusty guitar leaning against the corner created by the wall. The light brown of the wood reflects the minimal rays of sunshine that reached that forgotten corner, making it more majestic than it actually is.

“You didn’t tell me you brought your guitar here!” Finch exclaimed upon taking note of the guitar’s presence. An exciting energy buzzing through his veins all of a sudden. Everyone could instantly tell from the way his blue eyes lit up and his lips splitting into a smile.

“Didn’t thought it’d matter” Albert replied with a little chuckle. He watches as Finch gets his hands on the instrument, all while putting his clothes back in his closet.

The moment Finch gets his hands on the guitar, he puts it on his lap and sits down on the now spacious mattress. The spring bounces up and down with the weight of the blond boy and his new discovery. He starts to lightly pluck the strings, creating a lovely tune while waiting for Albert to finish up cleaning.

As the last item is placed back to its rightful place in Al’s closet, he closes the doors and turns to Finch. He’s still busy getting entertained by the guitar to notice the warm smile creeping its way to Al’s face.

Though, he doesn’t linger in the gaze. Seeing that he’s been wearing the same outfit for the whole day, he decides to slip into some warm sweatpants and a clean t-shirt.

“When did you brought it here?” Finch asked, eyes gleaming at the sight of a freshly dressed Albert walking towards him on the bed. His finger still mindlessly strumming the guitar, the same soft melody still echoes around the dorm.

“After like, what, two and a half months maybe? Dad decided to do some cleaning” Albert explained, ruffling his bright red locks with a hand, “I found this guitar after forgetting about it for a while and decided to keep it. It kept me busy for the most part”

The pair moves to lay down on the bed together. It’s technically too small to fit two people but neither boys mind cuddling towards each other.

Albert takes charge of the guitar while Finch gets comfortable lying next to him. Arms slightly wrapping his shoulders with his head tucked warmly in the crook of Al’s neck. Finch’s small blond curls slightly brush against the coarse skin of the other boy, almost as softly as Albert’s own fingers strumming his guitar.

“Turns out mom had always kept it” Albert suddenly spoke up, soft yet still deep. Finch looks up as best as he can to meet his eyes, though the boy doesn’t seem to be making any efforts on trying to do the same. His eyes turned blue, looking down at the strings he’s strumming, “At first I thought she threw it away since I wouldn’t be needing it for college. But I found it in her closet one time when I had to pick something up for her”

Albert plucks one last string of his guitar before stopping the tune, he let’s the last note resonate around the room. A long drawn out sigh leaves his nose, the aura of this dorm drooping along with his sadness.

Finch looks up to study his face. Hazel eyes clouded with a secret rainstorm behind it. Lips still smiling, but it was cracked by the thunderous thoughts that are now occupying his head.

“Hey, you okay?” Finch dared to whisper. It might be a bad idea, but it’s the only thing he could do right now.

Albert doesn’t answer. He seems to still be lost in whatever is running around in his head.

To which, Finch continues, “It’s okay to be sad, Al. I know you miss her”

“Yeah. I miss her a lot” Albert finally replied. He shifts his head down towards where Finch is already looking up at him, “But I don’t know. Lately it… it doesn’t hurt as much as it first did”

The other boy could only tilt his head to the side with a question mark drawing the lines of his face. Albert just smiles down at the face and chuckles at the cuteness before continuing, “I still miss her but… It’s getting easier to move on. And I know it’s supposed to be a good thing but… I feel kinda guilty ‘bout it”

Finch softens his face at the explanation, offering a comforting smile. He cuddles closer to Albert, which was received with open arms. Al slightly pushes away his guitar to let Finch cozy up next to him a little further. Once they find a comfortable position, they take in the smell of each other and then let it out with one huge sigh.

“It does make you feel guilty if you start feeling like moving on from someone’s death” Finch acknowledged Albert's previous words, gentle and slow, “But nothing in this world would ever make you forget about your mother. I can promise you that”

The redhead snorts out a little laughter, “You sound like my therapist”

Finch, not knowing how to respond to that, laughs along with him. Which only makes Albert tighten his hug around the boy.

“You’ll get through this. I know you will” Finch said, after pondering about his next words for a minute. It was only replied by a squeeze to one of Finch’s hands but he knew it was a way to appreciate his words without verbally saying it.

“Y’know…” Albert suddenly began after a few moments of silence, gently pushing Finch away from the hug so he could sit up on the bed properly. He sits slightly on the end of the bed, opposing Finch so they’re now face to face without needing to turn their heads. He props his guitar on his lap again and looks down to the other boy, “... I uhh… I wrote a song while she was in the hospital. Hoping she’d get better”

Sensing a little private performance coming up, Finch excitedly sits up along with him. Legs tucked in close to his chest, letting his hands rest on his knees. A hopeful smile rests on his face, shining as bright as day.

It makes Albert giggle a little while his fingers start to softly strum the guitar again. It’s a different tune from before, but this one doesn’t sound like something he made up in the moment. It has a pattern to it, soft and comforting.

“I wrote it in the summer after our high school graduation. It’s called… ‘Soon You’ll get better’” Albert explained, looking down to the vibrating strings, “Mom really liked it when she first heard it. She always asked me to sing it any time I visit her in the hospital” 

“And… you’re gonna sing it to me now?” Finch asked hopefully, getting impatient from the absence of his boyfriend’s vocals.

Albert chuckles at it, but nods along to answer his question. To which, Finch settles in his seat and waits for Albert to start singing.

“The buttons of my coat were, tangled in my hair

In doctor's-office-lighting, I didn't tell you I was scared”

He keeps his eyes glued down to the strings. Finch isn’t sure if he’s doing this on purpose, but he won’t question it. It’s a song that stuck pretty close to Albert’s heart it seems, and for a good reason too.

“That was the first time we were there

Holy orange bottles, each night I pray to you

Desperate people find faith, so now I pray to Jesus too”

His voice is nasally but still strong and sweet as honey. Finch was captivated by the deep baritenor vocals, slipping out of reality with every gentle note echoing around the dorm. Unknowingly, a smile spread across his face as the song progressed.

“And I say to you

Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better

Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better

Ooh-ah, you'll get better soon”

Briefly, Albert drags his eyes up to Finch. A sad kind of happiness paints his face and Finch could only reply with the same look on his face.

“'Cause you have to”

Every word he wrote in the song made him sound so vulnerable, something not many people get to witness. Every sad lyric he wrote sounds like a rain parade sent from hell. The same feeling he felt when his father called him to get to the hospital as quickly as possible to say one goodbye to his mother.

Finch remembers that day too. The couple were with some of their other friends on a night out. When the phone rang, Albert had a bad feeling because the last time he went to the hospital his mother looked worse than before. Nonetheless, he still picked it up and it sucked the joy right out of him. Albert had to ask Finch to come with him. No one wanted to know what he would’ve done if the poor boy walked there on his own.

Mr. DaSilva, his two older brothers along with their wives and Albert’s only niece from his oldest brother had said their misty goodbyes. It left their eyes so watery, they couldn’t recognize Albert running in the room. A woman laid helplessly on the hospital bed, skin too pale for her own good and the same red locks she and her three sons share fully shaved off her head. Their other relatives aren’t here which Albert had assumed was because they’re still on their way. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was saying goodbye to his beloved mother.

She still had the energy to smile at Albert and Finch when they first stepped in the room. Albert had knelt down next to her, taking his mother’s hand and soaking up any warmth left in the palms which was next to zero. They had exchanged words in whispers, and by the time Albert got up to hug her the water starts staining her clothes.

“And I hate to make this all about me

But who am I supposed to talk to?

What am I supposed to do

If there's no you?”

The song was meant to be a get-well-soon prayer for his mother. Albert had his doubts that this time she’d make it out alive since it’s the third time her cancer came back. And for a while, he believed that she would. She had always been a fighter and she did fight like hell at the start of it, saying that she wanted to see Albert graduate college.

Of course, the universe had its own plans. She was too weak to fight any harder and thought that it was enough. As much as Albert hated it, he still had to let her go when the heart monitor stopped beating. The long ringing noise was so deafening, it pierced like dagger right through his eardrums.

As the doctors and nurses took over to do their jobs, the family mourned her death. The pain from every teardrop felt like a stab to the heart. It kept on feeling like that for some time after her funeral as they mourn in their own different ways.

“This won't go back to normal, if it ever was

It's been years of hoping, and I keep saying it because

'Cause I have to”

Albert was lucky he had all his friends to be there by his side as support. Giving him the necessary space any time he needs it, a shoulder to cry on when he needs it, giving him their therapists’ contact number when he asked, or welcoming him back to the group when he feels like going out with them. Overall, they’re the most amazing friends Albert could’ve asked for.

At first it was hard to keep up with how fast the world is spinning. But Albert soon relearned the pace and slowly healed from the pain. And that’s his new problem. The term ‘healing’ in this kind of situation felt so wrong, to use and to do. Albert feels guilty for trying to feel normal after his mother’s death, because it’s obvious nothing is normal. 

Take the rest of his family for example : they used to have family dinners every month in the DaSilva household. Albert, his brothers, sister in-laws, his only niece, and both parents. Four months after the funeral they haven’t had their monthly family dinners. Maybe it was for the best. His father didn’t even seem okay when he was cleaning out his wife's stuff.

“Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better

Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better

Ooh-ah, you'll get better soon

'Cause you have to”

Strumming the last few notes of the song, Albert could feel the water forming in his eyes again. He ignores it till he strums the last chord. Bringing his gaze back up to meet Finch’s, he can tell the other boy noticing the little drops of water threatening to trickle down his cheeks.

They stayed silent for a few seconds, Albert waiting for the little wave of sadness to properly sit while he puts down his guitar on the floor and Finch waiting for a cue to do something.

“She always liked it when I sing it to her” Albert exclaimed, trying to play it cool while he wipes his tears away, “I don’t think you’ve heard it before”

“No, I haven't,” Finch replied. He shifts closer to Albert to help him wipe his tears away with the sleeves of the hoodie he’s currently wearing. After it dried, Finch’s hands cupped his cheeks gently and he whispers, “But it was very lovely. I love it”

To that, Albert smiles. It made Finch smile along as well. But he knows better not to mistake that smile for happiness.

“Thanks for stopping by, Finch” Albert finally said, “I really needed it”

Finch smiles, letting out a little sigh, “Glad I could help”

He leans his head closer to Albert. Sensing a kiss coming up, Albert does the same and their lips meet halfway. Softly brushing against each other while their eyes closed to focus on the warm feeling. Albert gently holds one of Finch’s hands on his cheek with his own as the kiss deepened, still gentle and loving.

A jingling noise followed by loud chattering and laughter coming from the other side of the door got them to pull apart quickly. In storms, the door opens and a tall messy looking figure enters the room still packed with energy and excitement.

“Oh! Uhh… I didn’t know there was a date scheduled here!” Race exclaimed, freezing like a deer caught by headlights in the middle of the room when he noticed his roommate already had his own company.

The two boys looked past him and saw a bunch of their other friends standing in the doorway, waiting for a cue to enter the dorm. They wave at each other politely, all while Finch slowly backs away from his boyfriend. It made the group chuckle, and the couple a bit embarrassed. 

“Yeah, uhh…” Race awkwardly said, scratching the back of his head, “...We were about to have a game of poker here—but it’s cool! We can go somewhere else—“

“Nah, it’s okay, Racer!” Albert exclaimed, swinging his legs down the bed. He approaches the door where his friends are still waiting around, greeting them with a big smile, “You guys comin’ in or what?”

To which they all laughed, happily piling in the dorm. They simply put their stuff on an empty space in the floor before they make their way to where Race was already sitting on the floor.

“You playin’, Al?” One friend called out, Romeo.

“Yeah, deal me in” Albert replied, closing the door after waiting for all of his friends to pile in. He trails behind the last friend, Crutchie, towards the little circle his friends had made.

“Last time I was here the floor was covered with your clothes, Al” Crutchie observed the dorm while he slowly lowered himself to the floor in between Finch and Romeo, “Did you finally pick them up?”

Albert sits himself down next to Finch, exchanging a laugh with the other boy before answering, “Yeah, Finch came by to help”

“Took you long enough!” Race joked, still busy prepping the game for the others. Everyone laughed at it, all while Al reached his hands out to playfully smack his knee.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough” Jack stopped the two, growing impatient with the inevitable poker game, “Let’s get this game going!”

So now he’s playing a game with his friends like normal. Of course, the conversation he just had with Finch still lingered in his mind. Of how much he misses his mother and how guilty he feels for trying to move on. But the promises Finch made gave him a little glimmer of light. It’s not something he can technically promise, but it’s definitely something to hope for. With a glance shot towards his boyfriend next to him, which was replied with a soft gaze from Finch himself, he knows that everything will turn out alright eventually. 

[dylanxmin]

painkiller ∣ 2 ∣ j.hs

breakups are habitual, ordinary maybe even easy for some other people, and maybe it could be easy for you, too, if you haven’t been dumped by your boyfriend after finding out that you were pregnant. no, it wasn’t easy even a bit. and a stranger who wants to be your side doesn’t make this all easy for you, at all.

pairing; jung hoseok x reader

genre; angst, fluff, humor, pregnancy au, strangers to lovers au, single!mom au, slice of life au,,

warnings; angst, and more angst(we will have less angst in time i promise), swearings, mention of sexual harrasment(it’s a light scene) 

word count; 7.4k

rating; nc17

a/n; heyo!! i know i’m pretty late, but it took me ages to write, and it was hard for me to gather my thoughts to turn them into writing,, but yes, here i am with the episode 2!! i hope you can enjoy this episode as much as the first one. i’m really happy with the feedbacks i got with the first episode, and i love to write this fic, so thank you for encouraging me more to write about this hoseok and y/n. i still need your feedbacks tho lol,, love you all ♡

previous ➭ ˚masterlist˚ ➭ next

taglist; @xxluckydreamsxx​ ,, @parkminhee​

∣ send me an ask if you want to be on the tag list ∣

‘Can you please take this to Jin?’ Jimin asked the man who passes by him, causing him to stop, eyes narrowed after he looks at Jimin. ''You know I would, but I have to finish this resource, and he doesn't want to see me before I finish this,'' Jimin begs once again, eyes taking the shape of a puppy. What Jimin said is not a lie, and he is drowning in research for a patient, where Jin asked him a lot while ago, and he is a bit scared to see him before he finishes this. 

''Okay, okay. Give me that,'' Jimin coos, wiggling his body before handing the file to the man who saves him, with a big grin on his face. ''I owe you big time!'' he yells, while the other man takes a turn at the big white corridor. His big grin fades after he turns his papers, he has a lot of things to do yet, he finds himself procrastinating, as he always does. 

Hoseok folds the file in his hand, sighing to himself, and asks why he always finds himself while agreeing what Jimin says. And not only on work, but he also does this at home, where he feels too lazy to do the dishes or the laundry. Hoseok loves him, loves him like a brother, but he has to learn to say no. Both for his and Jimin's sake, otherwise, he will find himself while beating his ass. Hoseok takes another turn, where Jin's room is, but before he could open the door, someone does it before him. 

Hoseok barely holds himself from crashing on you, his eyes wide open due to the sudden move. A little whimper leaves his lips, but you were too busy to hear that or even see him. He goes silent after seeing the tears on your eyes, the pain, and uncertainty on your face. A very familiar face with the familiar emotions on it. Hoseok's mouth takes an 'o' shape, eyes watching you to getting away from him. 

While trying to understand what just happened, he enters the room after knocking two times. A line appeared between his brows, familiar yet unknown feeling fills him, he wants to shake his body, head to toe. ''Is she?'' he doubts, eyes finding his friends who have the same confusion on his face. Hoseok couldn't understand why he was feeling this way, and why he was happy to see you again. He lets a deep breath, closing the door before heading to the chair, and sits where you just left. ''Well, it's a small world, huh?'' Jin laughs as he said something funny, but Hoseok crinkles his nose, gives him a blank stare in return. 

''Wait... she is pregnant?'' his eyes went round, for some reason he couldn't bring these two things together, even though not knowing you enough to come up with a character analysis. ''Yes, but good news, she wasn't drunk, rather than what we think,'' Jin gave a half-smile, open his arms to emphasize the good news he was giving. 

On the contrary to his friend, this news wasn't good for Hoseok. He remembered how you looked down in the dump the day he first saw you, and after seeing you with tears on your eyes, he felt heartbroken. He didn't know you well, but he couldn't help but want to reach you and talk to you about this. 

''Hobi, don't tell me that you are thinking about talking to her or something... please,'' Jin grunted after seeing how sadness clouded his friend's features. Jin knew well enough that Hoseok would do something such a thing. He couldn't understand why, but Hoseok always tried to help others, even without knowing them, so Jin was sure that he would that once again. 

Just like Jin afraid of Hoseok's whole face lit up, he throws the file he holds in his hand at Jin's desk before leaving his office in hurry. The doctor hit his face with his palm, shaking his head in disbelief. ''He never learns,'' he sighs, grabbing the file for distracting himself from his too friendly friend. 

While Jin is already focusing on the work, Hoseok finds himself while eavesdropping the conversation you have with your mother, as he heard you calling the person as 'mom' over the phone. He didn't mean to overhear your phone call or acting like a creep once again, but he couldn't approach you after seeing you on the phone, in a deep conversation. He was just going to wait until you finish your call, as he said to himself, but courage left his body after you get up from the bench. His body betrays himself, and he stands there only to watch you getting away once again. 

''Aish... stupid legs,'' he scoffs, leaning the back of his head to the wall, chewing on his bottom lip. He swears himself to come to your side when he sees you again. And his instincts say him that he will see you again. 

Fried eggs, boiled eggs, or any kind of eggs, it didn't matter how they made it, or why they made. You hate it. You hate it with all of your presence. While the scent of the very disgusting thing starts to spread, there is no way for you to refrain from jerking your body from your bed, hitting your toes to every possible object in your room, thanks to your sleepy head. This is how you start your beautiful day. 

Spasming and ratching above your toilet, nails digging into the napkin you hold one of your hands, as your life was depending on it. 

As you barely hold your head up and eyes still tightly shut, you prayed to not dripping your newly cleaned floor. Fortunately, throwing up with closed eyes wasn't your first time, but they were only caused by your drunkness, rather than pregnancy. 

And this is your story how you found yourself above on the toilet, pouring everything inside of you. Your nose crinkled at the sight, pushing the flush after throwing the napkin that you wiped your mouth. Morning sickness officially trying to end your life, as it was interrupting your sleep every morning, which a pregnant woman needs sleep. And stealing your food, vitamins, and all the other beneficial objects from your body. Also, the things that a pregnant woman most needed.

After you lift yourself from the ground and splashing cold water to your face, a little drop takes a track from your sleeves, dripping the white cotton rug. When the very hideous smell hits, closer this time, you stop wiping your face to the towel. No... no. He did not do that. 

Your eyes find the man's big grin in the mirror, but his grin fades after seeing your petrified glares staring the pan he holds with big confidence. ''Don't you dare to take one step closer,'' you warn the man with red hair, eyes darting over the pan and his rounded eyes. His eyebrows waggled, holding the pan a little higher to your dismay. ''Aigo... I present to you the best breakfast and this is my reward? And I'm waiting here for a big fat thanks. What a shame...'' 

''Tae, just hold that scum far away from me!'' 

''Stop being a brat and thank me, you brat!'' he pouts while holding out the pan, but his eyes sparkled with horror after seeing you cover your mouth while letting a loud gag. ''You are just being dramatic here,'' he says, turning his back at you, but he holds himself from making a sound while visibly ratching. If Taehyung had a list of weird habits of him, throwing up after seeing, or hearing someone throwing up would be on the list. He makes a speed walk in your corridor, trying not to hear your sound. 

You push the flush once again while listing how to kill someone before getting physically fight in your mind. Poisoning is the first thing to comes across your mind, but you let those thoughts slide from your mind before heading inside. He was too young to die anyway. 

The red-haired man lets out a big sigh, the brooding eyes meet with yours. ''I still can't believe that you are pregnant,'' he throws the last cherry tomato to his mouth, chewing it loudly. ''and when are you going to visit Yuri, she is still super surprised,'' he says nonchalantly while making a small sandwich with salami and the fried egg. 

''You mean my mom?'' you questioned, voice comes out hoarse as you hold your nose while sending him deadly glares. ''and can you just not eat this today?'' you gestured the salami and the egg, turning your head to another side, trying to hold your gag. 

Taehyung scoffs, murmuring how you destroyed the beautiful morning for him, but he can't take the risk of making you vomit all over the kitchen, so he moves them away from you. ''Better?'' he asks after opening the kitchen window, and you nod appreciatively. ''Yuri-... I mean your mother called me after you gave her the news, and told me everything. I hope you won't get back with that bastard because we said pretty good things behind him,'' he plastered a smile on his face, adjusting his hair by brushing it with his hand. 

''I'm still upset with you if you haven't realized it. I'm your best friend and you didn't even bother to give me a call. I wait for three days, but nothing.'' he rolled his eyes, arms crossed above his chest. 

Well, he did have a point by being upset with you, but you hold yourself from giggling as you remembered his face when he comes to your door yesterday, at two o'clock. Eyes of him seizing you in disbelief, one of his hand resting on his chest, above his heart, shaking his head side to side, slowly. He emerged inside, telling you how angry and upset he was, but as you were pregnant he wasn't going to yell at you and make the baby sad. Rather, he gave you the 'how could you' look for a whole night long. And, for your belief, it was worse than him yelling at you. 

He would scold you when he can, between changing every fabric that contains the very memories of your ex, aside with his scent. The scent that tearing your heart, suffocates you to death. He would be cursing and swearing in every two minutes behind your ex, send him the most negative thoughts, mentally. You hardly convince him to send his stuff to charity, and not to burn. 

In his defense, burning them would clear the bad aura he left behind. More likely, that may or may not ease the fire and the hate Taehyung feels about him. Probably won't, you guessed. 

''This is all new for me Tae... Even I can't believe that I'm pregnant,'' you shared, taking a sip from your tea. The weird taste of it made you scrunch your face, but Taehyung made you this saying it was good for a pregnant woman. ''And before I visit my mom, I have to get used to being like this,'' you peek a glance to your belly. As you said to him, it was too new for you to face your mother with a living creature in your stomach. 

Yet, you don't think you will ever get used to this feeling. 

''Okay...'' he nods, licks the chocolate from his fork. But soon after, he gets up and tells you that he had enough of this gloomy atmosphere. He cleans the kitchen, and not letting you help him even though you try, he kicks you out from your kitchen. After he finishes, he tries to guess if it's a she or a he, or maybe neither in his defense. Asks you a lot of questions about pregnancy, makes a couple of jokes about how you knocked up and then he starts to look for baby clothes. When he can't decide what to buy, he calls your mother, but the conversation even comes to your highly charismatic doctor, and you show them his picture. 

It's not the best side of him as it was in the hospital site, still, it was enough to drop Taehyung's chin to the ground. He threatens you to stay away from him, narrows his eyes to reassure you that he was serious, but you just put a couple of slaps on his shoulder between in your laughs. 

''There are people out there, looking like a statue, plus, a brain on their skull. Yet, my naive daughter chooses the stupid one and an ugly stupid,'' your mother sighs, shakes her head, causing Taehyung to burst into laughter. You on the other hand whine and pout the very offensive comment your mother did. Not that she is not right, but how could you possibly know that your three-year relationship would end like that. ''I hope this baby chooses to be like you. At least from the outside,'' another laughter raises from your best friend, your mom won't stop teasing you and ganging up with the redhead. 

''I thought you two would be the wind on my back, not to spit on my face,'' the old woman looks at you the same way as the younger adult. Eyes narrowed, lips pressed together. Both of them try to understand what was that supposed to mean, and you giggle, still surprised by the similarity of the old lady and the young male. It's not a wonder how people thought Taehyung as your mother's son, rather than you. 

''She is just making up words to get us, don't fool by it, Yuri!'' Taehyung warns, mouth twists in disgust and disbelief. And the called woman agrees, hums, and nods her head. You were being a third-wheel between your biological mother and your very best friend. At least you were feeling, and you start to pout. Arms crossed over your chest, having an attitude without making a big fuss. 

Soon after you talk hours and hours, Taehyung and your mom got your sympathy before he gets up to head his home, insists on making you come with him, but you refuse for thousand times. ''You know I'd stay but the couch isn't good for my back,'' you giggle before kissing him goodbye and he leaves after telling you to call him for even the smallest thing. 

The ease on your shoulders fades, sorrow gathers on your chest soon after Taehyung left. Once again, you are grateful to have him in your life. From the first time, you two met in the elementary school, said man never left your side, up this day.  You two hold the hands of each other when you had your first vaccine, and never stop holding. Somewhere the friendship of the two turned to the friendship of the four when Taehyung befriends with Yoongi and Namjoon. 

You love them, adore them for the chaos they bring to your life. That's why you kept your mouth shut about this news, as you knew that they would go crazy, won't leave your side for a moment to be a helping hand. For having and pressing that kind of attention, you should get prepared before. You need to accept the situation, first. 

Six-week pregnancy hits you hard. Not just the morning sicknesses, but also sore, swollen breast due to the change of the shape. Yes, they look bigger than ever and you like how they filled your oversized bra, but the light pain made you uncomfortable. You try to massage them on the shower with your shower gel to ease the ache and constantly refused the help of Yoongi. He offered you to help with the massage thing, which you only sighed and shake your head in disbelief.  

Side of this, you start to pee for like a thousand times a day. Day or night didn't matter, and you always find yourself sleeping on the toilet, waking up to a new need to pee. It was frustrating, annoying, and blood boiling. 

You push the flush once again, adjusting your clothes before heading to the work. Before passing your sneakers to your feet, you take a glance at your long-forgotten heels. Pointy, tight shoes only manage to cause you more burden on these days, so you decide to stay away from them. Who would like to have sore feet while dealing with pregnancy? Not you.

''Give me a break...'' you turn the wheel, heading to another parking lot as some jerk decides to put his car to your spot. There is plenty of parking lot, but this one was the closest to the elevator and you didn't want to park another place to walk all the way down here again. Because of your unstable emotions, you feel too tired lately, worn out, and wanted to cry easily. 

Your hold tightened around the wheel, head slowly falls on it after parking your car. You try to breathe, but it's useless. Everything feels too much, eyes tearing up, while defeat sits on your shoulders. Too much failure. Too much loneliness. Too much agony crept towards you, to your chest. All these days, you acted like there was nothing wrong with you. Like you weren't dying inside, like happy to be pregnant. Or, happy to be dumped. 

Long story short, you weren't. You were waking up to vomit on your throat, ache on your chest, and the first thing you see was your dirty toilet before heading to work. A cramp grows in your chest, won't letting you breathe that you need desperately. Hiccups fall by your lips one by one, just like the tears on your face. Does it have to feel like this? Does it have to hurt like this, you didn't know. 

So many people want to make you happy, who will be your side from the start to end, but somehow this feeling of loneliness won't leave your mind, your heart. You want only one of them on your side, even though you don't accept to be pregnant. But the only person you want on your side, wouldn't be your side. 

You reach to your purse, take a napkin to adjust your face. The business won't work itself, as your boss always says. People need games to play. Most likely, rich people. 

Elevator doors open with an irritating voice, too old to continue working you think. Before you take a step, you hear your name right beside you, causing you to startle. ''Did you made breakfast? If not, join me.'' the man in nothing but sweatpants and a simple shirt, greats you at the door with a big grin. He wishes you won't find a lame excuse to refuse him. 

''Ohh, Damian... you scared me!'' hand placed above your chest, you seized the man. One of his hand in his pocket, mug on the other one. The suiting scent of the coffee fills your nostrils. ''Well, I don't have an appetite for breakfast,'' while you press your lips together, his grin widens on his face, almost covering it completely. 

''Coffee then,'' he turns on his shoes, not letting you say anything before heading to the small kitchen in the office. You sigh, but feeling too tired to turn him down and to deal with his insists. ''Actually, I would like to have a tea instead,'' he turns, eyes widened with your sudden request. Both because you really did follow him, and choose tea over coffee. The brown-haired man knew you more than three years now, and he knew you well enough that you would always choose coffee over tea. 

''That's also good,'' he doesn't want to waste his chance by asking you too much question, so he just smiles. He refreshes his coffee, while you take a sip from your tea. Smooth peach fills in your breath, warms your stomach, nose wrinkles with the warm feeling. ''Thank you,'' you hold your mug up, bowing your head slightly with a smile. 

''Aish... I want to kick his head and his ass. Why he has to be a jerk like this!'' right before the man who stands on the kitchen talks again, his mouth shuts as the voice of long heels, and whinings fill the room. You great the woman with long black hair with your head, while she takes her place on the other side of the table. ''Who thinks he is? I know he is the head of the creative department, but ughhh-- he just annoys me,'' you press your laugh, while the girl covers her face with her freshly manicured hands. 

You exchange looks with Damian, he doesn't hide his smile while playing the hair on his neck. ''Don't you think he is annoying? Y/N?'' hand on your wrist disconnects your stare, and you turn to see round pair of eyes, burning with rage. You found this oddly amusing and also too familiar. 

''Stop pushing Y/N to talk bad about her friend Nara,'' Damian finishes his drink after scolding Nara with an irony. You let your smile out, feeling better after burying your anger and fears to the back of your mind. In fact, you were too busy to think about your low life at this office. ''Fun fact, he is also my boss,'' you narrow your eyes, pointing your forefinger at his face, ''not just yours,'' 

He looks at your finger, then behind you and Nara before speaking. ''Speak of the devil,'' he jokes, waving his hand. You both turn your backs to meet the man you gossip about, Nara lets out a loud groan, hands covering her face once again. 

''I didn't know that I was paying you to chat all day,'' the man in a cream suit leans on the kitchen bench, raising his brow. ''Well, you don't pay us exactly,'' you raise your brow, imitating him but fail to hide your mischief on your tone. 

''If so, don't come at me asking for a raise,'' Nara rolls her eyes after hearing his annoying voice. She really finds his voice annoying. Irritating, and mostly his voice always drives her crazy. 

''Joon, you wouldn't do that. Not to your best worker,'' you pout, but both Damian and Nara protest what you said. They find your high confidence ridiculous and presents their objections. But the head of the creative department can't handle the mess and raise his voice to gather the attention on him. ''Okay, okay, okay. There is no raise near soon, so save this fight for another meeting, alright?'' 

He holds his hand up, regretting to open the topic of the raise. Both you and Damian let a light chuckle, while Nara rolling her eyes at him. Namjoon sends a cringy wink to her before leaving the kitchen, causing Nara to make vomiting sounds. 

Bitter liquid finds its way up to your throat, so you choose to run from there, following Namjoon. Avoiding the numbness on your throat for not to humiliate yourself on the work by vomiting and then explaining why you were vomiting all around the floor. Aish... you would never want to experience that. 

''Don't you have an appointment with--'' between in your overthinking, you cut his words with a loud whine. You close the door behind you and face him. The so-called boss looks at you with round eyes, mouth parted slightly due to your sudden reproach. ''Did I say something wrong?'' 

''No... of course not Joonie,'' you give a little break, scratching your neck in embarrassment. Not that he said something wrong, but more likely what he was going to say would only cause more gossiping and a big fuss that you couldn't handle in this exact moment. You take a seat in front of his desk, rubbing your palms on your thighs. ''I just... don't-- not ready for everyone to hear, you know?'' 

Namjoon's heart aches for a second, seeing you ill at ease and weary makes him upset. He wasn't that oblivious to not recognize how tired you look with the dark bags under your eyes, cursory makeup you do to look more lively, hiding how you feel actually. He just wants to take you from this nightmare you live, but he is too powerless to do so. 

''Sorry Y/N... I'll try to be more careful,''  you smile at him, waving your hand like it's not a big deal, but he knows. ''But, you do have an appointment, right?'' 

''Yes, I have,'' you pause to take a sip from a bottle of water he has on his desk. Out of the blue, you feel dehydrated. ''That's why I barge in here. I need to leave a little bit early today... You know what for,'' Namjoon sized you up with a fond smile on his lips, and you knew that he was up to something, probably going to say something to boil your blood. 

''You came here to ask permission, as I'm your boss, huh?'' opposing to his cocky, annoying expression, you could feel your jaw clenching while eyes twitching. Everyone thought having a friend who is your boss would have benefit for you but in reality, it was annoying. He continuously bragging about this, even after your shifts, while having a joyful meal. ''Joon, I swear that I will sue you for sexual harassment,'' you glare at him, but he lets a scoff. 

''As they would believe you,'' his finger goes between you and himself, forehead creased. ''I'm sorry but obviously, you are not my type,'' you literally growl after his statement, rubbing your face with your palms. What a frustrating human being... 

''I'm leaving,'' you get up between his laughs and attempts to make you stay longer, but you shut the door behind. While sighing and heading to your desk, you feel sorry for Nara. That woman tries not to kill him and tries not to lose her mind because of all his bullshits. You send all of your blessings to her. For hers and Namjoon's sakes. 

''Tell Jimin that if he won't hand me the research I assigned him until the end of this week, I swear the god I'll fire his pre-nurse ass--'' when you enter the room after knocking, two pair of rounded eyes lands on you. You eye them with wide eyes, not expecting to hear these words from your Doctor. ''I'm sorry... I knocked on the door but--'' 

''Y/N! I was waiting for you-- come in,'' despite his red face and visible veins on his neck, his tone comes out sweet like the first appointment you had with him. You give a faint smile in return with a little head bow, closing the door behind you. ''I just need a minute, okay?'' you nod. 

Standing under the white light, eyes focused on your shoes. You should have stopped chewing your lips when you feel nervous, but you never manage it. You liked Doctor Kim, but being in this room will always make you nervous and tense. Being here made your nerves go crazy, pain on the chest and the reality of your situation would always hit you hard in here. Realizing the truth, the truth of being in an unwanted pregnancy haunts you every time you find yourself in here. It's only the second appointment you had, and you shouldn't feel this worn out by this, but you know that every time, every appointment will feel like this. Stressed, vulnerable, and trapped. 

You were too caught up with your own thoughts that you could only hear someone was calling your name after a couple of minutes. ''--Pardon me for keeping you wait, but I had to deal with these papers. So, how are we feeling?'' Doctor Kim's familiar gentle smile stands on his lips while addressing you, hands clenched each other on his desk. You open your mouth to say something. Mostly lying about how good you were, how everything was so great, but the pair of eyes catch your attention. 

Wide eyes staring you in shock and curiosity, lips turn into a pout, slightly parted. Soft brown hair stands on his head, matches with his brown orbs. Very familiar glows he got in his eyes, you think. Very familia--

''Oh let me introduce you to Hoseok,'' Doctor gets up, holding his hand up, pointing the man who confuses your mind. ''This is our greatest nurse, Jung Hoseok--'' 

''We should stop meeting like this,'' the nurse holds his hand up, waiting for you to do the same, but he surprised you with his absurdity. You would remember if you met a man like him. Men who smile like the sweetest peach. The smile that warms your stomach for no reason and the uncertainty made you uncomfortable. The same irritations you feel when you met with the clingy stranger. The day you learn--oh no... ''You always look the same. With the same dead eyes, I guess,'' 

''How--why? You?'' you feel the heat crawling on your neck, bottom lip shaking with the need to say something, but you only be able to sigh. 

You did watch a lot of movies. Both stupid and semi-stupid. Coincidences, serendipities, and all the unexpected meetings you didn't believe. You watched it all, and you gain mature enough not to fall for those stupid movies. Not letting yourself keeping your hopes high, but if you would do it if you keep your hopes high, you wouldn't want to waste those cute coincidences with these two strangers. But as your eyes go between Doctor Kim and the nurse named Hoseok, you could tell that you waste all of your luck. 

Not that you believe though. 

Hoseok feels his heart race quicken, even though he tries to hold himself being obvious, he can't control the shake on his hand. To his luck, you are too caught up with your thoughts to realize it. You were too caught up with the thought of turning your back and run to take fresh air, but that would be so extra. Even for you, so you just stay there. 

When you finally hold his hand to shake it, he gives a relieved sigh. And you don't know why his hand feels so soft and warm. Hoseok's let out a little 'oh' sounds when you take your hand from his grip, pout stands on his lip with the wide eyes because of your sudden move. But you didn't want him to take his hand from your grip, so that's mean you should take it. There is no way that you will stand in there, holding hands with an odd stranger. No way. 

''Did you drink the amount of water I ask, Y/N?'' thanks to your doctor, the most awkward moment you had with the complete stranger eases in time. You nod before he explains why he asked for you to drink water. Things that he explained before, but you were too distracted with pitying yourself and having zero clues about this. ''--we need this in case of any abnormalities on the placenta, checking the cervix for any kind of change...'' you just lost in his words, the unknown words you can't understand babbling in your ears, but your blood run colds when you heard the only familiar word. ''--and the best part, you could hear the heartbeat of the baby. You'd want this, don't you?'' contrary to his smile, you stare him blank. 

You stand there bewildered. Heart pumping the blood faster, cold enough to freeze your fingertips, and the weight on your chest send tears to your eyes. You did not come here for this. You did not. 

Hoseok's eyes wander between you and his friend. He feels anxious about the way you look. The way you bug-eyed looking Jin, chest moving up and down the way he never sees before, and he thinks it's going to explode. The tight and wobbly voice that comes from you even worries him more. ''I--I didn't... Do--do I have to do... that?'' 

You don't know how desperate or pathetic you sound, you didn't care. The only thing you know is that you weren't ready for this. Don't want to do this. The doctor sees the tears, but stays and sounds calm. ''Of course, you don't have to. But I believe it would be better to listen, both for you and the baby.'' his modulated voice ease your heart just a little bit, but you can't understand how this affects you better? Or the baby. ''You can think about this while changing your clothes, okay?'' 

You nod. Too worn out to speak, to find your voice. 

While you drowning in the thoughts of whether you should do it or not, having a mini-crisis inside of your mind, with the knock at the door you flinch. A frown takes its place on your face, and you open the door after adjusting the gown you just wear. Brooding chocolates immediately find yours, size you up with the same pout on his lips. 

Unintentionally, you look down before closing the door partly. Being partly naked in front of him made you uncomfortable, even though he is a nurse. ''Hey,'' he waves his hand in small, tries to smile but it fades because of your deadpan look. You are not in the mood for unwanted conversations. ''I just wanted to... wanted to check on you and ask if you want me to--'' his voice goes so quiet that you couldn't hear what he says in the end. Seeing how he blushes, you understand that he says something you would refuse. 

''You wanted to ask?'' you extend your head, raise a brow to make him repeat. 

''--stay with you,'' 

''What?'' 

''Would you want me to stay with you while listening to the heartbeats of your baby?'' he said in a small panicky voice, eyes searching your face to get ready to hear your reply. 

You stay dumbfounded. It is something stupid, even sounds stupid. You would refuse this. Refuse this immediately. Without thinking about it. Before your heart warms and the hammering on your chest eases. But you open your lips to ask the question you shouldn't ask. ''Is it okay for you to do it?'' 

''Well, I'm a nurse... and if you want this?'' Hoseok wasn't expecting this. He wasn't expecting you to agree on this, wasn't expecting to see the way your eyes glow. The very professional nurse wasn't expecting his heart to melt with the way your eyes blink before replying to him. But it does. 

''Then, I want you to stay. With me,'' 

You had no idea why you agree with him on this. You had no idea how to feel when you open your legs to Doctor Kim, right before you hear the heartbeats. ''You will feel a little pressure, just stay relax,'' the soothing tone of your doctor returns, and just like he said, you feel the uncomfortable pressure inside. When you clench nailing your palms, squeezing your eyes shut, a hand wraps around yours. 

Normally you would flinch with the sudden touch, or feel uneasy. But the way he holds your hand soothes you, the way his light squeezes on your hand makes everything a little bit better. These were unusual things to feel, probably hormones made you feel like this, but you feel grateful to him for staying on your side. 

The way you think 'not him again' when you saw him again, now left its place to gratitude for you. 

''Okay, I think we are ready to hear the heartbeats, huh?'' when your eyes met with Doctor Kim's, you forget how to breathe. Breath stuck on your lungs, your stare stuck on his, and you stuck on the white stretcher. You feel overwhelmed after hearing the intense mechanical beats. You didn't know what to do, how to act after hearing the heartbeats. Agony crept towards your chest, the ache is physical to feel when you covered your chest with your palm. You feel doomed. Vulnerable. Broken. 

Trying to swallow the bitter taste on your lips only made it worse, tears shimmered in your eyes. This was all real. You were pregnant, dumped, and all alone. Everything was happening and you weren't dreaming at all. You never wanted to cry out loud this much, to scream until your throat goes sore and maybe you would faint due to the tiredness. Maybe you would shut your eyes, and never open them again. You wanted to get rid of this ache. 

''It's okay. It's going to be okay,'' Hoseok couldn't help himself from patting your arm, trying to ease your mind. Seeing the tears on your face, the way you squeeze his hand when the beats filled in the room, devastated him. Yes, he only saw you three times, but you never looked this bad. This injured.

''Y/N, are you okay? Can you talk?'' even though you want to reply to him with words, it looked impossible to make a sound. You nod, trying to tell your doctor that you were okay, despite its a lie. ''Would you want to stay alone for a moment?'' 

You didn't know if you nod again, or made a 'hmph', but both of them left the room and leave you alone with your gloomy thoughts. Not that you know what to think, how to feel, or how to act. Why can't someone decides this for you? Why it has to be you? You didn't ask for this. You never wanted this. This... baby. You never felt this alone in your life. Down in the dumps. 

Trying to move was hard, due to the heaviness of your body, your mind. Numbness takes over both your mind and your body, as you try to change your clothes. Lifeless movement only occurs as a handicap on your way to the door, plus, you weren't ready to see anyone. But to your dismay, there was only Doctor Kim, sitting on his desk and writing. Probably for you.

''Ah. Are you feeling better?'' he wondered, lifting his head from his computer. Eyes of him examining your actions, your face to catch your true feelings while you gave him a faint smile. You answer him before wiping your forehead. All the stress made you sweaty. ''Oh, I'm. I'm okay, thank you,'' 

He smiles, points his front, invites you to sit. And you do as he says, taking your place while wondering where Hoseok went from the back of your mind. It was the best not to see him after your little breakdown, but still, it didn't stop you from wondering. ''There is nothing wrong. Baby and you look good, there is nothing to worry about,'' he gave a half-smile before continuing, ''but... Let me ask this Y/N, even though it sounds like I'm crossing the line. Would you think about seeing a psychologist? It's okay to have breakdowns and having troubles as a pregnant woman, and it's not something to abstain about.'' 

''I'm not trying to make you feel uncomfortable, but as your doctor, I'm offering you this. This is our second appointment and you had troubles within both of them. It can be helpful for you, and the baby.'' 

Keeping eye contact was something hard for you to adjust, so you just stare at your fingers, play with them. Although you know he was right and trying to be helpful, you offended. You can't help but feel disparaged. Feel stupid. Being this obvious about your situation was your fault, crying and looking like a wreck. ''I'll think about... it,'' you sniffled, wiping your nose before meeting with his gaze. 

''That's great. You don't have to do it, but if you do, that would be great for you Y/N,''  he said with a quiet empathy, smiling fondly to reassure you. And it wasn't all act. The blonde doctor sincerely wanted to be sure of your health. Both physically and mentally. 

Then, he gave you a paper filled with what you should do incase of fatigues and constipation, side with the essential tests you should do, and the multivitamins you should take. And you left his room after saying a pale goodbye. Probably he was pitying you, but you can't do anything about that, don't you? Well, there is always a choice where you don't cry like a baby every time you came here, but that already wiped from the list, you sighed. 

Exhaustion fills your muscles, your bones after finishing all the tests and check-ups. They were advising you not to go hard on yourself, even though they wear you out with all of these works. Not to be dramatic but you were the last one in this hospital, without counting the doctors and all. With droopy movements of your feet, you head to the exit, imagining your comfy bed, and the midnight snacks you will burry your face. Ahh, you could feel your heart getting warm with the thought of your bed. 

One-step, and you are out, leaving this place, and the heartbeats of the baby behind. Before terrifying misery stuck to your chest, you flinch by the touch on your shoulder. ''Oh, shit! It--It's me,'' you watch the man in dark clothes holding his head, grumbling with a pout on his lips. 

''Ah.. I'm sorry, but why are sneaking me from behind?'' you try to lean on him to give a good look on his head, but he steps back. 

''Did you have to hit me?'' he sighs, rubbing his head while still pouting. ''Gee... you got heavy hands, don't you?'' you try your best not to laugh at the sight, but he was forcing your limits while whining like a crybaby, all pouty and still rubbing his head. ''I'm--... sorry,'' 

''Aish... and you laughing?'' you pressed your lips together to hold your laughter behind, but you failed after seeing his smile. ''I'm smiling because of my rage, don't dare to think that I forgive you,'' 

''C'mon, I didn't hit you that hard,'' his eyes went round, scanning you from head to toe, hand on his chest in disbelief. ''and now you making a big deal of it.'' 

He lets out a gasp as he caught off guard. ''I could have brain damage,'' he mocked, taking his hand from his chest. 

You both stare at each other, without saying another word. You didn't know what to say, and he didn't know how to ask the question he wanted to. Hoseok glanced up to the ceiling, swallowing his words with loud gulps while you chewing your lip, and staring your shoes. In three minutes of silence, you couldn't understand the heat that was placed on your cheeks, as well as the quivering in your chest. It just made you uncomfortable, and you start to move on your feet. 

''I think I should--'' 

''Can I ride you home--'' 

Both of you choke in your words, staring at each other with wide eyes, and two pairs of red cheeks. You should say no, and head to your car and never look back, as this better for you. But part of you just want to accept his offer, and let him drive you home. ''I came here with my car,'' you told, but wishing him to find a decent excuse to drive you home. 

''Oh. It's okay then. We will see each other again,'' he cocks his head to the side, ''right?'' Hoseok didn't mind looking desperate if he doesn't look like some pervert, it was okay to look desperate. He wanted to talk to you, know you better, and maybe help you...? He didn't know what would you say, but couldn't help but want to spend more time with you. 

''Yes. I mean, I'll come here often, so...'' you won't except but you disappointed when he agrees not to drive you that easily. Even though, this was the sensible thing to do. He waved his hand before turning his back and leave you alone, reminding you to take care while walking away. 

You waved back, saying 'goodbye' while forcing a smile. When he disappears, you hit your head for acting like some dumbass. Why did you want him to take you home? Who was he to drive you? Were you always this idiot when it's come to a handsome man? 

Handsome? 

No. This was all hormones talking and thinking. It couldn't be you. You didn't find him handsome. Or cute. No. 

Now you are going to your car, and drive it to your house. To your bed and snacks. The bed where you sleep alone, and eating your depression snacks. Yes, sounds like a good plan. 

[refinedbuffoonery]

I + Can’t + Lose + You (1)

Read it on AO3.

A/N: I’ve had this half-written months! I’m so excited for finally share this with you. This is the official sequel to “Riley + Sunglasses + Undercover,” and I promise this will fix the mess I created at the end of R+S+U. :) 

*****

Mac forced himself to spend his day off in the worst, most boring way possible: cleaning his house. He’d been procrastinating it for weeks, and now his laundry piled up and a thin layer of dirt covered the floor, courtesy of everyone walking around in their dirty boots post-mission. He really needed to enforce a “no muddy shoes'' rule. 

His phone buzzed, momentarily rescuing him from folding the mountain of freshly-washed clothes on his bed. It was a text from Riley. I’ve been kidnapd. 

“What the hell?” he muttered, typing, Are you okay? Where are you 

Mac stared at his phone, waiting for a reply. Nothing. He folded three pairs of pants. Still nothing. Riley rarely took this long to text back. He sent a second text. Riles? 

Mac forced himself to wait a whole ninety seconds before calling her. The call went straight to voicemail. He swore. What the fuck happened? He called Matty, who picked up on the first ring. 

“Riley’s been kidnapped.” 

*****

One hour earlier…

Sweat slid down Riley's back as she walked up the stairs to her apartment after her run. Running was her least favorite form of working out, but it was a necessary evil in her line of work. 

She unlocked the door, entered, and stopped in her tracks. Her refrigerator door hung open, and someone was hunched over, rummaging inside. Riley took her earbuds out of her ears and wove her fingers through her keys, placing one between each finger. She left the front door open behind her as she creeped toward the kitchen. 

The figure suddenly stood, and Riley almost dropped her keys in surprise as she took in a familiar middle-aged bounty hunter. “Riley, what on earth do you even eat? There is no food in this house.” 

Riley cringed. She hadn’t gone to the grocery store in forever and had been living on takeout and dinners at Bozer’s apartment. 

“Hi, Mama.” Riley shut the front door behind her and tossed her keys on a nearby table. “How did you get in?” 

Mama Colton smiled. “Met your landlord. Told her I’m your aunt.” 

“Okay then.” Riley made a mental note to talk to her landlord about who her real family members were. 

“I have a proposition for you,” Mama explained. “I need your help catching a bounty, and in return I’ll give you a small percentage of the reward.” When Riley hesitated, she continued, “It’ll just be us and Jesse. The boys are sitting this one out.” 

Working with the Colton women was always a good time, but Riley didn’t want her money. “How about a few of your buttermilk pies instead?” She grinned.

“Damn my son is a fool,” Mama replied, grinning back. 

Riley grabbed her laptop as Mama filled her in on the mark: Hector Pitt, a thirty four year old former IT technician at a tech startup who stole classified data while fixing an employee’s computer. 

She set up a few programs to track the man down and took a shower while they ran. Knowing how the woman felt about boundaries and stepping on people’s toes, Riley trusted Mama not to snoop through her computer while she was in the other room. 

Riley was towel drying her hair when Mama hollered that the program got a hit. A traffic camera in a suburb of Phoenix showed Pitt walking down the street. 

Mama looked at her with admiration and someone else Riley couldn’t quite place. “You never let me down, Miss Riley.” Riley beamed back at her, filled with that same urge to please Mama as she had back when she dated Billy and worked with the Coltons on a regular basis. 

Riley finished getting dressed and packed her backpack. 

Mama tossed Riley her keys. “You’re driving.” 

Riley couldn’t believe she didn’t notice Mama’s bright red truck parked in the apartment complex’s parking lot earlier, but there it was, sticking out like a sore thumb in between a Tesla and a Mustang convertible. 

Not wanting to leave without telling anyone where she was going, Riley shot Mac a text. I’ve been kidnapd, she typed as a joke, accidentally hitting send while fixing her typo. She sent a second text. By Mama Colton….going to AZ for a couple days. Riley didn’t wait to see if the message sent before putting her phone on ‘do not disturb’ mode, tossing it in her backpack, and chucking the bag in the backseat. 

*****

Meanwhile, Mac completely lost his shit. 

All he got was “I’ve been kidnapd,” and arguably the most confusing part was that she spelled kidnapped wrong. She almost never had typos in her texts….part of being a hacker, Mac supposed. Not to mention that it also wasn’t like her to not give any clues as to who took her or where they’re going. 

Mac paced up and down the war room while Matty launched a search and rescue op. He had called Riley almost thirty times, but her phone immediately went to voicemail every time. Somewhere around the thirteenth call he’d stopped feeling relieved she’d picked up only to have been fooled by the “hey” at the beginning of her voicemail greeting. 

A new analyst whose name Mac didn’t know traced the text. Riley sent it while she was still at her apartment, which was even more confusing. 

On the big screen, the location tracker on her phone showed her speeding down the 10. She could be going anywhere. Plus, there were so many cars on the freeway that satellite imagery was useless. They’d never be able to pick out which car Riley was in without more clues. 

Fear closed around Mac’s throat. Unable to take his eyes off the tracker, he whispered, “Where are you?”