melody ₍ᐢ. ֑ .ᐢ₎

rules | masterlist | about me | ao3 | wattpad | quotev | characterhub REQUESTS CLOSED for now...

𖠌 PAIRINGS : Terry x Korvo, Terry x Black OC/Reader-Insert, Korvo x Black OC/Reader-Insert, and Terry x Black OC/Reader-Insert x Korvo 𖠌 NOTES : I'm currently just copy and pasting my work from Ao3! If you'd like to read what is out so far, the link is on the masterlist!! 𖠌 WORD COUNT : 1143

____________________________________________ [Korvo's Log, 09:07:32 AM] ____________________________________________ Cam did not show up to perform their regularly scheduled Thursday kitchen inventory update/check.

'This was unacceptable. ’ I thought, frowning.

They are never late. Never absent. Cam once labeled our spice rack by giving in-depth descriptions of what they paired well with and a color-coded system based on Scoville units after Terry burnt their tongue off. Something is wrong.

"They probably snapped," Terry offered brightly, holding a flattened cardboard box with yellow frosting and sprinkles, "Like, finally hit the emotional wall. One minute you're planning to reorganize the Tupperware, the next you're screaming into a random pothole about your midlife crisis." He took another bite of his breakfast before nodding at what he said.

"Cam does not scream into potholes," I snapped. "They build spreadsheets and like structure. It has to be something terrible."

"Or," Jesse said, feet on the ceiling, twirling a screwdriver like a baton, "they’re just sick and didn’t wanna tell us because we’re dramatic."

Yumyulack was already typing notes into his digital pad. "Most likely scenarios: 1) Cam was abducted by a rogue faction. 2) Cam was incinerated in a freak tea kettle explosion. 3) Cam got a cold and is being human about it."

I refused to entertain option 3.

"We’re going to their apartment," I declared. "This is reaching unacceptable levels of uncertainty."

____________________________________________

      [10:21:15 AM – Cam's Apartment Door, Earth]

____________________________________________ We used the hover platform to get over to the side of town where Cam lived. Jesse ran up ahead of all of us to try the lock, something about using an old hairpin and a chewing gum wrapper.

"Thank you, YouTube University," she said, hopping up and shoving the door open with her shoulder.

The apartment was eerily still.

Inside, it looked like Cam's usual brand of curated chaos (despite never being inside before, I made sure to do my research), blankets folded perfectly on the couch, a whiteboard on the fridge labeled “Snack Refill Strategy,” and an ominously full garbage bin of tissues.

“Gross..”Yumyulack muttered, darting his eyes around.

The smell hit us next. Menthol. Human sweat. And the faint notes of green tea with lemon and honey.

Then came the groan.

We hadn’t noticed it at first, but near the folded blankets on the couch, there seemed to be some sort of lump beneath a mini mountain of several blankets that moved.

Jesse crept forward. Terry had grabbed and hid behind a throw pillow. Yumyulack raised a taser "just in case." I held Pupa back in my arms, still as they tried to run towards it. A congested cough followed by a low, miserable, "Whyyy..."

We all stared.

"They're not dead," Yumyulack announced.

"They're dying a little," Terry corrected, dropping the pillow on the ground.

The blanket shifted. One bleary eye blinked up at us. Cam looked like a cryptid dragged through an overworked tissue factory that got condensation so bad that it was sweaty and wet.

"I texted," Cam rasped, rubbing their eye. "I said… not dying… no breaking in…" I easily bypassed their password and checked their phone. Unsurprisingly, the text was still sitting in the outbox.

"Your Wi-Fi is offline," I informed them.

Cam groaned louder and buried their head under the blanket. "Pupa chewed the router cable last week when they followed me home. Forgot to fix it." "We assumed the worst," I snapped.

"You always assume the worst," they said back snappily, causing me to feel a certain way and flush.

"And we were correct! You are ill. Possibly near death." I muttered, placing Pupa down and heading towards the thermostat to distract myself.

Terry gasped. "We need soup. And juice. And VapoRub." "And a misting system," Yumyulack added. "For humidification and dramatic ambiance." ____________________________________________

In my defense, I thought I sent the text. I crafted it beautifully, despite having the vocal strength of a haunted mailbox.

  > hey. sick. alive-ish. no need to raid my place. pls respect my sick day.

  Then I passed out clutching a bottle of orange Gatorade like a security blanket. Unfortunately, my traitorous Wi-Fi meant the message was never sent.

So now the aliens have invaded. Again.

They’re currently swarming my apartment, Jesse rifling through my kitchen like she's in a cooking competition, Terry bringing me mismatched socks and a blanket that somehow smells like glitter glue, Yumyulack on a quest to go find my glasses since I didn’t have the energy for contacts, and Korvo adjusting the thermostat with the intensity of a NASA engineer.

And then… Pupa appears.

He waddles in, squints at me like I'm a broken toy, and climbs onto the couch.

I blink down at him before closing my eyes and accepting what would come.

I hear him sniffing me, what feels like someone biting my blanket at least once. Then a weight settles onto my chest with a contented sigh.

And vibrates before purrs erupt.

"Is he… cuddling me?" I whisper as I squint at him.

"He has chosen you," Jesse whispers back. "You cannot move now."

Pupa nestles closer. His weird little hands clutch at my hoodie. He's warm. Weirdly comforting.

Terry tears up. "It's beautiful."

I'm now in a fortress of tissues, tea, and stolen throw pillows. Pupa hasn't moved. Every time I cough or sniffle, he growls protectively.

They've brought me soup (Actual soup! From a can but still!), a steaming mug of lemon ginger tea (Terry added eight honey packets), and Yumyulack's fog machine ("for healing fog energy").

I can't move. I can't argue. I definitely can't get up, because Pupa is snoring on my sternum.

Korvo keeps adjusting my blanket alignment "for thermal balance." Jesse is fluffing pillows. Terry is playing a very soothing playlist of whale sounds and Mariah Carey.

"Why are you all still here?" I rasp.

"You’re our human," Jesse says simply. "And you didn’t die. Which means now we hover," Terry adds.

"We are preventing you from making irrational illness decisions," Korvo explains. "Like refusing to hydrate, or attempting to make toast unsupervised."

I close my eyes and let out the weakest laugh ever heard by man or alien.

"This is ridiculous," I whisper.

"This is love," Jesse whispers back, dramatically misting me with eucalyptus spray and wetting my glasses.

Pupa is still there. He hasn’t moved in hours. He’s now drooling on my hoodie and kinda twitching like when a puppy has a good dream where they chase a squirrel.

My head hurts. My nose burns like lava. But the soup is still warm, the blankets are comfy, and my weird found family of aliens is watching Fantasia 2000 on low volume while cuddled up and fussing over me like overprotective space chickens.

I think I’m going to be okay.

And if not?

Well. At least I’ll go out as the first human to be cuddled to death by Pupa.

Not a bad way to go.