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misshoneyimhome · 3 months

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If you don’t feel comfortable writing this then that’s fine but I had this idea: being married to William and after you have your first baby (for context maybe like a year and a half into being married) you’ve struggled a bit emotionally in general but also with confidence bc of how different you feel like you look. William has been the most supportive and has not let you dwell on the physical changes bc he still thinks you’re beautiful. You’re about 6 months post partum and William decides to take you on a little getaway with the baby taken care of by your parents. While on vacation you’re both able to reconnect and William just really wants to make you feel good and it’s just a lot of soft and slow sex. Like it somehow feels better than how you remember.

Oh bb, you can hit me with all the dad!Willy requests you want - I'm not entirely sure what I'm not comfortable writing about in this context 😉

I know body changes can be a sensitive subject, but I believe it's also important to discuss - pregnancies are wonderful, but they can also bring a lot of challenges 🤰🏼

Anyway, I hope this aligns with what you had in mind and you enjoy it🤍 「Dad!Willy x reader」

Warnings: post-pregnancy sadness, reference to sexual activity, mild smut, soft unprotected sex (p in v);

"Tu stasera, vedi, sei perfetta per me" = Darling, tonight you're perfect for me

[Inspired by 'Perfect Symphony' by Ed Sheeran, ft. Andrea Bocelli]

Word count; 3.3K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

"Tu stasera, vedi, sei perfetta per me" I William Nylander [Dad!Willy]

Everything felt different now. Everything was different now.

Not necessarily in a negative way, but it just wasn't the same anymore. Although you were aware this was how it was going to be, you still felt somewhat taken aback by it all. Since the off-season last year, you'd been mentally preparing for this, preparing for the new lifestyle you and William would face together, and the new chapter you'd begin. Yet, nobody can ever be entirely prepared for when reality sets in.

The weather was lovely. Spring had arrived, and the hockey season had left its mark with the intensity to prepare for the playoffs. And as the sunshine filtered through the curtains of your bedroom, you couldn't help but admire the little bundle of joy in your arms.

It had only been two weeks since Eliot had entered the world, and you were more than overjoyed by your new role as a mother. Additionally, you couldn't help but be emotionally moved by the fatherly role William had embraced.

You knew it had been challenging for him during your pregnancy, not fully experiencing the fatherly kicks. But his teammates had been nothing but supportive, and the fathers of the team had gone out of their way to help him ease the nerves and not worry too much.

And truly, there was no need for concerns. Though he may not have felt the fatherly kick during the pregnancy, as soon as Eliot saw the light of day, William showed nothing but love and affection for his first-born son.

It had been incredibly emotional for all of you when he first held him in his arms, and William had sat bare-chested with him on the stool, a tear streaming down his cheek in sheer joy.

It had been so beautiful.

However, as soon as you returned from the hospital and slowly began to settle in with the newly added member to the family, a sudden unexpected feeling of sadness rushed over you. Something you hadn’t thought much about during the so-called wonders of pregnancy: the changes to a woman’s body.

Of course, you knew what you'd endured for nine months: weight gain, swelling, increased water levels, nausea, headaches, stretch marks, back pain, knee pain, all sorts of discomfort. But every time you talked to other women about pregnancy, they all kept mentioning how great you looked, how well you were doing, and what a glow you carried with you. Everyone always talked about the wonders and miracles of creating a new life, yet nobody liked to discuss all the awful aspects of it. All the downsides and terrible emotional days that came along with it. And most of all, nobody talked much about how your body was going to change after giving birth.

It was as if no one would ever speak negatively about having a baby. It was always portrayed as roses and glitter, yet you knew the truth. Sure, you loved your pregnancy and how smoothly it went—especially considering how many people struggled with conceiving—but to be honest, Eliot was a result of two young adults driven by desire, finally having the chance to indulge in uninterrupted sex during the off-season from hockey. And although you knew there was no contraception involved, which you had both agreed to, neither of you could have imagined that after four drinks and two shots of tequila in Southern France, William could still manage to ejaculate twice in one night.

Despite the romantic circumstances of a vacation in Saint Tropez, the reality of being in the hotel room next to Stephanie was less so.

Yet here you were, cradling your precious son in your arms as you attempted to rest your still tired body. While William was at training, you were simply trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible at home. Then, as Eliot finally drifted off to sleep, you carefully attempted to lay him down in his crib, ensuring he was settled before quietly moving about with the baby monitor in your hand.

However, as soon as you stepped into the bathroom, your eyes fell upon your reflection.

You didn't know how long you stood there. All you knew was that you couldn't help but stare at your figure. The body that had once exuded sexiness, providing you with the confidence that had attracted William when you first met. The body that you had worked on and trained for years, and of which you were proud. It had been with you through all your dietary changes, indulging in too much junk food, enjoying delicious dinners with wine and cocktails, and most importantly, it had carried your baby.

You knew you were strong, as every pregnancy book stated. A woman's body was resilient. But what they didn't mention was how depressed you could feel when you didn't feel as attractive as before your pregnancy. You didn't even recognise yourself anymore. And you weren't sure how to cope with it.

Just the idea of William touching your new body was almost repulsive.

So, as you had done many times before, you would simply shake your head and go to great lengths to avoid looking in mirrors.

However, William did not share your feelings. In fact, quite the opposite.

Perhaps it had been because of all the chats his mother Camilla had forced him through, making sure he understood the importance of being there as a partner during this time. You were sure she’d even given his way too detail sexual education just to make sure he knew what you were putting yourself through for him and this family.

But regardless of her input, William still thought you were beyond beautiful. If now not more than ever. You had been stronger than he ever could be, grown a life he could now call his son, and brought him to the world while he was half panicking by your side.

To him, you were amazing.

Yet he sensed your sadness every day that followed the birth of Eliot. And despite his bests effort in trying to remind you just how wonderful and amazing you were, his words seemed to fail.

Even the other mothers on the team, Amanda, and Sana in particular, who’d been by your side through it all when the boys had been on the road, were trying to comfort you. They knew exactly what you were going through. But nothing worked.

Despite your smiles and giggles out in public, a boiling uncertainty and vulnerability lingered under the surface. And it was made clear to William how bad the situation was, when he tried to touch you, and you were quick to throw him off.

In the beginning he just though it was because you were embarrassed by the changes it had caused for your core. But then, when he even tried to gentle and simply caress your body in the shower, you couldn’t even stay there and be naked with him.

And it frightened him. Not only were you no longer you bubbly self, happy and cheerful at all times, but you were also in this state of depression because of something he’d done, the choices you’d made together. The decision of having a child.

It was painful. Witnessing you in distress for weeks and months, unable to do anything about it, crushed him.

It wasn't until the off-season when you spent the summer in Sweden with William's family that Camilla suddenly pulled him aside.

"Willy, my dear," she began. "Have you talked to y/n about how she feels?" she inquired one evening, while you were playing with Michelle and Eliot.

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken worry, as William's gaze shifted to meet his mother's. And in that moment, the floodgates of his own apprehension opened, releasing a torrent of fears and doubts that had long been simmering beneath the surface.

"I've tried," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know that... she hasn't been herself lately. But I just don't know how to help her."

Camilla's hand tightened around his, a silent reassurance amidst the storm of uncertainty. "Sometimes, my dear boy, the greatest gift we can give to those we love is simply our presence," she said, her words a beacon of wisdom in the sunlight. "Be there for her, Willy. Listen to her, support her, and above all, remind her that she is not alone."

William couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort from his mother's words. Yet as he continued to observe your forced smiles on your wonderful lips, his heart sank a little deeper.

And that's when he had a new idea.

William knew how much you loved Italy, especially the food, wine, and music. It had always been a dream travel destination for you, and having only been there once in your life, he thought it was time to revisit and create new memories in the wonderful country.

You needed some time away from your life in Toronto. So, with a bit of planning and assistance from his family, since planning wasn’t usually William’s strong suit, he managed to arrange a small trip to the homeland of pasta and pizza.

Furthermore, he even coordinated with your parents to look after Eliot while you were gone. Although he understood it would be difficult for you to be away from your baby for almost a week, he believed it was best for the two of you.

So, two days before departure, William revealed the surprise to you.

“Babe, we can’t just leave like that,” you exclaimed, your voice filled with concern and excitement. “What about your training? The season is about to start…”

William chuckled, loving your concern for his sport. “Don’t worry, I've sorted it all out with the team. Besides, I’ll make it back in time for the season start,” he reassured casually. “Baby, you need this. We need this. And that’s way more important right now.”

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, his eyes sparkling as he expressed his love and concern for you. Eventually, you nodded and flashed him a sweet smile.

Initially, William had planned to surprise you on the day of departure. However, knowing you would need time to pump and provide breast milk while away, he decided it was best to give you a couple of days to prepare.

With all preparations done, you were more than ready to enjoy your little getaway, just the two of you.

Florence was the flight destination, but the true paradise you were retreating to was a small semi-private luxury bed and breakfast a few hours outside the city. With a quaint restaurant where the hosts served local specialties, food courses, and only the finest local wines. The pool boasted a view over the beautiful countryside, filled with olive fields and vineyards, and outside the resort, small trails led through the gorgeous nature Italy offered.

Given the stress you both knew the new hockey season would bring, you spent most of your time simply relaxing in the warmth, enjoying the refreshing pool water, and indulging in the best Italian cuisine you'd had in years.

William had truly outdone himself this time.

From the moment you arrived, he devoted every available minute to showering you with love and affection. Though initially hesitant to touch you too much, he gradually caressed your smooth skin, gently exploring more and more until he felt you relax under his touch once again.

It wasn't easy for either of you. Despite William's efforts to convince you that your post-pregnancy figure was amazing, it took you two days before you felt comfortable wearing your swimsuit. And when he saw your wonderful curves, his eyes lit up like a bonfire. But what truly convinced you about your new physique were the compliments from the Italian mamas working at the small holiday destination.

"You had a baby?" one lady remarked on the third night during a late dinner. Completely taken aback by her sudden remark, you simply nodded. "You, beautiful woman. Strong! I can tell…" she added with confidence.

"See, I'm not the only one who thinks so," William chuckled lightly, flashing you his signature smirk.

"Of course, she bella donna!" another lady chimed in. "She is Mama! She made a miracolo… men? Hnf, they cannot do – no, only woman can be real strong."

And it was just the confidence boost you needed.

Listening to the words of the Italian women slowly made you realise that you should never be ashamed of your own body and skin. You had given William a son, and now nature proudly flaunted what you had been through.

William hadn’t seen you smile like this in so long, and he was beyond happy to finally hear your wonderful natural laughter again.

And after finishing tonight’s amazing dinner, retreating to your room and enjoying a refreshing shower, William was caught off guard by your soft voice.

“Willy…,” you almost whispered as you stood in the middle of the vacation home, and William slowly approached you. “I want you to touch me…”

It was a gentle plea, devoid of any neediness or desperation. It was delicate and timid.

“Are you sure?” William inquired, his chest nearly touching yours and his breath within reach.

And gently, you nodded, dropping the small towel that had wrapped your body. With your eyes meeting his, you slowly traced your palms up his torso and delicately wrapped them around his neck. “Yes, I need you…”

William couldn’t suppress a smile as he admired your beautiful features in the golden light of the setting sun on the horizon. Your eyes had found their sparkle again, and gently he felt your warm body against his.

It was as if you were falling in love all over again. Like experiencing your very first kiss when William leaned down to close the gap between you and gently connected your lips.

And immediately, you melted into his touch. Like a magical spell, you felt a pleasurable sensation course through you, an enchantment only William could evoke. Your knees went weak for him as his large hands cupped your face and deepened the kiss.

Your hands rested on his bare chest, almost feeling his heart beating, mirroring the rhythm of your own heart for him. Amidst the sun setting and the darkness of night slowly enveloping you, you allowed yourself to be guided by William. Onto the mattress, he carefully hovered over you, his lips always remaining connected as his tongue explored your mouth.

Your fingers found the lengths of his locks as you relished the feeling of his body against yours, his arms on each side of you as you connected deeply and passionately. Soon, you felt his member slowly growing firmer in his shorts, pressing against your inner thigh, and a strangely familiar sense of arousal building up within you.

Your cunt pulsed with anticipation, craving the attention it had been deprived of for months, and William was more than eager to satisfy it.

With his own throbbing length hard and proud in his shorts, he felt more than ready to be intimately close to you again. Breaking the kiss, he slowly discarded the only fabric separating you, and very carefully, he let his member brush against your core. His eyes locked onto yours, searching for a reaction, where he was met with your soft, sweet moans. Your fingers lightly tugged at his hair as you bit down on your lip, signalling your desire for him to be inside you.

Which he gladly obliged. With great care, William let the tip of his cock find your entrance, slowly pushing it in and stretching your walls in a way that was familiar to both of you. For a moment, he held still, relishing the sensation of your muscles around him and the soft gasps escaping your lips. He couldn’t help but admire you in the dim lights, taking in all your beautiful features, before delicately starting to move his hips in slow motions.

The lovemaking was slow and gentle, romance filling the air under the starlit sky and moonshine. With each tender thrust, every moan that escaped your lips was filled with nothing but love.

As he slid his cock in and out of your core, bringing you pleasure and stimulation, you both felt connected once again. Feeling the heat, the sparks igniting between you as you both drew closer and closer to climax.

Deep breaths were shared between hungry and sloppy kisses, both eager to reach climax. William's hands clenched the sheets with every thrust, feeling your muscles clenching around him, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. After months of no sex with you, he felt himself in desperate need of release.

And he wasn’t alone. As your hands shifted to find his shoulder blades, your cunt pulsed as you were on the verge of orgasm. And when William increased his speed just a little, you knew you were about to surrender. Digging your nails into his skin, you closed your eyes, arched your back into the pillow, and with a loud moan, you let the orgasm wash over you.

It was one of the most wonderful orgasms you’d ever experienced. Finally in touch with William again, bringing you pleasure, you were in a state of bliss. Your mind was foggy, breaths heavy, and a small smile formed on your lips as you came down from the high.

Meanwhile, William was on the brink of climax. With a few more powerful thrusts, he let out a deep grunt, followed by heavy breaths, as he released himself into you. It wasn’t nearly as intense as the climaxes he’d experienced with you before, however, given how long it had been since you'd been intimate, this felt beyond amazing.

To you, it almost felt even better than you remembered it prior to your pregnancy.

And as you both calmed and regained your breaths, William pulled you into his sweaty body for an aftercare cuddle.

"Was it okay?" he spoke gently, finding your expression in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

"It was amazing, Willy," you replied with a soft whisper, your eyes shimmering as they met his.

William couldn't contain his satisfied smile, finally able to enjoy your happiness again. "Good, baby, you're so amazing and beautiful. You're the most wonderful mom our son could have… you deserve the world."

You chuckled softly at William’s sweet words. You knew he meant them, coming straight from his heart, even though it hadn’t always been easy for him to verbalise his emotions.

"It’s all because of you, Willy. You bring out the best in me," you offered him a sweet smile, letting the comfort of his arms envelop you.

"No way… you’ve always brought out the best in me, babe, believe me," he chuckled as well. "To me, you’re just perfect… don’t you ever forget that."

A wave of sweet content washed over you as you absorbed every praise he had to offer. There was a soft moment of silence where you both simply enjoyed the relaxation and the soft Italian air coming through the curtains.

But then you softly broke it. “Although… we probably should have used protection, Willy…”

"What do you mean? We never use protection…"

"Well, exactly," you chuckled lightly. "I could get pregnant again…"

"Wait, you can get pregnant already?" he asked with sincere curiosity.

And you couldn’t contain your amusement. “Of course, babe!”

"Even when you breastfeed?"

"What? Yes, of course, Willy! Even when I breastfeed. That’s just a myth… honestly, don’t you know anything about a woman’s body?" you playfully asked, but William simply responded with another chuckle.

"Well... I do know a thing or two," he flashed you a mischievous grin before pulling you in for another deep kiss.

#my asks #dad!willy #wn88 imagine #william nylander imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl hockey imagine

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hikikaimar · 3 months

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BULLETPROOF LOVE

[dazai osamu x gn!reader]

‘it was the best time of my life, but now i sleep alone’

in which dazai is forced to ruin the only true love he’s ever had.

genre: angst

content warnings: mild language, description of being poisoned, death

NOW PLAYING:

bulletproof love 01:53 ━━━━●───── 02:04 ⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılı ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮

we used to laugh until we choked, into the wasted nights…

you two were in your backyard, drinks in hand, starry sky glowing, laughing the night away. this was a moment you never wanted to end, but since you couldn’t freeze time, you’d cherish it. cherish his bright, infectious smile and melodic laugh, his warm hand on your thigh, squeezing it for support as you two found escape in each other, able to have a time where you could be yourselves and not have a care in the world.

the taste of you and me will never leave my lips again, under the blinding rain…

you both were soaked, the rain causing your shirts to cling to your skin, an uncomfortable sensation. but neither of you could care less, not when you’d smashed your lips onto his as if the world depended on it. you could feel the initial surprise and hesitation, but soon enough his arms were around your waist, squeezing you with a warmth you’d longed to feel from him for years.

oh, the memories. those moments you would cherish forever. those moments that lead you here, seated at a nice restaurant, your senses occupied by the beautiful man sitting in front of you, the silk glove on your hand that your nails slightly rustled against as you reached for your almost empty wine, which smelled sweet like blackberries, the taste in your mouth still lingering from when dazai had kissed you mere moments ago, and the piano you could hear faintly in the background. as you finished the last drop of wine you had, a server came to hand you the bill, and soon enough dazai was walking you home. hand in hand, smiling in the comfortable silence, you eventually make it to your doorstep. after you bid him farewell, you notice you have a headache, but just ignore it, assuming it’s from migraines. you instead make way to your couch after you change into something comfortable, deciding to read.

at some point when you were sitting on your couch, you realised you felt much too abnormal to just be experiencing migraines. your heartbeat began to increase, your head was pounding, and your vision was just barely blurred. not to mention you felt like you had to puke, which is exactly what you did, though it was made difficult since your body felt as if it just gave up on attempting any movement. after your feeling of nausea was gone, you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, seeing the sweat on your face, bangs clinging to your forehead, yet you felt freezing. as you splashed water from your sink on your face in hopes of it making you feel better, you were wondering what happened. it was already obvious to you that you were poisoned, but when? and why?

then it hit you. no wonder dazai seemed a little stiff when you kissed him goodbye and said you’d see him later. you’d never be seeing him again. you sigh, getting one last good look at yourself before you walk out the bathroom. what does one do in their last moments? eat? watch tv? just sleep? write? actually, that’s perfect. write a note to…dazai? you might as well give a farewell to your soon to be ex-lover.

the poison was really getting to you now, you were barely hanging on. you write the last few words in your mind as you feel yourself fade out of consciousness, your loose grip on the gold pen and wobbly letters you wrote being the last thing you see.

it’s fourteen o’clock. dazai has been staring at the wall of his dim, unkempt room since eleven. he knows you’re dead. he knows he did it. he knows he has to go take care of your limp body at some point, and he’s been telling himself it’d be better to get it over with quick since he woke up at three am, thoughts of you haunting him. but luckily, hours of brooding was all he needed to finally think himself prepared to go to your house and face what he’d done.

as he approaches the all too familiar beige house, his steps slow down, trying to prolong his entry through your white door for as long as possible, scared. but eventually his feet guided him to your doorstep. he grabbed the key you’d given him months prior out of his pocket, turning it in the lock and hesitating before he opened the door. his eyes immediately spotted your body, and he wanted so badly to run over there and shake you and scream at you, in some hope that you may still be alive. but he wasn’t going to be delusional. he knew that wasn’t a possibility. not with what he’d slipped into your wine, the same wine he secretly hoped you’d maybe be suddenly repulsed by and ignore, unknowingly saving yourself. after he’s done staring at your corpse, he notices a pen not far from your limp hand. then he notices a letter. and it says ‘TO DAZAI’ in big letters on the top. he cautiously walked over to the letter, as if he was scared of it. and to be honest, he was. scared of what it’d say, scared of how you’d obviously figured out he poisoned you and how much you’d resent him for it. yet he still picks it up, eyes reading over it carefully.

‘by the time you’re reading this, i’ll already be gone. my love for you was bulletproof, so you used poison instead. you always did manage to find a way to do things. but i forgive you, and i'll always love you.’

dazai’s eyes linger on those last few words, wishing he could finally not be a coward and say them to you, show you the commitment you deserved. god, he was such a fuck up, he thought. as memories of you at your best, worst, and everything in between passed through his head, his eyes unwillingly glided over to your face, your closed eyes decorated with beautiful lashes and a perfect ray of sunshine. tears were begging to leave his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them. he didn’t deserve to cry over you, why would he? he was your murderer.

a/n: i think i cried writing this bro 😭 and i wrote this while i was watching oda die again so like i was ugly crying so hard, mascara running down my cheeks nd everything 💀 hope y’all liked this !! and i left the reason dazai had to poison reader unexplained on purpose, i might elaborate on it later tho </3

credits to @/saradika-graphics for dividers !! reblogs are appreciated :)

#𖤐��.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ kai’s fics 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#dazai x you #dazai x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #osamu dazai #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x y/n #songfic

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 1 month

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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine

TW: little bit of nsfw, BDSM mention, angst

You shouldn’t be googling ‘how to tell a guy no in a nice way’ at the nurse’s station, but something has to be done. You thought after you left Julian’s place that there would be a mutual understanding of “this isn’t going to work out, we’re too incompatible”, but he didn’t seem to get that memo.

The gifts just keep coming:

A pretty black silk dress in your exact size by Prada. Two crescent thin golden bangles for each wrist from Tiffany & Co that come in a robin’s egg blue box wrapped in a white satin ribbon. Upon close examination, you make out that they are subtly engraved in slanting script, JM. Really? His initials? You almost chuck them out the window just for that.

An expensive lunch from the fancy bistro that you can never afford, though you would have preferred a gourmet sandwich to an artisan salad.

A bouquet of fifty fucking red roses for Christ’s sake. They take up so much room at the nurse’s station that they’re a nuisance. They’re addressed to you, not signed—but you know exactly who they’re from. Then you have to field all the annoying questions about who’s your secret admirer? You hear Karen grumble that it must be that Officer Romeo and didn’t know cops got paid that good.

If only they knew. It would serve Julian right, if you just ratted him out to everyone.

This has to stop.

“Julian?”

He looks up from his mountain of paperwork. “Hey, look who it is. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine. How are you?” Yeah, great, egg this on a little bit more instead of getting to the point. When will you learn?

“I’m spectacular,” he says. “I was wondering if you were alright because you called off for the first time yesterday?”

Yeah, so I didn’t have to face you after receiving the expensive ass jewelry…

Your smile feels forced enough to induce a migraine, but at least it gives you an idea for an excuse. “Yeah, I had a really bad migraine.”

“Oh, that’s not good. Do you get them frequently?”

“Yes.” It’s not exactly a lie, although these migraines you’re admitting to are actually just mild caffeine withdrawal headaches when you don’t have enough time to drink your coffee.

“Have you talked to your primary care provider about it?” He asks, standing up to flash his penlight in your eyes and dilate your pupils. He grips your chin and turns your head to check lateral eye movement, but you stop him.

“Julian, I’m fine. I didn’t have a stroke.”

“Don’t tell me you’re fine if you’re not fine,” he orders. “I can see there’s something wrong. You're pale and clammy.” He pulls out his big leather chair and guides you to sit in it. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

You look up at him, at this kind eyed, two sided man, and can’t do it. You can’t tell him to stop sending you gifts or buying you food, because you don’t want to be an asshole and you don’t want to hurt his feelings. Your nerves die along with your resolve.

“There, see, you look like you’re feeling better already. I’ll go buy you some water.”

“No, you don’t-“ he’s already gone halfway down the hall with those mile long legs.

You decide to take all the expensive gifts and shove them in the bottom of your closet to avoid feeling guilty when looking at them. But that doesn’t change the fact that you still have to look at Dr. Mercer and endure his caring, golden retriever persona.

This is what happens when you lie to yourself. You swear off relationships, move to a different part of the country, and then decide to go on a date—idiot—and these are the consequences for it. You feel like you have absolutely betrayed that girl that packed up her whole life to come to LA for a fresh start, and you’re sure she’s not forgiving you this time.

“No more,” you say to yourself, pushing the gift boxes to the back of the cobwebby closet. “No more dates, no more men. No more heartbreak. You stupid bitch. Yes, that includes Tom Ludlow. Shut up. I said. No. Tom. Ludlow.”

You end up screaming into a pillow, then calling your sister. She doesn’t answer, which is typical—probably on the road or using again or even dead in a ditch for all you know.

“Hey, Aggie, it’s me, gimme a call.” You play the voicemail back and then decide to delete it and hang up. You’re not exactly on speaking terms, but that ebbs and flows from one year to the next, so you’re not sure what she’ll think or do when she sees your name on her phone screen.

Your friend, Sheila, doesn’t answer either; she’s probably at work.

It sucks. You could really use some reassurance and comfort that you’re not alone or unwanted in this fucked up little world. Maybe that’s why you end up with your finger hovering over Tom Ludlow’s number while you sit on the floor of your bedroom. You stare at those digits for a long time, then tuck your phone away and cry.

You only get a chance to dive a little bit into this self pity session before your phone rings from your pocket. It’s not Aggie, nor Sheila, but a number you’ve unintentionally memorized nonetheless.

Now, you really have to fight with every piece of yourself not to answer Tom Ludlow. The lecture you just monologued becomes irrelevant next to the burning, awful fucking desire to hear him talk. You almost pick it up. Almost.

Watching your phone ring and ring, his name emblazoned on the screen, without answering feels like cutting out your heart and crushing it under your heel.

It goes to voicemail, but he hangs up before leaving a message.

A part of you that you didn’t even know that you need dies.

Good. Good riddance. Your heart only gets you into huge fucking trouble anyway.

You wait for your inner strength to return over the days that go by afterwards. Tom continues to call. You keep declining to answer. For some reason, you feel worse and worse every time the phone ceases to ring.

Where is you fucking girl power now?

All you really feel, is empty, and that is the vulnerable state Julian finds you in one late night at the nurses station.

“Y/n,” he greets you, leaning on the counter, looking down at you with a glimmer of something dangerous in his dark eyes. It’s a look he almost never lets out of the box while at the hospital, and suddenly your heart is in your throat.

“Doctor.”

For some reason this causes him to smile down at you, a slight curl of lips that unleashes a handful of fluttering butterflies in your belly.

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

You recall the massive bouquet of pure white lilies he had sent to your door yesterday, and believe him.

“Julian…”

He comes around the counter, smooth as a dark lake, reminding you of when he jumped over the couch and chased you like he was a wolf rather than a golden retriever. Your pussy gives a timid little throb at this, almost as if she’s asking for permission to come out after days of being punished, locked away in her gilded cage while you dealt with other, more pressing emotions, like the one that stabs you repeatedly in the chest while you let Tom Ludlow’s number go to voicemail.

“I can’t stop-“ he clears his throat, chin up as if he’s trying not to be nervous, and brushes some wispy, rogue hair off your neck. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” You can tell by the black matte of his eyes he means more than just platonically.

Every hair on your body stands at attention for that hungry, eat you alive look on the handsome Doctor’s face. Part of you, and it’s a bigger part than you’d like to admit, wants to have a gag stuffed down your throat and a tight slip knot holding it in place so that he can do whatever he wants without you ruining things with your fat mouth again.

“We’re just. We’re really not—Fuck.” You slap your forehead into your hands, and he takes it out, ever so gently with a big, shiver-inducing palm at the back of your neck, gripped softly in your hair, not exactly pulling, but lifting your face up to look at him nonetheless.

“Please, just hear me out.” It doesn’t sound like he’s used that first word very often—maybe not ever, or at least not for a very long time. Dr. Mercer’s picture is in the dictionary under the word ‘Polite’, but he practically runs this hospital, and with that responsibility comes a certain authoritative entitlement.

“Julian, we’re at work.” You don’t know how he manages to get you on the desk without alerting anyone around. The way he can just lift you easy and gentle has a familiar desire bubbling hot in your hips, and you can’t decide if you’re glad that you chose to chart in a more secluded area of the floor tonight or not.

“I can’t help it.” It sounds like he’s honest about that, voice splintering and needy as he presses his hard torso between your soft thighs. “I know that I fucked up, but if I don’t get a second chance to at least try and rectify this…” He’s not usually a man that doesn’t know what he wants to say.

This whole swearing off men thing? How is it supposed to fucking work if the men look and act like Julian? How are you supposed to do the whole proverbial keep it in your pants bit when a sexy, tall, beautiful doctor wants—desperately—to string you up to his bed and do horrible things to your body?

You can’t believe these words are coming out of your traitor's mouth as you bend under his will: “what kind of a second chance?”

He kisses you in response, long and slow, tongue slipping teasingly against the sensitive inner sanctum of your mouth. It leaves your toes curling, your chest rising quick and rapid, your white knuckles clutching the polished counter. He’s not exactly nice about it, pressing you back into the lip of the granite, holding the entire side of your face in his hard grip, turning your mouth red and swollen.

You’re going to have to bleach wipe this desk after all of this is done, because the insistent need of his mouth is making your comfy cotton underwear damp and warm like a humid summer night back at home.

“Let me take you to the club. Let me show you…let me help you understand.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Isn’t that the fucking understatement of the century? It sounds like a terrible idea. But, you were the one that wanted to understand him better. “When?”

The thrill seeker, she’ll never die. She needs blood, she’s thirsty, she doesn’t want a boring life of reading and watching the news. She wants to go to a BDSM club in Venice with a fine ass doctor and probably ruin your—her life in the process.

“When are you off next?” The grin on Julian’s face is all Mr. Hyde.

#Julian Mercer x Reader #tom ludlow x reader #tom ludlow #street kings #keanuverse fic #keanuverse #something’s gotta give #Sorry spooky more Julian 🙂‍↕️

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yuri-is-online · 9 months

Text

A Step Behind the Curtain (Jamil Viper x Yuu)

He didn't know you then, but that didn't stop your kindness. If you were willing to go so far out of your way for a literal stranger what would you do if you were friends? How far would you go for someone you cared for?

Would you still want to wish him happy birthday?

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, stranger crushes, mild angst with the intent of comfort, Jamil deserves nice things. If you like this please check my master list here.

The first birthday Jamil had at Night Raven College had been painful. He had been looking forward to it initially, marked it in ink in his planner with the expectation that he would get to spend it alone.

When Kalim showed up he'd thrown away the whole book instead of re-arrange it. The thaumarks it cost to replace was nothing compared to the blow the Asim's continued to deal his pride. This year Kalim had agreed to keep from throwing any ostentatious surprise parties, but there was still the threat he would decide he knew Jamil's wants better than the man himself and do... something. If he was in a more reflective mood he might have noted that by "something" he really meant "anything," but the tension headache working itself across his forehead is preventing any thought other than a need for medication.

That he has conveniently run out of, it's all he can do to keep from grinding his teeth and making the pain worse. This is not the first time he has been grateful there aren't limited hours on the school's hospital wing, and it might not even be the last time today depending on what Kalim has planned. It is the first time he walks in on someone already sorting through the first aid cabinet, it stops him in his tracks and almost tricks him into pinching himself to make sure he's awake.

"Oh I'm sorry." The other student is just as surprised to see him, but they keep their voice at a three a.m. appropriate quiet. "Jamil right?"

"Right." He can't figure out if he has the right to encroach on their space, maybe it's the headache but he can't place the face anywhere. There is a funny feeling at the realization they know his name, different than when Azul says it but flavored with a similar worry as he opens his mouth to try and ask for his turn with the cabinet only to find they've somehow closed the gap with the tablets he was looking for in their outstretched hand.

"You were massaging your head." Is all they offer to soothe his confusion, turning towards their back pack to offer him an unopened water bottle before they turn to leave. He doesn't take the pills immediately, instead he finds his fingers curling around the packet and slowly trying to cover his heart with the illusion of their warmth. Their hands had been cold, but had he really touched them long enough to know that?

"Thanks." He means it, but they just shrug at him with a smile, as if they would do this for anyone despite somehow knowing his name.

"Don't mention it." Their name is Yuu, he belatedly realizes as he agonizes over what you're welcome would have sounded like from their voice instead of a dismissal of merit. As if sensing he wanted to hear more, they pause in the infirmary doors and turn to him with a smile he knows he could never afford. "Oh! It's your birthday right?" And before he can prepare himself they half sing "Happy birthday~ I hope it gets better." He drops the pills in shock but they're gone into the early morning air before he they can realize the flustered mess they've left.

Happy birthday. He bends to pick up the packet and downs the medication along with the fluttering feeling in his heart. There is no time to think about this now, for now he will simply hold onto the gentle calm they created for him. It can fuel his desire for a better life later, in the quiet of the petty realization that this year, Kalim was not the first person to wish him well.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper x yuu

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hiding-in-my-blanket-fort · 1 year

Text

A few fluffy headcanons, sprinkled with some mild hurt/comfort for Jake “Hangman” Seresin x GF!Reader with social anxiety:

Jake doesn’t get it at first. He’s used to having a lot of attention when he walks into a room and he uses it to his full advantage.

You try not to let it show because you don’t want to slow him down. And you definitely don’t want him to be disappointed in you.

So when you’re out with Jake and his buddies at a very crowded Hard Deck, and it feels like you can’t breathe, or the headache starts coming on, you disappear.

You think you can regroup before Jake notices you’re gone.

But that doesn’t happen. No matter how much Jake runs his mouth and puffs and preens, he still has one eye on you the whole time.

So he notices as soon as you slip out the door without saying anything to him.

He follows you out to the beach where you’re sitting, huddled up against the chilly breeze with your shoes off and your bare toes in the sand.

“Am I interrupting a romantic rendezvous with your secret lover?” he calls as he approaches with this smile on his face that melts you on the spot.

Because it just hits you that Jake is completely and totally out of your league and what the hell is he doing with you?

When you don’t reply, his smile falters a little. “This is the part where you say that I’m your secret lover and we can get the party started now that I’m here.”

You manage a very tired smile. “If it’s a party you’re looking for, you left it back there in the bar.”

Jake sits beside you on the sand, brushing his hand down the back of your head.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks softly.

For a few seconds, you don’t say anything, trying to convince yourself that you’re fine. But it all comes bubbling out that it’s so…much. All of it happening at once.

“I never know what to say. And I’m worried I’ll say something stupid and embarrass you. So I just sit there like a dumbass and I feel so fucking lost and out of place. But you…everyone’s eyes are on you but I feel like this stupid little wallflower. And I don’t want people looking at me but I’m not…I mean…I’m sure your friends think you’re way too good for me and they’re totally right. It’s just - “

Jake cuts you off by cupping your face in his hands. As soon as his broad palms, firm and warm, are pressed to your cheeks, you give a little sigh of frustration because sweet jesus, you love him so much but you’re afraid to lose him.

“Babe. Babe, slow down. Take a breath.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to compose yourself, shift your gaze to the sky, and begrudgingly inhale and huff an exhale.

“That’s better,” he says gently. “Now. Did someone tell you that? Did someone say I was too good for you?”

You shake your head and very quietly say, “No.”

“Then where on earth did you get that idea, sweetheart? You’re my girl. Mine. I don’t give a fuck what anyone else says or thinks. You don’t have to do a damn thing. You’ve already got me, hook, line, and sinker. Okay?”

As his words sink in, the exhaustion takes over and you melt against Jake. Your eyes droop closed and you sag into his hands.

“I didn’t want to let you down,” you whisper.

Jake looks at you with this completely baffled expression because he believes that’s literally impossible. You could never ever let him down. So he folds you into his arms, rubbing your back and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You stay like that for at least thirty minutes, more insecurities and anxieties bubbling up. Jake neatly and logically bats each one down in a way that encourages you to replace the thought with a better one of your own making.

After that, when you hang out in a social setting, Jake makes sure to hold your hand with a firm grip to keep you grounded and comforted.

The two of you also developed a series of hand signals that you used on everything from, “I’m tired and ready to leave,” to “Extra anxious today. Could you order for me at the restaurant?”

Jake often offers for the two of you to stay in on date night, instead of going out with friends. As much as you enjoy those days staying in together, you also make sure that you challenge yourself to hang out with his friends because it’s important to him.

You found out by accident that when you’re really overstimulated and shaky, you can nestle right into Jake’s arms, with your back to his chest and his chin resting on your shoulder. His body heat and his weight pressed against you feels like a weighted blanket (except it’s a 1000x better) which calms you down.

Jake is ALWAYS eagerly offering to be your human weighted blanket. “Happy to be of service, darlin’,” with that trademark smoldering smirk that makes you want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time.

Jake also understands when you prefer to remain in your corner solo. Since his presence draws attention, sometimes he’ll purposefully make a scene AWAY from you so that you can have some breathing room during social events.

After a social event, he knows the social hangover can be extra hard on you so he makes sure you both have down time. He sleeps in with you, holds you, naps with you, and makes sure to be extra gentle with you until you’re 100% again.

Masterlist

#top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin imagines #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #top gun maverick imagines #jake seresin imagines #jake seresin x reader #writing tag

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azulera · 11 months

Note

Rashy noticing that's something has been wrong with you for the last few weeks and you just won't tell him and he's stressing trying to figure it out

azulera

Don’t Leave Me Alone

Pairing: Marcus Rashford x Black Reader

Words: 3.5k

Notes: ngl recent events have made me not even want to post but i already had this done and as i said, i do value that ppl like my writing enough to send requests. so here is this! hope u like it anon

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

They'd picked the summer time to move in, late May to be exact, and Marcus was sure it was the smartest decision he’d ever been a part of. The prem season was ended, Y/N was out for the semester, they both had at least five weeks free to travel and relax, and there’d be no cold for the mover’s fingers to go blue in. The transporting itself had gone smoothly, each of her things finding its place in the huge expanse of his house, and the past month and a half of eating, sleeping and waking next to each other had been as nearest to perfect as Marcus thought life might get. So he couldn’t explain what, in the last seven days, could have possibly gone wrong.

“Is everythin alright, love?” He asked over the dinner table, which was sanded wood and brought over from Y/N’s apartment, much smaller than the one he’d used before.

She looked up from her plate and blinked. “Do you mean about dinner? I think I finally got the potatoes right this time, yeah.”

“No, not the food.” The side of his mouth lifted. “You’ve just seemed a bit down, this week, I don’t know. Just wanted to ask, see if there was anythin buggin you?”

“Oh,” She passed a hand over her hair. “Just tired, I guess. It was a rough semester.”

“Yeah, it was – you smashed it, though. But,” He paused until she looked at him, and was immediately taken by her brown eyes, which, unreadable as they were, he’d always found incredibly beautiful. “If anything’s wrong, you can tell me. I’d want to help.”

“Mhm.” She replied, and flitted her eyes away, pushing up from the table. “Let’s clean up?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t convinced, and stood up to take their few dishes to the kitchen. They rinsed and loaded in a silence not as comfortable as it ought to have been, and soon finished, Y/N pausing in front of the rumbling machine. From behind, Marcus pulled her into an embrace, fitting his hands around her waist and mumbling into her neck.

“Wanna come cuddle wi’me for a bit? We can watch the next Narcos.”

He felt her take a deep breath, and then lightly pat the hand that held her.

“I’ve got a little headache, actually. Think m’gonna lay down for the night.”

Marcus frowned. “You want me to watch the next episode? Without you?”

“Yeah, go ahead – I’ll get caught up when you’re on your trip next week. I’d just really like to lay down.”

Fatigue colored her voice, and Marcus felt a little more sure that she really was just under the weather, and not anything worse.

“D’you want me to bring you tea? Water? Medicine?”

She shook her head “no”, and turned around, another sigh hitting the fabric of his t-shirt.

“S’alright, then. Hope you get feeling better, babe.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then two to the dark spirals of her hair. “I’ll be up in a bit. I love you.”

A near silent “thank you” left her lips, and she squeezed his hand once. And then Marcus was left in the kitchen alone.

After a mild pre-season session the next day, Marcus skipped showering to go straight to his car. When he’d seen her that morning, Y/N had still seemed poorly – she hadn’t left bed for tea and breakfast with him, and no silly texts or memes had come into his phone, the way they usually did during his long hours of training. Leaving now, he'd felt a strange, strong urge to get to her, like the sooner he did, the sooner things would go back to normal.

When he keyed into the house, however, her usual lounging spot – in the center of the living room sectional – was empty. As were the kitchen, bedroom, gym and laundry room that he walked to after. He found her instead on the back patio, cuddled into herself on the sunbed, with her curls spread wild and loose about her shoulders. A book was opened up and settled on her knees, and a pile of crumpled tissues sat just to her right.

“Hey, was lookin for you.”

The jitters that assailed him finally began to slow as he approached her, but didn’t fade completely.

“What’s all these for? You wasn’t crying, were you?”

“No, no, not really. It’s just this book. It’s pretty sad.” She tried to laugh at herself, but the sound came out wet and dull. “Or maybe I’m just dramatic.”

A range of emotions swept over him as he considered her pink, puffy eyes, the way she still wouldn’t hold his gaze for too long. His anxiety flared again, but he continued on with the plan he’d devised in the car, hopeful that it might still work.

“Well, I’m just about to run a bath, didn’t have time to shower after training. It could cheer you up, maybe. Did you wanna join me?”

It’s something special they do, just for them, a quiet and closeness involved that Marcus enjoyed far more than he’d ever said aloud. He hoped it would be enough to break through the wall he felt sprouting between them.

“But you’re all sweaty.” She said flatly.

He sucked his teeth, and sat alongside her on the thin mattress.

“That never stopped you before? When we were squeezed up in the one at your flat.”

“Right.” Her face fell, suddenly, as if she’d remembered something unpleasant. “But I’ve already showered, actually, a bit ago. Went out for a run.”

“That never stopped you before, either” Marcus wanted to say but didn’t, and focused instead on fixing his face to not reveal his disappointment.

“Okay.” He stalled a moment, weighing his next move. “Babe, are you sure everything is okay with you? M’a bit worried–”

“It’s fine, Marcus. It’s going to be fine, just …” She closed her eyes, and they glistened when they opened, focused seriously on his own. “I’m fine. Just stop pushing it, please.”

She gathered her book and trash and walked back into the house, which hurt him, but her last sentences hurt worse. If he wasn't meant to push, then what could he do? Sitting back and watching her pull further and further away from him was tortuous and seemed the opposite of what a good partner should do. Still, he nodded, even though she had already gone, and let his head fall into his hands.

A few hours later, in the bath, the jacuzzi jets going but alone, nothing was as it should have been. Already he missed the slide of her wet skin against his, how the brown of it went faintly pink the hotter she ran the water, which was scalding enough by Marcus’ standards. Now it felt lukewarm at best, the bubbles even less fluorescent, less bubbly than usual, without her there to scoop handfuls of them to paste on his face and chest, making herself giggle and cleaning their bodies in the process. He missed that, too, he realized, her body – it’s softness and strength, and how easily it yielded and came alive under his hands, but more concerning was her mind, which was somewhere outside its optimal state, and seemingly getting worse by the day.

He leaned his head back against the tub’s edge and sighed. It was a soft sound, quickly lost among the hum of the jets and the noise of his muscles singing and thanking him, but then he heard something else. Crying. Quiet, choked-off sobs from the other side of the en suite door, that he knew Y/N was trying to hide, but didn’t know why. The sound alone carved a hole deeper in his chest.

Before he realized it, he’d risen from the bath, shampoo still in his hair, and pushed open the door to their bedroom.

Squinting through the dark, Marcus could tell she was in the bed, asleep, or at least pretending to be. He debated whether or not to wake her – his every instinct begged him to, but the noise of tears had stopped, and he’d been specifically, harshly instructed not to “push”.

He waited several moments anyway, eyeing her sleeping form, burning up inside, but when she didn’t budge, he stepped back into the bathroom, mindful of the growing puddle he’d created on the carpet.

Under the shower head, he rinsed his hair and dried off, putting on his lotion and moisturizer in record time, all the while his mind racing, trying to settle the unease twisting up his chest and throat. When he got to the bedroom, he set his alarm and settled in under the covers behind her, as close as he dared.

Though her breaths came and went evenly, something in him, maybe something of his own creation, told him she was awake, that she could hear him. He felt free to unburden himself, and say what he wanted her to know.

“M’here for you, Y/N.” He used one arm to hold her against his chest, and the other to fix her hair scarf where it had ridden up in the back. “Hope you know that. Whatever it is, we can … fix it, talk about it, at least, together. Love you ... don’t wanna lose you.”

He knew the words were true, and could feel their sincerity aching somewhere deep in his bones. But he feared he was running out of ways to make sure Y/N believed it, too.

By the following day, Marcus decided “not pushing” was no longer a viable option. Y/N was gone from bed even before him, and he turned to his night-table to find a message saying she’d gone out for an early run again and to get coffee. It wasn’t a strange occurrence on its own, but the way the last few days had gone, weeks really, this latest change to their patterns was enough to set him on a nervous edge. All through the day, his head was gone, drifting and distracted while training, and his thoughts sprinting to the worst - Y/N wanted to move out, she wanted to break up with him – in any moment he had idle.

But when his third check-in text sent from the rain-wet bed of the physio suite went unanswered, as did the two facetime call requests, it became slightly harder for him to breathe. The PT scrunched his face, but Marcus didn’t explain, wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak if he tried, and he’d been forced through two rounds of deep breathing before he’d let him off the table.

As soon as the gaffer released them, Marcus raced home through the rain that had begun to pour, calling one more time to no avail, but trying to stay rational. He imagined her sat in her spot on the big sofa in the sitting room when he arrived, apologetic and with some perfectly logical story of what had kept her from her phone all day, and what had depressed her mood the past few weeks.

He opened the front door, however, to silence, and her car keys still gone. His stomach dropped, and an icy, despairing prickle crawled over his skin. Was he overreacting? Or should he have pushed more?

Somehow he knew the rest of the house and even the back porch would be empty, just as silent, and found himself climbing the stairs anyway. His legs stopped by the room he used as his office, and he threw himself into the desk chair. He felt more calm, serious in there, for some reason, and composed himself enough to check her location, which was inconclusive, and click her contact another time. It went to voicemail once again, and he cursed, pulling at his hair.

After one heavy, frantic beat, he picked up the phone again to dial the only other number that would be useful at a time like this. The call picked up on the second ring.

“Mum?”

Marcus’ car had been in the driveway when you pulled up, but when you stepped into his house – your house, now – there wasn’t any trace of him. Late afternoon training usually left him in the kitchen or theater room, scarfing down whatever meals his nutritionist prepared before conking out in his-your bed for a few hours until dinner.

You checked your phone, which had been dead up until the last five minutes when you’d connected it to the car charger, and realized it was closer to dinner time than you’d thought.

Dropping off your raincoat and bag, you went in search of him. The blaring missed calls and texts deserved a response, as hard as it would be to face him in person. You didn’t want him to worry any more than he already did, even though you felt there was little, if anything, he could do.

“Marcus?” You called up the stairs, but there was only your footsteps, the patter of rain, in answer.

You began climbing anyway, sure the sounds of the house would lead you to him, and eventually heard his voice, muffled through the closed door of his office. You stopped, and leaned against the wall to listen.

“She won’t talk to me, mum, she won’t, I’ve tried everythin. She’s not physically hurt, no, but something is wrong. I know that much. It’s like she don’t even want to be around me.”

There was a pause, and an ache began in your chest. The distress in your partner’s voice was palpable.

“But I’ve gave her space. And I’ve even asked her up front what’s wrong, and still nothin. I'm leavin for my trip in a few days, and I won’t be able to fix anythin from there. Reckon she might even be gone by then.”

Each second you listened, you fell further and further into the mire of guilt, and it seemed impossible to get out. Some external force, whose name or origin you didn’t know, forced your hand onto the knob and pushed into the room.

You met his eyes, cautious, but found nothing but relief, unshed tears in them.

“Y/N. Baby.” His voice cracked around the words, and he flew to your side of the room, crushing you to his body, burying his face in your damp hair.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay? Where were you?”

You tried, but couldn't speak around the lump in your throat. All you wanted was for him to hold you again, and to apologize for everything.

“Y/N. You’ve gotta talk to me, please. M’goin mad here, I’ve been goin mad–”

“I’m okay, Marcus. I’m not hurt.” You squeezed at his hands, trying to loosen their tight grip around your back and also trying to ground him. “Went for my run and coffee like I said, and then around to visit my mates at my old flat. My phone died, and I didn’t realize. I should’ve known you would worry.”

He looked back at you with wide eyes still, nodding slow like it was taking serious effort to comprehend the words leaving your mouth.

“I’m okay, baby. I promise.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was gravelly, but much quieter, and none of the terror gone from it.

“Y/N, look, know you asked me not to push, but I can't just do nothin while–”

“Wait, Marcus – can we sit and do this? Please. And you’ve gotta get out of this jacket, babe, it’s soaked. You’ll catch a cold.”

The familiar sound of your fussing seemed to center him further, and he slid the jacket off, settling stiffly on the futon along the opposite wall. His legs were spread wide, and he raised his hands to his knees, fingers digging into them.

Hesitantly, you followed, standing between his legs, watching his eyes, which you’d missed, and his lips, which you’d possibly missed even more. You paused before lowering yourself onto his knee.

“Is this okay?”

“‘Course” He breathed out, pulling you the rest of the way down and rubbing his hands gently up and down your back. It was the first moment you’d felt at ease in the last two weeks, and you took the time to just hug him, wiping at a drop of water puddled along his hairline. Gradually, everything that had been pent-up seemed much easier to face.

“I’ve been real distant the past weeks, haven’t I.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s cause I’ve been confused.”

“Confused about what?”

The intensity of his eyes suddenly became too much, and you pressed your cheek against his shoulder. You made sure your voice still reached him clear.

“Confused about my feelings. About us, about us living together.”

His stomach had gone cold with dread again, but you took the silence as a license to continue. You knew he would stop you if and when he’d heard enough.

“It’s been great, it really has, Marcus. You’re my favorite person to be around – you know that.” His insides smiled at the mention, since the past week had convinced him of the opposite. Still, his expression remained the same.

“And you seemed so happy, having me here. But sometimes, lately, it got — I don’t know, overwhelming? Like, I had my friends in my last flat with me, and it feels like I spend so much time here alone. When you’re here, I don’t feel like that, but that don't feel fair to you either.”

He bit his lip. “I don’t understand.”

“I know, it’s confusing, but it’s like, I’m used to my roommates, us all together, a lot of noise – even when you’re alone you’re not really alone. So whenever you get here, I want to recreate that, spend every second with you, if I can. Didn’t want you to think I was clinging, though? ‘Cause I know how that feels, too.” You paused to take a breath, and Marcus rubbed your back, silent encouragement to continue.

“Thought you should be able to come home and spend your time on your own, too, if that’s what you wanted. So I was moping, but trying to give you that, for a while. Thought that if I could give you some space until your trip next week, I’d be okay. I could use that week to get myself together, stop being ungrateful. ‘Cause I am so lucky, aren’t I? To be able to live with this person I love so much. But I guess I only made it worse.”

“So it’s findin a balance, then, that was hard. Findin ... where you and I, personal time ends, and where “us” time begins.” Marcus summarized.

There was an unspoken “Why didn’t you just say so?” at the back of his statement that your partner was too kind and too patient to say. But you deserved it, so you said it yourself.

“Exactly. But I should have told you that it was eating me up. Not tried to isolate myself, or shut you out. And I’m sorry, about that. ”

Marcus let the apology ring out, and laced the fingers of one of your hands together, a quiet absolution. You felt lighter, now, after having spoken your piece, but knew that didn’t mean the conservation was over.

“Don’t think I need to say I forgive you, because,” He leaned his chin into his palm thoughtfully, before looking up at you. “Because I really get it, you know. I do. I understand that you need your own space, to feel like your own person still. And also that I’m gone, and it’s just you here, a lot, which is new for you. I get that it’s overwhelming, that findin the balance bit. But– I’ve never done this, moved in with someone before, either, have I? It’s excitin, but it’s a lot of other emotions, too. You can’t assume how m’feeling, or how I want to spend my time, just like I can’t read your mind about what's got you upset, innit?”

He paused.

“And it’s like, we’ve gotta figure it out together, don’t we?”

You nodded.

“So when -if, you’re feelin like that again, you’ll tell me? Even if you think it’ll hurt my feelings, or whatever. And if you need to go spend extra time with your mates to feel alright, we’ll sort it. And I’ll do the same. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

"You promise?"

You promised, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and chin against his head. With the most difficult part of the conversation over, your senses opened up enough beyond Marcus to notice that the sound of rain outside had ceased. The wet, grassy smell of his training kit finally entered your nose, and your good humor began to stretch its legs.

“So I don’t need to go pack my things?” You mumbled into his shoulder.

“No.” Marcus snorted. “Not unless you changed your mind the last 15 seconds.”

“Nah, I reckon I’ll stay. I'd miss the jacuzzi tub too much.” You sighed. “Saying no to that bath with you was the hardest thing I ever done.”

Marcus chuckled, enough air in his chest to do so now, and kissed you lightly on the lips.

“Fancy one now?” He repeated, and your “please” was fast and enthusiastic. He scooped you in his arms, and you held tight to him, murmuring quiet “I love you”s and knowing as you walked through the house –your house– that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

#marcus rashford x oc #marcus rashford x reader #marcus rashford x you #marcus rashford fanfiction #marcus rashford imagine #footballer x you #footballer x reader #football imagine #football fanfic

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charleslee-valentine · 6 months

Text

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Fanworks Event Day 6: Music is my Life

Ship(s): Radiohead/Vietnita/Brocktop (Chop Top x Stretch)

Word Count: ~1,800

Warnings: Alcohol use, hangovers, abuse mention, mild sexual content.

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

________

It wasn’t intentional.

Bobby was supposed to be out and back before anybody even noticed he was gone. To just grab a couple drinks and then get the hell out. Easy.

Now, nobody else knew that plan, so did it matter that much when two beers turned to three, then three to four? Probably not. He wasn’t far from home and hadn’t driven anyways. He could be there in time still.

Except he didn’t walk his goofy ass home. He woke up in a pretty girls bed.

She greeted him with a soft, close-lipped smile, “Morning. Didn’t think you’d be up before the afternoon.”

A groan slips past his lips. His head is fucked. Bobby tries to sit up and then lays right back down, rubbing at blurry eyes, “Time?”

“‘Leven thirty. You got somewhere to be, I’ll drive you.” She informs him, sitting on the side of the bed. Her bed.

Bobby should tell her he’s got to get home. But he’s barely awake, and barely able to remember what happened last night either. Speech isn’t coming to him.

He just shakes his head ‘no’.

“Your head still hurtin’ you?” The woman observes, when he nods again producing a little pain-pill bottle from somewhere, maybe the night stand, and giving it to him, “Here. Don’t leave it on an empty stomach. I can make you breakfast too.”

Really, he appreciates the offer. There’s no way in hell he’d lie and say he doesn’t like the attention from this gorgeous lady. But, one thought creeps up in his head and he has to ask, wondering if maybe she’s one of those women that take advantage that his big brother warned him about. After all, she doesn’t seem to be affected by last night in the least.

Maybe she was sober while he wasn’t.

“A-Aren’t you hungover t-too?”

“Sugar, I do that every night. If I still got as fucked up as you, I’d’ve been kicked out by now. My drunk lasts a lot less than yours.” She informs him, kind but a little humored.

That’s when Bobby remembers some. Pretty girl is the disc jockey from the bar. Stretch is her work name. Vanita is her real one. Even that part of her is beautiful.

Okay, so he might be a little pussy whooped, but he can’t help it. She played good music. Actual rock and not the radio approved shit. Alcohol in his system meant he was probably rambling about all the artists and such for hours last night, and she’d done nothing but listen contentedly. And then kiss him.

It was really pretty fun, dancing all night, sharing drinks and cool facts and kisses. Nothing like the other quick hookups he’d had in bathroom stalls and seedy motels. The kinds where they wouldn’t look him in the face or kiss him after they got their rocks off.

Those times had been better than being lonely, but not being hat he wanted. Nothing like miss Vanita.

Even now, she could kick him out. Instead of sitting here close and brushing stray hairs off his face, she could be dragging him out the door.

Not that he even should be still here. He’s a long several hours overdue to be back home. They’ll have noticed by now he ain’t there.

He looks her in her eyes, half squinting from the stubborn headache, “I-I kinda lied. M-My brothers’ll be look-lookin’ for me.”

Stretch seems understanding, putting her sweet hand in his hair like she’d done the night before and makin’ him blush like some kinda idiot, “I can take you home, hon. Promise it won’t bother me none to do it.”

“I-I don’ wanna.” Bobby doesn’t know why he’s honest. Like he’s her puppy or something.

“Mm. I hear ya.” Stretch can sense the sadness in him, the part of the truth that isn’t being told. She just misunderstands it’s meaning a little, “Bobby, are you sure you got somewhere to go? You can tell me the truth.”

“Huh? O-Oh yeah. M-My brother o-o-own’s a real big farm house. We all l-live there. All-“ He counts his siblings on his fingers, including his Sissy even though she doesn’t come home often, “Five of us.”

That doesn’t fully answer her question though. Stretch asks him slowly, “And you’re safe there?”

“S-Sure. Drayton says..says I-I’m in my r-rebellion phase.”

All he means by that is that he’s on a slightly longer leash than he used to be, not getting beat up the same as he used to either. Safe enough. He might get smacked around a little for coming home so late, but it’s nothing miss Stretch outta worry her little self about.

She sure looks like she’s worrying though, with her eyebrows all shot up high on her forehead, “Mister, you told me you were 30 something.”

“Yeh. I-I am.” Bobby tells her bluntly, even though his stutter makes him sound less sure.

“Alright then.” She relaxes quick, looking at him in this infatuated way, the kinda look nobody ever gave him before. A light laugh bounces her strong-frame shoulders, “You are a mystery, Robert Sawyer.”

It sounds nice, but he wants to be sure she isn’t trying to pull one over on him. “I-In a good way?”

“The best.” She promises.

“Cool. Gr-Groovy.” Without the whiskey and beer, he ain’t exactly some Romeo. He feels awkward and dumb, so he tries to make up for it, “Hey, c-can I kiss you?”

Stretch hums with tiniest play of a smirk on her face, “Honey, you done a lot more than that.”

Oh she knows just how to make him blush. It’s nice having someone who challenges him back.

He smiles really genuinely, even though he’s been told his overbite is gross looking, he hopes she won’t mind, “I-It’s polite to ask.”

She must like his smile.

“Then yes, baby. Anytime you like.”

Stretch even initiates the kiss, already holding him in her arms, only taking a little effort to lean in and connect their lips. Everything about her is gentle, but not her kisses. Those are hungry. Fierce.

Dominant.

Bobby makes some kind of a noise like a whimper and a mewl combined. It makes Stretch laugh softly.

Flushed as pink as a peach, he pulls away a little, for the sake of catching his breath as much as to get his bearings back, “Wh-What’s funny?”

Her soft hands never leave his face, “You just weren’t this shy last night, baby. Don’t worry though; I like my boys a little soft.”

Soft isn’t really a word he’s been called before. Or even been allowed to be. In his head, soft translates into pansy ass. To sorry excuse for a brother.

He knows his face must light up like a puppy dog when she says that. Every instinct in his body screams to kiss on her, so he does. Not that he’s usually one to deny things like that, but it seems especially right, being here with this special girl.

He lungs and kisses all over her face. Any inch of skin he can reach gets a smooch.

She’s howling with laughter by the time she gently pushes him off, “Calm down now, mister!”

But he doesn’t want to go far away from uer. The contact and the pressure and the warmth are too nice. He leans on her while his hands get tappy and a couple little noises squeak past his attempts to stop them. That happens when he gets happy. Stretch might have to get used to that.

She doesn’t seem off put at a glance. If anything, the look in her eyes is kinda fond. Loving.

Her fingers card through his long hair again, careful not to catch on any tangles, “You and me gonna party ‘gain soon, sweet thing?”

Bobby shrugs, “M-Maybe once I’m ungrounded. I-I’m gonna be in biiiiig trouble.”

“Even if I come back with ya and explain?” Stretch offers.

That makes him feel silly. People don’t really think it’s normal, him being old as he is and still being pushed around by his big brother. Living with him ‘stead of on his own.

They think that it makes him either some drooling idiot, or a spineless pushover. Like he’s just supposed to walk away from the man that raised him, and his other two brothers that need the extra help. The man feeds him for thirty years, takes care of his brothers and helps with his medicine, and that’s supposed to mean nothing?

Thankfully, Stretch ain’t most people though.

Bobby looks at her all wide eyed, “Y-You’d do that f-for me?”

She sounds real genuine as she explains her reasoning, knowing he needs to heard it to believe it, “Sure, hon. I get it, you been gone all night, but it’s better’n both of our drunk asses winding up in a ditch somewhere. They’ll understand that.”

He nods, and wraps his arms right around her, determined to look in her eyes while he declares, “I-I won’t let ‘em be mean t-to ya. Y-You’re my girl, miss Stretch.”

It was mostly a success. His eyes do that blinky twitchy thing they do, which has always annoyed him, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.

For once, she’s the one between them that blushes “Am I now?”

“Y-Yeah. My..My fave.” He promises, hoping she understands what a high compliment that truly is.

But then she says something that surprises him. “Ain’t always you get to meet the folks this early. That’s gotta be a new record.. Hope I’m not comin’ off too desperate on you.”

As if. Not when Bobby’s around, he thinks. His middle name might as well be desperate (He actually doesn’t officially have one on paper.) It’s awful weird having someone who doesn’t just automatically point out that he’s annoying or blame him for everything. Stretch really thinks she could be too much?

“N-No way. Y-You and me, we c-could be s-soulmates o-or somethin’.” To prove it to her, he belts a line from a Van Morrison song about love, “I'm run into to her like a river strong-“

Music gets to a girl like her. One who knows allll about it from her nights dj-ing at the club. She interrupts him with a kiss.

Strong as all the other ones with even more tongue. There’s intention behind it, a silent but perfectly clear question. An offer to do a repeat of last night, but sober. Bobby gives her some little sounds as confirmation. Moaning little whines.

All the confirmation she needs.

Stretch throws her leg around his waist, using the added leverage to pin Bobby to the mattress and straddle his waist.

Somehow they stayed connected through all that, but she breaks the kiss to ask him, panting, “How much longer b‘fore you hafta go?”

“A-A little while more w-wouldn’t hurt nobody…” He confirms.

It’s true enough. Might get him hurt, but he’s more’n used to that.

Something tells him he ain’t never gonna get used to the feeling of a pretty girl on top of him this way. So he’s sure as hell gonna revel in it.

#tcmfanevent #chop top sawyer #bobby sawyer #vanita stretch brock #choptop x stretch #stretch tcm2 #tcm fanfic #my writing #my moodboards

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 4 months

Text

A Safe Place: Part 6

Summary: Jake has one happy place. His pride and joy and comfort. When things go south, this is what he turns to.

Marc has started to rely on Jake to be his solid force. The unshakable rock that keeps them all stable.

Steven knows better. They are all delicately balanced on a thin wire.

What happens when one of them takes a spill?

Pairings: Layla x Marc, Layla x Jake, Layla x Steven

Universe: MCU

Warnings: Dissociation, Depression, DID, Habits of self destruction, discussion of mild self harm, talk of child abuse, depictions of eating disorders (in relation to depression), PTSD

Word Count: 5211

Previous Chapter HERE.

Part Six - What is a safe place? Will Jake ever have one again? How does Steven feel about his new role and responcibility in the system? Can Marc finally realize that he can bring his own comfort to the system?

They slept through most of the day.

True to their word, Steven had been the one to decide to crawl out of the blanket fort to go to the bathroom, have a drink of water, or snag a snack before he crawled back in and curled back up in his comfort pile of pillows, blankets, and Layla.

When Marc and Jake were close to the front, neither one of them was willing to try moving without Steven’s approval.

They drifted in and out of consciousness and dreams faded in and out, some stressful and others just a faded haze that flitted through the stress and anxieties that they had not yet worked out.

On more than one occasion, Layla had gently woken them up when their breathing increased and she could see the tension building on their face. Each time, they had buried down and reached for her hand.

At some point, Steven had woken and frantically kicked off all the blankets and complained of being too hot until Layla brought them a glass of cold water to sip on before he had rolled over again and slowly re-buried himself in the discarded blankets.

Finally, night fell and Steven woke with his face smushed into Layla’s stomach and the soothing sensation of her fingers stroking through his hair.

He blinked up at her and glanced around. “Did we sleep the whole day?”

“More or less. I’d say you had plenty of stressful dreams too.” She looked down at him and gently placed her hand against his forehead. “I’m pretty sure you were running a mild fever too. No sleep and wandering around in the cold and wet… I’m surprised you weren’t sicker.”

Steven groaned and nuzzled into her stomach for a moment before he slowly sat up. “How were the other two? Today is pretty blurry. Have you spoken to them at all?”

Layla watched him sit up, his hair an absolute mess and his forehead still covered with sweat. “A little. Marc didn’t talk much. He mostly just wanted to cuddle.” She smiled a little to herself. “I’ve never seen him get sick, you know. He’s a bit of a baby…”

“One good benefit from Khonshu, I suppose.” Steven rubbed at his forehead, wincing at the stiff joints and headache forming there. “And Jake?”

Layla hesitated then sat back. “I think he was dealing with the bad dreams. Fever dreams can be stressful. He didn’t talk much either, but he asked that I check on the car at least once.”

“Did you?” Steven looked up at her apologetically.

“I did. It’s still there in one piece.”

Steven relaxed a little then sighed and closed his eyes against the headache. “This is going to be a regular thing, isn’t it? This anxiety now… Constant worry that it might be gone. That we’ll go out and find an empty spot again.”

“He could get a better parking spot. You have the money for it. He could even pay for a parking garage or something with security. Or just upgrade the car with a security system or something.” Layla reached for the cup of water and held it out for him to drink.

Steven sipped the water slowly. “It doesn’t matter. The damage is done. The trauma is there. I can feel it. Each time we turn the corner we’ll see the empty spot. We’ll feel that anxiety as we realized it wasn’t there. Any time we go anywhere… I don’t want this. We don’t need this new trauma. We have enough anxiety about other things!”

Layla looked at him and felt her stomach clench. They came with trauma. It was a fact that she had learned to deal with. They came with things that she would never be able to understand or comprehend. They had anxieties over things that sometimes she couldn’t predict. They had triggers that snuck up on her.

But she was learning. She was starting to figure out how to handle things and deal with things. She could navigate nightmares with comfort. She could navigate flashbacks with promises of security. She knew anxiety attack solutions that calmed them down. She could talk them down from panic attacks.

The sudden idea that they were not immune to new trauma was deeply unpleasant. Outright unfair. Hadn’t they been through enough? How was she supposed to keep up if the maze of trauma kept changing?

“Old trauma made new.” Steven muttered. “Trauma I didn’t even know we had and now it’s slipped out of containment and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Layla bit her lower lip. “Jake normally keeps those things away, doesn’t he?”

Steven groaned and set the glass down. “Yeah. This isn’t something Jake can just make us forget. I think he’s starting to realize how much it hurts us when we don’t know where the pain is coming from… But we still need to have a long conversation about what we can handle.” Steven glanced to the side and Layla realized someone else was talking to him. “Yeah. I know. Marc isn’t as ready to share in things as I am.”

“What about you, Steven?” She took his hand gently and he squeezed it back tightly. “You don’t have to feel pressure to face everything either.”

“I’ve been lucky.” Steven shook his head. “I’ve gone my whole life not knowing things. I can’t be that simple naive guy anymore. I have to know what makes us who we are.”

“I worry about you… Trying to take on too much.” She looked at him, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I know you are more than capable. I’ve seen you do amazing things! But… We all have our limits. Even me. If you spend all your time trying to take care of Marc or Jake or even me… When will you have time for Steven Grant?”

Steven’s hands worried at one of the blankets. “I have plenty of time for me! I do self care all the time! I’m doing self care right now!” He sneezed and pulled the blanket up over his head as he winced so she wouldn’t see.

Layla reached up and pulled the blanket down to look at him. “That isn’t what I mean and you know it.” She held out a tissue box to him.

He took it gratefully and mumbled his apologies as he blew his nose. “I don’t have any trauma, Layla. I’m the one that got away with all the good times! Most of them even real.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Steven…”

He gave her a slightly petulant look then sank back down under the blanket. “How am I supposed to help if I don’t know what’s going on? It doesn’t matter if I like it or not. It didn’t happen to me. Why should I be upset by it? I just need to know so I can help.”

“You can be upset because it happened to your friends. You can be upset because it shouldn’t have happened at all. You can be upset that it was so unfair to all of you.”

“Upset that it was so bad that it caused me to exist in the first place.” He muttered.

Layla let out a slow hiss through her teeth. She had been dreading this. This was something she had known was coming ever since she had learned about their condition. Really learned, and not taken Marc’s pitiful attempt to explain it.

This was something she had thought about over and over again. “I am always angry that those horrible things had to happen to give me the three men that I love and care about so deeply that I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m angry that the person you were supposed to be was taken away but I am so happy that it gave me you.”

“I can’t be happy that I exist because a little boy was hurt by the people that were supposed to protect and love him.” Steven sniffled and she suspected that it was not only because of his stuffy nose. “How can I enjoy being alive when I’m alive because someone else died?”

Rather than pull the blankets away, she let him keep his comforting shield and instead she moved to crawl under the blankets with him. If it had been Jake, she would worry about invading his space. If it had been Marc she would have brought him to her. With Steven, she went to him.

Steven rubbed the tears from his face with the back of his sleeves as she curled up at his side, her head on his chest gently and an arm draped across his waist.

“You are Steven Grant. You are kind, caring, compassionate, brave, and so very smart. You are a gift to this world and a treasure to me. You find the beauty in a world that has offered you so little.”

Steven sniffled again then gulped hard. He snagged a few tissues and wiped at his face till it was red and still wet. “I’m sorry… The sickness has got me all worked up. I’m a real mess.”

“Take your time.” She smiled and hugged him close. “You can be upset now and then, Steven. It’s okay to demand time to be vulnerable. You can ask for time to process things. You don’t always have to be the one to immediately step up to hold the world up.”

Steven laughed softly. “No… That’s Jake. Holding up the world. I’m just there to keep us from flying apart. But… Maybe I’m the one that needs to cry too… I’m not sure Marc knows how to grieve or that Jake knows how to handle loss.”

Layla thought about that for a moment. Marc absolutely didn’t know how to handle grief. He hid from things that threatened that level of pain. Usually behind Steven. Jake often acted like the pillar that kept them up and running. He was the one that knew and understood their past… But he had so little personal input on any of it. A man that set out to have no real stake in the game had nothing to lose.

“I think you are right.” She turned to look up at him “But it also doesn’t mean that you’re the one that needs to cry for them.”

Steven wiped his face with his sleeve again then nodded. “How’d you get to be so smart?”

She laughed softly and buried her face in his chest. “I’m not much better, Steven. I could use a few pointers on how to take care of myself too.”

He shifted and gently stroked her back. “Marc has some suggestions, but I’m going to refrain from repeating them. I’d also like to remind him that we are sick and those acts are often frowned on while in this state.”

Grinning, she looked up at him. “That’s never stopped him before.”

“Yeah…” Steven gave her a look. “That’s what he just said too. You two are far more alike than you realize. It’s scary, really.”

“Well… This is nice too.” She sighed as he brushed her hair to the side and stroked the back of her neck gently.

“Mnh.” He played with her hair for a moment, deep in thought. At last he looked at her seriously and she braced for the worst. “If you were on a boat in the Duat and Tawaret was driving it and you wanted to get back to the land of the living, would you really have helped Marc take her out and stolen the boat?”

Layla opened her mouth then closed it again and stared. Sometimes it was best not to ask where his questions came from. “Setting aside the fact that Tawaret is lovely and I would never do anything to hurt her…even if I could… Yeah… I’d probably help Marc steal the boat.”

Steven managed to give her a look that showed pure disappointment in her judgment skills but also be just a little impressed at the same time. “With you, I think anything is possible. …But please don’t help Marc fight any gods. At least not in that sense.”

“We’ll leave all the negotiations to you.” She grinned up at him.

“As you should. Someone has to make sure we aren’t getting screwed over.” He looked to the side and raised his eyebrows in mild surprise then scoffed. “Well I didn’t have all the pieces then, now did I? Whose fault was that?”

Layla realized how rare it was for everyone to be present at once. How rare it was for them to all willingly communicate with Steven. Even more so, how rare it was that Jake showed his hand that he was lurking.

Marc often scoffed that Jake was usually lurking just below the surface and watching things, but that he could never really tell.

“How is everyone doing?” She hugged his waist a little and looked up at him curiously.

“Um…” Steven glanced to the side. “Marc says he’s fine. We all know that’s a lie. I’d say he’s about mid for usual Marc behavior. He’d be out right now but he really doesn’t like feeling sick so he’s giving it a solid pass.”

“Big baby.” She sat up a bit. “Guess I can’t lovingly dote on him and comfort him.”

“Yeah no. He’s not buying it.” Steven grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. “Jake isn’t taking it either. Says the body’s all mine. Some protector.” He sank back into the blankets. “Thank you for doing all this, Layla… I don’t know what we would do without you.”

“You’d do the same for me.” She smiled and moved to give him room. “I had the flu a while back and Marc took amazing care of me. He fussed over me like a mother hen, honestly. Even made me soup from scratch.”

Steven blinked then frowned. “Marc says he can’t cook soup. Best he can do is open a can.”

“Certainly wasn’t a can.” She laughed. “Homemade chicken soup. It was amazing. Really hit the spot in clearing my head too.” Her laugh tapered down and she stared at Steven. “Oh. …Oh.”

“Weren’t me. I’d have remembered making soup for the most beautiful woman in the world.” He fussed with the blanket a bit. “Jake’s being pretty quiet about it, though…”

Layla thought back. She’d been running a pretty high fever so it was a little blurry but there was something off about the memory. ‘Marc’ had been so quiet, humming softly as he made the soup and then gently rubbing the vicks vapor rub on her to help open up her sinuses.

She thought back on the way he’d smiled as she sipped the soup carefully and the way he’d helped prop her up with extra pillows so she could eat easier in bed.

The way he’d dabbed at her forehead with a soft and cool wash rag and the way he’d made her tea just the way her mother had when she was small.

Layla looked at Steven, who kept his gaze down as he picked at the edges of a blanket. She watched the way his fingers paused for just a fraction of a second before he flexed his fingers and smoothed the blanket back out.

“You really are good at hiding in plain sight.” She sat back and pulled her legs up to give him extra space. “You also like to put up these big barriers between you and the world… But you break your own rules a lot, don’t you?”

Jake looked up at her, looking miserable with his red and irritated nose and his damp curls sticking to his sweaty forehead. He shrugged and let out a small cough as he looked away.

“I don’t know that you really know what you want.” She found herself twirling the fringe of a blanket between her own fingers nervously. “It’s easy to pretend nothing matters to you and tell yourself that all you want is to be alone and locked up away from everything.”

Jake shifted and cleared his throat a bit. “I did. It was easier alone.”

“You can picture a pretty lonely life, Jake. A big empty flat all to yourself. Filled with your own things. A simple quiet life away from people. Your own rituals to follow. Come and go as you please.”

“Not exactly something I can do, now is it?” Jake scoffed. “Marc might mind his own business but Steven has running commentary on everything.”

“An ideal perfect life for Jake Lockley.” She sighed. “Safe away from the world… But then you would be away from the diner. I hear you have plenty of friends there. No one to drive around and chat with, either.”

Jake brushed his hair back out of his face in irritation then looked at her. “I didn’t ask to hold all the bad memories. I didn’t ask to be the protector. I didn’t ask to be the one that they lean on and that keeps us standing tall.”

Layla nodded. “No… I don’t think anyone would ask that. But I see you trying so desperately to make and keep a safe place and all I see is a man that doesn’t know what makes him feel safe.”

Jake frowned and his lips pulled tight as he clenched his jaw.

“It’s okay if you need to be in your own space. It’s okay if you want to sit in your car with the radio on or off and let yourself pretend that nothing else exists. It’s okay to hide in the closet when you have bad dreams. It’s okay to say that you don’t feel safe sometimes.” She held out her hand. “But maybe your safe place needs to be something that can’t be stolen or broken or invaded. You could build a fortress and lock yourself away in it, but there will always be a moment where it isn’t enough. Where the fortress becomes the thing you need to escape. Where do you go then?”

Jake gently took her hand and let his fingers slide over hers slowly. “I’m not trying to lock you out… That was never the intention.”

“I thought it was because you weren’t used to being around me. But… You took care of me. You’ve been around me longer than I even knew.”

He sighed. “Letting you in… It’s harder than making friends or going to the diner or chatting up people on the street. I can walk away from those things. I can go home and forget about it. I like being around you, Layla. I love being around you. I’m not used to… If I love you, I have to protect you. If I love you, you have the ability to hurt me. To hurt us.”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“You can’t promise that forever. You could hurt us so easily. We’ve hurt you plenty of times. It happens. You can’t keep bad things from happening all of the time. Things have a way of happening. A car gets stolen. A house burns down. A person dies… Things happen. And for just a few moments… When I’m in the car and in my own space, those things don’t happen. I can control my time. I can control what I experience. I can control who I let in.”

“So what do you do now? Do we go back to how it was? Do you go and sit in your car and sometimes you let me join you? Or is that space tarnished with the idea that it could disappear so easily?” She squeezed his hand gently, afraid for a moment that he might pull away.

He wove his fingers in hers and gave a gentle squeeze back.

“Sometimes… It’s still my space. The fear of it disappearing will never go away now. But… I can make it my space again… But I think you’re right. I think safe for me is making a situation that I can control. A place where I can decide what’s happening and who is there. And maybe… Sometimes that’s me locking you out or closing the door of the closet. If that isn’t something you can deal with…”

“And sometimes feeling safe is you making me chicken soup despite the fact that it risks us all finding out about you.” She brought his hand up and kissed his knuckles softly.

Jake looked at her for a moment then reached up and gently caressed her cheek. “And sometimes feeling safe is you making a giant blanket fort for us to hide in all day while we sit out a cold.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. She felt him shift on the couch and slowly he moved closer till he was leaning against her. “When you need space, I will always be willing to give it to you.”

His head leaned against her shoulder and he moved to hook his arm around hers till he was cuddled up against her full. “When you need to be close and reminded that you are loved, I will always be willing to give it to you, too.”

She wrapped her arm over his shoulders and gently stroked his hair, moving it off his forehead gently. “Thank you…”

“Mnh.” He sniffled and sighed. “I’m going to give the body back to Steven now… As much as I appreciate this and you… I really can’t handle the stuffy nose.”

She laughed and kissed his forehead. “Go ahead. I’ll take care of you all.”

Steven made a sound of displeasure and nuzzled into Layla as if that might somehow make all the pain of the cold disappear. “Those two seriously owe me.”

“Poor baby.” She let him snuggle in. “Get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I could sleep forever like this with you here.” Steven mumbled. “I think we all could.”

He drifted to sleep with a small smile on his face and for once, he didn’t seem to have any nightmares.

–

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep anything a secret from him?” Steven muttered.

It had been two weeks since the car was stolen and recovered. Jake had stopped going out to check the car at night after they had gotten sick and they were slowly working up to leaving it alone in the street for a full day without checking.

There was still a great bundle of anxiety every time they left the flat to go anywhere. A little pain of fear that said the car might not still be there waiting for them.

In that time period, Steven had woken up in the closet only once and Marc had agreed to let Layla pull all his hidden alcohol out and get rid of it. Steven suspected there was still a bottle hidden somewhere in the wall, but he was willing to leave it alone for now. Though if he ever woke up puking into the toilet again he was going to rip every board off the wall and ceiling till he was satisfied that the place was free of the hard stuff.

“Yeah. I can imagine.” Marc sighed. “Hiding two whole people from you was way easier than this was.”

“You ass.” Steven grumbled but he accepted the jab in good humor. “And it was three people if you count Layla.”

“I missed two people that I lived with.” Layla spoke up. “I even held conversations with one of you!”

Layla couldn’t help but smile as she walked down the familiar street with them. It had been a while since Marc and Steven had felt comfortable enough to share the body. It was a wondrous thing to watch as they seamlessly handed off the conversation and found a way to include her in what was normally very much a one sided conversation.

She could only hope that this meant that things were starting to settle down inside and proper communication was opening up again.

“Do you think he suspects anything?” She ghosted her knuckles across the back of their hand as they walked and Steven responded instantly, gripping her hand tightly till Marc nudged and wove his fingers between hers properly.

“He was pretty pissy yesterday.” Marc muttered. “I think Steven had the right idea to hand it off to you.”

“He’s not used to being the one left in the dark, I suppose.” Layla shrugged and patted her pocket to make sure the key was still inside. “Is he around? It would be a waste if we got there and he was out.”

“You say that like he’s stepped out for a smoke. Where the hell is he supposed to go?” Marc snipped then flushed and looked away. “Sorry. I know. I know.”

She waited for Steven to finish whatever he was saying to Marc in private. Marc was still very sensitive about certain things and it was sometimes hard to tell what might rub him wrong, but he was at least making an effort to be aware of when he took things the wrong way.

“No need to apologize.” She squeezed his hand gently. “It was a poorly phrased question. I suppose he’s always around, but sometimes he doesn’t show up for days on end from my point of view.”

“He’ll show up.” Steven looked around as they got closer. “I’m getting pretty good at all this system stuff, you know. I think Jake’s finally letting me have a bit more wiggle room. Becoming a bit more trusting that I’ve got things. Not like some people.”

“You want to do this alone?” Marc shot back. “I’ll be more than happy to give you full reign.”

Layla wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him in, stopping them in their tracks. “Marc…”

He gave her a stubborn look that said he was ready for a fight then he sighed heavily and put his face in his hands for a moment to recompose himself. “Sorry. Just… What if he doesn’t like it? Maybe reminding him of that time is in bad taste. Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“I think you should trust that sometimes you know more about the three of you than you think you do.” She kissed his forehead gently. “Come on.

Marc nodded and followed, the worry lines on his forehead giving away his nerves.

At last they stopped outside of a building and she waited while Steven ‘fished’ for Jake. It took more than a minute and she wondered what it must be like to look for a person inside your own head.

She watched their blank face until the creases disappeared and jaw shifted forward.

“What are you all doing? Why is Steven blocking me out?” Jake looked around instantly, taking in his barings and looking more than a little annoyed.

“How else are we supposed to surprise you?” Layla offered him a smile.

“Surprise? What for? I don’t need a surprise.” He instantly gave her a suspicious look.

“Marc hates surprises too.” She laughed softly. “I won’t draw it out.”

He watched as she fished out a set of keys and held it out to him. His eyebrow shot up as he looked at the keys.

His attention shipped to the side as he listened to one of them say something then his eyes darted up to the building.

“Are you kidding?” He closed his fist around the keys.

“It was Marc’s idea.” Layla shrugged. “He said he thought he remembered that you might have an interest in this sort of thing.”

“How much did this cost?” He stared at the large door before them. “That money is-”

“It’s yours just as much as it’s mine.” Marc cut in. “You earned it the same way I did. I don’t fucking want it and Steven doesn’t need any more books. If you don’t like it then you can-”

“What do you mean I don’t need any more books. I can’t help it if I enjoy reading.” Steven stepped in. “Jake, if you don’t stop fussing and just go look at it I’m going to go buy a bloody library.”

Jake looked down at the keys then nodded and moved to unlock the smaller side door. Reaching in, he took a moment to find the light then hit another switch that activated the automatic door.

The large garage door slowly rolled upwards and the lights all flicked on to reveal their car. All along the walls were tools and some equipment meant to be used to handle basic car maintenance.

Layla stepped inside as Jake slowly moved around the equipment, looking it all over with a critical eye. His hands ghosted across a few tools as he took inventory. He even paused to open a few drawers and shift around some smaller bolts and parts.

“Do you like it?” Layla looked at him nervously. “Marc mentioned he thought you used to do mechanics in the army. We thought it might give you a chance to fix up the car and also keep it safe.”

Jake stopped before a work bench, his fingers slowly tracing a wrench. He nodded just enough for her to notice. “Yeah.” He got out at last. “I… I like it a lot.”

Layla relaxed and moved to stand beside him, looking at the bench. “If you need anything, Marc says he’s got a guy.”

Jake nodded again then reached up to slide a hand through his hair. His fingers trembled just a little.

“Oh, hold on.” She moved to a rack on the wall where a new hat hung. “Steven didn’t want you to get your good one dirty. In fact, Steven is pretty insistent that you wash up before going home. I think he’s worried you’ll get grease on his books.”

Jake let the corner of his mouth twitch upwards in a small smile as he looked the hat over then pulled it on securely. He took a moment to slowly roll his sleeves up, noting how they had gotten dressed in one of Marc’s old coats. Steven was not about to let one of his sweaters into a garage.

“Hey, Marc? Want to teach Steven how to change the oil?” He glanced at the various pans and containers that were set aside.

Jake tilted his head to the side for a moment then smiled at Layla. “Steven has politely declined.”

“I’m sure he was a proper English Gentleman about it.” Layla grinned. “It’s been a while since I had my hands in anything mechanical but I might still remember a few things. Do you mind if I stick around? I’ll just watch if you don’t want me to touch anything.”

“I think things have been broken long enough.” Jake hesitated then handed her a wrench. “I’m ready to fix things.”

He moved to his car and popped the hood, opening it up securely then looked over at her, gesturing for her to come closer with a small motion of his hand.

She pulled her hair back in a tie then moved to stand beside him, gazing down into the inner workings of his world.

He looked up at her with a smile. “Let’s get to work.”

-End

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight fic #Marc Spector #Steven Grant #Jake Lockley #Layla El Faouly #Sorry this one took so long to get out everyone #I had a very Jake month #Hope you liked it though #This one was hard to get out

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haobinsgirl · 3 months

Text

Toothache.

synopsis: Differently from what you’ve always known is starting new, something old or even a cold cast of grayish-blue. Something that was so bitter to you like iron in blood, and how your plans become a dud. a semester abroad where you meet 5 cold-blooded bastards,turns into a week of disaster.

warnings: reader is sick asf. (series will be nsfw once completed by chapter but this is mild)

TEASER!!

i wanted to release a teaser for the first chapter of the series before releasing it! please let me know what you think !! <3

Monday 8:53am

“Fucking hell” your voice weakly spits out as you abuse the snooze button on your alarm set on your phone, unfortunately thanks to the 4 previous alarms that had gone off you were awake enough to begin feeling a throbbing pain at your temples. Sitting up in your bed rubbing at the tender spots you yet again question your choice of extending your flight 48 hours before you start classes, but alas the damage has already been done painting itself as a “cold” or at least thats what you were convincing yourself it was because otherwise you would have to hear the never-ending “I told you so” from your best friend back home who specifically requested you take care of yourself. After debating the pros and cons of attending class in this condition you ultimately decide to take the day off to better settle in and take care of this god awful headache you’ve had since upon arrival of Incheon airport, plus missing syllabus day isn’t the biggest crime you could commit.

Upon searching the cabinets of your new apartment and the leftover boxes that you still haven’t unpacked..(lets not talk about it okay) it was apparent that you had nothing to calm this headache, therefore it was time to conquer the streets of Seoul and find some medicine..and hopefully some food. With that you got ready as much as you could possibly feel like doing for your condition and headed out, umbrella in hand because it would be raining the first day out on the town. For the most part you had no idea where you were going and you would be damned to pull out directions because you knew eventually you would have to learn your way around without a map in hand so why not get lost on a day where you had no where to be anyways, well besides In your bed rotting way because you chose to study aboard alone and now your sick and alone in another country, but you would never admit that to anyone it mattered to.

25 minutes of walking later and you finally wrapped a corner to a corner store holding the medication you needed, cruising the isles you scanned the different products available for purchase and the types of people in a convenience store at this time of day. The typical 9-5 people that come to grab coffee, students hoarding the snack isle and then theres you starring at 4 bottles of fucking ibuprofen trying to figure out what is going to best suit your symptoms in another language. “At this point I think I should just close me eyes and pick one” you mumble to yourself thinking you should let fate decide your potential mistreatment.

“This one is good for headaches.” A arm wrapped in a navy blue sleeve reaches over your shoulder from behind you to grab the blue bottle to the left of your hand on the shelf before the soft linen like voice comes to your side to hand it to you. The cold graze of his fingertips that touched yours doesn’t match the face that stands before you offering warm smile that oddly kind-of resembles a hamster. Your eyes don’t know where to go between his sweet gaze, the killer smile on his lips, the soft scent of caramel that sticks to your stuffy nostrils after not being able to breathe properly for 2 days, or the fine line tattoo peaking from the V-neck of his navy blue cashmere sweater that hugged his tall frame so well. “I- thank you..sincerely” Is what you manage to get out finally meeting the captivating look in his eyes that has your heart beating a little faster and your head go a little foggy before you feel a hand on your shoulder pulling your attention back to reality.

“You don’t look too well..are you feeling okay?” The tall man gets slightly closer to your face examining the tone of your skin which was surely soon to show the pink dusting your cheeks with how pale you were from the cold that was kicking your ass and just maybe if you were feeling anything like yourself you would’ve been extremely skeptical about a unfamiliar guy being this close to you but unknowingly to yourself he and your headache were just the dose of hypnotic delusion you needed to not question it or the fact that he somehow knew you had a headache in the first place. But delusion isn’t stupidity so you bring yourself to respond before there’s too awkward of a silence. “ oh uh yes, I’ve just been a bit down with-“ “jet-lag.” He cuts you off briefly finishing your sentence. Now this you were able to comprehend as something a stranger shouldn’t know. But before you could argue your case he begins again. “ you’re holding a passport, I could only assume.” The stunning guy chuckles, eyes directing to the passport in your right hand you were using as ID to purchase the medication. You mentally facepalm for jumping to conclusion before joining him in a small fit of laughter. “ you’re right.” You add rubbing the side of your head as you temporarily forgot about the pain being subjected to your temples.

“Its nice to meet you, I’m Sung Hanbin.”

#zb1 #zerobaseone #zb1 x reader #zb1 smut #zb1 imagines #zb1 hanbin #zb1 hard hours #kpop

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leiakenobi · 2 years

Text

Late Night Pick-Me-Up [1/1]

Fandom: Moon Knight (MCU) Pairing: Marc Spector/F!Reader (no pronouns) Rating: Teen Word Count: 1.5k words Summary: For the better part of three days, now, you and Marc have been holed up in this tiny, barren apartment. Warnings: No real warnings in this one! Just some mild innuendo and references to sexual situations

Cross-posted to AO3 here!

——

You could really use a pick-me-up.

For the better part of three days, now, you and Marc have been holed up in this tiny, barren apartment as the final pieces of this extraction have come together. You’ve slept in shifts, you’ve eaten little and caffeinated less because too much caffeine has given Marc a headache ever since that business with Steven playing the insomniac.

Of course that doesn’t technically preclude you from enjoying copious amounts of coffee, but you’ve mostly gone off the stuff in solidarity.

Thankfully, it is now finally – finally – almost time for your evening cup. Marc is picking some up after he does his rounds over the perimeter, which, according to his timeline – you glance at your watch – will have him walking through door in two and a half minutes.

It’s in this exact moment that you hear the doorknob rattling softly. You furrow your brow and look at your watch once more—no, it’s definitely not running slow.

With no hesitation and very little forethought, you grab the nearest gun and hold it aloft.

“Whoa, hon, it’s just me!” Marc holds his hands aloft as much as he can manage given that his key is dangling from his fingers in one hand and he’s holding a carrier with two coffee cups in the other. His exasperated frown grows deeper as he takes a few steps closer and gets a better look at you. “Were you seriously about to shoot me with my own gun?”

You barely glance at the weapon in your hand. “I didn’t think you were the type to take back a gift, Spector.”

“I’m not. Left cup,” he adds, holding the drinks out in offer. You claim yours, just barely concealing a smile when he sets his hand on the back of your chair and bends down to give you a peck on the lips. “But Khonshu would still probably laugh if you used it on me.”

You hum and wonder absently whether the god is in the room right now and responding. It’s so difficult to tell; Marc slips his shoes off and reclaims his seat beside you in a fluid motion that doesn’t really suggest an Egyptian bird god is mouthing off at him. But he seems to have only honed his untroubled demeanor since Steven really came into the picture, making you less and less certain of precisely how alone you and Marc are at any given moment.

Marc will clarify if you ask, of course. He seems to believe it, too, when you remind him that you will be totally unbothered if he recedes into himself or, in contrast, if he begins to externalize the facets of his world that tend to remain tucked away for only him to hear and see.

But old habits are difficult to break, and you don’t begrudge him his secrecy.

“There wasn’t a line at the coffee shop,” Marc adds as he tips his chair back onto two legs. His feet promptly create a counterbalance on the windowsill.

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t have to wait for the drinks. That’s what threw my timeline off. Unless there was some other reason you were pointing a gun at me.”

You smile over the rim of your coffee cup. “Maybe I just wanted to test your reflexes.” To make your point, you stick a foot out and nudge one of the raised legs of his chair—it’s not enough to throw his equilibrium off, not quite, but from the way he holds your gaze with shining eyes, you suspect he knows how tempted you certainly are.

“You and I both know my reflexes are just fine.” Marc’s tone is all amusement, but with an underlying something; a hint of easy confidence, maybe, that makes you think both of the speed with which he had a black-market seller pinned against a wall for information a few days ago, and the deftness with which he hoisted you onto a hotel bed shortly after.

With a hum, you nudge the chair leg once more before pulling your foot away. “No one’s been in or out since you left. Anything up on your end?”

“Nah. That guard in the upper right corner was nodding off in the window again. I almost wanted to bring him some coffee too.” He chuckles to himself and takes a sip of his drink before musing, “With the one that’s out sick, I think we should be ready to make a move tonight if you’re up for it.”

“If it means getting back home, I’m up for it.” You glance back at the ratty sofa on which you’ve been sleeping for the past few days. “I miss our bed.”

Marc’s mouth tugs into a smirk. “Is that all you can think of at a time like this?”

You scoff, shoving him in the shoulder while he lets out a chuckle. “I meant I miss sleeping in our bed, asshole.”

“So did I.”

You want to be exasperated with him, you really do, but he’s only smiling wider and Marc has such a contagious smile when he truly lets it come out, and you feel it rubbing off on you. So instead, you roll your eyes and ask, “The northeast corner is still vulnerable?”

“It’ll be a walk in the park,” he confirms. “And no, we don’t need to go over the map for blind spots and guards again, we got this. These guys are sloppy.”

“And we’re not.”

Marc’s eyes shine. “No, we’re not.” He nods back toward the sofa and says, “I know I just brought the coffee, but you could get a little sleep if you want. We have three hours to kill.”

“Nah, you know how wired I get before a job.”

“I do, yeah.”

You don’t mean anything by these words, not really—because it’s true, that your adrenaline always kicks in like clockwork once you commit to making a move on a mark. And given how Marc is sipping from his coffee cup and gazing pointedly at the building across the street, you don’t think he’s necessarily inclined to take it any other way, if you don’t want him too.

But you watch his neck flex as he swallows, and you think again of the eagerness with which he held you and pressed into you a few days ago, pleased and exhilarated that he’d secured the information necessary to move into this part of the plan. You think of the way he’d sighed into your ear when you sucked at his neck—that same spot you’re staring at, in fact, although his skin heals far too quickly for there to be any evidence of a love bite now.

Marc hasn’t touched you since, has barely even kissed you, and it’s not a slight; the moment you entered this apartment, the job was your top priority.

Is your top priority. Of course it is.

It’s just a little hard to remember that when these guys are such amateurs.

“Do I have you to myself tonight, Marc?” you ask softly.

He hums a confirmation into his cup. “Khonshu thinks these guys are sloppy, too, so he doesn’t really wanna bother to watch. He’ll be happy as long as he gets that necklace.”

You cast your gaze over his features thoughtfully. “Is that why.”

“Hmm?”

“From the way you talked about it, it’s always sounded like he gets a kick out of seeing you take out a wannabe crime lord.”

Marc shrugs vaguely. “I try not to question his weird whims.”

You let this excuse hang between you for a few moments before sticking out your leg again—this time not to make a show of nearly knocking him off-balance, but to carefully coax him to settle the tilted chair flat on the ground. Marc meets your gaze wordlessly, and it’s then that you say, “Don’t you get a little wired before a job too?”

“Y’know, babe,” Marc says, nonchalant and conversational as you rise to your feet and hold out your hand to him. “I’m starting to think you weren’t talking about sleeping after all.”

“Shut up,” you instruct him with a giggle. Not that it was particularly necessary; having allowed you to pull him to his feet, Marc leans in and kisses you quite readily.

You’ve walked him backward to the sofa and just managed to get him seated when he grabs your hips, stopping you before you can settle into his lap. “In the interest of full disclosure, I should probably tell you that we have to go to L.A. tomorrow.”

“Wh--” You furrow your brow. “Marc.”

“I had to promise him something to get him to fuck off.”

Despite the earnest remorse in his voice, Marc is also laughing when he tugs you closer, and you groan as you fall into his lap. “I hope we’re at least flying first class.”

Marc grins and says, “Anything you want, babe,” before capturing your lips with his.

——

interested in my other fics or my taglist form? you can find them on my masterlist here

blanket taglist: @amneris21, @brandyllyn, @iamskyereads, @jaime1110, @justjaclin, @marvelousmermaid, @mstgsmy, @pilothusband, @princessxkenobi, @pumpkin-stars, @trickstersp8

oscar taglist: @aellynera, @alwritey-aphrodite, @egcdeath, @genea-myers, @jitterbugs927, @rosiefridayrogersunday, @that-friend-in-the-corner, @thedukeofcaladan

moon knight taglist: @andromacher, @disabledameron, @stardust-galaxies, @stark-kirk-rogers-grant-blog, @zhonglis-wine

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #created

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diana-bookfairchild · 1 year

Text

@fluffbruary Bonus

Part 2 of 5

Prompt: Wrist

“Harry!” Sirius called. “Time for lunch, kiddo! Come down!”

There were shuffling noises from Harry’s room, and Sirius heard his godson poke his head out of the door as he set the Shepherd’s Pie on the table, along with two glasses of milk, Cauliflower Cheese and the Cornish Pasties.

“Uh, Sirius,” Harry shouted. “I’m not feeling very well. Can I have it in my room?”

Sirius frowned. “Not feeling well? Do you have a fever?” He made for the stairs, but heard a sudden yelp.

“No, it’s – er, it’s just a mild headache!” He cried. “You don’t have to come up! I’m fine! I just think I’ll lie down for a bit.”

“I’ll still come up and check on you,” Sirius started as he climbed up the stairs.

“NO! I’m fine, Sirius, really! I just – I just want to be along for a while and sleep,” Harry stammered.

Sirius backed off instantly. Not respecting Harry’s boundaries seemed like a surefire way to wreck their relationship. “Alright, kiddo. I’ll bring you a plate in a bit?” He said tentatively.

“Er, yeah. Thanks, Sirius.” From how relieved he sounded, Sirius had made the right choice.

“No problem, Harry. Rest up! See if you’re feeling good enough for lessons in a couple hours!” He made his way down, still feeling mildly puzzled, setting up for a lonely lunch. He munched while he wondered when Harry’s illness had set in. He’d seemed healthy enough during his Politics lesson that morning, and had been beaming when he’d gone off to fly, as eager as James had ever been for it.

But then, it would be very like Harry to hide an illness until it got absolutely unbearable.

Suddenly worried again, Sirius talked himself out of the urge to look in on his godson. He sent off an owl with an invitation to Remus for lunch and prepared a tray for Harry. If the boy still felt sick in a few hours, the afternoon lesson would have to be cancelled, as would the playdate arranged with Neville for the next day, as much as he would dislike that.

He heard the crack of Apparition in the garden – and very few people were authorized for that.

“Hey, Moony,” Sirius grinned at his friend, opening the door.

“Padfoot,” Remus greeted mildly. “Why the sudden invitation? Is something wrong with Harry?”

Sirius appreciated how much Harry was a priority for the man. “I’m … not sure?” He explained what had happened and Remus’ frown deepened with each word.

“You haven’t seen him since he went out flying?” He asked.

“No. He doesn’t want me to, and I thought it’d be better not to invade his privacy.” Had he been wrong? Sirius had never worried over anything like he did over Harry. Harry was his life, quite literally. If he did something wrong, if he hurt his godson, he would never forgive himself.

“No, that’s for the best,” Remus agreed. “Okay. Why don’t you take his lunch up to him now? See how he responds. We can decide where to go from there.” His voice gentled. “It could just be a headache, Sirius. We may be overreacting.”

“I hope so,” Sirius said in frustration, obeying the advice and collecting the tray. “In the meantime, help yourself. I made loads.” He climbed upstairs and knocked on Harry’s door.

“Come in,” a muffled voice called, and Sirius thankfully opened the door.

Harry was using the blanket with the night sky on it, which was his favourite one. That certainly pointed to a sickness. Or something very wrong. His room looked like it always did – clean with a military precision. Five photos stuck on a wall: James and Lily at their wedding; James and Lily holding Harry and waving at the camera; Harry and Neville beaming at the camera; Harry and Sirius standing outside their house; Harry, Sirius and Remus in the zoo next to the diricawl exhibit.

The bookshelf which took over a whole wall was as neatly arranged as always. A couple books were on his bedside table. The miniature Hogwarts Express with which he’d obviously been recently playing was the only thing out of place.

Other than – his broom. Which was lying discarded in the middle of the room.

Sirius frowned. That made no sense. Harry adored his broom. It was the latest children’s model. He polished and treated it regularly. He always kept it safely in its stand.

“Hi, Sirius,” Harry said softly, Lily’s eyes peering up at him, and his attention went instantly to him. He was nearly fully under the blanket, with only his eyes and nose above it.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said kindly, laying a hand on his forehead and stroking it. No fever. That was good. “Ready for lunch?”

“I guess,” he replied dazedly. He hesitated in the way that meant he wanted something. Harry would never ask for something he wanted.

Sirius wracked his brain. A sick child who was willing to eat would want … company. “Want me to stay and feed you?” He asked, and Harry’s eyes lit up as he nodded vigorously. Clearly, he was over the alone thing. “Okay.”

There was something odd about the way his godson wiggled the blanket under his chin, but unfortunately, Sirius didn’t give it much thought.

He cut up the pasty and pie into small chunks and fed them to him easily enough, and the cauliflower cheese through the fork less so and Harry ate eagerly. He was hungry, which made Sirius wonder why he hadn’t called him before to say so.

An uneasy feeling crept up his back. Something was wrong.

“Would you like to sit up and drink your milk?”

Harry shook his head instantly.

“Harry. . .” Sirius trailed off. He wanted to ask if something was wrong, but that would just make Harry clam up. “Okay. I’ll be in the sitting room with Remus. Yell if you need anything.”

“Remus is here?”

“Yeah,” He replied, grasping onto the enthusiasm in Harry’s voice. “Want him to come up and talk to you?”

But bewilderingly, Harry shook his head again.

“If you’re sure,” Sirius uncertainly said, pressing a kiss to his godson’s forehead. “Love you, Harry.”

Harry swallowed. “Love you too Sirius,” he said, quietly and doubtfully. Sirius hated how Harry reacted to and said those words. He ought to be used to them, shouting them as casually as most kids did.

Sirius reported everything to Remus. “So. What do you think?”

“He’s clearly hiding something,” Remus decided.

“Obviously,” Sirius said with a hint of impatience. “But should I pry into it or leave it alone, Moony?”

Remus tapped his finger on the table uneasily. “Do you think this might harm him?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius admitted. “I don’t think I can take the chance though.”

He exhaled. “Then you need to know. But be gentle about it.”

Sirius swallowed. “Alright. Yeah.”

“Harry?” Sirius knocked on the door. Again, there was shuffling and a sudden yelp. “Harry! I’m coming in.”

His godson was tucked in again, but much more sloppily – it was clear he’d done it hurriedly in the past few seconds. Sirius’ concern rose, and he forced it down enough to take deep breaths and approach this rationally.

“Want to come out, Harry?”

The boy obviously understood Sirius knew something was up. He looked terrified as he shook his head.

He swallowed. He really wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Would Harry hate him at the end of this?

“Harry,” he said as gently as he could. “You know you can tell me anything.”

His godson swallowed, remaining mute.

“I don’t mind secrets. You’re a child; you’re entitled to some. But not if it’s weighing on you so much, if it’s affecting your ability to eat and come out and socialize and function.” He paused and let out a breath. “Harry, please tell me if something is hurting you.”

Harry’s eyes were raised searchingly to his. Sirius wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he had a feeling he was on the precipice of Harry’s trust in him.

Harry took a deep breath, and then he shoved the blanket off him. “It happened when I was flying this morning,” he said quietly.

His arm was bent at an odd angle.

“Your wrist is broken?” Remus asked in horror. Harry hated people talking around him as though he weren’t there.

The kid shifted uncomfortably, and said nothing.

“Harry—” Remus broke off, clearly trying not to lay blame on him. “Alright. We need to take you to Healer Davies.”

Harry’s face eased at the mention of the only Healer who was allowed near him – and that only after Dumbledore’s approval of him, enduring Sirius’ thorough background and security checks, suffering Andy and Ted’s threats of suing if he made a single misstep and accepting Remus’ lycanthropy.

There was that, Sirius supposed. At least he wasn’t protesting treatment now.

Even if he looked like he’d rather die than be where he currently was.

“Flying accident, huh?” Healer Davies said sympathetically, handing Harry a chocolate wand which he munched on happily as the healer conducted the final check-up. “My Roger gets into those all the time. A broken wrist is really the least of them, so you need to be more careful.”

“Yes, Healer Davies,” Harry replied through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Good lad. You’re free to go,” he added to Sirius. Harry ducked his head to avoid his gaze, and Sirius frowned. “Make sure he doesn’t experience any soreness in his wrist in the next few days. That could mean it hasn’t healed properly.”

“I’m sure Harry will tell us if he does experience any difference in the functioning of his wrist,” he said smoothly, and saw his godson flinch. It was mildly satisfying, but also caused a guilty pit in his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted as soon as they Apparated to their front door.

Sirius sighed. “I’m glad you are, but we still need to talk about this—”

“I know I shouldn’t have told you and inconvenienced you like that, but—”

“Wait, what?” Remus asked, shocked. “Harry, we’re glad you told us.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “You – you are?”

“Of course!” Sirius knelt in front of him. “Harry. We love you. We want you to be okay, always. That’s it. No matter the inconvenience. Not that taking you to a healer is one at all.”

“So. . . What do you want me to be sorry for?” His godson asked confusedly, and Sirius sighed. The phrasing broke his heart.

“That you didn’t tell us, Harry,” Remus said softly. “That you had the choice, and rather than trusting us, you wanted to suffer through the pain instead. We’re not blaming you, of course, and we are glad you told Sirius in the end, but still. . .” He trailed off.

Harry blinked. “You … you wish I’d told Sirius earlier?” He looked stunned.

“As soon as it happened,” Sirius emphasized, which made Remus send an exasperated glance at him. He shrugged in response.

Harry looked like he was mulling it over.

“Harry, it’s horrible that you assume you need to keep something like a broken wrist secret,” He continued, thinking his godson may respond better to this. “It hurt you, and I’m your guardian. Even if we didn’t love you and care about your wellbeing, which we do, it’d be my obligation as a decent person and a good guardian to get you treatment and prevent your pain.”

“The Dursleys definitely aren’t decent people or good guardians,” Harry agreed, looking relieved and more understanding of this train of thought rather than the love and concern one. The thought made Sirius want to go and murder the Dursleys, which wasn’t an altogether uncommon desire these days.

“So you’ll tell Sirius or me the next time you’re hurt or you don’t like something we’ve done or feel uncomfortable?” Remus asked gently after he raised an eyebrow in his direction. Sirius grinned to himself. It was nice – knowing Harry at least that much and surprising Moony.

The kid considered that. “Even if it’s my own fault?” He whispered.

“Was it?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. He and James had definitely been no strangers to reckless stunts on brooms followed by hospital wing visits.

“I tried the D’Orazio dive,” Harry admitted meekly.

“The D’Orazio dive?” Sirius groaned, remembering James proudly displaying it in his first match and suffering many bruises when he’d attempted to copy it from his friend’s enthusiastic but not all that refined tutoring. “Oh, kiddo. No wonder you fell. You’ve been flying for barely three months. How did you think you’d manage it?”

“That sounds reckless, Harry,” Remus chided gently, “And we would scold you and tell you to be more careful and maybe Sirius would ban you from flying if this happened too often. But we will always want to know if you’re hurt and get you treatment.”

“Even if it’s your own fault,” Sirius snorted. “Your dad and I did this nonsense plenty back in the day.”

“And James’ parents used to yell and then exasperatedly ground you,” Remus recalled.

“And then we’d raise a mayhem on ground that’d cause them to either ground us more – which we’d break – or relent and let us fly.”

“And then you’d do something dumb in the air again, starting the cycle all over again.” Moony finished dryly. “Don’t get any ideas, Harry.” He added hurriedly.

His godson grinned cheekily. “How could I not, with such illustrious predecessors?”

Sirius laughed and ruffled his hair, getting to his feet. “It’s normal for people who love flying – like you and your dad – to want to try more advanced maneuvers. Thankfully, you have some of Lily’s common sense too, and your own cleverness. If you think something may be beyond your ability, you do it under supervision. Maybe we can look into coaching or the Little League. And if anything like this happens, you tell me or Remus or Madam Longbottom if it’s at her house.”

Harry swallowed. “Okay,” he decided. “I will.”

“Even things like this that have happened in the past,” Sirius added shrewdly. Sure enough, his godson blushed and looked caught out, toeing the ground. “Just say you’ll try.”

Sirius of all people knew what it was like to mistrust your guardians and the difficulties in getting over abuse.

“And like Healer Davies said, tell Sirius or even me if your wrist gives you any trouble.” Remus told him.

Harry smiled his genuine, sweet smile. “Okay. I think I can do that. I’m sorry for worrying you,” he mumbled.

“Oh, you always worry us,” Remus told him, smiling.

“Just less when you’re unhurt,” Sirius said. “We love you, Harry. This comes with the territory.”

“Love you too,” Harry said, sounding less uncertain about it than he had only a couple hours ago.

And it wasn’t like it was solved instantly. It wasn’t that Harry had immediately trusted them after that.

But it was one step forward. It certainly seemed more likely that someday they would have an easier, freer, trusting relationship.

Sirius couldn’t wait.

#fluffbruary 2023 #fluffbruary #fanfiction #fanfic #sirius black raises harry potter #harry james potter #sirius black #harry potter

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stargazer-sims · 1 year

Text

Journal Entry #47 (part one)

previously - Journal Entry #46 (part seven)

Victor

Hey, everyone.

So, it's been a while, and I'm not even sure where to start. Things have been... chaotic. I guess Yuri's been keeping you up to date, and I'm sure he's told you all about my accident and everything that's been happening since, so I won't go over that again. Living it once was enough, and I'm still having nightmares about it, so... yeah. I'm trying to keep my waking hours as free from it as I can.

I haven't felt like recording anything up to now. I mean, I obviously couldn't while I was in the hospital, but since I've been home again, I haven't had the mental stamina for it, or the physical stamina either, really. Being in pain is pretty exhausting, honestly. I think I probably already knew that from taking care of Yuri, but now I understand it from personal experience. I'm not used to feeling like crap and having hardly any energy, and it sucks.

I’m confident that my arms and rib are slowly getting better, and Mom says the bruises I had on my face and shoulder and down my side are totally gone, but I'm still having brutal headaches and I still can't see properly. Julian had to set up my phone for me so I could record this. If I'm not looking right into the camera, I'm sorry, and if I'm accidentally giving all of you like, a thousand-yard stare or something, I apologize for that too.

Sometimes I think my eyes are improving, but then I'll blink or I'll try to focus on something and it's just gone again. Mostly, everything's all blurry and indistinct, as if I'm looking through one of those frosted glass shower doors. It's frustrating because not only can I not play games on my Switch or text on my phone, I can't even do stuff that doesn't require major use of my hands and arms, like watching videos or practicing my reading or even picking out audio books by myself. I have to get help finding an audio book to listen to, or a movie. I basically have to listen to movies too, which is annoying.

When I'm not in too much pain, I get bored, and without being able to do anything to distract myself, all I can do is think. I don't like that. It's too scary and depressing, especially when I start worrying about whether my life really is going to get back to normal.

I realize it's only been a little over a week since my accident — this is Monday night and it happened a week ago Friday — so I shouldn't expect too much, too soon. The doctor did say it might take a few weeks or maybe up to a month for the worst of the symptoms to resolve, after all, and I might be dealing with some aftereffects for months. She said it was a grade 4 concussion, which is the most severe type because I was unconscious for more than a full minute, and she said I've got mild swelling of the brain. That's the explanation for the bad headaches and dizziness and of course the vision problems. I'm not supposed to be doing anything strenuous, or even remotely active, really. I'm not even allowed to climb the stairs by myself until the doctor clears me to do it. Not that I can actually climb the stairs by myself anyway, but you know.

Earlier today, Yuri's dad arranged an appointment for me with the oppthalmologist that he and Mrs. Okamoto, Yuri and Yuki all go to. Her name is Dr. Ishida, and she's going to see me this coming Friday. Exactly two weeks after the accident, if you're counting. I'm hoping she gives me better news than the ophthalmologist at the hospital did.

Yeah, you didn't hear that wrong. Mr. Okamoto arranged it. Yuri was going to do it himself, but he's actually sick right now and he's not up to making important phone calls. Like, he's sick enough for the hospital, if you ask me, but I think somebody would literally have to carry him out to the car to get him there.

Managing at home when he's this ill is not ideal in my opinion, but he says he doesn't want to go to the hospital because he doesn't want to leave me. I totally get that. I don't want us to be apart either, but I'm also freaking out because I can't take care of him like I usually do, and he's not comfortable with Mom or Julian doing what I normally would. Plus, they don't know everything they should be doing for him anyway, and it's super difficult for me to explain it.

All I can say is, thank goodness for Yuri's dad.

I know what you're likely thinking. Up to now, Yuri and his father have been on really bad terms and barely spoke to each other, and Mr. Okamoto hasn’t exactly been my biggest fan either, so why am I saying I’m grateful for him? Well, the thing is, he’s surprised us all during the last several days, and not in a negative way.

Let me try to explain.

Maybe people think Yuri’s not interested in a relationship with his dad, and I guess I wouldn’t blame anyone for believing that, considering how tense things were in the past. Yuri does actually want a relationship, but he and his dad are both so stubborn that once they started resenting each other for whatever real or imagined hurt they'd caused, neither one of them was willing to let go. I think Mr. Okamoto was more at fault than Yuri for the problems between them, mostly because he didn't know how to deal with Yuri not living up to his unreasonable expectations, but to be fair, you can't have a disagreement by yourself. Yuri isn't just an innocent victim of his dad's difficult personality and crappy communication skills. He had his own part to play.

But, since my accident, we're seeing a side of Mr. Okamoto that we've never seen before. It started with him coming to the hospital right after it happened, to sign consent forms, talk to the doctors and generally deal with stuff until Yuri could get there. Then, he stayed here with Yuri while I was in the hospital, which I was grateful for. I didn't like to think about him being alone. He said it was awkward, having his father here, but also kind of reassuring in a way.

I'm glad they both seem to be softening up, at least for the moment. Yuri really needs his dad in his life, and seeing Mr. Okamoto ready and willing to help us says something about how much has changed between them in a short time.

I want to be optimistic that things are going to get better between them going forward. Anyone who didn't know the whole story would probably be inclined to be positive in this situation, and maybe I should be too. I promise I'm trying, but knowing Mr. Okamoto, I have my doubts. He's not great at consistency and he hasn't shown much interest in the past, but I guess there's always a chance this time it'll be different. For Yuri's sake, I hope so, but I suppose we'll have to wait and see.

Anyway, on Saturday night after dinner, Mr. Okamoto came over to get the stuff Hana left here that morning. Apparently, Yuri had called or texted him to pick it up because he didn't want her coming back here for it herself. I'm pretty sure nobody wanted her to come back, least of all me, so I was relieved when my father-in-law took the bags and made his exit.

I'm not sure I was quite so relieved when he returned about two hours later, with bags of his own, and with Yuki in tow.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I was thrilled to see Yuki. I just didn’t know what to expect with her and her father planning to stay here.

When Yuki first saw me, she ran to me and hugged me so hard that I thought she might break a few more of my ribs. Then we both cried a veritable flood while she told me she loved me and that she was glad I was alive.

I hadn't realized she was at the hospital with my friends on the day of my accident, and my heart hurt when she told me how worried she'd been. Nobody would tell her anything, she said, and when she wasn’t allowed to see me, she’d feared the worst. I said I was sorry for saying I didn't want anyone to come and see me in the hospital, and she said she understood, but I wondered if she did. In hindsight, I should've agreed to let her visit. I might've felt better after a hug from my favourite local super spy and internet personality, Yuki Okamoto.

Yuki and her father haven’t left here since Saturday night. He brought the smallest shikibuton for Yuki, and of course a normal sized one for himself, and the two of them have set up camp in the laundry room, of all places. Mom and Julian are in my room, Yuri's in his own room, and of course I'm still in the dining room, so it was the only spot left.

Mr. Okamoto said he was here to help. Nobody questioned him, not even Yuri. Since then, he's been doing all kinds of things around the house, including cooking and baking, which he's good at, and housecleaning chores, which he's not good at. Most importantly, he's doing things for Yuri, like helping him in the bathroom, and making sure he stays as nourished and hydrated as possible. Mom said he even gave him a bath this morning, which in her words, "left the upstairs bathroom looking like a small tsunami went through."

While Mom mused aloud about how he could've gotten so much water everywhere and why there were so many wet towels, and complained about the disaster area he'd left behind, I laughed so hard it hurt. I was trying to picture it, and all I could think about was the time me and Ellie were babysitting her cousins, and the four-year-old decided he wanted to be a sea monster while in the bath. We even got water on the ceiling that day, although we never mentioned it to Ellie’s aunt and uncle. I guessed Yuri probably hadn’t been anywhere near as lively as that kid had been, and it was much less likely that he’d wanted to play a game and splash around for fun, so it left me curious about the mess, too.

Bathtime tsunami notwithstanding, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thankful for Mr. Okamoto's help right now. I doubt he's anywhere close to my standards when it comes to Yuri's care, but far be it from me to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. That he's even here at all is astounding, and the fact that he basically rolled up his sleeves and plunged into the current state of madness in our home is a super big deal.

On a connected and somewhat lighter note, I'm pretty sure Julian and Mr. Okamoto are besties now. Mom still seems a little cool toward him, but he and Julian have instantly bonded over their shared interests. They both play the piano, they both love art, and apparently Mr. Okamoto is as big a science fiction and fantasy nerd as Julian. Not gonna lie, listening to the two of them geek out over video games, role playing, Llama Man comics, and classic sci-fi B movies like It Came From Sixam and Day of the Plant Sims was kind of surreal.

It was highly entertaining, having an Uncle Kaz movie marathon with them on Sunday night. We watched some of Uncle Kaz's older Japanese-language films, with English subtitles, and me and Mr. Okamoto tried our best to help Julian understand the jokes. It was fun and felt weirdly comfortable, and by the end of it, my father-in-law and future stepfather were on a first-name basis. I'm not even allowed to call my father-in-law Kenji, so obviously Julian has made a great impression.

Wait... let me backtrack a bit. Like, a lot of stuff happened before the movie marathon, and it's way more important.

On Sunday, we all slept in. Once everybody except Yuri had finally gotten out of bed, Mr. Okamoto and Yuki made rice, eggs and grilled fish for breakfast, and it was so good. Mom had to feed most of my meal to me, but Yuki and I figured out a way for me to grip a spoon without using my thumb, so with her guidance, I was able to feed myself a bowl of rice. It was strange not using chopsticks, and I still feel embarrassed about getting help to eat, but I'm learning to accept it. It’s only temporary, and things could be a lot worse, right?

But, I digress.

After breakfast, Julian helped me upstairs so I could lie down and cuddle with Yuri for a while, and try to figure out just how ill he was. I knew it was serious the night before, when he didn’t come downstairs to share my mattress in the dining room, but I didn’t know the extent of it until I could see him and physically touch him.

To my dismay, it was way worse than I’d expected. He’d been unwell for a couple of weeks before my accident, and I realized he’d been declining, but this was really bad. It blew my mind how he’d managed to hide the true severity of his pain from me, but I reminded myself that I hadn’t exactly been in a fit state to notice every little nuance of his demeanour and body language like I normally would.

Obviously, he’d been forcing himself to do everything he thought he had to do instead of resting and taking care of himself, and by Saturday night his body didn’t have enough fight left in it. His immune system is weak at the best of times, and it’s like he’s constantly pushing through a state of nearly always being mildly unwell, but this had clearly been a headlong rush into a full-on crash. There was no way he hadn’t seen this coming, even if I hadn’t.

Once I was settled in bed with him, I let him lay on top of me the way he likes, even though it made my cracked rib hurt like hell. It was pointless to say anything or to try stopping him. He was so out of it, he probably didn't even realize what he was doing and just instinctively crawled onto me, seeking any bit of familiarity and human closeness he could find. I felt bad for him because even though I was in discomfort, I knew he was in far more pain than I was. I could feel heat radiating off his skin, and every time I moved even slightly, he whimpered.

I wished with every fibre of my being that I could make all his suffering disappear. I hated that he was so sick, and that it was at least partly my fault for not paying better attention to him and letting it get to this point without insisting that he needed rest and medical attention.

"This isn't good, Yuri," I told him, after I’d inadvertently shifted my weight, and he literally cried out from either the movement itself or the abrupt change of pressure against his stomach.

“Don’t… don’t do that,” he gasped. “Hurts. Gonna make me throw up.”

Normally, I might make a joke about him throwing up in bed, but this was not a laughing situation. “If you have to, tell me. I’ll yell for your dad.”

“Please… don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. His tears were soaking through my t-shirt, and I felt helpless to comfort him. “Do you want to lay a different way? It might be less uncomfortable if you’re lying on your side or your back.”

“Wanna lie like this. With our whole bodies touching.”

“We can do that with you on your side,” I said. “You can be the little spoon.”

“Don’t wanna be the little spoon.” And to prove how adamant he was about it, he curled his fingers around a fistful of my shirt, as if daring me to pry him loose. I could feel his little hand trembling against my shoulder .

I rubbed small lines on his back with my fingertips. It felt inadequate, but it was all I could do with my arm in a cast. “Yuri,” I said. “Can you listen to me for a second?”

“Yeah,” was the weak reply.

"You need to see a doctor.”

“Don't want to.”

“You can’t go on like this. You need help, and you need to be somewhere where somebody can take care of you properly.”

"No..." He dragged out the single English syllable in a long whine before continuing in barely intelligible Japanese, "Want you to take care of me."

"I can't, sweet baby," I said. "I love you so much and I want to do everything for you, and I really I wish I could, but this is too much for either of us right now. You need to be where somebody can tend to you night and day, and I think you're gonna need medicine and intravenous fluids to help you get better."

"No," he repeated.

"Yes," I insisted. "Remember last time you were this sick? You needed fluids and antibiotics, and your doctor said the hospital was the best place for you."

"Don't want antibiotics. Make me feel worse."

"I know, but only for a short time. After that, you'll start feeling better a lot quicker. Let your dad take you to the hospital so you can get better?”

“No.”

“I’m worried about you, Yuri. Please.”

"Don't wanna be alone." he said.

"You wouldn't be alone. Me and Mom and Julian would all take turns staying with you. I think even your dad would. He's really stepped up lately, you know."

"Gotta tell him..." Yuri said, but then seemed to lose the thought, and mumbled something that sounded like, "My violin."

I smiled despite the circumstances. "You have to tell your dad about your violin? What about it?"

He let out a little grunt of frustration and tugged feebly at my shirt. "Victor!"

"I'm here."

"Listen."

"I'm listening, love."

"My violin case. Tell Papa..." He trailed off momentarily, as if he was trying to think of how to make the most impact with as few words as possible. "In my violin case. Look. It's important."

"Okay," I agreed.

"Thank you," he whispered. And then, "Love you. Just... wanna protect you."

"I know," I said. "I love you too."

"Please... tell Papa. Promise."

"I promise."

That satisfied him, and he let out a long, shaky breath that was half sigh and half moan. "Gonna sleep," he murmured. He was still clutching my shirt, but it didn't take long before I felt his fingers relax.

I lay awake, thinking. I couldn't imagine what would be in Yuri's violin case other than his violin, and why it'd be so important for his father to see it, but he was so insistent that I figured I'd better not ignore his request. Besides, I promised, and you guys know how I hate breaking promises, especially ones I've made to Yuri.

When I was sure he was sound asleep, I eased him off me as carefully as I could, and then climbed out of bed. It took me a second to orient myself, and then a few more seconds to crawl my way over to where Yuri usually keeps his violin case, on the floor next to his dresser. I could make out the shape of it, and to my surprise, the distinct shape of his violin on its stand next to it. He almost never leaves his violin out for long periods of time. I didn't know when he'd practiced last, but it definitely hadn't been since I got out of the hospital. He wouldn't have left it out since Thursday, so I guessed he must've taken it out sometime on Saturday.

But why?

Cursing my clumsy fingers, I fumbled with the latch of the case for a minute or two. I let out my breath when I finally got it open.

What I found inside was something I totally did not expect. It was a beige file folder stuffed with papers.

I didn't dare try to lift it out by myself, fearing that I'd end up spilling the contents all over the floor. I knew I wouldn't be able to read anything, but I had to soothe my curiosity anyway, so I hooked my fingers under the cover of the folder and flipped it open.

I'll admit, had no idea what to make of it when I thought I saw two passports inside. Why would Yuri have our passports in a folder like this? He’d said he wanted to protect me, but surely that didn’t include leaving the country? Neither of us were in any shape for that. I didn’t understand.

I probably would've panicked if my bruised brain hadn't suddenly registered the fact that both passports were red. The covers of Canadian passports are dark blue, so neither of these could've been mine, and if mine wasn't there then Yuri's wasn't either. Even if either of us could travel, he wouldn't go anywhere without me. I was sure of that.

But, that only begged the question, whose passports were they? And what was Yuri doing with them?

Obviously, it wasn't something he was trying to hide from me, or he wouldn't have directed me to them and asked me to tell his father. The thing was, there was no way in hell I was going to show anything to Mr. Okamoto until I knew what it was myself.

Since I couldn't read the papers, and I couldn't ask Yuri about them, I decided there was only one thing to do. I made my way the short distance back to the bed, and then felt around carefully on the nightstand to locate Yuri's phone. I was glad we'd activated voice dialling on both our phones a few days ago, as that was going to make my mission a whole lot easier.

I had to concentrate to remember how Yuri had listed my mother in his contacts, but once I got it, I said aloud into the silence of the room, "Hey, Siri. Call Dr. Grace."

Mom answered on the second ring, and she sounded both confused and worried. "Yuri? Is everything okay, sweetheart? Why are you calling me from upstairs?"

"Mom, it's me," I said. "Yuri's sleeping. Everything's pretty much as you'd expect, but... can you come up, please? I need your help with something important."

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'll show you in a minute. Please, just come up. I don’t want to tell you over the phone.”

That last sentence came out weird, like a line from a badly-scripted TV show, but I didn’t waste brainpower stressing over it. I had a feeling I’d need to save my mental energy to deal with whatever I was about to learn about the passports and Yuri’s folder full of mystery papers.

"Okay," Mom said. "Hang on. I'll be right there."

#ts4 #sims 4 #eagames #snowy escape #victorandyuri #victorsworldadventures #tw illness #tw chronic illness #tw pain #tw medical #tw injury #stargazersims

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sunset-peril · 2 years

Text

Lullay, Space Princess (A Man Named Terran #1) - Chapter Three - Mama Aura

Author's Note: If you were reading this story for nice and loving Aunt Aura, you may stop reading now.

~~~~

October 21st, 2021

~~~~

"Simon, I know you didn't kill her! Why do you keep living this lie!"

"I should ask of you, dear sister, why do you still come for me? I took the one you cared for most and sent her flying across the River Styx. Should you not be focusing your energy on celebrating my death sentence?"

"You are my nerdy little brother! You like katanas, calling people by Japanese titles and those stupid animes you'd always watch in the middle of the night with no headphones! You didn't kill her, I know that! Why do you keep claiming you did? Work with me and I can give you your true verdict! We can stop GYAXA's death count from climbing any higher!"

"This is my true verdict, Aura. Calm yourself."

"If that's true, then how did you dissolve from my kind, goofy brother who was the gentlest man alive to a death row inmate?!"

"As Metis was your greatest treasure, Athena is mine."

Athena is mine... Athena is mine... Athena is mine.

That's when it hit her. Simon was innocent as she always knew.

But he was taking the fall for someone else. Someone who had taken truth with them to the other side.

Metis' little princess.

~~~~

October 13th, 2022

~~~~

The Cykes family had been gone for just over a year when Aura finally pieced it together.

Athena did it. She murdered her mother.

The princess had taken her mother's unwavering love and repaid it with murder.

Her own death was payback.

Simon confessed before Athena died.

He wasn't at the hospital the last few days of her life. He would have known Athena was going to die if he had.

That psychologist mind was the one thing Aura lacked that the rest of her family had. Simon would have heard Athena's brain shutting down if he'd been there before his trial.

A trial cannot be held if the defendant is dead. He would not have confessed if he heard the signs Athena's days were turning to hours, then minutes.

Everything would have been better. Not good, Metis was still gone.

But she'd still have Simon.

A year ago, she would say that it would be better even though Metis and Athena were gone.

But the little princess took her mother's life. She in no way deserved to be missed.

Aura had been in denial a long time, until the evidence against Athena began to pile up.

All the child remembered on her last day was that she was covered in blood, there was her mother's katana through her mother's chest and Simon had entered some time after her.

Aura knew the child was in pain for some time while she and Metis worked to create a device that would at least subside her agony.

Perhaps she just couldn't take one more day of it.

The pain was getting worse, she remembered Simon mentioning in August 2020. The launch was getting closer as well, so there wasn't much time to work on helping Thena. Resources were not easily spared as well. Athena's headaches weren't a government-funded space project, and had to wait.

That was the conclusion Aura reached. Athena killed her mother because the board of directors had all resources devoted to the space launch, leaving none for further robotic development or Athena's condition.

How cruel the world was, that pain could drive an innocent little girl that had never even seen mild violence to murder someone who never had a say.

Weapons were no longer allowed in the center, even for decorative reasons.

A decorative sword had been the murder weapon two years ago.

Aura was allowed a ray gun for emergency charging of robots or emergency shut-off of machinery. The gun was to be holstered at all times unless there was cause for alarm.

She suspected it only spent a max of three hours a day on her hip. She used it on Clonco multiple times every day. The hunk of junk was always needing something.

"Mama Aura!" Clonco wheeled happily into the lab, spinning around and waving a letter in his hands.

Aura let the ray gun loose.

Electricity shot from the robot's joints before his head spun around and he cowered. "Ah, Miss Aura sorry, sorry!"

"What is it, hunk of junk? I'm quite busy!"

"Your petition for Simon's trial has returned!"

It was snatched from his metal claw and torn open. Every time she found anything that could prove what she already knew, she submitted a retrial petition. They had been rejected for two years straight: the first year because there wasn't conclusive proof that Simon lied in his confession, the second year because her new suspect was already deceased. This time, she'd tried a new tactic. She knew how that intolerable, fox-slippery court system was. The likelihood they'd host a retrial only for the overturn of a previous verdict was next to nothing. But she was desperate. Her brother was a dying man. If they wouldn't rehost a trial only because the real killer was dead, then she'd have to stop playing by their rules.

Miss Aura Blackquill,

We have reviewed your case for the retrial of Homicide Incident UR-1.

However, we find your case lacking in enough evidence to suggest an overrule of the current verdict. While some evidence may suggest an accomplice to the current convict, the case cannot be retried on the suspicion of their guilt due to the suspect's being deceased. If evidence were to point to the deceased suspect's guilt as acting without the aid of the current convict, the case could be considered. Otherwise, the case is considered closed without further argument.

The Japanifornia Prosecution Office hereby rejects your case for the retrial of UR-1.

Condolences,

Miles Edgeworth, Chief Prosecution Officer

Condemn them! They admit facts of the case have changed, but still refuse a retrial? Prosecutors and their desire only for a guilty verdict! If he were still around, he could help her present the evidence in a way that would force the case to reopen.

But he's been banned from the courtroom for three years now. Seemingly gone off grid as well. A quick search through the court library states he appeared in Family Court just a few months after his conviction, but that is the last record anywhere.

She tried the next best attorney. Gavin wouldn't even meet.

No other attorney had the win record near these two men, especially when it came to difficult cases. She was left as her own advocate.

Simon's connections to the Prosecution Office didn't help. The prosecutors were afraid for their jobs, and wouldn't answer if they heard her on the line. The attorneys didn't want another prosecutor added back to the office roster. Legal experts and journalists wouldn't touch either of the Dark Law cases. Judges started yelling and, well, judging. The only individual within the legal realm who had even sat through a lunch with her was no longer practicing law, but performing in Europe.

A few knocks were heard on her door. "Miss Aura? May I come in."

"Come in, Terran."

A young man with a newly-printed staff badge, a GYAXA visor and a mop of shiny, black hair stepped in carefully with a stack of papers; technical jargon and documentation all over them. "The techs are requesting some stabilizers for the engine, special coolant tanks and an entirely new AI system for the rocket launch in 2027. You know, anti-HAT-1 gear. They need to know whether the Spaceship Engineer Committee needs to reconvene."

"Of course. Put them on the little black shelf by the Ponco Series Interface. The big computer with the three screens." Waving dismissively in the general direction of the interface, she did not look away from the rejected petition and her brows furrowed deeper.

"Another rejected petition, Miss Aura? You seem out of it."

"Yes, Terran. They acknowledge that there is evidence proving someone else was involved in the murder, but refuse to retry."

Terran waited until the reams were settled before responding. "Can you put a name on the new suspect?"

"Yes." She hissed a little on the 's'.

Clay figured she didn't want to talk about it. The person she believed destroyed the lives of everyone in her family wasn't going to stand in court any time soon. "I'll leave you to your robots then. I'll see you soon, Clonco. Tell Ponco I said I."

He was halfway out the door before she looked up. "Terran, wait. How much do you know about what happened?"

"I know Doctor Cykes and her daughter died, stabbing and a hemorrhage respectively, and Mister Simon was convicted of it. Apparently now I also know there was another person involved."

"Let me tell you. You are on staff now, you deserve to know of Cosmos Space Center's darkest secret."

~~~~

"You believe that it was Doctor Cykes' daughter who committed the crime?"

"Like I said, Athena was in terrible pain the last few months of her life. Inhuman suffering often brings out the worst in even the gentlest of souls."

"Wouldn't Doctor Cykes have done something to soothe her daughter?"

"She could not. Supplies were completely restricted until the launch of HAT-1. She tried to get painkillers for her daughter, but doctors of medicine wouldn't understand how Athena was hurting and wouldn't give a prescription. Pediatric over-the-counters weren't strong enough to even dull the edge. What the child probably needed was morphine, but without a prescription she couldn't have it."

"Morphine?! She wasn't just in pain, she was in agony!"

"That's why she never left the fourth floor the last few months of her life. It was a good day if she left her room. Robotics lab, psyche lab, her family's apartment there on the floor; they were the only places she went." Aura snorted a sigh. "Just before the supplies were restricted, Metis got me to develop a pair of radio headphones that would interfere with signals coming into Athena's ears. Her pain worsened severely around the time I finished, and she refused to wear them, which progressed whatever was wrong severely. She died, as you know, on October 13th from brain hemorrhaging, just about three months later."

"But her death wasn't caused by whatever was hurting her, it was the skull puncture wound she got on the 7th, correct?"

"That's what her paperwork says. But it's also likely that whatever was wrong before was killing her and the wound finished off any chance she had at fighting. If that's so, she held on for a long time. I believe she was overcome with pain, and with the belief that the headphones Metis ordered were the cause, killed her mother. She may have even known she was dying. Maybe she wanted to take Metis with her because she was scared of death. I don't know, Athena is dead. All I know is Athena killed her, not Simon."

Clay's body ran colder and colder as it processed a little girl, driven mad by chronic head pain, stabbing her mother to death. It disgusted him to the core, but he retained his stomach for the time being. It almost disturbed him more that Aura discussed it so casually. This was matricide! Caused partially by some degree of medical malpractice! "D-Does anyone else know your theory of events?"

"All of the higher staff. Everyone who knew Metis well when she died. Yuri, Solomon, the technicians. You are the last one."

"Your brother doesn't know? It could save him!"

"Simon won't hear of it!" She tilted her head away as if he had suddenly turned into fermenting roadkill right in front of him. "Athena is his angel, he won't hear of any bad words about Athena. He believes Athena's head problems and Metis' death were separate. The only events he believes are related are the deaths of the two. He won't even let me breathe a sound of the possibility that Athena killed Metis because of a misunderstanding of her chronic head condition. He just pounds the Detention Center window and snarls 'Athena is gone. Don't you dare deface her name. She didn't take her mother's life, but had hers taken as well.' If he knew I was sharing what the evidence was suggesting he probably would be guilty of a murder, mine!"

'I never knew your brother and little Athena were so close."

"She may have called me Mama Aura, why I don't know when she loved my nerdy brother so much more, but Simon was the only person she ever wanted to be around aside from her mother. If she wasn't obeying the staff, all it took was a word from Simon and she'd be rolling over for him." She leaned closer to Clay. "Now I've heard your little friend with the horns... he's studying law?"

"Planning to. Apollo wants to be a defense attorney, but he hasn't started yet. He has to be eighteen since he's orphaned. Why?"

"No attorney will take this case from me because the obvious suspect is dead, even though Simon is very alive. But if you could convince your friend... this system of ours can't be trusted, but we need someone on the inside to take it down."

"I don't know if Apollo would accept. He didn't know Athena, he just came to her funeral to comfort me. There's also a chance he won't get his badge in time, and even then he'll just be a rookie lawyer. Definitely not someone like Wright or Gavin."

"Believe me, Wright was my preferred choice. But he's disbarred, so not much he can do. Gavin refused instantly."

"I don't think Apollo would want to discuss a real case until he's actually in college and has a chance at getting his badge. But I'd be willing to help you with your side."

"Oh, I'd love that Terran! You and me working together to expose the truth behind the princess' last days. Together we'll take down the sun and moon of the legal world, as Metis would have described."

After Clay bid his true farewell and returned to wherever he came from, Aura returned to the interface and picked up her photo of Metis, tracing the lines gently. "I'm sorry it all went so wrong, Metis... but the princess can't hold her grasp from the other side for much longer. The honor of GYAXA will be restored, Simon will be set free. I and the robots, along with Mr. Terran will fight for the truth of your final days; by whatever means necessary. The time is soon, Metis, I must be ready, for my brother, and for you."

She turned to both her robots: Clonco, who had heard the whole story, and Ponco, who he had transferred all the data to over the interface; smirking finally with a victory she'd been fighting for since October 7th, 2020. "You both know?"

Yes, Miss Aura! Our data sharing server is without fail! Ponco clapped her robotic pincers together. For Mommy Metis!

"Good. We will prove without a doubt that, not only is Simon innocent beyond a doubt, but that Metis' princess was the one who spilled her blood. This, is what Mama has decreed."

~~~~

youtube

This chapter is totally not based/inspired by the above song, no absolutely not.

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slimeywooper · 6 months

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Labmas AU - Unintended Consequences

Chapter 12 Part 3 - Game

CW: a mild description of gore and verbal cruelty.

The door locks behind them, and Colress starts his scolding of Kudari, "Just what the hell did you hope to accomplish?"

Kudari remains silent, eyes trained to the floor in shame. A small scab is forming on his neck where he had been bitten.

"Fine. Playing stupid games isn't technically against any of the rules I have laid out for you over the years, but I fail to see what you could gain by doing something so reckless." Colress begins pacing in his office. "You rip my last assistant to pieces, then wrap up my new one like some kind of burrito. What is wrong with you? I have been very patient, giving chance, after chance to correct your behavior, even when it's inexcusable. You're not a child anymore, these outbursts are no longer 'cute,' they're disturbing. And embarrassing. Everyone claims you and Nobori are my Magnum Opus, but you're nothing of the sort. All you cause me are headaches." Halting, he looks at Kudari. Still visibly upset, he continues, "I never did get an answer for why you did it. What could he have done to warrant what you did to him?"

Kudari pretends to be in deep concentration before asking, "Who is 'he'?"

No longer able to contain himself, Colress is shaking with rage, and shouts, "You know damn well who 'he' is!"

Remembering the incident clearly, Kudari eclipses Colress' upset by multiple magnitudes. "You want to know why? Have I ever done anything for no reason? The Joltik were being hurt!" he loudly wails.

"And you saw this happening?" Doubt plastered over his face, Colress crosses his arms, barely managing to keep an even tone after his eruption.

Controlling his volume, Kudari answers, "Not initially. They told me though! And every time one disappeared, he would say, 'don't worry about it, no one's going to miss them.' But I missed them." Rocking himself, Kudari's eyes water. "It wasn't until I saw him grab one, that I decided to put a stop to it. When I followed him to the autopsy room, begging him not to hurt it, he closed the door in my face. Knowing I could not follow directly in there, I climbed through the hatch leading to the other side of the room, meant for observation. It was then I saw what the others had gone through. They were held down as he plucked their hairs out, moving on to their little bodies when he thought they weren't reacting strongly enough. He would take them apart. I couldn't ignore them! They were crying out for me!" Kudari's voice lowers to a whisper, "He did it because he thought he was safe. It didn't occur to him that the glass in that room wasn't the same reinforced one used in the environmental enclosures." Slowly moving closer to Colress, his smile growing, he continues, "You should have seen his face when it started to crack. I had only hit it twice at that point. It wasn't long before it shattered and I could climb over. He stumbled back, hitting the wall." Now standing a breath away from Colress, smile so wide his teeth were visible, Kudari came to the conclusion of his reminiscence. "His face was the first to go. I bit most of it into pulp, and when he tried to push me away, his arms went next. Ripping the right one off, he lost his will to fight, or maybe it was the blood loss. I made sure to take the rest of him apart and would have taken his entrails out had he still been alive to feel it!"

Staring at Kudari, temper dissipating, Colress utters, "It's that kind of reaction that cemented my decision not to introduce you to (Y/N)." He puts his hands on Kudari's shoulders. "I know now the Joltik are your friends. Had I known what he was doing, I would have stopped him myself. I still don't agree with, or condone, what you did, but I have a better perspective of why." Colress sighs, looking away. "Don't make me regret letting (Y/N) work here. I know you think they are your friend, but I can't have any distractions. For you or them. We have work that needs to be done. There's no time for such tomfoolery."

Calming down, Kudari tries to explain, "I know that, but… I just wanted to work with (Y/N), without Nobori trying to take their attention away. They are my friend, not his!"

Colress rolls his eyes and becomes somewhat exasperated. "Nobori is my right-hand man for almost everything. Whether you like it or not, he's your brother. I can't have meaningless spats over anyone or anything, just because you feel jealous you're not getting the attention you want."

"Does this mean I can no longer help (Y/N)?" Kudari blurts out, panic beginning to flare up.

Colress goes silent, then responds, "I'm not sure yet. We'll see if (Y/N) is still willing to put up with you." He walks to the door, adding, "It's not that I don't think highly of you, It's that I'm constantly disappointed when I do." Kudari grabs his own head, digging his nails in. Reaching up, Colress takes Kudari's arms and lowers them back down, "No, none of that here. Save the tantrum for your room."

"But it's my fault… They're expecting me to help them…" Kudari sputters.

"I know that. You can't seem to not screw things up." He sighs again, looking at Kudari once more. "(Y/N) was so sure that you could be someone that helps out around here. They told me you must be brilliant to be able to manipulate the security system. What must they think of you now? They're probably terrified of you. Some friend you turned out to be."

Tears begin falling down Kudari's face, as he tries to suppress his sobs.

"Come on, we're going back to your room. Try to hold back the waterworks, you don't want everyone seeing you like this." Colress opens the door and exits with Kudari. They ride the elevator down and walk to his room.

Safely inside, and away from prying eyes, Kudari starts weeping in earnest. "T-thank you, Dr. Colress. Please let me continue to help. I didn't mean to cause trouble," he blubbers.

"Yes Kudari, you never do mean to, but it happens anyway. I'll try and talk with (Y/N). No promises, though." Colress closes the door. Turning and walking towards the kennels, he pulls out his tablet and begins typing.

#labmas au #hybrid au #colress #kudari #nobori #submas au

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awooga-llama · 2 years

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Oneshot

Theme/When you tell him you’re pregnant (part 1)

Triggers/Mentions of vomit, fainting, use of real names (Clay, Nick, etc.), fluff(?), and insecurity.

Featuring/Dream

More members of the DSMP coming later (writing for George, Wilbur, Jack, Sapnap, 5upp and Fundy) I know 5upp isn’t a part of the SMP but I love this boy so… AFAB! Reader (might do a similar thing but for males later)

You sat in the bathroom, the stick in your hands showing two pink lines. It had been at least a week since the last time you and Clay messed around, you two had taken the safety measures or at least you thought you guys did. Turns out the condom broke and the pill you actually took was your allergy pill that had gotten mixed in with your birth control sometime when you were unpacking from your trip that happened two weeks before. You had gone to see your family then. When you arrived home Clay was waiting and things got heated.

You knew immediately when getting out of bed this morning that something wasn’t right and then you went and got sick in the bathroom, not waking up your usually light sleeper of a boyfriend. You were scared of what he’d think and now wasn’t exactly the right time to tell him anyways, he was recording the last manhunt video with the boys. You could hear Clay’s laughter bouncing off the walls but instead of smiling like you wanted to, you began crying because that's what your hormones decided was the right thing to do. After puking some more, you eventually passed out from exhaustion on the tile floor of your shared bathroom, pregnancy test in hand still.

Hours passed and Clay finally finished up recording, feeling the urge to relieve himself. He walked into the bathroom and found you laying on the floor, he was instantly worried. He picked you up and carried you to your guy's bed, quickly rushing to get you some water. He didn't realise you dropped the test by the toilet. Clay was used to you fainting because it would happen a lot on the first day of your period so that’s why you didn’t go to the hospital. Once he had the water on the bedside table, a cooling pad placed on your lower abdomen, and some Midol next to the water he went back to the bathroom.

Clay was zipping up when his giant foot bumped the test, sliding it into an open space. He bent over and picked it up, taking him a full five minutes to realise what it was. If it weren’t for you sleeping in the room next door he would’ve screamed, not in panic or rage, but in pure joy. He wanted to pick you up and twirl you around till your heads got real dizzy, he wanted to run downstairs out of the house and shout from the top of his lungs “I GONNA BE A DAD” while you yelled at him to get out of the road. But he couldn’t do any of those things, he wanted you to be the one to tell him so instead, he washed his hands, stuck the test in his pocket, walked to the living room plopping down on the sofa and called Nick. Clay invited him over for dinner, not telling Nick the news yet, hoping you and him could do it together. During the waiting time, he talked everything out with Patches, baby names, nursery ideas, clothing style, and what the kid would possibly look like hoping it would get your good looks and his epic gaming skills, maybe he could teach them to become a better speedrunner than himself.

You awoke in bed with a mild headache but nothing more. You glanced down to see a cooling pad on your abdomen. Your brain immediately told you that Clay did this and that brought a smile to your face. No noises were heard that indicated Clay was still streaming and he wasn't in bed next to you meaning he was either out finally doing the grocery shopping for once, in his streaming room editing, or downstairs rewatching his favourite episodes from the office. Just laying in bed wasn't going to answer your question meaning you would have to get up. The silence was calming but you didn't want to be alone now because you'd just remember you were carrying a child and they're probably super cold due to the cold pack that so previously occupied your abdomen.

Slipping on your favourite hoodie and a pair of slippers you began your journey down the stairs, Gods were you always this slow when moving or was this a new thing? As you neared the bottom you could hear Clay talking to what sounded like Nick. You hid behind a nearby wall to spy on them.

Clay had an apron tied around his waist, hair was messy, there was red sauce all over his face mixed with sweat. It would've been hot if it was anything else but pasta sauce really?

"Stop touching stuff Nick! You're going to ruin it, do you see what you've done already?" He motioned one hand to his face and then to the can of pasta sauce by the microwave.

"Sorry Clay, cooking is normally easier. Nobody told me metal can't go in the microwave." Nick sat behind the island reaching for the garlic and a knife. I intervened and grabbed the knife before anyone could lose some fingers.

"No way mister." I laughed and made my way around the counter to slice up the herb myself. When finished, Clay scooped up the diced pieces and put them in the sauce that was on the stove, stirred it a few seconds then carried it to the table setting the hot pans in the centre. We served ourselves, Clay had a couple scoops and so did Nick, I also put a couple scoops, but they were heaping scoops that filled my plate. We ate slowly and the boys talked and told jokes. When I thought they weren't looking I stuffed food into my mouth quickly, barely chewing any of it before swallowing. Nick must've noticed because he said this next.

"Jesus (Y/N) what are you doing eating for two?" I felt tears prick in the corners of my (Y/E/C) orbs, swallowing the bite I had, breathed calmly and replied.

"Now that you mention, yeah, yeah I am eating for two. Now if you'll excuse me I'll be eating in my office where I don't get judged." I didn't mean to get snappy but my mouth had no filter. Before I could go anywhere Clay wrapped his arms around my waist making me sit on his lap almost spilling my plate.

"Well, since now he knows, can we discuss baby plans? Patches was a great listener earlier but not very helpful when it came to choosing things." We all smiled and laughed, enjoying the rest of our evening.

#dreamwastaken #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fanfiction #dream smp fanfiction #dream x y/n #dream x reader #pregnency #oneshot #soon to be #cute fluff #dsmp headcanon

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