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loveelle · 1 year

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Last Night

Jim Halpert x Reader

A/N: Well, took me a bit longer than I thought it would but here it is! The fic yall voted on the last few weeks! Not entirely sure how I feel about it, bit back and forth for me, changed quite a few ideas from when I first decided I was going to write based on this song, but yeah! Let me know what you think!

This fic is based on the song Last Night (Beer Fear) by Lucy Spraggan so I suggest giving it a listen to!

WC: 4.2K

Master

A/N2: When you see “---” that means a time skip forward or backward depending on where you are in the fic, hopefully that makes sense!

---

Your head hurt.

Oh god, did your head hurt.

You hated being hungover. Last time you were hungover this bad, it was the night before your college graduation and you promised yourself the next day that you would never drink that much again. Obviously, last night you decided to break that promise.

Your situation only proved worse when the alarm next to the bed went off, signaling it was 8 am. You slap your hand against the table, looking for your phone, but instead you’re met with a bedside clock, finally stopping its ear torturing sound. You barely have time to sigh in relief before you struggle to take in your surroundings. Your head was still pounding and your eyes refused to open all the way but one thing was certain.

This was not your room.

This was not your house.

You woke up in someone else’s house.

First things first, check for your clothes. With a simple glance down, your heart sinks. Gone was your Halloween costume from the last night and in its place was a T-shirt that wasn’t yours and by the looks of it on you, belong to a man, as well as a pair of shorts also not belonging to you.

“Shiiiiiit.” You whisper to yourself only seconds before a knock comes at the door. You jump in place, clutching the blanket close to your body and ignoring the urge to throw up everything you ate yesterday. The door opens much too slowly for your liking before a very, very familiar head of shaggy brown hair appears and every muscle in your body relaxes.

Jim smiles sheepishly when he sees you in his bed. Your hair was a mess and you were wearing one of his old shirts from college. There was a ghost of your smile when you realize it was just Jim coming in that made him smile wide himself.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” He chuckles, handing you a glass of water and an aspirin. You don’t say anything as you take the pill and glass from him, gulping it down as fast as you can. “How do you feel?”

“I can taste colors.” You grumble, putting the glass next to Jim’s alarm clock. Jim laughs. He was unsure what exactly to say, although you were in the same position. You glance around the room, silently taking it all in and waiting for the pounding right behind your eyes to stop. “It’s Saturday, why is your alarm going off?” You finally say, meeting Jim’s eyes with a squint.

Jim’s brows raise comically as he nods. “I like to wake up at the same time.” He shrugs.

You shake your head. “You’re supposed to sleep in on the weekends.” Jim exhales a quietier laugh and you watch him rock on his heels, unable to look you in the eye anymore. You clear your throat, clutching the blanket a little tighter. “Uh, Jim?” He hums, leaning on the wall behind him. “Last night, did we… um…” you weren’t really sure you wanted to finish that sentence, but luckily you didn’t have to. Jim was quick to shake his head and you let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.” He quirks a brow and your eyes widen. “I didn’t mean like… just that, you know, I was drunk and you were drunk… and we’re coworkers… and friends?”

“It’s alright.” Jim’s posture relaxes and you feel your cheeks heat up a little at the prospect.

“Not that it would be a bad thing.” You quickly say before you can stop yourself, hating the fact your hangover hadn’t stopped you or said something less painfully stupid.

“I know.” You nod your head at Jim’s words, leaning back on his pillow and closing your eyes. Then it struck you; it wasn’t the words Jim said, but how he said them. It was almost like he knew what exactly you were talking about. Almost like he could read your mind, Jim chuckles. “You really don’t remember much of the party last night, do you?”

You shake your head, your breath stuck in your throat. “Was it bad?”

Jim tilts his head, thinking about yesterday before a smile crosses his face.

---

Last Night…

Jim walks into the office 15 minutes after the office’s costume party was supposed to start. He will never understand why Michael decided on a costume party at the beginning of April, but here he was. There was bad music playing from the office that Jim could hear the moment he stepped out of the elevator, widening his eyes momentarily before adjusting the taped black circles on his torso and pulling the door open.

“Jimbo!” Michael calls out before the door even closed behind Jim. Jim breathes out a laugh, putting his hands in his pockets. “Welcome to the party!”

“Hey Mike.” Michael throws his arm over Jim’s shoulders, struggling a bit with the height of his employee.

Michael leads Jim throughout the office, where he sees his coworkers in all in different costumes with drinks in their hands. Michael finally lets Jim go with a pat and push on the shoulder as Jim snags a drink on his way out of the conference room. He runs into Kelly and Ryan, Kelly sporting a costume that Jim didn’t realize was supposed to be Taylor Swift, and Ryan as a police officer. He was just about to answer Kelly’s question of how he was doing before he spots you, Phyllis, and Pam talking in the kitchen. He smiles to himself before heading your way, catching your attention out of the corner of your eye.

Pam catches your smile growing at the sight of Jim as she nudges your arm. “Will you just tell him you like him already.” She whispers to you despite the glass door separating the two of you. You smack her arm gently, sipping from the red cup in your hand.

“No.”

“Come on, Y/N! Tonight’s the night!” Pam keeps pushing, raising her brows at you multiple times.

Your mouth drops open from her antics. “Pamela Beasley, how drunk are you?” She rolls her eyes at you. “Phyllis, can you tell Pam to lay off?”

“Oh no, Y/N. I’m on her side. I mean, if I never made the first move on Bob, we wouldn’t be married.” She says before grabbing an extra drink and leaving you and Pam, heading towards the Annex where she knows her husband currently is waiting for her.

You tilt your head in defeat, unsure what you expected from seeking Phyllis’ help.

“Tell him.” Pam says seconds before Jim opens the door. Your eyes widen and you can’t help but take another large sip of your drink, knowing if you were going to have any chance of telling Jim you’re desperately in love with him, alcohol would be your best friend.

Pam not-so-sneakily steps away from you as Jim comes in front of you, matching your smile. You look him up and down before adjusting the black dot on Jim’s chest that had started to fall down. “Three-hole punch Jim? Bringing back a classic?”

“Oh absolutely, I put a lot of work in this costume,” Jim hides his smile behind his cup as he takes a drink. He looks you up and down as well, only he takes a bit longer as his brows draw together. “And you are…?”

You chuckle, looking down at the white shirt and pants and black shawl you were wearing. “I’m a penguin.”

A cute penguin, Jim says to himself and before he has the chance to compliment your costume in a way less exposing of his feelings, Michael comes tripping into the kitchen, holding a drink in his hand.

“Jiiiiim! Y/NNNNN!” He says, pointing at the two of you. You and Jim stare at him, neither of you saying anything as Michael pants heavily, his face red from the no doubt numerous drinks he’s already had. He just smiles, looking between you both before he turns around to leave and you can faintly hear the sound of him calling out Ryan’s name as the door closes.

Jim and you fall into a fit of laughter, unsure what exactly to do about your drunk boss. “Why did he get so much alcohol?” Jim asks, shaking his head.

You shrug and finish off the last bit in your cup. “I have no idea, but I am certainly not complaining.” You step to the right of Jim, filling up your cup with the bottles Michael put in the kitchen earlier. “Can we even have this much in the office?” You ask and take a long sip.

Jim watches you carefully as you toss your head back, effectively finishing off the drink you just poured before he gulped. “I uh… I don’t know.” He quiets for a second as you fill up your cup again. “Sure you don’t want to slow down there?” He chuckles, although he is a bit worried for you.

You shake your head and smile. “Nope.” You pop the ‘p’. “It’s a party, Jim. And I’m gonna enjoy it.” You stick your cup in the air and Jim cheers against your cup, both of you taking a sip and your eyes widen after yours, starting to feel a bit of a buzz.

“Alright, but I’m not helping with you if you’re hungover tomorrow.” He says as the two of you walk out of the kitchen, joining the rest of the party in the conference room.

---

“That doesn’t sound too bad, I remember most of that and even what Pam, Phyllis and I were talking about.” You can’t imagine the story of last night will remain as boring as those first 15 minutes Jim had described. As long as you didn’t drink that much more after those three drinks.

“What were you guys talking about?”

Uh.

“Nothing?”

Jim chuckles, moving to finally sit down on the bed next to you, causing you to scootch over as he sits on top of the blankets, giving you all the space that you need in your hungover bliss.

“I take it forgot about your ‘bracelets’, then?” Jim smirks, unable to meet your eyes. Your stomach falls greatly, a small vague memory coming back to you as Jim continues his story.

---

Jim loses sight of you for a bit as he is pulled into a drinking game with Kevin and Meredith, narrowly beating Kevin but loosing to Meredith in a landslide. He glances around the conference room and into the bullpen but he doesn’t see you. Most of his coworkers were drunk, but he sees Angela in the corner, sipping on a lemonade in a black cat costume.

“Angela.” He calls out, making her sigh. “You’re not drinking?”

“I don’t drink at work.” She says, despite the fact she’s not currently working. Jim nods, taking another look around from the new spot in the room. “Besides, someone has to make sure no one does something stupid like drive.” Jim nods again, glad despite Angela’s resistance to the party, she is watching her coworkers. Angela stops watching her coworkers actions with disgust and looks up with Jim before sighing even louder. “She’s in the annex.”

Jim’s head snaps her way so fast that he almost spills his drink. “What?”

“Y/N. She’s in the annex with Ryan.” Jim knows he’s blushing at how obvious he was searching for you, but thanks her nonetheless. “Whatever.” She says and walks away to another corner, continuing to sip on her lemonade.

When Jim realizes Angela said you were alone with Ryan, he was quick to make his way out of the bullpen, hearing your laugh before he was even in the annex. When he does walk in, he’s greeted with you and Ryan a bit too close for his liking. “What’s going on?” He calls out and Ryan jumps back, one of his hands coming up to scratch the back of his neck and the other picking up his cup of beer on the table.

“Hey man,” Ryan says before downing his drink. Jim gives him a look of distrust before focusing on you.

“Jim!” Your eyes light up as you turn around to see who was there and right away Jim knows you’ve had quite a few more drinks or shots in his absence. The second thing he notices is the metal circling around your right wrist. You hold up the wrist to show him with a smile. “Do you like my bracelet?” the loose cuff almost smacks you in the face but you don’t react. Your smile, however, does fall the moment you get a good look at the costume piece. “Oh, wait…” you say to yourself. “They’re handcuffs.” You stare at the piece for a moment before smiling again. “I took them from the police.”

“You took them from the police?” Jim finally manages to say, wanting to make sure he doesn’t have to murder Ryan.

“She did.” Ryan is quick to nod. Jim still isn’t quick sure he believe him but once he’s focused on you again, you’ve got the bracelet off your wrist and chucking it at the temps head. Jim has to hold back a laugh as it knocks the hat off Ryan’s head, and smacks him in the face.

---

You’re quiet, burrowing your face in Jim’s pillow in embarrassment. “Oh my god.” You finally say.

Jim clears his throat. “You don’t uh, happen to remember exactly what was happening there, did you?”

Much to his relief you nod and say, “Yeah, I took his cuffs because I wanted to prove I could do a magic trick.”

“Can you do magic tricks?”

“I’ve never done a magic trick in my life.” You shake your head and pull the pillow away just in time for Jim and you to both start laughing again, although your embarrassment was reaching new levels of insane. “Please tell me that was all I did and I went home right after that.” Jim stays silent, but he looks right into your eyes, causing your heart to skip and your stomach to flip. “Please tell me I didn’t embarrass myself more.”

---

“Okay, I am taking you home.” Jim says and takes you by the hand, gently leading you out of the annex and through the kitchen. By the time you both enter the bullpen, Jim hears you gasp and he stops instinctively, thinking you might be hurt or sick or something.

You were staring at your intertwined hands with your mouth agape. Jim lets go of your hand slowly, but your expression doesn’t change. Instead, you make a sound that Jim can only describe as a squeal. The rest of the party around you falls quiet, all looking towards you and Jim.

Jim looks at them all and by the time he looks back at you, you were several feet shorter as you were on one knee.

---

“There is no way that happened.” You interrupt Jim, shaking your head once again and gripping the pillow tight.

Jim can only laugh hard, clutching his stomach from under the blanket, where he had moved during the course of the story. “You got on one knee.”

“There’s no way.”

“You asked me to marry you.”

“I asked you to marry me?” You are beyond embarrassed at this point. You are flustered and irritated and you want to go back in time to when you thought you could drink whatever you wanted at an office party. You went from simply embarrassing yourself to possibly outing your stupid little crush on your coworker. You want to leave, you want to hope this was all a dream and you were going to wake up in your own bed, but you have to know one thing first. “…Was there more?”

Jim is quiet for only a minute and you know instantly that last night wasn’t over yet.

---

“Marry me.” Your words were a bit slurred and quiet, but Jim definitely heard them and most likely your entire office did as well.

His heart is racing and his head is pounding and he doesn’t know exactly what to do, but before he can think, his drunk brain was already pulling you off the floor. “What’s that, Y/N? You want me to get you home? Now? Well, if you say so!” Before any of his coworkers could say anything, Jim is leading you out the front door of the office and calling for a cab on the way down the elevator.

You are leaning against him the entire way down and he can’t resist enjoying the feeling of you practically hugging him as he wraps his arms around you, keeping you together as you wait patiently for the taxi.

When it’s finally here, you are practically asleep in Jim’s arms, mumbling something about not drinking so much next time and for the first time all night, Jim thinks you might actually be okay. That is until you start crying in the taxi over the ending of some movie you had watched the day prior that Jim really can’t understand the name of. The taxi pulls up to Jim’s apartment and he struggles to get you through the door and up the stairs, cursing the elevator for being broken.

You’re finally in Jim’s bed and Jim lets out a sigh of relief, happy that you were safe and taken care of. He drapes your shawl over his desk chair and takes one last look at you before he starts to turn off the light. Just as the light turns off, a loud thud comes from the other side of the room and he flips the switch back on to see you face down on the floor.

He frowns before gently helping you up and making sure you’re okay once more. He was about to get you back in bed before you were suddenly more alert, scaring him a bit.

“I’m hot!” you yell out and he jumps back, colliding his back against the wall from being startled. He isn’t sure how exactly to help you before you pull your shirt over your head, quickly leaving you in your bra and giving Jim no time to divert his eyes. Just as you did with your shirt, your pants were on the floor and Jim is standing in front of you, looking up at the ceiling and covering his eyes with his hands.

“And now you’re naked.” Jim mutters mostly to himself because he can’t believe that you’re here, in his room, standing in front of him, in only your bra and matching underwear which he only got a glimpse of before coming to his senses and covering his eyes. He doesn’t know what to do next. He knows you’re not going to put your clothes back on and he doesn’t really want to remove his hand and help you and violate your privacy in the process. There’s only one thing he thinks of that might just work.

Blindly, Jim heads over to his dresser, finally removing his hand to search through his clothes. “Here,” he says, turning blindly once more. “You can wear these.” He holds the t-shirt and shorts out to you and his arm remains out stretched for a bit before you slowly take the clothes from him. When the sound of you changing stops, Jim lowers his hand.

The shirt was baggy on you and the shorts were a bit longer than shorts should have been, but Jim thought you looked great in them because they were his. You were wearing his clothes.

He must have been staring for a bit too long because you reach up and gently poke his cheek, breaking the moment between you both. Jim is hopeful in your state that you don’t realize how red his cheeks were when you poked them. “Alright, lets get you to bed.” You nod, finally working with Jim to get you under his covers and snuggled in his pillows. He has to stop himself from reacting the way he did with his clothes once again. When your breathing slowed down, Jim finally steps away, and just like earlier, he turns off the light, thanking everything possible that there was no thud this time.

He was just about to close the door before hearing you say, “I want your babies, Jim” and he freezes in his tracks.

---

For the first time all morning, you don’t say anything when Jim stops talking, you can only sit there with your head buried in the pillow, silently praying that the bed would simply open up and take you whole. Jim has no idea what is running through your head at the moment, he can only assume a whole lot of embarrassment, but if he was truthful, he isn’t sure you really needed to be embarrassed. He actually enjoyed taking care of you last night. And he has definitely been enjoying this morning as well.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Jim tries to reassure you but you can only groan into the pillow, a sound that Jim thinks slowly is turning into a laugh.

“I am never drinking again.” You say to him.

“I promise, it wasn’t that bad.” Jim pulls the pillow from your face, unable to hold back the smile on his lips when he sees you.

You sigh, staring into his comforting eyes before rolling your eyes. “Yeah, says you. You’re not the one who completely embarrassed herself in front of her coworkers and her cru- and her friend.” Just like that, you’ve embarrassed yourself even further. Hopefully, Jim didn’t catch onto the slip of your tongue, but you know you don’t have good enough luck for that. The two of you are quiet for a moment. You’ve refused to look at Jim since your slip up, settling for keeping your eyes closed, which is honestly helping with your hangover headache, and Jim just looking at you. “It least there are no photos on Facebook of me doing the robot this time.” You joke, hoping to help the situation a bit better.

All your comment does is elicit a “What?” from Jim, followed by chuckles as he promises himself to find those photos later.

The two of you were quiet once again, sitting in comfort as you think over the events of last night. You can hear your heartbeat echoing in your ears and your headache is a second thought to the fact that Jim and you were in his bed together and just talking. In all your years of pining after your coworker, you’ve never in this position before, so close together, your bodies were only separated by the fear of wanting more.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You whisper to Jim and his smile softens his face.

“I always will.” He assures you and your lips tug upwards. “Besides, like you said last night, you need me.”

Your lips instantly tug downwards. “No, I didn’t.” You would’ve remembered that part of the story.

Jim can only laugh, scootching closer to you in the bed on accident with the action. “I didn’t tell you about the cab ride?”

“That I was crying over a movie?”

“And?”

“… and that I said that I need you?”

“And?

“And? What else did I say?”

“Besides that you need me?”

“Never said that.”

Jim smirks. He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t say that you rambled off almost a hundred reasons why you were in love in him.

He doesn’t say that it took everything in him to just say you were drunk and didn’t mean any of it.

He doesn’t say that despite feeling drunk himself, he sobered up real fast when he heard those three simple words tumble out of your mouth the first time. And the second time. And the third, fourth, fifth, even what seemed like the 99th time. He just wishes he could hear them again, when the words were said by a sober you.

“Come on, tell me!” You interrupt his thoughts, pushing on his shoulder gently. “What did I say? It can’t be worse than anything else I said to you last night, and I still blame it entirely on the alcohol.” Your hand lingers on his arm, slowly falling closer to the bed where his own hand was laying. Jim can’t look anywhere but your face, but your eyes were studying the way his fingers were slowly covering across your own, something Jim wasn’t even aware he was doing. “Jim?”

He clear his throat, breaking out of the moment between the two of you, but he doesn’t release the hold on your hand, instead he shifts his hand so your fingers intertwine together. “Nothing.” Jim lies, hating the whisper in his voice.

You don’t believe him, but the way he’s looking at you makes you not question him further. Maybe you didn’t need to know everything about last night. Maybe it was all worth it to lead you and Jim to this moment, the two of you growing closer and closer in his bed until his arm is wrapping around your waist and Jim and your breathing has slowed to a sleeping rhythm.

Maybe this time it was better that you didn’t wake up in the morning and be in your own house.

I am slowly moving out of using taglists because it is very tedious and I don't like them, so if you would like to know when I post new fics (if I post new fics) try to follow the account @updates-from-elle if you can, it might not work because I haven’t tried it or played with the settings and everything, so stay tuned!

#Jim halpert x reader #Jim Halpert imagine #Jim Halpert fanfiction #Jim Halpert #the office x reader #the office imagine #the office #the office fanfiction

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casuallyawkardd · 4 months

Text

In His Vice

Pairing: Dark!Miguel O'Hara x Wife!Reader

Summary: Something seems different this time when Miguel comes home late

Warnings: non-con in terms of pretending to be someone else, lowkey gaslighting, me attempting to write suspense, not fluent in Spanish so correct me if I mess up

A/N: I made the executive decision to write this fic in a first person perspective because I feel like that adds to the horror aspect so don't come for me. If you enjoy, be sure to join the taglist! Dividers by cafekitsune

I could hear the wind outside, whistling as it shook the trees and bushes. When the weather woman had said there would be a storm tonight, I hadn't expected it to be this bad. Lightning could be seen in the distance, the sound of thunder following after. It took a second more this time, hopefully meaning the storm was going to pass quickly. The television had become background noise, my attention focused on the window as I watched the rain streak down the glass.

Today had been one of those days, the kind where I couldn't wait for it to be over. I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, a recurring nightmare waking me at three in the morning; its contents making it difficult to fall back asleep, so I inevitably decided to start the day early. Coffee and an aspirin did little to help the headache I'd been developing over the last few days, deadlines at work materializing the throbbing just behind my eyes.

Miguel had seemed to take notice of my struggles, taking over breakfast duty and getting Gabriela ready for school. The feeling of his kiss still lingered on my temple, my fingers now massaging the spot absentmindedly.

"I'm gonna be a little late tonight," he told me, gently prying the emptied mug from my hands and taking it to the sink with the other dishes.

"But what about Gaby's soccer game?" I asked, the look of remorse on his face telling me he had forgotten. "Honey, this is the one that determines if they qualify for the championship. It's a big deal for her."

"I know, mi corazón," he soothed, but I pulled away from his touch. Quiet fell over the kitchen then, Gaby's happy giggles heard from the room over. "Y/N, look at me," he said and I reluctantly turned. Soft brown eyes looked back at me, the hand rubbing my back reassuring. "You know work's been hell lately, my boss really wants me to finish this project. After that, I promise I'll make it up to you and Gaby." That's what he always said. "I know things have been.. tense between us lately, but-"

"Let's not talk about this right now," I interrupted him, hiding the pang in my chest when a look of defeat crossed his features. I had every right to be mad at him. This wasn't the first time he had forgotten. It wasn't just about this soccer game, it was about every forgotten soccer game, birthday party and date night before. Was I happy my husband had gotten the promotion he rightly deserved? Of course, but had I known just how much his job would take away from our family, I would have suggested he negotiate terms.

Which was why I held my tongue as he and Gaby left the house. In hindsight, I could've been kinder to Miguel. Could have turned my head as he leaned in for a kiss, said 'I love you' when he whispered the same phrase in my ear. With no way to turn back time, I figured I could redeem myself tomorrow. He was always quick to forgive.

The rest of the day was as mundane as any, the stress from the deadline had seeped into my very being, becoming familiar as I submitted my final drafts. Then I was left with nothing, returning to the start of the vicious cycle that came with the job. At least I got to clock out early, meaning I had time to spend with Gaby.

She was a bundle of excitement, squealing when she saw I had come to pick her up early from preschool. Relatives always told me she'd grow up fast; I found that to be true. Expected to start kindergarten next year and she was already being mistaken for a second grader. Her father's doing most likely, maybe she'd end up being as tall as him someday. Sharp as a whip too, but that trait I always said came from me.

We decided on a mommy-daughter date at a nearby cafe, one I knew Gaby would like. The owner's cat loved to brush against her legs, mewling until I told her it was alright to give him a dollop of whipped cream. Keep her happy until she saw her papi wasn't at her game. She was disappointed, the bounce in her step fading when she came up to me afterwards, frowning in confusion.

"Papi?"

"Not today, sweetheart," I offered her a sympathetic smile, "work needed his help very badly. You understand, yeah?"

Gaby nodded, but I knew my daughter well enough to know she was still bothered, "I wanted to show Papi that I used the move he showed me."

"Well you can show him after dinner, right?" The idea seemed to help perk her up, the two of us walking hand in hand back to the car to head home.

Only Miguel didn't make it home for dinner. Odd but not uncommon, unfortunately. It wasn't until it neared Gabriela's bedtime that I felt something was wrong. He's always home in time to put her to bed. A nagging feeling started in the back of my mind. He wasn't answering his cell either, going to voicemail instantly. After promising Gaby that I'd send him in to kiss her goodnight later, she finally settled and I took my post on the couch. Which is where I've been up until now.

A quick glance at my phone told me it was nearing one in the morning, that nagging feeling became something more. Something that dug into my gut and constricted my chest. The amount of missed calls he had was probably bordering on the edge of warranted worry and psychotic spouse. The thought of calling the police made my fingers itch, but I abstained. Miguel's a big guy, he can take care of himself...right? I winced as my teeth bit into the skin around my fingernails, pulling my hand away to assess the damage. It was a nervous habit I couldn't seem to shake, the cuticles an ugly red from irritation.

Then came the sound of a click, followed by the ominous crash of thunder. It was quiet, I almost didn't notice, but it was a new sound compared to the rain, thunder and static of the TV. My heart lurched forward, taking me with it as I rushed to the entry hallway. In the dark, I could make out a figure. Large and imposing, it hunched in front of the main door of the house, grunting as it shifted about in the black of the hall. I had become so paranoid that the sight left me momentarily speechless, throat suddenly dried when I tried speaking.

"Miguel?" was what I managed to get out.

The movements stopped, tension rising around me as the figure stood to its full height. I almost back pedaled as it approached, step by agonizing step coming closer and closer to me. The air around me felt thick, hard to breathe until the glow of the TV revealed this intruder.

"It's you," Miguel's voice rattled my eardrum, reminding me to breathe. "Why are you still up?"

"Where have you been?" I demanded, forcing my voice to remain at a reasonable volume. "Do you know how late it is?"

Miguel's expression hardened, not answering me right away and keeping me on the edge of my seat. I searched every inch of his face for a reason, a tell to let me know what had kept him, and yet I saw nothing. Why did I still feel so uneasy? "There were some complications at work," he explained, "It took some time to fix. I figured you'd be asleep by now, so I grabbed something to eat after everything was sorted."

"And that took you until one in the fucking morning?"

"Didn't know I had a curfew." He said it so bluntly, almost accusatory. The eyes that looked into mine were unyielding, wanting no question or fuss to his response. Not to push that which was unmovable. It wasn't an expression I was familiar with, at least from him, the glint of affection that lingered no matter how mad he got at me now snuffed.

"I..." I trailed off, unsure what to say next. The whirlwind of thoughts and emotions collected within me had me feeling unhinged. Was I being crazy? "I'm sorry, I was just worried about you," I settled on, swallowing thickly so my throat had lubrication.

"Where's Gaby?"

The question gave me pause, his evident impatience spouting words from my mouth. "Oh! Um... she's in bed," Miguel didn't seem impressed by my answer, "u-upstairs," I pointed in the direction mentioned.

"Mmm," was all he responded with, leaving me to shuffle out of the way as he beelined to the staircase. Then I was left alone once again, the suddenness of it making me wonder if I had just dreamed everything. The heavy footsteps above my head confirmed that our interaction was all too real, another crack of thunder giving my body the jumpstart it needed. All was well now right? That's what I told myself as I folded the blanket I had been using, shutting off the TV and making my way up to the second floor.

Miguel's home now, Gaby's in bed, everyone is safe and sound. I thought as I passed by my daughter's room, catching a glimpse of her father sitting beside her bed. I repeated it as I got myself ready for bed, brushing my teeth and washing my face of any leftover makeup. My pajamas were one of Miguel's t-shirts and I tucked my nose under the collar as I lay down, letting the smell of him ease my lingering nerves. There was nothing more to worry about, everything would go back to normal tomorrow.

The sun woke me up, bright rays peeking through the curtains. Blinking away the haze of sleep, I still felt restless. The nightmares again, most likely. A nuisance that was bold enough to show itself in the night, but cowardice in that I'd forget them in the morning. As I wiped my eyes, the clock on my nightstand became readable.

7:30 AM

Overslept. It was what I needed to get me out of bed, rushing as I did the bare minimum to look presentable. Cold water to wash my face, teeth brushed, hair pulled back and managed, some sweatpants and slip-ons for good measure. Thank God I worked from home.

Gaby was next on my radar, moving quickly down the hall and rapping on her door with my knuckles. Opening my mouth to tell say it was time to get up, the words left me when I saw she wasn't in bed. Come to think of it, Miguel hadn't been in bed either. Did he even come into the room last night? Shaking my head to clear the thought, the sound of dishes clattering drew me to the kitchen. As I descended, the smell of pancakes was clear, the sound of quiet chatter and little giggles following after.

"Papi, quiero voltear el siguiente." Papi, I want to flip the next one.

The baritone of Miguel's laugh followed after, "Lo sé chiquita, pero debes tener cuidado." I know little one, but you have to be careful.

The sight of my husband and daughter making a mess of the kitchen was touching, last night's events feeling like a distant memory. Almost. To think those cold, hard eyes that had pierced through my very being, were now looking down with such warmth and tenderness.

"Mommy!" Gaby spotted me in the doorway, squeezing between Miguel and the counter to come greet me.

"Well, good morning to you too," I cooed, bending forward so we were eye level. Her arms wrapped around my neck in an embrace, my lips finding purchase on her cheek before returning the gesture with one arm. "What do you have going on here?" I asked once we had parted, smoothing down her curls.

Gaby shrugged, "I wanted pancakes," was her simple response. "You were sleeping, so Papi said he could make them."

I looked up at the man in question, who seemed more occupied with what was cooking on the stove than what we were discussing. "And they haven't burnt?" I teased, approaching him from behind. My hand touched the small of his back, thumb rubbing small circles into the muscle as I looked over his shoulder to analyze the aforementioned pancakes.

"I know how to make pancakes," Miguel quipped back, his tone suggesting I might have struck a nerve.

"Of course you do. It's just that last time-"

"I said I got it."

"Okay," was all I could really say, kissing his shoulder apologetically. "You're tense, Mig. You should take a warm bath," I commented, pulling away so as not to disturb him further. Gaby had taken a seat at the kitchen counter, nibbling on a small plate of fruit. Miguel had most likely prepared it so she didn't get impatient.

"Well, breakfast will have to be quick today," I announced, grabbing a grape for myself, "We still have to get you dressed for preschool and then-"

"I called the preschool," Miguel interjected and I turned to him, "she's not going today."

A small frown graced my features, "Well, I wanted to get a head start on my next article."

"Called your work too. Told them you weren't feeling well." Before I could protest, Miguel continued, "I took the day off as well, figured we could have a day together. As a family."

"Oh," is all I had left to say, "Are you sure? I mean that sounds great, but you said your boss was really strict about time off."

Miguel huffed, smiling wryly at my comment, maybe even condescending. "Yeah, well if he has a problem with it, he can kiss my ass."

My eyes widened at his sudden crassness, "Miguel!"

"Papi, that's a bad word," Gaby chimed in, nose scrunched in determination as she scolded her father.

Miguel's smile shifted to a genuine one, rounding the kitchen island to reach the little girl. "You're right, mi vida, I'm sorry," he said, kissing her temple and she squirmed at the contact. I watched as Miguel pulled away, combing his long fingers through her hair. Did she always look so small next to him? "Come on, help me plate the pancakes. The sooner you eat your breakfast, the sooner we can figure out something to do."

Gabriela nodded eagerly, jumping out of her seat and following Miguel to resume their work. I figured I'd let them enjoy each other's company, preparing coffee for Miguel and myself. As I had hoped, everything seemed to be as it always was once more, if not better. Usually it was hectic in the morning, Miguel sleeping in until the last possible second before getting dressed and walking out the door for work, Gabriela in tow. So having a moment like this was a rare treat, one usually reserved for the weekend.

And yet, there was still something that felt so entirely wrong. Something that made my stomach churn and the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Call it intuition, but as to what it was cluing me into, I had yet to understand. I racked my brain as to what could be causing this feeling to linger inside me. Chewing the inside of my cheek as I poured the coffee into two mugs. To one, I added milk and a spoonful of honey. The other simply got milk, each getting a thorough stir. I took both cups, sipping from the one with honey and offering the other to Miguel.

He took it without even looking at me, focused on making sure Gaby didn't hurt herself as she flipped a pancake. I thought nothing of it as I went to go sit down, maybe scroll on my phone now that I had time, but Miguel's disgruntled murmur had me turning to face him. "I don't want anything in my coffee."

"Oh, sorry I didn't know."

"It's fine, can you just remake it?" Miguel asked in a dismissive tone, holding out the mug to me to take. I set my drink down, taking his in both my hands and going to discard the contents in the sink.

When did he start taking his coffee black?

Tags: @lazy-idate @lilly5799 @yougavemeyourheartyouknow

#miguel o'hara #reader insert #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x you #x reader

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bcyhoods · 11 months

Note

hi miss cece babe! love the new blog, very cutie! i do come to you with a request if you like <3 shy!reader getting steve harrington flowers on a bad day of his <3 been obsessed with shy!reader, just too soft <3

u are so cute and u sent this a while ago SORRAY. this is just a short little thing to help get out of a writing rut!

talks about migraines (brief allusion to vomiting but nothing more than a sentence)

Steve could be extremely prideful at times.

He’d jump into action headfirst even if it meant a swift blow to his temple or a demobat bite to the abdomen. More often than not, he’d reap the consequences days later in the form of a dull headache or a singing pain in his bones, in addition to the scars and bruises painted on his freckled skin. Whenever you’d ask about it though, he’d give you a charming smile with a quick, “I’m fine. You should see the other guy.”

It was usually enough to quell anybody’s concerns, safe for your own ever-worrying mind, but even then, it would soothe you just enough. He never did it out of spite or malice, he just didn’t want to worry you. Plus, he wasn’t weak. He could handle it.

Today just wasn’t his best effort, he supposes.

The pair of you were supposed to go out today, but this morning he woke up with a particularly nasty migraine that wasn’t letting up any time soon. And no witty remark was able to save him from your doting presence (which he was quite grateful for).

You’re sat beside him on his bed, pushing away the strands of hair that stick to his forehead.

“‘M sorry,” he says meekly. His complexion is pale, face screwed up in discomfort, and a sheen layer of sweat coats his skin. Any food that he was able to get down would just fight it’s way back up.

The apology makes you frown. Your hand hovers over his stomach, a featherlight touch out of fear that it’d make matters worse. “Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” you reply softly.

He reaches for your hand with his own, gently bringing it down to fully rest on the swell of his stomach and sighs in relief. The gesture gives you goosebumps. You remain this way for awhile, your other hand combing through his hair, until he’s able to drift off.

The first time he wakes up, you’re laying a warm, damp rag on his forehead and placing a delicate kiss to his cheek. You’re telling him something, but he’s not awake enough to understand. Though his headache seems to have dulled.

When he awakes again, the throbbing sensation in his head is thankfully nothing but a memory. Faint hums and the whistling of a kettle motivate him to get out of bed when he sees new items sitting on his bedside table.

You’d gone to the store to get some aspirin, which now sits on the wood beside a cup of water. But it’s not that he’s interested in, not really. Beside the medicine, with a blue ribbon around its neck, sat a vase filled with daisies. A flimsy piece of paper rested against the glass that read For Stevie :) in your handwriting.

With a gooey smile on his face, he pads into the kitchen to find you. Your back faces him as you pour liquid from the kettle into a small mug. He calls out your name, and the second you turn around, he feels his insides turn to mush at the way your face brightens.

“Oh, you’re awake!” You recoil at the momentary loudness in your voice. “Are you feeling okay?”

Steve nods and pulls you into his arms. His thumbs dip under the hem of your shirt to caress the skin of your waist. “Better, now. Thank you for taking care of me.”

You hum in response as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“And thank you for the flowers.”

Suddenly, you feel heat rush to every swell and curve of your face. You didn’t expect him to explicitly mention a few flowers. And now you’re embarrassed.

“They’re feverfew. They’re supposed to help with migraines,” you reply into the cloth of his t-shirt in an effort to hide your nervous, lovesick grin. But the silence that follows makes you queasy.

That is, until he moves to cradle your face in his hands to deliver a firm kiss to your lips. The kind that makes you feel lightheaded, the kind that makes you grasp tightly onto his biceps to prevent you from floating away. You sigh once his soft lips move away from yours and you feel his breath fan your skin as he breathes out a laugh.

“Oh no, you’re running hot. Do you have a fever?” He teases.

#i got more detailed than i wanted to AGAIN dammit #but i want to care for him.#i also didn’t know how to end it so this is what this monstrosity is #ᝰ cece’s scribbles #✮ gf soph #✿ convos with cece #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fluff #steve harrington thots!

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cu7ie · 10 months

Note

I’m obsessed with both of Tokyo Revengers hybrid fics, do you have any intention of writing many more?

👉👈🥺

⋆⸜(ᐢ˙꒳˙ᐢ) I did want to talk more about shepherd shinichiro. (keep beasts of burden in mind, but i didn’t write this reader to be the same as that reader.)

cw; hybrid!shinichiro. humping of furniture, reprimanding, intimidation (from shinichiro) and panty kink

I really do think he’s a good boy! He had a moment of . . . weakness is all.

Like he’s the kind of doggy to bring you a cup of coffee fresh in the morning, water if it’s a hangover, aspirin if you’ve got a headache. He is reliable end of, an encyclopedia of everything you more or less. Most of the times, it's great. Shinichiro fetching you your favorite snack after a hard day at work, knowing just what show will cheer you up and he gets to see you smile all wide, sing out of tune to a theme song he’s heard probably over a hundred times,

and all he wants is a pat on the head in return! Run your fingers along his scalp and hear a throaty groan pry itself from his chest, settling into a soft hum as you massage along his head, touching his black furred ears and petting, scratching gently along until you reach the tip. Everything starts at the top.

From his head he likes when your hands slide down his chest and caress his abdomen, makes his tail thud hard against the side of the couch whenever you got a good pet going, twists and turns into your touch until he’s exhausted your patience and you’re trying to shoo him away.

He just starts putting your hands wherever he wants you to pet him.

Starts at his head, of course.

And the touches never felt intimate until you realize how his excitement manifests in new ways now. Sometimes if your session is really really good for him, you’ll catch him humping pillows or furniture, taken over by an animal lust that deepens his desire for not just contact, but that bit of friction that relieves his aching cock, smears precum over the side of your couch covers and he’s never heard you bellow

“SHINICHIRO! NO!” like that before.

He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, humping his dick nice and rough and fast and when he looks up he sees your horrified gaze, a spray bottle of water in your hand that makes his lip curl.

The beginnings of a snarl as you brandish it, his claws digging into the cushion of the seat as a groan cuts through his train of thought, and he can only stare at you, your face wrinkled in abject terror. His tongue lolls out of his mouth as he rolls his hips teasingly slow, a breathy whimper escaping him as he gets closer to finishing, still refusing to look away from you.

You spray him.

He growls. It is bare animal, thundering in his chest and it feels like you’re treading on his territory - a wild wolf is before you, you're holding a gun and his hackles rise to the occasion.

It’s just water, but his whole demeanor changes. It's like the weather, a pleasant afternoon flipped on its head by an unexpected storm, and your house is flooding.

With tension. He's pulled so taught you think he might snap. He's making you nervous, and your shout of his name sounds too uncertain for him to take seriously. He's more interested in you now, looking to get back at you for your graceless slight, but you retreat to your bedroom faster than expected.

He scratches at your door, doesn't beg but tries to see if you'll submit again.

When you don't, he gets bored and forgets what he was mad about when he can go back to humping things around the house, without your meddling.

I think he can be petty though. He''ll act all nice when you do pop out, bow his head and whimper for belly rubs and treats, like normal. The house won't look different. Maybe a stain or two on the couch - nothing unfixable.

It's only when you go through your laundry that you noticed something's fucked, and you know it's bad when some of your panties are stuck together, the perverse musk thick enough to make you gasp, dropping them with a crude plop.

When you try and confront him, he's wagging his tail and smiling at you like he doesn't know exactly what you're thinking.

Shinichiro just had his moments of weakness… he just has needs you know? You should have taken that into consideration more before you got him ❤️

#shinichiro sano #shinichiro smut #shinichiro drabble #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokrev smut #and i have more in the works !!#a role reversal to be specific #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revenger x reader #🌩️ L1GHTN1NG_STRIKE5.pdf

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cevansbaby-dove · 2 months

Text

i'll always care about you.

pairing: Steve Rogers XBestfriend!reader

You and Steve have been great friends for many years. And now while your sick you two are there for each other.

Warning:None just pet names (doll, sweetheart) lots of fluff and a few kisses.

Shout out to @nicoline1998enilocin for helping me come up with the idea for this i have wanted to write more of Steve and you helped me out so much! Thanks again.

You woke up with a really bad head ache and man you feel hot too. You walk into your bathroom and grab a wash cloth and wet it down and you see your phone ringing. "shit"

You walk back into the bedroom and pick up your phone and see it's your friend Steve. You pick up. "hey stevie what's up?" You said trying to hide your sore throat.

"Hey sweetheart was calling to ask if you wanted to go see a movie with me."

"uh that would be great but...Stevie i came down with something So maybe next time?"

"Oh i can come over! I'll be over in fiffteen"

You sit on your bed. "No stevie i don't want you to get sick from being-" "no sweetheart i have to help you please?"

You roll your eyes. "Okay okay sure but if you get sick I'm sorry in advance"

You and him end the call and you walk into your kitchen and make some tea and grab your book and sit on the couch and start reading.

You then hear a knock on the front door. You look over and say. "it's unlocked" Steve walks in. "really doll you just say that most of the time??" You laugh. "yes why?"

"because you never know who might be at the door' he walks over to you and kisses your head making you pull away. 'No no! No kisses steve"

"okay sorry, i brought over some muffins and some tea for you and i am open all day so i have no where else to be"

You lightly smile. "Your so sweet thank you"

You two make some water for the tea and then you sit on the couch. "Hey steve can i put on a movie?"

Steve sits by you handing you the tea. "Sure doll" You groan lightly. "Sorry my head is killing me" I shut your eyes then steve says. "I'll grab some aspirin."

He walks back into the kitchen and grabs the bottle and takes one from the bottle and sit by you handing you the pill. "here"

You take the pill and pop it into your mouth and then take a sip of your green tea and say. 'Thank you steve" he smiles. 'Your welcome doll."

You two spend half the day on the couch and you turn and look at him and say. "Thank you for coming over but you really didn't have to stay all day"

Steve looks at you and smiles. "I wanted too doll is that not ok?" you laugh. "it's ok thanks" he kisses your head and you lay your head on his arm and you hear him say. 'I love you doll"

The next day you were feeling better and Steve is back agian making dinner for you.

You are at the counter. "hey steve?" He turns and says. "Hmm?" You look at your hands. "did you um..say you loved me last night?"

Steve's face turns bright red and he says. 'Um..no i uh...damn yes i did i'm sorry if that made you feel-" You look at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"tell you what?"

"tell me you loved me....are you...are you in LOVE with me?"

Steve rubs the back of his neck "um..i uh...."

You groan and walk to him. "steve-" He says. " I’m in love with you. Are you happy now? Can we move on?"

You blink and say. "No..."

"what!?" You lean up and kiss his soft lips and he pulls you closer to his body and you pull away. "I'm sorry i...i didn't" He kisses you deeply before you can say you loved him more than you planned.

Sorry this took so long but i ran blank for ideas then i had sometime to think. enjoy.

tags:@cutedisneygrl @mrsevans90 @patzammit @angelbabyyy99 @armystay89

#steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #steven grant rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers au

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youaintnothinbuta · 11 months

Text

“Oh, good lord, deeper, Elvis.”

Summary: Elvis tries to help ease your period pain.

Pairing: Elvis x fem!reader

Word count: 502

Warnings: mention of period, cramps, period pain etc. fluff. Probably spelling mistakes/typos/bad grammar

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Oh, good lord, deeper, Elvis.” You sighed, standing between your boyfriends knees, who was sat on the couch, pressing the palms of his hands into your hips.

“Deeper? Honey, you know how hard I’m pressin’?” He chuckled, but still complying with your request. The pain you felt during your period was something unfathomable to him, the way you made it seem. This time round, it was your hips causing you majority of your monthly grief.

After a few more minutes of standing there, your hands on his shoulders for balance as he pressed his hands into you, massaging your hips, you sighed, taking a seat on his lap, letting your head fall against his chest. He rubbed your back up and down, slowly, giving you a kiss on the cheek as he did so. You let out a frustrated groan, wrapping your arms a little tighter around his neck.

“You taken an aspirin?” He asked, softly. You nodded your head against him.

“You too hot? Too cold, need a blanket?”

You shook your head.

“Need a cuddle? ‘S about all else I got.”

You nodded against his chest once again, his arms snaked around your waist, holding you tightly.

“I’m sorry, honey.” He apologised, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“‘S never your fault, Elvis.” You mumbled.

“I know, but seeing my girl like this and not being able to help – it breaks my heart.”

You lifted your head from his chest and looked into his eyes, touched by his sincerity. “You do help, Elvis. Just being here with me, holding me, that's all I need right now.”

He smiled, his blue eyes sparkling with tenderness. “I can do that, honey, I’ll hold you as long as you’ll let me.”

You leaned in and kissed him softly, feeling the warmth of his lips against yours. His embrace provided comfort and solace, easing the ache in your body.

As the evening progressed, Elvis suggested having a bit of an earlier night. He turned off the television and gently lifted you in his arms. Carrying you to the bedroom, he tucked you under the covers with utmost care. Sitting beside you, he ran his fingers through your hair.

“Rest now, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

You felt his side of the bed raise as he slowly got up to leave.

“Elvis, wait.”

“What, honey?”

“Will you sing for me, a little lullaby?”

“Alright, baby, if it’ll make you feel better.” He sat down by you once again, letting you rest your head on his lap as he smiled down at you.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.” He started singing softly, his voice just melted over your body, truly, it was just the most soothing sound.

“You make me happy when skies are grey.” He continued.

“I love you.” You muttered, bringing his hand to your tummy, playing with the rings on his fingers as he sang.

“I love you, too, honey.”

A/N: did I get ya with the first line?? ;) sitting here writing this while I’m in excruciating pain hshshsh :/ ALSO HOW CUTE IS THAT GIF pls why can’t he carry me like that

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inkblot22 · 2 months

Text

The Infection I Don't Want

I don't have any words. Don't look at me. In all seriousness, I definitely love the savior trope. I tried to give it a cute little twist. Idia feels funny in this one too. Also sorry if the formatting is weird. I write these in Docs and then I transfer them to tumblr and for some reason in this fic's document I used Amatic SC and I have bad vision to begin with. No clue why I love torturing myself. Dividers by @/cafekitsune. This fic gets a little heavy. If you start feeling unwell, stop reading. I won't take it personal, promise.

This fic is aimed towards afab readers, but uses they/them pronouns. Mentions of periods and wombs. I may have been a bit less impersonal with this one, but the reader doesn't go on my weird love rant that I have in my self-insert Idia fic so there is that.

This fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. TW for mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, DIY abortion which could also be read as miscarriage, I guess, abortion, Idia is incredibly mean in this and possibly OOC, Ortho being unintentionally creepy, parasites, sort of misogyny relating to periods, shock collars, electric shocks, captivity, implied forced marriage, implied forced medical procedures. PSA: don't try anything the reader does in this fic. It's an excellent way to get sepsis, and you don't want that, I promise.

Part 5 of the Pants on Fire series.

You don’t want to admit it, but a bit too much has changed about you. In the past few weeks, you’ve noticed plenty of things, but the largest and most blaring was that your period never came. Before when you would have it, Idia would sulk and pout, acting like you were bleeding on purpose, throwing a heating pad and a blanket and a pillow and the necessary products at you so you’d be comfortable in your distress. He kept talking about figuring out some technology to rid you of that pesky trait, and you really can’t think of anyone who likes having a period, so if he had, you wouldn’t have fought him on it,

It’s too late for that now. For the last few days, you’ve been waking up early and vomiting. The smell of Idia’s favorite noodles makes it worse. Your poor tummy is constantly roiling, and you can hardly keep anything down. Ortho has been staring at you incessantly. You think he’s being annoying, really, and Idia’s been getting on your last nerves as well.

Today, you woke up, vomited, and just sat in the bathroom for a moment, coming to terms with the fact that you could very well be pregnant. You feel conflicted. On one hand, you don’t want to talk or think about this. You’re stressed enough as it is. On the other hand, you absolutely don’t want this. You don’t want this creature in your stomach. You know it's there. You can’t feel it, but how often can you feel something before everything goes absolutely wrong? You can’t.

But it’s unimportant. A knock comes at the door and you scramble to your feet, flushing the toilet and rinsing out your mouth before opening the door. It’s Idia. He gives you a look and starts stripping, turning on the shower and handing you a hair tie.

“You look sick. What’s wrong with you?”

“O-oh, I… I don’t know. I feel fine.” You’re not sure how to tell him, so you lie. Maybe you won’t have to tell him. You pull his hair into a bun and he hops into the shower.

You stand there for a moment and he peeks his head around the door at you, “What are you doing? You want to join me?”

“Huh? Oh, no. Just thinking.”

“Go see if Ortho can get you some aspirin or something so you can start acting normal again.” He mutters.

You leave. It’s fine. Idia’s dorm room is always cold. He keeps it like that on purpose. If you’re cold and he doesn’t provide much more than these stupid skimpy pajama sets that are cute but are also thin, so you’re more likely to cuddle up to him or wear his hoodies. At least he has good taste in that.

You don’t really feel like undertaking the task of looking through his closet, so you take a seat in Idia’s gaming chair, which is still warm from him sitting in it, and sigh, laying a hand over your belly. He said that Ortho was here, but he must be out getting breakfast, since you didn’t immediately hear his high voice shrilling in your ears, “Good morning!”

You like Ortho just fine. He’s not your ally, but being around him is better than being around Idia. You wished he’d been gone for longer. You sigh and your head begins to hurt, “Hi, Ortho.”

He giggles a little and puts down the takeout bag, smiling as he turns back to face you. And then he just stares, chartruse eyes boring into you.

“Ortho, is there a problem?” You can’t hold your tongue about this any longer. You have a headache and honestly you just want to take a fat nap and let the world, small as it has become for you, deal with itself.

Before he can respond, Idia strolls out of the bathroom, lazily greeting Ortho, “Hey, Ortho.”

“Hello!” His voice is just so grating. You want to throw something.

“Mmm.” Idia glances at you, walking over and nudging your shoulder with the back of his hand, like he’s shooing an animal, “Go lay down.”

“I don’t-”

“Did you ask Ortho for-”

“Would you stop interrupting me?” You snarl, turning to look at him.

He stiffens ever so slightly, then hunches down and digs through the takeout bag Ortho brought in, “Are you acting like this because you’re on your period?”

“Did you really just ask me-”

This time, it’s Ortho, not Idia, who interrupts you, “Oh, they won’t be having a period for a while.”

Idia freezes. You freeze. Ortho goes back to what he was doing, humming as he makes the bed. Idia turns to narrow his eyes at you, his eyes sliding down to look at your midsection and feet, and his eyes roll back into his head and he’s hitting the ground. Maybe if you cared more about him, you’d check to make sure that he was fine, but as it is now, you don’t really have the energy or wherewithal to do so. You rush into the bathroom and cower near the toilet, like there’s a tornado or something outside. You’re distressed.

He doesn’t know it, but Ortho just vocalized the actualization of all your fears, the culmination of your meager existent, all rolled up into this… this parasite in your stomach. You swallow your incoming hysteria and make a decision. You’re going to get up. You’re going to get a change of clothes. You’re going to take a shower. And you’ll be fine. You’ll figure this out. You always have before. You’ll do it again.

When you exit the bathroom, Ortho is blowing air into Idia’s pallid face, and Idia is groaning. You ignore the pair and go to the closet. You grab a change of clothes, the rabbit-themed set of pajamas, you walk into the bathroom, you turn on the water. About as soon as the stream hits your back, you’re screaming. Sobs break from your chest like a hammer going into ice, smashing its way out despite every effort you make to keep it together. You’ve barely got the peace of mind to quickly wash yourself, and when you exit- the water is cold, too cold for comfort- you dry. You feel twitchy, after crying so hard. You tug on the spaghetti strap shirt, the bunny face stretching against your skin, and then you’re staring at the hanger.

You remember reading something, a long, long time ago. You were far too young to be reading this type of thing, the gorier parts of feminism and women’s rights, but… you remember a passage. The wire twists apart easily as you remember the story. A woman, desperate to be rid of the parasitic growth in her womb, just as desperate as you are now, used a wire coat hanger to remove it. It’s been so long that you can’t remember how it ended for her, but you remember the rest very clearly. The bent end, no longer crooked after you bent it, slips into your opening so easily. You can barely feel it. then the door opens, you freeze, and you hear Ortho scream.

“Idia!” He yells, and there are footsteps and a moment of silence.

You look up at Idia’s honey-colored eyes that are glued to the wire hanger sticking out of your body, see the way both of the Shroud boys are looking at your current unfinished action, see the slow spread of crimson into Idia’s long hair, starting at the tips and spreading like, well, like fire, to the roots. There’s that familiar three-tap warning, and then you drop the hanger, clutching at the collar as the strongest shock you’ve ever felt hits you like a truck. It’s worse than the time you didn’t want to hang out with him, worse than the times you’d stray too close to the door. It forces you to your knees, sets your body into convulsions that shake the twisted hanger out of you, makes you foam at the mouth.

Somewhere under your anguish, you think you hear Ortho robotically say, “BPM reaching critical levels.”

The current stops and your body stops convulsing, relaxing so hard that your world, small as it has become, goes black. When you awake, you’re reliving a distant memory: you’re bound, hands and ankles, on the bed. You’re dressed again, one of Idia’s hoodies draped over you like a blanket, and Idia is just staring at you, holding your collar. He looks pissed, but his hair isn’t red, at least. He’s noticed you’re awake, but he’s not saying anything. He turns slightly in his gaming chair and throws the strap of leather on his desk, the wiring fried. There are holes burnt into the leather, and Idia stares at it blankly before he starts typing away on his tablet, his own voice coming through the device.

It sounds about as burnt out as the shock collar looks, “I bet you feel pretty bad, huh?”

You don’t dignify that with a response. It doesn’t matter to him, since his fingers fly as he keeps typing away.

“You’re a fucking moron. Only someone stupid would try to-” He doesn’t finish the sentence and hits the desk, standing up and pacing. You can’t see him, but you can hear him panting.

You try to de-escalate, sort of. The shock collar isn’t around your neck anymore, but you really don’t need him to work himself up again, “The word is ‘desperate.’ I don’t want… I don’t want this. This thing growing inside of me, I don’t-”

“You’re not the only one with a parasite.” His voice is quiet but seething. It breathily cuts through the air like a knife, aiming for your soft parts, “You just have the privilege of being able to get rid of yours comfortably.”

“Really? So you putting this thing in me isn’t as bad as I think it is?”

He paces back into view and you notice something missing. Someone missing. You lift your head a bit to look around and Idia takes a heavy seat at his desk again. This state is rare. It takes him a while to relax when he gets like this, but you’ve only seen it aimed at others, like that time his account got temporarily banned because one of his party members was hacking. At least that had an easy solution for him- you’ve never seen him grin as much as when he had the poor guy swatted and watched through the CCTV cameras around the poor fool's house.

“We’re going home. I’ll fix your little problem twofold, since I’m the only competent one between the two of us.” He types out, his recorded voice not lagging once.

“What? And what do you mean you have a parasite?”

He doesn’t look at you, but you think you see him wipe his cheek with his sleeve, typing with only one hand, “Ortho is gonna come back with some burn cream. I lost my temper and you got hurt. Not that you didn’t deserve it.”

“I didn’t deserve any of this. I asked you if you had a condom.”

He doesn’t respond to that statement, instead typing, “I don’t love you. You know that, right? Love is for the idealistic masses, those who aren’t capable of keeping their feet on the ground. You’re just someone who has taken up a space in my mind. So the solution to yours won’t be permanent. Seven knows my parents will be getting on my case about providing them an heir eventually.”

“So I’m just here for eventual marriage security?”

Idia doesn’t respond. Ortho strolls in, placing a tube on Idia’s desk and goes out of your line of sight, seemingly to tidy or something. You don’t really care. He’s not your ally. He’s never been.

Idia sighs, then goes back to working on something on his desk. You don’t know how much time passes, but he loops it around your throat and unties you. It’s sitting a bit lower on your neck, just against your collarbones. There’s a three-tap warning, but no shock afterward. Just the flat look on Idia’s face.

“I should start calling you ‘baby’, kitten. It’d be so much easier for you to understand your position.”

“That’s not funny.” You say, “I never asked you to bring me here.”

Idia shrugs, “Well, I don’t think of you as a pet. With the way you act, you might as well be a pest.” He grins, sharp teeth on display, “Maybe I should put out some glue traps… or start dosing you with raw garlic and ivermectin.”

He starts laughing, and you feel your eyes well with tears. You tell yourself it's the pregnancy hormones. Idia laughs harder at your expression.

“Aw, kitten, I’m just teasing. Come sit with me.”

“But I-” That three-tap warning from your new collar cuts you off. You stand up and start walking the two steps between the bed and Idia’s desk. When you reach your hands towards the collar, it zaps you. It’s quick and not too painful, but it gets you moving towards Idia. When you take a seat on his lap, he leans to bury his nose in your hair, a thrilled noise escaping him. He drops the burn cream in your lap.

He just watches you as you unscrew the lid and reach for your neck. There’s a three-tap warning again- bzz bzz bzz- but you ignore it. The second your fingers barely graze your throat with the cream, you get zapped, short and swift, but uncomfortable enough. You drop your hand and it goes away. When you look up at Idia, he takes the cream from your other hand and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, using his free hand to click into one of his many tabs for some anime streaming site.

“Good. It works.” Is all he says.

As he dabs the cream onto the electrical burns on your neck, you have to blink away the despair again. It’s settled over you like a blanket, eaten holey by moths and worms. Every move you make is accompanied by tentative fear, a worry that Idia will do something awful if you do certain things. You never once considered it would go this far, though. Ortho drops something onto Idia’s bed, a hefty-looking luggage set, and Idia pays him no mind as he tucks away some clothes. You don’t want to admit it, but you don’t want to be around any more people under Idia’s thumb, whether they know it or not.

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seoafin · 4 months

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sick currently and all i can think about is ddao mc getting sick like the girlfailure she is..

Like she d probably get sick walking home without a jacket. Not pay much mind to it, carry on with her studies, forget to eat or something and then BAM passed out BAM high fever BAM whole evening waking up barely lucid and passing out again. Like just the classic over the top sicfic scenario.

Shoko writing her own perscription instead of whatever mc got from like, campus nurse or whatever because she knows better.

And then. And then and then. People seek comfort when they feel bad. Too tired to overthink as usual maybe? Shes just so warm and shokos hand is cold on her forhead and <<3

Stsg punching the wall bc they werent the ones to find her first. And now shoko is telling them to keep away. Like no you cant make a project out of nurturing her back to health on your couch like a sick baby bird and taking it as an excuse to get her to move in. nanami already passed by and got the aspirin.

They can get cucked in more ways than just sex and i think they SHOULD!!

seoafin shoko sick fic WHEN someone hold a gun to my head i'll kill myself if i don't write one while im still invested in jjk. does shoko even get sick. can she get sick. anyway. you're so sick you're delirious and teary eyed and maybe a little needy and stsg are. um. hard. and since erections are not conducive to good treatment shoko is like r u kidding me. go away. bam cucked.

#I LOVE YOU PLEASE FEEL BETTER #do not let stsg get their hands on u when ur sick ur going to be waking up in another bed all your stuff moved in #also nanami....what a man...

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kleenexwoman · 3 months

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I'm finally getting out of my fog and writing again!

Naturally, I'm writing about brain chemicals more. This time it's Steve and Eddie, and there might be a surprise mentally ill guest star I will make you feel unexpectedly bad for. (@thorniest-rose you are literally the mortal inspiration for me writing this all tbh)

Sneak preview:

Billy oozes by Eddie’s locker after lunch, and Eddie expects him to say something about Steve, but he doesn’t.

“Need some white heat,” is Billy’s opening line.

“Dude, your dealer in Los Angeles might know what the fuck you mean, but you gotta be a little more specific with us hicks,” Eddie says. “That could be, like, anything.”

“Nose candy, moron.” Billy rolls his eyes.

“Are you fuckin–” Eddie stuffs his books into his locker and lowers his voice. “What are you, a narc? You can’t just buy cocaine off me in the hallway, idiot!”

“I’m so bored, man,” Billy whines. “What, do I gotta come to your special little goblin rock in the woods or whatever for anything halfway decent?”

“Look,” Eddie says. “It’s pizza day. I have oregano, ‘cause the pizza here is basically grilled cheese, and then I have antacids so you can concentrate in class. And I have some aspirin for girls on their periods. If you want anything more interesting than that, you gotta come to my place.”

“I thought you delivered,” Billy says.

“You can walk to my place,” Eddie points out. “I don’t deliver when I can hear you blasting Speedwagon across the park.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Speedwagon,” Billy says.

“Didn’t say there was,” Eddie says. “I’m just saying, you can walk. Or drive, or whatever.”

“Fine,” Billy says, and points at him. “Five-thirty, sharp.”

“Yeah, whatever, man,” Eddie says as Billy walks off.

Whatever. He’ll be at home or he won’t. It’s not like Billy has that much money, not unless Hagan is sending him to get the drugs, which seems like a reversal of dynamic on their part. But the world has changed, who knows what bright new social order blah blah.

It’s a little more of a surprise when Eddie closes his locker ten seconds later and Nancy Wheeler, of all people, is standing there.

“I don’t sell study pills to bitches,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, I’m fine on the… study pills,” Nancy says, wrinkling up her nose like she’s not going to be slamming Mother’s Little Helpers come her frosh year of U of C or wherever the fuck she thinks she’s headed. “It’s about Steve.”

Eddie points at himself, then at Nancy, then raises his eyebrows.

“Please, please don’t sell him anything,” Nancy says.

Eddie angles his whole body towards the retreating Billy, looks back to Nancy, back to Billy, shakes his head, and then turns back to Nancy.

“That’s Billy over there,” Eddie says, “unless I’m very much mistaken.”

“I saw you sitting with him at lunch,” Nancy says.

“Yeah, well, nobody else was,” Eddie says. “Can I go to class now, hall monitor, or do we need to take this to the interrogation chamber?”

“I’m just saying that he’s been through a really hard time,” Nancy says, and raises her hands defensively, “and yes, I know I was part of that–”

“So you understand the unfeasibility, nay, the pure absurdity of your negotiating position here,” Eddie says.

“–but just because we’re broken up doesn’t mean I don’t care about him,” Nancy says. “I mean, six kids? Who has that many children in one lifetime?”

“Mormons?” Eddie blinks slowly. “I’m sorry. Are you coming to me to ask me not to engage in the commerce that is my trade, or are we discussing birth control now?”

“I’m saying that it’s probably unethical for you to target Steve for, like, drug-selling reasons when he’s just been through a really bad weekend,” Nancy says. “So please? Like, please? I don’t want to have to call his parents and explain why their son is in a straitjacket at Central State Hospital.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have called the guy ‘bullshit’ in front of all his friends then,” Eddie chirps. He opens his locker door, shoves his math book inside, and rattles it around for a few seconds just to make a point. “Seems like anything I’m gonna do after that is just gravy.”

“Look,” Nancy says from behind the locker door. “It wasn’t my best moment.”

“It wasn’t,” Eddie agrees. “Neither is this. But I’m willing to do you a favor and forget it.”

“But I’m really serious,” Nancy says. “You have no idea how much harm it could do–”

“Rule One of the Munson Doctrine.” Eddie slams his locker. “Do not give opinions or advice unless you are asked.”

“What?” Nancy tilts her head forward in that way smart girls do when they’re not sure if they’re hearing you wrong or they just think you’re stupid.

“Ethics,” Eddie says. “You mentioned ethics. I have ethics, and I’m sorry they don’t line up with yours, but that’s a big one. Rule Eight: Do not complain about that which you need not subject yourself.”

“Those are the Satanic Rules of the Earth,” Nancy says slowly. “I saw Anton LaVey on Geraldo too, y’know.”

“Okay, you got me.” Eddie throws up his hands. “Twenty bucks and I won’t sell anything to Steve this week. Are you happy?”

“Fine.” Nancy visibly sets her jaw, like she wasn’t the one just accusing Eddie of preying on the weak-minded for sport and profit, and digs a crumpled twenty out of her purse. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

“And I appreciate making a sale without even having to move any product,” Eddie says, stuffing the money into his pocket. “Break up with a few more guys, and I might be able to get into Warhammer.”

#steddie #steddie fic #nancy wheeler #eddie munson #billy hargrove #steve harrington #anton lavey #satanism #tw drugs

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animegoil-vnc · 6 months

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💭 well you knew this was coming :) headcanons about hmmmm. idk, literally anything relating to shiguang that you haven't already talked about! :D

Okay so I know I'm insanely late on this, buttttt, I did write a lot of them to hopefully make it up to you! They're all about their college years because I'm still fascinated by the concept of what their lives look like outside of the photo studio.

(Even though I can't think about it too hard because why the heck would they live in the dorms when their college is seemingly in the same town and they already have a place to live?? I guess it hasn't actually been confirmed that CXS and LG lived in the dorms, only QL with Xu Shanshan, right? And somehow QL is a year older and LG is younger but they all graduated at the same time? And was college two or four years if they're 21/22 but have been out of college for two years?? I've stopped trying to make sense of it...)

So without further ado, Shiguang College Headcanons™:

Lu Guang majored in business because that’s what his parents expected and he really had no prospects for himself otherwise. He minored in photography both because he was inspired by Cheng Xiaoshi and to share classes with him.

Cheng Xiaoshi always knew he’d major in photography, but after he decided to open his parents’ studio he decided to also minor in business.

So at any point during their college years they were sharing at least two classes.

LG was always jealous of the passion CXS had for photography - he was interested, sure, but he found he wasn’t passionate about *anything*, really. But photography was soothing, especially because he couldn’t read the ones he took, and he enjoyed spending that time with CXS so he kept taking the classes instead of switching to something else.

As part of their photography assignments they spent a lot of hours in the darkroom. Sometimes Lu Guang would just hang out there silently or take a nap while Cheng Xiaoshi finished developing photos for his more advanced classes. It’s also where they had their first kiss.

Lu Guang definitely had to help Cheng Xiaoshi with the business classes. Qiao Ling took accounting and finance, so they had one or two classes that overlapped, but either way they tag teamed Cheng Xiaoshi and gave him shit for how bad he was with numbers.

Cheng Xiaoshi drove them crazy because he always had a camera on him, which meant going *anywhere* with him inevitably took twice as long because he kept stopping to take photos of things that caught his eye. Usually this wasn’t a problem unless Cheng Xiaoshi was being quiet, because that meant it would take them a moment to realize he’d been left behind at the last corner taking a picture of something interesting he found.

Lu Guang secretly finds CXS’s leather camera harness extremely hot.

Cheng Xiaoshi had a phase where, finally freed from being in school with people who knew about his parents and his behavioral problems, he tried to befriend as many people as he could and go to parties and generally revel in his charm. Eventually, he realizes those superficial moments and relationships don’t leave him anywhere as fulfilled as a movie night with LG and QL, and somehow he also ends up second guessing how much he’s actually wanted and welcome at these parties and so he feels just as lonely as before. Unfortunately, Lu Guang has to deal with a drunk and maudlin CXS way too many times before he figures it out and stops.

QL, being a year ahead of them, tries to impart all her wisdom onto CXS and watch out for him more or less as she always has - and is surprised when LG has basically beaten her to it. Announcement that student IDs need to be replaced by end of the week? LG has already told CXS. Reminder to fill out the form to change a class to pass/fail grading in time? LG’s already reminded him. CXS wakes up hungover? LG already gave him aspirin, water, and some solid food by the time QL shows up. It leaves her feeling off kilter and oddly jealous for a bit until she accepts this is a good thing - and LG’s not perfect so he *does* need her help with him still.

CXS is on the basketball intramural team - LG occasionally joins during practice or if they need an extra player, but he’s on the literature magazine club instead, reading entries and voting on what will make it to this year’s publication. QL doesn’t stick to one club for long, but volunteers across several, which means she has a huge network of people she knows. At one point she serves as the student council treasurer.

So uh... there you have it, some scattered college headcanons lol

#link click #asks #elibean #animegoil fanfiction

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puckrph · 1 year

Text

"THE SUNSET TREE" STARTERS

taken from the album by the mountain goats. feel free to change pronouns, etc. tw for mentions/implications of familial abuse, drug use, and suicide

"i walked down to the corner store just before nightfall in my bare feet, the black tarry asphalt soft and hot." "i spread out my supplies on the counter by the sink, looked myself right in the eyes: st. joseph's baby aspirin, bartles and jaymes, and you. or your memory." "i ducked behind the drapes when i saw the moon begin to rise." "down there in the dark, i could see the real truth about me as clear as day." "if i make it through tonight, then i will mend my ways and walk the straight path to the end of my days." "my friends don't have a clue." "down in your arms, i am a wild creature." "i write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook." "i write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook—but in the long tresses of your hair, i am a babbling brook." "i broke free on a saturday morning, put the pedal to the floor." "my broken house is behind me and good things are ahead." "i am going to make it through this year if it kills me." "i pictured the look on my stepfather's face, ready for the bad things to come." "the scene ends badly, as you might imagine, in a cavalcade of anger and fear." "there will be feasting and dancing in jerusalem next year." "the delicate balance has shifted." "let's pretend the fog has lifted." "now you say you love me, pretty soon you won't." "if we get our full three-score and ten, we won't pass this way again." "kiss me with your mouth open." "stay sweet." "if we live to see the other side of this, i will remember your kiss." "indications that there's something wrong with our new house trip down the wire twice daily." "you're the last best thing i've got going." "what am i supposed to do? no way of knowing." "so i'll follow you down your twisted alleyways and find a few cul-de-sacs of my own, because there's only one place this road ever ends up, and i don't want to die alone." "let me down gently." "you were looking at the void and seldom blinking. the best that i could do was to train my eyes on you." "we scaled the hidden hills beneath the surface, scraped our fingers bloody on the stones." "we kept our friends at bay all summer long and treated the days as though they'd kill us if they could." "we were wringing out the hours like blood-drenched bedsheets to keep wintertime at bay, but december showed up anyway." "i went downtown, sold off most of what i owned." "there's bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet, no matter where you live." "there'll always be a few things, maybe several things, that you're going to find really difficult to forgive." "there's gonna come a day when you feel better. just when that day is coming, who can say?" "they will shake their heads and wag their bony fingers in all the wrong directions, and by daybreak we'll be gone." "by daybreak, we'll be gone." "i'm going to get myself in fighting trim, scope out every angle of unfair advantage." "i'm gonna bribe the officials. i'm gonna kill all the judges. it's gonna take them years to recover from all of the damage." "when your chances fall in your lap like that, you gotta recognize them for what they really are." "nobody in this house wants to own up to the truth." "i am going to regret the day that i was born." "i'm dreaming of you." "there's no good way to end this, anyone can see." "i am young and i am good." "if i wake him up, there will be hell to pay." "alone in my room, i am the last of a lost civilization." "but i do wake him up, and when i do he blazes down the hall and he screams." "held under these smothering waves by his strong and thick-veined hand, but one of these days i'm going to wiggle up on dry land." "try hard to do your best, the magpie will have his way." "remember what we had here when there was something left to save." "it took all the coke in town to bring down dennis brown. on the day my lung collapses, we'll see just how much it takes." "some things you do for money, and some you do for love."

#sentence starters #mountain goats sentence starters #rp starters #rp memes #askbox memes #askbox prompts #fixed a typo SDJGFSDKJ

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prolix-yuy · 1 year

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Bestie, I have a Yearning for a fic and I would like to share;

Reader is sick with a cold or something and a partner is taking care of them (Frankie preferably 😏) So, reader is in bed complaining about being sick and not being able to cuddle or kiss Frankie, but Frankie's dumbass is like "of course you can kiss me, duh." And reader is obviously gonna put their hand in Frankie's face to shove him away when he goes in for a kiss.

But after multiple attempts, Frankie convinces them *one little kiss won't hurt* and mwah! Right?

BUT THEN -

Frankie Obviously Gets Sick and now reader gets to gloat at him while they're both stuck in bed. And Of Course, Frankie is *totally* doing the whole man-cold thing, whining about how he can't breathe and how he's freezing. Reader is ready to smother him with a pillow at all times.

Idk, I'm just suddenly dying and suffering thinking about a domestic fic......

(P.S. This is not an ask for you to write a fic about this, I would just like you to suffer along with me.)

(P.P.S. @i-like-to-read-13 is me)

Oh my god, isn't this just such a Frankie thing to do? Just like "but you love it when I kiss you" and it cuts to her all:

But I will posit that Frankie, while being a man with a cold, is not the classic man-cold boy.

Instead he tries to hide it for as long as humanly possibly because he feels bad that he pushed you into kissing him and that now he's reaping the consequences.

A little sniffle here, a subdued cough there, and then suddenly he rattles off three Dad sneezes in a row (we know Frankie sneezes like a dad, that goober) and it's full-on red eyes, runny nose misery. And when he gets interrogated about it...

"I must have got it at work."

"No, you got it from kissing me!"

"Of course not, you were already better by then. Santi must have given it to me."

"You've been kissing Santi now?"

And it goes around and around until he admits yes, he shouldn't have planted one on you and yes, he would like some of the homemade chicken noodle soup you have in the freezer and yes, he will stay wrapped up on the couch with cold meds until he feels better.

But then you think about it

And technically

If you gave it to him

You can't get it back from him

So when you deposit the soup and the aspirin and the TV remote in front of him, and Frankie gives you a watery-sweet smile, you plant a kiss of your own on his surprised face.

Frankie doesn't mind the cold nearly as much then.

(as a side note, my husband is a huge germaphobe so if he even gets a whiff that I have a cold or anything I'm basically quarantined from him, so having a Frankie to dote on me while I'm sick is the dream)

#little Frankie ficlet #for everyone coming into the cold season #from Mama LJ:#take your Vitamin C and D #and take a probiotic #works wonders!

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ridiasfangirlings · 1 year

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Hi! First thank you so much for sharing all those wonderful writings! I'm actually new to this fandom (just finished watching K this summer) and couldn't really articulate my gratitude (?) when I found your fics. Just, thank you really.

As for the ask, if you haven't done it before (I'm still enjoying my time going through all the previous asks so am not sure if this is a new one.) I was just wondering how it would be if Fem!Fushimi gets her period? How would Yata react to it? Like, I kinda think Fushimi would have a terrible time with it consider her unhealthy lifestyle. How would Yata find out and would Yata be like memorizing Fem!Fushimi's cycle (if she has a regular one) and pay extra attention to her on those days? (And just imagine Yata going to a store to buy tampons for his best friend XD)

You know that ‘buying tampons for my girlfriend what size pussy do you wear’ meme? That’s Yata XD I imagine this being something that Yata initially freaks out about but then it just becomes another thing he has to keep an eye out for with Fushimi, like okay she can’t be expected to handle this on her own so Yata has to toughen up and learn to deal with monthly lady time. Actually imagine the first time Fushimi gets her period maybe she’s even at Yata’s house staying the night, Yata’s noticed that she seems more irritable than usual (which is hard to do, for Fushimi) and she also just seems really uncomfortable and kinda exhausted. Fushimi knows what a period is of course, she had to sit through that class and I’m sure she knows enough to look it up on her own, but she’s got no idea how to deal with it at all, like she doesn’t want to tell Misaki because he screams enough when he sees a bra strap he can’t handle period discussion. It’s Yata’s mom who figures it out when Fushimi’s trying to sneakily wash her underwear (…hopefully fem!Fushimi is at least wearing some here) in the middle of the night and she’s the one who gives Fushimi the whole period talk and buys her pads and aspirin and a heating pad and the whole bit.

Yata doesn’t actually realize this for a few months, like he knows that his mom sometimes seems to be really focused on Saruhiko once a month but he has no idea why until maybe one day during gym class Fushimi faints. Yata freaks out and takes her to the nurse, he spots some blood on her pants (Fushimi refuses to wear the skirt and wears a boy’s uniform) and thinks she’s like dying or something. It turns out that Fushimi just has her period and is suffering from some anemia due to it, Yata gets to be at first very clueless hearing this and then it sinks in and he probably screams while Fushimi’s just staring at him all ‘….’. Fushimi mutters that did Yata forget she’s a girl and Yata’s like I didn’t forget I just didn’t think you, you know…had those. Fushimi laughs all mockingly and tries to get up but Yata kinda gently pushes her back down, she’s still dizzy right so she needs some rest.

After this point Yata absolutely overcomes his inherent fear of lady-coded things and starts being able to recognize when Fushimi’s on her period and he gets super protective about it. Especially when they move in together, he can tell when Fushimi’s having cramps — this being Fushimi she probably gets really bad ones and tries to work through them even though she’s miserable and Yata has to make her lie down and rest. At some point Yata totally has to go to the store and buy Fushimi personal products and imagine him just standing there quietly worrying like wait what do I buy what do all these words mean do you think Saruhiko wants fresh scent or heavy flow someone help. He’s really determined to take care of Saruhiko though so he ends up buying like a whole bunch of different ones just in case, when he gets back to the apartment Fushimi takes one look at him and starts laughing (and Yata would normally be annoyed but he’s just happy to see her feeling well enough to laugh).

#sarumi #Talking K #Yata goes from freaking out to okay with it #it's not a girl thing to him now it's a Saruhiko thing #imagine him being very helpful to Anna too and everyone's kinda side-eyeing him #and he's like what if I didn't help Saruhiko with this she would have died somehow

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afolderfullofstories · 1 year

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Whumptober 2022: Day 28

Note: 19 days completed as of 31/10/2022. Kind of sad I didn’t complete this year. But as I began missing more and more days, i didn’t really expect to complete it. But honestly 19 days was way more than I expected so there’s that. Everytime I’m convinced I’ve written everything I possibly can with this three, inspiration strikes and there’s something new (at least I hope so. I hope i’ve not been leaving you with rehashes of the same story) I’m not sure if I’m going to continue filling the rest of the whumptober prompts or move on to another prompt list. But if this is the last whumptober fill, I just wanted to thank everyone for your support in my stories. Believe me everytime I feel like stopping, I just scroll through my notes and I’m determined to write more. Thank you.

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Luigi rested his head on his arms folded on the table. The migraines were getting worse. A good night’s rest usually made it better. But he couldn’t sleep. Not with the pounding in his head. He didn’t know how many aspirins he’s taken but nothing seemed to help.

“Asshole.”

Luigi groaned. He lifted his head. A sharp throbbing pain shot through his head and he buried it back into his arms. “The light was fucking off for a reason.”

There was a click of the light switch. Footsteps approached him. “Brother?”

“Go away.”

“Are you alright, brother?” His sister’s voice was soft and full of concern. Bullshit. She was probably going to start nagging about the amount of work he had left. He would fucking see to it. He just needed to get the pounding to stop.

“Fine.” He growled. He lifted his head. His vision swam. Both his sisters stared at him. He put his head back into his arms. Lifting his head was not an option.

“Take the day off.”

“I’m fine. Just give me some fucking time alright?” But he had been lying there for almost an hour. The pain was not getting better. He wasn’t useless. He could deal with this.

“Have you been to the doctors?”

They both knew he hadn’t. Doctors were a useless waste of time. He would get through this. “It’ll pass.”

“They’ve been becoming more frequent.”

Luigi growled. “Have you been fucking spying on me?” His head shot up to glare at her. White spread through his vision as nausea burned in his gut. He buried his head deeper in his arms, breathing heavily to push back the nausea.

“Spying sounds so invasive. I was just getting updates.”

Luigi rolled his eyes. Fuck. He had to get himself in check. If his gophers knew he hadn’t been well enough to report to Amber, he was being transparent. “Mind your own business.”

“When’s your last medical check-up?”

Luigi groaned once more. “Fuck off, Carmela!”

“Fine.” Amber called his gopher into the room. “Luigi’s taking the day off.”

“Slu-”

“Please arrange for a medical check-up this afternoon and ensure he goes there.”

“I told you to mind your own fucking business.”

“Come up to me and tell me that you’re fine.”

Luigi lifted his head. His sister was standing to his left. No right. Fuck. Stop fucking moving. He stood and his vision turned black for a second. He caught himself before he toppled over.

“You’re not fine, brother.”

“It’s just a fucking migraine. It will pass.”

“You’re seeing the doctors today.” He turned to his gopher, gophers? How many did she fucking summon. “If he doesn’t go, inform me at once. I’ll send the GeneCops to drag him.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just have a check up, brother. It won’t kill you.” Amber left.

Luigi groaned and buried his head into his arms once more.

“Mr Largo?” His gopher squeaked.

“Just arrange the fucking thing or she won’t leave me alone.”

Luigi’s brows furrowed as he watched Dr Smith enter the room. “I thought the other doctor was handling it.”

“My colleague is afraid you would stab him if he told you.”

Luigi scoffed. “I’ve heard the whole spiel. Less coffee, more sleep, more regular meal times. What else could he tell me that’s new?”

Dr Smith’s face was serious.

“Is it bad?” He’d probably wrecked his liver again with all his drinking. He could just have it changed. It wasn’t a big deal.

Dr Smith was silent. His features were stiff.

Luigi forgot how to breathe. “How bad?”

Dr Smith sighed, “Mr Largo, the brain scan showed…”

Luigi just listened quietly. He heard the words but it felt like the television in the lobby, just background noise. He just stared blankly forward. He saw the lines on Dr Smith’s face and he realized just how old the doctor was. Pops never got to be that old. But pops lived his life. He built GeneCo, was married thrice, had 3 grown children. Luigi would never have that. Not that he ever wanted children but…he would never have any of that. He-

“Mr Largo.”

Luigi didn’t react. He just stared silently forward.

“Luigi.”

Luigi's eyes darted back to him. There was no pity in his eyes. Luigi was grateful. The other doctor was right. Luigi probably would have stabbed him. “Is that all?”

Dr Smith sighed. “Yes. I’ll give you time to process. Then we can discuss treatment options. There are still options, Mr Largo.”

Luigi stood and left. Process. What was there to process? Luigi always knew he would never grow old. It was just a feeling he always had. He knew he would never grow old. So what was this fucking pit in his gut. He didn’t care what happened to him. He didn’t care if he lived or died. So why couldn’t he breathe?

He wanted to be more like his pops right? He’d get to die like him as well. Something clenched in Luigi’s chest and he had to stop. He was going to die. Treatment options, his foot. They would have done everything to save pops if they could. They couldn’t. Pops didn’t have long. And neither would he.

Something clenched once more and he couldn't breathe. He slammed his fist into the wall. Something in his chest loosened. He slammed his fist once more. Why was he even surprised? With the way he treated his body. The lack of sleep, the overdose of coffee. Why did he expect any different? Luigi slammed his fist into the wall once more. His eyes burned but he forced it back. Why the fuck did he care? He didn't want to live right? This was just helping him. He-

He slammed his fist and a loud crack resounded from his hand. Luigi let out a curse and grabbed his hand. He slid down the wall. Why did he fucking care? He never cared before. Why the fuck did he care?

“Mr Largo.”

Luigi looked up to see Dr Smith looking at him in concern. And the nurses and staff were staring as well, whispering. Fuck. There were too many people looking at him. Why hadn’t he gotten back to his office first? There were too many eyes; too many people looking.

Dr Smith bent before him and examined his hand.

Luigi tried to pull his hand back but Dr Smith held firm. And there were too many people fucking staring.

“It’s broken.” Dr Smith said softly.

Luigi looked down at his swollen fingers. What did it matter? He was broken. What was one more bone or two? He was broken.

“It needs to be set back. Follow me back to my office.”

Luigi wanted to leave. He just wanted to go back to his own office and have peace. But there were too many eyes on him. He just wanted to get them off him. Stop fucking staring. They got what they wanted. They wouldn’t have to deal with his temper anymore. They would be fucking done with him. They-

Luigi just nodded numbly and got to his feet. He just stared forward and followed Dr Smith. He felt eyes on him but he refused to meet them. They would talk. They would fucking talk.

Luigi didn’t say anything as Dr Smith led him to the x-ray room. Nor when they took the x-ray. Nor when he brought him back to his clinic. He just sat there staring forward. The pain in his hand was a welcomed distraction. But it didn’t do much.

“The bones aren’t displaced. We’ll just put it in a cast and let it heal by itself.”

“No cast.”

“It'll take longer to heal if it gets displaced.”

“Those two assholes will ask too many questions.”

“Luigi.” Dr Smith sighed.

“I don’t need them asking questions.”

“What your father did to you was cruel. Don’t do the same thing to them.”

Luigi gave a sarcastic smile. “I thought you said there were treatment options.”

“There are. Doesn’t change the fact that you should tell them.”

“Mind your own fucking business.”

Dr Smith sighed and looked at his hand. “If you refuse a cast, I would insist on a splint. I would make it thin enough that you could hide it under your gloves. Would that be acceptable?”

Luigi just grunted.

Dr Smith placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t give up, Luigi.”

Luigi pulled off his glove and stared at his hand. It was beginning to turn purple. He pressed against the worst of the swelling. Pain shot through his finger, jolting him. He could breathe.

Treatment options. What a joke. More like ‘let’s see what shit they could put him through before he dropped dead’.

Surgery wouldn’t remove the tumor. But they could remove what they could and reduce the pressure in his brain. No more headaches and colors. Or they could fuck up and he could be paralyze or blind or mute or deaf or-

Luigi pressed against his finger once more. The pain cleared all thoughts. He didn’t want to think about this anymore.It wouldn’t change anything. Nothing he did would change anything.

Luigi’s eyes darted as there were sounds at the other side of the door. He just numbly listened as Pavi struggled with trying to open the door. He’d locked it. He didn’t know why he never thought of it before.

“Fratello?” Came his brother’s annoying voice from the other side of the door.

“Fuck off.”

“Is-a something wrong, fratello?” Pavi’s voice was serious. He hated it when Pavi’s voice was serious. It meant he was looking for something he could fix. But Pavi couldn’t fix him. He was broken.

“I’m just not in the mood.”

Luigi could hear his brother outside the door. He was probably deciding whether or not to listen to Luigi and give him space. The bastard had better listen. He didn’t have the mood to deal with his bullshit and he’d probably lose his temper.

“Are you sure, fratello?”

Luigi just grunted. He needed time. He needed to decide what to do without his siblings hounding him about it. He would tell them…eventually. He wouldn’t do to them what pops did to him. But…he would be sure first. If there really was no hope, he would tell them…maybe.

“The Pavi is-a just-a downstairs, fratello.”

Luigi sighed, “I’m fine, Paviche.” What a load of fucking crap. He wasn’t fine. He would never be fine. He was going to-

Luigi’s eyes burned. He pressed hard against his finger. He let out a curse as blinding pain filled him.

The door crashed open. Luigi’s eyes darted up. Amber stormed in followed by Pavi. Fuck. What did they want?

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Amber headed straight to his table. But Pavi stayed behind. But Luigi could see his gaze, studying him. Fuck.

“Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Bullshit. You’ve ignored us for the past two weeks. You’ve stopped coming for meals even when you’re home; refused to show up for any meetings; you haven’t said a fucking word to us. What the hell’s your problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit brother. Something is wrong. You’re not acting like yourself.”

“Oh yea, how?” He was sure he was acting like usual. He made sure he wasn’t suspicious. Sure, he avoided those two assholes. But it was nothing different than how he was before pops died.

“For one, you won’t even look me in the eye.”

Luigi glared at her. Fuck. He hadn’t even realized he was avoiding her gaze. Luigi saw the worry in her eyes and his eyes darted away. She didn’t need to know.

“See?” She hissed. It wasn’t worry. She was just annoyed that he wasn’t answering her summons. She was just annoyed he wasn’t acting like her fucking lapdog. She wasn’t concerned. Why the fuck would she be concerned?

“Fuck off, Carmela.” Luigi’s eyes went back to the document before him. His eyes darted to Pavi for a moment. He didn’t say anything but he still stared at him with the same calculating gaze.

Amber slammed her hands on the table. “You’re going to tell me what the fuck is wrong, right now.”

“Nothing is wrong. Stop being such an annoying bitch and leave me the fuck alone!” And now that he was noticing it, he still couldn’t meet her gaze. He said he would tell them. But there was nothing to say. It wouldn’t make a fucking difference to anyone. He would deal with this on his own. He didn’t need anyone. He would fucking deal.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Are you deaf or just fucking dumb? I told you nothing was fucking wrong. Go and run GeneCo and leave me the fuck alone or are you too useless to fucking do that?” She wouldn’t leave. She still wouldn’t fucking leave. He needed her out. He needed her to leave him alone. “Pops was right, you’re fucking disgusting and disappointing. Better yet, how about you go deal with the mess you call a face and leave me alone.”

“Fratello.”

Too far. He always went too fucking far. But the worry was gone from Amber’s eyes and all was left was anger and hate. Good.

“Go fucking drop dead.” She turned around and stomped towards the door.

‘Yea well, you’re going to get your fucking wish.’

“What did you say?”

Luigi looked up and saw Amber’s wide eyes staring at him. “I didn’t say anything.” His eyes darted towards Pavi and the same concerned gaze met his. Fuck. Did he say it out loud? He hadn’t…He was sure…

Amber headed back towards him. “What the hell did you say?”

“I said I didn’t fucking say anything. You fucking hearing things?”

Amber’s eyes darted towards Pavi.

“What did you mean, fratello?”

Fuck. They both heard it. Why the fuck did he say it out loud? Why the fuck was he so fucking careless?

“Brother!”

Amber was right before his table and he still couldn’t look at her. He needed to fucking look at her or she wouldn’t believe him. His eyes darted upwards and he saw the worry and he looked away. This was what he wanted to avoid. He didn’t want this. They couldn’t help him. What would them knowing change? “Fuck off, Carmela.”

“All this happened after I told you to go to the doctors.”

“I’ve just not been in the mood, Carmela.”

“Tell me. Or I will go to the hospital and find out for myself.”

“The doctors won’t tell you shit. It’s in their code or something.”

“So there is-a something to tell, fratello?” And again, Pavi’s voice was serious, too serious. And that wasn’t Pavi. That wasn’t his brother. He was stupid and annoying and not fucking serious.

"No there isn't."

"Fine. I'll ask the fucking doctors myself. They 'will' tell me what's wrong since I pay their fucking salary. Besides, you’re an employee of GeneCo. Legally, they can show me your medical records.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Luigi stayed silent.

“Fine.” She turned and headed to the door.

“Stop!” Luigi stood. A sharp blinding pain shot through his head. “Fuck!” He grabbed his head. The pain was overwhelming. He dug his fingers into his skull trying to relieve the pain. But it wouldn’t go away. He crumpled back into his chair, his hands in a vice grip around his head.

“Brother!”

Luigi couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. The pain was overwhelming. And he just needed it to stop. He was going to make them more suspicious.

“Brother…”

Pavi was beside him. He was searching through the drawers. There was a sound of pills shaken around in the bottle. “Take the aspirin, fratello.”

Luigi shook his head and another sharp pain shot through him. He let out a yelp and buried his head deeper in his hands. “No aspirin.” The tumor was vascular. Aspirin increased the risk of it bleeding out. He couldn’t…The pain shot through him once more and he was desperate for anything that would stop the pain.

“Then-a what, fratello?”

“Lights.” Luigi mumbled. He heard the click of the light switch but the pain didn’t lessen. He gripped his head tighter.

“I’ll get the doctors.”

“No.” Luigi forced out. “Left upper drawer. There’s painkillers in there.”

Pavi dug through his drawer. Once more there was the sound of pills shaking around in the bottle. “Here, fratello.”

Luigi downed the pills. Nausea built in his gut and he forced it down. He laid his head on the table willing the pain to stop.

“Brother…”

“Just give it a fucking minute to kick in.” Luigi was breathing heavily. The pain was getting worse. The medication the doctors gave him was doing nothing to reduce the swelling. Surgery seemed to be the only option. But he didn’t want-

Fuck. His pills were in the same drawer.

Luigi’s head shot up.

Pavi was staring at the other medication.

The fag wouldn’t know what they were. He was too much of an idiot. He wouldn’t realize…

“Fratello. What’s all this?” Pavi’s voice was serious.

“Migraine medication.”

Pavi’s eyes darted towards him. His eyes were hard. “Fratello, I helped clear papa’s things. These are…”

“Migraine medication. Just more symptoms he never bothered telling us about.” Luigi said, trying to push down the guilt in his chest. He said he would tell them. They would worry over nothing. They couldn’t do anything for him. Why tell them? It wouldn’t help anyone.

“You’re a terrible liar, fratello.” Pavi headed towards Luigi’s alcohol cabinet.

“Brother…what’s going on?”

“Nothing. The migraines are getting worse, that's all.” The pain had faded to a dull throb and Luigi could think again. Fuck. He had to fix this. He couldn’t let them figure it out. He just needed to make up a more believable story.

“Pavi, you know what’s going on.”

Pavi didn’t say anything. His back was towards them. Luigi just watched him silently pour himself a drink. He knew.

“Pavi please.” Amber’s eyes darted towards Luigi. Fear filled her features as her eyes darted desperately between them.

“Tell her, fratello.” Pavi still refused to turn.

“There’s nothing to fucking tell.”

“Wasn’t-a what papa did to us bad enough? You’d-a do it all over again!”

“Lu, tell me what’s going on!”

“There’s nothing to fucking tell. If you won’t believe me that it’s nothing, then there’s nothing more I can fucking say.”

“Fine. Sorella, call-a the doctors.”

“Pavi-”

“If there’s-a nothing, then there’s-a no reason we can’t-a ask the fucking doctors.”

Fuck.

Amber made the call.

Luigi watched her hand shake. They were figuring it out. He had to find a way to stop this. He didn’t want them to find out. He needed a fucking story. He needed to figure something out.

“Brother…”

Luigi refused to look at her.

“Pavi.”

Luigi’s eyes darted to his brother who still kept his back towards them. Luigi watched him down the drink. Fuck.

The doors opened, breaking the tension. Dr Smith walked in.

Relief filled Luigi. Dr Smith wouldn’t be threatened by his siblings. He respected Luigi’s privacy. He wouldn’t say anything.

“Dr Smith,” Pavi’s voice was hard. He still refused to turn to face them. “I was-a having problems deciphering the medication of-a one of-a our clients, to see if-a they were worth-a investing in.” Pavi’s voice was cold and sarcastic. “What is-a Avastin used for?”

Dr Smith was silent. “Mr Largo, there is a thing called doctor-patient confidentiality. I can’t disclose patients' records.”

“I’m-a not asking you to disclose anything. I just-a want to know what-a Avastin is-a used for.”

“It would depend on the patient. There are many things Avastin could be prescribed for.”

“What is-a it usually prescribed for?” And Pavi’s voice was low and dangerous.

Dr Smith’s eyes darted towards him. They knew. He wasn’t keeping this from them any longer. But he wanted to. He didn’t want to deal with this. He just wanted to ignore it and pretend nothing was wrong just like he always did. He just… Luigi sighed. His eyes met Dr Smith’s and he nodded slightly.

“It’s primarily used to stop tumor growth.”

“What?”

Luigi couldn’t look at them. He focused on his hands. He gripped his middle finger and pressed down. The sharp pain distracted him. He needed a distraction.

“How-a bad?”

Luigi heard how sharp Pavi’s voice was, the pain in his sister’s voice. He didn’t want this. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. He just wanted a bit of normalcy. He wanted…Why hadn’t he pretended better? Why did he avoid them? He should have pretended…

“How-a bad!?” Pavi never raised his voice. His anger was always quiet and promised retribution. This yelling wasn’t his brother.

“Luigi?”

Luigi shut his eyes. The words were clamped in his throat and he couldn’t say anything. But they knew, they already knew. There wasn’t a point of hiding things now. He gripped his finger tighter. The pain loosened his voice. “Just tell them.”

Dr Smith sighed. “It’s a brain tumor, similar to the one your father had. But Rotti’s was diagnosed too late. The cancer had already spread to other organs. The tumor is relatively contained in his brain.”

“How-a long?”

“An oncologist would be able to give you a better answer.”

“You would-a have discussed it with-a them. How-a long?”

“6 months without treatment.”

“And-a with?”

“It’s difficult to tell without having a clear view of the tumor and seeing how much we can remove.”

“Just-a an estimate.”

“It’s difficult to tell.”

Luigi gripped his finger once more. The pain dulled the growing tightness in his chest. “He doesn’t want to tell me.”

“Because you will give up and you know it. Even now I’ve asked you to make a decision regarding treatment and you refuse to do it. Instead you’d rather sit there feeling sorry for yourself. The earlier we start treatment, the better the prognosis.”

Luigi was silent and refused to look at him. He still wouldn’t give him a time frame. It meant it wasn’t long. He knew it.

“Younger patients survive longer. But we’re talking about aggressive, early treatment.”

Luigi could only stare at his hands. He didn’t want to look up and see the disappointment in Dr Smith’s eyes.

Dr Smith sighed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t…that wasn’t fair.” He took a breath. “The oncologist will deal exclusively with your case. I can’t…I can’t remain impartial and that isn’t fair to you.” He turned.

“I just need to know how long. I just want to know what to expect.” Luigi just kept his gaze down. “Whatever the average is, I need to know.”

“A year.”

Luigi shut his eyes. The grip around his finger tightened. But the pain was not enough to get rid of the tightness in his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry.” The door shut.

Luigi clenched his eyes shut. He gripped his finger harder. Anything to keep it all down. Anything to keep himself numb. A year. What the fuck was a year? What could he even do in a fucking year? His breaths were heavy. He had to keep it all down. Not now. Not while those two assholes were still in the room.

“Brother?”

Luigi kept his eyes shut. He didn’t want to look at them. He didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes. He had to deal with own pain. He didn’t want to deal with theirs.

Arms wrapped around him. “Everything’s going to be alright, brother. I promise. I…I just need you to fight. Ok brother? Don’t give up.”

He wasn’t giving up by choice. He didn’t have time. What was 6 months? What was a year? He was running out of time.

“You do this all-a the time, fratello. You keep-a pushing us away.”

“What would knowing change!? It’s done nothing but put a fucking countdown on my head.”

“Wouldn’t you have liked to know papa was sick?”

“What difference would it have made? We couldn’t have helped him. We couldn’t have done anything.”

“But-a wouldn’t you have wanted to know?”

He would have wanted to know his father was running out of time. He didn’t know if things would have been different, if he would have been better. But he wanted to have been there for his father. He wondered if the opera had been his father’s way of lashing out. He was used to lashing out. Now he just felt numb. He should be fucking used to this. “Yes.”

“Were you really not planning on telling us, brother?”

“I was. After I made a fucking decision.” He sighed, and his shoulders crumpled and he just felt exhausted. “I don’t know what to do, Mela.”

“Take the treatment. It would buy you more time.”

“6 months. What the hell is 6 months?”

“It’s 6 months more!” Amber choked out. “6 months.” Amber covered her mouth with her hand. Her shoulders shook. Her hand clamped tighter as she desperately tried to fight back tears.

Luigi looked away. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. He didn’t want to see this. He wanted them to live the next 6 months in ignorance… He… But this wasn’t just about what he wanted. “Mela…”

Amber shook her head desperately. Tears streamed down her face. She tried miserably to silent her sobs. “Don’t. I should be…I should be…” She took deep breaths trying to calm herself down.

“What’s-a the difference, fratello? What’s-a making you avoid treatment?”

“Pops was…he wasn’t healthy per se but he was still him. He could still go to the opera. He could still work. He must have been well enough if we never noticed.” Or they were too self-centred and blind. “Even if it bought more time; it would just be going in and out of hospitals. The side effects would make things worse. It wouldn’t be living.”

“Then-a you’ve made your decision?”

Luigi looked back at his hands. He’s been avoiding it all this time but… “I think so.”

“Brother, please. I know it’s selfish of me. But please. If there’s a chance…”

Luigi closed his eyes. This was too familiar. A sibling begging him to try. And he had, just to make Pavi happy. But it worked. He would be dead now if he never listened. But this was different… This was…

“The headaches are getting worse, fratello. You won’t-a be living your life in-a pain like this.”

“Maybe surgery then. Just to reduce the tumor. They think the headaches are caused by the pressure. But the complications…” And he didn’t want to admit it but he was fucking terrified. He didn’t want to go into surgery and take away that 6 months. He didn’t want to come out more broken than he already was. But the expanding tumor would cause more symptoms. His vision was already going. If they left the tumor, he would lose his vision.

“Then-a let the dottari remove what-a they can and-a see. If-a they can remove a good-a portion of-a it, if-a they think-a the chances of survival are good after the surgery, then-a why not-a try?”

Luigi stared at his hands then nodded. It seemed so simple now. He’s been grappling with the decision for 2 weeks. But it just seemed so simple now. “And if I still decide not to proceed with chemo?”

“That’s-a your choice, fratello.”

“Brother-”

“It’s-a his choice, sorella.”

Luigi still kept his eyes on his hands. But it was as if a weight was lifted off him. He had felt stuck for so long, trying to grapple with the right decision. Trying to figure out whether it was kinder or crueler to his siblings to tell them. But now they knew and he couldn't do anything about it. And he could finally breathe.

"You didn't-a have to do this-a alone, fratello."

"I know. I was afraid."

"Afraid of what, brother?"

Luigi was silent.

"You're an idiota, fratello."

"I know." Luigi felt a hand on his shoulder. And he was too tired to fight or protest. He was too tired to pretend.

“We’re here, brother. We’ll be here. Just don’t push us away. Please.”

Luigi couldn’t say anything. He just nodded. He felt his sister hold him once more and for the first time since he got the fucking diagnosis, he didn’t feel alone. If 6 months was all he fucking got then he wasn’t going to fucking waste it.

#whumptober2022 #no.28 #it's just the tip of the iceberg #anger born of worry #punching the wall #headache #repo! the genetic opera #fic #terminal illness tw #swearing tw #Luigi Largo #Pavi Largo #amber sweet

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lionheartslowstart · 2 years

Text

Scared

I normally don’t write stuff like this, but I need an outlet. I’m feeling a lot of feelings right now and I’m not good with that...stuff. Nine times out of ten, I just compartmentalize and numb myself out until finally everything comes to the surface and the dam bursts and I have a total mental break. Though I do have the decency to wait until I’m in private. I don’t want or need people seeing me like that. But this is...big. I know it’s big. And I just can’t seem to process it, so I figured I would try the only thing I know to do when I’m having trouble processing something, and that’s write on this blog.

In 2020 I had an MRI done because I get chronic migraines. Unfortunately, this was right before Covid-19, and so everything kind of shut down and the neurologist basically ghosted me. Flash forward about eight months and I had to get my gall bladder removed. In the process of getting cleared for surgery, the surgeon looked over my recent medical records. When I met with her for the pre-op clearance, she asked me if I knew I had an aneurysm.

I asked her what she meant and she told me about the MRI from that March. I was floored. No one had told me anything, only that I needed to come in for a follow up appointment. But then the office called me and said my appointment had to be rescheduled indefinitely due to Covid, and then I never heard anything back.

Luckily, the surgeon told me the aneurysm was so tiny, she felt okay doing the surgery. But that it was something I should look into. My gall bladder was successfully removed, and life returned to normal.

I won’t lie, I forgot about it for a while. Between commuting, classes, my regular mental health bullshit, and dealing with an abusive partner, I kind of had other things on my mind. But things finally starting calming down for me a few months ago, so I decided now would be a good time to revisit the subject.

The neurologist I went to has since retired (and frankly I wouldn’t have wanted to see him again anyway, fuck that guy), so I had to find a new one. It took me a while, but I was able to find a doctor nearby who was taking new patients and seemed like a good fit for me, so I scheduled an appointment.

I saw her this morning.

The good news is that I don’t technically have an aneurysm. It’s so teeny tiny that it’s referred to as an “out-pouching.” Is it a great situation? No, but at least it’s not dire. Still, she wants me to get another MRI done to check on it, since it’s been about two years.

I also have some fluid build up in the back of my head. It’s called a hygroma. The doctor told me it’s pretty common for that to happen after a severe head injury. She asked me if I hit my head really hard around the time of the MRI. I told her I couldn’t remember, but I’m constantly hurting myself because I’m clumsy as hell, so probably. She told me it’s most llikely fine, that the hygroma is basically harmless unless it’s pressing on the brain. And, according to the doctor, I would definitely know if it was pressing on my brain. The symptoms would be extreme. But, like with the out-pouching, she would like to see newer images just to make sure.

All in all, these two things aren’t so bad.

But wait, it gets worse. (And don’t worry, she told me this part first.)

According to this MRI, I have had a stroke.

I was in shock. How could I not have known this? I didn’t want to believe her, but she was able to actually show me the images. Sure enough, there was that white patch of dead tissue, staring me right in my face. And while it wasn’t a massive patch, it wasn’t a small one either. Maybe the size of a nickel, right there, on the right side of my brain.

Apparently, it happens more often than you’d think, that someone has a stroke and doesn’t even know it, especially when you consider a stroke can happen in your sleep.

Since I’ve had a stroke already, even though I don’t remember it, or have any idea when it occurred, I am high risk to have another stroke. I will have to take baby aspirin for the rest of my life in an effort to mitigate that risk.

But wait, it gets WORSE.

The stroke is old. Old in 2020. I have absolutely no idea when this could have happened, how old I was. And I doubt there really is a way to know for sure. Regardless of my age when I had the stroke, I’m too young, even with high blood pressure. It is extremely uncommon for people my age and younger to suffer from stroke.

There are not many reasons why young people suffer strokes (aside from smoking, but I don’t smoke). However, there is at least one “common” cause.

I’m not going to elaborate further than that, because I don’t want to announce something I don’t know to be true, or accidentally manifest something so negative, but I will say that I have to get a special test done to rule out a specific condition. And it’s kind of a lose-lose situation, because if I don’t have it, we still won’t know why I had the stroke, and there could be some other underlying problem that will be difficult to diagnose. But if I do have it, I’ll have to have surgery.

I. Am. Terrified.

I don’t want to throw a pity party. I am not a “woe is me” kind of person. But fuck man it really does feel like every time I turn around, there is something else wrong with me, whether it be physical or mental. I am so sick and tired of getting dealt such a shit hand medically. In an effort to make me feel better in the past, my mother has teased me, saying I won the “medical chaos lottery.” And I’ve always thought that was funny, until now. My whole entire life, all I’ve ever wanted was to be normal, to just live my fucking life. And that has never, ever been an option for me. And it fucking sucks.

I’m just tired of living like this.

#scared #medical #health #personal #wellness #wellbeing

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