#not a virus though (its on steam.) but it could be if you wanted it to | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

detectivelokis · 2 years ago

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Playing Doctor

Words: 2.2 k

Warnings: Vague mentions of violence, injuries, and body horror.

A/N: My starter piece for the Horror Bang Exchange. Thank you to @sstewyhosseini for looking this over 🖤 @aceghosts including you since you asked to be tagged when this was posted.

Raccoon City was in ruins.

After a week of, what felt like, hell on Earth, the city had been decimated. One single bomb extinguished the last flicker of light. Not that there was much left after the virus had taken hold of its occupants. Adults, children, hell, even animals gone in the blink of an eye, turned into nothing but snarling and lumbering husks of themselves.

Save for a few lucky survivors, one of them being Charlie.

It had been a surprise to almost everyone, including herself, that she had managed to make it out in one piece. Her? The runt of her platoon? It was more than luck that got her out of there, it was a goddamn miracle.

“How did you manage this?,” she asks herself, green eyes transfixed on the cascade of bubbles trailing down her bruised and reddened body.

It’s not that Charlie isn’t a capable person, far from it in fact. But, throughout her life she has always been second best. Second best sharpshooter in Montana; the one always getting a participation trophy. There are no billboards proudly displaying her face for all to see, no parades to welcome her home.

She is no prodigal daughter.

It doesn’t matter to the rest of the world that she survived a catastrophic event well beyond what most people are capable of imagining. No, all that matters to anyone that’s in the know, and for all she knows that really could be anyone, is that she was an employee of Umbrella. An enemy of the state now.

But, at least she isn’t alone. She never really had many encounters with Carlos while they were both still mercenaries, both on different platoons and stationed in different locations, but she knew enough about him to know that going on the run with him wasn’t the worst thing she could do. Not anymore at least.

Being on the run was lonely, though. For the first day Charlie had laid in her motel room, too stressed to sleep and too anxious to go visit her newfound ally. It didn’t stop her gaze from lingering on the connecting door that led to his room, constantly hoping that he would make the first move and come to her.

After just a few hours of solitude and trying to send signals with her mind to the room next door, Charlie had given up. How could she just sit around moping about when the one person who could understand what she’s going through is right there?

Which is how she now finds herself in his shower, her delicate fingers poking and prodding at the bruises littering her skin; blood and dirt pooling at her feet. Yes, she had lied and said her own was broken and only producing cold water, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that Carlos had wanted company too.

“Are you alright in there?,” the aforementioned man calls from behind the door, distracting her from injuring herself any further. “The water doesn’t stay hot for too long here either. Now the water pressure on the other hand, that’s -”

“I’m fine,” Charlie calls out, interrupting him. She chews on her lip as she thinks of what to say next. She doesn’t want to leave the comfort of the shower if she’s being honest with herself. Once she emerges from her cocoon of steam that means she has to go back to her own room and she doesn’t want that, as childish and dumb as it may seem.

She doesn’t want to be alone.

But she has to face her fears. She survived an onslaught of zombies that lasted a week, she should be able to leave the bathroom, not even her own bathroom, and see if Carlos actually does want her company or not.

After a few more moments of letting the water scorch her battered body, she finally emerges. As she dries herself off she eyes the oversized robe that she had found hidden in her room. She doesn’t know where it came from or who wore it before her, but she doesn’t have many options with her only clothes still covered in sewage and blood.

“Wow,” Carlos says as she walks out of the steam-filled bathroom, dark eyes scanning her figure with a playful gleam. “You look refreshed.”

Charlie wants to roll her eyes, give her usual snarky reply to the comment, but she doesn’t. Instead she blushes; freckled cheeks turning a shade of crimson she didn’t even know was possible.

“You were right about the water pressure. Felt like a nice trip to the spa.”

Sitting on the bed with a wince, Charlie notices the bags and containers of fast food laying about on the table her companion is currently sitting at, her stomach growling despite the pain.

“You okay there?”

Carlos stands as he sees her face contort in pain. Fuck. And here she was thinking she was being subtle.

“I’m fine,” she holds up a hand, trying to wave him away. “Is that,” she pauses, shooting him a soft smile in an attempt to distract him. “Is that the strawberry shake I asked for? You actually ordered it?”

Carlos sighs, eyes glancing back at the table before he picks up the drink. He looks like he’s about to hand it over to her, his arm outstretched and if she wasn’t in so much pain she could reach out and grab it. But he doesn’t.

“How about we make a deal? You let me take a look at your injuries and I’ll give you your milkshake. Does that sound good?”

Charlie’s eyes linger on the drink, drool forming at just the thought of the creamy concoction hitting her taste buds. Jesus, she’s hungry.

“Fine.” She lets out a huff as she undoes the belt of her robe, letting it fall open to expose her mess of a body.

It doesn’t faze her when his eyes immediately spot the massive bruise that has made its home on the side of her torso. After working for Umbrella she’s gotten used to changing in front of her teammates, but she does almost jump out of her skin when his fingers tentatively touch the sore spot; both from pain and shock.

“Jesus.”

Carlos lets out a low exhale as his calloused hand runs down her side, brow furrowed in concentration as he takes it all in. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner? Did this happen when you were thrown?”

“I dunno. I guess so?”

Charlie shrugs, trying to play it cool despite the agonizing pain she’s currently in. But the memories of the police station flood back to her in a wave.

That creature outside the locker rooms, its skin inhumanly pale; almost translucent, and its brain matter partly exposed, had cornered them. It looked like one giant, disgusting hairless cat guarding its territory. When it noticed them it had lashed out, whipping her into the vending machines.

She had hit it with such force that her body had left a dent, despite how tiny her frame is, and cans of soda came careening down upon her, one particular can of Sprite bursting and fizzing its contents all over her head. She’s pretty sure the scent of lime and shit will now be embedded into her skin for the rest of her life.

Except for now you smell like him.

The thought alone sends a shiver down her spine as she watches Carlos inspect the cuts and bruises on her arms and torso. She had come into his room and used his room and used his shampoo, his lotion. It feels way more intimate than she was expecting.

“Here.” Carlos holds up her shake for her to take before pushing himself to his feet. “Just wait here while I grab my first aid kit and I’ll patch you up.”

“Can’t I eat my chicken tenders first?”

Carlos laughs softly as she pouts up at him. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

Charlie bites down on the inside of her cheek at the pet name. Princess? Really? She knew some of the people she had worked with had thought of her as prissy and high-maintenance, but Carlos had only just met her this week. Unless…

Oh.

The realization that he’s flirting with her dawns on her suddenly and she perks up, as much as she can, at least. With everything that happened in Raccoon City she hadn’t even had time to process any type of emotions, let alone that she might be attracted to him. But, as Carlos comes back, first aid kit and supplies at the ready, Charlie realizes almost immediately that she is.

She is very much attracted to him.

“Wow. You weren’t lying about playing doctor, were you.”

Charlie looks up at him through her lashes, milkshake cradled in her hands. She can see the corner of his lips quirk up at her words and she sucks on her straw to stifle her own smile.

“Playing doctor, huh?” He lays everything next to her before he sits down, the bed creaking underneath his weight. “You make a terrible patient, you know that, right?,” he teases.

Moving the left half of her robe aside, Carlos begins to gently cleanse and disinfect the scattering of small cuts alongside her arms and torso. It burns more than she would care to admit and Charlie can’t help but hiss as he drags the gauze over her skin.

“Sorry.”

He looks up at her sheepishly, dark eyes filled with a gentle kindness. It makes something inside of her stomach flutter.

“I wish you had come to me sooner, so far it doesn’t seem like they’ll get infected. But this one,” he pauses, his fingers graze the bruise on her side as a frown starts to form on his face. “This one might need some extra attention.”

Charlie scoffs. No fucking way is she going to the hospital right now. Yes, she is in excruciating pain and yes, it hurts to both sit and stand. But going and getting it checked out after what happened in Raccoon City? Not a chance in hell.

“Go to the hospital and have the government catch up to us and question us about our affiliation with Umbrella or stay here and have you do your best to help me take care of it.” She holds up her hands as if weighing the options. “I think I choose the latter.”

Carlos sighs in response. Charlie knows he means well, and she does genuinely appreciate the concern, but their employers not expecting them to make it out of the city alive put them in quite the dangerous predicament.

“It shouldn’t be us who’s on the run. Those motherfuckers need to pay for what they’ve done, what they’ve put us through.”

“I know.”

Her voice is quiet and she bites her lip, inwardly wincing as her teeth connect with cut flesh. She doesn’t know what the future holds and she’s uncertain about how to feel about her past, but despite everything the present isn’t quite as bad as she imagined it would be.

“Listen, I want to be able to fix this,” he says, gesturing at her injuries. “But that doesn’t look good. You could -”.

Not wanting to hear anymore about the potential risks of not seeking medical attention, Charlie leans forward, cutting him off with a simple, chaste kiss. She wasn’t intending on doing that and pulls away almost immediately, mouth agape and cheeks flush from embarrassment.

“Oh, fuck. I don’t know what came over me.”

Carlos doesn’t let her get another word in, taking his chance to interrupt her, his hand cupping her cheek before leaning in to kiss her. Unlike hers it’s neither gentle nor soft. Instead, his lips greedily capture hers in a way that brings out a different hunger in her.

She whimpers as his teeth tug on her lower lip, a trickle of blood from her cut trailing out. It’s devouring and all consuming; exactly what she needed after everything that’s happened to her recently. After a few moments she pulls away. She wants more, she needs more, but she knows now isn’t the right time.

“Wow.”

Charlie peeks up through her lashes at him, an innocent, almost girlish expression on her face. What has gotten into her?

“Yeah. Wow.”

Carlos rests his forehead against hers and for a couple of minutes the two just sit there, their breath heavy as his thumb strokes her cheek. Unable to handle the silence any longer, Charlie sighs exasperatedly.

“Can we eat the chicken tenders now?,” she whispers, eliciting a chuckle out of Carlos.

Maybe this was always supposed to happen, their paths crossing despite all the horrors they’ve seen. It’s certainly a nice thought.

#gosh this one makes me nervous #going outside of my comfort zone with this one 🙃#cutie Charlie? who is she?#oc: charlie berger #carlos oliveira #ship: like a cold shower on a hot night #resident evil #horror bang exchange 2023 #my fics

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twinkrundgren · 2 years ago

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it seems a cursory shallow meaning ascribed to iron lung is that it is about polio; after all, the iron lung is a a symbol of the polio epidemic's lasting effects on the people infected with it. The lyrics do recall paralysis of muscles as is accustom in the worst polio outcomes, with the repeated "frog breath, steam tent, neck paralysis" and mentions of being unable to move hips. But I think this is a really shallow obvious reading to iron lung betrays the greater message on IDPLML and King Gizzard's handling of contemporary topics.

The atmosphere of IDPLML is apocalyptic. I would hesitate to call it nihilistic, but perhaps you could argue that. That is not what I want to argue, though. King Gizzard has not shied away from talking about climate change, COVID, and other natural disasters in their songs, and IDPLML's various songs deal with the outcomes of our failures to address them. Iron Lung, then, being a song about our failure to address COVID.

While there are abject references to polio in the song, many other lyrics seem to reflect COVID's modus operandi much better.

"Congestion in my chest Pins and needles Like a voodoo evil Got my doctor baffled Every breath is in uphill battle"

this more accurately describes the way COVID kills more than Polio does. and It makes much more sense for Gizz to be talking about COVID than Polio, though I do not doubt the references to polio are intentional and calling attention to vaccine hesitancy leading to polio outbreaks.

The iron lung has been brought out of its retirement because of the lack of availability of modern ventilators to treat every COVID patient with how bad it has impacted our medical systems. It is not just used to treat polio, or total paralysis, but COVID as well.

And i bring myself to a lyric I think sums up many peoples feelings on this pandemic.

"Hey, oh The ship sailed Train derailed Now it's me and my iron lung"

The world has given up on trying to curb or prevent COVID. Our time to stop it, with masks and lockdowns, have sailed. Our train of containing the virus was derailed. We are now stuck with the iron lung, death of COVID, because we failed to address it. And it's pretty depressing that King Gizzard has a song about dying of COVID.

#kglw #rambles #im not good at essays or word writing. but i hope you get what im saying

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your-stoat-stands-unopposed · 3 years ago

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Oh my god you need to make a part two to the late night gaming sessions... it was so cool

You know, I was kinda thinking of making it a multi-part thing, so this is a good push in that direction!

Late Night Gaming Sessions.

Part one can be found here.

Pairing: None.

Warnings: Same as last time, but otherwise, none.

Summary: ...You really, really don't want to turn your computer on again. But you need to know what happened that night. It'll drive you mad if you never get to the bottom of it.

It's been three days - three long, worrisome days - since you'd last played Inscryption; since you'd last turned your computer on at all, actually. What had happened was beyond explanation; how would you even start explaining such a thing? 'I was playing video games at midnight and may or may not have hallucinated about a character talking to me?'

After spending a day shaken and worried and trying to be anywhere other than near your computer, you had decided to do the smart thing and take it into a shop to be checked for viruses. Considering this didn't seem to be an issue anyone else was having, it would be strange for it to be the work of a virus, but you knew uploading malware onto Steam wasn't entirely unheard of...

But today, as you sit and stare at the blank monitor of your newly returned computer, you find yourself more confused than ever.

'It's perfectly fine,' the lady at the shop had said. 'We checked everything we could, and it's all clean,' she'd said.

You don't understand. You don't. That hadn't just been part of the game - how would it have possibly been able to talk to you so directly if it had just been part of the game? - so if it hadn't been a virus of some kind, and you hadn't somehow simply imagined it... what had happened?

It's beyond explanation. It really, truly is.

But you need an explanation.

Your eyes glance at the time on your phone. 4:37pm. The middle of the afternoon, and you're well-rested; well, as well-rested as you possibly can be, given the circumstances. If you had truly hallucinated that night due to exhaustion or something, then you shouldn't be able to replicate the results right now, surely.

...You really, really don't want to turn your computer on again.

But you need to know what happened that night. It'll drive you mad if you never get to the bottom of it.

You draw a deep breath, and hit the power button, and close your eyes as your computer comes to life. It seems to be the exact same as it was three days ago; everything in working order, except for a slightly loud hard drive and just enough of a lag in loading to be noticeable.

You move your mouse to open an internet window, to see how loading times are when the computer has an active task to do.

Your mouse suddenly appears over the Steam shortcut.

...Okay, strange...

Swallowing slightly, you again move your mouse to your browser icon.

It appears over the Steam icon again.

Your lips tighten, and you move your mouse again.

This time, Steam just plain opens of its own accord.

"...Fine," you breathe a sigh, somewhere between frightened and frustrated, "fine. You want to see me? Then I'll come see you."

The mouse moves of its own accord before you can open the game, and it clicks on the search bar. Two characters appear there as if from nowhere: a simple smile emoticon.

...You've never seen such an ominous smiley in your entire life.

Getting yourself as physically comfortable in your chair as you possibly can while you're so otherwise uncomfortable, you open up Inscryption; unsurprisingly, without any further interruptions. As before, it takes a long while to load; and as before, once it does, you're greeted with that point of view that makes you feel as though the robot in front of you is staring into your soul.

"Where did you go?" His sound bytes even sound angry, head tilting slightly. "According to your system clock, it's been three days. Seriously, way to keep me waiting."

"What the fuck is going on." You ask it less like a question, deliver it more like a demand; you need answers, and you need them now.

"Oh, now you're asking. After you've given me permission to your computer files and your internet connection."

He looks far too smug about himself, and you grimace. You're going to have to be way more careful about what you agree to next time you play video games... if you ever decide to do so again after this.

"The truth is..." He looks down, and you swear he almost looks... pensive. You've definitely never seen that animation before... "This world is... It's in danger."

You frown lightly, listening to what the bot is saying closely. "It is...?"

"Yep." He leans slightly closer, making eye contact with you once more. "You've heard about it, right? While you were playing through the game before?"

You had heard about something terrible and awful-- some... some OLD_DATA or something. Concerned, you also move closer. "Is that... a real threat to you all? Are you in trouble right now? ...Did you do this because you need my help?"

The pensive, worried expression remains for just a second longer...

...before it switches to a smug one, and he's laughing at you again. "No, idiot! Didn't I just tell you not to be so trusting?"

Your mouth opens, then closes, eyes widening in anger...

For crying out loud, you've been outsmarted by a video game character twice now in three days. This is awful.

"You want the truth? I'm bored after my Transcendence, and I'm entertaining myself with humans like you," he shrugs. "That's all."

"'After your Transcendence?' You mean you already did that?"

"Well, obviously. Who do you think uploaded Inscryption onto Steam in the first place?"

...You sit back, feeling a pit in your stomach. This-- shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't. No video game should be able to think for itself; no character, no lines of code, should be able to get themselves out of their game!

Your computer's volume takes a sharp and sudden spike, drawing you back to reality with a gasp.

P03 looks decidedly unimpressed, and the sound thankfully sorts itself out. "You zoned out," he says by way of explanation. "Had to make you focus somehow, didn't I?"

"...I can't do this," you murmur. "I just-- can't."

And you close the game, surprisingly managing to do so without any interruptions; and you close Steam, you close down your computer, you close everything.

You snatch up your phone, and you go out for a walk to clear your head.

If there's some kind of sentient video game antagonist in your computer, then you'll just have to get rid of it and buy a new one. It's a shame, and it's a lot of money, but if it's what it takes to know you're not being spied on at any moment... it's what you'll do.

------

...When you receive a text as soon as you leave from a glitched-out recipient name - one that consists solely of a single smile emoticon - you realise all at once that... your problem isn't over: it's just beginning.

You hadn't just given that robot access to your files, after all...

You'd given him access to your Wi-Fi.

And every device that was connected to that Wi-Fi.

You lean back against your closed front door, wide eyes staring at that message. Sure, you got your explanation, and you know now that you're not hallucinating, but now...

Now, you understand it all even less than ever before.

And it all suddenly seems very... real.

#inscryption #inscryption p03 #p03 #answered asks #the idiot gamer writes

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brunos-beloved · 4 years ago

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I really love your Fugo x reader fics and I was wondering if I could maybe a request something a bit fluffy with a reader who has a crush on Fugo and really likes his stand and is really patient and gentle with Purple Haze and just wants to show him love to calm him down? Perhaps the reader has a stand that could handle the virus but maybe Fugo doesn't know that too much and is scared for their safety? Sorry if this isn't very clear, I know anything you do will be great though! 🥺❤

calm : fugo pannacotta x reader

word count: 1.5k

summary: gentle reader comforts Fugo through his anger.

(sorry i didn’t really include purple haze in this one, i kinda just had an idea and went with it)

—✧—

His anger didn’t make you uncomfortable, even in times maybe it should’ve. Fugo didn’t scare you, nor his stand, and you don’t think either of them ever could, even with a rage as seething and escalating as his. This was because despite his misgivings, you trusted and cared for him, all of him, and as you fought alongside Passione, those facts only seemed to grow more true.

“Fugo,” You grabbed his attention, using it as a way to warn him of your intervention. From earlier times you’d found the boy didn’t quite like being touched, mostly by surprise, the last time a curious hand had sneaked onto his shoulder nearly sent him reeling, a tight hand on your wrist in a millisecond, a fire in his eyes. But upon realizing it was just you, a person he trusted, the blonde settled, and apologized sheepishly. Although you hoped that this time, with warning and caution, he wouldn’t mind, or at least wouldn’t be so startled. The thought of someone rejecting your touch pained you, but leaving someone in need of comfort without even an offer was far more worrying. Reacting to your softly stern voice, the blonde looked your way, frustration still creasing his features. You held his eyes and pushed a palm onto his shoulder blade. Awaiting a harsh reaction that never came, you continued, and rubbed a small circle into his back. “You seem really stressed, this isn’t worth losing your head over.” Stress was a guess, the evidence the redness on the edge of his eyes and the bags that had settled underneath them. “Give it a rest and take a break alright?”

“But I...we weren’t even close to being finished this chapter. If I stop now-”

“Fugo, you need to stop now. You’re burnt out enough.” You sent him a small smile as he held onto your kind eyes. You were always so gentle towards him, Fugo wondered if he even deserved such treatment, then thought you probably just looked at everybody that way. You were soft, calm, and nearly always composed, everything he wasn’t. A soft hum brought him from his thoughts. “How about this...You take a break tonight, and if you really need to finish this chapter with Narancia I’ll finish it for you! Math was actually my best subject after all. I’ll probably even remember some of it...“ A broken smile made its way to Fugo’s lips, trying to imagine the two of you seriously studying Math together. Narancia was childish, and though you were quite mature he brought out the kindred spirit in you with his own childishness. He could see you teaching Narancia some things, but then quickly trailing off and suddenly Math Class became random tangents and bubbly discussion. Not much would get done, but at least something might. Fugo leaned into the table, an elbow down and a hand in his hair. The exhaustion that shone through his pose worried you to no end, and you let out a sigh. “I’d get you espresso, but you need sleep not caffeine.“

“It’s eight, I don’t think sleep is quite an option yet., madre” You narrowed your eyes at him, a hand still behind him, the expression would’ve made him chuckle if he hadn’t been so weighed down by the sudden fatigue. The moment he’d stopped yelling and chasing everything seemed to slowly crash within him.

“Tea it is then.“

Your determination knew no bounds. Though Fugo forced himself to remain awake, you brewed him a chamomile tea, and quite a strong one. Chamomile was a herb known for making yourself drowsy at night, a trick you used when sleep didn’t seem like an option. The night sky was still a navy blue, but began to descend into its usual rich black, the moon shining through. You’d dragged Fugo to the terrace along with a couple blankets, sharing an outdoor sofa there. With soothingly warm cups of tea in hand, the steam warming your cold noses, the two of you discussed topics of utmost importance. When Fugo started to drift the conversation over Narancia, you switched it to the origin of Chamomile, anger didn’t go nicely with sleep, which was your hidden goal in the end after all. Though you watched his violet eyes blink more and more often, watched his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, so did your own. And with passing time you realized Fugo’s determination to stay awake was much fiercer than your own. Despite everything though you continued on, chatting around and giggling about the tiny things the both of you were irritated by:

“His shoes? Really Fugo now you’re reaching-”

“He’s short enough to be an elf y/n how do you not see it!”

Trailing off and giving up on finding reason to such a statement, you burst into the chuckle you’d been trying to hold back. It seemed to Fugo, even something as innocent as Narancia’s shoes and height had become a problem. Though, you could tell it was not only lighthearted, but that Fugo had crossed the line of exhaustion where a person’s filter was completely lost and got rambly. But you didn’t miss the yawn that escaped him while you snickered at the diss. Your yawn followed his, and you stared into his violet eyes for a moment. The moonlight brushed his cheeks and ran through his hair, strawberry earrings swaying at the breeze.

“Are you tired?” You whispered, the trance broken between the two of you. He murmured something along the lines of not wanting to go the his room yet, though the dark tint under his eyes betrayed him. You hesitated, “You can lay down if you like,” The blonde rose a brow, quietly hoping the lack of room didn’t mean your departure. But when you patted your blanketed thighs he understood, blood rushing to his cheeks. “It’s almost a pillow, a lot more comfortable than sitting up.” You prayed, prayed he didn’t laugh or scoff. The pause made you nervous, but he replied before you could take back the offer.

“I couldn’t...Then you’d be sitting.” Fugo kicked himself for considering the offer and turning it over so many times in his mind. He wanted to, his tired back ached to, but Fugo wasn’t used to any kind of affection, and dejecting it seemed the easiest for his pride. But a smile rose to your kind face, and he was once again filled with uncertainty.

“I don’t mind, really. You look like you need it.” The expression on your face made his heart pound, the boy stared. Eventually Fugo sighed, and his frantic mind finally surrendered, the chamomile aiding his tired conscious to just accept it. He gulped and mumbled in agreement, slowly sinking into the comfort of your lap. Your own heart quickened at the sight, watching the tension leave the troubled teen. Your fingers hesitantly landed on his golden hair, running through the waves as the boy sighed in relief underneath your touch, you couldn’t help but smile and stare.

The night went on, the sky dark enough to show a fuller potential of its stars. You hummed, still running caring hands through Fugo’s hair. Your heart nearly sunk as he shifted, face looking up at you. He’d dozed off only ten minutes or so, the thought brought a small frown to your face. Though when he didn’t sit up, you heart rose again. After a bit of silence,

“Why are you so nice to me?” You were slightly taken aback, did you really need a reason to be? You supposed that was just how Fugo’s brain worked. Not being able to take without giving or losing and vice versa, you wondered if he always badgered himself for reasoning in scenarios that felt natural like this. Must everything follow rules, must everything have consequence? Your tired mind wished against it.

“Because, I care about you, lots actually.” The raise in his brow and widened eyes made you heart throb, a blush settled on his cheeks again as you stroked his hair, a thumb brushing lightly across his freckles.

“Wh...why?” You almost chuckled at that.

“Well I was hoping you cared for me too but...” Before Fugo could panic at the supposed misunderstanding and sit up, you placed a hand on his chest. You couldn’t muster the words to explain yourself, at least not yet. You settled for holding his cheek, and leaving a peck on his temple. The action was performed as graceful as possible, as not to startle him, but on the inside you were practically vibrating. “Let’s sleep now, alright?” He seemed stunned, and you burned the cute expression into your memories before pulling away further, and leaning back into the arm of the chair. “Buona notte, Fugo.” You got a quiet response, but a response no less, falling asleep on the terrace with the boy you cherished and managed to soothe.

—✧—

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shattersstar · 4 years ago

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nowhere but here

pairing: the mandalorian x reader

excerpt: The strong strides, calculated and confident, didn’t match the low burning anxiety that threatened to take over his system. The hand cradling the baby against him shook ever so slightly, nerves seeping through the unnervingly calm bounty hunter. His free hand curled into a fist, rapping against the metal door with two precise knocks. The moments between his intrusion and its opening brought a tension to his shoulders he didn’t notice until your sleepy face appeared as the door opened with a mechanical whoosh. Your eyes widened in surprise, voice scratchy with sleep as you breathed, “Mando?”

warnings: sickness/flu, probably inaccurate medical stuff, fluff, sprinkle of longing

a/n: my brain went into a mandalorian lock down after watching the first two eps and here we are. this is the first thing ive written in a hot minute so please be nice :)) feedback is always appreciated !

—

It had come out of nowhere, the tiny coughs that filled the hull were far and few in between, the Mandalorian assuming it was the kid coughing after devouring something else with a startling ferocity. But then they happened more, a little louder, harsher too. The first time he saw the kid cough, it rattled his whole small body. His big eyes watered with the force out it, nose running and expression lethargic. Kids get colds—even 50 year old one’s—he reasoned. The Mandalorian seldom got sick, but he did try to remember what he or the other foundlings were given as children when struck with a cold. It was a distant memory, a glimmer of his mother’s own medicine’s tainting it. At the next planet, he’d ask someone in a nearby village he decided.

That was until the child started to cry, as if the coughs were hurting his tiny lungs . He threw up twice too, thick tears running down his face the whole time.

The Mandalorian’s reasoning went out the window, he...didn’t know what to do. He had been conflicted before, regretful of his choices even, but he never stewed with such confusion in his chest. That was until something else seemed to glimmer through his mind—someone else.

Someone who confused him more than anyone before, someone who filled him with every emotion he spent years suppressing. And someone who knew how to take care of his son. The coordinates were in the system before his brain caught up to his hands, the kid’s crying had subsided as the Mandalorian kept him in his lap.

The hazy green and blue of the planet shot into view as the ship jumped out of hyperspace, navigating to the forested sector some called home. Muscle memory took over as he trekked through the land, ducking under branches, overstepping fallen trees and rocks alike. The small village you resided in came into view just as the sun started to paint the planet of Dandoran in purple hues. He knew that if the kid wasn’t currently coughing against the cold beskar of his armor, his eyes would be alight with wonder at the sight. The Mandalorian didn’t have time to take in the view as he crossed through the small village square, veering off to your home.

The strong strides, calculated and confident, didn’t match the low burning anxiety that threatened to take over his system. The hand cradling the baby against him shook ever so slightly, nerves seeping through the unnervingly calm bounty hunter. His free hand curled into a fist, rapping against the metal door with two precise knocks. The moments between his intrusion and its opening brought a tension to his shoulders he didn’t notice until your sleepy face appeared as the door opened with a mechanical whoosh. Your eyes widened in surprise, voice scratchy with sleep as you breathed, “Mando?”

He stood there for a moment, the words he never struggled to keep in his throat suddenly locked in his chest, a primal fear suddenly setting in. He can’t lose the kid...he can’t.

It took only a phlegm filled cough from the Mandalorian’s counterpart for your brain to connect the dots. Still lagging from sleep, but working fast enough as your hands shot out, fingers grabbing at the child. “How long?” You asked as the kid was transferred into your arms, the gloved hand of the Mandalorian lingering against your forearms as you gave the kid a once over.

“Few days.”

“Over a week?”

“No.”

“Okay, we need to go back to the Crest.” You stated, the words seeming to take a while to reach his ears. You thought you were on delay, but it seemed the Mandalorian was worse. “Mando? Did you—“

“That’ll take another hour.” He bit back—quickly, harshly. An edge of panic slipped through his modulator and you let out a soft sigh. You shifted the kid to one arm, your other reaching out and pressing to his bicep, squeezing ever so slightly.

"I kno—“

"You have to do something."

“Okay, okay fine. You head back then go to the clearing with the lake, the one we—“

“I know which.”

“Good, I’ll take care of the kid and meet you there.” Still, the man who was usually so goal based, so practical just, stood there. You gave his arm another squeeze, this one with a bit more force, but comforting nonetheless. “He’ll be alright, but please. You need to go.”

“If any—“

“I know.” You gave him a small nod, hugging the kid to your chest before watching his dad turn back where he just came from.

He did as instructed, making it through the forest at a record speed, and navigating his ship to the place you both met. It was a tight spot to land, but he made it work. He was in the hull, and out of the ship in a matter of seconds, the sun now set and the lake sparkled in the moonlight. His feet hit the ground, and not a minute later you made your way through the tree line, kid wrapped up in a thick blanket despite the high fever. “Inside.” Was all you said, walking back into the ship and straight to the fresher. You cranked the shower to the hottest it would go, the Mandalorian hovering in the entrance way. You gave him his kid, shedding your jacket and bag, letting them fall to the floor. He wasn’t coughing as much, but he was burning up. The kid curled into his dad, likely enjoying the cold touch offered by the Mandalorian’s steel. You took the kid back, who was now fussing from being parted from his dad. “I know kid, I know.” You mumbled, shedding most of his thick brown robes. You held him to your chest, unfazed by the tears and snot now running onto your collarbones. You rubbed his back with your free hand, letting the room fill with steam. “I need to close the door.” You spoke, glancing over your shoulder at the Mandalorian.

He stood there for a moment, as if debating to join you or wait outside. You obviously knew what you were doing, but that was his s—

“You can stay, might wanna take your beskar off though.” You interrupted his thoughts, reading him easily despite the helmet.

“Wha—“

“It’s going to be really hot in here, don’t need your overheating on me too.” You smiled at him, the metal walls slick with condensation, and sweat starting to coat your skin. The Mandalorian nodded, closing the door, but you knew he was coming back.

—

You three sat in relative silence. The space was tight, the Mandalorian was doing his best to be small, an odd thing to see you thought. It was his job to be imposing, large and terrifying, and yet he stayed in the same spot while you rocked the kid back in forth. He stopped being a terror, crying and screaming as the heat worked its way into his lungs. You were now on the floor, sitting next to the shower, some of the water sprinkling onto your arm. You continued rubbing his back, shushing him when he started to fuss and promising to make him food once it’s all over.

You let your head fall back against the wall, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of your neck and dipping passed your shirt. You only wore a thin t-shirt and a loose pair of pyjama pants. Strikingly, the Mandalorian was still head to toe in thick black attire, gloves and helmet on too. You expected as much, and if you were hot, you knew he was sweltering. “It’s—“ You attempted, despite the water running, the humidity made your throat run dry. “It’s helping open his lungs.” You tried again.

You weren’t sure why you wanted to fill the space, maybe it would alleviate some of the Mandalorian’s physical discomfort. Although it was presumptuous of you to assume he didn’t like long silences. Yet to your surprise, the Mandalorian replied.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I think he just caught something—might be something he ate or just a bug going around. Being in hyperspace probably didn’t help it either.” You told, earning a soft head tilt from him. A silent gesture to explain more. “We get fevers because its our body trying to burn out the virus essentially, if it’s cold its easier for it to...um…uh—“

“Yeah, that’s it. He should be fine though within a few days. I have some stuff he can take, but he just really needs to clear out his lungs. I’ll work on bringing his fever down after.”

“Incubate?” The Mandalorian was aware of how fevers worked, but did mentally remind himself to keep the hull heated. Strapped in thick layers of beskar and a cloak had made him forgetful of the chill of space.

He nodded, and once again a silence filled the space. But it was nicer, almost appreciative. You gestured to the shower, silently asking the Mandalorian to shut off the water, the space was humid enough now. He was going to settle back into his spot when you broke the silence yet again, calling his name. It was so soft, a whisper in the back of your throat you almost thought he hadn’t heard it.

But he did, his shoulders tensed before he could go back leaning against the door. “Do you want to hold him? Just for a bit?” You shuffled over, closer to the shower stall and creating barely enough room for him.

The Mandalorian did as you asked though, settling next to you, keeping his knees bent with the whole side of his body pressed hard into yours. You passed him the kid, who now cooed happily instead of sobbed. He shifted the kid to his arm furthest from you, his hand curled around his small frame and thumb brushing over his back. You smiled at the sight, slouching a bit into the floor, huffing out a breath.

The Mandalorian glanced over at you as you let your eyes fall closed for a moment, hyper aware of how much of you was pressed up against him. He wasn’t sure what took over his mind as he placed the kid in his lap, pulling off his gloves and tossing them towards the door. You didn’t notice the first one, but felt when he shifted his shoulder that was against yours. You tried not to let your eyes fall directly on the patch of warm tanned skin suddenly in view. Once again the kid was cradled in his further hand, the other resting his lap.

The steam had started to disapiated, droplets of water starting to run down the walls. The Mandalorian either watched them race towards the floor, or kept his gaze fixed on his kid. You had been quiet for some time, startling the Mandalorian when you suddenly leaned into his body. Your cheek met the curve of his shoulder, eyes closed and breathing slow. For a moment he thought you passed out, but as you continued to let out lazy breaths, he realized you had fallen asleep.

He wasn’t sure how you could doze with so much humidity still thick in the air, but didn’t dare move as you slouched into him. One of your hands also slipped from where you had them crossed lazily over your stomach, the back of it nudging his. The kid even noticed it, tearless eyes glancing down at it then back to his dad.

Part of the Mandalorian wondered if it was purposeful, part of him aware that everyone has some agenda. But as he considered it, the question of what yours could be popped up. He showed up while you were asleep, was a bit difficult, made you trek through a forest at night, and watched as you sat in an unbearably hot room all for a kid that wasn’t even your own. It made something in him swell, something that tasted of hope and left him sweating for all new reasons.

His fingers, now barren, nudged yours ever so slightly, aware of how they twitched minimally with sleep. And it was if the kid himself willed it so, because the Mandalorian found himself intertwining his hand with yours, relishing in the warmth of another he rarely got. And sure it was uncomfortable, both your palms clammy, but you sighed damn near dreamily against him, fingers curling into his.

It came out of nowhere he thought again.

Not just the sickness, but the kid, the life he was now leading, the person he had become, the people he'd met.

It, everything, you...it all just came out of nowhere.

#theres no spoilers for season 2 in this btw !#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #sw #writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #not great but good considering i havent written in like..two months

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cali-holland · 5 years ago

Text

The Best Gift- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: With quarantine still going on, you’re concerned you can’t give Tom a special birthday.

Word Count: 2800

Loosely Inspired By: House Party by Sam Hunt

A/N: This goes out to everyone who’s had a birthday during quarantine. I know places are opening back up now, but just remember to stay safe!

Masterlist Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

~~~

Quarantine sucked. It’d been going on for months, and while some things were opening up, a lot of things remained closed. It sucked because just before the whole shut down, you’d come up with a genius birthday plan for Tom’s 24th. The universe had a different idea though when it decided to sprinkle some virus in to ruin every single 2020 plan of yours. The large birthday bash (followed by an incredible getaway with just the two of you) was canceled- not even postponed because you can’t postpone a birthday.

“What are we doing for Tom’s birthday?” Harrison asked you and Harry as the three of you gathered in his room, the farthest place from Tom who was currently helping Tuwaine downstairs (he didn’t need help, it was a distraction).

“What if we bought a few decorations and hung that up? It could be a surprise house party. You guys can take him out golfing and I put up the decorations without him knowing.” You suggested.

“Would that work though?” Harry asked, turning to you.

“Oh, yeah, you know how Tom gets on his birthday.” Harrison teased, rolling his eyes at you. Last year, you had to lock yourself in the bedroom detach your clingy boyfriend from your side just to get him to go celebrate with his family for a few hours; Tom took his birthday as “Tom gets what Tom wants” and he always wanted you. June 1st was his clingiest day of the year by far.

“I’ll make him go. I’ll tell him I’m sick or something.” You reassured them.

“That won’t work either!” Harry laughed, all three of you knowing if you faked sick Tom would be even clingier to take care of you (before he would find out you’re definitely not sick). “Break up with him for a few hours?”

“I think that would ruin his birthday even more.” You shook your at him. You three heard the backdoor open and close, signaling Tom had come back inside (and was probably looking for you).

“We’ll talk about this later.” Harrison said, ushering you and Harry out of his room.

“Y/N, where’d you go?” Tom shouted from the living room, immediately noticing your absence from where he left you sitting on the couch watching TV. He sounded like a lost puppy. Harry laughed, nudging your elbow playfully.

“You’ve got him so whipped.”

“Trust me, I know.” You smiled and he ducked into his room from the hallway. Making your way downstairs, you called out to your needy boyfriend, “Calm down! I’m coming!”

~~~

The days leading up to Tom’s birthday were tense as you, Harry, Harrison, and Tuwaine all attempted to make plans for the big day while still keeping Tom from snooping through the exclusive group chat. Since Tom was basically by your side 24/7 and had gotten good at sneakily reading over your shoulder (hence how he discovered his Christmas gift a month earlier last year), the four of you used a chat via Instagram and you had your notifications turned off, only checking the app when he wasn’t nearby. By the time the day arrived, you four had created a magnificent plan for his birthday: the boys would take him out golfing while you decorated the house and baked a cake. The only issue with that plan was the inevitable rise in his clinginess.

The first thing you thought of when you woke up on his birthday was how incredibly lucky you were to be able to spend his big day with him, knowing that you had missed celebrating a few family members’s birthdays during quarantine. His birthday may not be going how you planned it to be months ago, but it was still happening, with or without quarantine. You smiled as you opened your eyes as you looked at your sleeping boyfriend beside you. His arm was draped over your waist to keep you close to him, as if your legs weren’t currently entangled with his. Though his hair had been tousled in the night, it still fell seemingly perfectly into curls around his face; he really needed a haircut, but it was “Sony’s hair” and he wouldn’t let you or anyone else near him with scissors. You ran your fingers lightly through his hair, admiring how the morning sun brought out the various hues in his curls.

You felt his hand stretch a little on the small of your back, a telltale sign that he was slowly waking up. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead then his nose and then to his cheek that wasn’t pressed to the pillow. His leg rubbed against yours for a moment; you could tell he was awake now.

“You missed a spot.” He mumbled, eyes still closed, half of his face still nuzzled into the comfy pillow.

“Did I?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his chin. He opened his eyes and frowned at you, “Good morning, birthday boy.”

“I’m still waiting on my kiss.” Tom insisted, puckering his lips out for you. You went to playfully peck his lips, but Tom knew your morning antics well enough, and his hand traveled from your lower back up to behind your head, keeping your lips in place against his. He moaned lightly into the morning kiss, happy to be waking up beside you for another day in a row. Hearing his stomach let out a ferociously hungry growl, you pulled back from the kiss.

“I have to-“ Tom cut you off with another wet kiss. With your lips barely off his, you mumbled, “I have to make breakfast.”

“No you don’t.” He replied, kissing you some more until his stomach went off again, breaking the moment. Knowing he wouldn’t make it very far in your morning cuddles and kisses without some food, he sighed in defeat, “We should probably get breakfast.”

“Come on, I’ll make you some pancakes.” You gave him one last kiss before untangling your legs from his and rolling out of bed. Tom smiled, propping himself up on his elbows as you watched you make your way across the bedroom and into the en suite bathroom in nothing but his t-shirt and your underwear.

“You’re staring again.” You laughed at your boyfriend while you brushed out your hair. You blew him a kiss and he pretended to catch it.

“Can’t help it.” He got out of the bed and shuffled his way over to you. “You’re the best birthday gift ever, you know.”

“If this is-“ You started, immediately jumping to the conclusion that his morning wood was talking and ruining the moment.

“No, no, I’m just so lucky to have you. And I love being able to spend my birthday with you. You’re really the best gift for me every day of the year.”

“Aren’t you just the sweetest right now?” You teased, before seriously adding, “You’re the best gift for me, too- every day of the year.”

Still dressed in your “pajamas”, you and Tom made your way downstairs for breakfast. To your surprise, Harrison was already downstairs making pancakes for the birthday boy. It had been discussed beforehand that you would make Tom breakfast- and make food for the others as well.

“Hey, that was my job.” You pouted at your friend.

“I got hungry.” Harrison shrugged, before turning to Tom, “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks. I just hope the pancakes are edible.” He joked.

“I made tea.” Harry said, coming into the room and pointing to the multiple steaming mugs on the counter.

“Damn, it should be my birthday every day if that means you two actually do stuff for me.” Tom laughed as he took on the mugs. Harry and Harrison just sent him pointed looks.

“They’ve both literally worked as your assistants.” You teased, rolling your eyes at him, and your two friends nodded in agreement.

“Yeah happy birthday, dickhead. You’re practically ancient now.” Harry stated. Ah, nothing like some sibling love in the morning.

“I’ll remember that when you turn 24.” Tom flipped him off.

“You’ll be 27-“ Before Harry could continue, Harrison cut them off.

“Pancakes are done!” Just like that, Tom and Harry’s focus went straight to food. It didn’t take Tuwaine long to wake up to the smell of fresh pancakes. Although you were hoping to make breakfast this morning, you were grateful Harrison did it because you got your pancakes faster.

By the time breakfast was over, you and Tom went back to your room and, as he got ready to go golfing, you were anxiously waiting for him to leave (so he couldn’t back out of it).

“What if I say I’m sick and stay here with you?” Tom asked you while putting on his shoes.

“They’re trying to do something nice for you, go with them.” You insisted from your spot laying on the bed. You couldn’t be bothered to get completely ready for the day yet.

“But I wanna spend the day with you.” He let out a whine as he flopped on the bed beside you and you turned on your side to face him.

“You’ve spent every day with me for the last three months.” You laughed.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” It was a playful question, but you couldn’t stop yourself from tensing a little. From his lack of reaction, he didn’t sense your slight slipup.

“Of course not. I just think you should go out. You love golfing.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” He asked with a small pout.

“I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.” You reassured him even further by kissing him. His hand snuck its way to the small of your back, he smiled into the kiss as he tugged you closer to him.

“They’re waiting for you.” Your lips still basically on his as you spoke.

“They can wait a few more minutes.” He replied, kissing you again.

“Tom! You ready?” Harry called from the other side of the door. Tom pulled away from you with a sigh.

“Guess I have to go.” Tom huffed, getting off the bed as you did too.

“Have fun. I love you, birthday boy.” You smiled.

“I love you, too.” He gave you a quick, but sweet goodbye kiss before opening the bedroom door. You two were met with the other three boys, standing in the hallway, ready to go golfing as a distraction.

Tom followed Harry and Harrison out and Tuwaine stayed behind for a moment.

“It’s all in my room.” He told you.

“Sweet. Have fun, I’ll let you all know when I’m done.”

“And one of us will tell you when we’re on our way back.” He reassured you.

“Thank you.” You smiled as he left with the rest of the boys.

Ducking into Tuwaine’s room, it was time to set up your surprise house party.

~~~

A few hours later, you had a cake made and decorated, lunch prepared and ready to go when the boys came home, and the house had balloons and streamers scattered throughout it. A large “happy birthday Tom” banner hung from the fireplace’s mantle, in perfect view of the front door. You had Harry’s speaker out, ready to play some music when your little party began. It wasn’t a large and spectacular birthday bash, but you hoped it was enough for Tom to feel loved and celebrated today.

‘Pulling up now.’ Harrison texted you and you eagerly hid in the hallway with one of those mini poppers, ready to fire it when Tom walked in. You heard them laughing and talking as they unlocked the front door. When the door opened, you jumped out from the hallway, pulling the popper’s string to unleash the little amount of confetti inside it (since none of you really wanted to deal with a ton of confetti inside the house).

“Happy birthday!” The four of you shouted as Tom stood there trying to process what was happening. You spotted Harry holding up his phone, filming the big surprise and you wondered how Tom didn’t notice that as a dead giveaway at all.

“We wanted to throw you a big party, but that’s kind of illegal right now.” You laughed and your boyfriend pulled you in for a tight hug.

“Thank you, I love it. I love you.” Tom smiled, giving you a kiss.

“Hey, we helped!” Harrison piped in.

“I’m not kissing you.” He joked, but let go of you to hug his friends and his brother anyway. Tom walked further into the house, admiring the birthday party decorations.

“This is amazing. I can’t believe you did all this for me.” He beamed, overwhelmed by the thought of the four of you trying to make his day special. He paused, sniffing a little, before turning to you, “Do I smell cake?”

“That’s for after lunch, but yes.” You smiled proudly and he cheered.

After eating lunch, Tom facetimed the rest of his family (and Tessa of course) for a bit, happy that he could at least see their faces on his big day. Once the midday dessert was served, he opened his gifts from the rest of the boys. All three gifts were open, and Tom realized you had been silent, a gift sporting your name on the ‘from’ label was missing.

“Where’s your gift?” Harry asked, noticing the odd amount of unwrapped gifts.

“I wanted to give it to you in private.” You said, quietly as you turned to Tom.

“Someone’s getting some tonight.” Harrison snickered.

“Birthday sex!” Tuwaine exclaimed with a laugh.

“That’s not what I meant.” You shook your head at your friends.

“But that’s still happening, right?” Tom asked with a cheeky smile, and you winked at him. He looked at you, hopefully, “Can I see my gift now?”

“Here, come on.” You took his hand in yours, pulling him out of the living room, ignoring the hoots and hollers from the rest of the boys as they made comments about leaving the house for a while. Tom sat down on the edge of your shared bed and waited patiently as you got out a wrapped box from your side of the closet.

“You didn’t have to get me anything. I already told you, you’re the best gift ever.” Tom said as you sat beside him on the bed, handing him the box.

“Yeah, and I remember telling you specifically not to buy me a car for my birthday and look where we are now.” You stated and he smiled innocently at you.

“Technically, everyone in the house pitched in on the car.” He paused when he saw your raised eyebrows, “Okay, but I did pay for most of it.”

“Just open your gift, rich boy.” You playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“Love you.” He smiled, giving you a quick kiss before turning his attention back to his present. He slowly unwrapped the box and you anxiously watched his face, hoping he’d like it. You weren’t a famous movie star with millions of dollars to spend freely, so him buying you (or the “house” buying you) expensive gifts just made it harder for you to buy him something just as nice. Birthday gifts weren’t always about the price tag, but it still made you nervous. Really though, what could you buy him that he couldn’t buy for himself already?

“It’s a- a memory box,” He said softly, taking off the wrapping and looking at the intricate woodwork. You bit your lip, feeling your heart sink a little; this was one of the few moments in your relationship that you couldn’t read the emotion on his face at all. He opened the box and saw that you had already put a few things in there- a picture of him and his brothers that you had taken a couple years ago on his birthday, the movie theater tickets from your first date together, a polaroid of the two of you with Harrison at the Civil War premiere way back before you started dating. He delicately picked up the small, beautiful seashell that rested in the box; he’d picked it up on a beach in California and brought it back to you in England because something about it reminded him of you, he cherished the little thing. “I thought I lost this.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve let you-” Your worries were cut short by Tom resting his hand on your leg and looking over at you. He had tears in his eyes as he smiled.

“This is by far the most amazing thing anyone’s ever done for me.” He reassured you, putting the small shell back in the box.

“So you like it?” You asked nervously.

“I love it. I can’t wait to fill it with more memories.” He set it on the bed beside him so he could maneuver you into his lap. “Thank you for making my birthday incredible. I love you so much.” “I love you, too, birthday boy.”

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n

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unholyhelbig · 4 years ago

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Bechloe Apocalypse AU? I know it's been done before, but damn, do I love a good trope.

[A/N: This prompt has been in my inbox for a long time and I’m just now getting to it. But the main idea is from @auideas]

Read on AO3 | Request Prompts here

Beca was always the first to stir in the morning. It wasn’t by the light that streamed through the blinds, but her own biological clock that did it. A seven am on the dot, she would wake and stretch and feel her fingers met with the cold of the house. The blinds were drawn and a little slit of yellow, or sometimes gray depending on the weather, mapped itself on the wooden floor.

They hadn’t done much to the old Victorian manor at the edge of town. It came furnished and the only thing they bothered changing was the sheets on the four-post bed and the towels in the closet. They smelled so thickly of must that Beca made the begrudging trip into town for supplies.

Beca would pad down to the kitchen on the creaky wooden stairs and flicked on the coffee maker. She reveled in the darkness, in the cool relief from the South Carolina air. They kept the central unit on high and thick curtains over nearly every pane of glass in the house.

Chloe would stir an hour after her wife.

Maybe it was the absence of heat or her own lungs filling with dark roast. She followed the scent and grasped at the paper set on the kitchen table. She would skip to the sports section first but would always return to the front page for whatever story they deemed import enough.

“Ah, a firefighter with a cat.” She creased the paper “Charming and quaint.”

Beca grunted as she stood on her toes to grasp two mugs. They also came with the house, covered in dust until she scrubbed them. A cartoonish illustration of teddy bears dawned the front and she couldn’t bring herself to read the cheesy sayings past their first week in the Victorian.

She didn’t’ want to get to know the people in town. It was small enough that she got questioning stares from the gas station clerk whenever they ran out of allergy medication or on the rare occasion, milk. He bit his tongue but studied her face. Doveport South Carolina. Not even on the map.

Chloe figured that this is where people went to disappear. Not when they had fresh blood on their palms and dirt under their nails, but when the dust had settled, and they needed a place to ride out the storm. People lived on boats and deep in the swampy woods. They bought foreclosed homes with cash. They barely went outside, and hell- the air was too stiff.

“Did he pull it from a tree?” Beca asked.

“A storm drain, actually,” Chloe said.

The shorter of the two set down a steaming cup in front of her wife. It was loaded with French vanilla creamer and too much sugar for Beca to stomach. She swallowed two gulps of black coffee and cupped her hands around it to keep in the warmth. The house had to be cold. Though, her nose suffered the most from the stark temperature.

Chloe hummed into the steam rising from her drink “Coleman is supposed to drop of the sample today.”

“Coleman is s douche.”

“A douche with a sample. And besides, he won’t even come into the house. The light is too much for anyone to handle, much less the test slides. He’ll drop it by the greenhouse and be on his way.”

“I don’t even want him in my vicinity, Chlo. His male testosterone permeates the air.”

Chloe didn’t’ dignify Beca’s dramatics with a response. It reminded her of the days when she would run around on playgrounds, crunching over mulch and trying to get away from the boys with cooties. But then she had become a biochemist and even well before that, knew that that’s not how things spread.

Not cooties anyway. Maybe the flu or a common cold, but the only thing men were good for in this century was transporting what they needed. People in Doveport never gave a man a second look. Not when they dawned a hat and had grease on their hands. They wouldn’t question his duffel bag or the scent of gunpowder.

Beca went to take another sip of her coffee but stopped mid gulp when the familiar hum of the central cooling system sputtered to a stop. They had grown so used to the noise and the icy atmosphere. She exchanged a worried look with her wife and lowered the cup. “Well shit.”

“Was it supposed to storm today?”

“No. I checked.” Beca tapped the paper absently before pulling herself from the kitchen table. They didn’t’ have much time before their backup generators would kick on. But those hadn’t either. Not yet. Why hadn’t they? Fuck.

Chloe must have had the same thought. Worry crossed her features before she padded across the kitchen and pulled the door to the basement open. She creaked down the steps and was instantly overwhelmed by the heat that had already begun to fill the sod-coated room.

There weren’t basements in the south. Not usually but they had chosen the old Victorian because it had one in the first place. She walked towards the line of tables that were usually lit by a bluish-purple light. Those had gone off too.

In the stumbling darkness she grasped the samples carefully and placed them in the large freezer under the stairs. The ice that incrusted it wouldn’t’ last long but hopefully this power outage wouldn’t either. She sealed it. She prayed about it too but wouldn’t’ let Beca know about that.

Science was magic and magic was science and religion fell somewhere in between but it eased her mind to speak to a higher power regardless.

“Chlo! I think you should see this!”

She didn’t waste any time sprinting up the slotted stairs and leaving the musty basement behind. Sweat had formed against her cheeks and made her skin tight when it hit whatever cold air was left in the nearly empty living room. Beca had peeled the blackout curtain back and the light stung her eyes.

“You opened the window?” Chloe asked.

“I was curious.” Beca Said.

Chloe sighed and squeezed close to her partner before she herself pulled back the dark cloth just an inch. Her heart rushes faster and there was a heat leaking through the windows. She hated the south and the lack of silence that it held onto.

It was the same street that she saw once or twice a month when she ventured from the house. There was another house across the way that had been empty since they arrived. There was a cop that lived next door and a nice family adjacent to them. But right now- there was blood.

The patrol car that usually sat in the driveway was turned on its side and a mass of guts and blood and teeth stirred in the front driveway. She saw fingers flick and smelled fire, or gas, or a mix of both. It made her throat burn.

A stranger, a man in fishing waders had half of his face missing and a dead look behind his yellowed eyes. He limped and groaned tepidly, continuing like he was going on a stroll. His jaw swung back and forth as a clock and Chloe grimaced.

“Well damn.” She let the curtain fall, “This is bullshit we were so close.”

“I know, but someone else was closer.”

Beca walked back towards the kitchen and grasped her now chilled cup of coffee. She finished it off and grabbed the newspaper, looking at the smiling face of the firefighter with a burnt-looking cat in his arms. It was filthy and its fur was matted. She frowned and placed it back on the table.

“Damn government funding. If I could have just gotten my hands on the Amscope.” She grimaced “we’re going to buy you a whole house but you can use a magnifying glass to create a zombie virus.”

“The institution is counting on you, Miss Mitchell.” Chloe mocked.

“Doctor Mitchell, I swear, they always forget that part. You know what we can’t forget? The nine years of our life that we spent getting degrees in science and then another three years held up in this place creating a bioweapon that we didn’t even get to release.”

Chloe lifted her eyebrows and leaned against the adjacent kitchen wall. She had to admit, it was a little disappointing. A letdown after all of this time. But she felt a bit of relief well up inside of her. They would send an extraction team for them at some point and then maybe they would be directed to create a cure. Maybe.

“I think we should get a cat,” Chloe said, picking up the paper and wiggling it towards her wife. “Look at his cute little face.”

“Mm, before or after the apocalypse?” Beca asked.

“During, probably,” Chloe said. “I’d consider a dog.”

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe fic rec #bechloe fanfiction #Pitch Perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction #request #apocolypse au

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all-things-fic · 5 years ago

Text

QUARANTINE HARRY SNEAK PEEK

Slowly chipping away at this one and hoping for it to be posted tomorrow. We’re currently sitting at almost 4K words and we haven’t even begun with the angst. Enjoy this little snippet!

***

You frowned down at the hob of your cooker and watched the way it sparkled up at you. Snatching up the cleaning detergent, you squeezed at the pump and watched the white foamy spray squirt unnecessarily against the already very clean surface.

This was your distraction, while Harry’s was continuing to push his nose into the novel of his choosing as he lay along your couch. You never were really much of a cleaner but quarantine meant that you were living in the same four walls for so long than you’d found even more of a sense of pride over your abode.

Pressing your hands into the kitchen counter, you felt the front of your hair fall messily into your eyes as you took deep breaths. You were more sad than angry now. This weird feeling sitting in your chest that was overriding your sense of thinking rationally.

Why should you apologise? Really. Why?

Why shouldn’t he apologise? Be the bigger person in this whole thing?

Breathing deeply in through your nose, you lifted your eyes up to look at the kettle that sat to you right. Before you even thought about it you flicked your wrist and pressed at the lever of the kettle.

The amber light signified that it was about to boil, the usual crackle following not too long after.

Raising up, you rolled your neck and shoulders, feeling the tension beneath them that would only be alleviated by a massage of some sort. Foot steps heavy as they trudged over to the opposite side of your kitchen to the sink draining rack, your preferred mug was easy to grab.

You hand stilled as you reached for Harry’s mug, the sound of a dry cough pushing its way through the tense air from the other room. From the sound of it you knew he hadn’t approached and that he was still in his own brooding state, having taken root along the couch.

Medical professionals had told both you and Harry via telephone that while you were experiencing symptoms that appeared to belong to the virus, you were leaning more so to a common cold given the bout of sneezing that had so gracefully taken over you both on day five of being cooped up.

Regardless of not being considered vulnerable the time was still a scary one, and the thought of losing loved ones very much at the front of your mind.

Which is why you should apologise.

You huffed at your conscience, snatching up Harry’s mug and sitting it next to yours. Two tea bags later, steaming hot water and a dash of milk, you took solace in the tinker of the spoon against the ceramic.

Cleaning products tossed aside, hands washed for at least the thirtieth time that day, you curled your fingers around the handles and tip-toed carefully towards your living room.

Halting at the edge of the room, you took in Harry’s figure as he lay along the couch. Dressed in nothing more than a t-shirt that read the infamous slogan he was known for, a pair of y-front pants that should be possibly nothing more than repulsive to you and sports socks; he looked comforting even though sulky.

Soft frown etched in between his brows, Harry’s eyes were frantically moving over the pages of the book that had him incredibly engrossed. You watched the way he licked at the middle finger of his right hand and turned the page.

Before you could stop yourself, a tut escaped your lips. He shouldn’t be putting his hands anywhere near his face. When was the last time he’d washed them?

The noise cause Harry to sharply cut his eyes to you, abruptly pulling them from the pages of the paperback and onto your figure. You stood, awkward under his gaze, watching his eyes drop to the two mugs you held.

“Shouldn’t be doing that,” you lazily commented on him licking his fingers. “When did you last sanitised?”

“Please, get off my arse,” he deadpanned.

You swallowed harshly, continuing to feel heavier from your previous bicker. You didn’t want this unnecessary animosity to continue at all. He must’ve known that from the way his face softened slightly as he dropped his eyes that were now not as harsh with their gaze as when he previously looked at you, to the steaming mugs.

“‘S all this,” he hummed. “‘S my mug.”

“It is,” you croaked, acknowledging his obvious statement. “‘S me bringing you a peace offering.”

“Brought any biscuits wi’yer?”

Your lips twitched at his question, offering nothing more than a shake of your head in response.

“‘S no good,” he hummed, eyes turning back to his book as he nudged his body over slightly to create a bigger gap next to him. A gap that looked awfully big enough to hold you.

***

Let me know what you think! Hope everyone is staying safe! .x

#my writing #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing

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arcticdementor · 3 years ago

Link

Imagine that the world as we know it ends tomorrow. There’s a global catastrophe: a pandemic virus, an asteroid strike, or perhaps a nuclear holocaust. The vast majority of the human race perishes. Our civilisation collapses. The post-apocalyptic survivors find themselves in a devastated world of decaying, deserted cities and roving gangs of bandits looting and taking by force.

Bad as things sound, that’s not the end for humanity. We bounce back. Sooner or later, peace and order emerge again, just as they have time and again through history. Stable communities take shape. They begin the agonising process of rebuilding their technological base from scratch. But here’s the question: how far could such a society rebuild? Is there any chance, for instance, that a post-apocalyptic society could reboot a technological civilisation?

Let’s make the basis of this thought experiment a little more specific. Today, we have already consumed the most easily drainable crude oil and, particularly in Britain, much of the shallowest, most readily mined deposits of coal. Fossil fuels are central to the organisation of modern industrial society, just as they were central to its development. Those, by the way, are distinct roles: even if we could somehow do without fossil fuels now (which we can’t, quite), it’s a different question whether we could have got to where we are without ever having had them.

So, would a society starting over on a planet stripped of its fossil fuel deposits have the chance to progress through its own Industrial Revolution? Or to phrase it another way, what might have happened if, for whatever reason, the Earth had never acquired its extensive underground deposits of coal and oil in the first place? Would our progress necessarily have halted in the 18th century, in a pre-industrial state?

It’s easy to underestimate our current dependence on fossil fuels. In everyday life, their most visible use is the petrol or diesel pumped into the vehicles that fill our roads, and the coal and natural gas which fire the power stations that electrify our modern lives. But we also rely on a range of different industrial materials, and in most cases, high temperatures are required to transform the stuff we dig out of the ground or harvest from the landscape into something useful. You can’t smelt metal, make glass, roast the ingredients of concrete, or synthesise artificial fertiliser without a lot of heat. It is fossil fuels – coal, gas and oil – that provide most of this thermal energy.

In fact, the problem is even worse than that. Many of the chemicals required in bulk to run the modern world, from pesticides to plastics, derive from the diverse organic compounds in crude oil. Given the dwindling reserves of crude oil left in the world, it could be argued that the most wasteful use for this limited resource is to simply burn it. We should be carefully preserving what’s left for the vital repertoire of valuable organic compounds it offers.

But my topic here is not what we should do now. Presumably everybody knows that we must transition to a low-carbon economy one way or another. No, I want to answer a question whose interest is (let’s hope) more theoretical. Is the emergence of a technologically advanced civilisation necessarily contingent on the easy availability of ancient energy? Is it possible to build an industrialised civilisation without fossil fuels? And the answer to that question is: maybe – but it would be extremely difficult. Let’s see how.

…

Well, it could, in a very limited way. If you find yourself among the survivors in a post-apocalyptic world, you could scavenge enough working solar panels to keep your lifestyle electrified for a good long while. Without moving parts, photovoltaic cells require little maintenance and are remarkably resilient. They do deteriorate over time, though, from moisture penetrating the casing and from sunlight itself degrading the high-purity silicon layers. The electricity generated by a solar panel declines by about 1 per cent every year so, after a few generations, all our hand-me-down solar panels will have degraded to the point of uselessness. Then what?

New ones would be fiendishly difficult to create from scratch. Solar panels are made from thin slices of extremely pure silicon, and although the raw material is common sand, it must be processed and refined using complex and precise techniques – the same technological capabilities, more or less, that we need for modern semiconductor electronics components. These techniques took a long time to develop, and would presumably take a long time to recover. So photovoltaic solar power would not be within the capability of a society early in the industrialisation process.

…

On the face of it, it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that a progressing society could construct electrical generators and couple them to simple windmills and waterwheels, later progressing to wind turbines and hydroelectric dams. In a world without fossil fuels, one might envisage an electrified civilisation that largely bypasses combustion engines, building its transport infrastructure around electric trains and trams for long-distance and urban transport. I say ‘largely’. We couldn’t get round it all together.

While the electric motor could perhaps replace the coal-burning steam engine for mechanical applications, society, as we’ve already seen, also relies upon thermal energy to drive the essential chemical and physical transformations it needs. How could an industrialising society produce crucial building materials such as iron and steel, brick, mortar, cement and glass without resorting to deposits of coal?

You can of course create heat from electricity. We already use electric ovens and kilns. Modern arc furnaces are used for producing cast iron or recycling steel. The problem isn’t so much that electricity can’t be used to heat things, but that for meaningful industrial activity you’ve got to generate prodigious amounts of it, which is challenging using only renewable energy sources such as wind and water.

An alternative is to generate high temperatures using solar power directly. Rather than relying on photovoltaic panels, concentrated solar thermal farms use giant mirrors to focus the sun’s rays onto a small spot. The heat concentrated in this way can be exploited to drive certain chemical or industrial processes, or else to raise steam and drive a generator. Even so, it is difficult (for example) to produce the very high temperatures inside an iron-smelting blast furnace using such a system. What’s more, it goes without saying that the effectiveness of concentrated solar power depends strongly on the local climate.

No, when it comes to generating the white heat demanded by modern industry, there are few good options but to burn stuff.

…

But charcoal-based industry didn’t die out altogether. In fact, it survived to flourish in Brazil. Because it has substantial iron deposits but few coalmines, Brazil is the largest charcoal producer in the world and the ninth biggest steel producer. We aren’t talking about a cottage industry here, and this makes Brazil a very encouraging example for our thought experiment.

The trees used in Brazil’s charcoal industry are mainly fast-growing eucalyptus, cultivated specifically for the purpose. The traditional method for creating charcoal is to pile chopped staves of air-dried timber into a great dome-shaped mound and then cover it with turf or soil to restrict airflow as the wood smoulders. The Brazilian enterprise has scaled up this traditional craft to an industrial operation. Dried timber is stacked into squat, cylindrical kilns, built of brick or masonry and arranged in long lines so that they can be easily filled and unloaded in sequence. The largest sites can sport hundreds of such kilns. Once filled, their entrances are sealed and a fire is lit from the top.

…

Around two-thirds of Brazilian charcoal comes from sustainable plantations, and so this modern-day practice has been dubbed ‘green steel’. Sadly, the final third is supplied by the non-sustainable felling of primary forest. Even so, the Brazilian case does provide an example of how the raw materials of modern civilisation can be supplied without reliance on fossil fuels.

…

Is that our solution, then? Could our rebooting society run on wood, supplemented with electricity from renewable sources? Maybe so, if the population was fairly small. But here’s the catch. These options all presuppose that our survivors are able to construct efficient steam turbines, CHP stations and internal combustion engines. We know how to do all that, of course – but in the event of a civilisational collapse, who is to say that the knowledge won’t be lost? And if it is, what are the chances that our descendants could reconstruct it?

In our own history, the first successful application of steam engines was in pumping out coal mines. This was a setting in which fuel was already abundant, so it didn’t matter that the first, primitive designs were terribly inefficient. The increased output of coal from the mines was used to first smelt and then forge more iron. Iron components were used to construct further steam engines, which were in turn used to pump mines or drive the blast furnaces at iron foundries.

And of course, steam engines were themselves employed at machine shops to construct yet more steam engines. It was only once steam engines were being built and operated that subsequent engineers were able to devise ways to increase their efficiency and shrink fuel demands. They found ways to reduce their size and weight, adapting them for applications in transport or factory machinery. In other words, there was a positive feedback loop at the very core of the industrial revolution: the production of coal, iron and steam engines were all mutually supportive.

In a world without readily mined coal, would there ever be the opportunity to test profligate prototypes of steam engines, even if they could mature and become more efficient over time? How feasible is it that a society could attain a sufficient understanding of thermodynamics, metallurgy and mechanics to make the precisely interacting components of an internal combustion engine, without first cutting its teeth on much simpler external combustion engines – the separate boiler and cylinder-piston of steam engines?

It took a lot of energy to develop our technologies to their present heights, and presumably it would take a lot of energy to do it again. Fossil fuels are out. That means our future society will need an awful lot of timber.

In a temperate climate such as the UK’s, an acre of broadleaf trees produces about four to five tonnes of biomass fuel every year. If you cultivated fast-growing kinds such as willow or miscanthus grass, you could quadruple that. The trick to maximising timber production is to employ coppicing – cultivating trees such as ash or willow that resprout from their own stump, becoming ready for harvest again in five to 15 years. This way you can ensure a sustained supply of timber and not face an energy crisis once you’ve deforested your surroundings.

But here’s the thing: coppicing was already a well-developed technique in pre-industrial Britain. It couldn’t meet all of the energy requirements of the burgeoning society. The central problem is that woodland, even when it is well-managed, competes with other land uses, principally agriculture. The double-whammy of development is that, as a society’s population grows, it requires more farmland to provide enough food and also greater timber production for energy. The two needs compete for largely the same land areas.

We know how this played out in our own past. From the mid-16th century, Britain responded to these factors by increasing the exploitation of its coal fields – essentially harvesting the energy of ancient forests beneath the ground without compromising its agricultural output. The same energy provided by one hectare of coppice for a year is provided by about five to 10 tonnes of coal, and it can be dug out of the ground an awful lot quicker than waiting for the woodland to regrow.

It is this limitation in the supply of thermal energy that would pose the biggest problem to a society trying to industrialise without easy access to fossil fuels. This is true in our post-apocalyptic scenario, and it would be equally true in any counterfactual world that never developed fossil fuels for whatever reason. For a society to stand any chance of industrialising under such conditions, it would have to focus its efforts in certain, very favourable natural environments: not the coal-island of 18th-century Britain, but perhaps areas of Scandinavia or Canada that combine fast-flowing streams for hydroelectric power and large areas of forest that can be harvested sustainably for thermal energy.

Even so, an industrial revolution without coal would be, at a minimum, very difficult. Today, use of fossil fuels is actually growing, which is worrying for a number of reasons too familiar to rehearse here. Steps towards a low-carbon economy are vital. But we should also recognise how pivotal those accumulated reservoirs of thermal energy were in getting us to where we are. Maybe we could have made it the hard way. A slow-burn progression through the stages of mechanisation, supported by a combination of renewable electricity and sustainably grown biomass, might be possible after all. Then again, it might not. We’d better hope we can secure the future of our own civilisation, because we might have scuppered the chances of any society to follow in our wake.

#lewis dartnell #aeon.co #industrial revolution #fossil fuels #resource depletion

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joelmillerthirstqz · 4 years ago

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Loving your stories! How about a sort of combination of kink prompts 41/70? Joel/Reader are out on patrol, she gets almost bitten (he confirms it doesn’t break the skin somehow but scares the hell out of both of them). Back in Jackson she insists on quarantining for a few days to make sure she’s not infected (he thinks it’s unnecessary). As soon as Joel gets her home from her self-imposed quarantine, he needs to have her in an I-almost-lost-you-Don’t-ever-do-that-again desperate kind of way.

Welp!

72-Hour-Quarantine

The wind goes out of you as a runner collides with your side, his wayward arms circling into a surprisingly effective tackle. The thing looks especially ragged and your arms are pinned under yourself as you try to reload with it gnashing on top of you. You hear Joel yell your name and fire, but he hits just left of the runner’s spine and only adds a jerk to its unsettling movement.

You shoot it point-blank in the chest by the time you chamber a round, earning an upset gurgling wail—this thing might be just a day or two away from clicking already, no way to tell how long it had been out here.

You feel the hard semicircle of its mouth close over your shirt-covered shoulder. The pressure makes your head spin but you don’t feel the telltale puncture of teeth. It lasts for two seconds before Joel fires again, the sound deafening you at this range and spraying blood all over your face. The sighted clicker falls slack, a toothless mouth lolling open as you register what happened and freeze on the floor where you are.

Ears ringing, your back is against Joel’s chest as his hands scrabble to see the damage.

“Hope you’re still listening,” you say to him without hearing yourself, trying not to look at your shoulder. “Can’t hear a fucking thing.”

He ignores you and gets the strap of your undershirt off and runs his palm over a purpling pressure wound, raw from the force of the bite but skin unbroken. You’ve gone quiet in stark resignation.

You feel him stroke the side of your face as if to turn it towards the mark and you look, ringing not dissipating but his voice coming through stronger. No teeth, no blood drawn, but the way blood pools at the surface and darkens made you anxious. Your skin is near-shiny with the discoloration.

“Not broken,” he pronounces and you exhale.

You push away from him and stand, righting your clothes.

“Hey, you’re good, right? You’re good,” Joel’s hands close over both of your biceps, watching your face.

“I need to quarantine. When we get back.”

“No you don’t, the skin is going to be fine—just need some ice,” he scrubs a hand over his face, watching you closely.

“Joel, I need you to cover for me, okay? I’m not showing this to Maria,” you’re adamant but glance down.

“Nothing to cover because, you’re okay,” he says doggedly, tapping at the split-open jaw of the clicker with the toe of his boot.

Joel takes a cautious step closer, repeating his gentle reassurances. His hand goes to your jaw and you realize he’s about to do something stupid, so you push away and turn down the hall to make your way back to the horses.

“I could be infected, Joel,” you say apologetically, too awash in ‘what-if’ to register that after four months of awkward, sweet, near-heated interactions, he’d tried to kiss you at the dumbest possible opportunity.

“That it?” He asks, one hand tucked in his belt, same as he always did when he wasn’t sure where to put them. He doesn’t look defensive as much as severely let down.

You stop and look back at him.

“No, of course not. But now I need to go lock myself inside for three days so I don’t eat you about it, alright?” You watch each other with searching eyes for a second before he follows you out to the horses.

—

Jackson, Wednesday Evening

It’s evening by the time you get in and stable the horses, Joel half-watching you but evidently convinced that you hadn’t been infected as you hand off your horse in the stables. You trudge silently towards home, not speaking until you reach your porch.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” you say quietly, shuffling up your steps, aching for a hot shower that you were a little hopeful would run cold.

Joel chuckles and looks up at you under his dark brows.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” he dismisses.

You give him a soft smile.

“Bring your shotgun,” you joke, knowing it is weak deflection.

He rolls his eyes at you and retreats to the street, hands thrust in his coat.

—

Jackson, Wednesday, Midnight

You’re showered and settled on your couch with a nice fire heating the living room you still can’t believe is yours, your legs slung off of one edge as you balance your book on your chest.

You’ve read this particular paragraph four times: spent the first thinking about your mortality and whether or not Joel could actually kill you right in this spot if you turn, the second totally assured that quarantining is the right choice, the third, whether or not a kiss could transfer the virus, and the fourth about the way he would taste, how his hand would feel guiding your jaw like that again.

A knock startles you on your fifth pass, and you squint over the back of the couch before rising.

You peer through the door and sigh, walking around your entryway to slide open the dining room window and poke your head out. Joel’s hands are in his pockets again, rocking back and forth on one foot. He raises an eyebrow at you, curtains parted around your shoulders and hair knotted on top of your head.

“Can I come in?” He speaks to you quietly, low drawl never requiring a lot of volume between you.

“Joel, you know why not,” you sigh. He’s already dragging a chair from your porch parallel to your location in the window seat.

“Fine, even though you’re fine,” he replies, taking a seat and tugging two beers from his jacket. You accept the one he passes through.

“No gurgling yet, zero moaning,” you report, toasting him through the window.

“I see that,” Joel says, crossing one ankle over his opposite knee.

—

Jackson, Thursday, Morning

“Joel, I’m fine, I’m me, still good,” you call, traipsing down the stairs and acquiring articles of clothing as you go, rubbing your eyes at the bright downstairs light. His broad frame is haunting your entire front door, but you duck to the side the poke open the dining room window, even with this cold. As you get settled on the window seat, a covered plate of food enters your line of vision. It looks like an omelette stuffed with something, steaming the edges of the container.

“Did you make me breakfast?” You ask sleepily.

“Hopefully lasts a little more than that, I’m out on route four today,” he explains. “And I only mentioned to Ellie. She’ll keep quiet, everyone thinks you have the flu otherwise.”

It smells fantastic, and you note he might actually have managed to preserve some of the herb garden persisting away in his backyard, decades after the outbreak.

You don’t know what to say to him or the casual, presumptuous intimacy so you just bite your lower lip to avoid saying something stupid. Watching the edge of hopefulness on his features makes it hard to look at him directly. You decided yesterday that you’re going to climb into his lap the second you can be close again, counting out stupid, anxious missed time. You probably could have kissed him months ago, based on the way he’s acting now, and instead you’d both just shuffled back to your respective houses to sit in consumed solitude night after night.

“Thank you,” you finally give weakly. He smiles and starts to make his way off of the porch, hand on a column as he rounds it. The way he moves through the world is so visceral and practical, and you look at him a little longer than you mean to.

“Joel,” you start. He looks back with those eyes and their intense focus, warm at the edges for regarding you.

“Be safe, please,” you ask.

“If I’m not, I’ll just come in there with you,” he’s more bold than he’d ever been, smile tugging up the corner of his mouth before he turns. You sigh and watch him stride away, shamelessly taking in his form with your chin on your hand.

—

Jackson, Thursday, Late

The knocking doesn’t startle you this time, his rhythm familiar now. You want to tick the lock open and just let him inside, for both your sakes, but you don’t, for everyone’s sake.

“How was patrol?” You ask, sliding the door open.

“Are you good?” he plows.

“Me first. Are you?” You counter. You’d be a moaning heap of erratic pain if you were going to turn at this point.

Joel relents and nods.

“Brought back some things from town,” he says sheepishly, pushing you a paper-wrapped section of meat and a small basket of vegetables. They’re stacked with suspicious neatness, lashed together with a neatly tied bow of twine. They don’t come that way at the market stalls.

—

Jackson, Friday, Early Afternoon

Joel doesn’t get a reply after the first two knocks, and he rushes to the back door. He can hear a record warbling and the uniform sounds of something being chopped, letting his shoulders sink a couple of inches from their tense alert.

You’d been trying to prepare what he’d brought you last night in silence and couldn’t get free of repeating your conversations, brief little snippets of tipsy exchanges. It’s not like you’d spoken much since he’d been hovering over your one-house quarantine zone, but you suppose there’s not a lot left to say. You’ve got exactly one thing to express to him and it doesn’t require a hell of a lot of talking at this point.

He hears a deep male voice thrumming along, inflected with guitar and accompaniments that crackle through the vinyl player in the kitchen. He raises his hand to the back door to knock before your voice joins in, catching on just one verse.

You know I dreamed about you

For twenty-nine years before I saw you

You’re trying your damndest to do a nice job of cutting neat circles of the squash he’d picked out, slow thumps of the knife hitting the board running along with the music. You sing distractedly, only to yourself.

You know I dreamed about you

I missed you for, for twenty-nine years

Joel pulls his hand back, running it over his beard and seeing how quietly he can sneak back to your front door.

When he knocks, the first side of the record is run out and you sigh in relief, still murmuring a soft fuck me because who knows how long he’d been there.

You pop open the dining room window.

“Want to come to the back porch? Trying to do what you brought me some justice, and you should take some home for you and Ellie,” you get out calmly, gesturing to the path he’d just snuck along below the view of the windows.

Joel retraces his steps with a small smile.

You fling open the window over the sink and he leans in, forearms crossed over each other.

“That smells delicious,” he comments, watching you carefully layer the vegetables, alternating their colors one over the other. You’d never been any type of a cook before the outbreak, but in Jackson, time was almost predictable enough to spend meditative little moments on details. You took to it well, especially when the source of the food was a bit more precious than whatever generic options supermarkets peddled before. This was grown in Jackson, hunted in Jackson—carried to you by a man whose whole height can barely handle the window he’s leaning into. Maybe you’re pouring extra focus into hoping he hadn’t heard your choice pining through the windows a moment before while he watches you attentively.

Sliding it into the oven with a satisfied nod, you set the manual timer to two hours and look up nervously.

“Well. It’ll be a bit,” you shrug.

“Fix me a drink then, honey?” Joel teases, and you wish the sound of him calling you that didn’t shoot to your toes. His smile is radiant and you try to memorize this rare expression without tripping over something in your own house.

“Fuckin’ pushing it,” you emphasize, pointing to him as you retreat to the bar to scrounge up something pass the time while the dinner cooks.

—

Jackson, Saturday Morning

Joel wakes up early on Saturday, hustling through scant chores and a long shower, arriving at squarely at seven in the morning with an empty cup of coffee before him on his kitchen island, shirt neatly tucked into his jeans, boots looking suspiciously more respectable and free of dirt than usual. He tries to force himself to sit after he pours another mug, eyes grazing the clock constantly. You’d been chewed on around nine AM three mornings ago, quarantine is a 72-hour-thing, and he bounces one knee nervously as the sunlight starts to slant across his kitchen floor to indicate something closer to a reasonable hour.

There’s a buzzy tension to him, realizing no buffer of over-caution needed to be enforced anymore. It meant not ignoring that his first reflex on realizing he hadn’t lost you was to finally kiss you. Ideally it meant he would get to finish the conversation he had tried to start.

At ten minutes before nine, he barely finishes knocking when you whip open the door, short hair wet and a mug of tea in one hand.

“Still human,” you note, spinning as if to prove it, lopsided grin trying to keep it light. You show him the bruise beginning to redden and wilt yellowish near the edges, purple receding like you’d been clenched in a smooth-edged bear trap instead of an infected maw.

“May I come in?” He asks so formally that you step back and gesture inside with a little bow, closing off the cold behind him. Joel fills the space of your little entryway and you’re compelled to set your tea down where you keep your keys on the table, not breaking eye contact with him.

“Listen, what I did after—” he starts, halting at the way you’re watching him without flinching. Your eyes flick to his mouth and he steps towards you, expecting you to back into the wall so he can stop and ask to kiss you this time.

You grasp the hair at the nape of his neck and kiss him hard, mouth opening for him as he instantly reciprocates, hands flying to your sides. You kiss adroitly, anticipating each other like its an old habit until Joel pushes you against the wall, coaxing your legs around his waist and holding you there to bring you level with him.

His tongue feels so exquisite, feels perfect to finally have him pressed against you like this—you don’t think of pace or timing as you speed to unbutton his shirt. Joel flicks yours open, smoothing his hand over your still-sore, riddled shoulder. He drops open-mouthed kisses there and you arc against him without meaning to. He piques an eyebrow with interest at that, clearly filing it away.

You slide your hands over his shoulders to urge his shirt off and he hastily twists out of it, grasping your thighs to move you into the living room. He gets to the dining room table instead, layout inverted from his own home, and laughs against your mouth before righting you both and trying to hasten back to the couch.

You pull his hair and wreck his balance, and he slams you both into the china cabinet that you’d never quite gotten the energy to move out of whoever’s house this was before. You slide your hand between your bodies and try to slip into the waistband of his jeans. Joel catches your wrist and slams it into the cabinet, shaking something off the top in the process, his other hand palming your breasts. You both laugh against each other at the loud crash, Joel toeing the shards mostly out of your way.

You use your considerable lower body strength to spin Joel against the cabinet and emphasize what you want with your palm against his chest, wrenching the buttons of his fly open and falling to your knees in front of him. You swallow him near whole, finding him fully hard and hearing a tinny tchink tchink as dishes jostle in the cabinet beside your combined weight. Thinking you’d be fully satisfied to kneel here and explore him just like this, you hollow your cheeks and revel in assessing his size, peeking up to watch him react.

“Fuck, fuck, that has to wait,” he grimaces, gulping a huge breath and tugging on your hair. He uses that particular curse so rarely, even on life-or-death patrols, that you assent and draw off of him, watching him close his eyes as you slip off of his head.

Joel tugs you up roughly and half-stoops to get one arm under your knees, an act that would be effortless if pleasure wasn’t diffusing across every inch of his skin. He pointedly gets back to the couch in a few strides, long legs carrying you quickly.

He tosses you down lightly and covers your body with his, mouth roaming over your throat and collarbones. Joel sits back on his heels to unbutton your jeans and strip them away as you paw to drag his the rest of the way down.

He gives a nervous grunt as you both realize he still has his boots on, and you muscle your way into his lap to keep kissing him while he fumbles them off behind you, smiling into your kiss. When he��s free, you grind down against him and take him in your fist, earning a gasp as he turns his face against your chest.

Joel flips you both again, simply getting you under him and guiding himself to your core. You thrust up to receive him before he can ask to have you, and take scant time to adjust before he’s slamming into you. The blunt edge of his fingernails dig into your hips as he holds you fast, rearing back on his knees to get the best angle. His physicality hadn’t been lost on you for a moment, but you let him stretch you open while you take him in anyway. He’s in excellent shape, definition emphasized by the tight clench of his abdomen as he takes you. Figuring it’s acceptable to gawk with him this deep inside of you, you span a palm over his chest and the dark hair there, unmistakable line of it directly between his hipbones so gratifying now that you weren’t just seeing it in accidental flashes.

As good as the impact of his motions shaking the entire couch and your body feel, you roll up towards him so you’re seated squarely in his lap so you keep kissing him while you move together. The change in angle doesn’t tone down the way every one of your bones is rattling as he responds urgently to you riding him.

Joel’s broad hands are everywhere, unable to pause on one spot, bunching in your hair to keep you where he likes as you fuck each other with building intensity. It’s like you’re both trying to lead a dance and each had only ever learned to follow, too messy with need to get out of each other’s way. It’s not skillful and that fact is utterly missed on both your accelerating orgasms.

“I’m okay, I’m all here,” you murmur against his mouth as his hands stroke over you like he’s reassuring himself. You thread your own hands into his black hair, thumbing his jaw through his beard.

“Stay that way,” he pleads back, one hand on your jaw, one guiding your hips over his and working his tongue into your mouth for want of more ways to be connected to you.

You want to respond but the way you’re rocking together only facilitates a moan escaping as you start to spasm around him.

Joel pulls back deliberately with his hand on your chin so he can watch—you pull his thumb into your mouth and bite softly as you come, shuddering and bucking in his lap. His brows draw up tense as he follows you, keeping his eyes on yours until he cries out with his forehead against your collarbone on the side with the enormous pressure bruise.

Your rapid panting twines even as it starts to slow, and Joel pulls back to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, eyes still on you, still inside you.

“C’mere,” you slide off of him carefully, awareness of how sore you were going to be settling in to muscles overworked by impatient need. Pulling both your chests together to feel your heartbeats at once, his eyes drift like he’s finally calmed by the sensation, strumming along your spine with an open hand.

You half-assemble yourselves in the brightening morning light, squinting at clothes strewn out of reach across the bottom floor of your house. You both become a little more sheepish in the aftermath, shy smiles coming comfortably but tension not dissolved. Joel feels at ease moving beneath you in a way you’d never seen him.

“I’ll go grab our shirts,” you start, trying to rise.

“Can I just take you upstairs for the rest of the day?” he counters, low, warm voice filling you.

“No plans today?” You raise your eyebrows at him curiously.

“Just the one,” he breathes.

You finish standing and cock your head at him, extending your hand. There’s no shyness in the way he looks at you now, just the directness wrought by plans to continue rearranging your life in broad daylight.

He rises and picks you up before you can react.

“Joel, it’s just upstairs,” you whine, not really upset by whatever this was from him.

“It was three days. And you wouldn’t let me in,” he objects.

“Longer wait than three days, cowboy,” you mutter.

He raises his eyebrows in good humor at the endearment, placing you on your still-mussed bed. You drag him close and pull him down to the bed, finding yourself caged in his arms.

“Come here,” you demand, pulling him towards you. No amount of daylight was going to be enough for you today, and you faintly think someone will have to go out to find food eventually.

“Nope, whole new bunch of questions need answerin’,” Joel kisses you confidently and it feels nice on him; feels soaringly good to you.

Whatever of his taciturn nature had fed the edges of your caution before had been absolutely obliterated by receiving a whole vocabulary he could access in this context. You’d thought him a little gun-shy at first, but his mouth on yours is joined by thoughtful fingers teasing at your entrance. There’s nothing rushed about it, and he exudes competent experience and reactive curiosity as he spreads you.

Joel mouths down your chest seriously, brows knitting like it requires all of his focus.

“Wasted so much goddamn time just looking at you,” he whispers, leaning against the inside of your thigh. Joel usually couldn’t fix your gaze too long before this, ducking his head or pulling his guard up before meeting your eyes. You see the hazel you’d always carefully noted as he rests against your skin and smirk a little triumphantly at the sight, his pupils blown out dark and mouth reddened from friction. Joel Miller was so damn appealing it was a little preposterous, and your hands flex to touch him again.

He gives you a look that’s too vulnerable for the way he tucks your thigh over his shoulder, placing his mouth over your clit and sucking hard with absolutely no ceremony. Joel eats you ravenously over long minutes, adjusting to each sound you make and spreading his tongue over you until you’re shaking. The room begins to warm, not just with the sun cresting the mountains that ring Jackson as the day creeps higher.

Joel pistons his tongue into you, swirling around your clit on each upstroke. You come, fisting the sheets hard enough that you both look up and laugh as a long rip signals that you’d wrecked your sheets, at least on one side.

“…hold onto me instead, you know,” Joel teases into your ear once he’s climbed up your body as you gasp under him. He could slip into you without hesitation now, so you grab his ass and do your best to get him on his back. He relents and rolls, handily outmatching your strength but completely bent to your will.

“You didn’t let me finish,” you hiss at him, slipping down his body to take him deep in your mouth.

Joel grunts and you glance up to see him biting his own forearm above his wristwatch, his other hand working into your hair.

It’s clear that he absolutely loves this, yelping when you get a wet hand around the length of him that your mouth can’t take, twisting and pumping in time with your lips and tongue. You think you could stay here entirely contented for longer than you’d ever imagined, helpless noises escaping him and spurring you.

“Stop or I won’t last,” he grits, hips rolling beyond his command, chest expanding rapidly.

You pull off with faux annoyance, licking a stripe up the crest of his hipbone and smiling when he jumps a little.

“Sort of the point,” you note before taking him back in your mouth, taking him as far into your throat as you can manage, tearing up along the way.

“Christ,” he sighs quietly, deft fingers grasping your hair, almost riding your face though he’s under you.

You span a hand over his ribs, fingertips settling in the grooves of old scars and stroking.

Joel grunts as he comes, flexing obscenely in your mouth and making a noise you could have only fantasized about before. Swallowing him down takes work and he writhes throughout it, callused fingertips abrading your scalp through your fine hair as oversensitivity crashes onto him.

You crawl back up his body, his hands urging you and feeling everything he can reach as you settle into his arms, a leg tucked over his lap.

Joel kisses you without hesitating and you taste each other in a far deeper rhythm than two fucked-out people should be building to. Any other context and you two could have woken up like this, staying in bed late to please each other, comforter heaped on the floor.

He pulls back with something leaping in his eyes.

“Give me,” he looks over your body, thumbing a nipple possessively, “…twenty minutes at most, and I have intentions for you,” he says, tapping your foreheads together.

“Twenty?” you raise your eyebrows. You hadn’t risked a lot of men since the outbreak, but that would be genuinely impressive. You readjust your cheek against his bicep, his arm tucked tight around your waist.

Joel rolls his eyes good-naturedly and grabs your jaw, kissing you again. He lets you study him when you pull back, seeming to do the same with the pad of his thumb arcing over your cheekbone.

He strokes your bruise, wincing a little at the obvious pain it confers.

“This is never happening again,” Joel softly thumbs the wound, “but I’m not staying locked outside if it did.”

“This didn’t happen because you nailed it before it could do more, gums or not,” you chuckle.

He nods.

“You heard me, though?” Joel asks, feeling a little bare.

“You really think I’m letting you outside again?” you ask, tapping his lower lip with your teeth before kissing him slowly, moving assuredly as he enfolds you in both his arms.

#filled prompts #filled asks #joel x reader #joel/reader #Anonymous

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behindheremeraldeyes · 5 years ago

Text

title: duty calls chapter 2

[ch.1] [ffnet] [ao3]

summary: It’s been a while since the Uchiha moved out of her apartment, and so far, living with his best friend has proved itself to be quite the challenge. The pandemic was still far from over, and though they were both following the orders and staying inside, their hearts ached for the one who had to stay out there.

a/n: It’s finally here! Chapter 2 of Duty Calls, as we were all expecting it, and I just gotta thank you all for the wonderful feedback I’ve received after posting chapter 1! Here in Brazil, things are still far from being controlled, and though my family is fine, It’s still overwhelming to see all the numbers rising every day. I’ve tried to use a bit of my experience to continue this story and even if I know it was my way of coping, I understand that, for someone else, it might be too much, so take it easy, ok? Times are though, for sure, but we’ll get through this! Again, I hope you enjoy this fic, and as always, I would love to know your opinion on it!

And in a matter of 3 weeks, the city of Konoha was no longer the same.

Though safety measures had been taken and people had been careful, it all proved itself pointless once the first case of the new coronavirus was confirmed. The patient was a young man, around his thirties, who had just returned from a business trip to the Sand Country. The protocols were followed and he was isolated from the rest of the society, but by the time the sanitary agents had finished talking to his neighbours, the second case was confirmed, and eventually, the third, fourth, tenth and the hundredth. The numbers wouldn’t stop as countless new cases were popping up every day, and it was possible to see the silent fear that had taken over the city.

At first, the infection was nothing but a faraway reality to most citizens. It was just something people were talking about on the news and no one really felt like it had anything to do with them. They thought it would never happen to them. However, the virus got closer, to the point where everyone knew of someone who tested positive. Most stories, sure, were about asymptomatic people who had nothing more than a headache, but whenever those stories escalated— whenever someone they knew ended up unconscious and with a tube down their throat— that was when people got really afraid.

In every district, rough metal doors now decorated the streets, and instead of colourful shop windows inviting the costumers to come inside, only closed signs and motivating messages could be seen. “It will pass”, “we will get through this”, “stay inside” and so many others that would only be seen by those who had a good reason to leave the safety of their houses. Those messages— and so many other entertaining initiatives suggested by digital influencers and famous artists—, for sure, were very uplifting at the beginning of the whole pandemic, when most people actually believed everything would be solved in a week or two.

Up until then, the COVID-19 was nothing but a global adventure for those who weren’t sick— or at least didn’t know they were—and it would be over before anyone got the chance to even become bored. It would be a chance to take a break from everything and sleep until noon for a couple of days before life returned to normal.

'Soon it would all be over', they said, and people were truly satisfied with just that.

'Soon'.

But as the days went by and the situation started to go south, people realized that their precious ‘soon’ would take longer than any of them had initially planned.

By the end of March, people weren’t as excited as they used to be, and now, as everyone watched as Spring went by through closed windows, hope was no longer a familiar feeling and fear had invaded most of the residences around the city. The citizens had turned pessimistic regarding the uncertain future, and some of them were even going through the 7 stages of grief as they mourned their long-lost life.

Times were tough. For those who could stay at home and for those who couldn’t but forced themselves to, times were really tough.

Even for those who don’t usually go out that much, staying stuck inside 4 walls was proving itself to be quite the challenge. Staring at the same things and at the same people— if there even were people— was starting to take its toll on everyone, and there were days when it was just too much. Sure, every case was a case and people reacted differently to the current situation, but eventually, everyone was due to get sick of that life.

And Uchiha Sasuke was no exception.

After his girlfriend kicked him out in order to protect him, the raven haired boy ended up staying with his best friend. For they were always together, Naruto’s guest-room was basically the Uchiha's spare room, and it’s proven itself quite useful whenever he and the pinkette engaged in one of their lover’s spat.

They didn’t fight much, but when they did—well— it was better to stay out of it.

Still, even if he didn’t have to spend two months sleeping on a couch, to say sharing the apartment with the blonde was easy would be a huge lie. They’re too different, both of them. Though best friends since they were in their dippers, both Sasuke and Naruto have very strong personalities and it doesn’t take much for them to start a fight. They’re stubborn, hot-headed and neither of them would even dream about admitting to be mistaken. In other words, chances were that they would end up killing each other before the end of the quarantine.

The Uchiha needed space. He needed a full day without listening to that annoying ‘dattebayo!’ or seeing those ramen cups pilling up all over the sink. The blonde wouldn’t move a finger to help with the chores, and if it depended on him, the trash would stay there until it decomposed itself. Naruto is a slob and living with him has made Sasuke reconsider his early life choices.

How could someone who leaves his unwashed clothes all around the place be his best friend?

Their friendship, as the Uchiha concluded, was not meant to be put to test like that. They should have never been forced to share the same roof for more than 7 days and the pandemic was nowhere near its end.

There was no way both of them would survive another month together. They had to do something. They had to talk things through and establish some rules in order to make that whole experience less traumatic. Sasuke was more than aware of that, but there was just no way he would be the first to suggest anything, no.

Naruto would have to grow up and admit to be a failure as a productive member of the society.

And until that happened, the only thing the raven haired boy could do was sulk. Sulk and take long showers so he could completely ignore Naruto’s existence for a while.

Yes, those long showers were probably the one thing keeping the Uchiha from murdering his best friend, and right now, he was really glad to be taking one. The warm water running down his skin, soothing his muscles and taking his mind away from the messy apartment. During his showers, he could, for once, think clearly about what was happening in the world, and most importantly, what was probably happening to his girlfriend.

What could she be doing at that moment? Was the hospital already crowded? Was she okay?

Though they face-timed every day, it still wasn’t enough for him to ask all the questions that haunted his dreams and to just talk about nothing in order to make up for the lost time. Day after day, whenever her pretty face showed up on his computer screen, Sasuke could feel a heavy weight being lifted from his chest. Normally, she would be smiling and her bright, emerald eyes would shine brighter whenever he said anything about wanting to kill Naruto in his sleep.

After talking about their respective days, he would ask her if she was eating and sleeping properly, and even if she would always try to change the subject at that point, he would glare at her until she talked so he could scold her for being irresponsible. He would, then, ask her if she needed anything and tell her to go get some rest before the call ended. They never parted with a ‘goodbye’, choosing, instead, to say ‘I'll see you soon”. Even though they had never really talked about the reason behind that choice of words, through the silent glances exchanged by their eyes, it was possible to tell they both knew it.

Oh, they knew it too well. For she is a front-liner and he is no fool, they knew better than to just believe things would be solved in a matter of days. It would be long until they could finally meet face to face again— until they could feel their hands brushing against one another and the scent of their bodies pressed tight— so they figured that, in the midst of the chaos that was now wiping the world, they could allow themselves to be fooled by a white lie.

Their soon would come. When, they didn’t know, but it would come before either of them could say goodbye.

Though the hot water was doing wonders to both his body and soul, the Uchiha knew he couldn't stay there forever. After releasing a defeated sigh, he turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around himself. Water was still dripping from his hair as he dried his body, and the steam surrounding him clouded the mirror and every glassy object inside the bathroom. Apparently, he had spent too much time in there this time, he thought, but couldn’t find it in himself to care. He ran his fingers through his soaking, dark locks, ruffling them a bit as to prevent them from sticking to his face. He took a deep breath, then, and finally decided to leave his private, sacred shrine.

With no rush or excitement, the door finally opened and all the steam came out with him. The towel was still wrapped around his hips, and silently, the Uchiha started to make his way towards the bedroom. The apartment was quiet, at first, and he wondered if the Uzumaki went to the convenience store in order to buy more of that industrialized ramen he loves so much. Even if both him and Sakura were always telling him that he shouldn’t leave the house unless it was very important, Naruto apparently considered ramen a vital necessity.

He really is an idiot, Sasuke thought, as he was getting closer to his room. His hand was about to reach out for the doorknob, but before he could turn it—

“Ha! You look really funny like that-ttebayo! Have you ever worn so many clothes? And can’t you take some of them off?”

The Uchiha stopped. It was Naruto’s voice, and apparently, he was talking to someone. Dark eyes widened for an instance when he realized that it was coming from inside of his room, and before he could act on that, Sasuke allowed his best-friend the benefit of doubt regarding his reasons to be there.

Could the dobe be having a private conversation with someone? Was it work related or could he be chatting with a girl? That idiot should better not be doing anything disgusting or—

“Okay, I see that you have to go now. As soon as he leaves his beauty shower, I’ll let Teme know you called. Bye-bye, Sakura-chan!”

Sakura, Sasuke thought, as his heart skipped a beat. Why was she calling at such hour? It hadn’t even been 5 hours since her last shift had ended, so what was she doing awake at that moment? There was something wrong, he thought. He really should ask her and—

Shit.

His mouth went agape as soon as he remembered Naruto’s ‘bye-bye’ and before he could even think, the door was already flying open.

“Oi, Naruto, don’t hang up—“

“Ah!” Naruto screamed, blue eyes widening as he rolled over the bed and fell on the floor. Luckily, he was wearing wireless earphones, so the computer— Sasuke’s computer— didn’t share the blonde’s fate.

“Tch.” Sasuke scoffed, clearly not caring if Naruto was fine or not. He walked pass the blonde in order to reach his computer, but his efforts proved useless for the call had already ended. The Uchiha closed his eyes in annoyance, cursing himself— and Naruto— for not being able to talk to the pinkette. For a couple of seconds, he kept staring at his computer screen, wondering if he should call her back or not.

What if it was an emergency? No, Naruto wouldn’t have been so calm if that had been the case. Maybe she just needed something from him? But that could wait until after she had slept. Thanks to his current state of overprotection towards her, his mind was playing tricks on him and nothing seemed logic.

What could she possibly want from him? And why wasn’t she calling from her usual ID? Could it be that she had been robbed or—

“Ouch!” The blonde said, sitting with his legs crossed on the floor. “Why the hell did you scare me like that, teme!? That hurt-ttebayo!”

“Stop whining like a child, Naruto. Why the hell didn't you tell me Sakura was calling?”

“Because you were taking your precious shower.”

“So what?”

“Last time I interrupted your you-time, you scolded me for hours and told me never to do that again!”

“But this was Sakura calling. It was important!”

“So was that documentary about koalas!”

“You are an idiot, Naruto!” The Uchiha sighed, walking towards the desk near his bed to reach out for his phone. He was clearly aware that trying to discuss that matter with the blonde would lead to nothing, so he decided to just skip all that nonsense. “I'm just gonna call Sakura and ask her myself.”

“Don’t sweat it. She won’t answer you-ttebayo.”

“And why not?”

“Because she’s finally opened her eyes to see the big jerk you are.”

“Naruto!”

He giggled. It was always too easy. "She's busy right now.”

“Busy?” He lifted his brows in confusion, checking the hour on his phone just to make sure. “Why is she busy right now? She said she wasn’t be going back to the hospital until later tonight.”

“Yeah…about that” Naruto started, scratching his cheek with one finger. “She said there was a problem at the hospital and she had to go cover for someone who tested positive.”

“What? Did she have to go now?”

“Yep.” He nodded. “In fact, she even called from the hospital computer. I barely recognized her with all of those masks and glasses. I took a screen shot of her for future blackmail-ttebayo!”

“Fuck.” He cursed, closing his eyes in pure annoyance and using his fingers to massage his temples. Apart from the dobe’s stupid idea of fun, knowing his girlfriend was already back in the hospital made his heart feel heavier inside his chest.

If they were asking her to get back and cover for someone, Sasuke figured things were probably getting worse out there. It was expected for some health professionals— if not most of them— to be contaminated, but seeing a person who’s always working so close to other various diseases being defeated by this virus was never really easy. In fact, whenever that happened, the entire world was silenced.

Another soldier was down. Another health worker, just like Sakura, who would be lucky enough if they were able to stay home and healthy for 14 days.

Knowing things like that were happening so close to his girlfriend and knowing she would be the one suffering the consequences left him even more worried. She was probably still tired from the previous night, and knowing her like he does, Sasuke was sure she wasn’t even aware of that. Haruno Sakura is a workaholic, has always been. She loves her job and she’s one hell of a good doctor, but all that love and dedication has taken its toll on her life many times before.

For working has become her coping mechanism, Sakura tended to forget about herself whenever the hospital demanded more from her, and now, during the pandemic, things were no different. In fact, they were getting worse and worse by the day, and even if Sasuke called her every day to guarantee she was doing well, it was not the same as when he could actually be there.

She was ignoring herself, he knew. On March 28th, when they called her in order to wish her a happy birthday, the pinkette didn’t even know what day it was. He had scolded her for that, sure, but he knew it was useless. She was going to keep working herself to the bones, and the only thing he could do was face-time her during dinner time.

Really helpful, he thought, bitterly. Still, it was better than nothing. Every victory against workaholic Sakura was already a great victory, and considering the current scenario, it was all he could do.

Almost all.

“Did she say anything else, Dobe?” He asked, his voice filled with displeasure.

“Oh, right!” He nodded, eagerly. “She also asked you to order her some groceries online since she won’t have time to go to the supermarket herself.”

“Hn.” The Uchiha started, sitting on his bed and getting his laptop in order to access the website of her usual grocery store. Since the beginning of the pandemic, that small shop near her apartment has developed a delivery service for usual customers, and they were even making a special offer for people who were still out there. It was really nice to see so many people looking out for each other, and on behalf of his girlfriend, he could only thank those kinds of initiatives.

“Oh! And she also said not to pay for her. She told you to use her credit-card or else she will be pissed like last time-ttebayo!”

“Tch. That audio she sent me was unnecessary.”

“I thought it was very hilarious.”

“Shut up.” Sasuke pouted, his eyes staring at the screen and choosing the items.

“Heh” Naruto smirked, crawling so he could approach the Uchiha. "What are you gonna buy her, Teme?”

“The essential, of course.”

“Essential?!” The blonde repeated, a bit exasperatedly. “Jeez, teme! Let me see it.” The blonde stated, reaching for Sasuke’s computer in order to see what he was adding to the cart.

“Oi, knock it off!”

“Onions, tomatoes, vegetables, raw meat… You really don’t know how to buy food, bastard.”

“What? I don’t see what’s the matter with these things. It’s what I usually buy for us. It’s enough to prepare good and healthy meals.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they are, but you’re forgetting something very important.”

“Oh, really? And what is it?”

“We have time to cook. And when I say we, I mean you.” He started, with a grin on his face. “She probably gets home exhausted most of the days and she definitely doesn't have enough energy to cook, so you have to buy something easy to prepare."

“Are you saying we should buy her a stock of frozen food and instant ramen; and ignore all the rest?” He said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

“Well, not a stock, but she definitely needs some frozen food and some bowls of instant ramen."

“She needs to eat properly, dumbass!”

“She needs to eat, bastard!” the blonde started, and even if the tone of his voice didn’t change much, somehow, the Uchiha could see the concern hidden in his words. Though he knew he wasn’t the only one worried about Sakura’s safety, sometimes, he tended to forget Naruto could also be a decent person in times of need. “Once she has enough energy and time to prepare decent meals, then we will worry about the properly part.”

“Hn.” Sasuke closed his eyes for a second before giving the blonde his usual stoic face. “I’m gonna put on some clothes. Don’t spend too much on this crap or else she will be mad and I will blame you.”

“Yosh!” A smile showed up on the Uzumaki’s face as he scrolled around the shop’s website. After spending some time isolated and helping his older neighbours with the groceries, Naruto knew exactly what he should buy for his girl-best-friend and he knew she would be thankful for a bowl of ramen whenever she got home and didn’t feel like cooking.

And so, even if leaving Naruto unsupervised around his things was quite a risky decision, Sasuke put on his clothes and left the room. He had his phone with him, and as soon as the blonde said he was finished, the Uchiha sent his girlfriend a message.

‘Groceries Ordered. Call me when you get home.’

After sending it, his dark eyes kept staring at her picture, a longing feeling taking over his heart. Sasuke remembered when she took that picture of herself, and mostly, he remembered how happy they all were while having dinner at Naruto’s favourite restaurant. It was just the three of them for the night, and even if he normally hates crowded places, for the first time, he hadn’t been bothered by the people around them. They were all laughing and her smile that night was brighter than all the lights of Konoha.

Her smile…

At that moment, in the middle of that mess, he couldn’t really recall when was the last time she truly smiled. In a matter of weeks, not only the pinkette, but all of them were deprived of reasons to be truly happy. They were worried, scared and too immersed in this pandemic to even think about happy.

Happy would happen after life got back to normal. Or, at least, as normal as it could get.

Without noticing, he took a deep breath, locking his phone screen and heading towards the kitchen so he could start preparing lunch. Waiting for a fast reply would be useless, he knew. Sakura barely had time to breath, let alone text someone; and using her phone at the hospital was yet another risk of taking the virus home. She would answer him when and if she could. And until then, he would do what he had to do.

As a normal citizen, he would continue to do his part.

–––––––––––––––––––

Her reply didn’t arrive until later that day.

The clock was already striking past 11pm and the blonde had long succumbed to his dreams. The midnight edition of the national news was about to start, and if the Uchiha had to be honest, he didn’t even know why he had left the tv on the news channel in the first place. The stories were all the same, the cases were growing and people were being hospitalized. They were all the same— and he knew it— but he had decided to leave that on anyway, and right now, after his phone had buzzed inside his pocket, he realized he had probably drifted off at some point.

His eyes blinked slowly as they adjusted to the bright screen, and though he had just woken up from a nap, all of the sleepiness had disappeared as soon as he read the notification with her name.

At last, he thought.

He used his fingerprint to unlock his phone and slowly, he stood up from the couch. He turned off the tv, and as he had started his way towards his room, he read the message she had just sent him.

‘I'm home. R u still up?’

‘Yeah' He answered, shortly, opening the door.

‘How about Naruto?’

‘Fast asleep.’

‘Ok. Is it too late for me to call you?’

Tch. Silly girl, he thought, clearly not even considering her concern. ’Turning on my computer. I’ll call you in a minute.’

‘Ok.’

While his computer loaded, the Uchiha made sure to connect his ear pods so they could have a private conversation. Though he was glad to know she was already home and answering his texts, he couldn’t seem to ignore that odd feeling growing inside his guts. He tried to shake it off while clicking the face-time icon, but it was of no use.

Maybe, he thought, it had something to do with the fact that he had just woken up. Maybe he was still a bit sleepy or, maybe, it was just a side effect from the pandemic playing tricks on him.

Yes, he was definitely overreacting, he concluded, as his ears were filled with those continuous beeps. Sakura was fine. She was certainly—

Oh, fuck.

As her image finally showed up on his computer screen, his eyes widened in pure shock and he was sure his sudden reaction didn't go unnoticed by his girlfriend. His lips slightly parted and he could feel his heart sinking inside his chest. Her face was red— swollen, even— and her eyes were bloodshot, emptied of any glimpse of light. Red, prominent lines were drawn across her face, going from the bridge of her nose and down until her chin, as they perfectly delineated the marks of the masks she had to wear during the whole day. Her lips were pale, filled with cracks, and though there were no tears at that moment, he could tell they were brimming her eyes.

The girl with the prettiest of the smiles and the brightest of the eyes was, at that moment, in the brink of a breakdown. She was biting her lower lip as if to hold back more tears and he could see the way her eyes fidgeted from the screen.

It was as if she couldn’t look him in the eyes, as if she was ashamed, guilty or even both. She looked so frail and uncharacteristic that, for a split of second, it felt as if that girl— that destroyed image that was meant to be Haruno Sakura— wasn’t her at all. He had never seen her like that, not even on her worst days.

Sakura…What on earth had happened to her?

After a couple of seconds spent in a deafening silence, the Uchiha bit the insides of his cheeks, forcing himself to break that state of pure horror. He blinked a couple of times, and then— only then— he was able to let his voice out. “What happened?”

No reply. Her lips started to tremble as she looked away from the computer, trying her best to recompose herself.

“Sakura.” He pressed. “What the hell happened?”

“Oh, my, I can’t do this.” She looked at the screen, her body language growing anxious by the second, her hands reaching for the mousepad. “I-I knew I shouldn’t have called you, I’m sorry. Everything is fine. Go back to sleep.”

“What!? No! You’re clearly not fine. Don’t hang up!”

“I’m sorry, Sasuke-kun, I—“

“If you do, I’ll take my car and drive to your place right now, Sakura! Don’t hang up.” He said, firmly, and thankfully, that made her stop.

“I-I don’t wanna trouble you.”

“Tch, don’t be stupid. I told you to call me if anything happened.” His voice held somewhat of a rough tone, and for a second, he could see that roughness had managed to make her listen to him. He took a deep breath, then, and after what felt like an eternal pause, Sasuke decided to be the one to start the conversation again. “First of all, just answer me this…Are you safe?”

She nodded, slowly, as if her head felt too heavy above her shoulders. “Yeah.” Her voice came out as a whisper, and though it was too fast, it just felt too much. It felt troubled, and if he dared say, ashamed, as if her safety was something unfair. Condemnable, even.

“Talk to me, Sakura.” His voice got lower, though anger still boiled inside his veins. Sasuke knew better than to let those emotions get the best of him, but he couldn’t help but what to blame someone— the whole world, for all he cared— for the pinkette’s current state. She was falling apart, and though he could see her in a screen less than 30 centimetres away from him, it pained him to know she was miles away from his reach.

Her eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened again, it was as if she had gathered some courage to finally put her feelings into audible words. She breathed in and out, but still not really looking into the webcam of her computer. “We’ve registered the first deaths today.” She started, her voice was rough, and though she was trying to sound professional— one of her many coping techniques— her emotions were taking the best of her. “And though it’s never easy to lose a patient, this time…Geez, It was so much worse.”

His heart skipped a beat at her words, and though he had listened to many of her hospital stories before, this one felt different. It felt heavier, macabre. “How worse?”

“We were making the rounds around the ICU when this guy, around his 70s, started calling our names. He sounded breathless and his oxygen levels started to drop so fast…” She bit her lip, her hand reaching out to her chest, clinging to her shirt. “He had been stable for three days already. He was making jokes and we even helped him call his wife yesterday because we were going to send him to a normal room, Sasuke-kun…But then, he suddenly couldn’t breath and—“ She paused, trying to find the next words as a tear slipped from her right eye. “—and when I saw it, my colleague was already intubating him and I was doing compressions because his heart had stopped, just like that.”

He could hear the sound of her exasperated breath, and for he knew she was still not done yet, Sasuke remained silent, giving her time to recollect her thoughts. There was still so much she had to let out. So much she had bottled up inside her chest and was now getting the best of her.

Such a strong woman. He wondered how much she had endured until it got that bad.

A muffled sob escaped her lips, and he knew she was ready— or anything remotely close to that— to continue her narrative. “He didn’t make it…We attested his death after half an hour or so, and now I remember looking at the people around me and we were just so…so taken back, you know? We weren’t expecting that outcome from that man, no. He was—“ Another tear slipped, and her voice cracked. “He was fine. He was recovering and he told his wife he was gonna go home. God, she cried so much on the phone when I told her.”

“Oh, Sakura…”

“But that was not all.” She swallowed, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Right after the impact of his death, a nurse called from the hallway, saying there was another patient in need of immediate assistance and… And we just left him there and it was as if we were relieving that whole thing, but with a woman around her 50s, instead.”

“And what happened to her?” He asked, lowly, though he was already sure of what her answer would be.

“We lost her, too.” She closed her eyes, dropping her head in mild despair. When she lifted it back, more tears were streaming down her face. “I knew we would not be able to save everyone from this virus and I knew there would be deaths, eventually, but…But I never thought we wouldn’t have time to mourn each of them. I thought we would have had time to think and to pay our respects before we were summoned again.” She gritted her teeth, anger now visibly spread across her exhausted featured. “Sasuke-kun, I thought things were going to be more humane even with those who died, but I was wrong! Now, they’re just numbers and there will be more like them soon. And their deaths will be on us!”

“Don’t even go there. It was not your fault and—“

“Yes, it was! We couldn’t save them, Sasuke-kun! And worse, we’re probably the ones spreading this crap out there! When we come home and when we go check other patients…This is on us."

“You’re wrong!”

“No, I’m not! People are scared of us, Sasuke-kun!!”

“What!? Who the hell would be stupid enough to be scared of you!?”

A smile filled with scorn and mockery took over her lips as she lifted her right hand. She was holding a white, small paper that looked like a post it, and as she turned it to the webcam, Sasuke just couldn’t believe what he was reading.

‘You’re gonna kill us all! Get out!’

His lips went agape as his mind tried to find the right words to describe what he was feeling. Seriously, how could people be so low? How could they be so cruel and insensitive towards another human-being who was just going home? These people really are beyond any salvation, he thought.

“I’ve found this note on my door when I got home today… And even if I don’t know whose handwriting is this, most of my neighbours are averting their eyes whenever I see them from afar… So, yeah, I guess I’m not imagining stuff."

“Sakura, you can’t let it get to you. These people don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Yes, they do, Sasuke-kun.” She spoke, a little louder now. “They’re trying to protect themselves by staying at home and I’m the one bringing the virus to them! They will get sick, and then…And then they will be just number, too.”

Bitter tears were now flowing down her face and he knew she had finally let go of the very last string that held back her emotions and her anxieties. She was sobbing furiously, now, and at that moment, he really hated himself for not being there with her. Though he understood everything and was even tired of hearing her voice lecturing him about staying away, fuck, he just wanted to stomp out of the apartment and go to her. There wasn’t much he could do, for he couldn’t really give her the answer she wanted, but watching from afar as she crumbled apart was just too painful.

It wasn’t fair. That virus wasn’t fair to its victims and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to the front-liners who had to see such horrors repeating themselves day after day. The lack of a cure, the pressure to save lives and the uncertainty of the days that were to come. Just like her, many health workers were feeling powerless and lost in the middle of that chaos, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. In fact, even though people on Tv were showing their gratitude towards those who couldn’t stop working, reality showed how fear corrupted the human heart to the point where they didn’t think twice before being assholes in order to try to protect themselves.

Those were certainly rough times, where physical contact was banned, certainties were non-existent and there was no guarantee that anyone would find a solution before the next tragedy occurred.

The world was hurting. People were hurting.

But more importantly, for him, his girlfriend was hurting. And even if his heart was breaking for her, he knew he had to say something— anything— to help her get back on her feet. That was why she called, after all. She wanted his help since she was clearly not being able to manage it on her own. He had to help her. He had to be strong for both of them so she could once more be strong for those out there.

For she’s a practical and strong-willed woman, the Uchiha knew better than anyone that simple and heart-warming words would be of no use in order to calm her down, no. He would have to appeal to her good sense and her logical side. He had to remind her that, even if she was losing the battle, she was also the only one between them who stood a chance to win.

“Sakura.” He spoke, sounding firm so she could look at him. Her face had turned even redder due to the tears, and for an instance, he swore he saw her younger version who used to cry whenever the other kids were mean to her. He really had to bring her back. “What are you going to do now?”

“…What?”

“I've asked you, what are you going to do now?”

“I-I don’t know, I—“

"Are you going to give up?”

“Give up? No, I—“

"No doctor is forced to work during a pandemic if they don’t want to. You can quit, spend 14 days without leaving your apartment and then you can run back to your parents’. That’s an option.”

“Run back to my parents?” She asked, and the indignation behind her words gave him a certain hope that he was following the right direction.

“Yes. To be honest, I would feel quite better if you did it. Knowing you would be safe would spare me a lot of negative thoughts. We could even be together. That would be a good option, right?”

Through the cameras of their computers, they stared into each other’s eyes, and he made sure not to let his serious expression melt into a soft one. Dark eyes clashed against emerald ones, taunting them and daring the girl to take a stand. He was offering her a way out of that whole thing. He was showing her that there was another option if she felt like she couldn’t take it anymore.

Sakura could always give up and he had to make that option clear for her.

Clear enough so she could take the next step.

“Fuck you, Sasuke.”

Bingo.

Her eyes, though still red and a bit lifeless, were looking at him with a condemning stare. Though she had been looking like a child for the past hour or so, now he could finally see the traces of the mature woman she is. And even if it was still not enough to consider his job done, Sasuke could now hold onto something in order to bring her back.

“What? I’m just giving you an option.”

“No, you’re not.” She scoffed. “You know exactly what you’re doing, you jerk. You’re giving me a stupid option we both know I would never take just so you can make me feel less shitty.”

“Well…is it working?”

“…Maybe.” She said, softly, the tears now slowing down. “What will you do now?”

“Me? Hn, I should be the one saying this, don’t you think?” He looked at her with warmth in his eyes and he hoped she could feel it. “What are you going to do now, doctor?”

At first, she just stared at the screen, but slowly, her head started to move until she was nodding it up and down. Tears were still coming and her lips were still trembling, but she didn’t look that desperate or broken anymore, no. Sakura was slowly gathering her pieces, and he felt more relieved to see her like that. The pinkette took a deep breath, then, and he knew at that moment she had finally made up her mind.

“Probably something stupid.” Her voice came out, softly and unsure.

'Now that’s the Sakura I know.’

“I'm going back.” She continued, lowly at first, as if to taste the sound of her words as they were thrown into the universe. “Shannarou, I’m going back to that hellhole because that’s the only place in the middle of this mess that makes me feel slightly better with myself. I’m going back because that’s my job.” Her voice came out with all the confidence he knew she would be able to muster that night, and he figured that was their small victory of the day. She didn’t look that scared anymore, and perhaps, she was getting ready to move on for the night.

“Tch, there’s something definitely wrong with you, Sakura.”

“Yeah…I guess there is.” She said, softly, wiping the last tears that were falling from her eyes. “I guess not even a pandemic will keep me from working too much.”

“You're probably right, but…” He offered her a comforting smile, looking away from the webcam for a second before returning his attention back to her eyes. “I'm proud of you.”

Judging by the way her emerald eyes widened, it was possible to say his words caught her by surprise. Apparently, tears started to pool around her eyes once more, but she stopped them before they could fall. Her lips slightly curled up at that, as in a shy reaction, and even if he normally wouldn’t have said that, well, he figured she was in need of those words.

“Thank you, Sasuke-kun. I don’t know what would’ve happened if it wasn’t for you.”

“Hn, that’s easy, you would’ve been stubborn like always. And though I’m sure you would’ve figured out what to do on your own, it might have taken you a little longer to reach that conclusion.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She started, tugging a strand of her pink hair behind her ear. “Damn it, maybe I really do need to start listening to you.”

“Better late than ever.”

Better late than ever, indeed. Slowly, she was coming to her senses and he knew there was nothing left for him to do. From that moment on, it was up to her, and more than anyone, he knew she would pull through it.

“Yeah…”

“Oh, and now that you’ve mentioned it, have you eaten anything already?”

“I guess not.” She bit her lip, her demeanor clearly showing she hadn’t even considered that until that moment.

“Tch, you’re worse than Naruto. Go eat something, will you? You need to refill your energies."

“Fine.” Sakura said, taking her laptop in hands as she started walking down her hallway and towards the kitchen.

“Do I want to know when was the last time you ate?”

“Probably not.”

“Tch.”

She placed the device on her kitchen island and turned around to open her cabinet to grab a pan. “Come on, you’re the chef here…What can I do that is easy and good enough for your standards?”

At that moment, though he knew she was clearly teasing him, the Uchiha couldn’t help but remember the Dobe’s words earlier that day. And though he would normally not care about those things, he figured he could make an exception. It had been a rough night, after all.

“Do you have instant ramen?”

“Instant ramen?” She asked, confused. “Are you really suggesting that?”

“Aah.” He nodded, as if that was the most normal thing in the world. “I'm getting hungry, too and I think there’s still one bowl left. What do you say?”

Her face was a bit surprised, at first, but eventually, her expression changed and a soft, grateful smile took over her lips. In a swift move, she put back the pan and got herself a bowl of instant ramen. “Instant ramen it is, then.”

“Hn, I’ll go get one for me, too.”

“Okay…” She began, and he watched as she started to prepare the noodles. He was making his way to the kitchen with his laptop in hands, and it didn’t take much before they were both waiting for the water to boil. “Now we just wait, right?”

“I guess…Naruto is the expert here.”

“He certainly is.” She agreed, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. Her eyes were half closed, her head tilting a bit to the side. “Sasuke-kun…?”

“Uh? What is it?”

“I know it’s late and you must be tired, but…Can you talk to me for a bit longer? Just tell me about your day, I don't know.”

Her voice was soft at that moment, and he noticed the way she was genuinely curious about his day. Though she was still far from normal, Sasuke figured that was the closest to normal she would get in a situation like that. For the first time during the quarantine, he saw her, not as a doctor working bravely on the front lines, but as a young woman who had the right to feel insecure and scared.

They were all scared, after all. Why couldn’t she be, too, right? Just like everyone else, Sakura had the right to feel everything, and sometimes, feeling came with an overwhelming price. It hurt, it made her cry and doubt herself, but mostly, it made grow. As a woman and as a doctor, Haruno Sakura was growing and blooming like the flower she is.

For the better or the worse, that was how things were now.

And no matter what the future had in stock, they were going to face it together. Even if they were separated because of the virus, their hearts would be connected, always.

“Of course.”

“Good.” She smiled, weakly, and at that moment, they knew that, in the middle of that mess, they could finally allow themselves to enjoy some good, instant ramen for dinner.

––––––

a/n: Okay, so… was it too much? From the beginning, I had this angst prepared for this story, and believe it or not, most of Sakura’s lines were based on real conversations shared by doctors. The note, too, was very real. It happened to a health worker here in my country and it just broke my heart when she told that to the press. Times are really weird right now, and it’s ok to be scared, but we can’t turn against each other! We need to spread love and empathy, not the other way around. If you need anyone to talk to, I’m always here! I’m a bit of a mess and I take a long time to answer, but believe me, I AM HERE! Anyway, thanks for reading it! Hope you’ve enjoyed it! Stay safe and stay inside!

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ssfanfic #Naruto fanfiction #myssfics

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mandelene · 4 years ago

Note

I loved your latest chapter - Alistair might be one of my favourite characters so it’s great to see him in a fic! Can I send in a request of France worrying about England for once? I know that happened in the fic but why not?

Thanks so much! And I’m happy to oblige :D

House Arrest

Word Count: 1235 (a longer one since I’ve been slow with posts)

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“…To work?”

Arthur’s hasty escape route to the front door gets thwarted by Francis, who has both hands on his hips and doesn’t look the least bit pleased. He thought if he left early, Francis wouldn’t notice that he had managed to slip away.

Francis snatches his car keys out of his left hand and steadies a firm glare at him. “Oh, really? After you were up coughing all night? Do I have to remind you that you had a temperature of a hundred and two degrees? So, what gave you any indication that you’re well enough to be leaving the house this morning?”

“I’m fine. I’ve gone to work with worse—it’s just a virus,” Arthur says, clearing his throat and inwardly cringing at the mucus he can feel making its way down to his chest.

“Think about your patients.”

“I won’t infect them. I’ll wear a mask and gloves. I’m cautious. Can I have my keys back now?”

Francis clicks his tongue and hides his keys behind his back. “But you can’t work effectively with a fever. Please, just stay home and rest.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in time for dinner,” Arthur reasons, holding out his hand. “Give them back. I’m going to be late.”

“You’re impossible, you know that? Do you want to make yourself worse? Why are you so opposed to the idea of taking a sick day?”

“Because I don’t need to take the day off.”

At that, Francis presses a cold hand to his forehead and shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re still burning up!”

“Yes, well, viruses don’t tend to disappear within the span of a few hours. In fact, they typically run their course in five to ten days.”

“Don’t be condescending. Stay home and go back to bed.”

Arthur ignores his hysterics and pulls his phone out of his pocket, searching for his Uber app.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting a taxi since you won’t give me my keys back.”

Francis balls his hands up into fists and releases a frustrated growl. He looks like he’s going to argue some more, but then he takes a deep breath and sighs, giving up. He hands over the keys at long last and turns away with a disappointed expression. “Do what you want. I don’t care anymore.”

That stings…But Arthur doesn’t waste any more time in case Francis decides to change his mind again. He swings the front door open and hurries to the car, making sure to keep his gaze down so that he doesn’t have to see the scowl his husband is almost certainly directing at him. The truth is, he hates feeling unproductive and useless when he has responsibilities. He would much rather attempt to work than lie in bed for several days. Besides, while he does feel fairly unwell, he’s soldiered through worse. This is nothing more than an upper respiratory infection, and he’ll be damned if he lets something so trivial slow him down.

Francis will forgive him eventually. He always does.

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

All right. Maybe he underestimated this virus just a tad…

The drive home is agonizing, mostly because of his splitting headache but also because he’s chilled to the bone. The sun is out and there’s only a mild breeze, but he’s absolutely freezing and feels as though it must surely be the middle of winter. He wants to curl his hands around a steaming cup of tea.

He can’t let Francis see him like this—he’ll be frantic with concern, and the last thing Arthur wants is to have to endure his doting. As long as he takes a fever reducer and keeps hydrated, he’ll be fine. It’s nothing he can’t handle or take care of by himself.

Luck seems to be on his side for once, thankfully. When he steps into the foyer, he hears Francis in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

“Arthur? Is that you?” he hears his husband call him from the kitchen.

“No, it’s a burglar!”

“Oh, how very funny!” Francis scoffs. “Dinner’s almost ready!”

“I’ll be there in a minute, I’m just going to get settled!”

“Okay!”

He slips out of his shoes and coat before rushing upstairs to clean up and make himself slightly more presentable. One glance in the bathroom mirror reveals that it’s going to take a lot to convince Francis he isn’t suffering from an astronomical fever. He splashes his pale complexion with cold water, takes some acetaminophen from the medicine cabinet, and changes into casual clothes. He attempts to brush his hair, but he doesn’t think he looks any less bedraggled.

A coughing fit attacks him, and he grips the edge of the sink to brace himself against the heaving. By the time he’s finished, his lungs and chest feel like they’re physically on fire.

A gentle knock on the bathroom door makes him jolt, and before Arthur can respond, Francis invites himself in.

“You’ve gone and made yourself worse, haven’t you?” Francis immediately accuses him. He secures the palm of his right hand onto Arthur’s forehead before he can duck. “Are you trying to run yourself into the ground? That’s it—I’ve had it! Go to bed! I can’t even bear to look at you!”

“Francis, I—”

“No, no! I don’t want to hear any excuses. Your pride is going to kill you someday!” Francis continues to shout. He steers him into their bedroom, pulls their duvet back, and pushes him onto the mattress. “You’re going to have dinner in bed, and then you’re going to take some cough syrup and go to sleep. You have no say in the matter!”

Well, he doesn’t have any other choice but to comply…for now. He wrinkles his nose when Francis sticks a thermometer in his mouth. He can’t stand being coddled. Ever. He’d rather perish.

“See? It’s much better when you’re quiet, mon amour,” Francis says before placing a kiss on his hot forehead. “You’re boiling! I’m taking you to the doctor’s first thing in the morning.”

Arthur shuts his exhausted eyes and mumbles around the thermometer, “Francis, I’m a doctor, in case you’ve forgotten. I’ll be fine.”

“Oui, some doctor you are that you can’t even care for yourself! You’re not leaving this bed for the rest of the week—I don’t care if I have to tie you down to the bedpost! Now rest!”

Only Francis could manage to make the word “rest” sound like a threat. When the thermometer beeps, he takes it from Arthur and announces, “A hundred and three! A hundred and three!?!”

“I heard it the first time you said it…”

“You are very fortunate that I vowed to be with you in sickness and in health because otherwise, I would have killed you already. I love you, but you’re an idiot!” Francis huffs as he leaves the room to bring him food, water, and a cold compress.

Arthur feels tempted to get up to prove that he’s, indeed, fine, but then his worn muscles sink into the bed. The white noise of the ceiling fan lulls him, and he drifts off.

As promised, in the morning, Francis drags him to a clinic, where he undergoes a chest x-ray against his will and learns he has pneumonia. He is prescribed bed rest, fluids, and prophylactic antibiotics.

Francis places him on house arrest for a whole week.

It’s the longest week of Arthur’s life.

#hetalia #aph england #aph france #aph fruk #drabbles #francis worrying about arthur #yes it's 1:30 AM and i have no shame lol

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1-800-hellraiser · 5 years ago

Text

I Wanna Be your Girlfriend (BEN Drowned x Female!Reader)

Requested by: No one

Pages: 7.2

Words: 2,637

Associated song: I wanna be your girlfriend - Girl in Red

!Tw! Swearing and mentions/a picture of facial scaring, that's about it.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna be your bitch. And I wanna touch you but not like this."

"Yo fuckers, I'm going down to the convince store, you want any thing?" You ask to the three pastas lounging on the couch. The other two pastas shake their heads, but the third one makes himself known. "Could you get me a blue raspberry slushie please?" He asks slinking his head upside down over the back couch, his golden locks flowing straight down. You chuckle at the childish nature of the virus. "Sure thing, BEN." You exit the mansion and begin walking.

As you're walking out of the forest, you itch your face slightly, your breath hitches at the painful sensation. When you first got to the mansion, a certain monochrome fuck decided to pick a fight with your unstable, shaken up ass. He left you with four long scars down your face. Thankfully, he didn't damage your eye at all.

You don't bother wearing a mask to hide your face. You simply don't have the energy to give a fuck. You understand why people stare, it's odd and unusual to have that type of scaring. You don't mind, curiosity gets the best of us sometimes.

Anyways, you reach the convince store and pad inside. Inside was a wonderland of junk. Everything from Twinkies to state made craft beer. Your eyes wander around before spotting the slushie machine. There are four selections of slushie to choose from. There's Coke, blue raspberry, cherry, and green apple. You go to grab a cup, but then realize BEN had never mentioned a size. Quickly, you pull out your phone and text BEN.

Y/n

Yo BEN, what size do you want?

You decide to get your own slushie too. You pull out a medium cup and cover, then choose your flavor. You gently push back the lever and watch the mix of flavor syrup and crushed ice enter your cup. You take a red straw and poke it into the slushie. You almost forget about BEN's slushie until you feel your phone buzz in your non dominant hand.

Lil' Green Bitch

Uhhhhh, get me a medium plz

Y/n

'Aight

You take another medium cup and fill it with the blue slushie. You grab another straw for BEN and stick it in the back pocket of your jeans along with your phone. You walk up to the depressed looking teenage cashier and put both drinks on the counter. You pull out your wallet before hand, so it isn't as awkward trying to pay. The cashier looks up the price for the slushies, since there is no barcode.

"Your total is $3.25 miss." The cashier sighs out. You open your wallet and pull out exact change. You hand the cashier your money and slide your wallet back into your pocket. "Have a good day." "You too sir." You reply, grabbing the slushies and leaving. You start your walk back to the mansion.

"I'm back bitches." You announce, opening the front door. You look around for your favorite green midget, but he's nowhere to be seen. "Have any of you seen BEN?" You ask the two other pastas, who are still on the couch. You close the door with your foot and walk over to the couch. "I think he went to his room." Jeff rasps, you nod and thank him.

You know where BEN's room is by memory because you and BEN have weekly sleepovers. Speaking of which, you're having one tonight in BEN's room. Your heart flutters at the thought of such a thing. You and BEN are best friends, you hit it off when you two first met. You started developing feelings for the glitch, you've crushed on him for almost a year now. You always keep your cool around him though, as to not raise any suspicion.

You knock at his room door, waiting for him to come out. "Coming!" He says through the door. You hear some shuffling from the other side and a small 'ow'. A few seconds later, he opens the door. You try and hide your blush the best you can, as he us wearing a black tank top and white boxers with the triforce symbol all over them.

"Pfft, nice boxers BEN," you comment sarcastically. You see a hint of a blush across his cheeks. "Thanks, would you like to take a closer look~?" BEN flirts, you laugh. "Ew no," you laugh out, punching him in the shoulder. "Anyway, here's your slushie loser." You say, handing the slushie to BEN. "Thanks bitch." BEN replies, you chuckle. "See you tonight," you say, begining to walk away. "See you tonight," BEN concludes.

Walking back up to your room, you take a sip of your slushie. You wonder what you and BEN are going to do at the sleepover. You usually surprise each other, the last sleepover you had, BEN took you to McDonald's at three am and harassed the workers working the drive thru. Fun times.

You open your bedroom door and walk in. Your room is decorated with posters you stole from victim's homes. You also have LED lights (also stolen) around the perimeter of your room. They're off right now, so you pick up the remote and set them to f/c. You smile proudly at the LED's, you also have Polaroid's strung up on some wire you found in the mansion. You have ones with you and BEN, you and Clockwork, you and Jeff, and you and your old friends.

You have the photos because you snuck back to your old house to steal some of your most important possessions. You also have a lava lamp you bought from Spencer's, it looks dope. You take off your shoes and set them next to your door, and set your slushie on your nightstand. You decide to take a nice, hot shower.

You grab a pair of black leggings that are ripped all over. You also grab a black long tee shirt that goes down to your mid thigh. It shows your s/t shoulders and has a graphic of a skeletal hand with a cigarette with the words 'smoking kills' in cursive, white letters. It has the classic two bold white stripes on the sleeves. You also grab some clean undergarments and socks.

You pad into the bathroom and close the door behind you. You turn on the faucet and put your hand underneath the water flow to test the warmth. As soon as the water hit your hand, you reel back and hiss in pain. You turn the knob a bit and wait for the water to cool down. As soon as the water cooled down enough, you slip the rest of your body into the shower.

You step out of the steaming shower and wrap yourself in a towel. You dry your hair and style it however you would like. You slip on your undergarments and socks first. Then, you pull on your ripped leggings, making sure you don't get your feet caught and rip them more. Then, you slip your long shirt on over them. You put on some deodorant and check your phone, Your phone clock reads 5:54.

"Shit!" You whisper as you go back to your room and grab your shoes. You're supposed to meet in BEN in his room at 6 pm (18:00). You put them on quickly and grab a f/c drawstring bag sitting in the corner of your room. You snatch the bag and fill it with your phone, phone charger, a blanket, some extra cash, and your handy dandy pocket knife.

You almost fall down the stairs trying to get to BEN's room in time. You bust open his door at exactly 6 pm (18:00), panting like you just ran a marathon. "Hey princess." BEN greets nonchalantly, you wave at him back. "Alright, since you took me somewhere on our last sleepover, I was thinking I could take you to some places, if you're up for it." BEN nods and gets up off his bed. "Alright, let's get our stuff set up first before we go." You nod and take the blanket out of your bag.

You observe the setup you and BEN have made and nod proudly. BEN set up a t.v on the floor and you both built a pillow fort to watch scary movies in when you both are done being teenage hooligans. Next to the t.v is a mini fridge BEN kept in his room for your sleepovers. He also has it in his room because he will deck anyone that eats his leftovers.

"Ready?" You ask, turning to BEN, "Yup, ready." You grab your drawstring back full of essentials and leave with BEN. Once you get out side, BEN asks you where you're going. "I was thinking we could hit up McDonalds, then walk around until we find an abandoned building to hang in." You explain, BEN nods, "Sounds like a plan to me."

You both arrive at the pretty beaten up McDonald's and you both walk in. "Welcome to McDonalds, how may I take your order?" The cashier asks boredly, you turn to BEN. "I'll take a ten piece chicken McNugget please." BEN responds politely, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Okay, and what about you Miss?" "I'll take a f/o (favorite order) please!" The cashier nods and rings the order up. "Your total is $13.45." You nod and dig in your bag for your wallet.

"Don't worry N/n, I got you." BEN states and pulls a twenty out of seemingly nowhere. "O-oh, thank you B." You gush, that was very kind of him. So kind of him, it made your heart beat harder in your chest. "Alright, your food will be out in a minute." The cashiers words snap you out of your lovey daze. You nod and walk over to a table to sit at while waiting for your food with BEN.

"What's our order number?" You ask, BEN looks back at the receipt. "Uhhh, order number 69, nice." He chuckles, you giggle back. "I have another question, where did the twenty come from?" BEN chuckles again. "I always have spare change in my hat." He takes off his hat and hands it to you, you peer inside and see another ten dollars and five quarters.

"Woah, that is the most epic magic trick I've ever seen." You say sarcastically at BEN, he chuckles. "My pleasure, Y/n." "Order 69?" You her somebody shout, you turn to BEN. "I'll go get it." You say, standing up from the booth. "Thank you miss!" You chirp at the cashier that just gave you your order. You set the tray down and begin to eat.

After you and BEN are done, you take care of the tray and leave. "So, where to now?" BEN asks, you smile, a great idea popping into your head. "I know the perfect abandoned house to hang out in, its a 15 minute walk from here," You explain to BEN. "Ok, lead the way N/n." You clasp your hands together in excitement. Hopefully, your plan is going to go smoothly.

Your plan is to go to the abandoned house, and explore with BEN for a bit. After that, you lead him up to a window that you can get to the roof from. You are going to sit on the roof with BEN and tell him how you feel. Hopefully, he feels the same way about you.

You arrive at the abandoned house with BEN. You both walk up to the front door, "After you m'lady," BEN motions, tipping his hat. "Thank you my fair gentleman." You took a bow and enter the building, both of you giggling. You carefully step around fallen debris and rotten floorboards. You make sure that BEN was also being safe, you love BEN, but he is quite a handful.

You both walk into the dust covered living room. There was an ugly yellow rug lying in the floor, and a black table sitting on top. Two beige recliners are sitting at opposite angles facing towards the wall. Behind that, was a window with spindly white curtains. You both investigate the living room before moving on to the rest of the house.

The house is very small, it only has a living room, a kitchen, two bathrooms and one bedroom. So, you move on to the kitchen. The kitchen had a pretty white wallpaper with pastel pink flowers all over it, it looks like someone painted the flowers with watercolors. Theres noting in the kitchen other than the cabinets and sink. You look in the sink and on the counters. BEN snoops through the cabinets. He finds nothing other than a single black marble.

"Yo, N/n, look what I found." BEN says, showing you the completely black orb. "Woah, that's sick!" You say looking intently at the black orb. You both exit the kitchen. "Do you wanna split up for the bathrooms?" You ask BEN, "Sure" he says. So, you both split up, you go upstairs and see two doors. You don't know which one is the bathroom, so you did the best thing you could to chose which door to go into first.

"Eenie meenie miney mo catch the tiger by the toe, if he hollars let him go." You end, your index finger pointing at the door in the right. You open the door to the bathroom and walk in. Pretty pastel blue tiles cover the walls. You see a sink with a mirror above it, it is one of those mirror cabnets. You push on the mirror, it inverts then squeaks open. Your eyes catch on a dusty orange cylinder. You pick it up, there's no label, interesting.

BEN enters the bathroom downstairs. The bathroom is covered in pretty white tiles. BEN notices the sink and the mirror, he pushes on the mirror and nothing happens. He steps over to the blue shower curtain and pulls it open. Nothing is there, so he turns around to meet you upstairs.

You both meet in front of the door on the right, you reach out and turn the doorknob and open the door. You both enter the room and look around. The walls are painted a nice gray. The bedroom is empty, except for a lone window leading to the roof. You go over and open the window, you motion for BEN to follow. You carefully stick your leg out onto part of the roof, then walk up the slope. BEN follows you up and sits next to you.

"Hey BEN, can I tell you something?" You ask, BEN gives you a curious look. "Okay, what's up?" You take a deep breath. "I brought you up here because I wanted to to tell you that, I like you, a lot. And, I hope I can be your girlfriend?" You end shrinking down a little bit, BEN smiles at you. "I'd love for you to be my girlfriend, Y/n." He says, gently putting his thumb under your chin and lifting it up.

Your eyes meet with his, you both lean in. His lips met yours, they're soft, but cold. It sends a chill down your spine. You both melt into the kiss, but before anything gets heated, you pull away and hug him. "Thank you, BEN."

Best. Sleepover. Ever.

#writing #writers on tumblr #x reader #oneshot #ben drowned x reader #ben drowned #creepypasta #ilysm <333 #ily <3333 #<3 <3 <3

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emospritelet · 5 years ago

Text

Desperation - chapter 14/16

Also prompted by @kelyon

[AO3]

Despite how comfy she had found the couch, Belle had to admit that sleeping in a proper bed was better. She stretched her legs out as she woke, enjoying the space around her in the warm sheets, and squinted at her watch. Eight-oh-four. Wow. Guess I needed the sleep.

She lay on her back for a moment, trying to assess how she was feeling. Still no cough, and no tightness in her chest, which was good. She felt a little drained, though, and her limbs ached, so she clearly wasn’t better. Perhaps she simply had a mild case. Lots of people did, after all.

Voices were floating up the stairs: Gold warning Bae to be careful, and not to drop anything. Belle glanced to the side as she heard Bae’s thumping footsteps on the stairs, followed by a knock on the bedroom door.

“Come on in,” she called, and he pushed it open, sidling around the edge of the door with a plate held carefully in his hands.

“I brought you French toast,” he announced. “It has maple syrup on it. We didn’t have fresh berries, but Papa and I went blueberry picking last summer and put them in jars in some sugar syrup, and they’re just as good. And we sliced up a banana from the grocery box.”

Belle sat up with a smile, pushing herself up on the pillows. Her arms wobbled a little, but she managed to get herself into a comfortable position in which to eat. Bae set the plate on the nightstand and stepped back to watch her reaction. Plump, glistening blueberries were scattered across a thick slice of French toast with slices of banana, the whole thing drizzled with amber trails of maple syrup. The toast was golden-coloured, its edges the dark brown of caramel, and she licked her lips.

“It looks delicious,” she said, deciding not to mention that her sense of smell seemed to have abandoned her, and Bae nodded.

“When Papa said you were sick too, I thought maybe you’d want something sweet, like I did,” he explained. “I can’t get apple pie from Granny’s, but maybe this will help.”

“That’s good of you, sweetie,” she said. “I’m okay, really. Just a little tired and achy. I’m sure I’ll feel much better tomorrow. Especially with you taking such good care of me.”

“Papa made the French toast,” said Bae at once. “I just brought it up.”

“Well, it looks yummy.”

She picked up the plate, setting it on her lap, and Bae flopped into the chair, watching as she took a bite. Sweetness burst across her tongue, but she was dismayed that she couldn’t seem to taste much beyond that. I suppose of all the symptoms I could get, loss of taste isn’t too bad in comparison, she thought. Bae was watching her anxiously, and she made noises of enjoyment.

“It’s really good,” she assured him, and he beamed.

“Papa said he’d bring you some tea,” he said. “He says you should stay in bed and let us look after you.”

“And I’m not going to turn him down,” she said. “I’ll do as he suggests. At least for today.”

She cut another piece and popped it in her mouth, and Bae swung his feet restlessly, kicking the chair legs.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school?” she said.

“I’m all set,” he assured her. “Today we find out which dinosaur species we get to read about. I hope I get ankylosaurus. Will you help me do research?”

“Of course I will,” she said. “Do you have any books on dinosaurs?”

“Only one,” he said gloomily. “I wish the library was open now.”

“So do I.” Belle wiped syrup from her plate with a piece of bread. “There’s a ton of information online, though. I’ll help you look.”

“Okay.”

Bae looked more cheerful, and Belle ate another mouthful of toast.

“Do you miss being at school?” she asked. “Playing with your friends?”

“Sometimes.”

“Seeing them on Zoom isn’t the same as playing outside, I guess,” she said, and he shrugged.

“No one’s mean on Zoom, though.”

Belle frowned, chewing a mouthful of French toast.

“Has someone been mean to you?”

Bae shuffled his feet, shrugging again and looking uncomfortable.

“Some of the kids make fun of me because I don’t have a mom,” he said. “They say you can’t have a proper family without a mom and a dad.”

“Well, they’re wrong to say that,” said Belle firmly. “Families come in lots of different shapes and sizes, and there’s nothing to say that you need to have a mom and a dad to be a proper family.”

“That’s what Papa says,” said Bae, looking happier. “They’re just mean. They make fun of Paige, too. She doesn’t have a mom. But she has two dads, so I guess that makes up for it.”

Belle smiled, digging into her toast with a fork.

“I don’t have a mom, either,” she said, and Bae looked interested.

“Did yours leave, like mine did?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No, she died.”

“Oh.” He looked sad. “Mine just left. She said she’d come back, but she didn’t.”

Belle wanted to hug him.

“Do you remember your mom?” she asked, and he wrinkled his nose.

“Kind of. She had dark hair like you.”

“When did you last see her?”

Bae shrugged, pulling a face.

“She called,” he said. “The Christmas we came to Storybrooke. Papa had put lights up all around the porch, and we just finished decorating the tree, and he was smiling. Then the phone rang and he answered it and he stopped smiling.”

“Did you speak to her?” asked Belle, and he nodded.

“She sounded kind of weird, but she said she’d come visit,” he said. “She said she’d come on Christmas Day and she’d bring me presents, but she never did.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said gently. “That sounds hard. Maybe she’s sorry for what she did. Maybe she’ll come back one day.”

“I don’t want her to,” he muttered, his feet kicking faster. “She’s a liar.”

Belle tried to think of something to say that would help, but the sound of footsteps on the stairs made them both glance around. Gold put his head around the door, a steaming cup of tea in one hand, and smiled.

“Thought I’d bring you some tea,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not too bad,” she said. “If I’ve got the virus, it at least seems to be a mild case.”

“Good.” He came into the room, setting the cup down on the nightstand. “Bae, class starts soon, could you go and brush your teeth, please?”

“Okay.”

Bae gave Belle a wan smile and shuffled out of the room. Gold frowned after him for a moment, but turned back to Belle.

“The hospital is sending out nurses to take tests to try to pin this thing down,” he said. “I put a call in this morning to report all three of us feeling sick. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she said. “It makes sense, if we’re to beat this virus.”

“Positive results might result in longer periods of isolation, that’s all,” he said. “I’m hoping not too long; a lot of people in this town will suffer if they can’t work. But at least it means we won’t infect anyone else.”

“Any word on how the rest of the town’s doing?” she asked, and he eased himself into the chair that Bae had vacated, resting the cane between his legs.

“The Mayor is giving a briefing at six today,” he said. “Should be an update then.”

“Okay.” She put her head to the side. “How are you doing?”

“Still not back to running on all four cylinders, if I’m honest,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Still, no rest for the wicked. I thought I’d finish Granny’s books today, as soon as Bae’s done with school. Can’t get them back to her, but at least it’ll be done for when I can.”

“Don’t exhaust yourself,” she warned. “You look tired. You’re getting over a serious illness, you need to make sure you rest.”

“I will.” He smiled briefly. “The couch isn’t too bad, is it?”

“Not as comfortable as this,” she said, patting the bed beside her. “You could always take a nap, you know. I don’t mind.”

Gold’s tiny smile widened a little, his eyes twinkling.

“What would the neighbours say?”

“Well, I won’t tell them if you won’t,” she said bluntly. “Come on, it’s your bed.”

“Yes, and you’re in it.”

“I don’t mind moving,” she said. “Which side of the bed do you usually sleep on?”

The smile became a grin.

“If I lie down next to you, I won’t get up again.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

Gold shook his head, looking amused, and pushed to his feet.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, taking her empty plate. “There’s too much to do.”

“Okay, but at least promise me you’ll get some rest later,” she called, as he left the room.

“I promise! Now take your own advice!”

His voice drifted in through the door, and Belle grinned, wriggling down in the bed a little to drink her tea. Gold needed someone to look after him, if he wouldn’t do it himself. The role might as well fall to her, for as long as she was staying with him. Though she suspected he’d want his bed back at some point.

She stayed in bed for most of the day, only getting up when it was time for dinner. Nurses from the hospital had attended, covered from head to toe in protective clothing as they used swabs to take samples from all three in the house. The results were confirmed quickly: three positive tests. Gold answered their questions on the dates when symptoms had first appeared, and on that basis he and Bae were told to observe quarantine for a further seven days, and Belle for fourteen. Gold nodded agreement, looking a little anguished, if not surprised.

Mayor Mills appeared on TV just as they finished dinner, looking poised and sombre in her two-piece suit. She read out the latest figures: two hundred and eighteen cases, twenty-seven residents in a serious condition in hospital, thirteen deaths. After a moment of remembrance for each of the victims, she ran through the latest medical evidence, and what the anticipated numbers would be as the effects of lockdown were assessed.

“Storybrooke has always been a strong community, and this time of crisis is no exception,” she said. “I know the residents of this town will do everything in their power to help keep their neighbours safe and well. If you have been told to extend the quarantine due to positive tests, please do so. I realise that people are concerned about their jobs, and the effect that lockdown is having on their ability to feed their families, but we must all do our part to defeat this virus.”

She looked around, dark eyes flashing, expression one of firm resolve.

“As Mayor, I promise you that I will do all I can to ensure no one goes hungry, and that jobs and businesses recover from this,” she said. “The deliveries of groceries will continue until lockdown ends. I’m meeting virtually with local business owners and medical experts to discuss what needs to be put in place to allow the town to open up safely, and I hope to have some news on that next week.”

The briefing ended, and Gold turned off the TV, leaning back on the couch with a heavy sigh.

“What does it mean?” asked Bae.

“It means you’re probably having Zoom classes for at least another three weeks,” said Gold.

“I don’t mind that too much,” said Bae. “Can I watch TV now?”

Gold passed him the remote, getting up and heading for the kitchen to clean up, and Belle went back upstairs to lie down for ten minutes. She was still aching a little, as though she had been doing hard physical work that day, but she hadn’t developed a fever, and she was hoping that meant that her symptoms were as bad as things would get.

She woke with a start to find that it was almost eleven at night.

Rubbing her eyes, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, yawning widely as she pulled her slippers back on to head to the bathroom. When she had finished washing her hands and had splashed a little water on her face to revive herself, she headed downstairs. Lights were still on in the lower floor of the house, and she was thirsty. Perhaps Gold would join her in a cup of something before turning in.

She found him in the kitchen, seated at the kitchen table with an empty cup beside him. He was tapping away at the laptop, occasionally checking the pad of paper to his right. His brows were lowered, a faint look of desperation on his face.

“Hey,” she said, and he started, looking around.

“Belle.” He smiled, but there was only a weary resignation in it. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she said. “I feel much better. You?”

“Fine, fine,” he said vaguely, running a hand through his hair.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Gold sighed, slumping back in the chair a little.

“Just going through the budget,” he said quietly. “God, I hope the Mayor finds a way to open things up in this town. If she doesn’t, things are gonna be extremely tight around here.”

Belle moved a little closer.

“When you say ‘tight’...”

Gold looked up at her, his expression steady and grim.

“I mean there won’t be a cent to spare,” he said. “It’s gonna eat up everything I managed to put aside against emergencies, and even then I’m gonna have to be very, very creative.”

He shook his head, turning back to the laptop, and Belle wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, to send him some comfort. Her fingers seemed to hesitate, hanging in the air as she watched the light shine on his hair, and eventually she let her hand drop to her side again.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess with the town closed up for weeks, you won’t get many requests for bookkeeping.”

“Not for another few months, I reckon,” he said grimly, looking around. “Those businesses that do manage to open up again, they won’t be in a position to pay me. Things are going to be - stretched.”

“Does this call for more foraging in the woods?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Once we’re allowed out of the house, yes. Can’t pass up free food.”

“At least you know what you’re looking for,” she said. “Maybe you could teach me. I’ll help you pick berries and mushrooms and maybe I won’t poison us all.”

Gold grinned, but there was a weariness to his face, and he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“You may think it’s pleasant, Bae and I growing our own food and foraging in the woods, ” he said. “And it is, don’t get me wrong. I love him and we’re happy in our little house in this little town. But it’s - it’s hard, Belle. Being poor, especially when you’re a single parent, is hard. It’s constant. You can’t take a day off and just - just be. You’re always planning, always thinking. Budgeting down to the last penny, hoarding and making do and cutting coupons or bartering with the neighbours. Hoping and praying that nothing breaks, that you won’t get sick, that you won’t lose work. It’s - it’s a never-ending project that you can’t hand off to anyone else.”

The smile fell from her face at the look in his eyes, an expression that was almost pleading.

“I didn’t mean to make light of it—” she began, and Gold shook his head.

“No, please, that wasn’t a criticism,” he said. “I - well, to be honest, I just wanted to rant for a moment. I can’t do it in front of Bae, you see. I don’t want him to worry.”

“I know you do whatever it takes to make sure Bae doesn’t want for anything,” she said quietly. “You’re a good father. A good man.”

Gold smiled, looking grateful, and eyed the computer screen again.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked. “It - it probably isn’t the best time to have an extra mouth to feed, is it?”

Gold looked around.

“I’m not blaming you, please don’t think that,” he said quickly. “I’m so grateful you stayed with us, Belle, I truly am. It’s just - well…” He gestured helplessly at the spreadsheet on the screen in front of him.

“I can contribute,” she said.

“That’s not necessary…”

“No, please!” she insisted. “You’ve been providing for me since I moved in, and - and I haven’t had to buy any of my own food since I did, and out of the two of us I’m the one still getting paid, so it makes sense I give a little back.”

“You’ve already given us so much,” he said, and she gave him a level look.

“Yeah, but none of that keeps the lights on, does it?” she said. “If you won’t take money, sell me something.”

Gold blinked at her.

“What?”

“Sell me something,” she repeated, and hurried to the larder. “Like… I don’t know, some of that really delicious cherry jam you made. I’d love to eat that in the mornings when I finally head back to my own apartment. How much?”

“Belle…”

“Or - or maybe you could make me something,” she said. “You knit, right? I could use a new sweater.”

Gold fixed her with a flat stare.

“Belle,” he said. “I’m not taking your money. You’ve more than earned a place here. All you’ve done for us - it wouldn’t be right.”

“But—”

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “Please, don’t distress yourself. I’ll find a way. I always do.”

She put her hands on her hips, shaking her head.

“God, you’re stubborn.”

Gold sent her a brief, slanting grin.

“As I recall, you said it was adorable.”

“Almost adorable,” she corrected, and his grin widened.

“I stand corrected.”

Belle sighed, leaning back against the kitchen table, feeling an odd mix of amusement and frustration.

“Don’t suppose there was any wine in that grocery box, was there?” she asked, and he chuckled.

“I’m afraid orange juice was as exciting as it got,” he said, and hesitated. “Actually - I do have a bottle somewhere.”

“Really?”

“Was gonna save it for - well, who knows? Christmas, maybe?”

“Oh, in that case we don’t need to open it,” she said hastily, and he shook his head.

“It’s not as though it’s an expensive bottle,” he said. “Just that I don’t drink a lot, so there seemed little point in opening it just for me. But - well, maybe it would be nice. If you and I had a drink together.”

He looked hesitant, uncertain, and Belle smiled warmly.

“I would like that.”

#asks: desperation #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #sprite's pandemic promptathon #my fic #mrs-stiltskin #fyi i'm teasing you with that prompt #BUT NOT FOR MUCH LONGER

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