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chubbyheadquarters · 2 years

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Swk and macaque x little brother reader one shots (who’s like 500 years younger then them and also a monkey) Im making a character and I need to see more platonic x readers ❤️ love your writings

That sounds neat!

Genre: Platonic

Pronouns: Male

TW/CW: None

Characters: Sun Wukong-Monkey King and Macaque-Liu Er Mihou

☀️Sun Wukong ☀️

"So, safe to say, you're super sick."

"Yeah, no shit, dipshit."

Wukong frowned, leaning against the doorway, "No cursing."

You scoffed, ready to retort back, but harsh coughs pushed past your lips. He immediately moved to your side, taking the cloth off your head and drying it before dipping it in water and placing it back to its original spot.

You could feel the nervousness radiating off of him, and it was making you roll your eyes.

You waved him off, "Just go get the medicine."

He pouted, but moved from your side, heading out with his footsteps getting faint-

Only for them to come rushing back to your room, with his head poking in.

"Are you absolutely-"

"Go. Get. The. Medicine."

He raised his hands, "Okay! Okay!"

You could hear him walk away, and with the silence, knew that he had finally left to get your stuff.

A weak sigh left your mouth.

You knew he meant well, but your brother could be such an fool sometimes. You weren't going to die if he left for a few minutes, and yet, he made a whole deal about it.

Granted, the two of you barely got sick, but your body wasn't used to all the stuff his was, nor was it in the best shape. While on his journey, his body had gotten used to all sorts of curses, illnesses, etc.

Meanwhile, you had stayed back and protected your monkey friends on Flower Fruit Mountain, passing the days by and eating with your monkey friends.

A soft chrip by your side had you smiling. All of your furry friends were huddled in your room, looking at you with worried faces.

It was cute how concerned they were.

Even with the constant assurance, they still seemed nervous for you. Wukong's stress must have rubbed off on them.

You could understand your brother's worries to a certain degree. After having demons constantly raiding your home and him coming back to see you and the others with new scars, you'd be worried too if you were in his shoes.

But the way he treated you like fragile glass at certain times is what made you upset.

You had the conversation with him multiple times, and he tried to be less protective, but it would still happen every so often.

...

Maybe THAT incident still plays through his mind...

Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice the worry on the monkey's faces, who huddled closer to your side. Your hand unconsciously moved to pet them, which eased them a bit. Though, they were curious as to what plagued your mind.

Before long, Wukong had returned with the medicine, stepping inside and taking his shoes off.

"I'm back!"

Wukong waited for a remark, but when he heard nothing, his body was already heading towards your room.

You were still staring out that window, before turning to him with a blank expression.

He moved to sit beside you, "What's up?"

"Just thinking."

"About?"

You took the medicine from him, smiling, "How much of a loser you are."

You burst out laughing at the shocked expression he shot at you. With a few coughs thrown out there and medicine being taken, the two of you decided to watch some movies in your room.

🌙Macaque🌙

"Big brother?"

The soft squeeze of his hand signaled that you had his attention, "Are we almost done?"

Macaque nodded with a small hum, "We just need one more thing."

You smiled and cheered, happy to be finished with all this walking!

The two of you had reached your last destination, with the older monkey talking to the stall owner. Not long after, he's grinning, happy with the good deal he just bargained.

"Now we can-"

Looking down, he sees that you're no longer there.

He's freaking out.

Where the hell did you go!?

He literally looked away for a few seconds-

And now you're missing!

He hadn't even felt you move your hand from his!

While the poor simian was scouring the market, you, on the other hand, were following after a man pushing a cart of plums.

After finally catching up, you reached out and grabbed his pants, softly pulling on it.

The male turned, squatting down, "What can I do for you kiddo?"

Nervously, you rummaged for your money, "Can I get as many plums as this can buy?"

You shoved the few coins you had in his view and the man nodded, "Of course!"

He turned around, grabbing three before handing them to you and patting your head, "Here you go!"

A smile had graced your lips and your tail wagged with excitement, "Thanks mister!"

He nodded before tipping his hat and walking off.

You couldn't help but cheer in your head.

Big brother's favorite fruit!

He'll definitely be happy!

After all, he had been really busy and tired looking from his missions lately, and you knew that plums were something that never failed to make him smile!

With a call of your name, you turned around, seeing Macaque heading your way.

You waved, watching as he ran over to you before wrapping his arms around you. The force startled you, and your expression warped to concern.

"Don't ever run off like that again!"

He pulled back, hands now on your shoulder. His grip was tight, but not to where it could hurt you.

"Something bad could have happened to you!"

He couldn't lose you.

You were his little brother.

The only thing he had that kept him going.

Your tail and head lowered, eyes refusing to meet his, "I'm sorry..."

Macaque stopped, and took a deep breath.

He had to remember that while he was around 500 years old, you weren't.

You were just a child.

And he knew that you wouldn't do anything bad.

You wouldn't just run off.

"Where did you even go?"

You took the plums, shoving them in his face with an apologetic expression.

"I got it for you!"

"...With your money?"

You nodded, "I saw how tired you were, so I thought you'd like some plums. They're your favorites!"

.....

...

He felt too blessed at times.

Having a younger brother like you.

You were too nice for your own good sometimes.

Macaque patted your hair, ruffling it a bit and earning a laugh from you, "Thanks bro."

He stood up, extending his hand out to you, "We can enjoy them back home."

You grabbed onto his hand, smiling and humming as the two of you walked home.

"You're still grounded."

"What!?"

Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors!

#lmk x chubby reader #lmk x reader #lmk x y/n #chubby reader #x chubby reader #lego monkie kid #lmk #six eared macaque #sun wukong #lmk wukong #lmk macaque

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4dtk · 3 years

Text

have this absolute shameless drabble of sugar daddy gojo that i wrote in between requests. my fingers have never typed so fast im sorry this is literally self-indulgent at this point ARJGJFFJ.

disclaimer i honestly can't see anyone calling gojo daddy but just for this fic..... ill allow it..... and also bc sugar daddy gojo is just always residing in my mind. did you see how he transferred 10 mil to mei mei!!!!! i will never shut the fuck up about that scene. pls spoil me <3

warnings: praise, public sex, sugar daddy/sugar baby relations, breeding kink, pet names

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI

sugar daddy!gojo pushes you up against the window of the store, visible for everyone to see you getting fucked senseless. in the gucci store four floors up, it could work both ways. fortunate to be so high up, although people would be getting a treat if they happened to look up.

“you know what you’re doing, baby?” he grunts, hips rocking into your soaked pussy as the staff outside try to ignore the lewd noises coming from behind the curtains.

it was supposed to be a simple trip: get a dress for gojo’s event in a few weeks and get out. with a tight arm wrapped around his, you followed him around like a starstruck puppy, the edges of your lips curled up knowing he’d treat you a million times over if you just asked for it.

gojo wasn’t any different, either. sure, he’s had sugar babies in the past, but not quite like you who’s so easy to please and spoil, knowing you could never say no even if your life depended on it. with your desperate listing for the requirement of monetary assistance, gojo couldn’t resist taking up the offer.

he just hadn’t expected you to be so… pliant. you had taken it like a good little bitch, too, moaning out for everyone to hear because you liked it like that.

“you’re taking my cock so well, princess,” gojo muttered out, lips nibbling on your ear as he continued to pound you. his grin that you feel against your skin plagues your mind, wanting nothing more than to see how he enjoys ruining you.

the catchy, upbeat pop song playing above you seemed to provide some rhythm, the sultry lyrics fuelling you further.

"so needy that i had to buy out the whole store for an hour, huh?" the male slows his pace, delivering deep thrusts into your cunt with the precision of an expert.

all you can reply are in little pants, sentences incoherent from how deep his cock is in you.

"i don't even think an hour is enough to satisfy my pretty little girl, isn't that right?" gojo picks up the speed again, and you're brought back to the many times he's fucked over his counter, washing machine. to the times where he's eaten you out on his office table and in his sheets of his king-sized.

and now, you've got another memory locked away for nights full of loneliness and soaked underwear when gojo's just too busy for you.

a tongue to your nipples and a hand to your clit makes you choke out a moan, writhing against the glass just to feel more of gojo, more of his cock and more of his lips on your neck.

you're struggling to keep yourself up, finding the right time in between muffled moans and whimpers to ask for one more wish.

"daddy... p-please, i wanna see your-"

"what, baby? repeat it for me." goddamn, the man had no problem articulating his words, how much had he fucked you already?

clearly not enough if you're still able to speak.

"w-wanna see your face when you fuck me deep, daddy!"

your wish is taken away when you're already creaming all over gojo as your hot breath creates fog on the glass in a silent scream.

"aw, you're cumming so hard baby~ you didn't even get to see me yet," he coos, enjoying the gush of your juices that coat his dick and your thighs. everything feels sticky and dirty, but you don't hesitate to beg for one more fuck with your eyes.

gojo catches your drift immediately, hips twitching from the idea of pumping you full of his cum. after all, he hasn't come yet.

he grunts at the time with a quick glance to the clock above your head. without wasting any more time, he flips you over, the restraint to cum slowly reaching its limit with your lolling tongue and fucked-out face.

the male doesn't bother to hide the deep groan that rips from his throat when he drags his dick along your folds, strings of both your juices stretching out in a way that hypnotises gojo.

"n-need your cock, daddy! please!" you whine, grinding your hips against the tip to make sure gojo knows of your desperation. that he's the only one to fuck you so good that no one else can satisfy you.

he smiles knowingly before he sinks into you.

gojo knows that he's the only one that can make you feel this way as he picks up the tempo, hitting spots in you that you didn't know was physically possible.

gojo knows that he's the only one you call daddy shamelessly as he writes off his card to help you in your student debts and the sparkly dress you've been eyeing.

he could throw you away the second you're done with university, the second the media's off his ass about his love life but, the sweet, sweet moans spilling from your lips pull him back in every single time, eager to hear it for as long as your bank's empty and his is piled up with money.

"more! satoru, more, fuuuck..." you groan, shying away from the striking blues of his eyes the more he drinks in your current state.

he's barely holding on, not even minding the first name you called him. the short skirt he'd given you flipped up makes him go crazy, your panties moved to the side to receive the dressing room quickie you always wanted.

"you're so de..eep daddy! i need all your c-cum please...!" it's a mix between a whimper and a whine.

"yeah? 'course i am, baby. your pussy is sucking me in all the w-way," gojo's hips stutters at how you squirm in his tight grasp, locking eyes with him as yours fill with want. your pussy is throbbing, stretched out so much that you don't register the thumb playing with your clit.

"s' too much...! s' too much, d-daddy!"

"you're a good girl, aren't you?" the way you nod is pathetic, eyebrows knitted from being stuffed so full.

"pretty little thing- fuuck..." gojo's losing control himself, the way his balls slaps against your cunt resonates around the small space and nothing feels better than being inches deep in you.

you're a babbling mess by then, unable to even scream out as you cream his cock. with head thrown back, you're left frozen for a second as the orgasm washes over you and a violent shudders goes through your thighs.

"daddy has so much, s-shit- cum for you, doll," it isn't long before the other comes undone, a groan escaping his lips before he shoots his load deep into you.

your pussy is stained white from all the cum he's giving you, gasping from how much gojo is leaking into you.

"thank y-you, satoru..." you trembling has affected your voice, too, burying your head into gojo's neck while your body shivers from sensitivity.

"take all of it, baby," gojo whispers, the hand near your middle moves instantly to finger his cum back into you, fixing back your underwear over your pussy.

a cheeky giggle leaves your mouth as you untangle yourself from the embrace, welcoming a kiss from the man as he slowly begins to clean up himself.

"have you chosen a dress yet, sir?"

gojo's smile is mischievous, not missing the way your face flushes at having to face the embarrassed staff outside.

"we'll take everything, thanks," his eyes never leave you as he helps you off the changing room chair, tugging your body flush to his before leaving you with one more hungry kiss.

"you did so well for daddy, doll. i may just have to treat you tonight since you have a day off university tomorrow..."

even if it wasn't in the contract, gojo loved to spoil you, admiring your mettle when it comes to material items. although...

"you know what i mean," it's enchanting, the way his voice travels like silk, "i'll call in sick for work tomorrow, yeah?"

your mind goes to mush at what tonight might entail, losing all train of coherence when his hushed whisper of my baby's so cute reaches your ear.

in a second you're out of there, hand twined with his while you remain giddy with the thought of getting used by gojo until you reach your limit.

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Home (Four Times Crowley was Lovesick - and Aziraphale Took Care of Him)

Written for @do-it-with-style-events "Who Needs A Great Plan" event, Day 1, prompt "Four"

Crawly stood beneath the white wing, watching the rain fall, watching the humans walk away, watching anything but the angel beside him, his smile, the way he furrowed his brow and pouted.

His heart kept doing a funny skipping thing every time he looked that way, which was odd, and made him think he’d gotten some sort of defective body, or possibly that he’d messed something up in the transition from the serpent form.

“You know, I do think this rain might not be as pleasant as I’d hoped,” the angel said, tipping his head back so sopping white curls dangled, dripping onto his robe. “I’m starting to feel a bit cold, are you?”

“Nah. M’adem’n,” Crawly muttered, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Well. I suppose we all have our aptitudes.” He reached down to squeeze the rainwater from his sleeve. “I suppose you carry the fires of Hell within you, or something?”

“S’nice.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the angel turn to smile at him and now his heart was doing some sort of backflip, and his stomach attempting to dance. “G-g-gotta keep’m somewhere.”

“I see. I do find myself missing my sword, but I think…” his lips pursed. “I think it’s in the right hands.”

How could he forget the angel had given away his sword.Fucking brilliant.

Crawly sniffed, and the cold seemed to creep into his nose. “M-must’a b’n-n-nice t’have a-a-achoo!”

His body must be worse than he’d thought. His entire face seemed to have exploded.

“Good lord, what was that?” The angel shuffled closer, peering at him, reaching up to poke at Crawly’s nose. “Is this supposed to make that sort of noise?”

The demon braced himself, expecting pain, expecting a reprimand, expecting anything but a soft finger gently massaging the bridge of his nose, pressing lightly as if he might break.

“S’only a-achoo!” Not again. “Achoo! A-CHOO!”

“This sounds serious!” The angel now stood so close that his arm pressed against Crawly’s. “Oh! And your hand!” He snatched it up, gently tracing his fingers across the demon’s palm. “It’s cold! Have your fires gone out?”

“Nnnnnnnnnh. S’th’cold,” he confessed. “S’getting in m’nose.”

“Well, that will not do.” Being careful to keep his wing in place, the angel looped his arms around Crawly’s waist, drawing him into an unexpected softness, a steady warmth. “There. Is this better?”

“Mrgl.” Crawly didn’t look over, even as the angel leaned against him. He shifted his am, putting it around the angel’s shoulders, rubbed his forearm as he rubbed Crawly’s side, but the demon did not look.

It was safer that way.

“Then you hold the oyster like this, and—” Aziraphale slurped it out of the shell.

“Ngk.” Crowley swirled his wine, glaring into the cup. “I…maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”

“Nonsense! Trying new foods is one of the delights of the world.”

“Yeah, but…I prefer foods that don’t smell so bad.”

That made Aziraphale laugh, which made things harder. It seemed to echo in Crowley’s chest, send his heart into answering flutters. He shifted on the couch, but there was only so far he could roll before it was impossible to drink. Which meant he had to keep looking across the table, at Aziraphale’s couch, where he reclined in a rolling curve of soft white toga and ate his oysters and wouldn’t stop smiling.

“Crowley? Are you feeling quite well?”

“Nrgh. Yeah. Why?”

“Because I asked four times how your wine is and you never responded.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t remember, so he drank a mouthful, then immediately spat it out. Salt water and vinegar, same as any Roman wine. “Lousy.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” And all at once, the angel rolled off his couch and now he was crossing the room and oh Satan, he was on Crowley’s.

This was a disaster.

Aziraphale leaned down and rested a hand on Crowley’s forehead. “You do feel extremely warm. Are you ill? I’m not sure a demon can get ill but—”

“Yes! Yes. That.” He tried to sit up. “Very, very ill. I should go. I should go now—”

“But—”

Crowley managed to get his feet under him, and his robe under his feet, and he collapsed again, falling onto something softer than the couch Oh Satan it was Aziraphale’s lap.

“Crowley!” His head turned instinctively and shit, those eyes were so close.

His heart was going to explode, but it was worth it.

“I should…take you home…”

“Ahhhhhhhh,” Crowley managed. Yes. Please. Please, wherever you call home, that’s where I want to be.

“Yes. Right. Immediately. Tell me where you’re staying, and I will escort you back.”

“My…my…oh.” His stomach was doing something new, twisting around itself. Like when he saw the Hellhounds getting ready for a walk, but worse. “M’a’th’p’liss.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m! At! Th—thepalace.” Great. Now he was either shouting or mumbling. Why couldn’t he think?

“Good. Right. Palace.” He slid his arm behind Crowley, supporting him. “Do you think you can walk?”

The demon’s legs had never shaken like this before. “Definitely not.”

“That’s alright.” And Aziraphale scooped him up into his arms, as easily as if Crowley were a child. “I’ll help you.”

Crowley hadn’t slept in over a month.

He shouldn’t have needed to. Demons didn’t sleep. But he’d gotten used to it, most nights, and now his task consumed him day and night, driving him to ever more complex plans, ever more desperate measures.

But finally…finally…he’d gotten a bloody crowd to see that gloomy talk-y play.

And just in time. Aziraphale had sent word that he was returning tonight, and he was supposed to meet Crowley here, outside the inn. The demon had rooms above, which had been used for scheming and planning and plotting and not, for a long time, sleeping.

He was fine, though. Running on pure adrenaline, yeah, but that just made life good. He couldn’t wait to swagger into that theater, spread his arms and show the angel—

“Ah, Crowley! There you are, my good fellow.”

He turned his head and fuck, there went his knees. Aziraphale was smiling at him like he was actually glad to see Crowley, and his entire body just stopped obeying any commands or even regular rules of biology. He staggered, legs feeling watery, his head spun, lights brighter than stars flashing before his eyes, and his heart just ached to reach out.

“Crowley? Is something the matter?”

“Mnothang.” Brilliant. He slumped against the wall of the inn, trying to get some sense of reality back. “M’a little tired’s’all.”

“Tired? Are you sure?” Aziraphale rushed forward, cupping Crowley’s face in his hand. “You feel…clammy. I need—can you take your glasses off? I need to see your eyes.”

“Szfiiiine.” But he pulled them off, and found himself again pierced by eyes glowing just a bit too blue to be allowed.

“No, no your eyes are glassy. And—and look, your pulse is racing.”Now came the concerned look, oh Satan, no one else ever looked at Crowley like that. “This…this looks a great deal like the latest plague, I saw several villages struck by it coming back.”

“Angelllll. M’ademon. We don’ get th’plague.” Why could he not just speak normally?

“Nonsense, you know perfectly well you’ve always had a strange constitution, getting sick far too often. You still have rooms here, yes? Upstairs. To bed.”

Will you come with me? The angel’s hand hadn’t moved from Crowley’s cheek, and he never wanted to be away from that touch again. “But…”

“No buts.” The hand did fall away, but only to grip his shoulder, spin Crowley around and propel him forward, through the door, and up the stairs.

Aziraphale walked past the mess in his room, the papers, notes, maps, disguises, and everything else needed to convince a city it actually liked that blasted play. He steered Crowley directly to the bed, and pushed him down onto it. “There. Stay put, please.”

“Nnnnh.” It wasn’t the most comfortable place he’d ever lain, but the rough straw mattress seemed luxurious just now. Something tugged at his foot, and he looked up to find Aziraphale, carefully pulling his shoes off. “Still here?”

“What are you talking about? Where else would I be?” He sounded cross.

“The play.”

“Play? Play? Oh, yes, Hamlet.” He tossed the shoes aside and settled Crowley’s leg back onto the bed. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty of opportunities. I hear they’re planning to run it twice as long as they’d expected.”

Of course they were, Crowley was good at his job. But there was no point if Aziraphale didn’t see the crowd. “Gotta go,” he insisted, though his body was already curling up on itself, preparing for a long sleep.

“Absolutely not.” A rustle, and when Crowley’s eye cracked open again, Aziraphale was seated on the edge of the bed, taking Crowley’s hand in his. “I need to make sure you’re alright.”

“Hnnngh.” But he was far too exhausted to argue. “Why’r’ya’lways…fussing…like y’r worried…”

He didn’t hear Aziraphale’s answer, but in his dream the angel said, “Of course I worry. Whatever would I do without you?”

“All them angels,” Crowley shouted, bottle in hand, “an’specially Gabriel, can go! To! Helllllllll!”

“Really? And what about the demons already there?”

“Thas’th brilliant part.” He staggered a little, grinning at Aziraphale. Their celebration at the Ritz had gotten a little out of hand, but in a good way. A way they bloody well deserved. “Th’demons. They go to Heaven. But. But. Buuuuuuut.” He took a long drink, then offered the bottle to the angel, who shook his head. “Wha’was I…ri’ri’righ’—go to Heaven. But. Don’ tell’em th’passwords. For anyfing.”

“Won’t they just figure them out?”

“Nnnnnnnnope! Cuz allll the brains in Hell are right here!” He shouted in the general direction of the office building. “Have fun puttin’…Hastur’n charg’a…stuff…” He tried for another drink, but the wine had all gone. “Awwww.”

“Don’t worry, my dear, we’re nearly home.”

“Ya. S’good.” Home was good. Plants. Television. More wine. The bed. Hadn’t slept all week.

Why was Aziraphale coming with him? Hadn’t the shop un-burned down? Had he left something at Crowley’s flat? A…spare bowtie?

Also: why did Mayfair look suspiciously like Soho?

The penny dropped at about the time Aziraphale got the shop door unlocked. “Thizzisn’ home,” he pointed out.

“Well-spotted. Come on, then.”

Shrugging, Crowley followed. There’d be more wine here, at least, and a sofa to sleep on. Not the most comfortable, but he was tired enough.

Something was different. Crowley squinted at a pile of books, but they remained stubbornly bookish. Ah, well. Sofa.

He slumped on it, waiting for Aziraphale to head to the back room for some wine, or settle into his armchair. Maybe pick up a book to read while Crowley rambled.

Instead, the angel sat beside him.

“Annngiraphel…”

“Crowley. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

“Course. I’m cebretory. Cerebrorrry. Celebatory. ‘M partying.”

“Yes, I know. But…I just…” Oh, Someone. The concerned, furrowed brow. The pouting lips. The eyes. So much worse than the smile. Good thing Crowley was already sitting, because the room was starting to spin, even before Aziraphale picked up his hand. “I wish you would take care of yourself.”

“Wha? I do. Allllays do. No one else’z gonna do’t. Not’n Hell. Wily demon, righ’?” He tried to smile, even as his heart and stomach started switching places.

“Then why are you always unwell? I’ve lost count of…of how many times I’ve seen you falling over, unable to speak, too hot or too cold.”

“Ssssss’not like that.”

“Yes it is! And…and it was bad enough before. Crowley, we…we’re all we have left. Each other. And…and whatever it is that…that gets you into this condition…alcohol, or illness, or…whatever else. I wish you would avoid it.”

“Can’t.”

“Crowley—” Aziraphale pulled his hand closer, eyes pleading, and for a moment the demon thought he’d just discorporate on the spot. Probably would have if he’d been sober.

“Can’t. S’only one thing tha’makes me…fall orer mysel’. Makes me…can’t speak. S’only evrrr been one.”

Aziraphale’s face was so soft. Crowley couldn’t figure out how his hand had gotten there, pressed to his cheek, but it was good.

Or not. Angel’s eyes went wide. Probably did something wrong. Crowley pulled his hand back, wondering if he’d be kicked out.

“Can you…sober up, dear?”

“Nnnnnnnnnnnnidonwanna.” He wrinkled his nose. Shoulda stopped three bottles ago.

“Yes, I know. But you’ll likely have a hangover either way, and you might as well have it now. And…I want to finish this conversation sober.” Oh, the sad eyes, the serious face.

“Awwwwwtha’s no’fair. S’not like I c’n say no.”

“I…yes, you can. It is your choice.”

“Nnnh. Can’t say no’ta’you.” He looked around for something, maybe a garbage bin or…oh, yes, a planter. Lucky tree was about to get some very expensive alcohol.

He concentrated, pulling all the alcohol out of his body, filling one planter, then another, then another. As the light-headedness faded, the headache came in, pounding and pulsing.

“Glarghl.” Crowley pressed a hand to his eye. “See? Sober. Happy?”

“Not yet. Can you walk?” A light tug on his hand, and Crowley staggered to his feet, trailing after Aziraphale. Up the stairs? They never went up there. Private bookshelves and sculptures and junk.

At the top, Aziraphale opened a door that he’d thoughtwas a closet but actually led to Crowley’s bedroom.

Wait.

Crowley turned around, bleary eyes searching the shop. Plants. His plants. His sculptures. Junk. Also his.

Back to the bedroom. His bed, his furniture. Not his room. Wooden walls covered in bookshelves, good sized window looking out at the back alley. He could just see the Bentley parked out there.

“Th’fuuuuck…”

“I’m…I’m sorry. I should have asked.” Aziraphale gently pushed him towards the bed. “If you don’t like it, I’ll put everything back tomorrow. I just.” A gentle nudge, and Crowley sat on the bed. “I want you close. Where I can take care of you.”

“Don’need it.” He wriggled his toes, making his boots vanish. It was easier than meeting Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Yes, you do.” A hand on his shoulder pushed Crowley down into the bed, his head onto the pillow

It felt so much more comfortable here, in Aziraphale’s shop, with Aziraphale beside him.

“No. Don’t need you to take care of me.” He stared resolutely up at the ceiling, searching his aching head for the words he needed. Swallowing, trying to push aside the pain, the soreness in his throat. “I need…I just need…”

He couldn’t say it. But he reached out, hand groping along the edge of the bed until it found Aziraphale’s, resting lightly on the mattress. Cautiously, Crowley slid his hand on top of it.

“Crowley…please look at me.” His eyes wandered down, following the shelves until they landed on Aziraphale’s face. On his brilliant, angelic smile.

The demon tried to smile back, though his head was pounding. He managed something like a grimace. “Nnnnnnnnh. C’n we finish this in’th’morning.”

“Do you think you’ll be better able to talk?”

“Mrrrf. Will you be there?”

“Of course,” the angel said, nearly indignant.

“Nope. Not a chance.” His thumb traced the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “I can never say what I want. S’not even that many words. But…” Crowley shrugged.

“Can you move over?” Aziraphale asked, sliding his hand out from under Crowley’s.

The demon blinked, confused, and wriggled further along the mattress.

The bed dipped under the new weight as Aziraphale climbed into the vacated space, laying beside him. “I…I could never say it, either. Always something stopping me, some…uncertainty. Even now. But I shall keep trying.” His fingers gently brushed Crowley’s cheekbone. “My dear…would you like to…to make this place…your home?”

“Nh. Shop’s not home.” The fingers jerked away, and Aziraphale’s brow furrowed, not in concern this time, in pain. Fuck. Why was it so hard?

He caught Aziraphale’s hand before it could get far, bringing it back, gently resting it against his heart. “This, Angel. This’s home. You.”

“Oh.” Blue eyes blinked, a look of wonder in them Crowley had felt many times, wonder at this being who cared for him, who stayed by him. Always. “I…I see.”

The mattress shifted again, and suddenly the angel was closer. Which of them had moved? Did it matter? Did anything matter, apart from Aziraphale’s arm across him, all the warmth and softness he could ever ask for, pulling him in, pulling him close, enveloping him as it had that first day.

“Yes. Welcome home, dear.”

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jcmorrigan · 4 years

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Right, since you asked me questions about my f/o, I'll fire some at you now! 1. Favourite place to go with them 2. How do you care for them when they are ill and vice versa 3. Had any playful arguments that you look at and go 'what were we doing??' I'll slide these over here and be on my way ;3

All right! So, as a reminder, I have three (3) romantic f/o’s - XR from Buzz Lightyear of Star Command, Tony Dracon from Gargoyles, and Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. And for this exercise, I am going to answer all three questions FOR ALL THREE OF THEM! (If you’re following me for something other than selfship and you don’t wanna see me ramble for three pages, please block the tag “selfship” now)

1. FAVORITE PLACE TO GO!

I hadn’t realized until I thought about it, but it always seems to come back to a rooftop in the city. You think I like city lights or something? I do. I love city lights. I love cities.

Anyway, with XR, I decided right away that our favorite planet is Trade World, seedy underbelly and all. We can kill time there forever (and probably waste all our money on stuff that isn’t important). I haven’t written it yet, but one of the ideas I had for writing us was that after the big love confession, we’d have our first date on a rooftop restaurant there and watch the lights come on as the sun set, at which point I very sappily draw a connection between my love of city lights and XR’s eyes.

As for Giovanni, I have this whole oneshot about our first kiss that revolves around us trying to find the most perfect and fittingly dramatic place for it, and I ended up putting us on a rooftop at the edge of town where the Sweet Jazz skyline would be our background in all its luminescent glory. I imagine we’d go back up to that building again and again to talk about things if we’re not chilling at home or a base of operations. Just watching the night.

Then for Tony? I admittedly hadn’t given it too much thought, but I immediately got an image of us on, guess what, a rooftop, but of a skyscraper in downtown NYC. Now, Gio and I had to break onto ours by scaling the fire escape ladders; Tony would bust locks and we’d just take the stairs up from the inside. And that’s where we slow-dance when we want to be alone. Bring up a whole portable stereo and a mix of the schmaltziest love rock-ballads (think, like, REO Speedwagon or Journey). Come to think of it, I actually don’t know whether he’s made the connection that the Gargoyles operate out of the Eyrie, so we would definitely look at the freaking castle above the clouds and go “Next target” without knowing the law and order of the town that plagues our existence roosts there.

I’m also working on an AU that is compliant with my “Taking Back the Crown” crossover universe, and in that one, I’m thinking I’d be polyamorous with all three. While I haven’t picked a favorite spot, I do know that particular s/i would live in Twilight Town, and since Final Fantasy is piecemeal AU’d into KH logic (whereas none of those three are from canon KH worlds but it’s an easy crossover gateway so their worlds would just be intact), I actually have this design that Rabanastre from FFXII would be the capital of the nation Twilight Town is in and a few hours’ train ride away, and the four of us just LOVE heading over there and probably scaling some rooftops.

2. CARING FOR THE SICK!

Let’s start with me, in general. I’m a huge hypochondriac. I fear germs. I’m not really that good at taking care of sick friends/family, but for a romantic partner, I’d try to step up my game. I’d be on call. Now, if they were just ordinary sick, I might see if they’d be okay staying home while I got work done, with the caveat that I have my phone on me and can answer whenever. They’re stricken with debilitating nausea and can’t leave the bed? I’ll play hooky. But I’ll try to keep a reasonable distance whenever possible (chatting with them from across the room, where I am planted in a chair that is far away from the bed) and use a surgical mask and gloves whenever approaching. Yes, that may sound heartless, but I still wanna be available to bring them whatever they need, just with my armor on. And I’m not me unless I’m a raging hypochondriac who thinks she’s coming down with what her boyfriend’s got every five seconds. The exception, of course, is XR, who I envision would get sick as a visual gag of having a “computer virus” and exhibit all the symptoms of a head cold without actually being contagious.

Tony is low-maintenance and insists he doesn’t need to be babied, so he’s not gonna even ask me for that much except company. Giovanni and XR are both absolutely complainers and going to whine at me every five minutes, which will inevitably make my heart melt.

As for when I’m sick…

XR loves playing “nurse” (kinda like I had him in this oneshot where I sprain my shoulder) and will get me everything I want. This is for somewhat selfish reasons so I will talk up how great of a boyfriend he is when I’m sick. Also, there’s a good chance that any medical supplies he brings me might be “borrowed without permission” from Star Command’s med bay. He WILL bring me illegal narcotics, and I WILL turn them down. He’ll also call in sick to work himself to take care of me - and also because it gives him an excuse to not turn in to work. We’ll likely end up binging shows cuddled up together if I’m not sleepy or too nauseous.

Tony isn’t all that attentive; he knows I’m a grown-up and can mostly handle myself. If I’m seriously incapacitated, he’ll watch over me, but in most cases, he’ll take off to get his own work done, same philosophy as me: call me if you need anything. He’s not gonna rush to bring me things, but he will do smaller gestures - brushing my hair back if I’m asleep before he leaves, etc. After business is taken care of, if I seem stable and not contagious, he’ll assist me in setting up on the couch with blankets aplenty on one end while he sits on the other, and really, all my f/o’s know that when I’m sick, I just wanna binge TV shows, so that’s what we do.

Giovanni freaks out. He also wants to get me everything I need, but he’s kinda not used to taking care of sick people, so he’ll be running around like a headless chicken asking me if I need various medical supplies that don’t at all apply to the kind of illness I have (such as a splint or a tourniquet). And soup. He will bring me so much soup. Hey, he’s good at making it, so I’m not gonna complain. He also does unfortunately think cuddling will make things better, and want to sit in bed next to me or kiss me for reassurance. I tell him over and over and over that that’s just gonna get him sick. Less than 24 hours later, he’s caught what I have, and I’m just “GEE, I WONDER HOW THAT HAPPENED.”

3. PETTY ARGUMENTS!

XR and I are built on petty arguments. He fulfills my fantasies of a relationship based on tsundere rivalry. We will find things to argue about for fun. This is how we get our kicks. I call him a dumbass, he calls me a narcissist, we don’t mean it (…mostly). He once caught me singing and dancing, thinking I was alone, and taped it and circulated it as a meme. He thinks it’s hilarious if I trip and fall. Conversely, I think it’s hilarious if he runs into things when he’s not looking where he’s going. I keep a running record of stupidest spelling mistakes he’s made and will trot them out whenever appropriate. At the end of the day, though, we set it all aside. Don’t let anyone know we’re actually nice to each other behind closed doors!

Tony and I basically argue about one petty thing: the fact that he CANNOT DRIVE. Is there canon precedent to this? Not really, except for the fact that his henchmen always seem to be driving the getaway car. But I have it in my head that the people in our operation who should be driving are me, Pal Joey, and Glasses. The person in our operation who should not be driving is Tony. Guess which one of the four asks most often to drive? Yeah. And sometimes he wears us down and we have to deal with him nearly killing us by driving 20 mph above the speed limit. IN DOWNTOWN NEW YORK. THE POLICE CHASE HASN’T EVEN STARTED. If there is one thing that is the subject of our married-couple spats, it is THIS.

Arguing with Giovanni is more of a minefield because we both have a habit of pretending we’re not sensitive about certain things until one of us rags on that certain thing and then it explodes. I have a oneshot idea, may or may not write it, in which he insults my “nerd glasses” like he always does with Sylvie, and I’m legitimately hurt but trying not to show it, so I engage in a rivalry argument with him that lasts all day, up until he jokingly says that I have delusions of grandeur and I just say “Well, at least I don’t think I’m qualified to be captain when I’m not” about myself when I realize that my lack of filter made it sound like I insinuated he wasn’t qualified to be captain, at which point he will actually start crying and insist to me that words hurt. Everything’s made better when we sit down and have an honest talk about what we said that hurt each other and then hug it out.

#selfship #electric love #xrach #death by cupcakes #i'm at soup!#four of hearts

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jimlingss · 5 years

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The Deli Diaries [10]

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 [Finale]

➜ Words: 2k

➜ Genres: Fluff & Cuteness, That good ol’ slow burn, Slice of Life

➜ Summary: Working at a grocery store deli is absolutely unbearable (and you’re also perfectly aware of how dramatic you are). But it seems like something, or rather, someone might make the job a bit more manageable.

➜ Warnings: Mundane-ness that might make you bored to death

➜ Notes: FINALLLLLLYYYY!!! and also the finale is next chapter, gonna make it a bit longer and worth the slow burn. enjoy!!!

Life is cooking you one of the worst recipes yet. It is a terrible concoction to be both sick and working. Every time you speak too loudly, coughs are wheezing from your lungs. Your apron pockets are full of tissues since snot is literally dripping every other minute, but even then, you still have a stuffy nose that makes it hard to breathe. Your voice is thick and nasally, sounding as if you just woke up from a four-hour nap. You’re sneezing as well, covering your mouth and nose with a bent elbow and into your sleeve. Needless to say, you’re one slimy and gross mess. But you garner little sympathy from your coworkers and supervisors. They still make you work — the only way to excuse yourself from it was if you broke your damn leg, but even then you wouldn’t be surprised if they got you a chair in front of the sink and told you to wash dishes. But not wanting to taint the company’s clean image and god forbid, spread your cold to customers, they’re making you change your gloves as frequently as possible and you’re forbidden to serve customers. So maybe it’s not such a bad thing to be ill and stuck working an eight-hour shift. Sure, you were trapped stocking the deli shelves of macaroni and washing whatever bowl that needed to be washed. Everyone also treated you like you had the black plague, staying away and repulsed at the sight of you, but at least you were spared from having to deal with irritating and demanding customers. There’s always a bright side...right? “Woah. What happened to you?” “Thanks.” You push the boy aside, swiping your nametag on the side of the machine and clocking out for the night. “That really helps the situation.” “Wow, someone’s Miss Grumpy Pants.” The produce boy clocks out as well and follows behind you, waving goodbye to the manager on duty as you both slip out the front door. “Maybe because you made me sick.” To emphasize your condition, you sniffle and your airways don’t clear with the small effort. You’ve been feeling unwell ever since the Christmas party and he dragged you outside. The little coughs and sneezes have now morphed into your back throat being clogged with mucus and that same mucus dripping from your nostrils. But now that your dirty apron was stuffed in your bag and you got to wash your hands, you were feeling better. The frigid temperature of the air was also doing wonders to cool down your cheeks, even if it made your eyes more watery. “Sorry,” Jimin murmurs, peeking at your face, genuinely apologetic. You sigh, not wanting to blame him or wrongfully redirect the irritation of your sickness onto the poor boy. “It’s okay,” you reassure, “really, it’s not that bad. I didn’t have to serve customers at all today, except for the very end, so that was pretty nice.” The boy stops in his tracks, making you pause from walking too. “Here. Wait a second.” He pulls his red plaid scarf from his neck and you put out a hand. “No, it’s okay, Jimin. You don’t have to.” “Tch!” — Jimin clicks his tongue in annoyance. His eyes are playfully stern, telling you to stay where you are. “It’s cold outside. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll get even worse.” He takes the scarf and carefully wraps it around you three times, tying the end of it. The boy is gentle, eyes half lidded and brows furrowed in concentration, making you stare a bit too hard. “Thanks.” You dig your nose into the soft fabric. It smells like him, slightly fruity and clinging onto the scent of fresh laundry. You end up mumbling, “I’ll wash it and give it back to you.” “No. Just keep it. I didn’t get you a Christmas gift anyway.” You steal a glance at him before looking straight ahead. It’s dark out and cold. Every breath you exhale makes a cloud of condensation. Yet, even with the temperature low, your hand slips out of the warm confines of your jacket pocket without thought. You’re still walking alongside Jimin and he matches your pace, steps synchronized together. The back of your hand grazes against his. Your skin skims each other’s and with bated breath and calculated moves, Jimin slowly but surely touches your wrist before sliding down to your palm. He timidly snakes his way down before he’s holding your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your cheeks heat up even more and this time, the cold air does nothing to help. “I’m contagious, you know,” you whisper quietly as to not disturb the peace surrounding you both. “It’s okay.” The corner of his lip twitches, being pulled upwards. “What if you can get sick too?” Jimin squeezes your hand. By the second, he becomes more self-assured. “Then we can be sick together.” All day people have been distancing themselves from you, from your supervisor to even Yuna and Amber. They practically only talked to you from a meter’s distance or poked you with a ten-foot long pole to get you to do something. Everyone was scared that your cold is infectious and you’ve been pushed away, fended off like a snot monster, having no sympathy from the healthy. But Jimin doesn’t care. And you realize that you’ve been craving physical contact. Not just from anyone either…. “Don’t I smell bad?” You’re certain that sanitizer and the scent of deli meat is still clinging onto your oily skin that pours of sweat from each of your pores. If you felt disgusting on a regular work day, now it was ten times worse. “No,” he muses with pouty lips, cheeks puffed out and rounded. “Not really.” You glance at him. “Really?” “Really.” The boy smiles as if placating a baby and one word from him has your worries dispelling away. His fingers move slightly against the back of your hand and you find his natural movements comforting. His head tips to the side as he stares at you. “Was work hard today?” “Not too bad. They didn’t want me to do any customer service or any production, so I basically cleaned, panned, and shelved things. How about you?” “It was okay. There was a new shipment of apples and grapes and I cut watermelon before packaging them.” “Does anyone even eat watermelon when it’s this cold out?” His eyes crinkle into half-moons when he smiles, cute teeth peeking from the seams of his lips. “You’d be surprised.” “How does it even taste?” You frown, considering that you’ve never tried watermelon during winter before since it’s more of a summer snack. “It’s not really watermelon season.” “Well, I had some.” His brown irises twinkle of mischief and you know you’ve rubbed off on him in your slightly kleptomaniac ways. “And it was decent. A bit less juicy than normal.” “I bet.” You lightly scoff and the conversation dies off. From where you are, you can see your house coming up at the end of the block. Your feet begin to slow down and you hope he doesn’t notice. “Hey, Jimin….” “Hmm?” Your hands are a bit cold, but you like it when he holds it like this. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. “Are you working this Friday?” “I am,” he says and immediately, you become dejected, shoulders hunching, eyes falling downwards. But then— “It’s an early shift, so I’m done at three. Why?” Oh. “I-..uh...have you watched that movie we were talking about?” You smile, approaching it at a more casual angle to lessen the awkwardness that was threatening to barge between you two and just in case you get rejected, you can play this off. “When Spring Meets Autumn. It had pretty okay reviews.” Jimin smiles. “You want to go?” “If you want to.” You shrug nonchalantly, wondering if you’re too casual about it. “I mean...I can get us free tickets since I have this voucher from another time and I have no one else to go with and it’ll expire soon. You can invite your friends if you want—” “No. Just the two of us is fine.” Jimin grins, mouth expanding and pulling into his rosy cheeks once more. “I’m happy to go with you.” “Oh. Okay. Sounds good.” The pair of you stop in front of your house, lingering right in front of the driveway. Usually, you’d run up to your doorstep and fish out your keys, wave one last time and bolt to the shower so you can strip off your sticky clothes. But today, you still haven’t let go. “It’s a plan then.” “It’s a date,” Jimin confirms out of the blue. Your mind reels, wondering what he means, but you don’t disagree or make any signs of disapproval. Instead, you’re too focused on the way the yellow glow of the streetlamp casts down its faint light and paints his skin in warm hues. “Y-yeah, sure.” Your face feels like a literal furnace and it’s not from your cold. “Uh- thanks for the scarf.” “No problem.” The produce boy smiles again and again, unable to repress it. But he’s made a bit more shy than before. There’s silence where he stares down to the ground, then at your held hands and then traveling up into your eyes, finding it a bit embarrassing that he can’t hide how giddy he’s feeling. “I should...probably go now…” You hitch a thumb over your shoulder. Jimin blinks, breaking his gaze away from your eyes. “Y-Yeah. See you tomorrow?” “Yes. See you.” You finally let go of him, turning around right in time for your grin to spread into your cheeks. You’re struggling to hold down a squeal and you know for a fact that you’ll be kicking your blankets tonight in excitement, marking down Friday several times on your calendar and putting tens of alarms on your phone. Finally. A date with Jimin. Oh god. You’re already freaking out — none of your pillows were going to survive after being screamed into later. In the meanwhile, Jimin stares at your backside that walks off all too slowly. His mind races. Before it’s too late, he inhales a sharp breath. He takes a step forward. There’s one thing he just has to do, one thing he’s been waiting so long for, one of the things he’s been dreaming about... “He, deli girl! Wait!” “What, produce boy?” You twist around, unable to resist your smile. And your gasp is smothered. A tiny squeak leaves your throat. You can’t breathe and this time it’s not because of your clogged nose. Jimin’s leaning down, kissing you. His lips are soft and the scent of the scarf surrounds your entire frame, though it doesn’t come from the cotton fabric anymore. His lips barely graze against yours. It can hardly be defined as a peck with how chaste and delicate, fast and hesitant it is. You don’t even have time to close your eyes or savour how soft it feels to have his mouth on yours before he’s moved away. Your fingers automatically lift to your lips, surprised and caught off guard. He is left breathless, chest hyperventilating, big eyes locked into yours. Then, the boy blinks and realizes what he’s done. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears and you don’t know what to say. He’s the one who speaks — “Okay. Goodnight!” Park Jimin runs away. Like his tail is caught between his legs, he stumbles and books it down the block, feet scrambling and eyes now refusing to look at yours. You watch him, giggles bubbling from you and spilling out into the night from sheer disbelief. More importantly, you catch him jumping up and cutely fist pumping the air, shouting an energetic ‘yes!’. God. Not even one date and you’re already such a sucker for him. You dig your nose into his scarf, warming up and surrounding yourself in Jimin again, replaying the little moment over and over again until it feels like his sweetness is rotting your teeth. It dawns on you that your lips now taste like vanilla chapstick.

#bts scenario #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #bts deli!AU #WOO-HOO #LET'S GOOO #this shit is so cute my god #great way to start off 2019!

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lady-divine-writes · 6 years

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Kurtbastian one-shot - “The Dangers of Self-Medicating” (Rated PG13)

Kurt gets sick on a business trip, and everything he does just to get home makes it worse. (1956 words)

Notes: This actually comes before Crafting Chaos. I had a minor brain fart and finished that one first xD

Part 46 of Daddies.

Read on AO3.

“Sir?”

“Mmmrrr … hmmm?”

“Sir? We’re here.”

“Here?” Kurt’s eyelids flutter slightly, opening a sliver. But when the mid-morning sun hits their dry, red surface, he immediately shuts them again. “Where’s here?”

“Uh … 15-22 Mulberry Place? It’s the address you gave me.”

“The address I … wha---?” Kurt pries open his eyes. The address sounds familiar, but the voice speaking to him doesn’t. There’s a lot of mud and fog cluttering his brain. The last thing he remembers was being in his hotel room, packing his bag. No, it was losing his breakfast, and lunch and dinner from the day before, in an airport toilet. No, no, it was waiting by the curb, clutching on to the handle of his carry-on for support while he waited for his Uber to arrive.

Uber! He’s in an Uber! Which means he must be …

“Home,” he says in a raw, grumbly voice.

“I guess?” The man puts his car into park. “Do you need any help with your bag?”

“Nah.” Kurt grabs the handle of the bag he’s been cuddling awkwardly since he fell asleep in this poor man’s back seat. At least he didn’t vomit in his car. As far as Kurt can remember, he’s baptized nearly every toilet and trash can from Manhattan to home. “I’ve got it.” I’ll just pour myself onto the pavement and slither up to my front door, he thinks. “Here …” Kurt fumbles a hand into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. Squinting, he fishes out three tens and clumsily hands them to the driver. “Thanks for everything.”

“Good luck,” the driver says, mentally snickering at the intoxicated man doing his best to exit his Prius. Ten sheets to the wind at barely eleven in the morning?

Well, it’s five o’clock somewhere.

Kurt backs out of the car butt-first, searching for the ground with his feet to make absolutely certain that it’s there. Once they make contact, he extricates the rest of his body, his Samsonite bag landing on the curb with a thunk when his arms fail to support its weight. It takes him longer to stand up straight, the compact blue Toyota gone before Kurt gets his head balanced on his shoulders.

He blinks his eyes and looks around, wondering why his husband isn’t there to meet him at the curb. Sebastian and Thomas drove him to the airport, but he took an Uber home. And thank God he did. There’s no parking anywhere on the street this morning. Of course, he lives here and, hence, has a driveway to pull in to, but still. Strange, but Kurt doesn’t have the brain capacity to speculate about that just now.

Kurt has been traveling for most of the morning, voluntarily switching flights twice when a technical malfunction bumped travelers onto other flights. He went from first class to coach, then back to first class again. He misses his family, but he came out of the deal with two travel vouchers, a slew of frequent flier miles, and a thousand dollar refund back to his credit card.

Not too shabby for a Sunday afternoon.

He’s a stone’s throw from home, but the way he’s feeling, it might take him the rest of the afternoon the get there.

Kurt turns taking baby steps, one tiny shuffle at a time with breaths in between to keep the sidewalk underneath his feet. He does the same for the journey up his driveway – shuffle-shuffle pause, shuffle-shuffle pause, bending at the knees on occasion to ground himself and keep from collapsing.

The walk up his driveway to his front door on this beautiful Sunday afternoon is the most excruciating thing Kurt has done in ages.

Correction – pulling out his keys, listening to the God awful things jangle loudly, the noise ricocheting like bocce balls inside his skull, is the most excruciating. Walking up the driveway, and then up the porch steps, each movement sending a dull ache searing from the soles of his feet to his forehead, was simply a precursor to this pain.

Kurt doesn’t understand how he could have gotten sick. He’d been on top of his Echinacea and his Vitamin C game for a week before he left. He kept his mouth and nose covered with a scarf on the plane, and no one he spent any significant time with looked particularly ill. Then again, he’s learned from having a child that sick people are often contagious way before they show any symptoms.

Plague-ridden bastards and their ninja germs bombarding him with their unseen illnesses! He did everything in his power to keep from catching anything, and now he’s standing at death’s door.

In reality, it’s probably from commuting back and forth to the city after all these years of suburban living. Living in the boonies, away from the dirt and the grime and the smog, has lowered his immune system, made him weak on a microbial level.

Clean air and sunshine – it will do you in every time.

His key ring raised to an inch from his eyes, he isolates his door key and pinches it between his thumb and index finger. He tries to stab it into the lock, but he keeps missing, his triple vision causing the end to veer away from the hole at the last minute and hit the door instead.

“Get … in … there,” Kurt snaps. “Get … in … that … hole … you stupid … little … prick!” Kurt hears the door unlock and lets go of his key, assuming it made its way into the lock somehow. But the ring falls to the ground with a bang. “Shoot!” He mutters, realizing he’ll need to bend over and pick it up.

If he does, he may never get up again.

The door swings open, the momentum of it almost dragging Kurt forward with it.

“Aw,” Sebastian coos, his body blocking Kurt’s way, saving him from falling on his face. “You were thinking about our wedding night, too?”

“He-ey!” Kurt says, bright but slow, sounding as drunk as he looks.

“Hey, lover.” Sebastian gives his husband an enthusiastic, lovesick once-over, but raises a brow at his wrinkled clothes, his unbuttoned collar, his flushed face, and his severely disheveled hair. “How’s it hanging?”

“In my stomach, to be honest. Ooo, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Kurt throws a hand over his mouth, diverting Sebastian’s kiss from his lips to his cheek. “I think I contracted bird flu somewhere between Broadway and 75th Street. Or maybe syphilis.”

“I told you – if you’re going to cheat, use an escort service.” Sebastian opens the door wider. Grabbing Kurt’s bag in one hand and his elbow with the other, he leads him inside. “That’s what the AmEx card is for.”

“Hmm, I should have listened.”

“Yes, you should have.” Sebastian walks his husband to the sofa and helps him onto a cushion. “So did you miss your plane and walk home,” he asks, retrieving Kurt’s keys and closing the front door, “or …?”

“Very funny.”

“I don’t want to say you look awful but …” Sebastian takes a few steps back to get a good long look at Kurt sinking into the sofa, his head finding the arm and leaning against it. He doesn’t look like himself at all – from the hair to the clothes, and beyond his flushed cheeks, his skin actually looks green “… babe, you look awful.”

“It’s not my fault. I took an Ambien last night to help me sleep off this …” Kurt waves a hand in front of his nose “… whatever I caught, but it didn’t help. I was coughing and sneezing and tossing all night. By six a.m., I was afraid I’d crash before I made it to the airport, so I took some DayQuil to keep me alert. But I guess DayQuil and Ambien don’t play nice together.”

“I guess not.”

“To top it off, since my plane was delayed, I dropped into what I thought was a Dunkin’ Donuts. I mean, the banner over the door looked the same and everything. Turns out, it was some new boutique place called Drunkin’ Donuts. I ate two blackberry wine donuts before I realized I was feeling a little tipsy.”

“Uh, but wouldn’t the alcohol in the donuts cook away?” Sebastian asks, digging his phone out of his pocket and logging on to WebMD to see how much trouble his husband might be in.

“Yeah, in the donut, but not the jam filling. I’m amazed I made it home. After that, everything was kind of a blur.”

“Like what?”

Kurt swallows. This was the part he was hoping he wouldn’t have to get into until he was better … or sober. “Okay, don’t get mad, but I may have tweeted David Beckham and told him he had, and I quote, a very bite-able bod?” Kurt admits, eyes begging his husband to please tell him that that was just a dream.

And even though Sebastian is quietly panicking over the fact that his husband might need his stomach pumped, he can’t help smirking at his man.

“Alas, you did,” Sebastian confirms. “But in case you didn’t see his reply tweet, he claims that you do, too. And his wife concurs, so there’s that. I think you may have raised your stock value with that snafu.”

“Thank God!” Kurt moans. He knew that tweet wouldn’t cost him his job or anything, and he was only mildly worried about what it might do for his home life. But more than that, he was afraid what might happen next time he and Victoria Beckham crossed paths.

She might be petite, but he’s heard she’s a hair puller.

“What else?” Sebastian asks, keeping Kurt awake while he stalls for time.

“I may have ordered everything from pages 23, 24, and 25 of the SkyMall catalogue.”

“You do that even when you’re not tripping balls ...”

“I …” And this is the one that may have Kurt crawling beneath the sofa out of sheer embarrassment “… I may have emailed all of our friends and family … using your email account … and invited them here today for, and again I quote, a surprise party in honor of the wonder that is me?”

“Right again.” Sebastian chuckles, but laced with concern. “And by the time I checked my email, they had all RSVP’d. They’re in the kitchen waiting to yell surprise the second I open the door.”

Kurt’s eyes pop, his gaze shifting to the door beside him, terrified by this new knowledge that seventy or more people might be on the other side, ready to scream at him.

That alone makes his stomach flip.

That explains the lack of parking on the street.

“And you couldn’t just cancel?” Kurt groans, putting his hands over his ears in preparation for the cheer that’s about to run him over like a freight train.

“Of course not. I invited them.” But Sebastian doesn’t open the door. He hits send on a mass text and shoves his phone back in his pocket. From beyond the white washed piece of wood, Kurt hears the muffled trickle of text alerts going off, accompanied by a rumble of voices muttering in confusion. Someone who could be Wes says, “Hey, Tom-Tom! How would you and Hepburn like to go play mini golf?”

Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s arm, preparing to help him up, but decides against it and lifts his husband off the couch.

“Wha---what are we doing? Where are we going?”

“I thought it might be a good idea if we turned this welcome home celebration into a party of two. And we’re holding it at the emergency room.”

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #frankie writes

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sicklylittlesnowflake · 6 years

Note

I am absolutely begging you to write a sick Jonathan Byers fic if you have the time😭😭 I just finished the first season of stranger things yesterday and I’m so in love with the idea of him getting sick. Thank you!!!!

(Ya girl is back! My writing is a bit rusty, and a little shorter but hopefully that’s ok!! I love my boi Jonathan, and I love u guys; so lets hope this goes well! Takes place only a bit after S1, so no s2 spoilers here for u anon!! :) )

Jonathan cannot afford to get sick.

And when he says that, the phrase extends to have multiple meanings. A.) it means that Jonathan in a literal sense of the word, cannot afford to get sick. The Byers are not rich, medicine is costly, and they rely Jonathan’s wages from the cinema, so Jonathan cannot afford to be sick.

And B.) It means Jonathan can’t get sick because he has way too many responsibilities in his life to get sick. Jonathan has to be a good son. He needs to cook his family breakfast, do his chores, take Will to school, all to keep his family afloat. But most of all, Jonathan has to be a good big brother, especially after the whole debacle that had happened with Will. Will needed him more than ever, and Jonathan was going to assert every fibre of his being to make Will feel safe again. And to do that, he couldn’t be sick because that would mean he could not put every joule of his energy into Will.

and C.) Jonathan cannot look weak. It is only now that Jonathan for the first time has two people who genuinely do want to be around him, and it is only now that Jonathan is surrounded by people who make him feel safe, wanted and cared for. He cannot ruin anything he has with Nancy or Steve, because now that he’s had a taste of friendship, Jonathan doesn’t think he could return to the lonely world he once knew.

So when Jonathan wakes up Friday morning by an intense tickling in his nose, causing him to convulse in his bed with three harsh sneezes against his pillow, he feels a feeling of dread rise in his stomach.

When he rises out of bed and sat up, he was greeted by a pounding, splitting headache so painful it practically sweeps him; so hard that Jonathan could have fallen back over back into bed. Then he realised he cant breathe through his nose, and despite the little hot air he is breathing out and the hot flush he feels on his cheeks, he feels frozen.

As much as his soul cries out at him to stay in bed, and as much as he feels his heart reach for the bed and cling on for life, Jonathan’s brain knew he couldn’t stay. He weakly thrusts his aching, fevered body out of the comforts of his bed and steadies himself by grabbing onto his bedside table for dear life.

It seems like an eternity before the world stopped whizzing and whirling around like he was on some acid trip of a merry go round, but all things come to an end, even oddities like this. Jonathan weakly stumbles over to his door, his vision quite tunnelled, fading in and out with each throb of his head.

He doesn’t know how he made it out into the kitchen without falling over, but he does, despite the zig zagged direction he chose to take and the shaky nature of his legs, like jelly, about to succumb to his illness any moment now.

When Jonathan makes Will’s lunch he’s sloppy. His sandwich isn’t perfectly positioned and when he cooks breakfast he shakes and the fried egg ends up an odd shape. When he pours the orange juice into the glass he spills some over, because his hand can’t stop to tremor and his entire body is racked by the freezing temperatures only he seems to notice.

What Jonathan also doesn’t notice is that Joyce has flown into the room and has immediately noticed his current state. And she is Joyce, so naturally she fusses and she beelines for the thermometer and shoves it in his mouth. Jonathan protests of course but she’s Joyce, and she doesn’t lose.

And before he knows it he is being hoisted to bed by his feisty mother and Jonathan is defeated.

In his feverish haze time doesn’t pass quite right and he’s not quite sure what time it is but he hears a gentle knock on the door, to this rhythm so familiar it brings Jonathan back to his senses, and he knows it’s Will. He always knocked on his door with his own little rhythm since he was little, Jonathan would know it anywhere.

“Yeah, come in,” He rasped out, his voice so rough he cringed, resembling nails against a chalkboard.

His little brother tiptoed in carefully as not to further his headache or anything to upset his weakened body; he was always thoughtful like that, and Jonathan loved him for it. He was proud of him always.

“Hi Jon,” Will whispered lowly, a sweet smile spread across his lips.

“Mom told me you were sick so I brought you these,” He continued as he set down a box of tissues, the mix tape Jonathan had made for him and a R2D2 stuffed toy.

“The Artoo toy always makes me feel better so hopefully it can do the same for you,” Will said as Jonathan gave him a smile, although weak, still bright, as Will always made his day a little brighter.

“And your mixtape always makes me happy, so I’m hoping it can make you happy too,” Will grinned as he placed the tape into a player.

“You’re the best Will,” Jonathan grinned softly as he turned on his side to face him, before his face contorted and he quickly retreated into his pillow to muffle three vicious sneezes that leeched him off his remaining energy. He groaned softly.

Will frowned as he leaned in to feel his forehead, pushing the hair out of his face, “You’re not feeling great, are you?”

Jonathan chuckled weakly, his voice congested and deep, and he was sent into a brief coughing fit, turning away from him to cough into his arm. Once he recovered, he sniffled and wiped his irritated tears away, forcing a smile, “I’ve felt better.”

He leaned in to ruffle his hair and bat him playfully on the cheek, “Now go away to school, you don’t want to catch this.”

Will chuckled and hit him back, “I’m sure it’s better than listening to Mrs.Leahy drone on and on.”

Jonathan made a monstrous noise to scare him and jabbed at his stomach to tickle him, “Raaaarrrghhhh! The plagues gonna get you!”

Will giggled and ran away.

Jonathan couldn’t help the wife, bright smile that spread across his lips. That laugh could save the world. And to think just a two months ago he thought he’d never hear it again, was terrifying. Hearing it made him immediately feel just a bit together.

Jonathan doesn’t remember much but he knows he managed to drift off to a feverish sleep halfway through one of Pink Floyd’s songs, and now he’s waking up to a splitting headache and he feels like he’s burning alive but he can’t stop shaking either, and waves of blistering hot crash through him followed by a tidal wave of freezing cold leaves him curling up within himself.

He feels dreadful, and his body feels so heavy and weak and he genuinely wants to cry out because everything hurts too much. When Jonathan coughs its chesty and raspy, each cough pressing daggers into his lungs. He whimpers in pain as he tries to brave through it.

When the pain simmers down enough Jonathan becomes aware of the knocking at the door. The knocking is too much for his overstimulated brain and it’s too much for him to handle and an electrifying spark of pain causes his head to throb repeatedly. He whimpers again but somehow he pushes himself off of his bed.

When he stands a wave of nausea hits him and his vision fades into black. Jonathan feels so light and he can feel the sickeningly haunting pit in his stomach as he free falls. He pulls himself off of the ground and his legs shake and he can barely walk as he is shaking too much, and his vision is fading in and out but he grabs onto the walls to try and get there.

It’s a long and treacherous journey but he makes it, and at the end of the tunnel is a beam of light, because when he opens the door it reveals a worried looking Steve and Nancy.

He’s too shocked to reply, and his brain is way too slow to say anything so he can do is cling onto the door frame and shake. Nancy and Steve are the same and are too horrified at how awful he probably looks and shame pulsates throughout him. But Jonathan can’t dwell on it too long because he’s bursting into another harsh coughing fit that doubles him over, each cough causing his head to throb and lungs to scream in pain. He clings onto the door frame to support himself and he feels so faint and weak he can feel himself losing control.

Just before he slips from the door frame and falls, Steve is lunging in to catch him, supporting him so he can finish coughing, rubbing his back comfortingly. And when he finishes Steve slings Jonathan’s arm over his shoulder and the look Steve gives him is so kind that it melts him all over.

His eyes are so kind and so filled with care, “Hey bud, you okay there?”

Jonathan nods and sniffles, groaning as a tickle flares within his sinuses and he pushes away slightly to violently sneeze twice into his elbow.

“Bless you Jon,” Nancy says sympathetically, quickly caressing his face. “We need to get you back into bed.”

She slings his arm around her shoulder too and they get him back, gently laying him down on his bed. She tucks him into the blanket and hops onto bed with him to feel his forehead, and Jonathan can see the panic flash in her eyes.

“Steve, Steve he’s burning up!” Nancy said worriedly, trying not to sound too frantic.

“I’ll get him a cold towel,” Steve replied, trying to disguise the worry in his voice as he went off to the kitchen.

“Why are you here?” Jonathan asked feverishly, his voice weak and barely audible.

She gave him a small smile and started to play with his hair, brushing it out of his face, gazing at him sweetly, “We were looking for you. We couldn’t find you so we asked Will and he said you were sick, so we skipped class and ended up here.”

Jonathan’s eyes twinkled with adoration, his eyes watering as he felt so cared for, “You..were looking for me? You didn’t have to skip class just for me.”

Nancy looked a little taken aback, “Jon..of course we were looking for you. You’re our friend. We care about you.”

“Really?” Jonathan asked in disbelief, his voice cracking as he was unable to comprehend the fact that anyone actually cared for him bar his family. It left his heart soaring.

Steve returned with a damp towel in his hands. He climbed atop Jonathan’s bed and gently laid the towel on his forehead. He smiled softly and started to massage his temples, “God Jon, you’re really sick, huh?”

Jonathan nodded but pushed away as a sudden tickle itched at his nose, so abrupt he hadn’t had time to build up to it or warn Steve, with only time to turn his head away and aim away from them, sneezing two loud and violent sneezes that leeched him off his remaining energy.

Steve frowned and reached for a tissue and wiped at Jonathan’s nose for him, “Bless you buddy, you feeling okay?”

Nancy offered him a sympathetic smile and climbed in next to him and comfortingly leaned against him, playing with his hair.

And suddenly in that moment Jonathan is hit by the revelation that he is surrounded by two of the kindest people he has ever met. When he looks at Nancy he sees the softest, sweetest gaze looking upon him with so much care, and each stroke of her fingers against his messy hair is tender and loving. He looks over at Steve who is watching over with him ever so bravely, ever so determined to keep him safe. Jonathan has never felt this safe, so secure, so loved in his life.

It feels so good that it fills every ounce of him with sunlight and starlight and everything beautiful, and he is then hit with another revelation. A revelation that crushes him to his core; the realisation that should he lose it he doesn’t think he’ll be the same because now he would be aware of the void. And this won’t last; Jonathan knows it. It’s not possible that he’d be loved like this. No one ever has really before.

Jonathan can’t even stop himself, and his lip is wobbling and his eyes are watering and before he can even put the walls he has built with such an endeavour back up again tears are spilling from his eyes.

“Jonathan?” Nancy asked, alarmed by the sudden tears.

Jonathan aggressively tries to wipe his tears away, but new ones keep replacing the ones he’s gotten rid of, and eventually Jonathan realises that all attempts are futile, and his walls have broken down.

“Hey, what’s going on bud?” Steve asked reassuringly, taking Jonathan’s other side that Nancy isn’t already at and wrapping an arm around him.

“Its just, no ones ever done this for me besides my mom and my brother,” Jonathan hiccuped, trying to stop his sobs.

Nancy softened and pressed a soft kiss into his hair, “And we’ll do it again.”

Jonathan shook his head, “No, no you won’t.”

Steve furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

Jonathan sobbed and sniffled, causing him to cough harshly into his fist, “You won’t. Because I’ve built these walls around myself and hidden the parts of me I don’t like, and now they’re down you’ll see me for who I really am and you won’t like me anymore, and I’m going to be alone again.”

Jonathan loathed the silence that ensued.

“Jon..we’re not going to do that, ever,” Nancy promised, reaching for his hands and holding them in her own, eyes bright and so sure.

Steve tightened his grip around Jonathan and pressed a kiss against his temple, “You are never going to be alone again, Jon. We’re here now.”

“You won’t like what you see,” Jonathan whispered softly.

“I think it’s you who doesn’t Jonathan, not us,” Steve said gently.

“Are the walls down now, Jonathan?” Nancy asked softly.

“Yes,” He whispered with shame.

Nancy kissed his cheek softly, “I still love you.”

Steve nodded, “As do I. I think you need to start loving you too.”

It would take a while, but Steve and Nancy would be there every step of the way.

They never left his side that night, connected for the first time really.

And they would be for a long time.

#jonathan byers #stranger things #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #stoncy #jancy #stancy #will byers #joyce byers #sick jonathan #stranger things s1 #stranger things fic #fever #hurt/comfort #angst #prompts

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sicklylittlesnowflake · 7 years

Note

First things first, I am a huge fan! Your Riverdale fics give me life. I share your love of making Jughead suffer. So I assume you have a whole bunch of request/prompts lined up but if you ever feel like it: I would love to see Jughed with pneumonia/bronchitis. Whichever you prefer and however you prefer :)

(Thanks so much for the kind words anon!! I am so glad you share my love of making jug suffer. I absolutely love researching illnesses so this was a lot of fun to do! This became very angsty but a whole lot of tooth rotting fluff in the end! Here’s jug with pneumonia and a worried Andrews fam.)

For most of his life the bright, warm light of the sun was a beacon of hope for Jughead. The summer was a sign of hope, a signal that he had made it through the cold winter, and that everything was going to be okay. He could be with Archie and Betty all summer, and he didn’t have to constantly go home to the darkness of his own family.

However when this past summer, Betty was away on an internship and life decided to take Archie Andrews away from him, Jughead had never felt this lonely in whole life. His mom and Jellybean left him to the darkness that was surely engulfing his father, and he didn’t even have his rock, Archie to cling on to. He felt so alone, so cold in this darkness, the sun seemed to be mocking him. He’d watch all the happy people bask in the sun while he felt trapped in this personal rain cloud that would never leave him.

To keep himself alive Jughead had told himself that the winter would be better for him, for everyone. However as the winter approached and arrived, things got worse. He had been homeless, Jason had actually been murdered, his father had been arrested and there was definitely darker things in Riverdale.

It had started with a cough, a typical winter ailment that he got every year, no biggie. But a cough wasn’t meant to last this long, Jughead was convinced it wasn’t meant to hurt this much.

His cough had worsened as him, Kevin and Betty investigated the death of Jason Blossom, Jughead desperate to bring some light to Riverdale and uncover the truth. It had been a cold, cold night, the air dry and unforgiving, frosty and painful to his lungs. It rained too, the droplets of water seeming to be from a frozen lake, icy and soaking him to the core. There, they found Jason’s jacket, and the truth he found was horrifying.

The stress of the next few days did no wonders to Jughead’s declining health and mental health. When he should’ve been getting better, he lay wide awake at night, afraid to shut his eyes in fear of the nightmares that plagued him. He clutched his small blanket in the Andrews garage, shivering, wanting it all to end.

The one thing the freezing cold garage did in his favour was the fact he could cough freely, not afraid of waking Archie had he been in the air mattress. However, he couldn’t quite ignore the nagging thought at the back of his mind telling him that coughs were not meant to hurt his chest that much, that they weren’t meant to be that deep, that wet, this teeth-chattering.

The phlegm certainly wasn’t meant to be tinged with blood.

The next morning, as Jughead awoke to Archie swinging the back door open, presumably to wake him, he hadn’t felt that awful in his whole life.

His head caused the world to spin, and he couldn’t lift his head up because of how heavy he felt. His entire body was shivering, he felt so cold, literally frozen as if he had just fallen through the frozen Sweetwater River, and his teeth chattered with the cold. However, if he was so cold, he shouldn’t be radiating off heat, should he? The hot air coming out of his nostrils felt so uncomfortable.

Archie opened the door slowly, shivering lightly as he made his way into the freezing garage, immediately nervous that Jughead had spent the night here.

“Jug? You awake.”

“Yeah,” Jughead croaked out, his chest hurting, unbelievably tight. His breathing shouldn’t be this fast.

“Woah, you okay dude?”

“First thing in the morning, dude, calm your face,” Jughead joked forcefully, honestly not finding itself in him to be his regular, jokey self.

Archie noticed, worried that Jughead couldn’t even make a joke. When times got hard, Jughead could at least make a joke of his horrible situation. The fact that he couldn’t didn’t sit right with him.

“Get out of my face, Andrews. I’m going to get changed–unless you want to watch?” Jughead teased, trying to not sound congested.

Archie looked reluctant, but left anyway, making his way back to the kitchen.

Jughead walked into the kitchen, wearing one long sleeved t shirt underneath a hoodie, and a thick, shearling denim jacket on top, obviously trying to stop his shivering. However he still shook slightly, looking very pale besides his very pink cheeks and nose. His eye bags very dark against his pale skin, and his blue eyes dull and bleary.

“Morning Jughead,” Fred greeted, back facing him as he cooked the eggs.

Archie couldn’t even greet him, shocked by his appearance.

When Fred turned around, he was slightly surprised, “..Are you cold, Jug?”

Jughead shrugged, “Just a little. It is the winter after all.”

Fred didn’t even know what to do, “Jughead..uh..how are you feeling?”

Jughead looked up from the food he was playing with and gave him a forced smile, “Fine. Ready to seize the day.”

Archie and Fred didn’t even know how hey let Jughead out of the house and walk to school in the snow.

School would be a tricky situation because this was the worst possible day Jughead could be sick, Archie didn’t have any classes with him until Lunch. Meaning Archie had no way of having eyes on Jughead, and this worry prevented Archie from concentrating on any of his classes.

Jughead had spent his classes huddled going the radiator, grateful he sat at the back of the class, shivering and shaking. He felt extremely fevered, not able to concentrate on anything his teachers would say.

He was so bad, his coughing sounding so chesty and raspy that some of his classmates who had just been currently treating him like a murderer were concerned with him. Jughead squeezed his eyes shut, a hand to his chest as he struggled to breathe, his airways blocked by phlegm. He shivered with his fever, pulling his jacket closer to him and wishing he had worn more layers.

As the teacher let the class go off doing pairwork, she approached Jughead and looked at him with concern.

“You have to promise me that you’ll go to the nurse after this class, okay?” She said, worried.

Jughead’s teeth chattered, finding it hard to reply to her, “Y-yes, miss. I will.”

Of course, he didn’t.

Come geography Jughead was feeling worse, the pain in his chest as he coughed like he was being stabbed repeatedly. To make things worse he couldn’t breathe, choking on his own phlegm that refused to come out. He gasped for air, his chesty and phlegmy gasps sounding horribly weak and awful. He continued to choke, his vision growing hazy.

Ethel looked over at him and watched the pathetic display, managing to pat his back as he spat the phlegm out into a tissue she had offered him. “Jughead, please, I don’t think this is normal.”

Jughead knew at this point his voice was gone, so he only gave her a small, reassuring smile.

At the end of that class, Jughead had been wheezing yet again, walking out as he held a hand over his aching chest. He could barely breathe, his breathing short and rapid. Hell, he could feel his heart beating fast.

Jughead hacked pathetically into his arm, when a familiar pair of strong arms were holding him in place, to support him. Just a bit ago those same arms were pushing him into a locker. He looked up blearily, blue eyes watery and completely void of life.

“Go away, Reggie,” Jughead wheezed, his voice almost completely gone, a weak, raspy whisper.

“Jughead, please! You’re so sick, this isn’t normal,” Reggie pleaded, taking his shoulders. He wasn’t rough or cruel like he normally was, he was so worried and concerned, as if Jughead could just break into pieces in his arms right there. His actual name coming out of Reggie’s mouth was so weird, and his vision was just so blurry nothing felt real anymore. Jughead pushed past him, his chest on fire as he pushed himself on to the cafeteria where his friends were.

***

Kevin Keller was a hundred percent sure he had just seen a ghost.

It was the ghost of Jughead Jones, who looked like he was about to die just there, his body ready to succumb to death. The ghost of his friend approached the four of them, and the sight was so disturbing he gasped.

“Jughead?!” He yelped, causing the other three of his friends to whip around and watch as what was left of their friend approach them. He looked so awful that they didn’t even know what to do.

Jughead took his seat next to Kevin and Veronica, as if absolutely nothing was up. He didn’t say anything, looking off into the distance like his conscience was in some other plane of reality.

They were frozen, not knowing what to do.

“Jughead..?” Veronica finally said, voice quivering with fear.

The sight of him was horrifying; ghost white, looking like he was on the brink of death. Eyes sunken, with a pair of dark purple eyebags. His cheeks were flushed a horrible shade of red. He slouched, completely drained and unable to sit upright His entire frame shook like some sort of epicentre for an earthquake. He was the perfect image of illness. It was haunting.

Suddenly, Jughead erupted in the most horrendous fit he had yet, entire body convulsing like he had been possessed by a demon. He hacked, choking on his own phlegm. His entire body was shivering, gasping for air, short and rapid. His chest was on fire, someone was stabbing him with a flaming knife, viciously and brutally. It hurt so much.

He felt a ringing in his ears, all he could sense was the pain of his chest, and could faintly feel Kevin slapping his back, and Veronica feeling his pulse.

“Guys, it’s so fast!” Veronica screamed.

Jughead finally spat out the phlegm, tinged with blood.

“Oh my god!” Archie yelled and jumped out of his seat and ran, with Reggie Mantle running after him, hot on his heels as they ran for help.

“Juggy!” Betty screamed, crying.

Jughead looked up to see his hysteric friends, and all the worried other people, making out Ethel, and hell, even Cheryl Blossom looked terrified. There was screaming, too much was happening. His head pounded, vision shaking and blurring, breathing short and rapid. His attempts to breathe for longer hurt his chest, a sharp, stinging pain. His entire body ached, he felt like he was on fire, and yet shaking and shivering. Suddenly, he became void of all senses. He couldn’t feel anything.

Then there was darkness.

***

Archie paced the hospital hallway, his chest feeling right. He felt so anxious, breathing heavily. The hospital was so white, it was terrifying. So clean and orderly.

“Yes, Sheriff, I understand you can’t just allow random calls at random times, but please, FP deserves to know,” Fred argued on the phone, just as anxious as Archie.

A few minutes later, Sheriff gave up and handed the phone to FP.

“FP? I don’t even know how to say this,” Fred whispered guiltily.

“What is it, Fred? You here to finally admit I was better at the guitar than you?” FP joked.

“..No, Forsythe, it’s Jughead. He’s really sick, he passed out. We’re at the hospital–I don’t know what’s wrong, but he was coughing blood..”

FP was silent.

Eventually he’s spoke, “That’s my boy, Fred.”

“I know, FP, you just deserved to know.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. That’s my boy who never gave up on me. That boy who’s kind to everyone but what did he do to deserve this? This ain’t fucking fair! I can’t lose him! I love him so much, Fred! I don’t even think he knows that, Fred.”

“He knows that, FP. Listen, we’ll keep you posted, okay? The doctors will be out in a little bit.”

They continued to speak for a while but Archie couldn’t listen anymore, way too afraid. Once Fred hung up, Archie looked at him, tears in his eyes.

“Dad, he’s gonna be okay, right?” Archie whimpered, sounding so young.

Fred swallowed, “He’s a tough kid, Archie. He’ll pull through.”

“He shouldn’t have to be the tough kid,” Archie choked, tears streaming down his face.

“Arch,” Fred cooed, coming close to his son and holding him, kissing his forehead.

“I know Archie, he shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have made him feel unwelcome, I shouldn’t have let him go this morning. I’m so sorry Archie, blame me all you want, but I care for him too. I will do all in my power to make him better again, okay?” Fred whispered softly as Archie cried into his chest.

“I’m so scared,” Archie cried.

Fred sniffled, swallowing, “Me too, Arch.”

***

Half an hour later, one of the doctors came out of Jughead’s room.

“Mr Andrews?” She said softly.

“Yes, that’s me,” Fred piped up, as Archie who was asleep on his shoulder woke up immediately, rushing to her.

“I’m glad to be informing you Mr Jones will be just alright,” She smiled brightly.

Archie made an overwhelmed, happy noise, he lunged and hugged the doctor, “thank you thank you thank you thank you!!”

Archie pulled away and blushed, “Oh, sorry.”

The doctor laughed, “That is quite alright.”

Fred cleared his throat, “What’s wrong with him, doc?”

“Pneumonia. He had it pretty bad, as you know from what happened at the school, but we’ve patched him up enough so that there will be no negative effects later in life and that he should be better in two or three weeks.”

Fred sighed softly, “That’s great.”

“He will need continuous usage of antibiotics and must not leave the house, must get good sleep and rest,” She explained.

Archie looked anxious, “When will he be discharged?”

“He must stay for about a week for now, but he will be allowed visitors. In fact, would you like to visit him now? He’s awake.”

“Yes! Please!” Archie said excitedly.

“This way, then,” The Doctor instructed as she held the doors open for the two of them and let them in.

“Oh my god, Jug!” Archie exclaimed as he saw Jughead sitting up, joking about something with one of the doctors.

Jughead looked over to see Archie and smiled, and gasped softly as Archie tackled him into a hug.

“Arch–” Jughead said softly, slightly suffocated.

Archie gasped, “Sorry!”

Jughead laughed, still raspy but a lot less deathly sounding, “It’s fine.”

“You really scared me, Jughead! The whole school thought you were dead!” Archie exclaimed.

Fred chuckled, “That really was quite a scare, Jughead.”

“Sorry about that,” Jughead said sheepishly.

Fred looked at Archie then sighed, “no kid, we should be sorry-no, I should be. I’m so sorry I made it seem like you weren’t welcome here, you are just as much of family as Archie is to me. Y'know, when FP called me to say Gladys was having his child Mary and I drove to the hospital with little Archie. When you were born, we were all together, we were all a family. We still are a family.”

Jughead smiled softly, but scrunched his nose, “Ew, so you’re telling me that this rat here is one of the first things I ever saw?!”

Archie laughed heartily.

Fred laughed, “That’s quite right. Jughead, FP and I made sure that as blood brothers, we had to take care of each other’s sons. I told FP that what if his son was a little shit? Well, you are a little shit, but you really are a great kid, Jug. We care about you so much. When you get discharged, I’m going to make sure that when you go home, it is a home.”

Jughead smiled softly, “I’m sorry for pushing you away and withdrawing.”

Archie shook his head, “We never should have let you disappear.”

Jughead groaned, “Stop fighting with me, I’m sick, let’s just all agree we all fucked up!”

They all laughed.

Just then, Jughead began to cough again, eyes squeezed shut at the burning sensation of his cough, wet and deep. Before he started to choke, a nearby doctor coaxed the coughs out. He spat out into a tissue and threw it into the wastebin, finally resting against the pillow and took a good minute to catch his breath.

“Poor kid,” Fred muttered softly, taking in the pale features of his second son and approached him, pushing back the messy black curls that had fallen into his face as he coughed.

Archie watched in concern, wondering how he could help when his phone buzzed, opening it to see Veronica was facetiming.

“Ooh! I think they want to see you!” Archie grinned.

Jughead flipped his hair, “Of course they want to see the absolute beauty that is moi!”

Archie answered the call, coming close to Jughead so they could see him, to see Kevin, Veronica, Betty, Reggie, Ethel and oddly, Cheryl in the frame.

“HE’S ALIVE!” Kevin squealed.

“Lookin’ good, Wednesday Adams,” Reggie teased, pointing at his hospital gown and all the tubes in him.

“Jughead, you scared the shit out of us!!” Veronica exclaimed.

“Juggie, I’m so glad you’re okay!” Betty cooed.

“Get better soon, Jughead!” Ethel smiled.

“Ugh, he’s alive, guys. Can we all go now?” Cheryl rolled her eyes, but they could all see that Cheryl was secretly relieved and happy.

They spoke for a while, and as the call ended Fred started to call the Sheriff.

***

“Fred! Is my boy okay?!” FP breathed out through Fred’s phone.

“Hi dad,” Jughead said softly.

“Oh my god, Jug..Jug! You’re okay..thank god! I was beginning to think..it’s so good to hear your voice..”

“I’ll survive, dad.”

“You just might.”

Jughead could faintly hear the Sheriff telling FP he didn’t have much time.

“Listen–Jug, I don’t have a lot of time..”

“I love you, dad,” Jughead whimpered.

FP froze.

“I love you too, Jug,” FP choked, clearly teary.

“I miss you so much,” Jughead sniffled, one tear rolling down his cheek.

“I miss you so much Jug, there’s not one day that passed by where I wish we were all together. But I did bad things, Jughead, inexcusable. I need to pay for what I did. You understand that, don’t you, Jug?”

“I do.”

“..I am so sorry, Jughead. For not being the father I should’ve been, the one you deserve. I’m so sorry about this, but please know that I never for one second stopped loving you,” FP whispered.

“I know dad, I know. I never gave up, I never will,” Jughead cried.

“You’ll be okay, you’ll pull through. C'mon lion, brave through it and seize the day, I know you can,” FP chuckled.

“I will dad, I always do,” Jughead whispered.

“I’ll come home to you someday,” FP managed to say before Sheriff Keller took the phone back.

Jughead bit back a sob, whispering to himself, “I know you will.”

***

The morning he was to be discharged, Jughead began to gather all his Get Well Soon presents. He coughed, not quite as chesty or deep as it had been, and certainly did not feel like he was being stabbed repeatedly. He smiled fondly as he looked at them.

A beautifully crafted handmade card from Ethel, a not so beautifully crafted handmade card from Reggie, a fancy card from Veronica with some luxury gourmet chocolates and snacks, a simple, pretty card from Betty and a container of her signature soup, a nice card from Kevin who had sent some snacks, and a bit of money from Cheryl who helped pay for some of the hospital bill and medicine. The family was loaded, and her parents didn’t even notice she took some.

Jughead hadn’t felt so loved in so long. The winter seemed to be just a bit brighter.

And finally, a picture of Jughead, Archie and Fred during movie night on top of an application for Legal Guardianship.

“Ready to go home, Jug?” Archie grinned.

“Born ready.”

#jughead jones #archie andrews #fp jones #fred andrews #betty cooper #veronica lodge #riverdale #sickfic #prompts #pneumonia #fever

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