#idk... is there a tw for when you make something sound important and it's not?? like the headline 'URGENT WARNING' or something | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

necromelli · 5 months

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Cherry Wine

[ next part ]

you meet your soulmate every night in your dreams, and tonight is no different. you just wish you knew his name is all.

tw: emotional cheating (maybe?), talk of abusive relationships (nothing descriptive, just mention), allusions to prostitution (I don't think it's outright stated?), mention of drowning, let me know if I missed something!

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i may or may not do another part depending on if people like this. idk it was really cathartic to write + i kinda wanna expand on reader's background + writing them meet

This was the only time you could ever meet. When the waves crashed over a dark beach, angry and relentless. Not even the moon existed in this place — nothing but skies as dark as the water stretched on forever. Even still, you looked forward to it every night. Sitting on the beach with him as the waves continued raging, until they eventually overtook you and you woke up gasping.

He insisted the beach never looked this dark. That it was never this terrifying. That it didn't continue to rise until it tried to drown you. He promised that one day, when you finally meet, he’d show you how lovely the beach truly was. How bright and warm the sun was, how cool and gentle the waves were when they lapped at your ankles. You didn't think you'd care what the beach looked like as long as he was there. If it was important enough to him to somehow make it through both of the clouded grays tormenting your minds, it was important to you too.

As long as it was him and not her. As long as it was the boy who’d hold your hand, who'd rub his thumb across your knuckles mindlessly, who’d try to comfort you and make you forget about your home life. On those nights, when he seemed able to calm you down, the ocean remained calmer for a longer time. On those nights, you half believed his promise of the beach being kind.

Even now, he looked so at peace standing by the rushing water. There wasn't an ounce of fear tensing his wide shoulders. Despite all his problems — at least the ones he confided in you — he still looked happy. When he saw the outline of your figure, a wide smile split across his face. He always beamed when he saw you — as bright as the sun, as pretty as the stars, as delphic as the moon.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice barely carried to your lonely spot on the beach. He started towards you, his smile never faltering. You followed suit, as fast as you could in the wet sand. “You look as pretty as ever.”

You knew he was messing with you. You were covered by your silk nightgown, arms crossed on your chest tight, trying to ignore the wind that nipped your skin. Still, though, you returned his smile with one of your own. “You look warm.” You answered back, laughing softly. “Be honest — is that real fur?”

For a moment, he was confused, as if he had forgotten all about the fact he was dressed to the nines. Looking down, he remembered. He wasn't at home and he didn't have the energy to change. He was quickly shrugging the coat off and draping it across your shoulders. “No. No, it's faux. In fact, if you look right here,” He stood behind you, lifting the arm of the coat closer to your eyes. “You’ll see how the fibers melted together.”

You wanted to look down at the sleeve, but you were distracted by the way his chest pressed against your back, how his arms slipped underneath your arms and wrapped around to your front, how his slow breaths were warm against your skin. You didn't think you’d be cold anymore, with or without the fur coat.

“How did they melt?” You asked curiously, your fingers clutching the open sides of the coat closer to your body. It smelled like honey and strawberries, it smelled like him. It washed over you, erasing the smell of cherries and wine. It made you forget.

“Well,” Finnick hummed, his chin coming down to rest on your shoulder. You were sure his eyes were closed softly, intent on listening to you breathe and the sound of the ocean. “Would you believe me if I said I couldn't tell you?”

You pushed the disappointment that buried deep in your chest, a feeling you were all too familiar with. But, despite the hollowness in your chest, you nodded. You understood better than anyone why some things, even with your soulmate, had to be a secret. “I would. Makes it mysterious,” He laughed, which made you smile. “I can make up all sorts of stories.”

“Oh really?” Your words had caught his attention. You knew because his nose pressed against your neck. You knew because you could feel the smirk form. “Like what, darling?”

You didn't respond. Instead, you looked at the ocean, which had since calmed into a low roar. His large hands splayed across your stomach, pressing into your ribs as he tried to warm them between the silk of your nightgown and fur of his coat.

You wished you could have known his name or the district he lived in, but that wasn't allowed. Anytime you tried, the ocean screamed or washed away the letters in the sand before they were even formed. Or the sky darkened so much you couldn't see your own hands, most certainly not each other's lips.

“Mm. I don't know.” You responded quietly as your own hands slipped through the arms of his coat and wrapped around your waist. You held him closer with the excuse of trying to warm his hands up. “If I told you, it would ruin the mystery of it.”

“That's true, love.” He pressed a warm kiss against your neck. It filled you with so much warmth you thought you’d combust into a million stars. “I look forward to this every night. I'm sorry I couldn't make it last night.”

His apology threatened to split your heart in half. There was no reason to apologize in your eyes. Sure, the hollow disappointment that filled your aching chest when he didn't arrive hurt, but it wasn't his fault. You knew that something needed his attention more than you. “It's okay,” you promised. “I’m not mad.”

“I know,” Finnick mused softly. He pressed another warm kiss against your neck, your bodies swaying together. “But, you still deserve the apology.”

You swallowed thickly, forcing the lump growing in your throat back down. As if the ocean reflected your emotions, the waves started crashing against the beach in larger pulls, nipping your toes with icy cold water. He was everything you wished she was. Even after everything, an apology never slipped past her lips. Not that it would've made a difference anyways, because her actions never matched.

Not wanting to lose you just yet, he hummed once again. His fingers found yours and interlocked them. As if on instinct, his thumbs brushed across your knuckles tenderly. “How’s your wife?” He asked, but not really caring in the slightest. He wanted to find everything about you out, about your life, so that he might be able to find you and whisk you away.

You took a moment to respond, not trusting your voice. “She’s fine.” You felt him squeeze your hand, encouraging you to continue. “She’s, well, she’s stressed. She won't tell me why, though, so I can only help in limited ways.”

“Limited ways?” He questioned you, knowing better than the sweet way you put it. It wasn't fair the way she had the audacity to turn your skin cherry red. If he could have fixed it, he would have. You’d never have to worry about her again.

“It helps.” You insisted, eyes burning. Humiliation clawed your throat. Part of you wished you had never told him, but then, he wouldn't be able to comfort you. To be the one thing saving you. “She doesn't mean it. The anger just takes her over and overwhelms her.”

“Still not a reason to hurt you.” He reminded, and you could tell he was on edge. His fingers tightened their hold, holding you closer to his chest. “What was it this time?”

You pursed your lips as you debated whether or not to tell him. You decided against it. “Would you believe me if I said I couldn't tell you?”

He sighed softly against your neck and picked his head up to kiss your temple. “I would.” A beat passed before he continued. “But, I wish I knew so I could kiss it better.”

Your head dipped as you smiled softly, swallowing the laughing sob that swelled in your throat. You knew he was entirely serious, that if you told him all the broken parts of you, he would spend all the time he had fixing it. It was tempting to tell him, so that he could kiss it better, but there wasn't enough time in the world for him to do that. Not with the ocean at your ankles now.

“How was work?” You asked, gently trying to change the subject. You didn't want to think about her. Not when he was here, holding you closely. In this dreamscape, where you got to be with your soulmate, nothing else mattered.

It was you, your soulmate, and the ocean.

It was his turn to contemplate whether or not he told you. A heavy sigh escaped through his nose, his hands guiding yours over your stomach. He squeezed you close, as if just having you there made it easier. It probably did.

“Stressful.” he admitted, debating how much he should truly tell you. “Last night was hard. Tonight was even harder.”

Your head fell back against his shoulder, turning inwards so you could kiss his neck. His breath caught in his throat, the longing of truly holding you threatening to suffocate him. You felt the water crash against your knees and pretended to ignore it.

“I’m sorry, love.” You whispered, and he knew you felt it deep in your bones with how tight your voice sounded. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

His initial answer was almost no, but he decided to offer something. “Just tired of people thinking pretty jewels and expensive gifts make what they do acceptable.”

The fur coat grew heavy on your shoulders as you realized it was one of his gifts. He would have never worn something so gaudy. Part of you wished you realized the moment he put it on you, so that you could've dropped it into the ocean and watched it disappear from the dreamscape altogether, forever.

“Or fancy baths that smell like mulled wine,” You offered in addition. You felt him smile despite the dark narrative. At least you had that in common; the way those in your life refused to see you as human.

“I much prefer my baths with flowers.” He laughed, kissing your cheek. “Sea thrift, to be exact.”

The water at your thighs didn't bother you. Not with him behind you, holding you tightly. Not with him kissing your cheek — careful not to brush against your lips. You wanted nothing more than to kiss him fully, but he insisted on waiting until he saw you in person. Until the moment you saw each other awake, you’d have to make do with this. But, he made up for it all with his doting and warm affection.

“Sea thrift?”

“Sea thrift.” He nodded, instinctively holding you closer to him. His fingers squeezed yours so tightly it hurt, but you didn't stop him. “Armeria Maritima. With as many books as your wife has, I'm sure there's one about them.”

You raised a brow, giggling. The sound made his chest swell with warmth. He loved you so much he was sure it would kill him one day. “Are you giving me homework?”

“Something to remind you of me tomorrow.” He answered — more so corrected. He would have loved to sit on the beach with you, card his fingers through your hair, and watch the waves, but tonight wasn't the night.

Usually, you got to spend almost all night together, only being torn apart when it was time to wake, but not tonight. Not with him away from home. Late to bed and early to rise. Your favorite moment was when you got to lay together, your head on his chest, half asleep with the buzz of the waves.

You were sure the beach could be a kind place. Full of kind, warm waters and sands. Even without ever visiting a real beach, it was your happy spot. All because of him. He pulled you out of your thoughts.

“I expect you to be able to tell me all about them.”

You turned around in his arms and buried your face in his chest. Her fingers gripped his white shirt, as his own slipped beneath the fur coat and clutched your silk nightgown. He didn't want to wake up. Not yet. It felt like he had just fallen asleep, and it truly wasn't fair that it wasn't your pretty face he got to wake up to.

“I love you, sugar.” He whispered and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

You struggled to keep your head above water, but still found the voice to whisper back. “I love you, too.”

#the hunger games #catching fire #finnick odair #mockingjay #thg fanfiction #thg finnick #finnick x reader #finnick x you #fanfic #thg series #thg #finnick imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair headcanons

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carmenized-onions · 4 days

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Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life— Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “Let’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person.

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear x you #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

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lov3m3darling · 1 year

Text

Apple of my Eye (Obsessed!Wally Darling x Short!Reader) Pt. 4

Another part! Idk how long this fic is gonna go on but I'm estimating maybe 10 parts? Not sure yet.

Anyway, on with the story!

!!!(TW: obsessive behaviors, jealousy, stalking, eye imagery)!!!

💙🍎💛🍎💙🍎💛🍎💙🍎💛🍎💙🍎💛🍎💙

Wally went home that night absolutely dazed and dizzy with love. Home even had to shove his chair underneath him before he fell a couple of times from not looking where he was walking.

He took off his jacket and loosened his tie before laying across the chair and sighing happily. Home creaked questioningly.

"Of course I'm alright, Home. I'm amazing, even..."

Home didn't say anything else, but Wally sat up in the chair and continued anyway.

"They're gorgeous, for starters! And they make just the most wonderful food...and their smile! Oh Home, I could stare at it all day..."

Home let out a long creak, sounding almost like a sigh. They were happy for Wally but jeez! You were all he talked about anymore!

"And did you know they like (fav hobby)? Doesn't that sound like fun? I wonder if they would show me how sometime..."

Wally laid there and talked about you all night, even long after Home had gone to sleep. What time he wasn't doing that, he was staring at the pictures you'd taken.

Later on, when you had kissed him goodnight, you tucked a copy of each photo into his jacket pocket. They were already up on the wall, in frames he had made himself from popsicle sticks and glue, painted to be your favorite colors.

But...that wasn't enough. No, the wall should be full of you! A whole wall of your marvelous self! His biggest art project yet!

And so, because Wally did not require sleep anyway, he stayed up to paint you.

Meanwhile, you were looking at the pictures too. You planned to go pick up some frames tomorrow, but in the meantime, they sat on your kitchen table next to the vase of flowers he'd brought.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt so important and loved. Wally looked at you like you were some kind of divine being. An angel, perhaps.

And in his eyes, you very much were.

Wally hadn't realized it before, but prior to you moving in, he had been...well, depressed. Every day was the same old routine. Sure, his friends helped, but ultimately he couldn't seem to get out of the rut he'd found himself in.

Oh, but with you...he felt alive. He could never get bored of you. Life was exciting again!

In all his pondering, he realized he had painted himself into the picture with you. You sat on his lap smiling, much how you did in the picnic pictures. His arms were around your waist, and your face was slightly red.

He grinned.

"They're so cute when they're flustered~" he chuckled, taking the canvas off the easel and immediately replacing it with a fresh one.

Needmorepictures

Yes...he would paint more...he had to...

--------------------

In your own house, you could not sleep. You were still just about floating from the afterglow of the date, yes, but there was something else as well. You felt like you were being...watched.

Every time you closed your eyes, you could feel someone looking at you, and you'd just end up sitting up in a panic and turning on the light.

Eventually, you were more frustrated than scared, and threw back the covers with an irritated groan.

Bedroom door shut? Check.

Nothing under the bed? Check.

Nothing in the closet? Check.

Curtains closed? Check.

"Okay...let's try this again, I guess"

You got cozy again and managed to close your eyes for all of five seconds before they sprang open yet again. You grabbed a pillow and screamed into it before standing up and going to the window. The curtains were closed, but that was the only way anyone could be looking at you, so you had to check.

Out of your frustration and tiredness, you threw the curtains open, only to find Home staring directly at you from across the way. You jumped a little and opened the window cautiously.

"Home? Can you hear me over there?" you called as quietly as you could manage.

Home's shutters waved at you.

"Why on earth are you staring at my house? Is something wrong?"

Suddenly, Wally appeared in the window and you quickly ducked under yours. You weren't sure why you were scared of Wally seeing you, but you did as instincts told you and stayed hidden; listening.

"Hoooome~? Who are you talking to, hm~?"

Home didn't respond, and Wally peered outside to see your window open.

"Oh~? Sleeping with the window open~? I bet they look adorable~ Maybe I should sneak over and check in on them~"

You started to panic. Wally didn't sound like his usual chipper self...and he was planning to come watch you sleep?? Creepy...

...

Wait...

You managed to jump up and dive into bed just before Wally made it to your window, and pretended to be asleep.

Wally sighed, hearts in his eyes as he watched you.

"Absolutely stunning~" he whispered to himself.

You heard a soft thud as Wally climbed in and made his way over to your bed. Your heart was racing but you tried to just focus on keeping your eyes closed and your breathing even.

Suddenly, there was soft felt on your cheek.

He caressed your face gently as he admired your sleeping form, and for some reason, you were immediately calm.

"You're perfect, (y/n). I've made up my mind...I'm going to marry you. Then you can be around all the time! You can move in!"

Marriage? He wanted to get married right away?

You...you didn't want...

...to wait either! Married life with Wally sounded marvelous!

You began to blissfully daydream about it all, until he withdrew his hand and left, making his way back Home.

His...you were his...

...hang on...

...MARRIAGE?!

You sat straight up in bed, staring wide-eyed at the window he had left from. What just happened? You felt like you were in some lovey-dovey trance that disappeared as soon as he was far enough away.

Of course you didn't want to get married so soon! What were you thinking?!

You realized now why Home was looking at you. They were trying to warn you that something wasn't right with Wally. He wasn't acting like himself anymore and he was messing with your head to make you love him more and more.

But...the trance was oddly calming, wasn't it..?

Without it, alone in your bedroom, you felt...lonely.

Somehow, despite being slightly afraid of him now, you wanted Wally to come back...

💙🍎💛🍎💙🍎💛🍎💙🍎💛🍎💙🍎💛🍎💙

SO.. that was kinda short and to be totally honest, it was not my best work. Not exactly my favorite chapter of this story tbh...

Also I'm sorry it took so long! I've been feeling kind of uninspired lately and I've also been pretty busy so I haven't had time to sit down and work on this. I may be a little slower from now on than I was when I first started but I do fully plan to keep writing this and probably other stuff too!

Aaaaanyway! Have a lovely day (or night...actually, it's night time here right now)

✨️☮️🔁⬆️✨️

#welcome home #wally darling #welcome home fanfic #wally darling x reader #wally darling fanfic #obsessive wally darling #yandere wally darling #yandere welcome home

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oh-saints · 1 year

Note

okay but .... something cute and domestic with ruben where you're cooking or he's cooking anf you're listening to music (whenever I think of this I think of him listening to this portuguese song called princesa (beija-me outra vez) by boss ac and idk I just think it fits him so well) and just holding each other and making out in the kitchen ... him singing the song to you 😫

anon, just so you know, you got me into the song so much since the first time i saw this on my askbox (which has been a while) that i got carried away

princess

rúben dias x you

word count: 1.3k

tw: mention of sex and suggestive words 👀

notes: happy birthday to our favourite centre-back! gotta celebrate it with a homebody ruben because domestic ruben always sends me... 😫😫 but as usual, i always write at dawn so this is not yet beta-read.

the amazing song's here!

your alarm vibrated your phone against the wooden bedside table and you had never dragged your body up faster than that moment.

for the purpose you were planning today, you had to wake up earlier than your boyfriend. which, ironically had never happened before during your entire 1-year stint with him so far. that was because the giant piece of delicious boyfriend beside you was a morning person and a man of routine—wake up at 7, wash up, wake you up, drink some energy drinks of his own recipe as he waits you to finish dressing up.

funny how you were the one with ordinary 9-5 job yet he always woke up before you and always managed—and so far, without avail—to drive you to work before heading out to his.

so to appreciate all the effortless effort he exerted of being a flawless boyfriend the past year, you intended to celebrate the most important day of his life with something you’d never done before. not with him, and not you’re your exes too, because rúben was worth something else than a mundane, expected gift.

you sneaked out of rúben’s humongous bed, tiptoeing your way out of the room because the centre-back was apparently sensitive to sound as well. multitasking lady as you are, you managed to pick up your boyfriend’s large black shirt he shed carelessly last night from the floor and wore them as you passed by the living room because there’s no way I’m doing this in a Herve Leger dress.

as soon as you reached the kitchen, you ransacked the place, searching for the ingredients you’d scattered all over the place beforehand so rúben wouldn’t get suspicious about the plan you were pulling today. you could swear his ability to read the game reached off the pitch too sometimes and it drove you crazy most of the time.

it might be simple, your plan. it was only putting together his favourite cake, with recipes you got from his mother as well as approval from the club’s nutritionist, but you knew it’d mean the world to rúben because he’d been deprived of the earthly pleasure since he committed himself to the athlete life.

you went on to colonise rúben’s kitchen with your work of art, fully immersed with task at hand and humming along the right lyrics to whatever song was playing.

“minha vida,” shivers ran down your back because he used the combination of his bed voice with the nickname he pulled out only when he was being seriously romantic. “what are you doing?”

damn it, he’s not supposed to wake up in another 30 minutes! you groaned inside but outside, you gave him a sheepish smile, embarrassed to get caught red on action. with flours and eggs and whiskers everywhere, you couldn’t escape him anymore.

“I’m cooking?”

“I see that,” oh fuck, not that sly smirk on his sleepy face. you could feel your resolve dissolving slowly but surely because who could resist this sexy motherfucker in the morning? “why are you cooking then?”

you tried to collect yourself altogether while rúben eliminated the distance between you and him in three strides. “for your birthday, of course.”

in rúben’s standard (his words last night), you both had commemorated the sacred day (your words last night) with an early birthday dinner that followed up with an explosive love-making. so passionate you both could barely contain your desires towards one another right after you both stepped out of the elevator. so passionate it lasted till the wee hours.

which was a record because in between yours and rúben’s hectic schedule, it was nearly impossible to have both of your saturdays and sundays off in the same weekend.

but rúben could see you through the thick veil you were trying to wear, and his smirk only grew at your futile attempt to compose yourself before he pulled your chin closer to his gently, despite his rough hands due to countless harsh contacts with the grass. the sensation left you further breathless, and the sensation of you breathless under his touch was what fueled him to cut off the breaths altogether by clasping his lips to yours without mercy.

you gave in without a fight, of course. you gave him away yourself a long while ago, anyway.

it was always satisfying to hear the click that went off whenever your lips got separated, mostly on rúben's account, but it was more gratifying for rúben to see your cheeks red and lips swollen only for him. “go on then,”

he turned you around, back to face the messy kitchen island, while he settled himself on your back. your senses grew hypersensitive with the way his hands rested lightly on your waist and the way he stood ghostingly behind you. so close, that you could feel him breathing down on you, yet so far with how featherly his touches were, so unlike his usual manner of protective hold.

“don’t stop on my account, gatinha,” and you had to hold back an audible gasp at his timbre rumbling against your spine. “if you stop, I’m going to punish you for making an unfinished mess in my kitchen.”

rúben had the audacity to let out a deep chuckle when you squirmed against his hold, as he murmured the word punish directly at the shell of your ear, as if he didn’t know any better of the effects he had upon you. “I’m serious, meu anjo. don’t test me.”

you had to bite back your response of I’m squirming because I know you’re serious. besides, you weren’t one to back down from a challenge—rúben knew that by now. it was one of the reasons he dated you in the first place, your competitiveness reminded him there was still another layer of clouds above the sky.

so you poured every last ounce of your concentration to working on rúben’s cake to the point you didn’t notice he was already moving away from you, towards the conjoined living room to change your playlist of liked songs into his dedicated playlist for you.

it was only when you’d inserted the baking pan into the oven that you realised rúben was singing—half rapping too because we stan a multitasking king—the song he serenaded you with the night he asked you to be his girlfriend, as he slid his feet against the floor with a bit of dancing groove towards you.

enfeitiçaste-me no dia em que te conheci, fico fulo da vida quando eles olham p'ra ti

you bewitched me the day that I met you, I get mad when they look at you

you laughed at his “stage act” as you washed your hands, a bit faster than your usual thorough routine because in all honesty, you couldn’t help yourself for wanting to join him. the song was long forgotten and your goofy boyfriend was reminding you all the reasons why you fell in love with him, and why you were doing all these surprises in the first place.

“princesa,”

rúben stretched his arms towards you as soon as he saw you were done drying your hands, and before long he’d had you spun around towards him. he caught you at the right moment, engulfing you in a tight back hug despite his twisted arms on your front. but the awkward position was the last thing in his mind when he had you reaching up to kiss him one more whenever the lyrics said beija-me outra vez (kiss me again one more time) before laughing and smiling in his arms as he swayed you left and right gently.

so bright and blinding and happy like it was your birthday instead of his—and he didn’t mind if it felt like that because you’d brought him more mirth in his life in the past year than his long list of exes had ever done.

he didn’t mind because you’d given him more than enough of reasons to live to love you.

“princesa,” rúben drew his hands down the line of your body, feeling every inch and curve hidden beneath his linen shirt. he thought his teenage dream of having his lover wearing white was insane but in reality, wearing black and nothing else but skin underneath his palms was a whole new different game. “you feel so good,”

and it, indeed, felt so damn good as his hands traced the outline of your outer thighs that you didn't feel ashamed for letting out the most disgusting mewl in between broken gasps.

but the oven got to turn off in that moment.

you broke off from your trance as the ting! sound rang off your ears like a siren blaring but rúben held you prisoner under the ministrations of his hands, you remained puny in his arms as his hands travelled closer to the most pulsating, aching part of yourself right now.

“i want you in my birthday suit, princesa,” rúben growled in your ear as he gently bit off the soft bone, the beast not taking a no for an answer. “now.”

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a-fandom-reimagined · 10 months

Text

ALL OF YOU | BRUCE WAYNE X PLUS SIZE GN! READER (FT. ALFRED)

୨୧ type: fluff & angst | word count: 887 | tw: sfw, mentions of bullying but no actual descriptions of what was said or done. please enjoy

→ please note that I don't think I've ever written anything for a gn reader before so if I messed anything up (like how i couldn't figure out what the gn alternative for master/miss is) I apologize

requested: omg okay, idk if you would want to write this but; since i can't find ANY battinson x plus size reader stuff, could i request a battinson x gn plus size reader where bruce discovers his partner being insecure about themselves and tries to cheer them up? this would be angst mixed with fluff if that's okay with you :>

Everything is fine, you told yourself.

The limo pulled away from the curb merging into early morning rush hour. The annual Wayne Foundation Ball had ran hours longer than you'd intended. And as host, you couldn’t leave early. No matter how much you'd wanted to. You relaxed into your lover's embrace, drinking in his cologne. Basking in his warmth. It was the most relaxed you'd felt all evening.

You were almost asleep when Bruce's voice dragged you back to reality. "What's wrong?"

You opened your eyes. "Nothing." You couldn't even manage a smile to better sell the lie.

Tonight was supposed to be your night. And they took it from you…

Bruce frowned. "Don't lie to me. We're better than that."

You were better than that. And now you had shame to add to the long list of emotions weighing you down.

They were just words. Everything is fine.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck. You didn't want to talk about it. Not with him. But you couldn't lie to him either.

Your fiancé kissed the top of your head, hugging you tighter. "Talk to me. Did someone hurt you? Did something happen?"

"It doesn't matter. It's not important."

"It's bothering you so it does matter and it is important. You've been talking non-stop about this Gala. You've been planning it for months. What happened?"

You pulled back to wet eyes and a broken smile. Bruce's jaw ticked, his expression chillingly blank. Bruce usually kept this side of himself hidden away from you. Was this the version of him that went out to hunt bad guys every night? Or was this just a small sliver of him?

"Sir, not to interrupt but would you like me to turn the car around?"

You'd forgotten the partition was down. Alfred's voice was low and clipped. Almost unrecognizable from the sassy, well-mannered man who'd been like a father to you over the past four years.

"I'll let you know." answered Bruce before returning his attention to you. "Please." he said softly.

You shook your head. "It's so silly. They were just words."

"What did they say? Who said it?"

You sighed heavily. He wasn't going to let this go. And it was stupid of you to try to hide it from him. The World's Greatest Detective… The World's Most Attentive Fiancé was more like it. "The…people at the gala were mean to me," you admitted in a small broken voice. You hated the way you sounded. You hated even more that you'd let it get to you. "There. I told you. They were mean to me tonight and they said awful things about my weight, how much I ate at dinner. One woman gave some diet pills she swears by in the bathroom. It shouldn't bother me. It's not like I haven't experienced this before. I am a plus-sized person, I know that but…I don't know. These people gather every year to give away exorbitant amounts of money to make Gotham a better, safer place to live. I don't know, I guess I just expected better. Dumb, I know."

"It's not dumb."

"But it is! Bruce, you put on a mask every night and go face down real villains. Real villains that cause real pain with real weapons."

Bruce's jaw dropped. It took a lot to shock him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It has to do with everything because they're just words, Bruce, not bullets! And I let them get to me. I've been miserable all night. That's why you caught me in the hallway tonight. I didn't get lost, I just got down crying in a broom closet and I was walking around and waiting for my eyedrops to kick in and hide the redness! Now, can we please just drop it and forget that this ever happened?"

"No we can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you feel like you can't confide in me just because of who I am and what I do at night. They're not just words, Y/N these people bullied you. You worked your ass off to make this Gala the success it was. We've never raised this much money in a single night before and it was because of you. Y/N I don't care how minor or unimportant you think it is. You don't have to get roundhouse kicked into a dumpster for your feelings to be valid."

You swallowed a laugh. "When in the world did you get roundhouse kicked into a dumpster?"

Bruce smiles. "That's the point. The point is your feelings are valid. And you can come to me with any of them."

"And I as well, *[Master/Miss] Y/N."

You breathed easy for the first time that night, And smiled for the first time that night. "Thank you. Both of you."

Bruce smiled back, pressing his forehead to yours. "Feel better?"

You nodded.

"Good. Because you're going to tell me the name of everyone who bothered you tonight. And then Batman is going to toilet paper their house and slash their fucking tires."

You barked out a laugh.

Bruce pulled you even closer leaving a trail of kisses from your temple to your collarbone. "You're perfect just the way you are, my heart. All of you."

REQUESTED! | REQUESTS: ALWAYS OPEN | REBLOG DON’T REPOST | MASTERLIST

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oleander-nin · 11 months

Note

This is for the follower Special!

Rise Donnie

6. Jealousy

1. “Well that wasn’t very smart”

Romantic, maybe Reader is jealous because Donnie has intelligence for what they wanna be smart with

Idk I'm doin my best sifusufd

A/N, not important: Sorry if I made it too sad, I tried not to. This was very fun to write, and I liked it a lot. Thank you for participating in this special! Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

Tw: jealousy, feelings of not being enough, talking about your emotions, hand holding, bad writing, barely edited

Words: 2159

Prompt(s) requested: 6(Jealousy) & 1("Well That wasn't very smart.")

Summary: Donnie notices somethings wrong, leading to a small talk about your jealousy of his intelligence and your feelings of unworthiness.

The door to Donnie’s lab beeps once before the light turns green, notifying my allowed entrance. The door opens with a quiet hiss, my eyes admiring his lab in awe once more. I close my eyes, sighing. Everything in here was so… Advanced. It was incredible, Donnie had made things current scientists couldn’t even dream of. And he did it all on his own, no teachers, no mentors, just him. I couldn’t help the bite of jealousy in my stomach and I did nothing to stop the guilt that soon followed. Loving Donnie was easy, with his cocky attitude and his bright eyes. He was passionate, a true scientist. A Genius. He was so much better than me, and it killed me a little more every time because I knew I would never match up to him, never be able to stand on the same ground as the man I loved so dearly.

I sigh, moving further through his lab until I saw him at his computer, working his fingers off once more. I smiled sadly at the bags under his eyes, the fabric usually skewing them from view being set off to the side along with his goggles and wrappings. I move to sit in my usual chair next to him, watching as he works through his code. He glances at me, smiling softly before returning to his work. We both sit in silence for a while, the sound of his fingers typing and the ever present hum of the technology around us filling the empty space between us. It was nice, the familiarity of just existing by his side, no need for us to talk. We only needed to be near each other, and that was enough for us both.

“How long have you been up?” I ask softly, watching as the code flys across his screen, taking mental notes for my own projects later. I may never be on his level, but I could at least learn from him. He was brilliant and I was simply someone watching him succeed from the sidelines, hoping one day I could work alongside him. I’d leave the actual engineering to him though. I never did like building bots and such, coding them was much more fun.

He hums noncommittally, his fingers hesitating for only a second as he thinks. “Just since this morning. I need to get this done soon. I promise I’ll sleep once I’m finished, okay?” His voice is soft, his eyes not leaving the screen. I didn’t mind, this is how it always went. I wouldn’t want to stop either if I was him, if I could do the things he could do. My brain never made the right connections, the pieces never snapping into place.

"Okay. As long as you promise. You know I worry." And worry I do, unable to think anything without constantly checking to make sure he was okay. He looks exhausted, his purple hoodie draping over him, the sleeves bagging at his elbows from his pose. His hood was up, most likely to try and muffle the sounds of his lab. His legs were crossed in his gaming chair, his back hunched even more than usual. I wondered how his back could even stand it, how his posture was so good otherwise. Maybe the curve of his shell just made it easier to manage. I’d have to ask him later, when it wasn’t so late. When he wasn’t so busy.

A line of code I didn’t recognize catches my eye, a call I couldn’t figure out. My eyes scan the screen as I lean on his desk, my eyes scan his computer, trying to decipher the line's purpose. My eyes narrow as I frown, unable to make the proper connections in my brain to understand it. I grumble a bit, pointing at the line. Donnie stops for a moment, looking at me. He was always ready to explain, ready to waste his time on talking me through something he found so simple, something that was as natural to him as breathing. He waits patiently for me to ask my question and I can’t help but feel like I was proving how beneath him I was, proving how every thought my mind made up was true. “What does this part do?”

I listened intently to his explanation, my head resting in my arms on his desk, curled up in the chair that was almost solely occupied by me. His explanation was clear, scrolling though his hundreds of lines of code to show me what parts it tied back to, talking of the parts he needed to add to make it completely smooth. My mouth was set in a smile, admiring his passion for the science of it. I ignored the pang in my chest, ignored the way my heart craved to be the same, to be able to match his intelligence. Even if just for a day.

“I wish I could do this as well as you.” I say, my voice is quiet due to the time. It was late at night, when my visits usually were. Donnie would text and I would show up, never wanting to miss a moment I could spend by his side. Donnie glances at me, his fingers finally leaving his keyboard as he turns his chair so he could face me. I sit up a bit, my elbow off the desk as I set my hands in my lap. Donnie scans my face, his lips pressed into a line. I scan his back, trying to decipher what he was thinking, to take a look inside his head. Maybe he was trying the same, to try and look into my thoughts, to read me without needing to ask for clarification. Unfortunately for us both, we couldn’t read each other's mind, couldn’t dive into the deep abyss that was our subconscious without taking the time to ask.

“What do you mean? You’re getting so much better at coding and I thought I was helping. Did something happen?” His eyes hold a kindness I never understood, one that should have never been directed at me. I couldn’t help but feel as if he would be better off with someone more on his level, someone who could match him pace for pace. Donnie was the brightest star in the night and I was just a mirror, stealing his light and passing it off as my own. I wanted nothing more than to be like him, my fingers itched to code the way he did. So seamlessly, completely flawless. Most of it had been from years of practice, but the way his brain just… Clicked with the code. It made me all the more envious.

I shrink slightly, his words weighing me down. I didn’t want to feel this way, not about him. It wasn’t fair. I should be nothing less than ecstatic towards everything he does. There shouldn’t be this disconnect in my brain, it was all so straight forward. He was my boyfriend, my best friend, and my favorite person in the world. I hated feeling jealous because I wasn’t mad about his success, I was just… I wanted it for myself, to be able to have it with him. I wanted to be just like him. “No no no no no, of course you’re helping! I just… I’m not progressing very fast.”

“Of course you’re not. This stuff takes time dum dum. You can’t rush this.” His tone is very matter of factly, his smile wide as he relays the information. His eyes scan me once more, pupils shrinking as they narrow. His fingers tap on his desk, my body shrinking under his unrelenting stare. “Something’s wrong. Spill. According to Mikey, communication is key to all relationships and I’m not letting you leave until you talk.”

I huff slightly and he just raises an eyebrow muscle, waiting for me to talk. I run my fingers through my hair, slumping back in the seat. Knowing it would be pointless to lie or argue, I spill the beans. “I have been a bit… Jealous of you lately.” I admit, not meeting his eyes. Donnie waves his hand in a circular motion, prompting me to continue. “You’re so much smarter than me and it’s just… I can’t help thinking about how you’d leave me for someone more on your level. I just want to be as smart as you, but I’m not.”

“And you didn’t come to me with this, why exactly?” He asks, his arms crossed over his chest. I pat my thighs awkwardly, still not meeting his gaze. He was upset, that was obvious, but I didn’t know how to explain my feelings in a way that would make it all go away. I wanted nothing more than to be normal about his success and not have so much jealousy over his accomplishments, but the feeling remained.

“I uh… I thought you’d get mad, and I didn’t want to risk losing you over some stupid way I felt.” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. I stare at the floor, rocking the chair back and forth to try and let off some of the energy coursing through me. My fingers danced across my legs, tapping out nonsensical rhythms to accompany my shame.

“Well that wasn’t a very smart way to think.”

I look up at him, his eyes still narrowed at me and his lips pull into a small frown. I chuckle nervously, not sure how to respond. He was right but I felt like I would be dragged to Mikey if I said the wrong thing. I really didn’t want to wake the poor guy, he was always grumpy in the morning. “What?”

Donnie sighs, pinching the bridge between his eyes. He takes my hand and brings it to his chest, holding it above his heart. "Hear that? As long as that beats, I'll love you."

His face is stern for just a moment, not having fully processed his words. As soon as his words sink in, his face slowly goes red. I let out a small laugh as our hands interlock, swinging side by side in between the chairs we sat on. Donnie had pulled the strings of his hoodie tight, covering his face as he sank into his chair. I squeeze his hand lightly, grinning at the sight. His head shakes a bit, loosening the strings so he could look at me once more. His face is much less flustered now, his cheeks only slightly tinged in color. He clears his throat, looking into my eyes and squeezing my hand back. "As cheesy as that was, my point still stands. I don't want you thinking like that. You may not be as good as me yet, but I truly believe you can catch up soon. If you want to, that is. Plus, you’re much better at other things than I am. I can’t talk to people like you can, and you’re much more in tune with your emotions.”

I look at him, smiling warmly at his words. “Thank you,” I say sincerely, squeezing his hand once more before letting him go. "I really needed that."

Donnie puffs out his chest proudly, beaming. “Of course! This just proves I am the superior boyfriend! Now if you could just let me record you saying that so I could shove it in Leo's face, I would be very appreciative." His words hold a small tease in them, a smug smile on his proud maw. His face softens again, patting the arms of his chair. “I am going to ask you to talk to me more often about this, okay? I don’t need you thinking I’m going to leave you just because you can’t keep up with me tech wise. Do you understand?"

I nod, sighing. I pull my knees to my chest in the chair, puffing out my cheeks. "Yeah, that's fine. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You told me what was wrong, and now it's going to get fixed. I have no reason to be mad." He turns back to his code, pulling my chair closer to his. He starts to type again, settling back into his own little world, me by his side. I lean on the desk once more, watching him instead of the screen. His eyes were focused, lighten up by both his own mind

and by the light of the screen in front of him. I could see the reflection of the code in his iris', lines upon lines being written in mere moments. My eyes close, a large smile on my face as I settle my head in my arms.

“I love you.” I mumble out, starting to fall asleep to the soothing tapping of his keyboard. My heart flutters in joy when I hear his response.

"I love you too, you dum dum. Go to sleep, I'll be here when you wake."

172 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 7 months

Note

So I just reread the fic about Jules birthday, and I’ve always liked the part where Remus tells Jules that he’ll always be more important than hockey. Could you write a fic about that if you haven’t already? Like Remus leaving in the middle of practice or something like that? Idk it’s up to u:)

Fic O'Ween Day 3: Midnight! Read more amazing works from these prompts at @noots-fic-fests and of course, character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW illness (coughing, mentioned vomiting, fatigue)

Remus leaned against the countertop for support and stared at the floor. “But he’s okay, right?”

“He’s okay,” his mother answered. She sounded beyond exhausted.

Remus nodded and rubbed his fingers under his eye. The night suddenly seemed so much darker. “How’re you and dad? Taking time off?”

“We’re alright.” He knew that low edge to her voice—it was the same one his own took on when he was trying to hide his hurt. Silence fell over the line.

“Mom.”

“Your dad can’t get PTO this week and neither can I.”

She cleared her throat; he closed his eyes. “Can Leanne keep an eye on him?”

“Visiting her daughter in Florida.”

No parents, no neighbors, no way they’re getting a babysitter for a sick kid… “I’ll be on the next flight.”

“Remus, no.”

“There’s nobody else—”

“Honey.” He could see the way her eyebrows drew together in his mind. “Honey, you’re on the road this week.”

“I know.”

“In Montreal.”

“They can handle a couple games without me.”

“You’re practically a rookie, Remus,” his mother insisted. After a pause, she lowered her voice. “You’re not going to damage your career when we can get a babysitter, or—or I can find a couple days off. Hell, your dad’s got a pullout at the office he can rest on.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“Remus John, you have a responsibility to your team.”

“Jules comes first.” If there was one thing Remus would stand by no matter the circumstances, it was his family. The Lions would survive a roadie without him. Jules would never be alone and sick on his watch.

His mother was silent for a long time.

Remus picked at a chip in the granite. “There’s no babysitter that will watch him, is there?”

A sigh traveled down the line. “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby. Give Sirius my best. Sleep well.”

“I will,” he lied. The call went dead and he turned, bracing both hands against cool stone. Sirius’ footsteps were soft, his hand gentle. Remus sniffled. His chest was a vise. “Mom says hi.”

Slow circles pressed between his shoulder blades. “What happened?”

“Jules got the flu, and they can’t get time off work to stay home with him.” Fucking assholes in fucking corporate. Remus swallowed around the clog in his throat. “Sounds like he’s pretty sick.”

“Does he need to go to the hospital?”

Remus shook his head. The hand on his back slid down and wrapped around his side, guiding him to lean on Sirius’ chest. “Do you want me to book your flight while you call Coach?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He didn’t let go. “God, I hate being so far away.”

Sirius’ other arm came around him and held him tight.

Remus and his father talked the whole ride home from the airport, and said nothing at all.

The house was just as he left it at Christmas. No snow remained, and little frost—crocuses peeked out of the lawn where the squirrels had snatched and buried them.

Apologies for the late notice, but due to a family emergency, I will be in Wisconsin until the 22nd. Thank you for your understanding.

Rapid responses. Cranky responses. Remus had tried to keep a level head, even through the tremor of his hands on the computer keyboard. The organization wasn’t happy with him, but when were they ever?

It didn’t matter either way. Fine or not, suspension or not, they weren’t going to stop him from making chicken soup and raspberry Emergen-C for his sick little brother. He was damn lucky to have Arthur on his side, easing the retribution from men in offices who had hardly bothered to meet him at the start of the season.

“Your mother’s worried.”

Remus glanced up from his hands. His father was facing forward, brow pinched while he pulled into the driveway. “Yeah.”

The engine turned off with a sputter. “Be gentle, okay?”

“It’s not your fault they wouldn’t give you time—”

“Be gentle.”

Remus bit the inside of his lip and nodded. A goldfish cracker peered out at him from the crevice by the door. This passenger seat always made him feel so small. He slung his backpack out of the seat well and stepped out, letting the crisp air nip his face and bring him back. He needed to come back more. The heartache had lessened, and distance was simply exhausting now. Running fast and far to Gryffindor had seemed so smart before.

The front door still squeaked when he turned the doorknob. Remus was glad for that, at least.

His mother smiled when she saw him. “Hi, baby, how was your flight?”

“Hey, mom.” It was good, he started to say, only to have the words fall from his mind the moment she stepped around the kitchen table and wrapped him in her arms. It’s been a lot I love you I missed you how are you where’s Jules—“Uneventful, thankfully.”

“Good, that’s just the way you want it.” She gave a little sway, one hand cradling the back of his neck. He felt a light pulse of pressure. Her back, ever tense, relaxed slightly. “It’s so good to have you home.”

Remus breathed deep. Lemon-scented cleaning spray and drugstore shampoo, laundry detergent and just-sharpened pencils. He pressed his nose tighter to her shoulder and felt her squeeze him, just a little. “Missed you.”

“Oh, Re,” she sighed. A hand rubbed along his spine for a few hard, grounding, wonderful seconds. Warmth seeped in around his edges. The floor was solid beneath him, the walls sturdy. A kiss found his temple. “Baby, we missed you, too.”

A rattling cough made him wince. “Jeez.”

“I know.” Her face crinkled into a grimace when they separated and she looked back down the hall. “That started up two days ago. Poor thing. Keeps him up at night.”

“Aw.” The cough was followed by a rough throat-clear that made Remus frown. “Fever and everything?”

“102, as of this morning.” Hope ran a palm over his shoulder, the way she tended to right after he came home. Remus tried not to think about that too hard, or else he made himself sad. “You’re sure about this? You could get sick. It’s the middle of the season.”

Remus tried for an encouraging smile. “My immune system’s great, mom. I’m in good shape, I take my multivitamins. Eat my Wheaties, and all that.”

“Hmm.” She scrutinized him for a beat. “You better be.”

“I’m basically indestructible.”

Her laugh bounced off the corners of the house like it always had. “Let’s not get hasty, hon.”

“Mom?”

Remus’ heart sank.

“Dad?” Jules croaked, a little louder. “Did the neighbors come over?”

“Hey, J,” Remus called. The floorboards gave a light groan when he set his bag down at the end of the hall. “It’s me, bud.”

Silence followed. The bathroom nightlight was on, casting the hall in gentle blue. His hand drifted toward the first door on reflex (cool metal knob, lock on the inside, jimmy it three times in the winter when the frame sticks), but he managed to step past it and knock lightly below the ‘J LUPIN. DO NOT ENTER.’ sign scotch-taped to the old wood.

“Jules? I’m opening the door.”

The first thing that hit him was the smell. Stale, sweaty, feverish—Remus did a double-take without meaning to.

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Oh, you weren’t kidding,” Jules rasped from somewhere to his right. “Hey. Hi, why are you here?”

“You slept too long. It’s June. I’m here for the summer.”

“Hey.”

“You’re sick, dummy.” Remus tried to be subtle about propping the door open wider with a loose hockey glove. “I’m taking care of you.”

With the new, faint light from the hallway, he could see just how terrible Julian looked. His unconvinced squint didn’t help the sallowness of his skin or the heavy bags carved under his eyes. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh, you have a roadie in—” Another hacking cough interrupted him. It shook his tiny frame hard enough to make his knees bend under the covers. Remus’ heart gave an acid lurch.

Agitated heat radiated off him to the point that Remus could feel it when he perched on the edge of the bed. The sheets were a tangled mess; one blanket half-tucked, the other mostly on the floor. “Deep breaths,” he soothed when the coughing turned to a few aggressive sniffles. “Take it easy.”

“Montreal,” Jules finished in a mutter. He wiped his nose on the edge of his baggy t-shirt (almost certainly their father’s, with the way it dwarfed him) and laid back with a long huff. “You got a roadie in Montreal. Dad ‘n me are gonna watch the game.”

“Dad and I.”

“Shhh.”

He smiled to himself and tugged the top blanket down to shimmy the next one into position. “Well, you and I can watch it. How’s that sound?”

“No, you need to play,” Jules groaned, but even that was weak. He curled onto his side and peeked out of his huddle, dull-eyed and flushed. “How come you’re here anyway?”

“Told you. I’m taking care of you.”

“But hockey.”

“But you.”

“But…hockey.”

“But you.” His stomach gave a little pull. “You’re more important than a couple games, bud.”

Jules didn’t look like he believed him. “…okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re R—”

“Don’t you—” Remus bit back his words (and his grin) and whacked lightly at the outline of Jules’ legs under the blankets, coaxing a crunchy sort of laugh from him. “Watch it. I’m in charge of feeding you for the next few days.”

Jules’ giggling trickled out with a last sniff. “Mom and Dad gotta go to work, huh?”

“Yeah.” The wrinkle of his nose was almost certainly reflected on Remus’ face. “But hey, we’ll have fun.”

“Mmm.”

The air shifted, along with his gut. Jules’ breaths were heavier. His eyes, lidded. His forehead was far too hot against the back of Remus’ hand when he checked it. “Tired?”

“Mhmm.”

Wrapping him in a dozen blankets and cuddling him as tight as possible wouldn’t help. Logically, Remus knew that. The temptation was still there. “Too hot?”

“Warm.”

“Want me to take a blanket?”

Jules shook his head. His eyes were closed fully now. “Weight’s nice.”

Every inhale hitched when Remus rested a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling for his pulse. That, at least, was calm. Jules had sweated through the old grey fabric there. He combed a few strands of hair off his burning brow and swallowed around his dry throat. “Want me to leave you alone for a bit?”

“Gonna nap.” Jules’ twitched, as if he was trying to readjust but lacked the energy. “Here when I wake up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be here.”

The evening passed without issue. Night rolled in with a gust of wind that hissed across the windowpanes while Remus dried the last of the dishes. Jules had managed to get up and come to the table for dinner, but he had looked even worse in the brighter light and barely ate half a bowl of soup. He could see their mother struggling not to fuss over him, not that Jules had any oomph to give real protest.

What kind of family emergency is this, Lupin?

A family emergency. I can come back the 22nd.

You’re missing two games. Do you understand that? Weasley won’t play you for the third, either.

I understand.

Is this a funeral?

No.

A wedding?

No.

It’s a request for nonvital time off, then. This could very well result in a fine.

I’m aware of that. Time off for a family emergency is covered in my contract. I’m permitted to miss four games.

Are you really going to put in a request for this? For a nonvital midweek trip instead of two NHL games?

That’s precisely what I’m requesting, yes. This is an emergency and therefore it is vital.

Remus had not missed the bureaucracy of the NHL during his time on the ice. There was still administrative irritation, of course, but it had not been nearly long enough since he played email tag with someone determined to make his life harder. ‘Nonvital emergency’. It made him want to laugh and lose it at the same time. What a fucking joke.

A sudden rustle and thud—likely Jules’ elbow hitting the wall between their rooms, ouch—startled him from half-sleep. Clumsy footsteps pattered on the floor; a door creaked and closed, quickly followed by a dry heave. Remus winced in sympathy.

This bedroom felt too small. His feet touched the end of the bed if he stretched out. There were only a few inches’ allowance for his shoulders on either side before he hit a wall or the edge of the mattress. Even his stuff felt smaller, as if the books shrank in his hands and the trophies had been made for someone Jules’ size.

He supposed they had been. Juniors was a world away, these days. He had turned the idea of keeping a potential you-know-what ring here instead of in Gryffindor, but never really committed one way or another. That, too, felt far off. He was stuck in the middle of a spectrum, where nothing felt quite right.

The toilet flushed, but he didn’t hear Jules leave. The low timbre of their father’s voice buzzed in the hall for a second; he didn’t catch Jules’ response. Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed with a huff and stood despite the creaking protests of his knees.

The blue light looked eerie in the cover of real night. He propped Jules’ door open again as he passed. A little ventilation couldn’t hurt. He paused in the doorway of the bathroom and crouched down, lowering himself to the cool linoleum with a soft groan. “Sup?”

“M not gonna throw up again.”

“Okay.” Remus flexed his ankles against the cabinets and tilted his head back. The soft towels buffered him from the wallpaper. Next to him, Jules’ forehead was stubbornly pressed into the crease of his elbow where he rested it on the toilet seat. “Still sick?”

A wordless mumble answered him.

“I’m gonna make chicken and dumplings tomorrow.”

Jules weakly raised his head. “Really?”

“Yup. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch. All that good stuff.”

Quiet fell over them for a long moment. “What are you talking about?”

“What, you don’t want a science lesson?”

“Nerd—”

He knew it was going to happen before Jules’ first jerk forward and caught his side when he wobbled, giving gentle pressure until he was upright. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, I got you.”

“Ugh.”

“I know. You’re doing great, J.” It was over as fast as it started. Jules trembled lightly under his touch, sweaty again, all too warm again. His knuckles stood out in harsh midnight shadows where he gripped the porcelain, thin arms shivering.

Jules sniffled. “I wanna go to bed.”

“I bet.”

“I’m tired.”

“Can you stand up?” It took Jules a moment to even start moving; when he did, it was sluggish and unsteady. Remus hovered his hands close and resisted the urge to scoop him right up. Jules wouldn’t like that. He hated being babied. It was still fucking hard to watch him pull himself to his feet.

A rinse-and-spit and a cool washcloth on the back of his neck made Jules sigh. He leaned right into Remus’ hip, head at the base of his ribs, and staggered along on foal legs while Remus guided him back to bed with a lump in the base of his throat. There was no fuss about being tucked in—he simply sighed again, so content it hurt. Remus smoothed out the hem of the comforter by his neck just one more time, once more, just so he could be sure.

Their parents were out by the time Remus woke. He distantly recalled the sound of them leaving, but the plane left him groggy enough not to notice or care. Jules was still snoring loud enough for him to hear it through their shared wall.

Breakfast, then. Something light. Oatmeal or eggs, if he could keep it down. Broth, if not. Remus would have to check the fridge for Gatorade and lemons.

It was strange to be functionally alone in the house. The carpet felt too soft, the curtains too still. A bright pink sticky note was stuck to the table with his name written in big letters at the top. He’d check it later.

Message To: SB <3

Morning :)

Fever’s still going, nasty cough, the works. I’ll keep an eye on him today.

Miss you

He clicked his phone off and set it aside—hopefully, Sirius wouldn’t be awake for some time yet. They didn’t have practice for two more hours in his time zone. He liked to sleep in on days like that. Remus, on the other hand, had work to do.

Quick eggs and bacon for himself took fifteen minutes. He parked himself at his usual seat without really thinking about it, pulling a dish towel and a fork from their drawers with an absent mind. He hadn’t dared to check his email yet and seriously contemplated leaving it alone until he was back in Gryffindor. Time off was time off. Professional hockey wasn’t big on ‘work from home’.

Jules shuffled in half past ten and made a beeline for the couch.

“Good morning.”

A grunt answered.

“Sleep well?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Want oatmeal?”

Jules’ mumble seemed vaguely affirmative. Remus set the kettle on and dug a pot out of the cupboard, then turned to rummage in the pantry. This was setting up to be a silent morning.

Measuring for a sick preteen was almost as strange as picturing his childhood bedroom as a normal size. Remus had only cooked for himself for years, then himself and Sirius, with the occasional potluck dish for a team dinner or holiday party. A single cup of anything was a novelty. “Want sugar?” he checked once the oats and milk were simmering. Jules snuffled in response, dragging one of the knit blankets further over his head. “Lemme check your temperature and then you can tell me, yeah?”

“Mmkay.”

A quick search of the medicine cabinet revealed no thermometer, and the same went for the hall closet. Remus spent a good five minutes riffling through the bathroom drawers and Jules’ desk before he found it propped against the base of his dolphin lamp. It had been left uncapped; gross. He made sure to give it a thorough wash before moving back into the living room.

“Blanket down.”

“No.”

“I can’t see your mouth. C’mon, just for a second.”

“Cold. Bright.”

“Twenty seconds, J. I promise. You can count.”

The blanket lump shifted. “Twenty?”

“Fifteen. Then I’ll bring your oatmeal over and leave you alone.”

A handful of shallow breaths filled the silence before Jules’ forehead poked out, then his glazed eyes, and finally the lower half of his face. Remus grimaced. His nose was red and chapped from tissues, and a faint crack split the side of his lower lip. “Have you been drinking your water?”

“Fifteen seconds,” Jules slurred.

Remus knew he wasn’t getting a better number than yesterday. Not with this vague lucidity, and not when Jules was hardly able to hold a fragment of a conversation. All the same, it made his gut sink when the thermometer beeped.

“Whuzzat?”

“102.5.”

“ ‘S worse?”

“Yep.”

A resigned nod told him Jules expected as much. The blanket swallowed him up again. Remus pulled it down over his feet before heading back to the kitchen.

Three hours passed with all the rush of a snail on codeine. Jules rallied to choke down his oatmeal before going down for a noon nap, let Remus rouse him to gulp down about a gallon of water, and overall remained sedentary while Remus channel-surfed for anything even slightly interesting on daytime TV. They settled on NCIS from one to 2:30, NCIS: Miami from 2:30 to four (with a brief break for sandwiches, or toast, in Jules’ case), and rounded it out with NCIS: LA while Remus tossed some rotisserie chicken and chopped vegetables in a simmering pot of broth.

“Re?”

“Yeah, bud?” Bisquick puffed over the side of the mixing bowl in a soft cloud.

“My stomach hurts.” Jules’ voice wavered. “And my mouth feels weird.”

Fuck. “Bathroom, hustle.”

The glimpse he caught of Jules before he vanished down the hall confirmed it: pallid skin, dilated pupils, sweat gleaming on the back of his neck. Remus rinsed his hands in the sink and dug the box of Pepto Bismol tablets out of his bag, and sent a silent thanks to whatever small mercy it was that left him without a reactive gag reflex.

He spent twenty minutes sitting sideways with water seeping into his pants from the bathmat. “I’m gonna throw up until I die,” Jules whined, pressing his forehead to Remus’ palm.

“You’re not gonna die. Definitely not while I’m here.” He slid his hand around to press against the nape of Jules’ neck and gave a light squeeze. “You’re almost done. Work it out, buddy.”

“Gonna miss the game?”

Despite the sweat, despite the illness, despite it all—Remus smiled. Of course Jules would be thinking about that when he looked like death warmed over. He wouldn’t be a Lupin with anything else on his mind. “We’ve still got half an hour.”

Jules gave a faint push back into his hand. His lower lip wobbled. “I don’t want to miss it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, but it wasn’t even slightly funny. He took a shuddering inhale and sniffled again, harsher. “I don’t want to be sick anymore, I don’t, I’m so done, I don’t like it.”

“Jules…” The redness had flooded his cheeks and ears, inching down his neck with each horribly choked breath. Jules’ eyes were bright, but not like usual. He blinked and a drip tracked down his nose. His exhale wasn’t much of an exhale at all—it wracked him, made him sway. “Oh,” Remus murmured. “Oh, hey, c’mere.”

The edge of thirteen had left Jules gangly, all bones and joints. He still fit just right in the hollow of Remus’ chest and arms. A shivering, overheated mess, but a mess that fit all the same. Fuck it, Remus thought as he tightened his arms around Jules and let him fall apart in the safe dark. He didn’t care if he got sick. This was the most vital emergency he could possibly think of. If the administration had a problem with that, he’d happily turn his gear in before leaving Jules to burn through this alone.

“I’m tired,” Jules whispered through shuddering breaths. “My head hurts ‘n my stomach hurts ‘n everything else, too.”

“I know, bud, you’re being so brave.”

A damp, wounded noise made Remus wince.

“But hey, you haven’t thrown up in, like, five minutes.”

Jules felt around blindly for a tissue and blew his nose several times before answering. “I guess.”

“You ready to get up? Have some dinner and watch the game?”

“Dizzy.”

“Okay.” He pressed the wrinkles out of Jules’ shirt with his palm and felt him go limp. “I brought some super special secret hockey medicine, if that’ll help.”

“…is it Gatorade?”

“No, but we have that, too.” He rattled the box next to Jules’ ear. “Pepto Bismol. My secret weapon.”

“Nuh-uh. That’s the pink sh—stuff.”

“Nice save,” Remus said dryly. “This is the same. It’s easier to keep down, though. And it works faster.”

“Makes my stomach stop hurting?”

“It might help.”

He waited a beat, then two. A clammy palm extended from the tangle of limbs near his middle. He dropped two of the chalky tabs into it and loosened his hold by a degree, enough for Jules to pop them both in his mouth and frown immediately. “Yuck. It’s crunchy.”

“Keep chewing.”

“Why is it coming apart like that?”

“Keep chewing,” Remus repeated through a light laugh. “Doesn’t work if you talk the whole way through.”

Jules tucked his legs closer to himself, pushing him further into Remus’ lap. As horrible as the past twenty minutes had been, he seemed better for it. The fevered sheen to his face wasn’t quite as nuclear. His breathing sounded more even and controlled.

“You finished?”

“Mhmm.”

Jules might have looked better, but Remus didn’t have the energy to fight the coddling urge this time. He slid his free arm across the back of Jules’ knees and hefted him up like a cat gone boneless, and received no protest whatsoever. Instead, Jules curled into him with a long, relieved sigh. Remus’ heart may have shattered a little.

The pregame show was just wrapping up when he set Jules gingerly on the couch and pulled the blanket around him. Half of his waterbottle was gone in a few desperate swallows; Jules wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and all but collapsed onto the throw pillows, a heap of exhaustion. The belltower by the middle school tolled six. His sandy hair was damp at the root when Remus passed a hand through it. They’d fix that eventually. Fluids first (hockey first), then everything else.

New Message From: SB <3

Heading to the rink. Miss you love you : )

Remus smiled down at his phone as he set Jules’ bowl on the coffee table and folded himself into the armchair.

“Tell Sirius I say hi.”

“He’s literally right there,” Remus laughed, gesturing at the TV. “He’s not gonna see it for ages.”

“Still.” Jules poked around with his spoon for a few seconds before attempting a small sip of broth. An approving nod followed. “It’s good.”

“Glad it meets your standards. Eat. Protein, veggies, sodium, starch.”

Jules’ eye roll was weak, but very much present. “I know, I know.”

“You gotta know that stuff.”

“I’m not gonna be a doctor.”

“Yeah, but you’re still gonna be a person.” Remus cut a dumpling in half with the side of his spoon. “If you don’t know how to feed yourself by the time you move out, I’m totally making fun of you.”

“Whatever.”

They both booed when the Habs skated out, and cheered when the Lions appeared soon after. Jules couldn’t muster much more than a rough whisper, but the soup and a bottle of Gatorade seemed to help. Remus made him get up and stretch during the first period intermission (to immense complaints, but eventual acquiescence) before letting him rest while he washed up in the kitchen.

New Message From: SB <3

First period up.

How’s J?

New Message To: SB <3

Haha yeah we’re watching

Temp’s high, still pretty sick. Getting better tho

Made soup

The response was almost immediate. Remus’ heart skipped at the thought of Sirius glued to his phone even after a rough period, just to chat with him.

New Message From: SB <3

Oooo jealous

New Message To: SB <3

Yeah you should be

It’s a real rager up here

Miss you. Go get ‘em.

A simple heart and hockey stick emoji followed. The grey bubble cycled for a moment before disappearing. That would be the midgame meeting. Remus was glad to be home—wouldn’t trade this—but he had to admit the hockey ache was still there. Even easy choices had consequences.

By the time he looked back, Jules was asleep. Remus checked his forehead as delicately as he could and was pleased to find it slightly cooler than that morning, if altogether too warm. The pattern of creaky floorboards laid a map in his bones as he moved through the house: first to open Jules’ window, then to let his blankets air out, and while he was at it, he may as well wash the sheets. The nightstand and bookshelf needed to be wiped down. It wasn’t hard to get that done while the washer rumbled on the other side of the hall. In the meantime, the soup had cooled enough to pack up in Tupperware to stack in the fridge for later. Who knew if Jules would suddenly get his appetite back? The kid was a bear when he was hungry.

He lingered for the end of the second period and swapped the sheets into the dryer at the start of the third with a cookie and a cup of Emergen-C for himself. He damn well better not catch whatever germs Jules had percolated from the hellscape of middle school. Sirius had called him ‘stubbornly healthy’ on too many occasions for it to be disproven. Besides, the administration might actually fire him if he came back from an emergency and was immediately out for three more games.

“Re?”

The sound of a quiet voice took Remus’ off-guard in the last few minutes of the third period. “What’s up?”

Jules shifted around until he could prop his chin on the throw pillow and blink blearily at Remus. “Did we win?”

“Game’s still going. 4-3, Lions.”

“How much time?”

“Just under five.”

Jules attempted a whistle, though it came out as more of a shaky breath. “Almost there.”

“Dad texted. They’ll be home in a few, traffic was rough.”

“Oh, okay.” A small smile lit his face. He burrowed back under the blanket. “That’s good.”

“They’ve been asking about you all day.”

“Did’ja tell them I was fine?”

“Something like that.” Sort of. Maybe. He had been gentle about it, at least. Gory details would only make them panic.

He made sure to poke Jules awake for the last minute of the game before shepherding him down the hall to brush his teeth and shower. It was only 8:30, but Remus felt weary all the way to his core. He made Jules’ bed while the water ran and tried to tuck the sheets in along the wall a little deeper this time, just in case one tried to end up on the floor again. If he had the time, he may as well do it right, pinched fingers notwithstanding.

It was all worth it when Jules trudged back into his bedroom and threw himself into bed, only to gasp aloud. “Aw, man, this is great.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus laughed.

“Oh, wow.” The bumps of Jules’ feet kicked happily under layers of fabric and down. “It’s all warm, and cozy…”

“Get some sleep,” he reminded him, and turned out the big light. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”

He made it halfway across Jules’ carpet.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“You—” The faint outline of Jules’ head was backlit by his lamp. Remus could see the shadows of his hands fidgeting with the top blanket. “Will you…can you tell me about the soup stuff? The proteins and all that.”

Remus hesitated. “For real?”

“Yeah,” Jules said with a surprisingly enthusiastic nod. “It sounds cool.”

“I mean—yeah, sure. Uh…” Jules’ desk chair looked wildly uncomfortable for this time of night, so edge of the bed it was, he supposed. The sheets provided a nice cushion when he sat. “Okay, have you ever heard of macromolecules?”

“That’s a made-up word.”

“It’s what you’re made up of, actually. How about DNA? You know that one?”

Lyall opened the front door with a muttered curse for the bitter wind and the worse traffic. It was brutally unfair that the one day he tried to come home early, everything went to hell and kept him an age and a half longer. What kind of karma came after a father trying to get home to his sick kid?

“It’s awfully quiet,” Hope remarked behind him. The door opened at last; warm air rushed over them. “Boys? Are you up?”

The NHL postgame show was playing at a low volume, next to a plate with crumbs on it and a mug so old the pattern had washed off it. One of Hope’s blankets from her knitting phase was haphazardly piled on the couch. The evidence of both of them there, present and accounted for and safe, plucked at his heartstrings. “Why do I feel like this is exactly where they sat for the entire day?”

She shook her head. “Good for them. I’m jealous. Remus? Julian? Are you home?”

Remus’ bedroom door was closed. The bathroom fan was still on, and steam clung to the corners of the mirror next to a still-damp towel. It couldn’t have been long since they went to bed, then. Lyall pushed Julian’s bedroom door open wider and covered his mouth with his palm.

They had nearly rendered each other invisible, save for Remus’ legs stretched over the side of the bed and Julian’s arm resting atop his pile of blankets. Julian’s congested snoring drowned out the heavy, even rhythm of Remus’ breathing. As far as he could tell, only one of them had actually been prepared for bed.

“Oh my goodness,” Hope whispered at his shoulder. Her grin was radiant, even half-covered by her palm. “I don’t want to move them.”

“Re’s going to wake up with one hell of a side cramp if we let him sleep like that.”

“You do it, then.”

“…no.”

Hope scoffed fondly and tossed her hands in the air, then kissed him on the jaw as she stepped deeper into the bedroom. The whole place felt lighter, Lyall noticed. Julian had been holed up in here for two days, refusing to come out for anything but necessities. Whatever Remus had done, it worked wonders.

“Remus,” Hope singsonged in her quietest voice. She shook his shoulder, soft enough that for a moment, Lyall forgot Remus wasn’t a toddler anymore. “Baby, you need to wake up. It’s bedtime.”

“ ‘M asleep,” Remus mumbled without opening his eyes. “In my bed.”

“This isn’t your bed, lovey,” she laughed. “Come on, up you go.”

“Goin’ to sleep, promise.” His eyelashes fluttered, nose crinkling. “Talking ‘bout—‘bout proteins. Jules wanted to know.”

At the head of the bed, Julian didn’t show so much as a hint of waking. Lyall stepped forward and braced his hands under Remus’ arms, then hoisted him into a sitting position as gently as he could manage with the unexpected weight of an athlete to counterbalance him.

Remus jolted, startling into consciousness. “Woah—”

“Shh, shh.” Lyall helped him stand on clumsy legs and guided him to the door with a last playful glance at Hope. “I’ve got you, buddy.”

“Fell asleep.” Remus blinked hard. “Jules’ bed. Wanted me to stay. Time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Oh, god, ‘s early.” A yawn overtook him, spilling more of his weight into Lyall. He didn’t seem to know where his own feet were, but he went easily into the room next door.

“Alright,” Lyall huffed as he helped Remus stumble toward the bed and splay over the mattress. That old thing was definitely too small for him these days. Funny, how times changed so rapidly. That same bed used to make Remus look like nothing more than a pile of sheets. “Brush your teeth?”

A drawn-out snore answered him.

Lyall smiled to himself in the darkness and ruffled the back of Remus’ hair. “Night, Re.”

A single socked foot twitched in response. That was good enough for him.

(Jules’ fever broke the next morning. By the end of the day, he was well enough to go with them to the airport and give Remus the fiercest goodbye hug either of them had experienced, with a pinky-promise that the Lions would win the next game he played.)

#remus lupin #julian lupin #sirius black #lyall lupin #hope lupin #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #fic o’ween 2023 #illness #sickfic #lupin bros #hurt/ comfort

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auroracalisto · 1 year

Text

would you still love me?

robert "bob" floyd x gn!reader, 1.2k words tw: drunk reader, drinking, coding reader as a clingy drunk idk a/n: the reader has some "philosophical" questions to ask bob. courtesy of the tiktoks i've seen floating around from time to time. it's actually pretty light-hearted, despite the title. i promise. expect drunken fluff.

The night had stretched into the early hours of the morning, which didn't often happen. But the next day was an off day, and the drinks were just too liberating to give up yet.

As the hours continued, Bob wondered if he should have gone home already, finding comfort in the idea that you'd go back with him.

Too late. It would be hell to try and find you at this point—the bar was packed, despite the time ticking closer to two in the morning. He'd let you find him first. You were somewhere, off with your shared friends. You would be fine.

He hoped.

He leaned back in his seat, watching as Fanboy lined up his shot. Bob hadn't wanted to play this round, but he couldn't help from watching. It was monotonous, and yet, it brought him a sense of comfort at times—just to exist.

At times, just existing was more than enough for Bob.

He felt himself getting all wrapped up in his head—something that happened far too often than it should. With a sigh, he let his head fall back, eyes falling shut.

And that's when it happened.

"Bob," you hiccuped, voice loud as you alerted him of your arrival. You threw an arm around the pilot's neck, with enough force pressed to his throat to cause an issue (even though you clearly were far too inebriated to realize it). In response, he quickly placed a hand over it, effectively keeping you from accidentally choking him with your drunken deadweight.

"Bobby, I have an important question. And you have to be honest! Don't lie. I'll know if you lie," you said, giggling.

Your free hand pointed at his cheek, making a small dent as your finger pressed into his skin. Your lips inched close to his ears as he looked over at Phoenix, eyes wide.

"How much did they drink?" he asked.

You were never like this—hell, he didn't remember the last time you had drunk much at all in front of him. Leave it up to the one night he's far too absorbed in pool (and his own mind) to realize what was going on.

Phoenix shrugged, hands raised defensively—she wasn't about to be blamed for this. "Don't ask me. I've been over here with you this whole time, Bob. Blame Bradshaw."

She pointed behind him, directly at the Lieutenant.

Bob looked over his shoulder, seeing the drunken pilot just smile in response. He plopped down beside Fanboy, who waited for Phoenix to play her turn. Hangman was nowhere to be found, and until he returned, they'd be skipping his turn (Phoenix just said, "you snooze, you lose" when Payback questioned them before he himself left for the bar as well).

"Bobby, look at me," you pouted, lips brushing against his soft, warm skin. "Please."

The golden glow of the lighting cast a glare on his glasses. He let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes before he turned to face you. The glare momentarily flashed you and you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to stop yourself from smiling. You truly did have an important question—it had been on your mind for the last ten minutes, and if you didn't ask him now, you knew you would forget it.

"What's up, honey?" he softly asked, sending you a smile. He'd have to drag you home, at this rate. He could only hope you'd come willingly.

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

The sound of choking came from Fanboy's way as he sat his drink back down on the pool table, hand covering his mouth to keep the liquid in. He looked up in surprise. Phoenix held back a laugh, albeit poorly. She hid her smile behind her drink.

"What?" Bob asked, nose scrunching at the question. Did he hear you right?

You leaned forward, chest pressed against his back. Your hands gently gripped onto the fabric of his shirt, chin moving to rest against his shoulder. He could practically feel your quickened heartbeat the closer you got to him.

"You heard me, Bobby," you whined. "Would you... would you still love me... if I was a wom?"

"A wom?" Bob looked at you, perplexed.

"A worm!"

His eyes softened and with a sigh, he completely turned to face you. With gentle hands, he placed your arms by your sides, standing up in the process. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Yes. I would still love you if you were a worm," he said.

Phoenix burst out laughing, her drink slamming down on the table as Fanboy missed his shot in pool. He melted into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Rooster snickered in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the conversation unfold. It might have just been the alcohol, but damn, you were killing them.

Phoenix was not about to let this go—she was going to tease you relentlessly for the next couple of days. The both of you.

Bob glared back at his friends, but when you grabbed onto his shirt once more, he averted his gaze back to you. His lips softened into another smile—one that made you weak in the knees.

You couldn't help it. You loved this man. Even in your drunken stupor, you knew he was the one you wanted to do everything with.

You were all smiles. "I love you, Bobby."

"I love you, too, honey," he said. "Let's get you home, okay?"

"Hmm, one more drink?" you asked, your smile only growing wider. "Please? Pretty please?"

"I think you've had enough, sweetheart."

Your smile dissolved into a pout. "Bob..."

"Come on," he said, grabbing your coat off of the chair. He helped you put it on, and while you didn't want to, you didn't protest.

The two of you promptly left, Bob leading you out of the crowded bar and into the night.

Hangman at last had returned to the pool table, two beers in hand—one for himself, and one for you. Payback remained at the bar, having struck up a conversation with some pretty lady. Hangman said something about how busy the bar had been that night under his breath, not realizing how quiet things had gotten before he came back. He looked at the empty spots, before looking towards the two pilots who were only just now calming down.

"What did I miss?" he asked, confused.

Rooster reached over and plucked one of the beers out of his hand. "Y/n."

He tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed in response. He shook his head and took a swig before he grabbed his pool cue, prepared to win against the giggling school girls across from him.

Bob helped you into the car, buckling you in in the process. You grabbed the edge of his collar, pulling him close to your face with a grin.

"You're so cute, Bobby. You know that, right?"

"So I've been told," he said, a pink blush coating his cheeks. He pried your fingers away, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

You just giggled dreamily, leaning back in your seat. You let your eyes fall shut as Bob shut the car door.

He ran a hand through his hair, thankful that the air was quite chilly that night. The heat from his cheeks was enough to make him even more flustered than he already was.

You were a handful—but like everything else in his life, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

In some weird world, in some faraway galaxy, Bob knew he would love you, even if you were a worm.

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writing-with-emy · 10 months

Note

Tw: sh

Idk if you’d be comfortable writing this (if you are not, no worries) but i was just wondering if you would write a poguesxf!reader where the reader comes off as a really happy and genuine person but is secretly struggling with self harm and is cutting herself and the pogues find out or see blood or something and she tries to play it off as nothing but they figure it out and convince her that she’s not a burden and then they all help her get help/get better in their own ways? Again if you’re not comfortable that’s totally fine, I know it’s heavy stuff.

FOREVER WINTER - Pogues x F!Reader

OBX MASTERLIST | PROMPTS | Requests are open!

Shipping: Pogues x F!Reader (platonic) Summary: Above in the request! Word counts: 3.880 words Warnings: explicit content and mentions of self harm, depression, suicidal Thoughts, self-hatred, swear words, mentions of drinking

A/N: Please do not read it if you struggle with something of the above, if you do read it, please keep in mind that you are loved and wanted! YOU ARE ENOUGH! I have put some Numbers under the Imagine if you want/need them. if you know someone who struggles with this or any other mental health issue, please be there for them, they need them and check on your loved ones you never know what there going through right at given moment. And as always, feel open to correct when/if you see writing/grammar mistakes! (Not part of the Eras festival!)

„That’s definitely not true.“, you Heard the voice of Pope going through the whole chateau. „Of course it is. I read it on Wikipedia.“, JJ threw back at Pope, like it was obviously the best and most reliable source of the Internet. The rest of it was blended out because of the Major Headache you got, maybe you shouldn‘t have drank so much last night at the bonfire party.

You let out an unidentified sound and tried to hide from the sun who shines into the window of yours and JJs room you sometimes shared at John B's place. You put a pillow on your face trying to make it darker, but that doesn‘t help to blend out the laughter coming from the living room. You were still wearing your sweater from last night, better to say you still wore your whole outfit from last night, but the sweater was the important part of it, it was your try to hide the wounds that came to your arm two nights prior. You‘ve been struggling with your mental health for quite a while actually, but your friends didn‘t need to know that. They didn‘t need to know, that your parents, who just were freshly separated, gave you a shit ton of stress because of your friends who weren‘t Kooks or that your grades started to go down or people like Rafe Cameron and his friends who loves to give a lot of shitty remarks on the way you dress or look because you were hanging with the Pogues. No, they didn‘t need to know that and to be fair as much as you tried to talk you into the mindset that it was just a phase of feeling shitty, the wanting of actually ending everything came way more often from day to day. Way more often than you wanted to admit Because you just felt like a burden to everyone and everything.

You had no Idea how long you laid in bed after you woke up, but once you heard the door open you turned to it and saw JJ coming in. „Hey there sleeping beauty, finally awake?“, he asked, walking to the dresser. „I‘ve been for a while.“, you said, forcing a smile and furrowing your brows together because of the headache. „What got a headache?“, he asked seeing your forced smile and the together furrowed brows You just nodded, laying your head against the Pillows. „Well, I don‘t like saying it but, I told you not to drink so much, so.. I told you so.“. He said, smirking. „Just shut up, you‘re the reason I‘m even awake.“, you said laughing slightly. „You didn‘t just say that.“ he gasped, putting a hand on his chest. „Yes I did, what do you wanna do about it?“, you asked, grinning slyly at him. What you didn‘t expect was him taking your pillow and throwing it in your face. „Are you serious?“, you grumbled under the pillow. „Yes.“, he said and you didn‘t even need to look to know he has his shit eating grin on looking at you. You took your pillow, throwing it back in his face, before sitting up hearing your stomach grumble. „I‘m gonna grab something to eat, do whatever you wanted to do when you came in.“, you said, getting up from the bed and going out.

When you came Into the living room you saw John B, Kie and Pope together on the couch talking. John B waa the first to notice you. „Hey, she is awake!“, raising his Coca Cola Can in the air. „Ayyy.“, Pope and Kie said, raising theirs.

You wanted to say something but your stomach came first and grumbled loudly which made everyone laugh.

„I‘m gonna grab something to eat, and then I‘m right back.“, you said smiling, before going to the kitchen. You made yourself some toast with whatever was left over and grabbed yourself a Can of Coca Cola. „So what were you guys talking about earlier?“, you asked, throwing yourself next to Kie. „Oh, JJ just told us a stupid fact about Phineas and Ferb which wasn‘t true.“, Pope said. You just nodded while taking a bite from your toast. „Why are you still wearing the stuff from last night?“, Kie changed the subject. „Oh.. I just forgot to bring clothes to change into, I‘m just gonna drive home later to change and shower before coming back.“, you said, hoping they would believe you. You knew you could always borrow something from John B since he lives here and even from JJ because half of his clothes are here. „Why didn‘t you ask? I could‘ve given you some spare clothes for the night.“, John B stated something you already knew. „I know I just was probably too drunk to think about that.“, you said, giving John B your best smile you could spare right now.

He let it be because pope stated that you were actually really drunk last night, more than usual.

–

A few hours later you came home, hoping that your mother wasn‘t home right now, but to your luck she was.

„Where were you last night, I told you to come straight home after the Bonfire.“, she said, trying to keep calm but slightly failing at it. You knew when your mom was angry, nostrils flared, eyes wide with anger and her cheeks had a slight tone of red which wasn‘t cursed because of her rouge she normally wore. „I slept over at some friends house, I was too drunk to drive and I forget to text you I‘m sorry.“, you knew you didn‘t need to say their names, she already knew where you were so no need to lying, at least that would take away some steam, telling the truth was better than lying to her in those kind of situations. „And were your so-called friends the reason you drank so much?“, she asked, putting quote marks to the “friends” parts. „No I wanted it myself, they tried to stop me even but I didn‘t let them.“, you knew whatever you say, she wouldn‘t believe you when it came to the Pogues,

But to your surprise she just nodded.

„You're grounded for the next two weeks, no Pogues, no drinking and no phone.“, she said, putting her hand out. You turned off your phone before giving it to her. „Now, up to your room, and take a shower you smell like a whole bar of old drunk man.“, she said, scrunching her nose in disgust. You nodded walking up the stairs to your room.

You took off all your clothes, throwing them in your laundry basket, before taking new stuff out and going into your bathroom. You turn the Water on steaming hot before going in and let the heat relax your muscles. You laid your head back letting the hot water hit your face trying to calm your haughty who are spiraling right now. When you looked down you saw your cuts which are starting to heal, the crust on them in a dark red–brownish color the feeling and wanting to cut again coming back up. You finish your shower quickly, before heading out and putting a white towel around your body. Back in your room you sit on your bed, thinking but before you knew it you had a new blade in your hand while standing in your bathroom. The door behind you was closed and locked so your mom couldn‘t come in, you turned the shower on again so she wouldn’t hear you.

And there you were standing in front of your mirror just blankly staring at yourself in your towel with still damp hair, the short time outside nearly drying your hair since today was a really hot day in the outer banks. You knew your friends wanted to look for fish and go swimming out with the boat, but you couldn't resist the urge no matter how hard you tried.

(A/N: I give you the chance of skipping this part because is getting more explicit here with the self harm, so feel free to skip <3)

You just stared and the thoughts came rushing in your head. They don‘t want you. You are just a burden. You are a burden for your family, your friends and the people around you. You are just a piece of shit. You are worth nothing. You are not worthy of love. Do you really think your parents love you? You are.. You.. ..

You couldn‘t bear it anymore, you just grabbed the blade and set the first cut, then the second and the third. You just started going wild, and after you could see the one arm not anymore because of the blood, you started on the other arm, just going absolutely feral like a wild animal trying to kill its prey. You didn‘t even notice that you started crying while doing it, you stopped when your other arm was also full with your own blood.

(A/N: It’s over here, I didn‘t wanted it to Long )

You let the razor blade fall into the sink, breaking down crying not realizing that your blood is dripping in the sink, on the floor and on your towel which you have to throw away later. You just cried, cried because you felt unworthy of anything, friends, love, parents, anything that is normal in someone’s life. And it was triggered just by the little argument with your mom, what you couldn‘t even call that. You had no Idea how long you sat on the bathroom floor crying, but once you calmed down, you got up, you washed your arms free from the blood, the water slightly burning in your fresh wounds, but you tried to make no noise. Before you did anything else, you grabbed your first aid kit from your bathroom cabinet and put bandages around your arms, firmly enough to hopefully stop the bleeding. You changed in your room, you just throw on some shorts, a shirt and a new sweater, before putting on your shoes and throwing some spare clothes in a backpack and climbing out of your window, you had luck that under your window was the roof of the Garage and that your Mom hadn‘t took away your car keys.

Once you got into your car you turned the engines on and drove away. You saw your mom running out, yelling at you from the rearview mirror but you turned on your radio and drove to the Chateau. Was it stupid? Yes. Would you be in more trouble afterwards? Yes. Did you care right now? Absolutely fucking not.

–

The engine turned off once you turned the key, the radio dying instantly, you watched your friends getting the boat ready for a little trip like usual. You just sit there quietly, thinking if you really wanted to go with them, or if you would just be a burden for them? You took a deep breath before mumbling under your breath „fuck it.“, you took your backpack and got out of your car, walking towards them.

„Hey she is back!“ JJ yelled, with two fishing rods in his hands. „Yeah, and guess who is grounded for two weeks?“, you grinned at him. „And then you are here?“, Pope asked. „Well, I don‘t really care. I mean she can‘t contact me, while she is the one who has my phone.“, you laughed. „That’s my girl.“, JJ grinned, giving Pope the Rods before putting an arm around your shoulders. „Well, looks like I have another guest for those two weeks.“, John B said, putting the buckets down. „I‘m just bringing my Backpack in and then I‘m right back outside.“, you said, wending out of JJs arm, going Inside, throwing your backpack on the bed.

–

Like 15 minutes later you guys were on the way to a place where the water would be deep enough to swim and to fish, once you guys found the place, you stopped the boat and let the anchor down.

After a while you had now Idea how much time is passing by, you just realized the sun is slowly starting to settle down, while laughing absolutely hard at one or JJs stupid Jokes, you had funny and actually forget what Made broke down earlier, actually you had pushed those memories and feelings so far back in your brain, that you forgot that you had bandages around both of your underarms when you rolled up your sleeves. You were at first confused as to why everyone quieted down, but when you looked at your arms, you remembered what you did early and faster put them down again looking at every single one of your friends who just stared at you.

„Y/N..“, Pope started. „Yeah?“, you asked like nothing happened. „Why Did you have bandages around your arms?“, kie asked straightly. „What?“, you tried to act innocent, not to let anything shine through. „You know what we mean.“ John B said. „Nope.“, you said while sipping your drink.

And that started an argument about why you have bandages around your underarms.

„Y/N, come on, you can tell us when something is going on.“, JJ said. „Nothing is going on, I had an accident.. that’s all.“, you said, shrugging with your shoulders. „An accident on both of your arms?“, Pope asked, not believing a single word you just said. „Yep.“, you nodded, trying to not let your eyes get watery.

They stared at you again for some time, just in pure disbelief you would lie them blankly in the face.

„I‘m okay guys, it‘s nothing.“. You tried laughing it off. „Stop telling us that you‘re okay, when you‘re clearly not.“, Throwed JJ in getting mad at the fact that you kept your problems away from them.

You just kept quiet looking away, trying to hold in your tears that started brimming in your eyes.

„You know what, you don‘t need to tell us anything..yet. We can just sit here, it's okay.“, Kie said, putting a hand on your shoulder. „But we can‘t help you, if you don‘t let us.“, Pope said, coming to your other side putting a hand on your other shoulder. „I know.. I just don‘t want to cry.. I feel.. Fuck, I feel so stupid for crying.“, you said looking up in the sky, still tryongnto hold those tears in. „Hey.. It‘s Okay to cry.“, John B said, squatting down in front of you, turning and holding your face in his hands so you look at him. „It‘s okay.“, he said, looking you in the eyes. „They‘re right Y/N, all of them.“, JJ said, squatting down next to John B.

You nodded, finally letting your tears break out. The four of them started hugging you in a big hug, all of them embracing you in a hug full of love, a hug that feels like comfort and Home. Once you let go of them, and they let go of you, you told them everything, what’s been going on, the remarks of rafe that were worsened when your friends weren‘t with you, the divorce of your parents plus them hating on your friends and very little else.

„Why didn‘t you tell us that earlier?“, Kie asked. „I didn‘t wanted to be a burden, which I probably am right now, I didn‘t wanted you to put all that on you, especially at the start of the divorce of my parents, I just fell into that habit of hurting myself, when I came home it just was the worst I have ever been with this feeling, I didn‘t even realized, that I was doing it so much and so fast, I just wanted to quiet down my thoughts. I wanted to drain them out and not feel anything..“, you explain to them. „You aren‘t a burden, who told you that.“, John B stated. „Well, I actually heard my Mom say it on the phone while the divorce was still going on. She was discussing it with my father who would keep me. They talked about me like I was an object and not a person.“, you said, staring at your hands.

You didn‘t have to look to know that everyone was looking at you with pitying faces.

„You aren‘t a burden, your mom is fucking stupid to say stuff like this, she doesn‘t deserve you.“, JJ said standing up. You looked at him while everyone said his name in shock. „No he is right..“, you started. „But I don‘t really want to talk about it anymore.. can we switch the theme?“, you asked, drying your eyes with the arms of your sweater.

–

When you were back at the Chateau, you felt someone putting their arm around your shoulders.

„Don‘t worry, we‘re getting you away from that, and out of that dark hole.“, Kie said, going next to you. „Yeah definitely, we‘re gonna kick their asses.“, JJ said, coming next to you with a bucket full of fish. „Thank you guys, you really make me feel safe.“, you said with a light smile. „Yep, and we aren‘t going anywhere anytime soon.“, Pope said, while JJ put his arm around your waist. „Right, and you‘re gonna stay here as long as you need to. See the chateau as your clinic now, and we are doctors and nurses to help you.“, John B said, walking in front of you guys with the other bucket in hand. „I don‘t know if I want JJ as my Doctor or my nurse.“, you said jokingly. „Hey, what does that mean?“he asked, offended. „I think I would be a great nurse or a doctor.“, he started trying to walk past you, Kie and pope, tripping and nearly falling on his face in the process. „Try to learn to walk straight first.“, you said a grin slipping its way on your Lips.

–

„Hey what’s wrong, pretty face?“, JJ asked, sitting down next to you. „I don‘t know if I‘m doing the right thing, whilst staying away from my mom and stuff you know..“, you said.

The two weeks where you normally would’ve been grounded, past way two fast, it’s the beginning of week three, and you actually didn‘t harm yourself in those three weeks. Well, nearly, you tried it a few times secretly, but you were always stopped luckily.

„You‘re doing the right thing.“, JJ said, putting an arm around your shoulder pulling you closer to him. „Then why does it feel so wrong to me.?“, you asked, leaning against him and putting your head on his shoulder. „Well, you Mom expected you to live after her and do everything to make her happy and be at her standards, but right now you‘re focusing on you and not her, that’s probably why.“, he said, drawing little things on your shoulder while leaning his head against yours. „Can we like, I don‘t know cuddle for a bit? I just want to be close to someone for a little bit. Is that okay?“, you asked JJ, looking up at him. „Yeah totally.“, he said.

You both lie down on the bed you're sitting on to cuddle, which actually helped with the way you were feeling.

–

Today was a bad day, a very bad day. You were out with the Pogues like you were for the last few weeks, the last Month you and the Pogues went out nearly every single day and today was not different. You either went to the Wreck, to the beach to surf, out on the boat, or just drove around in the Twinkie even in the middle of the night.

All those things actually helped get you away from your thoughts, well it went well until today. You didn‘t know what was wrong, but today just fell off even though you were excited, because today was a Little movie show near the beach, and you guys decided to go there and watch the movie, that was until Rafe Cameron needed to make a remark. You tried to ignore it, but when he and his friends started laughing, you couldn't bear it and just ran away. You didn‘t make it war away, just war enough to hide between the cars at the Twinkie.

You started crying once you were alone, that just sat you off and ruined it.

„Hey.. Hey..“, you Heard John B coming towards you, before sitting next to you on the floor and pulling you against his chest. „It‘s okay, you‘re okay.“, he said, straddling your head. „I‘m sorry, I didn‘t want to ruin it. I tried to be strong, but I just couldn‘t once they laughed. I‘m so so sorry that I‘m so fucking weak and need to cry..“, you croaked against his chest. „Hey don‘t say that.. This? These tears are not a weakness. This right now is not a weakness.. This all shows how strong you are and how strong you‘ve been. And when you‘re done, look back and know that you were strong enough to overcome what you once thought to be impossible, alright?a, he asked, holding your face in his hands.

You just nodded sniffling. He gave you a kiss on your forehead before pulling you again against his chest.

„Did you really need to punch him in the face JJ?“, Popes' voice was heard. „Yes.“, the speaker answered. „Well, This whole thing sucked, so let’s just go home and watch a movie there.“, Kie said looking at you and John B, who now were sitting in the open twinkie. „Yeah let’s do that.“, you said, giving them a little smile.

Back at the chateau, you guys watched some old movie that John B had there. You were sitting next to JJ, when you looked at him shortly, before putting your head on his shoulder.

„Thank you for Punching Rafe.“, you whispered. „No need to thank me.“, he whispered back. You just smile softly for yourself.

–

A few months later, you started to stay just for a few days at your mothers since her house doesn‘t really feel like a home anymore. To your surprise she couldn‘t care less, a few months ago you would‘ve cried about that fact, but since you way over that because of your friends that are your family now, you also couldn‘t care less. Today you were back at the chateau, drinking and having fun with your friends, when something came to your mind.

„I never said, 'Thank you‘, did I?“, you said out of nowhere. „For what?“, John B asked, with everybody agreeing. „For.. Well.. Everything you did for me the past few months.“, you said smiling looking at every single one of them. „You don‘t need to thank us for that.“, Kie said. „Yeah, that‘s what friends are there for.“, Pope said. „No.“, JJ said, getting everyone off guard. „What?“, everyone said in sync. „We are not friends, we are a family. That‘s what a family is there for.“, he said standing up looking in your eyes.

Smiling, you stand up with JJ raising your Can Beer in the air.

„On us and all the years in the future we hopefully stay like this. Cheers!“, you said looking at your family. „On Us!“, everyone cheers with you taking a sip from their drinks.

All of these Numbers are available 24/7 and charge Free

–USA: 988 (suicide & life crisis lifeline) 1-866-488-7386 (The Trevor project) 678-678 (Trevor project Text [text START]) 1-877-565-8860 (Trans Lifeline)

–UK: 0800 689 5653 (National Suicide Prevention) 0800 068 4141 (Hopline 247 / PAPYRUS) ^07860039967 (Text)

–Switzerland: 143 (die Dargebotene Hand)

–Sweden: 90101 (Självmordslinjen)

–Netherlands: 0800 0113 (Stichting 113Online)

–Irland: 116 123 (Samaritans)

–Germany: 0800 111 0 111 or 0800 111 0 222 (Telefonseelsorge)

–France: 3114 (didn‘t found a name) 1-877-330-6366 (Fil santé jeunes)

–Canada: 1-833-456-4566 (Talk Suicide Canada) 1-877-330-6366 (Trans lifeline)

–Brazil: 188 (Centro de Valorização)

–Austria: 142 (Telefonseelsorge [Samaritan Telephone])

–Australia: 13 11 14 (Lifeline) 1800 55 1800 (Kids Helpline [ages 5-25])

If you want the numbers for your country tell me in the comments🫶🏻

#outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #kiara carrera x reader #john b imagine #pogues x reader #outer banks imagine #pope heyward imagine #john b x reader #pope heyward x reader #john b routledge #pope heyward #kiara carrera imagine #kiara carrera #jj maybank x reader #writing-with-emy

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kani-miso · 25 days

Text

mini fugue es and fugue jackalope character design analysis

tw: mention of uncomfortable topics such as child neglect and child abuse

appreciate @hectorthedoggo for making this series and also please appreciate the illustrator!!! (im not sure if they have any socials yet)

ngl i sound like an english teacher when analyzing , also idk if i over analyzed some parts so sorry if did (i know the ties shape isn't important but i just needed to include it)

note: some will be copy pasted from a previous analysis!

fugue es

starts from top to bottom

hat : omg!! i love the hat so much!! ok, anyways. their hat is presumably a peaked hat. peaked hats are usually used by soldiers or armed forces, their hat is blue so they're a part of the air forces (referencing the fact that their room is on top of the tower, in air?). peaked hats have embroidery on their crown that are usually called scrambled egg(s). the scrambled egg is supposed to determine their ranks and/or organization, their scrambled egg is a key hole. that perticular shape can possibly fit all kinds of keys, referencing how naive and how easy it is for the abusers come to their life to abuse them < if the keys symbolize the abusers. (also i think its silly to think they're in any organization). the ropes connecting to the keyhole,,,, you murdered me with this one,,, ropes symbolize tangibility of physical or emotional capture in the embodiment of a rope or lasso. even worse that the rope is given by jackalope (the rope is possibly brighter and more saturated than the one given by the past abusers because jackalope acts as the light in es' life).

keyring : haha, theres alot to say. lets talk about what the keys represent first. the individual keys represent past abusers, and the keyring as a whole represents jackalope (also everytime es thinks negatively about abuse and jackalope, their head starts to ache in pain. are their thoughts controlled by jackalope so they wont have a negative view on him?). why would jackalope be the whole keyring you may ask, i have the answer for you curious creatures. jackalope has abused es in many ways, such as verbal abuse, neglect, physical abuse (?), possibly domestic abuse based off the 10 chairs in dining room, emotional/psychological abuse, being toxically overprotective and possibly child exploitation. since all the keys represent past abusers, jackalope is just all of them as a single entity. well, which key represent which abuser? this is from left to right btw. -key n1/ household mortice key, mortice keys are normally used on internal doors to improve security. personally, i think this is symbolism for toxically overprotective parenting, they are locking the internal doors of a child to improve the security they have around them. -key n2/patio double glazing key, patio double glazing keys are used to lock windows, these locks are strong and cannot be opened once locked. personally, i think this is symbolism for physical abuse. once they are with the abusers, they're locked with them forever until someone opens the lock. -key n3/master key, master keys are used to unlock several locks. personally i think this is symbolism for domestic abuse. once your abuser finds out about your partners, friends, family, they will unlock that lock to continue their abuse. -key n4/first level security key, first level security keys are used to secure a lock shut. personally i think this is symbolism for neglect. once you're with your abuser, there's no other place to go. you stay with your abuser or rot in the streets.

outfit (top) : not much to say about this but i'll try to make something out of it. their outfit heavily resembles a uniform. uniforms are distinctive clothing worn by members of the same organization or body or by children attending certain schools. i find it suspicious they're wearing a uniform instead of normal clothing (< its even mentioned in the fic itself) when they're not even in any organization, especially that jackalope gave it to them made it even more suspicious. but what type of uniform are they wearing exactly? i think it might be a waitress uniform, that's the closest i can get to identifying their uniform. it hurts that they're wearing a waitress uniform,,,

belt and tie : the main point is analyzing the tie so here we go. tie shape = (copy pasted from prev analysis with additional notes) 'who gave this to them?' i suspect it might be from their past abusers(i have a theory that there are 4 past abusers by the number of keys on their keyring). 'what's the purpose of it?' the tie on their waist is tied into a knot. many cultures including japan use knots to symbolize unity. es and their past abuser will always be tied into a knot together because no matter where they go, the abuse stays. it either continues from another person, or the previous scars of abuse never heal (both physically and mentally). the knot also seems tight, a tight knot means to maintain a close and secure hold on something. it can be used figuratively or literally. in a literal sense, the phrase can refer to tying a knot that is difficult to undo. you can think of it as es being a rope that has been tied tightly to their abusers, because of that its hard to undo/untie them from their abusers because of how close they've become to them. 'the tie has 2 ends, what's the meaning?' : the number 2 usually symbolize the duality of two subjects, the ones that are important to note are : yes/no, true/false, and yin/yang. yes/no, true/false are self explanatory, yin/yang on the other hand. 'yin' represents coldness and darkness (< es' uniform overall colorscheme is cold representing yin, mind you this is give by jackalope). and 'yang' represents light and warmth (< es' tie on their waist is a warm color, this is given by their past abusers). i wonder if this is implying that es still cares and resonate warmth from their past abusers and feels coldness and a sense of darkness when getting taken care of by jackalope..(no wonder pain is nostalgic for them) also, in japan, 二 (ni). It represents creation, time (past, present, and future). 'why does the end of their tie look like a teru teru bozu?' a teru teru bozu is a traditional japanese talisman used to bring good weathers and to stop or prevent rainy days. rain is essential when growing crops, so it symbolizes the growth of a new family (found family and biological). the fact that they are using a teru teru bozu that prevents rain implies that they are being held back in finding a "new family" :( (also this might not be important but teru teru bozu's are dolls that are hung by the neck). tie color= the color gold is the symbol of the sun and of the god's power and mercy. gold is often used in temples and shrines. due to the desaturation and discolorment of the tie, it has a different meaning. desaturated colors or dull colors are usually associated with poverty and aging. seems like that tie was given from a long time ago (more material for the past abuser theory) especially that seems like the edges of the end already looks like it's semi-decaying. if we still use the gold symbolize the sun and of god's power and mercy, then they are barely at god's mercy, it sort of references what abuse victims go through if they speak out their voice. if you speak out, some god's will respect you, some god's wont (god's as in people in society). perhaps they're in a world where abuse victims more often get shunned away, they are barely at god's mercy.

cape : their cape is just normal imo, the thing that interested me is the galaxy in their cape. a galaxy can symbolize aspirations and the patterns of tomorrow you are shaping through your beliefs. their beliefs are specifically centered around their abusers and abusers only. the tomorrow they're going to shape is just the same as yesterday, they wont stop the cycle of abuse because to their "own" beliefs what they're enduring is not abuse, but discipline. their cape is most visible on the left side of their body. the left side usually represents femininity, they embrace the traditional femininity by being vulnerable and having puffy cheeks

boots : their boots have more of those rope thingys. those ropes are the ones given by jackalope, not the past abusers. the rope that is given by jackalope is thin and easily broken, meaning they could just be "re-sheltered" by someone else. thats why there's little restraints on their boots. there are 2 restraints on each boot, which again symbolizes duals/duos. the duo being es and jackalope. also, on the top of their boots, there's a gold colored leg warmer (< that are on boots). the thought of their abusers keeps them warm, thats why their keyring warms up whenever they think about them.

fugue jackalope

starts from top to bottom

antlers : oh my. his antlers are just his usual antlers, the only difference being that there's ropes wrapped around it. i want to point out that the ropes warp comfortably, and not made into a tight knot (< like es). i find it interesting that there are 4 parts that are branching out of the base antler, because es has 4 keys on their neck and jackalope has 4 secondary antler parts (idk what they're called). every rope on the branched out antlers connect to each other, it makes me have a suspicion that all of the abusers knew each other. they're all not tied in a knot together because they are simply lurking and not uniting together. also i think, gold is being used as the color of the abusers because they're supposed to feel grandeur, luxurious, rich, and sort of unbearable is smart. gold is treated like the superior color, the one everyone loves and likes. es color is presumably dull navy blue which is associated with trust and loyalty. dull colors are also treated as poor colors so es has to cling to their abusers to seem presentable to the world.

hat : AUGH the symbol,, his hat is just like es' hat, its a peaked hat. the only difference is his scrambled egg. his scrambled egg symbol is an eye, referencing that he sees all. eyes usually are associated with clairvoyance, omniscience, and a gateway to the soul. the eye symbol has a dull orange color which shows his lifelessness. eyes can also mean vigilance, intelligence, moral conscience and truth. it hurts because in this situation it's a total lie. he's literally trying to brainwash them into thinking all he says is only truth, making them base all adults off of him.

sash : this wasn't really important but i just had to. the sash he's wearing doesn't really look like a sash, it just looks like es' keyring without the keys, although there's a difference in length and width. i think jackalope has not been involved with the past abusers because he doesnt have any keys, anywhere. also his sash looks lifeless.

cape : i think i got a heart attack. the only thing im analyzing is the symbol btw. i cant find anything similiar with that symbol anywhere so the closest i can get is the Illuminati symbol. if im not mistaken, the Illuminati symbol can be found on the all-seeing eye/eye of providence. the all-seeing eye is supposed to represent god. this references the fact es sees and treats jackalope like their god no matter what they endure because of him, they must bow down as he is the all knowing all seeing man. and i might be crazy, but i think there's no symbol on the left side of his cape, what does it mean? the right side is the masculine side, he embraces the masculinity by assertive, controlling, and aggressive behavior. also it might be a play of words, right side, right=correct. (maybe its just because the symbol is hidden idk) with es leaning more to the feminine spectrum and jackalope to toxic masculinity, it shows the huge power imbalance in their relationship.

thanks for reading, i will go back to yappington. have a reward for staying alive

#milgram #milgram project #milgram es #es milgram #jackalope milgram #fugue au #fugue es #fugue jackalope #fugue analysis #tw child abuse #tw child neglect

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ashturnedtomist · 11 months

Text

Keep it Covert: Ch.0

Prologue

@morgansplace came up with the title. everyone say thank you.

Summary: in which, things are not kept covert.

Next Chapter

TW: panic, cursing, force, Geordi starts to have a panic attack but you don’t really see anything

Read it on Ao3 too :)

Based off of this post

Morgan sighed, knitting his brows together.

Standing before him was the only other Seer Obscura that he knew existed, and they were exhausted.

“Can we just…take a break? Please?” They were working on honing their abilities and they had worn out their core.

“That’s fine, just sit down,” he gestured to the couch. He slumped down beside them, undoing his tie and turning on the TV. He flipped to a random news channel.

He froze.

‘-American government has already started making plans and precautions against this unknown threat. The leaked documents call them, ‘empowered.’

Morgan leaned forward, his heart pounding.

“Morgan?” He glanced at his trainee. “What-what does that mean?”

He shakes his head, his eyes trained on the screen. “I-I don’t know.”

‘We know little about these people. Where did they come from? How long have they been living among us? And, are they a danger?’

———

“Shit,” James muttered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

His phone had been ringing off and on for the past half hour.

“Your stress levels are elevated.” Asset sat to the side, eyeing their superior.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” he muttered bitterly. They hummed in acknowledgment. “What has happened?”

James sighed, bracing his hands on his desk. “The Department was exposed.”

Asset tilted their head to the side. “What does that mean?” James looked up at them. “It means-” his phone rings again. “That the unempowereds know we exist.”

Ring.

“Which means our entire project could be shut down.”

Ring.

“Which means you could be shut down.”

Ring.

They stare at him blankly before looking away. “I see.”

Ring.

“God damn it!” He flung his phone across the room, a shattering sound echoing across the empty walls.

Asset looked around for a moment before facing him.

“Take my memory card.”

He looked up at them again. “What?”

“Take my memory card.” They repeat. “Or at least make a copy. That way, if they shut me down, you will at least have a way to put my memories somewhere else. Maybe you could make me again. Somehow.”

A glimmer of their old personality shone in their eyes. James swallowed thickly. “Okay…okay. We can-we can do that.”

———

Geordi was exhausted. He’d had a long day.

First, his internet went out, and so did his cable. So he had to get that fixed.

Then he phone broke, so he had to get that done too.

And when he finally turned his phone on when he got home, he was bombarded with messages and calls.

15 unread messages from Guy

3 missed calls from Guy

5 unread messages from “Honey”

2 missed calls from “Honey”

1 missed call from Cutie

1 unopened voicemail from Cutie

His stomach dropped. What happened?

Cutie hadn’t contacted him in weeks, let alone Guy’s partner. They were friends, sure, but not that good of friends.

Geordi swallowed thickly as he opened his messages

Guy

dude

where are you

have you read the news

do it asap

wait

maybe dont

well it might be better if you do

honey says you should

but idk

just do it

please

and dont panic

unless you heard something from them

then maybe you can panic

im definitely panicking

“Honey”

Read the news. Now.

I don’t care what you’re doing.

This is more important.

Ignore Guy. He’s in a bad headspace right now.

Check the news.

Geordi scrambled to open his news app. His eyes scanned the screen until he found what they could be talking about.

Friends or Foes? Who are these ‘empowereds?’

Geordi almost dropped his phone. He quickly scanned through the article, his heart rate picking up with every word he read. He felt like he was going to be sick.

He quickly checked his voicemail.

‘U-um, hey Geordi, I know I haven’t checked in in awhile but-‘

Something cuts them off. They sound like they’re crying.

‘S-sorry about that. Um, anyway, I just wanted to get this message out to you in case you don’t hear from me for awhile. I’m sure you’ve seen the news.’

Geordi bit his lip. So that’s what this was about.

‘I lost my job! Well, I think I did. Things are kind of a mess over here-’

Their voice cuts out.

‘-don’t know what’s gonna happen now. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I just- I-I love you, okay?”

Their voice grows more tearful.

‘I love you and I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better partner to you. I’ve been trying so hard to get better. So hard. I don’t know when you’ll see me or hear from me next, so…’

They sniffle

‘I love you. Goodbye, Geordi.’

His phone clatters to the floor. He slides down the wall as his breathing grows heavy.

“No. No, no, no, no…”

———

Angel hums to themself as they mess around on their switch, Minecraft lighting up their screen. They had just finished building a house for themself and their dog when their phone went off. It was David.

“Hey, Davey, what’s-”

“I’m coming home. Don’t check the news. Just-just wait for me.”

“What? David, what’s-”

“Just wait.”

Beeping sounded in their ear, signaling that he had hung up.

Angel couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in their stomach

———

Aaron pressed a heated kiss to his partner’s lips. “I’ll teach you to talk back, Smartass.” They giggled against his mouth, moving to unbutton his shirt when his phone went off. They whined as he pulled away. He chucked. “Hold on, it’s Elliott.”

He pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Flustered shouting could be heard from the other line.

“Woah, woah, woah, Elliott. What’s going on?”

As his brother chattered on from the other line, Aaron grew pale.

He hung up the phone.

“Aaron? What’s wrong?” Smartass clambered onto his lap. “What happened?”

He took their hands into his. He was shaking.

“The human government knows about empowereds.”

——-

It was supposed to be a good day. An amazing day. They were gonna finish work, pick up dinner, and cuddle Aggro until Milo got home so they could eat and watch a movie.

It was great.

But now, they were hiding under their desk while sirens wailed above them, and black military boots stomped by.

It all happened so fast.

One moment, they were talking to their coworker about their latest therapy session, and how they were going to reach out to their boyfriend again, and the next, the emergency sirens were going off and government troops stormed the halls.

They huddled under the protective covering of their desk, trying not to make too much noise.

Their phone started vibrating. They scrambled to silence it.

‘God damn it, Milo.’

A gloved hand reached under the desk and pulled them out.

“What a sweet little thing you are.”

Sweetheart yanks their arm away. “Get the hell off me.”

The man in front of them scoffs and says, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. A lot of your colleagues have slipped away, but we have a few in holding.”

“Slipped away, huh?” Sweetheart says. “Well,” They look him up and down. “I guess they didn’t tell you how stealthy I can be.”

“What do you-” The man cuts himself off as Sweetheart disappears from his sight.

———

“Come on, Damien. I promise it doesn’t taste that bad.” Freelancer begged. Damien looked at the meal in front of him that Gavin had made. Everyone around him insisted that he try it.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad, Dames.”

“R-really, it’s good. Gavin outdid himself.”

The incubus in question leaned in close to the fire elemental.

“Please? For me? Don’t make me beg, Damien.”

Damien’s cheeks flushed a fiery red. “Fine. If it’ll get you out of my face.” Just as he went to go take a bite, Gavin’s phone rang.

“Ah…just a moment.” Gavin rose from his seat. “Don’t eat any just yet, I want to see the delectable look on your face when you try it!” He called before he disappeared out the door.

Freelancer furrowed their brows. What was that about?

They filled the time that Gavin was gone with casual conversation and some banter here and there. After about 15 minutes, Gavin came back inside.

He came back into the room, looking pale.

“Gavin?” Freelancer stood up. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Turn on the news.” Everyone looked at each other. “Now.”

Notes: Geordi and Guy are friends

Honey and Cutie are friends

Honey is also empowered bc I said so 😍

Also: this will be centered around an idea I came up with, so stay tuned.

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kazumaple · 5 months

Text

born to die ꨄ haikaveh

art by @/mezudy678 on twt!!

tw | suicide ideation, death, alchoholism.

word count | 1,424 words ★ genre | angst, mentally ill kaveh, mental illness, major character death, au where haitham dies and kaveh is sad basically, kaveh is delusional, like in the traditional sense, depression/depression-like symptoms, me monopolising on lana del rey's lyrical genius<33

a/n | this has been sitting in my drafts for i kid you not over 6 months i think?!?! so yeah i just thought i should post it before the new year! i ruminated over the ending for so long but yknow new year new me so i just posted it. idk why i always make kaveh suffer but here is he suffering again. enjoy!?!?

link to my masterlist/how to request!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“I’ll be waiting for you in heaven, my love.”

The firm grip on Kaveh’s hand loosens as he feels his lover’s strength wane, taking not just his own, but Kaveh’s life force with it too.

No, no… just a little longer, please.

“But heaven is a place on Earth with you,” the blonde sniffles, embracing Alhaitham for the last time, “Don’t leave me…I still need you.”

A chuckle erupts from the man next to him, and at that moment, Kaveh wishes he could loop that sound and listen to it forever, to keep Alhaitham in a world of his own design, where they could live together in the grandest of castles, all designed by Kaveh himself.

He would construct them the most convenient house. Two study rooms for when they want to keep their distance from each other, a private library for Alhaitham, and a garden filled with all of Lesser Lord Kusanali’s creations, the plants being residents of the home just as much as Alhaitham and Kaveh would be.

Kaveh sees Alhaitham, chuckling as he does now, smiling at Kaveh, his face aged a little with time, small folds of skin wrinkling around his eyelids as he beams, his happiness radiating, forcing Kaveh to smile along with him. If only time would permit it. Alhaitham is smiling at Kaveh, and he thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He wants to sketch this moment to make it permanent. To cherish the final moments he has with his lover.

“You’ll be fine, Kaveh,” Alhaitham puts a hand under Kaveh’s chin, forcing the older man to meet his deep green eyes, “I love you.”

By this point, Kaveh’s vision is white, and he barely notices Alhaitham pull him for one last kiss until their lips touch. The kiss is gentle and delicate, too delicate for Kaveh’s liking. The lack of strength only serves as a reminder of his lover’s fading energy. Kaveh pulls away for breath, his golden locks now in disarray across his face, the crimson hairclips that once kept his elegant plait together now in mayhem.

“I love you too.”

Those are the last words Alhaitham hears before his vision fades, the silhouette of the man he loves the most looming over him, a teardrop the last thing he feels before he slips into the calming embrace of death.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Thoughts race across Kaveh's mind like a marathon, as if each thought had something of utmost importance to attend to, leaving the blonde highly disoriented. Even more disoriented than he would usually be at times like this, because at the moment, Kaveh has downed enough litres of alcohol to provide the weekly water intake of a family of 6.

It’s at times like this when he can’t keep his thoughts at bay. Kaveh tries his best. He really does. He tries his best to seem okay. To maintain the façade of normalcy ever since that fateful night. He goes to work, completes his commissions on time, eats all of his meals, and speaks to all of his friends. He meets Cyno and Tighnari every Saturday at Lambad’s tavern for a round of Genius Invokation TCG, his thoughts steering clear of the empty seat to his left. The seat which nobody would dare take after the loss of its original occupant.

Kaveh really does try.

But on nights like this, he can’t help but crack. When he comes home to nobody, no annoying, shrill voice to welcome him, nobody to nag him about his health or his rent. These are the moments when he feels truly lonely, the only reliable friend he can turn to being a tall glass of wine.

He sits alone in their usual spot. Top floor, at the back, so that people are less likely to find them. He knows Alhaitham can’t take people coming up to him after his work hours. Kaveh doesn’t mind. But this is just one out of the long list of habits Kaveh has kept after Alhaitham’s passing. No matter where he may be, heaven or hell, Celestia or Khaenri’ah’s ruins, a part of him will always live on through Kaveh. Always.

At some point, though, Kaveh stopped being alone. He started hearing him again. The gentle words of his lover wafting through his eardrums. At first, it was subtle. A few comments here and there.

“That client is a jackass.”

“Go to sleep, Kaveh.”

“Come on, love, you’ve got a meeting soon.”

But then it became ubiquitous. The sweet, honey-like voice of his deceased lover followed Kaveh around wherever he went. At first, Kaveh thought he was going insane. Now, he doesn’t care enough to worry.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, love?” A gentle voice fills his eardrums in an instant, a deep chuckle resounding with it, “Though I’d love to hold you again, I’d like you to live a long, full life before then. Preferably not dying of alcohol poisoning.”

Kaveh scoffs and crosses his arms, “I don’t have to listen to you! What are you doing to do anyway?”

The blonde hears a deep sigh, “I suppose you’re right. I can’t force you to go home, but it would make me very happy if you did.”

Kaveh, in his drunken stupor, actually considers this. With a clear head, Kaveh never would have considered this a valid argument. Kaveh will do what he wants. But alas, the hurricane engulfing his mind causes a lapse in judgment.

“Fine,” he says, begrudgingly, “Only if you cuddle with me when we get home.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Kaveh then gets up and stumbles out of the tavern, paying the bill off his own tab this time. He supposes a benefit of Alhaitham’s passing was that his wealth and estate were passed on to Kaveh. Though this by no means makes up for the gaping hole in Kaveh’s heart, he is happy with the convenience his newfound wealth has brought him.

The walk home passes in a daze, Kaveh blames this for his lack of comprehension, as by the time he's come to his senses, he’s tucked into bed, wrapped in the arms of Alhaitham once more.

He looks into his lover’s eyes. The orange islands in the sea of green standing out more than ever before. Alhaitham’s arms wrap around him protectively, and he feels the safest he has in months.

“Haitham,” Kaveh sniffles, “It’s been so hard without you here to guide me… I miss you… so much. Every time I think about you it feels as though somebody is ripping my heart out of my chest and stabbing it repeatedly with a knife.”

“C-Cant you come back to me?”

The soft sound of Alhaitham’s honey-sweet voice drips through Kaveh’s ears, “I’m here now, love. I’m here with you now, aren’t I?”

Kaveh groans, “I suppose so.”

“Let’s go to bed now,” Alhaitham whispers soothingly in Kaveh’s ear, “You have a big day ahead of yourself tomorrow.”

Kaveh lets the diluted voice of his lover lull him to sleep, his eyes getting heavier until they slide shut, and Kaveh surrenders to the deliria of dreaming for the night.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

The sun streaks through the gap in the curtains, its rays hitting Kaveh’s face, illuminating his vermillion eyes as they blink open, the fatigue of sleep dissipating. The first thing he feels when he comes to his senses is the utter lack of warmth in his bed. The very bed itself becomes a black hole, Kaveh stumbling over himself to get as far away from it as possible. The very bed that was once the safe haven of him and his lover, turns into the very thing that seems to trap him.

H-He was just here.

The soft embrace of death feels more tempting than ever now. It would be easy for Kaveh to sink into it; his thoughts being engulfed by a soft lulling whisper, convincing him to let go of this world and all the pain it has caused. Nonetheless, he gets up. Brings himself to his feet. Walking towards the bathroom, he surveys the empty walls of his once lively house, accepting the soft, lonely numbness that has become a hallmark of his existence.

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girlsrawesome64 · 1 month

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Idk if your still accepting match ups for COD but here you go.

I’m a Gemini, ENFJ, trans Masc, He/Him, I’m a bit mouthy with a lot of different hobbies. I cuss a lot and pick at the skin around my thumbs as a nervous habit. I have a hard time opening up to people and tend to flinch when I get touched by someone for the first time. But once I do get friendly with you I tend to make more sexual jokes and crasser humor.

I wear glasses and usually long pants with sweater or tank tops with open button ups.

I’m Aromantic but Allosexual which means I have a hard time forming romantic attachment with people, but I wouldn’t find physical intimacy or affection.

I’m a cuddler, I love blankets and stuffed animals. I like music and writing. My favorite animal is a bunny.

I love cooking for people and others. So in the COD universe I would probably be just a civilian who works at a restaurant or something.

I’m fine with light angst and I prefer someone from task force 141.

Thank you so much for this!

S-S-S-S-SIMON

TWS: Implication of abusive home life, physical abuse scar, anxiety, picking, smoking(tobacco and weed), light drinking, aro dread (worry of being romantically liked), work stress (+reader shouts in kitchen), customer service, anger for shitty higher up, sudden snappy rejection to joke-brief mention, momentary disassociation+heat descriptive, gossip mention, momentary suggestiveness, depressivey thinking (PURP=SIMON) + Cuddly/platonic touchy Simon, aro4aro, hope this is ok and doesn't read too romantic, was thinking close squish vibes 😭💕 (im slowly learning; education welcome) Realistically sexual attraction would probz be a huge part but I cannae write it so feel free to mind blast the gaps

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Young adult Simon begrudgingly picking up a kitchen porter job. A role in your kitchen- well, as far as anybody was concerned. You'd been promoted to sous chef fast in this crappy bar/restaurant hybrid joint, which would be surprising if not for the paint peeling off the walls and constant inconsistencies of management.

Such as: yet again, you are left understaffed on a peak day and YOU had to lead ship because your shitass head chef didn't show up. Whoop de doo. What's more, you're tasked with training the fucking new guy, who- when you first had to come find him- seemed to have an attitude with an entitled cocky sway and his hands in his pockets. But that wasn't important right now; you had shit to prep and fast.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Safe to say the day was a blur. You muttering rushedly and guiding him in and around, barely getting a chance to meet him and take the sight of him in; just cringing as you try to squeeze past the big guy without touching, to and from your station.

The most you got was your anxious glances over your shoulder to check everything was running; that he was doing his job. A flash of his tatted arm flexing to press down the pass-through dish washer, suggesting the patchy art went up further when his crusty spare uniform's sleeve would move slightly in the motion. Oh, uh- good for him. Focus up.

What you hadn't gotten the space to witness was how Simon's personal too-good-for-this ambiance had quickly flattened into his tall frame curling over the sinks uncomfortably. His head down, diligent and thorough, only daring to give you morbidly interested side-glances when you weren't looking. He was otherwise very tuned in to the sound of you barking arguably obscenely worded orders at the junior chefs, daze only broken when one was suddenly directed at him- in which he whipped his head up to obey with a croaked out "Yes, chef."

Which made you double-take; this wasn't that kinda snooty establishment. He almost made your stressed scowl turn to a laugh from the shock, but no, he seemed dead serious as he effectively completed your request.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Before you knew it you had survived the reckoning of unprecedented big tables and last-minute front-of-house promised function food, leaving your eyes glazed in the direction of the finally unmoving ticket machine after allowing your chefs break. The uncomfortable wet trickle down the back of your neck expanded your awareness back into your body: the warm flush from the kitchen's humidity; the sore realization of your fingers on your thumb; the..gaze on the back of you? Sure enough, Simon 'casually' turned his head back around to totally (/s) focus on his piled-up workload. The hums of machinery, radio and distant chatter all seemed tensely faint in the silence of you two mandatorily alone.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ But hey, he definitely wasn't so bad. His gloomy, blunt countenance entertaining no-one (except maybe you, and a couple front-of-house girlies) when he barely bothered to stay after work for group drinks, etcetera. Don't get me wrong, he certainly had his own dry spark, but more often than not he'd seem to small-talk folks into a corner so he could back out and leave (especially with the girls). Sigh. Destined to never bond with the weird dude on a night out.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Or so that was your estimate, until mid adrenaline-filled panic from a work mistake, you see him over there reservedly wiggling to your music from the kitchen speaker as he worked. Or the first time he talked back to you in the kitchen, loud deadpan delivery as he teased you (to your co-workers' bafflement)- which just resulted in a loop of increasingly sweary quarreling, to Simon's probably-shouldn't-be growing smile to himself.

Thankfully, despite his words, he didn't fuck around. You could trust him with his role plenty fine. Or just trust him at work in general.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ When your head chef finally decided to clock in and had the nerve to start talking you out on this and that- oh my god. You did your best, but come break your hand was already exasperatedly dragging across your face as you walked to your spot. Simon roughly there too, mid smoke. Probably due back soon.

He nodded up in recognition, letting you settle before potentially opening the floodgates.

"He's a twat."

If you wanted to just sit, he'd sit. Plenty same if you needed to talk, allowing you good, deep time to vent whilst ad-libbing in agreement at your head's absolute expense.

None would go unnoticed, nor the way how your nails kinda fucked up your thumb as you spoke. It's not like he'd be on your ass about picking, just...details. Conclusively, your strife had successfully absorbed over to him, and now he was just bubbling in sympathetic frustration at the unfairness at his teammates energy being wholly undermined, disrespected and taken.

One thing was sure, full seriousness, if you wanted to go to HR/etc. about it, he'd absolutely have your back.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Second thing: the next day when he clocked in, he pulled something fluffy out his bag. What's tha- aww. A fuzzy little plush white rabbit, how cute is that? Conveniently pocket size. You tease him, because that didn't usually seem to be his style, before he's casually plopped it in your hands.

How did he..? I guess a lot of public conversations happen on the clock, and that he was listening to yours.

It was..nice..but..? It wasn't a nice feeling in your stomach, anxiously fiddling with Pocket Bunny instead with an thousand yard stare as you processed your emotions. You liked him, definitely, but the thoughtful gesture planted that worry that he was romantically interested. To say the least, it's always such a headache feeling forced to put out a 'disclaimer' on your existence. Co-worker gossip wasn't helping.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ So, you were brave. The pit in your gut uncomfortably hollowing further when he enthusiastically agreed to join for after-work drinks (because you asked), something he still barely does.

What seemed like excruciating filler time later, you're finally mostly alone, squeezed into some semi-sticky booth-table-thing. Simon leant over to you, squinting through the erratic dim, dark purple lights and shouting conversation over rumbly generic club music with his other hand on his drink.

Eventually you blurt out back the topic of your worries. Kind of. Not exactly confessing, but making the questions of orientation inescapable. Your heart just pounds faster when he pronounces back a, "WHAT?", leaning closer, 'cause he can't hear for shit in here- making you double down and repeat yourself until he's looking at you a little dumbfounded. How the dancing lights reflected pure off his wide dark ones was stressful until he burst out into a ramble, that piece by piece, seemed to resemble your own thoughts. Like a description for aromanticism by someone who didn't know the term. Your tension relievedly, gradually breaking and melting off. Adrenaline, however, still there as you bounce back in educational agreement.

It was like a weight had been lifted, truly. For him too apparently. The hypocrisy of the head chef being back wasn't as bad as previously thought if it meant more time slacking off with him. Sarcastic, bawdy back-and-forths in the kitchen that actually got him to crack into a proper chuckle (and got you both told off). Just shit that shouldn't be said that Simon was unblinking at, just returning that attentive amused look that got you through the day.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ So much so that Simon actually picked up more shifts. Something he was hesitant about from the workplace itself, but he needed the money, and being out the house was very welcome and having a friendly face there made it not-so-bad.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Or-finally- someone to side-eye at their peers and heads weird shit. Better yet to back you up, when Simon spoke out for you a couple of times. Someone to babble, pace and rant to outside in their own little break spot whilst he smoked.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ More shifts meant seeing each-other more, all of them. So when you eventually crack, from just life in general, or the last straw from the kitchen, he'd meet with you as soon as he could, offering a presence, a hug.. anything you want.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ His hugs are really fucking good. Cozy as hell. You can bury your face in the crook of his neck or his chest and he wouldn't flinch, just hugging you tighter, patting your head and stroking it. He's warm. Especially if it's after work and he's wearing that black thick hoodie he always does- omigod it's so soft. Well, not the most expensive fabric ever, but his presence makes it comfortable. Plus a lil' kiss on the top of your head if that's your thing.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ If that's something you both fall into, he jumps at the opportunity; touch-starved as fuck.

Leaning arms crossed over the bar to hover next to you, lurking over you; hugging your waist while he's waiting to go post-close; holding your waist for a sec to brush past you in the kitchen. From what was meant to be a simple break and hug, one time they found you straight-up conked out laying in the drystore in eachothers arms.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ He always waits for you until you're ready to leave together. Which might mean Simon with his hands in his pockets, having to sneakily get probed for the nature of your relationship by gossip-ier coworkers. To which he shrugs and deflects something or other. It wasn't any of their business (nor was he sure). Boys will be boys, they guess.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ But yeah. In pitch black night, almost every night, he escorts you home if you let him. Holding hands if you want. Sometimes smoking a joint. A stupidly lengthy journey (for him) to your doorstep and back to his, whether you drive, do public transport or whatever. He disguised it as casual good companionship. He didn't want to be creepy, its just.. that flicker of reluctance in his eyes when you got to your destination gave you the impression he was purposefully putting off having to face his home.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ Days pass. Weeks become months. New people rotating in and out of the team. The days get longer, welcome spring breeze stilling to more humid heatwaves. But he's always there.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ One new thing about Simon: he was off sick for a few weeks, and now he's back. But he's almost always wearing a surgical mask? He didn't seem sick anymore, I mean..maybe a little more mellow, then snappy, not as into your banter as usual.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ So one night he's walking you back, sweating through that dumb mask- which he switched out to a black one he keeps using- you invite him in. Sleepover, or something?

He's surprised maybe, but after using the last of his energy for a subdued cautious sweep of the place, he's exhausted. He double-bounces backwards back on your bed, still adjusting his mask back up from the movement, looking up to find an adorable welcome menagerie of stuffed animals.

It almost makes him smile. First proper one in a while as he looks over to you and takes in the sight of your room, hand subconsciously stretching out to reach for your knee and rub circles. Oh, and to snatch that little bunny out of your pocket, hugging it to him instead with a smirk. Bonus points if he pisses you off.

With the blankets soft against his head and side, he got an idea. Unraveling them, gesturing you closer to properly wrap you in his arms and nuzzle down into the cozy bed situation. With bunny, him and the whole gang. Maybe you could go to sleep like this. But, come on, surely without the mask-?

He caught your wrist at even an indication of the thought of it, gently holding it back down against his chest. From your close proximity you could finally see the beginnings of a big healing scar at the the top of his cheek where the mask moved slightly in his vague refusal. Ah.

₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎ There was a lot of unkind things in this world, but Simon was not. (Uh, to you at least.) You could only give his hand a reassuring squeeze in the hopes that life would lighten for you both. And if not? At least you'd always have each-others back.

B-B-B-BONUS ROUND:

Steals your glasses and looks stupid in them.

Performs elaborate yet half-hearted puppet shows with your stuffed toys.

Periodically asks what you're writing now, squinting over your shoulder. His tones dry but he needs to be updated of the drama, damn it.

Exchanges the most would-be-an-eyeroll sideye of solidarity over at you when he seems to get flirted with romantically. Or fems in general. They just don't seem to get the hint.

Subtly acts like a space-making service dog for you in crowded places or if it looks like someone's gonna touch you.

photo cred~ @yumethefrostypanda

#KEEP READING AINT WORKIN CAREFUL ITS A LONG POST #I started by making 1k of patheticregular!Simon and tho its valid i icked myself personally out (service worker me ;_;)#and no- THANK YOU instead #cod matchup #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost x reader #i rly hope this fits to aromanticism >___<#64sshit

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