#i’m sleep deprived j need to wake up in four hours

[nerdimpact]

i love this child

[mayaflowerxs]

hi there! can you do nsfw a-z for hendery? thank you! <3

NSFW Alphabet w/ Hendery

Warning: Smutty!

A/N: Thank u for the request hope you enjoy!

Aftercare:

He’s alllll for aftercare. Even if he’s not there with you and are doing phone sex he still does it. He’s asking you if you’re okay, to go get cleaned up, get some rest, eat and take a few minutes to yourself. If he went too hard on you he tends to stay with you whether it’s on the bed cuddling or just flat out following you to make sure you’re not having a hard time walking or doing any other activities that’s requiring you to move. Your safety means the world to him so even when you tell him you’re fine he won’t stop budging. At one point I can see him brushing you off and sending you to the couch or bed while he cleans and fixes the place up.

Body Part:

Not really a body part but he loves your hair. He loves tugging your hair just as much as he loves his being tugged.

Cum:

In any hole really. Hendery is just a sucker to see you full of him. He doesn’t like it splattered on you because he’s convinced it’s being wasteful and he may or may not have a breeding kink 😶

Dirty secret:

He has an oral fixation. Like the dude is literally in love with eating you out and sometimes it can get too much for you when you two get intimate. He can’t help it he loves it so much but won’t show it because he thinks you might get annoy of him constantly attacking your pussy :( so when you two do get handsy he seriously does not hold back at all. If he gets to a point where he has you practically sobbing then so be it but he’s not going to back off until he’s for sure done with you (if that’s what you’re into)

Experience:

I see him as experienced. Had a partner here and there and definitely went past making out. But oh boy they just didn’t hit the way you do. Everything he always wanted to try out was with you which is why it’s all the more special. Because you’re so accepting that he grows more and more confident in pleasuring you.

Favorite position:

Definitely doggy and cowgirl. He needs to be in charge. Now when you’re in cowgirl he never once has you think you’re in charge. I see him as one who’s very dominant behind all that goofiness. He’ll have you leaned down on his chest, an arm around your neck and the other around your waist as he relentlessly pounded into your fucked out cunt. Not holding back until every last drop is deeply stuffed in.

Goofy:

Okay he’s definitely goofy in the beginning. He’ll crack a hole here and there and overall just make it all the more comfortable. But as soon as the first moan leaves one of your guys mouth he’s inner dom comes out and no more Hendery now you’re face with Kunhang.

Hair:

Honestly it’s one or the other. No I’m between he’s a pretty confident man so he won’t worry whether he still keep it nice and trimmed to bare. If he wants to leave it as is he will and same goes for you. He literally does not mind what you do with your girl down there as long as he’s stilling tapping it it’s literally all that matters to him smh.

Intimacy:

The only time there’s real intimacy is if you two have been away for a long time. Missing you so much just as has him wrapped around you the entire time. And when you two are climaxing he’s pressing kisses to your shoulder, temple, lips anywhere silencing telling you, you did a good job and he loves you so so much.

Jerk off:

Oh yeah. He does it quite often. The boy literally is a puppy who grew attachment issues. He tends to miss your touch and presence and eventually that longing turns into sexual frustration that he just can’t tame. Kinda surprised how he still hasn’t been caught cuz of how often he does it especially since he shares his room. He loves to jerk off with you, so phone sex is a must.

Kink:

The biggest breeding kinker. Bondage. Those are his go to but he’s up for anything. Nothing is ever a routine when it comes to him he always has to try something new, nothing to big of a new but just something to spice things up. So things like choking, he grew fond of that as well. He also tried using ice but it only irritated him because the ice wouldn’t stop sliding down so that was a big turn off for him which only resulted in him taking out his frustration on you, annoyed that it didn’t work out to well but hey you didn’t mind. You got fucked by a frustrated Hendery that’s a pretty win win for you.

Location:

Okay hear me out, Hendery is literally in denial when it comes to this. But the man can literally do it ANYWHERE. Just with the right amount of edging and or sexual tension is why gets him to snap. Usually when his mind isn’t going fuzzy and he’s not in a lustful state he won’t even think to the idea of taking you in a public restroom. Or fucking you in the car in a parking lot filled with other cars. But as soon as you begin to tease him or whisper him how much you need him he slowly starts turning into the dommy man you oh so love just like his regular self and before you know it you’re coming back home with a slight limp.

Motivation:

How lost you get. You will be minding your own business but won’t notice how every move you’re making is a bit more seductive to Hendery’s eyes. He snaps as soon as you flash him that ‘innocent’ smile at him and that’s when he has you pinned. He also loves how confident you get, when you’re in the mood you don’t hold back. Already on a mission to tag Hendery’s whereabouts and pounce on him. Seriously ends up falling more in love with you when he’s all of a sudden gets dragged away from his activities and pushed onto a surface to lay or sit on. Biting his lip as you begin to attack him in kisses. Yeah he’s a goner right then and there.

No:

Honestly Hendery says no to anything he considers not that fun or interesting. Like the ice, won’t ever do that again what a waste of time and ice.

Oral:

My god YES. He loves you sucking him but usually he gets impatient because he’s the one who wants to eat you out. Might get a bit selfish because you like oral too so he might take up your time just so that he gets to work on you. The boy literally loves eating pussy he can go for hours and not get tired. Though eventually it gets too much your hands are pushing at his head and legs desperately trying to shut, hot tears running down your cheek by how sensitive you’re getting. Close to seeing spots.

Pace:

He has a good pace. Not too fast or slow, doesn’t stop often nor does he pound into you continuously without break. He knows exactly what pace to go which is right in the middle of it all which is what gets you to cum hard. His pace reflects on his thrusts and stamina and when all three come together he gets his baby happily pleasured which is all that matters to him.

Quickies:

Into it definitely. Hendery is overall a sex addict. That’s the truth. And the thing is he does good when you’re not around, for some time. But once your in view, in arms length or just the mention of your name is an instant click in his brain to desperately fuck you to tomorrow. Always before practice, after concerts, before grocery shopping. Hell he might even drag you to the bathroom and fuck you while you two were in the middle of shopping. He’s all for it and he’s not ashamed of it.

Risk:

Doesn’t give a fuck. Quite frankly he wishes someone catches you two in the act. Just the mere thought already has him climaxing so hard. Just seeing the shocked face of someone catching him fucking you balls deep is probably a deep desire of his. Like I said earlier this man can fuck you anywhere and won’t care who can see.

Stamina:

This boy has such a high sex drive he’s learned how to keep a high stamina. Hell even after you two are finished he still might have some energy he still needs to let off but never acts upon it because he sees how tired and worn out you are he just no longer has the heart to keep you going. You already did so much for him his needs can wait.

Toys:

Yes! I see Hendery as secretly kinky so using toys is a must for him. He’ll mostly use them to edge you on, yes he might like using them but he will never have a toy make you cum. If anything only he can, not even a toy shall do that to you. I also see him as the type to have lots of phone sex with you and have you use them but as soon as you’re close to cumming he’ll demand you to get rid of em and use your fingers to finish you off.

Unfair:

It’s a 50/50 for him. Usually he likes to tease you but not for long. He’s not the biggest fan of not giving you what you want.

Volume:

I feel like he’s one who’s kinda shy to show you his sounds of pleasure when you first go out but the more he gets comfortable and the more you reassure him he gets more vocal. Now that doesn’t mean he’s the loudest mf, I feel like he is only ever loud when he hits the spot to the point where his fingers are practically leaving a bruise on you by how good it feels. But other than that he’ll most likely grunt and have heavy breathing. Sweat running down his forehead which is what gets you going and have you get him to grunt louder when you either ride him faster or squeeze around him.

Wildcard:

When he plays video games with the boys he tends to have you on his lap throughout the game. Cock warming is his absolute favorite. He treats it like a challenge. How long can he have you on his lap without fucking you and usually it lasts around four rounds until he’s saying goodbye and fucking you from behind. Letting all his sexual needs on to you who is currently shaking his desk top like crazy.

X-ray:

Feel like he’s a bit over average. I feel like he’s more long than girthier but doesn’t mean it’s skinny as hell. Don’t get it twisted the boy be packing no doubt.

Yearning:

The man craves for you literally all the time. The only time he doesn’t yearn for you is if scheduling is kicking his ass and he’s too sleep deprived to even eat properly. Even then he might make it up by having lazy sex with you as soon as he wakes up. You guys have sex pretty regularly, if anything it’s a lot than regularly. You must have some nice working birth control because man with all these rounds and you’re still not knocked up. Only making it a challenge for Hendery to succeed in. And let me tell you once he challenges himself he most definitely succeeds.

Zzz:

Hendery is either or. It’s either he’s so worn out of his energy he falls asleep or he still has some energy left and uses that to clean up and yourselves. Usually because of how much he puts you through you’ll be the one knocked out so he’ll probably distract himself by playing the drums or doing what Hendery usually does.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Caught In The Act ~ JJK [M] [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 2.4K

↬↬↬Genre: Fluffy, soft smut, fluffy smut

↬↬↬Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

↬↬↬A/N: Hope this is okay for you love!!

When Bighit first invited you to go and surprise Jungkook you were surprised, over the years of you dating they'd never really expressed their approval of your relationship but they didn't exactly disapprove either but it was still a little shocking for them to come to you and ask you to go and see him. You and Jungkook had been together for five years and your relationship was out to everyone, mostly everyone adored you and accepted that you made Jungkook happy but, there were a select few who didn't like you which was understandable. You were dating Jungkook, someone they loved very dearly, you knew that they just wanted to make sure he was happy even if it meant not liking you.

Jungkook and the boys were filming another season of Bon Voyage in Australia and had another week left to celebrate instead of filming for Jungkook and Namjoon's birthday. BigHit knew you wanted to do something with Jungkook every year for his birthday but he was usually with them and kept busy. His manager was the one who came to you first with the idea, they were going to fly you out and put you up in a hotel room where they'd be sending Jungkook in.

"The boys will be up in about three hours, we have some final shots to do for the show and then he's all yours," Sejin said as he walked you up to the hotel room, he handed you the spare keycard and smiled at you. He'd always been the one to express his approval of the relationship, he'd helped you and Jungkook out when you had to date in secret thanks to the contracts that they had.

"Thank you," You bowed as he walked out of the hotel room door, you walked further inside and the place was like it's own mini apartment. There was a sofa in the main area, a minibar and a fridge. Then there was a bed behind the sofa and a small door leading into the en-suite. You pushed your suitcase into the wardrobe promising yourself to unpack it before you had a shower - you wanted to freshen up before Jungkook came upstairs and found you. None of the boys had any idea that you were there with them so it was going to be an extra surprise for everyone. You got along great with all of the boys, you had to after knowing them for five years you were the closest with Jin and Yoongi though as they seemed like older brothers to you the best.

Stepping into the bathroom the bright white lights on the ceiling came on automatically and lit up the entire bathroom, again it was about half of the size of the main room itself. There was a huge corner bathtub with jets, a walk-in shower - with jets and then the sink was composed of four marble-topped counters lined up in front of floor to ceiling mirrors. It was stunning and you'd never be able to afford this place in this lifetime or the next.  

"Whoa," You whispered as you walked past the toilet and the lid opened automatically, this place was like something from the future and you couldn't wait to get into the shower and use it. You'd been on a long flight and all you wanted to do was snuggle down in the sheets with Jungkook but tonight you had a meal in the Hotel restaurant with him, the boys and manager Sejin which you needed to start getting ready for. You rushed back into the hotel room and began unpacking everything into the wardrobe.

Jungkook groaned as he reached his floor, he was struggling to keep his eyes open due to the early morning he and the boys had had that day. They'd been driving back to the hotel for the last 5 hours, it had been fun but now he was exhausted and ready to get into bed. He wanted to get into bed, sleep away the next week so he could go home and get to you. He'd missed you and your shared apartment with your puppy - you'd gotten a dog from the boys when they heard you mention how you wanted a baby once. Deciding it would be better fitting for you to both get a dog instead of having kids just yet.

He swiped his card on the door and walked inside running his hands over his face as he dropped his stuff onto the floor,

"Hi, there baby, good day at work?" You asked casually from the bed, you were laying down watching TV when he came into the room.

"Yeah but I'm tired, I'm gonna have a shower and then go to sleep." He answered walking into the bathroom casually as if he knew that this was normal. You began counting on your fingers from the second the bathroom door closed until the second it shot back open and he came bounding over to you.

"You're here?!" He yelled wrapping his arms around you and looking at you,

"I am,"

"You're actually here?!" He yelled pulling away from the hug and putting your face in his hands, he began turning your head from side to side as if to make sure you were real and not some sleep deprivation hallucination he was seeing.

"yes Kookie, I'm here. Sejin flew me out," You giggled as he looked at you in the eyes, he smiled at you. He was no longer tired and aching form the drive, he was full of energy and began kissing you all over your face. He did this every time he came back from tour or filming. He'd kiss every inch of your face and not stop until you ended up pushing him away.

"Will you go and shower, we have dinner in an hour and I'm starving. I haven't had anything since the flight." You pushed him off the bed and he walked backwards into the bathroom, holding eye contact with you the entire time. He was terrified you were just going to somehow magically disappear from right in front of him.

"You big dork! Will you get ready?!" You threw a pillow in his direction but he pulled the bathroom door closed before it had a chance to come into contact with him. As annoying and dorky as he was you'd missed being able to spend every waking moment with him, being able to walk up to him and cuddle him whenever you wanted.

The whole thing was Jungkook's idea, he was going to go and sit down with the boys first and you were just supposed to walk up to the table and sit down like there was nothing wrong with it.

"Did you get me a drink yet baby?" You asked running your hand down Jungkook's chest before sitting down next to him and Taehyung who was staring at you like you'd grown a second head. You tapped his chin gently to make him close his mouth,

"Close your mouth sweetie, you're catching flies." You teased winking at him and taking the wine that was sitting in front of him. All of them stared at you as you casually sat there reading through the menu that was in front of you.

"What?" You giggled looking up at Jimin who was blinking at you and trying to think of something to say,

"Guys?" Jungkook chuckled looking at them as they stared at you, you smiled and waved your hand before telling Jungkook what you wanted to eat.

"When did you get here?" Jin questioned looking down at his menu, he'd been the only one not to gawk at you from across the table.

"Manager Sejin flew me over, I got here five hours ago." You smiled at him and he smiled back at you,

"Cake in my room later to celebrate his birthday?" You nodded, you knew that they held a VLive for his birthday every year so that he could spend time with the fans,

"I'll be the camerawoman." You told them, adding that you would only do it if you got a bigger slice of cake instead of Jungkook.

"Mmm Kookie, we can't." You whined out as he kissed down your neck, you'd gone back up to your hotel room to change out of the dress you were wearing and he attached himself onto your neck like an octopus. Sucking and leaving bright marks all over your skin as you tried to get changed into some sweatpants and a t-shirt,

"I've missed you, I can't help it." He moaned out to you, you'd be lying if you said you hadn't missed him too but you were expected downstairs in Jin's room in ten minutes.

"You have a vlive to attend." You whispered as he began kissing up your neck and to your lips once again, as soon as your lips connected you lost the battle you were fighting with yourself and you threw your arms around his neck letting him lead you over to the bed and lay you down.  

"I'll be quick, I've just missed you so much," He whispered to you as he pulled down his jeans, you hissed as you felt his cold hands come into contact with your thighs, he pulled down your panties and threw them somewhere in the room.

"I missed you too baby," You wiggled further onto the bed while he took off his jeans and came to join you.

"I love you," He told you as he kissed you once again, it was like it started a fire inside of you and you needed him badly,

"I love you too." You whispered as he pulled away from you, you'd been on the pill so there was no need to go hunting for condoms right now and ruin the moment. He looked down at you with lust in his eyes,

"Jungkook please, we don't have long." You begged him and he ran his hand up your leg and teased you with his fingers. You moaned out and he attached his lips onto yours smirking as he felt you growing wetter beneath him. Your hands reached to tug at his shirt and he hummed at you pulling away from the kiss to remove it. Within seconds you were both laying naked on the bed and making out, it was a slow and sensual makeout and you moaned as he ran his fingers over your folds again, there was no questioning if you were ready for him. You took your hand and licked it before slowly starting to pump him in your hand, he growled lowly moving his hips a little into your hand just to get it the way he liked.

He lined himself up at your entrance and glanced down at you asking for permission - as if he needed it. You told him he could take you anywhere and anytime he wanted but he always asked because he was a gentleman like that. He slowly pushed himself inside of you as he connected your lips, your back arched as you felt him hit your hilt.

"J-Jungkook," You moaned out as he held himself in place, it'd been a while since you'd last spent time like this together, he kissed you calmly while he waited for you to adjust to his size,

"M-move," You whispered looking up into his eyes telling him that it was okay for him to move now, he slowly pulled out of you before pushing back in and you moaned out as he began to pick up a little speed. Nothing too much as he wanted this to be special...ish - you were on a time limit right now.

"Aish Jagiya, you're so tight." He grunted as you clenched around him every time he hit your g-spot, you whined out over and over again with every thrust. You wrapped your legs around his waist to hold him closer to you and bring him deeper and he moaned out as he reached deeper parts of you.

Taehyung was reading through the comments while he waited for you and Jungkook to come up but you were taking too long,

"He's coming, he's just busy tonight and we're all really tired. Shall I go and get him?" He chuckled seeing everyone answering yes so he took the spare card and headed down to his room, being quiet in the hallways as he walked there. Whispering to Army as they asked him questions on the screen, he was trying to keep up with them all but the chat was insane just like it always was.

"We should knock, right?" But instead, he unlocked the door and headed inside without knocking or letting you both know he was entering the room, luckily the camera had been on him the entire time and you and Jungkook were so lost together that you hadn't noticed.

"He's in the shower, we should go wait back in my room." Taehyung walked back out of the room not turning around so that the camera could catch you both.

"S-Shit," You whimpered as you heard the door close, Jungkook's eyes widened in fear as he looked down at you and then over at the door. No one was there so he smirked at you resuming his slow thrusts into you, kissing you slowly as he felt himself getting closer to his release.

"I'm close Jungkook," You moaned out as he pulled away from the kiss, he nodded at you to let you know he was too.

"Me too baby." Your hands tangled into his hair and you cried out as he thrust deeply into you,

"J-Jungkook!" You whimpered as you came around him, your legs tightened around him and he grunted as he released into you.

"Ugh fuck baby," He moaned out holding himself still inside of you as he came down from his high.

When you headed up to Jin's room he was talking to the camera while Taehyung sat on the bed looking traumatised.

"The birthday boy!" Jin yelled out, you darted out of the way of the camera and went to sit next to Taehyung who was now turning a bright red colour the longer you looked at him.

"You okay?" You whispered and he avoided eye contact with you, Jin looked at you both and handed you the camera so he could stand with Jungkook and interview him. Jimin smirked at you from across the room and made a vow to start teasing you and Jungkook about it as soon as the cameras were off. 

Tagline: 

@writingdreamsnottragedies @snowy-meowl @jooniesdarlingdimples @lyoongx @fan-ati--c @mitzwinchester​ @callingmyangel​ @rjsmochii​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​

[dontcare77ghj]

Fears

Natasha x reader x Steve x Tony

The Maximoff twins had changed sides. When you and the team first met the kids, they had been a hassle. Pietro, the speedster, had quite literally run laps around the team as he caused chaos on the field. He had been more annoying than dangerous, almost like a small child. His sister, Wanda, on the other hand, was a much larger issue than her brother.

Wanda was dangerous.  She ran on anger, and her goal was revenge. 

She wanted revenge on Tony. Retribution on his company and their weapons. And maybe, more importantly, revenge on the world for what had happened to her family. Her powers were erratic. Terrifying if you wanted to be honest. 

After Ultron's true motives had come to light, the twins changed allegiance. Pietro had, unfortunately, died during the battle of Ultron, another member of Wanda's family lost. Yet the girl knew what she wanted to do next. She didn't want revenge for Pietro. Wanda needed to avenge his death.  And the best way she could do that was to join the Avengers.

After the unfortunate incident with Wanda's powers, the team had forgiven her. They each understood what it was like to make bad decisions or decisions under duress, and she was a child.

Though you could forgive the girl, it was harder to let go of what she had done to you. Especially since it was not only affecting you but your partners as well.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Tony asked, causing you to jump.

"Fuck, Tony. You're going to give me a heart attack." You cursed, pressing your and against your chest.

"Aren't I lucky I scared you before you drank that coffee then?" He asked, gesturing to the pot in your hand. "Tell me you aren't going to drink straight from that pot because Steve will kill me for imprinting my 'bad habits' onto you."

"He didn't call it a bad habit, he called it an unhealthy habit." You smiled at him.

"Bad, unhealthy, same thing." Tony shrugged, moving closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Don't think I didn't notice you're dodging the question."

"I'm not dodging anything." You denied, putting a hand on his. "I just didn't answer the question."

"Uh-huh," Tony smirked. "You do know it's one in the morning, correct? Coffee isn't really for this time of day."

"Like you can talk." You scoffed, pulling out of his hold. "You drink more coffee than anyone I've ever met." You said as you grabbed a mug, a large one at that.

"That's not true." Tony denied. "Katniss drinks at least two cups more than I do a day." He said, causing you to laugh. "I thought you were asleep with Steve and Nat?"

"I was, and now I'm not." You said, filling the mug to the brim.

"We've been together how long?" Tony asked you.

"Two years, three months if I'm not mistaken. Want a cup?" You raised the pot at him.

"Thanks, babe." Tony nodded. "We've been together for two years, and I don't think I've ever seen you drink black coffee." He commented.

"I've never wanted to stay awake before." You murmured, handing him his mug.

"Are you finally ready to join me as an insomniac?" Tony smirked.

"No, I'm not going to join you. It's just for tonight. I hope." You added the last part quietly. 

"Okay, serious talk time," Tony said, putting his mug down. "Talk to me. You've been rattled since Ultron. You can tell me what's going on."

"I don't think I can." You whispered, not looking at him.

"You sneak out of bed without waking Nat or Steve, but you can't tell me this?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Exactly." You swallowed harshly. "Please, Tone, don't push me. I can't. Not right now." You whispered, blinking away tears.

"Okay, okay. I won't push." Tony said, moving forward and pulling you into his arms. "I'm here when you're ready. However long that is. Until then you can stay up with me, and we'll watch movies. Drink. Train, whatever you want."

"Can we go to the lab? I wouldn't mind seeing you in your element." You said, looking up at the man.

"That's my girl." Tony smiled. "Come on, I've got some gadgets you can play with."

Non-reader POV

Y/N's one night was a lie. Over the next week, she remained awake, refusing to sleep for longer than an hour a night. 

She didn't mention it to anyone, but Tony knew. 

Tony also knew who else wasn't sleeping.

"I'm going to have to tell Tasha her games off," Tony commented, leaning against a wall. "If you can sneak out of bed, she's gotta be missing other things."

"Christ, Tony," Steve grunted as he jumped in surprise and was almost hit with the punching bag. "Give a man a little warning."

"I'm getting better at sneaking up on people," Tony smirked, stepping forward. "If memory serves, you have training in four hours. It's not like you to be up at three in the morning."

"Couldn't sleep," Steve admits, going back to hitting the bag. "Been having nightmares."

"I know. It's not just you. I know Nat's been having them, and Y/N too." Tony said, watching the blonde's reactions. 

"Really?" Steve asked, stilling the bag for a minute. "How did I not notice that?"

"Well, Y/N has gotten really good at avoiding being caught, and Nat's a spy. Or ex-spy, either way.  It's all about timing." Tony commented. "I've programmed JARVIS to let me know when one of you wakes up."

"I'm going to call that sweet because I think it's supposed to be." Steve dryly chuckled.

"It is." Tony nodded. "It's time for me to play the part of the therapist again. I'm getting really good at this lately." He said, stepping towards the man until he was right in front of him. "What's happening in here?" Tony asked, tapping Steve's temple lightly.

"Too much." Steve sighed. "There's too much happening." He repeated, sagging slightly.

"Alright, come on. Sit down and talk with me." Tony said, guiding Steve to a bench. "It'll help you, and it'll help my neck."

"It's because you're so short." Steve managed a smile.

"Okay, I will only allow that because you're sleep-deprived, but you only get one short comment, and you just used it," Tony told him. "Want to tell me about the nightmares? Specifics or otherwise?"

"Not really." Steve murmured, avoiding eye contact. "Don't want anyone to know."

"I'm going to steal a line from my therapist here but, they're just dreams, Stevie. Just dreams. Even if it's a memory, it's still a dream. It can't hurt you unless you let it hurt you." Tony said, taking both the man's hands.

"That sounded really good, Tony. Maybe you should think about becoming a therapist." Steve said after a minute, causing Tony to laugh.

"Yeah, I know I'm the most comforting asshole in this Tower." He chuckled. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me about it?" He asked again.

"Sure. At least for now." Steve told him. "Thank you for being here."

"Of course." Tony smiled before jumping to his feet. "Right, I'm awake, and you're awake. We're in the training room, so let's train. Teach me how to throw a punch." Tony said, making his way to the punching bags.

"With pleasure, Tone." Steve smiled, standing up and standing behind the brunette.

"I know you're there, Tony," Natasha said without turning. "You've gotten better, but you're not that good yet." She added with a small smile.

"I'll keep training. One day I'll get you." Tony commented, standing next to her at the barre. "Should I ask if you'll tell me what's keeping you up?"

"You can." Natasha nodded, continuing her stretching. "But I'm not going to tell you. Not right now."

"Then I won't ask," Tony said, causing her to stop.

"You won't?" She confirmed, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"Nope." Tony verified. "I barely got anything out of Y/N or Steve, I know I won't get anything out of you unless you want to tell me."

"They both think they're so sneaky." Natasha chuckled. "Steve thinks neither of us hears him tripping over shoes and crashing into the wall."

"He's not the most graceful of men." Tony agreed with a fond smile.

"Y/N is better. She takes about five minutes to crawl out of bed and another five to leave the room." Natasha continued. "What a group we are, we all think we're doing so well."

"To be fair, I'm probably doing the best out of all of us," Tony said, raising his hands.

"Tony, you've slept three hours this week," Natasha stated, staring into the man's eyes. "You're not the only one who talks to JARVIS."

"Damn it, J," Tony muttered.

"You haven't been this bad since New York," Natasha said, stepping forward. 

"I've never seen the three of you like this." Tony countered. "You've always been the put together ones in this relationship."

"Don't feel so put together now," Natasha mumbled. "I feel like a mess if I'm being honest."

"One of the prettiest messes I've ever seen." Tony smiled, taking her face in his hands.

"I don't like this, Tony," Natasha said, and at that moment, she looked more vulnerable than Tony had ever seen her. "I can get over my normal nightmares easily, but I can't get over this."

"No one's forcing you to 'get over' this, Nat," Tony told her. 

"I am," Natasha whispered. "I'm supposed to be stronger than this."

"You are the strongest person I know," Tony said. "And you're one of the bravest. But sometimes you have to let yourself breathe. Sometimes you need to allow yourself to feel fear."

"Maybe you should take over Steves's pre-mission speeches." Natasha laughed, resting her forehead on Tony's.

"Nah, got to give Steve something to do." Tony shook his head, causing the woman to laugh again. "I should leave you to it," Tony said, knowing Natasha wouldn't dance in front of him.

"Tony," Natasha murmured. "Do you want to stay?" She whispered.

"I'd be glad to." Tony smiled, taking a seat on the floor.

Reader POV

"Tony, what's going on?" You asked as he pulled you into your shared bedroom. Where Natasha and Steve were sat on the bed, waiting patiently.

It had been two weeks since you'd last properly slept, and it was currently three in the morning.

"We're all having a meeting." He said, sitting you next to Natasha.  "It's been two weeks. None of us have slept in two weeks, and we all know it but haven't acknowledged it."

"We've acknowledged it," Natasha said.

"We just haven't done anything about it." You added.

"And we need to. This is going to sound so hypocritical coming from me, but you're all making yourselves sick." Tony stated. "None of you are sleeping, you're all having nightmares, and you all have unhealthy coping mechanisms."

"You're right, that did sound really hypocritical." Steve nodded.

"And I think I know why." Tony continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Wanda played with all of our heads. Showed us our worst nightmares, and we never did anything about it. Never talked about it."

"You want to talk about it?" You asked him slowly. 

"Our worst nightmares?" Natasha added.

"I don't know if you understand what that means, Tone." Steve shook his head. "We have been together for a long time. And there's a part of me that thinks if we don't talk about it, we won't be together much longer. I can't lose any of you." Tony admitted.

"Tony's right." Natasha sighed. "Maybe it's time to lighten the load."

You and Steve shared a look before you nodded. 

"So, who's going first?" You questioned.

"Wanda showed me what would happen if we lost the war," Steve admitted. "The world was nothing more than ash and rubble. And there were markers on the ground. For Bruce, Thor, Clint, Fury, all of yours. I lost and, then you all lost."

"But Steve, you didn't lose," Natasha assured him, taking his hand. "You won the war."

"There were so many times I could've screwed up though. So many. And I don’t want to be the reason anyone dies.” Steve said, squeezing her hand back. “Who’s next?” He asked after a minute.

“She showed me something similar.” Tony said. “Everyone was dead. Everyone. But you all kept saying I could’ve done more. Should’ve done more. That it was my fault you all died. Because I didn't save you. That’s why I built Ultron. I wanted to protect you all. What a mess of that I made.” He chuckled.

“You didn’t mess anything up.” You said, making him look at you. “You wanted to do the right thing. It just didn’t go the way you wanted and that’s okay.”

“She’s right, Tony.” Steve nodded. “Ultron was a mistake.”

“Okay someone else go, please.” Tony begged.

“Clint brought me to SHIELD, but he never explained how he found me.” You stuttered. “I didn’t know what I was, all I knew was that I hurt people and I couldn’t do that. I was going to kill myself. I had a noose around my neck, and Wanda took me back to that. You were all there, cheering as I hung. No-one came to save me that time.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Steve cooed, pulling you into his lap. “That would never happen.”

“Absolutely not.” Natasha agreed as she took one of your hands.

“You don’t feel like that anymore do you, Y/N?” Tony asked. “You don’t want to kill yourself?”

“No, I don’t.” You gave him a weak smile. “Haven’t wanted to for two years.”

“I think it’s my turn now.” Natasha sighed after a period of silence. “I was back in the red room. Target practice day. I was alone in the room except for the bagged targets. I knew the rules were to shoot, so I did. The bags were gone by the time the targets fell to the ground and I realized they were you all. I didn’t kill you on accident, I did it because I was following orders. It made me think that I have no place in the world.”

“Your place is here.” Tony said, taking a seat on her other side. “With us.”

“You’re not alone, Nat.” You added, squeezing her hand tightly. “You never have to follow orders like that again.”

“What a group we are.” Steve chuckled humorlessly. “All scared because we didn’t communicate with one another.”

“I blame the sleep deprivation.” You smiled.

“Oh sleep.” Tony groaned. “That word sounds like a forgotten dream.”

“We do still have night hours left.” Natasha commented. “Why not use them to the best of our abilities?”

“Are you sure?” You asked the woman.

“I think we’ve bared our souls enough to finally sleep. And if not, we’re all going to be together.” Natasha reasoned. “I think we’ll be fine.”

“You what, I think you’re right.” Steve smiled. “Tony, Y/N?”

“I’m willing to try.” You said.

“Well then,” Tony stood, clapping his hands. “I think it’s time we get some shut up. JARVIS do not disturb protocol please.” He said as you all became climbing under the covers.

“Of course sir.” Came the reply as you all drifted off. 

For the first time in two weeks you all slept through the night, and well into the next day. With no nightmares plaguing any of you.

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[solllaris]

retrograde — 01

↳ here.

PAIRING: Frat!Tom / Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: It takes some convincing, but you ultimately agree to go to a frat party and are pushed out of your comfort zone in more than one way.

WARNINGS: language, underage drinking, anxiety/panic attacks, & insecure thoughts

WORDS: 5874 

NOTE: This series is my baby so please be nice. The reader’s fears and anxieties are basically a reflection of my own, so posting this makes me feel super vulnerable. There were many moments I seriously considered deleting everything I had made for this series because I was too afraid to put myself out there like this, but obviously I didn’t. I really want the reader’s story to help someone or make them feel like they’re not alone because anxiety can make you feel so isolated at times. So to the person reading this right now, to the person with anxiety or depression or whatever: You are not alone. You will never be alone. And I hope this story shows you that somehow. 

          series masterlist — masterlist — add yourself to my taglist!

Tortoise shell glasses the color of honey inched their way down the bridge of your nose again and you would’ve been greatly annoyed if your glazed-over eyes weren’t focused on the large plastic cup of coffee on the table. Fingers still tensed and poised over the laptops keyboard, your attention had shifted for the millionth time to the dark browns streaking through the blonde colored liquid at the bottom and your fried out brain was mesmerized by it. Anything was more intriguing than the open, half-way completed book review on your computer screen where the blinking cursor taunted you from the corner of your eye. At your wits end, you turned away completely with a groan that you stifled with a hopefully motivating gulp of your iced cold brew swirled with caramel.

Shoving the frames further up your nose where they belonged, you nursed the straw of your coffee between your tongue and teeth and glanced briefly about the room. The Learning Commons was fairly full for ten in the morning, but you weren’t too surprised; it was the go-to place to go — not only to get coursework done, but also to just unwind and mess around. That Friday morning hadn’t been any different from the rest and bleary-eyed college students milled about, drinking their caffeine from the God-sent Starbucks in the building and chatting to their friends through sleepy slurs. For a person who really enjoyed people-watching, the Learning Commons was the prime place for you to spend most of your time. You blended in and fell into the shadows just as you liked.

Blinking twice, you realized you had zoned out again. Your vision focused and you saw you had been staring blankly across the room at a boy drooling all over his open textbook. His slackened grip around his mechanical pencil kept allowing it to fall over in his hand, rousing him each time for only a few seconds and then he was out cold again. The sight made you laugh under your breath and you impulsively tipped your head back onto your roommate’s thigh from where she was sprawled out on the couch behind you. Just as you wanted, Scout’s fingers that had been raking through your hair stilled to let you know you had her attention.

“Look,” You said loud enough for her to hear over the raucous youths around you and discreetly pointed across the way at the sleepy boy. “That’s about to be me if I don’t get this paper done soon, I swear to everything Holy.”

A snort exploded through her nostrils and your head jostled with the movements of her leg kicking the guy whose lap they rested in. 

“Jude.” 

Another harsh nudge to his thigh and the frustrated boy mashed a button on his video game controller, a ‘paused’ message appearing on the flat screen TV. A harsh, pointed look urged her to continue so he could get back to his game. 

“That guy over there looks just like you.”

When you glanced back over, the drooling guy had completely given up on at least attempting to remain upright to look like he was getting work done. His cheek was smashed against the pages of his book, pushing his lips out in a pucker face, and his wrecked hair stuck up at odd angles on his forehead. An unbridled bubble of laughter threatened to come up your throat and you had managed to contain it — until a little string of drool puddled on the paper his cheek rested upon. Both you and Scout shook with the force of your giggles and you briefly found yourself thinking that it probably wasn’t that funny, but to a sleep-deprived university student it was comedic gold.

Jude must’ve shoved Scout’s legs off his lap if the loud ‘thud!’ of her feet hitting the floor beside you were any indication. They came dangerously close to knocking over your cup of caffeine — the only thing getting you through the early hours of the morning — and you were quick to snatch it up, cradling it to your chest like a protective mother. Your look of disgust towards your two friends was completely ignored, overlooked by Scout’s cry of protest and Jude’s annoyed, but slightly amused, glare at the girl.

“That’s what you made me pause my game for?” He huffed, tugging his fingers through his dark tufts of hair.

She shrugged, a shit-eating grin on her face as she plopped her warm toned legs back onto his lap. “Y/n said it first, not me.”

You were mid-sip, a mouthful of bitter coffee coating your tongue when you squealed a close-mouthed noise of protest, widened eyes flickering between your friends. 

“I did not!” You cried once you’d successfully swallowed without choking. “I said that would be me if I didn’t finish my paper soon.”

“Lies,” Scout muttered.

Twisting your body to face her, the back of your hand smacked against her bare outer thigh, a loud and satisfying ��smack!’ emitting from the harsh flesh on flesh contact. Your puppy dog eyes turned to Jude, bottom lip jutting out just slightly and he laughed, the action making his irises twinkle and scrunch closed.

“I’d never say that about you, J,” You said cutely.

He bumped his knee against your right shoulder lightly, jostling you to the side, and rolled his eyes but the tiny upwards lift to the corners of his mouth told you he was far from annoyed.

“Alright, alright, I believe you.” He groaned, quickly flicking his gaze back to the TV and unpausing his game. “Fuck you and your puppy eyes.”

Grinning triumphantly, you sipped your coffee happily and flopped back against the front of the couch. The sleeping computer screen on the coffee table immediately put a pin in your bubble of contentment, an instant frown replacing the bright smile on your lips. You set aside your half empty cup with a heavy sigh and swiped a finger along the smooth track-pad, waking it from its automatic sleep to tuck back into the four page book review for your U.S. History class. The cursor blinked approximately five or six times before you began to type, but you had barely written three words when the glass doors of the Learning Commons burst open and a group of rowdy boys piled through the entrance.

Well, you thought. Maybe just one more day of procrastinating won’t hurt.

A muffled groan sounded from Scout. “Great. Your frat brothers decided to grace us with their presence, J.”

Your fingers went slack over the lit up keys and you slouched defeatedly; at the rate you were going, the outcome of your paper was beginning to look more and more dim, but the fraternity boys couldn’t care less that some people were actually attempting to get their assignments done by their due dates. They joked and jostled each other and you kind of hoped they could feel the blazing burn of your laser-beam glare you shot their way, but their oblivious grins stuck a pin in your wishes. You watched them for a moment longer as they split off, some falling into the snack bar or coffee line while others drifted towards a vacant table or couch; you took that as your cue to pack up your things and traipse across campus to the library. (Why did you pick somewhere so loud to write a whole ass paper anyway?)

Scout managed to tear her attention from her phone long enough to notice you zipping up your bag and beginning to stand. 

She quirked a perfectly shaped brow and asked, “Where are you going? It’s only 10:30; our Psych class isn’t until 12.”

“Thanks for the reminder. I wasn’t aware that the class I’ve been going to every Friday for a month now doesn’t start until 12,” You bit back with the most deadpan tone you could muster.

Jude snorted without taking his eyes off the TV, his fingers never ceasing their rapid movements between buttons on the game controller. Scout responded with a swift kick to said controller (which earned her a string of expletives as he fumbled to retrieve it off the floor) and waggled a chipped nail-polished finger at you.

“First of all, the ‘tude is not appreciated and second, both of your friends are sitting right here so my question is very valid.”

“Okay, rude.” You pouted sulkily as you gathered your hair to tie it up into a bun with the velvety pink scrunchie on your wrist. “And if you must know, I’m going to the library because it’s way too loud in here to write a paper.”

“Ugh.” Scout groaned and threw her legs off the side of the couch, rolling off onto the floor in the most ungraceful maneuver you’d ever witnessed in your life. “I guess I’ll go with you. I still haven’t finished that Biology worksheet due today.”

“Really?” You inquired absentmindedly as you fiddled with your messy bun in the reflection on your darkened phone screen. (She was taking forever and you needed something to do so you didn’t look like a complete moron.) “I finished it like the day she handed it out last week.”

You didn’t even have to look over at the caramel-skinned girl to know that she had rolled her eyes hard enough to get stuck inside her head. “Literally no one asked,” She retorted.

“Mmm, and to think I was actually going to give you all the answers..”

Just as you watched her expression morph into a sickly sweet one, a shrill whistle cut through every conversation in the room. The loud chattering of college students died down to muted whispers until the only distinguishable sounds were the whirring of the old air conditioning unit in the building and the clambering of shoes against wood; once you turned away from Scout you saw that the latter had come from a blonde boy in basketball shorts standing on a table in the center of the room. Kappa Sigma was emblazoned proudly across the chest of the scarlet colored hoodie he wore and you fought the urge to roll your eyes because of course he was in a fraternity.

The blonde frat boy’s voice faintly resonated in your ears, but you turned away from his dramatic display anyway to latch onto the sleeve of Scout’s over-sized Harvard University t-shirt. You insistently tugged on the crimson colored material because you really just wanted to get a head-start on your paper. Instead of relenting and following you, she simply shrugged you off and it was then that you got distracted with one look at a stupidly attractive guy in a stupidly, tight t-shirt.

If you had ever seen someone who was truly poured into a shirt it was this guy. The gray material was stretched taut across his pectorals and abdomen, dipping and curling into each chiseled line on his body. The stitching around the short sleeves looked two seconds away from ripping open as his biceps bulged from the way he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. You didn’t think the view could get any better until your eyes slid further up to a jawline that could probably cut straight through glass and to top it off, a head full of effortless curls—your ultimate weakness. You were pretty sure you were gaping open-mouthed at him at that point, but it wasn’t everyday that you saw a real life fucking angel on campus.

So yes, you gaped at him. Proudly.

Until you were caught...which you were seconds later.

Your heart dipped dangerously low in your chest and for a moment it felt like the warm blood in your veins had turned to ice. That feeling of sudden panic from such a cute guy looking at you prompted you to swiftly turn away; the cold you had felt literal seconds prior shifted to an uncomfortable warmth as the shock of being caught staring shifted to embarrassment. Your brain raced almost as quickly as your heart and you tried to pretend to focus on the blonde guy standing on a table to calm down, but then you made the dumb decision to sneak another peek.

Big, big mistake on your part.

Insanely hot frat guy was still looking at you. Not only was he still staring, but the beginnings of a smirk were forming on his pink lips and maybe he was not-so-subtly flexing his biceps. Seeing the corded muscles ripple and bulge under his tan skin truly was entrancing and if Scout hadn’t grabbed you by the material of your sweatshirt you would’ve stood and stared for a little bit longer.

Fingers snapped in front of your face and you blinked once, twice, three times before she really came into focus. She shot you a funny look and asked, “Seriously, what were you staring at?” She followed your gaze when your eyes instinctively shot back towards the insanely hot frat guy—who had thankfully looked away. “What is wrong with y—ohhh.”

A shit-eating grin stretched across her face and you immediately groaned. “Don’t start, okay?” You grumbled and finally managed to pull her towards the glass double doors. “He’s stupid hot and I was respectfully looking.”

Scout snorted from behind you as you held the door for her, both of you stepping outside and beginning the trek across campus to the library.

“You were point two seconds away from drooling,” She teased, bumping your arm with her elbow.

You felt the heat tickling at your cheeks and ears again, so you quickly changed the subject.

“Anyway,” You said pointedly, shooting her a look that could kill. “What was that whole ‘getting on the table’ display about?”

“Right. I forgot you were a little... preoccupied.” She smirked and dodged your incoming fist, giggling like a maniac. “Okay, okay! There’s a party at the Kappa Sigma house tonight.”

Scrunching your nose up at the mention of a party, you tossed your empty cup of iced coffee in a trash bin as you passed.

“Well, I have a hot date with Doctor McDreamy and I can’t miss it. You know how much I love me some Derek Shepherd.”

Just as you reached for the door handle to the library, she smacked your hand away with a serious expression.

“C’mon!” She whined, her bottom lip jutting out like a child. “You’ve never been to a party with me. It’ll be fun!”

“My definition of ‘fun’ is very different from yours, Scout.”

A sly smile turned her full lips upwards again. “Tom will be there…”

Your brows furrowed as you wracked your brain to put a name to a face. Tom. Did you know a Tom?

“Um. Am I supposed to know who that is?” You asked cluelessly.

Scout groaned. “Tom Holland. The guy you were ogling in the LC,” She explained with a ‘duh’ tone in her voice.

Absentmindedly you fiddled with the strap of your shoulder bag. You were already growing tired of the conversation and wished she’d just drop it; if anyone knew your anxiety situation, it was her and you thought she’d learned by now that you would never set foot in a party. Attending a frat party of all things was sure to bring on a panic attack and you’d rather not hyperventilate in front of a bunch of testosterone-filled college guys. No way in hell.

Exhaling an exasperated sigh, you shifted on your feet tiredly and let your head fall back towards the sky.

“Is that supposed to convince me?” You shifted around your friend and managed to snag the door open before she could stop you. “Because it’s not working.”

Save for a girl lightly snoring on one of the couches and a guy wearing glasses slaving over his keyboard, the library was practically barren. You immediately felt comforted as you traipsed along the outskirts of the large room, like a warm hug after coming home from a long day; except it was barely after eleven in the morning and you were ashamed to admit that you already needed comforting. Whilst another large exhale huffed past your lips at the thought, you dropped your bag down on the worn cushions of a couch pushed under a window and plopped yourself next to it rather ungracefully.

A rather loud thump resounded through the room as Scout carelessly deposited her own things on the floor by a comfortable looking arm chair; she simply shrugged at your warning glance, mumbling “those two are dead to the world anyway” under her breath and turned to pull a black binder from her backpack.

Soon, the silence between you two was filled with the clicking of your fingers across the keys on your laptop and the scratching of her mechanical pencil on paper. It was nice—relaxing even—and you sunk further into the soft couch that hugged your body, your mind only filled with the words you needed to get down to finish your stupid book review.

What kind of history class has to write a book review anyway? This wasn’t English.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

A small wad of balled up notebook paper hit your left cheek, bouncing off and into the crack between the cushions. Before you could retort, she was already whispering vehemently.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the party.” She stabbed her pencil in your direction as she spoke. “You’re going. Plus, I’ll be with you the whole night. Promise.”

Arguing with Scout was like arguing with a brick wall—pointless and you’d never win and you honestly just wanted her to shut up at this point; so even though the idea of standing in the Kappa Sigma frat house while the plaster walls vibrated and bodies jostled around you almost made you want to throw up, you reluctantly agreed to go with her. You tried to convince yourself it wouldn’t be so bad, that your best friend would be at your side the entire night, but you still couldn’t shake the butterflies in your belly the entire day.

Just as you’d expected, you were pretty sure you were this close to blowing chunks in Kappa Sigma’s bushes.

The lawn was crawling with college students bearing drinks and you were thrown into the middle of them, one hand clasped in Scout’s as she led you up to the porch and the other anxiously fiddling with the hem of your gingham printed shorts. You were hyper aware of everything happening around you: knocking shoulders with a short, blonde girl, the loud shouts over a game of flip cup, the bass of the song playing in your chest, and a putrid, skunk-like smell that caught in your lungs no matter what you did. Already you wanted to leave, but one look at your best friend’s excited face had you willing yourself to suck it up and try to have fun.

Clutching onto Scout’s hand like it was your only lifeline, she guided you through the foyer and an expansive dining room before reaching the kitchen and the pressure in your chest lifted enough to calm your racing heart; it was significantly less crowded, only inhabited by a small group of girls and a guy with his head stuck in the refrigerator. You watched as Scout paid none of them any mind and instead helped herself to two red solo cups, pointing the nozzle to the keg in one and letting it fill with the sepia toned beer before doing the same with the other cup.

You had just opened your mouth to protest, but the look she shot you had the words dying in your throat.

“Just trust me, alright?” She said and you let her shove the full cup into your hand. “It’ll help with your nerves.”

For a brief second your gaze flickered to the group of three girls seated at the kitchen island, all huddled together and speaking in low tones. It made your skin prickle and heat up and you wondered if they were talking about you—how out of place you seemed.

The white brim of your cup slotted between your glossed-up lips and you took a hefty swig. You immediately scrunched your face up in disgust at the bitter, watery taste of the ale but you were willing to down it if it drowned out your impending anxiety for the night.

“Ugh.” You cringed and peered at the frothy beer in distaste. “How do you drink this shit?”

Scout just grinned and raised her beer in the air.

“Cheers bitch,” She hummed and downed a gulp big enough to puff out her cheeks with the liquid. “Now drink up.”

So, you did cautiously while she retrieved her phone from her back pocket; you distantly heard her say the words “text” and “Jude” but you were more focused on the guy leaning against the counter a few steps away. It was the same guy who’d been rummaging in the fridge when you came in and it appeared he’d found what he wanted: a bottle of Michelob Ultra that he held by the neck. His other hand was occupied by his phone, his head tilted downwards as he scrolled with his thumb, but then he tipped it back to sip his drink and your heart plummeted.

You wasted no time grabbing Scout by her bicep to get her attention.

“Don’t look now but super hot frat guy, Tom, is literally right there,” You whispered frantically through gritted teeth and tugged her towards the exit.

Of course, she resisted. The “don’t look now” part of your sentence slipped in one ear and out the other because she turned back to glance at him with the subtlety of a hand grenade. Her small squeal had you yanking her back around, your stomach rolling with enough nerves to make you vomit for real this time.

“I literally just said—”

Just after the words left your mouth, Jude sauntered into the kitchen, loudly exclaiming: “Tom, man, how long does it take to get a drink?” Then, his six-foot-three hulking physique lumbered towards you and Scout—which effectively made Tom’s dark brown irises lock onto you. “And why have you guys not answered my texts? We’re about to start another round of flip cup.”

Recognition flashed in his eyes and you wished you were dead. You knew you should’ve stayed in the safety of your dorm with Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd. Why didn’t you?

Maybe it was because you were the biggest pushover on campus?

Yeah, that had to be it.

“Sorry, mate.” Tom didn’t glance away from you as he spoke. You noticed a smirk playing at his thin lips before it was covered by the open top of his beer bottle when he took a drag. “I guess I got a little... distracted.”

His little jab at you didn’t go unnoticed.

Yep, he definitely recognized you from earlier in the day when you practically undressed him.

Deep down you knew he was just messing with you, but you couldn’t help feeling humiliated—like you were the center of a joke and not the kind of joke where he was laughing with you; suddenly overcome with a need to escape, you ignored his remark and turned to Scout and Jude instead.

“Hey, I think I’m gonna go to the bathroom or step outside really quick.”

You barely heard her concerned voice asking if you wanted her to come with you before you were high-tailing it out of the room and up the dark wooden stairs in the foyer. You took them two at a time and in your haste to ascend them, the smelly beer in your still-full-to-the-brim cup sloshed over the rim and saturated the front of your black shirt and flowy shorts. Your face contorted in discomfort at the feeling of your wet clothes sticking to your skin as you slowed down, reaching the top floor at a more careful pace. The paranoid feeling that everyone was watching you make a fool of yourself began to set in and just as your breathing started to escalate, you ducked into the first bedroom you saw and quickly shut it with a click.

Absentmindedly, you sat your now half empty beer cup on the dresser by the door and slumped back against the wood. The cold doorknob pressed into the bottom of your spine but you didn’t care because all you could think about was the soaked fabric clinging to your front, Tom’s subtle mocking comment, and the feeling you’d felt coming up the steps.

In the back of your mind you knew how dramatic and blown out of proportion you were acting; your anxiety, however, didn’t get the memo. So there you were, panting and quivering in some random frat guy’s room with tears pooling at your lash line. You were beginning to feel nauseous lurches in your stomach and all you wanted was to go home.

You’d never wanted to be here in the first place.

An uncomfortable warmth bloomed in your chest around your heart—a feeling you were all too familiar with. If you had to guess, you assumed it was the way a heart attack might feel. You were panicking for absolutely no reason at all and all that you knew was that you needed to get out of here.

With shaky hands, you pulled your phone out of your bra and wiped away the sticky residue from the beer before composing a new text to Scout.

Sent at 11:33 PM: i feel sick. i think i’m gonna head back to our dorm

Then, feeling inexplicably guilty for not even trying, you typed again as your tears left splotches on your screen.

Sent at 11:33 PM: i’m really sorry

The click of your phone locking sounded like a blaring horn to your over-sensitized body and you slumped tiredly into a desk chair, shoving your phone somewhere on the desk carelessly. You were still shaking and you didn’t know if you were cold or hot and bile had started to burn your throat and in your hazy mind you swore you heard the doorknob turning but who knows?

“Uh, what the fuck are you doing in my room?”

If you thought you were going to throw up before then you definitely were now.

You grabbed the trash bin beside the desk and hung your head over it, the contents of the day emptying from your anxious stomach.

“Christ,” The guy grumbled in annoyance. Didn’t you know that voice from somewhere? “Of course. A drunk girl chooses my room to throw up in out of all the fuckin’ other rooms in this house.”

Shame crept up your neck and made you feel even hotter than you already were. You felt like such a mess—you reeked of alcohol, your hair was damp from a cold-sweat, and a stranger had just witnessed you puking your guts out. Great.

You couldn’t speak. All you could do was take shaky, staggered breaths and sniffle through your tears but you did manage to see who the mean guy in the room with you was. Just as your luck would have it, the guy whose bedroom you’d taken hostage in was none other than Tom Holland.

Your stomach twisted and again you ducked your head back in the bin to puke some more.

“Look. I’m sorry you feel like shit and drank too much but you’ve gotta get outta here.” You felt his large, strong hand curl around your bare bicep to tug you up out of his chair. “C’mon. Time to go.”

It was at that moment Tom finally noticed three things: that you were the girl from earlier in the LC, then again in the frat’s kitchen, that you were shaking like a leaf against him, and that you were struggling to breathe normally. It was clear to him you weren’t throwing up because you were drunk; you were throwing up because you were having a full-blown panic attack.

In his bedroom.

And he’d been nothing but a dick to you so far.

“Woah, hey, hey,” He murmured softly, his voice taking on a much gentler tone. Delicately, he brushed the sweaty hair from your warm cheeks and allowed one of his palms to meet the small of your back. “It’s okay. You’re alright, darlin’.”

You focused all your attention on the quiet hum of his voice in your right ear and the silver cross necklace rising and falling on his chest with each breath. You tried to sync your breaths with his even, steady ones and although it took awhile, you managed to calm yourself down to a non-hysterical state.

Tom’s fingers, however, never faltered in their dance along your spine. “Good girl,” He hummed soothingly.

Tingles tickled at each of your vertebrae.

Good girl. Was he trying to kill you?

Clearing your throat, you set the trash bin beside the desk where it lived and stood up to move closer to the door and away from Tom. You were pretty sure you’d embarrassed yourself in front of a hot guy enough for one day and didn’t want to do anything rash...like jump his bones for calling you a good girl.

You felt yourself getting hot again.

“I’m sorry.” You fiddled with the damp hem of your shirt, unable to meet his gaze. “I just...needed some air and then I spilt beer all over myself and—yeah.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” He shrugged like a girl having a panic attack in his room was normal, then gestured to your ruined outfit. “I’ve got some stuff you can borrow if you want.”

“Oh! No, it’s okay, really—”

“C’mon. That can’t be comfortable,” He said with a raised brow. He was already rummaging through his dresser drawers before you could protest anymore. “Let me help you out, alright? I’ve already been the biggest dick to you tonight.”

You couldn’t argue with that, so you took the clean clothes from his outstretched hand and sent him an awkward smile.

“Thanks. I’ll, um, get these back to you. Sometime.”

He grinned at how awkward and fumbly you were. It was cute. He liked that he was the cause of it.

“Sounds like a pretty good plan to me,” He agreed cheekily, unable to hide the smile on his lips. “Gives me an excuse to see you again, huh, darlin’?”

Oh.

This boy was definitely trying to make you explode and you were two seconds away from doing so, sweat pooling even quicker in areas you didn’t even want to fathom.

Thankfully, before you had the chance to embarrass yourself any further, Tom turned his back on you, chuckling lowly under his breath and urged you to get changed.

As you toed out of your high-tops and peeled your sticky, black shirt from your torso, your attention wavered just as you reached for his heather grey t-shirt. You distractedly grasped the soft material to put it on, but you were too entranced by Tom’s back muscles through his own shirt to follow through.

The fabric was stretched taut over the expanse of his broad shoulders and every little movement allowed you to see the rippling muscle that was underneath it. Your fingers itched to slip under his shirt and feel his toned back for yourself, to lightly dig your n—

“Jude said your friend is waitin’ for you on the porch.” His English twang had you throwing the clean clothes on hastily before he turned back around. “I’ll walk you down.”

All you wanted was to get out of this frat house and into your shower as quickly as possible so you agreed even though you felt like your insides were on fire.

You gathered your dirty clothes and hooked your fingertips into the canvas backs of your shoes before you were ushered out into the corridor. The party seemed to have thinned out a considerable amount with only the occasional person loitering about on the second floor; the thought of someone seeing you with Tom’s baggy clothes on made your cheeks flush and you tilted your head down towards the floor, avoiding anyone’s curious eye. To your anxious mind, it felt like everyone was watching you and Tom descend the grand stairs in the fraternity’s house so you held your gaze with the dark hardwood floor the entire trek to the porch.

His warm palm met the small of your back for the second time that night and you cautiously glanced up into his dark brown irises. You were surprised to see the incredibly soft edge they had taken on and even more surprised by the way your spine instinctively arched against his hand.

A guy had never touched you like this before—it felt intimate and tender and you were a stranger to it.

“Hey.” He had to stoop down towards your ear so you could hear him over the still-blaring music. His breath tickled your neck and his bottom lip brushed the tip of your ear. You couldn’t stop from shivering. “Are you alright?”

No, you weren’t. He was really, really close and your heart was beating dangerously fast again.

“Yeah,” You breathed in reassurance, pushing what you hoped was a convincing smile. “I’m okay. Just tired.”

He didn’t look completely convinced. However, he didn’t push the subject further and you were grateful.

“Alright.” He nodded and it was silent for a split second until you both reached the front door. “You look beautiful in my clothes by the way.”

And then Tom was pushing open the door and there on the porch like he said was a worried Scout. Thankfully, she was way too preoccupied with hurtling questions of “are you okay?” and “what happened?” for her to notice the way your skin was flushed and how you couldn’t quite look anyone in the eye.

The weight of the fingers splayed along the base of your spine disappeared as Scout swept you away from Tom and into her crushing embrace.

“Oh my God!” She shrieked as she hugged you to her, your bundle of clothes and shoes between you digging into your stomach. “You scared the hell out of me. Did you fall in the toilet or something?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, a small snort of a laugh left your throat.

“I’m fine,” You reassured and tangled your digits with hers, tugging her down the porch stairs with you. “And no, I didn’t ‘fall in the toilet.’ I just want to go home and drown myself in the shower.”

“Good. You smell like shit.” Her nose wrinkled. “And please enlighten me on how you ended up in Tom fucking Holland’s bedroom.”

You laughed again and spared a glance over your shoulder.

Tom still stood on the porch, readjusting his backwards hat over his brunette curls. You caught the little smirk on his lips and you swore he winked before Scout was tugging you further up the sidewalk and you were forced to turn back around.

Every inch of your body tingled.

It wasn’t until you stood under the shower head’s chilly spray of water back in your residence hall that you realized you’d left your phone in Tom’s room.

TOM TAGLIST:

@xoxohollands​ ♡ @outshineallthestars​ ♡ @pcterparxer​ ♡ @worldoftom​ ♡ 

RETROGRADE ONLY TAGLIST:

@softholand​ ♡ @sushiinmidnight​ ♡ @stuckonspidey​ ♡ 

[supersickies]

Summary: “It went without saying that getting bitten by a radioactive spider had its perks.

But apparently a cure for the common cold wasn’t one of them.”

-

College final exam season leaves Peter sick with a nasty cold, and on his wonderful girlfriend Michelle's first day of her summer internship too. Now it's up to mama Pepper and little sis Morgan to nurse their favorite spiderling back to health.

A/N: This was intended to be a little drabble based on a post I saw (I can’t find it for the life of me but once I do I’ll reblog it asap) but it ended up being a 5k+ fic of sweet sick Peter and his mess of a family. I couldn’t help it I love them all too much. You can read it on Ao3 or under the cut! Whatever what works for you!

Spider-Man can, in fact, catch a cold. This was something that Peter was surprised, yet annoyed to discover. Before the bite, Peter was a sickly, asthmatic, all around fragile kid, and while it wasn’t something that he was exactly confident about he never let it crush his spirit. However, that didn’t mean that as soon as the spider bite rid his body of all his past ailments Peter wasn’t overjoyed. He could finally run a mile without having to stop a quarter of the way through or eat a PB&J without having to instantly call an ambulance. It went without saying that getting bitten by a radioactive spider had its perks.

But apparently a cure for the common cold wasn’t one of them.

He and Mr. Stark discovered this about a year after he was bitten when he had come down with a nasty case of bronchitis that had him hacking all over the compound for four days. Since then Peter was bound to catch a bug here and there, much like he used to before the bite just less severe. It was harder for him to catch things as well, his immune system was usually a force to be reckoned with, unless for any reason Peter was not at “peak Spidey performance” as Mr. Stark would say.

Which leads us to now, a mere 24 hours after the last final exam of his junior year at Columbia, Peter was laid in bed suffering through what he would consider the nastiest cold he’d ever had.

It was barely after sunrise, the clock reading a taunting 5:30, and Peter doing everything he could not to sneeze. With deep, even, wheezy, breaths, the spider-boy was using all his strength to keep the sneeze at bay for one reason. MJ. His lovely, wonderful, amazing Michelle who was starting her first day of her summer internship at nine and would massacre Peter if he woke her up before her alarm. The girl loved her sleep, and Peter would be damned if he deprived her of it.

Think of anything else Peter, literally anything. Remember that big biker guy you helped on patrol the other week? He was pretty nice…oh god it iiihhtches…no, enough Peter, biker guy. Right he had that cool jacket with the patches, I bet I could pull off a leather jacket. Maybe put a spidey patch on the back? Fun…cool…really gotta sneeze. Ugh, FUCK! Okay, okay maybe if you just do that pinch-y sneeze, like Ned and Natasha do…heh imagine Ned knowing he had the same sneeze as Black Widow, he’d flip. Ehh..fuhhhhuck okay thats it, pinch-y sneeze please don’t fail me.

With a shaky hand Peter pinches his nose between his thumb and his forefinger, the motion instantly making his nose tickle more and within seconds Peter was attempting, and failing, to stifle his sneeze.

And it failed hard.

The sneeze was stronger than it seemed and instead of being held back and becoming a noiseless stifle, it came out louder than it should have as it scraped the back of his throat, causing barking coughs to escape as well.

Well everyone, bid him farewell, this will be the day that Peter Parker meets his untimely demise. He instantly feels MJ stir against him with a groan. She was up, oh god sound the alarm she was awake.

“P’ter? That you?” She slurs, sleep lacing her voice.

“Umb, yeah. Sorry embjay I didn’d mbean to sndeeze.” God how he wished his could blow his nose, but he was not going to poke the bear any further.

It was quiet for a moment, Peter knew that he was in danger. MJ was plotting how she was going to murder him and it was only a matter of time before she-

“You feeling okay, baby?” Her angelic voice rings as she turns to face him on the bed. “You sound terrible.”

It was like music to Peter’s ears. He would live to see another day! He was almost shocked, she didn’t even pepper in the classic “loser” nickname. She was concerned. Wait, did he really sound that bad? Should he be concerned?

Peter clears his throat before responding. “I-I thingk I’mb combing down with sombthing. I’mb sorry I’ll try to be quieter.” A wet sniffle concludes his sentence. Damn it he really wants a tissue.

Almost as if MJ could read minds, she places a soft white Kleenex into his hand. “Blow your nose, Pete. I’m gonna go get the humidifier, you’re way too congested.”

“O-Oh, okay. Thangk you Emmby.” He uses her absence to sit up a little and expel the nasty gunk from his sinuses. He still can’t completely breathe, but it’s better than it was before. MJ comes back into the room moments later, carrying the chunky machine. The water inside of it sloshes a bit as she set’s it on Peter’s bedside table but as soon as she plugs it into the wall, a warm soft mist starts flowing from its lid. Peter can’t tell a difference now, but he knows it’ll make a difference the longer it runs.

Satisfied with how the humidifier is working, Michelle sits beside Peter on the bed and looks at him quizzically. “How’d you get so sick?” She questions, her fingertips reaching to brush Peter’s bed head away from his eyes. His forehead moderately warm, but it doesn’t feel like anything that provokes worry.

He hums at her soft touch but shrugs his shoulders at her question. “Don’t kdnow,” He presses the tissue to his nose as it starts running, the humidifier must be working. “I felt fidne yesterday. Mbaybe kinda tired but ndot sick.”

“You know what it probably is?” Michelle says. “All those nights up late studying, not to mention all that trash food you ate-“

“What is this, mbake fun of your poor sick boyfriend day?” He gives a wet coughs for emphasis, and because he really needed to cough.

“Sorry sicky,” She giggled. “what I’m saying is that you had a long hard week and you weren’t exactly taking the best care of yourself. No shame in it, I mean, it happens to everyone but I think your body is so used to you eating well and exercising often that as soon as you stopped your immune system freaked out.

Clearing his throat, Peter nods. “I guess that mbakes sense.” He looks down with a sigh, thinking of all the things he was scheduled to do today. “I better call Todny and tell him I can’t combe in to the lab.” He sighs and reaches for his phone but MJ intercepts.

“First you’re going to go back to sleep until a reasonable hour. It’s almost 6 a.m. Parker, and my alarm goes off at 8, so I’d like a few more hours of rest.” She jabs, pulling the covers up to his chin and kissing him softly on the cheek. “And you definitely need the beauty sleep.”

Peter chuckles at that, which only lead to more hacking coughs. MJ softly pats his back until the coughs subside. With a tsk she tucks him into bed once more before rounding the bed to lay back down on her side. “Rest, I’ll let you know when I’m about to head to work.”

With his eyes closed and his breathing only slightly less congested, thank you humidifier, he smiles contently. “Thank you Emmby, love you.”

“Love you too, snotty.”

Peter wakes again to a kiss on the forehead and the scent of strong perfume making his nose tickle. Before he even opens his eyes, he curls in on himself and muffles three sneezes into his pillow. Ugh, gross. He opens his bleary eyes to see MJ smoothing out her work outfit in their full length mirror. She looks amazing as usual, Peter notes, but her perfume is strong. Or maybe he’s just way too sensitive, a super cold and super senses probably don’t mix well. Without warning, two more sneezes barrel out and he barely has time to cover them. With a groan he sniffles thickly and reaches for the tissue box conveniently placed on his bedside table. He get a warm and fuzzy feeling as he realizes MJ had put them there for him, as they weren't there when he had woken up earlier. It’s the little things. He blows his nose, which get’s MJ’s attention.

She glances over to him with a smile. “Good morning, again.”

“Good mbornding, you look ambazindg.” He rasps, a goofy smile painting his face.

MJ breathes out a laugh at her dopey boyfriend. “Thank you, dork. How’re you feeling?”

He snuggles deeper into the bed, closing his eyes again and coughing weakly. “Call a physiciand,” Peter jokes in a congested and bad British accent. He throws a hand over his forehead for good measure. “I believe it mbay be the plague.”

MJ snorts a laugh at her boy’s dramatics. “Okay, you sickly child king.”

Her heels clack against the hardwood floor of the bedroom as she steps over to where he lies in their bed. As she sits on the bed, her soft hand cups his forehead and then his cheek. “You’re soft.” He mumbles, leaning into her touch.

“And you are running a bit of a fever.” She rubs her thumb sweetly over his cheek before standing back up. She tells him to sit tight and goes to the bathroom to grab a digital thermometer. She returns to find him dozing so she gently brushes his hair back to get his attention. He lifts his eyes to see the thermometer in her hand and opens his mouth just wide enough that she can slip the device under his tongue. “Give that a minute.”

MJ walks out of the room a moment later and Peter hears running water from the kitchen. The thermometer beeps right before she reenters, ice water with a straw in hand. Peter didn’t realize until he saw it just how thirsty he was. He stares at her lovingly as she takes the thermometer from between his lips. “Are you a mbind reader?” He asks, only semi-joking as he sits up slightly to sip the water.

Michelle scoffs lightly. “You bet your ass I am.” She jokes looking down at the medical tool. “Hm, 100.8. Not horrendous but I don’t love it.” Once again she’s gone, this time to the bathroom where Peter hears more water running, making him want to take another sip of his water. He sighs as the cool drink soothes his dry throat. MJ strides back to the bed with a damp face towel folded in half. When she starts to dab Peter’s forehead with the cool cloth he can’t help the shuddering sigh that escapes him. She stops. “You alright?”

Her boyfriend just nods, opening his eyes to look up at her with a small smile. “Feels good. Cold.” He explains. She smiles back at him, taking the cup of water from his hands so he can lay back down. She continues to wipe his brow with the towel and doesn’t stop until a snore leaves his mouth. MJ can’t help the giggle that bubbles up, but to be fair she’s never heard Peter snore before and right now he was quite a sight to see. His hair was sticking up at all angles, even in his reclined position, his nose nearing a shade of bright red, and his mouth open just wide enough that the tiny snores were heard.

She couldn’t help but snap a quick picture to send to Tony.

MJ:

your favorite little mentee won’t be in today…Spidey caught the sniffles : /

Old Man Stark:

Wow he looks rough, you have your internship today?

MJ:

yep first day

dont wanna leave him like this tho

Old Man Stark:

Don’t stress, this is a big day for you. I have meetings all day but Pep would be more than happy to stop by and make sure all is well.

Morgan too

She’s in her “wanting to be a doctor” phase

MJ:

you trying to say she cant be a doctor, stark?

Old Man Stark:

Good lord of course not

The kid is smarter than me and she’s barely 11

I’m just saying wasn’t there a point in your life when you wanted to be a doctor too?

MJ:

yeah of course

Old Man Stark:

And you’re now getting a degree in…?

MJ:

journalism

Old Man Stark:

so…

MJ:

i could be a doctor if i wanted to

Old Man Stark:

I know

And thats why you terrify me

MJ:

>:-)

Old Man Stark:

Go to work!

Let us take care of Peter and we’ll keep you updated as you break into the great big world of being a working adult.

MJ:

:P thanks T-Star

Old Man Stark:

Don’t call me T-Star.

Michelle pockets her phone and grabs her computer bag that’s packed and ready in the living room. Quickly she takes out a stray piece of paper and jots down a quick note for her boy just incase he wakes up alone.

Petey,

Had to get to the office (wish me luck lol) but Pepper and Morgan should be by soon. Please don’t die while I’m gone. I’ll be pissed if you do that. Wash your hands, blow your nose, and don’t leave used tissues on the bed that’s gross. Love you. Feel better.

-M

Satisfied, she leaves the note under the tissue box, gives him one last kiss on the forehead, and makes her way out the door. But not before sending Morgan that goofy picture of Peter.

MJ:

here

use this as blackmail

tell him you’ll post it on insta next time he says he won’t take you to mcdonalds

Mo Mo Stark:

HAHAHAHAHAHA

Peter wakes to his front door closing and whispering coming from the living room. He panics for a moment before realizing that the voices belonged to Pepper and Morgan. As the fan blows above him, he hears a piece of paper flutter next to him. With a shaky hand he grabs it and reads over the note that MJ had left for him. He cant help but blush, just at the thought of his girlfriend. He wonders how her first day is going. He misses her a lot. Then he realizes his fever must of gone up, as he definitely wasn’t this emotionally fragile when he had gone to sleep.

With a yawn, he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed and grabs the quilt at the end and wraps it around his around his shoulders. With a huff he slides off the bed and makes his way to the living room. He finds Pepper setting grocery bags down on the kitchen island and Morgan already situated in front of the TV, some YouTube vlog video playing over the speakers.

“Morgan Hope, turn that down before you wake your broth-“ Pepper stops when she notices Peter standing in the doorway. “Oh, afternoon sweetheart! Did Morgan wake you? I’m so sorry I told her to quiet down-“

“Pep, it’s okay, I actually woke up whend you guys walked ind.” He rasps, congestion still heavy in his horse voice.

“Oh honey you sound awful, come on now, on the couch. You shouldn’t be up.” Pepper says, guiding him with a hand on his back to the couch. Morgan scoots a bit to make room for her big brother.

“Hi, Dr. Mborgand, you brindg any of the good drugs today?” Peter jokes, making the girl roll her eyes.

“Mom, Peter says he on drugs. He needs to detox stat. Get me an IV with glutathione, vitamin C, and vitamin B.” The youngest Stark states.

Her mother sighs as she returns to the kitchen. “Alright, that’s enough Discovery Life for you. Why can’t you just watch Disney Channel like a normal eleven year old.” Pepper mumbles as she starts taking items out of the grocery bags.

Peter and Morgan just giggle, which leads to a coughing fit from Peter. Morgan’s tiny hand pats his back as he hacks into his elbow, he murmurs an apology as the coughs taper off.

“You need to lay down Petey, and you need tissues.” Morgan articulates as she stands and looks around the apartment.

Clearing his throat, Peter points to the bedroom. “There should be sombe tissues by mby bed…if you could grab those that’d be ndice.”

Morgan nods confidently and makes her way to the bedroom. Seconds later she reemerges with the tissue box in hand and places them in the crook of Peter’s arm.

“Thangk you doctor.” Peter smiles, causing Morgan to smile in return.

“You’re welcome!” The girl returns to her spot on the couch and presses play on the video she was watching. It was vlog about makeup, Peter assumed, as the YouTuber was covered in a very impressive, glossy, look and was showing off makeup pallettes. Peter watches as the video cuts and suddenly the makeup artist is bare faced and begins to work on the look they had previewed in the intro.

Pepper chuckles as she approaches the couch, mug of hot tea with lemon and honey in hand. She hands the cup to Peter, who is drowsily watching the makeup being applied. “You don’t have to watch this you know.” Pepper whispers to him. “This is your apartment and you’re sick, turn on whatever you want.”

Taking a sip of the tea, humming as it soothes his sore-ish throat, Peter shakes his head. “Ndo, this is awesombe, look at how precise he is with the brush. Oh, thangks for the tea…also.” Pepper chuckles more, kissing the boy on the top of the head, and leaving him with Morgan to watch some internet celebrity do a perfect line with their liquid eyeliner.

Pepper had called May in the morning after hearing from Tony that Peter wasn't feeling well, knowing the boys aunt would have all the inside knowledge on how to care for a sick Peter. It wasn’t as if Pepper had never seen Peter sick, though. Since Tony had introduced them to each other way back before Morgan was even a thought, Peter had spent some sick days in the tower, the compound, and even one or two in the lake house. Yes, Pepper had seen a sick Peter Parker in her lifetime, however this was the first time she was his sole caretaker. However, after the quick call to the boy’s aunt, Pepper had a pretty good idea of how to care for the sick Spiderling.

“Oh for a cold?” May had responded. “Simple, grilled cheese and tomato soup for every meal, he’ll probably want to watch Parks and Rec all day, oh and he has Tony’s old MIT hoodie in his closet and he always wears it when he’s not feeling well.”

Pepper smiled at that. When Peter decided to stay in New York for college, for family and spider-y reasons, it was no secret that Tony had been a little disappointed. No, Tony hadn’t done anything special to get Peter into MIT, honestly because he didn’t have too. Peter’s grades and test scores were good enough on their own, but he still would have loved to have seen the kid at his alma mater. When Peter had told him of his college decision, scared out of his mind might he add, Tony just hugged and told him he was proud of him. Tony reassured the kid that where ever he went to school was fine by him and that he’d support him the whole way through. “I am going to need that MIT sweatshirt back” Tony had joked, waiting to be met by a “shut up Tony” or an eye roll, but instead he was met with tears— big fat ones that welled up in Peter’s eyes. Tony was quick to see he had messed up and it took about twenty minutes to reassure the boy that he didn't want the sweatshirt back and that “of course I still love you Peter”. Since then Peter has kept the garment close to him at all times, just incase Tony ever thought about taking it.

Pepper goes to Peter’s closet, instantly spotting the faded maroon hoodie and taking it off of the hanger. Both he and Morgan are still mesmerized by the YouTube video, but they glance up when Pepper walks over again. Peter’s eyes light up at the sight of the hoodie in her hands. He’s close to making grabby hands for it but she hands it to him first. He puts it on and settles back down onto the couch. “Thangk you Pep.”

“Keep it safe, can’t have Tony snatching it.” She jabs as she walks back to the kitchen to start the grilled cheese.

Peter, though thoroughly invested in the new makeup video Morgan put on, can’t help but doze off as the ambient sounds of his apartment lull him to sleep. He hears a shuffling on the couch next to him and opens one of his eyes, seeing Morgan giggling at him. “Can I braid your hair Petey?” She whispers. In true college kid fashion, Peter had let his hair grow out a little bit, and while it wasn’t long enough to braid it all together, Morgan liked to do tiny braids with tufts of his hair for fun.

Turning onto his side away from Morgan, giving her better access to his hair, Peter chuckles at his little sister. “Go for it Mborgie, mbake mbe beautiful.”

With a squeal of delight, the eleven year old Stark pulls tiny hair-ties out of her pocket and gets to work. Peter, who had always loved having his hair played with, lets the braiding put him right to sleep after only a few tiny braids were done.

If Morgan laughed at the snores that came from Peter moments later, she didn't tell him. He did let her braid half his head, anyway.

The rest of the day passes in a sleepy haze for Peter. He remembers waking up a few moments after falling asleep on the couch. Pepper helping him sit up and setting a tray of his favorite sick day meal in his lap. He had to hand it to Pepper, she made a mean grilled cheese soup combo. He finishes the sandwich and about half of the soup before he feels his eyes grow heavy again and the tray is taken from his lap.

“Go back to sleep, hon. Morgan and I are here if you need us.” Pepper reassures the boy, so Peter does.

The next time he wakes was when Morgan and Pepper we’re on their way out. He vaguely remembers sluggishly thanking them for staying with him and Pepper saying something about MJ being home in just a few minutes, but as soon as the apartment door closes Peter was out once more.

The final time he wakes up is to Michelle gently shaking his shoulder, attempting to wake him from his short slumber. His eyes open, but quickly close again as he stretches his whole body, somehow exhausted and sore from his long day of sleeping.

“Emmby, you back?” He asks, not yet opening his eyes again.

He hears her adorable laugh and his heart soars. “Yes, dork, it’s me. Wanna open those pretty eyes for me, Tiger?”

Obviously wanting to see his beautiful girlfriend, he opens his eyes again. MJ looks tired from her first day but extremely happy.

“Was it ambazing? Everythindg you could have hoped for?” He asks, nuzzling closer to her thigh, much like a cat.

She hums an affirmation, bringing her hand up to trace random shapes along his arm. “It was everything and more. Honestly I can see myself working there forever. It was…it was perfect.”

Peter smiles at that. MJ deserved the perfect job and more. “Babe, that fandtastic. I’m so happy for you.” He says horsely but sincerely. He moves closer to her, raising his head a bit to lay it on her lap. With the motion, one of Morgan’s many little braids in his hair make themselves apparent and Michelle can help but burst with laughter.

It causes Peter to jolt up in a sleepy state of panic. “What, what happended?” He asks sitting up slightly, eyes half closed but alert.

She reaches up to ruffle the tiny braids that cover the right side of his head. “What is this? Did Morgan just learn how to fishtail braid because these are honestly kinda good.” She inspects the braids as Peter’s cheeks blush.

He smiles, coughing slightly and gently shaking his head so the braids flop around. That gets another laugh from MJ. “Mby sisters pretty talendted, huh?”

MJ nods, very amused. “An interesting look…but I’ll give it points for creativity.”

As the couple laughs again, Peter brings two fingers up to massage his temple as he feels a dull ache in his head.

“Headache?” Michelle frowns.

“Mhmm,” Peter confirms. “I thingk Mborgan made the braids a little too tight.”

“That’s no good.” MJ sympathizes, lowering her boy’s head back down onto her lap, braid side up so she can work on undoing the little knots. She makes quick work of it and within minutes, Peter’s hair is braid-less and the throbbing in head head dies down. In thanks, Peter snuggles his face closer Michelle’s middle, wrapping his arms around it as well.

“You thingk you can use a vacationd day tomborrow? I mbissed you today.” Peter whines, partly joking but sorta kinda being serious.

“From what I heard, your eyes were open for about thirty minutes today. Too busy sleeping to miss me that much.” MJ giggles at the sniffly boy with his head in her lap. He just shrugs in response, and she can feel his body relaxing and congested breaths evening out. “You going back to sleep on me already, Parker? Not even gonna let me tell you about my day?” She jokes again.

Peter snorts involuntarily as he turns his head to look up at her, eyes glossed with fever and sleepy but apologetic. “I’mb up I’mb up, tell mbe everything.”

She grabs the sides of his face sweetly, slightly squishing his cheeks while she kisses his forehead and then his nose. “I’m kidding, Peter. God your brain must be frying, come on let's go to bed.” She pats his cheek lightly and helps him sit up.

He yawns with his whole body, his hands stretching into the air and his back arching. “But it’s only like six, arend’t you hungry for dinnder?” He coughs into his fists while Michelle takes his other hand, helping him lift off the couch.

“Let me rephrase. You’re going to shower, put new pajamas on, and get in bed while I make us grilled cheeses, your second one today I'm assuming. How does that sound?” MJ asks, leading him to their bathroom.

Peter clears his throat as he sits on the closed toilet. “And…umb…and the tombato soup?”

The shower roars to life as MJ turns the handle. “You think I’d forget the most important part?” She scoffs, feigning hurt. Peter just smiled, the dopey smile he gets when he thinks about how in love he is with this girl. With two more quick forehead kisses she leaves him to shower.

Peter exits the shower feeling refreshed, less stuffy, and hungry once more. Thanks to the shower stream he can faintly smell the toasty cheesy smell from the kitchen and it gives him a nostalgic feeling.

As he grabs pajama pants and the MIT hoodie, Peter thinks of the first time he got sick after going to live with Ben and May. It was the first day of what was considered flu season and the sickly kid had contracted the virus at the drop of a hat. He was miserable the whole day, crying and wallowing in the aches and pains of the illness. The biggest issue, however, was that he refused to eat anything, that is until Ben decided to make himself a grilled cheese for dinner.

The older Parker noticed Peter looking the sandwich with feverish eyes. “Look tasty, bud?” Ben questioned, raising an eyebrow. Little Peter just nodded and Ben smiled, extremely relieved that his nephew was finally going to eat.

Sticking his pointer and middle finger in his mouth, Peter watches as his uncle stands from the couch and starts on another sandwich. “Uncle Ben?” Peter asks in a small voice. Ben looks back over to the kid and nods. “Do you have any of the-the red soup? Mommy always made grilled cheese with red soup.” Peter nearly whispered.

Ben thinks for a minute, not completely sure what the boy meant by red soup, but then it clicks. “Oh! Tomato soup?” He smiles as Peter nods. Ben open the cupboard to him and pulls out a can of tomato soup, flipping it in the air once to see Peter smile. “Tomato soup and grilled cheese coming right up monsieur Parker.” Ben says in a horrible French accent which makes the six year old giggle, as sound that was music to Ben’s ears after all tears. From then on, Peter would only insist on eating that particular meal anytime he had so much as a headache.

The door creaking open as MJ pushes it with her hip brings Peter out of his thoughts. She has the tray of grilled cheeses and soups in her hands and an amused look on her face. “You okay? Need help with something?”

Peter blinks and remembers that he’s sitting in the edge of their bed, in a towel, pajamas in hand. “Oh…no I’mb okay. Just thinking ‘bout stuff.”

MJ sets the tray down on her bedside table. “You already sound less stuffy. Maybe you should sleep in the shower.” She quips, not missing Peter's sweet tiny giggle as she grabs the water tank from the humidifier and takes it to the bathroom with her.

Peter gets dressed and settles into bed. He notices that Pepper has changed the sheets and his heart clinches, nearly overwhelmed by the love he feels from his family. He takes out his phone to text her a thank you but is intercepted by a string of texts from Tony.

Tony Stank:

Morgs is showing me pictures of the wonderful makeover she gave you

Honestly thought you pulled it off really well

…but you need a haircut

Please kiddo let me get you in with my hair guy

You’ll love him

Spider-Tot:

sorry pops but I am fully committing to this college hair thing

mj says she wants me in a man bun by graduation so

cant let my girl down

Tony Stank:

I swear you two are conspiring against me

Oh well

How you feeling bud?

Spider-Tot:

still kinda gross

snotty

but i think my fevers kinda lower

so thats something

tell pep thank you so so much for today

i was barely awake when they left

i feel bad I didn't get to say anything

Tony Stank:

I gotcha Pete don’t worry

If you need more company tomorrow let me know I’m free all day

Spider-Tot:

wdym ill just come in to the lab tomorrow

Tony Stank:

That’s a negative Petey Pie

As your gracious boss i’m giving you the next three days off

I want all this crap out of your system before you’re back in the lab

Spider-Tot:

three days ??

boooo

u stink old man

Tony Stank:

Good lord

You’re the only person I know that complains about getting days off from work

Get a good nights sleep and maybe ill bring you a circuit board to mess with tomorrow

Good enough?

Spider-Tot:

hmmm

fine

Tony Stank:

Good

Now go rest

Don’t bother your girlfriend too much

She complains to me when you do

Spider-Tot:

now I think its you two conspiring against me

:P

night tony

love u

Tony Stank:

Love you too bambino

Michelle returns from the bathroom, makeup off, hair down, and humidifier tank full of water. She sets the tank back in and turns the machine on, steam filling the air. After quickly putting on her own set of pajamas, MJ takes her and Peter’s dinner from the side table and places it on the bed between them. Peter wastes no time digging in, groaning in admiration for the food. He mumbles a thanks with his mouth full and MJ laughs, wiping a bit of soup off of his lip with her thumb.

“You’re welcome, loser.” She teases, beginning to eat her own meal. After a few bites she take the TV remote by her side and flips on Peter’s favorite sick day show.

As the Parks and Recreation theme song begins to play, Peter looks up at his girlfriend with appreciative eyes. “You’re too good to mbe.”

“You remember that next time I make you vacuum and you get pissy about it.” Michelle deadpans, but Peter knew she was messing around.

“I’m not messing around.” She clarifies, turning to look at his with one eyebrow raised.

“You really are a mbind reader.” Peter whispers with feverish wonder.

Throwing a paper towel at him playfully, MJ laughs and Peter joins her. They finish their food as the TV continues to play in the background, Peter yawning and coughing quietly as soon as he swallows his last bite. Without a word, MJ takes the empty plates and tray back to the kitchen. She turns off the bedroom lights as she reenters and tucks herself back under the covers. It's barely after 7 p.m. and the sun it only just starting to set, making the room glow a with dark blues and purples.

Peter is cuddled into her side as soon as she's back in bed, head resting on her chest and arm around her waist. “What am I gonna do with you Peter Parker?” She sighs, twirling her fingers through his already messy hair.

“Love mbe, no matter what? Even if I’mb yucky like this?” He pulls out the puppy dog eyes for this one. MJ may be stoic on the outside but not even she can resist the sweet sparkling glare.

“If I must.” She agrees, holding him tighter and resting her head on top of his.

But she’s happy to do it. Loving Peter Parker is an extremely easy thing, MJ thinks.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Sleeping At Last

or: 5 times Tony couldn´t sleep (and the one time he could)

My first 5+1! It´s based on an ask from lovely @trashofdoom, featuring a severely sleep-deprived Tony and various people (and AIs) looking after him. A million thanks to my amazing beta Bethany (@whumphoarder).

TW for vomiting, alcohol-overuse and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. Enjoy!

Tony rubs his eyes exhaustedly. They’re dry and stinging, irritated from countless hours spent staring at a Starkpad and fiddling with code. He spots another error in the programme and corrects it with a sigh. The numbers, usually easier to understand for him than any human behaviour, just won’t come together today.

There’s a soft knock at the door. It is honestly beyond Tony why people still knock in an era where there are retinal scanners at each entry to keep out unwanted visitors and open doors for the wanted ones, but at least it reduces the number of possible intruders down to two, one of whom  - Captain Spangles - is ruled out because of his ridiculously regular sleep pattern.

“Hey Brucie,” Tony calls even before the other man has entered. “What brings you here at - “ God, how has it become 4:30 this quickly?

“I should ask you the same. This is the, what, fourth night in a row?”

“Just getting these updates done.” Tony rolls his chair back and gestures to a row of devices lined up on the table across from him.

“And that can’t wait until tomorrow?” Bruce asks critically.

“The glitch with the comms not adjusting frequencies automatically was a serious issue last time... Nat wouldn’t have gotten hit if we had been able to warn her. She barely made it through—you know that.”

Bruce looks at him, then sees through him. “It wasn’t your fault, Tony.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault,” he says, a little too quickly. “But it’s my responsibility to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I just can’t figure out what caused it...” He rubs his forehead with furrowed brows. “It’s like my brain is filled with fog.”

Bruce frowns at that admission.

“Anyway,” Tony goes on, “now that you’re here, I’ve got something I wanna show you...”

He gets up from the chair, making for the 3D-hologram area at the other end of the room. But only a few steps in, his head rushes without warning.

“Woah,” he breathes, grabbing a table for support as darkness clouds his field of vision. “What the fuck was that?”

“That was your blood pressure screaming at you to finally get some rest,” Bruce assesses, stepping over to steady Tony as the man sinks dizzily to the floor. “And I agree with it.” Gently, he pushes Tony's head between his knees.

“That’s unfair,” the other man grumbles. “Back in college, I used to pull five all nighters in a row, and that involved a lot more partying.“

“You’re an old man now,” Bruce teases, but his voice is tinged with concern.

The engineer mumbles something into his knees that sounds a lot like “'Should see yourself.”

"Better?" Bruce asks after a minute, resting a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Hmm.” Tony nods without looking up.

“Stay put. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t drink strange herbs dissolved in water,” Tony says with a shudder. “You know I'm a full-blooded coffee addict.”

“Trust me with this one—it's not the normal kind. Just stay there until I'm back.”

Tony, of course, doesn't listen. When Bruce returns a few minutes later, he’s made it back to his desk on wobbly legs and is squinting at the tablet. Bruce wriggles it out of his fingers with an exasperated sigh and presses a cup of something hot and steaming into his hand.

“This... doesn't smell like tea,” Tony says warily.

“It's Chai. The real one, not the nonsense they sell at Starbucks.” He watches as Tony takes a tentative sip, then another, and a bit of colour returns to his cheeks.

“Where’d you learn that?” Tony nods at the cup.

“In Kolkata,” Bruce replies. His gaze goes a bit distant as he adds, “I miss it sometimes, you know? It's the weirdest kind of place, but it took me in.”

“Why did you come down here, actually?” Tony asks, now looking up at him intensely.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Bruce shrugs. “Guess I wasn't the only one.”

“Yeah.” Tony gives him an exhausted smile. “Tell me about it...”

Joining a mission after four straight days of staying awake was definitely not the best idea, but Tony isn't exactly known for making sensible choices.

Luckily, the battle finishes quickly, leaving him sitting on the edge of a curb, knowing full well that his slumped-over posture is looking anything but heroic to the camera crews filtering in from all sides. On the other hand, it would certainly be worse publicity if he took a swan dive in front of the assembled press, which, unfortunately, is a very likely scenario considering the way the world is currently wobbling around the edges.

He’s just trying to gather the strength to make it upright and join Nat in talking to the reporters when he spots a blurred figure approaching quickly from behind a corner, raised gun aimed right at the assassin.

Tony fires without thinking. He might have forgotten that the repulsors were still set to full power, because the next thing that follows is an ear-splitting bang and a cloud of smoke rising up from what used to be a bus stop.

“What the fuck, Stark?!”

He blinks when a very upset Nat is suddenly standing over him, and seriously, that's one of the moments when he understands why people are sometimes afraid of her.

“You can't complete a single mission without destroying New York?” she demands. “What was that for? Trying out your new tech? Impressing the tabloids?”

“Calm down,” Tony hisses, more than a little annoyed. “We didn't get all of them, there was someone sneaking up on us. I just saved your ass.”

“What?” Nat's angry expression morphs into confusion as she turns around and surveys the area. “There's nobody here, Tony.”

“No, no, that's not right.“ He gets to his feet shakily, steadying himself against a streetlamp until the familiar blackness fades from his vision. He uses the suit's sensors to zoom in at the heap of rubble, but true to Nat's word, there is no sign of an attacker.

“I thought I... never mind,” he mumbles.

“You know your little stunt was caught on camera, right?” Nat asks, still annoyed, but with a bit of concern now mixed into her tone. “And that I've got to report it to SHIELD if my team members have health issues that can negatively influence their ability to - “

“That's not  - I'm not having flashbacks, okay?” he interrupts her, anger flaring up. “I just - I thought I saw something. Someone. Won't happen again.”

“I wasn't  talking about PTSD, Stark. You are aware that sleep deprivation can lead to hallucinations?”

“I'm  - gosh.” Tony rubs his eyes wearily. He really, really doesn't have the energy for this argument right now. “That's none of your business.”

“It becomes my business as soon as it compromises the mission.” Nat gives him a glare, but her eyes have gone soft. “Go home, Tony. I'll handle SHIELD and the press. Do us all a favour and get some sleep.”

“If only it were that easy,” he mutters under his breath. But he fires up his thrusters all the same and takes off into the sky, decidedly not looking back at the disaster he’s caused.

Tony wakes up drenched in cold sweat, his breaths coming in short, painful gasps. The sheets next to him are empty.

“Jarvis?” he croaks.

“It is 3:52 a.m., Sir. You are in your quarters at Stark Tower. It is currently drizzling, with a high probability of heavy rains for the coming day. You have been asleep for one hour and 37 minutes. You started to exhibit signs of distress sixteen minutes ago.” The AI hesitates a moment. “You were also talking in your sleep. If I may, Sir, would you like to know the current status of Miss Potts?”

“Yeah,” Tony breathes.

“I can access a video feed of the security cameras in the Hong Kong hotel she is currently residing at, if you'd like to see it.”

Tony nods weakly into the darkness, trusting Jarvis' ultrasharp sensors to pick it up.

The screen above the bed lights up, displaying a slightly pixelated image of Pepper in business attire, taking notes on a Starkpad while nodding politely at an equally formally dressed man seated across from her.

A small field with name and designation appears next to the man's head, revealing his position as the head of one of Stark Asia's subsidiaries.

“Thanks, J,” Tony says hoarsely after a few minutes. “You can close it now.”

The AI doesn't reply, but the room illuminates with a warm light that leaves no shadows in the corners. Bless Jarvis for knowing what he needs when Tony himself doesn't.

He sits up slowly, his fingers gliding over the soft fabric of the blankets, then feeling for the bathrobe that's draped over a nearby chair. He lets his fingertips run over the slightly uneven wall while he makes his way to the bathroom. Then he rests his hand on the doorknob, feeling its solidness.

Real, he reminds himself, because sometimes the present is elusive, sometimes it’s so much harder than it should be to figure out what's there and what isn't.

He sits on the bathroom tiles for a while, enjoying the chill seeping into his bones, anchoring him. He thinks of Pepper somewhere in Hong Kong, far, far away. Safe.

He knows that sleep is not going to come to him now.

When he finally steps into the shower, Jarvis has already adjusted the temperature and his morning playlist is issuing softly from the speakers.

“Honestly, I don't get the sense of ‘brunching’,” Tony states while tossing down his third cup of coffee that morning. “Maria's a grown-up girl, she should host a party like normal adults do. Get drunk, let loose, bully Fury into singing Karaoke - you know what I mean.”

“Not everyone's like you, Tony,” Steve replies good-naturedly, but still with this slightly lecturing note in his voice that sometimes drives Tony crazy. “Some people like to celebrate their birthday without it ending in fistfights and drunken guests throwing up everywhere.”

“Hey, that was one time!” Tony retorts, “And it's not a fistfight if armour is involved.” He reaches over the extensive buffet to grab the coffee pot and refill his cup.

“Haven't you had enough of that already?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Can't you let a guy have his small vices?” Tony deflects. He tries to scoop sugar from a delicate porcelain bowl into his cup, but his hands are jittering so much that half of it ends up on the tablecloth.

With a small sigh, Steve takes the spoon from his hands, adding sugar and stirring calmly. “You sure you're alright?” he adds, handing the cup back to Tony.

“Yes, Spangles. Stop mother-henning me,” Tony replies. He suppresses a belch when the first sip of coffee doesn't quite settle well.

They stand in silence while he sips the beverage, until Steve spots Sam on the other side of the room and goes over to talk to him, and Tony is left squirming uncomfortably. He’s full of nervous energy just waiting to be transformed into new inventions in his workshop, but he still has to wait through another few hours of polite conversation and boring toasts before he will be able to disappear.

Ironically, today is the first morning in a while that he actually feels like he might be able to sleep if he tried hard enough. But the prospect of everyone's irritation if he misses Hill's birthday celebration kept him away from bed.

He's thus settled on caffeine to fight the tiredness and reduce the headache throbbing behind his temples. The coffee has so far accomplished its job of keeping him upright without getting dizzy, but it also makes his stomach burn and causes a vague feeling of nausea that only increases as time goes on.

“You haven't tried the cake,” a kind voice says from behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Here, have a piece,” Laura Barton offers, holding it out. Then she seems to think better of it and sets it on the counter in front of Tony. “I made it, not Clint, so you don't have to worry about getting poisoned.”

Tony tries to come up with a way of politely declining, his stomach somersaulting at the thought of food, but Laura has an aura about her that makes it almost impossible to say no. It reminds him faintly of Pepper. He has no illusions about who calls the shots in the Barton household.

“Thanks,“ he says, taking a tentative bite. He has to swallow twice to get the piece down, and then he can feel it sitting heavily at the end of his throat. He stifles another belch that brings with it the sour taste of acid.

“It's great,” he lies while taking a deep breath, attempting to will the nausea away.

It doesn't work. Instead, he can feel bile creeping up his throat. The urge to gag is suddenly overwhelming.

“Are you okay?” Laura asks.

Tony just presses the plate back into her hand. “Sorry,” he chokes out before making a break for the bathroom.

He only makes it to the sink before hot and bitter liquid is forcing its way upwards and splashing into the basin. It still carries the smell of coffee, making him even more nauseous. He barely manages to catch a breath before he heaves again, bringing up another gush of vomit.

The throbbing behind his forehead intensifies and he closes his eyes against the pain. He’s  coughing and sputtering, steadying himself on the basin, when he hears the door to the bathroom open.

“Occupied,” he croaks. But there's already a hand on his back, patting him hesitantly.

“Tony, what's going on?” a voice asks, and yep, out of all people that could have come to pee at this very moment, it has to be Captain Fucking Righteous.

“Nothing,” Tony pants, “Go away - ugh.”

He retches again and brings up a mouthful of bile.

“Are you sick?” Steve's hand now moves towards his neck to feel his temperature, and no, this is not happening.

“It’s nothing.” Tony bats his hand away. “Just overdid it with the coffee today. You were right, be happy.”

“I wasn't - that's not what I'm thinking,” Steve says defensively.

“But you were also wrong,” Tony continues, spitting into the basin. “Apparently, brunching doesn't reduce the risk of people ending up barfing.”

Steve ignores his banter. “Can I get you anything?”

A bed, a new head, and truckload of aspirin are all high on his list, but Tony settles for the easiest.

“Glass of water and some mint would be marvellous,” he says, and Steve is gone within a second. The guy is so helpful that it's a plague.

To the best of his ability, he avoids looking at the brownish mess he’s made. His stomach is still more than queasy as he starts the water.

By the time Steve returns, the evidence is cleared and Tony's game face is reestablished.

The anniversary of his parents' death has always been a night without the remotest hope of catching sleep. It is also the one night a year during which Pepper doesn't say anything when Tony drinks himself senseless.

In earlier years, Rhodey used to always be around on that date—ever since the very first time in college when he'd found Tony passed out in a puddle of his own sick with a BAC of 0.3. Then Pepper moved in, and Tony would be moody and irritable all night, demanding her to leave him alone, secretly praying she'd stay. She always did.

But this time, Pepper is still in Hong Kong - the negotiations taking longer than expected - and after the first few glasses of scotch, he finds himself turning his phone over in his hands, contemplating calling a few of his old business contacts and inviting himself to one of those parties that have more recreational substances floating around than actual food.

But he doesn't. Instead, he pulls up the second number on his speed dial. It takes less than a full ring before Rhodey picks up.

“Hey man,” Tony greets jovially, “What're you up to?”

Then, after a second, he quietly adds, “It's bad tonight.”

The can you come over goes unsaid. It's only a few minutes before the War Machine armour makes a soft landing on the balcony. Rhodey steps out of the suit and into the warmth of the living room.

“Here.” Tony turns around from the bar, a bit unsteady on his feet, and presses a glass into Rhodey's hand. “To all those sweepers that keep the roads free of ice.”

Rhodey clinks his glass against Tony's, his eyes wide and sad. Tony doesn't pass out that night, but Rhodey almost wishes he did.

The annual Maria Stark Foundation Gala takes place a few days after the anniversary, all of which Tony spends on a single workshop binge, running on coffee, AC/DC, and the deliberate aversion of any thoughts not related to R&D.

Pepper, who finally returns after a successful conclusion of “the greatest bargaining endeavor in history” (in the words of her PA), hauls him out of the lab a few hours before the Gala, threatening to fly right back to Hong Kong if he doesn't shower and dress up.

Tony's head his swimming when he bends over the sink to wash his face. He feels weak, almost feverish. When he starts to shave, his hands are trembling so hard that his usually perfect goatee comes out looking more like a modern art caricature of symmetry than anything else.

Pepper eyes his crooked beard, his haggard face, and the black circles beneath his eyes with a frown when she hands him the cue cards for his speech. She’s ushered into the changing room by an assistant before she can comment.

Tony manages a speech that leaves the audience laughing themselves to tears, without actually comprehending a single word of what he says. All the time, he clings to the lectern, painfully aware only of the weakness in his limbs and his own heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears.

He staggers down from the stage just to see Pepper emerging from the changing room in a breathtaking sleeveless gown. He might have been swaying a bit, because her eyes go wide upon seeing him and she hurries in his direction.

“You look fantastic,” he manages to say before the static in his ears grows deafening and the ground rushes up to meet him.

He comes to with his head in Pepper's lap and a group of assistants encircling him, heatedly debating the best course of action.

“Hey,” she says, her expression serious. “You back with us?”

“Hmm,” he grunts, trying to focus on his surroundings through the dizziness and pulsing headache.

“Can you get up?” she asks.

“Yeah, of course,” he mumbles. But his legs are jelly when he tries to get them under him. “Or maybe I'll just stay here for a while. The view is great,” he says weakly.

Pepper doesn't even give an answer. Instead, she pushes an arm behind his back to sit him up. With the help of Happy, they get Tony to his feet and manage to get him to the couch in the backstage room.

Tony sinks heavily onto the cushions. Pepper sits down next to him, waving at Happy to close the door and wait outside.

“So. What's going on?” she asks calmly, but Tony knows her too well not to hear the panic barely contained in her voice. “And don't dare tell me that you're fine, because I’m not an idiot.”

“I'm okay, Pepper - quit giving me that look,” he starts.

“By what definition was that ‘okay’?” she interrupts in an icy tone.

“Okay, as in, I swear there’s nothing majorly wrong with me. Just had a bit of trouble sleeping over the past few weeks,” he concedes. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Except for you passing out in the middle of a public Gala.”

“Where would be the fun in life without the little surprises?” he jokes in a weak voice. He can feel fatigue washing over him in waves, making his body numb and heavy.

“Sleep deprivation, that's all it is?” Pepper probes. “ Can I trust you on this? I won't regret it if I don't haul you to a hospital right now?”

“You can trust me on everything, you know that.” A moment of pain washes over her face, so brief that he nearly misses it.

“Hey. That was two years ago. Look at me, Pep.” It takes a lot of energy to lift his arm and reach out to touch her face. He looks her straight into the eyes. “I'm not dying. I promise.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment. She doesn't look completely convinced, but it seems she decides to let it go for now. “You can't go back in like this. And we can't leave the Gala early without the press going wild.”

“Trust me, I don't wanna move,” Tony says. The world is turning fuzzy before his eyes now, greyness creeping in from the edges. “Nothing wrong with backstage couches - I'm speaking from experience. Let's just stay here for a bit.”

Pepper bites her lip to suppress a smile.

He lets his head fall down below her shoulder, nestling his face into the soft spot between her neck and collarbone. He is vaguely aware of her hands in his hair, a warm and steady presence holding him. And then, in an uncharacteristically nonchalant fashion, Tony Stark falls asleep.

[avengersnumberonetrash]

Talk to Me

You don't have to be a hero to save the world

It doesn't make you a narcissist to love yourself

It feels like nothing is easy it'll never be

That's alright, let it out, talk to me

Tony let out a shaky breath as he slumped against his workbench. He could try his hardest to do good, to be good, but nothing would ever erase his past of destruction and death. He could never forget it, either, the news certainly would never let him forget. He was tired of being crucified for everything. The things he did do and the things he didn’t do, it was always his fault. Today he wasn’t fast enough, an innocent life was lost. Another family, torn apart because he wasn’t good enough. Cap had told him to evacuate the building sooner, but Clint needed evac off the roof of the same building that was half collapsed already and going down faster than he could run. Tony, of course, caught him and dropped him off on the ground safely. He looped back around to get the rest of the civilians out of the top floor. He got all but one. And the headlines read “Ironman left man for dead” and “Tony Stark heartless in the face of destruction”. Instead of going to medical to get his ribs tapped and head checked out, he went straight to the lab to watch the news. It didn’t matter that he saved over 15 people from the building or that he blasted that weeks monster in the face or stayed as long as he could to help pick up the pieces or that he’s giving thousands of dollars towards rebuilding the city and individual funds for people who lost their property or loved ones. Someone was dead because of him.

“Jarvis, find out who it was that was lost in the building and make sure all funeral expenses are covered.”

“Of course, sir.”

The lab doors slid open silently. Tony was aware that someone came in and sat next to him, he just didn’t bother looking at who it was.

“You should go to medical, solnyshko.” Bucky, of course.

“I should have saved him.” Bucky didn’t say anything else, just held him until his voice was raw from screaming and sobbing.

You don't have to be a prodigy to be unique

You don't have to know what to say or what to think

You don't have to be anybody you can never be

That's alright, let it out, talk to me

Tony stumbled, slightly, into the communal kitchen clutching his favorite Star Wars mug after 48 straight hours spent in the lab upgrading the teams equipment and getting back-logged work for SI done. He was the equivalent of a zombie at this point. Eyes blurring slightly, shaky legs and the pounding headache that usually accompany these binges. He went right to the coffee pot to pour himself some sweet, sweet caffeine.

“Stark, are you finished with those stun arrows yet?” Clint dropped down from the top of the fridge effectively scaring Tony so bad that the boiling hot coffee sloshed over his hand.

“Jesus! Clint you’re going to kill me one of these days.” Tony hissed as he wiped his burnt hand on his shirt.

Clint shrugged. “Arrows?” Tony shook his head, he still hasn’t managed to get the voltage correct.

“I thought you were some super genius and you can’t figure out these arrows?”

Did Tony say that out loud? Maybe he isn’t as recovered from that concussion as he thought if he’s speaking without realizing it. He also might need sleep soon. Clint snorted.

“I don’t think you can blame a concussion for you not thinking before you speak. That’s just a Stark thing, no filter.” Tony, for once, had nothing to say. So he just blinked at Clint and then put his mug in the sink. He’ll get coffee somewhere else. He turned to flee the kitchen with a heavy feeling in his chest. But before he could step out completely he stopped and said:

“Don’t worry, Birdbrain, I’ll get your arrows finished.”

He stepped back into the elevator to go back down to the lab.

“Sir, I would recommend that you sleep for at least 10 hours, not go back to the lab.”

“You heard Legolas, arrows, J. To the lab.” Jarvis didn’t respond other than to start the elevator down. Tony let out a sigh, in reality nothing sounded better than face planting into his bed. Who needs sleep when your team needs gear to keep them safe? Not Tony, that's for sure. Howard Stark only cared about himself, a bottle of scotch, and Captain America. Tony cares about a hell of a lot more than that and he'll be damned if he’ll let sleep drag him down. He stood up a little straighter and rolled his shoulders. He could do this, arrows and then sleep. Tony stepped back into the lab and got to work.

Turns out, he cannot do this. He has been shocked and burnt more times in the last hour than he has in the last month alone. With a frustrated growl he swiped the contents off the desk onto the floor. Taking in the state of his red and raw hands, he clenched them into fists. The pain made him focus, clearing the haziness in his mind. He jumped violently when hands connected with his shoulders.

“Shh. I think it’s time you get up to bed.” Tony’s anxiety lessened upon hearing Bucky’s voice and almost completely vanished when he started to rub circles into the hard knots within Tony’s shoulders. He didn’t register that they were walking out of the lab until the doors opened. Tony jerked out of Bucky’s hold.

“Sorry, Bucko, I have work to do.” Tony gave him a forced smile and he couldn’t quite name the emotion that came over Bucky’s face. Almost disappointment, but sadder. That’s okay, Tony knew he was a disappointment.

“Tony, you’ve been up almost 40 hours straight. You need sleep, not to mention medical attention.”

Tony couldn’t meet his gaze, instead looking at the mess in his lab. The blueprints for Clint’s arrows and their failed prototypes littered on the floor.

“Clint needs arrows.” It was said without any malice, just defeat. This shouldn’t be so hard, he was a genius for fucks sake.

“Tony,” Bucky waited until the inventor looked at him, “it’s hard because you need sleep and food. Clint’s arrows can wait until you’ve slept, gotten food, and your hands looked at. And if he says anything about it, I’ll kick his ass. C’mon, solnyshko, let me take care of you.”

Anxiety tossing turning in your sleep

Even if you run away you still see them in your dreams

It's so dark tonight but you'll survive certainly

It's alright, come inside, and talk to me

Tony slept for exactly four hours and 17 minutes. He woke up with a scream dying on his lips and sweat soaking through his shirt. Apparently, even sleep deprived, his mind was still a cruel bastard. His shirt felt like a wet noose slowly making its way up to his neck. He could feel his ridiculously soft sheets beneath him, but his mind was screaming that he was on rocky and hard ground. Tony tumbled out of the bed onto the floor while gasping for breath. He couldn’t hear Jarvis telling him where he was, what time it was or the weather outside. All he could hear were bombs going off and his harsh breathing. Tony clawed off his shirt, not registering that his hands were wrapped and he tapped the arc reactor rapidly as the walls of his room closed in on him.

We can talk here on the floor

On the phone, if you prefer

I'll be here until you're okay

Jarvis must’ve alerted Bucky to Tony’s panic attack because he was suddenly there grabbing his hands gently.

“Tony, hey, it’s alright. Can you try to match my breathing? In and out.” Bucky placed both of Tony’s hands on his chest, exaggerating his breathing in an attempt to calm Tony’s own rapid breathing. It took awhile, but eventually Tony sagged and calmed down. Bucky moved so he could pull Tony into his lap.

“Please don’t leave.”

“Not unless you want me to, doll.”  

Let your words release your pain

You and I will share the weight

Growing stronger day by day

“I’m sorry.” Bucky lowered the book he was reading to peer up at Tony.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” Tony repeated with a little exasperation leaking into his voice.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What for, solnyshko?” Tony started tapping the arc reactor casing gently.

“Being a mess.” Bucky arched an eyebrow and reached forward to snag one of Tony’s wrists to pull him down into his lap.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, doll, but you’re talking to a man who's had his brains scrambled for the last 70 years.” Tony huffed and looked away.

“But you handle it so well.” Bucky snorted

“I don’t, not really. Sometimes I wake up still feeling like the Asset.”

“Sometimes I wake up feeling like I’m still hooked up to a car battery.” Tony leaned on Bucky’s chest and Bucky held him closer.

“Looks like we both have burdens to bare. Not alone, though. Not anymore.”

It's so dark outside tonight

Build a fire warm and bright

And the wind it howls and bites

Bite it back with all your might

Bucky found Tony on the roof. It was the dead of night and slightly chilly and why on earth was Tony even out here?

“I hate it, you know?” Tony’s voice made Bucky’s steps falter. After a moment's hesitation Bucky walked the distance to Tony and sat down next to the man who hadn’t looked at him once.

“I hate that I can never take back all of the things I did. I was an awful person, still might be an awful person. But I try, yeah? I give pieces of myself away in hopes that that will rectify the things I’ve done. But I’ve realized that don’t have anything left, nothing good enough anyways, and I’m just so damn tired.” Bucky took a moment to look at Tony, not that he hadn’t already committed this man to his memory, but he did see how tired he was. Dark circles under his eyes, slumped shoulders, glazed far off stare, and he was so pale. When Bucky spoke he made sure his voice was soft, but firm.

“You’ll never run out of pieces, your body will give them back to you without your consent to keep on giving. Other people will throw them at you, damaged and unclean and then it will be your job to fix them up to give them away again.” Tony’s eyes finally drifted to look at Bucky. “Sometimes, you'll pick up the fallen and forgotten pieces of yourself and place them next to your heart to never forget who and what they were given to and you will never give those pieces away again. There is no such thing as giving away too many pieces of yourself, you’ll still have them, they may be broken and dirty and old but they are still yours and they are still good enough.” Tony’s tears were silent as he nodded.

“You sound so sure.” Bucky looked away, a sad smile dancing on his lips.

“Yeah, I’m still picking up and polishing off my own pieces.” Tony’s hand moved to rest on top of his and they sat in silence.

Anxiety tossing turning in your sleep

Even if you run away you still see them in your dreams

It's so dark tonight

It looks nice, fall asleep

It's alright, come inside, and talk to me

“Tony, come to bed, doll.”

And for once, Tony didn’t worry about any nightmares plaguing him in his sleep. He didn’t worry about all the work he still had to do. He didn’t have to worry about his demons clawing their way up from his personal hell when Bucky was there to help him keep them at bay. Tony shut down his work and got up to follow the love of his life to bed.

[auroraknux]

Decided to make yet another “Incorrect Shadow Boom Quotes” post. As always, I don’t remember where most of these quotes originate from (I steal them from various incorrect quotes blogs), and some of them have been tweaked a little.

I just enjoy collecting quotes that fit the characters, I guess. :P (Though, it has given me some of my ideas for how I want to portray the characters in this AU.)

Sonic: You're flirting with me?

Knuckles: Something like that.

Sonic: Finally! Do it some more.

Knuckles: So wait, Rouge kissed you and you said "thank you"?

Shadow: Yes.

Knuckles: Well, that was very polite.

Shadow: I don't hate you anymore.

Sonic: No?

Shadow: No, though I did imagine at least 20 different ways to remove your head from your body.

Sonic: Really? Which one looked the best?

Shadow: Hedge clippers. Really dull ones.

Sonic: No, you wouldn’t want it to go quick, would you?

Rouge: I need your help.

Shadow: Okay, who are we killing? I won’t kill kids, that’s a rule. That rule is negotiable if the kid is a dick, though.

Shadow: (talking about Rouge) That’s my girlfriend, suckers!

Amy: That’s your wife.

Shadow: My wife! Even better!

Rouge: You’re pretty cute when you’re nice.

Shadow: Well, what am I when I’m not nice?

Rouge: Hot as fuck.

Amy: (talking about Sonic and Knuckles) This is the gayest thing I’ve ever seen. Truly, the gayest. I wouldn’t even act like that, and I’m dating a woman.

Shadow: Rouge, can you turn the light on?

Rouge: I don’t need to Shadow, you’re the only light I need in my life.

Shadow: Darling, that’s really sweet but I can’t see.

Sonic: [mentally] Wait, is he into me? Quick, make a bad joke and see if he laughs.

Sonic: [aloud] Did you hear the one about the skeleton who couldn’t go to the party? He had no body to go with!

Knuckles: [laughs] That’s really funny.

Sonic: …

Sonic: [mentally] Well, that’s not a fair test. That joke’s hilarious.

Rouge: Don’t buy flowers for your girlfriend. They don’t want that. Buy them swords! SWORDS ARE WHAT WOMEN WANT.

Rouge: I would greatly prefer a bouquet of twelve katanas over a bouquet of twelve roses any day.

Amy: I'm a lesbiab

Amy: Lesbiam

Amy: Less Bien

Amy: Girls

Sonic: It's okay, take your time.

Amy: [to Sticks] You’re gonna be my woman.

Knuckles: We can make this work! We're Romeo and Juliet!

Sonic: It didn't work for Romeo and Juliet. That play ends in a tragic double suicide.

Knuckles: That's how it ends? Why do people like it so much?

Shadow: We don’t use curse words in this house. *gestures to Tails* There are children present.

Sonic, in the distance: FUCK!

(After Sonic joins the group)

Shadow: Alright, usual formation!

Sonic: What's the usual formation?

Knuckles: Varies.

Sonic: How can the usual formation vary?!

Amy: Is the whole village gay?

Sonic: Not yet.

Knuckles: I was voted Most Confident in my Low Self-Esteem support group!

Sonic: There are no straight men, just men who haven't met me.

Sonic, about Knuckles: There’s a guy over there who looks like he can bench-press 300 lb…and I’d like to be 77 of them.

Amy: Most people that meet me don’t know that I’m gay.

Sonic: Blind and deaf people know you’re gay.

Shadow: Dead people know you’re gay.

Amy: Sticks, did you know I was gay when you met me?

Sticks: Buster knew.

Sonic: Where've you been, dude? I've been trying to find you all day!

Shadow: Oh, what a coincidence, I've been trying to ignore you all day.

Sonic: (to Shadow) I'm here, I'm queer. Get used to it.

Tails: Hey Rouge, I--

Rouge: Shh, I'm listening to music.

Tails: But there's no sound coming out?

Rouge: Listen closely and you'll hear it.

*Shadow laughing in the other room*

Rouge: There it is.

Shadow: I am offended. I am angry. I am very tired. So I'm gonna take a nap, but when I wake up, oh, you are in for it.

Shadow: [four hours later] How dare you?

Sonic [drowsy]: Can I lay on your shoulder?

Knuckles: Sure, whatever.

Sonic [sniffling Knuckles' neck]: You smell like... something nice. Vanilla maybe. It is good. I like it. I could be here all day and never get tired of it.

Knuckles: *blushes furiously*

Rouge: [watching some kids playing] I keep picturing our own kid in there, he'd be the best one.

Shadow: I think you meant "she".

Rouge: He.

Shadow: Either way Rouge, we've been over this. Kids are afraid of us.

Rouge: Yeah but why?

[Two kids run close to them and gasp]

Kid: Are they gonna eat us?

Shadow: Hi kids.

Kids: Ahhh! [both run away]

Shadow: I even smiled this time.

Sonic: I just want to be friends.

Knuckles: Okay!

Sonic: Plus a little extra.

Sonic: Also, I love you.

Amy: You all think I enjoy being a mother hen to you all?!

Everyone: ...

Amy: Okay fine, it's like crack to me.

?: For self-defense training, I'm going to pretend to be a burglar, and you two have to act wisely.

Maria: Okay.

Shadow: Sure.

?: If you want to live, give me all your money.

Maria: Bold of you to assume that I have money.

Shadow: Bold of you to assume that I want to live.

?: ...

Sonic: I'm cold.

Shadow: Like my heart.

Sonic: Now is not the time to debate which one of us is more dead inside.

Tails: I could strangle you.

Knuckles: You aren’t tall enough.

Tails: You’ve sunk low enough for me to reach.

Kidnapper: [on phone] We have your son.

Sonic: I don't have a son.

Kidnapper: [getting frustrated] Then who the heck just asked for chocolate milk with a straw and made us cut the crust off his PB&J?

Sonic: Oh god.

Kidnapper: What?

Sonic: You have my husband.

Rouge: [flirting] You have beautiful eyes.

Shadow: Thanks, I need them to see.

Amy: Tails, how long does it take until you start hallucinating from sleep deprivation?

Tails: I think--

Shadow: Seventy two hours.

Tails: How do you--

Shadow: There’s a clown behind you.

Amy: Knuckles, would you do me the honor of becoming my son-in-law?

Knuckles: Did you just propose to Sonic FOR me?

Amy: Someone had to do it.

Sonic: You have no idea what I'm capable of.

Shadow: Don't take it personally, but I feel like I'm being threatened by a cupcake.

Sonic: *looking in a mirror trying to practice self-love* You're doing great, you stupid bitch.

Amy: My sexuality doesn't define me.

Sticks: Hey, how are you?

Amy: Gay.

[thinkingaboutsanfrancisco]

Enthusiastically accepting to partake in my ceremonious gesture, S declares that he wants to top us off with a toast of his own and, judging by the formal clearing of his throat, this is going to be good. I just know it; it excites a bubbling within me as I anticipate the short but spiritedly explicit vain that his tipsy toast is going to take...

Here’s to those who wish us well...and those who don’t can go to hell.

However, his liquid courage oozes beyond what my jocular ass would’ve said or settled for. He’s spirited alright, and still surprisingly succinct for someone who’s about to down shot number four, but there’s not a hint of sarcasm to be found when he seizes the moment: “To finding friendship in the most peculiar places. To me finally being able to breathe again, to you conquering your first shot and coming out tonight with my crazy ass and actually seeming to enjoy it quite a bit — it’s fucking great to see you smiling this much, J...”

It’s great to have something to smile over. 

I still can’t believe it. Somehow that’s been afforded to me on this night after this awful sleep-deprived week in a nightclub out of all places and fuck it feels good—albeit a little strenuous since I can’t even remember the last time I’ve held one this long—but whatever, I can’t stop. I am starting to enjoy myself here and I think it’s because he miraculously took my mind away from everything else. I can’t hear the abrasive music anymore; it’s not gone, vibrations of the bass linger in the background, but that grating pressure in my head has cleared significantly and I breathe a little easier as I listen to the rest of his proclamation; wishing upon us eternal exuberance, laughter, good times and good people. He’s ambitious; those things are so scarce in life that I should be doubting him as delusional for such a demand, but his optimism is too inspiring. I forget sometimes that there’s nothing wrong with merely wanting something. Those are incredibly generous and kind things to want for someone, actually, especially when said someone is quite the cynical, neurotic, and derelict bastard…

But I want all of those wishes to come true for us too.  

“Cheers,” I say, the sight of the tequila sloshing around in his glass when it meets my sturdy, empty, one merits a chuckle out of me as their gratifying clink rings in my ears. Empty and full, sufficient and lacking; they look so strange next to each other and, nausea be damned, I wish I would’ve done just one more to have celebrated this properly, y’know...third time’s the charm and all. However, when I look over at the tray, I realize that would’ve been impossible: empty glasses are all that remain outside of the one in his hand, which he’s still holding—along with a gaze on me that keeps me smiling at him.

C’mon, go ahead... you’ve earned it. 

He believes so too and gulps it down before daring to contemplate this sacred sentimentality. I appreciate his self-cognizance, but I think the alcohol’s affecting him more than he admits, because I know he’s openly emotional and... I’m okay with it. I have been. Seriously, Sunday was this week and I was there. I was there when the morning sun was pouring through the windows to fuel his infectious haze of happiness and, twelve or so hours later, I was there sitting beside him while he cried when it all crashed down. That night might’ve opened up a painful Pandora’s box for me that I’ve since spent every single waking hour regretting ever prying at it, but I never regretted staying with him. I don’t want him to suffer such purgatory again and much prefer his sappy tears tonight, but I’m happy to beckon the call if he ever needs it. 

There’s certainly no need for me to pray about it, S...I’m just glad you’re okay. 

“I think I’m qualified,” I remind him and the peace that instantaneously washes over his face says it all; he thinks so too. 

A profound silence settles upon us as we bask in this affirmation and it’s so perfectly pure that I don’t prod it. He’ll talk when he’s ready and I’ve got nothing else pertinent to add, so I soon find myself focused on the sensation of slowly straightening out a strand of my hair and twirling loosely it around the end of my finger, wondering about this one minor thing that starts to distract me...

When is she coming back? 

It’s slightly tormenting because I can see her—she’s right there— but her back is turned to us as she rapidly tends to far more taxing orders of those in the cue, and, at this point, I wish she’d come over here so I can tell her not to worry about my silly order. It’s not like I need it and I’d feel really bad if she got chewed out by some drunken dipshit for taking a break to tend to me all the way back here...

“Alright, where’s the fucking bartender at? I need more shots, like instantly,” S speaks up and, before I can gesture to how swarmed she is on the other side so that he’ll understand to be extra-cool with her about it, he suddenly remembers something: “Wait, did you say you were nauseous?” 

I nod, because yeah, I still am. It’s calmed down significantly from earlier to where I don’t feel like I’m going to die like I did, but...I don’t feel as good as I did a minute ago either. It’s at least threatening to come back and, while S’ remedy would probably stabilize me, the fact that I’ve now made it a deal worsens me. 

No, you don’t have to. Seriously, I’ll be fine. It’s not worth the trouble of bothering her, especially when she’s beyond busy. 

I don’t think he intended for her to hear his plans — he’s about as surprised as I am when she turns to our side, rushing over with my bulky glass of Coke in her hand. Freshly poured, it’s so filled to the brim with carbonation that I fear the top might spill on the both of us when she sets it down, but it doesn’t. Like a true professional, she apologizes profusely for the wait, and I offer her as much of a steady and polite smile as my guilt will let me muster.

“No, it’s fine, really. Thank you.” 

Seriously, she’s got nothing to apologize for. I know it’s just a Coke, but it looks immaculate. The abundant foam has fizzled out some, but the ice cubes and straw are still surrounded with all of those tiny, sparkling, little bubbles that make restaurant Coke so much better than the shitty bottles from the vending machine that go flat. Bringing the straw closer to my lip, one sip of the cold, familiar, syrupy, goodness instantly satisfies me. It was worth the wait. 

She’s relieved enough by my answer to jest, “These Friday nights are getting to me...” 

Yeah, they’re getting to me too. 

My overzealous reaction of amusement at this invites another thick layer of irony when I swallow too rough and the carbonation shoots straight up to my fucking nose, acidicly tickling the shit out of it and making me feel like a seven year old for not being able to handle my damn soda—like I didn’t feel stupid enough already. I’m safe, though. Nobody notices. Tamara is busy explaining how to get her attention and S latches on immediately; graciously ordering his next round of shots and...that glass of water for me, even though I’m now pretty happy nursing on my Coke. The sweetness of the syrup is starting to weigh on my stomach, but the sugar and caffeine do have my brain working better. 

Once I finish this, I’ll probably be good to go. 

Which...isn’t going to happen as soon as I thought. She’s back in a blink, balancing a new silver tray with one hand and gripping onto the glass of water with the other before she places it right next to my cola. The two, bulky, mostly full glasses of different drinks look so weird next to each other in front of me, as if the first one wasn’t satisfactory enough for my particular taste or something that’s clearly not the case. I can’t even stop sipping on it long enough to thank her again and put a thumbs up on the counter when she asks if there’s anything else.  I’m good too. 

She walks away and I only hear him finish shot number five. 

“I’m feelin’ good, J…” S sings, breaking to chuckle at himself, and my eyebrow raises up as I smirk. 

Oh, I know you are. 

“Feelin’ really nice right now…um, anyway, so drink your fucking water, man. It helps. Any time you feel like you’re gonna throw up, take a sip of ice-cold water. You won’t feel sick anymore. It’s like impossible to throw up after drinking ice cold water. It ain’t just for nausea though. You should always drink water in between drinking alcohol…I should probably order a water too, but fuck it, I can get it later, it’s okay.”

Holy shit, you’re not letting me get away with this, are you? 

Granted, I brought this alarm upon myself. If I truly wanted to silently soldier on, I would’ve kept my mouth shut, but... it slipped out. I didn’t tell him that for sympathy or with any expectation that he was going to help me— I didn’t think there was any way that he could—it was just...a fact, one I needed him to get so he’d understand why I wouldn’t be indulging in anymore of the shots he offered. I’m not usually this sick, but I’m so used to living with nausea in general that his gentle yet firm insistence pushing me to work through it is...weird to hear. It’s been a while since someone refused to let me wallow like I always want to and forced me to get up to make myself feel better. The last one must’ve been...

Ray. 

She was a true friend for that in February, but it’s only been in this past week without her where I’ve fully comprehended that. I was very fucking sick then, but especially in my head. It’s wild to think that the tipping point of my breakdown was on the verge of being fucking Pre-Calculus, but I was so unbelievably petrified and stressed about everything back then that I could’ve been set off by anything. She saw me struggling and suffering at rock bottom and, no matter how much I tried to evade her that day, she didn’t let me get away with it. Her acts of kindness were small too, yet my debt to her will forever remain chained to my soul. However, the length of that chain is short in comparison to the one that I’ve been rapidly linking here with S. He was never supposed to be my friend at all, much less the wonderfully considerate one he’s been who is so overjoyed about our friendship that, not only did he give a beautiful toast and wish upon all of these overwhelmingly nice things for me, he keeps doing them...he’s been doing them...

And I don’t know why he does.  

Doesn’t he realize that he shouldn’t bother trying? There’s nothing for him to gain from being friends with someone who hasn’t made it easy for him— who hasn’t made it easy for anyone since I’ve spent years being so desolate and reclusive that I don’t know how to. Can’t he see that it’s a worthless pursuit? Look at me: S went through so much effort tonight so I could feel better and belong and all I’m capable of doing with it is stubbornly stirring the straw, selfishly making myself suffer more all because I just can’t fucking understand...

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

[fluffyllamas-23]

Day 5: Insomnia - Keith

This is set at the beginning of season 3.  I don’t think there are any spoilers, but just a warning. Also, I’m really not sure of the timeline of events, so I’m making it up

I really like this one, I was getting so emotional writing the beginning, omg

Keith finds himself wandering the castle at three fifteen in the morning again.  Again.  

It’s going on four months since Shiro went missing, two months since Keith took over Shiro’s position, and he doesn’t sleep anymore. He tries, he really does - he’s exhausted and run down, and knows he needs sleep, but he just can’t.

Not when Shiro is missing and everyone expects him to be the leader.  He’s not cut out for it.  Shiro is the leader.  Shiro has this...innate sense for leadership.  He’s born for the role, not Keith.  Keith is a fuck up.  Keith screws up everything he touches.  Keith drives people away.  That’s why he tries so hard to keep everyone at a distance.

Shiro disappearing is just a stark reminder that everyone leaves.  Everyone leaves, and he can’t let himself get close to anybody else, because he looks up to Shiro so much and now he’s just so broken because his favorite person in existence is gone. No matter how much Keith tries, he can’t find Shiro.

Each time he lies down, he feels his body twitch with desperation and anxiety. Shiro’s face is behind his eyelids and in his dreams, and while it should be a comfort, all it does is make the hurt run deeper.  His chest has been aching and there’s been a lump in his throat since the moment they realized he wasn’t in his pilot’s chair, and Keith doesn’t know if he can take it anymore.

He needs Shiro back, he needs it like he needs air, because he’s a mess.  He’s okay when he’s with people, but the moment he’s alone, that’s when the gravity of the situation weighs on his shoulders. It’s too much.  It’s too much, and Keith isn’t sure how much longer he can handle it.  

He cries every night, to his dismay - he really hates crying.   

At this point, he’s gone two months without sleeping more than an hour or two a night and he feels dead on his feet.

Keith isn’t paying attention to where he’s going until he finds himself standing at Hunk’s door.  

He blinks heavily, swaying on his feet.

God, he’s tired.  

His body is screaming at him to rest, but he can’t.  

Hunk is suddenly in front of him. “Keith?”

“Oh, hey,” Keith says, shooting Hunk a very tired, worn out smile.

“What are you...it’s three thirty...why are you awake?”

“I...um...I couldn’t sleep,” Keith whispers, “did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but it’s-”

Keith’s eyes fills with tears, “I’m sorry.”

“No! No, no, it’s fine, I’m thirsty anyways,” Hunk lies quickly when he sees Keith’s face crumple.  “Since you’re up, come with me?”

Keith swipes at his cheeks, “yeah, okay.”

Hunk knows that Keith isn’t sleeping...everyone knows Keith isn’t sleeping, and they’re all worried.  Nobody's quite sure how to broach the subject though, because the lack of sleep is making him snappy.  

Hunk takes a moment to study Keith’s face, which he can just barely see in the dim lighting.

Keith’s eyes are bloodshot and glassy, and beneath them are bags and deep purple bruises.  His face is void of any color, and Hunk pieces everything together.  

He’s sleep deprived, yes, and that accounts for a lot of his behavior recently. It can’t, however, fully be to blame for how slow and clumsy his movements have been, or how much he’s been struggling to process conversations.  Keith is low energy, and has been sounding increasingly run down, and Hunk finally realizes that Keith is definitely coming down with something.  

“Sit down,” Hunk instructs, pointing to one of the chairs at the counter. “Want anything?”

“Water?” Keith croaks out, grimacing at how dry his throat suddenly feels.

Hunk nods slowly, watching as Keith crosses his arms and sinks lower in his chair.  His eyelids droop, and he nods off briefly, but jerks awake a moment later when his head drops forward.

“Here,” Hunk says, placing a glass of water in front of him.

Keith stares at it for a full minute, blinking slowly before he shakes his head and looks at Hunk.  “Thank you.”

“Are you ready to go back to bed?”

Keith shrugs, “I think I’m up for the rest of the day.”

Hunk chews on his bottom lip, “How about we watch a movie, then?”

Maybe a movie will lull him to sleep.  

“Yeah...that sounds good,” Keith nods.  He sniffles and rubs at his nose that’s suddenly doing an impressive imitation of a faucet.

*

It’s six am, and Hunk’s plan didn’t work.  

Keith keeps nodding off, and is slumped against Hunk’s side. Each time Hunk thinks he’s asleep, Keith jerks awake not long after.  

Initially, Keith was on the opposite end of the couch, but as he began to feel worse and worse, he inched closer and closer to Hunk until he’s pressed into his side.

Hunk’s wracking his brain to think of ways that will get Keith to stay asleep, because Keith really needs to get a decent night’s sleep.

Keith curls into himself as he goes into another chesty coughing fit. He shivers, and Hunk reaches for the blanket that’s draped on the back of the couch. As soon as the blanket is on him, Keith tries getting warmer and presses himself closer to Hunk.

“Are you alright?” Hunk asks.  He brushes his fingertips across Keith’s forehead and grimaces as Keith’s skin burns beneath his touch.

“M’tired.”

“I know...you have a fever.”

Keith is silent and then offers a weak, “Oh.”

He sits up, but he’s suddenly so exhausted that he can’t hold himself upright, and he drops down onto Hunk.  Keith grips his shirt tightly, eyes filling with tears.

“I don’t...I don’t feel good, Hunk.”

“Yeah?” Hunk frowns, “I didn’t think so.  Is there anything specific that’s bothering you?”

“I-I...I j-just...I d-don’t f-feel well,” Keith whimpers, sniffling miserably.

His entire body is aching and heavy, which Keith isn’t sure if it’s because he’s running a fever, or if it’s from sheer exhaustion. Everything hurts - head, throat, muscles; his sinuses are throbbing, and he can feel the congestion rattling around in his lungs with each inhale.   He needs to sleep.

“You want me to see if there’s anything that’ll help you sleep?”

“I have to find Shiro,” Keith mumbles, his tone verging on desperation.

“What does that have to do with sleeping?”

There’s a beat, and then, “If I sleep...I won’t be able to find him.”

“Keith, you can’t find him like this.”

“I know,” he moans, bursting into tears, “I’m useless.  I’ll never be a good leader, I can’t even find Shiro, why would black pick me?”

“Keith,” Hunk breathes, wrapping his arms around his feverish, emotional teammate. “Black picked you because you’re going to make a great leader, you’ve just gotta have a little faith in yourself.”

Keith says nothing, his face buried in Hunk’s chest. “But is that why you haven’t been sleeping? You think sleeping will stop you from finding Shiro?”

He stops crying after a few minutes and tightens his grip on Hunk’s shirt. “I try to sleep...but I can’t. Everytime I close my eyes, I see him.  And then I do fall asleep, and I have nightmares about him...I’m so tired...I just want to sleep.”

Hunk thinks for a few moments, “I’ll be right back.  I’m going to go get you something that will help with that.”

Hunk is gone and back before Keith is able to process their conversation.

“What’s that?” Keith frowns when Hunk hands him two small pills.

“Sedative,” He says. Keith shakes his head, the movement jerky and uncoordinated and it makes his head spin.  “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t...I can’t sleep,” Keith says in a small voice and grips Hunk’s shirt again. “What if something happens? I’m the leader...I have...I have to be alert.”

Hunk smiles softly, “You’re not going to be alert if you don’t get some rest.”

“But what if something happens?”

“Nothing will happen, and if it does, I’ll handle it.  You just need to sleep.”

Two minutes after Keith takes the pills, Hunk feels his grip on his shirt loosen. Keith’s hand falls limply to his side as he finally falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[because-cur-non]

Top 5 scenes/ moments/ sections of dialogue from RF?

I’m gonna answer this under a cut!

1) Mulligan with Hamilton in loco parentis (I love Mulligan.  I love Mulligan having his shit together more than these kids.  Someday I’ll do a bonus thing of when Hamilton was staying with him.  This is honestly maybe my favorite scene in the whole damn thing because I just love Mulligan so much.)

Mulligan was silent while he composed a message neutral enough to sound like it could have come from anyone and sent it.  He pocketed Hamilton’s phone and let him sit quietly for the rest of the ride.  He paid the driver, led the way into his building, and let them into the apartment.  It sounded like one of his flatmates was in his room but otherwise they were alone.  Hamilton dropped his bag on the floor and collapsed face-down on the sofa.

“I hate this,” he moaned.

“We’ll sort it out.  Take off that jacket, the sleeves are too long for you.  I’m gonna hem ‘em while we wait to hear back from ‘im.”

Hamilton dropped the jacket on the ground without getting up.  Mulligan sighed and picked it up, taking it over to the sewing machine on the table.

“Like raising a friggin’ five year old…”

“Fuck off.”

“You gonna throw a tantrum?”

Hamilton raised one hand to flip him off.

“I can’t think, Mulligan,” Hamilton complained as the machine whirred.  “Me.”

“Thanks for implyin’ the rest of us are a buncha idiots,” Mulligan said, his back to him as he worked.

“You know what I mean.”

“So you forgot your keys, big deal.  Said you were sleep deprived anyway.  Too much fuckin’ on vacation?”

“Just once.  Wasn’t that.  That didn’t help.”

Mulligan didn’t say anything, waiting patiently for Hamilton to start up again.

“Maybe I am sick,” he finally said, turning his head to the back of the couch and touching his face.  “He said I felt hot.  I get sick every winter anyway, fuck winter.”  He struggled to take out his dry contacts.  “That must be it.”

“Lovesick, maybe.”  The machine stopped and Mulligan inspected his work, looking over just in time to see Hamilton reach over the armrest and drop the contacts to the carpet.  “Oh, come on, I don’t spit on your floor.”

Hamilton left his arm hanging and Mulligan dropped the jacket on top of him.

“Try that when you’re done whining and tell me how it is.”

“‘Kay.”

“You done whining?”

“No.”

“I’m getting a beer.  I’d offer you one, but it’s illegal to give alcohol to children.”

“You’re a jackass.”

Mulligan came back into the room, popping the tab on a can of beer.  “You’re being a baby.”

“I fucking lost my work keys and I can’t get into my apartment!”

“That’s not what you’re really complaining about, Hamilton.  I might not be a hotshot genius like you, but I’m not a moron.  Move your legs over.”  Mulligan sat heavily on the couch next to him.  “You like the guy?”

“Yeah.”  Hamilton’s voice was heavily muffled by the couch cushions.

“You like him a lot?”

“Yeah.”

“Things get a little too real spending that much time with him?”

Hamilton paused.  “Yeah.”

Mulligan patted his leg.  “Suck it up,” he said sympathetically.

2) CVS (First, this is the start of the islands/ocean theme. Second, look at these boys, this is back before they’re all over each other, that hand on the shoulder was Intimate.  Someday I’ll also go through and pull things to show the progression of their sleeping habits.)

Laurens pulled him down, running his thumb over his high cheekbones and then his fingers through his hair.  “You’re gonna get wrinkles,” he teased, “you’ll turn gray.”

“I’d be a silver fox,” Hamilton replied.  “All the girls’ll be lining up at my door.”

“‘Girls’?”

“Yeah, I banned you after you made fun of my hair.” Hamilton rolled away from Laurens onto his back.  “It’s like a sauna in the city at this time of year.  I’m melting.”

“I thought you’d be used to it.”

“Trade winds.”  Hamilton waved one hand dismissively in the air above his face.  “And not all of this cement for the heat to just bake you in.”

Laurens propped himself up on his elbow, watching Hamilton’s face.

“I bet winter was a surprise.”

“Ha.  Yeah.  I stepped off that plane and—d’you know what, John?  I saw autumn leaves for the first time in my life.  Squirrels.  CVS, for chrissake.  All this shit that I had this image of in my mind because of course I knew about it, I’d seen it everywhere, and that’s the thing, isn’t it?  No one in New York cares if I went to Gore’s of St. Croix, but I’ve got CVS already engrained somewhere in me and it’s beautiful, the flow of power.  Soft power, John, recognize our maps and naturalize our flora and fauna and without even realizing it your center of balance is off.”

Laurens was quiet and Hamilton tucked his hands behind his head.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“You’re right, four hours isn’t enough.  I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“That’s not true.”

Hamilton closed his eyes.  Laurens waited for a minute to see if he would say anything else, then lay down once he heard his breathing slow, putting one hand on his shoulder in spite of the heat.

3) Inappropriate sick flirting (Okay this isn’t like a CLASSY option or anything, but I crack myself up every time with Hamilton’s attempt to deflect-by-flirting here and I’m a sucker for sickfic, so.  Shrug.)

Laurens, like Lafayette, woke before his alarm.  He had gotten up late that night to take his headphones off and close his laptop, and then alternated between dozing and playing on his phone for a few hours, not willing to wake Hamilton if he was so soundly asleep.  It wasn’t until he heard the second coughing fit that he got up and pulled on a pair of pants.

“Alex?”  He knocked on the bathroom door.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”  He sounded a little strangled.

“Are you sick?”

Hamilton started coughing again.  “I’m fine,” he repeated after a minute.

“Alex, come back to bed.  Do you need something to drink?”

“I have water.”  Laurens could hear him put the mug down on the side of the sink for emphasis.  “And my laptop.  I’m fine.  Go back to sleep.  I don’t want to keep you up.”

“I’m awake now.”  Laurens tried the handle but it was locked.

“I don’t want to make you—”  Hamilton cut himself off, clearing his throat and taking a drink.

“I thought you said you weren’t sick.”

“Said I was fine.”

Laurens sighed.  “Look, if I’m going to get sick the damage is already done.  I have to go in an hour.  Just come back out.  I feel weird talking to you through a door.”

There was a pause, then Hamilton opened the door and stepped out, all false-casualness in sweatpants and a pullover, taking a sip from a university mug.  “Hey, J.  You’re up, I’m up.  What’re the odds.  Wanna fuck?”

Laurens gave him an incredulous look.  “No.”

4) Masculinity (Would you believe I wrote all this shit about gender before thinking critically about gender in my own life?  Like, jeez, it’s one of Hamilton’s main recurring issues and the one I always identified with the most.  Anyway, it was a toss up between this and the argument he has with Laurens at the end of the chapter, but it’s the same deal really.)

“What did I say wrong?”  Lafayette asked.  “I didn’t mean anything bad.  I was teased a lot too, you know, but I’m happy for the two of you.  I like being in a relationship like that.  The closeness, the cuddling…”

“Yeah,” Hamilton said sharply and more directly than he meant to, “‘cause you’re not being treated like the freakin’ girl!”

Lafayette looked at him in surprise and Hamilton, embarrassed, turned away.

“Shit,” he said, walking towards the platform.  “Don’t tell him I said that.  I didn’t mean it like that.”

“John doesn’t think of you as a girl.”

“I know that.”

“Well, if you know that…”

Hamilton didn’t say anything.

“Do you think other people see you that way?”

“Fuck other people.  How should I know what they think?”

“You would make a very bad girl,” Lafayette said.

“Shut up.”

“I don’t think anyone sees it like that except for you.  John certainly doesn’t.”

“I know—look, fine,” Hamilton said, accepting that he was just going to be that annoying guy having a fight on the subway.  He dug a quarter out of his pocket and tossed it into a street performer’s open guitar case to try and balance his karma out.  “So he doesn’t, great.  I feel bad, okay?  I know he doesn’t—I like when—It’s just the way other people react sometimes.  Like I’m…”  Hamilton paused, gesturing helplessly as he tried to find the words.  “…Less than him.  Like with his friends, I liked that on the whole, it was great, I’m glad he had a good time and they were chill.  But there were a couple moments where it was like they were almost making fun of me.”

“They teased me, too,” Lafayette protested.

“Bully for you.”  Hamilton saw Lafayette’s hand twitch towards his pocket and he sighed.  “Go ahead, write that one down.  It’s dated, that’s probably why you haven’t heard it yet.”

Lafayette tucked the box under his arm then took out his notebook and copied the phrase out.

“I know it’s stupid,” Hamilton said, making an effort to lower his voice.  “It shouldn’t matter.  There’s nothing ‘feminine’ about it and even if there was, that’s not a bad thing.  But it’s weird, okay, and I don’t like it.  It’s not about being with him,” he went on after a pause in which they both waited as the train loudly pulled up.  “I just hate being made to feel like less of a man for it.”

Lafayette cocked his head to the side, considering this.  They got into a car and took hold of a pole near the door.

“Fucking bullshit heteronormativity,” Hamilton complained as the car pulled away, taking a step to the side for balance.  “Gender doesn’t function in a void, Lafayette.  In a perfect world none of this would matter and also I’d live in an apartment that didn’t leak heat during the winter.”

Neither of them said anything as the car rattled along to its next stop.

“You know what’s extra bullshit,” Hamilton started up again as the train stopped.  “I fucked him today.  I should be the one getting all the accolades.  Instead it’s just, oh, look at the little guy, he’s so cute.  Bullshit,” he muttered again, tugging his scarf down.  “Doesn’t always bother me,” he added.  “I dunno, I know you didn’t mean anything by it.  Wasn’t even the tone.  I don’t know.”

“I think you’re very masculine.”

“Thanks.”  Hamilton still sounded sullen.

5) Out (Is it weird to say that I consider this part “a classic”?  This is the thing that got me by far the most amount of comments and, I mean, Laurens earned it.)

“God damn,” Humphreys complained, freshly dressed and sitting next to Laurens on the bench between the rows of lockers and working at a knot in his neck.  He tipped his head to the side so that fine braids slid like a curtain over his hand.  “Don’t get me wrong, Laurens, I don’t want to blow my shoulder out, but you don’t even know how much shit I would have gotten into if I had gotten a month and a half off.”

“Dirty shit,” Tench laughed.  “Go back to your farm, find some of those sheep?”

“Shut up,” Humphreys said, laughing as well.  “That was a business plan.”

“Yeah, the oldest business in the world.  Sam, catch.”  Another player walking by caught his wallet without missing a beat.  “I owe you ten.”  The money was taken and the wallet was tossed back.  Tench dropped it in his bag.

“Anyway, like I was saying, it’s not that I envy you, just those extra six weeks.”

“I hear you,” Tallmadge agreed, coming back from the shower in just a towel.  “It’s hard to visit my girlfriend during the week.  It takes so long to drive down, it’s really only possible on the weekend, but then, okay, so we can’t fool around as much as I’d like.  Not that I’m actually ready for the monastery like our boy Laurens,” he teased, shoving Laurens playfully as he opened his locker.  “How’re you holding up?  I’d have assumed you just weren’t interested if I hadn’t had to listen to you for all these years.”

“Sainthood’s a real lonely road,” Tench added.

“Hey, come on,” Laurens protested, not really thinking about what he was saying, “My boyfriend’s all over me too, I know what it’s like.”

There was actually a moment of stunned silence in the locker room during which time Laurens braced for—

“You aren’t single?  Hey, look, it only took five years!  That means there’s still hope for you yet,” Tallmadge said loudly, slapping a passing first year, the younger of the two Trumbull brothers, hard on the back.  “If you bitch about not getting a date one more time, I’m not stopping your older brother from whaling on you.”

Laurens watched in relieved surprise as various conversations picked back up around him.

“That explains why you haven’t gotten any personal fouls so far this season,” Tench teased him.

“So can we know who it is yet?  Or is it still a secret?”  Tallmadge dropped his towel to change, facing his locker.  “I want to know who tamed the stallion.”

“‘The stallion’?”  Humphreys was packing his bag.  “Oh, come on, and I’m stuck with the sheep?”

“You wrote that paper, you brought this upon yourself,” McHenry said, breaking away from his earlier conversation and pushing up his glasses.  “So who’s the lucky gent?  I’m with Tallmadge, he deserves a Goddamn medal for finally wearing you down.”

“Alex,” Laurens started, caught between embarrassed and incredibly grateful.  “Alexander Hamilton.”

“Hamilton…  The guy with you at the trustee dinner?  Short,” Tench said, gesturing his height.  “Wavy hair?  We went to André’s after.”

“That guy?”  McHenry cut in.  He tugged at the collar to his shirt and glanced down at himself, feeling the tag sticking out in the front.  “Shit.”  His voice was muffled for a second as he pulled it off over his head, flashing well-defined abs and two faint scars curving under his chest, then put it back on.  “He works for the dean, doesn’t he?”

“Secretary to the president,” Laurens said, tentatively bragging a little.

“I thought he was with your roommate?”

“André’s his friend, he said that was just a rumor.”

“Obviously,” Tench rolled his eyes at Tallmadge.  “Know-it-all.”

“Hey, André,” Humphreys called as André, also in a towel and with his hair wet and down in his eyes, showed up.  “Did you know Laurens’ been holding out on us?”

“Uh.”  André looked quickly at Laurens, who stood up.

“All right, all right, that’s enough.”

“So how is it?”  Tench asked, ignoring Laurens’ protests.  “Does he just want it all the time?”

“What?”

“You said he was all over you,” Tench pushed.  “Did you have to give up your rule?”

Laurens reddened slightly.  “No.”

“What?  So, nothing?  Not at all?”

“All season?”  Tallmadge asked.  “I take it back, he’s the saint, not you.”

“Wait, you did fuck though, didn’t you?  You were together at the dinner, right?”

Laurens, still standing, not sure what was really stopping him from just walking away, felt an excited rush of camaraderie.  “Yeah, we were, and we did.  The night before,” he added before he managed to second guess himself and lose his nerve, “I fucked him so good he cried.”

Another shocked silence, then a delighted whoop of laughter.

“That’s our boy!”  Tallmadge pounded Laurens on the back as he grinned, simultaneously self-conscious and proud.

“Damn,” Humphreys shook his head.  “And here I thought we were going to need to give you a talk about the birds and the bees before you graduated and got sent out into the real world.”

“Maybe we still do,” Tench said.  “Laurens, let me make this brief: you’re a moron.”

Laurens frowned, unsure.  “What?”

“You said it yourself, he’s all over you.  Go take advantage of that opportunity, man!  You’ve waited long enough.”

“I had sex in high school,” Laurens protested weakly.

“Yeah, you know, you told some of us that story,” McHenry pointed out, “and while it sounded like a real great time, half a decade has passed in between.”

“He’s pretty cute,” Tallmadge agreed as Laurens stared at him in disbelief.  “Long eyelashes.”

“Since…  Since when do you check out other guys?”

“Relax, please, I sat next to him in lecture once.  I remember because they friggin’ cast shadows on his face.”

“Uh-huh,” Laurens said, not sure at all about what to do with that.

“You do want to sleep with him, don’t you?”  McHenry asked.  “This isn’t another basil farm incident, is it?”

Laurens looked over at André, who studied the ceiling.

“No, uh,” Laurens said eloquently.  “The sex is—it’s good.  I enjoy it.”

“Then go fuck your boyfriend,” Tench told him, a little louder than Laurens would have preferred.  “Seriously, Laurens!  Did you hit your head when you ripped your shoulder out of its socket?  He wants to, you want to, that grand tradition you thought you were holding to is a bunch of bullshit—no one actually does it.  If you’re so concerned about your stamina then don’t sleep with him the night before the game!  Jesus!”

“His girlfriend’s on study abroad,” André reminded Laurens, nodding his head at Tench.

“Right.”

“Lucky son of a bitch,” Tench muttered, zipping up his bag forcefully and slinging it over his shoulders as he stood.  “Right, I’m starving.  You getting breakfast, Laurens?”

Laurens smiled.  “Sure.  Sounds good.”

[topicprinter]

Buckle up cause this is a long one. A lot of the stuff might sound a bit unbelievable, but it's all true. The original story has a tonne of pictures and videos, which might help explain. So perhaps, read over at https://thekanyestory.com and come back here for the discussion. Anyways Enjoy, I'll be around in the comments.IntroIt’s Friday night, 1 am. I’m lying in bed scrolling twitter. Reading the usual shit. Getting my dopamine fix. “The Backstreet boys are back with a brand new sound”. Yeah, whatever. I read another headline. Then another. “There’s a dating site for straight Trump supporters”. The mob’s getting angry. As you’d imagine the media are loving it. It’s the perfect fodder to pump to the masses.But forget Donald Trump. There something here. Free audience. Free attention. Embrace the controversy. Elon Musk sold flamethrowers and made a million. Supreme sold bricks and made a million. You’ve got to think like the little kid who hasn’t had his imagination beaten out of him. Companies splash thousands on “growth hacking” goon squads but having one mind like Bart Simpson on your team is more valuable.I jump out of bed and start writing down ideas. Dating is a good starting spot. It’s funny and simple. Now I just need something controversial. Brexit Dating, Harry Potter Dating, Kanye West Dating. Yes Kanye West, I’m a fan. I know the audience. How about — KanyeWestDating.com. Doesn't pop. Maybe Yeezy.Dating. Bingo! Add to Basket.ViralI wake up late the next morning and cook some eggs. I want to start building the dating site, but let’s be realistic. The chances are no-one will use it and I’ll end up spending 3 months locked in my bedroom, deprived of sunlight, going insane.So, instead, I open up Instagram, change my username from @harrydry to @yeezydating, delete my old posts and upload a picture with the caption “Yeezy.Dating — Coming this March”. Bamn. We’re cooking.Time to build my blogger hit list. I don’t really know what I’m doing so I start googling. 10 minutes later I come across this website called Buzzstream Discovery.Turns out I’ve hit the jackpot. Buzzstream is amazing. You enter a search term and it spits back the names of all the bloggers who have written stories about that search term. So I enter “Kanye West”, filter “within the last 30 days” and Buzzstream gives me a list of all 440 bloggers who have written stories about Kanye West over the last month. These bloggers are my perfect audience. It’s their job to pump out, simple, funny, digestible stories about Kanye West and I’m about to spoon feed them a classic.Getting the names is only half the battle though. I’ve also got to get email addresses. I find this website called Hunter.io where you type the name of any company and it tells you the correct email format which that company uses. Four hours later 220 emails are locked away in an excel doc.I type up the following message:Hey, I just made a dating site for Kanye fans called Yeezy.Dating. Going crazy on Reddit atm. Any questions please let me know :)wack on my headphones, and play through Kanye’s whole discography, whilst I send email after email after email after email after email. Go to sleep, wake up, and then I'm back commuting into London for a day's work.My phone rings during a meeting. I turn it to silent. It rings again. I turn it off. As soon as I get out of the meeting I check the database. 9,100 email address’. Surely this can't be real. I click refresh. Now 9,109. My mind freezes. I type Kanye's name into google and Yeezy Dating is everywhere. I check analytics. 250 people online. 65 unread emails. Then lunch break is over and I’m being called back in for another meeting.It’s 10pm when I arrive back from work. The press momentum is still rolling on. It feels good to know that my big plan worked. 25 news anchors coast to coast are discussing my imaginery dating site and I’m just in my bedroom, in my pyjamas with an old Macbook pro making the whole thing up as I go along. I start a big Yeezy Dating group chat, and invite everyone from my email list.7:40 am the next day and I get a text from my pal saying, “Tune into BBC Radio 1. They’re talking about Yeezy Dating right now and they want to speak to you”. Guess where I am? On a two hour train from Portsmouth to London for another day of meetings. I try and dial into Radio 1 but there’s no signal. I’m cooped up on this train carriage and I’m stressing out. The database has over 13,000 emails now. I’ve told the media the dating site is “Coming This March”, its now 17th March and I haven’t written a line of code. And to top it all off, I’ve got no idea how to make a dating site.I get back that evening, call my boss and tell him that I’m going to be out of action for a few months. He asks why. So I tell him I'll be making a dating site for Kanye West fans. He bursts out laughing, wishes me luck and that’s that. I'm a free man.ViralIt’s time to build a dating site. First things first I scout other dating sites looking for something I can copy. The whole Tinder / Bumble swiping thing is too complex. I find a Jewish Dating site called J Date which looks promising. All user profiles are displaying on one long infinite scroll page. A few months earlier I did Wes Bos’ “Learn Node” course where he does a similar thing with restaurants. I start merging J Date with some lessons from Wes’ course and I'm up and running.At this point, there isn’t much to tell you. There’s no secret ingredient. Just long days laying bricks. 10 months ago I hadn’t written a line of code before and it was too hard. One week into Yeezy Dating it’s still too hard. Webpack is a mess and I don’t know how to save geoJSON data. Boo-hoo. Nobody cares. I don't care. Figure it out. Everyone else figured it out.I write I AM HARRY DRY on a sheet of paper, buy some Blu Tack and pin it to my wall. Every time I get stuck I look up at the words and snarl. It’s Street Fighter II. I’m coding like Diego Costa plays football. No technique. No Barcelona academy. Rampaging from obstacle to obstacle.Problem after Problem. Forum after forum. I'm becoming the most hated man on Stack Overflow. And I'm loving every second of it.LaunchI wake up one fine spring morning and it’s all done. I’m a couple of weeks late, but that’s ok. I fix the final bug from the lab at 3 pm and post on Instagram to build some hype.Then I cycle to town and walk into Vodafone. I tell the store manager I’m “just browsing” whilst I test the site on all their different devices. iPhone’s are zooming in on my input fields and it’s looking wierd. Damn. I pitch up in Starbucks next door, grab a croissant, and start googling. Turns out my font size needs to be 16px on iOS to the stop auto zoom. I head back into Vodafone, “more browsing” I tell the store manager, and the problems solved. Happy Days.The Yeezy Dating group chat still has a buzz about it. Several hundred messages a day. They’re like my army of ultra fans. My plan is to launch with them first to test the site works. I’m back at home, dotting i's crossing t’s. Suddenly I have 10 mentions in Telegram. The ultras have found the site and have started making profiles.10 profiles are up. Now 20. Now 30. Shit. It’s happening. Beautiful profile photos appearing up on my screen. Real people are on the site. Real people are matching each other. Real people are messaging. It’s working. And I made all of this! Hahaha. Look at me go. I post on Instagram saying that Yeezy.Dating is open for business. Suddenly 200 people flood to the site.Now, legend says that the fisherman on shore only sees a tsunami a couple of seconds before it hits.Capow! Left, right, center, profile images start disappearing. 5 pictures vanishing every second. I refresh the page, images disappearing everywhere. Time slows down. I can’t think straight. 3 minutes later the site is stripped bare. 350 profiles. No images. I load up Heroku. 6,700 critical errors. Dad potters in from the kitchen to see how the big launch is going. Not great I tell him.I woke up Steve Jobs. I'm ending the day Steve Harvey. The site's properly crashed now. I’m trying to put out fires everywhere but nothing’s working. I can’t do this anymore. I apologise to my followers on Instagram, I apologise to the ultras on Telegram, and I fall into bed.RebornNext day I wake up and do nothing. Eat some cereal. Watch some Peep Show. I’m still at a low ebb. I manage to write a post on the Indie Hackers forum explaining the site crashing and what went wrong with the images.Quite remarkably developers start giving me their email address, offering me help. I’m blown away by their generosity. Within 24 hours there are five pro developers digging through my code. Several changes later they give it the all clear. “Good luck”, one texts me from Singapore.A few days later Yeezy.Dating launches again. The feeling is different this time. The first time it felt like the biggest thing in my universe. This time around I’ve got perspective. There a bigger things in life. If it crashes, it crashes.Testing with the ultras goes well so I start emailing my big list. 1,500 users join within 10 hours. 2,500 within 24 hours. Then 4,200. But growth is slowing. My intuition is telling me that the parties going to end soon. Where’s the next 4,000 coming from?There’s no marketing budget, no development team, it’s just me. Replying to all the emails, fixing all the bugs, trying to keep the momentum up and I’m tired. We need an app. I’m not an app developer. We need ten thousand users for dating to work. I don't know how to get ten thousand more users. The novelty is starting to wear off. I’m thinking 5 moves ahead and I can see cheque mate on the horizon.There’s only one way out the water tank. I've got to get Kanye West involved.BillboardsSo I’m back in the lab. Emailing away. Managers, ex-managers, stylists, PR relations, anyone who has ever worked for YEEZY on Linkedin. But nothing. No replies. I can’t get through.I ask my Dad for advice. “You’ve got to think on a bigger scale son”, he tells me. So now I’m thinking what if I make a video, or a mixtape, or a magazine or a painting, or I rent a plane and fly a banner. Then it hits me. I’m going to rent Billboards. YEEZY is opening offices in Calabasas, New York, London, Wyoming. Four locations. Four billboards.Ten minutes later I’m on the phone with Billboard companies. Quizzing them. What’s your pricing like? What type of Billboard would you recommend? How quickly can we do this? What’s the shortest time each Billboard can stay up for? And in my head, the billboards are already in the sky.But, the next day, I wake up with cold feet. Two halves of my mind in deep discussion:"Two months wages. On three billboards. You’re crazy." “Don’t use money as an excuse. You know that’s not the reason.” “Why don’t I want to do it then?” “Cause you’re scared. Your afraid of what people might think.” “But …” “No, don't give me no buts. Relax your mind. You're not going to let the mob control you. Let's do it.”So I draft my Dad onto the campaign team and it starts to come together. He’s in his element. We take over my brother's bedroom and set up basecamp. Dad buys three alarm clocks, sets one to New York time, one to LA time and one to Wyoming time. “You’ve got to know your timezone, son,” he tells me.The sun goes down once more and now it's the day of the Billboards. I'm working like an Octopus, organising photographers, drafting emails, teeing up interviews and everything starts coming together. London. New York. Wyoming. All confirmed. There’s less than an hour to go, and suddenly WACK. 8:11 pm an email drops into my inbox from Lamar, the Billboard provider, and my head spins like I’ve walked onto Tyson Fury's right hand. (The email essentially says, "we can't run the ads because of legal reasons of you using Kanye West's name") See the actual site for an actual photo)Lamar's supposed to be covering both New York and Wyoming. Without them, I’m left with just one Billboard in London and that’s not enough. I’m calling this whole thing off. The game’s up. It’s over. I’m safe again. Life’s comfortable. No billboards. No problems.I walk downstairs to show Dad the email. He looks up at me, smiles like it’s nothing, and says “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way”. And maybe that’s why you need a team because in that moment I wanted an excuse to give up but the old man wasn’t blinking so we fought on.Phone calls start flying everywhere. On one phone I’m hammering the account manager. On the other Dad’s posing as a BBC journalist, throwing jab after jab at their legal department, “The kid spent two days clearing this with intellectual property lawyers”, “We’ve got a camera crew waiting outside Times Square as we speak”.It’s 9 pm now. A wonderful soul called Candice is waiting in the New York rain eyes glued to the Billboard ready to take the photo, but she isn’t going to wait all day.Suddenly Dad’s beckoning me over. If we change, “Kanye West” for “Mr. West” the legal department will approve it. My gut tells me it’s good enough. I export the new text and send to the account manager in Times Square. 5 minutes later the Billboards are live. Candice takes the photo. It appears in my inbox. And I take a deep breath. [See https://thekanyestory.com for the photos and interviews]Soon after, the Wyoming and London Billboard’s go up. I start attaching the photos to the drafts we prepped, sending out our emails, hoping to get lucky again.A couple of stories start breaking, journalists start requesting interviews and back down into the depths of the Maelström we descend. The phone rings and rings and it could be anyone on the line. I’m wished luck, sold insurance, thrown onto live radio, taunted by youths, offered jobs, reunited with old school friends.I check twitter. Kanye's name is trending. My heart jumps. Surely not. Have I made it? I click. My heart sinks. “Kanye West has just said 400 years of slavery sounds like a choice”. And from there on in I’m dead in the water. A tadpole in a shark tank. The media is at Kanye saturation. Journalists have bigger fish to fry and my little story is left on the shelf.Ok, one last try. I track down Yeezy Headquarters on Google Maps, find the phone number of some offices nearby and start dialing. I start telling this receptionist about the dating site, about the Billboards, and I can’t believe it but she’s actually listening to me.“Funnily enough my best friend A***** works at Yeezy” “If I send you an email could you forward it on?” “Sure” And that's that. Now I can go to bed, wake up the next day and get on with my life.A few weeks pass and, lo and behold, an email from A****** drops into my inbox. [See "The Kanye Story" website for the actual email from Kanye's team. It basically says they love the idea and the CFO of YEEZY wants to talk with me] And a few hours I get sent a screenshot from Kanye's office chat.[Again, see website. This is basically Kanye's office people talking about site and saying, "direct email Kendall, bcc Chris Jenner. Tell Kanye."]I can't help but smile. After all my efforts emailing journalists, practicing for radio interviews, writing press releases, retouching images, all it took was a simple phone call to the company whose office was next door.YEEZYAnd that’s how we got to now. It’s 9:52 pm, Thursday 24th May. In ten minutes time, I’ll be on the phone with the CFO of Kanye West’s Billion Dollar company.I remember sitting round with my uni housemates last year talking about what the future would hold for all of us. They were all saying, “I’m applying for a finance job” or “I’ll do a masters ”, stuff like that. And it came to me and I said, “I’m going travel to Nazareth, learn to code, come back to England, finish my book, learn about business and start my own stuff.”They were used to my spiel now and started groaning, “None of this shit's going to happen Dry. The real world’s going to chop you up and spit you out. You're going to be stuck in the rat race, clocking in, clocking off, packed onto the tube, just like all of us.”I smiled. “Tell me that again”. So they did. “Reality is going to grind you down. You’re going to be clock watching, Monday to Friday. There’s nothing you can do about it. And you know it.”“Tell me that that one more time”, I said. So they did. And I smiled even more.I’m not saying I’ve done anything yet cause I haven’t. But at least I've stuck to my word. I've tried and given it a go.So there we go. Thanks for reading and making it all the way to the bottom. I'm @harrydry on Twitter. I also write an email newsletter about startups, marketing and breaking free which you can find over on the main website. Thanks again and peace out!

[tortuga-aak]

I grew up without a TV — here's why I deprive my kids of all screens

Sean Gallup/Getty Images

It is much more difficult for parents to implement a screen-free upbringing for their children now than it was a couple decades ago.

Parents who implement certain parenting methods can become quite sanctimonious.

While parents actively try to keep their children from becoming addicted to tech, it is almost impossible at times and unrealistic.

Choosing what's best for your child does not speak for all children.

  I grew up without a TV at a time when it was still possible for parents to raise kids screen-free without acting like insufferable prigs about it. Although Jerry Mander published his sweeping anti-TV polemic Four Arguments For the Elimination of Television the same year I was born, my parents don't remember their decision to raise us without TV as being much of a political one.

"As anyone can see, time is a zero-sum game," my mom wrote me when I asked her how she and my dad decided not to get a set. "When one is watching, one is not reading, listening to music, having meaningful conversations, etc." They declined my aunt's offer of a TV as a wedding present and asked her for a sewing machine instead. When they started having kids five years later, they saw no need to add TV to the household.

It worked. We read, spent time outside, and sat for hours at the dinner table (especially as we got older and more patient). My parents' friends and family generally believed in sending kids outside to play, so the no-TV decision didn't stand out much in their circle.

We drove to Colorado and back twice in the family Oldsmobile with no DVD players or tablets. Some kids at school made fun of us ("Are you Amish?"), and I wished I knew popular shows like Unsolved Mysteries so I'd have an easier time making conversation with people in my class, but I was generally happy to binge The Babysitters' Club instead. (Just because a kid reads doesn't mean she'll read quality!)

So I'm convinced, from personal experience, that a happy screen-free childhood is possible. Now, my husband and I want to keep our 10-month-old daughter screen-free. This is a task that's going to be much harder for us than it was for my parents.

Sure, there's the question of practicality: Screens are in everyone's pockets now. And the advent of the internet means there's a whole universe of tempting content, far more alluring than Muppet Babies, that simply didn't exist when I was a kid. But it's also a personal challenge, because the potential for parental self-righteousness has ballooned in the 40 years between my birth and my daughter's. I don't want screen-free parenting to turn me into a monster.

The screen-free parenting Facebook groups I follow are full of advice, encouragement, and nightmarish levels of smug self-congratulation. Just let an unsuspecting newbie suggest that going screen-free might present difficulties! He'll instantly be bombarded with stories of just how perfect other screen-free kids are.

"Yesterday at the park," one mom posted in response to a question about whether screen-free kids could feel socially isolated, "my son was asked what his favorite show was by a kid we didn't know. He simply said 'I don't watch anything. Want to be a St. Bernard with me?'"

Aww, so wholesome, unlike kids who watch TV and never imagine anything! The children of the people in these groups are calm, helpful, social, and polite: total paragons of virtue. Their moms seem happy to spend endless hours dreaming up leaf-collection projects and filling sensory tables with new kinds of sand. In another group, one person posted a picture of her two kids parked in front of a fish tank, watching the fish eat their food. "Before school 'screen time,' " the caption read.

Fiona Goodall / Stringer / Getty Images

And while I find myself imagining the Jennifer Lawrence OK gif when I read these absurd posts from these absurd parents, I can absolutely see myself climbing aboard the same high horses they're riding. My sanctimoniousness surfaces when I start to follow a system that I delight in that makes me feel as though I've cracked the code. It's happened to me in the past with Anusara yoga and American studies. This whole-hearted love of a system can be dangerous, because when I've found the right way to do something, it's easy to think everyone else should do it the same way as me.

And going screen-free feels so right for our vision for J's life! We want her to go outside a lot. We want her to play independently. We want her to learn from watching us do things around the house (this is the Waldorf idea of daily life as the child's "curriculum"). We want her to sleep well. We want her to be excited by life, and to feel flow, which is difficult when you're overwhelmed by the kinds of choices and inputs screens offer. We want her to enjoy being around other people—watching their faces, hearing their voices. Eventually, we want her to like to read. All of these things seem like they'll happen more often if screens aren't even a possibility.

And, if I'm being honest, I don't want to fight with her over the iPad. What is it about kids begging for screen time that is so grating to my ears? They sound out of control, driven by primeval desires. Adults are better at hiding or justifying their addictions to the internet; kids shamelessly panhandling for screen time remind me just how compulsive the human-screen interface can become. I know the way I feel when I get off the internet after a good run on Twitter or am pulled away from Netflix mid-Riverdale binge. If I were a kid I'd be crying for the iPad, too.

And when I hear other kids begging to watch a show, how will I be able to avoid giving their parents the side-eye? I remember how it feels to have sanctimony directed my way. I'm not an attachment parent; I give J formula, and did a modified form of sleep training.

During early parenthood, when we were making decisions around those issues, I would sink into the internet for hours looking for advice, emerging in a panic because there was no way I could do what everyone on a random BabyCenter comment thread was insisting was the "only" way to raise a baby. The last thing I want is to be responsible for panicking someone else that way.

I must also remember that because of the circumstances of our lives, remaining screen-free when J is around is much easier for us than it might be for those other people whose choices I'll be judging. When she was very small, and I was on maternity leave, she seemed to spend most of her waking hours feeding, and I had a lot of trouble not looking at my phone around her. (My god, the boredom of those sweet early days.) Now that she's bright and curious, I don't dare. But I also don't find the loss of screens too difficult to bear.

My husband and I both work full-time, and get plenty of contact with the internet during the day. J is an only child, and will remain one, so there is no older sibling to muddy the issue of what's allowed, or younger one who needs a lot of parent-diverting care.

We live in a small town where commuting is minimal, so there are no long car or subway rides that would be so much easier with a DVD player. We have J in a preschool run by a caregiver who is even more of a screen-free partisan than we are. And in truth, there are only a few hours per weekday in which we must eliminate screens from our own lives to keep J away from them.

She goes to bed at 7 every night (something else I believe in strongly … sanctimoniously, you might say); after she's down, we can watch all the Cavs games we want. On the weekends, it feels good to bend our lives away from the virtual world and toward the real one. I sneak a few hours of internet during her naps, and come back ready to take her to the farmer's market or into the woods, where she can mess around with pinecones and get all that good pine sap on her hands. (Sensory table curation, here I come.)

But here's the biggest caveat of all: She's only 10 months old. When she no longer naps, how will we get downtime? What will I do when she's begging to see a movie her friends at school are talking about? (I'll probably take her because I don't totally hate fun.) Will we buy her a Kindle, or install new bookcases to handle the influx of trashy kids' series fiction, like my parents did? Will I picket her school when her first-grade class watches a movie instead of going out to recess on a rainy day?

Parents plan; God laughs.

NOW WATCH: 6 airline industry secrets that will help you fly like a pro

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[zephyrvos]

I relate. I shouldn't be allowed to adult, yet here I am! I either don't sleep for three days, or sleep for 15 hours and wake up wondering what year it is... -J

#me, honestly. I am a disaster of sleeping habits. I need routine and a reason to have to be awake or else I’ll just wake up whenever the fuck I feel like. It’s a problem.

It was pretty fun! We were both sleep deprived, she pulled some crazy Italian magic to make the Mac and cheese taste even MORE amazing, I had a cart on my shoulders, and we crashed out around dawn. We couldn't stop laughing long enough to relax and sleep! So I'm running on four hours of sleep, a think of red bull, and cartoons~J

A cart on your shoulders? But ahh that sounds like such a fun night!! I miss living around people who I can hang out and have wild shenanigans with and stay up too late and be idiots. I’m so glad you had a fun night!! :D

[tortuga-aak]

I deprive my kids of all screens, but I try not to be smug about it

Sean Gallup/Getty Images

It is much more difficult for parents to implement a screen-free upbringing for their children now than it was a couple decades ago.

Parents who implement certain parenting methods can become quite sanctimonious.

While parents actively try to keep their children from becoming addicted to tech, it is almost impossible at times and unrealistic.

Choosing what's best for your child does not speak for all children.

  I grew up without a TV at a time when it was still possible for parents to raise kids screen-free without acting like insufferable prigs about it. Although Jerry Mander published his sweeping anti-TV polemic Four Arguments For the Elimination of Television the same year I was born, my parents don't remember their decision to raise us without TV as being much of a political one.

"As anyone can see, time is a zero-sum game," my mom wrote me when I asked her how she and my dad decided not to get a set. "When one is watching, one is not reading, listening to music, having meaningful conversations, etc." They declined my aunt's offer of a TV as a wedding present and asked her for a sewing machine instead. When they started having kids five years later, they saw no need to add TV to the household.

It worked. We read, spent time outside, and sat for hours at the dinner table (especially as we got older and more patient). My parents' friends and family generally believed in sending kids outside to play, so the no-TV decision didn't stand out much in their circle.

We drove to Colorado and back twice in the family Oldsmobile with no DVD players or tablets. Some kids at school made fun of us ("Are you Amish?"), and I wished I knew popular shows like Unsolved Mysteries so I'd have an easier time making conversation with people in my class, but I was generally happy to binge The Babysitters' Club instead. (Just because a kid reads doesn't mean she'll read quality!)

So I'm convinced, from personal experience, that a happy screen-free childhood is possible. Now, my husband and I want to keep our 10-month-old daughter screen-free. This is a task that's going to be much harder for us than it was for my parents.

Sure, there's the question of practicality: Screens are in everyone's pockets now. And the advent of the internet means there's a whole universe of tempting content, far more alluring than Muppet Babies, that simply didn't exist when I was a kid. But it's also a personal challenge, because the potential for parental self-righteousness has ballooned in the 40 years between my birth and my daughter's. I don't want screen-free parenting to turn me into a monster.

The screen-free parenting Facebook groups I follow are full of advice, encouragement, and nightmarish levels of smug self-congratulation. Just let an unsuspecting newbie suggest that going screen-free might present difficulties! He'll instantly be bombarded with stories of just how perfect other screen-free kids are.

"Yesterday at the park," one mom posted in response to a question about whether screen-free kids could feel socially isolated, "my son was asked what his favorite show was by a kid we didn't know. He simply said 'I don't watch anything. Want to be a St. Bernard with me?'"

Aww, so wholesome, unlike kids who watch TV and never imagine anything! The children of the people in these groups are calm, helpful, social, and polite: total paragons of virtue. Their moms seem happy to spend endless hours dreaming up leaf-collection projects and filling sensory tables with new kinds of sand. In another group, one person posted a picture of her two kids parked in front of a fish tank, watching the fish eat their food. "Before school 'screen time,' " the caption read.

Fiona Goodall / Stringer / Getty Images

And while I find myself imagining the Jennifer Lawrence OK gif when I read these absurd posts from these absurd parents, I can absolutely see myself climbing aboard the same high horses they're riding. My sanctimoniousness surfaces when I start to follow a system that I delight in that makes me feel as though I've cracked the code. It's happened to me in the past with Anusara yoga and American studies. This whole-hearted love of a system can be dangerous, because when I've found the right way to do something, it's easy to think everyone else should do it the same way as me.

And going screen-free feels so right for our vision for J's life! We want her to go outside a lot. We want her to play independently. We want her to learn from watching us do things around the house (this is the Waldorf idea of daily life as the child's "curriculum"). We want her to sleep well. We want her to be excited by life, and to feel flow, which is difficult when you're overwhelmed by the kinds of choices and inputs screens offer. We want her to enjoy being around other people—watching their faces, hearing their voices. Eventually, we want her to like to read. All of these things seem like they'll happen more often if screens aren't even a possibility.

And, if I'm being honest, I don't want to fight with her over the iPad. What is it about kids begging for screen time that is so grating to my ears? They sound out of control, driven by primeval desires. Adults are better at hiding or justifying their addictions to the internet; kids shamelessly panhandling for screen time remind me just how compulsive the human-screen interface can become. I know the way I feel when I get off the internet after a good run on Twitter or am pulled away from Netflix mid-Riverdale binge. If I were a kid I'd be crying for the iPad, too.

And when I hear other kids begging to watch a show, how will I be able to avoid giving their parents the side-eye? I remember how it feels to have sanctimony directed my way. I'm not an attachment parent; I give J formula, and did a modified form of sleep training.

During early parenthood, when we were making decisions around those issues, I would sink into the internet for hours looking for advice, emerging in a panic because there was no way I could do what everyone on a random BabyCenter comment thread was insisting was the "only" way to raise a baby. The last thing I want is to be responsible for panicking someone else that way.

I must also remember that because of the circumstances of our lives, remaining screen-free when J is around is much easier for us than it might be for those other people whose choices I'll be judging. When she was very small, and I was on maternity leave, she seemed to spend most of her waking hours feeding, and I had a lot of trouble not looking at my phone around her. (My god, the boredom of those sweet early days.) Now that she's bright and curious, I don't dare. But I also don't find the loss of screens too difficult to bear.

My husband and I both work full-time, and get plenty of contact with the internet during the day. J is an only child, and will remain one, so there is no older sibling to muddy the issue of what's allowed, or younger one who needs a lot of parent-diverting care.

We live in a small town where commuting is minimal, so there are no long car or subway rides that would be so much easier with a DVD player. We have J in a preschool run by a caregiver who is even more of a screen-free partisan than we are. And in truth, there are only a few hours per weekday in which we must eliminate screens from our own lives to keep J away from them.

She goes to bed at 7 every night (something else I believe in strongly … sanctimoniously, you might say); after she's down, we can watch all the Cavs games we want. On the weekends, it feels good to bend our lives away from the virtual world and toward the real one. I sneak a few hours of internet during her naps, and come back ready to take her to the farmer's market or into the woods, where she can mess around with pinecones and get all that good pine sap on her hands. (Sensory table curation, here I come.)

But here's the biggest caveat of all: She's only 10 months old. When she no longer naps, how will we get downtime? What will I do when she's begging to see a movie her friends at school are talking about? (I'll probably take her because I don't totally hate fun.) Will we buy her a Kindle, or install new bookcases to handle the influx of trashy kids' series fiction, like my parents did? Will I picket her school when her first-grade class watches a movie instead of going out to recess on a rainy day?

Parents plan; God laughs.

NOW WATCH: This animation shows how terrifyingly powerful nuclear weapons have become

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