#and today half of my class stayed home sick so.... :|

[expelliarmus]

[edettethegreat]

I rarely experience jealousy but when I see some of you posting about finishing your essays and midterms I wish that was me I wish that was me so badly why can’t that be me

[giverofempathy]

another shite start of my day. im gonna start barking at people actually

[gor3-hound]

resident evil works (dark content)

☆ can't fight this feeling ▪︎ part one ▪︎ part two

ft. incel stepbrother!leon x reader

tw: stepcest, non-con/dub-con, somno

He'd been rejected more times than he could count, leaving him a little bitter. He's in his twenties, and he hadn't even had his first kiss. It was fine… totally fine. He wasn't mad about it at all. Women just didn't understand how nice he was. He'd treat his girlfriend so good if a girl would just give him a chance! He's started to give up on his exploits, coming to terms with the fact he'd probably just die a virgin. That is, until he's blessed with a miracle. Must be divine intervention, he can't believe he got this lucky. His dad ends up telling him he's getting married to the woman he's been seeing for a while, and drops the fact that she has a daughter that's just a few years younger.

☆ are you lonely?

ft. real dad!leon x reader

tw: incest

His gaze finds you again before long. His eyes flick over your form, hovering on your curves for a moment before he frowns. Jesus. Since when did he look at his daughter like that? Since when did his daughter look like that? Must of been a while, but he's only really noticing it now He's only been gone for a week, but it feels like a lifetime. You're always so happy to see him, always acting so domestic. You cook for him, clean for him and cuddle up to him after he's had a particularly tough day. You'd make a good wife for someone one day.

☆ sweet creature

ft. wolf!leon x bunny!reader

tw: slight dub-con, predator/prey dynamics

“If you listen to me, I'll be gentle.” He coos, licking a stripe up your cheek, groaning at the salty taste of your tears. “If you don't… well, I'll sink my teeth into the back of that pretty neck of yours and take what I want.” He growls, the expression on his face darkening. “We don't want that, do we?”

☆ meant to be yours

ft. rookie!leon x obsessive!reader

tw: self-mutilation, cannibalism

“Did you need anything else today? Or is that all?” You ask politely, your hands idly brushing the edge of the counter - desperate for something, anything to ground you as you wait for his response. The anticipation was enough to drive you mad with desire, but you had to stay composed. If only Leon could understand how much you truly wanted him. How much you needed him to see you, to really see you, not just look at you. What you'd do for him to touch you. Consume you. Become one with you.

☆ i apologise if you feel something

ft. leon kennedy x reader

tw: non-con, domestic abuse

“Cute. Real fucking cute.” He hisses, grabbing your jaw roughly so you're facing him. He seems to get even angrier when he sees how terrified you look. “Aww… baby. You're scared?” He coos, a mocking pout making its way to his lips. “You should be grateful. I'm keeping you safe. You have no right to be scared. If you knew what I've seen, what I've been through-”

☆ don't hold your breath (nobody's home)

ft. uncle!leon x niece!reader

tw: incest, non-con

You really need to stop with those tits. He's gonna lose it if they brush his arm one more time. He's not sure what it is about you, particularly, that has him acting like a teenage virgin again, but his self-control is wavering by the second. He hasn't paid a single second of attention to the movie he was meant to be watching to keep his mind off of you. Fuck this. He takes a swig of whiskey that drains half the liquid in his cup in one gulp. Liquid courage and all that. Maybe he'd drunk a little too much while he was here, ‘cause his brain clearly isn't working right. Not when he's pinning you to the couch, kissing your neck despite your protests.

☆ teacher's pet

ft. professor!leon x student!reader

tw: power imbalance, dub-con

He's sick of it. He's sick of you. He retired and took on teaching college kids in the hopes he'd finally have some time to relax, but you seemed to enjoy making his life a living hell. He'd had enough of it. As you're packing up once he dismisses the class, he makes his way to your desk, his footsteps echoing across the lecture hall. “Not you, miss. I need to have a word with you. Please come to my desk once you're packed up.” He tells you, tapping two fingers against your desk as he leans in to speak before he's returning to sit at the desk at the front of the hall.

☆ over again

ft. kidnapper!leon x reader

tw: forced ddlg, heavy dub-con

You go limp when he touches you. Docile. You let him do what he wants to you, just like a good girl should. Back-talking daddy is a big no-no. He wrote that in big writing on the rule list that's pinned to the fridge. Escape didn't use to seem impossible, yet now the thought never even crossed your mind. You'd tried, but he kept a tight lock on you. You wouldn't be surprised to find out one of the many injections he gave you when you were unruly had a tracker in. He always seemed to know exactly where you were.

☆ cry for absolution

ft. priest!leon x reader

tw: non-con

”Please,” he whispers, voice cracking as he gazes at you fully, your face slowly coming into focus. What did he do to deserve this? He was a good man, wasn’t he? He’d tried his best to help the less fortunate, to be kind to everyone he spoke with. Had he committed some sin without realising it? Some blight against God that meant he deserved this? "Please, I don’t want this. You’re misguided, that's all. I can help you. You don’t have to do this.”

As always, his protests fall on deaf ears. He feels the steady stream of tears running down his face, brows pinching together as you back him up into the confessional. His chest continues to grow tighter and tighter until his lungs constrict painfully with each breath. The air gets caught in his throat and makes him choke, his brain shutting down as he just lets you free him from his vestments and tug down his trousers. He's glad to be rid of the collar, at the very least. It feels less like God was bearing down on his throat to drag him to Hell for letting this happen.

[55sturn]

✮ SWALLOWIN’ MY PRIDE

series masterlist!

pairing: boston bruins player!chris sturniolo x fem!reader!

synopsis: in which chris is forced to swallow his pride as he comes to terms with the new that y/n has shared, realizing it’s not just her fault. however when he mentions the alternatives, he fails to see how much it hurts his girlfriend.

warnings: swearing, angst, chris not wanting a kid, verbal arguments, big talks about abortions and giving the kid up for adoption, mentions and descriptions of vomiting, a loooot of angst tbh.

important things to note: this is a heavy chapter so please keep that in mind if you choose to keep reading, i’ve done my part and have warned you about what this chapter entails so please do yours and close out of this fic if you cannot handle those topics. i am not your mother i cannot stop you, but if you choose to keep going despite being uncomfortable with the things i’ve warned you about, you are not allowed to get upset with anyone but yourself. enjoy<3

THIRD PERSON POV

chris was left utterly speechless as he stared at the thin plastic stick in his hand. the only thing running through his mind, was “what am i going to do? i just signed the contract today?” he felt guilty being so absorbed in his doubts about his career but it was something he had worked for his entire life. he knew his concerns were selfish, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop worrying about them.

the words “we’re pregnant, chris.” rang in his ears like a bell chiming, he felt his breath get stuck in his throat and he wasn’t able to breathe. he quickly shifted y/n off his lap so he could begin pacing, he held his head in his hands as his skates clunked against the padded locker room floor.

“what the fuck are we going to do y/n?” chris spits, his voice broken and unsteady as he looks at his girlfriend, her eyes red with unshed tears as she shook her head softly and shrugged.

“i don’t know chris.”

“why weren’t you careful?” chris exclaims, unintentionally putting all the blame on her as her head snaps up, her brows furrowed tightly as she breathes out a listless laugh.

“how is this all my fault?”

“i’m not saying it’s your fault. but why didn’t you just get an abortion?”

“in case you forgot what you were taught in fifth grade health class, it takes two people to make a baby, chris. you were the one that wanted to hit it raw and you promised to pull out but clearly you didn’t. and i didn’t want to abort it without your input because this child is half of you, too. and i would not be able to sit through that alone!“ she scoffs, tears dripping down her cheeks as she stares up at him, guilt and regret chipping away at the slight glimmer of hope that chris would be okay with it that she held.

“i just signed a good contract baby, i can’t miss my games for this shit.” chris sighs, his heart rate slowing down, but his mind was still racing, leaving him blind to the internal battle his girlfriend was facing.

he felt sick, he had everything mapped out for the next five years and this baby completely threw a wrench in everything that he had meticulously planned. there was no way a baby this early in his career would look good, it’d make him look reckless and uncaring about his job.

“do you not think i’ve been thinking about that, chris? that’s the only thing i’ve been thinking about since i found out or even had the slightest idea i was pregnant, i have been terrified of derailing the life plans you’ve set up for yourself and i don’t know what the fuck to do but what i do know, is that we’re pregnant and we have to make a decision about this. so until you’ve processed this, you can stay with one of your brothers, i will be waiting at home.” y/n replies, her voice gradually getting quieter and breaking even more as she finishes. wiping her tears, she quickly exists the room, the need to vomit overcoming her.

her mind wouldn’t stop racing. it brought every possible scenario to the surface and she was beyond scared. what was she going to do? chris sure as hell didn’t seem to want the baby, and she thought she didn’t either but talking about it to chris had her realizing that she wants a family more than anything.

as she knelt in front of the toilet, she couldn’t help but laugh internally. finding out you’re expecting a child was supposed to be a joyous and happy time. finding out that you’re carrying a life that is half of yourself and the person you’re in love with, the person you’re fully committed to for life, was supposed to have you feeling over the moon. and instead, it had y/n’s stomach twisting with guilt, regret, heartache, and distress.

ash she wiped her mouth and flushed the toilet, she sat on the edge of it, letting her tears fall as she let the feelings of hopelessness and loss fully consume her heart. would she really see this pregnancy to term if chris didn’t want anything to do with her and the baby? if she did, would she let chris back into her life when he decides he wants a family? or would he seek a family somewhere else?

“how the fuck am i going to survive this without him?” she whispered to herself, quickly exiting the public washroom and making a beeline for the front entrance.

chris on the other hand, was stoic as he stared at the wall opposite of him, the thin plastic stick beside him taunting him and his mind, almost as if it was telling him that he was acting selfishly. instead of comforting his girlfriend, who was as equally terrified of their recent news as chris, if not more? he blamed her. he yelled at her.

he callously told her to abort their baby to be. to get rid of the life growing inside her as if it meant nothing. as if it wasn’t the product of two people that loved each other deeply. even if it wasn’t planned or considered, that child to be was still the result of chris and y/n’s love. of the fact that they held each other so closely that they made love without any preventative measures. but chris couldn’t look at it that way, he didn’t want to.

his focus was on his career, hockey was everything to him. it made him everything he is. but was hockey really the only thing that mattered to chris? as he mulled over the answer, images of y/n sobbing as she held the freshly positive test, of her sobbing and scared in front of him waiting for him to pull her into his arms in the middle of that locker room flash through his mind. he felt guilty, he hadn’t even hugged her as she sobbed, he so badly wishes he could rewind the clock a few minutes so he could react differently but he couldn’t.

he knew he wanted a family at some point in his life, but now? it was so early. he wanted to bask in all the glory of being the newest and youngest star on the bruins without the responsibilities of his personal life hanging over his head. but that wasn’t possible.

as his team made their way down the hall, chris shoved the test into the side pocket of his hockey bag and plastered a fake smile on his face. the team cheered and hollered as they had won the game. chris joined in on the festivities, briefly forgetting the decision he had to make as the team got dressed in their suits and dress clothes, deciding to hit the bar in the lounge above the rink nd celebrate their win and landing bracket in the playoffs.

y/n was in the complete opposite state, she sat at the table, the meal she had prepped hours ago as soon as she got home after leaving the game early sat on the table in front of her. it had grown cold and stale as she tried to bring the urge to eat to life but she couldn’t bear the thought of choking back her food. she hated eating without chris. she knew he wasn’t going to join her after she told him to stay with one his brothers, but out of pure muscle memory she made a plate for him and it sat across the table from her, taunting her, as if to say “this is what your future will look like if chris decides he doesn’t want the baby.” and it broke her heart into a million shards.

could she really handle a life without him? they’ve been together for so long as it is. was it worth it to go through everything that they have already, just for a child to tear them apart? she didn’t know the answer to that and she didn’t want to. she hoped that somehow, chris’ mind would change and he would have this great epiphany and realize he wants this, the family life with y/n.

she knew how important this spot on the bruins’ team was to chris, she knew that more than anybody else. but was it more important than a life with the woman he called his soulmate? was his career more important to him than his relationship?

y/n, truthfully, had began to believe it was. he would call off dates and anniversary dinners to go hang out with the team, he would come home late the nights he promised to be home early. he put so much of their time together on the back burner, and maybe this child was the wake-up call she needed. maybe she wasn’t cut out for the life of dating a superstar hockey player.

sighing, she cleared the plates off, putting the leftovers in an air-tight container and leaving them for her or, hopefully, chris to eat another day. she quickly loaded the dishwasher and started it before cleaning the rest of the kitchen. as she had finished, she flicked off the main kitchen light, leaving the light above the stove on so that when chris came home, if he had made up his mind yet, he wouldn’t be surrounded by complete darkness. but she knew in the back of her mind, chris coming home tonight was just wishful thinking.

as she laid in bed, she scrolled through instagram, chris’ story updates catching her eye. pressing down on his profile circle surrounded by a pinkish purple ring, she was met with the sight of chris and john shot gunning beer in their suits, leaving her slightly hurt that instead of talking about things with her or his brothers he chose to party with his team. she knew that making an appearance at the after parties was important, she had just hoped their situation was more important. but refusing to let herself dwell on what she meant to chris, she rolled over and willed herself to sleep.

it had been a few days since her confession to chris and she had yet to hear even just a single word from him. and the silence was killing her. after her doctors appointment, which confirmed that she was in fact two months along, she had received texts of congratulations and more from his family so she assumed he had said something and maybe he wasn’t completely ashamed of what was happening, but she had a gnawing feeling of doubt in her stomach telling her that wasn’t the case.

“matt i don’t know what to think.” chris sighed, looking to his more level-headed brother for advice in this situation.

“well chris, do you really want her to abort it? like can you live with the fact that you’re putting her through that, you know that she’s completely all for it, but it’s different when it’s the one going through it. so would you be able to live with the fact that you’re pushing her to take away this chance, both of yours and hers, at a family right now?”

“well when you put it that way-“

“and who’s to say that you won’t be looking at having a family the same way down the line if, let’s say, she aborts the baby now and this entire thing happens again? would you put her through it twice? when you could just as easily implement all the later plans with your career that included a family into your plans for now. it would be much easier to maneuver things around right because the ink on your contract has barely dried yet. you do it later down the line and shit could go up in flames. but if you’re still dead set on pushing her to an abortion, by all means do it. it’s up to you man but from the way you’ve talk about it, y/n wants to have a family so what you’re doing is most likely killing her, and if you pushing her to do this wrecks your relationship, you won’t find another girl to love you the way she does. and i know you didn’t actually ask for it, but my opinion is that you’re being a fucking idiot. you and i both know that all you’ve wanted with y/n is to raise a family. you talked about your future kids’ names with her two months into the start of your relationship. so i’m not sure why you’re doing all this shit, chris.” matt rambled, his words cutting directly into the flesh of chris’ heart, he knew matt was right. every word he spoke nothing but truth clinging to it. so why was he putting both him and y/n, mainly y/n, through all of this? sighing, chris nodded and thanked him for the advice before plucking his keys off the counter of matt’s kitchen before heading out the door and climbing into his car.

chris made quick work of driving home to y/n, he felt so unbelievably guilty for leaving her alone with her thoughts for as long as he had. as he stepped into their shared home, he felt like an intruder, he didn’t feel like himself, because in what world would chris, the same chris who is so unbelievably and irrevocably in love with y/n, push her to terminate their child? chris should’ve been ecstatic and sobbing over the news. instead he let his job cloud his judgement and focus, and he felt terrible.

“baby?” chris calls out, quickly climbing the entryway stairs and standing in the main hallway, waiting for y/n to answer.

“in here.” she calls back, her voice tired and strained from all the crying she had done. as chris rounds the corner into their room, his heart breaks at the sight of her curled up on his side of the bed in his hoodie.

“i am so sorry y/n, i’ve been an asshole.”

“i’ll say.” she whispers, shifting back to her side of the bed as chris climbs in beside her.

“i want to apologize for blaming you, it’s not your fault. and for suggesting an abortion without actually hearing what you want. if you want one, i’ll support you. i talked to matt and he made me realize what a jackass i’ve been. if you genuinely want this baby, then i do too. i love you, and i want you to be safe and happy. and if having a family makes you happy, then i’m willing to raise this baby with you because in all honesty, i do want this baby.”

“what about your career?”

“we’ll figure that out when we need to.”

“okay. i love you.”

“i love you forever and a day, y/n. i’m so sorry i’ve been so shitty, i was scared and lashed out on you when i should’ve acknowledged that you were scared too, i shouldn’t have let you deal with it on your own.” chris hums, wrapping his arms around her as she dries her tears and rest her head against his chest.

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© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[brotherwtf]

Idk why I’m suddenly craving this but Age Gap AU where Gale gets in a car accident? Maybe he’s had a bad day at school or some panic episodes triggered by his dad or a memory and something happens on the road. Now he’s feels horrible because John’s car is badly damaged but John’s losing his shit rushing to the hospital because Gale’s hurt, not life-threatening but significant enough to have to stay there for a couple days.😭

oh my gosh John certified worrier good Lord gonna start crying

----

Gale doesn't even know how it happened exactly.

It was a rough day. He couldn't find a parking spot in the morning, he failed one of his quizzes, and his lab TA fucked up the results of his three hour lab. Gale was just so fucking exhausted.

What tipped him over the edge was one of his professors yelling at the class. It was one of his older professors, one that reminded him and awful lot about his father, and he had just shouted for the class to be quiet. Nothing more.

But Gale was instantly brought back to his home, where his father would shout and scream for Gale and his mother to shut up, to shut the fuck up, and then followed by his fist or belt across Gale's face.

He felt sick to his stomach, but he gutted out the rest of the class, hoping the feelings would go away.

They didn't, even when Gale went back to his car he was still trembling, could only remember the sting of his father's hand and his voice calling him names and shouting. He could barely keep the car straight on the drive home.

It was a stroke of luck that Gale didn't collide head on with the truck.

It wasn't his fault, the truck had swerved dangerously into his lane, but he was so out of it that he didn't have time to swerve out of the way, colliding with the driver's side bumper and jolting into the side of his car.

Gale was lurched forward, hitting his cheek against the steering wheel and he knew that he was going to have a nasty bruise there. His arm bent at an odd angle but didn't break, just hurt like a mother fucker when he tried to move it.

But even then all Gale could think about was how fucked up Johns car was. He didn't take it often, John usually took it to work, but today John was picked up from the house by a subordinate, and John told Gale he could take the car instead of the bus.

And Gale had crashed the car, had practically totalled it, and John was going to kill him, he just knew it. Even when the ambulance had carted him to the hospital to get his injuries looked at, all he could think about was how mad John was going to be at him.

He reluctantly gave the nurse Johns number for his contact, was half considering just giving his mother's, but couldn't stand his father possibly picking up and coming to the hospital just to berate him.

So here he was, nervously wringing his bandaged hands together and waiting for John to yell at him, to tell him off and force him to pay for the damages to his car.

When John comes rushing into the hospital room, practically shoving the nurse aside, Gale immediately starts apologizing, ducking his head to avoid John's furious gaze.

"I'm really fucking sorry, John. I swear, I'll pay to fix it, it was all my fault," Gale mutters and feels the weight of John sitting on his hospital bed, clenching his fingers even tighter on the thin sheet covering his legs.

He flinches when John lifts his hand gently, expecting a slap across the face for his actions, but John only tilts Gales chin up towards him, a look of concern and worry covering his face. His hands are trembling as he holds his chin, something concealed with a calm facade on his face.

Gale expects John to let the emotions bubble over, to let him have it, but John only brings him in for a bone crushing hug, careful enough to avoid Gales injuries and sighing into his hair. Gale trembles, bringing his hands up to hold onto John's arms, confused.

"Oh my fucking God, Gale. I'm so glad you're okay," John whispers and Gale's even more confused.

"But your car," Gale mutters and he can feel John shake his head against his neck.

"Fuck my car, that piece of shit was old as fuck anyway. God fucking dammit Gale when I got that call I figured the worst. I'm so glad you're okay," John says and his hands tremble even more.

John pulls away and picks up Gale's bandaged hands and presses his lips together, bringing them up against his cheek and looking in Gale's eyes. Gale still can't bring himself to smile.

"Are you okay? Come on, doll, you look so upset, tell me what's up," John says.

Gale shakes his head when he can feel the tears well up in his eyes, looking down into his lap to avoid John's gaze. He can see John shake his head and lift his chin with his other hand, forcing him to look into his eyes again.

"Just my dad... my dad would have killed me for wrecking his car," Gale mutters and he feels the tears break onto his cheek.

John shushes him and brings him in for another embrace, pressing his face into John's neck. He smells like the spicy cologne he always wears, and Gale breathes it in to try and comfort himself.

"No, no, Gale I could never be mad about that. I was so worried you had gotten hurt, I couldn't care less about my car. You'll always be more important than that old thing," John says and Gale can't stop the tears from flowing down his face.

John lets him cry into his shoulder, bringing one of his hands up to comb gently through Gale's hair as he sobs.

"I ain't never letting you out of my sight again, you're gonna have to keep me in your pocket so I can always protect you," John says with a faint chuckle, and Gale can't help but laugh, feeling safe in John's arms.

[ofstoriesandstardust]

i just want your love (twisters - boone)

a/n: whatever, you can pry this from my cold dead heads.

summary: You've been a bit busy with the start of your master's program and Boone is feeling just the teeny tiniest bit left out.

warnings: fluff, alcohol mentions, swearing, insecurities, i hate you theory, when i catch you theory, unedited i wrote this in like an hour and a half

word count: 1.8k

Now, despite popular opinion, Boone was actually smart. 

While most people would’ve written him off as an uneducated, thoughtless hillbilly, Boone actually had a decent head on his shoulders. Reckless, yeah, loud and chaotic, sure. But he was the best editor the team had, swiftly cutting through b-roll and different angles, always putting on the best show for their viewers. 

But academia was not and never had been and probably never would be Boone’s strong suit. He hadn’t even finished high school. 

And when you had made the decision to go back to school for your Master’s you had warned him that it would be a huge time commitment on your end, that you wouldn’t be able to put as much effort or attention into your relationship as you had before. 

Your first semester would be the Fall semester, right at the heart of the off-season. He had pledged to you that he would be the best partner to you as you made the adjustment and he had pledged to himself that he would do his very best to stay out of your way. 

And yeah, sure, it was an adjustment for you. The long days were killer on you but he always made sure you had a lunch packed and a decent dinner to come home to (and if Cathy and Tyler were giving him tips and tricks and recipes on the side, no one needed to know). He had made sure to make himself scarce or at the very least quiet on weekends, hanging out more with Javi or Tyler and Kate, putting together more footage for compilation videos, and even picking up a new video game Javi had recommended to him. He was pretty sure even Dani and Lilly were sick of him hanging around their place, always bugging Lilly about Cairo and upgrades they could make, even though none of his friends ever had the heart to tell him to go away.

But this was killing him. He had been doing okay, because you usually spent time with him after dinner on the weekends or made breakfast with him and on Friday nights he could coerce you to curl up on the couch with a beer and takeout and watch a movie before you inevitably fell asleep with a piece of pizza in hand, forty five minutes into the movie. 

But last night, a Saturday, you hadn’t left the office for dinner until an hour and a half after he had finished it and had stood in the kitchen only long enough to scarf down two helpings before disappearing to finish your homework. And dammit, he missed you. He wanted to curl up with you, you tugging your fingers through his hair, as he laid his head on your stomach and you told him about your day. He wanted to be able to finish editing a video and get your feedback on it before sending it over to the rest of the group. He wanted to tell you about the improvements he and Javi and Lilly were making to Cairo to get better footage and data from the drone. 

So today, as you’re blinking yourself awake through your third sip of coffee, Boone declares he’s going to help you with your homework. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, silent question in your look. He chooses to ignore it, silently proud of himself, thinking about all the time you’ll get to share with him if he finds a way to help you. Maybe he can read your readings to you as you take notes, or help you come up with questions for discussion, or edit through your reflection assignments for class. 

A stack of paper lands in front of him and he glances up at you. You gesture to it silently as you take your seat, clearly waiting for him to “help”. 

He gingerly picks up the packet, flipping over to the first page and is instantly overwhelmed by the words “empiricism” and “epistemology” and “temporal” and “postulates” and “discursive constitutions”. 

“What in the fresh hell does any of this mean?” He mutters as he flips through it, confusion and embarrassment blurring the foreign words together in the face of the truth: He couldn’t help you with this. He wasn’t smart enough. 

You snort into your coffee. “You tell me. You’re the one who said you could help.” 

He lets the papers fall to the table, cheeks burning in shame. You falter, setting your cup down before standing up, wrapping your arms around him from behind. One of your hands combs itself through his curls, working out the knots that had formed while he was asleep last night. 

“Baby, if I can’t figure it out, I don’t know how you expect to figure it out.”

“Hey.” He protests weakly, face growing even hotter in shame at the callout, twisting to pull away from you but your grip tightens. 

“Easy, that’s not what I’m saying.” You say with a tug on his hair. “‘M saying it’s hard all-around and I’m familiar with this field. No wonder it don’t make sense to you. And maybe I shouldn’t have given you the theory, that shit’s meant to be hard, but I wanted to make a point.” He sighs, knowing you’re telling the truth. “Baby, tell me what’s going on.”

“I just-” He sighs, feeling like an idiot for even saying it. “I just miss you.” 

Your hand pauses in his hair. “Boone, we talked about this.” 

And you had. You had made it so clear to him that you would be busy, maybe too busy, and you’d understand if he wanted to break it off. But he hadn’t wanted to lose you and that fear had made him panic, promising things he wasn’t sure he could sustain. 

And Javi and Kate had both warned him separately, the sacrifices grad school required, and even Tyler and Lilly had warned him that the crap he had put up with while they had been in school would be nothing compared to the long work and internship hours, class blocks, and homework loads of grad school. 

But he wanted to be with you more than he cared about a couple of road bumps for a few years while you got a degree that would ultimately, hopefully, let you make a little bit more money to create a better life for the two of you. Not that he thought the life you guys had had before was bad, but if another degree and a bit more money in the bank made you happy, he’d back you in that effort, a hundred and ten percent. 

And yet, he was starting to get the feeling that he was going to get left behind. You had complained to him that there were primarily men in your program, and while he had laughed with you at the idiot comments they’d make in class, he was starting to wonder if it would just take one connection with any of them for you to realize you could be with someone more your speed. Someone smart and someone who understands whatever fancy-pants words this author was using and someone whose schedules matched yours and would just be a better fit all around. 

“Baby, you’re crying.” You whisper and to his horror, he realizes he is, face suddenly wet. 

Before he can even do anything about it, your face swims into view as you sit on his lap. His hands immediately find your waist, the need to have you close persisting past the urge to pretend like nothing is wrong. 

Your thumbs wipe away his tears. “What’s wrong, my love?” You whisper softly, concern etched into the lines of your face. He gives a pitiful shrug. 

“I just think that- that maybe you need to be with someone better. Someone smarter, I guess. Someone who understands what the word postulates means.” 

“I think if anyone who understands theory should legally be considered a psychopath.” Your face falls when he doesn’t laugh at the joke and you sigh. “Baby, you are plenty smart, even if it isn’t with this shit.” 

“But what if you meet someone better there? Someone who can understand you?” 

You give a sad smile. “Baby, you do understand me. And all those men are old or married or gay or extremely annoying. Or E, all of the above. I don’t want them.” 

“But you want me?” 

It doesn’t make sense to him. It has never made sense to him, but it especially doesn’t make sense to him now. 

“Booney, of course I want you. How could I not?” 

And well, he could think of one or two reasons. Or twenty. 

“Booney, this has been one of the hardest adjustments in my life. But you’ve been so great through it, always making sure I eat and go to bed at a decent hour and do all my homework so I’m not waking up at odd hours of the night, stressed out of my mind. And it’s been really fucking lonely, being at a school where I can’t along with any of my classmates and I don’t know anyone else, but you’re always making sure I’m seeing the Wranglers for barbecue at least once a week, or catching up with Kate over coffee or going riding with Tyler. You’re making sure my head stays on, making sure I’m taking care of myself. And I’m sorry I haven’t been taking care of you in return. 

“No,” He protests. “No, this is dumb shit, it ain’t-”

“It ain’t dumb shit, it’s your feelings, and I’m sorry I haven’t been paying attention. I’m gonna make more of an effort to try.” Once he nods, and you see the confirmation you’re looking for, you sigh, hands leaving his face. “Listen, I only got one chapter to read today, so let me finish eating and go do that, and then I’m yours the rest of the day. You can have me all day, although I should maybe shower at some point, cause I can’t remember the last time I took one.” 

He offers you a watery smile. “You mean it? I’m not gonna be a major distraction? If you got shit to do, I- I understand. I can go over to T’s or something.”

You shake your head. “No, no. I mean it.” 

“Can we just- just stay in bed the whole day? Watch movies or something?” He asks shyly. You nod, a grin growing. 

“Sounds heavenly baby.” 

He lets you go, maybe a bit reluctantly, as you finish your eggs before disappearing into the office, and then to the shower an hour later. He can’t help but join you, almost too pleased to have your undivided attention. 

Later that night, as both of your phones are set on the nightstand on do not disturb, takeout containers strewn across the room, the Harry Potter films flickering on a forgotten screen, he nudges your cheek with his nose. “I fucking love you baby.” He whispers. “You’re- the whole world to me.” 

You hum, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you too, baby. I ain’t going nowhere, nowhere in the whole world I’d wanna be then right here.”

[moonchildstyles]

oh you got me thinking moonie

he’s already half-ready for work but he has to kiss her goodbye and he finds her in the bathroom still in the shirt and panties she slept in and she’s just fixing her hair like taking it out of the bun it was in and he just kinda stops in the doorframe as it falls over her shoulders and she’s still kinda sleepy smiling at him through the mirror and he walks up behind her and is just mumbling nice things to her bc she’s so pretty when she wakes up and she’s still warm from their bed and he gets her blushing and giggling kissing over her cheek before he’s palming over the tops of her thighs and kissing down her neck and then he’s got her bent over the counter and his hands are aaall over her while she’s just letting out the prettiest noises that have both of them spiralling quickly, all teeth clicking together and panting into each others mouths and he’s kissing her as she comes down, making sure she’s okay as he pulls her panties back to cover her and patting her bum and he gets her up on the counter, brushing her hair out of her face and talking to her before he actually has to finish getting ready and she’s just watching him fix his hair and spritz some of his cologne on asking “gonna have lunch with me today?” and being so smiley when she says yes and it hurts him to leave her while she’s still in his clothes, smelling like him, but he’s so happy because he gets to come home to her and there’s literally neither of them have ever wanted more and she walks him to the door, and i see them having a little dwd moment just kissing her and “bye” “see you in 3 hours” kissing and kissing and kissing until he’s blowing her a soft kiss and shutting the front door behind him and she’s just :) for the rest of the day because that’s her man!! and she lives with him!!! and i can’t get this out of my head - 🍓

no you KNOWWWWWWW how bad it gets me when they just kiss kiss kiss kiss and like moan into each other mouths and ofc its a quickie so its fast and a little hard and a little messy so when they’re coming down hes def asking if he hurt her if he pushed her hips against the counter too hard or if she needs him to stay a little longer but shes just dreamy and smiley and happy and kissing him and no im okay thank you:))))))) like they are so in love im so sick to my STOMACH!!!!!!! and I love the idea of her walking him to the door like following him out and saying bye w so many kisses and hes having to keep himself in check bc he knows he literally just came in her and now they’re having a cutesy little send off and he has an appt first them when he gets to the shop and its just SOOOOOOOO im terribly down bad honestly and blowing her a kiss as he leaves :( knowing that there just going to see each other for lunch super soon anyway:( and you know she keeps his shirt one when she goes to class like you know she does so when she sees him laters he thinking about licking her in his office w him again but he keeps a grip on himself🥸

[ppushable]

moodboard creds to @firefly--bright tytyty

low tide

jean kirschtein x fem!reader / multichapter / wc: 10.8k

part 2 of rose tinted hours

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Monday morning and here I am, missing out on my classes, struck with a sore throat and an invisible ax sticking out of my head.

Maybe the only nice thing about today is the man craning over me in the dark, feeding me porridge.

That, and the overly-sweet tea.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

cw: kissing.

there's a soundtrack for this one! completely optional, of course.

queue: ==> new home (slowed), austin farwell ==> dreamcore, daniel.mp3 ==> farewell, erikson jayanto ==> october, adrián berenguer ==> parfum d’etoiles, ichiko aoba ==> i was only temporary 2 u, my head is empty ==> might start singing - sped up, sheldon charlot

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

The figures in front of the dorm converge in front of Jean’s car as they engage in some sort of conversation. Sasha (I think that’s Sasha) slinks around Jean’s taller form and attaches herself to the side of his car, being scraped off a moment later.

Unsticking myself from the window, I carefully reposition the dark blue curtains so that no light filters through, the simple action causing my head to swim as if filled with honey.

I got Jean’s flu. Which, obviously, is to be expected, considering what happened yesterday. Paired with the fact that we slept together last night.

As in, laid down and fell asleep in the same bed with nothing strange happening in between. Whoever came up with that wording needs to be shot.

Contrarily, Jean is perfectly fine. And despite all the urging that I’ll be fine too and that he shouldn’t skip out on classes, he’d insisted on staying right here.

Not that I’m complaining.

I glance at the red numbers projected onto the corner of the ceiling indicating the time as I sit back so I’m leaning against the wall. 8:28. Almost time for my first class, which I won’t be going to, as so firmly put by Jean before I shooed him away.

“If I come back here and the room’s empty, I’ll make Connie march into Hospitality with a condom pulled over his head with your name written on it.”

He’d do that, too.

Running my hands over Jean’s fleecy Cars blanket, I find and unlock my phone to type a quick message to Sasha.

me: sorry sash,, not coming to hospitality. i got sick :(

me: jeans staying home for me tho. dont wait up <3

Pray she doesn’t get the wrong idea.

sashacado: dw about it!!!

sashacado: 😏

I shut my eyes as the screen induces a sudden wave of dizziness. Alright then. Knowing her, everyone and their mom will know about this before the day ends. I toss the phone somewhere on my bed and it falls to the ground.

Jean, where are you?

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

He nearly barrels into an old lady in the soup aisle. With a profuse apology, he continues half-jogging to the fridges, glancing at the list on his phone.

🖤: onions, rotisserie chicken (should be on sale), chicken broth

🖤: oh also rice. and carrots and mushrooms if u can. plus milk. thats a must

🖤: im trusting u wkth this. if u spend over budget im scalping u personally

🖤: <3

He can’t help the little smile that twinges his mouth with the last text. There it is. The end product of many sleepless nights, wondering if his feelings were, in fact, reciprocated. All in a little text. Less than three. Two dumb symbols he’s dreamed of receiving. It makes his heart feel a little warmer in his chest, a little heavier, like a reverse-Grinchification. The good ending, he can hear Connie saying.

That, or he’s misconstruing the whole thing. That’s definitely possible too! She sends that little symbol to everyone. For all he knows, he probably moved up the friend ranking a little. It probably means nothing at all.

Watching the pill be so carelessly popped into her mouth, that small smile, the look in those eyes. Hands on the headboard. Hand on his body. Hand in his hair—

“Woah! Excuse me, sir—”

And then reality comes shooting back to him like an oncoming bullet train, because nothing snaps Jean out of his happy place like that voice.

“Kirschtein?”

Jean stops in his tracks and slowly turns, somewhat hoping it’s not who he thinks it is yet knowing at the same time. “Jaeger.“

“What the hell are you doing? You can’t run in a grocery store.”

And there he is in the flesh; Eren Jaeger, the hobo-looking microbiology major that for some reasons girls (even stone-cold Mikasa) love to swoon over. Not that he cares, really. What’s more important is the fact that he’s in full customer service garb: plain jeans with lanyard string sticking out of the front pocket, blue vest, retractable name tag.

And Jean can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his chest.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Eren mutters, damn well knowing why.

“What, no ‘hello, sir?’ Aren’t— aren’t you supposed to be asking if I need help finding anything? Sir?” The old lady in the soup aisle is staring at him as he devolves into a full cackle.

Eren’s scowl deepens. “That’s low, Kirschtein, even for you.”

“Stop being such a pissbaby. I’m only laughing because it’s you.”

“Romantic.” Rolling his eyes, Eren shoves his hands into his pockets. “Speaking of which, don’t you have someone waiting for you at your dorm?”

Jean shuts up immediately and blinks. “What?”

“You know, your lover.” He smirks. “Sasha told us all about you two.” He ducks his head to do something on his phone and a second later Jean’s own pings.

aaron yogurt: One image attachment

Raising an eyebrow, Jean moves back against the aisle (away from soup lady’s scrutinizing gaze) before opening it. It’s a screenshot of a groupchat, with the first text being a screenshot from Sasha of what appears to be some texts.

sash: we did it boys

bald idiot: 🔥🔥💯💯‼️🤯🤯🥶🥶🥶🥶

bald idiot: everyone stand up and clap for sasha

sash: ill fucking kill you springer

miks: so are they together now?

sash: UH YEAH DIDNT U READ THE TEXT? JEAN TRANSFERRED HIS SICKNESS. HOW? THEY SLEPT OVERNIGHT IN JEANS DORM. TOGETHR. WITH NOBODY AROUND. ALL MY DOING TYVM. AND NOW THEIR STILL TOGETHEE.

min: That’s inconclusive, Sasha. You can get sick just being near a person.

marc (replying to @/sash): they’re*

marc: besides who would leave Jean there all alone overnight?

me: me

And then the screenshot cuts off.

“Romantic,” Eren drawls.

“Shut up.” Jean makes a mental note to find and perhaps tie Sasha to a rocket.

“Oh, come on. Everyone knows you’re whipped. You’re like a little schoolgirl when it comes to this kind of stuff.” Bringing his fists up to his face, he puts on the stupidest face ever and giggles.

“Fuck off.” Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Jean tries to cover the heat on his face. “Just tell me where the hell you guys put the chicken.”

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

The sound of the front door unlocking heaves me out of the half-drowsy phase I’ve been simmering in for the last, what… I glance at the ceiling clock again. Half hour?

“Hey! I’m back!” Every word becomes a little louder as Jean barges down the hall, tosses something into Connie’s room, and appears in the doorway.

“What was that?”

“Huh?”

“The thing you put in Connie’s room.”

His shadow pauses. “Just… something for Connie. Is everything okay?”

I smile. “How the hell did you go to the gym like this?”

Plastic crinkles as he sets the bag down on the ground. “Well,” he says, walking closer, “I was thinking of you. And how much you love my really big muscles.”

My smile cracks wider. “Is that so.”

“Mhm.”

“Were you also—”

“Mmm?”

“—thinking about how pissed I would be—”

He inhales.

“—when I found you?”

His lips curve upward, maybe a little to close to mine. “Maybe a little.”

I tap his thick sleeve. “Go take this big thing off.”

He recoils immediately. “As you wish.” And sheds the coat, dumping it against his chair.

“Are you hungry?”

Fixing his sleeve, he shrugs.

“What do—” my voice cracks as it runs dry— “what do you eat when it’s just you and Connie?”

“Cereal. Bread sometimes.”

“I really expected better from you.”

“I’m healthy.”

I let my eyes drag shut. “Your idea of fighting off a cold is… going to the gym.”

“Healthy.”

“You’re a piece of work.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do the— does the window open?”

Clothes rustle. “Yeah. But I’m not opening it.”

“It’s hot.”

And he looks back. “You’re sick.”

“Well, I don’t plan to strip in front of you.”

Jean sighs but it only takes a moment for it to turn into a laugh. “Alright.”

I try to swallow but my throat’s dried up between the time I woke up and now. “I’m getting up.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Aren’t you needy?” he teases. “What do you want? I can get it for you.”

“You’ll burn the dorms down trying to make tea.”

“Since when did you have such little faith in me?”

I crack my eyes open. “Connie told me you tried to stop a grease fire by splashing water on it.”

He’s rolling his eyes. “Your first mistake was believing Connie. He loves to spread misinformation. Especially about me.”

“Okay, Jean.” I shake my hand in his general direction and he takes it, large, warm hand clasping mine. “Pull me up.”

He smiles and leans in to wrap his other arm under my knees, his neck pressing into my face. Muffled, cheap cologne. “What are you doing?”

In one smooth movement, he releases my hand to slide his other arm across my back. Holding me at the anchor points.

“Wait.” Already a sinking feeling drains through my organs. “Jean, wait—”

With a small heave he lugs me off the bed and my arms immediately sling around his neck. “Jean!”

“Hmm?”

“Put me down!” And I would be laughing if not for my throat and the fact that I’m clinging on for dear life.

He looks down at me, still with that smile. “Hmm. No.”

And the way his voice rumbles through his chest into mine as he hums deeply makes me want to explode. I dive my face into the cloth of his sweatshirt, ignoring the strange way my weight is distributed, the chance that something might slip and I’ll fall to my untimely demise.

“You can let go of me.” He starts walking. “I won’t drop you.”

Pushing harder into his chest, I say, “I’m heavy.”

“No, you’re not.” As if to prove himself, he lifts me a few inches higher as he shimmies through what I think is the door. My grip tightens as the pressure on my back and thighs increases. “Okay, you’re choking me.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Relax, okay? I’m strong.“

“Jean.”

“Come on, look at me.”

I have to force myself to meet his eyes.

It’s not just about how high up I am, or how heavy I might be, or how intimidatingly good-looking he is (I definitely look like shit). It’s about the power.

Things have changed since yesterday. Now it’s Jean’s turn to take charge. And just like he did, I’ll have to allow that.

==> new home (slowed), austin farwell

“Do you trust me?“

His words hit like boulders against my stomach and his eyes are so wide as they dig into mine, so willing to accept the outcome yet so full of this new, gentle compassion that I’ve never seen before. A willingness. An invitation. An assurance. A desire.

So many sides of Jean I’ve never seen before have been presented to me in the past day and it makes my head so heavy it might snap clean off my neck and roll across the floor with the other boulders like a macabre marble match.

Do I trust him?

With a final squeeze, I let my hands fall to rest on either side of his chest. He smiles, showing a sliver of teeth.

Of course I do.

I watch his face as we go to the makeshift kitchen. “So you want tea?”

Though he can’t see me nod, he should be able to feel it.

“It’s easy, right? I just boil some water, and then. I.” Seemingly unconscious to the action, he worries his upper lip as he thinks. “We’ll get there when we get there.” He looks back down. “Where’s the tea?”

With a stupid grin I point to the cabinet where I found the tea and Jean lifts me to height — fucking lifts me a good five feet into the air — so I can snatch the tea packets. “Put me down! I’ll kill your arms.”

He lowers me back to waist-chest height. “So that’s the tea.”

I set the box on my stomach. “You— you’ve never used it before?”

“Forget I said anything. Now what?”

“Now, we… are you sure you don’t want to put me down?”

He rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t separate like a chameleon’s. “I’m strong. Let me carry you.”

God I want to shut his smirk up so bad but if I’m in no position to reach up and… I don’t know. I’d do something. Arrogant little prick. “Counter.”

Jean obliges and I take the kettle one-handedly, emptying the old water and adding more, enough for two cups again. “You want some?”

“Is there enough for both of us?”

“Yeah.”

“Hit me.”

I hit the plunger on the kettle. “Mugs.”

So we move like this, a strange, inefficient, two-person machine. I nearly drop one of the cups, all the cabinet doors are left open, and nearly a quarter of the milk got spilled because I cut the hole in the milk bag too big.

But we got it done. Like yesterday, I find myself drawing little circles into his back, and again, I have to stop myself. “Are you sure you don’t want to—”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish my sentence.”

“I know what you’re thinking anyway.”

What an asshole. “There’s milk all over the ground.”

“I’ll clean it.”

“I can’t drink my tea if you’re carrying me.”

“I think we have a straw somewhere.”

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes and I smack his back. “At least let me sit. My legs are going numb.”

“That I can do,” he purrs, every word dripping with smug that lands on my face like hot wax. I want to curl into myself as he swings me like a mannequin, placing me on the couch as if I’m made of cobwebs. “Don’t move.”

I’m going to kill him. Cold air presses in on me and I push myself into the rough fabric in a vain attempt to escape it.

Jean returns with both mugs and offers one to me before sitting down on the other side of the couch and taking a sip, recoiling immediately as if slapped. “Hot!” He puts the mug down and hones in on me. “Don’t drink it yet.”

Rubbing the sides of the cup, I soak in the fleeting warmth it offers me. “I’m thirsty, Jean.”

He blinks, putting his hands up as if suddenly unsure of what to do with them. “Uh.” Then he holds them out. “Here.”

Our hands brush as I hand over my beverage. Once, twice, he dips his head forward as if to drink it, purses his lips, and asks, “is it okay if I blow on it?”

I get a little warm inside. “You… don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to. I mean,” he adds quickly, “if you’re comfortable with that.” Two of his fingers tap the glass in a rhythm known only to himself. I smile a little. Didn’t we literally kiss?

“Okay.”

He flashes me a quick smile in return before puckering and puffing gently, cautiously into the tea, blowing small ripples that lap at the opposite side of the mug but never spill over. I trace a green line on the couch until it disappears over the curve of the back cushion and a shiver abruptly passes through me.

“Jean.”

“Mmm?”

With effort, I wrench myself into a sitting position, spurring him to look over from his delicate task.

“Hey—”

“Sorry. Can I… can I hold you?”

He stops. I stop. “Oh, I— uh.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Of course.”

Hesitantly, my arms snake around his closest to me and I lean my head against his shoulder. Feeling the expansion and contraction of his chest with every forced exhalation.

This feels different from last night. That was a necessity. I mean, I couldn’t leave him all alone; he was in rough shape. Not to mention he didn’t want to be alone. Not that he… terribly influenced my decision. No. I did it because I’m taking care of him and nothing more. Like… inserting a catheter. Strictly a necessity.

As for the pill, well. That’s… well, I’m just kidding myself at this point.

Maybe I am a bit in love with him. Maybe I don’t know what to do with myself around him anymore. Should I lean in for a quick peck? Give him a fist bump? Stroke or tousle his hair?

He likes me back, right? He does, right? I mean, the way he looks at me is… different.

Right?

I close my eyes. “Tell me a story.”

“Mmm.” His little baritone hum, deep in his chest; does he know what it does to me? “Tea first.”

Groggily, I open my eyes as the warm brim of the mug presses against my bottom lip and tilts; I open to let the warm fluid run into my mouth. “Mmmh,” I grunt, and he puts the mug away.

“You were saying?” Jean says softly, landing his closest hand over my shoulder, rubbing in circles with his thumb. I look into his eyes and the acidic words forming on my tongue neutralize right there.

“Tell me a story.”

“Let’s get comfy first.”

I let my head fall onto his arm again but he takes my shoulder and gently pushes me onto my back, hovering over me, silhouetted by the light. “Is your neck okay like this?”

My words are but a whisper. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs as he lies down himself, trapping me between his warm body and the back of the couch. It’s small piece of furniture; Jean’s visible leg hangs over the other armrest and he probably has the other on the ground.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

His breath hits my face as he speaks. “It’s okay.”

My eyes trace up the curve of his body, up to his face which is so close to mine we might as well be touching, and he smiles again, and this time I can see how it lights up his entire face; the way his skin stretches, the way his eyes get a little smaller. If I really focus, I can see my own reflection.

“What kind of story do you want?”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

Our gazes don’t break as he pauses, and when he speaks, his voice fills the air between us, vibrating every molecule. “When I was a kid, my mom would tell me stories.”

“Mmm-hm.”

“They were always about my dad. And I never really understood why she told me these stories.” He breathes out in amusement. “I’d get so… irritated. Asked her why she always told me stories about the guy that didn’t — doesn’t — even care about us.”

As he speaks, his focus wanders, but always lands back on me. I reach for the arm that rests at his side and pull it in between us. He watches the whole time but doesn’t shrink away.

“And she would always say that the memories they had together were real, even if it didn’t turn out in the end. And I’d tell her he’s just a deadbeat and that she shouldn’t care about him.”

“Mmm.”

“And then I met you.”

I can’t help it. I smile again.

“And then I just… understood. How it’s the little moments you hold on to the most.” And he grins.

“Maybe,” I murmur, swiping my thumbs over his warm, fleshy palms, “it’s the other way around.”

He blinks. “Maybe.”

==> dreamcore, daniel.mp3

I bring his hand up to face level, examine the veins that splay out beautifully under his skin, weaving between tendons, plunging deep into the muscle and bone and fat. “Tell me one of your mom’s stories.”

It takes a moment for him to think. “It was after high school. Their last summer together. He was going into fine arts and she was going to study medicine.”

“Mmm.”

“But that night, long after the sun went down and the birds stopped singing, they were just walking around aimlessly. Nothing to do except enjoy each other’s company, I guess.”

Something shifts in his tone as he lapses into the narrator’s perspective.

“But even though they were spending time together as usual, both were thinking about how one day, very soon, they were going to move to opposite sides of the country and maybe never see each other again.”

“But they did see each other again, right?” His skin burns against mine. “They had you.”

“Well, not exactly.” His hand suddenly gains life, flexing lightly. “That’s the summer I was… conceived.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Needless to say, I’m not super close with my grandparents.” He purses his lips and now he’s looking at his fingers. “That’s an entire story on its own. Anyway. They were walking together at night, fearless to whatever was in the dark. Only their own futures.

“And while they were walking it suddenly started to rain. My mom said it came out of nowhere, like a bucket of water was poured on their heads. So they did what any other person would do.”

“Go home?”

“Run to the park.”

“Sounds like something you’d do.”

“Shush, you… They ran for the park like their lives depended on it, but they were soaked by the time they got there. So they decided to have a picnic in the pouring rain. And they stayed there until the rain stopped and the birds started singing again.”

“What happened after?”

“Well, by the time she got to that part in the story, I fell asleep.”

I huff lightly. “Finish it for me.”

After some hesitation, he speaks again. “When the birds started singing, they noticed a strange person in the trees. It appeared to be a man in a fedora.”

I crack my eyes open, not realizing they shut in the first place. “A fedora?”

“Fedoras are cool!”

The worst part is, I can imagine him wearing one.

“Stop laughing.”

“Sorry.” Without thinking, I use his hand to cover my mouth. “Continue.”

“The— the man in the — hat — approached the two. And he asked them if they’d seen his notebook anywhere. It was a sketchbook, he said, and he liked to draw birds. They said no, so he kept moving on.

“Truth is, he didn’t use it to draw birds. He liked drawing people.”

I hum.

“People were everywhere, and every one looked so different. Every mark and wrinkle was a testament to their way of life. He’d examine people’s faces for so long, he could see things that others couldn’t. He noticed things that the faces’ owners didn’t.

“He’d bring that little sketchbook everywhere, drawing every face that he saw, beautiful, ugly, short, long. And after a while of doing this, he realized that, despite all faces being slightly different, they were all the same, too. They were all strangers in his life, predictable. Every face followed a… a pattern. He couldn’t quite put it into words.”

I give his hand a small squeeze.

“One day, he went to the cafe. And of course, he brought his sketchbook with him. He sat on a barstool near the corner of the restaurant, right in front of the big window, and started sketching the people walking outside. When the waiter came up and asked what he wanted, he asked for a coffee.

“He didn’t look back up until the waiter returned, and when he looked into her face to say thank you, he noticed something strange.

“It was pretty, the most beautiful face he’d seen in his life, and he’s seen a lot of faces. It wasn’t just her face, though. It was her mannerism, her tone of voice, the way she stirred his drink a little so the grounds and sugar wouldn’t sink all the way to the bottom and the way she asked if there was anything else that she could do for him, as if the question was truly asked out of her heart and not just because she’s getting paid to… this person, at that moment, broke the pattern.”

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

When I wake up, the Cars blanket is draped over me. Music plays over the sound of the sink running, and if I listen close enough, I can hear Jean humming along. Dishes clash.

“Shit!”

I must have fallen asleep with my mouth open, because now my throat is so dry it takes an effort to swallow. Slowly, I sit up and lean forward to take a sip of (cold) tea, but it doesn’t do much for the wheeze in my lungs. Jean starts singing softly with the chorus.

“And don’t go there ‘cuz you’ll never return…”

Standing there, washing dishes like a maniac and singing. The strands of his voice, like a bobbing needle, weave between the guitar and bass, and at times it’s hard to differentiate them at all, the tangle of melody and tempo. I melt into the sound, dissipating into thin air. Almost forgetting how much harder it became to breathe.

“Then you did something wrong and you said it was great…”

I stand at a snail’s pace — not avoiding the sudden pressure in my head as I do so — and drag myself into the kitchen.

There’s a dishcloth slung over his left shoulder and his hair’s tied up with — I check my wrist — my hairtie. Seemingly careless of his crime, he nods his head slightly with the music, biting his upper lip in concentration. I wouldn’t forgive him if he didn‘t look so…

at ease. Loose?

Happy.

The sink suddenly spits water at him, drenching his already-wet sweatshirt.

“Ugh.” And now he looks up. “Oh.”

I smile as the singer reaches a high note and Jean hurriedly shuts off the tap.

“Alexa, stop. What’re you doing up?” The music cuts and he rushes to my side in an instant, cupping my shoulders as if expecting I’ll collapse. There’s a spoon in his hand and it drips on the ground. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I was sleeping.” His top-knot sticks out and it’s just begging for me to touch it. “You have a… beautiful voice. By the way.”

He eyes the ground, reddening. “Yeah, yeah.”

Without thinking I tap his cheek. “Let’s cook,” I say. “I’m hungry.”

Jean blinks, touching the area of impact. “Cook?” He stirs again when I snatch the dishcloth from his shoulder. “Wait! No, you’re sick!” But I’m already in the kitchen.

“Oh, you… put the groceries away?”

“I’m not a barbarian. Sit down.” He tosses the spoon in the dish strainer. “Let me cook.”

“No, Mr. White.” I clear my painful throat.

“Ha, ha. Sit down, okay? Do you want me to bring a chair over?”

When he touches my shoulder I turn. “Jean, really.” But my voice is small, and it betrays me, the familiar weakness sapping at my muscles and limbs. “If I have to eat another… butt-end almond butter and cheese sandwich I’m really gonna lose it.”

==> farewell, erikson jayanto

His jaw clenches and unclenches. “Okay. Fine. But I’m helping you.”

“In that case.” I use the cloth to wipe up the water around the sink. “Chopping board. Please.”

“On it.”

“Knife?” Cloth hangs over the tap.

“Yep.”

Taking an extra deep breath in an attempt to sever the strings binding down my lungs, I joke, “don’t kill me.”

He takes the utensil in a stabbing pose. “No promises.”

I bat his arm aside, to the counter. “You know how to cut vegetables, right?”

“Yeah, I know how.”

As he rummages in the fridge to make himself useful, I rinse the rice in a definitely overqualified patterned bowl, nearly falling asleep as my hand draws lazy circles in the warm grains. I’m done in time to see him cut up a carrot — attempt to, at least. He sticks the knife in at bizarre angles and intervals, creating weird orange blocks that skid away from the board after every uneven chop.

“Jean.”

“Eh?” His voice is muffled because he’s biting his lip again. It’s painfully obvious that he’s never done this before.

“Did you peel it?”

“I told you, I’m not barbaric.”

I wrap a hand around his left hand — his chopping hand — and lift it above my head. Jean is silent as I push into the space between his body and the counter and put his arm back to lock myself in. He doesn’t budge as I lean heavily back against him. “Like this.” And I grab the backs of his warm hands like computer mice and awkwardly move them into a good position.

His every breath presses against me, chin resting on top of my head, and if I lean just right I can feel his heart race against my back.

And the heat. Maybe it’s just the sickness raising my body temperature, but it burns where we touch.

“Cut.”

He does, muscles and tendons going rigid under my grip as he puts his weight on the blade. The carrot slice rolls away and falls off the counter, but Jean catches it. “Aha.” His voice a vibration in his throat. “See that?” He brandishes it in front of me like a trophy.

“Yes, Jean, very impressive.”

We position ourselves again. Jean lets me set his hand at an angle so the tip of the knife leans down. “Try cutting. At an angle.”

He does, requiring little help from my guiding hand. The carrot slice stays on the cutting board. Amused, I twist to look up at his face.

Jean looks shocked as if I caught him doing something heinous and his skin reddens like he’s just been blasted with four hours of unadultered sunlight. His mouth becomes a smile despite it all. “Ma— uh, magical.”

It’s like this for a few seconds before I turn back to our work. “Let’s finish.”

What are you doing to me?

It turns out Jean is quite the natural; after just a few more tries he can use the knife on his own, and I’m just decoration. If you think about it, cooking is a kind of art. And Jean is good with his hands.

I stick with him, though.

“Any pots?”

“Mmm. We have one under the stove.”

“Another gift from Reiner?”

He scoffs lightly. “That was a one-time thing.”

I reach backwards for his arm and end up tapping his bicep. “Pot.”

He detaches from my back and I suddenly realize how cold the air is — it’s like a warm blanket was thrown off me. I lean against the counter. The pot of choice, a great red thing that looks like it’s never been used before, is plopped on to one of the burners and Jean immediately wraps around me again. Delirious heat.

“Thanks.”

“Now what?”

“This way.” I shuffle us over to the stove, stepping on his feet a few times, and turn the element on. “We put the rice in.”

Jean’s on it, taking the bowl and unceremoniously dumping in the rice.

“Not yet!”

He recoils. “Oh, oops.”

Shit. Knowing it’s going to hurt, I swallow anyway. “It’s okay.” I grin reassuringly, though he can’t see it. “Just need to stir.” Grateful for his presence, I search the drawers for a spatula — a nice wooden one — and hand it to Jean.

“Me?”

“Think you can do it?”

He takes it, grasping the pot handle, and pushes the rice around the pot. “Like this?” he asks, not noticing the jab. Just dripping with innocence. I feel bad.

“Perfect.”

“How long?”

“Until you feel like it’s done.”

His chest undergoes a sudden compression as he huffs and I realize just how much I’m leaning on him. “And how do I know that?”

I shrug.

So Jean stirs.

“Hm?” he says when I nudge him after a while.

“Add the broth now. And carrots.”

He hums. We turn in tandem so he can fetch the former from the fridge and I watch as he pours it slowly.

“That’s enough.”

As Jean inhales deeply his beard scratches my cheek; he’s bringing his head down to my level. I turn to meet his gaze and smile. “What?”

His eyes flutter to my chin and back.

“You want something?”

He doesn’t stop boring into me, swirling something deep in my gut like a witch’s brew. “I dunno.”

“I do.” I tilt my head up at the slightest angle to afford him a better view and his eyes widen. “You want the carrots. In the pot.”

There’s a little tic in his expression. Like he wants to engulf me, pull me deep into himself. But he just breathes, “right.” And dumps the carrots.

Stirring…

“Are you tired?”

“No.” I clear my throat again and it takes a while for the phlegm to go away fully. My feet shuffle back in an attempt to support myself, to no avail. “Bought chicken?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s tear some of it.”

==> october, adrián berenguer

The spatula clicks against the stovetop as Jean puts it down. “Wait.” I turn to meet him, backing against the hard edge of the counter, and the world turns to mush before I gather my bearings. “Wait,” he repeats, softer, putting his hands down on either side of me, locking me in place. “I need to say something.”

“Jean?” Skin turning cold where we once touched. Knees loose. Breath heavy and laboured. I latch onto his gaze and stay there. He is quicksand, sucking me in deeper with no bottom in sight, and I’m powerless to it, to the shifting grains and the lashing wind, the indefinite maelstrom of everything built up and unsaid. Until he says it, and the storm stills.

“What… are we?”

My breath is loud; every one another closer to the answer. The witch’s brew is long since tipped over, seeping its uneasy juices into my bones and muscles and tendons, rendering me feeble and invertebrate.

What are we?

“What do you want… us to be?”

A heartbeat of pause. His voice is soft but confident and takes over my every sense, light filtering into dark, soup into ice, pain into numbness. “More than this. More than what we had before.”

My hands gravitate to cover Jean’s and brush up to rub his forearms, right before the wrists, and I can see the terror that he holds, the possibility of abandonment that he keeps framed up and hung away in a little corner of his mind.

“Like now?”

His eyelids shut, separating us for a few seconds before he opens them again. “No.” And he lowers to my height. “Not like this. I dont— I don’t want any more second-guessing. No more in-betweens. I just— I need to know if we’re together or if we’re just…” He does that thing with his lip again. “I can’t do it anymore. Wondering how close I should be walking beside you, if I should offer you my chair or share it, if— if you’ll ever think of me the same way I think of you.” Despite swallowing, his voice wavers still. “I really think highly of you. I mean, I just— I— sometimes.” The last word is uttered with a small sigh as if he’s accepting defeat.

“Sometimes I feel like you’ve taken me over completely. It sounds stupid, I know, I… When we’re all together, I’m always… thinking about you. If you’ll like this thing. What I should say to make you laugh. God, I love your laugh. There’s just something… about… you… that makes me want to be by your side, and when I’m not, it doesn’t feel right, I didn’t know what right felt like until I met you. When I— I… looking at you just makes me really, really happy, and I’ve never really felt like this before. Never felt so ready to do anything, absolutely anything for a person.” He inhales deeply. “I’m— it’s hard for me to describe how I feel, but in the end I just know.

“I’m in love— I’m in love with you, the way you walk, your voice, the way you’re always looking around, everything that you think is a flaw and… I don’t want to play this game of in-between anymore because this, not knowing how you feel, is killing me. If you— you don’t have to say yes. I just need to know. What are we?”

What are we?

The frame is broken, fallen off its hook, glass shattering on impact as the wooden body collapses and snaps in on itself. Cutting countless tiny holes torn into the fabric guise of courage. Hands trembling against my sides.

The answer I want to give him is there, a vibrating and incomprehensible bundle of warmth and devotion and tenderness that is utterly unattainable behind the metal barrier of the spoken word, as much as it beats and bores into the confines of its enclosure. How much longer?

They say that eyes are the windows to the soul. It’s more like a well. Dark, deep, secretive of what lies inside behind its deceptive beautiful adornments.

But if I let myself go, if I allow myself to hang over the stone ledge and slip in to see for myself, despite the fear of hitting the cold, lonely bottom…

My hand cups his cheek and he tilts his head, leaning into it.

“Jean.”

He says my name back, just as tender, twice as fearful, and the unfamiliar frequency twinges a string in my consciousness. I open my mouth.

“How you managed to fall for me is… it’s beyond me. You’re smart, you’re strong, you’re talented… To me, you’re about as attainable as a star.”

He shakes his head tightly but I continue as he inhales to speak, hints of his voice catching the air through his throat.

“You might not think so but you’re… whenever I’m with you I just feel like everything is going to be okay in the end.” My chest burns and my voice falters. “You make me feel safe. When I imagine our future together, I’m— we’re always happy.”

If I wasn’t touching him I would never notice the small nod of gentle encouragement he gives, so much hope piled onto such a tiny movement.

“And it’s been eating away at me, because every time we look at each other I have to wonder— I have to stop and ask myself if you really like me back too.”

His eyes widen. My pulse races through my body; he can probably feel it through my hand. The truth, that’s all it is, comes pouring out unrestricted, a torrent of words tearing through my soul.

“What are we? That’s a silly question. We spend time with each other and care for each other. We share our food and our beds. You passed an important test last month and I brought everyone over with cake to celebrate, and you know my schedule so you always come to the cafe when I’m working.” I puff in amusement. “And it’s when I least expect it, too. We share so many playlists it isn’t even funny anymore, because you influenced my taste in music so much.”

“You’re the one who influenced me,” he says with a small smile.

“Frankly, I’m in love with you, and— and you’re in love with me.” I sway on my feet and put my other hand to his face to steady myself. “We know that now. We know that, so isn’t that enough? We’re two people in love, who act like they’re in love, who know they’re in love… Has anything really changed?” My peripheries go blurry. “Can’t we figure it out from here? No labels?”

“No labels.” A smile is cracking his face, skin pulling beneath my palms as his eyes crinkle, shattering the restrictive veil he wears and painstakingly paints on every morning. “We’re us. You’re right. Nothing’s changed at all. Just two people in love.” His grin widens. “Just… us.”

I smile too, I smile until my face hurts and I start giggling, but Jean is right there with me, unable to help the laughter that rings around his ribcage with a melody that is uniquely his. I let my head drop and he closes the distance between us, pulling me deep into himself, and it’s like an invisible film wrapped around me has been popped for the first time. We’re hugging for the first time. We’re touching for the first time. Unrestricted. Without fear.

Two people in love.

My laughs soon turn into coughs and the illusion is broken. Jean steps back, still pinning me against the counter.

“You want more tea?”

I scan the kitchen. “I don’t suppose Reiner got you guys a microwave?”

“I’ll make more.”

“But—”

“No buts. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I say before the clamouring in my mind.

“Go lie down. I’ll finish up here.”

I turn my head up and a string in my neck suddenly starts to burn, halting the action. Stiff neck. I look down at his socks.

“You sure?”

His hands enter the picture and take mine. “Let’s get you to bed, okay? Granny?”

“You know what? Just take me to the gym.”

He hisses through his teeth. “Okay, I get your point. I’m sorry.”

Pot bubbling away in the background, we make it to the bedroom. I roll onto Jean’s criminally soft covers and he drapes the quilt over me, trapping me in my own heat.

“Go to sleep, okay?” His voice is a soft rumble, sandpaper fleece.

“Okay, father.”

“I don’t want to see the lights on when I walk by,” he adds, sternly.

“Or what?”

His dark form pauses, then leans down against my ear. “Sleep.” And he plants his lips against my hot cheek before withdrawing.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

me: @/chismosa

me: sash

me: wya

chismosa: im at the store

me: ??? i thought we were meeting at urs?

chismosa: change of plans! eren said jean came in whilw he was working soo

chismosa: just wait there. shave ur head or sth

chismosa: dont use my razor tho

me: .

me: ur lucky my phones abt to die or i woukd call nd cuss u out

me: im just gonna go back to mine

chismosa: wait

chismosa: cons

me: phobe dying

chismosa: CONNIE NO

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

When the spoon clinks against the bowl my head nearly splits open. My mouth is dry because my nostrils are plugged and everything inside me feels warm and centrifuged. I try to breathe in through my nose, fail, and end up coughing instead.

“Oh—” Jean drops his book— “are you awake?”

“It got worse,” I croak.

He smiles wryly. “Yeah. It’s pretty bad.” The sketchbook on the ground skids under the bed when he kicks it as he stands. “You hungry? Thirsty? Hot?”

I shut my eyes, not daring to move. “Just want to sleep.”

“You should eat something.”

“I don’t wanna puke.”

“You won’t puke.”

“You did.”

“That’s my own fault and you know it.” He reaches for something on the nightstand and produces a bowl. “You should at least try it. Please?” With the disposition of a kid trying to show off a cool drawing that he made.

“You finished making it?” I start to lift my head but Jean lunges forward.

“Wait! Let me.” He reaches over my lap for the pillows on the other side and works on propping them up against my back, chest against my face. Maybe I’ll pass out again.

“Jean?”

“Hm?” He returns to his original position, cradling my back. “Lean back now.”

I do and it’s just like yesterday, except our positions are switched. “Your hair is so pretty.”

“Oh.” A wavering smile takes over him. “Really?”

==> parfum d’etoiles, ichiko aoba

He leans in when I beckon and lets me brush away the silky-soft strands that fall onto his face, gently pressing them back into the main mass of his hair with the backs of my fingernails. His hair. How long have I dreamed of doing this? Seeing the way it catches the sunlight to flare a molten gold during sluggish fall afternoons at my dorm, how the wind picks up strand after delicate strand as we walk through campus on the way back from the cafe, the way it always sticks to the back of his shirt when he turns his head. Something as unreachable as the reciprocation of my love. And yet… “So beautiful.”

He dips his head a little so I focus on his mini-ponytail—

“Ponytail,” I muse out loud, grinning. “Horseface and ponytail.”

At this he looks up indignantly, undoing all my work. Betrayal weighing on his brow. “You did not.”

“Oh—” my finger, entranced and with a mind of its own, traces his hairline, “—but I did.”

He scoffs as if it’s the only thing he can do and turns his head to the side, not hiding the heat that shows and radiates from his face as I stroke the strands over his ear. He eases down onto his elbows on either side of my body and he plays with his hands on my stomach. My thumb never leaves his skin, tracing his delicately shaved beard from the curve of his jaw down to his chin, and I use this position to pull his face toward me. Feeling his pulse, feeling the way the soft skin under his jaw moves as he swallows, inhales, opens his mouth with a small wet sound and speaks right into me.

“You’re beautiful.”

I want to cry.

Despite feeling like death, despite the mouthbreathing, despite the greasiness of my hair…

Jean’s gaze is unveiled, blazing with all the fondness and revere previously hidden and locked away, an unsurmountable number of words press-printed and bleeding onto millions upon millions of honeyed pages but never bound, never shut away from the sunlight and the sky and the polished wood shelves, blowing, scattering in the wind. I just might wither away under it all if I wasn’t looking back at him with just the same intensity. Locked in a silent competition neither of us will ever win.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Jean,” I say ever so lightly, only forming the shape of his name of his tongue as I exhale.

He blinks a few times and the mattress tilts as he reaches under the frame and pulls up his sketchbook, settling on the edge of the bed. It’s about the size and shape of a placemat, bound in black leather with a stiff metal coil binding it together. He flips through the heavy cream pages with experienced ease, squishing the flesh of the hand that holds it open. I can stare at his hands all day. The hairs that sprout near the wrists, the thick, sturdy fingers, the laced veins that bulge when he brings them down to his side but are always, always visible, the way the skin folds and creases at the joints, the white-hot tendons that decorate his knuckles and poke up when he flexes, the soft and jagged way he cuts the white of his fingernails, the warmth, the padding of his palms. The power that lies dormant in his muscles under every gentle movement. I want them forever to hold and cherish and cuddle. Among other things.

He finally finds the page he’s looking for and he folds the sketchbook in on itself on its metal hinge to flatten it. He taps his fingers against the back, a soft pitter-patter like rain.

“Are you going to show me?”

Face contorting slightly, he says, “it’s not finished.”

“So?”

“It doesn’t… exude you.”

I smile. “Exude?” But he’s lost in his mind, lost in the lines interwoven in shapes and shadow on the page that are supposed to constitute a greater picture.

“Qu’est-ce que…” he mutters, not to me, not to anyone. Without looking he picks up a pencil from the nightstand and lays a few more strokes onto the paper. The graphite scratches the bumpy composite, seemingly at random at first, but Jean’s movements soon fall into a rhythm. Every once in a while his eyes flicker from the page to me and I meet him every time.

I don’t know how long we sit here, soaking in the comfortable silence, but he eventually breaks the illusion by leaning back and swiping the eraser crumbs off. “I don’t like it,” he says with a note of finality.

I’m almost asleep. “Mm— show me.”

“No…”

His face disappears behind my hand, which makes a pinching motion. “Jeaaan.”

He sighs; reluctantly, he offers the whole book to me and stares through the window (curtains still drawn). I flip it over to see and—

I blink away the gunk that doesn’t exist and hold the page back so it catches the dim light from the hallway better. “Did you just do this?”

It’s… me. It’s me in his bed, hair splayed, eyes half-lidded yet still staring through the page, features lit from on one side and bleeding into the shadowy graphite at the other. Pinned up and immortalized in this very moment by his own hands, every stroke with a purpose.

“I know, the composition is off and the lines aren’t harmonizing.”

“Harmonizing? Jean, this is beautiful.”

“Hah?” He clambers to the empty spot beside me so we can both look. “No, look, I messed up right…” he points with the worn-down eraser end of his pencil. “There. And there, and—”

I swat it away. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Don’t you realize how good this looks? I mean—” holding the portrait up next to my own face, I smile. “See?”

“Not the same,” he groans. “Everything’s—”

I stick the side of my finger against his teeth and he recoils into the pillow. “What!” He pries me off, gripping my forearm with virtually no pressure. “What was that for?”

“Whatever you think, I love it.” I clear my throat. “Thank you so much, Jean. I mean it.”

He pauses. “Well, I’m— I’m glad you like it. Expect more.”

“More?”

His eyelids flutter; hesitantly, he takes some of my hair and twirls it in his finger. “I can’t help myself.”

Some of the heat in my core rises to my face, but it’s okay, so I don’t bother turning away.

“One day I’ll get good enough to draw you for real.”

Draw me for real? As far as I’m concerned, he’s always drawing me, conjuring up a little image of me in his mind every time my name is brought up. That’s enough. That’s more than enough.

“Are you ready for soup now?”

“I’m tired. I don’t wanna move.”

“When did I say you have to move?”

It’s easy for him with his stupidly long limbs to climb over me and stand again. He takes the bowl on the nightstand and hooks his chair with his foot, dragging it forward before sitting. “It’s still a bit warm, okay?” he says, stirring the mixture.

“That looks good.”

He looks up briefly to smile. “Thanks. I found a recipe online.”

“You should get into cooking.”

He shrugs and holds up the spoon, bowl close underneath to prevent spillage. “Aah.”

I take it. The metal clicks uncomfortably against my teeth but the food is warm and good. “This is good,” I declare when my mouth is empty. “Do you really not cook that often?”

“Nope. Aah.”

I chew and swallow. “When do I get my pill?”

Jean looks like he’s choking for a second. “Uh— what, do you want it right now?”

“Sooner the better, I guess.”

He blinks, then takes the package of ibuprofen from the nightstand and unwraps a pill, puts the box away, and pinches it in his hand like it’s a precious stone. “Are you sure?”

I raise an eyebrow and hold my hand out. He stares at it, dumbfounded.

“What’s that for?”

“The pill?”

His mouth opens and closes. “Oh.” He gently places the pill onto my waiting palm. “Right.”

“What were you thinking?”

He licks his lips. “Nothing.”

I pop it dry and it hits the back of my throat before disappearing forever. Jean cringes. He’s staring at the ground, knees pushed together to hold the bowl, slightly too big for the chair he’s sitting on.

“Jean.”

“Yeah?” He perks up.

“If you want to kiss me, you can.”

He tenses around the bowl. “No! That’s…” A weak chuckle rolls in his torso. “Uh. Good to— good to know.”

I smile as silence falls between us again and the room teems with potential. He feeds me in silence, gentler with the spoon this time, pushing it against my soft bottom lip and inserting just the right amount not to hit my throat, tilting it up during the exit so my upper lip rides the gentle curve of the metal and scrapes out the meal. Everything with a calculated and smooth movement, as if feeding me is an art.

He really is good with his hands.

Now he has a tissue and holds it up as if asking for permission. I nod; he leans in to wipe some off my face, a soft furrow in his brow, biting his lip. Starting at the corner, pressing into the supple skin and making his way inward, he easily catches the mess, folds the tissue, and does the other side. He finishes off with a small dab and crumples the it, obscuring it completely in his fist. Not moving back.

“Can I have some tea?”

==> i was only temporary 2 u, my head is empty

Silently, he stretches to take a mug off the nightstand, and just like before, pushes the rim against my lip. I tilt back and drink; it’s sweet, almost head-swimmingly so, and liquid smooth.

“Mmh.”

He puts the mug down and one-handedly stashes it back to its spot. Some of the drink had dribbled from the corner of my mouth to my chin and drips onto the sheet, forming a small, dark blotch on the white. When I glance back up, so does Jean, and we lock eyes.

Unreadable.

I don’t notice him get closer until he’s on me, trapping me against the headboard, tracing the path of the tea to the corner of my lips with his own. Not satisfied, he brushes against the other side of my lip and the tip of my nose before stopping at eye level. Taking in a breath before ever so slowly inching forward, sealing off my air. My eyes slip closed.

It’s different this time. He’s hesitant, waiting for me to make the move, so I do, tracing the crescent of his warm, plump lip with my tongue — god, how long have I wanted this? How long have his lips stared back at me? — in an attempt to crack him open, without pattern but with hidden rhythm, just like his pencil. He tastes like overly sweet tea.

His fingers caress my jaw and tangle into my hair as mine do the same, tracing the scrub of his beard, pulling out the hairtie and tossing it before taking the impossibly silken strands in greedy fistfuls, making my blood go loose and coat my guts in something inexplicable that almost makes me lose my focus. The air from his nose tickles my skin and finally he gives, breaking the dam, exploring the surfaces I have to offer as if mapping it out for later with a painful, cautious leisure. Never stopping, always movement: the bristles of his chin occasionally scraping against mine; his hands languidly falling down my neck, pushing me back against the pillows; mine, seizing his collar, pulling as a desperate indication to remove it and to come closer; the dip of the bed as he obliges to the latter, knees locking me in place. As if I would move, despite my racing pulse, despite my heart threatening to slip out of its bony confines and tear my burning lungs—

==> might start singing - sped up, sheldon charlot

The metallic sound of a key grating into the keyhole. Like deer in the headlights we freeze as the key turns, the lock disengages, and the front door swings open.

Jean looks like someone just shot at him; blindly, I swat at the thick muscle between his neck and shoulder until he awkwardly rolls off, ramming into the nightstand with his head in the process. The bowl and mug and clock rattle, nearly drowning out his pained grunt. He lands sitting on the ground and I sit up ramrod straight.

“Jean? That you?”

We peer at each other through the dark, thoughts unspoken, yet still understood. My pulse is on overdrive, for a different reason now.

Connie!

His footsteps get louder as he stomps down the hall; I pull the blanket up (to cover what, exactly?) as Jean shoots onto his feet — slamming his shoulder against the nightstand again — just as his roommate’s shadow fills the doorway to Jean’s room.

“Ugh, you’re gonna kill your eyes, man.” A blinding light pierces as Connie flips a switch. “Can I borrow your charger? I left mine— I left…”

When my eyes adjust, Connie’s staring into me under Jean’s arm. He looks between the two of us as the pieces fall together in his head like a game of jelly Tetris and it’s evident when he figures it out, when all the rows are cleared and the trumpets blare and the screen flashes with confetti, when a grin that’s all too Connie takes over his face. “Oh. You guys have been real naughty while I was gone, huh?”

I start to speak but Jean’s faster. “What are you on about? I was just giving her food.”

Connie raises an eyebrow, skeptical. At the obviously empty bowl, the ruffled covers, our heaving chests and wrinkled clothes, Jean’s hair which is uncharacteristically roughed up and messy and falling all over his eyes. “Yeah.” He smirks at me. “Food.”

Jean swallows.

“Connie,” I say slowly as the last taste of Jean slips away, “you won’t tell Sasha, right?”

“I dunno.” All too gleeful, he leans against the wall, tapping it as if waiting for something. “Will I?”

“You can use Jean’s car for a week if you don’t.”

Said person twitches. “Huh!?”

No stranger to the bargain, Connie narrows his eyes. “A month.”

“Two weeks or no deal.”

“Fine, but I get to decide which days.”

“Wait, when did I—”

“Deal,” I say, cutting Jean off. I shoot him an apologetic look as Connie caws in victory.

“Hell yeah! Suck it!” He points at the owner of said car. “She’s all mine now, Jeanboy!” Then he points at me. “I love you and my lips are sealed forever, okay? This is our little secret. Woo!” He skips down the hallway and picks something up with a jingle before the door opens and shuts and all is quiet.

At a sloth’s pace, Jean reaches for his pants pocket. “My keys aren’t here.”

“I’m sorry, Jean.”

He slumps, leans his butt against the bed, and turns to me like a war widow, voice barely a whisper. “It had to be done.”

“Your car will be fine.” I try to undo some of the damage thoughtlessly wrought upon his hair, smoothing it out. “It’s only two weeks.”

“Knowing Connie, he’s going to spread it out over two years,” he sighs, staring at the wall. “You know he likes to eat in it, right?”

Saying nothing, I keep stroking his hair, tracing my his scalp with my fingertips, and he leans in to my shoulder.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

“Connie?” Sasha says when he pulls up outside the store, hiding her fingers from the bitingly cold air by shoving them in her coat pockets. “What are you doing here?”

“More importantly, what’s he doing in Jean’s car?” Eren adds, in the process of pulling up his hair into a bun. “Did you kill him, Connie?”

“I struck a bargain,” Connie says smugly. “You guys want a ride, or what?”

Sasha blinks. “You saw them together and they agreed to let you use Jean’s car as long as you kept quiet about it.”

“Nuh-uh!” the driver bursts as Eren nods.

“Adds up.”

Connie’s grip around the wheel tightens. He won’t— he can’t let his dream ride slip from his hands so quickly. “Sasha, no! I just let him use— I mean, he let me use his car if I did all his laundry for a month.”

“Really?” his best friend muses.

Frantic, he nods.

She scowls. “Don’t give me that crap, Constance Springer.” Trace puffs of steam appear at her rapid spew of words. “You don’t even know how to do laundry.”

“I do so! I Youtubed it!”

“Bullshit.”

“Woman, nuh uh!”

“Can I go now?” Eren drawls, almost immediately drowned out by their combined bickering. He sighs, putting the finishing touches on his bun, and traces the leafy skyline.

So they really did get together. He didn’t think Jean had it in him. Casually, he taps his pocket, the bunched-up lanyard underneath.

Sasha had grilled him constantly though the store as he did his rounds, even following him to the employee-only area. Hell, she stood outside the bathroom waiting for him when he tried to hide for his break. There was just no escaping her.

“What did he buy?”

“Like, soup stuff.”

“What’s the first thing he said?”

“My name?”

“Did he mention her?”

“No.”

“Do you have a receipt?”

“No.”

And so on and so forth. She asked for Jean’s grocery haul maybe a hundred times, and he answered every time with the same mind-numbing ingredient list. Every. Single. Time.

A small smile lights his face. He didn’t tell her everything, though.

As much as he wanted to mention Jean’s embarrassingly poor attempt to hide the box with his body from Eren’s prying eyes at the checkout, he thought better of it, because then she’d really go off the hook. That, and he wants Jean to owe him. He covers his mouth before the others notice his growing smile at the memory replaying in his mind. Condoms? Really? Does Jean not trust Connie enough to use some of his? More importantly, does he really think he’ll be using them? Truly?

Eager beaver.

“Don’t tell them, okay?” Connie says, already defeated. “Or else they’ll take this car away…”

“Don’t you realize, Connie? It doesn’t matter who I tell because soon enough they’ll be walking around in public holding hands and all that. So your leverage is basically null.”

He stares forlornly at the little Sanrio charm hanging from the rearview mirror. “When did you get so good at this?”

“That’s just common sense.”

Sighing, he rests his forehead on the steering wheel. “Well,” he says without looking up, “you guys wanna go for a long drive?”

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

writing confession scenes kill me in every physical metaphorical and metaphysical way you can imagine. thats some psychic damage right there. despite that, i love writing

seems we cant escape the inevitable kiss scene! i tried to switch it up this time. not a huge fan of recurring plot and all but i think in circles sometimes. like a dying fruit fly

about that epilogue -- i dont think i'll be employing those for a while. or maybe i will. who knows?

masterlist part 1 - two ibuprofen

[littlebitsalt]

IM SO HAPPY MY REQUEST (the catboy one) TURNS MORE THAN MY EXPECTATION(≡^∇^≡) im so happy you make it story, i thought you wouldnt understand with my words(T＿T) and i love your drawing of him! :D

Thanks😍

Yandere catboy x reader

Note: this is a continuation of part 1

Link

Summary: 5 short stories about the catboy

<1>

Blake dreamed of this moment. Snuggling next to you, on your bed.

He had to be in his cat form in your house, and he had a new name, but it didn't matter that much.

He actually changed into his human self again to unlock the door to your room. It was a close call and he almost got caught by your brother who got thirsty at night. When he went inside your room, you were sleeping peacefully. He looked at you, occasionally touching your face, smiling.

He knew he had to turn back to Tux if he wanted to keep it safe. However, he also wanted to feel you against him in his human form for a little bit longer. He lay beside you, his eyes half closed because of exhaustion.

"..."

He knew well not to fall asleep as Blake, but he drifted off to sleep.

Blake woke up the next day, his eyes opening right up looking around the room fast. Luckily, you were asleep. After checking the time, Blake quickly changed to his cat form.

--

Blake had a busy day. He pretended to be a stray cat taken in by your family at day. He also had to stay right beside you, watching your every movement(and he loved it). And after you drifted off to sleep, he had to go to his own house, just to do things he missed at daytime.

No one really cared if he was in his house. Maybe no one really was in the house is more accurate.

Blake crawled away from your bed and went out of the house. It was midnight, and the streets were empty.

In his cat form, Blake walked to his own home. He wanted to stay with you for the night, but he couldn't. He slept in his cat form the first few nights, but he couldn't stay that way forever. Changing into his cat form was not something to do for hours.

Blake's house was empty and quiet. There was no one in the house as expected. Blake changed back to his human form and looked around. He had stuff to do, normal things he needed to take care of. He didn't want his family member to find out he is changing into his cat form regularly only to see you.

He spent the entire night awake. It was tiresome, but he managed. It was better than you waking up and finding him on your bed because he couldn't manage to stay in his cat form.

At school, all Blake did was sleep. He slept through all classes. It didn't matter to him anyways(he could catch up by studying at night). Maintaining a life as your cat was his top priority right now.

All he needed to do was get close to you as Blake, and somehow make you open up to him.

<2>

"I know there's something going on with you and Blake.*

You had to admit your friend has great insight when it comes to relationships between people.

"What? No."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying"

There was something going on with you and Blake, but it was not something normal.

"I'll prove you wrong at some point."

Your friend said, as she walked to another direction home.

You walked past where the cats usually hang out. You were listening to music through your earphones when you felt a familiar touch.

"Blake?"

It was Blake. You knew it was him easily.

"Did you miss me?"

Blake asked, smiling.

"Why did you skip school today?"

You asked.

"Huh?"

Blake looked surprised.

"Were you sick? An appointment?"

You asked again. Blake chuckled at your genuine questions.

"No, I was with my family member. Well uh.. he visits once a month to check if I'm doing ok. I spend time with him when he comes to my home."

You remembered now that Blake always skipped school once a month for some reason.

"That explains it... uh.. what do you mean by family member?"

You realized you knew nothing of Blake while Blake almost knew everything about you. Blake never told you about his story.

"... uhm.. he's my uncle. I live alone so he comes once every month to see if I'm living like a decent human being."

"Oh, okay.. that seems a bit.. lonely."

"Then you can spend time with me, and hug me back every time."

You guessed Blake's family was either super cool about him wandering around or too busy, but you didn't know Blake was that lonely.

"What did you do today? I hope you didn't get closer to anyone else, because.. I can't let you do that- well.. uh.. we practically live together, and you can't deceive me.."

"You know well I don't have much friends."

Blake held your hand until you arrived in front of the door to your house.

"Are you going to turn into a cat again?"

".. I guess so."

"You can turn into human again in my room, so don't worry."

<3>

That day was limit and Blake know that well now. Staying as a cat in your house was too much to handle. Staying awake all night and wandering around all night made stress unbearable to his body.

So when you came back home to greet Tux, Blake couldn't control himself.

And that made all his work into nothing. Now you knew he was not the cat you imagined and you cared of. You now avoid him in school, hanging out with someone else when he's right there, looking at you.

Blake raced to your house and turned to a cat before he was too sick to do so. He waited for you to come home, and see him as Tux again.

You never rejected him harshly or directly so Blake thought that if he push you farther it would work. You might accept him. Then he'll be beside you, as Blake.

<4>

"That explains everything. Why you turned into a human so suddenly, and why you always sleep in class-"

You say giving some snacks your mom bought to Blake. Blake was sitting at your desk while you unpacked your school bag.

"..."

"... but don't you think it'll be better if you.."

You stopped for a moment. You acknowledge Blake's lonely(or you assume), but does that mean you should let him be with you all day..?

"I mean.. I think staying with one person all day won't be the best idea."

You finished your sentence.

"Why not? I don't have anything to do in my house, and I love you. I want to be beside you."

Blake frowned at your statement. Standing up from the chair, he continued,

"I don't understand why you're so distant. You loved it when Tux was with you 24/7, and now you don't like the idea of me with you all day.."

Blake was now right behind you.

"... uh.... I mean that you should find something else to uhm.. accompany you."

You said.

"You're getting it all wrong. What else would I accompany when I do not have you in the first place?"

Blake was persistent about staying with you all day. You could feel that from his tone. You turned around to face Blake.

"Then... what about you come over to my house after dinner time and sleep in my room?"

"Huh..?"

"You can stay at your place and do your own things. And after dinner.. maybe about 7 or 8, you can come over to my room, and we can spend some time with each other. You can sleep in my room also."

Blake seemed to be hesitant but nodded.

".. but what will you tell your family if Tux is gone?"

Blake asked.

"I don't know.. I'll just tell them the cat ran away. I think they'll believe it. I'll pretend to be shocked about the disappearance too."

You replied, looking at Blake, who had the best expression on his face.

"Thanks.."

Blake said, his hand wrapping around your body hard.

"Okay, okay- don't hug me too hard-"

<5>

You turned off the lights and plunged onto your bed. It was been almost a week since Blake came to your room to spend time with you. Blake seemed to be enjoying the whole situation. You were sometimes tired of Blake's affection, but you managed.

"I feel like we're a married couple."

Blake said suddenly.

"You should stop daydreaming."

You said, turning your body to the opposite side of Blake.

"It's not daydreaming."

"Why?"

"I'll make it happen someday. You wait and see."

"..."

"We're already so close to each other, so I think it's only a matter of time."

Blake said with confidence.

"You always accept me. You only need some time."

[warmblanketwhump]

I have a request idea if they're open! How about a whumpee who is sick and cannot stay home from school because of a big test, strict parents, something like that, and they go through the day trying to hide their fatigue and chills from everyone. But someone notices

hi there!! thanks so much for being patient - here you go!!! 🥰

_______________________

The light autumn breeze would be pleasant to anyone else, but today it cuts right through A, making them burrow deeper in their coat. They were already wearing a thermal layer under their shirt, plus a sweatshirt and a thick scarf round their neck, and they still grabbed their winter coat before leaving home this morning.

In their hands they clutch tea from the coffee shop by their dorm, willing the heat to travel through their fingers and warm them up. Getting the tea had made them miss their bus, so they were desperately hoping it would rouse them and help them get through the day.

If they were honest with themselves, A wished they were back in bed under the three blankets they’d pulled over themselves last night. But even though their joints ache and their head hurts and their throat burns, they have two tests and and a lecture that they just can't miss today.

With the medicine they took this morning, the first test is manageable, but barely. Their eyes feel like they’ve got sand in them, and they keep sniffling and coughing every couple of questions—so much so that one student next to them keeps shooting dirty looks. The student on the other side of them slides them a pack of tissues and two cough drops with a nod, and A's so touched by the gesture they could cry on the spot.

With shaking hands, they finish the test and hand it in before hurrying outdoors to their next class. The ache is more prominent in their bones now, and every step feels like they’re trying to walk through knee-deep water. To make matters worse, clouds have covered up the last strands of sunlight, leaving the world cold and gray.

The lecture is considerably worse. Their professor seems to be insisting on class participation and no one is speaking up, leading to students being randomly called on to answer questions. A tries to focus, but their head keeps bobbing once, twice, even as they fight to stay awake.

“A, are you with us?” Their professor’s stern voice snaps A awake.

“Can….can you repeat the question?” The professor sighs and repeats the question, and A stammers through an incorrect response.

By the end of lecture, A knows their fever is rising from the constant prickle of goosebumps across their skin. The chills are more constant now, rippling through them once, twice a minute, and they can't stop shivering. But their next class is their strictest professor—one known for extremely rigid gradings and very little room for excuses.

Keeping their head ducked, A drags their aching body into the last lecture hall, taking their usual spot next to B, their acquaintance from the class.

B's furiously poring over notes, but looks up and smiles when they see A sit down. “You ready for this test?”

A shrugs half-heartedly. "Hope so.”

B’s brows furrow at the sound of A’s raspy voice, at the bulky layers they’re wrapped in, the dark circles and pale face. They open their mouth to speak, but the professor claps their hands and calls the lecture hall to order.

The tests are passed out, but A can barely keep their eyes focused on the swirling numbers and fractions and bell curves. Making things worse, the lecture hall is drafty and poorly heated, and A wraps their arms around themselves to try and stop shaking enough to focus.

Their head feels heavy as they try to work out the equations, and A shifts to rest their head in their hands and give some relief to their stiff neck. As their eyelids weigh down, they feel all the fight leaving them as the relief comes. Just a minute to rest my eyes, and then I'll finish. Just a second....

A startles at the sound of chairs squeaking and students chatting and laughing. In a panic, they look down at their test, with only two answers written down, and with a sinking feeling, realize they dozed off for the entire class.

A panicked sob chokes out of them. Everything hinges on this class, and failed test was a death knell for their grade, their major, their entire university plan. They grab the paper with shaking hands, a tear slipping down their cheek. Stupid, stupid. So stupid for thinking they could do this, that they could power through, that they were strong enough to manage the rigor of university life.

“A?” B's standing, backpack over one shoulder, but stopped as they see A staring at their nearly blank sheet of paper.

“I….I fell asleep.” They turn to B, tears rolling down their cheeks, sheer panic on their pale face. "I was just so tired"—their voice cracks—"and I was just resting my eyes for a second....and I just..." A sob hiccups through them, and they drop the paper and bury their face in their hands.

B glances down at A, then at the professor at the front of the room, before gently squeezing A's shoulder and urging them up. Without a pause, they wrap their hand around A's elbow and tug them to the front of the rapidly emptying lecture hall. “Professor?”

The professor looks up from the stack of papers, peering over their spectacles. "Yes, B?" Their eyes flicker to A who's furiously wiping away the tears on their face, and B, the very model of determination.

"Professor, A's really sick, and they really wanted to finish the test today but they....weren't able to." The words tumble out, each one faster than the last. "They're usually pretty smart and they've even helped me figure out this stuff, but today just...wasn't their day, and I was wondering if...." B trails off, suddenly unsure of their exact demands.

The professor picks up where A drops off. "...if your friend A here can have some sort of adjustment made?"

"B, stop. It's fine. I'll just take the F." A's voice is hoarse, and they swipe at their swollen eyes with their sleeve.

"A, you can't—"

"It's fine."

The professor's hardened face doesn't adjust for the pitiful scene before them, but it's several seconds before they speak. "A, you are aware that I can't allow you to retake the test after everyone else has taken it."

A nods, head hanging low.

"However, you do recall from my syllabus that I automatically drop the lowest grade from the whole semester?"

Both A and B jolt at this, eyes snapping to the professor, who raises their eyebrows at both of them. "Ah. You do not."

"So you mean...." A's eyes are wide.

"Yes. This test won't count against you." The professor still doesn't smile, but there's a slightly bemused spark in their eyes. "And A, I may have a high standard for this class, but I try not to make a habit of running ill students into the ground over a test. Please email me ahead of time the next time you catch the plague. You and your fellow students will be better for it, hmm?"

A nods, scarcely registering what's happening before them. "Yes, professor. Thank you."

The professor nods back. "Good. Now B, please escort your friend to the nearest bed and bowl of chicken noodle soup. They seem to need it."

B nods as well, murmuring their thanks before tugging a dazed A alongside them and out to sit on a bench at the nearby bus stop.

"You don't have to stay with me," A rasps weakly, wrapping their arms around themselves in the chilly breeze. Despite the test debacle being resolved, A's still freezing and absolutely exhausted. "I can get home myself."

"A, you're not getting rid of me that easy." B throws an arm around A's shoulder, hugging them close for warmth, and A slumps over on B's shoulder, eyes half-lidded. "You forget I'm a pre-med major who's entire life goal is to help stubborn sick people like you."

"Yeah?" A's eyes slip closed, but there's a weak smile on their face.

"Yeah. First order of business, get you home and warmed up—don't deny it, you were shivering that whole class. Then, let you sleep for a week with intermittent breaks for medicine, fluids, and some very good soup."

As much as A had fully prepared to fight this illness out on their own, they have to admit that B's plan sounds....nice. "Fine, then. I'll be your test patient."

"Good."

[haddonfieldwhore]

under the weather - ethan landry

ethan landry x sick! reader

❤️🔪no spoilers 🔪❤️

warnings: none i think 🧸💓 i hate this actually

ethan was on his way to meet you before class when you texted him to say that you were sick and would be staying home that day.

e💕: i’m coming over

you smiled at your phone, before another sneezing fit shook your body, and you typed back.

you: you don’t have to- i don’t want you to get sick :(

e💕: i’m already on my way

e💕: do you need anything? i can pick up medicine on my way over

you replied, just asking for some cold medicine and ethan replied that he’s be there in half an hour. you pulled his hoodie that you had stolen tighter around you, your apartment feeling colder than usually due to you being sick.

true to his word, 30 minutes later ethan buzzed to get into your apartment and you hit the button on your phone to unlock the door. after a knock at the door, you wrapped a blanket around yourself and shuffled over to let him in.

“hey,” he said, holding up a brown paper bag. “i wasn’t sure what medicine to get so i got a few different ones. and i bought you some soup and tea, too.”

“thank you, you didn’t have to get all this stuff,” you replied, feeling guilty that he was missing class and had spent so much money on you. he didn’t seem phased however, and set the bag down on the counter and turned to you.

“how are you feeling? are you okay? do you need-“ he rambled, placing a hand on your forehead to feel your temperature.

“ethan i’m okay,” you laughed, but couldn’t stop a sniffle afterwards. “you should go to class- i don’t want to get you sick,” you pouted. you looked through the bag of things ethan bought, taking some cold medicine before sitting down on the couch and pulling the blanket up around you.

“i’m here to take care of you,” he replied, sitting down next to you. “i don’t care if i get sick.”

you looked at him hesitantly, before he opened his arms for you to crawl into, and you did, immediately appreciating his body heat. you sighed as he gently rubbed your back, kissing you on the side of the head.

“feel better?” he asked.

“yes,” you answered honestly. ethan laughed softly, smiling as you closed your eyes, quickly falling asleep in his arms.

•

when you woke up a few hours later, ethan was no longer on the couch with you. after a quick peek around your apartment you found him in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove.

“hey- i thought i would make you soup since you probably haven’t eaten yet today,” he smiled, and you realized he was right. you thanked him as he handed you a warm bowl of soup, and sat down to eat at the table.

“you have to eat too,” you ordered, and ethan took some soup and sat down with you.

after you had eaten, ethan suggested watching a movie, and you agreed, although you told him you couldn’t promise not to fall asleep. ethan grabbed extra blankets from your room and you cuddled up on the couch again. letting him pick the movie since you probably weren’t gonna pay much attention, he put something on and you could already feel yourself drifting off.

“are you still cold?” he asked, and you nodded. ethan slid his hands under your hoodie, his large hands resting on you bare skin.

“fuck your hands are warm,” you sighed happily, and he laughed. “thank you for taking care of me,” you mumbled as you snuggled closer to ethan.

“of course.”

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Exams are approaching and the reader does not stop studying, even though he is tired. Y/N's family never appreciated her or expected her to do anything unless she got good grades, which influenced her behavior. When the reader faints from exhaustion, Weems tends to her

Studying sickness

Pairings: Thornhill x Weems x Reader (platonic)

Word count: 1.7K

Summary: you pass out from studying for so long. Principal Weems and Ms Thornhill look after you.

TW: fainting, exhaustion, sleep deprivation, hints at past abuse

A/n ok so I may have mentally checked off like half the symptoms of sleep deprivation while looking at the symptoms while I was researching for this.

The exhaustion was pervasive. You felt it in every inch of your being. Your muscles ached, your head hurt, you kept dropping your pens, it took half your energy to get your eyes to focus on the textbooks and you were probably the most tired you had ever been in your life.

Ms Thornhill had allowed you to study in her room while she did some marking. But really, she had just wanted to keep an eye on you. As a dorm mum she often had to do hourly checks to make sure nobody was sneaking out and yet almost every time she had your light had been on. You looked exhausted, but she had a policy. If a student needed help, they were to ask for it. So, she was waiting. Glancing up again she looked at you as you went to pick up your pen again.

You looked exhausted. Deep purple marks marred the space under your eyes and your eyes themselves were glossy and glazed.

You knew you had to keep going. You needed to study. If you didn’t, what were you worth? The lessons you had learnt as a child seemed to stick with you. Despite your parents not being here they reminded lodged in the crevices of your mind. Their life lessons and philosophy. Study hard and be rewarded with the luxuries. Food. Water. Affection. Study and it would be free. For some reason even when they were on the other side of the country you couldn’t ignore them.

If you didn’t get good grades you didn’t get to do anything fun. That’s how it always had been. Sure, the classes were easier than nevermore. And that meant you had to study harder here. And sure, that meant forgoing sleep for the better part of the week but you were so so so tired.

Your eyes seemed to close on their own against your will, but you barely fought it now. Exhaustion pulling you under the guise of sleep as you passed out on the desk. It wasn’t a ‘I’m going to sleep now’ pass out but more an ‘this is a body wide emergency shut down’.

Ms Thornhill had been marking when she heard your head hit the desk with a thump. Looking up she cursed softly. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Your body was slumped face first into the desk out cold. She quickly stood and rushed to your side pulling her phone from her pocket. Dialling larissa she listened to the dial ring while she rolled you to the side and pressed two fingers to your neck to check your pulse. She found it easily, it was strong and a little fast.

Setting the phone down on speaker on the desk she gently manoeuvred your chair out and lifted you by your underarms to the floor. She grabbed her phone and set your head in her lap as you laid there. Finally, larissa picked up.

“Marilyn? What can i do for you?”

“Could you get the nurse for me? Well not me, Y/n”

“The nurse isn’t here today she had to stay home to look after her sick daughter. What’s going on?” She asked sounding more and more invested.

“Y/n passed out. I don’t think she’s been sleeping.”

“Alright stay on the phone with me, I’m on my way.” Larissa said and Marilyn heard her open and close her office door. “Where is she now?”

“I laid her down on the floor, I’ve got her head in my lap now.”

“Good … good. Ok have you checked her pulse?”

“Strong and rhythmic.” Ms Thornhill nodded despite the fact nobody was around to see it… well… nobody conscious at least.

“Is she pale?” Larissa asked.

“A bit but she’s getting some colour back. Could probably pass for an Addams right now though.”

“Alright I’m almost there.”

And after a second Ms Thornhill heard the classroom door open and the phone line beep once before going dead.

“Alright.” the principal said coming to crouch beside the botanist. She placed a hand on your cheek. “No fever.” She clicked her tongue. “You said she hasn’t been sleeping?”

“No. She hasn’t, she’s been studying herself raw. I knew this was coming but i wanted her to come to me first.” Ms Thornhill said her brow furrowing.

The principal placed a hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t your fault.” She said gently.

At that a small noise came from you. Both heads snapped down to you as your face screwed up as you came around.

“Y/n come back to us my sweet girl.” Larissa said and stroked your cheek gently. Your eyes tightened and then fluttered open.

“P-Principal Weems?” You said sounding tired and confused as you tried to sit up. A hand stopped you.

“None of that darling. Welcome back to the land of the living.” Larissa said pushing you back into the botanists' lap gently. “Now.” She smoothed her clothes out with her hands as she collected her thoughts. “Have you eaten?” She asked.

You blinked still feeling out of it. “No?” You said not sounding entirely sure of yourself.

“Ideally I’d give you some electrolytes-“ she began.

“I have some in my desk. I have some Gatorade and some energy drinks in the second draw of my desk.” Marilyn interrupted flushing red as she realised, she had.

“Alright. You two stay here. Don’t let her up yet.” The principal said and stood grabbing a drink and coming back. She twisted the cap off and helped you hold it to your lips to drink. You did, but still tired your hand eyes coordination wasn’t great so some dribbled down your chin. Larissa chuckled and wiped it away with her thumb.

“Darling, you really are quite tired, aren’t you?” She asked and you hummed. “I propose you come back to my residence so i can assure you get some sleep. No more studying. You need rest.” She said and you knew she wasn’t really asking so you nodded.

“Alright. Marilyn, can you help me help her up?” She asked and botanist nodded.

“Of course.”

With that they helped you sit up, the two teachers standing and offering you a hand each to help you off the floor. Grabbing them they pulled you to your feet. Unfortunately, you were still a bit out of it and stumbled, the room spinning. You tried to grab onto the desk but felt arms wrap around you from behind. The principal practically held you upright in her arms before shifting your body into her hold entirely. You were cradled in her arms as she said something to Ms Thornhill and nodded at her before leaving.

You must had decided it was safe enough to sleep because the next time you opened your eyes you were in an unfamiliar room. You were under a thick white duvet and based off the rooms lack of intricate décor that you associated with the lavish lifestyle of your clearly rich principal; you were in her guest quarters. Sitting up slightly you swung your legs over the edge and went to stand, steadying yourself against the wall you heard the door open.

“Ms L/n. What do you think you're doing out of bed?” Came the annoyed voice of the principal, her arms crossed. Your botany teacher stood behind her, hiding a giggle with the palm of her hand.

You drew a blank and opted to sit on the bed.

“Better.” Ms Weems said and came over to your side. She felt your forehead as you spaced out looking at the wall.

“Still no fever, hopefully all this no sleeping business hasn’t left you with a cold.” She said.

Marilyn entered following behind her she set down a bag of clothes which you recognised as your own.

“I brought you something comfier than your uniform to sleep in. Yoko also packed your toothbrush and some other toiletries. Said something about fang hygiene.” Ms Thornhill said, and you thanked her with a nod.

“Well, best you get changed and join us for dinner before bed. It's an early night for you Ms L/n.” The principal interjected and you nodded. She guided you to the bathroom and left you in peace to change. You stripped and threw on the comfy clothes relishing in the feeling of your soft hoodie.

After dressing you left the bathroom, setting the clothes back down on your bed you found Ms Thornhill waiting for you on what you assumed was now temporarily ‘your’ bed. She pulled back the sheets and patted the spot where you had been not five minutes prior.

“But… food?” You asked and she laughed.

“Darling you will get food but for the next 12 hours at the least you leave this bed for the bathroom and thats it.” She said. “Now come here. Lars- Ms Weems has gone to get the food.”

“Alright. Sorry about…” you waved you hand in a vague sweeping motion, “all this.”

“Honey don’t worry about it. Im sorry i didn’t step in sooner.”

“Not your fault.” You said sliding into bed and trying to pretend she wasn’t tucking you in.

“It's my responsibility to make sure my students and the girls in my dorm are doing well both physically and mentally, and I’m afraid i failed you on both fronts.” She said with a sad look, and you were quick to deny her fault at all. After a bit of back and forth the door opened and larissa stood there with three plates of lasagna.

She came over and set the plated down. The three of you ate on the bed. Ms Thornhill and Ms Weems were engaged in soft conversation while you tried not to fall asleep mid bite. After a bit you had all finished and marilyn collected the plates.

“Darling i think its best you rest now.” The principal said standing and turning out the light.

“Thank you. For everything. Goodnight principal weems. Goodnight Ms Thornhill.” You said softly. Both teachers gave you a soft look.

“Good night y/n/n” Ms Thornhill said with a fond expression on her face, using the nickname she often heard your friends call you in class.

“Good night y/n” the principal said. “Now for heaven's sake, sleep child.” You grinned and saluted as Ms Thornhill rolled her eyes and winked at you as she shut the door.

Finally, it was time to sleep.

MASTERLIST

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

Tags: @illiana-mystery

warnings: swearing, menstruation

The door slammed shut and I heard Tom walking through the apartment. It was clear he didn't expect me to be home as he rummaged through the kitchen. I buried my head in the pillows and groaned. The door to the bedroom opened.

"Shit!" Tom cried. I lifted my head and stared at him. "Sorry. Just didn't expect you to be here." I nodded and laid back down. Tom came to sit next to me. "Did you even go to work today?"

"No." I said, voice muffled by the pillow. Tom ran his fingers through the back of my hair. "I'm in so much pain I feel sick."

"I'm sorry." Tom said. He leaned down to press a kiss to my head. "You should have told me. I would have stayed home with you." I rolled over and Tom ran the backs of his fingers over my cheek.

“You’d be bored today. I didn’t do anything today. Just been trying to sleep.” I mumbled.

“Any luck?” I shook my head. Tom sighed and crawled over me to lay down. “Come here.” He held his arms open for me. I crawled over to him and laid down on his chest. One of Tom’s hands wrapped around my shoulders and the other settled on my abdomen. His fingers slipped under my shirt, warm fingers pressing against me.

“Or maybe you could have done this all day.” I moaned. Tom chuckled as he tugged me closer. “Tommy I swear you have magic fingers.”

“alright alright.” He laughed. “Just don’t tell Doug. He’ll want me to do something.” I giggled.

“I don’t want to know.” I said, burying my face in his chest. “Did you finish the bust?”

“no.” Tom sighed. “A few more days. And then I’ll be out. I’m starting to hate that school.” I nodded against him. “The kids might actually be right about this one. The threats to the teacher…man if I’d had a teacher like him…”

“that bad?” I mumbled. Tom nodded before resting his chin on the top of my head.

“he went off on a tangent about how students are little shits and they should bring back corporal punishment. He picked up a desk. I’m pretty sure he was getting ready to throw it at a student.” Tom sighed. “The principal walked in. He dropped the desk. I jumped. Half the class jumped. We got let out to recess early.” Tom looked down and smiled when he noticed me passed out on his chest.

[redrose212]

Honest Answer Eddie Munson

Summary: Your best friend Steve Harrington has a party but his usual dealer is out of town, so he asks you to go to the only other dealer he trust who happens to be the person you despise. Eddie Munson. Warning: mention of drugs,swearing,mention of drink there are gonna be 2 parts. MDNI

"This school sucks" you rant to your best friend Steve, "yes it is shit, but we have my party tonight so we have something to be happy about and it's gonna be sick". he assures you while removing his books from his locker and placing them in his bag.

You and Harrington have been friends since middle school and have always been close, you too were practically brother and sister. He's always got your back though anything."yeah well i haven't even picked out a outfit i was gonna just go in jeans and red crop top but i feel its too basic, it's pretty much what i wear on a daily" you sigh walking down to the classroom taking a seat next to Steve. "Well please don't do what u did last time and turn up late after going though 20 different choices to only go decided on the first one" he said making you roll your eyes "look i'm just a girl" you place your hand over your heart you both laugh then turn to face the front. Half way though the class Eddie walks in taking the only seat left right next to you, you turn to look at Steve giving him the annoyed look he knew you hated Eddie.

You didn't always hate him,he used to be sweet,kind,understanding but he changed in the last year. You never understood why he just started been horrible,once you saw that side of him you hated him."why so late Edward Munson". The teacher spoke as she shifted her eyes away from the bored to face him, he shrugged at her question "well detention after school" she spoke turning her head back to teaching everyone in the room Eddie then flopped his head down on his desk. It's not like Eddie not to answer back normally he tries wigging his way out of it yet today he didn't "you okay dude" Steve leaned over your desk Eddie nodded his head in response Harrington sat back in his chair waiting for class to end

2 hours later

You were home trying to pick out a outfit for Steve's party you couldn't decide between the black strapless dress or the red skirt with the matching top,you was stood there trying to choose one for longer than 10 minutes till eventually you choose the black strapless dress,you matched everything up to it your hair was in curls and your makeup was a smokey eye look and you went with a leather jacket. Soon as all that was done you set off to Steve's .

Once you arrive at the party it was already full of people Cheerleaders,the Basket ball team pretty much everyone from Hawking high you weren't really expecting this many people but then again Steve was a popular guy i mean how else would he get the name the king of hawking high."hey your finally here"he rushes over to greeting you with a hug. "Yeah sorry". You shout over the music playing from each end of the room from the expensive speakers."i need a favour you know how you owe me for getting you that movie for free from the video store for your date?", he half yells at the top of the music "yeah i remember that date it went horrible he ended up having a girlfriend the dickhead" you stated, "yeah well we are running out of weed ,my dealer in out of town and the only other dealer is..." you cut him off immediately, "ABSOLUTELY NOT NO.." he stops you from reacting. "Please you know i wouldn't ask but Eddie is the only other person that sells weed cheap and he is down the road most people are drinking i have to stay here and robin is finally getting somewhere with Vicky " he pleaded. You sigh rolling your eyes back "Fucking hell fine where's the money " Steve then points to the draw and leaves you to go stop someone from breaking the vase,You then leave the party hoping in your car and beginning to drive over to the Munson's trailer in Forest Hills trailer park .

Ones you arrive you debate on just turning back and going home but you did owe your best friend a favour. So you went and knocked on the trailer and about 3 seconds later the door swings open, "oh it's you" the long haired brunette stood in front of you in no clothing but grey joggers, his body on show, exposing his tattoo's that you have never seen before, his hair soaked from the shower water. "I..I just came for Steve's weed for his party he should of told you it was me coming" you rubbed the back of you head trying to shake the view of Eddie's perfectly shaped body out your head "come in I'll grab the bag", you nod walking into the room. Your eyes circle the room it's different to what you imagined. "I want money first never know what girls like u are like" he commands, "girls like me?" baffled about what Eddie just said, "i mean girls like you would do anything for there boyfriends even steal" he replied you look at him annoyed with his response. "Whatever Eddie you really know how to be a dick" you pass him the money as he hands you the bag. "Just get out I've seen your face enough today ". So you do exactly that you step out the trailer but just before the door shuts "wait Eddie" you speak "what?" he reacted to you "why" you stutter "why do you hate me please give me a honest answer please cause i really don't know why" you add "I don.." you cut him off "don't say you don't cause it's clear you do i mean don't think i haven't heard what you say around school, so please don't lie you, just stopped talking to me you blocked my number you dogged me eds and i never knew why" you tear up as you are speaking your words the tears making you stutter, You don't know why it was happening or why it was all coming out but it did and you wanted to know the truth" he glared at you he could hear the pain in your voice he never meant to hurt you like that he never meant to hurt you at all. "i...

I'LL POST PART 2 IN A FEW DAYS

[villainessprefect]

title: The Best Touch

summary: You're sick and run into the twins who have a brilliant idea to leave you with someone (who isn't the nurse).

ship: Azul x gn!reader

word count: 2,179

note: originally written when I was sick like 2 months ago and just kinda checking it and doing it now lol

Read on AO3!

"Ugh."

You don't bother to hide your nasally groan as the bell rings. It sounds louder than normal, making your headache worse as it feels as if the bell just rang right in your face. You put a hand to your head, hoping that could help soothe the pain. It doesn't.

Despite being friends with troublemakers, you aren't one to ditch class. Prior to coming to this world, you'd always been one to have perfect attendance. Even on your worse days you would show up and force yourself to get through the day. That stubbornness of yours had its pros and cons and today you were feeling the latter. Especially after telling yourself that you managed to make it halfway through the day. If you can live through lunch and stay conscious during the next couple of classes you could go home to a well-deserved nap.

A soft paw comes at your shoulder. You blink, nearly forgetting where you are as you turn to see your other half.

"Hey, henchhuman, you're not looking so great." It's always strange to hear Grim sound worried. For a moment, you think you're imagining it. "You think you can handle the rest of the day? One of us has to pay attention in class, especially in that snoozefest called history."

Well, he tried, you guess. It's not easy for him to loosen up and show concern for too long.

"I'll be fine," you say in your best normal-sounding voice, which fails as it ends in a cough. "Just don't expect me to fight for food in the cafeteria today."

"I don't always need your help!" Grim huffs. Despite pouting, he doesn't hesitate to climb up your arm when offered to him. He perches himself on your shoulder and while you regret the extra weight you figure it might help keep you awake. You wouldn't want to fall with him on your shoulder since you'll never hear the end of it.

"...Maybe I'll grab ya a sandwich just this once."

You smile as you get to your feet. While you doubt that you have the stomach for it, you're grateful.

Being one of the last to leave means the halls are fairly empty. The crowd has already formed near the entrance of the cafeteria and it's not something you're looking forward to. At least, for now, you have room to stumble and sway without bumping into another student. Unnecessary fights and tumbling to the floor are being avoided today. Although the latter might come true with how sluggish you're feeling.

It's fine. Everything will be fine. All you have to do is grab a seat and eat something and then go on with the day. You can do this.

"Lil Shrimpy~!"

You jolt instantly from hearing that nickname. There's only one person who calls you that and while you don't mind him like most, today isn't a day you think you can handle Floyd. You hold your breath and turn to spot not just one eel, but two.

"Keep moving!" Grim hisses in your ear and you whine. The poor creature tries to hide behind you as the twins approach.

"Hey, why didn'tcha answer me calling out to ya earlier?" Floyd asks with a hum. When you don't answer promptly, he tilts his head, heterochromatic eyes boring into yours. "Man, you look worse than a flounder."

"Nothing. I'm fine." You sniffle.

"Y-Yeah! My henchhuman is perfectly fine!" Grim reiterates with all the courage he can muster. Which instantly disappears the moment Floyd's gaze turns to him instead.

"Are you certain?" Jade inquires. "As my dear brother said, you don't look as pristine as you could be, Prefect."

You can't tell if he's poking fun at you or not. He probably is, like always, but at least when you're healthy you can tell. Right now, you don't have the energy to keep up with either of them.

"Someone's lying~! Don'tcha know what happens to liars?" Floyd's voice echoes in your head.

You shut your eyes and try to breathe. A coughing fit feels like its about to burst from your mouth and you raise a hand to cover it. No matter how hard you try to hold it back, it escapes.

"H-Henchhuman?!" Grim shouts in a panic. You feel him clutch onto your shoulder. This is the worst you've sounded all day, so it's no surprise he's worried.

The headache that's been lingering feels worse. Hell, it feels as if the pounding is going to drag your head down to meet with the floor. So much for avoiding that today.

And is it just you or is it getting hotter in here? You've already taken off your jacket. Maybe you should head to the bathroom and splash some cool water on your face.

You try to turn but feel a wave of nausea. You forget that two underwater giants are watching you like prey. They see how you fumble, take a misstep, and slam against the wall. A giggle escapes from one and in this state, you can't tell who.

"Hey!" Grim cries as he falls along with you. While you slide down, he jumps off your shoulder and lands on his hind feet. Paws press against your arm, shaking you weakly. "Dammit! I should have ordered you to stay in bed! We could have totally ditched today."

"Oya? Is someone having trouble with their housemate?" Jade asks.

Grim jumps as the twins hover beside you both. He takes a step back, about to take another before he pauses. The cat hisses, fur standing on end.

"I dunno why you're still here, but they're my henchhuman!"

Floyd laughs, loudly. "The earless seal thinks he can mess with us?" His laugh comes to a sudden halt as he takes a step forward, stomping inches away from your fallen figure. With ease, he picks up the cat by the fur on the back of his neck. "Go ahead and try to hit me if you wana~" Floyd challenges with a sharp grin.

Grim raises his paws in defense. He wants to protect you, really, he does, but how can he? Without you, he can't handle both of them at once! You could distract one or both since they find you more interesting. But left alone with them, it's as if they've become the cats and he's the mouse.

"Now, now, you know fights shouldn't break out in the halls while no one is around," Jade chimes in. The way he says it makes it sound as if he's never done it before. "You should know, Grim, that we're worried about them too."

"Nyah?" Grim blinks, paws dropping. He glares at Jade. "Worried? You two? You probably just want to eat them!"

"Shrimpy does taste delicious!" Floyd chirps and licks his lips. Grim doesn't want to know what that means or if he's playing around or not, and now he really doesn't want to leave you alone with them.

"If you don't hurry, you won't get anything to eat for lunch." Jade takes a step forward and pulls the cat from his brother's grasp. Floyd pouts but lets the cat go free. "We'll make sure the Prefect gets the best care at the nurse's office."

"Ngh..." Grim looks between you and the eels. Your poor defenseless body disappears behind them, both wearing matching, untrustworthy grins. He shuts his eyes, hating that he can't do anything. In a fit of anger, he blows fire at them. It misses, unsurprisingly, but the cat is already on his feet and running to the cafeteria. He can get back up there.

Once the eels are alone, they glance at each other in sync.

"Eh? The nurse? Seriously? That's so boring." Floyd sighs. He moves and picks up your unconscious body with little effort, throwing you over his shoulder. Once he's comfortable with how you’re held, he begins to walk in the opposite direction. "I know a better place to take them~"

~...~

"Azul!" Floyd shouts as he kicks the door open. If it weren't for magical reinforcement, the door would have flown off its hinges.

Used to this action, Azul isn't surprised by the sudden intrusion, but he is still annoyed. He lifts his gaze from the pile of papers on his desk, about to snap at Floyd and demand a reason for his appearance until he sees you hanging over his shoulder.

"Why...do you have the Prefect?" He clears his throat, trying to conceal the hint of worry that seeps out.

"They're sick. So, thought you'd want them." Floyd shrugs nonchalantly, adjusting you as he does.

"What?! You should take them to the nurse's office!" Azul shakes his head as he gets to his feet. Sure, he wouldn't dare turn away a chance to spend time with you, but not when you're being carried like a sack of potatoes by Floyd while you're ill. It would be beneficial to him if he knew beforehand so he could make the proper arrangements to show up with the right cure and have you in debt to him. How can he do anything like that now?!

"Nah, don't wana." Without either consent, he flops you down onto the couch. He doesn't hide his knowing grin as he heads to the door. "Have fun with them!"

Azul catches his brother's figure in the hall and he can't pinpoint who planned this. Not that it mattered, both were going to be working an extra shift for this.

"I swear, those two..." He mumbles and bites down on his tongue when he remembers that he isn't alone.

He steps to the side of the couch, gaze cast upon you. It stings to see you...like this. Weak and fragile. In pain. Taking in a single breath is a toll on your very body as if you're breathing water instead of air. He can only imagine how much pain you're really in. You wouldn't dare to expose all of your pain, even in this state.

Azul frowns, eyes filled with worry. He's thankful that he has the privacy of the VIP room to allow such emotions to show. He can already hear your voice, telling him that he should relax more, no need to be so perfect all the time. But he has to be, for you. He wonders if you do the same. Putting up a front to be strong. Maybe you'd spill more while in a weakened state. It's a hard temptation to pass on.

He lowers himself to your level. Carefully, he takes off a glove and presses his hand against your forehead. He's not surprised by the heat radiating from you. Just how long have you been like this? And how did the twins manage to find you? He could take a simple guess. Your persistence to attend class despite everything is the answer. Or rather, your determination to fight all odds.

"My, my, the Prefect can take care of everyone but themselves," he murmurs, voice so soothing and gentle.

The sound of his voice is comforting, you yearn to hear more. As your eyes flutter open your vision is hazy. It looks almost dreamlike with only Azul being in focus.

"A...zul?" You breathe out. You're dreaming, you have to be. One second you were leaving class and the next the Octavinelle housewarden is in front of you. Definitely a dream. You give him a weak smile and take the hand that is still pressing against your forehead. You pull it down to your cheek, nuzzling into it and keeping it pressed against your skin.

"Cool..." His hand isn't cold, but against your feverish skin, it feels pleasant.

Meanwhile, Azul is frozen by your actions. He's grateful that you aren't fully conscious so you can't see him floundering for words nor the way his cheeks burn. He's almost afraid to say more and wake you once more.

"Prefect?"

You hum in response, but that's all you give him. You've fallen back asleep it seems. Azul lets out a breath he'd been holding. Then his gaze falls back to his hand nestled perfectly against your cheek. It's almost like a dream come true for him to hold you like this...but not while you sleep!

"I have work to do, you know," he says softly as if lightly scolding you. He won't get a response and he doesn't want one. Letting you sleep and recover is what he wants. Besides, you can't see how he has to hide his embarrassment when trapped like this. "And here you are eating up all my time. You're a lucky one. I don't just let anyone do this for free."

He wishes that he could at least prepare some tea or medicine for you to wake up to. Wouldn't that be amazing to wake up to? For now, he has to be content with watching you sleep. It seems that his hand had some healing effect as you’re sleeping easier now compared to earlier. Maybe he'll offer to do this for you again...at a price, of course.