#to make sure they collapse in the school toilet trying to throw up their lunch

[arretoskore]

.

#today on: curveballs i wasn't expecting #on of my staff's scout leaders called me to tell me last weekend one of our girls opened up to him #and confessed extremely worrying suicidal tendencies #and a lot of body image related issues #and apparently the main source of her depression is her parents behaviour that more or less explicitly make her feel like a failure #bc she's not excelling in everything always #and I'm honestly so tired of seeing middle schoolers who have to be accompanied by their friends from school to home #bc they their friends are actually afraid they will throw themselves under a tram otherwise if left alone #and of parents who dont understand that maybe commenting on your kids weight every fucking day is the fastest way #to make sure they collapse in the school toilet trying to throw up their lunch #sometimes i really wonder if some ppl want to have children just to own a person ??? #idk #im tired

[sickly-qt]

I would love to see a sick Remy and Julian at the same time and caretaker Mila (maybe Lea tried to help too?🥺)

This came out really long and ended up being pretty Julian-centric with a sprinkling of sick Remy. Leah also turned out to be more difficult than helpful... but I still hope you like it! 

Warnings: Descriptions of vomit, some angst.

Mila heard Remy come home from where she was camped out on the bathroom floor with Julian. The poor kid had been sent home from school the day before and had been in and out of the bathroom vomiting ever since.

She leaned forward and rubbed Julian’s back as he gagged hollowly over the water.

“I think you’re done for now, sweets…. You’re not bringing anything up.”

Jules coughed and nodded, reaching up to flush the toilet weakly. 

“This is terrible.” Julian whined, burying his face in his hands.

“I know, Jules.” Mila cooed, ruffling the hair on the back of his head. “Just rinse out your mouth and go lay down, okay?” 

Julian nodded and got up, washing his face and shuffling across the hall into his room.

“Let me know if you need anything. I’m only downstairs.”

He nodded into his pillow and buried his face in it, groaning softly.

Mila was exhausted, her hair was in a loose bun with pieces falling around her face, and she was still wearing the t-shirt and sweatpants that she had slept in the night before. She could only imagine what she looked like when she walked down the stairs, but as soon as she saw her boyfriend she stopped in her tracks.

“No.” She whined, stopping midway down the stairs. “No, Remy. Please.” She pleaded, rubbing her face with her hands.

“What?” He asked, acting oblivious.

“Please tell me that you don’t feel sick.” She begged, dropping her hands to her sides.

“I don’t feel sick?” He said without a hint of confidence in his voice.

Mila sighed and walked the rest of the way down the stairs, approaching him. She took a second to study his face, noticing his pallor and the sweat that was collecting on his forehead.

“How long?” She asked.

He shrugged, “Since a little before lunch.”

She sighed again, a little bit deeper. “Go upstairs and get changed, maybe take a shower if you feel up to it? Then lay down, if you have the same thing as Jules you’re gonna need the rest.”

Remy did as he was told, his stomach growing more uneasy the longer he stayed upright. He opted out of the shower and went straight to bed, hoping that whatever he had would pass before he woke up. 

Mila on the other hand, was far from the point of rest. She still needed to feed Leah and give her a bath before taking her to bed.

“Is Daddy sick?” Leah asked in between bites of her dinner.

“He feels a little icky.” Mila said, leaning against the island.

“Like Juli?”

“Yeah, kinda like Juli.” Mila walked over and collected her dishes, placing them in the dishwasher. “Are you ready for a bath, babes?” She asked, picking up the toddler.

“I want Daddy to do it.” She pouted.

Mila sighed, not really having the energy to fight with her. “Daddy isn’t feeling well, Bug.”

“I want Daddy.” the three year old whined, burying her face in her hands.

“Okay, how about we skip the bath tonight and if Daddy is still awake I’ll see if he can tuck you in? Does that sound good?” Mila caved. Leah was definitely tired and she could be impossible to deal with when she got into her moods.

The little girl nodded and laid her head on Mila’s shoulder. 

After getting her in bed, Mila trudged down the hall to the master. The room was dark and she could make out the outline of Remy in the bed.

“Remy?” She called softly, not wanting to wake him up if he was actually sleeping.

“Yeah?” He mumbled, shifting slightly.

“Lee requires you to tuck her in and won’t take no for an answer. If you don’t feel up to it I can just tell her you were sleeping and deal with whatever tantrum ensues.” Mila explained, feeling a little guilty to put this on him.

Remy sighed and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m sorry, I wanted you to be able to rest.” Mila said, leaning against the doorway.

“It’s okay, M. I can deal with my daughter, believe me I know she can be difficult, and that’s phrasing it nicely.” He rubbed his hand across his stomach. “My stomach is killing me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. You should be resting.”

Remy got up and stopped in the doorway, giving Mila a peck on the forehead. “You need to get some rest too, M. You look absolutely exhausted.”

“Thank you.” She said sarcastically, leaning into him. “I’ll lay down after I check in on Jules real quick.” 

“If you’re not in here and in bed when I finish with Lee, I will hunt you down.” Remy said.

Mila scoffed, “Mhmm, okay.” She followed Remy back down the hall, stopping in Julian’s doorway. The teenager was laying on his side, some youtube video playing on his laptop. “Can’t sleep?” She asked, making Julian jump.

“No, my stomach hurts.” He said, turning so he was facing Mila.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” She asked.

“No. Thank you though.”

“Okay, well I’m going to head to bed. If you need anything, I’m right down the hall.”

“Okay, thank you.”

~~

Julian did eventually fall asleep, despite the churning in his stomach. He only got a couple hours before he was woken up in an all too familiar fashion, his stomach rocketing up his throat. He threw off his blankets and darted across the hall, lifting the toilet lid just in time for whatever was left in his stomach to come back up. He shifted uncomfortably on the floor as his stomach clenched again and he coughed up water and a mystery substance from the day before.

“Juli?” Julian heard a small voice from the doorway.

“Hey, bug. Did I wake you up?” He asked weakly, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Is your tummy upset?” She asked, taking a couple steps into the bathroom.

“Yeah, I don’t really feel too good right now. I’m sorry for waking you up.” Julian apologized, fighting gags.

The toddler shrugged, seemingly unbothered. 

Julian lurched forward with a sudden retch, only bringing up a mouthful of spit. He gagged, trying and failing to fight it so that he didn’t alarm Leah. The last thing he expected was to feel a tiny hand patting his back.

“It’s okay.” Leah said, patting Julian’s shoulder.

Julian coughed and sputtered, trying to collect himself. His stomach had other plans as he burped up a mouthful of bile.

Leah scurried away, and came back with the water bottle from his nightstand.

“Thanks, bug.” He breathed, sniffling. He flushed the toilet and sat back, taking the water from her. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve that didn’t smell like vomit and cleared his throat, taking a small sip of water. He didn’t even realize that he was crying until more tears ran down his face.

“Are you okay, Juli?” Leah asked, dropping to her knees next to him.

He wiped his eyes again and sniffled, “Yeah, I just feel sick. My tummy is a little upset.” He coughed into his arm and took another small sip of water, “Hey bug, could you do me a favor and get Mila?” He asked, his voice cracking.

She nodded, and padded off

~~

Mila bolted upright when Leah came in and shook her awake. 

“Lee? Is everything okay?” She asked tiredly.

“Juli is throwing up.” She said, yawning.

“What’s going on?” Remy asked, lifting his head.

“Jules is sick again.” Mila responded, tossing back the blankets.

As if he was triggered by the mention of sickness Remy was up and dashing into the en suite. Mila buried her face in her hands and sighed loudly as retches and gags came from the bathroom.

“Remy, are you okay?” She called.

“Yeah- I’m fine.” He coughed harshly and gagged, “Go to Jules.” He finished.

She took a deep breath and looked at Leah, “Let’s get you back in bed.”

Leah shook her head, wrapping her arms around Mila’s legs. “It’s dark.”

Mila pushed the little girl’s blond hair back from her forehead and placed her on the bed, “Okay, how about you just hang out in here then while I see what Juli needs alright?”

Leah nodded as she got comfortable underneath the blankets.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mila asked, stopping in the doorway of the en suite to check on Remy.

“Yeah,” he nodded “See what’s up with Jules. I’ll be fine.”

Mila made her way down the hall where she found Julian still on the bathroom floor.

“Hey, you’re feeling sick again?” She said, knocking lightly on the doorframe. “What’s going on?” She asked, when she noticed the tears silently streaming down his face.

That’s when the dam broke. Mila dropped to the floor next to him, trying to get a clearer look at his face, “Hey, Jules. What’s wrong?” 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you up. This is really stupid.” His words came out jumbled and watery. 

“Julian, whatever you need just let me know. If you feel this bad I can try to get you in with your doctor.”

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, “No, I’m just so tired. I keep throwing up and I feel like a little kid and it’s so frustrating because I just want my mom.” he took a shuddering breath, “I’m eighteen and I’m crying because I don’t feel good and I want my mom, but I do Mila.” He let out a sob and wiped his face with the heel of his hand, “I just want my mom.”

Mila was sure that if anyone else had been in the room they would have heard her heart break. This was one of the last things she was expecting, nothing prepared her to deal with a sick teenager who only wanted his mom. 

“I- Jules, I’m so sorry. But unfortunately I’m what you got.” She said quietly. “I’m not your mom, and I know that I never will but I can try my best to fill that void.”

Julian nodded and wiped away his tears. “Can I hug you?” He asked timidly. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Remy’s puking his brains out and I share a bed with him, I already have it.” She joked halfheartedly. “Of course, you seem like you could use a hug right now.”

And she was right, Julian basically collapsed into her, burying his face in his shoulder and sniffling. He was still crying and Mila could feel his tears soaking through her shirt, but she could feel his breathing become less erratic as he calmed down. Mila wrapped her arms around him, rubbing her hand up and down his back. He really needed this. It was the closest thing to a hug from his mom that he had gotten in what felt like forever, and he hated to admit that he missed this kind of affection.

After she got Julian sorted out and back in bed, she headed back to the room where both Remy and Leah were passed out. Leah snuggled up against Remy as he had her wrapped in his arms. Mila smirked at the small puddle of drool forming on his shirt where Leah’s head was. She walked around the bed and slid under the covers where she finally got to relax and get some much needed sleep.

#My ocs #my writing #emeto #sickfic #vomiting #illness #Julian #Remy #emeto tw

[vantaestummy]

it’s been a really awful summer friend-wise for me but your work always cheers me up, perhaps when you have the time or if you don’t mind the prompt, could you write a little bit of minjoon for me? jiminnie comes home from a rough day, overworked himself to the point of illness & tears. joon does his best to comfort him, doing whatever he may need. emeto only , please. you rock!!

the A/N: same bby. i had a friend straight up kiss my crush that i’ve had for like three years. it’s all good. i hope this helps.

TW///emeto & descriptions of panic and stress

————————————

Jimin’s part time job consists of teaching ballet to little kids at a dance academy, one that is not too far from him and Namjoon’s apartment.

Jimin loves his job with all his heart. He loves working with children and helping them to enhance their dance skills. He only wishes that he himself, had gotten such an early start. Maybe then, his technique would be impeccable.

Let Namjoon tell it, his dancing is impeccable. Jimin couldn’t have asked for a more supportive boyfriend. Namjoon always makes sure to film his performances, cheer for him the loudes in the crowdt, and is the first at the stage door with Jimin’s favorite chocolates and a bouquet of flowers just to drive the point home. Jimin couldn’t be more lucky, but today, the dancer doesn’t think that the comfort of his boyfriend is enough to get him through.

One of the parents had complained that their daughter wasn’t getting enough out of the class. Apparently, Jimin’s teaching style was not worth the money she was paying, and asked for his immediate removal, rather than questioning the motives of her child. In reality, the girl is a brat, always picking on the other students and never taking the exercises seriously. Jimin always made sure to create a positive and friendly environment for his students, but this girl takes advantage of Jimin’s kindness. He doesn’t blame her, really. She is clearly spoiled and acting out because dancing is not what she wants to do. And that’s okay. It is her mother who is forcing her into an activity that she hates, and on top of that, giving her everything that she wants regardless of whether or not she is deserving. 

When Jimin gets called into the boss’s office, he knows that this is the end. He knows that he is going to be let go. The mere thought of it brings tears to his eyes. Thankfully, his boss Hoseok is one of the kindnest, most understanding people in the world. 

Unfortunately, his hands might be tied. 

“Jimin-ah, you’re amazing, you are, and even though I believe you, we have to figure something out. I’m not firing you, but if she goes above my head and contacts my boss, I don’t think there will be much that I can do. Just, don’t stress, okay? We’ll figure this out.” 

And as kind as Hoseok was, Jimin didn’t heed his advice. 

On the bus ride home, Jimin is a puddle of tears, blood pulsing through his veins, making him ridiculously dizzy and worst of all, nauseous. Jimin wasn’t necessarily prone to motion sickness, but with the swaying of the bus, as well as all of his pent up anxiety from the fear of losing his job, he couldn’t take it. 

As soon as the bus stops, Jimin is off and running, his feet pounding against the pavement as runs to where his boyfriend is. Tears pour down his red cheeks, making it nearly impossible to see from how blurry they are. 

Jimin snatches his keys from his back pocket, his hands trembling from all the nerves. He can see the key that will open his front door, but his hands shake so much that picking it from the ring is incredibly difficult. 

The door opens, Namjoon having heard all of the ruckus Jimin had caused. 

“Baby? Jimin-ah what’s wrong? Baby.” Namjoon cups at Jimin’s cheek, the younger of the two still trying to find the right key. 

“J-Joonie, Joonie-hyung―” Jimin weeps, falling into Namjoon’s front side as he collapses. Namjoon pulls him inside, hoisting the fragile dancer into his arms as he kicks the door closed. “Baby, baby talk to me, please, what’s wrong?” 

Jimin sobs, his chest heaving as he tries to regain control of his breathing. 

“I-I c-can’t breathe hyungie―” 

“Look at me, baby it’s okay, I’m right here. You’re okay.” 

As Jimin’s sobs become more forceful, they start to morph into something more grotesque, his stomach leaping into his throat. 

Jimin starts to gag.

“’M, ‘m gonna throw up.” He weeps. 

Namjoon nods, trying desperately to calm his raging heart. 

“Okay, okay baby. Let’s go to the bathroom, okay?” 

Jimin’s voice cracks as he inhales with a wheeze. “O-Okay.” 

Namjoon carries a frail Jimin down the hall and into the bathroom, the younger man choking and sputtering beneath the palm of his hand. He tries to swallow down the bile in his throat, but it only makes his stomach feel sicker. 

Jimin nearly breaks his knee bones as he collapses in front of the toilet, gagging fruitlessly over the toilet, spit flying from his lips. He coughs, a small splash of the salad that he ate for lunch, trickling into the toilet. 

Namjoon whimpers, the hurt that he feels for his boyfriend, more than evident. 

“My Jimin, my poor Jimin-ah, what made you sick like this baby?” 

Jimin croaks, choking out a surprising torrent of vomit. His heaves echo within the porcelain, grated and broken. His retches are crackled and frayed with anguish, so loud that Namjoon can hear the damage that Jimin is causing to his throat. He heaves, his head almost hitting the toilet lid as his body jolts forward from the force of his sound. Jimin squeaks as another forceful round of vomit pours from his lips. He raises a shaking hand to flush but the effort takes far too much energy than his body is willing to give. 

“Baby, you have to calm down. You’ll only make yourself feel worse. I need you to take deep breaths with me. I’ll do it with you, here, feel.” Namjoon takes Jimin’s weak hand into his own, placing it against his chest as he exaggerates every breath. “Just like this, breath with me. In, and out, in, and out, yes, Jimin-ah, like that.” 

Jimin shivers, his breaths stuttered as he tries to follow the melody of Namjoon’s voice. Jimin has always loved Namjoon’s voice, so deep and tranquil. 

Jimin breathes out on a deep exhale, his voice still withered, raspy, from the vomiting. Namjoon pets at his hair. “Jimin, do you think you can stand? Let me take care of you.” 

Jimin mewls, shriveling up against the toilet. “I ‘on’t know... My stomach... it hurts...” 

“Do you still feel nauseous?” 

Jimin ponders the question for a moment. He shakes his head. 

“No, just, achey.” 

“Well let’s get you up. You need to rest. You’ve been working too hard.” 

Jimin winces as Namjoon cradles him, pulling him to his feet and flushing the toilet with his foot. 

Jimin giggles bitterly, tears sprinkling to life in his eyes. “Look at me, I’m so―”

“Don’t you dare. This is your body’s way of telling you that you need a break. Not only have you been going to school, but working with the dance team as well as teaching the kids? Baby, you pulling yourself too thin.” 

Did Jimin mention that Namjoon is a nurse in training? It’s a plus, but sometimes, his boyfriend’s knowledge can work against him. 

“I like working Joon-ah. I like to feel like I’m doing something.” Jimin mumbles with a pout. He is curled up on the couch, his hands tucked into tiny fists against his chest. Namjoon gets the tea going before draping a cover over Jimin’s small body. 

“You’re always doing something Jimin. When was the last time you had anything to eat besides take-home salads and protein shakes? When was the last time you slept more than five hours? You never come to bed with me anymore. I sometimes get up to check on you and you’ll still be practicing till three in the morning. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to get up at six in the morning to get ready to teach a class, not to mention that you have your own classes right after that. You’re tearing yourself apart and I’m not going to stand for this any longer. Tomorrow, you’re taking the day off.” 

Jimin gasps, a giggle spilling from his lips. He can’t really believe Namjoon’s audacity, but, it is also incredibly endearing. 

“Joon-ah, I can’t just―” 

“You are. You’re taking the day off tomorrow and so will I. I’m going to cook for you, erh, I’ll order in, and we can watch movies like we used to and... spend time together. I know this sounds selfish but, as much as I want you to rest for you, I want you to rest for me. I love you Jimin.” 

The tiny dancer laughs uncontrollably, his voice still tinged with pain from being sick, but he can’t help it. 

His boyfriend is so good to him. 

“I love you more, Joonie.” 

“Impossible. I love you most.” 

Jimin titters, pulling Namjoon in for a hug. “Come, rest with me.” 

Namjoon kisses his forehead. “After I finish your tea. When you feel better, do you think you’ll be able to tell me what made you feel so bad? You really scared me baby.” 

Jimin sighs, grazing Namjoon’s cheek with his thumb. 

“A mom at the studio. She says her kid isn’t learning anything in the class when really, her daughter is the one causing so much trouble. I don’t know what else to do. Hoseok-hyung said that he wouldn’t fire me but, if this mom complains again, it might be out of his hands.”

Namjoon frowns. “Have you had a talk with this mom? Has Hoseok?” 

Jimin shakes his head. “No but, she’s one of the studio’s best clients. Her whole family has trained there. This girl though... she doesn’t want to dance. I can tell Namjoon. She hates it there and so, she acts out. Now her mom is blaming me.” 

Namjoon nods his head. This is a tricky situation, and with Jimin’s job on the line, it’s no wonder that he suffered such a massive panic attack. 

“Why don’t we have a talk with this mom, and if push comes to shove, we’ll find you someplace else to work. You need to give yourself more credit. You are one of the most talented dancers I know Jimin-ah. Any studio would be honored to have you as a teacher.” 

Jimin groans, leaning against the pillows of the couch. “What did I do to deserve you...”

Namjoon smiles. “I should be asking you the same thing.” 

Suddenly, the smoke alarm goes off. 

“Shit.” Namjoon jumps to his feet to turn off the tea kettle. Jimin laughs, the joyous sound bringing a dimpled smile to his face. 

“This is why we are ordering in tomorrow.” He calls out, melting into the couch cushions as his body succumbs to sleep. 

Namjoon is right, he needs a break. 

#sick #sick!jimin #sickfic #caretaker!namjoon #my fic #sick!minjoon #bts sickfic #emeto #tw vomiting #tw anxiety #tw vomit

[a-prrrrrincess-and-her-chat]

Since you're taking writing prompts, how about Adrien remembering some or all of the events of Chat Blanc but thinking they're a bad dream? (Or a good dream, if he only remembers dating Marinette and/or Marinette being Ladybug.)

@yellowmagicalgirl Thank you so much for requesting this! I’ve been thinking about this concept for a while and I had such a fun time writing it!

Feline So Sad

Adrien awoke in a cold-sweat, gasping for air.  

The moon was broken.

He looked around frantically; he was in his bedroom.  

But the moon was broken?  

Throwing his blankets off his legs, Adrien ran to his twelve-foot windows.  Beyond the gates, Paris milled about in a perfect spring day.  The sun shown and faces were smiling as his Kwami  floated to his shoulder.

“AHHHHwwwww,” Plagg yawned just as obnoxiously as any other morning. “Bad dream?”

At that, the blonde finally felt the deep frown on his face and consciously forced his muscles to relax. He could feel his heartbeat begin to slow in his chest as the realization dawned on him that it had, in fact, been a bad dream. “I guess,” he sighed, giving the bright sun one more confirming glance before he turned away from his windows.

“Must’ve been vivid; you were tossing and turning all night,” Plagg snarked as he began rifling through his cheese cupboard.

“Sorry, Plagg,” Adrien said solemnly, as he picked up a change of clothes, headed for his bathroom. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something in his dream had been very wrong but, as he tried to remember, it slipped through his grasp like smoke. “Must not have been important,” he commented, still distracted, “I can’t really remember it.”

He ignored the grumble from the mountain of cheese wheels as he slipped through his bathroom door.  As he pulled off his night clothes he clung to the only thing he could remember from his dream; the destroyed moon.  What could have caused such a thing, and why did it make him feel so sick to his stomach?

Sighing again, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He started at his stomach and let his eyes wander upwards until they met in the glass. They looked tired, detached, and a little crazed; like the fear he had felt upon waking was lying in wait to fully bloom again.  As he continued to stare into his own eyes, the sick feeling in his stomach intensified and suddenly he was no longer staring at green human eyes, but light-blue cat eyes.

He gasped again, adrenaline spiking, and blinked frantically.  Green. His eyes were green, just like his mom’s.  He sucked in air like his heart had been restarted and gripped the edge of the countertop. It felt like his heart had been restarted.  Never wanting to see that icy blue gaze again, Adrien pushed off the marble a little too forcefully and stalked to his shower, trying to swallow the bile that was rising in his throat.

Adrien took a steadying breath as he stepped in, hoping the immediate rush of cool water would rid him of whatever lingered from this nightmare. He stopped, hand around the cool metal of the tap, muscles flexed to turn it, wondering if the broken moon or the terrifying eyes were anything more than a nightmare.  No alarm was raised in his memory, and yet his stomach and chest screamed at him to run.

He tried to shake off the terror as he finally turned the spout, cold water pouring from the shower head. As soon as the water touched his face he was rocked with another wave; a drowned Paris flashed before his eyes, cold water spread out beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, clutching at his chest as his vision began to tunnel. He sucked in the wet air, begging it to quell the fear within him. Adrien desperately tried to pull the vision back but, like the others, it was gone. But the acid in his stomach and pounding heart rate remained.

The water had begun to warm after its initial shock, but the warmth only felt suffocating now. Adrien crawled, gasping, from his shower.  He pulled himself weakly to the toilet and without further ado, emptied the contents of his stomach.  As he heaved, he was vaguely aware that Plagg had appeared to worry over him with his gripes of how gross humans could be, but Adrien was too distracted to care.

Finally, his stomach stopped raging and he was able to flush the toilet. Adrien’s heavily lidded eyes found his Kwami as the little God tried to pat his moist forehead dry. A knock at the door interrupted the weak smile Adrien was trying to offer Plagg, and they both went rigid. “Your breakfast will be served in ten minutes, Adrien,” Nathalie advised through the door.

“Thank you, Nathalie,” Adrien called back, surprised at how normal his voice sounded.  Over the rush of the shower, he couldn’t be sure if his father’s assistant had left, but there wasn’t a reason she would stick around.

“You’re still going to school?!” Plagg whispered in disbelief.

“I’m having a panic attack because of a dream. That’s no reason to stay home and waste my day cooped up in this house.” And with that Adrien pushed himself up and braved the warm spray, letting it ease the tension.

__ __ __ __ __ __ __

The shower had done him some good and so had the rest of his morning that proceeded as any other.  His father hadn’t joined him for breakfast and Adrien hadn’t even been upset because that just meant that his dream had been just that, a dream, and there wasn’t a reason for the panic.

His completely normal morning continued as he got in the silver company car and was driven on the usual route to Collège Françoise Dupont.  The completely normal morning continued as Chloe, Nino, Alya, and the rest of the class greeted him the same way they always had, and he sat in the same seat in Mlle Bustier’s class.  Adrien could finally feel the last remnants of fear escaping his body as the door burst open to reveal a wild Marinette Dupain-Cheng.  The bell rang a second later and the relief on her face made Adrien’s heart warm.  She blew her bangs off her forehead and made her way to her seat behind him.

“Good morning, Marinette,” Adrien offered as Mlle Bustier closed the door and walked to her desk.

Marinette’s wide blue eyes met his and a smile began turning her lips. “Good morning, Adrien,” she whispered, sliding into her seat.  As suddenly as the fear had come on before, an overwhelming affection bloomed in Adrien’s chest as he heard his name fall from her lips.  He gasped, finding he couldn’t look away from her.

“Dude,” Nino chastised, nudging him with his elbow.

“Agreste, Adrien?” Mlle Bustier seemed to be repeating.

Adrien didn’t have to look to know all eyes were on him as he awkwardly burst, “Present!”

There were snickers throughout the room, reminiscent of his first day, but his embarrassment was short-lived.  “Dupain-Cheng, Marinette,” Mlle Bustier called out.

“Present,” the tinkling voice called from behind him and Adrien’s shoulders tensed. Why was his heart swelling? Why was he feeling like he…loved Marinette? He wanted to turn around and see her smile. He wanted to hold her hand and hug her and kiss her! Why? Not that there was anything wrong with doing any of that with Marinette, she was an amazing girl, but he’d only ever felt this strongly about Ladybug.

At the thought of her, all others came to a halt.  He needed to talk to Ladybug. The nightmare, the continued feelings that he couldn’t control, the thought stirring in the back of his mind that there was something more to all of this; all of it could be answered by Ladybug. He didn’t know how he knew it, but nothing had ever felt like more of a truth.

__ __ __ __ __ __ __

After an agonizing day, Chat Noir made his way across the familiar Paris rooftops. He could barely think about Françoise Dupont without feeling the fear, anguish, love, and embarrassment war in his chest.  He’d been in and out of the bathroom all day begging his stomach to calm as the panic crawled up his throat.  Apparently, seeing his father’s face in an article triggered that reaction now.  Adrien couldn’t daydream about being Chat Noir without the thought of his cataclysm creating a crushing wave of sadness. He’d excused himself from yet another lesson, only able to hold in his sobs before closing the empty locker room door.

His worst blunder had come when Marinette had been laughing on the benches in the park with her girl friends during lunch. He’d been walking by with Nino, headed back to the school, when Adrien had stopped dead in his tracks.  The bluenette hadn’t noticed him, but her laugh had caught his attention, and her smile had secured it; the way it took over her whole face, making her cheeks go a little pink and her teeth sparkled in the sun.

Adrien had only realized he was moving when he’d heard Nino squawk behind him, but the overwhelming urge to talk to the girl had kept him moving. Adrien still didn’t have the foggiest idea what he’d planned to say to her, but it was something about love and that’s the conclusion Adrien had come to when he’d stopped in front of Marinette.  Her name had fallen from his lips but, to Adrien, it’d been as if someone at the other end of the park had said it. She must have heard it just fine, because she had looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. Her friends had shoved her towards him and Adrien remembered how his heart swelled when she stumbled towards him, her hands landing on his chest.  She’d righted herself, and gave him an awkward smile as her hands fisted at her sides.

And in that moment the affection had given way to embarrassment. Whatever spell he’d been under had broken and an image of Ladybug flashed in his mind, spinning her yoyo, looking at him like he was the enemy.  What had he been thinking? “You look nice today,” was all he’d managed to supply as he shuffled away with a confused Nino.

The memories fueled Chat Noir forward as he leaped towards one of the higher office buildings in Paris.  The walls were windows top-to-bottom and it had a white helipad at the top with a landing zone that matched the sky. He landed at the top breathing heavily. Ladybug would already be bounding across the rooftops to join him if she were going to be on time to meet him. Before taking off for their usual rooftop, Chat gazed out over the skyline to see if he might be able to spot the red suit.

The sight that met him was not the Paris he had just sped across. Instead, it was filled with blue from ground to sky, the water meeting the horizon as far as his eyes could see.  Only the tops of Paris’ tallest buildings dotted the sea in front of him.  Chat’s heart seized painfully and he dropped to his knees once again, his tears already dotted the roof’s edge. As he tried desperately to breathe normally, he dared to look back over the skyline, and the Paris he had come to know stretched before him once again, as if the flicker of hell had been his imagination. But after everything he’d seen and felt today, he knew better. Plagg hadn’t been much help, simply worrying over him, but that was why Chat Noir was on his way to meet Ladybug.

She knew. Of that he was sure. Taking a steadying breath, he pushed his legs out and sat with his feet dangling over the edge. He didn’t trust his body to take him any further at the moment. Perhaps his lady would be her usual late self today. With a final steadying breath, he tried to think of something that might get his heart rate under control…“Little kitty on a roof all alone without his lady,” he began to sing.

“Chat Noir?” Ladybug’s voice called from behind him. He turned to see her standing in the middle of the helipad but her eyebrows were taught and her limbs were slightly bent like she was ready to move at any second.

“Milady?” He turned, still slightly dizzy, pulling himself to his knees before standing.

Ladybug eyed him warily before stepping forward. If they hadn’t been fighting together everyday for almost a year, he wouldn’t have noticed that she was tense. But they had. “Y-you wanted to meet?” she started. “I noticed you up here on my way…are you okay?”

He dropped down to the helipad to meet her, approaching her slowly. When he stood before her, Ladybug’s eyes searched his. He idly wondered if she was holding her breath before a boiling urge ripped through him and his hands lifted on their own accord. “Give me your-” his whispered growl began, before it was sharply cut off by Ladybug’s forceful palm to his chest that sent him stumbling backwards.

He gained his footing and looked up to see Ladybug in full battle-stance, yoyo already spinning. “What’s wrong with you, Chat Noir?” she demanded.

And with that, Adrien’s reality broke. He sobbed violently, hugging his arms around his chest. His knees met the helipad and he folded over himself. “I don’t know,” he finally answered in a broken yell, feeling the blood vessels in his face surge as the tears burst forth in torrents.

An overwhelming grief that he couldn’t quite explain consumed him on that rooftop. He hadn’t felt this much sadness at one time since his mother disappeared.  Finally, a hand briefly touched his back and he wasn’t sure if it had actually happened until he heard his Lady ask, “Are you akumatized?”

Chat Noir stopped shaking at that question and the fog of his grief started to lift just slightly.  He couldn’t be, could he? He’d looked normal all day, hadn’t heard Hawkmoth’s influence, hadn’t had the urge to take any Miraculous until just now… “Could I be akumatized without knowing it?” In a way, he was hoping that this was the answer; she would save him and these feelings would stop, he wouldn’t even remember.  But logic and intuition told him that this wasn’t the answer to his newest problem.

“Not that I know of. Not wreaking havoc or giving you a new superpower doesn’t fit Hawkmoth’s style. What happened, Kitty?” Ladybug tried again, this time fully putting her hand on his back.  He could still hear her yoyo going so he raised his waterlogged face to meet her eye. She noticed where he’d been looking and then glanced over their heads. “Akumas,” was all she said and he knew.

A big breath through his mouth and a sniffle later, and he was wiping his face. Resolving that that would be his last slip up of the day, Chat Noir stood tall, looking over their heads, before he turned to his Lady.  “Have I ever been akumatized?” he asked her without flinching.

She did, however, and her yoyo-hand faltered making it swing wildly before landing a few feet away with a CLINK. “What?” she breathed, looking like a deer caught in headlights, eyelashes fluttering slightly.

Chat Noir’s heart stuttered but he squared his chest and raised his chin a fraction. “Have I ever been akumatized?” he repeated.

Ladybug finally broke eye contact to retract her yoyo.  He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she met his gaze again. “No, you would remember after I’d save you,” she asserted, also raising her chin slightly before a light smirk graced her lips. “And I’d never let you live it down,” she tried.

But Chat Noir could see the way the playful words didn’t match her eyes; the crease in her brows remained. She had answered him, but the rolling acid in his stomach was back and it was screaming at him to run. When his tight face didn’t change, and he didn’t offer an explanation, her eyes searched his. “Why?” she finally asked.

Chat’s eyes fell as he sighed. Isn’t that what he wanted to know? “I had a dream,” he began. Might as well start at the beginning. “A nightmare, actually. Every time I think about it, it gets further and further away, but all day I’ve been having flashes of it. It’s like the whole world was different, something terrible happened, and I keep feeling like it was real, like it’s coming for me.”  

He looked to see Ladybug’s face scrunched in worry, but wheels were turning in her head. “Flashes of what?”

Her hands were fisted at her sides and Adrien’s vision tunneled. Marinette.

“Y-you’re having flashes of…Multimouse?” Ladybug’s voice was a half octave higher than normal, drawing Chat’s eyes back towards her face. She looked even more concerned than before and he realized he must have said Marinette’s name out loud.

Chat Noir shook his head, trying to bring himself back to reality. If he and Ladybug didn’t figure this out soon, he might just lose his mind.  “No, er, maybe? I feel like she was important in the dream, but I don’t really know how; just that in the dream…I loved her.” As the words left his lips, so did all the air from his lungs. That was the first time he’d said it out loud and he couldn’t comprehend the joy and excitement and affection that surged through him in that moment. He wanted to run to the edge of the rooftop and yell to all of Paris that he loved Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

But then Ladybug gasped and the feelings started to dissipate like smoke, much like the rest of his dream. “What else?” Ladybug practically snapped, wrenching him fully from his thoughts of Marinette.

“Um, uh,” Chat began, feeling nervous. “Paris was destroyed. Flooded. And the moon was broken.”

Ladybug’s eyes went wild at his mention of the moon, she closed the distance between them and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Broken how?!” she asked loudly, her voice cracking.

The terror was back, gripping at his heart, clawing up his throat. “Like someone punched a hole in the middle and sliced it in half,” he suddenly remembered the image as if he was looking at it with his own two eyes.  But what he was actually looking at were her eyes as tears began to pool on her lashes and spill over as they opened impossibly wider.

“No,” was all she whispered, before stumbling away from him.

Thanks again! And let me know what you think, I’d love some feedback. https://archiveofourown.org/works/2451505

#miraculous ladybug fanfics #miraculous ladybug #miraculous concepts #mlb #ladybug #chat noir #chat blanc #marinete dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrien is distraught #marinette is concerned #im sorry

[secretobsessionstuff]

Yay! My school started yesterday, haha. So I’m kinda short on creative ideas right now, but I’ll try! Maybe Madix picks something up at work and has to go to the bathroom to throw up before his shift is even over. He texts Riley telling him what’s going on but he has to finish his shift because there’s an important patient or something. While Riley waits for Madix to get home, he sets up a nice spot on the couch for his boyfriend to rest and relax. Madix throws up more once he gets home. :)

Dude I had so much fun writing this! Thank you! 

The day was almost over, just two more hours and then he could crash. Just 120 more minutes of nausea, burping, and dizziness. Madix felt like he was hearing a patient list off their symptoms to him. Every ailment swirled in his head, but most notably in his stomach. He exhaled deeply through his nose and finished up the last stitching on some poor guy’s forehead. It was sloppy and the man’s breath smelt like week-old tuna, but it was over. It might as well have been karma for breathing in a patient’s face while he most certainly had picked up the bug taking down each member of the ER department one by one.

Madix removed his gloves, and quickly excused himself. His departure felt a bit hasty, especially since his patient was being so appreciative, and towards some expendable resident at that. But he had to leave. He had to get away from the crying children, and the ringing phones, and the general noise that wafted around the emergency room. Don’t get him wrong, Madix’s favourite rotation was trauma and emergency medicine, however he really wished he was further away from the noise today. 

Before a new arrival could come wheeling in on a stretcher, Madix made a beeline for the nearest restroom. Thank God it was a single one. He lifted the toilet seat as if to pee, and instead just leaned against the back wall with his head hanging above the bowl. His breath came in quick burst, as he fought back nausea. Nothing happened. He wanted to go home so badly before something did happen. By the way his belly gurgled and tossed around his lunch, he didn’t think he’d get so lucky.

For now, Madix splashed some water on his red cheeks and returned to work. The next half hour of his shift went by in a blur. He couldn’t have guessed how many arterial lines he inserted, or how many lacerations he stitched up, but he could tell you how many times his stomach rolled like an overturned car on the freeway. He could tell you that his temperature rose steadily throughout the day, as did his fear that he’d be seeing a reappearance of his lunch.

Shakily, Madix opened the curtain to greet the next patient. He looked down at his clipboard to familiarize himself with the case, but there was no need. The child’s darkened expression cracked slightly as she saw Madix. Her sunken cheeks perked up ever so slightly upon seeing a familiar face. Madix did not have the same reaction.

“Kiara, what are you doing back here?” Madix sighed, but added a bit of mockery in his tone to cheer the child up. He looked towards Kiara’s mother and kept his voice even. “This is what? The third time you’ve been here in the past two weeks?”

“She’s still throwing up after every meal,” the mother said with her arms crossed. “No one is taking this seriously, Madix.”

It was after the second trip to the ER that the family had started calling Madix by his first name. Even after two visits, the child’s symptoms persisted. Kiara was noticeably weaker this time around. Madix was sure that she had an ulcer, but his attending kept dismissing it as indigestion, or hysteria. Upon hearing that, Madix almost punched his superior. For God’s sake the kid was unable to keep anything down for ten days. This was not made-up or exaggerated. 

This time would be different. Madix ordered various tests, determined to get to the bottom of this. He’d done all these tests before and each time there wasn’t a significant fluctuation to warrant concern. Still, Kiara warranted concern.  

For a moment, Madix forgot about his own problems. He had a stupid stomach flu, while his patient had something much worse. He shouldn’t have been complaining, but it was hard to ignore the growing nausea. While he waited for the tests to come back, he had every intention of speaking more with Kiara and her mom, but his belly demanded immediate attention. For a second, Madix tried resisting the call, then he gagged, forcing him to cover his mouth with his hand and dash to the bathroom.

He threw open the door and crashed to the ground in front of the toilet. A sick belch gurgled up his throat, followed by a gush of vomit. It landed in the water below with a splash, making droplets fly back in his face. Madix breathed heavily. He wiped his damp face and prayed that it would be one and done.

It wasn’t. He heaved emptily, feeling the organ trying desperately to rid itself of its contents. Madix coughed harshly to get things going. Something in his throat was dislodged and a fresh wave of sick filled his mouth. Hopefully the doors were thick enough and the ER loud enough that no one heard his struggle. He burped up a few thick strands of saliva, and flushed away the mess.

His stomach was killing him, but he wanted to be the one calling the shots. He got to his feet, ignoring the way his insides were swirling, and immediately regretted it. His vision went dark and he lost his balance. He caught himself on the sink. God, he felt disgusting and so not ready to leave the comfort of a nearby toilet.

Madix took his phone out from his pocket. He wasn’t supposed to have it with him, but it was nice to look up some stuff when he ran into uncommon symptoms. This time, he was happy just to see Riley’s face on his lock screen. It was late in the evening; Riley would be home and definitely looking at his phone. Madix succumbed to the temptation and called his boyfriend.

Riley picked up on the first ring. “Madix?”

For a quick second, all Riley could hear was heavy breathing and sniffling. Then Madix’s raspy voice crackled in his ear. “I just threw up.”

“What? Are you okay?” The concern in Riley’s voice was clear, but there was a twinge of relief by the fact that he was hiding behind a phone. 

“I’m…” Madix was going to say fine, but couldn’t manage it convincingly, also he really didn’t want to try. “…I’m not doing so great, to be honest.”

“Oh baby, are you coming home?”

Madix squeezed his eyes shut and pretended that Riley was in the small space with him. “I can’t. There’s this little girl. I can’t leave her – I can’t.”

“Mads, you sound terrible. I want you home.”

“I want to be home, but –”

“I know,” Riley said quickly. “Deal with this, and when you get back, I’ll have everything set up for.”

“I don’t know if I can make it the rest of my shift without getting sick again.”

“You can. I know you can,” Riley tried to sound convincing but all he could hear was Madix groaning in pain. “You’re so good, Mads.”

Madix ran his hand through his hair and exhaled deeply. “Okay, I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

“Love you.”

Madix wasn’t sure if that phone call made him more determined to help Kiara, or just more anxious to be home with his boyfriend. Either way, he spat the vile taste of puke into the sink and left.

Reading the results of the tests was a dizzying affair. The numbers blended into one large inkblot in Madix’s vision, and the world around him seemed to slow down. The noises of the ER faded, which would have been nice If Madix wasn’t actively trying to remain upright.

One small bit of hope broke his nausea induced trance – the breath test came back showing signs of a peptic ulcer. This would almost certainly convince his attending to at least do an endoscopy and Madix knew exactly what it would show. Madix only wished it didn’t have to take this long to help Kiara and give her a real diagnosis.

With the good/bad news in hand, Madix returned to where Kiara was waiting. She was lying with her head in her mom’s lap, and didn’t even look up when Madix came in. It was only when he explained the true reason for her sickness, that both the mother and daughter breathed a sigh of relief. Madix did as well, and leaned against the bed for support. He reckoned he looked like shit as he delivered the news. His hands shook as he read the results out loud so that the mother could understand, and ran out of breath by time he finished explaining.

Kiara’s mother put her hand on Madix’s shoulder. “Thank you, Madix, for actually taking us seriously. I do hope your shift is over because you deserve a break.”

She had no idea how badly he needed that break. Madix wanted to stay longer and make sure that everything was sorted out with his attending and Kiara’s treatment, but his rotation was over, and he felt like passing out. With his fist pressed into his mouth, he left in a hurry.

The ride back was as one would expect. Madix struggled to keep his insides…inside. His stomach was back to rebelling against him and threatening to open the flood gates. He didn’t think he had much left to throw up, but his body didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

As soon as he opened the front door, Madix dropped his bags and happily collapsed into Riley’s waiting arms. His boyfriend was warm and smelt like soap. It was comforting and soft for a moment, then his stomach whined again. He shivered and broke away from his boyfriend.

Riley guided Madix to the couch where there was a pile of blankets, exactly two of favourite pillows, and a glass of water on the coffee table. There was also a bucket on the floor. “How are you feeling?”

“Nauseous.” Madix melted at the sight of the comfy bed Riley had set up. He wanted to fall into the couch, but he froze. With his mouth slightly agape, his tongue became slick with saliva. His hand shook as he covered his mouth. He questioned whether he could make it to the bathroom in time. 

Before he could make the decision to run to the toilet, Riley shoved the bucket under his chin and caught the sick that splattered in the basin. Madix’s whole body shook as he lurched forward. He took the bucket in his own hands and turned away from his boyfriend. With strangled noises, he resisted each successive retch, causing his chest to hitch.

Riley stayed behind him and rubbed his back. “Let yourself throw up, Madix. Don’t fight it.”

Madix didn’t need much convincing, mostly because his body took over. He relaxed the muscles in his abdomen, only for them to spasms immediately afterward. He doubled over and vomited up more stomach contents. Each gush of puke gurgled in his throat and landed in the bucket with a sickening splash. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled between heaves and mouthfuls of vomit. “I – I can’t help it.”

Riley lowered Madix to the ground, where he knelt, still with his head shoved in the bucket. “That’s okay, I’m fine. Let it happen.” 

In reality, Riley’s hands were shaking just as much as Madix’s were, but he ignored it. He ignored the feeling in his chest telling him to cover his ears and run. He thought that if he told himself he was fine, then he would be fine, and so far, it was working. He focused on rubbing Madix’s back in big circles.

Madix finally got a moment to catch his breath. He felt like he got a proper ab workout, and probably grip strengthening with how hard he was holding onto the bucket. He shut his eyes, still feeling like the room was spinning. “I need to lie down.”

“Are you done throwing up?”

“For now.”

So, Madix practically crawled to the couch. He wrapped himself in the blankets that Riley had made into a nest and closed his eyes. He lay with his head in Riley’s lap while hugging his aching belly. Before falling asleep, he mumbled just loud enough so that Riley would hear him. 

“That patient is going to be okay.”

“Good. You’re a good doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor yet.” Madix yawned and started to play with the sweaty collar of his shirt. “There’s vomit on my scrubs.” He pouted.

Riley chuckled, a sound that Madix felt privileged to hear so well. “And it’s not someone else’s this time.”

#emeto #emetophilia #sickfic #puke without plot #Madix #Riley #stomach flu #vomiting #puke #my ocs

[baepsaets]

sunny day pt. 4 ~ park jimin

pairing: hybrid!jimin x reader

rating: sfw

word count: 3.5k

summary: you’re a veterinary student specializing in hybrid care when you get a call in the middle of the night that a feral hybrid has broken into the clinic where you work.

a/n: this chapter was a struggle to write but i’m satisfied with the result. i plan on making five pts to this au with a nsfw epilogue, so this is the chapter right before the end. it may take me a hot minute to write pt 5 but i’m going to try to pump it out as quickly as i can, thank you for your understanding, patience, and support! sending love to everyone reading this!

part 01 02 03 04 05 epilogue

It was two weeks before Jung Hoseok was knocking on your door, and you considered yourself lucky—he was a shameless gossip. You were surprised it had taken him this long to show up.

Hoseok was a past favorite. He’d been a stray like Jimin, and you’d treated him before you were even a full-time employee. He was a playful golden retriever breed with a heart like a marshmallow. With him was his past owner, Yoongi—a human like you, he was a classmate of Namjoon’s who he’d contacted to help sponsor Hoseok’s citizenship. Yoongi temporarily adopted him, but the two became so close that they remained roommates afterward.

Hoseok was already bouncing when you answered the door, and Yoongi held up take-out like a peace offering. “I brought lunch.”

Before you could open your mouth, Hoseok pulled you to his chest and squeezed. You let out a muffled sound, but it was drowned out by Hoseok’s, “(Y/N), I’m so happy I haven’t seen you in so long where is he where is he where is he—?”

“She can’t answer if you don’t let her breath, Hope,” Yoongi noted dryly, and then Hoseok released you panting, only looking slightly apologetic.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just excited.”

You couldn’t help but return his grin. It had been a long time since you’d seen him, and you couldn’t wait to introduce him to Jimin. Since formally adopting him, life with Jimin was better than you could have possibly imagined.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. Owning a hybrid was expensive. You were lucky—Namjoon vaccinated Jimin for free and went out of his way to make sure Jimin had everything he needed, medically speaking. The rest was harder, because owning a hybrid was basically like having a roommate that didn’t pay rent. Your grocery list doubled. Your water bill doubled. You added Jimin to your phone plan and bought him anything he needed, from clothes to necessities.

But none of that mattered whenever it gave you a chance to watch Jimin blossom. His ankle was healing beautifully, and he fit into your life like a glove. You hadn’t realized how lonely you were until you had someone waiting for you at home. You hadn’t realized how little you went out until you had someone to go out with. Just having the opportunity for Jimin smile at you every day felt like an accomplishment, and you knew it’d be selfish to lock him in the house where the only person he saw and knew was you.

“(Y/N)?” Jimin yawned, padding out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He froze when he registered Hoseok’s scent and took a wary step back when he saw both him and Yoongi in the doorway.

“Jimin, this is Hoseok,” you introduced. “He’s a former patient of mine. This is his roommate, Yoongi.”

He nodded and smiled, shyly, “Hi.”

Hoseok sucked in a deep breath though his nose. “Oh, my God, he’s precious.”

He shot forward and gripped Jimin’s hand in his own, gesturing wildly with the other. It made you grin, seeing Hoseok like this—there was a time, in the beginning, where Hoseok was weighted down so heavily with his burden that he couldn’t even smile. You’d wanted Jimin to meet Hoseok because he was someone from a similar background who’d overcame the same obstacles in order to find happiness, something you hoped Jimin could do, too.

Jimin relaxed gradually, as Hoseok often had a quality about him that put people at ease. You watching Hoseok lead Jimin into the living room, still talking quickly.

“You’re not allowed to break him!” you called after them. “His ankle is still fractured!”

You and Yoongi trailed after them and sat down on the couch. “I actually owe you my life,” Yoongi said, setting the take-out down on the coffee table. He watched Jimin and Hoseok talk animatedly across the room. “He has too much fucking energy. Tire him out for me, won’t you?”

The four of you ate and spent the day watching movies. You studied on the couch half the time, ignoring Yoongi’s playful jabs at how you overworked yourself. He was hardly one to talk. It was nice seeing Jimin interact with more people—he was so friendly, so extroverted. It was a side of him you never got to see, because his previous survival depended on being unnoticeable.

It was a relief when Yoongi and Hoseok left, not because you didn’t like them, but because Yoongi was right; Hoseok had a lot of energy. After you collapsed on the couch, Jimin eyed you curiously before slowly sitting next to you.

He scooted closer. And then closer. Until, as you were lying on your side, he curled up on top of you and wrapped an arm around your waist, resting his chin over the curve of your hip. He was warm, and his tail wrapped around your calf as he hummed happily, especially when you began petting his hair.

“Hobi-hyung told me something interesting,” Jimin said, burying his face against the soft skin of your side. You almost flinched; you could feel the weight of his head underneath your breast and tried to ignore it, and his breath through your shirt sent tremors down your spine.

“Yeah? What was it?”

Jimin hesitated. “He’s a dance student. His school has a hybrid-friendly program.”

You stopped stroking his hair, careening your neck to stare at him. “Would you be interested? It’s only May. We could enroll you this fall.”

He exhaled and nosed at the hem of your shirt. “Do you still want me to apply for citizenship?”

You wanted him to do whatever made him comfortable. Not every hybrid wanted citizenship—Taehyung didn’t. Because he was on the police force, he was technically a ward of the state. The police station handled everything for him, while he got a free apartment, a job, healthcare, and more.

Too much work, Taehyung had told you once, when you’d asked him if he’d ever want to apply. I couldn’t ask for more.

“I want you to do whatever you want to do,” you told him. “If that’s apply for citizenship, then we’ll do that. If it’s to enroll in college, then we’ll do that too.”

“Which would be easiest for you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” you murmured, scratching at the skin below the nape of his neck. “You’re not a burden, Jimin. I want you to do something that makes you happy.”

He started purring, nuzzling harder against your skin. You realized he was scenting you, and a sudden warmth filled your stomach. It made you panic, but you quelled your growing discontent and continued stroking through Jimin’s hair, who was steadily growing slack above you. Your heart caught in your throat.

You noticed that this was the hardest part, after spending so much time with Jimin. As the weeks faded into months, and Jimin opened himself up to you, this was definitely the hardest part—not the clinginess, which you admittedly liked. Not the lack of privacy. Not the money, or the emotional stress, or the pressure to provide. Every little nuisance paled in comparison to the fact that you were half in love with Jimin in a not-so-innocent manner, and it was eating you from the inside out.

You wanted from him something he was in no way obligated to give you, and the last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want.

So sometimes you curled away from him while cuddling on the couch. Sometimes you looked away when he smiled or laughed, and ignored his lingering stares. You nursed him to health in more ways than one, opening your home and your heart, as much of it as you could, before you lost yourself and started falling victim to foolish desires. There was a document somewhere, both in your house and in Jin’s office at the shelter, that stated you owned Jimin. It was your responsibility to set boundaries because of it, but it was hard. Jimin was the best person you’d ever met in your life and resisting him was like resisting the warmth and sunshine of spring.

Sometime in the late summer, Jimin woke up sick.

You slept in the same bed, his arm and tail curled around your waist, nosing sleepily against the nape of your neck. You lingered in the comfortable space between sleep and wakefulness, until you felt Jimin stiffen behind you. He rolled away, and before you could register the sudden cold against your back, he threw up over the side of the bed.

You scrambled into action. Taking his hand and leading him to the bathroom, Jimin kept throwing up into the toilet until there was nothing left to throw up, all while you stroked soothingly across his back. His face was red with exertion and embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” you asked. He nodded but closed his eyes, sitting on the edge of your bathtub and rubbing his forehead. You left to grab him a glass of water.

When he emerged from the bathroom he was pale, not completely steady on his feet. He held up his hand to stop you before you could rush to help him and stood frozen in the hallway.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked, thoroughly worried. He shook his head again, brushing his sweat-slicked hair away from his forehead.

“I’m sure,” he replied. He took a step forward and tripped over his own feet, stumbling into the wall. You reached out to help him, but then his eyes rolled back in his head, and Jimin collapsed on the floor.

   It took you one minute to get Jimin on the couch and Namjoon on the phone. It took you fives minutes to get Jimin out of your apartment and into the car, and within twenty minutes Namjoon and Jungkook were meeting you outside the clinic and getting Jimin into the emergency room. By the time that happened he was fading in and out of consciousness, eyes glazed over and dizzy. He wasn’t alert but was responsive, barely.

Namjoon ran every scan he could while interrogating you. He asked what Jimin had been eating, how he’d been feeling, if he’d been acting out of the ordinary. Nothing had seemed out of place, but you still felt guilty for not catching any of his strange behavior beforehand. Namjoon left you alone while the scans were processing, allowing you a moment of privacy.

You sat motionless at Jimin’s bedside, holding his clammy hand in your own. Jungkook peaked in to check on you often while Namjoon waited for Jimin’s test results. After one visit he lingered, braced in the doorway while he observed you.

“You two are close,” he noted.

You nodded. “Yeah, we are.”

He mirrored the gesture, glancing around the room furtively. “Are you in love with him?”

You snatched your hand away from Jimin, choking on your own spit. You coughed and sputtered while Jungkook watched in amusement, making no move to help you. After pounding on your chest for a minute you collected yourself enough to glare.

“I—I, uh,” you tried to say, still choking a bit. You held yourself rigid before collapsing into your chair in defeat. “I care about him, so much. Too much.”

Jungkook nodded again, empathetically. “Does he know?”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head miserably.

“Are you going to tell him?”

Your gaze snagged on Jimin, observing how fragile he looked. The hospital bed swallowed him. “I don’t know.”

Another nod. It felt like half of the conversation consisted on Jungkook nodding. You appreciated the gesture, no matter how small it was, because in all the time you’d known him, Jungkook had never initiated an emotional conversation before. “You should, you know.”

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, voice soft. “I’m afraid of taking advantage of him. It’s so hard to gauge—,”

“He has a right to know,” Jungkook interrupted, gentle but firm, and obviously tired of listening to your excuses. You opened your mouth to reply before he glanced down the hall and interrupted you again. “Namjoon’s coming.”

Jungkook left and Namjoon swept into the room. “Can I speak to you in my office?”

Namjoon’s office looked much better since it’d been cleaned. He’d put a very industrial, very intimidating lock on the backdoor that made it almost impossible to use from the outside. Once the two of you were settled, Namjoon took out Jimin’s scan.

“His entire system is out of whack,” he said. “It’s almost like I’m not even looking at a hybrid scan. And to add insult to injury, his body is in pre-heat. Have you talked to him about the regularity of his cycle?”

Your face flushed red, but you pretended he couldn’t notice. “Not yet.”

“Well, he’s about to start it,” replied Namjoon, until he stopped. Paused. His eyes narrowed over something on the scan. “There’s something wrong here, but I can’t tell what. It’s just—different.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “I think I might call Jin to see if he’s seen anything like this before.”

Namjoon turned to leave the room, but not before shooting you a warning look. “Don’t go see Jimin. Jungkook told me he’s conscious.” You sat up straight in your chair, but Namjoon pointed his clipboard at you. “I’m serious, (Y/N). If he’s really about to go into heat, I don’t want you to accidently set him off.” 

As much as it killed you, you agreed with him. You sat alone in tortured silence until Namjoon returned, looking mildly surprised. “Jin’s on his way here. He said he wanted to talk to us in person.”

You raised your eyebrows but said nothing. Jin’s shelter was on the other side of the city and wasn’t as well-staffed as the clinic, meaning it was often a chore for him to leave. Somehow it seemed like he got there in half his usual time, and Namjoon alerted you when he smelled Jin walking toward the door, having been directed to the back by the secretary.

Jin was handsome enough that it made you nervous whenever you made eye-contact, and you were immensely grateful that he was a human and couldn’t hear your elevated heartbeat. He slinked into the room quietly, like he was trying to be sly.

Namjoon asked, flatly, “What are you doing?”

Jin startled and pressed a hand to his chest. “You scared me!”

“What are you doing?”

Jin looked sheepish. “I smell like the shelter. I didn’t know if Jimin was in here and didn’t want to make him nervous if he was.” You were touched by his thoughtfulness, but then he reached out his hand and gestured for the scan, suddenly all business. “When you described his symptoms over the phone I knew I had to get here as quickly as possible.”

Your pulse skyrocketed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Jin hummed and looked down. He wasn’t a medical doctor like Namjoon, but his experience with hybrid care was unparalleled. When he looked back up, his face was grim. “Have you heard of heat blocking?”

“Of course,” you said. Everyone had, it was the most controversial hybrid practice: should people be allowed to block a hybrid’s heat? The obvious answer was no, but even the most obvious answer could be distorted by prejudice and bigotry.

“Well, this is that,” Jin continued. “Except worse. There’s been an underground trend over the past decade—instead of temporarily stopping the heat cycle for a week or two, there’s a particular drug that will stamp out oxytocin production permanently, if left in the body long enough. It’ll stop the heat cycle completely. I think that’s what happened here.”

Namjoon looked horrified. Interrupting a heat cycle was bad enough, but ending it? Not only would that result in infertility and sterility, but the lasting hormonal effect it would have on the hybrid could ruin everything from endorphin production to serotonin.

“It’s not perfected though,” Jin said. “It’ll end the heat cycle, but the hybrid will get violently sick every cycle instead of aroused. Most people don’t think the trade-off is worth it, which is why the practice is dying out.” He shook his head and admitted, “I’ve only seen it once.”

“The fact that you’ve seen it at all is disgusting,” Namjoon growled.

“I think you’ve caught it early enough. There’s a drug you can administer that will counteract the effect, but it’ll take half a year for his heat cycle to normalize.”

“What’ll that mean for Jimin?” you asked. “Will he still get sick? Will he be sterile?”

Jin grimaced. “Sterility can only be determined after the heat cycle has re-started, but he should stop getting sick. They don’t usually faint, but then again, the drug was probably in Jimin’s body a lot longer than usual—he was a stray, so no one bothered to notice him. I’m just curious as to how he was exposed to the drug in the first place.”

You cursed quietly to yourself while Namjoon snarled. The atmosphere was tense and you said, “I need to step outside.”

“That’s fine, we’re leaving too. Namjoon, take me to the storage room. I’ll show you what you’ll need.” Jin scooted to the side and let you pass, but not before whispering in your ear, “Go check on him.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Sneaking into Jimin’s room was easy because Jungkook was tending to a patient down the hall. You closed the door silently behind you. When Jimin saw you, he gasped and said your name like a prayer, like relief. His face was sweaty, sunken, ashen—your heart ripped in half.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, voice hoarse. You crossed the room and laid a comforting hand over his, pulling a chair to the side of his bed.

“It’s okay, we know what’s wrong.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes,” you said, “but we’re not sure how it happened.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, face dropping again. He flipped his hand over until he could thread his fingers through yours, and your heartbeat picked up.

You paused, unsure how to continue. “Have you ever… been drugged by someone?” His gaze darkened. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I mean is—?”

“The reason I don’t like shelters,” Jimin interrupted, suddenly. You paused like a deer caught in traffic. “I know you’re curious, but you’ve never asked.”

You sat back to regard him. “It wasn’t my business.”

“I ran away from one, when I was seventeen. My original family dropped me off there because they were moving out of the country. The place they took me to—was terrible,” Jimin whispered. “I don’t think they knew. I don’t think anyone knew. They would beat us, starve us, treat us like shit and beat us again when we complained. It was the worst year of my life.”

You kept silent and waited for him to continue. “The used to inject me with something, and it hurt like hell. I’ll never forget it. While I lived there my heat cycle got out of order, and then it just stopped, until there was nothing but this sickness that lasted for days. I knew it wasn’t normal, but I just—,” he ran a tense hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to do? Even after I escaped, it kept happening. I was just a stray. What if I told somebody and they sent me back? What if they sent me somewhere worse?”

“They were heat blocking you,” you said. “With an illegal drug. It doesn’t fade from your system naturally, you have to flush it out.”

Jimin looked at you. “Is it too late?”

You gripped his hand. “No! God, of course not. Namjoon’s getting a counteractive drug right now.”

He collapsed in relief again. He looked much better than he did initially, due to your presence and the antibiotics Namjoon was giving him. You couldn’t wait until Namjoon could give him the counteractive drug and everything would go back to normal.

“Do you need anything?” you asked, shifting to sit at the edge of the bed.

Jimin paused for a moment sheepishly before glancing at your from below his eyelashes. “Could you…?” he started, gesturing toward the bed.

You stared. “What?”

“Can we cuddle?” Jimin stared at you hopefully, ears turned forward and fluffing out. That bastard knew you loved it when his ears fluffed out.

“No,” you replied flatly, “I’m not getting in the bed with you.”

“Please,” he asked, pouting, and you were gone. So far gone you couldn’t see the end of the tunnel anymore.

“There’s no way we’re both going to fit,” you grumbled, throwing your leg over the side of it anyway. You fit yourself precariously against Jimin’s side, making sure to avoid lying on his I.V. as he purred happily. He buried a hand in your hair, and you relaxed against him as you found your balance.

You ached for Jimin and what he’d been through. You were grateful that he was in your life. The two of you dozed together on the bed, and if Jungkook peaked in and caught the two of you, he decided not to say anything about it.

#bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #park jimin #jimin #bts jimin #bts writing #bts imagines #bts hybrid #bts hybrid au #hybrid au #bts writers #bts jimin x reader #jimin x reader #hybrid jimin x reader #bts fic #jimin fic #jimin writings #jimin au #jimin imagine #jimin writing #bangtanbookclub #kwriters #kwritersnet

[jsteneil]

familiar stranger (strange family)

leave all pretense of realism at the door pls here’s a thing

“It’s only two hours,” Neil says.

If looks could kill, he probably would collapse on the floor right here and then. Aaron only stops glaring daggers at him to bury his head back in the toilet seat.

“Why is he even here,” he asks after dry-heaving for a minute. “Go away.”

Neil rolls his eyes so far back that Andrew can see the whites. He pushes at Neil’s arm gently in direction of the door: Neil is Neil, and Andrew trusts him, but this isn’t the kind of situation he’s helpful in.

“I’m just saying,” Neil says, “you’ve played full Exy games through worse—”

“You’re starting to sound like Kevin,” Andrew tells him.

“Sometimes he’s right.”

Something hits the wall a good foot left of Neil’s head and Andrew turns back to his brother’s prostrate body.  

“Leave,” Aaron all but growls.

“I hope you throw up on yourself,” Neil snaps, but he steps outside.

Andrew waits until he can hear the suite door opening and closing, then he steps closer to his brother, reaching for the glass sitting on the sink.

“Drink,” he says, thrusting the glass at Aaron once he looks up.

“This is Matt’s.”

“I’ll wash it.”

Aaron spills a little down his shirt as he takes a long sip, closing his eyes against another bout of nausea. Andrew swipes his phone from the vanity, quickly enters the password he’s learned a long time ago, and pulls up the browser. He dislikes having to see the background picture of a certain smiling cheerleader, but his own flip phone doesn’t come with internet access. The phone buzzes; Andrew swipes away the text notification when he sees the name of the sender. Aaron even added a heart after her name; this is an unfortunate depth of sappiness Andrew hadn’t predicted.

“What are you doing?” Aaron protests when he hears the buzz. They both know Andrew has never taken his phone off silent. “Give me that.”

“Drink and shut up.”

The first site he checks is unhelpful; they advise deep breathing to fight off nausea and drinking water to prevent dehydration. He nudges Aaron’s thigh with his foot. “Small sips.”

As if to prove him right, Aaron vomits back up the long gulps of water he’s just drank.

“I’m calling Abby,” Andrew says. “You’re not going to that final.”

If possible, Aaron looks even more panicked. “No, I have to go.”

“With a bucket?”

“Powell hates athletes, he’s been waiting all year for an opportunity to fail me. He won’t accept a note from Abby.”

“Tragic,” Andrew says, composing the number.

Aaron’s hand on his wrist stops him. “Andrew.”

Andrew jerks away but locks the phone. He meets his brother’s gaze, crumpled on the floor next to the toilet, his face sweaty and ashen gray. It’s a familiar sight: it brings back up memories of long days spent outside the bathroom at Tilda’s, before Nicky got them away from the place. It seems they always go back to this: silent show of support and hard-won care.

“Andrew,” Aaron says again.

Their high school years were a blur of barely restrained hostility and ambiguous protection, but Andrew also remembers what having a twin felt like; the invisibility of looking exactly like another person, the usefulness of it all.

“No.”

The word is final. Like more and more often, Aaron doesn’t care. “You have to,” he insists.

“Have to nothing,” Andrew tells him. “This does not benefit me.”

“If I’m held back, you’ll graduate without me. I know Powell will do everything in his power to fail me even at the makeup test.”

He’s learned where to strike. Unbelievably, Andrew can feel his resolve crumbling under the what-ifs.

“I’m not a Biochem student.”

Andrew’s specialty is crime and violence. He doesn’t care about the intricacies of the human body he’s damaged time and time again, others’ or his own.

“My notes are on my desk,” Aaron insists. “You have four hours. It’ll just be a multiple-choice quiz, he told us.”

Andrew’s mind is already drafting a pro or con list. He can recognize the battle he’s lost.

“Call the cheerleader,” he tells Aaron, chucking his phone at him. “You need saltines and water, and I don’t have time to baby you.”

Aaron’s head whips up, the look on his face surprised. Andrew inwardly scoffs. He should know better by now only to try and fight battles he knows he can win.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Take a shower,” is Andrew’s sole response.

Andrew settles on the couch with Aaron’s thick pile of notes. He knows his brother’s handwriting almost as well as his own, as well as his note-taking habits. The information is always clearly presented, easy to read and grasp. Easier even to retain, for someone like Andrew.

She knocks on the door thirty minutes after he’s left Aaron in the bathroom. The water has cut off a few minutes ago, but apart from one sound of retching, Aaron has yet to make any noise or an indication that he’s leaving the room any time soon.

“I brought medicine and crackers,” she says when he opens the door.

She has the good sense not to smile at him.

“Don’t talk to me,” Andrew warns her. “He’s in the bathroom.”

She goes without another word, returns soon for plastic bags and a bottle of water, then Aaron slowly inches out of the bathroom into the bedroom, and she closes the door on them.

Andrew goes back to the stack of notes he’s learning. Aaron’s final is early in the afternoon; since Matt called them in when he left for one of his own, it leaves the entire morning for Andrew to try and learn three years’ worth of a subject he doesn’t take. Luckily, he has Aaron’s textbooks for any concept he might not know, and good memory of the course he had to take in freshman year for his gen eds.

Matt comes back sometime around ten, followed closely by Dan. Andrew checks the time. Neil should be going for his last final soon.

“How’s he?” Matt says when he sees Andrew.

Dan, always more suspicious of her players called Minyard, asks: “What are you doing?”

“Bedroom,” Andrew tells them, checking his phone.

A message from Neil, timestamped from five minutes ago: I’m going now. See you for lunch?

Aaron’s final starts at one, Andrew sends back. Neil will understand.

Don’t make him do too well.

“Oh, fuck,” Dan says, leaning over the couch to look at Aaron’s notes. “Andrew, you’re not serious.”

“Go away.”

“If you get caught—”

“It’s not your team anymore,” Andrew reminds her, because they lost against the Trojans in semis two weeks ago.

“What’s happening?”

“Andrew is going to fill in for Aaron. Andrew, I know you don’t care about legality, but you do know the consequences of you getting caught, right? You’ll both be kicked out, at the very least.”

“Funny,” Andrew says, “he didn’t seem to mind when he asked me earlier. Now go away.”

Dan swears violently, and trudges into the bedroom.

“Babe,” Matt calls, jogging behind her. “He’s really not well—”

The door closes on the rest of their conversation. Aaron’s state must have weakened Dan’s anger; by the time they come out of the bedroom, she’s calmed enough to leave the suite without talking to Andrew.

It’s not like Andrew minds.

When the clock hits half an hour before the start of the exam, Andrew’s had time to read all of Aaron’s notes twice. He feels confident, if only because it’s the only way he knows how to feel for accomplishments he’s set his mind to. He’ll walk in the room, take the test, get Aaron to pass, and come home to collapse on his bed with Neil, who’s been far too stressed lately. Neil’s not the best student, mostly because he never learned how to study, and the weight of Exy in regards of his academical results is too heavy for him to ignore.

Luckily for Andrew, he doesn’t care.

He goes into the bedroom to look for Aaron’s book bag, putting in the notes and too many pens. Aaron always prepares for the worst on exam days. He adds a bottle of water and swaps his phone for Aaron’s.

The whole time, Aaron lies in his bed and watches him without speaking.

“Clothes,” Andrew asks.

“Left side of the closet.”

They dress mostly alike, in dark colors and heavy fabrics, but Andrew leaves behind his armbands, too recognizable, and his boots. Aaron favors lighter shoes, black high tops with dirty white soles. He parts his hair the way Aaron does, lower on the side. He doesn’t have to hide his natural look anymore: without the manic grin, their expressions are similar.

“Good luck,” Aaron says finally, tucked into his blankets.

“You owe me.”

“I covered for your shit so many times—”

“No,” Andrew insists. “I have three finals tomorrow. You owe me.”

“Alright. Don’t let the other students to catch you—”

Andrew doesn’t answer. They’ve done it enough time in high school for Andrew to know how to pass for someone he’s not.

“Wait, Andrew—” Aaron’s tone of voice makes Andrew stop, one hand on the knob. Aaron takes a breath and says: “It’ll look weird if you don’t at least wait for Katelyn at the end.”

“I’m not touching her.”

“That’s okay, you can say you’re not feeling well. I’m going to be stuck here for a few days anyway. Just—don’t blow her off in front of everybody, alright?”

“I left my knives.”

Aaron’s glare is withering. “You know what I mean.”

Andrew killed for Aaron; he got into a car accident, and he accepted to join college and play Exy even when he was sure he was going to kill himself before their time was up. But this might be too much.

Andrew arrives almost at the last minute to avoid being roped in a conversation with Aaron’s classmates. The cheerleader, who left Fox Tower a little before noon to get something to eat and prepare for the exam, is watching anxiously from her seat in the middle of the room.

Their seats are assigned in alphabetical order. Andrew signs in as Aaron at the list near the door, and makes his way to her, since her last name places them next to each other. He supposes it might be a comfort for them usually; but she looks uneasy enough that Andrew hopes his presence makes her fail.

He’s barely taken out a pen when the exam starts. Aaron was right, at least: it is a multiple-choice quiz, but a long one. Despite his memory and Aaron’s notes, Andrew has to make up some answers when he finds himself unable to even understand the question.

He finishes early. He’s not the first one to leave the room, but the clock indicates an hour of time left. The cheerleader glances up when he gets up: she’s still only halfway through, which means Andrew leaves the building and her behind without a second thought about his cover. Waiting an hour is a waste of time he cannot be bothered with.

Aaron is sleeping soundly when Andrew comes back. He doesn’t stir even when Andrew changes back into his clothes, drops the bag and switches their phones again.

Andrew nudges him with his foot.

“Fuck off,” Aaron mutters in the pillow.

“I’m done.”

Aaron wakes up properly. “How did it go?”

“You’ll pass.”

“I need to have good grades for med school.”

“Should have thought of that before getting too sick to move,” Andrew says, unsympathetic.

“You’re a jerk.”

“I’ll ask you for something later.”

“How could I forget.” Aaron drops back down into his pillow. “Thanks,” he says more seriously.

Andrew slams the door when he leaves the room.

Neil is waiting in their suite, buried in a bean bag with an Exy match playing on the television. His eyes flit over to Andrew as soon as he opens the door, though, an indication that he’s not actually paying any attention to the screen.

“How did it go?”

Andrew shushes him, collapsing in the bean bag next to Neil’s. Neil drags his a little closer, lying down so their legs are touching from the thigh down.

“That bad, uh?” he says.

Andrew slaps a hand on his mouth to keep him quiet. He feels exhausted, drained more than he thought he would be after an hour of exam. It’s a good thing Neil can understand the command for what is: a prayer of quiet.

Neil kisses Andrew’s palm when he’s too slow to take it off his mouth, and Andrew opens one eye to glare at him. He has that look in his eyes that promises tenderness, even though they’re both still learning that language.

Andrew closes his eyes again, drawing strength from the smooth feeling of Neil’s shirt under his fingers. Neither of them turns to the television again for the rest of the evening, but it doesn’t matter.

#aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #aaron minyard #andrew minyard #andreil #kinda #my writing

[otomeonfleek]

Imagine: If Voltage guys were Life-Hack College Students

No one asks for these wonderful shit pieces, but they tickle my fancy and I deliver unlike Digiorno. It’s also in honor of how I start uni again tmrw. Sup junior yr. 

The following is based off of likely real events in being horrifically innovative as a poor college student.

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

Shusei Hayakawa from Our Two Bedroom Story

1. Unplug everything when leaving the house

After an exhausting week of midterms, you and Shusei were due for a well-deserved date. You eagerly wait in front of his apartment door and faintly hear him clambering on the other side. Within seconds, the door slams open and he sends a sheepish smile. “(Y/N)!! You’re here!” 

You suppress a laugh at how frazzled he seems with his light tresses sticking up in random directions and the stain on his favorite gray hoodie. Sometimes he could be a complete ditz and forget to get ready on time. “Hey! Are you ready to go?” 

He nods with a bright smile and says, “Just give me a minute! You can step inside for now.” Stepping to the side, he lets you enter and starts to flit around the room. 

Curious, you slip off your shoes and lean against the arm of his beat-up leather sofa. 

The blonde starts to chatter mindlessly as he wrestles his arm into every nook and cranny of the room, casually pulling out electrical cords. From the TV to the toaster and AC, he unplugs every single power outlet without batting a lash. Even dangling his long legs above the back of the couch and his voice is muffled, likely from the blood rushing to his head, he’s still speaking to you normally as he seeks out the final plug. 

He slides back and jumps to his feet, “Ah. We should get going now or we’ll be late for the lunch special.” Without missing a beat, he strides to the front door and slips on his worn converse. 

“...Shusei...Why’d you unplug everything??” You can’t help, but ask. 

Since arriving at his apartment, his then chipper mood dips a bit. “O-Oh that. It’s just a habit, I guess! My electric bill is never over $50 ahah.” Chuckling awkwardly, he opens the door with an embarrassed flush on his face. 

Noting his drop in mood, you try, “Whoaa!! That’s amazing. You’ll have to teach me more, Master Shusei!” You joke and loop your arm in his. 

A fond look takes over and he grins, “Oh, I don’t know if a pupil like you could keep up in the way of the frugal!!” 

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

Shintaro Ando from When Destiny Comes Knocking: 

2. Steal from the rich and give to the poor

One of the best ways to get out and not spend money was taking evening walks. Both you and Shintaro made it a habit to explore nice neighborhoods and judge the houses. It sounded silly, but when you’re scrounging for every penny and dreaming off the high life, it wasn’t too horrid of a date idea. The areas were safe, pleasant to look at, and you weren’t spending a dime. 

You often would end the evening in giggles as you pretended to envision the affairs that Margaret would take part in with her husband, Richard, away on business in Madrid. 

“Poor Richard. He never saw it coming-with the gardener, nonetheless.” You mumble with faux sympathy as you and your bespectacled beau pass the gated, three-storied mansion with a gaudy outdoor fountain and cobble walkway. 

Playing along, he chokes back a laugh and comments, “Well, Richard’s a moron! He should’ve known better. The peonies have been dying for weeks, so he should have known that gardener wasn’t doing no gardening!” His thick Kansai accent comes out to play as he exchanges jokes. 

Doubling over in guffaws at the storyline, you are soon joined by your partner in crime as you hold onto another for support. “You’re not wrong-the peonies are shit.” You concur and then stop to admire the next house. 

Momentarily mystified at his sudden silence and gaping mouth, you follow his line of vision and pause at the sight of an orange tree. This particular house does not have a gate and you can already hear him thinking. 

“No. We can’t.” You state, stiffly. 

Ignoring your reasoning, he spares you a blank look and asks, “Do you know how expensive produce is?” Without waiting for your answer, he steps forward with his suddenly beady eyes flitting around for any obvious security cameras. 

From your still place, you hiss at him, “I said no!! What if we get caught?” Now paranoid, you similarly start to glance around with worry. Despite being incredibly competent in school as a Dean’s List student, he’s a complete idiot in other life aspects and will likely go to jail for orange theft, you note. 

“This guy drives a Lexus!! I think he could stand to lose a few oranges. Besides I haven’t had real fruit in months!” He half-whispers to you as he starts to shamelessly pick off desired oranges from the tree and rest them in the pockets of his sweater. 

Before you can argue, the light from that same house flickers on and you both scramble away in the direction of your parked Toyota. 

You don’t bother to glance back to see if he’s close behind as you shout, “If we go to jail because you can’t spend $5 on fruit, I’ll kill you!!” 

There’s a thump behind you and you can only hear him cry in anguish, “C-Crap, my oranges!!” 

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

Shohei Aiba from In Your Arms Tonight 

3. Use your bathtub for laundry when you run out of spare change

After a fun day at Aiba’s neighborhood pool, you both trod into his apartment with intentions of changing. As students, it’s difficult to go out of your way or pay for a gym membership for exercise, and so his pool is heaven sent.

Despite your earlier enjoyment, you now are both miserably dripping with chlorine in your swimwear and holding uselessly saturated towels. 

Being a gentleman of sorts, he insists you use the shower first. Taking his offer, you head into the single bathroom and are about to slip off your curve-hugging one piece when you halt in your tracks. 

Sliding the glass shower doors open, you nearly lose your shit. “Shohei...” You call out weakly. 

Footsteps approach and he knocks from the other side, baritone slightly concerned, “Is something wrong??” 

You turn the knob and see him blush, likely expecting you to be nude or clad in a towel. His face loosens and he cocks his head at your still garment-clad appearance, “What’s up?” 

Stepping aside, you gesture at the tub filled with laundry soaked in detergent and color-catcher sheets. “Is that what I think it is?” 

His instantly blanches and trips over his on words, “A-AH, that is...! I-I... I kind of ran out of change for the laundry mat hahah.” 

The earnest brunette groans as he covers his face in shame, collapsing to sit on the closed lid of his toilet seat, “Ugh, you probably think I’m some loser now...” 

Yes, the fact that he’s using his bathtub as a makeshift laundry machine due to his shortage of change is slightly off-putting and clearly indicates a life struggle. On top of how comically defeated he looks while pouting on his toilet, you can see how he might think that. 

However, you could never think so poorly of your own boyfriend. You fell for him because of how selfless, genuine, and awkwardly goofy he was. 

You shake your head and deny him, “No way!” 

He perks up at how sure you sound only to hunch over when you follow up with, “I already knew you were a loser!” 

Smirking lightly at his groan, you sink to your knees beside the tub and suggest, “Well, we should probably start scrubbing and wringing them dry or your clothes will get ruined.” 

His warm caramel irises comically water and he launches himself at you in a tight embrace. “I love you so much!!” 

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

Kishi Mamoru from Kissed By the Baddest Bidder

4. Make sure people Venmo you back

You were far from the type to automatically expect for your partner to pay for everything. In fact, you typically did half and half for the check. However, there were some times that truly grated on your nerves when it came to your slacker boyfriend and money. 

At a rather pivotal turning point in the film, Mamoru leans over to complain, “I’m hungry.” 

You suppress an eye roll at how only he would have the audacity to ignore such an engaging storyline in favor of his stomach. This is a horror film where one of the most beloved protagonists just got strangled by a ghost and he couldn’t care less. Sighing, you suggest, “Go get some popcorn or something then.” 

He hums thoughtfully, “Do you want some too?” 

“Huh? Yeah, sure...Go away now.” Throwing a hand up to simultaneously shut him up and shoo him, you jolt in your seat at the sudden jumpscare. 

“AHH!” The entire movie theater sans Mamoru screams with a follow-up in delighted laughter at how admittedly obvious the scene was. 

Your boyfriend sighs and slinks out of the seat to the refreshments stand.

When the movie is long over and you are both lazing around on his apartment couch, you do a double-take at what he says next. 

With his battered iPhone 4 in his hand, he mumbles, “So when are you going to venmo me for the popcorn?” 

Your (e/c) flit to him in shock and he shamelessly meets your stare. “W-Wait, what? That was your popcorn! I hardly ate any of it,” you protest. 

Lazily, he cocks his head with a smirk and says, “So you admit you ate some of it. That will be $2.50 please.” He turns his phone and the cracked screen is pulled up to his venmo account. 

For a tiny moment, you are impressed with how he managed to get a confession from you. Damn, maybe Mamoru really could be a detective. He could be sharp when he wanted. You glance at the old Apple model in his hands and mentally snicker at how the Criminal Justice major ironically doesn’t look as sharp. 

Switching to reality, you sit up on the couch to fix him with a glare. “Mamo, you really want me to pay you back for $2.50 and for food that I barely ate?”

He shrugs his shoulders and there is just a hint of a grin tugging at his lips, “Every penny counts.” 

Huffing, you pull out your phone and start to work on transferring the money. You ignore the victorious expression on his visage and practically feel his excitement at being paid. 

Suddenly recalling a recent outing, you pull up the billing information on your bank account and turn to him with a chilling grin. “If it’s going to be like that, then, you owe me for that time I paid for KBBQ! With tip, that’s $27.13 please!” Sarcastically, you open your palm towards him and flex your fingertips in a lecherous way. 

At once, the older junior pales and practically starts to sweat with his stormy-hued eyes darting side to side. Rubbing the back of his head, he coughs awkwardly. “I’ll tell you what, babe. You don’t have to pay me back anymore. I’ll take it out of what you owe me.” A sheepish expression takes over his face and you laugh, bumping shoulders with him at how silly worrying over every penny the other owes is. 

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

Nozomu Fuse from True Love, Sweet Lies

5. Use flashlights when the lights are broken

Deciding to stay the night at his house to study for an upcoming exam, you excuse yourself to use the bathroom. Your cheery partner only nods, promising to finish the next problem by the time you return. Sometimes statistics was hard, but having a secret genius like Nozomu helps. 

You pad over to the toilet and flip on the switch. Pulling your leggings and panties down, you shriek when the lights suddenly flicker off. Left in the dark and in distress, you call out for your boyfriend whose footsteps you can already hear clambering up the steps. 

“(Y/N)!! Are you okay?? I’m coming in!” The door knob turns and you shut your legs for decency’s sake. 

There is a short second before the sudden glare of his Samsung smartphone’s light momentarily blinds you. 

You cover your eyes and demand, “What the hell?? Is there a blackout or something? Why are the lights out?” 

Nozomu places his phone down on the flat of the sink counter with the light better helping than blinding you. He starts to chuckle with a slight nervous edge in his voice as he explains, “A-Ah, well...There’s no blackout. The bathroom light’s just kind of broken.” 

“...Well, why don’t you fix it?” The solution to his issues is so obvious, you note while trying to ignore how ridiculous you feel sitting on his toilet with your garments wrapped against your ankles. 

He doubles over in awkward giggles that sound worriedly stressed before admitting, “Ahah, I don’t have any money for that...yet!” 

With his face nearly twitching at how desperately he’s trying to convince you and himself that finances aren’t ruining him, he reaches into a drawer and fishes an emergency light. “In the meantime, you can use this flashlight! It’s more powerful than any phone light and waaay more peaceful than having all these blaring ceiling lights everywhere! Yup, this is fine!” He turns it on and positions it vertically so the beam is shining across the ceiling. 

Shooting you a final smile with a pained edge, he exits the room with his smartphone in hand and carefully shuts the door. 

After a few moments, you feel your face fall again in noticing the lack of toilet paper. Your memory wanders to his kitchen and the stack of Starbucks napkins you saw earlier. 

You need to help this man. 

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

Toma Kiriya from Irresistable Mistakes

6. Use cafe wifi when your internet’s down

You were walking to your dorm after a late-night gym session when you noticed Toma standing in front of your campus Starbucks with an employee. The brunette with a notorious attitude problem was clutching his laptop case in one hand and in the other holding a water cup. 

As you got closer, you could hear what was being exchanged and felt your soul leaving its body. 

“Sir, I told you that we’re going to have to ask you to leave.” The barista in the infamous green apron states calmly, an exhausted expression apparent on their face from working hectic shifts with lunatics like your boyfriend as clientele.  

Accordingly, the accounting major huffs and strikes a defiant pose. His chin juts up and his eyes steel, “I already told you that I bought something! Why can’t I stay??” He raises his drink as if it will automatically save him from this argument. 

The other college student’s visage turns blank as they state, “...Sir, you only bought a water cup. Second, I told you that it’s already closing time.” With frustrating wavering through, the employee glances down at their smartwatch for emphasis. 

“Listen buddy, my internet’s been down this whole week. I need just fifteen more minutes of wifi to finish my essay on microeconomic theory and I know that the modem is too far to connect when I’m sitting out here! So for the love of all that is caffeinated, please let me stay!!” Toma’s cold attitude is suddenly overshadowed by his clear desperation as he pleads. 

Sighing, the worker asks with a slightly bored look, “How long have you been awake?” 

“Thirty-two hours, but who’s counting?” Your boyfriend rubs at his eyes blearily, the typical flannel of his whipping around him as the air outside grows colder. 

Budging with sudden empathy for his fellow university student, the barista stands aside and props the door open. “Fine, you can stay...Some of us wanted to finish some assignments anyway and the internet in the library is shit.” 

Before the hopeful swimmer/accounting major can enter, you decide to finally jog up to them. “Wait!! I’ll take him. This is my boyfriend and I can worry about him from here! Thank you!” You wrap your hands around his arm and gently tug him away from the somewhat relieved coffee-worker. 

In a confused and exhausted stupor, the male groans, “(Y-N), how the hell did you get here? I almost got in and you ruined it!” 

Rolling your eyes, you explain, “Sweetie, don’t bother the nice Starbucks employees. They want to go home too.” 

With his arm in yours, you steer him towards your dorm building. He teeters a bit from the lack of sleep and screeches to a halt, “But my essay!” From yourself to the earlier horrified baristas, it is clear to all that Toma takes his studies seriously to the point of forgoing his shame and health. 

Observing the dark blotches underneath his eyes and his heavily wrinkled garments, you say, “I think you should eat properly first. I made some soup...And there’s internet at my dorm.” 

When his fatigued orbs lighten and he leans more towards you with his laptop case in tow, you know that he’ll be fine. 

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

Kenzo Yasukawa from After School Affairs

7. Use all forms of payment 

With midterms finally over, you and your boyfriend decide to visit the mall to celebrate. Walking hand-in-hand, you air out your grievances over how one of your professors grade when Kenzo abruptly starts walking faster. 

In his towering height, he manages to tug you with ease towards a nearby gamestore. His breathing is suddenly irregular as he presses his free hand against the business’s glass, amber optics locked on a particular ninja and robot-themed poster. 

“I can’t believe it released today. I have to get it.” He’s practically talking to himself as he marches into the store, you trailing behind in slight bewilderment. 

Making a bee-line to the wall of feudal Japan and mecha-accented items, his hand darts out to snatch a game off the shelve. As if suddenly remembering your presence and ongoing date, the blonde grins sheepishly. “Aww sorry, I’ve been waiting for Robot Ninjas 3 forever!” 

The game title makes you cringe, but you only nod in understanding. As his partner, you accept his peculiar tastes. 

After a brief wait in line, he steps up to pay with you at his side. Exchanging cordial pleasantries with the cashier, the aspiring pre-medical student fishes out his wallet and starts to produce various forms of payment. He places a random stack of dollar bills on the counter, then slides out his cards. 

Without missing a beat, he shoots a cheery smile with closed eyes and asks, “Is it okay if I pay $16 in cash, do $30 on debit, and pay the rest from my credit card?” 

You feel your heart hammer in your chest for your boyfriend and want to help him pay, but know that he wouldn’t want that. Suppressing your urge to pay, you force yourself to watch what happens next. 

When the employee hesitates, Kenzo’s eyes flutter open and seem strained as he explains in a low voice, “I’m sorry, but I’m dirt poor right now because I just bought a $150 MCAT prep book and have been waiting for this game for years.” The normal liveliness and peace in his amber stare dies out and his mouth twitches. 

You nearly lose it when the cashier suddenly nods and says, “Dude, same. I got you.” Then, he proceeds to enter in the different payments into the POS system before seeing you off warmly as you both leave. 

Turning to your boyfriend, you peck him on the cheek and say, “Why don’t we go back to the apartment so you can play and I’ll order us some pizza?” You casually include your offer of getting dinner. 

His eyes crinkle with joy and he wraps his arm around your shoulder to press a kiss against your forehead, “I’ll go easy on you for one round then.” 

#voltage inc #love 365 #toma kiriya #mamoru kishi #Our Two Bedroom Story #when destiny comes knocking #In Your Arms Tonight #Nozomu Fuse #Irresistible mistakes #After School Affairs #kissed by the baddest bidder #imagine #shohei aiba #voltage games #voltage otome

[5hfanfiction]

Patient 743 - Chapter 3

The nightmares never stop. I can never get a good amount of sleep because of them. The night where I lost everything. I try not to think about it but when it comes to my unconscious state of mind I can’t control it. I was still in bed when I felt a tapping at my shoulder.

“Sorry, I just wanna wake you before one of the authorities do.”

“What would happen if they found me still in bed?” My voice cracked a bit and was raspier than usual, but I had just awoken and it was a normal thing. 

“Kill you.” Normani replied in an obviously joking tone.

“Very funny. I need to shower real quick, I’ll be back in a jiff.”

“Okay who the hell says jiff anymore?” Normani shot me a glance with a facial expression that was impossible to describe but made me laugh harder than I have in a while.

“I’ll be back.”

I got out of bed and ran my fingers through my hair, grabbing the provided towel and new set of clothes and made my way down to the halls washroom. When I walked into the room, I first noticed the nurse who was stationed in the room lay her eyes on me, and I instantly felt uncomfortable. I set my stuff on the outside of the half covered shower stall and began to strip myself out of my dirty clothes. I sighed deeply and wrapped my arms around my chest as I stepped into the stall, turning the shower on I grabbed the miniature shampoo they gave me and quickly ran the soap through my hair, rising it out just as quickly. The feeling of the nurse staring at me made me want to jump out of my own skin and simply disappear. I quickly grabbed the towel outside my stall and wrapped it around my body, changing back into the provided clothes before making my way back to my room and collapsing onto my bed. Why would my dad throw me into this place? I understand I tried to take the easy way out of this mess that is my life, but that’s no reason to throw me into this fucking prisio-

“You must be Lauren?”

My eyebrows knitted together as I sat up straight in my bed so I can locate the source from where the voice came from. My eyes scanned up and down the older man who was standing in front of my doorframe.

“How come everyone in this fucking place seems to know my name?”

The man responded by smiling down at me and shaking his head.

“You need to watch your language young lady. Did you already go to the dining hall and receive your breakfast?”

“No, I haven’t, I’m not hungry. I still don’t know who you are.”

“My name is Mr. Cowell. I am this wings counselor. It is time for our daily session. I will have someone make sure to bring you food once it is over. But as for now and every other day you need to come into my office from nine to ten thirty, understood?”

“Yeah, whatever, like I have a fucking choice” I replied as I got out of my bed and began following him around the building and into his small office.

“Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Since it is our first session I will ask you a series of questions so I can get to know you better. Go ahead and start by telling me your name and hobbies or things that interest you.”

I couldn’t help but think about how stupid this was, I just wanted to go back home and look after the one sibling I still had left.

“My name is Lauren Jauregui, but you already knew that. I play on my varsity softball team at school, and I like to draw I guess.”

“Okay, good.” The man was scribbling on his notepad. “Do you know why you are here?”

My facial expression completely changed from being annoyed to angry. I stared at him for a long moment before I snapped, “yes I do. Because my idiot of a father thinks it is easier to send me off than to actually act like he cares about me. He doesn’t fucking know what I am going through. He doesn’t even talk to me unless he needs a punching bag to exert some of his frustration.”

Thoughts of my brother began to race into my head, I felt my eyes getting watery but I couldn’t help it. Since the accident, I have been horrible with being able to control and deal with my emotions. I tried to shake the thought of my brother out of my head when I saw Mr. Cowell staring at me.

“Lauren, why did you try to kill yourself? Don’t you think your family has suffered enough with the loss of your brother?”

My eyes literally felt as if they were on fire. I needed to put out the flame. I let the events of that day rush into my head. I brought my legs up into my chest and buried my head into them, beginning to put out the flames in my eyes with my tears.

After a moment or two of crying to myself, I took in a deep breath as I lifted my head up so I could make eye contact with Mr. Cowell.

“I killed my brother.”

After I told Mr. Cowell I felt as though I was going to be ill, he dismissed me into the washroom. I sat by the toilet for a long moment before I began to vomit profusely into the bowl. It felt like I was puking up acid because it burnt the back of my throat. I felt like I puked up everything inside of me. I felt disgusted with myself so I weakly picked myself up to go back into my room, hoping a new set of clothes and a new towel were laid out for me so I could shower again, I felt disgusting. Thankfully when I walked back into the room the supplies I needed were there. I headed back into the showers and quickly rinsed myself off, standing under the cool water really did wonders to my body. After I showered I quickly changed, feeling the eyes of the nurse in the corner of the room watching me. I went to the small sink they had in the washroom and grabbed the plastic toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste they provided and brushed my teeth quickly. When I got back into my room I laid out on my bed for about half an hour before my mind began to wonder where Normani had gone off to. I picked myself up off the bed and went out into the main hall in search for her.

I walk around, gazing at all the young people who were being held here. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for each individual person, I wondered about their story, their past, and how they ended up here. I kept looking around before my eyes caught onto a girl who looked really familiar, playing a game of connect four by herself. Since I couldn’t find Normani I made my way over to the unknown girl.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted someone to play with.”

The girl looked up at me, and I couldn’t help but think I knew this girl from somewhere.

“L-Lauren? Lauren Jauregui? Oh my god” She stood up, examining me.

“Yep, in the flesh.” I flashed her a small smile.

“I haven’t seen you since what, year seven?”

That’s when my mind instantly remembered her. Keana.

“Sounds about right. I would ask how you’ve been but since we’re here I’ll skip that part. Want me to kick your ass in this game?” I asked with a smirk.

“Psh, you wish.”

We started playing the game and discussed what has happened in our life since we last saw each other. Keana used to be one of my closest friends until she moved over a region. She was one of the best friends I have ever had but her father had been offered a better job position that required their family to move. Our conversation began to get to how she ended up here so I scooted my chair closer to hers in case she wanted me to comfort her.

“Well, I haven’t had my first kiss, and I had a complete mental breakdown.” She said in the most sarcastic tone she possibly could have, causing me to smile at her, rolling my eyes. I didn’t want to push her boundaries, so I went ahead and played along with her.

“Really Keana? A hot girl like you has never been kissed?”

She rolled her shoulders into a shrug and gave me a slightly seductive glance.

“That can be changed, you know?” I whispered to her so no one in the room could hear. Quickly glancing around at the guard who was staring at his feet, obviously bored before looking back at her.

She furrowed her eyebrows a bit as I kept my eyes connected with her own.

“Go on then.” She mumbled as I placed my palm on her cheek, slowly leaning into her my lips were centimeters away from hers as we heard the intercom sound. “Lunch is now being served, all patients report to the dining hall.”

I was still watching Keana closely as we both began to laugh and get up out of our chairs.

“Come on lover girl, let’s go.” I playful joked with her before getting up and heading to the cafeteria.

#UPDATE #series #AU #trigger warning #camren #submission #Patient 743

[denimjacketkisses]

Got Somebody.

Description: You’d been friends for years, so why is it that your body feels like death warmed over when certain events happen is your lives.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader.

Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: Language, Slight Mention of Abuse.

A/N: Nine outta Ten, this is going to be a series. I’ve been juggling around this idea in my head for what seems like eons. I’ve also gathered some form of inspiration from “Tell Me You Love Me” by Demi Lovato. So, hopefully this is okay for your eyes, and ya’ll just enjoy it. Also, since I’m new and I want feedback from my fav writers I’m gonna tag ya’ll: @hargroovin @gutterdreams @dacrethehalls @letmeletmetrashyourlove @hairringtonsteve

You’d like to say it started when you were younger but you’d be lying to yourself as you laid in a bed that wasn’t yours, your eyes boring themselves to the side of Billy Hargrove’s face. You’d been friends for – well forever. You’d moved from sunny Florida to the just as equally sunny side of the United States, California. You were five, awkward and wore glasses that were far too large for your face. You can remember that day clearly, the sun was shining and you could smell the sea, the breeze whipped your hair around your face and you struggled to remove the strands from in front of your glasses. As you finally pulled the last strand of hair out from in front of your face your eyes met with a boy. He looked like he was your age and he had a small puff of blond ringlets on his head, he was making his way towards you with what you assumed were his parents.

You and Billy Hargrove were attached at the hip from that point forward, movie nights in your living room, walks on the beach with his mom – the adventures were endless; and that’s what it seemed to be, an adventure…until the summer of 1979. You and Billy were 12 and all you knew was that for the last eight months, his mother wasn’t doing well. She was sick and she was sick enough to be in a hospital surrounded by white walls and the smell of hand soap. You’d opened the door that day to Billy, his cheeks red and stained with tears and the words, “She’s dead. Y/N, sh – she’s gone.”

Time passed and wounds healed the best they could, through it all you and Billy continued to stay near one another. You’d changed and so had he, both growing out of the ‘awkward’ pre-teen years and settling into your looks. It was your sophomore year of high school when Billy had confided in you that’d he’d hooked up with Sally Martin at the party you were too sick to attend to the weekend before. You remember your heart dropping into your stomach and you were convinced that if you opened your mouth the contents of your lunch would end up on Billy’s boots. You smile and nodded, reassuring him that you were taking in every word he was saying and you were but you hated all of it. You’d never experience this feeling before, it felt like it wrapped around your whole body and squeezed until your lungs couldn’t breathe anymore. Your skin crawled and you wanted to shed yourself out of it. It was maddening and you couldn’t wrap your head around the reasoning of it.

It wasn’t until the summer of 1984 when Neil was standing outside your house, chatting with your father about ‘work’ and ‘Susan’s expenses’ that you overheard him saying that in a week he and the family would be moving to Indiana. That feeling over came your body and you felt like if you didn’t throw up, you were going to scream. So, you opted for the latter, burying your head into the toilet and ejecting the contents of your stomach until the stinging of acid filled your chest. Your fingers gripped at the bowl, your chest heaving as if to fill your lungs with air that they seemed to not be obtaining. Quickly swishing mouth wash around your mouth and spitting the liquid into the sink you made your way out of your house, past your father and Neil and walked straight into the Hargrove/Mayfield residents.

Before you could even comprehend what was happening you were up the stairs and slamming open Billy’s bedroom door, “Are you fucking kidding me?! Indiana?! Fucking Indiana?!” The words left your mouth in a jumble, all connecting to one another as your body paced back and forth across the small bedroom, your hands entwined in your hair desperately trying not to pull them from your scalp. “Did you know, Billy?! Did you fucking know this whole God damn time that you were leav – that you were leaving?! If you weren’t such a huge part of my life, maybe I wouldn’t give a fuck but Jesus, B. I had to overhear it? You couldn’t have told me…” the words all spewed out, your body shaking, tears finally slipping past your face as you came to a stop the words you’d thought as you’d emptied the contents of your stomach – the words that passed through your mind as you walked into his house unannounced and into his room, “You’re leaving me…” Your body finally collapsed in on itself and you felt the tears overcome you. Your sobbing was being drowned out by shushes and your body was soon being held against a strong chest and being held together by even stronger arms.

“Jesus, Y/N.” Billy sighed, he didn’t know how to tell you. He’d tried but somehow the words wouldn’t form and he was convinced that if he’d told you, you’d storm out and leave. His chin rested on the top of your head as he felt your breathing slowly come back to normal, “I’m not leaving you. I’m just not staying in California.” The words muffled themselves out, his fingers scraping softly up and down your spine. “Neil says it’s for work. I’m convinced it’s so your parents can stop questioning him about the marks he’s been leaving on me and the screaming at night.” His eyes screwed closed as he pulled you back from his chest, opening his eyes so he could look at you. “I can’t stay, Y/N. I don’t have a choice but I’ll call, and write and fuck - if I have to drive the Camero up here on holidays just so I can see you, then I will.” His hands found your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “I’m not leaving you. Physically sure but I’m always going to be around. I promise.”

His eyes looked like they held the world and to you, they probably did. You finally remembered to breathe and as you took a shaky breath your eyes searched his for what would be the last time in what would be awhile. Your arms snaked their way around his torso and your head found his chest, “I love you and please, don’t forget about me.” Your voice shook and your eyes began to fill with tears but your heart was reassured by his words,

“I love you too, Y/N and trust me, I can never forget about you.”

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove/reader

[sickficgalore]

Day 2 : Emeto (Keith)

hello!! this is a little something i wrote for @vldwhumpmas2017 ! it is set in college au and on christmas eve.

Lance had awakened to a weird, monstrous sound coming from outside his room. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and attempted to figure out what the sound was.

“Keith? What’s that sound?” Lance waited, but no reply came. He looked over at the single bed placed at the other end of the room, and Keith was nowhere to be seen, his sheets thrown over the bed like he was in a rush.

As his brain started to be able to think properly again, the ‘monstrous sounds’ that he had thought he had heard before started sounding like faint…retching noises?

Lance got up as fast as he could, throwing the covers over his bed as he briskly walked out of the room (and almost tripping over his own feet), following the horrible retching noise which led him to the bathroom.

Before he even saw Keith, he could already smell the sour scent of his vomit. That could not be good.

The door to the bathroom was closed, but Lance was pleased to find that it was not locked as he easily pulled it open, revealing Keith. He was squatting in front of the toilet, knuckles gone white as his hands gripped onto the toilet seat for dear life. As he coughed and heaved, nothing but another string of saliva fell from his lips.

“Hey, are you alright?” Lance asked as he sat down next to the sick boy, steadying his shaky frame, “who am I kidding, you’re definitely not fine.”

Keith groaned, voluntarily leaning against Lance’s stronger frame as he breathed heavily, exhausted from the non-stop heaving.

“What happened that caused this?” Lance asked, worry evident in his voice.

“I don’t know..maybe it’s something I ate..?” Keith stoned as if trying hard to remember something, “I can’t remember what I ate yesterday..” his mind was way too fuzzy to process any sort of thought.

“That’s alright. Are you any better? Do you want to go sit down on the couch?” Lance asked, Keith nodded.

Lance winced inaudibly, the strong vomit stench coming from the toilet was starting to get to him, and he started to feel slightly nauseous as well. Figuring that they did not need another vomiting individual, Lance took a deep breath before stretching over to reach the flush button, flushing Keith’s vomit along with most of its stench down the toilet.

“Okay. I need you to stand for a bit, but just lean on me.” Lance instructed, placing one of Keith’s arms around his own shoulders, “on the count of three. One, two, three.” The two stood up, Keith mostly relying on Lance for support.

Lance had to mostly drag Keith to the couch, the sick boy far too weak to walk on his own. Keith had basically slumped down bonelessly when Lance placed him not-so-gently on the couch.

Lance left hurriedly, then returned back to Keith’s side with an armful of stuff that Keith could not make out in his haze. Keith was first handed a thermometer to put under his tongue. It came up to a whopping 39.3 degrees celcius (102 degrees farenheit).

“Okay, you’re burning. That’s not great. Now, take some medicine.” Lance said as he held the glass and two white pills in front of Keith. Keith opened his eyes momentarily before closing his eyes again, shaking his head in protest as he groaned, “Look, Keithy boy, if you don’t take this, you’re going to die of dehydration right here on this couch. I’m not sure if you want to die in this apartment.”

Thankfully, Lance’s words managed to bring a small smile to Keith’s face, “Anything but that…” Keith chuckled weakly as he sat up with Lance’s help, swallowed the pills and drank the warm water before falling asleep once again.

Keith managed to get a good rest, which thankfully no longer consisted of fruitless gags, until it was time for the two of them to get ready to meet their friends for lunch.

“Tell anyone that I’m sick later at our Christmas Eve gathering and I will kill you.” Keith said as he got up from the couch.

“Are you really feeling well enough to go for lunch..?” Lance asked, still relatively unsure. The pallor in Keith’s face had managed to subside with the rest he had, but his fever was still high and was still suffering from some nausea.

“I’ve been worse. I’ll make it.” Keith muttered, putting his jacket on.

“No you won’t.” Lance corrected.

“Look, I’ll just go there, have a bit of food, then come straight back to rest, alright? Stop worrying.” Keith reassured as he grabbed his car keys and was about to place them in his pants pocket.

“You’re NOT driving, dude.” Lance shouted, running to his friend and swiftly snatching the keys from him and placing it in his own jacket pocket.

“It’s MY car???” Keith retaliated, but sighed in submission.

In the car, Keith kept shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Lance was not a very good driver, he did not know how to smoothly maneuver around bumps that well, and Lance swore that he saw Keith’s complexion gradually turn green in the fifteen minutes they were driving for. But much to both of their relief, they had made it to the restaurant without any issue.

“Woah, Keith. Why are you so sweaty?” was the first thing Hunk had asked when the two of them showed up, slightly late, at the restaurant.

“Lance drove my car..” Keith covered up, side-eyeing Lance as he took his seat.

“Yikes. That must have been terrible.” Pidge commented.

“I’m improving every day, okay? Give me a break.” Lance defended, taking his seat as well.

“We’ve ordered steak for everyone by the way. The steak here is amazing.” Shiro announced.

“Oh..but I was going to just have like a sandwich or something..” Keith said. Lance could already visualise in his head how bad Keith would have it after the meal.

“Sorry, man. My discount coupons here are only for the steak.” Hunk replied, waving his discount tickets that he had gotten from his mother.

“I-its okay, I guess.” Keith forced a smile, stomach already protesting before the meal even came.

When the steak came, everyone had immediately dug into it….except for Lance and Keith. Lance was too busy observing Keith to actually start on his meal. The mere thought of Keith vomiting again also took the apetite right out of Lance’s stomach.

Keith was trying not to be obvious as he played with the baby carrots on his plate. Just looking at the meat made him feel so nauseous that he could probably pass out. It took him a lot of courage to take his first tiny bite out of this carrot.

“Keith, you doing alright? Why aren’t you eating?” Shiro asked, concern evident in the way he spoke.

Keith forced a smile, “Yeah.. just that school’s been really taxing, you know? I’m just exhausted.” To overcome the worried faces staring back at him, he stuffed a large piece of meat into his mouth, chewing it as if it was delicious and swallowing it forcefully.

At this point, Lance was so horrified he just stared at Keith, wide-eyed. Keith was continuously forcing the food on his plate down his throat, frustrated at his own body and was attempting to force it back into working properly again.

Keith’s terrible coping mechanism had been pretty successful for about a good two minutes before he could not take it anymore. “Excuse me for a second. I need to get to the bathroom real quick..” he murmured as he stood up, walking as fast as his shaking legs could carry him to the bathroom. Lance was extremely tempted to run after him, but was afraid that the action would give it away that something was not right.

Minutes passed, and Keith still had not returned from the bathroom. Lance was impatiently shaking his legs under the table and trying his best not to let the panic show on his face.

“Keith has been gone for really long. Lance, would you go check on him?” Pidge asked.

Lance never shot up as quickly as he had just did. “Yup! No problemo, my dudes. I’ll bring him right back!” Lance basically shouted before running towards the bathroom.

As Lance pushed open the door to the Men’s room, he could already hear the familiar loud, horrendous retching noises echoing through the room. He pushed open the only closed stall door to reveal Keith, shaking like a leaf, collapsed against a stall divider as tears streamed down his face. Lance rubbed his back until his heaving subsided and eventually stopped.

“Alright buddy, we’re going home.” Lance stated firmly, and Keith knew there was no room for negotiation as he was pulled up on his feet, supported by Lance, “Rinse your mouth while I head back to the table to grab the keys, alright? I’ll be real quick.” Lance said as he walked Keith to the sink and made sure that Keith could steady himself against a wall before running off.

The others were alarmed when Lance ran back to the table, scrambling to get Keith’s keys as he hurriedly explained, “Keith’s been really sick, so I’m bringing him back to our place, alright? You can drop by our dorm after you’re done with the lunch if you want. See ya later!” before running off.

“Oh, alright! Drive safely!” Shiro shouted back, loud enough for Lance to hear as he ran off to get Keith.

Lance had tried his very best to drive safely, and he did his very best as a caretaker back at their apartment too. Keith odd stomach bug, or whatever it was, had thankfully gotten a lot better by the next day, so Christmas Day wasn’t that terrible for them after all.

#voltron legendary defender #sickfic #sick keith #caretaker lance #klance #platonic klance #emeto #dude festive fics are so hard i tried my best #my writings

[builder051]

Okay but... can you imagine how sick Peter would be if he ate a bunch of left over Halloween candy thinking it'd be fine in the morning cause of his metabolism but then Tony called and he had to swing around the city for a while? He'd probably manage to keep it down until he got to the tower and then he'd dizzily stumble towards the bathroom but end up loosing it in the hallway on Tony's shoes since Tony was concerned about him and grabbed Peter's shoulder to spin him around or something...

Thank you so much for this!  It’s possibly the most excellent prompt ever!  And you @wiseinnerwhispers, you make the world go ‘round with all the support and love you give.  

So here you go.  I think I messed up the details a little bit, and I don’t even want to talk about the timeline.  But this does take place right after my last Spiderman fic, No sympathy.

___

Peter wakes and immediately looks at the clock.  It’s 6:59. His alarm will be blaring in a minute. He blearily reaches out to turn of the device before it can startbeeping at him.  May’s given himpermission to miss school if he still feels as sick as he did yesterday, but asPeter lifts his head, there’s no echoing throb. It’s a relief.

He slides out of bed and heads to the bathroom to wash hisface and brush his teeth, stepping a little harder than he normally would justto test his luck.  The resultantvibrations die out around his shins and leave his head alone, and the taste oftoothpaste doesn’t turn his stomach, so Peter decides he’s ok.  

He kicks it into high gear and goes back to his bedroom todress and pack up his backpack.  Petergrabs his suit from the back of his desk chair where he’d thrown it last night,shakes it, and gives it an experimental sniff. It’s a little sweaty, but the god-awful scent of homeless man’s potsmoke has dissipated.  He wads up thespandex fabric and tucks it into the bottom of his backpack.  

Peter barrels through the kitchen, almost knocking AuntMay’s orange juice to the floor as he throws pop tarts into the toaster andlooks for something to toss in his bag for lunch.

“Feeling better this morning?” May asks, looking up from thenewspaper.  

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says, still scanning the pantry.  “I don’t know what hit me, but I’m finenow.”  He spies a half-finished bag ofcandy corn and a handful of fun-size Milky Ways, and Peter sweeps them into hisbackpack.

“Maybe just had to clear your system,” May suggests.  Then, “Are you taking all my candy?”

“Um.”  Peter hastensto put a few of the chocolates back.

“No, go ahead,” May says, smiling to show she was joking thefirst time.  “You didn’t really get tocelebrate last night.”

“But, I mean, I could leave some.”

“Take it.  Or I will eat it all, and I can’t afford newjeans,” May jokes.  “I’d give a lot tohave that teenaged boy metabolism.”

“Hm,” Peter muses, feeling a little guilty that his growinghunger lately has forced an increase in the grocery budget.  He forgoes dropping cheese crackers into hisbackpack as well.

The toaster spits out the pop tarts, and Peter takes one ineach hand, clamped between his thumbs and index fingers so the steaming pastrieswon’t burn him.  “See ya, May,” Petercalls, transferring one pop tart to his mouth as he lets himself out the frontdoor.

“See ya,” May echoes.

Peter wolfs down his breakfast as he dashes to school.  He hadn’t realized the hunger gnawing at thecorners of his stomach, but now that he thinks about it, he didn’t have much ofa dinner last night, and most of it ended up splatted on a street corner and inthe toilet.  It makes the pop tarts tasteextra good, like the food of the gods. Which, who knows? Maybe they are.

His morning classes pass quickly, and Peter does his best tofocus on algebra and chemistry and history even though his mind is on otherthings.  He didn’t do that great of a jobof patrolling the neighborhood last night, and he forgot to call Mr. Stark andleave a message.  A mission report.  If Mr. Stark asks about it, he’ll just tellthe truth and say he was sick, which is perfectly valid reason for an excusedabsence.  But it still doesn’t seem likea great track record for a superhero.

During lunch, Peter hides out in the band room with Ned towork on the Lego death- star-in-progress. Ned has a treasure trove of Halloween booty to share, somehow includingthe diamonds of watermelon sour patch kids and multiple full-size chocolatebars.  Peter adds his candy corn andmilky ways to the pile and chows down, ruefully wishing he’d made butteredtoast for breakfast.  Or at leastsomething a little less sugary.  It onlytakes a few pieces of candy to sear his tongue with sweetness and make his teethfeel grimy.  But Peter’s hungry, and withhis current rate of calorie burn, it’ll only take a few rounds of the block inhis Spiderman suit to burn it all off.

The bell is ringing to signal the end of the lunch period,and Peter’s phone is vibrating up a storm in his pocket.  Pretending he’s on his way to class, he ducksinto the bathroom to check the messages.

Mr. Stark: There’s athing.  Can you assist?

 Mr. Stark:  Oh, you’re at school.  Nevermind.

 Mr. Stark:  But really, can you assist?

 Mr. Stark:  Happy’s on a Starbucks run.  Please provide own transportation.

Peter hastens to compose a reply.

 Peter: Yeah! Ofcourse!  I don’t have any tests today.

He considers deleting the exclamation points.  Decides against it.  Oh well.

Peter: To the tower,right?  What do you need help with?

 Mr. Stark: Yes. Excusethe boxes.  We’re packing for the move.

 Mr. Stark:  How’s your knowledge of local gang hangouts?

 Peter: Not fantastic?

 Mr. Stark:  Hm. Ok.  Scans are showing up weirdweapons tech.  Figured if it’s HYDRA,I’ll handle it.  But if it’s justbullies, you can give it a try first.  Ialso need you to model.

 Peter:  Always happy to slam some bullies.  Model what?

 Mr. Stark:  Your suit. Duh.  I’m working on a new microarmor layer, and I need you to put it on and tell me if it hurts when I hityou.

 Peter:  Ok…

 Mr. Stark:  Don’t just stand there like a dumb kid onyour phone.  Get your ass down here.

 Mr. Stark: I’m notswearing at you.

 Peter wonders if he’s supposed to reply, but he just throwshis phone into his backpack and exits the bathroom.  He glances up and down the hall a few timesto make sure there aren’t any teachers watching, then he dashes for thedoor.  

Peter dumps his backpack in the alley and quickly pulls onhis Spiderman suit.  Since he doesn’thave any cash for a cab and his metro card’s down to a few cents, webbinghimself across the city seems like the best option.  He supposes he could park somewhere and waitfor Happy to finish up whatever he’s doing, but what fun is that?  Peter usually gets a kick out of swingingaround.  Plus, he doesn’t get theimpression Happy likes him that much.

Once he’s situated, Peter scales the brick wall and sprintsacross the building’s flat roof.  Heshoots a web onto the corner of the building diagonally across the street andjumps, letting his feet skim the roofs of a few taxis on his way over theintersection.  

With this quick method of transport, it’ll still take Petera good ten or fifteen minutes to get to the tower.  He’s less than halfway through the journeywhen his stomach starts sloshing. Honestly, it’s not that unexpected what with all the junk he just ateand fact that he was sick yesterday.  Butit’s annoying as anything.

Eight blocks from the tower, Peter’s head starts isaching.  Not in the nice, polite,excuse-me-I-think-I’m-starting-to-get-a-headache way, but more in theplease-stop-I’m-hella-dizzy way.  The waythat demands a change in activity or dire consequences.  

Peter jumps onto a rooftop and sidesteps a skylight,doubling over with his hands on his knees so he can catch his breath.  He’s fine. He tells himself he is five or six times and swallows a sweet, chocolatyburp, then leaps back into free fall before he can second guess himself.  Once he shoots a web and starts to swing,though, the disgusting flip of his stomach starts up again in the worstcombination of overindulgence and motion sickness ever.  Peter’s fucked and heknows it.  He imagines he feels worsethan Steve Rogers did in that infamous story of Cap and the cotton candy andthe Cyclone on Coney Island.

He’s swallowing hard against rising gunk in his throat whenhe swings onto the block dominated by the Avengers Tower and, as it has beenfor the past few weeks, about a thousand U-Haul trucks.  Peter doesn’t want to let his feet hit theground for fear that his body will take it as a cue to turn itself inside out,so he webs himself to the balcony on the 21st floor, the one wherehe knows Tony’s lab is located.  Thesliding glass door is open slightly, and Peter shoves through it.  He pulls his mask up over his nose and mouth,intent only on getting to the bathroom before the inevitable happens.

“Hey, where are you going?”

For once in his life, Peter ignores Mr. Stark’s question andkeeps hustling, though his pace is slowing significantly as the motion sendshis stomach into frantic convulsions. He’s sweating all over.  He can’tfeel his face.  He can’t feel his feet.

“Yo, kid.”  A handcomes down on his shoulder and forcibly spins him around.  “I’m talking to you, you know?”

“Ohshit—” Peter manages to choke out beforeeverything’s coming up, running through the fingers of the gloved hand he’spressed to his mouth a moment too late. He can’t suppress the next spastic retch, and a heavy splash ofminimally digested candy and pop tarts hits the floor, soiling his red bootsand Mr. Stark’s black Converse.

“What the fuck?”  Tony leapsbackward, then seems to think better of his actions and comes up behind Peterto place a tentative hand on his shoulder and keep him from collapsing on hisshaky knees as his stomach continues to evacuate.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter chokes out as soon as he cantake a breath.  “I didn’t mean—”  He cuts off with another gag.  “Sorry.”

“Um.  It’s ok,” Tonysays, sounding like he’s out of his depth, fishing for the right words.  “I’ll…call May to pick you up?”

“No, I…I can’t,” Peter breathes, scraping mucous and meltedchocolate off his tongue with his teeth. It seems rude to spit onto the floor, but there aren’t a lot of betteroptions.  

“Yeah, right, you’re supposed to be at school…” Tony remindshimself.  “Well, I have 23 guest rooms inthis place, so I guess it won’t be any trouble if you want to lie down for aminute.”  

Peter tries to say thank you, but the words turn into a wetburp he struggles to keep from turning into a heave.  “OhmygodI’msorry,” he exhales.

“You’re…gross,” Tony says. “But, come on.”  He uses the handon Peter’s shoulder to steer him down the hall. “Good thing I haven’t packed the puke-cleaning robots yet.”

#mcu #marvel #spider-man: homecoming #spiderman #spider man: homecoming #spiderman homecoming #how many ffing ways can you spell spiderman #peter parker #tony stark #sickfic #fanfic #fanfiction #emeto #emetophilia #halloween

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

It’s been another month, so it was high fuckin time to finish another chapter... seems like 1.2/month will become the average until completion, huh. Have 95% fluffy critter bullshit. AO3 fanfiction.net

Anyway, I just put the fragments and stuff I've yet to use in another file... it's 28 pages. The chapters from 11 to 20 are 49 pages, and the next chapter is only about halfway done. First 10 were 38 altogether. Um, lol...? (tfw you're verbose and start including the author's notes, too)

And even though I have the map of the Sunny open all the time I’m still not sure how some doors work or even exist,,,,,,,,,,,,, NotLikeThis

19. Garchu~ (aka Hug Trilogy, pt 1)

Kat sits up fresh and ready on this extra bright Wednesday. She's a bit early, the girls are still sleeping or at least lying about. Nestling a bit, she goes cross legged and leans back against the wall.

Today she saw a dream that was... nice, overall. Even had the little surreal touches she knows from her usual ones. First is a vague memory of sitting in class at school... then she was with the man again. The one with the cloak. If it was indeed the same guy, at least; there were heaps of soft, pretty black feathers everywhere, actually. The town she was in made a nice backdrop, being almost snow white. This time she could also see what he looked like beyond being incredibly tall, too: he had fluffy, blonde hair, eyes that had a similar color to Law's, and either some makeup or tattoos on his face. Looked quite peculiar for sure; maybe it's the sheer height and the weird coat choice, but for the brief moment upon arrival, when he had sunglasses on, he reminded her vaguely of that one Shichibukai guy. Well... ex-Shichibukai. Uh... yeah, Doflamingo. Anyway, that aside, she also recalls him wearing an odd hat, and shirt with a pattern... at first it was flowers, but it changed very soon, and they turned into petals, maybe... no, hearts, yes, that's it! And there was smoke coming from under the coat all the time... An odd fellow, but he looked friendly enough.

At some point, a little girl joined; the three of them played in the white sand that the town was suddenly made of. A lot of buildings collapsed as time went by, and children, probably those from the school as most of them were wearing a uniform, joined them. Later came two other people, likely a couple, to take both her and the little girl 'home.' Something about the woman was eerily familiar... but only when she smiled. That surprised her into remembering the scene fairly well. Actually... that's kind of what her own smile looks like. And her actual mother's. No wonder she just accepted being their kid, huh. Oh, and the other, she could swear looked like Law in a lab coat. Except not... no matter how hard she tries to recall details now, she can't remember any face past the blonde man's.

It all ended as they entered the gates to somewhere and this guy smiled in a rather creepy way. She gets the feeling that she's seen that grin before, to be honest. Thinking about it, those gates, too... she's definitely seen that entrance before. Yes, it seemed to be the very same place as the first nightmare, but now that she's gotten a better, well, 'look' at it and what lay beyond...

She scratches away at her not-quite-existent beard; where else could she know it from?

After some consideration, she grabs her bag from beyond the wardrobe and pulls out some paper, her sketching board and a pencil to throw some rough doodles down so she can remember it all later. Because, honestly? She's getting suspicious of these dreams. There's too much... consistency, and the only other kinds of dreams she can vaguely recall also feel foreign or refer to the past few days only. This has been going on since inhabiting this body, and she's inclined to make some assumptions here. Will have to talk this over with Law.

Especially important for now are that gate... and the face of this man; she tries to nail a few features of latter first. The third doodle has the jawline and hair style in place, then she adds some sketchy feathers and a shirt. Having lost a lot of small details to oblivion already, she just jots down the vague position of blue and red spots that were remarkable. Now, as for the structure... a few arbitrary lines, and she's got the basics of both the wall and the gate. It all looks pretty simple, and she's never seen it in person, yet... it's so, so familiar. It's the feeling of having the name of something on the tip of your tongue... except there is no name you can think of. You just know what you know.

“What are you drawing with such a serious expression, Kat?” she can hear Carrot's voice next to her all of a sudden. She must have been watching for a bit.

“Oh, morning... I've had a dream and am trying to make myself remember the stuff,” she replies, getting over the surprise, then turns back to the sketches. “Been a while since I last did this, but I've had some recurring stuff in the past days, so...”

“I envy you,” the girl mumbles, pouting. “I never remember a thing even when it was interesting, and when I do, it's something mundane like taking a walk or training. Although...” Her face saddens a bit; “I get to spend time with people I will never see again, too, I guess.”

“...” Okay, this got depressing fast. “... you okay?”

She stretches out her arms; “Yeah, sorry.”

“If you need a hug or something, just ask.”

The mink's ears shoot skyward. “Hug?”

“You're free to decline. Just saying in case you'll ever want onh---”

“I'm always ready for hugs!! Garchuuu~”

Okay, she's confirmed to be a hugger, Kat thinks to herself as the mink mushes her face against hers while squeezing all the air out of her. Which is kind of great, because she, too, loves hugs; noone's ever been this excited over one, though. Then again she's on the receiving end... and is lowkey infamous for her bear hugs, which people apparently don't like.

“You two sure are lively today,” she can hear Nami yawning in bed, turning to her other side. Five more minutes, please.

“Sorry~” Kat whispers with her leftover breath before being released. This is followed by some back-stretching, and -popping on her side, which feels beyond great after all these days where she just couldn't get Law's joints do the thing. Like, at all. Only his wrists would budge from time to time.

“Gee, you sure are strong... What's garchu supposed to be, by the way?” she asks once her oxygen supplies have been restocked.

Carrot's entire body is nearly vibrating... she's hyped and ready to pounce at the first thing she has to. That hug surely kicked off her day- she's trying to focus that energy into formulating a decent sentence now. “Of course I am! And 'garchu' is, like... it's more of a sound, literally speaking. But it's when you are being cuddly, kind of.” Her nose twitches and she scratches her head. “Which is very often. Iiit's... a mink thing.”

“I can get behind that philosophy,” Kat chuckles, crawling out of the cotton sea at last, and stuffs her things back into the bag where they came from. “Let's pull ourselves together to let the others do the same in peace, shall we.”

The rabbit girl nods, hopping to the wardrobe to get the sweatshirt she's been wearing on and off as it started to get colder. Must be just that range outside when she needs it in one minute, then gets too hot in the next.

As for Kat, -apart from being cold with the tee and all,- she's out with a bit more luggage than usual; if nothing else, noticing the drawing supplies might remind her of this shady dream business. Also, she's in a cuddly mood, and for better or worse she's already comfortable enough in this environment to give out some surprise hugs. Since she's also not one to hold back and Law's body is at least ten times stronger than hers... rest in pieces, mortals.

Her first victim was Usopp right outside, who's been kinda suspicious of her scheme to begin with... and found he was right in doing that. Didn't break anything, or even hurt him, really, but did scare the shit out of him for sure. All of his joints popped at once, making quite a racket, and he made a sound akin to a squeaky toy upon being crushed. And lifted, as is her standard for anyone she can do that with, and boy are her limitations near nonexistent right now. Then came Luffy, who was all for the deal despite his bestie's warnings. He was rather unfazed, but what does one expect from him anyway.

Right before she left for the submarine, the girls have also met their comeuppance; Robin took it like a champ, as did Carrot who was ready for seconds, this time as the recipient. Witnessing her massacre, Nami only agreed to a normal hug; this meant an extra tender one, as Kat only knows extremes in this matter. Realizing there are options, Usopp also insisted on not getting the anaconda treatment in the future.

Needless to say, she was in a great mood when arriving to Law. While her bounciness was a bit too much for his comfort, he only gave her a few suspicious looks when walking out and into the room. Speaking of which, the frequency of his (more than likely) toilet visits has declined. Which is good, for him and her body at least. Kat also noticed that he was rather underdressed whilst in his room and had a sweater ready for whenever he left for the surface; sometimes he'd come back with a glass of water or beer, too. Learned from the initial folly, didn't he... even at the price of more pressing reasons to go to the loo. The efforts put a smile on her face when she first realized- he took better care of that body than her, really. Either way, as she stayed halfway on-task this morning, he didn't really say anything between her arrival and lunch break. Though he was definitely scarcer with words than usual... hm. Noted.

Once having fished out another hoodie (where the hell did Law leave the one from yesterday...?) and being back on the Thousand Sunny for some grub, she also gives a not-too-bone crushing hug to Chopper. Strong little fella or not, she's afraid of hurting him in that tiny form of his. As she's putting him down, she notices Luffy and Carrot staring really intensely... volunteering for another round, aren't they.

As soon as she garchu'd the heck out of them, she also notices Sanji standing in the same spot... he's a follower of the same staring technique, apparently. After half a second of consideration, he also gets a crusher hug. Which earns a... 'reaction' with a side of nosebleed, and, uh...

“... I think he got a rib fracture,” Chopper sighs with exasperation, mild worry, and vague pity. The man is flung over the enlarged reindeer's shoulder as he's being taken to the infirmary for some painkiller and a quick patch-up. Luffy mutters a duck-faced 'Sanji's stupid.'

… oops...? Didn't even get to apologize... Somehow, this seems to be a common problem, though, so at least she doesn't feel that bad about it. Either way, Sanji seems to be accommodating to her frolicking around in this 'new' body. Will have to see how bad this piece of news is.

Kat looks over to her plates of vegetable soup, rice and pork chops. Eating this would feel weird now that she incapacitated the cook. But, she really needs to eat while this training lasts, and is also hungry because of it, so...

“... you still sulking about that, or...?” Carrot mumbles between two bites of a big representative of her namesake she has for dessert as Kat's fiddling with her leftovers in the doorway.

“... yeah.”

“It really is not that big of a deal, you know... Sanji gets to be under Bropper's care over much stupider stuff all the time.” She heard that at one point he almost died over a single nosebleed because he got hugged or something like that... she needs to control herself for a sec here, or else chuckling gets her to join the infirmary team for choking on her lunch.

“I've had the feeling, but... can't really punch my brain for making me feel like this, can I.” Beating up her feelings in fisticuffs would be a really useful ability to have, no lie. She'd probably lose a lot, though.

Carrot hums through a mouthful. “Zat's druu.”

Taking a look outside through the door window, Kat can see the sun shining really bright; she takes one last bite before giving up on the remaining morsels of her food, then makes her way out. As they are the last ones in the kitchen and she prefers to have some company, Carrot follows her.

Today's weather is really nice compared to the last few days. Kat enjoys the warmth with closed eyes, as does her mink companion, nibbling away at the leaves of her carrot. A second later, Chopper comes hoppling down the stairs.

“Oh, you're already done?” Kat is a little surprised, it's been fifteen minutes tops, after all- and he wasn't even coming from the room where she also got patched up a week ago. Everyone is working at light speed here... “Is he, um, alright...?”

“Yep, Sanji's fine,” he in forms her with a sigh; “I did prescribe him a good dose of 'keep out' as far as you and your hugs are concerned, though.”

“Sorry for the trouble, Chopper... I really didn't think I could break bones after all the people who survived without a scratch,” she muses shamefully while sitting down at the top of the staircase.

“Oh, it's fine,” he waves a hoof. “It's one of the things I'm here for, after all.” Household accidents tend to just happen. Especially over here. “Though I don't really understand how it happened, either.”

“I kind of get your confusion... I went easy on you, after all,” the confesses, leaning on her arms.

“Eh? Why that?” he pouts after the initial surprise, putting his hooves on his waist.

She returns the pouty expression; “Because you are small and I don't want to break you?”

“You could just ask me to turn big, you know?” He states with the bother already gone, then lifts his arms skyward. “I'm a pirate, I can take a beating! Hugs are no match for me!”

“Are they?” Kat asks, also lifting her arms.

“One way to find out!” With that, Chopper's already going for it, clinging to her neck.

She lies down dramatically with fake momentum as she's returning the gesture. “Oh no, how vicious...! How could I ever think that I stood a chance?!” The small doctor starts laughing.

“Oh my god, you guys,” Carrot chortles, then starts coughing- the last bits of those leaves did manage to go astray.

“... Kat... you can release me now,” the reindeer voices his opinion after a minute. “You're as cuddly as a mink, really.”

“Why, are you not one?” she asks, lifting him over her.

“Nope, I'm just a regular reindeer,” he informs the girl. “I can talk and stuff because of the Human Human Fruit.”

She blinks. “.... don't laugh... but I thought you were a mink who happened to eat the corresponding Ox-Ox model of all things...”

Chopper does break out in laughter again; calming down a bit, he nods; “Makes sense!” Kat sighs with a smile and crawls up from the floor, putting him down.

Getting over her own little crisis for good, Carrot chimes in: “There wouldn't be much of a difference, would there...”

'None at all,' is what Kat thinks to herself standing up. She can hear some voices approach while doing so; after short eavesdropping it's obviously Bepo and the Romeos. She's only seen them on board of the Sunny once before, though, so if they really are coming over, it's a little out of the ordinary.

“Look at that, we didn't even have to look for him,” Penguin says to himself as the other two become visible as well. He waves as he walks closer to them. “Hey there, girls and little guy!”

“Hi! What's the occasion?” she asks wondering as she goes down the stairs. Chopper follows her.

“We're actually here to ask our fellow doc whether he needs some supplies restocked since we're going shopping in a bit... plus, I'd also be interested in a book I've seen, if it's no bother,” he adds, looking over to Chopper.

“Why'd you have to wake me, though?” Bepo complains, rubbing an eye. He's been having such a nice nap in this weather, too...

“Because we could,” Shachi smiles to himself, then continues while Bepo groans an indignant 'that's mean!!'; “And we'll need help to carry stuff anyway, chill.”

“Actually,” Chopper starts as him an Kat reach the lawn, “apart from some food, we already bought everything last week. Sanji wants to deal with that tomorrow, if you want to wait that long.”

Shachi steps closer as Penguin lets out a thoughtful hum; “Nah, we'll pass, food is not our department. You can ask Fugu about that, but he's got this bug to go out for fresh stuff every day until we gotta stock up for departure.”

Meanwhile Bepo plods closer to the shore, listening to the faded noises of the fair from the dozen rusty and mostly closed-off storehouse's distance. The place has gotten a bit noisier compared to yesterday; as it happens, this was something that won't stop escalating until Saturday night.

“I see... well, which book are you interested in?” He put every single medical book he could find into one place the other day, so finding it shouldn't be an issue.

As Penguin is giving a description of a blue-bound tome concerning the nervous system, Shachi turns to Kat. “Were you guys telling jokes or something earlier? We could hear little Bropper having a blast from a mile away.”

“Kat's giving out hugs by the dozen,” Carrot informs him with a sudden glint in the eye, distracting Penguin and Chopper, too. The girl's ears are not just for show, are they?

Carrot, why… actually, she can work with this. “... yeah, today I'm super cuddly. Do you guys want one?” she asks with the sweetest smile. Even the boys can tell that her expression is just a wee bit too intense and scary for this offer to be any good. But by god, if she doesn't get her revenge now, it's never.

From a bit further behind the mink, Usopp's shout to attest their doubts can be heard: “No, you don't!!”

After weighing the options of funny and resulting work here, Chopper decides to talk them out of this endeavor, too. “... Usopp's right. She just sent Sanji to the sick-bay with fractured ribs.” There were two affected.

Catching that, the sniper's head pops up from behind the railing one floor above them. “No way?! You're lying!”

“I'M NOT LYING!” Chopper turns, screaming back at him.

“Guys, you are no fun,” Carrot pouts. She wanted to see this, man.

“... something tells me... we dodged a bullet, here,” Penguin mumbles under his breath. She broke Sanji... that tanky motherfucker Sanji.

While the others are having their banter, Kat zeroes in onto Bepo sniffling the sweet air that wafts from port, then walks up to him. As he notices her, he utters a little nervous 'ai?'. She spreads her arms.

“Garchu?”

She needs to react quick, as Bepo is already, well, incoming a split second of excited shock later. She's prepared for the worst, but to her surprise? There's no falling over now that she's prepared, in fact, she barely budges. Judging by gravity and the sheer weight, though... she's straight-out carrying him. She can lift a bear. Holy shit. Meanwhile Carrot notices the development and snorts really hard.

“Jesus Christ, what are you guys feeding Law with!?” Kat asks, waltzing backwards to the group with the, uh, baby still in her arms. Everyone seems to be quite amused by the scene; as Shachi starts coughing to hide his near-laughter, she puts the mink down at last.

“You know no fear, do you?” Penguin asks with a bright smile. “There's not a lot you can do when metric tons of marshmallow come at you like that...”

“... I guess I don't,” she muses after a some consideration. The only thing she can think of is her mild fear of heights, snakes, and (specifically flying) wasps that she can plough through after the initial scare or wooziness... and shit like burning to death and drowning would be unnecessarily painful, so she'd rather not go like that. As if she'd have a choice in the matter if that happens, anyway; but there's no point in worrying about that and it's not really fear fear unless you think about it a lot... is it? She doesn't really think about things she cannot change. She's rather at peace with them, though in some cases she probably shouldn't be.

Bepo yawns and mumbles an 'I'm going back to sleep.' Without further hesitation he's already nestling down in a nice corner behind the stairs.

“I see you are amusing yourselves,” Robin notes as she walks out of the kitchen with an empty watering can. Usopp seems to be a little confused for a sec, she must have been up there with him in the garden a minute ago. “Sanji is brewing some coffee, would any of you like some?”

“... actually, I do, too,” says Kat, joining the other raised hands. She can feel her power hugging taking quite a bit out of her... this is not going to last for much longer. And while she's at it, she might as well drink it out here, and maybe, just because she saw Law doing it often... use Bepo as a fluffy thing to lean onto.

#KMKY #opfanfic #this is still the thing where Law swapped bodies with a gal #about 4k words for this one #Kate writes

[naireides]

omg a bellarke fic where they take a 'business shower' (urban dictionary it; it's platonic af) and they think it's normal but everyone else is like wtf this isn't normal

business shower: an intimate shower taken between 2 persons solely for the purpose of saving time aka truly the most blarke like thing to exist

wc: 3.8k | rated m

read on ao3 here

Despite everyone saying otherwise, Bellamy is actually a pretty good roommate.

Clarke moved in with him a few months ago and, according to all of their friends, it was going to end in disaster. She’s pretty sure Jasper even went as far as to say that they might kill each other which was a little insulting.

The thing is, she knows how her relationship with Bellamy looks to the average outsider. They fight and bicker and argue about everything. There’s nothing she can say or do without him getting on her case, and she knows that it’s probably the same for her too. They like arguing with each other. That’s just their thing. She doesn’t know why it’s so hard for their friends to understand that.

But fights aside, Bellamy is a good roommate.

He always takes out the trash on time and is considerate enough to pick up a carton of her soy milk whenever he realises she’s running low and he actually likes doing the dishes which almost made Clarke weep with joy when she first found out. Sure, they’re not perfect by any means- he has a bad habit of leaving the toilet seat up and she never remembers to clear her hair out of the shower drain- but he’s still one of the best people she’s ever lived with.

And then school starts back in the fall.

She knows that Bellamy is a high school history teacher, but it was never really one of those things that ever came up between them. When she moved in, it was July, meaning school was out and he was on break. Clarke keeps an eight to four job at the free clinic in the city so she got used to not seeing him in the morning. She would leave coffee in the pot for whenever he finally rolled out of bed, and he would already start prepping for dinner by the time she stumbled back in and collapsed on the couch.

They have a system. She’s gotten used to their pattern.

So when she wakes up on Monday, she stops dead at the sight of him puttering around the kitchen, still soft and sleep hazey in his pyjamas, his glasses sliding off the bridge of his nose.

“Morning,” he says when he finally notices her standing in the doorway.

It jerks her out of her stupor and she grunts in return. He already has the Keurig up and running so she settles on grabbing a few snacks for work. She chucks a granola bar and an apple in the oversized tote she loves so much for breakfast and she’s deciding whether she’ll head to the cafe down the street for lunch or drag herself down to the cafeteria for shitty hospital food when Bellamy throws one of the sandwiches he made at her.

It almost hits her square in the face and she fumbles to catch it.

“That’s lunch,” he says, ignoring her huff. He finally glances up at her. “You’re welcome, princess.”

Clarke pulls a wry face and shoves it in her bag too, feeling a bit warm inside. “Thanks.”

He just winks at her and rests his own foil wrapped sandwich next to his messenger bag. The warm feeling quickly dissipates when she sees him heading to the bathroom and she glances at the clock.

“Hey!” she calls out, scrambling after him. She manages to wedge her knee between the doorway before he could lock it shut and Bellamy lifts an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I need to shower,” she says, shouldering past him and slipping inside.

Behind her Bellamy scoffs. “Yeah, so do I. Wait your turn princess,” he says, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and dragging her back towards the door. It takes some effort on her part but she manages to shrug him off eventually, batting his hands away and marching right back in.

“I have to be at work in half an hour and it already takes me twenty minutes to get there with traffic,” she huffs, shoving down her pyjama bottoms. Her sweatshirt is long enough to cover everything, but it still doesn’t stop his eyes from dropping to her legs for a second before sneering at her.

“Well then maybe you should learn to wake up earlier, princess,” he shoots back and Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You know what? I don’t have time for this,” she says, shouldering past him and pulling the shower curtain back. He makes a protesting noise in the back of his throat, one that quickly morphs into a squeak of surprise when she tugs off her shirt right in front him.

“Jesus, Clarke,” he swears, whirling around. If she squints, she can see the barest hint of colour creeping up the side of his neck “Give a guy some warning.”

“Look either you shut up and get out, or suck it up and get in,” she says, completely ignoring him. She slides her underwear down her legs and throws it on the heap of clothes where it lands with a muffled ‘fwump’. “Your choice.”

“Get in?” he splutters, still staring hard at the scratch on the door. “You mean in the shower? With you?”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she snaps, twisting the faucet to get the shower going. There’s the telltale creak and rumble of the pipes before the water actually starts running.

“You’re naked. I’ll be naked. Is this not weird for you?”

“I work at a hospital,” she deadpans. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of naked people. It loses it’s novelty after a while.”

She can see him deliberating as she waits for the water to heat up and tries not to feel too self conscious standing naked a mere five feet away from a fully clothed Bellamy. If only he would hurry up and do something.

“My college roommate and I used to do it all the time,” she says in an effort to spur him on. “It really doesn’t have to mean anything.” Clarke decides to neglect the fact that she and Niylah were also fuckbuddies.

She can pinpoint the exact moment he makes up his mind, shoulders tensing beneath his threadbare t shirt, and she tries to bite back a victorious grin.

“Fine,” he sighs, pulling his shirt over his head as his hands drop to loosen the knot on his sweatpants. “But I’m only doing this because I have to catch my bus in twenty minutes. And we need to figure out another, more viable solution for this-”

“Can we figure it out later?” she says dryly, cocking a hip as she stares plainly at him. “There’s a draft.”

He shuts up, but not before glaring balefully at her.

“This is ridiculous,” he hisses, climbing in behind her and pulling the shower curtain shut. Bellamy refuses to even glance in her direction, and Clarke cheerfully ignores him.

“But it saves time,” she quips before nudging his side. The brush of her wet skin against his startles him more than she’d expected, and he almost slips on the tile trying to jump out of her way. “Pass me my face wash.”

They manage to get done without any overly awkward moments; their shower is fairly big plus neither of them have time to dawdle this morning.

Bellamy is annoyingly straight laced about the whole thing though, going even as far as to turn his back towards her as he lathers up and she has to bite back a grin. Clarke isn’t nearly as innocent though, and if he catches her checking out his toned muscles well, no one can prove it.

(He really is annoyingly ripped, and she’s not sure if she wants to sketch the lines of his body or run her tongue across them. It’s a problem.)

He still isn’t looking at her when he hands her her towel, and Clarke secures it under her arms while he wraps his around his waist.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he says, cheeks still oddly flushed.

“Yeah, yeah. Hurry up and get changed grandpa. You have ten minutes before your bus gets here,” she replies, letting her eyes dart back down for one last glimpse of his abs before she slips past him to get changed. “Don’t wanna be late for the first day of school. Gotta go embrace those freshmen, right?”

“Fuck off, Griffin.”

They don’t talk about it when they get home.

They’re both exhausted after work, to the point where they end up flipping a coin to see who should call and order Thai take-out for dinner because they’re both just about ready to die.

So they end up sharing the shower again the next morning.

And the one after that.

And then the one after that.

And then it just… becomes a thing.

“You know, if you got up a few minutes earlier this wouldn’t happen,” he says, taking the bottle of body wash from her.

“Why don’t you get up earlier instead,” she mutters, pushing him out from under the stream of water so she could rinse off. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come- how often they do this- that he doesn’t jump out of the way when she touches him. Now he just huffs and steps aside, though not before leaning in to get his 2-in-1 for his hair. She tries to ignore the smell of his soap this close.

“I stay up late writing lesson plans and grading essays,” he says. “I need all the rest I can get.”

“So? I spend my day saving lives. I need all the rest I can get.”

“You work at a clinic, not an emergency room.”

“Cases of flu can become life threatening. And don’t get me started on STIs. Chlamydia can cause you to go blind.”

He ducks his head, biting back a smile. “Alright, you’ve proved your point.”

“Blindness Bellamy.”

“I’m going to go blind if my shampoo drips into my eye,” he groans. “Move.”

“No you won’t,” she shoots back, just to be contrary, but shifts so that he can duck under the water.

It’s not like they share every shower together. It’s only in the mornings when they’re both half asleep and in a hurry to get out of the apartment. It’s no big deal. Bellamy still tries to be fairly modest about it but she’s still grown accustom to seeing his dick soft between his legs, and she’s pretty sure that her breasts have lost their novelty sometime during the first week.

Still, Clarke forgets that it actually is a big deal for people who aren’t her roommate. Like Raven, who she had made plans with last week to go shopping and then completely forgot about them until she showed up at their door.

“Shit,” she swears, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she steps aside to let her in. “We had plans.”

“I’m going to assume you forgot and not that you’re heading out in sheep print pyjamas,” Raven says graciously, throwing her purse onto the sectional and kicking off her sandals.

“Yeah, it’s been a long week,” she says, muffling a yawn into the crook of her arm. Flu season always brings in an influx of patients, some of which are notoriously terrible to work with, at the clinic.

The door swings open again and both of their heads swivel to see Bellamy walking in in all his sweaty post run glory.

He quirks an eyebrow when he spots Raven sprawled out on the couch and glances back at Clarke. “Plans?” he asks, draining his nalgene and setting it on the kitchen counter.

She shrugs. “That I forgot about,” she says, trying not to stare too much. She may have gotten accustomed to seeing naked Bellamy in her shower, but sweaty Bellamy has a special place in her heart. And elsewhere.

“We’re heading to the mall in a bit,” says Raven. “You’ll have the whole apartment to yourself. That means you can jack off to NPR podcasts without your headphones on for once.”

He bares his teeth at her. “Cute,” he says flatly, making his way to the bathroom. “Thank god I don’t have to put up with you all day.”

“You like it,” Raven calls at his retreating figure, and he throws his sweaty workout shirt at her face before closing the bathroom door behind him. She manages to dodge it at the last second and it lands on one of Clarke’s many decorative throw pillows. She snatches it up before she has to end up lysol-ing the entire place again.

“I’m gonna get ready,” she tells Raven. “There’s coffee in the kitchen and I think we have leftover pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“I’m an adult Clarke, I think I can handle a few minutes on my own,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, well forgive me for trying to be a good host,” she tosses over her shoulder as she slips into her room to grab a change of clothes.

Clothes secured in a bundle under her arm, she quickly heads towards the bathroom, ignoring the strange look Raven sent her way.

Bellamy barely glances up when she clicks the door shut and places her clothes on the counter. The room is already steamy and she can feel her hair begin to frizz.

“Promised Raven I’ll be ready as fast as possible,” she tells him, stripping out of her pyjamas quickly. He just hums and steps aside so that there’s room for her under the spray.

“Don’t let me keep you,” he says, handing her her body wash before she can ask.

She snorts. “Yeah, you really want us out of the apartment huh? Bet you can’t wait to get the NPR going.”

“Fuck you princess.”

She just grins toothily up at him and flicks soapsuds at his cheek, laughing at the mock outraged face he pulls in response.

Clarke finishes before him, and quickly towels off and gets dressed while he’s shaving.

“We might be out whole day so I’ll pick up something for dinner on my way back,” she tells him, smacking her lips together after applying her lipstick.

“Or you can let me actually cook for once since we’ve gotten take out for the past three days.”

“I’m thinking Italian. I’m in the mood for garlic bread,” she continues, ignoring him and stepping out of the bathroom

Bellamy laughs. “You’re a fucking mess, Griffin!” he calls after her and Clarke flips him off behind her back while grinning at Raven.

“Ready?” she asks, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she says, still looking at Clarke kind of strange.

They spend more time window shopping than actually shopping, but by the time lunch rolls around they still have a handful of bags each. There’s been a sort of awkwardness between them though. She can’t put her finger on it, but there’s something about Raven that’s feeling odd today.

She thinks about asking her while they’re getting lunch at the little hipster cafe tucked away in the corner of the mall, but Raven beats her to it, bringing up the topic herself.

“So,” she starts, picking out the tomato from her sandwich, “You and Bellamy, huh?”

Clarke, who had just texted the man in question a picture of a Julius Caesar mug, looks up with a frown. “What about me and Bellamy?”

Raven stares at her for a moment and then snorts. “Cut the crap, Clarke. I know you and Bellamy are dating.”

She ends up opening and closing her mouth several times before managing to eke out, “No we’re not.”

“Come on. I saw it with my own two eyes this morning. You can stop hiding it.”

“I’m not hiding anything! Bellamy and I aren’t dating!”

She squints at her, trying to determine if she’s lying. “I saw you shower with him this morning.”

“Yeah, so?” Clarke frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Raven gapes at her. “What does that have to do with anything? Seriously? You don’t shower with someone unless you’re bumping uglies.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose delicately. “Okay, one, who even says the phrase ���bumping uglies’ anymore. And two, yes you can? I used to shower with Niylah all the time.”

“Yeah,” she says slowly, “And you were sleeping with Niylah.”

“We never fucked in the shower!” she objects. “Trust me, I have seen more than my fair share of shower sex related injuries. That’s one thing I’m never going to do.”

Her eyes squeeze shut and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “So what, you and Bellamy are showering together platonically or some shit?”

She feels herself blush. “Yes? It saves time!”

Raven cracks an eye open and stares at her with the most done expression she has ever seen. “You two are a goddamn mess,” she declares, ignoring Clarke’s sputtering and going back to devouring her lunch.

The rest of the afternoon passes far less awkwardly than the morning, but she can’t stop thinking about her words.

Of course Clarke thinks about Bellamy in a sexual way sometimes. He’s hot. He reminds her of almost every hero from a two dollar bodice ripper novel merged into one– sexy high school teacher with perpetual messy hair and a voice that screams sex. She’s certain that everyone who’s met Bellamy has thought about him that way once or twice. Her roommate is incredibly attractive.

But just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean she actively does anything about these fantasies. Her relationship with Bellamy is perfectly cordial and platonic, no matter how many times she dreams about him between her legs.

She’s still mulling it over by the time she gets back home where Bellamy, true to his word, is cooking them dinner.

“Hey,” he says smiling up at her when she walks in. “Had fun?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs distractedly, setting down the loaf of garlic bread on the counter. She shakes her head to clear it. “Yeah, it was good. How was your day? Any podcasts give you a hard time?”

“You’re a brat,” he says without missing a beat and she grins.

Clarke helps him finish up dinner and they sit together at the table for once instead of sprawled out in front the tv, trading anecdotes about their day. Afterwards she helps him do the dishes, and then follows him into the bathroom. He lifts an eyebrow at her joining him, but doesn’t say anything, just peels off his shirt and chucks it in the laundry basket.

“You don’t think this is weird, right?” she asks, undoing the snap of her jeans.

He glances up at her from beneath his fringe which has fallen into his eyes. “We’ve been showering for well over a month now and you’re just asking?”

“Raven brought it up,” she defends herself, shucking her shirt and bra in quick succession. “Apparently it’s weird for two people to just shower together.”

“It’s a little weird at first,” he nods, “But I don’t really mind anymore. It saves time.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” she huffs, following him into the shower. He reaches around her to twist the faucet and then stays there for a moment. “It’s totally platonic.”

“Oh yeah. Completely.”

“I mean, who cares about your arms anymore?” she says, trailing a finger down his bicep and he turns to face her.

He quirks an eyebrow. “I could say the same thing about your legs,” he says, giving her thigh a light tap, dangerously close to her ass.

“Your abs have almost no impact on me at this point,” she says, raking her nails across the aforementioned muscles and feeling them quiver beneath her touch. His eyes darken slightly and he licks his lips, glancing at her chest.

“Your boobs are definitely boring,” he says, hesitating for a moment before reaching out and circling a nipple with a featherlight touch. Her breath catches in her throat and she has to bite her lip to keep a breathy moan from slipping out.

Her eyes flick down. “I don’t think your dick thinks so,” she says lightly before letting her hand drop. She looks up at him and he swallows, jaw clenching, before nodding, and she runs a teasing finger down his length before grasping him.

His head bows forward and when he exhales shakily, she can feel it ghost across her skin. “I could argue that you don’t think any part of this is boring,” he murmurs, hand inching up towards the apex of her thighs. “You just hide it a lot better.”

She’s been dripping since his arm lingered around her when they first got in, but she’s not about to tell him that.

Her free hand creeps towards his hair and his eyes flitter shut when she combs her fingers through it. “Only one way to find out,” she hums, rolling up onto the balls of her feet so that her lips just barely brush against his skin.

Bellamy makes a sound low in his throat and then he’s shoving her up against the cool tiled wall, kissing her feverishly, and it’s like everything she’s ever dreamed.

She kisses back just as frantic of course, one hand wrapped around his dick, pumping slowly, and the other tangled in his hair as she moans into his mouth, and he takes his chance to lick into her, deepening the kiss.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, trying to chase after his mouth when they finally part. They’re both breathing heavily.

“Oh princess,” he chuckles. His hand hasn’t moved from its spot high on her thigh, still stroking her skin and driving her mad. He nips at her neck and she’s just about ready to melt in his arms. “I intend on doing just that.”

Their eyes lock for one heated moment, and then it’s a flurry of limbs, struggling to turn the pipe off and get out of the bathroom without slipping. Bellamy keeps his promise, and even goes a bit further, finding out even more than she’d teased.

Later, when they’re still breathing heaving and lying on his now soaked sheets, Clarke huffs out a laugh.

“Okay, so maybe that wasn’t a totally platonic shower,” she gives, and he snorts, throwing an arm across her side and kissing her temple.

“I think that was the least platonic thing to ever occur, yes,” he nods, and she elbows him none too lightly in the ribs.

“Shut up. Platonic showers do exist okay? This was the only time it ever resulted in sex. It’s an outlier.”

Bellamy grins, burying his face in his hair as his hand gently strokes her skin. “Whatever you say, princess,” he says, pressing a kiss to her pulse point. Clarke grumbles, but she can’t stop the truly stupid grin from spreading across her face as she cuddles back against him.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #my writing #nai did a thing #Anonymous #nai answers questions

[toosicktoocare]

It was supposed to be a regular, old stomach flu. Archie had been pulled from sleep early Saturday morning with a dull cramp stretching out across his stomach, and by mid-day, he was laid up in bed with a low-grade fever and little to no appetite.

He spent the entirety of Sunday the same way, but by Monday, he was no better– in fact, he was worse. His fever had risen, and the pain in his stomach had sharpened and shifted toward the right side; however, he had yet to throw up.

His father assured that he would be fine, but Jughead insisted on skipping school to stay with Archie.

“Just in case,” Jughead said, and Fred didn’t argue, only leaving for work with a gruff “call if you need me.”

Archie spent the better half of the morning tossing and turning miserably, with sleep but a distant thought thanks to the piercing pain in his stomach. He alternated between being curled up on his side under multiple blankets to try and remedy the strong chills wracking his body to lying atop all the covers to fend off the stifling heat while keeping one hand pressed gently atop the lower-right side of stomach.

Twice Jughead asked if Archie needed anything, but Archie only shook his head. What he needed was something Jughead couldn’t give, unfortunately.

By lunch time, the searing pain in Archie’s stomach was becoming unbearable, but finally, his stomach lurched in a way that had him rolling off his bed and stumbling to the bathroom with a worried Jughead hot on his heels.

Archie collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet, heaving into it only seconds later. Jughead was crouched beside him with a steady hand to his bare back.

“I didn’t think you were ever going to throw up,” Jughead said, lips curled down slightly at the smell.

“Me either,” Archie managed between gags.

The two fell silent as Archie continued to heave into the toilet, but after twenty minutes, both boys began to grow worried when Archie had yet to stop.

“How do you have anything left in you?” Jughead questioned with a nervous laugh. “You haven’t really eaten in days.”

Archie was reduced to dry heaves that brought up occasional spouts of bile. His convulsing muscles were aching, and he was dripping with sweat despite feeling icy cold. He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he managed out thought clenched teeth right before his stomach cramped once more. He pressed a hand to the right side of his stomach as he pushed up on his knees to dry heave into the toilet once more.

Jughead gnawed nervously at his lower lip while he watched his friend fight a losing fight against gripping nausea. He got to his feet and glanced around as if the bathroom surroundings would hold the answer to end Archie’s suffering, but when he caught sight of Archie’s hand pressed against the lower-right side of his stomach, he froze.

“Archie,” Jughead said slowly as he carefully moved to Archie’s right side. “Does the right side of your stomach hurt?”

Archie pressed his forehead against the toilet seat, hygiene be damned. “Yes,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut at the sharp pain. “Really bad.”

“Fuck,” Jughead hissed out as he fumbled around in his pocket for his phone.

At the worried, tense tone, Archie looked up with questioning eyes. “What? Who are you calling?”

Jughead tapped an impatient foot while the phone rang against his ear, but finally Fred’s voice sounded from the other line.

“Jughead? What’s up?”

“We have two options,” Jughead started quickly. “You can either come back and get us or I’ll call 911, but either way, Archie needs a hospital. Now.”

“Jughead, what the hell?” Archie spit out with a deep frown, but Jughead only waved a hand to shush him.

“Call the ambulance. They will get there faster. What’s wrong with my son?”

“Well I’m no doctor, but I’m 100 percent sure his appendix is about to burst.”

“Fuck! Get off the damn phone and call for an ambulance! I’ll meet you at the hospital!”

Jughead was already pulling the phone away to dial 911 when Archie struggled to his feet. “Jughead, that’s not-”

“Archie? Shut up,” Jughead said sharply right before someone picked up on the other line. Jughead rattled off the address before hanging up and helping Archie back into the bedroom.

“I don’t need a hospital, Jug,” Archie tried as Jughead tossed a hoodie at him.

“You really do,” Jughead said, voice firm, as he hunted for Archie’s shoes.

Archie opened his mouth to argue further, but a sharp, stabbing pain in his side followed by a wave of nausea left him clamping his mouth shut. The faint sound of sirens in the distance had never sounded more beautiful to him as his vision blurred in and out of focus.

*****

Wincing, Archie slowly got into his bed with Jughead’s help.

“I’m going to go to the store to pick up a few things then pick up his pain meds. You got this until I come back, Jug?”

Both boys turned to look at Fred, who was standing in the bedroom doorway looking frazzled.

“Yep,” Jughead said easily as he pulled blankets over Archie’s chest. “We’ll be fine.”

“Okay, good. Call if you need anything.” With that, Fred was out the door, leaving Archie and Jughead alone.

“You need to make sure he sleeps,” Archie muttered, eyes lingering on the doorway where his father once stood.

“I’ll get right on that after I make sure you don’t have any more tricks up your sleeve,” Jughead answered, voice teasing but still laced with a slight hint of concern. “For all I know, you could decide tomorrow to have pneumonia or some shit.”

Archie rolled his head until he was looking up at the ceiling. “How was I supposed to know I had appendicitis?”

Jughead placed a water bottle on Archie’s night stand before crossing his arms and staring down at the redhead with a deadpan expression. “Oh, I don’t know? Maybe the sharp pain where your appendix was?”

“I’m not a doctor, Jug. How the hell was I supposed to know that?” Archie breathed out with a sigh.

Jughead shook his head. “It’s common knowledge, Archie.” He took in Archie’s tired features, and his face softened. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I just thought for a minute there that I was too late.”

Archie closed his eyes. “I feel like I should apologize.”

“You should.”

Archie snapped his eyes open, but at the sight of Jughead’s teasing smile, he relaxed.

“I’m kidding,” Jughead said. “But from now on, you have to tell me anytime you are feeling sick or hurt, got it? I’m talking excruciating detail, okay?”

Archie nodded and drew his blankets up to his chin. He felt a slight dip at the edge of his bed, and his lips curled up into a soft smile just as he drifted off.

#riverdale #riverdale cw #sickfic #prompt #jughead jones #archie andrews #jarchie #listen i realize both of these specifically wanted jughead taking care of archie #but i love like writing appendicitis apparently?? #sorry #anywho #i hope you guys like it #my writing #my riverdale writing

[littlefraygirl]

otayuri for the ship meme ^^

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - they’ll grow old together

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - yuri realized his feelings for otabek when he was reaching adulthood while otabek wasn’t aware until several years later

How was their first kiss? - drunkenly. otabek had invited yuri to a night out with his college friends and the blond had snuck too many drinks when otabek wasn’t looking

Wedding:

Who proposed? - otabek

Who is the best man/men? - katsuki yuuri

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - hinako

Who did the most planning? - yuuri and viktor helped otabek and yuri

Who stressed the most? - otabek, although he’d never admit it

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - no one

Sex:

Who is on top? - otabek (although yuri sometimes power bottoms)

Who is the one to instigate things? - yuri, although sometimes unknowingly (when otabek finds the blond brushing his teeth in an oversized shirt, yuri’s red boxers showing slightly and a faint hickey seen on the side of his neck)

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - they last until both are satisfied

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - yuri has a kink in giving pleasure, and sometimes he overstimulates otabek to the point that the blond finishes in the bathroom with his own hand, or with the help of otabek’s

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - none

How many children will they adopt? - two (a boy and a girl)

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - yuri does, otabek is always busy showing the children tricks on the ice or getting their stuff ready for the next day

Who is the stricter parent? - otabek, he worries about their safety greatly (the first time he saw one fall on the ice he immediately rushed them to the hospital only to find that nothing was wrong)

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - yuri, he enrolls them in tutoring to calm their nerves before their night ice practice

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - otabek (and he always slips in sweets)

Who is the more loved parent? - yuri, because he lets them fall asleep in his lap

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - they both attend regularly

Who cried the most at graduation? - yuri

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - otabek (he’s a force to be reckoned with when upset)

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - otabek, he likes cutting food into the shape of animals for the children (and yuri)

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - yuri, he always complains about the vegetables being too crunchy

Who does the grocery shopping? - the family goes together

How often do they bake desserts? - mainly for special occasions only, but sometimes otabek will suprise everyone with a pie or food cake after supper

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - they fluctuate, although yuri prefers salads and otabek prefers meat

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - yuri, surprisingly. he feels bad that otabek cooks so often and takes pride in making a meal for his lover

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - neither, they would both rather stay in and watch movies while cuddling

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - yuri

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - yuri, he can’t stand when a mess gets too large and clutters the room

Who is really against chores? - neither

Who cleans up after the pets? - yuri, since his cat prefers him over otabek

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - otabek does when he’s too tired to clean properly (and gets scolded by yuri later)

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - yuri, he worries that the house isn’t clean enough, he doesn’t look nice enough, etc.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - yuri (and knew it was because otabek hadn’t been cleaning properly)

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - otabek

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - yuri (he has a thing for animals, and although he typically doesn’t like dogs he settled for a calmer breed that otabek picked out)

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - yuri hates the thought of setting something up just to eventually take it down but otabek is a slut for holidays and overdecorates the entire place

What are their goals for the relationship? - land that triple throw salcow (pair skating term - i just want to hint that they retired from competitive mens singles to go on to adult competitive pairs)

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - otabek (yuri has to push him out of the bed to wake him up)

Who plays the most pranks? - yuri (he’ll never forget the reaction otabek made when he put shrink wrap on the toilet seat and otabek didn’t notice until it was too late)

#ship meme #anonymous #otayuri #asks #long