#itchy eyes if I really shove my face into her lol

[corpsecoochie]

Got any vices?

I’m allergic to cats.

I own a cat.

[ronearoundblindly]

Midnight Kiss

Steve Rogers x reader

Just a little ditty in honor of the upcoming holiday. Warnings for suggestive language and bad puns. It's just cute, awkward, and chivalrous...until it isn't. If you couldn't deduce it from the title: they kiss lol. WC 1.5k+

He's happy to see the team having fun, but this isn't exactly Steve's 'scene.' Granted, his 'scene' flew the coop long ago, when his generation aged out of large, raucous celebrations, or rather, Steve never had any true social scene because he never really lived .

He's still trying, he swears; it's just...

really. damn. loud.

The lights are somehow too dim and too bright all at once. Everyone is happy and blitzed and dressed to the nines and leaning on the closest stable object. Any minute now, he'll bow out and call it a--

There's an ear-piercing cackle from a woman in a '2024' gold-streamered headband not two yards to his right, and she tips backwards, shoving an innocent passerby straight into his solid side.

"Sorry," you squeak, rolling your eyes because the word wasn't loud enough to shame the drunk woman beside you, but you're facing him, too, unable to see she's about to make it worse.

The woman snorts and laughs harder, toppling over because her party of friends have the reaction time of sloths, their hands full of dainty champagne flutes and mini-snacks.

Steve instinctively pulls you out of the way, his broad, strong arm wrapping your waist and pinning you to him.

"Oof," you grunt in alarm, the woman's drink spilling over your shoulder.

Hors d'oeuvres, Steve thinks sullenly, that's what people call them these days.

The woman doesn't apologize, and neither do her friends.

He counts a full five seconds before anyone in the small group even raises a hand to help the woman still giggling on the floor. Mostly, Steve is now concerned with the glass shards near your feet.

He's all for having fun, he's all for letting off a little steam, but he is not a fan of sloppiness. That's not a generational trait; that's simple courtesy.

"Ok, 'nough of this," he mutters, an itchy irritation scurrying up his body while he tries not to take over care of the woman. Instead, he checks your legs with a glance, sees the open toes of your strappy sandals, and hoists you into his arms.

He walks away from the bar, sound of crunching fading with each step, and finds a tiny bench--the only spot not occupied--where he can set you down.

Steve can't hear your shock or protest because his blood races past his ears. That was the last straw. He's annoyed now.

"Stay there," he commands, putting up a finger that gets shockingly close to touching your lips since you leaned in to speak. "I'm getting some napkins."

The bartender is oblivious, and why should he not be? The man is one of two serving over a hundred guests, give or take, for hours and hours. Steve doesn't bother getting his attention. He stretches a long arm over the bar top and grabs a stack of cocktail napkins.

It might as well be toilet paper.

He dabs and dabs at the sleeve of your dress, but the napkins dissolve and turn to damp pills. In his day, those results would make excellent spitballs to pass the time in class. They aren't so trendy on your black velvet.

"I thought this would work." He doesn't know what else to do but keep dabbing, so he anxiously continues, not noticing the precarious proximity to your chest until you put a hand on his.

You have kind eyes, he thinks, even though he can't fully make out their color in the mood lighting.

"Please, don't--" finally one of the woman's group yells over a quick sorry "--don't bother with that," you finish. "It's just a dress. You can go back to your people, Captain."

He scrunches his brow. He sometimes wants to introduce himself; he wouldn't always use his rank, but he rarely gets that luxury. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." You nod. "Was heading out anyway. I'll just sit a sec and then leave."

Sounds like the highlight of my night--leaving.

Instead, Steve stands to his full height and scans the busy room for any of his team. He shrugs to himself since, who's he kidding, no one will miss him if he disappears early. He's put in the appearance. He's made enough small drunk talk. Yikes, does he wish alcohol still affected him...

"I'll walk you out," he offers, careful to modulating his volume when one song abruptly ends and another starts lower.

At first, you don't take his hand, and your first two steps seem sturdy.

Then your weight crumples after a deep hiss.

Steve has you back up and carried to the bathroom in a flash. It's lit so he can actually see and muffled so he can actually hear, thank goodness.

Glass did sneak into your shoe, and it easily poked through the ball of your foot. He's so quick to find it that not one whole drop of blood has even eased out of the wound by the time he's pulling the shard out. His bare hands pinch the sizable chunk.

He's careful, slow, and gentle. He's also a touch proud that you make very little fuss, only squirming in discomfort while he works.

"All better," he says, dropping the glass into the trash bin. "We'll just wash it and...you alright?"

You're already pushing yourself off the counter top.

"You shouldn't put weight on it yet." Steve gingerly lifts your leg at the knee to keep the foot from touching the bare tile floor.

"Yeah, but--" you make a face "--you set me down in water."

Steve's eyes bug out. "I--oh gosh--so sorry, I--let me--" there are no paper towels, only an air dryer "--shit."

Defeated by modernity again, he sighs. "I just...I can get more napkins and maybe a first aid kit from--"

The crowd outside is starting to yell. They're counting, backwards, and there's no way anyone will understand what he's asking for in that chaos.

"Ten!"

Steve meets your eyes.

"Nine!"

He can see their full color now and that your dress isn't black. It's a very, very dark maroon velvet. Wetness is easily visible though, since your sleeve seems fully black at the shoulder.

"Eight!"

He points to the door. "Somebody I can get for you?"

You shake your head.

Not that he was fishing for your relationships status, but he's encouraged nonetheless.

"Seven!"

"Only me," you shrug, "braving the party for a thrill..."

"Same."

"Six!"

"How was the year?" he cracks with a smile.

You tilt your head. He's distracted by the cute gesture.

"Five!"

He stares.

"Four!"

"Not great," you admit.

Steve thinks while he stares.

"Three!"

Actually, no, that's a lie. He doesn't think; he just acts.

"Tw--"

He swoops in, big palms cradling each side of your face, soft lips pressed to yours for just an instant, but only because he wants more.

Unless tortured, Steve Rogers will never admit that he didn't plan for one instant where his tongue was not involved. He absolutely wants to taste you. He absolutely wants to own you, just for these few seconds. He absolutely wants to hear you moan in encouragement, the sound crystal clear in isolation from the party.

The roar of the crowd is soft static compared to that racing blood of his.

He pushes himself closer, his bent arms getting in his way, so Steve props up with a palm on the--oh wow, that is wet--counter. His thumb touches the soggy velvet covering your hip and thigh.

He'll buy you a whole new dress if only you lace your fingers in his hair, if only you take his bottom lip between your teeth, if only you whine just like that again.

By 'again,' he means in a few seconds, and maybe tomorrow, and, for good measure, whenever after that.

A loud thud on the door knocks him out of his lip-lock trance. It's not a single restroom, so he suspects another overly inebriated patron since no one comes through the door.

But now some sense is knocked into him, too.

He chews on his swollen lips for a moment, nervous to look up. He hopes you don't regret it, and he hopes you know that he does not, can not, and will never regret that kiss.

Your sated sigh breaks the tension after a beat. "Starting this year off right," you mutter, "at least for me..."

"Yeah," Steve chuckles, glancing at the door before finally taking in your lounging form, "the gang is gonna love how I ended up in a ladies' bathroom at the stroke of midnight, necking a stranger."

You snort.

"Don't leave out the part where I was wet for you, head to toe, huh?"

Too bad the florescent lights are bright enough to show his raging red blush, but he clears his throat with a deep growl.

"They'll never believe me..."

Steve sweeps you up into his arms again.

"...unless I take you as proof...and to get a bandage, of course."

You snatch up your shoe and purse, but he won't let this Cinderella run off. You'll be right here against him all night.

"Well, go ahead and splash my other shoulder," you tease. "I can't be lop-sided."

Steve grins, already adding more and more things to list of what he'll do for you, to you, and with you. The list can include parties, too, if this is how wonderfully sweet and silly they can all be.

Happy New Year, indeed...

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp (My taglists are all jacked up again, so if you are missing from the list and/or want to be tagged, please let me know!)

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[biting-miguel-ohara]

Pretty - Laura Kinney x ftm!Reader

A/N: Oh, I hope this is good 😬 Bold text is Spanish, because Laura speaking Spanish is my absolute favorite; I just didn’t wanna have to put translations, lol. Let me know if I missed any warnings

Written for this request

CW: misery; dysphoria; mild Charles Xavier bashing; dysphoria; Reader kinda has a breakdown; Reader is a mutant, but their powers are not mentioned; crying; Laura is softer but still grumpy in this; Reader is called love; language; unspoken acts of love; Reader wears a binder; ‘I love you’s; soft ending

675 words

It had started with the Professor. You didn’t really blame him, but it was definitely his fault. He’d been the one to insist you come with them on the mission.

You’d missed Laura the whole time, not used to being on a mission away from her. That had made you quietly miserable.

And then one of the members of the crowd afterwards had to go and shout at you. You don’t remember exactly what they said, but they’d called you pretty. Pretty made you think of girls, which brought up your insecurities, and then one thing led to another.

You’re shaking as you get off the jet, barely able to hold back a breakdown. You want to hide. You want to get away. You need Laura.

Logan tries to stop you as you pass, but you brush by him. Tears are already threatening to spill and you hastily wipe at your eyes. He calls out to you, but you ignore him.

You make it to your room and rip off your suit. Shoving it as far out of your sight as you can. You pull on a comfy shirt and curl up in your bed. Pulling the covers up over your head to block out the world.

It doesn’t help with the thoughts, but you can finally cry in peace.

Eventually, the covers are pulled back and she crawls under. Tugging your frame tightly against hers.

“Love, why are you sad?”

You bury your face against Laura’s shoulder, curling your body into hers. “I dunno.”

She gently scratches your back, resting her chin on your head. “That’s stupid. Did someone say something?”

There’s an edge to her voice, and you know she’ll jump to chewing the Professor out the moment you say yes.

You hug her tighter and nod. “It’s dumb. I don’t even remember what they said. It‘s just…”

Words fail you, tears prickling at your eyes again. Your voice cracks when you speak. “They called me pretty, Laura.”

“Those fuckers.” Laura’s voice is a low growl. “I’ll kill them.”

You press your face to her neck. “Not yet. Just stay here for a while?”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Just for you, love.”

You hide with her until Bobby comes around to call everyone for dinner.

Laura gets out of the bed first, rummaging around your dresser and closet. You poke your head out from under the blankets, wiping at your eyes.

She sits next to you, handing you a pile of clothes. “Change. I won’t look.”

You nod and crawl out of bed. She sits with her back to you, not even glancing your way once. It helps calm you a little. She loves you enough to know how to wait.

You look through the bundle of clothes, your heart climbing its way to your throat. It’s your favorite t-shirt and pants, complete with your least itchy binder and some fingerless gloves.

You take your time putting on the clothes, making sure everything is in the right place. Then you hug her from behind. Pressing your face into her neck and closing your eyes. “Thank you.”

She turns her head to kiss your cheek. “Feeling better?”

You nod. “I’m always better with you, Laura.”

She rolls her eyes a little, but a smile twitches at her lips. “Don’t be sappy.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to her cheek in return. “I mean it.”

She grumbles, twisting to hug you properly. “I said, don’t be sappy, idiot. We’re going to miss dinner at this rate.”

You press your forehead to hers, gently rubbing your nose against hers. “I love you.”

She melts after a moment. “Yeah, yeah. I love you too.”

You pull her to her feet and take her hand, entwining your fingers with hers. “Come on. If you promise to watch a movie with me later, I’ll let you chew out the Professor.”

She perks up immediately. “Yes! I promise! That old bastard deserves a good bite!”

You just grin and lead her towards the door.

[cxtori]

Hi :3

Can u please do a jealous scenario with Kumatani? (^o^)

Thank u <3

I love your writing <3

Mitsuo Kumatani ✭ Not Jealous

wc: 1.5k

genre: fluff, jealousy, establish relationship

warnings: n/a, most definitely a little ooc Kuma here lmao

tori's note: I'm not gonna lie to you anon, I really struggled writing this. I just don't really see Kuma as the jealous type, so I didn't know what kind of situation to write lol. I hope he's not too OOC? I'm sorry babes, I did my best *cries* also, also SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG LOOOOL

Kumatani always considered himself a typically calm and collected man. Someone who didn’t let things get under his skin easily. It wasn’t often that his emotions got the better of him, but when they did, it was usually because something (or someone) had pushed his buttons until they shattered.

The emotion he usually felt in such instances was annoyance, sometimes frustration and anger. But what he was feeling right now was a new one, and it was intense. 

“Wow, these trees look great, Y/n!” Eddy exclaims. Kumatani watches as the assistant director stands beside you, patting you on the shoulder. Kumatani feels his heart wrench when you nervously laugh out a ‘thank you’.

The bear suit he was so “blessed” to wear everyday didn’t have many perks. It was hot and stuffy, oftentimes itchy. It was hard to move in and it impaired his spatial awareness which, for him, was frustrating. 

But, a pro to the suit was it allowed his eyes and face to do whatever they pleased as it wouldn’t be seen by anyone else. He could roll his eyes and give annoyed expressions all he wanted without consequence. 

So, for moments like this, when he’s glaring holes into the back of Eddy’s head, he was thankful for it.

“They’re really not a big deal,” you say, brushing off the man’s compliment. You pick up a fake maple leaf and reattach it to a plastic tree branch, hoping it’ll stay in place this time. “They only took a couple hours, and they’re already falling apart.”

“Come on, give yourself some credit!” Eddy says, shoving his rejected compliment back in your face. “I couldn’t do anything like this, which is exactly why we hired you.” 

“Haha, right,” you say with a forced laugh. “Well I should get these onto the set  before Derekida shouts at me,” you say as you carefully pick up one of your mini maple trees, your hands squeezing the rough, faux bark. But, before you can walk away, Eddy begins to speak again.

“Oh, hey, I was uhh… Well, ummm… ” Eddy stutters and you feel your stomach drop. Oh no. You know that look as well as that nervous quiver in his voice. Before he even continues you already know where this is going. “I was planning on trying out that new restaurant tonight, would you wanna go? O-only if you’re not busy, that is...”

Just as you feared. You and Kumatani have only been dating for a few months, and you both preferred to keep your relationship quiet, so you can’t blame Eddy for not knowing. But seriously? Here? Now? In front of your boyfriend? You admired his courage but hated his timing.

“Oh, Eddy that’s nice but,” you start, trying to find a way to let him down kindly. You turn your head just enough to see Kumatani out of the corner of your eye. You turn back to Eddy, ready to break the news, and possibly his heart. “Umm, thing is-”

“We’re busy tonight,” Kumatani interjects, popping up beside you. 

“Aww, really?” Eddy says, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“Yes, really,” Kumatani says sternly, laying an arm gently over your shoulders, silently saying all that was needed. “Now, leave her alone.” You glance over at your boyfriend, even though you can’t see his face. 

Not many people can tell when Kumatani is getting ticked unless he purposefully shows it. You however, can tell by the slightest change in his tone. And based on the few words he’s just spoken, he’s not just ticked, he’s pissed.

Your eyebrows quirk and you question just why he was so mad. Eddy doesn’t know you’re dating, and it’s not like he’s pushed your boundaries. Kumatani seems to surprise himself with his words, his stoic shell cracking a bit.

“Oh, I see… s-sorry,” Eddy mutters. The director walks away without another word, partly out of respect, but mostly out of fear. He knew better than to make Kumatani mad.

You stand there in silence for a moment, tiny tree in hand and stuffy bear suit over your shoulder. 

“Thank you. But you know you didn’t have to do that. It was just Eddy,” you say with an awkward giggle. Mitsuo removes his arm from you and takes a small step back.

“Sorry. I don’t really know-”

“Y/n! We need those trees!” Derekida’s voice echoes through the studio, cutting Kumatani off and making you jump out of your skin. You groan, turning to pick up another one of the fake plants.

“Be right there!” You shout back, doing your best to hide the annoyance in your voice. Though it's not like Derekida hasn't heard it before. You turn back to your boyfriend, still interested in hearing what he has to say. “Hold that thought, ‘kay? I’ll meet you in your dressing room in a minute.”

Kumatani just nods as he watches you stumble to the filming set with your props. 

It doesn’t take you long to get the trees set up in preparation for Utano and Iketeru’s next performance. The moment you’re satisfied with how everything looks, you sprint to the dressing rooms before Derekida can notice you’re leaving.

You knock on the door before entering, finding Mitsuo standing in the room with his bear suit removed. Well, all but the mask. You stand there in silence for a moment as you stare at him, wondering why he’s bothered to take off everything except for the head.

“Whatcha doing?” You ask curiously. Your boyfriend remains unmoving, his arms cross over his chest.

“What do you mean?” He says casually, like he doesn’t expect you to question his choice of outfit. You roll your eyes with a small laugh before walking up to him and gently placing your hands on the bear head.

“Come on, I can’t take you seriously with that thing on,” you say and he doesn’t resist as you carefully pull the mask up and off of his head. You smile at the sight of his steely grey eyes, much better than the soulless black dots of a fake bear.

“Hi,” you say airily, leaning closer to him.

“Hi,” he says in return, his lips curving in a faint smile. You set his mask down on the table and sit on the edge beside it.

“So, wanna tell me what happened earlier?” You ask. Mitsuo’s eyes flash with a very brief moment of annoyance, and you just barely catch it.

“There’s nothing to tell. He tried to ask you out and I told him off,”

“Yes, but I think there’s a little more to it than that,” you push gently. “You seemed pretty upset.”

He just looks at you, not bothering to give even a small hum in response. But recalling the situation from just a bit ago was getting him irritated again.

He’s being ridiculous, he knows he is. He's not sure what set him off to begin with. People are allowed to compliment you, especially on things you’ve poured your time and effort into. But for some reason, seeing Eddy interact with you like that angered him.

He wasn’t about to tell you that though. That would mean admitting that his emotions got the better of him. And even though it is something that has happened before, he didn't like the feeling of losing control.

You watch him stand in his silence, replaying the situation in your head when it hits you.

“Are you jealous?” You ask bluntly.

 “Jealous?” Mitsuo repeats, caught off guard by your assumption.  “Of course not.” He looks away from you and crosses his arms back over his chest. He’s trying to look unperturbed, but you absentmindedly make the connection to a pouting child. He may have been annoyed, but he certainly wasn’t jealous.

 “Oh, you’re so jealous. This is hilarious.”

“I said I’m not jealous,” he says simply, but from the slight change in his tone of voice, you can tell he’s at least a little jealous, even if he doesn’t know it. You laugh softly and stand from the table, walking over and taking your boyfriend's hands in yours.

You look up at him sincerely, though his eyes avoid yours.

“Mitsuooo,” you coo. The man grunts in annoyance, wanting this conversation to be over so he can leave. He never thought he’d be given the choice to wear his bear suit or talk to you. And he certainly never thought he’d want to choose the former of the two. 

You raise a hand to his cheek, tenderly pulling him to face you, smiling brightly when his eyes finally meet yours.

“It’s okay if you are, I’m just teasing,” you say. You lean up to place a soft kiss to his lips and, while at first he doesn’t kiss back purely out of indignation, he soon melts into you, unable to resist your lips against his. You pull away, a satisfied look on your face.

“Are we good?” You ask, just inches away from his lips. 

“There wasn’t a problem with us to begin with,” Mitsuo states, a smirk, while absent on his face, audible in his tone.

“You know what I mean,” you say with a laugh. “Please don’t give Eddy a hard time. I love you and only you, okay? You don’t have to worry about anyone else.”

“Are you sure?” Mitsuo jokes.

“Shut up!” You say, giving your boyfriend a playful punch on the arm. He smiles as he grips your waist and leans down to kiss you, his warm lips molding perfectly against yours, warmth spreading through your body.

“I love only you too.”

©Cxtori 2024 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate. reblogs appreciated

[gay-for-the-snz]

Coffee Stand Contagion (F, cold, NSFW)

This was definitely supposed to be sfw and then it very much did not go that way lol, I let my dick take the wheel on this one. Elliott is there briefly, but not really for the sex part. 7.1k

CW for contagion fic (apathetic rather than malicious or accidental), phone sex, some mild d/s dyanamics, humiliation. Implied F/F but it isn't actually pictured

⁂

Her alarm is blaring from the floor somewhere near her bed when she cracks open an eye blearily. It's Monday. She has to get up for work. Fuck.

She groans and half smothers herself in shoving the pillow over her face to throw a fucking fit and block out the noise, the groan rising into a sharp whine at how absolutely unfair it is that she has to do her job if she wants to get paid for it. They should pay her to lay in bed instead. She finally flings the pillow towards the corner of the wall and rolls over to shut her phone up.

She rubs a knuckle under her nose, grimacing at the faintly itchy feeling lingering there. It isn't terribly uncommon to be itchy, but she knows better than to be lulled into a false sense of security. This is a cold, she knows it is. More than that, this is Elliott's cold. She sniffs, dry-ish for now, but she's under no illusion that it will stay that way.

Shuffling towards the bathroom, she almost trips over the pile of dirty laundry that's strewn across the floor, and kicks a pair of shorts along with her as she wanders in. She's leaned against the sink when she makes eye contact with her reflection. Eh. Good enough. She pulls her hair back into a ponytail that mostly contains the wild curls into something manageable, and tugs some clothes on, before she makes the true breakfast of the French--black coffee and a cigarette--and is out the door.

It isn't a terribly long walk to the bus stop by her apartment, but it's long enough to regret not bringing a coat. It's supposed to be hot today, but it definitely fucking isn't right now, still cool enough she can feel the goosebumps across her arms and legs from the chill. She sniffs again, more liquidy this time, and flicks the ash off her cigarette before scrubbing hard again at her nose. This shift is gonna suck. More than that, she's definitely not going to be making as much in tips as she should, if everyone that pulls up finds her sorry ass sniffly and sick.

So she won't be. It's been warm enough that spring is starting to hit, and it's close enough to allergy season that she won't be the only one sniffling at the window. What are they gonna do, prick her skin right there to test it? She thinks not.

She's just finishing up her cigarette when the bus pulls up, and she crushes the remainder under the heel of stupid OSHA compliant non slip sneakers, and takes her usual seat. The air doesn't typically bother her--in fact, that's why she chose this spot initially, it's got the best vents in the summertime--but right now it just feels cold and irritating on her.

She scrubs at her nose again, and feels that spark of an itch in the back of her nose that threatens to come to fruition. It rarely does. She ignores it, letting it tease at her with as much of a stone faced resolve as she can manage, except to wrinkle her nose hard and give a harsh sniff. She gasps for it, and like usual, it fizzles out into nothingness after a second of anticipation. If she were home right now, she might have tried to coax it out, but she doesn't exactly have access to anything she might use, nor the desire to be watched by the bus driver in the rear view. She catches his eye and sticks her tongue out petulantly.

He says something on her way out that sounds like it might be "feel better" and she scoffs as she exits at her stop. "Right. See you in the morning."

She doesn't make much of a fuss on the way in to actually start opening, checking her phone with a frown at the fact that it's not yet even five, but she's still running a couple minutes behind already. Whatever. It's not like anybody's ever actually waiting for her anyway, she spends the first half hour they're open--at least--standing around getting paid to watch videos on her phone and hang around looking cute.

And, just like she predicted, by the time she finishes her opening duties there still isn't a soul in sight. She's leaned against the counter, tucking a handful of napkins into the pocket on her apron, when she feels that tickle rear its head again. She leans into it, closing her eyes and focusing on the feeling of it, willing it to actually become a sneeze this time. "Oh, this is fucking ridiculous."

She's not letting it go this easily. She grabs one of the napkins and twists it into a point, and focuses solely on the feeling it creates when she pokes the tip into one nostril and carefully shifts, poking around for that elusive spot that will give her nose no choice but to behave for once. She has to resist the urge to jerk away from it when she knows she's gotten close, parting her lips with a soft gasp, and then a harsher one as she continues to irritate nasal walls. "Hh...HH--! 'chu!"

Oh, thank christ. She sneezes uncovered, not bothering to even attempt to catch it. She's too busy here to focus on anything else. And, really, it's not like anyone's here anyway, or that there was really anything particularly wet about it that would require covering. She wrinkles her nose with a sharp sniff, and decides there's still a faint enough tickle that she can work with it.

She's working on the other side when she hears a car pull up, and has to abandon her efforts halfway through. Ugh. Annoying. She steps back into view of the windows, and rests her chin in her hands as she leans out to chat. "Morning. Do you know what I can get you?"

Evidently, he doesn't understand the arcane and difficult concept of "knowing what you want before you get to the window", and takes his sweet time reading over the menu. This is a coffee stand, a shitty one on a spit of land that's little more than a pair of driveways to surround it, and a shed, it isn't like there's a ton of options. He finally selects a smoothie, and she has to bite back the grimace, because they're such a pain in the ass that she doesn't wanna do it.

She throws the ice and mix into the blender, and lets it do its thing. Which gives her just enough time to see about picking up where she left off earlier, the tickle still present and dissatisfied with her cut off efforts. She pointedly ignores the customer on the other side of the wall, window shut against him to keep the chill out, and, in this case, the sound in, his cup in her free hand as she redoubles her attention to her itching nose. She halfway smiles through it when her breath snags, and--

"Hih--! 'CHu!" She swipes a knuckle under her nose, blushing freckled skin a light pink from the attention, and smiles with satisfaction. That's better, definitely. If her body won't give her the satisfaction that she deserves, then she'll just give it to herself. No need to stand around itchy and miserable if she's got the option not to. She does make note, as she pours his drink into his cup and slides it into a sleeve, that that was easier than it usually is. That's not a terrible thing, of course, and she definitely isn't going to complain about it. If it makes her job easier, then that's fantastic.

"Hey, you have a great day. Enjoy the sun when it's up." She smiles brilliantly until he's pulled off, and lets it drop instantly with a muttered "what a bitch" beneath her breath at the empty tip cup.

Perhaps it's a blessing that it's a particularly slow morning, because by the time they get into the afternoon for shift change, they'll be absolutely slammed and she'll miss the quiet she's currently mired in. She can only scroll her phone for so long before it starts to get kind of boring, and the stupid games she downloaded aren't really cutting it either. She's almost glad when someone pulls up and orders some sickly sweet concoction with one of the billion not-milks that they carry (what the fuck is hemp milk and why do people ask for it enough her boss decided they should actually stock it as an option?)

She can feel that faint, prickling irritation deep in one of her nostrils, begging for her to do something about it while she pulls a shot and rubs hard at the side of her nose, as if she could possibly reach through enough to soothe the irritation that way. She sniffs sharply--and realizes she's somehow hit the ticket when it makes her breath hitch just as sharply. "Hh--! 'CHuu! 'Tchu!"

She blinks in surprise, feeling the fine mist settle across her skin. Wow. Not only did she sneeze without some kind of personal intervention, rare in and of itself, it was twice? She gently pinches at her nose, and makes a sound of disgust at the wetness that greets her, swiping a hand over her shorts to wipe it away. "Do you--snf!--have a free card you wanna use?"

'Not this morning. And bless you! Allergies?"

She smiles ruefully, gesturing to the trees that stand outside the shop. "Spring came too early, I wasn't ready for it." Their fingers brush as she hands them their change, and she can feel a trace of the moisture brush off on their skin in the exchange.

It's nice that she doesn't even have to be the one to suggest it. There are enough people around right now, red nosed and dripping, to blend right in with the rest. And really, it's not like it's bad. She's gotta make tips somehow, and she doesn't need anyone finding some excuse to be extra chintzy. It's a little sniffle, maybe a little ticklish, and that's it. Elliott wore it worse than this, but doesn't he always? The world's mildest cold crosses into their post code and he's on death's door with it. She considers herself lucky to avoid most of what he brings 'round, and that whatever she can't dodge is pretty mild.

She grabs a napkin or two and blows her nose to get rid of the residual moisture, and then crumples them into her pocket to throw away later. She checks herself in the camera of her phone, and can't deny she is starting to look a little allergy-ish. Her nose is a soft pink at the tip and down into her nostrils, the whole of it starting to look a little damp and irritated. She sniffs again, and wipes her wrist beneath nostrils that are already starting to get a bit wet again, and groans. She's still got seven more hours of this shit.

It isn't exactly torturous, she more or less settles into a routine with it, and just as she predicted, as soon as it starts to warm up, people start piling in from both directions. Occasionally she has to duck back away from the windows to sneeze, and she's always met with sympathetic tuts and well wishes to maybe pick something up on her way home to try and get ahead of the worst of the rest of the pollen this season. They're all none the wiser for it, and she certainly isn't going to correct them anytime soon. Besides, they don't sound like she's sick, all pitchy and girlish in a way that absolutely grates on her nerves.

It's embarrassing, the high pitched gasps and the soft, kittenish releases, clashing so wholly with the rest of her that it pisses her off to think about, but it does at least play to her advantage with this. He would never be able to get away with this--even when it is allergies, he's so drippy and desperate and contagious sounding that it has people clearing the seats around him at tables or on the bus just to avoid breathing the same air. With her, it's just, y'know, poor Florence! Poor, cute Florence!

It's more of a pain than anything else that she seems to be constantly verging on a sneeze. It isn't terribly unusual for a cold, she often spends most of one itchy and unsatisfied, but this one is making its presence known by the fact that it *doesn't* require much nudging along to actually get her to sneeze. Not that she's complaining, of course, this is probably the best cold she's ever had for that simple fact alone, but it does make it a little inconvenient that she lacks that element of control over the whole thing. It isn't purely on her schedule anymore, they creep up on her when *they* decide, not because she's got the point of a tissue prodding at the back of pink, twitchy nostrils to move things along.

She definitely misses a couple tips because ill timing, literally, has her spraying the counter at the window, only partially covered by splayed fingers that don't quite make it up fast enough to do anything terribly effective. Whether they think it's allergies or not, people aren't exactly *thrilled* to be sneezed on by their barista. She's mostly good about it, though, getting a hand up fast enough to mostly contain things. It's weird to try and get back in the practice of. Usually she doesn't bother even attempting, because so rarely does a tickle actually become a sneeze without her taking matters into her own hands and forcing it to be, it isn't worth looking like a clown to prep for something she knows isn't coming.

She shoots Elliott a text to tell him that the instant he's off work and has the kid squared away, his ass OWES HER some soup and an apology for doing this to her--and that he'd better not breathe a word of this to anyone, or she'll make sure they all know *exactly* who to thank for putting her in this situation in the first place. He doesn't respond for awhile, but she doesn't see it when he does, too busy actually doing her stupid job for once to have any opportunity to be paying much attention to her phone. He sends some rambling, apologetic, emoji filled thing telling her how truly sorry he is, how he really didn't mean to, yadda yadda. The part she actually cares about is a promise to bring over chicken noodle from that deli she likes across town, well out of her way on a trip home on the bus, and that if she can hang out long enough he can also pick her up. She doesn't accept the latter part of the offer--she doesn't need or want a ride from him, it'll mean just having to listen to him talk the whole time, and *that* just means listening to him *apologize* the whole time, and that sounds obnoxious to have to sit through. She'll just take the soup, let him grovel for a few minutes, and then send him home.

It isn't until she's getting into the home stretch that things go from *satisfying* when she sneezes to decidedly irritating. They don't seem to be putting as much of a dent into the itch anymore, requiring a second one most times to achieve the effect that one was having this morning, and she's definitely starting to notice that she's looking less *allergic* and more *contagious.* Nobody's questioning her on it directly, but they do seem to be a bit more skeptical of her claims of allergies. How annoying. The supply of napkins in her apron pocket has already been replenished a couple times, her shorts pocket and the trash under the counter starting to get more full with the byproducts of a cold than she would like. She does wash up once or twice after a couple sneezes caught into palms, but for the most part, she doesn't really bother with it. She's busy, and it's not a huge deal anyway. She scrubs at nostrils that are now much more red than pink, hearing the distinctive click of wet congestion shifting from the action. Eww.

Whatever. She'll survive this thing, and then she'll go home, and then she can eat soup and then, like, sleep or something. It's a fucking stupid day anyway, she's ready for it to be over. She'll just figure it out.

She just barely gets a hand up in time to catch a harsh, wet "hH'TSCHu!" into her palm, which she ends up using just a second later to press a lid flat onto the drink she's making. She's just gotta survive another half hour until shift change, and then she's home free. She blows her nose, then scrubs at it furiously, before she's satisfied enough to fix on a bright smile and lean out the window to hand them their coffee. They don't seem happy, but neither is she, so she guesses they can BOTH just be fucking miserable. At least one of them gets to leave now, so she doesn't know why they're so irritable. She should be the one that's upset, she'll still be stuck here.

The traffic has finally lulled, like it always does around this time, which gives her the opportunity to finally tend to herself and do something about this god awful tickle that just won't leave her alone. The napkins are struggling not to immediately get limp and shitty as soon as she starts, but she's more determined to do this than her nose is to run, and she's going to force it if it kills her.

Her lashes flutter, chest heaving with a series of pitchy hitches, before she snaps forward with a rough "GSCHyu!" that betrays the congestion that's starting to truly settle in. It's a good start, but she's far from satisfied, and she's not willing to let herself off the hook so easily. She doesn't let herself stop, not yet, and renews her efforts to actually do something about this stupid cold--sorry, "allergies". She takes a shaky gasp, knowing that she's found the exact right spot when it makes her feel like her nose is full of feathers.

She lets herself practically moan through the build up. "hG'GSHHYuu! 'sCHYue!" Oh, god, thank fuck. She rarely actually ends up with a double, but especially one that seems to really satisfy the itch for the time being. She sniffles wetly, and scrubs hard at her dripping nose, and has just finished swiping a hand along her shorts when she sees her coworker's car pull into the driveway.

When he walks in, he visibly cringes. "Dude, you look like shit."

"It's a wonder your dumbass is single, you really know how to charm a lady." She rolls her eyes, grabbing another handful of napkins and shoving them into her pocket. "It's allergies."

"Okay, so, that's a lie. Please at least tell me that you were being careful?"

She's busy pinching at the tip of her nose, missing the septum piercing she can't wear at work because it's "unacceptable" to be pierced here. "How about you hop off my dick?"

"Whatever. I'm not saying shit to anyone, least of all the owners, but you're on your own to defend yourself if anyone calls to complain."

"I wouldn't want you to defend me anyway. I'm going home, don't call me or I'll sneeze into your fucking mouth." She grabs her drink off the counter and shoulders open the door.

The bus isn't here yet, and she doesn't think it'll be here for awhile yet. It takes its sweet time usually, but at least now it's warm. She could be forgiven for thinking it really was allergies, even if it isn't, with how bright and warm and blooming everything is right now. Trees are exploding into flowers, the ones that have poked up through the dirt and mulch and sidewalk cracks are colorful and fragrant, and people have already started mowing the scraggly grass that's poked up because, and she's fairly certain she can contact a psych about this to get it verified, every middle aged man on earth sees the sun is out and his grass is a hair's breadth above the minimum threshold that the blades will catch it, and he has to mow it or he'll die.

She scratches a nail along one of her nostrils, and immediately regrets it a little when instead of helping any, it just makes her even more stupidly itchy. God damnit. She rubs hard at her nose to try and soothe it, but it's not cutting it, and instead she pulls her hand away to avoid catching herself with the spray. "hG'GSHyu!" Ugh, fuck. Someone walking by calls a blessing, which means they probably didn't see that it was uncovered, since most people feel entitled to tell her what to do with her body.

When she gets home, she's doing something about this, uninterrupted, and nobody is gonna stop her. Clearly, if the point of sneezing is to get rid of what's in her, she's just gonna get rid of it all at once. She's just ready to be done with this whole thing. Usually she's glad to be sneezing, but this is just too irritating to really be enjoyable. It isn't so much that she doesn't enjoy the sneezing itself, it's satisfying and she's glad to be having it instead of being teased like usual, but this is clearly an Elliott type of cold, because she keeps feeling like she has to, even after she has. He owes her big time for this.

Maybe she'll text Rhoda when she gets home...some little note that she's dealing with a cold and expects somebody to come take care of her when she gets off work.

The bus finally crawls into view, and she's never been more glad to see that horrible little goblin of a woman driving it, even if they aren't exactly on good terms. She hauls herself to her feet and creeps up to the edge of the sidewalk, leaning against the lightpost as it chugs towards her.

...and keeps on going.

"HEY. HEY!" If she didn't fear getting arrested, she'd be throwing rocks by now, sprinting after it as fast as she can, but she is not built to outpace a vehicle. For something that always seems to go at half the speed limit, it's sure making good speed now. "YOU STUPID BITCH! I'LL SUCK YOUR EYEBALLS OUT OF YOUR SKULL!"

GOD. FINE. This is so stupid. She can't fucking believe that this is happening to HER of all people. She has never done anything wrong in her life, she doesn't deserve this. She pulls her phone out and dials Elliott's number.

"Hello?"

"The fucking bus passed me again, and I'm not walking along a highway to go home. When do you get off?"

"Oh no! I'm sorry, that sucks! Uh, I don't get off for another hour, and then I've gotta get Warren from school, but, like, I can be over to try and get you from there if you can wait?"

"I can't."

"Oh. I didn't, uh--it wasn't really a question-?"

"She can take the school bus. Unlike one of us, it won't pass her by."

She can practically hear the frown in his voice. "I'm really sorry, but I--I can't? But I can leave here a couple minutes early to take you home, and then I can get her and take her home, and then come back over for you? I know you were asking for, uh, some soup and stuff, and I can grab that for you. I just really can't leave her there, or ask her to try and catch the bus to be by herself."

"Ugh. Fine, whatever. Just disappoint me again, sure." She inspects her nails. She'll have to cut them if she and Rhoda are actually going to see eachother tonight.

"Please don't be upset, this is the best I can do. I'll see you in like forty-five minutes, okay? I've really gotta get back to work now or I'll get in trouble."

She doesn't respond, just hangs up on him and moves on with this. She doesn't wanna hear his excuses. She slumps back down onto the bench and scowls at all of the buses that aren't hers as they merrily drive right on by along their routes. She's gonna have to call the Department of Transportation and lodge a complaint. Again. Actually, better yet, she'll have to make somebody else do it so they take it seriously. Maybe Rhoda, she's affluent. Well, but also she's Indian, and a woman, so maybe another immigrant lady isn't the best choice. Maybe she'll have to get a guy to do it.

She blows her nose into a couple of the napkins in her pocket, and idly scrolls TikTok while she's waiting for Elliott's ugly little Subaru to appear on the horizon and deign to grace her with its presence. If he doesn't show up soon, she's going to have to ream his ass for making her wait so long.

He cruises into view with all the haste of a grandma, windows down and blasting some weird music that she's come to recognize as, apparently, a staple of his youth. Apparently, fiddles are highly prized wherever he grew up in the fucking boonies. She doesn't hate the instrument itself, just whatever it is they're doing with it in whatever he's listening to all the time.

"Florence!" He waves as he pulls up, as if she wouldn't see him coming from a mile away, and leans across the car so he can unlock the door and let her in. "I came as quick as I could, I got caught a little at the end and couldn't make it out the door quite as soon as I was hoping."

She slumps into the front seat beside him, crossing her arms over her chest and shivering a little despite the heat. She sniffles and turns the vents away from herself. "Whatever."

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Do I look like I'm feeling alright?"

"Er, no. I just, uh--I'm sorry you're not feeling well." He fiddles with the stick shift idly while they're sitting there, and finally looks towards her. "Do you--"

"'hGSSHHuhh!" She sneezes openly, and he recoils as the spray hits him squarely. She wrinkles her nose, and swipes a knuckle underneath rosy nostrils.

He sits there in stunned silence for a second. "B-bless you?"

"Don't look so miserable, it's your fault I'm like this." She leans back into her seat more comfortably, curling up in it. "Drive."

She sees him wipe the spray off his arm and cheek with a napkin out of the center console. "I hate to disagree with you--"

"Then don't."

"Er...I didn't, uh, get you sick?"

She looks over at him with disgust. "Don't lie to me, you were absolutely sick as dog when I saw you last week."

"I wasn't. It--I don't know if you've really noticed, but it's, uhm, allergy season early this year. The last time I was sick was weeks ago." He's tense beside her, like a frightened little animal. It's kind of pathetic.

"Sure, the same as this is allergies." She slides the seat back, the chill from a few minutes ago deciding to be sweaty heat instead, and kicks her feet up on his dash. "It's not very Christian of you to lie."

"I'm not, I swear! This would be a really silly thing to lie about, you know that I never have any problem owning up to it when something is my fault!"

"Do I know that? Because you are the world's most sickly little man, and last week you were sneezing like they were paying you for it, and this week I am sick and miserable. You APOLOGIZED to me earlier for it!"

"Because you weren't well, not because I put you into this state!"

"You're giving me a headache, just be quiet." God, he's annoying. If she didn't have a good reason to still know him, she absolutely wouldn't. It's a miracle she's tolerated him as long as she has.

"You know, one of these days I-I'm going to get tired of how unfair you are to me. I'm helping you here, and you're treating me like dirt!"

"I'm not, but if I was, what are you gonna do about it?"

"...keep driving."

"That's what I thought. I'll forgive you for your attitude this time, but don't let it happen again."

He really should be grateful that she's feeling so magnanimous right now, because it's definitely never been considered one of her highest quirks. He drives in relative silence, save for occasionally muttering something to the cars around them about giving him more space, and that he's already going a smidge over the speed limit, that they ought to just climb right on into his backseat if they want to be so close on his bumper. She ignores him, for the most part.

"Hh...hH--! 'GZHyu!" She turns away from herself--eww, no way is she gonna sneeze on her own legs, she's looking absolutely great today--and towards Elliott, because, really, he deserves it. He owes her whatever comfort it is that he can offer, and if that means bearing the brunt of this cold while she's in his car, then so be it. It's not like she's really concerned about him catching it anyway. He gave it to her, and even if he's somehow telling the truth and he didn't, he's bound to catch something in a second anyway.

"Bless you."

"What," she sniffs, "leaving God out of this one?"

He bristles a bit, but acquiesces. "God bless you. Do you also want a gezondheid for good measure?"

"I do." She takes some of his napkins, not wanting to waste her own supply, and blows her nose, and fuck, it's so much more productive than she really expected. She grabs a couple more for damage control with an involuntary "eww". "How do you survive being like this, all of the time?"

"Uhh." He waffles on it a little. "I guess I'm just sort of...used to it? That doesn't make it less unpleasant, of course, but it gives me more sort of, uh, experience, I guess? It's easier to deal with something that you know more about, have dealt with more. It sounds rough, though, and I don't envy how you're feeling. Do you have medicine at home? I can bring you something when I bring the soup if you need it."

"I don't have anything. I never really needed it, until I started hanging out with you." It is a tempting offer, though. "But I will accept your generous offer, since you seem so insistent."

He seems relieved by her acceptance, and it's almost laughable. He's so grateful for the opportunity to please her, even if he's insisting it wasn't even his fault. "Good. Well, I'll see you in, like, an hour, then. Gotta get everything all settled first, and run to the store, and then I'll be right over, okay?"

"Okay." She slams his door as she exits it, and starts the process of trudging up the stairs to her apartment. Of course she couldn't have a first floor apartment. Ugh. Life was so unfair. She goes immediately to her bed, and flops down onto it with an extremely dramatic sigh.

After a moment of laying there, she finds Rhoda's contact in her phone, and shoots her a message.

F: r u in country rn??

It takes almost half an hour to receive a response. It feels like a long time, but it's fast enough that she knows that she's got her attention.

R: No, but I am out of state. Why?

F: call me rn

R: Are you asking me, or telling me?

F: snzing sooo much from this cold and I cn make it more just 4 u baby

R: Two minutes.

Good. She's satisfied by the immediate response, and knowing that she's got her hooked. She undresses, because frankly her clothes are starting to touch her body weirdly, and she's not exactly worried about the tarantula being offended by her nudity. She's curled up on top of her blankets when her screen lights up, some obnoxious ringtone that tells her that Rhoda is calling.

"Are you alone?"

"I am." She can hear that Rhoda's voice is carefully level, and can only imagine the intensity of her gaze if she was able to see it. "Would it be coy to wish you to get well soon?"

She laughs. "You don't want that. You want more calls like this."

"Oh, Florence, you're so congested already..."

"I've been relieving that already, but to tell you the truth...I could do with something more effective." She sniffles, wet and soupy, and hears the faint moan on the other end of the line. "Too bad only one of us gets to feel better right now. When are you off work?"

"Not until late tonight. I had to make excuses to leave during our brainstorming after the meeting, they'll be expecting me back soon. If you're...still awake tonight, though..."

"You'll be my first call." She sniffs again, rubbing hard at her nose. "Ugh, god, can you hear how wet this cold is? Too bad you're out of state. They won't miss you at that meeting, the only thing you're actually good for is being my tissue."

"I know," she breathes, "I should be the one dealing with this for you."

She takes the roll of toilet paper off the nightstand, and rolls a corner of it into a point. "You'd be having a field day. You know how hard you have to work to get me sneezing usually, but listen..." She inserts the point into one nostril, and finds herself gasping after not too terribly long. "Hh...oh, fuck, it's already so--hH--!? hG'GSHYue! 'GSCHuu!" She was definitely playing it up a little on the build-up, since she can't actually see the desperate flare of nostrils, but there is nothing of her own doing in the intensity of the pair of sneezes. She can feel the spray on bare skin, and Rhoda moans in response to them.

"Oh, sir, bless you..."

She sniffs hard, features twisting into a snarl against the buzz of irritation still very much alive. "You're pathetic. Two sneezes and you're already moaning? I bet you're as wet as those were."

"It's unfair to call me when I can't do anything about this." She doesn't sound genuinely displeased, more desperate than anything. "That was so quick, and a double...this cold is really getting to you, isn't it?"

"It is. You should have seen me at work, sneezing between customers, trying to hold back at the window..."

"Oh, Florence...I can only imagine." She whines on her end of the line. "They were uncovered too, weren't they?"

"Not always. Sometimes into my hand if it was necessary." She inserts a new corner into the other nostril, the corner she'd used earlier now soaked beyond use. "I told them it was--hh--allergies--hGSH'uu! Fuck, it's so easy-! iGSHue! 'GSCHyu! Oh my God, I don't--GSHuu!--think I've ever sneezed so much from a cold in my life."

"I'm in fucking shambles over here." She can hear the sound of her setting her phone down, of the unzipping of pants.

"Don't you dare."

"Florence--"

"Don't you know that you're at work right now?" She blows her nose into a wad of the toilet paper, and throws it somewhere off onto her floor. "Besides, you know the drill. Don't tell me you're so horny you forgot your place?"

She practically whimpers as she repeats the rule. "You first.."

"I'd say it's going to be harder without you here, but you're hardly any help even when you are here, too wet and desperate and focused on yourself instead of taking care of me." She sets the phone down next to herself. "You can listen, and maybe if you're good, I'll listen to you tonight."

"I'm going to have the rest of this trip to come home and be with you."

"You can only have so many family emergencies while on business trips before they start to question it."

"I'll deal with the consequences. I need to be there before this cold is over."

She leans back, teasing at herself enough to earn a bit back moan as she slides her fingers into herself. She isn't surprised to learn she has a fever, she knew that much already, but she is surprised by the febrile heat that greets her. "Fuck me, damn near gonna burn myself like this."

"Tell me about it..."

"I've got a fever, and I'm going to boil my fucking fingers."

Rhoda just moans in response, especially when she hears the hitching of her breath, leaving to guess whether it's out of pleasure or the need to sneeze.

She knows her body well. It doesn't long for fingers to curl directly over the spot that has her arching her back with a grunt and an instinctive shift of position that angles herself better. Her nose chooses now to get fussy with her, and her hand is starting to tremble as she brings it up to rub at rosy nostrils that are twitching dangerously. "Hh...h-hG--!?"

She hangs there on the precipice, entirely distracted from pleasuring herself by the wholly consuming feeling of the first real time this whole day it's left her characteristically on the edge before threatening to back away and leave her unsatisfied. She drags the corner of her nail along the rim of one nostril, and it's enough to push things back in her favor.

" 'GSSHHyue!" Her fingers jump with the release, and she damn near blacks out from the pressure against herself. She shudders a moan on the exhale. She's never been particularly noisy in bed, nor does she ever really feel compelled to play it up for a partner, but she can't deny the whimper that's escaping before she can stop it.

Someone knocks on the door, a sharp repetition, and she's about to fucking kill them. "Go away!"

"Oh! No, it's Elliott! I came as quick as I could, just like you asked-?"

"I'm BUSY." And god, is she ever. She's chasing that spark of pleasure that's threatening to swallow her whole, if he would just shut his goddamn mouth and let her focus.

"Do you want me to--"

"Oh my god, I'm in the bathroom, can you shut the fuck up for TWO SECONDS?"

"Don't pay any attention to him, just yourself." She can only imagine how desperate Rhoda must be, based on the way her voice is thin and whimpery right now. She must be absolutely losing her shit over there listening to this.

She can feel the buzzing tickle in her sinuses roar to life just as urgently as the approaching orgasm, and she thinks if she times this shit right, she can kill two birds with one stone. Her chest heaves with the fluttery gasps, unable to tell where the pleasure ends and where the itch begins between them. She's practically abusing her clit with trembling fingers, before the itch finally spills over. "hH'HGZZHHyuuee!"

FUCK. She throws her head back, gripping onto the pillow so tightly she's half afraid she's going to rip it to shreds under her fingers. She lets the feeling wash over her with a shaky exhale and just lays there panting for a second. Over the line, she can hear a breathless, "oh, bless you, sir..." that reminds her she isn't entirely alone.

She sniffs wetly, grabbing some toilet paper off the nightstand to clean herself up a little. "As soon as you get back into town, I'd better be your first stop. Call me tonight--I want to hear you remember this."

"Trust me, it's going to be all I think about the rest of the day." She murmurs a hasty "I've got to go" and the sound of a kiss before the line goes dead, leaving Florence laying alone, save for the idiot standing in the hallway between apartments.

She redresses somewhat, pulling on a pair of basketball shorts and a tee shirt that reeks of coffee grounds from work, and opens the door with more force than necessary. "What?"

He looks so startled to see her that she has to lean away from the hand that instinctively reaches for her face. "Oh! Oh, Florence, you look--er, what I mean is--oh, you poor thing. I only left you for an hour, but you look so much worse!" He fusses and frets, worrying at the bag clutched in hands that have been decisively banned from clutching at her instead. "Oh, you're shaking...your fever must be nasty--you're so flushed and sweaty. Can I come in?"

"No."

"But--"

"I said no." She wipes some of the sweat off her skin, thankful for the first time today to be running a fever. "Just give me the bag."

"Oh." He looks like he wants to fight it, but he doesn't press the issue any further, just gingerly hands her the bag. "It's, uhm--I got you soup, like you asked, from that deli--the owner is so nice, he insisted on making sure you also got some bread to go with it when I said you weren't feeling well--but I also got you some cold medicine, and some cough drops, and one of those, uh--what do you call them--it's like a soap, but not really, it just sort of sits in your shower and when the water hits it, it makes it, like, smelly--I mean, smelly is the wrong word. It smells good, it's like aromatherapy to help you sort of breathe better--not that it ever helps me breathe better, this one is so potent that it just gets me sneezing so badly I can hardly catch my breath--"

"Elliott."

"Right, sorry. Rambling. I guess I will...just leave you be, then? Unless you--"

The door slams on him and cuts off any further begging. Really, she's sparing his dignity and her patience. Her phone pings as she sits down to eat the soup, still steaming as she opens the lid. Flight details, setting Rhoda to be touching back down around midnight.

She grins at the message, sends something absolutely lascivious in response. Oh yeah, she is definitely calling out tomorrow.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Ignorant | Steve Rogers

Wow I was really going through it with this one, huh? I think I listened to Bring Me To Life by Evanescence for the entire two hours it took to write this. I never write this fast-- I'm really going through it LOL! I hope you enjoy lovelies! It's the first Steve fic for Dinner at DIzzy's!

Appetizers (Tags): Angst

Entres (Pairing): Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Sides (Prompts): 3: “Apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, and don’t play well with others.”

Notes: This has a ton of swearing, Requested by Anon

Word Count: 1.8k

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“Just because you’re the leader here doesn’t mean you have the right to be an asshole, Steve!” Y/n hisses at the man, fists balled at her side.

She’s not going to swing. She would never swing on him— at least she doesn’t think she would— but right now she’s so damn close. All day he’s been pushing her around, yelling at her for the slightest trip ups. Yelling at all of them. She understands that being fugitives isn’t easy but holy shit can the man chill out for five minutes? She fell asleep in the backseat of the car for five fucking minutes! Certainly that doesn’t warrant the hour tongue lashing she just got. It does, however, warrant her retaliation.

He takes a step towards her, face twisted in a snarl unlike anything she’s ever seen before. “Watch your language!”

She doesn’t back down— she’s not scared of him. “Don’t fucking yell at me then! Stop being a dick!”

She doesn’t feel bad for the insult or the way he flinches, his eyes darkening immensely. She had tried to politely ask him for space thirty minutes ago and he didn’t give her any. If he gets to blow off steam or whatever the fuck he’s doing than so will she.

“I’ll stop being a dick when you get some common sense!”

Steve’s raising his own voice now, getting right in her face, and she only pushes forward, her cheeks filling with heat and her stomach clenching painfully. The audacity of this man is incredible. His usual light eyes are a deep navy color now, almost black from his blown pupils. He looks crazy— she doesn’t doubt that she does as well. She would bet money that she looks insane.

“I fell asleep for five fucking minutes and Sam was right fucking next to me! What the fuck is your problem?” She’s doing it on purpose now— if he doesn’t want her to swear then that’s all she’s going to do.

Maybe it’s the triple F-bomb that has the sound of feet pounding against concrete echoing through their shoddy apartment. Maybe it’s just the yelling in general. Either way it’s a good thing that Natsaha and Sam come sprinting in from the other room of the two room complex because if they hadn’t then she’s sure her fist would be cracking against the jaw of Captain Douchebag right now.

“Woah, woah, woah— what the hell’s going on in here?” Sam is quick to get in the middle of them, pushing the super soldier to one end of the room while Nat yanks on y/n’s hoodie. “We could hear you idiots from the stairwell.”

Y/n struggles against Nat for a moment, vision tinted red at the edges. From across the room Steve glares at her, seething. She can practically feel the hatred pouring off of him. It stings at her chest, biting into her veins. He would have kept yelling at her if they hadn’t stopped him, she just knows it. She wishes he would so she could scream back— her stomach and muscles are still tight and she’s aching to lay into him some more. She barely even started and now she feels like she’s about to bubble over.

“Seriously—” Nat tugs again and y/n stops fighting, opting instead to glower at the blonde from across the room— “What’s gotten into you two? You’re supposed to be the responsible ones!”

Steve tears his arm from Sam’s hold but doesn’t clear the space between them. “Why don’t you ask y/n—” he tilts his head, sneering again— “What was it you said ten minutes ago? Oh yeah— apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, and don’t play well with others.”

Why that little fucking— “Don’t put fucking words in my mouth!”

She storms past Natasha, dodging her arm as it flies out— you’re not the only trained markswoman here Nat. Steve does the same, bowling past Sam easily to meet her in the middle of the room.

“Why not? It’s what you meant right?” He’s in her face again, breath hot on her face, and she only retaliates by fuming right back.

She feels like a dragon facing down her enemy— she’s ready to burn the entire building down if it means lowering him a peg or five.

“Actually it wasn’t but now it is you narcissistic dick.”

She can feel Natasha start to pull on her hoodie again but she’s not done— not now. Not when she’s just gotten started.

“You just can’t handle hearing the truth y/n— you can’t handle it when I tell you what you did was wrong. That you could have gotten us fucking killed with your ignorance—”

Her veins flood with fire, her lips curling into a painful scowl. In that moment everything turns slow, her heartbeat a dull thump, thump, thump in her ears, drowning out the rest of his sentence. The only thing that gives away that he’s still speaking is his mouth moving, his teeth bared and ready to be knocked out.

Oh so she’s ignorant now is she? Yeah well fuck you Rogers!

This time the only thing that stops her fist from slamming into Steve’s jaw is Sam catching it mid air, her knuckles slapping off his palm and bringing the sounds in the room rushing back to her at full force. She stumbles back with the impact but the soldier catches her, steadying her on her feet with a worried look in his soft brown eyes. It feels like she’s been underwater for days, her ears popping painfully as she gasps for breath.

“—s enough Steve!” When y/n blinks Nat is shoving her palm against the super soldier’s chest. “You need to back the hell off!”

She doesn’t realize until her eyelashes stick to her cheeks that they’re wet. That she’s crying. The sobs catch up to her when it registers, wracking through her with a force strong enough to have her whole body shaking. Sam is the first to notice, reaching out for her but she backs away, shaking her head. The room falls silent, three pairs of eyes now trained on her but she’s only looking at one pair of wide blue ones. Steve���s chest is heaving up and down, a cross between a feral and a confused look slathered across his features.

The look ignites the last of the dying spark inside her, her hand landing against her chest, wrapping around the dog tags hanging off her neck and yanking until she hears a snap. She waits for the chain to pool in her hands before she whips the metal across the room, hitting him square in the chest with a roar that’s more animal than human tearing from her throat— you wanted flames and now you’re going to get them.

“I’m ignorant? Me? Did you ever stop to ask yourself why the fuck I fell asleep today?” She slips her hands into her hair, tugging so hard on the roots that her scalp feels like it’s burning. “How about because last night you came back from scouting three hours late and looking like you got mauled by a fucking bear? And I asked you what happened and you wouldn't tell me a goddamn thing! You— Mister fucking super serum whatever the fuck! You just went to bed and I spent the rest of the night listening to you gasp for air! Not knowing if the shit was even working or if I was going to wake up to you gone! I—”

Her voice cracks and she curses, scraping her wrist across her face to wipe away some of the hot tears pooling down her cheeks. They feel like trails of lava melting her skin as they rush over her jaw and drip onto the floor. Steve’s face has morphed completely during the span of her rant, his mouth falling open, lips no longer busted open like they had been last night but still horrifying to look at right now. She knows he wants to say something— maybe he even wants to apologize— but there’s no fucking way she’s letting him. She’s not finished yet.

“I spent all night wondering if I was going to lose you! That I would wake up and have nothing! You’re my everything and I thought you were going to die and you wouldn’t tell me anything. So yeah, I guess I’m ignorant! Fuck you too.”

Her throat is raw by the time she’s done spitting the words at him, her head fuzzy from a lack of oxygen and her waning rage. It’s giving way too quickly to sadness— to the agonizing kind of heartbreak that has all her organs seemingly shutting down. Her face is sticky and itchy and she needs to get away from him right now.

She turns to meet the stunned faces of Sam and Nat, swallowing hard and wincing at the way her esophagus stings. She’s not going to have a voice at all tomorrow— or for the next week at this rate. Sam’s eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head from how wide they are, his mouth open but— like Steve— no words are coming out. She flicks her eyes to Nat who, thankfully, springs into action, nodding her head to the door, the question clear in her eyes— want to get the fuck out of here? Y/n doesn’t answer, she just starts walking.

It’s in that moment that Steve snaps out of his stupor, racing to catch her at the door, warm hand curling gently around her wrist. She doesn’t even give herself a second to enjoy it— to fall into his touch and forget the agony in her chest— before she’s ripping her arm away from him, cradling it against her chest and backing away from him.

“Baby I—” His face is tight, his light brows creasing the middle of his forehead.

She can see it— the regret. It carves across his face, tugging his lips into a frown and making his eyes glass over. Her chest squeezes at the sight, her own eyes coating with a fresh sheen of tears. She wants to wrap her arms around him— to tell him that she forgives him and that she loves him and that she’s scared— but he did this not her and before she knows it she’s taking another step back, shoulder bumping into Nat’s as she shakes her head.

“I’m sleeping with Nat tonight. I’ll talk to you in the morning. Night, Steve.”

Steve’s face falls, the first of his tears pooling down his now angelic face, and as she hesitates. Maybe she should— she feels a tug on her hand, glancing down to where Natasha’s slender fingers wrap around her forearm. She doesn’t have the strength to fight her comrade as she pulls her past the door frame.

As the super soldier falls from her line of sight all she can hear is Sam’s exhausted voice—

“Let her go, man.”

—and she breaks.

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

WELCOME BACK, AGENT ; PART 4 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.5k SUMMARY: You're back at your desk job at the TVA, suffering the consequences of your mistakes that led to your crash on Sakaar. However, Mobius has a better job for you than doing just paperwork. A/N: I feel like this one has more platonic mobius x reader than loki x reader lol but you know, this loki is meeting her for the first time again. please leave comments, criticism or love, whatever, I love to hear from you guys who are reading this. enjoy xo gif by @alligatorlokis from this gifset WARNINGS: Swearing. Paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The sweet musky smell almost lulls you to sleep as you skim through the case file of a Loki variant, pictures and text of monochrome glaring under the unforgiving fluorescent office lighting. It’s a harsh reminder of your mishap; a simple overlook during a mission that sent you crashing onto the wasteland of Sakaar. According to the reports as you stood on the pedestal, pleading your innocence to the judge, you were there for an estimated 600 years. Maybe more.

The thought of spending six centuries stranded on a planet sends a wave of pain through your skull—it’s overwhelming information but unsurprising. You do feel like you’ve spent 600 years on that God-forsaken planet.

Now, your once fugitive days have been replaced with the return of being trapped behind a desk and having to recount every event that took place during your time there. Word for word. You despise the TVA’s love of paperwork—it’s a fucking nightmare.

The collar of your shirt feels itchy against the back of your neck, bringing your nails to graze it furiously.

You decide to ignore Miss Minutes' cheery voice despite your agitation, your name rolling off her southern accent. It hints at her chagrin towards your disregarding nature.

"Are you even listenin' to me?"

Her voice lacks all sense of her once constant sunny disposition. You spare the projection a glance, watching her rubber-hose-like arms curve to her where you assume her hips would be. She looks at you with an expectant raised brow. You don’t say anything, keeping eye contact as you snatch an empty event report template, spinning in your swivel chair and away from the glowing tangerine clock.

With pursed lips, you swipe the scatter of mess away, revealing an orange typewriter that sits idly within the expense of your stacks of case files and your collection of vintage Earth cassettes. You hear Miss Minutes' sigh as she strides to the other end of your desk, perching on top of a dusty stack of pending paperwork.

“C’mon, it’s just a test,” the animated clock says. You spare her another look as you feed the report template into the roller forcefully. Bing! The return bar dings unceremoniously as it nearly startles Miss Minutes off the stack.

“That is exactly why I’m refusing to listen to you,” you mutter with annoyance, fingers already flying across the keyboard, punching letters onto the event summary section. The loud clickety-clack of the keys makes it impossible to hear over it. “I don’t get why I need to take a test when I clearly know everything I need to know.”

“Well, you were gone for a very long time and we just wanna test your memory on policies and procedures here at the TVA—”

“Then, why didn’t they come and get me earlier? From the moment I stepped foot on Sakaar, I did everything I could to create a Nexus event or even just a spike and you only came when? When I met Loki.”

Your eyes are now on her startled figure, clicks and clacks coming to an abrupt end. You’re upset over your arrest, the whole hoo-ha at the courtroom, and everything before that. Your behavior is nearly childish but understandable to those who express empathy. You feel like you were being used, prioritizing the capture of the Loki variant that has been causing a ruckus to the timeline. But, it is your job to protect the TVA and the sacred timeline. Although you feel that the TVA should be protecting its employees as well.

“Look, I am not taking that test and that’s my final word. Everyone knows I am capable of handling myself. Plus, I do have tons of paperwork to refresh my memory on policies and procedures if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The cartoon clock nods but with hesitation. However, you do make a fair point. Thus, with a swish and a blip, Miss Minutes disappears into thin air, and you’re left to your own devices once more.

Finally some goddamn peace.

As if the universe doesn’t loathe you enough, someone calls your name, approaching from behind you. A groan escapes from your lips, scowling at the glaring keys of the typewriter.

“What?” you spat. In a swift motion, you swivel in your seat and turn to look over your shoulder.

It’s Mobius, approaching you with sudden caution. You let your shoulder sag with relief, happy to see a familiar friendly face.

“Glad to see you’re back and still feisty.” Mobius hesitantly taps your shoulder, flashing you a small consoling smile. Your expression, however, remains unchanged. “Well, you guys did find me after all.” He spots the glimmer of melancholy in your eyes; they avert back to face the typewriter, hands resting on the keys. Mobius shoves his hand into the pockets of his brown slacks, shifting to lean against the edge of your desk. He knows to tread lightly around you after what happened. You’ve changed with wrinkles of age and crinkles of exhaustion. Sakaar must have not been kind to you.

Yet, you’re here, at your desk; alive and well.

“Hey, what’s got you all wound up?”

It’s a stupid question, really but it’s a question to show he still cares. You have every right to be upset. However, you have every right to be thankful. You would have been pruned. Desk cleared and cassettes discarded—it would be as if you never existed. Renslayer would have never given you any mercy after the act you pulled. Disobeying orders and recklessly throwing yourself into danger with the risk of bringing the whole TVA down. You’re impulsive on missions, but it’s your unrelenting determination that drives you to be one of the greatest analysts Mobius has ever seen.

You’re also a friend. A great one. And he isn’t planning on losing one.

“Please prune me, Mobius.”

Your statement comes off as intentionally sarcastic rather than truly meaningful.

“What? I always thought you adored paperwork.” Mobius hears you groan, burying your face in your hands, elbows propped up on the desk. “My back is already hurting, and I have a migraine just thinking about typing out reports of my time on Sakaar. I think it’s quite clear I adore paperwork.” Your muffled voice tinges sarcasm heavily.

Laughter erupts in his chest. He's glad that your sense of humor never changed. Then, the moment quickly passes and he senses a sudden change in the air. You turn up to look at him.

“What was my Nexus event?”

It’s abrupt, almost arbitrary but leads him to even more confusion. Mobius finds himself frowning. “You don’t know?”

You blink. “That’s the one thing they never told me.”

He shifts in his seat on the edge of your desk, blinking up to the ceiling in thought. “Well, from what I heard...it was because Loki willingly helped you. And it wasn’t for his own advantage.”

It’s your turn to frown. “Wouldn’t that be Loki's fault?”

“Apparently not. It was all you.”

You laugh in response; it comes out like a puff of air. “Well, then. That’s a first. I guess I can finally add manipulation to my list of skills. Plus, pick-pocketing weird cosmic fruits.”

Mobius laughs and taps your shoulder again.

“C’mon, take a walk with me. I’ve got a new case that I need your help with.” You shoot him a quizzical look, eyes catching sight of a thick case file in hand—must be important. “I thought I was supposed to be on desk duty.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to sit behind the desk the whole time,” he shoots back a clever answer with a raised eyebrow, beckoning you to accept his offer. Your laugh comes off as more of a snort. It’s the first one in a while. You stand on your feet, stretching your limbs as you shrug on your coat that was hung over the back of your chair.

“Plus, you’re under my supervision,” he says before turning on his heel, heading for the exit. You watch him raise a hand, his back to you, gesturing for you to follow as he pushes through the wooden door. You hum with amusement, trailing behind him.

-

The winding hallways feel hollow, mundane walls lacking any color of brightness the TVA tries to bring to the space when in all fairness, orange isn’t much of a fun color now that everywhere you look, there’s a tinge of tangerine somewhere. The posters that adorn the walls are your least favorite parts of the headquarters’ decorative choice. You pass one that says 'Always Watching' in big bold letters, ominously glaring at you. The words are far from comforting, almost inhumane—a jarring reminder of where you are and where you stand in the hierarchy of this bureaucratic organization.

Mobius clears his throat from beside you, pulling you out from your thoughts. In a weirdly discreet manner, he hands you the case file with an outstretched hand. You take it, eyeing him and his odd behavior, there’s an unexpected shift in the air.

Then, you glance down, reading the scrawled words on the file that reads: Variant L1130, Loki Laufeyson.

Your strides come to an abrupt end, whipping your head up to see Mobius’ sheepish smile. Your eyes are wide, and you’re shaking your head in utmost objection.

“No, no, no. No. Absolutely no—”

“C’mon, it’s just—”

“No, Mobius. Nuh-uh. I swear, if I have to deal with another Loki, I will prune myself. I literally will.”

You're shoving the file to him, as he attempts to suck it up to you like the optimistic idiot he is although he very well knows once you’ve made up your mind, you cannot be swayed. You’re stubborn, rebellious—it’s what makes you dangerous. Yet, the TVA are pessimists. It’s Mobius who truly recognizes your accompanying positive characteristics that make dealing with your spontaneous character worthwhile.

Then, coincidently emerging from the door of the locker room is Loki himself, dressed in a dress shirt, tie, and slacks—clothes and color schemes accustomed to the TVA’s dress code. Mobius can practically see the wires in your brain short-circuiting as soon as you lay eyes on the God. Your eye twitches and from that, he knows you’re about to go mayhem. It’s the mayhem that’s going to break out on him like a hurricane devouring everything and anything in its way.

“You hired him?! You hired a Loki?!”

Your voice is loud, startling Mobius and Loki as passersby stare at the commotion you’re causing. You find yourself hunching in response, shoulders sagging as if it’s supposed to help with averting the attention away from you. Still, your expression doesn’t falter, and you’re staring at Mobius like he’s nuts.

Your voice comes off as a whisper, tone still harsher than before. “Mobius, are you insane?—”

“Just, let me explain,” he cuts you off with a raised palm to you. You purse your lips, sparing a glance to Loki who seems amused by the looks of the conversation that’s turning to more of an argument because you’re directly questioning your colleague’s sanity in public. Nevertheless, you decide to hear him out.

You watch Mobius sigh at the sight of your raised brow. “We have a variant. A Loki variant that’s been killing our Minutemen and I believe it’s the same one that threw you to Sakaar. So, to hunt down a Loki, what better way than to source the help of another?”

Silence. You’re giving him that deafening silent treatment once more. You’re thinking, he can see the mechanics in your brain running like a steam engine. He observes the way your eyes flicker between him, the file, and Loki who attempts to hide his confusion of you and the whole situation.

You’re not his superior, not even close, but he’s hopeful for your approval of his plan.

You cross your arms, shifting in your stance. “Which Loki is this?” You gesture to Loki with a tilt of your head. Mobius heaves a sigh, a hand to his hip and the other waving in the air.

“He’s, uh, he’s from 2012—”

And you’re back to causing mayhem.

“2012?! Mobius! That’s the worst one yet!”

“Now, hang on just a minute—” Loki interrupts, voice tinged with bewilderment and resentment but with two sharp looks directed his way, he instantly shuts his mouth.

You and Mobius are now back to your whispered debate.

“Look, as much as I hate to admit it, the TVA’s survival all depends on catching this variant and that means our survival. He has potential for change, so much of it...You just have to trust me on this.”

Mobius makes an excellent point but you can't help but feel the queasiness rising from your stomach. It feels like bile. You begin to feel the weight of the case file in your grasp becoming heavier and heavier. It’s the thought of risky business, and you’re almost upset as to why Mobius thinks it’s such a brilliant idea to pull you into this case after the stunt you pulled.

“Care to explain why I'm involved in this? You do know I’m being scrutinized for every move I make, right?”

Following your question, he glances at Loki who seems to be growing impatient, eyes wandering around the hallway. He leans forward and lowers his voice though his pitch raises, like when he's excited about a breakthrough.

“Because I know you’re capable of getting Loki to trust you. It happened once, there’s a high chance it’ll happen again and that’s good enough for me.” He watches you blink once. Then, twice. He continues, “And you’re being scrutinized by me. So, does it really matter?”

You’re silent again but in deep thought and not out of spite. Your troubled eyes find Loki’s. He’s already staring at you and for a moment, you see an unknown glimmer in his eye, expression nearly vulnerable but in an instant, he seals it away from you and averts his gaze, busying himself with straightening his pecan brown tie. It’s a small sign that he must have heard what Mobius said to you quietly. Nothing more.

Your gaze returns to your colleague and you pull yourself together, heaving a deep sigh. “Fine, but I still think you’re insane.”

Mobius beams down at you in an almost proud manner. “Welcome back, agent.” And with a turn of a heel, he waves for Loki to follow as the three of you head down the hallway. Loki quickly catches up beside you, much to your dismay. “So, what’s your story?” he leans into you with a curious smirk. You keep your face forward, shoulder back, and chin up as you reply with a monotonous tone. “None of your business, daddy long legs.”

In your peripheral vision, you note how the God retracts in response to your reply, brows now furrowed as he glances down to his legs in an almost sheepish and innocent way.

You struggle to fight down a growing smirk.

Mobius looks over his shoulder for a moment and catches sight of you and Loki’s expression after your exchange.

It looks like the two of you would get along just fine.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

[hellpark]

KENNY: Oh god...

KENNY: Ohhh shit-- pick up the damn phone for chrissake-- 

TOKEN: Kenny...?

TOKEN: You alright?

KENNY: No I ain’t alright!

KENNY: Karen hung up on me!

TOKEN: Oh...

TOKEN: Does that mean you’re done with my phone, then?

KENNY: N-no, no I gotta try n’ call her again.

KENNY: Just.

KENNY: Just gimmie a sec, she’s gotta pick up...

TOKEN: Right... take your time, dude..

KENNY: There’s no time to take!

KENNY: She hung up right after she said some damn stranger was in the house!

TOKEN: Oh, jeez...

KENNY: God dammit, I think she turned her phone off...!

KENNY: Oh god oh god, what the hell am I gonna do thirty fucking miles out of town?!

TOKEN: It’ll be okay Kenny, I’m sure--

KENNY: No, it’s not gonna be okay! 

KENNY: Who knows who or what is in that house with her, look at where we are right now!

CRAIG: Hey.

CRAIG: Do you guys wanna shut up, maybe?

CRAIG: You’re distracting me from my shit.

TOKEN: Oh, sorry Craig...

TOKEN: Kenny’s having some issues with Karen, I think.

CRAIG: Uhuh...

CRAIG: I don’t care.

CRAIG: [grumble grumble]

CRAIG: (Can’t even browse tumblr without someone getting hay shoved up their ass right in front of me...)

CRAIG: (Why are either of them even still awake.)

CRAIG: (Why do I have to be cooped up in a stupid barn with all these people right now...)

CRAIG: (Why is--)

CRAIG: 

CRAIG: Whhhh...

CRAIG: W--

CRAIG: That’s m--

CRAIG: That’s my blog.

CRAIG: This is on my blog.

CRAIG: Th--

CRAIG: ...

CRAIG: WHAT IS THIS SHIT DOING ON MY BLOG???

CRAIG: I--

KENNY: Craig???

KENNY: What’s the matter, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you yell so loud in your life!

STAN: Yeah, shut the hell up over there, some of us are trying to sleep.

CRAIG: ...Y... you shut up...!

CRAIG: Fuck your sleep, I have a problem!

STAN: Yeah, I know, we kind of got teleported here by a freaking demon, dude.

STAN: We’ve all got problems right now, you’re not special.

CRAIG: I’ll kick your ass!

STAN: Go ahead, it’s already facing right towards you.

STAN: I’ll even wiggle it a little to make it a moving target, if you wanna make a game out of it.

CRAIG: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

TOKEN: Jesus, dude, what’s wrong?

CRAIG: Besides Stan Marsh being as stupid as ever?!

KENNY: We mean what the hell made you yell so loud, dude???

CRAIG: Oh, I’ll tell you!

CRAIG: This guy is posting shitty selfies of himself on my blog!

CRAIG: MY blog, and he has the audacity to post them with--

CRAIG: W-with...

CRAIG: With him sitting right next to him like it’s nothing!

CRAIG: There’s a circus in my house and I’ll bet you money it was that stupid Tweek demon guy who led us all away so they could party it up in my room!

CRAIG: We should have never let that stupid goat take us all the way out here.

CRAIG: Now they’re all fiddling with my shit and probably having a laugh about it, look at him in this picture!

CRAIG: Look at who’s in the fucking picture with him!!!

KENNY: OH GOD...

CRAIG: Oh god is right!

CRAIG: They’re messing with all my shit!!!

CRAIG: I’m freaking the hell out!

CRAIG: I’m so fucking close to kiCKING STAN’S STUPID ASS STOP SHAKING YOUR BUTT AROUND YOU FUCKING DELIRIATE.

STAN: maybe shut up first lol

KENNY: OH MY GOD, KAREN!

KENNY: SHE SAID SHE WAS HANGING OUT WITH YOUR SISTER IN YOUR HOUSE, CRAIG.

KENNY: SHE HUNG UP AND WON’T ANSWER MY CALLS!

TOKEN: They tried to chuck us all off the side of a bridge, who knows what they could be doing right now?!

CRAIG: TOUCHING MY SHIT IS WHAT THEY’RE DOING!!!

CRAIG: Touching my shit, putting pictures of themselves and Thomas’s corpse sitting in my bedroom!

TOKEN: Craig, I think this is a little more important than them touching your computer!

TOKEN: They could have hurt your guys’ sisters!

CRAIG: BUT LOOK AT WHAT HE POSTED ON MY BLOG!!!!!

KENNY: Craig, I know it’s probably goddamn traumatizing to see that shit right now!!!

KENNY: I know it’s hard for you to grasp this sorta thing during a meltdown.

KENNY: I’m sorry you’re having a difficult time with all of this crap, but there’s people actually in danger in your house right now, man!

CRAIG: Don’t tell me I’m having a meltdown!

TOKEN: Oh my god, okay--

TOKEN: Kenny, let’s just pull ourselves away for a minute here.

CRAIG: Don’t turn your backs on me like that!!!

TOKEN: Just ignore Craig for a second.

TOKEN: There’s demons in Craig’s house, Karen and Craig’s sister are in Craig’s house-- what do you think should be done?

TOKEN: What can we possibly do from here?

KENNY: I ain’t got a damn clue!

KENNY: We gotta get someone over there to help them out!

TOKEN: Okay, well maybe that isn’t such a good idea?

TOKEN: We’ve seen what they can do, right?

TOKEN: Is it smart to drag someone else into this?

KENNY: Token, you don’t have a freakin’ sister, you don’t know what this is like.

TOKEN: Okay. You’re right.

TOKEN: But I don’t know if--

KENNY: Wait.

TOKEN: What is it, man?

KENNY: I know exactly who to call.

KENNY: Ain’t no way he’s tangled all up in this mess yet, neither.

KENNY: Won’t gonna get his ass whooped neither.

TOKEN: Okay, well who’s that?

KENNY: My boyfriend.

DOGPOO: snrrk nsnzznnzzzzzzzzzzz...,.

[ ♫ I’M A BARBIE GIRL, IN A BARBIE WORLD ♫ ]

[ ♫ LIFE IN PLASTIC, IT’S FANTASTIC ♫ ]

DOGPOO: fhnfnhmmghfghg

DOGPOO: [yawn]

DOGPOO: An unknown caller disrupting my sleep, now...?

DOGPOO: Just who on earth could be calling me at this devilish hour of the night...?

DOGPOO: Mmhhello--

KENNY: Hushpuppy stain in the rug, we got some demon huntin’ to do!

KENNY: Grab yer damn shooter n’ get ready to pump lead!!!

DOGPOO: KENNY???

KENNY: Damn right!

DOGPOO: DEMON HUNTING?

DOGPOO: Y’AIN’T PULLIN ME, ARE YOU NOW?

KENNY: Hell no, I ain’t whistlin’ no dixie over here, I’m a gallon o’ gas aways from town and the fuckin’ devil’s stampin’ his hooves in town!

KENNY: Get your red ryder and get ready to shoot some damn eyes out!

DOGPOO: You sound oh so serious, I hardly recognize the tone, honeypot!

DOGPOO: Your words shot me wide awake quicker than the smell of pie in the morning, I just can’t resist a shootin’ with you!

KENNY: I’m serious!

KENNY: I’m cooped up in a barn outta town, and there’s demons runnin’ amok with my damn sister out there!

KENNY: She’s up in a heap of danger and I ain’t got nobody in the world I’d trust more than you to keep her safe right now.

KENNY: Never been more serious in my life, ragamuffin.

DOGPOO: Oh.

DOGPOO: Karen’s caught in the throes of the devil, is she now?

DOGPOO: Seems we really ain’t playing rockahorse.

KENNY: I don’t joke around when it comes to who I love, don’t go reckonin’ I’d do it to you.

DOGPOO: I see.

DOGPOO: Well then, I’d be duller than the heel of my boot if I didn’t think I could do something about that, wouldn’t I?

DOGPOO: A demon or two doesn’t quite sound like nothin’ a shell can’t handle.

KENNY: Dogpoo, these are serious folks you’re gonna be ditzin’ around with.

KENNY: Damn near chucked me n’ my friends off a bridge a couple hours back.

DOGPOO: I still don’t see the issue here, darlin’.

DOGPOO: You might have death’s hand hovering your shoulder, but one look at me and they’ll be wishing they were busy chopping onions instead.

DOGPOO: I’ll get your sister out of the slick, just you wait.

KENNY: Alright. I trust you, mudskip.

KENNY: You’re the rankest varmint this side of Colorado, if anybody’s gonna get them runnin’, it’s you.

DOGPOO: A threat is nothing more than a man who’s pride is in his hands, not his skin.

KENNY: You really grabbin’ your shotty, yeah?

DOGPOO: Would you expect anything less after you’ve excited me so?

DOGPOO: I’ve got an itchy finger just beggin’ for a trigger to pull now.

KENNY: Okay, good. 

KENNY: But keep them earholes wide for me, water nugget.

KENNY: You gotta be real damn careful.

DOGPOO: I believe we’ve been over this already, Kenny.

DOGPOO: Am I to understand you’re doubting my abilities here?

KENNY: Not at all.

KENNY: These people ain’t just strangers, though.

KENNY: Well, most of them, anyhoo.

KENNY: You will know one of them, for sure.

KENNY: I ain’t got a clue on how many of them are there, but they’re all stuck up in Tucker’s house.

KENNY: Stick your barrel in the nose of any horned bastard you so damn please, but for the love of all mighty...

KENNY: Don’t let that poor bastard Thomas stick around them.

DOGPOO: You’ll need to be more specific than that, sweetie pie.

DOGPOO: There’s a few Thomas’ in this town that come to mind off of the top of my head.

KENNY: Look, I ain’t gonna dilly dally here-- you’ll know what I mean if you see ‘em. 

DOGPOO: Alright, so your shopping list here’s one Karen, one Thomas, and a face o’ lead for a demon or two, huh?

KENNY: Craig’s sister’s there with Karen.

DOGPOO: Only logical, considering what residence I’m being pointed off to.

KENNY: I don’t care what’s done.

KENNY: Just get those kids outta there.

DOGPOO: Anything for you, sunshine.

DOGPOO: Ain’t a day where you can’t count on me.

KENNY: I know.

KENNY: I love you.

DOGPOO: Love you too.

DOGPOO: Well, I suppose there isn’t anything like a two AM witch hunt...

DOGPOO: Oh, poor Kenny... whatever have you gotten yourself into this time.

[shorkbrian]

Mafia

Prelude - HI!!!!! SO sorry I’ve been MIA lol I’ll explain later lol.

Pairing - Kirishima X Reader

Prompt - Idk I just needed to write something to get back into the groove.

Warnings - uhhh not really anything this time around, surprisingly lolol.

Music - too tired lol sorry

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“Oi, Shitty Hair! Open up.”

Kirishima bounced off his bed, phone in hand as he moved to open the door.  It wasn’t unusual for Bakugou to come hangout with him when neither of them were working, but Kiri knew that Bakugou had guard duty for the prisoner. Odd that he was pounding at Kiri’s door.

“Hey Bakubro, what’s u-“

The redhead cut himself off as he opened the door, eyes quickly zeroing in on the gagged-and-bound female in his friend’s arms. A confused glance to Bakugou’s face allowed a glimpse of the blonds feral smile, before Bakugou pushed past Kiri, shoving the captive forward and into the room.

“Boss is done with ‘em - stupid girl really was just walking home. He was gonna off her but decided not to. He saw the way you’ve been eyein’ the poor thing like a piece of fucking meat and decided you get a new toy. Said you’ve been doing a good job lately or some shit.”

The wheels were turning in Kirishima’s head as he followed his friend, watching the blond push the girl down onto the bed, snickering meanly as he watched her struggle. 

The poor thing had been walking - home apparently, after an exhausting shift at work - and had unfortunately taken a route that led her right into the middle of mafia territory. Kiri had been there that night, collecting debts and roughing up those who promised to pay later. He had seen the girl turn into the alley, watched as she meandered closer, not paying attention to her surroundings. The sound of a fist meeting flesh had startled her, head whipping up and taking in the scene before her.  A particular client had lied about their payments, and they were being threatened, blackmailed.  

The scared woman had barely run two steps before she was tackled to the ground.

She’d been held and questioned for about a week now,  the big boss wanting to make sure she wasn’t just a snitch for a gang, or the rival mafia two cities over.  It wasn’t surprising to Kirishima that it really was just a case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was about the most innocent thing he’d ever seen in his life. 

“How’d he know I wanted her?”

Bakugou scoffed, turning to the redhead with crossed arms.

“It hasn’t been exactly hard to fucking figure it out, Hair-for-brains. Every time it’s been your turn to guard her you get all excited like a goddamn puppy. Talking her ear off, smiling like a stupid fucking sap. It’s the most disgusting shit I’ve ever had to watch.”

Kirishima shrugged. Bakugou wasn’t wrong, but Kiri had been trying his hardest to be professional - big, mean, intimidating. He was a fucking mafia member, for gods sake. It looks like he had been a little too enamored to keep up his usual scary, manly exterior. Oh well, what’s done is done.

Bakugou was pushing past him again, leaving the female behind as he exited. He stopped at the door, turning his head to flash his friend a dangerous smirk. “Have fun with your little gift.”

—— You glared up at the redhead, the man still facing towards the door his colleague had just exited. The gag in your mouth had your jaw stretched uncomfortably wide,  forcing you to struggle to not drool. The rope binding your arms behind your back felt too tight, and it was itchy.  In short - you were immensely uncomfortable, made even more so by the blond man’s terminology when he referred to you. A toy? A gift? You were nothing of the sort. You were your own person, with a life,  a job, an apartment.  You weren’t a little plaything.

“Hey, I’m gonna take the gag off for you, ‘kay?”

The redhead, Kirishima, was by your side, seated next to you on the bed. You didn’t move, just watched as he gingerly began removing the cloth stuffed into your mouth. Each little piece he removed made your jaw ache a little less, the pressure easing up.

“There we go. Feel better sweetie?”

You shook your head, staring wide-eyed at the redhead. “Can you let me go home now?” You whispered, voice scratchy from disuse.  “I just wanna go home please.”

“I can’t let you do that. You saw something you weren’t supposed to, and my boss doesn’t trust people to keep information like that to themselves.  I’m gonna be looking after you from now on though, so you’ll be well cared for - you don’t have to worry at all.”

How comforting. 

The man was looking down at you, keeping his movements gentle as he began stroking your hair. You were too afraid to ask him to stop. You had seen what the redhead had been doing to that man, the night you had stumbled across them in the alley. If the man was capable of violence like that, he would have no problem crushing your skull like an empty soda can. You didn’t want to stay here.

“Sir, please… you can’t….. I have a job, a life! This is illegal, what about my family? My friends?”

“Do you think the Mafia has to listen to the law? Sweetie, we /are/ the law. We can get away with anything.” The man chuckled, before tugging you towards him, hands beginning to work at the rope around your arms. At least he wasn’t planning on keeping you tied up like that. 

You wanted to ask what the man was going to do with you, what he wanted from you, but you weren’t sure you’d like the answer. The past week had been hell, stuck in a dark, musty room. There was always someone in there with you, watching, guarding the door. Occasionally you would be thrown over someone’s shoulder (usually the large redhead’s) and carried out, walking down corridors and through rooms of what seemed like a giant compound before being deposited gently in a huge office, facing an intimidating looking man. The green haired man would grill you, ask you questions about who you were and what you were doing, what was you intent with the information you had  ‘acquired’ from that night. He didn’t seem to listen to your pleading, your begging to be let go. 

It frightened you when he brought out pictures, a file with your name on it, filled to the brim with information about you. Had someone been watching you? No, this group was just insanely good with computers, had access to private information and video feeds. All their information about you had been gathered in the time you had been there. The casual display of power had you trembling. This organization could ruin your life - could kill you and make it look like an accident. Hell, they could kill you, erase your entire existence. It’d be like you were never born. It was terrifying.

“How ‘bout I tell you my name, huh? I’m Kirishima, lots of people call me Kiri though.”

The last knot came undone, and your sore arms fell to your sides, heavy and tingling. You tenderly rubbed at the flesh, trying not to wince at the weird sensation as blood rushed to your arms.

“I already know your name, (Y/N). It’s so pretty, suits you really well I think.”

Of course the man knew your name, it wasn’t a surprise. He had been using it when he talked with you during his shifts guarding you. He seemed pleasant enough, but you could tell that the subtle bulge of muscle on his form was more than just for show. He was dangerous.

“Kirishima, sir, please. I just want to go home.” You were scared, trying your best not to break down, to tremble and cry. You just wanted to leave. Suddenly, you were pulled into a firm chest, big arms wrapped around you in a warm, crushing hug.

“Awh, poor sweetie. I know you’re overwhelmed. You’ll be okay though, you know?  It’s not so bad here.”

You didn’t want to stay here. You wiggled, suddenly uncomfortable in Kirishima’s embrace. The man relaxed his grip on you, sensing your sudden panic as you shifted away from him, rising from the bed to stand.

“What’s gonna happen to me - what am I gonna be doing? I can’t just- t-this is too much, I don’t know what’s happening or if I’m gonna-“

“I said you’ll be alright, okay?” Arms pulled you down, into Kirishima’s lap. You were still squirming, uncomfortable with the contact, uncomfortable with the hot air puffing gently against your ear. You didn’t like feeling his thighs under you, his big hands holding you still.

“You’re gonna be like a special little friend. You don’t have to do anything but stay here, in my room. We can talk, cuddle, I can get you some books to read when I’m gone working…. It’ll be nice.”

“Cuddle? I can’t- I won’t do that- You can’t make me-“

His grip grew bruising, ceasing your struggles as you felt your bones protest. It /hurt/, the amount of pressure he was squeezing your arms with. You felt his chin hook over your shoulder, and his sharp, shark-like teeth were flashing right next to your eyes as he spoke, tone low, dangerous.

“You’ll do what I say, got it? I’m not so nice when I’m angry.”

You sniffled, his grip relaxing as your posture did, the fight leaving you. “I just… I don’t understand. You don’t even know me.”

“Oh, but sweetie, I do!” His voice had regained that chipper, light quality. “I’ve learned so much about you! I’ve read through the file we have on you, and every new thing I learn just makes me like you more and more. You’re so pretty, so cute, I just wanna eat you up.”

“You can’t know someone just by reading about them. I don’t wanna be here, please just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about anything, I promise! Please? Just let me go?”

Kirishima stood up, picking you up with him. With a swift movement, he turned, letting you drop to the bed, face-first. You scrambled onto your butt so you could face him, feeling vulnerable with your back to him. The man was looming over you, cocky smile stretching his lips.

“No can do sweetie-pop.” The next second, he was up in your space, face inches from yours, hands planted on the bed near your hips. “Besides, we’ll have so much fun getting to know each other better.”

He surged forward, lips mashing against your own. 

You cried the first time he kissed you, and every time after.

[fandom-blackhole]

Hayloft- Ezra x Reader

AN: hahahahahahah hello.....So I know that have have shit I was supposed to write but life has taken every bit of creativity from me so I’m not sure if I’ll ever actually write those. So I am sorry if you have been waiting forever for me to post a story. I’ve also made the decision to close my requests indefinitely unless I change my mind because I just don’t do well with them, sorry. BUT, I struck gold and got the idea for this fic and before I lost the inspo I wrote like a mad man all yesterday! So I do hope you enjoy! And yes, I did get the idea while listening to Hayloft by Mother Mother

Also this is going to be a two part story, I am currently working on the second part and it should be posted tomorrow morning most likely.  And I made a playlist, if you’d like to listen to it (I am open to song suggestions to be added!)

Ao3 Link

Masterlist

Words: 3.1k (this a beast for me lol)

Warnings?: not really, AFAB reader, mentions of a stroke, Ezra’s charm (that needs a warning), bad poetry formatting (sorry tumblr destroyed how I had it in my Doc)

The itchy scratchy feeling of the hay digging through my nightwear was worth every uncomfortable second if it meant I could continue to sit here and listen to the man across from me, with his eyes that held galaxies and voice the carried the lilt of the most wonderful song, with that unplaceable accent. He was worth being tired in the morning from staying up all night up here in the loft of my family’s small barn. He was worth all the sneaking around and small meaningful glances sent each other’s way when no one else was paying attention, the brushing of hands when handing something to the other. I wouldn’t change anything about this unless it meant the small glances or the gentle brushing against each other didn’t have to be hidden from the others, if it meant that I could just be with the hypnotic man across from me with his hair as dark as the freshly tilled ground at the being of a harvest minus that one soft looking patch as white as a newly hatched chick’s down and a smile so crooked and white that it felt almost as if he was casting a spell over my very heart and soul. He was worth the pain of picking hay from my hair and clothes in the morning when I have to sneak back into the farmhouse, while already missing the touch of his rough and calloused but gentle hand. It was all worth every bit as long as he helped me forget everything just for the time being.

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

Living on K-5 was rather simple. The planet was neither big nor small and it was known for its fertile soil that could grow just about any plant whether it was native to the world or not and once one harvest season had finished the other started as the weather always was spring-like with perfect growing conditions. Not many came to stay and those who did worked their entire life in planets many fields of harvest. To the few that actually knew the name of the forgettable planet called it the bread box of the known universe. Though the planet was known to very few people throughout space, the planet’s harvests could be found on just about any other planet or moon feeding just about everyone. 

The farmers of K-5 were known to have bigger families on the premise of needing hands to work the land for food of their own and for money. The farmers also knew that most of their children would leave the planet and look for better elsewhere, and would hope beyond hope that at least one of their children would settle on the sad planet and continue working their farm. Though if luck would have it there might come a ship every so often with people willing to lend hands and work the land if they were compensated well enough. Most that came were floaters looking for something to do in between prospecting jobs, others were looking for a quiet place to finally settle after a long life. 

My father had been one of 12 brothers and he was the only one to stay and take over the meager farmer his father and his father’s father had set up on a small corner of the planet. My father never really talked about his siblings, only ever calling them stupid for leaving the haven that was K-5 for a world they had no place to be in. My mother had been brought here by her mother, who had been a floater. They had made acquaintances with a farmer a town or so over and had lived there as farmhands as that family’s children started dwindling as they left. I have been told that my mother had a fire to her that no other on the planet had, that she was a woman of grace and humility, which is rare in space these days, something I was told I inherited though I’m not so sure I believe. We were a small family, I had two older brothers, twins identical in only their looks. Joshua, a dreamer as my father put it spitefully saying he inherited that from our mother, while his brother Anthony took after our father with his pessimistic view of everything including the world outside of our farm and K-5. I always counted Joshua lucky, he was able to sneak out of our small farmhouse late one night only leaving a note on my bedside table saying goodbye as he left one of the few ships to land on our soil. Father always resented me much like he did Joshua for multiple reasons, one of them being that it was the reason mother had passed, as Anthony informed me one night when asked, another reason being that I supposedly looked like a carbon copy of her, as I was told by the few farmers that remembered her, and lastly and most importantly was my fascination with the outside world. He hated that “Joshua did nothing but fill your head with fantasies.” He hated that because of our small family we needed all the farmhands we could get and that I would always sit with them listening to anything they would tell me, though few would say much as the floaters tended to be a quiet breed, preferring to keep to themselves. 

In our town, the floaters and drifters were usually pointed to our farm when looking for work and usually met with my father before I ever had a chance to meet them, most ignoring me throughout their short stay, anyway. If we were lucky we would get one or two by the time harvesting or planting time had come around and they were always roomed in Joshua’s old room, now cramped from shoving multiple cots into the room rather than one small bed. The room was furthest from mine, which made it hard to sneak into to and talk with those who were willing to feed my curiosities. Having been caught and reprimanded enough times by both father and Anthony I had to learn how to be light-footed and sneak around unseen, though I believe that after awhile Anthony has given up on trying to ‘knock some sense’ into me and just doesn’t try anymore. 

Life was the same for me day in and day out nothing much changing other than the faces and names of the floaters staying on our humble farm. Excitement in our corner of space was far and few between, leading me to seek it out through any means possible, and more often than not it was the few books I was able to get my hands on them being rare as they were, were exceptionally hard to find new stories. Though luck would have it, I was able to get my hands on three battered books whose covers were so worn and dirtied over the years that any image or words depicted were hardly seen. Of everything on my solemn planet, these were what kept me sane, even if I had read and reread each dozens of times. Though their covers were faded, the titles were imprinted in my mind. I treasured my well-loved copies of Pride and Prejudice, The Hobbit, and Frankenstein and kept them close to my heart while also hiding them from my father for fear of how he’d react to them. Though I love every book I owned, it was the newest in my collection that meant the most to me, for it was the first thing that brought the man I long for and I together, a rather small but thick copy of a collection of poems and stories written by Edgar Allen Poe. 

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

Waking up on Saturdays were the only time when I didn’t mind having to roll out of bed and deal with the early hour chill. Saturdays were the days that I got sent to town to collect groceries and odds and ends for the farm from the weekend markets. Father learned early on that I had the same touch as my mother when I came to finding the best bargains and deals, so he began sending me in his stead while he and Anthony ran other errands or helped the current farmhands do morning chores. 

This Saturday wasn’t much different, upon waking and changing into the day’s clothes, I pulled my hair out of my face before stepping out of my room to head to the kitchen to find the list of what was needed on the counter along with the money needed. As usual, I went through my Saturday routine of making a thermos of coffee before pocketing the money and grabbing my bag. I slip my thermos into the side pocket of the bag as I slip the strap over my shoulder, before grabbing the list and scanning the contents as I walked to where my boots were stored next to the door. While glancing through the list, I started to slide my boots on before stopping. In a small section at the bottom were a few items that were reserved only for the few saturdays that the supply ship stopped in our area of the planet, which was very rare if ever. The supply ships were sent to the planet every couple of months with limited supplies and it landed in certain areas to sell what ever cargo it had brought, only to leave when empty. Only the ships usually were emptied after the first two or three stops and this area was usually one of the last stops, making the ships rare and highly sought after in the area. So the fact that our area was finally getting a ship after almost a year and a half without one was a huge deal. A rather large part of me hoped that there would be floaters on the ship willing to be hired out for farm work, especially since the lack of a ship has made my small family have to tend our meager fame with only the three of us because of the lack of farmhands. 

Upon arrival, the town was already bustling with life. Quickening my pace, I went to the center of the town where the new supplies always were held, and upon arriving I made quick work of crossing off everything on the list in hopes of having time to browse for myself. Luck seemed to have shown mercy down on me today as everyone I talked to was fair in prices and after crossing the last item off the long list I still had enough money to buy something for myself and give father change without him being any wiser. Smiling I chatted with a few townspeople and other farmers as I browsed the market, and as I came to the last stall I had yet to look in the market. Having near given up and about to turn from the stall, my eye caught something that had fallen from the makeshift table. Upon picking it up I nearly cried with joy having found what I could only hope to be the next tattered book to add to my collection. Flipping the book over in my hands and flipping through the pages my smile grew as I called the seller over. We haggled the price for a couple of minutes before he accepted my offer with a murmur and taking the money and while turning to begin my journey back to the farm I heard my name being called a couple of stalls over. Looking up, I smiled politely when I noticed it was Mrs.Robertson, taking a deep breath and sighing it back out before making my way slowly over to where she stood.

Mrs.Robertson was a stout woman that had a smile that never seemed to leave her face. She was a lovely woman whose lemon pound cake was well-known amongst the area’s farmers and always had a warm cup of tea and an open ear for whoever walked through her kitchen door, even after her stroke that took all mobility in her left arm. While I have always enjoyed her company, especially as a child when I was longing for a mother figure, recently talking with her always ended with her trying to push her oldest son and I together. Her oldest and youngest sons were the only two of her five children to stay on the planet, and while her youngest had already married and had a couple of children, her oldest didn’t seem to have interest in doing the same, even if she swears that he infatuated with me. Father continuously tells me that he thinks the marriage would be a good idea, even as I tell him it wouldn’t work between the two of us. 

So as I walk over to her and give her a hug in greeting I prepare myself for another attempt at matchmaking. Instead after parting from the one-handed hug, she had given me she motioned over her shoulder to a man who was standing there with a crooked smile that seemed to hold every last bit of charm left in the universe, and Mrs. Robertson, without missing a beat spoke up, “I was just explaining to this lovely newcomer that your father is always looking for new people to help with the farm and was just about to point him in your farm’s direction when I noticed you,” as Mrs.Robertson continued to rattle on I took the chance to glance back to the man behind her, only to find that his woefully dark eyes were still watching me with more mirth than I had seen in years. Looking back to Mrs.Robertson quickly hoping that no redness would grace my cheeks, though I knew it was there anyway. She quickly stepped aside and motioned to me introducing me before the man, if at all possible, smiled wider and stuck out his hand introducing himself as Ezra. As I stuck out my hand to shake his I opened my mouth to give him a polite reply only to be shocked into silence when instead of shaking my offered hand he raised it to his shining smile and graced the back of my hand with a kiss. Now I was absolutely certain that there was red dancing across my cheeks, if not my ears as well. Not able to take returning the gaze the man, I know knew to be Ezra, seemed to be piercing my very soul with I turned to Mrs.Robertson, thanking her and wishing her well before turning to Ezra who was still watching me and giving him a shy smile and tilting my head in a motion as to say ‘follow me’. 

Ezra seemed to be quiet as we walked throughout the town head back towards the farm, though that might have been because the small talk and greetings that were being thrown my way from those from the area that I was friendly with. When we finally broke from the town and the only sound was the dwindling chatter of the market and buzzing of the local wildlife. Though I was startled to a stop from the previous silence by the man as he spoke melodically and seemingly wit purpose, 

“In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed; But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast On things around him, with a ray Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream, that holy dream, While all the world was chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro’ storm and night, So trembled from afar― What could there be more purely bright In Truth’s day-star?”

Having turned to face the man confused, but noticing he was looking towards the sky with a smile, though one smaller than the one he was sporting when you  both had made your introductions with each other, this one seeming more blissful rather than purposefully charming. It was only now though that I noticed the absence of his right arm as his left was moved to his face to shield his eyes from the ever glowing sun. Turning his head back to look at me, his smiled widened again before noticing my slight confusion.

“Sorry flower but I couldn’t help but to notice the collection of stories and poems in your hand there, and thought to quote a poem by our dear morose friend Poe. I find his works to be a tad too depressing for my likes but somethings just stick with your very person,” Ezra drawled before sticking his hand out, “May I?”

Unable to really respond as I was still in slight shock I was only able to nod and pass the book over. Where upon gracing his fingers Ezra was able to skillfully thrumb through the book, mumbling quietly to himself with a smile, “It has been quite sometime since I have been able to visit our friend Poe here or any of my other long dead friends I’m afraid,” he paused for only a moment sticking the tip of his tongue between his lips before giving a small quiet winning cry, “ Ah hah! Here you go, ‘A Dream’ by the one and only Edgar Allan Poe.”

Handing the book back with it open on a specific page and there it was, the poem in which he had just quoted in full. Smiling down at the page, before looking back at him with a somewhat astonished look I dog eared the page before sliding it into the bottom of my bag, “No one else around here really reads anymore. At this point I thought I was the last one in the universe to do so. It….it would be nice to actually talk about reading with someone, though regretfully I just met Poe today so we are not quite as well acquainted as you two seem to be,” looking back up with a smirk and remembering my thermos I grab it out of my bag before lifting it up in offering. “Coffee? Its not quite hot anymore but it is probably still warm.”

With his ever wide smile, Ezra stepped up next to me as I slid my bag back into place and gave a small polite nod, “I would love to do nothing more than share what I am sure is the perfect brew with you, darling flower.”

(If you want to be tagged in part two, let me know in my inbox! Also if enough people are interested I am thinking about opening my inbox to talk and expand on this world I’ve created? Anyways I hope you enjoyed! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are always appreciated!! Much love and Happy 2021!)

(Also if you figured out what I based the planet I created off of please tell me, I’d like to see obvious I made it lol. And if you’d like a hint it’s in the USA)

[accio-jungkookie]

shine on anyway - spider-man x reader (ch. 1)

shine on anyway - chapter one

A/N: Hey, guys! Welcome to the first chapter of my Spidey fic :D AHHH I can’t believe this lol. I’ve been working over this for a bit, and I can’t believe I’m actually posting it? Idk man, crazy world lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! I love feedback so please feel free to like or comment! Thanks! (Also note that this story is focusing on character building and development more so than fan service, so Spidey doesn't show up for a little bit in the story <3 Thanks for understanding).

Summary: A kid from Milwaukee has to grow up far more quickly than she should while facing threats that men half her age would never dare go near. So, when she has to uproot after losing everything, does she lose herself too? 

Word count: 1.4k (I promise the chapters get longer)

Warnings: Discussion of depression and anxiety, minor character death, swearing, fight scenes/injury, loss, I’ll add any more if I happen to have forgotten.

teaser - one - next

“Y/N!” You heard your friend, Kyomi, yell from down the hall. You looked up, slightly startled about your name being shouted, before spotting your beautiful best friend. You smiled in her direction before shoving your jacket and books for your afternoon classes into your locker and shutting it. By the time you turned to face her, Kyomi was already almost by your side.

“Hi, Ky. How’s your morning?” You asked with a yawn, glancing on your phone screen to see the time. Not even 7:45 yet, and you already wanted to go home.

“Oh, you know, a Monday morning. And how about you, grumpy gills?” Ky asked with a grin as you rolled your eyes.

“It’s not even 8 a.m. and yet I’m awake. So, as good as I can be.” You mumbled with a small grin, grabbing her sleeve to tug her to the second floor of the school, aiming for a cup of coffee from the school’s student-run café. You didn’t mind the taste of dirt, or the slight anxiety boost, as long as you could stay awake during your first two classes of the day.

You jumped slightly as someone slammed their locker, the noise hurting your ears as you wince. Ky frowns and holds your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Anxiety not doing well today?” She asked quietly, and you nodded as you opened your eyes and blinked a few times. You took a deep breath, trying not to focus on the sensory input that’s nearly ruining your ears. It’s nothing serious, or something you have diagnosed since the idea of it scares you, but it’s enough to freak you out a bit. Sensory overload is something you deal with a lot, and your massive amounts of anxiety never really help at all.

“Is coffee really a good idea, then? I know it makes your anxiety jump a lot, and I don’t want you to be on edge all day.” Kyomi said with a gentle smile. She was always the caring friend, the one with answers who always knew what to say. You were caring too, of course, but it was harder for you to express your emotions than it was for Ky. Not a bad thing, but a thing indeed.

“I’m ok, Ky. I’ve gotta make it through this AP physics exam in first period, so a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.” You said with a small grin, walking into the small room. Ky eventually convinced you to go with tea instead, since it still has caffeine but much less so compared to coffee. Then, it was time for class.

The time passes slow, your brain being crammed full of new ideas and theories and such that you would have to re-teach yourself later, since the lessons were built for straight memorization, not memory retention or application. The American school system was a pain in the ass, and your high school was a prime example of that.

However, your three exams went well, if not mentally draining. Having multiple AP classes is an honest to god feat of nature, but you managed to do it with all A’s and B’s. You spent lunch in a hallway somewhere with Ky, and the end of your day sped by with minor hiccups in regard to your anxiety. But, overall, an averagely boring day. You went to the library after saying goodbye to Ky, since she wasn’t part of the school musical, and then set to work on your homework. The good thing about having three exams today meant you had minimal homework, only in three classes (Spanish, German, and AP English Language/Composition). Easy enough to work through translations and building sentences, but the English work was annoying. A research paper on any topic of your choosing, written in APA style. APA style was disgusting.

It was nearing almost 5 in the afternoon when the library was starting to close, so you packed up your things and went to the auditorium, sitting in a random chair in the back and pulling out your laptop. Not the best, not the worst, but it did what it needed to.

You shifted with a shiver, hating how cold the auditorium always is, before your felt a sharp pain on your ankle. You freaked out a bit, immediately slapping at your ankle in hopes of scaring off, or killing, whatever the hell had just bit you. You looked down at the floor once you had calmed down, and nearly gagged at the size of the spider on the floor. It was massive and disgusting with weird coloring.

“Fucking public school. I hate Milwaukee, swear to god.” You mumbled, snapping a quick picture of it so you could identify it later, before you got up and moved to a different section of the auditorium entirely. Rehearsals started in less than 15 minutes anyway, so there was no need to keep working. Instead, you changed your shoes and got on stage to stretch and warm up slightly. There was a slightly weird feeling in your stomach, and you kept looking down at your ankle every now and again to keep an eye on the bite, which seemed a little annoyed, if nothing else.

Soon enough, rehearsal ended, and it was time to walk home. You pulled out your pepper spray that you kept hidden in your bag and began walking. It was only a 20-minute walk, but 20 minutes walking in a big city, alone, and at night was freaky. Plus, you’re a smaller, high school aged girl. You were more prone to being abducted and sold into the sex trade simply because you were a girl. Disgusting, yes, but a sad reality. You continued walking, all of your senses on high alert as you kept glancing around. You got home right on time, locking the doors before setting everything down in the kitchen. You smiled as you heard the clicking of your dogs’ nails on the floor coming towards you. You smiled and sat on the floor, pulling the two dogs into your lap, cuddling them and giving them love before you had to stand up again.

You went upstairs to your grandparent’s room, lightly knocking on the door to let them know you were coming in, if they were even awake. You walked in, seeing them both asleep, and walked back out again. No need to wake them up if there wasn’t an issue. So, you went back to the kitchen on the main floor, writing on the whiteboard on the wall that you got home safe, and that you didn’t want to wake them. You grabbed your things, leaning down to give the two dogs another pat before leading them to their beds, telling them to sleep before you walked downstairs to the basement where your room was located. You walked through the curtain that served as your door and walked to the far end of your short room to pull the cord to turn your light on.

You turned towards your desk and sighed, knowing it would be a long night for homework. You set everything down on the floor and pulled out your textbooks and laptop, setting them down on your desk. You sat at your chair and got to work on your Spanish homework, ready to crank through it so you could get to everything else.

A few hours had gone by, and you were starting not to feel so well. You thanked your lucky stars for the timing, since you were just finishing up the last parts of your homework. You looked at the clock, seeing it was almost 1 a.m. You sighed and got ready for bed, starting to steadily feel more sick and tired. By the time you flopped into bed at 1:02, you were nearly half asleep and sweating buckets. You barely managed to remember to pull your glasses off of your face before passing out entirely for the night, dreaming of weird spiders and itchy ankles.

You woke up the next morning at 6:30, still tired as you cursed yourself tiredly for not timing out when you would wake up with your sleep cycle. Still, you had gotten more sleep last night than you had in all of last week combined. So, you told yourself you were rested as you sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes. You blinked the tiredness away, noticing you could see clearly.

‘Did I forget to take out my contacts last night?’ you thought, a little scared at the idea until you realized you had worn your glasses yesterday. With a frown, you got out of bed and started to get ready anyway, keeping an eye out for any creepy-crawlies. You were mildly confused, but you would figure it out later. For now, you had to focus on getting to school on time with the nasty migraine you had.

[hanniiesuckle17]

You Make Me Nervous

A/n: soooo I couldn’t think of a way to do this WELL without is being a school au so here you go my lovelies! BTW Requests open (for multiple groups)

Requested by the wonderful @sweetie-yoongi7   sorry it took so long lol! I had school and then I got a concussion lmao. but hope you like it!

MEMBER: Hyunjin ft. Stray Kids

Warnings: Swearing, bullying

Summary: Hyunjin used to be one of your closest friends. He even lived down the street from you. During middle school, things all started to go wrong when you discovered feelings for him and soon after he became cold and distant. The two of you drifted apart but recently in your junior year of high school he seems to have taken the wrong kind of interest in you. Days of pinkie promises and walking home from school have been traded for menacing words in the halls and harassment after hours. Was this really the boy you had fallen for? Or was he gone forever?

Genre: High angst, school au, bully au, bad boy au, (also I hate writing a pitiful reader because hell no be a strong woman, but seriously if something is going on feel free to message me. I am always here to talk.)

Times of Popsicles on my front porch and jump ropes were long gone. My junior year of high school and for lack of a better word, my life had gone to shit. Yeah, I had a couple of friends, but they weren’t really people I’d consider hanging out with at lunch or outside of school. I had a boyfriend  at the beginning of the year, but that didn’t last long either. The douche bag cheated on me with some girl in his bio class. So, I didn’t really talk to Jun anymore.

However, what really made my life suck was not the friends or the boyfriend. It was Hwang Hyunjin and his group of asshats. Hwang Hyunjin was one of the most popular boys in school, not to mention one of the most good looking. He was our class president and maybe not the smartest in the class, but he still had all the teachers wrapped around his finger. He was also one of the biggest bullies in our school and I was his lucky target.

This morning went like any other. My uniform skirt was itchy like always when I sat in classroom 2-06. I sat somewhat near the back so no one would bother me, but Hyunjin and his lackeys always sat near me so they could mess with me the rest of the day. 

With rude notes thrown at me and boys pinching harshly at my legs every time I got up, I was extremely pissed off by the end of the day. Changbin, Hyunjin’s friend, tripping me as I exited the classroom was the last straw. “What’s your problem?” I screamed at the sharp chinned boy.

He laughed, eyes wide at my response. The halls were long empty by now and teachers had left for the day. “Oh, Hyunjin! She seems a little feisty today. I heard you like them that way.” He nudged the tall boy towards me causing the younger to smirk. With a harsh move of his hand, Hyunjin shoved me against the wall.

“Now, I don’t quite remember telling you, that you could leave. Do you?” He kept his voice low, but loud enough for Changbin and the other two boys, Han and Felix, to hear. His dark hair fell in front of his eyes as a devilish smirk played on his lips. I kept my chin up and stared defiantly back at him with my shoulders back. 

“Get out of my way asshole, before I tell your little friends you used to sleep with a Barney doll. Oops. Sorry.” A smile threatened to cross my face, but the look Hyunjin gave me stopped it. With one turn of his head his friends’ laughter silenced. Turning back to me, his hand went to my cheek. 

“Oh, Y/n.” He pushed it aside rather harshly and shoved me to the floor. “No wonder you fucked it up with Jun. There’s nothing here any normal guy would want.” He started to walk away, but turned back to me. “Stuff her in the locker room. School will be locked until Monday.” Changbin and Felix grabbed my arms and tried to pull me down the hall while I struggled and screamed against their grip. 

“You mother fucking dickheads! Let me go pea-brains! Hwang Hyunjin! You bastard!” I could swear I saw him glance back before walking down the hall with Han. It didn’t matter. Felix and Changbin dragged me into the boys locker room and shoved me into one of the lockers. “See you on Monday." Felix’s rough voice said as he slammed the door shut, bolting me inside with no way to get out.

I screamed for hours on end, hoping someone would hear me. Soon I gave up and sat in the bottom of the cramped locker. My cheek pressed against the cold metal and I tried not to cry. He really wasn't the boy I remembered was he? I think it was time I gave up on the fantasy that Hyunjin will return to the boy I fell in love with when I was little.

All of sudden the door opened causing moonlight to stream into the cramped space. Before me stood a boy with a worried look on his face and his hair a mess. "Y/n?" He held out his hand and helped me out of the cramped space. "Are you okay?" I nodded and tried to brush myself off. The dim moonlight cast a small glow over the boy's face, letting me see my rescuer. "Jeongin, how did you know I was here?" He looked at the ground for a fleeting second before meeting my eyes again and walking out of the locker room.

"I was studying late in the library and on my way out I heard you yelling." The cool night air was refreshing as we walked outside. "You have no idea how grateful I am." He smiled at looked at me. There was a little bit of a pause before he spoke again. "Y/n, you don't have many friends, do you?" I started to shift uncomfortably under his stare, but something about Jeongin made me feel safe. Like I could say anything.

"No, not really." Trying to cover the sad statement with a laugh I fiddled with the strap of my bag. Normally I didn't mind being alone. But as of late, I seemed to be sad all the time and then there was the Hyunjin fiasco. Jeongin was in my class as well. He sat near the front and was one of the brighter students of our classroom. I had heard before that he also used to have history with Hyunjin. The two of us had never spoken, but suddenly had a connection that made us inseparable.

After that night, everywhere I looked Jeongin was there. He moved to sit beside me in class and we ran home together trying to escape the fury of Han and his marshmallow shooter. The boy quickly became my closest friend.

A couple months later, Jeongin and I walked out to the courtyard for our class' free period. It was a sunny day and the two of us wandered over to our usual spot under this big green tree. We usually just sat and talked. Sometimes we did homework if neither of us were distracted. However, today Jeongin stopped me before I sat against the roots.

"Y/n, can I ask you something?" His usual bright smile was replaced with a look of worry and he fidgeted with the hem of his uniform. I didn't understand why he couldn't out right ask. He usually was very straight forward and often had little to no filter.

"You can always ask me anything!" A little smile flashed at the corner of his lips, making me realize how cute he was with that nervous grin, braces proudly showing. "Umm...well. I'm not the most good looking, and I know that I'm not what you had expected. But that doesn't change the fact that I think you're the most wonderful girl I've ever met."

His words shocked me. Surprisingly they left a feeling in my stomach that could only be described as the drop of a roller coaster. His eyes were kept firmly on his shoes. After a pause Jeongin looked up with hopeful eyes.

"Let's date, Y/n."

He took a step closer and before I could even register that it had happened his lips left my cheek. My fingers brushed the skin that still had a tingling sensation. The bell rang signaling free period's end. I turned back to look at Jeongin.

"You don't have to answer right away. I'll meet you back here to walk home!" He walked back into the building while I stood there a moment trying to process what happened.

The rest of the day I couldn't help at glance at Jeongin next to me. I didn't even notice Hyunjin in the seat in front of me. Even when he spilled his soda on textbook, causing Han and Felix to laugh.

How did I really feel about Jeongin? I did like him. That was for sure. But, did I like him enough to date him? Or enough to forget my fantasy of the boy I remembered coming back to me. The thoughts whirled in my mind for hours.

It wasn't until I noticed I was alone in the classroom that I realized the school day had ended. Rushing outside, I raced to the tree and hoped that I hadn't made Jeongin wait too long. But, when I got there, he was no where to be found. I shrugged and sat against the roots thinking he must have stayed and talked to a teacher for something.

An hour passed and I began to think something was wrong. Getting up, I left my back pack by the tree and walked back towards the school. I heard voices near the back of the building, so I ventured there. As I turned the corner I saw Jeongin pinned against the wall by Hyunjin.

"You kissed her! What did I say? What did I tell you to do?" Hyunjin screamed. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I saw him glance back at Changbin and Felix. It must have been in my head, but it looked like he was searching for approval from them.

Quickly it disappeared and his glare returned. "I'm sorry..." Jeongin whimpered. Somehow I realized what was going to happen before any sign was given. It took every muscle and fiber of my being as I sprinted forward. The only thing I felt was a strike to my jaw before I fell to the ground.

Looking up from the ground, I saw the shocked faces of Jeongin and Hyunjin. The entire left side of my face felt like a train had run over it. I touched my lip and pulled away to find blood. Hyunjin looked from me to his hand, which to my surprise was trembling.

"Jeongin, are you okay?" I asked, still on the ground. He slowly nodded and looked from me to the boys around us. All of a sudden we heard the voices of the security guards coming closer. Jeongin raced off in one direction, while Changbin and Felix took off in another. Hyunjin just stood there. Almost in a trance. I stood quickly and turned to run, but was stopped by the voices of the guards being dangerously close.

I felt someone pull on my wrist and I was, though quickly, gently placed against the wall. Stunned, I looked up to see Hyunjin looking around the corner, his body pressed close to mine. His hand reached carefully up to my cheek, covering up the red mark and cut on my lip. The first glimpse of the two guards he closed his eyes tight and rested his forehead against mine.

I stood frozen. I didn't fully understand what was going on. What I didn't know was that Hyunjin's heart was beating just as fast as mine.

"Yah! You two kids! Don't mess around on school property! Take your girlfriend home!" The loud voice of the guard said from a short distance away. I began to turn my head in response, but Hyunjin kept me in place as he looked up instead. He tenderly brought my head into his chest, so they couldn't see my face. I heard him respond before he reached down for my hand and pulled me away in the opposite direction.

Many thoughts ran through my mind. All I could do was stare in front of me at Hyunjin, who still gripped tightly onto my hand. I followed where led, but it soon became clear he didn't have a set location.

"Hyunjin!" He turned and stopped at my voice. Immediately I felt bad for yelling at him. His cheeks were stained with tears that he was obviously trying to keep in. He quickly let go of my hand, realizing he was still holding it.

The two of us stood there next to the brick wall that separated the school from the neighborhood. Hyunjin quickly wiped away the tears and took a breath before composing himself. However, his cool exterior didn't return. The Hyunjin in front of me had his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoes now seemed very interesting to him. The sight reminded me of when we were little and he accidentally lost my ball over a fence.

"Yah, Hyunjin. Don't worry about. I won't tell anyone about this. I know you hate me." For some reason it hurt me to see him like this, even though I didn't understand. "I don't hate you." He said softly still looking at the ground. He didn't hate me? The boy who constantly tortured me? The one who took my underwear after gym class and strung it on the flag pole? The one who deleted my competition essay fifteen minutes before the deadline?

"You make me nervous." Hyunjin confessed. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I was stunned into silence. It was this moment that he gained enough courage to look me in the eye. As soon as he did, he lost it and looked everywhere but my eyes.

"After middle school I just didn't know how to act around you. I was anxious to see you all the time. But, slowly we started to drift apart and we both found new friends. I kind of got sucked into the wrong crowd. I'm not proud of it, but I really wanted Changbin, and Han, and Felix to like me. I figured that any attention from you would make me happy. It just spiraled out of control. I hated every minute of it."

Genuine hurt and shame showed on his face, and tears threatened to fall from his dark eyes. “Somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I knew you wouldn’t notice me if I didn’t make you. Especially with grades and friends like mine. I liked you too much to just let you slip away. I never meant to hurt you.” 

When my silence continued, Hyunjin walked to the wall and slid down its surface. Part of me wondered if he had finished speaking, but I stayed quiet. Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair and played with a bracelet on his wrist. “When we were younger it was always you taking care of me. I was always the weaker one. I think that’s why I liked- like-you so much. You were always so strong. I wanted you to see I wasn’t that little boy anymore. That I was strong enough to take care of you. Not that you need to be taken care of, but because I want- I have this desire to be next to you and take care of you.”

After a moment I moved and sat next to him against the wall. “Three things.” I said looking forward. “One; what makes you think that I care about your grades? Two; I don’t think you remember how strong you actually were when we were little. I was always the emotional one. I used to climb up to your bedroom window when I was crying from a bad dream. I did that because I knew you would take care of me.” 

A soft wind started to blow through the trees. The breeze lifted leaves across the street. “You said three things. That was two.” “I thought you weren’t smart?” “Okay, I can count.” He turned showing me that smile of his that made me forget the past couple of years. “Three is.....I think you should kiss me to make up for being a complete asshat.” 

“I wasn’t a complete asshat-” “You were the Royal Bitch Master General.” His laughter floated on the wind like notes of the perfect melody. “I thought you liked Jeongin?” For the first time Hyunjin looked over at me. A sigh of relief left him as I shook my head no. “Y/n, I like you.” He turned causing a strand of his hair to fall in front of his eyes. “You better kiss me right now before I remember your little Barney doll.” “Oh my god! Shut up!” He said with a smile as he pulled me closer. 

I walked into class a little later than usual the next day. Finding Hyunjin’s stare, I walked to my seat behind him. However, before I got there I tripped over Han’s foot which was conveniently out in the aisle. I felt a grip on my arm steadying my balance. Hyunjin kept his stare forward, but he allowed his hand to linger on my arm for a second to long. When his touch left, I turned towards his laughing friend.

 “Yah! Han Jisung! Acting like a prick won’t make yours any bigger than the microscopic length it already is.” The entire classroom reacted as I smirked and went to my seat. The class went quiet as the teacher came in the room. I could tell Mr.Jung was pissed off as soon as he walked through the door. I just prayed I wasn’t the student he preyed on today.

“Everyone, quiet. Today we will be reviewing last week’s lesson on hyperbolas, parabolas, ellipses,etc, etc, etc.” Hyunjin leaned back in his seat, his left hand hanging off the back of the chair balled in a fist. He let out a shaky sigh. Math was never his strong suit. 

“Mr. Hwang.” Hyunjin tensed in his seat. Mr. Jung’s target had been acquired. “Can you please explain to the class how you would get the rectangular form of a parametric equation.” The entire class looked back at Hyunjin expectant for an answer. “Well-I...uh for--um...” I saw his knuckles turn white. “Mr. Hwang, it’s quite simple. Cut the ‘uh’s and the ‘um’s.” Hyunjin ran a shaky hand through his hair while the other curled tighter and tighter to the point where I was afraid he would make himself bleed. “I’m sorry- I don’t kn-” “You don’t know!” Hyunjin flinched as Mr. Jung continued to yell at him.

Instinctively I leaned over my desk and reached for his hand over. The tension in his fist eased as he felt the touch of my skin. Slowly he opened his hand and his fingers entangled themselves with mine. He let out a slow breath and I saw the tension leave his shoulders. My thumb brushed across his skin. Every time Mr. Jung yelled at Hyunjin I just hoped I could keep him calm.

Eventually we got through the end of class, and then the end of the school day. When the bell rang Hyunjin’s hand was still holding onto mine between our desks. “You coming, dude?” Changbin asked as he headed out the door. Actually-uh-I think I’m going to ‘borrow’ some notes from the nerd-OW!” He exclaimed as I squeezed his hand really hard. “You okay?” He shook his head before responding. “Uh-yeah. My hand just still hurts from yesterday. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The two of us watched as Changbin exited leaving us alone in the classroom. “That hurt, you know.” I smiled as he turned around and brought our intertwined hands up onto my desk. “Good. Don’t call your tutor a nerd.” I said moving to go sit on top of his desk. “My tutor?” He said leaning back in his seat and looking up at me.”Well....you suck at for lack of a better word..school. Therefore, I will tutor you after school.” 

He smiled and his hand found mine again. “Dream come true. I get my girlfriend to myself and I get to pass pre-calculus.” Pulling on the fabric of his shirt, I brought his lips to mine. “What if did less studying and more other stuff?” A little smirk played on my lips when surprise came over his features. “You know I’m tired of the school girl aesthetic.” “Yeah?” He played with the edge of my skirt before looking me in the eyes again. “You what would be really sexy?”

“What?” “You. In my bed. In sweatpants and hoodie. After I pass math. Or helping me pass math. Either will get me off.” He said trying to keep a straight face. I laughed and kissed him again. “That sounds awesome. Wanna go now?” He nodded and got up, shouldering his bag. “Off to my house!” He said as he followed me to the door. “Off to learn about parametric formulas and graphs!” 

“I change my mind. I’ll do the school girl thing. It’s sexist and demeaning, but I’m all for it now. Let’s just not do graphs.”

Masterlist

[takemealivelh]

“I Can Tell You A Secret”

Rating: This next thing contains fluff, mention of mental health AND LOVE FOR PLUS SIZE BODIES - 

Notes: MICHAEL’S POV. Inspired to write by @5sosdrfluke and @irwinkitten and super grateful about it

Summary: Michael is crushing on a girl named Cleo (thank you @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt for the suggestion!), they both have more in common than he thinks

Word Count: 1.4k

"Are you alright?"

I looked up from the couch and saw Ashton's concerned look. I hadn't been having the easiest days, my mind had started to act up and it was being a bitch to me, all the time. I shrugged my shoulders and dismissed his effort to talk to me. I knew it upset him, and everyone. But I couldn't stop. It was like someone was physically pulling my vocal cords towards the back of my neck, the words wouldn't come out.

"We're gonna get some food," Luke patted my shoulder but I didn't look up at him, "are you gonna stay here? Do you want us to bring you something?"

I shrugged him off, saw Ashton signal him to leave me alone. Calum tried to light up the mood but it didn't work, I was in too deep the black hole. 

The three of them left the dressing room, left me alone with my thoughts and my guitar. The second I heard the door close I huffed, throwing my head back, almost hitting the wall. I hated when my brain started playing tricks on me, it was fucking exhausting.

"Hello?"

The knock on the door startled me a bit, I didn't expect anyone to come to disturb my peaceless break. I definitely didn't expect Cleo to be the one doing it.

"Michael, are you there? I left my wallet- saw the boys heading out, they told me you were in here"

My cheeks were burning red, my skin felt itchy and dry. I really didn't want to talk to anyone, I knew the only possible outcome was me being an asshole. I liked Cleo, she was a cool girl, and I didn't know her well enough to just dump all my shit on her.

She knocked once more, "I won't get in your way, I just really need my wallet."

With a sigh, I set the guitar on the floor and went to open the door. My body felt like I had downed either three bottles of vodka or three gallons of expired milk.

"I..." the words got caught in my throat as soon as I touched the doorknob, unable to turn it. "Cleo... I..." I cleared my throat and shook my head, tried to shake all the demons away, "... I'm not feeling well. I don't want to be an ass to you, I'm one hundred per cent sure I'll be an ass if I let you in."

The smile that poured out of her words was so obvious, how did she do that? "Wouldn't be the first time." I could picture the left corner of her lips going up just slightly, the sly glint in her eyes. "It'll be alright, Mike. In and out. Super fast"

As I opened the door and stepped aside, I was surprised to see her face in such lack of expression. It was a bit scary, but I didn't say anything. I wondered why she hadn't just burst in like many other times, the door wasn't locked. Cleo made her way to the other end of the room and bent down to search for her wallet through the endless amount of backpacks we seemed to have with us. 

It was weird to see her so serious, she was usually hyper, always telling jokes -some of them weren't that funny but the way she told them, it was hard not to laugh with her. Her crooked bottom teeth were always on display as she smiled her way through a full room of strangers. I admired her confidence. She always had a witty remark, a clever comeback that upstaged anything Ashton could say in his life. A light that radiated from within, if you will.

"Ha!" Cleo huffed as she clawed a purple wallet from of the bottom of the backpack pile. 

Many times I'd thought about asking her out, I hadn't told anyone about it. Cleo was a nice person, she was kind and she knew her worth. She didn't let anyone talk shit to her. I once saw the footprint on someone's thigh because they had implied women weren't as capable as men. I'd never gotten that hard that fast in my life.

Cleo turned and headed towards the door as she shoved her wallet on the back pocket of her jeans. "See ya, then"

"Why didn't you just come in? You know, like you always do?" I blurted out the words when her foot was about to step out of the room. She looked back at me, scratching the upper side of her eyebrow with one finger, I'd noticed she did that a lot when she struggled to find the next words to come out of her mouth. 

"Calum warned me- he didn't actually warn me, he just said you were having a hard time. I didn't want to, just... splay my presence around, you know?"

I'd always loved her accent, the way the words seemed to fall and go up like a rollercoaster every time she used words like splay or splash or splendid. 

"Wow, thank you"

"It's hard, I know" 

I looked up at her, confused. Her lips finally went up into that signature smile. I was glad she was scared of dentists because those crooked teeth were just the cutest. She seemed amused. 

"I can tell you a secret" Cleo shrugged her shoulders and made her way to the couch. "Well, come on. Sit down" she smiled, and I obeyed. "You've always been open about mental health, Michael. I think that's great. I also think it fucking sucks when you start over-analyzing every single thing you did or said, or could've done or should've said. Yeah?" 

I nodded, tilting my head to one side. She didn't mean she... no... did she? No...

I was debating the possibility of her not being as confident as I thought when she spoke again, not looking at me anymore, tugging at the thin fabric of her jacket. "I'm always judging myself..." she trailed off and we stayed quiet for a moment. The words rushing through my mind, not finding a way out. She let out a breath and smiled at me, "when your brain starts being a bitch, let me know, okay? I'll kick the fuck out of it," she laughed, it made my stomach drop. 

Cleo brought a hand to my shoulder and had I not been wearing a thick sweater, she would've felt my skin bristle. I could not believe she wasn't the confident person I thought she was. Maybe no one is, not even Tom Hanks.

"You're such an amazing person, Clifford. I know it's not easy to fully believe like, all the time. But right now, I'm here, and I'm telling you..." she held her other hand up and started listing with her fingers, "you are talented, generous, hilarious, creative, smart... I could go on, but I'm really hungry"

We both laughed and she ruffled my shoulder the way she would ruffle someone's hair. "Thank you, Cleo," I smiled. She nodded and stood up. "Can I ask?" She turned her attention back to me. "I would have never believed you had the same doubts. Can I ask... if you don't mind... what makes you feel that way?"

Her next words were what I least expected. "Er... it's... it's my body," she shrugged. "But whatever, all girls feel like that, right?"

It was a shock to me. I knew she wasn't model size. She was on the heavier side, and she was absolutely gorgeous. I knew she did yoga with Ashton sometimes, I also knew she could do crow pose because Ashton was jealous that he still fell when he tried. 

Cleo carried herself through the world with so much grace that you almost forgot she wasn't a size 2. I think that's what struck me the most, because I never even questioned her beauty. She was absolutely breathtaking, from head to toe.

"Maybe," I finally said, "I think you're gorgeous, though. I don't know if that helps."

"It does, a little"

She stood on the doorway and I sat on the couch, we smiled at each other for a few seconds. 

Suddenly, Cleo ran towards me, bent down and kissed me on the cheek, hugging me. Just like that, the rotten feeling inside of me vanished. 

"Thank you," she muttered against my ear.

I gathered the courage and moved my face, our lips connecting in an instant.

TAG LIST

@brown-eyedshell

(so far you’re the only one on my tag list. Let me know if anyone else wants to be added!!) idk how tag lists work lol

[beautiful-bau-beau]

Hello! I am such a huge fan of your writing and its kept me entertained through the boring summer months lol. Anyways, since you were asking for requests, could you do a Spencer imagine, where he has been telling the team that he has a girlfriend but they don't believe him until he shows up to BAU in clothing/with a haircut that the reader bought him? Possibly set in like season 5 when Spencer's wardrobe was particularly "spencer reid"-y.

((I am unbeliveably flattered and actually love this request though I did change it a little bit. The article I mention is from 2014 when season 9 was actually shot but for the sake of the story we’re ignoring it. Also, not that it matters, as a kid I wanted to be a fashion designer and every Christmas I would get Project Runway sketchpads.))

Style

-

Spencer felt a little insecure walking into the office that morning. The suit he wore didn’t feel uncomfortable or itchy in any way, it just felt…unusual…too ‘stylish’ for his tastes. The only reason he was wearing this was for you. 

A week prior

At the feel of your arms wrapping around his shoulders he immediatly shut the files he had ben working on, not wanting you to see any of the photos or read anything that would upset you. You were too pure. His hands came to rest on top of your palms, rubbing them gently. 

“What would you say if i shopped for you?” You asked, leaning your chin upon his shoulder, turning your head to face him. You saw his brows furrow and his bottom lip stuck out unconsciously. 

“You don’t like the way I dress?” You shushed him, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek. 

“I love the way you dress, Doctor, your sweater-vests and slacks will always flatter you, however; that’s not an answer to my question.” He leaned back in his chair, sighing softly. 

“Y/n I go to work to….work,” to catch psychopathic killers, he wanted to say. “Not to flaunt of my fashion skills.” He turned to face you, your eyes playfully narrowed in mock annoyance. 

“Are you avoiding my question because you don’t trust me to dress you?“ 

"I may miss social cues most of the time but I think I’ll be in trouble if I don’t just say ‘yes, you can dress me.’”

“You are a smart man.” You pressed another kiss to his cheek, and he could feel the excitement bubbling up within you, as you left his embrace and started heading to the bedroom. “I’m going shopping tomorrow, you’re going to look great, don’t worry!”

- 

“Spence?” JJ’s jaw dropped in disbelief once her eyes landed on Spencer entering the B.A.U. floor. She stood next to Morgan who had his signature smirk across his face as he took in the new appearance . Emily wolf-whistled, setting her coffee cup down on her desk to clap excitedly, much to Spencer’s embarrassment. 

“Guys…please…” He mumbled, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It doesn’t look bad does it?” Spencer wore a white button up underneath a merlot tie, a black vest and an admiral blue blazer with matching slacks. On his feet were dark tipped oxfords, the same shade as his satchel. 

“Holy sweet Jesus!” Garcia exclaimed, eyes wide as she pointed to his blazer. “Spencer you look absolutely amazing! Is that from the new Brooks Brothers catalog?” He looked down, biting his bottom lip. 

“I-uh… I don’t know.” He paused.  "My girlfriend got it for me.“ He admitted with a soft smile. He hadn’t figured out a way to inform the team of his newfound romance, wanting to make sure that unlike other dates or girls in the past like Lila, or god yes, even JJ, that you were a sure thing. 

"Girlfriend? Is that what you’re calling the sales associates now?” Derek laughed, opening his mouth to say something else when he was cut off. 

“New case.” Hotch called everyone to the round table, Rossi standing by his side. “You know,” Rossi exclaimed, eyeing Spencer for a moment. “I like the new look, kid. Stick with it.”

- 

“So, what did everyone think of you in your suit?” You asked, excitement lacing your tone. The two of you sat in his apartment, one of the few occasions that you two were able to have dinner together at a reasonable hour.

“They liked it… I got some compliments.” He smiled softly to himself. You let a breathy chuckle escape you. 

“That’s great! I’m glad they liked it.” You took a sip from your glass. “You liked it, didn’t you? If you didn’t, just lie to me.” You laughed again, studying him carefully to deduce his reaction. 

“I’m not entirely sure. I know that the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology proved that enclothed cognition, wearing a garment with a strong cultural association can affect your cognitive processes, is real, but I think I may still be adjusting to the attention I’m getting.” You paused at his explanation, his words sounding familiar. 

“Not too much attention, I hope.” You teased. “Wasn’t that 'enclothed cognition thing from an article in my… Vogue magazine I threw out a few weeks ago?” You recalled, watching as he shook his head. 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” He denied quickly. “Even if women were falling left and right to gain my affection, no one’s attention is worth more than yours.”

“Oh I’m flattered.” You pretended to roll your eyes. “So are you going to let me dress you up tomorrow? I could make you even more attractive than you were today!”

“Yo’re not using me for my body are you?” He asked slyly, causing you to reach across the table to playfully shove his arm. 

“No, I just never had a Ken Doll growing up.” You reorted, rolling your eyes. After a moment you declared, “I’m styling you again tomorrow.” The soft smile on Spencer’s face didn’t go unnoticed.

-

 As soon as Spencer opened the doors to the bullpen he was met with the sound of a camera clicking, the device held in the hands of one Penelope Garcia. 

“I just had to make sure I had evidence in case I wake up tomorrow and think I hallucinated this.” She justified, admiring the photo. “I think that shade of red really suits you. Like a mahogany or sangria…can’t tell which one.” Spencer just blinked as the techie rambled, not entirely sure what she was talking about.

Spencer wore a wine-red blazer and slacks along with a white button up. On his feet and waist he wore a black belt with matching black oxford. You had even convinced him to unbuttoned the top button. He had to admit he did secretly like the dark suit, especially how you picked it out for him.

Spencer had been reading a few of your magazines over the span of your relationship, telling himself that he was only trying to find something to read. A few different magazines had informed him how red was associated with love, passion, desire, romance, joy, courage, along with a few other explicit meanings. Other articles mentioned wearing red meant the wearer was assertive, daring, and powerful, and he couldn’t help but feel more confident.

 Throughout the day the team seemed to pick up on Spencer’s slightly changed attitude, as well as some others around the building.

“Seems like you’re catching a few stares, pretty boy.” Morgan mentioned, his eyes flickering over to a coworker who smiled warmly in Spencer’s direction. The two men were walking from the breakroom to their desks, steaming mugs residing in their grasps.The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitched, although not into a smile. “What?” Derek questioned. “Is she not your type?" 

"I told you yesterday, I have a girlfriend. She’s the one buying my new outfits.” Morgan stared suspiciously. “Do you really think I would be able to throw something like this together in a million years?”

“Touche.” Morgan nodded. “So, when are we going to be able to meet her?” Spencer stilled in thought.

 "I’m sure y/n would want for her and I to plan something out together, so I’ll have to get back to you.“ Spencer headed towards his desk. 

"Hey Reid.” Morgan called before they parted. “Does this girl of yours have a sister?” Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Not one desperate enough to meet you.” Spencer answered mischievously, spinning on his heel. 

-

“Are you as excited as I am?!” You exclaimed, rushing around the apartment to make sure everything was going to be perfect. The two of you had decided to invite the team over for a nice dinner you prepared, snacks and refreshments in the kitchen as well. Although you seemed cheery, Spencer could tell you were nervous.

“Y/n you can calm down. Everything is going to be fine. What’s the worst you think will happen?” Your boyfriend asked, resting his hands on your waist to still your frantic movements.

“They’ll profile me as the loser I truly am.” You snickered. “Especially because I was behind the butchering of your lovely locks.” Your fingers threaded through Spencer’s new short hair, slightly frowning.

“Nonsense, I’m sure they were getting tired of seeing my unruly hair grow day after day. I’m glad it’s gone. I was starting to wonder if I would have to join into the 'man-bun’ phase.”

“What do you think of your suit?” You asked, gesturing to his outfit. You gave him a currant red button up with a navy jacket, vest and slacks. The buttons of his jacket were a bright tan, pairing well with the dark colors he wore. You had told him that he was a 'Deep Autumn’ and that dark and warm colors would benefit his skin-tone greatly. To top of his whole look, you tucked a crimson carnation into the lapel of his jacket.

“I feel…confident. Thank you for this. I always felt comfortable in my sweater-vests and button-ups but I believe the new work clothes have given me newfound respect from my coworkers and higher-ups at work.” You both shared a soft kiss before the apartment buzzer went off.

-

You opened the door to find friendly faces smiling back at you. “Welcome! Come on in!” Spencer doesn’t like to talk about work often but he speaks of you all fondly. I won’t pretend to guess who’s who.“ The team entered the living space, introducing themselves.

"Hey!” Spencer joined the group, a grin growing on his face when they all cheered encouragingly at his appearance, greeting his coworkers.

“I’d like to sincerly congratulate you for convincing him to branch out a little bit.” Emily patted your arm.

“Oh!” Penelope cried out happily. “You should come with Emily and I to DeMile’s! They’re having this great big blow-out sale! It’s obvious you have great taste so I wouldn’t object to you styling me every once and awhile." 

Conversation seemed to fade for Spencer who watched as you interacted happily with his friends, a warm smile on his face. He had been made fun of before with some clothing items he had chosen to wear but you had just opened his possibilities and helped to expand his comfort zone. He was so lucky to have someone as caring and patient as you in his life. He knew he would spend the rest of his days trying to make sure he was worthy of someone like you.

[yuki-setsu]

12 Days of (Lance) Whumpmas! - Day 11 [Pneumonia]

idk why it was so hard for me to think of a story i actually wanted to write out for this prompt but loRD here we are;;; i’m weak for lance w/ children

i think it’s because i was more excited brainstorming for the free day LOL hopefully i get that out before the 7th ahhHH

part of the 12 Days of VLD Whumpmas hosted by @vldwhumpmas2017! you can still submit up until january 7th, so check out more info on the challenge here if you want to participate!

“Guys, I think I'm really sick.” Lance moaned from the sofa, trying to wrap his hoodie tighter around himself.

“Yeah, you've said it like fifty times already.” Keith grumbled. He blew out an irritated breath as he typed at his laptop a bit too aggressively. “There are seriously no good sources on this topic.”

The others didn't reply, busy typing or scrolling away on their own respective laptops with an air of exhausted resignation. Lance watched them gathered around the table from his spot on the safe with half-open eyes. They'd all gathered at Hunk's apartment that morning in a last-minute rush to finish this group project before the midnight deadline. Quite frankly, Lance was more impressed that they all managed to sign up for the same Communications course.

“Hunk, buddy. You got any cough medicine?” Lance called out again. He coughed for good measure, grimacing at how wet and gross it sounded. Geez, his colds were never this bad.

“Uh...” Hunk furrowed his brow as he scanned something on his screen before slumping back against his seat. “You can check, but I think I ran out.”

Lance groaned, his head falling lightly against the cushion. “Guess I'll just wither away, then. Bring flowers to my funeral.”

“Lance, sorry you have a cold, but we're literally trying to save our grades right now.” Pidge said, her fingers still in constant motion over the keyboard as she talked. She looked like she was running on less than 5 hours of sleep, which was probably true. “Help us finish and I'll buy you all the cough medicine you want afterwards.”

“Hey, I did my part and more by yesterday night.” Lance sniffled, rubbing at his arms in a slight attempt to get warm. “Not my fault the rest of you decided to procrastinate. And looking at computer screens would hurt my head right now.” Another cough, this one harsh and raw against his throat. “I'm not trying to be dramatic, but I think this is worse than a cold.”

Pidge groaned as she ran a hand through her hair. “Look, Lance, please let us concentrate for a bit. We're already gonna be cutting it close at the rate we're going. If you're just going to complain and not help, do it somewhere else.”

Lance winced at her words, a sharp jab in his chest. But then irritation settled in, and Lance pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit when the blood rushed to his head. He already felt crappy enough—he wasn't in the mood to feel worse. He grabbed his jacket, slinging it on as he headed towards the door.

“Fine,” he said. “I'm heading out.”

Shiro finally tore his gaze away from his laptop, a pitying look in his eyes. “Lance, we didn't mean—”

“Nah, I get it. Sorry for feeling sick. I'll go deal with it on my own.” Lance grumbled, tugging the door open. “I'm gonna go buy medicine. Don't worry, I'll take my time.” He slammed the door shut before he could hear anyone else respond. Or maybe they didn't.

But when the early winter breeze hit his face once he stepped outside, Lance almost considered giving up and making the walk of shame back up to Hunk's apartment. It wasn't cold enough to start snowing yet, but it was definitely chilly. Lance shivered as he coughed again into his elbow. He felt phlegm come up in this time, and he grimaced as he dug into his jacket pocket. Fortunately, he felt a few wadded up tissues in there and he spit into it.

“Ugh, gross.” Lance trudged past a garbage can, tossing the used tissue ball inside before shoving his hands into his pockets. At least the convenience store wasn't too far. He took one hand out to pull up his hood, grumbling when the wind pushed it back off his head.

The store was only two blocks away, yet by the time Lance passed through the automatic doors, he felt like he ran a mile. He bent over to catch his breath, feeling it rattle in his lungs in an unpleasant way. A stab of pain hit his chest when he tried for a deeper breath, something he probably should've paid more attention to. Another cough built up, just as loud and wet as before. He should buy portable tissues while he was at it.

After a few seconds, he pushed himself back up and headed towards the aisles. He went towards the pharmacy area first, picking out a box of extra-strength cold medicine first. He blew out a sigh, turning to peer down the rest of the aisle. Heck, he'll just walk around the store and see what else there was. Better to stay in here than walk around outside, anyways.

Halfway through his tour, he passed by a row of portable tissues and grabbed one for himself. He felt his throat itch, tempted to open the tissues right then and there before another cough hit him. The phlegm felt nasty, to say the least. He resumed his pace around the store, trying to get warmth back into his body. He was still cold, despite the noisy heater he could hear blasting air down the aisles.

He reached the register right when his eyes caught a row of mouth masks. It took only a bit of contemplation before Lance grabbed a blue one, adding it to his pile of purchases. Maybe it could keep half of his face somewhat warm once he was back outside.

One purchase later, Lance stepped out into the streets, managing to open the wad of tissues and coughing into it in time. Phlegm would never not feel disgusting. Lance grumbled, opening the package for the mouth mask and sliding it on. It helped, but it still felt cold as hell.

Lance started to walk again, bag of cough medicine hanging loosely from his wrist as his hands found their way back into his pockets. How long had it been so far? He was too cold to dig out his phone from his pocket and check the time. He was pretty sure it had only been a few minutes. Lance sighed, heading back towards the apartment nonetheless. Whatever, he'd just take the medicine and nap it off. At least he'd be quiet.

But the sound of someone crying stopped him in his tracks. Lance tore his eyes off the sidewalk, eyes easily locating the source of the noise just ahead. It was a little kid, bundled up in a bright orange jacket and green hat. He literally looked like a pumpkin. Lance would've found it adorable, had the kid not been bawling his eyes out, standing off the side as people passed by, not batting an eye to the commotion.

Lance felt his stomach tug at the sight. It was obvious no one even stopped to try and help so far. Maybe it was too cold, or they were all busy, or no one wanted to deal with the situation. Lance frowned, walking over to the kid and stopping right in front. An older man nearly crashed into him, grumbling out something Lance pointedly chose to ignore. He bent down, trying to look friendly despite the mask covering half his face.

“Hey kiddo, what's wrong?” Lance asked, ignoring the exhaustion settling in his legs at the strain.

The child quieted down once he spotted Lance, the cries quieting down to whimpers and loud sniffles. Lance waited, giving the kid a few seconds to catch his breath.

“I—I lost my mom.” He finally said, voice trembling.

Lance bent down a bit more so that was looking up at the kid instead. He smiled, hoping it at least showed in his eyes. “Well you're in luck! How about I help you find her? I'm sure she's worried sick looking for you, too.”

The boy sniffled. “My mom said I shouldn't follow strangers.”

Lance nodded, biting back a shudder when another strong gust of wind passed by. “Yeah, your mom's right. I'm glad she taught you that.” He thought for a second. “Do you know your mom's phone number?”

The boy's eyes widened, and he nodded. Lance shifted, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. His hands felt numb, fingers trembling just slightly even as he went to unlock his screen. “Can you tell me her number? I can call her for you.”

Another nod. Lance smiled again. “You're a smart kid, you know that? What's your name?”

The kid smiled at that, small and tremulous. “Connor.”

“Awesome name. My name's Lance. Alright, how about we call your mom?”

Connor recited the number, and Lance managed to punch in the digits before bringing the phone to his ear. The line picked up after one ring, the voice on the other end frantic.

“Hello?!” It was a woman's voice, high and shrill.

Lance swallowed the urge to cough, his throat itchy and uncomfortable. “Hi, is this Connor's mother?”

The woman sucked in a harsh breath. “It is. Have you seen him?! Is he alright?”

“He's okay, just a bit scared. I found him standing on a sidewalk. My name's Lance. Could I ask where you are?”

He could've sworn she mumbled some sort of prayer halfway through his explanation. “Oh thank goodness, thank you so much. I'm... I'm at Grant Park. I thought he might've stumbled this way and was looking everywhere.”

Lance tried to estimate the distance. He hadn't been around Hunk's neighborhood much, but he'd passed by Grant Park more than a few times. It wasn't too far off. “I think we're a 10 minute walk away from there. If it's alright, I can bring him to you.”

“Are—are you sure?” The mother asked, hesitant. “You've already done so much by finding my child... I can try to go to where you are and—”

“It's because Connor and I are kinda blocking traffic on the sidewalk, so we're probably gonna have to move soon anyways.” Lance said, trying to warm his free hand in his pocket. “I'll get him to you as soon as I can. We can stay on the phone while we walk, if you want.”

“My battery is almost gone, unfortunately. I'm grateful you managed to call before it completely died. I'd be so thankful if you could bring him here, Lance. Thank you. Could I speak to Connor for a moment?”

“Of course! One second.” Lance turned back towards Connor, who was watching him with wide eyes. He passed down the phone. “Here, your mom wants to talk to you.”

Connor lit up, grabbing the phone and pushing it towards his ear eagerly. Lance took the chance to pull his mask down and cough into his elbow again, rummaging for the tissues and spitting once more. Geez, he'd only been standing for the past few minutes and he still felt winded. He slid the mask back up, closing his eyes as he tried to fight off the small wave of dizziness that rolled through.

“Okay. Bye mom!” Lance looked over as Connor handed the phone back. “Thank you, sir!”

Lance laughed, taking the phone. “It's Lance, not 'sir'. You're gonna make me feel old.” He pocketed his phone before holding out a hand. “Come on, let's go to your mom.”

Connor's smile was bright, even with his reddened nose and splotchy cheeks. He reached up a small gloved hand, gripping onto Lance's tightly. “Okay, Lance!”

Lance felt his grin grow as they started moving down the sidewalk. Connor reminded him of one of his younger siblings, and he felt his heart tug at the thought of his family. He hadn't seen them in a while because of school.

“So Connor,” Lance started. “What do you like to do when you're bored?”

Connor hummed, swinging their hands a bit as they walked. “Watching TV!”

“Oh yeah? What kind of things do you like to watch?”

“Cartoons! And space!”

Lance laughed again, although he couldn't stop the small processions of coughs this time. “Space? I like that too! Do you wanna go there one day?”

“Yeah! I wanna fight all the aliens and fly a spaceship!”

“Sounds awesome. You can be a defender of the universe or something.”

Connor nodded, eyes sparkling. “Yeah!”

The conversation was cut short when another coughing fit came, and Lance had to stop to deal with it. His chest throbbed painfully at the motion, and he bit down a groan as he fished out some more tissues with his free hand. He pulled his mask down, spitting again and wadding up the tissues into a ball.

He felt Connor tug at his hand once he tossed the wad into a trashcan they passed by. “Are you sick, Lance?”

Lance gave a small smile, pointing at his mask as he pulled it back up. “Yeah, it's why I'm wearing this. So other people around me don't catch it. Like you.”

Connor frowned. “Mom said you should rest in bed when you're sick.”

Lance huffed out a laugh, gently tugging Connor back into step with him. “Yeah, she's right. I'm gonna go home and rest once we find your mom.”

Connor stopped in his tracks and Lance looked down to catch him tugging his hat off, revealing a mess of short, brown hair. He held it up towards Lance, a determined look on his face. “Wear my hat. It'll keep you warm.”

Lance's eyes widened, and he took the hat, only to quickly put it back on Connor's head. He tried to pull away, but Lance was persistent enough to succeed. “I'm warm. Don't worry about me, buddy. You should worry about yourself.”

Connor's frown pulled down into a pout. He held up the hand that was still gripping Lance's. “But you're shaking.”

Sure enough, he was. Hard enough that even he could tell with the wind stinging at his eyes. Wow, that was embarrassing. Lance gave Connor's hand a light squeeze, straightening up. “I'm okay, promise. Besides, your glove is warming me up plenty.” He glanced a bit down the road, spotting a familiar sign at the corner. “Oh, I think that's the park over there! Let's go. Your mom's probably worried sick.”

It was a relief that kids got distracted easily, and Connor whipped around towards where Lance was pointing, his eyes brightening at the park sign. He walked a bit faster, tugging Lance along insistently. Lance wouldn't have minded, except he really did not have the energy to be moving faster than the pace he'd been going. But they were almost there, and so Lance let Connor lead him.

By the time they passed through the park gates, it was miracle that Lance was still standing. He felt like he was going to throw up, even though all he'd done was speed walk a block. He bent down, letting his legs press against his chest as he tried to take a full breath. His chest ached with each attempt, and all he could manage were small wheezes.

Someone—Connor—was tugging at his hand again, and he heard him yell something before another pair of hands were on his shoulders. He glanced up, spotting a woman in front of him. She looked frazzled, her brown hair in a messy bun as she mouthed something that looked suspiciously like his name.

“—re you alright?” A hand pressed against his forehead, remarkably cool against his skin. “Goodness, what a terrible fever. Are you alone? Where do you live?”

“He's sick, mommy.” Connor said from somewhere to the side. “He said that's why he's wearing the mask.”

She rummaged in her pockets before glancing back up. “Lance, can you hear me? Could I get your phone? Mine's out of battery. I need to call an ambulance.”

Lance jerked at the mention of an ambulance, falling back onto his butt. He coughed, shuddering at the stabbing pain in his chest. “N-no ambulance. I just... need to rest.”

Her brow furrowed with concern. “Are you sure—”

“Yes,” Lance curled his legs close against him when another gust of wind passed by. When he tried to wrap his arms around his legs, he realized that Connor was still holding fast onto one of his hands. “My—my friend's apartment isn't far from here...”

The mother's eyes widened. “Friend? What's his name?”

“Hunk...”

Lance felt someone suddenly dig into his jacket pocket, and he looked over just as Connor straightened up, triumphantly holding up his cell phone. “I found it!”

His mother took the phone with a slight smile. She looked at Lance as she unlocked it—Lance really should put a passcode on his phone—as she shifted a bit closer, as if to try and block the wind from hitting him too much. “Is Hunk in your contact list?” Lance nodded, shuddering in another slight breath. “I'm going to call him over here to pick you up. You're in no condition to move.”

Lance didn't have the energy to respond, letting his head fall lightly against her stomach as she tapped away at his phone. He thought it might be rude, but she didn't seem to mind. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder as she began to speak, not to him. Guess Hunk picked up.

And then came the wait. He was pretty sure Connor's mom told him that his friends were on the way, but he didn't know what she said exactly. Halfway through, Connor had decided to drape himself over Lance in a small version of a bearhug in his attempt to “warm Lance up”. It was adorable, and Lance might have appreciated more had he not been so out of it. But it was too hard to breathe, and he was so tired.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke, it was to the rumbling of a car. He'd barely gotten his senses oriented enough figure out what was happening when another cough ripped its way out, and he reflexively brought a hand up to cover it. His mouth mask was gone, he realized. And he was lying on his side.

Someone was rubbing at his back, and Lance craned to see who it was once the cough left his system. Hunk stared back, looking more stressed than when Lance had left the apartment. Oh, he was lying on Hunk's lap.

Lance grinned weakly. “Did you guys finish the project?”

Hunk actually winced, which Lance didn't understand. “Keith and Pidge are finishing it up right now. That's not important. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you leave. None of us should have.”

Lance shifted back so that the side of his head was resting against Hunk's lap again, his breaths coming out in short wheezes. “... 's fine. I was being annoying.”

“It's not fine.” Hunk hissed. “Do you not see yourself right now? You told us you were feeling really sick and none of us did anything. Us stressing over the project shouldn't have been an excuse. Pidge feels terrible about what she said, just so you know.”

“Hunk's right,” Shiro called out from the driver's seat. Lance could only see one of his arms from where he was laying. “We all need to apologize, but let's get you to a doctor first.”

Lance groaned, too tired to move and do anything else. “I don't need one...”

“You look like you're about to die, so you do.” Hunk said. “We're not taking any chances.”

To be honest, Lance didn't want to either. He felt like complete shit, and he wasn't sure if the cold medicine he bought was going to be much help. Hunk kept a helpful drone of chatter to keep him distracted, rubbing at his back every time he coughed and sometimes rubbing at his arms as if to try and warm him up. Guess he was still shivering.

When they got to the doctor, Hunk had to piggyback him in, but Lance was too exhausted to feel embarrassed at this point. He thought it was just going to be some bad case of the flu, but after a couple of tests and a diagnosis of mild pneumonia, Lance was glad they ended up going to the hospital. Clearly Hunk and Shiro felt the same, because they both paled when the doctor announced the results. He got an order of antibiotics and a rigid schedule of rest and hydration before Hunk carried him back to the car and they headed back to the apartment.

He must have fallen asleep again, because he didn't remember how he got from the car and into bed. He woke up to a darkened room, Hunk ordering him to drink a bottle of water and take the antibiotics before going back to sleep. Lance wanted to sleep, but he kept waking himself up every time he coughed. Thankfully, Hunk left a box of tissues next to the bed, and he didn't have to move much to grab some every time he coughed up phlegm. But nonetheless, it wasn't an easy slumber.

The next time he woke up, the lights were on. He groaned, squinting at the brightness as he rolled over to bury his eyes into the pillow. He tried for another deep breath, but the sharp pain sent him into another coughing fit. Well, he just started the antibiotic treatment. Results weren't going to come right away.

“Lance?”

Lance opened his eyes at Pidge's voice, spotting her just next to the bed. She looked more exhausted than he remembered her to be, if that was even possible. But her eyes brightened a bit when he caught her gaze, and she glanced over her shoulder towards the door. “Guys! Lance is awake!”

There was a rumbling of footsteps before the others piled in, all eyeing him worriedly. It felt... uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Uh... hi.” Lance wheezed, relaxing against the pillow. “The project?”

Pidge grimaced. “It's done. Don't worry about it.” She stepped back, dragging Keith forward next to her. “I know Hunk and Shiro kind of apologized already, but we have to, too. Especially me.”

Lance blew out a breath. “It's alright, I get it. You don't have to—”

“No, I do.” Pidge cut in. “I shouldn't have told you to leave, even if I was stressed. It was an asshole move and I'm really, really sorry. Even if you weren't sick, I never should've said something like that. I might act like it sometimes, but I don't really think you're annoying. I'm sorry for that, too.”

A brief pause, and Pidge not-so-subtly elbowed Keith's arm. He coughed awkwardly, rubbing at the sore spot. “I'm sorry for getting stressed out at you. I was so focused on trying to finish the project that I didn't take you seriously when you said you were feeling sick.”

Lance tugged at the blankets, uncomfortable. “Okay, uh, no more apologizing. Feeling a bit awkward now. You're all forgiven, it's fine.” He coughed again, loud and grating, and pulled up the blankets to cover himself. He peeked back out after it passed. “You guys should leave, though. You might get sick.”

Keith groaned. “Seriously, that's what you're worried about? You just focus on getting better. Pneumonia's serious.”

“Mild pneumonia,” Lance corrected.

“It's literally still pneumonia.”

“Whatever.”

Keith blew out a breath as he crossed his arms. “Anyways, you should go back to sleep. We'll be outside if you need anything.”

“Yes, yes.” Lance mumbled, eyes starting to droop shut. He wouldn't deny he was still dead tired, and sleep sounded just great right now.

“Oh, wait!” Hunk piped up, making his way towards the bed. He pulled out something from behind his back and set it on the bed. “The kid you helped earlier asked me to give this to you before we left the park.” Hunk grinned. “He said to wear it whenever you needed to get warm.”

Lance glanced at the small green hat, a grin tugging at his face. That definitely wouldn't fit on his head. He didn't doubt it would feel warm, though.

[fluffyllamas-23]

All I can say is poor Bucky.  Shoutout to @strange-capers for helping me with the plot lol

There’s some mention of death and like...maybe some very brief mention of suicidal thoughts (I don’t even know if you can consider it that, but I’m just being cautious)

Life was never the same after Bucky’s older sister passed. Life was never the same after that asshole decided to get behind the wheel after drinking.  Life was never the same after he ran the red light, and plowed straight into the driver’s side, right into Becca.

Bucky had only been eighteen at the time, and even though it’s been three years, that night is still ingrained in his memory.  

They had decided to go out to see a movie, Bucky had been stressed with his first semester in college, and Becca (who was just about to turn 30 at the time) decided that he needed a night away from his books and papers.  

They didn’t even make it to the movie. Instead of their night being filled with a movie, and dinner, and laughter and fun...it was filled with trauma, and hospitals, and pain, and loss.

Becca died on impact, which is the only thing that brought him comfort.  

At least she didn’t suffer.  

Bucky, though...he wished he had died that night, too.  

He walked away from the accident with a severe concussion, broken ribs, and an arm that had been so crushed and mangled, that they had to amputate.  Doctors said he was lucky to be alive, but after losing his big sister (his beautiful, wonderful, caring sister who was his best friend, and the person he went to for everything) he didn’t feel so lucky.  

He met Steve shortly after the accident, while he was still getting used to the prosthetic. Steve, who is a tall, muscled jock, who was so patient and kind and wonderful and understanding, it made things a little bit easier.

He had lost his mom when he was younger, and so he understood.

He was there, he let Bucky be upset, and angry, and scream because it wasn’t fair that this incredible person who did so much good in the world, who dedicated her life to working with special needs kids, had everything taken from her. It wasn’t fair that the good-for-nothing, drunk fuck up walked away with barely a scratch and ripped apart Bucky’s entire family and left them reeling.

One day, almost two years after Becca was killed, after Bucky had been going to therapy for a while, after he finally started coming to terms with her death, after he stopped blaming himself, Bucky realized that maybe, just maybe, he liked Steve as more than just a friend.

And the rest was history.

Steve didn’t look at him like he was broken, Steve loved Bucky for who he was, scars and imperfections and all.

*

Steve walks through the door, and deposits his bag on the floor with a groan.

He’s exhausted - classes had been hard, work had been taxing, and he’s just looking forward to spending the rest of the night on the couch, cuddling with Bucky.

However, he’s greeted by a hoarse “ih’tsch! Hh’ihtsh! Hhihhtch!,” all of which sound congested and itchy enough for him to frown.

“Buck?” Steve asks, closing the door behind him.  

When there’s no answer, he walks into the living room and stops in his tracks when he sees Bucky sitting on the couch, looking through photo albums, pressing a tissue to his nose as he sniffles incessantly.

“Hey,” he whimpers, choking on a sob as he stares down at the pictures.

“You alright?”

Bucky looks up at him, just barely holding back tears as he bites down on his lip, “I miss her.”

“I know,” Steve says softly, walking over to him.  “Are you feeling alright?”

Bucky shakes his head and gives a little cough as he rubs at his forehead, “no...my head...huh’tsch! *snff* guh...I just...I miss her so fucking much it hurts.”  

Steve sits down next to him and presses his hand to the back of Bucky’s neck and hums in disapproval, “bless you...you’re warm. Have you been looking at pictures of her for long?”

Bucky bites back another sob and buries his face in his hands.  Steve rubs between his shoulder blades, closes the photo album, and then pulls Bucky into his lap.

Steve tries to keep Bucky away from pictures of Becca when he’s sick.  It’s been three years since the accident, and after a lot of therapy, he’s finally in a better place. He still misses her, and nothing will ever be able to completely fill the hole her death left, but he’s handling it better. When he’s sick, though, it seems like all of the progress is lost, and he can’t stop thinking about her.  

“How about I get you some medicine, and we can watch a movie, huh? Get your mind off of her and how you’re feeling.”

“That sounds nice,” he says in a tiny voice, Steve’s shirt balled up in his fists.  

When Bucky doesn’t make any effort to move, Steve kisses the top of his head, “do you want to come with me?”

“No.”

“You’ve gotta let me up then.”

“No.”

Steve chuckles lightly, “honey, come on.  Just for a second. I want to get a thermometer and something to help you feel better.”

He groans, coughing a little, “fine.”

“I’ll be right back, I promise. Two minutes, you can time me.”

True to his word, he only took two minutes, and once he takes Bucky’s temperature (101.5) and has given him medicine, Steve sits back next to him and lets Bucky snuggle into his side.

“Did you just start feeling bad today? You’re starting to sound pretty sick.”

Bucky nods, face pressed against Steve’s chest, “I stayed home from classes and work.”

“Probably for the best, honey,” Steve says softly. “Are you okay?”

“No...not really,” Bucky sniffles, rubbing his nose on Steve’s shirt absentmindedly.

“I’m so sorry,” he sighs,  “what do you feel like watching?”

He shrugs listlessly, “you pick.”

*

Bucky is much worse by the next morning.  He had stumbled out onto the couch from the bedroom in the middle of the night, too congested to sleep, and too achey to be flat on his back.  He spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of sleep, and when he wasn’t sleeping, he was muffling coughs and sneezes into the blankets.  By the time Steve wakes up, Bucky is a bleary, congested mess.  His throat feels like it’s been ripped to shreds, and each swallow feels like knives are being shoved down it.  

Steve frowns, walking over to him, “you look so, so sick.  Are you okay?”

Bucky shivers, curling into himself, “I feel awful.”

“Have you been out here for long? I didn’t even realize you left.”

“Beend out here all ndight,” he rasps,  “Heh!...HehEHtsch! Nnntsh! *Snff* ugh...I’mb so sick of s-sndeezi’gg-ehtsch! *snff* guh.”

“Bless you,” Steve frowns.  He was only on day two of whatever the hell he had managed to catch, and he already sounded worn out and tired. “You’ve been out here all night? Why didn’t you wake me?”

Bucky coughs into the crook of his elbow, “you have...umb...I cand’t rebember what...but you have a lot today...didnd’t wandt to wake you up.”

“I appreciate that, but I’d like to know when you’re not feeling well so I can keep you company and make sure you’re okay.”

Bucky was right, though.  Steve does have a big day.  He, unfortunately, has something in every class, whether it be a test, a group presentation, or a paper due, which means that he can’t stay home and take care of his very sick boyfriend.

“Text me if you start feeling worse,” Steve says, kissing Bucky’s forehead.  He frowns as he pulls away, and presses the back of his fingers to Bucky’s temple, “I think your fever might have gone up...you feel warmer.”

Bucky groans, “I’mb finde, Stevie...just...go to class.  Good luck ond everythi’gg.”

“I’m serious, Buck. I’ll have my phone on me.”

He sniffles, “go. I’ll be finde.”

Steve sighs and cups his cheek, “I just want you to be okay...I hate seeing you like this.  I wish I could do something.”

“It’s okay.”

When Bucky finally convinces Steve to leave (after Steve makes sure he has everything he may possibly need), he rolls over in bed coughing.  The center of his chest burns and aches, and the coughing makes his headache and sore throat flare.  

His eyes fill up with tears.  

He hates being alone when he’s sick; he’s always hated bit.  Becca always used to sit with him when he didn’t feel well - she always told him stories to get his mind off things, and if that didn’t work, they would watch movies, or play board games. Their mom was never great when it came to germs, so Becca would be the one to take care of him.  She would make him soup, and tea, and just...make sure he was okay.

God, he missed her.  

*

As soon as Steve turned in his paper, he booked it back to his car, and sped back to their apartment.  

Being away from Bucky for so long when he was this sick was making Steve anxious.

He had only been sick a handful of times since Becca passed, and Steve still has no idea how to help him through it. It’s killing him to see Bucky in this much pain and not be able to do anything about it.

“Bucky?” Steve says softly, walking into the apartment.

Bucky is sprawled out on the couch, eyelids half open as he stares blankly ahead of him.

Steve crouches in front of him, and presses a hand to his cheek.

“Stevie?” He rasps.

“Yeah, hey. How are you feeling?”

Bucky just shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Okay, Okay. How about some more medicine? Have you had any lately?”

“Ndo.”

“I think your fever is up,” he says grabbing the thermometer from the coffee table before he sticks it in Bucky’s ear. “Do you feel worse?”

“Uh-huh,” he sniffles, pitching forward with a trio of tired, scratchy and congested sneezes. Steve rubs his back as he groans, “sorry...mbeant to cover.”

The thermometer beeps, and Steve inhales sharply when 103.1 flashes on the screen.

“It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

“Why’d that guy have to drink and drive?” He asks, voice thick as he tries to hold back tears. “Why did-why did he have to do that? Wh-why couldnd’t he have called a cab? Or a friend? Why couldnd’t he have just waited?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t,” Steve says quietly, cupping his cheek.

“It’s ndot fair,” he whimpers, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

Steve wipes them away with his thumbs, “I know, I know.”

“She should still be here...she always wandted to be a mbomb...she ndever got that opportundity...she would have beend the best mbomb. It’s ndot fair.”

Steve swallows the lump in his throat, and blinks back tears of his own, “I know.”

Bucky goes into a miserable, lung-seizing coughing fit that sounds like it’s tearing at his throat, and is so full of congestion that Steve visibly flinches.

Bucky sniffles, “I dond’t feel very well.”

“I know,” Steve repeats, smoothing Bucky’s hair back.

“I’mb exhausted.”

“How about I get you something to help you sleep?”

Bucky nods, “please.”

“I’ll be right back,” Steve says, kissing Bucky’s cheek.

He closes his eyes, muffling a cough into the blankets.

He’s a mess, and he hates it.

When Steve comes back, Bucky is asleep.  He wakes briefly when Steve prods him to take the medicine, but then he’s asleep again.

Steve just hopes that this is the worst it’ll get, because he’s not sure how much more of this Bucky can take before he loses it.

He pulls the blanket over Bucky’s shoulder, kisses his burning temple, and then goes into the kitchen to start some soup and tea.