#he's had pneumonia three times before

[detectiveconnor]

having several small but very specific health-related headcanons for human connor vs not really having anywhere to put them

#he has chronic pain in his right shoulder #he's allergic to strawberries (they give him a rash on his face & neck) but he's never been anaphylactic (although allergies tend to get #worse with repeated exposure) #he had an eating disorder for several years and can still pass out if he misses meals bc his body learnt to give him Stark Warnings #his testes were retractile as a child but resolved spontaneously without surgical intervention as the vast majority of retractile testes do #he isn't iron Deficient but he often has low iron levels and occasionally will have a craving for steak etc #dust makes him sneeze but it's not bad enough he'd count it as an allergy #he was a regular blood donor for every year after he was old enough To donate blood #but had to stop when he started sleeping with Markus bc of silly anti-gay 'men who sleep with men aren't allowed' rules #which he Knows is a silly rule but he won't lie about that sort of thing because he 'knows better' he'll wait for the guidelines to adjust #he's had pneumonia three times before #whenever he gets sick he gets REALLY sick in a 'you should be in an ER' sort of way but mostly he spends those days #beneath a running shower (passed out) #he also semiregularly. ends up delirious when that sick. his fevers get High #also his mother was a redhead and he's hard to put under or to keep under anaesthetic-wise #and pain meds don't usually do a lot for him Although he also has a higher-than-usual pain tolerance #not Invincible to pain but higher-than-usual tolerance for it and doesn't notice/won't ask #if he is Asking for pain killers he is in a lot of pain. #verse information (human)

[autismserenity]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

#covid isn't over #covid 19 #disability rights #disability advocacy #wear a mask #covid conscious #covid cautious #mask up #wall of words #public health #health care

[satansappendix]

I am experiencing emotion

#soap spoilers #idk im feeling a lot of complicated emotions right now #my bastard of a dad is in the icu again #he just had surgery like three weeks ago to try and repair fistula (basically a hole) in his esophagus from the last surgery #to remove his cancer because he had esohougus cancer #well apparently because of the fistula he keeps getting pneumonia and it was so bad he had to be intubated #so the docs said that it will keep happening and it will likely be worse and his right lung part f it isn't re inflating #so the only options it sounds like to maybe save his life is to do a really risky surgery and remove more of his esophogus #and part or all of his right lung #and if they don't do the surgery he will likely die from pnuemonia pretty soon anyways #so my mom is his medical proxy and is trying to decided what to do for him because hes sedated and wont wake up before surgery no matter wh #im feeling im not sure angry? sad? anxious fearful? i dont know bad im feeling bad #but i don't know how to like deal with this? #i hate my father he has hurt me emotionally so much #but i still feel wierd about losing him #he takes issue with me being queer he has illuded to that much #and he was never there for me ever my whole life sure he was physically in our house but not emotionally there #the first time he ever asked me what i wanted to do with my life was when i was 16 and he got fucking drunk #he never really came to any of me or my siblings music preformances #he came few times that i remember but it was when there was free food #and its not like he wasn;t able to come he was off work every fucking day by fucking 2:30 #my mom who works nights came to like all of my concerts #he yelled at me one time when i fell off the sea wall as a kid (fell onto the ground next to it not the sea) because i got hurt #my mom told me its becuase he cared but that doesn't make any sense it never has #he threw my brothers fan out the fucking window one winter because he had it open #he has broken so many of our thing when he would just get so fucking angry #he pulled our kitchen cabinets down in a fit of rage when we were remodeling the kitchen because he got made #he screams at us he yells at us he calls my mother a bitch he cant even be nice to his fucking mother #he blames my brother for everything wrong he calls him a theif and some many nasty things #hes a major hypocrite he calls my brother a drug addict for smoking fucking weed while doing the same fucking thing

[staytinyville]

This Isn't Grey's Anatomy

Pairing: seungmin × reader

Event: 16 Days of Smutmas brought to you by @kwanisms

Word Count: 4852

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: Working the night shift at the hospital has always been easy for (Y/N) because most often then not, everyone was asleep and there wasn’t much she needed to do. However when she gets Suengmin as a patient because he had bronchitis, her chill nights were anything but. With the heating system working slowly, there was only so much blankets could do to heat up the body.

Warnings: piv, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (we don’t do that here), degradation, bratty!reader, bratty!Seungmin, dominance battle, masochist!reader, angry sex (of sorts)

A/N: Thank you to @saradika-graphics for the banners. They fit this story perfectly! Please be sure to check out all the other amazing stories brought to you by these great writers! Don't forget to like and reblog. If you wish to be added to my permanent taglist you can apply down here.

Staytinyville Permanent Taglist

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Affiliated: @cultofdionysusnet , @k-labels , @k-vanity , @skzstarnet

You sniffled as the cold got to your body causing snot to build up. While your hospital floor was much, much warmer than outside you could still feel the cold seeping in to disturb the peace. One of your co-workers had called to find out what the problem was–wanting to be on top of taking care of the overnight patients to make sure their stay wasn’t terrible. 

“So?” You asked as all the other floor nurses gathered to listen in. “What's going on?”

“The heater isn't working to its full capacity.” The nurse explained. “It's not enough to warm the entire hospital so we'll have to survive on what we got.”

Everyone sighed, moving to gather their jackets and scarves to keep them warm while working. You sighed to yourself, sniffling one more time before looking out the large windows in the lobby and smiling at the snowflakes slowly falling. 

“It looks pretty outside, though.” You said.

“You say that now until you step outside.” The eldest nurse got up, sighing. “Let me go get more blankets and stuff just in case the patient wants them. You guys go and ask.” They told you all. 

You had three patients in total. A little girl who was recovering from an infected wound she had sustained from falling down a hill. An older woman who was recovering from a kidney transplant. And lastly a man your age who was experiencing pneumonia.

You worked in the VIP section of the hospital, which meant that patients with top priority were placed in your care. You weren’t an ICU but you were the section that catered to patients who would come out of surgery or just needed certain meds for a couple of days. 

Because of this you had come across a wide variety of people that, more often than not, had money to spend on the best care. You were quite happy with the way patients tend to act in your presence. You had your everyday politician or idol who assumed you were doing your job wrong but you grew callous for those kinds of people. It didn’t matter what kind of hospital room you would have, anyone could always assume they knew more. 

You never complained about your patients, thus far. Not until Kim Seungmin was brought in four days ago with a bad cough and lungs that burned. Since you worked the night shift, you were thankful that all you had to do was give him his nighttime medicine and then never have to speak to him again because he was sleeping. However it seemed the man chose to stay up late just to annoy you further.

You knew all about Stray Kids and their worldwide stardom. In fact you listened to some of their songs sometimes when your spotify would play it back. If asked though, you wouldn’t be able to choose who your bias was. 

You had no idea if the attitude he bestowed upon you was the actual way he was with others or if he purposely only did it to you. The day nurse would tell you all about how nice Suengmin was and that he wasn’t much of a problem. It left you even more annoyed knowing it was in fact just you he acted that with. 

While you were annoyed at the time of the bickering back and forth, you knew that when you got home you would find yourself missing his annoying personality. You chalked it up to your own personality shining through and wanting to argue back with everything he sent your way. You enjoyed the adrenaline that came with arguing with him. You weren’t about to admit to it though.

“Seungmin!” You called as you entered the room. 

“Oh.” The man deadpanned, turning from the TV to watch you stroll into his room. 

“Don't sound too excited.” You rolled your eyes. 

“I thought you were done for the night?” He sat up in his bed, sitting crossed legged as you got closer. 

“Heater isn't working fully so I've come to ask if you wanted more blankets or something.” You told him. 

“I should be good.” He frowned, looking around at the fuzzy blanket he had brought from home. 

“You sure?” You asked, looking at the sort of thin material. “It's gonna get colder later.”

“Yeah. I'm fine.” He waved you off, going back to watching the TV.

You sniffled, waiting for him to say something else but he continued to ignore you. You glared at the side of his head, sneering at his attitude. 

“Jerk.” You said. 

“What was that?” He hummed, turning to you quickly as he took in your annoyed expression. 

“Nothing!” You smiled sweetly, turning around quickly. “Suit yourself then.”

The rest of the time spent at your desk was going over certain things and checking in on your patients over the computers. It was around midnight when you had to give out your next wave of medicine. Since the older lady was only in the ICU for surgery recovery, you only had to give medicine to the little girl and Suengmin. 

You decided to do the girl first before moving to the man’s room. “Hey, Seungmin? It's time for your medicine.” You called in, trying to find the man. 

You almost groaned seeing his curled up form on the bed trying to generate more body heat. You almost laughed at the way the large man was curled up in a ball. But instead you rolled your eyes and quickly went to find a solution to his problem. 

“You okay?” You glared, moving to scold him a bit. “I told you to take the extra blanket! You stubborn, brat.”

“I'm not a brat.” Seungmin pursed his lips, uncurling from his position. He looked around you for a moment before giving you a confused look. “Where's the blanket?” He asked. 

“There's no more.” You answered. “All we have now are extra gowns.”

“Fine.” He sighed, getting out of the bed. 

You turned around to get the extra clothing out from the closet in the room. You reached up to gather all that you needed before turning around to give them to Seungmin. However as you did, your eyes went wide as they took in his naked back.

“What are you doing!?” You yelled, throwing the clothing at him as he quickly turned to face him. 

“Taking my clothes off?” He squinted his eyes at you like you were the idiot. 

“Why?” You exclaimed. “Just put these over your clothes!?” You stressed out, moving to pick up the clothing you threw at him. 

“I've heard that taking off your clothes makes you warmer.” He told you as if it was the smartest thing ever. 

“Seungmin, that's only if your clothes are wet or if you have another person to heat you up.” You purse your lips, giving him an incredulous look.  

He paused for a moment as he looked at you. Tilting your head to question him, he suddenly lunged forward to bring you into his chest. 

“What are you doing?” You gasped trying to pull away from him. 

You squealed as he fell back onto his bed, getting comfortable for a moment with you on top of him. 

“You don't have any more rounds to do.” He spoke as if it was nothing. “Keep me warm until your shift ends.”

“That is not how things work–” You rolled your eyes, leaning up to look at him. 

When he stopped moving and you felt less suffocated, you tried to get up but the man seemed to hold you closer. Moving your knees to be placed on either side of his thighs, you tried to sit up in his lap but instead he took your movements to lay down more comfortably. He used his legs to push himself up on the bed, dragging you along with him. 

“Seungmin.” You warned. 

“You talk too much.” He told you, rolling his eyes. 

He dropped his head back, pulling the covers over the both of you as his legs shifted causing you to move around. You gasped when you felt something brush against your thigh, quickly trying to get off him. 

“I could get fired for this!” You growled, smacking his shoulder. 

Suengmin shifted his legs one last time, eyes flying open as his hands went down to your hips to keep you from moving so much on top of him. 

“Will you stop!?” He growled out, keeping you from shifting too much on his length that was starting to move from your grinding. 

“You stop!” You sat up, the blanket hanging around your shoulders. “You're being a brat.”

“You keep calling me that and I really beg to differ which one the real brat is.” Seungmin sat up, getting closer to your face as your chest pressed against his. 

“It means someone who won't listen and continues to misbehave.” You rolled your eyes. “Seems to me like that definition fits you perfectly.”

“Not in my book, sweetheart.” He glared. 

His hands had found themselves on your back, you not taking notice of how he seemed to push you further into him. All you felt was the heat of being talked down to like you were some child in need of a scolding. It was something you were not used to–something you found yourself wanting to correct in the man. However that proved to be difficult seeing as you both were having the same thoughts. 

You both wanted to show the other up. However, that caused the sexual tension to rise exponentially. 

“Brat in mine means Kim Seungmin.” You whispered.

“I'll show you—” He growled, pulling you by your thighs closer to his hips as he got up to sit on his calves. 

You gasped out from the movement, quickly grabbing onto his shoulders to keep you stable. With your knees further spread apart, your eyes went wide at the growing heat between the both of you. Looking down at Suengmin’s smug face though, it made your insides burn. 

“Bet you won't.” You told him. 

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, nose bumping against yours.

“An easy one.” You hummed. 

He licked his lips before they slotted against yours. It was nothing but teeth as you groaned from the bump, but you felt an adrenaline coursing through your body that made you do things on instinct. Your hand moved to the back of his head, gripping onto the base of his hair and tugging it back so that you could dominate the kiss. 

When you pulled at his hair, Suengmin’s hands on your hips suddenly gripped you tight, a warning. And when he shifted his hips up to sit correctly, you gasped out from his growing length bumping against your pussy. 

Both your scrubs and his hospital wear were nothing short of thin. You were both able to feel everything seeing as there was more than enough breathing room in the fabrics. Between your two bodies though, not even a feather could fit. 

With you gasping from the stimulation, Suengmin took the moment to slip his tongue into your mouth. You felt his smug grin from his ministrations, your eyebrows pinching together as you hummed in annoyance. 

So you pulled on his hair harder, pulling him from the kiss to shove him down onto the bed. You leaned down over him, hands placed on either side of his head. 

“Is that the only trick you have?” He laughed. “You’re way in over your head on this.”

You glared, placing a hand on his neck as you gave a warning squeeze. “You’re just someone who needs to be put in their place.” You moved your hand up, forcing his head to move. 

He glared playfully, a teasing smirk on his face. Before you could notice, he moved his hand to grip onto your hair, pulling your own head back. You groaned from the sensation, pressing your lips together to keep from making a noise. 

“And you are exactly the same.”

You looked down at him, letting go of his neck to drift your fingers down his chest. Suengmin let go of your hair to allow his hand to find the bottom of your shirt. His fingers skimmed your skin just a bit causing you to flinch from the cold tips. In retaliation, you didn’t bother with formalities and instead placed your palms on his stomach. 

“Ah.” He gasped out, grabbing your wrist to move your hands away from him. 

Your giggle caused him to glare, pinning your wrists together with one hand as the other went under your own shirt. You whined and tried to wiggle away from him, almost slipping off the bed. But Suengmin caught you on time, moving you back into his lap. 

You moaned a little as your core rubbed against his length again, shifting your hips a bit to satiate the nerves building up in your core. Seungmin huffed a laugh, making you stop your movement. 

“You’re so sensitive.” He teased, moving his hips a bit to get you to whine again. 

You shoved his hips down, glaring at his smug look. When you fully grinded down on him, he choked on air and dropped his head back down. 

“We aren’t on different ships here.” You told him. 

Seungmin growled as he sat back up, quickly taking a hold of your shirt and throwing it over your head. Without asking, he quickly shoved the cups of your bra down, devouring a nippled in his mouth. 

“Seungmin!” You gasped, trying to get him to pull away by gripping onto his hair but it only seemed to make him suck harder. 

You felt a shiver go down your body, having been extra sensitive when it came to your nipples. You suddenly let out quiet whimpers, gasping when you felt his teeth graze the skin. Taking initiative of his sucking, you instead pushed his head further, leaning back to allow him more access. 

When you felt that nipple had enough, you shoved him back roughly before moving him onto the other side. He made a noise and quickly pulled back. His glare made you smile evilly. 

“You’re testing my patience.” He told you. 

“Mine already ran out.” You answered. 

“Call us even then.” With that you were finally pushed off him and onto your back on the bed. 

Instead of crawling over you, you gasped when Seungmin took the moment to roll you over harshly. He moved you the way he wanted, picking up your hips so that your bottom was up in the air. Before you realized it, his hands had gripped onto your scrub pants, pulling them down along with your underwear to your knees. 

“Seungmin–” You gasped out, wanting to turn around but a loud smack and stinging pain brought down onto your ass had you freezing. 

His palm reeled back when he didn’t get a sound from you. He moved onto the other cheek, palm flying flat onto the junction where your cheek met your thigh. This time you lurched forward with a moan, squeezing your thighs together as your hips moved back into their arch. 

“Ain’t so big now, are you?” Seungmin mocked. His hand soothed over the skin that was turning pink. 

He hummed as he took in his work. “You just want to be a brat to get punished.” He leaned over your back, lips hovering over your ear. “I can see you squeezing your legs together, Pretty.”

You turned to face him, the glare still on your face making him tsk. He growled when you quickly moved your hips up to nudge at his cock. He quickly gave you another spank, getting a squeak from your lips. 

“And you get off on giving the punishment.” You growled. “Do us both a favor–” You moved onto your palms, leaning up to lick at his lips with the tip of your tongue. “Spank harder.”

“Greedy.” Seungmin sneered, complying fully with your request though. 

Each grunt and wiggle of your hips had Seungmin sucking in a breath. He kept having to push your hips down each time you would push back to follow his hand that would come off your skin. 

“Are you that much of a masochist?” He asked you, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. 

“Nope.” You grinned, turning around to face him. “You just hit like a girl.”

You almost snickered at how red his face seemed to have gotten. But things took a turn when he suddenly gripped your hair tightly in one hand and pulled to expose your neck. He grunted as he pushed your hips up to meet his own. You clenched your eyes as you sucked in a breath from having his length rub against your soaking core. 

“The purple bruising on your ass cheeks beg to differ.” He whispered in your ear, nipping at it. “You still have work to get back to, Princess.”

Your hand snaked back between the two of you, quickly cupping onto Seungmin’s cock, rubbing your fingers gently along his sack. The groan you got went straight to your core once more, soaking his hospital pants. 

“Maybe I want to be reminded of how I made you turn into a moaning mess.” You huffed back.

You immediately stopped rubbing at him and quickly used the momentum to turn around and drag him down onto the bed without falling over. You kept him from moving by sitting on his lap as you took off the rest of your scrubs. 

You wanted to giggle at the way Seungmin’s eyes attached themselves to your breast after taking off your bra. With you completely naked by then, you shimmed your way down his legs, fingers hooking into the band of his pants. 

Just as he did to you, you shoved them down his thighs, his cock springing free and laying against his stomach. Without warning, you quickly traced the tip of your tongue up his length, making him buck up to follow your mouth that pulled away from him. 

When he bucked his hips up, you shoved them back down. You slowly made your way up to his face, making sure your nipples brushed against the tip of his length. You felt him shiver, pulling a giggle from you. 

“Pretty boy sensitive.” You mocked, fingers tracing him again. He growled about to push up to make you turn but you quickly shoved him back down. 

“I like my boys to be good.” You slowly encased your hand around his throat again. “Might just make both of us feel good.”

Seungmin’s laugh reached your ears, making you clench your jaw. “You really think I’d let you do that? As if I’d ever give you the chance.”

You sneered falling forward to bite at his neck, sucking a bruise into his skin. While he did allow you to do that, his hands still fell down onto your hips as he shoved you down onto his lap making you grind against his thigh. 

“We’ll see after this.” You told him, moving back down to his cock. 

Before he could say anything, your mouth encased him entirely. His tip hit the back of your throat immediately without a warning start. He groaned and shifted his hips wanting but you kept him from moving at his own pace. With all your force you kept your hands on his hips to keep him attached to the bed, using only your mouth to keep his cock in its place. 

With your cheeks hollowed out as your mouth created a vacuum, Seungmin felt himself falling from his annoyance. However when you shifted forward to get a better hold on him, he came back to where he was and quickly gathered your hair in his hands. 

He created a makeshift ponytail, holding your head up and your hands became loose on his hips allowing him room to move. He began to thrust his hips up quickly, huffing and trying to keep quiet as his body began to fall into the pit of pleasure. 

Your spit began to drip down his shaft, leaving a large trail down his balls. Your gagging sound only made him go faster. At least until you quickly pulled away and tried to stop yourself from coughing. Your breathing was harsh, the air returning to your lungs. 

As Seungmin took in your tired look, mouth hanging open to get a better grip on your breathing, chest heaving, fingers gripping onto his thighs to stabilize yourself–he felt a different need than to just make you submit. 

He wanted to worship you.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He huffed out, sitting up to take the back of your head and push you towards his lips. 

You made a stunned noise, not prepared for his lips to slot against yours. However the moment they did you felt your shoulder drop and hands move to slide them along his shoulders. You moved your knees on either side of his thighs, sitting directly on his cock. He shifted just a bit, nustling himself directly between your folds and placing his hands on your ass to grind you down harder. 

The moan he got from your lips made his mouth pull open, sucking in breaths as his own hips started to move to the way you sounded on top of him. 

“Gonna let me fuck you?” He asked you quietly. 

You looked down at him with hooded eyes, hips continuing their motions in a hypnotizing fashion. Your body was becoming numb, telling you to succumb to your pleasure but your head was telling you that you didn’t want to back down from him just yet. 

Seungmin knew what you were thinking because he suddenly gave you a grin. “I’ll let you be on top, princess.” He spoke against your lips. “Just let me feel this pussy.”

With that your body fell on top of him and pushed him down onto the bed. Seungmin’s hands went to the dips in your hips, pulling at the fat as he made you give him a pussy job. 

By that point the blanket he was using had been discarded because it was much too hot. Your bodies were sticking together as you both generated so much heat. It was intoxicating to be that close to Seungmin and feel the heat of his rigid body against your soft one. 

It wasn’t until his tip got caught at your entrance that you let out a whine, stopping your movement to keep him there. “Seungmin, are you going back on your word?” You whispered against his collarbone. 

“Not for this.” He whispered, grabbing a hold of his length to line up with your entrance. 

When you felt the pop and his head stretching you out the more he thrusted forward, you moaned in Seungmin’s ear which had him squeezing his eyes closed to keep from releasing too early. He grabbed onto the fat of your ass, fully sitting you down on top of him. 

The way he felt you clenching at the pillow and sheets by his head and the way you withered on top of him made his head dizzy. You were getting used to him, he got that much but each time you moved he felt your walls nudge at his tip. 

“You almost done?” He breathed out, teeth grinding against one another. “You’re making it really hard not to bust.”

Your breathless giggle had his mind reeling. “Like this?” You huffed, shifting your hips back. 

He choked up, smacking you raw ass in a teasing manner. You finally sat up off his chest, nails dragging against his skin and teasing his nipples. You moved your knees, lifting yourself up from his cock for just a moment before falling back down. 

You got a groan from him, making you smile and a blush to overtake your features. “You sound so pretty.” You cooed, beginning to move up and down at a slow place. 

“Ah–You should hear yourself.” He hummed, thumbs brushing the inside of your thighs as he gripped them. “Sounds like you’re in a porno.”

“Those are fake.” A moan slipped out as he cock started to hit a certain spot in you that made you grind harder against it. “This is the real thing.” You breathed out.

His breathless laugh had the ball in your stomach growing bigger. The way he threw his head back against the pillows and his hair stuck to his forehead had your head spinning. You didn’t notice how you began to bounce faster, falling prey to his reactions. 

“Just like that, baby.” He whispered, planting his feet on the bed to begin shifting his own hips. 

You cried out and fell forward as he took charge once again, huffing into his chest as his hips pistoned up into you. Your whimpers were bringing him closer to the edge, feeling your walls squeeze around him as he realized you too were close. 

“Come on, Princess.” He kissed his teeth, not stopping his quick movements. “Let go for me. I know you want to.”

You were breathless, mouth dry but you were still buzzing with nerves. “You first.” You told him.

“You’re such a brat.” He whined, quickly pulling out just as you clenched down on him from your own orgasm. He used his hand to shoot his cum onto your backside, painting the red skin white. 

The warmness had you whining from your already heated skin. The moment the both of you had finished, you dropped down onto the bed–all your muscles relaxing from the moment. 

“I don’t think I’m going to need that extra blanket.” Seungmin told you.

“You do need a shower.” You crinkle your nose, peeling your cheek from his chest as you feel the sweat stick to you. “Look what you did to me.” You whined, knowing you were going to have to shower as well. 

“You weren’t complaining at the time!” He retorted. 

“You had me dick crazed.” You swat at him. 

“You got crazy for some dick?” Seungmin cooed. 

You sat up, smearing his cum onto his thighs. The glare was back on your face and it made the man laugh. “I have to get back to work.” You huffed standing up before entering his bathroom to get cleaned. 

**

Seungmin was discharged two days later. You had been the one to tell him the next day about it. He only gave you a hum and told you that he was glad to finally go back to work and leave the stuffy place. As well as finally not being sick and hacking everywhere. 

You worked the nightshift which meant you weren’t his actual nurse that would fill out all those papers. The only thing you made it to when you got to work were the janitors disinfecting his room for the next patient. You didn’t get the chance to catch him before he left. 

Your shifts always started at 7 in the evening, around the time a lot of people closed up their shops and went to get dinner. But you were not those people, instead you were there to attend to the little girl who’s infection was starting to go away. The older lady was released the following day when you were with Seungmin. 

It was a rather calming evening, the snow still on the ground but finally stopped falling. You had on your long sleeved shirt, the heater working full blast this time around. As you looked out the windows to catch the lit up Christmas tree in the middle of the garden of the hospital you smiled to yourself. 

“(Y/N), these are for you.” You looked up to find one of your co-workers coming in with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. 

You frowned, wondering who could have gotten them when you knew flowers were much too hard to come by in this kind of weather. You took the card, finding the logo to be one that a vast majority of Korea knew. 

It was a card from JYP Entertainment. The person who sent you the bouquet decided to hand write the letter and have it sent to your hospital. As you placed them down, you took the time to read over the note. 

Don’t let your negative energy kill them - Kim

At the bottom were numbers put together in a sequence you knew all too well. You didn’t bother to wait, already knowing that the both of you weren’t people who beat around the bush. SO you picked up your phone and punched in the numbers sending the message. 

You better be taking your meds.  7:15

You spent a good amount waiting for his reply but it didn’t leave you worried. So when you saw a notification on your phone the next time you sat down you grinned. 

Not even a thank you.  8:20

What if I’m not? 8:22

The smile that had overtaken your face made your cheeks hurt. You weren’t going to admit that to him though. 

You really want to find out what happens if you don’t? 9:32

Is that a challenge? 9:33

An easy one. 9:33

Permanent Taglist : @ldysmfrst , @hecateslittlewitchling , @rln-byg , @vampcharxter

#kpop fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids #seungmin #skz #kim seungmin #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin smut #seungmin imagines #seungmin skz #seungmin stray kids #seungmin fluff #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz smut #skz stay #cultofdionysusnet #k vanity #k labels #16 days of smutmas 2023

[loveinhawkins]

prompt from @teaspelledbackwards-blog: something featuring sick Steve being taken care of. prompt guidelines

It’s almost like a culture shock, adjusting to normality after everything is over: to not have to leap in front of others with arms outstretched, his whole body tightly coiled; to not have to always be ready to fight.

And most of all, to no longer need to worry about the big, life-threatening things. Even back then, Steve felt like he’d had a lucky escape compared to everything else they were dealing with—sure his bites still stung, but they were only in borderline need of medical attention.

“Borderline?” Eddie had wheezed through the high of morphine when Steve relayed this. “God help us for what your ‘real emergency’ looks like, Harrington.”

So when it’s just a run-of-the-mill day, and Steve’s head is pounding, but it’s not that bad, he powers through. It’s not like it’s pneumonia or anything; it’s not like he’s dying. It just mildly sucks. Well. Maybe more than mildly, but the point still stands.

He doesn’t really think anything of it, until suddenly Robin is pinning him with a shrewd look right in the middle of their shift, eyes briefly narrowing in a way that kinda reminds him of Mary Poppins—if she’d thrown away the nanny career in favour of putting ‘new in’ stickers on VHS titles.

“Let’s swap,” she says authoritatively. “You take your break now, I’ll take mine later, then I can do the closing shift instead.”

“Um, sure, if you—why?”

“You don’t know all the intricacies of my life, Steve! Maybe I need an empty store to practise for my secret opera star dreams. Maybe I’m having a clandestine affair by the light of the shitty computer. Don’t question me.”

She whirls him round and gently taps in between his shoulder blades, pushing him in the direction of the backroom.

He snorts. “All right, all right.”

It’s only when he’s actually stretching out on the threadbare couch that he realises she’d gotten him to distractedly agree while she joked around.

Then it’s like he blinks, and he sleeps right through his thirty minute break. It’s technically forty five minutes by the time he wakes and gets up. He pushes his knuckle briefly against the bridge of his nose as he heads back to the counter, but the ache still remains.

Robin doesn’t make one crack about Steve’s break running over. She doesn’t even take her own break until there’s no-one in the store, dealing with any of their especially annoying customers herself, including that old man who always insists on having a tangential rant about “kids these days.”

(She’d slid a note over to him halfway through said rant, a scribble in Pig Latin: ‘illkay emay.’ Ducking under the counter to stifle his laughter was a nice temporary distraction from his headache.)

When she does come back from her break, she tosses Steve his jacket and car keys.

Steve stops by the half-open door, stares her down. “Are you sure? I can—”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, go. The literal only plan I had was watching a rerun of Headline Chasers with my dad.”

“But.” He clears his throat, and Robin’s grinning, he knows she’s only teasing, and yet… “But you love Headline Chasers.”

She softens, then sticks out her tongue before replying, “I know.”

And it sounds like I love you more, dingus.

-

He plans to drive straight home, but then he sees Dustin biking into the parking lot, and he stops mid-reverse, winding down his window.

“Thought you were closing?” Dustin says.

“Yeah, I was. Robin swapped with me.”

Dustin hops off his bike, looks Steve up and down. “If I’m, like, five minutes, could you give me a ride home?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. He can count the number of times Dustin’s actually asked that on one hand, used to finding him already in the passenger seat, waiting expectantly.

He shrugs. “Sure. I’ll fit your bike in the trunk.”

True to his word, Dustin is in and out of Family Video in barely even three minutes. Steve smiles when he spots that he’s rented out The NeverEnding Story again.

“Dude, just buy it at this point.”

“But then I won’t get the excellent customer service on offer, Steve.”

“What, Robin insulting you?”

It’s an unusually quiet but not unpleasant car ride. Steve doesn’t risk putting the radio on, the pain travelling until it’s a persistent band of pressure across his forehead, and Dustin, strangely enough, doesn’t complain about the lack of music.

By the time he pulls up to Dustin’s house, it feels like his bones are aching, his skin prickling and sensitive. He tries to suppress a wince as he parks, briefly rubs at one eye.

“Hey, Dustin, do you mind if I don’t—” He falters, not sure how to politely put, Normally I love chatting with your mom, but if I delay getting home any longer, I might scream.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dustin says, already getting out of the car. “Stay there, just a sec!”

And instead of slamming the door as per usual, he gently closes it.

Steve only just resists leaning his head on the steering wheel.

Then Dustin is running out of the house, carrying… Tupperware?

“Mom was baking,” he says when Steve rolls down the window again.

“Oh,” Steve says, taking the box, glancing down to see some chocolate cake. “Thanks, man. I should, uh.” He makes to undo his seatbelt, but Dustin waves him off.

“You’ve thanked her, like, a bunch of times, if you do it anymore she’s gonna ask why I’m not a gentleman like you.”

Before Steve can respond, Dustin’s already at his front door, waving as he shuts it and calling out a casual, “Feel better, Steve!”

But how do you…?

-

Steve knows that Eddie’s in his house by the way that the front mat has been left curled up at the corner from where he’s retrieved the spare key.

He opens the door, sighs in relief at the warmth hitting his skin; Eddie must’ve put the heating on.

“You’re being robbed!” is what he’s greeted with, and Steve chuckles, follows Eddie’s voice to the kitchen, and…

He stops in the doorway.

“You made me dinner,” he says, almost numbly.

Eddie looks over at him from where he’s boiling water on the stove, a jar of pasta sauce by his elbow.

“That’s a kind word for it, but okay.”

“You made me dinner,” Steve repeats, and he has to blink rapidly before he does something stupid like tear up. “Why are you even—did we have plans? Did I forget—”

Eddie smiles warmly at him. “Nah, just passing through,” he says, then laughs when Steve tilts his head, unconvinced. “All right, fine. I might have got a phone call. Actually, two: Buckley got there first, and then Henderson called, gave me shit about the line being engaged, he’s so—”

“You didn’t need to make me dinner,” Steve interrupts. He doesn’t exactly know why it’s this that he’s getting stuck on, but he can’t help it. “I could’ve made dinner.”

Eddie’s smile shifts, turns into something so obviously caring that Steve feels his eyes threaten to burn all over again.

“But I wanted to,” he says. He leans against the counter, eyes flickering over Steve’s face, a gentle kind of surveying. “Besides, you’re not feeling great, right?”

“It’s nothing,” Steve says automatically. “Seriously, I don’t even have a fever. It’s not like I need to go to the doctors or…”

He trails off as Eddie gets closer, kisses him softly on the mouth, then the temple; and there must be a salve on his lips or something, because the awful sensitivity on Steve’s skin feels, just for a moment, like it’s been soothed away.

“Doesn’t need to be the worst thing ever for it to matter, Steve,” Eddie says simply.

Steve affects a huff—Eddie’s always coming out with lines just like that, says it’s the DM’s curse, darling—but he melts against Eddie anyway.

“You use the bow tie shapes?”

Eddie grins, nods triumphantly down at the pot. “Only the very best for you.”

Steve smiles into Eddie’s shoulder. “Dork.”

Tonight he’ll lie on the couch after dinner, Eddie reading with the lamp on low so that it doesn’t hurt his head; will drift off thinking of him, of Robin, of Dustin—knowing that the world doesn’t need to be ending for them to care.

#loved doing the slice of life vibes in this ❤️ #loveinhawkins takes prompts #steve harrington fic #steve and robin #steve and dustin #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #eddie and robin #eddie and dustin #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #eddie munson

[queers-gambit]

When It Rains, It Pours

prompt: ( requested ) after a long hike, you and Joel find a rundown motel, and after finding the cleanest room, there's only one bed.

pairing: Joel Miller x female!reader

fandom masterlist: HBO's The Last of Us

word count: 4.4k+

note to requester: i know i said i'd get slutty but it wasn't going the way i wanted it - so, we've come to this. i'm so sorry 😭

warnings: cursing, we all pretend like we're not all dirty and disgusting from the apocalypse, mild mild mild smut but still NSFW [female-receiving fingering]. OC Joel who has a thing for pet names. author doesn't know what this is and promises she normally writes better.

The night was pitch ebony, swirling thick darkness making it hard to see in the absence of the silvery moon. There had been a wicked storm that brewed quickly overnight, and being as you and Joel were making a supply run into an area you don't often venture, it was easy to lose yourselves in the wilderness. If it wasn't the night that disrupted sight, it was the sideways rain that pelted over you two; and no matter a functioning compass or not, it was still hard to fucking see, let alone gage where you were.

"Joel!" You snapped, "This is fucking ridiculous. We're either going to wonder into a fucking trap or catch pneumonia. In case you're not paying attention, we're not exactly strapped with penicillin right now!"

He sighed, the two of you huddling under a tree. "We're almost there," he told you gruffly after hours of silent hiking.

"Yeah? How's it you know that? The rain is washing out the trails, Joel, we're kinda stuck out here with no real indication of where we are or where the fuck we're going!"

"No, we keep heading West - "

"How can you even determine which way is which!?" You snapped. "Our flashlights went out an hour ago, we should've made camp to wait out the storm."

"So the rain water could wash us out? Or so Infected could accidentally stumble upon us? Oh, wait, I know! So the other humans could come and rob us blind before leave us for dead, right?"

You offered a mocking look, "Then what do we do now, genius?"

Joel sighed heavily through his nose, shaking his curls out and spraying water all around. He tried to look through the trees but it was difficult to see three feet in front of yourself. "We should keep moving," he decided.

"I agree but our dilemma is, which way?"

"Uh," he tried to wipe the compass clean but in reality, he simply couldn't see from lack of light. "Shit."

"Yeah! Shit!"

"Don't get snippy with me - "

"I told you at least three miles back that this wasn't doable nor smart," you glared. "We should've been better prepared. So, where to now?"

"Well, I mean - "

"Fuck's sake, Joel, are we lost now?"

He paused, "Not exactly lost..."

"Just unsure, right? A little misplaced? Confused, even?"

"Just - c'mon." You glared at the back of his head but pushed off the tree trunk to follow him. "Bill said there's an old motel 'round these parts. With luck, we can crash there."

"If we're even in those parts," you growled.

"Well, keep an eye out."

"Have I slapped you today?"

Joel hummed, "Nope."

"There's still time," you huffed, yelping slightly when your foot stepped into a thick mud hole - tripping you into the flooding mud. "Ah, fuck! Ow! Hey, Joel?"

"What happened?"

"I'm stuck," You grit, trying to yank your leg free. "Fuck's sake, it's really in there. Joel, c'mon, help me out. What the fuck is this new Earth made of? Bastard ain't budgin'!"

Joel had to pause and double back to simply kneel, soaking his knee with mud, and after three good yanks, there were two pops: a loud one from freeing your foot (with your shoe still on) and a small one from within your ankle.

"Shit," Joel panted, wobbling for balance with a small pant. "You all right?"

"My fuckin' ankle," you breathed. "God, I twisted it real good, 's throbbing and swelling already."

"Think you're good to walk?"

"Gonna have to be," you used his offered hands to help you to your feet as you refused to be left behind as dead weight. In this day-and-age, you understood that injury would often get you left behind because nobody had the strength or ability to support the weak and injured. You tried a few slow, tentative steps but they were decently painful, so, Joel sighed and let your one arm sling around his neck to aid you as a crutch. "This is not ideal."

"No shit," he breathed, trying to keep hold on you, his gun, and keep his head on a swivel.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, what's that?"

"What's what, where?"

"Just pause, Joel, hang on, hang on," you snipped, tugging his shoulders You took a full minute to retrain your gaze, but then, you saw the outline of a building. "There," you pointed through the trees. "Do you see that?"

Joel squinted for a long moment, then nodded, "Could be the motel."

"Oh, thank you, God," you sighed, the pair of you moving for the motel as the storm drowned out any grunts of exertion. Bolts of lightning flashed to only confirm the building's appearance, and thunder seemed to reach into your bones. When closer, the building came in clearer view - shadowed, rundown, overgrown with vegetation... But with a few opened room doors.

"Here," Joel panted, leaning you on a thick tree trunk along the tree line. "I'll check it out - "

"Like hell you're going alone," you shook your head, pulling your hand gun out. "But it's also cold as shit and I'm drenched, I'm more than willing to help search the area if it means I lay down. C'mon, I can go slow on the ground floor."

Joel paused for a moment, then nodding slowly, "I'll check out the top. Shoot first, ask questions later," he reminded with a meaningful stare - as if he wanted to say more but couldn't. "And fucking run if you have to."

You offered a tired look, "Still givin' me that advice, all this time later?"

"Someone has to, you're chaotic and reckless."

"It's gotten me this far!"

"With bullet wounds."

"Flesh wounds," you instantly corrected, limping across the car park. "C'mon," you muttered, the two of you spacing out and slowly checking out the motel. Without your flashlights, it was ten times as difficult, but you had a little bit of a system.

Any door that opened, you tossed something into the room to rattle any Infected from rest. You'd wait at the open door, hoping the bolts of lightning were enough light to guide you. Some rooms were bolted shut, some literally fell off its hinges. Some were ransacked, some looked torched, others seemed... Lived in.

"Joel!"

"What?" He asked, appearing behind you so suddenly you jumped in fright. The man should often wear a bell, he was too sneaky for his own good.

"Fuck you," you sighed, shaking your head, "you know I'm jumpy."

"What is it? Why'd you call?"

"What's this look like to you?" She asked, pointing into the room as she stepped back. He offered a confused look before glancing in, then doing a double take.

"Gun up," he nodded, slowly taking two calculated steps inside to reach for the oil lamp he saw through the flashes of lightning. He got it lit using the leftover lighter, amazed by the way the lamp provided the room with warm light and also how nothing moved in the room.

It was almost suspicious after years of 'worst case scenarios' coming true. I mean... Look where you were! In the Wastelands of stupid-fucking Zombie World. Doesn't really get more 'worst case' than this!

Slowly, Joel checked out the closet and bathroom as you looked under the bed - wait, wait, wait, wait, hold on a second.

Pause.

Freeze frame.

Back up.

Record scratch.

One bed? Just one?

And as if that wasn't bad enough, it seemed to be unusually small. There was no way this bed belonged to this room, making you wonder from where the old inhabitants came from... Local, perhaps, if they transported a fucking mattress. Looking around, you realized the bed wasn't in the best condition, but there were blankets and thin pillows left behind.

Trying not to worry about the single bed, you poked around the materials in the room, Joel exiting the bathroom.

"We're alone," he nodded, looking skeptical.

"What do you think happened?"

He toed a few empty old cans, sighing, "Probably went out to find food. Not much other reason to leave." He picked up a child's stuffed animal, nodding, "Guess they just didn't make it back."

"All right, well," you shrugged, setting your gun down to lock the bolt on the door, "help me out here."

Joel stepped up and helped you move furniture in front of the door for added protection; then drawing the tattered curtains over the lone window to try and provide comfort in solidarity.

"All right," Joel sighed, staring at the bed like you had. "Hm, all right. Well... Let me get a blanket or two and I'll crash in the tub - "

"Like hell you are," you scoffed, shivering from the freezing rain water. "I'm not listening to you bitch and gripe and moan about your back all the way to Bill and Franks - and then all the way back to Boston."

"So, what? You think we're both gonna fit in that bed?"

You eyed it for a moment, but the cold was settling into your core. "You afraid to touch me or something?" You asked sarcastically. "Oh, right, I forgot, God forbid you get close to someone!"

Joel sighed your name in reprimand.

"What's the issue?" You whined, hands shoved under your arms. "I'm freezing, man, can we make a decision so I can at least have the decency to pass away in my sleep? Fuck's sake."

Joel glared, "That's not funny."

"What's your issue!?"

"It's not so much as us sharing the bed as it is we'd have to strip and share the bed," he tried to explain.

"You're almost 60-God-damn-years-old, but you're nervous about seein' me without clothes on? Are we in 6th grade again? Did we go back in time and I missed it!?"

"You've made it clear since day one you didn't want nothin' to do with me - "

"What the fuck are you on about?" You snapped. "Joel, honestly? You're the most important person in my life. I care about Tommy, I care for Tess, sure, but I wouldn't be gutted losing them. I would be if I ever lost you. So, shut the fuck up about how I didn't want nothin' to do with you, we share a fuckin' apartment - "

"That's because of space issues," Joel sighed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you took a long breath. "Joel?"

He rolled his neck out, "What?"

"I care about you," you simply said. "And I'd much rather lay in that bed awkwardly without clothes on, sharing body heat, than stand here another moment. We're both drenched, my ankle is throbbing, and you know what? I'm tired. I'm really fucking tired and that rain isn't letting up."

He sighed, nodding, "We might have to keep shelter for a day."

"So long as I can get warm, that's fucking fine," you shrugged. "Now, are you good? Is it okay to try to rest?"

Joel sighed, glancing at the bed and feeling his throat tighten. The bed was smaller than he hoped, and in honesty, you two would be lucky laying on your sides, pressed against one another, and not fall off. "Fine," he agreed, seeing how you were now trembling without control. "Fuck, I'm sorry, look at you, you're shakin'," he sighed, approaching you with rushed steps.

"Just cold, Joel," you complained, stiffly letting your pack fall off.

"No, you're fuckin' frozen," he sighed. "C'mon, get this jacket off."

"I-I'm tryin'."

"Want help?"

"Please, I'm just fuckin' tired," you groaned, letting your forehead fall to his shoulder as he worked to shed your outer jacket.

"Work with me, sweetheart, lift your arms, there you go, that's it, good girl," he whispered, trying to help you peel more layers off. "You look like hell," he frowned, the flickering oil lamp providing minimal visuals from the shadowing, but in a warm, honied light.

"Feel like hell, too," you looked down your leg, sighing at the mud caked up them. "You look at peachy as ever," you tried to tease, but it came out in a shudder from a shocking wave of cold.

"Sit," Joel directed, turning you to lean on the bed's edge. He knelt to take your boots off - taking care of your injured ankle - and left your shoes at the bottom of the bed. He peeled your socks off, sighing as your toes were turning a slight shade of blue. "All right, quickly now. Lift your hips, let me get your pants off."

"Tryna get me naked, huh?" You grunted, flopping backwards on the bed.

"Keep talkin'," he grunted, unhooking the button on your jeans to start peeling them down. It turned into more of a shucking, and he tried not to notice how your panties tugged down, too.

"This is stupid."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Bill gave us fried information, Joel, ain't shit out here."

"He was right about the motel, though. Maybe we get a fresh start when the storm clears."

"Maybe we just say fuck it and go live with Bill and Frank."

Joel chuckled, "Yeah? That's what we should do?"

"Yeah, fuck people."

"All right, now," he sighed, successfully getting your pants to your thighs without your panties following. "So, fuck people, we go live like hermits?"

"Yep, better than under FEDRA's heel."

"They pay good money for pills," he reminded, sighing deeply. "All right, little one - "

"I hate that nickname."

Joel sighed, seeing your eyes closed but brows crinkled. "Peach?"

"Yeah, that's the one I like," you hummed with a soft smile.

Joel allowed himself a solemn chuckle, "All right, peach, let's get you under the covers."

"Poor excuse for 'em," you grunted, rolling over a bit to shuffle under the blankets. "They're scratchy."

"They're wool," Joel noted, petting the blanket. "They'll warm you up."

"Can't feel my toes."

"Let's hope your lips go numb soon."

"Fuck off, I blame you for this."

"You blame me for the storm?"

"Yes," you grumbled, shifting under the blankets to take your last layer off - your tank top - and tossing it at Joel. Your bra followed. "Lay those out for me, will you?"

"Mhm," he grunted, doing as you bid, but also laying out your other clothes. Your eyes didn't open out of pure exhaustion, and after a few minutes, Joel's weight was dipping the mattress. "Feelin' all right, peach?"

"Mhm."

The oil lamp went out, and Joel shifted in bed. "Fuck's sake," he muttered, trying to adjust, but every movement jolted your body. The mattress was worn and old, sinking under your weight but still loose enough to jostle you around. "Sorry, sorry."

"It's all right, but just settle down, Joel, please," you sighed, eyes cracked as he still twitched around. "Oh, my God, please, just - spoon me or something. Just whatever gets you to lay still."

"It's just too small a space."

"Then get closer."

Joel sighed and shuffled once more, but then, his chest was pressed right up to your back and soon, you were being cocooned in his warmth. Another readjustment, and his legs were forming around yours. "All right?" He checked again.

"Mhm."

He sighed, "Can I lay my arm down?"

"Yeah," and now, your eyes were wide open, but in the pitched darkness of the room, Joel couldn't tell. His arm, thick with undefined muscle due to natural age-deterioration, laid over your hip and waist - trying to find a comfortable angle. "You're warm. Feels nice," you mumbled.

"I'm... Sorry?"

"No, no, it's good," you assured, trying to throw him a bone and took hold of his arm to pull him the last inch closer. You cradled his arm to your chest, and Joel sighed almost in relief. He soon started to relax - but you couldn't help but notice he still felt tense.

"You're shaking."

"I'm cold, shut up and go to sleep," you snipped, but your lips stretched in a smirk. His nose slowly traced the skin of your neck to rest just by your ear, pausing, and then tightening his arm to let himself rest in the crook of your neck. His breath was warm over your skin, and oh, fuck, did it feel good. In fact, you even hummed, mumbling, "Warm."

"You sound drunk."

"You fucking wish."

Joel sighed, his other arm easily sliding under the skimpy, thin, decaying pillows you used. For a singular, secular moment: everything was normal. There were no Infected. There was no end of the world. There was just you and Joel, maybe on a camping vacation and this was your night in a motel before hiking into the wilderness. He was warm, he was alive, he was breathing against your back and neck that you couldn't help but give a brief moment of thanks for the gentle reminder you two were okay for the present.

You were alive, and that was a huge relief.

Things seemed to quiet for a moment, until Mother Nature made her cruel reminder that She was the only force on Earth to be reckoned with by cracking a large boom of thunder. One so loud, it rattled the window. One so loud, it created small tremors in the pooling-waters. One so loud, soaking-wet leafs dropped from branches. One so loud, it made you jump and recoil back into Joel.

"You're okay," he eased in your ear, cracks of lightning flashing behind the thin, moth-eaten curtains. "Scared of thunder or somethin'?"

"No."

"Then why's your heart racing?"

It was only then you became acutely aware that when you jumped, you had subconsciously pulled Joel's arm in and his hand was nearly pressed over your entire breast. Just a hair's adjustment and he'd have hold of your nipple; the feeling exhilarating but also somehow forbidden. "Oh," you flinched in embarrassment, "sorry, I just... I'm not the biggest fan of thunder when it cracks like that."

"You're breathing funny."

"All right, this isn't gonna work if you're just gonna keep pointing out shit. I can do it to you, too, you know."

"But I'm not - "

"You're hard," you pointed out smugly, Joel going silent.

But then, you didn't expect him to gruffly reply, "Can you blame me?" Your breathing stuttered when his hand freely moved up to palm your breast tightly; kneading as if holding a fresh loaf of French bread. "Got the prettiest thing pressed against me, bare fuckin' naked, it'd be impossible not to be hard," he all but growled in your ear, you trying to clear your head as his actions were mesmerizing you. "Don't even know what you do to me, doll, do you?"

"No," you squeaked, gulping to clear your throat. "Gonna tell me?"

He chuckled, "Remember that real bad fight between Tess and I? Few years back? When she stormed out and slammed the door so loud, it knocked over those books?"

"Yeah?" You panted, slowly pushing your hips back to let your bottom grind into his bulge. You wore only your panties, feeling Joel hot and heavy against the curve of your ass through his thin and wearing-out boxers. He usually only liked wearing them for hikes for chaffing, so, most days in the QZ, he forwent boxers.

"It was cause of you," he whispered, both hands sure to leave bruises behind as he let his hips meet yours.

"I didn't - "

"No, doll, you ain't do nothin'," he cut you off, grunting slightly as he dry humped into you. "But I fucked up. I was so stuck in my head, it was durin' that heat wave. You wore that fuckin' grey tanktop and I was done for, girl. Hear me? Fuckin' done." You shuddered against him. "Felt like a God damn teen again, not sure what to do when he saw a woman's skin."

"What's you do?" You wondered.

"Might've said your name," he admitted, the hand not palming your breast snaking under your form to wiggle between your thighs. "Women don't like you bein' balls-deep in them, sayin' another woman's name."

"No, we certainly don't," you mused, reaching back for his neck.

Joel took this as invitation and rutted harder into you, letting your breast go to guide your leg back over his hip. Then, it darted back to grope the warm flesh. He grunted in your ear, "You were in my head, darlin'. Always have been, but it was real bad back then."

You remembered, "Because I was seein' that guy? Oliver?"

"Think so," he panted.

"Jealous?"

"Terribly," Joel growled, toying with your wet (from rain) panties for a moment before easing his hand into the front of your panties. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, girl," he noted in appreciation.

"It's from the rain."

"Yeah? That so?"

"Uh-huh."

"Even down here?" He smirked, middle finger ghosting over your slit to make you twitch with the smallest of gasps. Long forgotten were your freezing cold state, finding Joel similar to a personal furnace.

Okay, time for a little bit of truth. Ever since you started having "regular" sex, you learned that while cocks are nice, it's so much more pleasurable for you to have a man with skilled fingers. You liked that stimulation so much better for some reason - but hey, hey, hey, if Joel wanted to offer you a romp in the sheets, you wouldn't say no.

"Yep," you gulped, answering your companion and reaching for his other hand to forcefully grope your breast. It'd been far too long since you were intimate with another person, so, you didn't want nice and gentle. You weren't even sure if this thing with Joel would (or could) ever happen again, so, you really didn't want it nice and gentle.

"Darlin'," Joel warned, moaning in your ear as he slipped his finger inside you - wetness welcoming him like a vortex into your unknown. "I don't think I can stop - we should stop now. We should stop now, doll, c'mon."

"I'm not doin' anythin'," you whispered, whining when he pushed a second finger in.

"So fuckin' good for me," he grit.

"Joel? Joel?"

"What's wrong - "

"No, nothing, I just - I want this, too. I don't want you to stop."

"You don't mean that - "

"Joel, however long you've wanted me is probably almost as long as I've wanted you. Please," you whispered your beg. "I just want to feel you. Give me a bit of life, Joel, baby, please, I just want to feel alive."

Joel sighed your name, and you pushed his hands off to lift onto your hands and twist around. He looked up at you for a moment before reaching up to hook his hand around your neck and pull you forward until your lips collided in a frenzy of lips, teeth, and tongue.

Joel knew kissing you was a bad idea, but he was out of fucks to give at the moment. He wanted this, so, he'd relish in it.

He had you, he finally had you - and he wasn't about to give you up for the fucking world. He sighed before completely submitting himself to your charm; to you.

Knowing he had fucked someone more recently than you, you reached for the outline of his straining member and reacquainted yourself with the feel of a cock - of a hard cock hidden beneath fabric. Joel was right, you were starting to feel that juvenile excitement as if this was your first time again, and how you loved it.

Your lover moaned into your mouth, nearly hissing at the feel of your hand over his hot cock; trying to gulp down the feeling and not bust his load right then and there. "Can I take these off?" Joel asked, toying with your panties.

"Please," you breathed, helping him shed your last layer of decency before hitching your leg up his hip again and exposing your cunt to his wondering hands. Your moan was broken and whimpered when he pushed two fingers in again, letting go of him for a moment before latching onto his arm when Joel increased the speed of him tempo.

You begged his name for reprieve, but there was no mercy to be found in Joel's actions. You whimpered and shoved your face in his neck, unconsciously humping into his ministrations as Joel slowed himself into sweeping motions to search for you G-spot. You couldn't remember the last time you had such a diligent love, most simply thinking the clit was enough - and while it was with a vibrator, it wasn't if your sexual partner didn't know where the fucking clit was!

However, Joel proved he was well-versed in how to please a woman, and while he wasn't a regular Casanova, he was determined to bring you to your peak. "There, there," you jolted when his finger pad found that spongy-good spot inside your inner walls that, when stimulated, had you seeing stars. "Oh, my God, yes, yes, fuuuck yes," you whimpered, needing to open your mouth to latch onto his shoulder as your climax reared its white-hot head.

"C'mon, darlin', lemme feel you," Joel muttered, his Southern accent coming out into play more as he reached for your clit at the same time. The combined efforts had you ready to cry. "I know you're there, c'mon, c'mon, baby, want you to cum all over my fingers, c'mon - yeah, like that, good fuckin' girl, there it is," he coached, watching you closely as you briefly forgot to breathe.

You would've been ashamed of the moan you let out if anyone else was around, and if the storm didn't drown you out; Joel praising you for doing 'so good' for him as he stared down to watch you twitch and cum - coating his hand.

You didn't usually squirt unless your G-spot was hit, and Joel seemed mesmerized by the messy action as well as the sight. It made him feel both prideful and primal to see himself splattered with your juices. However, it wasn't enough to distract Joel for long - who didn't let up. He kept you going by never removing his fingers, and instead, watched as he coaxed you through your epic ride. "That was better than I imagined, baby," Joel admitted quietly.

"You might change your mind before the sun comes up."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yep. I wanna be on top."

Joel paused for a moment, blinking at you, then decided, "Maybe for one of the rounds - but the first one, I'll be the one fucking you."

With a growing smirk, you taunted, "Bring it on, cowboy."

author isn't very confident writing NSFW, but hey, practice makes perfect, right?

requesting rules and masterlist

TLOU masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #tlou #hbo the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #hbo tlou #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #tlou joel #joel miller drabble #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction

[ughgoaway]

your lil sick matty blurb makes me think of the first time baby annie is sick and just fussy and restless and matty being a new dad absolutely does not know what to do (throwback to annie chest wrap blurb where absolutely everyone gets involved eventually) i think he calls adam late at night slightly panicked because she won’t stop crying and she feels warm and he doesn’t know if he should take her to the hospital (it’s literally a cold and a slight fever) anywayyyyy, i have many many thoughts on this goodbye

VVVVVVVVV yes I adore this. I just know he is freaking tf out the whole time. He hears her cough once and is just staring at her constantly.

He's standing over the crib watching her, listening out for a cough or sniffle, but she seems to be alright… For now, anyway.

Eventually, he sleeps in Annie's room, sitting on a chair in the corner. He's not quite ready to leave her alone yet.

It's then that he finally understands the concept of a mother's intuition.

But 20 minutes later, a scream wakes him right up, and baby Annie is just crying endlessly. She clearly feels poorly, and Matty just doesn't know what to do :((

He rocks her in his arms, then on a rocking chair, he changes her, feeds her, gets her new clothes, and bathes her. He truly tries EVERYTHING.

But Annie won't stop crying and seeing her wet eyes with rosy red cheeks and a snotty nose is breaking him.

He ditches Dr. Google and goes to the thousand parenting books he bought before she was born to see if they have anything useful. He assumed the books would make him less scared, but somehow, they made it worse.

It's 3 am when Matty starts to really panic, she's been crying for 4 hours and refusing to eat. She’s also a tiny bit hot, or at least Matty convinces himself that she is.

He's googling furiously to see if he can give her any medication, but the more he reads, the more he freaks out.

He gets his shirt off and tries skin-to-skin with the baby wrap. He's hoping it will soothe her a tiny bit. Thank god annie eventually settles, only for 5 minutes, but it's enough time for a panicked call to Adam.

He's now convinced himself that Annie has scarlet fever, pneumonia, or smallpox. Or maybe all three at the same time.

(impossible, and Annie only has a slight cold. but he is a new dad - give him a break, okay?)

Needless to say, Adam isn't over the moon with the 4 am phone call. But once he answers the phone to Matty in a panic, he realises his friend needs him. So he's slightly less pissed, but when Annie is better Matty fucking owes him.

“She's got a fever. And her cheeks are all red. She won't eat. She won't sleep. I just don't know what to do, Adam??”

“MATTHEW. You do not get to call me at 4 a.m., freak out down the phone, and then ignore me.”

The whole time Adam is trying to cut in, but Matty is ignoring him completely.

“does she need to go to the hospital? How do I get a newborn to the hospital? She hasn't even really been in the car yet. Is there a baby part of the hospital? What if she needs surgery?? All the tools will be too big for her tiny body-”

For the first time all night, Matty takes a deep breath. 

“Right. Yes. sorry. I just had no idea what to do. I can't cope when im ill. But it turns out that when your child is ill, it is 1000x worse. this whole parent thing is hard”

Adam begrudgingly wakes Carly up, and they both calm Matty down. They explain that she doesn't have any diseases, but she probably has a slight cold. They tell him how much Calpol to give her and how to get her temperature down.

On the other side of the phone, Matty is slightly bouncing on the spot to soothe the grumbly baby on his chest as he's taking notes on what they're saying. 

“Good okay…Yes. Okay, im gonna go do all that”

“That sounds good Matty, let us know how she is tomorrow, okay?” Carly says softly, leaning on Adam's shoulder half asleep.

“I will. Thank you guys. I love you both”

“We love you too” and “gay” come from the phone at the same time, which oddly was exactly what Matty needed. 

By 6 a.m., Annie is cooler and is sleepy soundly in her cot. The same cannot be said for Matty. 

He is watching like a hawk and trying not to fall asleep standing up. His eyes keep on dropping, but every time Annie wiggles or makes a noise, his heart jumps, and he wakes right back up.

At some point, he goes to make a coffee and sits down as the kettle boilsm just 5 minutes of rest he assures himself. But Matty falls asleep at the table with his mouth open and heavy snores leaving him. 

Furious knocking at 10 am scares him half to death, and he trudges to the front door, eyes still heavy with sleep. He catches a quick look at himself in the hallway mirror and can't hide his disgust. 

His hair is insane, curls going in every direction and sticking on end from his stressed hands running through them. He has heavy bags under his eyes and bone-dry lips. He has some dried sick on his shoulder and an empty baby wrap loosely on his chest. 

But if he's honest, he couldn't give less of a fuck right now.

“What.” is how he answers the door, clearly not exactly thrilled with any visitors, but his face scrunched in confusion when all the boys are on the other side of the door.

“Why are you all here?” he asks as he rubs his eyes and walks back into his house, leaving the door open for them to follow.

“Hann told us Annie was sick, is she okay?” George asks worriedly, looking around the room for any sign of the infant. 

“Yeah, he said you called him at like 4 am, and she had a fever. We were worried about her” says Ross as he goes to boil the kettle to make coffee for a clearly sleep-deprived and groggy matty. 

“I tried to tell them she'd be okay, but they demanded to come over here and see her.” Adam rolls his eyes as he speaks, but still quietly adds, “ and I kinda wanted to see her too.”

That's the first thing in the past 24 hours that puts a smile on Matty's face. 

“You're all such saps.”

The three men scoff but don't make any real effort to deny it.

Matty grabs Annie from her cot, and she couldn't be happier this morning, same gummy smile and grabby hands as usual. She still has a snotty nose and pink cheeks, but it's clear she's feeling better.

The next 40 minutes are basically a game of pass the Annie as each man gets an opportunity to hold her and double-check she is okay. 

George scans her carefully, tracing every inch of her to make sure she's really okay. He holds her close to his chest and doesn't take his eyes off her the whole time she's on him.

Ross just holds her to his chest and sits on the sofa softly rocking her. He says soft things to her that no one can quite make out to and smiles down at her.

Adam has a rattle that she loves and does everything he can to make her happy again. resting her on his lap, showing her toys, shaking her rattle, and just smiling at her with a big grin. 

Annie settles in a small bassinet in the front room, and the 4 men sit on Matty’s sofas with tea and coffee in silence. All secretly listening for any signs of discomfort.

#poorly annie :((( #but tbh shes much more chill than matty lol #he is the textbook definition of helicopter parent #his baby is ill!?!?!?!? call 999 NOWWWWWW #teacher au! #moots <3

[im-a-marvel-ous-hoe]

Baby, It’s Cold Outside | Bucky Barnes (8th Day of 🎄)

(Credits to the owner of this pic!)

Here’s a brand new story for y’all! I hope you enjoy! 🩵

Christmas Masterlist <- check out my other holiday fics!

~~~~

“Do you think it’ll let up soon?”

I stood next to the window, holding a blanket against my body as I watched what was supposed to be light flurries turn into fat snow hitting the pavement. Soon all I could see were pure white lines, the wind outside making the snow zoom at an angle. I felt Bucky’s presence behind me, his body heat almost making me want to turn around and let him keep me warm.

“It’s uh.. lookin’ pretty bad out there, isn’t it?”

I nodded and sighed. “I should probably leave before it gets even worse..”

It was supposed to be a brief visit. I came over to his place to see him and drop off his favorite hoodie that he let me borrow a little while back.. but then he asked me if I wanted to grab a cup of hot chocolate and I couldn’t say no. That hot cocoa led to us watching a couple movies while snacking on whatever junk food he had. Before we knew it, the sun went down and the snow caved me inside Bucky’s apartment.

“You want to leave in that?” He asked while opening up his blinds even more to showcase how bad it’s getting outside. “You can’t even see the pathway to walk to your car. How are you gonna drive?”

“I’m a big girl, I’m sure I can figure it out. It’s just snow.” I walked over to his couch and slid off the blanket, shivering as soon as the air hit my skin. It’s been really nice and warm since I’ve been here and the thought of having to go out in the cold made me wish I had paid better attention to the weather outside. I folded up the blanket nice and neat and laid it on the cushion.

I wanted to prolong me leaving for as much as I could, but I knew I probably overstayed my welcome three hours ago and he might want some time to be alone. I know I would if a guest came over unexpectedly and couldn’t get the hint I wanted them gone.

He slowly stalked closer to me, his head bowed down and I turned to look at him. “Y/N, you’d freeze out there. The snow is piling up by the minute, I’m sure you’d get pneumonia and I wouldn’t be able to – ”

I lifted my hand up to his face and placed a single finger on his lips to silence him. “Nat and Wanda are probably wondering where I am. We were supposed to have a girls night and I’m like twenty minutes away from the apartment.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his body still and his cheeks were blushed. The initial shock of me shutting him up started to wear off as he sighed. He reached up and grabbed my hand in his and he inspected my fingers. I could feel his breath against me as he placed a soft quick kiss on the top of my knuckles. I instantly felt get warmer.

“Doll, your hands are cold.”

My knees wanted to buckle right then and there. I felt like I shouldn't say anything, this moment seemed too intimate and I didn’t want to break out of this bubble. Something about the way his gaze stayed concentrated on my cold fingers made my heart flutter. I longed to feel his lips against them again.. or other places.

“Maybe you just run hot.. I’m not calling you hot, it's just you’re so warm.. I – I mean, not to say that you’re not hot. You’re very easy on the eyes and..”

Oh God, what the fuck am I doing?!

���What I mean to say is – ” He laughed and brought our hands to rest on each of our sides, him refusing to let go and said, “Need me to change the subject?”

“Yes please.”

My stupid mouth just had to make a comment.

He noticed a strand of my hair seeming out of place from my messy ponytail and he reached his hand up to move it out of my flustered face and place it behind my ears.

This man is makin’ me melt like a popsicle on the fourth of July. I felt like I was warm enough to even brace the snow storm outside and walk it back home.

“You know, I.. I actually have an extra room that you could stay in, if you wanted..” I parted my mouth open in surprise as he continued. “I could let you borrow a couple of my clothes to sleep in so you’re comfortable.”

I smiled and slowly shook my head. “That’s very kind of you, Buck, but I can’t impose on you like that.”

“Trust me, it’s no bother to me at all. We could have a night dedicated to just us and watch movies until the sun came up if we wanted to.” I tilted my head and felt warmth spread across my face.

I didn’t want to feel like Bucky had to offer up a room to me because he felt bad, but I really didn’t want to drive back in this storm and freeze the whole way there. I bet if I was to even call a cab, which I probably wouldn’t because I have a working car, they would go out of their way to pick me up. Plus, I don’t really want to spend money on gas anyway.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you. It’s bad out there and I know if you’re with me, you’ll at least be safe. I don’t have to go to bed wondering if you made it home when there’s a perfectly open space for you here.”

I stood there, debating back and forth and back and forth in my mind as I tried to think of what’s the best option…

“What do you think your neighbors will think when they wake up and see that my car is still parked outside?”

“I hope they’re smart enough to know that I couldn’t let someone as pretty as you leave in a snow storm.” I tried to brush over the fact that he called me pretty and hoped that my face didn’t give away the fact that I liked it.

“And if they’re not smart enough?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“At least there will be plenty implied.” He chuckled. “But honestly, I couldn’t give two shits about what they think of who stays at my place. It’s my place.” He smiled. “C’mon, doll.. it can be just for tonight, if you wanted to.”

I glanced back at the blanket on the couch I folded neatly earlier and wished I was cuddled up against it again. Our cups of hot chocolate still remained on top of his coffee table, both completely empty next to crumbs left from pastries and plates with half eaten food. The movie on his TV paused and I realized he was still waiting for an answer.

“... Shall we heat up some more hot chocolate then?” His smile widened at my decision as I continued. “It’s gonna be a long night, Buck and it looks like we’re stuck together until further notice.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather be snowed in with.”

“After all, it is cold outside and you’re a literal heater. It was getting harder and harder to say ‘no’ to that.”

“If that’s what got you to stay, then I guess I can’t be too upset. It gives me a reason to cuddle up to you and keep you safe. I’d say this is a win – win, if you ask me.”

~~~~

I hope y’all liked it! Please let me know your thoughts! Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes christmas #marvel blog #marvel christmas

[xiaoluclair]

20. clumsy attempts at flirting for lestappen pretty please?

okay confession, i have no idea what clumsy flirting even is beyond accidentally knocking over an avalanche of canned jalapeños onto you and your crush in the middle of a bend and snap. so i have a feeling this probably is not quite clumsy flirting but also i did not want to let the flow get away from me so eeeeeeenjoy!(?)

clumsy flirting attempts // lestappen // [ rating: T ] word count: 2.5k . yeah. not beta read either or checked over very well 😁

Max opens his front door and steps on a green bean. It's lying a foot away from a litre Tupperware box of... Max squints. Green beans.

He gives the hallway a cursory glance, then hefts the box into the kitchen and shuts the window his sister must've opened before she left the evening before. Something about needing more fresh air. Whatever, thinks Max, and grabs a pen to tick get green beans off the to do list on the refrigerator. He's not trading pneumonia for a tablespoon of chilled plant piss.

"Hey." Dilara gives him a smile, little Jerry stood between her legs and intently jabbing at a Samsung screen. Some garbled trumpet plays whenever he presses it. "How much were the beans?"

"Beans?" asks Dilara. "Oh, for your shopping? Around nine euros for a pack from Vie Claire."

"And you had, what, nine hundred euros to spend?" laughs Max. "Can you text me your account details for money transfer? My mum would probably shunt my d— um, dining table if I let someone spend that much on me."

At first, Max thinks he is about to get a smack for nearly cursing a three year old's ears. Then Dilara says, "I think. I am not sure what you are talking about."

So Max paints the picture from this morning and little Jerry stops trying to break his mum's phone with his thumbs to listen too. "You were the only one I talked to about it," as the elevator doors open and the three of them spill out into the little lobby.

"Someone might have overheard?" offers Dilara.

"Piano has beans," little Jerry informs Max sagely and Max.

Max snaps his fingers and says, "Of course, thanks mate."

Because piano has beans. Duh.

Max does not so much forget the bean incident as have a million other things piled on top of it. And then it gets lost somewhere. Maybe under a cupboard, or shoved between the radiator and the wall.

"It is broken, I think," says Max. "And the plumber said he is not free until the twenty second, so I guess that is me in socks and coats for the next three days."

Peter makes a delighted sound, a very different reception to Max's earlier lamentings on the lack of cat food in stock. "Did I ever tell you how my wife and I met?"

"Yeah," says Max, "on Gwyneth Paltrow's second cousins's niece's friend's friend's yacht's coach."

"Really?" say Peter. "Wow, that must have been fun. But the other time we met was — can you guess?"

"No."

"When my plumbing broke, of course! She was my neighbor, said I could take the left side of her bed for sleeping because the guest room had a fresh coat of paint. Of course," his jaw makes a quaint leer, "there was not much sleeping at all."

"Lovely," says Max, "I am going to get more gin. Happy birthday again."

Cue the next evening, and the doorbell rings. The peephole shows a slightly stretched suit, slicked back brown hair into a dramatically wide ponytail. Max sets down the last of the bean casserole, opens the lock, loops out the chain.

"Hello," he greets politely.

The woman with, actually, a normal sized ponytail gives him a grin. "Broken radiator?" She picks up the handyman's box of utensils next to her foot. G. MANNI, reads the orange block along the side. "I've got you covered."

"Are you a friend of Peter's?" asks Max.

"Who?" she says.

"Just a— never mind." Max waves her in.

What a bewildering scenario, he thinks later as he tugs off the three pairs of socks from his feet.

The radiator scenario would probably have suffered the same fate as the beans if Max did not, only the next morning, find 7kg of cat food waiting on his doorstep.

"Like angels dancing on my eardrums," Arnaav is saying when Max goes to wish them. "I asked him to record me a song as a present as a joke and he actually said I could listen to a demo."

"Wow," says Gertrude, "you lucky thing, you."

"Arnaav," says Max, "congratulations."

Arnaav beams. "Thank you."

"What was it, three years? Four?"

"Five actually. Masters with industrial placement. A dockyard up in Andora, lots of very ripped Italian men."

Max grins. "That sounds very lovely."

"Of course," continues Arnaav, "it seems like very ripped men are closer to home than I remember."

Gertrude giggles at that. Max feels his eyebrows arch together.

Arnaav gestures them both to follow into the kitchen. "Seriously," they say as they pass Frankie tying up a bright blue sausage balloon into a bright blue sausage dog to little Jerry's delight, "do you think I should shoot a shot? There is no way a guy like that is single though."

They are looking at Max imploringly. Max says, "Go for it." Then, "Who are we talking about?"

Gertrude chokes mid-chew on a bite of grape and gouda. "Gamer boys," she sighs, "always stuck in their computers."

"For once, I agree." Arnaav shakes their head. "I would point him out, but he's at his brother's for the weekend."

Dilara and Mag come laughing in then. "Mag," says Gertrude urgently, "Max does not know about the new tenant."

Which is how Max finds out, in the following five minutes, that the hottest man on the planet (Dilara's words, not his) has apparently been living two floors down from him since early November.

"Always fingering his music into late hours of the night," says Mag with a flushed sigh. "Have you ever wanted to be music so bad."

"Okay," says Max, and he takes the bottle of vodka and chugs for a little while.

The scenarios keep scenarioing. Max finds a wheel of cheese and two pounds of tomatoes in the mail. A couple days later, thirteen rolls of cat-patterned wrapping paper to replenish his dwindling stock. Then a stack of coupons for free petrol refills at any Shell in France.

It comes to an apex when he gets called down to the lobby to pick up an €800 gaming headset. Max takes it back up to his apartment and leaves it by the couch while he unlocks his phone.

Whoever keeps buying me things, it is very kind but please stop.

It is pretty late, so Max does not expect any replies. Does this have anything to do with the beans? says Gertrude barely a minute after he has sent it.

I think so, says Max.

amx is being sent things? asks Peter. *max.

Do not be jealous peter, says Dilara, I am sure we can find you your own courter.

Max blinks. Courter?

Person who courts someone else. Gives them presents to woo them that sort of thing.

I do not have a courter.

Sure you don't ;D

I don't.

HEY, Arnaav comes barrelling in, SHUTU P AND LET ME ENJPY THE MISIC.

its very lovely, agrees Peter.

Hey, has anyone added Charles? asks Mag.

Max, who does not particularly care for any person named Charles at the moment, least of all whether or not they've been added or deleted, whacks up the heating on his way to bed. He is about to turn off the light when a smack sounds from the balcony. Sassy makes a petulant expression when Max turns on the outside light.

"Idiot cat," he tells her, then slides opens the door. Immediately, the lethargic sound of piano floods into his ears. Sassy slinks inside as Max blinks.

His phone buzzes again. Mag: God I want him to play me like that.

So apparently Max's entire apartment complex spends their nights having a massive orgy to the new guy playing the piano. Charles, he gathers, playing the piano.

Charles gets added to the WhatsApp group too, renamed JDM GC (NOT FOR THIRSTING). His profile picture is black and white and contains three people, none of whom Max has seen before. He thinks they must be brothers.

not for thirsting? is the first thing Charles says. is this an inside joke i need to beg to be updated on? 😂. Max sees Mag is typing... pop up then disappear.

A few minutes later, he finds himself in a new WhatsApp group. JDM GC (FOR THIRSTING). Charles is not in this one. I'd make him beg, says Arnaav into it.

Same, says Mag, 💧.

Max thinks the exclusion is probably for the best.

He flies back in from iRacing contract negotiations a day before the Christmas Party. In the time left, he unpacks, laments to Dilara on the lack of green beans in store (“Christmas time,” she sympathizes), streams until two in the morning. Periodically checks his doorstep just in case. 

Everything is fine. Then he returns from another green–beanless escapade and on his mat, is a parcel. Inside the parcel, is a dark blue wooly sweater with an outrageously bright design of red and green animals and a manger on the front, yellow sheen emitting from the neck hole.

There is a note.

Merry Christmas x.

Max takes it in, puts it on. Stares at himself in the mirror. Takes it off, wraps it up, and leaves it on the torn parcel paper to return later. He can give the money to the New Year's party.

When he takes the elevator down to Dilara's apartment, he is immediately accosted by Gertrude and slightly less accosted by little Jerry. "Max!"

Mistletoe hangs from the ceiling. Max takes the kiss she plants on his mouth with his hands on her arms to make sure it does not turn into Human Bowling, then blows out a breath. "Do you know who keeps giving me shit?"

Gertrude's brow furrows. "The beans?"

"The same person, yeah." Max rubs his temple. "It is starting to piss me off. I asked them to stop and they have not."

"Maybe it is someone not in the building?"

"Unless they bugged the place, no." Max sighs. "It was always ridiculous but now it is even more ridiculous. The whole 'courting thing' too is just stupid."

Litter Jerry looks up, Samsung held slightly precariously in his chubby fingers. "What about—"

"Charles!" erupts Gertrude brightly, looking into the distance. Max twists on the spot but there's just empty hallway. The stairwell door swings a little. Gertrude sways on the spot slightly.

"Let's get you inside," says Max and herds her back into the celebrations. At the jerk of his head, little Jerry sighs a great sigh and ducks under his arm, back into the loud apartment.

Nothing. Max opens the door: nothing. Max enters the lobby: nothing. Max gets his mail: nothing.

Max gets on with his life. Nothing.

Max sits on the balcony at night and listens to the silence. He checks the messages on his phone. Maybe he broke his hands, muses Dilara.

both of them at the same time? says Peter.

I just saw him, reports Mag, in the elevator. His hands are fine. Really really fine.

Back in JDM GC (NOT FOR THIRSTING), Charles simply says he has taken a break due to 'lack of inspiration'.

I will gladly inspire him, says Arnaav in JDM GC (FOR THIRSTING).

Not if I inspire him first, replies Mag.

Max keeps out of that one. Max keeps out of most of it, and: Nothing. The little Merry Christmas note stays in his nightstand and Max just. Forgets to take it out every single night. Whatever.

By the time Peter's New Year's party rolls around, life has settled and Max starts the year off drunk, happy, and listening to little Jerry toot Anaconda on the trumpet while next to him, Peter makes out with his new fiancée as of three seconds ago. Max has never seen her in his life.

The next morning is a slow one. For one, it is already eleven when Max cracks open his eyes. He rolls over. A chilled breeze stirs the hair on his arms.

He blames the alcohol for accepting that as he does. Getting out of bed, taking the wrong door to the bathroom and finding a closet instead. Taking the right door to the bathroom and the Palmolive soap has been replaced by a pot of L’Oreal Paris hair mask. 

Then the cold wind comes back again and Max peers past his headache to see the window cracked wide open. He looks back to the mirror. He is naked. 

“Shit,” says Max, with feeling.

A snore comes from the bedroom. Apparently Max bypassed an entire human being too. Stupid, useless alcohol. He’s going to go back to his place, take his stash of gin, chug it to forget this ever happened.

For now, he puts on his clothes. Rumpled, clearly discarded without much care. But on. Then he takes a look around. Lots of red. A centerpiece of fake roses sits atop an electric piano. The front door is the same as his. A shelf of photos over the TV contains the same three recurring men. In the corner of the kitchen, there is a large cardboard box held shut by a loaf of 50/50. Max moves it off and takes a peak. Inside is roughly two hundred bags of green beans.

The mop of brown hair forms a person eventually. Max has found an OralB tube by then and used his finger as a makeshift brush. 

"Morning," says Max when they arise.

Charles takes one look at him before falling back onto his pillow. "Shit."

Max spends the first afternoon of 2024 swallowing Aspirin and slightly burnt Eggos. Suffice to say, Charles is a terrible host. And yet Max is still here. Pretty privilege. Hottest man on the planet, remembers Max. Yeah, okay. 

He swallows, nods to the box in the corner and its counterpart bread loaf. “So were you the one stalking me?” 

Charles chokes on his protein smoothie, glowers. “I was not— stalking, I was just. Courting.”

“Courting,” echoes Max. “Dilara’s going to have a fit.”

Charles stares at him. He was not in the WhatsApp group at that point so he wouldn’t know. Real funny, Max thinks to the universe. Great planning. 

“So you, what,” he says, “bugged the building?”

“I just overheard sometimes,” says Charles. His cheeks are a vibrant, sick red. Fucking fresh air lovers. 

Max thumbs his own temple. “What do I owe you?”

“What?” asks Charles, stupidly handsome and stupidly stupid. His fingers wrapped around the bottle are messing up Max’s already messed up mind. 

“For all the shit you got me. If you say anything less than a thousand, I will know you’re lying so what do I owe you?”

A moment passes in which Charles blinks at him, Max realizes Jimmy and Sassy are probably upending the microwave, and Charles blinks some more. Then: “A date?”

“You are the worst flirter I have ever met in my life,” Max tells him sincerely. He slides off the stool and kisses him on the mouth. Charles drops the protein smoothie. The bottle breaks all over the floor. 

Max buys him sixteen more.

#fic: mv1.cl16 #f1 rpf #xiao: writes #lestappen #this got far too out of hand im sorry #it's just SILLY #ladies and gentleladies . it is just. silly. #i think bc it has general similarities with another fic that my wife let me braindump into whatsapp so i was already feeling the vibes #god bless same sex marriage etc etc

[halfmoonshines]

I'll Always Know You

summary; a series of events following bucky barnes and the reader

hurt/comfort, fluff

You had decided about fifteen minutes ago that this was probably your dumbest idea to date; now you were just miserable. The thunder boomed loudly overhead, the sky bucketing rain down on you like a small monsoon. You'd long abandoned the newspaper you'd fruitlessly held overhead to stay dry.

Why didn't you accept the ride from your work partner? You knew the storm was rolling in but you were so hellbent on being self sufficient.

You didn't hear the car roll to a stop on the empty street next to you, the rain putting a quiet blanket on everything but itself. But the voice that broke through definitely scared the shit out of you.

"Miss?"

You jumped, turning to the dark haired man standing opposite you. You probably would've thought his broad shoulders and defined muscles you could see beneath his quickly soaking wet shirt were attractive if you weren't immediately afraid of being murdered.

"Yes?" You replied with a subconscious step back.

His smile was tentative, hands half raising in a surrender. "I was driving by and noticed you fighting for your life against the wind. Could I offer you a ride?"

Every cell in your 21st century body said that you should turn around and start running. Never accept rides from strangers, even handsome ones. But it was truly storming now and you were still a twenty minute walk through the city home.

Sensing your hesitance, he tacked on. "You could either risk me being a murderer or almost definitely die to mother nature or pneumonia."

"Fair point." You followed him to his car.

--

Turns out, that would just be the first time you saw Bucky Barnes.

He showed up at your door three days after the rain incident, and you were almost freaked out if you hadn't been kicking yourself for not giving him your number.

"Sorry for just showing up, but I was wondering if you'd be interested in grabbing some coffee?" The arm positioned awkwardly scratching his head and the nervous smile on his face was enough to make your suspicions melt fully. Ted Bundy be damned.

"Let me grab my coat."

--

Turns out Bucky likes warm mochas, and also holding hands. You learned a lot about him over the next few weeks; his likes and dislikes. You fit together like the last pieces of a puzzle, you barely noticed the months passing and when you started leaving clothes at his apartment.

"You're kidding me, you've never seen Pitch Perfect? It's like quintessential 2010's cinema."

Bucky's laugh never failed to warm you inside. "I was a bit busy during that decade."

Your eyebrows scrunched, those little comments only confusing you. "The whole decade? What are you, 80?"

"Not quite."

---

"Would you still love me if I was a cat?"

"Yes." His reply was instant, warm arms wrapped around you while he leaned down for a kiss.

You dodged his lips, a playful smile on your own. "How would you know it's me?"

His hand found your cheek, pulling you in for a demanding kiss. The feeling of his mouth on yours always electrified you.

"I'll always know you."

---

The first time you felt he ever truly lied to you was a year in, which is a considerable span, as you tried to rationalize.

But there was no rationalizing the photo in your hand. A black and white snapped picture of your long term boyfriend, James Barnes, in a WW11 military uniform. Same boyish smile, same stance. The only difference was the haunted look that seemed to plague your Bucky.

There had to be an explanation, right? I mean vampires weren't real. This wasn't Twilight. A distant relative maybe?

A voice in the back of your head was insistent that this was him.

"Bucky?" You called him to the room before you could lose your nerve.

His smile was easy when he entered the room, but you couldn't help but notice the tenseness that filled him when he noticed the box you'd be rifling through.

"What's up, Doll?"

You lifted the picture along with an eyebrow, nervousness trickling into your stomach. "Who's this?"

He paused for only a second before it was like a switch flipped in him, and his smile eased back. "That's my grandpa. I don't really display his pictures for the sake of my sanity. We could be twins." He snatched the picture from you, depositing it back in the box.

"I'll say. You look the exact same." Your head was cocked to the side, a question still sitting on your lips.

"Strong genes."

---

He should've told her. No, he should've never gone back to her apartment. Never pulled his car over in that fucking downpour. All he ever brought with him was death and tragedy, and Bucky was terrified that she was about to make that list.

"We're five out." Sam's voice was carefully guarded, knowing his partner was on edge.

It was just a normal day a few hours ago when Bucky had come home to the door of their apartment hanging off it's hinges.

His panic was instant and only mounted when he searched the home and found nothing but signs of struggle and you missing. It was always a fear gnawing at the back of his mind. He had plenty of enemies, people he'd ruined the lives of. It was negligent to keep you in the dark, to even keep contact with you. But James Barnes was a selfish man.

When the jet landed and his boots hit the wet concrete, he wasn't Bucky. He was the soldier. And he would bring you home.

---

The sight of you, broken on the examination table was almost enough to take his knees out from under him. He put a steadying hand on the door frame to your room while Bruce gave him a diagnosis he had feared.

"It seems like they experimented on her. Traces of nodes connected to her neck and head. Until she wakes up I won't be able to tell the extent of damage, if there even is any. Worse case... she doesn't remember you."

Fuck. Bucky's breathing was shallow. If he could go back and rip every single man in that facility apart slowly, he would. Even then it wouldn't be enough to punish them.

Maybe you not remembering him was a blessing. Maybe you'd be safer.

--

The lights over you were like the blazing sun, and the only thing you could assume was that you had an insane hangover. Your brows pulled together, eyes squinting to recognize your surroundings. Vaguely clocking the IV attached to your arm, your vision started to clear and so did your thoughts.

Being at home, the bang of the door coming open, men swarming you.

And then nothing.

Your heart rate quickened, panicking now to inspect what was around you. You'd been taken, like some cliche movie. But by who? Why?

Just as your panic was mounting to a full blown freak out, your eyes found a familiar figure to your left. Head hanging off the back of the chair he was passed out in, your boyfriend was a more than welcome sight.

"James." Your voice was hoarse, scratchy, but he awoke instantly.

He was wordless, flying out of his chair and onto his knees beside you. Your handsome man was haggard, dark bags under his eyes and mussed hair. His warm hands roving your face distracted you from his gaunt appearance.

"Do you know who I am?"

His question confused you, as did the worry in his eyes. You brought your hand up to the one sitting on your cheek and gave him your best, exhausted smile. "I'll always know you."

--

a/n: have requests? submit here

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you

[muniimyg]

+ extra ! first kiss

series m.list

note: the long-awaited first kiss extra... i'm so happy </3 enj !! miss u guys every freaking day :')

taglist requests are closed !

taglist: @j3nnie101 @tarahardcore​ @bbsantc​ @jeonqkooks-main​ @whoa-jo @ellesalazar @4ksj @joonsjuice @taegijns @avtrns @taegix94 @bloopkook @jihopesjoint @firesighgirl @vantxx95 @damn-u-min-yoongi @yoongukie-ff @hopeworldjimin @thisisaburnphone @pb-n-juju @xjiminsthighsx @miss-rainy-days @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase @whitefoxgirl @slutforgeeseung @lovelytaes-blog

This feeling is entirely new to you. 

Never in your life have you ever felt so frustrated with yourself and so concerned for someone’s well-being. It’s your fault. If you had just packed a sweater than maybe Yoongi wouldn’t have given you his hoodie. Maybe he wouldn’t be sick and missing out on his games—maybe he would’ve been winning. 

Alas, here you are. 

Standing outside his door with his favourite soup, three boxes of herbal teas, and your lesson prep just in case you would have time to spare. Although, if you had really thought about it.. There was no use in bringing your work. As if you’d get anything done with Yoongi around! Even if his fever ran close to Pneumonia; he’d simply cough up a pick-up line in an attempt to make you smile. 

Truth be told, you’ve done this before. You’ve stood outside Yoongi’s apartment with his essentials when you two were just friends.. But it’s different now. You feel it—you know it. This time around, you’re not only needed but wanted. 

He wants you here. 

He asked for you here. 

He needs you here. 

With that, you take a deep breath and convince yourself one last time: it’s not your fault. He’s sick, yes, but germs are germs. It’s not like he’s dying—

“What a sight. I feel better already, Ace.”

You blink. 

Yoongi had been on the other side of the door, waiting for you to arrive. Once he heard your footsteps, he held off for three minutes before caving.

He had to be with you. 

He’s leaning against his door frame, wearing a baggy white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. His black hair falls just above his eyes and the longer parts are somewhat tucked behind his ears. It’s flat and damp. By the looks of it, he’s freshly out of the shower. If his complexion wasn’t so pale, or if his nose wasn’t so runny, and if his voice wasn’t so congested—you’d be on your knees. 

Instead, your heart aches a little. He looks so tired and almost weak. His smile is the same and the way he reaches for you is too. If anything, you should have known he’d use his sickness as an advantage. 

You pout at the sight and he pouts in response. Silently, he tilts his head, waiting for you to come in his embrace. 

Just like that, you can’t even act like you’re still mad. You want to fold so bad the moment he offers a soft smile. It’s like all the fuming feelings suddenly disappear.. You’re not that easy.

You offer him a glare and shake your head. 

“I just came to drop this off,” You hold the food in front of him. His eyebrows knit together and the corner of his lips curve into a smirk. 

He leans his body forward, closes his eyes, and shakes his head at you. “Liar.”

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m sick,” he sings, taking the food from you. He quickly grabs your wrist and tugs you to his body. Crashing into his embrace, he wraps his arms around you and pats the top of your head. 

“You brought your lesson prep. I know you. Stay—”

You plop your chin on his chest and look up at him with sad eyes. “You’re sick.”

“You’re here.” 

A beat. 

Yoongi says it so softly. So automatic and honestly? Romantic. There’s a ring to it and it does more than make your heart beat fast. Sometimes you can’t believe the words he says to you. How plain and simple they are… Yet, his words easily change everything between you two. It’s always been this way. Yoongi has always been good with words and you’ve always been good at falling in love with them. 

“Did your heart skip a beat? Are you not mad at me anymore?” He teases, attempting to lighten the mood. You frown in return. 

“T-that doesn’t change the fact that you’re sick,” you stutter, trying to compose yourself. He groans at you as you push away from him. Yoongi then backs up and opens the door wider for you. 

“I’ll stand here all night,” Yoongi challenges. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just get inside, take care of me, and fall in love with me—”

Your eyes widen. 

Other people in your year live in this building! Is he insane?

“Okay, okay,” you shove past him, shutting the door. “Do you have to say that stuff so loudly? You have neighbours, you know?”

He grins. “I know.”

You end up falling asleep on the couch with him. 

Nothing much happened in between the little spat coming in and eating together. Actually, he refused to eat unless you ate with him. For every bite you took, he’d take as well. Even in times like these, Yoongi made sure to take care of you. 

When you stir awake, you peel his arms off of you and make your way to make some tea. His kitchen must be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. It’s practically always neat and it had real things. Like, his kitchen is filled with proper cooking equipment! His kettle is this aesthetic glass one and it makes you think of stupid things like—is this what our kitchen would look like? The sunlight seeping through the window, a nice iland for counter space, and the fridge covered with magnets and photos of your favourite memories together? 

Picturing life with Yoongi has always been fun. It’s what you’ve been dreaming of for the past three years… But now that you’re here; standing in the very kitchen you’ve been daydreaming about… It feels unreal. It feels scary and like a sick joke. You’re so afraid of waking up and this not being your reality. More than anything, you wish for it to be. Nothing and no one has ever made you love life as much as he has. Though it’s terrifying, you have never loved anyone the way you love Yoongi. It’s fucking crazy just how much more mature and beautiful it unravels itself.. 

You don’t want it with anyone else. 

You don’t want to stand in someone else’s kitchen.

“Don’t go,” Yoongi stands in front of his door with his arms crossed. Turning the other cheek, he declares; “I’m sick.”

“I know you’re sick—”

“Sick of not being with you.”

“I hate you,” you laugh, hitting him playfully. He catches your wrists and tugs you close. He sways you two side to side for a moment. 

“You love me. You just won’t admit it yet.”

Your shoulders drop and you glare at him. He offers a cheeky smile and puts his hands up in surrender. “Don’t be mad at me! I’m sick.”

“Aki, you’re all better!” you exclaim, beginning to find this all too silly. You place the back of your hand on his forehead to triple-check. “You feel normal. We even checked your temperature with the thermometer about an hour ago. You ate. You even slept in until 12PM! I have to go for my closing—”

“I like spending time with you like this,” he confesses. “Maybe I should get sick more often.”

“Don’t you dare!”

He sticks his tongue out. “No promises.. So fine, leave. Go away. I’m gonna find ways to get sick again so we can have more of these sleepovers—”

“You promised me!” you urge, sticking your pinky out. “Promise me.” This time, your tone is stern and it’s really time for you to go.

He remains difficult.

“I’m running late, Yoongi. Hurry up and promise me.”

Your annoyed face causes him to sigh in defeat. Even so, he clasps his pinky with yours. Naturally, he lets his fingers intertwine with yours. “Promise,” he mumbles. “Geez, all this shit and no kiss goodbye.”

“What was that?” you ask, trying to process what he had just uttered. 

“Hmm?”

“Whatever,” you laugh, moving past him to head out the door. Before you open it, he tugs you back to him. For a moment, you forgot that you two were still holding hands. 

“No kiss goodbye?” he flirts, leaning in. 

You scrunch your nose at him.

“You’re sick, mister.”

“No, I’m not. My girlfriend told me I’m all better. Yeah, she’s even leaving for work and won’t kiss me goodbye—”

“Girlfriend,” you gasp. “Bold word choice.”

He pretends to contemplate. “Yeah, I mean.. Don’t really know what to call the girl that got me sick and then came over to take care of me—oh, and she has this huge crush on me—”

“Oh my god, shut up!” 

And before you can even stop yourself; your lips crash onto his. It’s soft and slow, but ever so needy. At first, Yoongi’s eyes widen but they easily flutter shut. It happens so quick! He kisses you with so much intention and for the first time in his life; he feels like he’s about to black out. How he sinks into the kiss and how the moment was just so right.. Fuck, would he be able to function after this?

Yoongi feels like he's peaking right now.

Nothing was better than this. 

Therefore, it was complete torture when you pulled away. It ends too fast. It ends with his lips tingling and craving for more. Meanwhile, you’re laughing at him, as he stands there starstruck. 

“Goodbye, boyfriend.”

You say it as a joke and head out the door. Once it shuts, Yoongi touches his lips, unable to process what had just happened. Did you just kiss him? Did he go to heaven for a moment? Why was it so perfect? 

Oh, he was falling for you. 

There was no way he could deny it from here on out.

It has to be you.

#bts fic #bts scenario #yoongi scenario #yoongi f2l #yoongi fic #suga fic #suga f2l #suga scenario #suga imagine #bts imagine

[ykzzr]

14 January 1892

Today is the 132nd anniversary of the death of dear Prince Albert Victor, second on the British throne after his father, Prince Edward of Wales (later King Edward VII).

the Prince fell ill with influenza during the 1889-1892 pandemic. As time passed, his symptoms worsened and eventually developed into pneumonia. Prince Albert Victor died at Sandringham House on 14th January 1892, less than a week after his 28th birthday. He was surrounded by his parents; his brother, George; his sisters, Maud and Victoria; and three physicians and three nurses.

Dear Eddie on his deathbed

The nation was shocked by his sudden death and fell into a state of mourning. The Prince of Wales wrote to his mother, the Queen, exclaiming how “gladly would I have given my life for his”. George was equally as devastated and wrote “how deeply I did love him”. Alexandra never recovered from her son’s death and continued to keep his room as a shrine.

After his death, the distraught Prince of Wales wrote to Queen Victoria:

“Little did I think I should ever have to write to you on so melancholy a subject, or that our beloved Eddy would have gone before me; but it has been willed otherwise. What we went through for 8 hours watching poor dear Eddy from 2 to 10 this morning, I shall never forget. Poor Boy, he battled so strongly against death… The 3 Doctors & 3 Nurses showed the utmost skill & endurance. The poison of that horrid Influenza had got into the dear Boy’s brain & lungs, & baffled all science… We always say God’s will be done, & it is right to say & think so, but it does seem hard to rob us of our eldest son, on the eve of his marriage. Gladly would I have given my life for his, as I put no value on mine.”

#prince albert victor #albert victor #Duke of Clarence #british royal family #1890s #1892

[insertlovelyperson]

Do you have any headcanons for how the hacketteers would deal with being sick? Maybe how often they get sick, what type of illnesses they are prone to, etc….

Ahhhh this has been sitting in my askbox forever sorry! Great ask tho!

Abi - Had childhood asthma that has the occasional flare up in cold weather. Nothing serious, but her lungs get all rattle-y and her chest feels tight. Other than that, she’ll get the occasional cold that might keep her in bed for a day, but nothing life threatening. 

Ryan - Unless it’s enough to incapacitate him, he’s pretty business as usual (while still limiting his exposure to other people. He’s not an asshole). However, when it does incapacitate him… he just opts to rot in bed the whole time. Thankfully, he has people around to take care of him, or this could prove fatal.

Dylan - Has developed a fear of throwing up (dreads the ‘mouth sweats’), and as a result, has managed to willpower his way out of doing so for the last five years. Fortunately, he doesn’t get sick often, which might’ve played a bigger part in that achievement than any act of his own.

Emma - Prone to stomach bugs; has a brief bouts intermittently through the year. Due to their frequency, she’s pretty good at doing what she needs to do on her own. However, that doesn’t mean she is not opposed to some pampering.

Laura - Rarely ever gets sick, but when she does, she usually tries to power through it. I think she’d be prone to colds during her finals weeks, and Zicam nasal swabs would be her best friend. 

Max - Allergies. Pollen specifically. Has to take a Zyrtec every morning to function, but other than that, doesn’t really get sick. 

Jacob - Probably gets sick like once or twice a year and its always an ordeal. When he’s sick, nobodies ever been as sick as him before and he needs someone to take care of him. Immediately. (Kaitlyn drops off some pedialyte and saltines, and leaves him to it).

Kaitlyn - Doesn’t get sick super often, but when she does, she’s probably used to caring for herself. She’d have to literally be  on death’s door to let someone (other than her parents) care for her. 

Nick - The kind of guy who never gets sick unless its some kind of deadly ailment. Has been sick three times in the last ten years and was hospitalized for all of them (appendicitis, pneumonia, and then pneumonia again).

#the quarry #ryan erzahler #abigail blyg #nick furcillo #dylan lenivy #jacob custos #kaitlyn ka #max brinly #emma mountebank #laura kearney

[brevityisnotmywit]

Waiting For The Worms

Rabid Pneumonia: Also known as Tar Lung, or Wet Lung. A respiratory disease that eventually attacks the brain of its host, driving them to violence.

The pandemic has been ravaging Equestria for five months...Twilight is running out of time.

(Content Warnings: Zombie AU, Gore, Major Character Death, Disease.)

Five months have passed since the initial outbreak.

One hundred and fifty three long days of fear and mourning.

Two hundred twenty thousand three hundred twenty minutes of desperate attempts to combat this sickness.

It took a few weeks before Twilight had identified the reason they had so much trouble containing the disease. It was something so universal, so basic…something no one could live without.

Water. This damned plague spread through fresh water. True, a bite from an infected creature would transfer it, but its main method of transmission was something every living thing required. It wasn’t even like the princess had meant to discover this. No, she had gone to refill the coolant tanks for her lab when she noticed it.

Some poor filly, lost in the pain of the sickness, had dragged her broken body to the banks of the river. This puzzled Twilight. By this point, it was clear that the little pony was in the final stages of Rabid Pneumonia. She would have been suffering from hydrophobia, surely. And yet here she was, gagging on the black bile flooding her lungs. After many long moments, the pathetic creature hurls herself into the stream, startling Twilight.

Of course she was aware of how often they had to fish bodies out of the reservoir. She’d just presumed that it was due to the rainy season washing them downhill…she had a new panel to run.

After that, they tasked the pegasi and dragons with getting the word out. All water had to be boiled and filtered before drinking. It helped, but not nearly enough.

Month two is when they had to accept that magic wouldn’t fix this. The four princesses had called upon Discord to work towards a spell to address this. Between the five of them, there was nothing they couldn’t do…or so they thought.

Tar Lung could bounce back from anything they cast.

Discord was particularly stunned by this. He certainly wasn’t used to putting in effort to get what he wanted. By the time it was clear that they would have to resort to modern medicine, the draconequus seemed to fall into a depressive episode. He’d blipped away, presumably to the fortified home he had built for Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie. The latter had moved in after she’d lost her husband and their daughter…

Shortly after that, Cadence had heard of the illness reaching the Crystal Kingdom. She rushed home, only to report that she would be unable to leave her people. A week later, Twilight received the news that her brother had contracted it.

She scowled, and shook her head. If her magic didn’t help, that was fine. Twilight never let herself lose sight of the practical side of her studies. She was particularly skilled in chemistry. So she called upon anyone experienced in medicine. Earth ponies, Pegasi, Unicorns, Kirin, Zebras, if you knew your way around a lab, you were invited.

Zecora had been a big help to their cause. She had convinced a few buffalo to join her, one of which was Little Strongheart’s daughter. The zebra made it clear that Twilight was to show the utmost respect to all who answered her summons. If the princess didn’t understand traditional methods, that didn’t mean they had no merit.

The implied accusation stung, but Twilight understood why Zecora made it. She’d definitely had moments of dismissing science she considered primitive.

As it would turn out, some of the biggest advances the team made began with the group helmed by the zebra. Their deep knowledge of the local ecosystem had resulted in significant breakthroughs. They hit a snag when the disease mutated again. The first documented jump was to the local population of timber wolves. They hadn’t anticipated it would be able to spread to plants…

Ink Rot meant a whole different threat.

Applejack wasted no time in assembling a crew to figure out why their crops had begun to die. Clearly it was related to the pandemic, but how? Tar Lung started as a respiratory disease, it shouldn’t impact this.

And yet, here they were.

Thankfully Ink Rot didn’t seem to be able to transmit to animals. At least, not like the virus could. It definitely could make you sick if you consumed too much contaminated matter. But it just resulted in something akin to food poisoning. The biggest danger was how it weakened the immune system.

Anyone recovering from Ink Toxicity was significantly more likely to contract Tar Lung. Even if they took every possible precaution. The sickness was getting stronger every passing moment.

Applejack was the one that suggested rain was no longer safe. After the outbreak, Cloudsdale had allowed the weather to self-regulate. They would do their best to prevent natural disasters, but their numbers had been falling to the virus at a significant rate.

As the storms rolled through, cases would skyrocket. Out of frustration, Applejack lamented that the petrichor smelled sour. Of course. Of course it was the rain. They couldn’t possibly boil every lake in the world.

The timber wolves had started to reach the final stages, so they would likely be drowning themselves like the previous carriers. Zecora had guessed that Ink Rot stemmed from their decaying branches.

Twilight issues a command to have Cloudsdale evacuated. She finds some comfort in the knowledge that Dash wasn’t around to see her home in this state…wherever she was. The princess tried not to dwell on her fallen friends. They both would just tell her to keep working on the cure.

A few days after the fall of the pegasi kingdom, Zecora caught it. The moment the acidic bile began to seep from her snout, she walked into a holding cell. She reassured Twilight from her glass cage that everything would make sense soon. The alicorn had everything she needed to save the world.

It was a rough few weeks, watching one of her most valuable teammates collapse under the strain of the sickness. Watching as it reached her brain, being forced to hear the zebra rip at her burning chest. The wet choking echoing off the walls…Twilight cried herself to sleep regularly.

She was failing her community. She was running out of time.

Which brings us to now. 

Five months.

One hundred and fifty three days.

Two hundred twenty thousand three hundred twenty minutes.

A brilliant flash blinds the princess. She scrubs at her eyes, squinting against the light. She’s surprised at who stands before her. The lord of chaos himself. Discord had returned. He looks exhausted. His thin mane had grown out, forming mats that swung heavily as he offered a half-hearted bow. His mismatched eyes were haunted…something was wrong.

“Discord?” Twilight asks softly, not wanting to startle him. The lab had too many delicate items to risk him bolting on her. “...What happened?”

It was clear from his expression that he anticipated the question. The draconequus knew she was a clever one. She saw right through him. As per usual. His voice is rough, as though he’d been screaming for hours.

“Observant as always, princess .” He spits out her title like the word is rotten on his tongue. “I take it you’re not getting anywhere?”

The jab digs into her spirit like an arrow. Twilight’s wings lift subtly, making her appear bigger. “We’ve made significant progress towards a cure. We’ll have our vaccine by the end of the year.” She snorts, flicking her tail. “Not that you care.”

The air shifts. Discord’s form distorts, chaos magic leaking out. The princess catches a glimpse of his true appearance. A twisting fractal, branching out into impossible angles and planes. He snarls, teeth rotating and multiplying endlessly. After a very tense moment, he reels his power in. The window into his reality closes.

The venom in his voice remains. “I resent that accusation.”

Twilight forces herself to stand strong. She was the only one that could fight him if needed. “State your business.” She snaps. “But I’m only going to warn you once. If you do anything to jeopardize our work, I will not hesitate to stop you. Keep that in mind.”

“Oh I’m so frightened, I just might shake myself apart.”

“ Discord .” She takes a step towards him.

“Ugh, you’re still no fun.” He rolls his eyes. Literally. Before Twilight can respond, Discord’s tone becomes serious again. “I’m here to help you.”

“You know none of our magic works against it.” The princess reminds him.

“ Yes . I am distinctly aware of how useless I appear to you.” He folds his arms, his tail flicking with irritation. “This whole thing has gone too far. You need someone that can get you anything in a matter of seconds. I am your obedient servant .”

He punctuates this with another, more dramatic bow.

Something’s happened, Twilight realizes. “Not that I’m going to turn you down but…why are you offering this now? You could have shown up at any moment, you know.”

“They caught it.” Discord states bluntly.

Twilight doesn’t need clarification on who ‘they’ are.

“I couldn’t protect them…I poured everything I had into keeping my-” He pauses, glancing away. “Keeping them safe from this. You know me, I could care less if this world implodes…or at least I did. I’m a selfish creature, it’s in my nature. I’m sure you understand.”

The princess nods, motioning for him to continue.

“...I can’t let them die, Twilight. I might not be able to snap this disease out of existence, but if I can do even the smallest thing to help expedite your work?” Discord meets her eyes, and she can see a hint of his old resolve. “I’ll make it happen. Just say the word…and please, we may be desperate, but let’s not forget our manners, hm?”

A harsh laugh bubbles up from Twilight’s chest. She can’t believe this is what it took to snap Discord from his isolation…actually, yes she can. This was perfectly in character for him.

“Alright. We can discuss details later, right now I need-” She was interrupted by a panicked Spike bursting into the room.

“Hey! Twilight, I’ve got a message from the Castle!” The dragon holds it out, allowing his friend to grab it with her magic.

She unfurls it, expecting a long update. What she does find, however, are three sentences that chill her to the bone.

‘The disease has breached the barrier. The Sisters are no longer with us. Please hurry…”

#my little pony #mlp fim #discord mlp #twilight sparkle #zecora #spike mlp #infection au #zombie apocalypse #cw: gore

[dragoneyes618]

Ernesto de la Cruz, as evident by his immediate and complete acceptance of Miguel as his great-great-grandson, had quite a few girlfriends when he was alive.

It did not start only once he gained fame and fortune on the body of his best friend, though. Even back in Santa Cecilia, he was quite the ladies' man.

As was only to be expected, one young woman - the only child of doting parents who had had her late in life - approached him soon after their affair had ended with the news that she was carrying his child, and that they had to marry to spare her honor.

Of course, Ernesto refused. He had big plans, and couldn't be tied down by a wife and child. (He could never understand why it didn't seem to bother Héctor.) Maybe he was nice about it and gave her some money. Maybe he just laughed at her. The end result was the same: the young woman - Victoria, her name was - left alone and with child.

So, what did she do? She dared not admit what she had done even to her parents, who, as their only child born when they had nearly given up hope, would have forgiven her anything. Instead, she told them she was going to visit a distant relative in Mexico City, and instead went to the orphanage the next town over.

It's not like this had never been done before. She would live there for the next few months, helping out with the children, the cleaning, the cooking, the sewing - all the work that came along with a few sisters raising three dozen children as well as they could - and, once she gave birth, she would leave her child there, and go home like nothing had happened.

In due time, she gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.

She named the boy Julio, because she'd always liked that name.

She named the girl Rosa, after her mother. Her mother was still alive, but she knew her children would never be able to meet her parents, that they would never even know her, and she wanted them to at least have this.

On their birth certificates, she wrote down their full names, giving them her own surname, and she wrote her name, as well as the name of their father. The name meant nothing to anyone outside Santa Cecilia then, but she wrote it anyway, because it was true. Just in case Ernesto changed his mind. (He wouldn't.)

Then she went back home and went on with her life, gently spurning all offers of courtship, unable to leave behind the images of the wailing babies she'd left in that orphanages.

About five years later, she grew ill - with influenza, pneumonia, it doesn't matter. She grew ill, and worsened, and died, and left her grieving parents to bury their daughter.

Before she died, she confessed to her parents and the priest administering the last rites that she had borne twin children out of wedlock, and had left them in an orphanage in a town close by.

She died, and her parents buried her, and grieved.

Then they traveled to the orphanage and told them that their grandchildren were here, and they had come to claim them.

Things were very lax back then. They didn't need proof, didn't need any documents. All they had to say was who they were, their daughter's name, and the names she had told them she had given her children, and the people running the orphanage said "That sounds right, nice to meet you, here they are."

Little Julio and Rosa were shy and uncertain at first, but their newfound grandparents were kind to them, and raised them just as if they had been their own children. They gave them both individualized attention, which had been hard to come by in the orphanage. They told them stories and taught them new things and comforted them when they had nightmares and told them about their mother.

To differentiate young Rosa from her namesake, they called her Rosita, and the name stuck, even after the first Rosa was long in the Land of the Dead.

As they grew older, Rosita helped her grandmother around the house, while Julio helped his grandfather - his name was Alberto - in the small upholstery shop he had that supported their little family.

Then one day, Julio met a young woman named Coco in the plaza, and his life changed.

Julio's grandparents were overjoyed to see him in love, to see him settle down and be happy. Elderly, they died only a short while after the wedding, and Coco helped Julio through his grief. None of the Riveras wanted Rosita to be alone, so she was invited to move in with them and join the workshop, and she happily accepted.

Neither of them ever knew the identity of their father. They had no reason to. They never had cause to look at their birth certificates. They'd never known him, and he hadn't wanted to know them. They had their grandparents, and that was all they'd ever needed. They felt like they were missing nothing.

The years passed, and Rosita and then Julio died. More years passed, and Miguel got cursed.

In the year following, Miguel suddenly developed an extensive interest in family history and would spend hours going through old papers. Héctor's letters proved that he had written the songs, but having more than just the letters, the importance of them unknown until now, would help. Maybe a journal, maybe more letters, something.

Miguel wanted to find out as much as he could about Héctor, too, to ensure that the true Héctor Rivera would never be forgotten.

Also, he was worried that maybe the family had somehow forgotten someone else, and wanted to make sure they knew of everybody.

The Riveras lived in the same house that Imelda and Héctor had scrambled to put together money for all those years ago, adding on rooms as the family grew. If not for that, many of the crucial papers - Héctor's letters first and foremost - may have been scattered in different households across Santa Cecilia, or even destroyed entirely, their importance unknown. Having only one house to search makes it much easier. Not easy, but easier.

Miguel finds Héctor and Imelda's marriage certificate, and Coco's baptism certificate, and her and Julio's wedding certificate (the one documenting the union of Elena López Rivera and Franco Rivera Rojas is in a drawer in their bedroom, and so is Luisa and Enrique's, and Carmen and Berto have theirs pinned to the wall), and birth and death and baptism and communion certificates for all the older, deceased generation of Riveras, the ones who have no need of any of them anymore.

And he finds a birth certificate for Papá Julio, and another for Tía Rosita, naming them as twins, born illegitimately to Victoria López Hernández and Ernesto de la Cruz.

To say Miguel has an identity crisis is an understatement.

He was devastated when he thought he was the descendant of a murderer, and overjoyed to find he was Héctor's descendant instead. All of his love and admiration for de la Cruz has curdled into hatred, the love passed on to his great-great-grandfather, the musical genius and, more importantly, the loving father.

Now he finds out that not only is he the great-great-grandson of Ernesto de la Cruz after all, but he's descended from both of them - one great-great-grandfather killed his other one.

He begins to worry that he's going to be like Ernesto. What if he, one day, lies and steals for music? He's already lied to his family and stolen a guitar for music. What if one day he kills for music? How can he be sure that his musical talent is inherited from Héctor and not Ernesto? Because he doesn't want anything of Ernesto's, not anymore.

Elena takes personal offense to finding out that she's the granddaughter of the good-for-nothing musician who probably (nothing has been proven, it's too long ago for that, but it's all very suspicious) murdered her other good-for-nothing grandfather (said in completely different tones of voice; Elena is the only one allowed to insult Héctor, you see).

The Riveras were abruptly plunged into national scrutiny after Héctor's letters were published; the media has a field day with the news that most of them are descended from Ernesto.

Miguel writes a long letter - multiple long letters - about his feelings about all this, and leave it on the ofrenda at the next Day of the Dead, along with the offending birth certificates. Actually, with all the papers belonging to the dead Riveras, in case they want them. But Julio's and Rosita's birth certificates are at the top.

So the dead Riveras get home after the holiday is over, and they go through all the things Miguel left them, and Héctor reads the letters Miguel wrote to him.

Now Julio (and Rosita, to a lesser extent, but she's not the one who married the child of the man her father murdered) has a bit of an identity crisis.

His father caused his wife (and her mother) so much pain. How is he supposed to live (well, not live, but you know what I mean) with that? His father killed her father.

He and Coco have a lot of long talks about this.

Coco doesn't blame him or his sister, of course; neither does the rest of the family. The only change comes in the way Julio thinks the rest of the family is now thinking about him. He was always more on the timid side; it takes literal years before he stops calling Héctor Señor Rivera. Now he's sure that Imelda and Héctor hold his father's crimes against him. It takes a surprisingly gentle talk from his in-laws to get him to surpass that.

"So, ah..." Héctor hesitates afterwards, not having felt this awkward since his first few weeks with the family. "You remember, the trial and everything, I testified, I'm the "principal victim" and all that...I could probably arrange for you to visit him, if you wanted...."

Julio and Rosita look at each other, and shake their heads in unison. "No," they say at once.

"No," Julio says again. "I don't. We don't." He squeezes his sister's hand of bones in one hand, his wife's in the other.

Oscar stirs. "Hey, so....Ernesto's blessing would've worked with Miguel after all."

Felipe, of all people, hushes him. "Not now, hermano."

Victoria takes up Héctor's offer to arrange a visit with de la Cruz, though.

"What?" she asks, daring anyone to question her. "He's my grandfather too."

Any suspicion of sentimentality is immediately discarded when Victoria walks into the visiting room, boot already at the ready, hits him once, and walks right back out again.

#coco #ernesto de la cruz #papa julio #julio rivera #rosita rivera #tia rosita #hector rivera #miguel rivera #coco rivera #mama coco #elena rivera #rivera family #abuelita elena #abuelita rivera #pixar coco #coco pixar #coco (2017) #coco(2017) #coco the movie #coco headcanon #headcanon #tia victoria #victoria rivera

[corinthianism]

last kiss | sam winchester (3)

pairing: sam winchester/f!reader additional tags: best friends to lovers (?), fluff, angst

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter | ao3

CHAPTER THREE: A BRUSH WITH DEATH (AND PESTILENCE)

Serenity Valley Convalescent Home was quite a sight, in that it was the most depressing building you’d ever seen. There was no way Pestilence wasn’t there. 

The two brothers agreed with you on that. Dean said it looked like a four-color brochure for dying young. It earned a chuckle from you and a small smile from Sam, despite the anxiety simmering in your gut from coming face-to-face with another Horseman. 

All three of you walked into the building, chests heavy with anticipation. If the brothers did feel anxious, they were damn good at not showing it. You had to keep your wits about you as well. As soon as you stepped in, all you could sense was disease. The whole place reeked of it. You glanced at your companions. The look on their faces told you that they were thinking the same thing. In a room oozing with sickness, you stood out like sore thumb. 

Dean approached a security guard, asking him if he’d seen his “grandma” Eunice Kennedy. Of course, that was before Dean knocked him out. Sam eyed a monitor, thinking that he may have found their culprit. You shared a look, interrupted by Dean briefly falling in and out of consciousness. You needed to find Pestilence and you needed to find him fast. Even staying here for too long could kill all three of you. 

Even you could feel the sickness clawing at your lungs.

As you traversed the hallways of the convalescent home, the staff and patients were dropping like flies. A doctor puked all over the floor, dropping to his knees whilst angry red spots broke out on the skin of a shrieking nurse. Seconds later, they were dead.

Sam coughed, and with it came blood, “Must be getting close.”

“You think?” Dean grunted, trying desperately to stay upright and walking. You, on the other hand, could feel your lungs constricting. Each minute you spent in this damn building brought you closer to death, and you’d be damned if you didn’t save the world before you went down. As much as Pestilence tightened his grip on you, the plague injected into your bloodstream, you could not falter. Not now. 

So you marched onward, trying to ignore the sight and stench of corpses littered in ugly and painful boils. You made your way to one of the rooms, but before you could investigate it even further, Dean fell to the floor. Immediately, you and Sam were at his side, trying to hold him up but eventually, you all fell. Coughs echoed through the hallways and this time, they’re yours.

A nurse walked out from the room you intended to enter, and she blinked. Black eyes. Fuck, if you could just gouge them out right then and there, you would. 

And as if things couldn’t get any worse, she went ahead and pulled out a cheesy one-liner, “The doctor will see you now.”

Sam pulled out a knife in one last attempt to save you and Dean. He heaved as he swung weakly, his knees giving out whilst the knife clattered to the floor, forgotten.

Right on cue, Pestilence appeared, a victorious smile on his face because he had the fucking Winchesters rolling on the floor, “Ah, the Three Musketeers. Come right in.”

He had his demon henchmen throw you all into the room like ragdolls. On the bed, there was woman who was barely recognizable underneath the abscess, boils, and whatever-the-hell Pestilence infected her with. If it weren’t for the fact that you could barely breathe yourself, you would’ve vomited from the sight alone. 

“Hmm,” Pestilence pretended to inspect you, his sickly hand brushing against your forehead. “You don’t look so well. It might be the, uh, scarlet fever or… uh, the meningitis. Oh! Or the syphilis. That’s no fun.”

He eyed you, “I think I’ve got one with a… hah, healthy dose of pneumonia here.”

His tone rose with each disease he named with what you could only assume was excitement. He was excited that he would be the one to exact revenge on the three of you for what you did to his brothers, and that he was the one who would end the Winchesters once and for all.

“However you feel right now? It’s gonna get so very, very much worse. Questions?” he smiled sadistically. “Disease gets a bad rap, don’t you think? For being filthy. Chaotic. Uh, but really, that just describes people who get sick. Disease itself… very… pure… single-minded. Bacteria have one purpose. Divide and conquer.”

Pestilence stepped on Dean’s hand, and the sound of his pained scream tore at you. You wanted to get up and fight; to grab this Horseman by the fucking collar and to bash his head into the wall. For Dean. For Sam. For that poor woman on that hospital bed… but you didn’t have the strength. It’d been siphoned from you. It only served to worsen your anger.

“That’s why, in the end, it always wins. So, you’ve gotta wonder why God pours all his love into something so messy and weak. It’s ridiculous. All I can do is show him he’s wrong, one epidemic at a time. Now, on a scale of 1-10, how’s your pain?”

You looked back and forth between Dean and Sam. The feeling… the impending sense of doom that swirled inside of you and blackened your hope was familiar. You’d been through this before. Countless times before. 

You’d felt it at that hospital, when Dean nearly died and John made a deal with Azazel to bring him back. You’ve watched Sam die before; impaled by Jake, and you mourned him for all of a day before Dean went ahead and followed in his father’s footsteps and did the same stupid thing of dealing with a demon. And again when Lilith had her hellhound maul Dean and send him to hell, and you and Sam could do nothing but hold each other as you listened to the screams of his older brother and your best friend.

And all the times before that, back when your world was smaller and all you had to worry about was Yellow-Eyes and the breadcrumbs John left behind. That felt so far away now. Now, you were at the mercy, or lack thereof, of one of the Four Horsemen. 

Still, something told you this wouldn’t be the end. Not now, at least. 

Hope came barging in in the form of Castiel. His name fell from Dean’s lips like a prayer answered, and you couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh of joy.

“How’d you get here?” Pestilence barked, annoyed. 

“I took a bus.”

Priceless. Leave it to Cas to save the day.

As much as you wanted to see Cas absolutely kick Pestilence’s ass, dark spots were already clouding your vision. Your throat had closed up some fifteen minutes ago, forcing you to draw short, quick breaths to stay alive.

Before you knew it, you passed out. 

▼△▼△▼△▼△▼

“Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” you could hear the sound of Dean’s laugh. “Had a good nap, sweetheart?”

“Not now that I can hear you,” you squinted, your eyes adjusting to the light. It took you a while to realize that you were at Bobby’s.

“Ouch,” Dean brought a hand to his chest in mock hurt, before shooting Sam a look of disbelief. “You act like we don’t have history together. Sammy’s not the only Winchester in your life, you know!”

“Don’t worry, Dean. You’re my second favorite Winchester.”

“There’s only two of us!” he exclaimed, exasperated.

Sam tried to stifle his laugh and the heat blooming on his face. It was known that he was your favorite; he was your best friend after all… but to hear you say it?

Well, let’s just say it brought him a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in a hot minute. 

“Okay, okay,” he placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, urging his brother to calm down so they could get back on track. “We got three of the Horsemen’s rings. We just need Death’s.”

“You should be an actor, Sammy. You say it so casually,” you nudged his shoulder teasingly. Dean barked a laugh in agreement. Sam rolled his eyes at you and crossed his arms, a sigh leaving his lips when the gravity of the situation really dawned on him. There wasn’t much you could do about Death, was there?

“Well, at this point, there’s not much we can do but go off of the last clue,” Sam remarked. “Pestilence said something about it being ‘too late’, what does that mean?”

“I’m freaking out a little here. Does he have a bomb or something?” Dean shot Bobby a pleading look. “Please tell us you have some good news.”

Bobby paused, a heavy feeling stewing inside. It was so painfully obvious, especially to you. He always did wear his heart on his sleeve, or perhaps age just softened him. 

“Chicago’s about to be wiped off from the map. Storm of the millennium. Sets off a daisy chain of natural disasters. Three million people are gonna die.”

The room fell silent, the lightheartedness present just moments before now completely eviscerated by Bobby’s update.

It was Cas who spoke up again, “I don’t understand your definition of good news.”

Bobby explained to the angel how it was a blaring alarm for where Death was going to be. Three million deaths didn’t just mean that another once-in-a-lifetime gathering of reapers was in order; it meant that the head honcho himself would be there. He had to be. 

You sank further into your seat, the same old couch you’d sit on whenever you read lore books with Sam all those years ago. You had never felt so small. Compared to the other Horsemen, you knew deep down that Death was just different. You couldn’t possibly comprehend his existence or his power. Three million people? Gone just like that? For the first time since this whole fucked-up journey started, you felt like you were way in over your head.

Sam sat next to you on the old worn-out couch, flashing you a small smile of comfort. 

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey.”

“We’ll be okay.”

You forced yourself to look at him, and the fear tore away at another piece of your chest. You were only days away from what would possibly his death. So far, there seemed to be no alternative to his current plan of letting Lucifer possess him. It was ironic, and cruelly so, that you were here chasing after Death with him when it seemed as though death would come for him sooner rather than later. 

“I don’t think we will, Sammy,” you finally answer him. The crack on your heart grew bigger. 

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, unable to say anything else. He knew what this was about, and he wished he could tell you that it wasn’t going to happen the way you thought it would. That he could make it out of this whole thing alive.

But that would be a lie, and Sam was tired of lying. All he could do now was to savor every single moment he could. To remember your face just in case it would be the last time he’d see you. Nearly two decades of you and your friendship and your kindness; God, he was so grateful. He wished he had more time. Eighteen years spent taking your love, and he wished he had the time to give it back, but he didn’t. Not after this.

So you were right, both you and Sam were not going to be okay. 

It made him take a step back, the haze of hunting and saving the world clearing for the first time since he left for Stanford. He’d spent his life chasing after monsters and it made him wonder if he’d done it for so long that he didn’t really need to chase after them anymore. The monsters were just there because he was Sam Winchester, and all that came close to him had a target on their back. Wherever he went, there was a black mark that burned through the soil and flesh and he prayed to whoever would listen that you would be clean of it; that you would be clean of him. 

He’d never seen you so broken down. Sam realized that no matter how much he gave up, this world and this life would still keep taking from him. It angered him, it truly did, because there was this bitterness that stewed in his chest from the fact that it was his family that paid the price of peace. Peace that he couldn’t guarantee for you. 

Sam thought he was a curse, and it killed him to know that you wanted him here with you still. He wanted you to hate him because at least you’d be far away from him and out of harm’s way, but here you were: you loved him, he loved you, and it would poison the both of you until eventually, someone broke. It would have to be him.

“It’s fine,” you smiled weakly at him. “We don’t have to talk about this now. We have things to do.”

For a few seconds, he just stared at you, as if he was willing the words to come out of his mouth but they just couldn’t. Again, there was his “kicked puppy” look. It made you laugh, just a little bit, so you placed a soft kiss on his cheek. The warmth of his skin under your palm brought you back to happier days.

“We have things to do,” you repeated even though it hurt. All he could do was place his hand over your own. For now, that was enough.

▼△▼△▼△▼△▼

“Things to do” was a massive understatement for what you were about to do. Sam, Cas, and Bobby headed to a Niveus Pharmaceuticals warehouse after discovering Pestilence’s plan to spread the Croatoan virus worldwide. You, Dean, and Crowley headed to Chicago to intercept Death, whatever that meant. Even with Death’s scythe in your possession, you could feel Dean’s nerves radiating off of him. He was gripping the steering wheel a little bit too hard, something he made a point never to do because he took care of this car like it was his child, but it was an obvious tell. 

Your mind was someplace far away, drifting between thinking about this mission and how Sam was faring. He hadn’t updated you yet. 

“Miss your boyfriend?” Crowley quipped from the back of the Impala. You groaned, leaning back against the passenger seat.

Before you could say anything, Dean answered for you, “She does.”

“Dean!”

“What? I thought I was your second favorite Winchester, so who else is the first?”

“Now’s not a good time to be discussing my personal relationships.”

“Oh, so you admit that it’s a relationship?” Crowley added.

“Please shut up.”

The demon snickered again before surprisingly keeping quiet for the rest of the ride. Although you’d never admit it, you appreciated the quick distraction. It pulled you away from your thoughts just long enough to maintain some sort of composure, because you had no idea how you were going to get Death’s ring.

“So… where is he supposed to be?” Dean asked Crowley.

Crowley pointed to a large decrepit building, “Big, ugly building. Horseman’s stable, if you will. He’s in there.”

You leaned forward to get a better look. Dean raised a brow, “How do you know he’s in there?”

“Have you met me? ‘Cause I know. Also, the block is squirming with reapers. I’ll be right back.”

You blinked, and he was gone. You turned to Dean, about to say something when Crowley suddenly returned, face flushed. 

Death wasn’t in the warehouse, and three million people were about to die anyway. How the hell were you going to evacuate the city?

“I strongly suggest that we get out of here,” Crowley noted.

Both you and Dean were in a panic about how you were going to save that many people when Crowley suddenly vanished again. Rage clouded your vision; how the hell can he just disappear like that? When there was so much at stake?

“Crowley, you fu—”

“No need for that, dear,” he pressed a finger against your lips, making a point to wiggle it around. “I found him.”

Dean drove as fast as he could to the place Crowley provided, and it lead the three of you to a now-abandoned pizzeria. The wind picked up and random objects were now up in the air one by one. You and Dean got out of the car, turning around to see Crowley gone. Of course, he was.

“Are you ready?” he asked you, concerned.

“Not really, but that doesn’t really matter, does it?”

He smiled in agreement, before entering the pizzeria first in case something was amiss, holding a vice-like grip on the scythe. You followed close behind, but there was no one or even anything there except a gaunt pale man clad in black sitting in the very middle of the room. He radiated an aura that was almost eldritch, incomprehensible and unfathomable. Fearsome, but natural. Sitting in front of you was a force of nature, and you were just two humans trying to do the right thing. 

“Ah,” the scythe fell from Dean’s hand. “Thanks for returning that. The pizza’s delicious. Sit down. Took you long enough to find me. I’ve been wanting to talk to the two of you.”

“I’ve got mixed feelings about that,” you chuckled nervously. Death only turned his head ever so slightly to acknowledge you.

“So, is this the part where you kill us?” Dean interrupted. 

The corner of Death’s lips turned upward, “You have an inflated sense of your importance.”

You let out a long breath. Yes, amazing, like you needed the whole speech about how utterly insignificant you were. You could feel your hands getting clammy from prolonged exposure to… whatever the hell Death was, but every cell in your body was screaming at you to get the hell out of dodge.

“So why are we still here? What do you want?” you gathered the courage to ask him.

“The leash around my neck,” his cold gaze pierced through you. “—off. Lucifer has me bound to him; some unseemly little spell. He has me where he wants, when he wants. That’s why I couldn’t go to you. I had to wait for you to catch up. He made me his weapon. Hurricanes, floods, raising the dead. I’m more powerful than you can process, and I’m enslaved to a bratty child with a temper tantrum.”

When Dean asked him if he thought we were the ones that could unbind him, Death pointed out his mortal bravado once again. Death took of his ring, sliding it against the table towards the two of you.

“I understand you want this, and I’m inclined to give it to you.”

You were confused. You were in the middle of a city-ending storm, with millions of lives on the line, so you spoke up again, “But what about—”

“Chicago?” he continued monotonously. “I suppose it can stay. I like the pizza. There are conditions: you have to do whatever it takes to put Lucifer in his cell.”

“Of course,” both you and Dean answered.

“Whatever it takes,” Death repeated sternly. “I’m quite fortunate that the two of you are the ones that found me. That makes this discussion easier. Sam Winchester is the only one that can stop Lucifer, and I know what he is to you. I need your word.”

There it was. All the fear you had about facing Death himself was replaced by the decades-old fear you had of losing Sam. Death wanted you to promise him, to take an oath to let your worst fear come true.

“You’re going to let him jump into the fiery pit. Now, do I have your word?”

“Yes,” you answered in unison again. The word felt heavy on your tongue. 

Sam Winchester was going to die, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

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