#sorry I just. Thursday was shit. Friday was stress. Saturday I had four hours of sleep and then Sunday and today I’ve just been dead not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

novoaa1writes · 4 years

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candles

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pairing(s): dark!wanda maximoff x reader

summary:

you’ve been feeling strange for the past month, particularly when it comes to dating.

you do your best to ignore it, thinking it’ll resolve itself on its own—given time, that is.

it doesn’t.

(and it’s got everything to do with wanda.)

[also available on ao3]

word count: ~5,300

rating: mature

warnings: dark!wanda, NON-CON spanking (with a belt), NON-CON BDSM play, mental manipulation, partial mind control, emotional manipulation, mental coercion, trauma bonding, toxic dynamics, drinking, possessive!wanda, non-con mind-reading, vandalism, adultery (not in reference to you or wanda), brief instances of slut-shaming

notes: [requested by anon] reader’s sexuality isn’t explicitly stated, but ex-partners of different genders are referenced/mentioned

— —

wanda uses a couple bulgarian terms of endearment for reader here, so below is a lil’ list in the order of which they appear.

*note: all of these are exactly one letter away from being precise matches to synonymous terms in russian. HOWEVER, the bulgarian alphabet and the russian alphabet are different—granted, in fairly minor ways. for one, while both are comprised of cyrillic lettering, russian has 33 while bulgarian only has 30.

— —

You have no fucking clue what’d gotten into you.

One moment, things were fine—good, even. And the next… well.

You’ll explain.

It was something like 11:30 on a Saturday night, and you were drunk.

Well, not drunk. More like buzzed.

But whatever, right? Considering the week you’d had, you deserved to let loose, even if only for a night.

Monday night saw a very angry and decidedly unhinged soccer mom banging on your door, screeching vehemently about the ‘two-faced slut’ who ruined her marriage and demanding to be let in so that she could ‘make her sorry.’ Turns out, the older guy your roommate had been sleeping with as of late was married—not that he’d bothered to share that particular bit of information with her, obviously.

The two of you spent the better part of the evening barricaded inside, passing a bottle of cheap wine back and forth while trying to explain to the 911 operator that you weren’t messing around, that there really was an angry soccer mom on your doorstep and you were actively fearing for your safety.

She eventually left around 10:00pm—no thanks to the police, since the 911 operator hadn’t even bothered to give them a call. It wasn’t until the next morning when you left for work that you saw the woman’s parting gift to the pair of you: the word ‘HOMEWRECKER’ spray-painted across the front door in obnoxious red lettering.

Bye-bye, security deposit.

That same night, you made your roommate promise to start dating people in a similar age range—because really, the both of you were stressed enough as it was without worrying about coming in between yet another middle-aged couple’s dying marriage.

The rest of the week wasn’t much better.

On Thursday, your balding creep of a boss had made yet another blatant pass at you in the workplace, making you seriously consider (and not for the first time) the prospect of just quitting and being done with it.

Then, at shit o’clock on a Friday morning, you awoke to an urgent phone call informing you that an ex of yours (one you were actually on semi-decent terms with) had gotten into a fairly serious car accident, and still had you marked down as her emergency contact.

30 minutes later found you showing up at the hospital just moments after your ex’s current girlfriend had arrived, which then prompted the whole ‘you still being your ex’s emergency contact’ revelation when the current girlfriend demanded to know what you were doing there, which ended up being… well, you’ll just say it wasn’t pretty, and leave it at that.

And your ex was going to be completely fine, anyways. She just had some minor cuts and abrasions, and would need to undergo a fairly minor (read: minimally invasive) surgery over the next couple days.

Before leaving, you instigated a quick check-in with the doctors to ensure they had everything they needed—which then turned into you providing a list of allergies, as your ex wouldn’t likely be conscious for another couple of hours, and apparently the current girlfriend didn’t know of her sensitivities to penicillin and phenobarbital… which the current girlfriend was less than happy about, if the daggers she glared at you were any indication.

Whatever. You were just trying to help.

You thanked the doctors, told them to feel free to call you if anything went awry, then asked if they might tell your ex to call you when she awoke. You thought about offering some words of comfort to the current girlfriend as she sat vigil at your ex’s bedside, but the murderous glower she shot you the moment you got within ten feet of her was more than enough to make you think better of it.

With that, you left.

So… yeah. It’d been a shitty week.

And now, here you were: a girls’ night out at the lively nightclub you and your roommate had scoped out just last weekend, tossing back $12 cocktails and letting the trashy EDM beat blaring over the speakers drown out the rest of your thoughts.

You’d been feeling a little weird all week—all month, really.

As far as you were concerned, this was exactly what the doctor had ordered.

So, when a cute guy wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that was at least a couple sizes too big yet did well to compliment his well-muscled torso came up to you and started chatting you up at the bar, you didn’t blow him off.

The exact opposite, in fact.

He was nice, and funny, and had a gorgeous smile that made your chest feel warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. When he flirted with you, you flirted right back.

You felt a little guilty for doing so, though you couldn’t exactly put a finger on why that was. Either way, you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it for very long.

After all, you’d been feeling hints of that for the past month, if not longer. It seemed to happen whenever you flirted with a cute guy, or went out on another Tinder date with a pretty girl, or even hugged one of your close friends.

You’d get this painful tightening sensation in your gut, nausea roiling in your abdomen… a distant, lofty voice in your head telling you that this was wrong, that you already belonged to someone else.

Which was pointless, really. Stupid.

You were single.

Your last serious relationship (barring the one with your now-hospitalized ex-girlfriend) had been over seven months ago with an eccentric guy named Lukas. He was kind, well-meaning… a bit of a dork at his very core, but you always found that more endearing than anything else. You’d dated him for four and a half months before deciding to break it off; because as much as you cared for him and enjoyed being around him, you didn’t love him, and you knew by then that you never would.

You thought about him, from time to time—even missed him now and again.

And yet, the strangest thing about the shameful feeling you’d get whenever your roommate so much as brushed a friendly kiss up against your cheek—it had absolutely nothing to do with Lukas.

You didn’t know how you knew that, but you did.

Whatever.

This guy was not Lukas.

His name was Des—short for Desmond, you learned over your fourth sugary-sweet cocktail of the night. He was charming and slightly foul-mouthed, but conscientious and passably polite where it mattered. He didn’t grope your ass or stare at your tits, nor did he make any lewd commentary about your body in any capacity.

He also smelled… really good, like Old Spice and spearmint gum and the barest hint of cigarette smoke.

That was more than enough for you.

(Whatever, alright? Decent guys were in short supply these days.)

You smiled and let him buy you another drink, even after you’d insisted that he really, really didn’t have to. And when an obnoxious pop song with a beat that was far more catchy than you’d have liked to admit came over the speakers, you let him coax you out to the dance floor with minimal resistance.

It was… fun. You liked the way his hands rested on either of your hips—gentle, almost careful; holding you like he understood he didn’t have a right to your body, like he was more than content that you allowed him this to even think of demanding any more.

Despite the twinges of guilt flaring in your gut, you let yourself get a little more comfortable… dancing closer and closer to him amidst a packed crowd of writhing bodies, letting your breasts graze up against his chest.

It was teasing—provocative, even. A test, of sorts—one that Des passed with flying colors.

He didn’t do a thing to rush you, just kept dancing across from you with his hands on your hips and his darkened gaze on yours—seeming fully content to let you set the pace for the moment. And God, but the way he was looking at you… patient but eager, like he wanted nothing more than to crush your body against his own and grind himself into you like an animal—and yet, still, he held himself back.

You couldn’t help but find that attractive as hell.

Looping your arms around his neck, you let your body to press flush against his as you swayed to the beat of the song, not shying away from the slight stiffness you could feel growing against your hip.

That guilty, nauseous feeling in your gut pulled tighter.

You ignored it, and, when he leaned a little closer to shout over the deafening music, “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”... well.

You wasted absolutely no time in lunging up on the tips of your toes to capture his lips in a messy open-mouthed kiss, the strobe lights of the club fading into obscurity around you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours—tentative, at first, until you pressed a little harder and traced the seam of his lips with your tongue… and, yeah; that did the trick.

A moment later, his lips parted to let out a quiet groan directly into your mouth as he began to reciprocate in earnest, setting every nerve ending on your body alight with electrifying want.

And that’s when it happened.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a twisted sort of clarity hit you square in the chest—slowly, and then all at once.

The next bits were something of a blur.

You tore yourself away from Des, turned to forcibly elbow your way through a floor of grinding bodies. You thought you heard him call out your name, and more than a couple people on the dancefloor turned to glare at you as you rudely brushed past them without care—but, whatever.

You texted… someone, telling them you were headed back to the apartment, so they shouldn’t bother waiting up. The group chat, maybe?

And now… Now.

Before you can blink, the past crashes into the present, and you find yourself back outside in the pitch-black night.

It’s dark… chilly. A brisk wind catches you the moment you stumble out onto the sidewalk, assaulting every inch of your exposed skin like scores of needles piercing your flesh. You whimper, shudder, and hug your arms around your body—trying to warm yourself back up like a scared little kid who forgot their jacket.

For the first time that night, you regret the tiny black babydoll dress you’d chosen to wear for the evening—and that’s not even to mention the four-inch heels.

It’s miserable, to be sure, but you can hardly focus on it for very long.

No, you have to go somewhere. You feel sick, and cold, and wrong in a way you’re loath to even begin explaining to anyone else.

And your head… you’re positively aching for something—someone to make this better.

You need… Wanda.

Yes, Wanda is the person you’re looking for. She can make all of this better.

You don’t know why, but you’re sure of it. You just need to find her. Hopefully she’s spending the night in her apartment on that super cozy sofa of hers, drinking hot chocolate and binge-watching something on Netflix like the two of you did a couple weeks back.

A fond grin curves your lips at the recollection as you stumble off down the sidewalk, headed for the nearest subway station.

Another wintry gust of wind hits you square in the chest, and you pinch your forearm hard, silently willing yourself to focus.

The station should be less than a block down, if you’re remembering correctly.

At the next street corner, you manage to brandish your pepper spray in one hand while you rummage around in your purse for your MetroCard with the other.

It’s cold as hell, and you’re probably a little too drunk to be walking through the City streets alone right now, but you don’t much care.

All you gotta do is find Wanda. That’s all.

She’ll make everything better again.

— —

Where everything else is confusing, there’s one part that seems to make sense—Wanda.

You nearly pick a fight with the card reader at the subway entrance when it makes you swipe your card three times to let you through, and even the stairs leading down to the lower tracks are more of a challenge than they probably should be… and yet, somehow, the rest of it is blessedly simple. A no-brainer, really.

You know which train you need to take… the blue one that arrives in four minutes. You know you need to stay on it for five stops before getting off.

Once you’re up at ground level, you’ll have a short walk ahead of you—one that you know like the back of your hand despite only ever having been to Wanda’s a couple of times.

You’ll enter Wanda’s apartment building, take the elevator right up to floor four, and boom! Home free.

You do exactly that.

It takes a short time (thankfully) and there’s not an ounce of uncertainty within you all the while, like you’ve done this 100 times before.

In seemingly no time at all, you’re there—standing on Wanda’s doorstep, knocking a couple times just beneath the burnished bronze ‘4A’ nailed into her door.

Your head feels all light and dizzy; you’re still shuddering from the time you spent out in the cold; but—

“One sec!” Wanda’s muffled voice comes from inside, the mere sound of it washing over you like a soothing balm—promising relief.

You’re safe now.

You made it.

— —

The moment the door swings open to reveal a bleary-eyed Wanda Maximoff dressed in tiny grey pajama shorts, an oversized Star Trek T-shirt, and nothing else, it’s like everything falls back into place.

It’s like… like you can breathe again.

You’re still drunk, and shivering, and more than a bit confused; but now that Wanda’s awake and here and smirking like she knows exactly what’s happening even if you don’t, you feel… better, somehow. Not nearly so lost as you were before.

“Y/N,” Wanda greets, stepping aside and offering out a hand to help you inside. You’re quick to take it. “I was not expecting you,” she drawls, though everything about her demeanor is saying the opposite as she shuts and locks the door behind you.

You pay it little mind. “Yeah, I... ” you trail off, turning to face her even as an embarrassed flush warms your cheeks. All of a sudden, you can’t help but feel rather ridiculous for knocking on her door and barging in so late—especially without calling first. “I’m so sorry, I... I don’t know why I’m here.”

Wanda just tilts her head, appraising you curiously even as the ghost of a knowing smile curves her lips. “Are you sure about that?”

The heat in your cheeks seems to intensify tenfold at that. “I… I need to tell you something,” you hear yourself say, and the moment it’s registered, you realize that it’s true.

You feel… guilty, all of a sudden. Nauseous, too. Scared.

You danced with that guy—Des. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… You kissed him. Why would you do that?

In the present moment, Wanda nods, like that makes perfect sense. Like all of this makes perfect sense.

“Okay,” she acquiesces lightly, flares of crimson flitting through her measured gaze. “Is it something I’ll have to punish you for?”

‘Punish’ me? What—?

You feel Wanda’s presence in your head… inconspicuous tendrils sifting through your thoughts, worming their way through your scattered memories.

No point in lying.

“Y-Yes,” you hear yourself say. Much like earlier, it isn’t until the moment you’ve confirmed it aloud that you know it to be true. You danced with someone else. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… kiss you. “I… I’m so sorry, Wanda; I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You see the moment Wanda finds it—your memories of the nightclub. Meeting Des at the bar. Flirting with him… Kissing him.

The look on her pretty features goes from bemused to disbelieving to absolutely murderous in zero seconds flat, and the realization hits like a freight train that you’re really in for it now.

Fuck.

“Go to the bedroom,” she snarls, her typically blue-green eyes burning with scarlet light. “Then take off that slutty dress. I want you on the bed, face down, naked. Do you understand?”

Your head is spinning; confusion rears its ugly head in your gut even as every ounce of your being screams at you to just obey—‘cause if you can just do that, the rest of it will start to make sense. (Maybe.) “O-Okay.”

— —

You don’t know how you know the way to Wanda’s bedroom, but you do.

You slip inside a room shrouded in darkness, and no matter how it strains your eyes to look around, you don’t dare turn on the light.

It’s a modestly-sized bedroom with hardwood flooring, fairy lights along one wall, and an adjoining bathroom just opposite the entrance. There’s a tall, wooden dresser pressed up against the wall directly across from a large, king-sized bed. That’s pretty much all the detail you can manage to make out in the darkness.

Well, either way, you suppose it isn’t really your business.

Wanda gave you specific instructions, and you intend to follow them.

Not for the first time tonight, you’re quite happy about the babydoll dress you’re wearing—particularly for how easy it is to pull it up over your head and off, leaving you in panties and a strapless bra in a matter of moments.

You fold the dress neatly in your hands, then leave it atop the dresser. Your panties and bra come next. In seconds, you’ve formed a small, tidy pile.

As you step out of your heels and approach the neatly-made bed, you’re struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu… like you’ve done this before.

It lingers in the forefront of your mind as you crawl up onto the bed, biting back a groan at how easily the plush mattress gives way under your hands and knees.

God, you’d kill to have a nice nap in this absolute cloud of a bed.

You shake the thought off, simultaneously willing the haze of intoxication fogging up your brain to abate.

You’re not here to nap.

You settle face-down onto the bed, just like Wanda said. You’re careful not to rest your face on the pillows, though, since you have the distinct feeling that’s not something Wanda would want you doing without permission.

Instead, you fold your arms and rest your head atop your forearm, staring straight down into nothing. You scrunch up your features and let out a quiet huff as the black duvet tickles the tip of your nose.

It smells like her—all of it does. Cinnamon, vanilla, and something indefinable; something that belongs to Wanda, and Wanda alone.

You feel your body stiffen as a familiar set of footsteps draw near, approaching the room where you lie—naked and vulnerable atop Wanda’s bed.

The patter of Wanda’s gait becomes almost soundless as she enters, circling around the bed over towards the nightstand. You don’t dare to turn your head and watch as she pulls out one of the drawers, rummaging through it until she finds… well, whatever it is she’s looking for, you suppose.

A moment later, there’s the telltale chk! of a match being struck, and a hiss as the phosphorous tip lights itself aflame.

It’s quiet for a minute... then two. The only sounds you can hear are your breathing and the strike of a match every time Wanda lights another.

Gradually, gentle flares of light grow in your periphery, bathing the room in a dim, yellow-y glow. She’s lighting candles—a lot of them.

You’ve always loved candles.

A couple minutes later, she’s finished, and she returns to tuck the matchbox safely back in the drawer.

You lose track of her as she retreats once more, and your mounting curiosity is more than piqued when you hear her rummaging through the dresser near the foot of the bed; still, you don’t dare turn and look.

Instead, you wait, fetid nausea churning low in your gut, pinpricks of apprehension dancing across every inch of exposed skin. Your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage as she takes something out from the dresser drawer, then shuts it with an audible thud!

You swallow the lump in your throat and urge yourself to focus on your breathing.

In, out.

In… out.

“I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” Wanda’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, genuine hurt coloring her hushed tone.

You have to fight the urge to shudder as a chill runs down your spine. “I… I’m sorry, Wanda,” you say meekly, pathetically, cheeks hot with shame.

And the worst part? You’re not lying.

You listen carefully for the sounds of her bare feet padding across the floor as she circles the bed once more, crouching down right beside you in the very corner of your periphery.

“Look at me,” she orders, gentle yet firm.

You do.

The moment you meet her gaze, you can’t help the errant thought entering your mind that she looks so pretty like this—face bare of makeup; long brown hair piled into a messy bun atop her head; dainty features cast into darkened shadows by the low, yellow light of burning candles clustered together atop the nightstand.

The muted light seems to soften her anger, her pain… allowing her to really look her age for the very first time since you’ve known her.

“You think too loudly, Y/N.” Wanda’s words are dry, almost teasing as they jolt you back into reality. “Focus on me, please.”

You do.

“You belong to me,” she asserts after a beat of silence, an uncharacteristically intent and almost solemn look splayed across her dimly-lit features. “I thought you understood that.”

The words confuse you even as they seem to resonate poignantly with some fundamental part of you… a part of you that categorically refuses to be ignored.

“Wanda…” you trail off, bewilderment and contrition warring violently within your chest until it aches to draw breath. “I’m confused, Wanda,” you whimper out finally, overwhelmed tears burning in your eyes. “I-I-I don’t understand what’s happening—”

Wanda cuts you off with a derisive snort. “Yes, clearly,” she agrees, her tone ripe with sardonic ire. “You’ve forgotten yourself. You’ve forgotten who owns you.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, desperately trying to make sense of it all. “Is that why…” You search Wanda’s eyes intently. “... I-I felt sick, an-and… guilty about dancing with Des.”

Something like anger flares in her gaze, hot and bitter, and you have to resist the urge to shrivel beneath it. “That boy had no right to touch what’s rightfully mine.”

“B-But then… why didn’t I remember?” you ask, utterly forlorn. “I-I felt it last weekend, too, but I… I didn’t—”

“Last weekend?” Wanda repeats, features hardening.

Oh, shit. You feel your cheeks get hot again. “I… I shouldn’t have brought it up, Wan’, I’m sorry—”

“What happened last weekend?” she interjects, her tone cold and hard like a double-edged blade. “You can tell me yourself, or I can start looking.”

You shiver. “I… I went on a-a… a date with a girl that I met online,” you admit, tears welling in your eyes even as Wanda’s jaw visibly tightens. “I-It was just the one time! A-And nothing happened; we didn’t even k-kiss! I just… I didn’t… I didn’t know—”

“Yes. You’re right; you didn’t know.” Wanda stands abruptly, then, and it’s at that moment that you see the folded belt in her hands—thick, worn leather with a sterling silver buckle.

An icy sense of dread blossoms in your chest, chilling you from the inside out.

Is she going to—?

“I was indulgent before… I let you get away with far too much. I will not make the same mistake again.”

With that, she turns to circle back around the bed, the belt buckle audibly jangling in her hands with every step.

“I have to punish you, принцеса,” she continues, her voice scarcely more than a whisper as she comes to stand near the foot of the bed—and somehow, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s no convincing her otherwise.

She’s going to punish you, and it’s going to hurt. Bad.

All at once, panic seizes you. You squirm, writhing in an effort to get up and off the bed—

Only to be stopped by tendrils of lurid crimson curling around either wrist, forcing them together just over your head like magic—glowing crimson cuffs holding both arms fast to the headboard. On a whim, you test your legs—tensing and pulling, only to be met with iron-clad resistance encircling either ankle in a tight, unrelenting grip.

Well, fuck.

“W-Wanda,” you plead, hardly paying any mind to the way your voice trembles. “Please, I—I don’t want—”

“I do not enjoy punishing you, мила,” she laments, almost sounding genuinely apologetic. It tugs at your heartstrings in a curious way—something you really don’t have time to examine right now. “But you did something bad. And when you do bad things, there are consequences. You understand that, don’t you?”

A tear trickles down your cheek, warm and wet as you steel yourself for the first hit. “Y-Yes.”

“Good girl,” Wanda lauds, and you can’t help the surge of warmth that washes over you at the simple praise—the pride that blooms in your chest at knowing you’ve finally done something right. “Now—try and relax, принцеса, okay?”

It’s all the warning you get before the first blow comes down upon your bare arse with a resounding Crack!

White-hot pain flares across your bottom, racing up your spine like wildfire and tearing a strangled whimper from your throat.

Jesus fucking Christ, that hurt—

Crack!

Holy fuck.

The impact of the leather against your naked cheeks leaves strips of fire burning in its wake, expelling all the air from your lungs in a choked-out rush.

“P-Please, no, Wan’,” you beg breathlessly, struggling in vain even as coils of vibrant scarlet hold you fast, “it hurts, please—”

Crack!

“This is for your own good, baby,” Wanda coos, sounding for all the world as though she truly believes every word of it.

Crack! This one lands directly across your sit spot, ripping a shriek from your lips as molten agony rocks you to your core.

“Wan’—Fuck, please, no—”

Crack!

“G—God, fuck, pleasestop, please—”

Crack!

“P—Please, hurtssobad, I’m—”

Crack!

“FUCK !”

Tears stream down your cheeks, wetting the black duvet beneath your face. You’re absolutely beside yourself with torment, your bare ass aflame with a pain unlike any you’ve ever known.

Crack!

… And the hits just keep coming—raining down stripes of blistering heat across your sore, bruised buttocks; pummeling your throbbing, exposed rear until it feels as though the entire area has just become one puffy, pulsating bruise.

Crack!

All the fight has completely gone out of you; now, your body completely slack—devoid of any resistance even as every hit seems to sear itself into your impossibly tender bottom like a third-degree burn… The pain is absolutely incredible, unlike any else you’ve ever known.

You’ll do anything—and you really do mean anything—to make it stop.

“P-P-Please, stop it, Wanda, PLEASE—”

Crack! Another hit directly across your burning sit spot rips a watery sob from your throat, followed by—

Crack!

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating until you pass out.

Crack!

Agony blackens the edge of your vision, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks as you await another strike…

But it doesn’t come.

Wh—?

“Have you learned your lesson, мила?” Wanda asks, and this time, her voice comes from closer… like she’s right beside you.

You don’t have it in you to be startled when a feather-light kiss lands itself between your shoulder blades, nor when one hand begins stroking up and down your heaving torso in soothing motions.

“Y-Yes! I—please, God, yes,” you babble, overwhelmed by the sensation of unadulterated pain branding every inch of your battered arse. “I promise I’ll never, ever, ever do it again, Wan’—Won’t ever be with anyone else—jus-just please stop hurting me—I’ll be so good, please—”

“Shh,” Wanda shushes you tenderly. You feel yourself twitch as the mattress suddenly dips beside you. “It’s okay, любима,” she soothes, coming to rest beside you. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

‘Breathe’...

Your pulse thunders in your ears; your ass is on fire with an anguish far beyond your years; and yet, there’s something undoubtedly soothing about her words as they wash over you in gentle waves… something that tells you you’re safe.

Were you a little more lucid, you might’ve found that quite the nonsensical paradox—this feeling of safety and security with the woman who’d just beaten your arse raw without mercy no matter how you wailed and sobbed and begged for her to stop.

But as it is, you’re not.

Instead, you’re just broken and teary-eyed and in pain, and Wanda’s tenderness is a most welcome respite to alleviate that excruciating ache.

You take a deep, shuddering breath, even if it burns your lungs something awful, and force yourself to let it out slowly.

In, out.

In… out.

“That’s it, мила,” Wanda praises gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re doing so well… Just like that.” Her fingers come to rest beneath your chin, urging you to turn and face her…

And you do, far too exhausted to even think of doing anything other than what she tells you to. Your lungs burn; your nose runs; and the pain in your bottom hasn’t abated any—if anything, it’s intensified.

You’re more than happy to be given something else to focus on.

When you look at her, her blue-green eyes are wet—glossy with tears.

“Wanda?” you manage weakly, feeling your brow crease with worry. “You ‘kay?”

Wanda sniffles, huffs out a watery-sounding laugh. “Yes, Y/N, I’m alright,” she whispers, then leans forth to plant a gentle kiss upon the tip of your nose. “I’m just so very, very proud of you.”

Despite yourself, you feel a pleased flush spread throughout your body at that. “Really?” you mumble, exhaustion drooping your eyelids until it’s a challenge just to keep them open.

Wanda nods, a tear sliding out of her eye that you yearn to reach forth and catch with your thumb—but alas, you’re far too weak. “Really.”

You hum, burrowing your face further into the duvet beneath your cheek—even if it is still damp with your tears. “‘M sorry I was bad, Wan’,” you murmur, feeling darkness near on every side. “Didn’t mean’ta make you upset.”

“I don’t like punishing you, принцеса,” she says once more, and this time, you have no reason to doubt that she means it. Honestly, you don’t know how you ever could. “It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

You hum again. Your eyelids feel too heavy to open. “‘M sorry,” you say. “Gonna do better… make you proud… I promise.”

Wanda chuckles. The sound of it makes your chest feel loose and warm and happy. “You already do, darling girl,” she murmurs. You don’t know if it’s because she’s whispering, or you’re fading into sleep, but you can barely hear her when she repeats it once more: “You already do.”

Sleep descends upon you, then, and you succumb to it willingly, feeling safer and more at peace than you have in a very long time.

— —

tagging:

[marvel]: @normanijauregui

— —

end notes: yeah i don’t know what this is either. i was only aiming for maybe 1,000 words or something, but things happened and...

look. i haven’t been to therapy in a hot minute, ok?

link to masterlist

#stuff i wrote #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #f!reader #dark!wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff x f!reader #dark fic #mcu fic #marvel fic #scarlet witch x reader #dark!scarlet witch x reader #dark!scarlet witch #reader-insert #requested

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fluffyllamas-23 · 6 years

Note

You should do that thing you just reblogged for Taylor & Audrey? Or maybe Gabe & Ezra? Either would be fantastic 😍😍❤❤

Hi, just so you know I was so excited to get this, anon, thank you??? I was actually thinking that this would work for Gabe and Ezra and I’m glad I’m not the only one who wants it omg. Sorry this took me so long, but I hope you like it! (Min-ah belongs to @robbiefischer, they were just kind enough to let me borrow her

“Ezra, I just had this, and it’s miserable,” Gabe says, one hand on Ezra’s forehead and the other on the back of his neck as Ezra types lesson plans on his laptop.

“I’m fine, I’m barely even sick, this is the worst it’s going to get,” he rasps, and clears his throat with a grimace before adding a weak, “probably.”

“You’re going to get worse if you don’t stop and rest, love,” Gabe frowns. “Call out tomorrow. I’m off, we can spend the day together, and you can sleep and catch up on everything. Mondays suck without a shitty cold.”

“I can’t,” Ezra snaps, twisting away from him. “Stop worrying. I have a cold. You’re a doctor, you see way worse than this all the time.”

“Okay, but you know that if you don’t take it easy, you’ll wind up with strep or tonsillitis or something. You already sound way worse than I did.”

Ezra muffles a coughing fit into the crook of his elbow, and when it finally passes, he winces and presses a fist to the center of his chest.

“I appreciate your concern, but i also have too much to do to deal with this right now.”

Ezra’s tone is edging upwards, something that only happens when he’s stressed the hell out, and Gabe runs his fingers through Ezra’s hair.

“Sorry. What do you all have to do? Maybe I can help?”

“Um,” Ezra croaks, tugging on his hair in frustration. “I have to write three tests, make the study guides for those, grade five classes worth of assignments, and come up with the presentation schedules, which should have been done Friday….”

“Shit, that’s a lot.”

“I know…I’m usually way more prepared than this.”

“That’s probably my fault,” Gabe winces.

Ezra’s head snaps up, “what? No it isn’t, you were sick.”

“What can I help you with?”

“I don’t know,” Ezra groans, pressing his forehead to the table.

“Have you made the presentation schedules yet?”

“No.”

“I can do that, give me the names.”

“You don’t mind?”

Gabe shakes his head, “give me the list.”

“Okay,” Ezra says, bending down to grab his folder off the floor. “I have two health classes, three psych classes and I wrote all the groups out by class, but I haven’t organized them or anything. Presentations are Monday-Thursday, three groups a day. Go crazy.”

The moment he’s sitting upright, his vision swims around him, and he rests his head in his folded arms with a groan.

“Are you alright?”

“Dizzy,” Ezra mutters. “I’m fine.”

“Dizzy is not fine, Ezra,” Gabe snaps.

“Yes it is. I’m fine, I just changed positions too fast.”

Gabe purses his lips, “okay. When do you have to have the tests written by?”

“Um,” he rasps, rubbing his forehead. “Soon so I can make the study guide. Wednesday by the latest.”

“Want me to stop by during your free period tomorrow and I can help you?”

“I’ve been snapping at you all night,” Ezra groans, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “Why would you want to spend more time with me than you have to?”

“Because you’re my husband, and I love you, and I know you’re only grumpy because you’re not feeling good and need to sleep,” Gabe frowns, cupping his cheek.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I only have two more weeks. I can make it two more weeks.”

Gabe manages to talk Ezra into taking Tuesday and Wednesday off that upcoming week, but instead of spending those days on the couch, underneath a blanket and watching Netflix, he spends them at the table, blanket around his shoulders as he coughs his way through everything he has to do.

That weekend, Gabe convinces Ezra to just relax, and it seems like two days of rest is enough to get him feeling human enough to get through his last week, and by the time Friday rolls around, he’s exhausted and even though he feels better than the previous week, he’s beyond ready for a break. He still has to grade the tests and input grades into his grade book, and just the thought of doing any of that is enough to make him want to cry.

Gabe is off the next two days, and had offered to take Ezra to and from work, and when Ezra gets into the car, he visibly deflates.

“Congratulations! You’re done!”

“Not yet, I still have to input grades,” Ezra groans, rubbing his forehead.

“Is everything all graded, or do you still have more to do?”

“No,” he mumbles. “The tests aren’t.”

“When are grades due?”

“Monday morning at eleven.”

“Okay, so we’ll spend tonight and tomorrow morning relaxing, and then I’ll help you get everything done.”

“That sounds nice,” Ezra breathes.

“Yeah it does. How are you feeling? You’re pale again.”

“Not great, honestly. But not awful, I’ll live.”

“That’s good,” Gabe grins. “You probably just need one more day to rest.”

“God, I hope so.”

It’s Saturday morning, and even though he wakes up before Ezra at nine, he opts to let him sleep for as long as possible. When he’s not up by noon, Gabe walks into their room to check on him, and then stops dead in his tracks when he sees Ezra cocooned in their blanket, shivering so violently that his teeth are chattering.

He’s pale and clammy, his cheeks are flushed a deep red and his eyes (which are glassy from fever) have dark smudges underneath them.

“Shit,” Gabe hisses, double-timing it over to him, and he puts his hand on Ezra’s forehead. “Ezra, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

Ezra opens his mouth to say something, but he’s immediately cut off by a deep, chesty coughing fit, and Gabe can actually hear his lungs crackling.

“Ow,” he croaks.

“Can you get up?” Gabe says urgently. “I think you might have pneumonia…it’s time for an emergency room trip.”

He’s fuzzy and out of it, and it takes Gabe much longer to get him to the car than it should. He’s lightheaded from how incessantly he’s coughing now, and if Gabe didn’t have a hold on him, Ezra would have fallen over by now.

“No hospital,” Ezra gasps, wincing as he rubs his chest. “Don’t wanna stay.”

“I don’t think that’s up to you, love,” Gabe says, glancing at Ezra as he pulls out of the driveway.

“Yes. I’ll leave.”

“You are not leaving against medical fucking advice. Absolutely fucking not.”

Ezra shoots him a glare as he coughs into the crook of his elbow.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ll do my best to convince whoever sees you to let me take you home, but I’m not promising anything because whatever the hell kind of temp you’re running looks miserable.”

“Min-ah, he doesn’t want to stay.”

She raises a brow at him, “can you blame him? I wouldn’t either.”

“Let me take him home.”

“He has pneumonia,” she says flatly. “His temp is still above one oh four. You’re not taking him home.”

Gabe rolls his eyes, “yeah I know all that. I meant after we get it down.”

“You’re a doctor. You know he needs to stay in the hospital.”

“You’re right, I am a doctor, and you know just as well as I do that he’ll be fine with me, and you know I’ll keep a close fucking eye on him.”

They stare each other down for a few minutes before she sighs in relief, “fine. But I have some conditions.”

“Okay.”

“You bring him right in if his fever gets back up to one hundred and four, or if he gets confused or disoriented at all, or if he gets short of breath or has chest pain. You will make sure he drinks water every single hour, and if I see you in the hospital in the next couple of days for any reason other than bringing him back in, I’m going to kill you myself because you need to be at home with him.”

“Deal.”

“I’m admitting him and keeping him for a few hours for observation,” she grumbles. “You can’t talk me out of that.”

“Well yeah, I’m not letting him leave until his fever is down and his sats are up.”

Gabe goes back over to where Ezra is lying, half asleep and coughing so badly that Gabe winces in sympathy and strokes his burning cheek.

“I wanna go home,” he croaks, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“I know,” Gabe says softly, stroking his cheek. “Not yet though. You just have to stay long enough for your oxygen sats to go up and your temp to go down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You have pneumonia, sweetheart. You’re so, so sick, you aren’t fine.”

Ezra groans, rubbing his eyes. “I feel better.”

“You’re lying.”

“My fever is down!” he protests weakly through a coughing fit.

“103 is still not great.”

“But-“

“I’m pulling the doctor card. You aren’t leaving until it gets down to 101.”

It takes most of the night and well into the morning for Ezra to be stable enough that he can leave, and when he is, Gabe helps him change out of the hospital gown and back into his clothes, and then into a wheelchair.

He’s still pale and shaky and glassy-eyed, and just looks all around miserable…and Gabe hates it.

“Ready?” Gabe asks, helping him into the car.

“I was ready when i got here,” Ezra gripes, crossing his arms.

“Stop pouting. You were too sick to leave last night, I know you wanted to, but it wasn’t happening.”

“Can we just leave?” He rasps. “Please? I want to go lie down.”

“Of course,” Gabe says, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Do you want me to stop and get you some mac n cheese from Panera?”

“No,” Ezra mumbles. “Well…can you drop me off and then go get it? I know it’s out of the way, but that sounds good….”

“Ezra, I got you sick and now you have pneumonia,” Gabe says firmly. “You can have whatever you want. I would cut off my left arm if you wanted me to.”

A smile tugs at his lips, “that’s a little bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Gabe chuckles lightly, “Maybe a little. Point is, you can have anything.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “I just want bed…and mac n cheese.”

“That can definitely be arranged.”

#OCs #Gabe and Ezra #sickfic #coughing #pneumonia

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whichchick · 6 years

Text

Last year I bred my mare Nick (age 20) to an appropriate stallion in the hopes of getting a baby. Wednesday, July 11, she looked like this:

This story has a happy ending. Let me just put that out there at the front end. There are some scary parts, but it ends happily.

Thursday she was fine at 1 PM for the tooth guy but didn’t come up to the barn for evening chow (a scant handful of grain as she was huge and we didn’t want a Monster Baby) at 7 PM. My friend Trys went out looking and located mare at bottom of a fairly steep hill. She was like, “Mare, come on, chow time, let’s go.” Mare was “AHEM. Regardeth thou the shrubbery. There Is A Problem Here.” Trys regarded the shrubbery. It moved in a flaily-thrashy way.

Apparently mare had baby near the top of the hill and it ass-over-tin-cupped down the hill to land in a shrubbery and be unable to get out of it. Well, shit. Trys retrieved the baby from the shrubbery only to determine that it could not stand up or walk so she carried the flailing, thrashing thing up the hill to the barn with the mare following along in a concerned but not violent fashion.

At the barn, Trys called me to get over there because the baby could not stand or drink but Wasn’t Dead Yet. I got over there. Lifting the baby to stand and supporting it so that it could nurse didn’t work even with two people because the baby was too tired to latch on and balance and suck. She was a floppy dishrag of a baby, with skin tenting on pinch, which meant she was dehydrated to boot. We don’t know how long she was at the bottom of the hill thrashing in the shrubbery, but apparently it was long enough to dehydrate. Oh, and her front feet knuckled over, so she was trying to stand on her fetlock joints. No bueno.

At about ten PM, after numerous near-useless attempts at getting some milk into the baby, I finally had the good sense to ask Trys if she had a bottle anywhere. She went to look and, lo, there was a leftover bottle from when her kid was little. (He’s 5 now.) It, helpfully, had oz markings on the side. The internet said that the neonate foal should drink about two to three ounces every half hour or so, good to know.

Throughout all of this, the mare, who at the best of times is something of an ass, stood like a trooper to have her floppy baby held up to her udder, carefully did not walk on the baby, and generally was as helpful as she could be. She also stood rock-still to be milked. The bottle, which could be adjusted to where the baby was, was way easier for her to drink from than the mare. After two “make the hole in the nipple bigger” adjustments, at 10:40, baby sucked down six ounces of milk in about two minutes and then fell asleep before I could get up to rinse the bottle out.

From 10:40 PM to 5:30 AM, I got up every half hour, milked three ounces of milk out of the mare, and fed it to the baby. I flexed the little feet into more-normal positions with my hands, over and over. At around 2 AM, I started making the baby stand up for the feedings instead of chest-sitting. She didn’t quite get up on her own, but if I heaved her up and straightened her front legs out to where they looked right, she could stand on them. Once she was standing and swaying like a reed in the breeze, we had baby poop. Yay!

By 4 AM, if I woke her up (she never woke up on her own, poor thing was exhausted but still needed fluids during the important colostrum window) with mare-bitey hand pinches on the withers and back, she could flail upright on her own and take some tottery steps. Drinking from bottle was at this point her Best Skill. Front legs were still weird, but looking slightly better, I thought. I was very tired, so maybe I was wishful thinking.

By the 5:30 AM feeding, baby was tottering towards the mare and seeking the udder. She kinda got there but her latch on wasn’t great and she didn’t get more than a few swallows even though she tried a couple of times. I stripped the mare (four ounces) and fed the baby, who drank all of it and then peed (!! WE HAVE THROUGHPUT !! SYSTEM ONLINE!!) and promptly fell asleep. I had to go to work so I turned baby duty over to Trys, who had gotten some sleep in the interim.

When I called her, she was all, “I didn’t think you’d stay the whole night.” (Uhm. If I hadn’t, this would be the narrative of my dead horse baby instead of the narrative of my joyful and happy horse baby who had a regrettably rough start.) After the Big Meal at 5:30, baby woke quite refreshed at 6:15 and stood up and tottered toward mare. Trys moved mare closer to baby, whereupon baby latched on and sucked. There was no more bottle after that.

By noon on Friday, baby could get up and locate mare udder on her own, even if it meant tottering after the mare. (They were in a double-sized box stall sort of a thing.) SELF-FEEDING!! Yay!! Front legs stopped being knuckled-over at this point though they were still slightly tippy-toed and wonky.

Friday evening she looked like this. I started to think about names.

Saturday she spent the day with mom in the double box stall under the big box fan until it cooled off in the evening around 7 PM. I put a halter on the mare (who normally is on full-time turnout and was getting a bit pissy about having to be in a stall all the time) and led her out. After a few false starts, baby came out, too. Outside time included trotting (!) and cantering (!!) and also a “Damn, mare slipped her halter and left with baby by her side halfway down the long field” incident which included more outside time than we had planned on. Oops. We recovered mare by way of sweet feed in a bucket which she hadn’t seen in a month because she was hugely pregnant and we were worried that the baby would get too big. She’d been on a “pasture only” diet and so the sweet feed was a big draw, lucky for us.

We put mare and baby in for the night but today (Sunday) we are doing small-paddock outside time in the morning and if that works, she and the baby will be in the big field tonight just like nothing was ever wrong.

So stressful. Anyway. Welcome to the world, Patapsco. Sorry it was a rough start, but hopefully things will go better from here on out.

#we have baby #it's a girl #patapsco

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inter-galaxy · 7 years

Text

Time Stamp

coming at you with some namgi fluff! something happy! can you imagine?

huuuuuge thanks to @namgii for okaying this fic and being a good friend ily ♥

Summary: Yoongi wants to send Seokjin a text, but he goes and fucks up the number. But, you know, that's okay, because that one text starts something great, amazing, extraordinary.

you can also find it on ao3

To: Unknown

Time: Monday, Feb 12 • 03:51

hey jin i know you’re probably asleep but i just remembered the thing you asked me the other day and the answer is bananas and i really need you to know. k tnx for coming to my ted talk

To: Unknown

Time: Monday, Feb 12 • 14:26

Oh shit, I’m sorry about this! I thought I was texting my buddy but turns out I put in the wrong number? Last time I try texting without opening the contact because I’m sure I know the number by now, haha. Thanks for being chill about it!

To: Not-Jin Namjoon

Time: Friday, Feb 16 • 04:42

do you know how weird you are for continuing to talk to a stranger that accidentally texted you at four am? incredibly weird.

To: Not-Jin Namjoon

Time: Friday, Feb 16 • 04:57

uh, fuck you?? you can’t judge me for being awake when you are also awake that’s not how this works, i’m the judge in this relationship

To: Not-Jin Namjoon

Time: Friday, Feb 16 • 05:53

and, anyways, that’s how i got to be literally the best person in the world? or best roommate at the very least! honestly, he’s lucky to have me!

but you have to tell me what happened with the fountain??? you can’t just keep teasing me about it and then not telling me!

To: Namjoon

Time: Wednesday, Feb 28 • 23:38

hey, just wanted to say that i had a really nice time today? never would have guessed that texting the wrong number would lead to the best free dinner of my life, but here we are!

To: Namjoon

Time: Wednesday, Feb 28 • 23:45

on a more serious note, i’m glad you kept talking to me weirdo, always nice to have more friends

To: THIS ONE IS JIN

Time: Tuesday, Mar 6 • 02:37

jin, jin i’m having a crisis what do i do he’s just so cute and funny and pretty and he laughs at my stupid jokes i don’t know what to do

To: Traitor Jin

Time: Tuesday, Mar 6 • 04:29

i want you to be aware that this conversation has been useless and has not helped me with my crisis at all and also you are a horrible friend

To: My Favorite Friend Jin

Time: Wednesday, Mar 7 • 19:30

you know what i said yesterday about you being horrible? i take it back, you’re the best person in the entire world and i would be dead and rotting in a hole somewhere without you and i just need you to know this because i love you very much you’re amazing and handsome and hoseok is incredibly lucky to have you and i’m lucky to have you as a roommate you’re the best

in short thanks for hooking me up with a date idk how you did it

To: Joon

Time: Thursday, Mar 8 • 00:57

i had a really nice time tonight, i’m glad we went on this date. next time though, maybe we shouldn’t try to rob a store? even if it’s on accident??? how do you even do that??? it’s adorable???

To: Joon

Time: Friday, Mar 23 • 05:37

Namjoon, please just stop ignoring me? I get that I fucked up but I want us to talk and get over this and not just continue fighting and ignoring each other. Please. Look, I’m even using proper spelling and everything! Okay, a misplaced joke, maybe, but I just really miss you. Please.

To: Namjoon

Time: Monday, Mar 26 • 17:53

How about next time we fight you don’t force me to come to your workplace and confront you? Needing time to process things is one thing, but ignoring me for such a long time is unacceptable. I don’t want to keep having this fight so please just talk to me next time.

To: Namjoon

Time: Tuesday, Mar 27 • 01:48

Of course I’m mad? You ignored me like I wasn’t important at all, how did you expect me to react? Welcome you back with open arms? Fuck no. I really like you, and I want this to work out, but you can’t be a child about it.

To: Joon

Time: Saturday, Apr 14 • 14:33

are you still coming today? jin’s got all the snacks ready and we bought drinks and hoseok’s bringing the movie, so you don’t have to worry about anything you just gotta show up on time. see you soon!

To: Joon

Time: Saturday, Apr 14 • 17:23

joon? are you on your way? we’re all here and waiting for you.

To: Joon

Time: Saturday, Apr 14 • 17:46

namjoon? it’s not like you to be this late, and to not answer me? i thought we were doing better. are you okay? i hope you’re safe.

To: Jin

Time: Saturday, Apr 14 • 19:25

i just got to the hospital. they’re not letting me see him yet but a nurse told me that he is stable for now. i’ll keep you updated. please forward to the other guys.

To: Jin

Time: Saturday, Apr 14 • 19:59

they just let me in to see him. he’s still unconscious but he’s fully stable now. they’re saying that they don’t expect any permanent damage. his left arm got broken, and he looks pretty beat up, but he’s mostly alright. they say it’s lucky that the car hit the passenger side, as otherwise the damage would be much bigger. i’m going to stay here until they kick me out, i’ll keep you updated.

To: Jin

Time: Saturday, Apr 14 • 21:30

they’re saying i have to leave in half an hour. can you come pick me up? he’s still asleep, but he hasn’t gotten worse so i’m thankful.

To: Hoseok

Time: Sunday, Apr 15 • 08:37

jin’s gone to work already so i was hoping you could give me a ride to the hospital? i can take a bus if you’re busy, don’t stress.

To: Hoseok

Time: Sunday, Apr 15 • 09:27

thanks for the ride, i owe you one

To: Jin

Time: Sunday, Apr 15 • 13:28

you don’t have to come for lunch, i know you usually spend it with hoseok. i’ll eat something in the cafeteria, i promise so please don’t worry. he hasn’t woken up yet.

To: Jin

Time: Sunday, Apr 15 • 16:22

thanks for coming over, even if it was just a little bit. i’m freaking out a little, but they say he’ll be okay so i just have to trust their judgment. i’ll update you if anything happens.

To: Jin

Time: Sunday, Apr 15 • 19:43

he woke up! i’m so relieved. he wasn’t awake for long, and complained about being in pain and that it wasn’t fair that his boyfriend was as pretty as an angel because he couldn’t tell whether he was in heaven or not. he passed out again when they upped his morphine, but they say it’s good that he woke up.

To: Jin

Time: Wednesday, Apr 18 • 12:55

he’s doing much better, already complaining about the hospital food. they say he has to stay for a while longer but that he will need help for the first few days he’s out, so i’ll stay at his. we spent all morning talking. i’m happy he’s okay.

To: Joon

Time: Monday, May 7 • 22:37

hey, i’m running a little late because no shop in town has the soda you like. i expect great payment for the trouble i am going through just to get you this soda. i want you to know that i have suffered greatly for it.

To: Joon

Time: Wednesday, May 9 • 03:22

uhhh,,,, no need to be rude?? i give you my life and this is how you repay me? by judging my music taste??? i’ll have you know i graduated top of my class bitch

To: Jin

Time: Friday, May 25 • 04:37

is it too early to tell him i love him? because i think i love him. i’m like pretty sure i love him. i don’t think i’ve ever loved anyone as much as i love him. help.

To: No Help Jin

Time: Friday, May 25 • 04:43

okay but i have no actual idea if i should tell him or text it to him because you know talking over text is usually easier and i get to formulate what i want to say and i get to think about how to say it but then that might seem impersonal and i don’t want him to think i’m an asshole but who knows when i’ll see him next because exams are coming up and i want it to be perfect and i don’t know jin i’m so stressed aaaaAAAAAAAAAA

To: Jin Will Scream At Me

Time: Friday, May 25 • 05:21

you can tell me i’m insane tomorrow and i’ll agree haaaaaa i just told him that i think i’m in love with him and then hid in the bathroom for like twenty minutes but he hasn’t replied because he’s asleep because of course he’s asleep but i’ve slept like four hours in the past two??? three??? days??? help

To: Joonie

Time: Saturday, Jun 2 • 16:22

now you listen here you little shit just because i’m in love with you that does not mean i won’t kick your ass because you dare disrespect the god the hero the king kanye west himself fuck off

To: Joonie

Time: Saturday, Jun 2 • 16:34

oh no you do not get out of this by calling me babe and telling me you love me i am never forgetting this sin i will never let you live this down

To: Joonie

Time: Saturday, Jun 2 • 19:02

uuuuh??? that’s rude wtf??? i’m the nicest person in the world like i’m a fucking delight lmao

To: Joonie

Time: Saturday, Jun 2 • 19:55

not all men you’re absolutely right my main man midoriya izuku would never do this he is a good boi

To: Joonie

Time: Saturday, Jun 2 • 21:00

ohhhh my good namjoon that is not how it works like even remotely??? how??? how do you manage to be so this way????

like no shade but also full shade how do you manage to break a remote???

To: Joonie

Time: Thursday, Jul 19 • 00:22

it’s not even that late it’s only midnight we’ve both gone to sleep at a much later time tho and i really need to talk about this because it’s make me restless and i don’t wanna spend the entire night twisting and turning so if you could stay up with me for a while that would be really nice because i really need it

To: Joonie

Time: Thursday, Jul 19 • 00:27

thank you. okay, so, i just really need to get this off my chest because it’s slowly starting to suffocate me and i don’t want to keep all of that inside anymore because i want to get better and i want to talk to people about these things and i trust you and i love you and so i want to share this with you. okay. so you know how i get really stressed when exams roll around because i just wanna do well and i’m scared, terrified of failing, and then sometimes i just start feeling like something is constantly sitting on my chest and it’s hard to breathe and sometimes i even forget to breathe and tbh if i didn’t live with jin i’m not sure i would always eat during these times or even sleep. and talking to you helps, it definitely helps because i feel like i can breathe a little easier because i know you understand me even when i don’t talk about it. but i want to talk about it. and right now i wanna ask that you ask about this stuff. it’s hard but i wanna talk about it. and if you want to then i wanna listen to it as well. i love you, and i want this to be something that we can talk about.

To: Joonie

Time: Thursday, Jul 19 • 00:58

i don’t feel like that at all. you’re just trying to make me feel better, i really appreciate that. i always find it cute when you ramble like that, you know? don’t be worried about talking to me, we can only understand each other if we communicate. i’m really happy we’re talking about this. thank you.

To: Jin

Time: Monday, Jul 30 • 08:22

i’m leaving now i’ll be at hoseok’s in like twenty minutes if you two aren’t ready i’m stealing your car and going to watch joon alone and i’ll talk shit about you the whole time

To: Joonie

Time: Monday, Jul 30 • 08:44

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! good luck!!!!!!! we’re all in the stands we’ll be rooting for you and screaming your name. well. maybe not. it’s a poetry thing not a concert so maybe no screaming but at least loud clapping!

To: Joonie

Time: Monday, Jul 30 • 9:59

uuuuuuuuuuuuh??????????? that was amazing?????????? my boyfriend kim namjoon the love of my life is literally the best poet in the world wow

To: Jin

Time: Wednesday, Aug 15 • 12:04

yo man you left your one box of old photos here and i couldn’t resist so i opened it and took pictures before sealing it perfectly again but can you come pick it up because i’m about to hand the keys back because i’m done with my stuff and this box is just here and waiting for you and who knows what else i will do with it if you don’t come quick.

just please hurry i wanna go to my new apartment with my boyfriend and not sit in this empty place.

To: Jin

Time: Friday, Aug 17 • 22:22

i take offense to the fact that you think that i cannot cook. just because i choose not to cook, that does not mean that i do not know how to do this. we’re having a cookoff. i will not stand for this hearsay.

To: Joonie

Time: Sunday, Aug 26 • 19:31

don’t listen to jin i was the one who won the cookoff because i am the best and i have brought the food back home so we’ll have the rest together when you come back please hurry i am a whole hunger

To: Jin

Time: Sunday, Sep 23 • 04:29

i know it was kinda rough sometimes with him, and sometimes it still gets like that, but we’re good, you know? we’re good for each other and we get a little better every day and i love him more than i’ve ever thought possible and, you know, i think we’ll be okay. we’ll be okay. definitely.

#bangtanwriters-net #namgi #sugamon #fluff #namjoon #yoongi #angst #background jin/hobi #soft #text fic #texting #aj writes #texts are all sent from yoongis phone

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lostseoulswandering · 7 years

Note

"I’ve always suspected it, I guess I just didn’t want it to be true.“ vminkook

vminkook / pg13 / oneshot

What Jimin didn’t expect when he got home was Taehyung to also be home, and he definitely did not expect Jungkook to also be there. Nor did he expect to gain all this knowledge in the form of Jungkook having Taehyung pressed against the bathroom counter, hands under the other’s shirt and mouth on Taehyung’s neck. No, not at all. Jimin just needed to pee.

Thursday nights: wild. No one had class on Fridays, so the best way to do it? Go hard on Thursdays, go hard again on Fridays, spend Saturday and Sunday reviving yourself. It had been that way since Jimin’s first year, and as a third year, nothing had changed. Honestly? His week had been complete shit with three exams and having to stay over hours at his internship, and Jimin could already feel the vodka burning his throat.

Taehyung’s sudden presence in his doorway steered Jimin away from his reflections of a hectic week.

“You almost ready? Namjoon said him and Jin are like… four minutes away.”

Jimin gave Taehyung an amused look. “Four minutes is oddly specific, but yeah I just gotta grab shoes.”

“Well, he actually said ten minutes but you know how Jin drives when the promise of alcohol is involved.” Taehyung replied, a subtle eyeball included.

As Taehyung yawned, stretching his arms far above his head, his shirt riding up to give Jimin the slightest of glimpses at tanned, soft tummy, he thought maybe tonight would be the night. Maybe tonight Jimin would find the courage to tell his best friend and roommate of three years that he was stupidly and wholly in love with him.

Pulling on his shoes quickly, Jimin made his way down the hallway, stopping in the bathroom to check his hair one last time. Taehyung’s voice was muffled from the living room along with another, which was weird because the front door never opened and Namjoon and Jin wouldn’t waste time to come upstairs. Rounding the corner, Jimin spotted Taehyung in the kitchen rinsing out a cup and laughing. He dried his hands and went into the living room, continuing a conversation. Jimin followed.

And there, on their couch, sat the bane of Jimin’s entire existence: one choice Jeon Jungkook. Jimin’s number one competition for his title as ‘Taehyung’s best bro’. He couldn’t even properly hate the younger because he was smart, tall, good looking, and he could even sing better than some well-known artists (although Jimin would never admit that to his face). Jungkook was perfect in every sense of the word, and Jimin’s mood immediately drooped.

“Oh, I didn’t know Jungkook was here.” He spoke up, causing both heads to turn his way.

Taehyung laughed lightly. “Yeah sorry I forgot to mention it. He came over while you were in the shower a while ago.”

Jimin just nodded, and the air became a tad bit too tense to be not awkward. Thankfully, Taehyung’s phone began to ring, Namjoon clearly yelling a “get in the car children” through the speaker.

—

The club was actually horrible, Taehyung having disappeared along with Jungkook over an hour ago. Jimin sat at the bar with Yoongi, lazily sipping his drink.

“Jiminnie why are you so somber tonight?” Yoongi slurred slightly, and Jimin honestly couldn’t tell if it was the Daegu or the alcohol.

Jimin shrugged. “Just a bad week I guess.”

“Ah, I see.” Yoongi nodded, swirling his finger in the condensation left on the bar table from his drinks. “Rough week, and not anything at all to do with Taehyung and his fuck buddy Jungkook?”

“Fuck bud– what? Okay, they’re not fucking, Yoongi. And if they were, why would I care?” Jimin practically sputtered the words out of his mouth.

Yoongi just gave him a knowingly side glance from where he sat. “You all think I’m so quiet and indifferent, but that’s only because I’m observing all of you all the time.”

“Uh… not gonna lie, that sounds creepy hyung.” Jimin laughed nervously.

“Shut up, I’m borderline drunk you punk. Anyhow, it’s quite clear that you’ve been pining after Taehyung for some time now. But Tae and Jungkook are most definitely fucking.” Yoongi shrugged like this was all just common public knowledge.

Jimin felt his bottom lip pout out uncontrollably.

“Hey, don’t pout at me. You’re the one that needs to just have a talk with Taehyung, you’re the one that needs to tell him you have feelings. It’s all you. And pouting at me at the bar in a club isn’t going to fix your problems.” Yoongi was often times very straight-forward and brutal, but Jimin felt motivation with the words.

“I guess you’re right, hyung.” He said, waving the bartender down to close his tab.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at him. “Where are you going?”

Jimin sloppily signed his name at the bottom of the receipt and let out a heavy sigh. “Home. I’m going to talk to Tae tomorrow, I’m gonna tell him, so I should get some sleep.”

—

His presence in the doorway was soon noticed by Taehyung who looked at Jimin with heavy lidded, lust filled eyes and a smirk on his stupid mouth. And Jimin? Well, Jimin, being slightly drunk and emotionally drained from his stressful week, felt his bottom lip pout out and quiver and literal tears slid from his eyes. He saw Taehyung’s entire expression change to one of confusion and then worry before Jimin was out of there, down the hallway, and safe behind the door to his bedroom. Where he shakily sat down on his bed, kicked his shoes off, curled up in his sheets and cried until his tired mind shut down for the night.

—

The next morning, Jimin didn’t surface from his bed until near the noon hour, and he kept his fingers crossed the whole way to the kitchen that Taehyung was gone and busy doing something elsewhere. But no, as Jimin emerged into the kitchen, still in his jeans and black shirt (that was now terribly wrinkled) form the night before, Taehyung was sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone and nervously tapping the side of an empty mug of coffee.

The sound of Jimin’s feet on the wood floor made Taehyung’s eye shoot up from his phone, and he instantly stood up. “Jimin, hey, I think we should talk about last night. I’m really sorry if that was like… crossing the line. I know you like guys too but like, that’s our shared space. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you would be home and me and Jungkook were both really drunk and–”

“Taehyung, stop. You don’t need to be sorry. I was just surprised is all.” Jimin said, acting nonchalant about the entire event.

Taehyung chewed his lip for a minute, and the silence was deafening. A few pings of notifications sounded from Taehyung’s phone but he didn’t even acknowledge them. “Then why were you crying?”

There it was. Jimin felt his eyes well up again, and he sucked his lip to fight the urge to cry once again. “No, what? I probably had like makeup in my eye or something. Or… no actually I had to pee really bad and you were blocking the toilet so I cried about that, haha ha.”

The frown on Taehyung’s face was deep and disappointed. “You don’t need to lie to me. Honestly, I thought you knew about me and Jungkook fooling around… it’s been pretty obvious for a few weeks now.”

Jimin took a long, shaky inhale of air before letting it all out. "I… I’ve suspected it, but I guess I just didn’t want it to be true.”

Realization crossed Taehyung’s face and Jimin’s face instantly went red. He could have easily left that last part out.

Before he could beat himself up over it, he felt Taehyung’s long, lean arms hugging him tightly. “Jiminnie, why didn’t you tell me you had a crush on me?”

The hot feeling in his cheeks was back and Jimin scoffed. “Don’t say it like that, it sounds so childish. Besides, I’ve liked you since dorm move in day our first year… I just… couldn’t get past the possibility of rejection and losing you as my best friend.”

Taehyung pulled away, a soft smile on his lips now. “Jimin, you’ll always be my best friend, always. Nothing is ever going to change that. Besides, I’ve always had an infatuation for you too, but you always act so brotherly to me so I guess I read you wrong.”

Well, Jimin felt absolutely fucking stupid hearing that. “I’m sorry.” Jimin pouted, looking downward and internally screaming at himself for a wasted three years, and now there was no certain future for them to be together.

Lips on his own was not what he was expecting, but he leaned into Taehyung’s kiss. Long, slender fingers cupped his cheek and Taehyung laughed softly against Jimin’s lips. “Don’t be sorry… I wish you wouldn’t have cried over it and just yelled at me or something. I feel awful.”

Jimin sighed quietly, biting his lip again nervously as he looked Taehyung in his eyes that held so much warmth. “What does this mean? And what happened wth Jungkook now?”

Taehyung actually tilted his head back, letting out that loud baritone laugh that everyone adored. “Well look here, now Jimbles has the courage to ask all the questions.” Jimin glared at him for a second, but Taehyung continued. “Honestly, Jungkook has always talked about how attractive you are so I’m sure he’ll be okay. I don’t think he was ever much into me…”

“Then why was he eating the skin off your neck last night, Taehyung?” Jimin scoffed, glancing down at the purple and red blotching the side of the other’s neck.

Slapping Jimin’s shoulder lightly in retaliation, Taehyung just shook his head while laughing. “Okay, okay… we should talk to him.”

—

So a lot of things happened that week around winter finals during Jimin’s third year. A lot of bad things, good things. A lot of things he didn’t really expect to happen.

He certainly didn’t expect to gain his best friend as his boyfriend, but even more so, he didn’t expect to gain Jungkook in the form of their other boyfriend. And they fought about dumb stuff every now and then, and there was jealousy for several weeks. But now, with Taehyung making a giant pot of ramen in the kitchen, and Jungkook snuggled under a Pokemon printed blanket in between Jimin’s thighs as light snores fell from his open mouth, Jimin honestly can’t say he would go back and do a single thing differently.

#bts #jungkook #neon jungkook #taehyung #kim taehyung #bts v #bts jimin #jimin #park jimin #vmin #vkook #taekook #jikook #vminkook #maknae line #bangtan boys #bts scenario

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xennariel · 7 years

Text

Sorry for not posting much for the past week. This week will be no exception. With all the stress I’ve been going through with the mold issue and other things, I took it upon myself to start organizing the house as a distraction. It’s really needed it anyway as none of this stuff has really been sorted through since, like, 2008. I’m only about halfway done and expect another full week of 6+ hours a day of sorting, organizing, and cleaning. I haven’t even gotten to any of my stuff yet. >< With how much stuff we have, I’m planning to have a garage sale next month, so that will take probably another few days of organizing everything to be sold.

The list of what I’ve done since last Friday under the cut since no one really cares and it’s just to jot it down so I can see for myself what I’ve managed to accomplish in one week.

Friday Oct 6 - Cleaned out the closet in the room we use for an office. Sorted through everything in there, which was a lot, threw away two garbage bags worth of stuff. Brought up the undamaged wrapping paper supplies that were in the closet downstairs that flooded and stored it in the closet in the office instead.

Sunday Oct 8 - Cleaned out and organized the closet in the guest room, cleaned out and organized the dresser in the guest room, cleaned out and organized the linen closet, and cleaned out and organized the rags/dish towels cabinet in the laundry room.

Monday Oct 9 - Finished bringing up the puzzles and other things from the closet that had mold and storing them in the closet in the guest room. Pulled out all of the board games from the cabinets they were stored in and organized them so they all actually fit. (I ended up finding more games yesterday so that’s going to be fun. I have no room for them so I’m going to have to spill out to a third cabinet anyway. I’m so annoyed.)

Tueday Oct 10 - Cleaned out and organized the glassware in the cabinet in the bar area in the basement, cleaned out and organized the vases and other fragile items in the laundry room. Cleaned out and organized the drawers with party supplies like plates and decorations.

Wednesday Oct 11 - Cleaned out and organized the other drawers in the bar area, cleaned out and organized the lazy susan cabinets in the kitchen, and cleaned out and organized the display cabinet in the kitchen.

Thursday Oct 12 - Organized two of the bookshelves in the basement, finished organizing the last two cabinets in the laundry room, organized one of the cabinets in the garage.

Friday Oct 13 - Cleaned out and organized the Easter/misc holiday decorations in the utility closet, pulled out old and broken spare tiles in the utility closet, sorted through and organized a few of the boxes in the storage area, organized some of the Halloween decorations, organized the Thanksgiving decorations.

Saturday Oct 14 - Mom came over and went through all the stuff of hers that I didn’t know what to do with. We took the new shelving for the closet out of her car and my husband ended up passing out for a minute because he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink prior to helping us carry those heavy boxes. We were worried (since he gets sick every time he has to list heavy things and this was the first time he’d passed out because of it) so we went to the emergency room just in case. They confirmed what we said, he was just dehydrated and needed to eat.

Sunday Oct 15 - Sorted through the stuff my husband brought from his dad’s house when we got married. It’s been five years and he hadn’t gone through any of it so we finally did that. He had two huge boxes of books/misc paperwork, a huge bag of clothes, and three bags of random childhood stuff like toys. Took the whole day, but we finally got it done so when we finish the closet in the basement he can put all of it away finally.

I still have to sort through the garage, sort through my stuff, sort through four big bookshelves, clean out the large storage area in the basement, organize the Christmas decorations (the entire closet under the stairs is filled with 8-10 boxes of it so that’s an all day thing), finish sorting through the Halloween decorations, and go through all the junk we’ve accumulated under the sinks in the bathrooms, and finish decorating for Halloween. Then I have to go through everything I’ve pulled out for the garage sale, organize that, put price tags on stuff, and start getting all that ready for the sale. It’s been a huge fucking undertaking, but at least it’ll be done and we can try to keep it organized so I never have to do/worry about this shit again.

#random shit #Xen organizes her house #the great October clean up

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belovedrival · 7 years

Text

Venting about helping my parents move to their new house.

So I’m home after a Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of helping my parents move from their apartment to their house. Two days of 12+ hours of cleaning out one of their storage units (they have three), loading it onto a rented truck, driving it back to their new house, emptying it; then the next day of getting the big stuff and most of the boxes out of their apartment and moving it to the house; and finally today, when we moved the beds, mattresses, box spring, and their table from the apartment to the house - all of this done in weather that’s been hotter than Hades. I wish I was joking. Living in the Midwest, I’m used to a certain degree of heat and humidity in July, but this was enough to test my fortitude.

There was a heat warning in effect last week from around Tuesday until this afternoon.

Last night around ten o’clock I was talking to Mister (who was in Mississippi with his dad). He said, “I saw it was 105 degrees in St. Louis today.” (Saturday)

Yeah.

Anyway, the heat and moving heavy boxes and furniture meant that at times tempers got short. It’s a good thing I’ve learned to control my temper (a little) and that my dad recognizes when he’s lost it. For example:

The Scene: Friday afternoon, in the blazing sun at the storage unit. The trio (a married 60ish couple and their very average-sized thirty-something daughter) are moving a heavy bookcase from the nearly empty storage unit to the one next to it. All three are dripping with sweat, their faces red from exertion and heat. All are very eager to get this finished. The man tries to move his end of the bookcase toward the wall, unaware that his wife is losing her grip on her end.

Mom: Wait! WAIT! Wait, hang on, it’s slipping! We have to put this down! I can’t hold it!

Dad: We can’t put it down, dammit! Here, let’s turn it more towards the wall-

He attempts to swing his end of the bookcase around. This puts more stress on the women.

Mom: I can’t hold it! S, you’re going to have to move it more to the left!

Dad: (Seeing what she’s talking about, and loses his temper) All right, all right! I’m sorry!! I MESSED UP, I’M THE ONE THAT FUCKED UP-

Me: (Wanting to keep moving, and for Dad not to either have a rage-stroke or to lose his temper further): Nobody fucked up, let’s just move the bookcase back!!

About five minutes later, after the bookcase was moved, I realized that was the first time I’ve ever dropped the f-bomb in front of my mother. It’s not that she’s never heard it before - she’s been married to my father for almost four decades.

She’s heard it a lot. So have I.

I love my parents, but after this weekend, I’m seriously questioning some of their life choices. Like why they’ve moved so many times over the past decade. Why they have so much shit. (They’ve downsized - a lot, actually, but they could do a lot more.) And why the fuck they didn’t have professional movers do ALL of the move?? They said more than once that they couldn’t do it without me. Well, of course I was going to help them; I always would. But they seriously COULDN’T have done it without me, and I’m a pitifully poor excuse for a burly man mover substitute.

If they ever have to move again (they might, after my dad retires), I’m going to call my brother and sister and figure out a way for all of us to help pay for their whole freaking move. Moves are stressful enough, and in my opinion it was just due to the grace of God that none of us dropped from heatstroke (water and Gatorade were literally lifesavers), or anyone got seriously injured climbing up and down the ramp going in and out of the truck, or carrying heavy furniture and mattresses down the hill and into their basement.

I’m sore, and worried about them, and seriously wondering if I should drive back to their town (they live an hour and a half from us) on Thursday to help when the professional movers move the other one and three-quarters of the rest of their stuff from storage. We had to leave a bunch of heavy boxes in the garage, simply because we couldn’t move them any more. (That was late Friday night when we were emptying the truck. We were beyond exhausted at that point, and going on adrenaline.) I pray to God they aren’t trying to moved some of them now. I told them to ask the movers if they’d move the boxes from the garage to wherever they want them in the house - the movers will have a dolly.

I don’t really want to go back later this week, but I know my parents. They’re the type to just do it themselves. Which is admirable, but none of us are getting any younger. My mom’s had bad arthritis in her wrists. She’s had surgery on both of them. My dad had his attack of pancreatitis a couple of years ago, and has had surgery on his shoulder (a few years ago) and his knees (when I was a kid). I think this move took a lot out of them; maybe more than they’re willing to admit. They’re both stubborn that way.

No, I’m not stubborn at all. Why the hell are you asking me that? ;)

So I feel like I should go and help them again, but I don’t want to.

Am I a horrible daughter?

#siblings live far away #i think they'd agree with me #but that won't solve the problem now #i love my parents #really i do #but they drive me crazy sometimes #stubborn midwestern do-it-themselves stubborn asses #all i want to do is sleep for the next three days

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noonachronicles · 8 years

Text

Somebody Else

Kang Daesung x Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Language, Smut

Authors Note: Req for Daesung low key staying friends with his ex so that he can get her back. a/n - Okay, but honestly, I don’t know how to write him as anything but a sweet cupcake because my brain doesn’t comprehend badboy!Dae. I…idk. I tried.

“What about next Thursday?” She asked scrolling through the calendar on her phone.

“Dome tour in Japan that weekend.” He said rubbing his sleepy eyes, “What about Friday, two weeks from now?”

“That’s the weekend I’m going to Greece for my cousin’s wedding. You said you wouldn’t be able to come with me because you’ll be in Beijing.”

“Shit.” He muttered letting his head over the back of the chair. “That’s right. I’m shooting a commercial.”

“Dae,” she sighed, seeing how tired and uninterested he obviously was. “I know you’ve been so busy and you’re tired but this is really important to me. We need to find a date that works for both of us.”

“Do we?” He asked with a yawn, “Do we need to?”

“It’s our anniversary dinner.”

“We’ve been trying to set this dinner up for a month now. At this rate it will take a whole other month and we’ll have a new anniversary to celebrate.”

“So we should just forget about this one?” She said clearly agitated.

“I’m not going to argue with you about this dinner again. I refuse to. It would be easier to break up at this point.”

“Wow.” She whispered more to herself.

“Jagi,” he said lifting his head to see her eyes rimmed with tears, “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.”

“Didn’t you? It’s not the first time you’ve suggested we break up.” She sniffed and wiped a few stray tears from her cheeks.

“I just mean, you’re always stressed trying to plan dates for us that we can’t even enjoy the little time we get to spend together. We’re just too busy right now.” He was tired and he knew he shouldn’t be having this conversation.

“You’re right, Daesung. You’re totally right. What’s the past three years to either of us when this month, it’s just too hard. Let’s just give up.”

He was irritated because he’d been overworked trying to finish his latest solo album. He’d had 8 hours of sleep in three days. It wasn’t her. It was never her that made him this way but he couldn’t help himself from projecting his irritation onto her, mostly because she seemed to be the only one that could take it.

“I love you. You know I love you, but I can’t argue about this anymore. We’re just wasting time. We just wasted thirty minutes arguing about spending time together when we’re meant to be spending time together. What sense does it make?”

She finally hit her limit, “Can’t you see how important this is to me? Don’t you get it? I support you as much as I can, whenever I can, no matter what it is, and all I want is your support in this and I can’t get it.”

“I support you.”

“No, you don’t!” She screamed with frustration. “And that’s fine Daesung. I get it, I really do. You’re Daesung of Big Bang and I feel like I have been more than understanding of that. I need you to be more than that though. I need you to be my Daesung again, because I haven’t seen him in awhile and I miss him.”

“Well, he’s not coming back he doesn’t have the time to.” he sighed.

“Then I don’t have time to sit around and wait for him anymore.” She pushed herself off the and out of the room. In just minutes she was walking out of the apartment and out of his life.

Daesung woke with a start. His heart racing, his chest damp with cold sweat. He hated that dream. He hated that he was always reminded of the worst mistake he ever made.

“I had the dream again.” Daesung said taking a drink from his water glass as he sat across from Seungri.

“They’re getting more frequent.” his dongsaeng commented. “Have you thought about mentioning it to her?”

“Not since the first time.” he admitted, “She said if I brought up stuff like that we couldn’t be friends anymore, that I needed to move on. I can’t lose her as a friend too.”

“I still say tell her. You’re in love with her. You’ve always been in love with her. I’m ninety-two percent sure she still loves you too.”

“I do love her, so I’ll take her in my life at whatever capacity I can have her and right now this is it.”

Seungri rolled his eyes and stood up, “Well your best friend is here for your date.”

Daesung stood up and watched as you smiled your way over. You greeted Seungri first with a hug and a kiss on the cheek and then Daesung with the same. Nothing more. Nothing less. He pulled the chair out for you and pushed you back into the table before sitting down across from you.

“What are you getting?” You asked searching the menu for yourself even though you knew it like the back of your hand at this point and you always got the same thing anyway.

He shrugged watching you look over the menu. He was momentarily overwhelmed by how much he missed you in his life. Your weekly lunch dates were fine, but he wanted more of you. He was always wanting more of you. He took for granted the way your lips curved into a tiny smile when your face was resting. The little hairs that refused to stay behind your ear, no matter how many times you pushed them back.

“Daesung…” he snapped back to the present and saw you staring back at him. “Did you hear me?”

“Chicken, probably.” He answered.

“What?” You said thoroughly confused, “Oh. No, we’re passed that.”

“I’m sorry, jagi, what were you saying?”

“Dae…”

“Sorry, it slipped.” He said grabbing his water glass.

You groaned, “I was saying that I haven’t heard back from him in almost four days. That’s like the sixth guy.”

“What guy?” he asked biting his lip, he knew you’d be mad he wasn’t listening.

You threw your head back dramatically and sighed, “The guy from my date last weekend. I told you about him last Thursday and then we had our date Saturday… “

‘Oh right, right. I remember now. How did the date go?”

“I just told…I thought it went well. We laughed a lot and there wasn’t a really dull moment or anything. I could have maybe really liked him.” You pouted slightly, “What am I going to do? I’ll have to start sleeping with guys on the first date if I’m ever going to get any.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, that’s not you.” he argued. The conversation paused so that the two of you could order your meals and then you got right back into it.

“Daesung, no one wants to be with me! It’s like after you I’m broken. I haven’t had a single second date in months.”

“You’re not broken. These guys, they’re the ones that are missing out on you, not the other way around.”

“You’re sweet.” You still felt broken. You didn’t understand what you had been doing wrong. You’d had such amazing first dates with the exception of one or two guys who you didn’t mind not meeting with again.

So many nights you laid in bed and tried to think about how you’d won over Daesung, but realized that it was he who had to win over you. You’d met at a friend of a friend of a friend’s birthday party. He was so sweet that night but you knew exactly who he was and you knew you needed more attention than an idol could provide. For reasons you couldn’t understand he was really interested in you though, which made him persistent. He talked you into giving him your number and then talked to you everyday to prove that he could make something work. Somewhere between declining his requests for a date and talking on the phone for hours anyway you’d fallen in love with him.

Then comebacks with the group happened and he started releasing more solo stuff. The relationship got too comfortable. Daesung stopped making the effort to remind you how much he loved you. In return, heart clouded with frustration, you forgot how much you loved him. It had started to become the relationship you had feared it would be in the first place, so you had to leave. You didn’t date for over a year, too crushed by the split to even consider another relationship. Besides the lack of time with each other Daesung was perfect. He was everything you’d ever wanted and needed in a significant other and it killed you that it didn’t work. He had been the one until suddenly he wasn’t.

After lunch he helped you at the door with your coat, like the gentleman he was and left a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Next Thursday? Same time?”

“Yeah,” you nodded and then paused, “Oh, no. I can’t Thursday. I have a date.”

“On a Thursday?” he asked befuddled.

“He’s a bartender so he works weekends. I met him on one of my other failed dates actually. He works at the club a couple blocks from my place that I always asked you to take me to but you never did.” you said poking his ribs.

“I don’t recall.” He smiled, “Well, have fun on your date. Let me know when you’re free again.”

“I always do,” you said planting a kiss on his cheek. “Talk soon, okay?”

He nodded and watched as you walked away, the smile fading from his face with every step.

You gasped as Suho pressed your back against the door of your apartment. His mouth hot and wet against your throat. You turned in his arms to open the door. His hands grabbed onto your hips, his lips moved to your shoulder. It was only with sheer determination that you avoided squealing with delight that this was finally happening. Dinner had been amazing and the two of you had been talking for a couple weeks already anyway, so bringing him home felt like the only appropriate next step.

With the door slamming behind the two of you, you stumbled towards the couch. His fingers were in your jeans before your back even hit the cushion. Your head fell into the pillow and you closed your eyes, the smile on your face reflecting your total state of bliss. Then he stopped.

“Who is that?” he asked looking over the arm of the couch to the bookshelf. You lifted your head and peered over at it. “In the picture, who is that?”

“Uh, some friends.” you said eyeing the picture you kept of yourself and Big Bang in Hawaii.

“They look kind of familiar.”

“It’s Big Bang.” you sighed settling back down onto the pillow and moving your hands to unbutton his shirt so that he might get the idea.

“Seems pretty friendly, not like…a fan meet or anything.”

You sighed again, you had an idea of where this night was going. “I used to date Daesung.”

“Which one is that?” he asked stilling eyeing the picture.

“The one with the bangs and the overwhelming smile.” you admitted.

Suddenly Suho was pushing himself off of you and buttoning his jeans back up. “I can’t do this.”

“What? Why not?” you whined, you didn’t care that you were whining. He was not going to get away with blue balling you.

“I can’t compete with that guy.” he said as he buttoned his shirt, you actually pouted as his chest disappeared from view.

“I don’t want you to compete with him! Even if this was a competition, I like you for you and I broke up with him for being him, so I mean, technically you’re in the lead anyway.”

“That’s not what I mean.” he said looking at you with something that definitely resembled pity. “That guy, Daesung, he’s in love with you. It’s not that I couldn’t compete with him, it’s that I don’t want to.”

“I don’t …understand.”

“I met him. He’s amazing and he loves you more than any man I have ever met has ever loved any woman. I’m rooting for him. I want you to be with him. I didn’t know it was you until now, obviously, but now that I do… I’m sorry. I just can’t.” Suho apologized and then left you confused on the couch.

Daesung had been asleep when the pounding started on the door. He didn’t bother with a shirt because he didn’t intend on opening it, he was only going to look to see who it was and then he was going to call the cops since it was one in the morning. His hair fell into his sleepy eyes as he made his way down the hall. He squinted, only half awake, through the peephole and was more than surprised to see you. As much as the two of you had remained friends you hadn’t been back to his place since you came to pick up your things.

“Y/N,” he mumbled as you pushed yourself through the door as soon as you heard him unlock it. “Are you okay?”

“It was you.” you’d been crying and you were also drunk, and those two things were definitely related.

“What was me?”

“You’ve been sabotaging me!” You screamed obviously furious. “Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

“How?”

“I called them, Dae, all of them and they all said the same exact thing. How could you do this to me?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you…I just wanted them to know how important you are.”

“Tell me.” You said crossing your arms over your chest.

“Tell you what?”

“The sob story you told Suho and all the others. I have to know what you could have possibly said to them to make them actually root for you because right now I’m at a loss.”

“I told them there was a girl that I loved. A girl that had been so good to me, that lifted me up whenever I felt down and even when I didn’t just because she was that amazing of a human, just because she cared enough to do it. I told them that I had made a huge mistake and had taken her for granted. That I never lifted her up the way she did for me. That I hurt her and that I would spend the rest of my life making it up to her. I told them that even if I was only her friend, I would be the very best friend. That I would make sure that she was with someone who deserved her and treated her better than I ever could. I told them-”

Wrapping your arms around his neck you pulled his thick bottom lip between yours. Your hands slipped up his neck into his hair as the kiss deepened. His arms were quick to pick you up. Your legs hooking around his waist. You clung to him desperately as he walked you back to his room.

“I want you back,” he said once you’d pulled away from him enough for him to speak.

“Right now I just want you…” you said honestly, “Can you give me that and then we can figure out the rest after?”

“I…”

“Daesung, you cockblocked me all over this city. I want you to fuck me. I feel like you maybe owe me that much.”

He laughed and threw you onto his bed. “If that’s what you want. Take off your pants.”

You shimmed out of your jeans faster than you had ever before in your life. Daesung stepped between your legs and climbed onto the bed. His fingers teased the edges of your lace panties.

“Were these for Suho?” he asked.

“They’re for you now.” you answered, licking your lips.

“Shirt off.”

“You’re being very demanding for someone who should be trying to get back into my good graces.” You said dragging your shirt over your head.

He pulled your panties down your thighs and past your ankles. After you’d thrown your shirt to the ground and looked back at him he pressed the moist fabric between your lips. Your eyes shot up in an enthusiastic surprise. Daesung preferred to make love but he knew you liked to fuck and he was going to give you exactly what you asked for.

Without another word he sucked your already pert nipple into his mouth and you gasped, your panties falling down your chin as your mouth opened. His hand moved between your thighs and gently stroked your slick folds. His tongue dragged across your chest as he sucked the other nipple between his lips, letting his tongue tease it. He flicked your clit nonchalantly and you covered your face with your hands. He knew you so well, he knew everything that would make you go insane with pleasure.

“Please…please. Please. Please.” You whispered into your palms. You could feel his lips curve into a smile against the soft skin of your breasts, and he slipped his fingers inside of you.

His fingers pressed gently against your walls as you groaned. He could probably get you off just like this it get so good after months of nothing but your own devices. Loose tears slipped from the corners of your eyes as you steadied your breathing.

“You’re so tight, jagi…” he mumbled against your skin.

“I don’t want to talk about why I’m so tight.” Every inch of your skin felt electric. Even his hair brushing against your chest was driving you over the edge.

“Stop!” you gasped and he pulled back immediately looking at you with concern. “Fuck me, really fuck me now.”

You watched as he got up on his knees, his dick at full attention. You propped yourself up on your elbows and waited patiently for him. There was a mutual groan as he slipped himself inside of you. Him from the sheer tightness of your sex surrounding him and you from the instant satisfaction you received as he filled you completely.

“Oh, Dae.” you panted as he eased into you and then back out, “This is…you are…”

He sped up and you couldn’t hold on any longer. Collapsing into the pillow behind your head you ran your hands over his taut arms and back. He dragged his tongue over your elongated neck, groaning at the taste of the salt on your skin.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped tightening around him. A small hiss escaped through his teeth but he persevered. He only went deeper and harder wanting to bring you what you asked for. Your nails dug into the skin just above his hips trying to pull him closer as you came.

The tight pulsing of your orgasm milked him of his own. You watched as his brow furrowed and his trembling lips parted. There was something heavenly about his o face. His head dropped, face pressed against your shoulder as he caught his breath.

“I do love you.” You said quietly.

“Don’t just say it because I can make you cum.” He panted lightly.

“I’m not. I never stopped. That’s why I always pushed you away. I knew if you tried, I’d be back here.”

“What are you saying?” He asked lifting his head, his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“If we…” you took a deep breath, “tried again…would we still have our Thursday lunches?”

He stared into your eyes, reading your soul. “Every week.”

“Okay.”

He smiled until you could see more of his teeth than his eyes, “Okay.”

#daesung scenario #daesung smut #big bang scenarios #big bang smut #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #request #completed request

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thatsbrookie · 7 years

Text

Nov 13 - STRESS

This weekend was such a roller coaster.. I'm just sitting here thinking about all the events and I was like "MAN, I wanna write bout these events" So, here we go. Saturday was good. Except not really. Let me tell you some backstory.. (I had to Google to see if 'backstory' is one word) About 2 weeks ago, Greg and I were hanging out and he said he heard about some anime convention going on at the civic center on Saturday the 11th. He said he really wanted to go, and even though I am only mildly into anime I was on board. I like to support Greg's nerdiness. The next day, I went to work and told Morgan about it. She said she hasn't heard of it but looked into it, got hella excited and told Andrew that the four of us are going together. Side note: Morgan is really into anime. And she always says I am the one who got her into anime. (Ironic because I'm only mildly into it, as mentioned before) About a year ago we were talking about our favorite television shows and I found out she's never seen Death Note (One of my favs) So I demanded her to watch it. She loved it and she started watching more and more anime. Now a huge fan. From there, Morgan talked to Matthew about it (her brother) and he really wanted to go too. Matthew invited his best friend Molly to come too. So all 6 of us were planning to go and nerd out. Also, a couple days before I told Josh about it (Cause I know he'd be interested in it) and he said he was planning on going. Cool! So I'm excited. Then Friday, the day before, Greg comes over to my place to hang out. I'm cooking us dinner and he gets a call that some meetings got switched around and that he's going to have to be in his Pine Bluff territory for the majority of Saturday. He was pretty bummed about it.. Especially since it was his idea to go to the convention in the first place.. But I was like really upset. I don't know why I got so upset about it. Not at him, just the situation. And this has happened before. On multiple occasions Greg has had to cancel plans because of work, or even get called out to work in the middle of our evening together. It sucks, but it's apart of his job that he's on call a large majority of the time. I'm not sure what it was about this time that was especially upsetting to me. Maybe because I was looking forward to it so much.. So, the next day, Morgan, Andrew, Matthew, Molly and I all go to the convention. It was pretty fun. I tried to take as many pictures as possible to show Greg. I missed him. Then we went to go have lunch at Chick-fil-la. That night I was just hanging around the house with the pups and decided to try some of the wine I recently ordered. There's this site called Winc where you can order quality wine for good discount prices and have it delivered to your home. I had always thought about trying it out, but was always skeptical. Well, after months of being skeptical, I finally ordered some. I posted a picture of them a couple days. Super cute bottles. Well, one glass turned into two. Two into four.. Four into eight.. Next thing I know, I'm waking up Sunday morning on my mother's couch.. What the fuck. How did I get here? I walk home and I am SICK. So I spend the majority of Sunday wishing to die and recovered from one of the worst wine hangovers of my life. That night I went to Greg's house. I don't know why, but I was super emotional. I started crying and Greg, bless his heart, was trying so hard to be supportive even though neither of us knew what was wrong with me. He was trying to lighten the mood and cheer me up by making a "joke" but it wasn't funny. Very insensitive, in my opinion. So, we got into a fight and I left. Greg and I very rarely fight, so I was double upset. It's now Monday morning, I'm here at work and I feel like shit. My body is still pretty pissed at me because of all the wine and I barely slept last night. I was just so restless because of the unresolved Greg conflict. My mind was racing last night with all sorts of anxiety. Like how Christmas is 6 weeks away and I have done ZERO gift shopping. I don't even have money saved up to buy Christmas gifts. And Mom's birthday is 2 weeks away, I have nothing planned for that.. Speaking of mom, I can't remember how I ended up at her house on Saturday and I feel like I should be really embarrassed of myself.. Who knows what I said or did. God. Also, Greg and I have our New Years trip to Michigan. Every New Years Ryan and Gabby have a 3 day long celebration at their house. Greg always goes, and I'm invited to go this year. After looking at flight prices (CRAZY expensive) we decided to drive. We drove to Michigan before (for Ryan and Gabby's wedding), so we can do it again. We're planning on leaving on the 27th or 28th of December and coming back on the 2nd on January. I gotta start saving up money for that. Plus, I am going to have to have the pups boarded during that time, which is going to be pretty expensive. Ugh. I just get so stressed out with all this money shit. I was kind of thinking about taking off work on Thursday, the 16th. Because that's Brady's birthday. That's always the hardest day of the year for me. I feel like most people who have experienced death of a loved one think the anniversary of the death is the worst. I think the birthday is the worst, though. But after thinking about all this financial stress, I really need to work at much as I can.. I dunno. I haven't had a day off in a while.. I'll think about it Speaking of work. A couple days ago, big news has developed. Celita is pregnant! And it's not necessarily a good thing. Celita has been in a FWB relationship with this guy named David for a pretty long while. And apparently David is NOT happy about the idea of being a father. He is 25, in college and working full time. He says he doesn't have time to be a father and has been saying all sorts of nasty things to Celita, encouraging her to get an abortion and swearing the baby isn't his. Meanwhile, Celita is really trying not to let his cruel words get to her.. She has made up her mind to keep the baby. This will be her 4th child, she's 36, and she's dealing with it all really well. I feel really bad for her though.. She's told me some of the stuff David has been saying to her.. I can't imagine. She's really strong. I admire her For about 2 weeks now, yes, 2 WEEKS our work bathrooms have been out of order. The last week of October the sinks stopped draining and one day the toilets just started overflowing. It was terrible. Someone called building management, they came over and did something and we thought it was fixed. Next day, same problem. They came again, it was fine for a couple hours, then overflowed again. So we called professional plumber people, they came and did something. It was okay for about a day and half, but then all the toilets started overflowing again. And it's just been back and forth, back and forth.. I don't what the fucking issue is, but I'm getting fucking tired of it. Because I normally drink about 3 liters of water a day, so bathrooms are pretty important to me. We've been having to walk across the street to the Vantage tower whenever we need the bathroom. And it's really annoying, especially when it's raining. This whole text post has just turned into me bitching about life stress. I'm sorry, I'm just not in a good mood. At all. However, writing all this out has made me feel a little better Well, it's about to be lunch time. And before I go to lunch, I have a couple work things I absolutely have to do. So, I'm going to end this now. Goodbye Tumblr

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theunnaturalman · 7 years

Text

Natural Phenomenon/Disaster

I think this has been the most eventful week of my entire life. I saw a Solar Eclipse, I started a new job, I made 57 containers of nachos, I started a podcast, I am prepping for a hurricane, and……. oh yeah, I moved hours away from home and most everyone I love to come to college. If you would have told me three months ago that everything would happen the way that it has happened I would have said, "You're fuckin' NUTS!" The level of excitement that I had three months ago was through the roof (it still is, it’s just a different type of excitement, more in a moment). I was ready to embark on a new journey and accept new challenges and be independent and become a professional and best of all, have a SHIT TON of fun. The only problem is….me. I'm not your average 22-year-old college male. Or maybe I am, I don’t know. I'm not a "party animal", I'm not as independent as I thought and I am defiantly more emotional than most men. But as I like to say, "Es lo que es", It is what it is. Let me break it down for you:

Saturday: I knew leaving wouldn’t be easy. Most everyone that I love is home, mom, dad, Park, granny, my girlfriend and I'm leaving them…for a while. I spent a lot of time with my girlfriend of four and a half years and leaving her was not going to be easy, but I knew it had to be done to take a step closer to the future that I had envisioned. Little did I know it would only get worse...

Sunday: Day one! Time to have some fun and enjoy this thing! Yeah right. Instant loneliness, stress, boredom. I would have never expected to get this home sick this fast. But it hit me, and it hit me hard as fuck! Sure, there were moments throughout the day where I smiled. Spending time with my sister and my best friend(roommate) allow me to sort of get my mind on things and not think so much about the fact that I'm here. For a looonng time.

Monday: I had been waiting for this day for a while! The day of the Solar Eclipse! I knew I could not miss this natural phenomenon because I would not have the opportunity to see it again for at least 4 years which is not that long considering the last one was in 1918! It was everything I expected it to be and more! The rareness and magnitude of this event was so captivating! I had waited so long to witness this and to be a part of something, and then it was over. And in a matter of moments, the sun was the sun again and the moon was the moon again. No one was watching anymore. They were separated and back to normal.

Tuesday: Believe it or not work helps me keep my mind from the fact that I am alone. Although I am not truly alone, I feel alone. I feel out of place. At the drive-in, I felt like I had a place. People see me, they talk to me. Even if it is just for popcorn and a drink, they talk.

Wednesday: No work, no eclipse, nothing. A day full of nothing. Is it my own fault? Probably. But who wants to admit that? Who wants to say, "I'm bored and scared and lonely and stressed and sad and confused and anxious and depressed…but it’s my fault and don’t feel sorry for me." But in reality, I do want you to feel sorry for me. I want the attention. I want the affection. Is that selfish? Maybe. But who gives a shit. It'll help me feel better. Instead of waiting on the pity party, I started a Podcast. It was so much more fun than I expected. It turned out to be therapeutic. Sort of like this blog. Which is part of the reason why it is so long (I'll work on that).

Thursday: I learned how to prep on Thursday! I actually did a lot of prepping. I prepped for Hurricane(somewhat) and I prepped 57, 4-6oz, containers of nachos. And who would have guessed that it was actually a learning experience. In the moment of prepping the nachos I realized, nachos are a pain in the ass. Seriously though, I learned sometimes the smallest, most simple tasks that require absolutely no brainpower whatsoever are the ones you need to bring you back to earth. Shortly after the nachos were finished I also learned that when it's over, it's over. Back to reality and the reality is I was not ready.

Friday: More fucking stress. But I'm handling it. I woke up with a positive attitude and things are a lot better. The Hurricane is closing in on us but there is a calm before the storm and I am really enjoying that calm. It's peaceful, but at the same time it's like the weather is giving us an evil smile and is saying, "I'm about to FUCK YOU UP." That’s the worst part of it all, the anticipation. We have no clue what is coming or when it is coming but when it does, it slaps you in the face. And speaking of, here it is.

I've come to realize that there is more symbolism in my first week here than I would have liked. The excitement of coming to school and living the college life is parallel with the emotions of the solar eclipse, but like the eclipse that excitement soon faded and things returned to my new normal. My new normal just happens to be a "hurricane" of emotions. It’s only fitting that it’s the way I end my first week. It's been rough but there is always peace after the storm. Stay tuned….

#college

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fluffyllamas-23 · 6 years

Text

The Blind Date (2/2)

This is...just...way longer than I anticipated. I’m v sorry lmao

Part 1 can be found here

“You’re doing that thing again,” Hannah says, taking a seat on the other side of her couch.

“What thing?” Chloe mumbles sleepily, looking up from the textbook in her lap.

“The thing where you run yourself into the ground.”

“I am not.”

“Yes you are,” Hannah says, rolling her eyes, “you look like you could sleep for ten years. And you never come to my place unless you’re exceptionally stressed out. Take a break.”

Chloe yawns, “we’re in the nursing program. We all need ten years of sleep.”

“Have you talked to Sawyer? He called out of work again, and I’m annoyed.”

“Why?”

“Because, he was the only thing keeping me from throttling our incompetent, fucking moron of a coworker,” she scowls.

“He texted me this morning that he’s still not feeling well. I’m going to bring him some soup in a little bit.”

“That’s very girlfriend-y of you,” Hannah grins, nudging Chloe with her foot.

Chloe flushes, “shut up.”

“You’ve never been this forward with a guy before.”

She chews on her bottom lip, “I just…really like him…a lot and it’s scary.”

“That’s so cute! Anyways, how many days in a row have you even been over there?”

“I dunno…however many it’s been since Friday night.”

“Holy shit. You know you’re going to wind up catching it, right?”

“Doubtful. It’s been four days, and I’m still fine.”

“I dunno...you look like you feel pretty shitty.”

“I haven’t slept in two nights, that’s probably why.”

“Just...don’t...die. Or infect me. Paige and I have a hot date tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow is Wednesday. Who the hell has a Wednesday night date night?”

“Two people who have completely conflicting schedules, that’s who. My class is cancelled, and she has the night off work.”

“That sounds nice.”

“She’s coming over in a little bit, actually. We’re going to try and get some studying done...do you mind?”

“Not unless you guys start makin’ out.”

Hannah smiles wryly, “duly noted.”

Chloe rubs her eyes, which are throbbing with exhaustion at this point, before closing her textbook. She’s been staring at the same page for almost an hour, now, and she’s given up on the idea of studying anymore tonight.

Her insomnia really only kicks in when she’s stressed, and boy, is she stressed. Not only is she stressed because of school, but she’s stressed because she’s moving into Hannah’s apartment that weekend, and now she’s even more stressed because Sawyer is sick, and doesn’t seem to be getting better, and she hates it.

“Hey, guys,” Paige chirps, walking inside Hannah’s apartment, “I brought food! And coffee, I figured you haven’t slept, Chloe.”

“You’re the best, holy shit,” Chloe groans, pulling herself off the couch, “Hannah, your girlfriend is the best."

“God bless you, you beautiful angel,” Hannah says, pecking Paige’s cheek, before the bag and drink carrier from her.

“Here,” Paige says, handing Chloe a large cup.

“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver. Okay, I’m going to head out.”

“Tell Sawyer he’d better get his ass in gear and show up to his next shift,” Hannah calls after her at the same time Paige chirps out a, “bye, have fun!”

At this point, Chloe doesn’t even bother knocking. It’s easier that way, because he doesn’t have to worry about getting up, which he really doesn’t have the energy to do.

After letting herself in, she follows the sound of his coughing to the couch.

“Hi…I’m sorry you’re still sick,” she frowns, putting a hand on his forehead.

He’s shivering beneath the blanket, gripping it tightly as he stares at her with glassy, fever-bright eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the fever, a stark contrast to how pale his face is.

“S’okay,” he rasps, clearing his throat a couple of times.

“We’re going to the emergency room.”

“Nooooo,” he groans, “I don’t need to go.”

“Yes you do. You’ve had a fever for four days now, and you sound awful. You might need antibiotics.”

“But-”

“-It’s not up for discussion.”

He lets out a croaky groan of frustration, “fine.”

“Hannah is mad at you, by the way.”

“What?!” He squawks, “how? I haven’t even seen her.”

“That’s why. She said you’re the only one who keeps her from throttling your dumbass coworkers.”

He bursts out laughing, which turns into a coughing fit that makes his chest burn and throat ache, “ugh...yeah, I’ll bribe her with food. She’ll be fine.”

They’ve been in the ER for over two hours now. Sawyer is slumped against her, head on her shoulder as he drifts in and out of sleep.

She’s exhausted. It’s been awhile since she’s gone this long without sleep, and between the god-awful headache, sore throat and her heavy, aching body (all of which make her desperate to go and lie down), she’s forgotten how miserable it is.

Sawyer shifts beside her, and she looks over to see him sit up and rub at his eyes.

“Welcome back,” she grins.

“They still haven’t called me?” He asks, grimacing as his hand darts to his throat.

“We wouldn’t be here if they had called you, would we?” She asks, annoyance edging into her tone.

“Uh...no, I guess not.”

“Sorry...I just...want to get you checked out so we can leave. I’m exhausted.”

“You and me both,” he sighs, coughing into a fist. “Didn’t you say you’re moving in with Hannah this weekend?”

“Mmmm,” she mumbles, nodding.

“Do you need help?” He asks.

“If you’re feeling better by then, I’d love some.”

He squints, “so…why are you moving in with her? I think you might have told me, but I can’t remember.”

“Her roommate just moved out. My lease is up, too, and it’s cheaper for me to move in with her than it is to extend it...we’re over at each other’s places all the time anyways.”

“Oh yeah...I think you told me that already.”

“The fever is turning your brain to mush,” she teases.

“I feel awful,” he groans.

Her heart drops, “I know...but hey, at least the congestion is pretty much gone.”

They lapse into silence again, and as the minutes tick by, she finds herself sagging against Sawyer this time.

“You okay?” He asks softly.

“Just...tired. I haven’t slept in two…almost three days.”

“What?” He cries, launching himself into a coughing fit.

She pats his back with a grimace, “relax. It’s just insomnia.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“Not really...s’just from stress.”

“I-”

“-Sawyer Daniels?” A nurse interrupts. Chloe helps him to his feet, and then trails behind them as they go into an examination room.

As soon as they get back to his place, Sawyer goes right to his room/ Chloe follows him, but suddenly feels uncomfortable and hangs in his doorway, unsure of what to do or where to go.

“You can...um...you can lie down with me...if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods, eyelids drooping, “yeah.”

When she climbs into bed next to him, he immediately cuddles up to her, resting his head on her chest. As Sawyer drifts to sleep, Chloe lies awake. She wants to sleep, her body is begging her to, but she can’t. Her mind is racing, refusing to shut off and allow her any peace and quiet.

She’s suddenly filled with anxiety.

The move is coming up fast, and she’s nowhere near ready. She hasn’t even started packing up her apartment, and she has to be out of there by Saturday. She has the week from hell - two tests, three papers and a group presentation all due, the last of which is due on Thursday. Sawyer has the flu and bronchitis, bordering on pneumonia, and even though he has antibiotics, she still can’t help but worry.

Everything is too much. She tries to stay where she is, because he’s comfy, but her skin is crawling and she has the overwhelming urge to bolt.

Chloe slides out from underneath him, heart pounding in her chest and ringing in her ears as she struggles to get her breathing under control. She, unfortunately, didn’t get out of bed very gently. Her movements are jerky and frantic, and Sawyer forces his eyes open.

“Chloe?”

“I, uh-” her breath catches in her throat, “I n-need to l-leave.”

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice thick with sleep.

She nods emphatically, biting down on her lip so hard she tastes copper, “yeah! Yeah! I’m great!”

“Chloe-”

“I’m great!” She repeats, a little bit more forcefully this time.

His eyes search her face, but ultimately, he’s too tired and feels too shitty to say anything other than, “okay.”

Hannah is lying on her back, legs straight in the air as she holds her textbook above her face. Her phone rings, and when she goes to answer it, she drops the book directly on her face.

“Fuck! Sonuvabitch!” She yelps.

Paige bursts out laughing, and pulls the book off of Hannah’s face, “oh no, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine...fuckin’ book,” she grumbles, rubbing her nose. She glances at her phone briefly before she makes a face and answers it, “what’s up, deadbeat? Are you calling to apologize for leaving me with the fuckin’ moron?”

“Is Chloe with you?” Sawyer asks, ignoring the dig.

Hannah frowns, sitting up straighter, “you sound like shit.”

“I’m aware,” he snaps, and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Chloe. Is she with you?”

“What? No. Why? I thought she was with you?”

“She left hours ago...she looked freaked out,” he rasps, “she’s not answering my calls.”

“Oh...she...shit, she’s been really stressed out and not sleeping...I’ll try her too.”

“Is she okay?”

“I’m sure she’s fine...she’s probably at her apartment.”

“Okay.”

“So what’s wrong with you?”

“The flu...and bronchitis.”

“Fuck. Don’t die.”

“Workin’ on it,” he mumbles.

She grimaces when she hears him start to cough, “okay, I was mad at you for bailing on your shift, but now I’m glad you did, because you have the fucking plague and nobody wants you to cough all over their food and coffee...unless you wanna come in and just like...cough on Robert. He sucks, I hate him.”

“Leave Robert alone.”

“I will not.”

Sawyer sighs, coughing again, “will you just text me when you get ahold of her?”

“Yeah.”

Hannah hangs up with Sawyer, and then immediately dials Chloe’s number.

“Hello?” she whispers, finally picking up after what must have been fifteen tries.

“Chloe, thank GOD,” Hannah breathes, “are you alright?”

“Um...no...n-not really.”

Her heart drops, “do you need some company? Or do you want to be left alone?”

“Alone...I c-can’t...I need to be alone.”

“That’s fine,” Hannah says softly, “just...text me when you’re okay.”

“Okay.”

Hannah hangs up, and then shoots Sawyer a text saying she’s okay and not to worry.

“Is everything okay?” Paige asks when Hannah groans and puts her head in her lap.

“Chloe’s having a hard time,” Hannah mumbles, pressing her face against Paige’s thigh.

“Does she need anything?” Paige asks, playing with Hannah’s long brown hair.

“No...she just wants to be alone...which is fine. Maybe she’ll finally sleep, God knows she needs it.”

Chloe rolls over in bed the next morning, gripping her pillow. The anxiety has passed for the most part, which is good, but she’s still stressed out, and has no desire to get out of bed and face the world.

On top of the sheer exhaustion she feels from the mixture of two and a half days without sleep, and the anxiety from yesterday, the sore throat and headache are back with a vengeance. She groans as her body throbs, and is filled with the sinking realization that she’s finally come down with what Sawyer has.

Somehow, she manages to force herself out of bed, and go about her day, which passes in a blur. She feels as if she’s on autopilot, and when it ends, she walks into Hannah’s apartment and collapses onto the couch.

“Hello to you, too,” Hannah says, patting Chloe’s back.

Chloe sniffles, “I’m so tired.”

“Yeah, and you sound like shit. Finally caught what Sawyer has?”

“No...I’m not sick, just tired.”

“Yeah, okay. So you want some DayQuil?”

“...yeah.”

Hannah rolls her eyes, but grabs Chloe the medicine anyways, “don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“You had a panic attack yesterday.”

“I didn’t...I had anxiety, that was it.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever. You had anxiety, which never flares up that bad unless you need a break.”

“I took a sleeping pill last night. I slept, I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. How long did you sleep?”

“Like...seven hours.”

“You’re going to die.”

“Will you give my eulogy?” Chloe asks, voice muffled by the couch cushions.

“Yeah, it’ll be the best one, too.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Sawyer was worried about you. Have you texted him?”

“I’m going over there in a little.”

“Are you going to tell him you’re sick?”

“Why would I do that?”

“...Have you heard yourself? Or seen yourself? You look rough, dude...don’t sound much better.”

She sniffles again, “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“You’re shivering. Do you have a fever?”

“I dunno.”

Hannah presses a hand to her forehead, “you do. Oh shit, you’re burning up, dude.”

“M’fine,” she mumbles, “just give me the meds, I have shit to do.”

“I don’t approve.”

“Nobody cares.”

“Rude,” Hannah says, dropping a blister pack of DayQuil next to her.

Chloe lets herself into Sawyer’s apartment, and then stops in her tracks when she finds him at the stove, stirring something in a pot.

“Um...hey. Feeling better?”

He wheels around to look at her, a grin crossing his face, “yeah, a little bit.”

“Oh, good,” she sighs.

“Are you alright?” He asks, the grin dropping from his face, “I didn’t think you were going to come back today.”

She rubs the back of her neck, “ah...yeah...sorry about that.”

“What happened?”

She drops her eyes to the floor, fiddling with the ring on her finger, “uh...anxiety has been kicking my ass. I just...I couldn’t handle it yesterday. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

She groans, pouring herself into a seat at his kitchen table, “I don’t know, I just...heh...ihtchiew! Snff…snfff,” she rubs at her itchy nose, making a face, “I feel bad I just left yesterday.”

“Bless you,” he frowns, “don’t feel bad. You’re allowed to take time for yourself, you know that right? You’ve been over here everyday since Friday night, and I really, really appreciate it, but I know it must have been hard.”

“I guess,” she mutters, slumping down in her seat. She still feels like shit, and if anything, the medicine is making it worse, and she just wants to go lie down. She pitches forward with another sneeze, and then blinks tiredly at the table for a second before she pushes her hair off of her face.

“Hey, how about we go watch a movie?” He suggests, coughing into his elbow. “I’m exhausted, and I’m sure you are, too.”

She sniffles, “yeah...you read my mind.”

“Feeling okay?” He asks softly.

“Yeah,” she lies, “just...exhausted.”

“How’s the...uh...the anxiety? You okay?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

She rubs her left eye with the heel of her palm, “It’s better...sleep helped.”

He wants to ask her if she’s alright again, push her a little bit, but he’s reminded that he’s only known her for five days. He feels like he’s known her forever, but it’s only been five days. Five days isn’t long enough to prod.

He thinks she might have caught what he has, and the thought is enough to fill him with dread, especially because he still feels shitty, and if she’s sick, he wants to be able to take care of her.

She deserves it.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Chloe asks, plopping down onto the couch.

“Harry Potter,” he grins.

“Again?”

He pokes his bottom lip out, “yes. Please?”

She grins weakly, “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

Halfway through the movie, she’s so congested she can barely breathe. Her head is spinning, and all she can do is lean against Sawyer and try not to pass out, throw up, or both.

“Hey, Sawyer?” She croaks, grimacing at how awful she sounds.

He’s half asleep, but forces his eyes open so he can look down at her, “yeah?”

“I think I’m going to head out.”

“You okay?”

“I am,” she lies, “I’m really tired, though.”

Chloe isn’t completely lying - she IS tired. Exhausted, really, even more now that she’s officially ready to admit to herself that she’s sick.

Her entire body aches, as does her head and throat, and she just wants to crawl into a hole and be put out of her misery. Surely death would be more pleasant than this. She wants to tell Sawyer - he’s staring at her so intently with this cute, worried expression, like he knows how awful she’s feeling.

“Actually...would you mbind if I slept here?” She asks, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth and words blurring with congestion, “I dond’t trust mbyself to drive.”

“Yeah, of course. You can take my bed.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but the words die on the tip of her tongue, “Okay...thank you.”

“You sound a little stuffed up,” he frowns, “are you feeling okay?”

“I’mb just tired,” she sniffles, “I’mb finde.”

Chloe rolls over, sniffling as she nuzzles her face into his pillow. She squints as the light streaming through the curtains send a stab of pain through her skull.

“Oh, god,” she croaks, grimacing as she pushes herself into a sitting position.

Everything hurts.

She looks at the nightstand, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth when she sees the humidifier set up. There’s a glass of water and an open blister pack of medicine next to a box of DayQuil and a box of tissues, and she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Exhaustion weighs her down, but the moment she looks at her phone, she nearly has a heart attack, and she nearly trips over herself as she scrambles to get out of bed.

10:16 am.

She has class in fourteen minutes.

She has a test.

Sawyer is half asleep on the couch, playing on his phone when she comes flying out of the room, a look of sheer panic on her face.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” He croaks.

“I overslept!” She squeaks, voice cracking on the last word.

“Chloe,” he says, struggling to a sitting position. She’s still running around in a panic, looking for her stuff, and he tugs on her hand gently, “relax.”

“I cand’t!” She cries, eyes filling with tears, “I have a test!”

He puts a hand on her cheek, and inhales sharply, “you also have a fever.”

She pushes his hand away, “I’mb finde...I have to go.”

Sawyer runs a hand over his face as she runs out the door, worry gnawing at his chest. She’s burning up, and definitely doesn’t look like she’s feeling well.

He plops down on the couch, eyes burning as he rubs at them.

The door opens and he looks up to see his roommate.

Sawyer grins weakly at him, “long time no see, thought you were dead.”

“Sorry...I was visiting family and it ended up lasting longer than I thought it would,” Owen frowns, taking in Sawyer’s appearance, “shit, you’re still sick? It’s been like...six days since the gig.”

“I feel better...antibiotics helped.”

“Antibiotics? You actually went to the doctor?”

“Chloe made me.”

“Chloe...is that the chick you were supposed to go on a date with?”

“Mmhmm.”

“How’d she manage that? Remember the last time you got sick? We had to drag you kicking and screaming to the doctor.”

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Dude, you had a sinus infection and strep and we had to keep an eye on you in case you wound up with bronchitis, what do you mean it wasn’t a big deal.”

Sawyer shoots him an annoyed look, “it was fine.”

“Anyways, how’d she get you to the doctor? Did she drug you?”

“I didn’t want to tell her no...and I’d had a fever for four days...and she’s a nursing student and I trust her opinion.”

“So what’s the matter with you? Do we need to find a new lead singer?”

“S’the flu and bronchitis,” he mumbles, coughing into the crook of his elbow.

“Ouch. No wonder you sounded so shitty. Just...don’t die on us. We don’t want to have to try and find your replacement. Too much effort. We’re lazy.”

Sawyer smiles weakly, standing up, “no promises.”

“So you really like her, huh?”

Sawyer’s cheeks flush, “yeah, she’s great.”

“Our baby is in love!” Owen cries, launching himself at Sawyer.

Sawyer groans as they collide and he falls back into the couch, “why are you like this? Get off me.”

“Shit…fuck, sorry…I forgot you’re on your deathbed. You okay?” Owen says, pulling him to his feet.

“I’m fine…going to bed.”

Chloe walks out of her class, trembling so hard that her knees have nearly buckled three times.

She stumbles to a bench, and collapses onto it, feeling like she’s about to pass out as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. She dials Hannah’s number with shaky fingers, and when she doesn’t pick up, Chloe tries Paige’s number. When she doesn’t pick up, Chloe nearly bursts into tears. She just wants to go home and she doesn’t feel well enough to drive - not without crashing at least.

She dials Sawyer’s number, rubbing at her itchy nose.

“Hey,” he greets her.

“I’mb really sorry,” she whimpers

“What are you sorry about? What’s wrong?”

She leans over so that her head is between her knees.

“Chloe? What’s wrong, are you okay?”

“I’mb gonnda pass out...mb’stranded at school.”

“Okay, Okay,” he soothes, “just breathe, I can come get you, can you remind me what school you go to and where you are?”

She manages to tell him what school she attends, but her head is so fuzzy, she can’t remember the building.

“I really dond’t feel very good,” she croaks weakly.

“I know darlin’, I know,” he says softly, “just hang tight. I’ll be there soon.”

She hangs up the phone before curling up on the bench as a shiver runs down her spine.

She drifts in and out of sleep, until she feels a cool hand on her cheek, then the back of her neck, and then between her shoulder blades.

“Huh?” She mutters groggily.

“Hey, there,” he says gently, “ready to go home?”

“I’mb sorry,” she croaks, blinking away the tears that had gathered in her eyes.

“Why do you keep apologizing?” He asks, helping her to sit up. When he goes to pull her to her feet, she shakes her head.

“W-wait...dizzy,” she says weakly, gripping his arm tightly.

He crouches in front of her, putting a hand on her cheek, “okay. Alright, we’ll go slow.”

As soon as she’s okay to move, he gets her to his car, where she apologizes again, “I’mb sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“You’re sick,” she sniffles after a few moments of blinking heavily.

He chuckles lightly, coughing into a fist, “I’m fine. You, however…I need an address...I don’t know where you live.”

She’s shivering beneath a thick blanket. She can’t find the energy to move, and each sneeze sounds as weak and tired as Sawyer thinks she feels.

He coughs into his shoulder, pausing so he doesn’t spill the tea he had made her.

“Here,” he says, putting it on the nightstand.

She sniffles, “thanks...umb...could you help mbe with sombethi’gg?...hih...ihhh...hih’tshh! Ihtsch! Tsch! SnffSNFF...ugh...”

He hands her the box of tissues, “yeah, of course.”

“I ndeed to findish packi’gg up mby apartmbendt.”

“Are you serious? Chloe...you have a one hundred and three degree fever. You’re miserable, you need to be resting.”

“I’mb mbovi’gg ind two days...mby lease is up Saturday...I dond’t have a choice...I havend’t evend started yet.”

“Okay...how about I call Hannah to come help, then?”

She hides her face in the blanket, “do what you wandt.”

He takes that as his cue to drop down onto the couch and pull his phone out with a yawn.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Hannah asks when she answers the phone. “I’m assuming it has something to do with Chloe, because she’s the only thing you ever call or text about.”

“It does.”

“Knew it,” Hannah chuckles, “what do you want?”

“She says that she has to be out of her apartment by Saturday.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“She’s sick and she wants to pack up because she hasn’t started yet.”

“Aw, fuck. That sounds like her,” Hannah groans. “How bad is she?”

“She has a fever.”

“Shit. How high?”

“Oh hundred and three...I don’t think she should be trying to pack up her apartment.”

“Yeah me neither. Paige and I will be there soon. Does she have boxes?”

“I’m not sure.”

“...Are you going to ask?”

“...Oh. Right. Hey, Chloe? Do you have boxes?”

“Ndo.”

“She says no.”

“She’s the worst at this kind of stuff, oh my god. We’ll be there in an hour.”

True to her word, she walks through the door exactly an hour later. Paige walks in behind her and goes right to the kitchen. Hannah makes a b-line for Chloe.

She presses her hand to Chloe’s forehead, sucking her teeth in disapproval, “you did that fucking thing again, babe.”

“Go away,” Chloe whines, hiding her face with the blanket as she sneezes for what feels like the thousandth time.

“You moron,” Hannah scolds gently, ruffling Chloe’s hair, “you do this all the time, and then you practically kill yourself.”

“Dond’t be mbeand to mbe.”

“Well who else am I going to be mean to,” she teases, “Paige made you some tea and soup.”

“And also brownies,” Paige says, walking out of the kitchen with a box before sitting down next to Chloe’s book case.

“Oooh did someone say brownies?” Sawyer asks, poking his head out of her bedroom.

“They’re on the counter if you want one.”

“Hell yeah, I want one.”

“Are you finally coming back to work?” Hannah asks, turning to look at sawyer

“Yeah, but I’m not scheduled until Sunday night,” he mumbles, words muffled by an entire brownie shoved in his mouth

“Halle-fucking-lujah,” Hannah groans, sticking the thermometer in Chloe’s mouth.

“Hanndah-“

“Shut up and let me take your temperature.”

“Your bedside mbannder could use sombe work,” Chloe grumbles.

Hannah grins, “my bedside manner is great.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Shut up. I want to get a reading on your fever, will you just be quiet?” She snaps.

Her eyes fill with tears, and she chokes on a sob as she averts her eyes, “sorry.”

“Oh shit,” Hannah grimaces, taking the thermometer out of her mouth before crouching down and putting a hand on Chloe’s burning cheek, “hey, look at me.”

Chloe sniffles, rolling on her side to look at Hannah, “I’mb sorry...please dond’t be mbad.”

“You know I’m just worried, right?” She says softly, “I’m not mad at you...I just don’t like it when you’re this sick.”

Chloe shivers, hiding her face in the pillow again, “cand I have sombe ndyquil?”

“I will absolutely give you some after I take your temperature.”

Hours later, they have a little more than half of her apartment packed away. Sawyer can feel himself dragging, exhaustion seeping into his bones and muscles and making him ache again.

The NyQuil had completely knocked her out, so much that she didn’t even budge when he scooped her up and carried her into her room.

“Okay,” Sawyer says, walking back out into the living area, “I got her to her bed, and I’m exhausted...I think we should be done for the night.”

“I agree,” Hannah yawns.

“Thank you guys so much.”

“Yeah, of course,” Paige says, “you should get some sleep.”

“Take the couch. One of the boxes has a blanket in it…” Hannah trails off, looking around. “Hey, I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“When are you going to man up and ask her to be your girlfriend already?”

“What?”

“When are you going to ask her to be your girlfriend?” she asks slowly, as if she’s speaking to a child. “Seriously, you can’t be this dense. You two are practically dating at this point, just ask her already, you coward.”

He rolls his eyes, “goodbye, Hannah.”

“But-“

“-let’s go, honey,” Paige says, nudging her towards the door. “Stop bullying the poor guy.”

“If anybody is being bullied, it’s me,” Hannah grumbles.

Paige giggles, “let’s just go. I’m starving.”

Sawyer closes the door after them, dissolving into a coughing fit.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sawyer asks anxiously.

It’s officially move in day. Chloe had spent all of Friday in bed, skipping classes and only waking for food, water, and to use the bathroom. Still though, she still only feels slightly better.

Sawyer would give anything for her to be able to rest, but instead, she’s on as many cold and flu meds as humanly possible, so that she can function enough to get everything moved.

“I’m...I feel like shit...but I’m okay,” she mumbles.

“I’m so sorry I got you sick...you can punch me in the face. I told you that you could.”

“Don’t be so dramatic...s’fine. It happens.”

“Okay, so what needs to be done?” He asks, more than grateful that he feels almost completely better (save for an annoying lingering cough, and some fatigue). He’s not sure how this would have worked if they were both sick.

“Uh,” she says, rubbing her forehead, “Hannah should be here with the moving truck at like...shit, I can’t remember what time...but...soon? We need to scrub this place down and make it l...heh...heh’tschh! Snff…guh...we have to make it look like new...I need that deposit bahhh...heh...hhh...hihtsch! Ihtsch! Snff! Back.”

“Bless you.”

She gives a couple of coughs into the inside of her wrist as the front door opens.

Hannah walks inside, “alright, let’s do this shit. How do you feel?”

“I crave death.”

“You can’t die, I need help with rent.”

Paige flicks the back of Hannah’s head, “be nice.”

“Ouch!” She yelps, rubbing the abused spot.

Paige grins, kissing Hannah’s cheek, “better?”

“Yeah…you’re lucky I love you.” Chloe coughs again, and Hannah grimaces, “you’re coughing now? You almost never cough when you’re sick.”

“You don’t?!” Sawyer asks, eyes snapping to her face, “do you want to go to the ER? You’ve been coughing all morning.”

“I’m fine,” she croaks, “I just want to get this over with so I can go back to sleep.”

“We can do it for you, and you can go lie down.”

“What? No, absolutely not. I’m not dumping that on you. I’ll be fine.”

Despite her claims, it’s very obvious that she’s struggling, even from right off the bat. Her movements are sluggish and half-hearted, and since nobody trusts her to walk up and down the stairs to put boxes into the car, she’s been put on cleaning duty.

“Honey, you’ve been cleaning the same spot for the last thirty minutes,” Sawyer says softly, putting a hand on her lower back.

“Huh?”

“Go sit down, you’re miserable.”

“No...m’fine.”

She forces herself to keep going, because the cleaning needs to be done, and she’s determined not to be useless.

Sawyer keeps trying to get her to rest, but she’s adamant that she’s okay, and that she doesn’t need to.

Paige, Hannah and Sawyer get the moving van all loaded up as quickly as they can. Both Sawyer and Paige return to Chloe’s apartment, while Hannah goes to her and Chloe’s apartment to start unloading.

“I’ll start in the bathroom, you go help Chloe,” Paige says, shutting the door behind them.

Sawyer finds her in her bedroom, sitting on the bed and staring blankly at the door.

“Shit,” he hisses, crouching in front of her. He presses a hand to her forehead and then shakes his head, “You’re done. Paige and I will finish cleaning, you’re going to sit here and rest, okay?”

“But I-“ she breaks off coughing, and Sawyer rubs her back gently.

“But nothing. You have a fever, you’ve helped enough. We’ve got this.”

When all the cleaning is done, and Sawyer gets her to her new place, she nearly cries in relief when she lays down in bed.

Her bedding is the only thing unpacked, and she’s never been more grateful for Hannah in her entire life.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” She mumbles into her pillow, already half asleep.

“I’m one hundred percent sure we don’t want your help,” Sawyer says gently, “all we want is for you to go back to sleep. I’ll come back in to check on you in a little bit.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, eyes drooping shut as she falls asleep.

Sawyer breathes a sigh of relief, kisses her burning cheek, and then leaves her room quietly, shutting the door behind him.

#sickfic #Ocs #Sawyer and Chloe #Hannah and Paige #fever #coughing #sneezing #flu

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