#so no voice and Saturday's fever might be back

[isfjmel-phleg]

It was wonderful to see my family this week but what a relief to be home.

[commanderyes]

The Commander Says Goodbye

I’m not going to lie, I’m extremely anxious as i’m writing this, out of what these news could mean to a lot of people, and my heart feels heavy enough it could drop down my ribcage any minute from now and squish all my other organs. But I’ve been dancing around this topic for a long time now, and I think i’ve finally reached a point where i can’t ignore it anymore, for my own sake.

I hereby announce Commander Yes has come to an end.

As I’ve mentioned plenty of times before, here and to many other people, when I began this comic all the way back in 2018 I was in a really bad, really low place in my life in every sense of the word, and it was a spur-of-the moment decision to cheer myself up, because Path of Fire had just released and my enjoyment of the game had reached fever pitch and I had been playing Guild Wars 2 alone since as far as launch, and none of my other friends had ever really gotten into it. I guess I just, dunno, cried out into the big maelstrom of the community, one voice amidst millions, because i wanted SOMEBODY to look at what i did and revel in the nerdery with me.

And somehow the snowball began to roll and people wanted more and more of what I could do, and I was being actively reached out to, and, well, some time after that I landed my first ever job, I discovered a lot of things about myself, and I found myself in communities that welcomed me with open arms, and many of the people in there have since become among the best friends I could’ve possibly encountered, kindred souls who i’ve shared joys and sorrows for many years and who I can’t imagine living without anymore.

And all the while I kept making the comics, and with every entry posted every week I’d keep having people stopping to comment on them, and whether they were dumb jokes or personal takes on the story, they’d all share how much what I do kept hitting them in the kokoro, and to this day whenever I play anywhere in the game I still get people who recognize me and thank me for doing what I do. It was wonderful, it IS wonderful, and seeing that response motivated me to keep going, because what did still mattered to people, out there.

But I did always say I planned to keep doing these comics until I ran out of energy for them, and I think i’ve finally reached that point.

Because ever since I actually landed that job I’m exhausted and sleep-deprived every other day, so much so that I only have time to work on the comic on saturdays and sundays, and it gets harder and harder to just sit and draw, and at that point it was just more work, and while I still enjoy and play Guild Wars 2 a lot, it no longer consumes my time and attention like I’ve used to and i’ve been having fun with more personal projects, and honestly the direction the story is taking these days does not sit right with me and it’s hard to find inspiration in that, and this might be borderline selfish but every year I find people care less and less about the comics and it really takes a hit to you motivation when hardly anybody responds after you’ve spent a whole weekend trying to squeeze a five-page comic out.

And, well, I have been doing these for six years straight, and I think that’s a good run. I’m tired, and ready to move on, at long last. Let it be someone else’s turn.

But that’s the beautiful thing about this community, isn’t it? Even if I’m hanging up the hat, there are a whole lot of fantastic artists out there, as we speak, still cranking out works of art, deserving of all the attention they can get. And think of all the artists yet to come! For every story that ends, another story is just about to begin!

The world keeps on spinning, one way or another.

I’ll be closing my patreon shortly after this, but the reddit archives and tumblr blog shall remain for people to browse whenever they feel like (or until they both go in flames, i guess, what social media isn’t about to these days)

I still don’t think I ever was that much of a big deal, but all the same, to everyone who’s ever supported me and helped me be the person I am right now, to everyone who’s been there from the beginning, to all the devs of this game that has captured us for nearly a decade now, to all my fellow players and artists out there

Thank you.

See you out there, fellow commanders. Still the stars find their way.

[princessfbi]

Hello :) From the Sic Fic Prompts. Either 1. Constantly clinging to caretaker because everything hurts, they're miserable, and they don't know what to do with themselves. or 8. Curled up in bed, not wanting to move and swaddled in blankets. If either spark anything for you!

Buck had fallen asleep somewhere in the third hour of waiting and frankly, Tommy couldn't blame him. A long afternoon on shift not feeling well, a restless night that had him tossing and turning as a fever built up in pitch beneath his skin, and a 3 AM drive to the ER on a Saturday night would've worn out anyone.

The waiting room had been packed and considering Buck had walked in on his own two feet--- while listing against Tommy's side might he add--- that meant he'd been bumped down to the lower end of the priority list. That didn't make Buck feel any better and Tommy's patience was wearing thin.

The only reason Tommy's knee wasn't bouncing was because Buck was draped across his lap trying to get a little bit of rest and Tommy would've rather cut off his own leg than wake him. Tommy had cupped Buck's eyes to shield them from the fluorescents and frankly, Tommy didn't care if the old woman with the cut finger kept shooting them pointed looks because they were taking up three chairs. Buck's legs were long but even curled up as tight as he could meant that they were taking up more space than they normally would in a crowded room.

But in Tommy's opinion, bordering five hours of waiting meant they earned three chairs and he wasn't above hissing at little old ladies who tried to wake his boyfriend from the only sleep he'd managed to get in forty-eight hours.

Even in his sleep, Buck's fingers were tangled in a white knuckle grip around his shirt, giving away just how uncomfortable Buck was.

It had been a slow progression since he'd picked Buck up from the station looking like he was ready to drop. First it had been the hand, with Buck tangling their fingers together and curling around his wrist like he was afraid Tommy would take it away. Then it had been his side, his face ducking down to hide against Tommy's throat. Then it had been his waist as Tommy wrapped his arms around him and held him tight, wishing there was something more he could do to make him feel even slightly better. Even when they had checked in, Buck had been all but draped against him like Tommy and Tommy's arm was the only thing keeping him upright.

He'd been downright clingy. Which wasn't new for Buck. Now that Buck knew he could, he took as much as he liked. A hand, a kiss, a sip of his coffee, and a snuggle even when Tommy was trying to get some things done. But it was heavy and almost desperate in the way he was holding onto Tommy like he was afraid he'd blink and Tommy would disappear.

Tommy just held him back as tight as he could.

"Evan Buckley?" A nurse called and Tommy's head shot up so fast he went dizzy. He spotted her in the center of all the chaos, holding a tablet close to her chest, and Tommy almost knocked Buck off at the jolt that ran through him.

He lifted a hand before dropping his attention back down to Buck.

"Evan," Tommy said, sweeping his fingers through Buck's hair. "You gotta wake up,"

The noise Buck made was nothing short of miserable as his nose scrunched up. Tommy rubbed his back as he cupped a hand behind his head to keep him from rolling too fast. He didn't think they would skip him but the waiting room had been so packed that he didn't want to chance it either.

"Come on, baby. They're ready for you."

"Do you need help?" The nurse asked, her voice gentle and low and Tommy shot her a grateful look as he shook his head.

"I got him," he said as Buck burrowed his face into his stomach. "Come on sleepyhead. Let me help you."

Tommy didn't even think Buck opened his eyes as he let Tommy sit him upright. Buck simply hid his face back in Tommy's throat again and curled his arms around his waist, letting Tommy do most of the work.

The first step ripped a whimper from his lips that Tommy knew Buck would've rather kept to himself. It got buried in his skin where Tommy promised to keep it safe just for him.

"Okay," Tommy said, making a decision that would get Buck to the closest bed as fast as possible. He bent down and scooped up under Back's back and knees and lifted him, mindful of the twinge in his back as he carried him across the waiting room.

"You sure you don't want a wheelchair?" The nurse asked and Tommy shook his head.

Tired, heavy arms wrapped around his neck and stayed there like Buck was stuck to him with a magnet and Buck was all lead.

"No offense," Tommy said to her. "But I want him in a bed now. Just point me in the direction."

The nurse nodded once before she waved him on. "Follow me."

[anniebeemine]

More Than A Woman- s.r. x fem!reader

fluff dancing with Spencer because I need some healing after this week

“Do you need help?” Spencer chuckles as you fling the door open, accidentally hitting the shoe rack behind it. The thud echoes through the entryway, and you wince, but quickly recover, smiling at him despite the precarious balancing act you're performing with two felt grocery bags, a box, and a paper bag all cradled in your arms.

“I’ve got it. Just—” you start to say, but Spencer is already moving forward, laughing softly as he relieves you of the grocery bags.

“Is that a turntable?” he asks, his curiosity piqued as he eyes the box you’re still holding.

You nod, excitement bubbling in your chest. “Impulse buy. You’re not going to believe what I found at that record store down on Clay Street.”

“I’m going to guess… a record?” Spencer teases, his smile widening as he sets the bags down on the kitchen counter.

You grin, carefully setting the box with the turntable on the coffee table before holding up a finger to signal him to wait. “But, it’s not just any record,” you say, your tone brimming with anticipation. You reach into the paper bag and pull out the vinyl, its glossy cover catching the light. “It’s a limited edition, mint condition—” you pause dramatically, savoring the moment before revealing your find, “Saturday Night Fever.”

Spencer’s smile remains fixed, but there’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Is that… a movie?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, trying to place the title.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling up before you can stop it. “Oh, Spencer,” you say, shaking your head with fondness. “It’s more than just a movie. It’s an iconic piece of pop culture from the ’70s. The Bee Gees did the soundtrack, and it’s amazing—full of disco classics.”

His eyes light up with recognition at the mention of the Bee Gees. “Oh! ‘Stayin’ Alive,’ right? I know that one.”

“Yes!” you exclaim, thrilled that he knows at least some of it. “And so many other great songs. This album is a treasure. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it sitting there, just waiting for someone to appreciate it.”

Spencer steps closer, his interest clearly piqued now. He gently takes the record from your hands, inspecting it with care. “Limited edition, you said? That’s pretty incredible,” he murmurs, turning it over to examine the back cover.

You watch him with a smile, feeling a warmth in your chest as he admires your find. There’s something incredibly satisfying about sharing these little joys with him, knowing that even if he’s not fully immersed in the same interests, he always shows an appreciation for the things that make you happy.

“I thought we could listen to it tonight,” you suggest, moving to unpack the turntable from its box. “It’s been a while since we had a quiet evening together, and this seems like the perfect soundtrack.”

Spencer nods, his smile softening as he watches you set up the turntable. “I’d love that,” he says, his voice warm and sincere. “And who knows, maybe I’ll learn to love disco as much as you do.”

You glance up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “Trust me, once you hear the Bee Gees in all their vinyl glory, you won’t be able to resist,” you tease, plugging in the turntable and carefully placing the record on the spindle.

As the needle drops and the first notes of “Stayin’ Alive” fill the room, you can’t help but sway to the rhythm, the infectious beat pulling you in. Spencer stands by your side, watching with a small, amused smile as you get lost in the music.

“Come on, dance with me,” you say suddenly, holding out your hand to him.

Spencer hesitates for just a moment, then takes your hand, letting you pull him into the middle of the living room. His movements are a little awkward at first, but as you guide him, he begins to relax, matching your steps with a growing confidence.

“You know,” he says as the song plays on, “I think I might be starting to get it.”

“Starting to get what?” you ask, looking up at him with a grin.

“Why you love this music,” he replies, his eyes shining with affection as he pulls you closer. “It’s impossible not to feel happy when you hear it.”

You smile, resting your head against his chest as the two of you continue to dance, the sounds of the Bee Gees wrapping around you like a warm embrace. “I knew you’d understand,” you whisper, feeling perfectly content in his arms.

And as the music plays on, you realize that this moment—dancing in your living room with Spencer to the soundtrack of a bygone era—might just be one of your favorites yet.

As "More Than a Woman" begins to play, you feel Spencer’s grip on your hand tighten slightly, guiding you closer. The soft, romantic melody fills the room, and you notice him starting to hum along with the tune, his voice low and smooth.

You pause in the middle of a step, tilting your head up at him with a playful smirk. "How do you know the words to this one?" you ask, eyebrows raised in mock suspicion.

Spencer gives you a lopsided grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "There’s a lot of mystery left to me," he teases, his voice light as he continues humming the melody.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Is that so, Dr. Reid? I thought I knew all your secrets."

He just smiles, and as the chorus comes around, he surprises you by singing a few lines out loud, his voice warm and inviting, “More than a woman… more than a woman to me…”

His singing is soft but sincere, and it sends a thrill through you. He cuts in every few lines, really selling the lyrics as you dance together, his voice blending with the music in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only two people in the world.

He twirls you around, his hand steady in yours, and you can’t help but laugh as you stumble slightly, your foot bumping into the coffee table. You catch yourself before you trip, but your momentum sends you lightly into the couch.

Spencer’s laughter joins yours, the sound rich and infectious. “Careful,” he chuckles, pulling you back into his arms, his smile wide and genuine. “You’re supposed to dance, not redecorate.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but the joy on your face is undeniable. “I could care less,” you say, still laughing as you settle back into his rhythm. “As long as I’m dancing with you.”

Spencer’s eyes soften, and he dips his head closer to yours, pressing a light kiss to your forehead as you sway together to the music. “More than a woman… more than a woman to me…” he sings again, his voice a gentle whisper against your skin.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you. The music, Spencer’s laughter, the way he holds you so close—it all feels perfect, like a scene out of a dream. You can’t remember the last time you felt so carefree, so utterly content.

As the song plays on, you let go of any lingering tension, giving yourself over completely to the music and to Spencer’s embrace. Together, you dance through the living room, stumbling occasionally, bumping into furniture, but never once letting go of each other.

By the time the song fades out, you’re both breathless with laughter, your cheeks flushed from dancing and the sheer joy of the moment. Spencer pulls you in for one last twirl, then catches you as you spin back into his arms, holding you close as you both collapse onto the couch in a fit of giggles.

“See,” he says, his voice a little breathless as he looks down at you, “there’s still so much more you don’t know about me.”

You smile up at him, your heart full. “I can’t wait to find out,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him, the echoes of the music still lingering in the air around you.

He smiles as he holds onto you, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. “And we have forever, which we can take one minute at a time.”

You pull back slightly, raising an eyebrow as you give him a playful look. “That was so corny, Spencer,” you tease, though the warmth in your voice betrays how much you love it.

He chuckles, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks. “Maybe, but you know you love it,” he replies, pulling you even closer until your foreheads are almost touching.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the grin tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, pressing another quick kiss to his lips. “I guess I do.”

[maplleaf]

Two tries, One success

[Gepard Landau x gn!reader]

Working as the manager of Mechanical Fever's famous bassist isn't as bad of a job as many would think. Serval originally wanted an assistant to sort out her workshop's data, but after seeing how you matched energies with her, she offered the position as Mechanical Fever's assistant not long after being hired.

It's good; your pay doubled and your boss is great as a friend and as an employer. It's been a year since working for Serval and you've never looked back in regret. You even got the chance to befriend her younger brother, Gepard.

Although recently, the two siblings have been acting strange.

At first Serval asked about your type, you answered the question by saying blonde, since at the time you find a blonde hair color attractive.

Then only a day later, Serval had to 'take leave' in the middle of the day; saying that Pela asked to meet her regarding some scheduling with rehearsals. Despite you not remembering Pela mentioning anything of the sort when seeing her yesterday...

Since she is your boss, you brushed it off. The workshop doesn't have days where an influx of clients would come in anyway. Additionally, current clients' orders are all finished and it's just a waiting game for any of them to pick their items up.

No Serval, no work, not even cleaning. The only thing moderately interesting is the plant you brought here as decoration for Serval.

In conclusion; you were bored as hell that day.

Which is why when the door opened, your body straightened up as a reflex; thinking it's one of the clients. Surprisingly, you were met with the sight of Serval's younger brother. A rush of excitement and joy hit you, almost subconsciously.

"Gepard? Serval didn't mention you coming here," you pointed out. As captain of the silvermane guards, he's usually busy with work. "Did you left something last week?"

The blonde didn't answer right away, in fact his eyes are looking at everything but you. "No, uhm, Is my sister not here?" Gepard asked, finally turning towards you.

"Nah, she said Pela wanted to talk to her urgently earlier," you answered. "I can tell her you're here though," you raised your phone as a way to tell Gepard how you could tell Serval about his visit.

"That... isn't necessary," he almost stammered, even to the point where you noticed. "Did my sister bring that in?" Gepard pointed to the plant beside you.

"I did actually. This old fella' looks like it fits in this place," your hand grabbed the small plant's pot, shaking it lightly as if it's talking. Using a voice for the plant, you began to talk for it like a puppet. "That's right, it was so cold out there."

Gepard chuckled at your antics, "you must take good care of it." He heard you hum in response, "if your sister did, she might sing it rock music for bedtime."

After you placed the pot back down, Gepard took a deep breath before spilling his true intention. "Are you perhaps busy this Saturday?" The Landau sibling had a light red dusting on his cheek, something blocked by the darker lighting of Nevermore workshop.

You raised an eyebrow at him in interest. Saturday... Mechanical Fever shouldn't be having any performances that day and the workshop is closed; leaving you with an open spot. "I'm not, why'd you ask?"

"I was wondering if we could..." Gepard's word trailed away, his blue eyes looking at yours with a strange gaze. It's beautiful, his eyes, like the carved geomarrow at the Everwinter Monument, but somehow more beautiful. It's mezmerizing, truly.

"...could teach me about plant management. I've been trying to take care of mine as a hobby, but they don't usually end well," Gepard finishes his sentence.

The room stayed quiet for a moment, though in Gepard's mind it's louder than all the concerts he's seen his sister performs. The silence ended when you chuckled, then laughed.

"Sorry sorry," you managed to muffled out. "It's just, Serval's been mentioning your 'hobby' for awhile and I didn't expect you to come to me for help," you leaned back against the chair with your arms crossed, "How about at noon here? I can ask Serval about opening the workshop for the day, sure she wouldn't mind if it's for you."

Gepard straightened his posture as a reflex, though his face does hold a certain embarassment that you didn't pick up. "Sure, I'll be glad," he smiled. "I think I'll have to go now, my break isn't long."

The blonde leaves the workshop in a hurry, not even hearing your words of parting. You found it strange how he behaved that day, and many days after to be exact.

The second time one of the Landau siblings acted weird was when Mechanical Fever's performance had just ended. Many people were asking for a photo or even signatures of the bandmates, especially Serval.

Since it all had technically wrapped up, you sat by the bench nearby to recharge from watching a fun yet exhausting performance. The air of overworld's Belobog is much colder in the evening, even with geomarrow heaters everywhere.

Your hand rubbed against eachother for heat and friction. It'll only be a short while until the band properly wraps up and have a little celebration in Serval's workshop. Though that short while felt like eternity when all you could feel is the eternal winter's air saying 'fuck you warmth!'

"You okay there?"

You looked up to see the familiar charming captain, his face full of worry. The thought of Gepard worrying made you conflicted to wether feel happy or guilty. "Yeah, just chilly," you responded, bringing your heated hands to your face for more warmth.

"You didn't bring a jacket?" Gepard asked, sitting right beside you. "It's usually not this cold at the evening, but winter has its ways."

"Well fuck whoever made this winter," whilst rubbing your hands again, you slipped out a few words of annoyance at the current state of temperature. Realizing the rudeness, you couldn't help but feel guilty, "sorry."

"It's fine but," Gepard looks at your sorry state and thought about it for a moment, leaving you to wonder what's in his pretty little head. Your thoughts stopped when he took off the white and blue scarf of his uniform and slid it around yours.

"Here."

You wanted asked what was he doing before feeling the heat. It's so... warm. Is this what he feels everytime going in the fragmentums filled with cold air? No wonder he could stand in a fight for so long, this thing is comfortable.

"You are an actual lifesaver, Landou," your almost trembling voice muttered, quickly relishing in the warmth that his scarf had given you. Gepard on the other hand felt his eyes being stuck on your figure; the snow of Belobog definitely made you look more ethereal than usual.

Gepard took a few moments before the spur of the moment outweighs his worries. "A new place opened up near Goethia hotel, I was wondering--"

"(y/n)! Hurry up, we're heading to Serval's," the pianist of Mechanical Fever yelled out, uncaring of the other people surprised at his sudden voice.

As the assistant of the band, you were already used to this by now. The blonde beside you is not used to it; and if that pianist is a fragmentum monster, he would've thrown a punch right then and there.

"Sorry, could you say that again?" you tried to ignore the pianist's wails, focusing on Gepard more considering he's not yelling at you.

"Right," Gepard coughed to ease himself back in the moment, "this wednesday, I was wondering if--"

"(y/n)!"

You winced in annoyance as that pianist's voice filled the streets of the district. Seriously, you hope Serval can knock some sense into the guy about the great knowledge that is patience. Seeing as he would probably keep yelling your name until you yield, your priorities had to change.

"Sorry, Gepard, could you continue that another time? I'm afraid a certain someone wouldn't shut their mouth if I don't come," you scoffed, side-eyeing the person in annoyance. Gepard looks at you with disappointment, a face you've never seen before.

"It's fine," the blonde answered, though when he sees you start taking off his scarf, his gloved hand prevented you from properly taking it off. "Just take it, you'll get cold on the way."

You raised an eyebrow at him unsurely, "... won't you get in trouble for giving this to a civilian?"

Gepard shook his head, instead gently tightening the scarf. "I have another at home," he brushed it off before backing away from you. "I'll... see you on another day."

The next day, you overheard a few guards talking about their Captain Landau; and how he seems to be missing a part of his uniform.

The third time is when Serval asked a specific question when you two were working. A client had given her an antique click to fix earlier on, the device taking over Serval's focus for the past two hours. You on the other hand had to sort out this month's profits and data regarding clients and business related items you two bought for the month.

"Say, what do you think of silvermane guards?" the blonde bassist asked you before extending her hand up to you expecting a tool. You naturally took the screwdriver and gave it to her, eyes still focused on the laptop.

"They're... fine," you answered. "What's with the random question?" Serval shrugged her arm, taking off her glasses as she leaned back and rested her eyes. Another fixing job for a complex antique done, it's amazing how someone could keep an object for a long time without realizing the broken gears it has.

"Everytime we go out to buy parts, you always glanced at the silvermane groups when they passed," the flinch coming from you became an answer to her assumption. Serval leaned on the table in front of her, blue eyes scanning you for any hints, "Interested in one of 'em?"

Seeing as lying would get you nowhere with the engineer, you took shaky breath, "just one."

Serval's eyes lit up like stars, "No way! Care to spill?" you averted your eyes from your boss' enthusiasm, finger tapping on the wood as a way to calm yourself. Even if she is your friend, it doesn't ease the nervousness.

"Well..." your voice trailed out.

"And what was the answer?"

Serval sighed, "said I knew the person." Her younger brother slumped down, tapping his feet for every half a second. "C'mon, we narrowed it down to a blonde and a silvermane guard I know! That's a pretty good chance," Serval tried to cheer him up, which sadly didn't do much.

"That doesn't narrow it down to one person," Gepard pointed out. At first, he noticed you sneaking glances when he was ordering guards near Belobog's alleyways. It gave him a hope that maybe this isn't unrequited; a hope that's lost the longer he thought about it.

"Maybe I should cancel it, I can't ruin our friendship because of this."

Serval smacked her brother's head lightly in a scolding manner. "Hey, I thought us Landau are hardworking and determined. You can't just give up now," she reminded him.

Even if Gepard's hesitance did stop for a moment, it didn't stop him from feeling nervous. Serval waited for her brother to speak up, her arm crossed on her chest. Gepard recalled how long he had been trying a confession, four weeks. Four grueling weeks and three tries of trying to ask you out in any way he could think of only to fail each time.

The first time he got too nervous when looking at your eyes gazing at him. The fear of rejection and making that look turn into something bad made him scared.

The second time one of Mechanical Fever's band members interrupted him. Maybe it's The Aeon of Preservation's way of telling him fate doesn't allow this to happen.

It's complicated; so many variables that caused him to worry over what ifs. For starters, his sister is your boss, then he might not even be your type personality wise. Gepard is usually a confident person, but something about you just makes him nervous all the sudden.

"What am I supposed to do?" Gepard asked, wanting some kind of advice from his carefree older sister. Serval sighed, leaning against her table to wrack an idea from her head.

"Tomorrow morning, I asked (y/n) to take care of the workshop since I have plans with some friends," she told him, "Try shooting your shot then, and don't chicken out this time."

Gepard thought about Serval's idea, ultimately considering it a good enough plan. "Sounds great. Thank you, sister," Gepard stood up properly after giving his appreciation to Serval.

A part of him feels guilty for falling with his sister's assistant. He didn't even realize he's falling for someone until he's already too late.

The blonde sighed, he can only pray to Qlipoth that you won't hate him for this.

After Gepard said his goodbyes to Serval, the cold air of Belobog hits him. Thankfully, his uniform made it so he's not feeling cold, but usually geomarrow heaters around the city would lessen the drop in temperature. He should've told his sister to fix the broken heater outside.

Unbeknownst to him, you were just done buying flowers from the shop near Nevermore workshop. Your hand clenched onto the bouquet of flowers hard as you noticed a familiar blonde in front of Serval's workshop.

The dark lighting that roams Belobog's night made it so he probably didn't realize it's you there. Even so, he did hear footsteps approaching him. "Gepard! Didn't expect to run into you," you greeted him.

"Oh, (y/n), hi. I was just visiting my sister," Gepard answered, your voice instantly making him nervous. He noticed the item you're carrying; a bouquet of sunshine flowers. From his hours of studying how to do gardening as a hobby, he also learned some of the meaning of flowers.

Sunshine is a flower that means "warmth and love of light" for the people of Belobog. He doesn't know if you knew what those flowers mean, but something inside his mind is causing him to feel scared.

Though, remembering you were still here, Gepard quickly swallowed that feeling in favor of being your friend. "Are you heading home?" Gepard asked, receiving a nod from you.

"Yeah, gotta take care of the workshop tomorrow," your hand held the bouquet slightly tighter. "Actually, do you mind walking me to my house?" your voice had a hint of hesitance to it. "I... still have your scarf from last time."

Gepard smiled at your worries. Yes, he did get questioned by his superiors about it before being given another scarf, but honestly, he didn't mind it since it results in your comfort. "You don't have to worry about that, I have another one."

"No!"

The sudden change of tone caught Gepard off guard, as you usually never raised a voice unless it's needed. Looking at your regretful expression and the hand nearing your mouth made Gepard think it wasn't fully intentional on your side either.

"Sorry, it's just," your words came into a stutter. "I want to take a walk with you tonight, is that possible?"

Gepard didn't know what to say in an instant, almost stuttering himself. Though, he does answer fast in fear you might think he feels reluctant to. "Of course," he answered, "Shall we go, then?"

"Yeah," you swallowed a lump in your throat and walked closer to the captain.

The walk is a relaxing one. Due to Jarilo-IV's eternal winter, weather at night have always been colder than at day; even with the heaters. Droplets of snow covered the both of you as the walk continued. Gepard is the first to break the silence, bringing up the flowers he noticed.

"Those are sunshine flowers, right?" he asked. "Yeah, I bought it for a friend," your voice almost seemed to hesitate on the last word. "It means love and warmth from what I remember."

Hearing you say that gives the knowledge to Gepard that you know the meaning of it, and if you're giving it to a friend then it means you feel some sort of love or warmth for the friend. That left a bitter taste in his mouth when he thinks about it.

"Warmth and love of light," Gepard added, when he sees your eyes looking at him in curiosity he felt the need to explain. "I've read some additional details when learning how to do gardening."

If it weren't for the barely lit street lamps, he would've been caught with a red face. "Love, huh..." your muttering were loud enough for Gepard to hear. "Have you ever been confessed to?"

Your question made Gepard wonder what to answer. If he were to say yes, does that lower the chances of you accepting his confession. But if he were to say no, would you really believe him?

"A few times, though I never really accepted them," Gepard side-eyed you, trying to pinpoint any kind of reaction. He could see your hand holding onto the bouquet tight, even so he doesn't know if it's due to nervousness or just from the cold.

"I see," your voice trailed out. The walk continued on quietly, but it's not awkward per se.

For Gepard, his mind is clouded with doubt for tomorrow's plan. If he were to be planning a confession, he would ask for some kind of advice from someone he knows well. For him it was Serval, but maybe for you it's him.

Before either of you could realize it, you two are already in front of your home. "Looks like we're here," Gepard said unsurely. He isn't exactly sure if you would give back his scarf or not, considering he rejected the offer earlier.

"Right," you took a deep breath before turning to face the blonde, your movements as stiff as a robot. Your hand held onto the bouquet with shaking fingers, eyes unsure where to look but eventually locking to Gepard's blue ones.

After a moment of silence and you biting your lips to form words, any words, you finally spoke.

"You are a wonderful person to be around, I always enjoy talking to you even if it's just for a few minutes," your voice is low, scared even. The fear of losing someone causing hesitation between each words spoken.

"And you might feel otherwise, but fuck, I want to be selfish just this once." You took in another breath of air to prepare yourself. Your arms extended towards Gepard, offering him the bouquet of flowers. "I like you, like really like you."

Your voice trembled, but not because of the coldness in the air but the warmth that slowly crept up to your head. Heartbeat going louder than any of Serval's performances.

Gepard's own state isn't far different than yours. His mind slowly processed your words as his cheeks is engulfed in a light pink hue. For almost a month he was worried every time he thought about it; head slamming against the wall thinking on what to say and what to do for a confession.

"It seems you did what I was planning to do."

His hand took the flowers, happiness written all over his face expressed by a soft and endearing smile. "I feel the same way, for awhile now to be exact," Gepard took a deep breath before letting out small chuckles of his own.

"Sorry, its just nice to see that I'm not alone," his admittance made you laugh yourself. It's good that your house doesn't have many street lamps in front of it, or else the two of you might've been exposed for the redness in both of your faces.

It's strange. Just a moment ago the cold air of Belobog had started to settle in, but now all you could feel is the wamrth coming from your own face. Though, after properly processing Gepard's reponse you realized the opportunity laid properly at this moment.

"I have a ticket-- sorry, two tickets, to the Golden Theater next week at 12. If you're free, we could go together," your voice came back happily, glee and excitement coming from the tone.

"Like a date?"

Your eyes lit up as Gepard continued it for you, hearing it as a confirmation that he might be okay with the idea. "Yeah, like a date."

"Of course, I would love to," Gepard answers, his beautiful smile still brightly seen even with the dark lighting. Your face mirrored his, still nervous as hell, but happily nervous.

Realizing the time, you felt bad for making Gepard stand in front of your home for so long. "Great! I'll see you another day then," you argued with yourself for a few moments before going with the nervous adrenaline telling you what impulses to do.

Matching yourself to Gepard's height, you dropped a small kiss on his cheek; causing the blonde to be caught off guard as his face heats up more.

"Can't wait for next week," you muttered loud enough for him to hear before bolting to your door to avoid any chances that he'll see your state; an obvious nervous wreck. As you entered your own home, mumbles of questions leaves your mind, all relating to your actions not even a minute ago.

Meanwhile, Gepard is left still in front of your home dumbfounded and processing what had just happened. His eyes darted to the bouquet again; yellow petals looking back at him, giving him hope for what comes in the future.

[thefactsofthematter]

hello newsies tumblr! i’m back to post a scene i found in a random wip folder, from a fic that will probably never exist in full lol

please enjoy some sad canon era javid <3

-

"...and I know we don't pray the same way, you and I, but your folks said you might not mind it if I sat with you and did this. Only one God, ain't there, so I figures we can ask Him for all the help we can get, every which way. Ain’t no harm in extra prayers."

That's Jack's voice.

David is awake, sort of, but too tired to open his eyes. His body is itchy, but he's too tired to scratch himself. His throat burns, so he doesn't dare try and speak.

He just lays there.

"This was my Ma's." He's placing something in David's hand. A string of beads, it feels like. "I should take the time to sit and pray it more often. She carried it everywhere. Only thing I've got left of her, really."

He wraps the beads around David's palm.

"You start at the bottom, see," Jack continues, as if he knows David's listening, "and you say a prayer for every bead. And you gotta have an intention, right— mine for today is that I'm asking God to get you better, 'cause you're starting to scare everyone, Dave, what with how you just keep getting sicker and the fever won't break. We can't go losing you anytime soon, so you've gotta get yourself better as soon as you can."

He's very sick, David realizes. That's why he can't move.

He's a bit scared.

But it's hard to stay scared for long with Jack Kelly holding your hand, so he starts to feel calm again.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," Jack murmurs.

David hadn’t realized Jack knew Latin. Wonders where he learned it, since he would've left school before the grades they started teaching it. He only went to school until he was eight— he told David that.

"Credo in Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae..."

Jack continues on in words that David's tired brain can't make sense of, but it's rhythmic and soothing. There's a cadence to it like Jack doesn't actually know what he's saying, has just memorized the sounds, probably at church— it's like how David felt about some Hebrew prayers when he was little, just echoing back what he heard others speak.

From bead to bead, Jack mumbles quiet prayers, and David finds himself, somewhere in his fever-addled brain, feeling quite charmed and grateful that Jack would show him this private, vulnerable side of himself. His faith is deeply personal to him, David knows— it's there in the way he never puts on his arrogant show towards the nuns, the way he's quick to take his cap off even on the steps of the church, the way he scrubs the littlest newsies into their very best shape on Saturday nights and drags them to mass on Sunday mornings. David loves to watch him in those short moments before he eats his dinner each day, lips moving silently as he gives thanks.

It's a softer side of Jack Kelly that often stays well-hidden, but makes itself very endearing when it peeks through.

"I think I might be praying for a miracle," Jack sighs, after a long time of quiet whispering, counting along the beads. His voice is a bit shaky now. "But they happens, you know. They said so in the good book. I know it's the very same God lookin' after you and I, and I know He loves you and won't take you away from us here on Earth, not just yet. Ain't your time."

And he takes the beads from David's palm, replacing them with his own hand. He intertwines their fingers and squeezes.

David tries to squeeze back. It's weak, pitiful, but enough for Jack to gasp.

"I knew it," he whispers. "Oh, I knew it, I knew it, Dave. You're there, ain't you? You're listening."

And David wishes he could give him anything more, but he can feel sleep creeping up on him again, so he lets it come. Not much else he can do, but it's nice to hear some hope in Jack's voice.

[fandomfucker]

Poly!judgment day one shot where reader gets sick with fever and they take care of her

Warnings: Strong language

Word count: 1,960

From the moment I woke up, I felt like shit. I was freezing like I'd never been frozen before. My throat was scratchy and my head was pounding. From the bridge of my nose up through my forehead, I could feel the continuously building pressure of my sinuses.

I was sick.

Rolling over onto my stomach I rubbed blearily at my eyes, finding mass amounts of crust. I grabbed my phone from the bedside table, blinking rapidly from the harsh light it emitted. It was around 11:30 a.m., on a Saturday, meaning two of my four partners were probably at the grocery store right now.

As I lay there for the next few minutes scrolling through Instagram my nose started to run really bad. Wiping the snot off my lip with my sleeve I then got up out of bed and walked over to the adjoining bathroom.

After blowing my nose with the very not soft tissues I made my way to the connecting closet I shared with my four partners. Grabbing a pair of Dominik's sweatpants, one of Rhea's hoodies, and a pair of thick socks Damien and Finn would argue over, I walked back into the bathroom to change.

After I changed into the warmer clothes I grabbed the tissue box from the bathroom and walked back to the bedroom. Grabbing my phone off the bed I then made my way to the living room, blowing my nose along the way.

"Fuck me!" I exclaimed in annoyance shuffling into the living room, my voice muffled from the snotty blockages in my nose. No matter how many times I blew my nose it was never enough.

"Hey, don't threaten me with a good time." Dom grinned cheekily, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

"You know, if I didn't feel like death right now I'd kick your ass, Mysterio." I mocked him right back.

"I'd like to see you try, Corazón."

"Alright, alright enough." Damian finally spoke up, ending Dom and I's momentary feud. "Why do you feel like death?"

"'Cause I don't feel good!" I whined, making grabby hands at the two of them, wanting to steal their heat through cuddles. Dom rushed over to sweep me up into a hug before Damian could, giggling at the nasty look Damian shot him as he did so.

"Why don't you feel good Mi Amor?" Damian asked me concerned, just trying to be helpful and get to the root of my problem.

"'Cause my nose is all stuffy and runny and I'm still freezing, even wearing two layers of sweatshirts, sweatpants, and fuzzy socks. And I have a headache And my throat hurts." I complained into Dom's chest.

Dom gently pulled me away from him to put the back of his hand on my forehead to check for a fever. He frowned after a second and turned around to address Damian, "Looks like our baby has a fever."

I was immediately pulled away from Dom and wrapped up in four blankets to "help break the fever" and pushed onto the couch by Damian as Dom went to go call Rhea and Finn and ask them what they should do for me. Rhea and Finn have always been the most responsible of us. The parents of the group if you will.

"I think you might have the flu then, Muñeca," Damien spoke softly, brushing my hair out of my face.

"Uggghhh," I groaned in annoyance, slumping forward to lay my forehead on his chest.

Damian gently pushed me forward to the back of the couch when his phone started ringing from the kitchen. He left to go grab it, pausing to give me a kiss on the forehead as he went.

I hummed and closed my eyes in contentment. I felt the couch shift underneath me, making me peel open an eye to see Dom now sitting next to me.

"Hey baby, you need anything?" He asked me, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

I took a second to think. "The TV remote and some soup?" I asked him hopefully.

"Anything for you," He smiled fondly, giving me a peck on the cheek as he got up. He passed me the remote before making his way into the kitchen.

As I flipped through the channels, trying to find something to watch, Damien walked back into the room with a box of soft lotion tissues.

"My lord and savior has arrived!" I shouted gleefully, throwing my hands up as I made grabby hands.

Damien just chuckled and set the box down in my lap before taking Dom's spot next to me.

I fell to the side so that I could curl up my legs, with my knees on Damian's thighs while my head rested on his shoulder.

"Rhea got you an appointment at the minute clinic in a couple hours okay?" Damian informed me.

I nodded my head sleepily as I continued on my quest for entertainment. "There's nothing to watch," I complained to Damian as I plucked a tissue from the box and began to blow my nose again.

"You poor thing," Damian cooed playfully, plucking the remote out of my hands. Before I could even protest, he'd changed it to one of my favorite shows.

I hummed in delight as I wiped my runny nose again, giving my undivided attention to the show.

We watched my show together for the next few minutes, the only thing breaking the silence was the occasional noise from the kitchen and the various noises from my nose.

Then Dom came back into the room with my soup. He placed it on the coffee table, giving me time to situate myself before taking the still-steaming bowl into my hands.

Taking the spoon out of the bowl I touched the tip of my tongue to it, seeing just how hot it was. Not hot enough for me to not eat it.

So, blowing on the soup in between intermissions of me blowing or wiping my nose, became my main focus for the next thirty minutes.

Until Rhea and Finn came home.

Finn is protective, just like my other two boys. Rhea, however, is so overprotective sometimes that it can get smothering. It's a good thing I love her.

"(Y/N)?" Rhea all but screamed throughout the house as soon as she opened the door.

"Living room!" I croaked out, my voice cracking so bad it was barely more than a whisper that sent both Dom and Damian into a fit of laughter.

They were laughing so hard they were bent over with tears in their eyes.

I slapped them both upside the head making them release their last final giggles before sitting back up just as Rhea walked in, Finn trailing right behind her with like 600 grocery bags.

She looked so worried about me that I genuinely started to feel bad for being sick. Placing my now empty bowl back onto the coffee table I held my arms out for her to come hug me.

Immediately, she lunged towards me jumping over the table and Damian to get to me. Half laying in my lap and half in Damian's, Rhea pulled me to her, letting me soak up all her warmth.

Having to maneuver around her, Dom and Damian both got up to go and help Finn bring in the groceries.

"Hey, Baby. How ya' feeling?" Rhea asked me softly, stroking my hairline with my thumb as she held my cheek in her palm.

"Blegh," I replied nasally. I slumped even further into her arms, putting all of my weight on her as she held me.

"I'm sorry baby," Rhea whispered into my hair as she kissed my forehead, her lips lingering to check my fever.

"'s not your fault," I spoke into her shoulder, starting to slur my words due to drowsiness.

She squeezed my shoulders as I climbed into her lap, curling in on myself as I laid against her chest, my head on her shoulder as I continued to watch TV.

I must've drifted off at some point as I was soon awoken by Finn shaking me.

"We've got your doctors appointment, love." He whispered gently to me.

"Fuck off," I groaned, turning my face into Rhea's neck so he couldn't see my face anymore. I felt Rhea chuckle from underneath me as she wrapped her arms around me and stood up.

Telling Finn to grab my shoes for her, she carried me bridal style out to the garage and gently placed me into the passenger seat of her truck.

Finn came around her to put my shoes on my feet as Rhea walked back inside, coming back with a box of tissues for me.

"Hope you feel better Darling," Finn told me, buckling me into the seat. Kissing my temple, he shut my door and walked around the truck to give Rhea a kiss as well before going back into the house.

Rhea got into the driver's seat and turned the car on as she put the box on the console next to us. She turned the music up, the familiar sound of Motionless in White playing in the background as I closed my eyes to get just a few more minutes of sleep in.

Once we had stopped and were parked I peeled my eyes open as Rhea gently shook me awake.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and shook my blanket off my shoulders and back onto the seat, having made the executive decision to leave it in the safety of my car.

Getting out, I met Rhea around the front, grabbing her outstretched hand and intertwining our fingers.

Rhea went and checked me in as I sat down in one of the uncomfortable plastic waiting chairs by the door. Rhea soon came and joined me, grabbing my hand.

She rubbed soothing circles in my hand with her thumb as I used my other hand to wipe my nose with a crumpled-up tissue.

"You still cold, baby?" Rhea asked me concerned.

I just nodded my head in response, my chin shaking a bit.

Rhea began to shrug out of her jacket which just made me feel bad. Before I could even start to protest, Rhea had already slipped the coat over my shoulders and told me to "shut the fuck up".

-Time Skip-

Apparently, the trip to the minute clinic had taken a lot out of me since as soon as I got in the car I was out cold again.

Being shaken awake yet again once we got home wasn't even that irritating anymore, I just held out my arms and Rhea carried me bridal style again into the house.

Walking in, the house was dark. I didn't hear anything either. I figured the boys must have gone out or fallen asleep somewhere until Finn slunk out of the shadows to greet us, startling me.

"Hey, love. We heard that you officially have the flu." Finn greeted me sympathetically. I nodded sleepily, stumbling towards him with my arms out for a hug. Catching me before I could fall, Finn continued into my ear, "We have a little surprise for you upstairs."

Confused, I pulled my head off his chest to look him in the eye, "What?"

"Come on," He told me softly, grabbing my hand to lead me upstairs. I turned around towards Rhea only to see her smiling knowingly as she followed us up the stairs.

Walking through our shared bedroom into the master bath, I saw both Dom and Damian waiting for me in the bathroom. There were candles around the tub and several on the counter lighting up the dark room. The bathtub was filled with bubbles and a sweet, fruity, aroma filled the room.

I started to tear up as my boys greeted me and began to help me get in.

The four of them helped bathe me, helping me to relax, while the hot water and essential oils worked to clear my sinuses.

After my bath, they helped me take my medicine before the five of us all climbed into bed together. I may feel like death, but luckily for me, they're my life.

[kazumist]

3 hours, 27 minutes, and maybe around 2 seconds. no, miya atsumu is not going insane. what do you mean? he's perfectly calm. but with the amount of missed calls, ignored messages, and attention that he's been giving to the time right now, maybe—just maybe—he's losing his mind a bit.

he had no idea what he had done wrong to deserve this. of course, there was the possibility that you slept in since it is currently a sunny saturday after all, but between you and atsumu, he was the one who would usually sleep in until god knows when.

atsumu had made prior plans for the day. and that was to go out on a walk with you (a quick date to a café as well), go back to his place, and either play video games with you and osamu or watch some movies while cuddling. a perfect plan for a lazy saturday if he had to say so himself, if only he didn't fail at the first step: asking you out for the day.

well, technically, he didn't fail. it's just that you have been responsive as of now. atsumu is at least 90% sure that he did nothing wrong. when he walked you home yesterday, you were quite fine! you even gave him a quick peck on the cheek before going inside your home (that made atsumu actually go to bed while smiling like an idiot, but of course you don't need to know that).

it took him another 5 minutes of waiting before saying fuck it, and getting himself ready to check up on you himself. (actually, he made sure to stop by a convenience store first to buy a few snacks to bring you.)

the moment the door in front of him opened, he expected to see you. but the one who greeted him instead was none other than your younger sibling. "are you here for (y/n)?" your sibling asked him. "uhm. yeah, i am. they haven't been responding to me at all," he says.

"sick in bed, so they've been there ever since this morning."

oh, so that's why you haven't been responding to him.

"can i come in then?"

your sibling opened the door more and stepped aside, a sign of inviting him, which he gladly accepted. he started heading to your room, a plastic bag filled with snacks still in hand. he gently knocks on your door, waiting for a go signal to get in.

"yes mom, i already took my medicine!" he heard you say in a sick voice. from what he could tell so far, your nose was probably clogged right now, which was why your voice sounded a bit different than before.

"i didn't know i was your mom now." atsumu chuckles.

"tsumu?"

"the one and only, baby."

"you can come in." your boyfriend gladly opens the door and waltzes into your room. however, he didn't expect you to be so wrapped in your blankets. "sorry about earlier. mom has been nagging me a bit about my medicine."

atsumu places the plastic bag on your desk nearby. "i tried reaching out to you everywhere, but you weren't responding, so i got worried and decided to check up on you," he says, proceeding to sit on the edge of your bed. you pull up the blanket on you, covering half of your face. "sorry about that, my phone died on me last night. it hurts me to move around right now, so i haven't plugged it in." 

"it's alright; you shouldn't move around that much anyway," atsumu replies before getting up and plugging your phone in right after. he was about to go closer until you stopped him. "wait! don't come closer."

"what? baby, why?"

"i might get you sick as well if you do," you pout.

he chuckles at your words: "my immune system is pretty strong, you know?"

"but still…"

"baby, it's fine." he kisses your forehead. "i got you some snacks, by the way, but with you being sick right now, i don't think you can eat 'em."

"awe.. just one bite?"

now, don't look at him that way. not when you both know he's weak to that pleading look on your face, especially with those pouty lips that he'd love to kiss right now if you weren't having a burning fever at the moment.

"fine… just one."

yet one turned into two, two turned into three, and so on!

if there's one thing that could make miya atsumu weak in the knees, it's you.

(by the time your boyfriend got home, he was sneezing, and when the time came, it was your turn to take care of him now.)

a/n: i dont like this one bit tbh... i also forgot to change the you and your to ya and yer 😭 probably ooc atsumu but this is just pure word vom 🧍‍♀️

[passivenovember]

wait until you taste me

--

Max says the dumbest shit in the world. 

Billy forces himself, tooth and nail, to give the grace he never got to touch with his own two hands. She’s a teenager. She’s dumb and her nature is rose-colored. Heart-shaped fillers slipped covertly in that delicate space behind a splash of blue.

Her head is filled with hot air. Good intentions. Speckled with delusions that are charming when she’s not so reckless, and.

Billy doesn’t want to smash her hopes on ground in front of her.

Life will, eventually. 

Life always does, but. Billy figures he could try and be the storm wall that protects her garden of wonder.

He gets over that real quick when she can’t do the same in return.

When she bats her eyelashes and says, “I’m glad you and Steve are friends, now,” at Sunday dinner the week before Spring Break.

In front of everyone.

Billy thinks her head is the size of the Hindenburg. She’s full of helium and she’s flying too close to the sun.

Neil tucks a wad of flavorless peas into his mouth. “Who’s Steve?” He asks.

And immediately, Billy’s walls shoot like salt pillars from the ground. 

He weighs his options. What would happen if he got up from this table and ran? If he tucked Steve Harrington and his name and his reputation and his memory into a plastic bag and disappeared.

Billy’s got delusions of his own. 

He’s full of quilted daydreams, stitched from every moment Steve has ever looked, smiled, laughed at one of Billy’s jokes. The thread is golden, the color of every late-night promise  to drive Billy across county lines. 

Billy’s delusions are plushy-soft comfort he’s not ready to bring out of the closet.

So he takes a sip of water. “Steve,” Billy says. “He’s. Steve Harrington.”

Neil leans forward. “Harrington?”

“Yes sir,” Billy wills his voice not to crack. 

He’s reluctant to spoil this part of his exile. To call the hounds in, bloodthirsty, to trample and tear the thing he’s clutching like a spot of gold to his chest. He digs his heel into Max’s foot under the table and wishes he wasn’t in his Saturday lounge-around clothes. He yearns for his boots, to break a bone. Eye for an eye, to somehow cancel the marrow that’ll splinter in his face when Neil finds out the truth.

“Good family,” Neil says. Every syllable lands like crystalized hail. They clink and roll and clatter all around the dining room. “Might be a good influence.”

“He is good,” Max says happily. She kicks back. It stings. “Billy and him–”

“He and Billy,” Susan chimes, and Billy thinks how ironic that Susan would choose now to become a real person when she’s usually set dressing. 

Reanimation, just to fire a canon and contribute to the sinking of Billy’s battleship. 

Billy dabs his mouth with a wadded-up paper towel. “May I be excused?”

Neil’s eyes snap to, and for a single, terrifying moment, Billy thinks he remembers. Carlos. The Pier. California. He wasn’t too drunk, he wasn’t irate, he remembers–

But Neil. He nods, brows knitted with faux worry. “Everything alright, son?”

He only lives up to Billy’s expectation of him when it’s deserved. When Billy’s done something besides breathe, one inhale after the next. 

“Just tired,” Billy says. Wonders what would happen if he ran.

–

Max says the dumbest shit in the world. 

She’s a chick. She’s a girl with an attitude the size of Missouri and a tongue that can pierce the skin, and that’s where their similarities end, careening over the mouth of a cliff into nothingness.

Billy learns early on that if he wants any peace at all he’d better tune her out just short of plugging his ears with cotton and bloody fingertips and dynamite, so when the wailing reaches a fever pitch he can blow his head off and float far away from here. 

Sometimes, though, Max’s scowl will clear and it’s like the Oracle is speaking through her.

You know, this garbage disposal noise you call music actually rocks. Or, I’ve been thinking about piercing one of my ears. It looks cool on you, I guess. And, when Billy needs to hear it most, your dad’s such an asshole. 

She’s a wrecking-ball with no awareness of her swing.

And when she speaks, it’s not the same as I understand. 

It’s not, I look at Neil, I see the way he wishes you were dead and I get it, now. Why you’ve always got a lit match in your palm, ready to burn the world to the ground. 

When Billy least expects it, Max’s words are daybreak. Filled with light so blinding Billy's a bug under a microscope, slowly catching fire. 

Two days before spring, Max slams out of her bedroom while Billy’s working on his bench press.

He hardly notices.

He’s floating, a little. Like a balloon. He’s listening to the new Tears for Fears album because Steve’s obsessed with it, and he’s pretty when he’s excited, and Billy’s a sucker for the plush, wide-lipped smiles that drip like gold from Steve’s face. “They’re good, Bills. They’re like if Halloween and Valentine's day had a baby.”

Billy’s stuck in a ground-hog day memory of the way Steve’s hair flopped into his eyes when he promised, “They’re like us.”

And. 

Billy’s not paying attention. He’s at least twenty shoulder-presses in, he’s smiling, he doesn’t really notice when Max’s heavy, sock-feet steps don’t carry on through the living room, and that’s his first mistake.

Before Billy knows what’s happening, Max looms over him.

He feels, like the distant brush of a spiderweb on his back, Max glaring. Searching his face. 

But Billy’s a ship lost in a sea of brown eyes.

He almost can’t find it within himself to be pissed that he can smell the peanut butter on her breath, almost, but then Max says, “You know Steve wants to kiss you, right?” 

And Billy sits up so fast that he almost knocks himself out on the barbell. 

“Woah, you’re bleeding,” Max steadies him, brows pinched with concern. “Are you–”

“You can’t say shit like that.” 

“I’m just pointing out the obvious.” 

Immediately, something warm starts to trickle over the right side of his face. “Shit,” He says, at the same time Max howls, “Oh, god, you’re bleeding–”

“What the fuck did you think would happen?” Billy tries not to move his head too much. He grips the edge of the bench until the leather splits like canyons until he’s sure the pads of his fingers will separate, too. 

“I’m sorry,” Max babbles, “I didn’t mean to–”

The house is silent. 

Beyond the throbbing in his skull and past the strangled, nervous way Max is breathing while she waits for him to strangle her to death, there’s nothing. 

All of Hawkins might as well be gone. Deleted from the page like a bad line of poetry. Billy wonders what would happen if the drapes parted from the window. Would anything stare back at him? Streets and mailboxes and cloud-covered skies. Would the black cosmos would press hard against the glass, would their refuge of plaster and slate would crumble under the weight of the universe–

“They’re not home,” Max says. Every space monster to his roost.

Billy nods, wincing at the pain that fries and curdles behind his right eyebrow. 

Max steadies him. “Shit, do you need some ice?”

“Don’t need ice, I need a rag,” Billy says, “And a beer.”

“You don’t need a beer.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious,” Max tells him, arms crossed. “If you have a concussion the last thing you want to do is get drunk–”

“I’m not gonna get drunk off one beer, shitstain.”

“Billy.”

“Max,” Billy snarls, working to push his voice fifteen octaves higher until they sound exactly the same. 

Max lopes furiously down the hall, returning a second later with crisp, beaded PBR in one hand and a wet rag in the other. Billy dabs his brow with the scratchy fabric, knowing Neil will reem him later for getting blood all over Susan’s good cloth. 

Billy can’t think about that, now. 

He reaches for the PBR and Max tugs it out of reach.

“Max–”

“I’m just. In biology, we’ve been reading about fetal alcohol syndrome.”

Billy feels like he got pushed in front of a train and whacked his temple on a railroad spike. “I’m not a fetus.”

“No, but our bodies are still developing,” Max says, like Billy’s an idiot. He’s thick and dumb and ridiculous for not paying attention in eighth-grade science class and knowing that the legal drinking age is twenty-one for a reason.

Billy doesn’t give a damn about that. “You made me split my brow, dipshit.”

“That’s not really my fault,” Max bargains. “I was just saying that Steve–”

Billy yanks the beer from Max’s hands. “Shut up,” He insists, nails burrowing under the pop-top, but just as Billy’s about to crack the seal and give himself over to the only thing in the world that would soothe his agony, Max is on him. 

“I’m worried about your brain,” She says, just short of tackling him off the bench, and.

Well.

She hollers. When she’s keeping secrets. When she’s trying to get her way. And Billy squints his eyes, ready to reiterate she has nothing to worry her stupid redhead over and it’s not really her place to worry about him, anyhow–

“You might have a concussion.”

“And you might have a death wish.”

“What’s it taste like, anyway,” Max wonders. “If it’s so good. It looks like root beer.”

“It tastes like piss.”

“Why do you drink it so mu–” When Billy glares, sharper than a new glade, Max bristles like a porcupine, “Look, I’m sorry I scared you–”

“You didn’t scare me,” Billy snaps. Spiders scare him, locked jaws and missed curfews and slashed tires scare him. Not little red-headed stepsisters who can’t mind their fucking business. 

Billy wants to throw the PBR at her.

Steve scares him. Steve–

Billy presses the can to his eyebrow, instead, hissing through his teeth at the feeling. 

Max’s shoulders drop, “Thanks for not drinking it,” She mutters, and it’s so sincere, so steeped in the sisterly worry Neil’s always preaching about, that Billy can’t swallow the question that bubbles up his throat like strawberry perfume. 

He has to know, “Why do you think Steve wants–”

“Whenever he watches you talk he always gets that look on his face.”

“What face?”

Max’s sneakers sing on the hardwood, dragging like nails against the chalkboard in Billy’s mind that’s been scrubbed clean and scribbled with Steve’s name, over and over and over again. “The blank one. You know, like when boys are about to kiss you and every thought flies out of their head like–” 

“How do you know what that face looks like,” Billy demands, stomach turning over on itself when her freckles burn away in shades of red. 

“Lucas–”

“God, that’s sick.”

“Don’t be an asshole. Just because Steve’s a loser and you’re a raging dickhole with a face only a mother could love–”

Billy winces, his molars grinding. It has nothing to do with the pain. Nothing to do with split brows and annoying sisters. “You’re one to talk, I can’t even look at you without wanting to Ralph.”

Max rolls her eyes. Deflates. “Sorry,” She says, soft and small, and.

She’s eyeing the PBR. Neil would kill Billy if he ever found out, but.

Billy cracks the beer and hands it to her. “Get lost before my head stops swimming.”

–

Steve’s fridge has the warmest light Billy’s ever seen, but maybe Billy’s just high. 

The glow cuts him from marble. He’s the work of artists long dead, the picture of beauty. Billy sways against the kitchen sink, feeling very much like he could fall asleep to the soft harmony of ketchup bottles and pickle jars making a grab for the fairytale prince.

It’s Friday. Just before spring break. They’re staring down a two-week barrel of nothing but lazy mornings and hazy midnights and each other. 

Miles and miles of nothing but this.

Billy’s excited. He could live forever in this moment, and the thought bubbles laughter out of him, surprised and happy. 

Steve looks at him, startled out of thought. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

Steve smirks, and. His nose is perfect in the refrigerator light. Billy never noticed before. He re-shelves a jar of olives, the fancy cheese-stuffed kind, and tugs a hand through his hair. “What are you even hungry for?” 

“Whatever you want,” Billy chews on his thumbnail, stomach churning. 

“Nothing sounds good. I don’t think I’ve got food in here, anyway.”

Billy watches him open a bag of sliced cheese. Is so warm and content he could fall asleep next to the bread box. “What do you call that?”

“Not food.”

“It’s food.”

“It’s ingredients, that’s not the same thing,” Steve pulls a slice from the bag, folding it a million times until it splits evenly down the middle. 

“It’s food, Harrington, it’s a whole meal,” Billy smiles in spite of himself when Steve nibbles on one half and holds the other, grinning, out in front of him. “No, I’m not–”

“Don’t even try it, Hargrove, I know you get the munchies when you’re stoned,” Steve wiggles the cheese at him, eyes big and brown and as expectant as they are beautiful, so.

Billy pops the cheese slice and eats it without tasting anything. 

Steve watches him, unblinking, “Well, what do you think?”

“It’s cheese.”

“Yeah, but you’re not full, right? Because there’s only more of that if we stay here.”

“Where else would we go?” Billy frowns, not getting it. The cheese is better than the single-packaged shit Susan gets from Melvalds. It’s smoky, and aged, and Billy could polish the whole bag if he wasn’t worried about the cheese farts. 

Steve fiddles with the corner of the bag, avoiding Billy’s eyes, “We could go out–”

“Close the fridge. You’re letting all the cool air out and now our dinner is gonna spoil.”

“Our dinner is not a bag of cheese,” Steve grumbles, but he hip-checks the door, collapsing onto his elbows in front of the paper towel dispenser. He tugs at his hair until it looks like it hurts, until his sprouting laugh lines disappear, and Billy hates it.

He wants them back.

He swims through the fog, trying to think of something funny to make Steve smile, but Harrington’s already pushing away from the counter, frown deep-set. “Why don’t you ever wanna eat anything when you’re here?” He demands.

And Billy can’t say that it’s the fault of his kid sister. That her insane, paranoid ramblings about love and blank expressions have gotten under his skin, and now everything Steve does feels like the start of something else.

Billy can’t admit that he wants it to be something else, so. “I eat popcorn sometimes.”

“I’m not talking about snacks, I mean real food,” Steve says. He studies Billy’s face, “Do you get your energy through photosynthesis or something?”

Billy laughs, loud and sudden. “No, I just–”

“I could cook for you.” Billy almost brains it on the spotlessly tiled floor because Steve’s eyes get bigger, somehow. Sparkling with earnestness. Steve shuffles, hands on his hips. “I want to cook for you,” He says, like it means something else entirely.

And whatever it is. Billy can’t handle that. 

He bristles, says, “I don’t feel comfortable eating anything that costs more than the house Max and I live in,” Hoping it’ll sink the lifeline Steve’s trying to throw him.

“It’s just organic shopping,” Steve shoots back.

Which. “Huh?”

“It’s got like, less sugar. And preservatives, or something,” Steve shrugs, tongue darting pink and swift across his cupid’s bow. “My mom does the shopping when she’s home.”

Billy frowns. “Well, I’m not eating half of your mom’s paycheck. What will you eat?”

“You know, making dinner for you means I’ll get some, too,” Steve says. A smile tugs lazily at the corners of his perfect, clever mouth, and Billy is swallowed by anticipation. 

There’s nothing he loves more in the entire world, probably, than seeing the subtle birth of each smile. The way Steve paints them on as if he were writing secret letters addressed to Billy, slipping them between the folds of conversation so Billy is surprised whenever they unfurl and bloom like tulips in the springtime. 

Steve’s eyes hunt over his face, “You’re sure you’re not a plant? A sunflower?” Steve asks. He scoots close, fingers reaching to tilt Billy’s head toward the kitchen light, “Look like one to me,” He says, and.

Out of nowhere, his face goes carefully blank. His eyes land somewhere and stick, like the spindly legs of a fly to trapping paper.

Steve is watching Billy’s mouth.

He’s leaning forward, he’s–

Somewhere, in the back of Billy’s mind, Maxine bangs on a door labeled No Admittance, hollering about the way boys look when they want to kiss you.

It scares Billy, how much he wants it.

How much it would kill him if it never happens. 

“I’m not a fucking plant,” Billy says, shrugging away. He stares wildly around the kitchen, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. “This kitchen is disgusting.”

Steve watches him, quietly amused as Billy pretends to find something on the counter to scrub. 

Billy works a damp paper towel over every inch of the counter, putting an island between them so Steve doesn’t have the chance to swoop close. Get his hands on Billy’s face. 

Those fingertips would send sparks flying.

Billy would char and burn and bubble over, so.

Steve watches him for a quiet moment and Billy avoids his eyes, terrified of what he’ll find when he has to stop scrubbing the counter. “What are you doing?”

Eventually, the marble will come away on the paper towel. “Cleaning,” Billy says. “If we’re going to eat a bag of cheese in here, it’s gotta be spotless.”

“Wanna go to Benny’s?” Steve asks.

Billy stares at him, then, stomach growling on command. 

Steve’s answering smile is brighter than the harvest sun. Billy could sprout into fields of marigolds, he could be picked and kept forever in a vase on the fireplace mantle. “I don’t want you to feel like you’ve gotta clean up after me,” Steve tells him.

Guilt, sharp and swift, pangs in Billy’s stomach. He wants to insist that it’s no bother. That he’s used to cleaning up after Max and sweeping away the delicate bits of himself that clatter to the ground. And even if there were fruit punch stains all over the marble, the remnants of Steve living everyday in this house, Billy wouldn’t mind cleaning up after him.

Billy wouldn’t mind taking care of him.

Steve shuffles around the island, smile sheepish and cute. “C’mon, we can have pancakes.”

“I want chicken strips.”

“Alright.”

“And a double chocolate rootbeer float with ranch–”

“For your ice cream?” Steve teases, “That’s disgusting.”

“For my fries, asshole,” Billy shoves him playfully, “Do you want to feed me dinner or not?”

Steve rocks away and lands closer, cheeks red like strawberry ice cream, “I want to do a lot of things for you,” He admits quietly, and.

That face is back again. 

Billy wants to pull away, but he’s caught. Steve catches him, hook and line, says, “Billy–”

And Steve kisses like he’s never done it before, but has always wanted to try. Like he’s been waiting his whole life and every one before that for Billy. For this moment. High spring nights and empty stomachs and yearning, soft as fresh soil.

His fingers thread into the curls at the base of Billy’s skull.

Their knees bump together, Billy grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders to stop from falling back against the trash can.

The kiss opens up.

Gets sloppy and good and Billy could live here forever. His lips could swell and melt into Steve’s and it would be perfect.

Steve pulls away, but he stays close. Their lips brush on every desperate breath. “Sorry my kitchen is disusting,” He says.

Billy can’t think straight. “I’ll clean it for you.”

“Let’s stay in,” Steve says. He kisses Billy’s jaw and both eyelids, licking slowing into his mouth.

Billy throws the paper towel in the garbage can.

For the first time in his life, he’s full.

--

For an anonymous donor! I hope you enjoyed this drabble :)

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice, pt. 21 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!oc]

summary: still don't know my name.

words: 5 k

chapter warning: blood and smut. a lot of it. in detail.

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. Spicy situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. PTSD, psychotic breaks/episodes, drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. possessive!peter, protective!peter. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you

don't know the connection between cartoons and Saturday mornings

don't remember a time when phones didn't have touchscreens

never had to listen to the CRINK CRINK CRINK of winding up a camera to take a picture

= if one or more of these elements apply to you, you may be entitled to compensation, which you should come back for when you're 18.

Back to Part 20.

A/N Might be a good time to throw on the official Sugar and Vice Spotify playlist...

Part 21

“You still with me?” Peter asked so softly it could be a croon. 

The sound startled her. Her body went rigid from where she sat on the bathroom floor. She pushed her back against the ebony-stained vanity, her legs tucked under the blanket of her arms. The whole moment felt eerie, overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu in the sanctuary of Peter’s bathroom. Exquisite black marble, gold fixtures, and ivory subway tile surrounded her; by contrast, her blood-splattered appearance was ghastly.

At least she wasn’t the only one. 

She didn’t know how much time had passed since she murdered John. All she knew was that his blood had gone cold and tacky on her skin. Peter had called for Felicia to back them up immediately, warning her “if I see anyone else’s face but yours, I’m puttin’ a bullet in it.” 

Ironically, he said this with the phone pressed against one shoulder while he ripped a sleeve from his suit jacket to use as a bandage around his bullet wound. Despite his injuries, he carried her in his arms from the carnage, instructing her to keep her cloudy eyes on his face until they were secure.

As soon as they crossed the threshold of his bedroom, Peter reached for a hidden panel on the wall near the frame. She heard the whirring of an electronic device and the pressurized hiss of something moving within the wall. Seconds later, the doorway was sealed with a steel door, locked down tighter than a bank vault.

He brought her to the bathroom, gingerly placing her down before ripping open a drawer, vigilantly loading another weapon hidden inside. He kept it close, peeking briefly beneath the makeshift bandage on his arm. His white dress shirt was torn, splattered with merlot hues. 

She kept her eyes forward, breathing steadily through her nose. 

The next few minutes were filled with pacing, fidgeting, and clenched fists. He muttered useless words, mostly reassurances that she knew he couldn’t promise and apologies he didn’t need to make. After confirmation from Felicia via an intercom system that the Penthouse was secure, Peter finally began to relax.

Honey still wondered if anything was real. Maybe her entire existence was a crazy, fever-dream. A dark fairytale filled with heroes and monsters. Kings. And Demons. And Robots. And Prince Charming. 

“It’s okay,” Peter gently reminded her as he kneeled before her. Hearing his voice pulled her back to the present. Slowly, he brought his hands up to the sides of her face. Her eyes fluttered closed when she felt the rough pads of his thumbs brushing away her tears. 

That dizzy feeling hit her again, and she tried to swallow it down. When her eyes opened, she saw her friend staring back at her, the shadow of a smile adorning his face. Tears budded in the corners of his whiskey eyes. Chocolate, oranges, and the golden hue of an Old Fashioned.

She leaned her cheek into his palm, nuzzling it as she gazed up at him anxiously. 

“Need ya to trust me, okay?” he cooed as if their minds were synced. “Is it okay if I help you get cleaned up?” Innocently, his eyes traveled down her neck to her shoulders and the carnage beneath them. He took in the sight of her, chewing his bottom lip. “Just... just wanna take care of you, alright? Nothin’ else.”

He waited. She nodded.

“Okay, jus’-just take my hands, and I’m gonna help you stand up, okay?” He turned over his palms and waited for her to them. She did.

He came to a gentle stand, pulling her up with him. “Are you hurt anywhere? Are you in pain?”

She paused. Shook her head. 

“Good, good, good,” he breathed in relief. He placed a hand on her lower back, keeping her other hand tight within his, and took a step forward with her. Gently, he guided her across the bathroom up to the glass of the enormous, obsidian walk-in shower that took up half of the room. 

He stepped inside and twisted the golden knobs on the wall. A wide column of rain showered from the ceiling, clouds of steam forming around it.

She stood with arms wrapped around her soiled camisole top, which clung uncomfortably to her skin. Quietly, she observed him as he fussed with the shower handles, dipping his hand in the stream, before diligently adjusting the temperature until it was perfect. 

His movements were somewhat frantic, as if he were completing a checklist. The next move was to unbutton his destroyed shirt and tenderly peel it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His belt was next as he undid the trousers and stepped out of them. 

“Peter.”

Her voice was silent as falling snow, but he snapped his head in her direction, eyes wide at attention. “Yeah? What’s wrong? Do... d’you not... I... I can-I can turn around, or-or leave, if-if you want... I-I-I’ll do whatever you want.”

She fixed him with eyes that were almost surreal. They glistened something meek and melancholic in their depths. At the same time, there was a sense of uneasy awe, her fascination fueling a frightening notion. Whatever her mind was thinking of, she was both timid of it as much as she was tempted by it.

And it terrified him. “Jus’... jus’ tell me what you need. Whatever you want.” He gazed at her worriedly, afraid that she was drifting into the darkness away from him. He took her hand firmly in his own, worried she might be lost in the galaxy.

It took centuries to find her voice. “I... I want... I want to know...” she fumbled clumsily, her lips parted as she gazed at his. “I want you to tell me that I’m good.”

Peter’s breath hitched as something sharp twisted in his chest. He pursed his lips together, eyes filled with sadness. “Oh, Honey...” he breathed out. Unshed tears gathered at his lower lashes as he gazed upon her with a tragic heart. Carefully, he inched closer to her.

She watched him struggle to find his words, and when he did there was a tremor in his voice. “Honey,” he slowly repeated, bringing his hands up to embrace her cheeks. “What happened back there...” He winced as his throat bobbed. “Wh-what you just did... was… it was necessary.”

He bit down on his lower lip to keep it still. It occurred to her that he was having flashbacks. He was remembering a pair of green eyes that fixed him with a similar brokenhearted gaze.

“You saved our lives,” he breathed with resolve. “You saved my life.” Peter caressed her cheek, staring down at her like a goddess. Each touch was a gospel of gratitude. “You were strong and smart, and so... so incredibly brave.” He lamented with an aching heart, “Don’t ever forget that. You did the right thing.”

“Peter—” 

“Of course, Honey. Of course, you’re good—”

“Peter, stop.”

He held his breath, blinking curiously. 

“That’s not what I meant,” she softly replied. He watched the way her eyes trailed from his, back down to his mouth. She inched closer to him, breathing through parted lips, stopping only when she could feel the heat radiating off of his chest. Peter barely registered the labored breathing clawing from both their chests.

Her eyes were dark. And they were ablaze. Darkness and light. Fire roared inside them. Curiously, Peter observed how she burned and fixed him with a look that could incinerate him where he stood.

He suddenly gasped at the most gentle of sensations, shuddering like his whole body had been electrified. Her delicate fingers brushed over the cotton of his trunks, cupping his bulge. Mouth agape, he turned to putty. Clay for her to mold however she saw fit.

Entranced, she watched his reaction, hunger written on her features. “You said I can have anything I want,” she said in a devious tone. “I wanna ride you, Peter.”

His breath hitched as he felt her tiny hands pull back the elastic of his trunks and sneak inside. He gaped at the feeling of her warm fingers stroking the delicate skin of his shaft. 

She chanted dangerously, her desire drawing the sounds from her belly, “I want to feel you... all of you...”

Peter trembled as her hand tightened, glancing down for a brief second. If he lingered on the sight of her hand jutting out of his briefs for too long, he was afraid he’d pass out and die.

“I want your cock...” she cooed with a filthy tone, sliding down her hand from base to head. Her fingertips brushed across the tip, smearing the silky wetness leaking out. His erection had come to life in record time, straining against his trunks. “I want it buried in me so deep,” she breathed, “that I can feel you in my belly.”

Peter groaned as she rubbed her palm over his head, lubricating his shaft with his precum as she drove it back down the sides. His lashes fluttered shut, face twisted in torture.

“I wanna feel you inside days after,” she declared, her voice heavy and erotic. She slid her hand up and brought it back down again, with a slow twist of her wrist as she approached the head. He grunted at the sensation, hunger building up as his abs tightened and twitched.

“I want you to fill me. Everywhere.”

He flicked his eyes open, gazing down at her through heavy lids and a slightly lifted chin. He dragged each exhale out from his core, the heat of his lungs rivaling the steam of the shower.

“With your body. With your cum.”

The filth of her words shocked his cock to attention, mesmerized by her sudden dominance. He brought his hand to rest on her lower back, pulling her closer. Part of the reasoning was self-interest, allowing her a better angle to pump his dick, her languid pace increasing with each jerk. The other reason was to steady himself, keeping his knees from buckling and reassuring himself that he wasn’t dreaming.

“I want you to make me take it all,” she groaned lustfully, sending another jolt down his shaft. She tightened her grip as she pumped up and down. The intensity of her words increased with her speed. “All night... Every night... For the rest of my life.”

Peter gasped at the thought, choking back a moan. His forehead briefly dipped to rest on hers before he straightened himself and poured his lustful gaze into her wanton eyes.

“No shame. No guilt. I want you to fuck me like I can’t get enough,” she breathed hotly. A mix of fluids lubricated his cock. She melted as noticed his hips meeting her palm with tiny uncontrollable thrusts.

“‘Til I’m weak... ‘Til I beg you to stop because I couldn’t possibly come anymore.”

Dizzy with desire, he glanced down at the lewd sight, mouth falling agape at the depravity. Blood from their bodies had crept down her wrist, coating her hand. His thick erection was tinted with blood, both from the inside and coating the outside. 

His voice strained and shattered beneath an irrepressable moan. Even if she stopped speaking at that moment, he was sure he’d explode from the debauched sight alone.

“After that, I want you to hold me close,” she muttered, heartwrenching need infiltrating the throaty sound of her chants. “And I want you to tell me I’m a good girl.” 

Longingly, he found her eyes and was trapped there, a loyal subject strapped down and helpless to her ministrations. Clenching his canines, he fixed her with a hungry expression that promised all she asked and more. Her whole body shuddered at that look. She dripped with desire, achingly wet, as she felt his fingertips dig trails behind her back. 

“And then I want you to hold me down and fuck me all over again.”

Peter snapped, letting out a deep groan that reverberated in his chest, snatching her lips up in his. She moaned at the burn of his beard on her lips, shuddering as his tongue glided over hers. His grip crushed her chest to his. He pulled back a moment, panting. Her lips tasted like tears and blood and all he wanted was to eat her alive.

“Fuck,” he muttered breathlessly, gazing at her with eyes that begged his body to let them fuck her first. “C’mere—”

He scooped her into his grasp, pulling her into the shower stream. His hands were tantric, everywhere at once. She released his erection, instead wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. 

His tongue pried her lips open. Once inside, it dominated hers, pushing back her head until a whimper stirred in her throat. She trembled and gasped as his free hand reached up beneath the camisole’s front, sliding beneath the sticky fabric to knead her breast.

Her mouth fell open, a helpless sigh breezing over the roar of the shower. Hot water poured over them, but it felt cold on their bodies and did little to put out the flame within. She mewled at the feeling of his rough fingertips teasing her nipple and his tongue forcing her mouth open further. Peter tipped her back into an arc, his slippery arms somehow locking her in place as his lips set fire to her neck.

He kissed away the stains of the past while she desperately tried to rid herself of her joggers, all while simultaneously grinding her core on his thigh. As soon as he sensed what she wanted, he pulled back to remove the camisole. It tore apart like tissue paper in his grip, exposing her cranberry-stained chest to him.

He peeled it off her arms, then hooked his fingers in her waistband, shoving it down to her ankles. She returned the action with hungry eyes and greedy hands, yanking his trunks down to land the pooling crimson on the shower floor. Her mouth fell open at the sight of his erection bobbing free.

The drain ran red, as did their lust. In moments they were both bare skinned, with nothing but red rivers and rain droplets between them. Hurriedly, she reached for his cock again, returning to the pace she’d set earlier. 

After a couple of quick pumps, Peter snatched up her hands, denying her control. He pushed her back against the tiled wall, pinning her wrists above her head. 

“Gah—yea-yes!” she heaved desperately with a moan. His hands shackled her wrists to the wall, while his lips attacked the junction of her shoulder and neck. He sucked tiny, raspberry-colored welts alongside the rusty art pieces that hung on her skin, using his tongue to redecorate her body.

“So fuckin’ good,” he muttered like a man possessed, bending his neck to get a better angle. “So fuckin’ sexy...”

Honey squeaked as his mouth surrounded her nipple, his teeth and beard scraping gently. She gazed down at the lewd image of him suckling on her breast with bloody lips. She winced, her cunt shamefully clenching at the sight. He playfully nipped at the flesh beneath her nipple before returning his lips to her jawline. 

“Aah, aghh, Peter, please!” she gasped.

“Please, what, baby? You wan’me to stop?”

“No, don’stop don’stop—”

“Gotta use your words, baby girl—”

“I need you inside me!” she cried out. “Please...!” 

“Please?”

“Please, Peter, fuck me! I need—”

“Ah-ah-ah,” he tutted in a tone that was almost cruel. “I know what you need.”

He then lowered one of his hands, dragging it slowly down her cheek, then her throat, applying extra pressure over her voice box, and further down her breast to the round of her belly. Driving further, he pivoted his wrist, caressing her folds with the delectable calluses on his fingers. 

“Gotta get you ready for me…” 

Her breath hitched as he wasted no time sliding his middle finger into her core. She preened beneath him, perched on her toes with her arms pinned above her head, panting with every swirl of his digit. 

“Fuuuck, you’re so wet.” 

He intently observed each micro-movement of her enraptured expression. It was a mouth-watering display, his cherry lips falling open at the sight. Thunder rumbled deep in his chest.

“Ya like that?” His hot breath tickled the shell of her ear.

She mewled, desperately nodding her head. 

“Ya want more?”

“pleasepleasepleaseyes—”

His ring finger joined the first, languidly—teasingly penetrating her core. “Oooh, there ya go…that’s it… spread your legs...”

She brought up one thigh, planting her heel against the wall. Her pelvic bone bucked as she opened up her hips obediently, allowing his palm more access to smooth over her clit. Her desire turned feral as she ground her pussy into his hand. Licking his lips, he gawked lasciviously as his fingertips touched places in her she didn’t know existed.

“Such a good girl,” he cooed insatiably over her obscene cries.

He tightened the tendons in his arm, speeding up the pace at which he rubbed her clit. Her heart hammered in her chest and in his ears like a drum. Her lashes fluttered, gazing longingly into his desire.

“That’s it, ’s’okay, princess. Use me. Grind that pretty pussy against my hand. Gonna feel so good.”

She looked so pure in her ecstasy, and so depraved in the impurity of it all. It made him weak. Obsessed, he followed the current of hot water and blood cresting over her curves, joining the juices on his fingers. 

“God, you make me so hard… ya don’even—ugh— C’mon, almost there, baby. Doin’ so good...”

With a choked mewl, she gushed around his fingers. He groaned as he felt her core twitch and flutter. He touched her through her high, as long as he possibly could wait, impatiently releasing her wrists and lowering to his knees as she came down. He dragged his mouth across her body, pressing open-mouth kisses to her skin. 

It was only when she neared the twilight of her climax that she noticed him kneeling in front of her thighs. She mewled warily, and he fixed her with a devilish smile.

“Now…lemme taste you, baby,” he whispered with a selfish, needy lilt in his voice.

Prying her thighs apart, he hooked one of them over his shoulder. She gasped, bracing herself carefully against the wall, squirming in his hold. With his tongue, he spread her open, greedily teasing as he licked into her entrance. 

“Y’taste so good...” 

Peter’s breathy voice pitched into a near whine as he ravished her with his tongue. It was an obscene sound that could coax an orgasm from her without ever touching her. Voraciously, he dragged his tongue from her entrance to her clit, kissing the bud tenderly. He teased it with kitten licks, making her tremble above him.

“I gotcha,” he whispered, noting her distress. “Don’t worry, I’ll give ya what’chu want, princess. Gonna spoil you.”

She whimpered as he devoured her. Her eyes swam looking down through the clouds of steam to his crown of soppy brown curls. She watched his eyes flutter shut, locked on her cunt like it was a prayer. He worshiped her honeysuckle lips, weak for the taste. She wondered if he was prone to addiction from the way he indulged himself. 

The intense memory of the first time he ate her out washed over her. The vision excited her and tightened the coil in her belly, drawing a needy groan from her mouth. His eyes shot open at the sound, peering up at her through the crimson-streaked valley between her breasts. 

When their eyes met, she felt more than an orgasm coming. A white-hot surge of energy was bursting from her core. It was a comforting sensation and an equally dangerous one. 

It was more than safety. It was power.

Not just the metaphorical ‘power’ in her relationship, or even ‘power’ over her own sexuality. She wielded both of those and more. It was a different kind of power, having been baptized in the fire roaring beneath Roosevelt Avenue, and now christened with the blood of her tormenter.

It was barbarically satisfying. She wondered if this is what Peter felt when she saw him at his most savage. In the train station. Inside the VIP lounge of Web. Bloody and gloriously brutal. Conquering his enemies. Defending what was his. 

She was his.

If he was Ruler of the Underworld, she was his Spring. 

She saved his life. 

That made him hers.

Her fate was hers. Her life was hers. 

And she knew exactly who she wanted to spend it with. 

“Peter…”

How she wanted to spend her time in this world.

If Heaven was the moment you want to live in for all eternity, and that moment was now within her grasp, did that make her a god?

“God, Peter, oh... yes—”

“Give it all to me, love. Be a good girl—”

Back arching off the wall, the blood in her body crashed towards her center in a tide of pleasure. He growled as she came in his mouth, his lips eagerly moaning around her folds. This time he didn’t stop, despite how painfully hard he was. Devotedly, he milked her pleasure, drawing it out in waves. 

“Gahhh—pleaseplease— s’too much—”

“You can take it, Honey. I know you can. You’re doin’ so well— so good for me. My sweet, good little girl...”

Possessed by a new fervor, she rode his lips again to another orgasm. He rewarded her, again and again with his mouth, until vertigo began to set in.

Through the haze, she heard him whisper, “We don’t have to keep going.” 

Peter’s voice was as gentle as a feather, a vast contrast from the gravelly, desperate tone he’d had while on his knees. 

Towering over her, he leaned his forearm against the wall above them while the other forearm wrapped around her pulsating torso. He clung her to his heart, drawing circles on her shoulder blade. Patiently, he waited for Honey to float back down to the Earth. Meanwhile, he relished in the warmth of her labored breaths across his skin.

“We can stop right now,” he muttered in secret.

Slowly, she leaned back to peer up at him beneath her wet lashes. “Do you wanna stop?”

He drowned himself in the depths of her eyes while he choked down his needs. “You don’t owe me anything. I don't wanna take what you’re not ready to give.”’

The longer she gazed at him, the dizzier she became. She felt intoxicated as if his eyes were indeed made of bourbon. “I’m ready,” she said. “M’ready to give you the world.”

His gaze softened. The sentiment sparkled in their amber hues, and his stomach took flight on the backs of butterflies. “You’re my world.”

She swayed in the wind of their colorful wings. “Lucky for you, then.”

Her smile lit up his life. Had he not been desperate to kiss her, it would’ve killed him to cover it up. He embraced the darkness, making sure it was worth it. Peter felt his heart bursting as he kissed her deeply, the intensity of which made them both lightheaded. 

They parted lips, and he gazed down at her with half-lidded eyes. “You sure?”

She touched her nose to his. “Yes, Peter. Please.”

A tremor racked through him, despite his eagerness. He pressed another kiss to her lips as he lined himself up to her core. Trembling, he was so hard that even the slightest brush made him ache. Desire dripping from his shaft, he pressed the head of his cock up against her entrance.

“You tell me,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on hers, “If you wanna stop. Just say the word... if it’s too much.”

Her fingers scaled the nape of his neck, brushing idly over an old scar. As she carded them into his hair, she scraped her nails through his scalp, drawing a hiss and triggering a jolt she could feel against her cunt.

“You, too,” she murmured, pushing her tongue past his ravaged lips. 

He breathed deep and slow, steadily applying pressure. The burn of their union was so intense, they both thought they’d melt. Peter groaned as Honey slid tightly over his head, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs to control her descent.

Gasping through an open mouth, she cried out as she neared the base. He stilled immediately, kissing away her budding tears. “So good, baby... So, so good...” The squeeze of her hips on his cock was a drug in itself. “So tight for me.”

He lapped up her pornographic moan, lowering her further down his shaft. A soft mewl echoed from his chest, as he muttered her pet name in exasperation. A moment later, he was fully seated inside of her, with her back pressed against the wall and her thighs in his grip. 

Slowly, he moved his hips.

Heaven. He was in Heaven. It was the only explanation that made sense. Peter gazed at the ecstasy unfolding in her enraptured face. His hungry eyes glanced down to steal a sinful glimpse where he impaled her. He thrust his hips adding a dizzying jolt of electricity. 

He was obsessed with the view, watching his cock slip in and out of her folds. 

This was a dream. 

It was better than a dream. 

They spoke an ancient language, made up of carnal sounds and heartwrenching sighs. With every roll of their hips, they wrote another line of their declaration together. Another verse of the vow they made to each other.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he breathed as his pace picked up. “Such an angel...”

“I’m-m’ not,” she muttered through gasps of air. It was hard to form a response when she could feel his reach all the way up in her brain. “I’m not innocent—”

“You’re mine,” Peter growled defiantly. “That’s all that matters. I know what I said. I don’t care if it’s wrong to say. Don’t care if it makes me sound possessive, or whatever... M’done pretending I don’t wan’it to be true. You’re mine, ya hear me? All of you. Your innocence. Your sweetness. Your sins.” 

With a gutteral groan he jerked his hips up, pulling a desperate, wet sigh from her mouth. 

“I want it all,” he said in a throaty whisper. “Wanna give you everything y’want. Anything.” 

His voice got weaker as his hips pivoted upwards to strike even deeper. He was completely in control of her hips, hooking his elbows beneath her knees and opening a new gateway to her soul.

“s s-s-so deep...”

“Ya like that?”

“Uh-huh...”

“You wan’me t’keep goin’?”

“Ye-yeah...”

“Wan’me to take you? Keep ya next to me forever? You’ll never want for anything again. Never be afraid again. Swear to god, no one else’ll touch you ever again—”

“Ugh, god... Peter... You’re so fucking hot—”

“M’gonna make love to you every night. Gonna make you scream for me.”

Her cries got louder, moans twisting up into a higher octave. Her pussy clenched around him with each of his words, drawing a hiss from him. She gripped his shoulders for balance as he fucked up into her, pinning her hips against the wall and bestowing her with pleasure.

“M’gonna fill you up,” he babbled, voice trembling. “Ga-gonna breed you, princess. Fill you with my cum, my babies... n’anything else you want. Just say it, an’it’s yours, Honey. Gonna make you a mommy, and you’re gonna make me a daddy.”

Her cunt quivered at the word, triggering a flood of sin washing over her body. “Fuck!”

“That’s it... my naughty girl. S’okay, good girls can be naughty sometimes—”

“Fuck, Peter, you’re gonna make me come.”

“God, if you clench around me right now, I’m gonna lose it. Gonna blow my load and pass the fuck out—”

“I wan’it.. Wan’it s-so bad.”

“S’at right?”

“Please, ah—egnh—god, please! Wanna be good for you. So good for you, daddy—”

Their words collapsed into meaningless cries and shattered sentences— godyesyesyes— comeonmycockbaby— as they worked each other towards a divine release. 

Honey pulled him deeper into her center, tightening around him as she felt a whip crack in her gut. Relishing in the flutter and spasming inside her core, his hips sputtered. He groaned as he released inside of her, filling her with his seed and his very soul.

Peter held her steady with wobbly legs, barely able to use his strength as the blinding lights cleared from his vision. He opened his eyes to look upon her blissed-out face, wondering how on Earth can someone make him stronger and weaker in the same moment.

Even as he conquered his darkness, she commanded the light in his heart. She was always his Queen, and he was a slave to the fruit of her hive.

“I want you to ask me, Peter,” she mumbled weakly. He was still seated inside of her.

“Ask you what?” He breathed heavily in her hold.

“I want you to ask me again. For my hand.”

He went still. Heart stopped. Breath turning to frost in his chest. 

Coyly, his honey-hued eyes saught hers with the timidness of a fawn. He was afraid to move. Afraid that a twig snap could chase this moment away. Unsure of what he’d heard and what day it was and what year it was and what he ever thought he was going to do with his life had he never walked in to that shop—

“But I don’t want you to ask me yet.” Her eyes shimmered and the sight made his heart swell. He curled a brow upwards as he considered her remark. 

“I want you to wait... just for a little while... until I know I’ve become the person you’d want to ask.” 

Heaven. Peter was certain of it now. No other explanation made sense. A smile curled his lips as he gazed at her longingly. His affection soared above the clouds.

“Could you do that for me?” she asked shyly.

He beamed. “Could I wait?” He couldn’t hold back the soft chuckle that spilled out. “Oh, Honey. I’ve been waiting forever for you. I’ll wait until the end of time.” He smirked, “Or... ‘til I’m back in diapers again, if ya want.”

She snorted gently, unable to contain her smile. He giggled at the sound, touching his forehead to hers, and falling in love with her all over again.

And finally, they were both made clean.

Continue to Part 22

[back to masterlist]

A/N thank you for the outpouring of love after the last chapter. a note on our 'Honey':

Her birth name was mentioned, but her name is Honey. In my head, she is an AFAB character with a Hispanic surname, but I've tried hard to avoid descriptions of hair color, skin color, eye color, body shape, or otherwise. In many ways, she's an OC, but she's written like a reader-insert character. I will continue to try to be as inclusive as possible with my writing, while acknowledging that I am limited (and inherently biased) by my narrow, personal experiences, and they don't reflect everyone else's experiences.

Do you feel like you resonate with Honey? Good! Continue to do so. You are Honey. And I love you.

And thanks for reading. 💜

please don't send me hate or discount this whole story over 2 words.

[addictedtosickfics]

My boyfriend caught his first cold in our relationship

My boyfriend went to a wedding on Friday and came home with a hoarse voice from all the singing and screaming.

On Saturday, his throat was just still a little sore, but that's normal after screaming every song you know.

When I came over on Sunday, he greeted me with a hug and almost instantly told me that he was going to be chewing gum a lot that day because his throat hurt. I told him that was fine, of course. Though I did think it was weird that his throat still hurt on Sunday afternoon when the wedding was Friday night.

The day was normal, but when we were winding down for the night, I asked him if he wanted me to stay over. Because even at that point when he was pretty sure it was just from using his voice too much, he still didn't feel great.

He said that he wanted me to stay over and that he would call out of work tomorrow. And he was glad he called out because he got a horrible night's sleep. He got up once to take some ibuprofen, and then we cuddled for a bit when he returned. He slept very fitfully and got up another time to get a spoon of honey because the meds did nothing for him.

When morning came, I woke up alone in bed, which is not entirely unusual because he gets up much earlier than me, but that morning I didnt hear him doing anything upstairs.

I got up and went to the living room and to my surprise he's laying cuddled up on the couch. And he was passed tf out.

So I refilled his water bottle, laid down on the other side of the couch, and watched tiktoks on silent until he woke up.

He woke up dazed and I asked him why he went to the couch as I switched the blanket he was using to a comfier one from bed. And he said that he didn't mean to fall asleep up there. He just woke up, went upstairs and decided he was going to be awake. But he eventually sat down on the couch and fell asleep again.

We cuddled for a little while before I told him I was going to run to town to get breakfast for us.

I ended up picking us up some donuts, but I got him some cough drops and a chamomile mint tea from caribou as well.

When I got back, he was much more awake. We ate our food. His voice was just as bad as the night before, if not worse, but now he was also sniffly.

He took a hot shower after we ate. I sat on the couch again, but I could hear him coughing from the shower, and my heart just ached for him.

The rest of the day was filled with cuddles, movies, sniffles, and nose blows (which he mostly excused himself to the bathroom to do, unfortunately)

The few times he did blow his nose in front of me was with a paper towel when we were eating lunch. His blows were always very soft and he almost always pinched his nose from the middle of his bridge down in a swiping motion that was really rough on his nose because he was using paper towel.

It left his nose so cute and red though. A few other things of note are that sometime after lunch, he decided to take his temperature, and he had a low-grade fever. And for those of you who like it (me included) the night I stayed over, he said out loud that he "might be getting sick" and then when his dad called him the next morning to ask why he wasn't at work (life360) he told him that he was sick.

Also, he knows about my kink, but I honestly think he forgets about it sometimes and I don't know if I should really remind him right now haha.

But yeah I'll post again if anything happens when I go over today. No sneezing yet, just absolutely adorable fluff

[monstersinthecosmos]

September 8, 1973

Everything hurts.

Joints rusted shut, and a migraine brewing behind his eyes. 

And the sunlight. In his face, squeezing deep in his brain as he tries to lift his head.

Everything is heavy. 

His neck cracks as he straightens up, and there’s static in his mouth, spots in his vision. And the room around him is so familiar, like he’s seen it in a photograph, but he isn’t sure where he is right away, or how he got here.

The microphone light is still on, even though the recorder is out of tape. Hot when he touches it, and he flinches, and it all comes back to him.

David Bowie, and a gross little room, and realizing too late that he was in the presence of a predator.

And the other things, too.

The chair skids, then clatters to the floor as he stands up too fast. As he claps his hand over his neck. The skin of his palm stings against the tiny leftover wounds, and he stumbles over to the wash basin, the filthy mirror, tugging as his collar to see better.

It’s because of the lasers, look how good it healed.

Daniel bends over the sink and pukes.

The two punctures are so tiny. They could be insect bites. Not proof enough. 

He spins on his heel, frenzied as he looks for his bag. Still here. And he’s across the room a moment later, reaching his hand in to touch the cassettes for himself. And rewinding the tape deck back, just a little, enough to hit play and hear Louis’s voice.

His fingers wiggle at his sides, and his mind warps around it, trying to see a path through, to come up with a task list.

Louis had been so calm at the bar, didn’t hesitate when Daniel proposed an interview. 

“But no one will believe you,” he said gently. Amused, but not gloating. 

And, god. Daniel knew. He knew something was off, but came anyway. 

He rubs the bite mark on his neck, shaking all over. Trying to make a plan. Louis’s voice drifts up from the tape and he scrambles for his notepad to write the details down. His handwriting doesn’t look right. Hands are too shaky, or his world is upside-down. 

What the fuck are you doing?

Shaky breath. The tip of his pen digs a dimple into the paper. Ink pools there as he waits for his ears to stop ringing.

The list starts to take form. He flips to a clean page. 

- pack - get gas - find him

Somehow he can see Lestat in his mind. Louis’s words were too vivid, and Daniel doesn’t feel like he’s been in this room all night. Feels like he went through something, like a fever dream, and his mind feels completely fucked.

He wonders if he has time to get his oil changed before he goes. Definitely can’t get the noise checked out. But maybe if he doesn’t push too hard, if he takes his time…

Could be bad if he got stuck out there. In one of those desert roads, where there’s nothing in any direction except the open sky. 

A part of him wants to be there now. Drawn to it, a little flame inside that’s possessing him already.

I have to know, he thinks. He rubs his face and says it out loud. “You have to know.”

And he’s out the door, before he can think about it any more. Squeezing his bag to his chest, panicking over the safety of the tapes. He imagines the list in his head, adding to it as he breaks out into the daylight. 

- make copies - write a transcript - keep them safe

He doesn’t remember where he is. Squinting against the sun, and everything hurts again, and if he hadn’t emptied his stomach already he might puke right here on the sidewalk. 

Saturday morning, and people are outside. A mom with her kids. Someone taking a run. The brunch crowd at the cafe on the corner. He has the grace to be embarrassed, just for a moment, imagining hurling in front of all of them. Even dry heaving could be bad. But it clears after a second, as he watches them, and he feels like he’s wrapped in plastic. Like the slipcover they had on the couch when he was a kid. He’s frantic as he looks back and forth, at all their faces.

They don’t know, he realizes. He imagines screaming it, and imagines no one would hear him. They don’t know. YOU DON’T KNOW.

Sickness rises anyway. He hugs his bag to his chest and staggers to the next house, ducks his head over their fence, dry heaves until yellow bile drips down into their flower bed. His face burns and he squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to catch his breath, waits for everyone to move on before he straightens up and heads on his way.

The neighborhood, like the room, feels like he’s seeing a photograph. Like he’s trapped under plastic. Unsure where he is, but he heads up the block on instinct, lets his subconscious bring him home. Squeezes his bag, hearing the tapes rattle, passes block after block in a daze. 

Not quite that he doesn’t know the way. He thinks he knows the way, even with his mind so disjointed. But it’s… not the same world anymore. Like he woke up something else.

And he’s out of breath when he makes it up to his door, and his face is cold as he pats his pockets for his keys. Wonders if he has the composure to talk to the super, if he can talk to any human right now without screaming, but he finds them tucked into the side pocket on his bag. 

The apartment should feel safe. 

He locks the door behind him. Rushes to the window to shut the blinds. Turns in a circle, looking at everything he’s amassed since he’s been out here. All the second-hand furniture, and his record collection, and the posters he hung on the walls. 

The collection of tapes. The wedding invite dangling off the corner of his bulletin board. The book he borrowed from Connie.

His heart races. He wonders if he should take anything with him.

Clothes, sure. That’s fine. But. 

Everything else is just stuff. 

He grabs a duffle from the closet. Doesn’t pay attention to how many outfits he grabs, or what they look like. Whatever’s clean, whatever he can reach. And he grabs his toothbrush. Chews a few aspirin before packing the rest of the bottle. 

And food, food. He chugs a glass of water over the sink, then another. There’s not much, being honest. A few apples, a bag of chips. He grabs the cereal box off the top shelf—not cereal at all, but his savings account—and squeezes his hand around the rolled up wad of hundreds. Needing to know it’s real. 

Well, he can get food. He’ll get food on the road. That’s easy.

He stands in the kitchen doorframe, looking over the apartment. Dim, with the dirty yellow light coming through the closed blinds. It makes everything feel drab, but he tells himself that he was happy here. It wasn’t like this before.

There’s not enough room in his bag for the tapes. Maybe room in his trunk, but he’s shaking, wants to go now. Go go go. Doesn’t think he can stomach two or three trips to load them into the car. Maybe he can leave them for somebody. Maybe if—

And the phone is sitting there. He wonders if he should call his mom. And his eyes burn, stupidly. He rubs at them, and sniffles, and shakes it off as he crosses the room, sliding his apartment key off his key ring. Not calling his mom, but he kneels on his desk chair, tugs the phone closer to the edge. 

The typewriter, he should take that. It has a case, though. He feels around for it under the desk as the other line of the phone rings. 

Connie answers. 

Daniel pauses for a moment, unsure what to say. She doesn’t know. They don’t know. And his voice is raspy when he tries to speak.

“It’s Daniel,” he says quickly. He tucks the receiver against his shoulder as the tugs the case out from under the desk. “I have to leave town. Can you do something for me?”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t have time, can you do something for me?”

“Sure? Daniel are you—“

“I’m going to leave my key under the doormat okay? I don’t know if…” he grunts as he gets the latch of the case unstuck. “I’m not sure when I’m coming back, I don’t know. They might evict me or something. Can you just come get my tapes?”

“Your tapes?”

“Yeah you know. My interviews. All my…” he looks at then, lined neatly on the shelves. Each labeled. Each one of them is a real person. “All my interviews. I don’t have time to pack them up, can you just. Is it too much?”

“Well, no, I just—“

“And anything else you want, just. It’s yours. I have your book, and. You know if you want any of my records or anything.”

“Danny you’re scaring me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Eyes burning again. 

But he laughs. 

[previous day] | [next day]

[pjsk-story-summaries]

Stella After the Rain Event Summary

TL;DR: Soon after Leo/need's formation, Saki finds a poster for an observatory tour. Excited by the opportunity, she invites the rest of her band for a day trip that weekend. They all agree, on the condition that it doesn't affect regular band practice.

Saki tries to pace herself, but between her clubs, job, and fear of missing out, ends up overworking herself and catching a fever. She feels guilty for making everyone miss out on the trip, and for burdening her brother.

On the day they were supposed to go to the observatory, Saki instead goes to SEKAI to see the stars on the rooftop. There, she also finds Luka and tells her about her fear of missing out on life, since she spent so much of her childhood in the hospital. She never got to do all the things her friends got to, instead being forced to watch from her bed. She feels like now she has to cram everything in just to catch up.

Meanwhile, the rest of Leo/need went to her house to check in, only to find Saki missing. They realized she'd gone to the SEKAI and head there too. Shiho apologizes for accidentally making Saki feel like she had to overwork herself, and Ichika reassures her that they'll always be together so there's no rush to do things. Instead of going to the observatory, Leo/need had their own stargazing party in SEKAI.

Fan Translation (HLYF, playlist includes card stories) / Official English YouTube Upload / Song (Stella) 2DMV / 3DMV

Chapter 1: Saki dreams about feeling lonely in a hospital bed. Tsukasa wakes her up so she won't be late for class. Ichika, Shiho, and Honami express concern over her near-tardiness, but she doesn't tell them about the true nature of her nightmare. Saki knows she's fine now and wants to make up for all the time she's lost! The four head to SEKAI to practice.

Chapter 2: After, Saki leaves to go to work. The others briefly wonder why she was acting extra-hyper that day before heading their own separate ways. Ichika remembers a time when she had gone to visit Saki, reminiscing on how excited she was to see her. Ichika's glad she has all four of them now. On the way back from her work, Saki finds a poster for an observatory and decides to organize a day trip there.

Chapter 3: Saki shows the others her plan. Honami and Ichika are excited, but Shiho wants to stay closer to home so they have more time to practice. She eventually agrees on Luka's request, but only if they don't let it affect their practice. Honami and Ichika don't want it to affect Saki's health, either. Off to the side, Luka mentions to Shiho that Saki's voice sounds a bit strained.

Chapter 4: Tsukasa walks in on Saki trying to choose an outfit for their observatory date, initially confusing it for a romantic date with someone else. After clearing up the confusion, he just wanted to make sure she'd have company that weekend since he and their parents will be gone. Saki tells him he's worrying too much.

The next day, Honami and Saki walk home together. Honami notices Saki might be coming down with a fever. She decides to take it easy the next day, but her manager calls asking if she could cover an emergency shift. She considers cancelling band practice the next day to rest instead, but remembers Shiho's conditions from earlier and decides to power through.

Chapter 5: At rehearsals the next day, Saki denies having a fever. She also refuses Honami's suggestion to do individual practice instead. After playing the song, both Honami and Shiho realize Saki's burning up. Shiho's angry at Saki for pushing herself too hard, but Saki just wanted to not waste any more of her life. They all walk Saki home, much to her guilt.

Chapter 6: By Saturday, Saki's fever has mostly broken, but due to overcast skies, they wouldn't have been able to go to the observatory anyways. She also feels guilty since Tsukasa took off work to take care of her. She goes to SEKAI's rooftop to watch the stars instead. There, she finds Luka, who easily sees through her false cheer.

Meanwhile, Shiho, Honami, and Ichika head over to the Tenma's to say hi to Saki. Shiho's confused as to why Saki pushed herself so hard. Ichika then tells her about one of her visits, where she and Saki had written letters to the others. Saki had admitted how lonely she felt then. Ichika belives she didn't want to miss out anymore, and that Saki would be excited to see them today.

Chapter 7: Tsukasa lets Ichika, Honami, and Shiho in, thanking them for being such good friends for his little sister. The three go up to her room, only to find Saki missing. Shiho mentions Saki's glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars, reminiscing on the time they all put them up there. Ichika realizes Saki might be in SEKAI.

Meanwhile, Saki tells Luka about how the stars had always made her feel less lonely when she was stuck in the hospital. Even so, she still feared that she'd never be able to go to class, or go on school trips, or all the normal teenage things everyone else got to do together. That's why she's trying so hard to do so much now. Luka reassures her that it's ok to want that, but she doesn't have to rush life. Luka then reveals Ichika, Honami, and Shiho standing behind her.

Shiho apologizes for making Saki feel like she had to push herself, and for not trying to understand why. Honami also apologizes for not doing more, either. Ichika reassures Saki that they'll always be together now.

Chapter 8: Though they're all sad they can't go to the observatory, Honami gets an idea. A few days later, once Saki's completely recovered, they all go to SEKAI's rooftop to stargaze with snacks and blankets. Honami gives her own lecture on the stars. Saki almost falls asleep, so Miku asks if they'd all like to play some songs together. Before that, though, Saki thanks everyone for the experience, now knowing she can take life one step at a time.

[hazyriver-fanblog]

"It's because of those damn cigarettes!"

Hazy River fanfic

[platonic, sickfic, hurt/comfort, fluff, cuddles]

word count: 1,016

It was a chilly Saturday morning. Annie got up at around 10 AM. Not too early, not too late. Just the perfect time to wake up at weekends.

She leisurely made herself a toast and a cup of coffee to enjoy while watching TV. After finishing her breakfast, she brushed her teeth and went back in her room to snuggle up in soft blankets and lounge on her bed for a while.

An hour passes and Annie hears the sound of Garcello's door opening followed with heavy footsteps.

She got up to greet him.

"Good morning!" she chirped.

"Morning..." he replied in a hoarse voice as he walked to the kitchen with a blanket around him.

Garcello seemed unusually drowsy. Well, he did just wake up but this wasn't normal. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, his skin was noticeably paler than usual, his walking seemed rather dizzy and over all he just looked ill.

Garcello had a glass of water and was sluggishly heading straight back to bed when Annie noticed how ill he looked.

"Are you feeling okay? You seem kinda drowsy!" Annie asked.

"Not really. I've felt kinda off since yesterday evening." Garcello replied drowsily.

"I think I might have a fever or something..."

"It's because of those damn cigarettes!" Annie exclaimed in a joking manner, but Garcello really didn't seem amused by Annie's teasing at all.

He went back to bed as Annie followed him.

"Let's have a look." she said as she gently felt his forehead.

"Gosh you're burning up, we better check your temperature." she gasped as she wiped off the sweat from Garcello's forehead that got on her hand. Garcello rolled over, facing away from Annie as he pulled the blanket over his face and let out a muffled groan.

"I'll go get the thermometer. Do you need anything?" Annie asked as she was heading out of the room.

"Could you get me another blanket?"

"But you're sweating! Are you having chills?"

"Yeah..." Garcello muttered under his blanket.

"Oh dear, that's not good." Annie worried as she left the room.

Garcello was so tired even though he just woke up. He felt like falling back to sleep but his achy muscles and the faint throbbing in his head kept him awake.

A few moments pass and Annie's back in Garcello's room with a thermometer, an extra blanket and a large bottle of water. She gently placed the blanket on her poor friend and put the water bottle next to his bed.

"There you go Garcy. I brought you some water, you gotta stay hydrated to feel better soon y'know!"

"Now let's check your temperature. Would you put this under your armpit?" Said Annie as she handed over the thermometer.

Garcello slowly reached his hand out, grabbed the thermometer and slid it under his armpit as he sighed in weariness.

"Hnnngh... Everywhere hurts..." he complained.

"I know it does, pal. I'll go get you some medicine after we're done checking your temperature, okay?" She cooed as she gently rubbed his shoulder.

About thirty seconds of silence pass and the thermometer starts beeping. Garcello slowly slides out the thermometer and hands it over to Annie.

"38.2 °C. Looks like you've got a fever. Hold on, I'll go get you some medicine." Annie said as she left the room, again.

As Annie searched for some cold medicine, Garcello rolled over and struggled a little to grab the heavy water bottle to drink some of it. He felt a just a little bit less weary as he felt the cool water slide down his throat. He put the bottle back down and rolled over again as Annie came back with a medicine packet.

"I got the medicine. You should probably take it now before you start feeling worse!" Annie told him as she opened the packet.

"Wait, hold on. You haven't eaten anything have you?" She asked right as she was about to take a pill out.

"No.." Garcello answered, sounding even more tired than before.

"Well you should have something to eat before taking the medicine. You don't wanna upset your stomach!" Annie said to him firmly.

Garcello groaned. "Aw man... But I really don't feel like eating anything..."

"Well you still gotta eat something to feel better. Should I get you a piece of toast maybe?"

Garcello slowly got up from his bed and stretched his arms. "I'll go do that myself."

"Are you sure? I could do it for you if you're too sick."

"No I'm good." Garcello said, still sounding quite tired.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Garcello is laying on his bed again. He had just a single piece of toast with some butter on it and some cold medicine Annie brought him.

Annie is sitting on Garcello's bed, looking at her phone. She's a little bummed out because she can't show him all the silly videos she's finding while scrolling through her phone. She really didn't want to disturb him when he's trying to rest the pain away.

"Let me know if you need anything." Said Annie as she gently patted Garcello's back.

"I'd ask you for a hug if I weren't sick. Don't wanna give you any germs y'know." Garcello said, speech muffled and weak under the blankets.

Annie chuckled.

"Nah. You're getting hugs. I've got a strong immune system."

She buried herself under the blankets and lay down behind Garcello without hesitating.

It felt so warm because of the heat coming from Garcello's feverish body. Annie smiled as she wrapped her arm around her dear friend and held him close.

"Aww you poor thing."

Garcello sighed in content and felt himself dozing off slowly. Having Annie beside him was already making him feel better.

Eventually the sleepiness was too much for him to handle and he fell asleep.

Annie cuddled with him until she felt his breath get calm and stable, indicating he had fallen asleep. She carefully crawled away from the blankets, slightly covered in sweat due to the heat that was coming from Garcello.

She just sat on the bed beside her sleepy friend and continued looking at her phone for a while.

[sakumasmut]

// this might be as lengthy as the kaoru marathon sex ramble sorry rei😭

no thoughts, only izumi with a baby fever

you've been married to izumi for more than two years now, and he has made it clear that he doesn't want children (though he enjoys railing you to hell and back LMAO). you're a bit disappointed at first, since you've always yearned to start a family with him for so long. but oh well — you can't force an izumi sena.

you went on your usual saturday morning walks with him. as you were stopping by the park to see the ducks, you hear a baby crying not far from you two. izumi, annoyed at the sound, tries dragging you away. but seeing the baby's parents are struggling to calm him down, you immediately tried to help them. not long after you picked the baby up, he immediately calmed down.

it's not really surprising though, as you've always been a natural around children, but it awaken something in izumi. his face softening as he sees you cooing the baby. he can't help but imagining you taking care of a mini version of both of you. the thought of your belly swelling with his child. your breasts lactating during the whole thing. your post-partum body. it made him go hard.

by the time you closed the front door, he's already all over you, ripping all your clothes off, the action making you gasp. you haven't even processed the whole thing when he immediately kissed you and picking you up bridal style.

he threw you onto the bed, and takes off his clothes as you lay there trying to process what's happening.

"izumi what are you-"

"baby" he said as he takes off his pants

"what do you mean?"

"want a baby– a baby with you"

before you could even respond, his lips crashes into you again. his right hand playing with your breasts, while the other fingering your hole.

"god, can't wait for these to be full of milk. how does that sound, sweetie?," he whispered into your ear. once again giving you no time to respond as he sucks on your nipple, making you moan loudly. your first wave of orgasm hitting you not long after.

he released his cock from his boxer, slowly inserting it to your pussy — raw. which leaves you confused, as he always wore protection during sex since you two did it for the first time.

"but the co-"

"didn't you hear what i say earlier? i want a baby with you," his voice stern, but also loving at the same time. you can't help but melt at the sound.

he slowly thrusts in and out of your cunt, picking up the pace everytime you let out a moan. his thrusts starts to get sloppy, and he asks(?) you to come for him. he releases his seeds into your cervix not long after your second wave of orgasm. his hands resting on your belly.

he started thrusting again not too long after, making you mewl loudly. leaving you even more confused as he usually gets tired after one round.

"do you think i'm going to stop now? hell no, i'm gonna fuck you until i'm sure that you're pregnant with my baby," he chuckled as he thrusts again. you realized you've awoken something primal in him— and you love it.

expect him to fuck you several times a day after that, until your pregnancy tests came out as positive. he'll fuck you even more during your pregnancy (unfortunately not as rough as usual bc he doesn't want to hurt you and the baby)

he'd be glad if you asked him for another baby, but expect him to get extremely flustered and calling you shameless before getting into action.

(he's really REALLY into your post-partum body but i'll save it for another day😳 chiaki n kaoru too btw... no wonder they're besties)

— crocsnon

oh my god this was so good 😳 izumi baby fever…you’re so right. thank you for the food as always!

[adamwatchesmovies]

Saturday Night Fever (1977)

If you’re going to make a movie about an important issue, the right way to do it is to sneak your message into an entertaining story. That way, even if “the point” flies over the audience’s head, they're not missing out on anything. You think you know what Saturday Night Fever is about. You’ve probably seen a clip of John Travolta strolling down the street with the BeeGee’s Staying Alive playing. That is Saturday Night Fever but the movie is also about much, much more.

19-year-old Italian American Tony Manero (John Travolta) lives with his parents, grandmother and younger sister, works at a dead-end job in a small hardware store and cannot match the success of his older brother Frank Jr, (Martin Shakar), a Roman Catholic priest. As far as everyone is concerned, Tony's life is going nowhere. It doesn’t matter - not as long as he and his friends go to the 2001 Odyssey discotheque every Saturday night. When the club announces a dance contest with a $5,000 first prize, Tony sees it as a way to escape his life.

It’s easy to see why Saturday Night Fever kicked off the disco craze. When Tony gets on the dance floor, he gets the kind of respect he desperately wants. All you can do is sit back in awe at the dance choreography. He’s so good it makes you want to play the scenes on a loop so you can memorize his moves. If you can capture even a fraction of what you see, you’d be the star of any party or club. He knows it too. That’s why he walks down the street like he’s the king of the universe.

You come in for the dance but what will keep you in your seat is the drama. At first, Tony’s life seems fine but unremarkable. The longer you watch, the more you realize how awful things are. It’s no wonder all he can focus on is the 2001 Odyssey; everyone’s always yelling around the dinner table, he has no future at the hardware store - the seasoned employees there prove it - and his friends are awful. I don’t mean they’re awful friends; they’re awful people. Their lives are just as empty as Tony’s but while he has some shred of human decency, they have none. They are what he’s going to become if he keeps going on like he is now: with no ambition besides dancing Saturday night and sleeping with a different woman than the night before - the previous one being tossed away like a sack of garbage. Tony needs to escape. Maybe this prize money will be the thing. If not the money, maybe the dance partner he wants to compete with, Stephanie Mangano (Karen Lynn Gorney). Their story is terrific, and the conclusion is particularly emotional. You can see exactly where Saturday Night Fever could go wrong and when it doesn’t, you’re both relieved and elated.

Outside of the dancing, Saturday Night Fever isn’t exactly a “fun” movie. Toxic masculinity is on full display and seeing the effect it has on everyone is horrifying. The people who don't make you angry are so pathetic they disgust you. It’s often a tough watch but it’s so well assembled it’s exhilirating. The use of music throughout is fantastic. The performances are excellent, particularly John Travolta - it’s no wonder this made him a name.

When a film deals with tough issues, you always wonder how it will age. Disco might be dead but everything we see in Saturday Night Fever remains dangerously relevant. There are still people like Tony and the key to pulling them out of their stupor is to make them watch a movie like Saturday Night Fever. This story slowly shows you what’s wrong with disillusioned, uneducated, straight white men with no direction in their lives who spend all their time with equally disillusioned, uneducated, straight white male friends and live in an echo chamber that makes their voices feel like it’s the only one out there. The biggest, most emotional and most shocking scenes made me initially feel as though I couldn't call it the kind of movie I’d return to anytime soon but the more I think about it, the more I am drawn to Saturday Night Fever again. (June 25, 2021)