#ill still be a bit hurt when they go out to sleep around again

[nimomo-mo]

Vent

[theoldsports]

SHITHEAD.

Art Donaldson x Reader.

warnings: a lot of them. 18+, slapping, begging, major angst, brat!Art, an argument with make up sex. Art is really manipulative because… he is a bit and we all know it. [Y/N] is very ill-tempered too. it’s dirty.

can be a part ii to SPONTANEOUS, or read as a standalone. this is my favorite piece of writing i have published on this account.

The bed was empty beside [Y/N]. She stared at Art’s empty side of the bed. The soft green sheets and mix-matched pillowcases went unoccupied. Not because he wasn’t home, but because [Y/N] hated Art so he had to sleep downstairs on the couch.

It wasn’t that she really hated Art. She did hate him right now. Not in a funny way. Their drive home had been silent. Poor Art didn’t know how to facilitate conversation that wouldn’t worsen the situation. His sorrowful eyes, but honest eyes kept glancing from the road to where [Y/N] sat in the passenger seat. The real showdown had started between them something awful when the door to their house slammed shut.

See, Art cried when he got mad. Or sad. Or profoundly excited. Their wedding photos were two-thirds Art crying and trying not to show that he was crying.

Art hadn’t cried tonight yet. That pissed [Y/N] off. She was furious and he seemed to feel absolutely zero discernible feelings about that.

They argued all the time. It rarely lasted all too long.

It was different this time. When [Y/N] started to say something cruel or shout or weep, Art got a little smaller, but he alarmingly stood his ground. He averted his gaze and said “I respectfully disagree,” or “What the fuck do you know about how I feel?” in a dangerously level tone.

Fighting with Art about this wasn’t fun. He was too cool about. He knew he was right. [Y/N] wanted to yell and scream because Art was so relaxed and condescending in his tone. When the man who had spent his teenage years getting referred at competition after competition as literally Ice tonelessly said: “Jesus Christ, aren’t you bored yet? What, going to over-explain the same information to me again, or…?” Finally, that had made [Y/N] drag herself to bed and yank the door closed violently enough that she felt the metallic vibration run all the way up to her shoulder.

And she was still laying there, staring at Art’s side of the bed.

At the Zweig’s party that night, there were a few hot topics in the Donaldsons’ sphere:

1) Lots of congratulations from people that had known them grow up, but hadn’t seen them since the wedding or prior.

This was mostly very kind. It dragged that smirk up Art’s face and caused his fingers to dig tighter into [Y/N]’s waist. That look of pride and tenderness on his face was more than welcome.

2) Lots of questions about Patrick. His lack of attendance was felt.

Both Donaldsons dodged these question as much as they could. Art kept an eye on [Y/N]’s liquor consumption. He knew how embarrassed she would be if she said something she regretted in front of Patrick’s family. Patrick had hurt them both, but Art’s heart went out to [Y/N]. Her world had been built around Patrick’s from a young age. Art was trying to engineer his own world higher around her so she wouldn’t be able to see the old place and people that had burned her over the walls.

3) “You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

With Art keeping an eye on [Y/N]’s drinking, she hadn’t really been keeping an eye on him. She just assumed he would keep his shit together. Art drinking in public was never really a concern. He wasn’t a big drinker anyway. At this point, his career mattered more and he was approaching his mid-twenties which made him feel surely less young than he had once. He wasn’t a casual beer guy either. It was Patrick who liked beer and Art who would have a moledo or something sometimes. Art did like white girl drinks, though. Tequila and fruity stuff. He had been able to shoot shot after shot of vodka like a pro in college at a season-end celebration.

Art was a tight-lipped man, but he was a giggly drunk who he got pretty comfortable talking out of his ass from behind a glass with an umbrella in it. Art was rarely comfortable with anything, so a drink or two at a party was welcome to him.

Another important point of context is that the largest point of tension between Art and [Y/N] was starting a family. They desperately wanted a child together, but they disagree on when. [Y/N] felt like she was fresh out of college, so she figured they had plenty of time. Art felt that he was fresh out of college, so he figured they may as well get to it.

Their arguments about this were once semi-regular. In the last four months or so, Art timidly bowed out and hoped [Y/N] would tell him when she was ready (sooner rather than later). He got tired of the low-tier shouting matches. Instead, he would pick fights about things that were decidedly lower stakes when he was bored.

Art had let [Y/N] field comments about family planning throughout the night. Unfortunately, when Art was polishing off a second drink, he ran his mouth a little bit.

Knowing he was the designated driver that night, Art did go easy. Art was also, like, five pounds. While he could hold his liquor with grace, he always got giggly. He watched with heavy eyelids as [Y/N] walked away to collect another drink following the dinner portion of the evening. The paper placecards with their shared last name emblazoned on them rested comfortably in Art’s inner jacket pocket to be kept as a memory.

Some guy who sold boat insurance and liked to rub elbows with talent was talking Art’s ear off. Art couldn’t remember his name, but [Y/N] would know it.

This was the precise moment that got Art in trouble.

Because when the guy whose name Art was sure started with an R said: “So! You’re married. When are we going to be seeing a little Donaldson running around?”

Art said:

“Any day now, I hope. Tomorrow. I’m good to go. [Y/N] thinks now’s not a great time for her.”

He had said it with a smirk and a stupid little laugh. It was basically locker room talk. Big deal. He would’ve said it to Patrick with [Y/N] present in the room. This guy wasn’t Patrick and he was technically speaking behind her back.

Art had forgotten how close they were standing to the bar. He had forgotten that the frequency of his pitchy tenor was known to carry. He had forgotten that he was well known to be an instigator of fights even though he never actually threw the first punch. He had forgotten that he hadn’t been whispering. He had forgotten that this guy… Richy? Ronnie? was pretty much a stranger who had no business knowing their business.

Now, Art was sleeping on the couch and his side of the bed was empty.

Jackass.

[Y/N] stared still at the empty bed and didn’t know how to articulate her upset to an Art who had seemingly yet to feel ashamed.

She had a headache and was tired. But sleep wasn’t going to come easy and all she had to look forward to was a hangover.

Art didn’t really snore, but he was a heavy breather when he slept. The lack of his white noise made the A/C blowing and the stairs creaking too loud. Maybe all of this was on [Y/N] for making Art uncomfortable, she dared to think.

Then she reminded herself that it was Art’s fault for talking too much and for drinking when he knew he was supposed to drive home.

[Y/N] rolled over to face away from Art’s spot. All she could think about is how his hands always sleepily pawed at her to pull her back when she got too far away from him before he fell asleep.

“So, what’d you do?” Patrick asked.

“She hates me.” Art replied. It was almost a question.

“I asked what you did, not what she feels. She already told us what she feels and it’s that she hates you.” Patrick stated. When Patrick had stopped through town for a match, he had come by for dinner with, well, his best friends. This had been right after they’d gotten engaged.

Art sniffled. He didn’t want to cry in front of Patrick. Art would sooner cry in front of his own father. Both men would have laughed in his face, but it would have stung more from Patrick. “We got into a fight yesterday. A big one. Like, the first, uh, big one. She’s worried about the f—“

“The future? Please,” Patrick said bitterly. He frowned and his jaw tightened, but he combatted it by tossing Art a smile before the other man noticed the tension. “Stupid. You’re gonna marry her. You’ll play tennis. She’ll do her… columns? Articles. I don’t get what it is that she does—“

“She writes for—“

“Sure, yeah. You’re gonna have two kids so you can each pick a favorite one. And she’s gonna be a pain in your ass forever. Don’t be a pussy.”

Art sniffled again and stared at the floor. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I didn’t think I did,” Art said meekly. “I don’t get it. She gets so mad sometimes. At me.” Patrick stared at him blankly. Art had to know that he was usually at least a little bit the problem.

“Did she do the thing where she calls you a—“

“Shithead bastard?”

“Shithead bastard.” Both boys said at the same time. Art dragged his hands through his hair and looked up at Patrick. Both of them quirked a smirk at the other.

“See,” Patrick started. “You’ll be fine. Fuckin’ go after her.”

“And say what!”

“Uh… ‘I’m sorry?’ You do that kinda shit. She’ll like that.”

It was impossible to know how long [Y/N] laid there. The clock was on Art’s side and she would get spitting mad if she rolled back over.

She could just go downstairs and tell Art to come back to bed. He was probably sleeping just fine.

“Hey, hon, you don’t hate me, right?” Art’s voice whispered in the darkness.

[Y/N] was fairly certain she had imagined it. She had not heard his sweaty feet on the stairs or his fingers against the doorknob. Quickly, [Y/N] whipped over to face the door behind her.

There was Art. His sweatpants sat low on his hips and his shirt was long gone. Clothing didn’t often survive the night on Art’s back.

Really, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it had taken Art to work through coming upstairs so quietly. “Mm?” [Y/N] groaned in question.

Art rocked his right shoulder into the doorway to lean. His arms were crossed and his eyes straight ahead on her from what [Y/N] could tell in the glow of the hallway’s thermostat. “Please just tell me you don’t hate me and I’ll let you go back to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

With a sigh, [Y/N] sat up and rolled her cracking shoulders back. “I don’t hate you, Art.” Her heart melted a little bit. [Y/N] knew it was immature, but her special attack in arguments since childhood was to bandy around the word hate a lot. Not that she had said it to Art tonight, but she had no doubt said it before. More than once. More times than she could count, maybe.

She was surprised Art had never asked this before. That surprise hurt in an a way that was too complex to describe. “I could never hate you.” [Y/N] continued, voice hushed only because it was dark out.

Art’s posture relaxed slightly. “You promise you don’t?” Said Art’s evermore crippling lack of self-confidence.

“I promise.” [Y/N] replied calmly.

“Okay. Thank you.” Art said in a small voice.

“I love you, baby. I don’t hate you. You shouldn’t have to ask that. I’m sorry I made you feel like you even have to ask that.”

Art frowned sharply. “No, I’m the one that should be sorry. You told me nicely not to talk about—“

“Don’t play that. You have to know you don’t feel like you did anything wrong, so you don’t have to invent a situation where you’re some horrible person.”

Art was silent.

[Y/N] continued. “I’m pissed because you told Randy,” RANDY. His name was RANDY. That’s it. “Our business. My business, really. He’s an asshole. It’s fine. Well, not now, but eventually. But you kinda martyred yourself on it. You don’t have to do that and I don’t hate you. You know I don’t… Right?”

“I’m sorry.” Art said quickly. He was gifted at making every single minor problem his own fault. He knew he was a little bit of an awful person for that, but he would die before admitting it. Art would hide behind his martyring habit as long as his cross could hold him, though. [Y/N] hadn’t noticed before this moment, but she could see the shining of his eyes in the digital blue-green glow. Tears. This time, less than obvious waterworks. Aw.

“I’m sorry. I’m still pissed at you for running your mouth, but I’m sorry too.”

Art nodded, said nothing else and reached for the doorknob.

Here is a frustrating thing about Art.

He said he was going to leave for downstairs once [Y/N] said she didn’t hate him. He started to make good on that vow. If he says something, he’s going to do it, even though he doesn’t have to do it.

“Come on,” [Y/N] called louder than she’d been whispering. “Come here, pretty baby.”

Pretty Baby by Blondie had been their wedding song. She had been calling him that for almost as long as she had known him. Saying it, or hearing the song always made that stunning, small crooked smile stretch up beyond his sad puppy eyes all the way to his ears.

Art’s kryptonite was pretty baby. They both knew it.

He turned to look at her with a slight blush on his cheeks, almost visible in the dark. Art shifted one of his feet childishly over the other in apprehension.. “Don’t make me say it again. I don’t like to ask twice.” [Y/N] reminded him.

After a hasty nod, Art was in bed before he [Y/N] blinked. The blonde sat bolt upright beside [Y/N] with his eyes wide. Hesitant, but coyly so. He knew this pattern. The agony and shame from her brutality would only last so long. Housepets loved to cause trouble for treat.

Not to say that Art liked to start fights so he could play some low-status lapdog that got to feel his wife’s fingers comb through his hair the way he liked as a reward for an apology. The man bit his cheek to avoid a devious smirk. A part of him did like to do that sometimes, though.

He always got away with it. He was such a nice boy.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes and leaned back into the threadbare pillows. With a finger, she beckoned Art nearer. Hesitation eliminated, Art flopped slowly down beside [Y/N]; she on her back, he on his side, facing her. Delicately, Art’s fingers dragged down [Y/N]’s arm to curl in her fingers.

Not long after that, his plush mouth climbed down from her neck. Then shoulders and collarbones. Then bicep. Elbow. Forearm and wrist. Down her hand to her silver-studded ring finger. Each kiss with accompanied with an honest and dutiful I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He was sorry. Genuinely. Sorry for the upset he brought his wife, but not the cause. Art’s beautiful duel-colored eyes glanced up at [Y/N]’s blown pupils through her own fingers.

“I didn’t mean to talk about you like that… I just… I love you so much that I want more of you. That’s all, honey,” Art laid his head on [Y/N]’s upper chest and his mouth moved against the front of her throat. “I’m just a little stupid, huh…”

Under his lips, Art could feel the rumble of a laugh rip through [Y/N]’s throat. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair to hold him in place. “Do-don’t talk about yourself like that,” she mumbled and gave his hair a lovely tug with both hands. He whimpered. [Y/N] wanted to bottle that sound. Art would always remember what she said next and how she said it: “Only I get to talk about you like that… St-stupid.”

This was the version of [Y/N] he was going to remember when he thought of her every day for the rest of his life. That sentence, the way her hair hung from where he had pushed it away from her neck. The sting of the cold metal from her wedding ring on the back of his neck and the stone of her engagement ring pressing into where he reached his palm to place his hand over hers. There was just the wrong amount of clothes between them. Her eyes ringed smoky from the makeup smudges and the exhaustion.

“Say it again.” Art whispered, swinging a knee over [Y/N]’s thighs so he could stare down at her. His forehead pressed softly against [Y/N]’s.

[Y/N]’s mouth fell open slightly with a breathy exhalation. Holy shit. “What, pretty baby, you want me to tell you how stupid you are? You like that?” [Y/N] almost whispered into Art’s still lips. He was too shocked to kiss her back, but too turned on to pull away. Art whimpered louder than before. [Y/N] felt him nod.

So she didn’t hold back. “You think I need to punish you after you behaved like that today or something? You need to atone for what a moron you were, shithead?” [Y/N] kept her tone light enough to just about tease as her nose trailed along the side of his. Her objective was to belittle. Her nails slid down Art’s muscular, sturdy back.

They both knew Art was a masochist on his worst days. Did he get off on being degraded sometimes? Sure. But this series of events was ridiculously new and exciting for [Y/N]. And shockingly obviously for Art too.

His hips pressed into her pathetically. “What? Did you need help with something?” She asked innocently when she felt Art’s hard-on against her thigh. [Y/N] kissed him distractingly warmly for how she was treating him. Art’s head spun and he couldn’t seem to make sense of anything anymore. He had backed himself into the best kind of corner.

Across Art’s hips and side went [Y/N]’s left hand, to the front of his sweatpants. Humiliatingly, Art blinked tears out of his eyes and screwed them shut. His mouth opened and closed, but no intelligent sound came out. [Y/N] planted a kiss at the corner of his parted lips. His strong arms boxed [Y/N] protectively in from above, but she had him locked into place, really. “Baby, if you want something, you know you have to ask for it.”

“Nnh,” Art tried, eyes stuck shut. His attention was mostly spent hold himself up over his wife. His insanely gorgeous wife. [Y/N]’s other hand grabbed his jaw tenderly. He still didn’t look at her. Art was gathering his courage. “Yo-you already told me I couldn’t have what I wanted.”

With a sharp inhale, [Y/N] grip went from gentle to nonexistent. At the lack of contact, Art’s damp eyes crept open one at a time to see if his brattiness had overstepped the situation. His frightened eyes caught [Y/N]’s. She popped the side of his face sharply with an open palm. Art blinked and tipped his head to the side like a dog.

That was big trouble, huh?

“Fuck,” he said. Both of them panted in sync. “I’m sorry.” He meant it.

[Y/N] pulled Art’s face to hers and kissed him hard. “I love… you.” She said.

[mydearesthrry]

right back home to you - h.s.

a/n: had a hard time deciding if i wanted to put this out since im not too happy with the outcome but i wanted to feed u guys. in the future ill probably go back in and edit it but for now i hope you all enjoy this little angsty girl xx im also working on part 2 of love in secret !!!!!!!!!! she should be out fairly soon <3

wc: 4.8k

warnings: none, angst, fluff, flight anxiety

“Hello? ‘M home,” Harry shouted into the cold house. Not that he would even notice, but the air was dull and the atmosphere was still, hues in the normally vibrant house now gray and lifeless. “Baby?” 

“Oh, hi Harry,” A dulcet smile was on her face as she walked around the corner with sweatpants and a baggy hoodie on, a baseball cap on top of her head. She had her dirty and beat up air forces on her feet that Harry loved to make fun of, small dollops of paint on the soles of the shoe. She also had a pair of sunnies that lay stagnant on the dark blue visor, a tell tale sign for Harry that she was going out. “I didn’t hear you come home.” 

Harry hummed, holding his arms out for her to walk into. She did, but only embraced him with half of her body, one arm curling around his waist loosely while the other stayed swaying by her side. In both of their opinions, it was way too short to even be considered a hug, not even close to being an embrace, but Y/N did it purposely. Harry frowned, feeling a twinge of hurt at her unusual lack of affection. “Um… Are y- are y’going out?” 

She laughed falsely, shaking her head and turning her body to face the large windows in their apartment. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” 

Harry was still confused. “What d’you mean?” 

It’s now or never, Y/N thought, and mustered her bravest smile as she pivot turned to face him again. “I’m leaving, Harry. I’m going up to New York to stay with Eliza. I don’t know when I’ll be home, but I’ll be sure to let you know in advance, is that okay?” 

A few beats pass, Harry staring at her in disbelief. “What the fuck? No, no, s’not okay! Why- why are y’leaving? Y’didn’t even tell me? When were you planning on telling me y’were leaving?” 

“I’ve been planning on leaving for a long time, Harry. I was actually meant to leave before you even got home, really, but you’re early.” She sighed, rubbing at her temple and knowing the fight that was about to ensue. 

“Why are y’leaving?” Harry’s voice started to grow in volume, becoming harder and harsher as he tightened his hands into balled fists, trying to channel his feelings in another way rather than yelling at his girlfriend. 

“I’m leaving because I can’t do this anymore, Harry. I cant keep arguing with you every day, it’s just not fair to me. And it’s not fair to you either, really, so I’m just… taking the stress off of the both of us and making the bold decision to leave.” She explains, moving to grab her suitcases from the hallway and roll them into the living room. 

“That’s wha’ this is about? The fight we had last night?” He asks, eyes widening and mouth drying at the sight of her multiple suitcases. 

“Um— not entirely, I guess. I’ve meant to go up to visit Eliza, if you remember, we were going to but you had um— a party, that you needed to attend. So I just decided to book a flight last night after you went to sleep.” She's as quiet as a mouse, her words not staggering but it was physically obvious that she was nervous. 

“So what now? Is that it? You’re just… throwing away four years of my- of our fucking life?” Harry spat. She’d started to shrink into herself quite a bit, sweaty palms running over the now warm black handle of her small suitcase. 

“I’m not throwing away anything, Harry. We had a fight, you and I both said some nasty things, and I’m just going up to my sister's house for a little bit to clear my head. Like I said, I was meaning to go up anyway. This isn’t really about you, Harry, as much as you think it might be. I’ve been miserable here all alone and all I want is to be with someone who I know can provide me with love and attention right now, which is what I need. You need it too.” She tried to hold her ground but the tremble in her soft voice made her feel weak. 

She and Harry had gotten into a multitude of arguments within the past weeks that he had been off tour. It started from little things, like a sock being thrown over the laundry basket and not inside of it, or one of them leaving their dirty tea mugs on the counter when the sink was right there! But as small and insignificant as these things were, they also grew into arguments about bigger issues. One of the more nasty arguments had pushed her to pack her bags and book a plane ride up to her sister’s house in New York. 

The argument on the table this time around was that whenever Harry was home after an elongated amount of time on the road, he would treat Y/N as if she was his friend and not girlfriend of three years. She’d had a problem with this seeing as all she ever wanted him to do was love her and take care of her, and for some reason she couldn’t help but feel he found that hard. 

“Bullshit. I know y’leaving ‘cause your feelings got hurt or whatever, but you know y’don’t have to leave, pup. We can resolve this, don’t we always?” He grumbles, taking a few small steps forward to meet her where she stood by the door. 

“It’s entirely different this time, Harry.” She sighed, bending down to sit on the floor since she knew they’d probably be there for a while. 

“How?! How could this be any fuckin’ different? We’re jus’ arguin’ are we not?” Harry runs a stressed hand through his hair, trying to channel his energy away from his voice. Though he tried to refrain from allowing his anger to seep its way into his voice, his girlfriend could still pick up on the edge that lined his vocal chords. 

“No, baby. We aren’t just arguing. This is me trying to tell you how I feel, and you keep pushing it aside. So this isn’t just us arguing anymore, I guess I’m surrendering. I’m tired of doing this with you whenever you’re home, Harry. I’m alone every day, 24/7, and then you come home and it’s like nothing has changed. Which I love, I love how we can just bounce back, but sometimes I need more love or attention when you come back, and I just…” She starts to gnaw on her lips, trying to word her next thought carefully. “I’m tired of being treated like your friend rather than your girlfriend.” 

“What?” 

“Mhm. Besides me being alone all the time, whenever I do have you— or people around, you only ever want to keep me at arms length. The whole world knows we’re together, Harry. You’ve posted on my birthday and it’s no secret to anyone anymore. I… I just can’t understand why you do that, really. It makes me feel like I’m just your friend and not your lover.” She pauses, inhaling a sharp breath of air and willing her tears away. 

“What do you— what do you even mean? I’m always with you whenever I’m home, I bring y’everywhere w’me?” His anger just kept growing and growing, but this time he noticed that the weight of guilt that was sitting on his heart had gotten heavier with every breath he took, the weight of the pull almost being able to bring him to his knees.

She lets out a wet laugh, shaking her head before dropping it in defeat. “Harry… I hate to bring it up but— you’ve been home for what, three weeks now? We haven’t had sex, we barely have cuddled, you don’t put your arm around me in public or kiss my cheek. I— I feel like I’m losing you. It’s so hard to love you when you won’t let me. I’ve tried to be understanding and just trying to accept the fact that you’re readjusting to our normal life but… I miss you. The only time we talk for longer than a few minutes is when we fight, and that’s not okay. You know how much you mean to me, but I just can’t keep trying to love someone you aren’t anymore. It’s just too destructive to me and I just can’t. I’m sorry, Harry. I hope you can understand, and I’ll be back whenever we’re ready.” 

Harry’s now shaking with sobs. Uncontrollable, messy, heartbreaking sobs. Her words were finally making sense to him. All of the arguments had finally made sense. She was arguing with him just so he would talk to her. He thought he could die with the amount of guilt squeezing his heart right now. 

“I love you, isn’t that enough?” He whispered. 

“I don’t think it is anymore, Harry.” Lifting herself up to her feet, she rolls her suitcase to stand behind her, taking a few small steps to be inches away from her Harry. “I’ll be back, H. I promise.” 

Placing a kiss to his wet cheek, he watched her walk away with a damp smile, and against his will, engrained the image of her leaving to his mind. 

This wasn’t how he imagined they would end. 

He didn’t even entertain the thought of them ever ending; but now he feels like he just lost every single atom of his being in the quickest of moments. 

—

It was hell. 

Harry could say with full conviction that it was absolute hell to be in that house, that big house on the beach, alone. 

Nothing felt right. From the second he woke up in the morning, to the minute he slid his legs under the covers at night, he almost felt nauseous because of how unusual he felt. How unusual everything felt. 

And it was all his fault. 

Picking up his phone, he goes to text his sweet girl again when he decides to scroll up to find the reprieve of gray amongst the sea of blue. 

Harry: Please text me when you land. 

Harry: I love you, please don’t forget that. 

Harry: Take all the time you need, Angel. I’m here if you need me. I’m so sorry.

Harry: I’ll be waiting for you when you get home. Just say the word and I’ll get you a ticket. 

Harry: Take your time though, please be safe. I love you.

Harry: Again

Y/N: just landed. kinda busy rn, talk to you later bug

Harry: That’s okay, be safe. ❤️

Y/N loved this message

Harry: I love you 

Y/N: yeah love you too h

Allowing his head to drop onto the back of the sofa, his arm fell limp onto his thigh, his green eyes scanned the interior of the living room, twinges of pain and guilt panting in his chest whenever he’d land his gaze on something that was proprietarily hers. 

Her growing orchids in a handmade pot that they’d painted together on their first Valentine’s Day as a couple. 

The godawful mirror she thrifted from a random corner store back in her hometown that she begged Harry to put up. 

A small canvas filled with tiny paintings of inside jokes and memorable dates that she gifted to him last Christmas. He allowed himself to trace over that painting for a little longer than the rest of the small things placed among their living room. 

11/29/19. The first time they met. 

1/16/21. When Harry asked her to be his girlfriend. 

4/07/21. The first time they said I love you. 

12/25/22. When Harry surprised Y/N on Christmas with a down payment on a house. The one he was now residing in, alone. 

A red convertible figurine, the car they first kissed in. 

A coffee cup and a teacup, symbolizing the first date they went on, where he learned she hates tea and preferred coffee, which led to an argument on whether coffee or tea was better. 

A small tulip, representing the first bouquet of flowers he ever bought her. 

And a small pearl ring, an exact replica of the promise ring Harry had given her on their 3 year anniversary. 

He didn’t even notice the streaks of tears beginning to run down his face until he felt a teardrop fall onto his inner wrist, making him look down. 

But as he canvassed the room once more, he perked up at the sight of a small snow globe that she brought him back from New York, and that was when he got an idea. He knew it was dramatic, and a bit of a stretch, but who said he wouldn’t go to extreme lengths to get his soulmate back?

Yeah, no one ever. 

To: Eliza

Harry: Hey Liz, got a sec?

—

Harry hated flying alone. 

Since he was a teenager and stepped foot on his first plane, he was anxious even being next to someone he barely knew even though his friends were two seats away. Though he would claim that he’s always been a bit anxious and just chalking it up to flight anxiety, he knew that the real reason why he hated flying alone was because he always feared that something bad would happen on the ground when he was in the air and vice versa, and that was always his greatest vice. 

His hands began to tremble nervously as he looked out the window of the airplane, seeing nothing but fluffy white on the exterior and the soft red light of the aircraft’s wings blinking every so often. His headphones were placed over his head, smushing his curls down flat onto his head, a mask covering the bottom half of his face. His hood was pulled up as well, trying to conceal himself as much as possible. He hadn’t brought much, just a little carry on and a small tote to shove under the seat in front of him. It was wishful thinking that he wouldn’t be there for a long while, but he brought the keys to his apartment in New York anyway. 

He kept his head hung in nausea, the speed of his shaking hands increasing tenfold. The pit in his stomach grew and he had to beg his own body to allow his eyes to not stray to the window next to him. Sure, he could close it, but he feared if it was too dark he would become more anxious than he was right now. The mask covering the bottom half of his face now felt constricting— as if he was being suffocated by the thin layer of fabric. The light douse of perfume that danced around the sunflower print of the mask couldn’t even distract him, and it only pained him more that his senses were fully encompassed by her. He bit down on his lip to distract himself by the whirling feeling of nausea that now swirled around in his throat, willing away the sick that begged to come out.

The rest of the flight was the same, his anxiety only decreasing when he allowed himself to take a small nap. However, when he woke up, his nerves had heightened when he flickered his gaze from the window to the screen in front of him, reading only 20 minutes until he was set to touch down. Grasping his phone from his hoodie pocket, he aligned it to his face then rolling his eyes when he remembered he had a mask on. Lowering his phone he typed in his password— Y/N’s birthday— and pulled up their messages again. 

Harry: Good morning baby. I love you. I hope you have a good day today!! 

Y/N: thanks h love you

He couldn’t lie and say that her being short with him didn’t hurt his feelings, because it did. He wasn’t going to avoid the fact, but that didn’t mean that he liked it regardless. He felt like a fool checking his phone so often, especially when he knew that she wouldn’t be making an effort to reach out first, but he could be hopeful, right? 

At least that’s what he’s telling himself. 

The plane landed safely, nerves rolling off of his back in waves and he was more than happy to leave his flight anxiety on the floor of the plane, relieved to not be miles high in the air. There was a lull that was obvious to Harry, and he felt himself switch to function in autopilot, waiting mindlessly to enter the aisle to retrieve his bag from the overhead compartment. 

The nippy New York air was the first thing to snap Harry out of his trance. Looking down at his phone, he felt a soft buzz and soon after felt his heart beat almost fast enough to eject from his chest. 

Y/N: saw this in a store earlier, thought of u

Y/N: Attachment: 1 Image 

Eliza: waiting near terminal b for you, lmk when you get outside 

Harry: I’m outside, can you see me?

Eliza: yep. be there in a sec

Swiping out of Y/N’s sisters messages, he went to click on Y/N’s before a black car stopped in front of him, averting his attention from his device to the car that just screeched to a halt. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he trudged forward and grabbed onto the door handle, prying it open and avoiding Eliza’s deathly stare. “Um- hiiii.” 

She scoffed. “Hi, H.” 

He throws his tote to his feet, awkwardly buckling himself in and turned in his seat, avoiding eye contact but making sure she knew that conversation was open if she’d wanted to make it. “How— um… How are you?”

Silence follows his words for a few seconds, making him heat up in embarrassment. “Good.” 

“Oh- that’s good… I, um— haven't seen y’in quite a while, Lizzy,” He says softly, guilt evident in his voice. “I missed you.” 

Eliza was basically Gemma’s best friend. They were attached at the hip the first time they met, bonding over being the eldest sisters, and shared secrets. Y/N and Harry’s family had always been interconnected, close with each other even if Y/N and Harry lacked that communication. 

They were basically soul tied in every sense of the phrase. 

“Yeah, I missed you too, H. But,” Eliza starts. “You’ve been a right dick to my sister.” 

“I know,” He whispers. 

“Do you? Fuck, H, my fucking baby sister came to me crying because of you. And you know how much I love you, truly, you know I do, but I love her more. So, I just have to ask,” She pauses, gnawing on her lip and clicking her blinker on to signal her turn. “What the hell happened?” 

“I,” He sniffs, trying to contain his emotions already begging to come out. “I don’t know.” 

Eliza snorts. “Bullshit.” 

“I— I really don’t, Lizzy. I guess I was really in m’head about… well, everything. I lo- love her so much,” Harry’s voice cracks, his facade shattering into more microscopic pieces than the most delicate sheet of glass ever could. 

“I know you do, H. That’s why this is so confusing to me. To Gems. And most importantly, to Y/N. What happened, Curly? How’d we lose you?” She begs, trying to get him to explain where he was mentally. She loved him as she would Y/N, which was the hardest part. It hurt her as much as it hurt him to confront him about the issue. 

“I don’t want her to hate me! Okay?” Harry sobs, chin falling to his chest in weakness. “I don’t want her t’hate me for being away all the time, and I’m so fucking scared. ‘M scared because the press is doing nothing but talking bad about me and I don’t know if I can equally protect her as much as she does me when this happens. When it happens t’me I jus’ ignore it, but I know she can’t do that. I know it, Lizzy, and so d’you.” 

“I know, H. I know.” She whispers. 

“I jus’ wanted to keep her as far away as I could so that if she did decide she didn’t want me anymore, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.” He murmurs so quietly, he himself even doubts if he said it out loud. 

Silence followed the rest of the car ride, the only sound filling the space of the vehicle being the soft splatter of rain on the glass windows and windshield, paired with the crackly static of the stereo. The sun even seemed to be hiding away, the sky dark with clouds, little to no light making an appearance to greet Harry’s arrival. 

Pulling up to her driveway, Eliza parked the car, keeping her ignition on so she could drive away after Harry got into the house. Turning to Harry, she chewed on her bottom lip as she traced his side profile with her eyes. “You need to tell her exactly what you told me. Word for word, Harry. You can’t keep her in the dark. She doesn’t even know I went to pick you up. So, just promise me that you’ll tell her exactly what you told me.” 

“I promise.” Harry’s voice cracked in a broken whisper, vocal cords thrumming against each other as if they were rusted. “Love you, Lizzy. Thank you.”

Stepping out of the car, he knocked on the door thrice, and tapped softly on the doorbell for good measure. His hands had gone cold with anxiousness, but he wrote it off as the stark cold weather of New York. 

“Harry? Oh my god, baby, get inside,” Y/N pulled him in immediately, pushing his thick puffer jacket off of him that was shiny with rainwater, hands coming up to pull his baby blue beanie from his hair, revealing his soft curls. They shared no words as she pulled him to the living room, where she sat the both of them down and covered the length of their torsos and legs with a big fluffy blanket. Y/N didn’t waste a second before she threw her legs over his thighs, grabbing his hands and rubbing over the cold and cracked red skin, trying to exude as much warmth from her own as much as she could. 

She’s always been warm. 

Her hands have always been graced with heat and more significantly, she always tended to carry around an aura as sweet as honey and as warm as a hug with her wherever she went. Bringing their hands up to his lips, he presses kisses all over the back of hers, kissing her knuckles and fingertips that moved erratically over his own. She could feel the dry chap of his lips on her hands and down to her wrists but she didn’t care. She didn’t mind one bit. She would rather commit the feeling of his lips on her hands to memory rather than not know what they felt like at all. 

“What’re you doing here, baby?” She asks, concern etched in her face as she lifts her head to look at him, her movements on his hands not staggering or slowing. 

“Came t’see you,” He whispers weakly. “Couldn’t bear it. I need t’see you, hold y’again… Fuck, do jus’ about anything to be near y’again.” 

Her heart twisted with the most intense emotion that she could only describe as heartbreak. “You— you got on a plane by yourself just to come see me?” 

“Would do jus’ about anything f’you, sweet girl. Of course I would go on a plane jus’ by myself if it meant I could hold you.” He admitted. He avoided eye contact with her, keeping his eyes trained on their conjoined hands that now lay stagnant on the soft fabric of the blanket. 

“Harry,” She whispers. “Why are you here, my love?” 

“I felt too guilty t’let you leave like that,” He says, gnawing on his bottom lip to will away the tears begging to escape. “I couldn’t let y’go without telling y’I loved you. And I didn’t…” He pauses, struggling for air as he over explained. “I didn’t even explain m’self. I didn’t tell you I loved you. I didn’t kiss y’back. I didn’t even tell y’to be safe.” 

He’s fully sobbing now, Y/N tracing his side profile with his eyes, jittering with fear and anxiety. “It’s okay, hey, baby, listen,” Grabbing his chin with the tips of her fingers, she turns his head to hers, resting his forehead atop of hers. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I just needed time to think and I didn’t want to lash out on you because I didn’t have time to. We’re okay, baby. I promise.” 

He shook his head while she spoke, tears falling on the fluff of the blanket with every movement. His eyes were clenched as if he was in pain, and uneven erratic breaths fell from his mouth. “Nonono. I should— should’ve listened to you. I did- didn’t mean t’treat y’like tha’,” Harry’s accent had gotten heavier with how much emotion he was feeling, stumbling over his words as if he was drunk. 

“And I should’ve explained myself more. It’s not your fault, H. Please baby, breathe,” She begged, tightening her grip on his hands as she pleaded with her nose slotted next to his, every whispered beg pushing her lips forward to lightly brush against his raw-bitten ones. “There, that’s it.” 

His breaths began to even out, just the slightest bit. His hands still shook dramatically, veins in his neck that once protruded from the force of his cries now retracting. “I’m sorry.” 

“Harry, stop apolog-“ 

“No. I have t’say this before I leave because if I don’t, I don’t think I ever will. I— I didn’t mean t’push y’away. I was trying to protect m’self but I didn’t see that it was hurting y’too. It wasn’t my intention, and now I realize it wasn’t the right thing t’do.” He sniffles, pulling back from her face to hold eye contact for the utmost emphasis on his words. 

“I tried to keep you far away because if you ended up resenting me for being away all the time it would hurt less if you decided to leave me. Paired with everything that’s being said in the media about m’right now, I tried t’keep y’as far away as I could so that if everything came crashing down on me, I would’ve had to cope with losing y’less than everything else. And I kept picking fights with y’so that if— or when y’got too fed up w’me, you’d leave me yourself instead of something else forcing y’to leave me. I think it was all subconscious, seeing how I freaked out on y’when y’told me you were leaving. I guess I didn’t really prepare myself for when it was really going t’happen. I’m really, really sorry, Angel. I really do hope y’can forgive me.” 

She’s silent. It scares him, he can’t lie. He takes her silence as an answer and pulls his hands from her grasp and moves her legs softly off of his thighs, standing up and brushing off his pants in an attempt to stall. She’s still mute, and he takes it as his cue to go. There’s still tears streaming down his face, but they’re silent. Like he doesn’t even want to acknowledge that they’re falling at all. 

“I love you.” He whispers, before turning and walking to the door. Placing his hand on the knob, he turns it, and his heart follows the motion with a sharp twist that he thinks he feels in his entire body. He’s gnawing in his lip to avoid breaking down in front of her, even though she’s arguably seen him at his worst and most vulnerable times. Opening the door, he’s greeted with the harsh cold air, biting at his skin so aggressively he feels like his tears have now frozen to his face. Bearing the pain, he forced himself to take the step out the doorway and onto the porch, on autopilot as he let his feet decide his motions. 

“Harry, wait,” Y/N pleaded, running out behind him, meeting him in the middle of the driveway in nothing but tiny shorts and a stolen crewneck of his that she'd haphazardly stuffed into her luggage. “I love you. I love you more than I could probably ever explain, and I— I just need you to know that. If you’re done with me or done with this, that’s okay, I just need you to know that I love you.” 

“I love you. Always.” He whispers, lips trembling with sadness. 

“You know I always will, right?” She asks, placing a warm hand onto his wet and cold cheek.

“I know, baby. I do.” He says. 

“I’m here whenever you want me. I promise.” She pleads, coming up to reach his lips, placing a soft kiss to his cold ones. 

“Come home, please.” 

“Always, H. I’ll always come right back home to you.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 12

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“How about it, Holly?” Steve’s voice brings you back from your trance.

You only realise then that you’ve zoned out. You look down at your plate, your burger half-eaten and the salad mostly gone. As your mom babbled on, you’d lost yourself staring out at the lawn. It didn’t really matter, she barely acknowledged you since you came out with dinner.

You glance between her and Steve, lost in the conversation already underway.

“I’d love that, it will be nice,” your mom answers, beaming across the table; the shade of the umbrella gathering in the lines of her face.

“How about you, kiddo? Grab you pajamas and join the party,” Steve looks at you.

“Huh?” You and your mom utter in unison.

“Both of us?” She asks in a brittle quaver.

“Yeah, sure, it’ll be a nice way to connect. Holly, I know you’re a mother first, it’s a package deal.”

“Mm, yeah, I just... I misinterpreted,” she puts her hand against her neck. “A sleepover, that’s fun.”

“I felt bad about last time. Don’t want anyone left out of movie night. I got popcorn, mph,” he turns to you again, “do you like cream soda? I got some cane stuff in the glass bottles--”

“That’s a lot of sugar,” your mother murmurs.

“It’s one night,” he shrugs, “it won’t hurt. Lots to go around.”

“I guess...” she forces a smile.

“Well, we can always hold off. I did promise ice cream,” he sits back and claps his thighs. “You all done?”

You stare at the table then look up in the silence. You don’t realise he’s talking to you. You nod. Your stomach won’t settle. It’s been off all day; you wonder if maybe the maple syrup was a bit too much yesterday.

“I’ll wrap it up for you, you can have it later if you want,” he stands and takes your plate, then your mother’s and his own. Where you nibbled through barely half, they had nothing left.

You sit back and cross your arms as Steve goes inside. Your mother sighs and glares past you. She’s annoyed even if you hadn’t made the decision yourself. You didn’t even accept the invitation.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “you just can’t help but get in the way.”

She leans forward. When she’s angry, her tremors worsen. She’s barely able to keep her head still.

“I didn’t...”

“Oh, be quiet. He only feels bad for you because he knows I can’t get rid of you,” she sneers. “He knows you have nothing go for you. No job, no friends, no hobbies.” She sits back and huffs, “I tried to raise you better. I really did. I don’t know what happened.”

You lower your head. Maybe you can come up with a lie. If you can find an excuse to leave, she won’t be able to hate you.

“I could say I’m not feeling well--”

“Just stay out of the way,” she snarls.

You sniff and turn away, hiding the gloss of tears in your eyes. Sometimes, you don’t do anything at all and she’s mad. You hear Steve coming back out and you wipe your nose, keeping your face down as you shrink.

You can be invisible. You’re good at that.

🏠

Not wanting to seem ungrateful, you accept a bowl of ice cream and finish it. Strawberry. It's delicious but you just can't enjoy it. You're uneasy, unsure.

You go to grab some pajamas, your mother issuing another warning before you return to Steve's. You wear a pair of polka dot bottoms and a jersey shirt. You'll just be watching tv, and hopefully, if you can settle down, sleeping.

Your mother sits on the couch. You can see the fatigue quivering in her lip and drooping in her eyelids. She never did as much before your new neighbour. You only ever stayed inside and wilted in the sunlight.

"Holly, you need anything?" Steve asks as he pushes up the ottoman, "how about you put your feet up. I just wanted to show her something."

"What's that?" Your mom asks.

"Oh, yeah, well, I know she likes art so I wanted to show her my studio. Or office, whatever you wanna call it."

"Mm, right. Upstairs, huh?" She grumbles.

"Right," he confirms, "we won't be too long. You can find a movie." He hands her the remote, "I had some extra pencils and stuff I found on the move. Figured she could take em off my hands."

"Sure, sure," she yawns and leans her head in her hands. You can't tell if she's witholding herself out of exhaustion or for Steve's benefit.

"Come on. We'll just pop up for minute," Steve nudges your arm.

You hug one arm across your stomach and push your shoulder up. You take his direction as he points you actoss the room. You go to the stairs and climb one by one.

Further down, he takes you into another room, just across from an open bedroom. You shuffle inside and can't help marvel at the interior. The walls are hung with still lifes in pencil, charcoal, and ink, and an easel stands by the window, a large drafting table at the center of the room.

"You do these?" You ask bluntly.

"Ha, yeah, I... when I saw your sketchbook, I admit, I got a bit excited. A fellow artist."

"You're an artist? You make money off of this?"

"Sure do," he smiles proudly. "Did some time in the army then had to get out, find some peace. Always found painting calms me."

"Oh."

"I wanted to say something sooner but I wanted to show you," he enters and brushes by you, hand dragging across your back. "Let me find those pencils."

You nod and pace cautiously around the table. There's an open sketchbook. A woman's naked back greets you, a piece of fabric draped around her hips as her refined profile is etched perfectly.

He's good. Better than you. You back away as he sorts through the shelf.

'Ah, here," he turns to you again, "pencils, sketchbook, oh and maybe you'll want these watercolours. I was sent two by accident."

"Oh, uh, thanks, but... you don't have to."

"You're talented. You'll make good use of them, I know it."

"Mm, I... try."

"There's this place I know. Great view. Maybe you can come one day. Good fodder," he offers. "Trees, water, and the sunset..."

"Maybe," you agree half-heartedly.

"Then maybe you can bring it to my next art show."

"Art show?" You mutter, eyes rounding.

"Sure. It'll be good for you. I know you take care of your mom and that's sweet but you gotta make your way. Eventually."

"I know," you slump and take the sketchbooks and flat tins from him. "Thank you. I..." you look at the brand names. You know they're expensive from the catalogues you look at but never buy from. "No one... these are so nice. I appreciate it."

"No problem, sweetie. Let me know if you need anything else. Hell, if you want a quiet place to work..." he stops behind you and looks around, "even just an escape..."

“That's okay,” you say as you go back into the hall.

You head back downstairs, the pencils clattering just a little in your hands. As you enter the living room, you hear a snort. Your mom's head lolls back against the couch as she snores. Steve walks into you from behind as he stops too late.

“Oop,” he frames your hips for just a moment as he presses again your back then parts. “Sleepyhead,” he chuckles and sidles past you, a waft of his cologne filling your lungs. He didn't smell so strongly before. “Well, guess it's your choice, sweetie,” he takes the remote and holds it out to you.

“Oh, uh, you choose,” you try to wave him off but he pushes the remote into your hand.

“You can put your stuff on the table,” he points to the sketchbook clutches against your chest, “better get cozy while I get the popcorn going.”

Before you can argue, he's gone. You turn to look at your mom. Why did she have to fall asleep? She could've said no to all of this, that she's too tired. Now it's you and Steve. Hopefully, the movie keeps the chatter to a minimum.

[laurfilijames]

Wish You Were Here

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x reader

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of death and brief descriptions of war. Intimate flashbacks.

Summary: Sleep deprivation begins to take its toll on Will, leaving him distressed and emotional as he thinks about being back home with you.

A/N: This is sad and it hurt my heart to write but I needed to do it so I can go back to writing fluffy filth!

---

The numbers usually calmed him, gave him something sturdy and finite to focus on, but tonight they taunted him.

Each second that turned into a minute was a cruel reminder of all the ones he had spent awake, and no matter how exhausted he was and how physically ill he felt from the sleep he was being starved of, his mind and body refused it.

It had been days without more than a few minutes of rest at a time, only accumulating to a small number of hours that wasn’t enough to sustain anybody, and another wave of nausea set in as the effects of it all started to become too much.

It was moments like this that he missed you even more. The hurt in his heart turned physical, a relentless ache for you that the pains in his body couldn’t compare to.

Will sighed heavily, trying everything he could to cope with the insanity he felt over it, but it was growing to be unbearable, his limits tested like the few times they had before. He wondered as he took another deep inhale - his empty stomach filling with air - if he was waking anyone up in his distress, constantly shifting where he sat on the cold ground to try to feel even an ounce of comfort, his breathing louder than the wind howling around them, but it was stupid to think anyone else was able to slip into the solace of sleep at this point. No one was snoring and everyone was still, lacking the relaxed twitches that came when rest took control of your body, and he thought how the only members of their company who were resting peacefully were the ones going home to their families accompanied by a folded flag.

Home.

He blew out another shaky breath, closing his burning eyes so he was able to picture it in his tormented mind.

Your alarm would be about to go off, the early dawn still covering your bedroom in darkness right before the sun appeared to kiss your skin with its orange glow instead of his lips, your side of the bed cold as your body favoured his spot to be the one that was kept warm. You would no doubt have one of his t-shirts on and your head would be on his pillow, gripping it tightly as if it was him, trying to capture a bit of him that was left behind from the last time he was there with you.

Will found a little relief in these thoughts, knowing you were safe and out of harm's way, although he wasn’t naive enough to think you weren’t spending each moment worried and anxious for his safety.

Another inhale, slower this time, eyes still screwed shut as if the tighter he closed them the further he would be from this brutal reality.

He can hear the hum of the fan that sits on your dresser and is aimed at your bed, the sound ingrained in his mind from keeping both of you cool in the humidity night after night, and he can almost smell the scent of your heated skin, the familiarity of it making his mouth water, the desperation he feels to be able to hold you making him want to smile and scream all at once.

Fuck, he wished you were here.

Will flashed open his eyes. No. He couldn’t dream of placing you in this hell and exposing you to all the evil he had witnessed.

He shifted his legs, closing his eyes again as tears sprung up in them, the wet boots on his feet feeling more intolerable than usual.

Another inhale, then exhale.

He sighed again, imagining he’s back in your room, crawling into fresh sheets after showering, tangling his naked limbs with yours, your fingertips dancing up and down along his arm and back and softly over his face until his breathing continues to happen without him thinking about it and his mind is temporarily void of all he holds onto.

In the distance, the boom of an air raid sounds, rumbling and shaking the ground with a trembling force, bringing him out of his dream.

His muscles felt incredibly heavy, beyond tired and depleted of any strength, and he replaced the reasons why they were with how wonderful his body always felt after pouring every bit of energy he had into loving you, the satisfaction in expending all of his power into your pleasure comparable to nothing else.

A stray tear rolled down his cheek as his breathing grew quicker, thinking how he would do just about anything to be with you right now, even for the briefest of moments. Everything was more tolerable when he was with you, no demons too big to face, the strength you had admirable and extended over to him by simply being in your proximity. Sleep was something that never came easy to him, but at least when he was with you he was engulfed in a comforting embrace that gave him some rest and repose.

He brushed the wet away with his thumb, his heart clenching in his chest while his throat restricted, knowing if you were here you would kiss each tear away and sit quietly with him until his mind gave him some reprieve.

Will sunk his chin down into the collar of his jacket, rubbing his mouth back and forth on the material, the smell of sweat, rain and stale blood that he didn’t know was his or not filling his nostrils with a pungency he struggled to get used to.

A huff that bordered on being a laugh came from him, thinking how ironic it was that the night before he deployed he hadn’t slept either, choosing instead to spend every second he had making love to you over and over while the time was available to him, each time never enough, and he thought how he would sacrifice sleep for the rest of his life if it meant he could share nights like that with you again.

He licked his lips, trying to get some moisture onto them and rid them of the stinging, chapped feeling and then pressed them together, recalling how it felt to have them hydrated and wet from yours, imagining the sensation of your skin under them as he peppered countless kisses on your body, something he could only describe as being the closest he could ever get to heaven while he sat in the threshold of hell.

Will had vowed when he left that morning that he would never leave you again after this mission, and he would stay true to that promise, deeming it completely impossible to carry on like this while knowing everything he needed to live and survive was half the world away.

Until then, he would tick off every minute, hour and day, counting them down until he was holding you in his wearied arms again, and hoped he could at least pass some of them with sleep, the gravity of needing to be alert and focused in order to make it back to you sitting heavily on his shoulders.

He untucked his arms from across his chest, tugging up the sleeve on his left one to check his watch, feeling a little more hopeful that he was one hour closer to that goal.

---

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@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls

@littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90

@paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989

[bunniekittiee]

Bi-Han x Fem. Reader (as well as general headcanons)

Alright alright the Bi-Han headcanons was a success so ykw I’ll bless you all again. Also this is my depiction of Bi-Han so if you think I can tweak it and make it better then by all means let me know!

CW: mentions of eating problems, anxiety, illness, chronic illness, a little nsfw, nothing too crazy

Hair combing is an intimate ordeal.

He does not let anyone else touch his hair besides himself and you. He trusts you completely to comb his hair and even put it up for him.

He thinks you do it better than him, but he can manage it himself if needed.

He sighs with relief when his hair is let down, feeling his s/o’s fingers gently massage his aching scalp. It feels so good to him, he loves it.

Bi-Han does like the quietness. Especially after a long day of Grandmaster duties and irritation.

So if it is quiet during this time, he can close his eyes and almost fall asleep as you caress his hair and take care of him.

Sometimes he has fallen asleep when you are doing this.

If you were to ask Bi-Han to bathe together, he would silently go insane for a second and then agree.

Despite seeing you naked more than often, it still gives him butterflies in different scenarios that isn’t inherently sexual. Such as bathing.

He thinks you are beautiful, do not ever be negative about yourself around Bi-Han because he will immediately worry.

If you are worried about gaining weight, he is already overthinking that you will stop eating.

So instead, Bi-Han gently encourages you to train with the other Lin Kuei if you feel that you want to lose weight or prevent yourself from gaining weight.

No, he does not think you are fat at all, do not twist his words.

But Bi-Han is the type of man to give you solutions to help you but not in a rude way.

He just tries to encourage and give you options.

He will also suggest yoga with Kuai Liang. Kuai Liang usually meditates, but he will divulge himself in yoga for you if you are interested.

He does not like to see you sad or upset about your self image. It makes him feel helpless.

Bi-Han can handle a physical threat because he can eliminate it, but when it is a mental threat such as self image issues, depression, etc., Bi-Han finds himself unable to see straight.

Out of his brothers, I see Bi-Han struggling with some anxiety.

Like I said in my previous headcanons, Bi-Han worries for his s/o because she is his weakness. If anyone were to take her away from him, he would practically engulf everything in a blizzard.

I see Bi-Han having anxiety about his brothers as well, whether they are safe or going to be okay.

As much as Bi-Han shuns Smoke, he still worries for him. Smoke is the ‘baby’ of them all, and if he were to see him in any form of pain, he is already wanting to murder the person who inflicted it upon him.

That being said, if you have any sort of health issues that will literally send Bi-Han over the edge.

He is constantly having the medics check you over and he will be riddled with so much anxiety he will stop eating and sleeping well.

God forbid you have a chronic illness or anything at all, at that point Bi-Han will just have an aneurysm.

As tough as his exterior is, Bi-Han can be sensitive.

Please do not call him names, he doesn’t even do that to you and it will hurt his feelings.

He will distance himself and feel melancholy until you apologize. He doesn’t like it when you are rude or mean to him.

As I mentioned in my other previous headcanons, he does get snappy himself so he knows that he is a bit of a hypocrite.

If you were to communicate your feelings to him, whether it is your frustrations, sadness, or anger, he will understand and try his best to relax you and make you feel better.

You do the same for him, so it’s time that he repays that favor.

Bi-Han can be extremely busy with his duties and he knows you hate being cooped up for so long.

So he will allow Smoke and Kuai Liang to take you out, whether that’s for a walk or to Madame Bo’s, Bi-Han just wants to make sure you are happy.

I don’t know where people got the “jealous of my brothers being around my s/o” belief from, but Bi-Han trusts his brothers completely.

He has to, they go into battle and on quests together, they have to deeply trust each other and have a strong bond with one another.

So he lets his brothers take you out, he does not get jealous of that. They would never do anything to you, and Bi-Han knows it is completely out of character for them to do anything in the first place.

So yes, he lets you go out with his brothers and enjoy your time together when he is busy.

Again, he knows you get cooped up and he wants you to have some freedom.

His brothers love that you have somewhat changed Bi-Han but in a good way.

He is somewhat nicer to Smoke and refrains from telling him he is not part of their family. Last time he did, you gave him the absolute worst glare that even Kuai Liang felt his stomach turn.

Bi-Han is gentle as possible with you. His hands have killed and hurt many, he would hate to inflict the same pain on you.

You are like a flower to him, a delicate and precious lively being.

You have softened Bi-Han in many ways, and many appreciate what you have done.

[fairyhaos]

. ˚ maybe... a little bit sick?

requested by anon: "Hii can i Pls request taking care of Junhui when he’s sick (like maybe he has the stomach flu or smthn) and calls you to come over and be there with him"

pairing: junhui x gn!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship, sick fic, junhui is an adorable baby

word count: 1607

warnings: pet names (baby, love), junhui exaggerates his cold by saying he's "dying", mentions of burning up (not literally tho)

notes: this is really cute actually. i think i love writing for silly soft jun a lot <3

Junhui is not a person that falls ill. 

It's just not something he does. He's proud to admit that he's probably fallen ill a maximum of ten times in his entire life, and his immune system is so good that it could probably enter a competition against other immune systems and come out on top. The immune system olympics, if you will. 

But the main point is, Junhui doesn't get sick. He doesn't get hay fever, doesn't catch colds all that easily, could probably go out in the winter without a coat and still be fine the next day (albeit with a mild loss of feeling in his nose). 

Right now, though, as Junhui rubs his nose and tries to stop his eyes from constantly watering, he thinks that perhaps, perhaps, he could be coming down with something. 

It's a horrible thought. Unthinkable, in fact. Besides, it's the middle of summer! Who falls ill in July? 

"Y/N?" Junhui croaks, and then blinks, startled by the sound of his own voice. "Y/N?"

He has to stop, then, because his throat feels like sandpaper. Plus, one of his nostrils is running, and the other feels so blocked up that it's like it was replaced with an impenetrable brick or something. 

He's not sick, though. Junhui doesn't get sick. 

The sun is filtering brightly through the curtains, and he guesses that it's late morning by now. He hasn't been able to get out of bed since he woke up some hours ago, his head throbbing and protesting with every move he makes. He hasn't even been able to check his phone. 

Junhui coughs, then, a wet, uncomfortable cough that makes his body shudder and his brain rattle around uncomfortably in his skull. He sniffs, a little pathetically, and squeezes his eyes shut. Everything hurts. 

But he's definitely not sick. 

"Y/N…" he mutters, his hair feeling sticky on his forehead, his tongue cumbersome and rubbery in his mouth. Vaguely, he remembers that you're going out with friends this morning, and won't be back for a while. The very thought makes him whine internally, upset. 

Okay. 

Maybe he is a little sick. 

Centuries pass as he lies there in bed, admitting defeat, admitting that he really is sick for once and that being sick is horrible and all he wants is for you to come help him. Why are you taking so long to have brunch with your friends, damnit? 

He's drifting off into a hazy sleep once again, his entire body feeling like it's on fire when the front door finally, finally clicks open and he hears your voice. 

"Junhui?" you call, taking off your shoes. "Junhui, baby, are you up yet?"

It's around one in the afternoon when you've finally managed to come back home after meeting up with your friends, and normally your boyfriend would be bounding towards you and engulfing you in a hug, eager to hear how your outing had been. But the apartment is, oddly, silent, and there's no sign of a hyperactive Junhui anywhere. 

"Junhui?" you call again. 

And that's when you hear his voice, coming from his closed bedroom door. 

"Y/N… in here…"

He sounds weak, like he's on the verge of dying, and you gasp when you open the door and look at him. 

"Oh, darling!" You walk over to his bedside to place a hand on his forehead, sighing when he whimpers softly at the cool sensation on his burning skin. "Look at you, you have such a horrible fever. Wait here, I'll go get a cold towel," you say, and then hurriedly leave the room again. 

Junhui coughs pathetically again. "I can't really go anywhere… but okay."

You come back in a few seconds later, equipped with a cold compress, medicine and a glass of water. The kettle whistles in the distance. 

"How did this happen?" you scold lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed, placing a hand worriedly over his forehead again. "How did you manage to get yourself so ill?"

Junhui opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head. 

"Wait, don't answer that. You probably have a really bad headache right? Talking will make it worse." 

He closes his mouth again. 

"Poor Junhui," you murmur, wiping down his face and his sweat with a damp cloth. "It must really hurt, right?"

Junhui nods sadly, eyes half closed, as you put the cold towel over his forehead. "Hurts so much. I feel like I'm dying."

You laugh softly. "I can imagine. Can you sit up for me, baby? You need to take some medicine."

"No." He turns his head away when you offer him the pills and the glass of water, accidentally dislodging the towel from his head. "Don't wanna."

"Junhui, come on, it'll help," you wheedle softly, trying to encourage him. "You don't want it to hurt, do you? This'll help make it better, I promise."

"I can't," he whines, looking at you, and now there are tears pooling in his eyes. He coughs, then, so hard that the tears well up faster and end up spilling over slightly. Then he groans, head thumping, while you lean over to gently wipe his tears. "Everything hurts. I don't like it."

"Junhui, please?"

"No."

"Junhui, baby, it'll make everything feel a lot better."

"No."

"Junhui…"

Junhui, when he falls ill, becomes a little like a toddler. He doesn't get sick often, so when he does he always suffers terribly. He ends up throwing mini tantrums, pouting and resisting taking the medicine that will make him better purely because he doesn't want to. 

You may not have had to deal with a sick Junhui often, but really, it's about the same as dealing with a small child, so it's not that difficult. 

Several more minutes of wheedling later, you manage to get Junhui to sit up and drink the water along with his medicine. He ends up spilling half the glass all over himself and whines, looking at you with glassy eyes as if wanting you to tell him what to do. 

"Don't worry, it's just water," you tell him, stroking back his hair and adjusting the towel on his forehead to make sure it's in place. "Wanna have something nice to drink?"

In the kitchen, the kettle is beeping, signalling that it's finished boiling water. Junhui rapidly shakes his head, though, before wincing at the movement. 

"No. Don't wanna drink anything."

"Are you sure?" You tuck a damp curl of hair out of his face, noting that he's still sweating. He's really ill, the poor thing. "Have you eaten today?"

"Don't wanna eat anything."

"You've lost your appetite?" you ask worriedly. "What if I ask Minghao to come over and help make you some wonton soup? Would you like that?"

Junhui squeezes his eyes, once, and then coughs again. "No."

"I'll call him anyway," you say, getting up. "And I already boiled the water, so I'll make you some tea for your throat as well, okay? I bet you have a sore throat too."

He blinks, eyes a little glassy and confused. "Wait… how did you know?"

You chuckle softly, leaning over to pinch his cheek lightly. "Magic. Rest now, alright? You should try to sleep, let your body recover."

You back out of the room, watching his weak frame as he lies in his dim room, the curtains still drawn, eyes watery and half-open and a wet towel over his forehead. He looks so sad and forlorn, like a dejected kitten, and it would make you coo if a bigger part of you wasn't worried at just how ill he looked. 

You're just closing the door when he croaks out your name again, thin and warbly.

"Y/N?"

Pausing for a moment, you open the door again, poking your head in. "Yes, baby?"

He looks at you for a long moment, squinting out of puffy eyes, before giving you a small smile and lifting his arms. "Hug?"

Obviously, you really oughtn't. He's sick, after all, horribly so, and it would be much better for both of you if you stayed away. But his hair is all messed up and his cheeks are all flushed from his fever and he just looks so small swathed in all his blankets and really, how were you meant to refuse? 

He's warm, as he always is, and maybe he's a little warmer than usual but you let him hug you tightly, his head tucked under your chin, fingers gripping your shoulders while you bend over him and thread a hand through his hair. Junhui hums, pleased, when you lightly knead your fingers into his scalp, making little rumbly noises of contentment when your hand slips down his back, rubbing firm circles into his shirt. 

"Love you," he mumbles, his words a little drowsy but still soft and warm. 

You smile, kissing the top of his head. "I love you too."

There's silence for a moment as he continues to cling to you while you kneel awkwardly on the bed, one knee on the mattress while your other foot supports your weight from the floor. And then Junhui speaks up again. 

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Junhui?"

"Instead of wonton soup, could you make me hotpot? A really spicy one?"

That makes you smile a little, endeared, and kiss his head again. His forehead is unnaturally warm still, and you disentangle him from your arms to rest him down on his pillow again, feeling vaguely like a prince lowering his princess to sleep. 

You brush gentle fingers over his cheek, fond. "Of course. Anything to make my kitten feel better."

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride

[finniestoncrane]

ILL DO YOU ONE BETTER,,, cooper fic where he's napping,,, WITH DOGMEAT

Companion

Cooper Howard, word count: 600 please my fuckin heart and soul!! man i love introspective things, i love dogs, i love horrible men who can be soft sometimes, i love horrible men who love animals ;-; 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: lil bit of angst but mostly some fluff!

Finally off of their feet for the day, Cooper let out a deep, long sigh. The cool night air was a welcome change from the desert heat they had travelled through, but it was still stifling, choking him. Smothering. Suffocating. Trying to give himself some breathing room, he kicked his leg out to the side, scraping it along the dust, trying to kick up a barrier between him and his new companion.

“Get, boy.”

It wasn’t just the air, no longer sweltering but still somehow thick. It was the presence of someone with him, along for the ride. It had been so long since he’d had someone with him, longer still since that someone had actually wanted to be with him.

And despite trying his hardest to push him away, the dog he had decided to bring along with him was determined to offer itself to Cooper. Like it sensed something in him that he might have been aware of, but wasn’t willing to accept.

So there he sat in the dark, lit only by the slowly dying fire, trying his best to shrug off the affectionate advances of the dog by his side.

“You ain’t him, boy.”

Cooper leaned back in the rusted garden chair by the fire, watching the flames dance as he took one last swig from his canteen in the hopes that the bitter liquid inside would help him fall into an easier sleep.

As he sat he considered the strange, tethered feeling, familiar as it was, of having someone look to him for companionship. He was so hyper aware of all the years that had gone by. Decades, turning into centuries before his eyes. Whether he was blinking in the sun or trying to find anything in the darkness from his coffin underground. Everything that had passed by, everything he’d seen that he never thought he would, that he hoped he never would. The people who came and went, those like him, those not.

Loyal pets. One loyal pet.

He couldn’t add another to the list. Who knew how long he’d be around. Who knew how long he could stave off the feral nature that was bubbling inside of him. A wild beast in a cage whose iron bars were wearing thinner each passing day.

What if he hurt them? Turned before he could take himself away from them? Refused to let him go?

What if they hurt him? Like so many others had.

How many of them had come and gone? In two hundred years, how many people had passed through his life, willingly or unwillingly. It would never get easier, at least it hadn’t yet. But the way that the paw settled on his leg, a knowing whine as the dog pushed him to take the comfort, he considered how much difference it would really make for him to take a risk again.

He slid onto the ground, his body relaxing onto the thin bedroll. And when the warm body of his new companion settled down in front of him, he didn’t push away. He placed a hand into the fur, accepting the warmth, the comfort. Something he still needed even after all this time.

Cooper’s eyes sparkled in the reflection of the flames, wet with a bittersweet sadness that overcame him. Of everyone he missed, there was something unique about the loyal bond of a man and his dog. And Dogmeat reminded him of what he had lost, but what he might gain from softening just a little.

“No… you ain’t him, Dogmeat. But I appreciate it all the same.”

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: I can’t sleep, I miss Eddie, and we still going through it, babes… So I channeled it into this. Love y’all, and thank you for making my dark days brighter ❤️

Warnings: Hurt that ends in comfort, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, fluff, depression, anxiety, mentions of past trauma/injury (Eddie’s wounds), & mental illness (reader has bipolar disorder).

The noise is soft, quiet enough that you can hear it if you lay to listen for a few seconds. Then it raises in octaves, a few clatters and curses. And despite the haze of your mood, a brief bit of fog dissipates, pinching your brow into an amused raise.

“Shit, fuckin’… slap my ass and call me your whore.”

You cover your mouth with a snort, as your fuzzy sock clad feet touch hardwood, and you make your way into the night light lit hallway. There’s a buttery glow from your kitchen that spills out around the corner, giving you a perfect view of your overly theatrical friend — Eddie Munson, as you come into the eye-line. He’s clad in a black t-shirt and whitewash jeans, his pizza decorated socks covering his own feet. His curls are damp, bordering on drying, and he hums a rhythm as you watch him flip a golden shaped object with your Goodwill gifted spatula. You perch yourself against the paneled wall, a warmth stirring in your belly.

He’s had to have used your spare key, and now he’s here before it’s barely even daylight — making something in your kitchen? First off, he wakes up this early? And second, he can cook?

That’s what leaves your mouth, following a series of scolding laughters when he’s clearly startled and drops the utensil on the stove. His rings clink together as he pinches his shirt collar, and you want to apologize, an instant guilt brimming you at surprising him like this. After everything that happened a few months ago, you really should’ve thought your entrance through (despite this being your own home). Eddie tuts, a smirk suddenly finding him amongst his Bambi eyed mirth.

“You scared the shit out of me, kiddo. Thought you were another hoard of bats coming for my other nipple.” He snatches up the utensil and flips it Steve Harrington style, calming your sudden anxiety, and easing your guilt.

You make your way over beside him, bare hip resting against the kitchen counter. He smiles softly, pouring in (what you now see is pancake batter) more of the mixture, flashing a wink your way. You look so fucking perfect and soft, just in socks, panties, and your oversized shirt with stars and crescent moon prints scattered about on it. He’s used to seeing this on you, but it never gets old. When you nursed him back to health after he was released from the hospital, you both grew a lot closer, having been mere acquaintances beforehand.

Changing his dressings, soothing his nightmares, helping him in and out of the shower — you took care of him in ways Eddie never knew existed. You were fearless, you were brave, you were funny, you were smart, you were beautiful and sexy, and as Nancy Wheeler had put it — he was totally fucking in love with you, like old classic — tickle your belly and balls type of romance movies. Once he had reluctantly left to return to the trailer with his uncle to repair the damage, he found that his desire to be near you had increased. And all was going well, until you started staying away from everyone, your voice languid and breathless when he’d call. He was worried it was your own processing of things that occurred, even if you’d been through it a few more years than he had, but Wheeler came through again with her knowing.

You were dealing with something that Eddie recognized as ‘manic depression’. He’d heard about it, seen it printed on the pamphlets in the nurse and guidance counselor’s office. Bipolar disorder. Nancy had explained (with the help of Steve) that you get like this sometimes, that it almost always follows your elevated periods of elated euphoria. Combine that with everything else that happened to you — Eddie immediately went into protective care mode.

He’d gotten up, showered, dressed, and phoned Harrington since he wasn’t able to drive yet. Steve came without question, especially fast on his way when Eddie mentioned the errands were for you. Both boys had gone to the local fabric shop, purchased the curtain and rod, tripped to the grocery store, and Steve had dropped Eddie off. He used his spare key and got to work on his speciality: chocolate chip flapjacks. He intended on surprising you with them, maybe waiting until he thought you were awake.

He didn’t mean to startle you, nor upset you. He’s quick to ease and relax, joking with you, praying you’re not mad that he’s here, invading you, your space, and whatever you’re going through.

Eddie flips the last cake, sprinkling in a few chips, and he’s flashing a cheshire grin, one that fades to a crooked tilt of his lips. “M’ sorry… I didn’t mean to, sort of… break in here? I planned on waiting — shit, that sounds creepy. No, I just wanted to have this ready for you… whenever you might, maybe want to have it?”

You cause his heart to swell ten times in size when you smile and reach up to push a lock of his curls off his forehead. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You’ve put an old movie on TV as you devour the fluffy, butter and syrup covered mountains. Whatever Happened To Baby Jane. Like you, Eddie is comforted by classic horror films, and can easily fall asleep to the controlled atmosphere they contain. When forks clatter against floral printed ceramic, and you take Eddie’s plate, deciding to forgo the dishes, he makes a beeline for the remaining bag, showing you the other items. You nearly cry on the spot, emotions circulating that you aren’t prepared to deal with today.

Turning off the living room television, you follow Eddie into your bedroom and help as he mounts the new rod and hangs your blackout bedroom curtains. And you… maybe sneak a few looks at the way his shirt rides up and his jeans tighten across his ass. It doesn’t take long before he’s got them secured, first breaks of dawn light spilling in through your blinds and illuminating his sweet features. Your fingers itch to touch, and you think he might reach for you, might feel the same wild, heart racing sense of vertigo, yet being serenely satiated.

“Oh yeah, here.” He slides his wallet from his back pocket, the chain dangling across his palm, and he pulls a small square card with a quote on it — out, handing it to you.

One day you will tell your story of how you overcame what you went through and it will be someone else’s survival guide

Below it, you recognize his doodling. A hand drawn, mini bouquet of daisies. He might not be able to afford real flowers, but he can use what skill he does have and draw them for you. He just hopes that you don’t mind. Your eyes are brimmed full of tears when he looks back up to catch your reaction. His gut sinks into his ass, and he fears he overstepped or set something off.

Hell, probably both.

He tries to backtrack. “No, hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to make you upset, sweetheart. I just… I was trying to find something to think of to say, because my words kind of get lost in my mouth, catapulting into the space of my brain.”

“Eddie, it’s okay.” Your voice is jagged, tone being dragged over fragments of emotion, throat swollen and damp with it.

He keeps going, more bold to be vocal now. “I think that it’s okay for you to ride it out here. You don’t need to force yourself into ideas of sunshine and physical activity. You’ve been through so much shit, and if your brain is on fire, then you deserve to put it out and let it fuckin’ rest.” He approaches you cautiously, tone gentle and warm like honey going down, almost raspy with it. “You don’t need to force yourself to be okay. Not with anyone, and sure as hell not with me. I mean, you’ve seen my guts hanging out and my nipple ripped off, I’d say we’re well past pretending, aren’t we?”

You’re speechless, body growing heavy and eyes tired. You can’t convey the hope that blooms, popping a bubble through the haze of the fog inside you. It’s not much, but it’s enough to help your psyche stop the race and let you breathe. Eddie is able to sense your fatigue, and he reaches out to squeeze your shoulders, motioning to the hall. “You close these on up and I’ll call you later tonight, yeah?”

He gets about two steps away from you and you’re calling for him. It’s comedic how fast he turns around. “Eddie? Will you stay?”

You’d turned the movie back on, on the set in your room, curtains closed and leaving the expanse shrouded in the glow of the set. Your head is resting on his chest, his jeans on the floor, legs tangled in yours beneath the patchwork quilt. The air conditioner is going, right along with the steady beating of two hearts, and Eddie doesn’t stop you when you knuckle-nudge his splayed palm up, pressing his fingers open to slide your own through. He accepts, squeezing, lacing, looking at you through the opening of light, and you lean into the kiss he presses to your crown. You’ll talk about things later, but for now… It’s okay.

[stinkysam]

Trafalgar Law - S/O with a chronic illness.

Warning : none

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : “Ooh, may I request Trafalgar Law fluff with an s/o with chronic illnesses that result in a lot of disassociation and memory problems? If it's not too tricky or out of your comfort range? Things like. They forget dates and details, both important and unimportant, but they do *try* to remember. They just... can't. Their memory's like a wet sieve. And they tend to run into items that have never moved because they've forgotten that it's there. Or they've disassociated halfway through walking through a space and have completely forgotten that they have a body, and need to dodge items that they know are there.” - anon

Reader : gender neutral (you/yours)

Law, even though it's not in his medical range, has studied the field of chronic illness and knew what to expect when you told him about it.

He's also a very patient man, despite Luffy wearing it thin. But lucky for him you're not Luffy, completely naive and unpredictable.

He doesn't mind you forgetting dates, he knows you're not doing it on purpose. Even if they're important. He'll remind you of the important ones without judging you. Same thing if you forget names, faces, places.

He's not big on dates either. Except for Cora's death and the first time he met each member of his crew. And if he doesn't remember the date exactly he remembers how the day went.

So you won't have to worry about the 1st week & month anniversary of your relationship. But he'll remind you for the first year anniversary and the following ones but that's all.

He doesn't care if you forget which one of you asked the other on a date, or other details. He'll remember it and will remind you if you want to.

He's a bit amused by you walking into things though. As long as you don't get hurt. Sometimes, when you go too fast he will make you move with his devil fruit so you don't hit anything too hard. It makes him think of cats that are almost blind and hit things.

He has tried moving things around in the Polar Tang so they would be less in the way but it didn't change anything. You still walked into walls and doors, it just made it worse for a short period of time.

With your consent, he talked about it to the members of the crew so they wouldn't get hurt if you forgot their birthday or even their name.

They're all very patient and understanding and it even relaxed them a little bit. Not that it wasn't okay to forget someone's birthday, but now it felt less stressful.

He'll never make you feel insecure about it because he knows illnesses are hard to live with. Even if they're not physical.

He's a bit worried about your dissociation, though, and tries to find ways to help you with it. Like keeping a consistent sleep schedule despite his horrible one. Making you eat nutritious food -but he does that with everyone-, making you exercise. Or pet Bepo while smelling different essential oils.

He even makes you write a journal so you can help yourself remember what you did and keep track of things.

He always makes you sit when you start dissociating, not wanting you to walk overboard accidentally or open the main doors while the Polar Tang is in the depth of the sea.

You were sitting on the floor calmly, Bepo placed between your legs as you caressed his head. He's more relaxed than you, taking it as a massage while you try to identify what you're smelling but your stare is almost empty, feeling it hard to connect with your thoughts.

Law is here too, sitting next to you, reading and talking with Bepo. He doesn't care how long it takes for you to come back. Once again, he's patient and aware it's harder for you than for him.

[welcome-back-home]

SLEEPY TIME SNUGGLES!

paring:wally x puppet!gn!reader (romantic)

warning:nothing! just mostly fluff ^^

note:the following contains mentions of past personalities, I suggest you look at the following link to understand my puppet y/n au and have a nice read ^^

link: puppet y/n

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it`s the start of a new day!

the sun shines and the birds sing, the air carries the smell of freshly bloomed flowers as spring begins. As the neighborhood becomes awake and busy, wally opens homes door to greet the outside, a smile on his face with a canvus and several bottles of paint in his arms. it was the perfect day to paint he believed "ill be back later home, see you soon!" he speaks to the house as he makes his way out the open door, with a creak and a squeak in response home shuts its door for wally as he had his hands full. what a nice home.

several minutes goes by as wally walks down the yellow pavement, passing by houses and work places of his fellow neighbors. until he spots it, a home that is decorated in a new design compared to yesterday. it`s still wet from fresh paint and the plants in the property was replaced with different plants, a garden gnome that was once there yesterday was replaced with a plastic flamingo and different colored stepping stones. it is the house of his beloved, a wonderful person...or people they are. he wonders who they are today, maybe a florist? or even a baker? whatever they may be today he will love them all the same.

while drawing closer to the house he noticed a person laying in the grass, face planted in the ground with their hair a mess and still wearing pajamas like it is not day just yet. wally drops his painting supplies in shock and runs over to his beloved, his felt heart racing at the thought that they have hurt themselves and he wasn`t here to help "my dear?” wally says as he slightly shakes them, fear gripping his heart....only for him to let out a sigh of relief when the puppet made a sound that resembles a groan and the muffled words "five more minutes".

wally chuckles a bit at his beloveds antic and shakes them again "sweetheart you should be sleeping in your bed, not the grass" wally says in a sweet voice, causing the puppet to turn their head to the side so wally can hear them "i wanted to sleep on my roof but i couldnt find my ladder" they said in a joking tone, it makes wally smile that they are ok. "let me help you up" wally suggested as he helps them off the ground, his beloved lets out a big yawn and rubs their eye, wally now noticed dark circles around their eyes, like they have not slept in days "oh dear, lets get you inside and into bed. itll be much better then the grass" wally stated as he leads them to their own front door "what about your paint stuff?" they asked as they saw the pile of paint supplies wally dropped moments ago, followed by another yawn "it`s not going anywhere" wally says "besides, you are more important" he added to his statement before he leads them inside.

it didn`t take long for wally to take them to their room so they can sleep in their bed, the layout of the home was the only thing that always remained the same each day. he watches as they crawl into their own bed only for them to look in wallys direction and beckons him to come closer, wally does walk over only to expect a goodbye kiss on the cheek. when instead they grabbed his hand to pull him in the bed with them "whoa!" he says in surprise as he now rests on the soft mattress full of many pillows and blankets…with his beloved wrapping their arms around him "stay with me? please? just until i fall asleep" they mumbled, already half way asleep.

wally can feel his heart speed up and his cheeks grow warm, he wouldn`t mind this but it was still a big surprise. he wraps his arms around his beloved "ill stay" he says in a whisper, not wanting to wake them up further by talking in a normal tone. it takes only five minutes for them to finally fall sleep, lightly snoring and their limbs go limp as they relax into their deep slumber. wally wouldn’t dare to move, he would give anything for this moment to last forever, but he knows that soon you both will have to get up and continue the day.

he stares at the nightstand, seeing a alarm clock reading 10:37 and still ticking... maybe a nap couldn't hurt, just 30 minutes longer...and he will then get up and do his daily painting… that sounds nice...

he slowly closes his eyes, being careful not to accidentally 'eat' one of the many trinkets in the room...and eventually...falls into a long blissful sleep.

[bellysoupset]

Jonah feeling sick and queasy and can’t stop burping. He’s desperate to get comfort from Leo and gets clingy. Leo is loving it. Loooveeee your writing!!

"No, JD, go away," Leo groaned, keeping his eyes closed, as he felt a soft touch to his cheek. It was nowhere near morning, he knew just by how dark it was behind his closed lids, and he wasn't ready to wake up yet.

There was a noise, then he felt JD curling up on the space behind his folded knees.... There was another touch and Leo frowned, confused in his sleepy state, "JD, stop it-" he opened eyes, saying automatically, only to meet Jonah's eyes.

It startled the living shit out of him and Leo scrambled up, causing his cat - that truly had been curled up by his legs - to let out a offended noise and jump from the bed.

"You couldn't have said anything!?" Leo panted, clutching his chest. He let out a nervous chuckle, "jesus, don't stare at me while I'm sleeping, Jon! That's creepy!"

"Uhm," was Jonah's answer, "I don't feel good."

Leo, wide awake after such a startle at 5:31 AM, raised his eyebrows. This was all very out of character, from Jonah confessing to not feeling well, to his whiny voice, to him waking Leo up in order to let him know.

"Okay..." Leo frowned, moving on the bed and falling against the pillows, "what's wrong?"

"Queasy..." Jonah grimaced, whole face scrunching up as he clutched his middle, "I feel crappy..."

Leo reached in without thinking, not bothering to muffle a yawn as he planted his hand to Jon's forehead and met the steady heat. Unsurprising.

"Yeah, angel, I think you caught my bug," Leo yawned again, opening an arm so Jon could cuddle against him, "c'mere."

Jonah let out a pitiful moan, promptly collapsing against him and sliding his hands under Leo's long sleeved shirt, so his cold fingers could press against his warm boyfriend.

"You smell really nice," Jon mumbled, sounding sleepily, burying his face on Leo's chest and intertwining their legs. Leo grinned to himself, sleep forgotten as he hugged the other man closer.

"Shhh, sleep," he cooed, hoping Jon could sleep through the worse of the illness. He started to rub his boyfriend's back without thinking and Leo was starting to drift off himself, when Jonah let out a groan and sat back up.

"Jon?"

"I-UAurp-" He grimaced, squeezing his tummy as a wet burp slipped past his lips. Their room was bright enough by now that Leo could tell he was blushing, "sorry, excu-Uuorp- Fuck."

"No, it's okay, don't apologize," Leo chuckled, sitting up as well, "whatever makes you feel better."

"It's not making me feel better..." Jonah scoffed, rubbing his face and ducking his head, muffling another sickly burp against his fist, "my belly really hurts..."

"Lie back, let me rub it for you..."

Jonah made a face at that, but he obeyed wordlessly, planting a hand over his face to shield away how much he was blushing. Leo bit down a smile, it was so rare he could get Jonah to fluster, he was enjoying it more than he should.

He pushed Jon's sweatpants down and his shirt up, scooting closer and down on the bed so he could comfortably rest a hand over the other man's stomach. It was slightly bloated, rounding near the belly button, and letting out a string of gentle noises, that probably felt anything but.

Leo was still quite sleepy, but it was getting close to the time his alarm would regularly go off, so as the minutes passed and he continued to press around Jonah's tummy, the more awake he felt.

It was quite relaxing, even if Jon kept squirming here and there, hand coming up to muffle the little nonstop burps.

"Feeling better?" Leo asked almost a full hour later, when his phone did go off and he quickly shushed it. He pressed a kiss to Jonah's exposed stomach, "babe?"

"Not really," Jon sighed, sitting up against the headboard, "I'm starting to think I should just puke and get this over with."

"You really don't wanna do that," Leo made a face in sympathy, "you have the flu, you'll regret starting it if the puking doesn't stop."

"Great," Jonah scoffed, rolling on his side and pushing Leo flat on his back, causing the blonde to let out a squeal at the sudden movement. Jon was unbothered, pressing his forehead to the other man's bicep and groaning, "this is so fucking uncomfortable."

"Your fever isn't high, but I think you should take some tylenol," Leo mumbled, voice breathless since Jonah was all but draped over him, "before it climbs up."

"I'm not moving," Jon's voice was muffled, "not-" as if his body had some sickening sense of humor, he sat up in a rush, a hand coming to cup his mouth and Leo scrambled out of the way to avoid getting puked on.... A small, tiny wet burp came up.

"Well that was dramatic," Leo teased him, rubbing Jon's back, "you're really not feeling well, uh?"

Leo's touch felt incredibly comforting, but not enough. Jon let out a groan, burying his face in his hands, "no-no…" he could barely keep the words in his mouth. There was a disgusting flavor on his tongue, the kind of flavor that made his mouth fill up with bitter saliva. He pressed his palm harder against his mouth and felt his throat spasm, forcing him to swallow down another wet burp. "God, it just won't stop."

"Breathe, Jon…" Leo said helplessly, scratching his back, "just breathe, baby."

"I… I can't…" His nose scrunched up as he attempted to take an even breath. He burped again and again, his eyes squeezing shut until the room was a dark, hazy blur. Leo's hand felt cold on his back, but it was such a pleasant touch that the coldness didn't matter. "I need to… to throw up…"

"Okay," Leo sighed, grabbing his arm, "let's go to the bathroom, c'mon… C'mon, love, this is the fancy blanket your mom sent from London, you don't wanna puke on it."

"Urgh, I really don't..." Jonah groaned, allowing Leo to pull him up. The minute he was on the vertical position, though, a woozy feeling washed over him, as if all the blood was rushing to his toes. His stomach flipped and he was so caught up on not passing out, a bunch of black dots dancing in front of his eyes, that Jonah had no control when a sudden heave hit him.

He hadn't eaten much at dinner, but whatever was swirling in his belly had been thoroughly digested and splattered in a horrible acidic jet against Leo's sweatpants and the bottom of his shirt.

Jonah fell flat on his ass on the bed when his boyfriend dropped him and he immediately shook his head, embarrassment and humiliation overriding the nausea, "shit, Leo, I'm so sorry- That's so gross, I'm-" a retch came over him again and Jonah coughed, pressing his hand to his mouth and fighting his stomach, the nerves now joining the overall unpleasantness.

"Jon, Jonah- Jonah," Leo scoffed, grabbing his shoulder, "darling, it's fine. "

"It's not fine, it's disgusting," Jonah groaned, sounding terribly whiny and Leo muffled a chuckle at that. He was so ridiculous.

"Alright, it's pretty gross, so let's move you to the bathroom so I can strip these down, okay?" he switched approach, grabbing his boyfriend's arm once again, "c'mon, lean on me."

At a snail pace, they made it to the bathroom.

"I'm so sorry," Jon repeated, his voice echoing since he was already leaning over the empty toilet. Leo rolled his eyes.

"It's no big deal," he stripped down his messed up sweats and balled it all up, leaving it on the sink to deal with in a minute. Then he filled up a glass with water and crouched down just in his boxers next to Jonah, "here, rinse your mouth and take a sip for me."

"Not gonna..." Jonah gulped down, shaking his head, "won't stay down."

"I don't care," Leo urged him to drink, tipping the bottom of the glass when Jonah shakily took it to his lips. His boyfriend glared at him, taking one large gulp and then immediately turning to the toilet as if he was about to vomit. Instead, just a nasty burp came up and Leo opened a triumphant smile.

"You'll be fine in no time," he promised, before tapping the other man's arm, "let me get you a new shirt, you sweat through this one."

"Ew," Jonah sniffled, slumping against the toilet and looking terribly pitiful. Leo rolled his eyes, planting a kiss to his temple.

"Would you quit that?" he squeezed Jonah's nape, crushing the curls that had glued down, "sickness and health, Jonah."

"Haven't-" Jonah groaned, leaning even more and letting out another sickly burp, "haven't proposed yet..."

Leo's cheeks caught on fire and he was glad Jon was too busy trying not to be sick to pay him any mind. He cleared his throat, "I'm gonna go get you a shirt..."

"Uhm," Jonah sighed, resting his cheek on his arm to avoid facing the toilet seat, eyes pressed closed, "would you say yes, though?"

Leo froze at the door, considering for a second just pretending he didn't hear the other man's breathy question. His heart leaped up to his mouth, "Jonah..."

"I'm not proposing, I just- Ugh, just wanna know," Jon gagged in his fist once more, grimacing.

"That would be a really shitty way to propose," Leo said, squeezing the doorhandle of the bathroom door and trying not to let his huge, face splitting smile show on his voice, "but I'd say yes."

"You've got terrible standards," Jonah scoffed, forcing his hazel eyes open. Even looking corpse grey and drenched in sweat, there was still an amused hint to his eyes, "so... you're gonna get me a shirt?"

[lixzey]

Heart to Heart

super thanks to @lilmaymayy for all the help 🤍

ONE. TWO. THREE.

warnings: mentions of death, car accident, hospitalization, and surgery.

wc: 2.8k

Y/N L/N had it all. A perfect life, a loving family, friends, you name it.

She's a beautiful woman with a heart and soul to match it. But, she's dying.

Her heart, it's killing her. She has everything, except a heart donor. Her heart has a hole, and it's keeping her from living her life. 

“M-Mom..I-I can't breathe, it hurts...” Then everything faded to black.

Y/N woke up in a room with clean white walls, crisp white bed sheets and the sickening smell of disinfectant. The only thing she could hear was the silent beeping of the monitor, she was in the hospital—again. 

Y/N closed her eyes shut, she didn't want to be in this place. She had already spent all her life in hospitals, she didn't want to die in one. Then, she heard hushed voices—one of which was her mother.

“Doc, is my daughter okay? Will she be okay?” her mom asked, her voice shaky.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. L/N.” 

“H-how long?” 

“Six months—a year, if we're lucky.” 

Y/N's mom let out a shaky exhale, “Is...is there any other way?” 

“The only way your daughter can survive is a heart transplant. Your daughter's condition is very critical, and there may be some complications if the transplant isn't done as soon as possible. That six months? It could be possible that she'd die today, tomorrow, next week, next month. Anything can happen, and if I were you I'd find a donor as soon as possible.” Then the doctor left, leaving Y/N's mom to break down silently. 

“M-Mom?” Y/N asked in a hoarse dry voice.

Her mom turned around, and forced a smile—her cheeks were stained with fresh tears and her eyes were red and puffy—probably from being sleep deprived. 

“Mom, am I going to die?” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. Her mom quickly rushed to her side, hugging her tight. 

“Mom, I'm- I don't wanna die! I can't die! I want to chase my dreams, Mom! I want to live-”

“It's going to be alright, sweetheart. I won't let you die, I won't.”

Y/N felt the whole world crumble. She was too young to die. She was barely even in her early twenties—she was only twenty three—and already spent her life in hospitals. She wasn't even finished with college, all she wanted to do ever since she was a little girl was to be  a lawyer, and now with her declining condition it would be a miracle to reach 24. She isn't supposed to die, she was supposed to live her dreams—not be stuck in a hospital room or six feet under ground. 

It has been two weeks since Y/N's diagnosis. And still, she had no donor. It was honestly nerve wracking—simply  knowing that your days are limited, Y/N had no idea if she'd be alive the next day or even the next hour. It was torture, her heart and chest aching every minute of day. She couldn't get out of her bed—or even eat for that matter. 

Y/N L/N had a lot of things on her list she wanted to do. She had dreams, big fucking dreams. Y/N dreamt of becoming one of the most prestigious lawyers the world has ever seen. She was a bright kid growing up—she always had good grades and usually never let her illness get the best of her, but when it did she made sure to still make an effort to complete each and every homework assignment. And now because of her illness, she'd lose all of the good things in her life. There were so many  things Y/N still wanted to do, and one of them was falling in love. 

Y/N sighed, she was tired of her life being a complete opposite of what she wanted. She grabbed her phone from her nightstand and scrolled through her tiktok, hoping for a bit of good news around the world—like world peace or maybe mother earth is healing. 

“Timothée Chalamet's girlfriend, dead on the spot in a car crash!”

“Poor guy.” Y/N muttered as she read the comments on the video. Why was life that cruel? Sure, Y/N didn't know the guy, but based on the comments he loved his girlfriend. 

“Y/N, darling! It's time for dinner! You still need to take your medicine!” Y/N's mom called from downstairs. Y/N slowly stood up, her vision was suddenly blurry—her chest tightened and her heart felt like it was stabbed—this wasn't like any episode she ever had.  She fell to the floor with a loud thud, her eyes fighting to stay open. 

The last thing Y/N heard was her mom screaming for help before everything went pitch black.

Timothée woke up with a terrible feeling, like something had happened—or something bad was going to happen. He had just gotten home from Paris fashion week and he was still jet lagged. Timothée brushed the feeling off, yawning as he got up from his bed, walking to his bathroom to get ready for the day—even if he had nothing to do. 

Suddenly his phone rang, it was Zendaya. 

“What's up, Z?“ Timothée asked, his voice still groggy. 

“Are you okay? Fuck, I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, Tim. Condolence-” Timothée's eyes widened, “What the hell are you talking about, Z?” 

“Oh shit, you don't know yet?” 

“What do I don't know, Zendaya? You're scaring me.” 

“I'm so sorry, Tim. Check the news.” Timothée quickly ended the call. He opened every social media account that he had, until he found the news.

“Timothée Chalamet's girlfriend, dead on the spot in a car crash!”

Timothée felt his whole world shatter. He felt numb as tears prickled against his eyes, beginning to stream down his face. Timothée called his girlfriend's best friend, frantically asking what hospital she was taken to. He grabbed his car keys and bolted out of his house. Timothée was shaking, he wanted to kill whoever crashed into his girlfriend's car. He drove as fast as he could, his vision was getting blurred by tears—but he didn't care. He needed to get to her. He needed to get to his Kaylee. 

As soon as Timothée arrived at the hospital, he parked his car—not caring if it was too far from the entrance—and ran toward the hospital.

“Where's Kaylee Jenkins!?” Timothée practically screamed at the nurse on duty.

“Timothée.” He looked back and saw his and Kaylee's friends, Tom and Hannah. 

“Where is she!?” Timothée roared, grabbing Tom's collar angrily. 

“Calm down, Timothée!” Hannah snapped at him, pulling him off of Tom. 

“How am I supposed to calm down!? My girlfriend is dead! The love of my fucking life is dead! Tell me where the fuck she is before I fucking lose it!” 

“Timothée Hal!” 

“Tell me!” Timothée yelled again. 

Tom sighed, feeling hurt for his friend,  “Take him to Kaylee. I'll wait for Zendaya and Kaylee's family.” 

Hannah led Timothée to the morgue. As soon as she opened the door, Timothée saw her—the only body inside of the morgue—covered by a white sheet. He let out a shaky breath before he slowly lifted the cloth covering Kaylee's face. 

His beautiful Kaylee, bruised and bloody.

“I'll leave you alone for a bit.” Hannah patted him on his shoulder, before walking out and giving him time with his beloved. 

Timothée stared at Kaylee, the woman he loved for three years, the woman he wanted to marry—gone—taken away from him. He touched her lips that he always kissed, her nose that always scrunched when she got annoyed, and her once rosy cheeks that he loved to pinch. He kissed her forehead, for the last time.

“I love you, Kaylee.” Timothée whispered, tears streaming from his green eyes. “You're so unfair, Kaylee. You said that we'd be together forever, you said you'd never leave me, but you did. You promised we'd grow old together, that we'd build a life together....” Timothée sobbed, “I will never forget you, my love. I love you so fucking much, you're the only girl I will ever love like this.” 

Y/N woke up back in the hospital. Her mother was smiling from ear to ear, “What happened, Mom?” Y/N asked. 

“You fainted again. Don't worry, you're okay. You finally have a heart donor!” her mother smiled, “You're going to live!” 

“Really?” Y/N almost squealed, “H-How? What happened?” 

Y/N's mom softy smiled and kissed her daughter's forehead. “Sadly, another girl passed away, but her parents agreed to donate her heart for you. But you're going to live, sweetheart. You're going to live and be able to grow old.” she whispered. 

“Thank you, Mom.” 

Y/N finally felt hope for one, hope for her future, hope for her life. She finally had a chance to live, without worrying if one day her heart would just stop. It was a miracle—a chance to know how her life would turn out. A gift she'd be thankful for the rest of her life. 

Y/N asked her mother who was her heart donor. Her mother said it was from a girl who died in a car accident. Y/N was first on the list of donees, and her mother had already talked to her donor's parents—they agreed, because somehow they could feel their daughter's presence even if she's gone, because I'd have her heart. Everything was ready, she would be operated on as soon as possible.  

After the operation, Y/N woke up with her mother beside her. 

“Mom?” Y/N croaked out. 

“Y/N.” Her mother smiled at her, tears were forming in her mother's eyes. 

“Why are you crying, mom?” 

“I thought I'd lose you forever, Y/N/N.” her mother sniffled, “I'm so happy, darling. You're alive and well, what more can a mother ask for?”

After a week, Y/N finally went home. She'd continue her recovery at home, and day by day she was getting better. 

Six months later.

“Y/N, darling? Go get ready, we're going somewhere.”  

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked. 

“The parents of the girl who donated your heart wants to meet you.”

“Oh, okay. I'll go get ready.” Y/N smiled at her mother before turning to get ready. 

She was going to meet the parents of the person who gave her a chance to live again. 

Y/N and her mother drove an hour and a half to a house in the Bronx. As soon as Y/N got out of the car, she saw a man with beautiful green eyes and chocolate brown curls looking at her. Her heart suddenly started pounding in her chest. The man gave her a small smile, before walking away. He looked miserable—like he hasn't slept in days—months even. 

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins.” Y/N's mother greeted an older couple—they were around their late forties.

“Oh nonsense! Call us Marian and Adam.” the woman—Marian—smiled warmly. “And you must be Y/N, right?” Y/N nodded, “Yes, ma'am.” Suddenly, both Marian and Adam hugged her tightly. Y/N stumbled back a bit, but she let them hug her. She assumed it felt comforting—maybe because they could hear their daughter's heart inside her. 

“Sorry, I hope you don't mind,” the older woman apologised as she pulled away from Y/N, “It's just, it feels like I'm hugging Kaylee again and-” 

“No worries Marian,” Y/N smiled, “You can hug me as long as you want. I may not be Kaylee, but I can be like a daughter to you.” 

Marian started to sob, “Thank you, Y/N. It means a lot to me, to us.” 

Then suddenly, the man who Y/N saw earlier came up to her and hugged her tight. She didn't know what was happening, the man was hugging her tight—tighter than what Marian and Adam did. But, Y/N didn't pull away. His hug felt like coming home. Y/N felt her heart beat rapidly, like banging drums. 

After a few minutes—yes, minutes—the man pulled away from Y/N. The two locked eyes, and Y/N felt time stood still around her, like everything was a movie. 

Marian and Adam led Y/N and her mother to their backyard. They talked for a bit—told her to take care of herself and always stay safe. Of course they'd say that, because their daughter's heart was inside her.  

Y/N found out the name of the man who hugged her. He was Timothée Chalamet, Kaylee's boyfriend of three years. He's a famous actor, but Y/N didn't know him. How would she even know him? She spent all her life inside hospitals—she really didn't have the time to watch movies or Hollywood dramas. 

“Hey, it's been great meeting you and,  uh-this may be an awkward o-or forward question, but, uh-do you think I can get your number? I'd like to get to know you better.” Timothée asked, a hopeful look plastered on his face. 

“Yeah sure, it's no problem.”

Ever since Y/N and Timothée exchanged numbers, they’ve been texting each other back and forth. It even became Y/N’s routine to start her day with sending him a “good morning” and ending it with a reply to Timothee’s “goodnight”. 

Until one day Timothée texted her, asking if she'd like to go out with him. 

Hey

What's up, Tim?

Do you have plans tomorrow night?

Uh, none that I could think of. Why?

Can I ask you out?

What?

On a date. Or maybe just hang out? I don't know, we can do whatever you want. 

When Y/N read his offer to go on a date and she squealed into her pillow, kicking her feet up in the air at the excitement rumbling in her stomach. She knew it was wrong. He was-or is still grieving, he just lost his girlfriend of three years in an instant. But with his charming words, his sexy voice, mesmerizing green eyes, and his perfect face she couldn't help a slight crush forming. She was talking to a celebrity, and it felt like a dream—like something you'd see only in movies. 

“Mom, Timothée just asked me out.” 

“What? Really? Y/N, that's amazing! You're going on a date for the very first time!” her mom teased. 

Y/N has never exactly been on a date before but this is how it would be like, right? 

The next day, Y/N got ready for her date—or to hang out with Timothée, as a friend— or maybe something more? hopefully anyways. She was giddy, she was going on a date with a handsome guy who just so happened to be a famous actor. Who wouldn't be excited? Y/N wore a simple off-shoulder blue dress that flourished just above her knees and some white strappy wedge heels. Her hair was braided to the side with some simple lip gloss, foundation, and blush for makeup. 

After waiting for what felt like hours, their doorbell rang. It's him, he's actually here, picking her up for an entire day together. When Y/N opened the door, she saw him wearing a white shirt under a leather jacket paired with denim jeans. His hair was perfectly messy—Y/N wanted to run her fingers through his curls so badly. Timothée Chalamet is undeniably handsome, as if he was carved by the gods. 

“Y-you look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thanks, you look good too.” Y/N chuckled nervously. Timothée led Y/N to his car and opened the door for her. Timothée took Y/N to one of his favourites. Buvette Gastrotheque—a small french café in West Village. The place was cosy, quaint, and there weren't a lot of people. Sitting down at a small table, Timothée ordered the COQ au Vin while Y/N got the Salade de Poulet. They paired it off with red wine, and chocolate mousse for dessert. As they waited for their food to arrive, Timothée and Y/N talked about life, interests, favourite foods, and surprisingly—they had a lot in common. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” 

“I know we've only been talking for a month, but i need to tell you something.” Timothée grabbed her hand, intertwining it with his, “I'm….. well, uh- starting to see you a little differently.. You know? I just-” he sighs, “I feel something for you, Y/N. And I wanna know if you would ever feel the same way.”

Y/N felt the world around her stop, her eyes locking with his. Ever since he asked for her number she knew she was going to love him, but she didn't feel as happy as she thought she would be. Instead, she felt a pit slowly sinking to her stomach. 

It was wrong. 

Absolutely wrong.

It's been less than a year since Kaylee passed and he's already moving on, what if he doesn't actually like her but rather the heart she now wore. Y/N was speechless. She couldn't utter a word. She wanted to say she was slowly getting feelings for him too, but she knew she couldn’t. 

“Timothée....”

“Y/N, please. Think about it. Give me an answer when you're ready. Just....please give me a chance.”

@lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad

[greetingfromthedead]

A Little Cold (Vash x GN!Reader)

Plot: You catch a cold and Vash is there to take care of you.

Pairing: Vash x GN!Reader

Raiting: Everyone

Tags: domestic fluff, sickfic, hurt/comfort, flu, common cold, caretaking

Word count: ~ .9k

Author's Note: (H/Cr)appy flu and cold season! Since everyone I know seems to have a cold or at least is feeling like death then have a little something to take your mind off it. @jellys-compendium, hope you feel better :)

Will make a Wolfwood version of this too in a bit where he is being a little shit cause ofc he would be. Here it is.

"I did offer you my coat, love," Vash says softly as he sits next to you on the bed. One of his hands is occupied with the cup of tea he offers you; the other gently lays on the blanket covering your shivering body.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you would never outright tell me I told you so, but just because you use different words doesn't make it any less annoying," you reply with a nasal voice as you take the warm cup of tea out of his hand, your fingers still clutching a clean tissue.

"Getting caught in the cold wind is how you get sick." He smiles tenderly while looking at you.

"Uh-uh." You sip the hot tea and feel it soothe the scratching in your throat. "And hanging around a diseased person is another way to get sick. Shoo!"

You try waving him away before setting the cup on the nightstand and blowing your nose loudly. Vash shows no sign of leaving; his hand on your leg strokes it through the thick fabric. He feels your body shivering and reaches out for a second blanket draped over the edge of the bed.

"You're still cold. Have this," he says, unfolding the cover and leaning closer to drape it around you.

"No! Begone! I'm sick, not dead! I can do it myself. You'll get sick too!" You complain as you push him away with one hand, the other still covering your face with the handkerchief.

"I've heard the quickest way to get better is to pass it on," he chuckles. You give him a death stare, not finding his joke the least bit funny. You take the blanket and wrap it around yourself. Before you can swat him away again, his large hand is pressed against your forehead, checking for a fever.

"Are you deaf?" Your outburst itches your hurting windpipe in the wrong way, and you manage to hide yourself under the covers before the coughing fit begins. "We'll get your ears checked next time we're in town."

You take the mug back and down most of the hot liquid to soothe your raw throat. You lean your head against the backrest and let out a sigh. The warm tea brings you some comfort, and as you close your eyes, the shivering starts to subside. Vash's hand pats your thigh again.

"You should go to sleep now," he says softly. You nod in agreement, feeling grateful for his care and concern. "You'll feel better when you wake up."

He takes the cup from your hand and stands up to give you more room to slither deeper under the covers. He tucks you in and looks at your curled up position with slight amusement. Your stubbornness always makes him laugh, but he doesn't want to rile you up again, so he keeps it to himself.

"Sleep tight, hun!" he says quietly as he pushes your hair away from your face.

"Thanks, love!" Your muffled answer can be heard from between layers of blankets.

Vash returns to the bedroom a few hours later, after he hasn't heard violent coughing outbursts for a little while. He finds you sleeping peacefully, limbs spwarled out on the bed, taking up all the space. He smiles as he creeps closer to the bed. You are still obviously sick, but perhaps the fever has gotten better. He thinks back to the little rumor he heard about passing on illness. He has very rarely been sick; his slightly alien nature has spared him of such a thing. So what's the worst that could happen?

He leans closer to you and plants a soft kiss on your lips. You don't wake up, but you do mumble something through the haze of sleep. He smiles softly and whispers, "I love you too."

He straightens up again and gets changed into his night clothes before climbing into bed next to you. He is careful not to stir your sleep; he doesn't want you to chase him away or, worse, leave to sleep on the couch yourself. He knows how much you need your sleep, and he wants you to feel safe and loved. Not to mention, he cannot bear sleeping in a different room than you. He positions himself on the very edge of the bed, his long limbs finding space where yours aren't. He would like to pull you tight and keep you close all night long, but the earful he would get wouldn't let either of you sleep.

The night passes with the peaceful snores and occasional coughs, but dawn breaks into the room and strokes your face with warm sunlight. You stretch your achy muscles and yawn, feeling a lot better than you did the night before. You sit up and roll your neck, surprised to find that you slept soundly through the entire night and your throat doesn't feel like it's strangling itself. You look to your side to find an unexpected large lump under the blankets. You start to reach over as you hear muffled sniffles escape it.

"Vash?" you quietly ask, unsure if he is asleep or not.

Two hands creep out from under the blanket and grab the edge of it to pull down, revealing Vash's slightly red face. He snivels loudly, but his eyes have an innocent glimmer in them.

"Darling, I think I might be sick," he says nasally, a sorry look on his face.

"You dumbass," you say, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the smile.

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[kamaluhkhan]

maybe it's my fault

pairing: shuri x fem!reader

summary: lately, you've been feeling a ton of pressure, you're way too busy, and you're barely sleeping. life is taking its toll on you, but you drop everything to be with shuri when she needs you most.

warnings: angst! mention of illness and death (t'challa's, mostly). reader has a bit of a saviour complex. lots of plot w/ a little smut ;)

author's note: hi hi it's been too long since i've written a fic, but i just rewatched black panther so i decided to finish one of my drafts. this could be read as a part 3 to my other shuri fics, but it's wayyy more angsty than i usually write. also happy endings.....we don't know her! you've been warned.

you were in the kitchen, chopping up fruit for a smoothie, while sam and bucky were watching the news in the living room. you could only hear muffled sounds from the tv thanks to the lecture you were rewatching through your earphones, hyperfocused on absorbing as much information about genetic coding — the topic of your last exam before spring break — so it was easy to miss sam calling your name until he was practically shouting. you finally removed one earbud.

"yeah?"

“when's the last time you heard from your girlfriend?" 

"i don't know," you answered, still mostly focused on your professor droning on about complex protein structures while you kept cutting up strawberries — and tried to keep your eyes open. you probably hadn't slept in 36 hours. "we've both been busy. why?"

there was no immediate answer, which you didn’t think much of until you looked up and saw what they were watching. in shock, you accidently let the knife slip, and it nicked your thumb instead of the fruit.

"fuck."

blood dripped from your hand, but your eyes stayed glued to the screen.

KING T’CHALLA, RULER OF WAKANDA, DEAD FROM UNKNOWN ILLNESS. COUNTRY IN PERIOD OF MOURNING. 

you could tell from the way bucky and sam were silent that they were also overwhelmed with the news. t’challa was an avenger, a teammate — but he was also a friend. he was compassionate and wise and always made you feel welcomed, even when some of the elders disapproved of shuri dating an outsider. this hurt you, deeply, especially after losing so much of the team in the battle with thanos. but none of that mattered — all you could think about now was shuri….

you instantly pulled out your phone, and tried to call her. 

it’s shuri. i’m probably designing better technology, so i’ll call you back with that. 

you then tried the kimoyo beads on your wrist, but still no answer. 

“i have to go.”

sam nodded. “just let me look after your hand first —”

“i’ll deal with it on the quinjet.” you ran to your room down the hall, and grabbed your overnight bag (thank Gods you hadn’t unpacked yet, even though you’d decided to stay over at Avengers tower this week). “i just finished fixing up the old one, so i’ll take that and you guys can still use the new one for your mission tomorrow. if i leave now, i’ll get to wakanda by morning.” or maybe midnight. or afternoon? there was also a time difference that you couldn’t quite remember. “i’ll call peter on the way, let him know what happened. can you tell the others?” whoever is left, you thought to yourself.

again, sam nodded. bucky mumbled a simple take care as you start to leave for the quinjet.

sam called your name, so you turned around before a few tears could escape. he brought you into a hug. you couldn’t help but stiffen, a reflex because of so many i’m sorry for your loss hugs you’d gotten used to. when sam pulled away, he put his hand on her shoulder, eyes sincere but sad. “it’s gonna be alright, kid.”

you really wanted to believe him.

shuri’s lab was all too familiar to you. there was something perpetually alive about the space: always people talking, inventions being brought to life, loud music blasting. 

but, right now, it was silent. only shuri was there, designing something on the holograms and taking notes. 

you hear her A.I. griot announce that someone had arrived, but shuri doesn't seem to care.

“i told you i did not want to be disturbed,” shuri grumbled.

“he made an exception,” you replied, trying to keep your tone playful.

shuri didn’t say anything and kept working. “did my mother call you?” she finally asked. “i told her not to.”

you moved closer to shuri’s workspace until you were right next to her, leaning backwards against the desk but keeping your eyes on shuri and trying to pull her attention away from whatever she was working on — a suit, you guessed.

“she didn't call me. i came as soon as i heard,” you answered, crossing you arms. “but i did talk to her and she seemed…worried.”

“there’s no need to be,” shuri said. “i’m fine. we had the funeral — it happened, it’s over.”

you uncrossed your arms, sighing deeply. “you know, your brother once told me that in wakandan culture, death isn’t the end. it’s a stepping off point. then, he told me that he believed, even if they’re gone from the physical world, the people we love never leave us. their lives aren’t over if we honor them, keep loving them.”

t'challa's thoughtfulness helped you after losing tony and steve, and it was something you wished you had heard earlier in life. something that gave you hope, made you feel a bit lighter when it felt like the weight of the world was crushing you.

but, hearing this prompted shuri to freeze momentarily, though she couldn’t bring herself to look you in the eye.

"i am not my brother.” she went back to working after that.

for a moment, you simply watched your girlfriend work. shuri’s hair was different — braids gone and shorter than the last time you had seen her. her jawline was also sharper and her eyes a bit more sunken, like she hadn’t slept or eaten in days.

when it became clear that shuri wasn’t going to stop, you turned around and focused your attention to the holograms she was juggling. it wasn’t a panther suit, but what looked like a deconstructed dora milaje armor that shuri was redesigning.

“you want this to fly?” you noted the thrusters placed on the feet of the suit.

shuri glanced at you briefly before enlarging the section in question. “yes.”

you hummed, reaching over to zoom out to a full view of the suit. “if you add small repulsors, the wearer will have more control over how and where they fly.”

 “i was going to add something like that to the back.”

“i’d suggest the shoulders,” you said, tilting your head. “small, triangle shaped — kind of like angel wings. also, if you add reinforced plating to the shoulders and arms, you can redistribute the extra vibranium through the repulsor energy so the wearer can materialize a blade or a laser.”

“brilliant,” shuri mumbled under her breath.

you nudged shuri with your shoulder. “you would have figured it out eventually.”

“i know.” shuri leaned into you, a sign that she was softening. “that’s why it’s brilliant. i wish it'd thought of it sooner." she whispered the last part. there was a faraway sadness to her tone that made your heart ache.

you turned to face shuri, and gently put your hand on her cheek so she met your gaze.

"i think it's a sign that your beautiful brain needs some rest, baby." you knew what shuri was like, and based on your conversation with queen ramonda, shuri had locked herself in the lab for days.

shuri sighed, moving to kiss your palm before realizing the state it was in — freshly wrapped in a thin layer of gauze that you had bled through.

“what happened to your hand?” she questioned urgently.

“oh. nothing serious. just a slip of the knife.”

wordlessly, shuri brought you over to the medical bay and gestured for you to sit down on the table. you did, and shuri settled between your legs, using vibranium to heal your cut.

"shuri," you called after a few moments of silence, leaning your head down slightly to try and catch her eye. "you know i'm here for you, right?"

"i know." she finished cleaning the wound and wrapped your hand in a fresh vibranium-woven bandage. you wanted so badly to do the same — to wrap up shuri's grief, to protect her from pain, to help her heal.

"i mean that you don't have to, i don't know, act like everything is fine. we can talk about what happened — we can talk about t'challa."

"i know," she repeated, eyes finally meeting yours as she rested her hand on your knee. "i just....i can't. it's either i shut myself in the lab for hours or i think about my brother and want to burn the world down. and i can't...." shuri choked back a sob and her grip on your knee tightened.

you brought your hand up to her cheek, gently tracing the dark circles under her eyes with your thumb.

"well, what if we try another option?"

you spent the next few days in wakanda with shuri, ignoring your responsibilities in new york. most of the time was spent lazing around the royal palace, but with you shuri at least got enough sleep and food, even if you barely left her room at first. eventually, the two of you actually ate in the formal dining room. you could have sworn queen ramonda teared up when her daughter showed up again to share a meal since t'challa's passing. queen ramonda gave you a warm smile before the feast was served.

as you were walking back to shuri's room, stomachs full from a delicious dinner, your phone vibrated. you checked to see who it was: peter, texting to remind you of a lab assignment you had slipped your mind.

"oh shit," you groaned.

"what is it?"

"an assignment for my genetics class that i completely forgot about," you explained, rushing to open your laptop, which you'd left on shuri's nightstand after the two of you binged a few episodes of star trek (the original series). "one of our lab partners fucked up the results, so pete and i had to sort things out, but we've both been so busy...."

your phone vibrated once more, this time displaying an incoming call from jimmy neutron, your affectionate contact name for peter parker.

"i should take this."

shuri nodded. "let me help, yeah?"

considering how brilliant shuri was, you offered her your laptop without question. you paced back and forth, talking with peter over whether or not failing this assignment would mean you both failed the class, until shuri's voice cut through your conversation.

"why do you have a file with my brother's dna?"

you know exactly the file she was talking about, and it made you stop in your tracks to face shuri. you thought you were being too careful when you didn't attach his name to the file — but, apparently, you weren't careful enough.

shuri was sitting upright on the bed now, practically glaring at you as she waited for your answer. you tried to ignore your increasing heart-rate.

"pete, i have to go." you could hear him start to protest on the other end of the line, but you quickly ended the call. "well, we keep blood samples from every team member in case something happens."

hopefully your answer satisfied shuri.

it didn't.

"this isn't with your avengers files, though," shuri pointed out. you tried to grab the laptop back from her, but she moved it out of your reach. "and even if it was, you would have noticed something wrong."

"shuri," you warned, finding it harder to not let your voice waver.

"did you know my brother was sick?" her tone was harsher than before.

"shuri —"

"the samples show abnormal cell growth at an earlier stage than when i was working on a cure for him," shuri noted, turning the laptop screen towards you. like you, she must have spent hours looking at t'challa's dna to the point of memorizing its sequence. "so either you didn't notice that something was wrong, and we both know you're too smart enough to miss something that obvious, or — "

"shuri." this time, when you said her name, it was less of a warning and more of a plea. you did not want to go down this road. frankly, you were hoping you never had to.

"you knew my brother was sick and didn't tell me," she finished. shuri handed you the laptop and you closed it slowly, watching as she walked to the other side of the room before facing you again. "tell me that isn't true."

all you could do was bite back tears and hope the floor swallowed you whole. when it didn't, you took a deep breath and stood up.

"i can explain." you approached her, but she took a step away from you and scoffed.

"what's there to explain?"

"just....please." you walked back to the bed and took a seat. "let me explain."

t'challa intercepted you at your favourite coffee shop about four weeks ago.

it was march in new york, so hints of spring were starting to peak through the winter snow. you had back to back classes, but you always had time for a coffee in between.

the cold air hit you as you exited the shop, a drink warming your hand. you noticed him standing there: no dora milaje, no fancy suit, just t'challa. he wore sunglasses and a sleek black trench coat with a purple scarf, his silver necklace peaking out from the collar.

"t'challa?" you called, almost doing a double take. the two of you were friends, sure, and probably future in-laws, but the image of him waiting for you outside a student-run cafe felt too out of the ordinary. "is everything okay?"

he smiled softly, taking off his sunglasses. "of course," he said. then, t'challa did something that surprised you even more: he greeted you with a hug. as he pulled away, he added: "just in town and thought we could catch up. shuri said this was your favourite place for cinnamon lattes."

you shrugged. "my girl knows me well. could we catch up later, though? i have a class in...." you glanced at your phone. "right now, actually." you looked back up at t'challa, and something about how his smile faded away made you feel like this was more important. "you know what, i can get notes later. come on."

t'challa followed you to a bench nearby, scanning the area as you made the short walk. the two of you sat in silence for a few moments before you broke it.

"so, is everything okay?" you asked again, taking a sip of your drink.

"actually, no." he paused, voice low. you waited for him to continue, your heart beating fast as you tried not to expect the worst. "i'm sick, y/n."

"you're sick," you repeated slowly, letting the words sink in. "i'm....i'm sorry." you reached over and squeezed t'challa's hand. he gave you a sad smile in return. that was the thing about t'challa: he was always trying to put on a brave face.

"i need you to help me find a cure."

"of course," you answered instantly. you loved t'challa like he was family; you would do anything for him. but, something felt a bit strange about his request. "why not go to wakanda, though? i mean, i'd be happy to help, but the technology there is way more advanced than anything i could do in new york. shuri's lab has all the resources we would need."

t'challa shifted in his seat, breaking eye contact.

then, it hit you. the impromptu meeting, the uneasiness of t'challa's demeanor, the whispers as he explained the situation.

"she doesn't know, does she?"

t'challa shook his head. "she doesn't even know i'm in new york."

suddenly, you throat tightened and it felt difficult to swallow your coffee.

"am i the only one that knows?"

"you and nakia," he said. "i'd like for it to stay that way."

"but — but it's shuri. you're her brother and — and she can help us find a cure."

"so can you," t'challa countered. compared to your nervous stuttering, he kept his voice clear, measured. "you're studying biochemistry and cellular biology, correct? top of your class? my sister says you are almost as brilliant as her."

"almost," you laughed, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve before returning to your conversation. "t'challa, why not just tell her?"

t'challa reflected before responding, his eyes following a couple holding hand as they walked past you.

"my sister is happy," he finally said, turning to you. "i wish for her to stay like that for as long as possible. i believe this is the only way."

it broke your heart to know that, even as he was suffering, t'challa would do anything to protect shuri. you both knew what shuri was like: she would drop everything, go back to wakanda, spend many sleepless nights trying to solve this problem, to save her brother.

"are you sure?" you practically whispered the question.

"yes. i trust you can take care of this. in fact, i know you can. please, y/n."

his urgent tone, the sincerity in his eyes; t'challa was desperate, you could tell. this wasn't a decision he made lightly, to keep such information from everyone, including shuri. if you were the one he came to for help, help you would.

so, you promised keep his secret, to handle it yourself and carry on as normal. t'challa would return to his normal duties as king for as long as he could hide his illness. but, you set a term as well: if you couldn't find a cure within two weeks, when shuri went back to visit wakanda at the end of the month, t'challa would tell her and let her work to find a cure.

"one more thing," t'challa said after you had discussed your agreement. you were about to part ways, but you turned around when you heard him speak again. "shuri can never know that i came to you first. she's proud, my sister. if she finds out, she'd never forgive either of us."

you nodded firmly, but as t'challa turned to walk away, you called his name once more. you ran towards him and hugged him, tight. it startled him at first, just as you were when he greeted you, but he hugged back.

if you knew that was the last time you'd see him, you'd have held on longer.

over the next week or so, you worked relentlessly. you would've worked at the lab in avengers tower, but you knew you had more privacy at oscorp. occasionally, you went to class or had avengers business to take care of, but otherwise this was your life: rearranging dna sequences, examining blood samples, and mixing chemicals to try and find a cure for t'challa.

you came home one night, after hours in the lab. your only break was a brief stint stopping doc ock from robbing a bank. she'd managed to throw you around pretty hard — sleep deprivation made you an easier target, apparently — leaving you with a nasty bruise on your side. peter arrived to the scene just in time, and suggested the two of you celebrate with sandwiches as delmar's (where spider-man got a discount), but you made up an excuse so that you could return to the lab.

the apartment was dark when you entered, with only the kitchen light on, so you figured you were the only one home. you dragged yourself over to the sink to get a cup of water. you drank it in three gulps, and were reaching for another when you felt someone grab your side.

"fuck!" the cup fell from your grasp as you winced in pain. you turned around, too tired to even wonder if there was an intruder in your home, but met shuri's gaze instead. she was wearing boxer shorts and an oversized i ♡ wakanda shirt she'd gotten for you as a joke.

"shit. sorry." she knelt down to pick up the broken glass. you tried to follow, but winced again at the sharp pain in your side that prevented you from bending over. "don't worry. i've got it," she reassured, standing back up. "you've been busy lately. and pete told me about the fight with doc ock. you should rest."

you ignored her last comment. "i thought you were coming home late tonight."

shuri raised an eyebrow. "i'd say it's well past late." she gestured towards the clock on the stove. it read 2:27 am.

"right." between hours in the lab, with no cure in sight, and being thrown around by a scientist with metal tentacles, you were exhausted. it was the kind of exhaustion that settled into your bones, made everything feel heavier. not to mention the weight of the very big, life changing secret you were keeping from shuri....yeah, you weren't particularly in the mood to chat with your girlfriend in a dimly lit kitchen with broken glass at your feet.

before shuri could ask more about your day, you excused yourself to take a shower. you closed the bathroom door behind you, stripped yourself of your clothes, and hopped in the shower. you stood there for a few seconds, letting the warm water wash over you, until you were startled by the shower curtain opening.

"sithandwa, are you okay?"

"other than the minor heart attack you just gave me, yeah," you huffed.

shuri tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "are you sure?"

"i'm fine," you snapped. noticing how shuri's eyes widened slightly at your outburst, you tried again, your voice softer. "i'm fine."

you lifted your arm to close the shower curtain, but let out a strangled moan when the sharp pain in your side returned. shuri furrowed her brow at your reaction, until her eyes landed on the dark bruise forming under your left ribs. instantly, shuri joined you in the shower, fully clothed.

"you're not fine," shuri decided, placing her hand gently on your skin. "why didn't you go back to the med bay to have this taken care of?"

peter asked you the same thing when you parted ways earlier, but it was easier then to shrug off the severity of your injury. besides, you had to finish up some work at the lab. but here you were in front of shuri, completely exposed, no where to run.

"i...didn't have time. you can scold me later, okay? right now, i just want to relax."

you exhaled as shuri's fingers grazed your skin. with how preoccupied you had been — along with the guilt at hiding t'challa's illness from her — you and shuri hadn't been intimate in what felt like forever. it felt good to be close to her, for her to touch you again.

by then, shuri's clothes were soaked through, the white fabric of her shirt clinging to her skin, transparent enough to reveal her dark nipples underneath. you couldn't help but stare.

"like what you see?" shuri smirked. her fingers started trailing south, reaching your hips.

this made you roll your eyes, and you just had to smile at how cheeky your girlfriend was being.

"you know i do, pretty girl."

"hm. you said you wanted to relax?"

you nodded, and not even a second later shuri had her body pressed against yours. it sent a shiver through you, despite the warm water from the shower. she brought a tattoed hand up to your face, craddling your jaw.

"then relax," shuri whispered. she started placing kisses up your neck, and when she reached just below your ear, she added: "let me take care of you."

shuri gently pushed you against the wall, the ceramic tiles cool on your back. to your annoyance, she took her sweet time leaving kisses down your body.

"shuri," you whined when you felt her teeth graze one nipple while she pinched the other between her fingers.

"what is it, my love?" shuri pulled away from your chest. you knew she loved teasing you - something you mostly loved to hate. sex with shuri sometimes took hours: it was slow, deliberate, accompanied by an orchestra of laughter and moans and pleading (lots of pleading).

this time, though, she didn't even give you time to beg. shuri simply got on her knees in front of you. she briefly ran her tongue through your folds before tilting her head back to meet your gaze. "is this what you wanted?" shuri smirked when you moaned as she slid a finger into your cunt.

the shower went cold by the time you two were done.

you started drying off, carefully as to not further your injury. shuri left to put on fresh, dry clothes, leaving the ones she had soaked through in a wet heap on the floor. you were just slipping on your underwear when shuri returned, catching your eye in the mirror.

"what?" you chuckled at how coy she was being, hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

"i have a surprise for you," shuri sang. she moved from the doorway to standing behind you, the two of you looking at the mirror. "close your eyes." you complied and felt a coolness surround your neck. shuri placed a kiss on your jaw, which made you smile. "open them."

you were met with the sight of yourself, top half completely bare except for a deep purple pendant around your neck.

"do you like it?" shuri gently wrapped her arms around your waist, eyes never leaving your body in the mirror, and you allowed yourself to melt into her. "it reminded me of the sky on our first date, and how beautiful you looked." she reached a hand up to trace the silver chain. "i was thinking i'd remake this with vibranium, maybe make it so the necklace holds your suit like t'challa's. you'll have to wait until i get back to wakanda to make the upgrade, of course."

at the mention of her brother and her home country, you stiffened.

"shuri." you exhaled and you turned to face her. "are you sure that you don't want to go back to wakanda sooner?"

shuri tilted her head. "why would i do that?"

"i don't know. more time with your family...."

"i've spent my whole life with them," shuri countered. "i'm moving to new york so that we can start our life together."

"i didn't ask you to do that — "

"don't push me away, okay?" she interrupted, wrapping her arms around your waist once more as though they would keep you in place forever. "you've been doing that lately, and i know you're busy, we both are. but, life is crazy and scary and unpredictable, and all i know for sure is that i love you. and i need you."

you wished you could return her words, as you have many times before, but the sentiment now felt empty.

it felt wrong for you to let shuri love you passionately, when you were being so careless with her heart.

you tried to shake away that feeling, telling yourself that keeping t'challa's secret was the best situation to keep him healthy and shuri happy - to protect both of them from any pain or suffering.

you told yourself that enough times, you almost believed it was true.

shuri looked at you now, and for the first time, you felt the heat of her anger targeted towards you.

"how long? how long did you know my brother was dying and let me believe everything was okay? how long did you lie to me?"

you took a ragged breath. "two weeks."

"two weeks?" shuri shouted. "i couldn't save him because i didn't have enough time to find a cure. you took that from me."

"i spent that time trying to find a cure, but....but i wanted to protect you, at least for a little while."

"no one asked you to protect me!"

internally, you kept replaying what t'challa had said: he wanted shuri to be happy, yes, but she could never know that he came to you himself and told you he was sick weeks before he told her. you wanted to honor the promise you made him, even as you now felt shuri slipping through your fingers.

you were never a quitter, though. it was your best — and possibly most self-destructive — trait. you tried to approach shuri, to grab her hand, but the second you made contact, she jolted away.

"my brother is dead because of you."

her words felt like a knife. you felt dizzy — there was no way to stop the bleeding, so you sat back down on the bed to ground yourself.

"i....i tried to save him," you defended. "after i first found out, i tried to find a cure myself."

shuri scoffed, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes at you. "you just had to be the hero, didn't you? running around, wanting to save everyone. like you're the only one who can."

"i really tried," you choked. by now, you were holding back tears, feeling your head start to ache. you started massaging you temple to relieve some pressure, but it didn't work.

"and what kind of sick game are you playing, coming here pretending to be supportive? you're just feeling guilty."

guilty was definitely something you felt, but it wasn't why you came here.

you got back up and tried to approach shuri one more time, walking over to her slowly.

"i came here because i love you, shuri." your voice was softer than it had been before. "i loved t'challa, too -"

"don't you dare say his name," she growled, once again moving away from you briskly. "and i don't care if you love me, because i can never look at you the same way. we're done."

hands by your side, staring at shuri from the opposite side of the room, you almost couldn't process what she had said. she repeated her last sentence, this time a bit louder, and you shook your head as though to wake yourself up.

"shuri, please, don't do this. we're both in pain — "

"you have no idea the pain i'm in," shuri interrupted, and you noticed how she choked back a sob. "you can stop trying to be a hero for me. i don't want you. i don't need you." she paused. "not anymore."

to prove her point, shuri finally approached you. she tugged your necklace — the one she had so lovingly given you — hard enough for the clasp to break.

both of you were startled by the severity of her actions, how final it all felt. shuri looked, almost regretfully, at the purple pendant in her hand, but never met your gaze. she then turned away from you, the room settling into an uncomfortable silence as she waited for you to leave.

and you did, a few moments later.

[joron1a-stardustlor]

yk what?

Screw it, mobility hcs

Alejandro

Cane user

The robot suit healed most of him but mobility is still strainful so the interns gave him a cane

It was hooked cane and it was quite old

He hated it it was bland,brown,old,short, and uncomfortable.

After All Stars Heather and Alejandro saved up money to get him an actual cane

It was tall and had a fake (but real looking) ruby at the handle, it was brimmed with gold paint at the top edge toward the handle and the bottom edge

It had a custom golden pattern painted on it of a snake and an eel twirling aroung the cane

(For reference, Noah calls alejandro an eel, while heather has been called a snake)

Heather found it stupid

Alejandro loves it

Heather always fetches his cane for him, but sometimes playfully puts it away so Alejandro has no choice but to cling onto her

Heather likes carrying Alejandro around, wether it be on her back, on the shoulder, or princess/bridal style

Whenever he finds out he get playfully angry at heather, but she always gives it back

Heather has to often give massages to alejandro or fetch his medicine

Alejandro alway apologizes for this and feels guilty that heather has to be constantly looking after him

He often pays his respect by making Heather a delicious dinner every night

Heather pretends to hate it, but she likes taking care of him

Heather does feel bad for Alejandro and tries to be the best for him, but will still be mean to him and vice versa

When he accidently sat a table away from Noah and Owen at a fancy resturant, he hit noah where it hurts with his cane

He made sure it hurt

Tyler often visits and hold Alejandros cane while Heather makes some coffee for them

He finds it really cool and always wants to hold it

He likes complimenting alejandro on how tough he is for living like this

Hehe cutie patooties

Scott

again, trauma chair fixed mostly fixed him but not everything

Had nearly died due to loss of blood, and had been taken in by the medical resort on Playa des Losers

Was fully aware of his surrondings, just paralylized

His sister (Alberta) and his Papi took care of him

His family is poor and Scott sleeps with a matress on the floor, they were unable to give him any proper medical care other than letting his body heal itself

Once he was allowed out of the chair he just laid there on his mattress not even a singular pillow on it

Alberta was basically stuck to him, hugging him and crying on his chest wondering if he would even be able to make a full recovery, even if he was a bitch to her for most of her life and many other people she missed him

Scott could move around a little bit, whenever his sister cried and hugged him he always attempted to hug her with one arm to thank her

Once he was fully unparilyzed he had to use Leg braces (not the cast looking ones just the strapped ones) over his legs

He became very sensitive to sudden movements,loud noises/areas ,and bright lights

developed such a great fear for water he sprayed himself with a hose to shower and refused to even spill it on himself

His fear of water decreased over time,to the point he allowed himself to swim in pools but not open ocean,but the Galeophobia stuck with him forever

He tries to go someday without his Leg braces but he often just squirms and struggles to walk for a second before collapsing on the floor

Developed the worst sleep schedule, he has nightmares about when Fang attacked him often

Undiagnosed ptsd,depression and paranoia

Sam,Lightning and Brick go out with him often to hangout

Sam always brings candy incase he feels like jes about to pass out, Lightning and Brick are the huggers and scott brings his headphones to listen to music if it gets too loud

They take good care of Scott and try to make sure he lives happy

(Everyone in that friend group is mentally ill

Team dude >>>>>

Cameron

Occasional wheelchair user

Had a leg deficiancy as a kid and had to use a wheel chair for most of his childhood

He had to drink milk and take a lot of medicine to cure him of this when he was 13

Near death moment due to an accidental overdose but lived and made a full recovery

Diagnosed autism, he fixates on science,math,chemistry,robotics,etc and socially awkard,doesnt understand social norms and introverted cmon

Doctors office was basically his second home, visited about twice a month

He has other physical restraints that have physical activity be a difficulty for him

At the All Shits Finale after he had boulders dumped on him he was in the same wheelchair he had as a kid

He didnt grow much in height so it still fit him

For anyone wondering;

He had it customized for himself with a neck pillow, joystick and had painted parts of it red

Him,Gwen,Zoey and mike helped decorate it more with stickers,more paint and a small attached photograph of the four in a small slip

Huuurhfsggg them <33

Edit: pls speak ur mind in the rbs, id love to see if you have more or what you think about these hc :]