#piece of shit body!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! piece of shit stomach flu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[melopearl]

im giving panic at the discos 2005 debut album

[madsworld15]

I Am Still Here Part 3 (Brian x Justin, Support Group AU)

You can find Part 1 here. And Part 2 here.

As always, my lovely pals deserve a shoutout because they keep me inspired to write about this couple that I hold so near and dear to my heart. @winderlylandchime @maryp50 @lostcol

If you are reading this fic, please let me know what you think. I'm enjoying the creation of it, but I still want to know other people's thoughts.

~~~~

The Next Day

Brian groaned as his alarm woke him up. This whole cancer treatment journey was fucking him in more ways than one. He used to be able to function with barely any sleep. Now if he got less than eight hours, his whole body was fucked.

He sat up but couldn’t get out of bed completely. He got to the edge of his bed before his vision started to swim. The dizziness didn’t go away at first, but when it did, it was as if his body had transferred it to his gut. Brian barely made it to his bathroom before vomiting a bunch of stomach acid, which fucked up his throat. 

Getting through his morning routine was torturous and slow. He nibbled on dry toast, hoping it would keep his stomach happy. A headache started to form behind his eyes and fuck if that didn’t piss him off even more. 

“Jesus. Can’t you just let me have one good day this week? I have client meetings today. I don’t have time for this shit!” Brian cursed toward his ceiling.

He grabbed a bottle of water, the other piece of dry toast, and his briefcase and then headed to his door. Just as he opened it, two things happened. His phone rang with Cynthia’s number, and he found his mom on his doorstep. 

He answered his phone while holding a finger up to his mom.

“Hey, Cyn. I’m on my way. I overslept. Don’t worry, I’ll be there before Remson arrives.” Then he hung up and stepped out his door, forcing his mom backward.

As he locked his door, he addressed the elephant in the room. 

“Well, if it isn’t Saint Joan. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You know I hate when you call me that.” Joan tittered in disdain at Brian.

Brian, having successfully locked the door, turned around. The spin must’ve been too fast, though, because he gagged on the toast hanging out of his mouth. He sniffed and coughed to recover himself in front of his mom. 

He forced a smile toward his mom and responded. “That’s why I do it.”

“I don’t know what I did to make you hate me so.” Joan tightened her coat around herself. 

“You want the laundry list or…” Brian rolled his eyes, pushing the button for the elevator. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could take me to church again on Sunday. But, by the looks of it, you must’ve caught what Claire’s family had.” Joan stood a bit away from Brian with unease.

“It’s called a hangover, mom. But I figured you’d know all about that.” Brian climbed on the elevator. Then, with a sigh, he added, “What time?”

Joan contemplated getting on the elevator with him and then climbed in. 

“Service starts at 10. I want to get there by 9:30 so I can worship in peace.” Joan still stood away from Brian, “Are you sure it’s not the flu?”

Brian rolled his eyes, “Yea, mom. It’s definitely not the flu.” 

A silence fell between them the rest of the ride. Then, in the lobby, Joan turned around again. 

“So, can I expect you on Sunday?”

Brian pinched the bridge of his nose, “Yeah. I’ll be there with bells on at 9:30.”

“9. I want to be there by 9:30.”

“Right, okay. 9.” Brian sighed again, “Bye, mom. I have to get to work.”

Twenty minutes later, Brian was striding past Cynthia’s desk, a look of apology on his face. He wouldn’t ever utter the words “I’m sorry,” but he would definitely still convey them, at least to Cynthia.

“Remson just called. They said they were going to be running about 10 minutes behind schedule.” Cynthia grabbed Brian’s coat from him with one hand while handing him a glass of water with the other. 

She followed Brian into his office and silently watched as he loosened his tie and crumpled into his chair. She had seen many things from Brian since his diagnosis a month ago, but this was probably the worst he’d ever been. Her concern dripped from every word as she spoke to him again, demanding his attention.

“Are you sure you can handle the meeting? I’m sure Ted would have no problem stepping in.” 

Brian was about to respond when the door opened, and Ted popped his head in with a smile, “You rang?!”

Brian rolled his eyes and tried to focus his mind on the account files displayed on his computer. Better that than the war being waged in his gut.

“Yeah, Brian looks a bit peakish, don’t you think?” Cynthia motioned to Brian’s appearance while turning to face Ted. “I was thinking you should cover for him with Remson.”

Ted edged ever closer to Brian’s desk, a look of concern surrounding every single one of his features. 

“He does look a bit pale and clammy. I think maybe you should go home.”

“I appreciate the assessment, Theodore.” Brian finally muttered, looking between his two employees. “I can handle Remson. I’m fine!”

Just then, his stomach did a tremendous lurch, and Brian’s vomit barely made it into the trash can under his desk. Brian heaved a couple of times before his stomach finally seemed to settle down.

“Are you sure, Brian?” Cynthia crinkled her nose as she took his trash into the in-office bathroom to clean it out. “I could easily brief Ted.” She called over her shoulder to the office at large.

She came back into the office, and Brian greeted her with a hand on her shoulder and a fake smile plastered across his face. 

“I’ll be fine. Just be sure there is plenty of water in the conference room. I’ll be there shortly.” Brian went past her toward the bathroom to clean himself up, thought better of it, and turned, “Oh, and Theodore. There is something you can do for me.”

“Yes, boss?” Ted’s face lit up with excitement. 

“You can get these flowers out of my office, not sure who sent them, but they smell horrendous. And you can call my mother and inform her that I won’t be able to take her to church on Sunday after all. I’m sick.” Brian gave Ted a significant look as he said the word sick.

“Of course, Bri.” Ted nodded in understanding, having met Joan on multiple occasions over the years.

Once he was in his bathroom, Brian leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He felt like utter shit, but he needed to stay the whole day if he didn’t want his employees to be concerned. He was the CEO, and his business was still on the rise. An illness rumor at this venture, no matter how true it would be, wouldn’t do well for future business growth. His mind wandered back to the night before when he’d spent time with Emmett and Justin. Since being diagnosed, his relationship with Emmett had only grown stronger. After fielding concerned questions from practically everyone else in his life, it was nice to know there was one person he could spend time with who wouldn’t hound him about his health.

“So, how’s work?” Emmett had waggled his eyebrow and winked at Justin.

“You know I’ve been struggling to get my art department to fall into line. Each ad campaign takes ages and multiple redos to get the mockups even mostly correct.” Brian sighed and sat down on a stool next to Justin.

“That’s fine. I mean, you are a newer business. These things take time.” Emmett reached out and gently placed his hand over Brian’s.

Out of the corner of his eye, Brian saw Justin sitting on his stool, staring into the tumbler of whiskey in his hand.

“I know, but Kinnetik won’t have anywhere to grow if I don’t make waves now. I need to pull in the big clients to just break even.” Brian pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed in through it to steady the nausea that was starting to come back. Maybe that shot of whiskey had been a bad idea.

Justin didn’t move, so Brian gently nudged his foot. The blond looked up and stared into Brian’s brown eyes with his blue ones.

“You okay? You wanna leave?” Brian knew that it was about this time in terms of intimacy the week before that Justin had bolted. It just seemed natural to him that Justin would appreciate someone checking in.

Justin shook his head and dropped his gaze. Brian exchanged a look with Emmett, who looked extremely concerned about this kid. Brian knew a deeper conversation with his friend was on the horizon, but thankfully, it wouldn’t be tonight. No, tonight was meant to ease Justin’s mind and give Brian a chance to unwind from the horrendous few days he’d been having.

Brian splashed some water on his face, dried it off, and headed out to meet the Remson reps in the conference room. He made a mental note to have Cynthia field all his calls until noon; that way, he could possibly lie on his couch and rest for a bit before diving into some of the work that had been piling up.

He made it all the way through his pitch with Remson without vomiting or making anyone think he was anything less than perfect. If any of his artists or designers in the meeting noticed anything, it was that he might be a touch hungover, which wasn’t anything new. Even Cynthia’s demeanor seemed to ease considerably the longer Brian stood and presented the new campaign to their customer. So much so that by the end of the meeting, she was smiling at him as if it were a typical day. 

Brian shook the hands of the Remson folks as he saw them to the door. Then, he walked back toward his office with Cynthia on his heels. 

“Cyn, could you please hold all my calls until noon and don’t let anyone past your desk either.” Brian snapped. There were a few straggler artists still following them, and he didn’t want to give anything away.

“Of course, Mr. Kinney. If Michael or Lindsay call?” He knew by her tone she was just asking out of courtesy.

“Hold all my calls,” Brian repeated sternly.

She nodded, left him at his office door, and returned to her desk. 

BREAK

Brian was behind his desk once more, having laid on his couch to sleep for about an hour. The anxiety of knowing he had so much work to do kept him from truly sleeping the amount he should have. It was just as well because a few minutes after he started to look over the campaign contract they were going to send over to Eyeconic Optics, Cynthia came into his office with an apologetic look on her face. She had a glass of water in her hand, too, which could mean nothing good.

“I know you said you didn’t want to be bothered before noon, but two things need your attention. Leo Brown is on the phone saying he wants to talk. Do you think he’s wanting to come over to us?” Cynthia’s gaze turned to excitement at the possibility of such a large account.

Brian gave her his signature Cynthia smile. “Perhaps, but tell him I’m not in. Let him stew a bit, and I will call him back tomorrow.”

Cynthia nodded, put the glass down on his desk, and whispered in his ear, “And there’s a kid I’ve never seen before but says that he knows you. He looks like the artist type. Are we hiring a new intern?”

The moment she said he looked like an artist type, Brian knew she must mean Justin. There wasn’t anything specific about that descriptor, but something told him it was because the only things he’d ever seen Justin wear were jeans and graphic tees with paint on them.

“Either that or he's one of your tricks who doesn’t know a rejection. Should I send him packing?” Cynthia continued as she walked around Brian’s desk to face him head-on.

Brian gave a small nod of his head. “Send him in.”

Cynthia stood back and gave him an incredulous look, “But, Brian…” Then she leaned over his desk to get within inches of Brian’s face, “People will talk.”

“About what?” Brian scoffed, “Please just send him in.” Then he turned his attention back to his computer screen and the work that awaited his approval.

Sure enough, moments later, Justin, with hunched shoulders and his hands buried deep in his pockets, shuffled into Brian’s spacious office. He huddled by the door and refused to make eye contact at first, even when he spoke.

“I’m sorry to show up at your job. I just…” Justin paused and pulled his right hand out of his pocket. Brian noticed it was shaking and that Justin’s whole body had tensed up.

Brian lept out of his chair and moved closer to Justin. He didn’t want to get too close and spook the kid, but he also worried that something was wrong.

“Are you alright?” Brian asked, standing about 2 feet from Justin, who still wasn’t making eye contact.

“Yeah.” Justin rubbed his hand as it continued to spasm, “This is a regular occurrence since my bashing. Nerve damage, one doctor said, minor seizures was another one’s opinion.” Justin shrugged his shoulder.

“Fuck. And I thought my radiation side effects were brutal.” Brian brought his left hand up to his lips in a fist and bit on the top of his thumb, never once taking his eyes off Justin.

After a few moments, his hand calmed down, and Justin finally looked up.

“As I was saying. I am sorry for bothering you at work, but I was feeling particularly untethered today and…” Just trailed off again with another shrug of his shoulders.

“You wanted a familiar face?” Brian tried.

Justin nodded, “Plus, Daphne’s studying for her MCAT, so I’m kind of living alone at the moment, and that’s sometimes even more terrifying than being stuck in the center of a huge crowd.”

Brian backed away from the blond giving him space to move as he offered, “You can hang out here. It’s nothing exciting, but I do have a couch.”

Justin’s face lit up, and a smile stretched across his face, bigger than any Brian had ever seen before. It warmed his heart, knowing he had helped Justin have even a slightly good day. Brian sat back down behind his desk, watched as Justin slowly made his way to the couch, and sat down on it. The two began to exist in perfect silence for the next half hour. A few minutes after he sat down, Justin toed his shoes off, curled up into a ball on the couch, and fell asleep. Brian continued to work, hoping his phone wouldn’t ring so that the kid could sleep. It seemed like he really needed it.

Brian was looking over the month-end revenue and expense reports when he noticed an accounting error. While accounting wasn’t something he was a genius at, hence why he hired Theodore, he did still know the basics enough to spot errors. He picked up his phone and pressed the button to reach Ted’s office.

“Theodore, could you come to my office, please? I need to discuss the reports with you.”

“Right away, Mr. Kinney.” Theodore’s voice came through the phone in that excited, people-pleasing manner he was famous for.

Just as Ted arrived in his office, Brian felt the telltale signs that he needed to be in the bathroom right away. He smiled at Ted in his rush to get there in time. He sighed in relief after the vomiting was over. A hand floated in front of his face with a tissue in it. Brian looked up and found Ted.

“Here you go,” Theodore forced a smile while his eyes swam with concern.

“Would you knock it off? I’m fine. This new development in my life means I’m visiting the porcelain throne every few hours, sooner if I eat too much.” Brian glared at Theodore as he stepped around him and headed back into his office.

“Mr. Kinney, I apologize. It’s just. This is the second time today, and I’m a natural worrier.”

“Jesus, what the fuck is with all the Mr. Kinney bullshit?” Brian hissed as he took a sip of water from the glass on his desk. He glanced toward Justin to see the blond was still fast asleep.

“Well, I, uh.” Theodore floundered and then pulled himself together. “It’s the professional thing to do when it isn’t just the two of us.” His eyes motioned to Justin’s form on the couch.

“Oh, him? Don’t worry about him. He’s asleep.” Brian rolled his eyes. “So, stop with the Mr. Kinney shit. It’s Brian.”

“Of course, Brian.” Ted stuttered, wringing his hands anxiously.

“Anyway, I was looking at our expense report, and I noticed you carried this figure,” Brian pointed to Line Item C. “And this one,” Brian pointed to Line Item E. “Incorrectly.”

Theodore leaned in to look over Brian’s shoulder and he knew the minute the man saw it because he gasped, somewhat dramatically.

“Oh my god. I totally missed that. I’m so sorry, Brian. It won’t happen again, please don’t fire me.” Theodore started to grovel, which gave Brian a headache.

“Shut up!” He snapped unnecessarily. Brian then took a breath and tried again. “It’s okay, Ted. It’s an easy fix. This is why I review the reports every month.”

Then, for good measure, Brian added, “Breathe.”

Theodore nodded and stepped away from Brian. He walked around the desk and sat down in one of Brian’s chairs. 

“Was there anything else you needed?” Ted asked, looking terrified.

Brian simply shook his head. Then, in a flash, Ted was gone. As the door shut behind him, Justin stirred, stretched his arms, and woke up.

“You rest okay?” Brian asked in a soft, gentle tone.

Justin looked around and rubbed his face. Then he leaned into his hands and groaned.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep. I hope I wasn’t in the way.”

Brian looked the blond man over. It definitely meant something that this kid thought simply sitting or sleeping on a couch was in the way. Brian didn’t know much about Justin’s parents or how he was raised, but the kid’s dad definitely did a number on him.

Brian got up from his desk and sat down on the edge of the couch, furthest away from Justin, so as not to spook him. The blond was just sitting there, staring at the floor, his eyes unblinking.

“I want you to know you can always come here. No questions asked. You’ll never be in the way.” Brian wanted desperately to place a reassuring hand on Justin, but based on his body language he could tell it wouldn’t go over well.

[little-annie]

All I Want | Ch6

Steddie | Little_Annie | Ao3

Ch.5 ⤵️

---

Eddie's POV

It's still a blurry memory in his mind, waking up to the bright lights of the hospital, beeping machines, garbled words and lips on his own. He remembers speaking to someone, but not who or why.

The day Eddie Muson had woken up was a weird one. It's just a mishmash of flashes and unrecognisable blurs of faces, sounds distant in the sense that everything seemed to be drowned out by non-existent water in his ears.

The moment was short lived, the pain in his abdomen sending him into a tailspin before the nurses pumped him full of painkillers and he was absolutely loopy for days to follow.

The next time he came to, it was much less dramatic. Wayne was at his side and the room was quiet. No loud machines or indescribable voices or sounds, just Wayne Munson in his work clothes, snoring in the chair next to the hospital bed.

Eddie had taken a moment to just breathe, trying to piece together how he'd ended up in the hospital in the first place, but there was nothing. Not a single thing had come to mind as to why his sides ached and he was confined to such a stale sanitary place.

Wayne snoring himself awake to his left, pulled Eddie's attention back from his thoughts only for the old man to nearly jump out of his seat and run to the door calling for a nurse upon seeing Eddie awake once again.

There were questions, nurses asking him his name and the current year, to list his friends names and describe the last thing he remembers.

They were all easy, well, except for the last one, but fuck, his memorie's shit to begin with, so he didn't pay that fact much mind. Though, after the nurse had left him and Wayne alone, Eddie had a few questions of his own.

Rough words around what he'd later find out to be a stitched back together lip, he asked Wayne a multitude of questions, starting off with a scratchy, "Anyone come see me?"

It maybe shouldn't have been his first question, though he couldn't help but feel an aching swell in his chest, thinking there should have been more than just Wayne at his bedside.

He recalls Wayne's face doing something funny, the man looking oddly uncomfortable before asking, "Who you expectin' kid?"

His friends for one. He remembers thinking how odd it was to not see one of the guys, Gareth especially, come strutting through the door, snacks in hand, like he had the other times Eddie had been hospitalised. Broken bones, a nasty case of the flu and one memorable electrocution and they'd all been there, laughing, hopping around, lightening the mood with their antics.

"The boys?" Eddie asked, continuing after trying to get comfortable in his damn bed, "I dunno, Gareth, Jeff. At least someone from the band?"

But Wayne had shaken his head, a sad look on his face as he had said, "Sorry son."

They'd both been quiet for a moment, Eddie surveying the bandages wrapped around his body, his stomach twisting at the thought of what could have possibly done this time him, and then he asked, "What even happened?"

"Wild dog," Wayne said rather abruptly, oddly, almost as if it was practised

Eddie had scrunched his nose in thought, still to this day he doesn't recall there ever being anything like wild dogs in Hawkins, but he couldn't help but ask, "Like a Coyote?"

Wayne had shook his head, eyes down turned to focus on the floor as he spoke, "Just some feral thing. Took a good chunk outta ya kid." The man grimaced, wringing his ball cap anxiously in his hands, "had me worried there for a while."

He supposed that was valid. But he could see the pain in Wayne's eyes as they continued to visit and sooner rather than later, Eddie found himself going quiet to spare the old man his troubles.

-

Eventually he'd been released, rolling his way through the hospital to Wayne's truck out front, needing some much unwanted assistance getting into the cab of the vehicle from a wheelchair.

That was something he definitely took getting used to, still putting up a fight for his independence to this day.

Though even when he returned home his life wasn't anything spectacular. He was still just Eddie Munson but the ride through Hawkins proved to be a surreal thing. Buildings in ruin, some torn down to utter rubble while others showed only the faintest signs of distress. It was odd. As were the still remaining support stations through town where it seemed some residents still resided or flocked to for donations.

According to Wayne, while Eddie was out, a rather aggressive earthquake shook the town to its core. Tearing fissures in its surface and ripping entire neighbourhoods apart.

As much seemed true when they had to take a different route than Eddie remembered to the trailer park, Wayne citing this would all be back to normal soon enough when the big wigs left town.

Whatever that meant.

Eddie was grateful upon arriving home, seeing that their trailer only encountered minimal damage, much of which was already repaired.

His first week back he was confined to the trailer, Wayne taking a week off of work to keep him company. How they afforded that, Eddie hadn't the slightest clue.

Eventually the boys from Corroded Coffin came around after school, bringing pop, pizza and homework that'd get left behind for at least the remainder of the evening.

It was good seeing the guys. Their presence provided some relief to his relationship with Wayne. Don't get him wrong, he loves the man and everything he's ever done for him, but Eddie needs a break every once in a while from the constant southern monotone.

By the time he was able to drive and get around fine on his own, Eddie was back at school and though he missed having something to do, a goal to achieve, he didn't miss the looks a handful of students and faculty would shoot his way. Their glares only turned up tenfold from what Eddie remembers from his past.

Along with attending school and searching for a job that wasn't drug dealing, Wayne had him running errands. If anything it was probably just to keep him busy, but it was then that he ran into Steve Harrington and some curly haired kid he couldn't help but take a liking to.

It was upon ramming his cart into Harrington's gut that a familiar flutter returned to his chest. God the man was pretty and it didn't quite help that he babysat nerds on the side either.

Eddie remembers the shimmer in the man's eyes and the blush he's sure he imagined on his cheeks. But he couldn't help for the nights to follow to wish he could make Steve Harrington blush like that once again.

Even if the guy was an asshole, that didn't stop Eddie from thinking he was the prettiest fucking thing on the planet. All that speckled olive skin, hazel eyes and plush lips. Fuck. Why'd the hot ones always have to be the straight douchebags?

But it was a surprise to him to learn from Wayne of all people that apparently Steve wasn't such a dickhead anymore? Supposedly he was part of the relief program after the earthquake, volunteering his time to repair the homes and hearts of the community.

Still Eddie couldn't believe it.

-

Another thing upon arriving home…

It was odd at first, Eddie felt like he was going half nuts, but upon ramming his foot into about six different things in his bedroom, he could have sworn everything was moved an inch to the left. Like in the month he was gone some fucker came in and moved everything around.

But that couldn't be it.

It was just... just everything felt weird. Lacking something. Out of place, not his own.

And then there were things he didn't recognize. Like a faded yellow sweater folded neatly on his nightstand, a couple new tapes he knew he'd been saving up for but hadn't purchased yet. Just weird things like that.

Fancy shampoo in the shower, the scent of citrus and cinnamon that lingered in his sheets.

The way he felt a pang of something in his chest everytime that scent flooded his senses. It was a weird feeling. A gaping something. But it remained unnamed and unmoored, lacking the connection to something that felt just outside of his grasp.

But he knew Wayne had gone to the thrift store after the earthquake, replacing items that may have been lost or damaged. Picking out things for himself, the neighbours or the donation bins. Maybe he grabbed a few things for Eddie while he was there too. Albeit, a yellow sweater that's very much not to his taste but is the absolute comfiest thing in the world. So much so it's become his sleep shirt on the nights he feels restless, it's warmth and the scent of what must be Wayne's new brand of laundry detergent -cinnamon and citrus- lulling him into a rather easy sleep.

—

The days dragged on, monotonous as they'd always been and for some reason, today proved to be a long one.

Eddie had managed to make it to school on time by the grace of whatever holy deity he didn't believe in. His bandages falling loose in his haste as he came crashing into his morning biology class with a rather painful flop into a plastic chair. He hadn't even made it through half of the class before he was sent to the nurse for his seeping chest wound. The thing was being a stubborn fucker, the stitches having ripped a handful of times in the last weeks.

From there on it was a blur of bitchy sneers and pointless information, but what with finals approaching and hopefully graduation, Eddie kept his head down.

It'd been a hell of a day and after running a few resumes around town after school, Eddie found himself at Family Video, exchanging pleasantries with one Robin Buckley before trading a pocket full of change for a classic horror fic and some Licorice.

He and Wayne pulled into the drive at the same time, the two of them attempting to race their way to the front door, which on Eddie's end only appeared as a slow hobble. Instead of a victory speech the old man stole Eddie's candy before he could even protest, smiling around a stick of Licorice as he mumbled something about Eddie's gimpy leg and smokers lungs.

It was nice having an evening together, it'd been a rare thing in the past and now that Wayne's back at work again after taking that week off, they hadn't really seen each other much lately. Running in circles around one another, communicating through graphic coffee mugs and notes scribbled onto sticky notes left around the trailer.

It was a nice change of pace being able to make supper together and chat about their days over a beer. Wayne seemed to have a rather boring day at the plant, no new gossip or news to be shared. Not like in the past when he'd come home to tell Eddie about Jim sleeping with Jon, while Jon's wife was sleeping with the maintenance man who happened to be Jim's cousin.

He chuckled at the memory, small town gossip and all that.

He'd told Wayne of all the places he'd applied for jobs, none of which going any further than a curt nod and a 'we're not hiring but I'll keep this on hand for when we are.' He was beginning to think he'd have to start branching into the surrounding towns if he hoped to get anything at all. The people of Hawkins having some weird stick up their ass about hiring him, applying a few towns over might be his only option.

Plus, if he graduated it's not like he could live with Wayne forever. Maybe it'd be a good thing for him to branch out of Hawkins.

Though, Wayne seemed to have some reservations about that idea that he wasn't entirely willing to share.

Eventually they ate supper in front of the TV, watching one of Wayne's ball games up until the old man had to go across the road and help old Mrs. Kelly with something or other. That's when Eddie finally popped in his rental and settled into the couch with a bag of chips and a cold beer.

It was times like these that that weird gaping something in his chest ached. It was an odd thing, the open cushion next to him feeling oddly bare and the air around him lacking something so specific but so out of reach.

It was times like these when he'd make his way to his room, pull on that yellow sweater from Wayne and burrow into the couch a little deeper. The faded yellow garment becoming something like a security blanket of sorts; it worked wonders most days. Though it didn't entirely solve that weird something, it did aid in dulling it.

Wayne entered the trailer nearly an hour later looking a little worse for ware, covered in motor oil and grime, huffing something about how 'Kathy really needs t' stop tryin' to change her own damn oil, ninety six ain't so spry anymore,' and wading off to the bathroom for a shower, only to return ten minutes later and flash Eddie a puzzling look before settling into the couch next to him, looking at him with a side eye every so often.

"What?" Eddie asked around the Licorice in his mouth

Wayne's brow furrowed, looking Eddie up and down once with a considering look before moving his attention back to the TV, "Why ya wearing that?"

There was no heat found in his tone, though in its place Eddie couldn't help but sense a sad curiosity.

"What?" He asked again, his own brows creasing as he looked at his uncle

"That sweater Son, it's not really your thing."

Eddie hummed, looking down at himself. Wayne wasn't wrong, but for some reason he couldn't help but think he was also the furthest thing from right. There was something special about the sweater, it made his heart feel fuller for some odd reason. He shrugged, pinched the soft fabric between his fingers, "Dunno, just like it I guess. S' cosy."

Wayne only hummed in response.

—

A day that was filled with rushing around, bleeding wounds and sneers from strangers, Eddie was glad to have a calm evening.

Eventually retiring to his bedroom when Wayne too turned in for the night, Eddie found himself laying in his bed, hanging upside down with a joint tucked between his lips and Judas Priest playing in the background.

It was then that he couldn't help but let the moments of the last few weeks play through his mind.

Finally getting back home.

Finally see the boys again.

Finally getting back into the routine of things.

Well, and then there was the Steve Harrington of it all.

He'd only seen the man once since he'd gotten out of the hospital but it only took that single moment for his everlasting crush to flare like a fire in his chest.

He hadn't stopped thinking about the man since.

Needless to say he'd found himself hoping to bump into Steve again, disappointed every time he rounded that same corner in the grocery store to find the aisle empty or at the very least void of the speckle skinned beauty.

It was a hopeless thing to try and wish his crush on Steve Harrington away. Even in Harrington's darkest days when he was a raging asshole Eddie was still a teensy bit in love with the man.

Though moping and wishing Steve to even be the slightest bit gay wouldn't change anything.

I just wasn't in the cards for this reality and unfortunately that's something Eddie's heart couldn't seem to wrap its mind around. Oftentimes would he find himself daydreaming of the man, simple scenarios that seemed all too vivid for even his thriving imagination. It only hurt his heart more knowing that's something he could never have.

Like that day when he was making breakfast and couldn't help but think what it'd be like to have Steve's arms around his waist and lips on his neck.

Or that day when he took a walk into the woods only to imagine what it'd be like to hold Steve against a tree and kiss his way down the man's body.

After that single interaction in the grocery store, Eddie found it to not only be his waking thoughts to be polluted by the man. His dreams now too being a painfully vivid reminder of what he could never have.

Near nightly he'd catch himself waking with a pillow held tightly in his arms, the memory of Steve Harrington's lips on his own fading with the night as the sun crept into the sky.

Many times too he would wake from a mid afternoon, mid chemistry class nap, with the memory of Steve's hands on his body, embarrassed by the flush in his cheeks and tightness in his pants.

He just couldn't shake the man, like he was haunted by the ghost of something he could truly only ever dream of.

Though that didn't stop him from mid joint letting his mind wander.

Douchebag tendencies be damned, given the chance he'd take it.

Given the chance he'd love Steve Harrington. Pepper him with kisses and sing him the sweetest of songs. Hold him throughout the night, below the moon and under the midday sun, whispering every beautiful word the man brought to mind against tanned, speckled skin. He'd taste the salt of Steve's flesh and melt into the sounds that left his lips as air escaped him in a gasp.

Given the chance he'd treat Steve Harrington like sunshine.

Because under all that hair and sass and rich boy attitude, Eddie's knows there's something akin to the beauty of the sun. Bright and beautiful, gold and honey. The source of life itself.

Given the chance, Eddie would let Steve Harrington be his sunshine.

—

It's several hours later when Eddie finds himself tangled in a heap of blankets, the moonlight streaming through his window, blinding upon meeting his eye.

The phone's ringing, incessantly so, loud and blaring and Wayne has to work too fucking early for some asshole to be calling this time of night.

Eddie pulls himself from bed with a groan, shuffling himself through the moonlit trailer until he finds the phone on the wall. With a grumpy grunt he pulls it from the hook and slumps against the panelling, letting out a groggy, "Hello?"

Instantly he thinks it's another prank call, some asshole getting off on calling 'The Freak' a murder or something else equally as creative.

Then there's a commotion suddenly on the other end of the line, a broken breath and a hollow thud.

That ache in his chest burns but he ignores it, listening to nothing but short quick breaths beating into his ear.

"Hello?" He repeats, irritation quickly creeping into his tone, "…. I swear to fuck if this is another prank call…"

The line remains silent and after another second Eddie hangs up with a huff, only making it to his bedroom door before it begins to ring again.

He stands there, watching it ring until he hears it disturb Wayne, the old man grumbling in his sleep for Eddie to answer the damn phone.

Eddie grumbles to himself, dragging his tired body to the phone only to growl into the line upon picking up, "What?"

But again he's met with silence and the occasional shuddered breaths, he's just about to give whoever it is a piece of his mind when he notices Wayne, tired and grumpy coming to the phone.

Exhausted and nearing his soon approaching shift, Wayne rubs the sleep from his eyes, "What's going on Ed? It's fuckin' three in the mornin'."

Eddie grits his teeth, combing a hand through hair, tucking the phone against his shoulder as he speaks, "Some asshole keeps callin'."

Wayne huffs, reaching a calloused hand out and making a grabbing motion for the phone, "Let me talk to 'em."

Poor fucker, Eddie thinks to himself, handing the phone off to Wayne and taking his leave, shuffling off to his bedroom only to colapse with a grunt into his bed and pass out once again.

—

That night, while Wayne's outside talking the love of Eddie's life down from a panic attack and Steve Harrington himself is a grieving mess surrounded by a puddle of his own tears on a hardwood floor, Eddie dreams of hazel eyes and sun kissed skin. Yellow sweater still wrapped around his body, he clings to a pillow that smells like home.

---

[downwiththemoralmajority]

Only A Heartbeat Away Part 3

Rex Brown / Phil Anselmo x female reader

Word count: 2187

Warnings: explicit sex scene

After jumping into hasty conclusions, this day still seemed to be good but the worst is yet to come.

One week has passed since I last saw Rex. I haven’t left the house for days because I kept feeling sick. My mother brought me food and checked my temperature twice a day. I had a mild fever and stomach cramps which wouldn’t go away. After three days I finally managed to take a bath to clean myself and relax a bit. Even the hot water made me shiver as my toes touched it. I couldn’t stop thinking about my fainting. It was extremely embarrassing to faint when you’ve just had sex. Thoughts were going round in my head while relaxing in the bathtub. I conjured the last month up. Being stressed and distracted by two men I didn’t notice one essential element of being a woman. I didn’t realize until now that I haven’t got my period yet. My blood pressure was suddenly rising by the thought of it. Hysterically I straightened up and grabbed the edge of the bathtub. Without warning I vomited beside the bathtub down on the freshly washed carpet. Was this caused by the pregnancy I probably endured or the fact I could be pregnant? Despite getting pregnant from sleeping with men I could also get a disease. I often knew when I got my period and when I couldn’t get pregnant. The dumbest thing to do is not having a condom. Shit, I thought to myself. Don’t panic. It was too early to clearly tell.

The clock above the toilet told me it was time for my mom to check my body temperature. She would find me here panicking and vomiting in the bathtub. The image sounded funny but it was like hell. I was glad I haven’t had cramps for the past two days. Slowly I left the already cold water and dressed myself in a bathrobe. I took some pieces of the toilet paper and cleaned the carpet. The acid smell of my vomit made me want to vomit once again but I could repress it. Finally I found a cloth which I dunked in the water to properly remove the stains. It still stank but I couldn’t care any less.

Back in the room I jumped into my bed and kept struggling with my heavy breathing. I wouldn’t just ruin my future but also the career of Pantera if I told Rex he was having a baby boy or girl. My pregnancy would be wrong on so many levels. I was just 18 years old without a profession. One year ago I graduated at the age of 17. All I wanted was to go to a college and study journalism. Straight after graduation I was entangled in a horrible car accident where I broke my left arm. It took me 10 weeks to recover. Though I wasn’t the person responsible for the crash, my parents didn’t let me drive the car again. Until now to drive to Rex who probably impregnated me.

But the chance of not being pregnant could be still high. It was all the stress that caused the cramps and the nausea, and it was kind of better now. A warm bath always helped. I wiped away the tears of desperation and dialed Rex's phone number. Actually I wasn’t sure what to talk about or if I wanted to meet him. All I wanted was to hear his soft voice. I hoped that their father wouldn’t pick up the call again.

„Hello who’s there?“, Darrell picked up the phone.

„Darrell, nice to hear you. Here’s Y/N. Is Rex at home?“

„Hey, dude, we’re kinda busy at the moment.“ I heard a familiar voice in the background shouting at Darrell to give him the telephone receiver. After a loud crack Rex took over the phone and answered joyfully: „Y/N, is that you? How you doing? You okay? I was worried.“ His voice made my heart flutter.

„Rex, yeah, I had the flu.“, I lied, „I’m feeling much better. Darrell said you’re busy?“

„Great news, babe. We found a new lead singer for Pantera. We’re about to jam in like… 1 hour. I haven’t told you yet because we weren’t sure, you know. Join us, if you’re feeling fine. I would like to introduce you to him as… my… girlfriend?“

My pulse rate was increasing. That cute little rockstar with his big brown eyes and long blonde hair called me his girlfriend. Out of nowhere. The excitement brought the nauseasness back. My small hands grabbed the receiver tightly.

„Yes. I want to be your girlfriend, I mean, I’m interested to hear you guys play.“ My heart skipped a beat. I think I found love.

„Y/N?“

„Yeah, Rex?“

„You’re the best.“ I heard Darrell sighing in the back as if he were annoyed by us lovebirds.

„See you later.“ I hung up.

I felt ready to take on everything. Straight after calling Rex I ran towards my closet and searched for my best outfit. The singer should be jealous of Rex having such a sexy girlfriend. While combing through my wardrobe I came across the black dress I used to wear to get Phil horny. By the thought of him I felt heavy hearted and how I easily forget about him. He tried so hard to act like a gentleman to win my heart. Last time we met he was a sweetheart but I wasn’t his girlfriend. I also wasn’t Rex's girlfriend at that time, so I technically didn’t cheat on anyone. The pregnancy was just imaginary. Everything’s going to be fine. Suddenly someone knocked on my door. I felt caught.

„Y/N, are you in there? Dinner is ready. Can I come in?“

„One moment please.“ I put on a shirt and my slip. „Get in.“

„I see, you look so much better. Let me che…“, she couldn’t finish her sentence, „do you want to go out?“, she asked skeptically.

„Mom, Pantera has a new lead singer and I will be the first to see him sing. And Rex asked me to be his girlfriend.“ I couldn’t stop talking. I was so overwhelmed. She took my hands and said softly: „My little girl is growing up. If you’re feeling good you can go out. I couldn’t stop you anyway.“

„I love you, mom.“

„Love you too, sweety.“, she gave me a kiss on my forehead. Then she noticed the heaps of dirty laundry on the floor and shook her head. She grabbed the laundry basket and began to clean my room. I stared in silence for her to leave so I could get dressed. „Mom?“, I questioned, „I want to get ready. Okay?“

Without saying anything she stopped tidying up and left my room.

The short jeans skirt and a tight top seemed to be fitting for the occasion. Unfortunately thighs were necessary because December evenings were cold. The question was black or nude-colored thighs? I arrived at a decision as I saw the white high tops in the corner. That would be the perfect outfit. I knuckled down in front of my wardrobe to grab the thighs and suddenly sensed a stabbing pain in my abdomen. To ease the pain I clasped my stomach and crawled into my bed. This wasn’t real, I thought to myself. Why did this happen when I was about to meet Rex?

A little while and lots of cramps later my stomach stopped turning. I sat up and noticed something wet on my sheet. The huge red stain was the best thing I’ve seen today. I was on my period. I wasn’t pregnant. Shit, I was on my period. And what about sex with Rex?

Because of that I took a shower again, searched for a tampon and dressed myself. I decked myself out. Some makeup on my face would make me look human. Unfortunately I frittered away some time, so I had to ask for the car again. I still had 15 minutes left to arrive earlier than the singer. But then I remembered dinner was on the table and my mom insisted that I eat before I leave. So I did her the favor.

Extremely happy about not being pregnant I lit up a cigarette before I jumped in my car. My parents hated that I smoked but I couldn’t emphasize enough that I was a legal adult at least in Texas.

What I didn’t forget this time were condoms. Not only because I was on my period but also to prevent pregnancies. I wasn’t ready yet for a child. After entering the car I checked the mirrors and started the engine. I couldn’t believe how quickly things turned out good. Hours ago I took a bath and wondered how it could be any worse and now I was on my way back to Rex.

I stopped at the gas station to pick up beer and cigarettes. The dazzling neon lights burned in my tired eyes. I paid and immediately left the store. No need to rest here in an area of darkness and creepy guys. I shouldn’t stare at the guys smoking cigarettes next to the fuel dispenser. They probably didn’t know it’s dangerous. As fast as I could I drove away.

As I arrived at the Abbott’s house I parallel parked between two unfamiliar cars. The one had a foreign plate from Mississippi and the other didn’t have any. I stopped thinking about the cars and strolled along the front yard towards the door. Secretly I hoped Rex would be alone but today was a big day for Pantera. I was happy for them. Hesitantly I rang the doorbell with the six pack of beer in the other hand. The foot stumps were getting louder the closer they came. Rex opened the door as if he knew it was me. The wide smile on his face revealed that he was on cloud nine. He gave me a fierce kiss and yelled: „I’m so happy to see you. You look really sexy. Oh, you brought beer. In honor of the occasion.“

„You look hot too, Rex. My boyfriend.“, I smirked.

„Our new band member is in the garage with the boys. I thought about having some sexy time before I join. They’ll understand.“

„But I need to tell you that I’m on my period.“, I said directly to avoid complications.

„Oh babe, nothing keeps me from fucking you. Not even human blood. I’m not a pussy. I’ll take you no matter what.“

„That’s extremely sexy of you but what about a nice blowjob first?“, I suggested.

„Your wish is my command.“

He grabbed my hand and led me to the kitchen. I bowed down on the dirty kitchen floor and unbuckled his belt. As soon as I came near his abdomen he began to caress my head. He took my hair into a ponytail and at one fell swoop he pulled up my head to look into my eyes. His aggressive and dominant face made me obey. Gently he clutched my chin and lifted it up. I haven’t experienced this dominant behavior yet but it clearly made me incredibly horny. The way he towered over me with his devious eyes which wasn’t as puppy as I remembered. I continued opening his pants and exposing his hard cock. This was the first time I would be sucking on his dick. His hand moved my head towards his boner and I deepthroated the whole thing. While sucking I tried to catch a glimpse of his sex face and wasn’t disappointed. He caught me staring at him and groaned: „You dirty little thing. So sexy with your pretty lips around my cock.“

This implied demand fastened my pace but I suddenly stopped. Saliva dropped off my mouth as I stopped chewing on it.

„One second!“, he hurriedly said and ran towards the bathroom to get rid of something inside of me. While running back to the kitchen I grabbed a condom and closed the kitchen door.

I threw it at him and said: „Sorry, but this is necessary.“

He wasn’t mad about it and smiled.

„Fuck me, Rex. Hard. I’m so horny.“

I bent over the marbled kitchen counter and noticed Rex opening the condom package. In the very next moment he spread my ass cheeks to enter my wet pussy. A loud moan escaped from his mouth. While thrusting harder he grabbed my ass and squeezed it until I screamed. My face was pressed against the marble surface. And as soon as I reached my orgasm, Rex also stopped pushing. He sighed and pulled out his dick.

„I’ll go to the bathroom.“, I said and kissed his lips.

I took my time to breathe and cleaned myself. I hated to be on the period but Rex made me feel comfortable.

Footsteps were coming closer to the bathroom door. Hurriedly I took on my thighs and flushed. One hand on the doorknob, we simultaneously opened the wooden bathroom door.

„Rex, I’m done. I come with you, jamming.“, I said without knowing who was standing in front of me.

„Nah, it’s not Rex. But you must be his girlfriend.“

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 08x21 The Great Escapist

“Oh hey it’s Kevin” “Post it notes seem like a bad idea on this surface” “spend more time reorganizing your shit than actually doing anything” laughter “what the fuck” “Does that sign say it’s a blast proof door? It’s not blast proof thickness” “that’s not going to go well” “Crowley in 3…2…1.” “Idk” “what the fuck” “Is that water?” “I have no idea. It’s cool” “hey Crowley” laughter “more basic” “Was the whole basic bitch thing a thing back then? If not it was coming up” “Yeah I agree. They should have moved Kevin to the bunker” “you just chewed the berries” laughter

“That’s your stomach if you eat that fkn shit” laughter

“Trapped him” “That’s not a great joke” 🎶he’s got the spanish flu🎶

“The fuck is wrong with Sam?” laughter 

“Good bullets” “Melt down an angel blade or something?” “107? Nice. That’ll fkn kill you” “I suppose for every blade you get a few extra bullets. Not as reusable though” “What the fuck” “just shove the pieces together” “which ones are which at this point?” “I suppose those are the demon ones” “what the fuck” “They could have gone for the triple 6 but that would have been too cheesy so they changed it to a 3 at the last minute” “Hi Snot” It’s Snot

“Quite the ego on that one (Sam).” Castiel really is a badass. He pulled a bullet out of his body “Did they really need the squish sound effect?” laughter

“So Sam can’t get next to this guy or something?” “That’s pretty extreme” “whatever writer wrote that line has the biggest fkn ego ever or they’re trying to make a point” “telling off an angel. No big deal” “which one is it?” “helluva sunburn there” “there are so many closeup shots in this show. Holy shit” We gotta see how beautiful Jensen is “what?” “there are better ways to ask for it. You don’t have to pop out on the fkn road or anything”

[humandisastersquad]

I'm not exaggerating when I say reflux has ruined my life

[dontfeeltoohot]

happy birthday! I hope you have a good one :) tiny little bday prompt: locked out~

Thank you!! This is actually my second ‘locked out prompt’ I’ve gotten in the past hour LMAO. Y’all out here wanting misery 🤣 enjoy some locked out canon (divergent bc he lives) Eddie. Also this got a bit long, whoops.

X X X

Of course. Of fucking course today of all days he’s going to get locked out of his damn van. There’s no way he’s breaking his window or door, and though he knows how to break into a car, it requires a damn hanger which he doesn’t have. Sighing, he knows he’s going to have to get help.

The thing is, it’s fucking cold outside, and he’s already feeling like shit. Whatever flu’s been going around Hawkins has started hitting him since he woke up, and his dumb ass didn’t even wear a heavy jacket. The walk back to the trailer park is well over 5 miles from the pharmacy he’s just walked out of, a brown paper bag containing Tylenol, cough drops and a thermometer in his hand. The long haired man would rathe walk to Harrington’s than attempt walking icy back roads right now.

Harrington.

Looking around, he spots a pay phone down towards the next store, so Eddie huffs, grips the bag tighter, and walks over, careful of the patches of ice on the sidewalk. As he gets closer, he pauses to cough into his arm, grimacing as his throat stings. Fuck Hawkins and their inability to cover their damn mouths. After paying the 25¢ to call, the musician dials the ex-jocks number and waits, praying the guy is home.

“Harrington residence.” The voice, while still his friends, is much more enunciated and proper.

“Harrington, hey, it’s- snf! it’s Eddie.”

“Oh, hey man,” the voice on the phone relaxes into a completely different persona. “What’s up?”

“I kind of got locked out of my car…is there a way you could pick me up? I have a spare set of keys back at my-“ Eddie turns away to cough, before returning to the mouth piece. “-sorry, my trailer. I can come back to get it later.”

“Oh shit, yeah, I can pick you up. Where are you?”

Eddie can’t help but thank whatever higher power there is. He’s starting to feel gross and achy, and while he knows his name has been cleared, people still look at him with disdain. Going back into the pharmacy, or any other store, really, isn’t his best option. Freezing to death would suck too.

“The pharmacy down off Main.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in like..ten minutes. Just gotta find a jacket and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks princess.”

By the time Harrington gets there, Eddie’s shivering, nose pink from both the temperature and the attention he’s been giving it from it getting runny. Hauling himself up, body feeling ungodly heavy, the twenty year old walks up to the others car and gets in, instantly blasted with heat. Thank fuck.

“Sorry about this,” Eddie clicks his seatbelt and puts his bag on his lap, wincing as he swallows.

“No worries man, seriously. Happy to help. What were you doing over here anyway? It’s cold as hell, would think you of all people would just stay in your house and keep warm,” Steve smiles, and Eddie watches, warmth pooling in his stomach.

“Think that shit that’s been going around finally hit me, needed to grab some Tylenol, we don’t really have anything at the trailer.”

Rubbing his face, he’s thankful Harrington knows where his place is, even if the reason for knowing sucks. He’s too tired to keep his eyes open, though he wishes he could, with someone as hot as Steve sitting next to him. Eddie curls away from the driver and presses his arm tight to his face, not wanting to get his germs all over the man’s car.

“Damn, that sucks. Robin just caught it too. I had it back last week, finally feeling human again,” he explains, looking at Eddie in sympathy.

“Why does it not surprise me you caught it first?”

“Yeah yeah, my immune system sucks,” Steve rolls his eyes fondly. “Have you eaten? We can grab soup on the way.”

“Nah, I’m not hungry. But thanks anyway.”

��I was going to bring some to Robin anyway. You sure? It’ll save me a trip too.”

And damn, Eddie’s too gone on Steve fucking Harrington to say no to that, especially when he’s been grateful enough to come pick him up in the first place. Forcing his eyes open, he looks at the man and nods.

“Yeah, that’s fine then. I don’t need any though, kind of scared I might hurl it up if I try to eat it.”

Steve turns down one street, then back up on to Main, parking in front of the small family owned deli. He keeps the car running, then puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’ll be right back. You just stay here and relax.”

As if Eddie would do anything else. He drifts for a bit, letting the aches and chill take over. A door opening and shutting makes him open his eyes again, and Steve is there with two brown bags, setting them in the back of his nice BMW.

They don’t speak as Steve drives, Eddie’s too tired and the other man seems to respect that. He did say he’d been sick last week with it, he probably still remembers how awful talking is. The long haired man leans his too warm temple against the cold window, a tiny, quiet moan escaping his mouth.

“Eddie? Hey man, we’re here,” Steve shakes his shoulder gently, and he opens his eyes, feeling worse. Damn this shit hits quick.

“Thank you, seriously,” Eddie gives the shaggy haired man as much of a smile as he can muster.

“No problem, what was I going to do, say no?”

“Could have. Instead you were my knight in shining armor,” Eddie jokes, grabbing his pharmacy bag, opening the door.

“Oh! Here.” Steve thrusts one of the two bags from the deli at him.

“What-“

“It’s soup. I know you said you did t want any, but…you might get hungry later.”

“…you bought me soup?”

“Yeah? It’s not a big deal.”

“Thanks Stevie.”

Half an hour later, Eddie’s back in sweatpants and one of Wayne’s old, heavy sweaters. If he finishes the entire cup of soup, almost wishing for me, well….Steve won’t need to know.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 21 - Nowhere to Run [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, blood, nightmares.

Word Count: 4300

Summary: Everyone needs a shelter.

For all your life, your sister had always said she hated watching horror movies with you because you would always criticize every character and their choices in the movie.

Who would even stay where they were when they knew there was danger outside, when they knew there was something coming for them?

You had never thought you’d learn the answer first hand;

Because there was nothing else to do, and because that was exactly what you were doing.

Spencer and the rest of his team had sent you away from that basement so that you could get some fresh air and at least attempt to get away from the greeting written on the wall with blood but you knew it was impossible.

There was no running away from that, you had seen it already.

You dangled your legs off the pier back and forth, keeping your gaze on the lake that looked so calm that it was almost like a painting. Funny, you hadn’t ever stopped to enjoy it when you were still a child, you had never actually sat there on the pier to take a breath, wrapped in the safety that would soon disappear.

The footsteps coming closer pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned you head as Spencer sat down next to you.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you croaked out and he ran his fingers through his curls.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

You shook your head, “I’m not sure what home is for me at this point, to be honest with you,” you murmured, “Besides I heard the other agents talking, you guys are going to be pretty busy the moment the rest of your team gets here.”

He heaved a sigh, biting inside his cheek but you kept your gaze on the lake.

“It makes it official right?” you asked, “All these murders…It’s not really about my father’s legacy. It’s about me.”

He stole a look at you, “Y/N…”

“It’s okay professor,” you said, “Trust me, I’m not going to run and scream.”

“The profile is changing constantly with every piece of evidence-“

“Spencer.”

He let out a breath, pursing his lips.

“It is pointing that way so far,” he muttered, “It doesn’t matter though. His legacy or an obsession with you, we’re still going to catch him.”

A silence fell upon you and you cleared your throat, pointing at the woods on the other side of the lake.

“Mina and I used to play the princess and the monster over there,” you said, “I mean… It was either me who was the princess or Mina and I were saving some imaginary princess because Mina wanted to be friends with her.” You used air quotes, “I don’t know whose shock was more fake when she came out, mine or mom’s.”

He let out a small laugh, “Yeah?”

“Mm hm, and right over there,” you pointed at the right, “Linc chased me with a worm in his hand to scare me off, and I ended up falling into the damn lake.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Then Mina pushed him into the lake too and we all got grounded for the whole weekend.” You let out a breath and pointed back at the cabin with your thumb, “And right there, dad showed me how to kill someone for the first time.”

His head shot up, “What?”

You scoffed, “He didn’t tell you that during those sessions?”

Spencer shook his head, frowning.

“He taught me…” you wetted your lips, “How to- how to hunt, that’s what he called it. Predator and prey. After teaching me how to analyze places to find a weapon, he taught me how to find my way in the woods. Just in case. He used to um-“ you cleared your throat, “I don’t really remember all of it, I don’t know how much of it are nightmares or memories, but I remember once he dragged me here in the middle of the night, and he opened the door and there was this man…”

“Petal honey, don’t get so close to him,” your father called out from the kitchen he sharpened the knife as you took a step closer to the man who was gagged and bleeding profusely, still whimpering on the floor. Even in the dim light you could see the look of terror on his face and your heart skipped a beat as you turned your head to look at your father.

“Daddy, he-“ you shifted your weight from one foot to other, “Maybe we can just leave him like this. He’d be dead by the morning.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked before getting closer to you, flipping the knife in his hand and the man started yelling through the gag, but it was muffled. Your father extended his hand, motioning at the huge teddy bear you were hugging closer to your chest and you bit on your lip, then handed him that.

“You can get the teddy back after you answer 3 questions right, you know the rules,” he told you, “Alright, if I wanted him to die quickly, where would I stab?”

“Jugular.”

“Where’s the jugular?”

You pointed at the man’s neck, “There.”

“Good. What if I wanted him to suffer for hours with just one stab wound?”

You paused and scrunched up your nose, forcing your mind for the information before you looked up at him.

“In the stomach,” you said, “Stomach acid hurts.”

He thought for a second, then handed you the teddy back.

“Good job honey,” he said and walked to the man with the knife in his hand.

“I couldn’t do anything,” you pressed your lips together, “For hours and hours he tortured him and when we got back home, I went to bed and the next morning I wouldn’t stop shivering, I kept throwing up and my mom thought I had the flu so we ended up not coming to the cabin that weekend. I know how he—” you clicked your tongue, “I know how he pretends to be a normal guy. During those interviews, that documentary, even in those sessions with you he keeps pretending like he’s normal, but I know him. I know the real monster and I…”  you sniffled and cleared your throat, “Profiler or not, you have no idea what he’s capable of. He put me through actual hell, Spencer. No wonder I can’t remember half of this shit, I think I’d lose my mind if I did.”

“Y/N…”

“I didn’t stop him.”

He frowned, “How old were you?”

“Seven.”

“You couldn’t have stopped him even if you wanted to,” Spencer told you, “You were a child.”

“I could’ve told someone,” you murmured, looking at the lake, “I could’ve done something.”

“You were a child,” he repeated, “Children trust their parents, okay? You know it as well as I do that he’s a master at manipulation. Whatever he has done, it’s not your fault.”

“I doubt those bodies in the basement would agree with you,” you managed to say and let out a humorless chuckle, “Besides, I’m my father’s daughter, remember? You told me so yourself.”

The impact of your words would’ve been surprising if you weren’t so distracted by your own misery. He pulled back as if you had just slapped him, his hazel eyes searching your face and he swallowed thickly, opening and closing his mouth like he was at loss for words.

“I didn’t mean—” he paused, shaking his head “Y/N, that wasn’t the truth.”

You grabbed the cigarette out of your purse and lit it, dangling your legs back and forth over the pier.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged your shoulders, “You’re not the first person to think that, and weirdly enough, you’re not the first ex to think that either-“

“That’s not what I think,” he insisted, “Nothing about you even suggests that you’re anything like him, behavior or psychological wise. I just wanted to—“ he hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenching, “Hurt you back.”

You tried to smile, still keeping your gaze on the lake as you exhaled the smoke.

“Congratulations professor, you’re pretty good at that.”

A silence fell upon you both as you twirled the cigarette between your fingers.

“I’m sorry,” his voice was so gentle that you turned your head to look at him, “I really am. I never should’ve hit below the belt, not like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N.”

“No really,” you insisted, “I don’t want to talk about that anymore, I’m just so—“ you closed your eyes for a moment “God, I’m just so tired Spencer. You have no idea how tired I am.”

“I know.”

“And it just doesn’t end,” you murmured and opened your eyes, “Right? I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months now, and everything is getting so out of my control.”

“It will end soon.”

“But we don’t know that,” you insisted as almost a hysterical laugh escaped from your lips, “Do you want to hear the worst part? I don’t think this feeling will ever go away. At this point, I don’t even remember how it feels like not to be afraid.”

He heaved a sigh, then looked over his shoulder when Luke approached you two.

“Sorry guys,” he said, shifting his weight, “But um- Reid, we need you in there.”

“Can’t someone else-“

“Don’t,” you shook your head as you stood up and dusted off your jeans, “Seriously. Besides, the sooner you catch this guy, the sooner…I don’t know, the sooner things go back to normal, whatever that means.”

“You can’t just drive home like this.”

“I’ll drive her,” Luke said, making you turn your head,

“Dude, aren’t you needed here too?”

“I’m going to go back to help out Rossi,” he said, “Not all of the team has to be here, I mean-“ he nodded at Spencer, “We’ve got our genius here, he’s got it covered. I can take the babysitting duty.”

“No pastries for you anymore.”

“I would like to rephrase my statement,” he said quickly, making you smile before you shrugged your shoulders.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

“Y/N-“ Spencer started but you shot him a look.

“I’m fine,” you said, “Go do your Sherlock stuff, professor. Solve the case so that I can start planning weddings again instead of hanging around creepy cabins. I’m just gonna go home and get drunk, so you’ll probably get a voicemail or two from me, just saying.”

“Can’t wait,” Spencer smiled softly and you followed Luke to your car, then handed him the keys and got in the passenger seat. He started the car and you slipped a little in the seat, leaning your knees on the dash.

“How are you holding up?” Luke asked you and you heaved a sigh.

“I feel like I’m in a horror movie to be honest with you,” you muttered, “Who the fuck writes on a wall with blood, I mean like who are you, Michael Myers?”

“I didn’t mean the case,” he stole a look at you and you raised your brows.

“Ah, that,” you said, “Well, I don’t have a bff that sets me up with people in night clubs, so there’s that.”

He hissed in a breath, “Garcia told you.”

“Mm hm,” you looked out of the window, “No hard feelings, don’t worry. I dated lots of frat boys back when I was in college, so I’m very familiar with the bro code.”

“You dated frat boys?” he made a face and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah I started from the bottom and worked my way up to the genius back there.”

He chuckled, “I take it you still haven’t told him you threatened a serial killer because he happened to threaten him?”

“I would’ve done the same for anyone.”

“Bullshit.”

Your jaw dropped, “I let you drive my car and this is the thanks I get, Alvez?”

“Okay trust fund baby, I’m driving you home, you’re not doing me a favor.”

You let out a small laugh, “Eh, I’m not that bad.”

“Your sister threatened a whole police department using lawyers.”

“They had it coming,” you said and he cleared his throat.

“If it makes you feel any better, it was an actual fiasco.”

Your head shot up and you turned to him, “Hm?”

“That whole thing with Reid. He’s not over you.”

“He will be,” you murmured, “Eventually.”

“Do you want to hear why it was a fiasco?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s an exaggeration-“

“He spent the whole night talking about you,” he cut you off and your jaw dropped, “Yeah. More like, she asked him about his job and he mentioned the case, then talked about you and how you couldn’t be the killer for hours. For a second, I thought he’d go up to the DJ booth and start broadcasting from there.”

You could feel the warmth spreading through you, but you nibbled on your lip, trying to ignore it.

“I really hurt him Luke.”

He stole a look at you from the corner of his eye.

“I know,” he said, “That’s pretty clear. I don’t know which one is worse, that you hurt him or that it doesn’t seem to change anything on his part.”

You could feel the burning in your eyes but you slipped a little in your seat and kept your eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I don’t know which one is worse either.”

                                                   ***

The worst thing about nightmares?

There was no escape from them, and no amount of booze could make them go away.

You woke up to your own scream and leaped out of the bed so fast that you got caught in your sheets and fell on your face, your ears ringing. You could feel the bile burning your throat, so you covered your mouth and rushed to the bathroom to throw up into the toilet, barely aware of the sobs rocking your body. You wiped at your mouth and stood up on shaky legs, then brushed your teeth, still breathing hard.

You were there again, in that graveyard with your father, but this time you couldn’t brush it off as just a nightmare.

It was way too detailed, way too familiar to be a nightmare.

You wiped at your forehead and washed your face with ice cold water, desperate for some sort of a relief and leaned over the sink, closing your eyes for a moment.

“Fuck this shit,” you rasped out to yourself before turning the tap off and raised your glances to look in the mirror.

Well.

You looked exactly like how you felt.

You still didn’t trust your legs but still managed to leave the bathroom, Making your way to your bedroom was more than enough to give you goosebumps, but you snatched your phone off the bedside table. You almost dropped it because of how badly you were trembling with fear, but managed to hold it tighter, found his name in the contacts and took the phone to your ear.

He answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Spencer, hi,” you said, still taking deep breaths, “I um… I had this- this nightmare and I- I need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere?”

He hesitated for a moment, “Are you okay? Why are you breathing so fast?”

“Not a panic attack,” you wiped at your nose, “Not yet anyway.”

“Okay, I’m still coming over-“

“No!” you cut him off, then licked your lips, “No I can’t…. I can’t stay here right now, I need to get out of here. Can we please meet somewhere or-or-“

“How about my place?” he asked and you heard the unmistakable clinking of keys, “You can’t drive like that, I’ll come and pick you up, wait there-“

“No I’ll just take a taxi.”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll take a taxi, just send me the location,” you told him and hung up, quickly got dressed, got into your coat, then went downstairs when your taxi arrived. You still felt like you could throw up again, but the cool air coming from the open car window helped as the driver started the car after you gave him the location.

There was a beauty in the city at night, especially in chilly nights like these. The small raindrops falling down your face offered some kind of a small comfort while you tried your hardest to ignore the images flashing through your mind, taking a deep breath, letting the cold air fill your lungs. You leaned your head to the open window, closing your eyes and letting the noise of the city drag you out of your own mind.

By the time the taxi pulled over, you were almost lost in your thoughts and only when the driver let you know that you were there you opened your eyes. You paid him, and looked up at the building before making your way inside.

It was almost strange how you hadn’t seen his apartment when you two were dating, but now here you were.

After the break up. At three in the morning.

You wiped at your nose and fixed your hair before you knocked on the door and tried to control your breathing, but that felt way too difficult. As soon as he opened the door, everything you had planned to tell him in your head disappeared and you looked up at him in complete silence for a couple of seconds, you had almost forgotten how he looked when he wasn’t in his work clothes. A warmth filled you, the urge to rush into his arms taking over you but you managed to fight the urge and stepped into the apartment, desperately searching for the right words.

“I had that nightmare, again.” You turned to him as soon as you entered the living room, stumbling over your words, “That graveyard nightmare, but Spencer I think it wasn’t just a dream, I think you were right and it was a memory and there was someone else but I can’t see a face and—“

“Y/N.”

“And I think we were there because of me because it all just connected, we were at that graveyard and he was actually digging a grave and I can remember the face of the victim but not—“

“Sweetheart, breathe.” he approached you in three long steps and his warm hands cupped your cheek so that he could look at you better, “I’m here, I’m listening, okay? Just breathe and tell me. Slowly.”

You swallowed thickly, looking up at him.

“I had that nightmare again,” you managed to say, “But I think that’s a memory.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “How?”

“Because at the graveyard, dad told me something,” you said, “He was- he was digging a grave, and he said, Remember, you’re not supposed to make them bleed if you can’t kill them. And I remembered when that happened, back at the cabin, during the training, I… I untied one of the victims and pretended like he got out of them somehow.”

His hand slipped a little so that he could brush his fingers over your neck, almost soothing you.

“It didn’t work,” you shook your head, “As soon as he got out of the cabin, dad hunted him down and dragged him back into the cabin, he had lost way too much blood to make a run for it. Spencer, that’s a memory, not just a nightmare.”

“There was another person with you? At the graveyard?”

“He took the victim to the graveyard later on, but yes. There was someone, I just…I can’t remember who,” you heaved a shaky breath, “You need to tell the team-“

“We’re already checking the graveyards within the driving distance to the cabin, I told them today.”

You blinked a couple of times, “Did you?”

“Yeah,” he said and his eyes searched your face, “You’re shaking.”

You tried to smile and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, running your thumb over his warm skin, “It’s cold out there.”

You were lying, he knew you were lying and you knew that he knew, but neither of you commented on that. He hesitated for a moment before he pulled you closer to him, letting you bury your face into his chest as he held you tight and you inhaled his scent, closing your eyes.

He was right earlier. This was an addiction.

“Were you sleeping?” you muttered into his chest before you pulled back to look up at him. He scoffed and shook his head.

“No,” he said, “I was working on the case.”

“You really need to sleep.”

“It’s ironic to hear that from you,” he pointed out and that made a smile warm your face.

“Ah but I did sleep,” you said, “I just woke up because of the nightmares. It still counts as sleep.”

“I doubt that,” he said and you turned your head before you started walking around the room.

Spencer’s apartment was more or less what you imagined, to be honest. Contrary to yours, it was darker and obviously older. The wooden desk was covered in papers and books, there was a library by the corner of the room almost stacked to the brim, and overall it reminded you so much of him that just being in his apartment made you feel-

Safer. Better. Calmer.

“Lovely place,” you commented as you approached the library to drag your fingertips over the cracked and old spines of the books and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift his weight.

“Yeah it’s not- it’s not like yours but I like it.”

“Not like mine?” you looked over your shoulder and he cleared his throat.

“Mm hm.”

“I like it better than mine,” you said and he frowned,

“Why?”

“It looks like someone is actually living here,” you motioned around and he tilted his head.

“Is that a good thing?”

“It is,” you said, “I mean I can see….you in here. I can’t see any part of me in my apartment.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “My mom has this person who designs her houses, she designed my apartment too. It’s pretty but it’s just not me I guess. It’s kind of sad when you think about it.”

He hummed, his eyes watching your every move and you pulled a book from the shelf, holding it up so that he could see the title.

“You don’t strike me as a Petrarch guy,” you tilted your head, “Are you?”

He raised his brows and stole a look at the book in your hand.

“I do not pray, since there is no purpose, that my heart should ever burn less fiercely, but only that she might share part of the fire.” he recited and your jaw dropped before you pouted.

“I hate bluffing with you,” you commented, making him chuckle and you stifled a yawn while turning the book in your hands.

“You can’t work for the whole night if you have a guest.” you gestured at the wooden table and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I won’t if my guest promises she’ll try to sleep.”

“I don’t like this deal.”

“That’s the deal you’re getting,” he said and you clicked your tongue, then walked to the center of the room and sat down on the floor before you lied down.

“I have a bed, you know.”

“I don’t want to get comfortable and fall asleep yet. I want to enjoy this more.”

“Enjoy what? Lying on the floor?”

You shook your head and kept your gaze on the ceiling, the dim light of the apartment and lights from the outside creating shadows there.

“I don’t have that…mind numbing fear right now,” you managed to say “I want to make it last. It’ll come back when I wake up tomorrow, trust me.”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, then heaved a sigh and sat down on the floor as well, leaning his back to the leather armchair. You tossed him the book and he caught it mid-air, shooting you a quizzical look.

“Read me your favorite,” you said and he smiled slightly.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’ll help me get out of my head, and it might help you….ignore the fact that your night club date was terrible, apparently.”

He raised his brows, “Luke told you?”

You tried to stop your smirk, but it was impossible,

“Yeah he did,” you said and bit inside your cheek for a moment, “Thank you though.”

“For what?”

“For believing in me.”

His gaze on you was gentle, “I wish you would believe in yourself too,” he told you, “You’re not what he tried to turn you into.”

You dragged the tip of your tongue over your lip.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we should move on?”

He took a deep breath, his brows furrowed in thought.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “We probably should. But do I think we can move on? I don’t think so.”

You nodded slowly, that burning in your eyes getting even worse as he turned the pages until he found what he was looking for, then cleared his throat and started reading.

“I have offered you my heart a thousand times

O my sweet warrior, only to make peace

with your lovely eyes: but it does not please you

with your noble mind, to stoop so low.”

You smiled to yourself, painfully aware of why he picked that one, then closed your eyes, his voice washing over you.

“And if some other lady has hope of it,

she lives in powerless, deceiving hope:

and it can never be what it was to me,

since I too disdain what does not please you.”

Chapter 22

[dinosaurtsukki]

[ flu season in E minor ]

pairing: fyodor dostoevsky x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k words

contains: uni!au, sigma and nikolai as your bff’s, gn!reader, music student!fyodor, fyodor being a bit of a brat while he’s sick, slight pining/crushing, idk just fluffy shit

summary: you and fyodor are both in the university theater club but you rarely ever see him except for when you’re picking up the musical compositions he makes for the play. this time, however, you come over to his apartment to find him sick with the flu

a/n: uhhh this is kind of a trainwreck cause i was literally just ‘omg uni!au fyodor sickfic’ and then went with it :P

“don’t forget to drink your vitamin c guys! flu season is already here and if you’re down with the flu please don’t come in and spread your germs everywhere,” sigma instructed at the ending of the cast meeting. even though he sounded snappy while saying it, you could tell he meant well. two of your actors in the theatre club had already come down with the flu and with showtime coming up soon, everyone was understandably extra careful.

“y/n, one last thing,” sigma called you over as everyone prepared to leave.

“in case you were going to ask, yes, i took my vitamins already,” you teased skipping over to where he was.

“not funny,” sigma rolled his eyes. “i was wondering if you could follow up with fyodor on the music for the next scene? he doesn’t respond at all to any non-physical communication, i already left him ten messages.” 

“ooh, another visit to the phantom of the opera’s apartment,” nikolai popped up right at your shoulder.

“seriously? you guys call him that?” sigma raised a disappointed eyebrow at you two.

“well he’s mysterious and makes music in a theatre.” 

“i feel like you should actually watch phantom of the opera before making that claim,” you told him. “also sure,” you shrugged nonchalantly to hide your obvious excitement. “i have time to drop by.” 

even though he’s a part of the theatre club, fyodor dostoevsky was pretty much an enigma to the rest of the members. his contributions to the club activities were mainly in the form of the musical compositions he created for the plays. however, because he was always busy practicing for upcoming recitals apart from his music classes, fyodor rarely ever attended rehearsals. 

but on the off-chance that he did drop by in a rehearsal to discuss with sigma or attend a cast meeting, you’d spend the entire time just... admiring him. everything from the calm and articulate way he spoke to messy way his hair framed his face. and on that day when fyodor decided to demonstrate the music by playing it himself on his cello, you realized you were head over heels for this man.

and so you, practically jumped at every chance you got to pick up sheet music or recordings from fyodor’s apartment. you already set the expectation that you wouldn’t be around for long. and you were right about that... usually.

...

“fyodor? hello?” you knocked on the door for what was probably the fifth time already. it was freezing cold outside and you were desperate to get in. pressing your ear against the door, you heard a weak voice say ‘come in. door’s open’ and then tentatively, you unlocked the door.

whenever you saw fyodor, he was always wearing a clean, button-up shirt and slacks since he was also at orchestra practice. so of course, it was a complete shock to you to come into his apartment to find fyodor dressed in bright red pajamas with a mickey mouse logo on the center of his shirt with a colorful patchwork quilt thrown across his shoulders. not to mention, he was seated in his couch with sheet music and tissues strewn around him. 

upon closer look, you could tell from his sunken eyes and slightly red nose that flu season had struck fyodor. 

“oh, y/n, it’s you,” he sniffled as you hesitated near the door. “come in. it’s cold out.” 

“are you alright?” you asked, approaching fyodor. because you had gotten the flu a bit earlier that month, you weren’t too concerned about catching it again. “you look, well, sick.” 

“just a cold,” fyodor waved his hand. “anyway, did sigma send you for something?” 

“he’s asking for a follow-up with the music for the new scene,” you remembered. 

“oh, that...”  fyodor nodded, frowning as he searched the sheet music scattered around him. “i’m sure it’s around here somewhere and... i forgot to do it.” fyodor sighed at the realization. “don’t worry. i’ll just whip something up real quick,” he sniffed before picking up a blank piece of sheet music.

“well you don’t have to right now. fyodor, you’re sick. you should get some rest before working,” you sat down on the couch as fyodor bent over the coffee table with a pencil ready. “i mean, no offense but i doubt you can come up with anything in your current state.”

“nonsense, y/n,” fyodor scoffed and began to scribble something on the page. “i am a trained classical musician. composing is merely second-nature to someone like myself. why, i’m sure i have a melody coming along right--” 

“fyodor.” 

“yes?”

“you just wrote the letter g on the corner of the page and then started drawing random squiggles.” 

fyodor looked down at his squiggled-over sheet music with a completely deadpan expression and stared at it for a good ten seconds. “i thought it was a g-clef,” he whispered to himself.

“do you... want me to help you to your room?” you asked softly. fyodor sniffed.

“yes please.”

...

when you headed out to his apartment earlier that morning, you didn’t expect to be taking care of a sick fyodor for the rest of the afternoon. for someone who always looked put-together and composed, fyodor was terrible at taking care of himself. even after coming down with the flu a few days ago, he still insisted on practicing the cello in his apartment. and, judging by the empty cans in the sink, you could tell that all he was eating was instant soup.

and, sick fyodor was kind of... whiny. it took a lot of convincing on your part for him to agree not to work on the compositions in bed, or practice his bowing. he complained about his pillows ‘not being plump enough’ and that his socks didn’t match (because he didn’t do the laundry). 

“i don’t think i’ll even be able to sleep at this rate, y/n. my head is spinning but i’m not nearly tired enough to sleep. maybe i’ll drift off for just a bit but it won’t be that restful,” fyodor said, laying down on his not-plump pillows before he was out like a light five minutes after.

“drift off for just a bit, huh?” you chuckle slightly to yourself as you watch him. fyodor was curled up on his side, hugging one of the pillows with his blanket wrapped tightly around him. 

you were definitely in a strange situation being in your crush’s house while he was sick in bed. there wasn’t really a need for you to stay; you could just leave some medicine on the nightstand and a note with instructions.

“mmm... key needs to be in e minor,” fyodor mumbled in his sleep before turning over on his side. you bit back a laugh for fear of waking him up. 

‘what the heck? i’ll stay and make him some actual soup,’  you ultimately decided.

...

fyodor woke up to the smell of something delicious cooking, and that was something he rarely woke up to. aside from the fact that he could actually smell out of his currently unclogged nose, fyodor felt much better than he had been in a while. 

‘y/n must still be here,’ was his next thought after waking up. and he must admit, that was very reassuring to know. fyodor didn’t have the best constitution and whenever flu season rolled around, he expected being sick for a length of time. 

after wrapping the blanket around himself, fyodor curiously crept into the kitchen to find you standing over at the stove, stirring something in a pot while humming to yourself. there was a bag of groceries on the counter too. ‘did they... buy me food?’ 

he coughed slightly to get your attention.

“oh, fyodor. you’re up,” you turned around, smiling at him. “how are you feeling?”

“a bit... better,” he confessed, fully aware that he said all those things about not being asleep before embarrassingly falling asleep for two hours. 

“great! soup’s going to be ready in a few minutes. if you freeze it you’ll have enough for a few days,” you added. “also bought some oranges. they should be good for you.” 

“you... don’t really have to do this you know?” fyodor ended up blurting out, except it sounded a bit harsh. “i mean, i’m sure you went through all the trouble.” 

“don’t worry about it,” you waved him off. “you’ve been working really hard so i get that you don’t think of yourself much. let me do this one thing for you as a friend,” you smiled.

“also, i’m genuinely concerned at the amount of canned soup you’ve been consuming.” 

“canned soup isn’t that bad for you,” fyodor insisted. 

“yeah, and i’m sure you enjoy that metallic aftertaste quite a lot,” you quipped. fyodor opened his mouth to retort something before closing it abruptly. the knowing smirk on your face only made him glance away. instead, he busied himself with retrieving the clean bowls, luckily there were two left, from the dishrack and setting them on the table. you were humming again while you turned off the stove before serving the soup.

“chicken noodle soup, huh?” fyodor couldn’t help but chuckle.

“a classic,” you shrugged with a smile. “it’s a secret family recipe too so it’s bound to get you to feel better.” 

“you’re making it up, aren’t you?” 

“yeah, i got it off the internet,” you giggled. fyodor chuckled and took a sip of the soup. it was deliciously hot and flavorful and best of all, the soup didn’t have a metallic aftertaste.

“after eating, you can take some of medicine that i bought in case you have a headache or body pain, as long as you didn’t take any four hours before.”

“what?” fyodor blinked at you.

“you know, don’t take the medicine within four hours of each other,” you explained slowly. “also it’s better that you drink some now that you’ve eaten.” 

fyodor not-so vaguely recalled all those times he drank medicine on an empty stomach and feeling even more sick after. “i... was not aware of that,” he admitted. you sighed with your eyes closed.

“i’m amazed you’re still alive.” 

...

“so, flu season struck the phantom of the opera, huh?” nikolai sighed after you told him about your weekend.

“yeah,” you nodded, remembering the sight of fyodor on the couch dressed in his pajamas with a blanket wrapped around him. that was going to be burned in your mind for a long time. “he’s... kind of terrible at taking care of himself.” 

“that’s fyodor for you,” sigma added. the three of you had arrived at the backstage area of the theatre early and were busying yourselves with sorting through the various props that you had. “you know, one time he even went to a recital with a 39-degree fever. practically collapsed when he was off-stage.”

“i’ll one-up that story,” nikolai practically sprang off the box he was sitting on. “okay, so there was this one time i came over to fyodor’s’apartment while he was sick and he was so delirious he--”

“you guys do know that it’s rude to talk about people when they’re not there.”

the three of you practically spun around at the same time to find fyodor leaning against the doorframe of the backstage entrance with his arms crossed. he was looking way better than last time you saw him.

“fyodor,” sigma blinked, clearly stunned. “you’re... you’re here.”

“you’re alive!” nikolai cried dramatically, skipping over to fyodor and flinging his arms around fyodor who showed obvious discomfort. 

“of course i am,” he scoffed. “thanks in part to y/n.”

hearing that made your face flush a bit. “i-it was nothing,” you stammered, dodging nikolai’s curious stare. 

“anyway, i finished the compositions for the next scene,” fyodor strode forward, handing sigma a folder of sheet music and a flash drive. “let me know if it’s to your liking.”

“thank you. i’ve been having director’s block with that one. this should help,” sigma sighed gratefully. “i’ll give it a listen if you don’t mind.” and before you could say anything else, he scurried out to the stage area.

“and i’m going to leave for some arbitrary reason just so you two would have some alone time,” nikolai snickered at the indignant expression on your face before leaving you and fyodor alone backstage.

“oh, nikolai. always... funny,” you laughed nervously. 

“indeed,” fyodor nodded. “i only have the vaguest idea of what’s been going on during rehearsals. i should probably come around more often.”

“oh, we understand that you’re busy and all. but you’ve already been helping a lot with composing the music so don’t sweat it if you feel like you haven’t been active,” you said.

“well, that’s not the only reason i want to come around more often,” fyodor’s eyes flickered up to meet yours and you felt your face heat up again. god, it was so much easier to talk to to him and joke around when he was sick with the flu.

“in any case, i’m glad you feel better now,” you cleared your throat. “i hope the soup helped.”

“it did. i was sad to see it run out,” fyodor chuckled. and before you could even consider what it was you were going to say, you went and blurted out: 

“i could make it for you again.”

“oh?” fyodor’s eyebrows flew up and a smirk played on his lips.

“i-if you want to of course,” you stammered. 

“i’d like that,” fyodor smiled, much to your surprise. “if you could update me on rehearsals and the play we’re doing, that would be great. how does friday sound?”

“friday sounds great.”

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist): @waitforitillwritemywayout @atsumusdomain​​ @laure-chan @goodfoodxoxoxo ​ @guardianangelswings @ah-kaashi @amberalisa​ @whootwhoot​ @liz-multifandom-hotel​​ @kac-chowsballs​​ @violentfarewll @fyoyacanruinmylifethanks

[ateezmakemeweep]

richboy!yeosang (part 2)

word count: 5k

fluff, smut (tw: mentions of abortion)

(part 1) (miniseries masterlist)

“did you just puke again?”

you look up at yunho from your spot on the couch, bags under your extremely unamused eyes as you nod your head lazily. 

you warned him not to come over in the first place today, that you didn’t wanna get him or mingi sick since you’ve spent the past few days still vomiting and feeling like shit.

but he insisted, not wanting you to spend the day alone and cooking for yourself when you didn’t feel your best. 

yeosang had stayed home with you for two days but had to get back to his classes, you all but forcing him out of bed in the early morning hours this week. 

“yes,” you whine, a pout on your face as he smooths down your messy hair. “which is why you shouldn’t be here!” 

he only rolls his eyes as he fixes the blanket over you, claiming he’s immune to all illness before tucking you in like a child and going off to the kitchen to check on the soup he’s making. 

you let out a sigh as you hear yunho humming softly, sprawling out on the couch and stretching your aching bones. you thought for sure you had some sort of stomach flu, a slight fever and vomiting along with just pain all over.

but it’s been almost a full week now of waking up and feeling like this, irritation starting to settle in because it feels like you’re never gonna get better.

it makes it even more frustrating that, in the mid-afternoon and nighttime, it seems as if you’re getting better, just for everything to start all over again.

“that’s odd,” yunho hums softly when you tell him that, carrying your bowl of soup and a package of crackers that makes you hold back a smile. 

he side-eyes you when he sees your lips twitching, flicking your head gently and gesturing at the food he just cooked for you. 

“have you gone to the doctor?”

“you know they freak me out,” you mutter, slurping the soup and humming when the warm broth hits your tongue; if there’s one thing you learned about yunho over these college years, it’s that he’s a great cook. 

“this is good.”

“thanks,” he smiles softly, watching closely as you slurp down the broth.

this is a meal he makes for mingi every time the boy isn’t feeling well and, while he knows his boyfriend is secretly wimpier than you, he always looks more...sickly. 

pale and sleepy and barely able to lift the spoon into his mouth; but then again, it could be his fiancé being a baby and wanting to be doted on.

“that made me feel better,” you smile happily, getting up from the couch slowly to wash your bowl and spoon before yunho can. 

the boy notices and narrows his eyes, following you into the kitchen quickly and leaning against the counter. 

“you know, it’s weird that it’s only in the morning,” yunho says inquisitively, “and that yeosang didn’t get it in that first twenty four hours.”

“i know, right, i was thinking the same thing,” you admit, dapping the sponge with dish soap as you clean out your dishes. 

“maybe it’s some kind of, like, food poisoning? me and yeosang got that sushi place a few nights before this all-”

your apartment door opening causes you to peek out into the hallway, a tall and annoyed mingi making his way to you; the boy seems even more disappointed when he smells the familiar scent of yunho’s soup.

“did you save some for me?” 

“are you sick?” yunho asks, smiling softly when mingi pokes him in the arm. “what happened? why do you look so annoyed?”

“because halloween isn’t for another week and people are already coming into the bars dressed up and shit. if i had to serve one more person covered in a poorly cut white sheet, i was gonna scream.” 

you and yunho side eye each other with a smirk, one of mingi’s many complaints about being a part-time bartender the amount of sociable people. but the job works for him despite his less than amused attitude, his withdrawn, mysterious personality and handsome face responsible for his hefty tips.

“what are you guys gonna be? pirates again?” you ask, a wide cheeky grin on your face; for the past three halloweens, they haven’t strayed from their favorite costumes. 

“pirates again,” mingi mocks immaturely, his head turning toward you before he does a double take. his hand on your face causes you to stop washing your spoon, eyebrows pulled together as you look at him in confusion. 

“what?” 

“you look weird,” mingi says bluntly, turning your face side to side. your mouth drops open as yunho smacks him in the arm, coming to your defense and saying that you’ve been sick for the past few days.

“yeah, you asshole! i’ve been puking my guts out all morning, excuse me for not looking my best.”

“even more reason for you to go to the doctor,” yunho chimes in quietly, the icy look you throw his way causing him to smile sweetly. 

“but i start to feel fine by the afternoons,” you whine, pulling your face out of mingi’s grasp belligerently. “i have a feeling they won’t even help me.”

“you still have to go, babe,” yunho says softly, running his hand through your hair gently. “that doesn’t sound normal. especially since it’s almost been an entire week.”

you let a sigh as you turn off the sink, wiping your hands on your pants before promptly (and immaturely) stomping back to the couch. it’s in your pursuit to throw yourself back down on the cushions that mingi grabs you before you can, gazing down at you with a wide-eyed expression. 

“what?” you whine again, the slightest hint of exasperation in your tone; he’s starting to freak you out.

“has yeosang gotten sick?”

you shake your head.

“and it’s only in the morning?”

a confused nod.

“and you’re just nauseous and puking?

another confused nod, about to ask him what the hell he’s on about before his next question causes your stomach to drop.

“is your period late?” 

the question makes you still and you’re faintly aware of yunho’s choked gasp in the background, thinking back to the last time you had your period. 

you wrack your brain for the answer but can’t quite remember, pushing down the panic that’s threatening to rise as you start to piece things together. 

your skin’s been clear, you haven’t had cramps, your boobs don’t hurt... but even so, that wouldn’t be possible, right? 

you’ve been on birth control since high school. there’s no way that’s why your period is late, school just started up and work is stressful.

you’ve been stressed since summer ended, not used to the new routine of life. 

there’s no way that the 99.9% effectiveness rate is gonna fail you out of everyone in the world. especially when you’re pretty good about taking it, when you take it everyday around the same-

“holy fuck. it’s late, isn’t it?” 

“mingi, shut up! she looks like she’s about to puke again.”

you don’t even realize that you’re panicking until you look up at them and see them watching you carefully, yunho soft and sympathetic while mingi is shocked and almost disturbed. 

“i-it’s because i’m stressed,” you say, voice sounding like you’re on the brink of a mental breakdown; the denial and hope is all too evident. 

“i have a lot more assignments now for school and work’s been crazy. i’m just stressed and i’m... i can’t be-”

“the pill isn’t always effective, y/n...” yunho says gently, his voice soothing and sweet but doing nothing to calm you. 

“yes it is,” you squeak, your eyes wide and hands shaking as you watch the two giant boys looking down at you. “i-it’s 99.9%...” 

“they say it’s probably only 91% effective...” mingi says, yunho letting out a scoff as he drags mingi back against his body. 

“you’re not helping at all,” he growls lowly in his fiancé’s ear, the dark-haired boy turning around and looking over his face. 

“she has morning sickness, yunho, how could this not be-”

“it’s not morning sickness! i can’t be pregnant!”

the thought didn’t even cross your mind, not in the slightest. why would it? you’ve been safe and careful and actively trying to prevent this. 

“y/n, it’s okay,” yunho says, making his way over to you slowly.

your heart starts to pound and tears are threatening to burn the back of your eyes, shaking your head frantically as you look between the two boys. 

“why is it late? i didn’t- i didn’t even notice. or think about that. oh, my god.”

you throw your head in your hands and yunho’s quick to plop down beside you, putting his arm around you gently before pulling you into him. 

he breathes quiet reassurances into your ear for a few silent moments, his scent clean and nice and you try to focus on it surrounding your nose and calming you.

but it does nothing of the sort. 

because yeosang’s scent is always the thing to calm you, sweet and familiar and reminiscent of your home that’s mixed with whatever festive candle is burning at the time.

but what would yeosang think about this current situation, knowing that you’re really entertaining the idea that you might be pregnant with his child?

“what would yeosang say?” you blurt out, your head snapping to see mingi now a few feet away from you. 

you’re suddenly consumed by how fucking eerie this all is, just a little over a month ago talking with yeosang about your future kids. but he had made it clear  it was far into the future, the same way you did. 

you never ever thought the future would be only weeks later. 

“he said he wanted kids in the future. but the future future! we even said you guys would have kids before us and would need a lot of practice! holyfuck, no. i can’t be pregnant, i can’t be-”

“y/n.”

mingi’s knelt between your legs before you can pass out from lack of air, his face relaxed and eyes looking up at you softly. you swallow the lump in your throat as he exaggerates his breathing, in and out, as he rests his hands on your knees. 

“mingi, i can’t. what if i’m actually-”

“stop.” 

his voice is deep and gruff as he shakes his head, ignoring yunho’s gaze piercing into his face. your eyes start to well up with tears the more he looks at you, the sympathy in his gaze making you even more uneasy. 

“mingi,” you whine but he only shakes his head again, squeezing your knee as he begins to talk.

“we’ll go get a test, okay? all three of us. together.”

“and what if it’s-”

“we’ll deal with whatever result when it happens. but for now, we gotta figure it out first.”

mingi can see the fear behind your eyes so he rubs his hand over your knee soothingly, eventually helping you up and out of the house with yunho. 

there’s a slightly tense silence as you guys walk down the block to the nearest pharmacy, trapped between the two boys who bump your arms and occasionally graze your hand affectionately. 

you looked over the tests in a daze, your shaky hand reaching to pick out a pack of five as you tried to brace yourself for whatever the result was gonna be. 

“i can’t do it.”

“you have to, y/n. how else are we gonna know?” mingi asks you through the door an hour later, the white stick in your hand as you try to force yourself to pee on it. 

it’s one thing to pee in a cup at the doctor to make sure all is well but doing it to find out if your life is about to change forever? that’s a lot more daunting to do, let alone on five of them. 

“just do one first, then we can go from there,” yunho says gently, his kind, soft-spoken voice not even helping you at this point.

“i can’t!” you cry out, tears pricking your eyes as the white test wobbles in your hand. 

“you gotta try, babe,” yunho says softly, mingi biting his tongue as he resists the urge to stomp in there and demand to help; his fiancé must know it too, if the chastising look he throws his way tells him anything.

“she’s scared, mingi,” yunho mumbles softly, squeezing his fiance’s arm affectionately. 

it’s one of the many, subtle ways he’s learned to calm mingi down over the years, whether it be when the boy is an anxious fit or ready to bite someone’s head off. 

“i know she is but she could not be pregnant,” the tall boy rationalizes, placing his hand atop yunho’s absentmindedly. “so she’s just freaking herself out for nothing.”

“you’d freak out too if you thought you were pregnant.”

“okay, well no shit,” mingi deadpans, a laugh bubbling from yunho that has a smile lighting up the usual grouchy boy’s face. 

“why are you guys laughing!” you yelp, whipping open the door to reveal yourself with tears brimming in your eyes. “this is no laughing matter!” 

“can you just piss already?” mingi asks snippily, yunho pinching his arm and mumbling for him to get you some water before looking at you encouragingly. 

his hands cup your face gently, eyes soft and sympathetic as he looks you over. 

“i know you’re scared, y/n, but the quicker you can go, the quicker you’ll have the results and know for sure.”

“yunho, if i’m pregnant, what am i gonna-”

“then you’re pregnant and we’ll figure out what to do next,” he says with finality, his thumbs stroking over your cheek gently. “but you could also not be pregnant and just be stressed with everything, like you said. we won’t know until you pee.”

you let out a noise between a huff and a laugh, looking at him with a frown before taking a deep breath and braving the bathroom once again. 

it takes you a few moments, getting the urge to urinate as you place the stick between your legs but eventually, you have it in the sink and you’re gripping the counter tightly. 

never ever did you think in a million years you’d be in this situation during your junior year of college, hunched over a sink in your ritzy, city apartment waiting for the results of a pregnancy test.

you have to imagine yeosang never pictured this either, the kids he planned to have in his adult years way after college coming to him nearly 10 years early. 

tears burn your eyes as you picture telling him, lucky to not have the financial burden of raising a child but instead...everything else. the way one’s life and relationships and mindsets truly change after becoming a parent.

using the word parent to describe you and yeosang doesn’t even sound right.

how are you supposed to do this? tell him and think it over and make decisions about this when most days, you two can’t even decide what you wanna eat. 

you both still have so much left to do with your young adult lives, finishing school and getting jobs and maybe traveling to the top ten countries you guys decided one night at two a.m. 

could you do all of it with a baby? could you guys survive it at all? is this something yeosang would even consider despite being-

“y/n? did you do it?” yunho’s soft voice calls, the eerie silence within the bathroom making the two giant boys panic right outside. 

they get their answer when you open the door and stare at them with a terrified expression, wide eyes and a wobbling lip that immediately causes mingi to pull you into him. 

you crumble against him as you bury your face in his broad chest, only slightly aware of yunho petting the top of your head calmingly. 

the apartment is silent despite the honks and bustle of the city outside, all three of you breathing slowly and calmly as you inhale the smell of mingi and yunho’s combined scents; you think it has something to do with them sharing clothes more often than not. 

the silence is broken when you three hear a beep from a few feet away, your head snapping up and back toward the bathroom as mingi mumbles a low “shit.” 

yunho sneers at him before walking over to you, giving you a knowing look as tears well up in your eyes.

“it’s okay,” the dark haired boy promises, firmly believing that no matter what the result is, it’ll all eventually be okay. 

“you look first,” you beg, voice barely above a whisper. 

you can’t bring yourself to look at it yet, knowing that there’s a 50% chance your life is about to drastically change. 

you need the last few moments of pure panic before you either become so relieved and overwhelmed with gratitude or start to panic 100 times more. 

“are you sure?” yunho asks apprehensively, now feeling a bit of fear pull in his own gut. 

“positive,” you say, your face falling just as mingi snorts, “it might be.”

“mingi,” yunho mumbles warningly just as you snap your head in his direction. 

the death glare you send his way nearly makes him smile, if the mood wasn’t so tense and yunho wasn’t glaring at him and you weren’t four seconds away from finding out if a fetus is about to start growing inside you.

“please look before i start to puke again.”

yunho looks over your face one more time before letting out a sigh, walking into the bathroom and looking down at the white stick in the sink. 

he feels his heart drop into his stomach immediately, tightening his hold on the marble countertop as he swallows. mingi notices the way his adams apple bobs and feels his own eyes widening, squeezing past you as you watch the scene unfold in front of you.   

mingi places his hand on yunho’s arm as he peers over the boy’s shoulder, a gasp leaving his mouth that immediately causes tears to spring to your eyes. 

and it’s when your best friend looks at you with a flood of different emotions swirling in his eyes, you already know what the result is.

the same result as the other four tests you took afterward, a total of five positive pregnancy tests right there in your bathroom sink. 

you’re not sure how long you cried into your hands as you slumped onto the couch, sobs wracking your body and shaking as you tried to come to terms with it. 

because the prospect of your life changing wasn’t the only scary thing, yeosang’s reaction and your parents wasn’t the only scary thing; the journey of the pregnancy itself was fucking terrifying. 

watching and feeling your body change and going through an ordeal every woman describes as something so incredibly painful. you’d already been puking and having body ache thus far, and you know things are only gonna get worse. 

even after your cries eventually stop, your face red and eyes sore and nose full of wet snot, the boys next to you are still silent. you almost think they expected the results to be negative, not to go back and check again and again and again for the two tiny pink lines displayed on the screen.

“i’m scared.”

it’s the first thing you say to break the silence after god knows how long, mingi looking to you just as yunho reaches out and holds your hand in his. they were lost in their own little world too, wondering how you’re gonna handle going through this and what yeosang’s response will be. 

they know he loves you and will be by your side no matter what but it’s still a hard situation to grasp. being young and scared and faced with the challenges an accidental pregnancy creates. 

“what are you gonna do?” mingi asks softly; you know the situation has gotta be bad, because you don’t know if you’ve ever heard his voice this sweet talking to anyone besides yunho. 

“i don’t know,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as the last remaining tears burn the back of your eyes. “i just...i don’t know. i’m so fucking scared.”

“well do you wanna...keep it?” mingi asks, yunho’s head snapping to the side as he looks at him. “you have options, you know.”

"i know,” you tell him softly, licking over your lips nervously; you never thought in a million years this would be a predicament you were in. “i don’t know if i could do that. i’m scared... but that seems scarier to me. and i still have to tell yeosang.”

the two boys don’t comment as you sit there with your thoughts, your leg starting to bounce nervously as you think about telling yeosang this news; this kind of announcement should be happy and joyful and exciting, you feel bad by the sheer terror pulsing in your veins. 

“i have to tell yeosang,” you repeat, yunho and mingi looking you over as you start to think aloud. “what is he gonna say? what if he gets mad?” 

“he’s the one who did it, how the fuck is he gonna get mad?” mingi growls, the semi-like, hate relationship with the boy coming out; he doesn’t think yeosang will react like that but he knows if he does, he’ll for sure crack his head open the way he intended to in the library back in high school.

“he’s not gonna be mad,” yunho assures, side eyeing mingi before he places a hand on your shoulder. “he’s probably gonna be just as scared as you.”

and you think if yeosang came home later that night in a good mood, you would’ve seen that yunho was right.

but the second your boyfriend got in the door, you knew he wasn’t okay. his face was pale and sunken and he looked utterly defeated, hair messy from the downpour of rain and just an overall look of exhaustion over him. 

“work is driving me fucking insane, babe, it’s like they don’t know i’m still in school,” he tells you over dinner, his fork viciously stabbing into a piece of chicken. 

“i have a hundred different things to do and they’re being assholes because i asked for one fucking extension. i’m just about ready to tell them to go fuck themsel- are you okay?”

he looked up from his food to see you staring down at your plate of noodles, completely untouched as your eyes train blankly on the white take out bowl. 

“baby?” he hums lowly, his hand touching yours causing you to jump slightly. his eyebrows pull together slightly as he looks over your face, looking for any visible signs of stress or upset. “what’s wrong? do you not like it?”

“oh, no, no,” you laugh out humorlessly, bringing your fork down to swirl a few noddles before popping it in your mouth. “sorry, i’m just sleepy. yunho and mingi came over today.”

“ahh, tired my sick girl out, huh?” he teases, a frown on his face as he places the back of his hand on your head. “how’d you feel today? i hated leaving you.”

it takes everything in you not to burst into tears on the spot, your stomach twisting painfully as you shrug your shoulders at him. 

“fine,” you mumble, “threw up a few times, then felt better. the same thing.”

“you gotta go to the doctor, love,” yeosang says, wiping at the corner of your mouth where a small speck of sauce lay. “i know you hate them but this is weird. especially since i feel fine.”

you only smile softly at him and nod, stomach sinking again after he adds on, “well, apart from being worried about you and so fucking annoyed with work. i know hwa’s mom got me the job but, shit, i’m about ready to be a real dick.”

“don’t do that,” you chastise lightly, smacking him in the arm playfully. he only chuckles in response, the tenseness in his eyes from the moment he walked in slowly disapating. 

you can’t mention this tonight. you have to wait until his stress is minimal and news of his baby won’t be the thing that puts him over the edge. 

“congratulations, you’re almost seven weeks pregnant!”

the words didn’t surprise you when you went to the doctor three days later, mingi’s hand in yours with a horrible pit in your stomach. 

it felt wrong to be here with anyone who wasn’t yeosang but yunho and mingi had begged you to go, stressing your own personal safety as well as ensuring you didn’t somehow get five false positives. 

and over the next few days, anytime you’d try to tell yeosang, something always came up and prevented you.

work and school still stressing him out, his coworkers inviting you guys to dinner, you passing out while he was still in the shower because apparently the first trimester is doing you so dirty already. 

“you have to tell him soon, babe,” yunho said a week after that doctors appointment, holding back a laugh as he remembers the horror that crossed his fiance’s face when everyone thought he was the proud father to be.

“have you told him yet?” mingi asked two weeks later, back from a vacation with yunho where they couldn’t help but worry about you and yeosang.

his eyes widened and he covered his face with his hands when you shook your head no, his loudly spoken “what are you waiting for!” echoing through the small coffee shop.

“keep your voice down!” you snap, smacking him from across the table as you shoot him a stern look. 

“y/n, it’s almost been a month and he still doesn’t know he’s gonna be a dad,” the boy whispers now, even though yeosang’s across the city at work and there’s only a few other people in the store right now. 

“he’s been stressed about work and school and there just... hasn’t been a right time,” you reason weakly. 

because even though that is the truth, he has been stressed and news of this would surely add on to it, you also know that telling him would make this all feel too real.

put it out in the world that you’re pregnant and he’ll be a father and you’ll both have to start making decisions based around those facts; are you both ready for this discussion?

you don’t feel ready. you feel more scared about this than you’ve ever felt in your entire life 

“there might not ever be a good time, y/n,” mingi says softly, understanding why you’re scared but also knowing, despite his own feelings toward the boy, that yeosang will love you no matter what. 

“and even though he’s a fucking dick, he loves you. and he wouldn’t want you being scared and dealing with this alone.”

tears prick your eyes because you know what mingi’s saying is right. and you guess if you’re gonna be terrified and stressed out, you might as well be together. 

but your stomach nearly sinks that night, yeosang’s arm around your shoulder as you both watch tv, when he lowers the volume and begins to speak.

“baby, can i ask you something?”

you turn around and peek up at him, his eyes soft and curious and it makes your heart pull in your chest that even you can see the love reflecting in them.

“hm?” you hum as you look at him, warm and comfortable in his hold; because as far as stress and ways to relieve it go, you two usually fuck until you forget it. 

but you haven’t felt right in the mornings and get sleepy by night, something you know yeosang had to have noticed and is too sweet to call you out on. 

“are you... is everything okay?” he asks, his arm rubbing at your shoulder gently. “i feel like you’ve been out of it these past few weeks.” 

he noticed the week you were sick but chopped it up to just that, feeling gross and drained and he completely understood it.

but then it seemed as if you started to avoid him completely, pushing away when he’d try to deepen a kiss or mutter that you weren’t in the mood when he sank to his knees at your bedside. 

“and i don’t know... you seem a little distant,” he mumbled lowly, his hand slowly reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “i just wanna make sure everything’s okay.”

you think maybe it’s a little bit of everything that makes you promptly burst into tears. his sweetness and the starting of hormones and the guilt of keeping this secret from him for far too long.

“baby, what happened?” yeosang mumbles, his heart sinking the second he sees the tears well in your eyes.; he wasn’t sure what happened or what was wrong but he knew it had to be something.

you can only sniffle as you bury your face in his chest, shaking your head as you just cry and cry into him. 

you’re faintly aware of his hand running through your hair, lips against your head as he takes deep, calming breaths. 

“please tell me what’s wrong,” he says after a few moments, pulling your face out of his chest so you can meet his gaze. the look in your eye is one he’s never seen before and he doesn’t know what to make of it, wiping wetness from your cheeks as he looks at you pleadingly.

“c’mon, my love. talk to me,” his deep voice begs, a tiny sob leaving your mouth as you shake your head again.

“you’re gonna be mad,” you whimper out, knowing that you keeping this from him for this long was so fucking stupid; but you’re scared and you know he’s gonna be too, especially given his.... upbringing.

there are just so many factors that are making all of this ten times scarier.

“i won’t, baby,” he tells you gently, a pout on his lips as he looks down at you. 

he’s not used to seeing you this upset, he hates seeing you cry and in any sort of pain since, for the past few years, you’ve only ever cried because of stupid, cheesy movies.

but you can only look at him with a blank expression, both of knowing very well how short his fuse could be. 

“when do i ever get mad at you?” he corrects, a tiny smile breaking out across his face when you sniffle and your face scrunches up. 

he doesn’t know what you’re about to tell him, or what could be so scary and upsetting that you’re breaking down like this, but he knows that when it comes to you, he’s wrapped around your finger. 

and nothing you tell him could ever be that bad and panic-inducing. 

“i’m pregnant.”

part 3

tag list: @mirror-juliet​ @toffee-hwa​ @valhoez​ @miatsubaki23​ 

[secretobsessionstuff]

Infection

Here is the Dakota infection fic that I mentioned before! There is emeto in this because I can't resist.

Content Warning: Description of infected wound, blood, vomiting

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

The smell of grilled sausages greeted Dakota before he opened his eyes. They were having a real fire-cooked breakfast that morning because Blair insisted on making the most of their camping trip. It didn’t matter that there were muffins in the car; they were in the great outdoors, and they would act like it, gosh darn it!

Madix and Riley appeared to only have gotten half the message because they were fine with roasted hotdogs, but not so eager to leave their phones in the cars. At least there was good music coming from the speakers. Ah Ariana Grande—the sound of nature.

It took Dakota’s groggy mind a second to remember that he spent the night in a tent, but his achy muscles soon reminded him. Actually, his whole body hurt as if he ran up and down a hill all day yesterday.

Oh wait, he did do that.

The four of them had walked to the lake where they found a rope swing attached to the biggest tree. It was the perfect spot for launching themselves into the water because of the hill that the tree grew from. So, they spent the day running back and forth between the water and the rope.

Their perfect camping grounds were hardly a secret, but that was okay because it meant someone provided them with a rope swing. Unfortunately, it also meant that the ground was littered with metal and glass from disrespectful campers. They picked up as mush as they could find before doing flips off the rope.

Apparently, they didn’t have the best eye for trash because Dakota’s foot found a piece of a glass bottle that they missed. He had been coming back from the water, soaking wet with the biggest grin on his face, ready to jump again, when the glass shard cut into the bottom of his foot. Now Dakota, like the campers who littered in the first place, had been quite drunk. He felt the pain, certainly, but he soon forgot about it when the water washed the blood away. Until he got back to the campsite where he covered the cut with a bandage, he walked around with his skin torn open.

Dakota didn’t know it, but that cut was what made him wake up with the sickest stomach, and it was the cut that would eventually make him collapse during a hike. Well, not the cut, but what got into it.

The bandage was still on his foot when he woke that morning to the smell of breakfast being cooked. The smell turned his upset stomach, forcing him to crawl out of the tent.

Everyone was already awake, meaning he must have slept in if Riley was up before him. Blair was kneeling by the fire, turning the sausages as they cooked. Madix and Riley were sitting in their camp chairs around the fire, munching on peanuts. Chipmunks joined them for breakfast as well. The little animals scurried to where Riley held his hand open. When Dakota zipped open the tent, his friends all looked his way.

“Morning, baby!” Blair called. Her hair was in a messy bun that Dakota knew for sure wasn’t done deliberately. She looked sunny and wonderful.

“How did you two sleep?” Madix asked while shooting a glance at Riley. “Hopefully, nobody invaded your sleeping bag in the night.”

“Hey, I told you I got cold.” Riley countered. “And I heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a bear.”

“And I told you there are no bear sightings in this forest.”

“Fine, it was a fox then.”

“What does—”

Dakota didn’t listen to his friend’s playful banter. It was a lovely morning with lovely company, but he wasn’t feeling so lovely. Everything from his head to his feet hurt, and one foot hurt more than the other. It almost felt like he had the flu, with burning eyes and aching muscles.

What made the morning even lovelier was seeing Blair so smiley. That at least helped how he was feeling. God, he really hoped he wasn’t getting the flu in the middle of the forest.

“I slept okay,” Blair said as she placed the sausages on a paper plate, “How about you, Kota? You’re waking up pretty late.”

Dakota couldn’t remember anything disrupting his sleep, but the fatigue in his bones made him question his answer. “I slept fine, but I feel weird.”

“Weird how?” Madix asked, accepting a plate from Blair.

“I don’t know. A little sick.”

“Well, you look sunburnt,” Riley said. “It’s probably from the heat.”

“Maybe.” Dakota shrugged and crossed his arms over his middle. The smell of the food was getting to him bad. It churned his stomach, reminding him of the reason he crawled out of the tent. He really didn’t want to worry Blair and take the smile away from her face, but he could feel the need to puke getting stronger. His mouth filled with saliva, and not because he was hungry.

While his friends ate, he pulled himself out of the chair and began walking away. He had to get far enough away so he wouldn’t upset Riley. Running wasn’t an option he discovered, as he needed to keep weight off his injured foot.

Dakota barely got twenty feet away from the fire before bending over with his hands on his knees. He only needed to burp once. The belch dislodged something in his stomach and suddenly he was retching up last night’s dinner onto the ground.

“Oh shit.” He heard Madix say. He didn’t know what Riley was doing, whether he was running away or covering his ears, but he felt bad either way. He hoped Riley was running away because he wasn’t close to being done.

By the time the second gush rushed up his throat, Blair was by his side. She patted his back as mostly-digested burgers and smores splattered at their feet. “Easy, babe.”

Dakota didn’t take it easy. He didn’t know how. He threw up everything in his stomach without stopping. He was hot and sweaty when he finished. Rather than feeling light-headed, he felt the opposite. His head pounded as if someone were trying to shove a million cotton balls in through his ears.

“Sorry,” he said simply while wiping his mouth. “That happened fast.”

Blair was still rubbing his back. “Are you hungover or something?”

“I don’t know.” This felt different from a hangover. He wanted to let his legs go out from under him. He wanted to lie down forever. He also didn’t want to stop Blair from having a good day.

“Are you okay? What do you need?” she asked, like he knew she would. She started leading him back to the tent with a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He let out a groan as he entered the tent. “I need to go back to sleep. I’m fucking exhausted.”

From outside, he heard Madix and Riley come back to the site. Madix poked his head into the tent. “Hangover or heat exhaustion, that is the question.”

“I’m sorry, Mads. I’m so sorry.” Dakota said with his hand over his eyes.

“Don’t feel bad. You couldn’t help it.” Madix looked back, probably checking on Riley. “Now, did you drink too much, or do I need to worry about heat stroke?”

God, no, Dakota thought to himself. Madix would undoubtedly make them pack up their tents if he had heat stroke. He didn’t think he was sick from drinking, but he wasn’t about to end their trip so soon. “I’m probably hungover. I just need to sleep it off.”

“Are you sure, baby?” Blair cooed while running her hand through his hair. “You don’t look good.”

“Listen, you guys go to the lake this morning while I rest, and I’ll be good to go on the hike this afternoon.”

Blair put two water bottles by his pillow. “You have to promise to drink lots of water.”

“I will, I promise.”

His friends eventually agreed to leave him in the tent to rest. Everyone wanted him to get better so that he could enjoy himself later.

Everything will be fine; it isn’t heat stroke. Dakota’s groggy mind replayed this sentence until he fell asleep.

He was right about it not being heat stroke, but wrong about the other thing.

…

Rustling in the nearby bushes woke Dakota from his nap. Checking his phone, he realized that he slept for nearly four hours. He let his head fall back onto his damp pillow. The nausea was slightly better, but everything else was worse. Every part of his body was throbbing in pain so maybe that’s why he didn’t bother to check the heat emanating up his ankle. Besides, there was enough heat on his forehead to roast that night’s marshmallows. The water bottles that Blair gave him were still full and now warm. He was sweating out every ounce of fluid left in his body, but the thought of filling stomach with liquid made him want to zip himself up into his sleeping bag and use it as a casket.

The rustling got louder and was accompanied by voices. It was his friends returning from the lake. For some reason Dakota suddenly thought that chugging the water bottles would make everyone happy. It would ease Blair’s worries about him being sick, and maybe it would even give him the energy to get up. And he wanted to get up so bad, so that’s what he did. He quickly found clothes in his duffel bag that would be good for hiking.

The water sloshed in his stomach as he greeted his friends around the firepit. He braced himself on the back of a chair and put a smile on his face.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Blair asked. She got up on her tiptoes—a sign for Dakota to bend down so she could kiss him.

“Better. I think a hike will be good for me.” Said no one ever who just finished puking their guts up. Dakota just said it, but he was a liar.

Apparently, he was a good liar. “Yay!” Blair exclaimed while swapping her flip flops for running shoes.

It wasn’t long before the group was ready for their hike. It was an uphill hike. Yippee, Dakota thought. It also wasn’t long before he started to fall behind in the marching order. Blair led the charge with Riley. The two of them played twenty questions while leading the way. Madix fell back as well. Dakota wasn’t being very subtle in his suffering. He knew that Madix was keeping an eye on him.

He huffed his way up the trail, feeling worse with every step. Feeling even worse with every other step as his right foot momentarily held his weight. He was back to being nauseous and dizzy, and feeling like the sky switched places with the earth. With how blurred his vision was, Dakota was surprised that he didn't trip. Maybe it would be okay to trip. It would give him a second to rest on the ground.

Aw hell, he didn’t need an excuse to rest.

Dakota called out to Madix in a weak voice. Luckily, Madix heard him even when a coughing fit broke up his request to stop. The coughing turned into gagging and forced Dakota back into the position from that morning with his hands on his knees. It was the sound of him gagging that made Madix call out to Riley and Blair, telling them to keep walking. He and Dakota would catch up soon.

Madix carefully stepped around protruding branches to reach his friend. “Why don’t you sit down.” He gestured to a group of large rocks on the side of the trail. Well, he picked a good place to stop.

Dakota held up a finger and then heaved up the water that sloshed and gurgled in his belly. It didn’t take many retches before the water was gone, leaving only bile left to throw up. One harsh retch had him toppling to the ground where he finished being sick on his hands and knees.

“Jesus, Kota,” Madix said while helping him up. “What, are we back in our undergrad?” He meant it as a joke; a throwback to the dorm room hangovers that made even water impossible to keep down. Madix’s easy expression turned serious when Dakota sat on the rock with his head in his hands. He looked bad. Far too sweaty for how little they walked. And something else seemed wrong. Madix put his hand on Dakota’s shoulder. “Hey, are you shaking?”

Dakota was indeed shaking. Shivering in the summer heat. “This is gonna sound ridiculous, but I’m cold.”

Madix frowned. He moved the hand that was on Dakota’s shoulder to the back of his neck. His skin was burning hot and slick with sweat. That wouldn’t have been too weird, but it was the shivering that worried Madix. “I think you have a fever. Something is making you sick and it isn’t the booze.”

Dakota was hardly listening. Everything hurt. He didn’t have the energy to theorize with Madix about what was making him feel like garbage. The ache in his head and his stomach was nothing compared to the throbbing inside his shoe.

“Dakota, are you hearing me? I want to take you back to the campsite.”

The boy didn’t move. He didn’t say anything as he bit his tongue in pain.

“Dakota?”

The shaking of his shoulders managed to pull him out of trance. “Sorry, sorry it’s my foot. It’s killing me.” He couldn’t take the pain anymore and kicked off his shoe. “I cut it the other day and it still hurts like hell.”

“Let me see,” Madix said, moving off the rock to get a better look. Immediately, the red and yellowish stain on Dakota’s sock made him worried.

Once Dakota took off the sock and the bandage, Madix recoiled with a hand over his mouth. “Oh God, fuck, why didn’t you say anything?” The smell hit Madix first. It wasn’t as bad as some wounds that he’d seen at the hospital, but it still caught him off the guard.

The cut was deep enough to warrant stitches, but the biggest problem was the yellow pus leaking from it. The entire bottom of his foot was red and swollen. After getting over the sight of the cut, Madix started thinking about how painful it must be to walk on.

“Is it bad?” Dakota asked, though he already knew the answer from the look on Madix’s face.

“Yeah, it’s bad. It’s infected.”

“Can you fix it?”

Madix shifted on his knees, trying to see the cut from a better angle. “If you showed it to me before it got this bad, then maybe, but not now. You need to go to the hospital.”

“Shit,” Dakota mumbled as he carefully put his sock and shoe back on.

Madix helped Dakota up and let him lean on him. “Shit is right. God, why do you make me worry so much?”

“It’s gonna make Blair worry too.” She was going to be even more upset than Madix. He hated being the reason she was upset. And it wasn’t even because he cut the trip short, but because he didn’t take better care of himself. “If only I weren’t so lovable.”

“Ha, you won’t have to worry about that anymore,” Madix said breathlessly. It was a lot harder to hike when a whole person was hanging off your arm. “See, all the appeal was stored in your foot, and now we’ll have to cut it off.”

Shockingly, Madix was being facetious. There would be no foot chopping that day, or any day. There might be a scolding from Blair but that was it. The cleaning of the wound would hurt less than the look of concern that Blair would wear. It was that look that would eventually make Dakota paranoid about treating every single cut, no matter how small. He could never see that look again.

[tobesobri]

Bust | Part Two: Etch (4.4k)

She huffed when it became useless to do anything about it right there and instead, quite roughly, slammed the poor figure down onto the shelf angrily in a way that would surely distort the figures’ backside as well. But she didn’t care anymore because it was just so damn typical, right when she gave a damn about something it all always fell apart.

Her eyes met Harry’s when she turned to walk away, realizing he’d just seen her little tantrum because he had clearly been watching her the entire time. He glanced back at the shelf where her sculpture was and she sighed, dragging her feet back to her table to clean up her mess. She could fix it on Wednesday, she supposed. They kept the moisture levels in the studio rather high and didn’t use air-drying clay so that their sculptures never hardened between classes. It would be easy to scrape off and start again.

And with one final glance behind her, while other students either chatted amongst themselves or with Harry, she stepped out onto Justice Street and tried not to let the breeze from the ocean across the street make her cry.

In which Y/N is an annoyance in Harry’s sculpting class.

story masterlist | my masterlist

Luck was not on Y/N’s side when, after Harry had wrapped up the class and she went to put her sculpture on the shelf again, she dropped it. When the hot dad bod she’d been sculpting the past hour landed face first on the cement and she nearly shed a tear.

“Oh no!” Another student gasped, bending down before Y/N could and grabbing it off the floor while she was still in utter shock.

“It’s not too bad!” The girl reassured, smoothing out some dents with her fingers before handing it back to Y/N again.

It was just her luck that the second she took any of this shit seriously it went straight down the gutter.

It was pretty bad, however, on further inspection. All her abs had smooshed down and gone misplaced. She didn’t even want to talk about his smashed face, either. Not that it was peak artistic talent to begin with but… fuck. On his body, the poor collar bone she was working on most recently completely detached into a sad little worm of clay on the floor. And she pouted while picking it up and trying her damndest to stick it back on while her classmates set their pieces down and went on their merry ways.

She huffed when it became useless to do anything about it right there and instead, quite roughly, slammed the poor figure down onto the shelf angrily in a way that would surely distort the figures’ backside as well. But she didn’t care anymore because it was just so damn typical, right when she gave a damn about something it all always fell apart.

Her eyes met Harry’s when she turned to walk away, realizing he’d just seen her little tantrum because he had clearly been watching her the entire time. He glanced back at the shelf where her sculpture was and she sighed, dragging her feet back to her table to clean up her mess. She could fix it on Wednesday, she supposed. They kept the moisture levels in the studio rather high and didn’t use air-drying clay so that their sculptures never hardened between classes. It would be easy to scrape off and start again.

And with one final glance behind her, while other students either chatted amongst themselves or with Harry, she stepped out onto Justice Street and tried not to let the breeze from the ocean across the street make her cry.

*                                              *                                 *

Y/N and Rose settled on trying the pizza place they’d walked past several times up Justice Hill instead of their typical cafe the following week. It had a better view of the ocean and Rose claimed she was craving pepperoni. So Y/N packed a lighter lunch for work and met her at Anna’s Pizzeria at their usual five-thirty on Wednesday evening.

“Still can’t believe you come out of a flu and the first thing you want is this greasy pizza.” Y/N picked up a slice from their shared pan and brought it to her plate, knowing damn well she’d regret all the grease later, but not caring too much in the moment.

“Pizza is the only thing I ever want. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Y/N rolled her eyes around a big bite of pepperoni and gooey cheese. She had to admit, Anna’s had some damn good pizza.

“So you never told me how Saturday went?”

Y/N wiped her mouth first on an equally as greasy napkin and then on her sleeve. “It was okay until I dropped my fucking sculpture.”

“What?” Rose exclaimed with her mouth full, her eyes going wide.

“Yeah, I spent so much time on it and that little bastard is a fucking pancake now.”

“Are you going to try and fix it today then?”

“I guess.” She shrugged, thinking further back into her evening on Saturday and changing the subject to something a little less heartbreaking. “Anyways, I saw Harry at our cafe before class. He asked about you.”

“Did he?” That perked Rose right up and made Y/N wonder even more if her best friend had a secret little crush on Harry.

“Oh yeah. He said he was disappointed you weren’t there.” Y/N stretched the truth just a little bit, but she was milking it for everything she could.

And it was worth it to see Rose’s cheeks blush as she got all flustered. “Stop it, no he didn’t!”

Y/N nodded her head exaggeratedly, “Yes he fucking did. I knew you were flirting with him last week.” Y/N wagged her eyebrows while Rose’s smile grew tenfold.

“I honestly wasn’t... but I might now. He’s fit as hell.”

Fit. Harry was beyond just fit. She didn’t quite know what word properly described him, but fit just wasn't it.

Still, she cocked her head and scrunched her features as if she didn’t quite agree. “Eh, he’s alright I guess.”

“Don’t even lie. You know he’s hot.”

Y/N made the same faces again, but the second she felt her own cheeks getting hot, she did her best to hide it. To bury those feelings as far down as it got. No one, definitely not Rose nor Harry, needed to know how insanely attracted to him she actually was.

Because it was fine for Rose to find him fit and hot and whatever else. She was too. But Y/N didn’t see it the same way for herself. Admitting she liked Harry in any way would be admitting she thought she had a single chance with him, which she most certainly did not.

Sure, he sculpted bodies that looked like hers, but that didn’t mean he’d lower his standards to her level when he could have someone else.

The grease was starting to get to her.

“Why don’t you ask him out then if you think he’s so hot?”

“I don’t really think he’d go for me, he’s a bit out of my league, isn’t he?” Rose asked and Y/N couldn’t believe she’d forgotten how stubbornly insecure Rose really was.

“I think you’re out of his, love.”

She blushed again and went back to her pizza. Meanwhile, Y/N battled a bad case of heartburn and disruptive thoughts. She was sentenced to her daydreams about Harry while Rose could freely go around expressing all her feelings. And, to be honest, it had been Y/N’s fault for throwing herself into a bad mood anyways. She’d started it by telling Rose Harry asked about her and leaving out the bits where he may or may not have invited Y/N to see his dick some day. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

*                                              *                                 *

“I thought you said you dropped this? It looks fantastic.” Rose placed Y/N’s body sculpture down in front of her after she refused to go grab it herself and face, yet again, what she’d done on Saturday.

However, when she looked at it now, it was fantastic. It looked better than before she dropped it, in fact. She picked it up off the table and inspected it further. His face was perfect, no more inverted nose. The collar bone was back and better than ever. The abs were actually fully defined and even the little bit of pudge she had intended was going stronger than ever. It was like she’d never dropped it in the first place and then he got a complete makeover on top of it.

And she had no clue how or why.

She looked around the room at everyone else, no one seemed to be freaking out like she was. Like some magical fairy had fixed up their pieces for them too. It seemed to be just her.

“I did… drop it.” Y/N mumbled, turning the figure around to see the dents she’d put in his back herself were smoothed out as well. And that he actually had what looked like shoulder blades protruding. And a bit of an indent for the spine down his back.

“Maybe I grabbed the wrong one?”

Y/N hadn’t thought of that possibility yet. So, she set him down carefully while they both scoped out the shelves and then everyone around the class. No one seemed to be missing their sculpture nor was her sad little lump still sitting on the shelf.

This one was hers. She just had no idea how it got to be the way it did.

Maybe the girl who’d picked it up for her felt so bad she fixed it. But that started to seem unlikely too when Y/N glanced at the girl’s own lackluster sculpture across the room and realized there was no fucking way she could have put him back together.  

That only left one other possibility…

He was already watching her from the front of the class when she looked at him finally. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head at him. There was no other possibility. He had seen her drop it on Saturday and he was the only one in the room that could have done what he did to fix her mess.

And it was pretty much guaranteed when he gave her a guilty little smile.

Harry had fixed her fucking sculpture. After she annoyed the ever loving shit out of him every Wednesday and Saturday evening and called his class stupid. He fixed her fucking trainwreck so she didn’t have to. He even made it better. Hell, she probably had the best looking one out of the entire group now.

She hated to imagine him working tirelessly on it Sunday morning, or even worse, Saturday night after class when he was surely exhausted. She loved it and she hated it. She couldn’t help but let the butterflies loose in her stomach at just the mere thought of him wanting to help her. To make her life easier after she’d literally almost left the studio crying last time. It warmed her heart and she was certain Harry was a professional at not just sculpting but at making everyone fall completely in love with him.

“Alright, so today,” Harry began after he and Y/N had their little moment, “we’re going to backtrack a little to the heads and focus on faces again. Now that most of you have done details on the body where it isn’t as crucial, I think the face will be a little easier now that you’ve had some practice.”

He went on like that, doing his usual little lessons in front of the small crowd. But this time, she noticed him glancing her way a lot more often. Maybe he had been doing it all along and she never really paid him any attention, but it was clear as day now. Almost every single time he looked out at them, his eyes landed on her at some point. And sometimes he even smiled while doing so.

Was she losing her fucking mind?

When he played another video, Rose leaned in close toward Y/N and whispered, “He’s totally looking at me, holy shit you were right.”

Y/N’s entire body sank. She had, after all, been losing her mind. She’d let herself get too cocky. He had no reason to be looking at her. Rose, on the other hand, she’d been gone on Saturday and was finally back. Maybe she really was wrong about his preoccupations. Maybe he was making cute little glances at Rose and not her.

She really couldn’t tell, now that she thought about it.

And she was in no place to brawl it out with Rose over Harry. She knew damn well if it came down to it, Rose would win every time. She just hated that the only reason Rose even saw Harry that way was because she had planted that seed to begin with and now there was no turning back.

Y/N slid her sculpture out of the way and put her head down the rest of his lesson about sculpting facial features. She wanted to believe so badly that Harry was at all interested in her. And she hated herself for boiling him down to that. That he was just some piece of meat she and Rose could fight over. She didn’t like that feeling at all and she wished she could go back to Saturday when he was whispering his kinky little phrases at her and letting herself believe it.

When they were sculpting, she was a little less enthusiastic. She didn’t stare Harry down while he wandered the room with his hands behind his back. She didn’t admire his ass every time he bent over a little bit in his high-waisted trousers. She didn’t even brave once single glance at his hands even though he’d dressed them up in his rings again today.

And she definitely didn’t know what to do about her face. The sculpted one and the real one. But mostly the sculpted one. It sat untouched for quite a while as she just stared at it blankly. Harry had put it back into place, but didn’t do any of the detail work it needed and there was no hope in matching it with what he had done to her figure’s body. She could never get it to look like the same person did both no matter how hard she tried.

So she was back to square one, to just not even trying at all.

“How’s it going over here? We missed you on Saturday.” Harry greeted them, standing directly in the middle of both girls this time while he stared solely at Rose with those fucking dimples on his face.

Y/N glanced from Harry to her friend, watching as Rose got all flustered. At least Y/N attempted to hide when he did that to her. And at least he said something a lot more profound to make her that flustered to begin with.

She wanted to smack herself to try and get her mind to stop being so insanely jealous. Instead of violence, however, she just chewed on her bottom lip and avoided looking at him.

Harry glanced at her curiously when he noticed Y/N’s reclusion, but was pulled back to attention when Rose finally answered.

“I was sick actually, so I couldn’t make it. But I made her come so she could tell me what I missed.” Rose nudged Y/N.

And Y/N glanced at them, with little coercion. Harry laughed like he was forced to do so, because nothing Rose said was all that funny but he didn’t know how else to respond when all his focus was on Y/N and why she looked like a deflated balloon.

His eyes flickered towards Y/N’s untouched sculpted head, knowing very well she hadn’t done a single thing with it after he’d put the nose back in place. “Guess it’s not going so well.”

“You think?” She couldn’t help it. When she was feeling particularly shitty about herself, all the hard, prickly bits came out. And she didn’t really mean to snap at him so hard to nearly bite his fingers off, but it just came out.

“Mine’s coming together!” Rose brightened the mood and Y/N was thankful. She didn’t want any more of her bitterness getting all over Harry when he’d done nothing but fix her sculpture for her.

He was still wary, though, shifting focus back on Rose’s work again. Y/N tuned them out while he helped Rose adjust a few things here and there. She even attempted to make some moves on her own sculpture finally. But just ended up just rolling snakes of clay out and forming the word ‘fuck’ across its tiny face when none of her attempts panned out too well. Not when her mind was racing ten miles a second with thoughts about Harry.

He watched her hands while she completed the last letter and Rose went on her spiel about how she wanted her mermaid to look, even though Harry was no longer listening. There was no amusement on his face, no hint of a smile at all when he glanced upwards and saw the prominent pout on Y/N’s lips. The very lackluster glaze across her eyes. He wasn’t sure what was wrong but he preferred when she made his life hell then this sad version of her.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” She whimpered softly, twisting her head toward Rose and realizing both her and Harry were staring at her now.

“What are you doing?” Rose asked.

She looked at her masterpiece again, having been somewhat in autopilot the entire time. “He’s a fuck face… get it?”

Rose rolled her eyes back to her own work, “Well, at least the body of yours looks good.”

And then her eyes shot up to Harry’s and they shared another silent moment until eventually it got her to smile again when the irony finally hit. He matched his face with hers, just happy to see something other than a frown taking over her features.

“Thanks,” Y/N gave Harry an evil little smirk he was way too familiar with, but he supposed he preferred that to the frown as well. “I worked really hard on it.”

*                                              *                                 *

She had made a near full recovery later that night, when she finally crawled into bed with her phone and cried laughing at various different funny video compilations. She didn’t even think anything bad about herself, even when her mind wandered back to Harry again. The combination of Harry and Rose and everything had just gotten to her, giving her a headache.

She knew it was stupid. Harry was their instructor. He probably already had a significant other looking the way he did and she wasn’t even supposed to like him. He made fun of her bowl and she, in turn, tortured him in class just for the hell of it. She wasn’t supposed to care so much.

Right when she started dozing off, her phone still in her hands, still playing the video she’d fallen asleep to, it suddenly buzzed. And then she dropped it on her face when she jolted awake again.

“Ow, fuck,” she muttered groggily, ripping her phone away after she was sure it hit her hard enough to break something. And she couldn’t deal with a broken, crooked nose at the moment, so after she felt around her face and everything seemed intact, she flipped her phone over again and checked who was bugging her at this hour.

Though when she saw the notification, which was most definitely not a text from Rose or a useless promotional email, she shot up straight in her bed, all exhaustion emptied from her body.

Because it was Instagram. And not just that, but it was Harry. The notification had been from him following her. She opened it and checked just to make sure it wasn’t some mistake. That it was actually Harry. But then her phone buzzed again and it was a message this time. Why was Harry sliding into her DMs at eleven o’clock at night?

Maybe he was on his phone in bed too like she had been. Maybe he didn’t have notifications on and just now checked his Instagram to see what she’d done last Friday night.

Which seemed to be the case when she read his message.

See you’ve found my Instagram.

She smacked her hand against her forehead, having managed to forget the incident until just this very moment. And she had no idea what to do or say to him either. But then he started typing again and bought her some time.

When the three little dots went away, however, and no new message appeared from him she couldn’t help but wonder endlessly what he had meant to say. What had he been typing the past minute that he decided not to send after all?

She took a deep breath and sent something.

Sorry.

She cringed at her stupid response, but he still typed again. She hadn’t completely lost him to her sudden inability to hold a conversation.

Two text bubbles popped up from him in quick succession.

Okay

Are you going to follow me back or what?

She laughed out loud to herself, imagining him asking that question with that smirk on his face. Because during her time stalking his Instagram, he didn’t seem to take it too seriously. He had a humble amount of followers and didn’t tend to post things for clickbait. It was just a collection of his favorite memories and his work and that was it.

She laid back on her pillows again and sent him an eye roll emoji.

(Y/N)

I’ll think about.

(Harry)

What’s there to think about?

(Y/N)

Whether or not I want to see you on my feed everyday.

(Harry)

Could be useful.

The sculpting stuff.

(Y/N)

I’ll pass.

(Harry)

Your loss 💁‍♀️

She giggled and left their thread silent for a moment as he did the same. But once she thought of something else to say, she was right back at it again. He was far too easy to talk to and she knew that wasn’t a good sign if she wanted to deny any feelings for him.

(Y/N)

So are you going to unfollow me now then?

(Harry)

No.

Think I would enjoy seeing you on my feed everyday surprisingly enough.

Her heart raced again. He was back with those little fucking comments that sent her on all sorts of waves of emotion. Surely he was just being friendly, but she couldn’t help but get a little carried away inside her own head.

(Y/N)

You know I only post pictures of my dog, right?

(Harry)

Obviously.

Her cheeks burned from smiling so hard at the fact that he hadn’t just followed her, he’d went through her Instagram too. After a moment of letting herself just be fucking happy to be talking to him like a normal person, outside of class and outside of pestering each other, she changed the subject.

(Y/N)

I never got a chance to thank you for fixing my sculpture.

So… thank you.

He was quiet then, for a long while actually. Long enough to where she finally shut off her screen and figured maybe he was done talking. She didn’t need him to say ‘you’re welcome’ or anything like that. She still would have thanked him anyways just the same.

But, of course, when his message buzzed in her palm, she was zooming her way into their DMs like her life depended on it.

(Harry)

You don’t have to thank me. I felt bad after you actually tried and then dropped it.

(Y/N)

So you won’t mind me taking credit for it then?

(Harry)

It’s not like you’re getting a grade.

(Y/N)

Still.

(Harry)

I’d rather no one know I did it for you anyways.

It was the first time she paused during their entire conversation. What did that mean? Surely no one would care if they knew he fixed her project for her. He helped others all the time. And like he said, this wasn’t for a grade. So why would anyone else knowing be a worry at all? Was he scared of the others thinking he might like her because he was doing her favors? And why was it so bad for anyone to know if he did like her?

(Y/N)

Okay.

I’m gonna go to bed so goodnight.

She stayed up a little longer overthinking his words some more. She knew it was a lot less deep than he’d intended, but she couldn’t help it.

Overthinking was her forte.

*                                              *                                 *

She hadn’t talked to Harry again on Instagram before their next session and Rose started preoccupying herself with some other guy in class besides Harry. It was somewhat peaceful while she worked on her sculpture’s face with her headphones in, forgetting about everything surrounding her.

She occasionally took breaks to look away from it, always making a futile attempt to stare at a wall or at someone else’s creation but never failing to find her eyes navigating back to Harry every single time.

He was in a white painter’s type jumpsuit today with a t-shirt on underneath. It was… interesting. But she supposed it shielded his nice clothes from his messy job. He didn’t look her way nearly as many times as he had in their last class though, which, by the way, she had come to terms with. He’d been making glances at her and not at Rose.

She’d also come to terms with her self-destructive behavior. She wasn’t going to mope around and invalidate good things just because they were happening to her. Harry showed no signs of being uninterested, so she was going to hope for the best.

And it might lead to her demise but… who cares.

So when class was finally over, she did something she had never done before. She walked up to the front of the room.

Before she could get to him, though, two other girls took her spot and she immediately froze in place beside the first table at the front of the room. She was close enough to hear their conversation, close enough for him to have noticed her and close enough that it definitely looked like she was headed straight up to Harry, unprovoked. But them unknowingly intervening was the wake up call she really needed. She did not need to be going up to him asking if he wanted to get a coffee with her. She most certainly did not need to flirt with him as painfully as the other two girls were. Even though he glanced over at her, curious and concerned, just before she turned on her heel and left.

Not today.

Maybe never.

But not today.

“I thought you were going to ask him something?” Rose questioned when Y/N returned to grab her bag just before they left the studio out the back door.

“Oh, uh… I figured it out.” She shrugged it off, but still found herself peeking over her shoulder at him while she followed Rose out into the night. He stood alone this time, and when she met his eyes he’d already been watching her, fidgeting with his rings, and letting a very upsetting frown sit on his face.

“So,” Rose started, pulling Y/N away from the studio for the final time, “coffee?”

[chicgeekgirl89]

The Good, the Bad, and the Very Ugly

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Tommy Vega, Nancy Gillian

Summary: When Carlos is struck down with a nasty bout of the stomach flu he needs rescuing from the best paramedic trio in town.

A/N: I have a Bachelor's degree in Emergency!, a Master's Degree in Royal Pains, and an MD in Grey's Anatomy so I can assure you that everything in this fic represents a very real, accurate depiction of how the stomach flu would hit a perfectly healthy young police officer. I took no liberties. This is science.

Massive thanks as always to @bluenet13​ for beta-ing!

For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt “Stomach Flu”

Read on AO3

Carlos was really trying to listen to this woman complain about her neighbors and their noise level, he truly was. He took every call seriously, even completely ridiculous ones like this, but today he was struggling. His stomach gurgled unpleasantly and he had to suppress a burp as the woman told him for the third time about how loud her neighbors were being.

“Ma’am, they are allowed to mow their lawn during daylight hours,” he said.

“Seven am?! Seven am is considered daylight hours?!” the woman cried. “I am trying to do my morning meditations and all I hear is lawnmowers and power tools!”

“Well then I would try headphones,” Carlos said, voice a little snappier than usual. 

Mitchell looked at him with raised eyebrows, clearly amused by the lack of his typical diplomacy. 

The woman glared at him. “I want your badge numbers.”

Carlos and Mitchell both gave them over willingly but it was another ten minutes of listening to her rant before they were finally able to escape and head back to the station. “You all right Reyes?” Mitchell asked as they got back into the cruiser. “You look a little green.”

“I’m fine,” Carlos said, even as his stomach lurched unpleasantly while he pulled the cruiser into traffic.

“You were a little snippy back there. Trouble in paradise?”

“T.K. and I are fine,” Carlos said. “That woman was in the wrong, there was no point in standing there and continuing the conversation.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Who are you and what have you done with Carlos ‘Calm and Patient’ Reyes?”

“Maybe he’s on vacation today,” Carlos told her.

“Mhmm…” she continued to look at him suspiciously, but didn’t say anymore.

His stomach had not improved by the time they got back to the precinct. In fact it seemed to be getting worse. Everything was bubbling and gurgling and cramping and making him extremely uncomfortable, but he set his jaw and sat at his desk to file the paperwork from their morning on patrol.

“Reyes, Mitchell,” their captain walked over and stood by their desks. “I’ve been on the phone for half an hour with a Mrs. Donnelly. Care to explain?”

Mitchell shook her head and rolled her eyes. “She called in a noise complaint. Lawnmowers.”

Carlos would have added to the conversation but he was growing oddly hot and his mouth had filled with coppery tasting saliva. 

“She said you were,” the captain held up a piece of paper and read directly from it, “disrespectful, unhelpful, and bigoted.”

Mitchell snorted. “Okay. Was she describing us or herself? Because I’m pretty sure she ticks all those boxes.”

The captain turned and looked at Carlos. “Reyes? Anything to say?”

Carlos opened his mouth and then closed it again, swallowing hard. “Carlos are you okay?” Mitchell asked with a concerned frown.

Carlos’s stomach squeezed and he knew there was no hope for it. “Excuse me,” he said, then turned and threw up directly into the garbage can beside his desk.

“Whoa!” their captain said. “Reyes what the hell?”

Carlos spat into the garbage can, the acrid taste of stomach acid burning his throat, mouth, and even up into his nose. “Sorry sir,” he choked out.

Mitchell uncapped a bottle of water and handed it to him. He took a careful sip, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing tentatively. Somehow he felt worse than before throwing up; slightly cold and shaky, and like he might throw up again. 

“Reyes if you’re sick get out of here and go home,” his captain said. “We don’t need you bringing the whole bull pen down.”

“I’m fine sir,” he said and then blanched, doubling over the garbage can again. 

“No you’re not. Get out of here. And don’t come back until you can keep your lunch down,” his captain ordered.

“Carlos are you okay?” Mitchell asked, genuine concern on her face. “You look terrible.”

“I’ll be fine,” Carlos rasped. “It’s probably just something I ate.”

“Looks more like it ate you,” Mitchell said with a grimace as he got to his feet. “Do you want me to call you an Uber?”

“No,” Carlos shook his head, gripping the desk tightly. “I can make it.”

“Well text me when you get home so I know you’re okay,” she said. 

Thank god he only lived fifteen minutes from the station because the drive was so nauseatingly horrible he wasn’t sure he could have made it much longer. His stomach clenched and tightened at regular intervals and he was breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth like it was his job because he really didn’t want to pull over and be sick on the side of the road.

He pulled into the driveway and got his key out with shaky hands, stumbling in the front door and practically falling into the powder room where he once again violently emptied his stomach into the toilet. God, how could there be anything left after the first two rounds? He’d barely had anything to eat besides coffee and half a bagel.

He groaned as he pushed himself up and flushed the toilet, using the sink for leverage to get all the way onto his feet. He felt like shit. He hadn’t felt this bad in…well he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt this bad.

He knew he needed to hydrate before he went upstairs and collapsed into his bed so he slowly and agonizingly made his way to the fridge, searching for a Gatorade, his stomach still sending stabbing pains through his gut at regular intervals.

There were footsteps on the stairs and T.K. appeared, uniform half buttoned. “Carlos? Babe what are you doing here?”

Carlos looked at his watch. It was nearly noon but he’d forgotten that T.K. had a late shift today. “Captain sent me home,” Carlos said, struggling to reach an orange Gatorade tucked in the back.

“He sent you home?” T.K. walked toward him, confusion on his face. “Why? What’s going on?”

Carlos straightened up, wincing as his stomach cramped violently. “He thinks I’m sick.”

“He thinks you’re sick?” T.K. repeated, taking a step closer. “Why does he think you’re sick?”

Carlos grimaced. “Probably because I narrowly missed throwing up on his shoes.”

“You threw up?” T.K. snapped into paramedic mode, automatically pressing the back of his hand to Carlos’ forehead to check for a fever. “Oh baby.”

“It’s fine. Probably something I ate.”

“Do you want me to stay home today and take care of you?”

“God no,” Carlos said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for T.K. to see him puking his guts out repeatedly. “No I’m just going to get in bed and ride it out. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few hours.”

His stomach felt like knives but surely a nap and some electrolytes would take care of that. “Are you sure?” T.K. asked, running a hand down his arm. “I hate to leave you like this.”

“I can take care of myself T.K., even when I’m sick,” Carlos said. “I promise,” he added when T.K. didn’t look convinced.  “I’m just going to go upstairs and sleep it off.”

“Well make sure you hydrate,” T.K. told him. “I’ll call you in a couple hours to check in.” He pecked Carlos on the cheek. “If you need something text me okay? I’ll keep my phone on me.” He said as he walked toward the door, grabbing his overnight bag and shoes. 

“I will. Have a good shift,” Carlos said.

He waited until T.K. had locked the front door to drag himself up the stairs. He fell into the bed and curled himself into the fetal position, begging his stomach to stop its agonizing assault.

The hours passed in alternating blurs of fast and slow. He was hot and then freezing, his body aching, stomach churning relentlessly. Even the Gatorade refused to stay down, sending him staggering to the bathroom to heave up the liquid and then, eventually, nothing.

He tried to read but he was too restless and even the television couldn’t keep his focus as wave after wave of agonizing stomach pain assaulted him. 

He attempted sleep but it was fraught with discomfort; half awake, half dreaming, too hot and then too cold, body tangling uncomfortably in the sheets, never fully sinking into the blissful darkness of true unconsciousness.

He was dragged out of his misery after several hours by the ringing of his phone. “Hello?” he croaked when he finally managed to answer.

“Hey babe, how are you feeling?” T.K.’s voice was slightly distorted, it sounded like he was in the rig. 

Carlos cleared his throat. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” T.K. asked. “You sound weird.”

“I was sleeping,” Carlos told him, wincing as pain stabbed at his stomach again.

“Oh good,” T.K. said. “Did you eat something?”

Carlos grew nauseated at even the mention of food. “Not yet.”

“Well try okay? Some crackers or some soup or something?”

“Yeah I will,” Carlos told him. He would not. He didn’t think he could make it down the stairs let alone manage to scrounge up any food. 

Carlos heard the siren turn on. “I have to go. Call or text if you need anything all right? I love you!”

“Love you too,” Carlos mumbled, his eyes already sliding closed.

The next time he woke it was the middle of the night and he felt worse. So much worse. How was that even possible?

His stomach clenched so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. He moaned as he struggled to his feet again, the world spinning around him as he walked unsteadily toward the bathroom, using the furniture to stabilize himself.

He leaned over the toilet bowl stomach cramping and stabbing at him, but nothing came up. Instead he just retched helplessly for god knew how long until the episode passed and he collapsed onto the tile, shaky and sore and freezing. 

He swallowed hard, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes, praying that whatever this was, it would be over soon.

Several Hours Later…

T.K. hung up his phone and sighed, checking his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. It was nearing seven am and he hadn’t heard from his boyfriend in a long time. He was starting to get worried, even as he tried to convince himself he was overreacting. It was early. Carlos was probably still asleep.

“What’s wrong?” Nancy asked.

T.K. looked down at the screen again, as if possibly a call or text had come through in the three seconds since he’d last checked. “Carlos was sick when I left yesterday morning and now he’s not answering. I figured maybe he was asleep but it’s been…a really long time.”

“Do you want to swing by?” Tommy asked. “It’s on our way back to the firehouse if we take the long way around.”

T.K. vacillated with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah dude, we’ll just swing by and make sure he’s okay. Can’t have you worrying about him for the rest of shift,” Nancy said.

T.K. hit the blinker and turned them right. “I’m probably overreacting.”

“Then Carlos will smile and thank you for it like the good, understanding person that he is,” Tommy said with a smile.

The house was quiet when they pulled up. T.K. felt his concern double as he took his key out and strode quickly to the front door. “We’ll wait here,” Tommy said when they reached the stoop. “Call if you need us.”

T.K. left the front door open behind him and strode upstairs. “Carlos?”

There was no answer and T.K. knew, deep in his bones that something was wrong. The bedroom door was open, but the the bed was empty, sheets and blankets mussed in a way that said Carlos had at one point been there, even if he wasn’t anymore.

The smell of vomit and sweat hung in the air. A barely touched bottle of Gatorade and Carlos’ phone sat on the nightstand. “Carlos!” T.K. called again more urgently.

“T.K.?” 

The reply was croaky, weak and T.K. turned in the direction of the master bath. What he found hit him like a punch in the gut. Carlos, in nothing but his boxers, sweating and shivering as he sat on the floor, his back pressed against the bathroom wall. 

T.K. dropped to his knees, hands running over Carlos’ forehead and down his face, fear spiking as the heat of Carlos’ skin seared his own. “Hey baby,” he said softly. “You didn’t answer my calls.”

“T.K. I don’t—I can’t—” Carlos looked panicky beneath his exhaustion and T.K.’s stomach clenched in fear.

“Cap!” he yelled out the door, voice cracking. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to help you all right? How long have you been here like this?”

Carlos just shook his head, all his effort apparently going into breathing and remaining conscious.

“T.K.!” Tommy and Nancy appeared in the bathroom doorway, both of them looking concerned. 

“He’s burning up,” T.K. said, panic seeping into his voice.

“Nancy, call it in,” Tommy ordered. “And go get our kits from the rig.”

“Dispatch this is RA Unit 126 responding to a call at 540 Lynwood Avenue,” Nancy said into her radio as she flew out the door.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” Tommy said, getting under one of Carlos’ arms as T.K. scrambled to get under his other side.

Carlos moaned as they walked him out of the bathroom. “I know, I know baby, you’re okay,” T.K. said, voice thick as Carlos shivered violently against him. 

Nancy returned quickly, pulling equipment out of their kits as T.K. and Tommy gently laid Carlos on the bed.

“T.K. check his pulse,” Tommy ordered. “Nancy get a BP.”

Thank god someone else was taking over and telling him what to do because he felt completely shattered right now by the image of his strong, beautiful boyfriend reduced to such a fragile state. “Pulse is rapid,” T.K. said, his own heart rate matching it as Carlos’ eyelids fluttered. 

“BP is low,” Nancy said.

“And temp is up,” Tommy said, lifting the thermometer to look at the reading. “One hundred and two point seven. Carlos, can you hear me?”

There was no response and T.K. thought he was going to lose his mind with panic.

“No rebound tenderness,” Nancy said, palpating Carlos’ abdomen. He let out a moan as she pressed directly on his stomach but she continued her exam with professional precision. “Belly is soft. I don’t think it’s appendicitis.”

“I think we’re looking at a severe case of dehydration,” Tommy said. “Let’s get some fluids going.”

“I got it,” Nancy said, pulling out bags of saline and potassium. 

“Should we take him in?” T.K. asked.

“Let’s just see how the fluids go first,” Tommy said. “I’m sure Carlos would prefer to avoid the hospital, let’s give him a chance to come back on his own.”

The next few minutes were agonizingly long as Nancy and Tommy started the IV’s and they all waited to see if Carlos would come around. He wasn’t completely unconscious but he wasn’t totally with it either, breath coming out labored and harsh, limbs moving restlessly, eyelids fluttering up and down as his head turned from side to side.

T.K. stroked his fingers through Carlos’ damp, sweaty curls, biting his lip as anxiety and guilt ate away at him. “I thought he was all right by himself,” he said. “If I’d known…”

“T.K. this isn’t anybody’s fault,” Tommy said, reaching to take Carlos’ pulse again. “Sometimes it just happens. Carlos is young and healthy, nobody had any reason to suspect he would go down so hard.”

“Yeah dude, you can’t blame yourself for the violence of the stomach flu,” Nancy said, adjusting the IV’s.

Carlos stirred a little more and blinked a few times, eyes trying to focus. T.K. instantly went on alert. “Carlos, babe? Can you hear me?”

“T.K.?” Carlos shifted, and T.K. put a gentle hand on his shoulder to keep him from dislodging the IV’s. 

“Hey Carlos,” Tommy said, giving him a smile. “How are you feeling?”

Carlos groaned and swallowed hard. “Bad,” he croaked. 

“Well we’ve got some fluids going, that should help. Give it a few more minutes and we’ll see how you feel,” Tommy said. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“I uh, I don’t know,” Carlos said. “My stomach just…I couldn’t stop throwing up. And after a while I couldn’t even get off the floor, everything just hurt and I was so cold. I think maybe I passed out a couple times, I’m not sure.”

T.K.’s heart squeezed at the thought of Carlos alone and suffering on the cold bathroom tile. “Do you remember the last time you ate or drank anything?” he asked.

“Nothing stays down,” Carlos croaked, his voice weak and raspy after so many hours of throwing up. “Makes my stomach hurt.” 

“Baby you should have called me,” T.K. admonished him, tears dangerously close to the surface. 

“T.K.,” Tommy said quietly. “Give him a minute to catch his breath. Save the lecture for later.”

Carlos seemed to grow even more aware of the situation and closed his eyes. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Nancy asked.

“This,” Carlos said, gesturing aimlessly with his hand. “This is…”

“Hey, nothing to be sorry for,” Tommy said reassuringly. “Happens to the best of us. The twins both had a stomach bug last year at the same time and it was a total nightmare.” She gave him a smile and then turned back to her team. “Nancy, why don’t you and I head downstairs and get Carlos some Gatorade? We’ll call the station too and tell them we’ll be a little longer.”

“He uh, he likes the orange ones,” T.K. said.

Tommy put a hand on T.K.’s shoulder and squeezed. “Orange it is.”

They both slipped out of the room leaving Carlos and T.K. alone. “Babe what happened?” T.K. asked, still stroking Carlos’ curls. “When I called before you said you were okay.”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Carlos said. “It wasn’t so bad and then…it was.”

“I’m so sorry, I should never have left you like this,” T.K. said.

“T.K. I took care of myself just fine before you came along.”

“Yes and using the current situation as evidence it’s a miracle you survived.” T.K. was unable to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“T.K.” Carlos tried to sit up, but T.K. shook his head and pressed him back down into the bed. 

“No, no. Do not try and take care of me. I’m here to take care of you. Just rest okay?”

“Are you going to make me go to the hospital?” Carlos asked.

“We’ll see,” T.K. told him. “You really, really scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” T.K. bent over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “This isn’t your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.”

Tommy and Nancy returned, Gatorade in hand. “Any better Carlos?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Carlos said.

It had been about forty minutes since they’d arrived and Carlos was less pale and more alert, but he still didn’t look well. “Are you just saying that so T.K. stops freaking out?” Nancy asked knowingly. “Because T.K. is always going to freak out so you may as well just be honest.”

“Bedside manner Nancy,” Tommy said lightly as she uncapped the Gatorade. “Carlos do you think you can sit up?”

He nodded and T.K. and Nancy helped slide him up against the pillows until he was propped up enough to sip at the Gatorade. He eyed the bottle nervously as Tommy uncapped it. “Just a couple sips,” Tommy said. “If you can’t keep it down we’ll take you to the ER and have them run some more tests. My guess is this is just a particularly violent strain of stomach flu, but I don’t want to leave unless we’re sure you’re on the mend.”

Carlos’ hand shook as he raised the bottle to his lips and he grimaced as he took one small sip and then another, managing a couple tablespoons before the bottle tipped dangerously in his unsteady hand.

T.K. reached out and caught it, removing it gently from Carlos’ fingers and setting it on the nightstand.

“Temp is down to one oh two point one,” Nancy said.

“And your blood pressure is looking better too,” Tommy said. “How’s your stomach?”

“It still hurts,” Carlos said, shifting uncomfortably in the bed.

“But you’re keeping the Gatorade down, so that’s good,” T.K. said, trying to comfort himself as much as his boyfriend.

“I don’t think a hospital trip is necessary unless it would make you feel better to go,” Tommy said.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Carlos said firmly.

“He can’t stay here alone,” T.K. argued.

“Which is why you’re staying with him,” Tommy said smoothly. “Shift’s almost over, you’re already here, there’s no point in dragging you back to the station.”

“Yeah don’t worry about it,” Nancy said. “We all know Cap and I do the heavy lifting on this team anyway. We don’t need your manly self getting in the way. Girl power and all that.”

“Nancy,” Tommy sighed in exasperation.

“I’m just kidding!” Nancy said. “Don’t worry about it Strand, we got you covered.”

“T.K.,” Tommy nodded toward the corner of the room and T.K. left the bed to follow her as Nancy chatted at Carlos and packed up their equipment. “I’m going to leave another bag of saline with you, just in case. If his fever spikes again or his abdominal pain increases…”

“I’ll take him in,” T.K. said immediately.

“And you’ll call me,” Tommy said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “And call me tomorrow regardless. Let me know how he’s doing.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for everything.”

“You’re family T.K., you and Carlos. We do what we need to for family.”

T.K. walked Tommy and Nancy to the door and then spent a few minutes downstairs heating up some plain chicken broth before returning to the bedroom. “Still okay?” he asked as he set the bowl down on the nightstand. 

Carlos nodded. “Beyond embarrassed, but okay.”

“Stop it,” T.K. said as he settled on the edge of the bed next to him. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m pretty sure having to be carried to your own bed in your underwear by your boyfriend and his teammates is embarrassment worthy,” Carlos said.

His voice still sounded rough and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Just looking at him made T.K.’s heart hurt. He wanted nothing more than to take away every second of his pain from the last twenty four hours. 

“They’re just glad you’re all right,” T.K. told him, knowing that was one hundred percent the case. His teammates were truly the best and had proved that once again tonight with the way they’d dropped everything to come to Carlos’ aid. “Besides, we’ve seen plenty of bodies in the field. That they got an eyeful of you…they’ve seen a lot worse. Trust me.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t really make me feel better.”

“Sorry,” T.K. said, rubbing his knee through the sheets. “I think you should try and eat something.”

Carlos grimaced. “My stomach still hurts.”

“But you haven’t thrown up in,” T.K. checked his watch, “thirty seven minutes. I think it’s worth a shot.”

He still looked hesitant. “Hey,” T.K. said. “I’m here now. I’m going to take care of you. What happened earlier won’t happen again, I promise. Just try? Please?”

He picked up the bowl and spoon, offering them to his boyfriend. Carlos reluctantly took hold, hands still not quite steady, so T.K. helped him hold it. He managed about a third of the bowl before handing the bowl back to T.K. “Happy?” he asked tiredly.

“I won’t be happy until you’re better,” T.K. told him. 

Carlos nodded in agreement. “Me neither.”

“How does a bath sound, hm?” T.K. asked. “I’ll put in some essential oils, you can just relax and let some of today go.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Carlos said.

“I want to,” T.K. said. “Let me take care of you, okay? It makes me feel better too.”

“Okay,” Carlos relented. “Yes, a bath sounds good.”

T.K. leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

Carlos spent about half an hour in the bathtub. T.K. used that time to change out of his uniform and do a little bit of cleaning and sanitizing in the bedroom and bathroom. He returned the soup bowl to the kitchen and started the dishwasher, gathering up a few things Carlos might need and then heading back upstairs.

Carlos was standing by his dresser, slowly pulling on a pair of sweatpants, clearly in discomfort. “Whoa,” T.K. set everything down quickly and then moved to stabilize him. “You should have called me.”

“I don’t like feeling helpless,” Carlos said, frustration lacing his tone.

“I know,” T.K. said, gently moving him back toward the bed. “But you’re going to get some sleep now and when you wake up I think you’re going to feel a lot better.”

“What if I feel like this forever?” Carlos asked miserably.

“You won’t,” T.K. smoothed a hand over his forehead. “Your captain called while I was downstairs. Apparently this bug has swept through your whole department. At least twenty people have called out sick and five have been hospitalized. You all got hit with a pretty violent stomach bug. But it seems like a forty-eight hour thing; most of them are on the mend.”

“Oh god,” Carlos said. “I should call him back.”

“I told him you were out of commission,” T.K. told him. “He said to feel better.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “No he didn’t.”

“Okay,” T.K. said. “Technically he said, ‘Nobody who’s barfed their guts out in the last day is allowed in the office without a doctor’s note.’ But I think the sentiment was the same.”

“That sounds about right.”

He grimaced as he settled under the covers. “Come here,” T.K. said, sliding in next to him and pulling his head into his lap, fingers running gently through his hair. “Close your eyes.”

Carlos did so, body relaxing into T.K.’s touch. “I love you,” T.K. said quietly. “So much.”

“How can you say that after you just cleaned up my vomit?” Carlos asked, eyes still closed.

“Because that’s what love is,” T.K. told him. “Love is being here with you. Through it all. Every day. For every moment. The good, the bad—“

“And the very ugly,” Carlos murmured.

“You’re far too pretty to be ugly,” T.K. assured him. “Even when you’re barfing.”

“Oh god stop,” Carlos moaned. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.”

“Go to sleep,” T.K. told him again. “I’ll still be here when you wake up. And I will happily clean up your blood, your sweat, your tears, and your puke every day for the rest of my life if I need to.”

Carlos cracked an eyelid. “I know you’re trying to be sweet, but that’s pretty disgusting.”

T.K. shrugged. “Like I said before, I’ve seen a LOT on calls. You can’t scare me off Carlos Reyes.”

Carlos closed his eyes and snuggled closer into T.K. “Good to know.”

[whimsicallyreading]

Dark Roast No Sugar

Chapter Three

Aelin would never admit it out loud, but a day off was just what she needed. She spent the morning napping, snacking, and reading. Her stomach settled, and when she took off her shoes, her feet didn't look like they belonged to a bloated cadaver.

 Spending that time with Aedion was also refreshing. He kept the conversations light. Telling her about the antics between hostesses at The Pits, a run-in between Ren and the police. A story about the drug dealer they'd roughed up and how he'd pissed his pant when he saw Aedion and the stray puppy Kyllian had snuck into The Den.

 When they got hungry, Aedion offered to make them a late lunch. Her mouth watered at the prospect of his famous grilled cheese with two kinds of cheeses and ketchup.

 Lysandra came up to join them for lunch and her nose wrinkled at the sight of them dragging the cheesy goodness through globs of red sauce. "By the dark god, you two. That's disgusting."

 Aedion grins, a dot of ketchup on his chin, "You haven't even tried it yet. This meal is a riot with the guys and saved my ass with foster siblings." He wiped his face on his sleeve and leaned back in his chair. "You don't shit on the kid who can actually make edible food."

 Aelin laughs and dusts her hands off like a lady. "Actually, you don't shit on the kid who looks like he started doping at eleven. But yeah, I'm sure it was your budget lunches that saved you."

 "Shut up, you love it when I cook," Aedion collected their plates.

 Lysandra pulls up the chair next to Aelin's at their tiny, rickety table. She set down her container of salad, looking classier with her more mature pallet. Aelin swiped a cucumber from the top and chewed into the seasoned veggie. "Your food is nostalgic. What can I say?"

 Aedion's playful demeanor seemed to deflate suddenly, a furrow creasing his brow. "I suppose why I have you two together, we should talk some business."

 "Uh oh, that doesn't sound good." Lysandra tensed up, shooting a worried look at Aelin.

 "Is it the bidding for this month? I told you I could get at least an extra hundred dollars to you by the end of the month. If you need more, I could-"

 Aedion cut off Aelin's rambling with a raised hand. "It's not the bidding. Elias pulled enough to cover our bets for the month." Relief flooded through her, and she breathed out a sigh of relief.

 The underground fighting game in Orynth was wildly exclusive. To get a spot during prime hours when tickets were hot and the betting pool was hotter, the local gangs had to participate in an auction. It was pricey, but the cuts you got from winning a fight made up for it big time.

  Unfortunately, the Bane was not a wealthy group of men. A lot of them had families or relatives they were supporting. They usually scavenged up enough money to get two or three guys into the fights, and those funds were just enough to pull them through to the next month.

 Like Aelin, those families did what they could to fund money towards the bidding. Initially, she was going to volunteer as a fighter, but she found out about the baby, and they all agreed it was too risky for her to get in the ring. As soon as she was cleared, she still intended to participate in the fights to Aedion's chagrin.

 Between the extra patrols of her street and snuffing the rumors of her existence in the city, it took a chunk of the Bane's recourses and time. Aedion assured her that the guys understood her circumstances, but she contributed as much as she could monetarily until she could contribute physically as well. "What's going on then?"

 "Rolf took a beating in the ring last night. He's going to be out of commission for a while, but we didn't lose any money. He managed to bust the guy's head at the last moment and pulled through." He paused.

 Aelin was confused, though. It wasn't uncommon for one of the guys to get roughed up a bit, so long as they didn't lose, there wasn't an issue. "That's too bad about Rolf, but I don't see the problem?" she pushed him to continue.

 "He swears the guy was tripping on Synth," Aedion breathes out, pained.

 Oh.

 "Shit," Lysandra swears and stands up. "Is he sure it was Synth?"

 "It's kinda hard to rutting mistake, Lysandra," Aedion snapped. He was right, though. The Pits had rules against cheating, but they were followed loosely. If they couldn't see a knife being pulled, the fight wouldn't be called. Some of the Bane even doped before a match just so they wouldn't get caught at a disadvantage.

 Synth had a lot of physical effects. Adrenalin coursed through the user at such high rates it was practically superhuman. It gave them crazy speed, strength, and heightened focus. On the flip side, it also caused fever, bulged veins, twitching, bloodshot eyes, and uncontrollable rage as you came down. It would be hard to mistake it for any other street drug. Aelin had taken Synth once before, and it wasn't an easily forgettable experience.

 The detail they were glossing over was that only one person was currently capable of leaking a drug like Synth on the streets.

Arobynn Hammel

 "So," Aelin finally said, breaking up the heated glares they were sharing. "He's making his presence in Orynth known."

 Quiet.

 "We can't know it for sure," Aedion looked at her with a sickening amount of pity. Aelin didn't want sympathy or comforting falsities. She wanted the truth.

 "Bullshit," Aelin declared, making Aedion wince at the sudden sharpness. "We've had sightings of Tern and Mulligan already. We knew he was sending eyes out. They must have seen us."

 Lysandra sunk back into her chair and rested her head in her hands. "I thought we made it?" her voice sounded extraordinarily young, feeble. Not at all like the vivacious woman they were used to seeing.

 "Lys," it was Aelin's turn to rest a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder.

 Her eyes were glassy and hollow when she looked up. "I really had myself believing we made it."

 Aelin's heart broke for her.

 Arobynn was a sick son of a bitch. She, Lysandra, and Sam had all come into his care at different times and served various functions within the Manor. One thing was the same though, they were all children.

 They were all coerced into doing grotesque things for Arobynn's sake. Things that they should, in all honesty, spend years in therapy to recover from. Yet, some horrors were too big for even Aelin to pretend to understand.

 Horrors that Lysandra was forced to live with every day.

 Arobynn's unofficial mistress.

 Aedion's fist slamming against the table startled them both and snapped Aelin from her thoughts. Lysandra flinched and leaned closer to Aelin. "It doesn't matter."

  He pointed his finger at them and then stabbed it into the table. "It. Does. Not. Matter. Where that piece of shit is. Rifthold? Wendelyn? He can be an hour away or watering the rutting flowers next door, but he will never have either of you ever again." The golden core in Aedion's eyes was molten.

 The excitement was too much for Lysandra, and the dam behind her eyes broke. Deep, heavy sobs ripped from her chest, and her body wilted forward like a wind-whipped flower.

 They moved at the same time, but Aedion was faster. He pulled Lysandra from her seat and gathered her against his chest, shushing her and whispering sweet nothings into her hair.

 The bells rang downstairs.

 Aedion looked up helplessly, but Aelin raised a hand and mouthed, "It's fine."

 None of them wanted Lysandra to be alone right now.

 Aelin slipped her shoes back on and hopped down the stairs quickly. Hopefully, they wouldn't be too pissed no one was behind the counter when they walked in, she mused to herself. It only took her half-a-minute to get downstairs, but it was amazing the things people got outraged over.

 Mala forgive that the coffee gets in their hand a second later than usual.

 "Do my eyes deceive me, or was Aelin Galathynius taking a break?" Dorian Havilliard's greeted her with a bright smile and upraised hands. No trace of agitation at all.

 Chaol Westfall stood behind him and meekly tilted his chin. "Hello, Aelin."

 "Hello, Chaol." She greets him with a smile and walks into Dorian's outstretched arms. Aelin wasn't a hugger, but Dorian's hugs had a magic to them.

 "Where did you go?" Dorian asked without breaking his grasp. "I never thought I'd see the day you weren't slaving away behind the counter grinding beans."

 "We weren't super busy today, and I wasn't feeling the best," Aelin admitted.

 Dorian pulled away slightly to look down at her in concern. His dark, thick-framed blue light glasses slipping down his nose.

 "It's just the baby," she assures him. "Not the flu or anything. You don't have the right parts to catch what I've got."

 Chaol snickered, but Dorian's concern only worsened. "In all seriousness, you aren't working yourself too hard?"

 Aelin rolled her eyes. If one more person asked her that-

 "I'm fine, Dor. It was just some morning sickness and a stressful customer that came through. No big deal."

 His shoulders relax, and he releases her from his arms. "I believe you. Just-" he fumbles for the words to say, "If you have troublesome people coming in here and bothering you, let me know? Chaol can come over and hang out for the day. He has a friend, Nesryn. If it gets bad, I am more than willing to hire her-"

 Aelin smiled at him and waved at him. "No need for bodyguards. People are rude. It happens. Now, what can I get for the both of you?"

 Dorian was the son of the esteemed son of Dorian Sr. The owner of Adarlan Vaults, the most extensive banking chain across Erilea. It was a total accident that they stumbled into each other when Aelin went in looking for a loan to start The Stag with.

 At first, he was a bit of a flirt with her. When Aelin made it clear that she wasn't interested in his advances, Dorian backed off right away and fell into the role of the supportive friend. He and Chaol had been the first patrons of the shop when the doors opened.

 Chaol was technically his hired protection, but he and Dorain were life long friends bound by something more powerful than money. She never saw the two of them apart. While he appeared to be a quiet sort, he had a sharp mind and fierce loyalty that Aelin admired.

 "Two iced girl scout americano's," Dorian pulled out his wallet and handed her a twenty. "Large, please."

 Aelin accepted the cash and started filling cups as the two took their standard seats. She just got the espresso machine heated when a set of hands pushed her's aside and began flipping the switches for her.

 "Aedion," she groaned as his hip bumped her to the side, and he took over her tasks. "Seriously?"

 "You are supposed to be taking the day off," he looks at her pointedly. "Go sit with your friends. I've got this."

 "Do you have this?" Aelin set a hand on her hip. "You haven't used these machines before."

 Aedion scoffed, "It cannot be that complicated. Now go. Before Lysandra comes back down and wipes the floor with both of our asses." He pulls out two large mugs and grabs out a bottle of coconut flavoring. "Baby A is shielding you for now, but that woman has the memory of a rutting elephant. Don't think you can hide behind my niece or nephew forever." He's more talking to himself by the end as he starts over pouring syrups into cups. Did he even know what he was making? Aelin winced.

 She might have to return the twenty to Dorian.

 Aelin walks away reluctantly, "Mind if I sit here for a minute, boys?"

 Chaol stands up and pulls a chair out for her, "Not at all."

 He holds out a hand to help her sit, but she waves it away. She wasn't that pregnant yet.  

 Dorian has a hardbound book sitting in front of him, the face of his expensive watch catching the light as he turns the page. "I haven't seen you by the bank this week," he says without looking up from the page.

 "We've been enjoying the peace," Chaol sits back in his own seat and flashes her a grin. "That's a joke, of course. It's been horribly boring."

 "It's been a busy week. I haven't had a chance to drop my deposit off yet." Aelin typically made an excuse to visit the bank at least once a week. Dorian would kindly excuse whatever teller was working to take a break and promptly close the register so they could sit in the break room and talk over cookies and drip coffee.

 She was planning on going yesterday, but her feathers were too ruffled after the incident.

 "I suppose I can live without that excuse since I've taken it upon myself to visit you at work." He pulls a plastic bag filled with assorted chocolates and places it on the table between them. "If you need to drop off a deposit, I can take it back with me?"

 Aelin's hand darts to the bag of sweets and pulls out a dark, salty square. "Have I mentioned you are the most attractive man I've ever met?"

 They hear a loud scoff from the kitchen.

 "You've mentioned it a few times." He glances up from his book long enough to wink at her. "What about that deposit?"

 "I don't think I will have a big enough deposit to warrant the trip this week," the excuse isn't well-formed, and she hears it when the lie falls from her lips.

 "You said you had a busy week?" Dorian frowns.

 I did, but I'm putting aside extra money to fund my cousin's gang because my former foster father has a hit out on me.

 "The tips have been bad" not a total lie. "Maybe it will pick up again over the weekend," Aelin shrugs nonchalantly.  

 Aedion walks over with two cups of coffee and a mug of tea. He lets Dorian's drink slosh over the side as he sets it down. Dorian lifts his book away from the mess and glares.

 She wasn't sure what went down between Dorian and Aedion that made them hate each other. Chaol and Aedion had no qualms. They were even drinking buddies on the weekend, but Aedion had a bone to pick with Dorian long before she'd arrived back in Orynth.

 Aelin half-heartedly scolded Aedion as she accepted her drink. Taking a deep drink from the mug, she was surprised to find that it was made exactly as she liked.

 Chaol sipped his coffee, and Aelin watched as he barely held back a grimace. Dorian reached for his own cup, but Chaol discretely pulled it away before he could drink. Aelin caught the motion, but thankfully Aedion was already back in the kitchen and hadn't noticed.

 "I will remake those for you before you leave," Aelin assured them.

 "It's alright. As much as I love coffee, I really came by to spill tea," Dorian took his glasses off and leaned back in his chair.

 "Gossip," Chaol translated. "He means gossip."

 Dorian rolls his eyes, "That's what tea means, Chaol." Leaning forward with his elbows on the table, "A company called Wendlyn Ops. bought out The Pits."

 "What?" Aelin shouts a little too loudly. Dorian shushes her, and Aedion peers out from the kitchen with worried eyes. She waves him away and whispers in a quieter tone. "What do you mean The Pits have been bought out? What for?"

 "I didn't realize you would care this much about the seediest bar in town," Dorian laughed. "It's not like you can drink."

 "You aren't drinking, right?" Chaol scowls.

 Aelin reins back her emotions. She was definitely losing her tack being off the job for several months, but the secret basement underneath The Pits was where the fights were usually held. Iona Jayne would never sell the property when it brought in so much money.

 He either owed someone a rutting ton of money, he was being blackmailed, or the most likely option.

 Iona Jayne was dead.

 Aelin flipped Chaol off, "Of course I'm not drinking. No promises on that in about five months... Just, who would want The Pits? Are they repurposing it?" She can already feel a headache forming behind her eyes.

 "That's the interesting part," Chaol murmured. "The title for The Pits was transferred to a new owner just a few days before it was sold for triple its market value."

 Dorian's grin became mischievous, "Shady deals are going on, and I'm determined to find out what."

 Shit. Shit. Shit.

 Aelin forced a matching smile on her, "Well, this sounds like the making of an adventure."

 Aedion was deeply involved with all the goings-on at The Pits. If Dorian managed to learn too much and expose them, he would go down hard. She wasn't directly implicated in anything beyond a little racketeering, but one prolonged look at her record would raise some eyebrows. Which could tie her back to Rifthold and numerous murders. A lot of murder. Thievery. Hired assassinations.

 They would be screwed, essentially.

 Damn it all to hellas, she needed to talk to Aedion. Aelin understood why Dorian was interested in this. His father was involved with so many corrupt dealings they followed him like a shadow. She knew he was socially isolated beyond herself and Chaol. No one dared to associate with the son of Dorian Sr.

 Unveiling a corrupt business dealing and aiding the community could help separate his image from his father's. Rectify some of the wrongs his family has committed. Give him a chance at making a future for himself out from Dorian Sr.'s thumb.

 Aelin just wished he knew the depth of the task he was taking. How deep, dark, and dangerous this viper's den was. Sweet, sheltered Dorian Jr. would be eaten alive. A blue-eyed pup, trapped in the jaws of an adder.

 Little did he know that Aelin was a wolf herself, and she would not stand for that breaking.

 Aelin directed the conversation to safer grounds following the bomb he dropped. They discussed the book he was reading, the litter of pups his dog was expecting, his disgusting little brother. Chaol seemed to sour at the mention of Holland.

 Soon they were provided with fresh drinks, and Aelin ushered them out under the pretense of needing a nap. Definitely not a lie. Her stomach was rolling again, and that blooming headache was now a whole damn rosebush in her brain.

 Rubbing the knot between her eyes, she made the difficult decision of closing for the day. Business was slow. Lysandra hadn't come back downstairs. Aelin wasn't feeling well, and there was no chance she was letting Aedion use her precious machines again.

 Aelin looked outside the window. It was grey and dreary outside. Perfect conditions for the three of them to order pizza, rent a movie and just put this day behind them.

 "Aedion, I'm closing up." She didn't hear a reply. Aelin shrugged it off. He'd probably gone back up to sit with Lysandra.

 She opened a can of coffee grounds and inhaled wistfully. What she wouldn't give for a cup of straight caffeine. With one last longing sniff, Aelin refilled canisters for tomorrow and got to cleaning up the machines.

 All that was left was to close up the registers.

 She'd just unlocked the drawer when the ring of the shop bells went off.

 "Sorry, we're closed," Aelin said without looking away from the task at hand. She would have to remember to lock the doors first next time.

 Heavy boots thudded against her wooden floors as whoever it was approached the counter. Her irritation peeked. What was with the influx of entitled assholes lately?

 "We are close-" Aelin's stopped and her eyes narrowed at the gun barrel aimed at the center of her forehead.

I’m figuring out how the tagging list thing works- ☺️

If you would like me to add or take your name off the list for future updates let me know~

@thisismylibrary

@highladywhitethrone

@bee55

@royalsqueeze

@rowaelin-cressworth

@sjmships

[writingsbychlo]

anti-valentine | mitch rapp

​word count; 8919

summary; you and mitch are roommates, with a lot in common. one of these things is that you don’t do romance or valentine’s day. or, at least, you didn’t use to..

notes; I meant to get this out for y’all last week, but here it is. It’s been so long since I wrote anything, Mitch, well over a year, probably more than two, actually.

warnings; choking, marking, scratching, spit play, cum play, overstimulation, squirting, dry-humping, riding, unprotected sex, dirty talk and it’s pretty rough too.

You heard the door slam behind you, the sound muffled from across your shared apartment. Only moments later, you heard the distinct footsteps of your CIA roommate padding through the apartment. You didn’t even bother to turn, his panting meeting your ears as he mumbled a greeting, the stench of sweat filling your nose as he leaned over your shoulder, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek as he looked at the food you were frying in the pan before you. 

“You make enough for me?”

“Don’t I always?” You teased, flicking off the hob and scraping the food up onto the two plates beside you as the breakfast fry-ups came together. The sound of the chairs scraping across the floor filled your ears, the man tucking himself under the table as you scooped up the plates and finally turned to face him. 

He gave you a dazzling grin, head tipping to the side as you pushed a plate of food across to him, his stomach rumbling on queue as he picked up his cutlery. Your gaze closed on the items sitting on the table, your eyes narrowing on the objects sitting between you both as you took your own seat, brows raised as you pointed at them with your fork.

“Bit late, don’t you think? Valentine’s Day was last week.” He rolled his eyes, scoffing at the comment and stabbing at a piece of bacon, not bothering to cut it as he instead tried to shove the entire item into his mouth, chewing noisily. 

“I don’t do that romantic crap. Just saw them in a shop window and thought you’d like ‘em is all.” His words were muffled, and you diverted your gaze from his to cut at the food on your plate, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. 

“Mitch, seeing roses and chocolates and buying them for someone just because you think they’d like them is definitely a romantic thing to do.” 

“Huh.” He paused eating for a second, swallowing his mouthful as he thought it over, before shrugging his shoulders and continuing with his meal. “Does it make it less romantic if I tell you that I got them on sale for like 80% off?”

“Technically, yes it does. However, you know I love a good bargain, and that I firmly believe Valentine's Day crap is always massively overpriced. I love them, so thank you.” He sent you yet another wide beam as he finished his food, cramming the food into his mouth as he stood up. 

“You’re welcome, angel. Happy anti-Valentine’s day.” He rounded the table, and you tilted your head toward him as you ate, his lips pressing a kiss to your temple as he wandered past toward the sink. 

A chuckle left you as you registered is words, your eyes crinkling at the sides as entertainment flooded your system. “Anti-Valentine’s, huh? I like the sound of that.”

“Well, you know, neither of us do that sappy romance shit, so why not? We are both anti Valentine’s, therefore, anti-valentine’s day.” He flicked the tap on at the sink, rinsing his plate under it before placing it into the dishwasher, leaning back against the counter to look at you. 

“Finally, an event I can get behind.” You nodded at the cupboard, his gaze following yours as he dug through it, producing a dusty glass vase that he had never actually seen being used. 

In fact, the last time he saw it, was the day the CIA had shown you both the apartment you’d be sharing, your stacks of boxes mixed together with his in the living room. He wiped it down on his shirt, filling it halfway with water as he placed it on the table in front of you, taking the finished plate from you as you moved to arrange your roses in the vase before you, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you. 

The only sounds filling the room were the gentle clanking of pots and plates as Mitch set the dishwasher off, and that of plastic crinkling each time you plucked another rose from the wrapping, until the arrangement was done to your liking and you smiled at the sweet gesture before you.

“How about, tonight I won’t cook you dinner. In fact, you can cook your own and I’ll cook my own, and we can watch some non-romantic comedies or something like a thriller? No romance, at all.”

Your eyes lit up as you looked at him, nodding enthusiastically as you hopped to your feet. “We can drink vodka instead of wine, and we can wear our pyjamas, instead of getting all dressed up?”

“Sounds perfect. It’s definitely anti-romance.”

“It’s not a date.” You threw a wink in there, the sounds of your mixed laughter filling the flat as he walked away for his shower, taking the stench of sweat and mud with him now that he had eaten, leaving you to make a shopping list of the things you’d need to go out and buy.

A deep sigh left you as you navigated the aisles, checking the ink wording you had written on the back of your hand in order to remember what you needed to buy. You had settled on spaghetti bolognese for your dinner, it was tasty and easy to make, but there was absolutely nothing attractive about slurping noodles up and splattering sauce all over your own face. It was perfect. 

Then again, Mitch had never judged you for eating messily before. He’d probably seen you in your most unattractive states ever. He’d held your hair as you threw up, half in your own lap and half into the drain the time you’d been poisoned on an assignment and had barely made it back to the hotel room. He’d cared for you for a week when you had the flu, your nose dripping and your hair greasy and ratty, skin breaking out and oily. He’d never judged you, and so the whole no-romance thing really wasn’t any different to your regular evenings. 

Plucking a bottle of vodka from the shelf, the one you had both decided was your favourite, and you set off toward the pasta aisle, grabbing the noodles and dropping them into the bottom of the cart as you let your mind wander. If you really thought about it, tonight was just the same as usual nights. The two of you would relax on the couch together and eat your dinner while watching a movie, the only difference was the drinks, and the fact that you’d be eating different meals. 

Your mind got lost as you drifted around the store, a smirk growing on your face as you passed by the discount section from the celebratory day of the week prior, and it was clear that the roses you had received were the best of the bunch, the others slightly wilted and dying. Your heart warmed at the idea that Mitch had taken his time to look through them to find the best for you, knowing that you’d like them, even if you weren’t one for romance. 

The items were progressively being removed from your list, each time you smudged your thumb over the words to remove them once they were gathered and placed into the cart. You were browsing the dessert section, your eyes scanning idly over every item as you tried to choose which one you wanted, but all the ones in portion sizes you’d be able to eat alone just weren’t appealing to you. You couldn’t stop the way your focus drifted, eyes locking onto the usual large dessert that you and Mitch shared, and you acted before thinking about it. 

Just the sight of the delicious treat being placed in the cart was making you think about later that night when you’d be sharing it. You’d end up in the same way as always, wrapped up in Mitch’s arms as your spoons battled for the last bites, laughs falling from both of you as streams of melted vanilla ice-cream and chocolate sauce mixed together in the bowl. 

You could practically feel the warmth of his arms around you, the way his body would curl around yours or the way his smell would surround you, the rumble of his laughter mixing with yours as the two of you joked and messed around. 

It was with a startle that you snapped yourself out of the thoughts, the mental image of his smile and sparkling eyes left your mind as heat rushed to your cheeks from the jolt that spread along your body as your trolley crashed into that of someone else. Apologies flew from your mouth as you backed up and adjusted yourself, trying to push the feeling in your heart away as you used the embarrassment of your current situation to chase away your feelings toward your roommate. 

It was short-lived, however, because the second you were alone again and unpacking your shopping onto the checkout as you waited in the queue, your mind was soon going back to the only man in your life. 

Well, unless Stan counted. 

You couldn't help it, you were now thinking about all the actions that made your heart flutter so subtly that you hadn't noticed it until you were really thinking about it. How easy it was to relax into his touch when he placed his hands on your waist when he stood behind you, or when he gave you kisses on your cheeks or forehead. Once you were day-dreaming about the way he treated you, it was a quick movement on a slippery slope until you were thinking about the way he could treat you.

His stubble always scraped at the skin on your cheek when he kissed you and the idea about how it might feel scraping your skin when he kissed you properly, or dragged his tongue along your body, left your lips tingling and your face flushed. You were sure the cashier was giving you odd looks, but then again, you supposed you deserved it. You were so caught up in your head that you could barely focus as you packed your groceries, instead choosing to imagine how it might feel to hold his hand in public, not just as part of a cover for a job, or the way it might feel to fall asleep in bed next to him, instead of accidentally drifting off on the couch with him. 

Perhaps you were a romantic, and you hadn't quite realised it until now, but there was no real way to know exactly how you were feeling now that all these realisations had come rushing to the surface, until you actually got home. Of course, you delayed as much as possible, taking the long route home, and actually climbing the flights of stairs instead of the elevator, until your legs were aching and you were opening your front door. 

The smell of food hitting your nose was first, followed by the sounds of hurried footsteps as you kicked the door shut and balanced the bags in your arms and tried to kick off your shoes. “Here, pass me the bags.”

Despite his statement, you hadn't even a chance to move before he was plucking them from your grasp and brushing his lips across your forehead, your gaze focused on the floor as you tried to quell the heat wanting to flood your features. Luckily for you, he’d already turned on his heel and was making his way back to the kitchen, leaving you to shrug off your coat and sigh out of relief before following him. 

When you found him again, your groceries were sitting on the island in the middle of the room, and his back was to you as he worked at the stove, the muscles in his back moving as he stirred at the food, the familiar smell making you furrow your eyebrows. 

“You always cook without a shirt on. That seems like a health and safety risk.” Your words were mumbled as you unpacked the first bag, tucking the dessert into the fridge and the ice-cream in the freezer as you let the bottle of vodka sit out on the counter, his grin widened as he glanced at it when you turned the label to face him.

“Our jobs are health and safety risks, angel. I think I can handle making spag bol without a shirt on.” He scoffed, and you let out a groan at his words, his head turning to look back at you over his shoulder when you made the sound of dissatisfaction. 

“You’re making spaghetti bolognese?” He nodded unsurely, brows raised in question as you reached into the remaining paper bag before you, before plucking out an ingredient in each hand as you showed them to him. “I wanted spaghetti bolognese, too.”

His jaw dropped as he laughed, turning the heat down on the hob to come over and peer at your purchases as if to confirm that you had both chosen the same meal, before he simply wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him, his chest rumbling in a chuckle at the action. “You bought garlic bread, too. You really are an angel.” He teased, and you poked at his stomach, his body jumping from the ticklish assault as he protested your touch.

“I can’t believe we’re making the same meal.”

“I only just started, throw all yours in with mine, and we can save the leftovers for lunch tomorrow.” He snatched the noodles from your hands, tearing the bag open and dropping more into the pot of boiling water he had going as you moved to begin chopping the veg. The two of you worked around one another with ease, the actions familiar, the tradition of cooking together every night being yet another stark and seemingly romantic movement that the two of you did so naturally, now being questioned as it haunted your thoughts at the forefront of your mind. 

While he mixed the sauce, you drained the pasta, dishing it up into two bowls and putting the rest in a tupperware to go in the fridge. The second you were done, he repeated the action but with his half of the meal, the dishes of delicious looking and smelling food sitting out before you both. He was quick to scoop them up, the bottle of alcohol tucked under his arm as he made his way through to the sitting room, letting you follow behind with glasses, mixers and cutlery before trailing after him. 

“No!” You jumped, halfway between sitting on the couch beside him before he yelled at you, and your eyes widened as you watched him carefully. “You aren’t in your pyjamas! You won’t be comfy! Go get changed, I’ll pick a film and we can relax.”

Despite the scoff that you let loose, you smiled at the sweet thought, heaving yourself back to your feet and dashing away toward your bedroom. When you reemerged, bare feet padding against the plush carpet, he’d already loaded up a movie for you both, the gruesome sight of a torn apart zombie showing up as the tag-photo before he pressed play. 

“You’re going to be cold. You always wear those pyjamas on movie night, and despite how much I love the sight of you in my clothes, you’re going to freeze, and I can’t have that.” He set off in a ramble as you looked down at your attire, agreeing with him mentally as the large shirt of his swamped over shorts you wore beneath, barely visible, and he lifted the edge of the knitted blanket he had draped over himself. 

Taking a seat, your side pressed to his happily as he handed you a steaming bowl of food, and you were moaning lowly under your breath as you looked at the meal in excitement. The plate of garlic bread sat out on the table before you, the buttery smell drifting into the air as you took in the scenes on the movie screen and tucked into your food. 

The meal was full of laughs and jokes, your stupid commentaries about what was happening in the film drowning out the actual dialogue, and you were shaking so much with peels of laughter that you could barely keep the food on your fork, often dropping it back into the bowl as you tried to hold yourself together. 

You shared the garlic bread between you, crumbs getting on both of you as you let him push the last bites of the current piece into your mouth, your giggles muffled around the food as you tried not to spray crumbs everywhere as you chewed. Even through the distraction of food and television, the little actions and gestures between the two of you weighing heavily on your mind. 

By the time you had polished off your meal, you were sitting with your feet up on the coffee table before you, your hands sitting on your stomach as you grinned, feeling full and content from the meal, Mitch in much the same position as you. His head turned from where it was resting on the back of the couch to face you, and you twisted your own head to his, his eyes piercing into yours as he flashed his teeth in a grin. 

“I’m craving pudding. Preferably something chocolate. Hot. With fudge. In a cake style.”

“So, hot chocolate and fudge cake?”

“With ice-cream.” He sighed wistfully, his gaze moving to the ceiling as he grumbled under his breath, the film having merely become background noise at this point, and you weren’t sure if there was even any point in it being on. “You think the shop is still open?”

“Wait here.” 

Before he could even reply, he was watching you disappear into the kitchen. Following this, the sounds of the fridge opening and closing, dishes clattering about and the cutlery drawer rattling as it opened, and lastly, the beeping of the microwave. He chuckled as you mumbled a low curse about something being hot, before you were making your way back to him, one more large dish to join the growing pile beside your feet on the coffee table as you sat with him again, and he tucked the blanket back over your lap for heat as you curled into him.

The treat was finally revealed to him, and he cheered loudly as he looked at the tasty food in a bowl clutched between your hands, two spoons sitting in the bowl as ice-cream melted slowly on the side. “You got my favourite?”

“Of course! I wouldn't leave you hanging like th-” He grabbed your face in both of his hands, pressing a series of short kisses to your face, covering every inch of your skin as your eyes squeezed shut and you giggled, his breath fanning over your face in his excitement. “Alright, alright, let me at my cake!”

“Fine, fine.” He snatched a spoon, digging in himself as he took a chunk of the ice-cream and cake, your own actions matching his. The cake didn’t last long, the sounds of the metal scraping against the edges of the pottery soon sounding and the last bite sat in the middle of the dish, and you dropped your spoon, happily allowing Mitch to scoop it up as you relinquished the final bite of his favourite after-dinner treat to him. 

Instead of eating it, he lifted his spoon up to your mouth, pressing the edge against your lips and you parted them on impact, letting him feed you the final bite as he sent you a soft smile, pulling the spoon away from your mouth as you chewed the cake and ice-cream. His thumb raised up to the side of your mouth, wiping away some excess icing carefully and his bright gaze stayed locked with yours as he sucked his thumb clean, sending you a tiny grin in response as his head tipped to the side, and you had to choke down the mouthful of food as you struggled to breathe. 

He was leaving your sight a few moments later, gathering up the plates and dishes as he left you sitting on the couch, eyes wide and heart racing as you thought about the intimacy of the moment. It wasn't the first time he’d done it either, or done things like it, but now that you were really thinking about just how much you loved when he did these things, you couldn't think about anything else, and you couldn't control the way your mind spiralled or the way your heart raced, the way your skin flushed or your stomach fluttered. 

You barely processed the moment he collapsed back down beside you, his arms held out as his fingers ran along your arm gently as he tried to coax you into cuddling with him, and it wasn’t until he was clicking his fingers in front of you face and nudging your shoulder violently that you surfaced from your spinning mind.

His eyebrows were raised, a frown on his face as he silently asked you just what had you all caught up in your head, prompting you to talk to him about it and your jaw dropped, no words coming out in speech as you tried to form a coherent sentence in your mind. 

“Do you think we’re.. being romantic?”

The raised brows dipped down into a furrowed position, his body stiffening slightly as he turned to face you full, his hand dropping down from touching you to instead sit in his lap. “It’s anti-Valentine’s Day. The whole point was not being romantic, I m-”

“No. I mean, yeah, it was. But, I meant.. well, think about us, and the way we act. Don’t you think we act romantic, like, all the time? Not that I don’t love the way we are, because I do. I love our dynamic, but I was just thinking about it, I guess..”

He seemed to have a blank look on his face, licking over dry lips as his gaze seemed to fade in and out of focus for a moment. His shoulders eventually rose and fell in a shrug, his attention returning to you as he remained casual, as though your suggestion hadn't phased him in the slightest. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“Yeah. It just comes, so naturally with you.” He reached over, taking one of your hands in both of his as he ran his thumbs over your knuckles and the back of your hands. “When I was with Katrina, I struggled because I was overthinking everything all the time, and putting so much thought into my actions. After the beach, I shut down entirely. Touch, affection, it all just seemed so inappropriate and superfluous. Then you walked into my life, and everything just.. happened. I didn’t intend to start wanting to be affectionate, or clingy or touchy with you, but it just feels so right, and natural. I don’t have to think about it, I don’t worry about it, I just do it. It feels right when it’s with you.”

You were shocked at his speech. Mitch was a man of few words, he didn’t often give big speeches, only to make his point, or when he was particularly emotionally worked up, and he was never worked up around you. “You mean.. you’re aware we act like a couple and don’t care?”

“Well, no. I like being this way with you. Relax, angel.” He sat up a little more, until he was no longer slouching, tugging you closer as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “Besides, we don’t do all the things couples do. We don’t share a bed, we don’t have a joint bank account, we don’t- I’ve never- kissed.”

A laugh fell from you as he stumbled over his final point, and you scoffed nodding as you relaxed in his hold a little, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Oh, God. That would be weird.”

“Thinking about kissing me is that bad, huh?” He was joking, his body shaking slightly with a chuckle but there was something under the surface of the tone, a slight twinge of something else laying in it and you pulled back, shaking your head fondly as his eyes searched yours carefully. 

“No, but, you’re my best friend. Don’t you think it’d feel weird?”

He licked over his lips, swallowing thickly as his gaze flickered between your mouth and your eyes, his nose bumping against yours as he dipped his head down and your breathing held in your lungs as your body froze. “Only one way to find out.”

You did want to know. You had been thinking about it, and you wanted it, you needed to know what it felt like to kiss him and so you were quick to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips pressed to his delicately, testing the waters before his lips enveloped yours entirely, his fingers weaving into your hair as he sighed against your mouth happily. The second he returned to contact, you sunk into his embrace, twisting your head to the side to give him better and clearer access to your mouth as he left desperate and passionate kisses to your lips. 

Your own hands clutched at the shirt on his chest, trying to pull him closer as he held you tightly, his fingertips digging into your scalp and palms burning against your cheeks as he held you tightly. Your lungs were burning, your lips tingling and your heart exploding as you connected with the man before you, and finally, you dragged yourself away from him, your eyes closed, his the same as his lashes tickled your cheeks, foreheads pressed together. You both sucked in gasps of the air shared between you, panting into the warm space shared between your barely parted lips. “So? What’s your verdict?”

“I.. um.. wow. I have never been kissed like that before.” He chuckled at your statement, pulling away slightly and tucking loose strands away behind your ear as he detangled his fingers from your hair, his darkened gaze finding yours. 

“Can I be totally honest with you right now?” His gaze was piercing into yours, and you nodded, a tiny smile pulling at his lips as he leaned forward, placing a short peck to your lips and leaving you flustered once again. 

“You can always talk to me, you know that.” 

“I hate it. It kills me. Every single time we have to go undercover and you kiss another guy, because I wish I knew how it felt to be them and be lucky enough to kiss you. It hurts, any time you accept the number of another guy when we go out together, because I secretly wish we were out on a date, and not just friends going for dinner or drinks. I want to hold your hand, I want to share a bed with you each night, I want t-”

Your hands found his cheeks, pulling his lips back to yours and he let out a groan at the contact, his body relaxing happily from where he had gotten himself all worked up as you held him. His fingers dropped to your waist, dipping under the edge of your shirt to sit on the bare skin of your waist and your skin lit on fire as he touched you, squeezing at your hips as his tongue trailed along your lower lip. 

Parting them in glee, his tongue rolled over yours, soft moans leaving you both as heat flooded your body, and you slipped your hands into his hair, tugging on handfuls as you grabbed at him for support, the feeling of his mouth working passionately and quickly against yours making you feel like the earth had fallen away beneath you. He moaned, deep and low and rumbling at the feelings of your nails scraping against his skin, his back meeting the cushions of the couch again as he pulled you with him. 

Your body twisted to follow him, rocking up onto your knees as he held onto you, and arm wrapping around your waist to support you and instead, you simply swung a leg over his lap, settling into his waist and dropping your weight down onto him. A gruff growl sounded from him at your actions as his mouth tore from yours, trails of saliva connecting your lips from the wet and heated kiss as he nipped along your jaw. 

Your hips ground down into his when he issued one particularly hard suck to the skin under your ear, a cry falling from your lips and his hold on you only tightened, assisting you in your rolling down into his lap, whines and pleas leaving both of you at the stimulation. His hands slipped down from your back to palm roughly at your ass, your movement stilling as you pulled back to look at him. His eyes were blown with lust, lips swollen and face flushed, hair a mess with your hands tangled in and you swore the man had never looked more beautiful than he did in this moment.

“I know another thing couples do, that we haven’t done, yet..”

He smirked wickedly at your words, his expression lopsided as he nuzzled his nose at your jaw, tipping your head back to press a kiss to the skin of your neck as his scratchy and raspy voice vibrated along your skin; “Oh, yeah? Wanna’ try that out, angel?”

You had barely nodded before his hands were sliding to your bare thighs, roughened and calloused skin scraping against your silky smooth skin, his strong and trained body having no struggle as he lifted himself from the couch with you in his arms. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you giggled, snatching the remote in your hands on the way up and fumbling to turn off the TV before dropping the device to focus on the man holding you.

His footsteps were hurried and stumbling, the usually calm and collected man frantically making his way to his bedroom as your head dipped down to allow your mouth to suck and lick at his neck as you left your mark along the column of his throat. The stinging patches would no doubt be a deep purple in the morning, much the same as yours were beginning to appear from his similar treatment earlier.

Your back met the covers, your legs holding him flush and tight to you as you jerked your hips up into his, a jagged moan sounding from him as one of his hands supported him, the other coming up to cup your cheek and drag your mouth back to his in a sloppy meeting of lips and tongues, the sounds of the exchange bouncing from the walls of the room.

When he pulled away, trying to catch his breath and to check if this was really real, you were beaming at him cheekily, a hint of mischief in your eyes as your hands smoothed up his chest, looping around his neck as you played with his hair gently.

“It’s still anti-Valentine’s, so you can’t make love to me.” His brows furrowed, confusion covering his features, and you giggled as he made to move away, your body wrapped around his only holding him prisoner as you kept him close, biting your lip and shooting him a wink as he squirmed under your intense stare. Pulling him down, you brushed your lips against his teasingly, his short pants washing hot air over your face as you smirked. “You can’t go soft and slow with me, Mitch, you need to fuck me like your life depends on it. Nothing romantic, remember? Fuck me until I’m screaming and shaking.”

A loud moan left him, his eyes fluttering shut as he released the strangled sound and he dropped his body weight down onto yours as he kissed you fiercely, grinding his pulsing and solid erection into the thin shorts you were wearing. “Holy shit, angel. You’re perfect, I can’t wait. I’m going to bury my cock so deep inside you that you’ll never forget the feeling of me filling you up. The only name you’re going to know is mine.”

With frantic hands, he tugged the shirt of his that adorned you up and over your head, dragging your body up to remove the garment before dropping you back down into his sheets. Your hair fanned out around your head, and he sat back on his knees and your legs around his waist fell loose, his hands dragging along your stomach to grope at your tits, fingers twisting and tugging at your nipples, watching in awe as you cried out, your back arching into his touch. “Shit, Mitch, keep talking.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, your face scrunched in pleasure as you bit down on your bottom lip tightly, and he hummed at your request, dipping his head and sucking a taut nipple between his lips, swirling his tongue around the bud as you moaned his name out loudly for him. He lapped at the peak, making sure it was firm and wet, tingling as you ached for more before he switched to the other and repeated his actions. “You’re gonna’ be panting. Breathless and soaking wet and then, once you’re begging me for my cock, I’m going to make you mine. Just like you always have been, and always will be.”

The tips of his fingers danced along your skin, hooking into the band of your shorts and panties, before dragging both sets of sodden and unwanted material down your legs, chucking them over his shoulders and lost from sight as you faintly heard them hit the carpet across the room. Two of his fingers slipped through your folds, parting them teasingly as he swirled his fingers around the swollen bead of your clit, your hips jumping in response to the stimulation and he chuckled at the way your body reacted to him before pulling his touch away from you.

Seconds later, he was pushing a single, spindly and long digit into you, your walls clenching around him, drawing him in until he was buried as far as he could go, stroking at your walls and dripping with your arousal as you whimpered at the unsatisfactory feeling. He was soon slipping a second finger into you, picking up the pace considerably as you adjusted to the feeling of him stretching your walls and scissoring his fingers, preparing you for what was to come as he jerked his hand in a bruising rhythm. 

Your back was arching, wet sounds filling the room as his free hand pressed your hips back down into the bed, your body twitching and jumping as you clenched around his fingers, gripping onto them tightly as your cries and moans filled his ears. The feeling of you squeezing at him, the sounds you made when mumbling his name and the feeling of you clenching around his digits had him hardening and twitching in his pants, his cock aching to be buried deep within your dripping core, but he wanted to make this last, and he wanted to please you, show you just how much he cared in actions, where words might fail him. 

Twisting his wrist, he picked up the pace, your core fluttering and squeezing as your body jerked under his touch, loud cried falling from you, a scream of his name leaving you as he stretched you open by adding a third finger, never letting up on his pace. Your juices were flowing from you in rivers as you came, slick and cum pouring from you as he continued his assault until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You were backing up the bed, his touch slipping from you as whimpers caught in your throat, your eyes still squeezed shut and eyes rolled back as a dopey smile covered your face, the sound of him slurping and sucking dirtily on his fingers filling your ears. That same hand wrapped around your ankle, pulling you down the bed to the edge until your ass was hanging over it, your skin burning from the friction of your skin gliding against the cotton covers. 

Before you had time to even sit up, cool air was being blown over your sodden and heated folds, a yelp leaving you and fingers dug into your thighs as he held you in position in a bruising grip, his mouth working along the supple flesh on the inside of your legs as he left wet trails up to your core. His lips wrapped around your swollen clit, the bead pulsating as he nibbled on it and you whined under his touch.

His tongue was soon lapping through your folds, gathering up everything you had to give as the tip of the muscle teased around your core, dipping in ever so slightly just to tease you as he groaned at the taste of you smothering his senses. The vibrations shot along your body, his name falling from your lips in a series of desperate pleads and erratic squeaks as pleasure continued to ignite your body, your skin on fire but goosebumps arose anyway, the unique feeling of the gentle soothing of his tongue at your core a contrast to the rough scratching of his stubble between your legs. 

The skin would be red and raw, sensitive just like the rest of you, and you revelled in the feeling, the idea of everything he was doing to you. Your hips were rolling up into his face, his grunts and groans only spurring you on further as the sensitivity of it all continued to build and build, having been so close from your last orgasm already. Your body was shaking, your lungs heaving to try and suck in breaths as your heart raced and the cord that had been winding so tightly inside of you finally snapped, giving way as it crumbled to dust and your arousal leaked from you in waves for the man.

His name bounced around the room so loudly you were certain neighbours from other floors would be coming up to complain but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care, your throat raw from shouting and begging him, your body buzzing at the stimulation. Finally, when you couldn’t take any more, he pulled away, his chin glistening and he wiped at his face with the back of his hand, licking your taste from his lips as he grinned cheekily, eyes dark and glistening with lust as he looked down at your already spent form. 

The front of his sweatpants were wet, a patch of precum leaking through and onto the prominent bulge, his hand coming down to cover it and his head tipping back as he palmed at his crotch, deep and gruff sounds spilling from him. Just the beautiful sight of him, dishevelled and needy had you falling apart, excitement filling your body once again as lust and want poured from you, a low whine leaving you. 

As the sound reached him, he let his eyes crack open as his head tilted to look at you, his grip only tightening and increasing as he bit down on his bottom lip. Pulling your legs up until your feet were planted flat on the bedsheets, knees bent in the air, you parted your legs, running your fingers through your folds to show him your glistening entrance, and his jaw dropped at the sight. “Oh fuck, angel. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You laughed breathlessly, your eyes dropping to his hand as he continued to work himself. “I’m pretty sure you have the exact same effect on me as I have on you, hot stuff.” You shot him a wink, your body collapsing back into the covers as you slug your arms over your eyes, hearing him chuckle, the sounds of fabric rustling and hitting the carpet filling your ears. It was followed by the bed dipping on either side of your body as he crawled his way over you, a hand lifting your arms away from your face as you looked up to meet golden-brown eyes, peering down at you carefully with a gentle smile. 

Dipping his head down, his lips met yours in a gentle kiss, your hands weaving into his hair to hold him to you, your own taste spreading to you as he licked his way into your mouth. The kiss was slow and sloppy, your hips bucking up each time he shifted and his tip prodded at your entrance. 

One of your hands slipped down between you both, a groan falling from his mouth and into yours as your fingers wrapped around his solid member, pumping him slowly and lining him up with your entrance. With a single, smooth snap of his hips, the man was buried deep within you, your hands tugging harshly on his hair as you cried out, his teeth biting down on your bottom lips as he growled lowly. 

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight.” His voice was choked, words harsh and voice scratchy as he panted out, groaning under his breath and steadying himself as he rocked his hips in and out of you slowly, both of you adjusting to the feeling of him stretching you out. One of his hands smoothed along your arm, pinning it above your head as his fingers laced with yours, the other bent as he rested on his forearm, hips snapping into yours as your foreheads pressed together. 

A thin layer of sweat covered your bodies, your erratically beating hearts practically pressed together as he picked up the pace and your hands slipped down, gripping onto his biceps, his back, his shoulders for any kind of support you could find as cries began to pour from you. With each thrust he seemed to hit deeper, brushing against your g-spot every time as he seemed to fill you up to places you had never been touched before, and the bed seemed to slip away beneath you as he carried you to heights of pleasure you had never felt before.

Your nails were ripping red welts into his skin, your body jerking up into his in an attempt to meet his god-like thrusts, hard and fast, the sound of his skin colliding with yours filling the room on repeat as you spiralled into depths of bliss. Your mind was blank and empty your mouth hanging open as your eyes fluttered shut, silent screams leaving you as his own mouth worked along your neck. Licking and sucking at any spot of skin he could find, his stubble scraped where his tongue and lips soothed, leaving your skin red and raw, soon to blossom with deep purple bruises to show exactly who had been fucking you, pleasing you, loving you. 

“M-Mitch, fuck!”

He laughed at the feeling, nodding in agreement as he dragged his tongue over your skin, leaving a trail all the way back up to your lips, his tongue dipping into your mouth as he kissed you deeply, sighing out happily at the feeling of your mouth on his as he fucked you into oblivion.

You were hugging his shaft tightly, broken moans pouring from him as you begged him, needing your release, pleading with him and praising him. Your body was twitching and shaking, your fingers tearing tracks into his skin as his own grip left bruises all over you, and with every bit of self-restraint he had, he slipped from you, a frustrated shout leaving you as you suddenly felt empty.

Flipping you over, the man knelt behind you, slipping himself back inside of you easily, your thighs trembling at the sudden intrusion and you bunched up the covers in your hands, your forehead hitting the covers, sounds muffled by the fabric. “Nuh-uh, angel. Let me hear the pretty noises. I want to hear you screaming my name, I’ve been dreaming about it too long to not hear it now.” 

His fingers wrapped in your hair, an arm slipping around your body as he pulled you upwards, your scalp burning but a scream tore from you as your back met his chest, his cock hitting at all new angles as you spasmed in his hold. The hand from your hair slipped down to seal around your throat, your eyes widening as he squeezed lightly, his mouth descending onto yours as the other hand slid lower and lower until the pads of his fingers were brushing across your swollen and overly sensitive bud. 

“You ready to cum for me, sweetheart? I need you to come, give me everything you’ve got, like a good girl for me, okay?” You nodded frantically, his lips brushing your earlobe as he chuckled, pushing down roughly on your clit and rubbing harsh and fast circles. Your eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking down your cheeks as everything within you became numb, the sheer joy and bliss surging from your core becoming too much. Your throat stung and you screamed and begged, his name being the only thing in your mind as your body convulsed, shaking and twitching in his grasp as he continued to pound into you. “Oh, fucking hell, did you just squirt?” 

His voice was light and broken, the word being spoken allowed seeming to catapult him over the edge as he shouted and growled into your ear, his thrusts faltering as he spilled his load inside of you, painting your walls and filling you up until you could feel the mixture of your arousal spilling down your legs and dripping down your thighs. 

You tapped at his arm, his movements letting up as he pulled himself from within you, matching cries leaving you both and you gripped at his arm, pulling him around your side and pushing him down onto the messy and wet sheets before you. His eyes were wide as your still twitching body crawled over him, your hand wrapping around his sensitive cock as you pumped him, still hard and throbbing with want as his body stiffened and moans spilled form him. 

He propped himself up on his elbows tiredly, watching in awe as you sunk yourself down onto him, easy and wet from your need as well as the mix of both of your orgasms from minutes prior. 

“Oh, my God, how are you still going? Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Need it, need you. Fuck it feels so good.” Your words were slurred, your body exhausted but your hips were rocking against his, the two of you already close as he sat up, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, chest to chest. His forehead was pressed to yours, his matted hair sticking to your skin as he thrust up into you weakly, your hips rising and falling as you bounced on his shaft, bringing both of you spiralling toward another climax. Your eyes were closed, your mind spinning as he mumbled praises to you, telling you how good you felt, how much he loved the feeling of your tight pussy taking his cock so well, and how much he loved you.

You were babbling the same nonsense back to him, the two of you exchanging tired and messy kisses as he held onto you tightly, your hands on his shoulders and his hands on your hips as you worked together to jump over the edge one last time. Your mouths were pressed together, barely a kiss, as your eyes rolled back, lined with unshed tears of joy as shouts and screams of joy were exchanged between the two of you.

With a single movement of his fingers over your clit, the other hand sliding up to tease your nipples, you shot down into your climax once again, taking him with you as he spilt into you for a second time. Riding your way through the feeling, your head tipped back, soft kisses being pressed to your cheeks and neck, all the way down to your shoulders, until your body was still, his cock still nestled within your walls as the two of you sat there.

The heated haze of the room was still sitting over you, your hair mussed and bodied aching as you came up from the depths of pleasure, you sat up on shaky knees, with his help, collapsing beside him on the bed, your chests heaved as you tried to catch your breath. You had never felt more at home or relaxed, the feeling of his body beside yours, his nose nuzzling at your temple as he hummed happily, your legs tangled together as you regained your composure after having the best sex of your life. 

Tilting your head toward him, his lips trailed across your cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips before he was groaning out in displeasure and sitting up, shaking his exhausted body down as he got to his feet, stumbling on unstable legs a little and shooting you a mock glare when you giggled at him. He disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments later with a wet cloth, and he wiped over your skin carefully. 

“How much of a mess do I look right now?” You joked, grinning as the cool material wiped your clean as he worked over your skin, pressing light kisses to certain patches as he went. 

“You look beautiful, you always do.”

“I look beautiful? Covered in sweat, spit and your cum?” You joked, and he bit down on his lip, a flash of darkness moving through his golden eyes at your vulgar words. 

“You have never looked better than when you’re thoroughly fucked out, covered in my handprints and hickies, my cum dripping from your pretty pussy. It’s an image I’m never going to forget.” He winked, wiping up between your legs and you hissed at the feeling, both soothing and sore at the same time, an apology falling from him as he chucked away the cloth in the vague direction of his laundry hamper. 

The second he was done, you pushed yourself up, his brows furrowing as he watched you get up, passing by him and holding onto the furniture around his room as you waddled to his drawers, pulling out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, before wandering from the room with them in your hands. Making your way through the apartment slowly, you tugged the clothing over your head and up your legs, your arms squeezing around yourself as the soft material engulfed you in warmth and comfort.

Swiping the red box you had been gifted by the man this morning from the counter, you were quick to make your way back to the room. When you arrived, you found he’s pulled on a pair of sweatpants and was just finishing changing the sheets, the sex-soaked ones from before now sitting in a heap in the corner of the room as he changed them out for a crisp new set of dark blue ones. 

You held the box up with a wide grin as you made your way towards him, his arms opening to close around your body as he took them from you tackling you onto the bed softly as his body fell atop yours. “A post-sex snack?”

“Exactly.”

“Are you sure you’re real?” He mumbled, lips trying to meet yours in a kiss as you laughed and rolled out from under him, choosing instead to cuddle into his side once he sat back against the headboard and tore open the box. Plucking a round treat from the box, dusted with gold powder and nuts, you popped it into your mouth, chewing happily as the taste of dark chocolate and caramel met your tastebuds.

“Tomorrow night. I’m going to wear that blue dress, the one you always tell me I look beautiful in. I’ll be ready at seven.” Your words were muffled as you chewed the food in your mouth, before swallowing it thickly and licking over your lips as you chose the next one. “You can take me out on our first official date.”

You heard the man scoff a laugh beside you, his cheek sitting atop his head as his own fingers scanned over the box and plucked one from the foil. “I can’t wait, angel. I’ll make reservations, and I’ll bring you your favourite flowers.”

“Not romantic, my ass.” Your elbow nudged into his ribcage as the pair of you laughed loudly, a kiss being pressed to the top of your head as he grumbled about your words in entertainment. “I’d like that though. My favourites ar-”

“I know what your favourites are, angel. I know everything about you.”

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head to accept his affections when he looked at you with puckered lips, the taste of chocolate lingering in his mouth as his fingers wove into your hair. With an idle hand, Mitch scooped up the box from where it was resting across your lap and haphazardly discarded it to the bedside table, instead choosing to roll over you, his body laying against yours and crushing you slightly, but neither of you cared, your mind far too preoccupied with the warmth his body spread to yours, and the pure love his touch gave you.

Okay, maybe you were a little bit romantic, but only when you were together.

[dontfeeltoohot]

Sicktember Day 7 - A Cry For Attention - Steve - Canon(Divergence, alive!Eddie) - TW: Blood/Wounds, Nausea (No Vomiting)

Two days after everything settles down from what felt like the end of the world, Steve realizes the bites on his stomach and back are hurting more, not less. That’s not supposed to happen, he’s pretty sure. Nancy had cleaned them, but it’s not like he’d had much time to continue the actions, not when Vecna had split open Hawkins.

He’s standing at the table in the gym, sorting out clothes by size, and watching Robin attempt to flirt with Vickie. Or, he’s trying to watch, but his back hurts with every breath, and his body feels like it’s on fire. He feels hot, and the man is realizing now that his hands are shaking. 

Pushing through, he gets another forty minutes of folding done before Steve finally pauses, walking over to where Robin is smearing peanut butter on a piece of bread. 

“Hey, mind if I get some water?” His voice feels wobbly- he feels wobbly. 

“Yeah s-“ the words seem to fizzle out and he knits his eyebrows together. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m just hot, there’s a lot of people around,” he waves off, clearing his throat. Steve Harrington is fine, he has to be. 

After getting a plastic cup of water and downing it, he goes back to his assigned table. The water sits uncomfortably in his stomach, as though it’s stagnant and not being absorbed. By the end of next hour, the nineteen year old is ready to head back to his house and sleep.

Of course, it’s not that easy. Will radio’s too Dustin’s walkie as they’re all heading out, words frantic. None of them catch exactly what he’s said, but the word ‘Vecna’ and ‘moving’ stand out. Seconds later, they’re jogging to Steve’s beamer, scrambling inside. 

Fire spreads throughout his body as he turns the key. With his back pressed against the seat, Steve can feel just how painful every single rip, tear and scratch is. His entire abdomen throbs in time with his heart beat. Feeling nauseous, Steve tries to keep his cool, ignoring Dustin and Robin’s rants about what could be happening. 

Arriving at the cabin, Dustin bolts out, slamming the car door behind him- Steve doesn’t have the energy to tell him not to. His eyes feel heavy and though he’s hot, his body is shivering. He feels like shit, he realizes. Like he’s back in 11th grade with the flu that had knocked him on his ass for a week. 

Standing shakily, the ex swim captain gets out, Robin following suit. Either he’s truly good at hiding things or Robin’s too preoccupied to notice when he stumbles slightly. By the time he makes it into the cabin, everyone else is standing or sitting around. The Byers, Hopper, the kid from California are all standing, but the rest of their odd little party is sitting, aside from Eddie, who’s pacing nervously. Steve decides to stand near the back, the idea of sitting again physically painful. 

As everyone talks, the nineteen year old takes a shaky breath, rubbing his face. Everything is hazy and muffled, and though he can’t see his face start to drain of color, he can feel his body drain of energy. A noise crawls it’s way out of his throat, something between a whimper and a whine. 

“Man, you okay?” 

Eddie’s impossibly close, his hand resting under Steve’s arm, helping to steady him. His eyes are wide and worried. 

“Fuck, you’ve got a fever,Steve.” 

“Are y-yours too? Burning up?” 

“What?” Eddie looks around. “Guys, I need some help! Somethings wrong!” 

10 pairs of eyes are on them, and Joyce and Nancy are both booking it over. 

“Y-Your bites…mine feel like they’re burning.” 

“You idiot-“ Eddie yanks Steve’s shirt up. The white bandage that’s obviously old is soaked with blood and plasma.

“I’ve got him,” Joyce cuts in. Steve leans closer to her, the mom he never had. 

They’re not close, but they’ve both helped save the world, he’s picked her kid up on numerous occasions, and they’ve made some small take. Right now, his brain is screaming ‘Mom! Mom! Mom!’, and the woman must be able to tell. He’s led to the small bathroom on the side, door closing behind them. 

“What happened honey?” 

“B-Bats, the ones that got Eddie too,” his voice trembles as she sits him down on the toilet lid. He’s so god damn tired. 

“I’m going to take this bandage off okay? Can you take your shirt off?” 

The noise he makes when the fabric scrapes across his back is almost inhuman. Blinking back tears, arms feeling like jello, he looks up at Joyce once he’s done. 

“Okay, it’s going to be okay,” she assures, her voice calm. If only his real mom was this kind. 

The petite brunette moves around and sucks in a breath as she looks at his back, making him shift slightly. It’s got to be bad. Rummaging around the cabinets, she finds what she’s looking for, a large box full of medical supplies.

“I put this in here last year, thank god it’s still here,” she says, talking just to talk. “I’m going to have to wipe everything down, and it’s going to hurt, I’m so sorry Steve.” 

“I-It’s okay,” he nods, fever burning his cheeks. 

By the time they finish, tear tracks are on his face, his nose is stuffy, and his eyes burn. Still nauseous, he ends up getting sick in the plastic trash can sat beside the sink, gagging loudly. Joyce runs a hand through his hair and then a cool, wet cloth is wiped over his face. 

“There’s a bedroom that used to be El’s here, let’s get you laying down. 

He doesn’t argue. Frankly, Steve wants to lay down, wants to sleep. As they walk out of the bathroom, his wounds newly bandaged and shirt still off, he tries to ignore everyone’s gazes and the words that start getting murmured. He hears Robin say something about rabies, and Dustin let out a string of cuss words. 

After being shoved and downing two Tylenol and a glass of water, he lays down. A dip in the bed makes the man open his eyes. He’s not sure who he’s expecting, maybe Robin or Nancy, but certainly not Eleven. 

“You are hurt, and sick.” 

“Yeah,” Steve gives her a half smile, wishing he could reassure her. 

“I can…make some of it go away, I think.” 

He can’t help making a frown. Eleven has super powers. She’s strong when she wants to be, can make things explode, move things with her mind. But healing? Is it new? Has she always had it? 

“You don’t have t-“ 

“It is okay, Steve. You do a lot for people, and now I want to do something for you.” 

Tears burn in his eyes and he nods wordlessly. 

She puts a hand on his shoulder, careful not to touch any bandages. 

“Your skin is hot.” 

“It’s called a fever. Happens when you’re sick.” 

Eleven closes her eyes and stays still. Silence fills the room. Moments later, the intense, jagged pain ebbs. It’s still awful, but it no longer feels as if knives are cutting him open. He cracks an eye, seeing Eleven’s face twisted in pain. 

“Woah! Woah, hey kid, don’t…don’t put pain on yourself. I’m okay, you’ve done enough,” Steve shifts backward.

“But I-“ 

“It’s okay. I already don’t feel as bad…thank you. I’ll get better. You should rest too. You need your strength.” 

Once she’s gone, another figure slips in. Robin. 

“If you have rabies, I get rights to hold it over your head for the rest of your life,” she mumbles grumpily, crawling onto the bed. Steve snorts, rubbing his face. 

“Don’t have rabies.” 

“Maybe you’ll turn into a vampire.” 

“Not funny.” 

“You could get supersonic hearing! You could fly!” 

“Robin…I love you but I’m going to fall asleep okay?” 

“Yeah okay…love you too dingus.”