#did i wake up and immediately start writing this like a vomit of thoughts with no idea why they were here?

[esmedelacroix]

All the ways you disappoint me.

pairing: boyfriend!miguel o'hara x f!reader

summary: The honeymoon phase confirmed it's existence for the second year of dating Miguel. Your love life went from flourishing to one-sided the day Miguel revealed to you that he was Spiderman.

cw: ooc miguel, very angsty, depressive behaviors, alcohol abuse

a/n: I have been on hiatus for a very long time. I've been in a very dark place this past month. I lost a very good friend of mine that I have known since middle school. Which really threw me off track. I have a bunch of works in progress coming out soon. I finally feel like I'm in a mentally okay spot to pick up writing again. This is lowk just word vomit but its something.

*listen to this song on loop for the best experience !

miguel masterlist | next part

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Disappointment. A feeling you you felt often. Maybe even too often. You were very familiar with disappointment. He only ever came around late at night. Disappointment would wrap his arms around you as if he wasn't the reason why there was a wet spot on your pillowcase almost every night.

All Miguel O'Hara ever does is disappoint you. "So why are you still with him?" your good friend Jess asked over hot morning tea.

"What am I supposed to do without him?" you questioned.

"That's not a very healthy mindset to have. You know that," Jess said putting a firm comforting hand over yours.

You look away for a moment. Eyes trailing out the window of the Spider Society Café that reeked of coffee and broken promises. Miguel O'Hara was married to the barista who would hand him five coffees minimum a day. He chose to marry the barista and work and not his own girlfriend of three years.

As you watched the birds create an arrow in the air flying north over the firey trees below. Part of you wished that you were a bird in this very moment flying away from the problems that devoured your brain from the inside. "You still with me?" Jess asked worriedly.

"Yeah," you sighed turning back to her.

"So you'll talk to Miguel tonight?" Jess commanded. She did that a lot. She would ask a question that sounded like an order which made you feel the need to obey. You simply nodded bringing your mug to your lips and sipping on your now-cold Earl Grey tea.

"Isn't it strange how quickly tea gets cold?" you thought out loud.

"Well that's kind of how tea works hon'," she answered.

. . .

You stopped waiting for Miguel to come home ages ago because you didn't think there was a point in it. Just like how you didn't see the point in trying to talk to him about putting effort into your relationship. In the same way you shouldn't have seen the point in staying with him after your last thousand arguments. You felt your eyelids get heavier with every passing hour you spent staring at the ceiling waiting to hear the door swing open.

Like you summoned him with your mind, you heard the door. The keys. The sigh. And the footsteps. Your heart began to race. Why am I nervous? You asked yourself. You stood up and walked out of your shared room.

Miguel's usual routine was to get home eat the food you prepared for him hours prior, shower, and go to bed. As you walked down the hallway leading to the kitchen, you stopped yourself before turning the corner. Inhale. Exhale. You stepped out into the kitchen and his head shot up immediately. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?" he asked. That’s new. An apology, from Miguel. You thought to yourself.

"No, no, I was having trouble sleeping," you answered in a quiet voice.

"Everything alright?" he questioned as he scraped the last bit of food on his plate into his mouth.

"Yeah, I've just been thinking," you started.

"About?" he asked urging you to continue.

"Miguel do you still love me?" you blurted out.

"Of course I do," he replied in a fraction of a second. He sounded almost hurt that you had even asked that question.

Moments like these make you forget the status of your relationship. Moments when Miguel would forget that he's supposed to be cold to you. The moments when he allowed himself to let his guard down around you. Those fleeting moments that should have never left your relationship. "Then why don't we spend any time together? I want to be around you Miguel, I don't care if we sit in silence in the most boring place on the planet. I just want to be in your presence," you admitted. He gave you that little hurt expression again.

"I—I've just been busy," he stuttered. Miguel would often do this thing where he would begin to say something and then cut himself off and choose to say something else.

"Miguel, you know you can tell me anything," you insisted.

"I just—can we please not do this right now?" he pleaded.

You gave him a frown. "Can we sleep it off? Talk about it in the morning?" he sighed rubbing his face.

"Will you even be here in the morning?" you ask under your breath.

"I'll see," he said putting a hand on your shoulder as he walked past you into the bathroom. He did it again. He cut off the conversation the moment it got hard for him. Why are we so complicated? You asked yourself as you lay your head on your moist pillow. Will there ever be a night where I don't cry because of him? A night where he doesn't confuse me with his actions?

. . .

That night as you lay in bed with his back faced away from him, you couldn't help but cry. You felt like you were drowning in your tears. Like they were holding you back. You tried to be as quiet as possible. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. You repeated to yourself.

The only happy thoughts you could think of were of Miguel. Or the Miguel you used to know. The person he used to be before he started using his job as an excuse to neglect you.

Just then when your breathing slowed and you calmed down a bit with tears still streaming down your face. He wrapped his arms around you. He cuddled you from behind. He did that often. When he thought you were asleep. It was almost as if different versions of himself occupied his brain. You liked the one that took the spotlight at night.

The one that would cuddle you. Nuzzle his nose into your hair. The one that would rub your back and. Apologize. To. You.

. . .

Apology fell asleep that night and disappointment woke up at the ass crack of dawn because there was another Spider-verse that needed saving.

You woke up later that morning to the usual chilling feeling of Miguel not being there. You got up stretching your arms as you walked to your kitchen. You made yourself a cup of tea and an omelette, and ate alone, in silence. Thinking. About him. Again.

For the second time this week as if you called for him with your heart, you heard the balcony door slide open and a masked man swing in. He took his mask off and shook his head adjusting his hair. "Good morning," you said with a stupid smile on your face. Why? You couldn't tell. Maybe it was the fact that he was actually here in the morning like he said he would be.

"Good morning. You’re in a good mood," he chuckled.

"Well you're here," you smiled.

Miguel gave you a look. You weren't sure how to feel about it. But it wasn't a bad look. It was nice. Kind of sweet. He prepared a pot of black coffee and talked about his morning in Peni Parker's universe catching a difficult anomaly. For a moment, you could feel little fireflies set off in your stomach seeing him talk about something he was passionate about.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked as he took a seat next to you.

"Just about us and our recent slump, I guess?" you started.

"I'm listening," he hummed as he sipped his coffee.

"I want to spend more time with you Miguel. I want to not argue with you about how much time you spend at work. I want to know what's on your mind. I want to know how you really are and not just how you say you are," you admit. Miguel stayed quiet for a while in thought.

"I don't know what to say to that," he said; his voice cracking a bit.

"You don't have to say anything just—let me be your shelter, please?" you suggested.

. . .

That night Miguel didn't come home. He didn't come in the middle of the night. He didn't come to eat either. He didn't come to wrap his arms around you. And he didn't come to apologize.

. . .

I don't like it when my friends tell me I have a drinking problem. How could it possibly be a problem if it makes me feel better about all the things that rack my brain? Being vulnerable is much easier said than done. Especially, with the girl I love. Of course, I want to tell her things. I want to tell her everything. I want her to know me as well as she knows her hometown. As well as she knows her childhood cat. And as well as she knows how to navigate Pinterest.

But I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'll cry and she'll think I'm weak. I'm afraid she'll think I'm unworthy. I know she would never think those things about me. But how could anyone think anything differently if I think that way about myself?

That's why I turn to the friend that won't let me down ever. Endless Modelos. Because I'm so weak that I can't even open up tp my girlfriend. Every time I feel like I am finally ready to tell her what I'm going through, I stop myself because I am afraid.

. . .

To your great surprise, Miguel wasn't there in the morning. Or the next, or even the one after that. By the third you hadn't seen him it was beginning to stress you out. You wondered if he was safe. If he was even still alive. You decided to go to the Spider Society.

After talking with Jess for a while and babysitting Mayday for a bit. You were finally free to go see Miguel in his office. You opened the door and called out to him but the only thing you heard from him was a sniff. Then two. Followed by a third.

"Miguel are you up there?" you asked as you climbed the stairs to his his platform.

"No?" he said in a shaky voice.

"Is everything okay?" you asked. You saw your answer in the form of 10 too many emptied beer bottles on his desk and on the ground.

You rushed towards him discarding your purse on the ground. He brought his hands to his face and he hid. From you. Your heart sank to the lowest pit in your stomach it could reach. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulders and crouched down next to him. "Miguel, talk to me, please?" you whispered.

Nothing.

. . .

The worst way Miguel could ever disappoint you happened. You had imagined it happening in so many other ways but not like that. You never thought of him as the type of man to give up on something so good.

For the last time in your relationship, Miguel O'Hara disappointed you when he told you he wanted to break up.

. . .

next part → All the ways I defy you

[ezher]

OMG IM SO GLAD SOMEONE WRITES MALE READER I BE STRUGGLING TO FIND THEM

can I request the sbg crew with a big brother figure who's like a year or two older then them?

Have a great day 💖

Father Hen

Gender: Male

Genre: Fluff with angst

Summary: a daily life with m/n who has to take care of his juniors!

Additional details: M/n has a license and rides a motor.

Warnings: Character death(the reader),swearing, also not really character death he “dies” in phantom world

A/n: I hope i made it to your liking (TvT)

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The first time the crew met m/n was when he volunteered to keep in watch of a group during their trip in savannah. He heard that they’ll give extracurricular points to whoever volunteers, he didn’t hesitate volunteering. And so he introduced himself to them.

It would be a lie if he said he didn’t have a fun time. They went to all kind of attractions and tried some local foods, he insisted on paying the food despite being almost broke. Though sometimes he had to deal with Aiden wandering around unconsciously. He had to keep him on guard because he might get lost. Another is that Tyler and Aiden keeps bickering with eachother.

Now to the sorrel weed house, he noticed how off Ashlyn acted. Constantly covering her ears and she looked tense. Out of instincts he went and asked her if she’s alright, she was about to reply when she looked horrified while looking behind him. He looked back and immediately looked away, wtf was that thing?!

Ashlyn seemed shock when she noticed he can also see it. He was about to question her when Logan looked scared and told us to look from behind. He did and boy..when I tell you that thing’s mouth stink as hell. Once it moved he quickly pushed Ashlyn behind me before it felt like the world shifted and it disappeared. He didn’t notice the throbbing pain in his arm and worried about Ashlyn more. After that they left the house and went to the motel they were assigned to go after.

He thought he was just hallucinating until I woke up to screaming from the girl’s ran and quickly ran over there. That thing was back and it tried to attack them. They formed a plan before quickly distracting the monster so that the others can escape in time to the next room. The monster was catching up to him before Ashlyn told him to move away and shoved the cart to it, Aiden being the maniac he is picked a spray bottle before spraying it.

That kid was playing with death because he suggested that they can probably fight them all. The whole situation was a mess and stressful, Tyler had an outburst after because Ashlyn didn’t tell the others about it. His hand was throbbing in pain from before but thankfully Ben knew how to patch people up because of Aiden, not much of a surprise..

Ashlyn suggested that they should take turns on keeping the place guarded, m/n being the responsible person he is suggested he should go first so that they can sleep. He was a bit surprised when everyone gathered around him and slept beside or on him. Said that they can sleep better knowing someone can protect them.

When he woke up he expected to wake up with everyone surrounding him but he was on the bed in the motel, in his room with Logan,Tyler,and Ben. Immediately he felt dizzy and vomited in the bathroom, not good..

He lied to the teachers that it was probably something they ate yesterday and went back home. He thought it was just gonna be a one time thing until it happened again but he woke up in his bed. After that he confronted the group about it and got added into a gc so that they could communicate better.

Slowly he started hanging out with them more, often at lunch or study sessions with them. Considering he’s in a higher grade he won’t be in the same classes with them but him and the others make an effort to meet up. As harsh to admit but the group was much more fun to hang out instead of the group with kids in his age. And although he felt like a mother Hen taking care of it’s chicks. He enjoyed their company nonetheless.

The group warmed up to him and often call him “brother/big bro” as a joke since he’s older. They would often go to him to either hang out,annoy him,or rant to him about their problems. Even though he’s older, they get protective tendencies with him. So does he, mess with him then you mess with the group as well. One time when he found out Logan was getting bullied by Barron, he got suspended because he decided to beat the shit out of Barron. The group visited him at his house to hang out with him.

He love those idiots and they love him. He’d do anything to protect them, heck even if he risks his life. They matter to him more than anything, and he can’t fathom what would happen if they get hurt. But…it’s also a problem for him.

‘Fuck it’s catching up, at this point it will get us..!’ He thought while riding his motorcycle, he watched the jeep infront of him trying to lose the centipede phantom. He looked to his right and noticed deserted field with large rocks ‘That’s it!’

He quickly sped his motor up and caught up with the others before driving beside Ashlyn who looked scared and worried “Ashlyn i need you to keep moving forward, don’t look back!”

Ashlyn looked at him with confused and worried eyes “What? Why-what about you?!”

“Just keep going, I’ll catch up!” He slowed his motor and went to the deserted filled before trying to catch the phantom’s attention using his motor “HEYYYY, OVER HERE!!! RIGHT HERE, COME AND GET ME FAT ASS UGLY SHIT!!!”

The others looked at m/n with worry in their eyes, Taylor tried to persuade Ashlyn to go back for him and convince him to with them instead. Ashlyn stayed quiet, not bothering to wipe her tears as she watch m/n basically doing some that is considered suicide. Tyler and Ben had to hold Taylor so that she won’t try and get out of the moving vehicle. Ashlyn watch from the back view mirror as m/n hurriedly drives away with the centipede running after him. Logan watched with horror in his eyes as he watch a friend he considers as a brother, deal with a phantom centipede on his own with a high possibility that he’ll die.

“M/N, M/N PLEASE RESPOND TO US!!!” Taylor shouted, currently the others were in the deserted filled looking for m/n. Aiden looked at Ashlyn who looked worried and guilty, guilty because she abandoned m/n despite yelling her to never look back.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine.” Aiden tried to comfort her until he heard Taylor let out a worried call for m/n and running to a direction. The others watch in horror by the scene, m/n covered by rocks probably because of the phantom. His head was bleeding, he was bleeding everywhere. His eyes looked lifeless, body was limp with no sign of movement at all. The others snapped back to reality before helping Taylor move the rocks from m/n. Ben hurriedly tried and patch up m/n before he could lose any more blood. He checked for a pulse, it was faint but still there they still had a ch-

Seven hours was up and everyone hurried looked at m/n whose eyes were wide, iris was block and his body was shaking and trembling like he was having a seizure. They quickly informed their parents and took him to the hospital where they treated him.

A few hours went by and the others were worried, Ashlyn had explained the situation to his dad and the other parents. The other parents had a hard time believing but due to how serious and angry Tyler & Taylor looked like when they yelled at them, they decided to believe them. They were discussing what they should do to help them until they heard nurses scurrying into the lobby.

“I need to and find-guys!” M/n yelled at the group, Taylor being the first one to stand up and tackled him into a hug. The others following suit, Taylor cried the most. Ashlyn cried too which was surprising but m/n quickly comforted her. He stood up and noticed that m/n’s parents was there looking-well..glaring at him.

He walked towards them before looking at the ground in shame, he was about to apologize until his father engulfed him in a hug “You should’ve told us..we would never judge you.”

His mother following suit “Oh my sweet boy, you must’ve been so scared and afraid..”

He sniffled before breaking down, allowing him to release all the pressure and stress he’s been holding up throughout the situation. All they had to do now was deal with the phantoms..

[miruac]

dating kozume kenma headcanons - part 2

masterlist

navigation

warnings: not proofread, movie and timeskip spoilers, very self indulgent

a/n: EHEHEHEHEH I LOVE MY INTROVERTED GAMER BABY | word vomit. this is just pure word vomit.

during nationals when they were away, kenma always texted you before and after a game(kinda shocking since he's dry asl)

he would be a little clingy, especially when he was sleepy since he had no filter then

but he literally like slept so late there...(THAT ONE SCENE OF HIM WAKING UP WITH BEDHEAD <3)

before their match with karasuno, he sent you a gif of a happy dancing cat(it was him trying to convey emotion)

after the match, he sent you a text that read 'i guess i'm coming home'

which made you happy he was coming back, but also sad that they lost

right when they got back home, you went over to his house to give him some congratulatory apple pie and cuddles

obviously he got a fever and was literally bedridden for a couple of days, so you had to wait a little while before seeing the poor boy

but when you did, he was still a little sick so he just clung onto you(

when he's sleepy, i headcanon he likes his hair to be played with and when you do it he just falls asleep

timeskip to the future, and its been like what, 7 years? you've moved in with him into his house, and it's pretty casual at this point

he always comes to bed late since he stays up on stream, and he ends up waking up so late

but before you go to bed, he's almost always taking a break from his stream to kiss you goodnight

sometimes if you're feeling clingy AND sleepy, he'll let you sit on his lap and sleep there while he's on stream

guys everyone writes kenma as if he's someone who's lazy as hell, and cant cook

BUT NOT ME!!! i know kenma can cook because he isn't that self-negligent, like if he moved out by himself then surely he knows how to somewhat provide for himself

he doesn't cook much because he doesn't like how much effort it takes, but when he cooks its kinda fire

you guys alternate, but its usually you cooking

i know he doesn't eat much canonly but loves seeing you in the kitchen its so domestic

when you catch him staring his lil bitch ass smirks at you and is like 'you look good in my kitchen.'

EPHASIS ON "MY KITCHEN" LIKE AODJSAOLDJASJDL

guys stop he's so cute when hes posessive

SPEAKING OF POSESSIVENESS OMG

ok now kenma's posessiveness varies from day to day

if he sees another guy with you, he doesn't rage immediately but when he sees them holding you in a way how he does? that's when he slides between you guys and takes you back

but also sometimes when you're about to go out in revealing clothes, he gets all pouty and clingy

he doesn't let go of you and looks up you with such pleading eyes(im so weak. im so weak for him omg)

guys he ALWAYS goes to pick you up himself

most likely he's going to bed by the time youre done, he can spare a couple minutes getting you

and plus i know he may not act like it, but your safety is like one of his top priorities

especially since you're the partner of a famous streamer, he does his best to make you comfortable

whether that's having you sit out of frame when he's on stream, or keeping you hidden

the media's really mean, and he'd do anything to prevent you from seeing or witnessing something hurtful just because you're dating him

he takes all the necessary precautions he knows of, and always tries to keep your identity anonymous

but when you felt comfortable enough, you slowly started to creep into his streams

at first it would just be a hand popping into frame, to you literally napping on his lap while he streamed

he told his fans that he was taken before and they thought he was lying, but since they've seen you they're amazed that he actually pulled

overall, his audience loves you and they literally see how kenma lights up when he looks at you

like his eyes are so soft and glassy and hazed with love(im gonna cry. why isn't he real. please i want him so bad)

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2nd a/n: guys this is literally not proofread this is such shit work like im not even processing these thoughts in my brain IM LITERALLY JUST WORD VOMITTING RN ok im done thank you for listening to my ted talk GOODNIGHT

[blossoming-mind-palace]

Chung Myung x Fem! Reader: 100 Years and a Promise (SFW/Part 4/Finale)

Summary: You’re both used to your new life. A few years have passed and things are comfortable. This part has a sillier vibe than the last. It’s also the last SFW part I’m writing.

Contains: Fem! Reader, Alcohol mention (thanks Chung Myung), hangovers, Chung Myung being jealous, Jo Gul getting bullied because Chung Myung is jealous (sorry Jo Gul), a Chung Myung POV I’m not very proud of but it’s there

WC: 5,184

Chung Myung feels warm sunlight hit his eyelids as he begins to stir. His head is pounding thanks to last night’s activities, and the grogginess is not helping. A faint snoring hits his eardrums, but it takes him a moment to realize they were too soft to be his. He jolts up when he realizes that someone else is in his room.

He tries to look around, but not too fast to avoid vomiting. It feels like someone is holding his hand, so he looks down to investigate and finds you lying on the side of his bed. It looks as if you fell asleep while sitting on his bedroom floor, and he can’t imagine that sleeping like that is comfortable.

You feel someone nudging your cheek, and when you wake up there’s a creek in your neck and a slight headache. My headache can’t be as bad as Chung Myung’s considering how much he drank, you think, and look up to see him staring at you. “Oh, good morning,” you say softly. You're assuming he has a hangover, and you don't want to make it worse by speaking too loud.

“‘Morning,” he replies and immediately follows it with a yawn. You notice that one hand covers his mouth, but the other is preoccupied with holding yours. You must’ve fallen asleep while holding hands, how scandalous! Imagine if someone walked in on you two. Your peers wouldn't let you live that down for years.

“Chung Myung, can you let go of me, please?” you ask after a futile attempt to retrieve your hand. “Do I have to?” “Yes, because you need to burn off that alcohol and take a bath, stinky,” you say and get up from your uncomfortable spot. “I’ll go draw a bath for you while you get rid of your hangover, m’kay?” You tell him this so he’ll let go, and he does. You run off to heat up some water for the wooden tub, and Chung Myung is left alone with his own thoughts.

- Chung Myung’s POV

“I’ll go draw a bath for you while you get rid of your hangover, m’kay?” is what (y/n) said before she left the room. After taking care of my hangover, my mind is still plagued by her. No matter how hard I try I cannot stop thinking about her and the way she glows in the moonlight. I’m not entirely sure if that beautiful scene from last night was real or a dream, and if it was a dream, I’m upset that I woke up from it.

She looked divine, but did she always look like that? Even a hundred years ago? I'm a fool for not realizing this sooner. I also can’t help but wonder if she’s always been so soft and caring towards me. I suppose she was when I wasn’t causing trouble and trying to start fights. She’s always made sure I’ve eaten, patched me up, and has helped me achieve my goals.

Just thinking about her makes my chest feel warm, and I can’t figure out why I constantly feel the need to hold her. It’s as if she’s holding a magnet that’s constantly pulling me towards her… Is this what romantic love feels like?

Everytime I look back on my previous life, I’m certain there’s a familial love I feel towards people like Chung Mung, but this is different. This is a new uncharted territory, and it makes me feel anxious. It’s not a bad version of anxiety; it’s hard to explain. These feelings are complicated and I really wish it didn’t take me this long to notice them. Life would be easier if I knew what to do next, but I don’t even know if she feels the same.

Knock knock! “Chung Myung, I’m coming in!” I hear her yell. Think of the woman and she shall appear. She walks in and continues,” It’s hot and ready, so hurry before it gets cold.” “(y/n), can I ask you something?” I ask. After last night and realizing my feelings, something has been bothering me.

She mentioned something about starting a family back in the day, and that she already had someone in mind. Obviously that never happened, but the thought of her loving someone else upsets me. She loved this person, but I never heard anything else about him. I never even noticed anyone getting that close to her, so whoever it was, he wasn’t very public with his feelings. Could this mean he didn’t care about her? Did he even love her in the first place? I’m probably overthinking things, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask her about him.

I feel the mattress dip while she sits beside me, and the curious expression on her face makes my heart beat faster. Since when was her expressions so cute!? She’s pulling such an adorable face, and the fact that I can’t pull her towards me and mash my lips on hers is killing me!

My face is definitely beet red, and I know that she’s noticed because she asks,” Are you feverish again? I thought you were getting rid of your hangover? I’d rather talk to you when you have a clear mind-” “I did! It’s clear enough! Now, let me ask you something,” I say. I can’t help but anticipate her answer; I’ve waited over one-hundred years to find out who this man is. I’m going to be pissed if it turns out he was an asshole towards her.

- Reader’s POV

“Remember the promise you made to me?” he asks, and you shake your head. You’re lying of course; you didn’t expect him to remember such a thing! “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve made a lot of those over the past hundred-and-something years, so you’re gonna have to clarify,” you reply while twirling your hair around, and it suddenly feels like eye contact is more intimidating than any war you’ve fought in.

“You promised me you’d tell me who you loved before the war ended. It’s ended, so now you have to tell me!” He clears the air and his face is filled with anticipation. “O-Oh! I don’t remember that-” “Bullshit! You made a pinky promise, too, so you HAVE to answer the question!”

Oh, I fucked up. You think, because you actually have to answer his question now. There’s no backing out of something as serious as a pinky promise. You try your best to create a lie but struggle to come up with anything. You decided that giving vague answers would be your best bet.

“He was tall, dark and handsome,” you reply with a falsely confident smirk plastered on your face. He raises an eyebrow,” Tall, dark and handsome?” “Mhm!” “That is painfully vague, (y/n). That description matches almost everyone in the sect,” he points out. His expression looks genuinely upset and he’s not playing around like all those years ago. He continues,” How long are you going to keep this from me? At this point, I’d assume he was never real in the first place. You’d never do something like that, though. Right?”

You look down at your palms and notice that they’re starting to sweat. You stare at the floor like it’s infinitely more interesting than your conversation, because you’re trying your best to avoid what’s about to happen. You really don’t want to look him in the eyes and tell him the truth. It'll be painfully awkward, but it looks like that might happen soon.

”Right, (y/n)?” He asks, and there’s an awkward silence that fills the air afterwards. “Dammit, (y/n), please tell me you didn’t lie about that…” “Okay, so here’s the thing. The part about wanting to settle down was genuine, but I couldn’t find a bachelor I liked. When I finally did, the crush was one-sided.”

”When you kept pestering me about who it was, I panicked and didn’t know what to say. Back then, I didn’t want to look lame in front of you, so I told you it was a secret!” You blurt out. You release a sigh to loosen up the tightness in your chest caused by all of this stress and continue,” I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to lie and lead you on like that. Honestly, I thought you would have forgotten by now. That was over a hundred years ago, but you still remembered that little promise we made.”

“Of course I did. I didn’t know how to show it or realize how much I cared about you back then. When you died, I tried to cherish every memory you left behind,” he answers while rubbing the back of his neck. Talking about your death upsets him, and he’s trying his best to not show it. The mattress dips as you sit beside him. “Aw, Chung Myung, that’s so sweet. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve gotten soft since then,” you elbow him while you tease him in hopes that it lightens the mood.

Your teasing certainly gets a reaction out of him as he retorts,” No, I have not!” His arms cross while he continues,” Anyways, back to you. So you did all of that because you were awkward and couldn’t pull anyone. Instead of looking like a loser in front of your friend, you lied and kept that secret for over a hundred years.” “I mean, yeah, most of that is true. Except for the awkward part. I was hot and I could’ve pulled anyone I wanted!” “Except for the guy you had a crush on,” he points out.

You frown, because that guy was technically him and him pointing that out stings. You quickly recover from this, though. You’ve had this unrequited love for years, so hiding your true feelings is as easy as breathing. You chuckle and reply,” Yeah, except him.”

”Seeing how upset you are makes me regret everything. I should be more upfront with stuff like that, and I’m sorry for keeping that from you. It was wrong of me to do that,” your gaze looks serious while you apologize. You grab his hand while you continue,” I swear I’ll never do something like that again.” You notice his cheeks turn red, maybe from anger? Who knows. Chung Myung’s mind is hard to read and he’s unpredictable. That’s why you enjoy his company so much. He keeps you on your toes.

He lets out a long sigh,” You swear it?” “I swear it.” “Well then I’ll accept your apology, but make sure you stay true to your word. They hold no weight if you don’t practice what you preach,” he says, and you couldn’t agree more. After finally getting all of that out, you feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“It’s settled, then,” you say as you get up and hold your hand out to him. “The bath water has probably gotten cold by now, but you still need to clean up.” “Yeah, yeah,” he says as he takes your hand and gets off of his bed. “You still stink like alcohol,” you comment. It’s not overbearing, but it’s not what an honorable disciple of Mount Hua should smell like.

”I do not!” “You do, stinky.”

-

After that morning, you noticed Chung Myung started acting differently. Anytime you’d hand him something his fingers would ghost over yours. When you walked side by side, he’d walk so close that your hands would brush together. Any bystander would think you two were about to start holding hands.

He’s also been weirdly aggressive towards some of the disciples. Well, he’s always been like that, but lately it’s increased ten fold towards disciples that are “suspiciously friendly” towards you. That’s what he said when you asked him about his attitude, and you just assumed he was being extra protective since you two were old friends.

You’ve overheard disciples gossiping about you two. They say that you guys act like a couple, and you’re secretly in a relationship. That last part is kind of dumb in your opinion. Dating is technically allowed so hiding it makes no sense, and even if it wasn’t, Chung Myung isn’t afraid to break the rules. He already drinks like someone who’s about to have their limbs amputated, so a petty rule like that is nothing to him.

While walking to the dining hall, you overhear a group of younger disciples actually talk about who’s dating who, and you think you heard them drop your name and Jo Gul's. You decide to ignore it and mind your business; there’s no need to ruin your day with something like that. You have something more important to concentrate on, anyway, and that’s dinner.

When you enter the dining hall, the fragrance coming from the rich meats and spices fills your senses. Your stomach starts to growl; the roasted meat on the table is the only thing you can think about right now. Never mind the gossiping disciples from earlier, food is ten times more important than the nonsense they spat!

You make your way over to your usual spot, and Jo Gul and Yunjong are already there. When you sit down, your mouth starts to water at the sight of beef glistening in a spicy sauce, roasted vegetables, fluffy white rice, and crispy chicken. Your stomach growls at the exquisitely appetizing scene in front of you, and you waste no time in grabbing a plate and filling it to the brim.

“(Y/N), don’t steal all of the food! Save some for the rest of us! I’m begging you!” Jo Gul playfully wines while giving you puppy eyes. You roll your own eyes at him,”Of course I’m not going to eat everything, Jo Gul… Or will I?” You snicker at him, and he’s acting overly dramatic as he makes a devastated face at your response.

”Just kidding!” You laugh at him. “Here, have a bite!” You say as you toss a chunk of meat at him. He flawlessly catches it in his mouth, and can’t help but smile while he chews it. The flavors are so divine it’d put a smile on anyone’s face.

You hear someone’s foot steps approach you from behind, but you pay them no attention as you grab another piece of meat between your fingers. “One more time! Say ‘Ahhhh’!” You tell Jo Gul while you aim. He starts to open his mouth, but closes his lips when he looks over your shoulder. He is visibly nervous when he makes eye contact with the person behind you.

Yunjong, whose lips were originally smiling during your guys’ exchange, have now turned down slightly. Your eyes follow theirs, and they land on Chung Myung. He looks intimidating while he towers over you. Well, intimidating to other disciples, but not to you. You’re used to his pissy face at this point. It has its own unique charm.

”Chung Myung, it’s about time you joined us!” You chime in, and he finally stops glaring daggers at poor Jo Gul. His attention snaps to you and his gaze softens. The expression he makes towards you is so tender, and it brings a sentimental warmth to your chest. It reminds you of how grateful you are that you two are here living with each other again.

”Here, sit beside me!” You say while patting on the chair beside you. He follows suit, but gives Jo Gul the side eye before filling up his plate. Did something happen between them? You think, but brush it off. There’s no need to pry into that right now. If you bring it up, Chung Myung might get pissed at him again and raise hell. Everyone’s happy because we’re surrounded by food; better not change that.

Except the mood did change unwillingly. Even as he ate, you could still see that there was something wrong with Chung Myung and Jo Gul looked terrified. There was an awkward silence that felt like it droned on forever until Jo Gul decided to do something about it. ”So, (Y/N), the weathers been good, right? Lots of… Sun…” the poor guy tried so hard to break the uncomfortable silence. He stopped the silence, but the atmosphere was still awkward.

“Jeez, that’s how you’re going to start this conversation? I don’t mean to judge, but… Nevermind, I’m judging,” You reply to him. You swear you saw Chung Myung smirk out of the corner of your eye. “What’s so funny, Chung Myung?” You turn and ask him. Something clearly happened between the two of them, and they're starting to make this evening unbearable.

”It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” he replies while digging into his food. It's your turn to give him a side eye, but you decide to ignore him and redirect your attention to your meal. After eating in peace for a couple of minutes, you see something fly out of the corner of your eye. You tried to mind your business, but the second time you snapped your head in the direction it landed.

Poor Jo Gul got smacked in the face with a smidge of sauce. You notice that there’s another glob heading towards him, so you catch it mid-air with a napkin. Your eyes follow the direction it came from, and notice that Chung Myung is looking really suspicious.

“Chung Myung, did you throw this?” You ask and stare him down. His eyes refuse to meet yours while he replies,”Me? No, that’s wasting food. I’d never!” He cracks a smile. “You’re a terrible liar,” you say, and a small piece of chicken hits him on the cheek. He glares at the culprit, and this time it’s Jo Gul that's on the attack.

“Are you stupid!?” Yunjong blurts out at Jo Gul. It looks like someone will have to plan his funeral later. Immediately after Yunjong’s outburst you watch Chung Myung throw a large piece of chicken at Jo Gul, and a food fight is definitely going to break out if you don’t stop this.

You decide not to, because this is the most entertaining thing you’ve seen all week. Thanks to Jo Gul’s terrible aim, someone that was sitting at the table behind us got involved. Everything escalates quickly, and there’s a food war breaking out in the lunch hall.

It’s chaos. They somehow even got Yunjong involved, which surprised you. He’s so quiet and seems like a goody two shoes, but here he is slinging handfuls of rice like it’s no one’s business. You feel something sticky hit the side of your head, and now there’s sauce stuck in your hair. Time to get involved!

You shoot out of your chair and fling your food at your attacker. It was Jo Gul, and it smacks him in the face. He’s covered in what was going to be your leftovers and you can’t help but laugh at the sour expression on his face.

Chung Myung takes this opportunity to grab an entire chicken, stuffs one of the legs in his mouth, and chucks it at Jo Gul’s head. The poor guy tries to hit it before it lands on his face, but fails. The force of this chicken actually knocks him off of his feet, and his butt smacks on the hardwood floor.

Chung Myung starts walking towards Jo Gul with a chair, and you grab him by the waist to make him stop. “Jeez, at least let him get up! And what’s with the chair? That’s too far!” You yell at him. “Mmmph!” Is all you hear while you grab at his arms. He looks annoyed at your sad attempts to stop him, but you eventually rip the chair out of his arms. If you weren’t there, Jo Gul definitely would’ve gained another head injury thanks to Chung Myung.

While you sit the chair down and scold Chung Myung, you hear a slam coming from the entrance and everyone halts. ”What’s going on!?” You hear one of the elders yell. You’re all fucked.

-

“Man, I’m beat!” You sighed while walking to your room. You tried your best to get you and your friends out of punishment, but it backfired. They made you mop AND wash the dishes. Chung Myung didn’t have to help you with the dishes, he didn’t even get punished, but he still helped you anyway. That was sweet of him. You think as you walk side-by-side.

You finally got to bathe after all of that, and you can’t wait to go to bed. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” He suddenly asks. “What do you mean?” “Our life right now,” he clarifies. “Yeah, you’re right. I mean, the last one was nice and I miss it sometimes, but this current one is good, too. We get to be young again and have fun. It’s especially fun since you’re here,” you reply while elbowing him.

He’s giving you another one of those tender smiles, and his eyes soften. You’re ridiculously pretty in this life, too. You think to yourself. “I think these new disciples have grown on me, too,” you add. “Maybe a bit too much,” you heard Chung Myung say that under his breath.

“Oh? Afraid I’ll replace you with one of them?” You ask and Chung Myung stops dead in his tracks. You stand in front of him as you tease,” Are you getting jealous, Chung Myung?” “Yes.”

You stare at him for a solid second. You did not expect him to say that. You’ve known him for well over a hundred years and couldn’t predict that he’d say something like that. “Wait, you’re actually jealous?” “Mhm.” “Of who exactly? Is there someone specific, or are you jealous of every person that interacts with me?” You ask him.

He grabs both of your hands and asks,”Do you like Jo Gul?” He looks anxious while he’s waiting for your reply. “I guess he’s nice,” you reply. “Why do you ask?” “I heard someone say you two were sneaking off in the middle of the night and planned on eloping,” he says while crossing his arms.

“Heh… Heheheh-“ you let go and break out in giggles, but you’re quickly interrupted by your friend. “Stop laughing!” He snaps, and you hold your stomach while you try your best to stop laughing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Hah, I just can’t believe you actually thought I was talking to him like that-“ “I didn’t say that I believed it!” His cheeks are starting to turn red from embarrassment.

”Good, because none of it’s true,” You say and start walking towards your bedroom again. He catches up to you, and you feel his hand brush against yours. Should I hold his hand or not? I mean, he did grab mine earlier… You think, and after going back and forth a couple of times you decide to take that risk.

You grab his hand, and he doesn’t pull away. A small smile cracks on your face, but you’re too nervous to look up at him. You don't know if you should let go or not when you both get near your bedroom door. The both of you finally stop, and when you try to pull away Chung Myung keeps holding on to you. It's like last night all over again.

“This is my stop-” “What if I liked you like that?” His eyes look dead serious, and judging by his tone you know he's not joking right now. “W-What?” You asked hesitantly. He takes a step closer to you and doubles down on what he was saying,” What if I liked- no, loved you enough to sneak off with you? What if I loved you enough to secretly elope with you during the night?”

”You’re not drunk right now, are you?” “No!” He replies with desperation in his tone. You nervously swallow your spit, because this isn’t real, right? This has to be a dream. Your crush, who you’ve loved and waited for for over one hundred years, is trying to confess to you. It sounds too good to be true!

Your heart feels like it’s going over a hundred beats per minute right, and you look down at your hands that are still interlocked together. You pull his hands closer to your chest and look back into his eyes. “Chung Myung, if this is a joke, it’s a really cruel one.” “It’s not, I’m asking a genuine question!” After his response, you inhale and exhale deeply in an attempt to calm your nerves. It doesn’t help much, and you can already feel your cheeks heating up.

”Don’t laugh at what I’m about to say,” you tell him, and pray that you won’t cringe at this moment in the near future. He looks slightly confused, but you continue before he can say anything. It’s now or never. “That would make me the happiest woman in the world,” you reply to his question and he holds your hands a little tighter.

His lips start turning upwards into the cheesy grin you've always loved. “Do you know how long I've waited for this, (y/n)?” “I don't know, since you started getting jealous of Jo Gul?” “I was not!” He groans at your response. “I've been waiting for over a hundred years, you know,” you tell him and his eyes widen.

“Over a hundred?” He asks with his mouth agape. “Mhm.” “... You were talking about me back then, weren't you?” He asks. He really hit the nail on the head, huh? It only took him over a century to realize that.

You wrap his hands around your waist, and he doesn't budge when you get closer to him. At this point you guys are so close that your chests are touching. You wrap your arms around his neck, and with a sudden burst of confidence, admit,” Well, you are tall, dark, and handsome, aren't you?”

His eyes widen slightly and his cheeks redden at your sudden boldness. His flusteredness makes it clear that he didn't expect this, and the current look on his face is adorable. It's the kind of face you'd want to grab and plant kisses all over. Maybe I should… you think while sitting in silence for a couple of seconds.

You haven't seen Chung Myung be this nervous in years. His tan lips suddenly part as he tries to break the silence,” Can I…” “Can you what? Use your words,” you tell him while keeping your eyes on his lips. His gaze follows yours, and what you want is obvious.

“Can I please kiss you?” He asked with bated breath. “Of course,” you reply and he hesitantly closes the space between you. When your lips finally met, it was sloppy. You're an elder who’s never kissed anyone, and judging by his movements Chung Myung is in the same boat. You two probably look pathetic right now, but oh well. You're literally living your dream right now, so you could care less.

When your lips part, he grabs your face and tries to go in again. This time it's more sporadic and heated, and your hands start to roam his chest. He acts like he's been starved for weeks and is finally digging into his favorite food. You try your best to match his hungry pace.

When you part a second time you’re both out of breath, and this love feels electrifying. His eyes are unfocused while you grab his face and start planting little pecks all over it. “I’ve- peck loved- peck you- peck for- peck so- peck fucking- peck long!” “Heheh, I can tell!” He says in between giggles.

All you feel right now is your love that’s accumulated over the years finally spilling out, and Chung Myung definitely isn’t complaining about it. You keep spoiling him, and he’s basking in all of the new attention he’s getting. If your love is water, he’s the sponge that’s soaking it up.

After a few more kisses, you pull away to get a good look at his face, and he’s smiling from ear-to-ear. Your face mirrors his, because after saying what was on your mind for ages, you feel like a weight has been lifted off of your chest. He continues holding you tightly, and for a moment all you do is lay your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It reminds you that you two are alive and the nightmares from your past life are long gone. You’ve yearned for his love for over a century, and you finally got it.

The silence is comfortable, and after you've had your fill of bear hugs you look up at Chung Myung. “How long have you loved me?” You asked him. “That's hard to answer,” he replies while running his hands up and down your back. You rest your chin on his chest while eagerly waiting for him to continue.

“There might've been something before you died, but it intensified after you left. Then, I found you again, and for the past few years it got stronger. I didn't realize what those feelings were until recently… I've never had romantic feelings before, y'know?” “Yeah, and you were never really pursued, either-” “What's that supposed to mean!? I had people all over me during my prime!” “You're lying and you know it; most people were terrified of you and your attitude! You only tolerated me and a handful of other people,” you confidently call out his bull shit.

You sigh and continue,”Regardless, I am over the moon now that we've been upfront with each other.” “Yeah, me too,” he replies. You pull away, but not without grabbing a hold of Chung Myung's hand. You turn to open your door and make your way in while dragging him in.

“What are you doing?” He asks while following you, and you close the door behind him. “Going to bed. Are you joining me or not?” You ask as you let go of him and plop on your bed. Not even a second passed and he's already thrown himself onto the mattress.

“Desperate, are we?” you tease as you finally get to lay down after such a long day. He hushes you, but never denies it as he pulls you into his chest. It's softer than you expected, and you prefer this over your old pillow.

“I love you,” you remind him and give him one last peck on the cheek before going to sleep. “I love you, too,” he adds and falls asleep not even a minute after his head hits the pillow. He snores like an old man, and while it would annoy most people, it's endearing to you. It's what you listen to as you drift off into a blissful slumber.

That was the best sleep you’ve had since you both reincarnated. There were no nightmares about your past or tears, just comfort while being in your lover’s arms. It's like he's your nightmare repellant, and you hope you're the same for him. You'll have to sleep with each other again.

[graneymar]

Can you write an imagine about baby fever? (With richarlison or ney)

💗💗

#2. RICHARLISON: BABY FEVER

SUMMARY: above

WARNINGS: none

PAIRING: Richarlison x fem!reader

My best friend just gave birth to her first child a few weeks ago - a beautiful babygirl called Liliana. I've spent every free second with Nessa and her daughter. Whenever Richarlison went to training or met his friends, I was immediately on the way to visit my two girls, bringing a couple of new shirts, toys or stuffed animals for Liliana every single time. I knew Nessa since I was like 10, so my best friend of almost 15 years having a baby actually felt like I suddenly had a child myself.

Nessa was invited to a birthday party and asked Richarlison and me to babysit. As soon as she stepped into our apartment, Richarlison took Liliana and covered her little face with hundreds of kisses, making her smile slightly. "She’s allergic to cow milk, so please make sure you only feed her that", Nessa said, handing me a pack of baby food, "And please don’t cover her with blankets without being in the room, she could pull it over her face. There’s a sleeping sack in the bag." She continued on telling us what we should be careful of, until Richarlison interrupted her. "Ness, don’t worry. It’s not the first time I'm having a baby over. Y/N is an aunt of two. We'll be okay, relax." Nessa sighed out pouting her lips, "I know, it’s just the first time leaving her with someone so long. Please call me if somethings unclear. Don’t hesitate!" Richy and I nodded and told her to have fun before she eventually left our apartment. "Let’s get the party started", Richarlison laughed.

Since Liliana was only three months old, she almost spent the whole time sleeping. She would wake up and cry every now and then, signaling she was hungry. Every time I was about to get up and prepare the food for her, Richarlison stopped me and did it instead.

"No amor, I'll do it", he insisted and jumped up once she was crying again, stopping me from getting up another time. I grabbed his hand and smiled as I looked up to him, "Let me do it at least once." He pressed his lips together. "But… no, please. She’s so adorable."

"I know she is, but you’ve been with her all day. How about you look for a movie meanwhile, hm?", I suggested. He groaned, but finally nodded and dropped himself back onto the couch, clicking through Netflix. I prepared Lilianas bottle, checked the temperature and picked her up before feeding her on my arm. Richarlison watched us with a wide grin. "What?", I chuckled when I noticed.

"Have you ever thought about getting a baby anytime soon?" My eyes widened at his question, I almost let Lilianas bottle fall in shock. That was something I didn’t expect, for sure. "Uhm, I.. uh", I stuttered, refusing to look at him while my cheeks heated up, "How soon? I mean, yes I would love to have a baby some day, but… soon?" Richy quietly laughed as he noticed how nervous I got. "I have actually been thinking about it a lot, especially after every time I see Liliana. We both obviously love kids, we do have some experience. Finances are positive", he paused for a second, "And I can't imagine a better mother for my children. I really want to grow a family with you, Y/N. I'm not saying it has to happen right away, but maybe we could… you know, just see what happens?" I got so overwhelmed by the things Richarlison was saying, I didn’t even notice Liliana was choking on her food. "Oh oh oh", Richy exclaimed, taking Liliana out of my arm and held her over his shoulder, slightly tapping her back. The way he didn’t even care about the vomit on his shirt - he simply cleared her up and continued rocking her back and forth on his arms while having a huge smile on his face. I breathed in heavily, "Let’s see what happens." He quickly turned around to look at me. The disbelief, but also the joy in his eyes was clear to see. "Really?", he asked. I nodded, nibbling on my bottom lip. "I know you'll be a great dad", I started, "And maybe I'll be a pretty good mother too." Richarlison softly pecked your lips and stroked your stomach. "Richarlison Jr. in the making", he said, making you both laugh.

[bacidipesca]

a weight you choose

Okay guys this one might be a little different. I’m a person who suffers from chronic illness, so I know what it’s like to really feel sick, and I wanted to write a hurt/comfort fic. Peach is sick with a stomach bug and this fic might be a little gross at points. There will be discussion of vomiting and snot, but no, uh, toilet things.

I hope everyone enjoys! It’s a bit of a long one. (Almost 4K!)

Waking up was usually not a difficult process for Princess Peach.

Though she was often up late with her duties and paperwork, Peach was an early riser by nature and usually itched to get out of bed and start her day with the rising of the sun (much to the chagrin of the folks in the castle). It was a rare occasion that Toadette had to come and fetch her, and rarer still that she didn’t immediately jump out of bed once she realized she’d overslept. It took several seconds of Toadette shaking her shoulder and trying to rouse her for the princess to even stir.

“Princess, are you alright?” Toadette said once again, and this time Peach heard it, though it sounded as though it came through a layer of cotton wool.

She scrunched her nose and groaned, turning for a moment to try it bury her face in her pillow. Even that slight movement, however, was enough to send a wave of terrible chills down her body from head to toe. She popped open her eyes to look up at Toadette, squinting a bit even in the low light, and she swallowed painfully. She opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes grew alarmed before she could utter a word and with more energy than she thought she had, she flung the sheets back and stumbled out of bed.

Her chambers, of course, had an adjoining bathroom and she raced over to the trash bin there to heave, catching herself on her hands on the rim of the bin before she could fall to her knees. It took quite a few rounds of heaving before she felt like she could lift her head again, and when she did she realized that Toadette had come in behind her and tied her hair back from her face.

Peach would have thanked her, but another wave of chills rocked over her and she couldn’t speak as she heaved again.

It felt like that went on for hours, though Peach was sure it couldn’t have been that long. She would get a moment to catch her breath, would start to stand upright, and her stomach would cramp or she’d feel a bolt of inexplicable pain shoot up from her gut to her throat. Sweat beaded on her forehead and in her hairline from the constant effort of coughing and her legs began to ache from the nonstop tension as her stomach continued to try to empty itself, long after she’d lost everything she’d eaten. When the rolling and cramping of her abdomen didn’t stop even still, she couldn’t help but start to cry and fat teardrops slid down her flushed cheeks. After a while she lost the strength to stay on her feet and went down to her knees, leaning on her elbows as she clutched at the trash bin.

I don’t even have anything to come up anymore, she thought miserably, and she bit her lip hard to prevent a whine from escaping from her throat. Her efforts were in vain, though, because when she swallowed it felt as though she’d been eating broken glass. Her throat was shredded from all of her coughing, and she let out a pathetic sound as more tears rolled down her face, leaning on one of her arms. Pressed against her cheek, she could feel how hot and flushed her face still was.

She heard Toadette speaking behind her.

“…like this all morning. She hasn’t stopped, and it’s been about three hours now,” she said, and Peach reeled a little at the confirmation that she had, indeed, been vomiting for hours. Then she realized Toadette was talking to another person.

Oh, she must have gotten Nurse Toadessa, Peach thought, relief sweeping through her. Before she could even really finish the thought, though, it was already proven wrong.

“Dio mio, I understand,” came the other voice, and Peach couldn’t hear anything else after because the shock of it sent the most horrible wave of nausea through her yet.

Toadette had not fetched the castle nurse. She had gone and fetched Mario.

(What she did not know at this time was that Toadette had gone out with the full intention of getting the castle nurse, but Mario had found her first. And once Mario had heard the princess was ill, nothing could be done to prevent him from rushing to her side.)

Peach retched hard into the trash bin, this time seeing stars as her vision darkened around the edges. It hurt, it felt like she was going to turn herself inside out, she couldn’t stop to breathe—and honestly if this was her end she was beginning to welcome it, if it meant she stopped vomiting. Just as she was beginning to truly feel lightheaded, a bundle of cloth was pushed under her nose and her next retch was stopped in its tracks by the shock of the smell alone. She gasped and got another inhale that almost choked her.

When she tried to jerk back from the sharp, chemical smell, she felt a gentle hand on the back of her head and the cloth was kept close, though not close or hard enough to smother her—just to keep the scent invading her nose.

“I know, I’m sorry,” came Mario’s voice from somewhere above her head. Her eyes were still tearing and she could just barely see his hand in front of her face. He wasn’t wearing his gloves. “I know it smells bad, but it’s helping, sì?”

He was right, somehow. As long as she was taking in that burning smell, her stomach wasn’t trying to flip around. She could take a breath, and she did so greedily, coughing on mucus when she let it back out but not convulsing with the need to purge. A low sob of relief pushed out of her and she lifted her head for the first time in what felt like forever.

She felt disgusting. She knew there had to be something streaming from about every hole in her head—tears were still falling from her eyes, while snot ran freely out of her nose like an open faucet, and she was sure there was a strand of spit clinging to her lip and stringing to the side of the trash bin. But Mario smiled at her regardless, eyes warm and kind and sweet enough to have her heart thumping. He kept the foul-smelling cloth close to her nose while he reached into his pocket with his free hand for a handkerchief. Peach tried to back away again when he reached out for her face.

“N-no, I’ll get it dirty,” she said in a wavering voice, trying to turn away.

He chuckled softly at her and shook his head. “That’s the whole point, Princess.”

She didn’t have enough energy to struggle with him, so she let him wipe her face even though she thought it was pointless. It felt as though she would start crying or vomiting again any moment, and her shoulders hitched with an anticipatory sob just at the thought. Once Mario had stuffed his handkerchief away again, he pulled something different from the depths of his pocket, and Peach’s brow furrowed when she heard it crinkling.

“I need you to try to eat this,” he said, holding it out to her, and when she saw what it was she let out another sad little sound. It was a hard peppermint candy.

She shook her head, leaning back and away even as he unwrapped it. “Nooo,” she said, drawing the word out like a child and feeling pathetic even as she did so. “I hate peppermint.”

That caused Mario to pause, and he looked behind her. “Does she?” he asked, and she realized he must be talking to Toadette when she heard the little woman’s voice pipe up.

“No, she’s just being contrary,” said Toadette, in a tone that suggested long suffering on this particular subject, mingled with amusement. “She’s always like that when she’s sick.”

“I’m really not,” Peach tried to defend, but over her head Mario and Toadette were exchanging knowing smirks where she couldn’t see.

Mario made a soft sound in the back of his throat, as if to soothe her, and he lifted the peppermint to her lips. “You can spit it out later if you want, but this will help for now. Please, Princess, just for a few minutes?”

His eyes were imploring her behind the candy pressed to her lips, and her heart thumped again. Why, oh why, had Toadette fetched Mario to help her instead of the nurse? Why was he the one seeing her like this, drenched in sweat and leaking from everywhere? She could feel a bead of snot starting to drip down from her nose, and she parted her lips and allowed Mario to feed her the peppermint before it could touch the candy. He beamed at her, and finally allowed the nasty cloth to drop away from her face.

“The peppermint should help soothe your stomach a little until we can get some proper medicine in you,” he said. He brushed hair back and away from her face, eyes flicking from her soaked hairline to her swollen lips, and he frowned for a moment as he seemed to consider something. He looked her over for a long moment. “Do you think you can stand up?”

Oh. She hadn’t been anticipating that. She felt as though she barely had enough energy to keep her head upright at this point, but she had to at least try, right? She bit her lip and hesitated for a long moment, but eventually she nodded and tried to stand.

It swiftly became clear that she was going to need assistance. Her legs trembled still when she tried to get them to cooperate, and she nearly pulled the trash bin over on herself when she tried to use it for leverage to stand up. Mario and Toadette were quick to her side to help, both trying to soothe her as she mumbled out apologies.

“M’so, so s-sorry, I-I just can’t…” she said, almost losing the peppermint. Toadette shushed her, moving the trash bin out of the way so Peach couldn’t hurt herself.

Mario took hold of her hands, hoisting her to her feet with little apparent effort, and when she proved unsteady he positioned himself under one of her arms, placing a large hand at the small of her back. She was slow to move and Mario was kind enough to let her, matching her pace as she shuffled across the tile. His being shorter worked to their advantage as well, as Peach wasn’t sure she would have been able to stand fully upright if she tried.

“Here, Toadette is going to help you get into a shower,” Mario told her as they approached the steaming stall. The water was already going and a bench had been dragged inside so she didn’t have to stand, clearly the work of Toadette while she’d been distracted with her illness. “The hot water and the pressure will help, alright? But before you do, you need to take this.”

He gestured and Peach saw that Toadette had both a tall glass of water and a couple of medicine tablets in her hands. Peach bit her lip, skeptical.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it down,” she said softly, voice small and scared.

This wasn’t her being contrary, but genuine fear that she wouldn’t be able to stomach the cure for her illness somehow and she would just stay sick. She’d been going for three hours and hadn’t stopped, had hardly been able to catch her breath, could now barely walk across her bathroom. It didn’t feel like there was an end in sight.

“I think you can,” Mario said. He gave her a soft smile, and when he continued she swore it was like he’d read her mind. “I know it seems like it’s not going to stop, but this is going to pass. We got you walking, away from the bin. That’s an improvement already.” There was something a bit beseeching in his eyes. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Of course she did. That was like asking if water was wet, or if Peach’s favorite color was pink. She could see the look in Toadette’s eyes as she glanced between the two of them, the knowing, the smile that threatened to break out on her little round face, and Peach pouted briefly at her before she reached out for the pills.

Mario encouraged her to drink as much of the water as she could, though he urged her to drink slowly to not upset her stomach. Once the glass was empty, he took it and said that he would be waiting for them outside and then delicately handed her off to Toadette’s care.

Despite Peach’s apprehensions, Toadette did not take the opportunity to start teasing her—perhaps knowing the princess didn’t really have the energy for it at the moment. Instead she chose to explain how she’d run into Mario on her way to find Nurse Toadessa. Today had been a day Mario and the princess had been scheduled together, so he’d been waiting and worried when she hadn’t appeared for any of her morning duties. Upon hearing she was sick, nothing would appease him but to see her for himself and offer what help he could, even after it had been made plain what the illness was.

“He says he and his brother were sick pretty often as kids, so they know a few tricks,” Toadette told her, with a tone that suggested she’d been impressed. “And with a bit of rubbing alcohol and a peppermint, he had you on your feet.”

Oh, rubbing alcohol. That was what he’d been holding to her nose. Peach couldn’t help but be impressed herself, now that she had some of her wits back. He’d known exactly what to do to help stop the cycle, he’d even just happened to have a peppermint handy in his pocket. Now that she was out of the shower and into a new pajama set (Peach insisted if Toadette wouldn’t let her get properly dressed she should at least wear something other than a nightgown), Toadette had helped her hobble over to the vanity mirror and was helping her manage her hair. The candy that Mario had given her was nearly gone, and she crunched it away.

Her eyes widened suddenly and a pink blush stole over her face. She lifted a hand to her mouth in embarrassment.

“Did I really say I hated peppermint?” she asked in a little squeak.

Toadette laughed brightly. “Yes! You did!”

The princess buried her face in her hands.

Between the two of them they decided it would be best to just braid Peach’s hair back to keep it out of her face and comfortable to sleep in, and it became clear as Toadette brushed out her hair that Peach wasn’t going to be able to stay awake much longer. All of her energy had been drained by the morning’s stress, and now that the nausea had been tamed to a dull ache and she could finally relax, the weariness was catching up to her. When Peach tried to stand and walk away from her vanity, her legs trembled so badly that she had to take a seat again before she could get upright and she bit her lip hard against the sudden sting of tears. She lifted a hand to her face, covering her eyes. Oh, how she hated this. Hated to be a bother. Hated to need the help.

“…I think Mario might need to carry me,” she finally admitted to Toadette in a little whisper.

That was all she needed to scurry out of the room to fetch him; Toadette knew perhaps better than anyone else just how much Peach hated to feel like a burden—especially to Mario—so for her to say it in so many words meant that she knew she was at her limit. It didn’t take long for her to come back with Mario in tow, and Peach found herself a little surprised by just how solemn he looked until he laid eyes on her, and his mustache curled up in a gentle smile.

“You look like you feel better. Your eyes are brighter,” he said warmly, once he was within arm’s reach. Her heart fluttered a little at the sweet words—he always claimed he wasn’t very good with them, but he managed to say the nicest things to her. “Are you ready to move?”

She nodded, unsure if she trusted her voice not to waver if she tried to speak. He smiled at her again and slid an arm around her shoulders.

It was little effort for him to lift her into his arms and as always Peach was struck by how safe and secure she felt. For all his small size, he was so strong and fast and always, always so careful with her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and fought the strong urge to bury her face in there as well. She barely noticed as he walked her out of the bathroom and back to her bed, feeling like she was floating instead, and it felt like the time was cut criminally short when he finally laid her down. A lump rose in her throat and her hand shot out before she could stop herself, wrapping her fingers around one of his thumbs as he started to back away.

“Stay with me? Please?” she asked. Her voice was starting to catch up to everything that had happened, a bit hoarse and reedy. She shuffled back towards the center of the bed and tugged weakly at his hand, giving him the big, wet eyes that had usually convinced Toadsworth to let her have just a couple more hours to read before bed as a child.

“Princess…” Mario’s cheeks were pink and getting darker. He glanced around them, as though he was afraid of being watched, or perhaps of being caught. “I don’t think it’s very, ah, appropriate as your guard…”

Before Peach could say anything else, or come to her senses about what she was asking of him, really, Mario jerked forward a bit, stumbling against the edge of the bed. He turned and saw that Toadette was behind him, a firm hand pressed between his shoulder blades. The look on her face was no-nonsense.

“Take off your boots, please,” was all she said, and Mario knew that there would be no getting away.

He pulled Peach’s hand from his and gave it a soft squeeze before he leaned down to unlace his shoes so he could join the princess. He sat on top of the bedclothes, leaving what he must have thought was a respectful distance between them, and leaned carefully back as he turned to face her. He’d taken off his hat at some point, she finally noticed. His hair was a bit disheveled, as though he’d been running his hands through it and then hastily tried to comb it into place again. That lump in her throat returned at the thought of him being so concerned.

“I’m sorry I made you worry so much,” Peach said after a long few moments of silence.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Mario said back, almost immediately. He shook his head at her. “You can’t help being sick. It happens to everyone.”

She didn’t say anything back for a long moment, unable to come up with words to express what she was feeling. After a beat, Mario picked up one of her hands in his and she blinked when she realized neither of them were wearing their gloves.

The skin of his fingers wasn’t as rough as she might have expected, but his knuckles were a little hairy, and his nails trimmed. His palms were wide and creased, and he had a scar across his index finger she’d never seen before. Most of all, his hands were warm, and they utterly engulfed hers. She would never get tired of seeing her hands disappear inside of his.

“My brother and I used to get sick a lot as kids,” he said. She looked up at his face again and saw the spark in his expression, the one that always came through when he talked about his brother and made his blue eyes twinkle. “And Luigi would always apologize over and over for needing help, or for getting me sick because I helped him. Do you know what always I told him?”

Peach shook her head slowly, sinking back further into her pillow.

“Un peso che si sceglie non si sente,” he said, and the smooth, melodic cadence of the Italian words felt like it was dancing over her ears. His thumb caressed over her wrist, and her heart caught in her throat when he translated for her. “A weight that you choose is not felt.”

A weight that you choose? Did that mean he was choosing her, too, like he’d chosen to take care of his brother? That he didn’t mind the work, because she was important to him? That he wanted to be here, regardless of if she was sick or not? She didn’t like those kinds of questions—they had jagged corners that dug into her mind as they passed through. They hurt to linger on, like they might burn if she held on for too long, or too tightly. She knew what she wanted the answers to be; her pounding heart and the little zips of electricity from where their skin touched were too telling not to know. But asking them, putting them to voice, was too terrifying to even consider.

“I just…didn’t want you to see me like this,” she managed to say at last, with little energy and a melancholy that no one but Toadette had ever heard from her before. Her tiredness was really beginning to catch up to her.

Mario’s mustache tilted up, one of those smiles where she could hardly even see his mouth because it was hidden behind his thick facial hair. He squeezed her hand again. “Why? You’ve seen me in plenty worse states than this.”

“S’your job, though,” Peach said, and even fading she realized how that sounded. “I mean, not getting hurt, but… oh, you know what I mean.”

Her eyes were having trouble staying open, so she missed the utterly fond look that crossed his face as she scrunched her nose in irritation at herself, as well as how he lifted his free hand to his mouth to contain a laugh at how cute she looked, fussing over her own words.

“I know what you mean, principessa,” he said, once he had control of himself. He could see that she was fading fast, and he reached out to pull the blanket higher over her shoulder. “Just get some rest now. Maybe when you wake up, we can try to have some soup, yeah? Luigi knows this great recipe our nonna used to make…”

He kept going, telling her about how he’d ask his brother to share the recipe with the kitchens, about how it used to soothe them when they were young, about how his nonna used to serve it out of old heirloom teacups for the two of them, until he thought that she was finally asleep.

The last thing Peach thought she felt before she drifted off was a soft pair of lips and a slightly scratchy mustache pressed against her temple, but she was sure she just imagined it.

/fin

[starssabove]

Comfort

Hi hi hi! Its been a while! im very sorry for the wait on this chapter, and im hoping to get back on track because i really enjoy writing this! im sorry that its kind of short-

As a refresher, this is the previous part- Kai is Hero, Seth is Villain, and Jay is "friend" (aka the worst man alive :T )

i hope you enjoy reading! - let the whump portion continue muahaha

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6 (this is part 7)

[Content warnings: this chapter is slightly severe-- Mentions of past abuse, implied past abuse and descriptions, injuries, abuse, betrayal, manipulation, brief mention of vominting, implied upcoming abuse, mentions of blood, mention of weapons. i hope i covered everything- please let me know if i didnt.]

----------

What was ringing? 

A high-pitched noise hummed over everything. 

What was that? 

Kai scrunched their closed eyes. Their teeth grated and they clenched their fingers into their palms. 

That noise hurt. 

Kai tried to sit up, their slurred thought process attempting to find the source of whatever was screeching. Kai did try. Didn't they? 

Why hadn't they moved? 

They tried again, somehow managing to lift their head, neck muscles straining. The hero shifted their arm so slowly, they were sure their head would fall before they could catch it, but somehow they were able to prop themself up on their elbow. 

It was a start--

Shit.

The ringing got louder. Loud, so loud, so high and uncomfortable as it spread through their brain, making their forehead ache- that ache spread through their face, an unbearable burning pain. 

The ringing was from their own head? 

Everything hurt so bad…

Oh. 

Right. 

They were severely injured. 

They were with Jay.

Not Seth. 

And no one was going to save them again. 

The pain only spread, and Kai decided being propped up was not helping. Neither was thinking about him. They brought their arm away from their head which fell straight back down to the mattress. A whine escaped their lips, one they immediately regretted. Jay hated whining. Who knew if they were watching, ready to make their move? 

The memories flooded back, hell- the whole dam broke. Kai remembered it all at the same time, somehow felt every bit of pain over again, and their throat felt so tight- like they were still screaming, screaming and praying and pleading, words tumbling from their shaking lips, that Seth would help them-

Not that they did. Not that they would anymore.

Stop thinking about them.

Kai decided that they were too tired and in too much pain to be awake. Nestling back onto the bare mattress they laid on, cold and shaking, the fire in their eyes completely choked out, they passed out, everything growing comfortably dark and warm.

—---

Shit. 

Shit.

Fuck, what were they going to do?

Seth held their head in their hands, tears slipping loose the way they had since the morning, ten hours ago. They were sick, stomach turning in guilt and fear. Ten hours. So many things could happen in ten hours… 

They shook their head again. They couldn't think about it. The image of Kai- god. The- The image of Kai spilling that much blood. It was enough to make them vomit for the third time.

They had to keep working. They had been trying to find Kai’s location. They had called everyone in the business that they knew- villains, henchmen, vigilanties. They were all annoyed at first, but after hearing Seth's voice-  uncharacteristically raw, shaking, hesitant- they gave their best effort. To no avail. No one in the underground systems had seen Kai. 

Theyd burn down the city if they had to.

They swore they would.

They had sworn to Kai that they would burn the agency to the ground- and maybe it was sooner than later. 

—-

“Wake up.”

Kai heard it somewhere above them. Unconsciousness still crept at the edges of their mind. Their breathing immediately sped up. There was no hiding. There was no escape. Only them and the person who had broken them.

Kai’s eyes slid open, vision blurry and dark.

“You look like shit.”

Yeah, no shit. They wished they could say it. But their lips didn’t part and their vocal cords couldn’t move. 

“I really do wish you would have just listened to me.” Jay starts, the words already finding a deep spot in Kai’s chest, “I tried to make you better, and now look at you;” a pause, a glance.

“Now you're nothing. You were so desperate to avoid putting in the effort” 

The effort? Effort being tortured? Effort crying and screaming until their throat was raw?  

“... to be better, you were willing to let someone like Villain ‘save’ you. Honestly,”

Jay took several steps forward, quick and powerful, dangerous determination in his eyes. The gap between the two was easily closed with the steps, Kai scrambling backward but hitting nothing but a cold wall.

“It's laughable.” Jay whispered inches from Kai's face.

Kai could do nothing but sit there, white hot shame settling in their chest. They really had believed that Seth- Villain, cared about their situation. Cared about… them. 

“Look at yourself- you're shaking in fear, and I haven't even done anything yet.”

Yet? They had to push. They had to beg, to plead that they could learn another way.

Maybe say that if he only gave them a few more days to recover, they would be so much better for him during the ‘training’. Stalling wasn't better, but it was something. 

Nothing was working like they wanted it to. Their jaw was so tense, shivering and shaking, their throat tight and raw. The only thing they could manage to breathe out was the word that kept repeating in their head over and over again.

“Yet?” the word cracks and falters but interrupts the silence.

A dangerous flicker found Jay's eyes. One they definitely knew too well. Bile rose. Tears welled, sweat pooled, muscles tensed. His hand was already in his pocket, and Kai knew all too well what would emerge when he pulled it out.

“Well, it seems someone needs a little refresher.”

Without fail, the switchblade appeared at his side. 

Kai’s eyes darted around the room they were in, one they hadn’t paid attention to until now. They scanned for places they could run, anything that would help them. All they noticed was that they knew this room. The cell they kept villains in when they were captured at the agency. 

In a building full of traitors, of sick men and abusers, they were the one in the cell. 

They were sure every sick bastard in the building heard the screams that came next, but not a single person came to help them. No one would.

—-------

Seth’s phone lit up with a small buzz, immediately drawing their frantic attention.

‘They're at the agency building. Same cell you stayed in when you got turned in. I can't take the screaming anymore, but I can't beat him.’

That's all they needed before they were out the door, the one knife they had with them in hand.

next part

–

Thank you so much for reading!!! i will try my best to be more active on here because i really enjoy doing this and i missed being on here :) thank you for any support!!

-ant :7

Tag list- Comment/reblog/dm to be added or removed!

@doublericenobeans @roblingoblin285 @justmevoldemort @another-whump-sideblog @devilish-whump @a-place-to-put-poetry @syberianjade @cornflower-cowboy @blessupblessup @tedrakitty

[jammyjams1910]

Emetophobia

Ship: Donald x Jamie

Key: ❤️=Donald 💛=Jamie "Slanted speech" =Thinking/thoughts

Cw: V0m1t1ng, panic attacks & anxiety, emetophobia (obviously)

(I'm not good at writing stories ok?? 😭 Don't judge me)

It was late at night that Friday, about 1am to be exact, and Donald was fast asleep while snuggled up in the covers; he was busy dreaming of the day he finally married his sweet little angel, Jamie. The lovely Caledonian was happily in dreamland while something was going on in the bathroom not that far from the bedroom.

His dreams were abruptly interrupted when he suddenly heard distressed sobs and wobbly breaths. His sleepy eyes slowly opened and he quickly realised that he's been on his own in the bed this whole time.

"Huh..? Where's Jammy..?" Donald thought to himself, until he heard the distressed sobs again, and it wasn't long before he recognised the sweet voice that he loves. He immediately jumped out of the bed and started wobbling to the bathroom; his legs were shaky since they've just been asleep, but that was the least of his concerns at this point; he can hear his sweetheart crying, and that's all he cares about now.

Donald slowly and gently opened the bathroom door to find Jamie on her knees by the toilet. They were right in front of it with their hand over their mouth, there was a gross orange looking substance in the bowl as well, in which he quickly realises that it's their puke. It was all coming together; judging from the substance in the toilet and Jamie's distressed crying on the floor, they must've felt sick and had to vomit while their pudding was fast asleep, and Donald knew how terrified they get when they're sick - especially when it results in vomiting.

Donald refused to just watch this happen; he didn't want to force Jamie to their feet, so he got down to their level and tried to comfort them at least a little.

"Sweetheart.. och fock.. why didn't ya wake me up..?" He said softly into their ear with a concerned tone. Jamie didn't even notice he was even there. They aggressively sniffed and turned their head to his direction.

".. Nienie-.. I-.." They couldn't finish their sentence but Donald didn't care, he just threw his arms around their weak fragile body and held them closely while they cry into their hand; Jamie was refusing to move their hand off of their mouth since they was so scared of vomiting again, but they knew it wasn't over yet, which made them feel even worse.

Suddenly Jamie started to gag once again which made them freak out even more, this signalled Donald to act fast. He quickly flushed away the vomit so neither of them had to look at it anymore, and he carefully got his angel to lean over the toilet bowl. Jamie was getting hysterical this point, so he kept holding them close to him.

"Shhh, it's ok.., yer gonna be ok, honey.."

Jamie's rapid and uncontrollable hyperventilating wasn't helping the situation at all.

"Shhhh.. deep breaths, sweetheart, deep breaths.. it'll be over soon" Donald was obviously very worried for his precious angel but his voice remained soft and reassuring. Jamie was getting tired from breathing so quickly and crying uncontrollably so they tried to do as he said. At this point Donald didn't care about how long they would be in that bathroom for, there's no way he'd just leave his angel during a time like this.

Jamie's gagging returned again so Donald grabbed their hand tightly as they leaned over the toilet bowl.

"It's alright, just let it out.." It didn't take time before Jamie did let it out, as they vomit again, they started squeezing Donald's hand hard enough to break his bones, but he couldn't care less even if his hand does break. After that round the puke was quickly flushed away and Donald was sweet enough to wipe their face clean and let her gargle a bit of cool water to rinse the taste out of their mouth. This whole time, tears were continuously falling from Jamie's red puffy eyes, and so Donald got an idea.

"Aye, lemme get some stuff, just.. wait a sec yeah?" Jamie didn't have the energy to say anything so they just nod weakly. Donald rushed to the bedroom and was there for about a minute.

He quickly returned with two pillows, a white fluffy blanket, both their phones, and a little plushie that he gave Jamie as a gift. Neither of them knew how long they're gonna be in the bathroom, so Donald decided to improvise.

After setting everything up, it was both of them leaning against the bath with their pillows against their backs, the blanket resting upon their laps, and Jamie was holding the plushie while still tearing. Donald then passed them their phone.

"So.. ya know when I asked earlier, why didn't ya wake me up..? Ya know I care aboot yer.. "

"C-Cos.. you.. *sigh* you were sleeping and.. I don't wanna disturb you.." As Jamie replied, Donald got to their level and wrapped his arms around them.

"Hey.. sweetheart.. yer the person I care the most aboot ya know.. I couldnae care less if I was asleep..-" He takes their hand

"-I'd rather nae sleep at all and can take care of ya, than stay asleep and leave ya alone while ya sufferin'.. and why? It's cos yer my sweet wee angel.. an' I love ya.." Jamie looked downwards in guilt, now wishing that they woke him up in the first place.

".. 'M sorry.. ok? Sorry.."

"Nae nae, dinnae be sorry.. I'm nae tryna tell ya off or anythin'." He cups their wet face gently and his voice became even more soft and sweet.

"I just want ya to know how much I love and care aboot ya, kay..? Ya haven't done anythin' wrong.." He gives them a gentle forehead kiss and smiles softly.

"Teh, d'ya know how adorable yer are?" Donald knew full well that his charming nature is one of Jamie's biggest weaknesses, which is very true because Jamie was now blushing brightly.

"Ya wanna text yer mum? Maybe she can help ya feel better, even if its a wee bit."

".. She's not gonna be online.." This reminded Donald that it was in fact now 2:14 am, so of course Jamie's mum would be asleep.

".. Hm, fair." Jamie was watching Daz Games, their favourite youtuber, play Depth 6 when Donald thought of a question to distract them.

"Aye, why d'ya sometimes call me "Nienie"? Whit 'sit mean?"

".. It's from the "nie" part in "Donnie", y'know.. Donnie, Nienie? I.. thought it was cute.."

"Hehe, creative as usual." Of course Donald was gonna charm Jamie again.

"Och-!" He quickly realises something and leaves the bathroom to get something from the kitchen, but leaves the bathroom door open so Jamie can still see him. After no less than a minute, Donald returns and sits down next to them while holding a glass of water with two small-sized ice cubes floating on top. Jamie could tell what his intentions were, so they just look downwards at their phone.

"*sigh* I know it sucks, mo leannan but.. will ya at least try to keep drinkin'? ..Just some wee sips? For mee..?" Donnie hoped that his innocent act would somehow persuade Jamie, but it wasn't that easy for them. He wiped away their pitiful tears and kept them close.

.........

4:46am

Hours passed by just like that, and after more dreaded vomiting, tears, panic attacks, reassurance, flushing and tiny tiny sips of water, Jamie finally fell asleep in Donald's arms; they were absolutely exhausted after having to deal with one of their worst fears for hours.

"Och.. it's finally over... *sigh* ma poor wee angel.." Donald decided it was finally time for bed, he bridal carried Jamie back to the bed, laid them on their left side, and quickly returned everything else; the pillows back under their heads, the fluffy blanket sloppily tossed over the covers, phones on charge, and he let his angel keep the little plushie. Also, he made sure to replace the melted ice cubes with new ones in the glass of water.

Donald so desperately wanted to give Jamie one of his cheeky squeeze cuddles, but he knows that they're still weak and recovering, so he gently lays his right arm over them and kisses their delicate face before falling back into dreamland.

.......

9:35am

Morning came eventually, and Jamie was still asleep, but Donald was just glad that they were getting rest. He giggled to himself softly and was gently stroking their head for about a few minutes.

Eventually Jamie's sleepy eyes open slowly to the face of her pudding.

"Hey darlin', ya feelin' any better?"

"..Hmph.."

"Hmm.. do ya feel like yer gonna... you know.. again?" Jamie just shakes their head which made Donald feel a little better.

"Heh, I'm glad, do ya think ya can drink a wee bit again?" They shrugged, they really weren't sure, so Donald carefully placed the glass to their lips. Jamie was hesitating however.

"Hey.., dinnae worry, just tiny wee sip, ok?" Eventually Jamie made themselves suck it up again and took another tiny sip of water.

"There ya go" He continued as he moves the glass away. "Ya know, I'm really proud of ya; I know this is fockin scary for ya, but yer did really well. And.. I love ya.. so much, I hope ya never forget that."

"I.. mph.. love you, too.." Jamie replied while blushing; they may not be the best at speaking clearly, but its not like Donald ever minded at all. They went into each other's arms and spent another hour cuddling, slowly drifting away from reality and everything.

End

[ghoulxh]

Orange Juice

———

Any Papa x GN!Reader (2nd Person POV) Word Count: 880 not proofread! Papa comforts you when you're feeling insecure and unhappy with your body. Warnings: talks of insecurities, mention of bulimia.

If you’d prefer to read this on Ao3

A/N - This one. This one is so personal to me. I love it. It's not my best work definitely but something about it, idk. I was inspired to write this by Melanie Martinez's song Orange Juice! Such a good song, definitely give it a listen if you haven't heard it before.

Of course, everyone has insecurities. It is a part of life. However, as you stood facing the long mirror before you, everything you felt insecure about just seemed to jump out at you today, as if it was highlighted, with a bright color for you to see. 

You didn’t even want to look at yourself, but you kept looking, pointing out everything you felt was wrong with your body. You wanted to cry as you looked at yourself. “This is not something a Papa should want,” you thought. You were looking at yourself only with your clothes on. You couldn’t imagine what it looked like under everything.

You slowly took your clothes off until you were standing in your underwear in front of the mirror. It had been a poor choice to take your clothes off. It just made everything worse.

Your eyes watered with the hateful thoughts plaguing your mind. You only allowed a few of those tears to fall before turning away from the mirror and climbing into bed. You were quick to cover your body.

Sometimes, you want to stop eating altogether to slim down some. Then there are times when you feel like you’re too skinny and need to eat more, but when you do eat more, you regret it instantly. You wanted to get it out of you. 

You’d always been too scared to make yourself vomit, but you had thought about doing it before. However, that sane part of your brain that didn’t care what you looked like kept you grounded and kept you from doing something stupid, something that could only cause more harm.

You hated feeling that way towards yourself and you most certainly didn’t want Papa to see you like that. 

About half an hour later, you heard the front door creak open and close again. 

---

“Tesoro? sei a casa?” You couldn’t bother to call out to him. You knew your voice would be weak after your little breakdown. You heard his footsteps coming closer and closer to the bedroom and closed your eyes. You were still in the same position you’d laid down in earlier. You didn’t want Papa to even lay his eyes on you. That’s how terrible you felt about yourself.

The bedroom door creaked open slowly, and you curled into the fetal position. You didn’t hear the door close, so you assumed Papa left it open so he didn’t wake you, should you have been asleep. 

You heard his slow footsteps start to go around the bed, trying his bed to keep quiet. 

“It’s alright, my love. I’m awake.” He let out a little breath, almost like he’d been holding it in. 

“You didn’t answer when I called,” he said as he picked up his steps and came around the bed to look at you since you were facing away from him. “Oh—Tesoro, have you been crying?” He asked, kneeling beside the bed immediately just so that he could see your face better. 

“I’m fine,” you said quickly.

“What is wrong, amore mio?” he asked. You tried to hold the tears back, but when he asked, there was no holding them back. “Oh no, no, no. I did not mean to upset you.”

“It’s not you, my darling. It’s me.” 

“What about you, amore?” He got off the floor and sat at the edge of the bed. He put one of his hands on your thigh, his thumb lovingly caressing you. 

“Everything… I don’t look good. I don’t feel good about myself. Everyone else here seems to look perfect, and I- I don’t know. I don’t deserve you.” you continued sobbing into the blanket as Papa looked over you.

“What is this nonsense, Tesoro? Eh? You are perfect. You are perfect to me. You are so beautiful. You are divine. If anything, I do not deserve you. Look at you.” He pulled the covers down, slowly revealing you to him. “Sathanas.” He breathed out as he looked at you, almost completely bare before him. 

After admiring you for a few seconds, he forced his eyes away from you and stood up. 

“Come here,” He put his hand out for you to take, and you hesitated before taking it and standing up. He pulled you back in front of the mirror, and you avoided looking at yourself, instead, you looked over your shoulder at whatever else you could find to distract yourself.

Papa tutted in disapproval, and you felt his leather glove on your face, guiding your gaze back to yourself. Once he was content with where you were looking, his hand moved down your body, caressing every curve, every imperfection, every stretch mark, everything. He loved it all. 

When you felt his lips on your shoulder, you closed your eyes, but as soon as he noticed your eyes closed, he stopped.

“Amore…” You opened your eyes again, looking into his through the reflection in the mirror. “Keep them open for me, sÌ?” You nodded. He took your hand, lifted your arm, and began placing kisses down the length of it.

“Your body is imperfectly perfect.” You smiled at that. “Do not let anyone, or yourself, tell you otherwise.”

“Now let Papa show you precisely how much he loves your imperfections, eh?”

Thank you so much for reading this if you made it all the way to the end!

Please consider reblogging! It's free, and it would really support my work! 🤍

[happyk44]

Reyna glanced up as Jason walked into the Principia. There was no meeting to be had, but she had just come down from her room after changing out of her clothes and grabbing her own sword polish.

He looked around briefly before asking, “No one else is here right?” She shook her head. Everything about him went slack as he groaned, “Thank fuck.”

She grinned. “Hey, Grace.” She picked up a handful of jellybeans and threw them at him.

He glared at her. “Seriously?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. The jellybeans were floating in the air around his head. “Fucking children, piss me off, hate all of you.”

“You pushed me into the river two months ago and this is the first time I’ve knowingly been aware of you.” She glanced down to her sword. “Revenge.”

“Jellybeans are not revenge, moron,” he muttered. They formed a tight ball and floated alongside his head as he walked over and sat down a good foot away from her. “Don’t you have a place to do that?”

“You seem like you want company.”

“I have enough fucking company.”

“Jason!” Dakota shouted, stumbling inside. “Oh, there you are!”

It was like magic.

It was meant to be covert. She knew that. She knew that sometimes she talked to Jason and it was Grace at the helm. They were supposed to be hidden, to protect the body from scrutiny, to avoid judgement and potential pain by pretending to be the host. As a little kid, terrified of his own shadow, JJ was incapable of that but Grace - Grace could fake until the cows came home.

And she could never tell until he dropped the mask.

In times like this, it was amazing to watch him go from “I hate everyone, everyone is a threat” to Jason’s “I will help everyone or die trying” in a snap. The mask slapped on without an ounce of hesitation. And if it weren’t for the lack of daze and dissociated slack, she wouldn’t have even suspected he were still around.

“Yeah, man, what’s up?” Even with puberty, Grace’s voice was still deeper than Jason’s, held to a lower register. So hearing the subtle shift, was amusing. She looked back down to her sword to stop from snorting. Grace elbowed her.

“Uh, you said you wanted something if I went into New Rome today.” Dakota squinted. “What was that again?”

Grace went tight. Reyna paused.

Amnesia.

“Eh, it was, uh...”

She used to think Jason was a little scatterbrained or disorganized. She’d tell him something and then hours or days later he’d be confused if she brought it up again. Or it would take him a while to remember what she was talking about. Like the second time she made him mofongo because of how much “he” had enjoyed it the first time and he nodded along with her but stared at it like he’d never seen it before.

She could cook but the outcome wasn’t always the prettiest. She just thought he was being nice, pretending to be amazed. In reality, he’d never seen it before and had no idea what she was talking about until he tasted it and Grace was triggered in a co-conscious state, reminding him that he was the one who ate it last time and that he’d liked it, even if Jason didn’t.

“It was, uh-” Grace ran his hand over his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked so tight and annoyed. “-a milkshake,” he finished lamely. “Mint chocolate chip.”

Dakota frowned and Reyna winced. “I thought you didn’t like mint chocolate chip.”

Grace tightened even more. “Uh-”

“I like it,” Reyna cut in. “And I mentioned it last night since someone-” She rolled her eyes. “-ate all of it at dinner and I didn’t get any.” She grinned at him. “Were you trying to surprise me?”

Grace laughed Jason’s laugh, so light and airy. “Yeah, I was,” he said, grinning. He scuffed her shoulder. “Surprise ruined, I guess.”

“I’ll still get it!” Dakota shouted as he ran off.

Grace gently waved him off before sighing low and leaning back with a groan. The grin slid off his face like butter. “Ah, fuck me.”

“I’m gay,” Reyna muttered. He rolled his eyes. “Also, do you just like everything Jason doesn’t or is that strictly my mofongo and mint chocolate chip?”

“Shut up.”

“You know, this is the part where you’re supposed to say thank you.” She fixed him with a steely gaze until he pressed a hand to his face and muttered a dejected and halfhearted thanks. She bumped his elbow with hers. “No problem. And, uh, he can go get whatever it actually is another day, alright?”

Grace nodded slowly, stooping forward to press his hands into his face. “Fucking garbage brain.”

She bit her lip. “You wanna spar?”

“Can I bite you?”

She scowled. “No.”

“Then what’s the fucking point?” He tilted his head and looked at her between his fingers. “Yeah, let’s go. Somewhere private, alright?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Agh, why is this fucking kid so fucking friendly?”

“I don’t think he’d been promoted as easily if he were just like you.” Grace elbowed her again. She ducked out of the way of it, snorting. “You know I’m right.”

“I hate you.”

“Weird because I’m big fan,” she said, holstering her semi-polished sword. “Like a huge fan.” She giggled fake. ”Will you please kiss me, mister?”

He stared at her with the most horrified disgusted face she’d ever seen. “Don’t- don’t fucking do that.” He shook his finger. “What the fuck was that? Oh my shit, why is he your friend? I will push you right back into that fucking river.”

She laughed before stepping back over to him and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Mask up, Grace.”

“You’re fucking gay,” he grumbled. “We had this talk two fucking months ago, idiot.” He inhaled deeply and then, with a big exhale, turned her and beamed. “Hey, Reyna, what’s up?”

“Perfect,” she clicked. She patted his shoulder. “Just for a bit. Then you can hate me to my face again.”

“Wonderful!” he breathed and off they went.

[cloudninetonine]

I love your writing!!! If you have the time could you write Time and First (separate) helping the reader when they are sick?

I GOTCHU ANON!

Time:

“You’re sick.”

“Whaaaaaaattttt?” The words had come out slurred but then again you hadn’t exactly heard the voice properly. The world around you was too far away, almost as if water had been poured into your ears, muffled and irritating as you turned in the direction of the voice, staring up at Time as he looked down with a mixture of frustration and concern, eyebrows pinched “I’m fine, don’t-”

You hacked, elbow flying over your mouth to keep whatever left your system from going airborne and Time flinched, his hand coming to rub your back when you were finally reduced to a painful, chesty cough, groaning in distaste.

“See.” You sassed, sniffing harshly “Fine.”

Without a second word, you turned to continue to the path that the man had led you down a few moments before.

It had started this morning- well, it had actually started yesterday, the telling signs of a cold with a sore throat and stuffy nose, but you had brushed it off. You’d survived many a day during school with your embarrassingly weak immune system so you thought you’d be fine, thought you’d fall asleep then wake up much better the next day.

What a stupid thought it was.

Your head was pounding, felt like millions of needles stabbing into your brain all at once, you were hot, incredibly so to the point your eyes were watering from the heat and your body ached all over, you struggling to pull yourself from your bedroll or even breathe properly.

But you were stubborn, there was no way you were gonna hold up the group. Not after you were already falling behind schedule and you refused to cause an even bigger hindrance.

But Time caught you, of course, he did, always having a careful eye on you to make sure you wouldn’t cause your usual chaos only to notice the lack of pep in your step, lack of your usual jovial speech, the unusual quietness that hung over you. So, he decided to drag you away from the travelling group, pulling off a gauntlet to press a cool hand against your forehead.

Damn had it felt good against your burning skin.

Your shoulder was grabbed gently but you still did stumble a bit, too disorientated to completely take in your surroundings so you weren’t expecting the feeling.

“Careful.” Time’s voice was soft, hands moving to immediately stop your tumble by your hips before he turned you around, looking over your form with a just as soft expression “You cannot deny it, I can see how ill you are. Why are you hiding it?”

His palm moved to once again press against your head when you struggled to form the words, sighing happily with your eyes falling shut as you leaned into his skin “We’re far behind I…I didn’t want to hold us up.”

The eldest shook his head “Your well-being is much more important.”

“I’m used to it, you don’t have to worry-”

“No, there’s no argument to be had here. I will have us set up camp so you can rest.”

“Noooo.” You whined, words once again slurring as you tried to move back “Stop. I’m fine-”

Despite the surprise, you couldn’t manage a sound when you were tugged into the hero’s arms, only screwing your eyes shut to keep yourself from vomiting at the fast motion, relaxing your head against his shoulder, then sighing in relief as the cold metal soothed your warmth just a bit more.

“Are they alright?” A voice, too far away, spoke up as the leader walked on “What happened?”

“They are unwell so we are to set up camp for now. Traveller, do you think you may have something for their ailment? Or perhaps you can use your spell?”

The world around you began to fade the longer you were held within Time’s protective grip. His armour was cool against the burning of your cheek, relaxing your entire body to the point of no return even with the Old Man’s constant movement. There was a point when it finally stopped, your body being brought down to something soft that you melted into, groaning in relief and turning to your side.

“Here-” Something was brought to your lips and you instinctively turned away, face pinching in distaste. “Don’t fight it, it’ll make you feel better”

After a few moments, you gave in, downing the potion and gagging in disgust at the taste. 

The hand returned to your forehead, brushing back your hair before a pair of lips pressed against the skin. “Thank you. Now- rest, you need it”

You finally gave in, your body going limp against your (presumed) sleep mat and falling into the darkness of unconsciousness.

-----

First:

“(Name)?” Your body was nudged gently from your position on your sleep mat, a look of concern crossing over the face of First who was leaning over you, turning towards the group frantically as he called for someone to come over “They aren’t waking up.”

Panic settled over him when the others rushed over, Hyrule gently moving him aside with magic dancing at his fingertips only for a groan to fall from your lips, pained wheezing catching the air when you threw your arm over your eyes and whined.

“Please don’t shout.” You sobbed over them all, body shivering in a cold sweat “It hurts too much, please-”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was wrong with you, however, First still felt the gnawing feeling of panic in his gut even when he gave you the health potion, even when he gently brushed your forehead with a damp cloth and even when he held you in his lap just a ways off from the evening campfire, your exhaustion leaving you in a disorientated state for the entirety of the day.

“They’re fine” Warriors had to reassure him, leaning down to where First was sitting, placing a hand over his shoulder. “The traveller has reassured us it isn’t anything deadly, they will be fine after some rest. "

Of course, the Chosen hero had known that but it only made him spiral back to those days in the dungeons. He had gotten sick so often then, from kitten sneezes and sniffles to what he was positive were the plague, somehow still not ensuring the end of his life and only adding to his torture. What if this sudden ‘cold’ as you had put it got worse? What if it opened floodgates to even worse illnesses? First knew he wouldn’t be able to handle your body losing its colour and turning cold-

“You know,” It was a croak from dry lips, your eyes trained on his expression with a soft smile that made his heart ache from letting his mind wander to the direction it had taken “It’s kinda telling when you start to overthink- your face scrunches up and your eyes just look so…sad”

His hand instantly moved back to the water bowl that Wild had gathered earlier, grabbing the towel he’d left within, then wringing it out until it was damp so he could press it against your fiery forehead. “Nothing to worry about, I assure you, I was only-”

“Thinking. Yes, yes, I know, that’s what you always say, you old Bastard. "

The edge of First’s lip quirked up slightly. “You have come to know me so well, my dear.”

“It’s easy to read someone when they have their heart on their sleeve” With his help, you began to sit up, coughing a throaty cough into your elbow as the man made you lean against him, your back to his chest. “You’re too much of a softy. Stop worrying over nuclear scenarios, Link, I’m fine and I’ll be back to my annoying self by either tomorrow or the next day. "

First hoped that was the case.

“The Champion made you soup-”

“No thanks. ” You whined, leaning your head back against his shoulder, snuggling into the warmth of his scarf “I don’t think I could keep it down." 

“It has healing properties, it is for the best-”

“The best won’t look too good all over my tunic, Link-”

“(Name).”

Oh, that voice- that damned voice! So soft, so kind, so full of worry- why did the man have to act so gentle with you? You couldn’t even think about complaining when he was here at your beck and call, wiping off your cold shiver sweats, holding you in his arms carefully to cause no further pain to your already aching joints- First was such a gentleman treating your gremlin self with love only the luckiest of people got to experience.

You couldn’t fight him when you knew he was only worried about your wellbeing.

“Okay- okay." There was a polite ‘thank you’ whispered into your ear before a kiss was pressed against your temple, First grabbing a bowl of soup that Four gently handed to him when asked and readjusting you to face him, a spoonful of the food being presented to you. “I can eat by myself, Link.”

It was moved forward slightly, encouraging “I am perfectly fine with helping you.”

After a few moments with shared, intense eye contact you huffed, opening your mouth and letting him spoon-feed you the concoction, the feeling of healing magic warming your stomach.

“You’re lucky you’re so handsome”

[hopelesshawks]

Can I request a Compress x Reader? Babytrapping + Breeding?

Ohhh interesting, of course you can! I rarely write for the villains so this will be fun. You didn’t specify but because baby trapping I did fem!reader. I also just realized you might’ve meant reader baby trapping Compress but I wrote Compress baby trapping reader so I hope that’s what you wanted 😅

The following request contains dark content. Check the warnings before reading

Warnings for vomiting, pregnancy, manipulation, non-violent sexual assault (baby trapping), breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), minor dumbification? (reader is very no thoughts, head empty during the smut), minor size kink, minor pain kink

Three years.

Three years together and yet you never would’ve guessed that your boyfriend is the notorious Mr. Compress of League of Villains infamy.

You first met Atsuhiro while working at a hole in the wall theater company. He came up to you after performing one night and had been so effortlessly charming that you’d instantly been put under his spell. He was more intelligent than all of your exes combined and could make you laugh like no one else could. It hadn’t taken long for you to fall totally and completely for the charming man you met that night.

But all of that came crashing down around you when he came home from a “business trip” with a prosthetic arm and no amount of half-assed excuses about an accident on stage could assuage your suspicions. He managed to dodge a confrontation with you for almost a week before you’d finally put the final pieces together and went to him to demand an explanation.

“You’re a terrorist Atsu!”

“That’s just what the heroes want you to think my love, don’t fall for their propaganda.”

“It’s not propaganda it’s just a fact! People have died because of your actions!”

“And how many more have suffered or died because of heroes and the society they created.”

“You’re deflecting. I have always indulged your rants about hero society but this is too far! The man I fell in love with would never stoop to this level!”

Atsuhiro crosses the room to you in two quick strides, cradling your face gently with his hand while you feel the cool metal of his other find your hip, fingers slipping under your shirt.

“I’m still the man you fell in love with (y/n), I can assure you of that,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How could that possibly be?”

“Let me show you.”

He pulls you into a gentle kiss, reassuring in its care. As his lips move against yours, gently coaxing them to open so he can deepen the kiss and slip his tongue inside, you struggle to maintain your earlier anger. It’s a distraction and you know it is but it’s hard to resist as he starts to move you both back towards your bedroom. He makes quick work of your clothes and by the time your back hits the plush of your mattress you’re both already naked. His mouth finally releases yours to travel down your body, leaving bruises in his wake as he marks you as his.

“Atsu, wait we should, ah-” you start but he quickly shushes you before licking a long stripe up your waiting sex.

“Just relax Angel, let me take care of you. Let your thoughts drift away,” he all but purrs.

You try to focus on the conversation you know the two of you need to have but it slips from your fingers like grains of sand as he brings one hand to your swollen clit and starts rubbing slow circles. Your hands tighten in the sheets as he draws a low, keening whine out of you. His hazel eyes dance with smug satisfaction as he watches you try and fail to form a coherent thought. He doesn’t let up the pressure on your clit for even a moment as he drops his mouth to your waiting cunt and plunges his tongue inside. Your hand flies down to his curly hair on impulse, tangling in the brown locks and gripping tight. Your nails scratch along his scalp and your tight grip tugs at the roots of his hair but he loves the pain of it, knows it’s a sign he’s doing well as he brings up his free hand to add two fingers inside you as well. After so long together he knows your body just as well as you do and it takes no time at all for him to find that one spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Your climax builds and builds until you finally crash through the peaks of your pleasure, walls fluttering around your lover’s tongue and fingers as he coaxes you through your orgasm.

You’ve barely had time to recover from your orgasm before you can feel his erection pressing at your entrance. “W-wait, Atsu, condom,” you pant, shifting in the bed to reach for the bedside drawer but Atsuhiro stops you. “We don’t need it baby, wanna feel closer to you,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along your face as he eases you back down to laying flat on the bed. “But what if-” “You’re on birth control right?” he cuts you off. “I mean yea but-” “Then it’ll be fine, you worry too much.”

Any further protests you might’ve had are immediately silenced as a snap of your boyfriend’s hips has the tip of his cock brushing your cervix. You gasp as your body attempts to adjust to his girth. “You’re taking me so well baby, isn’t this so much better? Feel how close we are. Nothing between us, just as it should be,” he coos and it does feel good, good enough that despite the voice in your head telling you you should be cautious, you only nod and beg for more. The grin Atsuhiro gives you is almost blinding right before he presses his lips to yours, kissing you greedily as he slowly withdraws his hard cock before pushing back inside you again. You whimper and whine into his mouth as he starts to pick up the pace, each thrust more brutal than the last. Eventually he leans back and away from you, shifting your hips so he can plunge himself in deeper, but with his lips no longer occupied with yours he’s free to let his thoughts spill out and into the room:

“Gonna fill you up so well, fuck, my beautiful Angel.”

“You and me forever baby, gonna look so good round with my kids.”

“Taking my cock so well, can’t wait until you’re full of my seed.”

The words wash over you but barely register. There’s no room in your brain left for anything else as Atsuhiro takes over every corner of it. Language becomes a foreign concept to you, barely able to articulate your own pleasure in more than the sinful sounds dripping from your lips, let alone trying to process your boyfriend’s ramblings. His thrusts start getting sloppier as he brings one hand between you both to stroke your clit and push you over the edge with him. “I’m so close angel, I’m so close. Cum with me. Want you to finish with me while I stuff you full of my cum,” he pants and all you can do is nod as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. As you clench harder around him he goes toppling over the edge first, crying out your name as he spills his load inside you. You never would’ve anticipated enjoying it so much but it’s that feeling that sends you over the edge, falling apart around his cock as he finishes filling you with his cum.

He helps you come down from your high with sweet kisses and whispered words of encouragement, but as the haze of lust fades, you start to remember the fight you both were having before. As much as you would like for this to be the kind of thing you can just kiss and make up over, it’s not and you know it’s a conversation that needs to be finished. Looking at your boyfriend as he settles more comfortably on top of you though, you can’t bring yourself to ruin the moment. Sleep is weighing heavy on your eyelids anyway so you resolve yourself to bring it up the next day.

Except the next day ends the same way.

And the day after that.

And the day after that…

Every time you try to bring back up Atsuhiro’s secret double life as Mr. Compress he manages to distract you just long enough to get you back into bed. At first you tell yourself it’s not a big deal that the conversation’s been delayed a couple days, but then it turns into a week. A week of very hot sex, mind you, but if the existence of Atsuhiro’s double life was a red flag then certainly his insistence on avoiding discussing it is an even larger one. After two weeks you finally resolve yourself to talking to him the next morning over breakfast, no distractions and no avoiding the issue with sex. Cooking helps with your nerves, giving you something to do with your hands and a task to focus on to help you ignore your roiling stomach. You end up making almost an entire breakfast buffet by the time Atsuhiro emerges from your shared bedroom to join you in the kitchen.

He barely has time to tell you good morning before you’re rushing him to the table and setting plates full of food down. You know you have to tread carefully so you use the time you both spend eating to organize your thoughts. This time for sure you’ll talk to him. You finally open your mouth to confront Atsuhiro once and for all but as you feel bile start to crawl up your throat what comes out instead is “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

No sooner have you said the words are you shoving away from the table and rushing into the nearest bathroom. You get to the toilet just in time, fingers clutching the rim of the bowl as you violently eject the contents of your stomach into the water below. It burns your throat coming up and your eyes sting, but a warm, comforting presence is by your side in an instant, one hand coming up to rub your back gently as the other pulls your hair away from your face. Only once your stomach is thoroughly emptied does the heaving finally stop and you’re able to sit back and catch your breath. “Are you ok my love? What’s wrong?” Atsuhiro asks with gentle care as he pulls you close. You shake your head, unsure yourself of what had turned your stomach. Sure, you were nervous to talk to Atsuhiro but not that nervous. It can’t have been something you ate since all you’d had was the breakfast you made and you know everything was cooked properly. You rack your brain for an answer only to go rigid when you start to settle on one.

“Atsu what’s the date?”

“The 22nd baby, why?”

Your blood runs cold.

You’d been so preoccupied with figuring out things with Atsuhiro that you hadn’t even noticed how much time was slipping past but there’s no doubt about it. Your period is two weeks late.

“I think I need to go to the doctor,” you whisper. No way in hell you’ll leave this up to a drugstore test. There must be another explanation for your sudden nausea. Sure, you and Atsuhiro had pretty much abandoned condoms. Every time you started to reach for one, he’d remind you how good it felt not to use one the first time and convince you to forgo it again. But you’re on birth control! This isn’t supposed to be possible.

God bless him, Atsuhiro doesn’t press you any further on why exactly you want to go to the doctor instead of trying to find something at home to settle your stomach. He simply helps you off the floor and then grabs the keys to your car so he can drive you to the doctor himself. You’re incredibly grateful that he doesn’t seem to share your nerves. He’s a calming presence next to you as your anxiety kicks into overdrive.

You’d asked Atsuhiro to take a seat without you while you checked into the urgent care. You didn’t want him to hear you describe your symptoms to the nurse waiting there. The kind woman immediately suspects the same thing you do and leads you to the bathroom so you can pee in a cup. She’s sympathetic and reassuring as she tells you to return to the waiting room while the doctor runs the pregnancy test but it does little to soothe your frayed nerves. The air in the waiting room feels oppressive and when your name is finally called to go back and see the doctor, Atsuhiro’s hand in yours is probably the only thing that keeps you grounded. You take a seat on the examination table and instead of moving to sit down in one of the chairs in the room, Atsu stays by your side, whispering reassurances into your ear. “Whatever’s going on I’m here for you my love.”

The doctor strides into the room shortly afterwards, greeting you warmly even if somewhat absentmindedly as she moves to the computer to check for your details. She confirms your date of birth and then after scrolling for a bit her eyes finally land on the results of your test. She smiles and your heart sinks. “Well it looks like congratulations are in order, you’re pregnant!” she exclaims, beaming at you. A lump forms in your throat as tears threaten to fall, anxiety making your hands shake as the weight of the situation starts to crash down on you. The doctor misinterprets your reaction and as she leaves the room to get you pamphlets on what to expect and how best to take care of yourself during your pregnancy, her reassuring words that promise you’ll make a great mother are anything but.

As soon as the doctor leaves the room you break, tears cascading down your cheeks as your chest heaves. Atsuhiro pulls you into his embrace, letting you fall apart in his arms as you come to terms with the news. “I’m not ready to be a mom, I can’t do it on my own,” you cry, hands clenching onto his shirt. “I know my love, I know, but you’ll never be alone as long as you have me. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you,” he assures you, pulling you in even closer.

As you continue to cry into his chest, murmuring hiccuping thank you’s between heaving sobs, Atsuhiro can’t help but smile to himself.

He’ll have to remember to thank Dr. Garaki for the fake birth control pills later.

General Taglist: @ahtsuwu @oikawaandkuroostan @larkspyrr @oliviasslut @black-rose-29

[whirlybirbs]

          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 

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MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

��We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

[dourpeep]

WAIT. I'm losing my mind over that friends to lovers post you reblogged. All I can think about is college Albedo + mutual pining, romantic tension, and friends to lovers OTL

- Leaving little post it notes in his bag or inside the cover of his textbook to tell him to have a nice day or remind him to take care of himself because you know he has a tendency to work too hard sometimes!! And what if he meets up with Sucrose and Timaeus because they like to catch up and sometimes discuss their research or homework, and they see Albedo hiding a grin behind his books and think that he's solved a particularly difficult problem but it's just a cute little note you slipped him when he wasn't looking

- You stay up studying for exams with Albedo and he dozes off on your shoulder so you sit there afraid to move because you don't want to wake him but you're also dying inside

- The two of you go to the library to work but eventually get distracted so it turns into the two you sitting close together on a couch and reading each other sections from your favourite books

- I can also see him as someone who rambles about labs or new research he's absolutely taken by. Weeks later when you mention something he said before, he's a little surprised but you just tell him that you tried your best to understand everything because you know it's important to him and maybe his heart skipped a little

- Going off your headcanons: Albedo looking for little specimens and deciding it could be a fun outing with Klee so she can get some sunshine and you find the two of them in the park. You end up joining them and Albedo's heart softens seeing you and Klee laughing and smiling together!

- I remember this little headcanon you had where he snorts when laughing sometimes and imagine Albedo letting one slip out while he's with you, and Kaeya teasing him later on.

- Eventually, his friends start asking if the two of you are together because of the silent affection and teasing between the two of you. Albedo knows he likes you but he's scared a relationship will ruin everything and you're too important to lose even if it means he never says anything, but little did he know, you have feelings for him too.

Anyway, I hope you have a nice day and week! Sorry about this monster of an ask lmao

NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR ALBEDO

NEVER

Like... there are two characters that I seldom, if ever, turn down and that's my beloved Albedo and beloathed Scaramouche- If you don't want me to shut up about a topic??? Like just utter word vomit???? Bring them up. Bring them up, I dare you--

Okay okay okay okay now lemme just--

oops. 1.4k words. Enjoy your headcanon drabbles, courtesy of me being a hard simp for Albedo--

College au Albedo is pretty close to how he normally is! Brilliant, though having difficulties with making friends and keeping said friends, getting carried away with experiments (did you know if you're on good enough terms with the professors, they'll vouch for you so you can use the lab when there aren't classes using them?? Yeah)...so the friendship that you have with him is certainly the closest one he has.

It'd be the kind where you knock on his dorm or apartment door at 11:45pm with some takeout and your textbooks and he'll let you in without a second thought. You slip inside and settle on the floor next to the coffee table cross-legged, setting the food out as if you don't live a good walk away. He wasn't going to sleep any time soon anyway.

Like the kind of friendship where your hand instinctively slips into his to tug him towards something cool you found or to the café where you tend to go after classes.

Even after you get to your destination, you don't let go.

Now that that has been established--the little notes you slip into his bag or on his books really began as a little reminder. Despite his keen intellect, Albedo tends to easily forget things because his mind is always going onto the next thing. So, being the great friend you are, would just slip a note to remind him to take breaks, eat a snack, or that you're supposed to go and meet Sucrose and Timaeus after class to prep for the upcoming exams.

Neither of you really know when they began to turn into doodles or 'seemingly platonic declarations of adoration'. It's normal for friends to write a heart besides "Don't forget I love you!", right? Yeah.

The smile that makes it's way on Albedo's face is unmistakable the moment that Sucrose accidentally stumbles upon a sticky note carefully tucked in one of his notebooks.

-

Speaking of Albedo and his tendencies to get carried away with stuff, he often functions on...minimal sleep.

Those nights that you pop up at his place to study or just hang out, he often ends up dozing off, glasses sliding uncomfortably down the bridge of his nose and hair tousled out of it's usual style.

You never plan to stay the night (though even when he's awake he insists you do because it's not as safe at night to make the commute home), but you can't just disturb his sleep when it's the first time in a while that he's probably gone without taking a capsule or two of melatonin to help himself back into some semblance of a sleep schedule.

It's these moments that you remember just how soft his hair is and just how nice his shampoo smells.

Also that he's a cuddler.

You awake in the morning, back aching and eyes squinting against the sudden brightness of the world around you and limbs tangled with your best friend. He's unbothered because his face is half-shoved against the crook of your neck.

-

With the library, you often find yourselves in a little game. There's so much to learn and so, so many topics through the old vanilla-scent found between pages!!

So trips to the library end up with the two of you digging and sifting to find a topic you've never heard of, sit and read for 15 minutes, then proceed to explain said topic the best you can (without looking!!). It almost always ends up with a few chuckles from Albedo as you fumble explaining (and half-making up) information and Albedo's (unfairly) great short-term memory winning out.

Speaking of...between actually studying and your little topic games, Albedo turns to you to bounce off his current observations and ideas. Sucrose and Timaeus, though both in similar majors as Albedo, are busy with their own projects and research to the point that they don't really have the time to help with stuff as extensive as his research.

Annnnd, naturally, since you don't have anything better to do and are almost always by his side, you play that part!

You listen intently no matter how dense the subject may be and no matter if you do or do not have the background knowledge.

When you ask him to explain something you don't quite understand, he can't help but blink in surprise because you were listening??? And wanted to really understand? You prove time and time again (even days, weeks later) that you listened to every word that tumbled out during his rambles.

And of course you do! Albedo's one of the most important people to you, so it's only natural that you want to show interest in his interests.

Also it's pretty cool to find out those random bits of trivia (like lobsters and their repairable telomeres-).

--

Klee!!!

Oh man, the first time that you met Klee was a pretty hectic day for Albedo. Due to his Aunt Alice's incredibly busy schedule, he tends to care for Klee on days that he doesn't have class.

However, that particular day he just barely finished class before he had to go and pick her up from school.

With you in tow, that is.

Immediately, the little girl brightens up at your presence, no doubt excited from what she's heard about you (listening in to Albedo's conversations with Alice and the embarrassed tone in his voice when he realizes that he's let your name slipped again and now Aunt Alice wants to know about this particular friend who's captured dear little Bedo's attentions). He's relieved when Klee doesn't immediately reveal that.

From then on, Klee insists that Albedo invites you for every outing they have.

The cafe for a quick treat? The bookstore to sit and read a few books?

"Oh, please please please?? Can they come Albedo? Klee promises that she'll be good!"

Who is he to say no?

But above all, those park days are his favorite. You end up running around with Klee, lifting her up so she can reach a particular leaf on a branch, squatting down to see a bug or lizard that she's entirely enthralled by--all while Albedo sits under the shade of a tree on a blanket, sketchbook and pencil in hand.

You don't know it (even though there's many occasions where he's shown you his sketchbook), but the pages are filled with your smile.

-

Around you, Albedo's found that he's most comfortable.

There's no need to hide insecurities or hold his tongue when something particularly exciting comes to mind...nor does he hold back in his laughter. Especially with your insistence that his laugh is cute.

That scenario with Kaeya is entirely an accident, proof of just how used to your presence he's become.

It's a late night and you're out with a bigger group of friends than usual, some friends that Albedo's only known since the start of college, but definitely good ones.

With a drink in your hand you all sit at a large table, chatting about anything and everything when you crack a joke and Albedo snorts.

Not like a snort with his normally quiet chuckle, either.

Instead, he's laughing hard, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and stomach hurting (and maybe it's because of the few sips of drink he's had) and he snorts. The moment the sound escapes him and he's trying hard to calm back down, Kaeya grins.

He's most definitely one of the first people to put two and two together.

After all, Albedo keeps to himself, even around them. But with you around? There's a certain spark of life that ignites.

-

It's no surprise that the two of you are close when all is said and done.

But that doesn't stop either of you from choking and cheeks from flushing when someone asks if you're a couple. It happens often--too often to count--and ranges between Kaeya's teasing comments and a few sweet words from an elderly woman passing by your table at the cafe.

And you laugh--you and Albedo--because no, no, you're just friends.

Right?

Then the light hits your features just right, illuminating you in a soft glow that makes your eyes shine and--

It's undeniable the way that he feels for you. The sudden quickening of his heartbeat is proof enough. You slide your drink towards him for him to try and he does the same, eyes unable to leave your lips as you take a sip and then smile.

Between the cracks of his appreciation, of this warmth, dread seeps.

Though...that was just over a week ago.

Sitting down back at his apartment, your head resting on his chest and your hands intertwined while you watch whatever's on tv, you shift. Your lips meet in a sweet kiss.

And Albedo wonders how neither of you managed to see it sooner.

[drvrslcense]

you look like my girlfriend — t. holland

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pairing: tom holland x fem!reader

summary: tom comes home late from a night out with friend, drunk and it would be better if he'd let you change his clothes.

warnings: drunk! tom, mentions of vomit - lmk if i missed anything!

notes: happy birthday, tom! i don't really write for him anymore, but here's me revisiting almost two years later HSHAHA pls also note that i'm only using tom as a name and face claim and is in no way associated with him.

11:00pm.

You paced back and forth in your living room. Tom had promised he’ll be back by ten, so the two of you could welcome his birthday together. But unfortunately, it’s been an hour and still no sign of the love of your life - not even a text message that he’ll be late.

You were seriously starting to worry. You hadn’t seen him since the morning when the two of you were rushing out - him for his work, and you for your finals - promising each other you’ll be together later to also celebrate you finishing college.

The doorknob rattled, shaking you out of your thoughts.

You rushed to the door, opening it to find an innocently smiling Tom and a concerned Harrison on the back.

“Hi, baby, hi,” Tom greeted you, cupping your cheeks and pulling you in for a quick, sloppy kiss. He tasted of beer and you immediately pulled away, taking a look at his red-flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.

“We might have pushed him for a few drinks for his birthday,” said Haz, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“A few, Haz, really?” You let the two of them inside the apartment. Tom immediately went to the sofa, letting his head fall onto the arm rest and closing his eyes while Haz hung back by the door, standing awkwardly.

“Maybe a lot.”

“That much I gathered,” you commented, grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen. “Well, don’t just stand there. You’re our friend, you know. Make yourself comfortable.”

“That would be nice, but my girl’s waiting for me,” Haz shot you a grateful smile, nodding at you in farewell before letting himself out the door. “Tell him happy birthday from me.”

You sighed, looking at Tom’s figure, and wondering what to do. You could let him sleep there and wake up hungover. You could also leave him a glass of water and some aspirin, or you could stay up and wait until he throws up to coax him to change. Looking at his vomit-stained dress shirt, you figured he’d already done it on an alleyway out.

You walked over to him and gently shook his shoulder. “Babe, wake up. You have to change out of your clothes.”

“Shh, I’m sleeping,” Tom probably meant it as a mutter but it came out like a yell as his loud voice echoed around the silent apartment, making you jump. His arms were also shooing you away, you stepped to the side, trying to avoid being hit.

You tugged his hands, pulling him upwards, but the man proved to be heavy as all your actions did was pull you on top of him.

Startled, Tom immediately jumped up, pushing you away from him and letting you fall to the floor. “No, I have a girlfriend.”

A smile danced on your lips as his words registered to you, pulling you away from the irritation that was starting to seep in.

“Oh,” you feigned disappointment as you stood up and pulled at his shirt, unbuttoning it and trying not to wince as the slight smell of vomit hit you.

He pushed your hands away from him and stumbled away, grabbing onto the shelves beside him for support. “No! D-don’t touch me! My girlfriend won’t like this.” His face fell, and his eyes glossed over, looking as if he was going to cry. “Oh, man, Y/N. We’re supposed to celebrate together right now. What time is it? I need to be home.”

You glanced at the digital clock behind him, 11:30pm, it reads. You told him that and watched as he frowned and shook his head, buttoning his shirt up and clumsily rushing towards the door. “Tom, wait!”

You took hold of his hand and pulled him towards the bedroom. He fought back, of course, almost making you fall over again - but you gripped his hand tightly, locking the bedroom door once you entered.

“W-what are you doing?” Tom said as you took a seat beside him, opening his dress shirt and moving to take it off of him.

“Well, if you’re seeing your girl, she probably won’t like to see your vomit-stained shirt,” you told him, tossing the white shirt you’re holding to his face.

“I guess so.” Tom managed to put on the shirt himself, afterwards letting himself lay down on top of the queen-sized mattress the two of you picked out. “You know you kinda look like my girlfriend.”

You fought off a smile. “Really? How so?”

Tom sat up, taking a look at you. A finger of his reached out to your temple, drawing a line from your forehead to your jawline. “I don’t know. It’s just…you talk the same way. You’ve got the same hair, too,” he pushed back a strand that fell on your face. “You’ve got the same pretty eyes, and smile, too. That same bright smile that always gives me this warm feeling that I always wanted to be around - kind of like coming home from the gloomy weather to a warm house. She’s my home, you know? Oh god, she must be worried right now.”

You didn’t try to fight it this time as you smiled broadly. If it weren’t for the next thing that transpired, you would have kissed him then and there.

Tom tried to stand up, but tripped and fell back onto the bed, groaning as he took hold of his ankle.

“Wait here,” you told him as you immediately ran to the kitchen for an ice pack. You came back and saw him laying down on the bed and looking at the ceiling.

“Stars,” you heard Tom mumble. “Y/N used to have those glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling of her childhood bedroom. I loved looking at it when we’re at her house.”

“Oh, yeah?” You placed the ice pack on his ankle, gripping it tightly as he hissed from the cold and tried to pull his ankle away.

“Yeah,” Tom smiled hazily.

Silence ensued and you saw Tom falling asleep. Settling yourself beside him, he pushed you away. “I already told you; I have a girlfriend.”

“Somehow,” you laughed. “I don’t think they’ll mind.”

Tom shoves you away, making you fall to the floor for a second time. “You can’t sleep beside me, she won’t like that.”

Shooting Tom a bewildered smile and choosing not to argue with him, you yanked a blanket from him and took your place for the night.

Tom woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, and an aspirin and water on his bedside table. His feet hit your body as he slid out of bed, making you groan and wake up.

“What?” Tom furrowed his brows in confusion. “Why were you sleeping on the floor?”

“Because you love your girlfriend very much,” you stood up, placing a quick kiss on his lips, as you gathered your blanket.

“Well, I love you too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Happy birthday, you dumbass.”

tagging some of my tom mutuals who i love and adore up to this day: @hollandroos @wayfaring----stranger @tomhollandd @wanda-maximxff @neverlandparker @tomshufflepuff @afterglowparker @hollandsosterfield @londonspidey @ravenclawmarvel @angelhaz11 @risenfrommyimagination @pastelpeter @skymoonandstardust @keepingupwiththeparkers @sunshinehollandd

[watermelonlovershigh]

Harry's Daughter Rose Get's Sick on the One Direction Tour Bus (singledad!harry)

AN: so i turned this Single Dad Harry & His Daughter Rose (journey through life) into a series where i'll write blurbs and maybe a one shot here and there. people seem to love this story so i'm happy to write for it.

This story contains: puking, child crying, comfort

{ singledad!harry - Prince Harry (2014 ish) - Rose age 2 }

word count: 1104

Rose wakes up sick to her little tummy on the One Direction tour bus and Harry cleans her up and all his bandmates help him out and clean up the mess she made with her sick.

On the tour bus, Harry and Rose usually shared a bunk. She's so small that it isn't a big issue. But tonight, Rose was attached to Niall. She fell asleep on Niall's chest when her bedtime rolled around and when they tried to move her, she's just start whining and crying. So Niall told Harry that Rose could just sleep with him in his bunk for the night and Harry agreed.

Harry did think it was weird that Rose had been cranky through-out the day, but didn't put too much thought into it. She is going through her terrible two's after all. But when he's suddenly being woken up by a loud scream coming from Niall's bunk, her moodiness correlating to her terrible two's goes flying out the window. Something else is wrong.

Harry is quick to jump from his bunk and barley has time to let his eyes adjust to the lights before Niall screams, "Harry, oh God. Come ere'." Thinking Rose might be seriously hurt or worse, Harry paces to Niall's bunk and immediately is hit with the stench of vomit. Then he sees Niall gagging into his bare arm. Getting a closer look, Harry sees puke all over Niall's sheets and running down his left arm.

As soon as Rose sees her daddy, she screams a heartbreaking cry, "Daddy, daddy, daddy." making grabby hands. Harry's little girl is covered in her own sick and shook up from the entire experience presumably.

Without second thoughts, Harry reaches into Niall's bunk and lifts up Rose, not caring if he gets covered in throw up. "Shh my love, you alright? Was your tummy just hurting?" he soothingly asks his daughter, but she just tries to burry herself deeper into her daddy's body and wails a loud cry that has Louis, Liam, and Zayn awaking and coming out their bunks to see the commotion.

"Mate, why is she crying for?" Louis asks in a Donny accent but soon sees the scene in front of him and realizes Rose has just been sick.

When Liam sees what's happening, he's quick to say, "Harry, take her to the toilet (the bathroom) and I'll clean up her vomit." Liam has always been the responsible one and the one who does the jobs no one else is willing to do, so cleaning up a bit of sick isn't a problem for him. He's cleaned all of his bandmates sick at some point or another so he can handle a two year olds puke without any problems.

Zayn on the other hand is quick to get back into his bunk, not being able to handle throw up. Just like Niall except Niall got unlucky and was the one who got puked on. That's why Louis goes over to Niall and is trying to comfort him because he's trying not to be sick himself.

Harry walks into the mini bus bathroom holding Rose to his chest and shuts the door, giving them a bit of privacy. He tries to set her on the top of the counter but she refuses, grasping tightly around his neck. "Baby, is your tummy still hurting? I need to know so I can help you."

Rose lifts her head from Harry's shoulder and mumbles, "Yeah, it wrilly hurts daddy." Harry takes that as a sign to go in front of the toilet and kneel down, holding Rose over the bowl. She lets out a few grunting gags before expelling more puke out her tiny mouth. Harry winces at the sight because he hates to see his daughters so sick. It breaks his heart.

Out of the bathroom, Louis has helped Niall clean the vomit off his arm and side, in the mini kitchen on the bus. And Liam has striped Niall's sheets and disinfected the walls and what puke that got on the floor. Zayn is laying in his bunk on his phone, trying to distract himself from what's happening around him.

Rose finally stops throwing up and Harry strips her clothes off, as well as his own (he left his boxers on), and stepped into the buses shower. He cleans them off and removes all puke that got on their bodies. The whole time, Rose wouldn't let go of her daddy. Almost as if he would disappear any second which is far from the truth.

Liam brings them two towels and searches through Roses' luggage to find her some clean sleep ware. He also brings Harry some dry boxers and has managed to put new sheets on Niall's bed. By the time Harry and Rose leave the bus bathroom all fresh and clean, everyone else was settling back into their designated bunks, ready to resume their sleep.

When Harry approaches his bunk, he sees where Liam was kind enough to leave a bucket on the floor beside his bed incase Rose needed to be sick again. Harry slips into his bunk with his daughter Rose to his chest, and holds her into his body heat. Her eyes slowly shuts by the seconds that pass.

When fully laying back down, Harry whispers to his baby girl, "If your tummy starts hurting again, please tell daddy alright. I have a bucket you can use. I love you my darling."

She mutters back, "Wove you." not being able to pronounce her L's very well. Harry gives her wet, clean curls a kiss and rubs his hand over her bony back, hoping to help her fall asleep easier. The covers are pulled up over their bodies and her tiny face is stuffed into Harry's shoulder length, damp hair.

The next day when they awoke, Rose was fine and they never figured out why she got sick in the night. Harry thanked his bandmates and friends for helping out with his daughter because he knows for a fact he wouldn't be able to have done it alone. Single parenting is hard, but even harder when you're on a tour bus and traveling all the time. They always step in and help with Rose when needed and he couldn't me more grateful for the people in his life.

(just edited this at 2 am so sorry for mistakes. this is my last fic before i leave my house to evaluate for the hurricane, so peace out and enjoy)

Masterlist (regular smut, fluff & sicfics)

My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

Harry Styles Series One Shots Masterlist (for my one shots that go with a series universe)

Harry Styles blurbs, concepts, & short stories Masterlist- (short writing with little to no dialog)