#ill go have lunch ill go take a walk . ill go sit at a table and not in my bed or on the couch

[uitzinnigmp3]

need to stop fucking staying in bed until 1pm

[gguk-n]

Chapter 1- The Arrangement

Arranged For Love (Carlos Sainz Jr x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Everything seemed to be going well for Y/N until it doesn't. Will this life altering event bring her closer to her family. Will this life altering event introduce her to Carlos?

The reader is Y/N, other than that everyone has a name

Y/N was majoring in Business; just like her grandma, Anika Baker had wanted. "You're smart, you're rational and the best of all you're kind" she would tell her grand daughter growing up. That's why she was currently studying to maybe take over her family business when she grew up.

She grew up in a matriarchy, where after the untimely death of her grandfather; her grandmother took the lead and brought the company to where it is now. Eventually, she did step back and let her son, Ivan and daughter-in-law, Rose Aguirre handle it. That was when Y/N was born. The first born of their family, she was so pampered; she got whatever she wanted. She had her dad wrapped around her little pudgy finger.

So, when her parents were away, their grandmother raised her and her siblings. She fed them, helped them with their homework and best of all, told them stories of kings and dragons. Y/N would sit intently while her grandmother would massage her feet after a tiring day at school or give her a head massage when it ached. Y/N would always love spending time with her, one way or another.

Y/N was off too college as soon as she turned 18. She finally got to be back home after 2 years for longer than a few weeks; the reason wasn't something to be happy about since a virus had spread across the world and was killing people at an alarming rate. Which meant school, colleges, offices had all shut down and were working from home. When she hugged her grandma for the first time in 6 months; "You've gotten thinner since the last time I saw you" she squinted her eyes at her grandma. "You know how it is with age, I don't have the appetite anymore" her grandmother reasoned. "Well, you should still eat. I'm gonna make sure you gain weight before I leave" Y/N said determined. "Sure, sweetheart" she laughed. "Let's have food. It's nice to have everyone back home, together for once" she emphasised. Y/N held her grandmother's hand as they walked to the dining table for lunch.

A month or so after she was back, her grandmother had started feeling ill. She wouldn't be able to hold down any food and she had been complaining of a stomach ache. With COVID restrictions, getting an appointment was extremely difficult. After a week or so, thankfully, her dad was now at the doctor's office with his mother. The kids were at home, dotting it down to the regular stomach flu which was taking longer than usual to clear.

What came as a surprise to the family, after a couple tests was that, the matriarch of the house was suffering from stomach cancer. Couple more tests later, and it said that it had advanced quite a bit having spread all over the body. The doctors weren't sure what they could do other than ease her pain. Everyone was crying in their rooms while trying to hold a tough facade in front of Anika, so as to not worry her.

At breakfast, a few days after the diagnosis. "You lot are all cry babies. It's just cancer. I'll get the treatment and be well" Anika smiled. Everyone hoped what she was saying was true. But as the treatments started; things started to get worse for her. The medicines were taking a toll on her. Their once active grandmother was reduced to bathroom runs and staying put in her bed. She barely had the energy to eat on her own.

The matriarch's children were sad and couldn't help but cry since they couldn't do much for their mother other than watch. The grandkids would think of ways to make food exciting for their grandmother. The whole family had come together. They were all living together to care for their ailing mother. "I like this very much" Anika told Y/N. "What do you like, grandma?" she asked. "Having all my children here, fretting over me" she said looking at her 2 children fondly. Y/N smiled, "They always fret over you, for as long as I can remember" she replied. "Hmm...but this feel different...it feels nice" she hummed.

They had a scare a few months later; Anika's health had deteriorated suddenly and needed hospitalisation. When she was admitted in the hospital; everyone went to visit her in turns. "I wish I got to see at least one of my grandkids get married" she said barely above a whisper. She beckoned Y/N forward, "Darling, you're the oldest. You're the smartest. You always listen to your grandma don't you" she cooed. "Grandma, I don't like where this is going." she mumbled. "I know it is too much to ask for but why don't you get married. I'll find you a nice man" she reasoned. "Grandma, no. I'm only 20. I'm not getting married, not yet anyways." she whined. "ugh! I love you grandma, I really do but I don't have any plans of getting married, yet" she said pulling away from her grandma. "I'm going home. I hope you get well soon" she stormed off.

Y/N was fuming, she got that her grandma was sick and wanted to see major milestones in her grandkids lives and she wanted to share her happiness with her too but that doesn't mean she will throw her own granddaughter under the bus. She hated the fact that it was always her who would have to do as the elders told her to. Why couldn't it be her siblings or her cousins for once? Why did she have to get a married now? She has so much she wants to achieve, she can't be tied down just yet. People her age barely even remembered the name of the person they last slept with and she should get married; her grandma had gone crazy, she thought.

While Y/N was losing her mind because her grandma wanted her married; Carlos Sainz Junior was losing his mind since he got a contract with Ferrari next year.

In the world of Formula One, there was a change in tide. Sebastian Vettel would no longer be driving for Ferrari in the upcoming season; instead he was being replaced with an up and coming driving Carlos Sainz who was currently driving for McLaren. COVID had put a damper on things; but nothing could contain Carlos's excitement. He would be driving in red next year, something almost every driver had dreamt of when they dreamt of Formula One.

Carlos was your typical Formula One driver, he asked his father for guidance since he was a Rally Champion and looked up to some great drivers as inspiration. He had big plans; plan of winning his first race, plans of winning a championship title, plans of racing until he was 60 but none of those plans involved getting married any time soon. He couldn't imagine himself settling down, just yet even though his sister was planning on getting married herself. He had a long way to go; the biggest obstacle, he wasn't dating anyone as of yet so obviously marriage was off the table for the foreseeable future.

Now, there's a saying, sickness brings the lost together. That's exactly what had happened. Carlos senior had grown up with a family, albeit only for a few years of his childhood but those were formative years and he had spent a lot of his time with the Kastner family. They were his neighbours and even after they had moved away, they had still stayed in touch. He wouldn't forget their kindness and hospitality. For the few years that they were around he was incharge of making sure the oldest of the Kastner family, Ivan got to and back from school safely.

When Carlos senior found out about the ailing health of Mrs Kastner who would make him delicious food and baby sat them when necessary, he flew in as soon as he could with his family in tow. COVID didn't make it easy to visit the sick but Carlos senior would be damned if he didn't meet or introduce his kids to the woman he talked about. Carlos senior greeted Ivan, "You've aged" he laughed patting his back. "As if you haven't" he clapped back. The two happy to see each other after a very long time apart. "I heard Aunt Anika is sick" Carlos senior spoke. "News travels fast" Ivan chuckled. "Not fast enough since she's been sick for a while and I only found out after she was admitted" Carlos senior pointed out. "Yes, yes, she'll be discharged soon. She's been doing so much better for the past few days" Ivan explained. "That's good to know" Carlos senior sighed. "Can we meet her?" he asked hopeful. "I think she'll be over the moon when she find out you've come. She kept up with all your races" Ivan added. "I'm glad she did. I think it was the combined prayers of my mother and yours that I'm still alive after being this reckless" Carlos senior laughed. "That I will not disagree with" Ivan smiled opening the door to the hospital room where Anika was reading the day's paper. She placed the paper down to see who it was and a smile broke out on her face; "Carlos, darling, how've been? I've missed you" she spoke trying to get up but Carlos senior was already by her side, "Don't get up. I'm right here" he leaned down and hugged her. "I've missed you too." he whispered. She patted his back, "I see you've done well for yourself" she said scanning the faces of the 4 people behind him. He pulled away and introduced his wife and 3 kids to her. "Did he get into rallying just like his father?" she asked shaking Carlos junior's hand. "Worse, he's in Formula One" Carlos senior smiled. "Darling, stay safe. I might have to start praying for one more now" she shook her head. "This is the woman who was best friend's with your grandmother and they love each other too much" Carlos senior announced to his kids. "What team does he race for?" Anika asked Carlos senior drawing his attention. "I'm racing for McLaren now, but I'll be racing for Ferrari next year" Carlos junior replied. "congratulations dear. And Carlos, a bit narcissistic I think to name your kid after you" she laughed.

The atmosphere was lively and bright, everyone was busy catching up with each other and trying to let each other know what was going on with the other.

In all of this, the gears in Anika's head were spinning. If Carlos's son, Carlos was single he would be the right fit for her grand daughter. She had always adored and dotted on Carlos senior growing up, so it would only make sense that she would want a good family to take care of her grand daughter. If there's anything to go by how Carlos senior turned out, Carlos junior would fit right in with their family. She felt giddy thinking about the possibility of merging their two families. She knew if everything went well, they could easily be getting married at the end of the year or the beginning of the next. She just wanted what was good for her grand daughter, having something nice come out of it like a handsome and rich husband was a bonus.

The Sainz would be staying in town for a few days before they would be leaving. Anika had invited them over for dinner once she would be discharged since she couldn't send them away without feeding them herself. It was a day before her discharge and she was sat with both Ivan and Carlos. "Since the two of you are here, there's a proposition I would like to make" she said. The two men sat up straight waiting for Anika to continue. "I might not live long" she began but was cut off by mutual 'nos and you'll live a long life' before she shushed them. "Let's listen to the doctors and I know they are trying their best but we have to be realistic too. If I do live long, I'll get to watch the happiness unfold if don't then I'll at least be a part of some of it." she explained. The two men were very confused with where she was trying to go. "I want to make a proposition like I said, I think it would be great if Carlos's son, Carlos married Ivan's daughter, Y/N. I've always wanted to watch my grand kids get married, this way I can die happy" she finished. Their mouths opened and closed a few times before Carlos spoke, "Aren't they still too young?" he asked. "It's just a suggestion, it's up to you two and them to decided if they'll go through with it. Would I be happy if they got married? Obviously but at the end of the day it'll all up to the kids. I just want what's best for them" Anika said. The two men were thinking. They were stuck. "You two can think about it, maybe we can introduce them to each other at the dinner tomorrow" Anika said hopeful. This was going to be difficult conversation to have for both Carlos and Ivan, they thought.

Taglist- @herexpertcollector @redrevvedup @chaostudee @larastark3107 @jovialpainterunknown @vip-access @sugarvibez @champomiel @inarabee @virazeeee @seonghwaexile @champ15ns @ajthefujoshi @musicheaux @npcmia @marvel-ous-miss-maisie @mochipatch @gleeblegnarp @formula1-motogpfan @taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs

[stylespresleyhearted]

WON’T ANYBODY HELP US? WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?

Summary : the beginning of Benny Cross & his favorite nurse.

warnings: language, stereotypical 60’s attitudes, sickness/illness, references to lupus but not explicitly said, references to suicidal thoughts/wanting to give up blink and you miss it

“Your favorite patient is causin’ trouble again.”

Tania smacks her gum against the roof of her mouth as she passes by the occupied lunch table. There’s a loaded sandwich sitting in front of you - only two bites in but it seemed like your lunch would be cut early.

Wednesdays were usually your favorite day of the week but today had been nothing short of chaos every step of the way. The system had gone down multiple times and the added minutes were causing everyone to get grumpier than usual. It was only fifteen minutes ago that someone had walked to the check in desk and deemed you incompetent of doing your job. Sawyer had stepped in and allowed you reprieve for a quick lunch shortly after but now that was cut short as well.

Of course you didn’t have to go. But you weren’t sure what Tania meant by ‘causing trouble’ and it caused anxiety to swirl in the pit of your stomach.

Instead of throwing the sandwich back into the cooler you decided on bringing it along with you. It was too delicious to leave behind and by the time you got home you knew food would be the last thing on your mind. Your bed was already calling your name.

“Floor 3, Room 11A,” Sawyer supplied helpfully when you passed the help desk, figuring he would be in the same room as usual. The one furthest from the main area.

Grateful, you give her a smile and mouth a thank you.

Two flights of stairs and an endless hallway later you find yourself at his room door. Doctor Martin sits beside him on a stool, elevated taller than the other man although there’s actually a four inch difference. Now that you’re aware they aren’t killing one another it’s easy to take a step back and rest against the doorway; to take him in as is.

Benny was externally the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. Golden hair always shining in the sun, fluffed enough to show he had run a brush through it but messy with strings of hair flat out to show he didn’t care too much what he looked like. Oil splattered his jeans and undershirt and over the corner chair you were able to see his jacket strewn over the back. His eyes caught in the sunlight streaming in through the one window in the room, blue eyes catching green and golden specks at certain angles.

Martin must have requested him to take his jacket off. That alone would have warranted a blow out but it seemed Benny had consented to take his colors off for once.

“Doc.” Dragged back from your thoughts by Benny turning his attention towards you, catching you when you were inspecting his jacket.

You smile big, happy to see him if anything.

“She isn’t a doctor here,” Martin says. From here you can see he’s pulling the stitches across Benny’s skin and bone with none of the tenderness required to avoid scarring. “She’s a nurse.”

It’s said like an insult but you decide against rising to the bait. Martin’s usually much kinder, he must be upset he was the one left caring for Benny.

“I can take it from here, Doctor Martin,” you offered, taking a few steps closer in hopes that he would hand over the needle. “I overheard something about a crash on the highway. I’m sure they’re going to require your assistance soon.”

“He was in last week for ripping the stitches on his left knuckles.” Martin throws both gloves into the medical compartment beside him. “He’s in today for - oh yeah, the same damn thing.”

“What’s your point?” It’s Benny who speaks up, the hand in your hold curling in anger and not pain.

Deciding that his knuckles are scarred enough as is - and the beginning of repairing his stitches had obviously been done with no care to healing skin - in an attempt to soothe you run a hand down his bicep.

Goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch.

“My point is, Mr. Cross, you’re taking us away from people who actually want to get better.” His ending question was left unsaid, lingering in the air between them all: Why bother getting help at all?

“Our job is to help the injured.” Protectiveness rears its head but it is a smarter move to play it smart, after all you’ll pay for any remarks or siding against him during rounds tomorrow. No doubt be assigned the patients with excessive vomiting or stomach problems to clean after. “No matter who it is, Doctor Martin.” Your smile is meant to ease the tension and you’ll be unaware if it worked until later.

His exit as he storms out the room doesn’t leave high hopes.

A few months into working here, after a handful of runs in with Benny when he’d gotten mouthy or passed off to different doctors for being temperamental you had asked why there always seemed to be conflict involving him and the personnel. Don’t like the way they grab me, he had replied and after having seen the way Martin had worked his stitches and the looks he got from every person in the waiting room you found it reason enough.

“You’re left handed,” you notice and his attention is brought from the window back to the hand you hold.

He shrugs, as if it never occurred to him what hand he used.

“My right is busted so I used my left.”

“So you’re ambidextrous?” He cocks an eyebrow and you smile despite yourself, explaining, “You can use both your right and left hands with the same amount of skill.”

“I know what ambidextrous means.” You would feel bad for assuming he didn’t if he cared but he doesn’t. It’s one of the reasons why he was always passed off to you - his aloofness and lack of care never offended you. Why would it? People are the way they are despite the way one feels. And in reality, his way of being was the reason you liked him. How must it feel to be so free? “Just don’t know why it matters so much what hand I use.”

It’s an honest point and you laugh, loud.

“It doesn’t. It’s an interesting fact to learn about someone though,” you shrug, noncommittal, but the smile begins to cause an ache in your cheeks. “Now I can say I know four things about you, Benny Cross.”

“Really?” He smirks. There’s a shift in the air as he goes from carelessly lax to confident in a second; never more sure of himself than when he was riding his bike or attempting to pull a girl apparently.

“Oh yeah, adding it to the list I keep plastered on my room wall. I’m a real special girl, you see, getting you to open up like this.”

“I’ll deny it. Say you injected me with some shit and it caused an allergic reaction.”

You laugh again, feeling lighter than you had all day after everything that had gone wrong. This was another thing people never got to know about Benny: the guy was funny. He was able to give it back as good as he could take it. Only thing was, when someone pushed he made sure to push harder.

Having redone the stitches Martin had made a mess of and happy with the outcome of his hand now, you gingerly clean the excess blood remaining before turning to shove everything into the disposable department. All the while Benny follows your every move.

This was why Sawyer didn’t like to care for him; she said she didn’t like his stare.

You couldn’t find it in you to mind it, he wasn’t anything like the guys on the street who would cat call and whistle when you went by. His eyes caused a warming sensation in any part of you they caught.

Having washed your hands, you return to his bed with the sandwich outstretched. He looks from the food and back to you but makes no move to take it, which you expected. “If you don’t take it it’s gonna go in the trash,” you admit, exaggerating your pout for a sadness effect. “Which would suck because it’s the best damn sandwich I’ve ever made.” But my lunch is over and I didn’t get to enjoy it because they told me you were here, left unsaid.

“Never known hospital food to be any good.” He accepts the sandwich from your hold but makes no move to eat it. He slides by, closer to you than when you had been stitching him up, and picks up his jacket. “Thanks, Doc.”

There’s a want in your belly, brewing, growing, anything to keep the conversation going but he’s getting ready to leave and you weren’t lying when you told Martin there was a crash on the highway. There was nothing left to say and that was the bad thing about being in Benny’s vicinity: he always left people wanting more. More of his freedom. Of his wildness. Left people scrambling for any scraps he gave.

Sometimes the weight on your shoulders feels so heavy your knees buckle and it’s only when he strolls in with an injury or another that you feel weightless. Young. Alive.

“I’d tell you to rub aloe on those knuckles but I know you won’t listen,” you mention it anyway in case he finds himself home with nothing to do or at a store and it strikes his mind.

“Don’t need none of that hippie oil shit.”

He fixes the collar on his jacket with his left while his right holds the sandwich that is now out of its container - stained, oily hands and all he moves to take a bite.

The bread pales in comparison to the lively pink of his mouth.

“Until next time, Benny,” you toss over your shoulder, taking your exit.

He has a last glimpse of the line of your jaw and the hair flip over your shoulder, the plump arch of your backside and the straight posture of your shoulders. “Bye, Doc.”

Saturdays are spent at the market on Merigold in downtown Chicago.

You aren’t always able to get the days off but when allowed, you spend your day walking the collection of set up shops with your sister and your two favorite people in the entire world: niece and nephew.

At only eight years old, Maddy already contained more motivation than half the adults you encountered on a day to day basis. She had declared her intentions to become a scientist and find life on another planet (because the world is too big it's not just us!) and as such took her schooling absolutely serious. She required no pestering to get out of bed or do her homework and most days she acted more adult than any actual adult you knew.

‘Annoying’ was her new favorite word and it’s used in response to any inconveniences she encounters in her young life. It had quickly become your sister's least favorite word and Maddy had earned herself a time out when she deemed her dad annoying for snoring.

Poor, sweet Jack was nothing like his loud-mouth, dreamer sister and more times than not he made your heart hurt. At only six years old he had already encountered the world’s cruelty. Earlier this summer your sister, Melissa, had to drive a few towns over and pull him from summer camp because he was getting bullied. He was a heavier kid than most his age and a big eater to top it.

To make him feel better you had dedicated that weekend to him completely: a sleepover spent building forts, reading his favorite comic books, and baking sweets.

“I told Daddy five bucks wasn’t a lot!” Maddy holds her money with a sullen pout and foot stomp to follow. She stands in front of an outdoor, singular bookshelf that contains coloring books, bedtime stories — and she must be looking at Space Cadet which is priced at 6.50.

Melissa shrugs, “You know the rule, Maddy. Five dollars is your allowance. How about instead you get this one?” Your sister picks up another book, this one from the lowest shelf, and priced a dollar lower right in Maddy’s price range.

Beside you Jack holds your hand with his right and picks his nose with his left.

“Mommy I have that one already!”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to step in and offer to complete the difference in price but you don’t want your sister to feel undermined so instead you focus on Jack and how he’s managed to get his entire, chubby pointer finger into his nostril.

“Excuse me, sir!” You dramatize to hear his giggles, a smile erupting even as he turns wide eyed. “And where are you thinkin’ of putting those boogies, huh?”

With a mischievous look that lets you know exactly what is coming he wipes his finger on the side of your jeans, attempting to run away after. He shrieks as you grab hold of him, wrapping both arms around his back and bringing him backwards.

“Oh, that’s it!” You playfully growl, blowing raspberries into his neck and eliciting more of his loud, wonderful giggles. Happy in this moment you allow yourself a few laughs as well, hugging him tighter as he struggles to get away.

Distinctly, engines rumbling break the busy bustle of the street, the people of the town stopping their shopping to stare and wait for what - or who - everyone is aware is coming. It’s a sound that could be heard at all hours of the day, whether it be caused by a guy or two or the whole gang of them. Leather jackets, denim jeans, cigarettes, and all.

As the thunderous roar of the engine increased in volume, the Vandals emerged from the end of the street - drunk and half-naked with the exception of only a few. It was a good thing you had a hold on Jack because you felt him tug to get free. No doubt to run to the bikers if his amazed

“Wow,” was anything to go by.

You make sure to clutch him tighter, more people crowding the sidewalks now to make room for the bikers taking the entirety of the street. It was only a year ago that there were only seven of them driving past the stores, and slowly, every weekend since there’d be new members joining them.

With a good grip on Jack’s shirt to make sure he can’t escape and no one can jostle him, you look up again, locking eyes with Benny. He’s already staring. Taking in all of you, with a beanie thrown over your head and worn down boots you squeezed into it because the new ones still hurt.

He’s effortlessly cool riding by. One hand on the handle and another on his lap; some may think he was trying to show off but the truth was he didn’t care too. He was riding right in front of you now. His blue eyes were shadowed in the gray of the weather, becoming lighter instead of brighter. The ring he wore glinted against the metal of his bike and he’d either gotten into a scuffle or had chosen to not do his hair today. There were pieces sticking in different directions and as he drove past you could see the back of his hair was flat.

He smiles at you, slowly, pink lips parting to reveal glistening, white teeth and a glint sparking in his eyes.

“Come on,” Melissa ushers Maddy away from the books, “no time to waste.”

“How annoying,” Maddy grumbles.

You bite your lip to hide your answering grin.

-

Tania calls on Sunday morning, begging you to cover her overnight shift because she’s come down with the flu.

It was 7 a.m. and there was no coffee or breakfast in your system but she genuinely sounded horrible over the line so you agreed.

“You’re pushing your body too hard,” your Ma said from her position by the stove, “it’s gonna flare up again. You just wait and see.”

“Ma,” you snap and hate yourself immediately after.

It isn’t her fault your body decides to fail you time and time again; most times after you spend weeks thinking you’ve somehow magically been cured. The doctors had already explained it didn’t appear to be a genetic disease and it certainly didn’t derive from your parents because when Melissa had been tested she was declared physically healthy.

There’s resentment clogging your chest and throat, yearning to yell about how it isn’t fair but it isn’t her fault either.

It isn’t anyone’s fault that you’re sick and they’re healthy.

Turns out your Ma is right. You should have seen it coming.

Three days letter no food can be kept down and there’s an ache running from your ankle to mid-thigh that has you crying when you try to leave your bed.

“I hav’ta go work,” you try to explain to your parents through the tears and fatigue and the pain as they ease you back into bed.

“Just rest now, honey,” your Ma is trying to soothe, combing stray hairs away from your face. There’s a funny look on her face.

Her chin is pulled tight and there is a wobble to her lip.

You aren’t sure if the pain is causing hallucinations.

“It isn’t fair,” you sob, allowing yourself to lose the battle of trying to stand so your father can relinquish his hold. “It isn’t fair, Dad. Jus’ wanna be able to … be.”

There isn’t another way you’re sure how to explain it. The ability to live was a privilege to all but taken for granted by so many. If sickness and ailment wasn’t something you dealt with you’re sure you would be as ignorant and ungrateful as any other healthy person.

“I know, sweetie. I know.”

One of them places the pill in your hand. When you swallow, your mother helps hold your head up to pour water in your mouth.

Useless. That’s what you are.

-

You are in bed for a week. Adjusting to the medication always proves to be a rollercoaster of events. Tired the first few days and sick to your stomach the next few.

The worst part comes after the pain stops. When the pills aren’t needed and you’re left with the shakes and the chills and a never ending migraine. No better than any druggie laid out on the streets.

“Dr. Howard would have given you a few more days off,” Sawyer says after the fifth time your hands cramp up while you’re typing.

It takes everything to not tell her where to shove it. Regardless of everything, she’s your friend and she cares. Having everyone hovering makes you aggy.

“I’m fine,” you insist.

She shrugs; sighs worriedly; walks away.

The past ten days were spent in bed. Well, seven of them were spent in bed and the last three had been spent holding onto your parents as they led you up and down the hall in an attempt to readjust to moving around. The restroom hadn’t been much of an issue as you were unable to consume much of any food or liquid. Everything was retained in your body and what wasn’t you had puked out.

Doctor Martin approaches, calling your name. “I need you to fill the questionnaire for a patient. He can’t spell and his reading isn’t great.”

Your hands are in fists on your lap. You look down, try to open them, shake, and close it again. The green monster knocks on your chest again, builds, bangs against your ribcage and twists your guts, anything in an attempt to free itself.

You focus on your breathing.

Doctor Martin calls your name again to pull your attention. “Is that going to be a problem?” He looks to your lap but your hands are in fists, hidden from sight.

It’s gonna hurt like hell but you refuse to let anyone else pity you.

“No,” you decide and take the clipboard from him.

-

Rationally you know it isn’t right or fair to hate anyone for being healthy. Sickness or suffering isn’t something you would wish upon anyone; not even your worst enemy.

I’d like to see Martin get a cramp though, you think bitterly. Nothing lasting or damaging. A leg cramp that has him sobbing and unable to stand for a couple of seconds. That’s it.

There had only been seven questions and four of them required simple answers but it didn’t seem to matter if one word was needed or forty. The paper looked like it had been scribbled on by a second grader with no motor skills and in your state the comparison wasn’t far off.

“If you’re incapable of legible penmanship I’m not sure what you’re doing here,” Martin had spewed in your face, anger in his eyes when he tossed the paper and demanded Sawyer redo the questionnaire. “Go home.” He dismissed you.

Asshole.

Home was the second to last place you wanted to be. Your mother was worried, hovering around you any minute of the day and while your father tried to be better he followed you into every room you entered and his footsteps could be made out five feet away from you, always hovering.

Space. Air. A damn break. That’s what you needed.

Walking around the streets at night probably wasn’t the brightest idea you had but you were too anxious and wired to sit still and any restaurant or store you entered ran the risk of running into someone you knew.

Tonight you’d take your chances with strangers lurking in the dark.

You’ve walked the same block four times, in an attempt to be somewhat safe, the one that has the most street lights when you hear it. Grumbling. Roaring. Headlights brighter than any lamp currently illuminating the street and working to blind you as you try to make out the figure riding.

It would either be your friend or it wouldn’t be.

The headlights beam brighter somehow, blinding you enough that you look away and try to squint the spots away from your eyes. When you open them again the rider is down the block and your vision is still distorted. You don’t bother to try to make out any features from this distance and focus on trying to lessen the disappointment swirling around inside.

You had wanted it to be him. You aren’t sure how but you know seeing him would improve the ending of your day. It might be his pretty, blue eyes and the crinkles that appeared when he smiled. Or maybe the smell of 3-in-1 men soap, engine oil, and something distinctly sandalwood and citrus that was uniquely him would be useful in relaxing you.

Overall, you think it’s his way of being that you need tonight. Someone who was so selfishly themself because they needed nothing from anyone around them. No thought to go into what to say or do next because there was nothing to happen besides what was going to happen.

Disappointment is still swirling when you hear it return. A thrumpty exhaust groan from deep within the machine from being pushed too hard, too quick, that you’re sure is currently reverberating the ground beneath you.

And then like an apparition (more like a wish come true) — Benny. You decide that you may be sick and days may be shit, with a huge emphasis on the last thirteen days, but God does not hate you after all.

The light from his bike creates shadows across his face, highlighting the golden beard and mustache but hiding the pink of his mouth. His eyes you’re unable to make out, unsure if they were happy or sad, mad or tired.

With his headlights hitting you directly however, he’s able to make out every feature of yours.

“Benny.” It’s just his name that escapes you, no greeting accompanying it, but you don’t bother to hide the relief in your tone and you’re sure your smile is blinding him like his lights are blinding you. If he wasn’t how he was and you weren’t already feeling raw with rejection and failure you would have hugged him.

“What’cha doin’ out so late?” He uses his leg against the sidewalk to lean his bike inward. Thigh muscles ripple underneath the tight denim of his jeans, illuminated greatly by the shadows cast by the headlights.

You shrug, unwilling to be honest. “I needed …” You’re not sure what you were going to answer so you stop and he allows you time to think. You had said you needed air but you take a deep breath and all the worries and stress of before continue on. You thought you needed space but you began to feel lonely and the last thing you want is for him to go away. There’s no correct answer it seems so you can do nothing but laugh, tilting your head towards the sky. You wish you were brave enough to scream at the stars or howl at the moon. “I’mma be honest, Benny - I’m not sure what I need. I’m just,” you exhale, “a mess tonight.” More than just tonight but you don’t want to scare him off either.

You know that if he asks what’s wrong you’re going to start crying. There’s an ache in your throat that is blocking any air entry and the sting in your eye isn’t from his lights and the shaking in your hand hasn’t gotten any better and if you tell him the truth he’s going to pity you like everyone else and now there’s a traitorous tea—

“Wanna go to a meetin’?”

You look up, wanting to be sure that you heard him correctly. There’s no joking lilt in his tone, only sincerity and the same hint of boredom always wavering in the background. Like if it would make zero difference to him what you decided. You remind yourself he’s not the type of guy to offer something for niceties.

He’s in the same position. Using his leg to lean closer to the pavement, one hand holding onto the left handle and his bike rumbling beneath him. He’s got his head cocked to the side, generously allowing you to feel wanted, like if it’s something he wants you to consider and not only reject.

But there’s another aspect to consider in all this: the only source of transportation currently is his bike.

Be careful, you can hear Ma say, you aren’t in any position to be careless, honey.

She’s right, your Dad would agree. It’s the hand you’ve been given.

Careful.

Careful.

All your life you’ve attempted to be as careful as you could be. You watched where you were walking because a fall could result in a knee that aches for days, not only a scrape. You rubbed the healing oils the neighbors down the street swore by, you took salt baths to help with inflammation, you took medication that was meant to help but it made your head pound and your hands shake and your stomach stick and every couple of weeks or month your body still rebelled, nerves inflamed and bones hurt and it was your worst enemy.

“Sure.”

If you fall from his bike, if he takes every red light and stop sign and a car rams into you — getting up won’t be as easy for you as it will for him. But you’re accepting his invitation nonetheless, taking his offered hand to help you swing a leg over. He grabs hold of both arms, instructing you to keep them around him. It’s exactly how you’ve read in a novel or watched in a Marlon Brando film.

The tremors consume your body and vibrate around him; you wipe the claminess of your palms on his T and hope he doesn’t mind.

“You’re shakin’.” He notices, revving the engine but staying still, as if waiting for you to change your mind.

“Benny?”

“Hmm.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder to pull his attention and it works; he turns his head to the side so he’s able to look in your eyes. The scruff around his jaw is long enough to rub against your lower chin. It tickles but you don’t move away, being able to look into the eye closest to you. He smells of cigarettes and motor oil, of fresh air from the farmland a few miles out and of gas.

He smells of open possibilities and freedom.

“Can we go fast?”

He turns forward, laughing as he kickstarts the bike into motion.

“That I can do. Hang on, Doc.” And he takes off.

True to his word, he never slows down, not once. The wind comes hard and fast and you’re not sure how any of the old ladies who ride with their men manage to keep their updo’s perfectly done. Hearing the roaring of the engine in the silent night, the rumble of the machinery while straddling the bike, the wind blowing across your face — it was close to therapeutic. There were no confinements of a car, the cage that had become your life falling away with every new upheaval on the speedometer, every one of your senses was assaulted and brought to life.

You finally understood Benny and the gang and why they fought to maintain their way of life. Freedom isn’t something you would be willing to give up either.

Much too sign he’s slowing down, approaching the bar. The place is in full swing. Everyone seems to have arrived before the pair of you. There’s several motorcycles parked out front and in the center, up front, you recognize the red bike belonging to their leader. Benny parks right beside it. You wonder if it’s a rank thing where the boys park their bike.

The wind stops; no more vibrations arising from between your legs. Benny kicks a leg out and turns his head slightly to catch sight of your movements, waiting for a reaction or to see if you’ll hop off.

If you’re being honest there’s no desire to stop.

“That was …” fun wouldn’t do the experience justice. “Exhilarating.” Freeing. “I felt like a bird.”

Benny hums, either in agreement or acknowledgment but he arches an eyebrow at you over his shoulder and his response causes you to laugh. Loud and inhibited, and once you begin it seems impossible to stop. The stress of the day fading away with the memories of the wind in your hair, hands wrapped tight around him, and every single burst of laughter that escapes you at his acceptance of your random sentence.

It felt good to be understood. It felt even better to feel invincible for once.

You use Benny’s shoulder for balance to get off his bike, releasing the last bits of laughter that escape and leaving only a wide smile that threatens to split your face in half as you stare into his eyes.

You aren’t sure how but you had known even earlier he’d bring an ease to the weight that had been resting on your shoulders and suddenly, you’re eternally grateful for him. For who he is and confounded that someone who had only come into your life because he kept getting injured could level your emotions so well without trying or knowing.

Any gratitude would only cause him confusion or discomfort so instead you choose to continue smiling.

He cocks an eyebrow, swinging his long leg around to stand up off his bike.

“I’ve got a good feeling about tonight, Benny,” a hand is thrown over his forearm and intertwined as he leads you to the bar.

Again, he only hums.

Turns out Benny’s a gentleman. Not that you were expecting him to not be, but if you’re honest you weren’t sure what to expect walking in.

How many times had you seen Vandals strut through the front doors of this bar, catcalling and roughhousing heard to the public before the door shut behind them. Once or twice you may have wondered why the visiting ladies exited pink and red in the face and adjusting their clothes.

But it isn’t like that for you. Benny holds the door open and stays a steady presence at your back. His friends holler and cheer, there’s some comments made under their breath and in his ear when they step up to congratulate him on what they assume is a new victory conquest. Eyes look you up and down and grin at him in approval but he has no response for them.

With his hand at the small of your back he leads you to an open table, going as far to pull the chair for you. From his position against the wall, you spot Johnny Davis — the leader. When you were in high school you used to babysit his daughters.

He dips his head in greeting.

The chatter in the room is so loud you can’t make out the song that’s playing.

“Benny?” He sits next to you, casual with both elbows on the table and manspreading so wide his knee bumps against yours. Benny leans forward to hear you better, close enough that you're able to notice for the first time he has freckles. One of the guys bumps into your chair, laughing, and you scoot closer. “I’m gonna need a drink.”

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Sexual Harassment Training

Captain Price has a permanent scowl on his face today, it seems. You see him stomping around like a toddler on a rampage at lunch.

"What's got the Captain all bollocksed up? Did I say that, right?" Soap grins, then grimaces as he thinks about it. Standing together, you dump your trays before Soap leads you to the team meeting.

"Ya, doll, that's how you say it. He's like this every year. Mandatory sexual harassment training for everyone this afternoon." You ponder it for a minute.

"Why? Like, it's just something to sit through, right? It isn't like anyone is harassing our team."

He chuckles quietly and answers, "they aren't worried about the likes of me getting harassed, but that we will harass you, Princess." You elbow him and sit next to Ghost, who has saved you as seat per usual.

"Hey Luv, ready to be bored and insulted for a few hours?"

"Are these really that bad, Bruv?"

"They are, Crumpet. They really are."

"Hey! You need to address your coworkers with respect! Nicknames have no place in this organization, Mr..."

"Riley, Lieutenant Riley." Ghost stiffens up in his seat, restrained irritation pouring off of him. The woman from human resources turns toward you.

"Ma'am I have the form here to file a complaint when you feel up to it. No rush."

"Uhh... a complaint?" You stare at her in complete confusion as she brandishes a form at your face.

"Yes, no one should be treated with such disrespect. Talking down to coworkers is frowned upon." Her voice is condescendingly sweet, grating on your last nerve already. You stare at her for a moment before nodding, and Ghost tries to catch your eye, looking shocked.

"Pet... I mean, Sergeant. Do my nicknames make you feel uncomfortable? I will stop if they do. You never said anything, or I wouldn't have..."

"Hmm...? Oh no, but I will be filing a complaint." Turning toward the smirking woman, you ask, "what was your name again? Brenda McMasters? Perfect." You quickly fill out the paperwork before handing it over. She skims it with a smile, then freezes in place as she reads it more closely, her smile falling. She looks up at you, then back at the paper, reading it again and again as the words sink in.

"You- you can't file a complaint on me! I'm the one teaching you about sexual harassment! I'm here to make sure these brutes don't attack you!"

You shrug before responding, "I feel singled out by you due to my gender and your policing of the camaraderie between myself and my teammates. It is making me feel very uncomfortable, Ma'am." Her jaw is hanging open in complete shock.

You stand and turn to the Captain, watching you with a grin on his face at the front of the room. "I don't know if I feel comfortable being taught by someone who is sexist and clearly violating policy, Captain Price. May we request a different lecturer? I know it will mean rescheduling, but I don't think we should be learning about harassment from someone who has a complaint on file."

Captain Price has to smother his grin and bite back laughter at your innocent expression when Brenda turns toward him. "You are right, Sergeant. Ma'am, I will take that complaint and file it. It wouldn't be proper for you to file one on yourself, or it might go missing in transit." He gleefully plucks the paper from her hands and walks out. She follows, looking ill. You can hear her trying to get the Captain to stop and discuss the matter..

You lean on the table with a pleased look. "So, free afternoon, now. Any plans?" The team just stares at you, still processing what happened. You see Ghost staring down at the table and tap his hand. "You alright, Tiger?" He looks up, visibly distressed.

"The nicknames, do they bother you, Sergeant?" He needs to know now. The last thing anyone here wants is to disrespect you.

"Course not. Makes my day. The only things better are cuddling after a long day while we watch movies in the rec room or killing fucks on the field together. HR doesn't know what the fuck they're talking about, Bruv." Turning back to the rest of the team with a grin you say, "How about we sun up on Captain's grass? He won't be back for a bit anyway."

"You're playing with fire, Lamb. We're in."

[wosoxwriterrr]

awfc x teen reader

request: Travelling on the team bus to Manchester, R starts to feel really ill and the team take care of her.

a/n- i’m aware my fics are pretty short atm but bare with me :) requests are open!!

485 words��——

Travel sickness was your worst nightmare, comes at the most inconvenient times ever! Today travelling up to Manchester you knew it would be bad. “You okay kid?” Kim asks as you sit on the coach next to Kyra, eyes closed and headphones on. “Not feeling too good” you’re able to whisper back before a wave of nausea hit you. Before you are able to warn anyone, your lunch was splattered all over the table as tears start streaming down your face, a mixture of embarrassment and sickness. The bus stopped at the next service stop and you were escorted off the bus by a comforting Stina. “Oh sweetheart it’s okay don’t cry” she says while you’re sobbing into your puke covered arsenal hoodie. The bus was cleaned up while you and Stina were in the petrol station bathroom getting cleaned up. The bus was then stocked up with a few emesis bags just incase. After you get all cleaned up you walk back onto the bus quietly, embarrassment taking over you. The embarrassment was quickly wiped from you as all the girls assured you that it’s okay and it happens to the best of us. The bus got back on the road, now sat with Kim, Leah, and Steph as they all wanted to make sure you were looked after. After a good 2 hours of playing uno and looking at photos of Calvin, you started feeling sick again but luckily were able to warn people. “Gonna puke” Kim hurriedly grabbed an emesis bag from her backpack parked at her feet and shoved it into your hands just in time for you to lose the contents of your stomach. Nobody said a word hoping to make the situation a lot less embarrassing for you which you were thankful for. The bag was disposed of and the game of uno was resumed. As the team bus arrived in Manchester ahead of kick off you started to feel that uneasy feeling in your stomach and you knew that you were about to puke. Not wanting to puke in the aisle of the seats you quickly rushed off the bus and swiftly lurched forward in order to empty your stomach. Gasps and shrieks were heard coming from the massive crowd of fans waiting on the teams arrivals which made you want to curl up in a hole and die. Leah was at your side so fast trying to escort you swiftly into the changing room so you can get away from the fans. “Oh kid i don’t think you should be playing today, you’re not going to have any energy on the field” Kim says with a sympathetic look on her face. “Yeah, don’t feel good” you said in a whispered tone not being able to muster up the energy to speak. It’s safe to say you didn’t play against city and slept the whole bus journey home.

(pretend you are katie) 🤍

kyracooneyx- liked by leahwilliamsonn and 57,970 others

stinablackstenius- got the kid to sleep

^ kyracooneyx- better pay me for babysitting

user1- did anyone see y/n when she got off the bus? gross 🤮

kimlittle1990- poor kid

leahwilliamsonn- never knew someone could be so sick and still beat everyone at uno 🙄

^ yourusername- you’re just jealous 😒

user2- nice photo 😍😍😍😍😍😍

[harryforvogue]

or the one where annaliese is sick and harry has never hated himself more <3

read wtss in full here

read more wtss content here

***

Every morning, without fail, Harry gets up to make his wife breakfast and lunch before she leaves for work.

Lunch is the easy part – usually leftovers from the night before with a fresh salad and dressing, drink, and snack. She really enjoys having something sweet after a large meal, and she often falls victim to taking a nap after lunch, so to keep her awake, he packs a bar of dark chocolate into her lunch bag. 

Breakfast is trickier because sometimes she doesn’t wake with an appetite. Still, he’ll put out something small on the table. A single slice of toast with butter and coffee, or even just yogurt with his homemade granola. Something that will keep her fed until lunch. It was a part of his vow of course. Keeping her fed and happy. He can’t do the latter but he can certainly put all his effort into the first.

Once her bag is zipped up, and her yogurt is left on the dining table, he grabs an apple for himself and then returns to his room. She’ll be getting up in ten minutes. She gets ready quickly too thanks to her hair, outfit, and skin preparations from the night before, so he never has to worry about her coffee getting cold. It’s an unspoken routine.

Harry sits on his bed, knees drawn to his chest, waiting for her door to open so that he can go back to sleep.

Ten minutes pass. The door doesn’t open. He doesn’t hear the soft pad of her sleepy steps making their way to the bathroom down the hall. He gives her an additional five minutes. Perhaps she wants to sleep in. But then five minutes become ten and then fifteen, and then Harry worries she’ll be late for work.

He’s torn between waking her and leaving her alone when he hears a wet cough from the other side of the wall. His heart drops.

Harry quietly opens his door and walks to her room. Her door is closed, but when he presses his ear against it, he can hear her coughs, followed by a whimper of distress. Alarm bells ring through his head, his hand shooting out to grab the door handle without thinking. He stops himself just as he begins turning it open, his other hand balled into a fist in frustration at himself. 

At least Annaliese knows she’s too ill to go to work. Harry moves away from the door slowly and goes back to the kitchen, putting all the food he’s prepared for her in the fridge. He rolls up his sleeves, taking out several vegetables, stock, and a cutting board. He gets to work without thinking.

The sounds of Annaliese coughing travels through the house, hitting him square in the chest.

Had he missed something important? A pale flush of her cheeks that he mistook for the effects of the cold draft that swept her into the house? Several sneezes that he brushed off as allergies? A red nose that he blamed on the wintery February? Fatigue that he assumed was from the long day on her feet?

He feels terrible.

He should have known.

Harry cooks the stock on high flames, adding a tiny tinge of spice as she enjoys it. While that continues, he kneads dough and sets it aside for dinner later. He’ll make her a fresh, herbed loaf. Run the store to get that sweet cream butter she likes so much.

Once the food is done, he puts all the dishes on the tray, and carefully makes his way back to the rooms. He knocks on Annaliese’s door once before allowing himself in.

He rarely comes into this room anymore, so the memories of the shared space hit him hard. He keeps a neutral face, but his eyes dart around, seeing the things exactly that way he left them. Lamps in the same spots, the same curtains, the same number of pillows on the bed. His side of the bed, in fact, is messy, as if Annaliese often travels to that side during her sleep. The image of her reaching for him in the middle of the night makes him falter in his step, an odd pain near his ribs.

To his surprise, his wife is sitting up in bed, her wild curls in her face, one shoulder bare from the neckline sliding down too far as if she unbuttoned the top of her pajama set due to discomfort. She raises her head to look at him, but it’s so hard to as if her head is heavy. 

“Could you call the school?” she whispers, a quiver to her voice.

Harry nods and goes to put the food on the side table. At the sight of what’s on the table, though, his breath hitches.

A framed photograph rests in the center of the wood, an outtake that wasn’t put in with the rest of the photo album. It’s from their wedding: Harry feeding Annaliese a bit of cake, the two of them unwinding during their reception with Harry’s tie already undone and Annaliese’s veil abandoned somewhere in the hall. He recalls the moment violently, remembering how she looked at him from under her lashes, a wild glimpse of excitement at the promise of their new life together. It’s the first time he called her his wife. He kissed her messy mouth afterwards. 

Harry puts the tray down with trembling fingers.

She looks at the food curiously but doesn’t say anything more.

He hands her a large cup of water first, which she enthusiastically drinks. Then, he fixes the sheets around her thighs and places the tray beside her.

“Want this?” he asks, holding up a packet of saltines.

“Mhm.” 

He rips open the plastic and crushes the crackers into her soup. She holds her hands out for the bowl, shuddering delicately when the warmth hits her. "Thank you."

Annaliese tilts her head back and sighs deeply. Her fingers curl around the spoon, stirring the soup weakly. Her hair is still in her face, and she makes no move to give herself between visual access.

Harry hesitates, but then sits on the bed beside her legs, reaching out. She shudders when his cold fingertips touch the sides of her face – though it’s just barely. He unravels the curls, separating them from her clips, and then uses two of the largest ones to pin her hair back. Annaliese’s eyes flutter shut, and through the warm morning light, he sees her fever flushed waxy skin and parted lips. He somehow resists the urge to hold her face.

“Thank you,” she murmurs again, keeping her eyes closed. 

Harry doesn’t know what to say. So he stands, brings her medicine from the bathroom, and then goes to the kitchen to give her school a call. He introduces himself as Annaliese’s husband, details how she’s in no circumstance to get to work for today, and takes a wild guess to say she has lesson plans in her classroom. The administration must like her very much because the woman he talks to sounds sad to hear his wife isn't not doing well. It makes Harry feel better though, knowing that she’s well taken care of outside this odd routine they have.

He returns to her room, prepared to ask her if she needs anything more. 

She’s halfway done with her soup, and the overwhelming warmth has caused her hairline to go all damp. He enters the door with a hand towel, rolling it up. When she looks up at him with her tired eyes, he’s unsure if he should be the one mopping that sweat, or if she’ll even let him.

“Did they ask what time I’ll come in?” she asks instead, voice low as if she won't be able to get it any louder.

Harry’s brows furrow together. “You’re taking the day off.”

As stubborn as always, Annaliese says, “I don’t need the entire day off. Just the morning. My students have a written exam after lunchtime.”

“You are in no health to go to work today.”

Annaliese looks sad. She takes another weak spoonful of her soup. 

Harry suddenly feels the urge to explain himself. “I would have made something more if I had the time,” he says, wringing the towel between his hands. “But that’s all the stock we have. We didn’t have any carrots or eggs or I would have added them in. Maybe the celery isn’t cooked all the way through either.”

His wife shakes her head, and then winces. “It’s good.”

“Is it spicy enough?”

“Yes.”

“And the pepper?”

“It’s good.”

“The salt?”

“Harry,” Annaliese whispers. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He stops, though he has several more things to say. 

Annaliese looks up at him after a moment. “Will you sit?”

He does, towel still in hand. She looks at it, and then goes back to her soup until it’s finished, and she’s setting it aside. Annaliese has more water, and then she reaches for her medicine.

Harry beats her to it. He unscrews the top, pours a healthy bit into the tablespoon and then carries it over to her mouth. The dread is in her eyes, and she makes a face as she swallows it. Harry doesn’t realize he has a ghostly smile on his face until he’s putting the spoon down, watching her take several more gulps of water.

“I hate that taste more than anything,” Annaliese says.

“I know,” Harry answers softly, because he does.

Her jaw tenses, eyes glazed over with an expression Harry doesn’t have the capability to fully understand, and she slides down against the mattress, her head against the pillow. With her knees drawn up, they touch Harry’s thighs, and the briefest contact makes him yearn to feel the real touch of his wife. She closes her eyes, hands under her chin.

Her skin is still pale, her lower lip trembling with fever, and every part of him hurts knowing he can’t lay in bed with her and nurse her back to health. The reminder of his vows again deliver a swift punch to his gut, and emotion makes his throat close. The love he feels for her is binding, suffocating, and the pull to give in is so urgent, it’s a wonder that he keeps himself upright instead of draping his body over hers.

Annaliese doesn’t ask him to do anything more either.

So he takes a deep breath, rolls up the towel a bit better and then carefully lays it against her hairline. She shifts to let him adjust it better, lets him pull the covers over her bare shoulder to shield her from the cold and also to get the idea of kissing her burning skin out of his head.

It goes without saying, but he says it anyway. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Annaliese nods once, eyes still shut.

He wonders if she’s upset with him. The thought of disappointing her makes him want to double over with anger at himself.

He's entirely pathetic. How dare he think he can keep his wife satisfied.

As he’s exiting her room, he passes by the dresser. On it, more framed photos sit. Some from their wedding, some of their families. The picture that rests on her side table once sat with the rest on her dresser. He wonders when she brought that one closer to her. If she looks at it every night before she goes to sleep, every morning when she wakes. If she holds it under her pillow or her cheek to have him right beside her. If she stains the glass with her tears.

Harry turns his head to look at Annaliese once more. She’s asleep, and though she’s fed and being brought back to good health, Harry has never felt more of a failure in his life.

He shuts the door behind him when he leaves, puts the dishes in the sink, and then goes to his room wishing Annaliese would rip the bandaid off and find someone better for herself.

[ineffablesuffering]

Sick Days (Aziraphale x Crowley x Reader)

I wrote this as a form of comfort as I am finally getting over this cold that I had.

Warnings: like one swear word, Crowley being soft for the reader

Pairing: Aziraphale x Crowley x Platonic!GN! Reader.

Word Count: 1,095

Masterlist

--------------

You lay in bed, the thought of moving was, to simply put it - unbearable. You had awoken with a pounding headache and felt like your sinuses were trying to escape from your face. Everything hurt and your body couldn't decide if it was too hot or too cold. Great. You were sick.

You had meant to have plans with Crowley and Aziraphale feeding the ducks in St James Park and a spot of lunch, but clearly that wasn't happening today. You sat up in bed and instantly the room starting spinning around you. You let out a deep cough and you whine at the feeling in your chest. You put a hand to your forehead to try and ground yourself as you reach for your phone before sliding back down into your bed. You had planned to call Aziraphale and tell him you couldn't make it, but the room kept spinning and forced you to close your eyes to make it stop.

The next thing you remember is your phone ringing a few hours later. "Shit," you mumble. You must have fallen back asleep. You pick up your phone, answer it and put it to your ear. "Hello?" you rasp.

"Y/N, I just wanted to see if we're on your way?" It was Aziraphale. You groan and turn to face your clock. You should have been at the bookshop by now. "My dear? Are you quite alright? You don't sound yourself." He asks.

"I'm sorry Aziraphale, I was meant to call you but I must have fallen back asleep, I'm not feeling too great." You rasp out, your throat feeling like it was on fire. "I'm not going to be able to make it today."

"Is that Y/N?," you hear Crowley shout in the background, "Tell them to hurry up, times a ticking."

You try to let out a laugh, but it ends with you in a coughing fit, wincing at the pain in your chest. "You two go on ahead without me, we'll catch up soon."

"Are you sure? We can always rearrange?"

"Aziraphale, I'll be fine," you say as another cough racks through your body, "I've been ill before."

"Well, make sure you rest and we will see you another time. I hope you feel better soon my dear,"

"Thank you 'Zira, I'll talk to you later," you say as you hang up the phone before placing it on your bedside table. You groan as you drag yourself out of bed, in search of water and hopefully some form of medication.

A short while later, you had decided that you couldn't sit in bed any longer and you were curled up on your sofa, watching your comfort show, eating your comfort food and taking small sips of some hot lemon and honey water when there was a knock at the door. You muted the TV, praying that whoever was knocking would go away. The knocking persisted.

"They're  probably asleep Angel," you heard a muffled Crowley. This got your attention and you made your way from the sofa to the door.

"Maybe, but I'd feel better if I just saw them." replied Aziraphale.

You open the door to find the angel and demon standing before you. They took in your disheveled state, your skin pale except from your blood shot eyes and your nose being red, your hair messy and a headache strip on your forehead, a blanket haphazardly wrapped around your shoulders and your comfy clothes on. A true sight for sore eyes.

"What are you two doing here?" Your voice quiet in an attempt to not irritate your throat even more.

"We came to check on you, and see how you're feeling." Aziraphale said, "We brought you supplies" he gestured to the bag that Crowely was holding.

"You really didn't have to," you say

"We know," said Crowley. You give him a small smile, "and don't think this is me being nice. I'm just following orders."

"I wouldn't dream of it." You say stepping aside inviting them in. Aziraphale smiled at you as he walked in, Crowley sauntered in behind him handing you the bag that he was holding.  You closed the door behind them and peer inside the bag.

"Jesus 'Zira, I have a cold, I'm not opening a bloody chemist." You say to him as he walks towards the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, taking the dishes you had left on the table with him.

"Well I didn't know what you needed, so I bought everything."

You smile at the gesture, he really was so thoughtful. You make your way back over to the sofa where Crowley had already made himself at home. You roll your eyes, expecting nothing less from him. He gives you a grin.

"Move over," you whine at him as he lounges across the entirety of the sofa.

"Or what," he says playfully.

"I'll cough all over you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Crowley, be nice." You hear Aziraphale call from the kitchen. He moves rather quickly.

"Bitched," you cough.

"Fuck off," he mumbles, throwing his sunglasses onto your coffee table. You take your place on the sofa next to Crowley, and lean your head on his shoulder. "Comfy?" he says with a smile. You nod against his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you.

"I hate being ill," you complain "everything hurts." Crowley just chuckles, giving you a squeeze. Aziraphale returns with two mugs in his hands. A cup of tea for himself, and a cup of green tea with lemon for you. "Thank you." You rasp as you take the mug off of him.

"Don't be silly," he tells you taking a seat beside you. "Just make sure you drink it while it's hot, it's supposed to help with your throat."

"Aye aye captain," you joke before a coughing fit racks through your body again. You feel Crowley run his hand up and down your back in an attempt to help soothe you. The couple shoot you a sympathetic glance when you're finally able to compose yourself again. "I'm fine, I'll be fine." You say picking up the TV remote and unmuting it. "And because you have crashed my pitty party you have to watch whatever movie I want to watch and I want to watch The Sound of Music." Crowley laughs from beside you as Aziraphale let's out the most unangellike groan. You smile at him, before finding the movie and pressing play. Maybe being ill wasn't so bad when you had your favourite celestials to keep you company.

[munsonsprincess11111]

Panic attacks.

Eddie munson x reader

Summary: Eddie's having a bad day in school. He's doing everything not to have a panic attack. He doesn't even know what's wrong with him. He's sat at lunch leg bouncing. Hands sweaty. He needs help but the man will never admit it.

Eddie's sat at lunch n he's a hot mess. Shaking. Heavy breathing. He feels like the rooms spinning. Like everything ten times louder. Feels like he could throw up. He needs help. He doesn't even know what's wrong. Will he ask for help? Nope.

"Dude are you sure your OK?" Gareth askes concerned.

Eddie just mumbles and keeps his face in his hands.

You come walking over. Smiling ans joyful.

"OH no the devil in disguise." Jeff jokes as you approach the table.

"Hilarious honestly you should ditch hellfire and join the comedy club your that funny." You joke back. You look down at Eddie and your face goes from happy to concerned. "You OK hunny?" You ask noticing his state.

He nods but other then that ignoring your even stood there. Normally Eddie's hands would be all over you by now talking non stop. You know somethings wrong.

"You sure?" You ask raking your fingers through his mess of curls. As your nails make contact with his head he flinches. You pick up Eddie's tun lunch box and hold your other hand out. "Common." You say to Eddie.

He finally looks up at you confused. "Let's go Common." You walk off. Eddie looks at the rest of hellfire and then gets up and walks off with you. Once you exit the cafeteria his head drops to your shoulder as you walk along taking his hand in your free one.

You both say nothing. Just walk down the halls in silence. Enjoying eachothers presence. However Eddie is still on the verge of his break down. "Where did you park?" You ask quietly "normal spot." HE mumbles back. You nod and walk to where Eddie parks.

He unlocks the side door opening it for you then climbing in after him. You pull the sofa in the back and turn it into the bed. You kay down opening your arms for Eddie. Eddie comes over and lays down next to you. Putting his head on your chest arms around your waist and hooking one leg over your legs.

You wrap your arms around him holding him close to you. Eddie closes his eyes and his breathing starts to slow down. His leg still bouncing slightly. But he's finally calming down.

"What's going on hun?" You ask quietly. You sit still holding the boy. He let's out a shakey breath. He hides his face in the crook of your neck finally speaking.

"Everything is becoming stressful again. I wanna skip lessons but I don't wanna fail. I'm not sleeping until late cause I'm uncomfortable in my own skin. And when I wake up I wake up late so I forget my meds which really isn't helping. By the time I remember I'm in first period. I go home take them and bam another night not sleeping. But if I Dont take em all together then I feel worse. I just need a break. And I feel like I've barely seen you and I really just need you and only you right now. The only time I see you out of school is with someone else present where its a group hang out. And I feel really fucking selfish but I just need something."

He broke. His eyes welled with tears. His breathing uneven. And a shaking mess. You run your hand comfortingly through his hair.

"Babe. You should've told me. We can hang out anytime just us you say the word I'm all yours OK? Don't feel selfish for needing something. How about I come stay at the trailer tonight? We van watch some movies and start fixing your sleep schedule for starters. I'll stroke your head until your asleep. N ill make sure we wake up on time and you take your meds." You whisper stroking his back.

He let's out a relaxed breath. "I don't deserve you. Your fucking perfect thank you love you so much. N yeh I sleep way better when your at mine no Idea why guess its just comfort." HE removes his head from your neck looming at you

"I love you to n ill always be here for you. I'll stay tonight so u get up for school n ill stay the weekend even Sunday night? That OK?" You ask. Eddie nods putting his head on your chest. 10 minutes later you both walk back into school hand in hand. You take Eddie to class and he promises to meet you at your class after school and you part ways.

-next morning-

6:53am. The clock read when Eddie woke up. He looked at laying on your side. Arm still drapped over Eddie. He squeezes you tighter kissing your head. "Babe, gotta wake up sleepy." HE says laying sweet kisses on your face.

You stir awake amiling at Eddie. He kisses your lips and you scrunch your face. You knew full when you had morning breath but Eddie didn't care. "Howd you sleep?" You ask running your hand up his side.

"SO fucking good. Best night sleep in about a month I won't even lie to you." HE says kissing your neck.

"You fell asleep so early 9 o'clock u went." You smiled at Eddie.

"Mmm was the head and back scratches." HE lays next to you hugging you.

You smile at him happy you could help him. Laying your head on his chest. You stayed in that position for another 5 minutes before getting up and dressed for school.

Your making toast for you and Eddie as he walks out slipping his top on giving you a brief glimpse of his happy trail which your eyes went to immediately.

"After school." HE winks kissing you.

"Meds hot shot." You says as the toast pops and you butter it. He opens the cabinet getting out his anxiety and adhd meds popping one of each in his hands.

"DO I need the adhd one I'm so fun without it." Eddie askes smirking popping both pills in his mouth drinking some milk from the cartoon.

"Mmm your fun on it to even better actually." You say passing him his toast.

"Mmm ok" he eats his toast and then you both brush your teeth. He stands behind you keeping one hand on your waist as you brush your teeth. And then off to school and you arrive with 10 minutes to spare.

You both approach the hellfire members and they look shocked to see Eddie. "Morning ladies." Eddie greets himself to the boys. Lighting a cigarette in the process pulling you close to his side inhaling and exhaling the smoke. "Cold isn't it."

"Dude your early to school jeez." Gareth says hugging his girlfriend trying to keep warm.

Eddie looks at you and smiles. "Thanks to y/n made me sleep n get up never knew actually needed to do that." HE said finishing his smoke tossing it on the ground.

Everyone parts ways ad the bell goes but you and Eddie. He walks you to the you both had kissing you. "Do we have to go in." HE smiles into your lips.

"Yep common." You kiss him one more time. "I love you."

"I love you too." ONE last kiss and a sutle ass swat and Eddie and you walk into class and arrives on time to the teachers and everyone else's response.

Yeah his anxiety gets the best of him sometimes. But he knows he will be OK as long as he's got you.

You and Eddie sit in the back wanting to be out rhe way. And Gareth walks in sitting in the middle row. "OH my god he came in on time shock to everyone thought the freak couldn't tell the time the amount of school he's missed." Jason comments seeing Eddie his friends laughing. Eddie gets a devilish grin on face.

"OH my god Jason carver came in 30 seconds thought he'd be able to count the amount of school he's attending or can't you cause your heads to full of me. If that's the case I'm honoured Jason but I have a girlfriend maybe one of your boy toys there will get u there in 23 seconds." Eddie smirks putting his arm around your shoulder. You can't help the smirk that creeps on your face.

Jason looks stunned at Eddie that he actually just said that infront of the class. Gareth still staring at the front then chimes in for Jason.

"He's backkkkkkkkkkkk."

[seeingivy]

sick with sadness

actor eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

content: mentions of depression/anxiety, getting taken advantage of, pure sadness NO happy in this chapter

an: I am alive. I am convinced I have some underlying chronic disease or illness going on with the way the past three weeks have gone, but I am alive. we are all going to close our eyes and read this chapter and then move on.

previous chapter

--

Eren’s tenth birthday is the first time he feels it. 

He sits on the spiral staircase to watch the crowd roar on outside, well past the normal time he’d be asleep. He can feel the tiredness sitting in his eyes, the stuffy, starched suit his mom forced him to wear digging into his neck. There’s a mix of blue, green, and yellow confetti littered on the floor, a sticky grime to the usual pristine house his mom’s meticulousness affords - and he hates it. 

From his vantage point, he can see every corner of the party, the expansive glass doors letting him catch every person laughing, enjoying, swinging to the beat of the music. Armin and Bertholdt are pouring salt into Historia and Annie’s drinks while they use the bathroom, Sasha and Jean are being way too aggressive with the pinata, and Mikasa’s braiding a little flower crown for a very smiley Marco. 

His parents' friends, people whose movies he’s spent years watching when he grew up, studied when he was at the SHWA are on the right side of the lot, sparkling dresses getting ruined by the mud in the backyard and their expensive jewelry discarded on the tables. 

And all Eren can do is watch. Whatever it is, the block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - it’s gluing him down to the seat, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose. 

If souls were real, his would be hundreds, thousands of miles away - detached from his real body. 

He hears a loud pounding and turns his neck to find Ymir and Reiner poking the little aquarium to the left of the staircase. The fish he picked out with Zeke on his last birthday, the picture perfect day of quiet solitude, are frantically swimming around the tank.

He watches the two of them, their inquisitive eyes laughing as the fish duck around the tank after each respective smack. The lights flicker every time Ymir pounds her closed fist against the glass, the sound so loud that it smacks against the wall behind it. 

And suddenly, the sound, that sound, is all too loud, so jarring that before he knows it there’s thick tears pouring out of his eyes and his voice is getting all tangled in his chest. He’s not sure how he got there, but suddenly he’s standing up, freed from the stairs, and yelling at the two of them. 

“Stop smacking against the glass, Ymir! They don’t like that.” 

Ymir looks over, a confused and almost bored look on her face. Reiner's eyes, he's so puzzled, only make his skin burn more. Reiner’s looking at him like there’s something wrong with him. 

Is there something wrong with him?

“It’s just a fish, Eren. They don’t even care.” Ymir says, bending back over to focus her eyes on the glass. 

“They do care! Every time you punch the glass they swim away because they’re scared.” Eren says, his chest heaving too hard, his mind not catching fast enough to stop it. 

Reiner and Ymir shrug as they walk away, the two of them giving Eren pitchy awkward smiles as they each squeeze his shoulder once. And when they’re finally out of their vantage point, the tears are only hotter, faster, scalding hot as he stares at the fish in their little cave, instead of swimming freely in the tank. 

The fish, long gone, are always what come back to Eren when the feeling returns. 

When the sadness takes residence in his chest.

--

“Sorry…line?” Eren says, giving an awkward smile to the director as he turns his neck to the right. 

The director, David Lance, rolls his eyes as he cuts filming on the scene, very aggressively calling for lunch. Eren feels his throat sink into his chest, the regret settling in regardless, as he watches him angrily storm off, the cast and the crew awkwardly shuffle behind him. 

He should have spent longer memorizing his lines. Or at least reviewed them this morning. Eren shuffles his feet to the coffee cart as he starts apologizing to the cast and crew, who are all but kind to him about his performance. Truly, his only saving grace in the personal hell that he’s living in.

Deep down, Eren knew that whatever he worked on next, wod never compare to the work that he did on Attack on Titan. Getting to work with his biggest role models, all of the people he grew up with, the girl he was in love with right across the door from him - it was virtually impossible for anything to shape up. 

He just didn’t realize it would be this fucking bleak on the other side. 

The plot of Satellite Port is mediocre at best. Another cheesy astronaut movie, clearly trying to catapult off the success of the feature film that won best picture last year. A half-assed director - who can’t even fucking direct - and maybe the stupidest dialogue he’s ever seen in his life. 

Eren’s a good actor. But even he can’t fix this. 

And he’s had enough when he hears an irritated sigh behind him and turns around to find Gianna de Anola, his prissy co-star, glaring at him. An ice-cold supermodel, Gianna’s making her break onto the acting front, trying to fall in the footsteps of her world-famous triple threat mother. 

“You know, maybe if you didn’t stay up jerking off, we’d actually be able to finish this movie on time.” she says, slouching down in her chair as her assistant brings her lunch to her side. 

If Eren could, he’s strangle her assistant every time he walked over. And then her for good measure too. 

“I wasn’t jerking off.” Eren mutters, grabbing his script from the table as he flips to the end of the pages. His lines are all highlighted and he can feel his frustration growing even deeper as he remembers he spent two hours doing this scene yesterday. 

“You want to know something embarrassing, Eren?” Gianna says, twisting the straw in her soda can with her perfectly manicured fingers. 

From the look on her face, Eren already knows. She’s going to say something that’s going to ruin his whole day. 

“Please, Gianna. I’m dying of fucking curiosity over here.” 

“You spend all your time watching your little pop-star girlfriend perform on her world tour. You wake up at the ass crack of dawn, sacrifice the movie you’re working on, probably text her good luck before every show of hers and I’ll give you twenty bucks she won’t even come to your premiere.” 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” 

Eren drops his script on to his lap, his ears burning with irritation, at idiots like Gianna. The picture perfect image of nepotism.

Eren’s not trying to be hypocritical. He knows that his parents are famous actors, his brothers at the top of the industry, which sets him out to be a premier face in the industry. But Gianna is a whole different breed. 

Because Eren’s trying. He- he has a reason for wanting to do this. There’s a difference between him and her. 

There’s a part of him, deep down, that’s enthralled with the job he gets to do. That encourages, cherishes, deeply acknowledges that what he gets to do is a privilege. 

Eren is making art. He gets to tell stories about people's lives and take every broken part of him and make it into something great. He can pour every negative, disgusting, boring, happy, ecstatic moment he’s ever had into a scene to make it something better. 

Have someone watching his work at home feel seen, have their chest stir and their eyes water because someone out there feels the same thing he does. Make people feel nostalgic, excited, sad - to feel the feelings with him. To be with him from the beginning of the story till the end, to be excited about what he has to say and what he has to do. 

Eren’s parents are famous. And by definition, so is he. But there’s a part of him, deep down, that wants to prove himself. Show that he has feelings, emotions, something to share with people that’s true, authentic - and not just because it was what he was meant to do. 

And he knows that’s not the case here. 

She’s a specific type. Part of the clear cut, mindless army of people with famous parents - living, thriving off what gets them attention next. It makes Eren sick, makes his stomach turn over in circles and circles until he’s churning with anger. So angry, so negative that it makes his skin itch like he’s covered in dirt. 

He looks over at Gianna, a smirk pressed on her perfectly airbrushed face from the makeup team, and he can’t help but feel the burning in his chest sink lower and lower until it’s replaced with ice cold. A hollow wind, rustling through trees.  

It’s because he knows Gianna is right. And that if an idiot like her can catch onto it, it won’t be fast until everyone else follows, until he’s the radio clown in the papers next week. 

Because despite your best efforts, Eren knows deep down that she’s right. 

You won’t be coming to his premiere. You’re above it. 

--

Eren swirls the fizzy drink in his hand as he leans against the wall, eyes focused on every person and almost no one in the room at the same time. And he’s trying to push that feeling down, the block in his chest, as he tries to memorize all the faces here, everyone celebrating in front of him. 

He’ll remember this moment as the sweetest one. When he can finally say goodbye to this godforsaken movie. He feels a smack on his shoulder and a sudden flash in his eyes, all his senses bombarded all of a sudden. 

“TMZ! TMZ! TMZ!” 

“Connie. Would it kill you to be quiet for maybe like five minutes?” Jean mutters, rolling his eyes as he shoves Connie to the side. 

Eren finds Connie, Jean, Armin, and Marco in his periphery, the three of them smiling big at him. Connie and Jean have clearly already had too much to drink - from the way their ties are loosened against their necks and the pink tints on their cheeks. 

And from the way they’re currently trying to wrestle each other at his wrap party. 

“Do you ever think about that? Armin is literally like paparazzi with that fucking polaroid camera. He’s been a little bitch like that since he was fifteen.” Connie says, squishing Armin’s cheek, as Armin frantically tries to swat him off. 

“Like you’re any better, Connie. You’ve been doing the same thing to Eren and Y/N since like the first day of filming.” Marco responds, taking the spot next to Eren, giving him a smile. 

“See but. That was me helping a brother get it. I got so tired of seeing his little horny, wimpy eyes I just had to help him out.” Connie responds, snickering with Jean.

“Oh my god. Connie look, it’s that girl from Death Note.” Eren says, pointing in an ambiguous mention. 

Connie’s so frazzled by the mere mention of her - and the alcohol in his system surely can’t help - that he’s dragging Jean to the other side of the room where Eren pointed, the two of them creating a mess of knocking things over as he leaves. 

In another life, and probably in this one too, Eren thinks that Connie was raised in a barn. 

Armin and Marco lean against the wall with Eren, the three of them staring across the room together now. After six months of pure torture - the most irritating director known to man, the biggest diva as his co-star, and the sweltering heat of Tampa, Florida - Eren’s finally been freed from the godforsaken Satellite Port movie. 

The day he’s been looking forward to, since he started all this, is finally at his front door and he can’t be more than relieved. He gets to hear the ratings for the movie at the end of the party, celebrate with his friends, and finally see you after seven months. 

And stick it to Gianna di Anola’s face that you still love him. Granted, she doesn’t know that you two are actually dating or that you even love each other - no one does besides your friends - but he can still have the satisfaction. Of imaging her stupid face pursed up in irritation at being wrong. That he has something she doesn’t. 

“Can I say something you potentially might not like?” Armin says, tucking the polaroid he just took - the tops of Connie and Jean’s eyes and a very confused looking Eren in the back - into his coat as he leans back. 

“Sure.” Eren responds. 

“I really hate your co-star. She- she’s so annoying.” Armin responds, sighing. 

Eren laughs as he pats Armin on the shoulder, amused that Armin thought something like that could offend him. 

“Imagine working with her for six months.” Eren deadpans, eliciting laughs from both Armin and Marco. 

The feeling - the overwhelming, all consuming wave of panic - is subsiding in his chest as Marco laughs at his side, the three of them nitpicking everyone in the room to pass the time. No one’s safe from the three of them - every stuck up friend of Gianna’s, the coattail hanging out of David’s outfit, and the godforsaken designer - they're not safe from the three of them

“David Lance has a stick up his ass and that’s what he used to write that dogshit script.” Eren says, his face hurting from smiling. 

“And the best part? Gianna di Anola thinks the script is amazing because she can’t even read it.” 

Armin, Marco, and Eren turn their heads to find Sukuna at their side, a devious smirk pressed onto his lips. They all laugh as Sukuna slides against the wall next to Eren, taking the glass from his hands, and downing the last of the liquid. He makes a weird face as he swallows, turning to Eren.

“Are you drinking apple cider?” 

“I don’t like to drink.” Eren responds. 

Sukuna gives him a polite nod before rolling his eyes, his glare focused toward the front door. Hyla Clarkson - the girl that Sukuna has publicly been feuding with for the past few months - just entered, pressing kisses to Gianna and her family. 

All he knows is that if he tallied up every time Hyla and Sukuna argued and fought, she would win - by a longshot. Sukuna’s still blacklisted from getting hired by certain studios - a fact he only knows because he only ever took Satellite Port because Sukuna was supposed to be there with him. It was a rude surprise when he showed up and got left to fend for himself. 

“So are you on again or off again?” Armin asks. 

“On. But- I. I don’t know - they’ve got this way of sucking you in.” he responds. 

“Wasn’t she dating that model last week? What’s his name again, something-” Marco starts. 

“No. You know how tabloids are, they-they’re always on some shit.” Sukuna responds. 

Eren puts a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder and squeezes, pushing even further. 

“So did they photoshop that picture of them kissing or-?” Eren says, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“She was just trying to piss me off, it-it’s all part of the chase. Plus, you should know of all people, Eren. You’re telling me everything that the tabloids write about Ricky and Y/N is true?” 

Eren lets go, his throat dry at the mention of it. He can feel his knuckles turning white against the empty glass Sukuna handed back to him, Marco and Armin finishing off the conversation for him. Eren’s too busy seeing red to even pay attention, at the thought of Ricky James. 

Eren's never met Ricky James. But he knows far too much. He’s read every Wikipedia page, scoured every tabloid, fan page, supporting comment, Reddit thread about him. 

One of the worst parts of being famous? People can comment, theorize, and speculate about every aspect of your life. Even worse? That there’s a breadth of information to pit yourself against, to pinpoint all the perfections and none of the flaws for his self-imagined competition.

And Eren hates to think that way, to take the words of teenage girls and tabloid writers to heart, but there’s a small part of him that feels sick from the entire ordeal. Because everyone thinks Ricky James is better for you than him. 

He’s a twenty year old singer-songwriter from a small town in New York, who's recently been breaking into the acting scene. Like you, he’s one of the few premiere actors who has pulled in the industry who doesn’t come from a famous family. And like you, he’s charming and mesmerizing - beloved by the people. 

And ever since you both got cast in Little Women together - him as Laurie and you as Amy - and the press tours started all people can do is talk. And Eren, every self-preservationist thread of him gone - can only listen. Watch fans edit videos of you two being cute together for ten minutes, listen to podcasts where the two of you gush about each other's talents, see that Ricky was able to get time off in his schedule to go to your tour when Eren was stuck on Satellite Port. 

It fills him with rage. And it makes him feel less than. And every time Eren tries to shut the voice in him down, to convince himself that it’s not true and that you’re still at your best, he comes out short. Granted, a personal affliction for negative thoughts is easier to shut out. To convince himself that he’s making it up. Seventy thousand people affirming his worst fears makes it harder. 

“Wasn’t it their fault you got fired from the ensemble of Last Voyage? And Satellite Port?” Armin asks, remembering the tabloid blast from the past few months. 

“Yeah, well not her but the people around her. Her dad especially - they have so much pull, it’s insane. And-and they play mind games and shit, I couldn’t even tell you the half of it. It’s-” 

Right on cue, Hyla walks up to the four of them, a sickly sweet smile on her face. She’s wearing a long, willowing green gown and watches her stick her hand out for Sukuna. And Eren’s floored when he watches Sukuna purse his lip and give a polite excuse me as she whisks him away, leaving the three of them on the wall. 

Armin gets pulled off the wall by Connie and Jean who have returned with Misa, who is apparently a really big fan of Armin’s. And by how pink Connie is, giggling like there’s no tomorrow, Eren knows it's better to stay away from him to avoid any chance of second hand embarrassment. 

“I always miss this.” Marco says, a soft smile on his face. 

“Connie being a dumbass?” Eren asks.. 

“I mean, not particularly that, but all of us being together. It feels weird to be so far away from everyone when we’re all doing things so different.” Marco responds. 

Eren knows Marco far too well to be doing this. 

“Quit trying to psychoanalyze me, Marco.” Eren asks, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“That’s my job.” 

Eren and Marco turn their necks to find Historia in a pale blue dress, a soft smile on her face. They both rush forward and immediately wrap their arms around her, both taking a second to press a kiss to her cheek. 

“So what are we psychoanalyzing Eren about, Marco?” Historia asks, the two of them giving teasing smiles. 

“Nothing. We’re not psychoanalyzing me about anything. I’m fine.” 

“Y/N. Ricky James. Everyone being so far away, but her specifically.” Marco responds. 

Historia pinches her mouth into a straight line, the look in her eyes making Eren feel like a scolded child. If it was a different person, Eren would feel pitied. By both of them. But he knows them both far too well to know they’re the few people in his arsenal who would fight for him. 

“Ricky James. Huh? Seems like an asshole a little bit.” Historia states, swiping two ice cream cups off the tray. She hands the extra to Eren, leaning towards Marco as they share the other.

“You’re just saying that because you feel loyalty to me, Hisu. I’m sure he’s a nice guy and Y/N seems to like him.” Eren responds, his chest feeling like an anvil all of a sudden. 

Historia frowns as she turns to his side, her eyebrows knit together in frustration. 

“Yeah. I don’t like him because I feel loyalty to you, Eren. But I also don’t like him because he was friends with John.” 

Marco and Eren both clear their throats and swallow hard at the mention, the regret sitting in Eren’s chest for even saying that in the first place. On instinct, Eren wraps his arm around Historia’s shoulder, Marco following suit as they both rest their heads against hers. She sighs at the touch, squeezing both of their shoulders in response. 

Mentioning John is basically like saying the devils’ name for Historia. The music producer that she had been working with since she was seventeen and the one who all but pounced on her the second she turned eighteen. Eren thinks it’s disgusting that the same thing happened basicallly happened. Levi told him that he has forewarned him.

The two of them had made so many hit songs together, he’d basically helped Historia start her music career. When they got together that no one batted an eye. They were charming and celebrated - ignoring the fact that Historia was only nineteen and John was in his thirties. That Historia looked awkward and uncomfortable near him. 

Everything came crashing down a year ago when Historia got dumped, for lack of a better word, on the side of the street and left to a swarm of paparazzi after an argument she had with him. Ymir and Sasha were the ones who got to her the fastest, ducking her into a car, and hiding her for the time being. 

But in true Historia fashion, she was never one to be quiet. She wrote Dear John. Made art out of her pain, something Eren could only admire and love her for. Her effortless way of bouncing back, of jumping straight back into what hurt her for the sake of art was something only Eren could dream of possessing.

Something he envied when everything weighed so heavy on his mind. 

“I’d kill him if he did anything like that to her.” Eren states. 

“I’d help you.” Historia responds. 

“Speaking of, I haven’t talked to her in a while. Is she taking breaks with the tour and movie and all?” Marco asks. 

“She doesn’t take breaks. From the way she’s going, I don’t think she’ll stop till she gets what she wants. Which, you need that type of drive to do this. To get what she wants.” 

Historia brings her hand up to Eren’s shoulder again, squeezing. 

“Eren. When was the last time you talked to her?” 

“It’s-it’s been a while with the time differences. When she’s not performing, she’s writing. And when she’s done writing, she’s practicing lines. There’s not really any time for that and I’m not going to be the one to pull her back when she’s in the zone and-” 

“Eren. I’m sorry.” Historia says, her voice borderline pleading. 

“It’s okay, it’s not a big deal-” 

“Do you know how rare it is to have what you do? It’s insane that two people can even like each other at the same time but to be in love, so fully and unselfishly, you-you can’t let that get away from you.” Historia says, her eyes turning red and her voice getting louder as she goes on. 

“Hisu. I-” 

“We’re seeing her next week for the awards and your birthday. Just-just tell her, okay? I’ll kill you if you let something like this pass you by. Or I’ll haunt you from my grave if I’m dead.” Historia says. 

“You sound like me.” Marco says, giving her a teasing smile. 

“Shut up, Marco.” she responds. 

Eren leans into their touch, their limbs all still tangled together, as he sighs into the air, trying to focus on the good. That they’re here with him, even if you can’t be. And that'll be you instead of them in a week. 

It doesn’t work. The sadness still creeps in. 

--

Eren closes out all the tabs of his laptop as he sees your picture flash against his screen, accompanied by his ringtone. He slides the video call open, the mere sight of you making his heart ache. 

“Hi Eren.” 

“Hi Y/N. Ready for your show?” 

“Eh. Almost.” 

Eren glares, narrowing his eyes at you as he waits for your laugh. You’re basically primed to perfection - your hair perfectly blown out, your sparkly silver dress pinned down, and your glittery makeup shining. 

“Okay, okay. I’m ready, I just wanted to call you.” 

Eren frowns, realizing that his shortcomings were so horrible, that they were enough to illicit a call from you when you were this busy. 

“Because I’m a failure?” 

“Eren. You’re not a failure. You-when have we ever cared what the Elms have said?” 

The Elms officially released their gold standard review of Satellite Port last night. Eren wasn’t expecting much, knowing that this was far from his best work, but the review was scathing. And the articles that followed were even worse. He’d spent all morning reading them, his chest burning and his head becoming a solid rock weighing him down with every last word. 

The worst thing that we see nowadays is a waste of talent. A true, self-actualized potential fall short. Our latest example? Attack on Titan star, Eren Jaeger. After garnering himself a total of three nominations the Institute last award season, it seems that the actor is on the come down. His work in Satellite Port was described as insanely mediocre, almost painful to watch knowing that this is the same boy who acted in the infamous Thank You scene - which garnered him his first Institute Award win. Eren is nominated for four awards at the Institute TV Awards next week - Best Actor in a Lead Role, Best Actor in a Drama Series, Best Scene, and Ensemble Cast - which will most likely be his last nominations ever with the work that he’s been putting out. We’ll see if Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman can wrangle him in place for the last season of Attack on Titan and salvage his career. 

“The things the Elms said about you and Armin back in the day were baseless. You- they just didn’t like you because of your parents. You’ve proved yourself over time and time again. I had all these things stacked up against me, there should have been no reason I failed and I did anyway.” Eren responds. 

He watches you frown on the other side of the screen as you lean forward, your eyes washed over in concern. Eren immediately feels guilty for worrying you right before you’re about to perform, trying to save face as fast as possible. 

“I’m just going to be upset about it today and I’ll be okay tomorrow, alright?” Eren asks. 

“Just today, Eren. I’ll kill you otherwise, you little bitch.” you respond, giving him your best angry look. 

Eren laughs at your profanities, which elicits a smile from you. 

“You kiss your mom with that mouth, Y/N?” 

“Mhm. And I kiss you with it too.” 

“You’re so vulgar.” 

“Wanna know something cool? Yesterday, when I was performing New Year’s Day at the start, the applause literally went on for n-” 

“Nine minutes. And then they cheered your name for another ten after you walked off for your outfit change.” Eren responds, finishing your sentence. 

“You watched?” 

“Don’t be stupid. I watch you every time you perform. I like watching you - the faces you make when you’re singing your songs and smiling at people - it’s cute. Makes it easier when I miss you so much.” 

He watches you sigh, your face contorting into a frown. 

“I miss you too. I-I’m really excited to see you next week.” 

“Me too.” 

He watches you finish off your routine - as you clip on your earrings and fiddle with the ends of the hair as your team starts moving around you, pointing at their watches to indicate that you’re going to go on soon. 

“Wanna know the stupidest thing about your tour, Y/N?” 

“There’s stupid things on my tour?” 

“Just the one.” 

“Please enlighten me, wise one.” 

“You sing New Year’s Day with a piano backtrack instead of playing the piano.” 

“What’s the point of learning how to properly play the piano when you’ll always be there to do it for me?” 

He feels his chest stirring at the words, even more when you blow him a kiss before hanging up to perform. His phone screen is left on your contact, the picture of the two of you making him smile. 

He closes out all the tabs of the reviews, replacing them with the live stream of your show as he crawls back into his bed. And when he watches you wink at the camera right before you start singing New Year’s Day with your piano backtrack, he knows its for him.

--

“Ymir. This isn’t even half convincing.” Eren says, trying to swat her hands off his covered eyes. 

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t even know what’s coming.” Ymir responds, pushing hard against his eyes as she swings him into the little foyer. 

“It’s my birthday. Almost everyone we know is in town for the award show tomorrow. None of you guys have said happy birthday to me and now you’re inconspicuously leading me somewhere with my eyes covered. Oh, I’m dying of curiosity here, Ymir.” 

“You’re no fun.” she responds, lifting her fingers off his eyes. He’s met with the sight of everyone popping confetti in his face at the same time, an excited amount of cheers filling up the air. 

Mikasa and Armin reach him first, almost everyone wrangling them in his arms and smacking him on the back. Connie offers him his first legal shot as a twenty-one year old, which Levi confiscates in three seconds. Reiner rolls his eyes as he swings a sash around Eren’s neck, which elicits an insurmountable amount of laughter from everyone.

“Mother to be?” Eren asks, reading the sparkly cursive writing on the sash. 

“They ran out of birthday sashes. And giving birth is basically adjacent to birthdays, so I figured it was the best one. It was either that or a quinceanera.” Reiner explains. 

“A quinceanera is a real birthday dumbass.” Eren responds, shoving him to the side. 

Everyone’s too overzealous and excited to hand him gifts because they’re immediately sitting him down, handing him packed boxes. Hange and Levi gift him an expensive watch, the pair of them pressing a kiss to his head, before retreating upstairs to their rooms, arms locked together and whispering in each other's ears as they go up.

Reiner and Bertholdt give him gag gifts first - which are just framed pictures of every time he’s flipped off paparazzi - before giving him his real gift, their annotated versions of the original Attack on Titan script. 

Eren’s been a big fan of Reiner’s blocking notes since they were students together at the SHWA, because Reiner clearly has no conception of what the blocking notes are actually supposed to be. Instead of writing in his own staging spots and directions from the crew, he writes his own commentary on the script. 

Eren flips to the marked page, the big reveal scene, and finds Reiner’s handwriting at the button. 

Reiner: I’m the Armored and he’s the Colossal. 

And underneath, Reiner’s inscription. 

fuck. 

He flips forward a few pages to find the Thank You Scene marked as well, his handwriting on the side. 

Eren: I’ll wrap that scarf around you, as many times as you want. 

And Bertholdt’s commentary. 

yall fucking? 

Eren snorts as he closes up the script, giving the two of them a smile, as Historia and Marco plant a gift in his lap next, skillfully packed in wrapping paper with his face on it. 

“I’m not sure if I should ruin something so perfect. I just look so good here-” 

“Eren. You’re a five on a good day.” Ymir responds, unbothered to look up from the game of soccer she was watching on the screen. 

Eren frowns as he opens up the gift, a glass showcase filled with polaroids. The first is a framed picture, one of the first of the entire cast. Underneath, Historia’s handwriting is inscribed, loopy letters spelling out Long Live. Eren smiles as he sets it to the side, observing Marco's gift. A Maya Angelou poetry book.

Eren gives the group of them a smile as he scans his eyes around the room, noticing the only face missing. The only one he was looking forward to seeing. Marco grabs his hand and drags him up the staircase, as he whispers over his shoulder. 

“She left a while ago to set up her gift for you. She should be in your room I think.” 

Eren’s nearly sprinting up the staircase as he pushes open the door, a defeated sigh leaving his lips when he stumbles in. There’s a half wrapped gift on the bed next to you, where you’re face down and fast asleep. He can see that you’re still in your party clothes - the dress and birthday hat still stuck to your head - as you nearly drool onto his sheets. 

“Nonsense, Eren. We’ll just wake her up, she was really excited to-” 

“No.” Eren responds. 

Marco swallows hard as he looks over at Eren, jaw half clenched and eyes narrowed down as he moves around him, shutting the door behind him. Eren carefully yanks the party hat and the shoes off your feet as he tucks you into the sheet properly, the tears burning his eyes. 

He takes the halfpacked gift and note from the bed, shutting the light off, as he escapes into your room to open them. To take a second, to calm whatever burning, irritating sensation is ripping his chest right now. 

The gift is a vinyl, the cover art is the same as the tattoos that you guys got together nearly two years ago. There’s a note inscribed on the front, your messy handwriting on the front. 

Eren. Our music is the best music. Here’s to many more to come :D 

He turns the vinyl over to find one song on each side - New Year’s Day on the front and Invisible String on the back. There’s a list of untitled listed underneath them, clearly meant to be future songs you and Eren write together. 

And all Eren can feel is despair. The gross, disgusting feeling that sits in his chest and never goes away is going to drag you down too. 

Isn’t it?

--

Nearly twenty four hours later and Eren’s standing on the other side of the red carpet, his palms sweaty and burning. He was supposed to walk out twenty minutes ago but his feet are glued to the foam, his throat dry. 

It always comes at the worst times. His birthday party, when he saw Zeke at Christmas, when he met Ricky James at the cocktail hour and then Gianna right after. 

Every little thing that’s been bothering Eren for the past day, the past few months is tumbling into this moment, where he’s staring at the red carpet and hearing the cameras flash behind the curtain but can’t summon his feet to move beyond them. 

Eren’s embarrassed. He’s ashamed. He’s trying. He’s trying to swallow it, trying to move his feet, to get out there to stand next to you. 

It’s humiliating. 

He feels a tap on his shoulder to find Armin at his side, readjusting the collar against his neck as he gives him a smile. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi Min.” 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

Eren tilts his head to the side as Armin gives him a smile, before turning his face back towards the curtain. 

“I hate walking on red carpets. But they’re easier when friends do them with me.” Armin responds. 

Eren sighs, a third person now catching on to him, as he stares at his shoelaces, evenly knotted against his leather shoes.

Is he that obvious? It's like it's written on his forehead.

“So, Eren?” 

“I-I don’t know if I can be a good friend right now, Armin. I think I should leave and-” 

“You’re the only friend I need. Just come on, okay? No one’s going to talk about Satellite Port, especially if I’m with you. They’re just going to try and wrangle spoilers out of you for the next season.” Armin responds, holding his hand out. 

Eren look down at his outstretched hand, blue eyes filled with such a vote of confidence that Eren agrees, stepping out into the flashing lights with Armin at his side, the two of them gaining a considerable amount of cheers as they walk out. 

Eren walks down with Armin, snapping a few pictures, before stopping to talk to a few of the interviewers, letting Armin carry the bulk of the weight as his mind spins in thirty different directions. About where he’s standing, if he should leave, how he’s a fraud and everything in between. 

Armin tugs him nearly all the way to the end as he pushes him into the auditorium, Eren’s chest heaving as he settles into his seat in between Hange and you, though your seat is still empty. 

“Eren. You okay?” 

Eren gives a halfhearted nod as Hange and Levi pinch their eyes in his direction, sharing a look, before leaning back in their chairs. Hange’s hand is squeezing his shoulder, which is all he tries to focus on as more people start piling in - cameras, lights, sounds getting brighter and brighter. 

Eren feels a tap on his shoulder to find you at his side now, a big smile on your face. 

“Oh my god. The interviewers out there were so fun.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I really liked them.” 

He feels you pull for his hand, nestling it under the pleats of your dress, obscured from the public view, as you squeeze his hand three times. Eren tries to ignore the pounding, burning, twisting happening in his mind as he focuses on the announcer, giving his opening monologue. He’s clearly doing a bit of crowd work as he’s walking around, pointing and poking fun at the stars around him. 

And Eren’s worst fear is self-actualized when he walks over to the two of you, his voice booming in his ears as the lights flash in his face. He can feel Hange’s grip on his shoulder tighten as he starts talking. 

“Here we have an international pop-star, Y/N L/N. Originally a small town girl from Canada, her soft spoken love songs, phenomenal acting, and insane dance act have left no heart untouched.” 

Eren looks over to find your cheeks pink, a big smile spread on your face. He can’t help but smile - thinking about you crying in your room after your first panels to be what you are now. 

“And you. What’s your name again? It’s sweet they let fans sit with stars now.” the headliner asks him, eliciting a large amount of laughter from the crowd as he walks on. 

Eren swallows hard, his eyes and throat burning as he sounds echoes in his ears. 

It’s funny. It’s just a joke. It’s a joke because it’s funny that no one knows who he is. It’s funny because he’s no one compared to you and-

“I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom.” Eren says, standing up and walking out. 

“Eren.”

He shakes your fingers off his wrist as he nearly springs out, loosening the tie around his throat and yanking the heavily starched collar around his neck. And it’s back. That sickening, sickening feeling in full flesh. The block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - making his legs feel like lead, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose. 

Eren reaches for the closest room, an open bar playing a video of the ceremonies as he settles onto the bench, head pressed against the concrete as he murmurs out for a glass of water. 

Eren stays there - trying to feel the concrete cold against his forehead, his breath making his entire chest tremble, and his knuckles pressed white. He feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and lifts his head expecting Hange. 

Instead, he finds an older man - nearly in his fifties with gray hair smiling down at him. 

“Eren. It’s nice to see you again.” 

Eren lifts his head, trying to rack his fried brain from where he knows him. 

“You know, Eren. We’ve been in the same room hundreds of times. Yet, we’ve barely talked for two minutes.” 

“Ss-sorry. I don’t mean to-” 

“You and I could be really helpful to each other.” 

He slides over his card, the name gleaming back at him as the memory comes back. Years ago, at that panel, where he met him the first time. Scott Clarkson, the Stone Studios producer. 

“If you want your reputation back, if you don’t want to be the butt of the joke anymore, if you want to be the one talked about next to her instead of Ricky James, you’d give the number a call. Instead of ripping it half on principle this time.” 

Eren watches him slide off the bench, a smile pressed on his face, as he turns his face back to the screen, watching you accept the Best Actress in a Drama Series Role. He looks back down at the card, the silver shine reflecting on his face. 

Eren tucks it into his pocket. And calls the next day. 

It's the worst mistake he makes.

--

next part

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[andromeda-nova-writing]

Plastic Off The Sofa

Fem!Reader

Summary: Rest when one is injured it is important to take as to not strain an injury any further. It is equally important to take care of those who have been injured and check in on them to make sure they are okay.

Words: 2,982

AN: This fic is inspired by the song of the same name. I highly recommend you go give it a listen if you. haven't heard it yet. It's a song that discusses a deep love where you are willing to put everything on the table and accept each other's flaws. It very much fits how I see these two

It was rare that Y/N took a sick day. Most times when she did it would land on days she was to work on the surface, which made today a double rare. She was sitting on the sofa in her apartment taking a sick day forcing herself to listen to her own advice and rest. She wasn't ill. Not even seasonal allergies were causing a sniffle. Y/N had spent the day before teaching her younger cousins different dancing techniques. It was a fairly normal occurrence for her. But with an unlucky fall and the pain she felt from her ankle, there was no way she'd be able to easily move in the Fortress. Hell, there wouldn't even be an easy way of getting to the Fortress.

So all she could do was sit on her sofa and rest her ankle. At least she had books she could focus on getting caught up on. Most of the day had been spent resting much to her annoyance. Despite getting rest, she felt restless like she needed to move around already. At least by tomorrow morning, she should be able to walk with little interference from her ankle.

Her mother had dropped by around noon to check on her with lunch in tow. Along with the get-well cards her younger cousins had made so fast. It was quite sweet of everyone. It's not like it was a major injury. She had gone through small ones like this every three or four years. There really was no big fuss to be made over it. Yet, the fuss they were making was still touching. Bringing comfort knowing that if it had been worse her family would be there for her.

So she sat there on her sofa too engrossed in her book to notice that it wasn't her mother knocking at her door. “You know where the key is!” She yelled out. It's something her mother never had taken the wrong way. If anything it was something they had become used to yelling at each other every now and then. It was a simple way of just letting the other know that they couldn’t make it to the door quickly.

She flipped a page in her book as her front door opened. Her back was to the door. “I told you I would be fine to make something small for dinner. You do understand I can still take care of myself, mama.” 

“Last I checked I wasn't your mother,” Wriothesley spoke before closing the door to her home.

Y/N's eyes widened as she quickly closed her book placing it on the coffee table before rushing to tighten the robe she had over the short nightgown. “What are you doing here?” She felt severely undressed for company with the cool touch of the silks feeling like flames against her skin now.

“I had some papers I had to drop off for Neuvillette and I figured I could at least come by and check on you.” It was hard not to let his eyes drink in the sight of his girlfriend. She looked relaxed with how dressed down she was. If anything it made him feel a bit overdressed for his visit.

She kept her eyes away from him, avoiding turning around to face him. Her face felt so warm. “I appreciate the visit. I just had a bad fall yesterday. I've just been following the advice I'd give to anyone else today.”

“It's good to know you're okay.” He let out a small laugh watching her struggle to use the dainty robe to cover up more. He took his jacket off and moved closer to the sofa. He placed the jacket on the front of her which she had been trying to cover up. “Better?”

“Thank you. To be fair I didn't expect any company other than my mother. If I knew you were going to stop by I would have gotten dressed. This just feels a bit inappropriate.” She pulled the jacket close using it as a way to hide that she remained in her pajamas all day long.

“You're overthinking again.”

“No, I'm not overthinking. I should go get dressed.” She reasoned as a quick way to fix her predicament.

“Yes, you are. You were in nothing but one of my shirts last week lying in my bed. I think we've crossed that line a long time ago to call what you're wearing inappropriate.” If it had been a year ago before they had gotten together, he would have given her privacy to go change. He probably wouldn't have even shown up at her doorstep. Wriothesley thought the shyness of seeing each other's bodies had already left that first night they had been together in his bed.

“But silks just feel more exposing than one of your shirts. Doesn’t help that I wasn't expecting to see you today.” The last sentence she spoke came out a bit more mumbled than the first.

Wriothesley laughed before leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Let’s agree to disagree on this one.” He tried lightening her mood. “Am I at least allowed to sit next to you while you tell me what happened to your ankle? Or are you just gonna sit here being a shy mess?” 

She frowned at his teasing. It sucked not being able to think of a good comeback. With her luck, she would probably be able to think of one long after the time had passed. “I guess you can sit next to me. And are you sure you want to know what happened to my ankle? It’s not that interesting.” She warned.

“It's the least you could do. The woman who subbed in for you practically interrogated me about how we were doing?”  Wriothesley shook his head at the memory of the morning.

“Was she short with red hair?” She moved over enough, creating room on the sofa for Wriothesley.

He sat down placing his arm on the backrest of the sofa. He tried to be comfortable while also giving her just enough space. Had it gone his way, she would have been curled up in his arms as they talked of their day. “Yeah, she had a nose ring too.”

Y/N leaned her back against him. Maybe she had been overthinking earlier. Sometimes it was easier to accept that fact even if she wasn’t sure of what exactly had caused her overthinking. “Elizabeth means well. She's just always getting her heart broken and just doesn't want it to happen to anyone else.” 

“Could have fooled me. It felt like she was waiting for me to slip up.”

Y/N laughed. “Well, I'll let you know if you passed her test.”

“Now what happened to your ankle?” He asked still wanting to know what had happened even if she found it to be a boring tale.

“I was teaching some of my cousins different techniques for dance. I was demonstrating something from ballet when my aunt's dog thought that would be a wonderful time to jump at me. See nothing that interesting.” She downplayed the simple event.

“You know ballet?” Wriothesley asked wondering how it hadn’t been brought up before.

“Navia wasn’t lying when she told you my mother put me in so many dance classes.”

“I just didn't think you were the ballet type.”

“It's not like I have a reason to talk about dance with you. Even then I don't practice It anymore. Haven't for the past seven years.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s nice, it's just not what I wanted to do in life.” She explained not feeling the need to go any further. It wasn’t important to discuss. There was no need to focus on what she considered a small unimportant aspect of her life.

Wriothesley nodded in understanding. “So what have you been doing while you were resting?”

“Mostly reading. It has been a day of rest. I’ve done nothing of interest.”

“Was The book interesting at least?”

“It's interesting but not cause it's good kind of interesting. One of the ladies at work thought it would be fun to have a monthly book club. I just didn't think that this was her taste.” She thought back on what she had read throughout the day questioning if she should have just stuck to something she would have chosen for herself.

Wriothesley moved his free arm towards the book that lay on her coffee table. He picked up the book looking at the cover. “I'm glad that's the reason you're reading this. And you had me thinking I wasn't doing well enough in the romance department.” He teased as he put the book back. It was a book that had made its way into the Fortress a few years back making it something he had checked out of curiosity. 

“What would possibly make you think that?” She asked, entertaining his nonsense.

“You see, my girlfriend doesn't care to explain to me everything that happened to her ankle.” He began listing. “She suddenly finds it inappropriate for me to see her in silks despite having seen her in far less.”

“Wriothesley, did you come here to check on me or tease me?”

He ignored her second question remaining focused on her first one. “What's worse is that if she's worried about what she's wearing around me, I'll never get to kiss her. It would be horrible to make her uncomfortable.” He was being overly dramatic just to continue teasing her, even if his dramaticness contained an ounce of truth.

“You have issues, Ri.” She rolled her eyes with a smile before sitting up. Her words had no bite remaining playful, even when what she had said was something that held a level of truth. His jacket fell off of her onto the sofa as she moved. “I'm going to go get changed.” Y/N stood up making sure not to put too much weight on her hurt ankle.

“What if I don't want you to?” It was a question that was a tad selfish but it didn't hurt to say what was wanted. It wasn't like his wants were being forced on her. However, her wanting to change did make him question things. So all he could do was push the boundaries they had already broken once before. “How could I judge you for being comfortable in your own home when I'm the one who showed up unexpectedly?”

“Wriothesley…” her voice trailed off.

“I want you to be comfortable around me.” He tried playing it off with a laugh. Maybe he was just thinking too much into things himself. “Maybe I should just let you rest before I talk too much.” His words were softer as he forced out the sentence.

She looked at his face slightly defeated but filled with longing eyes. “I like hearing you talk.” She sat back down next to him. “You know I wouldn't have even told you where I hid the extra key if I didn't feel comfortable around you.”

“Yeah, I know. I just probably need to go back and get proper rest if I'm talking like this.” Wriothesley explained to not worry her. 

“Maybe I let my overthinking get the best of me. Don't let it get the best of you too.” Y/N placed her hand on his cheek. “How am I supposed to listen about getting out my own head if you just start doing what I do? You've done everything to make me feel comfortable around you. You’re even good about asking if I'm comfortable with the smallest things.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I know I'm not the nicest-looking guy around. I think I saw a kid hide behind their mom on the way over.”

“And I'm sure you gave them the sweetest smile.” Y/N placed a hand on his thigh giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know I said that I'm dressed inappropriately but I think it’s just the shock of you being here. I  got used to only having my mom check on me. I do appreciate that you’re here. I wasn’t expecting it even if you’re just here cause you had to drop something off.”

“I would have checked on you regardless. If not me going on my own, I'm sure Sigewinne would have dragged on up here.”

Y/N laughed at the mental image of his words. “It is funny to see her dragging you to the infirmary. I think it was my first month down there when I saw that for the first time.”

“She made a big deal out of it that time. I was nowhere near needing to go to the infirmary.”  Wriothesley shook his head at the memory.

“I thought it was cute.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don't think I would call that cute.”

“It calmed my nerves down back then. You know I only started working in the fortress as a way to get away from my problems.” She shook her head at her past self and smiled at what that choice had brought her in the end. “It might have been one of the few times I smiled that month. Seeing that you let Sigewinne drag you around was very cute.”

“I still wouldn't call it could cute.”

“Would you rather I call you cute?” She was half teasing.

“By any chance when you fell, did you hit your head too?” He teased back with a smirk knowing how her reaction was bound to go.

“You try standing balanced on your toes with a dog running at you!” She crossed her arms leaning back into a sofa before looking away from him. “I can't believe I attempted to give you a genuine compliment and you think it's out of an injury. I'm starting to think you really did come over to tease me.”

Wriothesley’s hand dropped from the back of the sofa onto her shoulder pulling her in close. “I haven't teased you once yet.”

With a roll of her eyes, Y/N turned her head towards him. “Now I know for sure you are just messing with me.” She tried to force a laugh down. “Quit looking at me like that.”

“Is it wrong to admire you?”

“You look like you are planning to do more than just admire me.”

“Only if you let me.”

“I let you know where the key to my home lies. I let you stay in my home despite your unannounced visit. I let you see me in my nightwear. Yet you still ask if I will let you. I think you know what I'll let you d-”

Was it right of Wriothesley to shut her up with a kiss? Considering the mini speech she gave it felt entirely right. Which only became reinforced by how she melted into the kiss. To be fair all he had craved was a few short kisses from her at least to make up for the ones he would steal from her while she was supposed to be working in the Fortress. They were always worth it even though every time she’d kick him out of the infirmary unable to hold back a smile or a laugh. 

Y/N had pulled away from the kiss, moving herself onto his lap effectively caging him in on the sofa.

“I thought your ankle was hurting.”

“I’ve been resting all day. I’ll be fine.”  Her hands had wandered onto his chest where she had begun to play with his tie, giving it a pull ever so lightly bringing him closer.

“Just making sure. I wouldn’t want you stressing your injury just cause eager for anothe-” He had been caught off guard,  a welcomed change.

Y/N pulled him in close, placing a peck on his lips. “You definitely don't get to judge how I take care of an injury. I think I've lost count of how many times I've had to get on you about taking care of yourself.” The unintended double entendre lost on her for a second.

“I might listen more if you got on me like this.” Wriothesley kept a hand on her back keeping her close. The other hand was left on her thigh almost still as his thumb traced small circles.

Y/N barely had a chance to roll her eyes before she had been kissed again. She pulled away only for Wriothesley to keep planting kisses on her face. “I doubt you would.”

He spoke between kisses. “I’d listen to you read one of those medical books I see you going over on your breaks.”

She laughed. “You mean the medical records I’m writing in while I’m working?”

He kissed her once again. “Yes, those.”

“I know you’re joking but that is very much against the law for me to read to you unless it involves me trying to get a patient to the surface for more intense medical care.”

He leaned his head back. “I know what I said but if you start explaining anything like that for work again right now I will just leave to pick up dinner for us instead.” He warned, trying not to let their mood get ruined.

“You're lucky. I could have gone into chemical formulas or how there's a painkiller derived from mold.” She joked partially. There had been quite a large number of times that Wriothesley had walked in on a long discussion on the origins of certain drugs. As much as he cared for her, it was one of the driest conversations to ever witness repeatedly.

Wriothesley rolled his eyes. “I am begging you to shut up.”

“Do better at making sure I can't talk then.” She knew her words were bait, a challenge that she hoped he would take. Her face looked akin to a siren that was ready to invite him underneath the waves. And Wriothesley was happily willing to make good on what she told him to do.

[fairyniceyeah]

💎 I love my team, I love my crew (Part 1/7)

Title from Super (SEVENTEEN)

Summary: While filming on a small sailing boat a few SVT members start feeling sick - the very contagious norovirus is the most likely reason.

CW: emeto, diarrhea in the context of illness

Sickies: Woozi/Jihoon + Joshua + Minghao + S.Coups/Seungcheol

Caretakers: Wonwoo + Seungkwan + Vernon

💎🐈‍⬛

“Wonwoo-hyung”, a voice called behind the rapper. Wonwoo stopped in his tracks and turned around. 

It had been Seungkwan calling after him, entering the ship’s hallway from the cabin he shared with Woozi, Minghao and Dino. For the next Going Seventeen Episodes they had decided to do a three part sailing experience. Well, it was less sailing and more fun and water-based games in the middle of the open sea. As far as Wonwoo knew, Seungcheol, Jeonghan and Dino were actually swimming at that very moment and Jun and Hoshi had said something about a table tennis match. He himself would be happy to just sit on a recliner and read a book. It was where he actually had been headed before Seungkwan had called him back.

Facing the young vocalist Wonwoo couldn’t help but notice the way Seungkwan was biting his lip in worry and was anxiously playing with the hem of his shirt. He had his legs crossed and leaned against the hall, which struck Wonwoo as very odd.

“What’s wrong, Kwan-ah?”, Wonwoo asked, immediately on alert, striding towards his dongsaeng in three big steps, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine, hyung. Have you seen the hyungs?”, Seungkwan asked, looking down at his flip-flops.

“Uhm, well, I think Cheol-hyung and Hannie-hyung are swimming. I haven’t seen Shua-hyung in some time now”, Wonwoo replied kindly, “is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, what the hell”, Seengkwan mumbled, then said louder, “it’s Woozi-hyung. He locked himself in the bathroom. I think he is seasick again.”

That at least explained on two levels why Seungkwan was standing this weirdly and was so fidgety. Wonwoo already felt worried for Jihoon - now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen the vocalist since breakfast and it was after lunch. It wasn’t unusual for some members to skip meals, especially with the heat, but if he truly wasn’t well…

“Why don’t you go use the bathroom in my room?”, Wonwoo suggested, “I’ll go check on Jihoonie.”

“Alright, thanks”, Seungkwan said and hurried towards the room Wonwoo shared with Joshua, Minghao and Seokmin.

With a sigh Wonwoo entered the room Seungkwan had come from. Nobody was inside but he saw the occupied symbol on the bathroom door. He passed the two bunk beds, noticing how Jihoon’s bed sheets were pushed into a ball at the foot of the bed, half-way to falling off. It seemed like the bed’s occupant had been in a rush to leave.

Wonwoo walked over to the bathroom door and rapped against it. He didn’t hear anything from inside and was about to knock again when he received his reply: “Seungkwan, I told you to go away.”

“It’s Wonwoo”, Wonwoo stated, “Kwan-ah is worried about you. Frankly, so am I. Is everything alright?”

Instead of answering, Jihoon opened the door’s lock. Before the producer could decide differently again, Wonwoo pushed the door open, careful as not to accidentally hit Jihoon. The bathrooms on the ship were tiny, but Jihoon had managed to curl himself into such a small ball that Wonwoo had no trouble opening the door. 

While he had expected it, Wonwoo was still taken aback by how awful Jihoon looked. The producer was slumped over the toilet bowl, one arm resting on it and cushioning his head. His other arm was wrapped around his stomach. Long strands of his blond hair were falling into his white face. He looked like he had gone through the wringer.

Jihoon turned around to look at Wonwoo and croaked: “Welcome to the party. The motion-sickness medicine does an awful job though.”

“I’d rather not be invited”, Wonwoo replied, happy that Jihoon seemed at least still able to make jokes. “Did you take other meds than unusual? Normally you feel okay when you take them, don’t you?”

Careful not to step on Jihoon or injure himself on a shelf or the door, Wonwoo sat down next to his younger chingu. Jihoon just shrugged and laid his head back down on his arm. It had been some time since he had been so awfully seasick.

“Have you thrown up?”, Wonwoo asked, daring to put a hand on Jihoon’s back. He supposed that if Jihoon hadn’t wanted comfort he wouldn’t have opened the door for him in the first place. And indeed, Jihoon even leaned a bit into the touch.

“Just, uhm, the sheets, only a mouthful, really”, Jihoon stuttered, flushing bright red, “I woke up feeling so nauseous and well, I uh, threw up a bit. Ever since …” He stopped and swallowed harshly. Speaking seemed to make him feel more sick. “... I’ve been in here. I’m so nauseous, Wonwoo.”

“I’m sorry you’re having such a bad time. What can I do for you?” Wonwoo rubbed his hand up and down Jihoon’s back, hoping it would comfort him even more than the simple hand on his back.

“Can you make it go away?”, Jihoon asked, an exasperated undertone to his light words.

“No, sorry. All out of magic potions”, Wonwoo joked, “I can go ask the staff for more or others meds if you want?”

“I … uh, could you just stay here?”, Jihoon questioned quietly. He seemed embarrassed by the question, despite it being a very legit request in Wonwoo’s opinion. Not wanting to make the producer feel more uncomfortable, the rapper quickly reassured: “Don’t worry, I’ll stay. Would it be okay if I texted staff for meds still?”

Jihoon nodded weakly. “Don’t know if I can take them though. I’m starting to feel really sick again.”

“That’s okay. I got you”, Wonwoo promised and finished up his text message to a manager. “Do you want me to braid your hair out of your face? You might be more comfortable that way?”

“If you would?”, Jihoon whispered. 

Wonwoo just reached over to gather the long, sweaty hair and started to braid.

💎🍊

Seungkwan rushed into Wonwoo’s cabin only to realize that the blinds were drawn and that Joshua was asleep on one bed. As quietly as his bursting bladder allowed, he rushed into the bathroom to relieve himself. 

He exited the bathroom just in time to get scared senseless when the door to the cabin was flung open, admitting Mingyu and Seokmin who were seemingly lightly arguing over something. Seungkwan frantically tried to calm his racing heart and shush them, hoping that by some miracle Joshua was not awoken by the abrupt entrance.

“Kwan-ah, what are you doing in here?”, Seokmin chirped, confused. 

Seungkwan shushed them again, waving his arms into Joshua’s direction, but it was too late. Their hyung opened his eyes, blinking up at them and frowning. 

“Wha’s go’n on?”, he slurred, clearly still half-asleep.

“Great, now you woke Shua-hyung”, Mingyu exclaimed, exasperated. 

“It’s not only my fault. You’re just annoyed that you lost at table tennis”, Seokmin countered.

“Well, you’re a terrible referee”, Mingyu said.

“Maybe you wanna take this bickering outside?”, Seungkwan suggested, still holding his hands to point at Joshua, who was now slowly sitting up.

“Alright, fine”, Mingyu and Seokmin agreed. The last thing Seungkwan heard before they shut the door again was Seokmin mumbling: “It’s not my fault that you were alone after…”

“Sorry, Shua-hyung”, Seungkwan apologized, dropping his arms and walking over to sit next to the older vocalist on the bed. 

“It’s fine”, Joshua mumbled and leaned his head on Seungkwan’s shoulder. “I probably should get up. I didn’t even mean to fall asleep - I just wanted to lay down a bit. My head hurts.”

Internally Seungkwan groaned. It was promising to be a really bad day if Joshua’s headache turned into a migraine, Seokmin and Mingyu kept bickering and Woozi was seasick. Seungkwan just hoped that Wonwoo got further than him with the stubborn producer who firmly believed that anybody younger than him was a baby and not to be involved in his issues.

“Do you want some painkillers?”, Seungkwan asked.

“Please. They are in my bag”, Joshua replied, nodding his head into the direction of the shelf at the headend of his bed and immediately wincing. “Actually, I think I will go back to sleep after I’ve taken them after all. I really don’t feel good.”

Seungkwan nodded and quickly managed to obtain the mild painkillers that Joshua took when a migraine was on its way. Joshua quickly swallowed them with a sip of water and sunk under his blankets. 

💎🐢

Vernon watched the table tennis match with interest. He himself had not wanted to play, enjoying the freetime while listening to music with one headphone on his ear, the other off to know how the game went. Mingyu and Minghao were playing against Hoshi and Jun with Seokmin as the referee. None of them had any real talent, Minghao the best of them but only due to his amazing reflexes. It was fun.

Below them in the water, Seungcheol, Jeonghan and Dino were swimming and snorkeling in the open sea together with a few staff members. Vernon didn’t know why anybody would willingly do that but he hoped they had more fun than Mingyu who was slowly getting annoyed over the table tennis game.

“Hao, I thought you were supposed to be good”, Mingyu groaned as Minghao missed another ball, causing cheering by Jun and Hoshi.

Minghao muttered a reply that Vernon didn’t quite catch, then pushed himself away from the table and left. Hoshi, Jun and Seokmin seemed as confused as Vernon felt. 

“He said it’s too hot to play”, Mingyu said, also a bit stunned, “uh, do we just go on?”

“Jo, Vernon, you wanna join instead?”, Seokmin yelled as if Vernon was on the other side of the boat, not just a few meters away. 

“Nah”, Vernon replied, shaking his head and pulling off his headphones. He had a bad feeling about Minghao - the older would never leave in the middle of a game. Despite his regular meditations he was competitive. “I’m going to get myself something to drink. Have fun!”

The staff had stocked the living room below deck with a tiny bar - a few different sports drinks and some snacks to choose from. Vernon grabbed a Sprite and took a few sips before heading further inside in search of the missing Chinese member. He wasn’t sure what exactly was wrong, it wasn’t like Minghao to be sulky, especially since Mingyu’s words had been just in good fun and he was easy to read. 

The young rapper didn’t even have to go check the cabin he knew Minghao shared with Woozi, Dino and Seungkwan. When he left the living room he nearly collided with Minghao exiting the bathroom across the hall. 

For a second Vernon was confused - if Minghao had just needed to go to the bathroom they could have stopped the game for him. They may have made a bit of fun of him yet ultimately some stuff was more important than games. But then he noticed the way Minghao had his arms wrapped around his stomach and was doubled over. His complexion was ashen gray and he was covered in sweat.

“Hao-hyung?”, Vernon asked and reached out to the unsteady older member. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“Nonie?”, Minghao asked and lifted his head. His eyes were a bit glazy and it was a bad sign that he only seemed to have noticed Vernon when he spoke. Normally Minghao was so aware of his surroundings. “I … uh… I don’t feel well.”

For a second Vernon contemplated getting Jun or any other of the hyungs, he himself not often in the role of the caretaker of a sick member but Minghao didn’t look good and Vernon didn’t feel right to leave him alone at the moment.

“Let’s sit down, okay?”, he suggested instead, hoping it was the right thing. Minghao looked really bad and so shaky. 

The older nodded and let Vernon guide him to a chair in the living room. He sank down with a wince, still holding his stomach tightly. 

“Can you try to drink something?”, Vernon asked. Maybe Minghao was just a bit sunburned, a bit overheated, and a cold, sugary drink would cure it all. The rapper held out his own bottle of Sprite, feeling a lot out of his depth just standing there watching the other look so unwell.

“I don’t really want to”, Minghao mumbled, “my stomach …”

“Have you thrown up?”, Vernon asked panically. Uh oh, this was not going as he had wanted. Maybe he should have gotten a hyung after all. He really didn’t like vomit.

But Minghao shook his head, flushing and stammered out: “I … I was feeling really hot and my stomach was feeling really upset. I, uh …” 

The last part was muttered and spoken so fast that Vernon wasn’t able to catch it. “Come again?”

“I had diarrhea”, Minghao mumbled, barely louder than before but not as fast. 

Vernon tried to school the grimace creeping up on his face into a neutral expression. There was no reason to make Minghao feel more humiliated than he already was. At least he wasn’t throwing up.

 “Do you feel better now?”, he decided to ask instead. 

“Barely”, the dancer replied, curling into himself more again, “my stomach is still cramping badly. Actually, I think, I need to …” Minghao’s eyes went wide and he pushed past Vernon to hobble to the bathroom again.

Fuck.

💎😇

“I think I’m going to go back to the boat”, Seungcheol said through chattering teeth, “it’s so cold.”

“What are you talking about, hyung? It’s so hot”, Dino exclaimed, swimming up to where Seungcheol was holding onto a unicorn floatie and Jeonghan was floating on his back. The youngest had been happy to swim around the sea, pulling his eldest hyungs with him. Since it was a calm day there were barely any waves in their way and the maknae had been fascinated by the coral reef they had been able to see below them. The ship was anchored in a shallow area in the middle of the sea that day. So they had taken the opportunity to swim in the open sea when offered by the staff. It was fun but also exhausting.

Jeonghan moved from his position on his back to just paddle lazily by the other two. He had to agree with Dino, it truly was warm even in the water. But then again Seungcheol had always easily felt cold. And again, it was exhausting.

“I’m going to join you”, Jeonghan said smoothly and pushed the floatie closer to the ladder at the side of the boat that would take them back up to the deck. “I’m beat.”

“Don’t leave me here”, Dino pouted and quickly followed his hyungs. 

Seungcheol couldn’t seem to get out of the water fast enough. He moved the floatie to a staff member and started climbing up the ladder at a quick pace. It was lucky that a slight breeze of wind had pushed the floatie more to Jeonghan than to the staff member. Instead of climbing directly behind Seungcheol, Jeonghan was a bit away, trying to catch the floatie, when the leader lost his grip on the metal bars and fell back into the water with a splash and a surprised yell that abruptly stopped.

“Cheollie?”, Jeonghan called, feeling adrenaline course through his veins. It was useless, really, since the leader was still submerged when he spoke. Luckily, in the few strong strokes, exhaustion forgotten, Jeonghan needed to get to him, Seungcheol managed to resurface. 

He was coughing badly and clutched at Jeonghan tightly to keep afloat. Dino had swam over too, concerned as well, and together they held Seungcheol up until he managed to stop coughing and spitting out salt water. 

“Are you alright?”, Jeonghan asked, “what happened? Did you slip?”

“Lost my grip”, the rapper replied a bit breathlessly. “Can we go up? I’m really cold. I just wanna get warm.”

They managed to climb up the ladder without any incidents this time. Seungcheol was trembling, from shock or cold or both, but Jeonghan stayed directly behind him. Once on deck, Seungcheol collapsed backwards onto the warm wood, sighing in relief. 

“Are you feeling alright, Seungcheol?”, the main manager, who had likely seen the incident happen from above, asked and came over carrying three towels. 

Jeonghan was surprised by his best friend’s honesty as he answered: “I’ve been better. I’m so cold and my chest hurts from coughing. My stomach feels a bit upset too, I think I swallowed a bit too much of the salt water.”

“Take it easy for the rest of the day and let us know if …”, the manager said but trailed off as a loud voice called: “Hyungs? Hannie-hyung?”

The voice was followed by Vernon’s body as he slid around a corner to reach them. “Oh, I’m glad you’re out of the water”, he said, “Minghao-hyung isn’t feeling well.”

“What’s wrong exactly?”, Seungcheol asked immediately and Jeonghan forgot about Seungcheol to focus on the gasping Vernon. He must have run all across the boat to reach them and he looked frazzled in a way that seemed quite worrisome. What the hell had happened while they were in the water?

“Well, he, uh, he said he had diarrhea earlier and now he locked himself in the bathroom but it sounded like he was throwing up too”, Vernon replied with a frown. Before they had a chance to react the manager’s phone beeped and he read the message that had plopped up.

“Uh oh”, the manager exclaimed and stared at his phone. “Damn. Wonwoo-yah just texted me, asking for meds because Jihoonie is really seasick and threw up.”

“This isn’t good”, Dino said what they all thought. Jeonghan felt a bit of panic start up - he had made sure to get himself and Jihoon the seasickness medication and he himself felt fine. If Minghao was sick too then it was much more likely that Jihoon wasn’t seasick but sick sick. And if two members were sick on this tiny boat… he really hoped it was just food poisoning but he knew they had all eaten the same food and then everybody would be ill by now. A gastrointestinal sickness was much more likely. 

Jeonghan quickly explained his train of thought out loud and the others nodded in agreement, looking as worried as Jeonghan felt.

“What do we do?”, Vernon asked. Jeonghan met the eyes of Seungcheol and the manager for a moment, before nodding.

“I’ll go look for Jun and go check on Minghao with him”, Jeonghan decided, “manager-hyung and Cheollie will go check on Jihoon-ah. Dino-yah, Vernonie, please don’t worry too much. Find the others but only tell Joshua at first, okay? We don’t need worry and panic now.”

ILMTILMC Part II

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Masterlist - SEVENTEEN

[chaoticpuff17]

Amygdala

masterlist

part 17

Yoongi could only follow behind as Margot threw herself into the restaurant and into Tae-il’s waiting arms. A small smile, one that was barely even there, pulled at the corner of his lips as he watched the reunion.

Here Margot was free with her affection. She made no effort to hide how much she loved the old man, and Tae-il made no attempt to hide how relieved he was to see her alive and in one piece, clutching the young woman to him as she threw her arms around him in a heartwarming homecoming. She was happy here in a way that she was not back at the penthouse.

Yoongi felt the briefest twinge of guilt before it was swept away. She’d be just as happy with him in time. She’d been happy with him before, and she would again. It didn’t sit quite so well with him though that she was so happy somewhere that wasn’t with him. He knew the ugly feeling welling up in his chest was jealousy, but he refused to acknowledge that he was jealous of someone who was practically her father.

“Margot, what are you doing here?” Tae-il whispered into her hair as he clutched her tight.

“He offered to bring me here for lunch.” she whispered back. “Don’t mention the call.”

Tae-il nodded, squeezing her tight again before letting her go. “I’ve missed you, Margot.” He held her at arms length scanning her for any injuries. “You look ill.” He noted, quickly taking in the slightly ashen note to her skin after several days wallowing, and the faint circles under her eyes. “Has he not been taking care of you?”

“I’ve been taking very good care of her.” Yoongi piped up with a scoff, walking over with his hands tucked into his pockets. “Your niece is very stubborn though.”

“Then you should have taken better care of her.” Tae-il sniped back, pushing Margot slightly behind him as though that would stop Yoongi from getting to her if he truly wanted to. She was there by his good will, and they would leave when he wanted them to. Everything in between was a gift to Margot.

“I take perfectly good care of her.” He sniped back, before bowing and muttering a respectful greeting. He was here to win points after all not to alienate her family.

Tae-il surveyed the younger man, taking him in with a certain distaste that had not been there in years past but had been all too prevalent since they’d crossed paths again. If he’d had his way, Margot would have been set up with a nice boy like that young detective who regularly came to the restaurant. She would have been safe and happy and settled with someone who wasn’t involved in unsavory business, but that wasn’t what fate had had in store for the young woman, and he could only hope that she would be able to disentangle herself from the young man before it was too late.

“Have you eaten, Margot?” Tae-il asked, tearing his attention away from Yoongi and placing it back on Margot.

“Not yet.” she shook her head, eyeing the two men carefully as though a fist fight was about to break out. “We just finished some errands. I was wearing a hole through his credit card in retaliation for the kidnapping.”

“Did it work?”

Margot sighed dramatically, sinking into the seat of one of the empty tables with Tae-il taking the one across from her. “Unfortunately not. He’s ridiculously okay with me spending all his money.”

“He hasn’t hurt you has he?” Tae-il asked, brows scrunched together in a serious expression.

“I would never hurt her.” Yoongi grumbled, affronted by the question as he took the seat next to Margot. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

“A criminal.” Margot and Tae-il responded in unison much to Yoongi’s chagrin.

Margot did her best to keep conversation light and as unsuspicious as possible as lunch continued. Any mistake on her part could mean the end to her supposed freedom. She still wasn’t sure that Yoongi was completely serious about letting her leave the penthouse whenever she wanted so long as her guard dogs went with her. She had a sneaking suspicion that any major mistakes on her part and Yoongi would take that freedom away as quickly as he had given it. She knew with absolute certainty that her phone call to Tae-il earlier would be one of those mistakes.

Tae-il was doing an admirable job of pretending as though the conversation had never happened, and Yoongi was none the wiser. For the most part he had kept quiet over the course of lunch, content to sit with his arm slung over the back of her chair watching her as she sat and caught up with the only family she had in the country.

His eyes remained glued on her the entire time, transfixed by the way she smiled as she spoke to her ‘uncle’. She was happy here in the restaurant, at ease. Yoongi hadn’t seen her truly at ease since he’d laid eyes on her that first night. Ever since then she’d been holding herself back from him, stiff and wary. He loved seeing her like this though. Like this she was bright and vibrant.

He could take in all of her when she was like this. He could appreciate the way she talked with her hands just like she had when they were in school together. He could see the way the corners of her eyes creased when she laughed, her eyes sparkling. It wasn’t a half-hearted scoff or sardonic chuckle. This was a joyous sound that bubbled up from her and overtook her whole being, her head thrown back causing the little gold bumble bees dangling from her ears to sparkle in the light.

As happy as Yoongi was to see her like this, he couldn’t completely dampen down the burning jealousy that roiled in his gut. Part of him hated that he wasn’t the one who had caused her to laugh like this. He hadn’t been the one to make her this happy. The few times her attention had wavered to him the spark had flickered from her eye replaced by an annoyance that did nothing to sooth his jealous spirit.

It was that jealous spark that encouraged him to try to draw her attention back to him. It was little things. The tips of his fingers would trail across the upper part of her arm, a delicate motion that pulled her attention to him for a moment as if to ask him to stop, all though he didn’t. She was his girl after all,and he had every right to touch her. It grounded him in a way and helped him to keep jealousy at bay when he touched her. It reminded him that she was right there with him even if her attention wasn’t focused on him.

Yoongi didn’t consider himself to be a jealous man, not usually, but there was something about Margot that raised all sorts of demons within him. For her he would commit all sorts of unspeakable crimes. He would do just about anything if she commanded it. If so much as a hair on her precious head was harmed, he would raze the city to the ground. Granted he would never tell her any of this. His Margot was a precious creature who wouldn’t want him to do such things for her sake. She wouldn’t want him to do such things though as was proven by her current disdain for him.

Just as he had gotten his jealousy under control a deep voice called out, pulling all three of their attentions towards the door of the restaurant.

“Margot-ssi!”

Yoongi and Margot both turned to see Kim Namjoon standing in the doorway looking rumpled and harried as though he had rushed over and his eyes fixed on Margot with extreme relief. It was a look that didn’t sit well with Yoongi at all. His eyes narrowed in on the other man as he made his way towards the group his focus on Margot who was sitting and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Margot-ssi,” he started, a little breathless. “Are you alright? Tae-il-ssi said you had been kidnapped, and no one could reach you!”

“Namjoon-ssi.” Margot gave him a smile, a strained brittle expression not at all like the smiles she had displayed up until then. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

“Margot-ssi…” Namjoon hesitated, taking stock of the strained atmosphere around Margot and Tae-il and of how Yoongi was staring daggers at him.

Margot glanced between Namjoon and Yoongi very aware of how precarious the situation was. Both men looked like they wanted to knock the other flat on their ass, and she doubted very much that a brawl would do much for her freedom.

“Namjoon-ssi, it’s good to see you. How have you been?” She kept the smile on her face bright as she glanced from Yoongi to Namjoon again trying, to signal that he also needed to keep the situation light- for all their sakes.

“I’ve been well.” He responded, words slow and measured as he tried to puzzle out what Margot was trying to tell him. “No one has heard from you in a few days. We weren’t sure you were alright.”

Yoongi scoffed at that, his derision clear. “Of course she’s alright. I would never let anything happen to my Margot.”

“I’m sure.” Namjoon replied dryly, his own distaste for Yoongi just as clear. “But you can understand the concern when no one could get a hold of her, and no one knew where she was.”

Yoongi smiled, a terrible and sharp expression more reminiscent of a predator baring their teeth than a smile. “As you can see, she’s perfectly fine. No need to worry.”

Namjoon replied with a smile of his own, an expression that was equally as strained and untrue as Yoongi’s. “Of course there was a need to worry. I’m sure you’d be just as worried if she disappeared for a week, and you couldn’t reach her. It’s natural to think that something… unsavory had happened.”

Yoongi moved his arm from the back of her chair to wrap it around her waist, pulling her snuggly into his side. “As you can see, she’s just fine, Detective Kim.”

“I think I’d like to hear that from her, if that’s alright with you?” Namjoon kept up his smile, quirking a brow in an almost challenging expression as he spoke to Yoongi.

“Margot?” Yoongi asked, eyes glittering with something dark and wild as he turned the question over to her.

Margot didn’t need him to say it to know what would happen if she didn’t choose her words very carefully. The look in his eyes was enough to tell her that she wouldn’t like the consequences should this interaction not go his way. She didn’t think he would harm her, but she wouldn’t put it past him to harm Tae-il or Maria. She wouldn’t put it past him to harm Namjoon either if the detective continued to get on his nerves, and that wasn’t something that Margot wanted weighing on her conscience.

“I’m perfectly unharmed.” she replied, keeping her smile fixed in place despite the anxiety churning in her gut. “I’m sorry to have worried everyone though. My phone broke, and I haven’t had a chance to replace it yet.”

“I thought you were heading to the countryside to help out Tae-il-ssi's brother?” Namjoon questioned, not believing her for a moment.

“Plans changed.”

Namjoon nodded, glancing between her and Yoongi and taking note of the way that Yoongi’s arm kept itself possessively curled around her. He noted the stiff way in which she held herself in his embrace and the nervous way in which Tae-il’s eyes kept darting between her, Yoongi, and Namjoon as though waiting for something bad to happen. He noted the pleading look in Margot’s eyes, willing him to leave the situation alone for the moment. He noted the way that Yoongi looked at him as though willing him to make a mistake of some kind.

“You should really get your phone fixed, Margot-ah.” He switched to the informal, taking special notice of the way that Yoongi’s expression turned even more sour. “Text me when you get it fixed. You know I’m always happy to help if you need anything.”

“I have all of Margot’s needs well in hand.” Yoongi interrupted before Margot could say anything else. “That I can promise you.”

He flexed his arm, pulling Margot imperceptibly closer. It was a possessive act meant to send a clear signal to Namjoon that his assistance wasn’t needed or wanted.

“I’ll give you a call when I can.” Margot promised, attempting to break the tension though it did little good.

“I’ll hold you to it.” he nodded, shooting her a charming smile that only served to make Yoongi’s blood boil.

Yoongi stood suddenly, pulling Margot up with him as he gave their bullshit excuses and goodbyes to Namjoon and Tae-il. “Let’s go, Margot.”

“Yoon-Yoongi!” She stuttered out, trying to pull out of his hold as he made a half-hearted goodbye to Tae-il for the sake of politeness and began to drag her towards the entrance of the restaurant. “Yoongi, wait!”

“We’re going home.” He growled, tugging her forward his grip firm but not painful as he forced her onward.

“Yoongi, please!”

The patrons in the restaurant watched on in morbid fascination to what they had to have thought was a domestic dispute. People loved to watch other people’s dramas unfold, and this was certainly a good one given the way everyone was staring.

“You can’t make her go if she doesn’t want to.” Namjoon asserted, striding forward and grabbing her free hand at the wrist. The motion stopped their whole group in its track.

Yoongi’s eyes slowly traveled down to where Namjoon’s hand was clasped around Margot’s wrist, narrowing in displeasure his jaw clenched.

“Remove your hand before I remove it for you.” He hissed, his own grip tightening on Margot’s other arm.

“She doesn’t have to go anywhere she doesn’t want to.”

Her eyes darted between the two, her mind racing as she tried to configure a plan to keep Yoongi from committing a murder in the middle of the day. The look in his eye didn’t promise good things if Namjoon didn’t let go of her wrist soon.

“Yoongi.” she murmured, her voice all soft and pleading. “Yoongi, it’s alright.”

His attention flickered back to her briefly before it returned back to Namjoon his tongue in his cheek.

“Namjoon.” Margot implored, turning to the other man. “Namjoon, I’m fine, but you need to let go now.”

“You can’t seriously want me to let you go with him?” Namjoon asked, incredulous. “Margot, just last week the very thought of him terrified you so much that you wanted to leave the city. You can’t want to go with him now.”

Her eyes flickered to Yoongi’s quickly, taking in the dangerous set of his jaw as he listened. This was going south far too quickly, and she didn’t know how much damage control she could do if any.

“I’ll be just fine, Namjoon. He’s not going to hurt me.” She kept her tone even and calm even though her limbs were shaking. She knew that Namjoon could feel the tremors. “I’ll call and let you know that I’m fine as soon as I can.”

“Mari-ah.” Yoongi called her name sharply.

She turned to him briefly and then back to Namjoon. “Could you do me a favor, Namjoon?”

“Anything.”

“Look after Tae-il for me?”

Gently, Margot tugged her wrist out of his hold, turning her whole attention back to Yoongi who was silently seething next to her.

“Take me home, Yoongi.” she requested, keeping the same soft pleading in her voice as before. Her gaze flitted across his features anxiously, the feeling growing worse and worse the longer that they stood there immobile.

Margot had always been a peacemaker. Perhaps it was due to her own parent’s unhappy marriage the resulting unhappy childhood that had been inflicted on herself and her sister. Perhaps it was a byproduct of the anxiety that she was riddled with. Perhaps it was just her nature, but better for worse she was a peacemaker. If there was a way that she could keep an argument from breaking out or that she could ease tension in a situation, she would do it, ever the people pleaser.

“Take me home.” she repeated, less a request now than an order no matter how softly spoken it was, and much to her relief, it worked.

Yoongi’s expression softened. The tension left his jaw, and his eyes took on less of a glare as he looked at her. He was a hard man, but he would always be soft for her.

“Yoongi.” she tried again, her tone even more firm than before though her voice was still soft as she spoke. “Take me home.”

part 18

[wambsgansshoelaces]

omg a headcanon like the one you did for tom but for roman snd stewy? the period one i mean !! also gender neutral pls :>

thank you for requesting anon, i love u!!! enjoy xx

really craving pizza bianca rn

on your period (roman + stewy)

Roman

ᝰ has no idea what he’s doing

ᝰ he calls your period a full stop because ‘they’re synonyms lol’ (as his text said)

ᝰ just wants you happy

ᝰ so whenever you’re on your period he just

ᝰ does things for you??

ᝰ makes you breakfast in bed, attempts to pack you a lunch, botches dinner

ᝰ he’s trying at least

ᝰ he usually just settles for buying you whatever you’re craving and letting you lay your head in his lap

ᝰ he strokes your hair, your face, your neck, your back

ᝰ he makes sure you’re feeling good

ᝰ lots of chocolate all the time

ᝰ just so that he can eat it with you

ᝰ if you ever ruin any pants or clothing or even furniture, he replaces it without you knowing

ᝰ “didn’t i throw this pair of pants out last week?” you ask him one time

ᝰ “i got you a new one, don’t worry about it.”

ᝰ if you suffer with cramps or any sort of chronic illness regarding your reproductive health, he’s always quietly concerned

ᝰ “you sure it doesn’t hurt? you should tell me if it hurts.”

ᝰ keeps track of how long in between painkillers your pain returns

ᝰ makes you try a bunch of homemade remedies he googled

ᝰ the first time you go on your period while you’re living together, he goes out and buys you a heating pad, a weighted blanket, and a heated blanking thing all at once

ᝰ if you use pads or tampons, he gets really confused when out trying to buy some for you

ᝰ but he’s too embarrassed to ask

ᝰ so when you’re taking a nap he scuttles into the bathroom and takes a picture that he keeps on his phone

ᝰ and then gets the exact ones when he notices you’re running out or you ask him

ᝰ this man bullies the doctors that don’t listen to you

ᝰ like he is well known with the endocrinologists and gynecologists in the are as a nusiance

ᝰ and lowkey an asshole

ᝰ but it’s all ‘in your honor’ as he says

ᝰ “if they say they’re cramping, they’re cramping. aren’t you supposed to be helpful? how the fuck do you have a medical license?”

ᝰ has gotten kicked out of the appointment many a time

ᝰ but he always waits patiently for you outside

ᝰ and calls corporate like the diva he is

ᝰ has the means to get you the best care

ᝰ and he does get you it

ᝰ “you literally deserve so much more than i can give you. you’re my everything, remember?”

ᝰ “i love you, ro.”

ᝰ “fuck off with that sappy shit…. i love you more.”

Stewy

ᝰ knows enough about periods to be able to help you

ᝰ like he’s knowledgeable enough to cook things he knows your body is in need of during your period of ovulation

ᝰ urges you to work out specifically on your period

ᝰ “it helps clear your head,” he says

ᝰ but if you’re not up to it, he won’t make you

ᝰ maybe just a small walk around outside and he’ll let you just nap

ᝰ but if you even don’t even want to walk, he thinks you’re dying

ᝰ and showers you in affection

ᝰ which he does anyway even if he thinks you’re fine??

ᝰ he’s just dramatic

ᝰ he’s an awfully good cook

ᝰ he loves cooking

ᝰ especially for you

ᝰ he specifically makes you pho for dinner every first day of your period

ᝰ “it clears your sinuses, babe,” he says every single time

ᝰ it does, really

ᝰ he’s really big about the two of you sitting down at the table for meals

ᝰ but if you’re unable because of your period, it’s fine with him

ᝰ he bought one of those breakfast in bed trays just for those moments

ᝰ if you struggle with bad cramps or reproductive illness, he’s with you at every single appointment

ᝰ sometimes he even sits next to you on the patient bed

ᝰ he just likes swinging his legs over the side

ᝰ he scrambles off whenever the doctor comes in

ᝰ he’s so subtly evil with bad doctors

ᝰ “oh, i understand it’s your professional opinion, but i also understand this clinic operates solely on donations? huh, and i think those guys whose names are on plaques all over the place are my buddies! you know jeff? i know jeff!”

ᝰ holds your hand through everything

ᝰ pain, ultrasounds, examinations

ᝰ you’re both walking back to the car from a normal check up and he’s swinging your hands back and forth with his

ᝰ “you know, i’ll help you with anything you ask me to.”

ᝰ “thank you, stew. you’re sweet.”

ᝰ “i love you.”

[salemofthe0pera]

you against yourself ; mark lee smau

[xxi] cinnamon crush

Mark hated cinnamon. He disliked the spiciness and the way it made his throat feel after he swallowed. However, he didn’t have the heart to tell the girl in front of him that he had a distaste for the spice as she held out an iced latte with cinnamon and honey. 

“thanks dude, you didn’t have to.” Mark said softly, taking the coffee from y/n’s chilled fingers. Seriously, you didn’t have to…

“it’s no problem, besides it’d be rude of me to show up to the study session with coffee just for myself.” She said warmly, sitting in the vacant seat across from him. Her attire looked cozy, a hoodie two sizes too big for her and fleece lined sweatpants. Her nose was red, her cheeks flushed to match as she rubbed her hands on her face to warm it up. The weather had gotten significantly rainier and colder as october creeped up on ncu campus. Mark couldn’t remember the last time he left the house without a jacket or sweatshirt.

“thanks again for helping me with chemistry, by the way, I appreciate it a lot. I should be buying you coffee not the other way around.” Mark said sheepishly, toying with the mechanical pencil in his hands.

y/n scoffed, waving her hands as if to physically wave the conversation away. She got her things out and placed them on the table with a small thud. “nonsense, I’m happy to help. Besides, I like hanging out with you.”

“i wouldn’t really call this hanging out.” mark’s eyebrows quirked, a glint in his eye as he smiled at her. 

She rolled her eyes, another scoff leaving her lips and motioned for mark to open his book. Time seemed to fly when they studied, a simple two hour session feeling like ten minutes. Mark found his mind wandering the entire session, he couldn’t focus on the equations an formulas of organic chemistry when the perfume scent of mod vanilla by ariana grande was lodged in his nostrils. He exhaled sharply, an attempt to recenter himself and focus but to no avail. he was confused by his brain fog and lack of attention span, and it irked him slightly. 

“you okay?” y/n asked him, stopping the tutoring immediately sensing his frustration.

“umm, I don’t know dude. I’m just tired sorry, I can’t focus for some reason.” mark breathed, resting his forehead on his crossed arms. 

“oh, I’m sorry. why don’t we go something else hmm?” 

mark peeked up at y/n, a soft smile on his lips. “what do you have in mind?”

Mark felt light as he walked y/n to her door, the brass numbers 9301 now a familiar, comforting sight every time he passed their unit to get to his own. He handed y/n her backpack as they approached the door, the raven haired girl clicking her tongue at his actions and graciously taking her bookbag. Her eyebrows creased with a slight pout as she spoke up. “you didn’t have to carry my backpack the entire time you know, I’m still mad you wouldn’t let me hold it or pay for lunch, I’m the one who invited you!”

“and I told you that I wanted to pay, so don’t worry about it dude.” he said, lightly punching her shoulder to emphasize his point. “consider it payback for taking the time to help me. with chemistry”

with a reluctant sigh y/n nodded, tilting her head to the side with a tight lipped smile. Her black hair moved as she did, glinting in the lowlight of the lamps illuminating the apartment complex’s outdoor hallways. “well then, thank you and you're welcome.”

“there you go.” mark smiled.

The silence that followed reminded mark of his growing comfortability with his neighbor,  he noticed the thought made his smile deepen.

“ill see you later?”

Mark snapped out of his thoughts, looking up with raised eyebrows and a nod. “yeah, umm yeah man. If you want to of course.”

“I always do.” y/n laughed softly, giving him a nod to match his own and punching a fist to his shoulder, she held it against his jacket as she spoke, only letting it down when she finished her sentence.

Mark nodded again, suddenly realizing their proximity and the connotation behind her sentence. He took a deep breath and a step backwards. “umm, well goodnight y/n.”

“goodnight mark.” she hummed. with that y/n disappeared behind the oak door that used to separate them and their friend groups.

he waited until she locked the door before retreating to his own abode. He practically threw the door down, his mind buzzing with inspiration. It had been two weeks since he started the skeleton for a new song for the exam, he just needed to finish the lyrical touches.  He zoomed through the living room and down the hall, ignoring jeno’s greeting from the kitchen and practically bull dozing an unsuspecting hyuck who yelped in surprise.

mark slammed his door, a grin on his face as he opened his laptop and turned on his recording equipment. he scribbled in his journal, humming the melody that had just appeared in his mind over and over as the program booted up. 

“ya give me a rush now sugar,” he mumbled to himself, slipping on his headphones with a vigor and holding his face up to his recording mic. “you’re my cinnamon crush now sugar.”

[9.28] {obviously i'm not gonna write my own music for this (sorry mark) so ill be sure to post the inspiration behind all of mark's music in this smau. certain songs framed this entire things int eh first place so its only fair I give credit :p} {cinnamon crush by jacob collier}

[<prev] ; [next>]

[lucky-punk-lemonade]

Picture You

| You visit a local art show in Hobie's universe, not knowing he contributed. Not knowing you contributed; [Webhead reader; Friends to ??; Feelings realization] Hobie Brown

This work belongs to me, lucky-punk-lemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

 Hobie’s house always smelled vaguely different. For a few weeks there, it smelled of incense. Incense he had stolen, of course. When he ran out of that, it smelled like cigarette smoke because he’d let his friend crash there, trying to break the habit and get back on his feet. Various good and bad smells. Cookies after a baking hyper-fixation. Detergent from a “freak laundry accident” that Hobie swore was the downstairs neighbors conspiring against him. All of these mixed with a lethargic scent of cologne which seemed to blend well with everything. Once, it had even smelled like citrus and lavender. It didn't take long for me to squeeze out the fact Hobie had developed a crush, and he had deep cleaned his apartment to impress her.

       Today, though, it smelled like coffee. Hobie didn’t drink coffee, though. I drink coffee. I show up at his door with those little cups to put in the busted up Keurig his temporary roommate left behind. Everything in Hobie’s house was stolen, discovered, or borrowed. The coffee table (that he calls “Just Table” because he doesn’t drink coffee). The armchair he got from a friend’s sister’s ex boyfriend. His shitty vintage boombox and the tapes he plays. 

       It was often I showed up outside of his window, backpack full of treats or gifts in tow. I sit on his couch and drink from a chipped mug with “World’s Best Grandpa” painted on the side in colorful letters. He walks behind me, pacing and scrolling through his phone. I ignore the slow, inconsistent footsteps behind me and click through the various shows I've had in rotation. 

“Have you ever seen The Princess Bride ?”

I don’t really expect an answer, and I don't get one. He’s busy, he usually is. Not usually on his phone, though, but who am I to step between a guy and his Candy Crush addiction? I sigh and put the remote down, deciding to head back to my universe for the night.

          Hobie was part of the group that took interest in me via the Spider Society. I didn’t go to HQ very often, no reason to. Until I had a run-in with a multi-dimensional creature that I had to report to Miguel. That’s when I met Pavitr. He was an incredibly bright force that inevitably offered an invitation to lunch with his friends. His friends I came to know well. Gwen was, by definition, a rebel. She did everything on purpose, usually with the intent to piss off her dad. Gwen was the epitome of teenage rebellion that was most times ill-advised. Miles was talented, he was always wondering. He was constantly thinking and creating new ideas. It was inspiring to hear his thoughts. Pavitr was a soothing presence, not audibly but he had the perfect vibes. A chance to listen to him was a chance to tune everything out because Pav’s existence required the utmost attention. 

              Hobie, when first approached, was intimidating. His demeanor remains nonchalant and tuned-out. He was covered in spikes and leather and patterns. He looked incredibly threatening, too cool. When he spoke, it almost sounded out of character. He was kind and welcoming, funny. All traits many Spider-Men had. This was the justification I had for how interested I was in him, his energy. He was just as attractive and charming as Pav or that one guy who I always saw in the lobby. 

I’ve been to their houses, I crash often. Gwen let me stay with her for almost a month once. In return, I help with Spider work and house chores to show my gratitude. I know what everyone’s room looks like, a main theme of band posters and scattered clothing. I don't visit Miles too often, he's got a lot of stress already. I stay above a convenient store owned by a family friend of Pav’s when I go to see him. Hobie has always let me stay at his place, though. I have made myself particularly comfortable in his shared flat that his roommate never seems to be in. I don’t ask questions, I just sleep on his couch. 

         I reflect on everything as I fold his blanket and set it on his couch. I pick up my bag and stuff my jacket into it. It’s warm enough , I think. I sit on the floor to lace up my shoes. Hobie acknowledges me before walking into his room, I nod back and finish tying my shoes. I walk to the sink with my cup of water to wash it. Sitting on the counter, slightly ripped and damp, is a flier.

        A seemingly homemade advertisement for a local art showing, raising money for the food bank. The food bank I remember Hobie telling me about. He had been protective of it ever since he discovered there was a prominent political figure who was more than adamant to take down the business. I remember Hobie being mad. I remember bringing him brownies and stopping by with a hefty donation to the food bank without Hobie knowing. I remember doing this often. I remember how kind the owners were, how I developed the same protective nature towards them. 

I read the flier more closely. An art show with an admission fee, local artists, local music, good cause. I was immediately interested. I walk to Hobie’s room, leaving the flier behind on the counter. 

“Hey, I’m gonna head out.”

“Yeah, be safe.” He smiles and nods. “If you need anything, call.” 

        I smile back and wave goodbye, exiting the room and grabbing my belongings. I tuck myself out of the window and swing through the city. Food bank. I think to myself. I eventually found it. A brick building with a single, cramped entrance. I enter and inquire about the art show. It’s supposed to be held at a church nearby. Should’ve read the rest of the flier . I note the time and address, thanking them for their help. 

★★★

          The church was made up entirely of coarse, yellowed brick. Everything was incredibly old and classy. The windows were stained glass, geometric shapes lined with brassy gold. Cars lined up in the parking lot of the church. I walk to the broken-up sidewalk and feel how warm the evening is in the direct line of the sunset. The event was set to begin at six-thirty. People were scattered outside, talking in groups. The environment was friendly, warm. I walk up the seven steps that lead to the two glass doors. Once inside, I smell old paper and floral perfume. A classic church smell , I think to myself with a smirk. 

           The church foyer was wide and open, a few tables set out in front with a donation jar, papers, and chairs holding people with large smiles and kind eyes. I can tell this church has been made into a sort of community center, the people needing somewhere to gather. I approach the table, becoming aware of the makeshift stage boosting up a band. The music had already begun, soft yet upbeat, setting a chill tone. I greet the older woman sitting at the table, recognizing her from the food bank. I smile and make the admission fee, and then some. These people have created a more meaningful community with their own presence than a local politician ever could with bulldozers and contractors. The idea that they had to hold fundraisers in local churches because they only have personal connections to work with made me strongly displeased.

          After being told to enjoy myself, I walk through one of the doors. From what I could tell, all the extra furniture had been moved into closed off rooms to clear space for the “galleries.” Completely barren rooms are now decorated with various artwork. I take my time and shove my hands into my pockets, wandering around the first room. The first few rooms have impressive work. From notebook paper sketches to large canvases painted with bright colors. About a minute into browsing the second room, a woman walks past me. 

“Hello.” Her voice is upbeat, breathy. 

I raise my eyebrows, “Oh- Hi.” I smile.

She stares at me, studies me. I furrow my brows as she watches my every move. After a few more awkward seconds, she smiles widely and walks out. Okay? I brush it off. 

A few more rooms in, I see a canvas about the size of a piece of printer paper. It’s labeled “Black Treacle” by a bo y younger than me. I study the details. A can of black treacle is painted, highlighted and shapely. A few more paintings. 

A dark, swirling painting depicting earthly objects drawn toward the center: “Supermassive Black Hole.”

An orange, fiery background contrasting four black silhouettes: “Daphne Blue”

Label after label, my head tilts and my eyes study. I smile in confusion and inspiration.

“Purple haze”, a portrait of Jimi Hendrix.

“Holy Calamity”, a charcoal sketch inspired by the war on drugs, tacked with a lengthy and tragic origin. 

     After stepping back from the wall, I notice two people staring at me. I subtly look over myself. I don’t have anything on my shirt. I touch my face. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing on my face… I quickly walk to the next room.

             While overthinking the stares, my train of thought is derailed when I see a canvas, just a little bigger than the rest. It shows a sunset with a city skyline. The angles and edges were lined with gold foil, white highlights darting the painting. The image looks so familiar. I walk towards it, getting closer than I should’ve. The card below makes me grin. “2/14” by H. Brown. I knew he was creative, but wow. 

              I remember the setting. It was Valentine’s Day, the friend group had planned a big day together so none of us would be alone. Movies, chocolate, soda, friends. A result of Gwen’s chronic loneliness. Pav couldn’t come as he had already planned an extravagant date for Gayatri. Miles was grounded indefinitely. Gwen canceled at the last minute, never telling us why. I stared at the group chat message, standing in line to buy chocolates. I texted the group, a little pissed and put the chocolates back. Hobie had messaged me separately. 

“i guess we’re both free then?”

“Looks like.”

“I wish she wouldn’t plan stuff if she's always this uncertain.”

“thats what I like about her”

“shes inconsistent.”

“Yeah, well now I have to return a shit ton of candy. “

“bring it by my place.”

“we can still hang out”

“right?"

“Okay.”“Give me twenty.”

                I knocked on his window 30 minutes later, apologizing for the time. He grabbed the bags of candy and led me right back out the window. I followed him, down the rickety stairs and to the sidewalk. I asked him why we weren’t swinging. He told me to just look around, enjoy the noise. When we got deeper into the city, we climbed our way up to the roof of a building. Not the tallest building, one of regular size. We situated ourselves next to the edge, resting our elbows on the ledge. I had realized why he picked this site as we got up there. It faced a wide expanse of clear land. It faced the sunset. It wasn't as pink as it usually is, something I took as a direct middle finger to Valentine’s stereotypes. It was orange and purple. I told Hobie how the sky is probably the only thing that can blend those colors as beautifully without making a gross, muddy brown. I opened the bag of chocolates, said the sunset and sunrise were like crazy, natural RGBs, and adjusted the earbuds that fit loosely in my ears. He scoffed and we talked. We talked about how much Pav talks about Gayatri, about how moody it makes Gwen. How much Miles is going through. How nice it is to have other ‘webheads’ to confide in. We watched the sunset in silence, the window of time we devoted to staring at the colors darken. 

                       This was that sunset. And I was wrong. The colors were strikingly accurate to my memory. A stylistic choice of gold foil and white highlights were so Hobie. It always seemed he added a little extra to everything in his mind. I grinned and took out my phone to take a picture. Once I was finished, I moved a bit quicker while browsing. I was hunting for something else Hobie had created. Something I could find about him that he hadn’t told me himself.

★★★

“Hobie, man! Amazing job!”

                 I felt a pair of hands clamp onto my back. I shook my head and smiled. I’ve been thanking a lot of people today. This has been something I signed up for to help out a friend. The food bank has done incredible things for this community, I’d do anything to keep the family upright. Seeing all these people show up and donate to the cause is reassuring. I took a tour myself after I helped set up. We hold a lot of potential here. 

“They’re gonna love this, D.”

        I tell Diana, the co-owner of the food bank as I stare around one of the rooms. She smiles, lines forming around her eyes. D is an older woman that had always checked in on me. She has patched up countless cuts on my face, made me innumerable bowls of soup, given me way too many pep talks and even more reprimands. She walks up to me and hugs me, wordlessly. 

Now, as I stand in the lobby once I’ve checked in with everyone out back, I stay behind Diana, sitting in her chair and greeting more visitors. I keep to myself and hover to the side. A few people came by to exit, they had finished the walkthrough. They smiled at me. 

“You made that sunset painting, right?” I cringe. D had been very liberal bragging about my art. I had been staring at my shoes for at least 20 minutes while she talked about how she’s known me since I was “a little monster.” Now, people recognized my name to my face. 

“Yeah.” I answer shortly.

“It’s amazing. I love the story you tell. Good job.” The man says. 

I smile, “Hey, thanks, man.” And wave goodbye as they walk through the door. 

“Hobie!” D’s voice calls from a few meters away. 

I turn towards her. She was now alone at the table. I walk over to her, “What’s up?” 

“That painting. The one you insisted I hide in the back room. I still don’t know why you’d hide the most beautiful work you’ve-”

“What about it, D?” I roll my eyes. 

“The person from the painting, I saw 'em.” Diana smiles. I furrow my brows and tilt my head.

“Huh?” Diana’s voice reverberates through my ribcage.

“They're here .” She grins, softly. If it were anyone else, it'd sound mocking. “They're a kind soul, I approve.”

My eyes slightly widen and my chest heaves in sudden panic. 

“ What ? ”

★★★

I stare at the second Hobie painting I’ve found.

A box of chocolates is spilled out onto a concrete ledge. 

“Bad Habit” by H. Brown.

                  A pocket knife sits next to a few crumbs of a chocolate bar, coated in caramel. The knife assumedly had cut the candy bar in half. Not in half, in like three quarters. That was my pocket knife and I remember everything. That night, I had opened the bag as we talked constantly, back and forth. I had opened a Twix and set it on the ledge. 

“We go half?” He looked at me, reaching for the candy. I pulled out my pocket knife and flicked it open. 

“Jesus, dude. You can have it. ” 

I laughed loudly, I covered my mouth. “No! I’m gonna cut it in half. Sorry, I should stop pulling knives on people.”

He laughed, “That’s a habit of yours?”

I sighed dramatically, “A bad one.” Before cutting the Twix, it was completely disproportionate.

          Remembering this made me smirk. I wondered why these moments had been memorialized. I continue looking back, wondering what else could be so special. I felt too bad to skip every other piece. I could tell time had been dedicated to the abstract oil pastel labeled “Tio.” I felt connected to the color pencil drawing of the Iris flowers. I couldn’t just walk past them selfishly. My eyes quickly scanned them, hastily coming up with my opinions on them and shuffling to the next. I read the labels and artists’ names and ages. I wander the rooms, they are small and large and the paint on the walls are all different colors of neutral. I admire the windows in the short hallways between rooms. The stained glass being a fitting, constant palette cleanser. I walk through what I believe to be the last room. This room stands surrounded by two other rooms to the left and right. The room is dimmer, I see a brighter light within. 

When I walk into the room, the majority of the paintings are lit dimly by the main light at the opposite of the room. I stare at the canvas. It was a sizable canvas compared to every other that had been displayed. Slightly bigger. The one light used in this room was shined directly onto it. I walk towards it.

      The painting was me. Literally, I was in the painting . It was a view of me from the side, my head only slightly turned towards the point of view. The darkening sunset before me, casting an orange glow on my face. The art style was choppy, no straight lines, everything lightly blended together. My face was clear, though. It was obviously me. I had cheap earbuds in, listening to music I refused to show him in fear of getting made fun of. The sunset had almost changed my eye color, it emphasized my eyelashes, highlighted my arms as they pushed my body up from the ledge. I was looking out past the roof and towards the sky. People below were blurred squares, a hundred feet below us. So ignorant, yet so important in this painting. I remember this. My breath was audible in the dead silent room. I breathed in and out, the exhale interrupted by a quick “Heh.” I looked at the card underneath. 

“Dayplayer” by Hobie Brown

         It was impossible to stop thinking about how this painting struck me. I saw how I was seen at that moment, watching the sunset with him. This was how he saw me on a random Valentine’s Day, on a random rooftop, with random street lights in the background. I hadn’t even noticed where his attention was, I was focused on the sky, on how my music would fit the moment. I was feeling the warm, humid air and was pissed that it wasn’t getting cooler faster.

I had no idea .

I couldn’t bring myself to see the other paintings until I could feel my fingers again. They were cold and almost numb, I had no idea how long I’d been sitting there staring. I turned to face the adjacent walls to find that every painting in this room was made by Hobie. 

A painting of a mug of coffee on an unidentified table sitting next to a remote was labeled “Peak.”

A messy charcoal sketch of a pair of shoes: “Great Race.”

A pencil drawing of several objects, practice maybe. “Goodie bag.”

I go from paper to canvas, reviewing the details, recognizing themes. I am getting to understand how he sees the world. As vivid colors intrude black and white backgrounds, I hear a word behind me.

“ Hi .”

★★★

[osarina]

Hello again fyo tysm for answering my last message like, I was so shy about it 😔😭

Anyway I was thinking about Dazai and I think about a kindergarten au vsisbausjwveoqjwjpw (wild keyboard hits)

Just imagine! Little Dazai Osamu a cute (not in a weird way😭) kindergarten boy who is walking to his first day in his new school very bored in the way BUT THEN in the other side of the street he see a cute girl (reader) and she see like his age and he was like:omg who is this pretty girl (or idn I'm not good writing reactions 😭😭😭) the little girl turn to another street and leave he alone in the street and in all the way at the school his can't get out of his mind this like girl then Dazai get into his new Kindergarten (with all the another's agency members) and sit alone in a corner of smth (poor baby boy 💓) AND THEN he see the same little girl of the street, she is in a large table with other kids (I think about Yosano, Kenji, Naomi and Tanizaki) talking, playing and painting or smth like that, and then he was all the class thinking about talk to her but he is too shy to do it (Poor baby boy X2). That is time to lunch and he is not eating anything he is just reading a suicide book so Reader see this weird boy who is not eating anything and think: "maybe he forgot he's food " and she feels bad about it so she take her food and get up from the table and walk to the lonely table whit Dazai, she say hi and ask Dazai why he is not eating in lunch time and what is he's name but Dazai is too confused for her presence so he is just quiet looking at her, reader think thad Dazai is just shy so she offer her food to Dazai and say that they can share together

And from there and obode they became friends and I think they would be that children who promised marry when there were older whit candy rings an is so 😭💓😭💓

Or idn tell what you think about this 😭😭

DON'T BE SHYYYYY I LOVE WHEN YOU GUYS SEND ME STUFF

stop ill actually weep im so in love with childhood friend aus like the idea of little baby dazai not having any friends bc they all think he's strange, and then new girl!reader comes along and dazai wants so badly to be friends with her but he's just so used to not having friends that he 1) doesn't know how to go about it and 2) getting to that mentality that maybe he just wasn't meant to have friends. BUT THEN READER SEES HIM ALL ALONE AND GOES OVER TO HIM SOBSSSSS and dazai is just so wide eyed because he's like wow is this really happening :') and he's just a little itty bitty BABY UGH ILL CRY childhood friends has my heart truly