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dontfeeltoohot · 2 years ago

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EDDIES BIRTHDAY WEEKEND - NOVEMBER 1ST (5.3k)

Warnings: Emeto/Vomiting, medical situations, ambulances. Also soft Eddie/Wayne family dynamic and a surprising friend. (Or maybe not so surprising, but I just really love their friendship)

I hope you guys enjoy truly sick Eddie, we have finally gotten there! And yes, I'm sorry for the cliff hanger. The next chapter will be up tomorrow! Also as a note- regular blood sugar (for anyone, not just diabetics, is 60-100! :) )

X X X

Waking up is a domino effect. At seven am, Eddie wakes, feeling like he’s been hit by a mac truck. Every inch of his body hurts, and the idea of opening his eyes makes him groan. The groan sets off his throat hurting, and the vibrations from the noise cause an itch to bloom in his stuffed head and sinuses. Moving his hand, he drowsily brings it up to his nose, rubbing at it to try and make the ticklish feeling go away. When it seems his efforts are fruitless, Eddie turns into his pillow.

“ihGKTshhuhew! hih’IKSHew! ihgTSCHEW!”

“Bless you,” a voice from behind him makes him jump, turning to see Chrissy laying next to him.

“Jesus Christ,” he croaks out, coughing into his arm. “Warn me next time.”

“I’m literally right next to you, Eddie. What more do you want?”

Unable to come up with a good comeback, the musician huffs and turns so he’s looking at the woman, brushing hair out of his face. His solar system blanket has stayed around him, and the bat plush Robin gave him is still next to his pillow. He wants to shut his eyes again but he feels kind of shaky and weak like he does when he’s having low blood sugar. Fumbling for his phone, Eddie sniffles and unlocks it, going to his app. Everything looks normal, and his BGL is 83.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Kind of shitty I guess,” Eddie shrugs, pressing the heels of his hands to his closed eyes.

The pressure against them almost feels good, and he stays like that until Chrissy touches his shoulder, then pulls his hands away. A cool, slim hand touches his cheek, palm pressing against it. The artist tries hard not to lean into the feeling, but it’s so nice that he involuntarily moves himself forward.

“You feel a little warm, bug,” Chrissy frowns, pushing his bangs out of the way before draping her palm against the skin there too.

“I’m okay, it’s just a cold, Chris,” he finally opens his eyes and smiles at her, wincing when it too hurts, like every muscle has been stretched too tight.

“Just relax for a bit okay? I don’t need to leave for another couple of hours, so I’ll make some breakfast and go to the store to pick up some medicine, okay?”

Shit. She leaves today. Eddie knew that yesterday, but apparently this damn cold is going to scramble his brain in the process. He goes to start talking, to assure he he doesn’t need anything, but before he can, the guitarist starts coughing, bringing his arm up to his mouth as quickly as he can to shield his best friend from any of the germs he’s got. Logically, it’s probably too late, after cuddling her and sharing a bed with her, but again, his head is too stuffy for his brain to work right.

“You don’t have to do that,” he rasps out, throat swollen enough that it’s minorly distorting his voice.

“I’d be the worst best friend in history to leave you alone all day with no medicine while you’re sick.”

“Barely sick,” Eddie grumbles, watching with half-lidded eyes as Chrissy stands and stretches.

“Do you have a thermometer?”

When Eddie doesn’t answer, knowing she won’t like the answer, Chrissy frowns and rolls her eyes, grumbling something about him being a clueless idiot, but he doesn’t take it to heart. Listening to the gymnastics coach move around his kitchen, he pulls the covers closer and shuts his eyes again, thinking about how nice it’s going to be when his best friend moves down to Hawkins, how they’ll be able to have fun with their respective partners and go on double dates. His body feels like it’s floating, caught halfway between reality and sleep, when she walks back in and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, wake up Eddie, have some eggs and yogurt for you. Should be pretty easy on your throat if it’s sore.”

The last thing he wants is to eat, but Eddie isn’t stupid, and he knows if he doesn’t eat he can fuck up his bodies insulin levels and land himself in the hospital. Munson’s don’t go to the hospital. Wayne’s never been since he’s known him, and the twenty nine year old has only been once thanks to a broken arm. He plans on keeping it that way. Forcing himself to sit up, Eddie’s arms feel like jello, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to get comfortable. Accepting the cup of yogurt first, he manages three quarters of it, then shovels half of the eggs down quickly, mostly just to finish and lay back down.

“I’m going to go and get some stuff from the store. Any requests from the birthday boy?”

“Not the birthday boy anymore,” Eddie coughs into his sleeve.

“Shh, you’re still the birthday boy till I leave.”

Trying to think of anything he might need, the headache he’s got makes his right temple throb from concentration. His last sick day had been that annoying cold he’d picked up from moving, but before that, he can’t fully recall. He’d liked the tea from the coffee shop, and he’s sure Chrissy would love to see Robin.

“Honestly? Just lavender vanilla tea from Not Just Coffee,” he admits, looking up at her with big brown eyes.

“I can do that. I’m also going to grab you some medicine, I couldn’t find any when I checked earlier.”

“You were snooping?”

“For a good cause! Look…I need you to be honest, bug. Do you feel like this is just a cold? Because I’ve seen you with a cold before. You usually still get up and power through, but this is…it just seems different,” she gestures to him, and maybe she has a bit of a point.

Does this feel like just a cold? He’s a little stuffy, and his throat’s sore. But the undeniable body aches and weakness, the exhaustion and lethargy, all combined with the coldness in his body makes him feel like he’s trying to kid himself into believing this could be anything but the flu or some nasty virus. Sighing, Eddie forces his eyes back open and plays with the wing of his new bat.

“I guess maybe it’s a little different from a cold. Feel…achier? It’s more in my body, than my head, if that makes sense,” he coughs to the side and swipes a hand down his face.

“That’s what I thought. You’re never this quiet, even when you have a cold. I’ll grab you meds and a thermometer, some soup too. Steve will be here tonight right? I don’t know if I feel okay leaving you-”

“I’m not dying, Chrissy, I can still take care of myself with a little virus. I’m not that bad,” Eddie looks at her, and she at least seems to look sheepish.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry for acting like a mom,” the strawberry blonde gently rubs his shoulder. “Get some rest and I’ll be back soon, okay?”

While the woman is away, Eddie forces himself to get up and pop a new insulin pod in. Well aware it’s going to get worse before it gets better, he puts some laundry in, makes sure the few house plants he has are watered, then ends up on the couch buried under blankets. Even the small amount of activity makes him feel drained again, like a dementor has sucked the life out of him. Turning on an old episode of Parks and Rec, Eddie watches half asleep, jolting awake when his door opens and Chrissy comes in with a couple of bags.

“Oh! You’re out here,” she observes, giving him an encouraging smile. “So I got meds and stuff, and then some of the vegetable soup you like, as well as some crackers, since I know you’ll not be too hungry. How’re you feeling? Oh, here’s your tea!”

Words coming out of the woman’s mouth quickly, Eddie blinks, trying to keep up. His brain is moving at half speed, and eventually he shrugs, brushing hair out of his face. He takes the tea and holds it.

“Not awful, not great. Just like I’m a little sick, and you’re fussing too much.”

“I’m your best friend, I have rights to fuss,” she gives him a ‘try me’ look, setting the bags down on his table, taking things out.

“I can help,” he starts to force himself off of the couch but the petite girl swivels around and glares at him.

“Lay your ass back down, Eddie. I’ve got it. Just…rest.”

Doing as he’s told, the tattoo artist shuts his eyes and listens as she puts things away, imagining where she’s putting it from the sounds, knowing he’ll probably need to go and fix them once she’s gone. There’s plastic packaging being wrestled with, and as much as he wants to open his eyes and help her, he can’t find the energy. Half a minute later, he can hear her footsteps and feel her presence. Barely opening his eyes, he gazes up at Chrissy, squinting.

“What’s up buttercup?”

“Have a thermometer for you. Keep it under your tongue and don’t take it out until it beeps.”

“Yes mom,” Eddie rolls his eyes and takes the instrument, sliding it under his tongue once it’s on, eyes falling back closed.

As he waits, he gets deja vu of lying with Wayne on the couch when he was sick as a teenager, waiting for the thermometer to go off while he tried his hardest to seem better than he was for the man. He’d been so determined to be ok, not wanting to worry him, but it had gone down the drain when his uncle had looked at the thermometer and whistled, giving him a sympathetic look. Something in Eddie’s chest aches, not just from illness, and he half entertains the idea of calling Wayne to come over.

The shrill ‘beep beep beep’ of the thermometer makes him take it out and open his eyes again, and damn he’s getting tired of doing that. The little screen flashes red, though the numbers read 100.5. Certainly not cause for concern, at least in his book. It’s not even a technical fever, he’s pretty sure 100.7 is what doctors go by. Maybe.

“Not awful, but let’s get some Tylenol in you to try and bring it down,” Chrissy frets, brushing his bangs from his eyes.

“S’not even a fever,” he grumbles, trying to save some of his pride.

“100.4 is what doctors use,” she points out knowingly.

So close.

“Ugh, fine. If it’ll make you feel better, then fine,” he whines dramatically, trying to assure her he’s not dying.

She takes the thermometer back into the kitchen and rinses it, then grabs him two tylenol and a glass of water, making her way back. Eddie watches her and downs the pills silently, wondering how long she has before she leaves. She’ll probably go by the coffee shop and say goodbye to Robin and Steve, and of course she’ll make a big deal over him being sick, even though it’s not warranted. His throat feels like it’s being sliced with glass as he swallows again, sighing.

“When’re you leaving, Chris?”

“About an hour. I wish I could stay longer, but the girl who’s keeping Holiday has to leave and-”

“It’s okay Chrissy, you don’t have to explain why. Besides, soon you’ll be back for good, and it’ll be the best thing ever,” Eddie smiles widely, reaching out to bump her arm playfully.

They sit on the couch, his head in her lap while she absentmindedly plays with his hair, being gentle enough it doesn’t pull on his scalp and aggravate his already aching head. When Chrissy sighs and finally pats his shoulder, he knows it’s his queue to get up and see her out. It’s easier said than done now that his body is shaky and heavy. He ignores her squeaks of protest not to get up, instead leaning down and giving her a tight hug.

“Thank you for coming, and thank you for taking care of me. Thanks for putting up with my bitchy emotional ass earlier, too. Once you live here I can come annoy you all the fuckin’ time. It’s going to be great.”

Laughing, she grabs her stuff, glaring at him when he tries to take her small suitcase.

“Eddie Munson, don’t you dare. I am more than capable of getting it, and you’re sick. You’re not walking me down in the cold. Just stay and relax okay? I can’t wait to be back either. Text me when you eat, or I’ll call you every ten minutes until you do,” she eyes him knowingly.

“You’re lucky I’m sleepy enough to not argue with you. I know you’re way more than capable, haven’t ever doubted that a second in my life. I’ll see you soon, ok? Love you.”

“Love you too. Take care of yourself and let Steve dote on you.”

When she’s gone, Eddie deflates like a life sized balloon, wilting against the wall. He’s so tired, overly so if he’s honest, which is making him also feel restless and uncomfortable. Or maybe that’s the fever and pain that the Tylenol isn’t seeming to do much for. Rubbing his eyes, the long haired man sits back on the couch and stares blankly into space, head hurting too much to focus on the television, body aching too much to move to his bed.

Minutes pass, though Eddie’s too zoned out to notice. His mind plays static and white noise until his nose starts itching, demanding his attention, alerting him it’s been too long since he’s tended to it. Swiping it against his wrist does nothing, so he takes the cuff of his sweatshirt and rubs it a little harder against his slick nostrils, the rough fabric helping slightly but not enough to get the feeling to completely go away. It’s his least favorite part about being sick ironically, the need to sneeze without it coming to fruition. Using the tips of his fingers, just barely peeking out from the sleeves, he rubs at the tip of his nose, then the bridge, the itch growing. Another quick rub to the very tip of his nose finally sends him over the edge.

“hihGkTSHHew! ihKkTCHhEW! iihGkhSHHuhew! Jesus Christ,” the words come out croaky and muffled from his swollen throat, sneezes scraping against it.

Snagging a tissue from the dwindling box on the table next to the couch, he blows his nose quietly, coughing when it’s productive and the air catches in his throat. When he finishes, still just as stuffy as before with congestion like concrete permeating his entire head, Eddie stands to throw the tissue away and wash his hands. The movement has his head swimming again, like it’s heavy and is ready to bring him down, but the twenty nine year old pushes through, his movements slower than usual. The cold water hurts his skin if that’s even possible, so he leans his weight against the kitchen counter and waits for it to warm, a shiver running down his spine. His hands stay under the water longer than necessary, soaking in the heat.

For the second time recently, he finds himself wanting a companion to cuddle with him when his boyfriend isn’t around. A cat really does sound nice, a little black one that’ll curl up in his lap and purr when he scratches its chin. Pushing his thoughts down, the clock catches his eye.

12:49. When did it get so late? Turning the sink off and drying his hands, the guitarist snags up his tea, blanket and even goes to his pantry, grabbing a small, all natural peanut butter squeeze packet. It’s the easiest way to get Chrissy to relax, knowing she’ll be calling soon. The man is aware it’s probably not what she’s had in mind, especially since there’s soup in the fridge, but the idea of standing long enough to heat it up and put it in a bowl makes his sore body protest even more.

Sure enough, just after he’s gotten himself tucked back in bed, the TV playing Buzzfeed Unsolved quietly, his phone buzzes. ‘Chrissy 👑 Cunningham’. He’d wanted to put ‘the queen’ but had been too worried about emergency situations and someone else needing to contact her from his phone, so the crown had to suffice. Swiping right with his thumb, Eddie answers.

“Hey.” His distorted voice makes him grimace.

“Hey E. You already know what I’m going to ask,” her voice comes through the speaker and he nods, almost forgetting she can’t see him.

“Mm, got some peanut butter, opening it right now,” he holds the little tube to the mic and opens it for proof. “Hear?”

It’s silent for a moment, and then-

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re eating, how’s your blood sugar?”

Eddie hasn’t thought to check it, though he’s not going to tell her that. He doesn’t need to give her anything else to worry about. Tapping through to his app, he’s silently grateful it’s fine.

“71. Perfectly fine,” he assures, coughing quietly away from the phone. “How’s the drive?”

“Easy. Almost home. Going to stop for snacks and to call Robs,” she sighs after, and Eddie can’t help but laugh at how much she sounds like a teenager with their crush.

“You two are gross,” he grumbles back, coughing again.

“I’ll let you go, you sound awful. Just take it easy okay?”

“I will. Don’t feel like running a marathon, trust me. Text me when you get home, blondie.”

When they hang up, Eddie groans and sips his now cold tea, too tired to really care about the weak taste. He doesn’t realize he’s falling asleep until his cup is falling, splashing the drink all over his chest and lap, some on the covers as well. Cussing, the guitarist fumbles off the bed, trying to get his bearings so he can get his life in order. Everytime he dozes off it’s like he wakes up feeling worse, which he’s already tired of. Peeling his wet shirt off and shimmying out of his sweatpants, he drops them in the hamper and shivers, wishing Chrissy was still here to help. He needs to get his sheets off, put them in the washing machine, which oh fuck he needs to also put the shit in the washing machine in the dryer, and he needs to remake his bed just so he can lay down.

Groaning and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Eddie gets to work. Switching out the laundry isn’t too rough, though his arms that already feel like jello aren’t too appreciative. It’s when he gets to re-making his bed that it becomes apparent just how sick he is. Attempting to pull the corners of the sheets and tuck them in makes every muscle in his body simultaneously tense up and turn to mush at the same time. By the time the sheets are tucked and his blankets and quilt are back on top, all he wants to do is fall into a coma and sleep for years.

Crawling under the blankets, Eddie shivers and coughs, making his entire body tremble. His nose is running but he doesn’t have the energy to do much besides wipe it on his sleeve, even though it means he’ll need to wash his sweatshirt soon too. Head throbbing, pulsing in his temple and behind his neck, he lays there, too tired to let sleep overtake him.

Nearing four, his phone rings. He’s ready to silence it, but Steve’s face appears, which is odd considering he’s at work. Sniffling and rubbing his face, he hopes to god he doesn’t sound awful as he unlocks his phone and clicks answer.

“Hello?” Ok, definitely sounds bad, but maybe he can salvage it. He clears his throat away from the mic. “Sorry, hey Stevie.”

“Hey Eds. How’re you feeling?“

“Not too bad,” the older man fibs, eyes already drooping again.

“I’m glad baby. Hopefully you’ll feel better tomorrow. I wish I could be there,” the man sounds so sad Eddie wishes he could wrap him up and hug him.

“You only got, what, three hours?”

“That’s what I’m calling about. You know Dustin, he hurt his ankle pretty badly, and Mike, Lucas and Will are all out of town for the weekend with Will’s brother. He doesn’t really have many other people to help, so I told him I could come sit with him while he gets it checked out and help get him back to his place and stuff.”

Steve’s talking a mile a minute, obviously anxious for the guy that’s like a brother to him. Eddie shakes his head, forgetting his boyfriend can’t see him.

“Stevie, hey, baby, it’s okay. Really. Dustin needs you. You’re always with me, to be with him and help,” he assures, turning to coughs.

“But you’re sick-“

“And I’m taking medicine. I’m ok. It’s a cold, princess. Dustin’s injured. I’m practically begging here Harrington, go help poor Dustybuns,” Eddie rubs his face.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, please go see him. It’ll help you not be so nervous too.You can call or text me whenever you want.”

Even through the phone, Eddie can practically see Steve relax. He knows exactly what he looks like right now, puffing out a breath, shoulders relaxing, eyes not so wide.

“Thank you. Seriously baby. I can send something to you to eat if you want.”

“Nah, Chris got me soup. Save your money and get you and Henderson something yummy tonight.”

“Thanks Ed’s. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thanks. Tell Henderson if he has to get a cast to get black and I’ll draw on it with a silver sharpie.”

Steve laughs and they say goodbye. Eddie leans back against his pillows and groans, realizing now that he’s truly going to be alone all night, which, if he’s honest, isn’t really the best thing. Sure he’s able to get up and pee, but he’s not in the mood to make food or even walk to the kitchen for meds that Chrissy put on the counter. Coughing again, the artist brings the blankets right around him, shivering as his muscles protest the contractions his skin is giving.

Around seven, Eddie wakes up again, but this time he’s woken up to pee. The second he really wakes up, he wishes he hadn’t. Everything hurts. The expression ‘hit by a truck’ doesn’t begin to cover it anymore. His throat’s still raw, his head is still stuffy, he feels weak and chilled to his core. Something new, the man notices, is the intense nausea that’s sitting uncomfortably in his stomach. Swallowing, he sits up after a few pathetic attempts, coughing into his arm. It hurts his throat and makes his stomach feel worse. The twenty nine year old feels like Bambi as he gets up from the bed, weak and dizzy. He makes it to the bathroom and pees, then flushes and washes his hands.

As he turns to go back to bed, the motion sets everything into motion. His brain acts before he can think, and moments later his knees are hitting tile, and he’s in front of the toilet coughing and gagging. His nose and throat are burning as he gets sick, and the whimpers that escape his mouth ring out and fade into silence. His body is shaking now, half hot and half freezing. His cheeks feel like they’re burning from the inside out, like someone’s just lit a fire against them.

Eddie sits there for half an hour, alternating between gagging, getting sick, and trying his hardest to stop, refusing to let tears fall even though it feels like he's dying. He’s never felt this sick, that’s for sure. It’s kind of freaking him out how quickly he’s feeling worse and worse. His phone is in the other room, and the idea of moving sounds like actual torture. When he stops, another twenty minutes of nervous slow movement, the tattoo artist gets up and brushes his teeth, being careful not to trigger his gag reflex.

Eyes barely open, he keeps a hand on his wall, leaning against it as he slowly, carefully makes his way back to bed. His throat feels like it’s eating itself, between the swollen tonsils and the acid from being sick. Sniffling, he gets back to bed and merely leans against it, even moving to get on it tiring. When he’s laying back down, he barely has time to think about the idea of calling someone, because when the musician's head hits his pillow and the blankets start warming his chilled body, he’s out like a light.

His dreams are as if he’s tripping on acid, which he hasn’t done since his second round of senior year at some party with Greg Lannister. He’s half lucid, and it’s as if he’s gone to hell, if hell was neon and looked like it was melting. He watches himself run everywhere, looking for a way out, but it’s no use. Steve, Chrissy and Robin look down on him from what seems like Heaven, following his every movement.

He wakes up screaming. It’s hoarse and more of a strangulated noise, but it feels like it’s a scream to him. The screaming turns into coughing, and though he gags, he has nothing left but bile in his stomach. A noise is beeping but it’s far off, making him barely aware. Eddie wonders if he’s still dreaming, because he feels like he’s burning and it’s making him disoriented, not sure what time it is or what’s really going on. The room is dark. He knows something is really, really wrong, even dizzy and sick and miserable. He shouldn’t feel like this with even the flu.

Feeling around, Eddie finds his phone with his arm and picks it up, grimacing at how hard that amount of movement is. There’s a moment where he can’t think of his passcode, but then his thumb moves from muscle memory, and it unlocks. Thank fucking god. From there, he fumbles with buttons, but eventually hits the phone, and then the first contact under favorites.

XXX

Wayne’s asleep on the bed in the back room when his phone starts ringing. The second time it goes off, the man, who’d woken up on the first time though but wanted to ignore it, sighs, then snatches it off of his bedside table.

Eddie Munson

Something in Wayne’s gut turns and his body fills with ice. Eddie doesn’t call at…11:54 at night. Hell, he barely calls at all, usually one for texting so that he doesn’t interrupt whatever Wayne has going on. So the fact his kid is calling this late, and not once but twice? Every one of these thoughts goes through his head in three seconds flat while he unlocks his phone.

“Kid? You alright?”

“Uncle Wayne?”

The second he here’s the boys voice, Wayne is up and grabbing the first shirt he can find. Eddie sounds awful, like his voice has gone through a blender, but he also sounds out of it. It makes Wayne think back to the first time Eddie had come home high as a kite off pills he’d bought from a kid a grade above him.

“Hey kiddo, what’s going on?” He keeps his voice as neutral as possible, not wanting to scare him.

“I…s-somethin’s’wrong…I feel s-sick…been sick t’day…got worse…”

A cough comes through from the other side of the phone as he throws on jeans, the kind that sounds like it hurts, like it’s forcing its way out whether you want to let it or not. Wayne snags his baseball cap and pulls it on his head, grabs his keys, and is out the door without a second thought, jogging to his truck.

“Yeah? You been throwin’ up?“

Wayne still knows everything there is to know about diabetes, even if Eddie hasn’t lived with him for almost ten years. He still knows it’s bad when diabetics get sick, and even worse if they’re sick and then throw up. When the kid doesn’t answer, he tries again.

“Eddie! Buddy, come on. You thrown up?”

“Y-yeah, thin’so? I feel bad, uncle Wayne…thin’somethin’ bads’appenin.”

If he breaks twenty laws, he doesn’t give a shit. It’s midnight in Hawkins, no one is around anyway. What’s usually a ten minute drive turns into five, and Wayne uses the time to try and collect any info he can. Eddie’s been sick. He’s running a fever. He’s thrown up.

“Can you check your pump for me?”

“M’what?”

“Your..Christ, kid, your pump. It’s attached to you.”

There’s silence and then Eddie makes all noise.

“S’beepin…”

Fuck.

“Okay, can you read me what it says, Eds?”

Another groan, more coughing.

“Eddie! What does the pump say?”

“I….Mm…c’ntrol IQ…high’lert…”

“I’m at the door buddy, I’ll-“

Wayne trails off when he makes his way into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He almost trips trying to get to the last door down the hallway. When he walks through, the older man winces. His nephew is sprawled on the bed, coughing. His hair is a mess, he’s almost translucent, lips a sickly pale. The thing he notices most is just how red the kids cheeks are, and how his head is lolling to the side, eyes barely open. Beeping rings out, and Wayne looks at Eddie’s screen on his pump. 672. Jesus H Christ.

“Eddie! Hey kiddo, hey, I’m here, it’s gonna be ok,” he lays a rough hand on Eddie’s cheek, frowning and cussing at how unnaturally hot it is.

“Uncle Way’e?”

“Yeah, hey Eddie, I got you.” He rubs his back while dialing not 911, but a number he knows will get an ambulance here faster. Hopper works Tuesday nights.

“Hello?”

“Jim, it’s Wayne Munson. I need an ambulance at the apartments off Main as soon as possible, Eddie’s sick, his diabe-“

“Already on it,” there’s muffled words and beeps, and Wayne swears not fifteen seconds after he’s tried to explain, Hoppers back on.

“Ok, I got them coming. Can you give me an apartment number?“

“306. Type one diabetic, been sick for about twenty four hours. Thrown up, sugar level is 672,” Wayne’s voice shakes, and he can feel his eyes burn as Eddie coughs against him.

“Jesus…ok, give them a minute and a half. He’ll be ok. I’ll be there too, I’ll take you to the hospital,” the gruff voice says, and a siren blares from somewhere in the background.

Hanging up, he presses a hand to Eddie’s forehead, making the younger man whimper. Looking around, he notices an empty paper cup on his night stand, but not much else seems out of place. The kid shivers and then there’s a loud knock on the door. Quickly, faster than he’s been in a while, he goes back to the front of the apartment and lets the two paramedics in, directing them down to the hall.

Hopper gets there a minute later, while they’re getting Eddie on the stretcher, the woman on the boys right already starting an IV, doing it in his hand. Wayne remembers being told that’s the easiest vein to get to if someone is dehydrated. The man is attaching something to Eddie’s pump site.

“What’s his name?” The woman asks, and she can’t be more than Eddie’s age.

“Eddie Munson,” Wayne says, feeling far away from the chaos.

He answers as many questions as he can in the span of two minutes. When they start getting ready to leave, Eddie barely conscious, Wayne notices the small little bat on his bed. He’s never seen it before, but something tells him to grab it, along with the kids phone, before he’s following Hopper, the paramedics and Eddie down, hands trembling the whole way. The police chief drives almost faster than the damn ambulance itself, which Wayne’s thankful for, Eddie’s phone in his pocket and the little bat held in his hands.

“He’s gonna be okay Wayne. He’s been through too much shit to let an illness take him down like this.”

“I sure hope so. God knows I can’t lose him too.”

#my fic #ytau #em #st #sh

29 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 3 years ago

Note

Hi Eve!

I adore your writing and was wondering if you would write more of Remus’ allergies? Just Sirius taking care of him, just fluff all around really..

Of course! Combined with an ask for an asthma fic. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW for asthma attack (difficulty breathing), allergies, and stubbornness

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sirius called, turning to run backward for a few steps. Remus glared at him, pink-cheeked, red-nosed, and wheezing. “Nevermind.”

“I’m not—” Remus paused to cough into the crook of his elbow. “—quitting this workout for one lousy season if it fucking kills me.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. Did you bring your inhaler?”

“How much time do we have left?”

Sirius glanced down at his watch without breaking stride as Remus caught up. “About ten minutes. We can walk the rest of the way, though. I don’t mind.”

“I do,” Remus muttered. The cottonwood above them sent blossoms and fluff cascading around them; he sneezed once, quite violently, before tilting his head up to scowl at the tree. “Whore.”

Sirius nearly tripped over his own feet. “Are you—are you slutshaming the trees?”

“Yes.”

“…why?”

“Because,” Remus huffed, breathless. “They take their stupid fucking pollen and throw it around for three goddamn months like a whore instead of relying on bees like a normal plant. And then I can’t breathe for three goddamn months if I even think about going outside, so I think I’ve earned the right to slutshame the trees a bit. Jesus Christ. Hoo boy. I need to sit down.”

Sirius stopped on a dime as he doubled over, clutching his knees and panting. “Re? Are you okay?”

Remus gave him a thumbs-up. “Peachy keen.”

“Where’s your inhaler?”

“Pocket. I’m just—I’m gonna sit down for a sec.” He stumbled to the curb, wincing with each breath. “Ow. Ow. Fuck me. Ow.”

“Use your inhaler,” Sirius ordered as alarm rose in his chest.

Remus waved him off, though his breaths were audibly shallow. “ ‘s fine. Happens all the time.”

“Oh my—” Sirius cut himself off with a harsh exhale and yanked the inhaler out of Remus’ pocket, shook it for a few seconds, then pressed it as hard as he could into Remus’ hand. “Do not make me put this in your mouth, too.”

Remus sat up with a groan, but obliged him; he took a deep breath of the medicine and held it for a ten count before blowing out slowly. Some of the flush faded from his face and he stayed quiet for a few moments, watching the empty houses on the block whose inhabitants were almost definitely crowding up the parks. “Thanks.”

“Stop being stubborn when it comes to your health,” Sirius groused, bumping his shoulder. “And you’re welcome. You have an inhaler for a reason.”

Remus scrunched his nose up. “I don’t like using it.”

“Okay, fine, but you still have to use it if you literally can’t breathe.”

“It’s not even—” Remus pursed his lips and sighed, kicking a stray pebble. “I hate having allergies. It’s not even real asthma, it just happens when I’m around that kind of pollen. I’m useless for three months because my immune system has a meltdown when it sees a tree.”

Sirius nudged him again, gentler. “You’re not useless.”

“We would have been home half an hour ago normally.”

“Okay, and?” He waited until Remus glanced up with his still-swollen eyes and stuffy nose. “Allergies suck, and I’m sorry you have to deal with them, but that doesn’t make you useless. And it doesn’t mean you get to stop taking your medicine.”

“I know,” he muttered. “I feel so gross.”

“Let’s walk home, then take a shower, d’accord?” Sirius stood and dusted himself off before hauling Remus up by the hand.

“Sorry for…that,” Remus said, gesturing back at the curb as they started walking back to the house.

Sirius shrugged. “I just prefer it when you’re able to breathe. It’s not good to see you struggling like that when there’s an easy solution.”

Remus’ mouth twisted; a slender hand slipped into Sirius’ and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you.”

“Any time, though I hope I don’t have to do it often.” He shot him a wry smile and got half a laugh as a reward—the sound soothed the worry that had been chewing a hole in his lungs and he leaned down to kiss Remus’ cheek. “Be nice to your lungs. They work very hard.”

Remus looked up with a soft smile. “If I wasn’t covered in sweat and about to sneeze all over the place, I would give you a hug.”

“All the more reason to get back quickly.”

A spark of competition lit in his eye. “Race you home.”

“I swear we just talked about not—”

Remus smacked his ass hard and took off running. “You’re it!”

“Hey!”

“If I get another asthma attack, I win by default!” he called from halfway down the block with the biggest grin Sirius had seen in days.

“If you do it on purpose, you’re showering on your own!”

#sirius black #coops #sweater weather #lumosinlove #allergies #my fic #fanfic #asthma #remus lupin #vaincre

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mxvladdy · 4 years ago

Note

Ooh~ I got somewhat of an angst(/comfort -hopefully??) ficlette request!

Established relationship with Diavolo. He thinks everything is going great. Until one night MC tells him that he makes them feel inadequate.

He's so BIG (they are literally/physically so much smaller than him, man is IMPOSING) and it's not like they have demon stamina/strength. they're afraid he gets bored, or will, in time.

He is SO IMPORTANT to everyone and everything and always so busy and they're just a distraction when he could be resting between meetings or courting with the intent to make an heir and they're just a human, a pretty average one at that, can't even use their magic like Maddi or Solomon

*clutches my gay little heart* I'm weak for giant puppy boys 😢. I love this idea! Hope I did it justice! P.s-hope ya ain’t lactose intolerant like I am, cuz I got cheesy at the end lmaooooo

Edit: 6/15- Here is the link to part 2!

You feel inferior or inadequate? No, not his little Giglio.

He doesn't see at first. He is observant, sure. It comes with the territory as a prince, but he is so blind when it comes to you.

You're perfect and he wishes your relationship to be just as perfect. He can't explain why. Somewhere deep in the vacuous pits of his hearts, he yearns for your happiness.

He courts you like any demon would. Showing off his strength and magic to a maddening degree. He will lay fresh kills at your feet for you too.

It makes demons and other creatures swoon, but not a great turn-on for humans it seems. Barbatos had to pull him aside several times to remind him that too much magic could kill you, and he was tired of getting blood stains out of the wood floors.

He just wants to prove he is enough to you too. He'll do more human courting rituals as time goes on. Taking you topside to eat at human restaurants or do quaint human traditions.

Even in your realm, he can’t get away from gawking and curious humans wanting to be in his presents. He has the magnetic pull only a devil could pull off.

He doesn't notice your reluctance to be seen with him or sullen attitude till it was almost too late.

Balls are a common occurrence for him. Keeps the royal families in check, strengthens ties, or, some unfortunate times cutting them down in a show of force and warning for the rest of them.

Diavolo doesn't hate these events. They come as easy as breathing to him after centuries of doing it. But the flocking, gawking, and borderline reverent guest did get stifling. Having you on his arm made it bearable. The courtiers at least gave him some distance. Where were you anyway?

The barest flicker of black and gold muslin catches the crown prince's eye. The expensive fabric flitting around the corner of the ballroom to the restricted section. He wasn't worried. Diavolo knew that outfit and the delectable scent of his most prized jewel that wore it. You were allowed anyway you wished. Though he wished you were on his arm right about now. Ah well-

He turns back to his compatriot nodding along politely at the dull topic and takes a sip from his flute. He hums delighted by the fruity dry drink. Honestly, he wasn't sure how many of these he had had anymore. But it was just as sweet and tangy as his first glass. The bubbles ticking his nose and the liquor make his head fuzzy and his stomach hot. Mmm... He would have to complement Barbatos after this was over. His experiments were simply divine. Diavolo excuses himself from his conversation partner politely. He needed another drink if he was going to have a chat as dry as that again and survive. Fresh drink in hand he scans the massive hall for you. You should have been back by now… Odd. Perhaps you had called it a night early? He can't blame you. The redundancy and boring pushes for political power did get old fast. Smiling into his bubbling glass he has half a mind to join you. Sleeping the night away with you in his arms? Hells, he just might trade the crown for a day for a bloody break.

"May I have this dance, your highness?" A petite little incubus bowed low, wrapping his tail around his leg respectfully. Diavolo blinked up from his glass. Ah, yes. The game wasn't done yet.

It takes another three hours of dancing and glad-handing before he could finally extract himself from the ballroom. His feet were sore and swollen in their tight leather confines, his formal attire becoming itchy with sweat. He was ready for bed. No, a hot bath, tea then bed. No. A hot bath with you, tea then bed. Yes, a perfect ending to make up for a sub-par party.

Your shared quarters were dark when he entered. The smoky smell of recently snuffled candles greets him as he slips in. He frowns. The outer chambers looked to be untouched. The hearth cold and empty of ash. Your evening outfit wasn't spewn over the lounge and floor like it normally would be after a ball.

You often retired early from these parties, but you always waited for him here. Nestled up in the furs in front of the fire. A warm welcoming smile ready to greet him as he enters. "My love?" Diavolo calls out to the empty room. He winces at how loud he was. Perhaps he had indulged in his cups a bit too much.

He cocks his head listening for the sounds of running water or your cute little snores. Perhaps you had already gone to sleep? Silence greets him. He begins to panic now. Were you some elsewhere in the palace? Had some oppositional little cretin tried to harm you? He knew some at his party tonight were vying for him to go back to the old ways. Eliminating you would be a prerogative to those fools.

No, Barbatos had his eyes everywhere tonight. The complex webbing of his magic was nigh impossible to circumvent. Diavolo could feel it crawling over his skin, though the feeling was fading now that he was in his private chambers. Lucifer and his brother were ever vigilant too at these parties. As much as they bickered and annoyed his other guest they were skilled watchdogs, and keeping you safe was a top priority to all of them.

He reaches out through the shadows of his chambers searching for you frantically. His magic bleeds into every corner of his large private rooms. The vice around his chest lessens when he senses you on the private balcony. He goes to you, shrugging off his collars and chains as he moves, leaving a forgotten trail of priceless treasure behind him. "Darling," he breathes a sigh of relief seeing your silhouette in the light of his realms many moons. "Was the party not to your liking?" Diavolo flops onto your shared bed with a groan of pleasure. His feet now happy to not have his weight on them anymore. He runs his fingers through the vast expanse of cold silk. It wakes him up slightly. "Perhaps I can make it up to you? I can think of quite a few things more pleasurable than a swarm of stuffy demons."

"You’re drunk Dia." You don't move to face him. Your eyes still upcast to look at the clear evening sky.

His head lolls to the side to watch you curiously. You can feel his eyes follow the trail of your hands while you stroke at the marble railing. His family crest glistening on your finger. "No, no, not drunk. Tipsy perhaps? Or is the word ‘buzzed’ more appropriate?" He chuckles. "Perhaps you could sober me up with a kiss? You always know how to make me feel amazing."

Your breath catches at his words. A pathetic little sob escaping you. He is sober now. Instead of a warm kiss alighting his muddled thoughts to bring the world back into sharp beautiful clarity, it feels as if he had been submerged in ice. He approaches you with inhuman speed. His clawed fingers were gentle on your shoulders.

He turns you to face him. Crystalline tears were trapped in your lashes. Your cheeks were ruddy and your lips were swollen. In any other circumstance, such a visage would be a privilege to see. But these tears were cold and filled with pain. Lips red hot not by his kisses and fangs, but from nervous chewing and pulling. Your cheeks were streaked and puffy from countless hours spent alone and crying.

"Giglio mio, cosa ti affligge?" He cups your cheeks rubbing the chill away from your skin.

"Why- why do you even waste your time with me?" You hiccup.

“I don’t understand.”

You part from him, backing up to the railing. “What do you see in me?” You ask, arm raised in question. He takes in your body. You were adorned in his colors and his scent, it makes the territorial part of him rumble in satisfaction. Your delicate human flesh radiates a warmth demons could never replicate. You were small, sweet, and his. What was he missing? “What will happen when you find someone better? Someone who will- who can grow old alongside you. A demon or witch, strong and talented.”

Your wavering words don’t register with him. How could you say these things? Did you think he would allow you to grow old without him? You were his, just as he was yours, or as much as he is able of being yours. It was a laughable thought but he knew to hold his tongue. Humans always get in a tizzy about death.“I don’t-” He starts ready to brush your concerns away. The flash of his perfect teeth only angers you.

“Do not play dumb with me!” You say jabbing a finger at his bare chest. “Look at you. Think of who you are compared to me. Look at how they all cling to you, all those pretty demons and witches with something to offer you.”

Something better than me.

The words hang unspoken between you and leave him stunned. He had so much he wished to say but knew tonight was an inopportune time. Your emotions were running high, too high for him to successfully navigate. Especially in his compromised state. He would have to admit defeat tonight. “I am sorry if I have neglected you and your feelings. Please, let's go to bed. I want- I need to understand. But-”

“You’re drunk.” You repeat chuckling without humor. You wipe at your face. “I get it. We’ll talk in the morning?”

Diavolo puts a hand to his chest. “Of course. You will have all my time tomorrow.”

You wake alone the next morning, the sheets beside you cool but not made. You expected that though. He was never one to stay in bed even on the rare days off. It was the downside of his status and routine.

You rise alone and head to the bathroom, the gargantuan space was still slightly warm and steamy. Good, that means you didn’t wake up too much later than Dia. You shower quickly, washing away the grime of lasts night’s nervous breakdown. You were so embarrassed, collapsing all over Diavolo in jealous self-pity. He had more important things to deal with than some weepy human.

You need to go find him and apologies, tell him not to worry about it. You knew what being courted by him would entail. You swore up and down you could handle it, and you could. You will. This was the worst time to falter too he had some pressing deadlines and important figureheads coming around this week. Even one loose gear in his well-oiled machine could damage any number of things. You refused to be the reason he failed. Steeling yourself, you dress quickly, determined to put your new plan in motion. Apologize, promise to do better, and then hide at R.A.D until you could face him again.

It doesn’t take you long to find your demon. He had been waiting for you. You enter the den in a flurry of movement phones in hand to check with Lucifer to see where the prince might be. “Join me?” His deep baritone makes you jump in alarm. Your phone flies out of your hands to clatter loudly on the tile floor.

Diavolo sits, sprawled out on his couch. His favorite terry cloth robe is tied loosely around his broad figure. He watches you with a growing frown, his strong jaw perched on his fist. You freeze. “Please?” He offers you his free hand. You take it timidly. He grasps you firmly and lifts you effortlessly onto his lap. You rest your head on his strong chest. He smells of juniper berries and oranges. Bright, fresh, and sharp. Their combined scents mixing with his natural musk put you at ease. The clenching panic around your heart easing slightly. You eye the breakfast layout before the two of you on the low coffee table. The banquet was still untouched though you do not know how long Dia had been sitting here. You felt the tiny pulses of magic radiating off the table.

“To keep it warm,” Diavolo answers your unspoken question. He moves you in his lap so he can reach for a plate. Filling it to the brim with an assortment of pastries and warmed jams he hands it to you before filling his coffee cup. “I didn’t know how long you wished to sleep.”

You take the plate meekly. “I-thank you.” You eat in relative silence, eyes locked down on the treccia slowly disappearing on your plate. You were too nervous to look at Diavolo. “When do you have to get back to work?” You ask.

“I don’t-” He adds a hefty dollop of heavily whipped cream to his coffee. “I took the day off.” Your heart drops.

“I’m sorry.”

“Giglio.” Diavolo sighs heavily. He puts his coffee aside to cradle you. “Never be sorry for needing time.” His large hands rest over your thigh and shoulder. “I promised we would talk today, and I am nothing but a devil of my word.” He kisses your crown, his thumbs rubbing your skin comfortingly. “Tell me your worries.”

“What do you see in me?” You blurt out looking up at him. “What could you ever see in a human that you couldn’t get from someone closer to your stature?”

“You have something no other being has ever had before.” He answers effortlessly. He had thought about this time and time again in private. He had lost count of the nights spent in his study stewing over this very topic. You captivated him in a way he still couldn’t fully comprehend.

You scoff at the nonanswer. “What? A soul?”

Diavolo sucks his teeth in distaste. Your voice was so bitter. “Do you think I don’t have a soul?” He counters, smiling ruefully down at you.

“Do you?” You are genuinely curious. Satan had been very upfront with the fact that he didn’t and he was a full-blooded demon. When you had asked Barbatos he had just shrugged.

Diavolo looks wistful for a moment. Golden eyes glazing over as he gets lost in thought. “Who knows?” He admits. “Souls are a precious commodity, true. But such things mean very little to me when it comes to you. No, the thing you have is my trust. You came here with nothing and expected nothing of me but a safe and successful exchange program. There was no social climbing or cloak and daggers with you- or perhaps you are so skilled I cannot see it!” His chuckle shakes you both. “I feel as though you do not see me as just a prince, yet you still respect the title, the authority, and the customs that come along with it. You see what I have to offer and don’t ask for more than I can give you.”

“What will happen when you find that I no longer do that for you? When someone else could do it better and give you eternity along with it?” His words bring you hope, but hope did little when you knew the inevitable outcome.

“Why would I look when I am more than happy where I am?” He dodges your question. He would cross that bridge and bear that cross when you find out on your own.

“But-”

He hushes you with a flurry of kisses across your face, dipping low over you. You squeak as he dangles you precariously over the side of the leather couch. “Come, eat with me.” He says between kisses. “Enjoy a day away from the prying eyes of scorned socialites. Let me show you how devoted I am.” He releases you to pick up a piece of bruschetta. Popping it into his mouth with a groan of satisfaction he turns back to the cooling food, his jovial mood returning. You huff, flicking off a stray bit of diced tomato from his chin.

“Fine- as long as you let me help you catch up on all the work you're missing tomorrow.”

#obey me diavolo #obey me shall we date

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jeongi · 5 years ago

Text

cabin fever | jjk (m)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jungkook x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 8k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | fluff. smut. mild angst. exf2l au (?)

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering, unprotected floor sex (dongs better be wrapped irl), light dirty talk, very soft, fluffy smut. jungkook is sad, soft babie.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | trapped in a cabin with your ex-best friend jungkook, you’re forced to overcome the fallout between you two.

↣ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | cabin fever

“We're lost!” Seokjin shouts dramatically from behind the wheel. “Hopelessly and forever lost!” The van’s radio crackles and pops as the soft ooze of music sits underneath your friends’ bantering.

“You're such a baby,” says Namjoon as he smacks Seokjin with the map he's holding. “Relax. I know my maps.”

“You've only been here all of one time—” Seokjin spits back, his fingers clenching the wheel harder. You chuckle under your breath at their bickering, your body immediately tensing as you feel Jungkook adjust himself next to you. A part of you wonders if he’s still alive; you have no idea how he’s managed to sleep through the endless bickering- yet, there he sat, still snoring away. If you remembered correctly, Jungkook was almost impossible to wake up.

You ask yourself why you still felt somewhat nervous in Jungkook’s presence, and for the upteenth time, your memory reminds you of that giant nothingness that now separated you two.

Hoseok giggles behind you and your mood dampens further. His excessive, unwarranted giddiness irritates you on any given day, but today it seems extra warranted. How could you not feel irritated when your ex boyfriend is sat behind you, practically playing grab-ass with his new girlfriend?

You ask yourself again why you ever agreed to come on this trip, let alone agree to be stuffed in a van with an ex-boyfriend and an ex-best friend. And once again, you come up empty. You're sure there must be a reason.

“Hey, focus on the road!” Jyo-en shrills from the seat directly behind Namjoon. “Some of us want to arrive alive and unharmed.” Jungkook once again shifts in his seat, his shoulder pressing against your own and his mouth wide open. You can faintly hear the purrs of soft snoring escaping him.

Alas, your motives come to light. Frankly, you knew you were doing this as a favour to Jyo-en more than anything else. Her undying, one-sided pining after Seokjin had her on her knees begging you to go on this trip with her. There wasn't much that could ever reduce Jyo-en to such a state, but her affection for Seokjin's masculine wiles had been too much for her to bear. The fucker was just too damn charming and you couldn’t blame her either. From the broad expanse of his muscular shoulders, to the plump of his pink, full lips, you figure the chaos that naturally comes from his presence is usually heavily subdued by the sheer epitome of beauty that is Kim Seokjin.

Nonetheless, you had agreed to come on this trip, much against your initial refusal.

“Pipe down back there,” Namjoon shoots. “It could be worse.”

“Yeah,” says Hoseok, “Namjoon could be driving.”

Involuntarily, you snort. It isn't so much the humour that prompts such a response, but the bitterness you can't help but feel. However, that response is lost amidst the sea of laughter that now fills the van, save yours, Namjoon’s and a sleeping Jungkook’s.

Namjoon turns in his seat and glares at Hoseok. “Just because I don't have a license doesn't mean I can't drive.”

Seokjin chortles. “You literally almost drove us straight off a cliff the one time I let you drive.”

“You’re being dramatic. It wasn't even that tall a cliff…”

Beside you, Jungkook smacks his lips in his sleep, and sinks his shoulder further into yours. You absentmindedly wonder what he’s dreaming about.

Do you even care? Probably not. But the mental exercise in speculation offers some respite from the storm of emotion slowly and undeniably building within you. You glance back at Hoseok and Nancy, their disgusting buffet of PDA having no regard for anyone but themselves. You know for a fact you and Hoseok would have never done this. Turning away, your eyes once again fall on Jungkook.

You hope it's a dream better than this.

2:04pm [You]: ugh.

2:05pm [Yoongi]: Lol. What’s wrong?

2:07pm [You]: remind me again why i couldn't come tomorrow with you guys?

2:10pm [Yoongi]: Dude we've been over this, you couldn't swap spots with Jimin because he works tonight. It's the entire reason we're leaving tomorrow

2:10pm [Yoongi]: Is it that bad?

2:14pm [You]: between hoseok munching on his new gf and jungkook literally speaking to everyone but me,,, i’d say this is the car ride from hell

2:15pm [Yoongi]: Yikes

2:15pm [Yoongi]: Sounds about right, but I don't know what I can do from here...

2:25pm [You]: it’s whatever, tell jimin and tae i miss them dearly

2:26pm [Yoongi]: I’ll probably forget

2:27pm [You]: you’re the fucking worst.

You sigh heavily and lock your phone, haphazardly flinging it back into your lap. The van door opens with a whoosh and your eyes immediately squint against the intense albedo that now renders you temporarily blind.

“Did you just fucking hiss?” Seokjin asks, no trace of humour in his voice. You shoot him a silencing glare and he plays along to it, his hand shooting up to his chest as he fakes a few stumbles back. The effort to make you smile is that of triumph, the edges of your lips quirking up to a faint smile. Nonplussed, Seokjin continues. “Well, this is it!” He says with far too much enthusiasm for have driven nearly six hours. He reaches down towards the duffle bag by your feet and you swallow the bubble of discomfort that fills you when Nancy squeals behind you.

“This cabin is huge!” Her voice reminds you of Polystyrene rubbing together. It pierces your skull, scorches the skin on the back of your neck and you internally scream. Hoseok chuckles beside her and you can’t help but want to gouge out your eyeballs with a screwdriver.

When Seokjin swings the navy blue bag over his shoulder, his eyes briefly glance towards the still sleeping figure next to you, his face static in the grips of slumber.

“Hey!” Without warning, a red glove speeds past your face and smacks Jungkook in the nose with a surprisingly satisfying thwack. Immediately, Jungkook jolts awake, shooting you an accusing glare so icy, the snow around you may as well be a sunny beach. Before either of you can react, the glove’s partner in crime follows and smacks him in the face again. “Well, good morning, sleepy beauty,” jeers Seokjin. “Now that you're alive, how about you start helping us move our stuff?”

Blinking in the new light before his eyes, Jungkook sighs explosively, half yawn, half exclamation.

“It’s sleeping beauty, you imbecile.” You think you hear him grumble under his breath. A part of you wishes he’d acknowledge you again like old times. Another- and you convince yourself, a greater- part of you simply cannot be bothered to care anymore.

“I think that’s the last of it!” Namjoon yells from the trunk of the van. You hear him close it with a loud thud, one arm holding a cooler, the other locking the trunk. Seokjin stands by the porch of the cabin, nodding approvingly at the progress. He checks his watch.

“I’m hungry,” he says, “Should we go into town?”

You groan in protest. “Dude, we just got here. You want to hop back in a stuffy van and drive, again?”

“Yes,” he answers without a beat.

“Yup!” echoes Namjoon. You have no idea how he heard this.

“Ah, food would be so good,” Jyo-en says as she comes up from behind you, a hand patting her stomach and a frown adorning her face. You can't help but roll your eyes; she’s not hungry at all.

“Food it is,” Seokjin confirms. Despite the peckish feeling that jabbers at your stomach, you're not certain your appetite can handle another car ride with them so soon.

“You guys go ahead without me, I had a big breakfast this morning,” you lie.

“Suit yourself,” he says with a simple shrug of indifference. Turning away to head inside, you hear Seokjin yell for the others. You’re not sure where Hoseok and Nancy scurried off to, though the list of possibilities is disgustingly short. As if on cue, they near stumble out of the room they had chosen for the night, their lips swollen and clothing frayed. You think you’re going to be sick, and a subsequent twist of your innards does everything but confirm the sentiment.

You need to get out of here. You desperately need to get out of here.

As quietly as you can, you pull your boots on and stuff a spare water bottle in your jacket. The door before you opens, and with a breath, you crunch your way into the snow covered trees. You should have worn something warmer, you scold yourself as you cross your arms over your chest and blow out a huff of air.

The air is still- too still, you think. Even the melody of chickadees sound too far away. Your breath comes out in stiff clouds, hanging seconds in the air before fading away. You shove your nose deeper into your scarf as you aimlessly wander, allowing your thoughts to get as lost as you’re about to be.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost be convinced it was four years ago. The way the wind nips your face reminds you of waiting for the train at the worst possible hours of the morning, despite the fact you only had the one class that day.

The rest of the day was for the squad.

This could mean anything from half-attempted study sessions (in reality, a thinly veiled excuse to gossip about your classmates and munch on overpriced cafeteria food) to skipping down to the neighbourhood village just down the street from your university for the far better food that was just as expensive. It could mean sneaking off between classes to a quiet staircase and into Hoesoek’s arms for as many fleeting moments the two of you could steal in a day. It could mean a walk down to the university bar for curly fries and maybe one too many drinks. Sometimes it was the train ride home, hand in hand and falling asleep on each other’s shoulders.

The wind was just as cold as it has always been, but you haven’t been. Somewhere along the line, something had changed. A whole lot of somethings. At some point or another, it all just started to come crashing down until now you stand, here, in a snowy field standing ankle deep in fading memories.

You’d ask yourself how it managed to go to hell so much, so fast. But you don’t feel like opening that vault again— you’ve had it closed for good reason.

The piercing caw of a crow snaps you back to reality. Your eyes open, and the freezing train stations and too-warm classrooms fade away with the snowfall. You feel the first snowflake hit your cheek and when you look up, another hits your nose. Whichever way you go, whether it’s memory lane or the slow, cold walk back to the cabin, it’s going to be a bitch either way. It doesn’t take long for your boots to become soaked, and it takes even shorter for your toes to begin freezing. Your only regret is you find yourself wishing you’d have noticed it earlier; you were too preoccupied with watching the sun’s last stretch across the mountaintops.

Your laugh is what Jungkook remembers the most as you two walked towards the train station on those cold winter mornings. The light fragrance of your perfume that overpowered the icy winds had always made you feel like home to him. And your laugh, the thing he missed the most. When was the last time he’d seen you smile? When was the last time he’d even talked to you? It seems a lifetime ago now.

Jungkook’s fingers hesitantly hold the black pen against his sketchpad as he allows the natural skill of his hand overtake the paper. The desk he’s sat on faces towards the blanket of white snow against a crisp blue sky. He sighs, the view of the mountain sheathed in nothing but white bringing him back to old memories of you.

He can almost taste the pork bulgogi he’d always order at lunch with you. One look is all you had to give in order to silently invite him to eat after class. It was that cocked eyebrow, the slight tilt of the head and he was already transferring money into his bank account. And your scent- soft and subtle against the cold winter air. Even if his lungs were crystalized by the cool winter air, your perfumed scarf still lingered to his nose. You’d always felt somewhat like a distant lover than an old friend. What happened? He happened.

Just as Jungkook blasts his Spotify playlist through his earphones, you walk through the front door. Unbeknownst to you or him, the cause of your melancholy sits on the floor above you in his room. Your hands are freezing, a soft curse escaping your mouth as your teeth clatter and you stomp your way inside. You’re covered head to toe in snow, a sudden icy flurry hitting you on your way back. Perhaps a spontaneous walk down memory lane was one of your dumber ideas but if anything, it was nice to get away from this bullshit for even a little while. And by the looks of it, you’ll be able to escape a little while longer as you stand in the foyer of an empty cabin. You’re alone with your thoughts once again. How did you get here? You ask yourself a million times over.

Shrugging off the weight of your coat, you unravel your scarf and land with a loud sigh against the brown suede couch. It’s a cozy cabin, you’ll have to give Namjoon that much credit but his need to treat everyone as equal despite obvious differences landed you in this more than miserable situation. Your fingers hesitantly uncurl, the heat already uncoiling the ice in your veins. You reach for your phone, the only notification being a “Merry Christmas” email from your dentist. You almost laugh at yourself.

4:04pm [You]: yoongs, entertain me

No reply, instead a big fat, red “not delivered!” pops underneath the message. You frown, annoyed at the world and mostly Jyo-en for dragging you along this getaway from hell. On top of this, the three people you’ve been wanting to see and talk to the most in the world won’t be arriving for another excruciating twenty-four hours. Old Man Winter chuckles to himself as he prolongs your misery.

Jungkook is mindlessly working upstairs, watching the flurry of snow coat the mountains and area around the cabin further. If it weren’t for the gentle ooze of Keshi in his ears, he’d be concerned by the rapid snowfall. His hand works diligently, his sketch near finished as he watches the sun set outside. Somewhere between the last of his shading and perfecting does the lamp in his room suddenly give out.

Silence.

You freeze as the world surrounding you goes absolutely still. The sound of heat coming through the vents stops, the lights flicker off and you’re approaching darkness as the sun settles outside. Fuck, you think to yourself. This could not be happening.

Reaching for your phone, your fingers clamour as you hastily give Namjoon a call.

Straight to voicemail.

You try Seokjin; it doesn’t even ring.

Panic settles over you, your flight or fight kicking in as you think of what to possibly do. You scour the main floor for a landline, anything that could be of use in this situation. Surely there was a maintenance number somewhere? It’s when you’re in the kitchen that you hear the footsteps above you. You freeze again.

Now you’re almost positive it’s an intruder ready to murder you. Like in those horrible, terrible horror movies. Although you’ve played a lot of Outlast, you doubt you could handle whatever the fuck has spawned upstairs. As the footsteps shuffle some more, you grab a knife from the counter and decide if you should wait to be murdered or move towards the sound like every idiot in those movies. But just as you’re deciding, the steps move rapidly down the stairs until you’ve panicked and dropped your knife, shrieking out of pure terror with your eyes shut.

Jungkook stares at you in complete bewilderment.

“_____?” He cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows strewn together in genuine concern. His eyes fall to the knife on the floor, further confusion littering his mind. “Are you okay?”

The voice sounds familiar, too familiar and it pangs you to know exactly who it is.

Your heart plummets to your stomach when you tentatively open one eye and see Jungkook’s big doe eyes staring right back at you.

“Jungkook? What the hell are you doing here?” You put your hand to your chest and sigh a heavy breath of relief. “I fucking...thought…” You look back up at him, the furrow in his eyebrows suddenly flooring you with emotion. You haven’t really looked at him in ages, it feels.

“You didn’t go with the others?” His lips form an innocent pout as he asks. You haven’t realized how much you missed his boyish charm. It’s then that you find yourself observing him head to toe for the first time in a long time. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and (unintentionally, you convince yourself), the plaid red pajama bottoms you got him for Christmas three years ago. Is that how long it’s been since you’ve last spoken? He looks different, more confident, more tone in his body. Although his hair remains the same shade of brunette, it’s slightly longer and rests in natural curls. His jawline is even sharper, you note. From the small mole just under his lip to the faint cleft in his chin, you find yourself completely absorbed in how good looking Jungkook has gotten.

“N-no,” you’re suddenly stuttering as you catch yourself out of flagrant staring. “I thought you did—”

“Nope.” The tension brews around you two, both of you stood across from one another as sudden realization dawns on you.

“The power’s out,” you say and Jungkook nods in agreement. You really didn’t think this day could get any worse yet here you were. “I-I tried calling Namjoon but it wouldn’t go through.” Jungkook taps his pointer finger to his lower lip in consideration.

“Phone lines must be out too,” he said half to himself. “Must be a hell of a blizzard out there.” You shudder involuntarily as you remember the way the wind tore through you on the return journey to the cabin, and with the memory comes the bittersweet nostalgia…

You mentally stomp the memories out. Not the time, not the place. Not anymore.

“Well, I don’t want to starve,” you say as you start to feel your stomach glare at you hungrily. Maybe you should have gone with them after all. An image of Hoseok and Nancy sucking face flashes before you. You shudder again. It might still be hell here, but at least it isn’t a hell so deep as watching them. Besides, this is the most Jungkook has spoken to you in years.

“Fortunately, they left us with the food,” Jungkook says to you. “If memory serves correct there should at least be a box or three of smokies floating around somewhere.” He pulls on a sweater and rubs his hands together in an attempt to warm them up.

“What about the fire?” You ask.

“What about it?”

“Well, I don’t know. Can you start one?” You know for a fact you might be able to, but this isn’t the time for you to test your skills.

“Probably. It isn’t exactly rocket science,” he replies with a smart grin. There’s a small door just under the staircase that Jungkook opens with little to no hesitation. You had always admired how unafraid of the world Jungkook had always been. Perhaps those values washed away when he too walked out of your life.

You snap yourself out of it and roll your eyes. “Jungkook, you’re the least handyman person I know.”

“At least I’m remembered for something,” he replies as he dips below the stairs to search for wood.

You damn near have to stop yourself from smiling.

You’re not certain if it’s just the natural dynamic you shared with him, or if it’s completely circumstantial, but one thing was for certain; like it or not, you found the pair of you swiftly falling back in step with one another in more ways than you’d care to admit… and more ways than you’d care to remember.

It’s almost as if he hadn’t just chosen to vanish from your life for nearly three years. It’s almost as if it were like old times. What had happened to you guys? Why did he stop calling you?

For the umpteenth time, you snap yourself away from this. It’s too late. There’s no use in thinking of the past. You sigh and return to the kitchen, scouring, searching every cabinet and square surface for candles and matches.

A heartbeat or three passes, and a clonking of feet on wood alerts you to Jungkook’s return.

“I've got good news and bad news,” He huffs as he steps back onto the main floor from the cellar.

“Oh, god,” you start. You feel a slight panic coming on again.

“Good news?” He hefts a frayed and worn burlap bag. “I found firewood.”

“And the bad news?” You ask tentatively.

He feigns sadness before he brings out two giant bottles of cabernet sauvignon from behind his back. “There's all this wine, and nobody around to drink it,” he finishes. “Except us, naturally.”

For however brief a moment it was, you knew for certain that the flash in his eyes, the quick smile he now wore, you hadn't seen for years. It seems as though, if only for a split second, the old Jungkook had returned. Somehow sensing your revelation, the moment passes as swiftly as it came, and then a stone faced Jungkook returns.

“I-if you want to, anyway.” The coolness returns without indication, a coolness you are now determined to thaw out.

“I’m insulted you even think you have to ask,” you return playfully. A hint of colour returns to his cheeks, and a fraction of a grin returns. Silently, he sets about starting the fire while you work on opening the wine.

It takes you a second to realize that the wine is in fact corked, and you had not a corkscrew between the two of you. You glance at Jungkook, his back still turned to you, rubbing two sticks together or something. You really don’t know, and he doesn’t share; in fact, he seems quite absorbed in his work.

You glance back at the wine bottle. Taking the lapse in effort, you ask yourself if this was really worth doing- if this was even a good idea.

“Aha!” You hear a whoosh followed by a golden radiance that now permeates the space. “And that,” Jungkook turns towards you, grin wide and proud, “is how you start a fire.”

You’re not only warm, but impressed- leave it to Jungkook to be perfect in literally every department. You suppose he hasn’t lost that talent yet.

Though the feeling of pride quickly fades as you see the can of body spray in one of his hands and a lighter in the other. You raise a questioning eyebrow at him, silently calling him out on his middle school arson methods.

“It was ah, taking too long,” he adds sheepishly, rolling the can of body spray towards the corner and playfully tossing the lighter at you.

“Seokjin is going to kill you.”

“What for? Theft of his lighter, or his outrageous body spray? If anything, I’m doing him a favour…how are you making out with the wine?”

“We… don’t have a corkscrew,” you reply somewhat dejectedly. That half-serious face comes about his visage once more as you see him wracking his brain, trying to solve the problem.

His grin returns. “Don’t worry,” Jungkook says after a minute. “I have an idea.”

“What a waste of a fucking match, oh my God!” You’re sure to sound extra exasperated as you watch Jungkook wrap the loose piece of twine around the neck of wine bottle.

“Do you want to drink or not? Let me work my magic…” Jungkook wears determination on his face, a tongue poking out, eyebrows scrunched together as he ties it once, twice until you’re sure even a wine bottle could choke. You watch as he carefully takes a match and strikes it with the expertise of a pyrotechnic turned for the better. With little hesitation, he lights the twine on fire, a burning noose around the neck of the wine bottle. It doesn’t take ten seconds for the glass to crack open. He’s two for two; at this point, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more.

You’re honestly mesmerized. “How…?” You ask. He lets out a soft chuckle, barely audible.

“It’s magic,” you hear him say as he shrugs. “I don’t have to explain shit.” Another eye roll later, you’re returning to the kitchen and opening the cabinet above the sink in search of wine glasses. To no avail, you find stainless steel coffee mugs instead.

“Is this even safe to drink out of? I won’t choke on microscopic shards of glass?” You ask Jungkook after your third and fourth glasses. It’s a little too late to be asking such a question but you’re sure at this point, your words are a little slurred and nothing quite makes sense. Inwardly, you realize it’s a moot point anyway, and with that realization comes that for the first time in longer than you can remember, you’re just trying to strike up a conversation with him.

It’s hard not to when Jungkook has planted a pile of pillows and blankets in front of the fire, the pair of you sat and drinking potentially lethal wine. Before you lies half-finished board games you two attempted to play yet failed due to sheer anger at the game itself or each other. You’re sure if you were sober, this would be a lot more difficult.

“Magic, _____.” Jungkook slurs, his cheeks flushed and that half grin he does so well. Despite a certain flutter in your chest, you scoff into your mug of wine, small bubbles splashing back onto your upper lip.

“Magic?” You nearly spit. “This isn’t Harry Potter, Jungkook. How exactly do you personally quantify magic?”

A quiet moment passes as he swirls the final dregs of wine in his cup thoughtfully.

“I’d define it as the things you do to me, actually,” he replies before downing the rest of his cup.

Are you hearing things right? Did that actually come out of his mouth? Is this happening? You glance at your own cup. What the fuck is this wine, anyway? You’re drunk. Both of you are.

Jungkook stands and reaches for the bottle, filling up his cup before topping up your own. You still sit in a stunned silence, observing as he tosses another log into the fire, a shower of sparks floating up the chimney.

“Wh… Where did that come from?” You manage. He waves his hand dismissively, breaking eye contact a moment.

“Next question?” He asks as he sips.

Feeling bolder now, you pursue. He isn’t getting away that easily.

“Okay. I’ll put it another way.” You pause to sip, the confidence now flowing nominally through your system. “What exactly happened to us?” There, you’ve asked it.

A silence now spreads the two of you apart, despite the lack of inherent distance between you two presently. Now it seems to be Jungkook’s turn to be stunned into silence.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing this entire time,” he replies. The stone is slowly creeping up to his face.

“You can do better than that,” you egg him on.

“What, now you believe in me?” He shoots back. The venom in his words would take you off guard if it weren’t for how earnest his was before you. He drinks again, gulping this time. He must be on his sixth glass now. You can see the same sentiment in his eyes that you hold in your heart; a universal now-or-never. This is the chance to lay the cards on the table. You know it’s going to hurt, but you know it’s necessary. He rises slowly to his feet, swaying ever so slightly from the wine.

“How about you tell me what happened to us, _____?” Jungkook almost shouts. “We used to be close. We told each other everything. I used to stay up late just to make sure you got home from class or work, I made sure you ate your meals, that your homework was completed. I cared. We both did. Maybe a bit too much...” With this, he sighs explosively and flops down onto the dusty couch behind you, his chin resting on his hand. “We used to be something. I don't know what, but it was there. And now?” He waves an arm absentmindedly towards the window. “Nothing but cold.” The irony, you think. But it's an irony that's been a long time coming, and a certain sick irony that could only come from him.

But the question sticks with you, more than you'd care to admit. Something had slapped you deep inside, and even still it reverberated within you.

No, you're not going to stand here and take this.

“You tell me what happened, Jungkook.” You uncross your legs and rise to your feet, striding towards him. “You stopped texting, calling. You stopped wanting to hang out, and suddenly there was this wall between us. You never even told me what I did.”

For a moment, he looks hurt, as though a thousand predisposed assumptions has just come hurtling down. He regains his composure, though barely, and through shaken words, he continues.

“No, _____.” His face softens. “It isn't what you did. It isn't anything you did, not really.” He's nervous now; his knee bounces, his jaw clenches. You're fairly certain he's beginning to sweat.

What isn't he telling you?

“Tell me,” you whisper. No venom now, merely curiosity, and perhaps a hint of something more. Your hand finds its way onto his own, and your fingers slowly curl around his palm. Contrary to your assumptions, his hand remains there. Even more surprising, his hand reverses and his fingers interlace with your own. A heartbeat passes, and his eyes meet yours.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, _____. I don’t think either of us did anything wrong. Passing ships in the night? Too little, too late? Just bad timing, is that all? Hell if I know.” He takes a deep swig of the wine. “We vibed. Hard. Everything about us was natural and made sense.” You have to agree with this, even now, not talking after so long- you two felt real, felt right.

“No, Jungkook, that’s bullshit and we both know it!” You insist. “You stopped putting in the effort, you stopped wanting to be in my life, you….” It hurts you, a sinking feeling in your chest as you choke out your words. “You wouldn’t even look in my direction the past however long ago it was that you decided to walk away from my life without a single warning.” Perhaps it’s because you’re drunk that tears spring. It’s a deep-seated memory that you’ve brought back, a confrontation that you had always convinced yourself would never happen. “And I don’t even get an explanation why?” This whole situation had to have happened for a reason, you drunkenly tell yourself. If fate really was real, this moment would be its poster child.

Jungkook is staring at you with a look you can’t quite read. You can’t quite decide if he’s about to cry with you or angrily escape this situation. Instead, he places his cup on the wooden coffee table and stands up. His walk towards you in confident, as if he’s ready to expel whatever it is that riddled him in shades of torture for as long as it did. He takes your hands, a slight shake in the way he grasps them.

“I couldn’t stand seeing you with him,” he blurts.

A moment passes, your eyes unleaving as you try and process the weight of his words in your scrambled, drunken mess of a mind. You with who? Hoseok?

“Him?” You find yourself repeating. “Why would you…”

Jungkook sighs and lets your hands go, his fingers moving up to rake his brunette locks away from his face. He’s definitely sweating, you note.

“Wasn’t it obvious, _____?

“B-but what about after we broke up, you could’ve—”

“Could’ve what?” He laughs humorously. “Could have gone back to the way it was before?” He cranes his neck to the side, the palm of his hand rubbing against the skin. “It doesn’t work like that, _____. I’m selfish for you but not that selfish. Staying away was better anyway... neither of us would get hurt.”

But you were hurt, hurt more than the break up itself because at the end of the day, all you wanted was your best friend and even he had left. “You’re such an idiot.” You can’t help but say. “Stupid, stupid idiot. How could you do that?” You want to punch him, slap him as hard as you can for him to feel any amount of equivalence in physical pain that he gave you in emotional pain. All those nights you had laid wondering what you did wrong had all been for nothing?

Your frown deepens, more questions than ever before emerging. “You liked me?” Had you ever even thought of him as more than a friend? You’re not sure you should even be asking these questions with vigour liquor coursing through your veins yet, you remind yourself that the liquid courage has brought you two here thus far.

Jungkook laughs once more, no strain of humour in the vibrato. “That’s an understatement.” He then mumbles and you’re left racking your brain. For a brief second, it makes perfect sense before you completely lose your train of thought. “Besides,” he continues. “There’s no point in thinking what could have happened, I just—” There’s a pause as his chocolates in his doe eyes search yours for something. “Will you just let me kiss you right now?”

This takes you wholeheartedly off guard, your eyes widen as you speak with hesitance. “Y-you want to kiss me?”

“I’ve always wanted to, _____.” How does this phrase create such a powerful flutter in your chest? You wonder if it’s the alcohol or maybe, just maybe, a deep-rooted longing you;d never known you had in you.

Without answering his question, you kiss him first.

As your fingers reach for his face, Jungkook grapples your waist. You feel tiny in the palm of his hands, he thinks as he feels your lips against his for the first time. Jungkook feels as if he’s dreaming- perhaps the alcohol has something to do with that.

Red wine is what you taste the most, mixed with a subtle sweetness of mint. You drown in him, melt against him as he carefully engulfs you into his arms. The fireplace warming the space around is nothing in comparison to the sudden inferno in your chest. It’s then that you realize, this is what you’ve wanted all along.

Your hand slides down Jungkook’s face to his chest. He feels broad underneath your fingertips, a certain firmness to the touch that you hadn’t expected. He only brings you closer, arms wrapping around your torso as his lips press against you harder. His tongue is soft with your own, a gentle roll with your own as a certain heat builds up in your core.

Suddenly, it’s messier. Jungkook’s tongue swipes your bottom lip before planting a soft bite. It releases a whimper from you, earning a quiet groan from him. You’ve never thought this day would come. Are you dreaming?

When you pull away, Jungkook’s full attention is on you only. He runs a thumb over your wine-stained pout, his eyes large and completely enveloped in the sight of you. “I never thought I would get to kiss these lips.” He says.

You moan and lean in for another.

No matter how much your lips fuse together, how much you press yourself against his stronger hold, you cannot get enough nor do you want this to end. It feels right, comfortable to be in his embrace like this, his mouth against yours and chests connected. It’s not long before you’re both succumbing to the fall on your knees against the self-made bed Jungkook made of old blankets and pillows. It’s cozy, neither of you wasting time to run upstairs to a proper bed. You think this is the most romantic setting you could have ever hoped for.

It’s when you’re suddenly on top of Jungkook that you feel a growth settle underneath your core. You feel the sheer girth of it as your kissing intensifies, two large hands coming to rest upon your thighs as they persuade your hips to skim over it. You gasp at the feeling, sure that you’re already soaked beyond measure. It’s not hard for you to already feel him like this, the thin veil of his pajama bottoms being the only barrier away from you having it in you. The thought arouses you far too much, leading to a harsher grind that has you both moan out. You haven’t been touched in a long while.

Jungkook’s hands travel up your sides until he’s cupped both of your cheeks in each palm. Your lips are guided once again to his own as he places a hard kiss against you. With each fleeting moment, your want for him intensifies. You can’t help but think this was meant to be, that you’ve wanted this somewhere deep within you. Perhaps the old you was looking out for the future you.

It’s with both hesitance and confidence that Jungkook inches your sweater up. His hands feel warm against your bare torso, a shiver running through you when they lazily travels up and down your sides. As you pull away, Jungkook gives you that lopsided grin you hadn’t realized you’ve missed dearly until this moment. It almost feels as if nothing has changed, as if there hadn’t been a giant nothingness between you two for so long.

“You look so beautiful.” Jungkook whispers, his right hand reaching to push a strand of hair away from your face. He helps you guide your shirt off before a thumb strokes your cheek, and then your lips. You softly bite it and receive a contempt groan in response.

“Yours too,” you gently urge as you play with the hem of his white shirt. Jungkook grins and lifts his torso before pulling the fabric over his head. He does not hesitate to kiss you again.

With each kiss, the intensity grows until you’re sure you’ve caused a puddle in your pants as you shamelessly grind your cunt against a very erect bulge in Jungkook’s pants. He feels so firm, more built than you could have ever imagined as he pulls you tighter against him. You’re slowly losing your mind before you decide to take the initiative.

“Jungkook,” you mumble against his mouth.

“Hm?”

“Let me taste you.” Jungkook nearly unravels just from those words alone.

“Yeah?” You nod, a coy smile spreading across your face as surely a heavy blush riddles your cheeks in a crimson red. Jungkook merely chuckles, planting a feverish kiss against your mouth. “You’re so adorable.”

You trail kisses down his torso, the definition of muscles in his abdomen driving you absolutely mad. You’re still unable to fully comprehend what exactly was happening yet you’re equally unable to stop yourself. Jungkook helps you get rid of his pants, your mouth instantly watering when his erection lands against his torso with a soft thwack. It glistens against the golden aura surrounding you. He cocks his head to the side. “Think you can take it?”

If that’s a challenge you hear in his tone, it’s a challenge you’re willing to take. You might even think Jungkook remembers how competitive you are. You move down his body with ease before placing a tentative lick against the head of his cock. Jungkook’s hands immediately surrender to your hair, moving it out of your face until he’s made a makeshift ponytail out of his own hands.

“Fuuuck,” he drags out shakily when you take the whole of his head in your mouth. You suck just under his head, a certain ball of nerves that drives Jungkook absolutely mad. The hold he has on your hair acts as an invisible guide, in motion with his hips lifting does he simultaneously move your head down. “Just like that, baby.” You groan against his cock as you take more of him in your mouth. Jungkook is thick, girthy with a prominent vein that sits right where your tongue can trace it. He’s losing himself further and further into you as you begin a steady motion of sucking. Your hand holds the base of his cock as your mouth works wonders, earning you whimpers and curses from him. “So good, so good.” Jungkook gasps when you pick up the pace. It’s when he feels himself really about to lose control that he pulls you away from his cock, a satisfying pop following the disconnect.

“C’mere,” he murmurs before smashing his lips against yours. Though your lips are coated in saliva, his kisses have become sloppier, rougher as he cradles your torso with one arm before flipping you until you’re underneath him. “These have to go.” He pulls at your pants and you giggle with agreeance.

“That would be ideal.”

Jungkook undoes the buttons before tugging them down your legs. You’ve now got nothing on but your bra, a pale violet with a lacy trim on the top. Did you subconsciously know you were going to get fucked by none other than Jeon Jungkook today?

He pulls your legs apart, a satisfied hum escaping him as your glistening folds welcome him. “Fuck, _____.” He whispers as his thumb skims over your wetness. You suck in a sharp breath, the callous on his thumb sensitive against your cunt. You want him to touch you there.

It’s as if he can read your mind, the thumb now dragging over your clit. The sigh of relief you give only fuels Jungkook’s satisfaction more. He too would like to taste you.

You cry out, hands grappling for his torso as he begins circling the thumb over your sensitive nub. “So wet,” he groans.

“J-just for you.” This makes Jungkook move faster with his thumb. He wants to feel you. Jungkook slowly slides the defts of his index and middle finger into you, your cry filling the space. He takes his time, feeling your walls clench around his digits as his thumb simultaneously circles over your clit. He’s amazed by how each thrust of his fingers causes you to coat them farther in your arousal. And you’re amazed by how soon you’re about to come. It only makes his own erection angrier and your cunt clench tighter.

“You coming, baby?” Never would Jungkook have thought he’d get to call you baby. You nod with vigour, each pump of his finger along with the relentless rub of his fingers causing your legs to shake.

“S-so fucking close...oh my god.” You’re coming, you’re coming, you’re— “Jungkook!”

He dips his head in between your thighs, his mouth instantly suctioned to your clit as his fingers continue their torture. With his tongue replacing his thumb, you come undone almost instantly, the wave of pure white, hot filth overtaking your entire body. You shudder, legs trembling as your fingers thread through the lush of Jungkook’s brown locks. Jungkook continues licking against your clit, flicking and sucking until you can no longer take it.

“F-fuck me, Jungkook- please,” you beg as your cunt craves for more. You want absolutely all of him.

Jungkook’s cock is ready, heavy against his palm as he takes ahold of the base and spreads your legs apart. His mouth is wet with your arousal, his chest littered with beads of sweat. “Your pussy looks so fucking good.” He remarks, letting the pink tip of his dick rub against your wet folds. You both moan at the sensation.

With one more rub of his head, he lines himself against your entrance and slowly pushes his hips forward. You think you could come instantly again. Jungkook’s cock feels amazing, full as your tightness grips with so deliciously, even he has to hold himself back from not undoing quickly.

“Fuck.” You let out as you place a hand on his chest, letting the feel of his cock overtake your entire body. He stops when he’s reached the hilt, careful to rock his hips out before slamming them back into you. You can’t help but cry his name out. “You feel so good.” You’re whimpering, the hand on his chest and moving to the back of his neck as you push his head forward to kiss you. He follows suit, beginning a rhythmic pace of his hips as you lose yourself further and further into him.

Jungkook kisses you feverishly, hot and wet against your mouth as he continues to rick in and out of you. His breaths are laboured, filthy words and curses escaping him as you clench around him with each thrust.

“Yeah, baby?” You’re losing your mind, already close to a second undoing. You know you’re going to come again soon. Jungkook takes your legs and places your ankles on his shoulder, plummeting into you with a force so delicious, you’re about to go delirious. You’re so tight, Jungkook can feel himself edging closer to his own end. “Fuck, turn around for me.” You do as requested, turning to your stomach. Jungkook pulls your ass up towards him and lines himself up once again. Without hesitation this time, he pushes into you, a new type of fullness that overtakes your innards. He feels so fucking good.

It’s a steady rock, your ass hitting against his pelvis as he continues a continuous motion with his hips. He’s relentless in his movements, the new position allowing him to reach deeper, feeling you clench tighter.

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook is moaning out. He grabs a handful of your ass, using it as support while he rams into you with no plans of slowing down. The room is filled with the sound of your skin slapping and your deep breath and moans. Jungkook knows he’s so close.

He reaches forward, first and second digit immediately gravitating towards your clit. As he rubs, the familiar rubber band stretches in the pit of your guts. You’re going to come again, you feel it.

It’s when Jungkook whispers into your ear how much he wants to come inside you, that you give out. It washes over you, makes you tighten your grip on the blanket underneath you as you clench so hard around Jungkook that he too comes with you. You feel the spurts of him fill you to the brim until you’re nothing but a puddle underneath him. You lay still, letting his fluid mixed with yours dribble out of you as Jungkook pulls out. It burns to have him away from you. You want him to hold you all night.

“Was that okay?” Jungkook asks, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. You nod in reassurance, twisting your head around so he can kiss your lips.

It’s then that your phone blares, taking you both by surprise. You rush to your feet, arms reaching for your phone when you see Namjoon’s name flash across your screen.

“Hello?” You answer with no thought.

“_____! Oh my god! Are you okay? There was a huge storm, we’re trapped in town until Monday- did I ask if you were okay? I think Yoongi—” The line fizzles out.

There’s a pause as you look at a curious Jungkook.

“It looks like we’ll be here a while.”

a/n: hey babies! so sorry for the long wait for this one! i really hope you liked it! it’s been in the works for a little while haha. this is my first fic back in a WHILE! and more to come soon! let me know what you think as per usual. i love you so much!!!!!!! and happy holidays to you, your friends and families ✨💞

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts #bangtan smut #oneshot #fic #kpop

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thetomorrowshow · 4 years ago

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i will make the sky collapse

Next - Read on AO3!

A/N: Hi, and welcome to my first ever fic for the Newsies fandom! This fic focuses on Crutchie’s time in the Refuge and will be six chapters long. Eac chapter will be cross-posted on my AO3. Content warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter, but this whole fic will be full of violence and angst.

CW: blood, intense scenes of violence, non-descriptive (but for sure uncomfortable) references to past deaths of children, a rat is eaten

There were only two boys who were by the entrance when they hauled in the new kid. Bart and Twig, eleven and thirteen respectively, were meant to be scrubbing the floor in the hall at that time, on punishment and missing whatever scraps had been scrounged up and thrown to the other kids.

News traveled uncommonly slow in the Refuge, but it was barely an hour before everyone knew. It was even less when Harley heard of it. By that time, there were already rumors spreading--some said the newcomer was barely three feet tall and no more than a sack of bones, others claimed they’d seen him walk in at a proud six feet and show himself to Snyder’s office. One thing that everyone could agree on, though, was that the kid was a newsie. Harley was sure that this kid was just like any other poor nobody who got thrown in here, but he’d have to wait until after his orientation was properly over to assess the boy.

The Refuge needed leadership, and that job had been Harley’s since Spud was freed a month before. Without a kid to keep them in line and hand out hope, the boys turned on each other, snarling and biting like they were no better than Snyder himself. The first month they hadn’t had any fight-related deaths was under Spud’s rule, and the kids were generally happier for it. With someone in charge, they had a person who would listen, a person they could blame, a person who would stop them from killing each other. Right now, that was Harley.

The kids got something else out of it too--ranks. It was amazing how much someone’s morale could be lifted just by telling them they were the treasurer, or the secretary, or the first mate. Every boy in the Refuge had a position, and each one played at pretend business like their lives depended on it--which they did. It was nice to have them cooperative, instead of nasty like they’d been before.

Working together was better than working for oneself, but it had made it harder in some ways. Just last week, they’d lost six-year-old Mark to pneumonia. If Mark hadn’t been assistant to the war general, nobody would have cared or noticed. Now they cared too much, held a service in the middle of the night with a nicked candle, and averted their eyes from his bunk that was too big to be empty at a time when they were already squished three to a bed.

Now, though, whispers were traveling through the hundred-some kids that were scrubbing at the endless grime around the building. “Newsie,” Harley heard, and “Jack Kelly.” That one came filled with wonder, excitement even. Jack Kelly was the only one of them to get out and come back with help. Jack Kelly was the kindest guy anyone had ever known. What did he get out of stealing clothes and food, then risking his own skin just to bring it to them? Nothing, but he did it anyway. And he was from before the camaraderie of hierarchy, so he really didn’t have any reason.

It was possible that the new kid knew him, but Harley wasn’t about to be caught pinning all his hope on some random boy. It wasn’t like Jack Kelly was going to break everyone out of the Refuge for one kid.

Most everyone was outside today, digging endlessly with calloused hands as the sun beat down on them. There was no purpose to the holes, other than graves. Mostly they just dug them up and then filled them back in, though it had been only last month when a guard had pushed in Justin and made them fill it up over him. Justin had been sick, though. He was going to die anyhow.

Harley tried to wipe over his eyes, only succeeding in mixing more dirt with his sweat. He hated the hours spent with the splintering shovels--they all did--but it was better than the chemical water used to clean inside. He’d had to give up a couple of meals to save Stink, who had been forced to swallow a mouthful of it by a guard.

Speaking of guards, one left the building, quite literally dragging the new kid behind him. Harley made a pretense of shoving his dirt into a neater pile, watching carefully. The boy was average-sized, maybe blonde, face too covered in blood to really tell anything else. Harley felt a slight sense of relief. A broken nose was a rite of passage here that most got from Snyder or a guard, but some (like Harley himself) had dodged it only to wake up his first night to a circle of preteens ready to sock him.

There was no real way of discerning that this kid was a newsie, other than the fact that his clothes looked a bit nicer than most of those here. Still, that didn’t mean anything. Without a newsboy cap, Harley wondered where the rumor had come from.

The guard dropped him by the two spare shovels and growled something at him, likely a command to get to work. Some of the other boys had stopped to look around at him, so Harley made a show of dropping into his hole and digging vigorously.

After an hour or so, he risked a couple of glances around. Three guards were watching them lazily, occasionally smacking a boy for working too slow. The new kid was far too slow, though, and as a result, was targeted by the guards. Harley looked away when he heard a stifled cry from his dig spot, not too far from his own. There was nothing he could do to help right now.

Eventually, though, the new boy had been beat to the ground and wasn’t getting up. Most everyone had paused in their work, glancing at him, then away, then back as two of the three thugs kicked at the boy. Dry, rasping breaths came from him, and once again, Harley turned away, back to his own backbreaking work. He’d learn soon enough that he couldn’t stay down.

But he didn’t, and less than ten minutes later, Harley was watching again. He saw as a guard stomped on the kid’s leg, earning a muffled whine, and wondered--oh. There was something wrong with his leg, he realized, as he saw how twisted the foot was. He couldn’t stand, no matter how badly the guards threatened him.

And now that Harley had noticed, he could understand the words the boy was choking out.

“My crutch, please,” he whimpered. “I ain’t gonna be able ta work without it, please, I can work, I just needs my crutch. . . .”

“Jump,” one of the guards taunted. “Jump, and we’ll let ya have it!”

The kid struggled to get up, wiping at the tears that were making the dried blood on his face run again. He couldn’t even stand, though, let alone jump. The guards kept kicking him back down, pushing him into the shallow dent he’d managed to dig so far, mocking him with the same words. It turned into a threat--”Jump, you’ll jump if ya know what’s good for you!”--then to a compromise--”Just one little jump, and we’s leavin’ you alone for the rest o’ the day.”--to a dream--”Jump, crip, and we’ll let ya go tonight!”

But the boy couldn’t jump. He couldn’t stand. Harley watched, sick, as the boy’s eyes slid closed and his grimace hardened as the guards kept whaling on him. Then he turned away again. He couldn’t worry about some new boy with no name. He had to keep his clan strong.

Eventually, the thugs got bored of beating up a kid who wasn’t responding. One of them wandered inside, the other two left to taunt Billy, and Harley let himself steal one last look at the motionless pile of rags. As he watched, the kid’s eyes flashed open and met his. Slowly, one eyelid flickered down in an unbelievable wink, accompanied by a strained grin.

That was a newsie, for sure. The rest of the kids on the street had learned to never smile years ago. Harley looked away for the last time and got back to his work. He couldn’t waste time if he didn’t want the same fate.

The guards hated this kid, dragged him to the cellar instead of to the bunks for the half loaf of bread that had to be divided up between them all. One less mouth to feed, he rationalized. They didn’t have enough to feed themselves, let alone to spare for a new boy.

Stink managed to catch a rat, crushed with the heel of his thin shoes, and was attempting to roast it over a candle when the boy got thrown into the room. All the boys went silent at a hand from Harley, then watched the new kid as he lay, breathing heavily. Eventually, his head raised, looking around the room with watery eyes.

“What’s a guy gotta do ta get a welcome ‘round here?” he rasped. No one answered. A few of the younger ones looked to Harley, including Red, who had arrived just two days prior. After a moment, Harley nodded at Twig. Twig motioned for some other boys, all members of the welcoming committee. They were proud of their jobs, and would treat him well. They wouldn’t do anything to help him proper, but they would get him a bunk and a sip of water, and what more could a man ask for?

They boy’s name was Crutchie, they found out when Twig announced it, and he was indeed a newsie, as well as crippled. He did know Jack Kelly, and said something about a newsboy strike. He said that Snyder had taken his crutch after beating him with it, and now he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to get around at all.

The welcoming committee carried him to a bunk, which, from the gravelly protests, was apparently not much appreciated. The boys all returned to their own business, which was mostly whispering among each other or trying to get a bit of the dirt off before sleeping. Harley watched the new kid, now sitting on Mark’s old bunk, from across the stuffy room, before stepping around the huddled masses to get to him.

“Name’s Harley,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand before seeing how swollen Crutchie’s fingers were. Probably stomped on; he withdrew quickly.

“Crutchie,” the kid said with another painful smile. “You was lookin’ at me outside, huh? My face that good?”

His face was terrible, to be perfectly honest. Caked in blood and dirt, Harley could just barely see the purpling lumps on his forehead and the shallow gash along his cheek.

“Nah, I’m in charge ‘round here,” Harley answered seriously. “I’s got the job of checkin’ out the new meat.”

Crutchie frowned. “Jack says there ain’t a ‘in charge’, just kids.”

“Jack Kelly?”

Crutchie nodded, and Harley chewed on that piece of information for a moment. This kid clearly knew the guy well enough that they had spoken before. Maybe he would be worth something. He wondered how much Kelly would be willing to trade for one of his own.

“Yeah, well, things is changed since Jack Kelly was here last,” Harley answered, then left for his own bunk. He’d always wondered if he was meant to say more than that, but Spud hadn’t exactly left him with a book of instructions.

He had no place for a cripple in his ranks, but he couldn’t exclude anyone or else the guys would start doing the same to each other. Spud had always said that for unity, everyone had to feel important. He’d have to think on it.

“Stink! Gimme some o’ that,” he whispered across the room. Stink sighed and tore off a pinch of the greasy, undercooked rat and dropped it into Harley’s waiting hand. The others were clamoring for some too, but not the new kid. No, Crutchie was still laid up in the bunk, gingerly checking over himself and tearing off bits of his own shirt to wrap some of his worst wounds. There was a scarily deep cut across his ribs, surrounded with swollen bruises that were barely visible in the candlelight. Harley winced. That was ugly, especially for a kid’s first day.

Something sank in his stomach, and Harley knew. That kid wasn’t going to make it out of here. He’d be lucky to survive the week. Sure, he must’ve been a survivor to make it as a newsie, but this wasn’t the streets. This was the Refuge, and that kid was just another fly caught in the Spider’s web, about to be devoured.

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xerospaced · 3 years ago

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I just want to be able to swallow like a normal fucking person omg.

Yknow how you're swallowing all the time without knowing it. Without even feeling it. Because it's constant.

Your mouth would overflow with saliva and mucus all the time if you didn't.

But you don't really know you're doing it. It's an automatic thing.

I would just like to go back to experiencing that. Coz boy. If I am not presently eating or drinking I just... cannot do it without effort. Sometimes so much effort that I feel like I'm choking. So much effort that I cant fucking breathe because my throat blocks and I struggle to release to allow air back down my fucking windpipe.

I'm dry. Af. Quite literally. I. Am. Dry.

I am not producing enough saliva/bodily fluids full stop and it is a low and pathetic constant torture.

It's like that blocked nose "I can't remember what it was like to breathe clearly" on fucken crack. Times 100.

I cannot remember the last time I wasn't in discomfort. I can't remember what it feels like to simply breathe and swallow as automatically as nature intended.

I have "good days" where the stuffiness is to a minimum and I can ignore the blockage in my throat and I maybe only feel like I'm choking a couple times.

But I also have lots of days where I am driven to tears. Where I sleep all day to avoid the sensation. IF I can get to sleep.

Because I also have days where the discomfort and restriction is so bad that I can't sleep at all. Where I experience waves of distress and I legitimately want to just stop existing for the moment coz I am tired of existing with strain.

This is the main symptom of my condition. Dryness. And when I first found out I had an autoimmune condition that included dryness I thought, ok - annoying.

It sounds... so. Fucking. Minimal. You get congested. Your eyes itch. You struggle to swallow at times.

Except congestion is a constant bother and clear nasal passages are a thing of the past - you spend the first half hour, at least, of every day trying to clear whatever built up overnight and is attempting to suffocate you by morning.

Your eyes itch red fucking raw - internal pain that I can only liken to having dull pins pushed into the back of my eye - build up in your eyes that either glues them shut or blurs vision and has to be cleared multiple times a day - bleary eyes that has people asking if you're OK coz the streaming just will not stop no matter what you do.

Fucking... I could go on. Dryness isn't limited to the head ofc. God forbid you have a fucking vagina - I won't get into the details of irritation and painful- no excruciating sex because your body won't cooperate. Vaginismus anyone??

Just. Fuck me man.

The inflammation. The random skin ailments. That one time the blood vessels in my hand were literally swollen to four times their size just coz. The chronic swollen lymph nodes. THE FUCKING LETHARGY.

The beautiful reality that you could have a flare up at any time with no warning and who daphuck knows what it will be this time. Maybe I won't be able to so much as turn a door handle. Maybe walking downstairs will take half an hour. Maybe whatever frenzy of symptoms will lead to a battery of tests and fears of a more serious diagnosis just to be told they've come back clear.

But still. The congestion. My worst enemy. Never leaves.

I... rarely talk about my health on here anymore. I've struggled to come to terms with it and... if this is anything to go by, I still haven't.

I'm just. Really terribly uncomfortable rn and I wanted to nap but I couldn't simply swallow comfortably enough to drift off.

So here we are...

#mine #chronic illness #autoimmune disease #sjogrens

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skz-jinnie · 6 years ago

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late｜h.h.j.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Member: Hyunjin

Genre(s): angst, fluff, idol!au

Word Count: 1,461

Warnings: mild swearing; u might cry‼️

Request: none

Summary: making up

You wake up with a massive headache; as if your brain was sore and throbbing, and this reminded you of the tears you’ve gone through last night. Seeing the glass of water you’ve prepared that night, you reached out for it and gulped the drink down. Peeked through your door using a small opening to see if Hyunjin was still asleep. You observed that he was no longer on the couch, so you assumed that was off to dance practice. You grabbed a cup of coffee and continued watching your show on the couch. You dozed off thinking about last night, how you wish you hadn’t said what you had said that night. A tear streams down your right cheek and you swiftly wipe it away, wanting the thoughts to vanish. For the whole day, you just stayed at home, cooked lunch for yourself as Hyunjin usually eats with his members, watched shows, so on and so forth. Hyunjin comes home and sees you on the couch, and the both of you make swift eye contact before the boy proceeds into the bedroom.

You were crying again, and Hyunjin heard this from the bedroom, wanting to comfort you. You receive a call from your older sister and pick it up.

“Mm?” You hum, tears still spilling. Your sister quickly picks up on your current state. “What’s wrong?,” she asks as worry is painted on her face. “Nothing,” you immediately shut the question down. “I know there’s something wrong, please tell me,” your sister persists.

You rant to her about the whole situation, forgetting about the boy in the next room. His back against the door, Hyunjin listened to your rants and finally understood the situation through your point of view. He was crying, as well. He climbed on the bed and decided to sleep to relieve his torment.

Your sister insists on coming over; so you comply. You hear a series of knocks on your front door, so you stand and open it. “Where is he?” she asks. “In the bedroom. He’s asleep,” you reply.

Little did you know, he wasn’t asleep.

Guilt and sadness washed over him and bothered him to the point that he couldn’t fall asleep. All he was thinking about was you.

You laid on your sister’s lap when she was sitting on the couch and the both of your just talk. For hours. With Hyunjin still listening.

She sees you hugging a bunny plushie and proceeds to ask, “Did he give you that?” You let out a barely audible “mmm” whilst nodding your head. “He told me to hug it whenever I missed him. You know, while he was on tour,” you state. “It smells like him, that’s why I like it so much,” you add to your statement. Your eyes start to sting and you start crying silently once again. Your sister buries her hand in your hair and slowly strokes it. “You want me to go talk to him? Fucking bastard needs a scolding,” your sister says, irritated. You chuckle and oppose her idea. “Could you just stay here with me until I fall asleep? Please?” you beg her. “Alright, you big baby,” she coos. How could she say no?

After a few minutes of dead silence, your older sister asks a sudden question.

“Do you love him?”

“Of course I do,” you say, in a voice just above a whisper.

“Even if you have fights like this?” she questions.

“Even if we have fights like this,” you confirm.

“Do you think he loves you?” she asks again.

You hesitated. “No. Not right now, at least.” you whisper, tears threatening to fall. “I’m so....,” you stop to think of the right word. “Imperfect,” you say, finally coming up with that word. “I’m always late, I never have free time when he has free time. Timing is always shit. Sometimes i just feel... annoying. I feel like I bother him a lot but he just doesn’t say so,” you sigh.

Hyunjin is still listening, but this time, more tears are streaming down his face.

You cry yourself to sleep on your sister’s lap and she sends Hyunjin a text.

‘I can hear you crying, come get Y/N and bring her to your room. I’m leaving now.’

He rushes out so that he could talk to your sister. “Thank you. For comforting her, I mean,” he says as he looks down.

“Take care of her, Jinnie. She really does love you. If I see her this hurt again I will literally slit your throat,” she threatens whilst waving him goodbye. “Get home safely!” Hyunjin bids her goodbye.

He faces away from the front door and looks over to your figure. Swollen eyes, a stuffy and red nose, rosy cheeks. ‘She’s so pretty’ is all he could think. He places a kiss on your cheek and carries you into the bedroom. He tucks you in and sees you move, your swollen eyes slowly opening. “Jinnie?” you call for him.

“Hi, baby,” he says. “Go to sleep and we can talk in the morning, hm?” he asks for your approval. Instead of replying, tears stream down your rose-red cheeks. “Sorry, Jinnie,” you say before choking on your own tears. “No, no, no, baby,” he tries to calm you down. “I’m the one who should be sorry. Get some sleep, alright?” he says and proceeds to bring you a cup of warm water. He prompts you to sit up and offers you the mug. Hyunjin watches you gulp the much-needed water with a soft smile on his face. You whisper a slight “thank you” and lay back down on your bed. Hyunjin goes into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

As he goes out, he sees that your eyes are still wide open, looking at him. “Not sleeping yet?” he asks and kneels in order for his hand to reach your hair. “Mm no, can’t sleep,” you reply. He props his elbow on the bed and leans his head on his hand, the opposite arm still buried in your hair. “You should go sleep, too,” you tell him. “Just sleep, I won’t go to bed unless I see you sleeping” he says. You nod and ask another question. “Where will you sleep tonight?” you ask him. “Outside on the couch, baby, why?” he replies. “Stay beside me, hm? I miss you,” you say softly. You hear Hyunjin’s chuckle followed by his “okay.” “Sleeeeeeep,” he says. “Okkkkkkk,” you reply, intending to mock the boy in front of you. He chuckles and squeezes one cheek as you close your eyes and try to fall into a slumber, not wanting to deprive Hyunjin of his rest.

After a few minutes, Hyunjin manages to put you to sleep and proceeds to do so as well, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before heading to bed beside you.

The next morning came, and Hyunjin woke up before you to cook breakfast. Although his options were far from diverse, he still tried his best to cook pancakes.

Right when he finished, he saw you come out of the bedroom into the dining area. You sit on the kitchen island to eat the breakfast that Hyunjin’s just made. “Pancakes?” you ask, overly excited. “Mmhm,” he says as he places a swift kiss on your cheek. “Enjooooy~” he says with a smile. “Thank youu,” you say.

You both finish with your ever-so-delicious meals in no time. Hyunjin stands and holds your hand as he leads you to the couch. “Let’s talk,” he says, already seated adjacent to you.

“I heard it,” he said while looking down at his fingers. “When you said you didn’t feel like I loved you, I mean,” he clarifies. “About that—“ you were cut if by Hyunjin. “Did you really mean it...?” he asked as if his heart was taken out of his being. “I was just....sad, Hyunjin, I was hurt,” you explain. “—and i know you love me so much, you always tell me and it reflects on your actions, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry,” you apologize.

“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry for being so ignorant of you. I’m sorry for neglecting you when you were crying. I’m sorry for letting my pride take over me that night. I’m a dumbass, I know, and you have every fucking right to be mad at me. I really am sorry, Y/N. I love you so so much and I really hope you know that. Please forgive me,” he pleads. “It’s okay,” you assure. “Hug?” he asks whilst standing. You chuckle and stand as well, then greeted by Hyunjin’s warm embrace.

“I wanna watch movies and eat snacks the whole day, you in?” he proposes an idea. “In!” you excitedly say.

——

m.list and p.list can both be found in my bio :>

——

a/n

hi its zoeeee! the much much much long awaited imagine is finally here!!! yay late part 3 woot woot

enjoy:)

#stray kids #stray kids imagine #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #kpop imagine #kpop angst #kpop fluff

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minstrivia · 6 years ago

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concept;; dragon hybrid!yoongi

dragon hybrid!yoongi + breeding season= wild shit ensues.

—

so when dragon hybrid!yoongi is ready to breed u. shit is wild. dragon hybrids have an acute sense of smell and my boy yoon can literally smell how fertile you are. how fucking prepared you are for his cock. prepared for his cum to fertilize your eggs and knock u up with his child(and maybe even a few more). he knew there was a chance ur fragile human body couldn’t take it. the heat of the moment may blind him and cause him to lose hold on his sanity and hurt u. but you could take his cock like a real pro; pussy tightening around him and receiving him into ur heat like it’s owner. he knew that. yet still, when ur this fertile, he doesn’t know what may occur.

truthfully, yoon has only ever been with a few dragon hybrids. nothing serious really. you are his first serious relationship and first human relationship. and god, he loves it. you are so majestic and beautiful, he can’t get enough of it. of you.

dragon hybrids are particularly possessive. mostly over their loved ones and offsprings. and boy did this trait jump out during breeding season. he could smell it in the air. dragon hybrids all over were ravenous. desperate to fuck. yoon could hide his need well unless provoked and seeing as you were also ovulating during this damn season, his instincts to protect kicked in. he hissed at who ever looked at u; at who ever dared to even brush their skin against yours, was being glared down by yoon. it was a good kind of possession.

now bitch—you, on the other hand, had enough of his bullshit. you want his kids. you want his cock and all of that nut. and he’s over acting all gentlemanly while you’re already tired of having to finger yourself off when he’s away during the season. you’re sick of it. although it would be a long journey to even get yoongi to succumb to your wishes, you’re down for it. you’ll have to use your last resorts. or pray that luck decides to be on ur side.

here’s the scenario;; a rather sweet smell captivated yoongi in the middle of the night. a rather lewd whimper had him sitting upright. your scent slapped him the face; he quickly caught on—you were having a wet dream. he rapidly began to grow; the bulge on his sweatpants starting to ache. he was lying next to a fertile female, how can he control his cock? when he’s so goddamn close? he could taste it, smell it in the stuffy air. fuck, he was so deprived; he needed to do something. jacking off to your whimpers and whines wouldn’t do the trick at all.

fuck it, he mentally shrugs while slithering down the blanket. he gently spreads you, eager hands itching closer and closer to your clothed sex. he tugs with one finger at your pajama bottoms only to find you bare. no panties whatsoever. bare as the day you were born. he growls; the delicious scent wafting right under his nose. fuck, you smelt like the sweetest fruits and candies. like dreams and rainbows. he thirsted for a taste. he inches dangerously close; sly tongue lapping at your folds. you were dripping. and the second your sweet essence touch the tip of his tongue, he fucking lost it. he dipped in; desperately tonguing at your arousal. the pointy edges of his tongue flicking at your clit. he could sense you were beginning to wake up, your whines became more frequent and your hips squirming from the overwhelming feeling. his skilled muscle interchanged between various temperatures; applying scorching pressure on your swollen pink bud or soothing your heat with chilly touch.

“yoon—,” you cried. you felt as if your pussy was being burnt. so sensitive and overstimulated. he milked you out so quickly; creaming your mouth and chin with your sweetness. “fuck, so needy and spoiled, huh? this is what you wanted. you want me to fuck and stuff that sweet cunt of yours full of my cum. you want it, don’t you? so deprived, so dirty my little cumslut.” he’d yank you upwards into his preferred breeding position; bent over nicely, cunt slick and swollen, ready to be ruined.

“yoon,” “what is it, princess?” his eyes so dark and piercing, his gaze sent an electric wave coursing through u. you get on ur knees, staring up at him through ur lashes. “ah, my princess is a cockslut. you want to choke on it, huh? have me fuck your pretty lil mouth? and cum in ur throat, hm? then get to it, doll.” he’s a monstrous size, no doubt about it. but u managed to swallow him whole. the ridges rubbing against your roof of your mouth. angry mountain green veins popped at the sides. he hisses harshly as you give the veins extra attention, delivering kittenish licks to the head and the underside of his swollen balls. “doing so good, darling. choking so fucking well on my cock.”

although he was normally passionate when it came to sex, this season gave u a newer side of him. and u absolutely loved it.

“get into position, baby. gonna fill you good, and get you pretty and round with my offspring, you got it? and your job is to receive and hold in all of my seed like a good cumslut, hm? think u can hold in my loads of cum, dripping down your thighs, seeping through your panties,” he was already placed behind u; thick cock pulsing with excitement and balls shifting a slight green with every second that ticked away. his tip prodded at your clit, “f-fuck, yes! yes, yoon, i can take it.” “you positive, doll? you seem so confident, you believe you’re worthy of receiving of all me in your tight cunt? and all of my hot seed in your womb?” “‘yes, dammit! fuck me into the sunrise, yoon, I don’t care! j-just fuck me.”

he chuckles, “shit, baby. hold on for me.” he slips in with ease. cock ramming in furiously, perfectly kissing that one sweet spot. “harder, yoon,” he’s amazed at how well you’ve taken it. normally, he grows in length and width during this period of breeding. but as he always reminds himself, you were made for him and your cunt was shaped and built for his cock. that’s it. period.

“mine. this fucking pretty lil cunt is mine. fuck, so warm and wet. love it.” he pushes even further into u, arms giving out and only able to grip at the pillows. “you got that? s-shit! only I can fuck this sweet pussy, and fill it perfectly. stuff to the brim with my cum until you’re begging for some more—fuck, you love that. being stuffed and stuffed with it, huh? so full with my kids. so swollen and radiant. I fucking love it, baby, don’t you?” he was coming. and soon.

copious amounts of his hot thick seed discharged within you; nonstop spurts could be felt in your lower abdomen. you were positive you’ll feel him for weeks. it’s so much and it’s constant. and the likelihood of popping out his kids was high. and that just riled him up even more.

“fuck,” he collapsed against your back, sticky and drenched in sweat. “so ‘fuck me into the sunrise’, huh?” he quotes ur words, causing a light thrill to travel down ur spine. he nips at ur neck, fangs softly scraping the expanse of skin. “hm, that sounds like a plan, darling. I could go for a few rounds...can you though?”

a challenge.

forgetting completely about your great sensitivity and pushing aside the immense pain in your hips; you push backwards into his, grinding on his (not so shockingly) hardened cock, teasingly shaking your ass in his face. “oh, I’m more than ready.”

“certain, baby?”

“ruin. me.”

#OKY FIRST OF ALL IM SCREEAMING. SECOND IM STILL FUCKING SCREAMING. THIRD. I AM DECEASED #yoongi #smut #yoongi smut #bts #submitted #submission

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unfinishcdbusincss · 6 years ago

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“...didn’t know where else to go...”

SEND “…DIDN’T KNOW WHERE ELSE TO GO…” for your muse to show up at my muses doorstep one night during a thunderstorm, shivering, bleeding & soaking wet.

“Well. Based on my track record, anywhere would’ve been better than here, but, uh–”

But if there’s one thing that’s ingrained into his being, it’s family. Even when they hate him, reject him, spit on him–at the end of the day, they’re still family. And all that he’ll have, honestly, for as long as he lives (which, y’know, is going to literally be forever).And anyway, he liked Persephone, once upon a time.

Dio stands aside, head down, and holds the door open for her. His shirt is undone. His hair is a mess. But none of it’s in the sexy way, the just-had-sex way, the heavy-make-out-sesh way. His eyes are red and swollen, his nose stuffy, his lips dry, his voice hoarse, his demeanor unbalanced as if fighting to regain his cocky composure. Leave it to his family to feel like showing up on a bad night.

“You look like shit. Coffee or tea?”

#;;the original wino (dio)#skyfulcfstars

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willgayers · 7 years ago

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i havent been COMPLETELY thru your list of reddie fics so if youve already done something similar ignore this but. what about a sickfic where richie is sick? also maybe eddie just like, forgets about germs to take care of him and then ends up getting sick too and blaming richie and richies jus like, dude, were you here

i changed it a little but only the part where he blames richie and richie wonders if he was there !!! hope u like it :-)

again,,, sorry for the length?? but i cant write these short?? also again. IT IS WORTH IT

so obviously eddie is TERRIFIED of germs and every time one of the losers has even a little flu he’s not gonna touch anything they touch and will stand 5 feet away from them and honestly in the end will probably just be that one friend who’s gonna say

“my mom said no”

just so that he won’t hurt his friends’ feelings even tho he really just doesn’t wanna be anywhere near them bc hey he could get it too and it could turn into something more dangerous like leper obviously

but then one tragic time… richie gets a flu

and eddie’s very torn bc he doesn’t wanna be with richie cause ???? he isn’t clean

but then again they were supposed to hangout

eddie is thinking whether he should ditch richie or not

“jesus i’ve been sneezin since 8am”

yeah eddie is not gonna go there

the gERMS ARE FLYING and just the thought makes him shiver

he’s thinking that oh well maybe tomorrow he’s gonna be ok again

spoiler alert: he’s not

so eddie suffers thru the day bc its boring at school without richie

they talk on the phone later that day and eddie’s like hey r u feeling any better

“i am nod” richie answers with a stuffed nose

eddie just sits on his bed with a facial expression that is nothing other than :(

then the day after that ,,, eddie goes to school in hopes of that maybe richie had a miracle healing last night and now he’s gonna be there

LMAO YOU THOUGHT EDS

now eddie is just gettin pissed off bc how dare his boyfriend be sick for this long

so again that night they speak on the phone

“richie jesus christ when are u gonna HEAL”

“i am do dorry eddi-spageddi bud i am just so sig”

eddie is gonna turn into hulk soon from the conflict bc he REALLY misses richie

should i stay or i should go™

(nice stranger things reference)

ok maybe eddie is gonna give it one more day.

so it’s friday and richie has missed school for almost the whole WEEK

“wow eddie you’ve been without richie for almost the whole school week how’s that feel must be a new record huh”

“shut up stan”

don’t be mean stan

eddie’s heart is breakin

again,,, he goes home from school and calls richie immediately

“ARE YOU,,,,STILL…. SICK?????”

“yeah i— *LEPER COUGH* i ah-ah-AMh *cough*”

eddie cringes because ???? oh my gosh he is turning into a zombie

“oK THATS IT”

eddie has had it

he hangs up and stomps out of the house and rides his bike to the grocery store and buys all kinds of stuff like non-caffeine tea ((bc he knows for a fact that it helps better than regular)),, some ice cream and chicken soup in a can even tho eddie thinks it’s disgusting and fights with one of the workers

“YOU DONT HAVE NORMAL,,, READY CHICKEN SOUP IN THE FRESH FOOD SECTION????”

“yeah not today”

“my bOYFRIenD haS bEeN SiCK!! FOR A WEEk and i hAVE TO BRING HIM A CAN????”

eddie shakes his head in disbelief and curses the store as he walks away

then he finally arrives at richie’s house

he knocks on the door first just in case his terrible excuse of parents are home but they aren’t

so he leans down to grab the key from under the doormat and opens the door

he walks in and stiffens his upper lip as he glances around at the sight of empty beer cans and liquor bottles and there’s just the smell of old booze and cigarettes in the air

like it’s normal (and eddie hates that it’s normal) but richie’s SICK and he should be breathing fresh air not the literal definition of the breath of a drunken bum who’s been living in the gutter

this wasn’t what he was expecting bc he figured that richie’s parents would at least open the fucking window because their son is sick inside the house

so quickly eddie makes his way to richie’s room that is at the end of the hallway and he knocks on it softly before opening the door

he finds richie sitting in his bed ,,, burrito inside blankets and he’s watching something from his laptop

his eyes are red and his face is a lil swollen and nose also v red

eddie wants to cry bc he looks so bad

“eddi???”

“yes,,, eddi to the rescue” he mocks his boyfriend’s stuffy nose voice a little

richie is literally starstruck bc ???? EDDIE IS THERE ???? EDDIE , IS THERE , WHEN HE IS SICK ????

“whad de fug edz u should go befor u ged dis doo”

“i’ve been to school without you for a week now richard im done”

richie wants to cry

eddie is still just staring at him bc he doesn’t know how to approach him since he’s still a little disgusted at the situation this is all new for him ok but he really wants to help his bf

“i bought u some stuff”

richie starts to smile wide

“BUT” eddie starts

“before i give u any”

“????”

“you’re gonna leave this house”

richie looks at him like he’s crazy

“r u serioud eddi every pard of ma badi hurts”

eddie feels so bad for him

“you don’t even have fresh air here richie so i am serious”

richie can’t take the fact that his boyfriend is such a knight in shiny armor

eddie leaves the bag for a moment to grab richie inside his blanket burrito and pull him up.

“ur gonna have to get rid of this blanket tho”

“no:(”

eddie looks at him

“srsly richie i can’t give you a ride on my bike you’re gonna fall down and roll down the hill”

“:(”

“i will give you my blanket once we’re there”

richie throws his blanket down way too fast and he starts feeling nauseous

the bike ride isn’t very aesthetic™ for him either bc his head is spinning and all of his muscles hurt and oh my gosh he’s doing his everything not to throw up on eddie’s back rn

eddie’s mom isn’t home so eddie can easily sneak richie in

he’s not sure how he’s gonna explain him living there until he’s healthy again tho

but he’s not gonna worry about that now

(fast forward;

i donT CARE THAT HE’S SICK AND INFECTED MOM,, i LoVE HiM!!!!)

so now they go into eddie’s room ( he’s basically holding richie up )

and richie settles down on eddie’s bed and eddie wraps him inside a blanket and richie is just smiling at him the whole time

“r u comfortable”

“very” richie says. the blanket smells like eds and he is in eddie’s bed. ofc he’s comfortable

“here’s my laptop”

eddie hands him his macbook and goes to the kitchen to prepare the chicken soup. in the can. which eddie still thinks is unacceptable as he heats it up

“here”

richie is about to cry bc “did you really mage me chiggen soub”

eddie nods with a light frown like wtf obviously that’s what you eat when you’re sick

“there’s also ice cream”

“ice cream???”

“yeah it’s for the throat…???

eddie is kinda confused bc how can richie not know it helps

then it occurs to him that

richie doesn’t know, because

no one’s probably ever taken care of him when he’s sick????

i REPEAT, NO ONE’S EVER TAKEN CARE OF RICHIE TOZIER WHEN HE IS SICK

now eddie wants to cry

“scoot over”

he wants richie to be on the side next to the wall so he can lean his head on it if he wants to it’s more comfy

with a lil trouble richie does move and eddie cuddles up next to him

literally cuddles

richie is SHOCKED

“are you sure u wanna do dat”

“100%”

richie wants to marry eddie

“wad r we watchin”

“kill bill”

“waid a minude… isn’d dis-”

“yours. yeah. i never watched it and i never gave it back so”

“u never watched dis?? oh my god eddi—”

“eat ur chicken soup and watch this movie with me now oKAY” eddie is a pissed off knight in shiny armor bc talking is just gonna exhaust richie more and he needs to get WELL

richie eats his soup and they watch the movie in silence,,,, glued to each other and at some point eddie realizes richie’s fallen asleep with his head resting towards eddie’s

eddie can’t move because he knows if he does he’s gonna wake up richie

but thankfully after like 15 minutes richie wakes up and he’s like “shid where am i”

“you’re with me”

he turns his gaze down at eddie and he remembers that yes,,, he is in fact with eddie and he just feels: ️️️️️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

well the weekend goes by and eddie goes hardcore nurse on richie and literally by sunday he is already pretty healthy like his voice is back to normal and so on

but… Oh… no

eddie and richie are eating in the kitchen

richie goes;

“baby can u pass me that ketchup”

“sure—”

SNEEZE

eddie’s eyes widen and he freezes in shock

richie looks at him like o'shit he done caught the flu

but then he starts to smile

“WELL I GUESS I WON’T BE GOING TO SCHOOL FOR ANOTHER WEEK”

“what do you mean?!?!?!”

“because obviously im gonna take care of u”

eddie is 😨😭💘😓😭💕😨😭💗

then later they tell the other losers why they’re both missing school and stanley uris wants to comment again

“so eddie u went to richie’s house??”

“yesh”

“and i thought i was romantic letting bill choose dinner”

@nopetaking @xbell22 @donthateonk8 @stenbroughbros @reddiebrekmyheart @itsgreywaterrichie @donvex @blueeyespurpleskies @ageorgymi @oh-youre-the-worst @eddiekaaspbraak @whipashwhipash @rissyq @richietoaster @edskasqbrak @waterlouis @wyattghouleff@urtury @bukiminajimu @kcutieeesblog @stansmansuris @adorefack@reddieaddict @icyeyes102@denbroughbill @graveyardshipper @taletellingsir @anxiety-freak-yuuri @rheddie @queertrashmouth

#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #hcs #it 2017 #it fanfiction #reddie headcanon

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