#instead of a battle to get myself to eat over the nausea

[chromoluminary]

I decided that the week I’m in this city, I’m just going to eat whatever I want whenever I feel like it and not let myself feel any guilt over it and like, 10/10 decision, my life is better sitting on the floor of the kitchen eating a cold samosa after having had a slice of chocolate cake for lunch

[tianrenart]

from that "directors cut" thing, my question is: what is your favorite aspect of both Vox and Alastor to write? It can be their own personal things or something about how they function together :)

Oh gosh this is a hard one. There are ao many things 🤣 and the possibility of going into a radiostatic foaming at the mouth rant while I talk about this is very high, so I apologize in advance.

Favorite aspect of Vox to write is his ego, and the possibility that it’s actually very fragile. So big bad CEO, large and incharge but he lets himself be mistreated because he secretly loathes himself. This loathing I usually tie to his looks. It’s easy to do when writing in canon because he’s a TV, but in my human AU he’s obsessed with wrinkles and aging and uses a lot of skincare products/talks about botox. Most ppl with (I hesitate to use this word but can think of no other. Just know I am not using it as a clinical term) narcissistic tendencies actually have very fragile egos. They cover up/ignore their insecurities coming off as very confident and in control. That’s Vox to me. Hints this line in Tuesday :

“Vox groaned not realizing how much he agreed with the statement. Never understanding where his needs to be degraded came from. He just wanted to hear how stupid he was. How little he meant. He wanted his deepest insecurities confirmed. That he was never and could never be loved. He wanted it repeated over and over again so that maybe his heart would stop longing for the things he wasn’t good enough to deserve. Like Alastor’s affection. Even if the radio demon loved him it only caused him pain, because Vox was fundamentally flawed, and he wanted to hear that.”

Favorite thing to write about Alastor, is his dark side and the possibility that he’s using that to actually cover up a bleeding heart. So what I mean by that is that Alastor leans into being a monster/killer to keep ppl at arms length because he’s tired of being disappointed by others when they find things out about him. It’s also an ego game but instead of getting his confidence from control in business/sucess he gets it from having the power to control someone’s life. Obviously this is most blatant in killing, that’s the ultimate control of life. Consumption of flesh is also controlling what the body is used for. It’s literally used to feed his ego. He can kill and eat you and there is nothing you can do about it. He’s scary and horrible so either fall in line or run away. Now he’s controlling the image you have of him and how you react towards him. Can’t be disappointed that ppl runaway scared when that’s what you MADE them do. But I think that Alastor actually craves human connection and relationships, as seen in the show with his conversation with Nifty. He just doesn’t want to let his guard down. He doesn’t want to lose control or make a mistake. I write Alastor as supressing his emotions to the point that he makes himself sick in Tuesday. The nausea is self inflicted and because of that it’s easy for him to brush off the headaches too. It’s his body physical rejection his true feelings, heart and mind battling it out. I honestly believe Alastor has anxiety and I write his anxiety exactly how I experience it myself. It’s not sympathetic. What I mean by that is me and Alastor default to fight instead of flight or fawn. Alastor is going to lash out and destroy what scares him and if that thing is his own heart then he’ll rip it out.

My favorite thing about writing them together is how obsession can lead to acceptance. Instead of writing Vox’s obsession with Alastor as him putting Al on a pedestal, I write it as him loving Alastor while fully acknowledging all the horrible dark things he is. Once Alastor figures out nothing he does seems to gef rid of Vox he also becomes obsessed. Obsessed with seeing what he can get away with, obsessed with the possibility that someone loves him despite it all. In refurn he accepts Vox’s affection because they see each other and don’t judge the darkness inside the other. To me that’s true intamcy, that’s true romance. Not writing poems and songs about all the good qualities of a partner but accepting the bad and still believing they are lovable, which in turn leads to the person wanting to be better because now they believe they can be. If someone can love them and all their fucked up shit, then there must be something good, something worth cultivating. Redemption through acceptance.

[sassypotatoe1]

I don't wear a mask because I have sensory issues with them LET ME FINISH but I really want other people to mask so I'm protected because I am immunocompromized. Masks hurt my ears like crazy, like develops into migraines hurt, but I still need the protection of masks, especially in hospitals where I spend an inordinate amount of time.

The other day I got a blister on my toe, and basically immediately it got so infected that within minutes it was swollen. Within an hour it was swollen and red like a fleshy red golf ball. I thought it might be a bug bite of some kind or some really aggressive strain of athlete's foot so I went to work. 2 hours into work my body starts aching like I have a nasty flu. All the while my foot gets more and more sore and hotter and swollen. I order lunch for myself thinking food will make me feel better.

I eat, but I still get worse through the day. I get home, and burping hurts, and I feel like I'm about to pass out. I go check on my dad who's making a firewall and then walk back, and by the time I get to the porch I feel like I'm genuinely about to pass out. Instead I throw up violently, something that never happens. I get reflux, I have impeccable control over my gag reflex and can breathe through an urge to vom. Not this time. I throw up uncontrollably and it burns.

I'm thinking at this point an insanely venomous spider bit me I'm that sick, so the next morning I go to the emergency room because I don't want to lose my foot. I get there, doctor looks at it, "oh it's just an infected blister". I got sick so quickly and so violently from a simple blister that I needed a strong ass iv with paracetamol, ibuprofen, some nausea medicine and an entire bottle of penicillin antibiotics.

I got put on the biggest dose of the strongest antibiotics the infection was so aggressive. Now just a month later I have a uti from keeping a pad in an hour too long. A pretty aggressive uti but luckily not as aggressive as the foot infection.

These stories were told to illustrate just how fucking vulnerable I am to getting dangerously infected from ridiculously simple things. What's a sniffle for most is pneumonia for me. What's a sore spot for 2 or 3 days for most is a risk of sepsis that warrants an emergency room visit for me. What's a slightly stinky full pad for most is painful burning urine for me for a week.

We actually do not give a flying fuck about covid at this point. We just want you to wear a mask when you're sick at all, even if it's just allergies, and we especially want you to mask up at hospitals. If someone at the emergency room gave me a viral infection like flu while my immune system was battling the toe infection so badly already I would be dead. From the flu. Luckily the medical staff at that hospital are still masking and they isolate beds really well.

Point is, unless you're like me and masks hurt so bad they cause migraines, wear. Your. Fucking. Mask. When. You're. Sick. You can actively kill someone by coughing in their vicinity if they're immunocompromized. Despite the pain masks cause me I still wear them to the hospital, my psych appointments and when I'm sick. If I can do it when they literally give me migraines you can too.

I'm tired of my coworkers standing in front of me, while I'm masking and visibly disabled, and making fun of students for masking because "don't they know the pandemic is over".

I'm tired of them telling students that they don't need to mask anymore, while I'm standing there masking.

I'm tired of them basically saying "wow so many people are calling out sick again, but not you since you're masking....anyway too bad there's nothing to do about people getting sick 🤷"

Just tell me you don't care about disabled lives. Thank you to the seldom few who see me masking and ask if I you to mask too. But maybe keep masking when you're not around me? There are other high risk people around you than just me. There are low risk people who go home to high risk people they don't want to get sick.

also, STOP COUGHING THEN SAYING DONT WORRY ITS NOT COVID!!! AAAAAHHHH

I'm not just worried about COVID. There are other things you could have and get me sick with. Even if you're just sneezing or coughing from seasonal allergies, you could still be spraying other germs at me that can get me sick. Stay home if you're sick. If you can't then wear a damn mask. Our school still provides them, so you don't even have to buy them yourself.

[subpar-ghoulfriend]

Let’s have a baby

yandere!EraserMicx PREGNANT!Reader 

A terrible mix up leading to an accidental pregnancy? Or something more intentional? Either way now you were pregnant with (none other than the beloved power couple heroes) Eraserhead and Present Mic’s child. Time to discuss how co parenting is going to work. 

TW: pregnancy, artificial insemination, yandere elements, mentions of stalking, alludes to potential custody battle

You had been avoiding the two men for the past week, which was challenging seeing as they managed to find your phone number, address, and place of work. Any time you blocked their calls they got a new number. Two Pro Heroes versus a twenty something civilian, it was only a matter of time until you were cornered.

Now the couple stood between you and your apartment. You had a long shift at your job as a pet groomer and just wanted to get some rest.

Present Mic was the first to speak. "Hey lil momma, we heard you had work today so we brought you some dinner. We thought we could talk over a nice meal."

You had no response. You were tired, both physically and emotionally. You had been put through the ringer ever since meeting them at your doctors office. It was a total Jane the Virgin situation. You went in for an assessment about some supposed ovarian cysts and unknowing left artificially inseminated. There was a supposed mix up, a digital glitch that somehow merged your chart with the surrogates - apparently your names were super similar. Two weeks later you were called back into the doctor's office and informed of what took place. And now you were in this living nightmare.

And the two heroes had nothing to do with the error. There was totally a surrogate. They hadn't paid off your provider. And why would they? You had never met them - although given their patrols they may have seen you once or twice...

They were tearful when they were informed of the mix up, they had been waiting patiently through the whole process and now everything was thrown in chaos. They offered to compensate you for your service which sent you into a blind rage. They just assumed you would carry a child, a child with half of your DNA, and then give YOUR baby away. Rationally you understood that they had planned to be be the only parents to the child, but that was with a professional surrogate who understood the process, who didn't want the child in their life, just happy to help out a loving couple. But that wasn't you, you grew up wanting to be a mom, and now they would take that from you.

What if they tried to legally take sole custody of the baby? Surely they had some pull in the judicial system. Besides, they were a solid couple with money, while you were alone with no family and working two jobs. The thought made you sick to your stomach.

You were shaking as you tried to push past them. Maybe they would just disappear if you ignored them, a girl could dream. But instead they tagged along inside. Albeit you weren’t fighting them on it, you knew this had to happen eventually.

Aizawa easily found the cluttered dining table in your small apartment. You flinched when the loud one tried to help you shrug off your backpack. Taking a seat on the couch you waited for them to start berating you.

"Come sit at the table, dinner is getting cold," Eraser spoke for the first time.

"I'll eat later, I'm not hungry."

"You may not be, but the baby needs to eat."

You glared, how dare they insinuate you didn't know what your child needed. If your body was hungry, you ate. If you were full the baby was full too.

But, you complied, not wanting to argue, "Fine, but I ate a snack not too long ago."

As you ate, Mic kept you company, picking at some left overs, they clearly ate before their visit. Aizawa was rummaging through your place but you managed to hold your tongue until he began throwing things out of your fridge.

"What are you doing?" You hissed, getting up out of your seat.

"Mic and I will bring you groceries tomorrow. The food you have is barely safe for an adult, let alone a fetus."

"Are you kidding me? It's not like I'm chugging alcohol and living off Twinkies. Hey! I just bought those turkey slices. How is turkey bad?" You whined.

To make sure you wouldn't dig the food out trash he dumped it out of his container.

"Zashi, don't let me forget to empty the trash on our way out. Do you know how much salt is in deli meat? And there's no way you can drink any of this while you're pregnant." He gestures to the cans of soda.

As the frustration built you had to fight back tears. They couldn't come in to your home and start throwing out your things.

"Some of us don't make ridiculous money, I'm buying what I can afford and the doctor never had any problem with my health." You hissed.

Hizashi felt the tension thickening, "Hey hey hey, it's okay. Sho and I will go get you some good stuff. We just gotta watch out for you and baby."

And that was the end of your resolve, you stomped past the Hero and locked yourself in your bedroom. Finally tears began to drip down your cheeks.

Back in your kitchen Mic was chiding his boyfriend for being so tough on you.

"So I should just back down while she stuffs herself with junk food?"

Mic gave him a shrug, showing him a bottle on your counter, "At lest she's taking her prenatal vitamins?"

Grabbing the keys to your apartment Aizawa instructed Mic to wait with you while he got you better groceries. He would make copies of your keys on his was back.

You prayed they would leave soon. You were laying in your bed having cried yourself out. Barely into your second month of pregnancy. You still had to endure this for at least seven more months, but most likely much longer.

Next thing you knew you were opening your eyes and the clock read seven AM. By now your uninvited guests must be gone. Nervously you sat up, praying that you'd skip the morning sickness just once this week. You had always had a weak stomach and even the doctor was surprised you were already experiencing the symptom. Unfortunately the minute your feet touched the floor you knew what was coming. You sprinted to the restroom, not even checking to see if the duo had left.

God this was terrible, you didn't just hate throwing up, you were terrified of it. What if you started and never stopped? But it did come to an end. You wiped the water from your eyes and took a moment before standing from the floor. You screamed when a hand slid under your arm, helping you up. Another set of feet rushed to the bathroom.

" What's wrong?" Hizashi huffed as he skid to a stop.

You pulled arm free from Aizawa's grasp. "What are you two still doing here?"

You turned in the faucet to rinse your mouth. Trying to calm your stress, the nausea was trying to return.

Undeterred the scruff pulled your hair into a bun before rubbing your back. You debated returning to bed but that wouldn't get them out of your apartment. You told them you need to sit down, both of them nodding, still wearing their concerned expressions. They got you a glass of water before joining you on the couch. Stubborn men, you sat at the end of the couch so they couldn't both sit, but Mic decided to perch himself on the armrest.

He started petting your hair, "You feelin better little listener?" You nodded in response.

"I got you more food, let us know if your hungry."

You sighed in defeat, "I'm barely two months pregnant, I can fend for myself. What did you all want to talk about?"

You anxiously placed a hand on your stomach. Both men felt their hearts flutter recognizing your maternal instincts kicking in.

Aizawa let Mic begin, he was the more gentle of the two.

"Well, we figured we got off to a rough start. You got put in a tough situation. We shouldn't have assumed you didn't want a child so we're not mad at how you stormed out. But either way we expect to be in our baby's life. The two of us talked it over and we don't want to fight you if you want to be in their life too. So if you wanna be the mommy we're cool with it."

You could blame your reaction on your hormones for your response but you didn't, "Geez thank you so much for allowing me to be in MY child's life."

Aizawa placed a hand on the back of your neck, giving you a gentle massage. "Okay then, the three of us are gonna have a baby. That means you have to stop ignoring us. We can raise the baby together, without involving anyone else. But if we have to, we can always go the legal route for the baby's best interest." 

He knew it was a low blow, but the couple needed you to stop fighting them. Your eyes snapped to his and you shook your head in protest.

"Okay then we're all the same page," Aizawa reassured you.

Mic cheered, "Now we can focus on the fun stuff."

"Hun," Eraserhead caught his attention. "There's still a few more important things to figure out. We don't want you going back to that doctor. They're incompetent. We scheduled you an appointment with another's clinic for next week. Okay?"

You couldn't find your voice after how easily he threatened to take your baby. So you just nodded. Half listening.

"Good. We also went ahead and programmed our numbers into your phone. We need to be able to check in with you."

"Okay, but I can't use my phone at one of my jobs."

"About that lil momma," Mic started. "You work a lot, which is totally bad ass, but we don't think you leave enough time to rest and take care of yourself."

You tried to protest but Aizawa cut you off, "You also shouldn't be working around so many animals. Even though we love animals, they can be unpredictable and one dog can trigger all the rest into a frenzy."

You were dumbfounded, "I've never heard of anything like that happening. One of my coworkers was pregnant last year, she worked until her maternity leave. Plus I need to be able to pay my bills. And don't offer to compensate me again."

"Why do you have to view it as compensation? We just want to take care of the mother of our child. Just think about it. Mic and I have to go take care of some business but we'll be back later this week."

---

Back at their home Hizashi was dramatically splayed on their bed.

"Babe why are you pouting?" Aizawa asked.

"Why can't we just bring her home already?"

Aizawa sympathized with his better half, but they needed to be methodical. He reminded Hizashi that they didn't need to cause her even more stress, especially so early into the pregnancy. If they played their cards right they would have their happy little family soon enough.

If they could ease you in to the relationship everything would be easier in the long run. They had been managing just fine until now, they could wait a few more months.

He joined Hizashi on the couch. Mic was comforting himself the way he usually did when he felt like this. He was scrolling through the countless photos they had collected since their chance encounter with you over a year ago. 

[jenonctcity]

My Responsibility - Epilogue

Differences - Huang Renjun  

Part of the Bad Boy Series.

Badboy!Au, Parent!Au

Warnings: Very brief mentions of abortion, minor character death, pregnancy, swearing, mention of injury, mention of sex. 

Word Count: 7k

Renjun is 20 years old, and things are going perfect for him for what feels like the first time in eternity. He has a stable relationship with the woman of his dreams, and his baby girl Jiyeon is the most adorable child in the world and he’s so thankful that’s shes well behaved. Of course there was ups and downs, but he was finding them easier to battle against with the support of you behind him. Even if the battles did mostly consist of things like Jiyeon eating an entire bag of gummy bears when Renjun wasn’t looking and then her vomiting them back up less than 10 minutes later, or when Renjun accidentally turned everyone’s laundry pink when he’d put Jiyeon’s red dress in the washing with the whites. Little things like that mattered to him to have a support.

Another thing he loved about having a girlfriend, was the sex. He still had a constant craving to get on top of you and hump you like a dog in heat, and you kindly let him. Which also ended up being the reason you ended up pregnant less than a year into your relationship with him.

“You’re being so grumpy.” He frowned after you pushed him away from you when he tried persistently to get into your panties. You rolled your eyes, frowning back at him and folding your arms over your chest.

“I’m not in the mood to have sex with you, it’s barely 9am and I don’t feel too great.” You mumbled, rolling over in bed and turning your back to him. He stared at you, his facial expression showing how displeased at your attitude he was.

“You haven’t got to be a bitch about it, jeez.” He grumbled and turned his back to you, pulling the duvet up over his shoulder and huffing.

“Fuck you, you’re the reason why I’m grumpy.” You grunted at him, shutting your eyes and trying to ignore him.

“I didn’t even do anything wrong!” He turned around, almost offended that you’re blaming him for your sour mood.

“Tell your superhuman sperm that.” You mumbled, not really thinking that he could hear you, but his ears pricked up and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“What are you talking about? See I haven’t done anything wrong so you’re attacking my sperm. You’re so petty.” He sat up and pulled on a pair of boxers from his drawer, not wanting to put up with your attitude anymore.

“Because Renjun,” You paused to sit up and look at him with fire in your eyes. “I missed one pill. ONE FUCKING PILL!!! And normally there would be enough of the pill still in my system to prevent anything from happening, but your stupid, superhuman fucking sperm went against the odds and somehow made its journey to its destination.” You couldn’t help but snapping at him, not really wanting this to be how you admitted to him that you were pregnant, but it was too late now. His mouth dropped open and he went sheet white. You quickly laid down again with your back to him, sniffing back your emotions and thinking about all the possible outcomes.

“W-what?” He visibly gulped, his mouth falling open as it completely dawned on him.

“I’m pregnant.” Your words fell on deaf ears, Renjun too in his own head stressing out about the bomb you’d just dropped on him. He stood up, hastily putting on jeans and a t-shirt, not even realising nor caring that the t-shirt he threw on was inside out. He left the room and you sighed, not even realising that he’d left because your back was to the door. “I know you don’t want more kids, and I’m sorry that this happened, but I did warn you that it wasn’t a good idea to not use a condom…Oh now you’re just going to ignore me? And you called me petty.” You sat up with a frown on your face, ready to square up to him about this, but your face fell when you saw he was gone, and the door was left open. “Renjun?” You felt your stomach plummet through to the centre of the earth, just crossing your fingers that he did eventually come back.

Renjun sat in Chenle and Jisung’s living room, a tub of chocolate ice cream on his lap with a thick fluffy blanket wrapped around him, his eyes red with all of the tears that he’d spilt. He was watching a car race on the tv and he kept shovelling spoonful’s of ice cream in his mouth. Chenle and Jisung just sat either side of him, looking concerned but not wanting to ask just in case he started to cry again like he had when Jisung dared to inform him that his t-shirt was inside out. They heard the front door to their apartment rattle, and then Jaemin stepped through the door. He had been notified by Chenle that Renjun was hauled up in their apartment, eating his feelings instead of expressing them.

“You’ll get diabetes if you eat all of that.” Jaemin commented as he crouched down in front of Renjun, very gently pulling the tub of ice cream away from him and being cautious not to unsettle the poor man. “You know you have a girlfriend at home who’s very upset because of your absence.” He speaks very calmly and softly to Renjun. Renjun sighs and runs a hand over his face, feeling ashamed of himself for only thinking of his own feelings. A baby was a joint effort, and he had just as much of a part in making it as you did. He had guilt swimming in the pit of his stomach, knowing that you were probably crushed because he ran out in the way that he did.

“I know.” He mumbles and gulps, looking up at the ceiling and trying not to cry. “I’m having another baby…I’m twenty years old and about to have my second child Jaemin, I didn’t want this…I didn’t even want the first one…(Y/N)’s parents already hate me, they’ll hate me even more now I knocked up their daughter!” He’d never really broken down about his insecurities in being a father, because he’d just gotten on with it, and when he held Jiyeon for the first time he didn’t regret making her at all. He hoped he would feel this way about his unborn child when it came into the world, but he couldn’t be certain yet. He had met your parents not long after you’d started dating. He thought that they hated him, but they actually didn’t mind him, and both of your parents adored Jiyeon. He was just overthinking.

“I know, I’m not going to tell you that your feelings are invalid, I’m just going to tell you that you need to think about (Y/N) right now, and instead of sitting here between these two muppets and crying about it, maybe you should be holding your girlfriend and crying with her. Because she’s currently crying on her own.” Jaemin gave him a tender smile and patted Renjun’s knee. Renjun nodded and stood up, his eyes feeling sore and his stomach making him feel nauseas. He knew that Jaemin was right with everything he said, and he had to make things right before it was too late.

He went back to the apartment alone, Jaemin staying with Chenle and Jisung because he knew that the two of you would want to be alone. He sighed as he enters the apartment, kicking off his shoes and setting his keys down on the kitchen counter. He had a quick glass of water to get his fluids up and to calm his nerves slightly.

“Did you find him Jaems?” You were rubbing your red, watery eyes when you walked into the kitchen, your favourite blanket wrapped around your body much like Renjun had wrapped the blanket around his body when he needed the comfort. You paused when you pulled your hands away from your eyes and saw Renjun instead of Jaemin. “Oh.” You were taken by surprise and you looked at the floor, sniffing back your tears.

“Baby…” He spoke quietly, approaching you and taking your face in his hands. “I’m sorry I ran out on you; I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself and I was being selfish.” He stroked your cold, wet cheeks, and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “If you want to go through with the pregnancy then I’ll stand by you every step of the way, and if you don’t want to go through with it, then I’ll take you to the clinic and hold your hand.” You whimpered in his hold, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks and hitting his thumbs.

“Renjun, do you think we can raise a baby?” You looked up at him through wet eyelashes. He trailed his hands down your face, shoulders, arms, and finally taking your hands in his own. He let out a soft laugh and shrugged.

“Meh, it’s a piece of cake.” You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at that, glancing down at your feet and shaking your head. Renjun had told you plenty of times how hard it was being a parent, and he had her a lot less than her mother did, so you could only imagine how hard it would be to have a baby with you 24/7. “Seriously baby, we can do it. It’s a challenge but it’s doable.” He sounded semi-confident and you bit your bottom lip, pondering over your choices before giving him a nod and staring up at him.

“I hope we have a girl.”

---

Renjun is 21 years old, and he feels like he’s holding the whole world in his hands. But he’s not, he’s holding his newborn daughter in his hands and not caring about the tears rolling down his cheeks. Huang Jihyo. She was a week old and already doing him proud, as she’d just unknowingly flipped him the bird when she was stretching her tiny fingers out. Renjun was so proud of her for her accidental rude gesture that he just burst into tears on the spot, glad no one was around to see him cry.

You were taking a nap, because being a new mother was exhausting, and Renjun offered to watch over Jihyo, mainly because she was asleep and had just been changed and fed, so she had no reason to wake up screaming at him. Since the two of you had found out that you were expecting another baby, you’d moved into your apartment across the hall from the boy’s apartment, just needing a little extra room. But of course Renjun and you still both had a key and you spent a lot of time in their apartment still. The person who was probably most excited about the new baby, was Jiyeon. As soon as you’d both told her that she was going to be a big sister, she had spent at least an hour rambling random things to your stomach as you sat on the couch with her head on your lap. She also liked to gently pat your bump and tell you all about how she was going to share her toys with her new sibling.

Renjun got up gently, holding Jihyo in his arms when there was a knock at the door. He answered the door and smiled widely at his two-year-old daughter stood by her mothers’ legs. He greeted his ex, making small talk and showing off his new baby like the proud father he was, then took Jiyeon’s backpack from her and bid her mother goodbye.

“My sister!” Jiyeon started to jump around by Renjun’s feet, a wide grin on her face and her shoes making loud tapping noises against the wood floor. Renjun stroked the back of her head, brushing down her fluffy hair at the back of her head with a fond smile on his face.

“Yes baby, she’s your little sister. Take your shoes off and you can have a cuddle with her.” He waited patiently whilst Jiyeon dropped onto the floor on her butt, making quick work at unstrapping her velcro shoes from her small feet. Once she was free of her shoes, she ran through to the living room ahead of her father, climbing onto the sofa and sitting comfortably against the cushion. Renjun followed her and sat down beside her, cradling Jihyo and smiling as he watched Jiyeon’s reaction.

“Wow…” Jiyeon whispered in awe, reaching out her hand and very gently stroking at the silky black hair on Jihyo’s head. “She’s cute!” She chirped and kept her eyes on the baby, her big eyes narrowing from how big her smile was.

“Do you want to have a cuddle with her?” Renjun asked in a soft voice.

“Yes please daddy!” She sat back on the sofa as Renjun grabbed a pillow, laying it across Jiyeon’s lap and making sure the pillow was propped up against the arm of the sofa for support.

“Okay, but you have to be very careful and not move too much okay Princess?” He gently laid Jihyo down on the pillow, making sure that one Jiyeon’s arm stayed under the pillow to help support the pillow, and the other arm laying over Jihyo’s legs. He set them like this so that Jiyeon felt like she was cuddling her baby sister.

“Okay!” She giggled as he looked between Jihyo and Renjun. “I love her so much.” She smiled cutely up at her dad, and Renjun felt the tears welling up in his eyes again as he looked at his two babies who he loved more than anything in the world. He couldn’t help but pull out his phone and snap a quick picture of them together, immediately setting it as his background.

“She loves you too, you’re going to be best friends as well as sisters, and you have to promise daddy to always be there when she needs you and to share your toys with her. But you also have to promise daddy never to gang up on him with her okay?” He added the last part purely so he could throw it back in her face in 10 years’ time if the two of them ganged up on him. She nodded eagerly and let out a cute laugh.

“I promise daddy.”

“Good girl.” He leaned in and gave her a tender kiss on her forehead, not regretting any of his choices in life as he watched his first baby lean down and give his last baby a kiss on her smooth cheek.

It was 6 months later when Minjun was born. When you’d asked Renjun if he was jealous that Jeno had a son when he didn’t, he quickly denied it. However that was a lie. Of course he was jealous! He was stuck with not one, but two daughters. And Jeno had a boy on his first attempt at making a life. It wasn’t that Renjun didn’t love his daughters to death because he did. But he loved the idea of a mini Renjun running around his feet. However he wasn’t planning to have any more kids, so he kissed the idea of a mini Renjun goodbye and laid that dream to rest. It was probably for the best that he didn’t have a mini Renjun, as big Renjun was, in your words, ‘a nightmare’.

You cooed down at the teeny tiny baby boy in your arms, his miniscule hand in between your thumb and your finger as you gazed at him under Jeno’s watchful eye. Everyone could already tell that Jeno was a complete papa bear with his son, and you thought it was adorable. Minjun was a lot smaller than Jihyo was at birth, because she was born late and was quite chunky, but Minjun was born early and had hardly any baby fat on him.

“You’re going to be such a handsome boy Minjunnie!” You cooed at him, glancing at Renjun who sat beside you with 6-month-old Jihyo nestled in his arms. You looked between the babies and then smiled widely. “You’re going to marry our Jihyo so that me and your mummy can be related!” If you could have taken a picture of the look of disgust and horrification on Renjun and Jeno’s faces, you’d have taken it in a heartbeat.

“I think the fuck not.” Renjun spluttered out in shock, giving you a scowl and visibly shudder. “I don’t want to be related to Jeno!”

“Fuck you, I don’t want to be related to you either.” Jeno frowned at him. You scoffed a laugh.

“Why? You’re best friends!” You couldn’t understand their logic, but you were used to things like this, so it didn’t come as a complete shock to you.

“Because we’re best friends and it’s weird to have our kids be together.” Jeno answered for Renjun, who nodded along in agreement. You had a feeling that the two of them had discussed this prior to you bringing it up. But you didn’t ask, just rolling your eyes and letting the subject go.

It was a week later than Renjun found out about Jaemin’s engagement to his girlfriend. He was shocked to say the least. He couldn’t quite believe that Jaemin had grown the balls and asked his girlfriend to marry him before he had plucked up the courage to ask you. But at the same time, he was excited for his best friend. He knew how much his girlfriend meant to him and how much Jaemin had been longing to get married and start a family. But he didn’t like what Jaemin’s decision was doing to his own impulse decisions.

“Jiyeonie, Uncle Jaemin is getting married.” He decided to break the news to her whilst she was clutching at his hand, toddling alongside him in the middle of the city. She had on a little backpack that Renjun had just bought for her, the tags still attached to the zipper, and she was wearing a new pair of light up shoes, her eyes constantly looked down towards the ground as the flashing amused her. Renjun loved to buy her new things, and whenever she asked him if she could wear the new things before they left the shop, the answer was always a yes. Her old shoes had been shoved into her new backpack just so that the toddler felt like she had a purpose for wearing her backpack.

“To a princess?” She glanced up from her flashing shoes and squinted under the sun as she stared up at her father with a curious expression on her face.

“To his princess!” Renjun smiled with twinkles in his eyes down at his daughter. When he glanced up, he noticed a jewellery store, and an impulsive decision crossed his mind that he couldn’t just seem to shake away. “Should daddy marry princess (Y/N)?” He wondered what the two-year-old would say, knowing she was getting really good with her words and at expressing her thoughts. Renjun had taught her

“Nope.” Jiyeon shook her head and went back to staring at her shoes, giving her foot a hard stomp on the floor once they stopped flashing. Renjun frowned and tilted his head, wondering why she wouldn’t want you and him to get married. She seemed to absolutely adore you, and when she’d found out what marriage was not too long ago when watching a Disney film, she’d immediately turned to you and asked you if you were married to her daddy. She seemed terribly upset when she found out that you weren’t married and had no plans to marry each other, so this came as a surprise to the young father.

“Why not?” He stopped walking, placing his hands underneath her armpits, and hoisting her up into his hold, sitting her on his hip and cuddling her close.

“Because you can’t marry a princess daddy, you’re not a prince.” Renjun’s face fell into a deadpanned expression. Clearly, she was still confused about this marriage situation, not only that, she just lowkey hurt her father’s feelings.

“You’re spending too much time with your Uncle Haechan.” He mumbled and then stopped as he got in front of the jewellery store. “You know, you haven’t got to be a prince to marry a princess, so do you think daddy should marry (Y/N)?” He asked again after giving her a little bit of persuasion. He wanted her to say yes, because if she continued to say no, he would definitely wait a little while longer until she said yes. Although she was only a toddler, he believed that his daughters opinions mattered, and he would never do something to upset her.

She pursed her lips as she thought it over, before shrugging and giving him a huge grin. “Yes!”

Renjun purchased an engagement ring, and he told Jiyeon not to say a word to anyone about it, but she was so excited, that when they got back to the apartment and Renjun took Jihyo to have a diaper change, she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

She told you that her daddy had bought a ring and told you to keep it a secret. Clearly, she had gotten her wires crossed, and hadn’t realised that you were the one person who shouldn’t find out about the ring. But you kept her secret and waited patiently for a proposal.

---

Renjun is 22 years old, and he feels the most horrid feeling in the pit of his stomach as he hangs up the phone call. A haze of disbelief, shock, and heartbreak float around his mind as he numbly walks into the bedroom where you sat, aimlessly staring at your phone, none the wiser to the news Renjun had just been lumbered with. Renjun took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself as he sat down beside you on the edge of the bed.

“Baby, I have something to tell you.” He laid his hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze as he smiled softly at you. You furrowed your eyebrows, concern rushing through you as you took in his body language and facial expression.

“What’s going on?” You asked curiously, already adapting your own tone and mood to fit with his. He let out a soft sigh and rubbed his thumb against your leg as he broke the news to your that Jaemin’s fiancée had passed away after the two of them had gotten into a car accident. You felt your stomach drop through the floor, and tears blurred your vision almost immediately. He gave you more details about the accident, and included that she was brain dead, her body only kept alive by machines until Jaemin woke from his coma to give the doctors permission to take her off of life support. You felt your heart break. Not particularly for yourself, but for Jaemin, and her family. You knew how much she meant to Jaemin, and your sobbed harder after Renjun told you that they had gotten married in secret just before the accident. You couldn’t comprehend how the world was such a cruel place to take someone away from someone else on their wedding day.

Renjun held you to his chest as you cried, his hand rubbing up and down your back as a silent tear rolled down his cheek. He didn’t cry easily but seeing you in pieces over the loss of your close friend really affected him. He also put himself in Jaemin’s shoes and thought about how hard it would be on him if he lost you, or one of his daughters, and his heart broke even more for Jaemin. He was so close with the boys and their partners. They were the people that he considered his family and losing a member of the family was never easy on anyone.

Now all you and Renjun had to do was mourn for the loss of your family member and wait for Jaemin to wake up.

The funeral was tough on everyone.

You had made sure that morning to give Jihyo and extra kiss as you left her with your parents. Renjun had made the decision not to allow Jiyeon to go to the funeral, as she still didn’t fully understand what was happening and he didn’t want her to be around all of the emotional adults, knowing it was be distressing for her.

The two of you were child free as you entered your apartment. It was eerily silent but brought you a feeling of relief and peacefulness. You had found it hard to cope with the loss of your friend whilst parenting a baby, because you were so focused on Jihyo that you barely found the time to deal with your own feelings.

Renjun could see that your eyes were filling up with tears as you kicked your heels off and shrugged your coat off, just letting it all to the floor as you walked into the living room. Renjun sighed, picking up your coat and hanging it on the coat peg, before riding himself of his own coat and placing his shoes beside yours.

“Baby?” He called out as he followed you to the living room. You were sat on the sofa, staring at the turned off screen of the television with a blank gaze. He gave you a look of concern, his eyebrows pulling together and a muted smile on his lips. Sitting himself next to you, he pulled you close to him, giving you a tight hug and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Are you okay?” You took a deep breath and simply nodded. “You can cry. I know that you’re holding it back (Y/N).” He held your head against his chest, stroking your cheek with his thumb and holding you tighter against himself when he felt a tear hit his thumb.

“It’s not fair.” You let out a sob, your chest convulsing as you whimpered in the arms of your love. “They were so in love Renjun! They had just gotten married and then she dies because of some fucking idiot in a car!” You relaxed in his hold, finding his touch comforting to you.

“I know honey.” He spoke gently, his lips once against pressing to your forehead. You cried in his arms for another five minutes, before you gulped down the lump in your throat and pulled away from Renjun’s chest. You looked him in the eyes and leaned forward, giving him a soft kiss on the lips.

“I want another baby.” Renjun’s body stiffened and his eyes widened in shock.

“No.” He straight up shot you down, shaking his head fast from his dedication to his answer. You frowned and tilted your head, hurt that he just shot you down so fast without even considering it.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re just taking with your emotions! You’re upset that they didn’t have a baby before she died so you’re trying to make up for your guilt by having another baby!” Renjun had hit the nail right on the head. You did feel guilty, and your emotions and hormones were flying around so much that you were convinced you wanted another baby. But in that moment, you didn’t see it that way.

“You don’t even want another baby with me! Just admit it!” You started to cry again, and you stood up, staring at Renjun with a frown on your face. “You’re probably going to get bored of me and leave me anyway a-and then have a baby with another woman in a few months’ time!” Renjun rolled his eyes and he let out a sigh, deciding just to let you vent at him. He knew that you were too overcome by your emotions that you weren’t thinking straight, so he didn’t blame you. “You don’t even love me! You bought an engagement ring ages ago, but you still haven’t proposed to me!” Renjun’s eyes nearly popped out of his head from how shocked he was.

“How did you know that I bought a ring?” He squeaked out, sitting up and feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

“Jiyeon told me.” You muttered and started to calm down, crossing your arms across your chest and crying silently. Renjun groaned and sighed. He stood up and hurried to pull you into an embrace.

“Listen, I didn’t propose to you because Jaemin had just proposed to his girlfriend and I didn’t want to steal the limelight from him. Then his wife died, and I can’t propose to you for a while now because that’s insensitive. I love you so fucking much, and it hurts me that you would think otherwise. I want to marry you, I do. Just give it some time.” He took your face in his hands and tilted your face to look at his. “I…I don’t know if I’m ever going to want another baby. I may change my mind one day, but we’ve only just had Jihyo. I’m 22 years old and I have two kids, this is a lot for someone my age. Most men my age aren’t doing what I’m doing, this is a big struggle for me. I hope you understand.” He placed a soft kiss to your lips and sighed gently. “I love you.”

You felt awful for everything you’d said in your mini meltdown. You were so thankful that Renjun had his head screwed on properly and had enough common sense for the both of you in that moment. “I’m so sorry, I love you too.” You rested your face in the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around his middle and squeezing him tightly.

Renjun smiled softly, holding you tight against him as he processed his thoughts, relieved he didn’t get sucked into having another baby.

---

Renjun is 25 years old, and the wedding ring sits heavy on his ring fingers almost heavier than the newborn baby boy in his arms. Huang Jinhyung had been born a week ago, a day before your first wedding anniversary. Obviously because of the arrival of your baby, neither of you had been able to celebrate your first anniversary, but neither of you minded. Jinhyung was the best present you could have received. He was tiny, as he was born a few weeks early, but he was healthy and had a head full of black hair. Renjun was absolutely enamoured by his son, and even though he would have been just as happy to have had a baby girl, he finally had the son he had been wanting since he found out his ex was pregnant with Jiyeon. Jinhyung had been planned. After you got married, Renjun had told you that he wanted another baby much to your surprise. It didn’t take long for you to get pregnant at all, but that wasn’t a surprise to you as you knew Renjun had supersonic sperm. Another thing significant that had happened after your wedding, was Renjun gave up his life of crime. He got a normal 9-5 job working at Haechan’s uncles’ garage, fixing up cars and legally selling them. He was lucky enough to be given flexible work hours too, so he could equally spread his time between his job and his family. Money wasn’t a big issue for you though, as you had a part time job working at the local bank every Thursday and Friday when Renjun wasn’t at work, and Renjun had saved up a lot of money during his days of illegal activity.

“I know I’ve said this before but, this is the last baby.” Renjun broke the silence between you both as you watched the tv with Jihyo sat in between you both. Jiyeon was at her mothers but she had already met Jinhyung and had fallen in love with him, over the moon to have a baby brother. Jihyo was also excited about having a baby brother, and Renjun had caught her stroking his hair and putting her teddy bears on him when he was asleep in his crib.

“I’m happy with three.” You smiled at him, adoring the way he was with his son. You saw Jiyeon as your own daughter, and always referred to her as your own when speaking about her to other people.

“I mean it this time. I am declaring Jinhyung as my last spawn.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, rolling your eyes and nodding your head.

“Okay, he can be our last.”

“I never even thought I’d have one child, and now I have three. Sometimes I’m just stunned at how my life turned out, but…like…” He struggled to put into words the thoughts that were going through his head. “In a good way kind of stunned you know?” He raised an eyebrow, unsure if his words made sense to you because they didn’t make much sense to himself. You giggled and bit your bottom lip, nodding slowly as you knew exactly what Renjun was babbling on about. He often expressed his love for how his life turned out in the smallest of ways, but it all added up to you, making a big picture that you could stare at all day long. It was in the little glances you saw him making at his daughters as they built lego castles, and in the way he’d gasp in surprise whenever Jihyo presented him with an messy picture she’d drawn, like it was the most amazing piece of artwork he’d ever seen. He was an amazing father, even if he didn’t see it all the time, but you were used to Renjun self-deprecation.

You just wished that he could see the man that you saw whenever you looked at him.  

---

Renjun is 29 years old. He felt like he was going through a midlife crisis, and he’d been spouting about how old he felt. All because his first-born baby had turned 10 years old. Jiyeon had grown up to be a smart, funny, caring, and witty girl. She never failed to make Renjun proud whenever she’d presented him with a certificate she’d achieved at school for her excellent work or for her caring personality. He was a proud father. Not that his other kids weren’t smart, but Jihyo had a tendency to tell lies or blame things on her brother. Like the time she’d spilt her juice on the new white carpet and had blamed it on Jinhyung. It was a week later that the truth came out and Renjun had to be the bad guy and take her Nintendo switch away from her for a week as a punishment. Renjun didn’t have a problem with Jinhyung, he was a little prince. But he did wish that he’d stop wetting the bed so much. Baby steps.

“Dad…” Renjun looked up from his phone, in the middle of texting Haechan about their weekend plans, to see Jiyeon standing in front of him. Her hands behind her back and a small smile playing on her lips.

“Yes honey?” He immediately put his phone down, giving her his full attention. She took a deep breath and hesitated. It took her another five seconds to pluck up the courage before she spoke.

“Can I live with you?” Her voice came out fast, with a slight waver to her tone from the nerves she felt flooding through her system. It wasn’t a big deal, but she was so desperate for him to say yes, that she felt an unfamiliar bubble of worry in her stomach. Renjun’s eyebrows furrowed, and he sat forward, setting his arms on his legs as he studied her.

“Why do you want to live here honey?” He reached a hand-out, taking hers in his own. His tattooed hand would look big and intimidating to most 10-year-olds, but the little girl stood in front of him trusted him with her whole life.

“Because I want to be with my family more.” Her words didn’t sit right with Renjun. It made him wonder why she didn’t consider her mother and stepfather as her family. Maybe he was reading too much into this, but he knew he had to dig deeper and find out the reason.

“Hmm…” He gave her a weak smile as he went over his thoughts in his head. “Why don’t you want to continue living at your mums though? Did something happen?” At Renjun’s question Jiyeon’s face turned into one of surprise, and she quickly shook her head.

“No! I just don’t have any siblings at mums, and I get super bored because she works a lot.” She shrugged and moved to sit beside her father. Renjun pursed his lips, weighing up his options. He came to a conclusion and gave her a sad smile.

“Mummy would miss you a lot though, how about I speak with her and arrange it so that you can stay here for a bit longer when it’s my turn to have you? You’re only 10 princess.” At this her face fell a little, but she quickly faked a smile and nodded in understanding. Renjun made another decision quickly and spoke before he’d had any time to really think it over. “How about when you turn 13, if you still want to live her permanently then you can okay? No questions asked, you can just move in and see your mum when you want. Deal?” He smiled as he looked down at his child, her face slowly lighting up at her father’s proposal. She stuck her hand out to him with a grin on her face.

“Deal.” He glanced down at her small hand, and with a chuckle he took her hand in his own, shaking it gently.

---

Renjun is 32 years old. And he never wanted to experience this. He’d always hoped that when the time came, you’d be around, or Jiyeon would be at her mothers. But there he sat, on the sofa with Jiyeon curled up against his side, tear tracks down her cheeks and a hot water bottle huddled against her stomach. Yes, she’d started her period. And now that Jiyeon officially lived under Renjun’s roof, he had to be the one to deal with it. He was stroking her hair, twirling the dark strands around his finger and hoping he did the right thing by providing her with her with the right products, and by making her a hot water bottle to try and soothe the burning ache of pains she was feeling. On his other side, cuddled up to him just like his sister, was Jinhyung. His left arm was in a cast, due to how he’d thrown himself down the stairs, trying to imitate how buzz lightyear tried to fly in toy story. Renjun was scared, because his son was showing a lot of signs of having his own personality. Jinhyung was 7 years old, and already a mini Renjun. Of course, Jihyo had egged him on. Why wouldn’t she? She thought it was hilarious watching her little brother yeet himself down the staircase after shouting ‘to infinity and beyond’.

That was a week ago, and Jinhyung was thriving, because you were treating him like he had a life-threatening injury. Constantly bringing him snacks, letting him have soda more than once a day, and giving him all the cuddles he could possibly want. Which you were grateful for, as you knew most boys stopped being cuddly with their mothers after they hit their teen years, so you were happily cashing in on your son’s clinginess. Jihyo still sniggered when she thought about the incident, and Renjun couldn’t help but laugh along with her instead of scolding her. Which often lead to you scolding him, but he struggled to contain his laughter when his mischievous daughter was laughing.

Jihyo was sat on the floor in front of them, drawing a picture of a flower in beautiful detail. She loved art, and when she’d told her father about her newfound hobby, he’d immediately taken her to the nearest arts and crafts store to buy her all the supplies she needed to feed her newfound skill.

Renjun couldn’t lie. He loved the peace and quiet of the room as they watched the third Jurassic park film, all the kids’ content and calm. But in typical fashion, it was Jihyo who interrupted the silence.

“Mums home!” She had heard your car pull up in the driveway, and she turned her head to the door as you quietly entered. You kicked your shoes off and smiled as you walked into the room, seeing your husband and babies all snuggled up and calm. Renjun turned his head to the door and gave you a beaming smile.

“Hey baby.” He greeted, gently removing his arms from around Jiyeon and Jinhyung so that he could push himself off the sofa. He walked over to you, taking your hand in his own and gently guiding you to the kitchen, out of earshot of the children.

“What’s up Renjunnie?” You shrugged your coat off, laying it on the chair of the dining table and giving Renjun a soft smile. He loved that even after all these years, you still called him Renjunnie, the little butterflies in his stomach always flapped their wings at the sound of the nickname.

“Jiyeon started her period. I gave her one of your pads and a hot water bottle…did I do it right?” The look of concern on his face made your heart melt, and a small giggle to leave your mouth. You nodded quickly to ease his worries, leading him to let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god, I didn’t know what to do so I googled it but I was kind of in a hurry so I didn’t read it properly and-“ You cut off his babbling by connecting your lips with his own. He visibly relaxed, his eyes drifting to a close and his hands finding purchase on your hips. A kiss form you could always relieve his stress, and it was working wonders for him now.

“You did great.” You whispered against his lips after you drew them back a few centimetres from his own.

“Thank you.” He took your compliment and wore it like an invisible badge on his chest, a big smile taking over his lips.

“I love you.” Your words echoed in his head, sending a thrill of excitement through his body, and making his heart rate speed up.

“I love you too.” He smiled as he kissed you, the curve of his lips pressed to yours made you also break out into a smile.

“Oh! I have something to tell you! I-”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” His face was one of concern as he cut you off. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and shook your head.

“No! I got a coupon for money off pizza…”

Renjun sighed in relief.

---

Well, this is it for Renjun’s story. I hope you enjoyed it and I want to thank you so much if you made it this far! I appreciate every single one of you. ❤

[itscalledreadingdarling]

Just an Accident - K. Bokuto Imagine

Y’all are gonna laugh - but this is based off of something that literally just happened to me : D

 Still don’t know if I’m gonna need stitches or not...

~

“Fuck.”

A loud curse left my mouth, bringing the attention of my roommate to me.

“You good?” He asked.

“Yeah just cut myself.”

“Cutting avocados?”

“Hey, it’s not as easy as it looks.” I cut back, rolling my eyes.

Bokuto chuckled and came up behind me as I ran my hand underwater.

“You okay?”

I cringed as I saw the blood bubble up, a small but deep cut on my left hand right between my thumb and pointer finger. I was lucky it didn’t cut the webbed skin, that would have made it almost impossible to heal.

Still, it looked deep and a part of me wondered if it would need stitches.

“I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt that much.”

In all honesty, the cut didn’t hurt, but the seeping blood and the skin that pulled apart made me feel sick.

“I’ll grab the bandaids, put some pressure on that cut.” 

I hummed in response, covering the cut with a paper towel. 

The longer I stood there, the more I could feel my nausea rising, no matter how hard I tried to push it down.

I leaned down on the cool granite counter, closing my eyes against the dizziness that accompanied my nausea.

“Woah, you doing alright? You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah, I just don’t feel good.” I breathed out. “I don’t do well with this kinda stuff.”

“Blood?”

“Eh, more of the thought that I might have to get stitches... and the separated skin.” 

Bokuto made a weird sound to show his disgust and I let out a soft laugh.

“Let’s see it then!”

I crinkled my nose as he opened the bandaid box, “You make it sound so exciting.” 

“Just lemme find the right one.” 

“You do that,” I said, sitting down on one of the stools. I stared at his concentrated expression, digging in the box, pulling a bandaid out, and inspecting it closely. 

Being his best friend for four years, I knew all his little quirks and odd ends and loved each one of them. From the way he would always hide under small tables when sad, to the way he insisted that we should have a handshake only for us, to the way he carefully inspected each band aid until he found the perfect one. 

My eyes were still locked onto his face when another round of nausea hit me hard. A low groan left my mouth, and I squeezed my eyes shut. 

“Oh shit, sorry,” Bokuto said quickly, and I could hear the concern in his voice. “Here, gimme your hand.”

“Since when are you a medical expert?” I teased through the nausea. 

“Akaashi showed me! Being a top ace and all, I get battle scars all the time” 

I laughed at his usual boastful energy, and held out my hand. “Well, you’re the expert.”

He cracked his knuckles in an almost comical way and then proceeded to lightly take hold of my wrist.

With a surprising amount of tenderness, Bokuto placed two small bandages on my hand in a cross formation, and one larger one over the top to secure the smaller ones. 

“Voila! Feel better?” 

“Ugh, not really, I feel like I’m gonna faint.” I debated bringing up the fact that his warm hand was still wrapped around my wrist, but I knew he would take it off, and some part of me didn’t want that to happen.

“Here, go lie down on the couch.” 

Bokuto guided me over to the couch and grabbed a pillow for me to lie my head down on. 

Throwing my arm over my eyes to block out the dizziness, I focused on trying not to throw up.

It was about 15 minutes of blocking out my surroundings before I felt normal once again, my stomach finally settling.

I opened my eyes to Bokoto chopping up some cilantro for our dinner. 

“Bo, you know it’s my turn to make dinner, lemme cook it.”

“Nope! You are severely injured and I must do my duty to avenge your poor cooking skills. Gotta prove to the food that we are still worthy of eating it.” 

A snort left my mouth at his words, “Uh-huh, and you’re sure you can do better?”

“Oh definitely.”

“Great, then I challenge you to a cookoff. Loser has to cook dinner for a week.” 

“You’re ON.” Going quiet, we both stared at each other. He eyed me suspiciously. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“Geez Bo, it was just a small cut.” 

“Uh you did kinda almost faint. Thought I was gonna have to swoop in like the amazing savior I am.” 

I was leaning on the counter towards him, my eyebrow quirked up.

“Is that so?”

He reciprocated my action, leaning towards me and quirking up his own eyebrow. 

“Can’t have my best friend fainting on me can we?”

“I don’t think we can afford to burn down the apartment again either.”

Bokuto’s eyes went wide and he leaned in closer.

“I thought we agreed not to ever mention the incident.”

“We did but I don’t think our landlord would like it if we had another cooking competition.. especially if it ends like last time.” I whispered back.

Bokuto looked over to the side at the food I was planning to cook, back to my bandaged hand, and back towards my eyes. “Take-out is always an option.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows.

I laughed, shaking my head. I didn’t dare count the number of times we had gotten take out in the past month and instead agreed to the suggestion. 

We had soon settled in with our food on the couch, watching a Disney movie as we liked to do. 

Sitting side by side, eyes glued on the screen, I hadn’t realized that Bokuto had been inching his hand closer to my left one until he clasped onto it.

My heart skipped a beat and I looked over to him, noticing his face was a bright red. 

“Uhhhh, Bokuto?” I raised our joined hands. “What’s this?”

“I’m protecting your hand.” He said, and he sounded so serious that a smile crossed my face.

“And what are you protecting it from exactly?”

“Monsters. And avocados. Of course.” 

“Of course,” I said, rolling my eyes in humor, “How could I not know that?”

“We can’t have your hand getting more hurt can we?”

“It was an accident Bo, it won’t happen again.” 

And because of the movie in the background, the outside street noise, and the way that his voice was just above a murmur, so unlike his usual boisterous tone, I almost missed it - a sentence that made me giddy from head to toe.

“Well maybe you should get into accidents more often.”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Running

A/N: Here is my entry for @obsessedwithrandomthings​ 500 followers celebrations! Congratulations Dee! You more than deserve this! The prompt I used is in the summary, but I have also bolded it in the text. Thank you so much for letting me take part! The gif doesn't really match the theme of the fic but I searched ‘running’ and it was the best of them lol. I’m also less than 10 followers away from 800 so this is exciting!! As always, I hope you all enjoy!!

Summary: “Run away with me,” You plead, hands framing his face, “It’ll be worth it.”

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, mentions of death and anxiety, vomit - there is a lot of worry and anxiety in this, so please don't read if you don’t like, but I have tried to wrap it up in a fluffy fashion!!

Word count: 1.5k

Your stomach had been a ball of anxiety all night. Nothing anyone said could dampen the fear that was crawling its way up your throat. Something was going to happen tonight, and it wasn’t going to be good.

Your fears are proven correct when Sirius lands in the hallway, holding up a drastically bleeding Remus. His blood stains his white button-up shirt and drips steadily onto the floor.

The scream is caught in your throat. You look wildly at Sirius, demanding an explanation. Sirius explains quickly; they had been tailed as they were following their own targets. Remus threw himself in front of Sirius to protect him from the Sectumsempra curse.

“I couldn’t take him to St. Mungo’s. I don’t know who works there, but I’ve already called for a Healer I can trust,” Sirius shudders, murmuring the levitation charm straight after, following Remus up the stairs in a hurry.

His blood stains the carpet in the hall and would stain the stairs too, but it was the last thing on your mind as you hurry behind Sirius. Remus is laid on the bed; his face contorted in pain, barely conscious but still aware of the pain lancing through his body.

Wordlessly, you conjure clean towels from the airing cupboard, holding them to the cuts across Remus’ chest and arms. Sirius takes a towel from you, holding it to the wound across his stomach.

The Healer arrives in what seems like hours, but it could have been minutes. Your eyes do not leave Remus as you press towel after towel to his cuts, trying to stem the bleeding despite knowing that nothing but magic would help.

Sirius’ hand on your shoulder has you stepping away from the love of your life, letting the Healer complete his work. Your hands are covered in Remus’ blood; your clothes too, are ruined. You barely make it to the toilet to empty your stomach. Sirius is there, holding your hair back, muttering comforting words to you. You press your forehead to the cold porcelain, trying to take everything in now that the adrenaline was leaving your body, but your brain couldn’t comprehend what you had just been witness to.

You force yourself to stand; pushing down the fresh wave of nausea as you make your way back into the bedroom, to Remus. He lies on the bed; his body entirely healed, but deeply asleep.

“I’ve had to give him a strong sleeping draught. He lost a lot of blood and whilst I was able to heal the injuries, there’s going to be some damage internally. He needs to be asleep for it to heal which, with his lycanthropy, will heal in a few days.”

“How long will he be asleep then?” Sirius asks, learning the information to relay to you later. He knows that at the moment, you would not be listening to word being said. That all of your attention would be focused on the man on your bed, asleep and no longer in any pain.

You refuse to leave his side. They all try to coax you from your room. Sirius promises he’ll stay with him so you can shower, but you refuse. Harry tries his hardest to get you to come downstairs to eat, but it doesn’t work. Instead, he leaves for a moment before coming back with a plate of food. You nibble at it, but the nausea soon returns.

The first day blends seamlessly into the second and there’s no change in Remus. He lies on his side of the bed in clean clothes and clean sheets, sleeping peacefully. You admire him from your spot in the armchair across the room; this would the first time in a long time that Remus had managed to get a solid block of sleep without being interrupted by the order or the lunar cycle. You think it every time but in sleep, you see the Marauder in him. You see the teenager you had fallen in love with one afternoon by the Black Lake. The teenager who had stuttered through asking you out but soon found his confidence once you had accepted.

For years it had been you and Remus. The only survivors of the first wizarding war, Remus claimed though it pained him to say it.

On the third day of your vigil beside the bed, Remus groans before blinking against the bright light of the morning. You’re out of your seat in an instant, lurching to the end of the bed with tears in your eyes. “Remus, you’re awake! How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

“I’m sore, but I’m okay. I don’t need anything right now.”

You sag in relief, “I am so happy you’re awake, dear. That was the most terrifying time of my life.”

“Even more than the time you saw me as a wolf?” Remus tries to joke, but he winces instead.

“This isn’t a joking situation, Remus!” You cry, “Do you remember what happened?”

“I remember being followed and then jumping in front of Sirius and then blinding pain. I passed out then, I think.”

Your hands grip the bedpost at the end of the bed, “Sirius brought you back here and we called in a Healer. You were hit with the Sectumsempra curse and your blood was everywhere, and I couldn’t stop it-” You break off suddenly; your words getting caught in your throat.

The sudden urge to run overwhelms you. Your eyes dart around the room – to the suitcases, to the wardrobes. A plan begins to form in your head; a few more days healing was all that Remus would require before he’s stable enough to apparate. You know of a place where you couldn’t be traced where he could spend a few weeks or so recuperating before you run for real.

The desire to leave it all behind takes over. In that moment, the only thing you could ever want is a longer life with the man lying on the bed in front of you. If this war continued, how long would you have? Optimism in this situation is vitally important but as your eyes return to Remus, running over the war-weary, pale face of the love of your life, all you want is to go.

To go and never look back.

“Run away with me,” You start, rushing to his side, hands framing his face, “It’ll be worth it.”

“Where would we go?” He asks, his eyes bright with possibilities.

“Anywhere – the country, the coast, abroad. Run away with me Remus, before the war swallows us whole.”

“What about the Order? Darling, we can’t leave them.”

“Fuck that, Remus. Look at yourself! You can barely move.” You stand, gesturing to the four walls in which you stand, “These last few days have been my own personal hell; I didn’t know if you were going to wake up. For the first time in my life, I have had to face a possibility of a life without you and I won’t do it. Not again. Run away with me, Remus.” Your eyes are wild as you plead to him, beg to him to consider doing this.

Remus’ eyes search yours, looking for what, you don’t know. You know the minute you’ve lost the battle, and you would be remaining where you are. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” You ask brokenly.

“You won’t leave Harry, love. You’re his godmother – you won’t let him face this war without you, you simply won’t.”

The tears that were previously lining your eyes now overflow onto your cheeks. You look at Remus through watery eyes, not bothering to stem the flow. ���You can’t do this to me again, Remus. I will not live in a world that does not have you in it, do you understand?”

“I understand, darling.” Remus holds his hand out for you. You stumble over to him, desperate to touch some part of him. With a light tug, he has you sat next to him on the bed you share. “I’m here now,” he whispers, “I don’t plan on leaving for a long, long time.”

You sniffle, “Good. I didn’t like the look of my life without you.”

“What have I missed then; in the three days I’ve been asleep?”

You look at him, somewhat sheepishly, “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t left this room.”

Remus frowns at you. “Darling, please tell me you’ve eaten and taken care of yourself.”

“I’ve eaten a little, but I didn’t want to leave you and I didn’t want to let anyone look after you.”

“I really did scare you, didn’t I?”

You nod, “Beyond scare, Remus. I couldn’t think straight, I don’t think I’ve thought a coherent thought since Sirius appeared with you in the hall.”

He brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to the back of your hand. “I am so sorry, my love.”

“You don’t need to apologise, Remus. You did nothing wrong.”

“Nevertheless. I am sorry, I didn’t think before throwing myself in front of Sirius, and I should have.”

“You were protecting your best friend.”

Remus shrugs, but winces at the stiffness in his joints, “I will not leave you like that again. The minute I’m out of this bed I’m speaking to Dumbledore, demanding lighter missions. I’m too fond of this life to leave it prematurely.”

Tears start anew as you lie next to the man you so dearly love. Gripping his hand in both of yours, you press it your chest, “I’m too fond of you to let you leave it prematurely.”

**************

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[julilihatfun]

Prompty prompt: Geralt is really struggling in a battle and Jaskier can't just stand by and watch anymore, so he goes up there and kinda saves Geralt, giving him the chance to finally kill the monster...BUT Jaskier is hurt in the process which he doesn't want to admit, being the hero for the first time. He hides it until he just passes out and Geralt takes care of him, mad at himself for letting the bard get hurt, but also thankful. Sorry it's not very original, but hope you like it!

Prompt request: Jaskier hits his head and is concussed and ends up moody, disoriented, and uncoordinated, maybe a bit nauseous, but Geralt never saw him hit his head and has to find out through a careful insoection when he realizes his travelling companion is acting strangely. 

Hey guys - sorry for disappearing for a while :( Everything is just really overwhelming at the moment and well :((( but I hope you enjoy this and I really hope, that you are safe and well!!! (I combined two prompts for this, because it kind of seemed fitting)

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Jaskier watched Geralt fight – at first, in awe (as always, because honestly: how can one fight so ferociously while looking that graceful), but then in concern, because the Witcher seemed to be in trouble. And that was something that Jaskier had never seen before.

The giant creature loomed over Geralts head – all bloodthirsty and monster-like – while Geralt frantically scrambled away from it and towards the heavy iron sword that had been smacked away from him a few moments earlier.

“Geralt!”, Jaskier screamed and he sounded hysterical and panicked, but he did not care at all. This was a literal nightmare come to life. 

“Stay down!”, Geralt roared, not even looking at the bard, because he was too busy dodging attack after attack.

And it did not look like the beast was getting tired. Which, in turn, meant, that staying down was not an option if he wanted Geralt to actually survive this shit.

He did not even have to think about it then – just jumped up and out of his hiding place with a loud, screechy screaming noise, that kind of betrayed his fear, and stumbled towards the fight.

He seemed to be much less interesting than Geralt (highly offensive, if you asked him – he did not wear those ridiculously colourful outfits to be ignored like this), because the huge thing did not even take one eye away from Geralts prone form.

Geralt screamed at him to ‘get the fuck back’, while Jaskier searched the forest ground for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. He had to be fast, because Geralt seemed to come no closer to gaining back control over the fight.

“Aha!”, he cheered, when he finally found something that could work.

And throwing a stone at the creature really did seem to finally do the trick, because it suddenly turned on Jaskier in an alarming speed.

“Oi!”, Jaskier bellowed, tripping over his own feet in an effort to get away faster. “Stop.”

He was not fast enough, of course, because he felt the thing yank his feet out from under him, making him fall hard. His head was catapulted forward in a sickening motion and bounced off of the moist ground, which definitely hurt a lot.

Jaskier turned around, seeing stars dance around his vision, just in time to see Geralt (who apparently was much faster than Jaskier) bring his sword down on the beast’s neck, effectively separating its ugly head from its massive body.

Jaskier barely had enough time to roll away when the thing started falling towards him and felt the ground shake beneath him, when the monsters mutilated form came down right next to him.

He stared at the beast for a long moment in silent wonder, then his gaze swept to Geralt, who was already staring at him.

“I take partial credit for this one.”, he said then, shakily, moving to pull himself up on a nearby tree.

Geralt huffed, still eying him grimly. He growled out a clipped: “That was incredibly dumb.”, which made the bard gasp in mock-hurt.

“Geralt how dare you? I practically saved your life back there! – quite heroically, if I dare say so myself.”, Jaskier snapped back jokingly. And he knew that he would have handled the situation better had he known even the most basic fighting techniques, but he did not have any skills and stuff somehow still worked out, so he felt pretty proud of himself.

Geralt closed his eyes in frustration and heaved out a heavy sigh, before surprising Jaskier with a grumbled: “I did not say that you did not save my life.” Geralt threw him a stern look. “But that does not make it any less stupid.”

Jaskier practically glowed with glee and pride. “I can already envision the glorious ballad! Brave Jaskier, the humble bard, fearlessly throwing himself into the raging battle of-“

“Jaskier.”

“Yeah?”

“You threw a stone.” Jaskier actually saw the bastards mouth twitching in the effort to hide a grin. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Hey! I threw that stone very bravely!”

Geralt actually huffed out a small laugh then, but when he took in the bards disgruntled clothes, smeared with dirt and grime, his face grew serious again. “You went down pretty hard. You hurt anywhere?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Warriors don’t get hurt.”

“You broke a toe dancing last month.”, Geralt noted dryly. “Well, come to think of it, I guess you did not get hurt as you’d already be whining about it if you did.”

“Hey, that toe-thing hurt.”, Jaskier pouted. “I normally am very pain resistant.”

“Sure are.”

And they left it at that. Although Jaskier knew how immensely grateful Geralt really was, when he offered him a spot on Roach (which Jaskier, obviously, happily accepted).

Riding, for some weird reason, made Jaskier kind of dizzy, so he could barely force down three bites of his stew, before he surrendered and pushed his plate towards Geralt.

“Can you get horse sick?”, he asked dreamily and immediately felt Geralts boring stare on him. He looked up. “What?”

“You’re sick?”, Geralt inquired suspiciously, having been wary ever since Jaskier fell oddly silent as soon as they had mounted Roach.

“I never said that.”, Jaskier exclaimed defensively. “It’s probably the adrenaline wearing off.”

“Hm.”

“Nothing a good pint of ale won’t be able to fix, right? And a good night’s sleep – we should really think about sleeping in real beds more often. You know, to get proper rest and socialize instead of wasting away in the forest.”, Jaskier rambled on, desperate to change the subject in order to not have Geralt on his case all week because of a bit on an upset stomach.

“Hm.”

“Spoilsport.”

They separated for the night shortly after; Geralt immediately retreating to their shared room and Jaskier spending some time wooing the small audience with carefully composed songs and mirror-practiced charms. Though, Jaskier did call it a night unusually early too, having promised himself that healing sleep will free him from all ailments that came with kind-of fighting alongside Geralt.

And well, he was wrong.

He woke up to a splitting headache.

“Yikes.”, he groaned as he sat up, bringing up both hands to massage his temples.

“Had a drop too much?”

And as Jaskier thought about it, he came to the conclusion, that he actually had no idea how much he drank the evening prior – not the normal blank he drew, when the evening blurred together in a mass of pints and shots and girls and… no, this was a complete memory lapse.

To him, it was annoying more than scary, really.

“Screw you, Geralt.”, Jaskier snapped, because Geralt sounded way too smug for his liking. Also, no matter how hard he tried, he could not draw up a single memory.

“Touchy, aren’t you?”, Geralt asked with an obvious smirk.

Jaskier snorted. “Are we leaving?”, he asked then, when his gaze fell on Geralts packed bags; took in the Witcher’s general impatient demeanour.

“Yeah.”, Geralt confirmed his fears. “Took you long enough to wake.”

He looked at Jaskier for a moment, as if searching for something. “Breakfast is on me.”

Geralt’s way of showing gratitude. Jaskier knew, that he should be immensely happy, but he just felt… kind of weird and muddle-headed. Also, still very nauseous.

“I feel so loved.”, he cheered weakly, mostly out of habit. He could probably stomach some food anyways – most times, it even helped him get over a hangover.

When Jaskier had packed up and they stepped out of the inn and into a small tavern, the smell of freshly cooked eggs and beans wafting their way, Jaskier changed his mind.

“Know what:-“, he choked out, dizzily. “I guess I’m not hungry after all. I’ll just… stay with Roach. Outside.”

“Hm.”, Geralt grunted dangerously. “You barely ate yesterday evening.”

“I’m watching my figure.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt watched the bards face take on a greyish-green hue and he grabbed Jaskiers upper arm roughly, dragging him outside, and nearly pushed him into a bush off the beaten path, away from prying eyes.

“Do what you have to do.”, Geralt said, and it almost sounded compassionate.

“I’m fine.”, Jaskier gulped, despite all logic and appearance. “Jus’ hungover or somethin’.”

“Hmm.”

“Seriously.”, Jaskier mumbled, still breathing heavily in an attempt to fight off the nausea.

“Right.”, Geralt sighed, watching Jaskiers face slowly morph into a more healthy-looking colour. “If you think so.”

“You going back in?”

“No.”, Geralt said, eying Jaskier warily. “Let’s just leave. We can eat later.”

“Alright.”, the bard sighed. His head still hurt and he suddenly felt exhausted. “Let’s, then.”

They walked towards Roach in silence and – unusually enough – it was Geralt who finally broke it, when he strapped his bag onto her back. “You wanna ride with me?”

Just the thought made Jaskier feel terribly ill again. “Hard pass.” He knew that walking would be tough on him too, but there was something distinct to the jostling motion on the horse’s saddle that made it particularly unattractive to him that day.

Geralt eyed him suspiciously. He did not often offer, but when he did, Jaskier never refused.

“You’re acting strange.”, he noted. “Well, more so than usual.”

“Ouch.”, Jaskier said, already a few steps ahead of the Witcher. “I’m great, and you know it.”

So they walked – or well, Jaskier walked. And he kept walking, even when he kept getting dizzier and more disoriented and his head started pounding in earnest.

It was when stars started dancing around his vision, that he knew that he was in real trouble. “Geralt-“, he breathed, hearing his own voice tremble and crack.

And he saw Geralt stop abruptly and turn out of the corner of his eye, before his vision went entirely black.

 When Jaskier woke up, the first thing he noticed was his still-pounding head. Then, something weird, wet on his still-pounding head. “Th’fuck.”, he mumbled in disgust, slowly moving to sit up.

“Stay down.”, a low voice growled.

“G’ralt?”

“Don’t want you doing more damage than you already did.”

“Ow.” Jaskier sat up despite Geralts warning because honestly, that’s just the kind of person he was, and one of Geralts old shirts, all wet and bunched up, fell into his lap with a splat. “Huh.”

He heard Geralt sigh. “Stubborn bastard.” Then, Geralts face was only inches away from his own.

“Uh, Geralt.”

“Look at me.” Geralt stared more intently into his eyes.

“You’re scaring me.”, Jaskier mumbled weakly. Focusing on Geralt was exhausting and the sun’s brightness was only making him feel worse.

Geralt straightened up again. “You hit your head yesterday.”

“Is that supposed to be a question?”

“Not if we both know the answer.”

“Right.” Jaskier continued squinting at Geralt. “I might have hit it.”

Geralt let out a big sigh. “Thank you for telling me right away instead of fainting in the middle of our journey.”

Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows (which made his head pound more fiercely, but well: worth it). “Are you… being sarcastic right now?”

“You were out for hours, Jaskier.”, Geralt snarled, clearly signalling that he was not to be joked with right now. “Wouldn’t wake.”

“I…”, Jaskier began, before letting his head fall into his hands. “Can we do this when my head does not feel like it’s splitting in two?”

He felt a warm hand on his back, lowering him back down, before it vanished for a second and returned with Geralts wet shirt, draping it over his face. Jaskier sighed in pleasure. The ground beside his sleeping mat rustled and he felt Geralt lowering himself down next to him.

There was awkward silence where Jaskier would normally chatter away. But he was to achy and tired to do so then.

“I should have noticed earlier.”, he heard Geralt grumble after a while, mostly to himself, as it seemed. He frowned.

“Stop, your self-pity is making my head hurt.”

“Your concussion is making your head hurt.”

Jaskier sighed, trying to snuggle closer to Geralt in search of comfort. A big hand settled on his shoulder. “Maybe that, yeah.”, he agreed, putting his own hand over Geralts.

The Witcher breathed out a gentle laugh. “Rest, Jaskier.”

[goldenhemmings]

When You Love Someone | Streetfighter!Shawn (Part Four)

Whew. Hi. Not sure if anyone still cares about this series and I know Shawnblr isn’t what it used to be but I’ve had this part near completion for months and I finally just forced myself to finish it. Thank you to everyone who has still taken the time to send me messages of support for my writing over the past few months even though I’ve hardly posted anything. It means the world to me!

Also want to take this space to say very briefly that with everything going on in the world right now (especially for my fellow friends in the U.S.), staying out of politics/current events is a privilege and it is our responsibility to participate and to stay informed and aware. Do your part. 

With that being said, here is 5.8k words of Streetfighter!Shawn. There’s naturally some violence and all that stuff, so please don’t read if that’s something that would bother you. You can find parts one, two, and three in my masterlist. Enjoy!!

“Hey,” was the first word Y/N heard the next morning, and she groaned as she blinked her groggy eyes several times to slowly let in the light of the room. The first thing she became aware of was Shawn leaning over her, his hand on her hip as he lightly shook her awake. The second was the splitting headache that she felt in her temples. She moaned, still half-asleep as she covered her eyes with her arm to block out the brightness of the room. She had yet to realize the situation she was in.

“I know you’re tired,” Shawn continued, slightly amused as he continued to shake her into full consciousness, “but you have class. You should get up.”

Class. It’s Friday. That realization alone was enough to have Y/N jolting up like she was waking from a nightmare. “What time is it?” she cried, not missing the way Shawn, looking like a deer caught in headlights, had jumped back with a start.

“It’s 10. You have an hour.”

“Fucking hell,” she grunted, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She flew around the room, familiar to her only as bits and pieces of broken memories from the night before flooded back, and noticed a pile of her clothes in the corner at about the same time she realized she was clad only in a large t-shirt that certainly didn’t belong to her. She dashed over to retrieve last night’s outfit. “I’m gonna be so fucking late.”

“Relax,” Shawn reassured, moving to place his hands on her arms in an effort to ground her. “You have an entire hour.”

“I need to get home and change,” she mumbled, raising a hand to her aching forehead. 

“I’ll drive you.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I do,” he chuckled. “I promised you last night that I would.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, sheepishly, trying to ignore the small wave of nausea beginning to creep up on her. She didn’t remember that. “How are you, like, okay right now?” she queried, reaching to grab her phone from where it sat on the nightstand. “God, I feel like crap.”

He laughed softly. “I can obviously handle alcohol better than you.”

“No shit,” Y/N replied snarkily, laughing despite herself as she reached to pull her matted hair up into a hair tie. Wine always does you dirty, you idiot. What were you thinking? 

Shawn grinned, flopping back onto the bed and reaching to rest his hands under his head. As Y/N went to tug on her jeans, she realized for the first time that morning that Shawn was shirtless. She didn’t even have time to appreciate it before a wave of panic had set in. My clothes are on the floor. I stayed the night at his place. I don’t remember anything.

Y/N looked up at Shawn, wide-eyed. She took a deep breath. “Did we…?”

It took him a second to understand what she was insinuating, but as soon as he did he sat up immediately, his wide eyes mirroring Y/N’s. “God, no,” he replied. “You were drunk. I was too, for what it’s worth. You just slept here.”

“Right,” Y/N mumbled, slightly humiliated that she even had to ask. She’d never done anything like this before, and especially not on a night where she had class the next morning. “Okay.”

Shawn propped his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his hands. “I can take you whenever you want to leave.”

She glanced around the room one last time to make sure she had all of her belongings, then brought her eyes to Shawn. “Now’s good.”

“Do you want some ibuprofen or something first?” he offered, not oblivious to the massive hangover she was undoubtedly experiencing. 

But Y/N just shook her head, already out of his room and heading to the front door of the apartment. “I’ll be fine.”

Shawn laughed, pulling a shirt on and grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter. “Whatever you say.”

He followed her down the dingy corridor towards the single working elevator, and they could hear it clanging to a stop on their floor before the familiar ding that preceded the opening of the doors had sounded. Shawn allowed Y/N to go in first, and he reached past her to press the button for the first floor. 

Y/N heaved a deep breath, taking in the complex’s surroundings as she and Shawn stepped out into the parking lot. Just how run down Westgate was became so much clearer in the daylight--startlingly so. 

Westgate was scary; there wasn’t a single person in the entire city that wouldn’t admit that much. In all actuality, Shawn made enough money from his fights that he could easily afford to stay in a much safer area. His current apartment was all he’d had the money for when he moved out of his parents’ house, but for whatever reason, he’d grown too attached to the place to want to relocate somewhere nicer. Additionally, Westgate was close to Dynamite, and it was where most of the people he ran with lived. He’d grown to not mind it; something he knew most people would never understand. 

The ride to Y/N’s house was silent, for which she and her pounding head were appreciative. “I’ll be quick,” she mumbled as Shawn pulled into her driveway, fishing her key out of her purse.

“No rush,” he responded. He watched with a slight smile as she made her way up the driveway to her doorstep, almost amused at the possibility that she was angry with herself for behavior anyone else would consider normal for a college student. 

Y/N turned the key into the lock of the front door, wincing at the creaking sound it made as she pushed it open. She crossed her fingers in the hopes that she wouldn’t run into her roommates, but her wishes were immediately denied as she heard Jade’s voice floating out from the kitchen. “Y/N? Is that you?”

Y/N didn’t answer, instead just turning to shut the door behind her. She saw Jade come into view, her curly dark hair pushed off of her face with a headband. “Woah. You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Y/N scoffed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Where were you?” her roommate continued, and Y/N leaned back against the front door and pressed a hand to her temple. “Brook and I were worried. We didn’t hear from you all night.”

“I was with Shawn.”

“All night?” she shrieked, and Y/N swore the sound made her brain rattle inside her skull.

“You’re gonna want to speak very softly to me,” she warned. “And as much as I’d love to stand here and have this conversation right now, I have class in half an hour and Shawn is waiting outside for me to get my shit.”

“And change your clothes, I’m assuming,” Jade chirped, and Y/N couldn’t even manage the energy to roll her eyes. 

“Thanks for that,” she griped, moving towards the stairs that would lead to her bedroom. 

“Want coffee?” Jade asked, but Y/N only shook her head no before disappearing down the hallway. After brushing her teeth and swapping her day-old outfit for some clean leggings and a freshly-washed hoodie, Y/N shoved her laptop into her backpack and swung it over her shoulder, silently praying that the computer was charged enough to get her through class. She clambered down the stairs and grabbed a protein bar from the kitchen despite the fact that even the mere thought of eating made her want to throw up, then threw it into her bag before retreating back to Shawn’s car. 

“Have everything?” he asked, and as soon as he saw her nod he put the Jeep into reverse to guide it out of the driveway. 

Y/N spent the brief car ride resting her forehead against the cool glass of the passenger side window and reveling in the silence that she knew would end the second she got to campus. Shawn eventually pulled up in front of the building Y/N’s class was held in, and she reluctantly pulled her backpack up into her lap.

“What time are you done?” Shawn asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had characterized the trip from Y/N’s house to campus. “I’ll pick you up.”

She immediately shook her head, already feeling guilty for all that he’d done for her in the past twelve hours. “Don’t worry about it, it’s okay.”

“I want to,” he insisted, and Y/N took a deep breath as she realized that this was a battle she’d surely lose. 

“It’s supposed to end at 12:30, but the professor might let us out early because it’s Friday. I’ll text you.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, already looking forward to it even though Y/N had yet to leave the car.

“Stay out of trouble while I’m gone,” she teased, and Shawn laughed.

“No promises,” he joked back, leaning in to kiss her quickly before unlocking the car door. He watched her slide out of the Jeep and immediately press a hand to her forehead as the unfiltered light hit her eyes, and Shawn sat behind the steering wheel with a goofy smile on his face as he watched her climb the steps up to her class. 

When she set her things down at her usual place in the lecture hall, Y/N finally had a moment to breathe and process her thoughts; despite the rush, she’d made it to class with just over five minutes to spare. She had been so preoccupied with the hangover and her race to get to campus that she hadn’t even had time to reflect on the previous night; no chance to be excited about it, no chance to relive the memories that would surely make her stomach flutter, and no chance to even thank Shawn for all he’d done for her from showing her his secret rooftop, to telling her about his past, to sharing countless glasses of wine with her and allowing her to stay the night, and making sure she got to class the next day. She vowed to find a way to properly thank him as soon as the fogginess in her brain cleared up enough to allow her to think clearly. 

Shawn, on the other hand, could do nothing but think about the previous night as he drove back to his apartment. He’d hated having to wake Y/N up that morning; there was nothing in his life that had ever made him happier than seeing Y/N’s peaceful face pressed into his pillow, her body curled into his sheets. He hadn’t wanted to be the one to put an end to it. As he drove he thought about getting her coffee, but decided it would be better to stop for it on his way back, so he pulled into the parking lot of his run-down apartment complex as planned.

From that point, however, any plans he had were out the window.

As Shawn turned into his typical parking space, he couldn’t help but notice a familiarly burly, blond-haired man standing in the spot and thus blocking Shawn’s path. Axel. Shawn froze, but he did his best to feign nonchalance as he shifted the Jeep into park and slid out of the driver’s seat. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his skin instantaneously crawling in response to the casual smile that crossed Axel’s mouth.

“I want to talk about the stunt you pulled with Damon at the bar the other night.” 

Shawn sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. That little shit swore he wouldn’t say anything. “What about the stunt you pulled with me? Interrupting one of my fights to get some bullshit form of revenge because you still can’t stand that I beat you?”

Axel’s jaw clenched. “Is that why you ran the second I showed up?” he interrogated, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “Because you really seemed confident in your ability to beat me then.”

“That’s not how it happened, and you know it. You had me triple-teamed.”

“Get over yourself.”

“Could say the same to you,” Shawn laughed, but he took a threatening step closer to the blond in front of him. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”

The same sickening smile made its way back onto Axel’s face, and though he’d never admit it, it began to make Shawn uneasy. “I was waiting to confront you again until I had leverage.”

“What leverage?” Shawn spat, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Damon said your little dispute that night was over some girl he’d never seen before.” 

Shawn ignored his instigative words. “Wouldn’t call it a ‘dispute’ so much as him getting his ass kicked. And for good reason.”

“Maybe so,” Axel conceded. “But we can agree that it was over a girl?” Shawn was quiet, but he swallowed heavily. “Right,” Axel continued, seemingly accepting Shawn’s silence as an affirmative. “So I had him and Rocco do some investigating, and--” Shawn’s heart plummeted. 

“What, have you been following her?” Shawn interrupted, fists clenched at his sides.

Axel lit up with a sort of delighted expression, his sharp blue eyes unwavering from Shawn’s face. “So there is a girl.”

Shawn strode toward his challenger until he was less than a foot away from his face. “Did you have her followed?” he repeated furiously.

“At first,” Axel admitted, and Shawn’s blood boiled hot. “But then Raven decided to help us out. You know she’s never been one to keep her mouth shut.”

Raven. Of course. “I swear to God, Axel. She is a nice person and she doesn’t deserve any part of this. You lay a single fucking finger on her and I’ll--”

“Easy, Mendes,” Axel laughed, much to Shawn’s chagrin. “I don’t know what she looks like. Hell, I don’t even know her name. But I guess Raven was right when she told me that you really seem to give a shit about her.”

Shawn scoffed, incredulous. “What, are you running around with Raven now?”

“Jealous?” Axel smirked.

Shawn could only laugh at the assertion. “You two deserve each other, that’s all.”

“You’ve been there too, Mendes. What does that say about you?”

“What do you want?” Shawn demanded, ignoring Axel’s antics, but the phrase was flat and menacing; less of a question and more of a command. “Stop wasting my time talking about whatever leverage you think you have and tell me what you actually want.”

“Nothing, really,” Axel replied, making a dramatic show of shrugging his shoulders. “Just came to give you fair warning that the next time you decide to take on me or one of my guys outside of Dynamite, we have a pretty good idea of how to get back at you. And I have a feeling it’d hurt a hell of a lot more than a punch to the face.”

“Do not threaten her.”

“I mean it as more of a threat to you. Like I said,” Axel went on, ignoring Shawn, “I don’t know her name or what she looks like, but I could find out so fucking quick if you don’t stay in your own lane. Try me.”

Shawn didn’t realize he’d punched Axel until he recognized the pain in his own knuckles. Or maybe it was when he felt Axel’s fist collide with the corner of his mouth in retaliation. Regardless, Shawn’s mind was overwhelmingly clouded with rage and protectiveness and a thousand other feelings he was too emotional to pinpoint. Mentally Shawn was back at Dynamite, taking on a challenger as he had done so many times before. But now, for the first time in his life, there was a real reason why he was fighting. He didn’t care that he was in a parking lot; no one, not even Axel, would threaten Y/N and expect to walk away from it unscathed. 

Armed with a motivation and an anger he’d never felt before, Shawn got to work. Axel was pinned on the pavement within seconds, thrashing under Shawn’s strength so violently that it was almost funny. 

“Are we done now?” Shawn grunted, reveling in the way Axel struggled underneath him. 

“Behind you,” Axel heaved, turning his head to the side to spit blood onto the pavement. “Cops.” 

Shawn smirked. “Can’t take it?”

“I’m serious, man,” he groaned. “Look.”

Shawn was still tense, but he turned over his shoulder anyways only to catch sight of the squad car Axel was talking about parked across the street. “Shit.”

“We’ll finish this another time.” Axel turned to run off, but not before Shawn could grab him and immediately pull him into a tight chokehold. 

“Why do you keep trying to fight me when I always win?” he sneered. “Give up.”

“Let me go before I flip you over my shoulder,” came Axel’s equally menacing reply, but Shawn knew he wouldn’t have the energy left to do so. 

“When I do, you’ll leave Y/N alone,” he seethed into Axel’s ear. “Got it?”

“If you stay out of my shit, then yes,” Axel grunted, lacking the energy to fight back. He turned to face Shawn after being released from his grasp, his blue eyes narrowed and his lips pulled up as though something was curious or amusing. With his cockiness, it was hard to believe he’d just been in a chokehold. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Leave,” Shawn commanded, not at all willing to put up with Axel’s antagonizing words or draw unwanted attention. 

Once Axel had darted off around the corner of the building, Shawn, not bothering to address the fact that his Jeep was only halfway in its parking spot, ducked his head and dashed towards the lobby of his dilapidated apartment complex. He ignored the throbbing in his lip and the metallic taste of blood on his tongue as he maneuvered his way to the elevator without drawing the attention of the elderly woman working in the lobby, breathing a sigh of relief once he was safely behind the closed doors and en route to his floor. 

Once inside his apartment, Shawn made a beeline for the bathroom. He took in his reflection and sighed; he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. He grabbed a washcloth and wet it under the sink, bringing it up to scrub at the blood around the corner of his mouth that was beginning to dry. 

He didn’t bother to be gentle or work around his pain; after years of fighting, it was something he was oddly numb to. He could see his eye beginning to bruise, and as he clenched the cloth in his hand he noticed that his knuckles were, too. He laughed to himself as he wondered how much worse Axel would look.

It wasn’t until the last of the blood had been rinsed down the drain when realization dawned on him: he’d forgotten about Y/N.

“No, no, no,” he rambled, immediately pulling out his phone to find three messages from her that he’d missed.

12:24 Hey! I just got out of class. I know it’s a little early, so take your time.

12:40 Are you close?

12:57 I’m just gonna walk. Talk to you later.

And then nothing. 

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, dialing her number with no thought of what he was even going to say. 

After sitting through a mind-numbing lecture for an hour and then walking home through a hangover, all Y/N wanted to do was shower, put fresh clothes on, and sleep for the rest of the day. She was just about to test the water temperature in her shower when her phone rang, so she reached for where it sat on the bathroom counter and took a deep breath when she saw Shawn’s name lighting up the screen. She didn’t realize that she’d made the conscious decision to answer the call until she heard herself saying hello. 

“I’m so sorry I forgot,” Shawn blurted. “I promise there’s a reason.”

She sighed as she took in his words, too exhausted to bother with it. “It’s really no big deal.”

“Yeah, it is, though,” he responded. “Can I pick you up in a little bit? We can get dinner and I can try to make it up to you.”

“Not tonight, Shawn. I’m really tired. I’ve gotta go.”

Shawn groaned when he realized she’d hung up, pressing a hand to his forehead in frustration with himself. It didn’t take long before he’d grabbed his keys and decided to make the drive to Y/N’s house; he wanted to give her a real apology, and he wanted her to know that he cared enough to do it in person.

When Y/N got out of her shower, feeling significantly better than she had all day, all she could think about was going to sleep, even if it was only three in the afternoon. She changed into fresh, clean clothes and crawled into bed, heaving a sigh of relief after she felt every muscle in her body relax into the mattress.

It seemed that not even two seconds after her head had touched the pillow, one of her roommates was calling out for her from downstairs. At first Y/N ignored it, opting instead to pull the covers up over her face as though it would successfully shut her off from the rest of the world. But the voice, presumably Brooklyn’s, sounded again, and Y/N knew she couldn’t avoid it. Frustrated to the point of tears, she slid out of bed and trudged down the stairs, griping the whole way.

“You’d better be dying or something, Brook, because if I just dragged my hungover ass all the way down here for something stupid I’m--” Y/N froze as the front door came into view; rather, as the person behind the front door came into view. 

“Shawn?” she questioned tentatively, squinting at the bright light coming in from the doorway. “What are you--Holy shit.” She strode towards him with a newfound energy as her eyes registered the wounds on his face, her hands immediately coming up to hold his chin for a better look. “What happened to you?”

“I’m gonna go upstairs now,” Brooklyn muttered, turning away from her roommate, but the comment was disregarded by both Y/N and Shawn. 

Shawn pretended that Y/N’s wide, concerned eyes didn’t tug at his heart, instead simply shrugging his shoulders and gingerly removing her hands from his face. He turned away to finally close the front door. “It’s not important. Are you feeling better?”

“I saw you a few hours ago. You were perfectly fine,” she cried, ignoring his lame attempt to change the subject.

He sighed, running a hand with freshly-bruised knuckles through his hair, and followed her to the couch in the living room. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for not being there to pick you up from class,” he started, still avoiding the only topic Y/N now cared about. “I told you I would, and I fucked up. I didn’t want you to be mad and think I forgot, or that I was ignoring you, or--”

“I don’t care about that,” she cut in softly. “Why do you look like this?” She shook her head slightly, in disbelief. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he defended, but Y/N wasn’t having it. 

“You do not look like that for no reason,” she challenged, cocking her head to the side. 

Shawn heaved a breath, leaning his head back against the sofa. “I know,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just--okay. Remember the night we met?” Y/N nodded. “I told you I was running from a group of guys, one of them being the asshole I pulled off of you. And I told you about the one who’s kind of their leader, too.”

Y/N nodded once again, curious as to where this was going. “A little bit, yeah.”

“Okay, well, he apparently didn’t like that I beat up on one of his buddies that night.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He was pissed off enough to show up at my apartment and threaten the hell out of me about not doing it again. I didn’t like what he was saying, so I hit him,” Shawn admitted, though there wasn’t an ounce of remorse in his voice. He paused. “And then he hit me back. And then...you know. So that’s why I forgot to come get you.”

Y/N inhaled sharply as she processed Shawn’s words. “Why did he wait so long to find you if he was really that angry?”

“I don’t know,” Shawn lied. Y/N didn’t need to know that there were men who had, at one point, been tracking her for the sole purpose of having something to hold over Shawn’s head. He wanted to leave her out of it, for her own sake. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Well how did you get him to finally leave you alone?”

Shawn sighed, reaching a hand up to the back of his neck. “We saw a cop car parked across the street, so we ran. Not trying to get involved with that.”

“I don’t understand,” Y/N admitted with a frown. “He chased you away from your own match with every intention of catching you and fighting you. Now, what? He’s mad because you defended yourself--and me--from some asshole who happened to be one of his friends? And then he showed up at your apartment to fight you over it? That doesn’t make sense. It’s hypocritical.”

Shawn could only shrug. “That’s just how he is. Always has to have the upper hand on everything.”

“But you’re still going to fight him again.”

“No idea. But if I do, it’ll be the right way.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “How is there a right way to fight someone?”

“Dynamite,” Shawn muttered. “Like, officially. In front of people.”

“God,” she whispered, reaching her fingers up to lightly trace over a fresh cut on his cheek. “Who is this guy?”

He breathed out softly. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

Y/N was quiet, and it made Shawn nervous. Seeing the physical effects of his pastime of choice made Y/N realize the true intensity and danger of what Shawn was involved in, and what she was seeing in front of her wasn’t even from a full, official fight--he had people trying to go after him on the side, too.

“What’s wrong?” Shawn asked softly, unable to withstand the silence for any longer. 

“This just scares me,” Y/N whispered. She nervously fidgeted with her fingers, her eyes downcast. “Half your face is busted and there are people, like, after you and you’re acting like nothing even happened.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. For me, this isn’t a big deal.”

“But I’m not you,” she pressed quietly. “For me, this is a little concerning.”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, but Y/N just stared back at him, anxiously pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and biting down on it. 

Shawn couldn’t ignore the crease in her brow, and he fought the urge to reach up and smooth it out. “Come stay with me tonight.”

“I-I don’t know, Shawn,” she stumbled, slightly taken aback. “I’m really tired and I have a lot to do and it’s not--”

“I won’t bother you at all,” he promised. “You can do homework the whole time, or sleep, or whatever you want.”

“But I can do that here, too,” she pointed out, the teasing glint in her eyes giving away that she was actually closer to saying yes than she was pretending to be. 

“I just like having you around me,” he admitted, but it was only part of the story. The whole truth was that it would make him feel infinitely better if she was with him, because he could guarantee that nothing would happen to her. He’d never admit that out loud, and he certainly couldn’t mention it to Y/N. He knew it would scare her, and that’s the last thing he wanted to do. 

He watched Y/N study his bloodied knuckles as she contemplated his offer. He couldn’t help but think about the fact that Y/N’s entire essence was the antithesis of his, to the point where it was almost comical. If it weren’t for the fact that she seemed to like him just as much, Shawn would feel selfish for wanting Y/N in his life; like he was dragging her into something he knew she deserved better than. 

Y/N let out a heavy breath, carefully studying Shawn’s face. He raised his eyebrows at her, eliciting a small giggle before she finally delivered the verdict. 

“Fine,” she said, trying to be stern but unable to fight off a smile. “But I’m going to bed the second I get there.”

“Okay,” he grinned. “My car’s in the driveway, so we can leave whenever.”

“Can I have a few minutes, actually? I should probably talk to my roommates before I just leave again, plus I need to grab some clothes and stuff.”

“Of course,” he answered, not realizing how annoyingly nervous he’d been that she’d say no until she agreed. “I’ll go pick up coffee and then come back.”

“I can’t drink coffee right now, I need to sleep,” she laughed.

“Right, okay. Tea then.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “I’ll see you in a few.”

With that she headed up to her room to begin throwing her books, some clothes, and a toothbrush into a bag, but Brooklyn was waiting in Y/N’s room for her.

“So,” Brooklyn started, watching her friend as she moved to grab her backpack from where it sat next to her dresser. “You gonna tell me what happened to your boyfriend?”

“I was about to come find you, actually,” Y/N sighed, softly shutting a textbook that was on her desk and reaching to put it into her backpack. “Have you already talked to Jade?”

Brooklyn nodded, offering a comforting smile. “I wanted to see if she’d know what was going on, but she was just as clueless as me.” She paused, seemingly considering whether or not she was going to continue talking. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just that the protective friend in me is a little concerned that, the first time I’m meeting this guy, he looked like that. I’m thrilled that you’re happy, at least from what I can tell, but I want to make sure he’s a good person worthy of my best friend.” 

Y/N smiled, and it was genuine. It wasn’t hard for her to understand why Brooklyn would be concerned on her behalf. “I’m going to stay with him again tonight,” she admitted, not missing the way Brooklyn’s eyes widened, silently prompting her for more details. “I don’t know,” she continued. “It’s just so easy to be with him, which is weird because most of the shit he does when I’m not around scares me to death.”

“Like what?” Brooklyn queried, carefully watching Y/N, but she didn’t answer right away.

“Jade?” Y/N called out, pausing to wait for a response. When her other roommate’s voice floated out from across the hall, Y/N wasted no time asking Jade to come to her room; she only wanted to explain this once, which meant she needed both of her roommates with her. 

“Hey,” Jade said, moving to sit on the edge of Y/N’s bed. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just want to tell you guys about Shawn. I feel like I haven’t talked to you both in forever, anyways.”

“Shawn,” Jade imitated. “So he has a name now.”

“Shut up,” Y/N groaned, and both of her roommates laughed. “I really like him, you guys. He’s...I don’t even know, he’s just not like anyone I’ve ever known before. He’s so tough all the time but there’s also, like, this depth to him that…” She stopped, moving her eyes down to sheepishly stare at the floor. “God, I probably sound so stupid.” 

Jade and Brooklyn exchanged looks, which Y/N did not like. “Okay, acting like you’re reading each other’s minds like that is stressing me out,” she laughed, but it was fueled by nervousness. She desperately wanted her best friends to like Shawn; without their approval, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

“You don’t sound stupid at all, and we’re not trying to stress you out,” Brooklyn reassured. “We just know what your last relationship did to you and I think I speak for both Jade and myself when I say that we never want to see you go through something like that again.”

“Shawn is nothing like he was,” Y/N insisted, unwilling to so much as say her ex’s name. 

“If you say he’s not, then I believe you,” Jade chimed in. “I’m so happy to see you excited about a different guy, but I just want you to be extra careful of any red flags. And Shawn showing up at our door all beat up isn’t exactly the image I want in my head of the guy my best friend is spending all her time with.”

“It’s normal for him,” Y/N insisted, then immediately reconsidered as she took in the looks on her roommates’ faces. “Okay, so it’s not normal but it’s not shocking. He fights professionally so it just comes with the territory, I guess. He’s never worried about it, so I’m trying not to be.”

“Another fighter?” Jade interrogated, concern clearly taking over her features.

“I know, I know, but this is different,” Y/N jumped, quick to defend Shawn. Her ex had been a boxer, and so she could understand her friends’ concern over the strangely coincidental similarity the two shared. “Shawn doesn’t just go around looking for trouble outside the ring, and from what I understand his style of fighting is different, anyways. He’s different.”

Jade moved next to Y/N, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. “We just want you to be careful,” she said softly. “If Shawn makes you happy, then we’re happy for you.”

Y/N finally looked up at her friends and held out her arms for a hug, breathing a heavy sigh of relief that this long-overdue conversation had finally happened. Now that things were right with both Shawn and her roommates, Y/N felt like she could relax again. “I’m always careful,” she reassured, offering a slight smile once Brooklyn and Jade pulled away from their group embrace. 

But no amount of being careful could have prepared her for what was yet to come.

Thank you for reading!! Feedback makes me very happy.

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[s-horne]

Hi! Could you please write a ficlet where tony and Steve just got married and Steve takes tony to his mums house as a new husband, where tony officially meets Sarah, Sam, Bucky as Steve’s new husband? And they all gently tease the new married couple and make tony feel at ease? Thank you so much! xx

Maybe it was quick to have gotten married, but Steve had known it was real as soon as he’d met Tony. He had never been a believer in love at first sight until Tony had come along.

They’d met through work, at an intimidatingly large party thrown by the company’s board in order to bring all staff from every department together for the first time. They’d thrown out some trash about company relations or keeping the cogs working together as a strong team. Steve had thought it was all utter nonsense. He’d only gone for the free booze.

All the seating had been mixed and, as a result, R&D had met marketing. Steve and Tony had been introduced before the appetizers had been served and had been playing footsie by dessert. Their hands were linked during the speeches and only one out of their two hotel rooms had been used that night.

The months had flown by and before anyone realised, they had been together for a year. A wedding had seemed like the most natural thing in the world for Steve to propose next. He had known that they would be together for the rest of their lives, so the timeline didn’t matter to him.

*

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Steve snorted as he took the exit. “You haven’t eaten enough today to be sick.”

He could feel Tony’s glare on the side of his head as Tony rolled the window down. “You’re meant to play the role of the sympathetic husband here.”

Laughing again, Steve pulled up to a stop sign. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shall we try it again?”

Tony huffed. “Moment’s passed.”

“And the nausea?”

There was a moment of silence before Tony sniffed. “Gone.”

“Good.” Steve couldn’t control his smile as he looked over to see Tony staring out of the window. He reached over and rested a hand on Tony’s thigh. “There’s nothing to be nervous of.”

Tony’s head shot round and he glared at Steve. “Nothing to be nervous of? No, of course not. Just meeting your whole family for the first–”

“Technically Sam isn’t my fa–”

“Okay, but that’s worse,” Tony snapped, the worry clear in his tone. “That’s so much worse that he isn’t actually family.”

Steve squeezed his knee tighter, rubbing his thumb in what he hoped were soothing circles. “It’s going to be fine. Mom loves you.”

“Moms don’t love me,” Tony said, “that’s just a fact.”

“Well,” Steve said, not letting the words get to him and keeping himself as the strong one, “mine does. And quite honestly, she’s the only one that matters.”

*

Something settled inside of Steve when he cut the engine outside the unimposing, red-brick house. Though it wasn’t where he’d grown up, it was still his mom’s house. It was where Sarah Rogers had moved out to when they’d passed the worst times in Steve’s childhood, when the illnesses had been battled and the poverty somehow left in the past. Steve would never know how she’d done it, but he thanked God every day.

He wasn’t homesick in New York, not by a long shot. The apartment that he and Tony had made their own was the only place he ever wanted to go back to after a long day at work, the sight of Tony sprawled out on their couch more than enough to make up for the fact that the dishes were always left piled up on the marble counters.

But there was still something about going to his mom’s house. No matter where Sarah lived, she provided a refuge. It was a safe place to escape to, a break from the hustle and bustle of the city center. Sarah herself made it that safe place and Steve couldn’t wait to give the exact same thing to Tony.

“You get the bags and I get the flowers, okay?”

Steve was pulled from his musings by Tony appearing at his side. “Sorry?”

“Unless that’ll make it look like I don’t do anything for you.” Tony bit his lip and shook his head. “I get the bags and you get the flowers – but then your mom might think that the flowers are from you instead and you laughed at me when I suggested buying them. So, I’ll take the bags and the–”

Steve cut Tony off with a soft laugh, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and pushing him in front of Steve’s body. Holding Tony tight against his chest, Steve leant back until he was resting on the car door.

“Please calm down,” he murmured into Tony’s neck. “I love you and my mom loves you. You talk every week.”

“Of course we do,” Tony said, relaxing minutely into Steve’s hold. “But that’s just because we gossip through The Bachelor. There’s no Bachelor episode to discuss here. The season finished.”

“Thank God.” Steve laughed when Tony reached a hand back to jab him in the thigh. “Sweetheart, please. It’s going to be fine.”

Tony took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted Steve’s hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to the ring around his finger before freeing himself from Steve’s hold. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit, sweetheart. Exactly how to sound when faced with your in-law.” Rolling his eyes, Steve stood upright again and reached down for their suitcase. “You’re making her sound like a haunted house.”

*

When Steve snuck up behind him and wrapped his arms around Tony’s waist, Tony jumped almost a mile in the air. He spun around in Steve’s embrace and smacked him on the chest, an angry flush to his cheeks.

“Asshole. You scared me.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughed, snagging one of the cookies Tony had snaffled away when Sarah had kicked them out of the kitchen, “you look really terrified.”

“Oh, shut up.” Tony’s flush darkened. “It’s stress eating.”

“Well, at least you’re finally eating,” Steve said, brushing a crumb from the corner of Tony’s mouth. Tony had been too tired to manage breakfast and claimed he could never eat on planes. If Steve hadn’t seen him do the same thing before every big business meeting, he’d have been worried.

They could hear Sarah bumbling around preparing their lunch, pots and pans banging together over the faint hum of her music. She’d had the same playlist for as long as Steve could remember, the same one she used to twirl Steve around the kitchen to.

“It’s going well,” Steve said quietly when he’d finished his mouthful. “Mom adores you – she made those cookies just for you, you know. What are you stressing about now?”

There was a beat of silence before Tony broke Steve’s gaze, swallowing another bite of Sarah’s macadamia-nut cookies and shuffling awkwardly.

“Oh.” Steve ducked his head until he met Tony’s eyes again. He ran a finger down Tony’s cheek, chucking him under the chin. “If this is about Bucky, then I promise you, you have nothing to worry about. He’ll love you, too.”

Tony lifted his chin and stared directly at Steve, reaching for another cookie and taking a large bite.

*

“You know about the tradition, right?” Sam asked, lifting a leg and settling his ankle on his opposite knee.

Tony blinked and turned to look up at Steve with a bemused expression. “No?”

Steve bit down on his grin and shrugged back at Tony as though confused. Maybe it was a bit mean, but he couldn’t resist the tease. Sooner or later Tony would jump right out of his shell and get his own back. Until then, Steve would poke a bit of fun at him.

“Oh?” Bucky joined in, a smirk growing on his face. “Stevie didn’t tell you about the garter?”

Tony’s eyes widened comically. “The what now?”

Sam snorted. “Typical Steve. We have a tradition here where–”

“Oh,” Tony said in recognition, relaxing back into the couch. Steve frowned, wondering what Tony knew. “That tradition. Didn’t realise you all knew about Steve’s kinks. We covered that on the honeymoon, but I can reprise it for you guys if you’d like.” He paused before he turned to look up at Steve, biting his lip thoughtfully. “Might have to go shopping, though. Think we, um, ruined the last outfit I had.”

There was a beat of silence where Steve stared at Tony with wide eyes, mouth hanging open ever so slightly. Tony arched an eyebrow in challenge, clearly refusing to back down. He’d been waiting for Tony to lose his nerves, but, damn, Steve hadn’t seen that coming.

The silence stretched on until a sudden bark of laughter came from the other couch. Having almost forgotten that they weren’t alone in the room, Steve jumped.

“Amazing,” Bucky said through another laugh. When Steve looked over at him, he was wiping a finger under his eye and thumping himself on the chest. “That was awesome. You’re awesome. Another beer?”

Thinking his best friend was speaking to him, Steve opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Tony’s voice rung out.

“No, thanks. But I’ll grab one for you. I’m going in to see Sarah.”

“Don’t be a punk,” Bucky said, using Sam’s thigh as a brace to push himself up. “I’ll get it myself.”

“I don’t mind,” Tony said and Steve’s eyes flicked between the two of them as they bantered like they’d been friends for years. “You just want to steal her cookies.”

As Tony untangled himself from Steve’s embrace and stood up, Bucky snorted. “Like you’re not going for the exact same thing.”

“Yeah, because she made them for me. She even told me so. I’m the guest of honour.”

As he crossed the threshold to the hallway, Tony turned and shot Steve a wink, lifting his middle finger and holding it up as he disappeared out of view. Steve felt a wide smile spread across his face, grinning like a madman as he sat and stared at the space that Tony had occupied.

“That’s it,” Sam said and Steve turned to him with a question on his face. “We’re keeping him.” 

Steve laughed as he took a long swig of his beer. The love he felt for Tony threatened to make him explode. He felt as though it were seeping out of every pore. “I had planned to, actually.” 

“Not you,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Us. Me, to be more specific.”

“Well, I’m glad you approve.”

“Oh, I do more than approve.” Sam sipped his beer and set it down on the coffee table. “I’m stealing him. He’s my new partner in crime.”

“What am I then?” Bucky asked indignantly, coming back into the room at that moment. He smacked Sam on the back of the head as he flopped onto the arm of the couch. “Chopped liver?”

“Stale,” Sam answered dryly. “You’ve got no new jokes. I need someone new, someone lively.” 

“You dick. Can’t believe you’re dropping me so quickly. And anyway, what if I wanted to claim Tony for my new sidekick?”

Rolling his eyes with a laugh, Steve shook his head. “Please stop fighting and tell me what you’ve done with my husband.”

“Oh, relax,” Bucky said, elbowing Sam. “He’s fine. He’s charming the pants off my Sarah.”

“If she’s anyone’s,” Sam said as he shoved at Bucky’s thigh, “she’s mine.”

“I’ve known her longer. She definitely loves me more,” Bucky argued, wiping the condensation from his new beer on Sam’s face.

“Doesn’t mean anything. Quality over quantity and all that.”

Watching them shove and push at each other. Steve stood from his chair and went in search of his partner. He couldn’t believe anyone could ever be nervous about meeting those two overgrown children.

*

Steve stood in the doorway and watched two of his favourite people laughing over something. It was probably him, but he couldn’t have cared less. Steve knew he would happily be laughed at if it meant that he could see Tony and his mother bond so well in front of him, if he could see Tony fully relax into a domestic setting.

“Hey,” he said, smiling when Tony and Sarah both turned to face him with wide smiles. He winced when a crash came from somewhere behind him.

“Hello, my darling,” Sarah said before she turned to Tony, squeezing his forearm. “Can you keep an eye on the oven for me, sweetheart? Let me just go and sort out those boys in the living room.”

Tony fixed her with a wide-eyed stare as she left the room. “I can’t keep an eye on the oven,” he hissed. “How do you keep an eye on an oven?”

Laughing, Steve crossed the room and wrapped Tony in a tight hug, pinning his arms to his sides. “God, I love you.”

“Help me! I don’t know what to do.”

“You stand here,” Steve said, grinning into Tony’s neck, “and that’s about it.”

“Oh. Well, that’s easy enough.” Steve felt Tony relax in his hold and softened his embrace enough for Tony to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist. “Your mom’s nice.”  

“Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, the eye-roll audible in his voice. That was a special talent that Tony seemed to have perfected during their relationship. “You were right.”

Steve gasped and pulled back to meet Tony’s eyes, knowing there was a smug grin on his face. “Can you say that again? I’d like to record it.”

Tony rolled his eyes, fingers slipping into Steve’s back pockets. He bit his lip as the amusement fell away. “Do you really think they like me?”

“Believe me,” Steve said, lifting his hand to cup Tony’s face, thumb swiping over the dent in his bottom lip, “they adore you.”

[takivvatanga]

homecoming.

Assire is waiting for the phone to ring. She’s been waiting for it all day. 

I’ll call you. I’ll call you on Wednesday night. I promise.

Wednesday night, not Wednesday morning first thing, not Wednesday lunchtime, not Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday night was what he promised, and Jonathan keeps his promises. To her, at least. Until now. Unless… 

An entire day, spent waiting, curled up on the threadbare couch under an old blanket covered in cat hair, willing the time to pass while her nausea ebbs and flows but never quite settles. Assire would like to think that it’s just nerves, anxiety, the effect of his absence, but she knows it isn’t. Not entirely, at least. Never has she felt so alone, despite the fact that Merlin is right there, curled up by her feet, following her every move with watchful concern. The apartment is so empty without him. She is so empty without him. It’s been almost a month now, since he’s been gone. 

It won’t be for long. I promise. 

It’s been too long, and Assire is starting to lose hope. Assire knows about leaving. About what it means. Leaving has to be done for good. Otherwise, what is the point? He’s not coming back. That’s why he’s calling me. To tell me that he’s never coming back. “Oh Merlin, what will we do?” Merlin doesn’t answer, merely brushes his face against her open palm with a low purr. As if to reassure her that he, at least, will never leave her, no matter what. “We’ll have to go on, won’t we? It wasn’t so bad, before. When it was just you and me.” But it isn’t going to be just us, is it now?

It is a problem. How did this even happen? She’s been careful, hasn’t she? Sure, she’s forgotten a fair few pills, but she’s taken them all just as soon as she remembered, it should have been fine. Should have, would have, could have, and nothing is fine at all. “I’ll tell him. Tonight. As soon as he calls. I have to tell him. He needs to know. Maybe it will change something, maybe-” No. That wouldn’t be right. She wants him to come back, to her, out of his own free will, not out of duty. Duty is where love goes to die. “I can’t. I can’t.” Assire buries her face in her hands, retreats to a place where she doesn’t have to think, where she doesn’t have to feel, where she doesn’t have to decide. Merlin chirps at her, softly at first, then more insistent, but she does not respond. Even he can’t bring her back this time. But the phone can. 

Assire sits bolt upright as the first ring pierces through the nothingness in which she floats, suspended in unreality. Her heart is in her throat when she picks up, her hands are shaking, a wave of nausea washes over her with such force that it sends her retching, gasping for air, her eyes filled with tears, the taste of bile in the back of her throat. 

“Hello? Hello?” She doesn’t even try to disguise the panic in her voice.  “Assire.” Her name. “Assire.” When he says her name, she feels herself exist. Speak me. Make me real. “I’m here.” “Are you… are you alright? Is something wrong?” No. No, I’m not alright. And it’s not just me anymore. She hesitates, unsure how to answer. “Yes.” Her voice is so small, and her mouth is so dry, and her chest feels so tight she wonders if she might be dying. “I’m… okay. I’m fine. Are you… what about you?” “I’m alright.” She can tell he’s lying. “That’s… that’s good. Great. Yes, great. I’m glad. I’m glad you’re okay.” She’s lying, too. Pretending that she can believe him. Pretending that she doesn’t know that nothing is alright at all. “Jonathan?” “Yes?” “When… when are you… will you come home, do you think?” “I will.” “I just… it’s been such a long time already and I thought… I think… I worry that-” “Don’t. Please don’t. I know it’s hard, but - I will come home. I promise. But there are still things I have to do, until I can. It’s…” His voice catches, his words die in his throat. Assire feels sick again. If only there was something she could do to help him. But this is a battle he has to fight for himself, all alone. That much, she understands. She knows how it feels. She knows how difficult it is, to face yourself in the dark, all alone. “I know.” Warmth in her voice. Compassion. “I know.” I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you are suffering. I’m sorry that I cannot take that pain away from you. If there was a way to do so I would, no matter the cost. “You will come home, won’t you? You’re not just...saying that, are you?” Say you will. I’ll wait for you forever, if I have to. We will wait. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” She should feel relief at that, but she doesn’t. Her dread is just as cold, just as overwhelming, just as real as it was five, ten minutes ago. “Jonathan?” “Hm?” “I… I have to tell you something.” He offers her silence. A chance to speak. She knows that he is listening, by the way his breathing slows. They have always known how to read each other’s silences. “I-”  I can’t. I can’t! Oh, what do I say now, what do I say!?

“The cuttings. The little yellow tea roses. The ones I took from -” From your mother’s garden. She loved those roses. I don’t think you ever noticed just how much she adored them. Come to think of it, there are a lot of things you never took note of. About her. About Mary. But they both noticed your absence. The three of you - you’ve all been grieving for a long time. For your father. For Mary’s little boy. For each other. For the family you wanted to be, the family you should have been.  “The cuttings. They’ve taken. Every single one of them. You were right, you know? I do overwater things.” I care too much. I’m so afraid that I’m not doing enough that I end up giving too much instead. “That’s… that’s great to hear.” He doesn’t believe her. She can tell by the cadence of his voice. He knows that there’s something she isn’t brave enough to tell him. “I’ll send you pictures. And… when you come home, you can see them for yourself.” “I shall look forward to that. To coming home. To you.” “Jonathan?” “Yes?” “Will you stay on the phone for a while? We don’t have to talk. Just...be there while I fall asleep? I’m having a terrible time with that. With sleeping, I mean. Waking up is hard too. I open my eyes and the first thing I think is that I’m all alone. That you’re not next to me. It feels so cold, you know?” “You’re not alone, Assire.” Her eyes grow wide. Assire covers her mouth with her hand. He just said that, didn’t he? It’s just a turn of phrase, meant to reassure her. He doesn’t know. He can’t possibly know, can he now? If he knew, he’d address it, wouldn’t he? Stay reasonable. Stay calm. Stay- “I know. I’ve got Merlin, haven’t I? Yes. Merlin. But… I still feel alone. Without you. Maybe alone is the wrong word. I might not be alone, but I’m lonely. Does that make sense? I never thought I’d feel like this again, Jonathan. I used to be so content, when it was just me and Merlin but then - you… you. You happened. And now I feel like I can’t just go back to how it used to be, all on my own, and be content and not feel like there’s a part of me that’s missing, and it scares me, it scares me to death because I feel like I’m losing you and like I lost myself and I keep waking up in the middle of the night and all I can think is that you’re not there, you’re not there, and maybe you’ll never come back and I wish I wasn’t in love with you because it hurts and - and-” Her eyes bright with panic, burning with barely held back tears, her free hand clenched into a fist. Every thought, every doubt, ever worst case scenario pouring out of her mouth with no way of stopping it. Why does it have to be like this? Why does she have to be like this? Why can’t she stay calm, kind, reassuring? Why does she either feel nothing at all or so much that it overwhelms her? On the other end of the line, Jonathan remains silent. “I’m sorry. Jonathan, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said all that.”  “It’s fine, Assire. Don’t worry yourself so much, alright? I’m coming home.” A silence, then again: “I’m coming home.” She can tell by his voice that he is trying not to cry. “I don’t mean that I’m not in love with you. I am. So much. So much, Jonathan. So much, you can’t imagine! But I do wish I wasn’t, sometimes. It would be easier. For both of us.” “It’s not supposed to be easy, Assire.” “But why?” “It just isn’t. But it’s worth fighting for. We are worth fighting for.” Is he trying to convince her, or himself? Assire is quite certain that it is the latter. “It will get easier though, won’t it?” “It will.” “Do you promise?” “I can’t.” “That was honest. Thank you.” Silence hangs between them. Heavy. There’s so much she wants to tell him, needs to tell him. There’s so little she can say. “Jonathan?” “Yes?” I’m pregnant. “I… I’m… I’ll put the phone down now, alright? Next to me, right here.” “I’ll stay on the line for you.” “Thank you. Good night, Jonathan.” “Good night, Assire.” 

When she wakes the next day, her phone is still cradled in her hand, the battery flat. Assire rises from her makeshift bed on the couch, dazed and nauseous, reeling with absence. She brushes her teeth, washes her face, changes her clothes. She eats her breakfast, weetbix and hot water as always. A cup of tea to go with it, strong and black and piping hot. She feeds Merlin. The smell of the cat food sends her retching. Assire vomits. If Jonathan was here, he’d hold back her hair, whisper words of encouragement into her ear: It won’t be like this all the time. The thought comforts her. Assire forces herself to her feet, brushes her teeth again, imagines Jonathan standing beside her. If she squints, if she tries real hard, she can almost see him. “I’m off to the shop. We’re out of cat food. We need some milk, too”, she announces to the empty lounge. She imagines him sitting on the couch, immersed in a book but looking up at her when she speaks, nodding his head, smiling. “I’ll see you soon. When I get home.” Will you come home? Will you come home to me? To us? He doesn’t answer. He can’t answer. He’s only in her head. 

Days pass, turn into weeks. The other tenants in the house are talking. Assire knows they are. She knows by the way the elderly women who live on the ground floor, the ones who like to sit in the entrance hall in their folding chairs, drinking tea from a thermos, fall suddenly silent when she walks past. “I tell you, Violet - he left her. I haven’t seen him for weeks.” “A shame, really. They made a nice couple. A bit odd, but nice. And quiet.” “She must have done something, to make him leave. She’s always been strange. Something wrong with her. I said it way back when she moved in here: something wrong with that girl.” “Shhhh. She’s coming.” She knows by the way the group of young adults on the floor below cast her strange glances. She knows by the way the blonde lady across the hall asks her if she needs anything. Assire shakes her head no. “I’m fine”, she replies in a small voice. “Everything is fine.” We are fine. Nothing is fine at all. 

Assire makes multiple doctor’s appointments, but doesn’t attend a single one. She orders a stack of books - What to Expect when You’re Expecting, A Guide to Pregnancy and Childbirth, Your Baby’s First Year - and returns them a day later, untouched. She spends hours in front of the mirror in her underwear, taking photograph after photograph of herself, scrutinising every inch of her body for evidence of change. She starts taking supplements, but every time the capsules touch the roof of her mouth she feels the urge to vomit. The small flat on the third floor becomes unbearable. Wherever she looks, all she sees is his absence. She gathers his belongings and packs them away in cardboard boxes. She cries. She unpacks his things, despairs when she can’t remember the exact placement of his shoes in the rack by the door. She spends entire days staring at her phone, willing him to call. When he does, she doesn’t answer. She switches her phone to silent. Finally, she turns her phone off. Assire goes for long walks, wandering aimlessly through the neighbourhood. She buys a set of newborn clothes. “For a boy or a girl?”, the bright-eyed young woman at the store asks her. “For a baby”, Assire replies. A few days later, she returns them, her eyes red rimmed, her expression solemn. “I’m so sorry,” the girl tells her. Assire shrugs. Whatever is she sorry for? Every time she comes home, Merlin is waiting by the door. She wishes it was Jonathan who was waiting there for her. Sometimes she thinks she can hear the sound of his keys turning in the lock, his step on the creaking boards of the hall, the rustle of his coat as he hangs it on the hook. She convinces herself that things have moved inside the flat: the reading mark in the book he has left behind on the coffee table, the order of his shirts in the wardrobe, his favourite cup in the kitchen cupboard. Maybe he’s coming and going without her noticing, while she is out walking. Maybe he’s never left. Maybe it isn’t him who is absent but her. Maybe she isn’t real. Assire has a decision to make. She packs a bag and catches a train to the coast. She stays a few days in an old cottage up high on a cliff, shivering in the biting autumn air as the waves crash into the rocks below. She stares down into the churning waters until there is no more grief, no more doubt, no more fear. There has to be something that remains. Somebody has to stay. I don’t know if I can do this, on my own or otherwise, but I have to try.  Assire knows what she has to do.  She barely makes the last train home. The fog rising from the river settles into her hair, into her clothes, into her bones. A single flower from her mother in law’s funeral is still pinned to her coat. A wilted thing, by now. What was once beautiful in its solemnity is no longer recognisable. Assire doesn’t have the heart to throw it away. The streets are eerily empty as she makes her way home from the station, her bag slung over her shoulder. She feels tired. No, more than tired. Heavy. It is probably how she is supposed to feel. It is better than feeling nothing at all. Assire looks up at her apartment building. She doesn’t remember leaving the light on. It’s not like her, to be careless like that. I was in quite a state, wasn’t I? Aren’t I? Aren’t we?  Her right hand settles over her belly. “Let’s go home.”  The apartment building is dead silent. Assire does her best to step lightly on the stairs, uncomfortable with the thought of being witnessed. The one person she has ever truly wanted to be seen by isn’t going to be waiting for her. Merlin, though. Merlin will be there. “And you, too”, she whispers. “You’re here now. You’re here to stay.” She doesn’t turn on the light on the landing, fumbles briefly as she slides her key into the lock. It turns easily, the door opening into the hallway of her flat, faintly illuminated by the light shining through from the living room. Merlin is nowhere in sight. Assire’s heart sinks. Her throat constricts with a sickening sense of foreboding. Not you, too, she thinks. “Merlin? Merlin, where are you?” Why isn’t he waiting for her? He always waits for her, no matter how unpredictable her comings and goings may be. Assire’s hands tremble. She doesn’t notice the coat hanging from the hook, the shoes placed neatly in the rack along the wall, the keys on the cabinet. “Merlin? Merlin!” Louder now. Her voice thick with fear. Her throat is dry, her heart is in her throat. He can’t be gone. He can’t be! After all those years together, all those years during which he’s been her only friend, companion, confidante. If Merlin is gone…  I can’t. I can’t! Not without him, I can’t! Not without Merlin! It’s her fault. It’s all her fault, for leaving him behind like this! How foolish to think that it would be okay to leave him to his own devices for a few days, with the window open and plenty of biscuits and water. He didn’t think I’d come back. He didn’t think I’d come back, so he left. Just like I left, because Jonathan, Jonathan isn’t going to come back either. But I was always going to come home. One way or another. I just needed some time to think! I should never have gone. It’s my fault, my fault, mine!  “Oh, my poor Merlin! You’re probably out there in the freezing cold, hungry and shivering in some horrid back alley, wondering how I could ever do this to you. How I could just leave you behind like this?!” Assire can feel tears rising up behind her eyes, bile rising up in her throat. She wants to cry, she wants to vomit, she wants to scream and rage, rage against this cruel cold world that would give her a glimpse of happiness, of belonging, of loving and being loved in return - only to take it all away again. 

In her distress, she doesn’t notice the slim figure lying curled up on the couch, obscured by heavy blankets. Neither does she notice the small black shape, an almost perfect circle, curled up alongside. She doesn’t notice anything beside her fear, her grief, her anger. Until the small black shape opens its gleaming eyes. Until it stretches and yawns, showing two rows of tiny, razor sharp teeth that glint dangerously in the light of the lamp.  Merlin chirps a greeting, jumps down from his perch. His soft paws make no sound on the wooden floors.  “Merlin! Merlin, you’re home! But… oh!” Something, someone else stirs on the couch.  Assire’s eyes grow wide.  “You came back? You came back!”  He looks terrible. It’s obvious, even in the halflight of the lounge. How his grief, his sadness has diminished him. He glances up at her with his red-rimmed eyes, swollen from sleep or from crying or both.  Not all of you came home, she thinks.  Assire starts to cry, without realising it. She doesn’t know whether they are tears of relief or of regret. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe they simply are. “I promised you, didn’t I?” He tries to smile. “When… how long have you been home?” “Since yesterday. Where were you? I tried to call you as soon as I got back but your phone was off. Still.” Assire winces at the last word. Her phone has been off for some time. How many times has he tried to call? How much worry, how much concern, how much distress has she caused him? “I’m sorry. I-” she takes a small step towards him, then another. Hesitant, as if she was approaching a mirage fully knowing that it will disappear any moment. “I went away. I had to get out of here, I couldn’t stand it. Without you. I needed to just… breathe. Think. I don’t know.” “I understand. We have to do these things sometimes. All that matters is that you came home.” “And so did you.” 

She wants to embrace him, to hold him and to be held in turn, but she doesn’t dare to intrude upon his personal space. He’s fragile, she realises. Barely holding himself together in the aftermath of the battle he has been fighting inside his own mind. Assire lowers herself to the ground next to the couch, as close as she dares to be. Merlin chirps encouragement, presses his warm, silky smooth body up against her legs. Assire runs her hand across his arching back, absentmindedly, soothed by the vibrato of the cat’s purr. “You need to wash your hair.” The touch of his cool hands as he runs his fingers through her hair, greasy and unbrushed as it is, makes her breath catch in her throat. “You know how it is”, she replies, her voice coloured by defeat, “It’s been hard. Really hard. Without you. Jonathan, I thought I was going mad. Maybe I have gone mad. Maybe you aren’t even here. Am I making you up?” “No. I’m here. I’m here, with you. I’m still your husband. You’re still my wife.” “For better or for worse.” Assire smiles. Her hand finds his. It feels right. It feels real, because it is. She turns her head. She is beautiful, like this, her profile illuminated by the dim light of the lamp. She is beautiful, in spite of, or maybe precisely because of the fact that her hair is a mess and that her eyes are red from crying. She is beautiful because she is suddenly real, more real than she has ever been before.  She doesn’t need to ask the question that is on her mind, and Jonathan in turn doesn’t need to answer. She climbs onto the couch in silence, curling up against him, sighing with relief as he wraps his arms around her to pull her closer. Assire marvels once more at how perfectly their bodies fit together. She has missed this feeling, of being safe and secure in perfect silence. Just the two of them. But it isn’t just the two of us anymore. “Jonathan?” “Yes?” “I’m pregnant.” 

[straykidsupdate]

Stray Kids & Their Fans Are Growing Up Together

Adulthood has its side effects.

Strobe lights flash like firing synapses; Synths wobble and throb like a pounding headache. “머리 아프다!” — my head hurts — yell the members in Korean, pounding their fists erratically in different directions in the air. Stray Kids dance over the EDM-trance beat as a stern voice recites a string of aliments: “Common side effects include: nervousness, insomnia, nausea, agitation, anxiety, sweating, vision problems, numbness, psychosis, dizziness, headaches, weight loss.” 

From the crowd of nearly 5,600 in New York’s Hulu Theater, the refrain to “Side Effects” rang out passionately from the K-pop group’s diverse fanbase, called Stay, caught somewhere between a battle cry and a cry for help. Stray Kids know that this feeling they’re communicating with “Side Effects” — one of disorientation, fear, and confusion that goes hand-in-hand with growing up — is one they share with Stay. After all, that’s what makes Stray Kids (who range in age from 19 to 22) so beloved by their passionate fans — they write and compose straight from their own experiences, painting a vivid picture of the feelings that young people share all over the world. And now, for everyone gathered in this dark theater, singing together is a catharsis.

Since their debut with JYP Entertainment nearly two years ago, Stray Kids’ discography has weaved a narrative that serves as an allegory for the joys and pains of coming of age. They begin as prisoners in the fictional dystopia of “District 9,” but even after making their escape, they must enter a labyrinth to face internal battles as they question their identities and their goals throughout each three-part I Am…  and Clé EP series. 

“In Clé 1: Miroh, we went into the maze really confidently,” Stray Kids’ animated Austrailian-Korean leader Bang Chan tells Refinery29 in our office ahead of their New York City tour stop. Even in more serious moments, the 22-year-old rapper and one-third of Stray Kids’ producing unit, 3RACHA, holds a warmth and playfulness in his eyes. “And then after that, in Clé: Yellow Wood, we asked ourselves, ‘Was this the right decision? Do we have regrets? Did we choose the right way?’ ‘Double Knot’ [off of Clé: Levanter] was where we said, ‘We're going to keep on doing what we're doing. We'll just keep going.’ But then with [our most recent single] ‘Levanter,’ we stress how you can't always just really focus too much on one goal. Maybe you might need to take a break to see the other options.”

There’s a certain rebelliousness that seems to run through Stray Kids’ music — if they’re not fighting against a higher power, then they’re warring with themselves. But rapper Changbin, another 3RACHA member along with rapper and vocalist Han, is clear that their mentality isn’t “us against the world.” 

“There's not this big, crazy thing that we’re fighting against, right?” says Changbin, the chains on his shirt clinking together as he gesticulates. Changbin’s duality on and offstage is one of the most pronounced in the group — though he’s not the youngest, he’s known affectionately as the “baby” by his members. Catch him performing, however, and he turns into a growling menace as he spits bars.

“But just like in daily life, there are things that you're facing — issues, or roadblocks when you're on your way to a dream and things that you want to do in life. The theme of our music is that we want to overcome that together.”

Hyunjin, a striking rapper and dancer beloved by fans for his emotional intelligence, lays out what he feels people his age today feel they are most often up against: “There are two types of people. One is somebody who doesn't really know exactly what they want to do with their life. They don't really have a dream, so they're trying to find themselves and decide what they want to do. And then there are people who do have a particular goal or dream, and they're trying to wrestle with how exactly they’re going to achieve it.”

It’s not simply that Hyunjin and the seven other members of Stray Kids (a ninth, Woojin, left the company suddenly late last year for unknown reasons) are guessing what’s on Stay’s mind — they know firsthand, thanks to their uniquely close relationship that they’ve taken care to nurture over the past two years in a few ways. The first, and in many ways the most important, is by connecting through their music, which they’ve self-produced even before they officially debuted as a group. This creative license allows them to speak directly to their fans and reveal themselves  in a truly authentic way. It is also the reason why Stray Kids’ music — often a creative mix of EDM, rap, and rock —  sounds so distinctive in the K-pop landscape, and even beyond Korea’s borders. “All eight of us have different preferences and tastes in music, so we can each bring a different color to the music we make,” says Changbin. “It lets our music be more diverse and it allows us to try new things.” 

They acknowledge that there’s a tension between wanting to take risks in your music and needing to make a chart-smashing hit, which is something that despite their overall success, the group has yet to achieve. But the goal is to always try to push boundaries, and not sacrifice their integrity. 

You don’t usually see this kind of adventurous spirit in a newer group: usually, musicians start by imitating what they know and love. In Stray Kids’ case, that could’ve meant reflecting artists who Stay likely also share passion for: A bit of Ed Sheeran (courtesy of Bang Chan), Ariana Grande (Changbin), or maybe even Day6 (Seungmin). But they resisted the urge to copy, and instead created their own signature style. “Even if it might be a bit weird, I think we all really enjoy that, because it really excites us to try new things,” says Bang Chan, dimples punctuating his broad grin.

"I feel like our fans are really just close friends, to the point where they’re like family" - Stray Kids’ Bang Chan

Beyond music, they also communicate with Stay directly. The members share their thoughts in short video series such as Two Kids Room and One Kid’s Room, behind-the-scenes vlogs about their travels on tour, and often take time to talk to fans on VLive, a live-streaming app popular with K-pop idols. But they take it a step further: Bang Chan goes live once a month (it used to be once a week) in a segment he calls “Chan’s Room,” where he shares updates about his life, what’s been on his mind, and music recommendations. Hyunjin started a series called “Hyunjin’s Counseling Center,” where he addresses both his and Stay’s various inner thoughts and feelings, as well as give advice.

“I feel like our fans are really just close friends, to the point where they’re like family,” says Bang Chan. “I love spending quality time and just being like, ‘I'm doing this. I'm thinking about this these days. I want to show you guys this. I got my ukulele and am going to play something for you guys.’ I think the whole live system is really great because it makes us feel so close. It just tightens the relationship.”

“I think the best way for Stay to take care of themselves is to stay healthy and eat a lot of delicious food and listen to our music,” adds the affable and dynamic vocalist Seungmin, “so this is a way we check in and help them with that.”

It’s a beautiful symbiotic relationship. While fans certainly benefit from Stray Kids’ care, the artists readily admit that they’ve learned a lot about themselves since becoming idols and gaining fans.

“People think that it’s weird to be a celebrity if you��re an introvert,” says blonde Han, who opted for a seat in the center of the half circle, though a bit behind his bandmates. On stage and with his members, his charisma and sense of humor know no bounds, but the sole MBTI-certified introvert of the group usually takes a while to get comfortable in new environments. “I usually keep to myself, but when I’m on stage with the other Stray Kids members, I find this courage and strength that I didn’t even know I had,” he says, a smile widening on his face as he compliments the others in the room. “I get strength from my fellow members and the enthusiasm and energy of the fans, so that I can be confident and not come off as too introverted.”

“The feedback from fans has helped us grow so much,” says Australia-born dancer Felix, whose deep voice and shock of red hair counterbalance his lithe stature. His deep sincerity and good nature ratidate as he speaks. “We're always trying to show better work. So using all this direct feedback, I do try to improve as an artist and as... I guess it helps me try to be a better person in general.”

I.N., the youngest, self-proclaimed fox-faced vocalist of the group, as well as passionate dancer and cat-lover Lee Know, have both been more motivated to stick to their goals thanks to fans. I.N. explains his lack of willpower using cool slang (“작심삼일”) that stumps even the interpreter. “Basically I give up on things within three days,” he says. “I’ve been trying to overcome that.” For Lee Know, it’s a bit more simple: “I want to bulk up. So, consistency is so important. Stay are good at keeping us accountable.”

Hyunjin, ever-contemplative, sees the growth he’s gained from being an idol with fans as more introspective. “I’ve experienced a lot of feelings and emotions I didn’t have when I was a trainee,” says Hyunjin. “Being a celebrity or an idol, you're in the public eye and you're one person who is constantly interacting with and meeting many, many people. While talking to so many fans, I started realizing how much impact the words of a few people can have on a large number of people. It made me more thoughtful of what I say and I feel more responsibility for our music and performances. I want to do my best because of my fans. I feel that it’s made me grow into a more mature person.” 

And while that seems like a lot of pressure to put on a 19-year-old, he maintains that he sees it as a responsibility he’s more than happy to take on. “I don’t really see it as a burden because the way I see it, you could say just one little thing, but that could really make a person's day or really change their mind for the better.”

[blu-joons]

You Struggle With Social Anxiety ~ Kim Namjoon

You felt fine the whole day, excited about supporting Namjoon at a dinner for the band and the staff. It was lowkey, and quiet, at a small restaurant nearby the studio, but as you pulled up to the car park, you couldn’t help but freeze, looking out at the building.

Your tummy began to turn, your heart pounded, a wave of nausea hit you hard. The grip you had around the gearstick tightened, trying to keep the anxieties that grew at bay. This night was a celebration of Namjoon, you couldn’t let your anxieties ruin it.

Eventually you got out of the car, allowing Namjoon to take your hand and walk you to the front door, but as you reached it, you stopped again, looking down to the floor. This time, he noticed, taking you aside as people began to filter in.

His eyes searched for yours, trying to figure out what was wrong, as the panic in you grew, so did your breathing, getting louder and taking a lot more effort.

“Jagi, are you okay? What’s going on?” He asked, cupping either side of your face in an attempt to calm you down.

You shook your head, feeling guilty that you were holding him up from entering his event. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you sighed, but he knew you better than that.

There was a scattering of wooden benches just beside the building which he took you too, draping his jacket over your shoulders to keep you warm. He knelt in front of you, steadying himself by placing his hands on your knees.

“Whatever is wrong, you can tell me, it’s okay.”

“I’m just getting really anxious about all of this, there’s so many people in there, I feel like they’re all going to judge me for being there, like I don’t really belong.”

He shook his head, as your anxieties grew, the more you thought about the daunting prospect of entering the restaurant. He sympathised with you, always, knowing how hard of a battle it was for you.

“I know that it’s people I’ve met before, but there’s something from stopping me walking in Joon. I feel sick right now, I genuinely feel like if I walk in there I’m going to have a breakdown. I’m sorry, but I can’t do it, not tonight,” you sobbed.

“It’s okay,” he replied, standing up to pull you into his body. “I understand, I do. We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to, I can make an apology, say that I don’t feel well or something, they won’t mind. If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

It only made you feel worse, he was the sweetest soul, putting you before everything else. You pulled away from his chest, lightly shaking your head.

“You can’t miss this, this is a celebration of you. I’ll go in, and try my best, I can’t have you miss this night because of me. It’s scary, but I’ll do it.” Your head was trying to convince you to go in, but your heart was pounding telling you to run away from it all.”

“I don’t mind, it’s only dinner anyway. I’d much rather go home and order takeout with you and snuggle under a duvet,” he smiled.

“Namjoon, I can’t let you do that, this is all my fault.”

“Stop that,” he begged, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “This isn’t your fault. I just want you to be okay, and if we need to go home for that, then that’s okay.”

Your heart rate began to slow, your hands became less clammy, and the nausea went away, as you gripped tighter on his jacket trying to keep yourself warm. He glanced across at the door noticing one of the managers walking in, he smiled down at you, before following them, leaving you outside all alone momentarily.

He made his way into the restaurant, greeting everyone, before informing them all that he wasn’t feeling too well. He was lying through his teeth, but he didn’t care, he just wanted you to be alright. He excused himself, heading back out to you outside.

“Come on, let’s head home,” he smiled, intertwining his hand with yours, walking along the gravel back to the car. “They all wished me better soon, I feel terrible for lying to them, but you are way more important than any of that in there.”

“I’m sorry that I ruined your special evening?” You frowned.

“Ruin it? Not at all. I’d much rather be at home anyway.” He smiled, “I could see earlier how worked up you were getting, but I didn’t want to say anything.”

Over time, he’d learnt the signs to tell when your anxieties were playing up, and when you were feeling scared. “I didn’t want to be a burden, I wanted to do it, for you, but the thought of all those people watching me eat just made me feel horrible.”

“It’s alright,” he chuckled, “believe me when I say you don’t need to explain yourself. You have good days, and you have bad days, and unfortunately today was just one of those days when your anxiety doesn’t want to be your friend.”

“But I wanted it to be,” you sighed, climbing back into the car, “but as soon as we left the house I just felt sick. Then when I was driving, I felt fine, but seeing the building, and all those faces, I knew I couldn’t face it tonight.”

“We can go home now, and enjoy an evening, just the two of us. I don’t know about you, but a takeaway, a movie, my pyjamas and bed sounds way better than a fancy evening at a restaurant eating tiny portions of food wearing uncomfortable clothes.”

You chuckled, pecking his cheek. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better. I feel guilty that we couldn’t go tonight, so instead I will celebrate you all by myself over a glass of wine, a greasy pizza and the cheesiest film we can find. I hope you know how much I appreciate the fact that you are so supportive, when you really don’t need to be.”

You turned the ignition on of the car, pulling away from the restaurant, driving the short ride home. The two of you were quiet, but comfortable, driving through the hustle of the city, both secretly looking forward to a night at home.

“You know that I support you because I love you, and I understand that times aren’t always easy for you,” he spoke as you pulled up outside your house.

“I love you, but that still doesn’t stop me being thankful.”

You both stepped into the house, quickly making your way upstairs to change into your pyjamas and set up your bed. “I hate that you blamed us missing the evening on you, you should have just said that it was because of me, I didn’t mind.”

He shook his head, “they don’t need to know what’s wrong with you, it’s personal to you. Telling them I was ill was the perfect way to make sure none of them asked questions, and stuck their noses in where they weren’t wanted.”

“Let’s just enjoy the rest of our evening, yeah?”

“Sounds good to me jagi, you pick a movie, I’ll grab a menu, and we’ll have the perfect evening together, all alone.”

---

Masterlist

[thepossibilitiesofus]

9/8/2020 & 9/10/2020

*I realized after my last personal post on my health issues I didn’t include any warning before I started talking about stuff that may be uncomfortable or harmful to someone (triggering), so I am making sure to do that this time, and I will go back and edit the other one to have a warning.

I don’t think anyone is actually reading these posts so I’m not that worried about someone having seen it yet unless through looking at the tags I included. But in the event that someone was harmed by coming across that post without the warning, I am truly sorry.*

Warning: Chronic Illness, Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome, Body Image Issues, Eating Disorders, Mental Illness, Cannabis Use, and just generally kinda gross things. If any of these things are potentially triggering to you, please do not read.

Last time I posted about my cyclic vomiting syndrome, I was still in the middle of an episode. I mean, I still am, but getting towards the end of it (I think....God, I hope). Yesterday I didn’t throw up at all and didn’t have to battle nausea for most of the day. Then this morning, I threw up the most violently and forcefully from the very depths of my stomach (all acid baybeee) that I have since last Monday. I’ve been feeling really sick today so I waited til my roommate was gone to smoke cannabis to try and relieve myself of the nausea and hopefully be able to eat something. (9/8/2020)

I got really stoned, but only “mind high” as opposed to “body high.” For those who may not understand or have little to no experience with cannabis, there are two different types of strains of cannabis: sativa and indica. These two strains produce different effects, and are often crossbred to include effects from both strains (and these are called hybrid strains). Sativa strains are more likely to get you “mind high,” whereas indica strains are more likely to get you “body high.” I will leave it at this over-simplistic explanation for now, but please be aware that this is a huge generalization.

**I plan to write a post about my experiences with cannabis, in the hopes that it may provide valuable information to those who may hold stereotypes about cannabis and the people who use it, or who may just not have come across information on it before. However, that is not the main point of this post.** 

As a result of not achieving the “body high” that I was hoping to attain in the hopes of relieving my nausea, I went on a very emotional roller-coaster. I had gone into my kitchen with the hopes of finding something that didn’t immediately revolt me to the point of gagging, and failed, which is what triggered some unhealthy thoughts, and therefore some realizations, to occur.

As I walked back to my room, I saw my reflection in the mirror. I was wearing a bralette and leggings, which left a decent portion of my stomach showing. I have always been extremely self-conscious about my stomach, and never would have worn something like this around my house even a few months ago. My life has always been about hiding myself, especially this thing that I have always considered to be a huge flaw about my body. When I walked in my room and saw my reflection in the mirror, I noticed that I had seemingly lost a lot of weight. (I say seemingly because I don’t have a scale so I can’t know for sure. Regardless, I felt like that no matter what the reality was.) And for a split second, I finally felt kind of good about myself.

Now, to give some extra cannabis-related context. I learned in my Theory of Personality and Psychotherapy class the other day that using drugs and alcohol  (which is a drug, but I digress), and sleeplessness are opportunities for the unconscious--what non-psych majors might understand to be their subconscious--to break through to the conscious. When these things/realizations/feelings “bubble up” to the surface of our consciousness, we can for a moment have great personal revelations. (Another side note, this explains the Bob Marley quote “When you smoke the herb, it reveals you to yourself.”) Now, anyone who hasn’t used cannabis or other psychedelics might intellectually understand this, but without having used cannabis themselves, they lack the experiential understanding that users have.

With that context given, I can admit that at that moment of confidence, I realized that I have already started developing an unhealthy relationship with food and body image. I started writing this post a few days ago, and I must say that even removed by time from that situation, I still feel quite similarly, unfortunately. I realized that I liked the feeling of starving to the point of weight-loss, in a very demented and twisted way. I’ve always logically and emotionally known that intentionally starving yourself of food with the intentions of losing weight and “being pretty” is horrid. But when you’re forced into this kind of situation by your chronic illness and not by choice, it can feel like even more of an inescapable prison.

So, instead of judging myself for that feeling, I embraced it as a natural part of myself that isn’t wholly representative of my feelings or beliefs regarding my impaired eating. But first, I felt tremendous turmoil and discomfort. This feeling consumed me to the point of complete despondency.

Fortunately, through other not-so-pleasant experiences happening in my life right now, I have been able to utilize more effective and healthy coping mechanisms. I was able to fight through these feelings and come out on the other side. This is something that I haven’t been able to do in a very long time, due to a very long train of traumatic experiences, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of myself.

After experiencing and working through those intense emotions, I came to realize that my nausea had gone away. Even though I still wasn’t “body high”, and only “mind high,” I came to the conclusion that being able to fight my way through an arduous mental gauntlet of conflicting emotions was able to relieve me of my nausea. 

I’ve always known that my cyclic vomiting syndrome is tied to the state of my mental health. And over the past few years, having been through some really tough things has left a lot of open wounds on me, that need to be proactively taken care of. I’ve been going to therapy, doing really well with my self-care, and slowly but surely making my way through the trauma that my brain has been hiding from me for so long.

It’s a slow and grueling process, and God knows there’s a long way to go. When I first started writing about this, I felt very defeated. Now, I recognize the hard work I’ve been putting in and the progress I’ve made as a result.

I hope that by sharing my experiences, I’ve somehow helped someone else. (9/10/2020)

[anothers-trash-my-treasure]

Bittersweet - Chapter Three

I’m always uploading these chapters at like 1 AM but I did this instead of studying. Inspired by my own hangover (this shit lasted two days I swear, don’t drink kids). Enjoy this one!

Pairing: Merriell Shelton / Reader (femme)

Warnings: I don’t think soooooooo, lemme know if I should change this.

Word Count: 2797 

Tag List: @elliotmercury​ @r-ahh-mi​ @the-almond-dinger​ @ahkmenrami1205​ @itsme690​ @xoa-lex​ 

Let me know if you want to be tagged or if I forgot to tag anyone I’m sorry, I have a bad memory, just remind me and I’ll actually write it down lol.

I close the door behind me with a heavy sigh. The disappointment sits heavy on my shoulders at the way Merriell and I’s perfect day came to an end. A million questions circle my head but I don’t get more than a few seconds to contemplate them before Chloe is breathing down my neck about it.

“So?” she asks excitedly, “tell me everything.”

I kick my shoes off and hang up my jacket before turning to look at her. My disappointment must show on my face because the expression on her face quickly changed from one of excitement to one of confusion and concern.

“What happened?” She asks, reaching to pull me down onto the couch with her, “Do I need to fight him? You know I will.”

I smile weakly at her attempt to cheer me up before I shake my head, “I...don’t really know what happened?” I start, letting the confusion from how Merriell acted outside bleed into my voice, “We had such a nice day, and we were flirting and just having such a good time...” I trail off, sighing heavily as I relive the moment in my head, “But then we were standing at the car, saying goodnight and he had his hands on my waist and I was so sure he was going to kiss me...”

“And he didn’t?” Chloe asked, a little incredulously.

I nod, “He didn’t.” I confirm solemnly.

We sit in silence for a moment, while she processes my tragic short story before her hands find mine, holding them in a tight grip.

“Well, fuck that guy.” she says simply, “I picked up a few bottles of wine today? Wanna get drunk and order pizza?”

“God yes.” I reply immediately,  “You know me so well.”

~

Through a haze of half drunk / half asleep fog, I hear a loud pounding at the door. I groan, rolling over and pushing my head into my pillow, not quite ready to wake up and face my headache and hangover yet. There’s no way I can walk all the way to the door to get it. The knocking continues but sleep tugs me back under, even as I hear Chloe stumble out of her room to answer. I hear voices but my brain doesn’t register anything more. A voice yelling my name threatens to drag me out, but I just bury myself deeper under my covers. I get a few more minutes of trying to block out the words before the covers are yanked off of me.

“Hey!” I exclaim, wincing at how shot my voice is and looking as Chloe glares down at me.

“You have a visitor.” she grumbles, “I’m going back to bed.”

I drag myself out of bed, and my hangover begins to really hit me. My mouth dry, eyes burning and head throbbing from the sunlight. A heavy pit of nausea sits at the bottom of my stomach and the world spins as I move. I go to leave my room, confused and disoriented. Who the hell could be wanting to visit me? I wrack my brain for answers and sure enough, as soon as I walk out into the living room them all come back.

“Fuck it.” I slur, downing the rest of my wine, “I’m gonna call him.”

Chloe squeals excitedly as I pull out my phone, “Yesssss bitch!” She yells, holding up her own wine glass high above her head, “Put the asshole on blast!”

I sift through my contacts and without hesitating press the call button next to a blurry string of letters that resembles the thoughts I’ve had all night. I press my phone to my ear, grabbing the bottle of wine and instead of pouring another glass, I start drinking out the bottle. Chloe laughs, loudly, brightly, and it’s so much I hardly register a clicking on the other line.

“Y/n?” His voice comes, and it’s sleepy and adorable and I simultaneously swoon and feel my anger rise at the same time. Fuck him for being so goddamn perfect, “is everthin’ alright?”

“Hello, Merriell.” I say confidently, getting up and walking around the couch as I speak, Chloe's drunken encouragement spurring me on, “Everything is fine, I just have a single question for you-” I pause bringing the wine bottle up to my lips, “Actually, you know what isn’t fine?” I ask, becoming sidetracked by a new train of thought, “How we left things this evening.”

I hear his amused ‘oh?’ come from the other end and I continue, words slurring.

“In fact, that, my dear boy, is where my question comes from.” I pause for dramatic effect, waiting for him to acknowledge my words before continuing, “Why, in the holy everloving hell, did you not kiss me?”

I groan loudly when I see him sitting on the couch. I cover my face with my hands, embarrassment flooding my body like a wave of heat. I hear his chuckle at my bemusement and suddenly his presence along with the effects of my wine-induced hangover are way too much for me to handle. The world is spinning and I make my way over to the couch on unsteady legs before throwing myself down onto it face first. Before I can bring myself to start apologizing, he speaks.

“How’re ya feelin’?” He asks, and although there’s amusement in his voice, there’s an undertone of something...else?

“Like shit,” I say into the couch, not wanting to look up at him just yet. The last thing I want to see is the pity and uncomfort on his face, “I really, really, really hate myself right now.”

“Aweh, c’mon. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with getting a little too drunk every now n’ again.” He says, almost reassuringly.

It’s silent for a few moments as I feel sorry for myself. Merriell sits, and he squirms and I can tell he’s uncomfortable being here. And then a question crosses my mind and I raise my head to look at him.

“Wait, why are you here?” I ask. He meets my eyes and raises an eyebrow, asking a silent question of ‘seriously?’. “Enlighten me, I remember making a fool of myself but not all the details.” My voice is almost bitter, the pounding in my head eating away at my patience.

He clears his throat, looking away from me, running a hand over his face before meeting my eyes again. “You-uh,” He pauses, his knee is jerking nervously and he wipes his hands on his pants, “You told me ya wanted to talk to me.” he starts, “And when I said I was listening, ya made me promise to stop by in the morning before I went to work.” He trails off before holding out his arms in a kind of ‘so what’ movement, “So here I am.”

I groan again, “Fuck, Merriell, I am so sorry.” I say, hand coming up to rub at my face, grateful that I had taken my makeup off before getting too drunk, “I don’t even remember what I would have wanted to talk to you about.”

My body protests as I pull myself into a sitting position, very aware of the fact that I’m only in sleep shorts and a t-shirt. I look at him properly, trying to gauge his emotion. He looks different from the first two times I’ve seen him. He’s lost his cool composure, fiddling with a loose thread on his worn t-shirt. His eyes won’t rest on one spot, flicking to look at me before looking anywhere else. He’s tense, and I know he doesn’t want to be here.

“You can go,” I say softly, even though I want him to stay. I want to fix this. For whatever reason, my heart screams at me to keep this, whatever this may be, alive. But if it’s one-sided, It’s best that it ends now, “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

I half expect him to just bolt after I’ve released him. But he doesn't. He stays. He still doesn’t say anything. His eyes stay trained on his hands as they fiddle in his lap. He seems to be battling with something. His mouth keeps opening and closing like he wants to say something, but he keeps losing the nerve. I try to stay focused on him but the pounding in my head and dryness in my mouth keeps me distracted. I excuse myself, wandering to the bathroom to try and get myself in order.

My mind races while I go through my usual morning routines. Why the hell did I call him? Fucking dumbass, I scold myself silently, glaring at my reflection in the mirror after brushing my teeth and drinking some water. There’s no way I haven’t fucked this up, he’s trying to find a way to let me down easy right now. Hell, I wouldn’t blame him if he left while I was in here. I grab some Tylenol from my makeup bag that sits on the counter, swallowing them down before taking one last look in the mirror.

“Idiot.” I breathe softly, before opening the door and walking back down the hallway to the living room.

He’s still there, almost surprisingly, when I walk in. He looks up at me and he seems a little less nervous, a little more put together.

“Why’d you say sorry?” He asks simply.

I’m a little blown away at his question. I sit down hesitantly beside him, gathering my thoughts, “Well, I guess I’m embarrassed at my behaviour. I acted irrationally, getting drunk and calling you out over the phone instead of being a normal human and actually taking my shot next time. If there was going to be a next time.” My hangover encourages me to speak honestly, too tired and longing the comfort of my bed and knowing the sooner this is over, the sooner I can sleep it off, I sigh heavily as I let my concerns pass my lips, “But I’m going to assume that I’ve fucked up any ‘next times’ that may have been in the works. So if you could just refrain from using my name when you talk to your friends about the crazy tourist you went out with, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

He looks at me, eyebrows drawn in and a small frown on his lips, “Why’d you assume that?” He asks voice laced with confusion.

“Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t go out with me again.” I say through a bitter laugh, “I mean come on, we go on one date, you don’t kiss me and I get drunk and yell at you on the phone about it.” I run a hung through my hair, ignoring the pain that comes from the pull of the kinks, “Any other guy would be running the other direction. It all just screams ‘crazy’.”

I don’t know what I expect him to do, crack a small smile and a joke, agree and never see me again or what but he surprises me by just sitting there, searching my eyes with a serious expression on his face.

“Well, I ain’t any other guy.” he finally says, softly. So softly, I’m not even sure he meant to say it out loud because when he speaks next it’s much louder, “How long are ya here for?”

“In Louisiana?” I ask, surprised at the turn of conversation. When he nods, I continue, “a week. We fly out on Sunday.”

He nods, looking back down at his feet on the hardwood floors and then it’s silent again. It’s silent for a while, him looking at the floor and me looking at him, trying desperately to see where his head is at. It hits me that I don’t really know this man, not actually. He told me small things yesterday, a detail here and there about his life. But to know him enough to try and predict his next move? To know what he judged as crazy or not? To know if he was a runner or a fighter? I don’t know him. And yet he sits on the couch of my rented Airbnb, trying to decide if I’m worth the trouble or not, and I don’t know a damn thing about him. But I do know, that I don’t want him to become just a story I tell my friends.

“Y’know I regret not kissin’ ya.” he says softly, finally looking at me and actually holding my gaze, “But I had a reason.” He pauses, “Lookin’ back it’s a stupid one.” A hand reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. He seems to do that a lot when he’s nervous, a defence mechanism.

“Can I ask what it was?” I ask softly.

He chews on his bottom lip nervously, running a hand through his hair before he sighs, “Okay,” He starts hesitantly, “Look, ’m not the best at relationships.” He winces at the sheer amount of vulnerability evident in his voice as he spills the truth, “I always fuck it up. Movin’ too fast or gettin’ scared and callin’ it off. My friend Eugene tells me I have ‘commitment issues’” He raises his hands into quotations on the two words, and I have to stifle a giggle at how annoyed he looks at the concept. He looks at me shyly, forcing myself to look me in the eyes, “But when I saw you,” he hesitates, “all o’ it went away. I just knew I wanted to see ya again.”

My heart soars at the words, a small smile tugging at my lips as he keeps talking, more like rambling now.

“But then, I got nervous last night. Lookin’ at me like that and it just kinda hit me that you’re not from here and you’re leavin’ and I didn’t wanna drag you into my bullshit.” He breaks off with a sigh, “but then you went n’ called me, callin’ me out for not kissing you..” he trails off, “I don’t think I’ve eva’ regretted anything more.”

All my feelings from the previous night come rushing back. My heart beating heavily in my chest as I stare at him, a little dumbfounded at his sweet words. He’s so much different today than he was last night. Cocky demeanour replaced with a much more real and open side of him. His eyes still betray him, showing how nervous, scared, conflicted he is at our situation. I have to laugh a little bit and how stupid we are; Both so afraid to mess this up that neither of us realized what the other was feeling.

“So fix it,” I say softly. He barely gets out a ‘what’ before I’m repeating myself, “fix it.” His eyes search mine as I scoot closer, driven by the fluttering feeling in my chest and stomach, my hangover long forgotten as I utter my next sentence.

“Kiss me.”

For a second I think he won’t do it. I think that he’ll let the fear of how complicated this could be get the best of him. But his eyes flicker from mine to my lips and I know that he wants this just as much as I do. My heart accelerates as he leans in, pausing when we’re just inches apart to let a hand come up to cup my jaw. He takes another moment to look at me and the possibility of him backing down still hangs between us. But, thank god, this time he doesn’t disappoint.

His lips press against mine, softly at first as if testing the waters before moving his against mine slowly. I breathe in as I lean into the touch, bracing myself on the couch so I don’t fall over. The world is spinning again, but this time it’s not nauseating or disorienting. He pulls back a bit, took look into my eyes, asking a silent question of if it’s okay.

I answer by pressing another kiss to his lips, moving closer so I can wrap my arms around his neck. We kiss slowly, languidly, enjoying the soft brush of our lips against one others. It’s magical to be kissing him like this. Intoxicating, exhilarating, electrifying. No one word can describe it. I don’t know how long we kiss for but the second he pulls away, I miss his lips against mine.

I let out a long breath, opening my eyes to look at him. I’m sure I’m looking at him with what can only be described as a dreamy expression on my face. But I can’t bring myself to care.

“Are you sure you have to go to work?” I ask, bringing our foreheads together.

He chuckles softly, breath fanning out over my lips as he rubs his nose against mine, leaning back down to speak before kissing me again.

“I can call in sick.”

~

Part 4

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I think it would be very interesting to explore in a story how Claire would cope if she had to recover from a serious injury/accident/whatever and would be limited in her abilities for some time. She usually is always the one who heals other people and it would be quite the challenge for her to be a patient for a change.

It’s been a long battle but I think I finally conquered the writer’s block I’ve faced with the last stretch of this middle part to The Tagalong. Fingers crossed that the writing of it continues smooth through to the end. ~ Lenny

Fergus disobeys Jamie’s order to return to Lallybroch and instead follows them all the way to Craigh na Dun, inadvertently following Claire through the stones.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven

The Tagalong - Part Twelve

Thank goodness for Fergus, Claire thought as she listened to him reading to Brianna in the other room. It was impossible for her to sit up without her head spinning and her stomach lurching. But if she didn’t at least make the effort it was impossible to breathe.

She had called Mrs. Graham who had immediately offered what help she could but there was only so much the older woman could do. She’d brought soup and other food that only needed a little heating in the oven—which Fergus could handle, though Claire knew he must mutter about it—and Mrs. Graham had also taken a bit of laundry back with her to the manse, promising to return it the next day when she came to check in on them again.

It was also, thankfully, the weekend and Claire was off of work. Fergus had only a little schoolwork to complete. And Brianna had finished cutting a new tooth and was back to being her babbling and cooperative self.

But in truth, Claire was too physically miserable to give any concern more than a cursory consideration. She just wanted—needed—to sleep and get over whatever flu it was that somehow managed to leave her both shivering and sweating at the same time.

She dozed, waking when she heard a faint knock near the door.

She squinted to find Fergus standing with Brianna in his arms, squirming to get down.

“Where are les couches?”

Claire sighed then began to push herself up to a sitting position. She had to pause before she found the strength to move her legs around to the side of the bed and pause again with her head between her knees to make stop the room spinning.

“Mamamama,” Brianna cried, lunging for Claire and causing Fergus to lurch in order to maintain his hold of her.

“I’m coming, Bree,” Claire croaked but once he’d regained a firm footing, Fergus hefted Brianna into a more secure hold and shook his head, stepping back as Claire made it to her feet and began to approach.

“Non, Mother Claire,” he scolded. “You must return to bed and rest. I can take care of Bree and will see her put to bed.”

“It’s fine, Fergus,” Claire insisted, trying to clear her throat but triggering a coughing fit instead. As she turned away to avoid coughing on her children, a whiff of Brianna’s soiled diaper made it through her clogged nasal passages and sent her running for the bathroom.

The cool, smooth floor and the chill of the porcelain basin were reassuringly solid beneath her trembling body. She decided to stay there for a while rather than confirm her fears that the only way she could reach her bed again would be if she crawled. She thought she’d heard Brianna crying but when she focused enough to listen she heard only silence. Lying down and pulling a bath towel over her like a blanket, she told herself she would need to ask Fergus about the contents of Brianna’s diaper, a brief bolt of fear shooting through her that her young and vulnerable daughter might contract the flu that was tormenting her. While her own symptoms had begun as a cold, there were some for whom digestive issues were the first sign of illness.

Sleep claimed her before her fear for Brianna grew to encompass Fergus’ welfare too.

It was impossible for her to tell how long she’d been on the floor of the bathroom when she roused again—not to vomit but because of a cramp in her leg from how she’d been lying. Her stomach felt settled enough for her to attempt returning to bed once the feeling had returned to her leg. She sat up and slowly shifted on the floor, her foot knocking something in the process.

She found a plate with dry toast and a glass of water—her foot having knocked the plate and missed the glass. There was a note as well, though she couldn’t read it in the dark. Of course, it wasn’t as though Brianna could have left it for her.

The water first—just a few sips. It both soothed and tickled her throat so that she nearly had another coughing fit. But the liquid settled comfortably in her stomach so she drank a little more and waited again. A wave of violent hunger washed over her as the intake of water triggered her stomach’s need for more. The toast was cold and plain and delicious. She nibbled it cautiously, struggling to take her own professional advice not to overdo it. When there was nothing left but the crumbs, she reached the plate and cup up to rest them on the edge of the counter and pulled herself to her shaking feet.

She was still chilled—the towel hadn’t been as warm a blanket as she needed—but she could move again without waves of nausea knocking her back to her knees. And though there remained a fog in her head, it no longer pressed in on her nose and eyes with the painful pressure that had been there before.

For the first time in a day and a half Claire could smell enough to smell herself. She smelled of vomit, even though she couldn’t find any traces on her person—to be frank, she didn’t have the energy to look very hard. The thought of a bath was nice. The steam should help with her lingering congestion and the heat would soothe the achy feeling in her limbs.

She should clean up a bit first. The plate and cup needed to be returned to the kitchen and based on the light, it was the middle of the night. She should check on Fergus and Brianna, ensure there was something Fergus could easily make for their breakfast in a few hours. Mrs. Graham wouldn’t be by again until midday but Fergus should be able to keep Brianna fed, cleaned, and occupied until then.

Had the kitchen always been so far from her bedroom?

By the time she reached the kitchen sink, she was afraid she’d drop the glass and plate and shatter them against whatever else might be in there so she simply left them on the counter before sinking to the floor and resting her forehead against the cool surface of the cabinetry that shielded the pipes. If it felt so cool to her touch, she must still be quite feverish. Or perhaps she felt so weak because she needed more to eat. The toast and water were all she’d managed to keep down in what must be close to two days.

A bit more toast and she’d have the energy to move again. The loaf of bread was still right near the toaster from when Fergus had made what he’d left for her in the bathroom. She only needed to stand… and lean against the counter. Better yet, sit on the floor some more while it cooked.

Fergus shook her shoulder and whispered harshly in her face. “What are you doing out here, Mother Claire? You are going to burn the house down if you take not more care.”

Claire blinked and gasped, started from her doze and then she coughed as the lingering wisps of smoke crawled down her throat and into her lungs.

Fergus had removed the singed toast from the toaster and set them on a plate near the window to be tossed out for the birds in the morning. Claire would have scoffed if she weren’t fighting to control her coughing and the gag reflex that it threatened to trigger. The toast wasn’t that badly burned and the smoke that it had created was little more than what might rise from the wick of a blown out candle. Besides, the toaster had done what it was supposed to and had popped the bread up when it was done—it was only the lower edge closest to the still-hot coils that were a bit singed.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Claire asked, her throat scratchy from all the coughing. She pulled herself to standing and attempted to look down at Fergus, reinforcing her authority as the parent. Except she didn’t have to look down far. He’d shot up more in his recent growth spurt than she’d realized. It wouldn’t be long before her surpassed her in height.

“I heard you banging out here as you had your fight with the toaster,” he explained.

She had had difficulty getting the bread into the thing in the near dark but she thought she’d been quieter about it.

“Are you feeling well again, Mother Claire?” Fergus asked, his eyes narrowing at her. “Did you eat what I left for you?”

“Yes,” she responded in a hissed whisper. “And it did me good so I thought I would make a little more for myself to eat. I can’t keep lying in bed when you and Bree—”

“Bree and I will be better with you in bed than with you in l’hopital,” he scolded. “Is it not you who always say not to do so much when you are ill as it will take longer for you to recover?”

Claire desperately wanted to protest but she couldn’t argue with herself and Fergus knew it only too well.

“Back to your bed with you,” he ushered her out of the kitchen. “I will make you edible toast and bring more for you to drink.”

“There should be some oatmeal in the cupboard for you to make parritch for your breakfast,” Claire explained as she accepted defeat. “And Mrs. Graham will stop by in time for luncheon. If you have trouble getting Bree dressed or if she fusses at all—”

“I can take care of my women,” Fergus assured her firmly, ignoring her as she rolled her eyes. “I will do what Milord would if he were here, and he would see you put to bed and made to rest.”

Claire couldn’t have found words to argue with him even if she’d wanted to. He led her to her bed and indeed, tucked her in when she was beneath the covers.

She caught his wrist before he left.

“Milord would be very proud of you right now,” she told him. “Thank you, Fergus. For taking such good care of me and of your sister.”

“Milord would be amazed I convinced you without more of a fight,” Fergus admitted with a laugh. “Go to sleep now, maman. I will leave something for you when you awake.”