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drabblesandimagines · 3 months

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Pink Gingham

Leon Kennedy x reader Established relationship, all fluff

It had been a long week at work. A number of your colleagues calling in sick and multiple projects in the pipeline, you’d tried to take up some of the slack with ill-advised early starts and late finishes...

Truthfully, if Leon hadn’t been away on assignment, you wouldn’t have volunteered for so much overtime.

The house still felt too big compared to the apartment you’d once shared, so the more time out of it at the moment the better, in your opinion. You’d started to feel a little off Friday morning, cast it aside as nothing that a lie-in Saturday would sort, but still found yourself awake at sunrise.

You’d got up, checked your phone to see if there were any messages – zero – showered and dressed, and taken the early wake-up call as a sign that you shouldn’t lie in today, but instead head downstairs to start on the long list of housework that had been neglected with good intentions.

You fill the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water and begin to wash the numerous glasses and cups that have built up. It must be the steam from the sink because there’s sweat on your brow by the second cup. You reason you should wait for the water cool down and take a bottle of water out the fridge, greedily gulping down half the thing before you change tact to loading the dishwasher.

After loading up the racks, you still feel too hot for what should for such a menial task. You’re feeling more akin to that time you tried to join Leon in one of his ridiculous work outs in the garage. To top it off, the beginning of a headache is now beginning to pound at your temples. You try and rub it half-heartedly away with your fingers, finally fighting back a yawn.

You check your phone again – still nothing.

It wouldn’t hurt to go back to bed, would it?

Your phone buzzes almost violently on the bedside table, startling you awake. The headache you had before you’d laid down for what might turn out to be an ill-advised nap doesn’t seem to have shifted, even with the painkillers you’d taken. In fact, it feels worse than it did, graduating into a horrible, constant throb around your temples.

You weakly kick the duvet off of you, feeling flush – should have got changed into your pjyamas rather than getting in bed fully dressed - and reach out blindly for your phone, holding it above your face to squint at the screen, trying to decipher what it was determined to tell you.

Two new messages from Leon.

Finally on my way home, sweetheart. Wrapped up yesterday but they wouldn’t discharge me till this morning. ETA 210 minutes.

You would’ve rolled your eyes at the acronym if it wasn’t already hard enough to focus.

And before you ask – bit bruised. Don’t recommend a prison tour…! All good otherwise x

Leon had set out on an assignment the previous weekend and you hadn’t heard much from him besides one text message a day, a sentence of more than three words if you were particularly lucky, often sweet words...

"All good."

"Miss you, sweetheart."

"I love you."

"Recycling out tomorrow!"

..or reminders about something you'd forget to do completely if he wasn't around. In fact, that’s the way it had always been if he was on what you’d call 'active duty', not just him in a stuffy suit up DC way, trailing behind the President. It's not like you’d got used to not hearing much from him, just that it was expected.

There was always that little lump in your throat when he was away, of course there was, that this would be the time you wouldn't hear from him at all and there'd just be a knock on the door, agents dressed in mourning suits.

Besides, you’d rather his focus was on coming back to you in one piece than trying to compose an update whilst shielding from bullets or something horrifying.

You haul yourself out of bed, immediately regretting it when your vision swims and you fall back down heavily on the mattress, balance somewhat abandoning you.

Probably just got up too fast, you reason, try and shrug it off. There’s there niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach that you’re not well, but you’re going to remain in denial about it. You hate being sick, will never acknowledge you’re feeling under the weather to your grave and just muster on. It’s all psychological – it’s just a headache, you haven’t drunk enough water, not after you’ve sweated the last one out, didn’t have a proper breakfast either.

You’re fine. There’s too much to do, anyway. Every single time Leon had arrived home from an assignment it had been to a clean house and a home-cooked meal keeping warm in the oven, his favourite sweatpants fresh out of the dryer after you’d convinced him to soak in the tub – worked wonders for tense and bruised muscles – and you’ll be damned if he didn’t have the same today. It’s what he deserves.

He'd beam as soon as he walked in, wrapping you up tight in his arms, pressing a kiss against your temple and you’d run him said bath, finishing off dinner to be served for when he returned downstairs. What would follow would be an early retreat to bed, sometimes for devouring kisses and more, or just embraced in each other’s arms.

Leon’s text was from a while ago, so he couldn’t be too far away. Probably be hungry as well – often running off pure adrenaline when he was fighting for his life, then had an insatiable appetite on his return – so you really should try and see what you could combine from whatever’s in the refrigerator.

Ugh – you hadn’t done a grocery run in a few days. That had been on your agenda for today, though you’re not sure you’ll have time for that now. The laundry hamper is close to overflowing, the dishwasher definitely needs running after you crammed it full after dinner last night, some rogue plates and glasses piled up besides the sink and definitely a few rooms would benefit from the vacuum being run around.

You don’t even what to think about the garbage and recycling situation.

So much for his usual welcome home deal, then.

You get up a little slower this time, rewarded for your efforts by no spots of black in your vision and carefully head out the bedroom and towards the stairs, perhaps gripping the banister a little too firm on your descent than usual.

The easiest task by far is to pop the tablet in the dishwasher and set that to run, so you do that first, though making sure to bend down slowly after the previous bouts of head rush. After it whirs into action, you grab an apron off the hook – a pink frilly gingham one, a gift from a friend – and turn your attention to the fridge and proceed to stare forlornly at the contents, hoping for inspiration to strike.

You close the door in defeat and lean up against the counter. Maybe there’s some pasta and sauce in the cupboard…? Your thought is cut off as you hear the front door unlock.

“Sweetheart, you home?” You want to think it’s the sound of his voice that makes you weak at the knees, but you’d be a liar.

“In the kitchen!” You call back, keeping yourself propped up against the counter. Usually you’d be rushing towards him, colliding into his chest for a hug but everything feels impossible.

“Hey.” He smiles, creases at the corner of those blue eyes you could stare into for hours. Though he wasn’t lying in his text about the bruises – there’s a black eye blooming, currently a rather pleasing shade of purple, and plenty of other marks and scrapes littering his arms.

“Hey. Sorry, I haven’t started dinner yet.” Leon raises his eyebrow at that, and you feel awful, but it’s not for the reason you think. “No, sorry. I mean, welcome home! I’ll just star-” You stand upright, intending to head over to the cupboard in search of something, but your step is a bit too heavy, too quick to move and your vision swims again.

“Whoa.” Leon catches you by your shoulders, holding you up. “You feeling all right there, sweetpea?”

“I’m great.” You try and shrug him off, but his heavy palms stay in place. “Are you okay?”

His brows furrow, eyes scanning over your face. “You look hot.” The concern gives way to a grin as he realizes what he’s said. “I mean, not the usual hot. Warm.”

A hand remains on your shoulder while he moves the other to your forehead, gauging your temperature, but you’ll be damned to admit it feels soothingly cool. “I’ll turn the AC on. Let me-”

“Shit, no. You’re burning up.” Leon’s eyes widen, a worried crease appearing on his brow. “How long have you been like this?”

“No, it’s just…” You pull your head back from his hand, reluctantly. “It’s just hot in here.”

He gives you a skeptical look as you try and step around him – a look that would usually be accompanied with his hands on his hips if he didn’t still have one keeping you in place.

“How long?” He repeats, his mind racing, heart pounding. It was protocol to be decontaminated after any interaction with a BOW – he’d showered and changed clothes since Alcatraz. Hell, he’d bagged up his old ones to be incinerated, just to be sure. He knows it’s not logical, he can’t have brought something back with him and it affect you this fast, but the worry still surfaces. “From before I got home or just now? Did you feel a sting or anything?”

“Sting? No.” You shake your head, scrambling for excuses. “I’ve had a headache all morning but I probably haven’t drunk enough water. And… And I didn’t have the AC on or the windows open today, it’s probably that.”

“Mm-hm.” He relaxes a little, he’d already began calculating the distance between here and the lab. “Have I told you before that you’re a terrible liar?”

“Honestly, I’m fine,” you protest, taking advantage. “I can get dinner started at least. You go relax and I’ll…!”

Your vision swims again from sudden movement, but this time it’s from Leon sweeping you up into his arms. He doesn’t even let out a grunt, even though you know he must be aching from the amount of bruises he has.

“Sweetheart, we’re barely into the afternoon. You don’t need to worry about dinner - you’re going back to bed.”

“No, I’ve got so much to do.” You lament, though you don’t fight as he adjusts his hold on you, wrapping your arms around his neck as he heads towards the stairs.

“So? I can handle it.”

“But you just got back, I should be looking after you.”

That’s the way it had always been. Leon comes home and you’re there for him, however he needs you to be. Sometimes he’ll tell you about what happened as he cuddles into your chest – likes to hear your heartbeat, reminds him of some good in the world – but you’ve failed miserably this time, not even remotely prepared.

“Sweetpea, I know you hate being sick but you aren’t going to feel any better pushing yourself, okay? Let me fuss over my favourite girl for once.”

You don’t say anything as he places you gently down on the bed, sitting up against the headrest. He goes over to the dresser and pulls out one of his t-shirts, tugging the knot of the apron strings loose before softly asking you to put your arms up above your head. It’s all gentle touches, removing the apron, coercing you out of your top and into his, shuffling you out of your jeans and pulling back the covers for you to get in.

“These the painkillers you took?” He lifts up the box from the bedside table, eyes skimming the instructions and dosage.

“Yeah.” You mumble back, nuzzling your cheek into the pillow. “I don’t remember when though.”

“We’ll hold off a couple more hours, then, before another dose.”

He grabs the glass that was sat beside the pills and retreats into the bathroom, where you hear the tap run for a moment before he’s back at your side, placing down the glass of water. He crouches down besides you and gently brushes some of your hair behind your ear.

“Can I get you anything?”

You open an eye. “You.”

He grins, gets to his feet and carefully clambers over you to lie down at your back, draping a heavy arm around your waist.

“Only for a bit, though. Don’t want you overheating from me.”

“Mm-hm…” You mumble into the pillow, feeling your body relax. The weight of his arm feels nice – reassuring. “Love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

It isn’t long before Leon can hear your breathing change, assuring him that you’ve drifted off to sleep. He could stay there easily, just close his eyes and nod off and though he knows you would never oppose that, the way you’d be so determined to get the house in order... A flash of pink gingham on the floor makes up his mind.

---

You wake up alone in the bed, a little confused, but clear of the awful headache. Looking for the glass of water you know that Leon left there earlier, you notice that the bedside table now holds your phone, plugged into charge. You sit up slowly – still wary of dizzy spells - greedily drink from the glass of water, feeling it slip down your throat into a particularly empty stomach. Seems like your appetite had decided to reappear.

The digital alarm clock over on the dresser shows that it’s gone 8pm and, most intriguingly, the laundry basket is now empty. Huh.

You don’t bother to dress as you head downstairs, still clad in Leon’s t-shirt. The TV’s playing on a low volume, a candle burning on the coffee table. You can hear the thrum of the washing machine from the utility and when you head through to the kitchen, you find Leon hunched over the sink, apron strings tied around his waist as he dips a glass into the soapy water. The dishwasher is slightly ajar and you can see it’s been emptied, and he’s washing everything left in the sink – by hand.

He looks over his shoulder with a hesitant smile at the sound of your footsteps and then turns, drying his hands off on the apron – the pink frilly gingham number seems to suit him a little too well.

“Hey. Not sure you should be up yet, sweetheart. You were a bit unsteady on your feet earlier. Go sit down for me?”

“Okay.” You nod, and he’s pleased that you don’t protest – putting it down to the fact that you still must be feeling somewhat lousy. He traces your footsteps as you plod over to sit on the sofa though, just in case, and watches you curl up against the armrest.

“You feel up to eating something? I ordered in some soup earlier. Can warm it up on the stove now if you like – it’s your favourite.”

You nod. “That sounds nice.”

“Coming right up.” He pulls the blanket from off the armchair – the one that’s usually reserved for movie nights – and tucks it around you, pressing a kiss on your forehead as he does.

He turns to head back to the kitchen when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, causing him to pause.

“I’m sorry I’m an awful patient.”

“You’re not, just stubborn,” Leon corrects with a cocky grin, but it doesn’t have the desired effect as the pout remains in place on your lips, thoughts spiraling. “But so am I.”

“No, I should be looking after you. You should be coming back to everything in order. Whatever this is won’t be anywhere near as bad as what you’ve been through - those bruises look so sore an-“

“Hey, it’s not a competition, sweetpea.” He says, softly, crouching down in front of you, rubbing your thigh with his right hand. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

“It feels like I’ve let you down.”

“Never.” He says, firmly, giving you thigh a squeeze. “Actually impossible. I’m just glad I got back in time to keep an eye on you, I just hate the idea of you feeling lousy on your own.”

The washing machine beeps from the utility and he gets to his feet, passing you the remote from the coffee table. “Why don’t you find us something to watch, and I’ll move the laundry to the dryer and get that soup warmed up?”

“If you’re sure.”

He bends down, presses a kiss against your crown.

“Positive.”

He only makes it a few steps back towards the kitchen when you call out, looking bashful.

“Leon?”

“Mm?” He twists slightly to look back in curiosity.

“You look cute in that apron.”

He gives you a twirl, ending with a beaming grin. “I know.”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

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gallusrostromegalus · 8 months

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How does trash pickup, Recycling centers, &/or Hazardous Material Disposal work for Soul Society in AEIWAM? Is there a Kido-based ritual to break things down into Reishi? Are there Tech Repair Shops?

Sewage in Soul Society works really well but very dangerously because those fucking idiots built the city directly on top of an active supervolcano.

Let me back up:

There isn't a good consensus on how big the Seireitei is (Yoruichi says it takes 10 days to walk 1/4th of the way around the circumference, but whether that's her speed, the average person's or how long a patrol group takes is unclear), Or any real maps of the place, but it's generally agreed that

the city is LARGE. Yoruichi says it would take her and the kids ten days to walk to the next gate 1/4th of the way around the city. Maybe that's 8 hours average human walking speed minus 'trying to herd a bunch of teenagers' but that's still a long trip!

Even before the Seki-Seki stone wall was put up, the city was pretty much circular.

Unlike pretty much every real city, there's no river running through it. Where are they getting their water?

There is a Small but substantial and TOTALLY ISOLATED mountain in the middle of the city made of apparently hard-to-mine rock. A Lonely Mountain, one might even say.

The only visible natural sources of water I've seen evidence of are hot springs in both the Yoruichi/Urahara Super Secret Training Ground/Love Nest and the first division grounds.

Soul Society is run by jackasses and if there's a stupid way to do things, that's the way they're doing them.

In fact, the Soul Society as a whole is almost suspiciously Amestris-shaped, but instead of nefarious alchemy, it's negligent civil engineering

...all this leads me to believe that Seireitei is built DIRECTLY ON TOP OF the caldera of an enormous supervolcano. The city gets it's water from the aquifer of rainwater that's collected in the underground cracks and fissures of the Caldera, and the seki-seki stone wall is set up around the really convenient geographic barrier made by the rim of the caldera.

"Hey!" I hear some of you nerds objecting "Aren't calderas usually concave? Seireitei is convex, if anything!"

You're right! Most Calderas are concave! But they will absolutely fill in with sand and dirt over the true floor of the caldera over time and develop Mounts like the thing at the central part of the city and start to rise WHEN THEY'RE ON THE VERGE OF A CATASTROPHIC ERUPTION.

So yeah! The Gotei-13 has an almost infinite supply of hot water, and probably less than a century to figure out what to do before The Big Kaboom.

Anyway, back at sewage:

There's been a city where the Seireitei is since time immemorial, and even though it's done the istanbul-not-constantinopple shuffle a few times, very little of the actual infrastructure has changed. Empires rise and fall but the desire paths stay the same.

This is especially true in Seireitei, because unlike very nearly every major IRL Municipality, it doesn't have a river running through it, something that usually necessitates Sewer updates By Force. But compared to a river which is constantly moving around in it's bed, a volcanic aquifer doesn't move much until it moves a whole fucking lot real fast, so the undercity of the Seireitei has really had time to... Develop isn't quite the right word.

"Ferment" is closer.

Above-ground waste management is the provenance of the actual local city government- yes, there is a Mayor of the Seireitei that the Gotei-13 has to pay property taxes to. Yamamoto maintains a lot of goodwill with the Mayor by dint of sentencing ill-behaved shinigami to shore up the municipal labor pool, and by knowing the mayor's family for the last millennium. So you'll see Shinigami doing things like trash collection and street-sweeping, but they're just there on probation.

-But nobody wanted to deal with the undercity. It's got a soul of it's own. Washington DC, which is less than 500 years old as a city and on top of a swamp, has an undercity that goes down over half a mile. Imagine how deep the sunken buildings, abandoned secret tunnels, and sewer system of a city that's millenia old, not sitting on actual mud and constantly subjected to high levels of magical background radiation might develop.

An Appetite, for one thing.

The 11th likes to talk a big game, but the reason the 4th is in charge of sewer maintenance is because the only people with the guts for it were people who got degrees rummaging in the guts of living people. Sewer maintenance really is a lot like abdominal surgery, if you were able to walk around inside the patient.

It was Retsu Unohana's idea, actually. Chigiri was a battle medic and aged rapidly for a shinigami. She was old when the court guard finally went from "Yamamoto and his gang of assholes" to "A for-real governing body". Her successor, Kirinji was more interested in traumatic injury recovery than preventative medicine, for obvious reasons- his triage was constantly full of combat casualties and early kido experiment victims Blood Loss was still his #1 Killer.

But Retsu had been reincarnated in and spent her youth in South 80, in the utterly undeveloped conditions there, and held deep, personal grudges with Dysentery and Cholera. For all his talk of healing waters, Kirinji had no sense of the importance of water sanitation, and it was a continuous point of contention between them for her apprenticeship.

"FINE!" He shouted one day after a particularly nasty row. "IF IT'S SO GODDAMN IMPORTANT TO YOU, YOU HANDLE IT! FORM NOW ON, YOU'RE IN CHARGE OF SEWAGE, SLUDGE QUEEN!"

She made her first descent the next morning.

She did not return for six weeks, and Kirinji almost thought he'd resloved that particular problem when she reappeared from the depths, a changed woman. That long in the darkness, alongside the buried secrets and skeletons of the city, with the horrors that did not dare brave the sunlight- it would change anyone, and most would come up looking at least mildly haunted.

Retsu Unohana is not most.

She looks radiant, almost like The Kenpachi again, covered in the horrors of the underground as she used to be covered in blood. She thrives on a challenge, and excels at the art of purification, and now, she has been given the single greatest challenge of purification in history. There is something beautiful and terrible in her eyes as she explains that it does down at least five miles, look at this, she thinks it's from the neolithic era, and there are incredible boneyards of thousands of skeletons, and fungi the likes of which she's never seen before- She is ecstatic- a creature kept in captivity, finally released into it's natural habitat.

It's hardly a surprise, if you consider Minazuki. Stingrays are benthic creatures, right at the bottom of the river, deep in the muck and decay.

It's been a little over eight hundred years into her tenure as a medic, and she has tamed much of the beast. The upper levels are well-mapped and have been made clean and well-lit, enough that even the civilian sanitation forces of the city can regularly enter and work in them without any particular unease. Infant and preventable disease mortality has dropped astronomically. Nobody's had cholera since the 1800's . While they have other jobs, all members of the 4th division are required to take at least one tour in the depths of the undercity.

Horrors still lurk in the depths.

They're pretty sure they lost Tokagero Kenpachi chasing one of those, shortly before Unohana became captain, and she's been reluctant to let other divisions assist since then. The Fourth Division's Fourth Seat, rumored to be the unluckiest post in the entire Gotei-13, is permanently stationed underground, and she loves it that way.

It's only recently that the 11th has been allowed to come along on descents, after Zaraki vanished for two days and then emerged victorious from a manhole in the 5th division with a tentacled horror she'd been tracking for decades that lived at least three miles down. He apologized- he had meant to come up in the 4th to present it's corpse to her directly, but well, you know what his sense of direction is like. Anyway, I saw it scuttling around in the rain aquifers and we don't need it tracking literal shit into the water supply so I went after is and d'ya think maybe I can take the lads down sometime? They' get lazy between deployments and you have a triage up here to manage.

Charmed, she agreed.

---

Hm. I just re-read that ask and it's actually about dry waste managment.

Sorry. I got very excited about the sewers.

I am now about to get worse about trash.

I don't think they have plastic in soul society- given how bug-themed the 12th division is, I'm pretty sure the casing on Rukia's soul pager is made of Chitin, and if you break it, it bleeds. Also it makes people with shellfish allergies break out in hives.

Since pretty much all the waste in Soul Society is either recyclable or organic matter, I think those trash pits Yumichika and Ganju were fooling around with are really more like Kido-enhanced composting centers. All waste goes into them and the bottom of the pit is pulled out in a tray, like with a vermiculture tower, if the worms were eighteen and a half feet long and hungry enough to swallow anything that falls in the pit, because Mayuri is incapable of making anything that is not at least slightly awful.

The compost is then shaken out for any spare glass or metal that made it into the compost and that's sent off to the 12th division forges to be recycled. it's baked to kill any dangerous pathogens and Giant Garbage Worm Eggs so they don't breach containment, and measured for nitrogen, phosphorus and other important plant nutrient content. Based on it's composition, it's then shipped out to farmers in the upper districts of the rukongai because "Free, A+ grade fertilizer if y'all don't start revolutions, pay your taxes and give us first dibs on crops" is an amazing incentive for rural farmers to not start backing the local warlords.

It was 12th division founder Uhin Zenjohji who came up wth the scheme- he remembered the lengths upper-district farmers were willing to go through to make sure their land remained fertile, what kind of demand Nitrogen was in, and the ravages of phosphorous runnoff, so he could kill two birds with one clod of shit by supplying farmers with 'free' fertilizer that kept them loyal to the court and was tailored to that area's nutritional needs and watershed capacity.

The fact that it kept a lot of swamp and waterway areas pristine so he could indulge his birdwatching hobby was a nice benefit too :).

NORMALLY, those pits are covered, clearly marked, and usually the site of a major traffic jam because that's the local collection point, but when Ichigo and friends arrived, Aizen had whipped everyone into believing they were being invaded by an elite force of super-assassins and not like. 4 high schoolers and a furry. All the street signs and markings came down, civilians shuttered themselves inside, and generally made the Seireitei as difficult to navigate as possible.

I wonder how much Zaraki's rotten sense of direction was exacerbated by that.

ANYWAY! That's my thoughts on trash! Deep undercity horrors and giant compost worms over an active volcano!

#AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #bleach #bleach fanfic #Retsu Unohana #zaraki kenpachi #tenjiro kirinji

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mummybear · 9 months

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My Brother's Best Friend - Chapter One - Unexpected Night

Words: 4079

Warnings: Swearing, Dirty Talk, Attempted Assault (Implied Sexual), Possessive Stiles, Protective Stiles, Grinding, Talk Of Marking, Protective Scott. Think that's it.

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Reader/Sadie McCall, Lydia Martin, Liam Dunbar, Allison Argent, Travis(OC)

Summary: Stiles Stilinski has always been your weakness, but since he was your brother's best friend you'd stayed away. When Stiles comes back to Beacon Hills fresh from his time in the FBI Academy something is very different about the boy you once knew.

A/N So hey guys! I know it's been a while hopefully this is the start of me getting back into my writing! We shall see. I really hope you guys enjoy this, any feedback is encouraged as always, and please let me know if you would like a tag as I update.

Chapter 1 - Unexpected Night

I can’t believe this goddamn party is still going on. I am far too drunk right now, I just want to sleep. However, as usual, my dumbass brother is too busy making out with his girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong, Allison is amazing, and I’m so happy for them. They had realised that they belonged together not long ago, after years of dating something happened. Scott didn’t explain it further than saying it was a wolf thing, that apparently I wouldn’t understand.

Mom always tells me never to go home by myself, however, right now I’m seriously considering it. I don’t even know why I came here tonight. It was stupid, they’re all his friends anyway, the great Scott McCall, I’m pretty sure people forget that I even exist. Not that I have any ill feelings towards him, he’s my brother, yes he might be a giant pain in the ass but all he’s ever done is protect me and look out for me.

If I’m honest with myself, I do know why I came here tonight, Stiles is here. He’s finally back from his FBI training, I hadn’t asked Scott too much about the situation, or how long he was back for. In fact I hadn’t even seen him yet.

Yes it’s one giant cliche. I have the world's biggest crush on my big brother’s best and oldest friend. I think I have since I was ten and Stiles was fourteen, I’ve been following them around for the better part of ten years. Before that I’d avoided them as much as possible. Then one day everything changed, as soon as I started hanging out with Scott and his friends, I finally felt like I fit in. I’m not sure what changed exactly, but whatever it was made it easier for me to become part of their group. Scott’s probably everything a big brother should be, and I know if he knew what I felt for Stiles he’d try and talk to me about it. Probably try and make me see what I’m already afraid of, that Stiles and I wouldn’t work.

Not really sure why I’m having these thoughts, probably has something to do with the fact that I’m drunk off my ass, in this random ass house. And while it may not be the best time for it, when I’ve been drinking my mind tends to wander.

After finally traipsing my way upstairs I find a bedroom, one that doesn’t really appear to belong to anyone, at least not permanently. Maybe it’s a spare room? People still have those, right? I close the door softly behind me. I’m unable to find a lock for the door, so I opt to just lay down for a minute or two, just to rest my eyes. I quickly climb up onto the bed and as soon as my head hits the pillow I let out a sigh of relief, finally giving in. I close my eyes, hoping that both the room and my head will stop spinning at some point soon. I can hear some kind of arguing going on behind the door, but I can’t bring myself to open my eyes, it feels like they’re being weighed down, I hadn’t had a drink in such a long time, but I don’t remember it ever hitting me like this before.

Suddenly there’s the sound of the door crashing open, as it bounces hard against the wall, before it slams closed again. I wince, feeling a throbbing in my head suddenly and manage to wrench my eyes open. However, they snap all the way open in fear as soon as I register the big body standing in the corner of the room. I can feel eyes on me as a tense silence settles over the room. Clearly he knows I’m awake, but he’s yet to make a move.

A sudden sickness overtakes me, when I hear Stiles on the other side of the door, quieter, but still audible, shouting my name, or his nickname for me. Mini or Mini McCall was the go to name for me among most of Scott’s friends. He sounds worried as he calls for me, and my head is so foggy that I can’t concentrate on anything, I can’t even tell if I’m imagining Stiles calling for me, why would he want to find me? He hadn’t so much as texted me since he’d been home, much less tried to see me or speak to me in person. It was strange, almost like he was avoiding me, even Stiles’s dad hadn’t seen him yet.

I clear my throat, testing out if I can speak or not, but the nerves are clear in my every word. “W-Who are you?” I manage to stutter out, my throat a little sore and my voice a bit hoarse.

“Don’t you worry about it, Doll. Just close your eyes, don’t worry about anything, I'll take real good care of you. Go back to sleep,” there’s a clear threat in that deep voice, one that makes me shudder.

I quickly sit up, doing my best to ignore the way the entire room blurs and moves once again. As I try to back myself into a corner, trying to make myself as small as possible. I know it’s stupid, but I also know I don’t stand a chance in hell of standing up right now, I’m scared and drunk off my ass, feeling like a fucking idiot for isolating myself in a freaking bedroom of all places, I should’ve just found Scott, or even Lydia.

He smirks at me as starts to walk closer and I can finally see his face. I don’t recognise him, but that isn’t really a shock, he’s definitely older than me, not sure if he’s older than my brother though. A sickness coats my throat just seeing the look on his face, the sick twisted grin. The door hasn’t stopped rattling since he stepped inside, so I keep my gaze fastened to it.

I’m hoping for a miracle, however unlikely it might be. He closes in on me until I can no longer see the door behind him, because this guy's huge hulking frame is blocking my view of anything but him. On instinct I close my eyes and hold my legs tighter, and I finally let out a scream.

“Stiles!” The scream sounds helpless and terrified as it’s ripped from somewhere deep within me, which makes complete sense, given the current circumstances.

He reaches for me, I can feel his large moist palm as he grips my knee squeezing roughly, trying to pry my legs down or apart, with enough force to leave a bruise. But before he can get too far, the door smashes open against the wall once more, revealing a much more welcome intruder. My heart thuds even harder in my chest, because the guy releases me in surprise and whirls around on my saviour.

I see him then, Stiles Stilinski in the flesh. And what flesh it is, he’s put on muscle lately. Muscle that could rival even that of my big brother, the true Alpha. But this guy is huge and I can see Stiles gulp from across the room, but his eyes harden as the flick between me and the guy who still has his hand firmly gripping my knee.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off of her!” Stiles shouts, taking another step into the room.

“Nah. Not gonna happen.” The guy states with a slimy grin, as his eyes slide over me, making me wish I was anywhere else.

“I said get the fuck away from her. What the hell is wrong with you?!” Stiles growls, stepping closer to this giant of a man. But I can only watch from where I sit, still paralysed with fear.

“Get over yourself, Stilinski, we were just gonna have a little fun. Stop being so hard up, go find your own pussy. This one's mine tonight, maybe I’ll let you have a go tomorrow. After I’ve used her up, such a pretty little body, bet she’s gonna feel real fuckin’ good.”

The words almost make me throw up, but my tongue feels swollen and I can speak. My eyes lock with Stiles for the first time in years as a tear slides down my cheek.

“I’ll make you fucking eat those words, Travis. The only thing you’re about to feel is my fist,” Stiles snarls, “take your fucking hands off of her.”

“Whose makin’ me? Your pansy ass?” Travis laughs, removing his hands and taking a few steps closer to Travis.

Suddenly those deep brown eyes draw me in like never before and my heart stills in my chest. This is the first time I’ve seen him in a few months. The FBI program has kept him so busy lately that we haven’t seen much of him. But still, I could swear there’s something a little different about him, other than his size, but there’s definitely something different about his eyes, something that I can’t quite place.

I can’t tear my gaze away, instead they fall to his lips and I shift uncomfortably where I sit, suddenly a growl tears through the room. My eyes widen and I look to the doorway behind Stiles, expecting to see my brother, but he isn’t there. I swallow thickly as my eyes automatically snap back to Stiles, and I see it, the flaring of his nostrils, the way his eyes are focused entirely on me, then I realise the sound could only have come from him. But he doesn’t share the same wolf affliction that my brother has, at least, not that I know of. How much has changed since I last saw him!

Stiles steps closer, body tense and unflinching. All traces of fear have disappeared from his face. Now he just looks furious, more so than anyone I’ve ever seen before.

“Mate.” Stiles snarls, shoving the guy as soon as he’s close enough, and to my utter shock and surprise the guy slams back into the wall with a crash, leaving behind an imprint of his giant body as he slides down the wall with a groan. Everything happens so fast, I don’t have time to analyse what the hell Stiles meant when he’d growled that one word. But I can’t help but shudder with excitement at the way my body responded.

Suddenly, I hear footsteps hammering up the stairs, and before I know it Scott has Stiles pinned against him, as Liam all but wrestles the other guy from the room.

“Stiles, you need to calm down, breathe buddy. ” Scott instructs calmly, his deep red Alpha eyes flaring to life, like they would when he’s trying to calm the other members of his pack. Something flits across my brother’s face as he relaxes his grip a little. Whatever it is, seems to register with Stiles that other than my brother we’re alone in the room and safe once again.

His body goes completely lax and Scott releases the tight band he’d been holding around his best friend. I can’t help but stare as Stiles staggers towards me. Safe to say I’ve sobered up in the last five minutes.

“Can one of you tell me what the hell just happened here?” Scott asks carefully, but I can’t take my eyes off of Stiles.

“Just give us a minute, Scott. I, um, I think I should talk to Stiles.”

I hear my brother huff out a breath before he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

“I’ll be back in ten if you’re not downstairs before then, we’re going home.” He calls through the door. Then the door opens again and Scott smiles at us both, “oh and thanks for having my sister's back, buddy.”

Stiles turns towards the doorway with a slight smile as his eyes lock on his Alpha, “Always, Scotty, you know that. We won’t be long.”

I finally let myself relax a little when the door closes. Stiles crawls on the bed and sits in front of me. He rests his hand over the reddened skin on my knee, and lets out another quieter growl. “I’m gonna fucking kill him. He won’t ever touch anyone ever again.”

“Hey, I’m okay,” I whisper, resting my hand on top of his, “you saved me.”

He runs a shaking hand through his thick hair and his eyes lock with mine once more.

“I should’ve been here. I’m supposed to protect you, I’m so fucking sorry, Mini. If that sick fuck had touched you…” He sounds so defeated and my heart squeezes at his words.

“You got here in time, you’ve always had my back. This time wasn’t any different, except maybe that,” you giggle slightly, as you nod toward the dent in the wall.

He shifts closer to me and drops his forehead against mine, letting out a contented sigh. I let my eyes slip closed for a second. For once I give myself the freedom to enjoy the closeness, I open my eyes again and those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes are focused on mine. I lick my lips and feel the shuddered breath that escapes his lips.

Ever so gently he reaches out and his thumb brushes my bottom lip.

“You’re so fucking beatiful. Please tell me you feel this, Mini, because you smell so damn good, I don’t know If I’m strong enough to stay away.”

I swallow thickly as his nose nudges mine gently, my entire body practically vibrating with need.

“Y-Yeah, I feel it,” I reply quietly, scared that if I talk too loud this dream will end, I don’t dare to tell him just how long I’ve felt these things though.

“Then we should probably talk. Because I need to tell you some things before this goes any further,” he replies, voice hoarse and strained, like it’s painful for him to speak these words. But then he goes to pull away and all my instincts go into overdrive, and I finally give in to what I want, I clamp onto him and don’t let go.

Nor do I fight the need to keep him close to me. Right where he belongs. My fingers push into his thick hair and I gently tug him back towards me, just those last few millimetres. Until his lips brush mine ever so briefly. He doesn’t even try to fight me, and I can feel the shudder that runs through his entire body when I push him back and straddle his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist. I think there’s some kind of trick of the lights because I could swear there’s this purple glow in his eyes for a few seconds before they settle back on brown. But I push the thought away for now, and press myself a little closer. So that every part of our bodies is connected.

“Tell me later, please Stiles, I need this.” I hope I don’t sound as desperate as I feel, Stiles doesn’t move, but I hear how hard he swallows, almost like a gulp as he lets his eyes slip closed. Following his lead I let my own eyes close when his hand cups my cheek, the other hand slips somewhere much less innocent. When he cups my ass his long fingers curl and he squeezes slightly, letting out a groan of pleasure when I grind down against the obvious hardness pressing against me.

Suddenly his lips are on mine, insistent and urgent, and it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Our lips are in perfect sync, and a shudder rolls through me when his tongue nudges my lips, seeking permission that I happily and easily grant. I’m rocking my hips in a steady rhythm now, and the kiss grows deeper, his fingers dig harder into my skin as he urges me to keep moving.

Holding me as close as he physically can against his body, Stiles sits up, turning us so that my back hits the mattress and he’s hovering above me. He breaks our kiss and I gasp for breath as he drags his lips across my cheek and down into the crease of my neck. He groans as he inhales deeply, “smell so good. My mate. Just wanna mark you up, make you mine the right way.” His voice vibrates against my skin and I shiver as he laps at the soft skin of my neck.

Confusion sweeps through my lust-addled brain at his wording.

“What do you mean?” I ask breathlessly, more confused about his words than I’d care to admit.

Pulling back to meet my eyes he smiles, and ducks his head looking a little more like the Stiles I remember. I cup his cheek gently, urging him to look at me again.

“This is why I said we should talk. I can’t do what I need to. Not without you knowing what you’re letting yourself in for. I’m not the same man I was the last time I saw you, something happened, I just…I don’t know how to begin to explain this.”

It hurts me that he sounds so defeated already, almost like he’s worried about what he has to tell me.

“Don’t you know by now, nothing you tell me will change how I see you,” I tell him honestly, pulling him closer so his body is pressed against mine, and he finally lets some of his weight rest on me.

“I wanna believe you, but I’m scared. This is huge, and I can’t let anyone down, but especially you, I can’t lose you. Especially not now I know what you are to me, not now I’m so close.”

Before I can ask what he means there’s a hesitant knock on the door, before it slowly creaks open. Liam stands there, watching us sheepishly for a few seconds before Stiles growls at him, I can’t help but frown as I look up at my protector. But then I see it again, the purple in his eyes.

The gasp falls from my lips unintentionally and as soon as it does Stiles snaps his gaze towards me. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, his fingers tightening their hold on me and I can only stare up at him.

“Liam, get the fuck out. Now!” Stiles snarls.

“But, Scott said…”

Stiles is off the bed before I can react, when I do finally open my eyes I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Stiles has Liam pinned to the wall by his throat. And Liam is trying to get free, but he’s stuck fast. I can’t help but wonder, how the hell is that possible!

Mouth agape I watch as my brother’s Beta looks over at me, ��little help here, mini. Calm your man down, please.”

My man? I inwardly ask myself, we’ve fooled around for all of 5 minutes and suddenly he’s mine. While I can’t fight the pleasure at hearing those words, I also can’t help but fight the confusion, maybe he wants me to calm Stiles down so he doesn’t have to hurt him.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask nervously, looking between the two of them.

Stiles gives a final squeeze before dropping Liam and racing to me, covering me with his body.

“Don’t you dare fucking look at her!” Stiles snarls, his arms shaking as he holds himself above me. “Tell Scott we’re coming and leave now!” Stiles warns in a low commanding voice that sends shivers racing across my body as he carefully tugs my skirt back into place.

I can’t deny the pulse between my thighs, even as I clamp them shut, and the whimper that falls from my lips causes Stiles to stiffen. Before he’s off the bed, practically throwing Liam further down the hallway when he doesn’t move by himself, slamming the door behind him. Before he turns back to me.

“God, please tell me you know what you just said,” Stiles rasps as he pulls me up off the bed and hauls me against his hard body.

“I don’t… what do you mean?” I ask, frowning in confusion, as I try to search his eyes for an answer. I hadn’t said anything… had I?

Stiles whimpers like those words cause him some kind of pain. He shakes his head, running his fingers through the thick mass of hair before tugging at it harshly. I want to comfort him but I don’t know how. Hell I don’t have a clue what the fuck is happening right now.

“We can’t do this. Not right now.” His words sound harsh and bitter, no matter how softly he speaks them.

I stumble away from him, confusion and hurt lancing through me like an actual weapon. I know there’s a reason for this, but it doesn’t hurt any less, doesn’t feel any less like rejection either. Tears fill my eyes, it’s irrational and I don’t feel even remotely in control of my emotions right now, but I can’t stop it, maybe i’m still drunk. Though it doesn’t feel like that’s it. Stiles steps towards me again and I step back, “no, no. Please, Sadie, I want to. But not until you know everything! I swear to you, whatever you’re thinking, we can talk about it. Please, Mini, just trust me.”

Hearing my real name on his lips is so strange, but I can’t deny that I really like hearing him say it.

I feel myself giving in, because as much as it hurts to have him turn me down, he's still one of the best people in my life. And despite myself, I’ve been in love with this pain in the ass longer than I can even remember, he’s yet to let me down in a real way. Letting out a sigh, I know it’s best to give him the chance to explain.

“Fine. Then let’s talk.”

He swallows thickly, as I watch him carefully. Pretty sure I’m not going to like the next thing that comes out of his mouth. He looks nervous and twitchy.

He winces before he even speaks, “I’m sorry. But not here, let’s go home, there’s too many ears here. I swear I’ll tell you everything as soon as we’re safe,” he all but begs, holding out his hand for me.

Pushing away any and all doubts, I take his hand. Watching as he visibly relaxes and pulls me closer to him.

“Thank you, I promise, I’ll make this up to you,” he whispers before pressing a kiss to my inner wrist. Yet another shiver ripples through my body at the contact that I can’t control.

He keeps me tucked into his side as we leave the room, careful to touch as few people as possible while we walk. When we finally make it outside, Scott’s waiting with the rest of the pack. Stiles looks reluctant to get in the car, judging by the way Liam forces his body closer to the opposite door Stiles’ look had been less than friendly.

He slips inside and I can’t help but squeak in surprise as he hauls me inside with him, not into my own seat but so that my back is tightly pressed against his front, and his arms band protectively around my waist.

“Dude. Come on! Not in my car, she’s still my little sister. Damn,” Scott groans, locking eyes with Stiles in the rear view mirror.

Stiles seems to consider his words before he reluctantly relents, moving to the middle seat before he gently eases me into the seat as far away from Liam as humanly possible. Keeping a hand firmly planted on my thigh, huffing like a petulant child, I can’t help but giggle. It’s almost like he can’t stop himself from touching me. His long fingers tightly curl around my leg, almost like he’s afraid someone will take me from him if he lets go. Taking a deep breath I tentatively slip my fingers between the gaps in his, gently squeezing them, hoping to offer even a little comfort, those big brown eyes jump to mine and he visibly relaxes into the seat.

I look up and catch my brother’s eyes. I can’t work out the look on his face, for the first time since we were kids, I can’t tell what he’s thinking and for some reason that only makes me even more anxious.

Tags: @julzdec @lettersofwrittencollective @mogaruke @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @lilulo-12fanfiction @charmed-asylum @defenderrosetyler @foxyjwls007 @mylovelydame21 @akshi8278 @stylesismyhubs @peachyyybabyy @fantasy-myth1 @coffeebooksandfandom @magssteenkamp @screamxqueenx94 @brien-odylan @riseandshinelittleblossom @ceceliaking-18 @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @missindecision @chewie-redbird

#stiles teenwolf #stiles stilinski #stiles fic #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teenwolf #teen wolf #stiles and scott #scott maccall #lydia martin #allison argent #liam dunbar #Scott's sister #stiles stilinski x reader #Stiles stilinski x Scott's sister

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finanah · 11 months

Text

SET MY EYES ON YOU♥︎೨

shikanoin heizou x f!reader social media au ⸝⸝ college!au

synopsis; while you and Heizou don't share majors, both of you are in the entertainment industry. Your roommates are often affiliated with each other, such as hangouts collabs, etc. You had the impression that he didn't like you, so you (thought) returned the treatment which resulted in bickering and rivalry over dumb things...but things changed after your situationship went downhill...

status ╰・being rewritten tagslist ╰・open !! (pls)..

tags ╰・; college students, modern au, entertainment industry, 6reeze au, idol yn, hurt no comfortish (near the end or mid story), LOTS of jealousy, unrequited love if you squint, past lovers (yn and ayato), to enemies to loversish (they dont actually hate eachother, so ig its not rlly enemies.), suggestive themes (occasional smut) , yn loves astronomy (tbhk hanako) betrayal, perfectionist yn

other ships included - xinqiu x chongyun, yoimiya x ayaka, scara x mona, kokomi x gorou and probably more ill add to the list..

➜ ALOT MORE ill include it in the chapters !! it might change a bit tho bc I don't follow my own storyline..

note ^ the posting time might vary, ill try to post today since from mon-fri im at school (UNLESS I skip which I do often) after that summer break woohoo ill try to update once a day or twice a week maybe more to promises I procrastinate D:

the muskequeers ! the abusement park

彡book⁰⁰¹

come find out

sry, im busy

come over

paper cut - written

tears of comfort- written

panicking - written

queen cunt is back to serve

hangover

not again

tongue tied

breaking news

2nd situationship sink

delusion is no longer free

tba.

i am um, currently rewriting it bc after 2 months i didnt like it so uh yeah itll be back soon i think

#heizou #shikanoin heizou #kaedehara kazuha #xiao #kazuha kaedehara #wanderer #genshin fanfic #genshin smau #heizou x reader #ayato x reader #angst #modern au #college au #social media au #pawsmin #pawmin smau #blogpost #x reader #hurt no comfort

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sunflowerkissess · 2 years

Text

celine helps taking care of her sick mummy

masterlist

request:

— Hi I was wondering if you could please write something about mateo going through terrible twos and Harry and yn dealing with them

summary: y/n's sick and its in harry and celine's hands to take care of her for her to get better

word count: 8.8k+

warnings: sick y/n, symptoms of the flu, mentions of vomiting, vomiting, mentions of blood, sad celine, typical two year old throwing a tantrum, fluff, language, a small mention of smut

note: i wrote half of this while coming down with a cold 😂

UPDATE (04/21/2024): HI! It's been a long time and people probably don't read this anymore since then, but I'm making changes and updating this series. Celine is Harry and Y/N's first born daughter since Harry seems more like a girl dad lol. So the name Celine means, heavenly and her birthday is October 15, 2015.

Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

Enjoy!

—

Harry was woken up to the bed jolting and his tattooed arm flopped onto the bed for what felt like the millionth time. The warmth where his once sick girlfriend once laid was the only remaining thing that told she was once there. Y/N has fallen sick overnight from catching the flu from the primary school she worked at from one of her co-workers not wanting to call in to get better, rather going into the school and spreading the illness no one wants. And Harry has been doing his best as a boyfriend to make sure that she has been taken care of without waking up their two-year-old daughter whose room was a few doors down the hall- meaning Harry was extra careful when it came to walking up and down the stairs to grab water and something easy for Y/N to eat and drink.

Harry sighed sadly as he sat up on the bed with his bare tattooed chest and torso on display to the cool air of their bedroom and the early morning light seeping through the sheer white curtains. Along with the horrible sound of Y/N spewing what he's given her a few hours prior into the toilet, the sound breaking Harry's heart hearing her cough and gag from the horrid taste of the bile that was creeping its way up her throat.

Each sound hitting Harry’s heart with a knife and like someone was twisting it to cause more pain.

Harry pushed the sheets and comforter off his body to leave him in his black joggers sitting low on his hips that showed off the laurels on his hips as he sluggishly made his way to the en suite bathroom door that was wide open from his girlfriend’s rush to get to the toilet before she threw up all over their plush carpet and the tiled floor of the bathroom. The usual bathroom lights that are usually bright and white were dialed down to create a more dark light so she wouldn’t get headaches from the light attacking her sensitive eyes and making her even more sick.

Before him was Y/N with her head resting against the cool white porcelain with goosebumps coated her skin from the cool air from the bathroom, the tiles, and the toilet seat. Her eyes were closed with sweat decorating her skin and hair that was sticking to her face from her hot temperature. She was wearing Harry’s black t-shirt that he wore to bed and light blue cotton shorts that once matched the long sleeved shirt that she wore to get warm but took it off because she was too hot.

Now here she is, taking deep breaths in and out and moves her head around to find another cold spot on the porcelain seat. Harry walked over and knelt down beside her and moved some of her sweaty hair out of her eyes with pouty lips and felt a burning sensation in eyes from seeing his girlfriend sick. Y/N leaned into Harry’s touch with closed eyes and a hum from the butterfly feeling of his fingertips against her temple.

Her skin was hot to the touch, too hot and not the normal temperature for a body to have. Harry had his brows drawn forward as he pressed his cold palm against her hot temple. His girlfriend leaned closer to his touch with a satisfied, scratchy hum. The heat from her temple was already heating up the palm of his hand and he had it placed there for a few seconds!

“You’re really hot, darlin’.” Harry stated, placing the back of his hand against her temple. Y/N’s achy body shook with laughter that was soon replaced with a harsh cough, making Harry quickly remove his hand and place it on her back and rubbing it comfortingly as she worked her way through the coughing fit that seemed to take forever to cease.

Y/N then cleared her throat to get rid of the mucus and disgusting stuff in her throat, along with a sore throat, and opened her tired eyes to look at her boyfriend with a weak smile. Her chapped lips have cracks stretching across the chapped skin but no blood. Butterflies flapped and soared through their tummies as they looked at each other along with the flutter and quick beats of their hearts as they made eye contact.

Seeing Harry with his moss green eyes with his messy, bedhead chocolate curls made him handsome despite him having a few hours of sleep to be by her side and to take care of her. She could tell that he was tired from his eyes trying to close for him to go to sleep but he’s fighting all just for her and to get her better.

Even if it meant him getting sick and taking care of their two year old.

“Wow, thanks babe. It’s been awhile since you’ve called me hot,” Y/N spoke hoarsely, staring at her boyfriend from a reaction from her words. “So are you.” She added, feeling a hotter warmth fill her cheeks. Harry sighed annoyingly through his nose and out his mouth. He moved his hand from her back to cup her hot cheek as he looked at her with a stare that made her feel like a dart board from how intimidating his stare is.

Harry leaned forward a bit— neither of them caring about his morning breath— as he continued to stare at his girlfriend who was looking at him with an annoying smirk from getting a reaction out of him from her words.

“Love, as much as I love you, but right now isn’t the time for flirting. As much as I accept the compliment.” He began, caressing the sweaty cheekbone softly with the pad of his thumb as he continued to look into his girlfriend’s beautiful, yet, tired eyes with worry. “I mean it, you’re really hot.”

"I mean it too, you're really hot too." Y/N replied, the slight cough making it out her mouth. She knows that he meant her temperature, but she still likes taking the piss and getting on his nerves. She lightly jabbed his ankle with her foot to get more of a reaction. She saw a pink flush appear on her boyfriend's cheeks and his chest along with a smile trying to fight its way on his lips as he looked down at the tiled ground. The cute fucking dimples she loves to death, and that Celine has inherited from her father along with Harry's cute little front teeth, dimples cratering the ends of Harry's lips.

“Y/N.” Harry stated in a serious tone despite him getting all flustered and blushy from her comments about how hot he is and herself. Twisting his words to get him annoyed and worked up even when she’s sick and throwing up whatever she ate. He had his moss green eyes looking up at her with his head lifted up a little bit to see her. The sight made the butterflies’ wings in her belly flutter even more and made her feel all gooey and mushy inside from how handsome her boyfriend is inside and out.

“Harry.” Y/N repeated the tone of her boyfriend with the same smirk on her face as she stared at him along with feeling gooey and happy while staring at her boyfriend. Harry lifted his head fully to look up at her with a stern look on his face. Brows furrowed at her with a straight line— the dimples no longer trying to fight their ways on the end of his lips. His eyes traced over her sweaty face as the sickness took over her.

“I’m being serious, m’love. You’re really temperature is high and I’m gettin’ worried.” Harry stressed as he looked over at the love of his life. Y/N felt her heart felt at her boyfriend’s worriedness and how he was still caressing her cheekbone with concern and gentleness like she was glass and might break if he pressed too hard on her cheekbone and might crack.

"You've seen me like this when I was pregnant with Celine, Harry." Y/N brought up with a hoarse laugh that caused her to clear her throat roughly to get rid of the gunk that was gathered in her throat. Harry immediately moved his hand from her face to the sweaty and greasy strands to hold them back from getting vomit in her hair if she felt like she was going to throw up again.

Harry felt like his heart was sinking lower and lower in his chest as he watched Y/N open her mouth as she cleared her throat and gagged to get whatever out of her throat. He was biting his lower lip as he held her hair in a ponytail in his grasp. He wishes that he can just make her feel better immediately and not miserable with the awful flu that goes around during the fall and winter.

She's supposed to go to work in a few hours and won’t be back till three or four. Harry would be watching their daughter after she goes to work and he has a meeting to go to- meaning he'll have to drop the two year old off at Gemma's since she complained about not seeing her niece as of late and she misses her-. And afterwards when his meeting is over and she's home from work, along with dinner being done, they were going to head out to get some early Christmas present shopping since it was around that time of the year to get presents for everyone in their families.

Of course they were going to bring Celine because she'll throw a fit if she's dropped off at Anne's and not with her parents, and they'll have to get things for the older people in their families. Because as soon as they go into a toy store or down the toy aisle then Harry’s little mini me would want everything that meets her little green eyes. Then whining and throwing a tantrum when he can't get the toys that he wants- probably most being on the list that Harry and Y/N made for themselves and their families to get from their daughter for Christmas-.

But now with his sick girlfriend laying the side of her head on the porcelain toilet seat with droopy eyes and weak heaving from the sickness that was taking its course over her body that its decided by himself and the state of her wellbeing that none of that will be happening today or tomorrow if she’s still not feeling better.

However, Y/N will try putting up a fight to go and do the things that she wants to do with Harry and Celine after work. But Harry isn't going down without a fight with her.

“Yeah, but your morning sickness doesn’t have you sweating this much. And you did sweat in your first trimester but not this much.” Harry stated, rubbing circles on her back to ease the ache that was all over her body. Y/N sighed in relief and closed her eyes with a small cough leaving her throat along with a rough clear of her throat. He remembers being by Y/N’s side during the first three months of her pregnancy back in 2015 when he was home and not on tour for One Direction, or they were in London, or Y/N was on tour with them till it was around the time for her to be back in their shared home when it got close to the end of her pregnancy.

Hours spent in the bathroom with Y/N over the toilet with Harry using one of his hair ties that was around his wrist to have her strands in a messy bun so that her hair was out of her face. He was rubbing her back and pressed butterfly kisses to the back of her neck and back to be there for her. Wishing that he can take the horrible feeling that his girlfriend of two years, at the time, was feeling and hug her tight.

And now here they are together for four years with a two year old that is adorable as even and they love so fucking much. Harry is doing what he always does for Y/N when she’s not feeling well and everything is the same with her comments when he makes a statement of her being hot because of her temperature. And complimenting him about his appearance.

“I think you should stay home, m’love.” Harry suggested as he continued rubbing circles on her back with furrowed brows as he awaited her answer. Y/N lifted her head up a little from the toilet seat to look at her boyfriend like he was insane from what he just said. She was slightly shaking from the body chills from the fever and sweat coating her skin. Glistening under the lowlights of the bathroom that show off her beauty and everything that Harry loves about her, even when she’s sick he still finds her beautiful.

"What did you just say?" Y/N asked him in a scratchy voice, clearing her throat roughly as she stared him down with a look that could shoot daggers into him. While she was sweating and looked miserable, if looks could kill then this would be the look that she's currently giving him. “Harry, I have to go in. I had this whole cute lesson planned out for the holidays for the kids. I promised them it’ll be a fun day with games and movies.” Her eyes started to become watery as she stared at her soulmate. “I can’t break the promise I made to them.”

"Darlin'," Harry sighed sadly and moved his hand that was on her back and cupped her sweaty cheek. "You're sweating pinballs, and your temperature isn't normal. You've been throwing up throughout the night. You need to stay home and let me take care of you till you get better. The kids will understand, they love you just as much as Celine does. As much as I do. Your wellbeing is my priority and I hate seeing you like this." He told her softly as he looked into her eyes. But Y/N wasn't going to give in easily as she rolled her eyes at her boyfriend's words at shifted on her numb legs from sitting on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom.

“I’ll be okay, babe. I’ll just take a shower, take some medicine, and then I’ll be–” She started to list off but she was cut off when she felt the awful tasting bile that was creeping up her throat with a burning sensation mixed with her sore throat. This caused her to immediately turn her head to the toilet bowl with her hands gripping the porcelain toilet seat and started throwing up the contents that were in her stomach that the flu didn’t seem to like.

Harry immediately held her hair back from her sweaty face as she gagged and threw up more with the vomit making noise from the vomit meeting the water. Harry felt his eyes water and burn from the tears from seeing Y/N sick and throwing up with weak cries leaving her lips. The tears were from the horrid smell of the vomit that was filling up the bathroom. He was kissing the top of her head with his eyes closed to stop the tears from falling down his light red cheeks.

His heart was breaking more and more as he felt his girlfriend shake from the chills that made its way through her body.

“See, proved my point.” Harry joked lightly which earned him a groan from his girlfriend. Y/N pulled away from the toilet and went back to her previous position she once was in when he found her with her eyes closed with Harry’s hand falling onto her lap. His hand gripping her goosebump covered thigh.

"Why are you always right?" She asked him sickly, opening her eyes a tad to look at him through her lashes to look at him. Harry chuckled lightly as he continued to caress the skin and scooted closer to her. She gave up more quickly than she usually does, meaning that she's really miserable and wants her boyfriend to take care of her.

"I'm not always right, Y/N. It's just I can tell you've got a bloody fever that's causing you to be miserable and it breaks my heart to see you like this m'love. You've taken care of people who need it and don't need it. Always putting them first, and that's what makes me love you s'much." His words caused her skin to become even warmer as she stared into his eyes that she got lost in when they talked together and in the bedroom when they were able to get alone time. The light in his eyes gets brighter and soft when he looks at her. She already knows how much Harry loves staring into her eyes or at her when she's not looking at her, telling her that he's written and will continue to write many songs about her.

The good times they will have or had together, the bad times that they go through. Songs about their little love bubble that his fans got to see: at concerts, in Harry's songs, sneaky pictures that fans take, in interviews where they can hear Y/N and Celine in the background but barely, when Harry would talk about Y/N and their daughter in interviews when asked about the two people that make his world brighter every day, he gets to be with them. Or during a concert when he'd read signs that would have him bring up Y/N and Celine. Allowing the fans a little peek at the woman that their favorite artist and crush gets to be with along with their daughter that looks like her dad.

"You took care of me for the whole entire recovery after the surgery I had on my wrist. I took care of you when you were pregnant with Celine. With Celine's help. It's our turn" Harry softly spoke to her, afraid that if he were to speak any louder and broke her out of her love-filled stare, causing her to blink a little followed by the stingy tears to Y/N's eyes and her heart floated with joy from his words. He wanted to take care of her, even though he's done that already and continues to do so. But she feels horrible with this flu making her feel ache and not herself.

Right now she just wants to go to bed and sleep off the drowsiness and stay in bed all day. But she needs to call into work and inform them she won't be able to make it due to being sick with the flu.

"Okay." Y/N sighed, looking at her boyfriend. Harry's moss green eyes lit up in happiness and relief at her simple way of telling him that he can take care of her. His heart beating with joy and a soft smile itching at his pink lips appeared as he reached his hands out for her to take to help her stand up.

She placed her hands in his big ones and sighed at the warmth of his palms and placed the bottom of her feet on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and pushed up.

"Let's get you in the shower, m'love. I'll take care of Celine afterwards while you rest. We'll bring you something to eat and drink. Give you a cuddle after you're done eating." Harry listed off after she was up on her feet and cuddled up against his warm tattooed chest with her eyes closed.

All he got as an answer from her was a simple nod and a sigh of relief and tiredness seeping into her bones. Harry smiled at the top of her head and told her to wait for a few minutes so he can gather her and himself fresh clean clothes after they get out of the bath. He was going to wash her hair and body since she was tired and was ready to go to bed.

Afterwards the two of them relaxed in the warm water in the bathtub with Y/N's face tucked into her boyfriends neck half asleep while Harry lightly ran the tips of his fingers against her skin. Pressing kisses along the side of her neck and shoulder with his own damp stands tickling her skin.

A few more minutes pass and Y/N's in one of Harry's faded band shirts with a pair of one of Harry's joggers to keep her warm and the covers over her sleeping form. She called into work to say that she won't be able to make it in and Harry called in to inform everyone he won't be able to make it to the meeting.

Harry hovered over her for a few more seconds, in his fresh clean clothes that were a white t-shirt and another pair of joggers. He tucked her in tight and moved some of her freshly washed strands out of her face and placed butterfly kisses on her skin before walking out of their shared bedroom with the tv playing quietly in the background of one of y/n’s favorite shows.

Now it was time to get Celine up for the day and let Y/N rest so she could get better.

–

“NO! I WANT TO DO THAT DADDY!” Celine screeched, causing Harry’s ears to ring from the high-pitched sound that echoed throughout the kitchen where the father and daughter were currently in. It’s now midday and the two year old has been in her terrible twos mood ever since she noticed that her mummy isn’t around nor up. Usually, Celine is just fine with one of them while the other is busy- it’s usually the other way around, Celine wanting Harry instead of being with Y/N- but it seems like Celine wants Y/N today after being told that her mummy isn’t feeling good. Despite Harry telling his mini me that she needs rest and can’t be up.

But Celine being only two years old doesn’t understand that well to what her daddy means mummy isn’t ‘feeling well’ so she proceeded to throw herself on the floor of the and scream in frustration since she’s not able to express how she’s feeling at all. She was kicking and hitting the floor with fat pinballs of tears running down her cheeks. Harry swears he felt his heart break into a million pieces once more today. One from his sick girlfriend and now from his upset daughter.

Harry got on the floor and picked up his daughter and cradled her with rocks back and forth to calm her down by kissing the top of her messy chestnut curls that she inherited from her father. Luckily afterwards, Harry was able to keep the two year old occupied by putting on Finding Nemo (reference to poor sick baby) since Celine loved Crush and Squirt. He even got construction paper with markers and crayons for his mini me to color and draw with to make her mummy a 'get well soon mummy’ card.

That gave Harry enough time to let Harry sneak upstairs to check up on Y/N to see if she was okay and if she needed anything. She seemed to be staying in bed mostly, the messy bed from her moving around to get comfortable and warm. As well as her getting up to use the bathroom or getting a drink out of a water bottle Harry left for her earlier.

Unfortunately, a cute movie about a clownfish and a pacific blue tang fish that has short-term memory looking for his daughter and going on an adventure with meeting characters that kids love dearly wasn’t enough to get the tantrum-filled toddler occupied or stopping the terrible twos tantrum from coming back.

Harry stopped adding the carrots, onions, and celery into the mixture and sweet-smelling soup that was in the silver metal pot that was sitting on the hot stovetop. He looked over at the two year old, who was wearing a pale pink pajama set with little deers all over them, some in front of a little bouquet of flowers. Her chestnut curls untamed from not being brushed like Y/N would do when getting the two year old for the day.

Harry felt his heart break into a million pieces as he looked down at the crying toddler that was standing on the black cushion of a chestnut wooden chair so that she could reach the metal pot with the wooden spoon that she was holding to stir the soup to perfection. His mini me’s cheeks red from crying and her green eyes are already getting red with more crystalline tears gathering along the waterline.

Harry immediately cleaned his hands of the vegetables with a towel and turned the knob on the stove to turn down the temperature so the soup wouldn’t burn and there wouldn’t be black stuff gathering to the top of the soup that is supposed to help his sick girlfriend upstairs feel better and not yucky.

Harry bent down to be eye level with the crying two year old who was clutching the wooden spoon like it was the last thing keeping him together before losing her shit. Harry felt his heart shatter and the other side of his entire world fall apart, Y/N and Celine making his whole world. Just the two of them making it whole, along with performing for his fans. But it’s mainly just his family that he comes home to and is with him when he’s on stage.

“Celi-bear, daddy doesn’t want you getting hurt. The pot is hot, and daddy doesn’t want you burning your little hands when you try to put the vegetables in the soup.” Harry gently told the two year old, cupping Celine’s adorable chubby cheeks that were hot to the touch because of her normal body temperature and because of the harsh tears that were making streams down her cheeks. The two year old was sniffling as she looked into her father’s matching eyes, her chest heaving as she stared at her father.

The toddler’s mind does not understand what she is being told and she can’t express herself the way her parents do when they’re together. Either it be Celine watching her daddy dancing with his mummy in the kitchen when she’s trying to make Celine’s snack. Fleetwood Mac playing in the background, mostly Say You Love Me playing loudly from Harry’s phone. Y/N laughing as Harry clumsily dances with her in the kitchen and presses kisses against her lips while murmuring the lyrics against her lips with a smile of his own.

To Y/N and Harry playing with Celine, Harry lightly tossed the toddler up in the air as Celine squealed as she felt the air running through her chocolate curls. And Harry holding his mini me tightly in his arms to let Y/N tickle her belly and feet. It was a cute domestic moment that takes place either in their home or during a tour backstage or in their hotel room.

The only thing that the two year old doesn’t see is when Y/N and Harry had an argument and aren’t talking to calm down before they are lashing out and causing another fight. Something that happened when they were nineteen years old, and Harry was home from the Where We Are Tour. It was over an article she read on him and asked him because of her insecurities, letting them take over her mind and causing a fight to break out between the two of them.

This also caused them to take a little bit of a break, only a few texts here and there and short-ended phone calls. But they’re better now, being together for eight years with a happy two year old and a healthy relationship.

Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by the clatter of the wooden spoon falling onto the kitchen floor and the sound of his child’s wailing echoing throughout the kitchen and possibly through the entire house. Even the neighbors probably heard him from how loud his wails are.

Harry immediately picked up the crying two year old and propped her on his hip. Rubbing Celine’s back and hugging him to get her to calm down instead of yelling at her. However, instead of giving into the hug like she usually does when being given a hug from either of her parents or both. The two year old tries to push her daddy away with her little hands with fat tears running down her cheeks with more gathering at his waterline. The action broke Harry’s heart even more, causing more and more cracks in the organ if that’s even possible.

But it certainly feels like it.

“Celine, it’s okay. Daddy just doesn’t want you getting hurt.” Harry cooed as he continued to rub the two year old’s back. Celine is trying to get out of her father’s grasp and is relentless. She was crying even harder, and she shook his head with her curls going everywhere. Some of the chocolate curls sticking to her wet face.

“No, no, no, no.” Celine repeated in a wobbly voice with her bottom lip wobbling from the sobs that were trying to escape her lips to make it known that she’s upset, typically Celine’s terrible twos aren’t as horrible as others are- sometimes they are, sometimes they’re not, basically fifty to fifty with Celine-. Harry felt his own eyes burn for what feels like infinity at this point seeing his girlfriend and daughter getting upset for two different things. One was sick and one is going through a terrible twos tantrum right now.

“You can’t put them in right now Celine. Daddy doesn’t want you getting hurt by the hot pot,” Harry repeated himself and looked at the pot that was cool by now by being put to a stop so it wouldn’t get burnt. But the white steam that was coming from the soup meant that it was still warm and not done. Maybe lightly touching the metal pot so it wouldn’t hurt the pads of Harry’s fingers and hand. Pretending that it burnt his hand and telling Celine that it hurt maybe she’ll understand better.

Celine was whining and reaching up with her tiny fingers to grab at Harry’s messy curls to get her daddy’s attention.

“Daddy.” Celine whined, giving another sharp tug at Harry’s curls once more to get Harry’s attention. And it worked, Harry hissed from the stinging sensation from his daughter’s fingers. Harry ripped his eyes away from the metal pot and lightly grabbed his child’s little wrist and pulled it away from the strands.

This caused the two year old to whine louder in frustration and yank her wrist out of her father’s gentle grasp. More tears were falling from her green eyes with her chubby cheeks full of streams from the tears. Even Harry wiping them away doesn’t make the redness that blooms on the two year old’s cheeks any less noticeable.

“Celine, don’t do that,” Harry told his mini me gently. “Hurts daddy.” He added. This didn’t go well with the two year old and an even louder cry escaped the two year old’s lips and this time with a hit to Harry’s shoulder. It didn’t hurt but still she needs to learn not to hit to express how she’s feeling. Harry’s gaze on his daughter turned into a stern look with his brows furrowed.

“Celine Anne Styles.” Harry spoke, he was in complete dad mode. His voice rumbled through his chest as he stared his daughter down. Celine immediately stopped crying and looked up at her dad with glassy green eyes and her mouth opened agape. The toddler sniffled as she stared at her daddy to hear what he needed to say. The two year old knew that she was in trouble if either of her parents had to use their 'parent tone’ with her when she’s done something she’s not supposed to do. Like, hitting or biting for example, but this was the first time Celine has done this.

“You don’t hit daddy, Celi-Bear. That’s not how you deal with your emotions. You don’t see mummy, daddy, nana, or aunt Gemma do that, do you?” Harry told his daughter, his heart breaking as he maintained eye contact with his daughter’s glassy green eyes. He felt Celine’s chest stutter from all the crying she’s done. The two year old shook her head slowly with a few more tears falling from her eyes, making Harry instinctively reach up with his hand that wasn’t holding his daughter on his hip and wipe away the tears. His own pink lips in a pout as he stared at his mini me.

“It breaks daddy’s heart to see you upset sweetheart, hurts mummy as well. Even when you hit me.” Harry whispered to the two year old. Celine’s eyes wandered all over Harry’s face with her breath stuttering from her crying.

“I’m sw-orry, daddy.” Celine lisped out an apology with a stutter in her accented voice. Harry felt his heart melt with his mini me’s apology, and he is going to accept immediately instead of some parents who don’t accept their two year old’s apology and make the two year old feel horrible. No, that’s not how Harry and Y/N do.

“It’s okay Celine, daddy accepts your apology.” Harry cooed, hugging his sad daughter to his chest. This time Celine wraps her little arms around her daddy’s neck with a little smile on her lips. Harry smiled as well as he pressed a kiss to the side of his daughter’s head, with the strands of her curls tickling Harry’s nose. Harry slightly swayed back and forth in the kitchen with his two year old in his arms. Celine laughed at the motion and the little tickle motions her daddy was giving her to make her laugh and feel better.

A few seconds afterwards, Harry brought Celine over to the pot to show her that it would hurt her little hand if she tried to put the vegetables in the soup.

“See, this is why daddy doesn’t want you putting the veggies in right now, Celine. Daddy doesn’t want you to get hurt.” Harry explained, reaching out one hand and placing it on the rim of the pot. The curious two year old's eyes widened as she watched her daddy’s hand on the rim. It wasn’t really hot anymore- more so cold and will need to be heated once more to continue making the soup- but Celine doesn’t know that. She thinks that it’s still hot and that her daddy is getting hurt.

“Daddy, no!” She exclaimed, reaching out for her daddy’s wrist to get his hand away from the 'hot’ rim of the pot and she didn’t want to see her daddy hurt. She was crying for two weeks straight when Harry got his wrist surgery done, seeing the white bandage on his wrist to keep the stitches from ripping made the two year old crying waterfalls.

Harry yanked his hand away from the pot and hissed like his hand was burning from the heat. His brows furrowed as he shook his hand. He looked over at Celine to see that her green eyes were once more turning glassy from seeing her father hurt as the grip on her father’s wrist tightened.

“Daddy.” the toddler whined with tears threatening to spill from her tear ducts. Harry was quick to cuddle the two year old close to him. Harry cooed to the two year old that he was okay and that is why she doesn’t need to be putting in vegetables just yet because it’s hot and he doesn’t want her getting hurt. Celine hurriedly nodded her head in understanding- she just wanted her daddy not to hurt anymore and wanted her mummy to feel better with a soup that her and Harry were making-.

And they eventually did resume making the soup, Harry cleaning the wooden spoon that was dropped on the floor by Celine to get the germs off the wood so Y/N wouldn’t get any sicker. His mini me was standing once more on the chair eagerly with a smile on her lips as she waited for her daddy to give her the spoon for her to stir the ingredients that were in the warming soup from the stovetop getting warm again. It was an adorable moment between father and daughter, the scene warm and welcoming as Harry handed Celine the wooden spoon and continued to add the last few chopped vegetables into the pot. The two year old was bouncing on the pads of her feet as she was eager to do her job.

And when it came to Celine’s turn to stir, Harry kept his daughter stable on his hip as he directed Celine on how to stir the soup gently enough so that she wouldn’t get the boiling broth on either of them or on the scolding hot stove. Celine giggled as she stirred the soup with a big smile on her face and it seemed like she didn’t even have a tantrum over not being able to put the vegetables in the soup. The sight warmed up Harry’s heart seeing his mini me all happy to make a meal that will ease her mummy’s tummy and make her feel better to get her on the road to recovery of this horrible flu.

–

Celine and Harry make their way to the slightly ajar from Harry leaving the bedroom earlier that morning with the quiet sounds of the show that Harry put on for Y/N was still playing with the voices of the characters talking to another. The steam and welcoming smell from the freshly made soup was warming the palm of one of Harry’s hands while the other was holding a fresh cold-water bottle in the other as he and his mini me got closer to the bedroom. Celine had a happy, eager smile on her face as she clutched the light pink construction paper with Harry’s handwriting on the front of the homemade card in black sharpie 'get well soon mummy’ and the front of the card and the inside is accompanied by Celine’s cute, but messy, drawings that are scribbles.

Both the father and daughter’s hearts were beating happily against their chest as they were going to see the queen of the home and their hearts. Celine started calling her a queen because 'she’s like those nice princesses in the Disney movies, daddy. The ones that get their happy ending, and you’re her king.’ and it seemed to stick. And Harry is the king of their home and Celine is the little princess that likes going on adventures and bringing 'imaginary’ things back from her adventures to show her parents. It was adorable.

“Alright, Celine. We need to be quiet, so we don’t wake up mummy if she’s asleep. She needs her rest to get better.” Harry whispered as they stopped in front of the white painted wood door. The toddler nodded her head quickly to her father’s words, not really paying attention to what Harry just told him. She was just excited to see her mummy and give her the homemade card and to see Y/N since she hasn’t seen her all day till now.

“Alright, let’s go see mummy.” Harry whispered as he opened the door to reveal that Y/N was up and watching the show Harry put on. The covers covering her legs as her tired eyes were focused on the show that captivated her attention. The eye bags under her eyes were dark and her hair was a mess from tossing and turning- the comforter and sheets being the proof of it-, and the remote in her hand was being held lazily. The water bottle Harry left for her earlier was empty with a few droplets of water sticking to the plastic.

Her attention was broken from the glass tv screen when she heard the happy squeal from her daughter that was standing by her boyfriend’s side.

“MUMMY!”

Despite the panging headache that’s making her feel miserable with the throbbing pain that’s not going to go away anytime soon without aspirin or sleeping to get rid of the headache that’s causing pain. And the cute squeal from their adorable daughter added a pang of pain from the high-pitched sound.

Y/N managed to give her daughter a weak smile from her cuteness and the sight of her still in her pajamas with Celine’s messy bed head curls. Her cute front teeth showing through her wide smile as Celine looks at her mummy.

“Hi, Celine! Mummy missed you!” Y/N greeted with a matching smile, not having the need to turn down the volume of the tv since the volume wasn’t too loud in the first place. “Hi babe.” Y/N greeted her boyfriend that caused her heart to flutter as well as Harry’s. It felt great to know that she was feeling a little bit better.

“Hi, m'love. We’ve made you some chicken noodle soup to help you feel better.” Harry lifted the cute dark blue porcelain bowl with white petal detailing on the outside and red on the inside with white flowers. The broth with the chicken and vegetables sitting in the bowl to keep it warm with parsley sitting on top of the soup.

Y/N felt her stomach grumble with hunger and the taste, and the smell of the soup is making her hungry and she can’t wait to taste the wonderful soup to make her feel better and feel it warm her throat a bit. She felt her smile widened at her boyfriend and daughter making her lunch to make her feel better.

“Aww, thank you.” Y/N thanked him. Harry’s smile spread across his pink lips with his dimples cratering at the ends of his lips. Matching Celine’s. Speaking of Celine, the two year old rushed from where she was standing next to her father and ran over to her mummy’s side of the bed with the construction paper in her little hands with the paper crinkling a bit. The toddler’s curls bounced atop of her head, brushing against her covered shoulders and getting into her eyes. Meaning that she’s gonna have to get a trim soon so that she won’t have any dead ends that would hurt her when Y/N or Harry brush his hair before heading out for the day.

“Mummy, I made you a card!” Celine exclaimed with a big smile on her face as she handed out the light pink construction paper. Y/N felt her heart melt at how adorable her daughter is as she holds out the homemade get-well card. She reached out her unoccupied hand since the other one was holding the remote to the tv. Her skin was coated in goosebumps from the fever.

“Mummy, you feel better?” Celine asked her, prodding the goosebumps on her skin with her little finger. Y/N shivered a bit from the contact of her child’s finger. Y/N smiled at her daughter and swallowed with a bit of trouble from the mucus build up in her throat along with the sore throat that came along with having the common flu. Y/N gently took the paper from her kids grasp, feeling a bit of warmth from the warm air coming from the AC Harry turned on earlier to keep his lovely girlfriend warm.

“Yeah, mummy’s feeling a bit better. Certainly, now that you and daddy are here.” She smiled, lightly nudging Celine’s chubby cheek with the edge of the folded paper before holding it before her to see Harry’s handwriting.

Y/N felt that familiar heat warm up her cheeks seeing Harry’s messy hearts decorating each word that was messily colored in by their daughter. Y/N felt her smile get wider when she saw scribbles of stick figures of three family members with messy drawn clothes. One shorter than the rest with messy brown hair that matched the other one. The little one was in the middle holding each hand of the taller stick figures. The third one had Y/n’s hair color and everything that looked like her. The little drawing brought tears to her eyes as she continued to stare at the cute drawing that her daughter made.

“You alright, Y/N?” Harry asked as he approached where the daughter and mother were. He placed the porcelain bowl on the chestnut bedside table, the bowl making a small 'clunk’ when meeting the wood of the table. Harry’s deep accented voice made Y/N’s heart jump out of her chest at the sound of his voice and how fast and quiet he got there. Harry smirked at her reaction from the slight jump her body did on the bed. His footsteps were so quiet against the plush carpet.

“Asshole,” Y/N murmured quietly under her breath so Celine wouldn’t be repeating bad words around them or their families. Like that one time when they were out to eat with Anne and their daughter dropped one of her chicken nuggets on the floor. She said 'fuck’ loud enough for the three of them to hear. It was a funny moment for a few seconds before Harry and Y/N had to tell her that it was a bad word, and she shouldn’t say it. And when asked who she heard it from, she just simply stared at her father as the answer to the question.

Harry.

Their daughter whined as her fingers were making indents in the soft material of the comforter to get into her mummy on the bed. Making Harry and Y/N look at the two year old, who had a scrunched-up nose and her little brows furrowed forward with crinkles at the end. Harry immediately picked up the two year old in his arms, tickling Celine a little bit with butterfly touches to make Celine kick her legs out with a loud giggle leaving his lips. The sight made Y/N smile even more before opening the light pink homemade get-well card to see if there was anything inside that she should need to see or read.

There weren’t any words besides there being a 'love, Celine & Harry’ and more cute little scribbles from the two year old with them being loosely colored by their little artist. And more of Harry’s hearts surrounding the words. Y/N felt her heart swore in the air in happiness from her boyfriend and daughter making a get-well card for her and she’s most certainly going to keep it in her bedside table for safe keeping so nothing bad happens to it or goes missing.

The mattress sunk down a little from Celine being placed next to her mummy. Y/N placed the card on the bedside table as well, keeping it standing up on the lamp while reaching for the bowl. Harry immediately reaches to give his girlfriend the soup for her to eat to help her feel better.

“Thank you.” Y/N smiled at her boyfriend as she took the bowl and placed it on her blanket covered lap and picked up the silver spoon that was sitting in the delicious smelling soup that was sitting before her to be eaten. Harry walked over to his side of the bed to sit next to his girlfriend and daughter before, and maybe, taking a nap with Y/N before it was dinner time for all three of them. Celine and Harry have something different while Y/N will have another serving of chicken noodle soup.

Y/N placed the bowl of the spoon of her mouth and hummed at the amazing taste of the soup that warmed her mouth with her eyes closed. While it tasted a little bit bland because of the flu that wasn’t allowing her to taste her boyfriend’s wonderful cooking skills. Harry was looking at his girlfriend with a hopeful look on his face to see if she liked the soup that he and Celine made.

“Is it good, m'love.” He asked her, Y/N opened her eyes and placed the bowl of the spoon back into the soup to get another serving. She gave him a thankful smile on her face, the goosebumps on her skin disappearing from the warm soup. Harry felt butterflies soar in his tummy and his heartbeat happily against his chest as she smiled at him.

“It’s amazing, H. Thank you.” She answered as she lifted the spoon out of the soup with some of the mixture dripping from the edges of the spoon back into the soup with drips. Harry nodded at his beautiful girlfriend wishing that he could kiss her but he knew she wouldn’t let him get that close to her because she doesn’t want him getting sick.

“You’re welcome, m'love.”

Celine pulled at her mummy’s arm that was holding the spoon with the hot soup in it with the steam swirling in the air. The movement makes Y/N’s heart speed up in fear about the hot soup landing on her skin or shirt that would burn her skin either way.

“Mummy, mummy, I helped too. I helped too!” Celine chanted as she continued to pull at her mummy’s arm to get her attention. Harry could tell that Y/N was panicking from how their daughter was pulling her mummy’s arm to get her attention to let her know that she helped her daddy make her lunch.

“Celine Anne Styles, be careful! Don’t burn mummy.” Harry told his mini me sternly with stern eyes. His daughter looked at her daddy for a few minutes before she stopped pulling her arm and looked at her mummy. She listened immediately since she didn’t want to get in trouble.

“I helped daddy too mummy.” Their daughter repeated herself eager to hear her mummy’s thank you and praise for her helping Harry with her lunch. Y/N looked away from her slightly shaking hand that was holding the spoon to look at her boyfriend’s mini me.

“Thank you, Celine! You and dad did an amazing job at making mummy soup to make her feel better. And thank you for the card, it’s cute and mummy isn’t going to lose it.” Y/N thanked her daughter with a smile and a scratchy voice, Celine giggled and looked down at her lap with a pink tint on her cheeks from her mummy’s thank you.

“You’re welcome, mummy.” she said quietly. Harry and Y/N looked at each other with love-filled smiles before Y/N returned to eating her soup so that she could be on the road to recovery. It took a few minutes for Y/N to finish the soup with a conversation going on between her, Celine, and Harry. It was a domestic moment between the three of them.

Y/N asking Celine if she’s given her father any trouble when making the soup, Celine was immediate to deny that she did anything to cause her daddy any trouble. But Y/N looked over at Harry to see if what their daughter was saying was true or not. Harry looked over at his daughter with a teasing smile before telling Y/N that she had a little fit that she couldn’t put the veggies in without getting hurt.

This caused Celine to throw another fit, jolting the bed a bit that caused both of her parents to say in a stern tone.

“Celine Anne Styles. Don’t.”

Celine immediately stopped under her parent’s stern gaze and cuddled closer to her mummy with her eyes getting droopy with sleepiness. And Y/N yawned from tiredness that got passed down to Harry. Meaning that the three of them are due for a nap before the day comes to an end. Y/N puts the empty bowl on the table before maneuvering the sleepy toddler between her and Harry. Putting the covers over Celine’s almost asleep form before her and Harry did the same with their heads cushioned by their soft pillows.

The family of three slept in the king-sized bed with the comforter and sheets as well as the additional blankets keeping them warm after some time talking and not paying attention to the tv. The tv playing the ending of one episode of Y/N’s show with the theme song playing in the background and Netflix telling her that the episode is expected to begin in five seconds. But neither of them is watching since they’re allowing sleep to overcome them. Y/N and Harry facing each other with their daughter sleeping between them, Celine closer to her mummy since she’s adamant on cuddling with her to 'make her feel better’.

Harry and Y/N had their arms placed on the comforter of their bed with Harry’s hand over Y/N’s smaller one. Trying to keep her cold hand warm with his warm palm. The empty bowl of fully eaten chicken noodle soup sitting on Y/N’s bedside table with a fresh cold-water bottle that is waiting to be drunk when Y/N wakes up. Along with the medicine that was placed there earlier when Harry snuck upstairs to check on her when Celine was occupied by Finding Nemo and placed the medicine on the bedside table with a haste kiss to her forehead before leaving.

However, right now, she’s sleeping once more with the love of her life and her adorable daughter.

—

Sorry that I haven't updated in a while! Personal things have been going on and I've had terrible writers block but i've got ideas for this last one shot, it's a standalone one shot with harry and y/n only. As well as an upcoming trope that i'm excited to write about! As well as other tropes!

To make up for making you all wait too long, here's a picture of my kitty 🥺. Sorry for the picture being too big, i didn't know it was going to be big. Show her some love pls, even though she gets a load from me.

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campgender · 10 months

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Hi, my friend has a chronic illness that flares up sometimes and we've been wanting to hang out but it has gotten cancelled a couple times lately bc of her not feeling well enough on the day. I want to ask her how she feels cuz I care abt her a lot and want an update but 1, I don't want her to feel pressured or like I'm asking just to ask can we hang out now, and not bc I care abt how she's feeling (does that make sense? I may be overthinking this) and 2, I genuinely wanna know how she's doing but idk what to say if she responds with her not being better, sometimes u don't feel better and that's ok but I always want to offer comfort somehow or just convey my friendship? but I feel the same everytime and don't want to sound repetitive ?

Any thoughts?

this is really kind of you & it means so much to me that you want to support your friend & are putting so much thought into it! my response is inherently based in my own experience to an extent & everybody’s different, but a lot if not all of this is stuff i’ve heard regularly from other chronically ill people. of course, don’t say anything you don’t mean – if some of this isn’t the case for you, just adapt accordingly :)

i understand worrying about being repetitive but i think that’s totally okay to do! for one thing, it can be difficult to remember things period when you’re ill, especially during a flare, & for another, internalized + societal ableism is a hell of a force. it never hurts to have a reminder that not everyone is trying to force ableist expectations onto you + your friendship & that someone cares about you!

i think you can definitely tell your friend pretty much what you told me! like, “hey, it’s okay if you aren’t feeling up for responding but i just wanted to check on you! not trying to pressure you to hang out or anything, i just care about you & how you’re doing”

honestly the most important + supportive thing people have ever told me is that it’s okay if the answer is “bad.” i’m literally like surprised pikachu meme every time somebody offers to let me vent about having a rough time & then it helps me just to talk about it. it’s really socially unacceptable to talk about chronic pain & a lot of people get frustrated when you’re complaining about the same thing & there’s not really anything they can do, so just the opportunity to be like “yeah shit fucking sucks right now” means a lot.

obv the appropriateness of this depends on the person & their relationship to disability but most of the time i’m very like, radical acceptance / embracing / etc about the fact that i’m probably just gonna get sicker, so sometimes when i’m having a rough time emotionally & am like “what if i’m this bad for the rest of my life” my gf (who doesn’t have chronic pain / chronic illness) will say something like “then i can’t wait to be there with you ❤️” & it’s more meaningful to me than i can begin to put into words.

again everybody’s different but for me one of the biggest things is when disability stuff just… isn’t a big deal to the other person. which, it’s totally okay for you to need support from others when someone you care about is going through a hard time & when things change! but abled people are constantly horrified about like, every aspect of my life, so being able to talk casually about symptoms & somebody mirror the mood / tone i set – laugh if i’m joking, be upset about the ableism i experience & not my body itself if i’m complaining about people being weird about it, taking things as they come – is so affirming.

other things that have been helpful + meaningful for me are friends sending me notes, stickers, & art in the mail – having something tangible can make me feel more “real” & part of the world, something i struggle with due to being homebound – & peer support around medical neglect, which often just looks like talking to someone after a doctor’s appointment & them reaffirming my reality / experiences & saying i didn’t deserve to be treated that way.

oh one other change in language i’ve made over time & probably picked up from a few other ill people in my life is a sort of realistic encouragement – there’s not necessarily anything wrong with “i hope you feel better soon!” because like, i get that the message is well-intentioned, but it can be awkward & difficult to receive when you don’t know if that’s gonna happen. instead, i try to tell people something like “i hope you get a bit of relief soon” or “i hope things are a little easier tomorrow.” a 7/10 pain day may be horrifying for most people, but when you’ve had a streak of 9s, it can be a much-needed taking the edge off, & i try to make space for that breadth of experience in my language.

i’ve answered a few similar questions before so i’ll add my “asks” & “faq” tags on my chronic illness blog in the reblogs if you want to browse! much love to you & your friend and feel free to lmk if you have any other questions 💓💓

#asks #chronic illness

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 12! (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Spanking. (If spanking is not your thing, I have marked those parts with ~ at the start and end of them so you can read past them.) Dom!Elvis and dom/sub dynamics. Sex. ANGST. Jealousy. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 10,660

A/N: We're back, y'all and this part is a MONSTER so you're gonna have to carve out some time (it's what you deserve)! It took on a life of its own, honestly. I really wanted to explore the darker sides of both our Reader and Elvis and their choices. It is important to me in this piece to show that Elvis was a very complex human with very real faults, which can throw some people for a loop if they idealize him or don't know much about him, so be warned.

With that said, the convo between him and Anita in 1961 is real. I transcribed his parts as best I could with the quality of the recording. Hopefully, I did his mood justice in the writing (in terms of how Reader is interpreting it), but if you do choose to listen, I recommend headphones and patience. It's a long one and not a great recording. And once again, depending on your point of view, it shows a not-so-flattering side of EP, so proceed with caution.

Thank you all SO MUCH for your love, patience, and distractions as I've been ill! This community has been so wonderful and it's been amazing getting to know you all better and to be able to share our love of EP in all the ways! 💖

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. I will say I'm a bit self-conscious about this part for a variety of reasons, mainly covid-brain, so be gentle! I'm sorry in advance if it's not up to par.

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

Los Angeles, 1961

Walking down the hallway, you cannot help but be drawn to the perturbed sound of Elvis’ unique cadence from beyond the door of the den. It is cracked open just enough for the sound to come through, which must have been a mistake by whoever left last, probably one of the guys. You had seen Red come from this direction not that long ago.

You’d come out to LA at Elvis’ behest to join them all for a visit while he was filming his latest movie. You were happy to see Jack after so much time apart, and you’d instantly gotten swept back up into the Elvis lifestyle while being here, though it was moderately toned down considering his filming schedule. It was a nice change from what was becoming a bit of a lonely existence at Graceland. It wasn’t that you were alone, per say, it was just that the other wives were having and taking care of their little ones, which was a constant reminder of a life you couldn’t have. You loved spending time them and with the children—they just weren’t your own.

You certainly don’t mean to snoop, you’d only been making your way through the California villa to the bedroom to grab something out of your bag, but your curiosity wins out. You stop just shy of the door, head bowed, ear to the crack, wondering who has Elvis in such a state. Of course, you can only hear one side of the conversation, but you try to piece together as best you can what might be going on. You know you shouldn’t, but you do anyway.

Elvis responds to the person he’s talking to in an exasperated tone, “You know why—you know why I don’t call you anymore? This very reason, right here. This very reason right here…I-I-I-can’t talk to you, hon. You mess with my damn head, man. I-I-can’t count on a decent conversation with ya. Ya start throwin’ up all kinds of shit to me. Look, if I called you e-e-every damn night, you’d start bitchin about something different. You’re just a fuckin’ nag, that’s all, you’re just a nagger that’s all.”

Your eyes widen at that, at how mean he’s getting with whichever one of his women he’s talking to. You have seen his temper firsthand over the years, but not directed at you and you’ve never heard him talk to a woman this way. After knowing him all this time, this side of him shocks you a bit, and you stay rooted to the spot.

“Well, that’s the way I feel about it, a-a-and y-y-y-you don’t have to be that way either. Not to the extent that you are, you don’t have to be that bad,” he says vehemently. “I just know you’re gonna start throwin’ something up to me a-and I ain’t got time to hear it. You turn me the fuck up, you know that?”

And he certainly is turned up, you think. His annoyance and frustration are coming through loud and clear on this end, punctuated by his stutter. The woman must be talking because he pauses before continuing.

“Yes, all the time. I-I-I can’t stand it, I-I can’t stand it, Anita, I swear I can’t stand it. I call you and do right, my ass,” he says, annoyed. “I do, do right! My ass. If I called you e-every night, you’d start that shit.” Elvis starts mocking her in a whining, high pitched voice, “‘Who’d you see today? You g-got a girlfriend, I’m surprised at you, blah blah,’ that bullSHIT!” He spits it out at her, angrily. “Naw, it ain’t no lie. Naw, you bring it up every time I talk to you.”

Your heart races a bit just hearing the confrontation and at the thrill that you shouldn’t be eavesdropping in the first place. Of course, it’s Anita, you think. He’s been seeing her the longest of any of his girlfriends, even through Germany. You are friendly with her, but not very close. Although she is always nice to you, she has an air about her that rubs you the wrong way. Not that you’d ever show it, but she just seems a bit self-important to you, what with her beauty queen titles and flitting up to New York or out to Hollywood for her singing or acting. She is a little too pretty, a little too nice, and sometimes it just feels underhanded.

Or maybe you’re just jealous, a niggling voice in the back of your mind says.

You scoff at that. Jealous of what? Sure, it seemed like she had a glamorous life, what with all the things she did, and how beautiful she is, and being the girlfriend of THE Elvis Presley, but you know better than that. And right now it sure doesn’t seem like you have much to be jealous of, considering the way he’s talking to her. She’s been around four years, and there is still no true commitment from him. At least you have a husband who loves you and you are a permanent fixture in Elvis’ inner circle, giving you a leg up in this situation, you think a little haughtily.

Good god, what is wrong with me? Why am I being so petty?

You don’t have an answer to that.

Obviously, Anita is not happy, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why. Anita’s not dumb, even though she can play that part if needs be. She knows he’s seeing other women, and just because you’re not her biggest fan doesn’t mean she deserves to be treated poorly, by him or anyone else.

The thing is, you realize suddenly, even though he is likely in the wrong, you are still going to take his side in the end because he’s your friend. And that thought surprises you a little bit. But at the same time, there is anger starting to simmer in your chest at his poor behavior, at the way he keeps some of the women in his life hanging, waiting with bated breath to see if they will be the one to win his undying and singular attention.

You, of course, know better. Elvis is needy and fickle and loves being adored by as many women as possible. If there is one thing he’s addicted to, it’s girls. But he would no sooner give up his freedom to love as many of them as possible than he would to give up his career. Not to say that he doesn’t genuinely care for some of them; in fact, he is overly loving and demonstrative in some ways. It’s just that the standards for his love seem different than anyone else’s, and he gets away with things he might not otherwise because of who he is. But in your experience, the girls all figure it out eventually, and it seems like Anita is finally getting there.

It sounds like she is giving Elvis the business about it, which he doesn’t like one little bit.

“Why can’t you be sweet instead of bitchin’ like an old naggin’ ass wife, huh?” you hear him say, a little viciously, your eyes going wide. “I can’t stand that, I can’t stand it. Baby, you’ve got me crazy, you know that? You get worse a-all the damn time, a-and th-th-that’s why I don’t talk to you on the phone.”

You really, really should leave and get your nose out of his business, but it’s like you’re incapable of getting your feet to move. You’re mad at him for speaking this way to her, even though she likely IS nagging, you know it’s for good reason. She is right. He wants to have his cake and eat it, too, and he does not like being called out on it.

You hear him backtracking now, almost wearily telling her how much he loves her, over and over. The man doth protest too much. And the way his stutter pops up now, it sounds more like a child covering a fib than agitation. But you hate to assume.

“I told ya that I’m in love with ya. I-I-I-I-I-if I—if I—if I didn’t love you, I tell ya, I wouldn’t waste my time with you. I don’t have to,” he rebounds bluntly, harshly, then recovers quickly, “Well, I-I look forward to being with you, and I-I think about you a lot. But because I don’t call you three or four times a damn week, you say to me ‘Why don’t you…?’” His nastiness gets the better of him again, as he starts to mock her, but then he stops, his frustration evident. “Aw, HELL. I tell ya how I felt aboutcha, you oughta know how I feel. I mean, three long years, w-we’ve been battling this back and forth this same thing. You know I love you, darlin’.”

It all sounds rather unconvincing to you, as he seems to bounce so quickly from one emotion to the other. Maybe he believes it, you think, but you don’t think she’s buying it, not by the way he continues to reassure her, nearly pleading in some moments, and calling her pet names before that indignant tone returns to his voice. Even from out here, you can feel just how hard he’s trying to be patient, trying to placate her, with the many declarations of his love.

Silence falls for a moment, and you wonder what she must be saying to him, whether she’s falling for this or if she’s just as disbelieving as you are. You think she might be coming around based on how his voice changes yet again, how he’s both gentle and matter of fact, then his tone becomes almost boyish and sad.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming down the hall towards you. In a complete panic, you nearly jump out of your skin before looking around frantically for an escape. Desperate, you fling yourself into the room across the hall, but in your excitement, the door slams behind you.

Your hand pops to cover your mouth, as if this action alone will have kept anyone from hearing the door.

There is silence for a moment before you hear Elvis shouting, muffled, “Cliff? Cliff!”

Your heart thunders in your chest as you chastise yourself for being so damn stupid as to be eavesdropping on Elvis of all people, then you say a silent prayer that no one finds you as you hear more footsteps and another door slam. The footsteps head away, and with shaking breaths, you slowly open the door to find the hallway empty once more.

You tell yourself you are gonna skedaddle right out of there and go on with your business, but then you hear Elvis lay into her yet again:

“I-I-I love you very much a-and q-quit-quit-quit bitching and nagging me so much. I get so mad, I could break your neck.” That takes you aback, the way he just throws the phrase at her before going back to imitating her meanly, “’I can’t help it, I can’t help it! I can’t help it!’” W--w-w-w-what are you gonna do when I’m nuts and in an asylum?” Then he mumbles something you can’t understand but you hear him chuckle before he sighs big and loudly.

He's telling her he loves her but in a way that makes it obvious that he wants off the phone. She’s not having it based on the silence from his end.

Then he’s back to talking real nice and low to her, seemingly contrite and sorry, his stutter emphasizing it all. The stutter gives him away, you think, though you aren’t sure if it’s more agitation at her or that he’s feeling guilty. Perhaps it’s both.

“Well, m-maybe I’m not doing my part right now, but I mean give me a chance, you know. Just give me a chance. Don’t-don’t-don’t worry, j-j-just give me a chance, I-I, it’ll all come out in the long run. Okay? Take my word for it, hon, I wouldn’t lie to you. I love you, Anita.” A pause and then he giggles, “I’ll enjoy it. I love you very much darlin’. I do, Anita, I do…w-w-w-why would I lie to you, baby? I-i-if i-i-i if I’m l-l-l-lying…” he says, his stutter so bad now it’s hard to understand anything he’s saying.

You internally scoff at this. He’s been lying to her for years. But part of you wonders if he truly believes it will all turn out for them in the future. He is something of an idealist, after all. Maybe he really does fear losing her. Maybe that stutter is betraying his nerves rather than his guilt.

You aren’t sure how you feel about the prospect of him actually settling down, especially with Anita. For one, you don’t think it’s in his nature, but two, something about him doing it turns your stomach. You can’t pinpoint why, exactly, but the idea of him being married with little ones running about Graceland makes you want to scream.

You quickly push that thought out of your head, convincing yourself that your broiling frustration at him has more to do with his treatment of Anita than anything else. If he loves her and needs her so much, maybe he should just tell her the truth. You continue to listen in as he talks baby talk to her and emphasizes just how much he really will call her more, and then you hear him yawn.

“Hell, I’m tired. Oh, yeah. You do? You do? Well don’t sound so damn serious. How much you love me? How much you love me? Maybe? Baby? I love you. I love you. I wish, I wish, I wish I was with you,” he says, weary and tired of the conversation. There are long moments of silence, and you wonder what she is saying or if she’s hung up on him.

“I gotta go. There ain’t no party, I just gotta go. I’ll talk to ya later. I will. Don’t throw up more ideas…” He starts that terrible imitating of her again, “’I can’t! I can’t help that!’ I could slap your face right off.” He laughs through the rest now, and you know him well enough to know he’s being an asshole, provoking her. You can practically hear her shouting through the receiver, she’s yelling so loud.

“I think you’ve lost your damn mind. Yeah, ya have,” he says gently, quiet but cutting. Then he continues to chuckle, seemingly finding her agitation amusing. “Well…we’ll see. I’ll talk to ya later. Okay? Okay? Take care honey, be patient. Alright. Take it easy. Bye.” You hear the receiver click as he finally hangs up the phone.

You’re fuming now, a bit off the rails considering none of this has anything to do with you, and you know it. The gall of him to behave that way when he knows he’s in the wrong, that he is lying to her. For god’s sake, he is having a party right now and there are girls here that you know were invited by him for a particular purpose, and he’s over here telling Anita how tired he is and how crazy she is when she is right all along.

The now-small logical part of your brain is screaming at you to leave and to get your nose out of his business before you do something stupid, but instead you listen to Elvis as he lets out a huge sigh that ends in a frustrated growl.

“Who in the hell is out there lurking in the hallway?” you hear him shout out of nowhere.

Shit.

Your heart pounds, knowing you are caught, and you are mad enough that you refuse to run away. You take a deep breath instead, pushing the door open slowly.

Elvis looks up through his dark lashes from behind the huge mahogany desk, his hands steepled and his jaw set. Surprise flashes over his features when he lays eyes on you, his left eyebrow shooting up, but his eyes quickly return to a steely blue, hardening.

“How much did you hear?” There’s no preamble, no beating around the bush, no charming quip.

You consider lying for a moment. “Enough,” you finally say, knowing lying would be futile—he knows you well enough to see through your deceit. You are angry enough at him for it to show on your face.

“Hmmm. Mmm hmm,” he tuts, seemingly disappointed in you, his anger still simmering just below the surface. “What the fuck were you thinkin’, listening to my private conversation?” It comes out frighteningly low and biting.

You open your mouth to speak, but before anything gets out, he’s yelling, “What is it with the goddamn women in my life sticking their noses where they don’t belong?!” You cannot help but flinch at his outburst, even as angry as you are.

Elvis gets up so fast and so violently the rolling chair he’s sitting in flies backwards, hitting the bookshelf behind him. Rounding the desk, he advances on you, and you stumble, countering by stepping back. With his dark hair and flashing eyes, his features both soft and severe all at once, his natural beauty is intimidating.

Already angered by his conversation with Anita, he is teetering right on the edge of fury, on that blinding temper of his. Which is why you have no idea what comes over you next.

“So, how’s Anita?” you ask sardonically. A small part of you is hoping that your sarcasm will deescalate the situation. It does not. More likely, for whatever reason, you have this urge to push him right over the edge. He’s never turned his temper on you before, and his temper can be blindingly terrible, yet still you persist.

“Don’t be insolent. It doesn’t become you, y/n,” he seethes, his soulful eyes now a churning, hard, steely blue, like the northern Atlantic during a storm.

You continue anyway, “You should just tell her, E. She obviously suspects what you’re doing, wouldn’t it just be easier—"

“I didn’t ask for your fuckin’ opinion!” he shouts at you. Your heart begins to pound in your ears, along with the ringing of his voice, but you are stubborn as hell and pissed off, too, so despite all the warning bells, you keep going.

“You’re right, you didn’t, but I’m telling you anyway as your friend and as a woman who knows—and more so because no one else will dare to call you on it—” you shoot at him, trembling with anger, “Being cheated on and then being lied to and made to feel crazy about it when you know something is wrong is awful. That’s why she’s nagging you all the time. You are making her feel crazy. You should either tell her or leave her, Elvis, but this isn’t right.” You let out a breath, your body hot with anger and you are surprised at your boldness.

“Aw, hell, y/n, you gonna be bitchin’ and naggin’ now, too, huh?” he barks, his eyes flashing.

More words, ones you didn’t expect to speak, come rolling off your tongue. “Why are you hanging on to her if you are just gonna constantly screw around behind her back? How can you really love her and do that to her? You have to know after all this time that she wants you to marry her, but I think we both know that’s not going to happen, is it? What exactly is the point of all this, then, Elvis?”

You expect him to scream at you again and you brace for it. But instead, he steps closer, cornering you. Anger is rolling off him in waves but now it’s tempered by something else, too. Something heavy and thick that starts to suck the air from the room as his deep eyes lock onto yours, unwavering.

“Why y/n, you sound almost jealous.” It comes out smooth, too smooth, with a dark chuckle as he takes one more bold step into you. Your back hits the wall, breath catching at the insinuation.

“W-what? No,” you eek out defensively, in a voice far too high for your liking. You feel your cheeks flush. You know objectively what he’s trying to do, distract and deflect blame for his situation off him and onto you. It’s manipulative but effective because you are flustered beyond repair now.

And maybe because there’s a little truth to it, that small voice from earlier adds. Though you have no idea how Elvis may have pulled that deep thought, one that you barely acknowledged yourself, from the deep recesses of your brain.

Faltering under the pressure of his gaze and the closeness of his lean body practically pressing up against yours, you try to skirt around him.

He slams his hand onto the wall next to your head and you wince as his arm blocks you in. You’re breathing hard now, feeling something between shock and fear and exhilaration as his beautiful face comes too close to yours, forcing you to turn back to him.

Elvis will not be ignored.

“I’m not sure I believe you, baby,” he purrs. “Why else would you be snooping into my private romantic business?” His nose almost grazes your face, tantalizing, the scent of his Old Spice filling your nostrils, consuming you. You realize you’ve never been this close to him, not like this.

Maybe there’s a good reason for that.

Your heart drops into your stomach, but you roll your eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you respond, glaring at him. It sounds almost convincing.

Elvis chuckles meanly, not believing you, his lip curling into a grin, but the smile doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s a panther stalking his prey, and you have come crashing into the jungle, demanding his attention.

His wrath is laced with something fervently sexual, and anything sexual coming from Elvis is ten times what it might be from another man. It’s intoxicating in the worst way possible, clouding your thoughts, distracting you from your frustration at his behavior. It’s as though, over time, he’s learned to wield his charismatic essence and his sexual energy into a weapon, one which he is now turning on you.

You realize you are in way over your head, but you’ve left yourself no room to backpedal out of this.

Elvis’ icy eyes roam over your face. For a moment you think he might close the gap between you two and press those pillowy lips to yours. For a moment you allow yourself to wonder if they feel as soft as they look, if they taste as sweet as you imagine.

What would he do if it were you that closed the gap? Would he be shocked out of his rage and pull away? Or would he kiss you back? Would you want him to?

Guilt washes over you, a cold shock, in response to these thoughts. What in the hell is wrong with me today?

But right now, cornered as you are, you feel like you might do almost anything to get out of this intense limbo he has you trapped in. You decide to call him out and see what happens.

“Oh, please, Elvis. Does this bull work on all the girls?” you hum almost nonchalantly, even though your heart is galloping, but it has the desired effect. He bites his tongue and shakes his head, leaning back from you. “What, you think you can just try and beguile me, of all people, and I’ll forget about what a jerk you’re being?”

“That’s not—,” he begins, through gritted teeth.

“Oh, shut it,” you interrupt, even more mad now after calling him out on his bad behavior for the second time. “I have half a mind to call Anita up myself after the stunt you just pulled!”

“The hell you will!” Elvis growls, eyes heated, yanking you by the arm towards the desk. “I’ll teach you what happens when you stick your nose where it don’t belong.”

You yelp in surprise as he pulls you over. It all happens so fast; you barely resist because your brain doesn’t comprehend what’s happening until he’s planted himself on top of the desk and bends you over his knee.

“Elvis, what are you…?” you yell. He cannot be serious, there is no way he will—

The first smack hits your backside hard. You choke in shock, not just at the sting but at his audacity. You are frozen, speechless, until you realize he’s aiming to do it again. You try to wriggle off his leg, flailing your arms for purchase, but he is much stronger than you. His arm clamps down on your back, holding you fast.

“Elvis!” you shriek at him, “Don’t you even think about—!” The second smack lands harder than the first, on the other cheek, and you squeal, kicking your legs.

“You gonna stay outta my business, y/n?” he asks.

“Goddamnit, Elvis!” you hiss, trying to glare back at him, but he holds you fast.

“Takin’ that as a ‘no’,” he muses, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he brings down his hand again. You yelp again, then grit your teeth. He’s not going easy on you, though you are absolutely sure he’s not anywhere at full strength, either. He’s not truly trying to hurt you. While your dress is softening some of the blow, it still smarts, sending your eyes watering.

You are livid, but much to your shock, you are also finding yourself exhilarated, stimulated. Your heart races and you have no idea what’s gotten into you. It’s like everything you’ve done in the last thirty minutes—poking your nose in where it didn’t belong, becoming so angry at him, pushing all of his buttons on purpose—was some strange way to get here. Not that you knew, not at all, that this would be your punishment, but it was almost as if you were crying out for his attentions all along.

This realization stuns you into stillness, and you barely register him talking to you again.

“I can do this all day, y/n, until you tell me what I need to hear,” he says in a sing-song voice. He’s enjoying it, his anger still there, but no longer at the forefront of his intent. No, now he is entirely focused on getting you to cry uncle.

You are stubborn and silent, though still reeling with confusion from your realizations of what got you here, slung over Elvis Presley’s knee, and that you, too, might be enjoying this, but in all the wrong ways. When his hand slaps your ass this time, you bite back the sound that wants to come forth, because it is no longer one of shock. Never in a thousand years do want to admit that you are relishing the feel of his hand on you like this, that the sting is having the opposite effect of what he wants or what either of you expects. It is wrong in so many ways.

Your lack of response must confuse him because you feel him hesitate in the slightest. You are unsure what comes over you, other than the impulse that you don’t actually want him to stop, which means he definitely should stop, but you can’t let him know why and instead it all comes out jumbled. The intended, “Elvis, please don’t!—Stop!” somehow (perhaps a little less than subconsciously) turns into a breathless, pleading for him to continue, “Elvis, please…don’t…stop.”

And though you feel his leg tense under you slightly, the only outward indication that he takes it any other way, he indeed does not stop. You squirm at the last second, realizing your mistake. And when his hand lands this time, fingers splayed wide, he hits decidedly lower and more centered than before. There is no way to know if it is purposeful or accidental, not that it matters in this moment because you cannot help the way your fingers dig into his thigh and the embarrassing moan that escapes your lips when he slaps your center along with your ass.

There is no denying what that sound meant. There’s no way to play it off or pretend it didn’t happen. You are fully aroused and completely mortified.

And Elvis knows it. You know he does by the way he stills, how his other hand clenches your dress at your waist, how you can feel his chest heaving along with your own in the thick, heavy silence that comes after.

For a moment, you wonder if he will push, if he’ll try to continue under the guise of this insane game, and a shameful part of you almost wants him to, wants to see how far you’ll both go, but that thought is fleeting.

He releases you, and you scurry off his lap as though he is on fire. And he might as well be with that tell-tale twinkle burning in his crystalline eyes, which are no longer stormy with anger but brimming with amusement and surprise and curiosity and heat. Then, as if he can’t help it, those pink lips pull up into a wide, cheeky smile, his tongue peeking out between his teeth and the tip touches his top lip. The look is somewhere between bashful and positively sinful.

You smooth your dress frantically with your hands, your face burning. Flustered beyond repair, you swipe at your watering eyes, feeling the heat scorch through your body. You are so utterly embarrassed that you could cry. Neither of you speaks at first (what in god’s name can you say??), but Elvis starts to giggle—giggle—that hiccupping little laugh of his that you know will spiral into a fit if he really gets going.

“Don’t you…don’t you dare laugh at me, Elvis Presley!” you sputter and stamp like a child, pointing at him, but his face is going red now and he’s starting to lose it.

“I’m-I’m n-n-not! I just c-can’t…” he stutters before he erupts into full blown belly laughs.

“Oh, my god,” you cry, bringing your hands to your face. You are both livid at him and mortified at yourself, but the situation is completely ridiculous and his laughter becomes contagious. “I swear to god, this isn’t funny!” you wail, fighting back your own laughter.

This just sends him into fresh peal of laughing, and he doubles over.

You finally break down, laughing, too. “Shut up!” you yell, but all the sting is out of it with your own giggles. “This is all your fault!”

“MY fault?!” he cries, trying to catch his breath, tears leaking from his eyes.

You don’t have an answer to that. You know it’s very much on both of you, especially you.

Finally, the laughter starts to die down and you both are wiping at your eyes and catching your breath. Silence starts to hang heavy again, but you break it with ferocity.

“Let’s just pretend that none of this ever happened, okay? I’ll forget everything I heard, and you’ll forget…the rest of it, and we’ll never, ever speak of this again,” you say seriously, with conviction. “Deal?”

As absurd as the whole situation is, you both know there are very real consequences, for both of you, if any of what’s transpired leaves this room. The problem is you know he can be terrible at keeping secrets; however, there is no way for him to tell yours without exposing himself. You can see him work through this now that he is calmed down, his blue eyes regarding you carefully.

You force yourself to remain steady under his intense gaze, trying your best to ignore the way your body wants to involuntarily respond to him all the sudden. You need him to know how serious you are because if this somehow got back to Jack, or to anyone at all, you would be humiliated at best and divorced at worse.

Maybe that’s a little dramatic, you think, but it wouldn’t be good for anyone. But it lights enough panic in you to get your head on straight.

“I’m serious, Elvis. Not a word from either of us,” you reiterate, as Elvis’ face has become unreadable. Your body still feels hot and you will your heart to slow, praying that he’ll give you the answer you need so you can get the hell out of here.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally nods, “Not a peep.” He purses his lips and mimes locking them and throwing away the key. You want to roll your eyes, but instead breathe a sigh of relief. You turn, quick on your heel to leave, needing as far away as possible from this whole situation. Far away from him.

“Y/n?” he calls out from behind you as you reach for the door.

Your heart drops into your stomach and you brace yourself for a quip. You turn, not expecting to see the apologetic look on his face that you do. It’s almost childlike in its sincerity, his eyes big and mournful.

“I-I’m sorry I lost my temper. I-I-I shouldn’t have put my hands on you like that,” he says, playing with his ring nervously.

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. An apology is not at all what you were expecting. You blink a couple of times, your whirlwind of emotions calming for a moment.

“Thank you, E. And I’m sorry for sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. It really is none of my business,” you add, cheeks warming again as you look down, feeling embarrassed for all the reasons, feeling exposed under his gaze.

“Naw, baby, you’re just callin’ it as you see it. You’ve never pulled punches with me, and I don’t expect you to start now,” he replies, lip curling up in a smile.

You nod. “Even so, I’ll do my best to refrain from spying on you in the future.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay.” You turn and leave before he has a chance to stop you again. Hurrying to the bedroom you are sharing with Jack, you lock yourself in, lean back on the door, and slide to the floor with your head in your hands.

What in god’s name came over you? Why would you do such a thing? And why in the hell did you like it when he touched you like that? Panic and guilt run through your veins like ice. You push all the thoughts away, as deep and as far as they will go.

Not a word. Pretend this never happened. Nothing is wrong if it never happened.

You repeat it in your head until it sticks.

Carrying the black folder with your sheet music, you take a deep breath and take a seat on the stage behind the curtains that hide the backstage from the audience. You’ve never been backstage for one of his shows, and it is bustling with musicians. Your job tonight is to follow along with the Sweet Inspirations and see if you can find your footing in the music while the show is happening. With the volume on stage, no one should be able to hear you from out front.

Nerves flow through you, nevertheless. It’s been a crazy three days with the vocal coach, who has assured you that, yes, you have the capability to do this and are “a natural,” but that you need to work through your stage fright. You’re not sure if it is her idea or Elvis’ to put you backstage during a performance, but here you are, your heart pounding as though you were going on stage with the rest of them.

In those three days, you haven’t seen Elvis alone, either. This has made you incredibly uneasy for a variety of reasons. Part of you is glad because you feel like your head is clearer about the whole affair, that you have some semblance of control, that if you want to end it (and you should) that you can.

However, another part of you craves his attention, missing him desperately, worried that he’s gotten what he wants from you and now is moving on. You keep thinking about how if he’s not spending his nights with you who might be keeping his bed warm instead. This fear is beginning to wreak havoc and is at odds with your logical thoughts. You know you need to get over it, to get over him, that all of this is just for fun anyways. It’s just sex. Nothing other than that was ever promised. He’s free to do what he wants with who he wants.

It's not as though you haven’t seen him, though, it just hasn’t been alone. Between your lessons, his schedule, and Jack seemingly looming everywhere, it’s been hard to steal any time away. As soon as you told Jack you were staying, that Elvis was offering you a job as part of the show, you couldn’t quite get a read on how he felt about it. Jack seemed surprised, a little annoyed, and wary when you told him. You were sure he wouldn’t want you around anymore, but instead he has been more attentive than usual, which has also thrown you for a loop. You don’t know if he suspects something might be going on, but he hasn’t been off cavorting until all hours of the night anymore, instead staying with the guys at the after party every night in Elvis’ suite.

In any case, all you and E have had are a couple of fleeting, longing looks and the occasional touch, which is maddening. He did come to one of your lessons, but remained professional in front of the coach, only giving you a quick peck on the cheek and left a lingering hand at your waist, burning through your dress and threatening to set you aflame right there and then.

During the after parties, where the gang, plus a lucky group of fans (usually pretty, young things), would come up and join you all. You smiled your way through the gatherings trying to appear as normal as possible as the girls flirted endlessly with Elvis, and he flirted back at them. Not to mention the way Jack would look at the girls, too. The whole situation was becoming untenable.

Thank god for Sandy, who always seemed to be there when you needed her, with a squeeze of a hand or a bump of your shoulder, stealing away with you to the bathroom when it all became too much.

But, lucky for you, you at least had a distraction of learning all the music for the show, hence why you are here now, amongst the fervent energy that is building backstage. The Sweet Inspirations just finished their set, and now everyone is waiting on the man of the hour.

You finally see him round the corner, clad in his black herringbone suit, the one you find impeccably flattering on him. He looks gorgeous but is vibrating with nervous energy and seems like he could be sick at any moment, his eyes focused on something only he can see. Involuntarily, you rise out of your chair in his presence, wanting to go to him, to comfort him, but you stop yourself. It isn’t your place, and you don’t want to distract him or possibly make his nerves worse.

Much to your surprise, Elvis seems to sense you, turning to you, and his cobalt eyes light up when they meet yours. He switches gears, much to the surprise of some of the guys, and walks towards you. They don’t follow, which you are glad for. You meet him, desperately wanting to pull him in for a kiss, but everyone seems to be watching. His eyes travel over your face, needy under the fear he’s experiencing.

“You’re here,” he says gratefully, as though it is a surprise that you actually showed up.

“I’m here,” you reply. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous. But better now,” he says, those big blue eyes blinking at you with an almost shy smile.

“Me, too,” you laugh. God, you want to touch him so badly, it’s like an itch you can’t scratch.

“I miss you,” he whispers, and it nearly breaks your heart with the way it makes it swell in your chest.

“I miss you, too,” you nod breathlessly, “and we’ll talk later, but right now, you need to go out there and kick some ass, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, taking a deep breath, puffing his cheeks and letting it out slowly. He reaches out and grabs your hand, squeezing it tight, his huge rings cold against your skin. Then he turns abruptly, heads off, and cues the band to start.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. Seeing that side of him, so needy and small, is such a contrast to how larger than life he is as he walks on that stage. It reminds you so much of the young man he once was, so different from the cocky, self-assured man he can be today.

Then the show starts in earnest and you sit back down, realizing you have a job to do and can’t just moon over him the entire show. You do your best to follow the music, humming along, quietly finding the high harmonies to the songs you feel like you’ve heard a million times but are now experiencing differently because you are listening for other things.

You do notice that some of his jokes are falling flat and that the audience isn’t responding as enthusiastically as they could be. Elvis fights for their attention, being the consummate performer that he is, and you can tell he’s a bit ruffled by it.

By the end of the show, you’ve been swept up in the music and it feels like no time has passed, your nerves long forgotten. It’s an amazing feeling, really, as the crowd applauds and the curtain falls and everyone bustles with after-show energy. Even though you weren’t officially on stage, you still feel swept up in the high of it all and it’s invigorating.

Elvis, of course, is soaked with sweat, breathless as the swarm descends with compliments, though he doesn’t smile or seem to believe them even though he nods through them. You know he is a perfectionist in his own right and by his demeanor, he seems agitated by how the performance went. His eyes find yours only briefly, guarded, before he is hustled away. You hide your disappointment in collecting your music and instead focus your energy on conversing with some of the musicians as they pack up their instruments. The mood feels sour, dampened, as Elvis’ displeasure radiates even after he leaves. Your emotions are tumultuous, as you feel neglected, and you are glad when you see Sandy waiting for you so you can go up to the penthouse together.

“How’d it go?” she practically bounces. “How nervous were you?”

“Pretty nervous at first, but after the first song, I just kinda got swept up in the music. It was pretty remarkable, actually,” you reply. “Though E didn’t seem very happy with the show.”

She pulls you along, through the curtains and out into the hallway. “And how is…everything else?” she intones with a knowing look.

You sigh, shifting your music folder to the other arm, looking down. You hurry her along, away from prying ears. “He came up to me before the show and told me he missed me,” you whisper.

“Oooh, really? That’s good, right? Sometimes a man needs to know what he’s missing to really appreciate it,” she muses. “Do you miss him, too?”

“I don’t want to! But as soon as he was there in front of me, I felt like I was gonna come out of my skin to get to him. I’m just…having all these feelings I don’t know what to do with, San,” you fluster. “Every time I think I have a handle on it, something happens to remind me that I’m completely off the rails.”

“You’re not ‘completely off the rails’, y/n. You’ve just got it bad,” she says almost nonchalantly.

“Ugh! I’m desperate to see him alone, and seeing him but not being able to touch him or to do anything that might give us away is hard. Not to mention, all these girls hanging all over him is making me crazy, and Jack seems to be everywhere under foot all the sudden, which is even more maddening. Oh, I need to end this. I can’t keep doing this,” you whine.

“Listen to me, we are just gonna go upstairs and hang out with everyone just like normal, okay? And we’ll try to get you two alone at some point. I’ll talk to Jerry, okay?” Sandy says, grabbing you by the shoulders. “I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, babe,” you sigh. “I’m fine, really.”’

Sandy side-eyes you as you both head up to the top floor.

The guys have procured yet another gaggle of women and a few men to join the party tonight. Jack has planted himself next to you, uncharacteristically putting his arm around you. Surprised, you try not to stiffen, reminding yourself that this is your husband and it’s totally normal for him to put his arm around you, but it feels more possessive than affectionate. Or maybe you are just imagining it.

You busy yourself making small talk as you all wait for Elvis to appear. When he does, freshly washed, the smell wafts over you, reminding you of your most recent escapades in the shower. You flush a little at that, hiding your face by taking a drink.

Elvis glances at you only momentarily as he enters. He seems a little off, you think, a little edgy, as he commands the room and finds a seat amongst the girls. Your jaw tenses as they fawn and fall all over him, and he flirts back as though he can’t help it. This makes you insane to watch for the third night in a row. All you can think about is his hands on someone else the way you want them to be on you.

And the more you want Elvis’ hands on you, you instead get Jack’s, which seem to be gripping you at all times in some way. Over your shoulder, on your knee, on your hand…you’re trapped in this tortuous hellscape where you would do anything to get him to stop touching you, but you can’t, you can’t without it giving yourself away.

You are equally trapped as you watch your lover give his attention to everyone but you. Every time Elvis laughs or smiles or his eyes sparkle flirtatiously, or if he touches one of them or when they touch him, you want to launch right out of your chair at him.

He wants them, you think. That’s why he hasn’t seen you the last few days. He’s been with other women.

The thought drips like poison into your heart, twisting it, filling you with anger and sadness.

Why would he want you when he can have any pretty young thing? No one wants you. No one chooses you. It drips again, icy and brutal.

All of it goes on for what feels like an eternity, and you want to scream, to cry, to escape, but you’ve made this bed and now are being forced to lie in it. It’s your punishment for all your misdeeds, you think. But your stomach is rolling with an ever-growing fury at Jack, at Elvis, at those girls, at yourself, and you start to squirm in your seat.

Finally, your jealousy gets the better of you. If Elvis won’t pay attention to you, then you’ll find someone else who will. It makes the most sense that it’s your husband, of course, who is already strangely attached to you tonight, so you bite your tongue and force yourself to return his affections instead of shirking from them. You lean into him, you put your hands on him, on his chest, his arm, his leg. You pretend it was like it was years ago, when you still both wanted each other more than anything. You throw yourself into the act because it takes your mind off the women across the room.

Jack is surprised, you can tell, but he’s not too far gone into the bottle and soon is returning your affections, pecking at your cheek and neck. After a while, when he whispers in your ear that he wants you, part of you is exhilarated, powerful, because finally your husband wants you again.

It’s in that moment when Elvis’ eyes find yours for only the second time since you’ve been here, those intense blues locking on as Jack’s breath tickles your ear. Elvis’ gaze darkens dangerously, and you watch his jaw clench as he watches you and Jack. And when Jack takes your hand, pulling you off the couch, you feel Elvis’ eyes burning holes into your back.

Finally, is all you can think. Finally, the men in your life are paying attention.

You are so wrapped up in this game, in your anger and your jealousy, that when Jack yanks you into the bathroom and locks the door behind him, you aren’t even upset about it. You want to be disgusted at him (and you are—you still hate him for what he’s put you through), but in this moment, he only has eyes for you and that’s all you want right now, even if it is misguided. Even if the love isn’t there like it’s supposed to be.

When he kisses you with his whisky-tinged breath, it almost feels like he cares. When he gropes you and touches your body in the places he thinks he knows will turn you on, you pretend that it does. You let yourself get swept into a fantasy, into the act, because at least it’s something to chase away all the terrible things you’ve done and all the terrible thoughts in your head.

When you grab at the straining erection in his pants, the heat of him burning into your palm, and hear his gasping moans in your ear, you feel powerful. As you sink to your knees, you relish the look of lust and surprise in your husband’s eyes, and it’s enough to keep you going, even though part of you is appalled. You take him into your mouth, closing your eyes, wishing he was someone else. Jack twists his hand in your hair as he leans against the counter, slack jawed, and you know this won’t take long. It makes it bearable. You’ve known him long enough to know exactly what to do: how to lick, where to touch, the noises you need to make. And you relish in the control you have as he comes undone in record time.

Jack is still gasping for breath when you stand, spitting what he left in your mouth in the sink and washing your mouth out. He grabs at your ass, panting, “Jesus, treasure, what’s got into you? That was fuckin’ hot.”

You shrug coyly at him in the mirror. “I gotta pee, sweetie,” you say, shooing him out, wanting him away from you. More than anything, you want to be alone to simmer in your anger and revulsion.

“Mmm, okay. Thanks, babe,” he hums, still obviously refracting, drunk on you rather than whisky for once. He kisses your cheek sloppily before zipping up and heading out. It doesn’t escape you that he didn’t even make an attempt to get you off. Not that he could, but it figures.

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair askew and cheeks red, eyes blazing. This is the woman I’ve become, you think bitterly. I’m either fucking my lover with my husband in the next room, or I’m sucking off my husband with my lover in the next room.

It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You don’t recognize yourself anymore. You ache for Elvis, but you cover it with anger and jealousy and fear. You hate Jack for what he’s done to you, yet you fall into him and use him the first chance you get.

Rooting around in the drawers, you find some toothpaste and swish it around in your mouth, hoping, wanting to get the taste of Jack, the taste of your own bitterness out. You wash your hands and comb your hair, wondering if this was enough, if you can go back out there at watch Elvis with those women and not die a little inside.

Knock, knock.

The insistent rap on the door startles the hell out of you and you jump. “One second!” you shout with one last look in the mirror. You open the door quickly, not wanting to keep whoever is waiting, and walk out.

And you run smack into Elvis’ chest. You don’t even need to look up to know it’s him—at this point you know his physique and his scent anywhere. A little yelp escapes your lips, and you feel the heat, the anger rolling off him in waves. You gulp, raising your eyes to his and they are as hard and dark as you’ve ever seen them. Your heart jumps into your throat as he grabs you by the arm and yanks you across the hall, throwing you into his bedroom and slamming the door behind so hard that the wall shakes.

You stumble for a second in your heels but recover quickly, turning to face him. Elvis is furious, in that terrifying way you’ve seen before, nearly blacked out with rage. You can see him barely holding on, gripping to a sliver of sanity as he faces you, chest heaving.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” he seethes, his hands fisted and jaw clenching and unclenching, black hair tumbling over his forehead.

Your heart sprints in your chest and you unconsciously step backwards before you catch yourself and stop, lifting your chin at him. “I don’t know what you mean,” you say almost haughtily.

“The fuck you don’t,” he says, advancing on you. You scurry back again, putting the large couch in between the two of you. “You think I didn’t notice the way he was all over you and how you were all over him out there for everyone to see?? You think I didn’t know what was goin’ on when you left?? You think I didn’t see his fuckin’ face comin’ back into the room, grinnin’ like an idiot?!” he screams, grabbing a bottle of water off the coffee table and hurling into the wall.

You flinch as the bottle explodes, glass tinkling down to the floor. “Elvis, stop it! Calm down, everyone can hear you!” you hiss, trying to knock some sense into him, but he’s way beyond that.

“I don’t give a shit!” he yells. “How could you fuckin’ do that?” The rage and the hurt you see in his blacked-out eyes is more than you ever expected and tugs at your heart. But you are still furious in your own right, furious at him for this display, furious at the whole situation.

“How could I do what, E? What? Be with my husband? My husband? Or have you forgotten since the stunt you pulled the other day in the bathroom that I have one?” you throw back at him, “That I have to go back to my room every night to him, pretending like everything is fine? Did you forget that?”

You’re not even sure if he hears you with how gone he is. He rounds the couch, coming for you. Scrambling back, you find that you have nowhere to go, your back is against the wall. Reaching you, he grabs your face in his large hands, his intense eyes drilling into you. “I don’t ever want to see you looking at another man, touching another man. I’m a really jealous motherfucker, y/n. And I don’t ever, ever, ever want you to be with another man, I don’t care who he is. I want to know that you’re mine and all mine,” he heaves.

“Are you kidding me?” you say, wrenching out of his grasp. “How can you demand that of me when you know it’s not possible? I have to keep up the pretense of my marriage! And you think I don’t know that you’ve been with other women? It’s been three days, Elvis, I’m not an idiot!” He looks at you with a mix of dumbfounded innocence and rage. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Maybe it was the girl in your lap just now or the one kissing you that gave it away!”

Elvis growls, shaking his head, staring down at you with those endless eyes. “You’re just fuckin’ jealous. You’re so jealous you went and fucked your husband in my bathroom to get my attention, is that it?” He slams his hand on the wall next to your head, but you refuse to react.

You know you shouldn’t say it, but he’s right and you know it. You did do it to get his attention, and now you have it. “No, baby, I didn’t fuck him. I just sucked him off and spit him out,” you say demurely, cutting, batting your eyes at him, knowing and not caring how awful you’re being.

The way his eyes widen betrays his shock, but he covers it quickly as they narrow. You wonder for a moment if you should be truly afraid because you have pushed him too far, but you almost don’t care. Part of you wants him to feel all of this, a fraction of the tumultuousness that you’ve been feeling for the last week.

“Hmmm…,” he hums, then clicks his mouth. His eyes are black and blazing as they pass over your body. This stillness is almost more frightening than the shouting. You shiver, trembling, but it’s just as much from your own anger as from his, and you can feel the fury laced with something else entirely. You refuse to back down or look away.

“You goddamn fuckin’ little brat,” Elvis finally snarls and yanks you with him to the couch. He slams down and pulls you over his knees, and suddenly, a memory from a long time ago flashes in your brain, one you had entirely pushed out of your mind. You choke on it as it floods back to you, knowing he must remember, too, knowing that everything is quite different this time around.

You gasp when Elvis pulls up your dress and yanks down your panties, the cold air of the room hitting your most sensitive areas. “Elvis! Elvis, don’t you dare, don’t you even--!” you shriek, writhing in his lap, not knowing if your words are protests or encouragements at this point.

When his open palm slaps your ass, the sound reverberates through the suite, the sting radiating down your thighs and sending water into your eyes. You gasp again, more from surprise than anything. Surprise that while it smarts, it doesn’t feel bad.

“Elvis,” you breathe out, wriggling in his lap.

He holds you to him. “Oh, don’t you ‘Elvis’ me. You’ve been an obstinate, naughty lil’ brat, and I ain’t havin’ it,” he says through gritted teeth before bringing his hand biting down onto the other cheek.

You hold back your cry, digging your nails into his thigh instead, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a big reaction. Beyond the sting, you feel heat gathering in your belly, but you don’t want him to know that either.

“Seems ya need a lesson or two about how to behave, now don’tcha, you naughty lil’ girl?” he seethes, laced with a sneer. He brings down his hand again, and this time you can’t hold back the sound that emanates from your throat, a whiny moan.

“Ah, that’s what I thought,” Elvis purrs wickedly, rubbing your stinging skin with his fingers. You are completely at his mercy now, your frustrations unravelling under his touch. You buck in his lap, needing more, needing him to ease your toxic thoughts.

“Hmm, you like rilin’ me up? Like gettin’ me all worked up and jealous, huh?” He smacks your ass again, this time his fingers grazing your core. You moan fully now, unable and unwilling to contain it, tears running down your face, your heat building in the most confounding of ways.

“Answer me—didja pull that lil’ stunt on purpose, baby?” he asks, his hand reverberating on you again.

“Y-yes,” you breathe out.

“Yes, what?” he pushes, palming your ass, leaning down towards your ear, his breath hot.

It takes you a second in your haze to piece together what exactly Elvis wants, and once you do, it sends a delectable shiver down your spine. Once again, he never ceases to amaze you in how he can bring out pleasure in you that you never knew you craved or needed.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whine.

You hear him choke back a groan at that and next to your arm, you feel a twitch in his pants. You can’t help but smile.

“You wanted my attention, and now you’re gettin’ it, honey. Is that what you want?” he says, heat leeching from his voice.

“Yes, Daddy,” you breathe again.

He brings his hand down one more time with a grunt, and you cry out in pleasure and pain, ass raw but you are somehow feeling a release that you didn’t know you needed.

“Look at you, baby,” Elvis says, somewhere between pride and surprise, running a finger through your folds, which unbeknownst to you are dripping wet. You bite your lip at the contact, sucking a breath in. You want him to touch you, but instead he pulls you up to face him. You hiss at the feeling of your raw ass hitting the backs of your heels as you kneel on the sofa.

He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to look at him, tears staining your cheeks. “I need ya to look at me, honey,” he orders. You do. His eyes are still dark, but his fury has been tempered by lust.

“You been waitin’ eight long years for me to do that, haven’t ya?” he murmurs. Of course, he remembers exactly how long it’s been.

Your heart flutters and you nod, admitting to yourself that it may have crossed your mind once or twice, in your most secret moments.

“Ain’t nobody else touched you like that, baby?” The way he asks it is almost laced with hope, hope that this is something of you that only he gets to have.

“Never,” you whisper, shaking your head, his hand still gripping your chin.

“Only me, huh? Good girl,” he says, pleased. He lets go of your chin, wiping the tears off your face with his thumb. Then he looks in your eyes.

“I need you to be truthful with me now, baby, yeah? Don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear. Do you want me to keep bein’ rough with ya? Are ya likin’ that? Because if you don’t, I’m gonna stop,” he asks, voice real low.

You appreciate him pausing long enough to ask you and you consider him for a moment, though it doesn’t take long. “Yes, I like it,” you say, surprising yourself with the truth of it.

That dark look flashes over Elvis’ face again, and it sends a thrill right through you.

“Okay, but you tell me if you need me to stop, promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good, cuz I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet and I’m still fuckin’ pissed,” he growls. Your heart plummets into your belly with excitement as you watch the sweetness drain from his eyes, replaced by his fervent anger from earlier.

And you smile.

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sugacookees · 11 months

Text

lovebug again

✩ boo seungkwan x reader ✩ high school setting, fluff, mutual pining, mentions of death ✩ w.c. approx. 7.1k ♫ this town - niall horan; lovebug - jonas brothers; for lovers - lamp; forever&more - role model; la la la that’s how it goes - honne; falling for you - colbie caillat

I hate being sick.

Everyone does, but some people enjoy the special treatment they receive from loved ones. But in my household, that is never the case. When I get sick, it always seems to be my fault. Too much time on my cellphone, not enough sleep, going out with friends too much—every leisure activity that could be blamed except for the fact that it actually happens.

Teenagers get two to four colds a year on average. But maybe I’m not a teenager after all since my mom says I should never catch a cold. Only weak people do. And annoyingly so, I kind of agree. As president of the class and of the school council, each day is vital. So, being sick is totally not on schedule and ruins everything. The time I’m spending lying on my bed staring at my ceiling could have been time for me to finalize our plans for the fundraiser and the booths for the upcoming school festival. But no, the universe decided that I should become the most helpless human being on earth at the time I'm most needed.

I couldn't even check my phone for updates or messages from other school council members. My mom is convinced that my phone single-handedly caused me to catch a virus and that it should be kept away from me. She even went out of her way to wrap it in a drawstring bag so my sister wouldn't get sick like me. I tried to do some schoolwork in advance, but I felt like my head was about to fall off, so I quickly abandoned that plan.

It was a day ago in Chemistry class when I started feeling ill.

“Okay, here are five chemical equations to balance. I’ll give you a couple minutes to accomplish this and then we’ll get right to checking them.”

I look down right away at my notebook and copy the equations. By the second one, the numbers and letters are starting to jumble and lose sense. I feel like I’ve been reading the same number over and over again. I look up and around at my classmates to see if I’ve just been looking down too much, but I quickly regret it as soon as I see Jisoo’s head in front of me turn into three. I clutch my head and shut my eyes closed, hoping it would go away. Nevertheless, I go back to my problem set and attempt to accomplish it.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Looking to my right, where the voice is coming from, I see Seungkwan, who looks concerned. I quickly reassure him that I’m fine and that it’s probably just the heat. He nods in agreement, but does so hesitantly. Anyhow, I couldn’t find it in me to reassure him further as another wave of pain hits my head, and right at that moment I think I would just like to be hit by a train and be done with.

As I am looking down, I see a peek of navy blue hovering by my peripheral. I slowly turn my head towards it and see a jug held by Seungkwan, still with his worried face.

I’ve known Seungkwan for years. Our parents know each other way back from their childhood as we live just about 7 houses down by each other. It’s a small town too, so we go to the same market, same bakery, same school, and same dainty old cafes and restaurants. On holidays, we exchange meals and gifts, and simple hellos and goodbyes.

I remember the time before Nari was born. Seungkwan and I would always run around the house and play together. He invited me to his birthday parties, and I did too. Though, when we grew up and my father passed, I found myself forever changed. Seungkwan and I started to drift apart as a result of that, among other things.

Seungkwan has always been the most extroverted one in the room, and me, well, I’m completely on the other end of that spectrum. Wonwoo and Jiheon have always been quite introverted as well so we quickly got along. Surprisingly though, Wonwoo had also made friends with Seungkwan along with a few other boys. We would all be together from time to time at the park, the boys playing sports, and Jiheon and I, along with the other younger siblings of the boys, playing a definitely more beginner-friendly version of whatever game they were playing. All in all, we all got along well. Seungkwan and I would exchange conversations every now and then, but we weren’t as close and playful as we were before.

But I must admit, I have, and always will, hold a special fondness for Seungkwan. He was always sweet and kind, and even loved by all the elderly people in town. I recall the time I was out to buy some bread for our house, I saw him happily chatting with Chan’s grandmother. I say chatting, but more like gossiping by the way they were hunched and shifting their eyes. He would always make sure everyone in class was included, and he would always make everyone happy with his jokes and skits that he, Seokmin, Jisoo, and surprisingly, Jihoon, would act out. Seungkwan would also unhesitantly offer assistance to the student council during major projects. Sometimes, he would even stay late with me, saying, “So you have less to do tomorrow, and more time to rest!” He would then walk me home, and never forget to greet my parents and wish them well.

Seungkwan is lovely. And he is even more lovely now as he offers his water to me. Our drinking fountains have been under maintenance recently so, if I take up his offer he’ll have to wait until he gets home to get a drink again. He sees me hesitate and about to reject his offer, so he firmly places his tumbler on my desk and turns back to his notebook, offering no space for compromise.

In perfect timing, Mr. Hyun announces that the time is up and it’s time to check our answers. I pick up the tumbler, open it, and drink. I turn to Seungkwan quickly and smile. He smiles back.

By the next day, the headaches still come and go, but I keep it to myself and head to school anyway. During our break time, Wonwoo and Jiheon notice my weakened state and urge me to go to the school clinic.

“I’m fine! Just sleepy, that’s all.”

They share a look and thankfully leave my table.

But my peace is soon ruined as Jiheon slams a piece of paper on my desk. A clinic slip. The loud thump gathers the attention of the class, and they take notice of the much familiar white paper that occupies my desk.

“Oh my god, class president is sick?!” Soonyoung exclaims while exaggeratingly covering his mouth.

Usually unconcerned Hansol, Myeongho, and Junhui jerk their heads in my way with horrified expressions.

“I’m not sick! It’s just a small headache. It’ll go away soon.”

“It won’t.” Wonwoo says firmly with his arms crossed. “You’ve been having them since yesterday. Go to the clinic right now or else I’ll drag you there myself.”

Now, I'm usually assertive and tend to win in situations, but when I remember how Wonwoo once dragged Mingyu down the stairs by his backpack down the stairs because they were running late, I decide to sign the slip. I definitely don't want to be dragged like that.

On my way out, Jeonghan and Jisoo give me a few applauses with matching devious smirks.

I point at them accusingly and say, “Unlike you, I’m not pretending just to get out of class.”

Now here I am, at home, holed up in my room, bored out of my mind. Until, I hear a knock on my door and see Nari peeking in.

“Unnie, your classmate’s downstairs. He’s talking with Eomma. Come quickly.” She says hurriedly before rushing out.

I wonder what’s Wonwoo doing here. He usually sends me a text if he’s coming over. Well, he’s been one of my best friends for years, and he has come over a lot, so it’s not like my family has no idea of his existence, and maybe, he thought that sending me a text would end up in me stopping him from coming over. Probably.

Knowing it's only Wonwoo, I skip glancing at the mirror to fix my appearance; after all, he's seen me worse. Still feeling a bit lightheaded from lying down for hours, I make my way downstairs.

“Yah, Wonwoo. You couldn’t even se-“

I halt and gape at the man in my living room who is definitely not my best friend with fifty-eight centimeter wide shoulders (we got bored in class).

Seungkwan stands there in his collared navy blue sweatshirt, holding a basket of tangerines, looking at me with an alarmed face, then gives me a soft smile. It is at this moment I truly realize how much the universe hates me. I probably look like absolute shit right now, and Nari’s sly smile only confirms that further. That little girl.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude or whatsoever. I hope it’s okay. I’ll just drop this off and go, I’m sorry again.”

My mom quickly butts in, “No, no! It’s alright Seungkwan. The gesture is much appreciated. And I know this one has been dying for a familiar face that isn’t ours.” She gives me a look, which I have no idea what it even means, and smiles. She takes the basket and heads to the kitchen bringing Nari along.

In the living room, Seungkwan and I find ourselves standing awkwardly, a noticeable gap between us. It's evident that he wants to say something, but he seems hesitant, perhaps fearing that he might not be welcome. Unable to bear the silence any longer, I take the initiative and speak up.

“Thank you for coming by the way. And for the tangerines too. Those are my favorite.”

“I know.”

His response catches me off guard, and my surprise seems to have unconsciously shown on my face, prompting him to explain further.

“In middle school, we were asked to bring our favorite food. You came in holding this single medium-sized tangerine. And you know, my family has a farm so I brought one too. I was really embarrassed because Seungcheol had brought this full-blown meal and everyone was gathered around him. But then you saw me, approached me and told me-“

“‘Tangerines are cuter anyway.” I finish.

We both share a laugh and in between our laughter he asks me, “What the hell does that even mean anyway? How could tangerines be cute?”

I look at him fondly and answer, “Well, they just are.”

There’s a pregnant pause that follows our laughter as we gauge what to do next. As I’m about to ask him what made him drop by, he already answers me with a sheepish smile, “I, uh, just seeing you pale and weak in class, and you not showing up today just really had me worried.” He scratches his head and looks away. “So, I decided to check-up on you to see if you were alright.

Despite my disheveled bed hair, crusty and pale lips, and being dressed in Anpanman pajamas, I confidently say that I'm doing well.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be coming to school tomorrow.”

He gives me a worried look, like the one he gave me a day ago in Chemistry. “Are you sure? I think you should rest more. The council’s doing alright with the prep anyway.”

Feeling my stomach flutter at his genuine concern, I try to brush it off, blaming it on my feverish state, and reassure him that I'll be okay.

“I’ll be fine, Kwan. It’s just a cold.”

Kwan. I hadn’t realized I used a nickname for him I gave him years ago until I had said it. Either he didn’t notice, or doesn’t really care as it doesn’t seem to have caught him off-guard, seeing that he still seems to worry about me.

“If you say so…”

Ever the worrywart, but undeniably cute.

“Well, it’s about to get dark in a while so I should head home. It was good seeing you. I hope you feel better. And if you ever decide not to come to school tomorrow that’s a hundred percent just fine, and I’ll take care of letting our teachers and the council know.”

I chuckle and walk him to the door.

“Thank you, Seungkwan. For coming by, and for the tangerines. I really appreciate it. Be safe on your walk back, and see you in school tomorrow.”

A few steps away from the door, he turns around, now walking backwards, with that charming smile and says, “I mean this in the nicest way possible. I hope I don’t.” As he walks away, that smile still on his face, I wave goodbye, returning the gesture with a warm smile of my own.

Subconsciously admitting that I do feel a little under the weather, I retreat back inside, hoping to get more and better rest.

Nearing the staircase, my mom stops me, and Nari hovers behind her with a smile that makes me feel uneasy.

“So,” she starts, annoyingly elongating the ‘o’. “I haven’t seen you and Seungkwan together for a while.” I quickly try to jump to correct her until she interrupts me. “I mean, you know, conversing. Especially with him coming here to our home.”

“Yeah, conversing.” Nari butts in, also, elongating her vowels. I roll my eyes at them.

“Tell that sweet boy he should come over often like the old days. Makes me feel younger.” My mom yells.

Don’t think I’ll be doing that, but like the good daughter I am, I say okay anyway and go back to my room.

My head pounds as I struggle to wake up, attempting to open my heavy eyes. The blaring alarm in the background adds to my discomfort, and I quickly move over to silence it. Another second of that noise, and my head might just explode. Despite feeling weak, I gather the strength to stand up, determined to get ready for school

Looking at my state and the fact that I can’t even tie my shoes right without getting lightheaded should be enough reason for me to garbage the idea of going to school. But then, I remember all my missed classes and the council preparations. I can’t miss one more day.

During breakfast, I try my best to act normal and perfectly healthy. Nari gives me a side eye every now and then, waiting for a moment to catch me red-handed; pretending not to be sick. Fortunately, my mom is preoccupied with getting ready for work and preparing our lunches, so she doesn't pay strict attention to my condition.

So far so good.

I collect my things and head out. As I open the door, the sun blares right at me so I cover my eyes with my hands and take a few steps forward to get into the shade. As soon as I remove my hand, I jump out of surprise at the sight of Seungkwan.

“Yah! Are you trying to kill me?! What are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry! I just..” He trails off and leads me into confusion.

“You just…?”

“My mom!” He screams frantically, and I jump in surprise again. “My mom also knew about you getting sick, so she asked me to accompany you to school to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, well, she really didn’t have to. I’ll send her a text that I’m alright-”

“No!” He screams again.

“Seriously! Why do you keep screaming so early in the morning?!” His agitated state isn't exactly helping mine, and the never-ending screaming is starting to make me lightheaded again.

“I’ll do it. I mean- you don’t have to send her a text. I’ll tell her myself later. Don’t. Send a text.”

“Okay, alright!!”

I turn towards the direction of the school and start walking. He quickly follows and walks beside me.

Trying to make small talk, he asks me, “Are you feeling better today?”

“Yeah I am.” Well, technically, yes I am better. I didn’t say anything about feeling totally okay, so I’m totally, technically, not lying.

“That’s good,” is all he says.

He doesn’t make further small talk and we make our way to school in comfortable silence. Even if we hadn’t maintained a close friendship all these years, I can never feel uncomfortable around Seungkwan. Somehow, he always knows when I am in need of a cheery conversation, or time to be left alone. He also supports me in any endeavor I take on, like running for class president, and school council president. He even went as far as taking Soonyoung and Seokmin to the crafts store, buying materials to make a ton of banners and posters for me. I thanked them by treating them to Chan’s grandmother’s restaurant.

As we arrive in our classroom, our arrival makes some commotion.

“Oh? Class president, hello! Seungkwan-ah… hello to you too.” Soonyoung greets, adding a wink for whatever reason at the end.

As we walk to our seats, I feel lingering eyes following our every move. I look back and see Seokmin and Soonyoung whispering to each other. I raise a brow at them, and turn back to my seat shaking my head.

“Sorry about Soonyoung. I guess he missed you.” Seungkwan says beside me as he settles on his seat. “We all did…” He adds.

Wonwoo and Jiheon approach me asking about how I was and if I was feeling better. I fed them the same remarks (not lies) as I did Seungkwan. Wonwoo looks at me accusingly but decides to brush it off and keep to himself. If I don’t want to be sent home, I should really look out for Wonwoo. He might smell my bullshit about being okay from a mile away.

I made sure to bring a lot of water, using the big jug my mother uses on family trips. And also, to avoid Seungkwan offering his, and ending up infecting him. After all he’s done for me, I really don’t want to do that to him.

I excuse myself and head to the restroom to take a pain reliever, so a headache wouldn’t come over and torture me during class. After doing just that and trying to get myself together, I head back and continue as normal.

At lunch, Wonwoo and Jiheon eat with me. As I open my lunchbox and pause, both of them point at me accusingly, “Aha! I knew it! You’re still sick aren’t you?”

I guess my reaction, or lack thereof, to seeing my lunch was a dead giveaway that I don’t feel so up to par. Usually, I would get excited and eat right away, leaving no crumbs for Jiheon to steal.

“Ugh, but I feel better now. I promise!” I beg, mostly to Wonwoo. “Help me here Jiheon, please?”

“Sorry, I’m with Wonwoo on this one. You’ve been overworking yourself these days and coming to school today will just make your fever worse. You need to rest. It’s okay to, y’know?” She says.

I lean back on my chair, any appetite I even had, gone. I appreciate my best friends’ worries, but I really can’t afford missed days. But maybe they’re right. I can rest, and if I push myself harder I’ll miss more school days than I should.

Wonwoo pulls out an all-familiar slip and pushes it towards me. A clinic slip, all filled out and ready for me to bring. “We’re only worried about you. It’ll be better anyway if you were here in perfect, healthy condition, than physically being here but your mind—no offense, helpless.”

I take the slip and put it in my pocket. And since I don’t have any appetite, nor will I be in the classroom, I offer my lunch to Jiheon, which she accepts excitedly. Wonwoo shakes his head.

I leave the room and head to the clinic. On the way, I really start to feel my fever taking a toll on my body. What even possessed me to leave my bed and get ready? I should have stayed and slept all day.

When I get to the school clinic, they take my temperature and quickly assess that I should be sent home (again) for better recovery. Nurse Yang tells me she’ll ask someone to bring my stuff over for me.

After waiting for a bit, the sound of the chimes by the door brings my attention to Jisoo who is wearing my backpack.

“Thanks, Jisoo.”

“No problem. Though, I’m kinda jealous.” I smack him square on the shoulder. Nurse Yang gives us a side-eye glance. “Kidding. Obviously.” He heads out the clinic, but not before shouting, “Get well soon, our president!” I chuckle at Jisoo’s antics. “Sorry about that.” I tell Nurse Yang, to which she only shakes her head at.

“Your mother says she’s near, you should go to the gate now. Get well soon, dear.”

“Thank you, Nurse Yang. Hopefully you won’t see me back here anytime soon.” I really, genuinely, hope that.

I meet my mom, who is visibly mad, at the school gate. As soon as I get in the car, she gives me a lecture. I drown it out, and use my headache as an excuse to nap, even for a bit.

As soon as we get home, she orders me to stay on the couch for dinner and to drink some ginger tea. Even though the couch might not be as comfortable as my bed, I still snuggle in and nap.

The sound of the doorbell wakes me up. Despite being just a few feet away from the door, I refrain from standing up to get it. I know my family understands my current sickly state, and they will likely get it themselves. I hear the door open and my mom’s delighted gasp.

“Ah, Seungkwan!” I jolt upright and check if my ears heard that right. I look at the door, and there he is, right outside, holding a paper bag and smiling sheepishly at my mom. I contemplate whether I’m dreaming or not, but with Nari tapping my chin, I guess I’m not.

“A fly might go in, Unnie.” She teases then runs away before I give her one.

Seungkwan greets my mother back. “Hello! Just wanted to drop by again and give this samgyetang Eomma made. I also just wanted to check if…” He points at me, on the couch, “…is okay.” He smiles, and waves at me.

“Oh! How kind of you Seungkwan. Come in, come in!” My mom ushers him hurriedly inside, and takes the paper bag from his hands.

She looks at me pointedly, “Make some space for him!”

Seungkwan, alarmed, quickly blurts, “Oh no, it’s okay! I can just stand here...”

Despite his protests, I move my legs off the couch and move off to one side. I look at Seungkwan, who has a look of horror (and a bit of shame) on his face, and pat the very vacant seat beside me.

“Seungkwan, it’s okay. Lying down for so long isn’t great anyway.” I reassure him.

“Well, I won’t be here long. I just wanted to check if you were okay. But also, I felt a bit guilty that I didn’t notice that you were sick this morning.”

If I thought my head pounding was painful, the rapid and loud beating of my heart in my chest is quickly overshadowing that pain. Kind, charming, sweet seat mate and friend Boo Seungkwan, who offered me his water bottle [despite the fact that he can’t get a refill throughout the day], dropped by my house afterwards to give me a basket of tangerines, came to my house early in the morning to accompany me on my way to school [even if he was closer if he were to walk from his home], brought homemade samgyetang, and now says he feels guilty for not noticing I was still feeling sick. I think I might just melt into this couch, actually.

Thinking of nothing to respond, I switch the subject and ask him how his family is doing.

“They’re doing pretty good. My sisters miss seeing you. They always liked you ‘cause they could dress you up and talk about girl things I probably can’t understand.” He laughs.

“Well, I miss them too. Being an elder sister to Nari makes me want one too. I’ll make sure to visit when I get better.”

To that, he merely nods. We’re left in awkward silence again. Running out of things to say, I impulsively invite him over for dinner.

“Oh, no it’s alright, I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

My mom overhears him and quickly excuses him (more like begs him with pleading eyes), “No, Seungkwan. It’s alright. We would love to have you over for dinner! It’s always just us three, so another would make great company.”

“Eomma’s right, Kwan.”

Kwan. The nickname again. I silently hope he doesn’t notice. And instead of dwelling on why it felt so natural to call him that, like in the old days, I beg him to stay.

“It’s the least we can do for all you’ve done for us, for me. The visits, the tangerines, the samgyetang, your water… Please stay.”

He looks at me to my mother, in deep thought. He fumbles with his hands, and I take notice of how slender and pretty they are. He takes a deep breath as he answers, “Okay.” My mom cheers and shouts my sister and I’s names, telling us to set the table and help her in the kitchen.

“Let me help!” Seungkwan says loudly, standing up from his seat.

“No.” We say in unison. Seungkwan gives up and sits back down with a huff.

During dinner, the atmosphere in our cozy kitchen is delightful, with lively conversation filling the air. A table for four, an antique lamp hanging right above our heads, and a lit candle on the counter. Seungkwan seamlessly fits in, right here beside me, engaging in cheerful chatter with my family. As we lock eyes occasionally, we can't help but share sheepish smiles.

In the middle of Seungkwan telling a story of how his sisters dressed him up for Chuseok last year, a sudden and powerful thunderclap reverberates the room and takes us all by surprise. Nari drops her spoon in surprise and latches on to our mother. As my mom consoles her, I look over at Seungkwan and see him deep in thought.

Oh right, he still has to go home.

“Oh, that must be the rain. Before it gets any stronger, I should probably go…” He says, looking down, afraid to disappoint my mother.

Out of concern (and concern only), I butt in. “What if it gets stronger as you’re walking home? Even with an umbrella, the walk home will still be pretty dangerous.” My overthinking self proves to be quite resourceful at this moment in concocting excuses, even though, in reality, it's not even raining yet. Despite that fact, I continue, “It’ll be better to wait it out, here, where you’re safer.”

I look to my mother in hopes she would agree with me. Her brows are raised but she relaxes them back as soon as I nudge mine for her to interject.

“Oh, yes. Agreed. Definitely. It’s time we took care of you, don’t you think?”

We all look to Seungkwan. An uneasy expression settles on his face. So, to assure him that he isn’t overstaying his welcome (I don’t think he ever can), I place my hand on his arm and smile softly.

“Please?” I squeeze his arm a bit. “I don’t want your family to get mad at me anyway for sending you home drenched.”

He chuckles and places his hand on top of mine. It’s warm. Where is this heat coming from? My fever? My naturally sweaty hands? My hand being sandwiched by his skin? The candle? Or maybe, it has something to do with the loud, fast rhythm my heart is going.

“Okay, okay. You convinced me.” He says out loud. His hand still on mine.

As dinner ends, my mother tells me to put on a movie in the living room to pass time in waiting out the rain. Seungkwan and I make offers to help with the dishes, but my mother is sure she can handle it and doesn’t let us forget that, actually, I’m still sick. Seungkwan, as if hit with this revelation, looks to me with shock as if he had also forgotten why he had come in the first place.

He rushes us back into the living room, settling on the couch, and picking a movie to watch.

“How about that one?”

“The Mimic?! Are you serious?! I’m sorry but no.” He says to me, as if very offended.

“But they said it’s good!”

“How about this one instead?”

The Lover’s Lake, flashes on the TV. I look to him in surprise. I should’ve known he was a rom-com guy.

“See, look. 5 star ratings! This is definitely the one.” He says excitedly. With this much excitement coming from him , I find it impossible to say no. He celebrates shortly, then stands up to dim the lights, setting the perfect mood, and then settles back down, wiggling around to find a more comfortable position. And this said position seems to be at a spot closer to me than he was previously.

I have this thing where, if the movie is good, I tend to instantly fall asleep. And that is just what I did. My eyes were getting heavy about just 20 minutes in. I had felt myself slowly leaning onto Seungkwan, and continued doing so until my head rested on his shoulder. He had not said a word about it, and continued to watch the film.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but he had leaned onto me too. Though, I wouldn’t be so sure about that as I had drifted off to sleep by then.

“Okay, now just pull the bunny ears you’re holding. Pull them tight.”

Following his instructions, I pull tight and successfully tie my shoelaces. His face contorts in delight and breaks out in a big smile.

“See! You did it! Not that hard, right?”

“It was hard.”

He laughs and picks me up in his arms.

Giving me a big smooch on my cheek, he tells me, “I’m proud of you anyway, my love.”

“Thanks, appa.” I say, and hug him tighter.

“Now go back down and show them.”

I run down the stairs excitedly. Today’s my 4th birthday and my family and friends have come to celebrate with me. There’s people towering over me everywhere. Finding my way to my mom to show her my recent feat, I maneuver through the crowd the best I can, but in doing so, I bump into someone.

“Ow, my head!”

As the voice screams out, I instinctively reach for the spot where we bumped, trying to figure out who I even bumped into.

It’s Seungkwan!

“Seungkwan!” He greets me back with the same enthusiasm, both of our pains ebbing away.

“Look!” I point to my shoes and he looks down to see what I’m even excited about.

His jaw drops a bit at the achievement usually only 6 year olds can achieve. “You did those?!”

“Yep.” I say with a proud smile. He continues looking at me in shock and he looks down at his shoes.

Velcros.

I laugh heartily but stop immediately when Seungkwan looks back up at me with an annoyed face.

In an attempt to make him feel better, I ask him if he wants to go get sweets with me. He puts up a bit of a fight before agreeing, but says yes anyway as if it was his last resort.

I take his hand in mine as we weave through the crowd towering over us. He squeezes my hand every now and then, when someone bumps into him and he’s lagging behind, afraid I’ll leave him behind. I tug on his hand.

After what felt like the world’s most grueling journey, we arrive at the kitchen. The sweets are on the counter, but they are really, really high up—way beyond our reach.

Seungkwan and I share a look.

He gives me a nod and I return a look of confusion. He nodded at me like I knew what he was about to do, or that we’ve been through this a million times. He really needs to stop watching those spy movies.

He leaves for a moment and comes back with a stool. As he takes a step on it, it wiggles a bit and I clutch onto him immediately. I look up at him and he merely says, “Oops.” I furrow my brows at him in annoyance.

“Let go of me! I’m so near!” He whines while gently pushing my forehead.

I sigh in defeat and let him go.

He takes another step, both feet on the stool. The added leverage enables him to see the array of sweets on the counter, which, judging by his reaction, is a pretty damn lot.

“Woah! There’s bungeo-ppang, chocopie, songpyeon, and-” He pauses and lets out a gasp.

“What? What is it?! Tell me!” I beg, tugging on his shorts.

He looks at me to create suspense, and then screams in glee, “HOTTEOK! Our favorite!”

In utter surprise and excitement, I pull my hand away from Seungkwan and start applauding. But it seemed like I did it too quickly, causing him to lose balance. From the first wobble, I start screaming his name repeatedly.

“Seungkwan! Seungkwan!” I say it repeatedly, and too fast, that by some point (yes, at this point he is still pretty much wobbling, putting up a good fight) all anyone would hear is, “Kwan! Kwan! Kwaaaan!”

He falls.

I rush to his side and ask him if he’s okay. He stays on the floor, with his eyes closed. After a beat of silence, he starts laughing. I look at him in confusion, wondering if he hit his head too hard. Seungkwan is now crazy and I have to say bye-bye forever.

He opens his eyes and stops laughing as soon as he sees my expression.

“You sounded so funny. ‘Kwan! Kwan! Kwan!” He says, mimicking my voice.

I smack him square on the shoulder.

“Sorry. Here-” He tries to sit up and hands me something. A single piece of hotteok. “Happy birthday!”

I take it from his hand saying, “Oh. Thanks!”

“What happened here?!”

We both look up in surprise at the horrified voice. It’s my mother.

In fear, Seungkwan starts apologizing frantically. “Sorry! We just wanted some sweets but I fell down. Don’t worry they’re still fine! I just got one hotteok though.”

My mom sighs deeply and helps Seungkwan up. She returns the stool from where it came from and reaches for something on the counter.

“Here. One for you, since you fought so valiantly for it.” She says, ruffling his hair. Someone from the living room calls for her. She gives us a smile and walks away.

Seungkwan and I exchange amused glances and burst into laughter. Amidst our laughter, I manage to take a bite of the hotteok now and then, only to continue laughing with my mouth full. Seungkwan playfully teases me, "You hotteok addict! At least wait for us to stop laughing!”

I smack his shoulder again, which seems to urge him to tease me further. “Hotteok addict! Hotteok addict!” He starts mimicking my voice and my rushed tone from earlier, now saying, “Tteokki! Tteokki! Tteokki!”

“What does that even mean?!”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. What does Kwan mean?!”

“Your name is SeungKWAN, stupid!”

“Kwan! Kwan! Kwan!”

“Tteokki! Tteokki! Tteokki!”

“Yah!” We both look at the booming voice, and see my dad towering over us with his brow raised. Seungkwan and I look at each other and nod. Then we start running away in laughter.

A loud thunderstrike jolts me awake.

Huh. My 4th birthday. That was the last time my dad celebrated my birthday with me, and the last time Seungkwan ever saw him alive. What a bittersweet memory.

I try to raise my head but feel a weight on top of it, stopping me from doing so.

My cheeks heat up at the realization. Seungkwan fell asleep too. And, he’s leaning on me.

In a state of panic, I try to make him more comfortable, but only lead myself to move my head and realize how stiff my neck is. I wince in pain which jolts Seungkwan awake. He looks around, feeling heavily disoriented.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you.” I say.

He looks at me with his mouth slightly open, his hair all floofed up in different directions, and a faint red mark on his left cheek where he was leaning on me.

He gains a bit of composure and says, “No! If anything, it’s my fault. Sorry for falling asleep on you. It must have been uncomfortable.” He scratches the back of his head, feeling a bit ashamed.

With no intention of lying, I agree with him. “Yeah, a bit. But it’s alright.” I say, laughing a bit towards the end to make him more comfortable.

“Well, it seems like the rain has stopped. I should head home…”

My mouth opens to say something, but the words seem to escape me, leaving me with a simple, "Oh."

He stands up to collect his things and prepares to leave. I stand and go to the door before he can, then Seungkwan appears in front of me.

I open the door and gesture my hand for him to step out first. He smiles shyly and heads out, with me following right after.

“So, uh, thanks. For coming by today. I really lo-liked having you here.”

“Me too.” He responds promptly. It seems to be a vague response so he adds, “Thank you, I mean. Thank you also for the great dinner and letting me stay for a while. Sorry again for… sleeping on you…” He looks away.

I laugh and tell him, “Kwan, you apologize too much y’know. Honestly, tone it down.”

He lets out a blissful sigh. “Well, I won’t keep you out here for too long. Goodbye.” He wistfully says, saying my name at the end.

“Goodbye, Seungkwan. I’ll see you in school.”

He starts walking away, towards his home, away from me. And for some reason, I wait. I wait for him to do something. Not exactly sure what. But I just feel like I don’t want this to end.

So I rush back inside the house and reach for something below the shoe rack. I run after Seungkwan, shouting his name.

Alarmed, he looks back immediately in shock. I stand before him tired and panting with my hands on my knees.

“What are you-”

“Here-” I hand him an umbrella. It’s pink and has flowers. “You should use this. Y’know, in case it- umm, rains again.”

He appears hesitant, almost ready to decline, but he stops himself and settles for a simple, kind, and gentle, "Thank you. You didn't have to do that.”

We stand in the middle of the street, just staring at each other with soft smiles. Just two people who have been gravitating around each other, now seemingly refusing to be apart.

He breaks the silence and says, “I’ll go now. For real this time,” while pointing a finger at me. We share a laugh.

Feeling a bit ashamed, I look down and say, “Sorry.”

“Ah, it’s alright.”

He smiles at me, and in response, I smile back and nod, silently indicating that I have nothing else to say to hold him back from going home.

“Get well soon, Tteokki.” He says, ruffling my hair. I say nothing about the nickname, like he did all those times before, and keep smiling.

Seungkwan finally turns back and walks towards the direction of his home, and I do the same.

Before I step inside, I can't help but glance back at him. Seungkwan continues walking with the umbrella hanging on his wrist, swinging it along with his arms. I keep my eyes fixed on him until his silhouette fades away.

With a sigh, I turn back inside, unaware that a certain round-faced boy had momentarily halted his walk and looked back, his thoughts mirroring mine. Just for a moment.

After an exhausting day of essentially doing nothing, I plop down on my bed. I fluff my pillows, get under my covers, and hold onto my teddy bear, hoping for the best sleep ever.

However, just as I close my eyes for about three seconds, I hear a notification sound from my phone. Unable to ignore it, I reach over to my bedside table and check the notification. The curiosity of not knowing what it is would surely keep me from sleeping soundly anyway.

It’s a message from my mom.

Confused, I swipe to open our conversation and see that she has sent me an image. It hasn’t fully loaded yet so I click on it and wait.

When the image loads, my heart starts beating quickly.

It’s a picture of me and Seungkwan sleeping on the couch. My head on his shoulder, his head on top of mine. My brows aren’t furrowed like they usually are. I look relaxed; at ease. I don’t look like I’m sick at all. And Seungkwan looks the same.

I zoom in behind us and see Nari smiling wide holding up a peace sign.

I shake my head and react on the picture with an angry emoji. Before I turn off my phone, my finger hovers over a button.

It doesn’t take much resistance from me to go ahead and click it, so I do.

Then a pop-up notification appears on my phone.

Image saved.

I smile to myself, then turn off my phone and head back to sleep.

Maybe I don’t hate being sick anymore.

a/n: loosely based on a dream I had of seungkwan! fun fact: that dream was the reason he ultimately became my bias T__T i miss u boo! Be well, always <3

#seungkwan #boo seungkwan x reader #seungkwan x reader #seungkwan fluff #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #svt x reader #svt imagines #seventeen fluff #kpop x reader #svt imagine #seungkwan imagines #seungkwan x you #seungkwan x y/n

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changingplumbob · 2 months

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Little Tiny Update

Details below the cut but trigger free version I was busy today and will likely be busy the rest of the week. I've got stuff queued but eventually there might be a few days gap. Please keep sending me the asks, I will get around to them when I can. Possibly be slower responding to things just because they take brainpower. Much love

Results of the vet visit for my fluffly sister, the cat, today (Tuesday) show she has kidney disease. My IBS nausea was intense all day and taking her there and back took energy. Tomorrow (Wednesday) I'm getting up early to take her in and they're going to flush her with fluids to try get better kidney numbers. Normally it would happen over 2 days but here our Thursday is ANZAC day so public holiday so vets closed. So I'm glad she won't have to stay there overnight, don't want her thinking she's got another long cattery stay, but it does mean a whole pile of busses tomorrow, thank the lord they let us take cats in carriers on buses here now. Then Friday it'll be another trip in for repeat bloodwork and discussion of how we can change her diet to help.

Probably still in a bit of shock, the vet was saying her physical examination looked good apart from her weight loss from her reduced eating. She has to stop the arthritis pain meds which I'm hoping improves her appetite. The vet doesn't seem to think we need to think about palliative care just yet thank goodness so fingers crossed we'll still have some time with her.

Friends what would really help me is if your posts contain pet illness (realistic illness not the ones that give them glowing red noses etc) or pet death you put a trigger warning and/or put the death below a cut. Scrolling through and seeing a cat passing on is not what I need right now, even if it is a simple sims representation. Obviously I can't tell you how to do your content but it would be appreciated.

#tw pet illness #tw is kept below cut

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rawritzrobin · 1 year

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The Waynes: Chapter 2

Title: The Waynes

Pairing: Mobster!Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: A bit of a nod to violence, but nothing descriptive. Somewhat signs of stalking?

Summary: Your mundane life changed the day a certain man walked through the doors of the bakery. You now had something to look forward to everyday.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter!! It was a story that really sat with me for a while. I’m still figuring things out as I go so updates wont be happening as fast as I would hope. Slowly, but surely!

Taglist (if I missed you apologies, I saw some that came through a long time ago that might not be on this list. Please comment if you want to be added and ill drop your name into this list asap!): @msghostface @khaylin27 @thequeenofbigmacs @escapism-r-us @orighami @neobreakmyback @bubbles-incorrect-yb @hypnobanditprofessorhorse-blog

Masterlist | Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Hi Stranger

The bell to the front door sounded, and your mood instantly shifted. Every day around this time, a certain tall, dark, and handsome man would come by and buy a couple of croissants. You smiled as you let your fantasies run wild for one second, imagining the handsome stranger whisking you away to a better place. You tried to push away the negative thoughts.

Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome was probably a taken man with your luck.

You weren’t really sure you would see him again after that incident with Randy. In fact, now that you thought about it, you never saw Randy again after that night. You wondered if he found another girl to harass. But it didn’t matter, he was out of your hair.

You quickly ran to the front to greet the customer, hoping it was your crush. You smiled when you saw the man with black hair and a white tuff. Jason was his name. You took a second to admire his suit. You were sure he was very well off. He always came in wearing a different suit, each of them specially tailored just for him. Probably some sort of finance man.

“Hi there.” You said cheerfully. “The usual?”

Jason looked up from his phone, where he was sending a quick message to his driver, and instantly smiled when he saw you. You still didn’t know that you were basically the only person he smiled for. You just assumed he was a nice man.

“Hey Doll. Of course. Can’t get enough of those croissants.”

Butterflies ran through your stomach as you tried your hardest not to blush when he called you Doll.

“Did you have a good day today?” You said making friendly conversation.

Jason tried his best to not flinch. He had just finished a semi intense interrogation with one of their suppliers. The team had intel that this man was feeding shipment info to the Falcones. He wasn’t exactly having the best day. But his mood always picked up when he saw the front of your shop.

“Eh, as good as can be. Can’t complain.” Jason said with a slight chuckle, he didn’t want to bring down the mood with his awful day. “And you?”

You gave a tired laugh.

“Nothing much! Just happy the day is almost over. It’s been pretty busy with the Holidays coming up soon. It will be really busy once Thanksgiving rolls around.”

“Got any plans?”

You shook your head, “No. My folks aren’t around anymore. So it’s just me.” You stopped yourself and looked down for a second. The Holidays were always a hard time, especially nowadays. Jason didn’t say another word.

You smiled, a way to distract yourself from your feelings. “It will be new years before we know it.”

Jason looked at you sadly. He kept quiet, not wanting to pry anymore today. He was secretly hoping that you would open up to him one day soon.

You finished ringing him up when you noticed a flash of red on his hand.

You gasped and pointed to his hand when you noticed it was a large cut. “Jason, you’re hurt.”

Jason’s eyes quickly shot to his hand. He chuckled nervously. There was a bit of glass that went flying when he threw the man into the mirror on the wall earlier. One of the shards must have nicked him. He couldn’t even feel the cut on his hand. His line of work tended to cause a lot of injuries to his body. Especially when they fought back. He had gotten used to the smaller wounds.

He pulled his hand away, trying to hide it. “Oh yeah, some glass broke while I was helping do some dishes at work today. Must’ve cut me and I didn’t even notice. It’s okay.”

You shook your head in disagreement. “No, it looks like it needs some medical attention. Wait here.” You said, quickly jogging into the main office. You turned on the lights and made your way into the back of the room. The red and white first aid kit sat in the corner. You picked it up with ease and made your way back to Jason.

You opened the door that allowed you into the front of the shop and ushered Jason to sit into one of the seats at the front.

“May I?” You asked, gesturing for him to give you his hand.

Jason hesitantly brought his hand up into yours. You examined it closely.

The cut wasn’t too deep. Luckily it wouldn't need any stitches. You turned away from his hand, still holding it in your left hand, and with your other hand, rifled through the first aid kit. After a few seconds you found what you were looking for.

You looked up at him. “This is going to sting a little.”

Jason nodded, merely focusing on how soft your hands were in his. He watched as you gently tore open the alcohol pad and slowly began to wipe it over his cut. He winced slightly, it hurt, but not nearly as much as his other wounds he had sustained over the years. Under his suit were more than a handful of scars from past jobs Bruce had him on. This scratch on his hand was merely another addition.

He looked up from his wound and watched you work. You were hyper focused on making sure everything was okay. After you cleaned the cut, you added some antiseptic to make sure the wound would heal fast. You finished up by gently wrapping up his hand in a fresh bandage.

“All done. It should heal within a few days. Just clean it once a day.”

Jason looked down at his hand, and then up at you. Your eyes met and you looked away once you realized he was staring, hoping you weren’t as red as you felt.

“Thank you.” He said in a gentle voice.

You quickly cleaned up the kit, and made your way back behind the counter after washing your hands. Jason watched you move around quickly, but gracefully. Jason stood up as you closed the lid to the box.

“Here you go. They were fresh when you walked in.” You said with a large grin.

Jason admired you for a second. He had come over a dozen times to see you. Yet every time he saw you, he still got butterflies in his stomach. No woman has ever done that to him before. Girls threw themselves at him constantly at the club. There was something about you he couldn’t shake.

“Thank you. And thank you for helping me with my hand.”

“Of course! Happy to help.” You said looking up at him once more. Your eyes met once again, and the world stood still for that one moment.

“Well I better get going.” Jason said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I'll see you around.”

You smiled and waved him out the door. You looked down sadly, your favorite time of day over, when the door chime rang once again.

“Wel…” You began to say, when you noticed it was Jason. “Jason, did you forget something?”

“Uh no. There was actually something.. Something I wanted to ask you.” He said, nervously.

You didn’t notice as your heart began to beat faster and faster. Did you cross the line today? Was this him coming in to tell you that he had a girlfriend and to stay away from him? The possibilities were endless. “What is it?” You asked, nervously.

Jason couldn’t believe he was doing this. He could count the number of times on one hand he had ever asked out a girl. That number was one, when he was hitting on Babs for fun when he was younger. He wasn’t even planning on doing this until he walked out the door. Maybe he should just tell her he changed his mind.

“I uh, I was wondering if you had any plans tomorrow night?” The words managed to slip out.

Your eyes widened, you were not expecting that. “Um, no. I work early tomorrow, so I should be done by five.”

Jason’s excitement grew, with that his confidence shot up. He had one of his men follow you around for a bit. He wanted to make sure you didn’t have a boyfriend or husband of some sort. He was relieved when his spy came back and gave him the good news that you were single. It actually came from your own mouth when he overheard you telling the bakery owner that you were “Sadly, going to be single forever.”

Still, even with that information, Jason was nervous.

“Would you want to go have dinner with me? There’s a new restaurant in the diamond district. I got invited to a pre-opening, and I have a plus one.” Jason held his breath waiting for your answer. Just 30 minutes ago he had a man begging for mercy at his feet. Right now, he felt like the tables were turned.

You weren’t sure if you heard what you thought you heard. Was this really happening? Maybe you were dreaming. But if you were, you didn’t want this dream to end. Your lips turned up into a smile as you nodded excitedly. “Yes. I would love to.”

The weight of the world seemed to just disappear off Jason's shoulder all at once. He could not be smiling any harder. The butterflies in his stomach were going crazy. “Alright. Cool. Um, do you live nearby? I can pick you up around seven. That should give you some time to go home and change.” He said as he pretended to not already know where you lived.

He was a Wayne. The Waynes knew everything and everyone in their neighborhood.

“Yeah, not too far. Just a ten minute walk.” You looked around the counter for a notepad. You reached for the large one near the register. You quickly wrote down your address and phone number. “Here.” You said handing it to Jason. You were blushing quite hard now.

Jason took the piece of paper with a wide grin on his face. “Okay, I'll see you tomorrow at seven.”

“Sounds good. See you then.” You waved Jason goodbye once more. Once he was out of sight, you pinched yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

“Did that really just happen?” You mutter to yourself. Your mouth twisted up into a smile.

The smile on your face never faltered. Not as a rude customer threw a tantrum at the fact that you ran out of sweet cream horns two minutes before closing. Not as you spilled the leftover whipped cream all over the floor before locking up. Not as you walked home that night.

Jason, the handsome man you had been crushing on for weeks, just asked you out on a date. Nothing could tear you down. At least, for now.

A/N: It’s not much for now. But as the story progresses things will pick up. :3

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amethystina · 3 months

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A health update (and a general explanation of my long Covid)

So while I've been pretty open about living with long Covid, I realise I've never taken the time to explain what that actually means for me and my quality of living. It's a phrase I toss around but I can imagine it doesn't feel all that substantial to a lot of you.

So I figured that now that I'm feeling a bit better (more on that later) I should do so. Partly because I figure it will make it easier to understand why I sometimes have to disappear for weeks on end.

So, if you're interested, feel free to keep reading under the cut :)

But be warned: It's long and kind of whiny. But also ends on a high note! So there's that.

The first time I caught Covid was around Easter 2020, long before there were any vaccines, which meant that I was hit hard. But no matter how bad I felt during the illness itself, the aftermath has been ten times worse. I've been living with my long Covid symptoms ever since, so for four years now. They worsened for a couple of months when I caught Covid a second time in February 2021, but have otherwise held pretty steady during those four years.

A lot of people experience different symptoms with their long Covid and, sometimes, they'll change as the weeks and months go by. I actually had a very interesting couple of months during 2022 when my sense of smell just went completely whack and everything suddenly smelled differently than it should. Like, I could be smelling an apple but it did not smell like an apple. It was a weird time in my life.

Anyway. My most common symptoms are fatigue, fevers, joint pain, brain fog, memory issues, incoherent speech, and lowered blood circulation.

(The latter actually kickstarted the Raynaud's syndrome I have on my mother's side so now I struggle with fingers and feet that will occasionally go white, bloodless, and completely numb at random intervals. Fun times)

The fatigue and fevers are the worst by far. For the past four years, I have had exhaustion fevers between two to five times a week. Or every single day if I'm unlucky. It's very much tied to how much sleep I'm getting, how well I'm eating, and how many taxing things I do each day. I need eight hours of sleep to be functional and anything less than that will most likely mean I'll end up having a fever before the day is over.

Unfortunately, I've always had issues with my sleep so, on most nights, I don't get eight hours even if I try my absolute best. Sometimes it's because I wake up too early and can't fall back asleep and, sometimes — because my life sucks — it's because my fever is so high that I can't fall asleep. Cue the endless cycle of too little sleep and fevers.

Because one of the main issues with these exhaustion fevers — and what makes them so difficult to manage — is that there's no way to lower them. Medicine has no effect whatsoever. Once I have it, I just have to suffer through however many hours are left until I can sleep and hope that it'll be gone in the morning. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't.

And every day my energy level gets just a little bit lower and the fever a little bit higher. Some days, all I can do when I get home from work is to lie on the couch and stare at the wall because I'm too tired and in too much pain to even watch something. And, again, no amount of medicine helps.

It continues on like this for a while and, every third or fourth month or so, the strain eventually becomes too much and I fall ill. My body simply shuts down from the continued stress and exhaustion, to the point where I can barely get out of bed. And, usually, I can feel it coming. On top of the fevers, I start coughing, then get a headache, and then my nose gets stuffy. And, by that time, I know I have about two to four days before I get sick. It's so accurate that my coworkers have learned that when I give the sign, they have to tell me whatever tasks they need to be finished within the near future since I'll probably be out of commission for one to two weeks.

But I eventually recover, go back to work, and so the cycle starts again. And again. And again. And again.

For four years.

All of this has, unsurprisingly, affected my quality of life to a pretty significant degree. I can barely work, let alone spend time doing any of my hobbies. I can't really travel anymore and, if I do, I'll get sick from the exhaustion. Even the 50-minute commute to the office (which I have to do three times a week) usually results in a fever before the day is over.

This inability to travel was how I ended up missing my maternal granddad's funeral. My shitty relatives didn't tell us the date for when he would be buried until there were only two days left and even if I could have put myself on an overnight train to get there, I knew I would be in no shape to actually be at the funeral if I did. So I couldn't go.

I did go to sit with my paternal grandmother as she was dying but, as expected, I got sick and couldn't return to work for a couple of days afterwards.

I also have to skip most birthday celebrations and any events happening on weekdays since I'm usually too feverish or won't manage the required trip to get there. My life has shrunk so much I barely recognise it anymore. I don't recognise myself. I used to be one of those people who could do a million things at the same time and somehow complete all of them. I was firm, organised, and efficient.

And now I'm not.

(... or, well, technically I am — at least compared to many others — but not compared to how I used to be xD)

Point being, a lot of things have changed and I don't like it. But, with that said, I'm also well aware that I'm lucky to be alive and I'm fortunate enough to have a stable job and a roof over my head. So, all things considered, I'm still doing pretty well.

But I also can't lie and say that this hasn't affected me in a deep and fundamental way. My life has changed and, right now, I don't know if it'll ever return to what I used to consider normal. And dealing with that knowledge — and the grief and fear that comes with it — hasn't been easy. I have cried ugly, self-pitying tears over this many, many times. It's frustrating to have no control over what my body does and to constantly have to be careful of what I do so I don't exhaust myself. I am furious that this happened to me.

But, after four years, there's also a certain amount of acceptance. And while I'm annoyed by my new limitations, I try my best not to feel too sorry for myself. Instead, I try to adapt as best I can, even if I might not always do it gracefully.

That does mean that I sometimes push myself more than I should, though. Because, if I didn't, I wouldn't never produce anything. As depressing as it is to admit, everything I've given you in the past four years has been while I was sick. I don't think a single chapter I've written or drawing I've made has been untouched by this. I've become an expert at writing, editing, and drawing even with a fever.

That doesn't mean I regret it, though — quite the opposite. I think that if I hadn't had a reason to write and draw, I would have felt even worse. A lof of the time, the excitement I feel when I'm able to post a chapter or show off a drawing I've made has been the highlight of my week. It's an accomplishment.

But, that said, it's still hard. Writing in particular. It requires a level of brainpower I can't reach when the fevers are too bad. And so, sometimes, I just can't. I literally just can't.

And, back in January, as I was trying to edit chapter 39 of Who Holds the Devil, I honestly pushed myself too hard. I was so determined to finish it that I didn't let myself see just how bad I was feeling — not at all helped by how emotionally draining the content of the chapter was.

It was only once I finished the chapter and posted it that I realised how absolutely wretched I felt. Not because of the chapter itself, but my lack of compassion for myself, I guess? Because the fevers were bad, I was barely sleeping, and I was both mentally and physically exhausted. And, what was worse, I realised that I was displaying depression symptoms I hadn't seen in over ten years.

All of a sudden, I got annoyed as soon as a minor inconvenience appeared. Everything people said to me was dissected into its tiniest component. I feared that people were secretly hating me. I couldn't meet people's eyes anymore when I was talking to them. I didn't realise I was just sitting there, staring at a wall, until several minutes had already passed.

And, as the final nail in the coffin, I stopped talking about how I was feeling.

And that, right there, is my last warning that I need to do something — always has been, ever since I was a teenager. When I clam up completely, refusing to admit to the people around me that I'm feeling bad, that's when I'm about to spiral.

So, the very next day, I went to my boss and told her that I'm getting burnt out and I need to do something NOW or this was going to turn ugly real soon. Thankfully, my boss is amazing and, after a doctor's visit, I was put on partial sick leave. Right now, I'm working six hours a day instead of eight and, let me tell you, I'm thriving.

Or, well, as much as I can while still having long Covid.

I'm almost angry at how much better I feel because, if I had known, I would have done this a lot sooner. I actually have energy now! I've only had a fever about four times in a little over a month! That's insane! It used to be four a week!

So yeah. I'm feeling better than I have in a long time. The downside is that the partial sick leave is still only temporary and there are no guarantees that I'll be able to keep it. Though, if need be, I'll just have to ask my boss to rewrite my contract and change the amount of hours I work because, man, I don't ever want to go back considering how much better and happier I feel. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I feel like I've gotten my life back. It's not quite the same as before, but close enough to it that I kind of want to cry again — but happy tears this time.

And so I've spent the past couple of weeks just... living? When, before that, it felt like I was merely existing. I've been drawing a lot since that helps with the depression symptoms (which are almost completely gone, thank god) but writing has been harder. Possibly because I forced myself to do it during a time when I felt really, really bad and now I'm instinctively trying to shy away from it. But, since I know that's just my mind playing tricks on me, I'm going to give it another try this weekend. I want to write and I miss the stories I'm working on. And, hopefully, since I'm feeling a bit better, I can maybe get back to a more structured uploading schedule. But we'll see. As always, I can't make any promises.

But that's about it, I guess? I'm feeling better and, since I am, I've been doing a lot of things that I wasn't able to before (like taking walks — I take a lot of walks). And I'm still trying to figure out my new routine now that I work less. And while I still get sick sometimes (I am right now, in fact, due to lack of sleep on Tuesday night) I always find my way back eventually.

So yeah. If you've read this far, thank you so much for your patience 💜 I admit that I don't really enjoy writing things like these since it feels like I'm whining — I was very much raised not to take up space or complain when things are difficult (an unfortunate side effect to being the middle child with two disabled, high-maintenance siblings) — but I also prefer honesty and transparency. And I feel a little guilty since there are times when I've given pretty harsh responses when people question why I'm sick all the time or why I don't upload chapters as often as I used to, but without actually explaining why. So I guess it's time to be honest?

And the truth is that I've been constantly sick for the past four years. Not only due to my long Covid, but also the emotional and psychological toll of all the loss, grief, and pain I've been through. These past four years have been rough.

But I'm not saying that to gain pity or make excuses. I actually think I've done pretty well considering just how hindered I've been. I've improved my drawings so much and have written... god knows how many words. I'm honestly kind of scared to check xD But it has to be over 600k by now, maybe closer to 700k.

I think my only regret is that I haven't been able to engage with you all to the extent I would want. I wish I could be a more active and enthusiastic participant in fandom — to seek you out, hold conversations, and give you all even a fraction of the attention you've given me. I feel like I don't offer you nearly enough.

But I also know that I have to accept my own limitations. So, for now, we'll have to settle for whatever I can give, even if it's less than I would want. But I will keep on creating, trust me on that, because I'm stubborn as fuck and even if my pace is slower, I'm still determined to finish what I start.

And that's the note I want to end this on. I have suffered, yes — more so than I may have expressed to you all — but I've still managed to create some beautiful things. And while I mourn who I used to be and the fact that some of you have never known me at my best, I don't think the me I am right now is all that terrible. Do I want things to change? Yes, definitely. But do I want to change the choices I've made and the things I've accomplished in the past four years? No, I can't say that I do. I'm proud of what I've done, especially considering my limitations.

And, if you're reading this, thank you so, so much for your kindness, compassion, and support. Some of you are old friends while others of you are new, but I am grateful to every single one of you. You have made these past four years more bearable. You have made it easier to keep fighting. You have made it worth it.

Thank you 💜

#Amethystina and Life #I don't really know what to tag this as #A rant?#A rambling?#An explanation?#It's just a lot I guess #And I admit I'm still hesitating whether to post this or not #I don't like talking about things like this #Or draw attention to it might be a better way to put it #But yeah #It's here if you want to read it #But do so at your own risk #Now I'm going to bed #And might just pretend I never wrote this because I feel awkward and embarrassed x'D

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turtleblogatlast · 8 months

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okay so just so you know, im literally in love with your prison!leo au, yesterday i spent like over an hour scrolling through the tag and i think i read every post at least twice (more for the comics). its combining ‘prison dimension has permanent effect on leo, and not just mentally’, ‘immortality angst’, ‘object or place having a form of sentience’, AND ‘leo is somehow made significantly younger than his brothers which very much changes their dynamic without him wanting it to’ all into one which is just amazing.

i love how you combined comedy and tragedy very well!! like, for example the idea of leo being mistaken for the youngest brother, than a son, then a GRANDSON, is kinda funny for a second, but when you think about it for more than a couple seconds its also. really tragic. this poor kid may never be able to fully grow up - not only is he likely going to outlive his whole family but hes also permanently in the body of a child, lacking a fully developed brain and maybe never having the full maturity of an adult (at least in path b, until hes able to find a ‘cure’, if ever). its just. so good!!

anyways aldjsldkksld enough of the gushing (i mean i could keep doing it for like two thousand more words, but if i did it would probably devolve into keysmashes at some point from the Grip this au has on my brain). i am curious, what would happen if leo got sick? i know you mentioned that things like a common cold wouldnt really affect him that much, but what about one of those sickness is that leaves you pretty delirious/feverish and can take you out in a matter of a week? (could be a type of mystic sickness or curse as well, where you don’t know if the victim will survive or not and the only option is to wait it out.) what would happen? would they sort of just decide that its better to find a way to temporarily kill him so his body could regenerate as new, or would they try to take care of him and see if they could wait it out, since i imagine it would be the only time he’d really let his family take care of him in that way. thats all assuming his body wouldnt just automatically find a way to heal the separate curse and he’d be well again within an hour (still not fully sure as to how his healing works, sorry!)

anyways, love this au and im going to be obsessed with it for the next Month thanks

[ cw: discussion of murder / discussion of mercy kill / risky behavior implied / ]

Omg I’m

So touched???

Thank you for enjoying my AU so much, it really makes me happy to hear this :’) This whole AU was thought up exactly because of my interest in the concepts you mentioned - particularly the one regarding the Prison Dimension having a permanent and visible effect on Leo.

I know I haven’t updated it in a while, but I am still working on it and have even finished drafting the next comic, I can’t say when I’ll finish it but this ask definitely pushed me to work on it more so thank you so much <3

As for your question- it depends! In most regular illnesses, Leo would get over them very quickly, only experiencing the briefest brush with the symptoms before his body throws it away, if that. If the illness is mystic in nature then things get a little more complicated, as you’re right in that it could potentially end up as an endless loop of the first part of whatever weird sickness he gets. So if the illness is something that instantly affects you in the worst ways, and it’s something you just need to ride out until it leaves…that can potentially be harmful. Of course, it needs to be a powerful illness to bypass the prison’s curse to that extent though. …then again, maybe something would prefer that for him, should it appear beneficial :)

As for whether the fam would decide to just…’reset’ Leo to get rid of the illness…that’s a tough one. It really depends on how long Leo’s been back, and even then, it’s not something they’d just do, it’s hard for them to even imagine really. More likely, a sickly Leo would merely try to find a cure himself in his delirium, and end up ‘reset’ along the way.

I hope my wishy washy answer was enough! And really, thank you so much again for the kind words, they mean a lot :’)

#p!l au ask #prison!leo au #murder implication #mercy kill implication /#risky behavior implied /#I swear I’m working on an update!#path A has turned out to be very hard to come up with a solid introductory comic for but I believe I finally got it 👌#anyway- ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️#I still love my boy and his undead self to death #even if path b kinda makes him very sans Undertale esque at times lolol I swear it wasn’t on purpose

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kimbappykidding · 8 months

Text

Other Parts: Part One and Part Three

The next morning Soobin wasn't speaking to Yeonjun or any of the members really. He shut himself off from them entirely and was with Grace every second he could be. At lunch, he went to a separate room where he could call her. He stopped coming home after work and went to her place instead. He even stopped taking the same car as his members and drove himself everywhere. The management team were getting frustrated and nothing Yeonjun would say would get Soobin to change his behaviour. So Yeonjun came to you. When Yeonjun showed up at your work you knew it must be bad. So you went to the cafe together on your lunch break and he explained everything to you. "So what do you want me to do?" you asked and Yeonjun frowned "talk to him, I think you're the only one who he will listen to". "Are you kidding? I'm the last person he'd speak to". Yeonjun shook his head "y/n I think he pushed you away because you're the person most capable of getting him away from Grace and he's scared of that. Not to be dramatic but you're our last hope". You sighed but of course, agreed to help. You arrived at the company building and watched Soobin from a distance. You could instantly see the bags under his eyes and the weight he'd lost. He didn't look happy and it pained you to see him this way after everything. It took Soobin a few minutes to notice you and when he looked at you he did a double-take. You waved offering him a small smile, your heart hammering in your chest in case he walked away and rejected you...but he didn't. Soobin waved back and smiled. Your heart soared and you hated how happy such a small gesture made you feel.

"I heard you were recording here so thought I'd stop by...you know to wish you a happy birthday for next week". Soobin paused and then smiled "you remembered?". "Of course I did!" you replied "are you doing anything nice for it?". Soobin shrugged "I'm not sure yet but I bet Grace has something special planned". You nodded "yeah totally...how have you been anyway?". Soobin smiled but it didn't meet his eyes "I'm fine, just been super busy with work but things have been great. How are you?". You nodded "I've been okay". Soobin frowned "just okay?". You shrugged "yeah you know just with the season it can feel kind of lonely sometimes". You saw guilt pass over Soobin's face as he realised he was probably a big reason for you feeling lonely. "Y/n I...I want to thank you for being so respectful and listening to what I said". You nodded "of course, I listen to you Soobin and if you tell me you want something then I'm not going to ignore that even if I don't understand!". Soobin froze and you wondered if you'd said the wrong thing when he replied "would you like to grab a coffee with me?". You and Soobin ended up talking for nearly 3 hours in a cafe around the corner. You had so much to catch each other up on but it also felt like no time had passed at all. You'd missed him so much and the feeling was apparently mutual. "I missed this" Soobin said and you nodded looking down "me too". Soobin was quiet before he spoke "well I think you've proven you have no ill will towards me and Grace so I don't see a reason why we can't start hanging out again" Soobin said and your head snapped up "really?". Soobin nodded "yeah, maybe not every day like we used to but I don't see why we can't once a week or so". You smiled "that sounds great" and Soobin nodded "yeah it does". You worried when you told Yeonjun what had happened he'd be disappointed but he was thrilled. "Y/n this is brilliant!" he told you on the phone and you laughed "it is? I thought you'd want more". Yeonjun shook his head "Y/n I know Soobin is stuck pretty deep so things aren't going to be fixed overnight but him talking to you again is a major step in the right direction. You have way more influence over him than you realise". You didn't agree but thanked Yeonjun for contacting you and promised to keep him updated. You felt bad for not telling Soobin but agreed that this was for his own good. So you and Soobin started hanging out again and despite his once-a-week rule you meet up on his lunch breaks or after work often. You quickly realised he hadn't told Grace you were friends again. You knew you should've pushed him to tell her but honestly, you didn't want to lose him again so you stayed out of it. Soobin's birthday rolled around and the second he said Grace was pretending to forget to surprise him you got a bad feeling. Soobin was not the type to leave hints so it was very likely she had just forgotten and had nothing planned. Yeonjun thought the same thing as you and you were willing Grace to remember but she didn't. You texted Soobin on the morning of his birthday wishing him a happy birthday and he replied back thanking you. You left him alone during the day figuring he might have things planned and texted him again in the evening asking how he was. He didn't reply and Yeonjun said he was out of the dorm which made you wonder if Grace had come through. Then just as you were heading to bed there was a familiar knock at the door. You opened it to see Soobin standing there with red eyes "she forgot Y/n, she forgot my birthday" he said and you quickly pulled him inside. "She said she was going out with her friends which I figured was a front but then as she started getting ready I was less and less sure until she actually left. Then she called me asking me to bring her purse which she'd forgotten and I figured that was it! So I got dressed up and came to the place only for her to yell at me for taking so long and snatch the purse from me without saying goodbye. She forgot Y/n" and he began to cry again. You hugged him and patted his back while he cried it out. Once he'd stopped crying he went quiet and that worried you "Soobin, you doing okay?" you asked. He looked at you "is something wrong with me? Why doesn't she like me back?". You shook your head "nothing's wrong with you Soobin!". "So why isn't this working? I've put everything into this relationship but I just keep feeling her drifting further and further away from me". You frowned "sometimes things just don't work out no matter how much you try. You of course have to put effort into any relationship but it should feel natural and receptive too". Soobin sniffled "I just don't know if there's even any point in trying with Grace anymore". You had no idea what to say. You knew Yeonjun would want you to encourage this but you didn't want to hurt Soobin any more than he already was. "Y/n what do you think?" Soobin asked and you decided to be honest. "I think Grace doesn't deserve you. I don't think she treats you as nicely as you treat her and that's not right. You're one of the kindest most giving people I know and you deserve to be loved. Relationships should be equal and built on respect and trust, not power and hurt...but I know you care for her and I'd never want you to do something you didn't want to do. So that's my opinion as an outsider looking in but I'm here for you no matter what". Soobin was quiet for a while and you worried you'd offended him when he nodded "thanks y/n, I don't know what I'd do without you and no matter what I'm not avoiding you again". You smiled "that's such a relief to hear" and Soobin smiled at you. The two of you stayed up watching Soobin's favourite movie before going to bed. You called in sick the next day to spend more time with Soobin celebrating his belated birthday and parted in the afternoon when Soobin had work. "Thanks Y/n" he smiled "you really made this a good birthday". "What are best friends for?" you asked and Soobin nodded. You told Yeonjun what had happened and he was convinced Soobin was going to break up with Grace. He apparently showed up and greeted them all cheerfully and was back talking to them all again. At dinner, he ate with them and didn't look at his phone once. After work, he went home with them and seemed a lot more relaxed. You began to hope too that this was a good sign but the next week when you met Soobin at the cinema he was still with her. You couldn't help a little digging and asked how things were with Grace. "They're okay" Soobin admitted "I did what you said and I've stopped trying as hard. I'm letting things come to me instead of trying to force them". You smiled "I'm really pleased for you, that sounds so healthy". Soobin nodded but didn't say anything so you changed the subject. Things definitely felt different but you knew better than to hold out hope so you ignored Yeonjun when he said the breakup was imminent. Then out of all the things wrong with their relationship, you were the reason they did break up. You were at the guys' house for a movie night when Grace showed up. Soobin invited her (much to the members’ dismay) and she agreed. Then she walked in and saw you. She actually stopped in her tracks and stared. "Hi Grace" you said feeling awkward and she just smiled at you looking pained. You could tell she was pissed by how she wouldn't speak to Soobin the entire night. She was watching you constantly and wouldn't really reply to any question you or the guys asked her. After about half an hour, she asked Soobin if they could hang out in his room instead. When he said no she stormed away and after waiting a few seconds he went after her. You heard the argument that followed and your name came up quickly. "Yes I've been hanging out with Y/n but you know what I'm not going to apologise for that. She's my best friend and I will see her when I want to". The guys had to stop themselves from cheering when Soobin said that and you were so nervous to hear Grace's reply. Things went quiet and then you heard yelling. "You can't pick he'd over me I'm your girlfriend! You will never get anyone like me" followed by smashing. Yeonjun jumped up "Beomgyu get the front door" and swept into Soobin's room. "Grace I think you should leave" he said and she stopped mid-smashing Soobin's stuff. "You'll have to drag me out kicking and screaming!" she yelled and Beomgyu nodded "we can do that". They actually did have to carry her out and lay her gently down on the floor outside. She banged on the door for a while before leaving. Yeonjun told Soobin to turn his phone off and he did. Soobin was understandably out of it for the rest of the night but you all looked after him. The guys all assured him he'd done the perfect thing and you tried to make him feel better. "Y/n I think you should stay over" Yeonjun said "I just don't feel good about you walking to your car". You went to disagree when Soobin nodded "stay over". You relented and then argued with Yeonjun for 10 minutes about who should take the sofa. Again Soobin ended it by asking if you stay with him. "I just don't want to be left alone" he said and so of course, you agreed. When everyone decided it was time for bed you followed Soobin into his room. He let you use his bathroom first and there was an awkward air between you. Neither of you mentioned what had happened but you knew you'd have to eventually. When Soobin came back from the bathroom and sunk into the other side of the bed you looked at him. "I just wanted to say thank you...for standing up for me back there with Grace". Soobin looked down "you're welcome but you don't need to thank me. I never should've let her decide who I can be friends with anyway". You nodded "how are you feeling about the breakup? We don't have to talk about it if you don't want but we can if you want". Soobin sighed "I just feel embarrassed". "Embarrassed?" you asked and he nodded "yeah...that I couldn't make it work". You shook your head "that's nothing to be embarrassed about. You tried your best that's all that matters. It's better to try and fail than to not try at all". Soobin shrugged "it doesn't feel like it right now". You placed a hand on his arm "it will don't worry. You won't feel like this forever and things will get better". Soobin watched you for a few seconds before nodding "okay Y/n". You smiled "so do you want to watch something for a bit?". Soobin nodded and put on a tv show he knew you liked. You settled down together to watch it and Soobin kept glancing at you. Everything you had said and even what Grace had said was on his mind and he wondered if they'd all been right. Should he have been with you all along? "Y/n I was wondering..." he started when he realised you were asleep. You looked so cute asleep he smiled. He turned the tv off and made sure you were covered by the blanket. "Night Y/n" he whispered. He'd leave that discussion for another day...maybe.

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