#YEARS of congested bad writing and ideas

[dirt-goth]

So how do you start writing again.

[trashthedragon]

joshler writing prompt!! josh pining head over heels for tyler who has. no idea lol

Okay here is my little Joshler blurb based on this ask! First one here we gooooo!

Camera's were flashing in front of them and Josh was sick. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this congested and worn down but it was the only day off they had in LA during their Takeover shows, and they had a photoshoot to do, and Josh didn't have time to be sick. Through the disgusting immunity shots, the steaming teas, the countless throat losenges, Tyler was next to him. Always cracking jokes and making the photoshoot bearable for Josh, in only the way Tyler knew how.

Tyler could make everything better. Simply by being in the same room as Josh, Josh felt like he was able to breathe better. Not physically, because of this stupid, shitty, cold, but still. It was that sense of peace. If it weren't for Tyler Josh wouldn't have made it through the entire day. It was the last set of shots that they were trying to get for the day. Josh had changed for the third or fourth time now, they were in their skeleton hoodies, and Josh was trying hard to keep his eyes opened even though all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Almost there" Ashley said to them from behind the camera as she set up the shots.

"We have to make sure we look as handsome as possible for these last shots" Tyler teased to Josh. "Not that you don't already look extremely handsome"

Josh bit back a smile, knowing the familiar joking tone in Tyler's voice. Always joking, always relaxed, always comfortable with his compliments to Josh. The same compliments that froze Josh in his track. The compliments that he would repeat to himself each night before he fell asleep, because God he was helplessly and totally in love with his best friend and Tyler had no idea.

It was a miracle that Tyler had spent the last ten years of their friendship and working relationship unaware of it. Sometimes Josh wondered if he didn't willingly turn a blind eye for Josh's sake, so as not to embarrass him.

"Alright, just about ready boys, thanks for your patience" Ashley said.

Josh felt Tyler's eyes rake over him once from where he was standing next to him and then, a moment later, he had reached across to Josh. He saw Tyler's hands, smudged black with the make up, cross in front of him, hovering above his right ear.

"You've got some stray hairs or something here..." Tyler said to him as Josh stood still in front of him, afraid to breathe, afraid to disturb the moment of Josh looking so closely at him, so close to his face. "Dude you're shedding so bad!" Tyler laughed, and he felt his fingers connect in Josh's hair.

"This one is definitely not attached..this one is...not..." Tyler softly pulled stray curls from above Josh's ear and he thought he might pass out. Ashley had started taking pictures, Mark was filming, this moment would be recorded forever and all Josh could do was stand, frozen, and try not to cry at the sweetness of Tyler's soft touch.

"This one...is...attached!" Tyler said through a huge grin. Josh felt tyler's pinky finger brush over his forehead softly as he told Josh "Make a wish!"

Josh wished for the same thing he always wished for.

Taken from this moment from the takeover tour series: episode 4 that I think of way too often.

[hurt-care]

The Wedding Date

I've had this idea for a fic for a few weeks and I just had to write it! It's been AGES since I've written and I got this one out pretty quickly, but I hope it's fun to read.

OCs, M/F relationship M, allergies Scenario - old college friends reconnect at a wedding. One of them is suffering from some spectacular hayfever. The other has a thing for sneezing....

-----

Pulling at the waist of her dress, Katie fidgeted as she looked around the gathering crowd. It was a warm spring day in Austin; not too hot but still brilliantly sunny. It was her first time visiting Texas and while she knew that she would eventually run in to some people she knew at this wedding, for now the people nearby were all strangers. She was in town to celebrate the wedding of her college friends, Ashleigh and Tim. They'd all met in Chicago but had since all moved away. Katie had continued on to Utah for a graduate degree and had since settled in Colorado. Ashleigh and Tim had moved to Austin where Tim had grown up. Katie was one of a handful of people who had flown in from out of town for the event while most of the guests were local friends and family of the couple.

Suddenly, Katie saw a familiar face across the lawn. They were all gathered on the grounds of a local museum in the midst of a beautiful five-acre property with sprawling gardens and trees. There, standing alone at one of the scattered cocktail tables, was Ben.

The last time she'd seen him was their graduation ceremony over six years ago. He'd lost some of the boyish roundness to his face and was sporting an unfamiliar scruffy beard, but he otherwise looked just the same as she remembered. Her heart skipped a beat as he looked up and met her eyes. She'd had an impossibly huge crush on him for all four years of school but she'd never had her chance to act upon it. He'd arrived at college already attached to a girlfriend from high school and they'd been together on and off all four years that Katie had known him. 

He started to cross the lawn towards her. He was wearing a navy linen suit with a green tie and as he got closer, she could see that he looked...upset? His eyes were red and puffy. Suddenly, he paused his stride and turned his head away, tucking his face into the crook of his arm.

Katie froze as she watched him jerk with a sneeze. Oh god.

She's had a weird kink as long as she can remember. She always found sneezing to be strangely endearing and now her college crush was walking towards her and he was clearly suffering from allergies.

He recovered from the sneeze and approached her.

“Hey Katie!” he said. “Didn't know I'd see you here!”

His voice was subtly congested and he sniffled audibly at the end of the statement. She tried not to stare too intensely at him but it was hard not to notice his swollen eyes and nose.

“Hi Ben!” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as they embraced in a swift hug. “So good to see you! How're things?”

He was smiling at her but his expression was faltering and his eyebrows furrowed while his mouth hung open and he panted with a few shallow breaths.

“Sorry,” he said haltingly. “I have to---teh...ehTSGHH!!”

He turned away again, catching the sneeze with steepled hands.

“Ugh, sorry,” he reiterated. “Allergies. It's my first time in Texas and I didn't really realize how bad it would be here.”

“Ah,” she said, feeling her cheeks burn and she hoped she wasn't visibly blushing as bright red as it felt like she was. “I hear they're awful here. Cedar or something.”

He nods, fishing in his pocket and retrieving a bit of a well-used tissue. “I should've taken something stronger than my regular stuff but I guess it's too late now. Anyway, how're you? You look great! Whereabout are you living these days?”

She feels herself blush more. “Thanks! Um...I'm in Denver, actually. Finished grad school last spring and moved there in the fall. So it's been about six months. I like it, but I miss Chicago. Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I'm still at the bank. It's good. I saw Tim and Ashleigh in the fall actually. They came up to visit, which was nice. Tim was in town for work so they made a week of it.”

He pressed the tattered tissue to his nose as he spoke. Katie bit her lip, watching him with a mix of awe and embarrassment. His bright blue eyes, the feature that had first attracted her to him, were still beautiful and stood out thanks to his navy suit. But they were bloodshot and puffy today, clearly irritated and itchy.

“Maybe we should find our seats for the ceremony?” she suggested, glancing towards the rows of folding chairs where much of the crowd was gathering now. “See if we can find anyone else from school? I heard Mark was coming. And I think Amy too.”

“Sure! Yeah, I talked to Mark and he can't make the ceremony but he'll be coming to the reception after dinner. I'm not sure about Amy.”

They made their way over to the chairs and picked out seats. Beside her, Ben sniffled thickly and rubbed at his nose. She took out her phone, subtly checking her appearance in the camera to ensure she wasn't beet-red. Witnessing him in the midst of the allergy attack was doing her heart-rate no favours. He groaned quietly and put a palm to his eye, wiping away some tears as they watered. 

When the ceremony music began, she gave mental thanks for the distraction from the spectacle at her side. The bridal party processed down the aisle and the crowd rose to stand for the bride. Ashleigh looked radiant as she walked towards the front of the ceremony space and stood opposite Tim. The officiant welcomed the crowd and invited them to be seated.

At her side, Ben turned and stifled two sneezes into his arm. Eh-GHXT! Tsh-GXHT!

He sniffled wetly and pressed his knuckles to his red, swollen nose. Out of the corner of her eye, Katie could see a damp spot around his nostrils. Digging in her purse, she retrieved a small folded tissue and held it out to him. 

“Oh god, thank you,” he whispered.

“I brought it in case the vows made me tear up but I think you need it more,” she whispered back. 

He pressed the folded tissue to his nostrils and almost instantly sneezed again, barely managing to stifle the sound.

Ehh-TSGHXXT!

Katie crossed her legs, feeling herself flooding with arousal and hoping that the ceremony would be short. Thankfully, it was. As the bride and groom were announced, the crowd rose to their feet and cheered the new couple.

“They look great,” Ben said as the bride and groom walked by. He turned and smiled at Katie.

“They do,” she agreed. His smile at her gave her a sudden jolt of confidence.

“Hey, she asked. “Are you still dating Amelia? Why isn't she here?”

“Oh,” Ben said, sounding a little surprised. “Oh, no, we broke up ages ago. When we were still in school actually. Close to the end of our last year.”

“Oh,” Katie replied, feeling herself growing bolder. “Are you seeing anyone else now?”

“No,” Ben said. “I've been single for a bit. Work is busy and all that. I'll get back out there eventually. What about you?”

“Err..no one at the moment,” she replied.

“Well then I hope you'll agree to be my dance partner tonight,” he said. “If I can stop sneezing long enough to dance.”

She was sure now that she was visibly blushing.

“I'd like that, yeah,” she stammered. “And it's fine. We know it's not contagious. Anyway, let's go find the cocktail bar. I need a drink.”

“Agreed,” he said. “My throat is so dry. Hopefully a few glasses of wine knocks the hay-fever out of me. Shall we?”

He extended his bent arm to her. She was surprised by the gesture but took his arm and smiled.

“Lead the way!”

They walked across the sunny lawn towards the bar. There was already a small line formed and as they took their place at the end, Katie could hear Ben's breath catch.

She tried not to turn and stare, but she couldn't help it. He steepled his hands over his nose and bent at the waist, sneezing forcefully.

Hehh-TSCHOOO!

He sniffled with a wet sound and didn't remove his hands from his face. She heard his breath gasp and he pitched forward with a small fit of rapid sneezes.

Nghh-TSGHT! Ehh-TSCHHT! Hehhh....ehhh-TSCHIIHEHHH!

He kept one hand over his nose as he fumbled for the tissue she'd given him earlier. A tear from his irritated eyes fell down his cheek.

“Bless you,” she said softly, feeling as if she was saying something much more flirtatious. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to clean himself up a little.

“Why don't you go find us a quiet spot to sit and I'll get the drinks?” she offered. 

“That would be great,” he said, his voice cracking hoarsely. “White wine please. I'll get a spot over by that gazebo.”

He gestured to a sheltered spot on the far side of the lawn and she nodded. “See you in a few.”

With Ben gone, she can let her guard down for a second and she exhales, fanning her face with her hand for a moment. The spring day suddenly feels much warmer. She gets two glasses of white wine and carries them towards the gazebo.

Ben is sitting on a bench looking miserable. His eyes are more swollen now and he is dabbing his nose with the rapidly-disintegrating tissue.

“Thanks,” he said as she handed him one of the glasses. He took a long sip. “Sorry I'm such a mess. It's really nice to see you, Katie.”

“It's fine,” she said. “Really.”

“You look great. That dress is perfect on you.”

She looked at him in wonder. Was he flirting with her?

“That suit is great on you too. Blue is your colour. I always thought you had the nicest blue eyes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I'm glad you're here. To be honest, I wasn't even sure I was going to come because I wasn't sure I'd know anyone besides Ashleigh and Tim. They're the only ones I've really kept in touch with besides Rachel but she just had a kid in March and couldn't come.”

She was momentarily distracted by the flaring of his nostrils and she stared as he built up to another sneeze. He gave a faint growl of frustration before he turned and sneezed into his arm.

Ehh-TSCHEHH!

“Goddammit...ahh, sorry,” he said with a sniffle. 

For a moment he stared at her and she stared back, unsure of what to say. In the distance, the DJ turned down the cocktail party music and announced that everyone should take their seats for dinner and the introduction of the bridal party.

“I guess we should find our seats,” Ben said. 

They were seated at the same table they discovered upon examining the seating chart. Also at the table were a few university friends and a few of Tim and Ashleigh's friends from Austin. The dinner conversation was casual and fun, but Katie found herself distracted by Ben's continued battle. He excused himself to the bathroom at one point halfway through dinner and he returned with a much redder nose, evidently having blown it multiple times. 

With dinner over, the DJ put on a popular song and encouraged the crowd towards the dance floor.

“I know I said I'd dance with you but I don't know how much longer I can stand this,” Ben said in Katie's ear. He gestured towards his face.

“Just a few songs and then I'll leave you to the mercy of an Uber to the drug store before it closes,” she said boldly. “You promised.”

They went towards the dance floor, joining the crowd. They started to dance and she moved her body closer to him, emboldened by the glasses of wine in her now. He was warm and his breath was hot against her skin as they embraced, swaying to the beat.

Someone came by with a tray of shots and they joined a group of cheerful bridesmaids, swallowing the tequila in one swift go before resuming their dancing.

“I can't believe I'm saying this but I had such a crush on you during school,” Katie says into Ben's ear. 

He looked at her and grinned.

“You did not!”

“I did!” she shouted back over the music. 

“Funny how things work out,” he said into her ear. 

The music shifted to a ballad and the crowd thinned a little as couples joined up to dance. Ben put his hands around Katie's hips and they embraced, moving to the music. 

“Would....is it okay with you if I kiss you?” he asked.

She didn't bother to respond, instead simply pressing her lips to his. Their noses touched and she could feel a bit of moisture from his. He pressed his lips back more firmly, getting lost in the moment. They broke the kiss and he turned his lips to her neck, kissing there. She ran her fingers through his hair, somewhat lost in disbelief that all her college fantasies were coming true tonight.

He froze in her arms suddenly, his lips leaving her neck. He didn't have time to react and she can feel him shudder as the sneeze bursts out of him unexpectedly.

Hehh-TSTZHHTT!

He managed to stifle it enough to avoid completely spraying her but she felt a small bit of moisture hit her skin.

“Oh my god I'm so sorry,” he gasped, pulling away and putting a hand over his nose. “I'm so sorry Katie. Fuck, this is so embarrassing.”

She burned hot from her own embarrassment and desire.

“Let's go somewhere else for a minute,” she suggested, taking his arm gently.

He let her drag him away and when they were out of sight of the other guests, he turned to her, looking humiliated.

“I'm so sorry...I didn't feel it coming and....”

She reached out and touched his cheek affectionately.

“It's okay,” she assured him. “I know it's not catching. I'm just sorry you're uncomfortable.”

He nods, staring down at his hands. 

“Damn it. I was really having a good time.”

His cheeks were flushed red now too.

Maybe it was the tequila or maybe it was the knowledge that tomorrow he'd go back to Chicago and she'd go back to Denver....but whatever it was, Katie found herself making a bold proposal.

“I have a suggestion,” she said. “It's....well, it's pretty forward but we've established that the crush is mutual, yeah?

He looked at her curiously. “Yeah.”

“I have a room at the hotel to myself. And I don't think the pollen count is going to improve tonight and you're just going to keep suffering if you stay here. So.....would you want to come back to my room?

His red, swollen eyes widened.

“I....well, yeah, sure....I'd like that. Can't be that attractive for you though, can I? There's a lot of snot happening, well...like all over here.”

He gestured to his face.

She remained silent for a moment, biting her lip. She'd never admitted her kink to a partner before. 

“I don't know if I can tell you this, Ben,” she said. “It's really....it's awkward. I don't know if I can say it out loud.”

“You can tell me. I promise I won't laugh.”

“It's...I have a thing. I guess you could say it's a kink. I...I don't mind sneezing.”

“You don't mind sneezing?”

“I guess I mean I like it.”

He stared at her a moment and then a grin split across his face.

“Oh!”

“Yeah...”

He laughed and shook his head. 

“I know I said I wouldn't laugh but I'm not laughing at you. I...jesus, Katie, I'd say you're in luck tonight!”

She grinned back at him.

[allylikethecat]

Just read your reply to an ask about a fix of matty singing them to sleep and the suggestion/idea of fictional Matty singing fictional George or vice versa to sleep has me wanting to eat my hand and sob (in a good way) 😭

The best way to deal with your self imposed stress of not finishing a fic by your self dictated deadline is obviously to work on a different one 😂 I felt really bad that I wasn't able to fill that one prompt request for that anon looking for a matty x reader blurb where he sung the reader to sleep (I don't see myself ever writing x reader fic i'm sorry!! there are so many wonderful talented people who do though! that's just not my writing niche unfortunately) ... but like was totally down to write one of him singing fictional!George to sleep, and then I saw that YOU lovely anon had sent this in in response to that ask, so obviously I had to jump it to the top of my massive list of prompt fill requests that I really do promise I will finish in 2024 lol

So, alas, here it is, Fictional!Matty sining Fictional!George to sleep. I hope you like it, if not let me know and I will attempt a take two! Thank you so much for sending this in though, and for reading, and being so lovely and supportive! I hope you have a very happy new year and a great rest of your week!

❤️Ally

Singing to sleep

George was sick, and George never got sick. Matty was at his wits end, he was the one with the shit immune system. He was the one who didn’t take care of himself and allowed his body to get run down, seeming to constantly be coming down with a perpetual case of the sniffles. George did yoga. George remembered to eat, and drank water, and got the recommended eight hours of sleep each night. He wasn’t supposed to be congested and running a fever, a trail of used tissues laid out like bread crumbs as if he would lose his way back to the bedroom without them. 

George wasn’t supposed to be arguing with Matty that he wasn’t sick when he clearly was. Shaking his head, his voice rough and nasally, insisting that he was fine even as he had to halt his argument every few minutes to cough. George was not supposed to be sick, and with a sinking realization, Matty was learning that George was an even worse patient than he was. 

“Please,” Matty begged, he knew he looked ridiculous wearing the frilly apron his Mum had gotten him as a joke when they had bought the new house and Matty had shown her the high end kitchen as if he was going to actually use it. The joke was on her, he was wearing the apron and currently trying to use the kitchen. “Please just go lay back down.” 

“I’m fine,” George rasped again before breaking off into another coughing fit, his arms wrapped around himself as he shivered. Matty glanced at the clock on the stove, it was still too soon for him to take another dose of paracetamol. 

“You are not fine!” Matty snapped, turning away from the stove and the soup that he hoped was simmering and not boiling, he wasn’t entirely sure of the difference. He waved his wooden spoon at George for dramatic effect. “You need to go lay down and get some fucking rest so you can get better!” 

George opened his mouth and Matty waved the spoon more aggressively, flicking his wrist at George. “No, no arguments, upstairs, now please, let’s go.” Matty said, nudging George’s shoulder so that he could guide him towards the staircase. 

George sighed, breaking off into another coughing fit, his shoulders shaking before doing as Matty said. He padded barefoot towards the stairs, Matty hot on his heels to make sure he actually got into bed instead of trying to snag his work laptop out of the office. The soup would be okay for a few minutes without him, Matty thought as they climbed the stairs. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be watching for anyway, or what he was even supposed to do if it did do something. 

Realizing he was still holding the spoon, Matty sheepishly sat it down on the dresser, brushing past George to fluff up his pillows and blankets.

“Get in the bed,” he said, holding his arms out as if he was a briefcase girl on a game show.  

“You trying to take advantage of me?” George rasped, batting his eyelashes teasingly, the effect was lost though by the glassy sheen of his eyes and his dry red nose. 

“Always,” Matty deadpanned and George sighed, climbing back into bed and allowing Matty to rearrange the blankets around him while he pouted like a child.

“Now get some rest,” Matty said, leaning down one last time to press a kiss to George’s forehead, frowning when he realized just how hot it was. He turned away, planning on heading into the bathroom to get George a damp wash rag to try and cool him down some before returning to his soup when George caught his wrist. 

“Wait,” said George looking up at Matty, looking extra pathetic with his pale skin, red nose and shiny eyes. 

“I’ll be right back,” Matty assured him, his heart squeezing. “I’m just going to get you a cold rag.” 

“I’m fine,” George said again, his voice convincing absolutely no one. “But will you,” George flushed, and Matty wasn’t sure if it was from fever or embarrassment. George swallowed hard, his sore throat bobbing painfully. “Will you sing to me?”

Matty blinked, in confusion, not expecting the request. “What?” he asked dumbly and George’s blush deepened, embarrassment it is then, Matty thought fondly, his heart flipping at the request. 

“Will you sing me something?” George asked again, his eyes wide and earnest. “Please.” 

Matty exhaled slowly, he wanted to get George a cold wash rag for his forehead, and he needed to go check on his soup. But who was he to refuse George a song when he was poorly. 

“Yeah,” said Matty softly, feeling like his insides had turned to goo with just how much he loved George. “Yeah, I can sing you something.” 

His Gibson Hummingbird was leaning against a decorative chair where he had left it two days prior, and he winced, knowing he should have put it away properly but thankful for his laziness as he scooped it up, feeling silly as he quickly tuned it and sat down on the edge of the bed. 

He played the opening chord and George smiled, instantly recognizing the song. 

Tell me what you thought about

When you were gone and so alone

The worst is over

You can have the best of me

We got older but we're still young

We never grew out of this feeling that we won't give up

George was asleep, snoring softly, before Matty even finished the song. 

[recurring-polynya]

Writing/Art Update 10.3.2023

This week was...turbulent. I only had a couple of thousand words to get through to meet my 20k word goal and I just...could not. I would sit down and painstakingly write out one word at a time and make faces about how much I hated how the scene was going. By about Wednesday, I had decided that writing was no longer fun and not something I ever wanted to do again. Then I remembered how much I hate not reaching the stupid arbitrary goals I set for myself and spent a bunch of time brainstorming any possible scene I could write for this fanfic that I could eke out 2k words on. I came up with a half a dozen possibilities and managed to bang out half of an incredibly stupid Byakuya - Renji scene.

Anyway, so I did it, I wrote 20k words on my fanfic. I looked back at my records, and I set this goal on May 9, so it took me five months, which is pathetic, but I did it. Do I feel accomplished? No, it feels like nothing. Do I like any of what I wrote? Also, no. Did I at least have fun? Ha, ha, ha, absolutely not. All I can really say is that when I started, I had seven thousand words and now I have close to thirty, so hopefully at some future point, I will pick this thing up again, and it will feel a little more workable at that time (it is also extremely likely, based on past experience, that I will look at what I wrote and say 'hey, that's not bad, actually' even though I can't even bring myself to look at it at the moment).

I say this like I'm going to put it down, but I don't really have anything I'd rather be working on at the moment, although I have been flirting with the idea of trying to pick up a little in love again, the other fanfic I'm way overdue on. I will probably try to at least finish that half-done scene before I do that and...I dunno. I feel like I need to go back into one of those "I only write when and what I feel like it" modes, possibly for the rest of the year. I think I need to get back into some other activities I enjoy-- I'm trying to get back into reading (I re-read Hound of the Baskervilles while I was sick and it sure did have some racism!!), and I'm flirting with the idea of Attempting to Play a Computer Game, and I would really, really like it if I could manage to draw literally anything.

For the record, I have still not completely recovered from the covid. I mean, I'm a lot better than I was, but I still have some congestion and coughing and I'm not feeling fantastic. Anyway, I guess the most I can say is that I made it through last week. I'll let you know next week if I make it through that one, too.

---

Some raw numbers that are meaningful only to me: Main doc: 22,477 Misc flashback doc: 2,689 Clean, contiguous version: 5,941

[leiawritesstories]

I've been playing with a prompt idea in my head, which could have all the fluff you want. Also it's not as much a prompt, as it is one sentence 😅 do as you wish with it, you always create magic with whatever you write ❤

"There's nothing like a natural disaster to bring two people together"

first of all, thank you so much, it made me tear up to know that someone enjoys my little stories this much ❤️❤️❤️

but enough sappiness! here have a lil fic!

word count: 2,324

warnings: language, idiots in love, thunderstorms

enjoy!!

Thanks To The Thunderstorm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s nothing quite like a natural disaster to bring two people together. 

And gods, Aelin had never thought she’d be thankful that she hated thunderstorms as much as she did. But it was her relationship with storms that had led to her relationship with her now-fiancé, so would she complain? Hell no. 

Rowan and Aelin had been best friends since high school, the two of them near inseparable after they were assigned to be conversation partners in Spanish class and struck up a friendship. They had very different life goals but ended up deciding to go to the same university, the University of Rifthold, and neither of them knew the other had decided to go there until college declaration day at their school, when they both showed up wearing UR gear, Aelin in a t-shirt and Rowan in a sweatshirt. 

A sweatshirt that was now unofficially hers. 

Though they’d met all kinds of people and expanded their friend group greatly during their freshman year, Rowan and Aelin stayed close, remained each other’s 2-am person, the one person that the other trusted to call or text in the middle of the night knowing they’d be there to talk. Perhaps it helped that Rowan was the one with the car, because he offered to drive Aelin home anytime he was headed back to Orynth during a break. 

At the end of freshman year, they decided to carpool home together, after Aelin moved a bunch of her dorm stuff into a storage unit that she shared with three of her friends. The drive was fifteen hours, so they decided to split it over two days and spend a night in a hotel in Perranth, which was just about the halfway point of their trip home. And they’d take turns driving, so neither of them got too tired at the wheel. 

Everything went smoothly, the first nine hours of the drive passing by relatively uneventfully, save for the handful of patches of congested traffic. Rowan grumbled under his breath when they got stuck in traffic, cursing that other drivers couldn’t bother to go the speed limit. 

“Ro, they can’t help being idiots.” 

“Can’t they be idiots going road speed?” 

Aelin snickered. “Obviously not, there’s not enough brainpower for that.” 

He cracked a smile. “Damn, I forgot about that. Guys only being able to think with one of their body parts and all that.” He wiggled his brows wickedly. 

She wheezed. “Shit, Ro! What, you spend a year with a bunch of horny freshmen guys or something?”

“Something like that,” he smirked. “Ae, you’ve met my roommate. Abd probably some of the girls he kept bringing in on the weekends.” 

Not just the weekends,” she reminded him. 

“Ugh,” Rowan groaned. “Thank the fucking gods I’m not rooming with him next year.” 

“Nah, you’re rooming with someone worse,” Aelin snickered. 

He shrugged. “Lorcan’s not a bad person, Ae, he’s just--”

“Grumpy?” 

“Grumpy,” Rowan agreed. 

Out of the last bit of congestion. they had a smooth drive to Perranth, arriving at the hotel around nine o’clock. The sky, gray and cloudy all day, had gone darker, the wind beginning to gust as if in warning, the threat of a downpour hanging heavy in the air. Rowan parked, turned off the car, and released a deep, heartfelt groan of relief. “We’re here.” 

“Oh thank all the gods,” Aelin sighed. “I was about to fall asleep in this seat, and trust me, Ro, your car and my spine would not agree.” 

“C’mon, then,” he laughed. “Let’s get you into a real bed, yeah?” 

She had to take a second to force down the sparks that Rowan’s casual words sent shooting through her nerve endings. Get your shit together, AAG! He’s your best friend, nothing more. “Simmer down,” she shot back, “some of us need to stretch out.” 

Rowan refrained from commenting, just waited until she’d climbed out of his car and then grabbed his backpack and her personal suitcase and headed into the hotel building with her, where he quickly checked in at the front desk, got the room keys, and handed one to her. “Room 411,” he said, leading her over to the elevators. 

“Ro, I’m more than capable of carrying my own suitcase,” she teased, pushing the elevator call button. 

He glanced down at the luggage in his hands. “I don’t mind, Ae.” 

“Such a gentleman.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Indeed, fair lady,” he deadpanned, putting on his fakest British accent. 

Aelin giggled and let him carry her suitcase into the elevator and down the hall when they got to their floor. “Oh, gods,” she groaned as she opened the door to the room. “Sleep!” She plopped her backpack atop one of the beds, waited for Rowan to put down her suitcase before unzipping it and grabbing her pajamas and toiletries, and then headed right into the bathroom, the shower turning on a moment later. 

She emerged about half an hour later toweling her damp hair, comfortable and sleepy in her old Nirvana t-shirt and sleep shorts, and gods fucking dammit, Rowan’s mind went to several truly impossibly places at the sight of her. Get your shit together, Whitethorn! She’s your best friend, and you’ve got no right to be staring at her or thinking those fucking things. “You about done hogging the one bathroom?” he teased, barely managing to mask the way his voice rasped. 

Aelin shot him a rude gesture. “Yes, and you can go primp now,” she returned. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that I know how many products you use.” 

He sighed, grabbing his own pajamas and toothbrush before ducking into the bathroom. Where he took a shower that was significantly colder than he would have preferred, using the bracing temperature to ground himself in reality. By the time he emerged, Aelin was tucked into her bed, her adorably oversized reading glasses propped on her nose, buried in her current novel. She only murmured a good-night, she was so absorbed in her story. Rowan clicked off his bedside lamp and rolled onto his side facing away from her, left he fall asleep to the image of her face, least the sight of the girl who owner his whole heart worm into his dreams. 

Again. 

Aelin clicked off her lamp shortly later, exhaling softly as she settled into the hotel bed’s soft covers. Outside the window, raindrops began splattering against the glass, the first wave of the promised storm. She drifted off to the pattering sound, having always found the rain calming. 

Then jerked awake at the first clap of thunder not quite a couple hours later, the storm yanking her out of sleep. She shifted, tucking herself deeper into the covers, forcing herself to take deep, even breaths. “It’s just a storm,” she whispered, “just a storm. It can’t hurt me.” Her mother had taught her to speak those words when she was just a little girl, so terrified of the rumbling thunder and blazing flashes of lightning that she’d burrow into her parents’ bed whenever there was a storm, screwing her eyes shut against the onslaught and taking refuge in her parents’ arms. “Just a storm,” she whispered again, bracing herself against the stormy symphony. 

Lighting blazed across the sky, a streak of white breaking through the curtains for an instant. Aelin whimpered softly, curling tighter under the blankets, and started counting under her breath. One, two, three, fo--Thunder rumbled through the night, the storm a mere three and a half(ish) miles away. She tucked the blankets closer around herself, willing her breath to stop fucking heaving as she tried in vain to calm down her racing pulse. 

Across the room, Rowan’s bed creaked, shifting with him as he rolled over, half-awake, and cracked open his eyes to check on her. “Aelin?” he whispered, his soft voice roughened with sleep. And again, “Aelin?” 

Another blaze of lightning turned her planned response into a whimper. She screwed her eyes shut and started counting. One, two, three, four, five--five seconds before the thunderclap. 

“Aelin?” Rowan’s murmur was closer this time, paired with his padding footsteps as he circled around to face her, concern shining in his green eyes. “Are you okay?” 

She just shook her head, the movement as much as she dared. 

Rowan exhaled slowly, obviously working over his next words. “Can I--I mean, would it help if--” He sighed, mussing up his already-sloppy hair. “Ae, can I hold you? It--fuck, it scares me to see you like this.” 

“Yeah, you--ohh!” Her faint response cut off into a whimper as yet another streak of lightning flicked across the sky. 

“Oh, Ae,” Rowan murmured, swinging himself into her bed, instinctively opening his arms for her as he slid under the covers. She tucked herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, and buried her face into his shoulder, clinging to him like he was her safety raft. Impulsively, he wrapped his arms tighter around her, stroking one hand up and down her back in broad, soft lines, feeling the tension in her limbs slowly ease as he calmed her. “Do you need to count?” he whispered, unconsciously slipping his fingers into her hair. 

“Eight,” Aelin mumbled, tensing briefly as the thunder boomed across the sky, briefly drowning out the beat of the rain against the windows. 

“’S getting farther away, then,” he murmured, his hand resuming its path up and down her spine. 

The next thunderclap came at fourteen seconds, then twenty, then thirty. The farther the storm moved from them, the more Aelin relaxed, though her hold on Rowan never faltered. By the time the thunder had grown faint in the distance, replaced by the tattoo of raindrops on the glass and the façade of the building, her breathing had begun to even out and the crease in her forehead had faded away, her calmness returning as the storm dissipated. 

“Hate thunderstorms,” she breathed. “Always have.” 

“It’s pretty far away now,” Rowan reassured her, quietly reveling in the way she hadn’t tried to send him back to his bed. 

“Yeah,” she whispered, exhaustion making her all but sink into the bed, still curled into his warmth as sleep claimed her once more. As he breathing evened and deepened into sleep’s rhythms, Rowan couldn’t stop himself from brushing a featherlight kiss across her temple, one last little gesture of comfort before he, too, let the darkness of sleep take him. 

Aelin awoke to bright sunlight, the faint scent of clear, clean, post-storm air, and the warmth of someone’s arms around her, of someone’s body cocooned around hers. 

Not just someone’s. 

Rowan’s. 

He’d stayed. After the storm passed, he’d stayed with her, held her as she fell asleep, and unless she’d been dreaming at that point--which she probably had been, to be honest--he’d kissed her forehead. His barely-there kiss soft and warm and oh so longed-for against her skin. 

Rowan was in her bed, holding her in his arms, and damn it all to the hells, she wanted him to stay there for the rest of her life. 

As if her thoughts had awoken him, Rowan stirred, blinking into consciousness and realizing, like she had, that she was cradled in his arms, her limbs tangled with his, her head still lying in the crook of his shoulder and neck, her hair loose and splayed across the pillows. 

“Morning,” he breathed, almost like he, to, wasn’t quite sure if he was still dreaming. 

“Morning, Ro,” she breathed back, staring into his pine-green eyes and finding herself absolutely unable to look anywhere else. 

“I--” 

She cut him off before he could do anything stupid like try to move. “Thank you. For staying with me.” 

Rowan visibly relaxed, his arms subconsciously flexing around her. “I’m always here for you, Ae.” More emotion, more confessions packed into those few words than he’d intended. 

Her breath caught, but for an entirely different reason than it had mere hours ago. “Always?” 

“Always.” 

The corners of her mouth quirked. “Then...” She huffed out a short breath. “Rowan, then why haven’t you ever done anything about it?” 

“I thought you just wanted to be friends,” he mumbled, more than aware of the flush spreading across his cheeks. “You...you never made any indication otherwise, Aelin.” 

“You men and your denseness,” she sighed. “Let me make myself perfectly clear, Rowan Whitethorn. I am completely head over heels for you, even though I may have been trying to deny it to myself, and I literally cannot keep it hidden anymore. Thanks to the bloody thunderstorm.” 

Rowan blinked, momentarily lost for words. And then a grin brighter than the morning sun bloomed across his face. “Aelin Galathynius, I am completely and totally yours. If you’ll let me be.” 

Her smile matched his. “Are you asking me out, Whitethorn?” 

“Be my girlfriend, Galathynius.” Definitely not a question. 

“I thought you usually waited until after at least a few dates before you asked that,” she teased. 

“Not when I’ve been this dumb for this long,” Rowan grinned. “Yes or no, Ae?” 

“Yes,” she beamed, twining her arms around his neck. “Took you long enough to ask, Ro.” 

His thumb caressed her jaw. “Our parents are going to have the time of their lives when we get home, aren’t they?” 

Aelin’s laughter filled the hotel room with music. “They really are.” 

Five years, one overly enthusiastic dog, and a shared apartment later, Aelin and Rowan were--finally--making their forever official. They hadn’t had a picture-perfect relationship, mostly because those didn’t exist, but they had learned better than to go to bed angry, had learned to talk through their hopes and dreams and tears and fears rather than curl up alone and try to make it through the raging thunderstorm alone. 

No, Aelin reflected, there really was nothing like a natural disaster to bring two people together. 

Especially if those two people had been quietly, madly in love with each other for years. 

[chaotic-nick]

Better than Fiction Collab hosted by @titan-fodder and @spacelabrathor

Note: You can read this as is, or read this to understand why Connie and reader are awkward around each other.

word count: 1739

Warnings: Hookup culture, Reader gives Connie head. (Please do tell me if I've missed anything, I'm new to writing smut and is still learning!)

After humiliating himself and making a mess on the floor of his house, looking at (Y/n) without fearing that he’d hit his head again was hard. Both of them did a good job in keeping their mouths shut, scared that they may say something that would make the study sessions much worse. Sasha already sniffed the awkwardness in the air and prodded both of them.

In his mind, Connie believed that he’s painted an image of a . . . for lack of a better word, a dumb fuck.

(Y/n)? Scared. Somehow convincing herself that she was the reason Connie slipped and hit his head, and if she talked again— he’d hit himself. Again. With ten times the pain.

Study sessions with the two of them actually getting work done. Of course, they’d get work done, their noses never left their books. A weird turn for poor Jean and Sasha who never saw the study sessions to get anything done.

“Connie,” though in a congested room of people, her hand found his chest. The awkward glint every time they briefly looked at each other, replaced by a daze. He guessed that it was from how hot the room was. Could be the alcohol, too. Pressing her body close to him, Connie bent down and smelled nothing. “Hi, Connie,”

She was just herself, except excited that he found time to attend the party he was unsure of attending. Sasha and Ymir dragged her to it despite telling them that she didn’t want to because it was Julian’s party. “And what about you?” She let out a breath once they were alone in the kitchen where there were a few people, leaving when they were happy with the concoction they came up with. Though not without throwing an observant stare at Connie.

“Team guilt-tripped me. Called me a bad teammate for not attending my captain’s party.” His fingers wrapped around the wrist holding on to his shirt as she clasped the straps of her heels. The look she wore and her lips coated in expensive lipgloss, agape from concentration removed all of Connie’s what if’s.

Leaving just one. The idea of telling Julian that (Y/n) moved on from him was tempting— “Kiss me,” she giggled, putting her hand over his and leaning onto him. Wide eyes begged him. Still, he knew that word would go around quickly. Julian would make him do all those weird practice drills under the guise of wanting to win a game not scheduled for until next year.

If he thinks he’s all that, he can personally tell Connie to fuck off. Giving in, Connie held her chin in between two of his fingers and bent down to her level, smelling no trace of alcohol. “I won’t be able to control myself, babe..”

“Good.” it was her who broke the tension, answering to what their minds always yelled3 to do. Lips soft and the glitter on her face rubbing on him, she pulled away to catch her breath. “Really good,” going back to him, he kissed with more command. Hands cupping her face as he sunk down to her height.

“Your apartment’s a walk away? Right?”

Through the crowd, he felt Julian’s eyes on the side of his head. A burning glare, too. Ignoring the obvious fact that it was (Y/n) who kissed Connie first. “And him?”

“Wanted him to fuck off, not watch us.” she sent Sasha a quick text telling them that she’ll be gone. Head on Connie’s chest. “. . . unless you’re into that.”

“No, you’re for my eyes only.”

“Possessive, yikes.” her face turned sour when she received a picture of her and Connie from a different angle in reply. Showing the picture to him, “And Sasha’s gonna have fun teasing us. Let’s go?”

An eager hand guided him to sit on the edge of his bed, manicured fingers trembling from the excitement of finally satiating her lust. Knelt between Connie’s legs in her panties that he tried to hook down at the entrance of his house and in her shirt, (Y/n) gathered all her hair to one side. Never breaking eye contact with him. “You’re cute but you just wanna do this?” He asked, taking the hair from her. ‘Even this is soft.’

Her chin rested on his inner thigh, fingers stroking him through the material of his pants. “Haven’t had a dick in my mouth for— since he and I broke up.” That was all she said before moving to take his zipper in between her teeth, pulling it down. His breath caught in his throat, watching her move.

“Wait,” he hastily removed his shirt, cock springing free from his boxers. Already wet from being close to her. She didn’t look like she minded, though he cursed himself for wearing a darker shade of boxers when he saw the obvious spot. “Okay.”

Taking the base of his cock, her lips teased his tip, smearing her lipstick to the corner of her mouth little by little. Looked him in the eye as she stuck her tongue out, licked under his tip before the warmth of her mouth took him whole. The hold he had on her hair tightened from the height of sudden pleasure coming all at once.

For someone who was . . . out of practice, Connie expected her to act all shy. Coyly licking at him, “You’re wide.” She whispered, probably to herself. Spat in her hand to coat all of him with her saliva, all while she licked his tip.

Concern when he looked down, using her hair to pull him away from her. “You don’t have to take all of it—” cut off when she nodded no, smiling as she took all of him. A satisfied hum around closed his eyes.

He’s not used to this. Being the quiet one reduced to groaning when there was so much that he could do for her. Tease her. Make her cry into his pillow. She should be the one gripping the sheets, not him.

Gaze on the popcorn ceiling above, he felt his mind drift off to someplace else. Never did he receive a blowjob like this. A pop of her lips wet as she came up for a breath of air brought him back. “You’re such a slut sucking me like that, huh.”

Instead, she smiled as if it was what she wanted to hear. “Thank you,”

“Fuck, you’re into that?”

Below him she felt her pussy twitch around nothing, begging to be satisfied like her mouth that let everything drool on the length of his cock. And slowly, she lowered herself again, determined to have him release at the back of her throat.

Though, for Connie, it was becoming too much. He felt the twitch of the muscle in his leg. And his chest becoming hot. Every gaze down to her was a new level of struggle to not cum early. Nose against his skin, a deep groan came.

Sighing, it was a perfect start to the weekend. He’d lay back and tell her to do whatever she pleased. No, ask her to sit on his face so he could torture her the same. But, first—

He neede to collect himself, lay his head on the pillow for— thunk. “Ack! Shit!” Hissed Connie, the sleep gone from his now wide eyes.

He’d forgotten that she made him sit on the side of his bed. The bed, pushed to the corner of the room where the cold wall was. Holding the back of his head as the pain took over, he stared at the crime scene for any trace of blood.

Nothing.

Good. That’d good—

“Ow . . .”

“Huh?”

“You . . .” gone was her lustful stare. A more offended one as she cradled her face in her hand, eyes holding so much . . . disappointment? A mumble as the other hand swiped over the flor in search of her jeans. “Your knee hit me.”

So, he hit his head on the head. His body jerked— really. Jerked away from her from the pain. “(Y/n), I— didn’t mean to . . .”

“Of course, you didn’t,” she giggled, pointing out the obvious that she was in between his legs as she stood up.“Is your head okay though?”

“Are you okay?” She repeated, considering that she should take him to the emergency room rather than so

“Fucking—” he groaned when the pain settled in, bringing his hands to hold where he hit himself.

To the Emergency room, it is. “Is there ice in your fridge?”

“Yeah,”

“Good, you’re gonna need that.” Throwing a glance over her shoulder as she bent down to the mini-fridge, “And put your dick back in—”

“Sorry—”

“We’re going to the ER.” Had Connie been in his normal state, his eyes would grow wide. Put up a fight and say that his many, many years of playing prepared him for an injury like this. Not tonight. Quietly, he used his only hand to fix himself. Even grabbed a jacket.

One for him and, “You need a jacket?”

“Yes, please.”

Sat in a weirdly quiet waiting room of the emergency room, (Y/n) holding a much better ice pack against his head she rested her body against him. Feeling the older receptionist’s sneaky glance at them. “Maybe we shouldn’t be hooking up, my head’s always hitting on something.” Said Connie, not in a whisper, rather as a passing thought. Loud enough for the nurses to hear them.

“Then,” she whispered to him. “We should do it at my dorm.” Then the brunette who assigned herself to Connie returned with the results of his X-ray.

“But what if I hit my head instead?” Whispered (Y/n) standing up with Connie.

“Springer? Connie Springer?”

“That’s me . . .” she pointed at the diagram, explaining that it was nothing severe as long as put an ice pack on the bruise. Then at (Y/n), the expression on her face holding too much concern, “Do you want to get your bruise checked, dear?”

“Oh no, it’s alright. His knee accidentally hit me when we were. . .”

“Next time be careful,” she grinned, letting them go. “It was a safe decision that you guys came here, enjoy your night, kids.”

Turning to Connie with her eyes wide, she met the grin that he wore. “Ice cream?”

“Let’s go!” She grabbed his hand, swaying their arms as they walked. “Weird, your head didn’t crack.”

“Laughing’s painful, don’t.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll save it for next week.”

Taglist:

@rowsn because you've been waiting for this

@axoxtxhxh @blondeboyfriend @sinnerofthewalls @sukosie @petitachi @stigandr-the-cat @ghost-party @ririthu @we-are-so-close @killerbananas @bee-ackerman

[omg-just-peachy]

Hi hi! If you want, maybe gratefulness + blanket for stony? I’m just super soft for the thought of one of them being cold and the other bringing them a blanket to warm them up🥰 if this isn’t something you’d write, feel free to ignore this❤️

Also just want to say that I love everything you post and reblog sooo much, I always get so happy when I go to your blog💞

ahhh this is so cute. maybe tony coming home from work to take care of steve who is sick in bed ❤️

****

“Tony?” Steve’s voice, thick with sleep and congestion, makes Tony look up from his phone, and he pulls his tie loose as he walks over to the bed.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Tony says, dropping down to sit beside Steve on the side of the bed. He’s down with some kind of super soldier super flu, and has had just about every cold symptom known to man over the last few days. Mostly, though, Steve’s just tired, like he needs all the rest he can get for his body and the serum to do the work of putting him back together again.

Tony had been by his side for the better part of two days until this morning. As much as he’d hated to do it, Tony had a company full of people counting on him to speak at a board meeting today, and he’d been forced to leave Steve with all the cold and flu medicine, tissues, and fluids he could fit on their bedside table.

Deep down, Tony knows he’ll be fine. Bruce and Helen had told him as much, but…

But it’s Steve and Tony can’t help but worry when it comes to Steve.

“I swear I tried not to wake you,” Tony says. He lays a hand over Steve’s forehead, and when he’s satisfied he’s sleep-warm rather than fever-warm, moves his hand down his cheek, stroking the smooth line of his cheekbone. He smiles as Steve leans into the touch. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm okay. I was mostly awake anyway,” Steve says, though he yawns hugely. “Slept all day, pretty much. Don’t know the last time I did that, but I was probably at least a hundred pounds lighter,” he continues. “How was the meeting? I missed you,” he says, voice open and vulnerable in a way Steve rarely allows himself to be.

Tony waves a hand. “Same old,” he says. “I’d rather have been here, watching sleeping beauty do his thing.”

He means it, too, as much to his own surprise as anyone else’s. He really would rather be here with Steve than just about anywhere else. The idea of it would have scared him five years ago, but now… Now it just feels right. It explains why it never worked with anyone before now.

“Is that how that movie goes?” Steve smiles up at him, his eyes crinkling just a little at the corners, and Tony has to stop and wonder how someone could make even the most dreary days feel brighter when they’re feeling as bad as Steve has the last few days.

“Something like that,” Tony shrugs. Before he can say anything else, Steve gives a full body shiver, then shoots Tony an apologetic look.

“Sorry, I’m either freezing or sweating and there’s no in between,” he explains.

“What sorry? No sorry,” Tony says, getting up and pulling a throw blanket out of the closet and stretching it out over Steve, who settles into it.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve says, giving him a grateful look.

That’s how Tony really knows he’s sick: normally Steve would be far too stubborn to admit he needs something, even something as seemingly inconsequential as this. Now, he sighs, content, and Tony can’t help but smiles at the sight of him, tucked up in their bed like this. He can so easily imagine that small, hundred-pound version of Steve Rogers, stuck in bed with the flu, reading or drawing all winter long surrounded by his mishmash of blankets.

“What?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing. “What’s that look?” He already looks worn out, even though he just woke up.

Tony shakes his head, smiling slightly. “Glad to be home, that’s all. You need anything else? I can order that soup you like from the diner if you're hungry.

Steve yawns again, shaking his head. “M’good. Do need one more thing, though,” he says. He holds out a hand for Tony to come closer, then tugs on it until Tony’s sitting next to him again. “Mhm. Almost,” Steve says, shifting over in bed until there’s enough room for Tony to lay with him.

Tony’s half dressed, still in the suit pants and maroon silk shirt he wore to SI, though he slips the loose tie over his head and tosses it to the side. He slides into bed beside Steve, though, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and curling himself up around his sick boyfriend. He feels Steve relax against him almost immediately, and knows it'll be a matter of minutes before he's out like a light again.

“Warm enough now?” Tony asks as Steve nuzzles into him, breathing already evening out.

“Mm,” Steve sighs. “Good. Warm. Glad you’re home.”

Tony is, too.

[babbushka]

Ah!!! Requests are open!!! I’m so excited 😍 I’ve been waiting on this forever. Okay, so this isn’t exactly from the prompts and it’s admittedly a very niche request but it’s one that I needed. Flip comforting a sick Mrs Zimmerman. Imagine she’s on the bathroom floor completely sick as a dog (not BAD sick, just like the stomach flu or food poisoning or something like that), and he’s rubbing her back, holding her hair, trying to make her laugh to feel better, that kind of vibe. 😍😍😍

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I love the idea of Flip taking care of his Missus, and I hope that you enjoy this fluffy comforting ficlet that I've come up with!

1.1k, warnings for mildly icky flu symptoms

Steadily, the clock ticks a countdown towards the end of his shift. It’s been a long one, a double this time. Normally he hates them, but as tired as he is, he knows the overtime will be good for him. He’s planning on surprising you for a holiday getaway this year, after the way the past couple months have been beating you down. You deserved the best, and he worked hard to give it to you.

He’s hardly working now though, Flip thinks as he sits through a meeting with Trapp and Bridges. It’s nothing major, the statistic reports came back with all sorts of numbers that Flip needs to be aware of, now that he’s the head of the narcotics department. And he should be paying attention, he knows he should be. But he can only think about how much he is looking forward to seeing you again.

And then, almost as if you can read his mind, one of the pencil pushing detectives sticks his head in Bridges’ office with an interruption, “Hey Zimmerman, phone call for you.”

“Can it wait?” Flip groans, thinking at first that it might be one of the schmucks he’s getting chummy with as part of a new case, but the detective shakes his head.

“It’s your wife,” He replies, and at once, Flip’s attention is focused like a laser, especially when he continues, “And she doesn’t sound too good.”

Without a second glance back to Bridges or Trapp, Flip is up out of his seat, and his long legs are striding across the floor of the bullpen, trying not to panic as he picks up the phone that’s got a little blinking light on his desk in his private office, and immediately demands, “Ketsl? What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“Hey honey,” Your voice is plaintive and scratchy, like you’ve been coughing all day when you ask, “Could you swing by the deli and pick me up some soup on your way home?”

“You’re sick? Do you need me to take you to the doc?” Flip is grabbing his keys right then and there, but you only chuckle, making his shoulders not so tense. If you’ve still got some giggles in you, it can’t be fatal.

“It’s not that awful, soup will fix it. Please make sure to get extra matzo balls.” You reassure him, and he writes it down on a sticky-note, underlining it a couple times to sear it into his brain.

“Alright ketsl, if you’re sure. I’ll be home in a few, just have to finish up this meeting.” Flip sighs into the phone, and you hum out a little something back.

“Okay, I’m hanging out in bed.” You sound congested and miserable, and Flip thinks that yes, bed is the best place for you.

“Stay there, I love you, I’ll be there sooner than you can say Manischewitz.” He says playfully, before the both of you blow kisses and exchange I Love Yous.

The meeting finishes up on time, and Flip is driving like a bat outta hell to get to the deli before the after-work rush. There’s only a few words exchanged, some money passed from one hand to the next, before Flip is cradling this soup -- and some dinner for himself since he won’t dare ask you to cook -- back to the truck, and in turn back to his home.

Stepping through the threshold, Flip ascends the stairs of your house and frowns when he expects you in bed, and you aren’t there. Setting the soup down on the nightstand, he continues to frown when he hears your sad sounds coming from the bathroom.

“I’m taking you to the doctor.” Flip says in lieu of greeting, rushing to your side as you’re hunched over the toilet, your knees on the cool tile of the bathroom floor.

Flip pulls you into his arms and holds you close, smoothing his hand up and down your back, making you shudder. You shove your face in his neck, and Flip presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“No, it’s fine, really. I think I caught that bug that Patrice had a couple days ago. It’s season for it anyway.” Your voice is muffled against his neck, but he can hear you perfectly.

“Have you gotten the influenza vaccine yet this year?” Flip tries to think if he remembered you both going to get jabbed, and you groan, confirming his suspicion that the answer is,

“No, dammit I completely forgot.” You whine, pushing yourself away from him quickly to groan into the toilet bowl again, “Fuck I feel awful -- “

Flip feels awful watching you like this, and he goes into caretaker mode straight away. You’ve done it for him enough times that he knows exactly what to do, and moves in a precision that would make you proud if you were paying any attention.

“Here, have some water. Slow sips.” Flip passes you some medicine and a glass of sink water, and you eagerly accept it, doing as he says.

“Did you get the soup?” You look up at him with those big eyes of yours, and Flip just wants to scoop you against his arms and hold you tight, wishes he could fight the flu with his own bare hands for you.

“Of course I did. Extra matzo balls and everything.” Flip rubs your back some more, rubs your shoulders too as you sip on the water, trying to rehydrate. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

You nod, letting him help you up and guide you through the bathroom to the bed. The sheets look clean enough, but Flip will change them in the morning so you can enjoy the fresh linens. Once you’re under the covers, he kisses your forehead and realizes he only brought the whole quart container upstairs.

“I’m going to get you a bowl for the soup.” He tucks you in nicely, frets over you, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Oh Philly, knights don’t come in armor shinier than yours.” You give him a dreamy sigh, eyes sparkling at him, and Flip only kisses you again.

When he comes back up, you’re fast asleep, but that’s alright. Flip slips under the covers next to you and watches the orange red yellow leaves fall off their branches outside, counting them until he too is drowsy, knowing that if you need anything through the night, he’ll be right there to get it for you.

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Tagging some Flip lovin' friends!

@mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea @princessflip @goddessofsprings @sweetlyours @mrs-gucci @baubub @bucky-j-barnes @beachwoodmonet @darkhairedmenrule @eagerforhoney @nekonaomitard @einmal-im-traum @justlenastuff @ohsolonelyghosts @depressedkyloren @pop-rocks-and-skittles @emi11ie @durangoninetyfive

[oh-no-my-hand-slipped]

I come bearing a Christmas prompt for you!

Did you know werewolves can catch cold from humans AND dogs?

There is a village of society's outcasts that live in the middle of the forest. The community is comprised of a wide range of creatures such as giants, ogres, hags, deformed humans, the occasional peaceful vampire, and of course werewolves. They live happily together in harmony and safety, and Christmas is their favorite time of year.

Dietrich the werewolf has a special task. Each year on Christmas Eve he must lead the sled dog team that transports the prettiest evergreen from their forest to a village in the northern tundra, and exchange it with the native people there for a box of their beautiful, hand-blown glass ornaments to bring home to his village for their annual Christmas celebration.

Dietrich does everything he can each year to ensure he is up for the strenuous task. One year, when a nasty cold begins to spread around the village the week before Christmas, he transforms into a wolf to avoid the bug and ensure he is healthy come Christmas Eve. However, a doggy cold also spreads among the sled dog team, and poor Dietrich is devastated to find he is quite ill come Christmas Eve.

What happens next is up to you! Does he power through and try to complete his task? Does he make it halfway and collapse at the natives' village, unable to return? Does he stay home and help his neighbors come up with another plan?

Happy Holidays and all the best to you!

…I was hesitant about taking this ask.

Not because it was a bad prompt - no, quite the opposite.

You see, I had never allowed myself to write a sickfic or snzfic that involved someone missing something, especially an obligation. As a gifted kid, the idea itself gave me anxiety…the same anxiety that I felt/feel when I can’t do my best.

But, after a lot of thought, I realized something. This community is not just about comfort or horniness - it’s about working through our trauma, identity, and emotions through a medium that makes things a bit easier to swallow.

The following sickfic is not just a story about a werewolf with a huge, cold-filled nose and a mischievous half-vampire. This is an exploration of my own feelings of inadequacy and how toxic my definition of success is.

…Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Winter Solstice, Kwanzaa, Soyal, Las Posadas, or whatever you do or don’t celebrate.

I hope you enjoy.

*****************

“That’s a beautiful cold you’ve caught, Dee.”

Dietrich snarled, and tried to snap back. However, arching his nose had caused the dull pressure at the base of his snout to turn into a tickle. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep himself from jerking into one of his many quilts, caught in a harsh sneezing fit. Quiren clucked his tongue and continued to poke at the fire.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he said. “I suppose I shouldn’t joke at a time like this.”

“‘S dot fuddy,” Dietrich sniffled, barely able to speak through his congestion.

“I know it isn’t, my dear. Why else would I joke if not to bring light to it?”

Once the fire swelled to life, Quiren put the poker down and turned around in his chair, his arms leaning against the top rail.

“You are finally getting the break you deserve, and all you can do is growl and grumble and feel sorry for yourself. This cold had your name on it! Why don’t you put it to good use?”

Dietrich dipped his head. “This isn’t sobthing to be proud of.”

“Neither is missing Christmas every year for the sake of tradition,” Quiren retorted. “Do you even know what happens after the tree is lit?”

“Id doesn’d batter. This isn’d aboud be. Id’s aboud by duty as a sled dog. And I failed.”

Dietrich could feel his eyes burning, and his fangs clipping his bottom lip as it quivered.

“I trained all year for this. I put all of by tibe and energy into this. I thoughd I had dodged the one thing thad could keep be from doing what I was meant to do. And just whed I led by guard down, I…hih…!”

The werewolf’s nose trembled. Quiren leaned the chair forward, plucked a pink handkerchief from a nearby table, and shoved it into Dietrich’s hand just in time.

“HRREH’CHEW! Hih…R’CHIEW!”

Quiren sat back down, laying their chin on their arms and sighing.

“My dear, you can’t possibly think this is your fault. A cold is simply a cold, and yours happened to come at an inopportune time.”

“Inobburtune?” Dietrich cried hoarsely, burying his face into his hands. “By luck couldn’d be worse!”

“I can’t help but disagree,” Quiren said, not unkindly. “For the first time since you were a pup, you finally have the opportunity to be here for the festivities.”

The vampire moved forward in his chair and put a hand on their shoulder.

“I know you’re disappointed. You have every right to be.”

Quiren lifted Dietrich’s head with his slim hand. The werewolf’s eyes were filled with tears.

“But you deserve to have a merry Christmas. Can’t you allow yourself to have that? Just this year?”

Dietrich to a deep, trembling sigh, and gazed out the window, not able to look the vampire in the eye. The pane was frosted over, covered in fractals and fog. He couldn’t see very much except the silhouettes of passersby. Tears streamed down his face as Quiren’s hand moved up Dietrich’s cheek and onto his forehead.

“I have an idea,” he said, feeling gently for a temperature. “Perhaps it will help you feel a bit better…and curb that fever of yours.”

Quiren got up from his chair and walked towards the door of the cottage, grabbing a wooden bucket by the fireplace as he went.

“There’s an old recipe that’s been passed around many vampire lineages for generations, especially during the Blood Famine.”

He opened the oaken door, letting a burst of cold air in. As feverish as he was, Dietrich shivered horribly. Quiren put on foot out, scooped up a bucketful of snow, and stepped back inside in one swift motion, making sure to let in as little of the blizzard as possible. Even so, the sick werewolf could feel the winter in his aching bones. Quiren clucked his tongue as he went by Dietrich’s bed, stopping for a moment to pull the quilt further over his body.

“Dank y-you,” Dietrich said, teeth chattering.

The vampire smiled as he pulled a few bottles from the cupboard.

“Only the best, my dear,” and then, more firmly, “It’s only going to get colder, Dee. You shall not rise from that bed until I hear not a sniffle or a sneeze. Understand?”

Dietrich nodded, his throat too sore from weeping to say much else. Quiren set to work, pouring a bit of this, a drop of that, and a dash of everything else into the fresh snow. The wind outside howled, and the branches of the fir trees scraped against the cottage, as if even they were looking for shelter in the brewing storm.

Dietrich sniffled, thinking of the many evergreen trees that lined the sled trail. The smell, the fronds swaying in the breeze, the many pine needles littering the ground…

His nostrils quivered.

Just thinking about it was enough to make anyone -

“‘S-scuse be…g-gudda…HHRRSH’CHIIIIEW! Hih…RSH’CHIEW!”

Quiren made a concerned noise as he finished up shaping the snow in his hands.

“Oh dear…I don’t like the sound of that. Are you alright? Is your head still attached to your shoulders?”

Dietrich blew his nose loudly, hoping that would suffice as an answer.

“Ah, I see. Goodness, it’s a wonder you haven’t blown that cold out of you by now, the way you’re sounding. Here-”

Quiren came back with two green snowballs, colored by the many fruits and herbs he had collected over the summer months.

“My müdra used to make these for me when I had played in the snow for too long. Every year, I would lose my scarf and start to sneeze, and she would kiss my forehead and scold me and send me straight to bed.”

Dietrich tried to sniff his, but found he couldn’t pick up the treat’s scent. After a few moments, he took a tentative nibble. The outside of the snowball was hard, but the inside had somehow become a sweet citrus slush. However, something about the aftertaste made Dietrich cough and his snout tingle.

“Many of our meals and medicines were made of snow,” Quiren continued, biting into his own snowball. “I didn’t know this at the time, I was so young, but that was all vampires could find after the war.”

Dietrich blew his nose again, having much more success than before.

“Is thad why you drank blood?” he asked. He was always interested in the stories Quiren told.

Quiren shook his head. “We never did. Our family swore to never go to such lengths - though we were luckier than most. The forest provided for us through the battle. But others were driven to such hunger that they preyed on the humans that were unfortunate enough to cross their path. Very few of those vampires are alive today. They believe that either they are entitled to the blood of mortals or that it has some sort of rejuvenating property. Many of them are killed in their efforts.”

Dietrich stifled a yawn, his eyes suddenly becoming heavy. Quiren tilted his head.

“I’m not boring you, I hope?”

“Mm-mm…” Dietrich mumbled, leaning further back into his pillow.

Quiren tucked the quilt around the werewolf and drew the curtains, making the room flicker with the warm glow of the fireplace. He leaned over the werewolf and ran a hand through their hair.

“Merry Christmas, Dee.”

*****************

The sound of ringing bells woke Dietrich from his restful sleep. He opened his eyes to find Quiren hanging a string of them above the doorway, balancing precariously on a wooden chair.

“Almost…there!”

Quiren tied the string and leaned back, admiring his handiwork. The bells were an old, rusted bronze, and it had obviously been many years since they were first forged. Suddenly, the vampires ears perked up, and he turned around so quickly he almost fell to the floor.

“Oh, goodness, Dietrich, you scared me! You had been sleeping so soundly I could hardly hear your heartbeat!”

Quiren got down from the chair and hurried over to his friend’s bedside.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, already pressing his hands against Dietrich’s cheeks.

Dietrich stretched. “Mm…better.”

“You’re still a little warm, my dear - but those herbs seemed to have cleared up your congestion.”

Quiren grinned, showing their sharp teeth, which were extended with excitement.

“Perhaps if we don’t overdo it…yes, I have so much to show you! Oh, Merry Christmas, Dee!”

He hugged Dietrich tightly, which the werewolf returned with a wagging tail.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Quiren whispered.

Dietrich beamed, wrapping his arms even tighter around Quiren.

“Me too.”

After one last squeeze, Quiren drew back.

“What would you like to do first? I have enough herbs for baking pastries, or perhaps weaving a few protective wreaths to hang in the doorways…”

Dietrich settled back into his pillow. He was still very tired from the cold, and the bed seemed too warm to leave.

“Do you think,” he said, “you could tell me about your Christmases? When you were a kid?”

Quiren dragged the chair closer to the bed.

“You mean at the lodge? With pädra and müdra?”

Dietrich nodded, and Quiren sat down with a hum, rocking back and forth as he thought back to his childhood.

“Christmas was more of a luxury,” he said finally. “We would usually pretend to give fine presents made of sticks and that we were fine lords and ladies of the court. I was Sir Snurkel, and my sisters were Lady Lackbottom and Lady Lurch. We all thought that high class manners were very silly, so we would make new rules every year. There was one Christmas where we all had to crawl on our stomachs, and my elder sister would scold us if we used our arms or legs-”

Quiren continued to tell Dietrich for quite some time about his past Christmases, from the fruit vendor that would save oranges for him and his siblings to the party where he accidentally drank his mother’s brandy and slept until that next afternoon. Unlike the night before, he stayed awake through most of the stories, only dozing a few times between tales.

“…and speaking of traditions,” Quiren continued, leaning to his feet and making his way to the kitchen, “there’s a Christmas tradition I’ve always wanted to do with you, but…well, since you were always away…”

Dietrich put up his hand. “Whatever it is, I’m up for it.”

Quiren flapped his hands, ecstatic, then began to collect a wide assortment of bags, bottles, and bales of ingredients.

“Are we making more snowballs?” Dietrich asked.

“Oh, no, my dear! This will be even better!”

The vampire returned with a small stone slab, a few metals bowls, and more supplies than Dietrich could count. They set the slab on his lap, sprinkled a bit of flour onto it, opened a small container, and shook a blob of flour onto it. Dietrich’s eyes went wide.

“When did you make all of this?”

Quiren rubbed his neck. “I…worried perhaps your fever would get worse during the night. And, when I worry, doing things with my hands usually calms my mind.”

He shook his head and looked down at the dough.

“At least my thoughts brought something back when they ran away from me.”

Dietrich furrowed his eyebrows. “You were up all night?”

“Not all night!” Quiren stammered. “I slept a little. Besides, vampires need very little rest - not as much as humans. Or werewolves with a cold.”

Quiren chuckled and started to roll out the dough, and Dietrich followed his lead. Once it was flat and even, Quiren pulled out a few iron cookie cutters and pressed them to the dough to make beautiful shapes - a pine tree, a deer with its head down, a piece of candy, and a few Dietrich didn’t recognize. He expected Quiren to explain the origin of each shape, but his friend was unusually quiet.

“Maybe you could go to bed once these are in the oven,” Dietrich suggested. “I’ll take them out if you want.”

Quiren took a while to answer. He had stopped moving the treats onto the pan, and was staring at the floor.

“I am a bit tired,” he said, snapping back to the task at hand, “but I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Besides, if you are feeling up to it, I thought we could…g-geh…heh…!”

Quiren put a finger to his nose, but he was too late.

“tch’SHU!”

A cloud of leftover flour flew up from the slab, causing Quiren’s hitching to return with gusto.

“P-pardon meh…hetsh’CHU! t’CHU! CHU!”

Dietrich pulled a new handkerchief from his front pocket. He offered it to Quiren, who was still struggling not to sneeze again. Finally, he was able to grab the handkerchief and put it over his nose.

“Hey, bless you,” Dietrich said, still wondering if the vampire was finished.

“Snf…thank you,” Quiren sniffled. “A bit of flour must have tickled me. Goodness, as I was saying, I thought we could go watch the ornaments being hung on the tree tonight. If you are feeling better, that is.”

Dietrich smiled. “I’d like that. It’ll be nice to not just be waiting to go home and sleep for a change.”

“Just make sure not to push yourself, alright? You’re still recovering, and it will be freezing tonight. I’ll make sure to find a nice overcoat to wear, a few scarves…I have a muffler somewhere…”

******************

Hundreds of creatures gathered around the glistening tree, which Mayor Phoenix had carefully lit with small orbs of yellow fire. Several giants took the ornaments between their large fingers and slipped onto the higher branches, while fairies and teams of nymphs worked on the lower ones. The dog team that had pulled the sleigh were on a nearby podium, wearily watching the festive proceedings.

Dietrich and Quiren were sitting in the snow, looking up at the gorgeously crafted glass shining in the light, watching their warm breath float up into the stars.

“This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” Dietrich whispered, not wanting to interrupt the breathtaking scene. “Thank you.”

Quiren shivered. “N-no, thank you. I never imagined such…such…a…”

The vampire shuttered, then jerked forward, his hands clasped around his nose.

“hit’TCH! TCH! TCH!”

“Bless you,” Dietrich said, and put his arm around Quiren’s shoulders. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Just…a liddle chilly, is all,” Quiren mumbled. He leaned into Dietrich and coughed into his hand, still shivering like a leaf.

Dietrich sighed, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around Quiren. The vampire leaned even more into him, relishing the heat.

“C’mon, Ren. Let’s get you home.”

Quiren snuffled. “Bud I…htch’TCH!”

“No buts, mate.”

Dietrich laughed, leading Quiren through the shimmering snow.

“The first Christmas we’re together, and all I give you is my cold.”

[sleephyjhs]

When You’re Expecting (Taehyung Headcanon)

pairing: taehyung x pregnant!reader

warnings: mention of fertility & pregnancy complications

note: i’ve been craving to write a bts x pregnancy series for a while so here we go !! if there’s a specific member you’d like to see next, shoot me an ask :)

m.list

FINDING OUT

even before finding out you were pregnant, you both had so much love for your child

there was nothing either of you could have wanted more than a baby

it was always at the forefront of your mind how much you wanted a little human of your own

it was approaching a year since you began trying seriously

a few false hopes and two miscarriages later, fertility drugs were looking to improve the chances of conceiving

the raging hormones which came with the drugs were all worth the positive test

early september - sickness had hung around your throat for days

headaches lasted longer than usual, and crying at the most mundane things had become an unwelcome habit

in the bathroom cabinet, you’d collected a small stockpile of electronic and stick pregnancy tests

one of them would eventually show positive, right?

taehyung sat on the bathroom tiles with you

waiting two minutes felt closer to waiting two months

he crossed his legs, bouncing his knees impatiently

your knees came to your chin; high hopes weighed heavily on your heart

the alarm set on his phone beeped quietly

your heartbeat rose suddenly to your throat

taehyung reached out for your hand as you turned to read the results

two blue lines - as clear as day

they became less clear as your eyes coated with thick, salty tears

he began to chuckle as his happiness trickled down his cheeks

“we did it baby! we’re gonna have a baby!” he whispered, choked up by his own anticipation

no words were left swirling in your mind

your jaw hung open as though the hinges were faulty

shakily, you lifted the electronic test to triple check

pregnant.

as you crashed into taehyung’s open arms, memories of the past loomed in your mind

it was only inevitable

a positive test was a familiar joy to you both

however this familiar joy had only ever been followed by crippling devastation

as much as you tried not to think about it, you couldn’t help but retain maternal caution

however, this time also felt different

taehyung’s spirit, your spirit - it was as though fate didn’t want to disappoint you any more

someone out there decided it was finally your time to grow a mini human to bring into the world

of course, no time was wasted in contacting the maternity clinic

seeing your baby on a screen was now a top priority

just to see their little head, maybe even hear their heartbeat

just to know they were okay

just to know you were keeping them cosy and safe, that’s all you needed

taehyung couldn’t hold his excitement

from leaving the house to reaching the hospital, his toothy grin never wiped from his cheeks

he never said anything at the time since his main focus was always on comforting you

but losing his babies near enough tore him apart

even when you tried to comfort him, taehyung restricted himself just to protect your wellbeing

of course, the worse had already crossed his mind

but it wouldn’t get the better of him

it couldn’t.

you soon learned you were already 6 weeks pregnant

the midwife had to point out where your little baby was hanging out; they were such a tiny thing after all

briefly, you took the opportunity to hear their heartbeat

it was faint over the machine, but fast

there really was a life within you.

“there’s something else, if you just look over here...” the midwife prompted, turning the monitor so you could grasp a better view

taehyung leaned slightly over your chest to peer closely at the smaller monochrome screen

with the mouse, she circled a second bean shaped figure

“the fertility drugs increase the chance of twins. looks like you guys got lucky!”

twins. you were having twins.

THE PREGNANCY

like with most pregnancies, you were advised to wait until the 12 week milestone to begin announcing your impending delivery

and even though he understood the importance of patience right now, taehyung could hardly contain his excitement

it didn’t help that a little bump had already begun to grow

keeping a secret was much more difficult when the evidence was near impossible to hide

already, taehyung spent early mornings talking to his little angels

telling them stories he seemingly made up on the spot

or even borrowing some from his own childhood

“you know they can’t hear you yet? it’s about 7 weeks until they’ll be able to, honey.”

“i know, i’m just practising for when they can.”

of course, you wouldn’t admit that you did the same when you were alone

you attended more midwife appointments than other expectant mothers might

the pair of you much preferred being on the safer side

in the car, when on a quieter, less congested road, taehyung often reached over to cradle your still-growing bump with a free hand

you slotted your fingertips between his for additional sappiness

“you two have so many people waiting for you here, hmm? many people are already so in love with you both. me and mummy included.”

on a sleepless night, you’d made a small pact with tae

it was a rash decision, but sincere nonetheless

“no matter what, they are always going to know how wanted they were. always.”

taehyung hardly needed reminding of this, but it was still a weight off your shoulders

as you tried to conceive, the pregnancy diet had already been implemented into your daily routines

however now that you were carrying two precious babies, there really would be no more ‘cheat’ days for you

no more extra half cups of coffee on slower mornings

although you usually took over the role of head chef in the house, taehyung dedicated extra effort into preparing you both healthy and yummy foods

sautéd rice with green vegetables and lean meat/tofu appeared to be his go-to

but you still opted to supervise just in case

finally being able to announce your pregnancy was another heavy weight lifted from your mind

the other members were over the moon for you both

particularly when they reminded themselves of the struggles you had experienced previously

and also remembering the utter devastation of their taehyung when he had to break it to them

all of them kept their eye out for little gifts and outfits

each week, taehyung came home with a new stack of pale rompers or neutral-tones teething toys

these babies would have the best uncles; at least that much you could be certain of

announcing your pregnancy on social media was a looming task, but one he was determined to pull off perfectly

for filler content between schedules, the members had been asked to film a 5 minute vlog of their daily life

well, what a perfect opportunity!

towards the end, taehyung made sure to include some shots of your now protruding bump overlaid with some more vintage camera settings

safe to say, that day you had broken the internet

love, congratulations and blessings poured in from every corner of the earth

a few comments complimenting how much pregnancy suited you touched you especially

self image is commonly effected by the progression of pregnancy, and you were no exception to that

although it was amazing how your body grew and made a little home for your tiny babies, it was still quite strange to see yourself changing so quickly

your favourite clothes didn’t fit around your doubled bump anymore

and your skin seemed to hate sharing nutrients with two extra people

but for the days where you struggled to love yourself, taehyung easily filled in the gaps for you

sneaking up behind you in the bathroom

(although the mirror kinda gave him away)

he’d wrap his arms around your just-moisturised bump and carefully rest his chin on your shoulder

“tell me all your worries honey.”

you gushed over how much you missed wearing your favourite jackets

and how strange it was to look at yourself in such a new and confusing way

“i know it’s normal, and i know i have to do it for them. but i guess it’s just weird - i don’t look like myself anymore”

he sighed and planted a kiss on a spot of bare skin

those small kisses still tickled you like they always had

“well, you definitely look different,”

you really hoped there was a second part to that sentence, mostly for tae’s own good

“but why does that have to be bad? not gonna lie, it actually kinda makes you hotter. maybe we should make babies more often!”

“make~?”

LABOUR AND DELIVERY

originally, you had wanted to try and stick to the natural route for as long as you could

but after a few contractions, that idea was immediately out of the window

to help steady yourself and wait out the pain, you held onto the kitchen island and swayed to your own pace

eventually, taehyung joined you

copying the same movements while timing your contractions

“they really must be desperate to come out, huh?”

“well do you think they could hurry it up a bit?!”

the pair of you had been prepared for this for over a month

the hospital bag was ready by the door with all of your essentials packed tightly inside

not forgetting the pots of instant ramen taehyung insisted he must bring in case of an emergency

just as he was readying to back out of the driveway, taehyung took a mental stock check of everything packed in the back

“do you think we have everything?”

“i love you but stop talking please.”

thankfully, he understood well that the sheer pain made you cranky

so long as he assured himself that it was ‘just the contractions’, he’d be just fine

as much as he couldn’t wait to announce he was about to become a father to everyone, he kept himself grounded when walking you to the maternity ward

one corridor in and you’d suggested that a wheelchair might be a better mode of transport

breathlessness and contractions didn’t sound like a favourable mix to you

the assessment of your fast dilation granted you an immediate spot in the labour ward

you’d picked this suite specially due to its expansive space

the option of a birthing pool was still available if you so needed it, but the mood lighting and access to aromatherapy was what attracted you to the room in the first place

a serene paradise for your angels to be born into

it was perfect

taehyung explored while you adjusted to your new surroundings

of course, it didn’t take him long to find the birthing ball

“what’s the difference between a yoga ball and a birthing ball?”

there obviously was none, but you took a few seconds to try and be smart with him

“well, sit on that and you might have a baby the size of a watermelon come out of you soon.”

taehyung cradled his torso and pulled a shocked expression, which was enough to make you giggle and cause another contraction

less than a few hours passed, and you had already attempted to scream the building down once or twice

“get these babies out of me. no i’m serious, i need them out.”

realising your deadpan expression, taehyung soon attended to you at the head of your bed

stroking your slightly sweaty head and patting a ice cold flannel on your clammy forehead

he braced himself for a crushing hand grip which came about sooner than he’d prepared for

you weren’t the biggest fan of commotion, and so being surrounded by nurses and doctors was close to being your worst nightmare

taehyung focused his voice into your ear, trying to minimise the tension coming from below your pelvis

his motivational words were broken up by short bursts of pushes

many of which were followed by a string of curse words which just slipped out

and then, there it was.

the first piercing cry belted across the room

a tear or two may have happened to slip from your eyes

finally the moment you’d waited for, nearly two years in the making, was here

the first of two, a little girl who already had a head full of the most luscious black hair

taehyung wanted to hold back his happy tears in order to show some kind of strength

but you and him both knew he’d never hold it back for long

within the space of 4 minutes, the second baby was born into the world.

but this time, there was no immediate cry

the whole world seemed to slow down in that moment as you waited

and waited

midwifes gathered around the new infant, looking for any kind of obstruction

but, soon enough, your son said his first hello to the world

[earliebirb]

for better or for worse

My dearest friend Alle ( @iam93percentstardust​ ) sent me this prompt a lifetime ago. I’m sorry for taking such a long time, but this fic turned into a 5K fic (which is longer than anything I usually write) because my brain kept giving me Ideas. Alle, I know this is probably not what you expected, but I hope you enjoy reading it anyway.

for better or for worse

steve/tony, au: no powers, hurt/comfort, getting back together, 5815 words

(54 from this list)

Tony wakes to the sensation of his head pounding and his ears ringing. He groans, stirring on the bed and burying his face into the nearest pillow. 

The ringing persists and Tony squeezes his eyes shut, willing the noise to go away and—

Oh. That ringing is his doorbell. Someone is ringing his doorbell. 

Tony sighs, glancing at the clock on his nightstand before groaning again when he realizes that it’s ten minutes to seven. In the morning. What kind of lunatic is visiting him at this hour?

He gives himself a couple more seconds to stay on the bed, cursing his own self for being awake. For a brief moment, he is tempted to just ignore whoever is standing on his porch in the hopes of making them eventually go away. 

The doorbell rings again and he lets out another long sigh. Slowly, he sits up on the bed and immediately regrets the decision to do so as all his muscles start aching all over, the kind of all-encompassing pain he only gets throughout his body when he is really, really sick. He feels like crying from the pain. 

The second he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked, however, he instantly freezes. His blood runs cold, adrenaline numbing his pain for the moment, his senses alert in shock.

Quietly, he gets to his feet, heart pounding in his chest. God, this is the worst time to fight off an intruder. Not that there is ever a great time to have someone illegally entering your home, but it’s early in the morning, and he’s sick, and alone, and—

“Steve?” 

Steve jumps, turning to face him with his blue eyes wide in surprise. Either Tony is sicker than he thought or Steve is really standing right there, a few steps away from the front door, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Tony. I’m— Sorry. I tried calling you but I think your phone is dead, and I tried ringing the doorbell but—”

Oh. It really is Steve. With the threat of imminent danger gone, immense relief and pain ambush his senses simultaneously.

“—you didn’t answer the door, so I used my key. I’m so sorry. I know it’s really early in the morning, but I was about to leave for a meeting and I tried to do a final check of the blueprint of the exhibition only to find the file corrupted. The only other copy I have of it is the hard copy I had left here, so I—”

Tony’s knees feel weak. He frowns as he squints, because why are there two Steves in front of him? 

“—panicked and I drove all the way— Tony?”

Tony tries to take a step forward, but he wobbles unsteadily. The floor is moving, and the walls are spinning, and oh wow look at the ceiling—

“Tony!”

***

When Tony comes to, his ears come around before the rest of his senses. 

His eyes are still shut. As he slips in and out of slumber, he manages to catch snippets of someone’s voice in the distance. 

“...Yeah, um, I’m actually calling to let you know that I won’t be able to make it to the meeting today…”

“...I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’d leave if I could, but I can’t…”

“...Family emergency. We’ll just have to postpone the meeting, or I can just send scans of the blueprint via email, and have Peggy handle everything…”

“...Okay. Just give me a call and let me know…”

Everything is silent for a while. When Tony’s eyes eventually blink open, he finds himself back in his bed, his body tucked under the covers. The door of his bedroom is ajar and Tony stares at it uncomprehendingly, his brain still struggling to make sense of his current situation.

As if to answer the questions floating around in his brain, the door opens inwards and in walks Steve, a glass of water in hand. He pauses when he sees Tony staring back at him. 

“Oh, you’re awake. Good.” Steve smiles. He pads over and sits down on the edge of the bed, setting the glass of water down on the nightstand. He cups Tony’s elbow carefully. “How are you feeling?”

Tony blinks. So that wasn’t a dream? Steve is really here. 

“Why are you here?” Tony croaks. Steve’s face does something complicated at that before eventually settling with another smile, soft and reassuring.

“Don’t worry about that right now. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Tony answers honestly, sniffing and grimacing at his unpleasantly congested nose. The lopsided smile Steve gives him sends a wave of longing so strong, it feels like a kick to his heart.

“I figured,” Steve says, voice hushed. He opens his mouth to say something else, but his phone rings right that instant. Steve fishes the phone out of his pocket and holds it up to his ear.

“Hello? It has to be today? Okay, don’t panic. It’s going to be okay. I know, I know. I told you, I can’t. I really, really can’t.” For some reason, Steve’s gaze flits briefly to Tony at this before drifting away. “I told you, Peggy knows the blueprint inside and out. We’ll just have to leave it up to her. Tell the rest of the team I’m sorry, okay? Uh-huh. Right. If we get a second meeting, I’ll join you guys then. Okay. Mm-hm. Alright. Thanks a lot, Sam. Bye.”

“Do you have to get to a meeting?” Tony asks as he watches Steve slip his phone back into his pocket. 

“Are you warm enough? Do you need more blankets?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he assesses Tony’s condition.

“No, I’m fine,” Tony says, runny nose turning his voice nasally. He sniffs a few times. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you have a meeting today?”

Instead of answering Tony’s question, Steve leans towards the nightstand to grab some tissues and proceeds to hold them under Tony’s nose.

“Blow.”

Tony leans back with a scowl, putting some distance between him and the tissues. “Steve, seriously, do you have a meeting? You don’t have to—”

“Blow your nose, Tony,” Steve says firmly. He stares at Tony, gaze unwavering.

Tony sighs before doing as instructed. He blows into the tissues until his nose feels relatively clear. Something stirs in his chest at the way Steve takes all of it in stride, not showing even an inkling of disgust at Tony’s sweaty and snotty state.

Then again, he supposes that’s the kind of immunity you develop after two years of marriage.

Would be three in a few months, if they didn’t—

Well. It’s probably for the best, right?

It has been a month since Steve moved out and his foolish heart still refuses to relinquish the sliver of hope that maybe—

Tony closes his eyes.

The fight they had had been of massive proportions, the biggest to date in their relationship, and when Steve suggested that they take a break—Tony still wonders if he was sparing Tony’s heart by avoiding the word “divorce”—Tony quietly agreed to it, no matter how much he hated the idea. Steve ended up moving back to his old apartment, an hour away. 

He didn’t want to imprison Steve in the house—in the relationship—if he didn’t want to be with Tony. 

After all, Tony can only keep Steve for as long as he wishes to be kept. 

“Go to the meeting, Steve.” Tony watches as Steve continues to dab at his nose with the ball of tissues, his hand careful and gentle. Even after blowing his nose, his voice still sounds nasally. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m fine, I promise. You don’t have to stay.”

“Drink.” Steve hands him the glass of water, staring him down until he drinks the water. He downs the water in a few gulps under Steve’s watchful gaze. After he finishes, Steve takes the glass from him and sets it back on the nightstand. He glances at the clock, all the while ignoring Tony’s disapproving stare. “Have you taken any meds?”

“No. I thought I’d just sleep it off.”

Steve lets out a sigh, looking disappointed but not exactly surprised. He walks out of the bedroom before returning with a simple peanut butter sandwich and some pills. He gives out strict orders for Tony to have at least a few bites of the sandwich before taking the meds and then proceeds to clean up the pile of tissues scattered all around Tony, dumping them into the trash can. After that, he disappears into the ensuite bathroom for a moment. Tony hears the sink running.

By the time Steve emerges from the bathroom, Tony has eaten half of the sandwich and taken his meds dutifully. After confirming the evidence of Tony’s actions with his own two eyes, Steve looks satisfied.

“Okay. Go back to sleep.” 

Tony frowns. “I just woke up.” 

For a minute, Tony thinks that Steve is going to argue with him again, but he just hums and makes his way to the other side of the bed. He slips under the covers beside Tony and reaches for the TV remote.

“What movie do you want to watch?”

“Steve, please. You don’t have to do this. I know—”

“Sci-fi? Or do you want something lighter? A romcom, maybe?”

“—you have work to do, so—”

“You hate being alone when you’re sick,” Steve interrupts, eyes on the TV screen. “And you’re terrible at taking care of yourself, especially when you are sick. I know you, Tony. I know you’d just end up skipping meals throughout the day because you don’t have an appetite.”

Tony pauses. Steve is still staring at the TV, but he is no longer scrolling through the list of available movies.

“You’re… not wrong,” Tony allows, “but you really don’t have to.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come earlier if I’d known.”

“What— Of course I didn’t.” Tony shakes his head, incredulous. “After all, this doesn’t have to be your responsibility, considering we’re on a—” —break. 

The sentence is completed in his head, but Tony can’t seem to let the last word fall out of his mouth. Steve seems to hear it anyway, if the way his jaw clenches is any indication. 

Tony clears his throat and breathes through the persistent pounding in his head, inhaling through his mouth. 

“Just go, okay? I’ll be fine, Steve, I prom—”

“I won’t be.”

“What?”

Steve finally turns to face him and takes a few long seconds before meeting his eyes, blue eyes tired and resigned.

“I’m the one who won’t be fine, leaving you here all sick and alone.” Steve’s mouth twists into a small smile, wan and bittersweet. “I won’t be able to stop worrying. Won’t be able to work, or go about my day, or…”

A beat. Steve inhales a tremulous breath, blue eyes wavering as they hold Tony’s gaze. “Won’t be able to stop thinking about you.”

Steve looks down at his own lap, fingers grabbing a fistful of the comforter. Silence stretches out between them. Sitting quietly like this, Tony can almost pretend that nothing has happened, that this is just another normal day of Steve waking up in bed next to him. Married and in love with no threat of divorce looming on the horizon.

Of course, that is before he catches sight of Steve’s bereft ring finger.

Then his heart leaps to his throat and he feels his stomach dropping like a rapidly sinking anchor. He wonders how long it has been since Steve’s ring finger is empty.

He wonders if he should start taking off his own, too. He wonders if Steve wants him to take it off. He feels a visceral pain in his chest just at the mere thought of the ring leaving his own finger, a sharp twinge that has nothing to do with him being sick.

Steve swallows audibly. “Just because we’re on a… break, it doesn’t mean I stop caring about you, Tony.”

Tony clenches his jaw and finds himself wondering if Steve would continue to care about him if they ended up separating for good.

He doesn’t ever want to find out the answer to that question. His eyes dart down to Steve’s ring finger again and he has to inhale to keep his nausea at bay. 

Steve takes a deep breath before turning to face Tony again. Although he is facing him, this time Steve’s eyes are nowhere close to meeting Tony’s, lingering somewhere in the vicinity of Tony’s chest instead. The bright blue of his eyes has become muted, something heavy and wistful diluting its luminescence.

“So you’re right. You’ll be fine without me, but I won’t be. So please, let me stay.” Steve’s eyes flit down to the bed, lightning quick, and the moment they flit back up, he does meet Tony’s eyes. “For my sake.”

Tony swallows, feeling like a hefty weight is sitting on his chest, suffocating him. He has to look away to catch his breath. 

Staring at the TV screen, he says, “Love Actually.”

Steve recognizes the acquiescence for what it is, and turns to the screen, smiling. 

“Love Actually it is.”

They lie quietly in bed, side by side. Despite being sick, Tony feels content in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. He ends up falling asleep somewhere during Colin Firth’s character's awkward meet-cute with a lovely Portuguese woman.

***

Hours later, he wakes up to an empty bed. 

Steve didn’t stay.

He blinks quietly and tries to swallow down his disappointment. It’s a good thing, he tells himself. Steve is busy enough as it is, of course he’d leave after making sure Tony is okay. 

The first thing he realizes when he sits up on the bed is the fact that he feels a lot better than he did in the morning. His nose is still congested and the dull throbbing in his head is still there, but at least his muscles and joints don’t ache as much anymore.

His mouth tastes like something has died inside of it, though, so he makes his way to the door, intending to grab himself a glass of water, and—

Steve is still here. 

He is dressed in something more comfortable now, having exchanged his long-sleeved, form-fitting shirt for one of his own sleep shirts and his jeans for a pair of sweatpants. When Steve moved out of the house, he hadn’t managed to take all of his clothes with him.

Tony would probably never admit this even on pain of death, but he is grateful for that. There have been many nights—most nights—since Steve moved out where he would sleep in one of Steve’s sweaters or shirts. They are all too big for him, but they make him feel safe and comfortable enough to fall asleep because the truth is he has been finding it near impossible to fall asleep without the warmth of Steve’s body pressed up against him. 

Steve is standing by the stove, his back to Tony, stirring a pot of something that is bubbling away nicely.

A stray piece of memory floats into Tony’s head, unbidden. It presses at the corners of his mind, demanding his attention. It is a recollection of a defining moment of their relationship, dated sometime during their first year of marriage. 

Tony had been doing something similar, trudging out of the bedroom one morning and finding Steve in the kitchen instead of at work, where he should be.

At Tony’s perplexity, a fond smile had bloomed on Steve’s face. Tony remembers that it had been snowing outside. Bathed in the late morning sunlight and clad in a cozy-looking, broken white cable-knit sweater that complimented his blond hair beautifully, Steve’s figure had glowed golden.

Behind him, eerily similar to today, there was also a pot of something steaming sitting on the stove and a delicious smell had wafted around the house. 

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Of course I’m going to stay in and take care of you. Look at you, you can barely stand up straight.”

Tony had blinked and realized that he had been leaning on the bedroom’s door frame for support. “Don’t you have that meeting today? With that… that British man. The gallery owner.”

“Rescheduled meetings are a thing, sweetheart. It’s not the end of the world,” Steve had said, chuckling lightly as he padded over to tuck his arms around Tony’s waist. “Besides, if Merridew does turn out to be an unreasonable man, there are plenty of other galleries in the world.”

Steve had said it so easily, so dismissively, as if it hadn’t taken years of hard work and months of careful persuasion for him to even get to the point he was at. 

“You, however,” Steve then whispered, voice low and sweet as he cradled Tony’s cheeks in his warm hands, eyes staring softly into Tony’s, “I have to take care of. After all, there’s only one Tony Stark-Rogers in the world. Well— The only Tony Stark-Rogers I care about more than anything.”

Tony had made an incredulous face in response, still finding the whole situation ridiculous.

Steve had laughed at Tony’s expression and leaned in to plant a kiss on Tony’s temple, uncaring of the fact that Tony was sick and gross, carrying an abundance of infectious germs.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if my beloved husband succumbed to his sickness in the dead of winter due to my callousness,” Steve had said as he pulled Tony close, body pressed flush against him, chin resting atop Tony’s head. “In sickness and in health, sweetheart. In sickness and in health.”

“...Tony?”

Steve’s voice calling his name promptly breaks Tony’s reverie. Tony blinks and finds Steve gazing at him, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Did you need anything?” 

For a few seconds, Tony finds it difficult to form an answer, part of his mind still lost in the memory of the past. Eventually, he manages. “I— Uh. Water.”

“Oh.” Steve proceeds to pull out a glass from the kitchen cabinet and pours Tony some water. He walks over, handing it to Tony. As Tony’s fingers close around the glass, Steve steps closer and presses his palm to Tony’s forehead. His lips press together in a thin line. Tony swallows audibly.

A few strands of Tony’s hair cling to his forehead, damp with perspiration. Using the same hand, Steve sweeps Tony’s hair back, simultaneously wiping the beads of sweat away. 

“Go back to bed. I’ll be there in a minute. Soup’s almost ready.”

Dazed, Tony nods before heading back to the bed as instructed. 

Steve shoulders the ajar door open a few moments later, carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming soup sitting on it. Quietly, Tony watches his every move. Steve bends down to put the tray on the nightstand, slow and careful. As he does, the pendant of Steve’s necklace—one that Tony has never seen before and just realized Steve’s been wearing this entire time—slips out from beneath his shirt, dangling back and forth from the golden chain hanging from his neck. Curious, Tony leans forward slightly. He squints at the pendant.

When he realizes what it is, his mouth goes dry.

Steve straightens and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Now that the pendant is properly resting atop Steve’s chest, there is no mistaking what it is.

From a short distance away, Tony still recognizes the inscription that peeks out from the inner surface of the ring, the words written in his own blocky handwriting: To My Beloved.

Tony stares at it, frozen. A million thoughts are running through his head and it feels like he can’t hold onto any of them. Try as he might, he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. 

Steve had taken off his wedding ring, only to wear it as a necklace. 

What could this possibly mean?

“—ony. Tony?”

His train of thoughts broken, Tony blinks and finds Steve staring at him. One of his hands is already hovering midair, holding out a spoonful of soup. The other is situated right under the spoon in case of spillage. 

“You okay?”

“Uh—Yeah. Sorry.”

Steve continues to stare expectantly at Tony. Tony stares back at him and finds himself wishing he could read Steve’s mind.

Misunderstanding his silence for something else entirely, Steve raises the spoonful of soup slightly with an encouraging nod. “Don’t worry. I blew on it, so it’s not scalding hot, I promise.”

Just to further prove his point, Steve blows on the spoon again, careful and gentle before holding it up to Tony’s mouth.

Tony opens his mouth quietly to let the spoon into his mouth and lets the warm soup soothe his taste buds and throat.

A companionable silence settles over them. As Steve feeds him the soup until the very last drop, Tony takes the time to process his own thoughts. 

When he comes to a decision, Steve is already back in the kitchen. Tony can hear him doing the dishes, the clink of glass and ceramic accompanied by the sound of running water. 

Once again, he makes his way to the doorway of the bedroom. For a brief moment, he stands wordlessly, watching Steve’s back muscles work as he wipes the utensils dry.

As Steve places the last of the utensils on the dish rack, Tony says:

“Let’s have a kid.”

Steve freezes. Tension turns the line of his back rigid as he grips the edge of the kitchen sink.

“Tony—”

“I’ve thought about it, Steve. Let’s have a kid.”

Tony watches Steve’s shoulders rise and fall as he breathes. When Steve turns around, his expression is not at all what Tony expects.

For someone who had tried so hard to convince Tony to adopt a child with him just a month ago, fighting tooth and nail and disagreeing with Tony on every point, Steve doesn’t look happy or relieved.

Instead, there is something heavy in his blue eyes, in the sharp line of his clenched jaw.

Something that looks like heartbreak.

“No, Tony.” 

Tony’s heart sinks. He can feel his throat closing up, finding it difficult to breathe. He has done it now. He had wondered whether they could come back from this. He had wondered whether this fight would be Steve’s last straw.

Here it is, the answer, clear as day in front of Tony. He had tried so hard to convince himself that this was different. Steve would stay, unlike so many others that he had scared away. This time, it would be different.

He had believed it, too. That’s the worst part. 

Tony proves to be too difficult to love, even for Steve. Sweet and generous Steve.

He should have known this would happen. He should never have let his guard down. He should have—

“Tony.” Tony looks up at the sound of his own name to find Steve standing much closer than before. “Sweetheart.”

Tony lets out a sharp exhale, fresh tears blurring his vision as a stab of unadulterated pain shoots through him at the term of endearment. He hasn’t heard that word from Steve’s mouth in an entire month and it’s not fair, so incredibly unfair that the first time he hears it again after such a long time is when Steve is trying to break things off with him. Steve, ever kind, ever gentle, even when he’s trying to—

“We don’t have to have children, Tony.”

Tony blinks, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Steve stares back at him, his baby blues also brimming with tears.

“You don’t need to force yourself to become a father, if you really don’t want to, and especially not for my sake. I’ve thought about it too, Tony. And—”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tony braces himself. Here it comes.

“—I realized that, as much as I want to be a father— As much as I want to adopt a child and raise them as my own… I realized that I really, really don’t want to do it with anyone else but you.”

Tony’s thoughts grind to a halt. When Steve exhales, it comes out in the form of a wet, desperate-sounding sob.

“I love you so much, Tony. So much. I love you more than— Anything. More than children. More than my desire to become a father. This past month we’ve been apart— It’s been hell, for me. We don’t have to have children, Tony. So, please, just— Can I come back? I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving, sweetheart, I’m so—”

Tony pulls him into a kiss. Steve tastes of tears, his body racked by sobs, and Tony’s heart breaks. A turmoil of emotions wreaks havoc within Tony and his knees are weak with the sheer relief of having been granted the privilege to have Steve in his arms again.

When they break apart, Steve’s shoulders rise and fall repeatedly in an attempt to catch his breath. He stares at Tony with wide and searching blue eyes, wet lashes clumped together. 

“Tony?”

Tony looks down, clears his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I’m sick, and now you’re going to be sick, and—”

Pulling Tony in by his shirt, Steve joins their mouths together once again, showing exactly how much he cares about that particular line of reasoning. He kisses Tony like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to steal all of Tony’s breath from his lungs and keep it for himself. 

This time, when they pull apart, Steve’s lips are slick and swollen, his face flushed. He is still looking at Tony like Tony is going to vanish into thin air any second. 

“You’re staying. I’m staying. No one’s leaving.” Tony wipes his thumbs through the tear tracks on Steve’s cheeks. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve nods. “Okay.” 

Tony leans forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s. He closes his eyes, feeling the puff of Steve’s unsteady breath hit his own lips. He takes both of Steve’s hands in his, giving them a squeeze. 

He takes a deep breath.

“And we’re having a kid.”

Steve stills. “Tony, I told you—”

“And I told you that I’ve had some time to think about it, too.” Tony leans back to meet Steve’s eyes, hoping his own eyes would be enough to convey the truth of his sincerity. “I’ve thought about it, and… You’re right. I do want to have a kid, I’m just scared. Really scared.” 

Tony watches the bob of Steve’s throat as he swallows.

“You know how my dad was with me, and I’ve told you repeatedly how scared I am that I’ll turn out just like him. Children are like sponges, you know? Blank canvases. They internalize stuff really easily and then they end up having issues. And then their issues have issues. Case in point.”

Tony gestures to himself with a bitter smile.

“Truth is, I still don’t believe I’m father material. I want a kid, but I’m still terrified of fucking things up.” He swallows, pauses to gather his thoughts. “But Steve, I’ve seen how good you are with kids, you’re such a natural. And I thought about what you said to me, that I won’t be alone in this. I’ll have you standing right beside me, every step of the way. And… I’ve also thought about how you seem to have such faith in me. Faith that I can become a good father. And I thought, that has to count for something. Your faith in me has to count for something, because… you know me better than anyone, Steve. Sometimes I even think that you know me better than I know myself.”

Tony looks down at their joined hands, nodding decisively. 

“So, I’ve decided.” He looks up, watches hope bloom in Steve’s azure eyes. “Let’s have a kid. Let’s build a family together, Steve.” 

Steve’s smile, when it comes, is beautifully blinding. 

***

Later, as Steve lies beside him in bed, Tony finds the courage to ask.

“Steve?” Tony calls, voice a low whisper.

Steve is lying on his side, facing Tony. One of his elbows is planted on the bed, hand propping up the side of his own head as he gazes down at Tony, eyes lingering and thoughtful.

His other hand reaches towards Tony’s face, brushing the back of his knuckles across Tony’s cheek before traveling further back, tucking a lock of Tony’s unruly hair behind his ear.

“Yeah?” Steve says. The soft glow of the nightlight sitting on the nightstand casts shadows across his face and illuminates parts of it in yellow light. It renders the lines of his face soft, the edges less sharp and defined. 

Tony swallows and averts his gaze, takes a while to let the words form properly in his mouth. Meanwhile, Steve cards his fingers through Tony’s hair in a single motion, looking at the dark strands caught between his digits like they are the most fascinating thing in the world. 

“It’s longer,” Steve muses. 

“Yeah,” Tony says, and then clears his throat when even that single syllable fails to leave his mouth properly. “It’s been a while. I need a haircut.”

Steve continues to toy with his hair, twisting strands of it around his fingers gently.

“Do you hate it?” Tony asks.

Giving Tony a quick shake of the head, Steve looks down at him with a lopsided smile. “I like it. I’ve missed it. Reminds me of your hairstyle when we first met.”

Tony blinks and swallows, pretending that the innocent statement doesn’t bring about a surge of warmth in his chest.

“What is it?” Steve asks, when Tony’s question doesn’t seem to come.

Tony thinks of brushing it off, considers swallowing back the question sitting on the tip of his tongue for a brief moment, but eventually he says:

“Why, uh,” Tony licks his dry, chapped lips, “why did you take off the ring?”

Steve’s fingers still in his hair. 

When Tony finds the courage to meet his husband’s eyes again, Steve is looking at him with wonder in his eyes. He pulls his hand back, away from Tony’s hair and toward the ring hanging from the chain around his own neck.

Steve hums in thought, fingers fiddling with the metal band. Tony watches Steve stroke the words engraved on the inner circumference of the ring with the pad of his thumb.

He pretends that Steve’s answer isn’t everything.

It takes entirely too long for Steve to present him with a reply, but when he does, it is one that is not even remotely within Tony’s realm of expectation.

“I took up pottery.”

“...What?”

Steve exhales through his nose, his lips pursed together in a manner that suggests he is holding back a smile.

“It’s fairly recent,” Steve says, eyes still staring at him with careful amusement. “I needed something to distract myself from constantly missing you. A friend from art school happens to own a pottery studio. She offered, and... I started taking pottery classes.” 

A knot unties in Tony’s chest.

“How did that go?” Tony asks, voice thick with emotion.

“Not very well,” Steve admits with a wry smile. “Still missed you something fierce.”

Steve holds his hand up, fingers splayed. Even under the dim lighting, Tony can still make out the faint circular mark around his ring finger, the small strip of skin a few shades paler than the rest of his hand. The sight of the empty finger still looks disturbingly wrong and Tony finds himself having to look away just to feel less unnerved.

“Does it bother you?”

“Huh?”

Steve wiggles his fingers, blue eyes staring at him, soft and curious.

“My naked finger. Does it bother you?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Yes is the honest answer that wants to crawl out, but Tony bites down on it.

“Uh, it’s— No.” Tony swallows, throat clicking and eyebrows furrowing. “It’s fine.”

After all, the last thing Tony wants to be is an insanely possessive spouse who obsesses about something as simple as a naked ring finger when the wedding ring itself is still hanging from a chain around his husband’s neck. Steve still carries it on his person at all times, just not on his finger.

Steve gazes at him for a long moment, quiet in thoughtful consideration.

Slowly, an amused smile starts to bloom on Steve’s face.

“It bothers you, huh?”

Steve has always been able to read Tony like an open book.

Embarrassment colors Tony’s cheeks. “I don’t— It’s okay if you want—”

“I like it.”

“I— I know. It’s fine, Steve. I get it. Besides, it’s too much of a hassle anyway, constantly having to take it off and put it back—”

“I like that it bothers you. Me not wearing the ring.”

Tony goes quiet at that, wide eyes blinking at Steve. His husband shrugs, smile unwavering.

“I like it when you notice little details like that,” Steve whispers, shuffling closer. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I kinda like having you obsess over me.”

His hand cups Tony’s cheek, thumb stroking the delicate skin under Tony’s eye. “I like hearing how much I mean to you.”

Tony stares at him, emotions turbulent in his chest. He focuses on Steve’s eyes and the warmth of his palm against his face. 

Steve’s smile turns fond. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll wear it on my finger again, I promise. I suck at pottery anyway.”

For a while, they lie motionless in the quiet, gazing at each other. Steve leans close, eyes squinting. Tony feels the light scrape of fingernail on the skin of his cheek and Steve pulls his hand away to show Tony something that is sitting on the pad of his thumb.

“Eyelash,” Steve announces gleefully with a child-like grin. Carefully, he transfers the eyelash onto the back of Tony’s left hand. “Make a wish.”

Tony huffs, but proceeds to close his eyes obediently. After a few moments, he lifts his left hand up to his mouth and blows the eyelash away. 

When he opens his eyes, he is greeted by Steve’s curious stare. 

“What did you wish for?”

“You know the rules. If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

Steve narrows his eyes. Eventually, he relents, sighing in resignation. “Fine.”

He lies down properly, letting his head rest on his pillow before throwing an arm around Tony, pulling him close until Tony’s head is safely tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Get well really, really soon, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, pressing a kiss into his hair.

Tony lets his eyelids fall shut, reciting his wish once more in the private confines of his mind, hoping that it reaches the ears of whatever deity is watching over them:

Please let me keep him. Whatever happens, please let him stay by my side. ‘Til death do us part.

[eyeballjazz]

gosh I LOVE whenever you talk about the crews (midnight or problem sleuth) because your ideas are always so unique and detailed but in a realistic way? like they're all very specific but also mundane so it all feels so natural and REAL, it's always so fun! Plus your writing is very pleasant so seeing that "read more" under your replies always makes me go FUCK YES

You said you had fun with the last ask so here's me asking you to share more headcanons you have! Could be domestic, silly, sad, whatever, I'm just giving you an excuse to talk about them whever you feel like it!

#1 and first of all THANK YOU SO MUCH! I’ve delayed replying to this not only because I wanted to cook up a good answer but because your words are so sweet and I wanted to spend longer just reading and rereading them. Thank you thank you thank you!

I got a few little ones and then some big ones for ya:

Problem Sleuth and Hysterical Dame both are from Brooklyn and have harsh Brooklyn accents, though Dame’s is much more pronounced. She sounds like a slightly less congested Fran Drescher. Sleuth, additionally, loves the Beastie Boys and thinks he could’ve been one if he’d had half a chance at it.

Droog loves Sting. That’s it, that’s the headcanon.

Droog is native Italian, from part of Tuscany that is just 1 kilometer from the official bounds for the Chianti region. The fact that he’s not actually, truly, from Chianti haunts him and makes me laugh a great deal.

Now for a big one:

What war did they all serve in?

This one I’ve gone back and forth on. While I love studying war I’m not any kind of expert nor do I have any relation to military culture. But, because I write Intermission stuff as period pieces (the adults all live in a pseudo 40s and 70s mash up, all the kids live in the early oughts and that’s why none of the StabDads knows how to work a computer despite all their kids being online constantly) the setting of mid-20th century America requires there to be some war that people are living during/living through the aftermath of. I have a whole thing about the 20th century being one long war but anyway.

There was a large scale global conflict that Team Sleuth and the Crew all experienced. The Crew saw more intense, violent conflict while much of Team Sleuth saw less direct action and often sunnier outcomes.

Hearts, Slick and Droog were all infantry men whose issues with authority prevented any of them from moving up the ranks. Clubs was a technician and occasional mechanic, he learned everything he knows about bombs between his years as a soldier and a few jobs working in plastic factories back home.

Hearts was a cook as well as a renowned fighter in his unit. Slick came in and went out buck private despite some award winning violence in the field. Droog was considered for a promotion to officer because of his neat habits and efficient performance but later denied when his more anti-social and unstable qualities showed through.

For both Slick and Droog The War is much more like WW1. They met and became friends/fell in love in the trenches and saw the intensity of suffering and combat on an almost daily basis. For Hearts and Clubs The War is a little more like Korean, they were stationed far from home and were effectively playing cat and mouse with the enemy. Clubs experienced and learned from chemical warfare, while Hearts saw much more guerrilla warfare.

On the Sleuth side, Ace Dick is the only person to have served in as intense a fashion as the Crew. He enlisted young and made the rank of sergeant before retiring to become a detective. Of all of them his time was the most like WW2, in the European theater. Though he maintains his rank in retirement, Ace has relaxed out of the rigidness that made him a good officer. His hard disposition however has not degraded even one iota.

Problem Sleuth had a gay li’l stint in the Navy where he mostly ferried trade vessels along the coast. The action he did see was at the distance of sea battles, so while it was intense it was not as close and personal as the Crew or Ace.

Hysterical Dame did not serve but instead worked as a riveter and community organizer back home to get more women into the workforce as well as to provide for the families of soldiers who had been lost. That picture of Rosy the Riveter eating a sandwich with her piston driver in her lap? That was Dame, just with much more buoyant and gorgeous hair.

Nervous Broad was a nurse and was stationed abroad for most of The War. She saw a lot of very bad and only very occasionally some good. While she was in the medical corps she met Pickle Inspector, who was a contentious objector and refused to serve when drafted. Because of this, he was dumped into the medical corps at the front lines and like Broad saw some very awful things. They both don’t like to talk about what they saw more intensely than the others.

Post war they all assume the roles we’re already familiar with, most of them using the combat training they already received to do their work as detectives and/or mobsters. Broad, Dame and Pickle Inspector all learned to handle firearms (and in a Pickle Inspector’s case a whole sniper rifle) post-war. As a treat.

And, while I really don’t come to fandom spaces for sad things (the world itself is hexing enough) I do have a sad headcanon for Hearts:

His parents had an awful marriage and his father was often abusive to both him and his mother. She, in turn, eventually did away with him but not before long years of hard times for herself and her son. Once Hearts was big enough to help with the manual labor of running their small farm she took his father out during a particularly bad fight. It was a brutal night that would have seen one or the other of his parents gone from the world, but his mother won out in the end and she and Hearts lived better and better once his father was out of the picture. Hearts, to this day, sends money to his mother and believes she is the strongest woman on the face of the Earth. And he’s probably right. She still lives up in the hills of Georgia with her gun.

Momma Boxcars loves Tavros and insists that he and the other kids come spend part of their summer with her out on the farm.

Like Hearts’s mom, Droog’s parents also love their grandbabies. They immigrated to America after Droog put together enough money to bring them over from Italy and keep them living in style in the city. They were not good parents to him, in fact they have a very fraught and often vicious relationship, but they are wonderful to their grandkids and often tell Droog how much more they love Karkat and Arabia than they ever loved him. Again, I find Droog’s pain and inconvenience hilarious, and he’s fine despite all this. He actually thinks of them as ideal parents, being as he is an ideal sort of person by his own metrics.

Again, thank you for your lovely words and for the excuse to gab away about all these clowns, this was so fun!!!

[pear-pies]

Placebo in Rock & Folk magazine - April 2003

Words by Jerome Soligny, photos by Carole Epinette

Wonky translation under the cut:

These three did it all. Shot with the QOTSAs and posed with Indo. They survived "Velvet Goldmine" and the Top Bab. They come back after the ordeal of the fourth album. Danger interview: “Jerome, what if you came out?” They ask our charming reporter.

"We do not regret anything"

Everything begins again with "Bulletproof Cupid", a punky instrument that pulls everything off. Then "English Summer Rein", mechanico-depressive spinning punctuated by twisted keyboards, and "Sleeping With Ghosts", the lament which advances while blistering during cooking, confirm the tone. Against all expectations, because you never know how will age the groups that the previous album installed at the Top, Placebo took over. And stuffed it in an iron glove. Further on, "The Bitter End" tumbles through yapping guitars which would stick to the hatches the thickest of the sailors. Be careful, Placebo is on the way out of being one. At the end of the record, Brian Molko, Stefan Olsdal and Steve Hewitt do not even run out of steam. The cows. They drop a "Centerfolds" which frolic like a cynical top under a shower of saving doubts. What augur still other perspectives.

The fourth album: a horror for all who have faced it. Often a stupid trap. Returning from the Gothic directly inherited from the glam of pageantry and from these hasty and harmful certainties which congest the face and the veins, Placebo publishes its first real great disc. Oh, not the marvel of wonders, not the album from the third millennium, but something very strong, compact, tenacious in listening, which proves that the future is indeed there, in front, where the light is most blinding. Calfeucée in their Parisian hotel (the Costes, of course), our three lads do not make the blow of the revelation, of the luminous questioning. Simply, they now think with their heads, a good plan most often Likewise, reality no longer frightens them, and it is probably she who is hiding behind this "Sleeping With Ghosts" which relates the sorrows only for the better. melt into hopes At the moment when rock brings us back to life and when we just want to ask them everything, the Placebo have decided to say everything. Not even in a hurry, they settle down on the couch, ready to talk like never before. Despite new batteries embedded in the carcass, the Panasonic barely a Brian Molko: Hey Jerome, you came to talk to us this time when you had not come to the previous album ...

Rock & Folk: Uh yes but I was there for the first two, that says a lot, right?

Brian Molko: Certainly, I also believe that over time, we finally appreciate the true nature of the problem: we were mainly criticized for the sound of the previous album, which I can understand but, paradoxically, it is the one that brought us to the Top.

R&F: Legitimately, we have the right to expect a lot from the people we love: while "Black Market Music" sounded a bit like a sequel, this new record is all about a renaissance.

Brian Molko: Actually, we were finally able to live a little. After having existed in a small bubble for a very long time, we forced ourselves to take an eight-month break. The album-tour rhythm put us on the sidelines: we no longer had normal contact with anything. We were losing ourselves. We have fully lived the old cliché which claims that we spend the first years of our life writing a first record and six months on the second. It turned out to be very true. We had to get back to the situation of the first album, see friends, go shopping, look at the buildings in our city.

R&F: So the freshness would come from there ...

Brian Molko: Yes, and it was essential spiritually, emotionally and physically.

Steve Hewitt: We had to be in tune with reality again.

Brian Molko: In fact, we find ourselves in a bit of the same state of mind as when we released "Without You I'm Nothing", although "Sleeping With Ghosts" is a lot less gloomy. The heroin has since stopped leaking. In fact, I feel like I've pulled myself out of what I consider my second teenage years, between twenty and thirty. I conquered the self-destruction, exorcised some demons, understood what had happened to me. I held on to what I had learned. As a human being, I am now able to continue living, to try to answer the big questions posed by existence.

R&F: Maybe that's why the melodies are needed this time. It took me four records to get a favorite Placebo track.

The whole group in chorus: Which one?

R&F: "Protect Me From What I Want", of course ...

Brian Molko: The most paradoxical is that this song dates from the end of the "Black Market Music" sessions. I was not married at the time, but I was trying to get out of a particularly vicious divorce.just started. Then we wait for the lyrics, which don't arrive, it's rather intriguing. We especially wanted to avoid the big Rican producer side, we needed someone who shakes us up a bit. Jim could do that because he comes from dance and his pedigree is impressive. We have all his records at home, Bjôrk, Massive Attack, Sneaker Pimps and especially DJ Shadow. It is believed that guitar rock can only evolve by incorporating new genres, this is the only way to remain a modern rock band. At home, we practically only listen to hip hop.

R&F: Still, he didn't betray you.

Brian Molko: No because he actually brought out our rock side, which I'm particularly proud of. In fact, because we always wanted to control everything, it was not easy to be forced, to do certain things backwards, to walk on the head. But in truth, that's what we wanted: yes, there was some tension in the studio but we all took advantage of it. The challenge is necessary and it is also valid for the public. We opened up and rediscovered ourselves.

Stefan Olsdal (emerging from his chair): We found ourselves in front of the mirror, at the foot of the wall: someone had to kick our ass.

Brian Molko: Jim was like, "Why are you doing this?" We would answer him: "Because we always do it like that!" He would say: "All the more reason not to do it."

Stefan Olsdal: On the first day, he messed up all the demos, changed the tones, the tempos ...

R&F: Like Brian Eno ...

Steve Hewitt: Yeah, but with a lot more compassion. Eno is a bit (silence) ... We don't really like being told our actions, but at the same time, we are still young, still absorbing. Jim knew how to preserve us while making a modern sound.

R&F: Modern and rock'n'roll at the same time, a characteristic which does not necessarily apply to all the young groups in The which recycle the past gently but are convinced to have found the virus of the AIDS.

Steve Hewitt: Placebo doesn't belong to any current, has nothing to do with fashion.

R&F: You always pose as outsiders.

Brian Molko: It's the only way to survive.

Steve Hewitt: These bands, like The Strokes, play the nostalgia card.

Stefan Olsdal: And what happens next? I would not like to be in their place.

Brian Molko: If you want good New York pop, you better listen to Blondie.

R&F: In 2003, 11 seems that you have abandoned all the androgynous paraphernalia, sexual ambiguity, glam references ...

Brian Molko: I think today everyone knows what there is to know. Our sexual inclinations haven't changed, and we still wear makeup. It is just more expensive and better applied. We are ourselves, in our music and in private. I went through my travelo period (in French in the interview - Editor's note), and I understood that being androgynous was not wearing skirts. It is a way of being on the spiritual plane. It is not an image but a state of mind.

Steve Hewitt: It's like being punk, it's an attitude.

Brian Molko: At the same time, I don't regret any of my eccentricities. I grew up in the spotlight and it all kind of makes me smile.

Stefan Olsdal: People still talk to us about certain outfits or positions, as if it still shocks them.

R&F: Yes, and particularly in France, a particularly homophobic country which bumps heartily on gay artists.

Brian Molko: And you, coincidentally, you still hang out with.

Stefan Olsdal: Jérôme, it's coming out time (laughs) ...

Brian Molko: All that has to change, that all of France becomes gay (laughs)!

R&F: "Protect Me From What I Want" precisely, here is a title heavy with meaning. What was the idea behind this song?

Brian Molko: For me, it's a study of the pathological need people have to copulate, the search for meaning in copulation. As if bachelors or monogamists were aliens. As if we were only one when we were two. The song is about the fact that one relationship has destroyed me but I can't help but look for another ... why do I keep coming back to this?

R&F: Wow, we're bathing in philosophy here!

Brian Molko: Yes and it's the same elsewhere in the record: in "Plasticine", I insist on the fact that you have to be yourself above all while asking myself all these questions. Why do we have to do a lot of forbidden things, bad or harmful?

R&F: It's therapy in public.

Brian Molko: At least I find some balance in it. These are not songs about compassion or self-pity. They came out like this because it was vital for me. I am in this privileged situation where I can express myself and the world hears me. Otherwise, I would be really frustrated and I would have suffered a lot more in the last fifteen years.

R&F: Music saved your life.

Brian Molko: Sure.

Steve Hewitt: Everyone: I think we can say that. Without Placebo, we would not be not even alive.

Brian Molko: Spitting it all out is not necessarily the right solution. There are things with which to live. In fact, I've always been afraid to go see a psychiatrist ...

R&F: Yet, listening to you speak earlier, you could have the feeling that Jim Abiss acted a bit like a shrink with you.

Brian Molko: That's right. You could say that.

R&F: At a time when Bush and Blair want to play World War III, what attitude do you adopt? What do you think of these Englishmen who left for Iraq to constitute a human shield?

Brian Molko: Let's say we stand together. We participated in the March for Peace on February 14th with Damon Albarn and 3D from Massive Attack. We were also surprised that so few groups mobilized, which increased our desire to participate tenfold.

R&F: Do you consider that it is the role of the artist to give voice in such circumstances?

Steve Hewitt: Yes, in the sense that we can help with general motivation.

Brian Molko: I'm very interested in seeing if Blair is going to let Bush bomb Iraq with the British present on the soil of the country. If he ever allows that, the consequences will be dire.

R&F: It will only be one more religious war, in the name of oil and money ...

Brian Molko: It seems absurd that we can still fight for that. And curiously, nobody speaks more, or almost, of Bin Laden. Wouldn't it all come from him, by chance, as a huge consequence of September 11? On the other hand, we have such a feeling that Bush wants to finish the job that daddy started. Its image is so bad that it needs at least one war to restore its image.

Steve Hewitt: And reinvigorate its dying economy.

R&F: The method is lamentable, deceitful. Like those employed by the recording industry which claims to be doing well by selling pop in damaged boxes to ignoramuses.

Brian Molko: The ability of this job to ingest people, bribe them and then spit them out is impressive. This is what happened here at Canal +.R&F: Business is the beast.

Brian Molko: All these pre-made artists are young and naff ...

Steve Hewitt: They'll all end up in a labor camp for ex-pop stars.

R&F: Warhol was talking about fifteen minute glory, we're brutally passed to fifteen seconds.

Brian Molko: We should have called them Karaoke idols from the start.

Steve Hewitt: And it only works because of the TV ...

R&F: Who washes the poor, helpless brains.

Steve Hewitt: You can tell how much people want to think less

R&F: And spend less. For many, music should be free: one in five thirteen-year-olds doesn't know that a disc doesn't have to be a computer-burnt puck. Some are flabbergasted when they see a cover for the first time.

Stefan Olsdal: And those who don't buy records put pressure on those who have them to pass them on at all costs, just long enough to copy them.

R&F: Exactly.

Brian Molko: That's why we blame Robbie Williams so much. Scooping 80 million pounds off EMI and then declaring that pirating music is a fantastic thing just makes him want to stick a chunk in his face.

R&F .: And then piracy is not a matter of environment. It's not a suburban thing. There are rich kids who find it normal to burn 80 CDs during their weekend and sometimes sell them to their friends ...

Brian Molko: What do these people believe? That we are there, the face in the stream with a syringe stuck in the arm singing "La Vie En Rose"? And who will pay for our children's school? Not them, anyway. Our mentality is quite different: we always want to buy records from people we love, from our friends. Personally, we are partly out of the woods, but it will be particularly difficult for new groups to make a living from music in five or ten years.

R&F: Come on, we're not going to leave each other on this, a little humor won't hurt anyone. If you were to be banned from any of these three things, which would you choose: making music, making money or making love?

Steve Hewitt (almost tit for tat): I would stop making money, without hesitation. It's because I love music and sex too much. And then, well, you have to choose.

Brian Molko (completely overwhelmed): Oh damn, that's not true. What a dilemma!

R&F: No Brian, that doesn't count, make an effort (laughs).

Brian Molko: Ah, I don't know. And then if. I would stop making money and get on well with someone super rich.

R&F: Or you would be pimp ...

Brian Molko: Yes, that's it. Good plan.

Stefan Olsdal: Stop making love does not mean to stop loving ...

Brian Molko (preparing his shot): And we can always masturbate (general laughter).

Stefan Olsdal: OK then, I would stop making love.

R&F: Okay, it will be written in black and white for all eternity.

Brian Molko: Will we live long enough to regret it? This is the real question.

*COLLECTED BY JEROME SOLIGNY

[Inset, Trash Palace]

Already present on the first album by Trash Palace which he had adorned with his presence one unhealthy recovery of "I Love You, Me No More "in duet with Asia Argento, Brian Molko is coming to re-stack. This time he cosigns directly "The Metric System " with Dimitri Trash Palace Tikovoi, an electro saw boosted to bleeps fundamentals available in two remix and its clip on an enhanced single recently published at Discograph. The result is particularly (d) amazing and sounds good logical, like of Placebo cyber.Placebo in  Rock & Folk magazine - April 2003

[mm2305]

All That Matters

Characters/pairings :  Ethan Ramsey & Olivia Valentine

Words/Genre :   2.8 K / Angst , Romance

Warnings : mentions of death,injuries

Summary : Olivia gets seriously injured. How does Ethan react?

A/N : Hello again! This fic was written per @groovypalacehorselover​ ‘s request. This is the first time I’m attempting to write angst , so I hope this comes out good enough. A big THANK YOU to @romewritingshop​ for her help in editing this. Moodboard inspired by @potionsprefect 's ones.

Disclaimer : all characters and pictures belong to the rightful owners

My Masterlist

Enjoy!

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

Ethan was frantically rushing through the hospital corridors. Dread and anxiety flooded his mind that he could barely breathe. There was no way he would allow it to stall him. Pushing himself to go as fast as he could to get to the farthest wing of the hospital, he slammed the double doors ahead open.A group of interns were nattering amongst themselves,oblivious to the frantic attending approaching them. A thundering voice broke them out of their trance. 

"OUT OF MY WAY!", he boomed at them, as he was approaching closer. 

The interns, startled by him, broke apart allowing him to pass through them. What made them wonder though, was the clear, unadulterated emotion in his eyes. He looked as though his world was slowly crumbling around him. And they weren't wrong. 

2 Hours Earlier

Olivia was finishing up her rounds for the day. In a few hours she’d be home, snuggled with her favorite throw blanket, watching a movie on Netflix while Ethan would complain incessantly  about her taste in movies. She had to visit her last patient, a sweet seven year old boy named Nathan. 

His diagnosis was a difficult case to solve and this made young Nathan restless. His mom came to stay with him in the evening  but she had to go to work early in the morning. The poor boy was often bored out of his mind, taking adventurous strolls through the hospital, without telling anyone. There were several instances  that she and a few nurses had to track him down, but still Nathan continued doing that. She couldn’t really blame the poor kid. Today was just one of those days. 

Olivia walked to the nurses' desk, to ask about Nathan. 

"Hello Sarah, did you happen to see Nathan? I think he snuck  out of his room again." 

"Dr Valentine! No, I haven't. Maybe you should ask Mary. She might have an idea where Nathan is.", The nurse replied with a soft smile. 

"Okay, thank you!"

She left the reception in search of Mary. Before long, she found her in one of the halls. 

"Hi Mary, I was wondering if you've seen Nathan?", She inquired politely. 

"Dr Valentine! I was just looking for you. I think I saw the kid heading towards the halls leading to the new wing." 

"The new wing? Isn't that under construction?", Olivia asked, an audible tremor in her voice. 

"Yes?" 

"Oh God! Come on! We need to find him now!", she said, a feeling of worry and dread filling her. The new wing Bloom designed was essentially a plan to enlarge the facilities available for research. From what she heard, it wasn't safe to roam around the place without any safety gear. It was too dangerous to go there, especially for a young boy like Nathan, but she won’t let him fall to harm. 

After a few minutes of darting around and asking everyone they encountered, Mary and Olivia got the same response. They saw a kid among these halls at some point. By the time they reached the site, Olivia and Mary began calling for him. 

"Nathan? Are you here?" 

"Nathan? Nathan come here, it's me, Dr Olivia" 

No answer. Either he wasn't here or he just couldn't hear them clearly. The two women began to slow down their pacing steps as they carefully tread through the congested building site, all while calling for the young boy. 

"Dr Oliv?", They heard a small shaky voice calling. 

Olivia knew it was him and rushed towards the direction of the voice. Mary, hot on her heels, noticed him first. 

"He's there!", She exclaimed, running to his side and checking over him for any injuries. 

Olivia began walking towards them, relieved that Nathan was okay,when she heard a cracking noise. She quickly realized that the wall, they were close to, was about to collapse! With a sudden burst of adrenaline, she rushed towards them and pushed them away from the wall. She smiled softly at them before she heard a bigger *crack* and everything went black. 

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

MEANWHILE

Ethan was sitting at his computer, in his office, looking through files and updating the information onto his computer. Truth be told though, he was too distracted by a certain resident to concentrate on his current task. 

Him and Olivia have been together for a little more than three months and he was happier than he had been in a long time. She really had the power to turn the worst of days better with just a smile. 

She started coming to his house after work, in fact it’s almost like she had permanent residence in his heart and place. She spent most of the time there with him, just being together. Cooking, watching tv, playing ridiculous board games she always won. It was all very domestic and Ethan always felt his heart swell with love for her, at how at ease she felt being with him, in the place he now considered a home. 

Glancing at the clock, he realised their shifts would end soon but he was too impatient. With a soft sigh, he turned off his computer and walked out of his office ,towards the front desk. 

"Good afternoon, have you seen Dr. Valentine?", he asked a nurse he knew she frequently talked to. 

"Dr. Ramsey! Yes, she was here a little while ago, she was looking for her young patient, Nathan. He has a habit of sneaking out of his room, you see - Wait a minute please!", she paused to answer the phone. 

"Bloom Edenbrook Hospital how can I help you? Mary? What?! I’m sending the team right away!" 

The woman, Sarah, turned to Ethan with a flurry of panic coursing in her eyes. 

"Dr Ramsey, it was the nurse who was with Dr Valentine. They found the boy at the construction site! When they reached for him… a nearby wall collapsed on them!" 

"What!? Oh my… No no no… Wh-What else did she tell you? Tell me!", he demanded, his eyes glossed with panic, the usual pink hue of his face drained as he turned as white as a sheet, his breathing in short stuttered gasps. 

"Olivia ... was hit worst." Sarah whispered on the verge of tears. 

"Page Mirani, Delarosa and the best nurses this damn hospital has! Understood! I'm going there now!"

Before she had a chance to reply, he was already off in search of his Olivia. 

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

PRESENT TIME

Ethan continued running through the maze of corridors, his eyes full of unshed tears. 

"Not her, please not her! Don't take her from me! Please!", Ethan wasn't by any means a religious man, but the fear of losing the woman he loved made him pray to whoever could hear his agonized thoughts. The one person on this earth for whom he would give anything for, was again in grave danger. Memories from the last time she was at the brink of death flooded his mind, knocking the breath out of his lungs. How fragile she looked and to know he couldn't do anything to save her, other than watch her become progressively weaker and her radiant smile, the one that could lighten up a whole room, fade away. "No, don't do this right now Ethan. Focus on her. Only her.", he thought, nodding to himself while pushing the last hurdle of doors open. His eyes quickly scanned the room, trying to locate her. 

He finally saw her. 

She was lying on the floor pieces of rubble around her. She was unconscious, her eyes closed, her golden hair around her face.  As he rushed to her side, whilst avoiding the scattered materials, he saw a small patch of blood on the side of her head. 

He knelt beside her, being careful not to move her, in fear of causing more damage to her body. He took her small, still warm, hand in his and softly began to stroke her cheek and hair. 

"Darling? Olivia? It's me, Ethan. Please Olivia, can you hear me?", his voice wavered at the sight of her blood on his fingers from stroking her hair and a few tears were finally breaking through. 

Her eyes fluttered as a soft little gasp left her lips. 

"E-Ethan?", she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible. 

"Yes, Love it's me."

"I… it hurts.. I can't…", she croaked but it was too difficult for her to breathe properly, the dust hovering in the air wasn'tmaking this any easier. Ethan noticed this and pushed her head slightly back, to allow her to breathe better. 

"Shh darling I know… I'm here love, I'm not going anywhere...Please sweetheart don't give up on me… please…I can't lose you", Ethan whispered, stroking her cheek softly, trying to be strong for her. 

Olivia fell unconscious once again, her chest taking short ragged breaths. He pried his eyes away from her to look around the room. A woman was in the corner with a crying child in her arms, trying to comfort him. 

" Hi… Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" he asked them as he approached them. 

"Nothing too bad. Might just be a sprained wrist and a couple of scratches. Nathan’s fine too, just shocked. Dr. Valentine…. she … she got the worst of it.", she replied with tears in her eyes. 

Ethan didn't have a chance to reply as the team arrived. They immediately got down to work, not even hesitating to lose a minute, paying Ethan no attention. 

"Get her on the gurney carefully! One mistake and you're fired!" Zaid commanded, with a fiery stern voice at the team of nurses. 

"Zaid, she's got a cut on the side of her head and she's bleeding. I don't see anything too serious but we should order a scan. Shortness of breath indicates one or two fractured ribs and her left ulna and radius might be broken, given the swelling.", Ines said with evident concern and fear thick in her voice. 

"Let's get some scans and see exactly what's going on", Zaid replied, trying to be as calm as possible, in this case. Olivia was his colleague,but more importantly she was his friend and he wouldn't allow anything to happen to her. Not on his watch. 

"I'm coming with you!", Ethan interrupted their conversation. 

"You're not in the right state of mind to help her now!" 

"Zaid’s right about this. She needs you to be calm and focused when she wakes up.", Ines told him resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

Ethan had no choice but to reluctantly agree. 

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

Several hours later, Ethan was pacing anxiously in front of the room Olivia was checked into. The night doctors were there checking on her. As soon as they heard what happened, her friends joined Ethan in the waiting room, to hear news about her condition. Sienna when she saw her best friend in that state, immediately broke down, Aurora and Elijah trying to comfort her. Bryce, Rafael and Jackie, were mostly silent, their minds running through endless scenarios of what could happen to the most courageous woman they knew. 

She had a broken hand, three broken ribs; one of which was pressing too close to her lung; causing her difficulty in breathing smoothly. This required a minor surgery, which was conducted by Harper herself. She wouldn't let anyone else touch the woman she had come to consider a friend. Her head injury, thankfully, wasn't too bad, but there was a possibility of a mild concussion. The whole hospital was there to help Olivia in whatever way she needed. From nurses to interns to anyone she had always been kind to. 

Now, Ethan was waiting outside of her room alone, because her friends left a few minutes ago. She wouldn't wake up for a few hours and they made sure she would be completely okay before they left. Besides, they knew that Ethan wouldn't leave her side. That is, once he got to finally see her. 

Thirty agonizing minutes later, he was finally allowed to go into her room. His eyes glided across  her small form on the hospital bed. The side of her head was wrapped in white gauze, because of the injury there. Her left arm was in a cast and placed on a pillow to make her more comfortable. She was hooked to an IV, her body seeming too delicate on the hospital bed. Her face was in a serene slumber, her body was still under the influence of the drugs she was given during and after her surgery. 

Ethan took her soft hand in his, kissing her knuckles and looking tearfully at her. 

"My love… You scared me so so much… When that nurse told me you were hurt… I thought I was going to lose you. Again.", He started talking to her, even though she couldn't hear him, he was baring his heart to her. Letting the tears he was holding on to fall. 

"Finding you there, lying unconscious… was unbearable. Knowing that you may be gone forever, never being able to touch you, or see your beautiful smile, hear your awful jokes again… I’ve never believed in a higher power, but if there is a being that saved you, then I am grateful. Because, without you, none of this matters. You're my whole world Oliv. And this world means nothing to me if you’re not here darling", he finished , laying a soft kiss on her lips. 

He stayed with her for a few hours, having no intention of leaving her, but Naveen forced him to go get a coffee and something to eat. Of course, Naveen promised he would stay there with her while Ethan was away. 

On his way back to her room, he encountered Leland Bloom. "Great, just who I wanted to see", Ethan thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

"Ah Dr. Ramsey. I was just coming to find you. How is Dr. Valentine?", he asked with a facade of interest. 

"She’s in her room resting. Still unconscious though, because of the anesthesia from her surgery. Now if you'll excuse me", Ethan curtly replied, walking past Leland, anxious to return to her room. 

"I was hoping to come with you, actually. I wanted to ask you, will she make a full recovery?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, in a couple months she will probably be alright.", Ethan gritted his teeth, retraining his seething anger at how intrusive this man could be. 

"Probably? You're not certain? If her recovery takes so long, then she will be left behind in the hospital's advances. Pity… she was actually going to be one of the key assets to the progression of the hospital's success.", Leland said, not having noticed or probably caring about Ethan's expression. 

Ethan couldn't believe what he was hearing. The way he spoke of Olivia. His Olivia. A human being, as though she was nothing but a tool to be used. He clenched his fists, blood coursing through his veins, ears ringing, face and neck flushed red with anger, trying to resist the immense urge to punch him square in his arrogant face. 

"How DARE you talk that way about a human being who was seriously hurt? She could have been fucking killed and all you have to say is that she would be an asset to the success of the hospital? What kind of person are you, really? Do you see anything beyond your own selfish, moronic advancements?", Ethan turned to him abruptly, almost roaring, all the pent up emotions escaping him in this outburst towards this man. 

Leland was stunned at his outburst, mouth gaping open for a second before he recollected himself. The two of them had become the center of attention as the nurses and doctors were forming a small circle, staring at the two men. 

"I would best advise you against speaking to me like that Dr. Ramsey. I'm the one who is in charge here and I expect you to treat me with respect. Now, I understand you are under pressure right now since your partner was hurt, so I'm willing to look past this little tantrum. See you soon, Dr Ramsey." he replied, walking away from Ethan, who was stalking his way down the corridor to Olivia’s room, unbothered by Bloom’s words. 

The only person in this world whose words mattered, laid in a hospital bed right now, and he vowed he would not spend any more precious time away from her. Because despite what life throws at them, all that matters is that his Rookie ... his Olivia ... his true love will be alright. They will be alright. Together.

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Thank you for reading !!!

[whumpmatsus]

aaa if u want a double whammy request how about 6a and 22 from whump meme for choro?

Ultimate Whump Writing Meme! / ACCEPTING!

6. Broken bone/bone fracture

A: Broken rib

+

22. Sneezing fit

oh this is my jam, I love sneezy boys in pain

poor Choro!! gave this one a Nenchuu lean because Ichi tryna take care of his big bro is so cute uwu

I knowwww it's not, like, super realistic for someone who's young and healthy with no bone problems to break a rib by sneezing or coughing, but... it seems it could happen if you stifle a really forceful sneeze? and Choro is a serial stifler so I could see it happening to him, he tries to hold back the wrong one or too many in a row and BOOM fractured rib even if it's not a terribly bad break

regardless let me have my unrealistic fantasyyyyyy 😂😂

-

There’s really no denying that allergies have presented a myriad of different problems for Choromatsu over the years.

They’ve made his eyes itchy and watery, they’ve caused frustrating congestion and endless instances of a runny nose, they’ve made his asthma flare up, and perhaps most distressingly, they’ve made it insanely difficult to get a date. (After all, what person wants to go out with a guy who’s a sneezy, wheezy, snotty mess for at least half the year? And often more than that?)

In general, allergies just kind of suck. There are countless ways they can make his life miserable.

That said, breaking a fucking rib through an allergic sneezing fit is a new one.

Although, it’s not necessarily just the fault of his allergies. He knows by now that he shouldn’t be trying to stifle his sneezes, especially one right after another; it’s a lot of force that suddenly has nowhere to go except down into his chest. Breaking a rib by sneezing evidently falls under the ‘not unheard of, though it’s strange to happen in an adult without bone problems’ category. That’s just Choromatsu’s luck, it seems.

The doctor explained, after he sheepishly admitted that he often stifles sneezes in an effort to keep them from being so messy, that repeated stifling isn’t a good idea for a worse reason, because of the risk of rupturing his eardrums from the pressure.

It just so happens that he’s actually lucky he broke a rib doing it rather than the alternative. If he’d managed to perforate his eardrums by stifling, he could have lost some hearing, it would almost certainly cause a lot of ear infections (which could also cause hearing loss), and the doctor made the point that it would be incredibly painful. As much as a broken rib hurts, at least it’s a remote possibility that it’s damaged anything permanently.

The doctor told him that hopefully he’s learned his lesson to stop stifling his sneezes. And, especially, he isn’t supposed to stifle while his rib is recovering. Of course, it’s right in the middle of allergy season and a rib fracture can take up to three months to fully heal, so… that’s going fantastically.

Choromatsu is miserable at the moment. Not only is his hayfever as bad as ever, all the pollen has apparently made him more sensitive to other allergens, too. He can barely stand to be in the same room with any of Ichimatsu’s cats, and he has to make it a point to avoid his father when Matsuzo comes in the house after smoking.

Even though he’s supposed to get a little activity in while resting enough not to aggravate the fracture, that’s hard to do when it feels like he’s sneezing his brains out. All he really wants to do is go horizontal and nap as best he can, but the paper the doctor sent him home with says he’s not supposed to lie down for long periods.

The antihistamines he took this morning are barely even touching his allergies today. Everything is constantly tickling his nose, and it feels like he can’t go five minutes without sneezing, which is absolutely ridiculous. Despite that he’s a pretty easily set-off person where allergies are concerned, he doesn’t ever remember sneezing so much in his life.

And fuck, the pain. Each sneeze sends a violent spiderweb of agony through his chest and shoulders, as if someone is stabbing knives at every single nerve in his upper body. It’s one of the worst physical sensations he’s ever felt. If he had to use anything as a reference, he’d compare it to appendicitis pangs, just in a different place and pattern and not quite as white-hot.

He’s so tired. He’s been spending the last few days camped out on the couch, getting up in the early hours of the morning both because having to sleep upright means that he only rests for two or three hours at a time and because he’s trying to avoid lazing around. Not moving seems to make the pain worse.

Currently he’s sitting here, trying to watch TV, unable to truly focus on anything. The effort it’s taking to try and stave off another sneezing fit is about all he’s got left in him, but he knows he’s just delaying the inevitable.

His sinuses are prickling, and when he raises his arm to press a knuckle against the underside of his nose, the pain in his chest gets a little tighter. There’s only so much longer he can hold this stupid shit back, as uncomfortable as he knows it’s going to be.

His concentration breaks into nothing about the time he hears the door open. He can’t really see who’s there, though, because he’s ducking down into his handful of tissues as he hears them walk in. “HhhPSCHH! HuUPPSHhhoo! IhhHPSHHooo!”

Shit. Ugh. Shit. Shiiiiit. The pain shoots through him in an instant, like he can feel the crack in that one rib throughout his whole body. More than anything he wishes he could stifle.

Realistically, however, he knows that would only make things worse. The force that’s actually coming out through his sneezes would have nowhere to go except to his chest and ears, again, and he’d be in more trouble than he already is.

He tries to blow his nose a couple times, hoping that might clear out the irritation. If he does that, maybe he’ll stop sneezing so much and the pain will give him a break other than the one in his rib.

“Bless you,” comes a voice he registers as Ichimatsu’s. He sounds kind of congested and a little weary himself, expected since all the sextuplets have bad hayfever and it’s been a high pollen day. “Still sneezing your ass off, Choro-chan?”

Choromatsu sniffles as he comes up from the tissues, wincing at the pain. “Ow… yeah. It’s like a-all my allergies are ganging up on me today.”

Ichimatsu hums, sitting down before letting out a sound of realization. “Oh, fuck. I’ve probably got cat hair all over my clothes… you, uh. Want me to―”

“No, no, no… it’s okay.” He waves a hand. What does it really matter, honestly? It doesn’t seem like his allergies are kicking up his asthma today, and he’s been sneezing regardless, so it’s not a big deal. Besides… sleeping in such a weird position out of the futon… he’s been a little lonely lately. “I just… wish it didn’t hurt so bad, more than anything.”

The distorted expression he’s sporting must be pretty noticeable, because Ichimatsu speaks up again. “Uh. Did they teach you how to do the pillow thing for that?”

An eyebrow goes up, and Choromatsu reaches for a fresh handful of tissues. “For what? Pillow thing??”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it on medical documentaries when somebody breaks a rib and has to cough or sneeze. It’s supposed to make it hurt less.”

“― HuhUPPSHHoo! HhPPPSHH! Oh, fuck, ouch…” He looks over at his little brother, the fatigue and discomfort seeping into his expression. “Yeah… can you show me? Nobody at the doctor’s office mentioned it.”

Ichimatsu nods and grabs the pillow on his side of the sofa. “They probably just forgot. Here, so you just take this…” He scoots himself closer, tongue poking out of his mouth as he uses one hand to move Choromatsu’s arms. “Here, arms out of the way for a second. Okay, so you just…” He sets the pillow against Choromatsu’s chest, then moves his arms away. “Then hold it there with your hands. And when you feel like you’re gonna cough or sneeze, press it really firm against your chest, not so it hurts but… I dunno, kinda like the way you’d cuddle a stuffed animal if you were a scared little kid, you know?”

That… is very specific and yet he knows exactly what Ichimatsu is trying to describe. “Oh, like…” Choromatsu shifts himself around a bit so he can hold the pillow against his chest. It doesn’t feel too much different than a minute ago; there’s just something soft against his ribs now.

“Yeah. And hold it like that till you’re done coughing or sneezing. Or, I mean… laughing, actually, too, ‘cause I think I remember hearing it hurts to laugh with a broken rib. When you’re pressing it against your chest like that, it’s supposed to absorb some of the force… that way it doesn’t hurt as bad.”

“Oh… I-I guess that makes sense.” After all, it’s sort of like an airbag in a car, isn’t it? Or like putting a bandage on your finger over a papercut. It gives a kind of cushion to the injured area so it isn’t as painful when touching things.

Fuck. His nose scrunches up as he can feel the tickle start again. Time to put this to the test, obviously.

It’s a strange balancing act trying to keep everything just as he wants it. One arm stretches across the pillow, doing his best to hold it against his chest as tightly as he can. The other hand quickly raises the tissues up to his face in anticipation.

The maddening part, or one maddening part, is that he can feel his nose twitching several times before anything actually comes of it. His breath hitches only to ebb away in three false starts, then finally…

His whole body tenses when he snaps his face down into his collection of tissues. Some of his energy is focused on trying not to make too big a mess, and with the rest of it, his arm clenches against the pillow, pressing it lightly into his ribs to see if this trick works.

“Hhhh…fuhhh… hh ― hhPPSHHoo! IhhPSHHH! HihhPPTSCHhooo! HhPTSHHH! IhPSHHHoo! HiIPPTSHHooo! G-God… ughhh… uhHPPPSHHHHOOO! Fuck! Oh, my God…”

He can’t stop himself from whining a little when the fit finally tapers off. And, unfortunately, he thinks finally, but… the reality is that it was actually on the smaller side for one of his sneezing fits, especially during hayfever season.

The good news is that even though the pillow thing wasn’t perfect, it didn’t soak up all the pain… it worked wonders for taking the bitter edge off things. This time, the sneezes didn’t send an entire network of pain flooding through his top half, just a sharp achy feeling. It’s not nearly as excruciating as the way it was before.

Immediately he starts to blow his nose, only to find that the tissues he grabbed got… soggy… pretty fast. It seems that Ichimatsu is prepared, though, because a new set are nudged against Choromatsu’s shoulder. “Bless you. That last one sounded like you were gonna jump out of your fucking skin. You okay?”

“Y-yeah… I think so…” He grabs the tissues to try and clean himself up, tossing the used ones into the trashcan. Despite being a bit breathless now, he’s flooded with relief that this was the first time in a while that it didn’t hurt like hell to sneeze.

Ichimatsu gives a careful, slightly awkward pat to his big brother’s shoulder. “So, uh… did that… did that work okay? If it didn’t, uh, we could try another pillow… a stiffer one, or a softer one… it depends on the person, I think.”

He shakes his head. “A-ah, no… no, it worked great. I feel a lot better.” With that he lets himself lean back a little, rubbing at his nose with the wad of tissues. Ick. He can feel his nose starting to turn pink or red or some other lovely shade. “Thanks for showing me that, Ichimacchan. I’m probably gonna be sneezing a lot, and… the doctor said a broken rib can take up to three months to heal…”

“Uh. Yeah. I mean, all the sneezing from allergies is shitty as it is… it must be, like… extra shitty for your ribs to stage a fucking revolt every time, too.” He scratches the back of his head. “Is, uh… is there anything else I can do? Do you need, like… eyedrops or anything?”

“No… no, that’s okay.” At the mention, Choromatsu can feel his eyes starting to itch a little. He’s going to try to ignore it, though. Right now, he has the ideal opportunity to nap ― the pain is fading to tolerable levels, the tickle is his nose has died down to a low buzz, and one of his brothers is here. He might actually be able to get some sleep.

“Could you, um… just stay and sit with me for a while?” He lets out an anxious laugh, half thinking Ichimatsu might poke fun. “I… haven’t been sleeping that great since I can’t be in the futon with you guys. I’m tired.”

Surprisingly (or maybe not), Ichimatsu moves close again, bumping Choromatsu’s shoulder with his. “Yeah? Remember when my leg and wrist were broken, and I got all stupid upset because I couldn’t sleep in the futon? And you slept propped up against the couch so I wouldn’t be lonely. I get it.”

He lays his head against his older brother’s shoulder. “Payback time. Try to relax. Hopefully that pillow thing keeps working for you… just, let me know if you need more tissues or anything.”

… Aw. He’s trying kinda hard to make sure I’m comfortable.

Still feeling kind of drained, Choromatsu lets his head fall against Ichimatsu’s with as deep a sigh as he can manage right now. “Thanks. I’m… probably gonna hold it like this, just in case. Sometimes they hit me really fast.”

“Yeah, I know. Get some rest, okay, nii-san?”

At this point, he thinks he will.